Fallout: Equestria: New World Blues

by Lumpfish

Chapters

Rolled Snake Eyes
Ghosts of the Palomino
Heart of Gold
The Root of the Problem
The Phoenix Flies West

Rolled Snake Eyes

Fallout: Equestria: New World Blues

Chapter 2: Rolled Snake Eyes

“Click Clack”

“Quip”

“Whisper Leaf”

“Nifty Thrift”

“Polo”

Question slips out like a rich perfume. Lulls him in, begs him to agree to it.

But another cold wind blows through. Been asked this plenty of times throughout life’s road. Answer’s always been the same.

“Nope.”

And always will be.

The jackal doesn’t seem fazed. Even grins wider, as if he expected the answer.

“Good. Then my proposition will be all the more enticing to you.”

He tightens the grip on his nehmoa as the Jackal starts to trot, enterin’ the back door’s lantern light. Can spot those details now that he couldn’t in the bar. Blood red coat. White, almost gray mane. Suit, tie and fedora are all a dark gray. Stands about half a head taller than him. Has a form that would fit right in with a pit of serpents.

“Believe ah just told ya ah wasn’t a bettin’ stallion stranger. Ah doubt ah’ll agree to any deal yer lookin’ to make.”

“Oh, but do you know that for certain?” the jackal purrs, takes another step.

Another inch and he draws.

But the jackal stops, looms on that border. “What if, ranger, this ‘deal’ has nothing for you to lose and everything to gain? A bet whose outcome is already assured in your favor?” The jackal scoffs, shrugs. “Why, accepting such a surefire win isn’t a bet at all. It’s common sense. Something you’ve displayed to have a rather large quantity of, might I commend.”

Sweet talk. Suspicious... His eyes narrow. “Where are ya goin’ with this?”

“Ah...” The jackal sighs, turns his eyes up. “The question I’ve been waiting for.”

The jackal slides a hoof up to his chest. “First, introductions. My name is Snake Eyes, cue the dual dice I have for a mark. I have been a resident of New Pegasus since birth, gorging myself upon the wonders of gambling, drinking, whores... I’m sure you get the picture.”

Snake Eyes pauses, as if waitin’ for a response. Starts up again before the silence sinks in.

“Second, yourself. It’s rude to eavesdrop, I know, but I couldn’t help overhearing about your ‘delivery’ back in the bar.” Snake narrows his eyes, scannin’ him over with suspicion. “A courier to Mr. Spade. Care to explain?”

He backs off from the holster. Still ready for a draw. “What ya heard is what ya heard. Ah don’t just spill details to any stranger that asks for ‘em.”

“Mmm. Not even a name?”

Give him the answer with his own narrowed eyes.

“Pheh.” Snake Eyes crinkles his nose. “A stallion of iron, I see. Very well. Allow me to give you my details then. See if I can put myself in a better light.”

Snake motions a hoof back to the settlement, disgust clear on his face. “You’re most likely wondering what a high class resident of New Pegasus is doing in a...’place’?... such as this. I’ll spare us the next few hours and give you the simple version of this story: I happened to anger a select group of powerful ponies and had to simply ‘lay low’ for a while. Leave New Pegasus and let them cool down, if you understand. Now...?” Snake nods west, muzzle curlin’ up in a smile. “I feel it’s time to return home.”

“Alright. Start trottin’.”

“Ugh!” Snake rolls his eyes. “No! Bloodthirsty bandits, savage natives, predatory wildlife... It almost killed me making my way out here, I don’t want to die on the way back!”

Dots start to connect. “...And ah ‘spose this is where ah come in.”

“Exactly.” Snake’s smilin’ again, looks to the bar door then back to him. “You proved yourself quite capable back there. With a ranger like you as an associate, the return road to New Pegasus would no doubt prove itself a tame one.”

Hm. Deal's soundin' awfully slated. Not surprised. “Got a few kinks with yer idea. To start things off, ah don’t trust ya.”

Snake waves a hoof for him to continue, looks unfazed. “Unsurprising. And...?”

He nods to Snake’s back, bare under the light. “Ya ain’t got wings. Four or five day flight to New Pegasus could turn to a couple week’s trot.”

“True. Keep going.”

Feel as if he’s bein’ toyed with. Go on anyway. “And chances are that ah’d get a bunch of ponies ah ain’t ever met on mah bad side, all for a travelin’ companion that don’t look to have much experience with his gun or survival skills.” He grimaces, shakes his head. “Ah’m not seein’ the profit for me.”

Golden eyes glint in the moonlight. “That’s because I haven’t told you yet. Let’s get back to basics, shall we? Your mission is a delivery of some object or message to Mr. Spade, Lord of New Pegasus. Can you at least agree to that?”

Ain’t nothin’ Snake Eyes hasn’t heard. He cocks his head. “Sure.”

“Do you know anything about Mr. Spade?”

Roll the question about, chew on it a bit. “‘Sposedly alive since the old war, yet ain’t a ghoul. Kept New Pegasus intact through the war somehow...” Fact sheet drops off. He shrugs. “Ah’ll be honest, the mission briefin’ was thin on the details. Fly out to New Pegasus, deliver the message to Mr. Spade, get his response, fly back out.”

Snake sighs. “Then allow me to fill in what your superiors did not: Mr. Spade is a ghost, ruling New Pegasus with an invisible hoof. He has no messengers, no greeters to accept messengers, nothing. In fact, only four ponies in the past twenty five years have spoken directly to Mr. Spade.”

Ah. Heard this one before.

“And ah ‘spose yer one of ‘em?”

Snake’s muzzle rises into a smirk. “Not quite. A lifelong friend of one of them. Assist me back to this friend’s good graces, you get easy access to New Pegasus and an audience with Mr. Spade.”

Hm. Lifelong friend. Ain’t much better. He keeps Snake’s eyes in focus. Old familiar quiver would give it all away. “Story’s soundin’ a little convenient there, Snake.”

But Snake laughs, gold eyes shimmerin’ in the moonlight’s silver. “Very well. Go on then. Fly west, to New Pegasus. Once you’ve spent a month trying to get past the city’s defenses which would let me in at a second’s notice, once you’ve wandered about The Strip for weeks without a clue of where to begin, once you’ve exhausted all options and return to your superiors to report a failure... then you can begin to have regrets of this night. Til’ then... good luck.”

Snake stares down at him with a small frown, eyes of steel.

Not a single damn twitch.

Exhale to steady himself. Don’t want to chase this fella off just yet.

“‘Spose ah fly off to New Pegasus, security turns out rather simple, and ah find this friend of yers mahself?”

Snake shrugs, sneerin’. “He would most likely kill you. Or have you killed. Probably the latter. He has a small army at his disposal after all.”

Holes are startin’ to patch ‘emselves up. Well, the big ones at least... “Alright. ‘Spose ah fly off to New Pegasus, find this friend of yours, and let him know you’re out here?”

“He’d imprison you, send out scouts, wait for them to return with me, then maybe alert Mr. Spade for you, after wasting several more weeks than you had to. If the scouts didn’t find me, he’d have you killed.”

“Hm. Ain’t too friendly folk, are ya?”

“Welcome to Equestria.”

True enough.

Silence creeps over ‘em both. Loosen the set jaw, drop the wings, ease the stress off his legs. Let his mind wander a bit. Think of any holes he might of missed.

Lonesome night breeze blows between ‘em, nudgin’ their manes in the wind. Would shiver about now if not for the company.

“If ya’ll are so tight, why didn’t ya run to yer friend for protection?”

Snake shakes his head. “It was really a ‘spur of the moment’ sort of thing. Also to mention, New Pegasus is a city, and unlike any other you’ve been in no doubt. Different from the open desert and other such wilderness, there’s only so long you can hide yourself before somepony slips you some poison or you find a knife in your back. Better to keep out of sight and return when things are cooled."

Again, true.

He falls silent, sucks in a bit of cold air. Bein’ grounded the rest of this mission is the biggest blow. Would over double his travelin’ time, open up new dangers. Then again, reach New Pegasus and his story’s true...

Then there’s Snake Eyes himself. Ain’t the sort of stallion ya turn yer back to, much less travel with. But then he does seem mighty desperate. Backstabbin’ would only happen after they’re already in New Pegasus, past this supposed defense system...

Ah damn. He’s actually considerin’ this. After he gets back, think it’ll be about time for a nice long sit-down with the scouting force.

“Ya've been patient over there. Just need to understand ah’m not the most trustin’ of stallions.”

Snake Eyes bows his head a slight. “I understand completely. I wouldn’t trust myself either were I experiencing this from your perspective. Not to mention, if your age and experience are any indication, you’ve survived your own fair share of double-crossers throughout life’s roads.”

Ain’t that the truth.

A short pause later and Snake Eyes goes on. “If you’re still having doubts about my sincerity, I wouldn’t be past placing in a few ‘tests’ for myself. ‘Checks’... ‘restrictions’, so to say.”

He raises a brow. “What ya have in mind?”

“A ‘check’ for example: Ask anypony we come across about Mr. Spade. If they tell you he’s the most talkative and friendly pony on the strip, you can dump me off right then and there as a liar.”

Believe that’s called ‘common sense’.

He nods. “Go on.”

“Mmmm... Aaah.” Snake’s eyes brighten. “Obviously I’ve only given you a small portion of my own predicament. Along the road I’ll tell you more and shed a bit of light on my own backstory. Not much, I know, but it’s the details which create the line between truth and lies.”

Stallion’s got a way with words. Somethin’ to be wary of. Maybe even put to good use.

“One more of yer restrictions and ah’ll take yer deal.”

Snake Eyes rises, eyes widenin’. “Oh?”

He tips his stetson to the six-shooter holstered on Snake Eyes’ right shoulder. “Yer gun. And any other weapons ya got on ya. Don’t like leavin’ a pony defenseless in this day and age, but it’s a might easier hearin’ ya scuffle around for a rock to smash mah head in as opposed to slippin’ out yer iron.”

Same grin Snake Eyes’ first wore pops back up. “I probably would miss you point blank given the chance. I have horrible aim. That said...” Snake Eyes trots a few steps forward, twists so that his right shoulder and its holster face out. “I’m assuming you want to perform the honors?”

Consider it for a moment. Second it takes to pull that six shooter puts him in a good position for a slit throat. Do it the old fashioned way then.

“Nope.” He slowly unholsters his nehmoa, aims it at Snake. Makes sure to keep it an inch off target. Can’t trust these old bones like he used to. “Unholster it yerself and set it to the ground. Slowly, and mind the aim.”

Snake Eyes frowns at the nehmoa before scoffin’, carefully reachin’ for his own iron. Takes it by the mouth grip, slips the six shooter from its holster, bends over and lowers it to the ground. Risin’ back to his hooves, Snake retreats a few steps and motions to the discarded weapon. “There you are. The only weapon I have. Not much compared to that hoof cannon you have there, but I rarely ever use it in the first place.”

Keeps his nehmoa ready as he retrieves the gun. Snake watches him move, holdin’ perfectly still.

Pick it up off the ground, turnin’ it around in his hooves.

Standard 357 magnum revolver. Long barrel puts it away from the rest. And the rose-like engravin’s that run along its metal. Club on its mouth grip, hearts next to the cylinder. His eye catches on a single word runnin’ along either side of the barrel. ‘Lucky’.

Looks back up to Snake, brow raisin’. “Lucky?”

Snake smirks, shruggin’. “It’s more a family heirloom than anything, really. Passed down from my father. Name came with it.” He peers at the gun, smirk fadin’. “Still, I admit it holds... ‘personal’ value to me. Don’t lose it. Or damage it.”

He nods while unlatchin’ the cylinder, removin’ the shots. “Don’t need to worry yourself about that. Ah take care of the guns ah carry, owned or not.” All six shots out. Latch the cylinder back in, deposit the ammo and Lucky into his left saddlebags. Holsters his nehmoa too.

Now for Snake. He scans the stallion hoof to head, stoppin’ when they meet eyes.

“Gonna need a quick pat down.”

Snake sighs, loosenin’ his posture. “Keep it tail and above.”

“No need for anything else.” He trots to Snake Eyes’ side, beginning to press along the fabric. “Had three different assignments helpin’ folks set up some prisons. ‘Correctional Facilities’, as the NER like to call ‘em. Learned mighty quick the signs for when a pony’s hidin’ somethin’ in a place it shouldn’t be.”

“An interesting little tidbit there,” Snake says, liftin’ his chin. Startin’ around the chest now. Suits a bit dirty. Rugged. No surprise. Silk ain’t meant for such a place. “I suppose I’ll be hearing more along the way?”

Other side. Almost done. “Depends. Could hear none, could hear quite a few. Mane and hat now.” Snake Eyes tips his head down, allowin’ him to take the fedora into his hooves. rim’s spotless. Bowl’s empty. Nothin’ suspicious. Snake’s mane is about standard length. Holds that dark white color in spite of all the dirt. Combed back in the past were he to guess. Desert made sure to rough that up, turn single strands to pasted rope.

He hands the fedora back to Snake Eyes. Only one thing to do now. Take a step forward, swipe a hoof through the tail. Nothin’.

“Alright. That’ll do,” he rasps, trots back and lets Snake regroup himself. When Snake finishes, he holds out a hoof.

“Welcome aboard. Name’s Tumbleweed.”

Snake Eyes grins, accepts the hoofshake. “I was right then. I guessed it from the ball of brambles you have for a mark I spotted under your duster, but didn’t want to appear rude. Seems you and I share the same burden many other ponies must carry: the mark tells our name. Makes it difficult to hide it.”

“Right. Doesn’t mean ah can’t keep ‘em guessin’.”

“Very true.”

Fasten the holster, check the rifle and saddlebags again.

Another cold breeze sweeps through, makes him pull his duster tight. Feels like a while they’ve been standin’ there talkin’. Surprised Snake ain’t freezin’ to death with only that suit.

“I’m assuming we’re not finding rest in the settlement?” Snake asks, glancin’ from the bar back to him.

“Nope. Half a mile trot out, cluster of rocks beneath that mound off in the distance. Trust the wildlife more than the drunks.”

“Fair enough. Lead the way.”

First things first. Stetson off, combat helmet on.

“Aaah...” Snake Eyes purrs as he watches him retrieve his helmet. “Wide lens, spark battery compartment... night vision?”

Flick. Familiar red tint swims over his vision.

“Yep.” Voice comes out thick and muted. “Stick close. But not too close.”

“Of course.”

White glow from the bar fades out behind ‘em as they trot further into the desert. Snake Eyes does a fair job followin’, steppin’ over rocks, skirtin’ shrubs. So silent he glances back over the shoulder a few times along the way just to make sure he’s still there. Watch for any smart ideas he might get too.

‘Bout ten minutes of trottin’ later and they reach the mound. Same one he’d been overlookin’ the settlement from not too long ago, cept at its base. Can’t reach the top without wings. Wouldn’t camp there anyway. Just askin’ to get picked off.

Location he’s picked out is a blessin’ from nature. Three tall rocks formin’ a near wall, springin’ out from the base of the mound, yet leaves just a small enough space between the two for a few ponies to rest.

“Right here, behind these rocks.” He steps aside, gudin’ Snake Eyes into the site.

Snake trots into the area, pawin’ a hoof at the ground. After a bit he looks back up, frownin’. “Not bad, from what I can see. The dirt is rather... ‘unsatisfactory’, but that comes with the desert. In the end, safer than most places I’ve been sleeping the past couple of weeks.”

“Glad it passes your inspection,” he grunts, followin’ him in.

Snake scoffs but settles to the ground, restin’ his head on his front hooves. Shouldn’t be too hard on him. Miracle he ain’t bitchin’ like a spoiled filly considerin’ his upbringin’.

He takes off his saddlebags, rummagin’ through ‘em for some grub. Comes back with a can of rations. Hold ‘em up to Snake Eyes who’s been watchin’ him the whole time.

“Hungry? Ain’t tasty, but it’ll fill you up.”

Snake waves him off with a hoof. “Already had my dinner back at the bar, although I’m sure even your rations would put that garbage to shame.”

Right then. Find a nice spot to lay back. Happens to be up against the side of the mound. Just steep enough so that he ain’t belly up, strugglin’ to move about. He does the old ritual of cuttin’ open the rations, starts to slurp it down.

Tastes different than the first. There it is. A dark red engravin’ against his light red tint.

C-rations.

Carrots. B-rations, beans, was yesterday. S-rations, spinach, the day before that. P-rations, D-rations, A-B-C-rations. So many damn rations he can’t keep up after all these years. And yet none of ‘em taste like what they say.

Finish up dinner, toss the can. Give the critters a new play set.

Then silence. Desert life’s crawled underground from the cold. Miners asleep in their barracks. The bar’s lights have blackened, snuffed out durin’ their trot to the mound. Even the wind’s died back out, precious few wisps it gave ‘em.

Assume Snake Eyes is asleep. Good at fakin’ if he isn’t. Lies perfectly still, looks almost dead.

His own eyes start to droop, tell him its about that time to hang up the old dreamweaver. But his mind, instincts, won’t let him.

Celestia, what the hay is he doin’. Takin’ along a civilian, ‘specially after the entire squad just got picked off by Rhinos headin’ out from this area. Single stiff breeze will six this city-slicker.

Then Snake Eyes himself. Ponies like him are always thinkin’, even when chattin’ with others. Thinkin’, plannin’, all so their next bet will pay off in their favor. Ain’t much a thinkin’ stallion. Get in, get the mission done. If ya gotta be silent about it, be silent. Gotta go in head first, least find some cover. Always been simple. Always been good at it.

Thinkin’s done nothin’ but throw him off course. Thinkin’s gotten squad members killed.

If the talk outside the bar is any hint, Snake Eyes is doin’ some thinkin’ of his own. Question is, when does a ‘thinkin’’ become a ‘doin’’.

Let out a breath, try to clear his mind. Rest his head back against the side of the mound. Flick off the night vision to save sparks. White of Snake Eyes’ mane takes in the moonlight good, lettin’ him keep an eye on him. Case he has a trick up those sleeves.

Pull his duster tight, nehmoa closer.

Then he waits.

Footnote: Maximum level reached

Status: Normal

You’ve gained a companion!

Snake Eyes

This companion currently has no known perks

This companion currently has no known traits

The room falls under a shadow as the screen's light fizzles out, castin' the fifteen of 'em at the briefing table into a shadow. They sit there silently, some noddin', most without so much as a breath of acknowledgement. The stallion in front of the screen turns towards 'em, lookin' 'em all over with judging eyes.

"You have your objectives," he says firmly, eyes hardening. "Are there any questions?"

Not a single hoof, nor talon, is raised. The stallion nods and relaxes. "Then begin preparation. You have a full day before moving out, so spend your time wisely studying the targets and objectives. If you find a question or wish to hear the briefing details again, you may request it from either me or the commander." His gaze changes to the three unicorns that sit at the head of the table. "Sergeant Night Light, Corporal Hot Pie, Specialist Rowdy, the M.A.S. will be escorting you to the megaspell chamber for further instructions. Dismissed."

Everyone starts to move at once. The three unicorns are escorted from the room by two heavily armed guards. The rest of 'em murmur amongst one each other, exitin' the way they'd come.

He sits there without a word, starin' at the screen. Lot of information. Lot of targets. Lot of ponies.

He grimaces, sinkin' back in his seat.

Lot that can go wrong.

Surprises him to see Snake Eyes stirrin’ before the dawn breaks. Would think a stallion like him would live by the night.

Snake raises his head from his hooves, blinkin’. Looks about a bit, stoppin’ his gaze upon him.

He’s lyin’ against the mound, unmovin’, still wearin’ the combat helmet and mask to cover his face. Doesn’t know he’s awake. Give him one reason. One evil eye, one betrayin’ smirk, and it’ll end soon as it began.

But Snake loses interest, rises to his hooves. Takes one look down at his dirtied suit and curls his lip up in disgust, beginnin’ to brush himself off.

Tension drains away. Maybe bein’ a bit paranoid. He begins to stir himself, reachin’ up and removin’ his combat helmet and mask.

“Ah.” Snake Eyes grins at him, riddin’ himself the last blots of dust. “Not to sound suspicious, but I had a hunch you would be awake under there. Not a chance you’d leave me unsupervised after the whole ‘20 questions’ scenario last night.”

Alright. Maybe not too paranoid. Lifts himself from the mound, depositin’ his mask and helmet.

“Told ya last night: ain’t the most trustin’ of stallions.”

“That you did,” Snake Eyes hisses between his teeth. “But for both our sakes, try not to miss out on too much sleep, yes? Don’t want to wind up dead because the ranger was too busy looking for the knife at his back instead of the bullet in his face.”

He grunts, rummagin’ for his stetson. Either speakin’ sense or spinnin’ a web. Tell with time. Ignore it for now. Don the stetson, fasten the holster, check the rifle. Before strappin’ on the saddlebags, he unlatches the two canteens, holdin’ one up for Snake Eyes.

“Drink up as much as ya need. We’ll have ‘em refueled in a minute here.”

“Stopping by the bar before we leave?” Snake Eyes asks, uncorkin’ his canteen.

“Yep. Miners should be in their work, leavin’ us some room. Even a few stragglers should be holdin’ off their drinks for now.” Uncorks his own canteen, takes a few long draughts and a breath before continuin’. “Won’t be in there for long. Trot in, get ‘em filled up, maybe get a bite of info, get out.”

Snake Eyes hands him back the canteen, noddin’. “Good. I’ve spent enough time in this junk heap as is. The sooner we put it behind us, the better.” He latches the canteens back to the saddlebags, strappin’ the saddlebags on tight. Double check the stetson, nehmoa, and rifle.

“Alright. Stick close.”

“...But not too close. Yes, yes.”

Sand and dirt’s a calmin’ shade of blue as they set out. Thin fog blankets the ground. Makes it all look more an ocean than a desert. Dunes and mounds turn to waves, crashin’ against the rocks, flowin’ along the shrubs.

But dawn breaks the final stretch to the bar. Chases the fog away. Turns the ocean to gold, rocks to rubies, shrubs to shimmerin’ wreaths. Catches for only a moment before the desert’s familiar grit settles in. Not gold but a pale yellow. Not ruby, but a rusted red.

“Aaah... look at you...”

Snake Eyes trots up beside him, grins as he scans him over from hoof to head.

"Well muscled, yet not too buff... have that weathered, rugged look..." Snake sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Now that I can actually see you, I’ll make another bet: you had all the fillies chasing after you back in your day, no?”

Edges of his mouth twitches. Don’t know whether to frown or not.

“No. Ah fancied a few, a few fancied me,” rubs his lips together, tryin’ not to think. “Nothin’ ever came of any of ‘em.”

Snake Eyes frowns for him. “What a shame. If you had gained entrance to New Pegasus back in your youth they’d of been unable to keep their hooves off of you. Mares always seem to flock to the occasional cowboy who manages to slip onto the strip.”

“Doubt anything would of come of it. Never been one for sleepin’ around.”

“You have also never been to New Pegasus.”

Small talk cuts as they reach the steps to the bar’s porch. Off in the distance the hills slope down to the mines. Can see a rainbow of blurs movin’ about outside the minin’ cave, hustlin’ carts along rails and unloadin’ coal into large steel bins

Must be more in the mine. Means what they saw in the bar last night was only a portion. Healthy little community here.

Sheriff’s still up on the porch in his chair, sleepin’ slumped down with a bottle in his hooves. Bit of drool drips down onto his vest, mouth hangin’ open with a loud snore.

Don’t even need to keep their hoof falls quiet as they trot up the steps. Damn stallion’s a motorboat.

Passin’ through the double swing doors gives a whole different greetin’ than the night before. Heat’s all gone, smell of soap instead of whiskey. Chairs and stools are all empty, the only other soul in the room Tab the barkeep. She wipes down the counter with a scrap of cloth, hummin’ a homey toon.

Perks up as she notices ‘em, chestnut mane bouncin’ as she gives ‘em a friendly nod. “Howdy strangers. Thought there was a chance ya’ll would sleep out around here and come trottin’ back in the mornin’. Ya both look sharp yerselves and sharp ponies know ya don’t go trottin’ the Palomino at night unless ya wanna be a dunestalker’s dinner.” She stows the cloth away, rises back up to greet them. “Now what can ah get ya both?”

He takes off the saddlebags, unlatches the two canteens, puts ‘em up on the counter. “Lookin’ for a refuel for these two canteens. Some food if ya got it to spare. Some info too.”

“Got those first two comin’ right up,” Tab sings, takin’ the canteens. “We can chit chat a while after ah have ya both ready.”

Tab starts her work, hummin’ and movin’ about behind the counter.

Watch her for a while before leanin’ in, whisperin’ to Snake Eyes.

“Suppose ya know all about the road to New Pegasus?”

Snake Eyes bristles up, whispers under his breath. “No. Why would I?”

He narrows his eyes at the stallion. “Yer tellin’ me ya trot all the way out here and don’t remember a thing about yer way back?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” Snake hisses, squintin’ back. “What do you think I did as I was fleeing for my life? Took a tour of the desert?” Snake scowls, scoffin’. “Forgive me if I didn’t leave a trail of crumbs along the way.”

Dear Celestia. This stallion. Find out next he’ll need help takin’ a piss too. He lets out a deep breath, goes back to watchin’ Tab.

Tab disappears into one of the backrooms. Returns with their canteens and a simple crate filled to the brim with all sorts of canned and wrapped foods. She pushes ‘em across the counter, motionin’ with her hoof for them to dig in.

“The wrapped goods are one cap and the canned goods are two. Take yer time and let me know when ya picked out what ya need.”

He trots up to the crate, starts rummagin’ through the selection. Decent from what he can see. Worst thing in there are the plain old granola bars Plenty of canned goods, most likely fished out of some old pre-war shop. That'll do. He puts three cans out onto the counter. Gives him eight. Only four days of travel. Better take another two, make it ten.

Quick second to count ‘em all out and Tab smiles back at ‘em. “Five cans and three wraps? That’ll be thirteen caps.”

Opens his pouch, tosses thirteen up onto the counter.

“And for the info?”

Tab shakes her head. “Day ya need to pay for a friendly chat is the day ah close down mah bar. What’s on yer mind stranger?”

Fair reasonin’. “‘Spose the first thing ah need to know is the road to New Pegasus. Any idea on the fastest trot there?”

Tab’s smile shrinks, eyes turnin’ sad. “Ah stranger, yer askin’ the wrong mare for that sorta question. Doubt anypony else out in the mines can help ya either. Only thing us minin’ ponies know about New Pegasus is that it’s a big ol’ city ya eventually run into trottin’ west. Ah can tell ya where to find a pony who can tell ya somethin’ though.” She points a hoof to the same hallway he’d escaped through the night before. “Likely ya didn’t see it last night, but there’s an old dusty trail out back that heads west. Now unless she’s rocketed off already, ya should find a mare and her caravan gettin’ ready to take that trail back to Goldroot within the hour. Bein’ from Goldroot herself, she should be able to fill you in a bit more than ah did or at least help ya along the way to the town.”

“And I assume this ‘Goldroot’ is... ‘civilized’?” Snake Eyes asks, venom tippin’ his words. “We both certainly received quite the welcome from your friends upon both our arrivals here.”

Just enough venom that Tab doesn’t seem to catch on. She chuckles, shakes her head. “Don’t be so hard on these colts and fillies, stranger, they ain’t ever shot a pony in their life. That said, most things those folks over in Goldroot have ever pulled a gun are is the wildlife, and even then that’s only when they get attacked.” She chuckles a bit again, lettin’ it die out. “Tell ya what, soon as ya talk to those ponies out back, let ‘em know Tab sent ya. That’ll get ya on their good side right quick.”

“Thank ya kindly,” he says, tippin’ his hat. Gotta balance out Snake Eyes with some good ol’ fashioned courtesy. “Only one more question for ya. Colt that exploded on me yesterday mentioned that some other pegasi and ah’ll assume a griffon dropped by here some time ago. Heard anything about that?”

Tab’s eyes widen, noddin’ as she leans into the counter. “Been hearin’ about it fer for the past few days now. ‘Hearin’s’ the key word. Wasn’t there mahself when it happened.”

She pauses a moment, tappin’ her chin. “Uh... let’s see... believe ah was told they came in durin’ the night, lot like ya’ll did. Four of ‘em. A griffon and three stackers...”

Four. Shootout back at the hill had eight.

Ahh, the package. Must have had four keepin’ it out in the dark, guardin’ it while the others grabbed a drink.

“... folks say they came in like anypony else would. Ordered some drinks from Whimsy, other bartender who takes mah days off... drank for a bit... then they started talkin’. Got everypony riled up.”

“Give me anything ya heard.”

She nods, eyes searchin’ the counter. “Accordin' to Whimsy they started out with her and the tables near the bar.” She points to the table his colt sat at last night and table behind them. “Told everypony they were a part of some group of ponies out east. Called ‘emselves the ‘Steel Dawn’ or somethin’ fancy like that.”

Name brings up a thousand images in his mind. Most of blood. Some of cold steel. Almost as if he’s there again. Recent ones are the easiest to see. Four young ponies, sleepin’ on the slope of a lone hill out in the badlands of the Palomino...

“Ya alright there stranger?”

Blink and it all fades away.

Tab and Snake Eyes are both starin’ at him, brows raised into curious expressions.

Goes to speak but his jaw is clenched. Legs locked up. Whole body is tense.

Shakes himself, lettin’ out a long breath. “Ah’m fine. Go on.”

She watches him a moment before continuin’. “Right. Let’s see... somewhere around there is when everypony else in the bar started gatherin’ round. Next ah heard they was talkin’ ‘bout some war off to the east, between them and some other ponies... ‘Equestrian Republic’ is what the miners have been mutterin’ since then. Assume they’re your folks judgin’ by last night?”

Gives her a simple tip of the head. Doesn’t need to be anything more.

“Well Whimsy left around then on account of there bein’ a chance of a fight, but let me tell ya, whatever those stackers said about yer folks got ‘em all riled up. Been mutterin’ and cursin’ about it for three days straight now.”

She backs off the counter, throwin’ a hoof into the air. “Me? Ah ain’t one to throw away common courtesy on the hooves of some other stranger’s words. ‘Specially if they were most likely drunk while they was squawkin’.” She waves a hoof out in the direction of the mines. “And don’t ya worry about them. All of this junk is just the miners finally gettin’ their hooves on some made up gossip. As long as yer folks keep to their work and leave us to ours, ah’m sure we’ll all get along just fine.”

Have to hold back a grimace. If only the world worked that way, darlin’.

Tab carries on for him, puts a hoof to her chest and takes several deep breaths. “Whew! That was more than even ah’m used to. Sorry ah wasn’t too much help on those Steel Dawn folk. Ah’m sure if ya wanted more of a story on ‘em ya could go out down the ways a bit and ask the miners there. Might still give ya a bit of hell though.”

Snake Eyes coughs, turnin’ his nose up. “I’m quite certain we aren’t that desperate.”

Venomous as it sounds, can’t disagree.

“What ya told me so far will do. Want to thank ya for all the help ya’ve given. For last night, too.”

Tab smiles at ‘em both, shruggin’. “Like ah said before. Stranger or not, it’s always good to carry about a bit of respect for your fellow ponies.” She pulls the crate and caps back across the counter, pushin’ over their canteens and food. “Now don’t forget yer goods, don’t forget the trail and the caravan is right out back, and don’t forget to tell the caravan ah sent ya as well. They’re already friendly folk, but it never hurts to carry a good word with ya.”

He tips his hat to her one last time. “Ah’ll keep it in mind. Thank ya kindly.”

“Ain’t a thing stranger.” Tab takes the crate onto her back and drags the caps behind the counter. Turnin’ to leave through one of the back doors, she waves ‘em a hoof. “Good luck, and happy trails!”

She disappears into the backrooms, leavin’ him and Snake Eyes alone.

Mind’s swimmin’ right about now. Never been a curious stallion. Also never been a naive one. Steel Dawn’s movin’ about the Palomino, ferryin’ around suspicious packages. Guess the only good news is that if Snake Eyes is to be believed, chances are they haven’t had an easy time gettin’ into New Pegasus either.

“Steel Dawn...” Name slides out, hissed between clenched teeth.

Look over to see Snake Eyes gazin’ at him with a coy expression, muzzle turned up into a serpent’s smile.

“Seems the name lights a fire in you. Would I be correct in presuming that you and this faction have a... ‘history’ together?”

History. Suppose so. Another landmark on a long and broken road.

He turns back to the counter, begins to load the rations and Snack Cakes into his saddlebags.

“Ain’t anything of yer concern,” he grunts.

Snake rolls his eyes, sneerin’ as he looks away. Thankfully keeps his mouth shut.

He focuses on loadin’ the supplies into the saddlebags. End up fittin’ three cans layin’ em down sideways atop the five he had. Last two go down snugly into two large pockets under the fold over. Latch the canteens to the outside and its done.

Oof. Saddlebags are just about full. Spine lets him know that good. Used to be that he could ferry two of these things stuffed to the brim with guns and rations. Time changes things.

Snake follows behind as he heads out through the hallway. Still just as lonely as before. Sunlight pourin’ in from the end door doesn’t make it any less ominous than the lantern light did.

Trot down it. Open the door. Step outside. Not the same greetin’. Different in every way. Wind was eager to bring ‘em the desert’s chill, yet jumps town when the sun rises. Leaves a stale heat, makin’ every breath as if through a large straw.

Full daytime as well. Dirt and rocks and shrubs seem to shoot back the sunlight, creatin’ a hazy white sheen over the desert’s sand. Can see the road Tab told ‘em about a bit down the slope, caravan ruts and hoof marks turnin’ it a darker shade than the untrodden earth around it.

Now where the hay is that caravan?

“Well aren’t ya’ll two just the darndest things that have ever trot out of the Buckham bar!”

Voice comes from over his shoulder, squealed out by a mare in the distance with shimmerin' pink eyes, a bright yellow mane, and a rich green coat that could fit right in beside any of the Palomino’s many cacti. Her mark, suitably enough, is a bright pink and violet cactus flower that buds bombastically from her flank. While she stares over at ‘em smilin’, six other ponies are suitin’ up for the road: another mare standin' beside her, a stallion and a mare checkin’ their bags and guns a bit farther back, and three stallions hookin’ ‘emselves up to enormous emptied carts.

Really should start checkin’ his five and seven from now on when leavin’ a buildin’.

“Don’t ya’ll just stand there!” the mare shouts, beckonin’ ‘em over with her hoof. “We don’t bite, promise!”

Snake Eyes’ lets out a light groan, lookin’ from the mare to him. “Perhaps it’s best if we go this one alone, yes?”

“Might have agreed if ya had half a mind about the road,” he says, startin’ to trot. “But bein’ as neither of us do, ah’d feel a might wiser travelin’ with somepony who does, Come on.”

“Ugh...” Snake Eyes scowls, begrudgingly followin; behind.

Mare and her caravan’s about a good fifty yards off, a slight blur in the desert haze. Gettin’ closer, can see the mare and two of the other three ponies off the carts have double barreled shotguns for iron. The sole exception is the mare standin' beside the squealer, who's seemed to have opted for a lever-action shotgun instead. She's the complete opposite of the bouncin' mare at her side, from her inverse yellow coat and green mane to her relaxed posture and calm eyes. She has a cactus rose for a mark as well, albeit dark red as opposed to her partner's pink.

He tips his hat to 'em all as he and Snake get another twenty closer. “Howdy there folks."

The squealer doesn’t waste any time, shootin’ her hoof out like a rocket and grinnin; to ‘em both. “Howdy yerself! Names Prickly! This here is mah sister Pokey!" The tranquil mare at her side waves nonchalantly to 'em before turnin' back away, lookin' off in the distance. Prickly turns back to them excitedly. "What ya two go by?”

He accepts the hoofshake, tryin’ to keep his eyes kind as he shakes his head. “Apologies ma’am, but ‘friendly strangers’ is all we can part with ya.”

“Strangers!?” Says it as if its the darndest thing she’s heard. Quickly smiles again, even wider than before. “Well that makes this all the more fun! Ain’t often we get strangers around these parts, much less a stacker and a city-slicker!!” She does a half-turn, lettin’ out a sharp whistle to the others. “Ya’ll unhitch yerselves and get yer flanks up here! Makin’ the strangers uncomfortable with all yer standin’ around!”

The whole party begins to move behind her. The other two gun toters come up first, both unicorns. Mare names herself Dust Crops, the stallion Dust Bowl. Don’t ask if their related. Caravan pullers come up next, just as friendly, if not a bit more quiet. Anvil, Bursage, and Big Iron. After greetin’ him they shuffle on over to Snake Eyes. City stallion does his best to keep the greetin’s short, wearin’ an annoyed expression as the bigger ponies happily force him into a hoofshake.

Pokey stops by last, givin' him the same firm hoofshake as her sister, leadin' up with a drawled out, "Howdy. Always good to have some extra hooves on board, both for the company and the desert itself. Never know what can happen along the road."

She leaves him with that ominous warnin' and moves on to Snake Eyes, repeatin' much the same thing.

“Hoowee!” Prickly cheers, liftin’ her stetson and wipin’ her brow, grinnin’ at him. “Like ah said, don’t get too many visitors around here, ‘specially a pair unique as ya’ll. Might ah ask what brings ya round these parts? Aside from the fresh air and desert beauty of course.”

Can see Snake Eyes lean in from the edge of his view, ear flickin’.

He tips his head, gives her an apologetic smile. “Have to forgive me again, but the business is a stranger too.”

Snake Eyes sinks back, rollin’ his eyes.

“Oooooo. Well aren’t you just the mysterious one!” Prickly chides. “But don’t ya worry none strangers. Ah know ah may seem a bit exciteful, but ah ain’t one to go pryin’ into anyponies business.”

“‘Preciate it. Might be a bit backwards of me to ask after that, but is yer caravan headin’ out to a town named Goldroot?”

“Sure are!” Prickly’s eyes suddenly light up like a cactus flower. “Oh! Ya’ll lookin’ for some company along the way? Road ain’t too dangerous, but its always good to have somepony watchin’ yer back.”

Hm. Didn’t even have to ask.

“And I’ll assume you’ll be wanting some caps...?” Snake Eyes asks, his tone almost answerin’ the question itself.

Pokey loses her peaceful state, starin' back at 'em lazily as if they're crazy.

“Caps!?” Prickly yelps, her smile droppin’. She gapes at the both of ‘em, her mouth hangin’ open and her brows furrowed. “What do ya’ll both take me for, a swindler? Only one thing ah need for a companion to come aboard and that’s a good ol’ fashioned hoofshake.” She fires out her hoof a second time. “Put ‘er there partners!”

And for a second time he accepts it, bowin’ his head. “Mighty kind of ya’ll. ‘Preciate it.”

“Ain’t a thing!” Prickly lets go of his hoof, holdin’ hers out to Snake Eyes. “Yer turn now city slicker. No need to be shy!”

Snake Eyes seems to consider it a moment before reluctantly takin’ Prickly’s hoof, sighin’. “You ponies have such a fascinating addiction to hoofshakes.”

“Don’t see why anypony wouldn’t,” Prickly says, still shakin’. “If ya wanna seal a deal its fast, easy, and best of all, dirt cheap!”

“Two words I’m certain you’re quite accustomed to,” Snake hisses, pullin’ his hoof back and wipin’ it against his other leg.

Sun’s been workin’ its way up over the bar all the while, the mornin’ light creepin’ onto the rest of the caravan. Slow but steady it swallows up the shade, slitherin’ their direction.

Its just as Prickly starts to pull back as well that the light breaks right into her eyes, makin’ her curse as she throws a hoof up to her eyes. “Darnit! Sun’s on the move already huh?” She turns away, brings her hoof up her muzzle and lets out another sharp whistle. “Alrighty ya’ll, do yer final checkups and then we’re headin’ out! Remember to get them carts tight!” She looks back over her shoulder and waves ‘em along. “If ya’ll are ready over there, we can start workin’ our way down to the trail. Ah love to talk just as much as the next pony, but we got plenty of time for that along the road.”

He and Snake Eyes both watch her start to trot off. He narrows his eyes at Snake, noddin’ over to Prickly. “Ya knew about this caravan the night before?”

“Yes, in fact, I did, after my ‘warm’ greeting to the bar,” Snake Eyes sneers, still watchin’ Prickly. “But they aren’t traveling the full distance to New Pegasus. Also, I just so happen to possess a trait most ponies lack these days.”

“And don’t ya’ll worry ‘bout fallin’ behind,” Prickly calls back. “We keep a nice and steady pace. Even a city slicker and a grounded stacker shouldn’t have a problem keepin’ along, no offense of course! Haw!”

The sneer widens as he looks from the mare to him, hissin’ through clenched teeth.

“Standards.”

Footnote: Maximum level reached

Status: Normal

New trait added: Native’s Knowledge

“Always good to travel with a pony who knows the lay of the land, even if she happens to be a few apples short of a full bushel.”

While in this caravan’s company, all party members receive +10 to survival while within the Palomino.

Ghosts of the Palomino

Fallout: Equestria: New World Blues

Chapter 3: Ghosts of the Palomino

“Crimson Flare”

“Drawback”

“Ocean Breeze”

“Sharp Eye”

“Slickback”

Ain’t much a stallion can say about the desert. Nothin’ against it, just that once ya’ve caught a glimpse, ya’ve caught yer fill. Rust orange rocks, brown rugged shrubs, and green cacti all rollin’ along dunes and flats of sun touched sand. That's about it.

Important though that ya keep a few things circlin’ in yer head, lappin’ back around so that ya remember just as ya forget. One, ya need to drink water, stay hydrated. Two, Ya need to eat, keep yerself healthy at all times. Three, and last...

It’s damn hot.

Which happens to loop right on back to number one, drink water.

“Ah’d take it ya ain’t from around here stranger?”

Question comes from Pokey to his right, trottin’ alongside him. She’s placed at the head of the caravan, him and Snake Eyes off to her left, Prickly and the Dust siblings off to her right, three stallions and their carts at their backs. She moves at a leisurely stroll, watchin’ him with a sympathetic frown as he struggles to hold a steady breath and keep his head up.

He watches her back from his peripherals, her dulled yellow eyes clashin’ with the sunlight. “Might be, might not. What makes ya think ah ain’t?”

“Its a hunch on account of you pantin’ like a dog four hours into the trip,” she says in the most kind way she can. “Not that ah don’t respect yer drive. Known some past caravan employees mahself that started whinin’ an hour in. Good ponies and Palomino natives to boot, just didn’t have the heart for the long drive.”

He’s unconsciously tugged his canteen free again, gulpin’ down another few swallows. Half empty already. Hate to do it, but might have to ask for more from the caravan later.

He puts the canteen back, lettin’ out a steadyin’ breath as he looks back to the long road ahead. “Ah found that strength happens to fade with age sometime back. Endurance sticks around though. Comes from the mind more than it does the body.”

Pokey nods, but still frowns at him. “True words, but the main way ah could tell ya wasn’t from around here was how yer fumblin’ with yer canteen. See here?” She tips up her head which brings out a rope tied loosely to her neck. Down below the rope droops, only loopin’ back up as it passes through the handle of a worn metal canteen. “Don’t know if ya’ve noticed or not, but the whole caravan has their canteens like this. Makes it much easier than fumblin’ around with the saddlebags.” She brings the canteen up to her muzzle fast and easy like, as if to demonstrate. “Make sure to remind mah sister Prickly durin’ the campfire tonight and she'll hook up yers much the same way, if that’s fine with ya.”

“Would be mah pleasure,” he thanks her, tippin’ his hat.

Pokey ends the talk with an affirmin’ nod, returnin’ her attention to the trail. He follows suit, ignorin’ the itch to reach back for his canteen again. Need to pace himself. Peerin’ about for a distraction lands him right on Snake Eyes a few hooves to his left. The city stallion has his head held high, eyes lidded and dark as if he might die of boredom before dehydration.

Snake Eyes realizes him watchin’, pullin’ a double take before scowlin’ at him. “Have a reason for drilling holes into the side of my head?”

“A bit surprised ah suppose,” he admits, keepin’ his left eye on Snake as he faces back forward. “Expected some complaints on yer side, but ya seem to be takin’ the heat well.”

Snake Eyes scoffs, eyes hardenin’. “I can assure you that New Pegasus is as much a part of the Palomino desert as any other town, heat included. Even more so considering the crowds of ponies that litter the streets,” Snake’s eyes narrow as he looks to the canteens on the saddlebags. “But now that you’ve spent my breath I could use a drink. Which one is yours and which one is mine? I don’t want you draining my canteen just because you can’t handle a little sunshine.”

Forty years younger and this slicker would be whooped. Age has made him patient though.

He taps the canteen closest to him. “Front one’s mine. Back one’s yers.”

“Excellent...” Can feel the saddlebags shake a bit as Snake wrestles with the latch, eventually pullin’ the canteen free.

He returns to focusin’ on the road while Snake Eyes sips at his drink. Strong sunlight makes everything simple: one light brown line runnin’ straight ahead of ya that serves as yer trail, a sea of light yellow on either side that doesn’t serve as yer trail. Any other details are nothin’ more than a stray glare along the ground.

Sweat drips down into his eyes, even with the stetson doin’ its work. Can start to feel the slick from his coat soakin’ into the combat armor. Feels like an oven under it all.

He reaches back for his canteen. Somethin’ bumps against his hoof along the way.

It’s Snake Eyes, latchin’ his own canteen back to the saddlebags. The city stallion grins at him, watchin’ his hoof sink back to the ground.

“Again..?” Snake Eyes asks with a mockin’ voice, waggin’ a hoof at him. “Seems an old dog does still have to learn new tricks after all. Don’t worry, however. Give or take a few years under the Palomino sun and I’m sure you’ll be trotting along with the rest of us just fine.”

He gives Snake a long hard stare before sighin’, lookin’ back to the road, pullin’ his stetson down a might further.

One of the golden rules of a mission: don’t pick up any civvies unless they’re an objective. Thought he’d learned why long ago.

Then this fella came along.

They rest in a circle around a hearty campfire about five minutes off the road. Moonlight is strong enough as is to keep the desert in a glow, but the caravan insisted. Alright. He just makes sure to keep himself and Snake Eyes an extra ten hooves from the campfire. While it makes ‘em the odd ones out, it hides his back and his rifle in the shadows. Sniper’s much more likely to choose a pony they think has a gun than one they think doesn’t.

Snake Eyes sits a bit off to his right, watchin’ the rest of the caravan with bored eyes. Can still see that grin under the bar light on his face though, just on the cusp of mockin’ him...

He sits up, stirrin’ after several minutes of silence have passed. “Was wonderin’ if any of ya knew a thing about New Pegasus.”

A ripple runs through the caravan. Pokey even lifts her head up from her nap, starin' over to him with interest. Prickly looks up from his canteen she’s been workin’ on for the past half hour, starin’ at him with curious eyes across the campfire.

“Well ain’t that a question out of the blue,” she says in surprise, but brings her hoof up to her muzzle, rubbin’ her chin. “But not quite a blue question, if ya catch me. Every once in a long while we get folks comin’ out of the east askin’ them same words, sayin’ they're makin’ their way over there. As for what ah know?” She drops her hoof, shruggin’. “Nothin’ much, aside from it’s so bright ya can see it over the horizon and that it’s a might difficult to reach.”

“And Ms. New Pegasus!” Bursage, one of the big stallion cart pullers, calls out as he rolls up onto his side. His soft scarlet mane sways along his soft green coat as he swoons like a big puppy dog. “Aaaaaw Ms. New Pegasus,” he sighs in a deep rumble. “Ah’m gonna trek on over there one of these days and marry that mare. Will treat her right ah will.”

The rest of the caravan reacts accordingly, either shakin’ their heads and smilin’ or hidin’ their snickerin’ under their forelegs.

“Make sure to send me a weddin’ invitation after she falls into your hooves,” the Dust brother says, grinnin’ like a jackal at the lovestruck stallion. His sister slaps his back, hidin’ her muzzle under her stetson.

A little confused here. He waits until the giddiness begins to wear off before castin’ a curious eye over to Prickly. “Might ah ask who Ms. Pegasus is?”

“She is the host for Radio New Pegasus,” Snake Eyes butts in, says it with a sigh as if it’s common knowledge. “And before you ask, Radio New Pegasus is a station which details the day-to-day life and events of New Pegasus while also playing assorted music.”

