//------------------------------// // 1.0 A lamb in prison // Story: Prey and a Lamb // by Lambs Prey //------------------------------// ---Arc 0--- Once there was a little lamb. Then he grew old, but not up. The end? No, just the ordinary beginning to a hideous life. ------The Beginning------ Locked away within the towering prison fortress of Dreverton, down in a cell on the second deepest level of Equestria's most secure dungeon, aside from the pits of Tartarus itself, slept a sheep. *Knock Knock* "Sir, a letter. Arrived in the post vault just ten minutes ago." "Can it wait? I'm in the middle of reviewing recommendations." "Sir, I don't think so. It's a red ribbon one." A pause. "Alright, bring it in." "Let's see... Oh, you may go private." "Sir, yes sir." "Ah, lets see... No wait! Private, go find warden String right away. Have him meet me in my office at his earliest convenience, this is important." "Sir, yes sir." "And when you're done, go find Faded Archive and have her pull the files from section one, level two, on the inmate of cell nine." "Sir, yes sir." "Well don't dawdle stallion, snap to it!" "Sir, yes sir!" *Clop-clop-clop* *Swish click* "Hmm...." *Rustle* *Crinkle* "Captain Valour, hmm? Well, this certainly will be an honour... Hmm. Wonder what's got you coming all the way out to Dreverton with the Princess's permission... Wait..." "Horseapples! Pine Jingle didn't polish my helmet properly, useless slacker! Just as the Solar Guard is coming too, of course, why not? I'm going to rip you a new one Pine, just as soon as I get my hooves on your slacking, sorry, moth-eaten, blank-flank." ------ Roaring waves. Crashing against dark slicked rock. White sea-foam sucked back into the deeps. Miles and miles of endless, heaving grey waves. Dreverton. Dreverton was an extinct volcano isolated in the middle of the sea. Storms were common and colossal waves beat against the base of the massive volcanic structure year in, year out. There were no landing docks. Approach was only possible from the air via sky ship or chariot. Inside, cells lined the ever downwardly spiralling walkway into of the crater. Despite it's monolithic, ancient, craggy appearance, the insides of Dreverton were actually quite modern and up to date. Running water, magically powered furnaces, bright crystal lamps, tiled floors, potted flowers, and excellent plumbing. In fact, if you never saw the outside, a pony could be forgiven for mistakenly thinking they stood inside an average apartment block. Provided they didn't step out from the guards quarters, that is. The inmates cells were a bit less grand. Oh, they weren't crummy, dank, rat infested rooms, certainly not, Equestria wasn't that backwards. But neither was there much else that could be said about them. An iron bunk firmly bolted to the floor exactly in the middle of the room, a similarly secured toilet in the corner, and a reinforced crystal light in the ceiling made up the entirety of each prison cell. And every cell had the strongest barrier enchantments inlaid into the walls, making them impervious to almost every kind of physical and/or magical assault. And of course the doors. Each was a triple locked, reinforced, steel and lead construct over eight inches thick with a metal grate and flap, designed with one purpose in mind; Keeping whatever was in the cell from ever getting out. Featureless grey doors, a long line of identical featureless grey doors. Raised too, like a vault or ship's cabin door to better form a perfect seal. Only a number above each served to identify each in the unbroken line; 'No.26'... 'No.27'... 'No.28'... and on. There was never more than one inmate to any cell. More than that, and you got 'problems'. Problems like there only being one inmate left by the end of the shift. Mercifully for all involved, especially the Guards, most of Dreverton's cells sat unoccupied. Silencing charms kept inmates from trying to yell out to their fellows regardless, but one could never be too careful. The guards took their job very seriously, they were guarding some of the most dangerous individuals in Equestria after all. The only place where worse inmates were stored was in Tartarus. The pony guards, all unicorns, pegasi or earth ponies, guarded a unique mix of criminal filth, from trolls and diamond dogs, to Griffins and ponies. Few of the prisoners were ever released, deemed too much of a threat to Equestria to ever see the light of day again. On occasion, a few inmates were, when their extensive prison time was up, but that was a rare occurrence. Usually if you were sentenced to Dreverton, it was for life. And those were only the inmates from the upper levels. If you were stored on the deeper levels, you hadn't a chance in hell of ever getting out. The lower levels were reserved for the worst of the worst. Murderers, cannibals, dark magic users and the like. Many a newly recruited guard lost their lunch over the course of their first few weeks on the job. Hearing about some of the prisoners' life stories from the older guards, they were finally able to figure out what they'd let themselves in for. The maximum allowed service time for any guard serving at Dreverton was two and a half years. After that, there was a mandatory transfer for their own good. Never the less, the guards took great pride in the unsung service that they gave to Equestria and their Solar Princess. They sacrificed years of their lives to keep this filth locked away, and it was a sacrifice they were proud to make. They kept the prison running like clockwork, exactly as it was supposed to. They made sure that no one, pony or otherwise, ever escaped. ------- Inside his cell, on the level only one above the lowest tier, the small sheep, little bigger than a lamb really, yawned and opened sky blue eyes, rolled off the bunk with a clink of chains, and scowled. 'Another day in hell.' The sheep shuffled his front hooves, re-adjusting the utterly familiar weight of the crystal-lined manacles. They'd been magically sealed shut over his cloven hooves when he was thrown in here to rot all those years ago. 'Fifty seven years, two months, three weeks, and five days.' He noted, updating the count. He pushed himself up from the bare bunk, lead encased hooves hitting the null stone floor with another familiar thud. Familiar. Everything was familiar. Utterly, maddingly, unchangingly, familiar. Because it never, ever, ever changed. Not in fifty seven years, two months, three weeks, and five days. The sheep had been in here longer than most normal sheep lived for. He shifted, getting the inhibitor collar and shackles into a marginally more comfortable position. He'd perfected the art of doing so a long time ago. 'Infuriating contraptions.' He thought with venom. If not for these enchanted locks keeping the runes he'd carved into his flesh dormant, then even the stone of Deverton wouldn't be able to keep hold of him. He'd slip away like a ghost in the night. Or in the day. Or any time at all. He'd have taken anything on offer. 'I miss listening to them,' He wistfully reminisced for the hundred-thousandth time, 'All those thoughts and open minds, the petty but comfortingly mundane worries of people I pass on the road. The silent bubble and streams of consciousness nobody else can hear.' He scowled down at the hoof locks, 'I miss taking them for my own with a mere touch.' ------ The sheep hadn't always been like this, hadn't always been the highly skilled mind mage that he was now. 'Or was.' He thought bitterly, 'But no one else to blame but myself for getting caught.' He should have seen that trap coming from a mile away, but no, the temptation of forbidden knowledge had seemed far too enticing at the time, and he'd had nothing but time ever since to bitter regret. He was shaken from his thoughts, soft drooping ears flicking towards the door as the one-way hatch at the bottom was kicked open and a worn metal tray was pushed inside. If he didn't replace tray by the hatch after he was finished, he simply wouldn't be fed again until he returned it. He'd learnt that long ago. The Guards didn't care if he was stupid enough to try and starve himself out in a misguided attempt to outlast them. You couldn't beat hunger, it always won in the end. On the blunt-edged tray, rested a solid square of something grey and sticky. Dinner time. 'Or what passes for food down here.' With practised movements to keep the slack from the chains from tripping him up, the sheep shuffled over. He lowered his muzzle and took a bite of the tasteless mass, uninterestedly analysing it as he chewed; 'Five parts oats, one part hay, two parts assorted seeds, one part barley, other trace minerals and vitamins, and one part water. Still no components in any fashion which might help him in any way to escape. 