After Alagaësia

by myyrlin

chapter 2: Wanderlust

It is a well-known fact that a dragon’s side is one of the safest, and simultaneously most dangerous place to sleep. While a person enjoys resting beneath the safety of their imposing bedfellow, they also run the risk of surrendering a limb should that bedfellow shift around in her sleep. It was for this reason that Eragon found himself in a much different spot when he awoke: a good twenty or so yards away from Saphira’s side. As a result of this relocation, he was quite well-rested. It had been a surprisingly pleasant night’s rest, more pleasant than one might expect after an entire day of flying, and even considering that Saphira had nearly stabbed Eragon with her sharp spines from a sudden stretch during the night.

The morning was biting and clear, with the sun barely peeking out over the distant pine-crested slopes. An icy wind blew down from the mountains, carrying frozen tidings of frigid slopes. This, however, didn’t stop Eragon from taking an early-morning swim in the lake without clothes or even magic to aide him. He came out of the lake from his swim, dripping and damp, with freezing winds threatening to send his teeth into a chatter, and with a bright grin upon his face, feeling finer than he had in months.

“I feel like a new man!” he declared. “It’s as though I’ve been baptized in the waters of promise, and there’s not a thing on earth which can break that promise. I feel as fresh and sharp as a Spring day!”

Saphira, who had been trying to enjoy her own morning baptism in the waters of “two more hours of sleep” grumbled at Eragon from beneath her wing. Ugh, keep your voice down! she rumbled. I would not reach to call this unwholesome hour “morning.”’Tis an hour fit only for crawling, slithering creatures that live in the ground, and other things which have no use for beauty sleep. It is not morning until the sun has warmed my scales and the scent of finely-cooked meat is in my nostrils.

She rolled over onto her side, tossing up a hail of river stones which Eragon was forced to deflect with his palm. “Hey, watch it!” he cried.

All Eragon received in reply was another roll of irritated thunder from Saphira’s throat. He knew too well that Saphira wasn’t in any sort of sporting mood, so he decided to search the nearby woods for game which would hopefully brighten Saphira’s demeanor.

The dawn’s glare pierced Saphira’s closed eyelids mercilessly. Grudgingly, she pulled a wing over her head, snorting loudly as she did. Her sleep had not been pleasant, being filled with troubling dreams of unfortunate hunts. Her nightly thrashings had turned her smooth bed of stones into a sizable crater—she was glad Eragon had relocated himself during the night.

The disturbing dreams were becoming more and more frequent as their quest continued. What had started as a series of a troubling nuisances every now and then was now a frequent and genuine concern. The past week alone, Saphira was torn from sleep by violent nightmares on two separate occasions. The first night she had awoken in a rage, merely spouting a burst of fire from her mouth and setting the nearby trees ablaze. Eragon had not been in harm’s way for that mishap, but the next night she had nearly cleaved Eragon in two with a swipe from her spiked tail. Thankfully, Eragon’s reflexes were swift and his reassurances swifter, but the nightmares persisted. She was afraid of what might happen the next time she had a nightmare, when Eragon might be in a particularly sound slumber.

Saphira groaned and buried her head beneath the stones. A sickening image overtook her as she imagined what she had nearly done to Eragon that previous night. Why couldn’t she control her mind? She rolled over in her crater, flinging more stones into the air. Her stomach growled with gnawing hunger, and a foul flavor crept up her throat from her stomach. She concluded that fish was a terrible dinner to eat late after a full day of flying.

Hopefully Eragon has found something better to eat than aquatic trifles, she thought to herself.

Eragon had in fact had a very successful hunt in the nearby woods, and he returned to the camp toting several young hares over his shoulder. “I’m back!” he hollered to Saphira. “It isn’t much, but it is certainly better than last night’s supper.” Grinning cheerfully, he laid the hares out on a tree stump and set about cleaning the carcasses. He raised a cheeky brow at Saphira. “You’ll be wanting the king’s share, I assume?”

