Chapter 2: Homeward Bound
Chapter 2: Homeward Bound
Dash had washed up with the other bowl of water when she flew back to the window last night. It felt good to finally scrub away the gunk and grime built up from long days, some of which was obtained by sleeping in the forest. There was some water over from the other basin to clean the stains on her wings after they’d been preened and the feathers burned in the hearth. Dash then flipped the bucket over her head to wash the last vestiges of grime and soapy lather and dried off. She threw open the window to alleviate the stench of blood and body odor, and after finishing her meal, she folded her wings into her back and fell asleep as soon as she hit the bed.
She did not have any dreams that night. It was fortunate too; she wasn’t sure she could handle any more excitement, mental or otherwise. She woke with the light of the morning sun shining in her eyes. Dash groaned and flipped the blanket over her head. Even though the window was facing the west, the light of the dawn reflected off the polished stones of the cobblestone walkways and any metal milling villagers carried. The damage had been done. Dash was awake and had plenty to do, so sleep would have to come later.
She began to route around for her gear, managed to find the doublet, and slipped it on. She rubbed her eyes childishly and stretched, shaking the vestiges of sleep from her eyes –
There was an arrow in the wall.
She blinked, not quite sure how to process that. She turned; there was no one in the room and the only thing of notice on the other end of the room was the open window she had cracked open last night and the milling villagers outside. Dash took a quick peek, memorizing where everyone was before waiting a few minutes to take another split second peek. No one was in the same location, so the archer had already passed then. Why shoot into a room when an assailant couldn’t hit a target? Why not just burst into the room armed with spears and swords?
Her fingers brushed against something soft as she pulled away from the window. They were small strands of fletching caught in the wooden frame. Dyed red chicken feathers — wait, chicken feathers?
“Oh, you have gotta be kidding me.” Dash stomped over to the arrow in the wall. She grasped the shaft, yanked it out, and examined it closely. Died red chicken feathers, oak shaft, granite arrowhead.
“Stone!? Seriously!?” Dash’s tone was laughing, not mocking. She knew the arrow’s owner, and knowing that, she knew it was a message, not a threat. The chicken feathers gave it an identity, because no one in their right mind one use chicken feathers. But red feathers and a granite head?
“’Success’ and ‘Come home’? What’s going on Applejack? And how do you know I got Brokenfang so fast?” However the archer knew Dash scored the kill, she could ask her later. What Dash wondered was why use a granite head. Why does she need to come home? She was going to already, so she might as well get a move on. Still, managing to shoot a single arrow through an inch of open window? She was almost impressed. Almost.
After Dash finished donning her gear and tucking her wings under her armor for safe keeping, she headed down the stairs to the dining room. Hearth was already awake and talking to a pair of merchants stopping in for a bite to eat. Some of the serving girls were milling about, finishing the necessary chores. The scant carpets were cleaned, floors table and chairs were washed and scrubbed, and there was the faint scent of eggs, baking bread, oatmeal, and fires in the back of the kitchen. The early morning breakfast crowd was starting to trickle in; a few yawning farm workers and some of Hearth’s regulars were taking their seats and beckoning the serving girls. As she stood there, a stout lad hauled in a bucket of water from the well for oatmeal.
“Dash, yer awake! Glad yer up ‘n around now, ‘cause ah got you ah new ‘un ‘ta do yer picture. Bertha be sick,” Hearth called without even looking up.
‘How does he know it’s me?’ Dash thought. Then again, it wouldn’t surprise her. In the early days of her friendship with Hearth, she tried to make a game out of waking up before him so she could sneak some food from the kitchen. But try as hard as she might, she could never wake up before him. Every single time, he was milling about, getting ready for the morning crowds. She once tried to stay up through the night and listen for his steps. She fell asleep at three hours to dawn and he was still moving around downstairs. And he was still awake when she got up!
Dash had then begun to suspect that Hearth didn’t know how to sleep.
“Ah, that’s too bad then. I was really looking forward to people admiring my greatness on your wall every morning.”
“’Ta only thang they be admirin’ be ‘ta size ‘o yer head, Dash,” Hearth retorted with a smile. “This lad here be willin’ if ah part with ah few coins. Fer sein’ Brokenfang gone, that be ah bargain in Hearth’s book.” The merchant he gestured to was a modestly dressed hawk-nosed man in blue and red linen shirt, pants, and vest while his partner appeared to be a hired hand. A smaller lad with sandy brown hair, he was following every word his boss and Hearth said with eager eyes. The moment Hearth focused the attention of the conversation onto Dash, his eyes went wide with wonder. It appeared that her name was tossed around a few times and the lad was fawning as if seeing Empress Celestia or Luna for the first time. She saw no harm in fulfilling the hero worship a little more.
“Brokenfang was nothin’ but a bother.” She gave a fake sigh. “But if you insist Hearth.”
The merchant, a man by the name of Whispering Winds, was bringing in furniture, pictures, books, tools, and a whole sort of other items in exchange for coin, wool, and food stuff to bring back to his hometown of Trottingham. Winds just happen to have an itch for drawing what he sees on his travels and made a profit on the side selling his art.
Winds had Dash strike a pose in front of Hearth’s inn. With a foot on a stump, left arm propped on her sword, and right arm holding up Brokenfang’s head a foot from her own. She had a satisfied smile on her face that Winds seemed to think fit the picture best, so she left it on. A small crowd had begun to gather in front of the inn, which Hearth used to his advantage by drawing people into his inn.
“Step right up ‘ere and see ta’ legendary Rainbow Dash wit’ her latest victory o’er ta’ wilds ‘o ta Everfree Forest!” The crowd cheered at that last bit. She began to recount her tale into the forest to track Brokenfang and the crowd just ate up every little bit of her story. The wide eyed lad of Winds was staring at rapt attention, even when his boss began barking orders to give him more paints. When Winds wasn’t barking at her to stay still, she recounted some other stories to entertain her audience. The first was how she took down the prized boar with nothing but a spear. She got barked at by Winds a few more times, but even he couldn’t stay mad too long in the cheery atmosphere.
Winds’ picture was completed quickly. Feeling the emotion running through the crowd, he flourished it in a circle. The background was a mix of grays and browns in wild strokes, emphasizing Dash in the center of the picture. Herself and her armor was painstakingly crafted with much smoother, more delicate strokes, with the only contrast being her long mane of hair flourished behind her like a cape. She thought Winds had a little too much fun painting her.
Tender Hearth gratefully accepted Whispering Winds’ portrait of Dash and her kill, hanging it gently on an empty space on his wall. She began to walk out, but Hearth called her back. “Ah take it yer headin’ back?”
She nodded. “Yup, I gotta collect my bounty and go home for once this week. Then I can unpack, talk to Scoots, and take a nap.”
“Ya jus’ woke up!”
Winds perked up at the talk of travel. “By chance are you heading south? I’m heading down in that direction in an hour or two in my wagon. Won’t mind some company along the way.”
Dash pondered for a second. Taking a wagon sure would cut off some time and she wouldn’t mind some company. Plus, there was an increase in brigands in the area, so with a wagon as an enticing target, she might get to see some action again.
“Sure! Just let me get my gear.” She stopped back upstairs with all the grace of a stampede. Normally, she could just spread her wings and take flight, but the weight of her armor and all her gear would be too much to carry back. As irritating as it was, she needed to take the long way back on foot, or by cart if it was offered.
Dash said her goodbyes and payed Tender Hearth for a brief snack on her path back to Ponyville. Winds was ready to go and was impatiently waiting with his ward outside the door. While she wished to stay and bask in the glow and admiration of her fans and admirers, she did need to return home. She walked down the inn’s steps, waving a goodbye to Hearth and the citizens of New Brook.