Bursage rolls up onto his front hooves, gazin’ over to Snake with wide eyes. “Aw! You’re from New Pegasus ain’t ya city slicker? Have ya met her before? Have ya?”

“...And if my info is to be believed, which it is...” Snake Eyes continues, ignorin’ the other stallion and keepin’ his bored tone. “The station is also fully supported by Mr. Spade himself. That said, I have not met Ms. New Pegasus myself to ask her, so do not trust me completely on that.”

“Aaaaaaw...” Bursage groans, sinkin’ back down to his side.

Prickly snickers at Bursage one more time before lookin’ back over to him and shruggin’ again. “But yep, that’s about all you’ll get out of us here caravan folk. Apologies, stranger."

Hmph. The mysterious only gets more mysterious. Figures.

He rises from his spot at the campfire, gruntin’ as his joints pop and snap in protest. No oil left in these old bones.

Prickly looks up from the campfire, watchin’ him in surprise as he gets to his hooves. “Huh? Ya headin’ off to bed already stranger?”

“‘Fraid so,” he says, turnin’ away from the campfire. Target is a sizable rock fifty yards off in the distance, black against the silver sand. “Thank ya much for the company, and holler if there’s any danger.”

Can hear Prickly cursin’ behind him as he starts to trot off. “Well shoot! He galloped off quick. We ain’t even gotten to the ghost stories or Big Iron playin’ his banjo.”

“Ghost stories...?” Snake Eyes answers back, unimpressed.

By the time Prickly responds her voice is nothin’ more than a muffled squeak in the desert air. He finishes trottin’ the distance, circlin’ the rock until he’s on the other side. With one last scan of the desert he lowers himself down, proppin’ his back up to the rock, lettin’ out a long, tired breath.

Legs are burnin’. Chest is burnin’. Been a long while since he’s done a full day’s trot like that. Not often he’d be assigned to a grounded troop, much less one on the march. Could probably wrack the old brain a while and think up the number, but the willpower to actually do it ain’t there. Not surprised. Just a number in the end anyway, another group of faces that have passed him by along life’s road.

Stomach is growlin’. ‘Bout that time, ain’t it?

He leans forward and takes the saddlebags from his back, settin’ ‘em down in his lap. Liftin’ up the left flap reveals the two cans of rations hidden underneath. He pulls one out, pullin’ the flap down again. Rollin’ the can around his hooves is different from the typical. ‘Cause of the Palomino brand, of course, yet still has some similarities. Still has the B-rations etched into its side, still opens the same way.

He pulls out his combat knife, stickin’ it through the can’s top. Wind it around the lid’s edge. Don’t quite finish the circle, lest the lid falls into the can. Hard as all hell to get it out then. Leavin’ that small part of the lid intact makes it easy to grab with his mouth, yank it off. Sure, might cut the tongue if he gets unlucky, but the blood ain’t nothin’ to fret over. Heck, adds to the flavor even.

It’s after he spits the lid to the ground that a faint thud reaches his ears, carried along by the desert breeze.

Hooves thumpin’ against the ground. Growin’ closer.

He lowers the rations quietly to the ground, slips his nehmoa from its holster. Thumpin’ is louder now. Give or take another ten seconds and they’ll come around the rock. Let a half second’s pause go by after, shoot if it ain’t Snake or any of the caravan—

"Head's up stranger. Just the caravan mare."

He sinks back a little, but still keeps his nehmoa drawn. Only until a weaponless Pokey comes trottin' around the rock does he exhale, holsterin’ his nehmoa. “Apologies about the gun. Just cautious."

"Understand completely," Pokey excuses. "More important is the reason ah dropped by. Heard ya askin' around about New Pegasus back at the fire."

That garners his attention, He sits up and looks to the mare in a new light. "Ya've got information for me?"

"No."

Damnit.

"But ah know somepony who does." She lifts her hoof up, pointin' off down the trail. "Up ahead in Goldroot is a mare by the name of Shady Sands. The town mayor, in fact. Soft mare on the outside, but can get real hard on the inside if she wants.... She's mentioned to me a many times that if ah ever had the mind to run off to New Pegasus that ah'd better stop by her first. Her nature in mind, ah have no doubt she'll extend the same offer to you and yer friend."

Shady Sands. A name he has to remember. He looks back up to Pokey and nods. "Thank ya kindly. That said, why didn't ya tell me this back at the campfire?"

Pokey hesitates, droppin' her usual calm attitude for the moment. She turns her head down and paws her hoof at the ground. "Ya see, ah would've, but things have been gettin' a might hectic lately and mah sister—"

If you are actually tucked behind this rock, hold off on the gunfire please. Getting shot due to your paranoia is the last thing on my list tonight."

Pokey cuts herself short, lookin' back over her shoulder. Returnin' to him, she shrugs and begins to trot back off towards the camp. "Just remember 'Shady Sands'. 'Til tomorrow, goodnight."

Just as she turns out of sight behind the rock Snake comes creepin' up, watchin' her go with a curious look. He turns to him and grins. "And what was that about...?

"Ain't yer place to ask," he growls. "What do ya want?"

Snake Eyes scoffs at the question, lookin’ venomously back to the caravan as he stops a few feet in front of him “You would be insane if you think I would stomach another hour of that mare’s brain-dead rambling.”

He sighs, liftin’ the flap up on the saddlebags again and pullin’ out the other can of rations. “You’ll be sleepin’ with the caravan tonight. Ah’ll be restin’ along ya’lls perimeter, meetin’ back up with ya in the mornin’.”

“What?” Snake hisses in disbelief, turns his eyes over to him, glarin’. “You remember that I made a deal with you, yes, and not the bumbling caravan ponies? Or have you already forgotten?”

He nods as he sticks the combat knife in the lid, begins workin’ along the edge. “Ah remember. Ya need to recall that ah’m just as blind as you when it comes to the Palomino. Those ‘dead-brain’ ponies out there know much more about the wildlife and terrain of this desert than ah can ever hope to. If the deal is to escort you safely to New Pegasus, then ah’ve decided that those ponies are where ya’d be safest for the night.”

Snake Eyes frowns, raisin’ his hoof as if to argue. Seconds later the stallion reluctantly withdraws, sinkin’ back to his haunches and rollin’ his eyes. “Ugh. You make sense, as much as I hate it.”

Leave just enough so that the lid doesn’t fall into the can. Sheathin’ his combat knife again, he grabs the lid between his teeth, yankin’ it free from the can. He spits the lid into the desert and holds up the rations, offerin’ ‘em over to Snake Eyes.

The city stallion crinkles his muzzle, glancin’ between him and the rations. “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

“Ya haven’t eaten all day. Ya either starve or go beg the caravan for some of their food.”

“And thus, you’ve convinced me,” Snake says, pursin’ his muzzle as he takes the rations.

He takes up the can he had opened minutes before, wipin’ away any of the sand that had been whipped up by the breeze. Snake Eyes is still starin’ down at his own rations. Hasn’t moved ‘em since he got ‘em.

“So this is it...? Just... eat it?”

“Eat it. Drink it. Depends on what ya make of it.”

Take a swig of his own rations for an example. Can see Snake Eyes from the peripherals, cringin’ as he watches him slurp half the can in one go.

Snake grimaces, turns back to his own can. “Hmph. I suppose I’ve drank alcohol back in New Pegasus more dangerous than this.” Brings the rations up to his muzzle, hesitates a moment. Steels himself. Tips the can back into his muzzle.

Second Snake parts ways with the can he goes into a fit of coughin’, holdin’ one hoof to his stomach, the other to his mouth. Throat swellin’, cheeks puffed, eyes sealed shut.

“Keep it in,” he calls, takes another swig of his own. “Tastes like brahmin dung the first time, rotten tomatoes the second. Gets better every mouthful.”

Solid half minute before Snake Eyes finally lowers his hooves, opens his mouth to let out a putrid gasp. Looks over to him in horror.

“How long have you been eating this trash?” Snake croaks.

Have to think a bit on that one.

“Hm. Rations, ah’d say about fourty somethin’ years now. Rations that taste like this, fifteen.”

“I pity you.”

“Start pityin’ yerself. Still got about twenty more takes at the pace yer goin’. Unless ya wanna go beg the caravan, of course.”

Snake Eyes scowls at him. Loses it a moment later, lookin’ back to his can. Disgust, maybe even a hint of fear lurkin’ behind the eyes.

He downs the rest of his own rations, throwin’ the can out to the desert. It rolls before stoppin’, becomin’ just another dark blot against the silver sands.

That’s about a wrap for the day. Another one and a half and they’ll be at Goldroot. Might not have the same strength he’s had throughout the years, but he’s survived much worse to let a bit of a haul get to him. Will also help with a bit of sleep under his eyes.

Only thing now is waitin’ for this city slicker to finish his dinner.

“What a surprise,” can hear Snake Eyes seethe through his wheezin’. “Just like rotten tomatoes. Wonderful...”

Almost cracked a smile at that one.

Almost.

Footnote: Maximum level reached

Status: Normal

They doused the flames, packed up their goods, checked their gear, and were back on the road twenty minutes after dawn. The day brought nothin’ more than what the previous had, its highlights made up of small quips of talk between the caravan as they trot down the road. Dust siblings got caught up in an argument, Prickly and Pokey got caught up in a pleasant discussion of desert fruits, Big Iron rambled about the best way to hold a banjo, and Anvil bragged about forgin’ the axle of his cart by his own hoof. All nice little tales for the road, but not much more.

Was able to keep his head a bit higher today, most likely thanks to the sleep. Heat didn’t move much down the scale and the wind was dead once again. Prickly’s rope holdin’ his canteen to his neck proved a might handy though, savin’ his hooves countless trips to his back.

Sun does another cycle, turnin’ the wheel in the sky. Was glad to find that his legs have simmered down from the day before, now only a dull ache when Prickly guided ‘em off the road for the second day’s camp.

A couple minute’s trot off the trail and she throws her hoof up, callin’ for a halt. The rest of the caravan sighs in relief as they drop their gear and cast off their carts. He lets his saddlebags slide from his back, welcomin’ the renewed freedom on his shoulders.

“Woowee!” Prickly whoops, settin’ her own bags down and surveyin’ the surroundin’ moonlit desert. “Ah recognize this spot here. We’re right on time! If we move like this tomorrow, we’ll be reachin’ Goldroot just as the sun’s hittin’ the horizon. Perfect!”

He looks out to the desert, searchin’ for a landmark that would pinpoint their location. Shrubs. Rocks. Mounds. Cacti. See Snake Eyes beside him doin’ the same. Same for him. They share a confused glance before abandonin’ the matter.

Prickly unpacks another round of firewood and hollows out a ring of sand. Layin’ the wood down into the ring, she calls Dust Crops over to lend a spark, just as her brother had done the night before.

And there ya go. Campfire’s castin’ its glow, cart pullers are makin’ their way over to join ‘em, Dust Crops and Dust Bowl are settlin’ down across the way, and Prickly’s pokin’ and proddin’ the flames higher while her sister tuckers down beside her.

Again, just far enough away from the fire so his rifle is hidden. He sinks to his back, gruntin’ at the pain in his spine but thankin’ the goddesses for the cool sand. Snake Eyes settles to his haunches beside him, puttin’ on the same bored eyes he’s been wearin’ all day and the day before.

“Gettin’ the jitters yet?”

Snake Eyes turns his head, glarin’ at him with a raised brow. “‘Jitters’? I don’t speak old stallion. Is that a kind of drug?”

“What ya get when ya don’t have yer drugs,” He rasps, bringin’ up his own worn hooves and turnin’ ‘em about. “Or yer alchohol. Or yer gamblin’. Ya seem to have the dark eyes, searchin’ for somethin’ that ya know ain’t there. The shakin’, the ‘jitters’, are next.”

No condescending scoff, no smug grin. Snake Eyes frowns, shufflin’ his hooves, swayin’ his head between a shake and a nod. “I suppose the gambling is a small part of it, yes...” Golden eyes light up with dim embers. “But there’s so much more than that to New Pegasus, understand. A stallion can—”

“Hold it slicker!”

Snake Eyes hisses, glares to the voice.

Prickly. She’s leaned over, holdin’ her hoof up, frozen completely still with an ear turned to the sky. Everypony else in the caravan lies perfectly still, perkin’ their ears as well.

“What is it?” Snake seethes between clenched teeth. “Why are you all doing that?”

None of ‘em respond. Still frozen. Beginnin’ to wonder what the hell is goin’ on himself. He starts to rise, keepin’ quiet as he pushes himself up with his hooves.

Then he freezes. The hair on his ears vibrate. Somethin’... only a tear right now, a ripple... sounds off in the distance. Wordlessly he reaches behind him, unslingin’ his rifle from his back, tuckin’ it beneath his duster and onto his battle saddle.

“Ugh... you too...?” Snake Eyes mutters under his breath.

He brings his hoof up to his muzzle. “Stop talkin’. Listen.”

They wait, nine ponies nothin’ but another set of dead objects out in the desert. Only thing movin’ is a rustled Snake Eyes and the cracklin’ flames of the campfire. Horizon’s empty, nothin’ but a thin silver and deep blue line in the distance.

His ear twitches. The echo comes again, rollin’ out across the desert. He closes his eyes, strains the old eardrums as far as they can go...

Hold a minute.

He opens his eyes again, raisin’ his head. Another echo, closer now, spreads over ‘em.

Howlin’. Yippin’. Snarlin’. Ghostly comin’ off the desert night’s breeze.

He sighs and lowers his rifle, frownin’. “Ain’t nothin but coyotes folks,” he rasps, settlin’ back to his haunches. “Don’t attack ponies, much less ones carryin’ weapons.”

But the moment ‘coyote’ escapes his muzzle the caravan bursts into action, dartin’ about the area, tossin’ their saddlebags, hollerin’ to one another, frettin’ as if a second balefire shower was comin’ from the sky.

"Drop the carts! Get 'em buried!" Pokey leaps up from her rest and gallops off towards the stallions.

“Dust Crops, Dust Bowl, fetch the dynamite!” Prickly shouts, frantically shovelin’ sand onto the fire.

“Crops has the dynamite!”

“What!? No YOU have the dynamite ya damn liar!”

The flames smother under Prickly’s waves of dirt, leavin’ ‘em all at the mercy of the moon’s dim silver. “Ah don’t give a damn which one of ya has it just get it ready!”

Through the chaos he’s scannin’ the perimeter, readyin’ his rifle. Somethin’s got these ponies spooked. Ain’t one to sit around and wonder why. Howlin’s runnin’ up on ‘em, coyotes for sure now. Irradiated? No radiation left. Would’ve died out over the years. Mutated?

“Uh... we’re havin’ a bit of trouble...”

“Aw for goodness sake!” Prickly shoves Dust Crops out of the way, diggin’ into the unicorn’s saddlebags. As she rummages she continues shoutin’ orders. “Bursage, Big Iron, get those carts grounded.” Her eyes shoot over to him and Snake and she curses again. “Anvil, keep the strangers safe!”

He squints. Somethin’ flickers, stirs under the moonlight. Becomes more clear the nearer it draws. Sand, yet it lifts from the ground, tears up as if spurned on by the vacuum of a ragin’ whirlwind.

For the first time he sees Snake’s eyes widen in fear. The city stallion hisses, startin’ to trot back in retreat. “Dunestalkers... how could I forget...”

Dunestalkers. He looks back to the horizon, mind startin’ to piece together the puzzle. Whirlwind of sand is racin’ towards ‘em, howls growin’ louder, caravan ponies dashin’ around in a fit...

These ain’t just coyotes.

He brings up his rifle, takin’ the mouth grip in his muzzle. Three hundred yards out. Would be a difficult shot if this ‘dunestalker’ wasn’t seven ponies wide. Aim down the sights. Suck in a deep breath of desert night air...

A hoof touches his withers. He backs off the mouth grip, looks back over his shoulder.

“Effort’s appreciated stranger, but that rifle ain’t gonna do a thing. Time to move.”

It’s Anvil, right behind him. Big stallion’s dark gray coat and pitch black mane stand out against silver light as he offers up a hoof to him. Snake Eyes stands to his side, shufflin’ his hooves as he stares to the cloud of sand, lookin’ just about ready to dart off in the opposite direction.

He looks from Anvil over to Prickly and the Dust siblings.

“Dust Bowl had ‘em I swear!”

“Ah... Ah don’t remember anymore!”

“Just keep searchin’! These bags ain’t bottomless!”

“They’ll be fine stranger,” Anvil rumbles, a bit of urgency sneakin’ into his words. “Ain’t nothin’ you can do. Need to get ya both out of the way. Come on now.”

A hundred and fifty out. Give or take another minute and this thing’ll be right on top of ‘em. Goddess knows what happens then.

He grimaces, lowers his rifle and turns to Anvil, noddin’. “Alright. Lead the way.”

Anvil nods back and turns around, takin’ off with somethin’ between a trot and a gallop. Him and Snake Eyes follow close behind as he leads ‘em further out into the desert. While they trot, he takes his stetson from the back of his head and tosses it into the closest pocket on his saddlebags, diggin’ his combat helmet out at the same time.

He pulls the helmet over his head, tightenin’ the mask’s latch, gettin’ that first whiff of damp musk. Notice as they pass the carts that Pokey and the other two stallions are diggin' 'em down into the sand. Only serves to confuse him more.

They stop a good ten seconds’ gallop away from the camp. When Anvil rotates around, can see the calm has disappeared from the big stallion’s eyes, a nervous spark in its place as he peers back at the rest of the caravan.

He turns as well, flippin’ on the night vision, tradin’ silver for red. Moment he does, somethin’ catches his eye.

The cloud of sand. But not the cloud itself. Only this close and with night vision can he see the dark silhouettes beneath it all, veiled, cloaked, hidden as they run rampant across the desert flats. Look like coyotes. Goddess knows if they truly are. Only a hundred yards out, fifty for Prickly and the crew. Growls and snarls begin to mix in with the howlin’.

Still no clue what the hell is happenin’, but he’s got a target now. His already burnin’ legs protest as he gallops, makin’ a quick arc around the caravan ponies for a clear shot at the dunestalkers.

“What are you doing?!” Snake Eyes hisses after him, steppin’ back farther away from the caravan. “It’s useless!”

Lift up the rifle, keepin’ the mouth grip lowered. Can’t use it with the mask on. Instead he raises his other leg, rotatin’ it a slight so that his spurs match up with the mouth trigger. Difficult to master at first, natural after a thousand times.

He pulls his hoof back. Flash, recoil, explosion.

He looks up from the sight, searchin’, hopin’ for anything, any reaction at all.

Silhouette he aimed for barrels on as if untouched. No way in seven hells did that miss. Even a hellhound will flinch at bein’ shot. Whatever this thing is, it ain’t natural.

And now its mere moments from bein’ right on top of Prickly and the crew. He cocks the lever, goes in for a second shot.

Too late.

“Got it!” Prickly yelps in excitement as she holds up a bundle of dynamite sticks. “Dust Crops you are a damn liar and from now on ah’m the one who’s gonna—”

The cloud engulfs them, snuffin’ Prickly’s words. Shouts and screams erupt soon after, mixin’ right in with the howls and yips to create a tangled, hellish chorus.

Anvil gallops past him, chargin’ off into the veil of sand without a word. That leaves him and Snake Eyes. The city stallion gawks at the chaos, backpedals a bit before cursin’ under his breath and spinnin’ in place, gallopin’ off further into the desert.

Hm. Can’t really blame him.

He turns his attention back on the fight. Everything’s a mass of dark blobs thrashin’ against one another. Can’t get a shot. Not that it would help any.

Have to make a decision. Try to leap in himself and help the caravan folk, or escape and keep tabs on his ticket into New Pegasus.

He grimaces under his mask, hesitates.

The mission...

The mission. Letter in his saddlebags has spoken for him. He unfurls his wings, beats ‘em against the cold desert night breeze, sends himself risin’ into the air. He stops, hovers, looks out in the direction Snake Eyes had ran off to. Can see a figure gallopin’ a ways in the distance, his nightvision catchin’ the light of the moon comin’ off the coat.

He flares his wings, bankin’ in pursuit.

A torrent of wind strikes him.

Not an idea where it came from. He struggles to stay afloat as the gusts throw off the beat of his wings. As he fights a mist of sand hitches along for the ride, turnin’ his vision fuzzy and his wings heavy. Thank goddess for the combat helmet’s gask mask or he’d be chokin’ on dirt about now.

Then with a final kissin’ whisp it’s gone. Just as fast as it had come. He steadies himself, regains his wing beats, tries to track down Snake Eyes again.

There. City stallion doesn’t gallop very fast. ‘Specially not fast enough to outrun the cloud of sand closin’ in on him.

Damnit. The dunestalkers. Must have finished the caravan, passed right underneath him on their way to Snake Eyes. Will catch up soon enough, make quick work of the earth stallion.

He banks and follows after the dunestalkers. Mind’s swimmin’ again though. Could just turn around right now, fly on to New Pegasus. Even if what Snake Eyes has said is true, still avoids the possibility of bein’ killed by whatever the hell this thing is.

But again, if what Snake Eyes says is true, months could be wasted.

The mission...

Doesn’t help. Need both himself and Snake Eyes alive for a complete objective.

So he takes the middle road. Keep behind these dunestalkers, take a moment to see what makes ‘em tick. If Snake Eyes can be saved, let him. If not, better off hopin’ the city slicker’s been lyin’ the entire time than gettin’ himself killed.

Ah. Things are damn quick. A brief thought and they’re already closin’ the final wanin’ gap between themselves and Snake Eyes. Will have to ignore the fire in his chest and push harder if he wants a shot at this.

He beats his wings faster, risin’ higher and pickin’ up pace so that he’s flyin’ directly over the dunestalker’s storm It’s once he’s in position that the storm finally closes in on Snake Eyes, lickin’ at his back hooves. The city stallion gets one last fearful glance over his shoulder before the storm engulfs him completely, stealin’ him away beneath a thick shroud of dirt.

Cloud ceases its charge soon after. Snake Eyes doesn’t gallop back out, so assume whatever the hell is happenin’ in there has got him pinned down.

Right then. He takes a moment to ready himself before tuckin’ his wings in and bankin’ into a steep dive. The sandstorm buffets him a second time, whippin’ his duster back and forth as it tries to get up under his wings. Have to focus all of his energy on keepin’ ‘em glued to the side of his body as he free falls. They open, he’s nothin’ more than a livin’ kite tossed about in a hurricane.

He holds the dive as he punches through the storm’s perimeter, gettin’ ready to shift into a steep glide for a fly by. Surprises him though. The wind inside the storm itself is much more calm, a choppy spring breeze compared to the tropical storm he’d just fought through.

He snaps his wings open to steady himself. Vision flashes white as the old muscles scream in pain, but he’s able to shake it off fast enough to look around and start catchin’ his bearings.

Ends up in what he can almost call a hurricane, with the eye at the center a safe haven that contrasts the chaos around it. Also much easier to see, even with the remainin’ flecks of sand and dirt turnin’ his night vision fuzzy.

Lookin’ down on the other hoof gives him a charlie foxtrot.

The dunestalkers are clear now. Must be four, five, maybe six of ‘em all lopin’ through the eye of the storm. They snarl, howl, snap, growl, move and hunt in a pack, all wrapped up in the form of large canine.

If it barks like a coyote, lopes like a coyote, and looks like a coyote, it’s a coyote.

Unless they’re a dunestalker. Then they’re coyotes with bodies made up completely of sand.

He blinks, shakes his head clear. Nope. ‘Fur’ still trickles down like a waterfall, ‘paws’ still merge with the desert every rise and fall of the legs, and the ‘teeth’ disperse and reform with every snap of the snout. Only thing out of place on ‘em is the glowin’ yellow eyes. Seen some strange things throughout life’s long road. Damn if this ain’t near the top of the list.

Of course at the center of it all is Snake Eyes. If not for the suit, would think him a completely different stallion. Arrogant eyes, smug grin, towerin’ posture, all dropped somewhere back durin’ his failed escape, vanished in favor of absolute terror. As the dunestalkers circle about him he cowers, shakin’ with fright, searchin’ frantically for a weak spot he might escape through.

Not a chance in hell he can pull off an extraction here, now. Can barely keep himself up these days. Both his body and mind agree, scream at him in unison. Mission is what he’s here for. Better delayed than failed. Probably been lyin’ behind that smug grin the entire time anyway. Fly off. Let it go.

The stallion nods, a grim hint of satisfaction finally breakin’ over his tired face. He slides the letter across the table, takes his hoof from it, looks up with steeled eyes.

“Ya have yer orders then. Two weeks. Get in, get out.... and good luck.”

He folds his wings, bankin’ into another dive.

Also the same moment the dunestalkers set in on Snake Eyes. They close the circle, springin’ upon their prey in almost perfect unison. He holds the dive. Even a stallion like Snake Eyes can survive bein’ chomped down on by sand.

But the dunestalkers don’t bite. They push. Swarm. Almost like a wrestler tryin’ to grapple their opponent to the ground. Snake Eyes cries out in desperation as the creatures latch to his chest and hindquarters, tuggin’ and pullin’, doin’ their best to sweep him from his hooves. Cry smothers out when the last dunestalker leaps itself right up to Snake’s head, draggin’ his neck down like a bent fishin’ pole.

Can barely see any of the strugglin’ stallion left under the dunestalkers as he begins to reach the end of his dive. Nothin’ tactical about this. Only one option.

He snaps open his wings again, fights against the pain again. Just far enough away to slow his descent, just close enough that the landin’ will cause some damage.

He grimaces, braces himself.

Slam right into Snake Eyes’ dunestalker-ridden side. A shower of sand, a pained yelp, and a nice cushion for the landin’ serves as his reward. Can feel the mass of sand that made up the dunestalker slip down underneath him, returnin’ to the ground below.

One down. Still a whole pack swarmin’ Snake Eyes.

Next dunestalker he moves for is anchorin’ itself on Snake’s head. As he charges he brings up his shoulder, puttin’ all of his force into the short leap such a small space has given him. Again, a burst of sand and a yelp. The dunestalker breaks from Snake Eyes, tumblin’ along as it hits the ground. Impact hadn’t crushed this one as it did the first, but it takes a good chunk of sand out of its side and hind legs. Should disable it long enough for him to take care of the others.

Next dunestalker is...

Ah hell. Damn thing just regrows its legs right before his eyes. Currents of sand rise along with the dunestalker, patchin’ its side back up as well. By the time it’s returned to its four legs, it’s as if he’d never even touched the thing in the first place. Give it a few moments more and it’ll be right back on top of ‘em.

He hesitates, mind tumblin’ between his next target.

“Not them you idiot...!” hear Snake Eyes cry out beside him. "Me!”

He turns, puts Snake into focus. Can see the city stallion’s face clearly now with the dunestalker off. Fear. Desperation. Pure horror. But what catches his eye is Snake’s body itself, buried knee deep into the sand. Even as Snake thrashes and fights to free himself the ground sucks him in, eatin’ away inch by inch,

Too many factors. The dunestalkers. Snake Eyes sinkin’. Himself beginnin’ to sink. Have to either ends this now or retreat.

He spreads his front hooves wide before clampin’ ‘em around Snake Eyes’ stomach and pullin’. At the same time he pumps his wings furiously, tryin’ his damned hardest to get them both airborne. Been goddess knows how long since he’s carried another pony by his lonesome. Only remembers that it was back when his feathers were a might harder, his legs a bit more built, and his back a lot less brittle.

Better off droppin’ dead right here and now if he lets that be an excuse though.

Snake struggles along with him as he strains himself, takin’ labored breaths through the humid combat mask. Put his back into it. Pull harder. Pump the wings faster. Entire body feels like a rubber band stretched to its end, just about ready to snap under all these years of pressure.

And that’s his limit. A wave of heat rolls over his form and blots his senses. For a few precious seconds he’s able to hold this peak, his entire body screamin’ with pain at the immense exertion. The red tint over his vision brightens until it blinds him, his mind shuttin’ out the yips and howls of the dunestalkers and shruggin’ off their formless teeth snappin’ at his limbs.

A few precious seconds. They pass and it all begins to slip. Muscles in his legs start to loosen. Beat of his wings begin to slow. Breaths come out short and irregular. Whole body shakes violently, breakin’ down like an old overworked machine.

And Snake Eyes hasn’t budged. Hasn’t come up, hasn’t gone down, still knee deep in the sand, still mobbed by dunestalkers, right where they started. Even after all his energy, after all of Snake’s frantic pants and desperate thrashin’...

Instinct takes over, warps his thoughts. Can feel his own hooves loosen around the still strugglin’ stallion, retreatin’ back to his own sides. His wings pump again, an extra burst of eagerness to their rhythm as they realize they’re free of any extra weight.

As he lifts into the air, Snake Eyes looks up to him, his face shiftin’, twistin’. Turned up brows and a slack jaw. Must have seen this face a few dozen times throughout the past fifteen years. Comes up along with the truth, right when they realize that the bullet they just took might be their last, right when the medic takes a good long look at ‘em and shakes their head, trottin’ on by.

Snake’s another good two hooves under as the last dunestalker assaults him again, stealin’ him from sight.

He grimaces, looks away as he gets ready to punch through the storm again. Ain’t a fate he’d wish on anypony, even a stallion like—

An explosion sounds from nearby, shatterin’ his senses. A gust of wind that goes against the dunestalker’s storm buffets him, strong enough to knock him off course, weak enough that he stays airborne. Only thing he can hear through the sharp ringin’ in his ears is a shrill battle cry screechin’ against the storm.

“Get off him ya mangy mutts!”

Another explosion. High enough now that he avoids another round of confusion. The howls and snarls of the dunestalkers turn to yelps and whimpers of fear.

“Ah’ll blast ya so high they’ll be callin’ ya moonstalkers!”

Another explosion. The air below is a curtain of disembodied sand, neither Snake Eyes nor the dunestalkers anywhere to be seen. Through the sandstorm a pair of eyes flash, shinin’ so bright that he can see the pink in ‘em against the night vision’s red tint.

“If ah gotta tell ya’ll again ah’ll come in there and wrassle ya’ll mahself! Now git outta here stalkers!”

Another explosion. The whimpers grow into deep mournful howls as the sandstorm around them rumbles. Every speck of sand and desert debris that’s been floatin’ about the air suddenly shifts, gustin’ in one direction as if a massive gale was sweepin’ through. He fights against it, tryin’ to keep airborne.

Wind’s too damn strong. His wings finally skip a beat, give out after all the stress. Blink of an eye and nature hurtles him down, slammin’ him against the ground. Have to thank the sand as he tumbles along its surface. Any other terrain and he’d most likely be lookin’ at a few broken bones right now.

Doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. He stifles a groan as he lays there, wind still whippin’ at his duster, a fine layer of sand still foggin’ up his night vision. Every muscle in his body is spent, leavin’ him motionless. Not quite sure what to expect now. Maybe get swarmed by dunestalkers. Maybe get blown up by dynamite. Rare case when he doesn’t know the situation he’s in. Only thing to do is lie still and wait.

But like like a passin’ spring rain the sand dissipates, rollin’ out into the desert. Off in the distance the sound of frightened howls fades into the night, the cloud of sand travelin’ along with it.

He tries to move, pushes at the ground. Still might be a chance to save Snake Eyes. Have to get up, have to—

“Agh... help me you dimwitted inbreds!” can hear Snake Eyes split the night air with a hiss from behind.

Shiftin’ his position allows him to roll his head, puttin’ Snake into view. There he is, lookin’ about as pathetic as he sounds, with his entire body, save his head and neck, buried beneath the desert sand. He spits and sputters and thrashes as if drownin’, mutterin’ curses and long strings of insults in between ‘em all.

“Hold on there slicker! Bursage, Big Iron, Anvil, dig that poor fella out!”

He lets out a long breath, drops back to his side and flips off the night vision. A stampede of hooves follows soon after, signalin’ the arrival of the three large caravan stallions. They waste no time in surroundin’ Snake and gettin’ to work, diggin’ at him with large shovelin’ hooves. Whole thing’s done with about as much care as a drunken archaeologist, eliciting another long line of spits and hisses from Snake Eyes as the sand tosses up into his face.

“Ah... ya alright there stacker?”

Prickly pops up into sight as well, leanin’ down into the sand so that she’s level with him. Her bright pink eyes reflect back the moonlight as she stares and blinks curiously, a worried grimace stretched across her face. Pokey stands there beside her expressin' much the same.

He makes to rise back to his hooves as an affirmation. Nope. Bring up a leg for an okay signal. Nope. He finally gives up, lettin’ his muscles go limp again. Layin’ there, unmovin’, he settles with a short and simple grunt which comes out more as an agitated groan through his mask.

Prickly’s grimace grows into a wide smile. She gets back up to her hooves and lets out a loud whoop, tossin’ a hoof into the air and circlin’ it about. “Wooooweee! Damn! Worst scrape with dunestalkers ah’ve ever been in and we pulled through without a single pony lost!” She lowers her hoof back and offers it down to him. “Come on stacker! Drinks are on me tonight!”

Before he can mutter out a request for a few more second’s of rest she’s grabbin’ him by the leg, tuggin’ him to his hooves. Dear goddesses. Have to concentrate his entire mind on not lettin’ out a pained gasp as she raises him up on all fours. His legs sting as he wobbles about for a bit. Thankfully Prickly sticks by his side, actin’ as a fine piece of leverage as he steadies himself.

Snake Eyes just about has his forelegs unearthed. Dust Crops and Dust Bowl have joined in with the three stallions, formin’ a small circle around the rustled stallion as they dig. All the while Snake sits there with his hooves crossed, scowlin’ and scoldin’ at his rescuers. “Watch the suit. I said watch it. I assure you it’s worth more than your petty salaries combined several times over, you plebeians.”

He sighs. Might’ve been for the best to leave the venomous bastard buried out here. Too late now.

With some effort he’s able to unlatch his mask and pull his combat helmet off. A spray of sweat answers in return, gathered up from the perspiration that runs down his face and drips from his mane. Cold air goes along perfectly with it all, mixin’ with the sweat to give the feelin’ of an ice pack spread across his hairs.

He slips the combat helmet into the saddlebags and pulls out his stetson. Can see Operation Fold ‘Em still nestled down at the bottom, its seal glistenin’ back with the kiss of the moonlight. He seals up the saddlebags, turns back forward and takes a deep breath.

Weight of it all crashes down on him as he closes his eyes, steadyin’ his breathin’. Was supposed to be so simple. Five days in, five days out, no resistance. Now? Killed some Rhinos, lost his squad, and he just finished combat with ghost sand coyotes. Can still see ‘em. Glowin’ yellow eyes, sand drippin’ down their coats, the sandstorm... only one question left that burns in his mind.

“The hell were those things?”

Prickly perks up at the sound of his voice, raisin’ her brow as she looks over to him. “What? The dunestalkers?”

He nods. “Ain’t ever seen a thing like ‘em.”

Prickly’s expression suddenly falls, turnin’ grim. Her eyes darken to a dull violet and her muzzle purses as she begins to take slow, laborious steps towards him. When she speaks again, it’s with a deepened, hollowed voice. “Ooooh... it’s a tale stacker. Horrible one at that. Ya see, years and years back, a good band of pre-war ponies decided to build a new town out in the southern valleys of the Palomino...” Prickly draws closer, her head hung low and her trot sunken. “But ya see, them ponies didn’t realize a certain small little detail as they built up their homes and stores and farms. Them ponies never knew... that their town was built right on an ancient buffalo burial ground.” Prickly’s right beside him now, puts a hoof across his back and stares at him with wide, soul crushin’ eyes. “Was one fateful night when the entire town up and sank right into the sands, takin’ the settlers with it. It was quiet for a long time after, but one day the sand started to rustle, and somethin started to dig its way out. What came out... was the dunestalkers,” she draws out the name, vibratin’ her voice in a hauntin’ rattle. “Cursed spirits that hunt under the full moon of the Palomino, scourin’ the desert for their prey. Got only one thought on their mind: seekin’ out defenseless ponies and ensnarin’ ‘em, draggin’ ‘em down into the sands. Moment you’re under, the sand starts its work... It twists and turns you, beginnin’ with your eyes, next your heart, and then... your very soul.” She tightens her hoof around his back. “And then, when all’s said and done, ya dig yerself out. Not as a pony. Not as anything alive. But as.... A DUNESTALKER!” She shakes him like a rattle as she wails the name, her eyes growin’ so large they look to nearly pop out her head.

"Prickly..." Pokey sighs, coverin' her face with a hoof.

“Prickly? Ya spoutin’ bullshit again?” Dust Bowl shouts from his diggin’ spot, eyein’ ‘em both. “Stacker, don’t listen to her if ya want yer head on tight. Ah paid attention in school, and the teacher said dunestalkers ain’t nothin’ more than creatures named ‘Timberwolves’ that stumbled in from the east, traded their timber for the Palomino sand.” He shakes his head at Prickly, goin’ back to diggin’. “Ain’t got nothin’ to do with spirits or old buffalo shit.”

“Aaaaw.” Prickly gives a sad groan, her ears droopin’ as she lets go of him and starts a slow retreat. “Ah just wanted to make up for all the ghost stories he missed out on is all...”

“Finally!”

The five caravan ponies break, fallin’ back from the hole as if they’d dug up a pit of serpents. Out of their midst stumbles Snake Eyes, his entire crimson coat and gray suit twinklin’ silver with specks of sand. Both eyes are alight with a golden flame, pairin’ along nicely with his sickled sneer and gratin’ brows. After a second spent brushin’ himself off, Snake Eyes looks up, turnin’ the piercin’ gaze upon him.

“You!”

Ah shit.

Snake Eyes stomps towards him, rage burnin’ across his face. “You. Are. Worthless! You had one job. One! Job!” Snake stops and points at him with an accusing hoof. “And yet after a single meager attempt at assistance you flee like a spineless craven! Tell me, what use has a machine that can’t perform its one purpose? None! Worthless!” The last word is hissed out fiercely, held it so that it echoes across the desert.

The caravan ponies watch on in shock. Only one of ‘em to move is Prickly, creepin’ up into view with her muzzle scrunched in embarrassment “Ah... don’t be too hard on him slicker,” she calls. “Was our fault in the first place for not havin’ the dynamite on the ready. Caught us off guard it did, fightin’ dunestalkers along the Buckham road. Ain’t too common.”

Snake rolls his eyes at her voice, doesn’t even give the respect of turnin’ around. “Yes, that is true but you see, I expected the seven of you to be incapable of defending anypony but yourselves. Lo and behold, I was correct. This... ‘ranger’, however...” Snake crinkles his muzzle, sneerin’. “I suppose I didn’t expect very much either. On the other hoof, I cannot lie that I at least expected something.”

Familiar snideness workin’ its way back in, brushin’ aside the rage. Flames in the eyes have calmed, simmerin’ back down to dull embers. He waits a bit longer for the sneer to drop a bit as well before finally raisin’ his head and meetin’ Snake eye to eye. "Ah couldn't shoot 'em, couldn't draw 'em off ya, couldn't pull ya out... ain’t much else I coulda done 'cept leave you, hope they make it quick.”

A shudder ripples through Snake’s body. “Eugh! Was I not clear enough two nights ago? You guard me, make sure I survive, not leave me behind and fly off like a coward as soon as the going gets rough!”

“The deal was clear,” he acknowledges. “But ah have my priorities. Mission first, you second. Ya aren’t as smart as ya think if ya ever believed it any other way.”

“Priorities...?” Snake seethes, his expression jumpin’ from disbelief to anger to a fake, mockin’ grin. “Hah! Let me remind you of your priorities then, ranger.” With a few trots forward Snake plants himself only a few hooves away, leanin’ in, voice droppin’ to a scathin’ whisper. “I am the mission. Me. If you’re willing to put your life on the line for an audience with Spade, then you will do the same for me, or you will fail.” Snake retreats, narrowing his eyes as he settles and stares back with glowin’ gold eyes. “Do you understand, Tumbleweed?” he hisses under his breath. “Did I make myself clear enough for you?”

Words are poison, seepin’ into his mind, cloudin’ his thoughts. He opens his muzzle to respond only to find he has nothin’ to say. Nothin’ to fight with. Everything said is either true or false, and he has no clue or hint which. When he finally looks up again, Snake Eyes stares back, his face hard, his eyes reveling in victory.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Good.” Snake Eyes turns, brushin’ his suit off again as he looks out back to the campsite. “Now put that combat helmet back on and start searching for my fedora. I lost it while... ‘evading’ the dunestalkers and will not leave without it.” Snake huffs and trots off, scourin’ his gaze along the desert surface.

He’s left standin’ there, watchin’, wonderin’ just how far this old stallion’s luck really goes. Stumblin’ across Snake Eyes was either a stroke of it or the last bet he’ll ever make. Guess at this point, with the cards he’s been dealt, only time will tell him if he’s struck a dead pony’s hoof or a full suite.

Hear somepony trot up from behind. Pokey, with her sister at her side. They come up into his peripherals, easin’ up slowly beside him. For a straight minute they all stand there, watchin’ Snake Eyes paw his hoof at the ground, scowlin’ when he inevitably fishes up nothin’ but grains of sand.

Pokey eventually leans in, brings her muzzle close to his ear and whispers. “City slicker sure slings a rattler’s worth of venom, don’t he?”

He sighs, closes his eyes.

Darlin’, ya don’t even know.

Footnote: Maximum level reached

Status: Normal

Snake Eyes:

New trait added:

Out of Style:

“They say it’s the clothes that make the stallion. This particular fella might have taken the sayin’ a little too close to heart.”

-1 to Charisma when Snake Eyes does not have his fedora equipped.

Heart of Gold

Fallout: Equestria: New World Blues

Chapter 4: Heart of Gold

“Nomad”

“Rusty Caps”

“Frolick”

“Ardent Lights”

“Tipsy Turvy”

Third and final day. Same as the two before. Hot, dry, rocks, shrubs, and a whole mess of sand. Woke up late mornin’ and have been trottin’ seven hours straight, the promise of Goldroot keepin’ their hooves eager. Thought he might have to hold the caravan up a bit from the impact he took during the dunestalker’s storm, but a night’s rest provided more recovery than anticipated. His one reminder is the jolts of fire shootin’ up his legs, makin’ him wince with every step he takes. Only respite is Prickly beside him. She prattles on loudly, her whimsical tone stealin’ a bit of the pain from his thoughts.

“Reason we buried the carts like that was so they wouldn’t hurt nopony,” she says. “Ya see, dunestalkers only go after the livin’, leavin’ most everything else above ground. That’s all well and good, but the problems start when ya realize that the sand the dunestalker’s take up is always on the move, either suckin’ somepony under or pushin’ somethin’ aside, even somethin’ as big as a cart. Now ah’m sure ya can imagine tryin’ to get in position for a good dynamite toss and all of a sudden havin’ one of those big ol’ hunks of metal and wood sweep along and fall over right on top of ya. Ain’t pretty.”

He nods along with Prickly’s answer as they trot. Makes sense and also eliminates another factor of chance from the fight, somethin’ he can always appreciate. “And ah suppose they have a thing against dynamite, the way they scampered off after ya chucked a few?”

“Ha!” Prickly chuckles a little, lookin’ over at him as if he’d just told her there’s sand in the desert. “They’ve ‘got a thing against dynamite’ the same way anything else does! Don’t know about you stranger, but ah tend to get a might spooked if somepony’s chuckin’ explosives at me.”

“Is that so?” Surprises him to hear Snake Eyes say from his other side, havin’ been dead silent most of the day. “Would it be safe to assume then that this universal fear slipped your mind as you tossed live dynamite at me yesterday? Or is blowing each other up a favored pastime of your... ‘society’?”

“Ha ha!” Prickly laughs again, makin’ Snake drop into a scowl as she waves her hoof at him. “Nice one slicker! Good on ya to have a sense of humor after ya’ve cooled off. But, if yer still curious...” Her head disappears from view as she leans back and rummages around in her right saddlebags. When she comes back up it’s with a long stick of red-orange dynamite stickin’ out from her mouth like a cigar. “Ya see this little fella? Homemade for fendin’ off dunestalkers. They’re made up of only one part nitroglycerin and ah have most of the thing packed with sand. Keeps the fireworks show but takes out the dangerous blast for the most part. Also keeps costs down to boot! Bein’ a caravan pony doesn’t mean yer necessarily rollin’ in the caps, ya know.”

“Mah sister's also the three time horseshoe tossin’ champion over in Goldroot.” Pokey mentions lightly from Prickly's other side. “Happens to have made her quite a dynamite tosser as well, so if she hits ya, chances are it’s ‘cus ya wound up on her bad side.”

Snake Eyes doesn’t seem convinced as he frowns and looks forward, fallin’ back into his cold shoulder routine.

Good enough answer for him. Been askin’ questions all day about the dunestalkers, findin’ out their weaknesses and how they move. Hunt in packs, nocturnal, easy to tell ‘em apart from regular coyotes by their ghostly howls, suck their prey under the sand, afraid of dynamite. Ain’t a curious stallion, but also don’t consider himself a foolish one. Doesn’t matter if yer a lone ranger or a suave talker, if ya got a chance to get info on your enemies, ya take it,

He grimaces, blinkin’ away what must be the hundredth drop of sweat to soak into his eyes today. Just so happens that questions also help to distract him as well. Keeps his mind off the same damn heat he’s been trottin’ through the past two days. Only respite from it all is that the sun’s been on its way down for awhile now, droppin’ the temperature along with it. One less discomfort to worry about.

He wipes the sweat from his face with a swipe of his forehoof, huffin’ in thought. Asked plenty already, but of course there’s always that rascal question ya missed which pops up in yer head a few hours later. Still don’t hurt to try and sniff around for it.

“Wooooweeeeee!” Prickly suddenly kicks up her front legs beside him, pickin’ up her pace as she lands back down. “We’re on the homestretch here ponies! Full steam ahead!”

Homestretch? Bit of deja vu as he and Snake Eyes look around the desert. Nope. Same old same old. Lookin’ over to Snake tells him the city slicker has come up empty as well.

“And which landmark would happen to be the one that tipped you off?” Snake Eyes asks as he gives a judgin’ glare over to Prickly. “For the sake of any remaining respect I have harbored for you, tell me it isn’t one of these rocks or cacti.”

Prickly shakes her head. excitement leakin’ through the big smile that’s grown her face. “Nope! Though I could probably tell ya the distance by the cacti. Even got names for the ones right outside town! That said, easiest way to know yer about an hour’s trot from Goldroot is that big fella riiiiiiiiiight up ahead.” She finishes by pointin’ a hoof straight down the trail.

Him and Snake both look back forward, scannin’ the horizon. No idea what he’s searchin’ for. As Snake Eyes mentioned, rocks and cacti abound but none of ‘em appearin’ of any note. The trail itself ain’t a speck of sand different and stays as such until it runs from sight.

Hold a moment. He freezes his search, squintin’ his eyes. There, right in between the settin’ sun and where the trail meets the sky. Nothin’ more than a faint mirage when he spots it, yet as they close another few minute’s distance it strengthens into a dark blotch against a dyin’ afternoon’s backdrop.

A cloud? Nope. Not a cloud in the sky as of now, and of course it’d be violet in the birthin’ sunset. Not to mention the shape itself. The blotch starts at a sharp peak then trickles off downward until it disappears behind the earth’s border. The longer they trot, the longer the lines become as they rise up into view, holdin’ their slope as their edges turn crinkled and sharp.

“Mountains,” hear himself say. A meaningless guess at this point, but there ain’t any harm in it.

Also seems to give Prickly a brief amusement. She whistles and stamps one of her hooves against the ground in her best attempt to pull off a trottin’ applause. “Ding ding stacker! Although if ah might make a small correction there, not mountains, mountain. Mount Macintosh, or ‘Big Red’ as most fellas like to call it, is a lonely chunk of rock plunked down right in the middle of the Palomino. Closest relatives its got is the Dragonback Ridge a half day’s trot to the northwest.”

“Fascinating, but what does this mean?” Snake Eyes asks, appearin’ to have caught sight the of the mountain as well. “How far away are we from Goldroot?”

Prickly shrugs. “Depends on how much dust has been kicked up by the wind. We’ve been enjoyin’ a nice little breeze throughout the day, so ah’d guess only about fourty five to a full hour before we hit the edge of town. Maybe even sooner if we keep up this nice pace we have goin’ along right—”

She’s interrupted by the sound of crashin’ from behind. The whole caravan screeches to a halt, pullin’ an about face just as the noise of wood slammin’ to the ground silences the ruckus.