At the smell of fresh meat, Saphira was roused and testing the air hungrily with her tongue. She yawned and worked her wings around in small circles, stretching the night’s stiffness from them.

A queen’s share will suit me just fine, thank you, she corrected. After all, I certainly deserve it. You would do well to remember who must do all the flying for the two of us. She snapped up several of the hares in a single gulp and grinned, showing off her formidable row of pristine white fangs. And who of the two of us has the larger appetite.

Eragon smiled, shaking his head as he turned back to his own meager breakfast. He’d saved the leanest of hares for himself. Saphira, having finished her meal, was now eyeing the scrawny carcass that was slowly roasting above the fire.

“Hey, you got your queen’s portion, leave some for the kitchen boys, too!” Eragon chuckled, making a shooing gesture with his hand.

Dejectedly, Saphira slumped herself into her crater-bed of stones. As was her morning custom, she began rubbing her sides and underbelly against the ground, tearing up loose earth and roots as she did. She gave a satisfied sigh.

While Saphira groomed herself, Eragon finished his meal silently and appreciated the coolness of the morning. The air was calm and fresh, and carried a wet, rich earthiness from the lake. Eragon gazed out over the water. There was still some traces of mist clinging to the surface that the sun’s rays had not yet chased away. He sighed, feeling slightly regretful that they would be leaving this beautiful spot shortly. At length, Eragon rose to his feet and took a deep breath.

“Ready to get moving again, Saphira?”

In a minute. I rather enjoy the feel of these lake shore stones. They’re so slippery and cold, and rather refreshing.

Eragon gathered a few supplies into his pack, then fetched Saphira’s saddle from its resting place atop a fallen tree trunk. “You’re going to need to stop rolling around eventually so I can get this saddle on you,” he said, resting himself against the trunk. He tucked his arms behind his head and simply observed Saphira while she rolled about. He thought she looked quite like an enormous cat playing with a ball of string. Saphira was less than amused by Eragon’s impressions.

After Eragon spent a few more minutes packing, Saphira had her fill of rolling and was eager to be moving once again. Once Eragon secured the saddle to Saphira’s back, Saphira launched herself into the air and did a brief lap around the lake while Eragon waited from the shore. Eragon gathered the rest of their supplies and cleaned up the camp. He used magic to levitate some damp sand above the fire to put it out, then continued to hunt down his bedroll.

He grimaced when he found the bedroll, or what remained of it, on the far side of Saphira’s crater. His fine travel bed that had been a homely comfort for many months had been reduced to tattered shreds after Saphira’s recent night terror. He turned the torn hide over in his arms, sighing sadly.

No more cushy nights for a while, he thought. He turned his head as a blast of air hailed Saphira’s arrival to the lakeshore once again. “They’re getting worse, aren’t they? The dreams, I mean,” said Eragon.

I am deeply sorry about last night, she replied remorsefully. It’s all this traveling we’ve been doing, and the indecent meals I’ve gotten for it all. My belly has been barer than a beggar’s cupboard for weeks now. I’ve become so gaunt, you can nearly see right through me!

Eragon smiled slyly. I wouldn’t go far as to say that…. He felt a warning flare up from Saphira’s mind. ...but you’re absolutely right, Saphira. A dragon needs much more than fish and hare to live on. We need to get you some real meat for a change.

I would appreciate that immensely, said Saphira with a pleased hum.

Eragon nodded and continued loading up their remaining supplies into the saddle. He sighed as he tossed away his now useless bedroll. He felt a slight twinge creep up his lower back, punctuating the fact that he would not be able to sleep comfortably for a while. The ground would have to suffice until he could stitch up a new bedroll.