Winds’ cart was actually two carts, each drawn by a quartet of horses of fine Ponyville stock. Clusters of pots and pans hung on hooks and bits of twine from the sturdy wood railings. Odds and ends were neatly stacked high in the first cart. Dash saw a few pieces of furniture, several small knives, a steel cleaning kit, stacks of books, needles, thread, tanned hides, and multiple stacks and bolts of cloth. The peddlers were one of the lifelines for the smaller towns that could not be under regular protection of the Royal Guard. Such merchants provided the necessities needed to live, and were conduits for information when couriers were either unreliable or few in number. Living close to the Everfree Forest brought new dangers, monsters that could eviscerate a full grown man in moments.
“Not much and not much room, but hop on. Just don’t break anything,” Winds said. He and his assistant hopped onto one empty cart, while the other was being harnessed by a plain woman with raven hair, likely Wind’s wife.
Dash grabbed ahold of the side of Wind’s cart and heaved herself over the side. Her armored back and sheathed sword plopped down on a stack of wool sheepskins. It was a nice, comfy resting place, providing the road between Ponyville and New Brook was void of bumps. The mercenary sighed in contentment and let the warm rays of the morning sun warm her face. The wind carried the smells of eggs and cooked ham, the remains of breakfast for the tiny town.
Winds clicked his tongue and the horses moved forward slowly. Metal and glass jostled in a noisy cacophony, but Dash was content enough to be only marginally bothered by such things. Sitting up straight, she began the process of removing the bindings and clasps that secured her greatsword’s leather sheath to her back. It was difficult to relax fully with a large lump wedged across her back and pinning her wings.
She recalled the stories of increased activity from bandits and brigands, but she decided with utter surety that no cur would dare attack a wagon so close to town.
“Let’s get this thing off, then.” Just like the previous night, Dash removed her chest plate, but only that. The young lad blushed furiously and paid extra attention to the road in front of him. She could only smile in amusement. The piece was the only one she removed and she still wore her shirt and doublet, but it was absurdly funny to her to see such a youngling so nervous around her.
“See something you like?” she teased. The lad turned a deeper shade of crimson, but refused to continue his inadvertent leering. Dash was far from unattractive, but her job left little fat or feminine curves to her body. Her bosom was small enough as it was, but with her armor, which many saw her with, she was often mistaken for a long-haired man.
Dash ceased her teasing, but that did not stop her from removing her doublet. Winds’ eyed her curiously and promptly wiped his head back around when he saw her removing her shirt as well. Dash’s wings flared by some instinct and flapped slowly to cool her. Her breasts were once again bare to the world, but she was no longer alone and such brazen displays were inappropriate.
She rummaged through her pack and pulled out a different shirt, this one with two large slits cut into the back. Slipping it over her head and pulling out her lengthy hair from its confines, she wiggled her wings back and forth until she managed to push them through the slits.
Her wings now free from their confines, Dash sat down on the sheepskins and stretched all six of her limbs to their limits. She closed her eyes lazily and let the sensations of the world consume her. The jostling of the wagon, squeaky wheels in need of a good oiling, clanking from cast iron dishware, and the chirping and humming of small animals and insects all lulled Dash to an easy relaxation. Soon enough, the sensations dulled to a soft murmur and sang her to sleep.
Dash lay spread eagle on the back of the cart like some fallen angel. An angel that snored loud enough to wake the dead. Her snoring was only slightly overridden by the sound of chattering people and the open market but the dreary haze that lingered just next to the cloak of sleep refused to let her acknowledge her situation.
“Come off it lad, she won’t bite.”
“But...”
“She’s not some twenty bit whore, either. Just wake her up so we can get a move on.”
Someone nudged her arm softly as if she would immediately spring to action and gut the perpetrator violating her rest. The person nudged her again, a little more forcefully this time.
CLANG!
“Whaaaaa!” Dash sprung to the air, wings beating to keep her afloat. Sounds came to her as if her ears were stuffed with cotton and everything looked blurry.
“Glad I finally rolled your bones out of bed, Dash. I was afraid I’d never be able to hear anything ever again.” A disgruntled Winds stood next to a stout frying pan with an iron mixing spoon in hand. Obviously he had been trying to wake her for some time and resorted to desperate measures.
Dash rubbed her eyes to clear away the last vestiges of sleep. The humming was growing more pronounced, developing into chatter by some she recognized. Mister and Missus Cake, the town food vendors and owners of the sweet shop, had their doors open and were shouting their wares to town. A bard from north, a slender woman with a streak of light green in her hair, was in the town square and dancing barefoot with her lyre. Her dress was very fine, adorned in the silks and lace of a Canterlot native.
Winds began unloading his carts in the town square. Like many other wandering peddlers, he and his ward earned their wage moving from town to town, selling and buying wares at a profit. Dash gathered her gear and slid off a pile of stacked garden equipment and onto the paved street.
She said her thanks to Winds and the lad, bought the cleaning kit, and proceeded to gather her equipment. Her armor wasn’t too heavy, but it was awkward and bulky. Along with the rest of her supplies, pack, and pelts, it made for quite the handful.
The sounds of merriment and work were lively reminders of the meager small town economy and a blast of nostalgia. Dash had vacated the town for quite some time. It was good to be home, although the punch to the kidney was certainly not appreciated.
The flier felt a sudden pain shoot up her back and her vision momentarily faded to white. Her wings flared in an effort to correct her momentary loss of balance and she whirled around to face her attacker.
Cloudkicker was smiling sheepishly, although smugness may have had something to do with it. She was very slender with glistening amber hair, pretty heart-shaped face, gray-pink eyes, and speckled persian blue wings protruding from her back. Even though it was well on its way to noon, she was still dressed in her night clothes. Such salacious attire would be frowned upon, but most streetwalkers casually accepted her dress in stride. “That’s for bailing on me last night.”
‘So she did see me...’
“I’m sorry you’re not as awesome as me. Then again, I wasn’t distracted by every backside I flew above.”
Cloudkicker scoffed in mock offense and her wins opened, a classic, if faked, sign of surprise and offense among fliers. “A woman has her needs, Dash. You may be the fastest flier, but you gotta slow down and have a good time.” She held a finger to her smooth jaw line in thought. “Then again, “good time” for you wouldn’t last beyond ten seconds.”
It was Dash’s turn to punch Cloudkicker. The latter was skinny, but far from weak; she was the one on night patrol that watched for monsters from the Everfree Forest. Dash still had a good twenty pounds on her, and most of that was lean muscle. Cloudkicker grunted in pain and stumbled. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt, but it would be tender for a while.
“These arms can do more than swing a sword all day.” Dash grinned.
Cloudkicker winced, but met the smile with one of her own. She licked her lips sensually and Dash rolled her eyes at the display. “I’ll have to see for myself sometime.”
Dash snorted. “Not in a million years.”
Cloudkicker pouted. Dash laughed uproariously and continued her trek into town. Ponyville was larger than New Brook by about two thousand. While a good number of houses were outside of town, the town shared a commonality with New Brook in that many lived in or above their places of business. Most buildings were some kind of shop or another. Dash looked to the fountain in the town square as she passed. The farmer and fruit vendor she hoped to find was not present.
Cloudkicker had kept pace with Dash. Given that her shift was over, it was not her place to tell the woman what she could and could not do. Cloudkicker was eyeing her. At least she had stopped leering. “Is that who I think it is?” she asked, nodding to the pelt around Dash’s neck.
“Yup. Easy peasy.” Brokenfang’s pelt warmed her neck and was beginning to make her sweat. She needed to finish up some affairs before she could go home. “Cloudkicker, can I ask for a favor?”
