//------------------------------// // The First Steps of a Long Journey // Story: The Coming Swarm // by lola2901 //------------------------------// Trixie paced impatiently around the fire, lifting dry wood onto the flames as she stepped. The crackling and smoke set her on edge, worried it might call the changelings to the small dip in the forest they’d settled in. There was no going back to her cart for supplies. She’d left it in the middle of town, and there was no chance she could get that far. Candles, pocket knives, smoke bombs, all as good as lost. She tried to scoff in annoyance, but instead there was only a pang in her heart. She’d lived there for so long. Taking a shaky deep breath, she sat, picking twigs and leaves from her mane. She was glad to not have a mirror on hand. She probably looked like some silly foal who’d been playing in the mud. Hah! As if the Great and Powerful Trixie weren’t good enough. As if she weren’t enough. She decided to think of other things. “P–please... d–don’t... I don’t want to, I don’t…” Trixie lifted her head, glancing down at Sweetie Belle. The filly slept close to the fire, curled in on herself. She muttered in her sleep, sometime mumbles of terror, sometimes unintelligible moans and hissing, as if she were in pain. Sighing, Trixie undid the clasp of her cape, tucking Sweetie in carefully to keep her from the cold. Sniveling kid. She’d probably just hold Trixie back. Taking a deep breath, she took to pacing around the edges of the camp again, worry setting back in. They’d need food, wouldn’t they? Maybe if some of the changelings left for a while, they could sneak into town, raid some houses. She glanced at Sweetie again. Too dangerous. But it wasn’t like she knew how to find edible berries in the forest. She wasn’t some crazy woodspony, she was a street magician, for Celestia’s sake! She paused, nodding to herself absently. She was a magician all right, and so she’d make good with what she had, just like always. She trotted over to the base of one of the tall Everfree trees, brushing her hoof across the ground. Finding a spot of wet mud, she started digging, upending as much as she could. She must have been louder than she thought, for not long after, Sweetie Belle came over, yawning. “Miss Trixie? It’s the middle of the night. Um, what are you... what are you doing?” the small pony asked, rubbing at the circles under her eyes. Well, at least she wasn’t having nightmares anymore. “You and Trixie are going to try and find someplace safe, maybe with those ponies who evacuated the village before with that ‘Zecora.’ You’ll travel at night, for safety,” she explained. Grimacing, she began kneading the wet mud into her fur. “And, of course, camouflage won’t hurt.” Sweetie Belle shuffled back, looking worried. “I don’t know about that Trixie. Th–those change—those things, they, they’re shapeshifters. They’re illusionists, h–how will we know if we’re safe?” Trixie ignored the chill that came with her own fears being voiced aloud, setting her jaw. “Trixie is... I am an illusionist too,” she said, offering a cocky grin she only half felt. “So I guess that means they’ve met their match. Come on kid, start muddying up,” she added, forcing twigs and leaves into her already messy coat. “That white fur stands out so much they’ll see you from next week.” “Is it the leaves?” “Nope!” chirped Sweetie Belle, picking her way carefully across the roots of the uneven forest floor. “Guess again!” “Is it your eyes?” “My eyes are green!? Oh, wait, um, yeah they are, haha. That wasn’t what I meant, though. Next guess?” she asked, laughing awkwardly, cheeks flushed pink. Trixie stepped up onto a fallen log, walking across a small ravine. As she did, she lifted Sweetie with her magic, floating her to the other side. “Trixie gives up. What is it?” “You can’t give up!” Sweetie protested, wilting slightly. “That makes the game no fun! Come on, guess again!” Fun? Wandering through a forest full of monsters in search for what very well could be the last remnants of civilization had never really stricken Trixie as the time for a jolly holiday. “Trixie’s bored of guessing!” she said firmly, continuing to walk. “Fine,” sighed Sweetie Belle, kicking a rock. “It’s a little booger hanging from your nose. I, uh, didn’t know how else to tell you.” “Oh come on!” shouted Trixie, wiping at her nose quickly. “That’s it, no more guessing games for you. Keep up, Trixie wants to find somewhere safe to camp out before the afternoon. It could mean—Sweetie? Sweetie Belle, where did you go?” she asked, surprised the filly could slip away so suddenly. The small muddy unicorn poked her head out from beneath a bush. “Get down!” she hissed, eyes wide with fear. Trixie paused, ears pricked in confusion. She hesitated, and then—buzzing. Swearing under her breath, she forced herself into the hollow of a tree, leaning back as far as she could. From her hiding place, she could barely catch a glimpse of black hooves flickering past the leaves above, the sound of hissing voices driving chills down her throat. Shaking, she closed her eyes and began to pray. She whispered a prayer for the old religion, one long forgotten by most. Trixie had never been particularly religious either way, but desperate times and desperate measures. “If I invoke the name of Celestia that she might smite down my enemies and cast them into my inner fire,” she mumbled, shaking as she waited, terrified to be found by the creatures overhead. “I invoke the name of Luna that she might shroud me in darkness and keep my inner demons at bay. I invoke the name of Cadenza that she might defend my loved ones and keep my inner world from crumbling.” Her breath caught. She felt tears of fear beading in the corners of her eye as she breathed out the final words of the prayer. “I commit my soul to Heaven above and Tartarus below, that if I might day tonight I am not lost to the world. Hail magic.” It was silent. So incredibly silent. Wiping the beginnings of tears from her face, Trixie dared to breath. Her heart was pounding, pounding so loudly. She was certain the changelings who wore armor in the shape of beetles would hear it and turn around, drying her of love and leaving the empty shell to wilt. None came back. Trixie’s breath came shakily, her hooves sore, her eyes red. She went straight to the bush where her young friend had hidden. Pulling Sweetie Belle out, she found herself wrapping the filly in a tight hug. Maybe it was to hide her tears from the kid. Maybe it was because she wanted to feel the touch of another living pony. All either of them knew was that nothing was okay.