A tiny colt is orphaned deep in the wilderness. He is then raised by a buffalo tribe.
What would happen if a pony were raised by a tribe of buffalo?
Fan art by the lovely PersianJuliet: http://imgur.com/7qfx5 and http://imgur.com/GkvYi Special thanks to NaturalGlitch, Honey Mead for steering this here young and foolish author in the right direction. And of course, to WhatTheMoo for extensive editing (seriously, if you saw some before-and-afters of my drafts, you'd think he was God himself). I hope you enjoy it!
Celestia’s sun hung low in the sky, watching over a tiny trading camp called Appaloosa. The tiny town had an air of anticipation about it. A small crowd was gathered on the edge of town, and the hushed sounds of excited conversation permeated the air.
Standing on the back of a large, canvas-covered caravan was a beige earth pony with a red and orange mane. His name was Chase Sunsets, explorer pony.
As Chase stared out over the little assembly, a great wave of satisfaction came over him. He and Wild Heart, his foal, were about to embark on a frontier-pushing journey to explore deeper into the wilderness, and drive the Equestrian border even further away from its epicentre. His thoughts were hopeful today, he wasn’t afraid to dream big. One day, a settlement that he created could be the next Manehatten or Fillydelphia, and he would be remembered as its founder!
He whistled for the crowd's attention, and began to speak to them in a voice filled with country-pony pride.
"My friends, I'd really like to thank y'all for coming here today to see us off."
His words were met by whoops and cheers from the gathered ponies.
"It’s a great day for me and my boy here. I ain’t exactly sure what lies ahead for us, but I do know that we're gonna succeed because of the support you've shown us!"
More cheers and stomping.
Chase looked up at the sun, and saw it was beginning its descent to the horizon. He and his little colt needed to get moving. He looked out once more over the ponies and the tiny desert community, starting to get quite emotional. He knew it would be a very long time before he saw them again, if he ever did. However, as he looked out towards the sun and the distant horizon, he knew that he would likely be too busy to reminisce. He had already said his goodbyes, there was no turning back. So after a few parting words to the crowd (accompanied, of course, by even more cheering), he trotted around to the front of the carriage and hooked himself up to the yoke.
One slow, deep breath.
This is it. From now on, life moves onward. Enough o’ this wishy-washy regret and livin’ in the past.
Over his shoulder, he viewed his little colt, nestled among some of the softer materials packed in the caravan. His name was Wild Heart, and he was just six months old. His mother, Scarlet Skies, had died giving birth to him. At the thought, Chase immediately felt the familiar sting of self-pity returning once again, but he quickly shoved it from his mind. He’d already spent far too much time dwelling on things he couldn't change.
His friends had been concerned about moving away to start a new life with such a young foal, but Chase had great conviction that life on the road would shape his colt into a fine stallion. He knew that he couldn't stay. Not here, with the painful memories of his wife's death surrounding him. Many expected that he would leave after Scarlet died, she was really the only thing that kept him in one place. They said that exploring and pushing boundaries were in his blood. No measure of reason could stop him.
Chase gave a lengthy exhale. All seemed well. With the cheers of his friends behind him, he set his sights on a point far on the horizon and started trotting.
|{WF}|
As the little family moved through the wilderness, the scenery changed. Sparse desert shrubs became bushes. The thirsty, hard-packed earth turned into grass, which grew in height until the cart's wheels were half-submerged in waves of yellow-gold vegetation. The area had clearly not seen much rain in the past weeks, which made Chase nervous about where they would find water when their cache ran out. But he pressed on, knowing that the only way to solve that predicament would be to find a source. Besides, his whole life had been spent wandering about the lesser-known parts of Equestria and beyond. Thirst was no stranger to him. He did worry about Wild, however. Whatever happened, he would never be able to forgive himself if he let his foal down.
