The cold floor presses up against my side, stealing my warmth. Small stones bite into me, causing me to shift and turn.
I’d forgotten just how uncomfortable it is sleeping in a cave.
Blearily, I realise I must be awake if I'm starting to notice this. With a yawn, I force myself to sit up.
I am Sergeant Glacier, and I am sore and stiff, but very much alive. I wasn't sure I’d survive the night.
The light and warmth spilling in from the small cave’s entrance tells me I’ve overslept. Not surprising, given how long and exhausting yesterday was. My muscles still ache, but the good kind of ache. The kind you get after a long day of fieldwork and a good night’s sleep.
Climbing to my hooves, I wince as I put weight on my bandaged hind leg. It throbs dully in protest, still sensitive. My human companion - Anon - is stirring too. Probably disturbed by my movement. It’s curled up by the remains of the fire, practically on top of it. Must have been a cold night for the furless creature.
Or… not so furless? In the morning light, I can see Anon isn’t actually completely naked. Its skin - where it isn’t covered by tatters of clothing - has a thin layer of extremely fine hairs. Compared to my thick, bushy coat, it must be far more comfortable during the heat of the day, but freezing overnight.
I also notice just how lean Anon looks. Obviously, I don’t know how humans ought to look, but I know mammals in general. Such clearly visible ribs could be a sign of malnourishment.
I'm beginning to suspect Anon isn’t native to this area. The campsite I saw yesterday looked fairly new, and the human doesn’t seem well fed. Perhaps it’s just passing through, or even lost? Another interloper, struggling to survive this Celestia-blasted wasteland.
A number of minor wounds across Anon’s body support the theory. Scrapes. Blisters. Bruises. Not fresh, but not fully healed either. If Anon were a native then I'd expect fewer of these superficial injuries; he'd know how to avoid them, or would be so used to them he'd have developed calluses.
The worst of the damage is to the left arm. Looks like something tried to take a serious bite out of it, leaving deep puncture marks and raking the flesh from wrist to elbow. Ouch! It’s currently a mass of scabs and scar tissue. Looks like it has been healing for several weeks, badly. I'm guessing Anon didn’t have the supplies to properly treat it.
Much of the damage is probably permanent, unfortunately, but I may be able to offer some aid with my medical kit. At the very least, I can ensure the wounds don’t reopen. And I really ought to return the favour for Anon's help last night.
Slinging the kit across my back, I carefully approach the yawning human.
“Good morning, Anon. Um...”
I falter, trying to figure out how best to communicate this. Anon sits up, blinking sleepily towards me.
“Er, heal.”
I tap the bandages around my own leg a few times, repeating “Heal”. Then, floating out more bandages, I point at its wounded arm.
“Heal.”
Anon starts back suddenly, letting out an exclamation. I flinch back in surprise at the sudden motion. Though quickly realise it’s not looking at me, but something beside me! I spin around, expecting to see another sandipede-
Only to find an empty cave.
What the heck was that about? I glance back to Anon. The human still seems on edge. I follow his gaze. Looks like he's staring at... the bandages floating next to me? What's so scary about them? The human even helped me put some bandages on last night, so what's so different about- oh. Right.
These are floating bandages.
Most creatures are startled by unicorn magic. Heck, even non-unicorn ponies can be surprised by it if they're not used to it. Anon may have caught a glimpse of my magic last night, and from a distance, but now I'm waving it right in its face. If humans don't have levitation magic of their own - and most races don't - then I can see how it would be startling.
”Gray?” Anon asks, pointing cautiously to the levitating bundle.
I nod, slowly transferring the bandages from my aura to my hoof, holding them up for him to see.
“Gray heal,” I promise.
The human still looks a bit stunned, but doesn’t seem to be panicking or backing away. I take that as a good sign, and get to work, cleaning and bandaging the injured limb. Just as Anon did for me yesterday.
