Demons of the Desert

by The_Last_Centurion

Rating: teen
Tags: Adventure
Length: 13616

A story of a colt in the desert taking vengeance on those who did him wrong. It's a western.

Some say that when you die, your soul stays with your body. Some say that your soul goes onto a better place, a place that's filled with peace and happiness.
But the ponies and bison of the desert know better. When a soul is wronged, when a pony or bison dies in cold blood at the hands of something truly evil, it comes back. It comes back looking for vengeance.
Those spirits are known by one name:
The Chindi, the Demons of the Desert.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-03-24 20:40:02 UTC

The legend begins

This story is a fan-fiction of MLP:FiM. I don't own any of it. It belongs to Hasbro, etc, etc.

Don't sue. Seriously. That would be so uncouth.

Legends and Sands

The burning sun was finally setting on the sands of the San Palomino desert, the edges of the flaming oranges, yellows, and reds tinging the sky shared by the royal sisters as Celestia’s day turned into Luna night, filled with deep blues, purples, and star-studded black sky. A small group of ponies and bison sat around a campfire, their sleeping rolls set out, and their marshmallows cooking over the fire. The laughter of fillies and foals of both pony and bison variety rang out across the night as they cajoled and played in the growing dark. As Luna’s moon rose in the east and the stars grew brighter and brighter, the aged bison, the one who always took the young ones out, spoke up.

“Quiet down children, quiet down.” She said softly, her voice sounding like the shifting sands. “It is time to hear one of the greatest legends.”

“Is this another one like the great constellation stories?” asked a young foal, his mouth full of marshmallow.

“Yeah, is it the Legend of Crimson Moon! I love that one!” a bison filly squealed in excitement.

The wise old bison just chuckled. “No, no my children. This is a much different story. This is a true story, a story of a living legend.” She said, tossing some dust into the flame, turning it different colors. At this point, all the fillies and foals were rapt with the shaman’s storytelling skills.

“Our legend starts not with life, but with death, young ones. But remember, this legend was of our desert, so…”

“What the desert takes, it give back.” All the children said in unison, so used to the old shaman’s phrases.

The shaman smiled. “Yes, my children. Now listen as I tell the story, from death to life…”

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The thunder in the distance was not a good sign. One would think thunder would make the life of the San Palomino desert happy, as thunder usually meant rainwater, a valuable source of life in this arid environment. But one would be wrong.

Chief Ironhorns looked back at his shaman, Sandcoat. He did not like the look on his face. The thunder in the distance continued, dry lighting flashing in the clouds, winds whipping the ground and creating small sand devils all around the whole tribe of bison. The Chief was rarely scared, but this was one of the worst omens possible. He and his shaman had been around long enough to know what it meant and they both disliked it. In fact, it was the whole reason why Chief Ironhorns had made his whole tribe pack up and trek as far away from the storm as possible as the thunder and winds started up. A storm of this size could only mean one thing: the spirits of the dead were angry.

And when the spirits of the dead were angry, the created demons that scoured the desert for eternity, until they received their vengeance. They were known to all the tribes by one name.

Chindi: Demons of the Desert.

“Father! Father! Quickly! We found something!” called the voice of Eagle, Chief Ironhorns’s son and the best scout in the tribe. He was renown across the shared tribal lands as the owner of the best eyes and a hunting ability that could even outfox the Coyote. It was even more amazing that he was so young, only eight summers of age. However, when he found something, it was always something important.

The Chief started running to the head of the tribe, all moving in a column after the young Eagle. Sandcoat was nipping at the Chief’s hooves as he ran up to where his son, still slender and scrawny as all bison are at that age, jumped up and down, pointing into a shallow hole.

The Chief and Shaman looked into the hole, seeing nothing for a moment until some lighting illuminated the night sky, showing them what was in the hole. They gasped together as they saw the crumpled body of a young earth pony, about the same age as Eagle, laying in the blood stained sand.

As thunder echoed through the desert, the shaman Sandcoat lowered himself into the hole. He put his hooves on the colt’s body. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, before shouting to the Chief.

“I need the medical tent set up. NOW!”

The chief went off to get the things set up, leading the growing crowd of bison around the hole to do their jobs that would help the shaman. Sandcoat looked over the colt once again. It didn’t seem like there was any major injuries to him, other than the fact that somepony had cut off his front right leg and left him for dead out in the desert. It was obvious somepony had intended for him to bleed out and die, but by his defiant breaths, he was still alive. But his life was slipping. Sandcoat knew it would be too late by the time the medical tent was set up and his wounds were cleaned and sealed.

Yet, as the shaman pulled him out of the hole, he looked up to the sky. The tumult of the storm was the sign he needed. He knew what must be done. He knew that the spirits wanted this one to live. As the medical tent was set up feet before the shaman, the water warmed, tools unwrapped, and towels moistened, he carried the colt gently into it. He laid the prone body on a mat of dried Palo Verde leaves and grasped the medicinal herb pouch from his neck as he started a fire next to the colt. As the fire flared into life, he removed a few herbs and threw them into the fire. The flames changed color and the Shaman started chanting as he cleansed the colt’s wound. This would take all night; but the colt would be dead before dawn. The shaman chuckled as he knew the colt would be awake for tomorrow’s dinner though.

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At 04:32 hours, any normal pony doctor would have declared the colt dead. “He died from massive dehydration along with substantial blood loss,” they would have told you. However, at 06:43 hours, the same doctors would have told you “He has a steady pulse and breathing rate. He should be fine, as long as he keeps the wound clean.”

Around 07:00 hours, Sandcoat came out of the medical tent, drenched in sweat and looking quite haggard. He gave a toothy smile to Chief Ironhorns, the chief’s wife Sunshine, and their son Eagle.

“He will be fine.” Sandcoat sighed, sitting down on the gentle dust-sand around him.

“What does this mean?” the chief asked. “He did die, did he not?”

“Yes…but…well, I didn’t bring him back so much as just let him come back.” The shaman said, rolling onto his back to look up at the fiercely blue skies.

“What do you mean shaman?” the three asked.

“What I mean is that the spirits helped him. He is no longer who he once was. He has died and has come back.”

“The Chindi…” the Chief said with bewilderment glimmering in his eyes. “We…we must help him in whatever way we can.”

“Yes.” The shaman said as he closed his eyes. “We will. But now, I need a nap.” The chief and his family left the shaman in peace, all stunned at what this meant. Secretly, the Shaman did not sleep. His mind was racing too much to even allow his beaten body one moment of rest. He remembered what the spirits had done to this colt. How they…changed him.

But this was all too new! Nothing like this had ever happened before! Not in the history of all the tribes of the San Palomino. The shaman cracked his eyes open and looked at the sun above his head. It hurt his eyes and he could feel the heat of the sun warming his whole body, coaxing it to sleep, repairing it while his eyelids fluttered.

A living Chindi. No. The Chindi of the desert, in a living form, able to act both in the spiritual world and the living one…

Would he look for nothing but vengeance as all the Chindi spirits did? Or would he do something more, look for something better than vengeance???

Sandcoat the shaman wondered these things as he fell into a deep sleep under the sun.

The stranger's entrance

This story is a fan-fiction of MLP:FiM. I don't own any of it. It belongs to Hasbro, etc, etc.

Don't sue. Seriously. That would be so uncouth.

Entrance

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Coltodora. The fiery cesspool of all that was vile and sinister out in the vast San Palomino desert and one of the few towns far into it. One of the furthest, in fact. It was miles away from Appleoosia, so much so that the ponies who lived here barely considered themselves part of Equestria.

Unfortunately, this apathy and disregard breeds one thing and one thing alone: lawlessness.

The streets were filled with seedy mares looking for a quick buck and nasty stallions looking for a good time, whether it be found in pleasures of the flesh, gambling, or fighting another stallion. Coltodora was a town any good pony would stay away from.

But he wasn’t a good pony.