As he walked, he thought back to when Wild Heart was first born. It had been just a few months after Chase and Scarlet Skies had helped to construct and settle Appaloosa. Chase had once been a famous explorer, but Scarlet had convinced him to settle down and start a family. So he became a local workstallion, assisting anyone who needed help in exchange for a few bits. When it came time to give birth, Scarlet fell mysteriously ill. In spite of the best efforts of the Appaloosa doctor, she just couldn’t take the stress of birthing a foal. Chase had never felt so horrible in his life. He had spent many days searching his soul for hope and a reason to continue. He had almost run out of reasons to live when he began to think about exploring once again. It might have been selfish, and he might have been a damned fool, but there was very little else that truly made his heart race anymore, other than the thought of the unknown and the unexplored. He had decided to name his colt Wild Heart, in the hopes that he would never lose hope the way Chase did.
Once again, he looked back at his foal. Wild Heart's mane was bright yellow streaked with orange, and his body was a sooty shade of gray. His mane and tail were both messy and unkempt, just like his father, Chase noted with fondness. He would never forget how much he had loved his wife, but he would never regret the birth of his child. Right now, Wild Heart slept on a sack of flour, and grasped in his tiny hooves was a curious object — Chase's tinderbox.
Days passed.
At the end of their third long day in uncharted territory, the father and son came across an expanse of dark and sinister-looking wood, bordering the grasslands to their north. The sun was just being pulled beneath the horizon beyond the great fields to the west. There was also a fast and powerful river running out of the forest, where they could refill their water barrels. Chase proceeded to make camp by the tree line and refresh himself.
After replenishing their stores, he was tired and needed rest. In his exhausted state, he failed to discern a pair of eyes watching him from within the tall grass across the river. He clambered into the wagon and laid a thin cot out on the stiff wooden floor. He held his tiny colt close to him, and fell quickly into a deep sleep...
|{WF}|
A tremendous crash jolted Chase awake. He jumped up from his makeshift bedding and discovered a thick, dark smoke filling the inside of the wagon. The smoke attacked his eyes and nostrils like a rabid animal, and he immediately began to cough and wheeze. A cacophony of loud snaps, pops, and sizzles invaded the wagon, disorientating him further. Panicking, he gathered up his foal (who, remarkably, was still snoozing) and leapt out of the wagon. Landing on the dirt outside, his jaw dropped when he saw the source of the commotion: the entire forest to the north was on fire, and trees were falling as their trunks were eaten by flames.
With horror, he saw that the fire had begun to spread across the grassland at an alarming pace. It quickly encircled their camp, and Chase feared that even if he could escape the fire immediately surrounding him, he would have to outrun the fire as it raced across the dry fields, something he knew he couldn't keep up very long with his son held in his teeth.
Looking around desperately, he tried to maintain a clear head just long enough to escape this situation.
The river!
He rushed to the edge of the channel and glanced around for an escape route. Then he heard a shout from across the river.
"Hey, pony! Over here!"
Chase looked up to see a single young buffalo female standing across the river, on a rocky ledge protruding over the current.
"Throw your young one to me, and then jump!"
Chase looked behind him to his caravan consumed by flames.
This is NOT a good idea...
But he saw no alternative. He held his colt close to him and prayed to Celestia he would be safe. He stole one last apprehensive glance at the rocks below, and the white water rushing by. He took a few steps back, and held his colt in his teeth. He swung him back and forth... And threw him. The young colt tumbled through the air... over the hungry, leaping water… and into the arms of the waiting buffalo calf.
“Now you must jump, earth pony!” the buffalo called to Chase.
The fire was quickly advancing on what little ground remained between it and the river, so without hesitation, Chase stepped back and sprinted at the edge of the river. He leapt off the edge, and instantly saw with dread that he lacked the height to catch the opposite edge. He braced himself mentally and physically for impact with the face of the opposite bank. His last thought was of his child, and his final hope was that the young thing would be treated fairly by the buffalo who had saved him.
He heard one last panicked scream from the buffalo calf as his hoof fell short of hers.
He hit the wall of rock with a sickening crack, blacking out as his body fell into the cold current and was sucked under.
The night was dark amongst the Sihasapa buffalo tribe. Their tall, conical tents formed a small makeshift village at the bottom of a large cliff face. However, all was silent in the village on this particular night. All of its denizens were gathered around a fire lit pow-wow by the cliff face.They watched with excitement as their elders discussed the fate of a young and strange animal, a pony. He was brought to their tribe by one of their younglings, who had been roaming the edge of their current territory.
