//------------------------------//
// Chapter One: A Hard Decision 
// Story: Llamas: A Drama 
// by SkelePone 
//------------------------------//


LLAMAS
a drama

by SkelePone






As you may know, Equestria is a truly immense and diverse kingdom.

Besides the ponies that are ever present in the large nation, there are the Buffalo Tribes of the plains. The Deer Tribes of the Everfree and the Flame Geyser Swamp. The Reindeer Tribes of the icy north surrounding the Crystal Empire. Griffon towns scattered across the kingdom. Dragon gatherings in the few active volcanoes remaining. A rare Zebra every once in awhile living amongst the ponies. Then there are also the lesser known Llamas of the South Equestrian Mountain Range.

The Alpaca Mountains are one of the larger mountain ranges running along Southern Equestria. They are a bit further south than Appleloosa, and are therefore a bit chilly. The inhabitants of the Mountains usually have thick coats of fur or wool. The most notable of dominant species here are the few pony trading posts, a griffon settlement, manticores, and of course, llamas.

Llama social behavior in the Alpaca Mountains is quite basic. Far simpler than pony social behavior, in fact. Llamas will divide themselves into Herds of various sizes, quite like the Buffalo of the plains and desert to the north of Appleloosa. Llamas usually avoid ponies and buffalo; mostly due to the fact that their cultures were so incredibly different. One particular llama who had previous experience, good and bad, with ponies was going through difficult times in his own Herd. His full name was Abuelo Urcuchillay. Abuelo Urcu, for short.

Abuelo Urcu surveyed his herd. The Guards stood in their traditional positions surrounding the rest of the herd; providing a sort of barrier against any possible threats to the safety of the Herd. The Packers milled about among the others, although they were notably closer to Abuelo. They carried their heavy bags, their sturdy legs carrying the incredible weight. Woolies and Mothers stood together with their crias. 

Today was the day he had told every member of the Herd to be present for a herd-wide meeting with him, their Alpha. Abuelo had been practicing this speech for many moons, ever since the Tragedy of The Three Crias and The Five Guards, nay but five months past. From his position upon the tall chunk of volcanic obsidian that they called Speech Rock, he could clearly see that the younglings were growing restless. He had better make this speech quick.

“Now. I have gathered you here today to bring you unfortunate news-”

“Oh yeah, Urcuchillay? What is it this time? We lost three crias already this year and a manticore has killed many Guards. Winter is coming. We haven’t got nearly enough food for the entire herd to survive here. When will you really be taking action? How many more must die before we seek a solution?”

A hot-headed juvenile who Abuelo Urcu knew as ‘Poncho’ stood out among the crowd. His russet-colored wool standing out from the herd of vivid colors. Abuelo Urcu looked into the llama stallion’s blue eyes. Around the young stallion’s long woolly neck was an oopoochawa, a traditional instrument carved from wood and made with metal tines. This glaring juvenile would make a good alpha.

But not at the moment. for now, this was Abuelo Urcu’s Herd.

“Calm yourself, Poncho. I will get to that.”

Poncho let out a loud mwa of irritation. Abuelo Urcu cleared his throat again and gestured for a few Guards to push the unruly llama juvenile back into the Herd. Now without any further distractions, he continued his speech in a pompous and loud voice.

“As I was saying, and as Poncho here was so kind to point out, the Herd has been having a few troubles here. The Alpaca Mountains may no longer be able to sustain such a large population. Unfortunately. And that means that a few of us will have to relocate.”

There were mwas of fear and anger as many of the llamas before him riled up in distress. He waved a reassuring cloven hoof at the crowd, and the murmuring began to die down.

“Now. Yes, Guards have died protecting us. And crias, our babies, have died because of manticores. Let us remember Bola, Guanco, Sombrero, Pérdida, and Mafata. Those Guards who gave their lives to save us from harm. Let us remember Burro, Pampa, and Chucho. Their innocent souls shall live evermore with us, in our hearts.”

