There was surprisingly little in Triggerhoof’s head.
He knew he was dreaming, with a strange clarity unusual for dreams. The pain was gone. Triggerhoof was floating in a dark void. One by one, memories, thoughts, and wishes floated by.
He saw his squad, the Heat Seekers, fiercely engaged in battle. Their guns roared as they stood their ground, defending something Triggerhoof couldn’t see. He wanted to join them in their fight, stand side by side and do what he was meant to do in this world. But as he reached out to grab the memory in his hooves, it faded away like a droplet of water in a still pond. Instead, something else floated into view.
He saw marble walls and beautiful, purple spires. He was in Canterlot. From the angle of his perspective, Trigg concluded that he was lying on the ground. He gazed upwards, into a glowing cloud, pulsing with energy. When he turned his head to the left and the right, he saw some strange ponies stand next to him. One was a burly stallion with a moustache, holding his hoof and telling him to be strong. The other was a mare who looked so worried, she was about to burst into tears. And the third pony was a pegasus with a rainbow mane and tail, busy crafting something he couldn’t see.
“Who are you? What are you doing with me?” Trigg said, but the only answer he got was the echo of his own voice.
Triggerhoof noticed that he felt relaxed. There was a strange sense of peace in his head, as if he knew everything would be alright, before he went on a long journey. He was ready to go. Slowly, his eyes closed.
But they shot open as he felt the energy. A bolt of wild magic surged like a white-hot river through his body. There was white everywhere. Trigg yelled in horror. “What is happening!”
And so, he woke up with a scream. Instantly, everything was gone. The ponies, the energy bolt. Everything gone. Instead of the searing white rays of light, there was green around him. Green, black and white.
“Lay down your head once more, for your body will still feel sore.”
There was a mare, no, a zebra, standing beside the bed Trigg was lying on. He felt the leaves brush against his back, as he took in his surroundings. His head still felt a bit woozy, but despite that, he wanted to be in control of the situation, whatever it was. Suddenly, a vile flashback shot like a lightning bolt through his mind. With a cry of pain, Trigg reached for his head. He squirmed around, trying to escape the pain.
“It is as I said, you should stay in bed,” the zebra said. She moved closer to Triggerhoof. “Now allow me to do my mojo, and make that nasty pain go.”
But Triggerhoof didn’t want that. He wanted to go back to Democracity, serve the American military, and try to resolve the upcoming rebellion. But he was in no position to want anything. First, he wanted the pain to go away.
The zebra started singing in a strange language. The tones were ominous, low, but soothing to the ears. They wrapped around Triggerhoof’s body, gently swaying it back and forth, as if he were a baby lying in a cradle. Like a dispersing mist, the pain retreated from Triggerhoof’s head. He felt the hooves of the zebra tapping on his head. The zebra traced circles, or other shapes and symbols, all the while singing her song. A certain freshness found its way into Triggerhoof’s head, swiping away the remaining flashes of pain. Then it began to spread over his whole body like swirling vapors, chasing away all the tiredness and weariness gathered since the changeling attack on the Heat Seekers.
The zebra seemed to be done. She stopped singing and stepped back, watching Triggerhoof with a doctor’s eye.
Trigg never felt better, but he was still possibly in dangerous territory. Time for action! With one jump, he sprang off the bed. Then he could do another jump, before hitting an invisible wall with his nose. “Ouch! What the fuck?!”
The zebra eyed Triggerhoof, and stepped closer until their noses almost bumped together. Triggerhoof wanted to grab her, overpower her, force her down on the ground, and demand some answers. Yet, he couldn’t put a single hoof in front of the other.
The zebra pointed towards the ground. “I was sure to create some protection, as I didn’t know about your reaction. There is a circle on the ground, to which you are bound.”
Triggerhoof followed the zebra’s hoof. Indeed, there was a circle made with purple-colored sand all around the bed. So much for controlling the situation. The zebra controlled him. Trigg felt the rage burning, but knew he had to keep his head cool. He didn’t waste his time, and instead took in the surroundings and his enemy.