Big Iron’s cart. The top wooden crate portion lies diagonally to the ground, havin’ buried into the sand on its fall down. Source of the problem lies at the machine’s base where the axle has gotten loose, sendin’ its right wheel and all its bolts flyin’ off the trail and into the desert. Big Iron himself stands at its front unscathed, frownin’ sheepishly back at the wreckage.

There’s a long bout of silence before Prickly scowls, swingin’ her hoof in frustration. “Shoot! Ya gotta be kiddin’ me! Of all the places!”

"Calm down Prickly." Pokey sighs as she looks to the wreckage. "Ain't too big a deal."

“Ah told him,” Anvil says, frownin’ over at Big Iron. “Told him to let me have a look at it before we headed it out. But he said ‘nope, all’s fine, swear it’.” The big stallion exhales and shakes his head. Grumblin’ from the rest of the caravan starts up as well, a few ‘damnit’s catchin’ in his ear.

“Wonderful...” Snake Eyes hisses between clenched teeth, glarin’ daggers at ‘em all. “Two hours from sunset and then... this...”

Prickly curses as well yet puffs her chest out, steppin’ in between ‘em all. “Grumblin’ like spoiled foals ain’t gonna get us back on the trail. Anvil!” She shoots a green hoof to the stallion, jerkin’ her head to the cart. “Gimme the low-down on the damage we’re lookin’ at here.”

Anvil gives an affirming nod before trottin’ past Bursage to the other side of the cart. The stallion leans down and inspects the cart’s underside, tappin’ and proddin’ the axle a few times before comin’ back up and frownin’ at Prickly. “Loose axle, even looser wheel. Thing popped right off and scattered its bolts and screws with it.” The stallion takes his own saddlebags from his back, droppin’ ‘em at his hooves and motionin’ down to ‘em. “It’s an easy fix and Ah got the tools, but we’re still gonna have to do a bit of diggin’ around in the desert to gather up all the bits and pieces back."

“Right then.” Prickly waves her hoof towards the stallions while starin’ down the Dust siblings. “Ya’ll heard the stallion! Ya both quit yer fussin’ and help Big Iron and Bursage gather up these here cart parts. Don’t wanna be stuck here when night time hits. Pokey, keep an eye on 'em will ya? Make sure they're doin' more workin' than squawkin'.”

The Dust siblings grumble under their breath as they trot off and join the other two stallions, Pokey hot on their hooves. Anvil himself sifts through his saddlebags, pullin’ out assorted tools and puttin’ ‘em by for later use.

Whelp. Only one way to speed this up. His bones crack and pop as he rises from his haunches.

“Wait!” Snake Eyes stops him with a hoof to the side, peerin’ at him with his muzzle turned up into a sneer. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He stops and peers back with a raised brow. “Helpin’ find these wagon parts. Don’t like sittin’ around when ah could be gettin’ back on the road.”

Snake Eyes nods slowly as he takes his hoof away. “Good. Then we’re agreed.” He jerks his head towards the trail, risin’ to his own hooves. “Let’s go.”

Takes him a moment to realize what Snake is implyin’. Can feel his entire expression drop as he gives the city stallion a tired stare. “Ya really can’t wait just a while longer?” he asks with a sigh.

“No, I really can’t,” Snake snaps back, eyes flarin’. “I wouldn’t dare guess how long it will take these bumbling oafs to gather their toys back up and I can assure you I don’t have the mind to wait and find out!” Snake stops a moment, takin’ a quick glance at the sun, scowlin’ when he turns back to him. “And, also, there’s not a chance I’m going to spend another dunestalker attack at these idiot’s sides. We leave now, we’ll be safe inside Goldroot by nightfall. Now go! Trot!”

Hm. Part of him that wants to tell Snake to shut his trap and sit down. Other part that tells him the slicker is actually speakin’ a bit of sense, all the poisonous fluff aside. He lets out a long breath, adjustin’ his stetson. checkin’ his rifle, nehmoa... He looks to Snake Eyes, tips his head toward Prickly. “Wait here. Ah’m not gonna run off without givin’ a partin’ thanks.”

Snake rolls his eye’s but doesn’t argue, fallin’ back to his haunches.

Prickly hasn’t moved far from where she’d broke up the Dusts. Her brows are folded and her muzzle pursed as she paws her hoof through the sand, movin’ along with small sweepin’ hoofsteps. When he approaches she looks up in surprise, quickly puttin’ on an embarrassed smile. “Howdy stacker. Mah apologies for the holdup. Can blame Bursage all we want, but in the end it was mah responsibility to keep everything in check.”

“Ain’t a thing,” he says, wavin’ it off with a shake of his head. “That said, Ah’m afraid this might be where we have to part ways. Mah acquaintance here is gettin’ a bit restless, wants to head off and reach Goldroot by sundown.”

Her ears shoot up, pink eyes widenin’. “Oh! Well darn.” She turns her attention over to Snake Eyes, wavin’ him over with her hoof. “Get on over here slicker! Ain’t lettin’ ya run off on me without so much as a word goodbye!”

To his credit Snake doesn’t pout. Even gets up without so much as a flinch, as if he expected it would come to this in the first place. Approachin’ Prickly he scrunches his face, reluctantly puttin’ his hoof forward. “Fine, a hoof shake. I suppose you did earn a little something by fending off those dunestalkers.”

“Fendin’ off??” Prickly chuckles as she takes Snake’s hoof and roughly shakes it. “Ah never got to thank you for actin’ as the bait!”

A glint runs across Snake’s eyes. “‘Bait...?”

“Yep! Bait!” Prickly nods, still shakin’ his hoof. “What? Do ya think we would be able to climb our way out after gettin’ dragged six feet under? Dunno what it was, but they were right on top of us yet skipped by and went after you instead!” She shrugs, still shakin’ his hoof. “Guess they wanted a taste of that rare city stallion!”

For a brief moment Snake goes blank, eyes glazin’ over as if sucked into a deep thought. He stays there for a good few seconds until, slowly, it’s replaced by the same dark shade of fear that had possessed him the night before.

Like bein’ snapped from a dream Snake Eyes tears his hoof away from Prickly, sinkin’ back into his usual sneer. “That’s enough,” Snake looks over to him and shoots a hoof to the trail. “Hoof shake and done. We’ve already wasted enough time.”

Snake goes stompin’ off down the road, leavin’ him and Prickly alone. Ain’t too worried about it. Doubt he’ll get far, ‘specially with that little scare inside of him. He puts his attention over to Prickly, offerin’ his hoof. “Mah apologies for all the hell he’s given ya’ll these past few days. Hopefully can teach him some manners along the road.”

Prickly gladly accepts the shake, brushin’ his apology aside with a grin and a sweep of her head. “Don’t matter a thing stacker, he’s just a homesick city slicker is all. Hopefully some rest and relaxation over in Goldroot will cool him off for the rest of the trip.” She breaks the shake herself, shooin’ him off down the trail. “Get on now. Ah won’t tell ya goodbye ‘cus chances are we’ll wind up hittin’ each other sometime back in the city.”

Sounds about right. He turns, tips his hat to her as he trots off. “Till then.”

She tips her head back. “‘Till then.”

There’s a cry of elation over a found bolt as he heads off. By the time they start to babble about it, he’s already a good ways down the path, gainin’ quick time on Snake Eyes. The city stallion trots at a purposefully leisure pace, only givin’ him the slightest bit of recognition as he closes the distance between ‘em, comin’ up to his side. Once there, Snake starts up a normal trot with a slight hint of a canter in it, the eagerness to reach town clear in his steps.

For a good twenty minutes there ain’t a word between ‘em. Big Red off in the distance continues to fade into view, takin’ on a deeper hue of it’s namesake, its edges and texture gainin’ detail with every second that passes. The winds shift as well, each gentle whiff of breeze bringin’ along a colder kiss than the last.

A new shade creeps into view below Big Red just as the sun begins to brush the mountain’s peak. It’s a single line along the horizon, yet jumps and jags at set intervals, laid out like some foal’s poor attempt at a graph. No doubt his first glimpse of Goldroot.

Snake Eyes seems to take notice as well, kickin’ his trot up another notch in anticipation. The fear melts away from his face as he sucks in a breath of relief. “Aaah. Finally. Civlization. And we’ll reach it long before night comes while the caravan is eaten by dunestalkers. Perfect.”

Twenty minutes of silence and Snake breaks it for a bout of braggin’. Suppose he shouldn’t be surprised by now. He keeps quiet and lets the silence sink back in as they trot on. Just like Big Red, the details fade in with every hoof fall. The trail they travel shoots straight towards the base of the mountain, which also happens to be where their cluster of buildings has settled, all of which are made up of an old, black, aged wood.

Another ten minutes and they’re nearin’ the town’s entrance. About a quarter mile from the edge of town they pass a small road sign painted with the words ‘Welcome to Goldroot! Town of fertile roots and hearts of gold!'. Most likely from the old world if he guesses an age. A mockery to the likes of Canterlot and Hoofington, them in ruins, it still standin’.

Goldroot itself has no real entrance, no gate, not even an arch. The trail they trot passes through two buildings with some space to spare between ‘em, but otherwise it’d be just the same if they entered through one of the alleyways.

Still don’t want to come off as suspicious, especially with talk of bandits Prickly told him of. They pass the two buildings, windin’ up in Goldroot’s main street. A worn yet cared for track of dirt, it runs off to the north and south between an inner and outer line of buildings, curvin’ both ways toward the west. No doubt it loops back around the mountain, formin’ a complete circle of the town. Not a bad layout.

Somethin’ wrong with it all though.

No townsponies.

It’s him, Snake Eyes, and a few lone tumbleweeds that skip along the streets. Besides them, the streets are dead empty, not a single soul in sight. Even stranger is the evidence of recent activity. The two storey homely building before them, first one they saw entering the town, has the words ‘GOLD ‘N SILVER SALOON’ painted in black along the top, its entrance decorated with a porch much like Tab’s back in Buckham. Hoof shaped dirt stains are tracked up onto its floor. Give an hour and the breeze would blow ‘em off.

One sign in a sea of others. There’s hoofprints in the dirt around ‘em, the wood of the structures, though old is well maintained, and even a slight hint of musk pervades the air, speakin’ of a large crowd that had been in the area not long ago.

Snake Eyes leans in and hisses into his ear. “I believe this is the part where we leave.”

Instinct screams at him to agree. This is abnormal. This is wrong. Somethin’s up. Either turn back around and find Prickly or skirt the town and continue westward. Or... poke around a bit. If whatever the hell happened here has already swept through the town, there could be some vital information left behind that could keep him from sufferin’ the same fate.

He starts forward, advancin’ on the saloon. “Reign it in, stay close. Gonna check around a bit,” he says. Snake Eyes drips razor sharp curses yet follows close behind, glancin’ nervously up and down the streets. He slows down his hoofsteps as he approaches the porch, happy to find that the boards are cared for as well, not makin’ so much as a squeak when he prods ‘em with his boot. Now, the door itself. Solid oak, unscreened, blocks any view into the inside.

Guess the best way to do this is the old SWAT style. He glances back over his shoulder and raises his hoof up to signal. Hoof across the chest, wave hoof down, finishin’ with a tap of his back. Instead of movin’, Snake Eyes stares back, his brows furrowed and mouth slightly agape. “What the hell are you trying to say?”

Of course. Only signal this slicker probably knows is bedroom eyes. He jerks his head over his shoulder, whisperin’, “Get behind me."

Snake Eyes scoffs, movin’ in next to the saloon’s wall. “Next time just point behind you. Much more simple to understand than cave-pony speak, yes?”

He waits for Snake Eyes to settle into position before puttin’ his hoof to the door. Drawin’ in a focused breath, he puts his mouth to his nehmoa. Soon as he pushes he snaps back, bracin’ for gunfire, listenin’ for any shouts or screams, ready to leap from any sudden grenades.

Nothin’. Door swings along without so much as a creak, glidin’ on oiled hinges. He inches forward a bit, just to where he can see around the openin’ and into the saloon.

Dead empty. Once again, signs of life everywhere. Tables with their chairs pushed out, bar with its drinks unattended to, a still smolderin’ cigar smokin’ in its tray. Pool table sits across the room, the eight and three ball still on the playin’ field. Abandoned mid game. A number of photographs and assorted objects line the wall, as if somepony tacked ‘em up there at random There’s some stairs in the back, heads up to a balcony area with more tables. Same thing up there. Empty.

He pulls the door back, closin’ it with a soft click. Snake Eyes scans him, rubbin’ his hooves together. “Well?” Snake whispers apprehensively.

“Nopony in there,” he whispers back, slowly trottin’ from the porch. “Stick close. Work our way through the back alleys to the other side of the town. If we don’t find anything by then, we head out. Don’t wanna be in a ghost town at night fall.”

“As opposed to the day...” Snake Eyes hisses as they slip into the alleyway behind the bar. Good to see that there’s some trottin’ space in between Big Red’s base and the buildings. From back here it ain’t much different from the main street. Circle that loops around Big Red, only smaller and a might thinner.

From here its easy slippin’ from buildin’ to buildin’, duckin’ under some windows, peekin’ into others. Get somethin’ different every time. Window of a single-story has a room he can look into, complete with a tucked-in bed and a drawer with a clean silk vest laid atop it. A cottage, somepony’s home of course. Window of a large three-story, has a desk inside, quill and ink, stacks of papers, most likely a hotel were he to guess. Small towns like these they’re usually the tallest buildin’ bar the town hall.

Ah. Don’t even need a window for this one. Single story, has a whole pen out back filled up with the same carts as Prickly’s caravan. Heck, probably belongs to the same company she works for. They start weavin’ their way through the maze of carts. Travelin’ the north curve of this loop, estimate about a little over half a mile covered. Still nothin’. If somepony or somethin’ came through and got these folk, they sure did it awfully clean.

His ears flick up as they reach the edge of the pen. A surge of noise gallops through the alley, bouncin’ from buildin’ to buildin’, off the side of Big Red. Snake darts his eyes about, duckin’ his head. “Did you hear that?”

“Yep.” He continues on, crossin’ out of the pen. “Screamin’ if ah’m to guess. Stay low.”

Snake groans behind him while he picks up the pace. Not botherin’ searchin’ around anymore. They cut straight through the alleyway, keepin’ fast, keepin’ silent. Sun’s only just over the rooftops now, turnin’ the wood and sand a burnt orange.

Screamin’. Goddess knows what it could be. Might have arrived just in time to witness an invasion of raiders. After all the hell that the NER brought down on ‘em back down east, ain’t a doubt they’d flock west. Might be native to the desert too, although raidin’ stray caravans ain’t gonna keep ya sustained for too long in the desert.

A second roar of sound, no doubt a scream this time, not from one pony, but many. Dozens, maybe hundreds. “Was galloping head on into somepony else’s conflict a part of your mission as well?” Snake Eyes mocks as he sneaks alongside him.

“Ain’t here to save anypony,” he rasps back, duckin’ past a smith’s workshop. “Ah’m here for information. Might be raiders or worse, Steel Dawn attackin’ the town. Havin’ information of either two in the area can mean life or death down the road. Now stop talkin’ and get back down.”

Snake Eyes scowls but begrudgingly dips his head. Can’t be long before they finish this half circle, bein’ the town’s about a mile across. Gonna keep his word to Snake Eyes: reach the other end of town, have one last look around, sneak back out if there’s trouble.

His ears flick again, yet not to a scream. It’s a sound more precise, sharp, steady, like the beat to a song, and doesn’t die out like the screams from before, but buzzes on. A sound he’s heard a hundred times throughout life, right before flyin’ off into battle or tryin’ to keep awake through political ramblin’. Beside him Snake Eyes takes notice as well, gazin’ warily down the alley. “What is that sound? You hear it, yes?”

He nods, slowin’ his trot and sidlin’ up along the building walls. “Yep. It’s somepony givin’ a speech, not three hundred yards out. Stick to the side of the buildings, stay low.”

A few more alleys crossed and the voice takes shape. A female speaker, too soft to be boastin’, too rythmic and light for gettin’ a mob riled up. Along with her voice rides another pulse of sound, stoppin’ em both dead in their tracks.

He looks to Snake to find the city stallion just as confused. Not screamin’. Cheerin’. “This is close enough,” he rasps to Snake Eyes, jerkin’ his head to the alleyway next to ‘em. “Right behind me, not a single word or sound soon as we head down this alley, ya hear?”

Snake narrows his eyes at him but falls in line. He’s already started down the alley, sneakin’ through in a half crouch in spite of his screechin’ legs. Cheerin’s died out by now. Female that’s been speakin’ starts up again, bringin’ along her familiar tempo. Just a might closer and he can make out the words.

Reached the end of the alley. He glances over his shoulder to make sure Snake Eyes is still followin’. Check. Rifle’s on the saddle, armed and ready. Check. Nehmoa holstered but ready. Check.

He takes a deep breath, focuses, turn his head around the buildin’.

A large crowd of ponies stands a ways off, all of which are cheerin’ towards a sizable hall with a spire protruding from it’s top. At the forefront of this hall juts a stage upon which two mares and a stallion standin’ aside a massive metal scale, both its sides propped up by thick slabs of wood.

Pony that commands the most attention is the mare in front of the scale, facin’ out towards the audience with drooped, relaxed eyes. She wears a thick brown duster much like his own, but a button up brown suit underneath, complete with a faded light yellow coat with an even paler white-yellow mane that spills from her stetson down to her back and into her face.

She lifts her hoof on cue, sendin’ forth two stallions from the backstage, both with large bulbous growths anchored to their backs, black silhouettes against the failiing sun. “Reckon it’s about time to wrap up this years competition,” the mare at the scale says, has a voice like a soft spring rain. “And of course we’ll finish it with ya’lls favorite category: pumpkins.”

Pumpkins. Sure enough, the crowd cheers again as the stallions trot up onto the stage, ferryin’ their load to the scale’s platforms. The silhouettes roll away to reveal two plump round pumpkins, picked straight at their prime. “Damascus, Wootz, if ya both will do the pleasure?” the mare asks, causin’ the stallions to deposit their crop upon the suppressed scales.

Pumpkins. All of that for pumpkins. Nothin’ to be disappointed over in the least, just kicked the heart rate up for a moment. Been awhile since these old ears have heard any notion of jubilance. He sighs and tucks his head back into the alleyway, pullin’ his duster tight. Snake Eyes looks to him with his brow raised curiously, “Did I hear... ‘pumpkins’...?” he asks.

“Yep.” He slings his rifle across his back, checks his nehmoa, and pulls his stetson down. “Don’t think we have much to fear from these folks, but it’s best if we head out now with all the commotion givin’ us some cover.”

“Fair enough.” Snake Eyes rises along with him, brushin’ the dirt from his suit and adjusting his fedora. “Age before beauty of course, so I’ll let you have the honors of leading.”

Another surge of cheerin’ roars as he leads them from the alleyways. The crowd of ponies stomp their hooves furiously against the dirt while whoopin’ at the stage, as if tryin’ to make the earth itself their drum. Atop the stage the mare has her hoof risen to the air, both stallions placed in front of the wooden blocks, both in a buckin’ position.

As they join the edge of the crowd the mare drops her hoof. At the signal, the two stallions buck against the wooden holds, knockin’ ‘em free from the scales, an act which sends the crowd into a roarin’ cheer as the two pumpkins tip against one another in a combat of weights. Were the mass of ponies shrunk about ten fold, he and Snake would most likely appear a might strange here, standin’ awkward as everypony else around seems to be havin’ the hootenanny of their lives.

“OH BOY PUMPKINS!!”

The holler is only a volume level above the cheers, yet the voice rings a few bells in his head. He does a half turn and looks past his shoulder, his sight fillin’ up with a familiar mix of cactus green, sunlight yellow, and desert flower pink.

Prickly. She throws her hooves up as the crowd behind him erupts into a thunderous roar, smilin’ at him as she drops back down. “Well howdy stacker! Told ya we’d meet back up in town, though ah must admit ah didn’t plan on it bein’ so soon! Turns out the Dusts recalled they have a handy little metal detectin’ spell a few minutes after ya left. Gotta love them unicorns!”

He tips his head in greetin’, respondin’ loudly with the crowd still thunderin’ from behind. “Good to have ya back. Where’s the others?”

“Puttin’ the carts up,” she says, jerkin’ her head back down the main street. “Pokey gave me a break, lucky enough. Said she wouldn’t mind pullin' a bit more work for me to run off and catch the end of the festival.”

“...Of which, if I may remind, you had never informed us about,” Snake Eyes glares. “Imagine our surprise when we trot in to find an abandoned town. It left... much to the imagination, to say the least.”

Prickly knocks her hoof against her head and guffaws. “Ya mean that whole time we traveled we never told ya a word about the fair? Dang we can be a forgetful bunch sometimes.” She starts to bow her head in an apology only for her eyes to widen, shootin’ right back up and explodin’ along with the crowd behind him. “Wooooo! Mr. Juniper! Wasn’t rootin’ for anyone in particular, but hell yeah anyway!”

He leaves her be, returnin’ his attention forward. The mare on the stage shakes hooves with an elderly stallion, smilin’ as he breaks away and trots down the steps. “A big congratulations to Mr. Juniper for winnin’ this year’s Pumpkin Patch award,” she announces, again in that voice so gentle it nearly closes his eyes, has him dream up a lonely river tricklin’ down a shaded mountainside. “Ah’d also like to thank everypony who participated in the competitions as well. We cherish every contribution and look forward to what our bright minds this year can think up for the next. And of course, as is custom every year, ah’d like to thank all of you for attendin’.” The crowd lets out another quick bout of whooping. She finishes her speech with a small, thankful bow. “Ah hope to see all of ya next year, with even more competition’ risin’ up to challenge our veterans. Once again, good night to ya all. ‘Till tomorrow.”

One last roarin’ cheer as she departs from the stage. The crowd begins to break up soon after, most ponies shufflin’ past ‘em, some castin’ curious glances. A select few stop to stare, clearly findin’ a rarity in a pegasus and a city stallion stumblin’ into town.

“Alright, move along now ya’ll,” Prickly scolds two young stallions that have been gazin’ for a while, shooin’ ‘em off with a flick of her hoof. “Only thing different about ‘em is one has wings and the other wears a prissy suit. Still just ponies.”

He looks about as most of the crowd begins to die out. Hopin’ to find an inn. Bein’ a tight knit community usually makes most businesses a bit lazy with the signs though. “Prickly, might ah ask where Snake and ah can find a place to rest for the night?”

She’s just finished runnin’ the stallions off, pointin’ back the way they had snuck in from. “Yep! Travelin’ down Goldroot’s main street, you’ll find a buildin’ with the sign ‘Drinky’s Hospitality’ out front on your right.” She shrugs and crinkles her muzzle. “Ain’t got an idea who ‘Drinky’ is, but the inn is run by an old stallion, Bootstop. He’s cranky these days, but he’ll treat ya right. As for me? Ah’m afraid ah’m gonna have to leave ya both again to head off for hearth and home. Don’t matter how long ah trot, soon as ah get back to Goldroot from a trip, ah’m pooped.”

“Admit ah’m tired mahself,” he says, offerin’ his hoof to Prickly. “Wanted to thank ya again for yer help these past few days before we both ran off. Goddess knows the difference ya’lls absence would’ve made.”

She gladly accepts it with a firm shake. “And once again, mah pleasure.” She turns her attention over to Snake Eyes and winks, grinnin’. “Ah’ll spare ya this time slicker, but watch out! Next time we cross ya won’t be so lucky!” As she turns and trots off, she waves back to ‘em and calls out, “And if ya wanna find me, just drop by the saloon tomorrow night. Mah sister and ah are always there!”

Snake Eyes has kept dead silent. Only when Prickly is clear out of earshot does he scoff pompously, watchin’ her fade into the distance. “Well. That’s one location we can mark off our visitor’s list. Good riddance.”

“Ya don’t like her?” He asks. A dumb question, but he can’t help but be a might curious.

Snake gives him an amused look. “‘Hate’?” he says. “That is such a... dramatic word. I’ve never hated anypony. Frustrated with? Yes. Disgusted with? Yes. Annoyed by...?” His eyes drift back to where Prickly had disappeared. “She has a simple mind and a big mouth. An irritable combination, to say the least.”

Snake answers without a hint of hesitance, and the answer itself ain’t as farfetched as he’d believed it would be. His description of Prickly ain’t too far off the mark either. “And ah suppose ya don’t get too many of her type around New Pegasus?”

Snake almost laughs. “Oooh but we do, Tumbleweed, we do. But that’s a talk for another time. You understand? A time when we’re not loitering about in the twilight hours of a town foreign to both of us?”

More truth. The sun has dipped beneath the town hall and the horizon past it. The only evidence of its presence is a lingering blanket of violet and dark orange sky, a pitch dark azure encroachin’ on the two from the east. Below, Goldroot’s wood has turned a golden orange and its shadows stretch long and gangly. Darkness has already started phasin’ ‘em from vision. Give or take another half hour and the town will be underneath a silver sheet.

“Back the way we came then,” he says in agreement. “Remember, keep yer eyes peeled for a sign with the name ‘Drinky’ on it. That’s our inn.” He turns back east and starts to trot down the main road.

Then stops. Snake hisses in aggravation from behind, but quickly halts and falls silent as well. A mare’s standin’ in their way. Duster. Stetson. Button up suit. Drooped brown eyes, white-yellow mane, faded light yellow coat. The mare from up on the stage. She waits there, watchin’ ‘em at perfect ease, as if greetin’ two old friends on a cool summer day.

Her eyes drift coolly between both him and Snake as she speaks, “Wouldn’t mind if ah accompanied ya’ll there?” she asks with the same soft voice. “Goldroot isn’t dangerous in the night any more than it is in the day, but ah like to acquaint mahself to any newcomers that happen to drop by.”

He’s been stumblin’, searchin’ for words. Can pull his nehmoa in a split second. Talk, on the other hoof, is a whole different battle.

Snake Eyes of course beats him to it, rubbin’ his chin as he looks her over. “‘Acquaint’? Hmmmm... Nnnooooooot quite what I had in mind, considering the age...” he puts his hoof to himself, shruggin’. “For me of course. Can’t speak for my guard here.”

“Ignore him,” he finds himself growlin’, kicked into gear, by Snake no less. “Apparently they don’t teach manners over in New Pegasus.”

Mare doesn’t seem offended one bit. Even still has that same warm smile across her face as she looks between the both of ‘em. “Don’t mind at all,” she says, tippin’ her head to Snake Eyes. “We cherish all peaceful visitors that grace Goldroot, whether they bring a bit of their own flair with ‘em or not.”

“Ooooooooooooh,” Snake Eyes purrs excitedly as he leans over, murmurs into his ear loud enough for all to hear. “She’s good. For a small town mare, at least.”

Busy lookin’ her over. Blame it on the failin’ light, but it’s only now he’s realized the six shooter tucked behind her duster. Off-settin’ in the sense that barely anypony else in the town seems to be carryin’ one or, heck, any weapon at all really. What he’s findin’ most disturbing is just how at ease she is. Not a single muscle in her body is tensed. Compare her next to anypony else back east and the easterner would look like a scared rabbit cornered by wolves.

“Now don’t take me for suspicious,” he starts, choosin’ his words carefully. “But ya got a particular reason for wantin’ to show us over to the inn? Reckon ah have a pretty good idea of where it might be, escort or no.”

She pauses a moment in thought before raisin’ her hoof, motionin’ to anypony left in the area. “Ah believe ah can safely say the large majority of us here in town will gladly give help to any newcomers, asked for or not.” She brings her hoof down and places it upon her own chest. “That said, the reason ah’m offerin’ is on account of spottin’ ya both from upstage, and ah make it a personal goal of mine to greet any new visitors that happen to wander by.” Her smile drops a little. “Don’t catch as many as ah used to, bein’ so busy as of late, so ah thought ah’d take advantage of fate’s gift for this occasion.”

His mind starts to churn again. Listenin’ to her whisper of a voice, seein’ her carin’ eyes, gentle smile, yet she carries herself with a certain hidden power... ‘Up ahead in Goldroot is a mare by the name of Shady Sands. The town mayor, in fact. Soft mare on the outside, but can get real hard on the inside if she wants....’ A bulb clicks in his head as he looks her over in a new light. “Name wouldn’t happen to be Shady Sands?” he asks. “Goldroot’s mayor?”

Her smile drops in surprise only to spring up a moment later, warmer than before. “Why yes, ah am,” Shady Sands cocks her head a tad. “Excuse mah curiosity, but you’re either quite the guesser, or...?”

“We traveled here to Goldroot in the company of a caravan headin’ out from Buckham,” he says. “Know a mare by the name of ‘Prickly’?”

“Prickly...” Shady lets out a light chuckle, shakin’ her head. “Bless her heart, ah hope she didn’t tire either of ya’ll out too much. Only one who seems to be able to keep up with her is her sister Pokey. Known plenty a soul who’s lost ‘emselves a few night’s sleep in her campfire parties and tall tales.”

He purses his muzzle, shakes his head as well. “Can’t say she did. Gave us both our sleep and her entertainment. Also gave us our lives when a pack of what ya’ll call ‘dunestalkers’ attacked us out of the blue last night. She’s a good mare and we’ve given our thanks several times since.”

For the first time Shady frowns. She wears it as a confounded gesture, as if lost in a deep thought. “Dunestalkers...” she says in a near whisper, her hoof over her muzzle. “Out on the Bukcham road...? That’s... quite strange.”

“Yes, yes, strange, and so on and so forth.” Snake Eyes trots off to the side between him and Shady, eyein’ ‘em both. “Since it’s clear by now she has no intention of leading us into a back alley mugging, it would be smart to quit wasting time pondering anomalies and get a move on to the inn, yes?”

He takes his eyes from Shady and Snake, searchin’ the streets. Last rays of sunlight have tuckered off behind the desert horizon, leavin’ everything from the sand to the buildings a deep shade of blue. Won’t be long now ‘til it’s pitch black.

He lets out a breath, holds his hoof up to Shady. “Would be our pleasure for ya to lead us to the inn, if yer still offerin’.”

“Never took it away,” she assures, surprisin’ him with how firm she shakes hooves. “And have no worries ‘bout the dark. Only thing different about Goldroot in the night is it’s a might prettier under the moonlight.”

They follow Shady Sands as she turns and begins east. Find his eyes driftin’ off to the side. Streets are dead by now. Only ponies left in the area are a hoofful of unicorn stallions and mares wanderin’ the alleys. The tips of their horns glow like bulbs, castin’ long shadows across the sands and wood. Can sometimes catch one of ‘em trottin’ up to one of the many street lamps, openin’ the glass and slidin’ their horn in there. Close it back up, leavin’ the light there inside, trottin’ off to find their next lamp.

“Those unicorns are our ‘Night Lights’,” Shady remarks, glancin’ over her shoulder at ‘em as they trot. “They’ll have every lamp lit within the town by the end of the hour. More for beauty than anything else, really, but it helps if a pony happens to be runnin’ a midnight errand or stumblin’ home from the saloon.”

He sees Snake Eyes beside him, turnin’ up his nose. “Quite a name you have there. Almost... ‘foalish’, yes?”

Shady chuckles softly at that, lookin’ forward again. “That’s what our more stern citizens have been known to say, yet the town overall happens to adore it, so it’s stayed.”

“Seems a simple case of callin’ what ya see,” he says, peelin’ his eyes away from the lamp’s glow. “What’s got me curious is the relationship between here and Buckham. They’re minin’ coal over there, yet ah don’t see any of it bein’ put to use in the settlement itself. Not here in Goldroot either.”

Shady peers back, brow turned up. “Must admit ah’m surprised Prickly didn’t yell ya, but every month we send a caravan of twenty to Buckham to bring over a shipment of coal. But what yer wonderin’ is what we use it for. Answer’s electricity.”

Electricity? He looks to the street lamps, looks to the windows soakin’ with dim candle light. “Pardon mah ignorance, but ah haven’t seen a lick of electricity anywhere in town.”

“‘Course ya haven’t” Shady says, bankin’ in her trot. She leads ‘em to a street lamp that sits before a large buildin’, turns when she enters the lamp light, smilin’ softly to ‘em both. “We use it all for the stable.”

Stable. He blinks, havin’ to take Shady Sands in for a third time. Duster. Stetson. Button up suit. But there it is. Couldn’t see it before on account of her duster and the fadin’ light, but from this angle it’s clear as day. Pipbuck latched onto her right foreleg, has a green glow so faint ya have to squint to see it. Shady’s smile turns into an innocent grin. “Lookin’ in yer eyes, can tell yer a bit surprised.”

“I haven’t a clue why he would be,” Snake Eyes yawns at him. “Stables are like candy out in the north and east. It would be naive to assume they never spread west as well.”

He purses his muzzle, regroupin’. “Ain’t too shocked, say the truth. Just a bit tired, bit surprised ah didn’t catch the pipbuck til’ now..”

“Ah suppose ah can help ya out with that,” she says, her pipbuck disappearin' again as she turns, headin’ towards the nearby buildin’. “Follow me. Ah’ll help ya both get set up in Drinky’s, get ya both a good night’s rest.”

Snake Eyes smacks his lips, leanin’ in as they trot after her. “Take it from an expert, this is the part where you ask ‘does the mayor come included?’. See, it works as a double meaning. Mare, mayor?”

“Don’t even think of sayin’ anything of the sort,” he growls.

Snake Eyes scoffs, appearin’ offended. “I never said anything about me.”

He grimaces. Were he a smarter stallion, could probably conjure up a witty response. ‘Spose ignorin’ him will have to do.

Buildin’ they’re trottin’ up to is the same three story one they had snuck behind an hour before. No porch, yet a large set of double doors serves as an eye catchin’ entrance. Above ‘em, the decorated words ‘Drinky’s Hospitality’ are set in faded black paint against a chipped white wooden slab. Shady opens one of the double doors, motionin’ to ‘em as she steps aside.

He thanks her, passin’ through. Snake Eyes follows wordlessly. He sniffs in reaction as he enters, takin’ in a long whiff of musky, dank air. The floor is made up of old scarred lumber with rugs draped along the floor almost at random, most likely to hide what’s beneath. Walls are quite the same, replacin’ rugs with broodin’ art pieces. Space is actually a might cramped, the front desk only a few paces from the entrance. Even the desk itself is cluttered with stacks of papers and assorted office supplies.

A stallion with a dark brown coat and a pitch black mane sits in a chair behind the desk. Has his face buried in a book, doesn’t so much as lift his eyes up as the door rattles close behind ‘em. “Same as always, ten caps a night for two,” he says in a biting, yet bored rasp. “Put the caps up, ah’ll give ya the keys. And of course, stuff the bottom gap of your door with the sheets. Goddess knows ah need ta hear yer wailin’.”

He stands there, shufflin’ his hooves. Ain’t quite sure how to respond to that one. Beside him Snake Eyes rises into a grin, glancin’ over at Shady with a pleasant curiosity. “I said you were good. There’s no need to be an overachiever now.”

Shady Sands trots up to the counter, reaches down with her muzzle and pulls forth a pouch from her suit’s pocket. She dumps ten caps onto the counter before tuckin’ it back in and takin’ a step back. As the stallion reaches out for the caps, he lowers his book, uncoverin’ an aged visage sunken with wrinkles and a permanent scowl. His entire face lifts along with his eyes as he sees them. “Hmm? Ya’ll aren’t a burnin’ young couple. And mayor Shady...?”

“They’re first time visitors, Mr. Bootstrap.” Shady responds kindly. “They’ve traveled to Goldroot along with a Palomino Pathways caravan and are searchin’ for a good night’s sleep.”

Bootstrap straightens up in his seat, appearin’ a might more professional from his slouch. He brings his hooves together on the table behind the counter, studyin’ ‘em carefully. Seconds later and he nods slowly, pursin’ his muzzle. “Interestin’. A city stallion and a fellow old timer, a stacker no less. Mah apologies for the introduction, if ya can call it that, but the large number of mah customers are young mares and stallions lookin’ for a night of escape from their parents.” He gathers up the bits with a swipe of his foreleg. “Rare we get actual newcomers to the town. They come, but still rare.”

Snake Eyes frowns and shrugs. “I admit I would be demanding a refund after you dispelled such an... interesting setup, but as long as mayor Sands is paying...”

“Trust me, she is,” Bootstrap grunts as he pulls the bits into a large pouch of his own. “And don’t try and fight her. She does it for every passerby in town she happens to catch, good mayor she is.”

Shady Sands nods lightly. “I try, and often succeed, but it’s fascinatin’ how fast some ponies can cut through Goldroot without mah noticin’.” Her voice turns melancholic.. “Its the promise of New Pegasus just over the horizon. Lost a plenty of good citizens to that same reason.”

Snake Eyes puts on a smug look hearin’ her words but sayin’ nothin’. Across the counter Bootstrap holds up both his hooves, one with a single ring and a single key upon it, the other with two rings, both with a single key upon ‘em. “One room or two rooms? We got plenty of open space so don’t be shy.”

“Two,” he says bluntly. Snake’s only reaction is a small glint in the eye, as if he’d already predicted the outcome. Bootstrap tucks his single ringed hoof back under the table while liftin’ his other and slidin’ the rings down to the counter.

“You’ll find yer rooms close by, first corridor down this left hall,” Bootstrap says, jerkin’ his head to the hallway behind him. “Ah’ve put ya’ll on the far opposite side of the inn to the few couples that have already checked in, so enjoy the peace and quiet.”

He thanks him, takin’ the keys with grateful hooves and slippin’ one to Snake Eyes. Before leavin’ for their rooms, he turns to Shady Sands, bowin’ his head. “Want to thank ya for bein’ such a gracious host. Not very often ah get introduced to a town with such hospitality.” If ever even, were he given time to think.

Shady bows her head in return, surprisin’ him by takin’ her hat along with it. And another surprise. She’s a unicorn. Her horn stands out from the gentle river that is her mane, yet doesn’t glow, her hat havin’ been humbly removed by hoof. “It’s the least ah can do as the mayor. Welcomin’ new ponies into town is just a part of the hospitality ya should expect when comin’ into Goldroot.” She returns her hat, risin’ back to her full height. “Sadly, there are also many other tasks I must attend to that eat at the time I have for such opportunities. I trust you’re both suited for the night...?”

“Couldn’t ask for anything more,” he says, almost biddin’ her farewell, but another thought swells up and has him continue, “Though ah was wonderin’ if we could talk some tomorrow. Pokey referred me to ya for some questions ah had regardin’ the road to New Pegasus. Was hopin’ ya might be able to answer ‘em.”

A flash of disappointment falls over Shady’s face. He has only a moment to catch it and none to wonder before its gone, replaced by her usual glow of kindness and a small nod. “Although ah have a busy schedule, ah’m sure ah can squeeze in some time to assist ya’ll. Don’t have fear of bein’ unable to find me. Simply ask any ponies wanderin’ about town. Ah’m all over, and like to keep mah status updated with anypony ah happen to stop and chat a bit with.”

“Then, in truth this time, there ain’t anything more ah can ask of ya.” He dips his head a final time. “Again, thank ya kindly.”

“Mah pleasure,” Shady accepts, lookin’ between him and Snake Eyes. “If ya’ll are comfortable for the evenin’, ah’ll be headin’ off then. Farewell to ya both, and don’t be afraid to holler if an emergency comes over ya.”

“But not to me,” Bootstrap grumbles, already tucked back behind his book.

He gives Shady his final farewells before she leaves through the front door. Followin’ Bootstraps directions, he trots past the front counter and into a long lamplit hallway which splits into several smaller corridors, ending with a passage of stairs that junctions with another set leadin’ up to the second floor. He takes the first corridor on the left, which ends in a small window and has a convenient two oak doors against its right wall.

Snake Eyes steps past him, jinglin’ the keys on his hoof while he looks between the two doors. “A fifty-fifty chance. Let’s see...” Snake stops in front of the first door and slides the key into the lock. A soft click follows soon after and the key turns snugly in the lock, the door openin’ with a creak at the twist of its handle. Snake Eyes grins back at him as he slips into the room. “Guess that makes yours the next one over. Enjoy.”

He trots to other door as Snake’s shuts close. Sure enough, his key does the same and the door opens with the same un-oiled creak. Instead of entering he sidles up along the door, carefully peekin’ inside.

A simple setup. Against the center of the left wall is a plain wooden bed layered with two white sheets and a white pillow, neither of which give any illusion of youth. On either side of the bed sit small cupboards useful enough for perhaps holdin’ a small batch of belongings. Useless to him. The only other thing of note in the room are the rugs along the floor, put to use just like their counterparts outside to hide the weathered wood underneath. All of this is lit by a lone burnin’ lamp that hangs from the same wall the entrance is placed, castin’ a ghostly glow over the entire room.

He trots in slowly, shuts the door behind him, and inspects the set pieces. Cupboards are empty. Damp wood under the rugs. Nothin’ under the bed.

With a tired sigh he drops his haunches to the side of the bed, lettin’ his saddlebags fall with ‘em. The mattress ain’t soft, but the sheets have a nice feathery texture only gifted to material that’s weathered long years of use. A moment of weakness with ‘em at his back and he’s a goner for the night.

He keeps his back up and unslings his rifle. Hm. Sand wasn’t too kind to it. Pullin’ his combat knife reveals speckles of sand clingin’ against the blade as well, hitchin’ a ride since goddess knows how long. Same runs for his nehmoa. Suppose he has some work to do before headin’ off to bed.

He unloads both weapons, double checkin’ that they're empty. Rummagin’ through his saddlebags he brings up his cleanin’ supplies which he sets out on the nearby cupboard: a bore brush, a small container of oil, and a stained old rag. With careful use of his hooves and muzzle he removes the container’s stop and soaks a small pool of oil into the rag, beginnin’ to slowly work it along his combat knife. As it sweeps across the blade, it leaves the metal shimmerin’, reflectin’ the lamp’s fire.

A knock sounds from the door. Light. Patterned. Comin’ from a tender hoof, assumedly. But assumin’ gets ponies killed. He slips his hoof into his combat knife’s strap and rises from the bed, silently settlin’ to the ground and creepin’ to the door. Another set of knocks come as he stops and places his hoof to the knob, drawin’ in a deep breath. Then he waits.

A third set of knocks. The moment they sound he opens the door, movin’ his knife behind his duster, hidden, yet ready for a strike.

Snake Eyes. The city stallion hisses as he retreats from the swingin’ door, glarin’ at him with burnin’ gold eyes. “Of course, I forgot to call out a warning,” he sneers. “I must admit the hard fact that you are a paranoid senile sack of delusions skipped my mind for a beat there. I’ll be sure to follow with a sounding of trumpets any time I wish to have so much as a small chat with you.”

He stares back from behind the door, unmovin’. “What do ya need?”

“Your suspicion is astounding,” Snake Eyes groans, rollin’ his eyes. “If you must know, I’ve come for an outline of our plans for tomorrow. Being ‘out of the loop’, so to say, is such an easily avoided mistake, one which I don’t intend to let slip by. So...” Snake glances back down the hallway before peerin’ back at him with a raised brow. “Are we going to talk here or inside your room? The latter would be wiser of course, unless you’ve suddenly grown a fondness for eavesdroppers over the past minute, yes?”

He looks Snake Eyes over carefully. Nothin’ out of the ordinary. With a sigh he moves aside, closin’ and lockin’ the door as soon as Snake enters the room. Snake himself looks about the room, curls his muzzle up in disgust, and follows him to the side of the bed. He settles back onto the side of the mattress, returnin’ to cleanin’ his knife.

“Tomorrow we wake up early,” he rasps. “Good chance the mayor will be up along with us. We ask around for her, find her, then accompany her until she has some free time.” He finishes cleanin’ the knife with one last swipe along the blade. “Remains to be seen how much she can help. Hopefully give us a clear shot to New Pegasus.”

Snake Eyes watches him as he sheathes his knife and brings up his rifle. “Sounds rather straightforward.” Snake pauses a moment before continuing. “Although I do not know the details, I can tell you that the path to New Pegasus is split down two ways, divided by a large ridge. I’m certain Prickly called it out earlier, ‘Dragonback’, was it?” He waves his hoof in dismissal. “In the end, as we both know, it’s the details that matter, and it’s the details I lack. All I can say is that I traveled through from the northern pass. Shady will most likely direct us straight west.”

His eyes raise as he finishes dippin’ the bore brush tip into the oil. “Anything else ya’ve been holdin’ back from me?”

Snake crinkles his muzzle. “No...” he says firmly, but then reels his voice back in. “but... dunestalkers do remind me. There is a creature we may encounter along the way to New Pegasus. An ‘acosador’, as ponies who wander into New Pegasus from the Palomino like to call them. While I didn’t have the pleasure of encountering any along my flight from the city, we may not have the same luck.” Snake shrugs. “Once again, no details. I can tell you they fly and are poisonous, nothing more.”

“Could have told me this and about the dunestalkers the night we met,” he growls as he strings the bore brush through the rifle’s barrel.

“I could,” Snake admits in a bored tone. “But the mind is a fickle thing. Something I’m sure you’ve learned throughout your years, yes?”

He grunts and focuses back to his rifle. With the bore brush fully inside the barrel, the grip end sticks out the front. He takes it in his mouth and pulls. There’s a slimy sliding sound as it shoots through the barrel, carryin’ along with it a black sludge that spurts to the floor as the brush escapes. He frowns down at the small black puddle as he puts it aside. Wasn’t expectin’ that much of a mess. Suppose it won’t do this already scarred wood much harm though.

Snake looks down at the puddle in disgust, but turns his attention back to him as he works the barrel back into the rifle. “An... interesting weapon choice.” Snake muses while starin’ at the rifle. “And yet, assuming you are of a military origin, I find it hard to believe that such a rifle would be popular among the troops. Not that I know much of weapons, mind you.”

“Ya’d be right,” he says, shiftin’ the rifle about in his hooves. “It’s a lever action repeater. Usual barrels are thirty inches. This one has an extra four. Fires a standard 45-70 caliber bullet but has shot its fair amount of armor piercin’ and hoof loaded rounds as well. Effective in both mid and long range firefights.” He sets the rifle across the other side of the bed. “All that said, the troops are supplied with standard service rifles and most elite rangers tend to settle for anti-materiel rifles or a markspony carbines these days.”

“And yet judging from the kill markings and bandages that swarm the rifle's stock, I’ll assume it’s a favored weapon of yours.” Snake Eyes raises a brow. “Dare I say your whole life?”

He hesitates. Slowly, he begins to shakes his head. “No. Ah’m... ah’m more accustomed to a gauss rifle. If ya have any clue what that is. They aren’t too fit for long missions though and spark batteries are scarce, so ah settled with the lever action instead.”

“Ah.” Snake Eyes nods appreciatively. “It makes sense. Shoot reload, shoot with a gauss rifle. Shoot, cock, shoot with a lever action. Quite similar in execution, I would imagine.”

He does a double take of the city stallion as he pulls out his nehmoa. “Thought you didn’t know much of weapons?”

“‘Much’,” Snake responds quickly. “That doesn’t mean I know nothing. I’m an educated stallion, after all.” His eyes drop and search the floor for a moment only to shoot back up, lockin’ onto his nehmoa. He nods towards it. “Now what’s this? A hoof cannon?”

“It’s named a ‘nehmoa’,” he says, holdin’ it up, the black and gold-engraved metal soakin’ in the lamplight. “Hoof cannon’s about right. Six shots, uses the same ammo as mah rifle. Handy only havin’ to carry around one caliber.” He rolls it in his hooves, revealin’ the engraved words on its sides. “It’s awarded to rangers who’ve been ten years in service. Some put it up on their wall or in a glass case. Ah found it useful for quick kills and close combat.”

“And it’s called a ‘nehmoa’ why...?”

Dippin’ the bore brush in oil once more, he brings it over to the nehmoa’s barrel, unlatchin’ its cylinder. “It takes its name from an old epic. A long story, but the short of it is that it’s about a goddess who crashes down to the earth, takin’ the mortal form of a mare. She sets out and travels the world in search of a black-barked golden-leafed tree named ‘Nehmoa’ which legend has it grants anyone who finds it one wish."

“...And she wants to find it to wish to return to godhood,” Snake continues.

