Left Behind

by Slender Dash

Rating: everyone
Tags: Slice of Life, Dark, Sad
Length: 3173

Ponies travelled far and wide to find Equestria. What about those ponies who were to slow, or didn't want to leave?

Everyone knows the tale of Hearth's Warming Eve. The ponies bring the blizzard to their lands, then leave to do the same thing. Only the second place, now Equestria, was saved. What about those who were left behind?

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-01-30 19:28:57 UTC

Prologue

"And that's how Equestria was made!" said an ecstatic pink mare, actually using the correct story this time instead of swapping it with her cutie mark story. She bounced at the end exclamation, spreading a huge grin across her face. She looked down at three tired young orange, yellow, and white fillies, yawning and groaning s they heard the tale dragged on for a third time. Pinkie was about to go for her fourth before she realized that no one wanted to hear it.

"Okay girls, I guess it's time for bed! Hearth's Warming Eve is tomorrow, and since your sisters are busy preparing, you got to come here!" Pinkie said, being just as loud and excited as before. The fillies rolled their eyes, and began climbing into the spare bed at the Cake's.

Pinkie Pie left them to it and went down stairs to get a fresh "Winter Special" peppermint cake, and stirred some peppermint and marshmallows into three cups of cocoa before placing them onto a tray. She picked it up easily with a practiced mouth and carried it upstairs, rationing out cups and cake to the ponies snuggled up in bed.

"Are you starring in the Hearth's Warming Eve play again this year?" Sweetie Belle squeaked.

"Nope! We have to give some pony else a turn!" Pinkie replied, not at all bummed out about being replaced this year.

"Are we all having a big party?" Scootaloo said, beaming.

"Yup! It'll be great!"

Applebloom remained silent. Her eyes were burrowed in thought, and her eyes were locked on the bed sheets, but it looked as if she were staring at something in the distance. Pinkie frowned, and trotted over to the other side of the bed.

"Are you okay?" Pinkie asked, concern tinged her voice.

"Is that story...true? Or is it just an old pony's tale, made up for a moral?" Applebloom said quietly, moving nothing but her lips.  Her head had cocked to the side, and she now looked at her hooves under the blankets.

"Yes..It's true. Why?" Pinkie Pie asked, her concern replaced by strange curiosity.

"If that's true...what if there were ponies we left behind?"

A New Day

The wind brushed my hair lightly back and ruffled it slightly, filling me with a sense of freedom. I peered down from the top of my hill over looking the valley, gazing at the snowy landscape spread out before my eyes. It's weird, living here. Even during the summer it snowed, but at least less. People loved the summer, and that caused ponies to be a little more kind. The winters made everyone dreary though, and it snowed more then. It snowed much more during wars.

I hate them, so much. The Wendigos, the evil spirits that feed off hatred. Everyone harbors hate in their hearts. If everything is frozen and dead, how are we supposed to make it better? I ruffled my wings in both frustration and chill, then continued watching the sun rise. The sun both rose and set in a flare of reddish light, so the only way to tell which was which was by whether you woke up recently or not.

Do you know,

of the Wendigos?

Feed off hatred,

winter will grow.

If you aren't nice,

your heart will be ice and

the cold will reign once more.

I began softly singing the sad foal's tale, teaching our young ones about the dangers of the Wendigos and our world and hatred. It was a depressing song, and the kids fall silent immediately when the tune is heard. I sighed and shooked my head, then made my way down the hill, approaching the town below.

My muscles tensed, and my eyes scanned the town slowly, searching for movement. I adjusted the saddlebags that I was wearing, tightening them so they would be harder for any pony to snatch. I was one of the few people brave enough to show my face in the open, only because I could fight well. I had to learn in a world like this, where survival of the fittest is exactly that.

Once a land, of

beauty and grace.

Shared by each and

every race.

Off they went and

here we are

living under the stars.

The town was in ruins. Each window was smashed, the shards of glass catching any dim light that reached it. Most shutters had been torn off, and others were barely attached. Doors lay off their hinges or crooked in the doorways, and the roofs had holes. The walls of buildings were dented, and the floorboards were creaky and rotting. The dirt path in the center of the town was muddy in places, and dust lined every windowsill. I lifted a hoof as filthy water splashed in my face, then crept into a slightly more...healthy structure.

"Hey, Rusty," I called out, and I heard a bump as he came out of the back room. I gave a disapproving glare at his dark red coat, caked with dry mud and grime. His grey hair lay in tatters, also dotted with patches of muck. He adjusted his filthy glasses, then tottered over to a creaky wooden stool. He leaned his head against the wall, and nodded.

"Nice t' see ya, Ember," He said casually. "Whatchya looking' to buy today?" He leaned slightly too far and fell off his chair, smashing a wooden floor board as he hit the ground. I cracked up, holding my stomach as he got up with a grimace and frowned at me. I simply shrugged my shoulders before stalking over to the counter. It was one of those counters you see with a glass pane on the outside, except that this glass was magic-proof. And there was a very sturdy lock on the other side, protecting the precious food inside.

