//------------------------------// // The bitch is stitched // Story: Dogged Determination // by kudzuhaiku //------------------------------// Invincible, our heroine marched ever-onwards after a successful campaign that established her superiourity. She had fought against impossible odds, taking on vast armies, armies whose numbers were greater than the stars above. Warlord Ketsueki had carved a mighty swath through her enemies, carving the words of her epic deeds upon their very souls, and she had somehow done so without taking a scratch. Not a scratch! An entire army dispatched without a scratch. Shēdo paused, her matted-over tail sagging. One paw clutched her side, which was hot, burning as though it was filled with fire, and she could feel a great flood of liquid sloshing about just beneath her skin. Conifer’s nose pressed against her, it was cool and brought her a little much needed comfort. It was getting harder to walk, it was, and there was something very wrong with her. Warlord Ketsueki, a wise, cunning, and canny warrior, was absolutely brilliant in her campaign. Using smoke and fire, she forced the enemy from their fortifications and then met them by the score upon the field of battle, where she cut them down, severing heads, limbs, and intimate extremities. Yeouch! What a fight it was! What a battle! Arrows flew through the air like great flocks of birds, but our heroine was little more than a slippery shadow cloaked in darkness. “I dying, Conifer… Shēdo sorry…” No, no, no! Listen to the narrative… not a scratch! Untouched! Warlord Ketsueki destroyed her foes and everything is fine. It’s impolite to argue with the narrator! Haven’t we discussed this? It’s really very rude to contradict the narrator when he is trying to tell a story. Your story, no less. Clutching her side, the thin, fevered skin tore and a torrent of foul-smelling hot liquid came oozing out. It soaked her blood-encrusted paw and ran down her side, the horrendous stench burning her eyes and making her feel faint. As more and more fluid came gushing out, she could feel a hollow place beneath the skin, the pocket that had been filled with decay. “Shēdo?” Conifer’s voice sounded foalish, terrified, and panicked. Reaching out with her other paw, she placed it on Conifer’s back and then tried to look at him while her vision doubled, tripled, and then there were far too many zebras to count. At least three. Hind legs quaking, she lost control of her bowels and a foul, runny sludge ran down the inside of her thighs for the second time this day. This sickness, whatever it was, would be her undoing. Cramps of the worst sort wracked her insides and she doubled over as her backside exploded with lava-like discharge. “Shēdo, how could you?” Limey’s voice was strained to the point of breaking. “You’re ruining the story. My story. This is not how a heroic tale is supposed to end.” “I so sorry.” It was a struggle to speak, but it was nothing compared to the battle to remain conscious. “Shēdo only one dog. Took on too much. Too many. I make mistake. Now, I suffer.” “Shēdo, no.” Conifer’s voice was pleading and he remained at his friend’s side, not caring about the filth, the blood, the pus, or the smell. “Come on, you need to keep going. Maybe we can reach a town… maybe we can find help—” “No.” Shēdo closed her eyes and swayed while more of her insides dribbled out. “No, now it ends. I will die… as a good dog.” And with that, Shēdo One-Fang surrendered herself to the gathering darkness. The darkness parted like a sundered veil and Shēdo had a vague awareness of something wet tickling her muzzle. Something cold ran down her fuzzy snout and into her eyes, which were dry as well as being crusted over. Somehow, her body had become the winter, it was freezing, except in all of the places where lances of fire burned her to her very soul. The very first thing she saw as her eyes started to focus was a paper pony weeping tears of ink, but with a single eyeblink, the strange figure was gone. Above where the mysterious paper pony had stood, Shēdo could just make out dirt, roots, she saw the ground and it was comforting. Inhaling, she pulled warm, smoky air into her lungs, greedy for it, and a soupy cough made her insides bubble as she sputtered. Coughing hurt like nothing else she had ever experienced and explosions of stars formed in her vision. “See, Conifer, I told you I could save her… though I must confess, I had my doubts for a while,” a strange voice said. There was a crunch—a sound very much like a log being put on a fire—then there was a crackle—a sound very much like a fire feeding—and the flickering firelight caused the shadows to dance along the roots above Shēdo’s head. In the shadows, she saw things, she was certain that among the dancing shadows and the exploding starbursts in her vision that she could see the silhouette of a playful, prancing pony. “Shēdo? Can you hear me? Shēdo? Did the fever give you brain