Chapter 8
It was late in the afternoon which had marked the start of the next leg of the guardsponies’ journey, and they were trailblazing, albeit not by any particular choice of their own. This was because there was no trail for them to follow. After all, a trail is not something that happens on its own. There is a reason for the expression ‘a beaten path’: a trail is, in essence, nature grudgingly getting out of the way. As the guardsponies trudged their way northward, the wild grass sprang back up defiantly behind them, though often a bite or two shorter than before.
“Thif ith awethome!” said Crack Shot between—and during—bites. “Ith like a buffet!”
Check Mate winced and turned away as his friend tore into another hunk of hapless grass. “My word… perhaps we should’ve brought along a morral.”
“You oughta try thome, ‘ude.” Crack Shot nodded towards a clump of shoots and waggled his eyebrows.
“No that’s… that’s quite alright. I’ve no appetite at the moment.” This was technically true, although he did have an appetite earlier. It was light and meager, and Crack Shot’s had murdered it.
“I think I recall something from Check’s book about some grass getting toxic late in the season,” said Storm. “Are you sure taking bites out of everything in sight is safe?”
Crack Shot swallowed and nodded. “I’m absolutely positive, dude.”
“Really? How’s that?”
“Check woulda said something.”
Check gave a lopsided frown. “I don’t know if I should feel flattered or put upon.”
“Why settle for one?” asked Crack Shot, before swinging his head like a reaper’s scythe and rending a few more blades of grass.
Storm turned towards Check. “While we’re on the subject, I’m surprised I haven’t seen you bring out your field guide yet.”
“Ah, yes; I left it behind with Sprite. It’s a bit of a story, but in summation I believe that she had a greater need for it.”
“Oh yeah?” asked Storm, impressed. “That was awfully nice of you.”
Crack Shot swallowed once more and added, “Yeah, and look at you with your helmet still on your head. Tsk, tsk, dude.”
“I think there’s more grass that you could be eating. Anyways, I’ll trust your judgment, Check, though that book looked like it could’ve been a few thousand pages easy. Seems like an awful lot to try and remember,” he added uncertainly.
Check smiled. “Yes, indeed it was.”
Storm opened his mouth to say something, then shrugged and continued walking on. Behind them the community of Fiddler’s Plain had long since disappeared behind the crests of hills beyond it, and Storm wondered about what they’d see next. Well, the view in front of him said quite clearly that there’d be some mountains, though it’d probably take a day or two before they reached them. At least it would by hoof.
It was easy, as a pegasus, to make a trip without making a journey. From a bird’s eye view, the world rolled out beneath you like a carpet, blending colors and textures and forms. On the ground, measuring the miles one hoofstep at a time, you got to notice the smaller details, a fact that Storm had come to appreciate. The scents, the sights, the sounds, and, as Crack Shot would attest to, the tastes. It was nice to hit the roa—
To hit the trai—
It was nice to be travelling again.
“I think it would be wise if we found a location to make camp for the evening while there is still light to work by,” said Check. “Would either of you mind scouting for a suitable site?”
“I’m on it, dude!” said Crack Shot. With that, he took to the air. From about a hundred meters above, he spent a few minutes scanning the hills rolling from northwest to northeast. After this careful inspection he looked down and shouted, “What am I supposed to be looking for?!”
“Water, if there is any in our proximity! And a flat area to erect the tent!” Check called back.
“Oh. That’s it?” Crack Shot descended and landed beside the others. “Well heck, dude, there’s a big spring just a little ways away. Or a pond, maybe. Whichever.”
“That’s convenient,” said Storm. “Lead the way.”
And Crack Shot did lead the way. It was after about a half hour of this leading, that Storm finally had to ask, “Exactly how far is a ‘little ways away’?”
“I dunno, dude. About three or four miles I guess?”
“…So not as convenient as I thought.”
It took another half hour to get there, and what the guardsponies found wasn’t so much a spring or a pond, so much as it was a lake. Nestled in a low part of the valley, it must have stretched for at least a mile across, mirroring the darkening sky and hills of the opposite side. Various plants jutted from the littoral, a meter or so away from a tree-lined shore that rose a foot above the waterline. Beyond them the lake floor was visible meters below the surface, a promising sign for a potential water supply. It would probably be described as crystal clear by somepony that had never been bothered to look at an actual crystal for long.
Storm whistled at the sight of it. “Crack Shot, you really need to work on your sense of scale.”
Check Mate walked towards the water’s edge and willed a stalk of one of the aquatic plants towards himself. After looking it over he smiled. “I think this location will prove most satisfactory,” he said. “Shall we prepare our habitation?”
“Sounds good to me,” said Storm.
He unstrapped the camping equipment from his withers and placed it down carefully, following suit with his saddlebags and armor. From the camping bag he removed the oilcloth tent, several pole segments, and the stakes to go with them. Between the three of them, it didn’t take long to clear away a spot and get the tent pitched. Afterwards, they stepped back to observe the sum of their labors. They didn’t have to step back very far.
“Huh. I kinda thought it’d be bigger,” said Crack Shot.
“It does appear rather, hm, cozy,” said Check.
The tent would be cozy for three ponies in the way that a pod was cozy for peas or a tin was cozy for sardines. It’d make sense that Gentian wouldn’t lug around anything bigger than necessary, Storm reasoned, although that did leave the question of who would—
“Dibs on the left side,” said Crack Shot as he removed his barding and saddlebags.
—be stuck in the middle. Storm looked to Check who said, “If you wish to have the opposite side of the tent, Storm, I fully understand and will relinquish it to you without protest,” which just wasn’t fair at all.
“No… no, that’s fine. It’s all yours,” said Storm, though he had enough foresight to add, “for tonight.”
“We’ll see, dude,” said Crack Shot. “But now that that’s all settled, mind comin’ with me for a minute?” He nodded for Storm to follow.
“Hm? Sure, where to?”
“Just over the water. This is the perfect chance to practice workin’ on some clouds.”
“Oh! Well… uh, we could if you’d like. Do you mind waiting up, Check?”
“Go on ahead,” said Check as he began removing cookware from the camping bag. “I shall be able to keep myself occupied.”
Storm nodded. “Alright, let’s give it a shot then, I guess,” he said to Crack Shot. “Uh, no promises, though.”
“No worries, dude, you’ll get it hammered down. Practice makes perfect, right?”
“Yeah, but it’ll probably make fog first.”
“Pfft, what’s fog but a cloud with a weight problem and fear of heights? Come on; let’s hit it while we can still see what we’re doing.”
The two pegasi took flight towards the center of the lake, flying low enough that ripples formed in the water beneath them. Once they had arrived, Storm asked, not overly enthusiastically, “Alright, how should we get started?”
Crack Shot crossed his hooves and looked at Storm thoughtfully. “Hmm, lemme ask first… when you tried to make clouds by hoof before, did you ever have anypony tryin’ to help you out?”
Storm thought back to those miserable hours spent laboring after school, coming home frostbitten, thunderstruck, and covered in distilled rainbow from the harrowing experience in nominal character building that his father would call, ‘nothing like the satisfaction of a job well done now is there, eh son?’
From that dark pit of unpleasant remembrances he was able to pick out a recollection of a number of fruitless lessons, and so said, “…Yeah, I did a few times.”
Crack Shot hummed to himself. “Right, I figured as much. And you tried to follow all of the advice they gave you, right?”
Storm canted his head. “Well, yeah. Of course.”
Crack Shot clapped his hooves together. “That right there is your problem, dude.”
Storm raised an eyebrow.
“It’s like this,” continued Crack Shot, “everypony has their own idea on the best way to do, like, anything, right? You always just need to relax, or to focus, or to be precise, or to stop tryin’ so hard, or to try a little harder, and everything’s just supposed to click into place. And everypony is technically kinda right, because whatever that idea is, it worked out just perfect for them. It’s like learning to whistle, or…” He tried to think of another analogue. “…Your folks are pegasi, right? Did one of ‘em ever try to teach you to fly?”
“Yeah, my dad did, actually.”
“And how’d that go?”
And back into the pit. Storm would have been about seven or eight at the time. He recalled hearing shouted the words, ‘And remember, son: wings turned counter upwise! Counter upwise!’ And at that point he had been shoved off of the roof of a two-story building into a swimming pool.
He frowned and said, “It could’ve gone smoother.”
“But once you did figure out flyin’, on your terms, I bet everything you were told made perfect sense afterwards.”
“Eh, I don’t know if I’d say—”
“Anyways, I figure this is how we could do it: I’m gonna start flyin’ around and makin’ some clouds, and you can do the same. I won’t tell you how to do it though, because then you might end up listenin’. But, what you can do is glance over every now and then if you wanna compare techniques. Sound good, dude?”
Storm lifted both forehooves in a shrug. “Why not?”
Crack Shot grinned. Then, with a strong flap of his wings, he shot forward, speeding just above the surface of the water. He let his hooves dip just slightly into it, sending a fine spray into the air. However, rather than sprinkling back down or evaporating into nothingness, it clung to the top of the lake in a trail of thick, wisping plumes behind him, colored a dull red by the sky above. Crack Shot leaned into a turn, now gathering and layering the mist into an ever-tightening gyre as he rose with it into the sky. Several meters above the lake he at last broke away, leaving a neat, delicate feather of cirrus behind. He had made it look so easy, so effortless, so second nature…
Wasn’t it just disgusting?