'Same as the last forty-one thousand five hundred and eighty four meals before it.' He finished the dull fare quickly, not noticing the lack of taste. He'd gotten used to it over fifty seven years, two months, three weeks and five days. Besides, he'd eaten far worse, or sometimes hadn't been lucky enough to even have that option. You never complained about a free meal. He'd known what it was like to have a cold and hungry winter after a lean harvest. He'd learnt never to say the words; "Mother I'm hungry." Not after he saw the trembling tears in her eyes that first time, and he'd never said those words to her face again. 'For all the good it ever did.' Finished, the sheep kicked the tray back over to the hatch, and sat himself down awkwardly in the center of his bunk to do the only thing that you could do around here; sit, remember, and meditate on the past. He'd done this more times than he cared to remember, but if there's one skill he excelled at, it was an excellent memory. He could recall old memories at will with almost perfect clarity. He could remember everything if he fully concentrated, even down to the little insignificant details. He was almost able to enter these memories and re-live his part in the events, so vivid and accurate was his recall when he fell into deep meditation. His brother had always joked about how one day he'd make it into a famous unicorn academy, once he finally got round to learning how to read. Before the Resistance and his brother's death, that is. It'd been their own little silly joke when they were lambs, as if unicorns would ever let a sheep in to their academy, never mind they'd never actually seen a unicorn. Their village had been on the wrong side of the mountain range, and the only ponies around there were the earth ponies who owned the land they all lived on. 'What memories to review today I wonder?' The sheep pondered closing his eyes, 'Perhaps getting cursed? Or perhaps losing my brother? How about the war? Oh, I know, home, where life begins.' ---The Past--- "Come on Goss, catch me if you can!" "Just you wait Fleece, you're mine!" He shouted back gleefully, short legs racing after his brother who laughed and easily skipped away. Fleece was older and bigger, and easily outpaced his younger brother Gossamer as they dodged round scrubby trees and bushes on the outskirts of their family's fields. "Can't catch me, can't catch me!" Fleece taunted before darting through a gap in the bushes. Gossamer paused for a second, a sly grin flashing. He may not be as big or quick as his older brother, but he could out think him! And he knew that gap led to only two possible exits, 'And if I know Fleece, he went left.' He turned and raced off as fast as his little legs would carry him, following the line of bushes left. Fleece was just emerging from a bush when he heard the galloping of tiny hooves over hard packed earth. He glanced up to see his younger brother in mid air above him, a grin plastered all over his snout, "Ha!" Gossamer's shout of triumph quickly turned into a squeal of dismay as he over shot and smacked into the stony ground hard. Immediately Fleece was at his side, "Goss, are you alright?" He asked, anxiously rolling his dazed younger brother over and wincing at the dirty scrapes and drops of blood he saw. Gossamer, or Goss as everyone called him, sat up with a whimper. He wasn't the toughest lamb nor the biggest, and frequently his mind out-thought his body and he got himself hurt, but he didn't want to cry embarrassingly in front of his older Brother. "Don't worry, 'S fine." He lied, trying not to sniffle. Fleece raised an eyebrow, "Really? You don't look so good." "I'm fine. It's just two cuts, one bruise and three, wait, no, four scrapes. And some dirt. I'll be fine." Gossamer repeated, trying to get up without any further whimpering. Fleece narrowed his eyes, then before Gossamer could react, he flipped his younger brother onto his back and set off for home. "Hey! What're you doing? Put me down." "Nope. You just make yourself comfy, I've got this." Fleece replied cheerily. "I can walk myself." Gossamer retorted. "Sorry, I can't hear you over the sound of me carrying you~!" Fleece sang out. "Carrying me has nothing to do with your hearing." Fleece grinned, "Yeah you got me. But does it look like I care? Now stop complaining and enjoy the ride. Besides, you don't weigh anything Goss. You really need to put on some fat." He joked. Gossamer "Humph'd". He was undersized and he knew it. He was, in fact, the lamb in the village for his age, smaller even than Clover, and she was a whole year younger than him. "Size doesn't mean everything." He groused, idly picking a leaf out of his brother's brown wool as he lay across his back. "Hey don't worry about it, you're a thinker, much smarter than me. I'm the brawns, you're the brains. And one day you're going to get into a horned ponies academy and show them all that sheep are the smartest." Fleece added with a chuckle. Gossamer smiled along with him, his scrapes quite forgotten as he listened to his older brother chatter away. ------ They emerged from scattering of coarse trees and bushes which made up the couple of square miles of uninhabited land before you got to the actual forest, and headed for the small log cabin on the other side of the beleaguered carrot field. "Almost home." Fleece said, rather unnecessarily in Gossamer's opinion, as he could see that clearly, but he didn't actually mind. Soon they were at the front porch and Fleece let Gossamer off his back onto the step: "Hey mom?" He called, "You in there?" "Yes dear, what's the matter?" Came the gentle voice of their mother from inside their one room cabin. "Goss hurt himself- I mean he got hurt while we were playing." Fleece called back. Gossamer appreciated his brother taking half the blame. Their mother didn't like it when they played rough or got hurt. She never yelled or anything, but her quiet look of disappointment said it all. Even when it was really small injuries, it got the same look. She was wearing that look right now as she emerged from the cabins gloomy interior, dusting brown flour from her cloven hooves, "Is it anything serious?" Fleece pointed at Gossamer who looked away embarrassed, "Sorry mom." Gossamer muttered. "Sorry for what sweetie?" She asked gently, leaning down to get a better look at his minor cuts. "For getting hurt and wasting your time." Gossamer mumbled. He knew his mother was always busy. Managing the crops and house by herself left their mother very little free time. He and his brother helped out with lots of chores, but his mother tried to keep their work load to a minimum. She said that they were still nothing but lambs and should be out playing, not slaving away in the fields. "Don't worry about it sweetie, but please be more careful next time." She murmured, wiping some of the dirt from his white coat. "Dear," she said turning to Fleece, "Please go pull some water from the well." Gossamer was always 'sweetie' and his brother was always 'dear'. His father used to be 'honey' before that raider strike two years ago. There was a small cross out back for him under the old cherry tree. He'd had barely been four years old, but Gossamer still remembered the ram, or some things about him at least. "You okay?" His mother asked, stroking his head and scratching behind his drooping ears, which were so large they flopped past his jaw line, so similar to her own pair. Gossamer took after her in that respect, his own white coat more similar to her cream coloured wool too. Fleece took after their father with his brown coat instead. "I'm fine mom, I'm only slightly hurt, but thanks." He said. She 'Hmmm'd', "I'll be the judge of that once we get you cleaned up." Fleece returned just then, lugging a wooden pail full of fresh water, "Here ya' go." Dipping a worn cloth in the pail, his mother cleaned out the grit and dirt from his scrapes and cuts in a quick and practical manner, while Fleece kicked his hooves sitting on the wooden step next to his younger brother. Gossamer tried not to wince, patiently waiting until his mother was finished. "Mom..." He started while she wrung the cloth out, "When you went to the village meet, did Green Fields announce whether any pegasi are coming with rain for the fields?" Green Fields was the earth pony who owned the land they lived and farmed on, and the same went for many of the sheep and goat families around here. None of the tenants liked Green Fields, his tariffs were steep. 