My mouth watered as I eyed a loaf of stale bread, and I groaned with envy at the fresh, coarse loaf. I licked my lips as I spotted the bundle of carrots, and sighed as I noticed a small bale of hay the size of my head. I ran through the items I had brought with me in my head, trying to figure out if it would be enough for something. I waited a moment before squeaking out, "How much?"

Rusty put a hoof to his chin, scratching it slowly as he pondered a fair trade. He grunted several times as I stood there awkwardly, scuffing my hoof against the dusty floor. I looked up as he opened his mouth, and I sighed with impatience as he shut it again.

"I'll give you the new loaf for three apples," he began, "the stale one for two carrots. The carrots for five wild onions, and the bale of hay for two cups of clean water." I grimaced at the prices which seemed to have risen from yesterday, and unbuckled my saddlebags. I placed down three apples, and Rusty began to unlock the counter. I also placed one cup of water, since I could not spare another. I shot him a pleading look and he scowled, but accepted my payment and handed over the fresh bread and the hay. I stuffed them into my bags and walked out the door, with Rusty shutting the door swiftly behind me.

I continued walking down the street, my hooves getting dirtier by the second. I scowled as I stepped in something that I wasn't sure was mud, then stopped to try scraping it off onto a building. Suddenly, my ears perked up as I heard the chorus of a familiar tune.

Wars and battles

always fought

Winter comes from

darkest thoughts

but if you love

then you'll go far and

we'll never be apart.

The chorus was always one of my favorite parts of the song. Even in this horrid place, this wasteland, this wretched hole that we teach our young to fear, we also found a way to give them hope. A small smile touched my lips at the sound of the other pony's voice, and I turned my head to see its owner. The smile melted off my face.

The owner of the voice was a sad looking malnourished pony, with dull green fur and straight, fragile, wispy hair. Her face held a look of sadness and horror, and tears spilled down her face. Her ribcage was noticeable, and her legs were thin as well. She cradled another pony in her careful arms, letting the tears fall upon his chest as they spilled from her face. The sleeping pony was a light grey, with a short, yellow mane. His ribcage was even more pronounced than his holder, and his head fell beck limply. His chest did not stir, and I knew what I saw.

He was dead.

It looked like a mixture of starvation and sickness that did him in, seeing his ribcage. The corpse looked tiny and weak, looking like he was a pony about my age. My heart twisted for the family, and a tight sigh escaped my lips. I couldn't let myself cry. Crying is a sign of weakness. And in this world, this place, weakness is not tolerated.

I slowly walked past the mourning mother, and when behind her, I stopped. I dug through my saddlebags until I dug out my fresh loaf of bread, and I ripped off a sizable hunk. Then I tossed it down in front of the woman, and walked slowly on.

"Bless you," she cried, and I halted to turn and give a small smile. Then I kept moving forward, on through the colorless, dark town, the place where even the ponies looked as dull as their land. I moved at a steady pace, wanting to make it home before the sun completely rose, when people were more...active. No one waited for night time here to attack. No one goes outside at night.

My eyes snapped to movement in the shadows, and my senses instantly went on high alert. Flickers of color here and there gave away the position of a pony, slowly circling behind me. I kept walking slowly, so he thought I didn't spot him. He wouldn't have the element of surprise, and it would be a disadvantage to him if he still thought he did.

I whirled around swiftly as the pony launched himself out of the bushes with a savage cry. I noticed their cloak, their color, and their gender instantly, along with the sharp, silver object glinting at me in their hoof. He lost momentum and started to fall towards me, and I saw everything in slow-motion. His knife was in his right hand, on my left. I punched out a hoof to redirect the knife's course, then used my outstretched arm to grab his shoulder and spin him to face the other direction. He stumbled a moment before catching his feet, and he stood crouched.

I felt bad for the kid. He was a very dull tan, with spiky blue hair that seemed to be cut badly. He looked younger than me, and skinnier, too. I wish I could give him bread, but I don't give charity to people trying to cut my throat out. I lowered into a half-crouch myself, my muscles tightening as we slowly began circling each other.

"Give me the bread, and no one gets hurt," He said bravely, his voice changing pitch due to a lovely thing called puberty. I snarled in reply, and he narrowed his eyes. I saw his feet though, treading more quickly than before, as if nervous. I smiled. There was no way he would win this fight.

"Lady, I'm not tellin' you again!" He shouted, and I growled again. We circled in silence once more, lifting up dust with our antsy feet, pulling on our poker faces so as not show our confidence, or in his case, fear. I saw it though, and once again a pang of pity gripped my heart. I soon shrugged the nuisance feeling off, and hardened my heart.