He looks up as he works the brush into the barrel, lettin’ the oil soak. “Ya’ve heard it before?”

“No,” Snake says bluntly. “It’s just presumed, yes?” Snake shoos him on with a wave of his hoof. “Continue.”

He settles the nehmoa down into his lap before pickin’ back up. “Well, she starts travelin’ the land, meetin’ ponies, griffons, buffaloes, dragons, all strugglin’ to survive everyday life in the same world she’d shaped. She asks ‘em about the tree, but also helps ‘em along the way, gainin’ friends, discoverin’ new places she’d never even realized the mortals had made, and experiencin’ the same hopes and dreams and despairs they clinged to.”

He picks up his nehmoa. Oil’s finishin’ its work. “It ends with her stumblin’ through the Everfree Forest, battered and beaten. After years and years of searchin’, of struggle, of sacrificin’ parts of herself for the friend she’d made, she finds the tree at the heart of the forest. Black bark, gold leaves. Relieved, she trots up to it, drops to her haunches.”

Snake leans forward with a gleam in his eyes.

“And she opens her mouth... but nothin’ comes out. She sits there for days, tryin’ to remember, tryin’ to come up with the wish she wanted. Whole journey’s she’s takin’ swells up in her mind. Ain’t until the seventh day she finally speaks, stumblin’ out her wish.”

“Well?” Snake Eyes hisses in excitement. “What was it??”

He pulls the brush from the nehmoa. Another wave of black sludge falls to the floor.

“‘Happiness. For everyone. For free. And let none be left without.’”

Silence. Snake Eyes leans back, his eyes droppin’ to the floor for a second time. For a long while that’s where Snake stays, his face scrunched up in concentration, as if lookin’ for somethin’ that ain’t there. Yet when he returns back up, it’s with dead, unamused eyes. “That’s it? A lifetime of searching, a chance at reclaiming her godhood, and her wish was that?”

He narrows his eyes at Snake as he puts the bore brush and nehmoa aside. “Ah think ya missed the point of the story. Also might want to read the whole thing before judgin’ it.”

“Ah?” Snake scoffs and gives him a condescending look. “Don’t tell me you hold this story in any high regard? Frankly it comes off as if it were written by a nine year old foal. I’d thought you better than that, believe it or not.”

The question sits for a bit, pickin’ at his mind. “Ah wouldn’t say ‘high regard’,” he begins thoughtfully. “But ah like it. Read it long ago on leave, heard of it from a stallion even older than me. It was just a story, yep, maybe a bit foalish, yep, but... it was old. It had a history behind it, separate from the story itself. Ah liked that too.” He shifts a bit, suddenly feelin’ revealed, unguarded. “It... it was somethin’ strange, somethin’ nice, that after all the hell we’ve taken from the old world, the guns, the explosives...” his voice drops a tone. “...the megaspells... after all of that, we also carried over this long, epic, but simple little story.”

He pauses, just now realizin’ how damn long he’s been ramblin’. With a short sigh he shakes his head. “Ah know it ain’t much, but it lets ya know that there was somethin’ else back then other than war and weapons. Let’s ya know that, some time way back, ponies were dreamin’ up foalish little stories and fantasies instead of implements of death and warfare.”

Snake Eyes has been watchin’ him the whole time, his muzzle curlin’ up into a sly grin as he finishes. The city stallion waits there for a long moment before finally purrin’ “Mmmm. I didn’t know you were so much of a thinker, Tumbleweed.”

“Ah ain’t,” he says, straightenin’ his back so that he rises above Snake. “Just a rambler.”

“So you say. Although, that would go along well with your mark...” Snake rises slowly from his haunches. “But rambler or not, you’ve still robbed me of a precious half hour’s sleep, and I don’t envy losing a half hour more.” He turns, trots several hoofsteps to the door, then stops and peers back, still grinnin’. “That said, I will admit that I did slightly enjoy your story, dreadful ending aside. For reciting it, a small word of my thanks.” His grin falters a bit before resurgin’, comin’ back twice as strong. “And believe me, that’s something to be treasured.”

And with that, Snake leaves the room, shuttin’ the door softly behind.

A fresh wave of exhaustion nearly collapses him into the sheets below. He fights it off with a brief struggle, wipin’ the blur from his eyes. Still have work to do. Have to gather up the cleanin’ supplies, place ‘em back in the saddlebags, sheathe his combat knife, reload the guns, holster and saddle ‘em both...

His stomach rumbles when he catches sight of the rations, six of ‘em still nestled into his saddlebags. Haven’t eaten since last night. Figure it’s been adrenaline that’s kept his mind off the empty stomach so far. He opens himself a can, slurpin’ it down.

Hm. Snake Eyes never got anything to eat. Then again, if the past two nights were somethin’ to judge on, he’s most likely holdin’ out to avoid a third go at the rations, pick somethin’ tasty up from around town.

He finishes the can, puttin’ it alongside his saddlebags and rifle. What is it, day three? Night four? Not bad. At this pace he can reach back to Tenpony Tower by the time the two weeks is up. Three or four more days to take Snake to New Pegasus, get his message delivered, get an answer, and five days to fly back. With time to spare, even.

All this assumin’ Snake Eyes is even tellin’ the truth. And if he ain’t...

He grimaces, mind swirlin’. Have to get a bit more aggressive with those questions. It’s a delicate thing, though, diggin’ around in a stallion’s past. Have to do it with respect, caution, subtlety. Otherwise ya might dig up somethin’ ya never wanted to find. Somethin’ that was kept under wraps for a reason.

His eyes begin to droop. He slowly lowers himself into the welcomin’ sheets, lettin’ out a long breath along the way. When he’s fully at rest, his eyes shut close, body followin’ soon after.

But his thoughts still roar.

“Damn... I can see why the N.E.R. doesn’t want this city falling into the Steel Dawn’s hooves...”

The gawkin’ praise comes from the young female griffon at his side. They both stare out from their position on the cliff, joined by the thirteen others assigned with ‘em. Despite bein’ seasoned veterans themselves, they all nod, equally impressed with what they see.

And he along with ‘em. The city truly is somethin’ else. From where they stand in the west, it glimmers in the east, a red-orange assortment of towers and buildings and homes shootin’ up along the horizon, the ocean shimmerin’ within its bay and beyond. The balefire damage is still clear, and large chunks of buildings lay open to the rapidly closing night air, yet it still puts the likes of Hoofington and the ruins of Fillydelphia to shame. New Manehattan, maybe even.

“Attention rangers,” one of the others calls, stirrin’ ‘em from their gaze. A lean, tall, yet muscled mare, she steps out from the group to the edge of the cliff, turnin’ so that she has all of ‘em within her sight. As she starts to talk, she sweeps her eyes from ranger to ranger, “We wait here until nightfall. I want everyone with their combat helmets on by then. On my signal, we’ll move at a five hoof spread to our targeted entry point, traversing another thirty yards to the location of objective ‘A’. Remember that this is all executed in stealth. Our contacts assure us the way will be clear of civvies or militia, but be on alert for any strays. Any questions?”

None of ‘em so much as fidget. The mare nods approvingly, stepping down. “Then we wait. Keep low, speak softly, and watch for my signal.”

The fifteen of ‘em break up. Most of ‘em find someplace to settle down out of sight, a few rummage around for some last grub. He drops down a few hoofsteps back, next to a large patch of grass.

The griffon’s followed him. He gets a good look at her as she settles a few hooves away. Young. Lithe. Smaller than most griffons, a bit bigger than most ponies. Her feathers are snow white, save those of the feathers around her eyes, her crest, and speckles along her chest, all of which are a light, shimmering silver. What he can see of the feline portion of her body under her duster is dark brown-yellow fur which hovers somewhere between a rich gold and a chestnut brown. Most glarin’ of all are her eyes. Emerald. They seem to blaze with their own light, puttin’ the muddy green foliage that surrounds them to an easy shame.

Can tell she’s a bit nervous by the way she shakily lowers to the ground. A bit of fear, a bit of excitement, a whole lot of concentration. She wears a pumped yet focused expression, one that bursts with youth yet stirs with maturity, saddlin’ well with the way her crest rolls back along her head, like a fire strugglin’ to shoot up from her body.

“You ever been in something like this?” She asks suddenly after some time has already passed, gazin’ back out at the city in the distance.

He shakes his head in truth. “Nope. You?”

“No.”

“Then I suppose it’s a first for both of us. how ya feelin’?”

“Nervous,” surprises him to hear her admit. She puts on a friendly smirk as she looks over at him. “You look as if this is just another average mission for you.”

He coughs out a short laugh at that one. “Ya get better at hidin’ it as ya get along in years. In truth, ah’m just as nervous as you, trust me.”

Her beak turns up into a full grin. “Really? Well in that case, we can make a deal.” She holds up one of her bird-like front legs. Under the last rays of sunlight, they glint silver, a coat of fine metal protectin’ ‘em. As they reach to her claws, they curve around into a fine edge, transformin’ her already deadly talons into razor sharp knives. In a humorous gesture, she points one at him, givin’ a friendly wink. “You got my back, I got your front. There. No reason for either of us to be nervous anymore.”

He almost coughs out another laugh. Almost, yet the way she talks, the determination across her face, seems to make it all real.

“Ah’ll take that deal,” he humors her, smirkin’ back. “Name’s Tumbleweed if ya didn’t catch it back in Tenpony. Medium to long range combat.”

Surprises him again by holdin’ out her armored razor claw. Cautiously, he lets his hoof drift forward, allowin’ her to take him into a hoof-claw shake, bracin’ for the worst. Yet when she grabs him, the metal is surprisingly warm, leavin’ not even a scratch under her grip.

“Morah.” she says, givin’ him a firm shake and a determined smile. “Close quarters combat.”

He makes to respond, but a soft call comes out from the cliff. The mare is up again, donnin’ her own combat helmet as she begins to the make the rounds of the squad. Instinctively his hooves are already rummagin’ through his own saddlebags, removin’ his stetson, tradin’ it out for his helmet. Beside him, Morah already has hers on, watchin’ him through the helmet’s filter.

“Ready?” She asks, her voice muffled and distant through the gas mask.

He dons his own helmet. Instantly what he can see left of the world is shrouded under a sheet of crimson. He flicks on the night vision. Clear as day now, albeit in red. Around the cliffside, the other rangers are risin’ to their hooves, preparin’ to assemble to formation. Off in the distance, the city’s towers have turned an ominous black, as if throwin’ off the night vision in warning.

Ain’t nothin’ to stop it now.

He looks back over to Morah and nods.

“Ready.”

Footnote: Maximum level reached

Status: Well rested

The Root of the Problem

Fallout: Equestria: New World Blues

Chapter 5: The Root of the Problem

----------------------

“Dimlit”

“Stargazer”

“Butter Blossom”

“Mudboots”

“Trigger Happy”

----------------------

He lies in bed unmoving as he stares up at the ceiling, a pleasant warmth keepin’ him rooted in place.

It was a nice sleep. Best he’s had in a good while. Course the air is still damp, the old wood gives a musky but not unpleasant smell, and the mattress is actively tryin’ to suck him in for a meal, but damn if that ain’t a paradise dream for a soldier stationed in the Haysead Swamp. No window so the room’s still covered in the same dark-orange glow from the night. Even so, his mind’s too clear and too aware for it to have been anything other than a deep six to nine hour sleep.

Old bones tell him to take another one or two. He fights it and rises anyway, though the sheet’s soft touch risin’ along with him nearly tangles him back down. With a strained groan he manages to pull himself free and slowly roll off the side, makin’ certain his two right hooves are touchin’ the ground before groggily departin’ the bed with his left.

A bit of fumblin’ and he’s slung both his saddlebags and rifle across his back. He trots through the door with keys in hoof, shakin’ the blood flow in his legs into action along the way. The hallway is almost a whole other buildin’, the window at its end lightin’ its walls with the fresh rays of the mornin’ sun.

He blinks, eyes locked on the sunlight pourin’ in. Solid. Golden. Strikin’. Not the soft white rays of the dawn. He locks the door behind him and slips to the window. A steady flow of ponies move and chat about in the streets, while overhead...

The sun’s already at its apex. He retreats from the window, cursin’ under his breath. Not a six or nine hour sleep. Try twelve. Most likely more. Been so long since he’s had a soft bed to rest on and a quiet room to sleep, guess his body took advantage of the occasion. With any luck their parley with Shady hasn’t expired.

He quickens his pace as he trots down the hallways to Snake Eyes’ door. Three sharp raps with his hoof, then he waits. Three seconds. Six seconds. Nine seconds

The door creaks open before he can knock again. Snake Eyes stands there, greetin’ him with sunken eyes, his mane a tangled bedheaded mess under his fedora. Snake gives him a once over before huffin’, scowlin’ at him. “Is it time already? It feels as if I had only just fallen asleep.”

“Past time,” he grunts. “Already midday, maybe later. Five minutes and we need to be out of here.”

Snake’s brows lift in surprise. “Oh. Hasty, though I won’t need five minutes. Here, let me just...” He disappears back into the room for a brief moment before returnin’ with his key in hoof, hair fixed into a presentable status. Lockin’ the door behind him, Snake waves a hoof to the inn’s entrance. “Right then. Lead the way.”

Bootstrap is in the same place they’d left him the night before, still buried in his book, not even givin’ ‘em a second glance as they deposit their keys. He only finally peers up at ‘em once he’s noticed they haven’t darted for the front door. “What is it?” He asks with a huff, glancin’ between ‘em. “Ya wouldn’t be standin’ there with them upturned eyes without a question, so go on and spit it out.”

“Wouldn’t happen to have a clue of where the mayor might be?” he asks, straight to the point.

Bootstrap sets down his book and brings his hoof up to his chin. “Shady eh? She dropped by here not too long ago, say... an hour? Told me where she was headed off to next as well. Just have to cook up mah thoughts a bit. Let’s see...” He drums his other hoof against the counter a while before stoppin’, noddin’ in remembrance. “Hm. Ah remember now. She said she was headed off to Yasimi’s. It’s a flower shop,” he continues, noticin’ their confusion. “You’ll find it not too far from here actually. Soon as ya head out the door, head to your right down the main street. Trot ‘til ya find a small yellow buildin’ with a nice front porch. Can’t miss it.”

Before he can respond Bootstrap swipes up his book again and buries his face in the pages. He mutters out a soft thanks anyway before leavin’ through the front door, blockin’ a flare of sunlight as they pass through.

The streets of Goldroot are awash with life. All along the town’s main road ponies trade, trot, and simply chat amongst one another, livin’ out their daily lives under the watchful gaze of Big Red. Want to say it reminds him of New Manehattan, but it’s... different. The aura of it all, if such a thing even exists. The ponies here move with energy to their motions, talk lightly and laugh, and possess a certain innocent whimsicalness in their eyes. New Manehattan, on the other hoof...

“How fascinating,” Snake Eyes yawns from his side, rousing him from his daydream. When he looks over, Snake stares back with dim eyes. “You were so keen on leaving the inn only a minute before, yet as soon as we hit the streets you freeze up and go into a daze. Shall I call the town doctors, or is memory loss a known condition of yours these days?”

He shakes his head, blinks his vision clear. “Got distracted,” he says, startin’ to trot. “Stay close, keep yer eyes peeled for that yellow building.”

They take the main street eastward as Bootstrap had told ‘em. The wide nature of the road itself gives ‘em a wide berth, allowin’ ‘em to weave through the crowds. Just as yesterday, a few towns ponies stop to stare and a good number interrupt their talks to watch ‘em pass, but none raise any hell.

A hundred yard’s trot and the flower shop already comes into view. A small homely building, it’s dwarfed by the two larger businesses that surround it, yet its yellow paint makes it stand out like a beacon against its competitor’s dull brown. They scale the few steps of the porch and enter, the flimsy screen door that serves as the entrance bangin’ shut behind ‘em.

Musky scent of soil soaks his nostrils. Light shines through windows on the walls and ceiling, illuminating a sea of flowers. Flowers on desks, flowers on shelves that line the walls, flowers in bins sittin’ around in the center of the room. Simply trottin’ to the other side of the store would require a pony to solve a small maze. At the end of said maze is a counter and register, behind which hums a bright pink unicorn mare with a lily-white mane. Once she catches sight of them she perks up, her sunshine eyes brightening.

“What’s this? Customers?” she asks, both questions throwin’ him off guard with the rich Canterlot-like accent they carry. She continues, tappin’ her chin and noddin’ between ‘em. “Or mayhaps not? A gambling stallion and a pegasus? Ms. Sands told me there was a good chance of you two arriving. Is that why you have come? Or am I being rude and you have actually come for the flora?”

‘Customahs’. ‘Gahmbling’. ‘Flor-ah’. Don’t hear speech like that in most places anymore. Tenpony Tower and that’s about it. He keeps the curiosity in check though and answers, “The former. Any idea of where she headed off to?”

“I do,” she affirms, a bit of her attention now lost to one of the potted roses she levitates over to her counter. “You both will find Ms. Sands in Goldroot’s school house which lies on the other side of town. She left here not long ago and on average spends quite some time there, so you should be able to catch her before she leaves.”

‘Othah’. He tips his hat to her, backin; out of the shop. “All ah needed. Thank ya kindly ma’am.”

“My pleasure. And remember, if there’s a mare in town you fancy, give me a stop. Proper lady or a hard worker, we all adore a fashionable bouquet of roses.”

The screen door bangs a second time as they leave. Beside him Snake Eyes sighs, unamused. “What a goose chase. Does this mare truly need to check every single facet of the town?” He loosens in defeat, castin’ his hoof lazily back toward the streets. “Onward to the next clue then.”

Accent is still burnin’ at the back of his mind, though Snake doesn’t seem too bothered by it. Don’t know quite what to make of that. Best to drop it for now and stay on target.

Continuin’ along the main street, they eventually come across both the entrance to the town and the same saloon he’d peeked in the day before. Unlike then, the door is flung wide open, leakin’ music and talk and other such merriments into the world as ponies enter and leave. Snake Eyes watches it with interest as they pass by, but ultimately shrugs it off and returns forward as it fades behind ‘em.

Goldroot changes the further south they trot. Buildings become smaller, yet more decorated and unique. Ponies move at a slower pace, trottin’ about at their own leisure. Front porches are commonplace, complete with rockin' chairs and the rare swing. Must be the residential side of town.

What stands out from ‘em all is the bulky two story building nestled against Big Red. Its wood is a deep shade of crimson mirrorin’ the mountain above it, with its window and door borders unpainted to keep their dark brown textures. Atop the structure sits a polished golden bell under a small pavilion.

“How quaint,” Snake Eyes scoffs while they approach the school’s light oak door. “I have complete sympathy for anypony who is educated within this atrocity of construction. I myself would be too fearful of an imminent collapse to focus on lectures or assignments.”

And yet passin’ into the greetin’ room, he has to disagree. Seems more structurally sound than the inn or the flower shop at the very least. The front doors glide on oiled hinges, the air’s a crisp pine clean, and the lack of any rugs or paintings gives room to reveal fine, well kept lumber. The room itself is fit with plenty of bright oak chairs and numerous windows which illuminate its poster boards of foal’s arts and crafts. Across the way, the room funnels into a large door laden hallway, which in turn branches off to other corridors that run out of sight.

Snake Eyes peers down the hall, frownin’. “No greeter. Wonderful. I suppose our best bet is to simply wander the halls until we stumble upon somepony...?”

A simple plan, yet he can’t think up any other option. He nods to Snake and trots on, “Suppose so. Don’t stray into any of the closed rooms.”

“You couldn’t pay me to try.”

Entering the hallway brings to ear the sound of faint echoes from the many doors. Some leak with the same single boundin’ buzz he’d heard from Shady’s speech the day before, others burst with the excited yelps of young foals. Others are silent. The halls themselves are empty of ponies yet lined with wooden cubby holes stuffed with bags and packs.

Hm. A door down one of the right side corridors stands open against the others. His ears perk as they start towards it, acknowledging the delighted screams and yelps of foals. Closer now, and another voice adds along. Soft. Gentle. Powerful.

He stops just outside the room. Shady Sands is a few paces inside, her eyes closed and her muzzle turned up into a joyous grin. At her hooves swarm a dozen fillies and colts, each one almost clambering atop each other to get in a nuzzle or two before bein’ pushed back out of the group, startin’ the struggle anew.

Beyond the cluster stand two other ponies, a mare of tan coat and light pink mane and a stallion of grey coat and chalk-white mane. They watch the chaos with wide grins which falter when they look up, noticin’ him and Snake politely waitin’ outside.

Shady follows their gaze and takes notice as well, smilin’ to ‘em before turnin’ back to the foals. “Ya’ll go on and get yer things ready before we send ya home,” she says, risin’ back to her hooves and shooin’ the foals along. As the foals go scamperin’ off she turns back to them, motionin’ for the mare and the stallion behind her to step forward. “Ah knew ya’ll would catch up to me eventually,” she says as the other two join her. “Wanna apologize for the little goose chase ya must have partaken in to reach me. Ah tend to move around a bit too much, wind up in places ah’m not really needed.”

“Ain’t a thing,” he pardons. Snake Eyes spits hot air between his teeth but keeps quiet.

“Empathy’s appreciated,” she bows her head, takes two steps back to bring the mare and stallion to the forefront and nods to ‘em both. “But I’ve been foregoin’ mah manners. Friends, this here is our young foal’s teacher Mrs. Scribbles, and this here is the principal as well as mah brother, Mr. Chalk Dust.”

Brother. Her junior, were he to guess by the bright eyes and high chest. He greets Chalk with a firm hoofshake and a tips his hat to Scribbles. “Mighty fine to meet ya both. Quite a place ya have here. Ain’t ever seen a thing like it.”

His last words slip without his meanin’. Chalk takes a quick interest in ‘em, givin’ him an amused reaction. “Oh? Quite a thing to say, that you’ve never seen something that’s nothing more than a two week’s humble construction. Are schools a rarity from where you come?”

Construction ain’t what he meant. It’s the environment, the aura, the heart. Belongings bein’ left out without fear of theft. The foals are washed, cleaned, readying themselves for home with a spring in their hooves, with little fear of where growing up could take ‘em. Could stand here for hours ringin’ off reasons, but in the end the only thing he settles for is a small grimace and an “ain’t too common ah suppose.”

Chalk hides his discontent with a half shrug. “A shame, though you seem like a well mannered and worldly stallion yourself. That said, if you’re impressed with our current school house, you’ll be amazed by the new one I have planned to be up within the year.” The principal’s eyes glaze over and his voice turns distant as if within a dream. “Twice the space, built from reinforced stone...” He lets out a pleasant sigh, half closin’ his eyes.

“Have to excuse mah brother,” Shady apologizes, givin’ Chalk a slight nudge. “Can sit here talkin’ for hours about ways he’s plannin’ on improvin’ the school or the town itself. He’s a big daydreamer, but that’s why we all love him.”

Chalk exhales in defeat, noddin’ and flattenin’ his muzzle as he looks between him and Snake. “Yes yes, you’re both more interested in the way to New Pegasus, I believe.” He quickly throws up a hoof in defense. “Not that I can blame either of you. It’s the most common question my sister receives from newcomers, and for good reason. New Pegasus is a wondrous place, a city unlike any other in the Palomino, and if strangers that wander in are to be believed anypony in the east as well, has witnessed.”

Thought that accent sounded familiar. A less pompous Snake Eyes. “Ya’ve been to New Pegasus?”

“‘Been’?” Chalk snorts lightly. “My friend, I lived in New Pegasus for twelve long years. While its casinos and shows and other such entertainment are unlike any other, its education system was what stunned me the most. You know the city has an entire twenty story hotel set up as a school? And that’s for adult teaching only. It has another, a refurbished embassy, that it uses as education for foals as well. Sociology, biology, history, math, ponies of any age can learn anything they choose. And for free, no less.” Chalk looks down the halls, scannin’ the walls with a glint in his eye. “When I left New Pegasus to return home, it was the schools, not the casinos, that I remembered. I seek to match, maybe one day surpass, that same experience within Goldroot itself.”

A goal he can respect, somethin’ that’s rare these days. Still, twelve years in New Pegasus. If there was a pony to ask, it’d be this one. “Respect yer work, but if ah may throw out an off hoof question: know anything about a ‘Mr. Spade’?”

“Ha!” Chalk has a short laugh at his expense, shakin’ his head. “Mr. Spade? I guess I can say I know just as much about him as anypony else in New Pegasus does: absolutely nothing. In my stay of New Pegasus, the most I heard about him were urban legends, no doubt gathered up from a prolonged game of ‘telephone’ amongst the strip’s gossipers. The one piece of information I can give you is that he rules the strip through a small army of armed machines everypony calls ‘Roboclops’. Robotic guards built like ponies, named for the ‘clip-clop’ sound their metal hooves make upon the pavement. Anything else and I’d simply be spreading more absurd rumors.”

Beside him Snake Eyes turns up his nose in a victorious grin. Notch him up another point.

“I’m sorry I can’t tell you any more,” Chalk continues. “Twelve years and you’d think I’d have learned something of Mr. Spade other than street rumors, but I had my thoughts elsewhere.”

He waves his hoof in dismissal. “Ain’t a thing. Ya told me what ah needed to hear and more, and ah thank ya for it.”

Chalk does a half bow. “The pleasure was all mine. Now, if you’ll excuse me...” Chalk steps aside, leavin’ trottin’ room for Shady. “I believe I’ve spent more than enough of everypony’s time. Please, enjoy the rest of your stay in Goldroot, and be careful on the road to New Pegasus. It’s taken many an unprepared pony’s lives.”

“Something ah do mah best to prevent,” Shady adds as she joins him and Snake. She fixes her gaze upon ‘em both before noddin’ back down the main hallway they’d traveled. “Follow me. School’s about to let out, and ah got someplace more quiet for ya’ll to focus on any info ah have to give.”

Sayin’ their final farewells to Chalk, they follow Shady’s lead and return to the school’s entrance, passin’ through the front doors just as the bell begins to ring overhead. The building shudders and rumbles behind ‘em, as if a small earthquake were rackin’ the school’s foundations. By the time they’re a hundred yards out the front doors fly open and let loose a steady stream of ponies, young, old, thin, fat, clean, rugged, and everything in between.

Shady doesn’t so much as take a peek back over her shoulder to witness the chaos. Her attention goes to the trail, occasionally driftin’ her eyes to one of the town’s porch dwellin’ citizens who gives her a friendly wave. To each one she responds with her signature gentle smile and a light wave, like a beloved goddess returnin’ the affection of her adoring subjects.

It’s at a hollow spot, just where the residential side of town begins to merge with its business and the crowds are at their thinnest, that Shady sighs, lettin’ her chest sink and her smile droop. “They’re all good ponies, always showerin’ me with praise,” she begins with a hint of sorrow. “but sometimes ah get this belief stuck in mah head that ah ain’t doin’ everything ah can for ‘em.”

Her heart to heart catches him by surprise. The way she speaks, trots, moves about the town as if she were a part of it... would have never guessed there was even a speck of doubt in her mind only minutes before. “Pardon mah thoughts as ah have no clue on how to run a town, but ya seem to be doin’ quite a job from what ah’ve witnessed.” Better than most leaders in the east, for certain.

His answer doesn’t seem to help her one bit as she continues on, shakin’ her head. “But that ain’t enough. Ah try to open up a new business every other month, help mah brother expand our school systems and education, promise a second saloon by the time winter comes ‘round... and yet still it seems we have a pony a week takin’ up root and skirtin’ for New Pegasus. Makes me think ah’m doin’ somethin’ wrong, missin’ somethin’ ah shouldn’t be.”

“It’s the burden of struggling against the inevitable.” Snake Eyes grins smugly, his words thick with pride. “New Pegasus has been hundreds upon hundreds of years in the making, constructed and expanded upon by the greatest minds the old world... and this one... have to offer. Nopony can ever hope to contest such raw power, no matter their determination.”

Not helpin’ Snake. Shady takes his hard truth with a deep frown as she continues starin’ ahead. “Ah’ve had to accept that for years now. Before ah became mayor, even. Mah brother would always talk with me, tell me his dreams about headin’ west to New Pegasus. It worried me for sure, but ah never thought he’d actually do it. Then one mornin’ ah woke up and he was packin’ his things. Only eighteen years of age and he was kissin’ me on the cheek, promisin’ he’d write back. Took the caravan out of town that same day and ah didn’t see him ‘til twelve years later.” A gloom of gray creeps over her eyes. “Ah’m grateful he made the trip there and back, heck, even came back at all, but there’s still so many other ponies that never do, old friends that ah never hear from again and worry about each day.”

No snappy response from Snake. Instead he pauses, his eyes turnin’ distant and his muzzle shiftin’. A good while later and he finally speaks again, “Yet your brother returned, did he not?” he asks, to which Shady nods in half-hearted response. “Then you must be doing something right. Believe me when I say that I’ve spoken with ponies who have abandoned foals, parents, and brothers and sisters alike the moment they were able to gain entrance to the strip. And yet, your brother, who spent twelve years there, clearly found something in your letters and self to come home.”

Can hardly believe what he’s hearin’. Snake Eyes bein’ positive, his words slippin’ out smooth and oiled. Shady’s even noddin’ along with him, like prey drawn in by a serpent’s trance.

Snake continues, “And what do you think happened when he left New Pegasus, hm? Twelve years. No doubt he abandoned friends, titles, reputation... all to assist and grow another town which caught his heart. And who is the mayor of New Pegasus? The reclusive Mr. Spade, I suppose, locked away in that tower of his with nothing to do but watch. Ooooh the shock he must have received, learning that this educated, bright young stallion was leaving his empire, the ‘jewel of the desert’, for...Goldroot...” he hisses out the name, lettin’ it run its course.

Unbelievable. He eyes Snake with heavy suspicion. “Didn’t realize ya’d gained such a love for the town overnight.”

“I didn’t,” Snake admits. “I simply find the similarities rather amusing, that an ancient, estranged, decaying relic of a super genius can share the same fears and aspirations as a simple town mayor not a hundred miles away.”

Well that makes a lick more of sense. Despite Snake’s typical condescending sendoff, Shady’s brightened a hue or two. Her chest has risen back up to the same determined posture she’d greeted the townsponies with, her head lifted along with it. When she looks back to ‘em both, there’s the smallest twinkle in her eye. “Appreciate yer mind stranger. Whether we’ve convinced ya of Goldroot or not, ah admit it helped to warm me up a bit.”

Snake shrugs casually. “I’m only speaking my mind for some amusement. Make no mistake, if I were to choose between Goldroot and New Pegasus, it would be the latter without a moment’s hesitation.” Snake Eyes pauses, then slowly pushes out, “Although... I do admit, it does feel a little... ‘safer’ here. A bit more friendly.”

“Somethin’ New Pegasus can steal from Goldroot,” he says with dry sarcasm, to which Shady smirks and Snake Eyes crinkles his muzzle.

“Don’t count on it.”

Shady’s lead has looped them back around to the west side of Goldroot, the same location they had witnessed the bestowing of the Pumpkin Patch award. The town hall sits proudly on their left and towers over the buildings that surround it.

But Shady drifts right. There, directly across from the town hall sittin’ at the base of Big Red, is a large overhang which digs into the side of the mountain. Almost like the entrance to a mine shaft. Shady curves into it, sure enough revealin’ a cave-like opening tucked underneath that leads into the mountain itself. Shady leads them in without hesitation.

For the first time electricity is bein’ put to use, powerin’ the bulbs that hang loosely overhead, lightin’ the five pony wide passageway they trot through. Their heat fights against the natural damp of the cave, diluting each other out to leave the air crisp and clean, the only thing left behind the faint smell of cave rock and... metal?

The passageway opens into a spacious cavern. The right and far walls are a barren grey, but against the left is a second tube-like passageway. Not made up of rock, however. Made of steel. Attached to the passageway towers a tall cog door upon which is printed the large numbers ‘163’ in faded, chipped yellow paint.

“Stable one sixty three...” he breathes.

“...Yes. Which means there are at the very least one hundred and sixty two others.” Snake sighs and rolls his eyes. “It astounds me how you don’t blink twice at mutant sand coyotes yet the moment you’re presented with an all too common glorified fallout shelter you go breathless.” He shrugs. “Perhaps I’d understand were I a pegasus as well?”

Maybe fifteen years ago. But he’s too distracted to respond. They continue into the steel passageway and the world transforms around them, shifting from rock and lichen to metal and gears and gauges and pipes and goddess knows what else. It’s been a damn long while since he’s set hoof in a stable, but this is supposedly the air lock. Seals one door behind ya before openin’ the other as to avoid contamination. Seems Goldroot doesn’t have much use for it anymore as they pass through without so much as a whisp of notice.

The stable takes on a more subdued nature now, droppin’ its gizmos for a simple well lit steel hallway. Shady takes them to its end where it opens up into a sizable square room. Its only defining features are two openings, one on the right wall and another, larger opening on the far wall, both of which are obscured by sickly yellow tarps which dangle from the archway down to the floor.

“Tarp to yer right is the old medical quarters,” Shady says, but makes towards the far opening. “It was our go-to location for injuries when ah first became mayor, but a patient nearly dyin’ from blood loss on the long trip to the stable was more than enough to convince me to build up a hospital in town and transfer all the supplies with it. Ain’t been much more than another crop grounds since then.”

“Crop grounds?” he asks.

Shady brushes the tarp aside and ushers them through. He enters and a damp, musky scent, much like the flower shop’s not an hour before, buffets his senses. “Crop grounds are exactly what ya’d imagine ‘em to be, but probably not where ya’d imagine ‘em to be,” Shady explains as she follows ‘em in. “Course, the process still remains the same, air, light, water, soil, and all.”

And they’ve kept that in mind. The room is large and spacious, with an open top wooden box which expands across the entirety of the floor, filled to its brim with a soil so rich that he can suspect each individual speck was hoof plucked. The light shines down from long, bright, tubes encased beneath wooden overhangs suspeded from the ceiling. For the water, pipes runnin' along the high ceiling curve down into a simple sprinkler system spread out over the soil.

The system’s reward sprouts to fruition in rows upon rows of corn stalks growin’ up from the soil. Amongst the harvest trot a good five or six ponies who gingerly pick the corn free, gently placin’ ‘em down in the basket saddles strapped along their stomachs. They wave nonchalantly to Shady as she leads ‘em by but pull double takes when they spot him and Snake. Give or take a few seconds though and they’re back to their corn.

“This was once the stable’s dining hall.” Shady points out a back kitchen area just visible over the corn stalks. “Had tables and counters and the like. Ah had it all torn up, most of ‘em shipped to the Gold ‘N Silver saloon, then had the lightin’ and sprinkler system installed along with the soil box.”

“It seems you did a lot of that,” Snake notes, inspectin’ the corn as they trot along the side of the dining hall. “Tearing up the stable, I mean. Met quite a lot of resistance, I presume?”

Shady nods. “Right ya are. From the older folks especially, not that ah could blame ‘em. They’d spent the majority of their lives within these walls only for some up and comin’ young mayor to tell ‘em that it all needed to be moved out. But it had to be done, somethin’ they came to understand as well.”

She says it more as for the town’s survival then a simple renovation. He asks, “and what was it that forced yer hoof?”

“Space,” she says bluntly as they reach another tarp covered pathway at the dining hall’s end. Once again she ushers them through before followin’ behind. And just as before, wooden containers, soil, lights, sprinklers... only thing different now is that its all lined up along a snakin’ hallway and the crops are now cucumbers instead of corn. “Understand that durin’ the stable’s sealed days, our folks had a single, massive room dedicated to the crops. ‘The greenhouse’, we still call it to this day. We won’t be passin’ through it as its on the other far side of the stable, but that’s where ya’d find the large number of our crops today and where the stable folks had harvested all of their food back in their day.

Shady continues as she leads ‘em down the hall. “Now while the greenhouse could supply enough crops to sustain the thousand ponies when the stable began, the hard truth is that, by the time mah generation had come around and began settlin’ into the Goldroot our parents and grandparents had built, the population had grown to be quite a number higher than that. Simple fact was that we needed more food. Simple solution was to make more space. Ah had two options in such circumstances: either ah have everypony go through the hell of creatin’ a new farmstead and an irrigation system for it usin’ the stables water supply, or ah sacrifice the history and nostalgia of the stable to convert more rooms into greenhouses. In all frankness the latter seemed the most convenient and cost efficient, so ah put mah hoof down and we got to work.”

Makes perfect sense. Why chance the desert when ya have a contained, controllable environment right in yer hooves? Though there is one problem. “Still reckon yer gonna have to build up some farmsteads eventually once yer stable capacity hits its limit.”

“It’s not the stable capacity nor buildin’ the farmstead that ah’m worried about.” Shady stops at a particular tarp against the hall’s left wall. Instead of continuing through, she turns to face them, glancin’ between both him and Snake before settlin’ her eyes upon him. “It’s the water talisman.”

Snake’s face quickly sags into a look of disgust. "Is this the part where you make a desperate, heartfelt plea to appeal to the softer side of some travelers? Count on two passer-bys to bravely forge for a new water talisman which just so happens to be at the heart of a nearby abandoned military base infested with irradiated monsters?”

Shady laughs, apparently not as shocked by Snake’s tirade as he is. She shakes her head as she quickly fades into a polite chuckle. “Nothin’ quite so dramatic ah’m afraid.” Her voice sinks, returnin’ to its usual soft self, accompanied by a hint of solemness. “Nope, the water talisman works just fine. Been at full capacity for over two hundred years without so much as a hiccup. But that’s the problem. Full capacity.”

“...The town is outgrowing the bare necessities of the stable,” Snake notes.

Shady nods. “Exactly. Ya see, we import coal from Buckham for the stable’s systems. The ventilation, sprinklers, water talisman and growing lights all require constant power. We have all the coal we want, and all the power we need, but the talisman can’t keep up with our growth. Was designed to provide for 1,000 ponies on the dot, we’re at nearly 1800 now, with more foals comin’ every week. Every mare, stallion and foal in town needs food, drinking water and some to wash in now and then.”

Thank the goddess he ain’t in charge of any towns. Coal, water, food, power, crops... all makes his head spin. “How much longer ya think the town has?” he asks in sympathy.

Shady gives a tired shrug. “Wouldn’t say we’re in dire straits as of now. We’ve rerouted the town sewers to flow through a purifier, then into the greenhouses and we have a stray caravan from New Pegasus that occasionally trades fresh water, but they’re only buyin’ time. Five years, give or take, and the town will no doubt be hittin’ a critical point. Warnings, inventory, rationing...” Again, Shady rests her eyes upon him. This close, he can see a small glimmer of hope sparkle behind their dark brown surface. “Won’t stop the inevitable in the end. What we need is a steady water source. What we need is rain.”

For a good few seconds he nods along with her. Yep. Sounds right. Would be a blessin’ in this desert, especially comin’ in scheduled, regular intervals. Course for that ya need a pegasus, preferably a full team of ‘em to—

Oh.

“Ah understand yer eager to reach New Pegasus...” Shady continues in her soft voice, selectin’ her words with care. “And ah can’t say for certain how ya’d fare in the city... but ah can promise you ya’d be treated as nothin’ less than a hero and saviour in Goldroot. Good pay, a quality home, and a couple thousand ponies who will love ya to no end for the rest of yer life, all for nothin’ more than a few hours of easy labor each day.” Shady removes her hat, holdin’ it tight against her chest. “Please, if ya need some time to consider it, just let me know and we’ll be back on our way.”

He’s frozen there, shocked into silence. Snake Eyes gazes over at him expectantly. Answer’s obvious. No. Got a mission. Ain’t thousands of ponies that can sway that, no matter the plea.

But a shadow that’s been creepin’ up from the back of his mind finally springs itself. The personal greetings, payin’ for their rooms, introducin’ the school, offerin’ ‘em free tour and travel information... has Shady been butterin’ him up? She doesn’t seem the type, yet time has told ‘em they come in all shapes and sizes.

He grimaces and grinds his teeth. No. Simple. But a darker side of him proposes that he leads her on, plays along until he has the information he needs, then let her down gently. For the mission of course. Take no chances. Even if she’s been sincere, only askin’ as a small fleetin’ hope, she can weather one lie. For the mission.

A long, tired sigh escapes his muzzle, accompanied by a poundin’ headache and a deep sense of guilt. He looks back up to Shady, his own sincere apology reflected in her eyes. “Ya have mah sympathy Shady, but there ain’t nothin’ to consider. Ah’m already on business from some folks out in the far east and won’t be stayin’ in the Palomino for long. Just a quick trip to New Pegasus then back. Ah’m sorry.”

She neither protests nor begs, only growin’ a small, sad smile. “Ah understand. Was nothin’ more than a hopeful offer, and ah appreciate ya listenin’ to mah prattlin’ and not takin’ any offense to it.”

“...And we’re still getting your assistance, I hope?” Snake speaks his fears.

Shady’s eyes break their usual calm posture, shootin’ up in surprise. “Oh? Please, don’t think of me as coddlin’ ya for some hopes at personal gain. Yer guests in Goldroot, and we treat our guests as any host should.”

He sighs silently in relief. Still, they’ve breached Shady’s kindness, staining the hours she’s sacrificed for ‘em. “Have to pardon us both,” he pleads. “We ain’t accustomed to friendly greetings back in New Pegasus or the east.” Don’t mention Buckham, Snake. Don’t mention Buckham.

Snake only casts him a raised brow, but keeps quiet. Shady brushes the whole thing off with a small shrug and the return of her signature soft smile. “Don’t worry yerselves. Only one here at fault is me for holdin’ ya’ll up for so long with mah personal woes.” She spreads open the tarp, noddin’ deeper into the stable. “If yer ready. We’ve still got a bit to go before the office.”

He bows his head in gratitude. “At yer lead.”

Shady passes through the tarp, holdin’ it aside to allow him and Snake through. First thing he notices as they enter is the room’s rectangular shape. Narrow, yet plenty of space to move about. Of course most of that movin’ space is taken up by boxes of crops. Tomatoes this time. There’s a balcony holdin’ more overhead that runs along the left wall, with a small passageway complete with stairs beneath that leads up to it. The right wall has a mirrored passage, yet opens up back top to thin air, the balcony clearly havin’ been removed sometime awhile back. Other tarp covered openings dot the left and right walls, with a single opening across the other side of the room.

She chooses the latter as her target, explainin’ as she starts up her trot, “This used to be a lounge and recreation room for ponies to relax in. As ya’ve probably guessed, there once was a second balcony to the right, but it ended up failin’ and collapsin’ a long while ago. A few ponies got injured by the damage and they tore it down soon after.”

“Interesting. Was this the only case of faulty construction in the stable’s history?” Snake asks.

Shady shakes her head sternly. “Not even close. Ah’ve read through the reports of past overmares countless times and that balcony collapse is only a footnote within pages of others. Busted pipes, faulty wirin’, patchwork craftsponyship...”

Snake’s face is molded into a slight frown, the only part of it that moves is his mouth. “Anything else...?”

Shady purses her muzzle in thought for a moment then brings up her left foreleg. There it is again. The pipbuck, strapped on just above her hoof. Its knobs are worn and its lights faint from use, but the screen still shines bright as ever, displayin’ a crude image of a mare in a thick neon green outline. The words ‘Status: Normal’ buzz in the same bright green just below. “Readin’ through the stable guidebooks we’ve had tucked away, there’s an astoundin’ amount of equipment in there we never ended up receivin’ in the first place. Off the top of mah head, a medical machine called an ‘Auto-Doc’, a camera system, stable numbered jumpsuits, and apparently at the very least a thousand more pipbucks. The stable only ever got this one here, passin’ it from overmare to overmare, now from mayor to mayor.”

“Hmph.” Snake’s flashes a scowl as they reach the other end of the room. “Seems quality and effort were the last thing on the creator’s list. Stable-tec, no doubt. Laughable that they had gone so far as to have stables their namesake and sole purpose only to fail spectacularly in execution.”

Shady brushes the tarp aside to allow ‘em through. Another steel hallway, but no crops linin’ its sides. At its end it opens into another room, missin’ the usual tarp that’s separated the rooms so far.

“A few more rooms and we’re there,” Shady says with a hint of embarrassment. “Been meanin’ to move the map into the town hall for some time now, but it always slips mah mind as ah move about town. Also been a long while since ah’ve been in the overmare’s office mahself. Ain’t much reason to go back there anymore.” She takes lead, guidin’ ‘em down the short hall. “Good news is that neither the meeting hall nor the office have been converted to crop grounds yet. Plenty of room to move around in.”

Passin’ through the hall lands them in a room that gives him a strong vibe of the chapels set up back east. Two sets of several rows of pews are aligned to face a small stage atop which looms a large podium, perfect for holdin’ large books or important documents for readin’. Lettin’ his mind drift a bit, can almost imagine a cloaked priest at its head, preachin’ out the goddesses love, singin’ a hymn in their name.

“The meetin’ hall,” Shady informs ‘em. “The Harvest Festival ya spotted the day before used to be judged here mah mother told me, with ponies spillin’ all the way back into the recreation hall listenin’ for a winner. Nowadays the only ponies who step through here are me and the occasional stallion droppin’ by to meet Ms. New Pegasus.”

His ears twitch. Nope. Came in loud and clear. He scans the room again, but ends with the same pews and stage and three ponies he’d gathered the first time through. He glances sideways to Shady in defeat. “Ms. New Pegasus? Did ah hear ya right?”

“That ya did.” A breath of playfulness edges into her voice. She points to the center of the room between the pews, just before the stand. “If ya wanna meet her, step right over there. Bit of a warnin’ though: she’s quite the talker.”

Cryptic. He looks back to Snake eyes for any affirmation, but the city stallion only rolls his eyes and motions for him to get on with it. He hesitates, then trots forward, travelin’ between the two sets of pews. The further he trots, the taller the podium atop the stage grows, almost appearin’ a miniature monolith as he comes underneath its—

His eyes suddenly darken, the stable’s lights droppin’ into nothin’ more than a faint glow. He staggers back and darts his eyes across the room, his mouth instinctively shootin’ for his nehmoa.

An earth mare appears not ten steps away at the base of the stage. No flash of magic, no smoke or tricks, just outright pops into existence.

He staggers back again, this time nearly trippin’ over himself in shock. As he comes to a stuttered stop and struggles to gather his bearings, a sympathetic light chuckle hums from behind. “Ya took it stronger than most newcomers who’ve ventured this far, ah assure ya,” he hears Shady call. “As for her, no need to worry. She couldn’t harm a fly.”

Her assurance eases him a notch. Still, he keeps on hairs as he looks over their unexpected guest.

She’s tall, but not awkwardly so. Perfect. Like a mare ya might find posin’ in one of them fashion magazines dug up from the old word. Her legs curve into a lean but wholesome body, spotlighted by her rich white coat which runs in perfect harmony with the arch of her back. The single eye he can see is a deep violet, the other hidden behind a single thick coil of a seductive maroon mane. When it rises to the space between her ears, it snakes back down the other side, wrappin’ around the back of her neck like a tamed serpent.

And everything about her is real. There’s life and a sovereign emotion behind her eyes, her breaths rise and fall in a relaxed pace, and the subtle movements she makes with her head are practiced and real, belongin’ to a mare more than experienced in the art of high class etiquette. The only thing that tells him the pony before him ain’t flesh and blood are the constant ripples that flicker across her body, fizzin’ in and out of existence like the grainy texture of an old worn television.

‘Ms. New Pegasus’ takes a single sweepin’ gaze of the room before a secret, inviting smile creeps up from her muzzle. “Greetings, ponies of stable one sixty three. My name is Ms. New Pegasus, and I’m here to personally extend you... each and every one of you... an invitation to paradise.”

Her voice is that of a singer’s. Full, dense. Each word is sung with exaggerated emotion, dippin' and divin’, dancin’ from syllable to syllable. Already clear why she was chosen for this role: she speaks, heads turn.

The image raises its hoof to point out the stable around her. “You live in walls of gray. They surround you, hold you, ensnare you. Protect you, yes. But the world above heals each moment. A day is fast approaching in which your overmare will be notified that the stable is safe to open. As you stepped out, questions would arise. Questions which would lead to worries. Worries which would lead to confusion and fear.”