In the middle of the group was a hulking black buffalo, who was clearly not pleased with the direction the current proceedings were taking. When he spoke, his voice resembled a small earthquake, powerful and barely contained.
“No! It is not our way! Never before have we accepted an outsider into our tribe, let alone a youngling of another species!”
Surrounding him were nine other buffalo elders, watching his display with mixed reactions. Some appeared disappointed by his intolerance, while others fidgeted, considering his words. Another buffalo was sitting in the circle, sporting an impressive headdress. He was small but still quite muscular, and clearly was the Chief of the tribe. He waited for the black buffalo to pause, then held up a hoof and motioned for the larger one to seat himself. Though the large one clearly was indignant about this order, he complied. The Chief then stood to speak. Though he was smaller than most of his peers, it was apparent that he commanded utmost respect from his people.
“We have heard your arguments, brother Stronghead,” the Chief said with an aura of calmness and rationality, “But it seems clear to the rest of the Council that on this occasion we must put aside such traditions in the name of kindness and charity. It is what the Great Spirit would want. What would you have us do, throw this youngling back into the fire from whence he came? We have no choice but to take him in, else we condemn him to death.”
The one called Stronghead had no response to this, and dismissed himself from the circle. He grumbled continually as he left about tradition to anyone who would listen.
“Very well. If there are no others who would deny this colt a place in our tribe, then one of our families shall be his guardians. Who will be the ones to raise this young pony?”
The buffalo gathered shifted nervously, for this was a very large responsibility for one to take on. But one buffalo, who looked younger than the rest, stood up with confidence. His name was Brighteyes, and he was a vibrant sort of buffalo with a bright copper shaded coat. His title was no misnomer, for his irises were bright green, highly unusual for a buffalo.
“Chief Stonehoof, I have a small little steer of my own who is nearly the same age as this young one. I would take this pony child into my family, if it is according to the will of the Council,” he proclaimed.
“I am not opposed to this. Is there anyone here who finds that brother Brighteyes and his wife Runningbrook are unsuitable to raise this pony?” the Chief asked the assembly.
When none of them spoke up, the Chief announced, “Very well then. Wintergreen, bring forth the child. He must be blessed as one of our own.”
A young filly buffalo stepped forward with a tiny earth pony colt wrapped in a blanket that she held from her teeth. She neatly laid him down in front of the Chief, and then backed away with a bow.
The one they called Brighteyes and a female buffalo stepped forward and sat before the Chief. Evidently, she was Runningbrook, his wife. Chief Stonehoof fixed them both with a serious, but gentle gaze from his calm black eyes. Then he spoke to them.
“Brighteyes and Runningbrook, do you swear before the Great Spirit to raise this pony child, protect him, and teach him how to live in peace and harmony with his surroundings?”
The two buffalo responded as one, “Yes, we do.”
“And do you,” the Chief continued, “promise to our tribe that as his guardians, you will admit responsibility for his mistakes, until such time as he becomes an adult in our tribe?”
“Yes, we do.”
“Then you have the blessings of this council. You have the blessings of the Sihasapa. And you have the blessings of the Great Spirit, in the hopes that you may raise this foal to lead a harmonious and peaceful life as one of us.” The Chief smiled at them. “What is his name?”
“He shall be called Wildfire, for he came to us from a great wild fire.”
“Wildfire! It is a good name,” Chief Stonehoof announced to the assembly, “Even as fire consumes and destroys, it brings new life. Just so, this great fire brings us the gift of a child. The Great Spirit clearly meant for this child to come to us.”
The Chief then raised both hooves to the starry night sky and prayed, “Great Spirit, we, inhabitants of your wondrous world, thank you for this gift of life. The Sihasapa buffalo promise to cherish and protect what you have brought to us. Pilamayaye.”
The rest of the Sihasapa raised their hooves and each thanked the Great Spirit, as did Brighteyes and his partner. Runningbrook picked their new foal up from his place on the ground between them, and held him close to her. The couple rejoiced that night along with their close friends, and they swore to treat Wildfire like an equal, and like one of their own.
|{WF}|
“Wintergreen, what have you done?!”