Well, who would Storm be to not try and rise to the challenge, hopefully with a cloud rising beside him? He took off across the water.
---
An hour later the sun had set, Storm had gotten nowhere, and fog had gotten everywhere, spilling out beneath him whenever he tried to pull it into the air. What was he doing wrong? Probably what he had always done wrong, whatever that was. He tried once more, spiraling in what he was sure was a tight, clean precession, yet it was like trying to lift water with a sieve. He stopped to watch Crack Shot, who was, no doubt for Storm’s sake, still going at it.
As Crack Shot skimmed the water, Storm observed, he would let his hooves skip across its surface, rather than cut through it. It was a delicate touch, one meant to blend enough air with the spray of moisture to make a mist light enough to get airborne.
Storm made a go of it. He tried to keep his hooves light, to keep the tension out of his muscles. It was clumsy at first, and the splash back soaked his fur up to his withers, but slowly and shakily he started to get it. The mists trailing behind him were lighter it seemed, but were they light enough? He began circling around them, building them taller and taller so that they peaked like a meringue…
…Only to have them all collapse. He stifled a curse. He had been so close he could feel it! And now he just felt wet, soaked from his head to his—
Storm hovered in place for a moment. Would something like that work?
He took flight once more, letting his hooves dance across the water as he had done just moments earlier. When he started into his turn, however, he began whipping his tail into the mists, trying to mix as much air into them as he could. The wind fought him—oh, how it fought him—trying to keep his tail pulled back in its currents. But he was not one to tire and he would not be one to give up, not now; he kept his tail thrashing in a fevered motion. Uncertainly, doubtfully, hopefully he spiraled into the air. And as he did so, the fog climbed with him. Only the thing was, several meters into the sky, it was no longer fog, was it?
Storm flew back a few feet to assess his work. It hadn’t been pretty, it hadn’t been graceful, but it had worked. He could just discern what it was in the low light: a small, dense swath of nimbus. Against the night sky, it was a thing of moonlight and shadows. Was that really all there was to it? That was what had eluded him for all of those years? His shoulders began to tremble.
“Hey, uh, everythin’ alright, dude?” asked Crack Shot, his brows knit with worry. He flew beside Storm and tapped him on the side. It was like tapping a powder keg.
Laughter erupted from Storm, great peals of it bursting out in irrepressible paroxysms. He laughed and laughed, until his eyes misted like the air in front of him.
“Ahahahaha,” added Crack Shot because he didn’t know what was going on.
“Hah… ahh… sorry about that,” said Storm, relaxing. “It’s just that when something has never happened, and you don’t think it’s going to happen, then suddenly it happens, it’s just...”
“Heh, yeah, it’s nice when that happens.” Crack Shot flew beside Storm’s cloud and craned his neck around it. “Not too shabby, dude; looks like a nice little rainmaker. For a while there I thought you were gonna drain the lake.”
Storm looked around and gave an embarrassed chuckle. He had made a soup bowl of the lake’s low valley, a pale fog drifting just above it. “Well, it did take a bit of experimentation. …Thank you, Crack Shot.”
“Hey, no prob, dude! What are friends for? Anyways, this baby looks like it’s good for a thunderbolt or two. Want to give that another go?”
Storm did, in fact. After one success he was ready to try for another, and so he lined up a buck towards the cloud.
It is a commonly heard piece of advice that one should not push their luck. Noting this, it’s probably not a good idea to kick it, either. From the shores of the lake could be heard a crack of thunder, which would have followed the flash powder flicker of a pegasus lighting up just seconds prior.
---
Check Mate had kept himself busy during the others’ brief absence. Despite the influx of fog and low visibility with it, he had successfully perused and gathered some of the local vegetation (enough for dinner, dessert, and a few days ahead), gotten a fire started, written a letter to his parents, and sent his next move to Luna (pawn to g4, for the curious). The clap of thunder let him know the others would be joining him presently. As he replaced the smart stone in his bags, Storm and Crack Shot landed beside the fire. Without a word, Check lifted a kettle from beside the crackling wood and poured some steaming water from it into a smaller tea pot. After allowing it to steep for a moment, he poured its contents into a tin mug which he levitated towards Storm. “Perhaps you could use this. I apologize that I do not have any porcelain to serve it in.”
Storm took the mug. A warmth seeped into his hooves that nearly matched the warmth creeping into his cheeks. “Ah, heh, thank you… so I guess you saw what happened over the lake, huh?”
Check returned his attention to the campfire, lifting the lid from a large, steaming cast iron pot to check its contents. “No more than the coruscation. However, couple that with the scent of ozone you seem to have acquired, and it is enough to put the pieces together. How is the tea?”
Storm set the mug down. “Really good, actually. What is it?”
Check smiled and poured another mug. “Goldenrod; there’s a patch of it growing just up the hill. Would you care to try it, Crack Shot?”
“Sure, dude, thanks.” Crack Shot took the mug as Check passed it to him and had a sip. “Hey, not bad at all!”
“I am pleased to hear that. It isn’t too mild?”
“Not at all, dude. Heck, I might have to pick up a few bags when we get back.”
Check froze. “Er, bagged tea?” he asked. “With the, erm, fannings and stems and dust and such?”
“Or you know those instant powders you just mix into some hot water? That’d be good; maybe if they got it with some of that lemon flavor mixed in.”
“L-lemon flavoring? A substance that may only be referred to as ‘lemon’ or any other member of the genus Citrus by dint of a creative anagramming of its chemical composition?”
Storm, seeking to interrupt Crack Shot before he risked further blasphemy by asking for a spoonful of sugar or something, quickly asked, “So what’s in the pot?”
“Wha? Oh, er, pardon; I forgot myself. Well… hopefully it is dinner.” Check removed the pot from the fire, set it between them, and lifted the lid. A warm, pleasant aroma drifted out. “There’s quite an abundance of wild rice growing just off the shore. I attempted boiling some of it, along with a few hopniss tubers I discovered while fetching our firewood.”
“Wow,” said Storm. “And here I thought we were going to just be eating grass the rest of the way.”
Check gave a small laugh. “There will be plenty of that, I’m sure.” He set out a service of mismatched dining ware—a couple of plates and a bowl, and began dishing out servings from the pot with a large metal ladle. “I hope it is alright. It is admittedly a bit of an improvisation.”
“Dude, this is great!” said Crack Shot after having a bite. Coming from him, this meant that it was edible, or at least not immediately poisonous, though it was nice to hear all the same.
Storm took a taste and was quick to take another. The larger pieces, what he deduced to be the hopniss, had a starchy, nutty flavor that complemented the mild sweetness of the wild rice. For an improvisation, it didn’t leave much room for improvement.
“Yeah, this is fantastic,” said Storm. “Thanks, Check.”
“That my endeavors are well received is thanks enough. There are also some wild blackberries to serve as a light dessert.”
Crack Shot brushed a hoof across his lips. “Man, who’da figured that roughin’ it would be so posh.”
The meal ended quickly, and afterwards Storm and Crack Shot rinsed the dining ware in the lake, while Check prepared another pot of goldenrod. After they had reconvened around the campfire, mugs of tea all around (well, two mugs and one bowl), Crack Shot broke the silence with a question.
“Hey, you guys know what we totally forgot to do yesterday?”
“We forgot something?” asked Storm. He felt that sudden, chilly, unbidden rush of fear known to all travelers; that feeling that perhaps, for example, you had left a candle lit, and that it had perhaps burned down the length of its paraffin into the dry, wooden furniture underneath. It was completely unreasonable of course, but trying telling it that.
“Scary stories,” continued Crack Shot. “I’m pretty sure they’re like a Nightmare Night requirement, and the same goes for sittin’ around a campfire. Plus we got this creepy fog everywhere, courtesy of Storm over here; why don’t we tell some?”
“Ah! I’ve never had a chance to participate in such a tradition, and it does sound entertaining,” said Check. “I think it’s a fine idea.”
“Sweet. You in, Storm?”
Storm fought back a yawn. “I suppose I could go for one or two. Since it was your idea, are you going to lead us off?”
“Sure, dude. I got one that my brother told me that’s pretty good.”
“Alright, let’s hear it.”
“Just a sec. Hey, Check—mind tossin’ me the geezer’s rock?”
Check Mate did not toss it. He gently removed it from his bag and levitated it, along with its stylus, into Crack Shot’s lap, who then began scribbling on its bottom panel until most of it glowed.
Crack Shot then stretched his neck and jaw, coughed once dramatically, and held the smart stone below his face. Its glow created deep shadows beneath his eyes and gave him a sinister smile. He began his tale.
---
It was a dark and stormy night.
---
“Why do you always start your stories like that?” interrupted Storm. “With ‘a dark and stormy night.’”
“Dude!” Crack Shot lowered the stone, leaving a much less sinister frown.
“You do it a lot. Remember when you told us about how you got your cutie mark? Or when you dropped your helmet in the pond outside the castle? Or how about the time you got your tail caught under a cart wheel at the Summer Sun Celebration?”
“There is precedence,” said Check.
“Yeah, because it’s an awesome way to start a story.”
“I’m just saying you could mix it up a little,” said Storm.
“Fine, fine, I’ll do it over. No friggin’ interruptions this time around though.”
Storm and Check nodded. Crack Shot cleared his throat once more.
---
It was a stormy and dark night, and the world had exploded in ghosts.