'But who ever liked the tax pony?' Gossamer thought. His mother hung the cloth over the porch railing to dry before she answered, "He did say sweetie." Her tone said it all, but still Fleece asked, "And?" "And nothing. Nothing's been organised unfortunately. Looks like we're going to have to water the carrots again by hoof I'm afraid." She replied with a tired smile. Fleece scowled, "Useless, greedy ponies." He muttered. "None of that dear." His mother chastised absentmindedly. "It's true though." Fleece mumbled. "I was thinking," Gossamer broke in, "We barely managed it last year, and this year's even drier. We're going to need either help, or a different approach." "I know sweetie." His mother sighed, rubbing his head again, "But don't worry about it, I'll think of something." She added with another tired smile. Gossamer saw straight through it. "Why should you have to think of something, why shouldn't I think of something? We're all in this together." He asked. Their mother blinked in surprise, as ever surprised by how grown up for his age her son was. It always caught her off guard whenever her youngest son would unbalance her with some observation or some fact that she hadn't ever considered before. She smiled uncertainly, but not because of any lack of trust, "Did you have an idea, sweetie?" Gossamer shot a quick glance at Fleece who was also looking at him expectantly, "Well I have a few. Do you remember when we were playing by old mother Kubboard's hut, and saw the old barrel cart she has out back?" He asked. Fleece shook his head, "Um, no, I must'a missed it." "It was half buried in the weeds, but that's beside the point. She won't be using it, we could just borrow it. It would be a lost easier than carrying buckets by hoof from the well every day, and the metal sides even have a tap on the back so we could just walk down the rows of carrots with the tap open. We could easily water the whole field once a day in a couple of hours." Gossamer explained. Fleece's eyes lit up, but their mother wore a pained expression, "It's a wonderful idea, but, well, Mother Kubboard isn't the most amicable ewe around, sweetie." "We could just take them anyways." Gossamer suggested bluntly, "We'd return them after we're done. And because of how old she is and how little her daughter Esther gets out, I doubt she'd even notice." He hastily added. "You know that's not okay to do, sweetie." His mother said with a disapproving frown. "Yes, but why should we have to risk our crop because she's old and stubborn?" Gossamer asked, greatly daring. He could see Fleece nodding along enthusiastically. "Sweetie, that's enough. Mother Kubboard's had a hard life, and even if she's old, that's no excuse to steal." She fixed him with a stern look. Gossamer considered the, 'It's not stealing if you return it' argument, but knew it wouldn't get them anywhere. His mothers stern look deepened, she seemed to have read his thoughts and he flinched guiltily. "But, what are we going to do then mom?" Fleece asked, looking up at their mother. "I have another plan," Gossamer quickly interjected, anxious to move on. "Although it's slower. We currently have only three pails to carry water in. If we could get three more, then we could carry two each back and forth from the well. It would make things go twice as fast. We'll create some yokes from carved planks to make carrying them easier too. How about that?" "Sweetie, I don't think you and Fleece could manage carrying two buckets at the same time, even with a yoke. It's hard work, and... you're too small for something like this. Especially you sweetie." She winced. Gossamer hated how his mother sounded hurt, like she thought his diminutive size was somehow her fault. "No we're not, we can do it mom!" Fleece said jumping up, "We have to. The carrots aren't going to water themselves." He added, with a wave out at their field. "I, I'm not sure we have the bits to spare my darlings, even for three buckets. Those bags of flour took almost all of last years earnings. We barely have enough to pay Green Fields next tariff until we sell the next harvest." She said, shoulders slumping. Gossamer coughed, "Um, actually we do. If we get them from Clover's dad. She said he's got some buckets left over from last year, apparently. I'm sure he'd sell them cheaply second hoof if you asked, mom. I can't imagine more than four bits a pail." "And me and Goss can carve out the three yokes." Fleece spoke up, "I don't need some useless flank mark to figure out how to do that. How hard can it be?" Their mother knelt down and enveloped both of them in a tight, woolly hug, "You're both wonderful. Just lambs, but so kind and caring. What did I ever do to deserve both of you?" She cooed with a wobbly smile. Fleece hugged their mother back just as tightly, and Gossamer tried not to do something stupid and ruin the moment by over thinking it. He knew their mother tried to show a brave face to the world, barely ever allowing her very real worry and uncertainty to surface when anyone was watching. Deep down Gossamer knew she was still reeling from the violent loss of their father. Even if it had been two years ago, she'd never really been the same ewe since. But still she tried. He knew about their mother waking up crying in the night. He'd heard the words she whispered to the cross out the back when she thought she was alone, even if he didn't think the deceased ram deserved them. He loved and admired his mother fiercely, and realising she wasn't perfect but was still the best mother in the world left him in awe. He hugged her back, smiling into her cream wool. His mother was so strong, stronger than any other mother in the world, because she was his mother. She tried so hard all the time to make him and Fleece happy. 'No mom, the question is, what did we ever do to deserve you?' He thought with a smile. The three of them stayed like that in the shade of the porch, sharing their love for a long time. --- He had happier memories, of stronger emotion and love, but this particular recollection, (no matter how plain and mundane) was what the word 'family' meant to him. --- That was just over a half year before the resistance came to the village. --- The three of them were in the village quite by chance at the time. They had come in to sell their sweet-potato crop, having changed from the carrots they'd grown last year on Gossamer's suggestion, because although sweet potatoes sold for less, they grew easier and more abundantly, plus survived better under the hot sun. He had worked out that the family would actually make slightly more bits than last harvest. Fleece and his mother readily took his word for it. They had taken the long walk into the village to sell half their crop this week, as it was market day. The various farmers and merchants had all gathered in the village square, and were busy hawking their various goods and produce. "Funny how you never see a pony selling crops, only expensive tools and stuff." Fleece pointed out. Gossamer noted that Fleece was right. The majority of the market were sheep, goats and cows, and they were always selling their meagre produce, while the few earth ponies were the ones that sold the more expensive but highly prized stock, such as spades, ploughs, hammers and the like. 'So much for earth ponies working the land. But why would they, when they know where the real money is?' He thought sourly. He helped set out the rough woven baskets of sample sweet-potatoes they'd brought, the rest of the crop back at the farm to be collected by whomever bought them, and then went off to wander among the rest of the villages inhabitants. This is what Gossamer always did, he went looking for ideas. He would watch unobserved from the background as the villagers talked, haggled, argued and insulted each other, gaining insights into the hidden lives of those around him. Gossamer revelled in being able to figure out what made someone tick. But it wasn't to be today. He'd barely gone ten paces when there was a hush. A bad feeling crawled over his wool. Slinking behind a line of barrels on instinct, Gossamer looked back to see why. A small group had entered the far end of the village square, an area quickly clearing around them. Two zebras, one earth pony and a griffin, all with light chest plates, swords on the equines, and a nasty looking axe on the griffin's back. It was the first time Gossamer had seen weapons and armour in his short life, and it scared him. The four individuals continued into the square as the quiet spread, not a dead silence, but a hushed quiet of nervous whispers. The armed zebras glanced at the stalls as they passed, faces calm and collected, while the grey earth pony and griffin walked with something of a swagger. "Hey, no need to stop on our account." The latter called out loudly into the quiet with a grin. "Indeed, we bring no harm to any who wish us none." The zebra on the left agreed. "We are just here to check up on how all of you are doing." The other striped equine added. When none of the villagers moved, the griffin scowled, "I said, no need to stop on our accounts. Get my drift?" He asked threateningly. Everyone drew back, then as one, tried to look like they were busy, a nervous chatter starting back up while all tried to avoid eye contact. From where he hid, Gossamer could see how strained the act of normality was. 