The birds have gone silent, the sunlight obscured by thick clouds. You are walking alone beneath the tall, hoary firs and cedar trees, your steps methodical and languid. As a lone morning dove calls out in the distance, its song echoing through the quiet sanctuary of the forest, your mind is elsewhere.
Not long ago you stood below the dais of your queen. In a cavern deep underground, in a dark chamber illumined by pulsing nodes of green light, in a place long forgotten by the inhabitants of Equestria, you and your brethren gathered to listen as she apprised you all of her plan. You remember how imperious she looked as she sat perched upon her throne of blackened rock, and you could feel her pride. Her hope.
It was the same hope you had felt as you descended upon Canterlot, the pink shield shattering into millions of indistinguishable pieces. The elation had surged through you then, but there was an iota of something else: sorrow. As the cold mountain air ripped past you, your mind was cast back to that earlier time as a nymph. You remembered the joy you felt then. But you saw the ponies in the cobblestone streets below, some running frantically for shelter, some frozen in abject fear, unable to do aught but stare as thousands of black, winged beasts descended down upon them. You could feel their confusion, their terror. What had they done to deserve this? Where were their princesses, their protectors?
You remember Chrysalis teaching you that ponies were nought more than fodder for your kind, to be hunted and deceived – their emotions to be drained until they were living husks of their former selves. You had seen ponies captured, had been in those feeding chambers where ponies were dragged, either unconscious or kicking and screaming, to be cocooned in the green feeding pods that lined the cavern walls. It wasn’t a philosophy you agreed with, but you had always held your tongue – you saw first-hoof what was done to dissenters.
With a sigh, you turn back.
By the time you return to the cottage, it’s well past midnight and the moon gleams in the star-speckled sky, casting a pallid, phantasmal light over the woods. Upon your back you carry a bundle of fish and an assortment of green leaves and berries.
From one mullioned window, you can see the saffron glow of the fireplace and the bleary flickering of candlelight emanating from within. You step inside, seeing the silhouette of the guard sitting in front of the open wood stove. He glances obliquely at you, his face limned by the orange light. He sees you, then quietly turns back to the stove. You set the bundle down on the cot and take a few leaves. Hesitantly, you amble over to the pony and, with even more hesitance, nudge him on the shoulder.
You offer a faint smile and hold up the leafage. He glares at you, then your offering, then growls and shoves you away, causing your magic to falter, dropping the food on the ground. Folding back your antennae, you lower your head and pick the leafage back up, plodding over to the bed where you sit down and take a couple of fish. As you begin gnawing on them, the stallion glances over with a look of disgust and rolls his eyes. A few moments later his stomach grumbles, and again you proffer the leafage. He grudgingly concedes, taking a large frond with a hoof and stuffing it into his mouth.
The two of you sit quietly, listening to the sounds of the crackling flames and the distant cadence of crickets and tree-frogs. After a few minutes he stands up with a groan, ambling over to the bed. He takes one look at it and turns to you with an accusatory glare. You offer a shrug. Grumbling to himself, he walks over to the corner and slumps onto the ground, resting his chin on his hooves.
He cracks an eye open and watches you for a while. Suspicion emanates off of him like a cloud, imbued with anger and a trace amount of fear. You can sense his wariness, much the same as you can descry the dancing flames within the hearth and feel their heat. Sighing, you lock the stove door shut and turn away, stepping outside.
The moon is nigh full tonight, and the forest shines in the aethereal twilight, and the trees cast black shadows over the hills and valleys – darkness caressing the light. The river whispers nearby, and a zephyr passes overhead, rustling the leaves in the trees. You limp your way down to the stream and wade in until the water comes up to your withers.
A long time ago your hive travelled north to the far unknown, past the furthest boundaries of the Crystal Empire, and further still. Searching for a new home, pining for the salvation that had always eluded your kind. But there was nothing to the north.
Despite this, your hive stayed a while in the frozen wastes far beyond the last vestiges of civilization. Away from those that would pursue and persecute you, sending gatherers miles away, who would always return with just enough love for you to survive. It was not a sustainable way of life, and soon you returned to the warmer climes of the south.
And yet no matter where you resided, whether in the midst of pony-kind or sequestered from them, the starvation marched infallibly on, claiming more and more lives as time had passed. You had seen your queen once before all this, stalwart as she commanded her changelings, guiding them towards a brighter future.
But you remember most vividly of all the image of her lying at the base of her throne, the bodies of the deceased around her; you heard her wails, and you felt her pain resonating within your heart – echoed by the hivemind, shared by those who were still alive, who were growing fewer with each passing day.
The gelid water flows past you, and you wonder where she is now. You close your eyes and call out to her. You can hear the phantom of your voice echoing out across the void, and then...nothing. The hivemind is silent; more quiet than the black nothingness above.
After you’ve shaken yourself dry, you return inside. You can hear the stertorous breathing of the guard. He shivers, curling up tighter. You bring the blanket over, draping it over him gently so he doesn’t wake. Afterwards you hobble over near to the stove, laying down and closing your eyes.
