//------------------------------//
// The Riverhoof Crop Bandits 
// Story: Whisper Wing 
// by Unicorncob 
//------------------------------//

	I waste no time in stepping out of the Drunken Minotaur, and take a deep whiff of fresh farmland air. One of my eyes narrow as I notice that air contains a hint of cow dung. I’m obviously far too used to the city life. 
Light grey clouds are coating the sky and making me hope it doesn’t rain. Though, I’m not holding my breath.
Now that it’s daytime, I can see Riverhoof for what it really is. It’s a quaint little village, the road being flanked by the few wood and thatch buildings as it passes through. In front of me is a fish stall facing away from the titular river, being operated by an older stallion. It’s like a little rest stop for travellers. The few guards this town has walk around, looking disinterested, while the locals, garbed in old raggedy clothing, go from building to building on their merry way.
The growling and yelling of foals catches my attention, and I see the two colts from earlier batting wooden swords together while grunting insults and obscenities to each other that nopony that age should even know about, nevermind use. But I’m not their mother, so I’m not going to lecture them. The taller colt knocks the sword from his brother’s mouth, and he retorts by tackling him, and they start wrestling on the stone path. As much as I’d love to watch this adorable little fight, I remind myself that I have a job to do.

Find the farm, talk to Carrot Sight--I will never get used to that name--get info, go beat up some bandits, something else, profit.

I allow myself a quick, luxurious stretch before I begin a casual walk down the steps from the tavern porch and make my way through town in the direction of Ponyville. I smile and nod to the villagers as I pass, wanting to keep the guise of an upstanding traveller. 
A couple of cows are grazing in a tiny garden next to a house. I smile and wave at them, and one looks up. “Good morning to you, stranger,” she says in a soft voice.
Always be polite to a cow. They’re nice enough to sacrifice their milk for pony consumption, so the least we can do is be nice back. Say hello, give them nice grass, clean up their waste and such.

After I pass the last building, I assume I’ve exited the town border, and keep an eye out for Carrot Sight’s farm as I walk. A gentle breeze brushes at my mane, causing me to blow a few stray strands out from my eyes.

To my relief, that inn mare wasn’t lying when she said the farm was ‘just out of town’--after ten minutes of walking, I come across a wooden fence bordering a small and rather sorry looking field. Seedlings are popping out of the rough soil, though of what I don’t know. I’m a thief, not a farmer. 
A lone earther stallion with a sandy-brown coat is raking the field. His cutie mark is a pair of crossed carrots. He’s carrying a sack of seeds on his back, and to my extra relief, a large straw hat only letting little strands of his black mane escape onto his head.
No doubt about it--that’s Carrot Sight. He doesn’t look exactly thrilled to be working, but with bandits around stealing your livelihood, I can’t be surprised. But now I’m being paid to fix that.

I lean my hooves on the lowest plank on the fence, my head creeping over the top. “Excuse me, my good pon--”
“Just go ahead and take what ya want, miss,” he interrupts with a sigh, not even looking up from his raking, “ain’t got much left, after yer friends took most o’me crops last week.”
I blink, before speaking again. “Um, no, I’m not a bandit.”
“Trader then? Ain’t got many bits either, bandits made off with ‘em as well.”
“Nope, I actually happen to be here regarding your bandit problem,” I tell him with a smirk. “You’re Carrot Sight, aren’t you? The mare from the Riverhoof inn sent me.”

He pauses his raking and looks up at me with his tired eyes, and actually manages something of a smile. Looks like that got his attention.
“Spring Tulip sent ya?” he asks, dropping his rake and trudging toward me. “A real sweetheart, that one. Always lookin’ out fer everypony. So she told ye about the bandits?”
“More mentioned them,” I say with a roll of my hoof. “She said to ask you for info.”
“Information’s all I got on ‘em, miss,” Carrot Sight admits sadly. “And I’m afraid it ain’t much. All I know is they come round here every couple’a weeks, maybe a month or so, and help themselves to all the crops I got. Any bits I get, they help themselves to that too. We call ‘em… the Riverhoof Crop Bandits.” He says the name with an air of mystery, dramatic pause and all.
I can’t help but look at him incredulously. “That’s what you call them? Just, the Riverhoof Crop Bandits?”
“Well, they’s comin’ to Riverhoof and stealin’ crops, right?” he looks at me like I just asked him what a cutie mark is. “So, that’s what we call ‘em.”

