Venison

The Everfree Forest is not kind to ponies. Cioccolato doesn't understand why his mother chose to come here, but he does understand that she will never leave. Cioccolato looks much like his mother, both chocolate brown Earth ponies with short burnt orange manes. Cioccolato, however, happens to still have a throat.

Cioccolato's mother stares up, her horrified countenance frozen onto her lifeless body as a manticore carefully digs at her neck for meat, still violently enough to toss splotches of the blood that already trickles and pools from the recently created gap in the body of Cioccolato's mother.

Cioccolato cannot do much, hidden away in a thicket by the riverside, waiting for the manticore. For it to leave, full and disinterested; for it to find him, make him and his mother alike again; it does not matter. For seconds, minutes, perhaps an hour as the day slowly burns away, he waits, shallow breaths fluttering the leaves around him. Finally, the manticore stops, turns his way, and walks past him. It dips its blood soaked claws in the current, now content with its meal. He can see its stinger, hanging just above him, the tip glistening as evening's last patches of sun break past the treetops.

A thorn cuts into Cioccolato's shoulder, and he yelps. The leonine ears of the manticore flick, and with a grumble, its stinger flies towards Cioccolato. It stops, the tail a hoof's length from his throat. Cioccolato stares into the stinger, which glistens with venom. Uncertain why it hasn't been drained into his veins, he finally sees the branchlike barrier keeping the manticore from burying its venom into him. These tough, brown antlers stem from a young, light orange deer, who struggles to keep his head up against the force of the manticore.

"Go on now, or were you hoping to get stung to death?" shouts the fawn, his head shaking as the manticore presses down harder, hoping to crush rather than stab. Cioccolato warily steps backwards. "That's a poor run," mutters the fawn, "I said hurry, hurry away!"

Cioccolato glances downwards, idly scraping the ground as he admits, "I don't have any place to go." The fawn snorts, and sniffs the air, looking towards the body of Cioccolato's mother. Finally, he shakes his head.

"Just run out, thataway!" The fawn brings up a hoof, waving behind Cioccolato. Cioccolato takes a step back, uncertain, then dashes off. The manticore gives up with its stinger, and turns over, roaring at the fawn, who leaps above it as it swipes where he was. The fawn leaps off its head as it tries to figure out how there was nothing torn apart in its swipe. As a cloven hoof stamps into its eye, the manticore roars again, and dashes after him. Leaping against trees, the fawn quickly loses his attacker, and in a few minutes, catches up to Cioccolato.

"You're awfully deep in the Everfree Forest," the fawn remarks, still rushing alongside Cioccolato, and wordlessly directing him, "Has nopony told you that it's no place for your kind?"

"My auntie, she's awfully sick. My mum came looking for a… remiddy," Cioccolato struggles to pronounce the last word. "I snuck out after her. Why are we going away from my mum?"

The fawn doesn't match his gaze. "I'm sorry, kid, but… she's gone."

"Oh, right. Gone before Auntie…"

"Hey, try not to think about it. What's your name, colt?"

"Cioccolato."

"Well, then, Ciocco, I am Prince Bramble." The royal fawn gives Cioccolato a light grin as the duo continues in their dash.

"N- I'm not Ciocco, I'm Cioccolato!" protests Cioccolato.

"Hmm, I'm afraid that's a light bit too much for me to remember of a pony who won't stay long. Look, my home is just ahead, my father, King Aspen will find somepony outside the forest to take care of you." Bramble nods to the nearing trees, no longer wild, but hollowed out for inhabitation. "This is Thicket, my home." They pass through a great, darkened canopy of towering, intertwining trees, and finally slow to a trot.

A great wall of both lumber and complete trees stretches out past Ciocco's vision. An ornate gate stands in front and far above him, hinged to perfectly grown trunks. "Your Highness! Why do you bring a pony?" shouts a guard, far above in the treetops.

"He's but a colt," pleads Bramble, "He doesn't have anywhere to go. Let me discuss with my father how to handle him."

