Eyvindr swayed violently in the tent. His head pounded like an avalanche, his eyes burned as if stung by owlbears, lightning reverberated throughout his body. He swung one great paw, tearing a large gash in the tent and letting the cold in. It did nothing for his burning eyes.

“Hold him down.” came a thunderous voice. Two bears heeded the command, grabbing Eyvindr by the shoulders. He struggled against them, but he was far beyond his physical prime now.

“Old one.” came the voice again. Eyvindr looked up and saw him. First of the Svartpels. His armor black as obsidian, but his fur now gray and withered, “What do you see?”

He thrashed again as his vision flashed with blinding light and his eyes smoldered like coals. The light dimmed ever so slightly and he began to see shapes. Great eagles flew over the tundras, beneath the full moon. Then, a city came into view. Cramped, pulsing with life and packed with spiraling buildings. The eagles swept down with furious screeches and breathed fire upon the city, reducing it to a burning ruin. Eyvindr could only wail at the destruction he was witnessing.

And then it was gone. The vision, the pain, the magic that shook his body. Eyvindr fell to the floor, numb. He groaned, struggling to move. Then, the Svartpel Elder extended his paw, helping the Rozenkratz shaman rise.

He was permitted a moment’s rest by the Elder, which Eyvindr took to readjust himself to reality. He took slow heavy breaths as he retrieved his staff. Carved from an old larch tree, it had seen him through many battles and casted storms of ice against his clan’s foes. For now, however, it was but something to lean on.

“Well?” chirped the griffon in the corner of the tent. She was dressed in a frivolous uniform, lined with small, shiny ‘medals’. Useless little pieces of metal, fit for creatures that had need of symbols to validate their virtues. Eyvindr wrinkled his snout at her tone, but nonetheless described his vision. Down to the horrific details.

The griffon was practically shaking in her seat, the puny creature. The Thunder Lord, however, remained stoic as ever, “When is the next full moon, shaman? How much time do we have?”

Eyvindr hummed in thought, “Three nights from now. Time is short.”

The griffon and Thunder Lord shared a look. The latter then bowed, “Thank you, wise one.” Eyvindr thought he could make out a grimace, beneath the panserbjørn helmet.

Then they were gone. He would pray to the All Father for them.

But would it be enough?

“You’ve got to stop bowing so deeply.” Said Sibylle, “I know you’re showing respect, but how about some respect for your spine? Eh, Torben?”

Thunder Lord Torben, Elder of Clan Svartpels, grunted dismissively. A little pain was no excuse to discard one’s customs. It was a trivial thing.

Sibylle pinched her brow with her claw, “Boreas help you, stubborn ursine.”

The freezing wind howled throughout the war camp, a mess of tents and more permanent buildings built around the crumbling remains of an old Rosensverd fortress. The cold reassured Torben, reminded him of home.

They stood there for a moment, side by side, before Torben spoke, “Can we intercept their bombers?”

SIbylle scratched her chin, “Maybe…Probably not. We have interceptors on standby, but most of our planes are in the east. No doubt they’ll bomb the Ulrik Line as well, that’ll stretch our available air force.”

“Hm.” How troublesome. During the Clan Wars, there had been no need to account for the air theater. The idea that war could take place in the skies had once been foreign to the bears, but Paw had been wise enough to invest in an air force during his days as Tyrant.

Now, it might be the only thing that could save them.

“And if you focus solely on the city?”

Sibylle stretched her wings over her torso in an attempt to warm herself, “Well, I like our chances there. But without the Ulrik line, we’ll lose Soryth regardless. Am I wrong?”

“No. But I doubt that the line would do much for us anyway, fortifications do not hold back the enemy like they once did. We will have to retreat from Soryth, for now.”

For a brief period of time, the only sound was the howl of the wind.

“Are we…are we to just leave the Changelings to their fate?” Sibylle said, barely loud enough for Torben to hear, “It’ll be like Vesalipolis in ten-fourteen again.”

“Have some faith, old friend.” replied the ursine, “Come, walk with me.”

It was a rough, uneven tread down from the isolated shaman's hut to the rest of the war camp, and Sibylle took to flying a bit above the ground. It got a low chuckle out of Torben.

“Still haven't answered my question, you know.” She said, still in flight, “Say we plan to evacuate Soryth, where we will find the time, eh? We've got three days until the bombing, and doubtless an attack will follow soon after.”

They were entering the more crowded part of the camp now, with tents in neat rows. Torben spoke, “We will simply destroy the Equestrian forces before they get there.”

Sibylle burst into laughter, clutching her stomach and reacquainting herself with the earth, “Sure, if you can find me the Idol of Boreas we can… Shit, you're serious.”

“Bears do not jest about war.”

“Then you have surely grown senile in your old age.” Her tone betrayed a hint of griffon ‘sarcasm’, so Torben withheld his anger, “Or you know something I don’t.”

“What I know is that we all know something that the other does not.” He continued upon seeing Sibylle’s puzzled expression, “Look around you.”

She swept her eyes across the camp, “If you're trying to impart on me a philosophical lesson, you are failing.”

“You look at the tents, turn your gaze to our people instead.”

Torben gestured with one paw to a yak and a Svartpel bear, wrestling in a sportsmanlike manner. The bear's technique overcame the yak's raw strength and soon the latter was on the ground. Torben felt a surge of pride at his fellow clansbear's victory, but he felt prouder still as the two proceeded to embrace like kin.

