Border of Changeling Wasteland, time and date unknown

Stas had a vague concept a of plan, but it wont be easy to fulfill it. First of all, finding where the road is was easier said than done, after all, the dead mare never bothered to write her annotations in Russian or English. Second, what were the chances he would meet someone who will be able to understand him? Sure, English was an option he could use (that Equestrian bit he looted had English text on it), but he was clearly stuck in the middle of what seems to be a medieval-era khalifat* and he had no idea how to even pronounce a single word in Arabic. For fuck sake, the dagger he found was made of tin bronze. And finally, the last problem, how would locals react to him? He must admit, if he saw a fay or a ghoul casually walking in his home town he would probably freaked out and went for his dad's TOZ*.

Still, as he packed his meager belongings, he decided to leave the last two problems for the future Stas, after all, current Stas is yet to meet anyone who was not dead. The tent was packed and secured on his back with a rope. Everything else, including the poorly made clay bowl and a small bag of salt, was divided between his shoulder and saddle bags. The only exceptions were the spare robe and the cauldron filled with burnt porridge.

"I'am pretty sure Saddle Arabians were at least twice as tall as a normal pony..." The sun-bleached cotton robe was made for a smaller, thinner frame, and was way too small for a large changeling stallion like Stas. Looking closely at the robe, he realised that he was at least a head taller than it's previous owner. To say he was stumped by this revelation would be an understatement. He wondered, was this mare that small or it was him who is a giant?

Even so, he could put it to good use. Unsheathing his knife, he cut into the cotton fabric, making himself a makeshift cloak. It did not cover him completely, his knees and hoofs were still visible from underneath. And so, the rest of the robe was cut into smaller strips, which he used to wrap his legs and head. He tried to pick up his club, to make sure his hoof wraps did not impaired his grip and found out they didn't even weaken it. And as he finished working on his improvised outfit, he walked to the lake's shore to take a look at his work. It wasn't that great, in fact, those wraps made him look like a changeling who tried to cosplay a tusken raider while on a tight budget. Or, maybe, he looked like Malpais Legate, depending on who you asked. However, it will provide him some additional protection from the harsh desert's elements and conseal his buggy features from the others, at least from a distance.

Next on the line was a cauldron. Stas will need some time to clean it from the stale burnt porridge, but the ability to cook raw food on his own will be worth it. He sure as hell will be cooked if he got himself a food poisoning while in the middle of nowhere without any medicine. Grabbing the small copper pot with his magic, he placed it into the water and started to scrub it with sand, making sure to get every single stain.

"Damn, that's really convenient, i don't even need to get myself wet or feel that slop on my skin." He had the ability to use magic for barely a day, but he already liked everything about it. Dare he say, Stas already considered it to be a fair exchange for his arms. Especially, after it allowed him to strike that scorpion dead from a save distance.

As he almost finished cleaning his pot, he was interrupted by the sound of his stomach growling. Stas was travelling for almost an entire day without eating anything and his innards decided it was a good time to remind him about it. Taking his pot from the water and putting it on a closest large rock to dry, he raised his head to the tops of date palms on his right side. To his delight, they were ripe with fresh fruit. Using his magic, he reached ten meters up into the air, to the very top of the tree and plucked himself some fresh dates. As he ate, he realised his sharp teeth could bite through the seeds with ease and noted that dates of this world were no different from those he had on Earth. Sweet taste, somewhat similar to caramel, felt even better after his misadventure.

Finishing with his simple meal, he wrapped his face back in cloth and put the now mostly dry pot in his saddle bag. Now, how could he possibly find the road? He turned his head backwards and took a look on his back, where a pair of wings were concealed underneath his cloak and elytra. Stas quickly threw that idea out of metaphorical window, humans were not ment to fly and, as a result, he had absolutely no idea how to even move those new muscles on his back. Not to mention that even if he was able and knew how to fly in his new body, he might and up attracting some unwanted attention to himself. Sure, he was able to kill a lone scorpion, but what if he was discovered by a pack of wild hyenas or some mythological monster like an ifrit?