damage? Say something… please? Please, please say something.” The sound of Conifer’s voice made Shēdo want to leap up from where she lay to comfort him, but she had no strength. In her weakened state, she couldn’t even move her head, and unable to look about, she tried to say something to put Conifer’s mind at ease. The first deep breath made her cough and splutter more, but shallow breathing seemed to be the right thing to do. “Conifer,” she gasped, and she did not recognise the sound of her own voice. “Shēdo, I found help… her name is Cranberry… she pulled a rusty arrowhead out that was stuck in your ribs and then she gave you stuff to give you a fever and then she kept you alive and I helped as best I could.” “Water.” “Yes, I was trying to give you water but I made a mess of it,” Conifer replied. “I didn’t know it would wake you up. Let me try again.” Conifer came into her vision holding a tin cup in his mouth. Shēdo could see the shadows dancing along his stripes—stripes like streaks of ink on paper. There was something different about Conifer, but she couldn’t figure out what it was. Tilting his head, some of the water spilled from the tin cup, and Shēdo opened her mouth to catch it. The blessed coolness of it soothed her flaming tongue and she let out a groan of relief as the liquid transmogrified her tongue, somehow changing it from dried, cracked leather back into a tongue once more. “I’ll have to go and hunt something, I suppose,” a strange voice said. “Keep giving her water, Conifer, as much as she can drink. When I come back, I’ll see if I can make an infusion of winterwort to help cool her down. I hope I’m able to catch something.” The water trickling into her mouth did much to revive her and Shēdo felt her body struggling to move. Muscles tensed, burning with agonising fire, and her guts writhed with volcanic serpents. Her nose, so dry that it was cracked, soaked in the water like thirsty flowers drank the rains of spring. Above her, she could see Conifer looking down at her, and there was terror in his eyes. When the water was gone, the zebra colt bounded away to go and fetch more. The fire was now more blazing coals than roaring flames and Shēdo stared at the iron pot with growing hunger. She had drank her cooling drink, the winterwort draught, and it had left her feeling a little shivery, but in a good way. Now she was sitting up, but only with Conifer’s help, and she had to prop herself up against him. Shadows danced along the curved confines of the cave and the space around them was dim. The scent of cooking meat made Shēdo drool, and she couldn’t wait for the food to be done. “I’m not really a surgeon,” Cranberry said in a soft, subdued whisper. “Just an adventurer and a wayfarer. I didn’t think that I could save you, but little Conifer here is surprisingly skilled as an alchemist. That rusty arrowhead was almost your undoing.” “I only know a little about alchemy but I had no way of pulling out that arrow head or stitching up your wounds.” Conifer, in an affectionate gesture, pressed his nose into Shēdo’s neck, not caring that she was filthy and stinky. “After you fell, I panicked and I ran around looking for help for a bit. I didn’t find help, but I did find this campground, so I dragged you here and I lit a big fire outside and I tried to keep you alive and by sheer luck, Cranberry came along.” There was an eye-dazzling glow of magic when Cranberry stirred the pot and her nostrils crinkled in disgust at the scent of cooking meat. “I was in need of a place to rest and I knew about this Crown-funded campsite. There are wards here that push back the horrors of the wilderness and this place is as safe and secure as any during these times.” With her trembling paw, Shēdo lifted up the tin cup so that she could have a drink. The water was cool, cold even, clean, clear, and sweet tasting. It was water that had been brought up from the deep earth, the best kind of water, and it was loaded down with minerals. In short, it was perfect for Shēdo during her recovery, and she made big, greedy slurps. “How long has it been?” Shēdo asked as she pulled the cup away from her parched lips. Conifer and Cranberry looked at one another and a flurry of conversation took place with raised eyebrows and strange equine facial expressions that Shēdo did not understand. Dogs had expressive faces, but equines? While expressive, they were alien, though some understanding could be gleaned if one paid attention. “It’s been about a week or so,” Cranberry said in reply. “Has it really been that long? Time has gone by in a blur. Conifer and I spent so much time talking and we’ve become such fast friends.” “What about Limey?” Shēdo took another drink when she was done speaking and the cold water made her innards ache. “He went silent.” Conifer sounded sad to Shēdo’s ears. “He… was upset… and he went silent and he refused to say anything. I heard him crying a few times, but when I tried to talk to