She lowers her hoof as to make it into a welcomin’ gesture. “‘Would’. Now, there are no questions. When you step from this stable in search of freedom and a new home, look west to New Pegasus. There you will find an open sky, sheltering walls, endless entertainment, and the warm lights of a city that shames even the greatest wonders of the world, both old and new. Casinos stand tall for the ponies of chance. Preserved libraries and esteemed professors await ponies of enlightenment. A lifetime of discovery in even the most quaint of the city’s landmarks spread as far as the eye can see for ponies of adventure. And there’s so much more that can simply not be put into words.”

“West. To new dreams. To new friends. To new ambitions. To a new life in New Pegasus. We hope to see you there.” She sneaks in a quick wink. “‘I’ hope to see you there.” In a final farewell, she locks her front legs together for a majestic curtsy. “With love to you, Ms. New Pegasus.”

And just as quick as she had appeared, she’s gone. The lights rumble back to life as Shady trots up from behind. “She’s caught a good number of pony’s hearts. Some that still venture down here to this day to get another glimpse of her.”

“Reckon ah know one,” he says, his thoughts wanderin’ back to Bursage breakin’ down into a fawnin’ schoolcolt at the mention of her name. Almost has him smile. Blinkin’ it aside, he peers back over his shoulder to ask for Shady’s lead but catches sight of Snake Eyes beyond her instead. The city stallion’s eyes are locked to where Ms. New Pegasus had once stood, his face sunk into a blank, lifeless stare. “Ya doin’ alright back there?”

Snake flinches at his voice. A quick fit of recovery later and he falls back into his familiar scowl as he joins them, castin’ a bored eye towards him and where the mare had been. “I’m fine. Just thinking back to the hundreds of times I’ve seen this mare before.”

“‘Before’...?”

Snake huffs. “Yes. Before. This hologram is no different from the one they have projected in the New Pegasus stable, save of course a few changed lines. The stable has been transformed into a casino and I’ve heard her on numerous occasions during my gambling there. It was... amusing the first time, irritating the second and beyond. Haven’t the slightest clue why Spade hasn’t shut it off.”

He nods as Snake finishes. More information of New Pegasus. Always good.

“If ya’ll will follow me, we’re only a hall and a flight of stairs away from the overmare’s office,” Shady says as she takes lead again. He and Snake fall in behind while she guides them from the pews, makin’ her way to the right corner of the room. An opening sits against the wall just past the stage, again with no tarp.

They pass through and find themselves in a thick hallway that runs behind the meetin’ hall. It ends with the first doors he’s seen in the entire vault, one which sits at the top of a set of stairs, the other below it against the hall’s right wall. Both are metal and bulky with seemingly no way to open ‘em at first glance.

Shady takes ‘em down the hall and up the stairs, comin’ to a stop when she reaches the door at the top. Instead of movin’ for a panel or handle, she simply lifts her left foreleg, bringin’ the pipbuck strapped upon it into clear view. A few seconds of connection between the door and device and it lifts open in greeting.

“It’s a bit crowded in here with all the papers and artifacts of past overmares so watch yer step and do yer best to make yerselves comfortable.”

Crowded seems about right. First impression he has trottin’ into the office is that it ain’t much an office at all. More a storage room in truth. Wooden desks and cupboards run along the walls at random, every one of ‘em so stuffed that the papers bulge from their drawers. Atop them sit assorted trinkets and relics that seem to have been brought in over time then left behind like discarded toys. At the center of the office itself is the standard overmare’s seat, a half circle control panel desk with a power-demanding chair centered in its crux. Behind the overmare’s seat are two tall shelves and an orange mare with a bright blonde mane, three red apples makin’ up her mark. She wears a light brown stetson and a homey—

Wait what.

Either his eyes have finally caught up with his age or... he blinks. Nope. Still there. “The hell am ah lookin’ at here? That’s Applejack ain’t it? Pre-war ministry mare?”

Neither Snake nor Shady pay the anomaly any mind. “Keep your hat on,” Snake yawns. “It’s only a toy.”

He looks to it again. Has him fooled. The deep emerald eyes, the ponytailed mane. Both the mane and coat’s texture are frighteningly life-like, as if every hair had been attached to whatever is underneath with intensive care. The eyes glimmer and shine just like any real pony’s. A little disturbing. Get this thing movin’ and ya could have it trottin’ around a crowd without so much as a head turned.

Shady stops by the... Applejack he supposes... and taps it on the withers. “Yer friend’s right. This here is a ‘Giddyup Applejack’. A toy from the old world. They were apparently a big hit in the west back in the day and got dragged along into the stable by our ancestors. They’re awfully real on the outside, yet nothin’ but simple bits and bolts on the inside.” She lifts up the Giddyup Applejack’s stetson and reaches her hoof to the back of its head. “That said, if yer frightened now...”

Shady flicks her hoof up then takes a step back. Snake sighs and shakes his head beside him. For a long moment its just them three starin’ at the toy, as if waitin’ for it to spring to life.

Then it blinks.

Goddesses he spoke too soon. It swivels its head, scans with its eyes, opens and closes its mouth... If it was unnerving shut off, its near horror novel material turned on. The only redeeming factor in all of this is the Applejack’s movement itself. Each motion it pulls is clearly robotic in nature, jerkin’ to a stop, jerkin’ as it starts to move again, all accompanied by the faint clicks and whirs of machinery underneath. Still highly disturbin’. At least it doesn’t talk.

“Howdy sugarcube! Ah’m Giddyup Applejack!”

He grunts as he retreats several steps. The Giddyup Applejack continues to rotate its head and swivel its eyes, flappin’ its mouth open and closed.

“Rise and shine Big Macintosh! Got a big day of buckin’ ahead!”

And now it really moves. A single staggered step forward. Its a slow and clumsy process, yet it looks as if the damn thing might lunge forward at any moment. Ain’t a draw first pony, always been cautious with the trigger, but this thing’s the first in a long while to test his patience.

“Come on Winona! We’ve gotta stop the cattle’s stampede!”

Another step forward. “Turn it off.”

“Land sake! This year’s cider season is our biggest yet!”

Snake Eyes peers over at him in amusement with a smirk nippin’ at his muzzle. “What’s the matter ‘friend’? Finally met your match?”

Another step. He growls but holds his ground. “Turn it off.”

“Don’t you use your fancy mathematics to muddy the issue!”

Shady makes her way up behind the toy and reaches her hoof to the back of its head again, this time flippin’ her hoof down.

♪ Raise this barn! Raise this barn! 1, 2, 3, 4! Together we can raise this baaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrr...

Applejack’s singin’ fizzles out in a deep bass, her toy look alike droppin’ its head as its power shuts off. He lets out a breath he hadn’t even known he’d been keepin’ in, relaxin’ his jaw. “Thank ya kindly. The thing’s a little too real for me to sit comfortable around.”

“‘Uncanny Valley’, as it’s called.” Snake drops his smirk and stares at the toy. “I agree. While I’m not as... troubled by the toy as much as you seem to be, I question the imagination of any foal who wished for one. Certainly the integrity of any parent who bought one in the first place.” He shrugs. “But the market gets what the market wants. Who am I to question the desires of ponies from over two hundred years ago?”

Shady pushes the Giddyup Applejack back into its original position. She gives him an apologetic look as she starts to make her way behind the overmare’s desk. “Sorry about that. Slipped mah mind that the thing was still tucked away in here and ah should've left it off. Must be drainin’ comin’ from one old world mare made up of lights to another not a minute later made up of metal and artificial hair.”

“Just threw me for a loop is all. Come into a stable that’s been shorthoofed on its tech only to find holograms and this thing here.”

Shady nods in understanding. “Was both mah ma and pa who taught me that ya take advantage of what yer given. Ms. New Pegasus hasn’t found any use besides her troublin’ ability to send ponies off on a wild chase west. The Giddyup toys though all came with a couple of precious resources: their metal which we’ve melted down and used for constructin’ tools, and their spark batteries which we salvaged and have used ever since our meager startin’ supply ran dry. They worked surprisingly well comin’ from a toy. Three days of power on average per spark battery. Of course we eventually ran out and had to find a separate power source, which is where Buckham’s coal came into play. Been usin’ that to keep the stable runnin’ ever since. The Giddyup Applejack ya see here is one of two toys still left standin’, the other, a Giddyup Macintosh, is on display in the Gold ‘N Silver Saloon.”

Aw hell. Of course they’d have made a line for her brother as well. He frowns at the Giddyup Applejack. ‘They’. Now he’s curious who even made these things in the first place. Suppose it doesn’t matter anymore. The war wiped the slate clean, big businesses are no exception.

“You said something about a map...?” Snake Eyes prompts, clearly bored of the Applejack talk.

Shady’s lowered herself into the overmare’s seat and is currently siftin’ around underneath the desk. A while of carefully brushin’ papers aside and she rises back up with her horn glowin’, a large roll of paper floatin’ alongside her. “That ah did. This particular map is hoof drawn, based off of another from an old world atlas we pulled from the stable’s archives. It details most locations and cities of the Palomino, but ah’ll only be focusin’ on yer route to New Pegasus. Figured ah’ve spent enough of yer time as is.”

He and Snake settle themselves around the desk as Shady unfurls the parchment. A cascade of colors greet them when it settles upon the metal, the map havin’ not only been sketched but painted as well. From the eastern side of the map headin’ west it fades into a sea of gold, with the title ‘Palomino Expanse’ inked across it in bold cursive letters. The same expanse in which he’d fought the Rhinos and crossed to reach Buckham, which sits just a hair right of the center of the map, right in between the Palomino’s center and the line of mountains which border the map’s southern edge. There’s some noticable landmarks that spring up off the beaten path leadin’ out of the minin’ settlement, but he passes over ‘em to land right on the lonely red mountain, complete with small brown buildings dottin’ its base. Just as the Expanse had, the words ‘Mt. Macintosh’ and ‘Goldroot’ are inked in the same fancy font.

“We’re right here of course.” Shady points her hoof from above to Mt. Macintosh. “From Goldroot there are two ways to get to New Pegasus: the road north and the road west. A jagged mountain range that goes by the name of ‘Dragonback Ridge’ divides both of ‘em right down the middle, so when ya choose one, ya can’t jump to the other until they meet back up later.”

He follows her hoof which traces along a solid dark orange bundle of spiked mountains. Startin’ a ways northwest of Goldroot, They stretch westward in a long, thick line, as if serving as all the Palomino’s backbone.

“The western path heads out straight west from Goldroot, joinin’ up with the southern edge of Dragonback Ridge. The northern loops around the ridge and through a smaller sister trade town, ‘Neighpton’, before turnin’ west as well.”

He nods and rubs his chin in thought. Already takin’ up enough time as is travelin’ this mission by hoof. Most important questions right now are “Which is the quickest? The safest?”

Shady brushes a lock of her mane aside as she looks up from the map. Her eyes are distant in deep thought. “West is the quickest.” She begins simply. “Both have their dangers. But... if ya’d hear me out, ah suggest ya take the west route.”

“The quickest. Perfect,” Snake exclaims, though a hint of doubt and curiosity line his speech. “You do have me intrigued however. Humor me. Why not the northern path?”

Shady hesitates, nippin’ at her bottom lip. When she lets herself go and speaks again, she drops into a whisper, her already soft voice turnin’ into a sea of down. “The details are a bit hazy on this, and try not to spread the word too much, but... ah’ve caught wind from visitin’ caravans and from stray members of Baux’s Brigade that there’s a bandit problem farther up north. Ah’m doin’ mah best to take precautions, but ah don’t want the town frettin’ in case it turns out to be just a riled up band of misfits.”

Bless her heart, she says 'bandit' in a low hush, like a foal sayin’ a curse word. Folks back east wouldn’t bat an eye catchin’ sight of a lawbreaker sneakin’ through town. “We’ll keep quiet. We’ll also take yer advice and head down the western path.”

“Thank ya kindly,” Shady bows her head and returns to the map. She places her hoof back on Goldroot before slowly tracin’ along a line of ink that travels from the town westward. “As before, the trail joins up with the southern edge of Dragonback Ridge after about a half day’s trot.”

Her hoof stops momentarily on where the thin black line of ink parallels the orange of Dragonback Ridge. She then continues on only to stop once again, this time upon a large clump of black buildings surrounding a single dark red building. The word ‘Echo’ is inscribed beneath. “This here is an old world city turned ghost town. Echo, we call it. Stands about a day and a half's trot from Goldroot. It might spook ya a bit if yer faint of heart, but there shouldn’t be anything around to give ya trouble. Maybe dunestalkers but they’re still rare. Just pass on through takin’ Echo’s main road and you’ll pop back out on the other side.”

Hmph. Simple so far. Though he finds himself askin’, “An old town like that nearby and yer in need of water. It doesn’t have a water source of its own?”

“Sadly, no. We’ve had ponies diggin’ through Echo ever since ah was a little filly, back when the stable opened. Not a drop in sight. Don’t mean it hasn’t served its purpose though. Its given’ us plenty of scavenged resources, from food, to history, to entertainment. Every building ya see in Goldroot is constructed from the very same wood we’ve harvested from Echo’s structures.”

That explains the aged wood he’s been seein’ around. He traces further west on the map, haltin’ on the word ‘Winoan’. It shares the same art that Buckham had been inked in, shacks and all, yet has a deep indentation bordered by cliffs drawn beside it. He taps it with his hoof. “Seems the next big landmark is here. ‘Winoan’.”

Shady nods. “Ya’d be correct. Winoan is our second minin’ settlement and Buckham’s sister. Main difference is that while Buckham mine’s coal, Winoan is a quarry and mines stone. It’s a day and a half’s trot from Echo and should be a good restin’ spot to get you ready for the glow.”

He looks to her with a raised brow. “‘The Glow’?”

Shady slides her hoof west of Winoan, and the map shifts. The dark oranges of Dragonback Ridge die along with its mountain’s, the gold of the Palomino’s sands fizzle out, the lively chestnut brown of towns go absent. In their place creeps a dark, bloody red which seeps into the parchment like a still wet stain. It spreads west, north, and south like a malignant plague, encompassin’ a good quarter of the entire map. At the center of it all is drawn in pitch black ink two towers, the words ‘The Glow’ loomin’ above ‘em as if in some desperate warning.

“What is this?” he grunts, scannin’ over the blot of red in confusion. “Where’s New Pegasus?”

Snake Eyes motions with a nod. “Further west. To the far edge of the map.”

He follows Snake’s gaze. There, across the crimson blot, situated upon Equestria’s west coastline, is a city painted and inked in bright yellow, complete with an assortment of other colors that highlight casinos and shops. A large tower protrudes from its back, like a lighthouse for the ocean beyond. Above the city, in the same bold cursive font, are the words ‘New Pegasus’.

His mission. His goal. His objective. Reach there, deliver Operation Fold ‘Em, receive a response, get back to the NER. His whole purpose for being here. But time has taught him that it’s the journey there that matters most. His eyes linger back over The Glow. Its texture appears toxic, as if a single touch might take his hoof off. “Somethin’ tells me whatever this is ain’t too friendly.”

“Correct.” Snake stares down on the map, his eyes locked and his frown bitter. “‘The Glow’, as most ponies seem to have labeled it, is the ruins of outer Los Pegasus. Whether Mr. Spade failed spectacularly in protecting it from the bombs or simply had no love for the place, it’s now nothing more than a radioactive basin that splits New Pegasus from the rest of the world.”

“Impossible,” he rasps. Radiation. Was a whole damn search that went underway gettin’ that problem erased. Haven’t heard of a speck of it for nearly twelve, thirteen years now.

But Snake shrugs the accusation away with a scoff. “Okay? Trust me, don’t trust me. Seeing is believing after all, yes?”

Right now he isn’t so sure of which to pick if the past three days are anything to go by. And yet across the desk Shady is starin’ to him as if he’s the one in the wrong. “Yer friend ain’t lyin’. The Glow is the biggest reason not everypony has abandoned their towns for New Pegasus. Wildlife within The Glow attack ponies on sight, the air is thick and unhealthy, and radiation constantly floods the area from deep craters in the earth.”

“Then how are all these ponies that pass through Goldroot reachin’ New Pegasus? The way yer describin’ all this has it sound suicidal.” His thoughts toss and turn, disbelief ragin’ at the forefront of it all. A place like this shouldn’t even technically exist anymore. And of course, the biggest question of all, how the hell did Snake Eyes get across this death trap? And if he did, would a grudge really drive a group of city slickers to cross it as well?

Another, greater question. Why the hell didn’t Snake tell him any of this?

He keeps a suspicious eye on Snake as Shady continues, “Yer right, it probably would be near impossible tryin’ to cross The Glow on yer lonesome. Thankfully Baux’s Brigade has set themselves up within the ruins of the city itself and are always sendin’ standby caravans to New Pegasus, Winoan, and Estin for anypony lookin’ for help to pass through. Ah can’t account for everypony they assist, but ah assure ya they’ll do everything they can to make certain ya leave The Glow without a scratch on ya. They’re good folk like that.”

“Tell me if ah heard wrong, but this Brigade’s settled down in an irradiated city?” Doesn’t make one lick of sense, unless...

“The whole of the brigade is made up of ghouls. If yer unsure of what a ghoul is, they’re survivors from the old world whose bodies were cooked by the bombs that fell. Ah don’t quite understand how it works mahself, but they’re ageless and actually feed off radiation, need it to survive.” Shady pauses, lookin’ to him with sympathy. “Ah know its a bit much to take in, but trust me when ah say that, despite their looks and voices, you’ll find they’re decent folks when ya run across ‘em, if a bit fanatic.”

He knows what a ghoul is. It’s the hundred of other questions which spring up that has his head spinnin’. Radiation? A militia of ghouls? Fanatic? He closes his eyes, allowin’ a few seconds for his mind to settle. He opens ‘em again. “And yer sure this Brigade will help us through The Glow?”

Shady nods. “Not a doubt in mah mind.”

He exhales, lookin’ over the map one last time. Goldroot. Echo. Winoan. The Glow. New Pegasus. Done. He looks to Snake Eyes. Lyin’ bastard. Stares back at him as if he hadn’t done a damn thing wrong. He looks to Shady. Polite mare that she is, she stands patiently behind the desk, waitin’ for him to finish.

Best leave her out of this. He retreats from the desk and bows his head. “That’ll be all then. Want to thank ya for everything ya’ve done for us, from the warm greetings to the free rooms to puttin’ us on the right path. If there’s anything ah can ever do for ya...” He shuts his mouth. She already had, and he’d declined. Got a mission to do.

“There is,” Shady speaks to his dismay, but continues, “Ya can stay another night. Mah pipbuck tells me that the sun’s already tuckin’ itself in for the day. If ya leave now, ya’ll will be an hour or two out of Goldroot when night falls. Much more safe to stay another night and leave when yer refreshed and have a full twelve hours of light to travel on.”

He eases down in relief, mullin’ over her words. “Yer right,” he says. “But ah’m not certain ah want another night in a comfortable bed. Afraid ah have a hard time wakin’ mahself up from ‘em these days.” And apparently Snake Eyes as well, if they’re still even travelin’ together by the night’s end.

“Ah’ll wake ya both mahself at the first light of dawn,” Shady offers.

A kind offer. He considers it for a moment before bargainin’ back, “If ya allow me to pay for the rooms, it’s a deal.”

“Deal.”

Shady has a satisfied expression as she levitates the map away and begins to roll it up.with her magic. “Appreciate it. As ah said, ya still got a couple hours before nightfall, so if yer lookin’ for somethin’ to speed the time along, ah’d suggest headin’ over to the Gold N’ Silver Saloon over on the east side of town. It’s good company and there’s always a game of billiards ya can slip in to. Caravan as well.”

Snake Eyes brightens beside him. “Ooooh. Caravan? You play caravan here? Commonly? I admit, my interest in this saloon has suddenly... ‘piqued’.”

“Not just commonly,” Shady says. “Got ponies in there that nearly live their life by those cards. Watch yer caps in there if ya do end up playin’, though ah’m certain yer accustomed to the term, considerin’ yer heritage.”

Snake only allows a smug, serpentine smile in response.

Shady finishes wrappin’ up the map, tuckin’ it under her duster. She looks back at ‘em with a slight frown. “Ah’m afraid ah’ve still got a few checkups to run around down here in the stable. If yer feelin’ inclined, ya can come along and see the rest of how this all works. If not, ah can guide ya back to the stable’s entrance.”

“We’ll be taking the saloon,” Snake Eyes says bluntly with a faint hint of distaste.

He wouldn’t mind either. But he needs him and Snake alone. “We’ll head off to the saloon. And if yer comfortable leavin’ us unattended, ah’m certain we can leave ya free and show ourselves out.”

Shady smiles to ‘em appreciatively. “Don’t mind it at all. Remember, the saloons on the opposite side of town. Ah usually drop by there at a day’s end, so we might see more of each other then. If not, it’ll be tomorrow mornin’.”

He tips his hat to her. “Either one, ah’ll be lookin’ forward to it. ‘Til then.”

She tips hers back. “‘Til then.”

He leaves the overmare’s office behind with Snake Eyes in tow, tracin’ their steps back to the stable’s entrance. Need to find a quiet place to settle this matter. Stable’s steel walls echo a bit too much though. A back alleyway or quiet corner outside will do better.

As they exit the cave into the burnt orange of sundown’s light, he notes the same back passageway they’d snuck through an exact day before.

“You do know that we don’t have to sneak around like dogs anymore, don’t you?” Snake asks as he leads them into the alley. “Or are you dragging me back here for a scolding?”

He turns on Snake, the old burners lightin’ behind his eyes. “Yer feelin’ mighty lucky today if ya think ah’m here to argue with ya. Better have one hell of a reason to not have me fly off tomorrow mornin’ and leave ya behind.”

But Snake only comes off as entertained, lettin’ out a short laugh. “I’m right! And look, behind those old, dead eyes... are you trying to be... angry?” His muzzle curls up into a poisonous grin. “How adorable.”

A bastard, still talkin’ to him like this. “You ain’t doin’ yerself any favors by—”

“You’re right I’m not,” Snake cuts him off. “Because I don’t need to. But enough fooling about. You dragged me back here about The Glow did you not?” Snake prods him along with a small wave of his hoof. “Go on then. Speak your mind.”

He narrows his eyes. “You left New Pegasus through The Glow.”

Snake nods. “No other way but through sea, and believe me, that is more than rare.”

He leans in closer and bristles. “Then why the hell didn’t ya tell me of it when we first met? Instead, ya outright lied to me when ah as was gonna end up findin’ out anyway. From my mind it seems yer fibbin’ for no other reasons than for kicks, which could wind up gettin’ us both killed.”

Snake listens intently, noddin’ again as he finishes. “Understandable, especially coming from one of your particular age and position,” Snake says to his surprise. “But, if you will, settle down and try to look at this situation from my perspective: you’re forced into fleeing and hiding from a few... ‘questionable actions’, so to say... and find yourself in the run down bar of some shanty settlement. Everypony there is interested in nothing but their drinks, playing their cards, and it’s clear that they all carry their guns as substitute for their cocks in lieu of actual use.”

“And then, in trots... you.” Snake gestures to him dramatically. “You, the lone stallion ranger who seemed to have trot straight from a romanticized western novel. You drew like like lightning, spoke with experience, and turned those ruffians away as if they were cattle. Beautiful.” Snake turns his hoof into himself. “And then there was me. The victim who’s shot nothing more than a few bullets throughout their life, stranded with a simple hope to return home.” Snake scoffs. “Why, this nearly writes itself! It was a match preordained, yes?”

Not quite sure how to respond to that one. Thankfully Snake Eyes goes on, “So I catch you outside. I’ve overheard your mission back in the bar and have connections to Mr. Spade, thus I’m able to offer you something in exchange for your assistance. The only thing left to do is convince you the deal is beneficial to you as well as me.”

“...So you softened it all up.” He grunts in realization. “Made it sound easier than it really was so ah’d accept.”

“Exactly. I was already asking you to hoof it the rest of the journey and had no intention of lying that I could defend myself, so other than your reward in New Pegasus, I had very little offer. Ergo, if I can’t give you anything more, the best I could do was make the entire ordeal seem as simple as possible.”

He feels himself deflatin’. “Why didn’t ya tell me last night then? We haven’t made an inch of progress since.”

Snake shrugs. “It was another day you had spent locked down with me. The more time spent, the greater the investment.”

Still slimy, but in desperation at least. Makes sense. Damnit.

He lets out a defeated breath as he drops back onto his haunches. All seemed so easy at first. Five days there, five days back. Then come to find out Mr. Spade is near legend. Then come to find out he’ll be on hoof the whole trip to New Pegasus. Then Snake Eyes, known liar. For good reasons, but what if he’s lyin’ about his connections too? No friend, no Spade. They step into New Pegasus and the son of a bitch shrugs and trots off.

He clenches his teeth, lookin’ back up to Snake, hopin’ to find an answer behind those shaded gold eyes of his. Snake stares back patiently. As always, nothin’. Two opaque lenses with not a drop of transparency in either. “Ah’m not set on travelin’ with a pony who lies to me.”

“Of course you aren’t. I’m certain you weren’t set on ever following vague scouting information and braving uncharted territory either. Certainly not coming face to face with mutant sand coyotes, I hope.” Snake’s tone falls sympathetic and his eyes soften. “I understand your doubt for me. You’re a soldier after all, no? You’re used to ponies who can shoot a weapon, ponies who have your back, ponies who are completely honest. I won’t hide it, nor have I truly attempted to: I’m none of those. But I am the pony who is indebted to audience you with Spade, and I am the pony who pays his debts, have no doubt of that.”

He doubts it. “And if we get to New Pegasus and ya’ve lied to me about that too?”

Snake coughs out a chuckle. “Ha! Tell me I have a silver tongue all you desire, but I can’t build a story to entertain even the most imaginative of foals.” Snake turns serious, straightenin’ back up. “Consider this: the way to New Pegasus is clear now. You know everything I do in that regard due to the mayor’s good graces. The only thing left now is New Pegasus itself and you’ll be able to call my bluff right at its gates. The defenses allow me in? We trot straight to my friend’s casino ‘The Heights’ and you meet Mr. Spade. The defenses deny me? You can drag me into one of the run down back alleys and strangle me right then and there.”

He sits there, gazin’ past Snake Eyes, starin’ into empty space. Can take off right now. New Pegasus would be about a two days flight away. No Echo, no Winoan, most of all no Glow. Fly right over it all, touch down at New Pegasus’ front gate. And the city lets him right in. And he gets an audience with Spade the same day. And he flies back to Tenpony Tower. Done.

All fine and dandy. Were he an assumin’ pony. No tellin’ in this situation whether it’s to his benefit that he ain’t or a damn shame. He rises back to his hooves in defeat, stiflin’ a tired sigh. “Let’s head to that saloon then. Need a drink.”

“Aaaaaaaaand just like that, we’re on the same page again.”

Snake rises and trots along with him as he leaves the alley. The sun’s not an inch off from where they’d found the town hall the day before, with the shadows leanin’ tall and the wooden buildings a fadin’ amber. Ponies everywhere are dashin’ for home, givin’ their final farewells to their friends before abandonin’ the streets.

Snake speaks up again as they hit the main street, a hint of disbelief edged into his voice, “Honestly though, what kind of scouts do your superiors enforce that they don’t pinpoint the miles of ruins outside of your targeted delivery? You like to put the blame on me, yet your own comrades were the first instigators.”

“They did report ‘em.” He grimaces, shakin’ his head. “Was the detail that was lackin’. ‘Ruins’ was the most descriptive they got. Guess they never touched down to give it any further detail. Not that ah can blame ‘em. Radiation isn’t much of a common thing these days.”

“Yes yes, because of that machine cleansing it all. Hear of it all the time from wanderers from out east. That still doesn’t excuse their faults. A scout bringing back reports based off of assumptions seems almost an... ‘oxymoron’? A contradiction?”

He shrugs. “Can’t blame ‘em much. This entire New Pegasus operation has been rushed to hell and back.”

Snake leans in closer, turnin’ his ear down. He speaks and his words drip with hunger. “I know we just got off thin ice together, but I am curious... what is in your message to Spade? I’ve heard your ‘New Equestrian Republic’ is quite large, and Spade is a powerful stallion himself, so what exactly is the game here? And who is this ‘Steel Dawn’ you mentioned back in Buckham? An enemy of yours? You never did tell me.”

He growls, glarin’ back. “Yer skatin’ in a circle if ya keep that up.”

Snake Eyes retreats as if bitten, huffin’ as he adjusts his fedora. “A few questions and he bites back like an old dog...” he hisses under his breath. “The price of curiosity these days...”

The saloon is of course a might busier than the night before without a festival goin’ on. Ponies funnel into its entrance, many of ‘em passin’ a friendly greetin’ or mentioning their unfamiliar faces. Nothin’ more hostile than a few curious glances, much to his relief. Would be a damn shame to have another Buckham scene after all Shady’s done for ‘em.

Squeezin’ themselves inside grants ‘em the same homely interior he’d poked his head into the day before, ‘cept filled with ponies of course. Tables lay thick along a hard oak floor, all but a few along the far wall occupied with ponies playin’ card games or in the midst of a friendly casual chatter. Over the far wall is the balcony, the tables overhead also filled to their brim. The bar is off to their right, the pool tables in their own little area in the back right corner.

What catches his eye sits on a shelf below the balcony, hanging on the far wall. A radio. It’s large, worn, and bulky, yet sweeps an upbeat guitar instrumental through over the crowd’s rumble without a single crack or skip of interruption. A high pitched mare’s voice soon springs up along with the jig, fallin’ and risin’ to the beat of the—

Nevermind. Just Prickly.

“Ah knew it! Ah knew ya’ll would show up in here sooner or later!” the caravan mare cheers from a table a few paces out from the radio. She gives ‘em a big hearty wave, joined by a casual tip of the hoof from Pokey a seat beside her. Nopony seems to take interest in her commotion as she springs from her seat, stumblin’ towards ‘em with a wide grin.

“Ugh... and I was just getting excited too.”

Snake Eyes of course. He looks over to see the city stallion with a sunken, dried expression of dread. “Don’t have to sit by her if ya don’t want to. She has her sister and ah’m sure plenty of friends. Doubt she’d be too hurt by it.”

“And what are your thoughts of her?”

“She’s a friendly, kind mare, if a bit overexcited.”

“Then I can endure. It would have been strange leaving the town without some sort of scar anyway.”

And with that Prickly comes to a screechin’ halt at their hooves. She throws up both her front hooves and lays ‘em upon their shoulders, pattin’ their backs. “Boy ah’d of just assumed ah missed ya both had neither of ya actually shown up. A ranger and a city slicker? Yer kind make their homes in drink houses such as this!”

“I definitely would not call this ‘home’.” Snake Eyes peers about the saloon before settlin’ on Prickly in resignation. “But I suppose it is the closest thing in a while I’ve had to a casino. In the end beggars cannot be choosers, yes?”

To Snake’s chagrin Prickly leans in closer. “Ah but they can slicker! They can if they’re friends with me! What kinda entertainment are ya fancyin’ tonight? Billiards? Take a gamble with the slots? Enjoy a nice slow dance with a pretty mare or two?” Snake shudders at that. “Maybe try your hoof at a game of caravan?”

Snake’s disdain drops from his face, replaced with an excitement he wouldn’t have believed the city stallion to ever show. “That. Caravan. Point me in the direction of the player’s tables and I won’t need another hoof of help the rest of the night.”

“Haw! Ain’t no need for pointin’ slicker! Every table’s fit enough for contest around these parts. That said, ain’t too uncommon for some of our more experienced players to scope out our newer ones to win a few easy caps. Ah’ll make sure to keep ‘em off ya while herdin’ in the younger players for an even match.”

Snake Eyes reacts as expected, brandished hairs and a twisted scowl nursin’ his pride back to health. To his credit he keeps calm, correctin’ Prickly as a mother might a questionin’ foal. “No. I want you to do the complete opposite. Bring me any caravan player here whose name is worth notice and I’ll have it wiped from the books by the night’s end. Keep the novices away.”

“Ooooh! Mighty darin’ of ya. Ah like it!” Prickly releases them, motioning for them to follow as she heads back to her table. “Come on over and join mah sis and ah. We’ll get ya both seated and let ya get yer deck all set up before ah start puttin’ yer name out.”

But Snake doesn’t budge. He pats at his suit with a curious expression, which quickly fades into realized despair. “Wait. I... I don’t have a deck. I must have left it back in New Pegasus.”

“Damn shame!” Prickly doesn’t skip a beat, doublin’ back and takin’ Snake by the shoulder and leadin’ him to the bar. “Don’t matter though, ah can get ya hooked up with a brand new set of cards from the tender. Won’t have too much of a variety ah can guarantee, but ah can help ya out makin’ a new deck if ya stumble any.”

“Eh... I’ll take the cards. Pass on the help.”

Prickly and Snake are swallowed up by the crowd on their way to the bar. No sense in followin’ ‘em and addin’ another body to the masses. He instead carefully works his way through the sea of tables, crossin’ the room to where Pokey is seated. She’s leaned back in her chair with her eyes closed as he approaches, the only thing tellin’ him she’s awake a casual wave of her hoof.

“Missed you and Suits the night before,” she drawls, openin’ her eye to peek at him when he takes his seat. “Road wore ya’ll out or did the mayor catch ya?”

“Both.” He sighs in relief as his haunches hit the wood. “The former mostly. More accustomed to exercisin’ mah wings than ah am mah legs.” And his age. No use statin’ the obvious though.

“Figured as much.” Pokey nods. She opens her other eye and stares up to the ceiling for a long while, tappin’ one of her hooves against the table in beat to the radio’s music. It’s a slower tune than the jingle he’d entered on, with graceful violins and flutes replacin’ the guitar and trumpets. As it winds down to its end, Pokey stops her taps, lettin’ her head drop so that she’s facin’ him eye to eye while still droopin’ from the back of the chair. “Saw ya’ll wanderin’ about with the mayor earlier today.”

He dips his head. “That we were. Got that.”

“Goin’ into the stable must have meant a good while gettin’ to know one another. What’d ya think of her?”

Curious question to ask. Doubt Pokey would pull a Snake Eyes on him, but he chooses his words with care. “She’s a fine mayor, with all her heart set on betterin’ the town and its ponies. Goldroot would be a darker place without her.”

Pokey leans in closer. “Does that mean she dropped the question on ya?”

Ah. That. He shakes his head. “She did. Had to decline her though. Mah time here in the Palomino ain’t gonna last but a week more before ah head back east again.”

Pokey frowns but gives him a look of understanding before turning her head back to the ceiling. “A shame, though don’t think ah hold it against ya. A pony’s life is their own. And to take any guilt off yer back, yer only one of what must be hundreds that have turned the offer down.”

“Ah don’t get how ya’ll haven’t nabbed a single pegasus over all these years. If New Pegasus is swimmin’ with casinos as Snake has mentioned, ya’d think there’d be at least one unlucky flier who struck out and comes runnin’ back here to Goldroot.”

Pokey shrugs, still starin’ up at the ceilin’. “Wouldn’t have a clue. Any pegasus who stops by skips town to the big city the next day and never comes back, almost as if there’s a big flynet right over Dragonback Ridge.”

He sinks into his chair in thought. Too many questions, not enough answers. Still. One pegasus. “And ya’ve never caught one flyin’ out from the west?”

“Nope.” Pokey shakes her head, but freezes halfway into the motion. She blinks and taps the table. “Wait. No. Ah’m wrong. Sort of. What was it... six? Seven days ago? Whichever one it was, ah caught a whole flock of ‘em flyin’ in from the west just as the sun was headin’ down.”

A ‘flock’? “Got a rough estimate on the hard number?”

Prickly and Snake’s return cut ‘em short. The former has a round of drinks lined up along her foreleg, the latter with a fresh deck of cards in his hooves which he casts down onto the table’s surface as he takes his seat. “Out of my way, both of you.” Snake shoos them off to the table’s shorter edge as Prickly drops down the drinks. “Scootch. I need plenty of space for this and will be using this portion of the table for caravan anyway. Consider it reserved for the rest of the night.”

Surprises him to see Snake allow Prickly to sit in beside him as he spills the cards from the box. Like two foragin’ animals they begin to sift through the cards together, an undercurrent of excitement leakin’ into even Snake’s voice as they start to discuss their loot.

His drink looks promisin’. But hearing about those pegasi makes him curious... He shifts his chair in beside Pokey, perkin’ his ears as she takes a swig then starts again. “There were four. All of ‘em well built and holsterin’ weapons ah’ve only ever heard of ‘til then. They wore these gray suits that covered up everything but their heads, gave ‘em a real nice military look.”

His Rhinos, four in the town, four outside guardin’ the package. The same he’d killed back on the lonely hill. And they had flown in from the west. Doubt the Steel Dawn would have much interest in a ghost town or a quarry. Maybe The Glow for its radiation, but that’s pushin’ it.

Which leaves New Pegasus.

“How long were they around? What were they in town for?”

“Only stuck around from sundown to nightfall.” Pokey’s sat up in her chair now, rubbin’ her temple for memories. “Didn’t do nothin’ but head straight for the Saloon. Ah followed ‘em in, half on curiosity, half ‘cus it was gettin’ about that time anyway. They took up their own table, ordered a few drinks, and kept mostly to themselves. Stayed that way ‘til Shady Sands finally caught up with ‘em.”

“They cause trouble?”

She shakes her head. “Nope. Even with all that hell they were packin’ they never so much as hollered. Was close enough to hear some of their talkin’ mahself and they came off about as respectful as ya’d imagine any good passer-through to be.”

A faint light triggers in the dark of his mind. “Ya caught some of their wind. Heard anything that stuck?”

He’d tried his best at indifference, but Pokey’s reaction tells him he’d failed. “Awfully interested in these folks ain’t ya? Friends of yers?” She lazily raises her hoof before he can respond. “Don’t answer that. Just givin’ ya a bit of hell. As for what ah heard? Nothin’ too excitin’ if ya’d believe it. Most ah can remember is that they were a part of some group called the ‘Steel Dawn’. Declined Shady’s offer just as you had.”

She taps the table a few beats more before shruggin’. “Really, as ah said, nothin’ special. They up and left not an hour or two after they’d come in and skipped town like ghosts soon after. Haven’t heard a word from or about ‘em since.”

And ya won’t again.

He eases away from Pokey, lowerin’ back into his chair, starin’ out forward into space. One task force. Eight fliers, one packaage, all headin’ out from the west. Troublin’ already that they’ve snuck their way past the N.E.R. and into the Palomino, more troublin’ that they’ve apparently already beat ‘em to New Pegasus.

Now the hook question: just what the hell was their objective? Had to do with that package no doubt. Had they delivered their own goods for an exchange? Or just received whatever was inside outright from some benefactor in New Pegasus? On both accounts: who?

Spade.

It’s the first thing the mind wanders to, and the first thing a stallion like him shuts down. He doesn’t assume. He won’t assume. Somethin’ like that, with New Pegasus and the Steel Dawn already havin’ allied beneath their noses... The war would add the west. The Palomino would burn. The cities would burn. Everything would burn. Everything would burn. Everything would—

“Ya alright there stranger?”

Sundown.

But he doesn’t assume. He won’t assume.

He blinks. Beads of sweat flick from his eyes. Through the mist of salt and muck Pokey stares back, half casual, half ready to spring forward and save him from a harsh fall. Snake Eyes and Prickly are oblivious beside him, beginnin’ to sweep up the cards, speakin’ to each other in short, positive bursts.

He lowers into his chair again, takin’ a long hard draw from his mug. Sour, burnin’. Not the muck of Buckham, but still with a dark brown grit. Good. He holds his hoof up in a weak pardon. “Ah’m fine. Small lapse is all. Old pony stuff.”

“Right.” Pokey smirks yet keeps a careful eye on him.

Prickly’s darted off from the table leavin’ Snake Eyes sittin’ by his lonesome. The city stallion shuffles his newly forged deck a good several times before noticin’ him and Pokey watchin’. His muzzle turns up into a malicious grin and he holds the deck up for them to see.

“You see this, ranger? Caravan mare?” He drags the bridge of his muzzle across the deck, takin’ a long, drawn out whiff of the cards. He stops to let out a pleasured sigh. “Aaah. Caps. Prestige. Pride. That’s what you see. That’s what you will witness me steal and take for my own before I leave this table tonight.”

He narrows his eyes at Snake. “Did ya get yer hooves on a canister of dash or do you just get that way around playin’ cards?”

Snake scoffs, settin’ the deck down. “What? Am I not allowed to have any fun?”

“Never said that. Suppose ah just didn’t expect it in ya.”

Snake almost sneers, but settles for a roll of the eyes in his good mood. “And you would also expect bitterness from a clipped bird. That doesn’t mean they never enjoyed their flight.” Snake looks back out to the other tables then grins. “Ah. Here. My first victim.”

And Prickly shows back up, towin’ along a middle-aged stallion with a black vest. Snake inspects the newcomer over, noddin’ in satisfaction. “Welcome. You have some experience in caravan, I hope?”

“Been playin’ since ah was eight. Twenty-six years,” the stallion brags, slappin’ his own deck of cards on to the table. “You?”

“Now I don’t want to spoil that,” Snake pushes his own deck forward and motions to the chair across the table. “It would ruin the experience for you.”

The stallion crinkles his nose but obliges, droppin’ down into his seat. “How much are we bettin’?”

Snake looks nonchalantly from the challenger to him. “How much do you trust me with?”

Wasn’t his plan to start fundin’ gamblin’ habits. Still, got a good fifty or so left in the bags. Five will be worth it just to keep Snake Eyes from whinin’. He begrudgingly fishes out five caps from his saddlebags, tossin’ ‘em out onto the table. The challenger tosses out five of his own.

And like the starting of a machine they begin. Both Snake and the stallion draw eight cards from the tops of their deck, holdin’ ‘em close so that neither sees the other’s hoof of cards. From his point he gets the perfect view of Snake’s hoof. 4 of clubs, Jack of hearts, Joker, 7 of clubs, 2 of spades, Jack of diamonds, King of hearts, 7 of clubs.

“Interested in a master’s play?” Snake catches him watchin’, nudgin’ the cards closer to his view. “Or does the east even have the slightest clue of what caravan is?”

His punishment for showin’ any interest. He humors Snake anyway. “Ah’ve heard of it, caught a few of its rules, then forgot ‘em not long after. Only place it’s played back east is in the prisons.”

Snake sputters, doin’ a double take on him while he places one of his cards. “The prisons?? I’ve heard it was a mess over there, but I would never believe it was that horrid.” He scowls as he places down another card. “Forget everything you’ve picked up from those scum dwellers. Tonight you begin anew. Come here.”

Hell no. He looks to Pokey for any hope of escapin’ with a side talk. She shrugs with her hooves behind her head. He looks to Prickly for a quick distraction. She nods her head excitedly, promptin’ him to go along with the offer.

Damn. Snake always seems to get his way. He gives a reluctant sigh.. “Alright then. Teach me.”

“Excellent. Come closer, and listen.”

Six cards are laid out onto the table, three from Snake’s hoof, three from the challenger’s. All of ‘em face each other in sets of two with a single contribution from both sides. On the first set, Snake’s 7 faces the challenger’s 8. The second, Snake’s 2, the challenger’s 10. The final set, Snake’s 4, the challenger’s 4.

What catches his eye is the artwork on the cards themselves. All depictions of infamous old world figures. Every card is labeled with an accompanying name, yet he can call them all without a second glance.

The unicorn mare Twilight Sparkle, head of the Ministry of Magic on the 7 card. She’s drawn with a tired, thousand yard stare clear in her lavender eyes. Her night-sky mane with lighter hues of violet is combed down into brittle, straight sheets, as if she had just finished preparing for the most stressful business meeting of her life. The same can be said for her violet coat.

The earth stallion Big Macintosh, war hero and sister to Applejack on the 8 card. He’s drawn from a side angle, lookin’ off to the right with his chin up and a serious, honorable gleam in his green eyes. His mangled orange mane and dirtied apple-red coat give him a homely, propaganda feel, as if he’d just trudged home straight from the battlefield.

The earth mare Pinkie Pie, head of the Ministry of Morale on the 2 card. A smile ten miles wide stretches her face. And yet her somber blue eyes tell a different story as they stare straight back at him, exhaustion eatin’ at their edges. Even her bright cotton-candy-pink mane and brighter pink coat seem to sag a little, a cry for help.

The unicorn mare Rarity, head of the Ministry of Image on the 4 card. Not one bit of her is left unpampered, from her perfectly curled indigo mane to her lashed and made up eyes to her sheened white coat. And yet all the makeup, combined with the faint smile the art has given her, gives her a weathered appearance, the kind gained through stress instead of age.

The alicorn Princess Celestia, one of the two supreme rulers of the old world’s Equestria, one of several in the New Equestrian Republic. She’s inked in gracefully upon the 10 card, her mane of blues and pinks wavin’ like a sheet of soft velvet across the surface. Her soft white coat gives power to her already deep violet eyes. The smile she wears is gentle, caring. Almost an exact replica of Shady’s, he realizes.

“What you see on the table now is the foundations of our caravan,” Snake says, sweepin’ his hoof across the display. “Six sets, three from each player. You have played Blackjack before, I assume?”

He tears himself away from the artwork and nods. Snake continues, “Then you know that twenty-one is the sweet spot in that realm. For us in caravan, our goal is on or between the numbers twenty-one and twenty-six. Unlike in Blackjack, however, we build up to that number using our hooves instead of taking a hit from the deck. Like this.”

Snake removes the second 7 card from his hand and places it atop his 2 card so that both are visible. The challenger follows suit, placin’ a 7 atop his own 4.

“Now you see, my caravan here has 2 and 7, making 9, and my opponents has 7 and 4, making 11. We’ll both be building up two 21 while also attempting to stop each other through direct means through the use of face cards and... our own number cards atop each others which will increase the number past 26 thus making the pile obsolete until... Now know that the first card you lay down sets the path of the caravan... so if I start with an 8 and lay a 6 upon it, I must choose a number below... but I can also use the same suit... The jack removes... The king... Queen... we...”

They say age helps yer focus. Liars. It all comes in as a blur to him. Apologies, Snake, but the interest just ain’t there. Mind’s on the mission, not the cards. He keeps polite and nods along though, mutterin’ acknowledgement along the way.

He passes the time lookin’ at more of the card’s artwork, small details which have caught his mind. The earth mare Applejack, head of the Ministry of Wartime Technology on the 3 card. Blonde mane, orange coat, green eyes, homey smile that goes along nice with her brother. The pegasus mare Fluttershy, head of the Ministry of Peace on the 5 card. Pink mane, yellow coat, blue eyes, has an expression of deep sorrow. And of course the pegasus mare Rainbow Dash. Very familiar to him. Rainbow colored mane, light blue coat, magenta eyes, has a cocky ‘give me yer best shot’ grin on her face.

And on the 9 card Celestia’s sister, Princess Luna. Her mane is stars and her coat a night sky, her face straightened into a serious warrior’s grimace which kills any life her light blue eyes would have.

All of these are two hundred year old figures that even a modern day foal could put a name to. Such infamy never quite dies out. Also helps that most posters with their faces plastered onto ‘em survived the bombs. A perfect symbol to put all the blame of the war onto, deserved or not.

“...And now I’ll place down this Ace, just enough to bump my second caravan up to 21, thus winning me the game!” Snake Eyes slaps down an Ace of spades he’d just drawn, grinning to the challenger in victory. “Which means you lose. Twenty-six years, it was? A shame it all payed off for nothing.”

Prickly bounces up and down in her chair as she lets out a woopin’ cheer. Snake’s challenger bristles as he looks down at the table in disbelief, shootin’ his eyes back up to his subjugator. “Beginner’s luck it is! Rematch!”

“Beginner, hah...” Snake Eyes exhales, sendin’ a small laugh out with it. “As amusing as it is parting a fool with his caps, I’m here for a challenge, not pay. Prickly?” He holds his hoof out to the mare then signals to the rest of the bar. “Bring me my next victim, would you kindly.”

Prickly jumps up from her chair and dashes off. The challenger shrivel’s his face, gatherin’ up his cards. He watches the stallion stomp off before lookin’ back to Snake. “First time ah heard ya ask politely for anything. Prickly finally winnin’ ya over?”

“Ain’t givin’ her an evil eye every time she moves too,” Pokey sighs from behind. “Ah think its safe to guess the venom’s passed through his system.”