Killhoof stared at the remains of the city. No, the town. A ghost town! Once it had belonged to the living. Once the world had belonged to the living. ‘Cept like graveyards or somethin’, I guess, I dunno. Anyways, he was standing on a train that was headed straight for the edge of a canyon.
“It ain’t easy killin’ what’s already dead, but these ghosts have kidnapped the mayor’s daughter, and if I don’t save her in twenty-four hours, thirty city blocks are gonna blow,” he grunted. “They’re pushin’ it to the limit, so I’m gonna have to max it all the way to eleven.” He spun his ghost-killing spear in a way that was like friggin’ awesome as anything, and, dude, you’d just have to have seen it. “And they don’t stand a ghost of a chance.”
“Hasta la ghosta,” he whispered.
“It’s hunt or be haunted,” he said.
---
Crack Shot paused, half of a frown crossing from one corner of his mouth to the other. He furrowed an eyebrow.
Storm and Check were staring. The former asked, “What the heck was that?!”
Crack Shot groaned. “Aw crap, I can’t remember how the rest of the story goes.”
Storm, not entirely sure of how the beginning of the story had gone—save for figuratively and literally towards a cliff—didn’t know what to say.
“One of you two go ahead,” continued Crack Shot. “It’ll come back to me.” He tossed the smart stone and its stylus towards them. Check Mate sighed and plucked them out of the air.
“Well, you’ve got the stone, so how about it, Check?” asked Storm. “I bet you’ve read a few good horror stories. Heh, maybe we’d even understand a few of them.”
“I suppose I could. Although like you allude, there is the concern that the tone and prose of a number of them may be considered a bit… euphuistic by the modern audience.” Check gave Storm and Crack Shot a long, meaningful look.
“Ah heh, well, you never know, right?” said Storm weakly.
Check Mate did, but he went ahead anyways.
---
It is when the gibbous moon hangs low over the foetid wastes of ancient Kadatherong, its wan light painting the ponderous and decaying sepulchers of Mnat in grim pallor, that a strange, repellant, squamous race rears itself upon the land from putrefying mires, engaging in a queer and guttural colloquy.
---
From somewhere nearby, a scene-savvy cricket chirped conveniently. It would have been nice if a tumbleweed could’ve rolled by as well, but it just wasn’t the right part of the world for it.
Check noted the polite, vacant looks from Storm and Crack Shot, and a small smile crept across his face. With a chuckle he said, “My apologies. I couldn’t resist the chance at having a bit of joke of it at first.”
Crack Shot continued staring for a moment. Then his mouth widened into a grin, and he clapped his hooves together. “Nice, dude, I didn’t know you made those!” he said, which earned an expression from Check that dampened the heat of the campfire.
“Anyways,” Check continued, “if you’ll indulge me, I do have a more contemporary story that I would share. Hopefully it will prove fitting as a campfire narrative.”
---
This is a tale about two brothers and a dare.
To know them is to know how they knew each other. The younger of the two would call the older ‘big brother,’ or ‘Hayloft.’ The elder of the two would call the younger ‘twerp,’ or ‘crybaby,’ or, if he was feeling charitable, ‘Dandy.’ Dandelion, no older than ten, was just old enough to wish to be thought an adult; Hayloft, no older than thirteen, was just old enough to believe himself one.
Hayloft had woken his younger brother earlier one night, after their parents had retired to their bed. He had said that they had an errand to run, in tones that left no room for argument. They had snuck out of their parents’ house, leaving no note or other clue about their absence.
“Where are we going?” Dandelion had asked, not for the first time that night, not for the last, although his brother’s answer would not change.
“You’ll see when we get there.”
That would have been an hour prior.
It was moonless, the night that they left the firefly lamps of their village behind them, and the stars did little to light their way. In deserted fields, abandoned farmhouses rose intermittently on either side of the road. Their windows were lightless, hiding whatever may’ve lain, or may’ve lurked, behind them. Often Dandelion stumbled and tripped, struggling to keep close to his brother as he was led down the darkened trail, farther and farther from home. Strange noises and cries and cachinnations filled the air around them, and he tried to imagine the creatures creating them. Owls and foxes, bats and crickets. Natural things and nothing more.
As they continued on, trees began to rise around them, first one by one, then in groups; it was not long before they were in a forest, the canopy robbing them of the scant starlight. The trail grew even more precarious, with hidden roots and stones threatening to catch an unwary hoof at every step. Dandelion fell several times.
“Maybe… maybe we should head back, Hayloft,” he said. “At least until tomorrow when it’s easier to see.”
Hayloft said nothing at all.
“H-Hayloft?”
Dandelion spun around. In every direction he was met by the same sight, a darkness cut into shadows and phantom shapes. The night noises grew louder, more insistent, closer.
“H-H-Hayloft?!”
Suddenly his breath was stolen as something large bowled into him, pinning him to the ground. He tried to shriek, to call out to his brother, but the weight pressing into him reduced his cries to nothing more than strained gasps. Tears ran down the sides of his face as he felt a hot breath waft over it, and he screwed his eyes shut.
“Ha! You’re such a wuss, twerp!” The dark shape of Hayloft stood and pulled his brother up by his nape.
Dandelion, his heart pounding with fear and embarrassment, tried to say something biting, something cutting in rebuke, but it all came out in stutters and whimpers. “Y-you…”
“Oh, get over it. Come on, we’re almost there.”
Hayloft walked a few feet ahead then stopped, waiting for Dandelion to catch up. Dandelion wanted to stop right then, to tell his brother off and to walk—no, to run back in the opposite direction. But even more, he wanted to impress his brother, to earn his respect. He hastened after him, deeper along the wooded path.
As they walked, Dandelion became aware of a silence. A heavy, suffocating silence as cold as a stone. Whatever creatures populated the forest behind them found no quarter, no shelter here. The woods were thicker now, and different. There was something wrong about them.
“Here we are…,” said Hayloft, though whatever landmark he had used to determine that, Dandelion could not discern. There was a smile to be heard in Hayloft’s voice, and it was not a kind one.
“Um, w-what is this place?” asked Dandelion. “What are we going to do here?”
“What are you going to do, you mean.” Hayloft nudged him forward. “You’re going in there.”
“W-what?! Why do I need to go in there?!”
“To prove to your big brother how tough you are. You ever hear of a moonflower?”
Dandelion shook his head, although one would have had to strain their eyes to see it.
“It’s just what it sounds like: a flower that glows like the moon. I hear there’s a whole grove of them in there, but you can only find them when the night is at its darkest. A night like tonight. If you go in and get one, you’ll prove to me just how brave you are.”
“Is… is that all? I just need to get some flower?”
“Well, there is one little thing…” There was that cruel lilt again. “This is just a rumor, of course, but some ponies say that there are weird things lurking around this part of the woods.”
“What k-kind of things?”
“Beats me; nopony knows. I suppose—assuming it’s true, of course—that if you were to actually run into one… well, you can probably guess. Of course, I think it’s just a load of horse apples. You wouldn’t believe a dumb rumor like that, would you?”
Dandelion wanted to say yes. He wanted to run home, to bury himself beneath the sanctuary of his covers where no fell apparition real or imagined could find him. He was just a tiny, vulnerable thing, and all of this was too much. “…N-no,” he whispered, fearful of not looking brave.
“That’s what I thought, Dandy. You’re a lot smarter than you look.” Hayloft mussed his mane. It was a small gesture, but it was rare to Dandelion and as such it was a treasure. “Go on in and take a look if you’re not chicken. I’ll wait right here and give a whistle every now and then so you can find your way back.” Dandelion swallowed audibly, nodded, and began into the heart of the wood, trying and failing to hide his hesitation.
Dandelion crept along cautiously, taking slow steps along a tortuous path, trying to avoid colliding with any unseen trees or their pointed branches. It felt like hours since he had gone on alone, and he had found only darkness. The only sounds to be heard were the snaps of dead branches beneath his hooves, and the shudders of his breath. This was a prank, he concluded. There was no moonflower garden, there was nothing stalking in the shadows, there was only his brother playing a very mean trick on him. Well, no more. Dandelion was going to head back and let him know just how he felt about all of this.
Only he didn’t know which way to go.
Hayloft was supposed to have been whistling so that he could find his way back! But of course he wouldn’t be, not if this was all some terrible joke. Dandelion’s careful trot became a canter, became a gallop. He had to get out. The decaying forest floor protested with cracks and snaps as he raced blindly in one direction or another, his lungs beginning to burn.
Then, a glimmer of white caught his eye through shadowed brambles. Could it be?
He slowed as he approached its source, a scattering of luminescent blossoms growing out of the rot. Moonflowers… his brother had spoken the truth. He stopped beside one and bent down to smell it; it was odorless and felt like breathing in frost.
There was the snap of a branch behind him, causing him to start. He felt himself become very angry.
“Alright, Hayloft, you had your fun, and I found your stupid flowers, so quit being such a jerk!”
There was a whistle in the distance.
His brother’s whistle.
Dandelion’s breath caught in his throat as another's came in a rasp, right beside his ear.
Hayloft had decided that his little brother had probably gone through enough. He had meant to allow Dandelion to get himself lost for ten minutes or so, before finally showing mercy and calling out to him. But then he had heard the little wuss running like mad, probably in some spastic panic. No doubt his parents would learn about this if he let it go on too long. He gave a shrill whistle. The response he received chilled his blood.
