//------------------------------// // Chapter 9 - Rose // Story: Parks and Wilderness // by stphven //------------------------------// I creep forward silently. One infinitely cautious hoofstep at a time. My body is tense; a bow, drawn, waiting for the perfect shot. I need to end this quickly. I haven’t been spotted yet, but one wrong move could spell disaster. My hoof inches forward. Almost there... Three sharp knocks at the door break my concentration. My back hoof clips against a chair, producing a slight scraping noise as it slides across the tiled floor. Sunbeam looks over at me from her place by the kitchen counter, amber eyes widening in surprise as they meet mine. I'm still frozen in place, one mauve hoof halfway to the bowl of cookie dough she’d set aside. Her eyes narrow dangerously. ”And what do you think you’re doing?” I give her my best winning smile. “Stealing cookie dough.” Her frown turns icy. “...I’m in trouble, aren’t I?” Sunny waves a dough-speckled wooden spoon menacingly. (Anypony who’s not afraid of a spoon hasn’t seen what Sunny can do with one.) “Out of the kitchen, thief! Go get the door, then report back for your punishment.” Dangit! I was so close this time. My wonderful wife’s a brilliant chef, but a tyrant when it comes to snacking on the ingredients. I dare not challenge her in her domain. I slink away, shoulders slumped in defeat. Wait. When she said punishment, did she mean punishment, or punishment? I perk up at the thought. Maybe not a total loss after all. Humming to myself, I open the door to our cosy little Tranquility Springs home. Warm light spills out onto the dim wooden porch, while warm evening air presses in. An orange stallion wearing a tan vest and a very deliberately neutral expression stands stiffly on the welcome mat. The gold star pinned to his chest gleams, perhaps on purpose, as he shifts his weight. ”Evening, Rose,” he says carefully. “Why, Prickly Pear, what an unpleasant surprise.” I smile and close the door in his face, humming again as I turn back to the kitchen. There’s another series of knocks. ”Come on, Rosie, this is serious.” With a roll of my eyes, I open the door again, leaning against the frame. “What can I help the sheriff with?” I deadpan. This time I notice the other pony accompanying him, hanging a little further back. Pegasus, purple coat, green mane, wearing golden armour. A Royal Guard? Hmm, perhaps this is serious. ”If you could drop the attitude for once, that’d be a start,” Pear mutters, massaging his temples. “Anyway, Dusty Rose, this is Fruit Punch of the Royal Guard.” He gestures the pegasus forward. As she steps into the light, I notice she looks a bit out of sorts. Armour’s scuffed and dirty. Bandages around one wing. Sagging posture. The poor dear’s obviously had a long day. ”Private Punch, Harmony Corps. Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” At least her voice is firm and professional, and there’s a small smile on her lips as she raises a hoof. I bump it with my own, returning her smile. “Hey, don’t “ma’am” me, kid. I used to be enlisted, like you. Just “Rosie”’s fine. Now come on in, you look like you could use a cuppa.” I step aside, letting the filly in. She gives me a grateful smile as she enters. Lingering in the doorway, I give Prickly a critical look. He returns it with a flat stare of his own. Eventually I nod towards the still open door. “Hmm, I suppose I oughta let you in, too.” ”Mighty gracious of you,” he says, almost completely managing to conceal the sarcasm. As he steps past and I move to close the door, a slight rustle in the darkness makes me pause. I turn to peer out into the gloom. For a second I thought I saw a silhouette in my peripheral vision. But as my eyes adjust to the dim light, nothing seems amiss. A few shrubs wave gently in the evening breeze. Lights flicker in the windows of houses across the street. Bats flitter overhead, snatching at invisible insects. I shrug, and close the door. Soon, everypony is settled around the living room table. Assorted cushions, bookshelves full of knick knacks, and thick cream curtains line the room. Sunny’s put the kettle on and offered our guests some fresh cookies (pointedly ignoring me) before returning to the kitchen, leaving me to get down to business. Thankfully, Prickly seems to be in a hurry himself, and wastes no time with chitchat. ”So you heard ‘bout them two Royal Guards who arrived the other day? Miss Punch and another one?” “Yeah, little Sandy came by yesterday gushing about them." (Not that I can blame her. Those golden uniforms have a mighty powerful effect on mares. Just ask my wife.) I smile over at Punch. "She seemed quite smitten with her handsome houseguests.” My ears twitch at some brief, high pitched squeal, though my guests don’t seem to hear it. Punch is looking equal parts amused and embarrassed, while Prickly just looks his namesake. ”Uh huh, lovely. Well, the two of ‘em went out into the foothills past Hoofrest this morning, despite my advice, and long story short the other mare’s gone missing.” My ears perk up in surprise. Oh my, that does sound serious. ”Got separated during a sandstorm, apparently.” ”Dust Devil,” Punch corrects. “I’m no weathermare, but I know for sure that wasn’t any natural storm. Oh, and it wasn’t even our first Dust Devil - we ran into a smaller one on our way here two days ago.” Well, that’s a most peculiar coincidence. I arch an eyebrow at Prickly, silently asking his opinion. He shrugs in return, looking unconvinced. Dust Devils aren’t exactly common, especially not in this area. For outsiders to run into them twice while investigating out in the desert? Well. That almost sounds like… Her. I shake my head. Most likely, they were just blown off course. Outsiders tend to think any old gust of sand or bout of bad weather is some desert wraith personally tormenting them. Desert’s dangerous enough without bringing spirits into it. I turn to face Punch, taking a moment to study her more closely. Her expression is honest and confident, though I see a hint of concern in her eyes. But really, she looks half asleep. She’s been doing