Abuelo Urcu’s special talent at giving speeches told him to pause here for dramatic effect. He allowed his smile to grow slack into a somber grimace. From somewhere in the Herd, a few lone dams began to sob uncontrollably. Abuelo Urcu knew that those cries were from the mothers whose younglings had been eaten by the beasts of the Mountains. Several mothers who still had their little crias comforted the sobbing females, hushing them. Once again Abuelo Urcu patiently continued on with his speech.

“I do know this is because there are simply too many of us to protect. So we have but a few options.”

He cleared his throat again and studied his Herd. They weren’t going to like this.

“One, we stop breeding. For a while.”

Several couples muttered in disapproval. They did not want to halt reproduction. They wanted big families. Lots of little crias playing and pronking about.

“Two, we keep breeding, but we peacefully provide the manticores with… sacrifices of sorts.”

Many llamas began to bray.

“Now now! You know that is what we used to do, long ago. Sacrifice our weak to the predators who threaten us. But no fear, out third option is to have the Herd split, and send those who wish it to live among the ponies.”

Now the murmuring was less aggravated and a little bit hopeful. The Herd had maintained a steady relationship with the pony trading post of Macho Pacachu. The ponies would trade them metals and gems for their wool and for the rare berries and wildflower delicacies they foraged from the thick woods of the mountains. Many had always imagined abandoning the harsh nomadic lifestyle of their ancestors and settling down to open businesses at the trading post and in Appleloosa and the far off Canterlot.

“So. Show of hooves. Who votes to halt breeding?”

Only one or two geldings raised their hooves. It made sense. Geldings were males who had gone sterile and couldn’t mate. They were generally well-known for the jealousy they had for the studs and dams who could have crias.

“Who votes to reinstate sacrifices?”

No llamas raised their hooves. Understandable.

“Who votes to relocate select few?”

Nearly every llama besides the two or three geldings raised their hooves high, even the crias who just barely understood what actions they were voting for. Abuelo Urcu smiled at his beloved Herd. At the group who had endured blizzards, avalanches, manticore raids, herd clashes, and even more.

“Very well. Now who here offers themselves to go out. To explore what Equestria and the world has to offer?”

No llamas stepped forward. Abuelo Urcu hoped he wouldn’t be left with selecting those he would kick out of the Herd. Fortunately, the gods and his ancestors were rewarding his excellent leadership. A single juvenile stepped forward, plucking absentmindedly at his oopoowacha. Poncho.

“Poncho? You agree to led a group into the pony lands? To bring the llamas under your care into the safety of ponykind?”

Poncho nodded eagerly.

“Will you come here, to stand by me?”

Poncho eagerly clambered up the Speech Rock where Abuelo Urcu stood. Abuelo Urcu looked down at the younger stallion and regarded him before returning his attention once again to the crowd before them.

“Now, who wishes to join sir Poncho here?”

Many llamas shuffled their hooves nervously, avoiding the gaze of Poncho and Abuelo Urcu. Finally, a few llamas walked up and stood boldly before Speech Rock.

Churro, a grandson of Abuelo Urcu and one of the Herd’s bakers who specialized in pastries, especially those of his namesake. The stallion was unfortunately born a gelding. However, Churro was perfectly happy as a gelding. The gelding with the creamy wool and white undercoat would much rather spend his time chasing ingredients than chasing dams.

Cha Cha and Macarena, a dancing pair of twin dams with fluffy teal wool and pink undercoats. They had always spoken to any llama who would listen that they wanted to go out into the world. To show the ponies of Equestria the traditional dances of the Llama Herds.

Vicuña, the cloaked black shaman-in-training with a gray undercoat, decided to go. He was the only one experienced in magic, divination, and medicine. Without a shaman, the travellers could end up getting hurt and being unable to heal each other.

Mama, an elderly dam who is known for being the grandmother of many of the llamas of the Herd would go voluntarily. She was nearly as blind as a vampire fruit bat and hard of hearing. She walked with a hobble, her fluffy white wool making her look more like a tall wrinkled sheep than a llama elder.

