Dissonance

       A horn blared a bold note for morning. I started awake, groggy as usual. I looked over beside me to see Dewdrop turn his head up from his book, check the page number, and then close it. How he could manage mornings was beyond me. Even as I stood, I felt a few bones give an audible “pop,” which warranted a smirk from the blue colt.

       “Rise and shine, Mellownote,” he chuckled.

       “Right, that’s happening,” I scoffed.

       Dewdrop flashed a smile at me and then turned around to pick up his barb shooter harness. I found my own stinger assemblies and put my forehooves in, craning my neck down to tighten the straps with my mouth. In-between my tasting of the rough leather straps, I glanced over at Dewdrop. In a fluid movement, he pulled his harness over himself, and began tightening his own straps in a rehearsed fashion.

       I frowned for a moment, then returned to the fitting of my own armament. I unlocked the forward part of the mechanism, so I could walk with the beastly contraptions on. I took a couple of test steps in place, and the spikes swung around freely as I lifted them up. It was quite a bother to walk with them. If I was not careful, the spikes would swing under my hooves as I put them down, impale the ground, and almost inevitably cause me to trip.

       Dewdrop threw on his bag, filled to the brim with his barbs, and we trotted out of the tent. I took off first into the air, and my companion followed behind. From above, we could see the other drowsy trainees filtering into the central area, wherein lay the glimmer of Bastion’s helmet, along with the form of two other ponies beside it: the unicorn and Earth pony captains. Dewdrop and I lazily glided into the clearing, landed, and sat down in the pegasus section. While Bastion’s expression was – as always – hidden behind his helm, the other two generals had adopted a graver expression than their usual stone faces. Their brows were deep-set, and the edges of their mouths turned down. I wondered whether Bastion wore the same emotion on his face under the mask, or if what lay behind was just as mask-like as his shimmering surface.

       I was left in that wonder while the others in the camp crowded around. After a few days of watching the crowds during gathering times, I had estimated the camp to hold about one hundred and twenty to one hundred and fifty trainees, along with its trainers and chefs. The entire colorful assembly now crowded Dewdrop and me shoulder-to-shoulder, with hardly enough room to shift my hooves without jabbing either Dewdrop or the mare to my left. I sighed impatiently, warranting an annoyed look from the pony in front of me, whose neck I had just sent my fetid morning breath onto. I nearly apologized, but held my tongue to keep from sending my breath straight into the irritable pony’s nose. After a second or two, he turned back around, and I heard a faint snort from Dewdrop.

       After the entire crowd had settled, Bastion shouted, his voice bearing a metallic echo, “I am afraid that the training is over, soldiers. We have received word from Fillydelphia that we are needed to reinforce the regiment already stationed there. You all will pack up your tents and whatever belongings you have, and we will set off by noon. Pegasi will fly straight for Fillydelphia. Earth ponies and unicorns will follow behind through the Foal Mountain pass.”

       He paused for a moment, and a few murmurs drifted up from the crowd. The mare next to me shifted her wings around uncomfortably, prodding my ribs. The unicorn captain spoke up in a rough voice, “Take only what you need. Anything else slows us down. The pegasi are expected to arrive this evening, and the others tomorrow morning. We expect each of you to do your parts to reach that goal. Understood?”

       A resounding “Yes sirs!” came in reply, and the gathering began to disband. Dewdrop and I waited a bit before we actually had enough room to take off, in which time I was unwittingly kicked in my forehooves, whipped with a tail, and slapped by three pairs of wings. Once I had enough space, I leapt up, and Dewdrop took the immediate freedom of space to leap after me. He did not falter anymore in flight. He was entirely accustomed to the launchers under his wings.

       I frowned again at the thought. Was it good that he was adjusting so well? Should I want him to learn war? I wanted him to know what he needed to pull through with me, but to what point? At what cost? Dewdrop was all I had anymore. I had to keep him safe, not just in flesh, but in spirit as well. If I let the war mar him, I could never forgive myself.

       But could I possibly keep him innocent? Such an effort, even then, seemed laughably futile. I suppose his innocence was something he was willing to lay down for me, this strange and gloomy pony. What did I sacrifice in return?

       We landed by our tent, and I turned to Dewdrop, who was already starting to tug at the tent stakes with his teeth. “Dewdrop?” I prompted, and he paused his gnawing and looked up curiously, “Yeah?”

       “Can I talk to you in the tent for a bit, before we take it down?”

       “Oh, I guess so”

       He ducked into the tent, and I followed behind, dropping down onto my bed mat and letting out an involuntary sigh. I noticed that even with his wings folded at his sides, the small launchers poked out from under them, glinting in the sunbeams that leaked through the tent’s door flaps.