Enter: the cloaked stranger.

The multitudes of stallions and street-mares they were trying to do business with stopped at once. They turned and looked at the strange stallion, walking in from the desert. No pony ever came to Coltodora without some other pony knowing about it. But the stranger…was strange. He was covered in a large desert cloak and wore a sand-beaten fedora that barely hid his flowing red mane. His appearance wasn’t that strange, but it was the way he walked and the sound of him walking that drew the glaring attention of every sin-ridden pony on the street. Every one of his steps made a loud metallic clanking underneath his cloak that told everypony one thing: this stranger was armed. And from the sound of the clanking, he was heavily armed.

All that put everypony on edge and the glares he received would scorch a normal pony at twenty paces. But if living in the desert teaches you one thing, it’s that no pony can compare with the heaviest glarer of them all; that ball of plasma in the sky that made normal ponies happy, but out here in the San Palomino, would make them cringe. So, the stranger trudged on to his final destination.

The wooden sign outside the saloon hung on a solitary chain and was riddled with bullet holes and broken glass from bottles that must have been thrown at it. Its abuse and the noise from inside the saloon told the stranger that this one would be like all the others, rowdy and crouched like a tiger about to pounce upon you, crushing the life from you the instant it has its teeth around your throat. But this wasn’t a time to falter. One can only go forward in situation like this. So the stranger entered.

The saloon was dark, musky, reeked of smoke, sex, beer, and sin. But, as disgusting as it was, it was also the darkest and coolest place in town, and the only place to get a decent drink. It seemed like the whole saloon was living with debauchery as the stranger entered, but as he strode to the bar, the saloon fell silent. The only things that could be heard was the clank of metal under the stranger’s cloak and the gentle sound of cloth on wet glass as the barkeep, an older, balding and grey stallion, cleaned a glass. As the stranger approached the bar, the only one without any eyes on him was the barkeep. He had eyed the stranger from the corner of his eye and knew his type. He would walk in, ask a few questions, maybe drink a mug, and then leave. The ponies like him didn’t like to cause trouble. That’s why they always stayed quiet and stayed under their cloaks. However, this isn’t to say they weren’t dangerous…

The clanking stopped as the stranger stopped at the bar. The barkeep kept on cleaning his mug, but the stranger took off his hat in one slow and deliberate movement, placing it on the bar next to him. He gave a silent glance to all in the room and it seemed that all the stallions had subconsciously put their hooves on their guns and as a collective whole, stared to sweat.

No pony they had ever seen had that shade of blood-red mane. No pony they had ever seen had that coat of orange-brown, like so many sand beaten mesas. But most chilling was that no pony ever had those eyes. Those predatory, yellow, and yet somehow dead and alive eyes. The stranger snorted when he saw a certain stallion that had drawn his pistol subconsciously. The pony looked down at his hoof holding the gun and fumbled it back into its holster, sweating all the hard while he did, for he knew who this pony was. Everyone in the saloon knew who this pony was.

“Excuse me.” The pony asked quietly and politely to the barkeep, who had now put down the glass he was cleaning, a small line of sweat beading his brow. “Could you tell me where Ah could find Wild Bill? Ah was told he could be found in Coltodora.”

The saloon collectively gasped silently, not wanting to upset the stallion in any way, but not being able to take this news silently. This certain pony was looking for Wild Bill!?! This pony?!? All the semi-religious ponies in the building did signs of good luck as they wondered what this could mean.

The barkeep dragged his cleaning rag across his sweat laden brow before he opened his mouth and closed it, repeating the process once more before he managed to speak. “Last Ah heard,” the barkeep stammered out, “was that Wild Bill left town.”

The stranger gently shook his head. “No. Ah know for certain he is still here. Could yah point me in the direction he was last?” he said with a smile.

The barkeep’s eyes widened so much they almost popped out of his skull. He took a small step away from the bar, scared at what would happen if he didn’t tell this pony where Wild Bill was. It was true that he could be here to kill him and rid Coltodora of the one thing that tried to suppress its sin, or it could be that he was here to help the bastard. Unfortunately, the barkeep couldn’t do anything but tell him, his mind working on pure fear.

“We locked him up in the prison inside of the Sheriff’s place.” The barkeep said, spilling the beans.

The stranger laughed and smiled. “How ironic! Lockin’ up the Sheriff in his own prison! Ah like it. Oh, thank yah kindly.” He said as he grabbed his hat off the bar and started to head outside. However, the sound of a multitude of pistols being armed stopped him from leaving. His smile disappeared and he cast a sidelong, hateful glance over to the denizens of the saloon who had all pulled their weapons on him. He saw every stallion holding a pistol and some easily bought mares holding small pistols they could hide under their prostitute dresses. He turned his head as he hear the sound of a lever-action rifle be cocked from behind him. The barkeep, as terrified of this pony as he was, had the gall to pull the bar’s only weapon on him.

“’Tain’t goin’ nowhere.” Said one stallion near the front of the pack, clearly scared, but cocky from his fear.

“We can’t let yah cajole with our here Sheriff. He’s stain’ where he is. We don’t need no more meddelin’ from him.” Said one of the prostitutes, her dress ruffling as she shook out of fear, her small gun looking like it would fall from her hoof.

“Ah’ll give this one warning,” the cloaked stallion said, putting his fedora on his head. “You don’ wanna die this way. Believe me.”

The crowd seemed to falter, a few stallions lowering their guns, hearing the truth behind his words. They all knew who he was, and despite his politeness, he was deadly. Just when it seemed like they would put their guns away, a large set stallion, muscular and covered in scars, walked to the front of the pack, his revolver held high. He walked up to the stallion and put his gun against his head.

“Y’all really gonna let this scrawny, yellow, colt-coddling, ass try to free that Sheriff? Y’all remember what he did? Y’all remember how he tried to change mah town? I ain’t goin’ back tah fighting with him e’reyday.” He said, shouting it to the crowd, making them raise their weapons, their morale steeled.

“Ah don’t really care who ya’ are and we all know yer reputation. But lemme tell yah this yah weakling,” he continued, shouting at the stallion while his gun was pressed against his temple. The cloaked stallion stayed calm and held a straight face. “Yah ain’t e-mortal. Yer just a pony like all the rest a’ us an’ now it’s time tah meet yer maker.”

“I already have.” The cloaked pony said.

One gun shot was heard through the saloon, the town, the desert. Everypony in the saloon sat back down, their weapons hitting the floor, knowing futility as the cloaked pony left the saloon and headed towards the sheriff’s. The denizens replayed what had just happened in their minds. The cloaked pony had somehow disarmed Granite, one of the deadliest stallions in all of the Sao Palomino desert, in a matter of movements. His actions seemed to slow time down, making the squeeze of a trigger take eons. Granite didn’t have a chance as the cloaked pony flipped him around, pulling the gun off of Granite’s hoof with his left and pulling the trigger in less than a second. The bullet that was meant for the cloaked pony ripped through Granite’s skull and into the wooden floor of the saloon. Blood stained the wood as everypony in the saloon fell to their knees in fear. They again, did signs of good luck to garner some protection from him. From the Chindi.

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The door of the Sheriff’s office was unlocked so the cloaked stallion strode into the large one room floor of the two story building, just two blocks away (which was actually pretty close for a town as small as Coltodora). He entered the building tenaciously and carefully, expecting some sort of guard to be set up to watch over Wild Bill. There was, but he was knocked out and hog-tied over in the corner of the room. The cloaked pony tensed as he heard yet another pistol cock, ready to steal his life in a matter of milliseconds.

“Who are yah, and what do yah want?” asked a rough, feminine voice.

Without turning, the cloaked stallion answered. “My true name died with me ten years ago. Now I am known as Chindi.” He said steadily, knowing that the mare’s pistol faltered when he said his name.

“The evil dead…The demon of the desert…” she whispered.