Cloudkicker lavished her in an encompassing hug, one hand sliding across the nape of her neck while the other slid down her stomach. “Anything for you Dashie,” she whispered sensually.
“Hands off the goodies.” Dash thrust an elbow out, pushing her away. “Can you drop these by my place quick?” She hefted the armor and packs hauled in one arm over her back.
Cloudkicker mock pouted once more, but agreed, “Yeah, sure.” Dash set the equipment down and her friend picked it up, grunted, and flipped it onto her back to help bear the weight. Cloudkicker was a flirt by nature, but those who wished to exploit her voluptuous nature would realize her thin body was deceptively strong.
“Thanks. And tell Scoots I’ll be home shortly.” The two nodded and parted ways. Cloudkicker’s wings twitched, the uncomfortable weight of Dash’s possessions pressing against them. Her own wings opened a sliver and beat against the air before retracting against her back. The day was warming up faster than she liked and little flutters of her wings did wonders for cooling her back and scalp. Dash put her hand on her hips.
She blinked. The weight on her body was slightly off. She groaned when she discovered why; Cloudkicker had filched her coin purse when she was lavishing her with affection.
“Cloudkicker!”
Dash left the town hall with a sack full of bits over her shoulder, the heavy bag of gold replacing the wolf skin. “And another notch on this sword,” she said with pride. Despite carrying just over ten pounds of gold, most of that would be spent on food, supplies, and repairing her gear. Four hundred bits didn’t buy as much as it used to anymore.
Rather than worry about such things, she walked right back into the town market. Winds had his carts unpacked and ready to distribute his wares. Dash had scanned his goods earlier and found nothing of interest. Her time had not been reduced to a quagmire; the lyrist had joined other town musicians and were playing a pleasing tune. Together, her lyre, a lute, bass drums, shakers, and a flute joined together for an ad hoc performance. Several children joined in the merriment, dancing and placing dandelion crowns on each other.
Dash bartered her wolf pelts for some food to eat and some to take home. A turkey shank with honey glaze dangled in her jaw while she finagled a bag of vegetables with one hand. Despite how much she trusted those in her home town, it was always better to be safe than sorry, and hold gold close to the chest. Especially when Cloudkicker was around. “Where is that tart?”
The warrior saw neither hide nor hair of the flirt. She’d hunt her down later. Cloudkicker may be devious, but she was never dishonest. Dash’s clanking gear and sack full of gold drew eyes and a couple waves of greeting. Some of the more burly out-of-towners eyed her and her bag hungrily, but some eagle-eyed townies reeled in the foolish newcomers before they could make a painful mistake by challenging her. Dash grinned and turned her back towards them. It was not out of arrogance, but a move to show them the lengthy greatsword strapped to her back. One of them, a sow of a man with a shaved head, gulped and moved on to the next stand.
Dash had passed a stand with a great banner overhead. Across the banner was a great seal, the sun eclipsed by the moon in a field of stars; they were no doubt emissaries of the Empire keeping tally of mages. Instead of a single table, cart, or patch of cobblestone like most vendors, these had several tables set in a large square. Stacks of books piled the tables in great mountains, hiding the royal vassals from view. She ignored them. Spellbooks for the town’s younglings expressing interest and skill in arcane and druidic magics didn’t concern her. Her true calling was the sky.
She continued, trading her skin scrapes for a few lengths of leather. The padding on her own sword was starting to wear through. Grooves matching her own fingers were chafed nearly to the hilt. Here and there glints of steel shone dully behind the dark leather. She’d need to replace it soon.
Dash continued out of town and to the south. Her own home was on the outskirts and off the beaten path. Her stern eye for Cloudkicker did not reveal the minx’s location, but she wasn’t too worried about that.
Cresting a hill, her home came into view. Her own home had cost her several thousand bits to build by the most experienced sky crafters she could find. Although little more than a single pillar rising from a central mass, the beauty of her home came from the fact it was built from nothing but clouds. It was always watertight, would never budge an inch in even the most tempestuous of storms.
Plus, it was above the ground. She could get some peace and quiet from everyone but the fliers.
She carefully placed the market produce on the ground and removed her sword and scabbard. Even if she didn’t see anyone else in the low, grassy plains outside of town, that was no reason to not be careful. One mistake was all it took, and she cared about her sword and money a lot more than she did food. At least, not with a full stomach.
Her back free, she spread her wings to the max and got a running start. The rush of wind streamed above and below her wings, granting her just enough lift for flight. Gold and sword alone did not weigh enough to throw her trajectory off, but the latter was getting there. Plus, it was long and cumbersome, not a good combination for flying.
It wasn’t enough. She was soon enough on her pillowy doorstep. Setting down both items, she swan dived off the edge to retrieve her food. The door flew open as soon as she landed. A squealing mass of limbs and cerise hair thrust into her gut, causing her to drop the bag.
“Rainbow Dash! You’re back!”
Dash smiled affectionately. “Hows it goin’, kid?”
Her companion, the aforementioned “Scoots”, looked up at her with violet eyes. “Great, did you get her?”
Dash ruffled her hair with one hand and picked up the sack of gold with the other. “I always win, Scootaloo.” Dash looked over the preteen’s head and saw her armor deposited next to the table. ‘How did Cloudkicker...?’
She brought her sword and bag of coins inside. Scootaloo took the initiative and and wrapped her little hands around the bag of food. Her tiny wings, white feathers tinged with a gradient gamboge, bat fiercely as she heaved the bag off the cloud ground.
“Want me to try to make something?” Dash winced. Although Scootaloo was significantly better in the culinary arts than herself, it was short of what both of them could consider appealing. She set her sword down on the table; it like the floors were made of a dense concentration of cloud that made it possible to walk on. She removed her sword from its sheath and set it next to it. The blade was chipped in several places, and despite her care the previous night, it needed a good oiling and whetstone. The sword had lasted her six years, far longer than such a blade had a right to last in her profession.
She thought about Scootaloo’s question for only a moment. The extra food was more of a lazy way of not having to go into town to eat, but she had gold to spare. A little splurge would do little harm. “Say, wanna go into town for grub?”
Dash dearly loved her adopted sister. The little runt looked up to her in reverence whenever she described her latest job. Every captured brigand or slain beast made her eyes widen in delight and awe. She loved that little orphan since the day she moved in her house.
As brash and rough as she acted, little Scoots brought a smile to her lips every time she returned home. It was the little things that mattered to her. Dash provided for them both, despite Scootaloo’s eager and often disastrous attempts at helping her adopted sister and friend.
A little smile was all it took. A little smile for every act of kindness, glee, and act of devotion. What didn’t get a smile? Getting a bucket of water thrown in her face after sending Scootaloo home. Sure, Dash was prone to spontaneous nap attacks, but that was a little extreme for falling asleep on some hay bales in a back alley.
Splash!
“Waaaa!” Dash flailed wildly and fell ungracefully off the hay bales and on her face. Putting the pain in a temporary holding area, she jumped to her feet, pulled a knife from her boot, and flared her wings, ready for a fight.
A pair of individuals stood before her. The first was a tall man with medium build. His carefully groomed light-blue curls, fine blue and gray linens, and polished knee-high laced boots marked him as a man of at least modest wealth. His hazel eyes brimmed with mirth, no doubt stemming from Dash getting drenched. The man was bare of any markings, accessories, or finery, save for a trio of diamonds stitched into his notched lapels; it was some kind of insignia or seal, she guessed. Dash didn’t know much about clothes or sewing outside of what she owned, but even she could tell that he was dressed in exceedingly fine clothing.
“Did I do it right, Pierce?”