       “Um,” I began, silently berating myself for not thinking the talk all the way through, “I don’t want this to be easy for you, you know.”

       Dewdrop tilted his head, “What? Barb shooting? But you helped me-“

       “No,” I interrupted, “not that in particular. Just war.  I don’t want you to get used to it.”

       I paused. Outside we could hear the bustle of the camp packing up. Dewdrop looked at his hooves, and I at mine for a moment before continuing, “Soon enough, we’ll be out there, fending for each other. I. . .” I stuttered, “I just don’t want you to lose yourself in it.”

       Dewdrop avoided my gaze for a few moments, leaving me tense and unsure, wondering if I had used the right words. He then lifted his head and spoke, “Only if you promise to do the same.”

       I smiled, and put my right hoof over my heart, “I promise.” Dewdrop mimicked the motion, “Then I do too.”

       From outside, we heard a rough billowing of cascading cloth as a tent went down. Dewdrop’s ears perked up, and he smiled, “Now can we take this tent down?”

       I chuckled in reply then started to roll up my bed mat and blanket. Dewdrop did the same, and then stuffed the book and his blanket into his bag.

       “You were reading the book alone this morning,” I remarked.

       “Oh, yeah,” Dewdrop hesitated, “it’s starting to make more sense to me, but I still want to keep reading it with you.”

       “All right.”

       He learned quickly, that much was certain. We took everything out of the tent, and pulled out the stakes, causing the thing to fall into a reddish-tan heap. Dewdrop gathered the support sticks while I folded the cloth, and soon enough, we were left with two bags for our beds, and one for the tent. I took up the tent and my bed onto my back, and Dewdrop handled his bed and bag of barbs, a book, and a blanket. All that was left of our little home was a spot of dirt slightly less trampled than the path that ran along it. I kicked a bit at the dust, and watched it float away on the wind.

       “So that’s it, then,” I said, turning to Dewdrop, who had also taken to staring at the empty spot.

       “Yep,” he affirmed dully, “that’s it.”

       Many others had already finished packing as well, and had headed towards the edge of the rapidly-dissolving camp. The two of us followed suit, trotting towards the congregation of pegasi, most of which were taking the time to secure their belongings for flight. I took two lengths of rope from a pile lying in the middle of the group and began tying up Dewdrop’s bags under him. I looped the knots over his back, around, through, and-

       “What do you think it’ll look like?”

       “What?”

       Dewdrop persevered through my stalling, “Whenever you think about what our first battle will be, what do you picture in your head?”

       He had a strange way of asking questions I could not prepare myself for. The question halted my hooves in midair, and I flapped my wings for balance a couple times before returning to the task at hand.

       “I suppose I see the two of us together, watching out for each other. The rest is a swirling, fiery blur. Every once in a while, a dragon would emerge, and I would sting it, or you would hit it just in the right spot with a barb.”

       I had one knot firmly tied, and I went on to tie a second around his neck. He returned, “Isn’t that a bit too perfect a vision?”

       If I truly had a creator, he gave me no help in answering this poor colt. I stammered for a bit, then ended up firing back, “Should we look at reality instead?”

       “You told me the other day to look towards the future, Mellownote. Now you seem just attached to the present as I was.”

       And just like that, Dewdrop’s words became a hazy mirror, showing me a strange part of me I had not thought was visible. I could only gape at the colt’s keen perception. He saw me, straight down to my core, and the question rose back up in my mind. This time, I posed it to him, “Dewdrop?”

       “Yeah?”

       “Why am I your first real friend?”

       A ghost of a smile drifted across Dewdrop’s face, followed by a frown of regret. “You aren’t,” he said, with a frail and wavering timbre creeping into his voice.

       “But the librarian-“

       “She didn’t know me before I left the orphanage.”

       I felt a bitter mixture of emotion rise up. I felt glad that I was not the only friend Dewdrop ever had, but also guilty that I had brought it up so arrogantly, as if I were the only one worth his friendship.

He continued without my reply, starting to smile again now, “Her name was Felicity. She actually named herself that when she heard of the word. She just loved the sound of it. She was a unicorn, just a bit older than me, with a grey coat and blonde mane. She’d been with me before I could even remember.”

I finished tying the knot, and began tying my own bags up to myself. Dewdrop kept on talking, occasionally holding down a knot while I pulled. “The others liked to pick on her, too. Her talent was simply being cheery, and they just chewed it up and spat it out. I can’t quite blame them. Being abandoned by or deprived of the ones who are supposed to love you most . . . it’s a bitter taste.”