“I know.” Chindi answered back, hearing it one too many times already.

“Drop yer gun Creosote.” A husky voice said from Chindi’s right. Chindi heard the pistol disarm and then heard the sound of cool metal sinking into smooth leather. Then he took off his hat and looked around the room. Like all the other buildings, the Sheriff’s office had a wooden floor and walls. However, the first floor had been cleared out, so it was just one giant room. Off to Chindi’s left was a couch, while there was a table to his immediate right. The back of the room had a door that must have led upstairs, while the right side of the room was split. There was a door to the armory, cleverly disguised by the “ARMORY” sign painted onto the door. Next to that was what looked like a large metal cage, mostly because it was, a large metal cage. Next to it stood a young unicorn mare, slender yet tough from living in a town like Coltodora. Her coat was light yellow and her dark brown eyes glared at Chindi with so much suspicion a pony could bite through it.

Inside the cage stood Wild Bill, locked behind bars and hog tied, just like the guard was. His gunmetal grey coat was as dusty as his aged red vest, but his piercing blue eyes shone with a piercing, youth defying gleam. The Sheriff to Coltodora and hero of Southwestern justice. He was famous, first starting out in Dodge Junction as Deputy, moving up to Sheriff, taking down Quick Shot the bank robber and murderer, and then tackling Coltodora, looking to cleanse it of all villainy. Chindi had to hoof it to him, the old salt had done quite a lot here in Coltodora. The last time Chindi was here, there was an omnipresent scent of death around every corner of the town.

“Uncle Wild…” Creosote started, her horn still lit up, the gun illuminated in the yellow magical aura.

“Ah said put the gun down.” Wild Bill said with finality, making his niece drop the gun from her magical hold. “If he wanted to kill us, he would have done so by now.”

“Yah got that right.” Chindi chuckled, earning him an even harsher glare from Creosote. “Kiddin’.” He said, coughing. “But it looks like yer in quite the pickle.”

“Ah’ve been at these bars since noon and Ah haven’t gotten nowhere.” Creosote said as she threw her file down to the ground.

“So what do you want, Mr. Chindi? Why have yah come tah see me? Y’all wanna laugh at the ole’ sheriff locked up in a cage?” Wild Bill asked.

Chindi strode closer to the cage, making both of the Coltodorans tense up. He deftly grabbed the pistol from Creosote’s holster with his left hoof and dumped a bullet onto the floor.

“Hey!” Creosote shouted as he tossed the gun back to her. He picked up the bullet and brought it over to the table, laying it against a book on the table so the only part laying off of the table was the actual bullet, not the casing. He put his left hoof onto the bullet to steady it and he raised his right hoof. He swung it down, atop of the bullet, making it fall out of the casing with a resounding ‘pop!’ He then gently carried the bullet casing over to the cage and poured the black powder into the lock.

“Ah would stand back.” He said as he grabbed a match out of his fedora and struck it against the cage. It flared up and he tossed the match into the lock while hopping backwards. The black powder lit and ‘BOOM!’ shook the room. Luckily, nopony was hurt. However, the lock was mortally wounded, its sides blown in two, and the locking mechanism almost completely gone. The door swung open on its own accord and Wild Bill crawled out. Creosote immediately ran to his side and started helping him untie the ropes around his legs and help him up.

“Ah’ll thank yah fer freein’ me, but Ah still don’t rightly know what yah want.” Wild Bill said as Chindi snorted because he noticed the guard was still asleep.

“Help. Yers preferably.” Chindi replied. “Ah might be what y’all call a desperado or even an outlaw, but Ah need yer help.”

Wild Bill and Creosote looked at him in amazement. They couldn’t believe what they were hearing. The pony that destroyed too many Royal Outposts, the stallion who singlehoofedly took on the whole Hole in the Corral gang and survived needed their help.

“Now why would Ah wanna help yah?” Wild Bill asked. “If y’all didn’t just save me, Ah’d be throwin’ ya into the same jail cell. Do yah know how many times Ah’ve been told by the Royal Equestrian police tah just kill yah if Ah ever did lay eyes upon yer sorry soul?” he said dynamically to Chindi who was looking out the front windows of the building.

“Ah would hit the floor if Ah was yah.” Chindi said as he crawled underneath the desk.

“What?” Creosote and Wild Bill asked as they heard the first gunshot go off. The dove to the floor just as broken glass and bullets filled the air. Creosote screamed, projecting a force field just as glass rained down onto her and her Uncle. Just what had this Demon of the Desert brought unto them? At least he lived up to his name…

“Y’all come out nice and slow if yer still alive in there!” a brutish voice called from out on the street as the trio heard guns being reloaded and cocked. Creosote groaned. She knew that voice along with her Uncle. It was Lime Stone, the second in command of the Rock Gang, led by Granite, the worst stallion in Coltodora and the pony who locked her uncle up.

“Ah wanna see Chindi come out here now!” he yelled, firing two warning shots. “Now, or Ah torch the place!”

Chindi deftly got up and headed for the bullet ridden door.

“Wait.” Wild Bill said, getting up too. “Yah just saved me twice. At least lemme save yah this once.” Creosote couldn’t believe her ears. This is what happened to outlaws; they always ended up killing each other. Why would her only uncle do something stupid like this?!?

Chindi smiled warmly back at Wild Bill. “Yah can repay me later, after we leave town. Lemme just clean his plow and then we can ride. Oh, y’all might want to stay down until Ah’m done.” He said while walking out the door. Creosote pulled her uncle down to the ground, but he pulled her closer to the now windowless window. They both peered out between bullet-ridden curtains.

“Y’all done beefed the wrong pony!” Lime Stone screamed at Chindi as he walked out to the street. Lime Stone threw a pistol at Chindi, his tears of anger mixing with sweat as the pistol landed next to Chindi. “Take it!” he continued. “We’re gonna settle this like stallions!” Instead of picking up the pistol, Chindi walked to one side of the street, the rest of the Rock Gang on the other.

“So yer gonna fight unarmed? Then die!!!” Lime Stone screamed as he and the rest of his gang took aim. “Fire!” he screamed. Wild Bill’s eyes went wide and Creosote screamed as she heard the command.

However, Chindi just smiled and brought up his right hoof. Until now, it had always been covered by his cloak. But now, it shone in the midday sun, reflecting the rays of sunlight everywhere, including the eyes of the Rock Gang’s shooters. But their rouge shots and momentary blindness didn’t affect Creosote’s and Wild Bill’s gaze at all. They were transfixed and scared.

Where Chindi’s right leg should have been, there was a Gatling gun, already humming and spinning. It was strange because it was so deadly, but Chindi was humming along with the gun, almost singing to it lovingly.

“Join yer boss.” Chindi said as the Rock Gang regained their sight and he fired.

In a matter of seconds it was over. While any other gunslinger would have gone crazy and caused terrible carnage with their power, Chindi took seven shots. All kill shots, all neat. There were no mangled bodies, no excessive amounts of blood all over the place, just silence. ‘Like the Desert’ Creosote thought. ‘He comes in quietly and if you’re stupid enough to challenge him, you die. Not with violence, but with silence.’

Chindi took a deep breath and wiped his leg with his cloak. Then he put it back under his cloak and Wild Bill and Creosote could hear a loud ‘Click’. Finally, he turned to the office.

“Pack up yer favorite gun, some food, and lots a’ ammo. Don’t worry ‘bout water er food. We’ll be at a friend’s tonight. But could you hurry please? We should git movin’. And bring Creosote along with ya. Ah don’t like leavin’ loose ends.” He said loudly so they could hear him. Wild Bill got up and headed straight for the armory while Creosote blushed as she hurried off to get the saddle bags and fill them up with small snacks. But she felt apprehensive too. Loose ends? What could that mean? Nevertheless, she had a job to do. Chindi had saved her and her uncle twice today. The least they could do is repay him, even if it meant going someplace unknown with him.