him about it, he refused to answer me.” “Shēdo…” Cranberry continued to stir and now stared into the fire. “What made you do this? Conifer… he told me what happened. What you did. He spoke with so much detail that I knew that he had to have been close by to witness it. I don’t know how to feel about all of this.” “Bad dogs must be punished,” Shēdo replied without a moment’s hesitation. “We dogs once mighty and noble. We dogs once good and trusted. We dogs once pony friends… earth pony friends.” She struggled with the strange memories in her mind, memories that she did not know the source of, how she had them, or why she had them. Visions, images, stories, there were things inside of her head now that hadn’t been there before her long sleep and recovery. “Earth ponies worked above and we dogs worked below. Had friendship. Kept the land alive with friendship. Friendship is gone, now land is dying. Need friendship to return to save land before it too late.” Perplexed, Shēdo’s face sagged with a bemused expression common to hounds. “Earth ponies and dogs meant to be together, to act as one.” “Shēdo?” Conifer lifted his hoof, twisted his body around, and touched the side of Shēdo’s face. “Those fever dreams must have done a number on you. Drink more water.” “I, Shēdo, must remind dogs of purpose.” Frowning, Cranberry shook her head. “The dead have no memory. We Equestrians believe strongly in forgiveness and letting others live… to learn… to regret their mistakes… and perhaps, if all goes well, to do better. Lopping off heads doesn’t facilitate learning, Shēdo.” “Many bitches lived,” Shēdo replied, “and pups who saw the Black Hound. I saved them. Freed them. They will remember the Black Hound, and maybe they will do good.” Making a feeble effort, she wrapped her foreleg around Conifer and held tight to him, because she felt so faint. “If those pups grow up and do bad… the Black Hound will come for them too.” “But what does it accomplish?” Cranberry asked. Shēdo shrugged, or tried to, but the pain of doing so was too great. “We dogs not like you ponies. We have different ways. We have forgotten our ways, and we are bad now. Honour is dead. The ancient path is lost to us. A darkness has stolen our purpose and from darkness, I, Shēdo, will restore our honour.” “Revenge can only take you down a path of ruination,” Cranberry said as she stirred with a little more force and the metal spoon scraped against the sides of the cast iron pot. “Look, I know a lot about diamond dogs, and what they do. I’ve encountered them. I’ve saved slaves from them. I’ve even had to kill a few, as regrettable as it was, and every day I feel a keen sense of shame for my actions, even though it was necessary. You went into that fight with revenge and murder on your mind, and saving the others was an afterthought. This is a bad path, Shēdo.” Blinking, Shēdo gave thought to the vibrant red mare’s words, and did not know how to respond. Did she stay the course and do what she thought was right, or did she acknowledge she was on a bad path? Did she acknowledge pony standards of right and wrong? Troubled, Shēdo thought of Minori, wise, gentle Minori, and tried to think of Minori’s lessons. Those words had faded, they seemed distant now. “Revenge,” Shēdo said, her mind now wavering between the present and what felt like a distant past, “is a self-fueling fire that consumes all it touches, but still demands more—” “If you know this, then why pursue this?” Cranberry demanded. Minori’s voice could almost be heard now, and Shēdo’s ears twitched as they strained to listen. “Revenge is also like a swamp. Once within, it is too easy to be mired down in the muck. It is easy to get stuck, to become part of the swamp. I, Shēdo, am in the mud now. To try to save me is to become like me, stuck in the swamp.” “I don’t believe that,” Cranberry retorted and she let go the spoon. “Even those who die in muck serve purpose,” Shēdo said, feeling a strange calm overwhelm her. “Shēdo has come into swamp of her own making, and she will give her body so that this place might have life.” “You’re still sick with fever, that’s what’s wrong with you.” Cranberry rolled her eyes, shook her head, and let out a snort. “I’ve pulled others out of murks and mires. I’ve saved myself from them too. You’re being too fatalistic. It’s probably a symptom of the delirium.” Resting her bulk against Conifer, Shēdo wasn’t so sure. Shivering, she began to grow more cold than hot, and her aching muscles all tensed in protest of the cutting chill. She had never really understood Minori’s fables before, she knew that she just wasn’t smart enough to grasp them, but now, for some reason, she had some small sense of understanding. “Revenge is a howling dog trapped in the dark, telling other dogs to stay away.” Cranberry, hearing this, leveled her stern, no-nonsense gaze upon Shēdo and replied, “Stew is done. If it is the last thing I ever do, I’m going to sort you out.”