a good job of hiding it, but she’s been swaying ever so slightly this whole time. Her ears are just a little bit droopy, and she has to periodically blink herself awake. There’s a tiny, carefully controlled tremor in her voice when she speaks, and she hasn’t quite managed to clean the grime around her eyes marking where she’s been crying. Poor thing. A young private, all alone, separated from her unit and the chain of command? The kid’s clearly in way over her head, worried and exhausted. Easy for somepony like that to start imagining things. ”Anyway,” says Prickly, interrupting my train of thought. “We obviously need to put together a search party. And since this is your fault, I figured you’d want to volunteer.” His little jab doesn’t bother me, but he’s right about the volunteering. Though I doubt he’s noticed Punch’s state - he’s too wrapped up in his own responsibilities. But I'm older than him; I've seen it all before. “Of course I’ll help. Now then,” I stand up, and start ushering the sheriff towards the door. My old squad leader instincts, or perhaps my normally dormant maternal side, are crying out to help this filly. “I’m sure you have plenty to do, so why don’t you go make yourself useful somewhere else? I’ll make preparations here, and look after Miss Punch.” He frowns, confused by my sudden bout of helpfulness. But he lets himself be escorted to the door. Once on the porch, he turns, professional sheriff expression back in place. ”I’m thinking we all meet up outside Town Hall 'bout three hours ‘fore dawn. I’ll see if I can’t round up another dozen other volunteers by then, and a couple o’ wagons for supplies. Four or five barrels of water, some grub, some firewood.” It’s not a question, but I know he’s asking for my opinion. As much as the two of us don’t get along these days, at least we respect each other’s experience. I quickly run the numbers through my head, nodding in agreement when they line up with my own estimates. “Six barrels. And see if you can get Mr Woodwind to help - we could use a pegasus.” Woodwind is the town’s weather pony, and one of the few pegasi permanent residents. ”I was thinking ‘bout sending him to Appleoosa with a message for the Guard,” Prickly admits. I shake my head. “He’ll be more use with us. Send one of your deputy colts - Fields is pretty quick on his hooves, ain't he?” He frowns. ”Need to keep the deputies here in my stead. Remember, this whole mess started ‘cause of some alleged monster sighting. So if some critter’s gotten bold enough to snatch a Royal Guard, then now’d be the worst time to leave Tranquility undefended.” I don’t bother pointing out that Tranquility Springs is hours away from the potential monster site. No point aggravating Prickly - I know how much he must dislike the idea of leading civilians into the desert, and I don’t want to accidentally talk him out of it. “Not a deputy, then," I concede. "Send Tumbleweed - he’s always full of energy, and knows the way well enough.” He grunts in ascent. "Well, I'd best mosey along. Lots to get done tonight. See you in a few hours, Rose." “Yep. Good luck, Pear.” As he trots away into the darkness, I once again have the feeling I'm being watched. The bushes aren't quite rustling right; the usual chirp of nighttime insects is muted. Casually I close the door and head back inside. Sunny has returned with a pot of tea and another tray of cookies, which Punch is gratefully wolfing down. My darling wife graciously allows me a cookie of my own. It even has those little rainbow chocolatey bits. Bliss. ”’Scuse me, Rosie, but what did the sheriff mean when he said this was your fault?” Punch asks, spilling a few crumbs. “Oh, just a bit of a disagreement. He was against getting the Royal Guard involved with our little monster problem. I ended up going around him, called in a few favours from some old Guard buddies." I shrug. "So, in a way, I suppose it is my fault you’re here.” Punch nods, blinking slowly. ”Whyaaaaahhh-” a mighty yawn escapes her. “-Why was he against involving the Guard?” I smile and shake my head. “Let’s leave the questions till morning, alright kiddo? We've got a big day ahead of us, and you need some rest. Though if you feel you can stay awake just a little longer, I’ll run you a nice hot bath, while Sunny here keeps stuffing you full of cookies and other delicious things.” ”I’d like nothing better,” Sunny beams, tousling Punch’s mane. ”Mmm, that sounds fantastic. Thank you both so much.” Punch is already starting on her next cookie. Heh. Good kid. She’ll be alright with some food and rest. I set the bath running, and, on a hunch, add a bit of bubble bath formula. I have a feeling Punch is the type to enjoy it. Instead of returning to the living room, I quietly make my way out through the back door, the rumble of the filling tub drowning the door’s quiet squeak. I step out into the darkness of my backyard. As my hooves press against the hard, dry earth, my earth pony senses reach out, once again feeling a presence lurking in the shadows. Though this time I’ll be the one doing the watching. Quietly I trot around the side of the house, pausing to peer around the corner. Just a few metres away, a dark figure is pressed up against the glass of the living room window, listening through the thick curtains. It hasn’t noticed me yet. I creep forward silently. One infinitely cautious hoofstep at a time. My body is tense; a bow, drawn, waiting for the perfect shot. I need to end this quickly. I haven’t been spotted yet, but one wrong move could spell disaster. I pause, inches away. A small amount of light passes through the heavy curtains, just barely illuminating the figure. I grin to myself. Leaning forward until I'm right next to her ear, I whisper: ”And what do you think you’re doing?” Sandy Miles shrieks in surprise, leaping almost out of her skin before crashing to the ground at my hooves. "Eeeek! Auntie Rose! Oh, um, hi! I was just uh..." She gives me her best winning smile. “Snooping?” I put on my best Angry Sunbeam impression. “...I’m in trouble, aren’t I?” From inside the house Sunny shouts, “What the heck was that?!”