When they had everything together, all their saddle bags packed, all their guns (two Colt revolvers for Creosote-even fillies gotta shoot out west-and one beaten, yet trusty Springfield model 1873 for Wild Bill) holstered, they were ready to depart.

When Chindi saw the rifle, a grin spread along his face. “Yer gonna be popular tonight.”

“Now why is that?” Wild Bill asked.

“Where are we even goin’? And yah still haven’t told us what yah need help with!” Creosote stomped as they started to journey out of town and into the desert. “An’ why would yah tell us not tah bring water?! Were goin’ intah the desert consarnit!”

“We don’t need it.” Chindi said as he started to canter. The pair followed him and when the three of them reached a good distance away from the town, Chindi whistled while Creosote and Wild Bill caught their breath. Out of nowhere came a cart pulled by two large bison braves. They stopped in front of Chindi and they all spoke in bison for a minute. They all laughed at something one of the bison said as Chindi and the two braves looked at the two ponies.

“Jump inta the cart. They’re our lift.” Chindi said as he jumped into it. The two followed again, but Creosote made a face.

“What?” Chindi sighed as the cart got rolling and then sped over the desert under the power of the two bison.

“Where are yah taking us?” she asked.

“To a home away from home.”

Meeting the Family

This story is a fan-fiction of MLP:FiM. I don't own any of it. It belongs to Hasbro, etc, etc.

Don't sue. Seriously. That would be so uncouth.

Meeting the Family

After a long and bumpy cart ride, followed by short six mile hike through sand-worn rocks and canyons, the trio of Chindi, Wild Bill, and Creosote, plus the two bison braves from the tribe, walked out of the rocky escarpment and into a wide desert plain. The plain went on for miles and miles around, but it was broken by a stream flowing through it and a small village of bison teepees next to the stream. When Chindi and the braves saw the teepees, they called out in native bison and were soon answered by similar shouts and calls. However, no bison came out to greet them.

“Come on!” Chindi said with a wide smile as he and the braves started to run towards the village. His cloak whipped behind him and his hat almost flew off, giving Chindi an even more magnanimous look than he already had. Wild Bill and Creosote caught up to Chindi as he raced across the waters of the shallow river, laughing and shouting the whole time. On the other side, he was greeted by the whole village. He started embracing many of them and speaking rapidly in native bison. Creosote felt awkward, not really knowing what to do once she and her uncle had come out of the waters. But that was soon dealt with.

“Welcome, friends of Chindi.” Said an older female bison wearing a large headdress and ornamental neck and ear wear. She was obviously the chief of the tribe. “I am Chieftess Sunshine and we welcome all guests. As long as you are here, our home is your home.”

Wild Bill took off his hat and bowed to her slightly. “Thank ya kindly ma’am.” Creosote did a quick curtsey, but said nothing, only watching Chindi and a few braves catch up.

“Mr. Bill, would you follow me?” the Chieftess asked Wild Bill. “I will show you where your things are.” Wild Bill followed her, leaving Creosote with a forlorn glance. He saw her eyeing the tribe and Chindi. Not with jealousy or envy, but with a blank glance. He had seen that look before…but, looking to Chindi, Wild Bill knew he would talk to her soon. So, he went off with the Chieftess.

Meanwhile, the thinnest bison brave came up to Chindi and put him into a rib-breaking hug. The brave had long legs and a slimmer frame than most of the bison, but had intricate tribal markings on both of his front legs and a pair of dark black sunglasses hanging around his neck. Since it was nearing dusk, the bison had taken them off.  Chindi punched him playfully and they spoke quickly in their native tongue.

“It’s been quite a while, you old desert rat.” The bison said to Chindi.

“Shut up you sun-burnt bird. I bet you’ve been doing nothing but lazing about and sulking since I left last time.”

“At least MY legs don’t rust over if I sit down for too long.”

“That was one time! Plus, I’m not the sissy that needs sunglasses ‘for the bright, bright light.’”

“Well, talking about sight, I spy with my little eye a little certain somepony that you picked up on your last venture.” He said with a wink.

Chindi rolled his eyes. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

Creosote stared at the tribe blankly a mingled with Chindi and the other braves. The sight of such a big family-like gathering had let her fall back into her memories of a time when she had similar times with her own family. She reminisced bitter-sweetly on one of her favorite memories of her and her parents, eating lunch in Dodge Junction, under the apple trees in the park that were brought in from Appleoosia. She remembered how her father and lifted her up to the tree and she took an apple in her mouth, her mother laughing as Creosote sat on her father’s shoulders with the apple in her mouth, doing stupid gestures with her arms. But then the memory started to fade as the other ones jumped to the front of her mind. She quickly closed her eyes and blocked them out, corralling them into the deepest parts of her mind.

“Are yah all right?” a voice asked close to her. She opened up her eyes to see Chindi and a slim bison brave standing in front of her. Chindi had a puzzled look on his face, but the bison seemed more concerned.

“Jus’ a lil’ tired, that’s all.” Creosote lied quickly to hide the tremor in her voice.

Chindi nodded with empathy. “Well, if yah ain’t too tired, Ah’d like tah introduce yah tah my brother, Eagle.” He said nodding to the slim bison brave.

“Wecome to our home.” Eagle said with a sly grin. It was painfully apparent that he was interested in Creosote. Creosote rolled her eyes. Of course, only somepony like a bison would like her.

“Wait a cotton-pickin’ minute,” Creosote said, her eyes filling with wonder from recognition, “How is he yer brother? Y’all are…well…”

“It’s alright,” Eagle said. “Many other bison find it strange as well, or they do until they hear Chindi’s story.” He looked to his brother with a raised eyebrow.

Chindi took a deep breath. It looked like he had just aged ten years and for some reason, the dark look on his face made the warm desert night feel like it was the frozen north. “I will tell it in all due time, brother.”

“Why is it always like that? Yah say yer gonna tell us, but then yah pass off our questions?!?” Creosote said, her frustration from the day’s events rising.

Chindi just sighed again and looked up to the quickly dimming sky, as the sun was beginning to set. “Ah’ll tell y’all everything after dinner. But fer now, Ah’m starving.”

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The bonfire outside of the Chieftess’s teepee roared with heat against the cold desert night, giving all the ponies and bison around it a sense of peace, despite the day’s events. With full stomachs and a growing chill, everypony wanted to go to sleep, but none would. For they all knew that the Chindi of the desert was going to tell his tale. His story spread across the desert and spanned ten years and still went on, making it all the better, for none knew how this legend would end.

Creosote yawned as the wood of the fire popped and cracked. She heard a coyote call from the distance, a call lamenting its loneliness and the chill of the night. She shivered, sympathizing with the coyote, but one look to her company told her she was not truly alone. It was amazing how one meal with family could change a pony. Chindi sat on a log next to his “mother” both without their usual trappings. The Chieftess had left her headwear and necklaces in her tent, making her seem less intimidating and more motherly. Chindi, similarly, had thrown his hat and cloak into his tent, showing off who he truly was for the first time. His blood red mane reflected the firelight as if it were giving off the light instead of the fire. His dark orange-brown coat made it look like he was part of the desert, a stallion formed straight from the dirt, dust, and sand of the ground; alive and vicious as the stuff that made him. But his eyes, his eyes reflected the night sky, the stars, and the world. Only to add to his mysticism was the fact that his cuite mark was a curled up coyote. Creosote wondered what his special talent could be to earn such a mark. She had watched him as he had unattached the gun-leg from his body, showing off a metal encased stump where his leg met his body, and then proceeded on to cleaning and oiling up his gun leg, making sure the sand was out of it. Surprisingly, there was no sand to be found in the thing…

“So lad, what’s yer reason fer bringin’ me an’ mah niece out here?” Wild Bill finally asked after he had watched the stars for some time. He had been thinking to himself about his niece and whether she was holding up. He wanted to talk to her, but things like the previous family were not spoken of without pain.