Clearly, I’m dealing with minds that rival the scholars of Canterlot out here.

I tilt my head and cock an eyebrow as I realise something. “Wait, if your crops are being stolen, how are you making money?”
“Oh, I get a lil’ sum every month or so,” he explains, “from the Equestria Aggravated Burros.”
I stare at him for a few moments, before hazarding the obvious guess. “You mean the Agriculture Bureau?”
Now it’s Carrot Sight’s turn to cock an eyebrow. “That’s what I said. Aggravated Burros.” 
Not really wanting to get into an argument over farming groups and angry donkeys, I just discard the matter. “Carry on.” 
“Anyway, they’s always comin’ from Ponyville way, but they can’t be comin’ from the town itself. Far too rough. Though, I heard about a cave on the way. Said to be a great hidin’ spot for bandits and thieves.”
“Bit Pincher’s Hollow,” I blurt out without thinking, then clear my throat as he eyes me up curiously. “Um, I’ve heard about the place as well. Good chance they’re hiding out there. I can go take care of them for you.”
His eyes warm up a bit, and I think he’s starting to tear up. “Oh, if you could, miss, I’d be mighty grateful. But, I’m not sure what I could give ya in return…”
“Oh, Spring Tulip’s already paying me,” I assure him. “No need to worry about that.”

Besides, you don’t look like you have anything worth taking.

“What a darlin’,” he sighs, though this one being more fond. “Thank you kindly, miss. If ya take care of them thieves, Riverhoof’ll be in yer debt for as long as we live.”

Given the state of your food, I’m not holding my breath. “Think nothing of it, sir. Oh, and call me Cherry Wine.”



	

The path toward Ponyville starts leading into a rather densely forested area. Not as deep as the one outside Forthüf, but a great hiding spot for thieves and highwayponies.
A smirk crosses my muzzle at the thought. This is my kind of place. All of these trees to hide behind, the rustling leaves to mask your hoofsteps, the darkening branches to make you no more than a shadow. This is definitely thieves’ territory.

I’ve been here many times before. Goldeyes used to take me here for pickpocket training. I learned how to move with the leaves, embrace the shadows, and make my hooves a blur as they emptied the bit purse. And when the day was done and I was exhausted, we’d go to Bit Pincher’s Hollow and rest. 
My smirk turns into a smile as I walk off the path and weave through the trees, knowing the route like the back of my hoof. Memories of Bit Pincher’s Hollow return, and Goldeyes returns to my memory. 
He told me how it was named after one of the greatest pickpockets in Equestrian history, and how he had found the cave in the cliffside and turned it into his hideout. Supposedly, he was one of the first Nightwinds. It’s a shame how he met his end after having one mead too many and being dared to rob a passing soldier convoy.

I poke my head into a clearing, and look at the tall rock wall. A path inclines on the cliffside, leading up to a cave entrance. I can see a table, occupied by a rough looking unicorn stallion. On the top of the path is a tall earther mare, pretty broad-shouldered and carrying a pretty mean looking battleaxe on her back.
I return to the dark cloak of the trees before they have a chance to spot me. I put down my saddlebags and start to change into my real self, while formulating a plan.

Okay, two guards in front. No idea how many will be in hearing range, so I’ll have to take them out quietly. I could use my bow to take out the mare, then when the stallion goes to investigate, I’ll give him an arrow for his troubles before he can sound an alarm. Then I can--

“Hey, who are you?!” The mare growls from the path. A cold chill creeps down to my hooves. Had she seen me?!
“I am here in the name of the good ponies of Ponyville!” a stallion’s voice bellows. “Your days of terrorising the farmlands are over, bandits!”

What in Accipere’s name…?

I poke my head back out to take a look. At the foot of the rocky path is a stallion, rather large and broad, clad in steel armour and sporting a large scabbard on his side. His dark brown coat makes his short but wild blond mane stand out. His eyes are narrowed with determined warning.
The mare scoffs and grabs her axe. “Another ‘hero’, eh? C’mon, Dagger, let’s show ‘em what we do to heroes!” 

