THOUSAND-YEAR REIGN

Far below, neath rock and soil in Tartarus’ bowels untread, a body stirred. Twitching, erroneous movement as a glowing clutch wobbled after centuries of stillness, shaking the sedimentary dirt and dust away.

Her very first thought was to escape. To tear, to break free. It was a rushing, pounding urge that beat itself through every synapse of her awakening mind, begging to be obeyed. Claws that she wasn’t fully aware of instinctually began ripping at the thick membrane that surrounded her body, syrupy amniotic fluid bubbling with the sudden movement.

Bursting from her imprisonment, her lungs hacked for their first breath as she crawled forward, chitinous form shiny and slick, gelatinous residue clinging. She scrambled until her vision cleared, her shivering stilling as gasping mouthfuls of air steadied the initial panic of sudden consciousness.

“W-where … am I-” Words she did not yet understand spilled from a fanged maw as she lifted her head, slowly blinking as fresh eyes adjusted to the low light of the cavern she found herself in.

Hive, answered the voiceless knowledge that dwelled within her mind. She knew that word. This was her hive. Her hive, her home.

Yet, it was utterly empty. Where the buzzing of wings and scuttling of drones should have resounded, only a deathly silence replaced. Where broods of eggs should be thriving with churning young, only her recently escaped nucleus now lay scattered as viscera across the ground.

The newly hatched changeling gazed around at her surroundings, confusion welling as an unsettling weight within her chest. “Hello?” She called out again in the ponish tongue, repeating the query in a changeling’s chitter, but no response save an echo mirroring her words.

With uncertainty she stood upon unsteady legs, thinking she would topple at any moment, but what she didn’t expect was how strong her limbs would feel once they were put to use. Thick, sinewy muscle strained beneath her carapace, every tentative step gaining confidence from a stumble into a full-length stride.

Using her newfound ambulation, she began exploring her subterranean home in search of any sign of life, bug or not. Around every corner, only emptiness greeted her, minutes stretching to what felt like hours, incremental spans that lost their meaning down in those depths.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Time passed, and the dread settled, a steady, building flow.

Once she could no longer stand such a yawning darkness with only her as its sole resident, she began sprinting through the underground system, an act of desperation to escape that creeping loneliness. She knew not where she was heading, only that it had to be away from here, anywhere but this entombing place.

Empty remnants of dried bodies cracked beneath her fleeing trample, a one-woman stampede over corpses long undisturbed, bearing a similarity to her own form.

As she ran, pace by pace, the previous sense of anxiety was replaced with a budding elation, lost to the rush of blurring vision and chestfuls of heavy breaths. Endorphins pumping, through winding tunnels she dashed until a glistening light at the end of one drew her full attention.

With piqued curiosity she slowed her speed, nearing the opening of a wide cave mouth, stepping out of it into a desert’s chilling night air.

The sand was softer than the hard stone she had been running on, almost uncomfortably so, finding she didn’t enjoy how it felt beneath her, but that annoyance soon became an afterthought.

That teasing, drawing light had revealed itself to be a full moon above, so bright and silvery it might as well have been a gentler sun, accompanied by a cadre of countless glittering stars. It stole her breath as she peered upwards at its splendor, so mesmerized in staring that she once again lost all sense of passage.

It was in that moment she knew, in her heart and mind, that she had fallen in love with the moon, and all the beauty the nocturnal canopy offered.

However, such a grand sight could not sate a steadily growing hunger that she was previously oblivious to during her search, becoming aware of it as her insides growled ravenously, interrupting her trance. There was a physical hunger alongside a deeper, gnawing one that felt tied to something else, something she couldn’t quite parse yet.

Looking about, her surroundings seemed bleakly devoid of something proper to eat. Sparse, dry foliage, sun-baked from the day prior, prickly cacti that would be too much of a hassle to work through, and rocky structures of rising mountains over the horizon.

Not particularly sure of what to do, she began wandering in an aimless fashion, only following the whims of her desires until her hooves splashed through something wet and cold. Peering down, she had walked past the edge of a watering hole, a small oasis in this barren landscape.