Chindi took a deep breath. “Like Ah said back in Coltodora, Ah need yer help.”

Creosote opened her mouth to say something, but Chindi kept on going. “Ah need yer help in freein’ Sandy River.”

Creosote gasped and Wild Bill’s eyes went wide. “That’s a Royal town! What business do yah have with Sandy River?”

“Ah need tah kill the current mayor and do a few other things.” Chindi said nonchalantly as he wiped down one of the barrels of his leg.

Wild Bill was at a loss for words. He sputtered and Creosote stayed silent, aghast at what he said. Sandy River, a Royal town as Wild Bill said, was what could be called the capital of the southwest San Palomino desert, even bigger than Appleoosia and eviler than Coltodora. It was known across the desert that the Mayor, Blood Money, was more corrupt than any outlaw. The worst part was that he came from Canterlot and the Princesses didn’t do a damned thing about him. In fact, he was known as a tyrant across the San Palomino and Sandy River was considered one of the most sin filled towns ever, as Mayor Money kept it filled with his mercenaries, the vilest, most lawless ponies that only fought for greed and blood.

“Why?” Creosote asked in an awed hush.

“Well, fer starters, Sandy River was my home and Ah wasn’t always called Chindi…”

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“Git back here, ya’ varmint!” yelled Mr. Sweet, owner of the Sandy River general store as I ran off with a big old lollipop between my teeth. I borrowed it, ya’ see? I’m a goody-goody through and through, I’d never steal. And Mr. Sweet knew this too, so I laughed between my prize as he yelled after me in fake anger.

I quickly darted through the small, tightly woven buildings of Sandy Creek and felt as nimble as lighting as a gentle wind picked up and freed me from the oppressive heat of the desert. The heavily packed sand cushioned my hooves as I ran, easing into a looser stuff when I reached the outskirts of town, where most of the farming and mining homes were. The only house that was actually in town was Mayor Dune’s, and that was because it was part of town hall.

But I had stopped and closed my eyes as I felt the desert around me, alive with wind and heat, almost as exhilarating to the touch as the candy was sweet to my mouth. Suddenly, I got the urge to run up to the escarpment, a large wall of sand beaten rock that surrounded the town in a large U shape. I followed my whim, sugar pumping into my blood and fueling my excitement even more. Finally, I reached the top of the sloping escarpment and looked down at Silver River, gasping and almost dropping my absconded sweet into the sand at my hooves.

Look at my home! I told myself as the wind, stronger now that I was atop the escarpment, whipped small sand devils near me. I felt the sun blazing on my dark tan coat pleasantly and I looked out at Sandy River.

The town was not large enough to fill the whole bowl of the escarpment, but it was clustered on with the actual town near the far end, with the town hall at the very edge of the far “wall.” The other buildings were the mines that mined our reserves of iron pyrite and quartz on the right “wall” and the vast cooperative farmlands on the left “wall.” Near the farmlands trickled the river, the town’s namesake for the amount of sand in it, and the source of all water for irrigation. The town’s drinking water came from a deep underground aquifer managed by town hall. I took in all the sights of my home and sighed deeply, smiling brightly like the sun’s rays on my back. I let my mind wander as I looked at the clear blue skies of my desert home, thinking of only now and how wonderful it was to be alive in a place like Sandy River. My home, the home of my family, the home of everything that mattered in this world.

“Hey Winchester!” called a filly’s voice from above, making my head turn and my mind center in on who was calling me. I looked down and saw that my best friend, a pegasi filly named Night Sky, was flying towards me. I gave her a happy sidelong look straight into her deep blue eyes.

“What’cha doin’ Winchester?” she asked in her pleasantly husky voice as she ruffled her black wings and settled down next to me.

“Jus’ lookin’ out at the world.”

She punched me gently on the shoulder. “Yer the only pony Ah know that’s weird enough ta ‘jus look out at the world.’ Let’s go do somethin’.” She said excitedly.

I shook my head and smiled. “Darn ya, Night Sky!” I said in mock anger. “Don’tcha know a stallion hasta do things like this from time ta time?”

Night Sky snorted. “Like what? Be phili…fulli…filisophical?” she said, struggling with the word and making me laugh. She punched me harder this time, pushing me to the ground. “Aww, shaddup.” She said, embarrassed. She wasn’t stupid, that was for sure, but she often had trouble with longer words. She crossed her hooves over her chest, getting sand in her pitch black coat, sulking with a cute expression.

‘Cute?’ I thought to myself, the idea sobering me up. She was my best friend. None of this…stuff.

“Ahem.” I coughed as I got up, my cheeks flushed. “So what do you wanna do?”

Night Sky quickly ceased her pouting and looked at me excitedly with wide eyes. I noticed the faintest hint of a blush on her face disappear as she started to speak animatedly. “Ah heard from me Pa that the seasonal flood of the crick will bring more gold this year than ever! Let’s go panning an’ see if we can’t git some!” she said, fluttering of the ground in her excitement. “Come on!” she said as she flew up into the sky and went off towards the farmlands.

Gold. The reason why Sandy River was a town. Not because the river provided life for all those who were lost and close to death in the desert, like the town’s found, Clip Eastwood, but because when he did drink the sandy waters heavily, he coughed chunks of gold back up. One letter to the princesses later and Sandy River became an established mining/farming town. However, the gold was as elusive as a shadow in a darkened room. Only when the river flooded each year were little pebbles of gold found in the flood waters. It was a rarity, but everypony in the town shared the small fortune made each year. One could call it “a community building experience.”

So, I raced down the escarpment and followed after her, towards her home. Night Sky’s family was possibly the only family of pegasi that farmed in all of Equestria. What made it even more surprising was that they were growing in the desert, and growing well. Her family owned one of the bigger farms that was near the head of the Sandy River, or at least where it sprung out of the thick, rocky ground. Seasonally (although nopony knew how) the river would flood, bringing small fragments of gold along with the life brining waters. The water brought us life, but also taunted us, as it brought something we could never get. It was true that one of the main jobs in Sandy River was mining, but rarely did the miners find anything other than quartz and iron pyrite that we ended up selling off to bigger towns to be refined, smelted, or cut down and polished. But other than the small pieces left by the River’s flooding, the gold always eluded us.

Night Sky sped down towards the ground and leveled out next to me as I ran towards her house, waving when she saw her father out in their fields of date palm trees and wild hazel bushes at the base of them.

“Hi Pa!” she said happily as she saw her dad, Midday Sky, picking some dates out of a palm tree. While Night Sky was born and raised in Sandy River, her pa an’ ma came from Saddle Arabia. It made sense they would move to someplace like their home, but I never knew why they had moved; it had simply not been my place to ask.

“Hello my dear!” Midday Sky answered back with a light accent as he heard his daughter’s voice, so different and yet so similar to his own. “Why hello to you as well Winchester!” he waved as we got closer. He gave his daughter a hug, his light blue coat a clashing contrast against her dark coat.

“Pa, could we go pannin’?” Night asked during her embrace.

“Of course dear. But if anything is found, please bring it back to me: I believe you know the process.” He said quickly, his tongue on the verge of slipping back into Arabian.

Night hugged him again. “Thanks Pa! Come on Winn.” She said to me, calling me by my nickname and heading off towards their barn. Night, again sped across the sky, making me run towards their barn to get a pan. Their barn was a strange one, open roofed, circular and low, but it must have been native to Saddle Arabia, because Midday, Morning (Night’s mother), and Night all used it with ease. Right as I reached the door of the barn, Night flew out, holding two pans.

“Y’all ready?” she asked me, snorting at my heaving sides.

“Y’know, normal ponies don’ race everywhere.” I answered her with a huff.

“I ain’t a normal pony.” She said with a ferociously lovely grin. I grabbed a pan from her before any of…those thoughts came back.