With the rest of their supplies packed safely away, Eragon saddled up and prepared for another long day’s flight. The sun had hardly reached full circle above the pines when the two companions took to the skies once more. They took one final aerial lap around the edge of the lake before embarking into the wilds beyond. Eragon watched while the air of Saphira’s wingbeats sent ripples out across the water, stirring the glassy surface and gradually subsiding to nothing. He spared a final wistful glance back to their pristine hideaway before Saphira went reeling high and away into the bright blue sky.

The air around them was cool and fresh, and the sky brazened with gold as the sun crept into view. The wind was strong at their back, an ideal tailwind for flying. The cloudless sky hung above their heads as if it were a brilliant blue curtain of silk stretching out for miles and miles in every direction. Below them spread a vast white landscape, thickly dotted with snow-covered trees and bounding hills. Here and there the hills would reach high up into the air like tall waves lapping up to the sides of the mountains, then crash down into deep, frozen gorges that yawned with dark blue ice. The mountains rose up high and proud to the north, looking like great mounds of earth had been gathered up in rounded heaps, then powdered with sparkling snow.

“Those look almost like The Spine back in Alagaësia,” Eragon noted. “They’re not quite as jagged as The Spine was though. These peaks tend to roll much more, and have a much less intimidating look about them.”

Very true, said Saphira. These mountains look less like the spines of a dragon’s back, and more like the lumps of a troll’s hide.

Eragon’s eye followed the mountain range as it continued far into the east, where its most distant peaks could just barely be seen as grey silhouettes. To the south was spread a vast and varied wilderness, with only the occasional river or tall hill creating any landmark. He puzzled in his head about what the various features could indicate about the surrounding environment, whether it was somewhat docile, or if wild and ravenous beasts roamed. It certainly looked pleasant enough, sparkling white as it did in the bright sunlight, but snow had that sort of pacifying effect on most types of landscapes. Beneath that innocent white veil of powder some more sinister creatures could be lurking with empty bellies, waiting for any sort of meal to manifest itself.

I do wish we were able to explore some of these places more thoroughly, said Eragon. I can feel all kinds of life teeming down below us, even some which are entirely unfamiliar to me. Do you think we shall get to encounter some of these creatures someday?

I think we shall have plenty of opportunities for life to surprise us. After all, life has a long plan set for us to follow, replied Saphira.

Eragon frowned slightly. It’s the following that I’m uncomfortable with.

Saphira pondered this silently for a few moments. Her wings pumped a few strokes in the strong breeze. Why do you think that? Just because we have a duty, that does not mean that our lives must be entirely consumed by it, she said at length.

But what if it does? Raising new dragons is a daunting task, even for a well-seasoned Dragon and Rider! There is no task more important to us, I know. I understand the gravity of it, and that is what unsettles me. It’s not so much a question of “Can we do it?” as it is, “Is this all we’re allowed to do?” Suppose we’ll live out our endless years playing nursemaids to hatchlings, never again to venture the wide world, never allowed to leave the confines of our front gate?

Do you grow weary of our task before it has even begun? scoffed Saphira lightly. Little One, there are none who understand your misgivings better than I. True, this task may be ours to bear until the end of our years, but who is to say that those years will not be an adventure in and of themselves? Already we have journeyed far and wide over the world. Our travels have brought us to places few eyes have ever seen, at least few eyes from Alagaësia. We have shared in great wonders together, and I doubt that the world will ever run out of secrets for us to discover.

But I agree, she continued, that our home doesn’t quite need to be over the next hill. Or, perhaps it can be, just so long as that hill is more like a mountain, and brimming with thrills and adventure.

Eragon smiled and sat quietly with his thoughts. Saphira was right, as she usually was. A Dragon Rider was meant to be a teacher, Eragon didn’t deny this. He thought he could come to terms with the fact that he and Saphira would spend their years educating the generations to come in the ways of magic and harmony. Oromis and Glaedr had devoted themselves to a quieter life of reflection and teaching in Ellesméra, but that was not until much, much later into their lives. Eragon still remembered well the tales Oromis had told of his younger years as a Rider, venturing far and wide over the remotest reaches of Alagaësia, and still he desired years like that. Here he was now with Saphira, traveling far beyond their known world, yet it was all in the name of a higher responsibility. It didn’t feel quite as Eragon desired. Though Saphira and he soared together, a vast and unexplored wilderness below them, the spirit of adventure was overshadowed by their pressing duty. Eragon settled back into the saddle with a sigh and a yawn. The blue sky stretched ever onwards towards the horizon, taunting him with visions of the unknown.