In the morning you wake to the querulous chittering of a squirrel outside. You feel something lying on top of you, and slowly you crane your head around to see the wool blanket covering your body. With a simper, you carefully push yourself to your hooves and yawn, trying to shake the languor from your legs. Your injured limb doesn’t ache as much as yesterday, but putting pressure on it sends pinpricks up your leg. You decide to keep it off of the ground for now.
Light gray clouds blanket the sky, patches of silver shining through. The air feels humid, and there is no wind.
You find the guard by the stream, splashing water onto his face. He casts a sidelong glance at you as you walk up next to him, then resumes what he’s doing. Looking over, you can see the gash across his brow. It looks bad, and from where you’re standing you can smell a faint trace of decay starting to set in.
He looks at you and takes a step back, though he is more curious than afraid, now. You glance at his wound and take another step forwards, motioning for him to stand still. He glares at you as you get just a little too close; you can feel the tension radiating off of him in waves. Stopping where you are, you lift your nose and sniff at the wound.
After a moment you draw back with a frown. It’s infected.
He looks at you inquisitively, then turns away and begins donning his armor. You place a hoof on his shoulder, causing him to glare at you again. You wince, then nod towards the open gash, biting your lip. The guard raises a brow at you, then takes his helmet and holds it up to his face, examining the injury in the helm’s gold-tinted reflection. He sighs, then turns the helmet, placing it onto his head. His gaze becomes distant, and suddenly you get an idea.
With a flicker of your green magic, you snatch the helmet away from him. He blinks, then looks at you with a befuddled expression. You don the helmet and smirk, and after a moment he sighs, chuckling softly. He plods over to you, taking the helmet off of you and putting it back on his head.
You look at the cabin, then into the depths of the forest. You point with a hoof into the weald, causing the guard to tilt his head. You gently touch near his wound, then motion towards the woods. For additional emphasis, you trace the shape of a cross in the dirt. He glances at your crude drawing, then out into the wilderness. After a moment he nods, fastening the straps on his armor. He begins plodding away from the cabin, and you’re quick to join him.
Before you get very far, you turn, looking over your shoulder. As you do so, the sun slides out from behind the clouds, illuminating the cabin and the grove around it in a soft yellow light. Watching, you can almost see back through the passages of time.
You can just barely see the phantom of a young earth pony in a straw hat, toiling away as he hammers the siding into place one board at a time. He vanishes, then he reappears by the old tree-stump, propping logs onto it, chopping them into quarters – preparing for a long winter. Years later, you can see him sitting outside by a picnic table. He is laughing and smiling, and he has friends there with him, passing a drink around the table as they confer and share stories of love and life. After this memory fades, he hobbles out of the door of the cabin, a wizened pony with deep wrinkles lining his face. He wearily looks up in your direction, causing your breath to catch in your throat. With a smile, he raises a hoof and waves at you. You hesitantly return the gesture, feeling a pang of sadness as you do so.
A cloud slides across the sun, causing the light to fade – and the illusion is gone. You start slightly as the guard nudges you on the shoulder. He motions towards the woods, and you sigh, nodding in response. The two of you walk away, leaving the cabin behind.
The rain has been coming down for most of the journey, and after several hours of wandering there is still no civilization in sight. The two of you plod on through the muck, wincing as thick drops of rain drip down through the forest canopy, giving you no respite from the miserable conditions. You sniffle, and look over to see the guard staring down at the ground, dragging his hooves through the mud. There is a nearby outcropping of rock that might offer shelter, and you nudge him, pointing towards it.
It’s wet underneath the outcropping, with trails of rain streaming over and down the roof of the shelter. The two of you huddle into the middle where it’s relatively dry, shivering, teeth chattering. He leans against you.
You both sit there for a while, gazing out at the brume-cloaked world beyond. As you do, you realise that it’s been a while since you last fed on anypony’s emotions. You can feel the hollowness gnawing away inside of you. And then you notice the warmth of the stallion sitting next to you. It’s nigh inebriating, and your mouth waters at the thought of draining him of every last scintilla of emotion. And then that thought causes you to recoil in disgust.
He looks at you curiously as you draw away from him. You turn your head shamefully, refusing to meet his gaze. He nudges you gently, tilting his head to the side. With a shake of your head, you turn away, laying down in the dirt and curling up, clutching your hooves to your stomach.
After a long while of hearing nothing but the incessant downpour and the steady breathing of your companion, you hear him draw a sharp breath. You crane your head to see, and he motions off into the bleary world beyond. You pull yourself up to a sitting position and look, and can just barely make out something moving in the woods.
It’s a light.
Looking into the brume, you can see it waving back and forth slowly, side to side, flickering with each movement. You get to your hooves and follow the guard as he starts off towards it. When you get closer, you can see that the light’s emanating from a lantern attached to a covered wagon via a long wooden pole. Two mares, one white and the other crimson, are out in front dragging the cart along a track through the miry woods.