It seemed to be some kind of hut. The circular room was made of clay and dirt, hollowed out in some places to allow for vials and bottles to stand there. The roof was made of leaves, woven together to create a big surface.
The zebra frowned. “I see you’re watching the place I call home, but I still don’t like your tone,” she said. “My name is Zecora, you silly fool. And now I want to know your name too.”
Triggerhoof didn’t like being called a ‘silly fool,’ and he would be sure to keep his name a secret. He watched the zebra closely, looking for any motion that might give away an attack. Zecora had a mohawk-style mane, and had many golden rings through her ears and around her neck. She truly looked outlandish. And why did she always speak in rhyme? “My name doesn’t matter. What matters is why I am here, and where the hell here is.”
Zecora tilted her head. With every minute that passed, she regretted her decision to save the pony more and more. “You are in the forest, where men often tread. I saved you from the changelings. You were hurt real bad. I brought you here and healed you, so you should be grateful too. You see, I think we are fighting a common enemy.”
Still, Triggerhoof wasn’t sure, but he remembered something. Just before he had passed out, he had noticed something. “How did you save me?” he said, although he could guess how.
“With ingredients from a long list, I created a potion that conjures up a mist. I distracted the changeling, until it was far away, and then dragged you here at the end of the day.”
That was right. Triggerhoof had seen a mist, and Zecora described the mist. That meant she was speaking the truth. Triggerhoof’s scowl grew less and less harsh. Slowly, it changed into a look of surprise. “I suppose I should thank you, then. You are speaking the truth, as far as I know.”
“I didn’t lie, and I didn’t let you die,” Zecora said. “Your fellow soldiers didn’t survive, yet I could manage to keep you alive.”
Triggerhoof cursed at the loss of a second squad. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he jinxed military missions, turning them into suicide squads. But Zecora was right. She did save his life, and she hated the changelings. Although he remained vigilant, he also stuck out his hoof. “Name’s Triggerhoof, or Trigg for short.”
Zecora clopped her hoof against Trigg’s. “Well met, Triggerhoof.” She looked at the circle on the ground. “Now let me get rid of this with a poof.”
Zecora uttered a string of strange, high sounds. When she clapped her hooves together, the sand evaporated with a poof, and rose in the air as vapors. Triggerhoof watched them travel to the roof. “Nice.”
“I know many spells and tricks, through the potions that I mix. I studied this world’s mojo, ‘radiation,’ for a long time, but don’t worry; you’ll be fine.”
Then, Triggerhoof realized what she meant. “Oh shit!” He wasn’t wearing his suit, and his gasmask was also gone. A surge of panic traveled through his body at highway-speed. He tensed, and flashed his eyes from side to side, looking for his gear.
Zecora waved a hoof in the air. “Don’t worry, my patient. I made a potion that protects you against radiation.” She held up a large bottle. “I have already given you a drink, so about radiation you don’t have to think.”
But Triggerhoof was unsure. He had never heard of magical potions that made you immune to radiation. Nevertheless, he had witnessed Zecora’s healing magic and her circle of sand first-hoof. It had worked, so why should this not work? Still, he asked, “Are you sure?”
Zecora smiled. “You don’t need to fear. If it hadn’t worked, I wouldn’t be here.”
She had a point. Trigg nodded, and kept his eyes on the bottle. “Maybe I should get some more. You know, better safe than sorry.”
Chuckling, Zecora said, “You are funny, little pony. But I assure you, my drink isn’t phony.”
“Oh, ok.”
Zecora turned around, and opened a wooden door. “Now get out of my lair and breathe some fresh air. There’s no need to rush, but also know that there are important matters to be discussed.”
Trigg followed her outside and watched his surroundings. Zecora’s hut stood in a clearing in the forest. But even though there were few trees here, the other trees still cast their leaf crowns over the clearing, making it feel like one big room. There were some unfinished pieces of weaving work lying around, and a small fireplace was constructed too. Next to it stood several bowls of water. Triggerhoof swallowed. He was thirsty. He trotted towards one of the bowls.