Snake frowns at them, shrugging. “What can I say? While the opponent was simple, he put up more of a fight than I expected. Prickly selected well. She’s doing good service. I reward good service.” Snake turns his eyes onto him. “Take it as a small precursor should you complete my escort to New Pegasus, if it quells any of your absurd paranoia.”

It doesn’t. Still nice to see the slicker aint a one track minded hate machine.

Snake gathers up his own cards into his hooves as he peers to him. “I’m going to assume you glazed over the majority of my tutorial, yes?”

He knows. “How’d ya guess?”

“Well for one, you just told me. An old trick the old dog needs to learn. Don’t fall for it. Second, you’ve been staring at the cards like some brain-dead ghoul since a mere minute into the game.” From the set in his hoof Snake pulls a single card. He passes it along, offerin’ it with an outstretched hoof. “Here. You seemed to be ogling at the pre-war mares and their oversized oaf. I’m certain you’ll find the stallion on this card much more... ‘suitable’ to your interests. Especially taking into consideration the nearly feral mindset you’ve taken up in dedication to your mission.”

Curious, he accepts the card, takin’ it into his own hooves.

It’s the Ace of Spades which had given Snake Eyes his winnin’ move. Unlike the other ten cards he’d made out durin’ the game’s chaos, the pony inked in here sparks no familiarity. A stallion. His form is in complete opposition to Big Macintosh, with a thin, gaunt frame which rises into dough-like, almost pudgy cheeks and forehead. The stallion’s sunken brown eyes and rigid squared muzzle actively fight against the former features, making his face a battleground between the overly taut and the overly loose. Doesn’t matter the victor. Whichever side eventually wins, this poor fella loses.

The entire thing’s wrapped up in a coat of yellow and a combed-back mane of violet. By all means two colors that should work out together just fine, yet in the end slide and grate against one another in an awkward dance. Maybe the yellow’s too bright, the violet too dull. In the end they never quite end up comin’ together.

Overall a pretty sore sight. Not through any lack of effort or laziness either. Just an unlucky draw at the moment of birth. His posture and expression are most tellin’ of all. The downturned mouth, the drooped shoulders the loose, flimsy brows... the stallion knows, yet struggles to hide it all behind a puffed up chest and a distant, sovereign glare. Neither work. All too transparent, even for an old socially challenged stallion like himself.

Then he looks down to the name.

Royal Spade

“Such an unsightly thing isn’t he?” Snake muses from behind the card. “Dead brown eyes, colors that clearly don’t match, and a face that seems to have weathered both a mallet and a swarm of raging bees. Even has a bit of a belly to rob him of the sleekness such a toothpick build would grant.”

He flips the card in his hooves. On the back is a painting of a large stone and metal building lined from top to bottom in scathing neon orange lights. At its front a large sign ‘TARTARUS PARADISE’ burns in frozen, unmoving flames.

He flips the card back around. “This is Mr. Spade?”

“Is it?” Snake shrugs. “I can’t tell you for certain, but it does give credence to isolating himself within that tower of his, looking like that. If it is him, I’ve just given you a valuable piece of knowledge. Complement his looks and there’s a likely chance he’ll bestow you with the keys to the city!”

Serious or not, it’s somethin’ to tuck into the meager mind bank he’s built up for New Pegasus. He passes the card back over to Snake Eyes, noddin’ in thanks. “Not quite sure what to make of it, but it’s somethin’.”

Snake finishes shufflin’ the cards back into his deck Prickly returns, a younger brown-coat white-maned stallion accompanying her. She waves both hooves in front of him in an exaggerated introduction. “Another duelist for ya slicker! This here’s Wagon Wheel! Ya’ll greet each other!”

Snake scans the newcomer just as he’d done the stallion before. He turns his muzzle up into a mockin’ smile. “Hi.”

“Uh... howdy!” Wagon Wheel shuffles his hooves for a nervous moment before doublin’ back with a burst of energy. “Heard ya was up for a game of caravan? Have to warn ya, ah was a champion of our annual competition a few years back, barely losin’ out these past couple. Bet yer caps careful!”

“Cocky. I like it.” Snake motions to the other chair. “Take a seat.”

Snake doesn’t ask for caps this time, instead choosin’ to ante with the same ten he’d just won from the challenger before. Wagon Wheel puts up an equal amount and the caravan starts up once again.

He takes another swig of his drink in his newfound search to kill time. Not bad whiskey at all. A bit light and sweet and lacks the richness of age, but not bad. The radio is still playin’ overhead, havin’ shifted from its instrumentals into a slow, mournful tune carried along by the baritone voice of a stallion.

♪...What if you go, what if you stay, I love yooooooou

But if you're cruel, you can be kind, I knoooooooow

There was never a mare like my Windshiiiiiiiine

Like the one they call Windshine Steel Haaaaaaaaaaarp...♪

Relaxing. Pleasant. But he ain’t lookin’ to fall asleep here. Prickly’s all caught up in the game along with Snake Eyes, sharin’ a word with him on the state of the game or throwin’ in an occasional humorous quip. Two other ponies have joined her, a mare and a stallion. They watch the game with interest, lookin’ over Snake’s attire and attitude with wide eyes, gaspin’ at every other play he makes.

Pokey’s sittin’ back as always. She observes the game as an adult might watch two foals rough house, with her brow cocked and a small smirk bitin’ at her muzzle.

He catches her attention with a small jerk of his head, noddin’ over to the current game. “Ya play?”

She moves the same expression over to him without changin’ a muscle. “‘Course ah do. One of the first things ah learned about New Pegasus, before ah ever even got the cravin’ to head on over there, was that ya don’t go anywhere near it if ya don’t know caravan. Ah’m not an expert by any means, but ah suppose ah can hold mah own in any given bar or saloon.”

“About you and New Pegasus....” he begins, cockin’ her brow even further. “Back on the trail, ya caught me and told me Shady offered to give ya the same help she did Snake and I if ya asked. If that’s true, and ya’ve always wanted to travel to New Pegasus, why haven’t ya taken up the offer?”

The question throws Pokey off. She falters a moment, then smirks again, draggin’ her gaze so that she’s starin’ right down the table’s length. Right at Prickly, he realizes.

“Ya’ve heard our problems. Water shortage, town growin’ pains, and most recently bandits.” Her smile grows softer as Prickly cheers out at one of Snake’s moves. Her voice drops a tone. “Ah’m not leavin’ her ‘til it’s all passed. Ah’ve even had offers durin’ mah caravan trips to Winoan from the Brigade ghouls there. But ah’m not leavin’ Prickly. Not to say she can’t handle herself, but she’s a lighthearted mare and mah lil sis. Ain’t mah place to put any more on her mind when there’s already all this other hell to worry about.”

“Noble of ya,” he commends.

But Pokey only shakes her head, sinkin’ back into her chair. “Nothin’ noble about it. Neither kind or thoughtful either. When it comes to family and the ones ya love, it just is.”

The radio’s solemn song fades just as she finishes. In its place surges a blarin’ jazz, complete with heavy sax and trumpet. It’s a fast tempo and a head bobber, with a screechin’ mare’s voice to carry the lyrics.

Snake’s expression lights up like a stage show as his ears catch the tune. “Ha! Such a happy coincidence that this song should come on just as I’ve finished setting up this gambit.” He slaps down another card and throws a hoof towards a sweatin’, nervous Wagon Wheel. “Hit it!”

♪Wellllllllllllll it’s a bright hot dark-and-steamy Pal-o-mino niiiight!

I’m out slinkin’ - sneakin’ - seekin’ for a stallion that’ll do me riiiight!♪

Wagon Wheel hesitates, then lays down his card. Snake tosses out his own quick after, most of his attention now spent swayin’ and bobbin’ to the radio’s music.

♪Strut into my favorite casino and what do-I-seeeeee?

Not one but two shockin’-rockin’-hunkies just-a gawkin’ at meeee!♪

Wagon Wheel lays down another, a bit of excitement actually climbin’ into his expression. Snake drops his own without missin’ a beat.

♪Now when I trot from the game floor it ain’t no disguiiiiiiise!

My hooves are wrapped - lapped - snapped to a hot-and-steamy double supriiiiiiiiiise!♪

Wagon’s on the edge of his seat as he goes again.

Only to recoil and collapse back when Snake plays his final move.

♪Got a stallion on my left!

A stallion on my riiiiight!

Trust me now babies I ain’t tellin’ you no lies!

Luck’s been a lady

I’ve rolled snake eeeeeeeeeeeeyes!♪

“The king doubles my 6. You lose.” Snake Eyes sweeps the twenty caps to his side of the table with his foreleg, shooin’ off Wagon with the other. “Run along now back to your friends. I’m sure you’re more acquainted to their levels of... ‘skill’, I suppose I can call it. Prickly? Another!”

♪Luck’s been a lady

I’ve rolled snake eeeeeeeeeeeeyes!♪

Snake Eyes kicks back in his seat, throwin’ the radio a nostalgic sigh. “Aaah. This song. Like a good lover: it never seems to age a day.”

“Wouldn’t think a pony would enjoy a song that shares their name,” he grunts. “Must have givin’ ya a fair share of hell growin’ up.”

Snake drops his eyes from the radio, lookin’ to him with a distant stare. “You... could say it did perhaps. But you do eventually grow into a group of friends who learn to avoid such barbaric low-brow humor, yes? Either that or no, the song has never lost my love.”

“And mine neither,” Pokey speaks up from his side, raisin’ her mug. “Always been a favorite ah admit. Would get up and dance to it right now if ah wasn’t already feelin’ a bit tipsy.”

“A toast then!” Snake lifts up his own mug for the first time, holdin’ it up into the air. “To Snake Eyes! The song, and of course, me!”

Pokey smirks at the nihilism but drinks anyway. Snake Eyes takes a healthy sip from his cup, smackin’ his lips and frownin’ as he lowers it from his muzzle. “Whiskey. Not my taste, but I’ve drank my fair share of two cap bathtub gin. I can appreciate what this isn’t, at the very least.”

“Better than the rations?” He asks.

Snake shrivels up his muzzle and scowls. “The gin can at least be credited to experimentation. There was effort there. Your rations are more equitable to canning a scoop from the local waste dump and slapping a ‘food’ label on its front.”

♪No if buts or maybe’s

Babyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

I’ve rolled!

ROLLED!

Snake!

SNAKE!

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeyesssssssssss!♪

It ends with a last burst from its instruments before cuttin’ off. Snake sets his whiskey down and motions for his attention, pointin’ up to the radio. “Oh. If you liked the card picture, you’ll love this. Listen.”

He tips his ear to the radio. White noise. Then, without any need for a cue or introduction, a mare’s voice graces the air, her words flowin’ out as if she were singin’ ‘em. Full, dense.

“Another beautiful Palomino night, isn’t it loves?” She hums as if cradled in the mists of a warm sauna. “I fear our news is a tad on the short side this evening, however.”

He’s heard this voice before. Down in the stable. Ms. New Pegasus.

“First, as always, our weekly big winner: Cut Rug! This stallion, in between his dances and music, has been leaving behind a bottle-paved road of caps through his visits of multiple casinos, most notably Tartarus Paradise, the Fleur-De-Lux, and, unsurprisingly, Swinger’s Shack. Both I and Mr. Spade award him with our commendations and support, and hope he continues to enjoy the luxuries of New Pegasus.”

“Next, some good news for our listeners seeking entertainment of the more humorous kind, a pre-war ghoul comedian, Smack Talk, has recently crossed into the city after a long travel from the far east. Our reporters were able to catch him on the streets for a quick word and his first impressions of his new life in New Pegasus.”

“Wowee!” A snide, gravely, yet chirpy stallion’s voice butts in. “That’s the first thing I said trotting in from Dusk Row. The way New Pegasus lights up the sky like that? Thought the Steel Dawn and N.E.R. had gotten their hooves on another batch of Balefire Bombs there for a moment heyoooooo!”

Ms. New Pegasus returns with a dainty chuckle. “Make sure to visit our new guest during his standup comedy show residing in The Heights, every week night starting at eight on the dot.”

“On the subject of visitors from out east, word of a large party of bandits moving into the Palomino has recently reached our ears. Should you be venturing past The Glow, make certain to keep your big irons close and your friends closer.”

“And, truly, that’s all our news for the night.” A solemn, wistful sigh drifts from the radio. “They’ve always said that no news is good news, yet is it not the bond which brings us together?” There’s a pause, and her voice drops into soft whisper. “I wouldn’t trade it for the world. With love to you, Ms. New Pegasus.”

A steady tempo, light swinger’s song starts after she finishes.

It’s her. The exact same voice from the stable. Not a tone nor accent was out of place. But if this is the exact same mare recorded for the hologram down in one-sixty three, how can she still be alive to cast the news? The stables are pre-war, built over two hundred years ago. She’d be sixed, worm food, and dustin’ for centuries now, be it balefire bombs or simple age.

Maybe that hologram was only sent in by signal some years back? Maybe Spade had kept her alive along with him? Would she still have such a voice after all those years? Does Spade’s technology stop aging?

“Ah, my third opponent.” Snake Eyes hisses from his side, an evil smile on his muzzle. “Sit down. Let’s play.”

Too many questions, much less questions he should be dwellin’ on. Only here for the mission, the delivery. Anything else is an obstacle.

“Twenty caps!?”

The mare that Prickly’s brought in is a chufty one who has to roll her belly up as to not fall right out of the chair. Her coat is a rich pink and her mane a bread-dough white, the former beginnin’ to grow a shade redder as she gawks down at Snake’s pile of caps.

Snake stares back with a sneer, scoffin’ and rollin’ his eyes. “Yes. Twenty caps. I’m accustomed to playing with more... ‘confident’ opponents you might say, but if you want to drop down to a lower number I suppose I might—”

“Hell no! Ah’ll do it!” The mare fires back, puffin’ her already marshmallow chest up and throwin’ down her own twenty. The crowd around Snake has grown to an impressive mass, all of who cheer as the two players begin to draw their cards. Snake’s smile creeps back to his face.

He sits at a distance as he watches, tryin’ to keep clear of the large followin’ the games have seem to pulled in. Snake acts his complete opposite, stealin’ everypony’s attention with large motions of his hooves and slick words, pointin’ out impressive moves and engagin’ in small one on one chit chats with random nearby strangers. The audience loves him. They glue their eyes to him, laugh in earnest at his jokes, and follow his every move with bated breath. Not a single pony leaves after their curiosity has reeled ‘em in.

“She’s playing a 4, 6, 8, 10 deck,” Snake sighs to his audience as if witnessing the mistakes of a foal. “Very prevalent amongst New Pegasus newcomers. Very easy to dismantle. Everypony observe, please, I really don’t find the idea of playing against any more of these appealing.”

Complete opposite to the seethin’, near silent stallion he had been on the road here.

“You. Yes, you. Nice attire. Could fit into a New Pegasus crowd with ease. Well done. Oh, by the way everypony, game ends in three turns.”

Hm. Can’t decide yet which one he prefers more.

"Anypony care to count down for me? Yes? No? Three?”

The crowd hesitates. After a shaky start, they join in. “Three!”

Snake places a card upon one of the mare’s piles, much to her surprise. She growls and shuffles the spoiled pile back into her deck, placin’ a 10 of diamonds where it had once been.

“Two!” Everypony’s synchronized now. Perfect harmony, cheerin’ for this snap talkin’ stranger they’d only met a half hour before.

For Snake, a 9 upon a 7 he’s placed. The mare, a 6 upon her 10. She plays with confidence, as if finishin’ the final lap of a race.

“One!”

“Well done everypony!” Snake shouts, the conductor of his own personal choir. “And now, I win!”

Snake raises up his card in dramatic fashion before slammin’ it down. A 10 upon his 9. 7, 9, 10. 26. “And that, if any of you can count past three, is twenty six! Victory!” Snake laughs softly, wavin’ his hoof at the slumped mare across the table. “One more turn for you, was it not? Yet you’re upset? You should be happy I at least spared you some semblance of hope, yes?”

The crowd bursts into whoops and cheers. The mare doesn’t respond, gatherin’ up her cards and heftin’ herself from the table. As she stomps off, Snake laughs again, leanin’ in towards him and hissin’, “I wonder if I can convince the next pony to part with forty caps. Though maybe I’m thinking too low? They snap like twigs under a few choice words after all, ha!”

Before he can grunt out a response a high pitched, youthful voice soars from the crowd. “Look at this one Dosey Do. Tall, lean, handsome, and dressed up like a king.”

“Got the smarts to back it up too,” another, lighter voice giggles. “Can’t say he’s perfect yet though. Haven’t seen him in bed!”

Both him and Snake turn in their seats. The voices comes from a couple of mares who have shoved themselves to the front of the crowd. Young ones, one highlighted in a dress of blue, the other in a dress of yellow. Both are prettied in excessive makeup and pampered manes.

Snake glances over the shoulder at him, bouncin’ his brows and grinnin’ before twistin’ back to the mares. He looks between them both before widenin’ his smile. “Now what have we reeled in here? A couple of mares enjoying their night out at the saloon, might I guess?”

“Placed the cherry on the cake,” the mare in yellow giggles again.

“That he did,” the mare in blue agrees, leanin’ in closer to Snake. “Only thing we need now is somepony else to share it with.”

Snake takes a sip of his whiskey, cockin’ one of his brows as he lowers the mug back down. “Problem solved, yes? Or are you not skilled enough to satisfy one another?”

The mare in blue recoils a slight, offense clear in her eyes. But she recovers, wrappin’ a hoof around her friend. Clearly done this a good many times before. “Sure are. Problem is, only so much ya can do with two ponies.”

Snake suddenly twists for his mug, hidin’ a laugh under the murk of whiskey. Can see his eyes at this angle. ‘I beg to differ’, they say. Still, Snake finishes a gulp before returnin’ to the mares, his demeanor havin’ undergone a complete reset. “You make a good point,” he lies. “So onto the topic at hoof then. You’re a couple of young mares searching for a third. I’m a New Pegasus stallion searching for a bit of... ‘business’.”

“Heard ya’ll were good at that over there in the city,” The mare in blue purrs, fallin’ back into her usual seductive voice. “Business and the like.”

“Oh, we are,” Snake drags over his stack of caps, wavin’ a hoof to ‘em. “But truly, would I need to have any business sense for something so translucent? Plenty of caps to waste, two mares, a cheap hotel room... all adds up so perfectly.”

The mare in yellow squeals at Snake’s voice and hugs herself closer to her friend. “Sounds like we’ve got ourselves a customer don’t it Bluebonnet?”

“That it does. Question is: when’s he wanna start?”

Snake gives both of ‘em a devilish smile. “Right now.”

He’s suddenly in the limelight after Snake pushes back from the table. There’s a long, awkward moment where he and the two mares stare at one another before Snake finally intervenes, wavin’ his hoof to him in presentation. “Mares, meet your client.”

What the? Ah shit.

“An old ranger from out east, his love and sex life crashed and burned so long ago his last lay was no doubt pre-war. That changes tonight with you, however. I give you thirty five caps, you buy out a hotel room for three, show him a good time, keep the rest for yourself. Do we have a deal?”

Silence. The two mares, so attentive to Snake Eyes seconds before, now lock onto him, their eyes wide as saucers.

Get up. Get up right now and trot straight for the door. Can even fly the moment he steps out. Land at the hotel, buy a room, leave Snake Eyes to fend for himself the rest of the night as a lesson. Can say the goodbyes to Pokey and Prickly and Shady tomorrow mornin’. Perfect.

But he’s pinned. Stuck in limbo, his eyes hoverin’ somewhere between the mares and his mug. His body seems more interested in sinkin’ into the floor than it does steppin’ from the chair.

Even worse, the crowd seems to have joined in with it all, listenin’ in with eager ears and eyes.

Thank the goddesses it’s the mares that act first. Particularly the one in blue, who drops her look of disgust and turned up lip as she whirls back to Snake. When she speaks, its with a slight stutter and a beggin’ gleam in her eye. “A-Ah think there’s been a bit of a misunderstandin’.”

Snake raises a brow. “Oh?”

The mare in yellow still stares at him. Not in the eyes though. Stares at the wrinkles and mangled combat armor and gray hairs. ‘Old’, she’s tellin’ herself. Don’t blame her one bit nor take any offense to it. He’s right there alongside with her in tryin’ to slip out of this mess.

The mare in blue continues on, strugglin’ to regain her seductive guise. “Ah’m certain yer friend is just fine and dandy, but Dosey Do and I were lookin’ for somethin’ a little more...”

Younger? Not decayin’? Either one’s agreeable.

“...Exotic. Of the city type, if ya begin to understand me.”

Works too.

The mare in blue tugs at her friend, who finally jumps her eyes away from him, lightenin’ up with her usual big fake smile. “Uh, yeah... exotic?”

Snake stares at ‘em with narrowed eyes. As he sits up from the position he’s been loungin’ in, he points a hoof to himself, “Some clarification, if you will, but are you implying that it’s me you want to bed?”

The mare in blue sighs with relief, now fully tucked into her temptress’ voice. “Yes. Yes that’s exactly what we want.”

“I’m not quite sure you’re up to the job, I AM a New Pegasus stallion after all. Though you may not be familiar with exactly what that means. Sex is so abundant, so pervasive, that after a few years ‘vanilla’ sex gets outright dull. We’ll need some supplies if this is to work. A ball gag, 4 sets of nipple clamps, a pair of antlers, a waffle iron and a half gallon of lube should be a nice starting point...”

The mare’s expressions slowly melt as Snake rambles.

Snake rubs his chin with his hoof, tiltin’ his head so that he’s gazin’ right at their flanks. “Yes yes, this could work! Good flanks, body is meaty but not fat, healthy legs, curved shoulders, and— oh!” Snake rises back up with an apologetic expression as he clicks his tongue. “Shame about the faces. Add a few bags to the list, would you?”

He nearly coughs up the sip of whiskey he had buried himself in. Pokey and Prickly both erupt into a simultaneous bout of chucklin’. Some of the crowd gasps, others burst out laughin’. The two mares stand there with their mouths hangin’ open, the mare in blue with her brows furrowed, her friend sniffin’ back tears.

“Well ah never!” Blue snaps in an angry tremble. “You... ya should've felt lucky any mare would have given ya the time of day! Rude! Come on Dosey Do! Leave this city rat to his cards!”

The laughter doubles over as the mares stomp from the saloon. Snake Eyes falls back to his chair in a sigh of victory, with Prickly slappin’ the table while chokin’ on tears. “Ho boy! Slicker, ah knew ya was good but ah still undersold ya! Ho ho!”

“Those two have built themselves up a bit of a reputation.” Even Pokey is chucklin’ through her words. “Glad to see you send ‘em runnin’ while still keepin’ class.”

“Could have done it with much more had my partner here played along.” Snake peers over at him. He’s still stuck, mug grasped hard and his eyes turned down. “Though I admit I was at fault. I did try to hook him up with street raff. Low of me.”

Snake pauses, then leans in closer, droppin’ his voice to a whisper. “You’re not angry with me, are you Tumble?”

He takes a long draught of his mug before settin’ it back down, shakin’ his head. “No, ah ain’t. Though ah would prefer if ya kept me out of yer games. Ain’t the age to still be playin’ like that.”

“Ooooh.” Snake tucks a hoof to his own chest and gives a pitiful look. “It hurts me to hear you say that, truly it does. Is there no room for love in a decrepit gunslinger’s aging heart? Surely somepony in the bar has caught your eyes?”

'No.' That’s what he wants to say, along with a hard stare and a flattened muzzle. But his eyes betray him. They miss Snake completely, instead settlin’ just at the nook between the city stallion’s shoulder and head. Right where the entrance to the saloon is.

It’s Shady Sands. She trots in with a tired but satisfied expression, immediately bein’ greeted by a few eager ponies. While she gladly shakes hooves with ‘em, her attention seems elsewhere, as if searchin’ the saloon for some thing or somepony.

He tries to act fast, shootin’ his eyes back to Snake’s. Too late. Snake notices the sleight and turns, lookin’ over his own shoulder. When he rotates and returns to his seat a wide, malicious grin comes back with him.

“Ya got hell in yer eyes.” He growls quickly at Snake. “But ah can have a bit of mah own. Got no interest in her. Leave us be.”

Snake Eyes merely scoffs, raisin’ both brows in an innocent gesture. “There you go accusing me again! So paranoid!” Snake sinks his hooves back down and folds ‘em, appearin’ much the same ‘business’ stallion he’d been the minute before. “A deal then, as we seem to be so accustomed to making. You leave this table and go to greet Ms. Sands. She seems fascinated by you and will no doubt still be instinctively and unintentionally trying to coax you to stay in Goldroot, so take her off somewhere and have a nice chat. The bar, a table in the corner, whatever you fancy. Do that, and I promise, I will bother neither you while amidst each other’s company for the rest of the night.”

He narrows his eyes. Too good a deal. “And suddenly yer sendin’ me off when ya’ve been hemmin’ and hawin’ for me to stick by ya all day. What’s yer motivation?”

“My ‘motivation’,” Snake sneers, “is getting you out of my way and preventing another, albeit slightly younger, aged corpse from taking up space on my table.” He motions to all the ponies that still surround him. “This show has only just begun. Since you’ve shown you clearly have little to no interest in watching nor partaking in it, I’d rather send you off someplace else. Sweep the dust from the stage, so to speak.”

Snake brushes him off with a wave of his hoof. “And I appreciate your concern, but if I were completely defenseless I would have never survived New Pegasus. Should I need your help, I’ll let you know. Now shoo. Go.”

Can sit here all night mullin’ over it, but in the end it separates him from Snake’s antics. Good enough deal for him. He rises from his chair, excuses himself to Prickly and Pokey, and leaves for the front of the saloon. As he trots away, Snake throws up both his hooves, shoutin’, “Come one, come all! Undefeated New Pegasus caravan player looking for a challenge! Ah! You? Come, sit...”

Shady’s right where he’d last seen her, speakin’ her farewells to her greeters. As soon as they leave she puts on those same searchin’ eyes she’d had whens he entered, lookin’ to the far corners of the bar, sweepin’ her eyes from wall to wall.

He stops a good three paces away and waits politely for her to finish. Her gaze passes over him and she blinks, the natural droop of her eyes liftin’ a slight in surprise as she looks back at him. A moment’s recuperation and she settles, tippin’ her head to him. “Apologies. Can tell ah ain’t the most perceptive of ponies.”

He waves it off with shake of his head. “Always the things right in front of ya that get ya.”

“Hm. Ain’t it.” She smiles, gesturin’ over to her right to where the saloon’s bar stands. “A drink? Been on mah hooves all day, come here every night for some sarsaparilla whiskey and rest.”

“Afraid ah’ve had mah fill. Won’t pass up the seat or talk though. Took the boot from mah own table to make way for gamblin’ space.”

Shady chuckles at that, startin’ up a trot. She motions for him to follow. “The bar then.”

The bar takes up the entirety of the saloon’s entrance-right corner, made up of two counters which run from the east and north wall, stoppin’ when they eventually meet. Shady leads him to two of the bar’s empty seats along the east counter and gestures for him to sit, orderin’ herself a whiskey with heavy Sunset Sarsaparilla after they’ve settled.

She gives a long take from her drink and sets it aside. Doesn’t immediately turn to him though, instead takin’ another sweepin’ search of the bar. He tries to follow her line of sight but she’s already finished, sinkin’ her gaze back to him.

“Have to ask how the saloon’s been treatin’ ya’ll” Shady says. “Most of the time it's a friendly place, but every now and then we get a bit of ruckus, be it over caps or drinks or partners.”

Easy answer. “It’s a gentlecolt’s club compared to most ah’ve been through. As ya can probably tell, the slicker’s havin’ the time of his life.”

A large cheer rings from Snake Eyes’ table, with yet another defeated pony slinkin’ away with their caravan cards tuckered away in their packs. Snake himself is gone, disappeared behind the mass, but his challengin’ voice still rings above it all as he calls out for another contender.

He grunts and turns back to Shady. “What surprises me the most is the lack of iron. Ponies with weapons seem to be in the minority.”

“Guns are a responsibility here,” she says with a certain sternness, the whitewood magnum holstered behind her duster collar flashin’. “Both mine and the citizen’s. Ah do mah best to keep distance between a pony and their weapon, but if the town thinks there’s a trouble case, ah ain’t afraid to take ‘em away either.”

“The same goes for Buckham?”

She nods. “Winoan too. Ah’ve let both settlements vote in their own sheriffs, both who are upholdin’ the same mindset as Goldroot. Ah haven’t been able to check in with either of ‘em for some time now, but Palomino Pathway’s caravans have all told me good things. They’re a tight-knit group, them settlement folk, so ah’m not too surprised the most the violence gets to is a few punches and kicks.”

He grimaces. “Tight-knit. Not too good with outsiders though.”

Shady moves faster than he’d ever thought her possible, twistin’ her head and lookin’ him dead in the eye. “They didn’t give ya any trouble now did they?”

“Young stallion fresh off the drinks tried wavin’ his iron around to scare me off,” he says in truth. “And don’t bother gettin’ upset by it. Already put him in his place, embarrassin’ him in front of his friends. Somethin’ like that is what a colt like him will remember. Will make him think twice about drawin’.”

Shady scowls, but sinks back into her seat, havin’ another swig of her whiskey. By the time she swallows she’s risen back into a sour frown. “Doesn’t change what happened. Ah need to schedule mahself a visit over there and whoop sheriff Goldshield back into shape. Buckham may be days away and a rougher home, but they’re still our brothers and sisters, still our family. Won’t tolerate anypony pullin’ iron on innocent strangers.”

Innocent. Nowhere near it. Nothin’ he can do now though to stop the rain of hell on the poor sheriff back in Buckham. That leaves him with nothin’ to say, awkwardly scrapin’ his hoof along the bar counter as he sifts his mind for a new topic. Maybe ask her about the Rhinos she had chat with. Might be a bit too intrusive though...

But Shady’s starin’ again. Lookin’ past him, blazin’ two holes into the back corner of the bar. He follows her eyes, this time quick and matchin’ her in near perfect unison. It lands his gaze on a small table backed up against the wall. Three ponies occupy its three seats, two stallions and one mare, all of ‘em with a dark, hooded shade in their eyes.

All armed as well. Standard semi-automatic Service Rifles it looks. Durable, easy to use, ammo is plentiful. Exact same that the NER mass produces for the troops, he might even say. Also favored among mercs, militia, raiders... and bandits.

“See ‘em?” Shady whispers from behind.

“Yep. Are rifles of that build common in the area?”

“Ah’ve seen ‘em in Baux’s Brigade, but theirs ain’t nowhere near as clean lookin’.”

He sets his muzzle, double checkin’ his nehmoa. “Maybe a few of your bandits...?”

Shady crinkles her muzzle and shakes her head. “The Brigade told me the large majority of ‘em had been decked in bullet-proof armor, the rest bare. These folks have on standard Palomino vests. Might just be visitors from Neighpton spooked south by all the noise up north.”

“Could be.” He loosens his muscles but keeps his jaw tensed. “Best to just keep an eye on ‘em for now.”

Another loud roar from Snake’s table. Another pony leavin’ a bag of caps lighter. A large number of tables have been made empty by the antics, the audience now strugglin’ to peek over one another’s shoulder. Can almost swear he sees caps flyin’ up from the table as well. Goddess knows what Snake is up to.

He settles and looks back to Shady who’s just now finished off her drink. No doubt wantin’ to avoid gettin’ tipsy with strangers about, she pushes the mug away and rests her hooves upon the counter. There’s a tired, nearly dead look in her eyes as she coughs, endin’ the fit with a long sigh.

“Some trouble in the stable after we left?” he guesses.

She nods grimly. “We’re sendin’ a shipment of supplies up to Winoan in a couple of days. That includes water as well, bein’ their reservoir blew a valve. Dumped three weeks worth right into the sand... They need somethin' to drink, but we won't have enough water carts until the day after tomorrow. An extra week's supply suddenly cut from the system right after a delivery to Buckham means the crops are feedin’ off of vapors for the next day or tw—” She stops suddenly as if in realization, pullin’ her duster closer, shakin’ her head. “Apologies. Already gave ya enough hell about that business.”

“Was me who asked,” he admits. Have to at least try to lift some of the blame from her, as much as she’d deny it.

And she does, shakin’ her head again. “Doesn’t mean ah had to bring it to light. And don’t you worry about it any more. The number of ponies slippin’ in from the east is risin’ every month, a good number of ‘em pegasi. One of ‘em has to settle. One of ‘em will accept.”

She sounds so hopeful, appears so hopeless. Even he can sympathize. How is a small developin’ town like Goldroot supposed to deal with the metropolis next door? A full blown city that, for a pegasus, is probably only a day’s flight away. You can offer a good home and love, but not the shootin’-star lifestyle that everypony in the wasteland seems to be chasin’ these days. What can she do?

And a shudder runs up from his spine, the source a small pale envelope nestled at the bottom of his saddlebags. That’s the answer, ain’t it? They’ll come. Yes or no, don’t matter, they’ll come. Plenty of pegasi then. Loyal, obedient pegasi who will bring the water with no matter to pay or the big city. Like well trained dogs.

“You’ll get yer pegasus.” He’s distraught to hear his own voice betray him with a hint of sadness. He continues anyway, “If not by the time ah’m done with all this, then not long after. Plenty of us back east.”

But Shady doesn’t take it as a reassurance. Her brow furrows deeper into worry, her eyes searchin’ him as if he were a stranger all over again. “In the Republic.”

In the Republic. He sucks in a breath, slowin’ himself down from thinkin’ anything irrational. It’s Shady. She’s proven herself a calm, peaceful mare. Still, the last time that word came up, he had to pull iron. Natural to feel a bit cautious. “Ya’ve heard of the Republic?”

She nods only a slight. “Heard of a ‘New Canterlot Republic’ way back when. Suppose that faded off and the name ah’ve been hearin’ now for the past six or seven years is ‘New Equestrian Republic’, if the radio and passerby ponies are to be believed. Haven’t had much time for details on account of bein’ busy runnin’ the town, but from what ah understand they’re a big power out to the north and east bent on recreatin’ the old world.”

“Ya’ve caught the basics,” he admits. “The change of names was only a formality. Still the same beliefs, motives, and leaders.”

“Figured as much.” She purses her muzzle in a small pause, searchin’ him again. “And you... if ah might be curious for a moment, you’re here in their name?”

Has to remind himself, again, that she’s a calm mare. He answers with his own calm, “Ah am.”

Shady studies him for a long moment before noddin’, hidin’ her face by peerin’ back down to the counter. “Assumed it when ah first spotted ya, based on the outfit. ‘Republic Elite Rangers’ ponies passin’ through from the east call ya, clad in black armor and dark brown dusters, iron of black and gold strapped into your holsters.” She looks back up to him with respect in her eyes. “Finally gettin’ to meet one, much less havin’ a chat... suppose ah should be honored.”

No, ya shouldn’t. The image will be plastered all over your walls come a few months or more. And that’s if yer lucky.

Have to steer this conversation the other direction. Thankfully Shady drops a little, starin’ from the edge of her eye to the back corner again. “Heads up,” she whispers. “Visitors are up to somethin’.”

He focuses his peripherals on the corner. All three ponies twist in their seats at the sound of another round of hoofstomps, each with an agitated grit for expressions, each starin’ daggers in Snake’s direction. When they finally twist back around, its clear they’re talkin’, arguin’ amongst one another.

“They don’t seem to be takin’ too kindly to your friend over there.”

“Seems so.” He feels his muscles tensin’ again. “Think ah’ll be draggin’ the slicker out of here soon enough. No need to start up a conflict when it’s easy to trot out before it begins. Before ah leave for the night though, ah had a last question for ya.”

She raises her brow, lookin’ to him expectantly.

Have to choose his words carefully here. “Ah’ve heard that there was a small band of pegasi that flew into Goldroot from the west not too long ago. Heard they came in here and ya got the chance to chat with ‘em.”

The change in posture tells a small story, her hooves tuckin’ themselves closer to her chest and her duster pullin’ a bit tighter. “That ah did.”

“If ah might have a turn of bein’ curious then, what was the talk about?”

She does a half hearted shrug. “Same one we had. Ah offered ‘em up a high class home here in Goldroot, they turned me down. Answer was much the same as yers as well. ‘Only here on business’, and that’s all ah ever digged into that.”

He nods. Sounds about right. Whatever ‘business’ the Steel Dawn had in the west must have been culminated into that package. No doubt it’s already back in Steel Dawn hooves by now if their courier finished the rest of the trip safely. He curses silently to himself. Shouldn’t have let ‘em slip away like that.

“Bein’ honest, there were... other things.”

More. He tips his ear to her. “If yer willin’ to talk, ah’m willin’ to listen.”

“That’s the root of it. Not sure if ah am.” She grimaces but continues with reluctance. “They said they were a part of the Steel Dawn. Carried enough firepower to make our friends over there look like pacifists, yet were still as friendly as ah could hope a stranger to be. Even when ah put up mah offer they laid me down gently.” She stops, shakin’ her head and the counter. “Then they started talkin’ more on the grim side.”

“About what?”

“About you.” Her voice gets weaker with every word. “The Republic, more specifically.”

The same thing that happened back in Buckham. Bein’ honest himself, it doesn’t bother him much. Two opposin’ factions spreadin’ slander of each other dates back to sticks and stones. Still, humor him anyways, "What’d they say?”

Shady looks withdrawn now. Afraid, even, if only for a moment. “Some things ah’d rather not believe, comin’ off how kindly the past couple of days has made ya. Of course, though the name ‘Steel Dawn’ only started showin’ up a a few years or more back, it ain’t no secret them and yer Republic are in the middle of a war somewhere off east.”

“So the propaganda comes with its followers.” He finishes for her.

“Yep. Exactly. Good chance much of it weren’t true, just some made up slander.” She loosens up at her own comfortin’ words. Still has a bit of a frown on her face as she finally looks to him again. “Though ah don’t fancy the word ‘propaganda’. Makes it seem us over here in the west have anything to do with the war out east. No disrespectin’ you or yer folk, but ah believe it’s for the best that us in the Palomino distance ourselves far as we can from both the Republic and Dawn. Keeps us neutral.”

Neutral. His head nods on its own. “Smart of ya.”

She's satisfied with the agreement, sinkin’ back into her chair.

He’s left dumbfounded. 'Smart of ya.'. Maybe on paper. Maybe from the mind of a small foal who covers their eyes with their hooves, believin’ themselves safe in their own little world. Shady Sands, Prickly, Pokey, the citizens of Goldroot, Buckham... all of ‘em under the same mindset, goin’ about their daily lives with the Republic and Steel Dawn nothin’ more than a story out to the far east.

Not much different from the citizens of the Enclave fifteen years ago. Death, war, but not here. Only far below, amongst the savages.

And the same for Vanhoover seven years ago. A small seaside city, quietly tucked away from the chaos of expansion. Just tell ‘em no. They’ll leave.

And the same for Baltimare. The sunrise city towerin’ over the ocean, an entire—

“They’re movin’.”

With a small pop and a blink he’s back to reality, turnin’ his attention to where Shady stares. The crowd is in the sounds and motions of another eruption. Another pony defeated. Nothin’ new there. The three ponies from the corner, on the other hoof, have risen from their table and are now makin’ a straight stompin’ beeline towards Snake Eyes.

Ah shit. Should have left when he had the chance.

“Is there ANYPONY in this shack who actually plays caravan?” He can hear Snake mock over the audience’s rumble. “Anypony?”

“I’ll play as long as you shut the fuck up after I’ve left you capless.”

The crowd reacts instantly, nervously backin’ away from the table to leave Snake, Prickly, and Pokey exposed. Across the table are the three ponies, their rifles strapped to their backs and an agitated scowl takin’ up their faces. At their head is the instigator of the whole ordeal, a black coat stallion with a bright orange mane which rides in single line down his neck. A hoofheld flip up lighter on his flank serves as his mark. He stares down at Snake with a certain kind of hell lightin’ up his eyes.

Were Snake smart, he’d say he’s done for the night and trot out feelin’ happy with himself. And givin’ it to him, Snake is smart. Can see even from here at the bar that the slicker knows the easy way out of this situation.

But Snake is also a cocky bastard. So it ain’t no surprise when he sees the city stallion throw both his hooves up into the air and gesture to the seat across the table. “A deal I gladly accept. You win, you take the earnings and I leave.”

“And if you win?” the black stallion asks in the same husky voice he’d shouted with.

Snake grins. “Only the simplest of things: your caps. Perhaps your pride will come along with it, being you’re so brazen in offering it for everypony to see.” He points to the chair again. “Now sit. And you two, behind him, pull up some chairs as well. There’s plenty of room now.”

The three ponies begin to begrudgingly take their seats. Not a second after they start to move does Snake twist his head, lockin’ both eyes on him from across the room. No cockiness. No mystery. Just a short, clean, simple message conveyed through pure expression.

Get the hell over here and do your job!

He swivels in his stool, sighin’ as he steps down to the floor. Before he trots off he looks over his shoulder, back at Shady. “Apologies if this ends up in a bit of a ruckus.”

Shady simply tips her head to him. “Don’t. Good chance ah’ll be right there with ya in the middle of it.”

Honest, it leaves him feelin’ a hair better as he makes his way to the table. Haven’t really had much of anypony watchin’ his back ever since Phantom Strike and Halfwing were laid to rest.

Sadly Shady seems to be where his luck ends. The scene at the table is grizzly, with three armed ponies on one side, an unnarmed Prickly, Pokey, and Snake on the other. The audience around it all is carryin’ nothin’ more than a few holstered pistols and magnums. Can’t count on ‘em to help if things go south either.

“Ah, yes!” Snake Eyes acts surprised when he approaches, pointin’ him out to the other ponies. “A good friend of mine, this ranger! He’s come to spectate while we play. Horrible at caravan, but as they say, you learn by being in the company of greatness.”

All three stare from across the table while he pulls himself up a chair. But their eyes, he discovers as he comes to a rest, aren’t meetin’ his own. They’re down on his chest. Locked to his black armor. Locked to his duster.

They know he’s an elite ranger. Wouldn’t say too much, if it weren’t for the fear that rides along with their stares. Combined with the accent and the reaction, there’s a good change these three are from out east. Maybe even bandits.

He tightens his jaw.

Maybe it’s the alcohol he can smell in their breath. Maybe it’s because he has his nehmoa tucked out of sight behind his duster collar. Maybe they’ve just wrote him off for a dodderin’ old stallion with the way he struggles to ease down into his chair. Whichever one it is they lose interest, the lead stallion givin’ him a hard glare and a snort before duckin’ back down into his own deck of cards.

“So!” Snake Eyes pushes a stack of caps forward. “I put up twenty caps, a good portion of my earnings so far. Fair, yes? The higher the stakes, the greater the entertainment, and I do love to put on a show.”

The stallion across the table grunts, pullin’ out a small pouch from the pocket in his vest. When he tips it down to the table, a good six or seven caps fall from its mouth, all accompanied by an assortment of dust, lint, and trinkets.

The stallion glances to his left and right. Both his partners dig around a bit in their own pockets before comin’ up shruggin’, empty hooved. The stallion looks back to Snake with furrowed brows. “Ah’ve got six.”

“Ha!” Snake Eyes looks from the stallion to him, his face contorted in amusement. “Appears you won’t be learning anything after all, dear ranger. Upsetting. I should have known better than to call you over for a rabble of streetlife.”

The table rattles with the slammin’ of the lead stallion’s hoof. When he lifts his foreleg back up, a stick of bright orange dynamite lie out beside his pile of caps. “Here! Dyanmite’s worth more than twenty caps so no reason to pussy out.”

Prickly guffaws from his side. “What? No it ain’t! Hell, give me a good hour and ah’ll have a whole batch of ‘em to sell ya for fif—”

“We weren’t asking you, bitch!” the stallion spits.

“Hey!” Prickly’s ears droop. “That ain’t nice...”

On his other side Pokey rises up straight in her chair for the first time he’s witnessed. She gives her sister a glance of concern before turnin’ on the three ponies across the table. “Snake, let’s give this brute an ass whoopin’! In caravan.”

Snake sighs with a smile, dealin’ himself out the typical hoof of eight cards. “Well, I guess that means I don’t have a choice any longer, does it? Let’s play.” He nods to his challenger. “Me first or you?”

“Me.” The stallion slaps down a card, and the game begins.

He checks back up on Prickly. She wears a sad frown that comes off as near alien to him, her darkened eyes and wilted ears the complete opposite of the bumblin’ joyful caravan mare he’d traveled with the days before.

“Doin’ alright over there?” He murmurs.

Her eyes and ears lift at the sound of his voice, as if bein’ woke from a trance. She nods while in a bit of a daze. “Yep. Fine. Ain’t nothin’ but words. Just was a bit... unexpected ah guess.” She’s stunned, but is slowly sinkin’ down with a grim resolve. A soft heart but a strong will.

Like a flock of pigeons regroupin’ after bein' scattered, the bar crowd eases back into spectatin’ the table, with not much more than a stray mutter or cough soundin’ up from ‘em. Even the radio, a source of nonstop music and talk ever since he entered, has been turned down so that its sound is little more than white noise. Only thing left now are the soft pitters and patters of slapped down caravan cards.

Not quite certain how the game itself works, but he’d guess they’re hittin’ the midway point judgin’ by the number of cards in play. Across the table the lead stallion shows all the signs of an aggravation and nervousness, playing every move with a deepening scowl and obvious hesitation.

One of the stallion’s buddies, the mare, leans in and inspects his hand, whisperin’ into his ear. His other buddy joins in soon after.

“Since when did caravan rules allow for two helpers?” Pokey growls at the other three ponies.

“Since now I presume, as our competition is so eager to display.” Snake Eyes beckons Pokey in closer. “Care to help even the playing field? Prickly, you too. Switch chairs with this useless old bag so you can speak to me without them hearing. He can spectate just as well from your point.”

Prickly perks up, lookin’ over to him with renewed, expectant eyes.

Hm. Just when he’d gotten settled too. Ah well. He huffs and puffs, risin’ from his chair. Good side of it all is that now, easin’ down into Prickly’s old seat, he’s taken straight out of the center of attention. Gives him a bit of extra time to work with in case hell rises.

And it’s sure headin’ that way. Snake’s little move seems to have stirred up the other three even further. They glower at ‘em from behind their cards, gratin’ their teeth, mumblin’ curses. The speed at which they point and argue picks up in beat.

Meanwhile Pokey and Prickly group up around Snake, whisperin’ to one another. Nowhere near the growin’ desperation of the other team, but there’s still an aggressive fume behind their breath and Pokey still looks like a coyote ready to leap across the table to rip a few necks.

“Bullshit!” The stallion roars as Snake drops a queen on one of the opposin’ caravan piles. “How the fuck do you know I don’t have a 10 of diamonds to fuck this over?”

Snake rolls his eyes. “Because you wouldn’t be bawling like an enraged foal if you did. Also the fact that you’re one of the most expressive caravan players I’ve ever had the pleasure of being matched against. Trust me, by now, I’ve read your book, critiqued it, and have written my own thesis detailing what a complete idiot you are.” He lifts his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “You can forfeit now and save us the next four turns, if you’re feeling charitable.”

The stallion and his partners growl as they duck back down into their cards. Pokey’s sinkin’ back into her seat a bit and even Prickly lets out a small giggle.

The game slows down as the stallion spends long pauses dancin’ his hoof along his cards, arguin’ with his companions. When Snake’s turn finally comes, he gets a quick single nod from both sisters and slaps down a card.

Another pause from the stallion. But this time a fire lights up behind his eyes. He scans over the cards in his hoof one last time before puttin’ one down, a sharp smile poppin’ up on his muzzle. Must have found a path to victory. Snake doesn’t seem too worried. Neither Prickly nor Pokey. They lay down another in much the same fashion as the one before.

The stallion drops another right after, proppin’ himself up onto the edge of his seat. Clearly on the warpath.

Snake lays down another. The sisters don’t even put the effort in passin' it off.

“Ha! I win!” The stallion shouts, throwin’ down a 7 on to one of his piles before layin’ his cards down and crossin’ his hooves.

Snake lowers his hoof of cards, unamused. “Do you know how to count? Or how this game even works? You need to outbid me on two caravans. We’re still tied on one.”

The stallion’s face drops. Unfoldin’ his hooves, he bends forward to look down at the playin’ field, his friends followin’ cautiously along with him.

“Shit...”