The guard is silent, and Ciocco drags a hoof about the ground, waiting, worrying. Finally, the gates creak open. Bramble nods for Ciocco to follow, and he leads deeper into the forest city. Bramble stops at a redwood, a curving ramp built up its side. He trots up, circling upwards five times before resting hooves on a platform connecting the nearest trees.

Atop the platform lies a palace, sided in stained glass panels. Two armored guards stand at either side of the entrance. One of them grunts when they see Ciocco, but keeps silent as Bramble leads him inside. Front and center, another tree pokes through the building, lamps hanging off the branches to illuminate the hollowed trunk, lined with gold, carrying a throne. A white deer- with watchful, olive eyes surrounded in patches of tan- fur sits upon the throne, matching the red seat with a jewel heart of ruby embedded on a gold collar.

"You bring me a pony child," notes the king.

"His mother is dead," Recalls Bramble, Ciocco lightly wincing at the reminder, "Killed by a manticore."

"Then why not send him off to Ponyville?"

"It just isn't right."

"Use more dignified speech when talking to me, boy!" shouts the king, eyes narrowing. "Your blood necessitates, not excuses, manners."

Bramble bows his head. "Understood, King Aspen," he mumbles. King Aspen stays quiet, and Bramble sweats nervously.

Finally, Aspen lowers his head. "You do not… intend to start your harem at this young an age, correct?" asks Aspen warily.

Bramble is instantly taken aback. "With him? His mother just died, that would be…"

"Bramble the First met my mother in rather a similar way," reminisces Aspen. "And what of his father?" Both royal deer look at Ciocco.

"Your mother wasn't the first deer- sorry, pony you lost, was she?" asks Bramble. Ciocco shakes his head, then whispers,

"No sir… My pa drowned when I was a foal."

Aspen sighs, then admits, "I shall deliver a message to the pony royals, but permit him here until Canterlot advises me."

Bramble bows, saying as his forelegs dip, "Thank you, father." Ciocco uncertainly follows suit, legs shaking.

"Thank you, your Majesty," whispers Ciocco, before following as Bramble paces to a side door, and out to a balcony. He can see deer trotting underneath in the lamplit streets, but a hooftap on the floor drags his attention back to Bramble.

"You're looking the wrong way," claims Bramble, nodding upwards. Above them, a clear night sky is splashed in clustered stars. "This is the only city you can still see the stars the right way. If you want, we can stay out here for the night." Bramble looks to Ciocco, who can tell he's asking for his own sake. With a soft smile, Ciocco nods in agreement. Bramble excitedly dashes inside through yet another door.

Ciocco looks back at the busy deer below, thinking, 'The manticore, it… enjoyed what it did to my mum. Is the taste of pony truly that good?' He notices a buck below, heavy muscular shoulders driving many ideas into Ciocco's mind. 'No ponies here, but why could a deer not be as rich?' His ear catches the sounds of footsteps, and he turns around to see Bramble returning, dragging two sleeping bags.

"If Birch Sap asks, I've always had these," says Bramble, dropping the bags.

Ciocco tilts his head. "Who's Birch Sap?" he questions.

"Not the owner of these sleeping bags," Bramble claims. He unfurls the bags, then notes, "She's that grumpy guard we saw out front."

"Princes have sleeping bags?" questions Ciocco. Bramble winces, but Ciocco slides into one anyways.

"So you saw straight through me?" laments Bramble. Ciocco stares, emotionless. Bramble barely meets his gaze before he giggles, soon breaking into a laugh. "It was a gift, I may not be the most picturesque prince, but I'm not some mini tyrant." Bramble sighs as Ciocco silently rolls about in the bag, and Bramble crawls into one himself.

As he looks up at the blots of nebulae, Cioccolato knows he should be feeling some manner of agony or loss, yet he can only come back to the instinctive indulgences of the manticore. He knows he should not, bringing insult and pain is one of the first things his mother taught, yet already, like a drug, it fills his mind.