'Who are they and what are they doing here? They're not raiders, and definitely not guards. Are they mercenaries?' He wondered anxiously. He'd overheard about such groups from passing gossip, but never actually seen any. Never the less, Gossamer was certain he was right. Gossamer observed how the armed group wove between the stores, picking up items and examining them. It was quite a surprise when they didn't steal anything, just critically examined whatever it was they'd taken an interest in before placing it back, murmuring observations to each other. 'They must be scouts of some kind. If they're not here to steal from us, then they must be here to observe and report back to, um, someone?' He tried getting a closer look, and noticed with a start that they were heading right for his mother where she stood frozen, still half way through setting up the stall. He clenched his teeth. 'No, please go to some other, any other stall.' He begged silently. His plea went unanswered, as the griffin came to a halt directly in front of his mother, smirking down at her. "What've you got here then love?" The griffin asked. "Sw-sweet potatoes." His mother answered, trying to look unafraid. The zebras didn't seem to care, already they were moving on, but the Earth Pony and griffin weren't done yet. "That's nice," The grey stallion said without even looking at the baskets of potatoes, "But how about you answer a question I have. See, I'm new in town, and perhaps a good sheep such as yourself can provide me with the answers I seek." He leaned back casually against a nearby stall, prominently displaying his sheathed sword. Gossamer gulped, and on the other side of the square, his mother did the same, "What questions?" She asked timidly. The griffin grinned, turning in a slow circle to take a look at all the villagers who, despite trying to look busy, were obviously all listening in, "Go on Boulder. Let's not keep them in suspense." He said to the earth pony. The grey earth pony slowly drew himself up, casting a lingering glance around at the crowd, drawing them in with the pause as they all waited anxiously with held breath. In a surprisingly smooth voice, much different to the one he'd just been using, the pony asked, "Ladies, gentlecolts, we have a question. It's an important question. But doesn't everyone have a question deep down? A question that defines them? Perhaps a question that they don't even realise they're asking?" He paused again to give a slow smile, seeing that he had everyone's attention now. 'What's he trying to do? Why've they come into the market to give this speech? It's obviously pre-prepared, so they must have something they aim to gain, but what?' Gossamer asked himself. He couldn't think of an answer that fit, but so long as they didn't hurt Fleece or his mother, it didn't matter. "My question, our question, the Resistances question, is..." A look of condescending pity slid onto the ponies grey face, "...Why are you all so blind?" He spat. The crowd looked around at each other in confusion and murmurs sprang up. What did the grey pony mean blind? They weren't blind, they could see perfectly well, and who was this Resistance anyway? "Quiet!" The griffin yelled, making everyone flinch, especially his mother who was the closest to the griffin when he yelled. "Boulder's still taking, so show some manners and keep your jaws from flapping!" He growled around. While the griffin was shouting at the crowd, Gossamer saw Fleece dart out from between the crush of legs and rush over to their mother, who grabbed him and tried to hide him behind herself. Gossamer's mouth went dry, but no one noticed Fleece. In fact everyone seemed to have forgotten about the ewe and her lamb who had been the start of all this. Everyone except the zebras that is. Gossamer saw one of the black and white fighter's heads turn to track Fleece's dash. With a cold shock, Gossamer realised he didn't know where the other zebra had gone. A scared glance around the square didn't reveal them either. "Ehem, yes, quite." The grey pony said with a cough, "I realise that you aren't actually blind, at least not physically. But I was talking about in the political and social sense. Because in this, you are indeed blind." He informed them, his tone confident. "Most of you don't realise it, but you serve a tyrant. The sun tyrant. Princess Celestia." Immediately muttering broke out, but the Earth pony spoke over them. "Think about it. What has Princess Celestia ever done for any of you? Has anyone ever even seen her?" He asked. None of the crowd responded. Boulder obviously took this as a sign of encouragement. "You've never seen her, she's never been here, in fact I doubt she even knows here exists. Do any pegasi or unicorns ever come out here to either provide you with weather control or magical assistance when you are so sorely in need? Do any of them care? NO!" He roared, making the crowd jump. "To them, you're nothing but a number that can be taxed!" He spat the last word like it was poison, "They care nothing for you!" "That's not true-", someone in the crowd started but Boulder plowed right on as if he hadn't heard. "And let's not forget the guard, do you see any of them here? Where are they when the manticores and timberwolves come to your farms!?" Gossamer noticed some uneasy glances going round as a few in the crowd found themselves silently agreeing with some of Boulder's words. "Where are the guards? The Royal or Border Guards? Where are those who are supposed to keep everypony safe. Keyword being everypony here." Gossamer didn't know where he was going with this, because Boulder too was a pony. His argument was counter intuitive, but Gossamer quickly saw his plan when the grey earth pony, who was somehow proving to be more intimidating than the griffin, continued: "I realise I'm also a pony. I realise that I might look like one of them, the Sun Tyrant worshippers, but I'm not. I know that I'm no better than you," He placed a hoof to his chest and his voice rung with sincerity, "No one is better than anyone else just because of how they were born." "Zebras, Griffins, cows, sheep, goats, deer, yaks, bison, ponies, we were all created equal. But Princess Celestia and her nobles don't agree, do they? They think they're so much better than you just because they have wings or horns. Even the earth ponies around here rule over you, don't they? They're the ones who bleed you dry each month on top of the tax pony. And who was it that put them in power?" Boulder paused, slowly dragging his intense gaze over the crowd, making them wait on his words. "Well, you know already the answer to that question." He said matter-of-factly. "You know whose fault all of your hardships are. But whether you choose to acknowledge the answer or not? That's up to you." Boulder's smooth voice rose once again, "That's all we're here to do, to try and find an answer to our question. To try and make you think for yourselves. That's what the Resistance is, a group who thinks for themselves. If any of you are interested in thinking for yourselves for once, then come and find us. We'll be back, make yourselves known to us then." Boulder told the crowd. With that, the armed pony turned and walked away without another word, and the crowds breath seeming to return with a great rush as everyone started to whisper at once. Gossamer heard a grunt behind him. He turned and his heart nearly jumped out of his chest when he saw the other zebra not four paces away. He'd been there the whole time! The zebra spared the runt lamb a lingering glance, before stepping out from behind the barrels and heading after the retreating figure of Boulder. The other zebra left too, but the griffin wasn't done. Gossamer saw him lean in close and say something to their mother which Gossamer couldn't catch from his position. Whatever it was, it made Fleece rush in front of their mother who had blanched and gone white. "Don't you dare touch my mother!" The brown lamb shouted up at the armed griffin. Gossamer's eyes went wide in horror, terrible scenarios flashing through his mind of what was about to happen to Fleece and his mother, 'Nono nononononono-!' The griffins' claw shot out before anyone could stop him- "No!" Their mother cried- -And patted Fleece on the head, "Cute lamb. He's got some guts, I'll give him that. Might want to teach him some self preservation though. Oh well, till next time then." The griffin said with a leer and a cheery wave as he turned and followed after the rest of the Resistance members, leaving a shocked village square in their wake. --- The village was in a quiet turmoil for a long time after the resistance fighters had gone. Weeks passed with a new air of uncertainty hanging over everything. Most were simply afraid of what would happen if