He then gestured to a group of griffons practicing their mid air sharpshooting, while a grizzled-looking penguin shouted instructions from the ground. Then at a griffon and a changeling, playing cards.

“The ponies have their weapons and numbers, but they march into a land they don't know, in hopes of conquering creatures they don't understand. Meanwhile, we can rely on each other's strengths to cover our own weaknesses. Their hubris will be the end of them.”

Sibylle tilted her head, as if expecting more, “Nice speech and all, but I assume you have something more concrete than, ‘we'll win because they'll underestimate us’”.

“Of course. Olivia will explain.”

“Who?”

“Hey boss.” A changeling popped her head between the two.

“Scheiße!” Sibylle launched briefly into the air, “Don't do that!”

“Respectfully, ain't my fault you can't hear. I've been behind you the whole time! Anyway.” She took Sibylle's claw and shook it rapidly, “Name's Olivia, Etterretningsforening operative, Equestrian Analysis Group. Nice to meet, love the jacket.”

“Thanks?”

“Yes, anyway.” The bug took one big breath, “I've been undercover as an Equestrian officer for the last three months, turns out I make a terrible officer, but I had the chance to make lots of friends there. Friends with other officers, captains, majors, even met Blueblood Jr. Total klaphat, that one. Small brain, big head.

Her cuticle wings fluttered as she spoke, “Anyway, the common sentiment among the high command is that they'll simply hit us with some bombs, break our armies and be in Mathair within the week. No plans for long term logistics or resistance suppression, they're trusting in their Empress and superior firepower to see them through.”

Olivia blinked her frankly unsettling bright pink eyes, concluding her swift debriefing. Sibylle blinked herself, in mild confusion, “You can't be serious. You're saying we… we've got a chance? Blessed Boreas…”

“Well, that's how it is here in the West. Can't speak for the yak mountains or Nova Griffonia. But yes, we'll turn them into paste. Right boss?” she looked expectantly at Torben.

He scoffed, “It is unwise to decide the outcome of a battle before it takes place.”

“Pff. Yeah, well, my actual boss has a new assignment for me, so I'll be going. And if you see Carl from Counter Intelligence, tell him he owes me bits.” She flew off, her wings making an awful whirring sound. Torben had grown accustomed to the changelings, but he wasn't sure he'd ever get used to the sound they made when they flew.

Sibylle watched her go, “What are you going to do?”

Torben turned to his friend, “The shamans warn of a great blizzard on the horizon. It will cover our advance as we break the Equestrians, and buy Soryth the time it needs.”

“'We’, Torben?”

“Elders lead from the front.”

“You could die.”

“And what a glorious death it would be.”

Sibylle scoffed, bringing a claw to her forehead, “What do you bears have against peaceful retirement, eh?”

“I will make a solemn promise to you, old friend. I will not seek death, but will welcome it if it seeks me. The clan is in good hands, so is the war.” He carefully placed one paw on her shoulder, “There is no better way to go.”

She looked down, eyes weary, “Not one bomb will land upon Soryth.”

The frosty winds blew violently, “I have no doubt.”

Snip couldn't sleep. He had been making a habit of that lately and he knew that his body would soon pay him back in kind. But still, he couldn't get a wink.

It was the blasted cold keeping him up. Or the anxiety. There was much to be anxious about, and he could have dealt with that, if there was anything to do to take his mind off things. Other than lose at cards to Stacked Deck, that was.

And smoke, he thought, I could go for a smoke.

It was pitch black outside the tent and cold enough to warrant immediate regret from Snip, though he had to admit the smell was much better. He wondered how the changelings could rightly call this place their home. Barely anything grew, and what did was very rarely green. He wasn't sure he could endure it for another fortnight, much less a whole lifetime.

Despite the cold, he reckoned a puff of smoke would be good for his nerves. He reached in his hind pocket and procured a pack of cigs. The little light illuminating the camp revealed an illustration of a Buffalo on the packaging. He sported a feathery hat and a long wooden pipe from which he was smoking. It gave the cancer sticks a naturalistic appeal, yet Snip doubted he and the Buffalo were smoking the same thing.

He slipped one in his muzzle, promised himself once more that he'd stop once he got back home, and took out his lighter.

Just then, a gust of wind all but punched him in the face, blew the cigarette out of his mouth and the lighter out of his hoof. They landed somewhere in the snow, with a soft thump.

“Oh f- flipping wind!” he said, a little louder than was wise at that hour. He looked around the snowy ground for his lighter, he couldn't lose that thing. Where would he get another?

It was nowhere to be found. Just how far had the wind knocked it? “Get the white lighter,” he mumbled to himself as he turned a corner, “It looks like porcelain, so fancy! Well all it looks like now is fucking sno-”

Snip froze in place as he saw his lighter. Being picked up. By someone else. He steadily looked up from the ground to see a pegasus with white coat and a wavy, blue mane. He turned the lighter around in his hoof, “Yours?”

Snip nodded, still frozen in place.

The pegasus chuckled, “Chin up, lad. Here.”

The pegasus offered him his lighter and Snip gingerly took it. He looked at the stranger's uniform and relaxed a bit when he saw he was but a corporal. A soldier, like him, not some officer that would write him up. Goody.

They stood in an astoundingly awkward silence until Snip remembered his manners, “Thanks.”