Finally, Pepe Forchan, the forest green llama stud with the light green undercoat stepped forward. He was a Packer, and was the most adjusted to pony society. Frequently the odd llama would randomly spout nonsense about ‘dank memes’ and ‘killstreaks’. Every llama in the Herd avoided Pepe whenever possible, and Abuelo Urcu could hear a collective sigh from the milling families as the green stud took his place beside Poncho. Abuelo Urcu raised an eyebrow at the others.

“Any more?”

No more llamas stepped forward. Abuelo Urcu counted those who had offered to leave. Seven. Out of the sixty llamas who were in his Herd.

“Please, we need at least three more to join Poncho and his new herd.”

Another llama stepped forward. A pink Woolie named Bonita joined the dancer twins. Her pale undercoat was even paler as she let out soft mwas of fear. Bonita had been set to be bred for her wool despite her oppositions. No wonder she wanted to leave. Forced breeding was something that Abuelo Urcu hated to do, but her wool was of a quality and shade that would sell for many bits.

A second llama, a young gelding named Rico stumbled forward. He was one of the crias who had been born knock-kneed. The poor youngling hobbled along, his rear legs splayed awkwardly. Abuelo Urcu sent a prayer to the gods that Rico would find some help in the miracle of pony medicine. Herbs and mushrooms were useful, but they couldn’t treat a birth defect.

Finally, a bulky Guard named Bronco, the son of Guanco, one of the Guards who died in the manticore attack, joined the group. The new Herd had a population of ten. It was small, yes, but Abuelo Urcu remembered when he had first led his own Herd. His Herd had been only a small picking of four or five llamas. Poncho was lucky to have ten. Even if one was elderly. And another crippled. And another insane.

Then again, maybe Poncho wasn’t so lucky.

Poncho surveyed his small herd and nodded in approval. Abuelo Urcu couldn’t help but smile. The young musician would make an excellent leader. Abuelo Urcu ordered them to be supplied with enough rations to get them to the trading post, and with enough bits to support them all the way to Appleloosa.

The Packer, Pepe, was laden with all sorts of food and drink. Empanadas, alfalfa, maize, berries, tubers, peppers, various fruits, and the famed llama concoction known only as ‘dulce de leche’. Churro the baker had packed up the majority of his ingredients: rice and wheat flours, sugar, cacao beans, cinnamon bark, and dried fruits. The majority of their foods were raw and dried, besides the vegetable empanadas. It should last them quite a few weeks. Then Churro’s baking and Poncho’s music would let them earn enough bits to kickstart their life in the North.

“Well,” Bonita said with a whimper, “I guess this is it.”

“We’re gonna get so many killstreaks. Let’s three-sixty no scope killcam this shizz and get all of those MLG Pro awards.” Pepe rambled excitedly. Abuelo Urcu took that as an exclamation of hope.

“Don’t worry, guys. We’ll be fine.” Poncho assured them.

And with an air of satisfaction, the bold young (and not-so-young) llamas bid their families goodbye. Then together, as a Herd, the ten llamas began to descend the mountain trail towards the pony trading outpost of Fort Fresh Hooves.

To a new life in a world very much unlike their own.





Fort Fresh Hooves was a collection of log cabins surrounding a cable car station leading down the mountain.

Poncho had been to Fort Fresh Hooves before, long ago in the earlier days of his youth. Back then, he had thought the cabins were just giant wooden monsters. He had never truly understood the concept of houses. Llamas were nomadic. They travelled. They didn’t need any sort of building or construction for warmth or protection. The herds protected themselves with Guard llamas and their thick wool protected them from the elements. Ponies had magic and Guards, but not wool.

That was one of the many differences the younger Poncho had noticed during his trip to Fort Fresh Hooves. He had also noticed that llamas were more gaunt than ponies. Ponies tended to be more colorful, and didn’t have cloven hooves. Ponies also had various mane styles and strange pictures on their flanks that they called ‘cutie marks’. Llama Guards occasionally partook in the tradition of tattoo artwork, but the ink was not as smooth and flawless as the marks on the ponies.

