Dissonance

“You just had to go through its wing,” rang a young, irritated voice. An icy bucketful of water splashed unforgivingly over my back.

“Well, it’s a lot more daunting to hit moving targets when you’re the projectile, Dewdrop. I closed my eyes.”

We were a few miles from the camp, out on the sandy shores of the Silver Sea, which lined all of eastern Equestria with rolling tides and pleasant foam and, as was made painfully clear to me, very cold water. Dewdrop glanced over at a distant glow that stretched around the sleeping Fillydelphia. “We could be having a good time with Tink and Red right now. Instead we’re having the grossest little beach party even I could imagine.”

I rolled my eyes. “Dewdrop, both of us have been in Canterlot our whole lives. You’ve never even seen a beach party.”

Sweetsprout returned from the shoreline with another full pail and called out, “Don’t worry about it, Dewdrop. It’s an older crowd over there. We’d be out of place, probably blushing at all the stuff being said.”

“It beats trying to rinse dragon’s blood,” Dewdrop retorted.

“Good point,” Sweetsprout conceded, “Remind me again why you can’t just take a swim in the ocean, Mellownote.”

“I can hardly imagine the sea wants this blood any more than I do.”

“Ugh, that stench!” Dewdrop groaned, “I wouldn’t blame the sea. You’re just lucky I’m your friend, Mellownote.”

“I sure am,” I scoffed with a mischievous smile, then rubbed his nose with one of my dripping red forehooves, to which Dewdrop reeled back a bit, his eyes crossed in complete horror and disgust at the red spot on his nose, then snatched the pail away from Sweetsprout, and threw out its frigid contents into my face. He then scrambled with his hooves to try to wipe off the stain.

“Now see,” I said, after spitting out a few streams of salt water, “that didn’t help get it off. You would have been better off dunking water on your own head!”

“Gah! Now I’ll never get this smell out of my nose!” called out a distressed Dewdrop. He seemed a bit too preoccupied, scrambling to splash more water on his nose, to have even heard me. I decided it would be a lesson for a later time.

“Anyway,” I continued back to the prior discussion, “Sprout’s right. All those soldiers will be drinking in either merriment or sorrow. I’d much rather be out here, where the only things we have to worry about are a stain and a stench.”

“Hay, I’m just glad we all got out without a scratch,” Sweetsprout proclaimed as he took another pail into his mouth, “Well, a few singed hairs for Mellownote, but otherwise . . .”

“Dragon’s blood and singed hair?” Dewdrop exclaimed, “I think those dragons are just out to make you the worst-smelling stallion alive, Mellow.”

Sweetsprout threw another bucketful of water on my back, and the red washed out to reveal a pure dark grey. “There, all gone. Take a swim, Mellownote, or you’ll never get that stench out. I’ll go back and cook dinner the rest of the way.” He paused, then turned and asked Dewdrop, “Do you want to come with me, or stay with Mellownote?”

“I’ll stick with Mellownote. We’ll meet you in camp.”

Sweetsprout nodded with a smile, then took off towards the hearth-like glow of the camp.

I plodded to the shore, hooves, knees, shoulders in the water. I heard other hoofsteps break the calm eddies behind me. I took a deep breath, then plunged my head into the starry black sea, for a moment listening, feeling my heartbeat – along with a fainter pulse behind me – feeling the currents tug at my mane, my tail, and that ever-present sound the sea makes, as if everything is rushing endlessly, tirelessly, to make the waves and tides, to mimic and distort the starry skies into something strange and unrecognizable, to cleanse the stench of blood in exchange for nought but a bitter taste.

To soothe the shock of battle, break down the strange pretense that was so boldly, willingly played, to whittle away at the black tinge collected in our coats, to carry traces of the moon’s diligent yet inactive watch, to roll the coarse sand back and forth around our hooves, to wash away blood after blood after blood, the ocean did rush.

I rose out, gasping at first, but my ears kept on listening as before and, faintly, heard soft sobbing behind. I turned around to see Dewdrop, head bowed low, eyes watching the cold water flow around, though his stare went far beyond the sea. He lifted his head to look at me, and the moonlight revealed the twin streams below his eyes.

“It was all over you, Mellownote.”

“Better me than you.”

Dewdrop almost seemed to smile, before he was overcome, sobbing hopelessly. I trudged over to him, and helped him to the shore, my wing over his back. “Let it out.”

