The dark tunnel flashes cyan as I float the last hoofguard into place.
If I'm going to go poking about in an unknown creature’s den, I'm going to do it properly.
First thing to do is suit up. I want to be protected as soon as possible, in case anything dangerous comes wandering while I'm still getting ready. I made sure to shake out each piece of armour before putting it on, mindful of Punch’s earlier adventure with the Sandipede. I also gave my gambeson a quick dip in the pool to wash out the sweat and stench. It feels a lot heavier, but it’s pleasantly cool against my fur.
Next up is weapons check. My greatsword floats over and emerges easily from its scabbard. Good, good. Hasn’t been damaged by the day’s adventures, nor jammed in place by crusty sand. Last thing I want is to try to draw my sword in an emergency only for it to get stuck.
I resheath the blade and strap it across my back. Most Royal Guards keep their weapons concealed beneath their armour. Helps maintain the friendly public image. My own sword is much too long for that, but that’s ok. Parks and Wilderness Guard are an exception to the rule. We interact with civilians less than others, and when we do it’s often helpful to put on a show of force. Show them that the - how did Punch put it? - “Big scary monster hunters” are here to save the day. Hence why a lot of PWGs have oversized weapons.
Of course, there's a practical side too: when dealing with some of Equestria's nastier inhabitants, you generally want your weapons to provide as much reach and power as you can get. A certain hydra springs to mind.
Though I do keep a smaller blade in my concealed weapon compartment: a utility knife. Endlessly useful for outdoors work and - with a stick and bit of rope - can be turned into an impromptu spear. A lightweight, versatile backup weapon. I draw it with a hoof and hold it up for inspection.
In my opinion, too many Guard unicorns rely exclusively on magic. While it may be acceptable in some posts, at the PWG we train to use our hooves and mouths too. The job can get pretty physical sometimes, stomping around through the dense bush or wrangling ornery jackalopes. We don't want squadmates to be rendered completely useless by a single bump to the horn.
Satisfied with the knife’s condition, I resheath it manually, then turn to the rest of my gear. Which is currently strewn about the room. The aftermath of my desperate rummaging for a water purifier earlier. I quickly and efficiently pack it all up, taking stock as I go.
One small spool of rope, thin but strong enough to hold my weight. (If I ever go marching through the desert with Punch again, I might just tie the two of us together so I don’t lose her again.)
One waterproof envelope. Inside are a map of southern Equestria (not detailed enough for my liking), a notebook (with my meagre notes on the investigation), a compass, and a pencil.
One medical kit, including a few potion flasks. All still intact. (I'd hope so, too, considering how much they cost. Specially built to be more compact and rugged than your typical alchemists’ flasks.)
Four bars of long life rations. Basically trail mix, but stamped into shape and somehow devoid of flavour.
My stomach noisily informs me it doesn’t care about flavour, and that I haven’t eaten since brunch. Obligingly, I unwrap a bar and start to munch on it while continuing to pack.
"Blech."
I scrunch my nose at the morsel. Compared to the rich flavours of this morning’s toasted sandwich, it’s like eating gravel. But food is food, and I need to keep my energy up. Especially with night approaching. Deserts get cold; I’ll need the calories.
Maybe later I’ll try some of the wild plants I passed on my way down here. Bland and not terribly filling as a rule, but I don’t know how long I’ll be stuck out here. Better to live off the land where I can, and try to ration my rations.
“Heheh. Ration your rations.”
Clearly I should have been a comedian. Significantly lower chance of being abducted by sand demons.
My smirk turns into a grimace as I absentmindedly take another bite.
"Blech."
Significantly lower chance of having to eat rations, too.
Alright, back to inventory.
Next up is my gem pouch. I still have one remaining aquamarine (enchanted with a water purification spell), as well as one fire ruby (instant campfire), one sunstone (illumination), and two thunder quartzes (signal flares) - all in separate, magically isolated compartments.
Wait-
“I forgot the damn flares!”
I slap a hoof to my forehead. I should have sent up a flare immediately after the Dust Devil attack!
I start to pace about the room, tail twitching.
I’ve seen thunder quartz flares in action before. A reverse gravity enchantment sends the stone flying when activated. A few seconds later, some sort of pegasus magic causes it to vaporise into an artificial cloud, illuminated from within by flashes of rainbow lightning. I'm not much of a spellcaster, but I'm assured it’s all simple, low power magic. Makes them very reliable and long lasting. In calm weather the distinctive shimmering cloud can last for days, though the light show fades out after a few minutes.
If only I’d thought to use one! Even in the middle of the bright desert, it would have been visible for miles. Fruit would have seen it and come flying! I could have been rescued by now!
I draw in a deep breath, ready to shout in frustration! My hoof brushes against a small stone. It clatters away into the darkness, the tiny noise echoing loudly.