The stranger chuckled, “Don't thank me, that stuff's gonna kill you.”

If the bears don't kill me first, he thought to himself. He offered a cig to the pegasus, who politely refused, before lighting his own. His nerves were feeling better already.

“Brisk Breeze.” said the stranger in his breathy voice.

“That was a bit more than a ‘brisk breeze’ don't you think?” Only after saying that did Snip realize he was introducing himself, “Oh! Uhm, Snip Shears.”

“You fleece sheep, or something of that sort?”

At that, Snip laughed. He wasn't sure when the last time he'd laughed had been in that miserable place, “That was my grandfather, who I'm named after. I uh, I make topiaries. Carving bushes into the shapes of squirrels, peacocks and such. You…what do you do?”

“Oh, I'm afraid my profession isn't half as interesting. I delivered mail, once.” He unfurled his wings as he said that. One looked powerful, agile and frankly, what you might call majestic.

The other was cut off at the humerus.

“Courtesy of an Olenian grenade.” Before Snip could pick his chin up from the floor, he continued, “Don't be sorry for me, lad. The uprising claimed a lot of good people, I'm lucky enough to still be here.”

“I…yeah. You're right. It's just-”

“You'll be fine.” Brisk gave him a smile. It felt comforting, forced as it looked, “Doubt Her Imperial Highness will have need for us reserves anyway.”

Snip silently sat down next to him. His voice came out as a whisper, “And if she does?”

“Well… I can show you the ropes!”

Snip caught himself laughing again, “Teach me how not to get shot, will you, corporal?

“I'll try to, but I haven't been the best at that myself.” He unfurled his bad wing, “I'd like something in return, though.”

“Hm?”

For a moment, the wind ceased harassing them. In the newfound silence, he heard Brisk say, “Tell me about topiaries.”

A smile crept up Snip's face, reaching up to his eyes.

“Up and at ‘em! Come on, sergeant will have your flank!”

“Hhughuh?” Up and what? He thought, Where am I? Who am I? There was a pounding in his head. He reckoned more sleep would fix it.

“Good grief, Snip. What time did you sleep?”

“Mm.” He turned around in his bed. Sleep came back steadily to embrace him.

“Agh!” His eyes shot open, something had hit him. “Hey!” It hit him again. Snip, now wide awake, spun around and caught his assailant's hoof.

Stacked Deck took the pillow in his other hoof and hit him a third time, a grin on his face.

“What was that for!?”

“Fun.” said Stacked, “Come on, prayer time. Don't be late or the Empress will smite you down, she told me personally.”

Snip crawled out of bed. He had ranted for hours upon hours last night, and by the time he was done explaining to Brisk the details of topiary stuffing, the sun had started to come up. Even though his head pounded and his limbs felt heavy as bricks, he couldn’t summon the slightest bit of regret.

I wonder if I'll see him again today.

One hoof at a time, he got dressed. He didn't much like his uniform. It was pretty, sure, but it felt off on him; like a tasteful topiary in the wrong garden. Didn't help that it itched.

Stacked hadn't bothered to wait for him, so Snip left the tent by himself.

Radiant Military Base was truly something to behold. It had already been huge when Snip had gotten there, and it was growing still. Tents lined the place in neat, orderly rows; each one the same size, each one the same color. In the distance was a hangar, no doubt full of the latest in aviation technology. Further still, helipads, rows of tanks, APCs, the works.

Snip headed to the chapel. It was one of many, many chapels in the base. There must have been one for every twenty tents, and they were still building more. Seemed like a waste to Snip, but at least it meant that it was less cramped at prayer time.

He tried so hard not to fall asleep on the pew. It took all of his will. Even as Daybreaker stared him down from the stained glass windows, his head was having trouble staying upright. Blessedly, it ended before he could go for an involuntary nap. He reckoned the Inquisitors wouldn't have been happy with that.

After church was breakfast, which he was much more eager for. He made for one of the mess halls. It too bore the image of Daybreaker, carved just a bit above the door. He had to admit, it made him feel a bit uncomfortable. At least she wasn't present in the bathrooms.

Inside, the place was rapidly filling up with hungry mares and stallions. Snip quickly made for the buffet, lest all the seats get taken and he had to eat outside in the snow.

Now Snip might've detested everything about Radiant, about the upcoming war and his being there, but one thing was for sure.

“Woah, hayburgers? For breakfast?”

The food was pretty good.

He grabbed himself a hayburger, some fries and a little pudding cup. Good stuff, he thought as he looked for a place to sit.

Stacked was there, eating with some other stallions from their tent. Snip considered joining them, but he reckoned that he'd get talked into a card game again and lose all his bits.

He spotted a few other ponies he knew. Star Daisy, Olya, Page Turner, Waffle Sauce and the like. He didn't much care for any of them, truth be told, but they beat eating alone.

Snip was heading to where Waffle was sat when he slipped on something wet. Time stilled. He saw his hayburger casting off, leaving the surface of the tray. It was all he could do to save what was left, his fries and pudding. Snip braced himself for tragedy.

The burger stopped just before it hit the floor. It levitated there, frozen in the process of coming apart mid air. Then, it put itself back together and floated back up to Snip's tray.

“Careful, pipsqueak.” came a voice from the table next to him. He looked right to see a unicorn, wearing the same uniform as him. Her horn still glowed with magic.