Only later would Poncho learn that these ‘cutie marks’ practically defined the ponies they belonged to. That those marks represented their place in society. At first, Poncho had thought that the idea was horrible, that cutie marks were nothing more than bindings for a lifetime of slavery. And when he was told that younglings; these ‘fillies’ and ‘colts’, actually looked forward to their life of enslavement, he was appalled.

But now that he was older, he knew better. Ponies got their cutie marks once they found something they loved to do. But that didn’t mean they could only do that one thing for as long as they lived. Poncho had met a pegasus fur-trapper hanging around Fort Fresh Hooves who was talented at trapping. Even though his cutie mark was that of a bear trap, the fur-trapper also had the knack for playing the ‘mjiba’, as he called it. It was from that kindly stallion that Poncho had obtained his oopoochawa.

As his small Herd approached the Fort, Poncho reminisced about those days long past. That fateful meeting with the pony fur-trapper had been countless moons ago. It was very likely that the stallion had moved on to a new part of the Alpaca Mountain Range. As they approached, a small Earth pony mare wearing a thick llama wool coat and hat sauntered up to greet them.

“Howdy! Ya here ta do a bit a tradin’?” She bubbled, pointing at the largest cabin, the market. Poncho shook his great neck in a resound ‘no’. Her giggly smile faltered somewhat.

“No, we’re here to take the cable car. What would the prices be, miss?” Poncho asked, as he removed the bag of bits from Pepe’s saddlepack. He hoped they wouldn’t be too expensive.

“Oh! Uh… I don’t sell tickets. Y'all be lookin’ for the small cabin with the yellow ‘tickets’ sign. An’ I think the prices are set ta three bits a po- er… llama.” She said, pointing a hoof in the direction of the cable car tower. The llamas thanked her and were about to go about on their way when she stopped them again. “So wait… yer leavin’ tha mountain?!”

Poncho nodded, clicking the bag of bits he carried in his cloven hoof.

“B-Bu-but… I didn’ know llamas coul’ even do that! Leavin’ tha mountain!”

“And why is that, missy?” Mama piped up, clearly getting aggravated. The young mare blushed at the elderly dam and began to stutter.

“Well… ma’am… if I can call ya ma’am… I-It’s jus’ I’ve never seen or heard of a llama going down the mountain! Yer mountain folk, aintcha?” She asked, looking from Poncho to Mama incredulously. Behind them the other members of the Herd milled about in boredom. Pepe was already chatting away with his nonsense at the dancer twins, who both listened with half-interest.

“Yes. But there are other mountains besides the Alpaca Range, correct?” Poncho inquired. He sounded so bold and daring when he asked her this, but he was honestly curious. His knowledge of geography was limited only to the few mountains of the Range that he had explored. The pony nodded, turning almost as pale as Bonita.

“Well now, miss. Thank you for your assistance. Pepe, Cha Cha, Macarena,” the said llamas snapped to attention and bounded over, “let’s go. We’re buying some tickets.”

And with that, they left the pony mare to stand in the snow as she wondered what in Equestria she had just learned. The mare shook her head and brought her thoughts down back from lala land. Maybe she had been hearing things. Llamas leaving the mountains? Ridiculous. Llamas loved the mountains. There’s no way any would be foolish enough to take the cable car down the mountain and just gallop away.

Just as she turned to go back to her cabin, she saw the herd of llamas exit the ticket booth. They were clutching yellow tickets in their mouths and sending muffled thank yous to the ticketmaster. Her eyes bugged as she watched a sleek new cable car slide along the wires and coming to a stop before the herd. They bugged even more when she saw them clamber aboard, putting their tickets into the small slot beside the door. Then the door sealed and the cable car kicked back up to a start and trundled its way down its cables to the outpost far below.

Those were some foolish llamas.