"Are you sure this is a game you want to play?" I pestered, and his reply was a war cry and a launch off of skinny legs towards me. I crouched lower to the ground, wiggling my haunches to prepare. I leaned backwards, shifting my weight to my hind legs until he was five feet away...and wham, I pushed down hard off the ground in a solid punch to the jaw, swinging upward with an accurate front hoof. His head whipped back, and his body slammed into the ground on his back. He writhed in agony for a moment before standing on fragile hooves. He plucked his knife from the ground, which he had dropped, and hesitated a moment before launching another attack.

I crouched low again, shifting my weight to my hind legs again. Thinking I was going for the same trick, when he reached my vicinity he started swiping lower to the ground. Before the blade could pierce my skin, I leapt to the left, landing squarely on my  two front legs and balancing on them for half a moment before snapping my hind legs out in a powerful buck. I caught him justly on the temple, and he dropped like a rock.

I tsk tsked him as I searched him for food, which he had none of. I collected his knife from the ground, and deposited the fine-quality blade in my saddlebags. I slid my hoof over his face to shut his eyelids while he slept, and wondered the damage I did as I continued on my journey home. Did I kill him? No, I don't think so. Coma? Probably. He could be like that for awhile. I might have given him brain damage.

I continued through the bleak town until I reached its outer edge, and started stepping towards a small, ramshackle home. I pushed open its red door casually, and I spotted my poor mother sitting on the couch, her back slouching and her head in the clouds. A small smile crept onto my face in addition to the tear that had formed in my eye.

"Hey, Mom," I squeaked, "How have you been feeling today?"

"Me? What about you, Pearl? You're so skinny! Get something to eat," my mom demanded. A small sob escaped my lips before I caught myself, rooting a smile onto my face. It was one of these days again.

"You need to eat too, Mom," I said gently, pulling out the bread and handing it to her. She swiped it from my hand and began munching it down, causing her peppermint hair to get in her mouth as she ate. Like a child would do.

I walked into my small room, and soon plopped down onto the bed. I buried my face in my pillow and let the tears flow. I wept like a child, for me, my mom, and Pearl. Pearl, my sister, who hadn't made it past five years old due to starvation. My mother had slipped into grief soon after her death, and now she thought I was my sister on most days. I can't rely on my mother, and she can't feed herself. All of this was up to me.

Pearl. I can still remember that cute little girl, my baby sister. She always found the good in the world, no matter what. Maybe that's just little kids in general, or maybe it was her. But she never failed to brighten my day. And now she was gone, snatched from this world by the harsh grip of death that excuses no one, regardless of age.

I wiped a tear from my eye, and began singing again.

Through the winter

and the cold.

Ponies living

young and old.

Though hard it is,

this life we share,

For you I will always care.

I mumbled the stanza over again as I left my room and fled my troubles. I walked outside, right past my sleeping mother, into the nip of winter fangs. Frost crunched under my feet, and the sun shone meekly close to the horizon. I had been in my room longer than I thought. The day was almost over.

I walked back into town, intent on going to my favorite hill, where I had been this morning. The town seemed to be in a frenzy, with wary mothers scuttling along frightened kids. Huge stallions were trotting nervously through the snow, along with some of the stronger mares. The snow was worsening. Why? It was summer. Why all the hate?

I swiveled my head around and finally pinpointed the place they were all going to. It was Rusty's shop. Immediately I began to worry about a riot, and I hopped into a brisk walk. I reached the entrance, and pushed myself through the door. The room was packed, and I had to hover at the back of the room to see. Everypony fell silent.

"We all know what it's like here," said a pony, standing on top of the counter. Actually, it was Rusty, making me even more confused. "Hard work, hard life, stealing just to survive," he continued, getting unsatisfied grunts from some of the listeners.

"We are not usually a very...together community, but I tell you now, if we do not join together, we will all die separately!" Ponies moved uncomfortably on their hooves, some accepting these words, but some still deciding.

"I have a few spare sets of armor. I will pass them out. But right now, we need to prepare. Go home! Get any weapon you can! Eat hearty, and curb your hunger. We need our strength! I will lead the militia, if ponies approve. Go! For tonight, wee are at war!" Rusty finished, shouting at the top of his lungs. The soldiers, now piped up and ready, war screaming back, using savage war cries only us survivors can utter. All of the Old Lands must have heard them.

The warmth drained from my heart as the words sank in. Preparing, armor, going to war...going to war. We're going to war. I get the snow now. Who with, though?

I sped out of the building, using my muscly wings. Fastest flier in all of the Old Lands, they call me. I sped through town, dodging ponies swiftly as I chugged on. I flew up my hill, alighting softly on the hill. My eyes were facing my feet, and I slowly lifted my head.

I gasped in horror.

Countless feathery, clawed beasts were hurtling this way, propelling themselves on wings faster than any pony could every fly. Hoards of griffins filled the sky, practically blotting out the dim sun. They came in clouds and droves, each wearing only a small amount of armor. They didn't need armor. We were dead, any way.

And when the times,

seem better than bad.

War will take away

all that you've had.

The Wendigos will

have a feast and

our life here swiftly ceased.

And my song of the new day ended, right then and there.