They continued following along the base of the mountains for a greater portion of the day, covering many miles without stopping to rest once. The wind kept up a freezing assault, yet carried them steadfastly along the snowy slopes. Eragon had to maintain magical wards to prevent the icy winds from freezing him, and Saphira had to compensate for the cold air by making an occasional climb in altitude. They did not feel over-wearied, though they knew they must have flown several leagues. Eragon supposed that he and Saphira were just becoming so used to the routine that their bodies no longer cared how much stress they endured. He shared this theory with Saphira, who harumphed at him.

I should like you to try on this pair of wings for yourself, carry all our supplies—plus one insatiable Rider—and see how used to the routine you become!

Eragon grinned smugly. “Have I really been so terrible on this trip?”

No, but a prolonged flight fueled by only a few scrawny hares is doomed to be unpleasant, mostly for the flyer, who will then make things much more unpleasant for the rider. Saphira’s wings snapped upright to make an adjustment for a sudden gust of wind. I’m not saying that I’m tired, but energy stored in stones is poor compensation for an empty stomach. She was referring to the energy which Eragon had been stowing away in Brom’s ring, and occasionally transferred to Saphira during long flights.

Eragon was inclined to agree with Saphira. He could think of many things more appealing than a hungry dragon. A dragon can sometimes be a very testy flying companion, making trivial complaints about the nature of the air currents or how one’s wings ached and strained, and that was when they weren’t flying on an empty belly. Dragons are sufficiently dangerous without visions of food constantly floating through their heads. Eragon was quite aware of Saphira’s hungry visions as he shared her thoughts. Pictures of fattened cattle—tasty and slow, their flesh seared in the fires of Saphira’s belly, and the delicious fumes they gave off when cooking—wafted through his mind. He found it even less comforting to suddenly imagine himself as naught more than a meaty morsel atop Saphira’s back.

“Saphira, I know you’re hungry, but could you possibly keep those thoughts to yourself?” he asked as politely as possible; It was best to stay in a hungry dragon’s good favor.

Saphira huffed heavily, but agreed to keep her hunger fantasies more private. I’m sorry Eragon, I will control my urges, but it is difficult. Small meals may sustain you, but a full-grown dragon needs more. We should stop soon to hunt.

“Yes, we should,” agreed Eragon, noting Saphira’s rapidly waning energy. He peered below and spotted a river beneath them, flowing like a shimmering ribbon of blue in a sea of white. We can stop here to hunt and rest for a few hours, then move on once you’re feeling up to it.

Saphira gave a grateful sigh, then began circling down over the trees to the spot Eragon had noted. They closed in upon the river slowly, with Saphira making some unsettling maneuvers. Her hunger must have been more severe than Eragon had first imagined. It was none too soon for a rest.

Eragon turned his gaze on the sparkling river and patted Saphira’s neck. Not a bad spot, eh? How are you feeling now?

As a reply Saphira opened up a small channel to her physical well-being. All at once, Eragon’s mind reeled as he experienced Saphira’s physical turmoil. He felt the strain of Saphira’s wings as the tiny amount of energy in her body was pushed to where it was needed most. Her lungs heaved and her immense heart pounded in her chest, sending tremors up Eragon’s calves. Her breath came out in sharp, ragged huffs. Eragon feared that Saphira might be near complete exhaustion. She needed a substantial meal soon, or she might drop right out of the sky.