We sat down in the wet sand, where the waves would occasionally tug at our hooves. Dewdrop’s grief could hardly relent, and as he wept over my shoulder, I simply remained silent. I could not be weak anymore; I had to be strong for him, and yet every time I tried to form the beginning of some word, it was lost a moment later. Instead, Dewdrop spoke first, “I looked it in the eyes. Right as I shot it, I was looking into its eyes, and it didn’t hate you or me; it was only afraid, in that last moment.”

I remembered those deep black pits, but nothing of the fear he talked about. I had been looking into its maw for its final moments. Had it truly been afraid? I asked, “If he was afraid, why did he attack with them? Why didn’t he leave?”

“Maybe . . .” Dewdrop began, in a near-whisper, “They all made him go with them.” He paused for a moment, then asked, “Why don’t we leave?”

“We’d be deserters, condemned to death.”

There was a long silence, save for the rolling waters. Dewdrop did not cry any more, but I imagine that it was only because he had no tears left. Dewdrop spoke once again, “We’ve only started, and I’m wondering when it’ll be over.”

“It’ll be over soon, Dewdrop. Just let the days go by, and we’ll be out of this soon.”

Dewdrop gazed at the moon, searching for something in the depiction of that dark mare. “Why us?”

“I was asking the same question right before I met you, and now you’re getting pulled along with me. With the others, that makes five of us, all getting dragged, squirming into light or darkness; I can’t tell.”

“What do you think of them?” Dewdrop asked, hoping to distract the two of us from the thunder that still rolled through our minds.

“I don’t know. They care for us, I think, but I don’t know what to think of them yet.”

“They’re kind enough, but I don’t think they’re like us.”

“And just what are we like?” I asked curiously.

“The two of us see something. I don’t know what it is, what it does, but it’s there, pushing us, leading us somewhere.”

“Fate?” I suggested.

“I don’t think She likes that name.”

“She?”

“I think it’s a She,” Dewdrop explained, “and whoever She is, I think She’s very sad.”

“Why?”

“I’ll tell you some other time, Mellownote. I think we’re keeping Sweetsprout waiting.”

With that, he stood up, and turned towards the soft glow of the camp. He spoke as he stretched his wings, “One day, we’ll have to tell each other what we see, Mellownote. I’m still trying to figure it out.”

I thought on his sentiment for a bit, then returned, “I’m still just opening my eyes.”

* * *

Sweetsprout’s ears perked up a bit in anticipation of our arrival, though his back was turned to us. Over the crackling fire before him rested a bubbling pot of stew. We alighted down into the ring of ruddy, sooty tents, and silently sat beside him.

“Good news, Mellow,” Sweetsprout began, his eyes fixed on the fire, “I couldn’t smell you coming.”

I gave a soft chuckle. “That is some good news,” I said, tapping the stew pot with the tip of my hoof, “And it looks like you’ve got another snippet of good news to come.”

Sweetsprout smiled, “Yes, the stew’s been done for a while now. Fetch a couple of bowls and we’ll have at it.”

Sweeping a few of the small wooden bowls into an upturned wing, I took the ladel in my mouth and poured out three bowls, although my wing shuddered at the stress, and a few drops found their way into my feathers. I winced for a moment, then slid my wing out from under the bowls before shaking it out at my side. The others took their meals silently, and I sat down once more, and ate.

It was delicious, of course, though I knew not if it were my taste buds or my stomach that told me so. The dinner was silent, so I assumed the Dewdrop and Sweetsprout agreed.

Although I cannot well describe how sustenance feels after a battle, I have a very close feeling that is far more understandable. Imagine being trapped in a mire for days. You finally find the edge, at which borders a beautiful field of the brightest wildflowers you’ve ever seen. The colors, the smells, the fresh air: all changes at once.

So it was all right to be silent. We all deserved a bit of silence, after all. There are moments when silence, perhaps apart from the sound of a crackling fire, is all that keeps your thoughts at bay, as if even the mind is afraid to raise its riots in fear of being heard.

The silence was not to last, though. It was never meant to. Soft hoofbeats and two shadowy forms approached from beyond the fire. Soon, a tired and worn voice reached us, “You all feeling right?”

I nodded slowly, as did Sweetsprout; Dewdrop merely stared on at them, though Tinker seemed not to notice. He and Red Wake sat down across from us, Tinker staring on into the fire, and Red Wake squinting a bit, trying to make out our expressions despite the leaping shadows.