The huge black buffalo called Stronghead was seated in his tent with his daughter, the buffalo child who had rescued Wildfire from his death.
“I couldn’t just leave him, atawaye ki! This little one deserves the right to live!”
Stronghead sighed, like wind impatiently rustling through treetops, “I cannot expect you to understand. I have no wish for him to die, but giving the blessings of our Great Spirit to one of the ponykind is unheard of! We have failed our ancestors by relinquishing our traditions. He has no place among us.”
Wintergreen was indignant. “Just because he isn’t a buffalo does not mean we cannot love him.”
“One day you will understand.”
|{WF}|
Later that night in the tent of Brighteyes and Runningbrook, Wildfire lay in a woven basket, adjacent to a tiny buffalo calf. The calf, whose name was Mountainhoof, lay in a basket of his own. The couple looked down at the pair, proud. Not only because they were now the parents of two little infants, but also because they were showing to their tribe that love does not discriminate between species. The two had always been progressive amongst the other members of their tribe, and when they heard tell that a pony orphan had been brought to the camp, they had agreed they would volunteer to raise it.
“They’re just like brothers!” Brighteyes exclaimed.
“No,” said Runningbrook, placing a hoof on her husband’s shoulder, “They are brothers.”
As Wildfire and Mountainhoof lay sleeping, their hooves met between their baskets.
“You’re absolutely right, tehila.”
|{WF}|
Author's Notes:
Glossary
The native words used occasionally in this story are translated from the Lakota language, a dialect of Sioux.
Pow-wow - a meeting of the most influential members of a tribe, either to come to a decision on an issue or for a religious purpose. Pilamayaye - Thank you atawaye ki - my father Tehila - lover, or more literally, “one I love”
In a clearing in a woods, a light breeze swept through the tall grass. Birds chirped. Bees buzzed. And amongst this serenity, two young creatures were fighting tooth and hoof.
One was a soot-gray earth pony, a colt with a fiery mane of yellow and orange. As such, his opponent - a buffalo - was beating him squarely. They rolled back and forth, punching and grabbing, each trying to position themselves on top. The pony grabbed the buffalo by the horns and flung him away, taking a moment to recompose himself.
“Had enough yet, Blackthorn?” the pony taunted.
“You little runt! That was always the one thing that your old man never taught you - when to quit!”
Blackthorn picked himself up and dusted the dirt off his broad, powerful shoulders. He smoothed back his black hair, appearing the very image of suaveness. He was physically more mature than the pony, and he had a considerable size advantage.
But as the two charged at each other and met again, it was clear that the pony was tenacious in every sense of the word. He was determined to win, and though he took punch after punch, Blackthorn’s words proved true: Wildfire had no idea when to quit.
I need to find a weak spot, Wildfire thought as he battered Blackthorn’s head. His skull is too thick for me to do any real damage.
But Blackthorn didn’t seem to have any weak spots. As Wildfire tried to position himself directly below his opponent to connect with an uppercut, Blackthorn tackled him. Wildfire landed on his chest, with the big buffalo on top of him.
Oh, bucking hell... he thought, knowing what was coming.
Blackthorn wrapped a forehoof around Wildfire’s neck, putting him in a chokehold. But Wildfire refused to call out for mercy. He grabbed at his enemy’s arm, trying to gain some breathing room. He knew it was stupid to try and pit his strength directly against Blackthorn’s, but his pride wouldn’t let him give in.
His vision started to become gray as he gasped for air.
“Blackthorn!”
Wildfire felt the pressure instantly ease as his opponent let go and looked towards where the voice had come from.
“Get off of him right now!” Blackthorn complied, shaking his head in an attempt to smoothen his dark mane, which had grown messy.
“Oh hey Wintergreen!” he said with a grin. “What’s going on?”
“I should ask you the same,” she replied in a disapproving voice.
“Oh, nothing really. Just a bit of playfighting between me and Wild here.”
“Snake,” Wildfire muttered lowly as he got up and dusted himself.
Wintergreen snorted. “Oh is that all? It seemed very real to me. In any case, I have an important message for Wild, so if you would be so kind, please leave now.”