I pause, lungs still full.
...This isn't the time or place for shouting, a small part of me insists.
I'd alert any nearby creatures, putting myself in needless danger. I should be better than that.
I've already made enough mistakes for one day.
Slowly I deflate.
Sighing, I step over to the pool. Leaning down, I scoop up some of the cool water, splashing it across my head and neck. It helps.
As my frustration drains away, reason starts to reassert itself. Getting all worked up again isn’t going to help. What’s done is done. Besides, if I was so addled by the heat that I forgot my own equipment, then I probably couldn’t have stayed out there much longer anyway.
While I may have been rescued, waiting out there would have been a dangerous gamble. Especially since there was no sign of Punch, who ought to have been visible for miles herself. Odds are nopony would have seen the flare, and by the time I’d given up on waiting I’d have been too overheated to make it to shelter.
I shake my head, water spraying from my muzzle.
“Never mind. Just… focus on the task at hoof.”
I stuff the gem pouch into my saddlebag, vowing to remember it next time. I’ll see about sending up a signal flare soon, but first I have to find somewhere safe to wait. There's water and shelter here, but the faint odour of blood is an ever present reminder of just how little I know about this place. It’s quiet now, but I’ve barely explored the main tunnel, let alone any of the side passages. Who knows how many creatures use this pool as their watering hole?
Speaking of which, the last item to pack is my canteen. I'd normally have a cloak or poncho too, but I figured I wouldn’t need one for day trips in the desert. I might end up regretting that decision real soon...
Hefting my canteen with a hoof, it feels about half full.
“Hmm.”
Is it worth using my remaining purifier to top it up?
If there is something dangerous living down here, I might have to leave in a hurry. Then who knows when I’ll next find water?
But it is my last purifier. Once that’s gone, I’ll either have to find running water, or boil it.
I finish off my ration bar as I deliberate. (Resigned to the blandness at this point.) It’s risky either way, but I decide to save the purifier for the time being. It might be egotistical of me, but I think I can handle most wildlife I'm likely to run into. And if not, well, I’ve already found water once; hopefully it wasn’t just a fluke.
(Something vaguely bothers me about that thought, but I can’t quite put my hoof on it.)
Shaking my head, I drape the canteen over my neck and take a quick sip to wash away the last of the ration taste.
And with that, I'm ready for adventure!
Well, almost. After guzzling all that water earlier, nature is calling. Insistently.
Plus, I need to make sure I have a line of retreat. I more or less stumbled down here in a haze, after all. I should memorise the way out, in case I need to make a hasty exit.
The opening I originally entered from is just a few hooves away. I trot over to inspect it. It’s a simple fissure in the wall, just wide enough to comfortably climb. It doesn't really have a floor to speak of; the walls simply get narrower until they meet. Though in a few places the rock has chipped away, forming irregular flat steps. It’s pretty steep, but I'm a mountain mare. I leap up easily, agile as any goat.
The passage curves and widens as it rises, the temperature rising along with it. A few broken rocks and loose pebbles litter the path, but it’s otherwise fairly smooth. This whole place is likely a funnel for floodwaters. The pool below would be the remains of the last flood, however many months ago it swept through.
I continue climbing, the air quickly heating up as I near the surface. I'm glad for the still-wet gambeson keeping me cool.
Soon the high walls part. I emerge into a familiar shallow ravine, painted red by the magnificent sunset. Directly ahead the horizon is a blinding band of brilliant orange: the molten heart of a furnace, poured over the dark mountaintops. From there, the vast expanse overhead fades from vivid scarlet to violet to darkest blue. A few distant clouds catch the last rays of the sun, glowing a shocking pink.
Even in a place as inhospitable as this, Equestria never ceases to be breathtaking. Despite the obvious differences, I'm reminded of home. Of the harsh beauty of the frozen north. If you underestimate them, the mountains will kill you just as surely as any desert. Yet they’re also the home of some of the most spectacular sights I’ve ever seen. I see that same contrast here.
Beauty and danger.
Serenity and awe.
I find myself starting to appreciate the desert. Just a little. Grudgingly.
At this point my bladder interrupts, stating that it doesn’t appreciate the view, and it definitely doesn’t appreciate the delay. I very quickly scoot behind some bushes a little ways off to the side.
After taking care of business, I return to the main path and look east again, admiring the sunset.
Wait, east?
The sun sets in the west.
The Macintosh mountain range looms just a few miles south of me. The sun is setting behind the other, smaller mountain range, to the Macintoshes' left. That would put the sun, impossibly, in the east.
And it’s definitely setting, not rising. I might conceivably have napped through the entire night, but then the air would be much, much cooler. And I'm pretty sure it’s gotten darker since I woke up, not lighter.
“What in Celestia’s name is going on?”