“How was the party?” Dewdrop asked innocently.

Red Wake spoke this time, “Not that much of a party, really. Nopony could seem to get their minds off of the battle, whether they were spinning tales about how a dragon’s flame missed them by just this much . . .” at which Red Wake gave a mocking impression, putting her forehooves up and slowly closing them together, “. . . or just staring off into the distance. Shellshocked.”

Tinker had poured their meals meanwhile, and began to slurp his. After Red finished, he chose to change the subject, “So how was the beach?”

“Smelly,” I answered, “But the water felt great.”

He smiled at the reply, “I’ll have to go there sometime. I could use a nice cool swim. Hell, I’d even like it cold.”

“We could all go together, sometime when we’re off-duty,” Sweetsprout suggested.

“I’m up for a swim anytime!” Dewdrop chimed in.

“I’m in,” Red Wake added inbetween gulps of stew, “How about you, Mellownote?”

“Of course,” I said, “It’s not like anypony has plans anyway.”

Sweetsprout nodded, “It’ll be good just to relax a bit.”

He may have had more to say, but a new set of heavy, metallic hoofbeats approached from my left. A steel voice called out, “How fared 19th squadron?”

“5 soldiers, 10 wings, and 20 hooves, sir,” rattled Tinker.

“That’s the best report I’ve heard so far,” Bastion remarked. I may have imagined a small glimmer in the grey eyes recessed within his helm, but I did not pay it notice. Already, the metal-coated captain had departed to continue his census.

The following silence was an abomination, slowly working through our minds the implications of Bastion’s simple statement. We had flown in and out of the fray with but singed hairs. Like foals, we would dance and jump around a pit of fire, hoping, even expecting not to burn.

And why should we not burn? We kill as well as dragons do; we fought to the very last drop of ashen blood. We have brought our fires, our thunder, our scales, and our claws to battle. We were dragons in everything but size, which we made up in numbers.

“So,” Tinker began, halting the tumult with a jarringly-soft word, “Is everypony . . . okay?”

I stared blankly into the fire. Not okay, but strong enough, maybe.

“Yes,” I answered.

Sweetsprout nodded slowly. “I’ll be fine in the morning.”

“I’m fine,” Red Wake muttered.

Some time passed before Dewdrop answered, “I don’t think I’m okay, but I can figure it out.”

“Well,” Tinker said, a hint of sympathy in his visage, “we’re all a team, and we’re here for each other whether we’re in the fire or around it.”

A smirk grew on Red Wake’s face. “Well, I’m glad we have somepony here that’s good with words. I care about all of you too, but I’m just not an expert at showing it.”

Sweetsprout nodded in mock solemnity. “We noticed.”

I was the first to laugh, and the others immediately joined in. It felt real enough; perhaps I was fine after all. I wondered if it looked as real as it felt. The laughter subsided before I could wonder any further, though, and Red Wake gave a joyful sigh.

“I needed a laugh. Too many sad soldiers, serious soldiers,” she paused for a moment, “drunk soldiers.”

“Not everypony gets to be lucky,” Dewdrop said.

“I know, I know,” Red Wake answered, “I just wish we could forget that, just for one second; just between battles be happy and then be sad once it’s all over with.”

“Easier said than done,” I returned.

“Yeah, well, at least I can. I guess it’s just me,” she murmured, almost to herself. She looked up to the sky for a moment, then spoke again, “It’s late. We should all get some rest.”

The decision was evidently unanimous. We all rose, Sweetsprout doused the fire, and we were all soon in the confines of our ruddy tents. I let myself fall onto my bedroll, and immediately felt soothing sleep wash over the uproar of troubled thoughts.

* * *

The morning was unforgiving. My body ached. My head ached. Even my eyes ached from the firelit night. My muscles screamed in protest as I moved my hooves to push myself up out of bed. As I stood, I could not help but release an audible groan. I dared not stretch my wings, bearing in mind the swift banks and dashes throughout the battle. I looked over to see Dewdrop’s bed mat empty. I rubbed my eyes, then walked outside.

The sun struck me first, and mercilessly. The assault of midmorning light stopped me in my tracks, forcing me to lift a hoof against the dazzling beams. While I adjusted to the light, I breathed in what I recognized to be the scent of fresh fruit. I lowered my hoof to see Red Wake sitting next to the fire pit, eating an apple.