Snip looked at her with a healthy amount of disbelief, “Wow, thanks. Don't call me pipsqueak though. Uhm, please.”

“Sure thing, short stuff.” She shot him a smug grin, “Now, I'd say, for such an act of kindness… I may be entitled to some of your fries.”

So that's what this is, he thought, Why can't ponies here be nice for the sake of it?

Then again, she was sitting alone. Snip reckoned she might've just been looking for company without admitting it. And if she wasn't, she could surely telekinetically chuck his burger across the room if he refused. So it seemed like an easy choice.

He set his tray down and sat next to the unicorn, after which she immediately got to work on his fries. The salad on her tray lay yet untouched.

“Uh. I'm… Snip Shears.”

“Hm? Oh.” She swallowed, “Auburn Dawn. Dawn is fine.”

Auburn made sense as a name, with her mane being redder than tulips. And he had to say, it went well with her pale yellow coat.

They ate in silence for a while, until she spoke, “So what's a four-eyed wimp like you doing in a military camp? I didn't know there was a draft.”

Snip set down his burger and raised his glasses, “You are being quite rude to me and I don't appreciate it.”

“Well, feel free to be rude back! I like a nice back and forth.”

“Unlike you, I don't enjoy saying mean things about-”

“Wimp.”

“You-”

“Wimpy wimp. Wimpy little filly.”

“Fine! You're, uhm, your hair looks like yarn!”

She rolled her eyes, “And?”

“And! Uh…” He looked her up and down, hair, hooves, horn, tail-

Horn? He thought, Wait a minute…

“You're a crappy mage! You didn't make the cut for the mage companies and now you're here!”

She looked at him, eyes wide, before bursting into laughter, “Wow you suck at this! But you're right, the horn's practically for show. I can't do much other than telekinesis, so I'm stuck with you and the other chumps. Now you answer my question.”

“Well.” he felt his hoof instinctively reaching for his cigars, “You're right, I don't much fit here. Not really excited to be here either. But because of my uncle, I was expected to enlist.”

Dawn looked at him expectantly, so Snip leaned in and whispered, “He’s… Lieutenant General Firecracker.”

She gasped far too loudly, “Your-”

“Shh!” He hissed, covering her mouth with his hoof, “What part of me whispering made you think you should yell?”

“Mmrrmphh!”

“I'll remove my hoof from your muzzle and when I do you'll be really, really quiet? Ok?”

“Mhmhm!”

He did so, and to her credit, Dawn's words came out as an excited whisper, “So you're basically royalty around here right? I mean, you know Firecracker! I bet he has you over for spiced tea twice a week! Wow, I would've never guessed, honestly. I mean he's all fiery and heroic and you're-”

“Relax, I don't get any sort of special privileges. He's very adamant about that. Except, of course, not having to take the physical exam to get accepted.” He grumbled, “Wait, how do you know he likes spiced tea?”

Her expression briefly became one of mild horror, before an anxious smile began creeping up her face, “Uhh, I'm sort of-”

The realization dawned on him, “You're a fanmare.”

She opened her mouth, likely to counter his accusation, but settled for a sheepish, “Yeah.”
Daybreaker save me from this mare, “I'm going to change the subject now.”

“Let's do that!”

In a way, she was a hundred times more irritating than the other ponies he'd sit with to eat. But, somehow, she was a hundred and one times more tolerable, because she was at least annoying in an entertaining way. It was almost endearing. Almost.

So, when she proposed that they hang out in their free time before chores, he only objected a little bit.

They trotted around the small city that was Radiant. Among all the military apparatus, tents, chapels, clinics and giant status of their God-Empress, there were places that were almost like parks. They decided to loiter around in one such place, one that even had a few hardy trees planted. Snip felt that he could almost breathe there.

He noticed that Dawn didn't seem particularly bothered by the cold. She walked the grounds with relative comfort and her jacket unbuttoned. She caught his gaze, laughed and said, “I'm from Acornage. You learn to live with the cold up there.”

“Oh, I'm from Canterlot myself.”

“Ah, nice warm weather down there. No wonder you're shivering like that. Practically vibrating.”

“Well at least in Canterlot, we-”

He cut his sentence short as he heard an increasingly deafening roar. He knew the sound well, it was the sound of jets taking off. Indeed, as he looked up, he could see scores of planes leaving the hangar.

Dawn looked up at them, her expression grim. More grim than his. “Where are they going?” he asked her.

“To some airfield, closer to the border.” said a voice Snip wasn't expecting. He turned around to see Brisk Breeze, making his way to where Snip was standing.

“Oh! Hi, good morning. Fancy seeing you here.” Snip blurted out.

Brisk chuckled, “Thought I'd find you near the greenery, if you can call it that. Who's your friend?”

Dawn didn't bother introducing herself, still looking at the sky, “They're getting in place to strike, aren't they?”

“So I reckon.” said Brisk, “Means the war's getting hot soon. Could be tomorrow, for all we know.”

Snip felt his stomach drop all the way down to Tartarus. He felt a hoof on his shoulder, “Chin up, lad. The bears are scary, but our military-industrial complex is even scarier.”

“They eat other creatures.”

Brisk waved a dismissive hoof, “I'm sure that's just a rumor.”

“No, it's true.” Dawn's sudden attitude change had evaporated, “But I doubt you have enough meat on your bones for them to consider munching on you.”

Brisk raised an eyebrow, “Are you two friends?”

“Yes!”