Suddenly, he remembered something else. Flight and magic were not the only abilities which could give him advantage in this situation. In the show, changelings were able to walk on walls if they wanted too. Maybe, he could use this ability to climb the tallest palm in the oasis and find the road from the vantage point?

He decided to try just that. Finding the tallest tree, Stas realised it was close to the scorpion's cave, he carefully approached it, watching his every step in hopes of avoiding any pissed-off arachnids. Approaching the palm, he carefully placed his bags on the soft sand and placed his right front leg on the trunk. He gripped onto the bark with all his might and tried to move his leg, making sure he had a firm grip. He placed his left front leg next and lifted himself like he used to do on the wall bars, his hind legs dangling half a meter above ground. Stas tried to place his right hind leg on the trunk and grab onto it, he was very surprised when he was able to do so without any issue. It didn't even felt wrong to him.

"I guess those rudimentary monkey genes were waiting for that moment my entire life." With that thought, he started to slowly ascend up the tree, making his best impression of a coconut crab. He carefully placed every step to make sure he wont fall off the tree. Stas climbed to the very top of the palm, accidentally dropping a large cluster of dates on the ground in the process. View before his eyes was nothing special to him at this point, semi-desert covered everything he could see and large grey dunes were poking their ugly heads on the horizon. Rare weathered mountains looked at him from their rightful places, as if intrigued by unusual guest travelling through their land.

And even so, from his vantage point he saw nothing usefull to him. Disappointed, Stas decided to carefully climb down the tree. His emotions distracted him, just enough for a minor slip, but it was more than enough. Stepping onto a smooth and slippery palm leaf, he lost his balance and plummeted fifteen meters to the ground, falling on his back with inhuman screech of panic. Air left his lungs and as he was lying on the ground, a crystal clear memory of how he fell off the rotten ladder while wearing a plate carrier back in the army kept replaying itself through his mind. He will never forget that incident, nor he will ever forget his bayonet combat training. Why do they even teach knife combat to conscripts?

"Ouch..." Stas remained still on the ground as his entire back flared with pain, glad that he was an only living being who will ever learn about this embarrassment. Slowly, he turned his head to the side and took a look around, making sure he didn't fell on top of his stuff. Losing his precious supplies to a shattered inkwell would been even worse than falling off the tree. He was hit on a side of his head with a date, as if the palm itself decided to add insult to his injury.

Hissing in pain, he slowly stood up from his spot and shambled to his bags. Sitting on the sand beside them, he made sure nothing got inside and just sat there, waiting for the pain to go away. He mused on his next move and came to conclusion his only choice was to use "fuck around and find out" tactic. In short, he will travel in different directions in hopes of finding his way out, in case he got unlucky, which was very likely, he will backtrack his way back to oasis and try finding the road again after resting and refilling his supplies. In worst case scenario, he could try staying here in hopes of a passing caravan making a stop here, then he might be able to join them or follow behind to reach the closest road. It was a bad idea, but he had more than enough water, dates and, in worst case scenario, scorpion meat, to last him a month or a few. On a matter of scorpions, what do those little shits even eat here? Was it fruit?

Shaking his head, Stas raised on his hooves and put the bags on his back, slightly wincing from pain in the process. He walked forward and stood on a small patch of land between two hills. Taking one of the larger twigs with his magic from a dead bush nearby, he placed it into the ground, using it as a makeshift landmark to mark which direction he followed from oasis, to make sure he wont go there again if he ever had to make his way back, that is.

"Была не была, let's go..." With those words, he made a step away from the relative safety of oasis.

Author's Note

1) Khalifat - feodal arabic state, usually build on theocratic principals.

2) TOZ - short for Тульский оружейный завод, or Tula's Weapon Factory on English, all models of hunting rifles or shotguns produced on those plants are called TOZ by most Russian-speaking people.

Dont you hate it when MC of a serious story acts like a capricious manchild?