The guard calls out to them, and their gazes snap up towards the two of you. They slow down to a halt. At first you can feel confusion as the guard approaches, and then as you step out from behind the brush, you can sense their trepidation as they look upon you. Limping forwards, you don’t feel very intimidating. The guard takes off his helmet, showing them the gash across his forehead. He then nods towards you. You glance at him, then at the ponies, then hold up your injured limb for them to see. That seems to allay them for now.
The two of you are brought around the wagon, where the white-furred mare climbs up into the back, disappearing behind the flaps of canvas. You hear boxes being shifted around, glass clinking, and then after a minute she waves for you both to enter.
It’s warmer inside. An oil lamp hangs from the bows above, illuminating the wagon’s interior in a pallid amber glow. Looking around, you can see several wooden boxes, piles of linen and other fabrics, and barrels packed with wheat grain, apples, and corn. You sit down near a pile of crates, happy to be out of the rain. The mare smiles at the guard, then glances at you nervously. He looks at her sternly, causing her to feign a smile in your direction.
Nearby you see a rectangular box made of mahogany with a clasp on the front. She pops it open, revealing several square-shaped repositories containing glass bottles. The bottles are a deep burgundy, and you can’t discern what’s inside. She extricates one of these and grabs a nearby cloth, popping out the cork and setting it down. A moment later the smell hits you, and it takes everything in your power to not keel over. She looks at you and offers an apologetic smile, then wets the cloth with the bottle’s contents. She lightly daubs the guard’s brow with the cloth, causing him to wince and groan in pain. You look at him with concern, resting a hoof on his side. He sighs and grins at you. You smile back, feeling a pang of hunger.
The mare finishes her work, setting the cloth aside. She looks at you, then your mangled leg, biting her lip. The flap opens up, the sound of rain following. With a nervous glance at you, the crimson mare shuffles up into the back of the wagon, the flap falling shut behind her. She takes a cloth off of a hook above and uses it to dry herself off, shivering from the cold. Then, noticing the three of you are soaking wet, immediately opens a box and tosses a few extra to you. You catch yours with your face, garnering a few laughs.
After you’re all dried up, the white mare takes a roll of cloth and wraps it around the guard’s forehead. He nods in thanks, placing his helmet back on. The four of you sit huddled there, eyeing each-other as the rain beats down heavily above.
Eventually the white mare turns her attention to your injured limb. You wince as she touches a hoof to it, sending a jolt of pain up your foreleg and into your shoulder. She draws back slightly, but then shuffles closer for a better look. She gently touches a hoof to the same spot, causing you to clench your teeth – glaring at her. A tear rolls down your cheek, and she sighs and turns away, pulling something off of the wall.
She holds it up, and in the dim light you can see that it’s a map of the surrounding area. She points with a hoof to a small, dotted line leading through the woods. Further to the northwest, in an area where the trees have been cleared away, there are depictions of several buildings near a river. A town.
Your eyes widen at the sight, and you vigorously shake your head. The mare looks at you and sighs, and the guard rests a hoof on your shoulder. You whimper lightly as she sets the map down. After a pause, the crimson mare gesticulates, making an erratic motion in front of her face with her hooves. You raise a brow at her, and then she lifts a mirror to you. You can see your reflection, your emaciated form, your haggard face – your deep blue eyes. She then takes the lantern off its hook, holding it in front of the mirror, obscuring your visage in the flickering flame. She shifts the mirror slightly to the left. When she moves the lantern away, you cannot see your own reflection, but the reflection of the guard sitting next to you.
You realise what she’s getting at, and you sigh, shaking your head. With a hoof, you motion to your stomach, then to your heart. It’s been too long since you’ve last supped on the emotions of a pony. You can’t shapeshift without that energy – and if you forced yourself, you’d likely die. She looks at you for a moment, then nods, replacing the lamp.
The two mares make to go outside, but the guard nudges the crimson one on the shoulder before she can leave. She looks at him inquisitively, and he touches a hoof to her yoke, motioning to himself. She shakes her head, glancing at you before stepping outside.
He turns and sits back down. You gaze at the map lying upon the crate-top, trying to suppress the rising panic inside of you. After a minute the wagon shifts, and peering out the back you can see the path slowly but surely starting to move away. The panic sets in again, and you begin fidgeting, getting up and moving towards the exit.
The guard wraps a foreleg around your barrel, stopping you from going any further. You try to shove him away, but he only holds tighter, drawing you near. You relent with a whimper, gazing out the back of the wagon – the drenched forest slowly passing you by.
You close your eyes and listen to his breathing, to the steady trundling of the wagon’s wheels – to the creaking of the wagon as it shifts back and forth. You can hear the susurrus of the lantern’s flame as it flickers and burns, can hear the heartbeat of the stallion as your head rests against his chest. And you can feel the vacuity inside of your heart, pining for the warmth of a pony’s love.