It wasn’t a scream. It was what would have been a scream if it had been given a chance to become one, if it hadn’t been suddenly, abruptly cut short. Hayloft felt fear then, a deep, mortal fear for his brother. And so he ran into the heart of the wood after him…
---
“And then a skeleton popped out!”
“Er, beg pardon?” said Check.
“That’s how my story was supposed to end,” said Crack Shot. “A skeleton pops out! It’s a total plot twist.”
“And what plot was there, exactly, for you to twist?” asked Storm.
“Remember how Killhoof had that ghost-killing spear?” asked Crack Shot, patiently.
“I recall, yes. What about it?”
“Like, ‘ghost-killing’ doesn’t say anything about skeleton killing.”
“Ugh, fine.” Storm turned towards Check. “So what happened afterwards?”
“I’m afraid that’s where my story ends, Storm. The dénouement is left to the listener’s imagination.”
“Oh… I see.”
Check topped off Storm’s tea; Storm hadn’t realized it had gone cold. “But for now, it has come to your turn, if you’ve a story to share.”
Storm blew some of the steam from his mug and took a sip as he thought. “Hmm… nothing’s coming to mind at the moment.”
“Really, dude?” said Crack Shot, arching an eyebrow. “That kinda surprises me.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, you did hook up with a librarian—”
“Writer,” Storm corrected. “Slash bookstore owner.”
“—so I’d have figured you two would spend a lot of time reading. How else are you gonna spend your spare time?” At that moment, a particular part of his imagination chimed in from the gutter. “Whoop,” he said, “never mind.”
Storm rolled his eyes. “Sure, we read together now and then,” he said. “But not all of the time. There are other things like running, stargazing, conversation—and you can stop giving me that look, Crack Shot.”
“Regardless,” said Check, “if nothing comes to mind, do not feel pressed. This is just a diversion, after all.”
Stormed hummed to himself. The campfire popped and hissed as the three of them sat quietly, sipping their tea. Before they smothered the fire and put away the dishes and cookware, he’d like to tell some kind of story over it. He pored through his memory.
“Actually, pass me the stone. I think I do have a horror story I could share.”
“Yeah?” asked Crack Shot, his ears perking up.
“Maybe. I never did tell you guys about Blueblood’s art exhibit, did I?”
---
Later that night, as Storm lay between Check and Crack Shot beneath a shared duvet, he felt glad that he had written his journal entry beforehand. If he hadn’t, he might’ve felt obligated to write about lying between Check and Crack Shot beneath a shared duvet. If Nomde could only see him now. He smirked. On the other hoof, who knew: maybe she’d be jealous of the other two. But, the nights had gotten colder. Even if there wasn’t much room to toss and turn, it was warm, and there was a roof over his head, albeit one made of tarpaulin. Storm closed his eyes. A hoof landed heavily on his face as Crack Shot turned over in his sleep. Then again, maybe there was something to be said about sleeping under the stars.
---
The next morning, the guardsponies made a quick, simple breakfast of some grass. Afterwards, they left their camp to visit the areas that Check had scavenged, in order to supply their saddlebags. When they returned to pack away the remaining camping equipment, they found that they had a visitor. Perched in a tree nearby was a raptor of some sort. Its head was cocked to one side, and it considered them with keen, golden eyes. Of note were its beak, talons, and plumage, which were each as black as a raven’s. Or a crow’s, if one wanted to argue the point.
Crack Shot walked to within a couple of meters of the tree and said by way of greeting, “What the heck are you?”
It merely regarded him with its piercing stare.
Check stepped beside Crack Shot for a closer look. “Hm, I’ve never heard of one having such stark coloring, but judging by its size and the shape of its beak, I believe it may be some sort of kite.”
“Nah, that can’t be right,” said Crack Shot. “It doesn’t have any string.”
“A kite being a type of bird of prey.”
“Oh. Didn’t they know the name was taken?”
“Do you think it’s here to fish?” asked Storm. “I wonder why it’s staring at us like that.”
“Well, if we’re intruding on its territory, it may be wondering whether or not to consider us a threat.”
If the bird had any thoughts on the matter, it kept its beak shut.
Crack Shot bit his upper lip in thought. He reached into his bag and plucked a sprig of blackberries and tossed it upwards, where it landed on the branch beside the bird. It cocked its head to the other side as it glanced at them. “Fastest way to somethin’s heart is through its stomach right?” he said. “We just need to let it know it can trust us.”
“Maybe if it’s something they’d actually ea—oh.” Storm watched, surprised, as the bird ate one berry, then another, until it had picked the sprig clean. Afterwards it returned its attention to the guardsponies, boring into them with its honey-colored stare. The guardsponies stared back for a minute or so.
“I think it worked,” said Crack Shot.
Storm shrugged. “If you say so. I’m not sure if you’re supposed to feed wild animals like that, though.”
“Why’s that? I doubt that they’d complain too much about it.”
“Because…” Storm thought for a moment then realized he didn’t have a convincing answer.
“Besides, ponies feed the ducks in Canterlot all the time, dude.”
“I don’t know if that counts.”
It should be said that the ducks of Canterlot would have been insulted to be lumped into the category of wild animals. Storm was certain that he had once seen one wearing a bib.
“Either way,” said Check, “it would probably be for the best if we were on our way. Still, I’d be interested in learning more about its species after our travels have ended. I wonder what other creatures we might encounter.”
The tent came down faster than it went up, and within a few minutes the guardsponies were continuing their trek northward along the lake’s shoreline. Behind them, the kite continued watching until they had disappeared behind a hill near where a tributary fed into the lake. Then, with a graceful dive from its perch, it was off.
The tributary the guardsponies followed was a stream that might’ve been a river in an earlier part of the year. The wide, silty banks on either side of it said as much, marking the borders where it would have surged with snowmelt in the summer months. Now, winding down the valley with a gentle, low gurgle, it seemed to be winding down for the year.
But, there was water enough to drink from, to wash by, and it was going their way. Storm thought about where they were headed, what they might see, where’d they camp next.
“Dibs on the left side of the tent,” he said, since it was now on his mind.
“Dude, you can’t just call dibs like that!” said Crack Shot. He was flying just above the others, scouting the way ahead. “You gotta wait ‘til we figure out where we’re camping first.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah! Otherwise you could just call dibs now for the rest of the trip.”
“Hmm… I don’t know, that sounds like a good deal to me,” said Storm, with half of a smirk.
“We could always decide with a coin toss,” suggested Check Mate, getting into the spirit of the conversation.
“Hah! No dice, dude. And no coins, either. ‘Sides, between the two of us, it might not be fair to Storm here. So callin’ dibs is off limits until we first figure out just where we’re kickin’ it for the night.”
“And how will we know where that is?” asked Storm.
“I’ll let you know when I see it.”
---
As the end of the day drew near, Crack Shot in fact found no small amount of difficulty in identifying a camping spot, if only for all the trees blocking his view. The stream had led into a forest of dense pine, large and red and imposing. Their needles were verdant and would remain so through the winter season, and no doubt the trees had been through hundreds of them. Pine cones littered the soft forest floor, just the right size to turn into a bird feeder—at least for a day or two, after which it’d become a squirrel feeder, or, if the birds were especially unlucky, a cat feeder. Visible in the near distance, just above the tree tops, were the tips of the mountain ridge they’d cross the next day. They rose like jagged teeth, and a warm wind rolled down them into the forest like a breath.
“So we've got water,” said Crack Shot, nodding towards the stream. “What else are we lookin’ for this time?”
“Just space should suffice. We’ll want area enough for the tent, as well as for digging a fire pit if we’re to have a cooked meal. The latter will take some time, and we’ll want to be sure of its depth, so somewhere nearby would be preferred.”
Storm scanned the forest floor, wondering how deep the strata of dry pine needles and branches went. “At least there’s plenty of kindling to use.”
“Yes,” said Check, “though ideally not all at once.”
“I’ll fly up and take a peek,” said Crack Shot before taking off upwards, a rain of needles and branches falling behind him.
“Hopefully he’ll keep his search within a few hundred yards this time,” said Storm, stepping away from the sudden shower of sap and twigs. He turned to find Check meandering about, examining the pine trees. “Looking for something?” he asked.
“Just for additions to our provisions,” answered Check. “There is a small knife in one of the pockets of the camping bag. Would you mind if I made use of it for the moment?”
“Sure, which pocket?” asked Storm. But, before he could look, the knife was already floating from the bag. “Ah. Glad to be of service.”
Check scored a long, thin rectangle into the bark of a tree and began to worry it free with the flat of the blade. With a bit of effort it peeled back in a single strip, revealing a length of white flesh. Check began scraping bits of it off.
“Bark?” asked Storm.
“Indeed. When boiled or fried it is supposedly quite pleasant. Perhaps if we can find some pine seeds I could attempt the latter. Some fresh pine needles should also make for a pleasant tea.”
Storm was surprised once more, pleasantly so, by what nature had to provide. Although he’d never admit it now, if he’d been asked what ponies survived on in the wild prior to the trip, marshmallows and trail mix would’ve ranked at the top of the list. They might have been the list.
From nearby and above the tree tops came the call of “Dibs!” which meant that Crack Shot had found a spot to set up camp. As Storm and Check began to walk off toward it, a shock of violent red caught the former’s eye. Storm glanced down to see a mushroom, red capped with bright white spots. It had a strange richness to its color, a redness that stood out even when the setting sun painted everything else in kind.