Kneeling, she peered at her reflection in the water, illuminated by starlight.

Changeling. This is what her inner voice told her as she examined herself. A glossy, plated carapace of black coated a twofold insectile-equine figure, with a semi-transparent ‘mane’ of pale yellow spilling down her face and neck in a somewhat veiling shape.

She reached up with pointed digits to tentatively trace the curved, spiked horn that grew from the middle of her forehead, noting its sharpness. Those fingers slowly fell to her face, resting around her green eyes, blinking in succession the multiple smaller ones sitting around the larger two.

Standing, she twirled so that her back was reflected in the pool, a beetle shell of iridescent sheen protecting paper thin, see-through wings. Curling underneath that was a thick, segmented tail with a multitude of smaller legs wriggling in reaction to her will, reminiscent of a centipede’s body.

Another growl paused her self-examination, this time with more intent, more purpose, pointing her in a certain direction. There was something that smelled, and felt, delicious, only a short trek away.

Resting at the bottom of a hill sat a small community of bunched-together wooden structures, aglow with lights and distant figures. It was there that something linked her second hunger, telling her that what she craved was present in that town.

So, she began cautiously trawling towards it. Hardly into her first hour of being alive and awake, already following a drive that told her to feed.

___

Little Rock, The Badlands, Population: 101 102

The festivities were rambunctiously alive, predicted to carry on long past when any of the humble folk of Little Rock normally tucked themselves into bed. The local barkeep had just given birth that past week, such celebrations of a new occupant too good to pass up now that she was up and back on her hooves.

Plus, it was an excuse to drink themselves silly on cider.

The town square had been converted into the main attraction of the party, strings of lights hung in an interconnecting fashion between the buildings, granting it a homely glow as resident bison and ponies intermingled.

In the center overseeing them all sat a large, pickaxe-mottled boulder inscribed with a rusted metal plaque, reading: ‘Little Rock, Estd. We forgot, but stayed anyway’.

Underneath the shade of this protective stone, seated in a rocking chair nursing her newborn filly, was the lady of the hour, Golden Rush. She was a mare of comely shape and matronly age, her fur a crimson apple red, while her mane was a waxen gold that gave her such namesake.

An older stallion ambled over from the crowd to lean beside her, a gold star pinned to his chest catching the light as he did so. Golden nodded at him with a gentle smile. “Evening, Sheriff. Hope the folks aren’t getting too rowdy.”

“No one’s picked a fight or shot each other yet, so things are looking mighty fine.” He replied, taking off his hat to be polite in the presence of a lady, revealing a graying mess of hair. “How’s the kid? He healthy?”

“Doctor says he’ll be fine, long as he keeps taking his medicine. Caught some kinda infection.” She cradled the little colt closer, ensuring the blanket he was swaddled in was as comfortably tight as possible.

The Sheriff tilted his head. “Got enough of it?”

“We do, I promise.”

“The pa ‘round?”

“Nope. Left town a while back.”

“Sunovabitch.” He spat in disgust. “What about yerself, miss? How are you holding up?”

Golden laughed in a soft, misdirecting manner, the bags under her eyes apparent in that moment. “Tired as all get out. Haven’t slept cause this lil’ bugger right here keeps me up with his crying. Got a headache that even Celestia couldn’t cure.”

The tilt of his head motioned to a nearby barn, slightly broken away from the rest of the buildings. “Storage over there could give y’all a little relief. Ah can distract anyone else lookin’ fer ya while you take yer breather.”

“Ah’d appreciate that. Ah really would.” She stood and stretched until an audible pop in her back sounded before shuffling her way to the barn, a repose from the cacophony of the surrounding crowd. Already her temples stopped pounding as hard, and a tension she didn’t realize that she had been holding was slowly releasing.

Sighing in relief, she sat down on a bale of hay, smiling tiredly down at her son, who thankfully was still asleep. “Ah love ya like a flower loves the sun, but ya gotta lemme rest. Can’t run the bar and take care of you all at the same time.”