The armoured stallion cranes his neck and grabs the hilt of his sword, swinging it out with a loud shink. He charges at the mare, who has her axe bearing down on him. With almost no effort, he swings and the axe bounces off the sword, causing her to stumble back. He uses the moment to swing his hind legs around and give her a swift, hard buck, sending her arcing through the air and into the rock wall. She flops onto the ground next to Dagger, presumably knocked right out.

I blink slowly. That is one strong stallion.

Dagger sits up, and cranes his neck to his side to take out a little iron knife. Probably where he got his name. I can’t help but snicker as the smaller stallion eyes up the warrior’s larger sword, then promptly drop his knife while screaming and scampering for his life down the path. Seems size does matter.
The stallion scoffs and struts on, disappearing into the darkness of the cave entrance. Clearly a mercenary hired by some hoity-toity Ponyville higher-up.

And then I realise. That stallion just walked into the cave with the intent of wiping out the bandits.

I pull on my hood and muzzle cover before zipping out from the trees and following him inside.

That’s my twenty bits you’re messing with!



	

I smile as I sneak through Bit Pincher’s Hollow. Every rock is as familiar to me as the Nightwind hideout back in Gaskin. The lit torch sconces help, but I know every step of this place. 
I leap into every shadowed hiding spot and eye up the damp tunnel for traps, just like Goldeyes taught me to do when we used to come here. He’d plant bear traps and snares masterfully in the darkness, and I had to get to him without setting off a single one.
But it's clear the Riverhoof Crop Bandits--a snort escapes my muzzle--are no master thieves. Traps laid out in plain sight, already set off. I assume either by that stallion thundering around in his little anti-cave bandit crusade, or the bandits themselves because, well, they just seem that stupid.

Bodies of bandits, unconscious or otherwise, litter the cave as I carry on. Clearly this warrior likes to be thorough, and hasn’t missed a single one yet. And from the echoing of yells and clashing steel from up ahead, he’s obviously not done. If I’m fast, I can at least catch up to him before he takes out the leader.
But then, I’m always fast. Deciding there’s no more need to be stealthy, I zip through the murky cave. If I know bandit leaders, and I’ve seen a few, I’ll likely find myself in the main sanctum at the end of the tunnel.

And once again, my intuition comes through. After passing a few more bodies--which had been looted of their valuables, including bits, much to my growing frustration--the tunnel finally opens up into a wide room. The lit torches show some bits of wooden furniture, like drawers, cupboards and chests and a bed, along with some sleeping sacks strewn here and there. A large pile of vegetables is in a corner, which explains where those went. Absolute geniuses all over the Ponyville area, apparently.
A large chest sits at the end in a corner, where the warrior and a pony I assume to be the bandit leader are clashing swords. He’s a big earth pony, just about smaller than the steel-clad stallion, and wearing some fur armour. His iron sword is really putting up a good fight, despite the larger fighter being much more coordinated and focused, backing the bandit leader up to the wall.

That pony’s no mere son of a baker--he’s been trained. 
And he’s about to rob me of my bounty if I don’t stop him! I remind myself.

I reach into my saddlebag of holding and take out three pieces of wood held together by steel hinges. I push a button on the centre one, and the hinges unfold to reveal a curved staff with a tightened rope attached. 
My trusty bow. Made adjustable for convenience’s sake. It may be a saddlebag of holding but it does have a limit.

I reach back in and pull out a leather quiver, stuffed with iron arrows. I pull one out and set it into the bow, pulling back and aiming for between the two stallions’ heads. Just a warning shot.

Hawk Shot’s mantra repeats itself in my head. Breathe in, aim, breathe out, loose.

The steel stallion knocks the iron sword away, leaving the bandit leader defenseless.

I inhale, steady my aim.

The bandit leader is knocked down by a swift hoof to the jaw.

I aim for right between their heads.

The warrior points his sword and delivers some final words.

I exhale, and fire.

The arrow flies straight and true, and embeds itself into the stone wall. The ponies blink and look at it, then look in my direction.
I tuck the bow beneath my foreleg and spread my wings, hovering over to them.

“What is this?” The steel stallion demands. “A pegasus clad in black? Highly suspicious.”
“A Nightwind!” The bandit leader gasps, gawking at my armour like he’d just been hoof-delivered the crown of Princess Platinum. “I must be dreaming… I’ve never seen one in real life!”
“Trust me, this is real,” I tell him, while nonchalantly walking between them to the wall and clamping my teeth hard on my arrow to try and yank it back out. “Now, I’ll be dealing with you and taking a good bounty.”

