"Beats me what all the hubbub is about," muttered one stallion to the next. He took a sip from a levitating bowl of potato soup and glanced aside at his two companions. "But whatever it is, it's pulling away almost all of the local enforcers."
"I swear, last month, we had at least three military zeppelins parked in the city," another said. The uniformed stallion leaned forward and poured himself another helping from the kettle. His muzzle smiled in the flicker of the crackling campfire. "Now there's less than one per week. It's a breath of fresh air, if you ask me."
"I've heard rumors," the third said, polishing a spear in the crook of his hooves. "Something big is going on down south. They already sent the Steel Wing to the Sapphire Province."
"The Steel Wing?!" A stallion gasped, glancing over from his bowl. "Spark Alive! Could it be a Xonan incursion?"
"Nah, most likely a bunch of unruly metal mares acting up."
"Ungh. Why does the Queen even tolerate those rust-wombs?!"
"I know, right? They make our jobs all the harder."
"At least Madame Nightshade knows better than to hire their kind. I tell you what—if it wasn't for the Industry, I'd be back west herding antelopes out of the Cyan Crystal Valley."
"Hah! I didn't know you were employed in the Central Relocation Programs."
"Straight up!"
"I was north of Crystal Valley about ten years ago, making room for a quarry being funded by the Council of Ledo. Boy, I tell you what... bison aren't so peaceful once you tell them to skedaddle."
"At least they don't shoot blue sparks at you."
"These ones did."
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah. Antelopes aren't the only Valley locals who got the mana treatment."
"Ugh. The Confederacy's never going to live those experiments down. I swear, the Council better get started on that non-equine draft soon or we're all screwed."
"I was almost drafted myself once."
"Oh?"
"But I was rejected. Y'know... cuz of my left front hoof and all."
"Heh. Lucky you."
"Luck has nothing to do with it. I'm just glad Nightshade Industries gave me another chance. Easiest job in the world."
"Not lately, it hasn't been."
"Meh. We'll reach our quota. Just gotta keep our eyes peeled. Not that it matters."
"Why doesn't it matter?"
"Madame Nightshade's got all that she needs as of late, hasn't she? I don't even know why we're bothering to search these villages."
"There've been a crapton of Mintian monks traveling about. Odds are they picked up hitchhikers. Who knows who might be hiding away in these buildings."
"Meh. Whatever. So long as we get a good night's sleep. I hate busting doors down when I'm half awake."
"Not even a coma could help you with that, jackass."
"Hardy har. Pass me another bowl."
"Now I know you're not gonna sleep."
"Nnnngh..."
"Heh heh heh..."
Bellesmith heard every single word, because over the past forty seconds, she had successfully snuck her way into the encampment and was within a hoof's stretch of the three stallions. She sat now—squatting behind a line of crates that bordered the campsite between the fire and a large wooden wagon. She bit her lip, her eyes glittering upon the sight of the kettle and its deliciously steaming broth. Her nostrils flared, and she looked all around her immediate vicinity.
At last, her eyes stumbled upon a large pebble. She picked it up in the crook of her hoof and—breathlessly—launched it clear across the campsite so that it clattered against an oak tree beyond the light of the fire.
Almost immediately all three stallions turned their heads. However, they didn't so much as stir from their seats.
"Hmm... you hear that?"
"Sounded heavy."
"Meh. Probably a dying squirrel."
"Yeah. Spark, I hate squirrels."
"Uh huh..." They resumed sitting and eating.
Belle hissed under her breath. She looked around again. This time, she found a length of fabric dangling out of a wooden crate right next to her. She bit her lip in thought. Then, with a flurry of hooves, she opened her saddlebag and produced Rainbow Dash's flint and tinder. Next, she yanked the cloak out of the crate. It was a tiny thing, the appropriate size for a young foal. It was also etched with numerous runic shapes, but her hungry mind barely registered it. In swift order, she produced sparks with the flint and tender and set the fabric on fire. Then, careful to not burn herself, she wrapped the smoldering material around a rock and flung it in the same direction.
It landed with a thump, although this time it set fire to a cluster of bushes.
"Hmmph..." One of the stallions hummed before gulping down some soup. "Another squirrel?"
Another uniformed unicorn glanced over. "Nah." He turned back to the meal. "Just a brushfire besides the wagon."
Silence.
All three jumped up at once. "Ah jeez!"
"Fetch the water!"
"Don't let it get to the mana crystals!"
They galloped awkwardly away, leaving the campfire and the kettle of soup completely unguarded.
Bellesmith smiled pleasantly. Desperately hungry, she rushed forward to take advantage of the moment. As she did so, an edge of the saddlebag bumped into a crate. It fell over, spilling its contents noisily. She froze and crouched low, hissing under her breath. Thankfully, the stallions were making such a commotion in the act of putting out the fire that they didn't notice her clumsiness.
Breathing with relief, she lifted the heavy crate back up with her forelimbs, hoping that it'd look less suspicious placed back where it once was. As she did so, she nearly tripped on a pile of spilled horseshoes. When she looked at it this time, her gaze lingered. The horseshoes were all foal-sized, and what's more, they had the same runes as the tiny cloak she had thoughtlessly set on fire.
For the first time in hours, she thought of Pilate—albeit it was not a melancholic thought but an educated one. At last, the nature of the runes struck a familiar part of her mind.
"Are these... Xonan...?" She fidgeted. "Where did the stallions get these?"
She had already wasted enough time. In a single breath, she bounded over to the kettle. With the crook of her hoof, she held the serving spoon and dipped it deep into the steamy broth. She opened a satchel of her saddlebag and prepared to drop in as many solid potatoes as she could—
"Hah!" A telekinetic grip yanked her away by the hoof. "What's this?! A thief?"
"Aaugh!" Bellesmith gasped as she was dragged over towards one of the three stallions. The other two were marching back from the smoldering remains of a fire that had quite easily been put out.
"I knew something was up!" the uniformed pony grumbled, frowning at her. "By the Queen, I hate these parts. It's worse than the lower streets of the city."
"Where in the heck did she come from?" Another remarked, squinting at the sight. "I swear, we're not on our game these days—" He suddenly gasped. "Holy crud."
"What?" The other turned to frown on him.
"What do you think? Look at her horn!"
"What about it?" The stallion who was gripping her turned again. His eyes reflected the stub in the center of her crown, and his jaw dropped. "No way..."
"You kidding me, right?" Another trotted over and sized Belle up and down. "Could she have escaped from Madame Nightshade's place?"
"Nah, it's gotta be a coincidence," the one stallion holding her said, his eyes nevertheless squinting. "Besides, she's too old." He leaned forward. "Just where the heck do you come from, lady?"
Belle was biting her lip. She glanced at the stallions.
She stared at her.
Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes. For a brief moment, she saw blurring pastures and mountaintops, as if she was flying. She decided to with the flow... and promptly headbutted the unicorn in front of her.
"Aaaaugh! Sonova..."