“Really, a message? Who’s it from?” Blackthorn asked, clearly put off by her dismissive attitude towards him.
“Stonehoof. You know, the Chief of our entire tribe? It’s important, so leave!”
“Alright, alright, don’t get your tail in a twist...”
Thank the Spirit for that, Wildfire thought as Blackthorn left. Wintergreen turned to Wildfire with a concerned look. “Are you alright, Wild? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“Of course not!” Wild scoffed, inadvertently spitting out a bit of blood.
“I don’t suppose you’d care to kiss it better?”
Wintergreen rolled her eyes. “Stop that.”
It was worth a shot, I guess. Wintergreen was quite beautiful by buffalo standards. Wildfire and her had been close from the moment Wild was old enough to go out on his own. She was several years older than him, but Wild didn’t exactly see that as a barrier to romance. He turned, and walked over to a patch of sunlight and sat down. “So,” he inquired, “What was that important message from Chief Stonehorn?”
“You know that there never was a message. I saw you two come back here, and I imagined it wasn’t so that you could smell the flowers together.” At this, Wintergreen entered the clearing, admiring the beauty of the place - now that it wasn’t inhabited by young brawlers. “I just can’t stand that awful buffalo. He thinks he is the absolute epitome of smooth. I can’t believe some of the other fillies buy it. Especially when he goes and beats on a helpless thing like you.”
“I am NOT helpless!” Wild protested.
“Listen, it isn’t your fault. You aren’t weak. In fact, I’m sure that by pony standards you’re quite strong. But you can’t outmuscle somebovine who is maturing to be twice your size, regardless of how determined you are.”
At this, Wild sighed and rolled over onto his belly. He propped his head up on his hooves. Wintergreen had always looked out for him. Being the daughter of a prominent elder (as well as being very pretty) gave her enough leverage to get nearly anypony to leave Wild alone. But it certainly didn’t make him any friends.
“Well it’s not like I try to pick fights with him,” he groaned, “he always makes fun of my size.”
“Wild, you’re a pony!”
“An EARTH pony. We’re supposed to be stronger than most!”
“You’re missing the point here. You can’t let what he says get to you. Him making fun of your size, that doesn’t even make sense!”
Wild blew an insect off of his hoof. It’s not nearly as easy as she seems to think it is... If only I could find a partner of my own, then the other steers would show me some respect... He voiced this last thought out loud to Wintergreen as she lay down in the grass beside him.
“Well... Maybe,” she admitted, “But who did you have in mind?”
You, you, you, you, you... he thought, then immediately shoved the thought from his head. Keep your cool, Wild.
“Ah, I don’t know. Nobody is interested in me. I’m too small. My mane is all... Colourful and freaky. I’m a pony!”
“There have got to be some females in the tribe who see past looks!”
Well, there’s always you, but...
“Not at my age,” he told her. They have to be a bit older. Like perhaps... Your age?
“Ah. I see.”
Wintergreen sniffed a flower nearby. She’s so pretty, Wild thought, Is she really that oblivious? She doesn’t even realize that she’s the one who fits all those descriptions...
“You know, there is one buffalo that I think is mature enough to see beyond my differences...”
Wait, what did I just say? Wild thought, trying not to appear as alarmed as he felt.
“Really?” Wintergreen questioned, “Who?”
Bucking hell. Wildfire couldn’t see any reasonable escape route from the trap he had just set for himself. Well, might as well put a little heart into it...
“Oh?” Wintergreen cocked her head at Wild, who had inched slightly closer to her.
“She’s a very insightful and tolerant person, and I think she genuinely cares about me.”
Recognition crept across Wintergreen’s face as she looked into Wild’s eyes, mixed with intrigue as well as trepidation.
She knows. She knows and she isn’t freaking out! Wild’s mind was racing, his heartbeat speeding up. He leant forward until his head was just inches away from hers. Wild saw that she was searching for an answer, and he decided he would rather not hear it.
He kissed her. He didn’t think it could be that hard. Of course, as soon as their lips touched he realized he had no idea what he was doing whatsoever. Luckily it was only a moment before Wintergreen broke away, astonished.