“Yes, you did, Sweetie.”
Sweetie was approximately the same age as Scootaloo and stunningly pretty, almost like a porcelain doll meant to be put on display. The child was dressed in a snow-white dress with mulberry and rose stripes across the hems, the same as her own hair. Clutched to her breast was an empty pail still dripping water.
“Kid, I have yet to smack a child. You’re not helping my record.”
Pierce held up both palms in a gesture for Dash to calm down. “Please, Miss Dash. We’ve been trying to wake you for the past five minutes. ‘Twas my fault for convincing dear Sweetie to attempt some more... drastic methods.”
Dash snorted. That seemed to amuse Pierce even more. “However, I have stabbed more than one full grown man.”
Sweetie dropped the bucket, her eyes wide. Her immature mind took Dash at her word, but remained defiant. “Hey! Don’t you hurt Pierce! He’s my big sister’s friend!”
Dash’s eyes darted to the left and right in a quick motion. No one else to worry about besides a brat and a smug man. Pierce, taking advantage in the lull in Dash’s hostility, spoke. His voice was a smooth, relaxing baritone. “Please, Miss Dash. I apologize for the rude awakening – ”
“And I don’t really care. I was having a relaxing lunch with my sister, sent her home, and took a quick nap after seeing if anyone was selling anything cool.” She folded her arms and spread her wings slightly to make herself appear larger and more intimidating. Although well built enough to take care of herself in a fight, Dash was quite short. At five feet and four inches, Pierce still towered over her by half a foot.
Unwilling or unnoticed by him, Pierce did not take advantage of the obvious weight advantage. He continued to make unwavering eye contact with her. “I humbly regret my brash attitude – ”
“Get to the point. I ain’t got all day. I’ve got celebrating to do.”
Sweetie opened her mouth to interject, but Pierce held up a hand to silence her dissent. “I will be brief. I am in service to a minor noble from Canterlot.”
“And just like that you lost me."
“...My employer is currently moving a caravan of product and desires additional security. The more rural areas, particularly the towns bordering on the Everfree Forest, are fraught with danger from monsters and brigands. On behalf of my lady, I have been searching for those skilled in swords and sorcery. You are currently at the top of the list. You have been highly recommended by the majority of those I have spoken with.”
She puffed her chest in pride. That seemed to make Pierce uncomfortable, so she did it a little more. His eyes were boring into hers, but he seemed to do so out of conscious desire rather than to try and dominate the conversation.
But business was business. Four hundred bits was a lot of money, but the vast majority was going to pour right back into her work and bills. Food, that awful imperial tax, repair work on her own armor, a few debts that needed to be paid, medicine, knives, a bigger bed for Scootaloo; there was no shortage of dues. Despite just finishing a job, it wouldn’t hurt to hear out the stranger and the offer of this mysterious benefactor.
The tension drained from her shoulders as she acquiesced to her desire for bits and the curiosity this particular job exuded. Sweetie stopped giving her the stink eye; the snot mouth needed to keep her nose out of other’s business. Grownups were talking.
If she read between the lines right, this Pierce was some kind of manservant to a noble or rich businesswoman. She could easily make bank if this employer was free with her coin purse. “What kind of security?”
His eyes softened, but still remained fixed on her own. “Bodyguard. You would be providing security for the caravan and my mistress. If you wish, she is still in town. You may meet with her now and discuss terms and pay.”
A noble that was willing to meet with employees? That was new. Every story she had ever heard told of lackeys like Pierce that did most of the work. If nothing else, she could always say no. “Alright. I’ll talk to her.”
“Thank you for considering our offer, Miss. I’ll leave you free to change.”
Dash cocked her head to the side in confusion. “Change? Why?”
Something finally cracked Pierce’s calm, official front. A slight blush tinged his cheeks. “You are... showing.”
Dash looked down and finally understood why he made a special effort to look her in the eyes and not roam lower. Due to the pail of water, her own shirt was soaked through. Her pert nipples were easily noticed under the thin material. “Oh, Celestia damn it.”
Dressed in a dry if unimpressive gray shirt, Dash flanked the pair down Main Street. The sounds of everyday activity and the market cascaded over the rooftops. The square wasn’t their destination, however. Sweetie lead the way, with Pierce a breath behind her. The way he loomed over the child protectively and his subtle tense shifts in stance whenever someone approached got Dash thinking. He acted more like a guardian than some stiff noble or wannabe aristocrat. Perhaps she was mistaken about his mettle.
She could still feel the knife in her boot along with the comforting weight of her sword strapped to her back. She had recovered her favored weapon after a quick flight home to tell Scootaloo the news and change shirts. She expected Pierce to complain about the weapon, but he gave her a onceover, nodded, and was otherwise silent. If he even dared to speak about removing her weapon, there would have been a fight.
Despite the unpleasant wake-up call, Dash’s lengthy hair was now moist and cooled her scalp and back. She had thought about cutting it off; long hair, especially her own rainbow locks, could be a serious detriment in a fight if anyone grabbed onto it. And it would help solve her problems with the bloody heat.
The trio walked past a grotesquely garish building that resembled a life-sized gingerbread house. The owners, Carrot Cake and Cup Cake – otherwise known as Mr. and Mrs. Cake respectively – waved emphatically as she passed. “‘Morning, Dash!” Carrot called out.
“Morning for her, at least,” Cup chuckled.
“I need my beauty sleep!” Dash complained. “How are the twins?”
“Rowdy as ever,” Carrot replied. He ran a hand through ginger hair and across his brow. The heat was affecting more than her. “Bonnie is watching them right now.”
‘Ah, the local candy maker’, she thought. Thinking about the Cakes, an old memory struck her, one she hadn’t had in a long time. A dusty, forgotten basement, a box piled with ancient mementos, a dusty picture with five heads posing for the camera, a robustly frazzled head of pink hair...
Her thought was broken by a cry from inside. The upper floor burst open and a panting woman with cobalt hair with fuschia highlights leaned on the railing. “Mister and Missus Cake, where’s the baking soda? The twins somehow got into the vanilla and stained the carpet. I think Pumpkin knows how to move objects now.”
“Oh, dang nabbit,” Cup harrumphed. “I’ll help, sweetie.” She hurried inside and shut the door.
Dash waved goodbye and continued with the patiently waiting Pierce and Sweetie. Wherever the pair were taking her for this contract negotiation, isn’t wasn’t anywhere near where she had taken a nap. She wanted to spread her wings and just fly to their destination, but knew she was forced to remain grounded due to her companions’ lack of wings.
“Are we there yet?” she complained.
“Almost,” Sweetie and Pierce replied simultaneously. Pierce placed his hands in his pockets, closed his eyes, and inhaled the town air. Normally, Dash could get behind the desire to sit back and relax, but he was involved in her disrupted sleep, and thus earned her ire.
They stopped outside the Winterspring Inn, the town’s largest and most accommodating inn in town. Three stories tall and made from solid wood, it was, like Tender Hearth’s inn, built for passing travelers. The benefit was that not only could it accommodate more people, but was built with several balconies to accommodate those with wings.
Sweetie quickly ran in as fast as her shorter legs could carry her. Pierce, ever the gentlemen, held open the door for Dash. She sniggered, “Aren’t you overdoing it a little? I’m not some noble. Too boring for me.”
He smiled, but said nothing.
Inside, she could smell the generous quantities of baking bread and smoked ham. She was, however, stuffed from her earlier meals and carried no desire for more. Sweetie stood on her tiptoes with her head just barely over the cook’s counter, chatting animatedly. The cook, unable to resist her charm, smiled affectionately and gave her some lemon drop sweets.