The riverbank was covered by the arching branches of unnaturally tall willows and was guarded on all sides by thick rows of dark pines. Saphira alighted somewhat heavily, her tail hitting the water with a loud splash as she landed. Eragon dismounted and quickly unburdened Saphira of their supplies. As soon as she was able, Saphira took wing once more. Now lightened of their burdensome supplies and anticipating the prospect of an invigorating hunt, she found some extra strength to glide over the treetops in search of prey.

Eragon stepped over to the icy river and dipped his goatskin pouch into the rushing waters. As he did so, he noticed some fireweed growing nearby. It would make a nice treat to spice up their meals in the future, so he decided to gather some for later. His thoughts remained with Saphira as she scoured the landscape for food. He sat upright against a Spruce tree, propped his legs on a root, put a small clump of the Fireweed in his mouth, and waited.

Under most circumstances the pair never wished to separate, especially in a strange land. So far on their journey, they had hardly left each other’s side. Even Eragon’s little hunting expedition that morning had hardly taken him a mere hundred yards from their camp. But with Saphira’s energy levels running so dangerously low, they both agreed that it would be safer for Eragon to wait for Saphira to return. That way Eragon wouldn’t need to be an unnecessary weight upon her back or distract her from hunting.

At any rate, thought Eragon, keeping our mental link lets us keep tabs on each other as though we never parted.

Saphira sent back a note of affirmation even as her mind began swarming with hunter’s instincts. Her thoughts lit up with fiery excitement. I’m sensing some wonderful morsels snuffling around down there, she conveyed. Bemused, Eragon waited while Saphira gave an account of her hunt. Ah….I’m seeing a few deer down there beneath that cliff—don’t think they’ve seen my shadow yet, but let me climb a little higher just in case. Oh, yes…..now they’ve seen it! They’re running! Right for the river….time to dive. It’s going to be tight between those trees—

Saphira’s thoughts suddenly became very muddled, and Eragon shook himself out of the link. He heard a terrible crash in the distance, then a loud and triumphant roar that shook the snow from the trees.

Feel better? he asked.

Much better came Saphira’s hasty reply.

Eragon once more backed out of the link to let Saphira have some privacy while she ate. His keen ears picked up the sounds of her teeth rending the flesh of her quarry a few miles downriver.

Then his ears picked up another noise, quite faint at first, so faint that he couldn’t guess what it was. He scowled, inclining his ear in the direction of the sound. It was a steady rumbling noise, like the pounding of drums in the Earth. “Avalanche perhaps? Hard to say,” he mused. Sound traveled far in the cold air, and by Eragon’s reckoning the rumbling was at least ten miles East of their current position.

Saphira, do you hear that? he conveyed. Saphira didn’t reply directly. All Eragon received was her slightly irritated mental rebuttal surrounded by the taste of fresh meat and blood. Eragon reeled back and gagged. Buh, sorry I asked, he moaned.

Whatever was creating the sound, it didn’t seem like too much of a threat. “It’s quite a ways off,” said Eragon, “and it likely shouldn’t concern us. Maybe an avalanche in the mountains.” He went back to his Fireweed and his position against the Spruce tree. A great yawn suddenly overtook him. He felt he might nap a little before Saphira returned from her hunt.

But he never got the chance. His head snapped upright quite suddenly. He could sense something wasn’t right. Once more he strained to hear the source of the rumbling, but this time he didn’t need to strain. The rumbling was disturbingly audible, and there was something else, another troubling sound in the air. The sound of birds crying. Thousands of them.

“That can’t be right at all,” said Eragon as he stood to his feet, a faint dread growing within him.

Suddenly Saphira’s voice broke into his mind. Eragon, there is something evil coming this way! she said. I feel a dark presence bearing down upon us at a great pace. We must fly from here at once!

“Do you know what it is?” replied Eragon, his pulse quickening. “Do you think it senses us?”

I do not think it senses us or anything else in its path. There is only want and hunger coming from it, like an empty void that can never be filled. Make haste and meet me in the woods!