the Border Guard or somepony of importance caught wind of what had happened here. A few found themselves thinking more about how tough life was, and how much easier they could live without the taxes and tariffs, but grumbling slightly more often was about as far as their discontent went. A smaller number still took to actively contradicting everything those from the resistance had said, going out of their way to comment on what a lovely day it was and how thankful they were that there was a Goddess who raised the sun for them. And the smallest group of all found themselves agreeing with what the earth pony Boulder had said. ------ "You know, we wouldn't be having to do this again this year if that lazy rotter Green Fields had gotten round to hiring some good for nothing pegasus to bring in any rain." Fleece muttered as he and Gossamer lugged a pair of buckets each, hung from yokes over their shoulders. "Pegasi." Gossamer tiredly mumbled. It had been five months since those four from the resistance had come, and his brother Fleece was still thinking about them, or rather what they'd said. Gossamer could tell some of what Boulder had said had settled in Fleece, even if his brother didn't start actively denouncing Celestia and all ponies. That's because Fleece's concerns were much closer to home, namely the hard life they lived, compared to the perceived comfort of pony kind. Gossamer didn't like it, he knew no good would come of Fleece's sympathies towards the Resistance, even if his brother denied that he held any. Although sometimes it was easy to see why. Like right now, with a rough wooden yoke digging into his shoulders, carrying two heavy buckets of sloshing water from the well, while the sun beat down mercilessly on his sticky wool. Gossamer glanced up at his brother, who in the last four months had hit a growth spurt. Now, despite only being a year younger, Gossamer was only half his older brother's size. It was not the only thing that had changed. Things were different now. Something hung in the air between the family which none of them could quite put a hoof on or were willing to voice. Gossamer hated it, but his mother and Fleece seemed perfectly happy to pretend it wasn't there. "Come on, after we're done this row, there's only another sixteen to go." Gossamer said, trying to encourage his brother. Fleece grunted tiredly, but still shouldered his yoke and picked up the pace. They passed their mother coming back the other way with her own two empty pails. They passed without a word, but Gossamer saw his brother's face twitch. Anyone else would have missed it, but despite his youth, Gossamer was excellent at picking up on hints and tells. 'There it is again.' He thought with frustration. ------ They were down to the last two rows before Gossamer finally gathered up the courage to speak, "Fleece?" He asked, easing the yoke from his aching shoulders. Even with his smaller water pails and half sized yoke, it still left his small frame sweating and sore. "Yeah Goss?" Fleece replied, pouring out a measure of water onto one of the young potato plants. Gossamer took a deep breath, "What's the anger between you and mom?" He asked. "I'm not angry at mom!" Fleece protested hotly, jerking upright. "Really? Because it sure seems that way. Ever since those resistance guys came round, things haven't been the same. It's affected both you and mom. I just, I just..." Gossamer trailed off. "I just want things to go back to how they were." He finished lamely. Fleece put down his yoke and straightened up with a sigh, taking a moment to rub at his horns which were now half grown in. "Yeah, me too Goss. Me too." "Then why not let it?" Gossamer asked, "Why are you angry at mom?" "I'm not angry at mom. I, it's just..." He gestured wildly, "-I feel- I mean, - Gha! Every time I look at mom, I think about how tough life is on her. I never really thought about it till I heard Boulder speak, but mom tries so hard, and yet we're so poor. None of us deserve this, especially when there are those who do far less and have a lot more than us." Gossamer was silent for a minute, trying to figure out what to say. "But, what's changed? You didn't complain before this. And it's not like we can do anything about being poor." He eventually said uncertainly. "I know, I know, I'm not clever like you, I don't have all the words I want to say to.. to.. just... I know nothing's changed, but I've changed Goss, and I don't like how nothing else has, like we should be doing something to make our lives better. I just feel like things are different. Or maybe it's just us who're different now. Does that make any sense?" Fleece asked. Gossamer rubbed at his own head, feels the soft buds under his wool where the horns would eventually grow in, "Um, maybe?" He offered cautiously. "Didn't think so." Fleece said with a tired smile, "But I'm sorry that you feel this way. Sometimes I forget how young you still are, Goss." "What's that supposed to mean? You're not much older than me yourself." Gossamer retorted. Fleece frowned. "So? I'm still older, and I'm supposed to be the responsible one. I'm just trying to do what dad would have wanted." Gossamer opened his mouth to say that he very much doubted that Fleece had any idea what their father would have wanted, but immediately swallowed the words. His older brother didn't need to have his memory of their father tarnished. Much kinder to let Fleece think their dad had been a good ram instead. Gossamer scuffed his hoof in the dirt, "So, does that mean you are going to join this resistance then Fleece? I mean, you did just say you hated things as they are right now, didn't you?" Fleeces eyes went wide, as he spluttered "What? No, that's not- You mean you actually thought-? I would never leave-!" "Oh thank Celestia!" Gossamer heaved a sigh of relief, very glad that he had been right. It seemed Fleece was just talk, like so many others in the village. Actually making drastic and life altering decisions was beyond him, the drudgery of known life much preferable to the uncertainty of the unknown. Fleece grabbed Gossamer's shoulder, turning him till he could look down at him, "You know I wouldn't leave you or mom. Ever! Especially after what that griffin said." Gossamer managed a weak grin, and leaned in to give his older brother an awkward hug, "That's good to hear. Perhaps you should tell mom that, I think she worries that you might leave one day." "Okay, I'll do that right-" Fleece never got to finish that sentence, as just then they heard their mothers voice calling for them from behind the cabin where the well sat. "Boys!" She didn't sound happy. She sounded scared. Fleece and Gossamer exchanged a glance, then both dropped their yokes and set off at a run. ------ The resistance had attacked a small pony expedition in the forest up north, past the river, and only a weeks travel away. But that wasn't all, at the same time it seemed that the resistance had launched a series of raids on two of the three pony frontier towns, Shoeoof and Halterton, leaving only the better defended Straperdale untouched. No one had died, but many were hurt. The frontier towns were, by nature, small and roughly built. They'd sprung up quickly, and didn't have much in the way of any Guard force outside of a few local militia to deal with wandering monsters. The inhabitants were generally poor and humble. Easy pickings but of very little impact as a strategic target. However Gossamer didn't learn about things like 'strategic value' and 'military importance' until much later. For now, all Gossamer knew as he stood in the crowded market square, as everyone listened to the red Earth pony from Straperdale in front of them relate the attacks to the horrified audience, was that he felt very small and lost. The unthinkable had happened, and the future was suddenly thrown into uncertainty. 'What's going to happen? Is the resistance going to attack here too?' Gossamer wondered, feeling numb. He wasn't the only one with such questions. "What's going to happen to us?" "Are we in danger?" "Where's the Border Guard?" "What use are they if they can't protect anyone?" "Are we going to have to leave?" "Where will we go?" No one had any answers. The red earth pony on the stand wasn't any kind of official, just a black smith who'd come to tell them the news. The air was heavy with fear. In a detached sort of manner, Gossamer thought it odd that Green Fields and his fellow land lords hadn't tried to stop the red earth pony from spreading the bad news. Usually they tried to hush up bad news. But then again, this was on a completely different scale now, and it was unlikely they'd accomplish anything more than delaying the news even if they tried. Gossamer became aware that his mother was gently rubbing his head. He glanced up, looking for reassurance. He found it in her warm smile. He was so thankful for that smile, even if it was probably nothing more than another mask. If it was, he didn't want her to ever take it off. He hugged her fore leg, shutting out the rest of the crowd, on the other side his brother doing the same. 