“Hey, Check—what kind of mushroom is this?” he asked.
“Hmm, it appears to be a fly amanita… although I must say I had no idea its colors would so vivid.” Check knelt down to take a closer look. “Oh, this is curious–its gills are blue. Hmm…”
Storm took a closer look as well. After a moment he concluded that there was nothing informative he could say, and assumed that going with, ‘they’re not much like a fish’s then, are they?’ wouldn’t pass intellectual muster. “…I take it they’re not supposed to be blue,” he said, for the purpose of conversation.
“Not for a fly amanita, although they may be perfectly common for this species, whatever it may be. I saw no mention of anything like it in the Pandect.”
Storm stood up. “Well, there’s a lot of world to try to fit in one book. Maybe the author just missed this little bit of it?”
Check gave a small nod and stood as well. “…Yes, I suppose you’re right. Another small mystery, then; they do seem to be adding up. Regardless, it’d be impolite to keep Crack Shot waiting. Shall we?”
Crack Shot was as good as his dibs. The spot he’d found had room enough for the tent and a fire, and there were even a few fallen logs to sit on if one didn’t mind the sap (and he certainly didn’t if his appearance was any indication). There were just enough minutes of sunlight left to pitch the tent, prepare a fire pit, and to get a dinner sizzling above it. Night fell, and the depths of the forest darkened. In the light of their fire, the camp felt more insulated, more isolated to Storm, like an island of orange in a sea of black and indigo. Check’s story came to mind and, along with it, its uncertain ending. Although it wouldn’t have fit, Storm wanted to believe it would have been a happy one.
There was the sound of rustling feathers and branches stirring overhead. Nearly invisible against the night was a kite, a familiar kite, perched just above them. Its golden eyes stared down from out of the darkness.
“Hey, look who’s back!” said Crack Shot. He began fishing through his saddlebags.
“Do you think that’s the same one from the lake?” asked Storm.
“It may be,” said Check. “If so, I wonder why it would follow us. Could we still be within its territory?”
Storm lowered his gaze and found Crack Shot pulling another sprig of blackberries from his bags. “Ah. I think I might have an idea.”
Crack Shot whistled to the kite and tossed the blackberries towards it. It snatched them out of the air with ease.
Check Mate pursed his lips as he considered this. “Hm, it couldn’t just be for those berries; they were not in rare supply. If the bird had an appetite for them, it could have easily sated itself at one of the bushes near the lake.”
“I think it’s like when you feed a dog out of your hoof,” suggested Crack Shot. “Even if it’s the same stuff they always eat out of a bowl, they go friggin’ nuts if you hoof feed ‘em. It’s because of instinct.”
Crack Shot whistled once more and patted the log beside him. The kite stared at him warily. Then, to Storm’s surprise, it listened. It flew down and perched beside Crack Shot, who offered it more berries as a reward.
“Heck, this guy’s pretty chill; maybe we could bring it back to Canterlot with us and see if it can get Philomena to take a lesson in not bein’ such a freak. I bet it’d be like the taming of the shrew.”
“I’m pretty sure you aren’t supposed to remove wild animals from their natural habitats, either,” said Storm, in an act of conversational necromancy.
“Why?”
“Because, well…” and he was again without an answer. “…Because you just aren’t!” He then thought to add, “It could stress the animal out or something, I think.”
It was an argumentative leap of faith, but judging by the doubt crossing Crack Shot’s features, Storm had stuck the landing.
“Yeah, I could see that, I guess,” said Crack Shot, imagining what effect prolonged exposure to the phoenix might have on the poor kite’s mental wellbeing. “‘Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster,’” he said, gravely.
“Neightzsche. I’m impressed,” said Check.
“Thanks, dude, but I got it from a fortune cookie so I think it’s actually Neighpon. Anyways, since its hangin’ with us, why don’t we set it up with a dinner bowl? That tree bark edible yet?”
Check Mate lifted the pot’s iron lid. “Very soon. In fact, I would give it only a couple more—”
With a precipitous flapping of wings, the kite was gone.
“…minutes. Hm.”
Crack Shot scratched his head. “Huh. Guess it thought the same thing I did when you told me what we’d be eating.”
On that odd note, dinner began, and the rest of the night passed without incident. Well, Check and Storm had to shove Crack Shot into the stream to wash the sap out of his fur before crawling into the tent, but that can hardly count.
---
The guardsponies rose just ahead of the sun the next morning. They had a long hike across the mountains awaiting them, and it’d have to keep waiting until they’d gotten through the rest of the forest first. As they worked their way through the pines, the wind running off of the mountains grew stronger.
“What do you think’s waiting for us on the other side?” asked Storm.
“The map does not name any specific location, although it does mark one,” said Check. “I presume there will be a landmark of some sort to identify our destination.”
“Well, Luna did say she was curious about the lay of the land, so there must be something worth seeing.”
“Huh… about that. I’ve been kinda wonderin’ about somethin’,” said Crack Shot.
“What’s that?” asked Storm.
Crack Shot stopped walking and turned to face the others. The wind whistled through the branches overhead as he mulled over how to articulate his thoughts. “Like… why us? Why are we out here?”
“Are you having second thoughts about this trip?”
“Dude, we’ve been gone for what—like a month? I’m probably up to hundredths now. But no, the trip’s cool and all. I’m just wonderin’, like, what does she need us for? It’s not like anypony’d tell her off if she wanted to take a week to go sightseeing.”
“I don’t know,” said Storm. “Maybe it’s not just about visiting Point A and Point B. Remember when Check told her about how we were going to help Allie and Kettle? She seemed pleased to hear that we were doing things like that.”
“Oh, come on, dude. Don’t tell me you thought she was expectin’ that like some kinda puppet master.”
“No, but she did give us free rein, right? Maybe that’s because she trusted us to do some good with it.”
“I am sure she has her reasons, and her reasons are her own,” said Check. “However, she has entrusted us with a task. Rather than ask ‘why us?’ may one perhaps ask ‘why not?’”
“Yeah, I guess,” said Crack Shot. He kicked a pine cone; it flew between a tangle of branches and landed in a tree’s hollow. “It’s just when I think about it, it seems kinda crazy that we got picked, you know? Seems like the kinda thing that happens to other ponies.”
Storm smiled and gave his friend a pat on his shoulder. “Maybe. But, we did get picked, so let’s get going.”
There was no distinct border between forest and mountain, but gradually the ground began to incline, to harden into slate, and to leave the pine trees behind. Soon the guardsponies were climbing a steep path of rock, following the stream which now burbled and splashed in a succession of small waterfalls. Moss and scant shrubbery, ignorant of all of the soft and fertile soil it could be growing in at the base of the mountain, sprouted from the broken and wetted stone instead. This proved that nature will find a way just about anywhere, often because it is unaware of the options. The wind grew thin, biting, and cold the higher the guardsponies climbed. It whipped away every steaming breath they took.
Hours into their trek they at last stopped beneath an outcropping of rock, out of the wind. The sun, now hanging in the southwest part of the sky, lent a weak but welcome warmth. Their vantage afforded them a fine view. They could just make out the edge of Fiddler’s plain and Allie’s farm. The distance dulled the colors of her fields into pale browns and yellows. Beyond it they saw portions of the lake they had first camped by, much of it hidden by its surrounding hills. But most of all, they saw just how far they’d travelled. It put their trip in perspective.
“Aw man, ith that it?” asked Crack Shot through a mouthful of blackberries. “I coulda thworn we walked fahtheh than that!”
“Come on—would you at least swallow first?!” said Storm.
“Actually, I believe our pace has been more than adequate,” said Check. “If we maintain it, we should be on the other side of the ridge well before nightfall.”
“I hope so,” said Storm. “I wouldn’t want to have to spend the night up here. The ground as hard as it is, I doubt that we could set up the tent. And that’s assuming it wouldn’t blow away.”
Crack Shot nodded. “Yeah, not to mention how much it’d suck to try and sleep on a bunch of rocks.”
Storm, who had experience with Canterlot’s cheaper lodgings and as such considered himself an expert of sorts on the subject, merely shrugged. He helped himself to some leftover pine bark.
“Still, it is quite the view from here, is it not?” said Check. “I wonder if the other side will rival it.”
After finishing their late lunch, the guardsponies resumed their march. Ice began to appear along their path, running down sunless facets of rocks in sheets, like waterfalls frozen in time. Storm found them beautiful and foreboding things: crystalline, glittering proof that this was not a hospitable place. The stream eventually diminished, bifurcating and disappearing beneath old snowdrifts hidden in shadowed places, but it had served well as a guide. From where it had ended, the top of the ridge’s saddle, the end of their ascent, was only a few hundred meters away.
“Looks like this is it, guys,” said Storm. “Just a little farther up and it’s all downhill.”
“Dang, how ‘bout that? I never woulda imagined I’d ever actually hike up a mountain.” Crack Shot flapped his wings. “All things considered, I mean.”
Check gave an uneasy laugh. “…Hopefully I’m not slowing things down too much,” he said.
“Nah, not at all, dude. Heck—if we’re ever pressed for time, I could always just pick you up and give you a lift.”
“Oh! Well, ah, heh, thank you, Crack Shot. For now though I am content to place one hoof in front of the other.”
“Huh. What about the other two?”
“Just an expression, Crack Shot.”
“Come on, guys,” said Storm, quickening into a trot to cross the remaining distance. “Let’s see if we can spot where we’re supposed to… to go…”
“Oh dear…” added Check as he and Crack Shot stepped alongside him.