Unbeknownst to Golden, a crouching figure had crawled from the outskirts of town into the barn prior to her arrival, forcing her way past a tacked tarp of cloth that was being used to cover a hole in the side, now draped over her as a makeshift cloak.

She was confused and intrigued by both the ongoing party as well as the woman who had just entered, trying to observe and move silently, but the creak of floorboards in the old barn gave away her position.

The mother turned to look in the direction of the sound, exclaiming, “Oh-!” at the sight of the changeling.

“Ah didn’t see you there, hon.” She chuckled. “Trying to get away from the folk out there as well? Don’t blame you at all.”

Her mouth moved in a way that felt uncomfortable, quietly copying the words she heard, forming them over into sentences in her head. “Uh, um … yes. Away from them.” This was partially true, she had no desire to approach such a large crowd, despite the hunger telling her they held what she craved. “There is a lot of them. And they are loud. I was merely observing from afar.”

“Don’t recognize ya. You part of that caravan that rolled in earlier today?” Golden continued, carrying on the conversation in a much more lax manner now that she was aware of her guest.

“… Yyyyyessss?”

“We get plenty of travelers coming through here all the time, considering we’re sitting on a major route up to Dodge City n’ Appleloosa. Name’s Golden Rush, an’ yerself?”

Name. Name. Name. Frozen in fear, she stuttered a spout of nonsense filler, flowing forth until finally her lips managed to conjure a word.

Husk.

“Husk.” She finally said coherently.

“Like tha thing that grows ‘round corn?”

“Yes. Whatever corn is.”

She lightly smiled. “Nice ta meet you, Husk. Hope you don’t mind the company, and chatting with an old mare. I’m not quite ready yet to head back out.”

“I don’t … mind at all. This is my first conversation in a long, long time.”

She blinked in confusion at her own words. Why did I say that? Thought Husk. This was most definitely her very first conversation.

Golden patted the bale beside her, an offer for Husk to join. Social cues were unexplored territory, but she pressed on. Tentatively did she approach, noting how much smaller the pony was compared to her, Husk standing at least a full head and shoulders taller. There was an aura about this woman that was so tantalizing she could hardly keep from drooling, and whatever she was holding exuded that aura twofold.

Golden whistled, “Sheesh, they grow ‘em big where you’re from?”

“No? Yes. I think so.” Husk replied, sitting down beside her, clutching the wrap around her body tighter, hoping most of her visage went unseen. There was another internal command to keep herself hidden, or something bad would happen. “Or not. I’m unsure of the average size of the rest of my kin.”

“You don’t know yer family?”

“No. I have not met them.”

“Ah darn, you an orphan? Wait, shit, is that rude to ask? Don’t answer if you don’t wanna.”

Orphan. Alone. Why did she know that? It stung her in a way that she did not wish to experience again, a sliver of pain that nestled into her torso. “Yes. I am.”

Golden’s expression softened into empathy. “Ah’m sorry. Sure you don’t want me asking about your whole sob story.” She jolted at her own inconsiderate manners, backpedaling as fast as she could. “Not that a sob story is a bad thing, mind you.”

She groaned, rubbing a hand down her face. “Ah’ll just shut up now.”

“It is alright, Golden Rush. I’m sure you did not mean it.” Husk thought that she was terrible at this ‘conversing’, but Golden hadn’t been deterred to the point of leaving just yet.

“What. Do you have there?” Asked with a pointing claw at the bundle held in Golden’s arms, an attempt to change the topic away from what she determined to be awkward.

“Oh, this is the cause for all the celebration outside!” Pulling some of the bundle aside, it revealed a tinier horse cozily tucked within.

“Speaking of, the lil’ devil’s waking up now,” Golden waggled her fingers in front of the face of the smaller pony, who had more of a subdued shade of orange-brown in contrast to his mother. “Hey there, Rocky Rush, meet Husk.” She titled her son in the direction of Husk, to which the smaller colt’s sleepy eyes stared up with slow blinks.