“Thank you!” She swiped them in a tiny fist and began to crunch one between her teeth. A particularly stubborn granule of sugar refused to budge. “Ow!”
“Careful little one. Don’t want to rot those teeth before you’re old enough to see me eye to eye.” The cook looked up and saw Dash and Pierce. “Hey Rainbow, back from the hunt? No trophy?”
He was nothing but another adoring fan in her eyes. “Who do you think I am? I am the Rainbow Dash!”
The cook rolled his eyes. “How could I forget.”
Sweetie finished the lemon drop and popped another in her mouth before running up the stairs to the second floor. Pierce gestured for Dash to follow, which she did. She didn’t like having her back exposed to strangers, especially in tight corners like a stairwell. The braggarts and ruffians in town were different; she had her reputation among friends and open space to fight or flee to help her. A stairwell was too small a space for her to even draw her sword, let alone swing it. Plus that sneaking suspicion that Pierce knew how to fight had yet to leave her mind.
“Anything I should know before we go?”
Pierce kept that coy smile and folded his arms behind his back. “I would have said “Put on a decent shirt”, but you don’t strike me as the type toacquiesce to demands made by strangers so easily.”
He talked too much for Dash’s taste, another thing she didn’t like.
With much reluctance, she continued up the stairs, following the sound of Sweetie’s pitter-patter of shoes. The girl had circled the long corridor on the second floor and proceeded up the steps to the third. The remaining two followed with the sound of their own footsteps creaking against the wood.
Sweetie’s steps stopped at the easternmost corner of Winterspring Inn. Dash knew from memory that it was one of the larger rooms built for fliers like herself. So this mistress was a flier like herself? She’d find out in short order. The pair of them walked down the third floor corridor and Dash reached for the knob and opened the door.
It was a typical room. Although Ponyville had a larger population and wealth to spare, it was not enough to splurge on anything more than the necessities. Brass candlestick holders were nailed to the four walls and a double doors, both flared, opened up above Ponyville Square. The walls and floor were polished, but nothing more than wood. The same was true for the oak dresser, four-corner bed, table, and vanity mirror on the far wall.
The bed was loaded with stacks upon stacks of cloth bolts. More colors than her hair were spread all over the bed, so much so she was surprised she didn’t hear creaking wood under all the weight. Accounting paperwork, inventory, and clothing designs piled the table as equally as cloth piled the bed. Odd enough, some of them were weighted down by a solid black mace.
It was a lot of materials for a trio to handle and account for, especially one as young as Sweetie. The child clung to whom Dash assumed was her sister in a tight hug. She was exceedingly beautiful, even more so than her sister. What she thought were pleats were actually meticulously styled indigo hair that framed her diamond-shaped face. She was dressed in very fine wools and linens, but not silk; she had money, but either could not or would not give an ostentatious display of wealth.
The woman sniffed and removed a pair of reading glasses. Her azure eyes sized Dash up, and she continued to do the same. This noble was... different. Most nobles she had heard of wrapped themselves up in a ridiculous number of layers. She was different. Although her garb was form fitted, she had at most two layers underneath her silver dress. Intricate scrollwork marked the cuffs, only a darker shade of silver than her dress.
The woman stepped forward with a careful and measured grace. It was less a panther’s deadly grace, and more like a house cat. So, she was only moderately capable of using a weapon, probably has more money stashed away than what she made for slaying Brokenfang, and saw it necessary to wear a signet ring engraved with three diamonds.
Dash hated her already.
“You wanted to see me?” Dash folded her arms over her chest and did her best to look bored. The noble and her cabal had not wronged her, but the tiny irritations she had suffered so far were grating on her nerves.
The woman smiled pleasantly. Dash was not sure if the smile was forced or genuine. The woman’s eyes lingered on Dash’s lengthy hair for longer than she was comfortable with. Her wings fluttered lightly.
“I am most pleased to meet you “Rainbow” Dash. I am Sapphire Stones, but my business partners know me best as Rarity.”
Chapter Commentary: LINK
Editors: shuttershy, Maverick Frond
Chapter 1: Rainbow Dash, Soldier of Fortune
Chapter 1 - Rainbow Dash, Soldier of Fortune
THUNK!
Dash’s greatsword cut through the rich brown dirt of the forest floor. Her adversary, a beastial wolf - one of a pack - snarled as it darted away to avoid the attack.
“This will be easy, they said. You can do this in an afternoon, they said,” she lamented.
Her adversaries were a small pack of wolves that had been tormenting the neighboring town of New Brook for quite some time. Their attacks on livestock and thieving from food stores were numerous, equalling only those on townsfolk. She had offered her sword up for the job and was selected for the contract above the half dozen or so others who showed up for the bounty. “Dash” was more than just a name, she was the fastest blade around.
Dash heaved her sword in her hands, slung it across her back, and slid a foot forward in a battle stance. The pack didn’t take too long to find; a single warrior alone in the forest, no appreciable backup, and three hours from sunset? Easy prey for a wolf pack. The real trouble was Brokenfang, a notoriously wily and vicious she-bitch and pack leader. Named for her chipped right canine, she led the pack and used them to attempt to flank her for an easy kill.
Dash would not fall victim so easily. The forest was rich with life and color, but the distinct slinking of wolves through the underbrush, especially overeager pups, was distinguishable in the forest din. It was mere luck that the one cutting off her escape was naught but a pup compared to Brokenfang. Instead of waiting for Brokenfang to close the snare around Dash, as proper battle tactics would suggest, the pup attempted to blitz her flank. ‘Twas foolish, to attack such an experienced warrior alone. The speed of Dash’s blade was furious and fast, dispatching the pup with a few quick strokes of her sword. Brokenfang and her remaining pack rushed to help, but Dash was ready and no longer had her back to a wolf.
Two other male wolves stood to her left and right, but had not moved an inch otherwise. Brokenfang herself stood atop a group of downed trees behind them, watching the bounty hunter through her amber eyes. The wolf held the high ground and used herself as bait so her pack could attack Dash’s unprotected back. It was a clever tactic; there was good reason Brokenfang had a 400 bit bounty on her hide.
Dash smiled, turned, and vanished into the underbrush. It wasn’t out of any fearful instinct, but a desire to set the battlefield herself, and in her favor. Had she stayed, she did not believe her success was reasonably assured. Even the best case scenario would have her limping out of the woods and recovering for at least a fortnight. There was courage, and then there was tactical retreat.
She smiled as she ran. Even under the weight of her sword and armor, her pace was swift. She leapt over fallen logs and scattered shrubbery, wove around great oaks centuries old, and jumped across rocky crevasses, all with the speed that her name implied. She laughed in exhilaration, loving the feel of slicing through the air as the wind burned her face and her muscles ached from exertion. The pitter-patter of feet echoed in her wake as the wolves ran to keep up. They were gaining ground slowly, but she still had enough strength to put on an extra burst of speed. She giggled uncharacteristically, knowing there was nothing quite like the knowledge she was being hunted. The fear, the adrenaline, knowing that there could be danger or death lurking in the shadows... the excitement gave Dash a love of pursuit and a tingle between her legs.
She flung a springy sapling branch behind her and heard a pursuer yelp. Steadily, the trees became smaller, fewer, and far in between, for she rapidly approached a sharp, rocky precipice carved into the earth long ago. Without missing a beat, she completed a jump to the other side, adjusted her sword to avoid accidentally harming herself, and rolled to dispel the momentum. The other side held a wide, clear field dotted only with ferns, bushes and other minor underbrush.
‘This will do nicely,’ she thought.