“Wild!” she exclaimed, “What... I don’t...”
Wildfire got up off the ground, disappointed by her reaction. Damn. What have I done? I need to find a way to play this off...
“Oh... Oh,” he sputtered, “I... I am so very sorry about that. I... I don’t know what came over me.”
“Um... Alright...” Wintergreen said, highly unsure of herself.
“You know, that sort of thing just kinda happens to males sometimes. It’s probably just a pony thing...”
Wintergreen still appeared unconvinced, but she accepted his excuse.
“As long as I know that won’t happen again. I mean, I like you and all, but I really think we should just be friends. You’re years younger than me...”
And I’m a scrawny, garish and colourful pony. “Yeah, it’s okay. I understand,” he replied, trying to hide his pain.
As they began to travel back to the Sihasapa camp, Wildfire felt broken inside. But he knew it would do him no good to express this. Though they walked side by side as if nothing had changed, Wild felt as if he was miles away from her.
The morning was chilly and crisp, typical for a late autumn day in these parts. The Sihasapa tribe was on the move, their teepees packed up and loaded on their backs. The herd rumbled through a wide valley that divided a tall mountain range.
Wildfire and his family moved at a leisurely pace at the middle of the group. As he trudged along, Wild tried to entertain himself by studying his surroundings. There was a forest on either side of them that crept up the mountainside, but it was hard to make out details on account of a wispy fog that hung over the valley.
Wild found that grey outlines on a white background became extremely boring, extremely quickly. He turned to Mountainhoof, his older brother.
“Hey, Monty!” whispered Wildfire to his brother, trudging up beside him.
Mountainhoof, hardly awake, mumbled a sleepy “Hmm?” as he turned towards Wild.
“I’m bored. We should run off and do something!”
“I will never understand how you have so much energy. Can’t we just take it easy today?”
“Nope! I think I hear a waterfall or something ahead - last one there’s a rotten hay bale!” Wild yelled back as he flew between the bigger buffalo and ran towards the edge of the forest.
Mountainhoof groaned and shook himself awake. He started after Wild, sprinting to catch up.
Wildfire raced away from the herd and through the forest, feeling the wind in his yellow and orange mane. He glanced over his shoulder to check his pursuer’s progress, and saw that Mountainhoof was trailing far behind. He looked back and -
WHAM!
Wild cried out as stars swam about his head. He had run headlong into a thick branch, and Mountainhoof blew by him in his confusion. Cursing his luck, he chased after his brother, shaking off his dizziness. The sound of rushing water was louder now, and as Wild caught up to Mountainhoof the two pushed their flanks to their limits. The trees that they raced through became dark and lifeless as they proceeded, but in their exertion neither of them quite registered this.
Suddenly they burst out of the woods, the sound of rushing water now loud and clear. A roaring river was dead ahead, and the pair backpedalled furiously to slow themselves. The white water twisted below them like a nest of snakes as they skidded to a stop just inches away from the steep riverbank.
“Huh. Doesn’t look as if either of us is the rotten one,” Mountainhoof mused, staring at the river below. “Bad luck hitting that branch back there, huh?”
Wild didn’t respond.
“Wild?” Mountainhoof said as he turned, “You alrigh-” He stopped short as he saw what had left Wild speechless.
Just next to where they had exited the woods was a burnt-out and ruined wagon.
Wild approached it in awe. It was completely decrepit and blackened, with many of its planks fallen away from the sidings. A few pieces of metal frame still arched across the top, with scraps of burnt and torn canvas hanging from them.
“This looks like it was made by ponies!” Wild exclaimed as he rushed up to it. When he placed a hoof on the aged planks, a tiny cloud of black dust came off of the surface.
“Wait-” Mountainhoof began, but Wild was already climbing in the back.
“Darn, everything in here is totally ruined. This thing is really old,” Wild called out as he inspected the interior. Many of the floorboards had rotted away, and grey ash permeated everything, including the air.
Choking on the dust clouds which arose from the disturbance, Wild easily bucked the lids off of some of the the few charred boxes that remained. He found they were all filled with supplies that had gone bad or fallen into disrepair long ago.