“No…”

“Right, well.” Brisk coughed, “How about I give you some of that sage advice I promised you yesterday? Would that make you feel better.”

Snip already felt better, “I'd like that.”

“Great.” He turned to Dawn, “You can come too, but no being mean until I'm done. Good?”

She laughed, “You got it, boss.”

Torben marched to war, for what he knew would be the final time.

He'd fought a multitude of wars in his time, many against other bears, but none could possibly compare to the one that was about to begin. Not the unification wars, not the northern storm, not even the liberation campaign against Stalliongrad. This would be a war for his people's very survival.

One worth dying in.

He marched with his bravest warriors through the Western mountain passes while the storm raged above them, hiding their advance. The path they walked on was treacherous, inhospitable and more or less frozen solid. No pony could imagine making the trek through those mountains. That's what Torben was counting on.

He and his fellow bears had little trouble braving the mountains, for the All-Father had made them for the cold. They traversed the frozen rocks in the same way that a pony might trot around a frivolous garden. The yaks were much like the bears, with even thicker fur to keep them warm. They carried upon them the bravest of the penguins, who had opted to join the attack.

Joining them were the griffons, who did their best to endure the cold. Their feathers provided them with good protection from the elements, but they weren't used to such an extreme climate. Still, he commended them for their efforts, for he knew the aerial advantage they provided would be crucial.

Last were the elite changeling units, infiltrators that would sow panic behind enemy lines. A tactic… not becoming of the bears, perhaps, but the Confederation did not contain only bears. They would need every skill available to them in order to win.

Bears and changelings, fighting together to save Soryth. How ludicrous that would have once sounded. Torben had at one time been partial to burning Soryth to the ground himself, yet there he was, marching to war for the bugs. What had happened?

He knew the answer, Paw had happened. He'd shown Torben and the other bears a path forward. A path towards change. And soon that path had come to encompass far more than just bearkind.

In his youth, Torben had often imagined that his kind would become rulers of the North. The creatures he'd thought of as “lesser” would be subjugated and they would receive protection by the bearebin exchange for their servitude. Such was the foundation of The Pyramid, the hierarchical societal structure he was once so certain of.

Now the North was united, but the bears didn't rule as overlords. They were merely the first among equals in a Confederation of states, where everyone's way of life was respected. What a concept, one that young Torben would have been offended by. If he was being honest with himself, it was only because of his trust in Paw that he'd been able to change his views.

Not everyone liked these new arrangements of course, but there's nothing like a war to bring people together.

Torben and his band found a spot between two large, leaning mountains that would make for good shelter against the storm, so they took the opportunity to rest there for the night. And they would need a good rest, for tomorrow would be the day of reckoning. Theirs wouldn't be the only attack, of course, but it was perhaps the most crucial. A surprise attack far behind enemy lines, where many reserve officers would be in striking range.

They unpacked, setting up camp and getting to work on their rations. Not all fit under the mountain's shade, for there were thousands of creatures. Many of the bears and yaks therefore set up camp outside, allowing the less cold resistant races to rest in better shelter.

Something tugged at Torben. Tomorrow they would march until they were clear of the mountains and quickly descend on the Equestrians. There would be no more time for rest, it would be the explosive end of a perilous journey. The rations would fuel their body, but Torben had to make sure their minds were strong as well.

Time to remind them what they're fighting for.

In the middle of the cave, he stood on his hind paws. He was large, even for a bear, so he needed no stage to be seen by his people. There were far, far too many creatures to hear him, but the sentiment would get around. It always did.

Torben unleashed the mightiest roar he could muster. Had the mountains above been shaped differently, he would've feared causing an avalanche. All the creatures turned their eyes upon him. Torben looked back at his band of warriors, the creatures and beasts that marched with him to war. From his personal band of panserbjørn, to the elite griffon infantry, to the whelps who did their part in the support companies, to the beasts like the many-armed Eternal. To the Volsungr nanooks, clad in Starsteel. To Anchurus, son of Midas. To all the friends he'd made in his long years.

“My friends, the equestrians have invaded our home! Tomorrow, we show them and their Empress the might of the North!”

There were roars and the stomping of hooves. Rifles and drinks were raised and creatures cheered. They are ready, Torben thought.

My friend, I won't let them take what you've left us.

Snip felt… not terrible?

He was still stuck in that horrible place, all because of his uncle. Then there was the war that was supposed to start soon, where he'd likely get ripped apart by an angry bear or blown up by artillery. And, of course, it was still cold enough to make him wonder if Tartarus was such a bad place after all.

But he had friends now. Not ponies he'd hang out with because he had no choice. No, he really did enjoy Brisk's company. And as much as he hated to admit it, Dawn's too. They had spent most of their free time together the past two days and it had been… mostly pleasant.

We are friends now, right? He supposed if they weren't, Brisk wouldn't have invited him to hang out after hours, at the spot where they'd first met.

Snip waited on that bench for a while. It felt as if the cold was getting worse by the minute, biting through all his layers and nibbling on his bones. The winds were particularly bad tonight, but the mountains protected them from the worst of it. Why couldn't Daybreaker have ordered the invasion of a nice, warm country? He'd heard Zonicia is supposed to be great, this time of year.

Or she could've just not sent us to die in the first place.

Brisk showed up eventually. He approached, leaving hoofprints in the rising layer of snow on the ground, “Sorry, lad. I forget I'm not as fast as I used to be. Flying minutes and walking minutes are quite different in size.”