Her ears perked up upon hearing beastial panting. Dash gripped the handle of her greatsword, pivoted sharply, and swung in an arc. One of the males had followed her mighty leap across the precipice and right into the path of her swing. The momentum of the wolf’s jump shook her grip but did nothing to dispel the damage the greatsword carved. The sword sliced through the wolf like a hot knife through butter, cutting through muscle and sinew and crushing bones on contact. A spray of dark red blood hit her face as the wolf died instantly from the blow.
Stumbling back, she furiously rubbed her eyes to clear away the burning fluid. She did not have long, for she heard running feet and an accompanying growl. Cursing to herself, she raised her blade as the wolf sprung across the precipice. A dark shadow flew across her vision in front of her and she heard the scrambling of clawed feet; one of the wolves made it across. Fate had expunged the last few seconds given to clear her obfuscated sight.
The shadow in front of her blurred with movement and Dash swung half hazardly in a desperate attempt to wound her foe. The slash hissed through the air and hit only empty space, just as a large mass of fur crashed into her side. She and her sword fell to the ground as the pair tussled. The beast roared in triumphant fury and lunged for her throat. In a last-ditch attempt to spare herself from the beast’s rage as it lunged for her throat, she thrust her forearm into the beasts gullet. She yelped in pain as the wolf growled and shook the flesh in its mouth, tearing into her arm bit by bit; the cured leather vambrace with its interlaced steel discs gave her modest protection, but the steel could not protect everything. Blood began to pool in her vambrace as the wolf shook her forearm a second time. Scrambling with her unentangled arm, she reached down to her hip to her trusty dagger. She yanked the blade out of its cheap leather sheath and plunged it into the wolf’s neck. The wolf yelped in pain, letting go of her arm.
Dash delivered a kick to the wolf’s head and heard an additional yelp. Rolling to the side, she picked up her greatsword. Taking a quick gamble, she scrubbed at her eyes once more to help clear away the spots and burning pain. The world was slowly coming into focus with the rich green of the forest leaves and deep brown of thick trunks and patches of dirt. She took a breath; the scent of sap, loam, and the mild iron of the wolves’ and her own blood flooded her nostrils. She performed her brief meditation to help calm her mind: her heartbeat slowed, her arm ceased it trembles of pain, and her vision cleared enough to see a mass of gray and a glint of metal.
The wolf had reached around with its teeth and pulled out the dagger by the small wooden pommel. It was growling slightly but that decayed into pained whimpers before the wolf started hobbling away from her. It tried to lick the wound, but it was too close to its head to do so. Its iron gray fur was stained bright red with its hemorrhaging blood; the poor beast would not last an hour with that wound, let alone the night.
Dash kept her ears sharp and heard nothing other than the two of them in the immediate vicinity. She acted quickly; she wasn’t cruel enough to let the wolf suffer the wrath of a forest night. She sprinted the five yards to the wolf and slammed the flat of her sword on the base of the wolf’s neck.
Crack!
The wolf fell without a sound and blood pooled from its stab wound. Dash kneeled down next to the fallen wolf and peeled back its canine lips.
No broken canine...
There wasn’t even a rustle of leaves as a large mass of fur and fangs leapt from the underbrush from her right, forcing her to drop prone. The coarse fur brushed against her armor and the motion had caught the looped leather that held her hair in place, causing it to spill out in droves. Waist-length hair with every hue of the rainbow glinted dully in the evening sun, but there was no time to secure it back in its place.
Dash got back up to one leg and pointed her blade at her attacker, her hair swinging to the side like a cloak. Brokenfang had gotten to her feet as well and was glaring daggers at Dash, lips pulled back over her teeth. A small trail of saliva dripped from her lips as she let out a particularly deep growl that resembled more of a hiss. Dash rose to both feet and Brokenfang fidgeted forward a step at the sudden movement. She never blinked, always watching for a moment of weakness of opportunity of attack. Brokenfang was set on revenge for her pack’s demise, but fleeing was always an option for the beast. The grasses and shrubbery were small in the immediate clearing with the forest becoming significantly more dense at the edges; She would lose Brokenfang for sure if she bolted. However, Brokenfang was furious and had not stopped growling in challenge at her opponent. Dash had killed her pack and she intended to settle the score with the mercenary.
Brokenfang was noticeably larger than the other two, outweighing even her mate. A solid iron coat stain with streaks of silver with a soft white underbelly, deep blue eyes, and heavily scarred from pack duels and incursions with fellow predators. Even for a wolf, Brokenfang was large; with her armor and weapons, she only had about eighty pounds on the wolf, but the fight to come would be a test of speed, not skill or strength. Dash’s arm was already wounded and would hinder use of her sword. Brokenfang knew it too; the scent was heavy in the air, an iron tang that even Dash was beginning to smell and nothing else.
She was only ten yards away from Brokenfang when the wolf chose to strike. She came low and fast, zig-zagging through the brush to nip at her heels. Dash, blade held low, swung left to cut at her unprotected sides. Brokenfang leapt back to avoid the swing and dove forward in its wake. Brokenfang was only three yards away; definitely not enough time to readjust her sword. Dash let go with her right hand and grabbed at the bandolier of knives around her chest. With a flick of her wrist, the blade twirled through the air. Brokenfang scampered to a stop and the flying knife just barely missed, severing a few hairs off her flank. She had taken the time to return to her sword and heaved it down in a mighty arc. Now on the defensive, Brokenfang retreated a few steps before her greatsword cut a shallow gash across her right flank. She yelped in pain before jumping ahead a step. Using the momentum to turn herself around in midair, Brokenfang’s lipped curved in a growl before her face met her left boot.
Brokenfang scrambled back, momentarily stunned at the blow. Dash brought her sword straight up and let it slam down flat first; she didn’t wish for Brokenfang’s body or pelt to return unrecognizable, for she would lose the bounty. Brokenfang had recovered from the kick just in time to retreat even further, but not soon enough. Brokenfang’s left foreleg was crushed under the weight of the sword, breaking the bones like twigs.
Brokenfang gave a cry of pain that echoed across the clearing and into the forest. Her cry bounced off the precipice walls, giving the impression that the forest itself answered her pain. The fight had a victor and Brokenfang knew it. She turned tail and hobbled as fast as she could to the encompassing forest darkness. Dash would have none of that; dropping her greatsword and retrieving her fallen knife, she sprinted and tackled the lone wolf. The two flailed and rolled to a stop, Brokenfang coming out on top. Placing her good paw on herr chest, she opened her jaw of pointed teeth and prepared to tear out her throat.
Brokenfang never got the chance, for as the pair ceased their tumble, Dash’s blade was already at Brokenfang’s throat. The wolf’s jugular opened and her head slumped onto Dash’s chest without the slightest hint of trouble. Brokenfang was slain before she even knew she was injured.
The fight now over for good, Dash panted from the night’s exertion and her body burning excess adrenaline. Her head fell to the ground and was cushioned by the soft dirt and her now blood-soaked hair. She shoved Brokenfang’s body off of her, lest her armor get any filthier than it already was.
“...Now how am I going to get you back?”
Dash had stashed some gear early on in her hunt for the pack. Her satchel contained some rations, extra knives, a whetstone, her coin purse, hunting supplies, flint and steel, a cheap lantern, a few bandages, and disinfectant. Most of her bandages and disinfectant was used on her arm after she had pried her vambrace and gauntlet off. Her blood had dried and had clung to her arm like glue. It took a knife and a few minutes of patience to chisel at her vambrace and blood. Now Dash had a small cut on her forearm because her patience ran out too soon.
Having cleaned her remaining wounds in one of the forest’s bubbling brooks, Dash set out with sword slung across her back. A 400 bit bounty was very nice indeed for an afternoon’s work, but with a little more work, she could add a few more bits to her reward.