(I really hope my antiseptics and ointments aren’t dangerous to humans. They’re safe to use on most mammals…)
Anon watches in amazement every time I levitate up a new bottle or fresh roll of bandages, barely noticing my ministrations. It’s chatting a lot; I think it’s trying to ask me questions, but I can’t understand them and it can’t make itself understood, so it eventually gives up.
Once I've finished, it starts twisting and bending its arm, showing off impressive flexibility. It seems to be inspecting my work, murmuring in what I hope is approval. As if sensing my uncertainty, Anon leans over and gives me a smile. Its uninjured arm extends towards my head, slowly. Giving me the option to back off. My instinct is to shy away from the strange appendage, but I force myself to stand still. I remind myself that the human means me no harm (probably), and has been nothing but helpful (lately).
The gangly limb gently brushes the top of my mane, giving my head a soft pat.
Huh.
That was… unexpected. But not unpleasant. If that’s Anon’s way of showing appreciation, well. I suppose I can live with it.
The human stands up abruptly, giving a mighty stretch. Golly, I’d forgotten just how tall Anon is! Still kinda intimidating. After completing its stretch, the human turns and makes its way out of the small cave. It has to duck its head frequently to avoid the low roof. I follow, curious.
Once outside, Anon stops and turns to me. Gesturing and speaking something, it then turns away and heads out to the left. I have no idea what it was trying to say. With a shrug I keep following.
Stepping out of the cave, the sun and hot air immediately crash into me. For once I savour the warmth, feeling it soak into my cold, stiff limbs. With a nicker and shake of my mane, I turn to follow Anon.
After a few more steps, the human again notices me and stops. This time its gestures seem a bit more urgent. I catch it saying “Gray” a few times, and pointing back to the cave. Buuut I’ve still no idea what it wants. I tilt my head, ears flicking in confusion.
Eventually Anon seems to give up. Shrugging its shoulders, it turns to face a nearby rock wall. Then lowers its ragged pants and- oh!
Right. Ahem.
I quickly turn around, embarrassed. Looks like it - or rather he - needs to relieve himself. I caught an eyeful of a very male-looking organ I really didn’t need to see.
I quickly trot away, stammering apologies Anon probably can’t even understand. The soft splashing reminds my own body of similar needs, and I set off to find my own private nook.
Several minutes later, the two of us are back in the cave, sharing a somewhat awkward breakfast. We’ve got cold roast sandipede (blech!) and my last remaining ration bar (double blech!). Once again, Anon has graciously shared his canteen with me. Thank the Sisters that my terrifying monster companion is turning out to be a real gentlecolt.
Before hoofing the (nearly empty) bottle back, something catches my eye. Turning it over, I notice something I’d missed in the darkness last night: the words “Hoofrest Mining Co” stamped into its side. In Equestrian.
This is a pony canteen.
“Where did you get this,” I ask in surprise.
Anon looks at me blankly.
“...Right, right, you have no idea what I’m saying. Er, Anon? Canteen? Can-teen?”
I tap the bottle for emphasis. Still nothing. Anon just tilts his head. It’s kinda adorable.
I frown. How do I communicate “Where?” without words? And how could he answer in a way I can understand? I need some way to gesture or indicate position…
Aha!
Turning to my saddlebags, I levitate out my map, unfolding it on the ground between us.
“Anon, Grey,” I say, tapping our current location. (Approximately. The badlands aren’t drawn in much detail.)
Anon seems very excited by the document, practically shoving up against me as he leans in for a closer look. From the way his eyes methodically scan the paper, fingers hovering over landmarks, lips silently muttering to himself, I'm pretty sure he understands what the map is.
Which is quite reassuring, actually. If he can read a map, then not only can he probably give me directions, but it’s likely that he’s from a society capable of producing maps. Proof that humans aren’t just wild savages, but an intelligent people capable of planning and cooperation.
After a few more moments studying the map, Anon hastily looks up, as though scanning for landmarks around us. I follow suit, only to be reminded we’re both still in a cave. The only things visible are rocks, and some sand.