“Let’s go.” I replied, running faster than she could fly, or I did for a little while. But she caught up and we raced neck an’ neck to the river mouth: a wall of rocks that spewed water. The river was wide at its mouth, but it quickly turned into a meandering stream as it got further and further away from its start. To any other pony it might look like nothing but a dirty and shallow source of water, but this signified life to all of us of Sandy River. It was beautiful.

Night must have felt the same, since she landed next to me and we were both quieted by the awe of the river. It wasn’t much, but every time any pony of Sandy Creek saw it, it struck a chord within us.

“So…” Night said after a minute. “Should we git pannin’?”

“Yep.” I answered quietly. We jumped down the bank to the edge of the riverbed. Then we started panning. It’s pretty simple. You dunk your pan into the water, pull it out full of silt and other fun stuff you find at the bottom of the river, and then spin the pan until you’re left with nothing but small pebbles. Hopefully, there will be gold in there too.

After a little while, about twenty minutes or so, Night threw her pan into the river. “This is takin’ too long! We ain’t gonna find a speck a’ gold this way…” she said, a look growing across her face. A look I was all too familiar with.

“What’re yah thinkin’ a’?” I said with apprehension.

“Nothin’…just thinkin’ a’ going down ‘there.’” She said with a rambunctious smile.

I gasped. “Yah know nopony is supposed tah go down there! It’s…it’s…”

“Yah Ah know.” She said flying out of the water and circling around my head. “But Ah’m gonna go whether yer goin’ or not, yah chicken…”she said with a flick of her tail, making it hit my nose playfully. I looked at her worriedly, know what could happen if we were caught, or even worse, if something bad happened down there. I didn’t want to go, but I’d be damned if I let her go alone.

“Fine.” I said to her. “But we ain’t stayin’ down there fer long.” She smiled and flew up to the source of the water and ducked underneath the current, going into the cave hidden underneath the spewing water. I got out of the river and followed through the small hole. Not many ponies knew of this cave that led to a gently sloping path. Only the Sky’s knew of this, as it was on their land, and it led to a large underground cavern.

Inside of the cavern, filled with stalactites and stalagmites like so many fangs and glowing bugs like strange stars, was a long and deep pool of water. When I slid down the slope and came to rest at its edge, I stared into the deep, dark waters, my reflection barely visible in the phosphorescent light. My brown eyes, tan coat, and black mane looked strange in the waters, but I smiled anyway. Night came out of the darkness and sat next to me, her reflection mirroring mine. She smiled too and leaned onto me, making me blush deeply. We sat like this for a few minutes in blissful silence, just listening to the sound of each other breathe.

“Ain’t we supposed to be lookin’ fer gold?” I asked Night playfully.

“Ah…” she started to say, but her voice was cut off by the sound of gurgling in the water. She screamed as something came out of the deep waters. I pushed her behind myself instinctively, trying to shield her from anything that might want to harm her, as two more figures came out of the water. I saw in the dim light that they had scuba suits on and their faceplates were illuminated, sending rays of unnatural light all over the cavern. Luckily, they must not have hear Night scream because they didn’t notice us as I noticed something chilling about them. Each of them had a long spear attachment to one of their hooves. A spear gun.

“Run.” I whispered to Night, pushing her away from me and towards the small entrance hole. She got up and flew towards it as I got up slowly and backed away to the entrance as quietly as I could. However, one of the ponies started looking around, so I had to duck behind a stalagmite. I heard them get out of the water and take off their helmets with the sound of rushing air.

“Ah told yah! That hasta be the source!” said one of them.

“An’ that mayor is jest sittin’ on the whole thang! What a fool!” said a deeper voice.

“It ain’t the source.” Said an icy voice, one that commanded respect and fear at the same time. I did not like this voice at all. “The gold we saw down there was just on outcropping. It must go on for miles! Luckily, that means we know where to start.”

I silently gasped at the news. Whoever these ponies were, they found the gold that our whole town had been looking for since it was founded. I dared a quick glance to the trio of ponies to see who they were, as I did not recognize their voices.

The three of them varied in size and shape, but they all wore the skintight scuba gear that obstructed their manes. In the light from their glowing helmets, I could make out one that was thin and small, a weasely looking creature, one that was large and muscular, and one in the middle. He was normal sized and I could also see his face. While he was normal of size, his face brought chills down my spine. He had one eye that was blue and one eye that was red with a long scar surrounding it. His coat shone light blue in the light and he had a small, black mustache.

I slipped back behind the stalagmite as a rock falling into the water made the trio look around, spear guns raised. I held my breath and hoped my beating heart wasn’t audible. Luckily, they must not have seen me as they went back to talking. However, I edged over the rocky hiding place and looked around for the source of the falling rock. I looked up to the cavern roof and finally spotted it. Right above the trio was Night, holding onto a large stalactite, her eyes wide with fright. She spotted me and I could see the silent plead in her eyes. Quickly, I thought up a plan, for lack of a better term

I picked up a rock and threw it at one of the helmets, breaking the lamp. The trio of ponies jumped and pulled their guns to attention.

“It appears that we are not the only ponies in this cave, boys.” The middle pony said to his two henchmen after a few minutes of looking around.

“Ah think yer right boss. But who could be in here?” said the bigger pony.

“Maybe a few rats!” said the small pony as he pounced on me from behind. I was quickly tackled and thrown into the light of the headlamps. I was surprised at how stealthy and quick the small pony was and I noticed that all their spear guns were pointed at me. However, I noticed they didn’t see Night. At least I was happy for that.

“We got us a kid.” Said the big pony.

“I can see that Obsidian. Good job catching him Dust Devil.” The middle pony said, staring at me ominously. “Now what could a little foal like yourself be doing down here?” he said, glaring at me smugly.

“Ah was jest tryin’ tah find out where this awful stench was comin’ from. Ah guess Ah found it.” I answered him.

“Oh ho!” he said looking up to his henchmen with a smile. “It looks like this one has a mouth on him.” He said, before looking at me with an evil grin. Then he kicked me in the face. Hard. I rolled around in pain on the ground and I heard a shout of “Winchester!” come from Night. The trio was surprised by her sudden appearance, so they didn’t notice me picking up a headlamp. I shined it quickly in their eyes, blinding them for a moment.

“Get your parents! Get the mayor! Get anypony! Fly!” I screamed at her as she flew towards the cave entrance and I got up off the ground, running to the exit as well. She darted out into the daylight as I pumped my hooves up the slope to the outside. I was about to leave when a blinding pain erupted from my right foreleg. I slid down the slope and screamed in agony as the fire-like pain spread through my body.

“Got ‘im.” Said the big pony with so much malice it could freeze your soul over. It didn’t stop the flaming pain scorching my blood and veins though.

“Good aim Obsidian. Get him outside. Then find that filly and anypony on the ranch. There will be no witnesses to this.” The leader pony said evilly. I screamed again as I saw Obsidian tug on a rope next to me, sending the pain through my body yet again. I dared a glance at my leg and saw that a spear protruded from it, tied to the same rope Obsidian was tugging. I screamed the whole time he dragged me by the rope, up the slope, and out onto the riverbank of my hometown. I wailed in pain still, the fire becoming a smolder, tears flowing down my face like the waters of the Sandy River.

My pain was subdued when three pegasi showed up, one a stallion of cyan blue, two mares, one a light yellow and the other dark as night. I noticed that the blue stallion held an old shotgun that showed no signs of use and it was shakily pointed at the trio around me. My anguish filled mind could barely register their conversations, their words and mouths delayed like a bad foreign movie. But I still saw and heard it all.

“Get out of here! This is my land! How dare you!” the cyan stallion said.