“Wait a minute,” Wild called out, spotting something in the corner under a soot-covered burlap sack. “This could be something.” He lifted the sack to find a small metal box, that looked relatively unharmed, disregarding the ashes that covered it (as well as everything else).
He picked it up, dusted it off, and inspected the exterior. It was roughly circular and had a single ornate latch, which upon further inspection was made of a shiny brass-like metal. It was unlike anything Wild had seen before... Except...
“Well, aren’t you going to open it?” Mountainhoof called, looking into the cart from one of the gaping holes in the side.
“I... I don’t...” Wild stammered as he whirled around, taking in his surroundings in a new light.
“What, you don’t want to? You scared of it or something?”
Wild didn’t say anything, he just hopped out of the cart and walked to the edge of the cliff near the river. He stood there for a long time, just staring at his surroundings.
“Wild, I-”
“Ah, come on, Monty! I was just starting to feel like... Something was coming back to me.”
“Yeah, alright Mister Mystic. Sorry for interrupting your glorious premonition.”
“I’m serious!”
“Right,” Mountainhoof agreed sarcastically, “you were having a life-changing experience, I get it! But we have to get back to the herd before they move on without us, we’ve been here too long.”
Wildfire begrudgingly agreed. Though Mountainhoof’s words were insincere, Wild couldn’t shake the feeling that there was some truth to them. It’s like... I’ve been here before...
Wild absentmindedly tucked the odd little box into a pouch on his saddlebag as the two proceeded at a brisk pace to rejoin the tribe.
|{WF}|
Later that day, just after dusk, Wildfire slipped away from his family into the woods beside where the tribe had made camp. He breathed deeply as he walked. Occasionally he was fond of spending time alone, and walking through the woods was always relaxing.
Presently, he arrived at a small clearing which was bisected by a sizeable stream. He trotted over to drink from the sweet water that typically ran in deep brooks like this one.
As he leaned down towards the river, something fell out of an undone pouch on his bag. It tumbled towards the water’s edge, and Wild quickly grabbed it with his hoof.
Oh...
This...
Wild turned away from the stream and placed the mysterious box upon the grass in the clearing. He distractedly brushed some dust away from it, and once again he was claimed by an odd, vague feeling. A feeling of faded recognition.
Alright, well, I’ve got to open it eventually. I can’t just sit here looking at it!
Wildfire stared at the box. Then he reached a hoof toward it pensively. He opened it -
Wild opened his mouth slightly in confusion.
Inside the box was what looked like... well, junk. There was some wispy grey stuff that crumbled to dust when his hoof touched it, alongside some ancient frayed rope. At the bottom were two odd objects that Wild couldn’t identify at first.
He took the strange items out and inspected them. The first item was an oblong chunk of shiny grey rock. As he held it in his hoof, it was cool and smooth. He saw notches at one end chiseled into its hard surface. Wild couldn’t guess at it’s use, and wondered why it had been kept in the box.
The second object made things a little clearer - was a piece of metal, curved into a C shape. It also had a loop which looked like its purpose was mainly to be attached to a rope or cord - suddenly he realised that the notches in the rock had the same purpose.
Wild had seen something similar before. It was a flint and striker - high-ranking members of the tribe sometimes carried this sort of equipment, albeit much less ornamental. The rock and metal could be stricken together to make sparks, and thus start a fire.
Once again, strange and vague recollections began to assail him, this time with more detail.
The smell of burning wood, sharp crackling noises. Fear. Tremendous heat.
He was afraid. Too afraid to open his eyes, too afraid to cry out.
Wild pictured the caravan in the clearing again, dark impressions of what had happened there reaching into his mind.
He didn’t like it, the way these memories kept invading his head.
I should get rid of this stuff, just forget about it...
Wild turned, and knocked the tinderbox into the river with a forehoof. It tumbled along the riverbed, carried away by the current.
Then he took the flint and steel in one hoof, prepared to rid himself of them in the same way as the box.
Then one last image flared in his mind -
A stallion.
Too brief for him to make out colours or distinct shapes, but it was undoubtedly a pony.
Wild stayed his arm, and lowered his hoof to the ground...