She found the corpses of Brokenfang and her two mates with not much effort. Pulling out her belt knife, she went to work on its skinning their hide. After a vertical cut to the abdomen and one down each leg, Dash began to work on remove the pelt. She would lose a few bits for the knife wound and would still need to clean the skin for later, but even poor skins could fetch a fair price.
“But it’s better than dying,” Dash said out loud. She finished with her work, cleaning off a few more scraps of flesh on the hide before turning to the other male. She tsked; that one was nearly cut in half. The hide was useless, but the scraps of leather could be used for repairs, but not much else. It took only a third of the time as the first and not even a third was salvageable. Now for Brokenfang. The she-bitch’s hide was in fair shape, so she might be able to bump up the bounty a few bits as a trophy.
“Won’t you just be the coolest thing nailed to someone’s wall?” Taking a few minutes to open her belly, cut the windpipe and esophagus, and removing the internal organs, Dash hoisted the skin over her shoulders. Her armor was already stained with blood, so a little more to clean out later wouldn’t hurt. “But it’s going to be a bitch to clean the blood out of the nicks and crannies later.” Dash held up the head of Brokenfang to her face. “No offense.” It was a small detour to retrieve the skin of the pup, especially to maneuver around the precipice, but she made the trip all the same. After another stop at the brook to wash away any remaining blood on herself, the skins attached to her belt, and Brokenfang around her neck, Dash was off.
It was an hour after nightfall when she finally left the confines of the forest. She had to break out the copper lantern, and with a few flicks of the flint and steel, ruby-red flames flickered to life and tasted the crisp night air. The town was a half hour walk, but she took her time. The air was still warm with early summer and tinged with the scents of people, wood smoke, and the remains of the just-finished dinner. The smell of cooked fowls, potatoes, celery stew, roaring fires, malt beer, smoked ham, salted pork, mutton chop, cornbread, aged cedar, cherry pies, and… Dash took an additional sniff of the air. Oh yes, they did have some.
Dash walked through the tall grasses and eventually made her way to a cobblestone path lined with wooden fences and dangling lanterns to illuminate the path into New Brook. It was far too late into the night to return home to Ponyville, so a local inn would be in order. A single individual had already left town and started extinguishing the lanterns; such devices were only left lit during the twilight hours to conserve oil. Dash set her lantern down and pulled out her extensive mane of hair from its binding to her armor. Her waist-length rainbow locks moved back and forth in the slight breeze and she sighed as the wind cooled the sweat soaked into her clothes and hair. Dash picked her lantern back up and made her way into New Brook.
The town was rather modest and rustic compared to her own hometown. While her town was not much larger, the town of New Brook consisted mostly of wooden dwellings with thatched roofs. The majority of homes were single or double rooms and only the town hall was made out of stone. The main cobblestone path was set on only the main roads with the branches turning into dirt or gravel. Farther ahead in the center of town, a large town square circled a small park where vendors could more easily sell their wares. Dash blew out her lantern, but her approach still drew notice.
“Ah, the mighty hunter returns!”
“Dash!”
“You’ve found her! I knew you’d never left us down!”
“Rainbow Dash!”
“She did it!”
“Rainbow Dash!”
“Rainbow Dash!”
“Rainbow Dash!”
A small crowd had gathered and had begun to cheer in unison. Out of the multitude of people gathered, out of all the browns, grays, yellows, reds, and greens, not a single soul had the multi-hued hair like hers. Even the children, some of whom hid behind their parent’s pants and apron strings, only possessed a single color for their head.
Dash rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly, but still ate up the attention. “Oh, it was no problem at all. She wasn’t too hard to take care of.” Dash set down the lantern and removed Brokenfang’s body. She placed a hand on Brokenfang’s head and mouth and began to flap the head comically at the children. “Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf!?” Some of the kids laughed at the joke while a few hid their faces and started crying. The children’s parents gave Dash a stern look, but could not stay mad at their savior for long.
It was half an hour before the crowd dispersed enough for Dash to move off. One particularly rabid civilian demanded a blow-by-blow account of what happened since she ventured in the forest and Dash happily obliged with a mercenary’s usual flair for the dramatic and embellishment. She was particularly proud of her tale of how she managed to kill one of the wolves by breaking its neck with her bare hands. Given that her armor was still drenched in bits of gore, she was certain they believed that along with the rest of her tale. Eventually she escaped and made her way deeper into the small town.
Shops and houses both lined the main road of New Brook. Most of them were a combination of both, the shopkeepers living above or below the store they ran. There wasn’t anything too extravagant in the town: the usual carpenters, masons, a guild of lumberjacks, a few blacksmiths, a fletcher, a couple of inns, merchants, and a couple dozen others. She found one particular inn with a sign depicting a roaring hearth, a residence built like a farmhouse more than anything, and stepped inside.
The wooden interior had several pictures of past events the town had held or witnessed: parades and pageants, the annual Winter Wrap-Ups and Summer Sun Celebrations, notable figures passing through like the cellist Octavia, and even one of Dash alongside a trophy boar.
The inn had three rows of wooden tables and benches to her left, stairs to the rooms in front of her, and a counter and door that lead to the kitchen in the back. A short, portly man, bald save for a waist-length iron gray beard, was washing tables with a rag and a bowl of warm, soapy water. He looked up when he heard her enter.
“Ol’ Dash! Yer here!”
“It’s good to be back Hearth.”
“Ah see yer comin’ wit’ ah trophy, eh? Ah need ahnother picture fer me wall?”
“Weeeeeell, yeah!”
Tender Hearth gave a laugh and waddled to the counter in back. The people of New Brook or even the wandering merchants that occasionally came to town could never identify the accent Hearth spoke. From what Dash had heard, Hearth came into town about seven years ago with the bright idea to start an inn to cater directly to the travelers and merchants, whereas all the others in town were built solely for people in town and those under temporary travel. It took some time, a little investment, and a lot of elbow grease, but Hearth did it. Hearth’s charisma earned him many friends and he was always asked what he did before he came to town, but Hearth always avoided it.
Hearth came back with a clipboard. “Yer in luck; ol’ Tender Hearth here got ah room wit’ yer name on it. Need some grub to pass ta’ time? Some ale? Ah shank o’ somethin’ in back?” One of the barmaids, a petite little thing in brown pigtails, lugged a steaming bucket of water past him and up the stairs.
“A mug of cider, some apples, and that room for the night.”
Hearth gave another throaty laugh. “Always ta’ same.”
Dash raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you don’t have some; I could smell it from the outskirts.”
Hearth waved a hand to assuage her concerns. “Sure, sure, sure, ah got some left o’er in one o’ them kegs in back.”
He waddled back into the kitchen and she leaned her head on a hand and sighed. Good old Hearth would never change.
Hearth nudged the kitchen double doors with his hip, juggling a half dozen apples and a steaming mug of cider in his arms. Dash grinned as he set them down and took a draft first. Warm cider slid down her throat, making her give a content mewl of pleasure. There was nothing quite like Hearth’s cider, mixed with cinnamon and a dash of lemon and orange. Hearth only had a smile of curiosity mixed with satisfaction. It was as if she did this all the time and he could never figure out why.
Dash set down the mug and picked up one of the apples. Shining it on a clean part of her leather armor, she bit into it and tart juice run down her lips. Finishing it and tossing the core, The bounty hunter paid the man his due from her coin purse, scooped up her food and drink, and made her way upstairs.
“Last ‘un on ta’ right!”
Dash yelled her thanks and entered her room. It was fairly spacious with a cold fireplace on the far right, a single bed in the corner, a dresser and nightstand, two stout chairs and a wooden table, a small bronze tub for washing stood to the right, and a window of the town and night sky was on the wall on her left. Two full basins of steaming water stood ready on the nightstand.