All the grumpiness Snip had built up while waiting evaporated in an instant, “Oh it's no problem, really. Is Dawn not coming?”

“She says she's gonna need her sleep for tomorrow.” He shrugged, “Not sure what she's got planned.”

“Something unfortunate for the rest of us, I'm sure.”

Brisk chuckled, “You can say that again.”

There was a brief silence. Normally Snip would've rushed to think of something to say, but he'd begun getting used to just… not talking all the time. They could sit around and just be, occasionally.

A thought did eventually pop into his head, “Say, I never asked you where you're from.”

“Oh. Why, I'm from Vanhoover. That's where I spent my postcolt days before enlisting.”

“Did you… like being a postcolt?”

“Well, that's why I did it.”

“Right… I guess I just, don't see the appeal?”

He realized how rude that sounded as soon as he said it, but Brisk only laughed, “Well, we can't all have such artistic pursuits as you. Basically, it wasn't really the act of delivering mail I liked. I had my little neighborhood, I knew the people there and enjoyed checking up on them. House to house. One big, mostly friendly community.”

“So why enlist?”

He paused, “I was just keeping a friend company.”

Snip hesitated, then placed a hoof on Brisk's shoulder. He didn't say anything, he figured it was best.

“Course,” Brisk broke the silence, “mail delivery is not what it used to be. Even the old don't send letters anymore and management squeezes all the joy out of it. I figure that once I get home, I'll find something else I enjoy.”

“What about your special talent?”

He snorted, “My name's Brisk Breeze, not Brisk Mail.” He lifted the hind part of his uniform to reveal his cutie mark, a bird following a gust of wind, “Maybe I could become a bus driver, serve my community that way. We'll see.”

“Well, I could always teach you how to carve a bush into a dolphin.”

A small smile appeared on Brisk's otherwise solemn expression, “You shouldn't be here, lad.”

“Huh?”

“You're just… you've got a good heart and it's wasted here. I saw a lot of good ponies die in Olenia. Doctors, artists, farmers, any kind of pony you can imagine. They could've done a lot more good back home. So can you.”

“I didn't have a-”

“There's always a choice. Your uncle's only a stallion. I don't know what it would have costed you to have stayed in Canterlot, but staying here will cost you so much more.”

“But you insisted we'd be safe in the reserves.”

“You never know. The bears are stronger than we give them credit for. And there's a lot more to the North than just ursines.”

“Well if I leave you're coming too! There's a bus calling your name in Vanhoover! Or Canterlot, or wherever you want to go!”

This time it was Brisk that placed a hood on Snip’s shoulder. His heart caught in his chest.

Brisk smiled, “I told you you're too good for this place.*

Then, a chapel behind him exploded.

One moment it was there, then it exploded into fiery bits of wood and metal. Then came the shockwave. Though the chapel had been far, Snip fell to the ground. His ears rang.

Snip couldn’t quite make out what was happening in the next few seconds, but it felt like an earthquake. The ground he lay on shook in quick bursts. He simply lay there, breathing raggedly.

Something pulled him up by the hoofs. It was Brisk. He said… something, then grabbed Snip by the collar and led him away.

Snip's senses slowly came back to him as they galloped, What in Tartarus is happening? Are we being attacked? How are we being attacked? This place is supposed to be safe!

As his hearing returned to him, he noticed the sirens were blaring. They were definitely under attack.

The camp was lighting up rapidly, both by mechanical and magical means. He could see in front of him now, finally.

He could also see the destruction.

Whole buildings lay in ruins from the artillery fire. Tents, chapels, hangars, even the large administrative building had been hit in places. He dared to look outside the camp.

Spotlights were being cast on the mountains close to them. What Snip saw made his stomach drop.

Bears poured out of the narrow space between the mountains alongside charging yaks. They were clad in armor and wielding weapons far too large for any pony to handle. In the air, griffons and changelings were already meeting pegasi resistance.

They were here. Those mountains were supposed to be impossible to traverse in the best of conditions, much less under a storm!

I'm going to die, the thought echoed in Snip's head, I'm going to die, I'll never see Canterlot again…

“Snap out of it, lad!” Brisk shook him fiercely, “Get yourself a gun!”

He noticed they had reached one of the armories, “T-that'll just make me a target…”

“You're already a target! Defend yourself!”

Just then, there was a thud next to them. Snip turned to see a pegasus, her jacket covered in blood. He went pale.

“We… she needs a-”

“She's gone, come on!”

They were already dishing out weapons in the armories, and Snip took his. It didn't sit right in his hooves. It just didn't.

He looked back to the mountains as they exited, using the sturdy armory as cover. More enemies kept pouring out and even as more ponies came to meet them, they weren't slowing down.

Then the counter fire came. Equestrian artillery shells pelted the ground, blowing many creatures to smithereens. Then they fired higher, hitting the mountaintops. Snip looked on in horror and relief as the power of the blasts caused the beginning of a rockslide.

If enough of those fall, they could block their entrance, he thought.

Then something began peering out of the mountainside. It began with one gigantic hand, then two, then four, then eight. Soon, an enormous beast emerged, using its body and too many arms to stop the worst of the rockslide. It was all Snip could do to look on in abject terror.