Feeling a bit silly, the two of us trot outside, Anon holding the map. We can’t see much from the small ravine outside, so we climb to a nearby ridge. It’s a little tricky with my sore leg, but I manage.
From the summit we can see the full immensity of the desert around us. Miles and miles of gleaming orange and yellow, disappearing into a hazy horizon. To the north of us the massive brown slopes of the Macintosh Range dominate the skyline. The closest and largest landmark. A number of lesser black and brown splotches dot the desert - hills and cliffs and mesas. However, these don’t seem to correlate to any specific feature on my map.
Gesturing north with a sweep of my hoof, I announce:
“Mountains.”
Then, drawing a hoof across the corresponding part of the map:
“Mountains.”
”Mantens,” Anon echoes, nodding.
“Canteen?”
I tap his bottle as I ask, then tap the map again. Anon frowns. I'm not sure if he understands the question, or if the map is even detailed enough to answer it.
Eventually he points to the spot I’d given as our current location.
”Gray, Anon.”
His finger slides a short distance west.
”Cantain.”
I scooch up closer to peer at the map. The location he’s indicating is still well within the Badlands. Probably only a few kilometres away. Anon raises an arm and gestures towards the western horizon. Squinting against the glare, I can see a vaguely familiar canyon in the distance. The valley which holds Anon’s campsite, and the pool which saved me yesterday.
I’ve no idea how some Hoofrest pony’s canteen ended up down there. Prospectors? Dust Devils? Either way, that has to be my next stop. Travelling anywhere else with an empty canteen would be suicide.
”Gray?”
I turn back to find Anon crouched over the map, drawing something in the sand. His long arms and thin fingers skim across the ground in quick, precise motions. In seconds he’s scribbled a pair of... shapes, or symbols.
”Gray,” he declares, pointing to one of the scribbles. Then “Anon”, pointing at the other.
I tilt my head, trying to understand what he’s saying. Walking around to view them from his side, suddenly it clicks. The “Gray” symbol is a simplified picture of a pony. Four straight lines for legs, a horizontal line for the body, a circle for the head, and a narrow triangle for my horn. Not unlike foals’ stick pony art.
I surmise that the other symbol is a “stick human”. It seems to match up: two lines for legs, vertical line for body, two arms, one head, no horn.
“Gray, Anon,” I repeat, intrigued but unsure where he’s going with this.
He quickly leans over and scribbles three more stick humans. Then, looking back to me, he gestures to himself and carefully pronounces an unfamiliar word. He repeats the word while tapping the group of stick humans.
Is he telling me the name of these humans? His family, or tribe? Or perhaps it's the humans' name for their own species?
I tentatively catalogue it as the latter for now.
“<Human>,” I say the word awkwardly.
(I still think Equestrian is easier on the tongue. Maybe being the common language for all creatures of Equestria - from yaks to griffons to dragons - necessitates that it be easy to pronounce? The human’s language, by contrast, seems all... blurry, and has far too many similar but apparently separate sounds.)
(Hard to explain. I'm a guard, not a linguist.)
Returning to the problem at hoof, I tap each stick figure in turn to show I understand.
“<Human>, <human>, <human>, <human>, not <human>,” ending on the stick pony.
Anon smiles and nods excitedly. I feel a surge of excitement too. Each new word and gesture I learn feels like a small but significant accomplishment. Another step closer to getting some real answers. Another victory shared with my new companion.
Anon points to the map and asks eagerly:
”<Human>?”
And just like that, my elation dies.
Anon's asking if there’s other humans in Equestria. Or maybe if there’s other humans, period. Poor guy’s lost. Trying to find his own kin.
Just like me.
I feel my ears droop as I shake my head sadly.
“Not <human>,” I confess, gesturing across the map.
Anon’s ears don’t droop - they don’t seem to move much in general - but the excitement leaves his face.
Human body language is still new to me, but it doesn’t take an expert to realise I’ve just dashed his hopes.
We’re both quiet for some time.