Suddenly, Zecora cried out and raised a hoof. “Triggerhoof! That’s something you might not want to do, gazing in the water pool!”
But Trigg had already reached the bowl. “What’s the matter, it’s just water, right?” Trigg bent down to take a sip, but then jumped at the sight of the other pony in the bowl. “Holy shit!”
A horrible scar ran from his ear to his cheeks, and all the way down to his neck. Blotches of dead skin, burn marks, and blisters covered much of the side of his face. Triggerhoof moved his head around; the pony in the water did the same. There was no doubt, this was his reflection. Slowly, he reached up with his hoof and touched the seared skin. To his astonishment, it didn’t hurt.
Zecora walked towards him and let out a sigh. “I was able to sing away the pain, but I couldn’t take away this unfortunate gain. Alas, your face will never be the same.”
Once again, Trigg touched his face, and moved his head from the left to the right, looking at his scars from every angle. He had no idea which angle offered the most gruesome view. He truly looked like a pony from hell. With a jerk, he tore his gaze away from the water. Zecora jolted at the sudden movement. “Whatever,” Trigg said, and walked the other way, as if he could walk away from his new appearance.
“I saw the changeling feed on you,” Zecora said, following Trigg. “But against that, I didn’t know what to do. Whatever it did, it did it quick, and it made you very sick. I saw you squirming, plagued by dreams. They were of an evil kind, it seems. I didn’t know what to do, and I fear your memories will be lost to you.”
Trigg stopped, and looked at the ground, taking in Zecora’s words. He tried to think, to remember, but his head felt kind of drowsy, as if his mind lay underneath a blanket. He tried and tried to remember, but the earliest thought that came to mind was the battle against the changelings, and that was not a memory he was happy to recall. He tried to think back to his childhood, his parents—if he had any—and his friends. When he couldn’t manage to conjure up their faces, he tried to think about Equestria, and what he liked to do, hobbies. Nothing came to mind.
But there must be something…
Suddenly, Trigg kicked at the dirt and turned around. His breathing was heavy, and he clenched his teeth together. For a moment, Zecora truly felt afraid.
“It doesn’t matter,” Trigg snapped. “What matters is what’s happening now, and what will happen later on. Nothing else matters.”
But Zecora didn’t agree. “That is not what I would say, scolding and swearing though you may. You never know when you need thoughts of the past, however long they last.”
Trigg’s muscles tensed. He bit back an urge to shout at the zebra, but kept himself in check—barely. “It doesn’t matter. I’m fine without my memories.” He paused, snorted, and said, “Now what important matters do we need to talk about? You mentioned that before.”
Zecora moved back to the door. “Indeed I did, come back inside. Then I will bring some matters to the light.”
So they did. Triggerhoof sat down, while Zecora took a quick peek inside a bubbling cauldron. The liquid that was in it swirled black and white, just like her stripes. “What is that?” Trigg asked.
“It is an all-seeing brew I made, and I am sure it will reveal your fate. I can see wide and far, and witness the terrible war. Mankind will destroy one another, but I don’t think I will bother. Because through the brew and the trance, I could see four little ponies searching for their friends.”
Triggerhoof raised an eyebrow. “Wait, how can you see that in a drink?”
Zecora beckoned Trigg to stand up, and let him take a peek in the cauldron too. “As I have told you before, I studied radiation, but there’s more. Wherever it may be, if there’s radiation, I can see.”
After healing chants, a circle of protection, and a magical anti-radiation potion, Triggerhoof had no trouble accepting Zecora’s ‘all-seeing brew.’ “So you’re saying you can look wherever radiation is?”
Zecora nodded. “At those spots I can take a quick peek. Not only that, but also wherever there’s a lot of magic. When Twilight and her friends arrived, I could follow their strive. I saw them meeting you, back then you didn’t know what to do. But now I tell you, your fate is bound to the four mares you found. You must help them in any way. So, Triggerhoof, what do you say?”
Trigg heard it all, and tried to make sense of it. “I have to help them? Those mares?”
“Whatever brought them here I don’t know, but they must have a mission or so.”