“Cute, ain’t he? Looks more like his pa, but that’s fine. Ah’m the one raisin’ him anyway.”

“Why is his name Rocky?”

“On account of the big rock sittin’ outside. Whole reason the place is called ‘Little Rock’.”

“But it is not a small rock. It is, in fact, quite large.”

Golden chuckled. “It’s the rocks that came off of the bigger one. My granpappy was one of the founders. Little Rock, the, uh, big one, that’s its name, had some veins of ore and minerals in ‘im, so, they found the hillside it rolled down from, and built a mine.”

“It dried up some decades ago, but we all stuck around.” She stretched, yawning slightly. “Anyways, enough about that-”

Husk was hardly listening, losing interest halfway through the explanation. This little creature was alight with what Husk desired. Love, happiness, radiating so much of it she could gorge herself full and have plenty left over for later.

A shudder of painful pangs passed through her, but before she could feast, Golden Rush stood up, offering a hand in Husk’s direction. “You have anywhere to stay? Think your travelin’ companions haven’t set up camp yet, too busy with the party.”

The changeling looked up in confusion, briefly delayed from feeding by the polite gesture. “N-no …?”

“Follow me, there’s a spare room above the bar that I rent out. You can have it for tonight, free of charge.”

“… Why?”

“Cause, you gave a tired woman the time of day to talk to her. Love the folks ‘round here, but they can be duller than an old door nail at times. Speakin’ with strangers and learning ‘bout them is the whole reason Ah run the bar in the first place.”

Without prompt, her offered hand reached down and lifted Husk up gently, digits grazing away at her chitin beneath the veil that covered her, but no reaction from Golden. Perhaps she didn’t notice.

At first, her reaction was to recoil, but it became overridden by a powerful warmth that immediately filled the empty pit that sat inside. As Husk followed behind Golden, pulled along through the barn, It didn’t just fill it, it felt as if it were replacing it, the touch of this mare and her beaming smile emitting a sensation that almost made her giddy.

Into the outer night she was lead, across the square and past dozens of celebrants to another building, this one visibly older than the rest. Husk barely noticed anyone else, despite the oozing field of delectable happiness from them.

A rickety sign, reading ‘The Drunk’n Dig’ sat bolted above the entrance, a peeling depiction of a painted pony in a miner’s hat holding up a mug greeting whoever gazed upon the saloon.

They entered the tavern, strangely quiet compared to the jubilee outside, muffled by boarded walls.

Bulbs hanging from the ceiling buzzed faintly, casting a faint incandescence over the first floor of the bar. Overturned chairs sat on their respective table’s tops, an aging piano sitting in the corner of the room, lined with a gray layer of dust, visible even in the dim lighting.

“The Dig’s seen better times, but it’s the only place for miles to wet your whistle, so I don’t hear many complaints.”

“Who’s yer pal, Goldie?” A gruff, deeper voice asked from behind, somepony having slid right up without either noticing.

“Sheriff! Oh gosh, you scared me.” Golden jumped, turning to find him standing behind them.

She lightly waved, nodding towards him. “Husk, this is the local lawman of our humble hamlet, Sharp Shooter. Sharp, this is my new friend, Husk. She’s part of that caravan from earlier today.”

“Pleasure.” Sharp Shooter tipped his hat in acknowledgment.

Husk briefly glanced up and down, gauging him. His fur was a dirty beige, frame hidden by a large, colorful poncho that skewed to the right portion of his body. The left side of him was uncovered, revealing a holstered firearm at his hip.

Beneath the brim of his wide hat, milky-white eyes failed to meet her own, but the manner in which he tilted his ear in her direction told her the blind pony was aware of where she stood.

“The … same to you. Pleasure.”

“You two get acquainted, I’m going to head upstairs and make sure your room fer the night isn’t too much of a mess, Husk.” The motherly mare bid them farewell as she trotted up the steps, leaving them alone in an awkward silence.

Sharp sidled over to the bar counter, seating himself at a stool. “She know what you are?”

Husk braced herself from the question, going rigid. She questioned her own reaction, why was she so frightened of her nature being revealed? “Err … no? I don’t think so. But why do you? I mean. How. How do you know?”