“Hey, you!” Snip fumbled the rifle in his hands, but relaxed somewhat when he saw a pony officer, “With me, both of you! We need to get to-”

His sentence was cut short as Brisk unloaded half his magazine into the officer. He fell limp on the ground. Snip screamed, “What are you doing?!”

Then the officer's body changed, morphing into that of a changeling.

“Sergeant Featherweight didn't have a horn. If that changeling had been more careful, we'd be dead.”

Snip barely had time to process what had just happened before they were galloping again. “Where are we going?”

“We're getting you out of here, Snip. We'll get you to your uncle and say you're injured. He must have some helicopter he's getting ready to take already.”

A stray bullet flew past Snip, making him jump, “What about you?”

Brisk didn't answer.

Soon they were in the administrative building and Snip was glad to be further away from the fighting. Though he knew by the crumbling walls that he wasn't entirely safe there either.

“Woah there.” said an armed pony guarding the entrance, “You could be changelings, I can't let you in.”

“Would a changeling know you still sleep with a stuffed bufrogen, Corporal?” Brisk bit back.

The pony looked to the side, “Shit, Brisk. Just get in.”

Inside the building wasn't much better, but at least they weren't being shot at for the time being. Ponies were yelling, packing up and running from place to place. Snip spotted a secretary hiding under her desk, eyes staring into nothing. It was chaos.

This time it was Snip leading, since only he knew where his uncle's office was. They took the stairs and he was suddenly grateful for all the exercise he'd been forced to do. At the fourth floor, Brisk grabbed Snip by the collar and pulled him back.

“What was that f-”

A hail of gunshot shattered the windows, tearing through several ponies that had been standing next to them. Snip screamed briefly, before Brisk pulled him down to hide.

A group of armored griffons flew inside from the broken windows. They spread out, shooting any pony still moving. Brisk signaled him to stay down and wait.

They waited for a few agonizing moments, until Snip heard a clink. Smoke filled the room, followed by the sound of gunfire. Looking up, Snip could just barely make out the armed pegasi flying in through the windows.

They ran up the stairs while the griffons were distracted, all the way to the top floor.

He was half expecting to find everyone dead on the ground, but what he saw instead was half a dozen armed ponies, taking cover on either side of his uncle's office door. There were two wounded on the floor, receiving rudimentary medical assistance.

Before he could even ask what was going on, one stallion noticed him. He did a double take, “What? You're- But you're in there!”

“I'm what?”

“You're- Shit!”

A grenade bounced out of the room. Snip's training came back to him at that moment and he ducked for cover beside Brisk. The blast came soon after, and they somehow remained unharmed.

The same could not be said for the ponies near the door. His stomach turned when he saw what was left of them. It took all his strength to keep standing upright.

He peered inside the half open door.

It was him inside. Him. He was reading a piece of paper, pistol in hoof.

“A changeling. Careful, lad. Keep your weapon pointed.”

He did just that. The changeling paid them no mind as they approached, even as they entered the room with their rifles held ready.

Then Snip saw his uncle. He had a single bullet hole in his head, obscured by his bright red mane. Snip had never much liked him, but they were still family. He'd always joined them for dinner during Hearth's Warming Eve. Seeing his uncle like that, on top of all the death he had just witnessed, made something snap inside him. Tears started flowing down his face.

“Sorry you had to see that.” said Dawn.

Dawn?

Indeed, when he looked back to the changeling, it had changed. Dawn was sitting there in their place.

“I really hate to do this, pipsqueak. Next time, don't be related to imperial high command.”

“Who the fuck are you?” He snapped at her, “Was Dawn not even real? Or did you kill her too?”

The changeling didn't even look up at him as she shuffled through the papers in his uncle's drawers, “She's what you'd call an original character.”

Then she dropped the form altogether. Her true form underneath was that of a changeling drone, with large, pink eyes. When she spoke again, her voice and accent were completely different, “Don't take it personally, friend. I quite enjoyed hanging out. For what it's worth, I wish we could've played pretend a little bit longer. Sorry, kid.”

Played pretend? His hooves shook as he pointed his rifle at her, “You- you-”

Brisk gently set a hoof on his rifle, pushing it down, “You want to play pretend? Help me get him to evac.”

“Hm?”

“We needed Firecracker to get Snip evacuated. If you're so sorry, take his place and give the order to get him out of here.”

Snip felt sick to his stomach. Letting her masquerade as his uncle while he played along? Unthinkable.

But he didn't want to die.

The changeling laughed at that, “Well, I guess I am done here. And you kind of have me at gunpoint. Come on, nephew, let's get you out of here.”

Snip stared daggers at her.

“Right, sorry.”

She waved them over to the window, then levitated them down with her magic, one by one. When she came down herself, she was wearing Firecracker's appearance. Snip averted his eyes as they made their way to the helipad. It all felt so wrong.

There were indeed evacuations going on, which killed any hope of Snip's that they could hold off the enemy. He watched as one helicopter full of officers took off into the night sky.

Gunfire pelted it's side immediately. Snip traced its source back to a yak. It had a fucking turret on its back, the kind that you see on top of military vehicles. He could just barely make out a penguin on top, aiming and firing the gun.

Half the ponies on that chopper must have died before they could bring the yak down. Snip's heart threatened to pop out of his chest and make a run for it, but he held it in just long enough to get to the helipad. There lay an armored chopper, at least half full.

“General!” one of the ponies saluted who he thought was his superior.

“Get these boys out of here. I'm staying.”