Ok, remember your equipment this time. My sense of direction is usually fine, but I do have an actual compass. I quickly float the containing envelope out from the depths of my saddlebags, and bring the compass up to bear.
The needle spins, wobbles, and eventually settles.
The sun is in the west, right where it should be. Good, good. Villains haven’t hijacked the sun while I was gone. (Again.)
But... the Macintosh range is to the north?? It’s supposed to be to the south! When did the mountains move!?
“What is going o- Oh. Ohhh.”
I sit down, feeling faint as realisation dawns.
The mountains didn’t move.
I did.
The damn Dust Devil moved me to the other side of the mountains.
I'm officially outside of Equestria.
“H-huh.”
With shaky hooves, I take a large gulp from my canteen. Wish I had something harder to drink.
The water doesn’t quite go down right. I splutter and cough, dribbling a bit down my chest. A few seconds of painful hacking and wheezing do a great job of snapping me out of my shock.
“Ok. cough Ok.”
I wipe my mouth on the back of a hoof and pull out my map. The area south of the Macintosh range is mainly restricted to the margins. A large, empty place, drawn in even less detail than the rest of the already vague map. A single ominous label fills most of the space:
“‘Badlands.’ Well, I suppose that’s accurate. Not particularly helpful though.”
I’ve heard of the badlands, of course. Not technically part of Equestria, but a variety of dangerous creatures are known to live within. Since they tend to creep into Equestria from time to time, I’ve read about them as part of my PWG training.
I look up from my map and face the dark, narrow crevice leading back down into the ravine. Home to who knows what badlands monstrosities.
I gulp. Suddenly I'm a little less confident in my ability to handle any wildlife I run into.
Alright, time for some serious re-evaluation. I take a seat and set aside my helmet, giving my thick, bushy mane room to breathe. (Amazing that the air can still be so hot out here at this time of day.)
So: I'm south of the Macintosh ranges. On the plus side, this explains why I couldn’t find Punch earlier. She’s probably fine; there just happens to be a kilometres wide rock wall between us. On the minus side, I'm not lost hours from civilisation; I'm lost days from civilisation.
The map shows a route back to Equestria if I travel east far enough, where the Macintosh range finally ends. But without a more detailed map, for all I know that's a week of travel through nonstop desert. I’d also be travelling away from any potential rescue efforts. Not a great option, all things considered.
Lowering the map, my gaze turns northward.
The Macintosh mountains glower back. A massive, jagged wall, black and menacing red in the sunset. Standing between me and civilisation.
But I'm a mountain mare. The looming slopes don’t intimidate me. Even without equipment, crossing them is not completely out of the question. That said, I know better than most: if you underestimate them, mountains will kill you just as surely as any desert.
So, also not a great option. Let’s call that Plan B, and walking east for a week Plan C. But what’s Plan A?
Thunder quartz flares are good, but not visible-over-a-mountain good. I could wait here for rescue, but it could be days or weeks before anypony thinks to look this far south. If they ever do at all. And I still don’t know if I can wait here. Mysterious, possibly predatory wildlife, and all that.
Brings me back full circle, I suppose. Before I can make any long term plans, I really need to know if this place is safe. To stay the night, at the very least.
It’s been a long day, and the prospect of exploring dark caves is not terribly appealing. But trying to find another shelter, in this vast wasteland, at night? Even less appealing.
There’s still a number of concerns on my mind, but the last of the daylight is fading fast. Better to ponder them after I’ve established a base of operations.
“Alright, Glace. Enough dilly-dallying. Let’s get this over with.”
I replace my helmet and return the map to my bag. My knife levitates out in its place. My sword will be too large for the confined spaces below.
Quietly as I can, I begin creeping back down the dark passage. The walls close in on either side. The narrowing slit of sky provides little illumination.
With a thought, I force more magic through my horn. The tunnel lights up a murky green. Every bump and crack and pore is cast into sharp relief, minute shadows shifting with each step.
Despite my best efforts, the sounds of my descent echo ahead of me. Metallic clanks and scrapes against the stone. I'm glumly forced to accept that, between the light and the noise, I'm not likely to take anycreature by surprise.
After a few minutes, I reach the pool chamber. It’s just as empty as I left it. Glancing both ways, I decide to head right, leaving the water behind and following the main passage as it climbs uphill. I figure it should just lead back to the surface, so it’ll be an easy path to check off. It’s also another potential escape route, and so worth scouting.
Soon enough I'm proven right: after a few turns, the passage widens into a dusty, shaded dell. Some spindly, sweet smelling silhouettes resolve into bushes and even a few small trees. Good find. There might be enough food here to last a few weeks. Wild grass tends to make even ration bars seem tasty by comparison, but beggars can’t be choosers.
I turn around, heading back down into the ravine. As I return to the pool chamber the fresh scent of plants fades behind me, replaced by that faint reek of rot. This time I follow it, pausing to sniff this way and that as I slowly advance.