I grunt and yank harder, but the thing won’t budge. Stupid, stubborn arrow.

“What’d you say?” asks the bandit, which makes me realise that talking while trying to pull an arrow out of a rock wall with my mouth isn’t the smartest idea. Master thief, I am. Genius, I am not.

“I… urg, said…” I grunt, still trying to get this Phauste-forsaken arrow out of the wall. The warrior stallion walks over, wraps his hoof around it and effortlessly pulls it out, dropping me to the ground with it. I quickly stand back up and slot the arrow in its quiver. “Thank you. What I said was, I’ll be dealing with you and taking a good bounty.”
“Oh, marvelous,” the bandit sighs, “two weirdos after my head.”
“Well, we don’t have to be violent about it,” I go on, and look at him, “we thieves look out for each other, right? So what I’m suggesting is, you knock it off with the crop robbing, maybe stick to holding up some traders and dumb rich ponces who happen by the main road, you get your fix of looting and money, I don’t have to take a fellow, if inferiorly trained thief’s head. How’s that sound?”

The answer comes in the form of a wet shnk and the bandit leader’s head rolling off his shoulders and down a little incline in the dirt.
The two of us left just watch it for a few moments, before I narrow my eyes at the warrior, who cleans his bloodied sword on the headless horse’s fur armour.

I watch him for a few moments before talking again. “I get the sneaking suspicion you don’t have many friends.”
He cocks an eyebrow before sheathing his sword. “But that was a bandit leader! He was leading a band of criminals on terrorising the local farms!”
“They were stealing a few carrots and some bits, you nancy.”
“Crime is crime!” he decides, then eyes me suspiciously. “Wait, he called you a Nightwind. That means you are also a criminal!” 

He promptly draws his sword and starts stalking toward me, while I fix him with my best ‘Oh come on’ face.

Time for my quick thinking to get to work. “Hold on there, big boy. Keeping me alive is in your best interest.”
“And why is that, thief?” He spits the last word distastefully.
“Because firstly, the Nightwinds are Equestria’s greatest guild of thieves, and don’t take kindly to one of their own being slaughtered. Word of you killing me will reach them eventually, and trust me when I say they’ll take more than just your bit purse.”
He slows to a stop, which I take as a signal to continue. “Secondly, I see profit in us working together. You’re strong and bold, I’m fast and sneaky. We can help each other.”
“I have no need for a sneak-thief,” he growls.
“Do you?” My smirk creeps on beneath my muzzle cover. “How many ruins and caves have you explored? How many chests, doors, and other locks holding various goodies have actually managed to withstand your beating it senseless with your sword? Don’t give me that look, I know your type. So the way I see it, you help me with any big fighters and monsters that come our way, and I help you break into chests for loot and other nice things. Sounds fair, right?”

His eyebrows furrow as he takes my offer into consideration. “Well, my brother’s shop could use some more bits and supplies… I trust we’re in agreement not to betray one another?”
I put my hoof over my heart. “I may have done many bad things in my short life, but going back on my word is yet to be among them. You keep me safe, I keep you loaded.”

Another few moments of silence, before he decides to sheath his sword and extend a tree stump-sized hoof in my direction. “A deal, then. My name is Stalwart Shield.”
“Whisper Wing.” I bump my hoof against his, while a little voice in my head thanks me for taking the route that doesn’t have this monstrous limb coming down on my skull.

“Okay,” I hop over to the chest and lift it open, “let’s clear this place out of any ill-gotten items. Like bits and jewels and such.” I remember Goldeyes used to keep all our loot in here when he took me for training. I felt so proud having my poxy bits being part of a proper thief’s loot horde.
Stalwart starts going through the bandit’s fur armour, taking some loose change and bits of ore. “And return them to their rightful owners, yes?”
“Pfft, naturally,” I scoff as I pocket the many jewels, coins and jewellery, “as soon as someone claims the bits and jewels we have, we’ll give them right back.”

To my absolute shock, he nods with satisfaction and turns to walk to the tunnel leading back out. “Shall we make our way outside, then?”

I shut the chest with a clump and hover to him. “After you.”

With this idiot on my side, I’ll be back home in no time.