Trigg thought for a moment. At least his meeting with the elements of harmony was something he could recall. “Yes… yes they had a mission. They wanted to search for a mare. I can’t recall a name… They said she had a rainbow-colored mane and tail.”
But Zecora knew what he meant. “Ah, of Rainbow Dash you speak. I guess it is her they seek.”
“Yeah, that’s it. They were looking for her, and also for another element of harmony.” Trigg scoffed. “Heh, they were talking about defeating Chrysalis and the changeling army. Well, good luck with that.”
Zecora was undaunted by Trigg’s verbal irony. She faced him, and stood up straighter. “No! You must help them. Then they can—”
“But why should I?” Trigg snapped. “It’s not as if I am a fucking element of harmony, right? Besides, they were looking for kindness, and I don’t know if you noticed, but I am a soldier, a killer. I’ve killed more reds and raiders than there’s scales on a dragon. I’m no element of kindness!”
Zecora closed her eyes and nodded calmly. “Of that I am sure, but that doesn’t mean you can’t help them find him or her.”
“But still, why should I?”
Zecora let out a sigh. She turned around, and tapped the cauldron twice with her hoof. “I’ve noticed that the number of changelings in the forest grows, they are becoming mighty foes. In the crater I can see. There’s much radiation, so nothing stays hidden from me. Come, take a look—but don’t be spooked.”
Triggerhoof stepped closer. He craned his neck, and looked into the swirling black and white of the all-seeing brew.
At first there was nothing, just a haze of colors. But then, the colors began to change. They grew green and black and brown, nasty colors. The colors stretched out, becoming angular. Something came into view. Trigg racked his mind about it. Had he seen this object before? Yes, he had! He saw it when he flew from Crossroads to Democracity. There was a lonely building in the Aurora crater, about which he had wondered why it still stood. It was the same shape as the structure in the brew.
Slowly, gradually, the picture sharpened. Trigg could see other, tinier specks moving all around it. He even heard sounds, the skittering of wings. That was a sound he knew all too well.
“Changelings.”
“Yes, Triggerhoof, you are right. They are changelings, and will become a great blight.”
Trigg looked deeper into the cauldron, and then he knew what he saw.
“The hive!”
Changelings flew everywhere, disappearing through holes in the hive, carrying things for their queen. They were working like ants in an anthill, except that these insects brought greater harm to the world than tiny ants. Triggerhoof winced at their screeching and slithering. He had had two encounters with them, and was definitely not eager to meet them again. Trigg looked at Zecora. “They are here? In this world? In the Aurora crater?”
“Yes, yes, and yes. Even in this world, they are becoming a pest. Look! Their queen can be seen.”
Indeed, when Triggerhoof turned his attention back to the cauldron, he saw Queen Chrysalis, standing erect upon a small platform. She watched her minions work and train and fight. Even though her back was turned to them, Triggerhoof knew she was smiling a content smile, maybe even a smile filled with pride, as she witnessed her creation.
“They are so many,” Trigg said. “They will overrun any compound, no matter how big it is. Ground Zero will be destroyed a second time—by changelings!”
Zecora nodded. “They are looking for Twilight Sparkle and her friends too. But look! Something else appears in the brew.”
The colors faded out. They came together, bubbled for a second, and then turned red. But there was something else too. A yellow hammer and sickle, a symbol Triggerhoof despised with all his heart.
“Reds!”
An enormous base came into view. It was built around a huge bunker, which protruded out of the ground. Many weapons of war could be seen. There were battalions and battalions of soldiers, heavy machineguns, anti-aircraft missiles, helicopters, and even a couple of tanks like the Winter. But instead of the American stars and stripes, the yellow hammer and sickle adorned their sides.
Zecora frowned. “Ah! One of the major powers, I see. Well, I say, let them be. Let’s not meddle in their affairs. Their burden we don’t need to bear.”
But as Zecora turned away from her brew, Triggerhoof kept standing, gazing spellbound at the image. His eyes went as wide as the diameter of the cauldron. “This must be their home base in the state,” he said. “Or maybe their biggest home base in America. Who knows?”
