//------------------------------// // Trembling // Story: I'm Afraid of Changeling (and other short stories) // by Cold in Gardez //------------------------------// The leaves in the forest below shook gently, though there was no breeze flowing through the foothills of the Grand Serpent Mountains. Scootaloo flew in wide circles above the trees. Warm thermals rose from the south-facing hills below, gently buoying her aloft. She could drift like this for hours. The forest may as well not have existed; she could live her entire life, she fancied, among the clouds and sun, neverminding the earth below. And yet… She let out a quiet breath and tucked her wings into a dive. The world grew, and she pulled up just a few dozen meters above the high canopy. The mountains loomed to north, their snow-dusted peaks stabbing angrily at the heavens. The trees whispered to her, quaking in the windless air. Treetips swayed to and fro, and branches swung like pendulums, creaking in complaint. She frowned down at the ceaseless motion, searching for a break. There. A fallen tree left a gap, already closing as the thick underbrush drank the sunlight and crowded upward. She plowed through the soft, young leaves, tearing away brambles and creepers, beating at twigs, until she reached the ground beneath it all. She spat out a few leaves and pushed out of the clearing, into the forest, into the shadows of the dancing trees. She didn’t feel it at first, the swaying. Without any visible horizon, the shifting earth simply felt uneasy to her, like she’d been flying for too long, for years, and forgotten what solid ground was like. But moments stretched into minutes, and the feeling remained, as of a boat on the ocean, bobbing in the swell and trough. A particularly strong tremble shook her legs, clicking the bones in her knees. Tiny stones danced around her hooves. The rustling leaves became a roar, and she closed her eyes to fight off a wave of nausea. Nopony lived in the foothills of the Grand Serpent Mountains. It was a land of constant earthquakes, of ground that never stopped trembling. Nothing built by ponies could withstand the shaking; no crops survived the perpetual landslides and sinking earth. There was only the forest, always falling, always growing. The forest and, allegedly, one pony. Scootaloo ignored her queasy stomach and tilted her muzzle up, sampling the air. Distantly, the ashen scent of a campfire caught her nose, and she began trotting toward it. The treehouse was an improbable thing, suspended above the ground by ropes and wires and hope. The central platform was a rough collaboration of walls and windows, teetering on the edge of collapse, all above a smouldering firepit. Scootaloo stopped a safe distance away. “Hey!” she shouted. “Hey!” Something shifted inside the treehouse, followed by a startled squawk. The building tilted alarmingly. Scootaloo took a careful step back. A window opened (or fell off, she couldn’t quite tell), and out peered a white unicorn with mossy eyes. Sweetie Belle stared down at her visitor, blinked, then scowled. “What do you want?” “Aren’t you a little old for treehouses?” Sweetie snorted and vanished back inside. A moment later a rope flew out, followed by Sweetie, who shimmered down it like a monkey. She trotted up to Scootaloo, still scowling. “I said, what do you want? Apple Bloom sent you, didn’t she?” Scootaloo shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. Don’t tell me you’re still mad.” Sweetie stomped a hoof. “I’m not mad. She’s just stupid!” “Right.” Scootaloo leaned back, taking a moment to view the ramshackle house again. “So, uh, how’s life treating you out here?” “Good. Really good! No stupid ponies, no stupid sisters, and especially no stupid Apple Bloom.” She sniffed. “I love it out here.” “I can tell.” Scootaloo took a step forward and laid her wing across Sweetie’s back. The mare trembled, though whether it was due to the quaking ground or something else eluded her senses. “But, uh, the others kind of miss you.” A tiny frown appeared on Sweetie’s lips. “So they say.” “Yeah.” Scootaloo cleared her throat. “And Apple Bloom says she’s sorry.” Sweetie Belle was silent. She stared at the shifting ground, where tiny grains of sand danced and crept over their hooves. “Welp, that’s it, just wanted to say that.” Scootaloo pulled back and peered up at the trees for a gap. “Gonna get dark soon. Later!” Sweetie blinked at her. “Wait, you’re just leaving?” “Yeah.” Scootaloo ruffled her wings. “Unless, you know, you were thinking of coming.” Sweetie gnawed at her lip. She glanced back at the treehouse, then at Scootaloo. Above them, the trees filled the air with their rustle. Finally, she sighed and smiled. “Let me grab some things.”