“Can’t fool this nose of mine. You don’t smell like anyfolk ‘round here, and Ah know Ah didn’t meet you when that caravan pulled up. You’re somethin’ more… slimy than a pony. Like a maggot.”

Feeling vaguely insulted, she watched as he reached across the counter to grab a bottle from the back shelf, rummaging until he managed to procure a glass as well. Pouring himself a drink, Sharp added, “Surprised you haven’t tried to become someone else yet.”

“… I can do that?” She blinked, wondering why that wasn’t part of the genetic information bred into her.

“Not very bright for a changeling, are yah? Kinda big ta be a drone, though. A guard?”

Husk sat herself down a few seats away from him, still tense, while Sharp’s body language was utterly lax. “Considering you haven’t attacked Golden, or anyone else fer that matter, Ah’m inclined ta let you stay.”

“Oh. Uh, thank you.”

“No need for ‘ppreciation. I want you gone come morning.” Sharp made sure his threat came across clearly before taking a long drain of his spirit, coughing mildly from the alcohol’s burn afterwards. “Golden gave ya the room for tonight, that’s all you get.”

He sniffed, snout scrunching. “You reek of trouble.”

She squinted as she stared at him. There was this buzzing emanating off him, an invisible stimulation that prickled just underneath her shell, making her feel aggravated and itchy.

Unease. Untrusting. Fear. Husk could physically feel these emotions from the sheriff, and they revolted her to the point of queasiness.

Before she could retort, the creak of floorboards interrupted as Golden appeared over the stair’s railing. “Alright! Room’s all ready!”

Faster than she wanted to, Husk shot up to her hooves, clearly jumpy. “Ah. Good. I believe I’ll be retiring for the evening. To sleep. Farewell, Shooting Sharps,” she waved at him stiffly as she made her way to and up the steps, Golden behind her.

The second floor was even darker save for candlelight, lit wicks resting within lanterns hanging on the wall. “Wiring’s too old to mess with, so no electricity up here.” The barkeep motioned at the lights. “Gotta go old fashioned.”

“Mhm,” she responded with an absent-minded grunt.

“Hope the sheriff didn’t rattle you too much,” Golden used her free hand to guide Husk towards the bedroom at the end of the hall. “He’s just … very protective of Little Rock. Doesn’t like outsiders.”

“I can tell.” Husk had to crouch to not bonk her head against the door frame (then continue crouching so her horn didn’t scrape the ceiling), stepping into the room. It was tiny, clearly prior storage that had furnishings shoved inside.

“Sorry it’s a lil’ too small for you, but we don’t get folk your size normally. Heck, even the bison are usually wider, not taller.”

“Ah’ll be downstairs if you need anything, just gimme a call.”

“Sure. Alright.” Husk suddenly felt very tired, a wave of fatigue washing over her as the adrenaline of being found out by the sheriff wore off. She was experiencing a lot of firsts in the early hours of her life that she did not wish to again.

The mare cast a sympathetic glance over her. “Sleep in late as you need. I’ll keep the breakfast Ah cook fer early patrons warmed.”

“You’re being … awfully kind to me.” Husk commented. She could see this gentleness coming off of Golden in slow, rolling waves; a stark contrast to the spikes of animosity from Sharp.

“Everypony deserves some kindness, even strangers. ‘Sides, we’re not even strangers anymore, we’re friends.”

“Friends?” She mimed the word, feeling it roll off her tongue strangely.

“We make ‘em fast around here! When you live in a desert, ‘specially one as dangerous as this, you gotta rely on others, and in turn they rely on you too.”

“…”

Golden yawned, bidding her goodbye by holding up her son’s tiny hand and limply waving it at her. “G’night, Husk. Rocky says night too. See you on the morrow.”

“Good … goodnight.”

The door was shut behind her as Golden left, leaving Husk to her lonesome. The pins-and-needles from before numbly sank away as she laid down on the too-small bed, appendages uncomfortably falling off the sides.