My ear twitched as I pulled the first knot over my back taut, and he added, “. . . but you already knew that.”

I nodded, “Go on.”

“She loved talking to me, though. She knew I felt the same as she; they picked on me because I didn’t know my talent yet. I was the only one she could be happy around, and she was the only one who seemed to like me. She named me too, you know. They had called me Frailfeather, but she called me Dewdrop instead. She told me that I sparkled like how the grass sparkles in the morning.”

“What happened to her?” I asked.

“The same thing that happens to any filly in an orphanage with the brightest smile. She was adopted one day, and I never saw her again. She was so excited. I was excited too, until the door closed behind her. Just like that, she was gone. I stayed for a couple of months afterward, but there wasn’t anything left there for me. Felicity was gone, and I was left with a bunch of other ponies just as bitter as I was.”

Dewdrop paused to pull the other knot taut around my shoulders and then continued, “At the time I found you, I had some happiness of my own to share, and you looked like you needed it. It didn’t matter much that you were older, or more critical than most ponies I’ve met. You needed somepony.”

He gave another pause, sizing me up, “Then you surprised me. You flew out and sat with me. I was confused at first. I wondered if you had somehow snuck a peek at me when I left the apple. You didn’t say anything about that, though. You just sat there and watched with me, trying to find your other friend in the crowd. I found out you weren’t all that different from me, although maybe a bit farther down your path than I was down mine. You had let all your guard down, left your mind exposed. It wasn’t about pride or modesty with you. You’re just as curious about who you are as I am. That’s why you’re my friend, Mellownote; you let me learn about you, and you want to learn about me.”

The knots were tied, and we stood still for a moment. I was fixated on his clear green eyes, which reflected back the other side: a brilliant land, where we could make up our own destinies, free from fate’s demanding grasp. Perhaps they were verdant plains or lush forestry, perhaps a pond viewed closely or the heart of a deep fire. There was indeed a vivid, hearth-like glow to them, made up of the young stallion’s fantasy, the ideal.

A far-off call, laden with a metallic timbre, reached us, “To the skies!”

The two of us with the army of our company leapt up, and we were soon en route to the next battlefield.

* * *

       The skyline of Phillydelphia was low, consisting mostly of its factories’ smokestacks. I was hardly joyful to be reunited once again with their billowing product, greying once again what I had only known to be clear. The color black was painted over the ground surrounding the city, and in haphazard strokes through its center. It was a city of black and grey, despite the color of its inhabitants. Industry was at its heart, and the rest of the city, the housing surrounding the factories, and the ponies that filled them, seemed like an afterthought.

       A beleaguered camp stretched around the beleaguered city. The reddish-tan tents were well-stained with the city’s flying colors, and the same commotion that we had grown used to in the Foal Mountain valley – the sound of metal striking metal, the crackling of magic and weapon-fire, and the grinding of war machinery – welcomed us as we flew in. We were received warmly by a few other pegasi who were on their breaks, but otherwise, our arrival was simply a change of scenery. The dirt was still just as trampled, and the skies as grey.

       When we landed, Bastion immediately walked over into a larger tent – most likely that of the other captains – leaving the rest of us to sit around for a while. Dewdrop and I were silent throughout, as we had been for the flight, both content with what we had already discovered of each other, mulling it over in our minds. We took short glances at our surroundings, although there was little of interest. I noted that the tents were in clusters, rather than our previous neat rows. A few more greetings were exchanged with passer-by soldiers, but our wait was mainly silent and still.

       Finally, Bastion emerged with another older-looking stallion, and a scroll. His rough voice boomed, “You have all been assigned your squadrons. Those of you who are not filling vacancies in the squadrons already here will form your own. Find your partners and set up your tents with theirs.”

       The captain nailed his list to a wooden post next to the large tent, and we gathered around to read it. The crowd surged, then slowly thinned as new soldiers learned their assignments, until finally Dewdrop managed to weave in close enough to read the list, with me just a few feet behind in the thick crowd. When he found our names, he squirmed a bit in the middle of the crowd, then agitatedly shot up above them to escape. I followed suit and joined him.

       “So?”

       “We’re together in 19th squadron,” he said bluntly.

       “Alright, good. How are we supposed to find them?” I wondered aloud.

       Dewdrop looked around, then replied, “There don’t seem to be any markers. We can just ask around.”

       I nodded, and started towards a nearby cluster of tents, where a tan-coated pegasus was building a fire pit. “Hey, a little help?” I called. The stallion glanced up at us, then asked, “What do you need?”

       “Where’s the camp for 19th squadron?” Dewdrop asked.