“Yes, ‘shit’.” Snake puts up an assurin’ hoof. “But don’t worry. After my turn, you’ve sealed yourself a guaranteed victory.”

“Unless I do this.”

Snake throws down a king onto one of his piles. He spreads his hooves open in a sittin’ bow. “Coup De Grace. Your turn never comes, for I just won.”

The audience bursts into cheers and hoofstomps behind him. A lot of ‘This slicker’s on fire!’, several ‘has he lost a game at all? Anypony know?’, and a few brave ‘Them roughnecks just got their flanks handed to ‘em!’ drift around the saloon. He’s even able to catch sight of Shady through the crowd, watchin’ ‘em from the bar with a warm smile.

“Rematch.”

Prickly and Pokey share a high-hoof over the top of Snake’s fedora.

“Rematch!”

Snake basks in his victory with his hooves tucked behind his head, grinnin’ triumphantly while lost in the crowd’s glamor.

“REMAAAAAATCH!!!”

Almost mistake the roar itself for rattlin’ the whole damn table. But nope. Just the black and orange stallion still glued to his chair, huffin’ and puffin’ with his whole foreleg slammed down like a hammer. The crowd is shocked into silence once again

Snake Eyes ain’t fazed a bit, leanin’ back in his chair even further. “A rematch? Now why would I want that? I now possess everything ranging from your caps to your dynamite and dignity.” Snake’s smug grin grows with every word. “The wealthy dawdle not with the poor. Thus, our business is done here.” He starts to rise from his seat.

The anger comin’ off the stallion is almost palpable, he swears he can see a coat of rage draped around him, little wavy lines risin’ up like a desert mirage. ”Sit down.”

“Did you not hear what I just told you? I have no interest in re-treading a road so quickly, especially considering the last journey was lackluster at best. Besides, you’re broke. Go home.” Snake Eyes turns to him, motionin’ to rise as well. “Up, ranger. Escort me back to the—”

“I wasn’t asking!” A powerful hoof reaches across the table and pushes Snake Eyes back down into his chair. The stallion is up on his own two hooves now, swipin’ up Snake’s pouch and turnin’ it upside down, dumpin’ a large mound of caps onto the table’s surface. He throws the emptied pouch down and nods to his two partners. “Everything.”

They open their vests to reveal all sorts of items strapped inside: more dynamite, ammo, food. Can even spot what looks to be a few flares stickin’ out amongst the salvage. All three vests along with their goods are tossed forward into the pile, creatin’ a mountainous offerin’ of caps and assorted goods as if in appeasement to some gamblin’ gods.

The lead stallion turns back to Snake. “All or nothin’. Ya take the deal or ya pussy out.”

“Oh! Oh!” Prickly hops up and down in her seat as she drools at the pile. “Lookie there at all that! Do it slicker! Ah’ve got yer back!”

Snake connects both his hooves up in front of his muzzle as if in deep thought. Behind ‘em his eyes jump back and forth between the pile and the three opposin’ ponies. A wicked smile grows soon after. “If we’re doing all or nothing, I want it all or nothing. That means your guns.”

All three ponies reel back, pullin’ their gun straps tighter. The lead stallion spits, “The fuck are you thinking? There’s ‘all-in’ and then there’s fucking highway robbery. You don’t got near enough caps for that kind of shit. If you want the guns, you’d better offer up a damn good reason for us to put them down.”

For once Snake appears to be at a loss. He goes over his own suit for a good while before dancin’ his eyes along the bar, like a scavenger sniffin’ out potential goods. When Snake’s circled the room he returns to himself, glancin’ from Prickly to Pokey, stoppin’ at him.

The slicker’s muzzle curls back up into his signature wicked smile.

He stares back hard. Nope. Ain’t givin’ nothin’ over to this devil’s gambit. If ya want anything Snake, ya can take Lucky and offer it up. Anything else on him ain’t gonna happen.

But Snake isn’t focused on him, can realize now. He’s starin’ to Prickly. After a good few seconds of sizin’ her up Snake shifts his head to the other side, to Pokey. He turns back and looks across the table, grinnin’ at the lead stallion. “Tell me, what value do you and your friends place upon a little... ‘Rest and Relaxation’?”

As he asks, Snake lifts and spreads both his forehooves, placin’ ‘em against the back of both sister’s necks. He squeezes ‘em both a little in emphasis, raisin’ a brow in question.

Goddess damnit Snake. Pokey has about the same reaction, her usual cool demeanor tossed off along with Snake’s hoof from her back. Could light a fire with the two hot coals she casts the slicker’s direction. “The hay makes ya think we’d ever agree to that?!” she seethes. “Ya think we’re yer gamblin’ tools or somethin’? And to think ah had some bit of respect for ya!”

“Aw come on Pokes,” Prickly chirps in with a shrug and a smile. “Ah’ve always joked ya should open up a massage service the way ya do backrubs! Sparin’ a few minutes of talent for the slicker to gamble with ain’t no sin, and even if he does lose, ah can pick up a few tricks from ya! Ah mean gosh, it ain’t like he’s puttin’ us up for... he ain’t... for a...”

Prickly stutters to a stop as she notices everypony starin’. It’s the exact moment that she looks over to the three ponies, notin’ the lead lickin’ his chops, the other stallion gazin’ with hungry eyes, and the mare givin’ a curious smile. Pokey looks over at her, watching the cheer slowly drain from her face as realization finally overtakes her youthful innocence.

Her muzzle crinkles. “Eww.”

“Exactly. Come on Prickly. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Wait.” Snake pulls Prickly closer, keepin’ her rooted to her chair. “Prickly. Darling. You’ve just had a front row witness of me pulling a clean sweep of this entire town’s caravan population. Now look to these brutes. Armed. Dangerous. You’d be doing the world a great service, depriving them of their weapons.”

Prickly slowly begins to nod, much to Pokey’s apparent dismay.

“And with my spree in thought, also take into consideration that I... no... we have already defeated these three quite convincingly. Come now. What’s one more game? One more game to seal it all, to send these three scampering off weaponless, neutralized, and a hearty lesson drilled into their minds.” He tugs at Prickly, smiling. “What do you say? Shall we?”

Prickly brings her hoof up to her muzzle in thought, shiftin’ her eyes between a noddin’ Snake and a scowlin’ Pokey. Only a moment’s consideration and she slams her hoof down. “Ah’ll do it!”

Pokey sighs and shakes her head. Snake turns back to the three bandits with a smile. “Well? Does one suffice?”

All three nod without even lookin’ to one another. The lead smacks his lips. “It’ll do.”

“No, wait...” Pokey hesitates, lookin’ to Prickly with concern. She slumps back down into her chair in defeat. “Put me in.”

“Woohoo! Trust the slicker sis! Ten minutes and these three will be runnin’ off with their tails between their legs and we’ll be laughin’ it off with a good ol’ drink of whiskey!”

‘Trust the slicker’. Pokey takes those words about how he does, shakin’ her head and starin’ forward. Snake opens his hooves to the bandits, motioning towards their chairs. “Well then! It appears our arrangements are in order. You take first turn, so the game begins on your move.”

They swap decks. Notice it just as they’re on their way down, a quick flash of hooves between the mare and lead stallion, a bit hidden under the table. Snake either doesn’t notice or ain’t bothered by it, shufflin’ his own deck and dealin’ himself out eight cards. The lead stallion shuffles his new deck once before dealin’ himself as well. He slaps a card down and they’re off again.

He looks to Pokey and Prickly, suckin’ in a breath. Don’t like this one bit. Knew Snake was a slimy bastard, but puttin’ two mares up for gamblin’ whores is a whole new low. Ain’t denyin’ a large part of the blame goes to Prickly as well, but it’s one thing to follow along with an act, somethin’ else entirely to be able to dream somethin’ low like that else up in the first place.

But the thing that gets him in the end is himself. If Snake loses? He won’t do a damn thing to stop any of it. Even after all the sisters have done for both of ‘em, wouldn’t even raise a hoof as they’re hauled off for the long night.

Because there’s somethin’ greater than them at stake here. It burns in the bottom of his saddlebags, reminds him every second of what he’s here for.

Get Snake to New Pegasus. Get the message to Spade. Return with an answer. Done.

“Aaaaaaaaw! Not so lucky this time are you fucker?” The mare bandit crows as the lead stallion places a king beside his 10. “Gonna be taking that suit and hat off you too! Maybe burn them right outside the saloon so you can watch!”

10s and Kings. Sure are a good number of ‘em laid down on the bandit’s side. There’s a set of both for each of the three separate piles, givin’ the stallion an even 20 across his entire caravan. What was it, 21 to 26 to get ya a good caravan? Just on its cusp.

Doesn’t look to bother Snake much. The slicker mulls over his cards for a moment before droppin’ a 10 of his own. The bandit answers back right quick with a 6, placin’ it down upon the middle of their sets. 26. The bunch of ‘em start to cackle to one another.

“The hell are ya doin’ slicker?” Pokey whispers fiercely, eyes dartin’ nervously between Snake and the cards. “Yer gettin’ yer flank kicked!”

Snake doesn’t respond, hummin’ as he places a Jack upon the bandit’s 6 they had just played. The bandits laugh again, discardin’ the 6 only to replace it with another the second after. Snake frowns and returns to inspectin’ his own cards.

Prickly’s hangin’ on the edge of her seat. Her teeth chatter as she watches Snake lazily gaze over the playing field. “They’re only a move or two away from winnin’,” she pushes out. “ah hope ya have a trick or two up your suit...”

Snake pulls out another Jack and mirrors the same move he’d done the turn before. The bandits once again discard the 6, only this time replacin’ it with a 4 instead. 24. Snake smiles.

“You can forfeit now if you’re feeling charitable!!” The other male bandit mocks, doin’ his best to match his typical shrill screech to Snake’s smooth hissin’ voice. He pounds the table with his hoof soon after. “Fuck you! You think you’re better than us, dontcha? Dontcha? What’s that? Ain’t got nothing to say now you little shit?”

Snake says nothin’, playin’ a 10 atop his pile composed of a 7 and 9. 26.

The bandits draw their card, look to it, laugh, and throw it down. Another 6. Their three piles are 26, 20, and 24. Only reason Snake is still in is on account of his own 26 pile. His other two aren’t lookin’ anywhere near as fortuitous.

“Aw... m-maybe we can shake this deal up a bit...?” Prickly stutters as she ducks down in her seat. “We ah... we do really good backrubs if ya can recall...”.

Pokey has her hooves crossed, starin’ between Snake and the bandits with cold eyes. “Quit yer worryin’ Prickly. It ain’t happenin’. Ah’ll knock ‘em senseless if they even try touchin’ ya.” She turns her eyes back to Snake. “Will put this slicker in his place right after.”

“‘Knock us senseless, huh?” The lead stallion laughs, tappin’ the rifle across his back. “You’re forgetting who has the firepower here, bitch. But don’t worry. We’ll drag your friend here along with you. Can have him sit in the corner and watch it all. Maybe even have him join in. You did say all or nothing, didn’t you fucker?”

The entire saloon shifts to Snake for an answer. But the slicker’s silent, his face hidden behind a fan of cards. One leg is propped up atop the other without a single muscle givin’ a twitch, almost as if the stallion at the table were nothin’ more than a statue or figure. The only thing that betrays him is his other front hoof risin’ and fallin’ so slightly, givin’ the faintest of taps against the table’s soft-wood surface.

The lead bandit growls and leans into the table. “What’s the matter? Don’t have anything smart to say? No funny comeback? Just going to hide behind your cards like a fucking pussy?”

Snake’s hoof suddenly freezes in its tapping. Slowly, like a curtain liftin’ for a show, he lowers his cards, revealin’ the very same serpent’s smile he’d trademarked. Snake holds the grin as he stares across the table, causin’ all three bandits to shift uncomfortably in their seats.

“The fuck is so funny?” The lead stallion spits, grittin’ his teeth.

Snake pulls out a single card and holds it so that the face is visible only to him. He looks back to the stallion much the same way he’d done the two flirtin’ mares before, scannin’ him from flank to head. His smile shifts to a snide smirk.

“I have standards.”

Snake throws down his card, landin’ it perfectly upon the 10 he had played some turns before. A Joker. Not quite sure what it means, but it’s flipped the entire mood of the table. Pokey gasps in relief, Prickly hollers and pats Snake on the back, and the bandits all lean into the table with dropped expressions.

Snake himself is leaned back in his chair, appearin’ quite smug with himself. “Quite the unused card, the Joker. Thrown out for Blackjack, tossed for Poker, glossed over in Caravan... such a shame. It’s won me so, so many games. Especially against decks built such as yours.”

The bandits rise back, their faces like stone. The lead stallion’s jaw slacks a little. “Fuck...”

“Yes, ‘fuck’. And I’m going to assume this deck you switched your old one out for has a distinct lack of both Jokers and Jacks, being stuffed to the brim with 10s, 6s, 4s, and Kings.”

Now it’s the bandit’s turn for silence. His jaw closes up, his muzzle pursin’ tight.

“I can’t tell you how pleased I was the moment I saw you play those three 10s in tandem. So predictable. So boring. I’ve been playing you all like a puppet the moment since.”

The bandit’s muzzle begins to tremble. His whole body follows soon after, shudderin’ as if on ice. A hellish fire lights up behind both his eyes.

Jaws been set the whole time. Can feel his whole body tense up.

“With that all in mind, you lose in a maximum of four turns. So, if you’re feeling charitable, you can forf—”

“FUCK YOU!” The bandits push their chairs to the ground, leapin’ to their hooves as they reach back for their rifles. Screams and shouts sound from behind as the crowd whips up in fright.

Can give ‘em all one thing: they start their move perfectly on time with one another. On the other hoof, they’re a tad too slow. By the time their hooves have reached their rifles, he’s already drawn out his nehmoa, the sights aimed right down to the lead bandit’s head.

The sight of black and gold causes all three of ‘em to freeze. Their hooves are itchin’ and wrapped about their rifles. But their eyes are wide with a swirl of fear and hate, sendin’ their heads mixed messages.

“Rush him,” the mare cuts through the silence with a hiss.

The other stallion darts his eyes nervously between ‘em both. “Are you crazy? He’s an elite ranger!”

“Looks like an old sack of shit with a duster on to me. I say rush him!”

“May I remind you that looks can be deceiving?” Snake slips in, appearin’ rather unnaturally calm considerin’ the situation he’s in. The slicker motions a hoof towards him and nods towards his nehmoa. “This range? That gun? He’ll make a fine canoe out of your head. Don’t trust he’ll hesitate. Or miss.”

The mare bandit spits and looks to the lead stallion. “Fucker’s lyin’! Rush! Come on Hazard!”

There’s hesitation in the bandit’s eyes. Seen it countless times before. It’s the brain tryin’ to measure the odds. Problem with this fella’s is the same as most others: too young, too inexperienced. Doesn’t know when its time to take the opportunity and trot off alive. Youth drownin’ out the whispers of common sense with screams of grandeur.

The stallion’s hoof twitches. His mouth tightens on the trigger, begins to squeeze...

Unicorn magic. The familiar tingle is accompanied by the sound of a shotgun cockin’. “Hooves up.”

The bandits freeze up again. They start to turn, only to be greeted by the noise of a six shooter blastin’ right into their ears. A small hole pops in the bar’s ceilin’. “Ah didn’t say twist about, ah said ‘hooves up’!”

Their hooves shoot up to reveal a pissed off Shady Sands behind ‘em. Her horn glows a soft gold, levitatin’ along both the standard six shooter magnum he’d seen her holstered with before and a newly acquired sawn-off pump-action shotgun. To his pleasant surprise she has each of ‘em pointed to the other two bandits, leavin’ each one under a barrel and accounted for. Also has the shotgun pointed away from the crowd. Can always respect a pony who knows basic gun handlin’.

“Now hold still,” She bites in a voice more lethal than he ever thought possible from her. “Ah’ll be disarmin’ ya mahself. Keep the hooves up. If ah see so much as one headin’ down there’ll be blood.”

The crowd starts to murmur again as Shady moves forward and begins freein’ the rifles from their straps. Prickly and Pokey sag in their chairs out of relief. Snake Eyes is busy draggin’ the entire pile of goods over to his side of the table, hummin’ a short, smug tune all the while.

The slicker forages through the mound, pickin; out any trinkets or baubles he deems worthless. He plucks both a stick of dynamite and a flare from the selection, eyein’ both curiously before turnin’ to him, danglin’ ‘em up for him to see. “Interested? Keep the dunestalkers in consideration, mind you.”

Not one to favor lit explosives, but suppose the occasion calls for it. He acknowledges Snake by tappin’ the table space before him, still keepin’ his eyes and gun trained on the bandit. “Lay ‘em all out here,” he grunts through his nehmoa. “Will sort ‘em out mahself.”

Snake nods, settin’ the dynamite, flare, and a silver red-trimmed lighter in front of him before returnin’ to his pile of goods.

“Done.” Shady deposits all three rifles on a table far from the bandit’s reach. She catches his attention with a tip of her head. “See anything ah might’ve missed ranger?”

“Nope.” Did a favor, disarmin’ themselves for the sake of the gamble.

Shady backs off a few steps, still with her guns aimed. “Right then, listen up you three. I’m trottin’ ya’ll straight out the door and sendin’ ya out of town with two day’s rations and a couple sticks of dynamite. Plenty of options for ya then: head north to Neighpton, head east to Buckham, or head west past Echo to Winoan. Guarantee they’ll be happy to put ya to work for good pay at whichever ya choose.”

The mare bandit growls in agitation. “Fuck that! Only chance you’ll see us in any of those places is if we’re burning them to the ground!”

“But ya can’t say ah didn’t give ya options. Now trot.” Shady nudges them along with her hoof. The bandits grumble and curse but start their amble toward the front door.

Already has his nehmoa drawn and trained on ‘em. Might as well help her out in case they try anything fishy. He rises from his seat and falls in beside Shady, keepin’ his nehmoa aimed all the while. Can see from the corner of his eye that she flashes him a quick smile before returnin’ to glarin’ at the back of the bandit’s heads.

“Wait here.” Shady stops the march and taps her hoof against the bar counter. The bartender who’s been watchin’ the whole spectacle waddles his way over to her, noddin’ to continue. Shady points to the back wall, “Mind loadin’ me up enough grub from the storage to feed a few ponies for a couple of days? Some jugs of water too, if ya got ‘em”

The bartender dabs the sweat his head with a neckerchief, bobbin’ his head as he looks between Shady and the enraged bandits. “Ah yes, mayor. Renewed the stock just earlier today so I’m ah... quite certain I can accommodate both.”

The tender leaves and starts rummagin’ beneath the counters and cabinets. A few admittedly tense minutes later and a small set of goods line the counter’s top, just enough to get a group of ponies a next town over.

“You’re fucking kidding yourself if you think we’ll be able to carry all that shit with our bare hooves,” The lead bandit sneers.

Shady ignores him, tippin’ her hat to the tender. “Kind as always, Mug. Got a package or sack ah can wrap this all up in?”

The tender peers about a bit before turnin’ back to Shady and shakin’ his head. “I’m ah... afraid not mayor. Closest I believe you would find such a thing would be Gosack’s shop.”

“And he’s long closed for the night,” she huffs. She frowns and looks around the saloon, gazin’ at the now dissipatin’ crowd, then back to the stash. After a long pause she reaches her front hoof up and tugs at the collar of her duster. Confuses him somethin’ fierce when she slips it from her shoulders, liftin’ it from her back. Only thing left on her now is her stetson and button up suit, revealin’ her mark to him for the first time: a scrap of golden ore wrapped in snow-white parchment. Don’t have much time to dwell on it as Shady’s already makin’ her move. She lays her duster out over the bar counter, beginnin’ to set the water, food, and a couple sticks of dynamite within its fabric.

And realization hits him like a brick. Goddess knows she’s already bein’ too charitable, supplyin’ bandits with the means to live. But now... yep, there she goes, tyin’ it all up... now she’s givin’ away her own clothes for their luxury. Celestia’s sake...

“Alright now.” Shady slings the sack over her shoulder, jerkin’ her head towards the bar entrance. “Out the door, single file.”

They fall in behind the bandits and hustle ‘em out onto the saloon’s front porch. It’s long time turned night, the street lamps already lit up and a cold, shiverin’ breeze blowin’ out of the desert. The town itself is dead with most of the night life still back in the bar and the day life tucked cozy inside their homes.

“Here.” Shady Sands lifts her duster sack and offers it up to the bandits. The lead begrudgingly accepts, grumblin’ as he slings it across his back. Can hear the door open and close behind him again. Three sets of hoofsteps. All three bandit’s faces crinkle up in pure hatred.

Snake, Prickly, and Pokey. The former wears an expression the complete opposite of the bandits, his muzzle done up in a smile of satisfaction. “Ah! I’m on time. Good. Would have been rude of me to not see my new friends off, yes?”

It’s clear from the bandit’s reactions that the fire of rage has already blown over. Doesn’t make the simmerin’ stare the lead stallion gives Snake any less contemptuous. “Still think you’re hot shit? Well guess what?” The bandit spits, barely missin’ Snake’s hoof. “You take a step out of this town and you’re fucking dead. Stay in this town and you’re fucking dead. Either one, I’m going to be the one to blow a fucking hole in your head.”

Snake shrugs, unshaken. “You’re at the end of a very long line. But I’ll hold you to it. Until then, tah tah.”

The bandit snorts, pullin’ an about face and signalin’ to his partners. As they trot out towards the town exit, the bandit shouts back, “And that’s for all of you too! Fucking dead!”

Whelp. Nothin’ new there. Soon as they disappear under the night’s shade Shady lowers her weapons, saddlin’ her shotgun to her back and her magnum to her holster. Short pants escape her muzzle as she works, with beads of sweat shinin’ against the town’s lights. Can’t tell how much magic takes a toll on a pony, but experience says it ain’t too different from the price of manual labor.

“Well!” Snake Eyes steps out in front of him and Shady with Prickly and Pokey in tow. Looks a bit funny admittedly, with sticks of dynamite, flares, and a pouch burstin’ with caps all tucked into his suit. The two sisters are carryin’ much a same load, sans caps. “It’s been an eventful night, don’t you think? Well done, ranger, for such... ‘excellent’ service! And well done, Mayor Shady Sands, for such exceptional back up!”

Shady wipes the sweat from her forehead before tippin’ her hat. “Yer welcome, but it’s just mah job. Plus ah wouldn’t of been able to get the drop on ‘em anywho if it wasn’t for the help here.” She smiles and nods to him.

He returns her gesture in kind, blinkin’ his own sweat from his eyes. “Wouldn’t of found any help from me. Only a shootout. Yer quick thinkin’ kept the peace.”

“Yes, quick thinking on both your parts. Say...” Snake leans in a bit closer, dartin’ his eyes between the two of ‘em. “How about traveling with my friend and I to New Pegasus? I mean, I’m certain running an entire town has to be so stress inducing, and you work so well with each other. It would be such a shame to part now, breaking up such a wonderful pair...”

Snake must still be on a high from his winnin’ streak. Doesn’t take a mind-reader to call Shady’s denial, turnin’ down the offer with a slow shake of her head. “Ya’ve both been as good a visitors a mayor could ask for, but that’s where mah duties lie: as Goldroot’s mayor. As enjoyable as the company would be, ah need to stay here and keep the place runnin’.”

Snake acts suspiciously disappointed at this, sinkin’ his head while hummin’ with sadness. “Hmph. A fair reasoning. I suppose, then, that this is the very last time you two shall be seeing each other. Perhaps a quick farewell in the morning, but what is that? Minutes?” Snake cranes his head up to the sky, smilin’ when he peers back down at ‘em. “Ah, but the night’s only just begun! There’s plenty of time to spend in one another’s company, plenty more stories to tell and secrets to share.”

The slicker suddenly lets out a long, fake yawn. “But not for me. I fear I’ve already grown a bit tired. Not to mention I still have all these caps and goods to sort out.” He turns to Prickly and Pokey, wavin’ a hoof dramatically down the town’s main road. “Ladies? Since my friend is occupied, thirty caps each for an escort to the Drinky inn.”

“And the catch...?” Pokey looks at him suspiciously.

“Catch?” Snake scoffs. “It’s already passed. Your collaboration and assistance in my caravan games already warrants a cut of the prize. This is just sealing the deal, so to speak.”

Pokey purses her muzzle, but trots in by Snake’s side. “Alright then. To the inn.” She narrows her eyes. “And nothin’ fishy, understand?”

“Aw come on, sis, give him a break.” Prickly jumps in alongside ‘em, chirpin’ as they trot off down the road. “He won just like he said he would! Ain’t no reason to be mad.”

“Thank you, Prickly. Honestly I don’t quite understand what’s gotten into your sister. I asked that you both take advantage of the situation provided, you both did, and voila! Three bandits are now wandering the desert unnarmed, hopefully dunestalker prey by the night’s end!”

Can hear Pokey grumble just as their voices fade, "It's what MIGHT have gotten into me that I have a problem with, slicker...”

And they’re gone, disappeared behind the curve of buildings. The white noise of their voices fizzles off soon after, leavin’ him and Shady out on the saloon’s porch, alone. She’s dropped down to her haunches by now and has her eyes closed. He follows suit, muscles and joints achin’ as they unravel from their long bout of tension. A familiar fire lights up his spine as he settles his haunches to the wood, only for that same chilly night breeze to blow through once again, coolin’ the embers of old age.

Beside him, Shady shivers.

“Some cover?”

She looks to him, and he realizes it was him who’d asked. His left wing is already half-unfurled, tentatively outstretched in her direction.

She doesn’t even hesitate. Simply looks at the wing, smiles to him, and nods. “Gladly, if yer offerin’.”

He allows his wing the rest of the distance, wrappin’ it about her shoulders. Takes but a few seconds before her shiverin’ comes to a stop, She looks back to his wing, this time impressed. “Actually quite warm.” Her smile shrivels in embarrassment. “Pardon. Reckon ya can understand how foreign pegasi still are to me.”

“No harm in it,” he accepts. “It’s almost like a blanket anyway, 'cept made up of feathers.”

Internally, he slaps his hoof to his face. Sixty-one years of experience and that is what comes out his mouth?

Dear goddess what is he doin’? Should be plannin’ the next day. Should already be in New Pegasus by now. Should not be out here, in this small little town, in front of this small little saloon, wastin’ everypony’s time spoutin’ complete nonsense.

But Shady, in spite of it all, laughs. Nothin’ much, only a short chuckle. But it’s enough to take his mind out of his saddlebags, bringin’ it back into the moment. The tension leaves his body a second time.

“A blanket...” Shady lets the rest of her soft laughter die out, sinkin’ an inch into her own relaxed state. She hums while lookin’ out to the desert. “Might be onto somethin’ there.”

Him? Not a chance. But he doesn’t find the need to correct her.

A peaceful silence settles over them. While she stares to the stars and rollin’ dunes, he finds himself drawn to her, soakin’ in the detail through the edge of his eyes. She’s... different. New. Moves and acts with a purpose. Guess that could be said of all the ponies he’s met so far in the Palomino, but Shady’s the core of it all. Even now, after just fightin’ off bandits, no duster, ducked into a tired slouch, she comes off... different. Somethin’s different about her, how she carries herself, and he can’t quite narrow it down. Somethin’ he hasn’t seen in a long time

She’s strong? Of course. But he’s seen dozens of strong mares and stallions in his days. It’s not a rare sight, it can’t be with so many around tryin’ to prey on the weak. She’s smart? No.. Well, yes. She strikes him as smart, but he doesn’t find that unusual. Crossed paths with plenty of smart folk through the years. Blinking he gets another look at her in the corner of his eye, spottin’ the mare relaxing against the warm embrace of his wing. Her withers start to relax despite all the stresses of managing a troubled town weighin’ down on her, her eyes glimmer with a bit of hope, and her smile is simple and carefree in this moment. She’s happy.

Hits him like a hammer. Happy. They all are. Even Snake, tucked into his little table, playin’ away at his card games. No wars. Hate is a drunken bar brawl. Death is a peaceful parting of ways. Colts and fillies are dreamers instead of soldiers in training.

His head starts to feel light.

“Feelin’ alright?” Shady asks, lookin’ at him with concern.

He spreads his legs for stability, takin’ a few long breaths. When he straightens back up his spine cracks and he grimaces. “Fine. Was just thinkin’...” He pauses. Questions been eatin’ him. Just need the best way to ask it. “Ya sent those three off with supplies and the clothes from your own back, after all the hell they’d rose. Why?”

To his relief she ain’t shaken by it. Doesn’t seem surprised either. She looks out back to the desert, deep thought in her eyes. “If ya’d let me do a roundabout on ya? Ask mah own question first?”

He nods to continue.

“Say this whole conflict happened out east, in one of yer own bars. In yer Republic. How would yer folks have handled it?”

“Likely dead, lucky and they’d end up in one of the Republic’s Correctional Facilities.”

Shady gives a grim nod. “About what ah’d guess, given’ all the info ah’ve gotten over the years.” She finally looks to him, a bit of a frown on her face. “Ah won’t judge as ah don’t have a clue how the gears turn in the Republic’s society, but here in the Palomino, ya don’t last long in small numbers. Ya throw out insults, ya build grudges, ya find ya won’t be survivin’ for too much longer.”

She shrugs. “Maybe it means ah’m just lucky, havin’ been born into a world with its own strong sense of justice. Got the desert heat. Got the dunestalkers. Got acosadors. Got a lack of food and water. Even have the ghouls of Baux’s Brigade, bless ‘em all. But even with all that in mind, ya still get those ponies every once in awhile who will steal or vandalize or pull a gun on somepony.” She sighs. “What do ya do? Shoot ‘em dead? Kick ‘em out into the desert with nothin’ but their bare backs? Lock ‘em up in a lone cell to rot?”

Her head tilts a little, just enough so that she can peer back at the saloon. She glances to him, lookin’ him hard in the eyes. “Judgement’s weakest in its charge, strongest in its precedence. If ah’d ordered ‘em executed or killed ‘em then and there, what would that of told everypony else in the bar? Killin’s the solution? Or if ah’d locked ‘em up? Isolatin’ three strangers from the community will win ‘em over?”

“That’s why ah sent ‘em off packed up,” She concludes. “There’s two nearby settlements and a town farther north that bare a might stronger tolerance to hardflanks than we do here in Goldroot.

Ah've seen worse ponies than them turn right around with a little encouragement, but If they don't end up re-thinkin’ their lives, Baux'll see to it they don't have much of one. Meanwhile, here in Goldroot, nopony dies, nopony gets locked up, and they get their second chance someplace else. In the end Goldroot comes out of it a little more innocent, little more happy than such a time should allow.”

She stops, takin’ in a deep breath. A chuckle starts up again after a good minute’s rest. “Awful sorry for all that preachin’. Got a bit carried away. Probably bored ya a bit.”

Not a bit. The preachin’ speaks loudest to the sinners after all, don’t it? He looks to her, his muzzle pursed in a grimace. “If there’s one thing ah’m good at, it’s listenin’. Helps too that ya speak with a clear passion.”

Her face turns the smallest hint of red as she looks away, smilin’ down at her hooves. “Don’t have nearly the drive ah should, servin’ the friends and family ah have. Still, mighty kind of ya. Thank ya.” She looks back up as she finishes, gazin’ off to the east.

A comfortable silence comes between’ ‘em again. Shady, however, is different. Never been good with emotions, but never pass over the small details. Her shoulders are back up, her chest is out, and her smile has a bit of teeth showin’ through it now. She’s active, shufflin’ about a bit under his wing.

Restless. Might be that he’s overstayin’ his welcome. Wouldn’t be the first time.

But just as he begins to fold back his wing Shady shifts, turnin’ her whole body so that she’s half-facin’ him. She looks up eye to eye, pausin’ a little before she speaks. “Was wonderin’ if ya wanted to head back into the bar with me.” She asks tentatively and holds up her pipbuck, its green light glowin’ bright against the night dark. “Yer friend wasn’t lyin’. Pipbuck says the night’s still young. Even if yer holdin’ off on the drinks, there’s still plenty left to have a good time. Billiards, cards, music... not to mention ya never got to see the Giddyup Macintosh in the back.” She gives a short laugh, “Promise he’s a lot less scary than his sister.”

He shudders. Eugh. Those robots... still, it’s an honest request and, to his own shock, one which he nearly blurts out approval to.

But its her eyes that stop him. Like her posture and smile before, they’ve changed. Still her own brand of soft, yet strangely bright. Deep. They search his own with a certain expectancy, swayin’ every which way as if in a ritual dance.

Takes him only a moment of starin’ back to realize... remember... that he’s seen ‘em before.

“Me and the slicker are headin’ out early tomorrow.” His voice comes out brittle and stale. Every muscle in his body turns rigid. “It’s for the best that ah head in early. Get ready for the road to Winoan.”

She sinks, the energy fadin’ off her as fast as it had come. She makes to hide it with a nod and a quick wave of her hoof. “Right. It’s smart thinkin’ and plannin’ on your part. The type of mindset ah need to be takin’ more for mahself, really.”

They shy away from one another, both risin’ to their hooves. He tucks his wing back in and Shady dusts herself off, givin’ him a respectful once over with her eyes before glancin’ down the main road down the direction of Drinky’s. She looks back to him, “Need help makin’ it to the inn?”

He shakes his head firmly. “No need. Ah remember the way.”

“Then ah suppose we’re splittin’ here. No use sayin’ farewells as ah’ll be seein’ ya both off in the mornin’.” She moves, circlin’ around him before stoppin’ a few paces south. She looks over her shoulder, smilin’ back at him. “Ah’ll give ya final words and tips for the road tomorrow. For now, thanks for the help with the hardflanks and for the chat. G’night.”

“The same to you.”

She starts south. Can barely catch it, but swear, just before she curves out of sight, he catches her shiver.

His body unwinds, saggin’ into a useless lump. For the best, he tells himself. Last thing he wants to do is leave town with sleep still on the mind. Especially with those three bandits still about, unarmed or not. Besides, spent enough time as is messin’ around. Operation Fold ‘Em is still burnin’ away at the bottom of his saddlebags. It’s the reason he’s here. His purpose. With the Steel Dawn apparently already makin’ progress in the area, that purpose slips away every moment he wastes.

Reassured, he pulls an about face, startin’ down the main road north. The streets are dead empty, with only the Night Light’s lamp light givin’ any life to the scenery. Each of his hoofsteps echo from building to building, bouncin’ up the alleys and skippin’ along the rooftops, joined only by the occasional wail of wind. Wood and the rare stone have turned dull under the moonlight. Up ahead in the distance, can see Yasimi’s, the flower shop he and Snake had dropped by earlier in the day, has turned from a bright yellow to a pale white.

But those eyes...

Damnit. He grunts and picks up his pace. Yes, the eyes. Didn’t mean a damn thing then, don’t mean a damn thing now. Stay or go. Fight or flee. Yes or no. Apples or oranges. Choices. That’s all it is. Already sorted all of ‘em out the moment he accepted this mission. Sooner than that, even. The moment he enlisted in the NCR.

Sooner than that...

He scowls, blinkin’ away the images burned in his mind. Thank the goddess they’re replaced with the lights of Drinky’s Hospitality, the lone buildin’ with its lights still on. He breaks near a full canter before reachin’ the front door and slippin’ inside.

Bootstrap is at the desk, buried behind a book. No surprise there. He steps up to the counter and reaches for his caps.

“Rooms already paid for.”

He stops, lookin’ back over the counter. “By the slicker?”

“By the slicker.” Bootstrap lowers his book and leans back in his chair, reachin’ for the board of keys. The ring he lifts from the selection holds a key different from the one he’d pulled the night before, its length a speck longer and its edges a bit sharper in comparison. Bootstrap raises it to him, but pauses instead of passin’ it on. “This room’s different from yer first. Down the same left corridor, down the farthest hallway. Only room there so ya can’t miss it.”

Suspicious, but he takes the ring anyway. Bootstrap looks past him to the door, peers about the room, then frowns at him before duckin’ back behind his book.

Down the left corridor, down the left hallway. He follows the steps with caution, checkin’ his corners all the way. Just as Bootstrap had said the final hallway itself has a single door along its right wall. He scans the hallway, checks the doorknob and keyhole before finally pullin’ out his key, slowly slidin’ it into place.

Click. Unlocks like any other. He eases the door open and peeks inside.

The difference is apparent at first glance. Everything is bigger. The bed, the cabinet, the space, all bigger. Makin’ his way in and scannin’ the room over, it’s near impossible imaginin’ all of this for a single pony. With the cabinet’s extra drawers and the beds longer length, he’d guess it’d hold at the very least two ponies while still easily keepin’ a sense of comfort room.

Maybe it’s Snake’s idea of a reward?

Three knocks sound from the door. By the time he whirls about, the door itself is already creakin’ open. Nearly have his nehmoa out before Snake Eyes himself slides his head in, givin’ him a wicked smile.

“Hi.”

He grunts and eases off the holster. “What are ya here for this time?”

Snake scoffs. “Ha! How rude. Is it really such an inconvenience for you when I drop by for a little chat? I know you don’t trust me, but I’m beginning to think you also... ‘dislike’ me...? That’s truly heartbreaking Tumble, I hope you know.”

“Ah don’t 'dislike' ya,” he sighs, wavin’ his hoof in greetin’. “Ya can come on in.”

Snake’s pout shifts to his familiar sly grin. “Good! Because the main reason I’m actually here is to drop off a good five or so pounds of explosives on your floor.”

Snake trots the rest of the way in, revealin’ the dynamite and flares still tucked within his suit. He nonchalantly begins pullin’ ‘em out, tossin’ ‘em down the floor, hummin’ a small tune all the while.

“There!” Snake dumps the last flare from his suit, wavin’ at the pile majestically as he takes a step back. “Flares and dynamite! Oh! And...” Snake pulls out one last item: the silver red-trimmed lighter. “Can’t forget this. I’ll just set it over here. On the cabinet. Away from the explosives, understand?”

He scans over the pile with an appraiser’s eye. Yep. Several sticks of dynamite and a few flares. Both useful, yet both incredibly situational. Never really had an appreciation for flares as they attract the enemy to ya as much as they do yer allies. That thought in mind, they’ll be headin’ through a dangerous low-light radiation area here in a few days. Would be a fool’s error not to bring ‘em along.

Dynamite. Oh boy. ‘Poor pony’s grenade’, as they’re called out on the field. Most hoof-made, most confiscated by superiors the moment they’re found. Seen both NER and Rhinos shred like paper by ‘em. Would probably end up bringin’ ‘em along anyway, but the addition of dunestalkers and whatever the hell these ‘acosadors’ are make explosives a might more temptin’.

“Well?” Snake Eyes asks, lookin’ between him and the pile with a gleam in his eye.

“Hm. Good. Can put ‘em to use if the situation calls for it.”

Snake groans, throwin’ his hoof up to his head. “No. Nooo. Who cares about that junk. I’m talking about the symbolism of it all! This pile of explosive scrap, three guns, and a pouch so bursting with caps I can barely fit it in my suit. Don’t you see? It’s all just a picture story that tells the tale of the destruction I weaved tonight. My version of your rifle tally marks, so to say.”

“The guns.” He eyes Snake suspiciously. “What did ya do with ‘em?”

Snake rolls his eyes. “I’ve already told you before I have no use with a projectile weapon. Being that you already seemed quite well stocked, I thought it best to give them off to the two ladies. The reward is well deserved after they participated in my little gambit, don’t you agree?”

“Yer little gambit which almost put ‘em on the wrong side of a three bandit caravan...”

“Ugh! You too?” Snake throws his hooves up into the air. “How many times must I say it? Everything was under my complete control. It was a deal I couldn’t lose. Not to mention both Prickly and Pokey accepted in the first place.” Snake looks him over from hoof to head and curls up his muzzle. “Why do you care anyway?”

The way Snake asks makes him uncomfortable. He grimaces. “Don’t fancy mahself a completely emotionless bastard ah guess. Throwin’ up two friends for gamblin’ ain’t right in mah eyes.”

“Friends...?” Snake narrows his eyes at him before suddenly startin’ up a light, airy chuckle. “‘Friends’. My dear Tumbleweed, those two are perhaps ‘friends’ under your mindset, but in mine, they are what I like to call... ‘commodities’. Simple goods to be sold off towards a greater goal.”

“And am ah one of yer ‘commodities?’”

“Would it anger you if I said yes?”

Have to pause a moment to think over that one. He slowly begins to shake his head. “No. Don’t think it would.”

“Good. Because it shouldn’t. And besides,” Snake points a hoof to himself “am I not a commodity of yours as well? Our only difference is that my payment comes now during the journey, yours comes at its end.” He drops his hoof and smiles. “Tumble, in times like these and a situation such as this, I believe you’ll find that my stance is by far the most beneficial. And there’s only one rule you must remember: never grow into a friendship with your own goods. It always leads to such a.... tragic ending.”

Hm. Can start to see where he’s comin’ from. Would much sooner expect the slicker to slip him poison than share a drink and talk. He eyes Snake warily. “Point taken. Is that all ya came for?”

Snake taps his chin with his hoof, sweepin’ his eyes around the room. “There was one other thing. This room. Do you notice anything special about it?”

He takes it all in again. The bed, cabinet, space. All larger that usual. He looks back at Snake and shrugs. “A might bigger than the room ah had last. Would assume it’s more fit for two ponies than one.”

“Exactly.” Snake sets his eyes on him, cockin’ his brow. “And yet here I only see one. Where is the other?”

Now he’s confused. The other? Why in the goddess’ name would Snake expect him to—

“I never said anything about me.”

Ah hell no. He grits his teeth and glares at Snake. “Ya didn’t seriously expect...”

“Oh, I expected.” Snake gives a sad sigh, rubbin’ his hooves together as he stares solemnly to the ceilin’. “And, oh, how you shattered them. I can’t even begin to put into words the crushing disappointment I was forced to hide when I barged in, so expectant, so certain to catch you and the good mayor lost in a sea of hot passion, wrapped in each other’s hooves, she arched on her back, you straddled atop her, naked, finally relieved of that garish armor...”

“Alright that’s enough.”

“You’d start at the base of her stomach, just above the hips, kissing her belly tenderly as you worked your way up, teasing her at each of her suit’s buttons, her gasping and moaning in relief as the last one finally tugged loose, freeing her of the last scrap of clothing upon that tender silky yellow-white coat...”

“Ah said cut it out...”

“At last you come muzzle to muzzle, neither of you daring to even blink as you kiss, both realizing their future in one another’s eyes, both reveling in the revelation, beginning to shift and grind against one another’s—”

“Snake!!”

Damn that was louder than he’d of liked. Even Snake flashes an impressed look, frozen mid animation in a lewd posture, both his brows turned up.

Doesn’t take long for the slicker to sink back down into his usual snarky expression, this time accompanied by a sunken, judgin’ frown. “And yet instead I entered to find you standing there. Alone.” Snake stares to him with wide eyes. “Well?? What happened?”

“Nothin’ happened,” he growls. “We had a small chat outside the bar and then went our separate ways for the night. Nothin’ else.”

“Ugh!” Snake groans in dismay, throwin’ a hoof up to his head. “You didn’t ask her for a romantic stroll around the town? Didn’t invite her back into the bar for another drink?”

“Nope.”

Snake’s eyes bug out. “Grah! And what about her?? She didn’t suggest anything either?”

Ah shit. Ain’t a lyin’ stallion. He paws his hoof at the ground, droopin’ his head. “...She did. Wanted to spend some time back in the bar.”

The slicker’s reduced to moans and hisses as he grinds his teeth, swayin’ side to side.

“Don’t understand why yer so surprised. Ya know ah’m in the middle of a mission. Ain’t gonna be wastin’ precious time that could be spent preppin’ for the road.”

Snake breaks his fit and snaps at him. “Is that it?? Your ‘mission’? Are you so simple that you can’t shave an extra hour or two to woo and fuck this beautiful mare?! And I don’t exaggerate. Two hours! Tops! The three stooges waving their guns about had already done most of the work for you!”

“Look, yer frettin’ over nothin’,” he sighs, startin’ to grow tired of it all. “Even if ah’d of said yes and the evenin’ had culminated to yer fantasies, ah’d of still turned her down softly.”

“You would? Even if she presented herself cunt first and begged you to rut her right then and there?”

He frowns at the word choice but nods. “Even then.”

“Why??”

“Might not have noticed, but ah’m gettin’ up there in age. And Shady herself probably ain’t too far from half mah age. She can do better.”

“Ha!” Snake scoffs and looks to him as if he were a liar. “I’ve seen stallions twenty years your senior hunting for action across the strip. As for Shady, take it from experience, mares like her have age and looks at the bottom of their lists.”

Goddess’ sake Snake just drop it. “Look, forget yer notions, forget yer experience. Point is that ah’m done walkin’ that road. It’s behind me now. Let it go.”

For a tired moment it seems as if Snake ain’t done, his jaw unhingin’ for another round of scoldin’.

But the tirade never comes. The slicker stays frozen like that for a short pause before he eases back down at last, his jaw returnin’ to a closed yet loose position. His eyes dull into their usual cold state, sinkin’ into that familiar serpent’s stare. He crinkles his muzzle. “I was coming on a bit strong there, wasn’t I?”

“Ya were,” he exhales with relief.

Snake scans him over again just as he’d done earlier, confusion creepin’ into his expression. “It’s just so... strange to me. Growing up, living in New Pegasus my entire life, love is everywhere. Unavoidable. A stench that permeates every inch of the city. One night stands? Yes. Epic romances that span several years and countless break ups? Of course. And everything else in between.”

Snake huffs and glares at him. “Then there’s you. Stale. Dried up. More bent towards your orders than the call of a sweet, succulent mare.” He pauses, looks away in thought, then returns to him with narrowed eyes. “Humor me this, Tumbleweed, as that I may leave you tonight thinking you more than a neutered old mutt: have you ever loved anypony? Anyone at all?”

He hesitates. His mind starts racin’ backwards, leapin’ hurdles through time.

Don’t have to answer it...

Right. He doesn’t. But that’s not the point of it now. Every thought sorted, every memory sifted strengthens his curiosity, growin’ it exponentially alongside his frenzied search.

Not for Snake, he realizes. For himself.

They’re both young. He an early enlister bein’ shipped off to basic trainin’, she a civilian mare startin’ up work in the cloud fields. He confesses his love for her before leavin’. She the same, tellin’ him she’ll wait.

Months later he returns on leave. She’s with another stallion. Apologizes to him, beggin’ for forgiveness. He accepts, returns to service with a heavy heart. A week later and he’s brushed it off. Just young lust. Wasn’t love in the first place.

He never takes another leave after.

…

Neither are young. Neither are old. A month in the same squad and she’s whisperin’ their future through his ears. He’s hesitant of course, always a military stallion, but finally gives in after a particular night of intense passion. Soon as all of this blows over, they take their pension and leave to start a family.

The peace never comes. Talk starts to spread around the troops. Somethin’ big is happenin’. Doesn’t take long for the truth to come out. ‘Operation Cauterize’. The first and last big trip to the surface. Their target is a large cathedral set in the middle of a forest. They promise to cover one another, watch each other’s backs, but the gunfire is thick, the space cramped and lackin’. She takes a corner a little too soon. Turns to ashes right before his eyes. Never even got sight of the killer.

He survives, stumblin’ back to the rendevous point with the objective complete. Don’t even have time to cry. They send him off to the next without a moment’s hesitation.

And at that moment, for some strange, sadistic reason, it feels good to forget the foals, forget the family, forget the mare, to have every single thought and action bent towards one purpose: the mission. Whatever that mission may be.

…

She’s young. He’s old. It’s been a trip through hell to get to this moment, but it’s her eyes that have him stopped, frozen, piercing him, challenging everything he’s ever known, challenging him with the one thing he’s always feared. Stay or go. Fight or flee. Yes or no. Live or let—

“Tumble...?”

He blinks. Back in the inn. Back in Goldroot. Back in reality.

He sinks down onto his haunches, the feelin’ of a massive weight suddenly puttin’ him near full on exhaustion. Lookin’ up, can see Snake Eyes starin’ back at him, the spectacle leavin’ the slicker’s expression somewhere between shocked, curious, and expectant.

He shakes his head, his voice comin’ out monotone, dead. “Ah don’t know.”