The boss signaled to his two henchmen and they took action. Obsidian lassoed the two mares with a length of rope from out of his scuba suit while Dust Devil took aim with the spear gun. A shot rang out in the air as Midday shot his shotgun wildly as he was hit in the wing with a spear. He fell out of the sky and the leader kicked his shotgun away, picking up his own spear gun. To my, and the Sky’s horror, he shot his deadly ammo straight through Midday’s skull. I was vaguely aware I screamed something while Morning and Night screamed in terror and started to weep, but all I heard was cold orders from the boss pony.

“Knock the females out.” He said with the darkest of evil in his eyes. “They will become good slaves. Knock out the foal too. Take him out to the desert. Leave him for the coyotes.”

I started to get up, fighting all the pain coursing through me, and started to scream and charge at the leader pony. To me, it felt like I was sprinting, but to him, it must have looked like a weak jog. However, the surprise in his eyes could not be hidden. He thought I was done, but to do such a thing to my friends, my loved ones…

But my thoughts were cut off as a metal butt of a spear gun connected with my skull and darkness enveloped me.

The Coyote

This story is a fan-fiction of MLP:FiM. I don't own any of it. It belongs to Hasbro, etc, etc.

Don't sue. Seriously. That would be so uncouth.

The Coyote

I was awoken by the setting sun and a throbbing pain in my side. I opened up my eyes to find myself laying down, face up to the end of day sunlight and the growing night sky. I picked up my head to look around, but it hurt too much to even move. My head fell back and I gasped at the sudden pain. I felt sand in my mane and hooves, but my right side was numb. I gently looked around without picking my head up and I first found out that even turning my head to the right a smidgen created a pain worse than hellfire. So, I gently turned my head to the left and found out I was in a shallow hole, dug from the sand of the desert. I had no idea where I was and I shivered from the coming chill of the desert night.

It’s funny how so many ponies don’t know that night is about as deadly a time as day out in the desert. Most ponies think it’s burning every day, which by their standards it is, but they all believe that night in the desert is warm and relaxing. None of them really know that it gets below freezing out here in the San Palomino at night and they never expect that the predators of the desert are all very active at night. Predators that would naturally never attack a pony during the day roamed the desert at night, willing to catch anything they could. Including one stranded, pain-filled foal.

However, to get out of this hole, I’d need to fight all my pain and stand. But to do this, I’d need all my limbs to respond to me, and for some reason, my right side was still numb to me. Also, it felt like the cold of the night was coming in incredibly fast tonight. I wasn’t sure why. But everything cleared from my mind as I focused on turning my head to the right to see what was wrong with my leg. Inch by inch, I fought excruciating pain until I experienced the greatest pain of all. As I finally saw what was wrong with my right leg, I screamed until I fainted. My right leg was gone. All that remained was a dirty, bloody stump.

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Hours later, I awoke. It was strange because it felt like I was still asleep, as drained and hurt as I was. However, I knew I awoke for a reason. Without making a sound, I listened to what woke me up. I shivered in the cold of the night, all silent, until I heard it again. It was faint, but I knew it was what woke me up. A solitary call of a coyote hung in the desert air as the full moon shone her light down upon my open grave. My heart lazily raced as I heard it moments later, closer to me than before. Then again minutes later.

“It’s coming for me.” I told myself mentally, becoming just as scared as I was hurt. But as the calls came closer and closer, I became more and more scared, until I realized I couldn’t do anything. I was in so much pain and I was so weak right now, I couldn’t even run or fight my coming doom. I felt my eyes grow hot with tears and my heart break as I heard the call again, much closer this time. Finally, by the time I heard the footsteps of the creature on the sand and its abominable sniffing, my tears dried. I couldn’t do anything and crying wouldn’t do anything for me. I would die here alone and beaten. I suddenly got extremely angry, knowing I would never be able to save my loved ones. I pictured the evil stallion, the boss who killed Midday in my mind. As the coyote howled, its shape becoming visible right above me, I howled along with it, mixing its lonesome call with one of pure anger and hatred.

“Oh. That’s quite the call mi’ijo.” A smooth voice spoke in my mind. Somehow, I wasn’t surprised when I looked up to the coyote looking down at me with his yellow eyes that glowed in the cold night. I shivered again, but glared back at him defiantly.

“Ain’t yah here tah kill me?” I asked, anger dripping off of my tongue.

“I do not kill.” The coyote said. “I only help those to their afterlife. But it seems like you have many regrets, young one. Your cry told me all.”

“But what am I supposed to do?!?” I shouted at him, my tears running down my face and making the sand at the base of my head wet. “Ah’m beaten, bloodied, missin’ a buckin’ leg, and left fer dead in the desert. I don’t even know where Ah am!”

The coyote kept looking at me in silence with the same stoic yet interested look on his face.

“Also, them ponies that did this tah me are still in mah town, keepin’ my loved ones captive, an’ probably raising Cain! Hell, Ah’m only a foal anyways! What can Ah do?!?” I vented my frustration, anger, and sadness mixing in my voice as I cried harder and harder.

“I can only help you upon your way hijo. I cannot make your decisions for you. Yet I can still warn you.” The coyote said to me evenly and calmly, somehow making my tears slow. I looked up to him with hope and saw the moon reflected in his eyes.

“There are dos caminos. Two paths. One decision you must make.” He said, walking around my shallow grave. “Un camino will lead you down the path of safety and rest, one where all your pain will cease and you will find peace eventually. The other camino, it is full of pain. It will change you as a pony and you may never find true peace, but you will see your friends again and you will have the power to fight for them.”

“However, mi’ijo, be warned. Both caminos will lead to your death. But now is the time for you to choose one and one alone.” The coyote said as he stood over me from where he first appeared. I thought over what he said and felt the pain in my body. I would like for all this pain to end, for all this suffering to disappear, for the cold to become pure warmth…but my anger washed over me. How dare I think about only myself when my friends were still in trouble! Screw peace and rest! I needed to save them, I needed to get up out of this god-damn hole and be useful!

“Please,” I said to the coyote, my voice becoming a raspy whisper. “Give me the strength to save my friends. I need to see them again. I need to save them from that…that monster.” I said with the picture of that stallion’s face imprinted in my mind like a flaming brand of hatred. I needed to save them, whatever the cost to myself.

The coyote looked up to the moon and howled once. He took in a deep breath and looked back to me. “So the path is chosen. El camino del héroe. It may be filled with pain, héroe and your fellow ponies may only know you as a devil, but you will have the power to do what must be done. I can only give you this power and guide you from time to time. Be calm héroe, for your time is to come.”

He howled at me, making a pain worse than that of even a lost limb scream through my body. I felt my soul rip from my body and be cast out into the sands of the desert. Then all of a sudden I was in nothing but darkness.

The coyote appeared underneath me, howling up to the dark sky that I was in, and the stars started to move. Each one galloped towards me until I saw they were not balls of plasma and distant light, but each and every one was the soul of a pony that had died with regrets. I heard them whisper their regrets to me: “I never loved another pony, I never achieved anything, I never told her how I felt, I never knew my children, I never helped another pony,” and I felt a burning power course through me as their souls melded into mine. Suddenly, I heard the coyote’s howl once again and I was pulled down to the ground, a storm appearing in the sky in my wake. The howl forced the sands of the desert to swirl around me in a sandstorm that would rival any hurricane. Then lighting from the storm above joined into the storm, supercharging it and allowing for the sandstorm to create its own lighting, making my tomb in the center an inferno. I kept on hearing the pain and regrets of the dead soul in my mind as lighting coursed through my body, setting it aflame while sand scoured me, tearing me limb from limb and sanding me down worse than the mesas they so desperately abused. I screamed and screamed and screamed, the pain never subsiding, never leaving me for a moment, always tormenting me in my mind and in my body. I soon could take no more, my coat stained orange-brown from the mix of sand and my blood, and my mane blood red from the tearing of my mind.