“Good ol’ Hearth.”
She set her meal next to the nightstand and began to shed her gear for the night. Her coin purse, satchel, lantern, and skins were thrown in the corner and the Brokenfang skin set gently on one of the chairs. Next her gauntlets and accompanying vambraces, rough leather things with steel disks on the forearms tied tightly. She set those on the table; they would need to be cleaned later. Next her bandolier of knives, belt knife, and great sword joined the corner. Her boots came off next, simple brownish leather work boots built to last, no flourish or fashion at all. A few splashes of red stained the leather, so they were set on the floor next to the table. Next the greaves, which were surprisingly clean of blood, so they headed for the corner.
Now for the hard part. The shoulder pads had a trick, a combination of straps and ties securing them to her chest armor. All of her armor was made from boar hide, salted to provide protection from the elements and lined with wolf hair. The shoulders pads were cheap but sturdy, faded to a dull yellow over time but still holding up. They joined the gauntlets. Her breastplate had the same trick; more belts and lengths of string securing it to her shoulders and chest. The interlocking plates of leather help deflect and redirect the momentum of blows, but Dash’s tendency to take dangerous and stressful jobs put a lot of strain on her armor. It was already filled with cuts and nicks, and one small chunk of her breastplate was torn off altogether, a memento of a boar tusk from the picture downstairs.
She unhooked the last loop and began pulling her armor above her head. The interlocking plates that covered her lower chest and abdomen were showing signs of coming undone. She’d need to have her armor taken in for repairs. Maybe buy a whole new set if she was unlucky. The armor slipped off and hit the floor with a heavy thud.
Dash stood on her toes in her gray shirt and stretched her limbs as far as they would go, feeling a cascade of small pops and cracks up her legs, back, and arms. She removed her woolen socks next before stretching one more time, finally free of the cumbersome but necessary armor.
“Let’s get a little light in here.” Cleaning her armor in the light was troublesome enough; the enshrouding after a little work with the tinder, she soon had a low flame licking at the wood placed in the hearth. The soft glow wasn’t enough to produce much heat, but it was enough light to continue her task.
She grabbed some of the cleaning supplies from the nightstand and a bowl of water, and started on cleaning each and every bit of armor on the table. It took another half hour to scrub every nook and cranny and by the time she was done, she was exhausted and just wanted to go to bed after her hunt. However, there was still one thing she wanted to do.
Dash stood once again and removed the doublet, her padded coat that eased the discomfort of running and moving in her armor. She then removed her shirt and sighed as the cool night air ran across her naked skin. She closed her eyes. She could feel the wind as if it sang to her. It whisked into the room, circling her bare feet, up her waist and flat, toned abdomen, it hardened her nipples with the air before it came to her head and she tasted it: cold air mixed with winds from the mountains to the west and filled with rainwater. A storm was brewing. A soft flutter echoed through the room. ‘Not yet.’ Dash thought and fought the urges she felt.
Dash scrutinized the window at the other end of the room. There were no adjacent buildings to worry about seeing her; she knew that Hearth’s inn was the second tallest building in town, the tallest being the town hall on the other side of town. She snuck over to the side of the window and peeked out...
No noticeable sources of light or movement. That was good news.
Dash gave a triumphant grin and stepped back into the confines of her room. She locked the door, just in case, of course, and stretched. Really stretched this time. Unfurling from their her back, a pair of great, majestic wings stretched to their full fifteen foot limits.
“It’s been too long. Waaaaay too long,” Dash cooed to herself, feeling every small bone in her wings pop little by little as they got the exercise they’ve been denied since she started this hunt. Each wing had several neat rows of feathers ending in smaller pinfeathers near the base of the skin. Both were ruffled due to being compressed and rubbed in her armor for so long. The color was that of a very light blue, tinged with only a slight bit of red on the edges of each feather.
Dash’s wings retracted before she then squatted and began to sprint.
Right towards the window.
Her wings folded prone to her back as Dash dove out the window. The fall was quick; she was only on the second story after all. Her wings snapped out fast, catching a cushion of wind to break her fall before steadying herself with a few flaps. Her wings flapped a few more times to gain some upward momentum, kicking up dust and debris in the process. Some villagers headed to the small patch of ground, curious as to the source of the noise, but Dash was long gone and off like a shot. Higher and higher she flew, each wing beat in time with her own racing heart. Faster and faster she soared until New Brook was only a mass of smudged yellow light and black buildings in the cool night. Her woolen pants flapped wildly in the beating wind with only her belt to keep them attached.
And then she stopped. For the briefest moment, time stopped for “Rainbow” Dash. The sun was set and the moon was already above the horizon. The stars were out and the constellations stretched across the heavens: Merlin the Magus, the Dread Dragon, the Blind Sage, the Equestrian Founders, the Dove. Luna was indeed a gifted mistress.
There was a mass of wispy cumulous clinging to the mountains to the east, a sign of the storm to come. A soft twinkle in the south marked her home. As if to answer, a dull glow to the north marked the capitol. Throughout all of this, the wind still did not lift its gentle whisper.
So quiet...
Dash breathed it all in in the space of a second and closed her wings. She started to fall, plummeting faster and faster, but still held a content smile on her lips. Having gained sufficient speed, she laughed, for it was time for the fun part. Dash flipped her body forward and sped to the ground like a bullet. She let out an ecstatic giggle as her aerodynamic posture rocketed her towards the hard ground and the wind tossed her hair like a gale. If it were day, any other flier would see a rainbow streak across the skies at that speed, but the night would not grant identification to the harbinger of such a marvelous event.
She unfolded her wings and caught a warm thermal leftover from the day gone past. She glided with incredible speed, racing southward in the night with only the stars to guide her. She loved the feeling of racing with absolutely nothing holding her back. Others preferred simpler pastimes, but nothing Dash had ever experienced contained a pleasure so immediate and visceral. It was not that she was going somewhere, it was that she was going, the knowledge that something was happening in the here and now and that she could relish and revel in its powerful, belligerent nature.
It was within minutes that she finally reached home. A few lights were on and some people were still milling about in Ponyville Square. How she longed to be back tonight, but she still had to bring her gear back with her, but especially the Bloodfang pelt; there was no use in coming back at all without that.
Dash was ready to head back north to New Brook, but spotted a figure racing from one of the town patrols straight to her. “Cloudkicker?” Even if it was, the figure was moving awfully slow to catch her.
“Please; you need a couple more years of practice to catch the likes of me,” she said to herself. No use in saying it any louder, just in case it was someone she didn't know.
Dash banked right and, readjusting her forward momentum, raced away like a shot. She couldn’t help but laugh to herself. ‘Didn’t even know what hit her.’ She thought. Cloudkicker would have the advantage of currently having better night vision than her due to her time in the light of New Brook and her room’s hearth, but her massive speed and maneuverability outweighed that small disadvantage. The darkness was deep enough to hide her completely if she could gain enough distance on Cloudkicker. She looked back and saw that Cloudkicker’s silhouette trail further and further behind her until she just broke off pursuit altogether; there was no use chasing something he couldn’t follow or track beyond the shroud of night
She looked forward once more as the scattered lights of New Brook get steadily larger and larger. A giggle started to bubble from her chest. It got harder and harder to suppress until she heard it escape her own lips, which soon devolved into full laughter.
“I. Am. AWESOME!”
Chapter Commentary: LINK
Editors: Material Defender, Wolfmaster1337, Ryan Darling
Author's Note
Behold, the token story every author has: the one they want to finish but will likely never will.