“Uh, I doubt that we’re gonna be able to do that, dude, unless we’re supposed to be headin’ somewhere a few thousand feet off the ground.”
What the guardsponies saw was neither hills nor dales nor lakes nor plains, because if there were any, they were hidden beneath the cloud cover. Black, violent thunderheads poured in from the horizon—were the horizon—, enormous and ominous. They were dark but for the flashes of lightning, advancing like an army with fusillades firing. They rolled and swelled over each other as they tumbled forward, rain spilling beneath them. They were coming their way.
“I think… that we should descend forthwith,” said Check, which as a rallying cry lacked a bit of punch.
“You want to go down into that?” asked Crack Shot.
“It’s better than being up here in that,” said Storm, before shifting the camping gear from his back, placing his forehooves through its straps, and stretching his wings. As a quick afterthought he checked to make sure his journal was in a watertight pocket. As Check began galloping ahead, Storm turned towards Crack Shot, who was still staring at the weather in awe. “Are you coming?”
“…Yeah, fine. Whatever. After bathing in creeks and lakes for the past coupla days, a shower oughta be a nice change of pace.”
But, a sheer, dizzying descent would have to come first. In mountain climbing (though not exclusive to it), going down is usually easier than going up, but only when there isn’t too much down at once. Crack Shot was about to ask Check if he was having any second thoughts about that lift, but the unicorn was already galloping down the side of the mountain, as fast as his hooves and gravity would take him without harm. Storm and Crack Shot flew close to him, ready to dive if he lost his footing.
“Guess you’re good then huh?!” yelled Crack Shot over the roar of wind and distant thunderclaps.
Check said nothing as he raced downward, saving his breath as he jumped from cliff to rock to crag to ledge, over thin fissures and chasms, taking the semblance of a path winding downwards only when it wound his way. His mind was nearly entirely focused on his momentum, how it shifted and carried him, and on the next ten steps, the next ten leaps to make. The part of his mind that wasn’t focused on this perilous dash was figuring out how to creatively muddy it in the letter home.
At the base of the mountain, after Storm had thrown the camping equipment back over his withers, the three of them took off into the valley ahead of them, Crack Shot flying in the middle. The thunderheads were upon them now; they collided with the ridge behind them, belting them with rain, and turning the sky to night.
A dark and stormy night.
But the thing about a dark and stormy night is that, if it is truly stormy, there is nothing dark about it. Lightning arced and forked through the sky, striking the ground in actinic columns.
“Not so high, Crack Shot! Keep to the ground!” shouted Storm over a crash of thunder.
As Crack Shot dropped into a run beside him, Storm thought about how one could measure the proximity of a lightning strike by counting the seconds until the thunder, and wondered how you were supposed to do it now, when it came like an omnipresent and staccato drumbeat. He wished he wasn’t wearing a set of metal armor. With another deafening crack the rain redoubled, making it hard to breathe without swallowing it. Storm lowered his head, narrowing his eyes as water sluiced over the brow of his champron. Then, suddenly, the tattoo of rain was above him, and the flush of water before his vision ebbed. A couple of feet ahead, the rain still came down in cataracts. He turned towards Check, whose horn was glowing faintly.
“Check?”
“I will not… be able… to maintain this… for long,” said Check through grit teeth. His brows were knit and he was breathing heavily. He may’ve been sweating, but it would’ve been impossible to say for sure.
“Dudes… over there!” Crack Shot nodded his head forward. Visible through the deluge only by the flashes of lightning was the shape of rising land and trees, about half a mile ahead. Shelter. Their gallop became a sprint. “…G-guys!” gasped Crack Shot, desperately.
“What’s wrong?! What else did you see?!” Storm began scanning the sky, the ground, for any obstacle or threat.
Crack Shot swallowed, taking in as much air as he could. “D-dibs!” he shouted.
“Now?! Really?!”
Crack Shot, panting, gave an affirming nod.
As they closed the distance there was a fluttering between them, drawing their attention toward a small form of pitch and beating wings. The kite.
“H-hey! It’s back!” Crack Shot gave a weak grin.
“And it picked a heck of a time to visit,” said Storm. He glanced upwards, where the rain was pelting an unseen barrier. “Do you think it’s trying to avoid the rain?”
The kite didn’t turn its head, but still it stared at the guardsponies, measuring them with those piercing, golden eyes. Then those eyes rolled upwards. “Ye boys sure did pick a fine day to stroll over the bealach, didn’t ye?!” it said in a female’s voice.
“Did… did it just talk?!” one of the guardsponies could have said, but they didn’t, because it would have been stupid. The bird’s enunciation had been perfect, albeit with a strong accent, and they had more important things to do with their breath, such as running.
The kite flew on ahead, shouting, “Come on then, follow me!”
And they did. Because between the rain and the cold, the lightning and the thunder, and a bird suddenly speaking to them, how could they not? She led the way into the woods, weaving deftly between the trees, but not going so fast that she left the guardsponies behind. Check gave a weary gasp and rain fell on the guardsponies once more, though thankfully mitigated by the canopy now above them.
As they ran, Storm became aware of spots of a familiar red, of hints of white and blue. The mushrooms that he and Check had found yesterday had begun to dot the route the kite was taking. He looked towards Check, a question playing on his features. Was there a meaning to this? Check met his glance and gave a small shake of his head. He had no idea either.
The trees opened up ahead of them into a glade, and it was apparent immediately that it was an odd glade indeed. A ring of the strange red mushrooms lined its border of trees, as if fencing off further encroachment into it. The storm clouds billowed above and burned with lightning, but no rain fell within its borders. The peals of thunder seemed to mute as they neared it. The guardsponies stepped inside.
There was a shift in the air.
There was the sound of wood chimes in the wind.
There was the whisper of unknown words.
There was a ‘POOF!’ which really didn’t seem to fit.
And they were gone.
---
“What was that?” asked Crack Shot, shaking his head and sending water splashing in every direction from his mane and helmet.
“More importantly, where is this?” asked Storm, staring upwards.
They were in a glade, but it did not look to be the same glade that they had stepped into. The sky above had cleared and left something strange in its place: a swirling, mixing mass of greens and blues and brasses, an innumerability of bright pinpoints that danced and flickered and could have been stars.
“I think a more salient question…,” began Check Mate, slowly, “is who are they?”
Storm followed his friend’s gaze. His widened. From the trees, dozens of pairs of golden eyes were watching them, set like citrines into the ebon faces of birds, of squirrels, of a whole host of serried creatures. From within their ranks, one that they recognized flew down from her perch and landed before them. The kite. But not for long.
She began, then, to grow. To change. Wings became legs and talons became hooves; a beak became a muzzle and tail feathers lengthened and thinned into hair. The eyes remained sharp, intelligent, and golden in color, but they were larger now. A smile formed beneath them.
“Céad mile fáilte,” said what, for appearances, could have been an earth pony mare. “That is to say, ‘Welcome.’”
“Welcome to where?” asked Storm, guardedly. The many eyes continued to stare down at them. His shoulders tensed and his ears pinned back.
The smile turned into a grin. “Fer now, let’s just say a long way from home.”
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Yeah, that's not some ominous foreshadowing you got going on there!!!!
Irish ponies, eh? Interesting. The slice of life is behind us, and things have taken a turn for the adventure. Now I have to wait for the next update...
The pony version of the fey? If so even if they the good ones you're in big trouble.
Yay new Chapter!
Sidhe drives me crazy.
2190632
I applaud that pun.
The denouement is left to the reader's imagination....
My apologies for the obligatory callback and horrible joke/observation.
Aside, this story continues to be both fascinating and compelling, if languid overall (in the sense excepting the connotation of listlessness or drudgery, mind you). Such a pleasant read; keep up the superb work!
2190829
I do my best... or my worst.
Somehow, in addition to ending this chapter on an interesting note, you have also reminded me of the Rocky and Bullwinkle short, Fractured Fairy Tales. Good job!
I just now realized they are doing a hexcrawl
TWO GREAT STORY UPDATES ON MY BIRTHDAY. WOO. Too bad my internet went out yesterday though.
Still, From Canterlot with Love and Take Two Round Two. Woo.
Now to read...
I think the only way to describe this Fiction is a painting made out of words.
I've heard a picture is worth a thousand words but this Fiction does the opposite
Truly a masterpiece and I look forward to the next chapter.
Oh man, they ran into a garden of the Fae, didn't they?
This probably won't bold well.
Wow didn't see that coming.
I could read a million words of the dialog in this story.
And suddenly fae!
(Oh Pinkie, of course you'd like that development. You're probably at least partially fae yourself.)
2193072
Doesn't bode well for italics, either.
2194218 Oh quiet, you. :P
And then a skeleton popped out!
No, wait, go back to the guttural colloquy of the squamous things! I was really digging that.
Also, it's "free rein", not "free reign".
CHANGELINGS THEY'RE ALL CHANGELINGS!
Entering a fairy ring so soon after the local equivalent of Halloween...
I have a feeling the next chapter is going to be interesting to say the least. 
. I hope Check collected some marjoram and thyme, he may need it.
For any who are interested.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fairy_ring#Cultural_references
Shit just got real
Hahaa, magnificent as always. And lol @ using the Smart Stone as eerie flashlight
There seem to be some words missing here and there:
> had begun to dot route the kite was taking.
