In Golden Armor

Everything had to look perfect.  He had to look his best.  His house was dusted, and his floor was swept.  She would be there soon, and he wanted to make a good impression; even if she was just staying for a few minutes.  His mane was combed, his gray coat was polished like granite marble.  And as he stared into the mirror, memories came rushing back of a place far away, and a time he failed to forget.

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Red Ink wasn't sure when they'd arrived in the town of Yelue, but while they were resting, he saw that while the war had already touched the town with its cold graze, the town's ponies had cleaned up.  They had wanted to look their best for the Equestrian soldiers.  With no international conflict in over a thousand years, the Equestrian's reputations was still pure enough that they were viewed as the shining beacon of the world.  The stone was swept and dusted, the windows were wiped, and the rubble was cleaned from the streets.  Red Ink found himself wandering into an alleyway adjacent to an old coffee shop.  The cleanliness hadn't reached here.  Chipped away, yellow plaster covered the dirty cobblestone.

Red Ink brushed away some of the plaster, and found a dried, dark blood stain on the stone.  For a moment, Red Ink tried to picture the victim.  What did they look like?  What was their job?  Were they a baker or a blacksmith?  But in the end, Red Ink found it easier to cover the blood stain once more, and leave the alley.

Outside, Red Ink looked around him as the other soldiers sat on stone benches and engaged in anxious small talk.  War was staring at them over blood stained fields, and they were staring right back, swords at the ready.  He looked around at his fellow soldiers; his brothers.  Red Ink was the father figure of the platoon, being an ancient age of thirty five.  Some of the kids in his platoon were the same age as the ones he taught.

Good luck Mr.Ink!  Send those griffins my regards!  I'll join ya in a few months!  I'm signing up as soon as I'm legal.  The school created a big farewell-best-wishes card for him, signed by all the students.  Every now and then on his leave during basic he'd visit the kids and tell them to stay in school and out of the war, but he knew it was a lost cost.  Hard Hitter, don't.  You don't want to go to war.  Haven't you listened to anything I've taught you? The kids in his school had as much pride in their country as the griffins did in theirs.  Yeah Mr. Ink I did.  And I also listened when they told us about the Border Guard platoon that was butchered.  Those griffins have taken it too far Mr. Ink, and I'm gonna help give em what for.

Red Ink saw a trio of his closest friends in the platoon by a ruined fountain.  Red Ink slowly made his way over where they were, the whole time trying to block out the desolate buildings around him.  Linked Chain sat next to Heavy Duty with Black Hat standing across from them.

They exchanged greetings while Red Ink sat down against the fountain lip.  Heavy Duty told him that they were talking about sticking knives on the end of archer's bows so they could fight in close quarters.  They wanted his opinion because being a teacher, he'd know if it was a good idea or not.

Red Ink told them that he was a history teacher, not a weapon smith.  Linked Chain told Ink that they knew that, but being a teacher of any subject still made him an educated pony.  Ink pondered telling them it could work, and let them continue believing that they were innovators, but decided against it. Red Ink told them that the knives would probably disrupt the careful balance of the bow and cause it to be inaccurate or shatter entirely.  The soldiers thanked him for his opinion, and continued to discuss how kickflank it would be to see a pony twirling a bow around, slicing and dicing enemies.

Red Ink felt a little offended by them ignoring him.  But a part of him believed that they already knew it wouldn't work, and that they just wanted to put the image in his head; spread the love of the flank kicking mare with the ninja bow.  But no matter how much he tried to picture it, all he could see was her pulling the string back, only for the bow to snap in her face; probably take out an eye before being taken down by the enemy she were going to kill.

Red Ink stood by his friends whilst they rambled on about impossible things, and really focused on the soldiers around him.  After all, they could all die tomorrow.  being older than most colts in his company by fifteen years had its advantages, but it also had its disadvantages.

Of the disadvantages, was that he was slower, and weaker than some of the younger colts in the company. Even after spending much of his career working with teenagers, he still couldn't associate with them as much as he would like.  Of the advantages, Ink was more experienced, and he had a sense of morality that the others just didn't have.  He'd been around a long time, and he'd seen bad things happen to good ponies.  He knew that there was a good chance he wouldn't come back alive.  And if he did, he knew that no matter what, he wouldn't come back as Red Ink, but as a soldier.

And as he sat there next to his friends in a town that had felt the cold blow of war, preparing to face the worst kind of disagreements; he took it all in.  He took in the sight of the town that desperately tried to cover up the battle scars, the way one would cover up a disfigurement.   He took in the sounds of soldiers muttering small talk, trying not to show their anticipation and worry, and instead swaggered about and bolstered.  He took in the way townsfolk would give food or water to some of the soldiers, but shake their heads at their banter, for they knew better.  But most of all, he took in the way he felt.  He tried to find the root of his curiosity for the town, its folk, the countryside around him; because he knew that when this was all over, one way or another, he wouldn't care anymore.