'It doesn't matter, as long as we three are fine. Nothing else matters.' Gossamer thought to himself. ---The Present--- The sheep that had formerly been known as Gossamer all those years ago blinked. He was back in the prison cell, with the crystal studded shackles restraining him. Not that he'd ever left, except in memory. 'A relapse to the past can offer the sweetest distractions from reality.' In this case, the reality of an eight by eight cell. Flipping his large soft ears back and forth, the sheep concentrated, trying to catch what it was that had snapped him from his meditation. The enchantments on the cells stopped sound from getting out, but not from coming in. How else were the wardens supposed to yell at their inmates? There were definitely more guards passing outside the cell, three sets of them in the last ten minutes alone. A normal inmate wouldn't even have been able to hear the muffled hoof steps through the thick, lead lined walls, but the small sheep could just about manage it. 'Something's different today. But I'm not sure what, and form a theory with so little information is pointless. Whatever it is, it certainly has nothing to do with me.' The sheep took a moment to stretch as far as his chains would allow, before resettling himself on the cot and focusing on slipping away again. 'Where was I in my recollection this time? This must make the fourth time re-living my life through. Ah yes, the resistance attacks.' ---The Past--- The next five months in the village ground down into a grim slog. A somber gloom crept into every aspect of the villagers lives as what had started as a small rebellion quickly grew in size and severity. The villagers never saw or experienced any of the fighting themselves, but they heard all about it. Another ambush on the road. Another midnight pillaging of a grain barn. Another hapless bystander in the wrong place at the wrong time. The first fatality was an old donkey by the name of Jim. Gossamer had never met him, and neither had Fleece, but apparently their mother and Jim had grown up in the same hamlet. The story was that Jim had been accidentally mistaken for a resistance raider trying to sneak into town by one of the town's militia. They'd issued a challenge, aiming their spears to throw, and, well... Jim had been old and hard of hearing, and in the dark one thing lead to another, and a silent and stunned funeral was the final result. Mother took the day off from the farm to walk the fifteen miles to attend. She didn't let Fleece or Gossamer go with her. The farm was very quiet with just the two of them there. Gossamer didn't know what to say, and apparently neither did his older brother. In fact that wasn't quite true, Fleece actually did say one thing. "Why can't everyone see what's right and wrong?" Gossamer just gave him a hug. It was a full month into the raids before the Border Guard even bothered to turn up, and even then, it was just a few patrols. Many in the border towns were livid to learn that, in the grand scheme of things, the Resistance and these attacks barely even registered as more than a vague interest for their pony betters who gave the orders from over on the other side of the mountain range. Taxes and tariffs had also increased, apparently to help fund the increase in militia and presence of the Border Guards. It certainly didn't make any of the various villages or frontier towns any happier about their Earth Pony land lords. Then, more people started to die. A pegasus was found dead in a muddy puddle, an arrow in his back. A week later, a griffin and a grey ram were killed in a scuffle by the Border Guard. The Guard claimed the dead had been Resistance fighters. No one was sure about the griffin, but the ram's family all angrily swore that their son had been no such thing, and that the Border Guard were just trying to cover up their mistake. Although no one knew the actual truth of the matter, relationships between the Border Guard and those they were supposed to be protecting slipped even further. A donkey was found hanged within his own barn and his house ransacked. Rumour was that he'd been seen collaborating with the Border Guard. A barn was burned down, and it wasn't until later that it was discovered a baby lamb had been inside. Mother hugged them both very tightly that night, and made them promise to never leave her. They promised. Three Resistance fighters were captured by a mixture of Straperdale militia and Border Guard, who paraded them through the street and boasted of their success. But that very night, the Resistance snuck in and broke the three out, leaving a dead jail keeper in their previously occupied cell. When the Border Guard got there in the morning, a trap on the cell door almost cost the Border Guard who opened it his life. As it was, he'd survive a cripple. More Border Guards started to trickle in, and this time, their numbers included unicorns too. Around this time came the rumour that the Resistance fighters had taken to wearing horrifying masks, carved into the snarling heads of predators, and painted in the blood of their victims to terrify their enemies. The Resistance preferred to strike from the shadows before retreating to their hideouts in the forest. The Border Guard's increased presence did go some way in lowering the number of targets that the resistance could strike at, and the patrols did do some good. It forced the resistance to pick their targets with care. However, to the third group of this conflict, those who lived here and who had no hoof or claw in the matter either way, they just wanted both groups gone. Gossamer felt helpless all the time. It kept him awake at night, the constant feeling of the world being out of control, and all of the dangers so close and so real. He didn't know if Fleece also wrestled with these feelings of fear and helplessness, but he didn't want to appear weak by bringing it up. Every sheep in the family needed to be strong right now. More raids, more patrols, more skirmishes, more innocents caught in the cross fire, more villagers taken away for questioning, sometimes the same individual by both sides. A few never came back. The Border Guard always answered, "Detained until further notice" to the desperate inquiries of relatives pleading to see their loved ones again or to at least be told something. No one dared ask the Resistance the same question for fear of what the answer would be. Everyone was afraid to talk, both those who knew something, and those who were afraid that someone thought they might know something. Paranoia grew, as did distrust, fear and hate. Although for the civilians caught in the middle of this small war, the root cause of all these bad feelings changed depending on who you asked. Some blamed the Resistance, others the Border Guard, and some blamed the Princess herself. Finally, after five months of this back and forth fighting, and with the Border Guard not having made any headway in putting down the resistance, the pony Lords on the other side of the mountains finally lost their patience. They decided to send in some real power. Up until then, the Border Guard had seemed quite content to simply react to anything the Resistance did, rather than taking the initiative. Perhaps this was because the Resistance hadn't done anything big yet, apparently too cautious to commit to any real fight. The Border Guard seemed to feel the same way, reluctant to venture into the forest in anything other than large groups. That all changed with the arrival of Captain Fire Strike. ---The Present--- The sheep in the cell's eyes snapped open. He barely had time to rise from the cot as he realised that there were guards on the other side of the magically sealed door before it banged open. 'What-?' That thought was cut off as four prison guards in bulky grey armoured vests and helmets rushed into the room. They were taking no chances, "Get on the floor now!" One of them yelled, the earth pony and Pegasus brandishing night sticks while the two unicorns' horns crackled with charged stun spells. 'Standard electric shock based stun spell, taught in basic induction for Dreverton prison guards.' Normal prison guards would have been taught harmless binding spells instead, but not here. This was Dreverton. All this and more the sheep took in at a glance, from the placement of where the guards were standing, to their colouring, to the fact that the earth pony favoured his left hind leg, to the further two guards waiting as backup just outside the door. Without a word the sheep dropped to the floor, lying belly down with his shackled and muffled front hooves on the back of his head. He didn't know why the guards had burst in here, but there was nothing to be gained by offering resistance. All he would get was a beating. Even without all these magical restraints and suppressants, close combat had never been his strong point. The Pegasus shuffled forwards, pressing his night stick into the back of the sheep's neck while he checked the shackles were still working. 