"had begun to dot [the] route"
> His widened.
"His [eyes] widened."
A little slow, some moments felt somewhat pointless, but the ending was what made it truly shine.
Lets see how it goes from now on.
2223721
What moments, exactly, felt pointless?
2223953
Many of the food-devoted discussions and descriptions (with the exception of the one with Check Mate and commercial tea), the more colorful descriptions, like right after Storm managed to make a cloud, just to attempt to kick a lighting out of it as well (too forced), the whole story that Crack tried to tell (we get it, he is the goofy one), and part of that bizarre non-sequitur Check made, plus little bits here and there that in order for me to point them out I would need to read the chapter again, but that I can say that without them the story would have had a better pacing.
2224059
I don't usually like to talk in this comment section about my writing decisions, but I'm going to make an exception. I usually have a few people I go over my chapters with prior to publishing, so what I shall say has been informed by their opinions as well. Let me go point by point over things you've addressed.
Food. These are ponies from the city, and as such surviving in the wild is new to them and an important hurdle for them to overcome. The folks that I've gone over the story with appreciate this detail. (For those interested, you can actually eat pine bark).
Check Mate's 'non sequitur.' Outside of being a reference to Lovecraft, this is Check poking a bit of fun at himself and the others. Others caught this, and I included it. In fact, this is a perfect opportunity to say that there are things that some folks will catch and that others won't. There are a number of things that folks haven't noticed, although it's not necessary that they do. This is true of many works, be they in television, cinema, writing, etc. If you don't catch something, it doesn't mean it doesn't have a point or that it doesn't belong. I'm not writing for just one person or one set of life experiences.
2224059
I very strongly disagree with your assessment of these moments. To me, these moments are what makes this story's charm. It takes all the time it needs to breathe and show us fun, interesting, and just plain goofy moments. Without the moments you mentioned, the story would have had a quicker pacing, but not necessarily a better one.
This is a story that stops to smell the roses and lets us enjoy the scent as well.
I personally think the story is better for having those scenes.
2224250
Ok, the food aspect I understand now, but at least for me it swallowed up too much time.
Oh Lovecraft, you keep pooping up whenever I go, some day I will read you... Anyway, I'm not implying that you should write for one type of person, but sometimes it seems you are writing for some specific groups, after all, I consider myself your average, run of the mill reader, and let me tell you, all those subtle references that you have mentioned that exist all over the fic? Well, I don't think I haven't catch a single one of them, maybe its the cultural barrier...
2225609
I agree with you, after all, I have stuck this far into the story, but come on, sometimes the little things are actually so little that they aren't worth mentioning, don't you think?
2229155
Sometimes yes, but the things you mentioned are hardly so little. They give the characters time to be themselves and reinforce the characterizations. They're also just plain entertaining to read.
Wow. This is one of the best stories I've ever read, not just because of the characters, but because of the prose. It has a very enjoyable Pratchett-esque feel that I absolutely love. Though it may be have somewhat glacial pacing, I don't mind really mind; it just gives me more story to enjoy. Okay, maybe I mind a little bit, but just a little bit. But I still love the references, and this is still an excellent story. 9.65/10, for sure.
2312161
"It's very obvious that the author has some... issues with bullying..."
Is it, now? Putting aside the fact that this is a baseless ad hominem attack, how does including a subplot about bullying automatically mean someone has issues with the subject matter?
"The only conflict" eh? What is a conflict to you? Shouting matches? Fisticuffs? Each character is bringing something to the table (not Table~), in terms of some difficulty to overcome. Recruits introduced early on had conflicts, several members within the rural community the main three came across had conflicts, and Storm and Check in particular are overcoming conflicts of their own (Crack just seems to be having a good time
Although, even he has his moments).
As for the jokes, some things will make you laugh, some won't, and there's little that can be said about what someone finds or does not find funny. This work is littered with intelligent writing, subtle/not-subtle humor, great prose, and so on (unlike this somewhat-rambling comment).
The "where's the big war conflict?" critique is partially the nature of not being able to read the future chapters yet, I think. If the story were released start-to-finish, there'd be less moaning about this topic. The author is attempting (and succeeding) at a concept called world building. What's the point of reading about an epic battle if there's no rationale behind it? We're getting to know the main characters, side characters, and, in general, the ponies of Equestria (Fiddler's Plain, et al). Meaning and sustenance is being contributed to the story, so we, the reader, can actually become emotionally invested in what happens, instead of a Miachael Bay-esque conflict-fest where nothing really matters.
And to re-iterate an earlier point, passive-aggressive digs at an author (the issues with bullying thing) is a shameful attempt to insult the person instead of critiquing the work in question. Be more respectful to your fellow pony fans.
1596762
" nothing is driving the story forward, this is nothing but a bunch words doing a buch of things, and that's about it."
Judging by the ratings and by my own personal opinion, it seems there's quite a market for "a bunch words doing a buch of things."[sic] Perhaps there's more to this than what you assume is right?
1596762
2312161
And to you both, I don't know what kind of world you guys live in where this story has no conflict by comparison, but it seems pretty full of conflict to me. For example, Storm striving against his lack of talent in weather-handling is quite a bit of conflict right there. You don't need fighting and anger to have a story-driving conflict.
I, for one, am more than driven to read just to find more about Sagebrush's take on the farther reaches of Equestria.
It's quite possible that this story isn't to your taste, and that's okay, it takes all kinds of people to make a world. However, I would advise you to stop reading this and move on to some other fic. I don't think this fic is for you if you think it has "no conflict" and is "just a bunch of things happening."
2312582
Once again we meet Autumn Wind, although apparently you either forgot all about me, or don't realize that comment of mine was from almost 20 weeks ago.
>It's quite possible that this story isn't to your taste, and that's okay, it takes all kinds of people to make a world. However, I would advise you to stop reading this and move on to some other fic. I don't think this fic is for you if you think it has "no conflict" and is "just a bunch of things happening."
You are in no position of telling me what and what not I can do, but I will humor you: I LIKE this story, this is why I have stuck so far, always trying to give constructive if somewhat mean criticism, since I believe an author should really know what a reader, as insignificant as he/she can be, thinks, and what better way that with a honest-to-God, no bounds review, instead of a bunch of hollow praise or some quick lines of encouragement.
The only way I can abandon a story is if it goes full grimdark, full angst, human (like anthropology, so much wasted potential...) or too full of itself (like say, a fic staring one of the mane 6 or any canon character suddenly focusing on an OC for whatever reason, until it forgets all about its original heading), and since neither of those since to be happening any time soon - given how focused the story - , I will still be around giving my reviews, either until the author tells me to just stop or the story finishes.
2315834
It was relevant to the discussion at hand and Ispll(...). mentioned your comment, so I figured "why not I'll reply to him too now while I'm at it." Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about you. :P
I wouldn't presume telling anyone to do anything, I was merely making a suggestion that I felt appropriate.
Criticism is fine and good, but when you come up whining about "63.5k words, and still nothing achieved," "nothing is happenig, nothing is driving the story forward," or "you have pretry much forgotten about all but the most basic aspects of the show," as opposed to actual constructive criticism like "I don't feel the story is progressing quickly enough" or "I think you should cut down a little on the world building, it's smothering the plot. I'd like to see a little more of Luna and other canon ponies, or maybe to see the guards stop by places we've seen in the show." you don't come off as a helpful critic. You come off as someone who's missing the point of a story and has decided to bash the writer over it with every passing chapter.
Of course canon elements aren't very present. Of course no huge events are happening. The fic is all about looking at what might exist outside of what we've seen in canon. It's the entire point of it. It's a world exploration piece. What you've been commenting about is tantamount to commenting on a shipfic and criticizing all the smooching that's going on. It's like commenting on an action movie saying that there's too much shooting guns and not enough people discussing their feelings over cups of tea.
2315980
Let me ask you a simple question: can you recall everything that has happened so far during the story? Better yet, how long would it take you to write a somewhat complete synopsis of this story? Think about that for a moment and then tell me your answer/thoughts.
2320009
You first. I'm curious to know.
2320009
I hope you'll forgive me, Sage, but I can't help but answer that challenge.
MASSIVE SPOILERS AHEAD, DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN'T READ ALL THE WAY TO THE END OF CH8 ON THIS FIC.
Ahem: from memory without any re reading, Pinkie Promise, keeping in mind that, as a prereader, I read the chapters about a few days before they're published:
-The lead characters were called to Princess Luna who asked them to take a trip and report on the state of Equestria to her, since she was too busy to travel herself.
-The lead characters were loaned the smartstone by Greymane's assistant, so that they could write back.
-Our main characters went to the train station to take a train to the first point of their travels, Fiddler's Plain. However, before they could embark onto the train, they wound up dealing with the bureaucracy of the ticket office, a café/bookstore with the awful name of "CaBOOKse", a lost foal and a pretty hilarious digression about fast-spinning clocks. In the end, they only barely made it onto their train.
-They later arrived at Fiddler's plains, and soon visited a tavern, Pimento's, where Crack Shot (if I remember correctly), got absolutely smashed, and Storm Stunner (or was it Check Mate? I don't recall too well) had a struggle with the chili being far more spicy than he was used to.
-They also learned that Pimento had romantic interest for the mare who runs the local general store. (They would later learn that this same mare fancied him right back, and, shortly before leaving Fiddler's plain, wind up setting them up as a couple.)