Eragon sensed Saphira leaving her unfinished meal and taking to the air in a great flurry of wings. At once he sped off into the woods in the direction of Saphira’s presence. He leapt over fallen tree trunks, dodged limbs and protruding roots, and unstable channels where the snow had laid deceptive ankle-twisting traps. The forestry skills he’d gained from Arya were definitely paying off in spades.

Eragon, you must see this for yourself, said Saphira suddenly. She conveyed an image of her flight, surrounded by a dark sea of green treetops like a vast bed of nails. Her vision turned to the East from whence the sounds had come. There, no more than half a mile away, evil was looming. Instead of clear blue sky and mountains in the distance, there was instead an enormous dark cloud swallowing the horizon. It stretched out a world’s distance from North to South, and went up farther than the eye could reach. From within its dreadful bowels there churned unnatural forces, spitting cinders and huge arcs of lightning that lit up for miles and miles all throughout it. And in front of this cloud, placed along its world-consuming length just above the treetops, was a black line; thousands of birds driven on in front of the menacing storm like a maddened horse beneath the angry whip of its master.

The storm was unlike anything they had seen before. An icy fear stung Saphira, and pierced deep into Eragon. Few things in the world could shake a dragon. That Saphira should be afraid made Eragon go numb with terror. He tripped and fell to his knees in the bitter snow, his body racked with tremors. There he laid for several seconds, his mind dwelling only on the deep rumble coming from beyond. Then Saphira’s mind burst into his like a flood of light.

Do not be afraid, Eragon. Her thoughts melted some of the ice in Eragon’s soul, but there were still hints of fear dotted within. I know not what horror now confronts us, but it shan’t defeat us. But now is not the time for fighting until we know what nature of evil this is. We must learn more, but for now we must fly.

“Saphira….” Eragon gasped as he collapsed into the snow. He heard the dreadful cadence of the storm approaching nearer by the second, and the tortured screams of the birds being driven ahead of it. Despair clenched its fist around his spirit. Then a blast of warm air came down upon Eragon from above. Down came Saphira, descending through the trees like a magnificent guardian angel, radiating power and love.

I will never leave you, Little One.

The sky suddenly darkened above them. They could hear the grinding and gnawing of the storm pressing down upon them. Eragon could not find the strength to get himself upon Saphira’s back, so instead she lifted him up in her claws. Eragon looked to the skies above and saw it split in two. On one side there was clear blue of the clean world. Facing it down on the other side, and rapidly consuming his view, was darkness and doom.

Then for a moment it seemed that all the terrible sounds had vanished, and the air was sucked from Eragon’s and Saphira’s lungs. And then with the force of a hurricane, the multitude of birds suddenly came wailing over the trees above them in their maddened flight. There were birds of every sort, from geese to sparrows, hawks to ravens, even gulls and pelicans. They numbered so greatly that they cast the ground below them in a shade, and sent the trees shuddering from the violent gusts of wind which they carried with them.

Before Eragon and Saphira quite had a grasp on what was happening, the swarm of birds had descended and surrounded them in a confusing blur of anguished cries and frazzled feathers. The wind and shrieks from the birds tore at their senses as though they were in the midst of a gale at sea. Saphira snarled and roared as the birds descended around them, but they were heedless of her, for she was far less of a threat than their pursuer. She snapped and clawed at them, trying to get them to scatter. Eragon tried to place a magical ward around them, but before the first word had even left his lips, he felt himself falling.

Any number of things may have added to Saphira’s lapse in diligence: her hunger, her fear, the wretched birds. In any event, she realized a split second too late that her grip on Eragon was loosened, and that he was slipping from her grasp.

Eragon! she cried, desperately clawing the air beneath her; the infernal birds were blocking her view. A second later she felt a jolting pain as Eragon impacted the forest floor. She roared, sending an immense plume of fire into the swarm of birds. That caused many to scatter, leaving a large enough hole for her to see clearly what was below her. She spied Eragon directly beneath her, lying unconscious in the snow.