“Good morning,” she said plainly, “breakfast is served if you want some.” Not waiting for any confirmation, she opened a bag at her side, removed an apple, and tossed it to me. I wearily caught it, as she added, “Honeycrisp, too, if you’ll believe it. I thought the generals already ate all the good stuff.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled, before biting into the apple. It was certainly as delicious as she made it up to be. I ate it in a few bites, and sat down quietly with Red Wake.

“Where are the others?” I asked.

“Dew and Sprout are out around camp, and I think Tinker’s still asleep.”

I cocked my head. “What are Dew and Sprout doing?”

“Not sure,” she replied. “They were gone when I woke up, but I assume they’re together. Dewdrop doesn’t seem like the kind to go off on his own.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“You’re kidding! The only other time I’ve seen you two apart was last night.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but realized I did not have any sort of reply.

“He looks at you like you’re a hero, Mellow. I’ve been saving lives for years, and nopony’s ever looked at me like that. What did you do?”

“I’ll tell you when I find out,” I replied, a smile forming at the edge of my lips.

“Well, how did you two meet?”

“Believe it or not, Red, he took me in.”

“I sure don’t believe it. You’re both kids!”

And yet as I told her more of our past week, and thus our entire history, her gaping mouth and wide eyes turned to a soft smile. The more I talked, the more unreal the story seemed to me, but I merely kept telling, and she seemed to listen well, occasionally nodding, or smiling at the few parts of Dewdrop’s antics I had described.

“Well,” she said after I finished, “I wouldn’t believe you if I’d never seen the two of you together. I can’t say I’ve ever had a friend like that.”

If she was sad at her realization, she did not let it show. She just kept her smile, and stared at the ground for a while.

“So what’s your story, then?” I asked.

“Hm?”

“Well, you said you were an ex-royal-guard.”

“Oh, that story,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I suppose I owe you a story, but this one’s not nearly as charming.”

“You see, when I joined the guard, I already had the cutie mark and everything, and I was ready to protect people. Royal guard should have been the perfect job for that, yeah? Well, instead of actually doing things, I was posted at venues to stand still and look tough. Here I was, chomping at the bit to make something of my skills, and yet whenever something important came up, nobody wanted me on the team!

“And you want to know what they trumped up when I asked about it? They said I had no self control! I don’t know what sitting still means to them, but to me it means just looking tough, not actually helping somepony. So, since they just wanted to waste my skills standing at doors with a spear, I left. Protected a few important ponies around Canterlot for a while. Not glamorous, but at least everypony trusted me to do my job.”

She opened her mouth several times, but seemed to imagine my replies to her unsaid statements, and shut her mouth before the words could escape. I was able to gather enough.

“So this war is the best thing to ever happen to you,” I prompted.

She lowered her head for a moment, donning a self-deprecating smile. “Well, it’s a place where I have simple orders, and nopony telling me to slow down, or sit still and pretty for the crowd. I’m actually doing something for once, and I feel like maybe by the end of this, people will look at me like I’m a hero. I’ll have actually fought for something and someone. Just with you guys, I’ve helped out more than I ever did with the guard. So, yes. The instant I heard a whisper of war, I asked ‘where,’ not ‘why.’ I fit in here better than anywhere else I’ve tried.”

Her face took on a reddish hue and her voice a harsh timbre as she spoke, and as she finished, she turned her icy gaze at the ground. I cautiously put an assuring hoof on her shoulder. “I, for one, am glad you’re here.”

It was one of the most sincere things I had ever managed to say.

Red Wake lifted her head up and smiled, “Thanks, Mellow.” She sighed, took another bite of her apple, and her face returned to a calmer complexion, her voice to a mellower melody. “It’ll take a bit more than a single other voice, or even a battalion, to convince m– them that I’m right.”

“What, then?” I asked.

Silence.

“Maybe an army. I don’t know,” she admitted finally.

A long, exaggerated yawn escaped Tinker’s tent, and a baggy-eyed, wild-maned stallion emerged. “Yeesh!” exclaimed Red, “You look like death, Tinker.”

“A good-morning would suffice,” Tinker grumbled, rubbing his eyes with a clumsy hoof.

“Good morning!” she teased.