Soon, even though it seemed like eons to me, the sandstorm stopped and I fell from the sky, to the desert floor, at the base of the coyote’s paws. I lied there, breathing heavily as I tried to let the pain seep away, but it wouldn’t subside even though the storm had. I screamed once and a large bolt of lightning arced across the sky. Then the coyote looked at me once and I saw all of eternity reflected in his eyes. I kept looking into his eyes as he lowered his head to my throat and bit into my neck, stopping the pain in my body and causing me to black out.

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My screaming pain woke me up, well… screaming. I sat up, covered in sweat and sore from the coyote’s machinations. However, my scream faded as I fell to my right side, unbalanced from the loss of my limb. My scream turned into a yelp as I fell hard onto a woven mat. I looked at my shoulder, now covered in bandages and a strangely calming aromatic poultice, and I rubbed it gently. I also absorbed my surroundings, no longer a shallow open grave in the desert, but a warm, triangular structure with the remnants of a fire next to my mat-bed. I also lifted up the thick blanket that covered me with a tentative hoof.

Suddenly, a bison with a strange bag-like necklace rushed into the structure from a flap opening, looking scared and worried at the same time. I jumped back, shocked at his sudden entrance, but he sighed and seemed relieved. He walked over to me and sat next to me calmly, snorting as he maneuvered me around with his front hooves, turning me until I sat straight up and my shoulder-stump was facing towards him. I felt him undo the wrappings and check my wound, making me grimace and reach a hoof over to my shoulder. The bison saw my extending hoof and smacked it away.

“Hey!” I said as he prodded my shoulder again, making me twinge. He looked at me with a raised eyebrow and retied the bandages.

“How...” he started to say.

“How!” I answered back, cutting him off.

He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Shut up you moron. Don’t you know it’s rude to cut somepony off when they’re talking? And all that ‘how’ stuff is all racist bullshit.” The bison reprimanded.

“Oh. Sorry.” I replied, blushing.

“As I was asking, how do you feel? You hungry? Tired? Feel like walking?”

I licked my lips. For someone who was in bandages and had just gone through a night from hell, I surprisingly felt good. “Ah’d like to do the last one please. But…ah…Ah could use some help. Ah’m jest have a mite a’ trouble walkin’ on three legs.”

“I’d be pleased to help you.” The well-mannered bison said. “However, I’d like to take you to my Chief, for he’d like to talk to you... as would I, but that will be done with him.” He said, extending his hoof to me, helping me off of the ground. I stood up shakily and almost fell down, but the bison rushed to my right, keeping me up by the force of his body. “Like a calf…” I heard him say under his breath as we journeyed out of the teepee (as it was the only structure native bison used) and into the outside desert.

The mid-morning sunlight shone brightly on my eyes and blinked away the glare as we walked around the bison village. There were many teepees set up in a pattern that seemed to follow along the contour of the land. The bison that were awake about, which was most of the tribe, looked at me and whispered things to each other in native bison. I hoped the things they said about me weren’t bad.

“Ah never did ask yer name, did Ah?” I said as I saw an extra-large teepee, with decorations all over it, showing it was somepony of power and the only one who deserved such gaudiness was the Chief. For some reason, I started to get worried as we got closer to the teepee.

“My name is Sandcoat, the shaman of our tribe.”

“Nice tah meet yah. Ah’m…”

“No, you are not.” The bison said cutting me off, making me frown and look at him oddly. He looked at me with all seriousness and said “You will understand after we talk to the Chief.” We approached the tent, Sandcoat said a few words in bison and then he swung both of us into the teepee.

Inside the smoky teepee sat a large bison brave, his thick horns scrawling out of his curly fur and forming two deadly points of keratin. He had dark brown eyes and his head was almost completely covered in an intricate headdress formed of wild gems and feathers of different birds. Underneath his dark eyes were three stripes of paint, the top one swinging back and curving down to his neck, underlining his eye sockets and making him looked all the more perceiving. His size alone intimidated me and the scowl he wore on his face as Sandcoat and I entered certainly didn’t help. He said something to Sandcoat in bison to which Sandcoat answered back in bison. Then he turned to me.

“Hello pony.” He said slowly, as if the words he spoke were heavy. “I am Chief Ironhorns, Leader of the Shaking Earth tribe. Now, who are you?”

“Mah name is…”

Again, I was cut off by Sandcoat. “You already know his name chief. However, I think he does not.”

“What?” I said aloud, confused by the shaman’s words. I might be missing a limb, but that didn’t mean I forgot who I was.

“Look.” Sandcoat said, grasping a hoof mirror from the chief and holding it up in front of my face. I looked at it in surprise for a moment, but then I fell backwards in true surprise. In the mirror, I looked at my reflection like always, expecting my dark brown eyes, tan coat, and black mane to be staring back. But now I felt like I truly didn’t know who I was. My reflection showed a strange pony, with an orange-red coat like that of the dirty sand and mesas of the desert, a blood-red mane that shimmered like a moving flame, and two yellow, predatory eyes that showed the eternity of the desert in them. I realized that the events of the night before were not dreams, as I must have thought subconsciously, but true events. Yet, my body wasn’t harmed from the process…and then again, I was changed. I could feel it inside of me as I looked into my hunter’s eyes.

“Other than your change in appearance,” Chief Ironhorns said, interrupting my thoughts of amazement. “There is something else you should know. Last night, you died.”

“Wha…what?” I said, my gaze torn from the mirror and to the chief and shaman. I looked for some note of humor in their faces, but bother were stoic and serious. “That’s impossible.” I said.

“In the desert, nothing is impossible.” Sandcoat said, turning away from me and gazing into the heart of the small fire while he hoofed his medicine bag around his neck. “Last night, when I was tending to you, you died. Then, later on, you came back to us. There is only one explanation, and even that is hard to believe.”

Before I could speak, he continued. “I once heard of a bison in your exact same predicament, lost in the desert, almost dead. He did fall to his death and his soul was taken by the coyote like all the rest, but for some reason, the coyote lead his soul back to his body, changing him in the process. He came back from the dead and became a tool of the desert, a weapon of all the souls that have been scorned or killed in cold blood. He became the demon of the desert, the Chindi.”

He turned away from the fire and stared directly into my eyes. “That is who you are, Chindi. You are a demon, with powers that even I cannot comprehend. There are only two questions, one of which you can tell us the answer to now. The other, you will have to find out for yourself. So, why were you chosen? What is your past, Chindi?” Sandcoat asked me. The chief looked to me with an interest that he tried to hide under a stoic grimace.

So, I told them about how everypony knew me as Winchester, how I once lived in Sandy River, before strangers came in, killed my friends and took them hostage, and ended up leaving me for dead. It was hard telling them about the coyote, as a ghost of the pain from the night thudded inside of me and strange voices on the edge of hearing whispered inside my head. It was even harder wrapping my head around the fact that I had died. It was such a strange idea, thinking about my own demise and then coming back from it. But as I told my tale, Sandcoat and Chief Ironhorns seemed to sit back in understanding.

“Chindi, you are still young.” The Chief said. “You will stay with us and we will teach you the ways of the bison. Since the spirits helped you, we will as well, but as the coyote said, your time will come. Do not rush headlong into things like revenge. It is true that you have power now, but none of us know how to use it. Bide your time and become strong, so that we will be able to fight your aggressors together.”

“But…Ah…” I started to say, tears tinging my eyes for no apparent reason. I tried to stop, but I was torn between frustration, happiness, and sadness. “Thank you.” I said finally settling on something that would be sufficient. Sandcoat came over to me and picked me and placed me on his back, saying something to the Chief in bison as he walked out the teepee with me.

“He does no hate you, young one.” Sandcoat said as he carried me back to his teepee. “He is only afraid. Not of you, but of your future, of his tribe’s future. You must understand. You have all the potential to change the desert, to change the world. He is only afraid, because he is hopeful.”

As my tears started to dry, I looked up to the cloudy sky, a rare sight in the desert.

Sandcoat spoke, his voice being mixed in my mind with a cacophony of spirit voices all saying the same thing.

“You are our hope.”