//------------------------------// // Origins: The Wolf // Story: Truthseeker // by RB_ //------------------------------// Octavia stomped down the cobbled Canterlot road, her cello strapped to her back and her bowtie hanging limp and loose from her neck. The light of the full moon overhead added to that of the streetlamps, illuminating the street and the white-painted buildings on either side of it. “Ungrateful pissants,” she hissed to the cobbles. “Years of practice, of climbing the social ladder, of making the right connections, and all of it ruined in an instant…” She spun about and looked to the castle high above. “This was my night!” she snarled. “Mine!” Her hoof came down hard on the cobblestones, a final percussive punctuation to her outburst. She immediately recomposed herself. “Now now, Octavia, that wasn’t very ladylike. You wouldn’t want to make any more of a fool of yourself tonight, would you?” Still, she thought, if I ever see that pink pony again, it’ll be to play the Pony Polka at her funeral— A scratching sound on the stones behind her caught her ears, interrupting the thought. Octavia blanched. She quickly turned around. “Erm… excuse me, I’m dreadfully sorry about that…” But the street was empty. “And now you’re hearing things—“ She stopped. “How long have I been talking to myself?” She didn’t get the chance to answer her own question as another noise echoed around her, this time from her side. She spun to the left and was greeted by an alley, swathed in shadow save for a pair of glinting lights which she supposed were eyes. Oh, sod decorum. “Now listen here!” she said, “I’ve had a very long night and I am not in anywhere near the mood for jokes, so if you think this is funny, you can kindly sit on my hoof and—” A low growl reverberated out of the alley. The twin lights grew closer, and soon Octavia could see that they were eyes—but not those of a pony. She took a step backwards. “S-stay back!” A long, furry snout poked into the light. A pair of jaws opened wide, sharp canines shining in the moonlight. Octavia screamed— —and the beast was upon her, faster than she could blink. It tackled her onto her back, her cello crushed to splinters beneath their combined weight. The beast—a wolf, though the size of a fully-grown pony—laid a paw upon her barrel, pinning her beneath it and forcing the air from her lungs. Choking, Octavia fumbled around with a free hoof even as the wolf’s jaws descended towards her throat. Her leg brushed against a stray piece of her instrument, and, grabbing it in her fetlock with years of practice from her bow, she swung it against the beast’s head. The thin wood shattered against its ear, stunning the wolf for just a moment—but it wasn’t enough. With a snarl, the beast turned its head and sank its jaws into her leg. Octavia screamed as muscle tore and teeth scraped bone. The beast began to pull. Octavia screamed harder. And then… nothing. Octavia looked up through tear-blurred eyes. A pair of white hooves had appeared, one on each jaw, prying them off of her leg. With a gutted shout, the beast was heaved off of her and sent flying several meters backwards, landing in a whining heap of fur. Something stepped between her and the wolf. To Octavia’s clouded eyes, it looked like a strip of neon blue against white. It hissed. Octavia curled up around her ruined leg, clenching her eyes shut. The sounds of a skirmish erupted behind her, but she was beyond caring. Something landed on the cobbles next to her. A hiss. An impact. A whine. Footfalls, leading away. She cried as something lifted her into the air. Let’s get you to a hospital. She felt herself being dropped onto a warm, fuzzy surface. Oof, that’s a bad leg—good thing I just ate! Alright, here we go… Octavia blacked out. ───── A week passed before Octavia opened her eyes again. When she did, it was to the cold ceiling of a hospital—and the crying face of her mother. Her recovery was swift, miraculously so (as several of the doctors would often attest). Within a week of waking, she was given a clean bill of health and sent on her way. For a time, her life returned to normalcy. And then, almost half a month after her attack, she awoke in the middle of the night to a tapping at her apartment’s window. Octavia rolled out of bed, grumbling something about errant pegasi. She took a moment to assume a more dignified, yet still disgruntled demeanor, and then flung open the curtains. Hey there! “Who are you and what do you want?” Well, what I really want right now is for you to open your window—my legs are getting tired, and I’m freezing my fuzzy butt off out here! And the name’s Vinyl Scratch! Maybe you’ve heard of me? Octavia frowned. “Most certainly… not…” Actually, the more she thought about it, there was something familiar about the white and electric-blue mare. “Didn’t… didn’t you used to play the flute? In the Fillydelphia Orchestra?” Vinyl’s eyebrow raised. That was, like, sixty years ago. “Right, right, I must be thinking of somepony else…” No no, that was me, I’m just surprised; usually nopony remembers that far back. Or the name of the principal flute player. It’s a thankless position. “I grew up on my father’s recordings of the orchestra.” Oh! Neat! Always nice to meet a fan. Soooooo… can I come in? Because you live on, what, the thirteenth floor? She looked down. Yeah, that looks like thirteen to me. Also, that was a terrible, terrible idea. Why do you need to live so high up? Somewhat bewildered, Octavia reached forward and undid the latch, letting the windows swing open and Vinyl swing in with a muffled thud as her hooves hit the carpet.  I mean, we’re already on a mountain, you’d think that would be high enough already. She looked around. Heeey, nice place! Octavia, meanwhile, was looking at something else. “You’re a unicorn,” she said. Well, yeah. Unless I sprouted a pair of wings since last time I checked. “You mean to tell me you climbed thirteen floors up the sheer side of my apartment building?” Yeah. “Why would you not just take the stairs?” Dramatic effect; it makes what comes next easier to swallow. Vinyl cast a glance downwards. Your leg’s looking a lot better, by the way. And then it clicked. “It’s you!” Octavia gasped. “You were the one who—” Saved you from being turned into a chewtoy? Yep, that was me! Vinyl smirked. You’re welcome, by the way. And suddenly, Vinyl’s face grew gravely serious, a change so abrupt it caught Octavia even further off guard than she already was. Now, you might want to sit down, she said. This is the part the window was for.