Stranger Things

Determination. Weakness. Dauntless. Asha. Agony. Hunger. Capable. Thirst. Help. Sacrifice. Help. Need. Asha. Survice. Help. Pain.

Help.

Soft voice saying things I don't understand. Ignore. Favor unconsciousness. Slip back into unconsciousness.

More voices. Two? Three? Tired. Pain. Sleep. Don't care. Humming noises. Don't care. Sleep.

Jostling. Movement. Bump. Pain. Hurts. Pain. Death is coming. Humming gone. Want to sleep.

The first thing Cain was aware of was being awake. For a moment, he was content to be half-asleep, warm and comfortable on the bed. Wait, bed? What? The thought ambled lazily through Cain's sleepy brain, to be dismissed swiftly. No need to worry, he was so comforta- pain. A muscle twitched, and agony drove into his bicep with the force of a minotaur. Cain's flesh felt like his arm was being whipped with venom, and it took all of his willpower to clench his muzzle shut to stop the roar from breaking free.

Cain forced the injured limb and lay there, pained growls filling the room's silence. It felt as if he had another heart beating within his arm, pushing upwards against the surface of his arm. When the red cloud blurring Cain's vision faded, he found himself looking upwards, towards a ceiling. "What the hell?"

Cain brought his body upwards, core and uninjured arm helping him with the move. He looked around, trying to gather his bearings. It was one of the first rules that he'd learned, to constantly be aware of your surroundings. If you weren't paying attention to the things around you, then you wouldn't notice the things that were paying attention to you, and that would be the end.

With a look of confusion, Cain took in wooden walls, furnishings, the floor, a ceiling, and the bed he was sitting up in. It took a moment for the information to register. There must have been some mistake, some misunderstanding; but no, there Cain was, sitting in a cottage.

Questions popped up in his head, disturbing little things that made his hairs stand on end. He reached back into his memory, but found nothing as to how he arrived here, save the blurry recollection of movement and voiced.

Someone brought me here?

Cain groaned. Helpless. He'd been helpless! Disgusting. And someone had brought him here to help him. It was enough to make him sick. He'd made it through years uncounted on his own, thinking and acting swiftly. That he'd been at someone's mercy stung his pride, and it exacerbated his paranoia. The answers to too many of his questions were unclear, and that could only mean one thing.

Trouble.

Cain's decision was made. He would leave, and keep an eye on the cottage for a few days to get a feel for whoever lived here, but waiting here for their return wasn't the smart thing to do. Cain swung his legs off the edge of the bed, and promptly fell onto the hard wooden floor with a muffled thump, all attempts at stealth shot before they began.

The impact had jarred Cain's arm, and his body stiffened at the pain. With shut eyes and a clenched jaw, he waited out the pain. Gods, it's like my arm's ablaze. In his haste to get out of the cottage, he's ignored the most important thing in his life; himself.

Riding over waves of hurt, Cain berated himself while on the ground. His hurry had gotten him to overlook checking on his arm, and he was paying for it. The last thing he remembered was being back in the gorge, trying to gnaw it off. He hadn't succeeded, of course, Cain could still feel his hand. It seemed that despite his resolve, his jaw was too weak to finish the job.

Cain glanced down at his arm, and noticed a white, paperlike material stretching around his muscles. Bandages? Who the hell...? It was in the middle of that thought that two somethings clicked. The first was a doorknob opening, and the second was internal, an answer to a very important question. There had been something off about the cottage, other than that he'd never been there before. The furniture was oddly proportioned, the architecture vaguely familiar, and it took just a few moments to put the pieces together.

It was a pony cottage.

Cain's mind flashed back, flickering between images of charred trees and scorched fur, the smell of burnt flesh and the screams of - No! A burning mixture of dread and rage replaced the memories, and Cain felt his good arm brace itself against the ground. His knees moved into position, mind steeled for the pain standing up would bring.

A small voice piped out from the direction of the doorway, fragile as a butterfly's wing, and in a language that Cain couldn't understand. Cain's head shot up towards the source of the voice, and took in the sight of a yellow mare with a long, pink mane. She seemed to be hiding behind her hair, peering out at him with large blue eyes. She said something again, this time trailing off.

"What?" The word was rough, a representation of Cain's confusion. The mare spoke more words, more meaningless sounds, more - wait a minute, what was that? Cain's head cocked sideways, arm swinging slightly as he went to his feet. The limb ached, but that wasn't important. Pain was transient, it would be there later. This stranger, who'd apparently taken him in, had said something, and it sounded like Equestrian.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?" Cain asked, enunciating each word carefully. If this mare could speak Equestrian, then maybe she could - but no. There was a flicker of recognition in the mare's eyes, but she shook hear head, continuing to speak slowly. Cain growled, ignoring her. "Of course not. Wonderful."

Cain moved to the door, walking past the mare. The movement prompted more unintelligible words from her, which went unheeded. "I'm leaving," Cain said, standing in the doorway, "Thank you, for the help." He gestured to the bandages, and managed a smile. Cain knew he was prideful, but he wasn't one to forget a kindness.

Wait a minute. How did she even move me here?"

Cain turned towards the mare, who seemed to be trying to point out something. She was a slim, slender thing, definitely not strong enough to move him. "Hmph. Doesn't matter." Cain's hand was on the doorknob when the undertones of that observation hit him.

She had to have help. Other ponies helped her. Others know I'm here.

Cain turned back to the yellow mare. She wasn't the only one who knew. She, and who knew how many others, could go looking for him at any time. If those alicorn sisters had succeeded with their 'country of harmony' thing, then a creature like him wouldn't be tolerated anywhere near it.

Cain frowned, and looked down into the mare's eyes. He hadn't noticed them before, but they were familiar. He'd seen eyes like them before he'd fallen into torpor. Cain looked at the mare's posture, reflected on her tone of voice. No, that's ridiculous. That this pony would help one of his kind was preposterous. Herbivores and carnivores don't mix well.

But the proof was on his arm, in the shape of the white bandages. Cain shot the mare a wary look, and got down on a knee. "You're just trying to help me, aren't you?" He said, slowly.

He didn't know if the mare understood his words, or his tone, or if it was his body language, or all three. Later, when he knew more about Fluttershy's cutie mark, he'd understand her innate understanding of him.

Regardless of what Fluttershy understood then, she reached out with her forehoof, and laid it on Cain's shoulder. He glanced at the member, and grimaced.

"Well, this is complicated."