'As if I'd just be lying here if I'd broken free.' He thought with a smirk. 'Really though, six guards for one small lamb? I wonder if I should be flattered?' "He's clean sir, cuffs still working." The Pegasus barked. "Good. You two, get in here and get him hooked up." One of the unicorns, the yellow one ordered. 'So he's the one in charge.' The sheep noted automatically. It was habit, to look for any piece of information that could give him an edge. Not that it would help him the slightest bit. Even if he broke out of these bindings; '-Impossible', and somehow won a fight six on one; '-Even more impossible', and somehow got all the way to the top of the mountain unseen; '-Completely impossible', he'd still have to escape the island fortress that was Dreverton. And unless he sprouted gills or wings, there was no way that was happening. These thoughts occupied his mind while the two earth ponies came in carrying lengths of chain. One length was quickly clipped to his front leg shackles and the other to the rear ones. Once done they all backed off to the end of the chains, one guard in front of him and the other behind, keeping him firmly locked in the middle of them and five hoof lengths out of reach. "Up." The yellow unicorn growled. Wordlessly he complied. The guards never took their eyes off him as he was led out of the cell, half of them in front of him and the other bringing up the rear. He hesitated at the doors threshold. He hadn't stepped out of the cell in: 'Fifty seven years, two months, three weeks and five days.' A jerk of the chain got him moving again. Why was he being let out now? What was going on? He'd been sentenced to life in prison. 'Let's not get ahead of yourself. Who's to say they aren't taking you to a worse cell? Or perhaps execution.' Maybe Celestia had finally gotten up the nerve to reinstate that act from centuries ago. How he wished he could still read the surface thoughts of those around him. The sheep pondered on his fate as the guards lead him along the spiraling path, slowly heading up towards the old volcano's peak. He was very careful to note how many guards they passed, the check stations, any spells on display and the like. Just because he couldn't escape was no reason not to look for opportunities. Numerous scenarios cycled though his head as the guards wordlessly lead him upwards, and he weighed each one carefully. The best explanation he could come up with for why after all these years he was being let out, was that someone wanted something from him. No, not someone, somepony. He noticed lots of blank stares from the guards they passed, not a flicker of recognition in their eyes. It was nothing like when he had first been thrown in here. What had happened to all that self righteous hate and anger? 'Then again, it's been over fifty seven years. Sheep never live that long, and generations have already grown up and moved on in that space of time. They've forgotten.' That made him angry, not that they'd forgotten who he was, but because it also meant they'd forgotten the war and those who died. ------ They reached the top, emerging out onto the peek, and he squinted and shivered in the brisk air. Even though it was overcast, it had been many years since he'd seen the brightness of day. He felt unsure all of a sudden as he looked around at the squat military buildings that encircled the whole of the volcano's rim. Guards were moving to and fro between the buildings, the grey of the stone walls and the Guards' armour matching the grey of the volcano's surface. A harsh yank of the chains got him stumbling again towards one of the closest buildings, his heavily encased hooves clacking loudly on the stone path. A guard at the door nodded at the yellow unicorn and opened it. The sheep was dragged in with a helpful prod from a night stick. Only the yellow unicorn and one of the chain leash holding ponies followed him in, the rest all filing back out the door with a crisp salute to somepony at the back of the room. The sheep glanced over and bit back a growl, 'Someponies.' He corrected himself. Five someponies to be exact, five Solar Guard ponies. Celestias' personal elite guard. The obvious leader of the Solar Guard squad stepped out into the light. The Solar Guard captain was a massive white unicorn, muscles rippled under his heavy golden armour. He wore a look of angry disgust on his muzzle as he looked down at the sheep. 'I really hate unicorns.' The sheep thought, matching the look with one of his own. The captain stalked forwards, towering over the sheep runt, golden war shoes making the floor boards creak and bend with each step. "Inmate 452, you are hereby transferred from the custody of Dreverton to my own, Captain Valour of the Solar Guard of Princess Celestia, effective as of right now. You now belong to me, inmate 452." The guard rumbled, even his voice sounded too large for his body. Prisoner 452 didn't think he'd ever seen a bigger unicorn, usually even earth ponies didn't get this big. "You two, we will take it from here, dismissed." Captain Valor barked at the two prison guards still in the room. Without a word, they snapped off a crisp salute, wheeled around and marched out. The fact that they didn't offer any kind of resistance to the captains abrupt order spoke volumes of their respect for captain Valor. No doubt he'd brought them many prisoners over the years. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving the sheep in the room alone with five Solar Guards, who had already spread out to expertly cover all angles and sides of the room without a word. 'Highly trained, no need for verbal commands. Armoured. All unicorns. Just my luck.' 452 thought sourly, glaring right back at Valour. He hated all ponies, but he especially hated unicorns. He felt very small and vulnerable standing the in the middle of the room. 'What's it going to be? Magical torture? They could kill me and no one would ever raise an eyebrow. Not because of who I am but because they're Solar Guards.' He fixed a smirk on his normally gentle features, beautiful sky blue eyes and soft floppy ears not matching the expression of hate on his muzzle at all. How he wished he wasn't bound so he could read these fools fore thoughts. Captain Valor seemed to grow bored of their staring contest as he couldn't get the sheep to be the first to break. He snorted and stomped forwards again, "Inmate 452, do you know why you're here?" The captain asked. "Because you need something from me of course. The only question is, what?" He answered smugly. "Let's get something straight gutter trash, I don't need anything from you, I only want, and what I want, I will take! Got that?" Valor growled. The sheep pretended to be offended, although in reality it was all just a mask to hide the shrewd calculations going on inside his head, "Ah, I see, a unicorn supremacist. I guess it comes naturally, what with being one of her guards." Captain Valour's gaze turned as hot as his Sun mistress, "I'm going to do you a favour and forget just this once that disrespectful tone you used for addressing your rightful Princess and ruler, sheep." He growled dangerously. All the guards in the room wore matching expressions of barely constrained fury as they glared at their prisoner. He frowned. Something about Captain Valor's words didn't fit. 'Wait, the way he said 'sheep', not my name, not even inmate 452. Is it possible that even they don't know who I am?' He wondered. If they didn't, it suddenly opened a whole range of possibilities. 