The watercourse winds along gently. The dark pool in the centre sometimes widening, sometimes narrowing, but steadily rising. Soon water fills the entire passage. I have to cling to the sloped sides to avoid it.
Now and again I pass an opening or small side passage, mostly climbing up and out. At each I stop, smell the air, listen, and move on.
Until I reach a split where the odour is noticeably stronger.
Rot, and ash, and musk.
I wait a moment at the entrance, ears perked. The opening is quite small; little more than a ragged fissure in the wall, widened and smoothed by years of flooding but still uncomfortably narrow.
It’s just as silent as all the others.
With a grunt, I lift myself in. The tunnel climbs steeply, but it’s mercifully short. I can see the evening sky opening up just a few hooves above me.
After some not-so-stealthy clambering, I emerge into a dusty bowl five or six pony lengths across. The rock walls overhang slightly, rising a few metres before pulling away to reveal the reddish-purple sky. A gravely slope to the right leads up and out of sight.
The source of the burning smell is immediately apparent: in the centre of the bowl is a ring of blackened rocks surrounding a mound of ash. A campfire!
It’s long dead, but the sight is reassuring - it’s the first trace of civilization I’ve seen since entering the Badlands. And if somecreature else can survive here, that’s a good sign that I might be able to, too.
Still, I proceed with caution. There can’t be too many other ponies lost in the Badlands, but I have heard stories of griffon bandits and changeling rebels calling the place home. They’re unlikely to be particularly welcoming towards a Royal Guard.
Scanning the rest of the area, I spy a crude bed of leaves and grass tucked beneath an overhang. An odd, musky smell emanates from it. On the opposite side of the bowl, in a shallow pit, lies a small pile of bones and gore - a midden.
In the twilight I can more clearly smell it than see it. The source of the rotting stench. A small cloud of flies disperses as I approach. My tail flicks automatically, driving back any insects which try to land on me. A few other small mounds, covered over with sand, indicate previous middens. The inhabitant has been here a while, then.
I begin to telekinetically shift through the muck, professional curiosity having long since replaced revulsion for such grisly tasks.
Charred bones. None quite as large as pony bones, encouragingly.
Intestines, scraps of meat, and other offal. Not the most diligent eater. Possible evidence that the creature is primarily a predator, rather than a scavenger. Weaker digestive system can’t take advantage of all the odds and ends.
Scales, but little fur. Not too surprising - I imagine reptiles would be more common than mammals around here.
Fruit rinds? Ok, an omnivore, then. Or facultative carnivore. Prey is probably quite scarce, so even a predator might supplement its diet with plants.
I set the stinking mess back down and step away, thinking. Off the top of my head, dragons or griffons might fit the bill. Intelligent, independent predators. Though surely a dragon wouldn’t bother with a campfire? And I'm no expert, but it doesn’t really smell very griffon-y down here. No loose feathers, either. A diamond dog, maybe? I don't see any claw marks or signs of digging...
Quite the mystery.
I'd like to stay and investigate further, but I really should check the perimeter first. Make sure nothing’s going to sneak up on me while I'm poking around.
Now that I'm outside again with enough light to see by (if just barely), I shift my knife to my mouth and extinguish my horn. No point making myself more visible than necessary.
There are only two ways out of this hollow: the crevice I climbed out of, and a dusty path on the other side. It passes beneath a narrow stone arch before ascending steeply. I approach from the side, keeping to the shadows. The path quickly widens out, joining onto a large, rough slope dotted with boulders and low shrub. The top of the slope is still some distance away. By my reckoning, from up there I’d be out of the valley in which the water passage runs through, and would have a pretty good view of the surrounding area.
Quietly and cautiously, I sneak my way uphill. The rough terrain poses little challenge for me, though I do knock a few rocks loose. Can’t be helped; lighting my horn to see better would be even more of a giveaway.
I'm halfway up the hill when another clatter nearby gives me pause. I didn’t feel anything shifting underhoof that time.
I wait, ears straining.
There!
A soft crunch, then another. Not too near, but not too far either.
Instinct screams at me to flee, but curiosity and training overrule it. Quietly as I can, I duck into the shadow of a nearby overhang - not much defence against a predator’s sense of smell, but it’ll give me a clear view of whatever’s coming. I'm better off knowing what I'm dealing with, than running away blindly without a plan.
Or so I hope.
The faint noises - hoofsteps, perhaps - continue steadily. Sounding heavier and heavier.
My hoof inches to my greatsword.
Craning my neck, I can just make out the top of the slope without exposing myself.
A silhouette slowly rises into view. Not thirty metres from me.
As it crests the hill, the last light of the sunset falls on it, illuminating it. It takes me a moment to register what I'm seeing.
“Oh buck me, is that what I think it is?”