She awkwardly curled up as much as she could, pulling her knees tight to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, her tail coiling up into a thick pile beside her. It was inconvenient, but she made do.

Gradually, Husk drifted away into a dreamless slumber, wishing she could stay in Little Rock forever to bathe in the succulent generosity and cheer of this town.

___

Celestia’s morn came as it always did, a resplendent light gradually creeping away the desert’s frigidity, leaving behind a basking heat that would linger as long as the sun remained in the sky.

The early risers set to their tasks, Golden Rush tending to her infant and the layabouts who relied on her for coffee to get them going. Sharp Shooter had to escort some of their farmers through the Badlands out to a trading post, leaving Little Rock technically lawless for a few hours.

This was a calculated maneuver by the village’s newest visitors, waiting until he left before menacingly riding in on a dozen scorpions as large as wagons. Townsfolk skittered and fled as they overturned anything else that happened to get in their way, the riders of these arachnids snickering between another as they came to a halt in the town center.

“What’s all the ruckus out here-” Golden asked, huffing outside, only to freeze before a giant, clawing monster that stared back with beady black eyes.

Its passenger was a gangly fellow, a pony so dirty one couldn’t tell if his fur was brown or if it had just that much grime baked into it. He leaned down from atop his mount, grinning wryly. “Howdy miss, name’s Varmint. Don’t mind my little buddy, Claude, he’s a gentle sorts. Less you get too close while he’s ‘ungry.”

“R-right.” Golden wasn’t looking at him, but staring cautiously at the huge, crushing pincers of the scorpion, the idly swaying stinger that could pierce a torso cleanly.

She held her son tighter to her chest at that thought, berating herself for not leaving him inside his cradle this morning. “What can I do ya for? I’m the l-local barkeep.”

“Well, me ‘n my boys are just riding through, lookin’ fer something. Y’all know that mine jus’ over yonder?”

“Yes, it’s, uh-”

“Closed! Darnedest thing. Found that out ourselves when we tried to get in. The elevator that leads down in deeper just won’t work, locked tight and lookin’ we need a key to get it going. You wouldn’t happen to know anyone in town who would have such a key, now, would ya?”

Varmint motioned over to his comrades with a signaled point, who dismounted from their beasts to enter the tavern. Anyone who had been inside the bar for their early meal was tossed out quite promptly.

“N-no, not really-”

“Hey now, I just realized,” he insisted on not allowing her to get a word in. “I gave you my name, but I didn’t catch yours.”

“… Golden.”

“You got a family name, Miss Golden?”

“Rush. It’s Rush.” Spoken through gritted teeth.

“Rush! Rush, Rush, Rush… sayyyy, you wouldn’t happen to be related to Stone Rush, now wouldya? The explorer who claimed that mine?”

“…”

Varmint leered even closer, his long body almost comically falling off of the creature. “You got that key on ya, Miss Rush? Otherwise, Claude’s gonna get hungry.”

“There’s nothing in those mines. No metal, no gems.” She stood her ground, but was visibly shaking. “Nothing worth hurtin’ others over.”

“I politely disagree,” laughed Varmint, pulling himself back into his saddle, hands gripping the reins tightly. He pulled on them in a certain manner, causing the tail of the scorpion to pull back, prepping a poised strike.

“Well, if’n you won’t hand over the key, I’m sure we can pull it offa yer corpse, or any other here who might happen to have it-”

Varmint’s threat was disrupted this time by a sudden BANG ringing from the bar. Everyone in the street turned to look at the building, multiple more sounds of conflict coming from inside.

It ended with the door being flung open so fast it splintered, a piano with one of Varmint’s companions stuck to it flying through the air, crashing into the dirt in a violent skid, leaving the pony to lay in a heap amidst broken debris.

Husk stepped out, wrapped in her cloak now swaying from a gentle wind that was blowing through. She looked over to Varmint, then motioned at the still body of the pony in the middle of the street. “He tried to stab me. I. Didn’t like that.”

Golden Rush blanched, plainly stating: “… That was a family heirloom.”