Immediately she went into a dive, hurtling at blinding speed back to the ground. Birds scattered wildly around her and trees bowed and branches buckled under the mighty force of her wings. She couldn’t hear the cries of the birds or even the thunderous roar of the impending storm, for there was only one thing that mattered. Every fiber of her senses and being were focused on getting to Eragon. No amount of peril could sway her from reaching him. Heedlessly, she plummeted to the ground. She was near enough to see his pale face, but got no nearer, for at that moment the storm engulfed them.

When the darkness enclosed her like the jaws of a giant beast, all light was smote from her vision and cold fear coursed through her body as though the blood in her veins was turned to ice. Of all the tales she’d heard of foolish dragons facing down the forces of nature, of all their headstrong pride and sickening ends, she felt that none could compare with the doomed tale she now found herself swept away in. She was no longer in control, no longer the dominant Empress of the Skies. For the first time in her life now she was the prey, consumed by the indomitable storm. Nothing could escape it, and nothing could survive.

The wind howled around her, pulling trees from the earth and tearing huge gashes in her wings. Great rivulets of electric fire cracked and thundered through the air, igniting the debris that had been swept into the storm. Saphira tumbled and spiraled out of control, roaring and spitting fire as her instincts clawed inside her. Separated from Eragon in this storm she was wild, a terrified animal out of its wits. She felt nothing but fear. She thought of nothing but survival. She saw nothing but darkness and fire and death all around her.

With a final despairing roar and a burst of bright flame, she cried out: Eragon!. Then the darkness became complete and she knew nothing more.

Hopping was one of Lobbin’s favorite pastimes. He could hop down the street all day long and never tire of it. Many a time beneath that eternal afternoon he’d be found bounding joyfully through the lovely gardens of Canterlot and flicking the pretty tulips that bloomed along the row. Other days he’d prance down the empty lanes of Mane Street while humming a cheery tune that he’d made up himself, a quirky number which recited names of all the shops lining the street as he passed them. Sometimes he’d take long skips through the forest far from the city and imagine he was a fairy sprite blessing all the flowers with dew. Then he’d hop into a cool stream and splash his hooves around with delight, for the water felt so good when it splashed. He’d hop through the emerald green hills and skip through the silent trees in the woods, playing devilish little games in his brain and imagining how it was when the birds used to sing.

“Hoodle-ha-hee, what a joy for me!” he’d sing happily, in a voice like a toad with laryngitis:

He suddenly stopped short in the middle of his carefree romp. There was something lying down among the trees, something that was not normal. He skittered over to take a closer look at the thing.

“Oh me, oh my! What fancy little frog do we have here today?”

It appeared to be a creature of some kind, lying unconcious facedown in the grass. It had four appendages and a very short tuft of a mane upon the top of its head. Its chest—or what appeared to be its chest—moved very slightly. The creature was alive!

Excitedly, Lobbin bent his head low and gave the creature a sharp sniff. He reared his head back and whinnied.

“OOOOOHH! This doesn’t belong here, no sir! This will please his Lordship, yes it will! He’s always looking for things that don’t belong here!”

That was enough for Lobbin. With smile and a grunt he heaved the short-maned creature upon his back, not noticing the shining blue sword lying on the grass beneath the creature’s belly.

Grinning an impressive row of wooden teeth, Lobbin kicked up his sagging heels and made his way merrily back home through the woods. The glint of the blue sword was soon swallowed up from view by the closing trees.

“What a day it’s been for ‘ol Lobby, eh?” he chuckled, immensely pleased with himself. “Why, I think I feel another song coming on!” Lobbin warmed himself up with a cough that sounded close to a backfiring blender.

“ERGHH-HEM!

Lobbin grinned his cracked muzzle as the sight of Canterlot greeted him over the hilltop. “They aughta give me some kind of award for this angel’s voice,” he trilled to himself happily.