“Ughhh.” Tinker dropped down with a thud next to Red Wake, and she rolled an apple his way. He took a moment to stare at the apple blankly, then bit into it absentmindedly. His eyes were glazed over, and he stared off into the sky behind me. I shifted uncomfortably, but his gaze did not falter.

“Don’t worry. Tink’s just not a morning pony.”

Tinker rallied a confirming “Mmmph” through the bits of a bite nearly too big for him to chew. When he was finished, he lay face-in-hooves for a while and asked, “So, how is everyone feeling?”

“Feeling fine,” I replied. Aches and conversation so far had subdued any recollection of the night before, and I was just fine with that.

“Well-enough,” Red Wake answered, “but I’ll be bored soon, I think. You can only relax for so long and be happy about it.”

“Speak for yourself, Red,” Tinker returned jokingly, “I could relax all day. When I’m tired of relaxing, I’ll take some time off and relax my relaxing a bit, then I’ll get right back to relaxing again.”

“I’m not sure whether to be jealous, or concerned.” Red Wake smiled, and prodded Tinker with her forehoof, which made his baggy eyes widen for a moment, though besides looking confusedly at his side, he gave little reaction. “Just a bit more interactive than a rock,” Red Wake concluded with an expectant gaze. Tinker merely grunted, and a wide grin spread across Red’s face.

“Where are the others?” Tinker asked groggily.

“No idea,” I answered, “I’m surprised Dew didn’t wake me up.”

“They’re probably just roaming around the camp,” Tinker said dismissively, “not that there’s a whole lot to see.”

I frowned. “I guess I’ll go out and see what they’re up to.”

“By all means” was his reply.

So, I leapt up and – upon being reminded of my aches – let out an abrupt groan. I heard Red Wake’s keen voice echo from behind, “. . . and don’t hurt yourself!”

What a novel idea.

Despite my muscles’ protest, I kept rising in hopes of a full view of the camp. The smoke from the forges, however, obscured the armada of coal-stained tents, forcing me to fly lower. As I lazily glided along, I was greeted with fleeting glimpses of familiar faces from the training camp, though marred with gashes from massive claws, or patterned red by gouts of flame. I had the wonderful relief of moving too fast to focus on any one for long, letting each face leave my mind as quickly as it entered my sight. They were not forgotten, only . . .

Ignored, I supposed. I ignored them. What were they to me, after all, than faces I could recall? I did not know them, nor did I notice how many of those familiar faces I did not see. They may as well have been an empty space. I felt a tinge of sympathy, perhaps, when I saw a burnt face or a mangled wing, but I knew, and they knew, my sympathy did not matter.

And I did not deserve to feel sorry for them. I could not feel their agony. In fact, if anything, I would only be a reminder to them of their own disfigurement. There I was, spotless, flitting lazily over the crippled, the mangled, and the bereaved. And yet on I flew, letting myself ignore them, letting them mingle into blurs. I even stopped letting my eyes focus on them, instead just searching for splotches of teal and green across my eyes’ smudged canvas, my mind kept busy with a low, but wistful tune. By the time I caught sight of my companions, I found myself humming the chorus.

Dewdrop was bent over, kicking at the ground with a forehoof, while Sweetsprout was fishing something out of a saddlebag. I landed lightly, and asked, “What are you two up to?”

“Phhlantnn fhhlwrrs,” was Sweetsprout’s reply, through a mouthful of seeds. I shot Dewdrop an inquiring glance.

“We’re planting flowers around the camp,” Dewdrop clarified, while Sweetsprout began spitting individual seeds into the divots Dewdrop had made.

“Why?”

“It’s something to do,” he answered, “It’s a bit more satisfying than sitting in a tent or shooting targets.”

Having finished planting the seeds, Sweetsprout joined in. “It’ll brighten the place up a bit, too, help freshen the air.”

I took a deep breath, and immediately realized his point. The air stank of sweat and smoke, which had hitherto snuck just under my notice. I coughed a bit of the foul air out before commenting, “You know, that’s not a bad idea.”

Dewdrop smiled as he finished covering the seeds and said, “Help us out, then. There’s plenty more to go.”

So, I followed them to their next little stop, and dug alongside Dewdrop, and continued to do so for the rest of the day – Dewdrop was not kidding when he said there was more work to do – until we all had sore backs and dirt-coated hooves. Whenever I looked up at Dewdrop, a smile seemed to be edging its way onto his face.

And I found myself starting to smile with him.