It all drops to disappointment. Snake sighs as he looks away to the door, then back to him with a condescending, even pitied expression. “You’re a strange stallion, Tumbleweed.” The slicker rises up, turns, and begins to leave. Before he exits, Snake glances back over his shoulder. “We leave tomorrow at sunrise?”

He nods. “At sunrise.”

“Very well. If you’re not up by then, I’ll wake you.” Snake starts to move again, but freezes. “Oh, and Tumble?”

“Yep?”

“Well done with those bandits. I was beginning to have my doubts back with those dunestalkers, but tonight’s proven I hired the right pony. Keep it up.”

And Snake’s gone, closin’ the door behind him.

He locks it soon after. His movements are slow and sluggish as he finishes up the night’s chores, stuffin’ the dynamite and flares and lighter into his saddlebags, checkin’ up on Fold ‘Em, downin’ a can of rations. Notice that, for the second day, Snake has skipped out. Must have gotten a bite at the saloon.

Removin’ his saddlebags and rifle, he collapses onto the bed. Sleep. Gonna be a long day tomorrow. And a long day after that. Then at Winoan. Find the ghouls. Through The Glow. To New Pegasus. To Mr. Spade. Deliver Fold ‘Em. Back to New Appleoosa. Done.

He recites it all silently while starin’ up at the ceilin’. Still so much more to do. Sleep.

But the mind’s not quelled so easily.

----------------------

The first target finds ‘em in the confines of an old warehouse at the edge of the city. No alarms raised yet, so can assume they made it here without bein’ discovered.

The tall muscled mare steps forward again, this time speakin’ with a whisper that hisses through her mask. “Stay low, spread out. Don’t leave the warehouse. Keep it to a whisper. Our contact should be here within the hour, so check your fire if you suspect hostiles. Now move.”

Like a grown-up’s game of hide and seek the squad breaks, shufflin’ off to find their own little nook or cranny. He ends up decidin’ on a spot against the wall, behind a particularly large metal cargo crate. It ain’t until he rounds the crate itself that he finds his spot already taken, another ranger sittin’ propped up against the wall. Two large red lenses stare back through his own.

“Mind if ah join ya?” He rasps.

“Of course not. I did say I’d be watching your front after all, didn’t I?”

The ranger’s lithe voice hits him like a bucket of cold water. “Morah...?”

She nods. “Yep. Unless you’ve been going around making the same deal with the rest of the squad, in which case I’ll get incredibly jealous and have to give you the cold shoulder for the rest of the mission.”

Her threat is spoken in a playful, sarcastic tone. Can imagine her grinning under the mask as she says it. He shakes his head, crackin’ a smile under his own. “Only you so far. Ain’t the type to go around loose with the promises.”

“Good!” She pats the concrete beside her with her claw. “Now sit. All of that sneaking killed my legs. Can’t imagine it was any better for you either.”

Read his mind. He trots to her side then turns, droppin’ down to his haunches with an audible grunt of pain. Takes a bit before the fire finally runs its course, leavin’ his legs achin’ with the dulled embers. He leans his head back against the wall and sighs with relief.

“So, how’d you get to becoming a ranger?”

Hm? He looks over to Morah to find her lookin’ back. She shrugs innocently. “Just picking up on our talk from earlier. Won’t get upset if you don’t want to answer. I know ‘fucked up past that would rather be forgotten’ isn’t exactly an uncommon thing among us rangers.”

“Nah, ain’t nothin’ like that. Just...” he taps his hoof agains the concrete in thought. “Well. Ya want the long version or the short version?”

“The short version, for your sake, just in case. Don’t want hostiles showing up and offing ya just because I ran you out of breath asking for your life’s story.”

They both chuckle at that. He nods and starts searchin’ for a place to begin. “Ain’t much to it in truth, long or short. Can skip a good twenty plus years of simple time in the Enclave’s force...”

Instinct has him pause to check her reaction. She only motions for him to continue.

“Combat was on and off, always sparse and random. Griffon raiders, ground born pegasi, the occasional monster slippin’ through the cloud cover. First big battle was Operation Cauterize. Sure ya’ve heard of that one. Was luck and a bit of mah own wits that kept me alive there. Next was Sunshine and Rainbows. Fought for the Enclave against the civvies. The experience from Cauterize and a familiarity of the terrain meant ah survived, but ah found mahself a bit lost afterwards. Ended up wanderin’ right into the NCR’s hooves. Bein’ that ah wasn’t much more than a soldier they passed me off, stuck a gun in mah hooves, and assigned me to a squad.”

“About four or five years chasin’ raider groups and ah’m asked to join the rangers. Just formed, lookin’ to take in the best to train an elite division to combat the recent comeuppance of the Steel Dawn. Took up the offer, served long enough to be an elite. Took a part in Operation Vanhoover. Guess the command was pretty pleased with me there as they dialed me in again for this mess. Now ah’m here.”

“Ooh! You were in Vanhoover?” she asks with excitement. “I’ve heard crazy things about what went down up there. Now I really AM jealous.”

He grimaces, starin’ down at his hooves. “Ah... ya shouldn’t be. Wasn’t anything excitin’ really.” Technically not a lie, ain’t it? He quickly drops his hooves back down and nods over to her. “How about you? Safe for me to ask about yer road here?”

Her laugh comes out distorted through her mask. “Heh, wouldn’t of asked yours if I would’ve hidden mine. Don’t set yourself up for a punch you can’t take, yeah?” She sinks back, bringin’ up her metal claws. She flexes them in tandem while mutterin’ in thought. “Eugh. Where to begin? Maybe... oh!”

She pulls back her duster, movin’ her weaponized talons with grace as to not tear the cloth. Underneath is not the typical black kevlar, but a dark grey reinforced cloth armor which fits snugly against her form. Weapons dot every inch of her body: a bandolier of throwin’ knives across her chest, two hoof (claw?) knives strapped to her legs, a number of smoke grenades tucked farther back along her sides, and lastly a white-gold machine pistol holstered upon her shoulder.

Impressive. Just enough that he can’t declare overkill.

But her claws dance across the entire selection, movin’ up to her nape instead, fiddlin’ with a silver chain that wraps about her neck before tuckin’ behind her armor. She frees it with a small tug, pinchin’ her claws carefully along its bottom. Her posture and expression radiate pride as she holds her claw up to him in display.

It’s a trinket. An emblem. Two snow-white wings backset by a tall golden mountain. The figure itself is no more than five inches in diameter, glowin’ faintly even in near pitch darkness.

“This...” Morah chimes, lettin’ the emblem sink back to her chest, “is the insignia of my clan. ‘Mercenary griffons’ as most ponies seem to call us, but eh, fuck that.” If he could see her face, would imagine she’s stickin’ her tongue out in disgust right about now. She excitedly returns to her insignia. “Anyways, my clan are the Whitewings, based out in the north, up in the ranges of the Frozen Mountains. I was born into and grew up with them, learning how to fight and defend myself. And others.”

Can almost swear he can see the light in her eyes through the lenses as she looks up to him. “You see, we would travel around the northern villages and towns accepting small payments and food to fight off raiders that would come charging up from the south. Yeah, most would say that meant we were mercenaries, but like I said, we didn’t ask for much, and every job we accepted we did under our own personal clan code.”

“Code...?” he asks.

She nods in excitement. “Yes! Look.” Taking her claw, she places it upon her breast, puffin’ her chest out in pride.

“In the wastes of the wicked

In times of rue

We hold our mark’s commandments true

To answer to light

Turn those of spite

Seek pride in all the tasks we do

Against those of hate

As day fades late

We speak our vows again as new

To always remember

to never forget

‘Honor only the pact which honors you’

She lets out a long breath as she finishes, her chest deflatin’ back to its natural pose. He finds himself lightly tappin’ the ground with his hoof for applause.

“It’s kind of cheesy, I know,” she sounds a bit embarrassed as she turns back to face him. “But it’s what I’ve fought by my entire life. My motto, I guess you can say.”

Hah, cheesy. Not in contrast to this day and age, Morah.

He settles with a simple shake of his head. “We’ve all fought the types who had sold their souls for nothin’ more than a bag of caps. Yer clan’s code fights that. Quells it from consideration, even. The wasteland would be a might more dignified if everyone followed in yer clan’s ‘cheesiness’.”

That... actually came out pretty good. Huh. That don’t happen often.

Morah appears to think so as well, puffed up a bit again as she rejoins his side. “Right. Exactly. It worked for us in the north, its worked for me all throughout my time with the Republic. I’m sticking by it.”

“And yer story...?” he prompts her to continue, genuinely curious.

“Oh, shit. Never finished it did I?” She perks up, shakin’ herself. “Uh, what else can I say? Like I mentioned, we fought off raiders in the north. Grew up doing that my entire life. I had an affinity for knives and my claws so the close quarters combat specialty ended up happening naturally.”

“It carried on like that until one day we found ourselves out of raiders to fight. We made contact with the New Equestrian Republic not long after, discovering that they’d done a lot of cleaning up as most raiders fled south. After some talks we were pretty much hired by the Republic permanently. I mean, fighting raiders, rebuilding cities, re-establishing Equestria? Pretty much the perfect fit for us, right?”

He shifts, suddenly uncomfortable. Honor, dignity, the NER... in his head, they don’t add up.

Morah continues, “joining the Republic, my story doesn’t turn out too much different from yours. Do odd assignments with some of my clan, the NER takes an interest into turning a few of us into rangers, we accept. A year as a ranger and a few secret raids on the Steel Dawn later and I’m being trained to be an elite. Not long after and I’m snuck into Tenpony and assigned to this. Now here I am.”

“What about yer clan?”

There’s a pause. Whether from hesitation or somethin’ else entirely he can’t say, her face still hidden behind the mask. “My clan?” she finally answers with a quick, sad chuckle. “Damn, we haven’t all been together for years now. I know a few that are still out and about in the NER forces, but truthfully... truthfully...”

She pauses again, glancin’ about as if checkin’ for eavesdroppers. Satisfied, she leans in closer. “Truthfully, most of the clan’s always been a big bunch of softies. As soon as most of them saw the opportunity to settle down in an NER city and start a family with one another, they took it.” She leans back and laughs a little. “Guess it comes with the code? Or maybe it was just the mountain isolation, heh.”

The image she details causes him to crack a small smile. Two brutal griffon fighters maulin’ through a pack of raiders one day, settlin’ down in a nest and cuddlin’ with each other the next. Almost as if out of an old world fairy tale novel.

“But really, while we are split up now, what matters are the things I learned and took during our time together. My combat technique, morals, our code...” She looks over at him, jerikin’ her head off towards the rest of the rangers. “They’ve gotten me this far haven’t they? Paired up with fourteen of the Republic’s best. Not bad I’d say.”

“Not bad at all,” he repeats softly.

But behind his mask his smile drops. Yep, they’ve gotten ya this far. But the question is, Morah, just how far are ya willin’ to go? How far can that code of yers stretch before it breaks?

And, if it does, what will you do? Hold tight, clingin’ to dignity and honor? Or throw it away, realizin’ it would all come to this in the end, realizin’ that yer already too far down the rabbit hold to crawl back out?

“Tumbleweed!”

He’s shaken from his dark reverie by a cuttin’ whisper. Morah’s grabbed him by the foreleg (again, surprisingly leavin’ him uncut) and shakes him, pointin’ up to the warehouse’s rafters where one of the many hatches lie open. A shadowy figure slips in through the openin’, met soon after by their own tall and muscled mare. The two stay there up on the walkway as they begin to talk.

Beside him, Morah sits upright, thrown from her relaxed state. She’s shakin’ a little again as before, but still keeps that focused and calm aura. “I guess this is it huh? This is pretty much where it actually starts.” She looks over to him, again with the light behind her lenses. A small chuckle leaks through her mask. “Better watch out. I can get clingy. When I say I have you covered, you probably won’t be getting much more alone time from here on out.”

“And don’t get too upset if ya find yer kills stolen right out from over yer shoulder.”

Said somethin’ clever again. Morah seems to think so as well, lettin’ out another light laugh and calmin’ her shakes. She settles, lettin’ the nerves leave her with a drawn out sigh. “I told you I was nervous, coming in. Still kinda am, but...” She stops herself, exhalin’ again as she looks over to him. “I’m just glad we’re on the same page.”

He barely hears the signal from the lead mare as Morah finishes. As the warehouse begins to stir with the sound of movin’ rangers, he finds himself in that rare spot, his thoughts trapped between both the mission and somethin’ else entirely.

Risin’ up like a machine, he finds his smile has disappeared again.

No, Morah. Maybe soon. Maybe when all of this comes to a close. But now, while yer code still stands, they’ll never be on the same page. Never in the same novel, even.

A small, isolated spark in the back of his mind prays that they never are.

----------------------

Footnote: Maximum level reached

Status: Well rested

Party:

Native’s Knowledge trait lost.

New trait added:

Traveling plans

“Ya may not be in the company of a well traveled caravan anymore, but ya at least have a sense of what yer runnin’ into. Better than nothin’ suppose.”

Party travel time decreased by 10%

Snake Eyes:

Trait realized:

Never Fold ‘Em

“Turns out the stallion from New Pegasus is also damn good at card games! Go figure.”

No effect.

The Phoenix Flies West

Fallout: Equestria: New World Blues

Chapter 1: The Phoenix Flies West

“Lily Shimmerpool.”

“Shinny.”

“Tattle Tail.”

“Cinnamon Bun.”

“Snowdrop.”

War. War never changes.

And it never dies. Like a fire it only simmers back down to its embers; sleeping, lurking, waiting for time to provide the smallest spark, sending its flames roaring back to life and consuming anew.

It was long ago when two rival nations took up the prongs once more, stirring up a new bed of coals to feed the flames. Like clockwork they threw their troops to the pyres below, mixing in their own different experiments and concoctions to see just how high the fire could grow.

The details are trivial, the reasons pointless. In the end they found their lighter fluid, held it aloft in pride, and without further ado tossed it into the flame to see the results.

Both bodies burned nice and slow, symbols for ages to come.

For two hundred years Equestria has been a bed of embers. It flared in some places, dulled a bit in others, but nowhere is free from the heat. In a few rare spots the coals turned to ashes, and from these ashes rose an old nation led by new faces. They promised a new age of peace, promised that the flames would never rise again under their watchful eyes, promised not only everypony, but everyone a steady life free of horror and death.

But war never changes. War never dies...

“This is squadron eighty four, operation Fold ‘Em! We’ve come under attack from a large force of Rhinos ferrying an undisclosed package and are requesting immediate reinforcement from any NER troops who are receiving this transmission!”

Stallion takin’ cover behind two rocks at his one o’clock. Young one, just a colt. Can tell by that fearful glint in his eye. Too inexperienced to know that he should have moved by now, too used to firin’ that rifle of his against targets that don’t fire back.

Three shots, third already in the chamber. He rotates and rises over the rock they’ve sheltered behind, allowin’ a clear view of the enemy line. More rocks, more sand, one Rhino in cover, two out.

There’s his sniper. Fear’s still bright as day, but it’s the hooves which make him a target. Smooth, calm, calculated. Let an overconfident colt like him sit out of cover too long and he’ll pick off troops at leisure.

Raise the left leg so that the saddle lines the sights with the colt’s head. He breathes in. Dirt. Sand. Smoke.

He clenches his teeth around the mouth trigger. Familiar sound, the explosion of noise dulled by his weathered hearin’. Familiar metallic scent. Familiar push from the recoil.

His shot joins the herd of others. A split second of travelin’ time later and the colt’s head bursts scarlet, spoilin’ the sand and rocks below with their first drops of liquid in years The colt’s eyes roll up, hooves fall limp, and his corpse follows soon after.

He’s already back behind the rocks, cockin’ the lever to chamber his semi-final shot. Damn. Three seconds. Slower every skirmish. Won’t be long now before some young buck gunslinger does him in. Hell, might even be one of these damn Rhinos if he keeps this up.

“I repeat, this is squadron eighty four, does ANYPONY copy? We need reinforcements, coordinates, 107, 38!”

He pauses for a breath, takin’ advantage to check the status of the others.

Halfwing dead, face-down in the sand further up the hill. First to die, and obvious too from the number of shots lacin’ his body. Almost as if he flew into a grinder.

Ah. River Breeze, medic. Her eyes are closed, her hooves folded across her chest, wings tucked in. She lays with her back against a thick dry bush, almost in pleasant sleep if not for the dark red blot that seeps through the vest she wears. Nearby loose bandages and emptied healing potions tell of a small struggle. Hopeless. Seems she eventually came to peace with that herself.

That leaves their sharpshooter Phantom Strike a bit farther down the way and the colt screamin’ next to himself, Static.

“SHIT! ANYPONY? We need backup, now!”

“Static. There ain’t another NER squad fer at least fifty miles back,” he rasps. “Now put down the radio and spot me.”

Static trembles as he clutches the radio between his hooves, flinchin’ at every bullet that rips by. Still tremblin’, he sets the device down as if it were a newborn foal before bracin’ himself against the rock. Slowly, he peeks his head over the edge. When he sinks back down, he speaks in stutters and with wide eyes.

“O-one at your uh... ten sir,” Static squeaks. “Out w-when I saw it, behind a flat rock with b-bushes at both ends.”

Without a word he picks himself up, makin’ certain to stay behind cover. Dear Celestia. Trottin’ in a half-crouch hurts more than ever. Maybe arthritis finally got to him.

He’s in position so that his previous ten is now his twelve. A split second to let the fire in his joints fade out before he spins up again, his relocation giving him a new angle on the battlefield.

Nothin'. Static’s target is nowhere to be seen. Won’t back down yet though. Still have the advantage, just have to wait for ‘em to pop their heads up to spot and...

Ah shit. Not thirty yards down the hill lies Phantom Strike resting on a pillow of blood. Her wings and legs are sprawled out as if hit by close impact. Distance from her cover tells that she had a precious few seconds of life left stumblin’ back before death claimed her.

He’s kept his eye on Static’s target but used his peripherals to take in the rest of the area. Still nothin’. Perfect place for a skirmish, however. Had there been a thousand yard difference the combat would have been on the flat of sand and shrubs farther out. Straight out bloodbath then. Did smart pullin’ the Rhinos to this—

Static’s target moves. Mare with an assault rifle pokin’ her head over the rock. He breathes in. Dirt. Sand. Smoke. Blood. Clenches his teeth. Familiar.

If not for the gush of red he’d think she had made it back behind cover. But nope. Head wound, enough blood even he can see it. Dead now or only seconds to live.

He drops back down behind cover and cocks the lever. Last shot, one rhino left.

“Static.”

The stallion freezes in place at his voice, his hoof outstretched towards the discarded radio. He still has those wide eyes as he stares back.

“Spot me another. Keep low.”

Static swallows and begrudgingly nods, shiftin’ back around and peekin’ over the rock once more.

Meanwhile he brings up his right leg. Sixteen bullets, eight on either side, strapped on by dual bandoliers. Eight armor piercin’, eight hollow point. Uses his mouth to wrench a hollow point from its saddle, ferryin’ it over to the loadin’ chamber before pushin’ the bullet inside. Bad day it takes about three and a half seconds. Good day two and a half.

“I - I uh... don’t see anypony, sir,” Static whispers. “Where’s Phantom? Think she got ‘em?”

He grimaces and shakes his head. “She’s dead. Keep lookin’.”

There’s those wide eyes again. Static peeks over as he finishes loadin’ a third. Good enough. He spits the metallic residue from his mouth and readies his gun.

Static shakes his head as he scans for a target. “Just the Palomino desert, sir. And a lot of dead Rhinos. I uh... I think I see that last dead pony that Phantom got. There’s... wait, I see—”

Gunshot. Next sound is a sickenin’ ‘thwack’. Static stumbles backward before collapsin’ onto his back, crushin’ the radio. A thick red dot marks his forehead. For a moment the young stallion thrashes about on the ground, crimson pourin’ down his face and into the dirt below. With one last shudder Static exhales, body going still.

Just a colt. But time for that later. One more left and, judgin’ from the shot, Phantom’s killer as well. Maybe the Rhino knows his location. Maybe not. Don’t chance a thing.

His bones scream again as he trots in a half-crouch past his original position, past Static. He stops in front of River Breeze’s final rest, readyin’ his rifle again. Bad cover over here, but it’s a new location. All he needs is two seconds.

Swear the poppin’ of his joints could have alerted all of the Palomino, but he rises anyway. Two seconds. Let it be enough or let him die.

She’s right in the open. Right in the open, just trottin’ about, siftin’ through her dead comrade’s bodies. Must have believed Static was the last. Such a skillful shot, yet she lowers her guard without a second thought. A waste of life.

That’s when she looks up to him. Large sapphire eyes. Blonde mane, light blue coat. Pretty mare really, if you take away the sniper rifle and gray Rhino recon armor.

Her eyes widen. Just like Static’s.

Howdy darlin’.

Clenches his teeth. Familiar.

Much more dirty than the others. The close range caves in her skull, sendin’ her brain tissue along with her blood leakin’ to the rocks below. Her body crumples to the ground. Nothin’ he hasn’t seen before. He drops back down below the rocks, cockin’ the lever. For a moment he sits there, regroupin’ himself, listenin’.

Silence. The same silence Static spoke of right before his death. Same silence the mare below had found comfort in. Silence that’s claimed hundreds of ponies throughout his life.

So he takes no comfort. The next half hour is spent skulkin’ around the hill, campin’ out for minutes at a time, scannin’ for any activity. Only when he counts seven Rhinos dead does he emerge from cover.

First thing’s first: retrievin’ whatever the hell was in that package the Rhinos were ferryin’. Gotta get something out of this skirmish. He makes his way down to the base of the hill, takin’ care to avoid slippin’ up on the rocks. Wings for long jumps only. No chance in hell he flies up and makes himself a rookie’s target, scouted battlefield or no.

Corpse he’s after is right where he sixed it at. Big ol’ griffon lyin’ down on the sand. Took two shots to bring this fella down, one to the abdomen to get him out of the air, another to the neck when he landed. Thank Celestia this bag of muscle was the ferry and not a gunner. Could have toted a minigun along with all of that. Much different fight then.

Enough of that. Where’s the package? Has to be close by...

A dark brown amongst the yellow and orange catches his eye. A knapsack. More just a big rag after it’s been undone and tossed about. Whatever was inside couldn’t have gotten too far.

Ten minutes of searchin’, carefully passin’ over every sand pit and canyon. Gone. Nowhere on this hunk of rocks. As if it picked itself up and left. He even checks the other Rhino corpses. Just more sand and blood.

Returnin’ to the fallen knapsack, he takes a second, closer look. The way the cloth is spread out, suddenly turnin’ to ridges... hoofmarks even. Damnit. One of the Rhinos had made off with the item. Most likely broke away soon as the fight started. Puts quite a value on whatever it was, however.

He rises back to his hooves, squintin’ while he peers south east. Direction the Rhinos were headin’ in before they got into a tumble. Big item that was in that knapsack. Bit unwieldy to carry too, judgin’ by the struggle and hoofmarks. Even after all the time he’s spent here, Rhino couldn’t have gotten too far.

He tips up his stetson, rubbin' a stream of sweat from his brow.

‘Specially in this damn heat.

But the mission...

But the mission. Already put on knife’s edge as it is. With a defeated sigh he unholsters his rifle from its saddle, slingin’ it across his back and securin’ it in place. Any Rhino he missed would’ve picked him off long ago.

Sun’s just beginnin’ to tuck itself in for the night. If theres anything of value on these Rhinos, best find it now.

Not a thing. A few useless trinkets. Photos, knives, a stray deck of cards missin' a good bit of its stock... Most he gets out of pickin’ through saddlebags is some canned rations and a couple of Fancy Colts Snack Cakes turned mushy in the heat. Tuck ‘em in beside the four others he already has. Along with the rations, his food pack is full again.

Notice they were lean on supplies. Must’ve been on the final stretch of their mission. Weapons are well kept and of decent quality. Powerful too, rangin’ from light assault rifles to high end sniper rifles. The final mare he picked off has notches along the length of her rifle’s barrel. For kills no doubt. Thank the goddesses he cut that out years ago. Would have whittled his stock down to a toothpick by now.

Troublesome though. Rhinos this armed, seven strong, with a healthy number of kills to their name? Not just any squad. Not just any mission.

He stands at the center of the battlefield, closes his eyes, and exhales. Ignore their mission, carry on with his own. Live and let die.

He breathes in. Cool air. Soon to be cold, the freezing desert kind. Kind that kills. Skies turned from a solid blue to hues of purple, orange and red.

Will have to settle here for the night, and good on that. Legs are shot, muscles are grumblin’, and wings are near dead after almost a full day's flight.

Only one thing left to do now. The hard part. He lets out a deep sigh and starts up the hill.

Phantom Strike’s the closest. Still sprawled out on the slope of sand. Fiery filly she was, challengin’ his weapon and aim and age the moment they became squad mates. Didn’t mind her none. And she grew a might more respectful after he bested her. Went to him on the simplest of things, from sharpshootin’ to small opinions. Always nervous about what the other squad mates said about her.

He leans down next to her, tips her head up. Only the neck-chain is visible, the dog tags tucked secretly away behind her uniform vest. With careful hooves he pulls ‘em free, turnin’ them right-side up.

Petal

Silver

NERTF; S

Knew it. Phantom Strike. You damn liar. He grimaces as he deposits them in his saddlebags.

Her sniper rifle is nearby. Retrievin’ it, he gently places the weapon across her stomach, bringin’ in her front legs so that they wrap around the barrel and stock.

He rises, stares down at the mare for a long while.

“If ah get picked off, ya lay me with mah stetson and mah rifle. Can take mah armor and nehmoa.”

“Pfft. Okay, then if I bite a bullet you make sure I keep my sniper. Deal?”

“Deal.”

He looks away, takes a deep breath before continuin’ up the hill.

Static

None

NERTF; C

Breeze

River

NERTF; M

Homewind

Halfwing

NERTF; A

He jangles the dog tags about, siftin’ em from hoof to hoof.

Halfwing had been rarin’ to go, excited about someplace new. Phantom was content too, probably only because he was. Told her everything would be alright. But poor Static and River. Wasn’t weeks until they settled, and even then they’d be full of questions.

Everything’ll be alright. Just a courier mission. Package there, return trip, done. Don’t fret none. Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen. Guess that makes him a liar. Not only to them. Squad before, and the squad before, and the squad before...

He puts away the dog tags and pulls his duster tight, shiverin’. Sweat from the desert sun had turned into a nice conduit for the desert cold. Fire’s out of the question. If not for his combat armor and duster he’d be frozen under a sheet of his own ice.

Wears his combat helmet too. Much as he enjoys the freedom of his stetson, the helmet and mask combination offers better protection against cold. Night vision comes in handy too. Gotta keep tabs on the spark batteries though.

He sits there, lookin’ out for hours, tryin’ to get some sleep. Sometime around there he pulls out his combat knife and cuts open one of his rations, pullin’ down his mask to slurp up whatever the hay is inside. B-rations says its beans. Sure don’t taste like ‘em. Not that he wants to know the truth.

A bit later and his eyes start to droop. Finally. He flicks off the night vision, turning red to black. Not pitch though; Moons still as bright as ever. Turns the sand into silver, the rocks into gems.

Phantom’s still down the hill, lone wolf that she is. Static he laid next to River. Two were always close. Have a hunch they would’ve roped each other if things had ended different. Halfwing looms on the croppin’ above the two, machine gun across his stomach, lookin’ after the two below as he always did.

And him? Lurkin’ behind these rocks, out of sight of any unwanted scouts. Still have a mission. Still have to live. Still have to give in to that blind drive life seems to put into you.

As his vision darkens, he lets out a long breath.

Gonna be another lonesome road.

End up wakin’ before the dawn breaks. Trusty old internal clock pullin’ through again.

First thing he does is scout the perimeter. Only company is the dead.

Second thing is somethin’ he should’ve done the night before. He opens his ammo pouch which sits just above his bandoliers and loads his gun five hollow points. Eight shots. Also reloads the two hollow points he took off his bandolier. He silently curses. Mess up like that could get him killed. Got too busy thinkin’ last night.

Third thing is takin’ the last of Static’s rations to replace the two he’s already downed. Take his canteen too. He sighs as he ties Static’s pack back up, lookin’ the colt and River over. Wish he could give a proper burial. Flies will start upon ‘em by the end of the day. Still hidin’ from the cold for now.

But that’s the past. Gotta look to the future now. West.

Desert as far as the eye can see. Shrubs, cacti, mounds, and rocks are the only things of note. First hints of mornin’ start to lighten the horizon.

He shakes off his saddlebags and opens the left side, reachin’ for his stetson. Combat helmet ain’t good for long flights.

Huh. He deposits the helmet and lifts out the stetson, peerin’ into the crown’s interior. Seems ‘Operation Fold ‘Em’ was trying to sneak its way out.

Tipping the hat right-side up dumps an envelope into his hooves. Small typical little thing, peach with a wax seal of the NER’s insignia: A phoenix burstin’ up from a pile of ashes.

Flip it on its back. Two lines.

Extension of grace from the president of the New Equestrian Republic

To the honorable baron of New Pegasus, Mr. Spade

He frowns and tucks it back into the saddlebags. Eleven dead for this envelope and the paper inside. Might be more before all’s said and done.

With his stetson on, gun loaded, saddlebags strapped, and his armor tight, he says his final farewells to the others. Never had much a belief in the afterlife, but if its there, he’ll have a lot of catching up to do. Check back on the knapsack. Same as it was the day before. Not even a wind to rustle it around a bit. A second pass of the surroundings doesn’t bring up anything new.

Sun’s just beginnin’ to creep over the horizon. A sign.

Without a second look back he extends his wings, begins to pump ‘em against the dry air. Hurts as much as any gunshot wound used to. Few more years and these old things will be out of commission. But slowly, he lifts. With a few more strained beats, a wisp of air catches under his wings. Just the support he needs. Seconds later he’s airborne.

Do a last scan of the hill, from the air this time. Elevin’ ponies layin’ silent, four NER in a comfortable sleep, seven Rhinos sprawled across the hill drinkin’ their own blood. All clear.

Final passover and he begins west. First target two and a half days from take off. Means he should reach it by the end of the day.

Sun at his back, clear sky at his front. Alone. Only the scenery that’s changed.

As always.

About noon and the old motor rumbles for fuel. Five hours of flyin’, sun overhead drainin’ you dry. Sounds about right. Aimin’ for that heap of rock and shrub a ways up front. Three hundred yards off and something’s caught his eye.

Wood. Planks to be exact, makin' up a scrap shelter off the rocks.

Gun saddled, drop altitude. No use goin’ ground out in the open like this. If ya don’t have cover, least don’t make yourself a rookie’s target practice.

Two hundred yards. Clear nopony’s home. Eyes open, alert all the same.

One hundred yards. Close enough that he could catch the details, first movements, six ‘em soon as he saw the hairs or feathers. He lets the wings slow, hoverin’ just above the sand. In case of mines, course.

Right on it now. Closeup gives away the innocence. Few pots and pans lyin’ about, all filled up to their brim in sand. Rust is the giveaway. Must’ve taken the decay decades with shelter and such little rain.

Last scan for traps. All clear.

He settles under the shade and backs against the cool rock. He slumps and removes his stetson, uncorks his canteen. Tippin’ it back to his muzzle sends a draught of cool water rushin’ through his body, dousin’ the flames that had built up over the past few hours.

Lowerin’ the canteen down again, he frowns, starin’ into its side.

A stallion stares back. Old, decrepit thing with deep ridges under his dark orange eyes yet a taut face that seems to mock his sunken frown. Under the stallion’s dark brown stetson lies a mess of a mane, with long strands of chestnut hairs tanglin’ up with the streak of copper that runs down the middle of it all.

Rotates the canteen, more of the stallion comin’ into view.

Coat is even worse. Maybe once was a nice, rich shade of gold, but these days it comes off lookin’ more like rancid piss. Good thing the gray’s begun to set in around the stallion’s muzzle and the black combat armor, brown boots, and brown duster all work together to block most of the rest off.

He closes his eyes, blottin’ out the image as he corks the canteen and returns it to its spot on the saddlebags. One of these days somethin’s gonna give. Heart. Legs. Might start losin’ his mind. Only question now is ‘when?’.

He reaches into his saddlebags, clearin’ his thoughts as he pulls out a Snack Cake. Creamy filled center helps to distract him a bit, clear his mind. Only opens his eyes again when the clouds have rolled back in his head. He looks about the shack, downin’ the last of the Snack Cake.

Second take is better when your mind ain’t on your stomach. Celestia, what a find. For a half-shack the craftsmareship is exceptional. Work of a constructionist almost. Experienced survivalist at the least.

Survivalist. That makes it all click. Start to recognize the lengths of these boards, the scars that don’t come from a sandstorm. Caravan trucking along, maybe an attack or a simple break down. Stranded a day or two’s trot from civilization and a storm’s rolling in. Salvage the caravan, build a shelter. Storm’s over, take your delivery and all the supplies you can and start hiking. Leave the pots and pans. Ain’t worth the strain.

Makes a pony appreciate the details, their glimpse into the past. He raises his canteen. Cheers survivalist, wherever ya ended up.

‘Bout time for him to be movin’ on too. Strap on the saddlebags, check the rifle and nehmoa, don the stetson. Light liftoff from inside the shelter, just the way he had landed. Ain’t chancing his survivalist bein’ a demolitionist as well.

Careful scout around before he gains some altitude. Nopony in sight. Sun welcomes him back with that good old heat.

Westbound ho.

Little over half a day of flyin’. Skins fried. Legs cramped. If his wings were shot before, somepony’s gonna have to make up a new word.

Fruit of his labor lies below, ridin’ along a gentle slope. First target. Can’t really call it a town. Almost a military outpost. Barracks, open tents, makeshift shooting range, and most importantly, a bar. Carts and rails give it away though. Mining settlement.

Current position puts him on a tall mound overlookin’ the area. Terrain’s changed a bit, from flat expanses to sharp ridges and rollin’ hills. Sand dirt and shrubs are still true as ever, starting to regain their silver sheen as the night creeps in.

Mind’s tumblin’ decisions around. Without that skirmish they’d of made it here by daybreak, passin’ by with only a nod. Things changed. Situation’s changed. Flyin’ off tomorrow without two full canteens wouldn’t be too bright. And directions. Scouts that came back were more entranced with New Pegasus than the way there. Locals would have some good knowledge of the best path.

Wouldn’t mind a whiskey either.

Settlement answers for him. Somepony trots from the bar’s swingin’ double doors, slumpin’ onto one of the chairs on the porch. Lantern’s light above reveals the bottle between his hooves.

Alrighty then. Miner pulls a gun, simple quickdraw. He’ll be back in night’s cover before they can even stumble outside. Miner tells him to pass on by, he’ll pass on by. Anything else is fine. Worst case suspicious eyes. Best case a simple nod.

Float down to the hill’s base. Tuck in the wings as he gets closer though. Formal approach to earths and unicorns these days. Was irritatin’ at first, but fifteen years wears it in to your head. Makes it natural.

Close now that he can get those details. A stallion. Light orange of coat, dark orange mane. Wears a simple brown vest. Surprised to see a silver star backed by a gold shield as the cutie mark, setting and all. ‘Spose a place like this needs a sheriff. Especially a place like this.

He makes the hoof falls heavy as he nears the porch. Sheriff either shares his weathered hearin’ or is more drunk than he thought. Probably both.

At the edge of the porch now. Trot any closer and he’d deserve the knife. Only one thing he can do.

“Howdy.”

“Wh-!? Whatsit?!” Sheriff thrashes about. Drops his bottle as he shoots up in his chair.

Stand there watchin’, keepin’ an eye on the sheriff’s six shooter. Too drunk to even draw it seems. Would rather flop about like a fish out of water.

Finally stops, eyes pried open, chest heavin’, Looks him over with fear at first. Then slowly sinks back into the chair, realizin’ he’s starin’ down flesh and blood. His eyes narrow, black beads under the lantern light. Tongue slips out like a snake around his muzzle, spongin’ up any misplaced whisky.

“Who’re you?” Sheriff croaks.

Tough. Don’t want to give away a name, don’t want to prattle on about rank.

“A courier,” he answers, shruggin’. Ain’t a lie.

Sheriff raises a brow. “Courier? Yous deliverin’ from Root?”

Root? Shakes his head. “Nope. Just passin’ through. Hopin’ for a drink. Ain’t plannin’ ta stay the night.”

“Pah!” Sheriff spits. “‘Passin’ through’! Second one taday! Ain’t that a... ah oughta...”

Ready for the draw. But Sheriff’s words die out. Starts lookin’ at him again, beady eyes, lickin’ his muzzle.

Sheriff leans back in his chair. “Ah’d be susisi.... sussssss... sussspect if didn’t looks like ya both came from opposites end ofs Equestria.” Sheriff frowns, givin’ him a last scan before throwing up a hoof. “Awright. Gets on in. No troubles and all that, ya hear?”

He tips his stetson as he passes by. “Ah hear ya.”

Sheriff grumbles somethin’ intelligible, He pushes through the double swing doors.

Heat hits him immediately. Wet heat, stirred up by sweat and hot breath.

Then it’s the smell. Cigarette smoke, alcohol, sweat again, and is that... coal?

Then it’s the silence.

Last, the looks. ‘Bout twenty ponies all swung around in their seats, frozen. Some in a card game, most with a drink in their hooves. All givin’ him the stink eye.

Hm. Been here, done this all before.

Creakin’ of the boards against his boots is the only sound as he starts to cross.

Mumblin’ starts up halfway.

“For shit’s sake...”

“...Comes another one...”

“...Cloud stacker crashed in the wrong place...”

“There a fuckin’ parade comin’ through...?”

Most have turned back to their games and drinks by the time he’s passed. Most. Table closest to the bar can’t keep their eyes off him, only turnin’ away to lean in and whisper to one another.

He takes his own stool, puts his front hooves up on the counter. Bartender’s MIA. Guess it gives him a bit time to look about.

Twenty two ponies. Nearly all blotched in soot. Most stallions, few mares. Most earth, few unicorns. No pegasi. Large number of ‘em carry standard six shooters. Flanks seem to all share the minin’ theme: ores, carts, pickaxes. ‘Cept one.

Stallion in the corner with the two dice for a mark. If he’s a coyote among hounds, stallion’s the jackal. Clasps his mug as if it were his second gun. Ain’t taken a single sip of it either. Looks about the bar as if he might lash out at any second. Has on one of those fancy business suits, kind you’d find on a brahmin baron back in the NER. His hat... what do they call those things... fedoras? Lurkin’ in the corner keeps him out of lantern light, but the jackal still sticks out like a sore hoof.

Troublin’ part is the jackal’s starin’. Table nearby is already lookin’ at him like a piece of fresh meat. But they’re the typical young drunks looking for a rise. Deal with them every other bar. Stallion like the jackal givin’ ya an eye? They ain’t the ones to meet you face to face. Plotters. Come with their friends when ya least expect it.

He shuffles a bit, feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise. ‘Tender still ain’t here. Soon as they show up, drink, directions, gone.

Surge of murmurs come up from behind. He turns his head, just slight enough to get his peripherals over the shoulder without any suspicion.

Table that’s kept their stare on him is movin’. Noddin’ with scowls and pushin’ at one of their own. Young unicorn stallion Gets up from his seat to the cheers of the others, walks towards him with a swelled up chest.

Like clockwork. Some things never change.

Colt takes the next stool over, one to his right at the end of the bar. Can’t seem to keep still, constant shiftin’, rubbin’ of the hooves. Nervous.

Finally turns, hesitates, then leans towards him.

“What the hay are ya doin’ here, stacker?” Colt hisses.

Not bad. ‘Specially bein’ nervous and all. Would’ve made a fine actor in another life.

He shifts a slight so that his right vision gets a good take of the colt. Yep. There’s the six shooter, out for all to see.

He does a tired shrug. “Same thing everypony else is ah suppose. Gettin’ a drink.”

Colt pauses for a second. Way he glances back over his shoulder quick is tellin’. Actor looking for audience support. When the colt speaks again, sounds almost like he’s readin’ lines off a paper.

“Yeah? Well stacker droppin’ in means two things: ya stackin’ clouds or ya causin’ trouble. So ya best get stackin’.”

Little thin on the barks there colt.

He sighs, shakes his head. “Just passin’ through. Ain’t here to cause a ruckus.”

“Passin’ on, or runnin’ to New Pegasus with yer tail between yer legs like all yer friends have?”

Simple head shake. “Didn’t come to visit. Just a delivery.”

“Yeah? Ta who?”

Tough decision here. Tell the colt it ain’t none of his business, probably finish the fuse to this bomb. Tell him the name and it could go either way.

Ah. Never been a bettin’ stallion, but the last thing he needs is another fight.

“Know a ‘Mr. Spade?”

Jackal still lurkin’ in the corner sits up at the name. Still keepin’ a check on him, but the colt for now.

Name doesn’t seem to have angered the colt but made him confused. “Mr. Spade? That old world stallion who runs New Pegasus?” Lip turns up in a sneer. “The hell would he want with a decayin’ stacker like you?”

He shrugs. “More what the N.E.R. wants from him.”

Well damn. That was the wrong choice of words. Silence from when he first trot in is back. Eyes are back on him. Colt’s eyes flare up like Celestia One. Whole bar can hear ‘em when he talks.

“N.E.R.?!” Colt’s sneer is now a full on snarl. “Yer a part of them New Equestrian Republic ponies, aren’t ya? Them other stackers and that feathered fuck told us you’d be comin’. Told us you’d come through here, bringin’ up hell!”

He makes to put out a defense. Mutter anything to stop a fight.

Sound hits him first.

Sound all unicorns make. Sound ya can’t really describe. Chimes kissin’ in the wind. Glass beads hittin’ the floor. Don’t matter. What matters is it comes first, before the glow.

It’s all he needs.

Instinct and experience snap his head to the left, behind the collar of his duster.

And it’s over. Nehmoa’s out of the holster, trigger ready in his mouth. Decals all the way ‘till the barrel, endin’ in the engraved letters ‘FOR HONORABLE SERVICE’. Sight’s aimed right at the colt’s head.

Nice little glow from the colt’s horn. Nice little glow on his gun, still nested in cloth.

Everypony in the bar sucks in a breath.

“Iron on the ground,” he growls from the side of his mouth. “Now.”

Colt’s frozen, sharin’ Static’s wide eyes. Breath’s shudderin’. Has his hooves up in the air, but the horn’s still glowin’.

“Ah said now.”

“He wasn’t gonna shoot stranger!” One of the stallions from the table cries through the silence. “Swear it! That colt ain’t ever hurt a fly! Just tryin’ to put a scare in ya!”

He’s kept the friends in check, but ignores ‘em. Thank Celestia they had sense enough not to pull iron as well.

“You drop the iron, you trot,” he rasps. “Bring it up, yer nine inches shorter.”

Colt’s brain finally seems to be startin’ up again. Looks slowly from his gun, back to the nehmoa, then gulps.

Iron slips from its holster, floatin’ gently down.

Soon as it touches wood he jerks his head to the double swing doors. “Now git. Ya can pick it back up in the morn’.”

Colt gulps again, gradually turns, then trots for the door, breakin’ into a gallop as he leaves the bar.

Mumblin’ from the table. One of the stallions leaned into a friend, mutterin’ somethin’ under his breath.

“...One of them rangers the other stackers talked about... black armor under that du—”

Stops when he notices the stare, freezes with fear.

He jerks his head again, same direction. “Ya’ll follow ‘im out. Can keep yer iron. Head too if ya keep the iron holstered.”

No fight. They trot out after the colt, sweepin’ up their drinks and cards with ‘em. Some grumblin’, some cursin’ but they all make it out the door in peace.

Moment they’re gone he slowly holsters his nehmoa, scannin’ the rest of the bar. Lot of unfriendly looks. Time to leave.

“Alright everypony, show’s over. Back to ya’lls drinks. If ah see ya glarin’ over here again yer out of the bar for a week.”

Ponies turn back in their seats as if the goddess herself told ‘em to. One minute, all eyes on him. Next, nothin’.

He’s had his back to the empty bar. Turns to see his guardian angel.

Big mare. White coat with brown mane. Dark brown eyes. Slip of paper for a mark. Puts most of the muscles in here to shame, competin’ with only the biggest stallions. Has a hard face as she does a sweepin’ glare of the rest of the bar. Softens a bit when she reaches him.

“Howdy stranger, names Tab.” Has a motherly voice, don’t quite match the body. “‘Pologies about mah young’ins. Ya know how they can get with a bit of alcohol in ‘em.”

Nice of her, tryin’ to make him feel company. He doesn’t take the stool again.

“That ah do ma’am. Don’t like lingerin’ around after a draw though. What’s it fer a quick glass of whiskey?”

“Three caps. Hard or mixed?”

“Hard.”

“Comin’ right up.”

Straight to the business. Good of her.

He looks over his shoulder as she pours. Everypony seems back to business. Nopony dares to look at him.

‘Cept for that damn jackal. Worst thing is how good he does it. Put him so much as in the peripherals and he’s studyin’ his drink, scannin’ the crowd. Take him out and he’s back on ya.

Tab’s done. Slides him the drink.

“Here ya go stranger. Watch yerself. We make ‘em rough.”

He takes it in his hooves Glass holds that familiar clear brown grease. Somethin’ new. Black flecks swimmin’ around in there as well. Coal, most likely.

That’ll do.

He brings the glass up to his muzzle. One, two, three, four swigs. Put the glass down empty.

Gives him just what he wants. Burnin’. Starts at the throat, spreads like a wildfire across his body. May not be the best thing for the old motor, but he needs that spark, that flame to burn once a blue moon. Lets him know he’s alive.

World comes back to him. Notice Tab starin’ at his glass with a brow raised.

Realize’s she’s been starin’. Shrugs and pushes him the rest of the whiskey. “Well damn. Ya just wanna take the whole bottle for the road, stranger?”

Makes him pause, bottle offered up like that. Brings back memories. Back in younger days, carryin’ three or four, fire ready for him at any time, any place...

He shakes his head, pushin’ it back. “My ‘preciation, but ah’ll pass.”

Answer seems to shock her. She takes back the bottle, places it back up on the shelf.. “Alrighty then. Anything else I can get ya?”

Already overstayed his welcome as is. Guess the canteens and info will have to wait.

He looks back over his shoulder, to the entrance. Double swing doors are lookin’ mighty ominous. Turnin’ back to the mare, nods, Lowerin’ his voice.

“Yep. A second exit. There a back door ah can make a quiet leave through?”

Tab motions to the passageway closest the bar, ducks herself into a whisper. “Right through that doorway and down the hall, past the stalls. Door at the very end will take ya out back.”

Put three caps down on the counter. Two more for the tip. He tips his stetson to the mare.

“Thank ya kindly ma’am.”.

“Ain’t a thing. Happy trails stranger.”

Slide from the stool. Head through the pass without catchin’ any attention. Rumblin’ of the bar fades out as he enters into a lone hallway, lit by only a single dim lantern. Same as the mare said. Two doors for the stalls on his left, one door at the end.

Farther he makes his way down the hall, quieter it gets. Nearin’ the last door there ain’t a sound but the creakin’ of the boards under his boots.

Stop in front of the door. Stetson’s on tight, saddlebags strapped on, nehmoa holstered, rifle slung across the back.

Exhale, open the door.

Cold desert air gives him the old greetin’. Trot out into the night, greet it back with a long, cool breath.

“Aaaah. There you are.”

From behind. He whirls around, readyin’ his mouth on his nehmoa.

The jackal. Watchin’ him, leanin’ against the bar a few hooves from the door he’d left through. Lantern and moonlight cast a glow on his shaded face, revealin’ a wicked grin.

“Smart of you, sneaking out the back door after such an... impressive display.” Words drip like venom. His grin widens. “But I knew you’d come this way. After all, great minds think alike, no?”

Haven’t moved a muscle. Neither has the jackal. Hasn’t made so much as a feint for his iron.

“What ya need stranger?” He asks cooly, mouth still on his gun. “Ain’t lookin’ for any more trouble.”

Jackal laughs softly, shaking his head. “Trouble? No no no. I’m only here to ask you, ranger, one simple question...”

Jackal leans forward, a gleam in his eye.

“Are you a betting stallion?”

Footnote: Maximum level reached

Status: Normal

New trait added: The Old Pariah Dog

“Most folks don’t seem to stay alive around this stallion for too long”

-1 luck to all other party members