It was night again. The Waystone Inn lay in silence, and it was a silence of three parts.
The most obvious part was a hollow, echoing quiet, made by things that were lacking. If there had been a wind, it would have whistled through the leaves of the Everfree forest which the inn bordered. If there had been a crowd, even a handful of ponies inside, they would have filled the silence with conversation and laughter. If there had been music... but no, no music.
The second silence belonged to a pair of stallions huddled in the corner of the bar. They sipped at their drinks with quiet determination, avoiding any serious conversation, adding a sullen silence to the first.
The third was hard to notice. It was in the inn itself, in the floor swept to perfection, in the dead weight of the burned out fire in the hearth. It was in the gentle scrubbing of the bar which already gleamed. And it was in the hooves of the mare who stood there, the mare with the eyes that hinted at hidden depths.
The Waystone was hers, just as the third silence was hers. This was appropriate, as it was the greatest silence of the three. It was deep and wide, heavy as a great stone. It was the patient sound of a mare who is waiting to die.
The usual crowd was gathered at the Waystone. Five wasn't much, but it was as much as the Waystone saw now, times being what they were.
Old Cake was filling his role as storyteller and advice dispenser. The other stallions at the bar sipped their drinks, listening loosely.
"When he awoke, Starswirl the Bearded found himself locked in a high tower. They had taken his spells and magical components, but that wasn't the worst bit. You see," Cake paused for effect, " all the flames in his cell burned blue!"
Cake stared at the youngest member of his audience, the smith's apprentice. "Do you know what that means, boy?"
The young stallion nodded. "The Lunarians."
"Yes, the Lunarians. Now, Starswirl was in a bind, locked in this cell..." The innkeeper listened with half an ear. She had heard this story many times before, in its many different forms. That was the problem with stories; the more they spread about, the more variations of the actual truth their were. Still, the familiar tale brought a rare smile to her lips. One which was quickly lost with the opening of the inn's door.
A bloody stallion dragged himself inside. His grey fur was stained red from the long gashes along his sides. He managed five steps, looked about him, and collapsed onto the floor. The patrons all rose as a group and rushed to him. The innkeeper recognized him as Carter, another usual and friend to the stallions present. She calmly turned around, levitating a bottle off of the shelf behind the bar.
"Carter, what happened to you?" asked Cake. His friend only looked up in response, trying to answer. He couldn't, and collapsed onto the floor again. The innkeeper suddenly appeared before him, bottle hovering to her right, and a rag to her left.
"Give him some space," she said. The stallions all nodded blankly, eyes fixed firmly on their friend as they moved back a pace. At least the wounds weren't deep, she told herself. He was unlikely to bleed to death, despite appearences. She flipped the bottle over onto the rag, soaking it in alcohol. "This will sting," she whispered to the injured pony. "Try not to move as much as possible."
"And Tri, bring me another rag." This was addressed to a mare behind the bar, one that nobody had noticed enter the room besides the innkeeper. She appeared to be much younger than the innkeeper, thinner and slightly taller. Like the innkeeper, she was a unicorn. The mare nodded, silver mane dipping to cover the flash of concern in her eyes. She levitated several over to the innkeeper, who continued working in silence until the stallion's sides were clean. Suprisingly, he had suffered the scrubbing in silence.
"Now some cloth please." The younger mare rushed off to find some. While she was gone the stallion raised himself up slightly, trying again to speak. Once again, words failed him, so he instead pointed towards the still open door. Immediately outside of it sat a leather bag, partially torn. One of the other stallions pulled it inside, surprised at the weight of it. He let go of it, and it tipped over onto its side, opening. A black leg stuck out of it, riddled with holes. One of the other stallions moved to pull it from the bag, but the innkeeper stopped him.
No, she thought. It can't be.
The other mare appeared beside her, as silently as she had entered the room before. She took one glance at the leg and stiffened. Her thoughts ran the same course as the innkeeper's.
"Bel, is that..."
"Yes," Bel interupted her, taking the cloth with her own magic. She pointedly looked away from the protruding limb as she finished her apprentice's thought.
"It's a Changeling." The stallions all looked at her as if she had spoken a foreign language, which to them she supposed she had. She inwardly cursed herself for speaking out loud. Bel threw herself into wrapping up the injured stallion, tearing up the cloth into strips. She soon had him covered in a crude bandage. She looked into the stallion's eyes, which were currently trying to refocus themselves.
"Now," she said, her voice edged with a slight chill. "Tell me what happened." He nodded, lips moving, forming words with no sound. Eventually, he managed a few words, barely audible.
"...attacked me..." he croaked.
"Where?" Bel asked, though she already could guess the answer. He couldn't have made it far with those wounds. Carter looked at her, no, through her, again forming the words with no sound.
"Mile up the road," he said. Bel cursed inwardly again. How could they be here, now? The young stallion, the one who had known about the Lunarians, dashed to the bag and threw it open. He flew back just as fast.
"What in the Goddess is that?" he cried. The body to which the limb belonged was now mostly visible. It was roughly pony in shape, but had a face like a bug, and wings to match. The holes which had been visible in its leg travelled up to its body. A jet black body, with no visible fur. Smooth as stone. And as hard as it. A thick crack was visible, running down the left side of its face. Everyone stared at it in silence before Cake answered.
"Can't you tell, boy?" he yelled. "It's a demon!" Bel looked to Tri. Both could see the others thoughts, in part because they were thinking the same thing. They knew it wasn't a demon. It was worse than a demon, because those didn't exist, at least not in the manner in which many ponies thought of them. This did, and both mares knew how dangerous Changelings could be. One could kill a man. Five could kill a village.
And Changelings never hunted alone.