-Thankful for a family's hospitality, the guards helped them with their chores, as well as the preparation of the Nightmare Night Celebration.
-The family's youngest, a colt whose name I will admit escapes me (I'm terrible with names), has great interest in becoming a guard himself, and spent much time asking questions about them. At Nightmare Night, Crack Shot lent him his helmet.
-One of the family's two fillies has a great interest in botanics, and a blank flank. Check Mate helps her deal with some issues about the later, and they take a nature walk, identifying various plants with the help of a book somepony (I forget) lent Check Mate before the departure from Canterlot. Before leading Fiddler's plains, Check Mate lends the book to the filly, with a promise to come back and pick it up on the return trip.
-At the Nightmare Night party, we find out that Storm Stunner actually is terrible at manipulating the weather, especially storm, and Crack Shot and the local pegasi try to give him a hand with that, to little avail.
-Somewhere in the middle of all that, we cut to Greymane and his assistant dealing with a rogue animated table, and other guard friends of the main trio being involved in delivering their mail, giving us some chances to see the cast from In Her Majesty's Royal Service again.
-In the end, the guards leave Fiddler's plain with a promise to visit again on the trip back, and set off in nature. They camp for two nights straight, and Crack Shot's terrible estimation of distances leads to some comical choices of camping locations. They also encounter a strangely coloured kite bird, which they feed.
-When they camp near a lake, Crack gives Storm a second weather handling lesson, which proves to be far more fruitful.
-Finally, a second encounter with the Kite reveals it to be some kind of fey creature transformed, and that is where our story preesntly rests.
END SPOILERS
And that, Mr. Zeppelin, is off the top of my head. What's your point?
2320308
I will check on you latter, since I need to stay as objective as possible, given that I'm about to do the same.
2320045
Very well, I will say that I managed to read the first line of Autumn's synopsis before I realize that would destroy the point of this little exercise, with that said here is mine:
OK, we began with Luna telling our three protagonist (lets call them the mane3) that she needed them to travel all over equestria for a unspecified amount to time, since she couldn't do it herself, for the very vague objective of "meeting ponies and discovering new places", with little hints that there was something more beneath that.
In order to keep communication, a magical stone is introduced by our "scientific duo" from the last story, so with that settle we saw both Storm and Check Mate said farewell to their loved ones (Nomde if my spelling is correct and Check's parents), with Crack Shot's farewell left as a funny remark.
So they take for the train station, where they find a missing foal that is eventually brought back to his dad thanks to their help, then they finally began the first leg of their journey, arriving to the train station that lead to Fiddler’s Plain, there is something about tourist guides being said, and I don't quite remember how they met Kettle, but anyway, they end up at Pimento’s, where they met said owner and got somewhat plastered on salt (except Check, because he is kinda insecure I guess).
Next morning they go to Kettle’s place, where they met Allie and her foals, and then we began our time in this place, which I'm just going to sum up:
-The mane3 are invited as guests, and stay in an adjacent house.
-Lots of little things here and there happens, including the mane3 helping out in the farm
-We are introduced to a character hat remind me a lot of Cherry Jubilee, don't remember how, don't remember her name, all I know is that the guards at the end help Pimento to ask her out.
-As a sidetrack to the main story, we are given a little tour of the castle, were we see once again our lazy corporal, the badass captain (who has a somewhat bizarre conflict with two ponies), Ikebana (love that name) and a female pegasus that ends up delivering a message from Check to his parents, plus our duo of scientist, and some Luna as well
Then Halloween arrives, with our protagonist dressing up for the occasion, where Check has a really bad case of wardrobe malfunction that follows him all night long. At the same time we are introduced to a group of pegasi lead by this stallion trying to prove they are hard workers, something that keeps backfiring thanks to the snide remarks of this mare, we also learn that Storm can not do storm clouds, with one the highlight of the story being Sprite, the oldest of Allie's kids, having a breakdown due to her unicorn heritage, where Check shows up and manages both o cheer her up and make her come to terms with that side of her; the other highlight was finally finding out what happened to Allie's husband.
After all of that is finished, the mane3 begin once again their journey, where they talk a lot about of food, little things here and there, and it ultimately leads to a cliffhanger of an ending.
2320308
All right señor Wind, thanks for both taking the time to write this and to actually following me through it.
First off, as of right know I am writing from my Iphone, so please excuse any spelling errors.
My point: See how few you could recall for the time our mane3 spend in Fiddler's Plains? Well, by the word count that part was so far the bulk of the story, but at the same time was extremely uneventful, while the begining, the castle part and even the second leg of the journey while shorter are actually more memorable as a whole because stuff actually happens.
Sure, its fun reading slice of life, and sure, in between there is character development during all that slow stuff, but come on, there is so much you can dewl a story in one part before it stalls like a plane with ice on it's wings, and that was my main problem with that arch: too much devotion to so little, specially when a) This is the continuation to a story that had actual clear objectives, and b) this is supposed to be both a slice of life AND an adventire fic.
I like this story, I like the main characters and even some of the secondary ones (Nomde and Sprite stand out tue most, the latter more for her little, beautiful character arch), but there is so much potential within it that is kinda frustrarion seeing it all go to wasted by focusing for such a long time in such a tiny place.
2326996
Whether or not my memory is terrible (which it is) has no bearing on whether or not this story has sufficient events. I read this story months ago, of course I don't remember the events very well. Doesn't change the fact that I enjoyed reading it very much. Also, while I may not remember the exact events of Fiddler's Plains, it still resonates with me emotionally a lot more than the initial parts. It cemented the characters as people with personalities, as opposed to just characters to whom stuff happens.
By the way, see how you remember quite a few events. That really goes against your claim of "nothing happens."
I understand that you may not like how long this story has spent in some places, and that all readers do not have similar tastes, but I think you were excessive in the way you made that criticism. Instead of voicing the criticism constructively and politely, you phrased it as an outright attack on the story, a big honkin' "Nothing happens in this!"
All I'm really trying to say is "if you want to be helpful to authors, watch your wording."
2326613
Since it was brought up, I have a question about the Staff Sergeant's confrontation and its two instigators. I'm wondering if you or others thought that the salt bar was the first appearance of those guys in that chapter.
2328092
Check out the actal size of my little recall for the "plains" compared to rest, plus remember that during my "mean" review the chapter with nightmare night hasn't happened.
Plus check my subsecuent reviews, I toned them down and didn't dwell as much on the negative aspects.
2328285
What I recall is that they were first introduced in this your type thing, I believe of the castle.
2328399
Correct.
And at their introduction we see that they're either not very nice, or have a certain sense of entitlement given the way that they're complaining about not being let into areas of the castle that they wished to explore. In their irritation they begin saying disparaging things about the guards that blocked their passage, only to have the misfortune of having another guard appear right behind them. The guard doesn't browbeat them and in fact even tells them to enjoy the rest of their stay, but they know they've been caught, and it's embarrassing. I think just about anyone could understand that, but perhaps not their later actions.
By the time we join the Staff Sergeant and Kickstart, our two 'slighted' ponies have been hitting the salt bars and getting besotted (besalted, if you will). So now we have two ponies with entitlement issues and lowered inhibitions again courting misfortune by stepping into the wrong bar and making a scene. Given their current state at this point, however, one might assume that this isn't their first scene of the night and that they may be overdue.
The Staff Sergeant diffuses the situation and has these guys put into a cell for the night to let their systems clear out. She doesn't forget about them though. She visits them, rebukes them, but doesn't actually condemn them. As she alludes to in the first chapter, she likes to see ponies better themselves. She tells these guys that they can be better than their past actions and behavior, which I think is the most important element of the entire conflict. Folks don't need to conform to some binary of good or bad; they're capable of change.
Of course I'm not going to lay it all out like that in the story, because it'd be chunky as anything. Rather I'd prefer to leave the clues, and hope that right message is conveyed. It may not be. Some may think that the Staff Sergeant is a bitch and that this was a contrived moment meant to make her look like a bad ass. Some may think the situation could have been resolved another way; I'm sure that it could have, but what happens happens. Some might even think that this scene was obviously and undeniably a moment for the author to live vicariously through a character to lash out impotently at some past aggressor (although I don't know who'd be crazy enough to think that).
Still, (in my opinion at least, and it means less because I'm the author) the moment isn't all that bizarre.
2328355
Either way, all things considered, I stand by my point that this story is by no means lacking in events, and that what you felt were points that just drew on were still, for me, quite enjoyable and good development.
At this point, I'll admit I'm not really in a mood to look back at the discussion, so I'll take your word for it that you did your best to tone things down.
Just try to keep in mind that it's a fine line between critiqueing for a perceived weakness and complaining that a story isn't written the way we like it but in an equally good way. As you've probably realised by now, it's easy to accidentally come off as entitled and whiny as opposed to critical and helpful.
At this point, I'm giving this conversation a rest because there's nothing more for me to add.
2328575
To be honest, recalling that whole even only brought up the word "bizarre" in my head, since the rest of the details were at best fuzzy (your explanation helped me to remember what actually happened), so I guess that's the way it stuck, sorry.
2330056
Very well, see you next time a chapter pops up.
2330127
You betcha. Hopefully, on more friendly terms. c:
Hrmm. Uh oh, Samhain, the Autumn Equinox, has just passed - the Unseelie Court is in power.
Good luck guys. You might need it.
Now, off to read Chapter 9.
Faerie rings always take you to the most interesting of places.