'But how to find out for sure?' Before he could change his mind, the sheep tilted his head and laughed, "Ha. As if she's ever done anything for me. What makes you think I'd ever submit to the likes of something like her-?" He didn't even see Captain Valour move, the war shoe catching him right in the gut. He collapsed and tried to wheeze for breath, retching up a pool of vomit. Even through the nausea his mind kept analysing, 'Carefully controlled strike. He easily has enough strength to kill me in one blow even without those war shoes, and he's not even an earth pony! But he still didn't break a single rib, he must have even compensated for me being a runt.' The sheep fought to lift his head from where he lay clutching his belly and sneered up at the Captain. He'd just learned two important things. The first was that they wanted him alive and in reasonably good condition. That meant he held something of value to them, although after fifty seven years, he didn't know what it might be. Especially in light of the second thing he'd learned. Which was that they didn't know who he was. Or at least they didn't know what he was capable of. If Captain Valour had known, there was no way a guard with his training would have risked coming into contact with him for even for a second. Despite having all his powers sealed away by these magical shackles, he'd remembered how every guard had shied away from touching him when he was thrown in here, and rightly so. He'd driven ponies mad with just a passing touch before. That none of them knew that he could only do that with contact from his front, rune inscribed hooves was besides the point. He just wished he could have thought up a less painful way to get that information. "I will explain this once, and once only," Valour said glaring down at him, "You are being transferred temporarily from Dreverton to my custody because I am giving you the chance to perform an act of service for your Princess and country. That you're nothing but a child doesn't matter. This is an honour which you aren't deserving of, but there's very little choice left." "You will do what we say, when we say, and if you try to escape we won't hesitate to beat you within an inch of your life before throwing you back in this hell hole to rot. Is that clear?" The captain asked. He didn't say it as a threat, just a statement of fact. The sheep spat out the taste of vomit and pushed himself into a sitting position with a clink of chains: "And what exactly could an inmate like me possibly have to offer the captain of the Solar guard?" He asked, plastering a leer across his features. He tapped his chin thoughtfully, "A punching bag? Wool? A lamb sized model? Home furnishing advice? Bait?" He was fishing for answers, trying to provoke the captain into letting something slip. "All you need to know is that there has been a string of attacks in Vanhoover. They all happened under 'special' circumstances. All the victims have no memory of the event, and some are, aggressive, in their denial. Princess Celestia has tasked me to clear this matter up, and has given me access to any assets I deem necessary." The sheep noted the particular emphasis on 'aggressive.' Valour continued, "My lieutenant found reference in an old file to an inmate who was a mind leech. After a lot of digging, he found a sheep by the name of Gossamer. The dates were all wrong and there were no further details on the report, but the paper trail lead me here." The captain lowered his voice and stepped forwards threateningly, forcing the bound prisoner to shuffle backwards; "I don't care who you are or what you've done. The only two things that matter are that you might know something, and that you're expendable. I will not risk any more doctors or civilians on this case, but you're just a criminal. I know you're not really a child even if you look it. Mind leeches aren't children. We can do whatever we want with you. So don't give me any reason to exercise my privileges if you know what's good for you, Gossamer." He spat. The sheep kept his face blank even while he mind raced, 'So in other words the captain has hit a dead end with no leads. Celestia has specially tasked him with this case, and he's getting desperate. She probably doesn't know about him coming to retrieve me either. Something dangerous is going on, and he's unwilling to risk his own people. Which is where I come in. Something to do with mind magic, most likely. Although where his lieutenant dug up a fifty-seven year old report on me, I'll never know.' Out loud he said, "That's not my name. Gossamer is dead." It wasn't even a lie. Who he was had died a long time ago. "You're darn right you aren't Gossamer anymore. You're a number, not a name. Number 452." Valour retorted. He wheeled round and pointed a hoof at two of his Solar Guards: "Bright, Sunshine, get 452 into one of the chariots. I want two guards on him at all times, night and day. I'll draw up a rota when we get back. For now, don't let him out of your sight." The captain ordered. "Yes sir." Both unicorns barked, and the one called Sunshine grasped the trailing chain in his magic to begin dragging 452 out the door. "Wait, you never said what it was that you wanted me to be doing for you. It'll be a lot easier to simply-" He didn't get any further before a band of yellow magic snapped closed around his jaw, tightening painfully. "No talking. Make this difficult and I'll put you under for the rest of the flight. Understood?" Bright growled at the sheep. He nodded back though watering eyes. There was nothing further to be gained by resisting at this time. And he could tell the Solar Guard Bright would enjoy making good on his threat. ------ He was dumped rather unceremoniously into the back of one of two golden chariots waiting outside, each drawn by two pegasi in matching brilliant gold armour. The guards Bright and Sunshine smartly clambered up into the back with him in tow, keeping a baleful eye on his every move. He carefully kept his own eyes downcast, masking his emotions. He hated unicorns. Really truly hated them. He hated how superior they all felt they were, and he especially hated how many of them actually were. They had magic, they could do almost anything. If at this very second Captain Valour decided to turn him inside out with magic, there was absolutely nothing he could do to defend himself. Unicorns had it the best of all races. Even among ponies, where everypony was taught that all were equal and had a part to play, that everypony was equally worthy, unicorns always came out on top. Why? Simple. Because they had magic. Of all pony races, he disliked earth ponies the least. He pitied them in a way. They were born without wings or horns, which rendered them almost useless compared to their luckier brothers. Earth ponies were told by those gifted individuals that their lack of extra appendages was nothing to be ashamed of, that they were meant to work the earth and make use of their small amount of natural magic that way. It was a pitiful joke. What was earth magic compared to the power of flight, or bending the rules of reality? And what applied to earth ponies applied to every other common race only more so. At least earth ponies got a half way decent life span. Eighty to a hundred years, with pegasi on a similar time frame. Unicorns, because of the sheer amount of magic running through them, lasted far longer. The particularly powerful ones could exceed two hundred years in some historic cases. It was like unicorns were first in line when all the privileges were being handed out in life, and then they'd gone back and cut into line again ahead of the earth ponies, while behind them, everybody else fought for space. Sheep featured somewhere at the back, just in front of caterpillars. How he hated and feared unicorns. He feared what they could do to him at the drop of a hat. He'd been in the Resistance war, he knew what a true mage was capable of. So he kept his head down as they took off, making himself as small as possible in the bottom of the chariot, which wasn't hard. As they pulled away with a lurch up into the sky, he tried not to look over the lip of the chariot as the huge grey peek of Dreverton slowly fell away. The beat of wings and the whistle of wind were the only sounds as he huddled down further by Bright and Sunshine's hooves. He tried to focus his mind on other things than the dark choppy sea so very far below. 'They're taking me by chariot without a blindfold. Why not just teleport? They certainly have enough powerful unicorns here, the Solar guard is supposed to be the best of the best. Unless their standards have been slipping.' And he highly doubted that. Which means one of three things. Possibility one, they didn't care if he saw their route because he'd never be coming back. Or two, because they believed he had no chance of escape so didn't care even if saw. Or possibility three, Dreverton was enchanted against teleportation, even the Guard barracks up at the very top. 'That last one would make the most sense. Dreverton is a very high risk prison after all, and not leaving even one spot to teleport out from is an intelligent move in the event of a breakout, but leaves them no other option but air chariot.' 'Or another, a fourth option; they simply plan to throw me over the side during the flight.' He shivered at the thought. Then again, there were worse ways to go. Much worse ways. Inmate 452 shifted on the cold chariot floor, and tried to get comfortable. As he was currently a prisoner with no control over his situation, he might as well do something productive and get some sleep. If they did intend to toss him to his death, he hoped they'd have the decency not to wake him first. ------ "~He could never get used to the cage~"​ Picture link: https://imgur.com/UkWPEos