       “Well, if I remember correctly, it’s right under your hooves,” he answered, snickering. “You two must be our new stinger and barb shooter. I’m Tinker.”

       “Oh. I’m Mellownote, and this is Dewdrop,” I said, tilting my head towards my friend.

       “Nice to meet you. You two both seem rather young to be out here,” Tinker said, offering a hoof. I shook it, and answered, “As young as it gets, I suppose.”

       “The others are out right now, but you can set up your tent already. We’ll all introduce ourselves at dinner.”

       I nodded and started tugging at my knots. The bags fell to the ground, and I unpacked the tent, laying it out to complete the circle of tents around the fire pit, in which Tinker was starting to burn some dry leaves to get a fire going. Dewdrop and I stomped the stakes into the ground, and then pushed up the middle supports. Within a few minutes, we had our tent set up with the sleeping bags inside it, ready for use. It stood out from the other tents in the circle, being yet unstained by the grey that loomed over the camp.

       I looked up from our completed home to see that the sun was edging its way towards the horizon, streaking the grey clouds with golden-red linings. A bell rang far off, and Tinker departed saying, “I’ll get dinner. You two make sure the fire keeps going.”

       We both sat and warmed ourselves at the fire. “What do you think?” I asked.

       Dewdrop shrugged, “There’s not much to go on right now. He seems nice enough.”

       I nodded, “We’ll see at dinner, I guess.”

       We sat in silence a short while before a pair of voices began to rise above the bustle of the camp, approaching our cluster.

       “. . . and what I don’t get is why we don’t just up and strike back!” rang a feminine voice.

       “We just don’t have enough momentum yet. I’m sure that once we have enough power to drive forward, we’ll make a push,” said a stallion in reply.

       Dewdrop’s ears swiveled to catch the sound, and we both turned to face its source: a white mare with a bright red mane and tail, and a proud gait; and a leaf-green stallion with a bright yellow mane and tail, and kind eyes. They stopped as they came between the tents, and the stallion paid us notice, “Hey, look, the new guys are here.”

The mare turned and looked us up and down, an intense, cutting scrutiny that made me squirm. A sudden silence pervaded the air as her pale grey eyes sent a deadly gaze at my own green eyes. I met the gaze reluctantly, trying my best to appear calm. As soon as her assault started, it ended, and she continued to walk forward with the stallion as she had been before, giving an expected remark, “You two look a bit young to be here.”

I was becoming tired of the shallow observation, but the stallion butted in before I could respond, “So am I, but I turned out well enough, don’t you think?”

The mare smiled, “Right, Sweetsprout. You’re already a cold, merciless killer. You can’t fool us with that cutie mark.” She gave a playful slug to his shoulder, and he winced a bit before smiling.

I gave a cursory glance to the subject of interest: a pair of tulips just about to bloom on his grass-colored flank. The stallion, Sweetsprout, turned to us with a warm smile and said, “Pardon our belated introduction. I’m Sweetsprout, and this is Red Wake,” he said, gesturing to the fiery mare, “What are your names?”

Dewdrop took the opportunity to speak up, “I’m Dewdrop, and this is Mellownote.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Sweetsprout, as the two sat down around the fire. “Have you met Tinker yet?”

I answered this time, “Just a short greeting before he left to get dinner. He said we’d all chat later.”

“Since Tinker already knows who we are, we can just introduce ourselves now,” Sweetsprout said, “Do you want to start, Red?”

“No, no, Sprout. You’re a lot better at first impressions. I’d just scare them off if I started,” she said in reply, adopting a smile and rolling her eyes.

“Fine, then. I’m 19 years old, raised right here in Fillydelphia, where I run a flower shop. After a couple of dragons sent streaks of fire through the city, I thought it’d be better that I go than others who have families to watch over. So, I enlisted and met Tinker and Red. I’m a barb shooter, and I’m still waiting for my first battle.”

Red Wake smiled, “He’s A-okay in my book. Don’t let those kind eyes fool you. He’s quite a crack-shot. I’d let him try to shoot an apple off of my head, but that’d be a waste of an apple.”

“What she means to say is she thinks she’s got a pretty good apple working behind those sharp eyes,” Sweetsprout shot back. Red Wake gave a snort in return.

“Always the humble one.”

The soft thud of footsteps sounded behind us, and Tinker knelt down next to us, placing a metal pot of vegetable stew onto the fire. “Did I miss anything?” he asked.