“But sir-”

“That's my nephew right there, private! You get him and his friend out of here safe or I'll come back from Tartarus and strangle you in your sleep! Dismissed!”

She even talks like him, Snip thought, It's like she knew him personally.

“Yes sir!” yelled the private, then ushered Snip and Brisk onto the heli.

“Lad, I can't abandon them-”

“Well I'm not abandoning you! I don't care if you want to go get yourself killed, you deserve to live as much as I do!” Snip took his hoof and pulled him up onto the vehicle, “I wish we could get everyone on this thing, but we'll have to make do.”

Brisk looked out at the carnage as the helicopter took off, then squeezed his eyes shut. He sat down next to Snip and the other petty officers that had been granted the privilege to live another day.

Snip had not entirely processed what had just happened to him. He didn't think about what might be happening to Stacked, or how he'd left all his belongings in his tent. He just focused on the fact that he was still breathing.

Then the helicopter leaned sharply to the side, causing one officer to nearly fall out of his seat. Snip looked to see one large armored paw clinging to the side of the chopper. Immediately the gunner aimed the minigun down but then another paw grabbed at it and simply… yanked it out.

When the beast rose to meet them face to face, Snip saw an enormous creatures, clad in black, electrified armor. It had black, graying fur and sported an axe the length of two ponies on its back.

It roared and every rifle and pistol in that helicopter unloaded on it. The majority of the bullets simply bounced off of its armor, with a few striking true but doing virtually no damage.

The bear couldn't reach for its axe in that limited space, but it hardly needed to. It swung one paw and turned an officer into a red stain on the wall of the helicopter. Then it opened its jaws and bit one pony's head clean off. Blood sprayed everywhere. Snip retched.

Then as the bear was crushing one pony under it's paw, Brisk spread out his wing and rushed towards it. He went for the neck, but the bear lunged in response.

For a brief moment, it was as if Brisk had both his wings again. He darted around behind the bear, wrapping both his front hooves around its neck and putting it in a chokehold. It tried to reach for him, but he was too nimble. Then with one great flap of his wing and a kick to the wall, he sent them both barreling to the ground.

“No!” Snip scrambled to the side of the plane, ignoring the blood and guts that covered it. Brisk fell some fifty feet, landing with the armored bear on top of him.

“Get down!” He screamed at the pilot, “We've got a stallion overboard!”

“He's good as dead, kid. We're getting outta here, you heard the General.”

Snip cursed at the pilot. He cursed at the bear. He cursed at himself. Eventually, as they got further and further away from the battle, he fell to his seat and wept.

Torben opened his eyes. His back flared with pain, as did his body where the bullets had struck him. But he was alive. Alive to fight another day.

He rose, taking notice of the pony that had brought him down. He had been crushed terribly by the weight of his panserbjørn armor. His ribcage was crushed, bones stuck out from his skin, yet he still lived. Momentarily.

He did not know this pony, this stallion, but Torben recognized a great warrior when he saw one. He had outflanked him, taken him down with just one wing! Torben laughed, what a surprise! To find someone so capable among that herd of cowards.

The pony looked at him with one still-working eye and Torben knew what he had to do. He raised his axe high and brought it down on the pony's head, cleaving it in half. It was the least he could do for a fellow warrior.

The battle raged on around him and he was eager to rejoin it. He saw that the surviving equestrian tanks were rolling out, so he unholstered the anti-tank cannon from the back of his armor.

Torben laughed as he charged back into the fray. He may have grown old and gray with time, but in that moment he was eternally young.

“You know, if every pony with shell shock had been honorably discharged back in the Great War, this country would be called Changelingia.”

Snip leaned back on his chair, he didn't say anything.

The stallion opposite to him sighed, “You're lucky for your family, Mr Shears. I'll approve your discharge. And… I'm sorry for your loss. General Firecracker was a good man.”

Snip managed a weak, “Yeah… thank you.”

He nodded along as the bureaucrat went on about Snip’s duty to the Empress and how he should continue the good fight back home. Snip didn't lend him his attention.

Then he was dismissed. He left the office and went back out into the fresh air. The relief was immeasurable and yet… it didn't lift his spirits. He'd be back in Canterlot soon, no doubt, but how many ponies would have to stay in that frigid North and die in a war for Daybreaker's satisfaction?

There was a statue of her, outside the office building. Of course there was, you couldn't go out for tea without knocking over a marble statue of her likeness. He frowned at it.

He still remembered seeing her speech on television, The Northern Confederation is a dagger, ready for the Republican Pact to stab into our backs whenever they smell the opportunity. I will not allow their continued existence on this continent! My little ponies, we will drive republicanism out of Equus once and for all!

His mother had bought it all up and he'd soon found himself in a recruitment office. What a load of horseapples, all of it. Daybreaker couldn't stand the idea of there being a state in Equus that did not bow to her, so she'd sent her ‘little ponies’ to die just to stroke her ego.

Snip would've spat at that statue if doing so wouldn't land him on death row. Was that what Brisk had died for? What Snip was now suffering night terrors for? To Tartarus with that, and with Daybreaker!

All Snip could do for Brisk now was to live his life, and live it well. Perhaps when he gathered the courage to once again pick up the shears, his next topiary would depict a proud, one-winged eagle.

Author's Note

Thanks for reading!

P.S. Yeah I made Sorythian changelings Danish, what are you gonna do about it?