“Just Sweetsprout’s introduction,” Red Wake replied, with a hasty tone, “I guess it’s my turn. I’m from Canterlot, ex-royal guard, 24 years old. I’m good at fighting for others. The only reason I quit the guard was because they didn’t want to trust me. Didn’t like my personality, I guess. The moment I heard of the war, I saw a chance to go do something with myself, rather than just standing at doors, weapon over my shoulder. I could actually put my talents to use. So, I signed up. Your turn, Tinker.”

Tinker smiled, “You were just itching to just be done with it, weren’t you?”

Red Wake nodded in mock solemnity, “First impressions just aren’t easy when your specialty is fighting. At least you and Sprout did something before enlisting. I just have one less thing to talk about, when talking about myself is hard enough.”

The tan pony kept his knowing smile as he began, “I’m a blast-spearman on the lines, but outside of this mess, I’m an inventor. I grew up in Baltimare, where I have my home, along with all my little whatsits and doodads. Don’t ask me about masterpieces, though. I haven’t made anything extraordinary yet. Anyway, I chose to be here; I figured the more pegasi we have on the field, the less soldiers we’ll be likely to lose. Just know that I’m trying to keep you all in mind.”

I glanced at Dewdrop, who seemed to be relaxed enough. A faint smile touched his lips as he began his own introduction. “My name is Dewdrop. I’m a barb shooter, and I’ve been an orphan since before I remember, and I still don’t know what I’m meant to do.”

Red Wake cocked her head, “Really? Eighteen’s quite the age to be looking for your talent.” Dewdrop looked as if he were about to respond when she added, “Just promise me not to discover your talent is combat. You’re too cute for it.” Dewdrop paused for a moment, giving Red Wake a strange look, to which she turned an apathetic shrug. He made an effort to regain himself.

“It’ll take me a bit to get used to you all. I’m not the most talkative pony out there. I’m always ready to help, though.” Dewdrop finished with a warm, convincing smile, then nudged me.

“Oh,” I fumbled. I had not been preparing my own words in anticipation, although it seemed like the others had not either. I started, trying to mimic a voice at ease, “My name is Mellownote. I’m from lower Canterlot.”

Tinker’s ears perked up, “Did you say lower Canterlot?”

“Er- yes”

“I thought lower Canterlot was wiped out,” Red Wake added.

“Yes, it was,” I managed to say firmly. I had acquired a somewhat defiant look in my eyes, I imagined. I was tired of letting the thought hurt me.

Meanwhile Sweetsprout wore a look of concern and pity – oh, pity – and asked solemnly, “Are you the only survivor?”

“Yes.”

The leafy-coated stallion stared at the ground for a moment, then smiled a special smile. It was a warm, hopeful smile that managed to lift my head a couple of inches, and my spirit a couple of miles. The pity was gone. Sweetsprout looked straight into my eyes and uplifted me, “You’re here, though, and I’m willing to bet your friends and family live on in you. So long as you’re with us, they’ll never be lost.”

“I couldn’t have said that nearly as well,” Tinker added, “He’s right; you’ve got us with you now.”

I managed to smile, “Anyway, after that I wandered around upper Canterlot until I met Dewdrop here. We’ve been inseparable since. That’s about it.”

Red Wake tilted her head, “What brings you two to the battlefield, then? You both seem a bit tame.”

I fumbled. If I told them the truth, we would lose their trust, which would put all of us in danger on the battlefield. I thought as quickly as I could, but Dewdrop answered first.

“Neither of us had anything to lose.”

I held my tongue. There was a lot of truth in the statement for me, but he had a quaint life: one of simplicity. Did he not value his little home, which he had so proudly introduced me to? I wondered to myself whether he believed his own words.

“Well whatever the case, you have us now,” said Tinker with bright, sparkling eyes, “We’re all a family.”

“In a cute, dysfunctional way,” added Red Wake with a smirk.

I looked between them and asked, “Is there a head to this family?”

Sweetsprout nodded jovially, “Yes. As of right now, we have five.”

“We seem to work better as a team,” Red explained, “We’re all important to each other’s survival. There’s not a single captain I’ve met that can make up a plan before a battle to take down a dragon. We take the battle as it comes, and we all watch out for each other.”

“That reminds me,” Tinker said, perking up, “If we’re going into battle, we have to learn how to-”

A barbaric roar soared across the night sky and shattered Tinker’s thought. The three exchanged glances with each other, then ran into their tents for their equipment. Dewdrop grabbed his bag of barbs and loaded his cannons. I rose into the air and flicked down the latches on my stingers, locking them firmly in place, ready for christening. The roar evolved into gouts of incredible, blinding light which threatened to bring back the ferocity of the sun, advancing in haphazard clouds, taunting our hopeful little hearths, “I will always shine brighter.”