Zecora walked towards a table and continued making a potion she had been working on. “I don’t. I don’t care why or with how many they’re there.”
The image faded, but before it did, Triggerhoof saw something interesting. To the far left, there was a green line. Trigg thought they were trees. When the vision was gone, and the brew regained its original colors, Trigg said, “That red base, is it close by? I saw trees.”
“Yes, it is close by, but if you go there, you will die,” Zecora said. The tone of her voice indicated that she didn’t want to talk about it any longer. “But more important matters are at hand. You must help Twilight and her friends and save this land.”
“No,” Triggerhoof said, and stomped on the ground.
Zecora turned around slowly. Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t you care about the changeling threat? They need a soldier, a killer, to make them dead. You know the way of these lands. Your skills and virtues might be very important!”
There was a silence. Triggerhoof thought. He did feel the fire of vengeance burning within his soul, eager to escape the pony and incinerate the changelings. They had wiped out his squad, killed everyone. They had to pay.
But the reds…
No matter what happened, Triggerhoof was a soldier. He had pledged his allegiance to America, and now he gained some valuable intel. Not doing something with it, letting it go to waste, was an act of treason in Trigg’s patriotic eyes. He was in total doubt, wondering who deserved his bullets most; changelings or communists.
Triggerhoof kept thinking, deciding. He thought and he thought, racking his brain for some way to deliver his wrath to both enemies. Trigg hated to choose, so that’s why he said, “Yes. I will go and help the elements of harmony.”
Zecora’s eyes went wide. She was actually surprised. But then, she smiled. “A wise decision. You chose the better mission.”
But Trigg wasn’t done yet. He raised a hoof in the air. “If you show me that base first.”
“What?!” Zecora jumped up and threw an angry stare at the scarred stallion. “But time is of the essence! The elements of harmony will require your presence. And on top of that, the changelings are rapidly multiplying. Right now, as we speak, people and ponies are dying. We have to move quick and fast, while this world lasts.”
Trigg’s muscles tensed. He stood firm. “No. You show me the communist base, and I will help the elements. Take it or leave it.”
By the looks of him, Zecora knew there was no bargaining with Triggerhoof. She closed her eyes as if she were in pain, and let out a long sigh with an edge of irritation. “Fine,” she said harshly. “If you really want to go to that place, then follow me, and I’ll take you to the communist base.”
A hint of a smile appeared on Triggerhoof’s stubbled and scarred muzzle. He always loved a victory, no matter how small.
**
Together they moved through the forest. Triggerhoof had an easy time, as he didn’t need to wear his thick, lead-lined protective suit. He could gallop, jump over bushes and brambles, use his wings to create even larger jumps, and could almost keep up with Zecora. Zecora was even faster. She hop-skip-jumped through the forest, leaving the trees flashing by in a green haze. If they were really going to the communist base, she reckoned they might just do it quickly, and get it over with.
“So where are the elements anyway? Do you have a location for me?” Triggerhoof asked.
“I’m afraid I lost sight,” Zecora said. “The last I saw of them was at the changeling fight. I also saw how you met them after the strife. You should be more thankful to ponies and zebras saving your life.”
Triggerhoof ignored that comment, and galloped onwards. He estimated the time and distance they had rushed along. Perhaps half an hour? It didn’t matter. Soon, the exact location of the compound would be revealed to him, and he could take the intel back to the American base, back to Admiral Montgomery. Triggerhoof already imagined the face of the admiral upon seeing what he brought back home. At least the disastrous ‘hunt’ hadn’t been for nothing.
They galloped up a large hill, and then dived back into the foliage. Only a couple hundred meters further, they saw something peculiar. Stumps were scattered all around, with loads of sawdust and sometimes even a log or two close by. Trigg knew they were getting close. Obviously the Russians had utilized the forest to gather building material or so. Trigg didn’t care. They were close, and that was what mattered.
Then the forest opened up, and Triggerhoof could see the faint glow of the moon through the permanent cloud cover. A few hundred yards further, they came upon the tree line. And then Triggerhoof saw it.
Down in a valley, the red base lay. It looked even bigger than the base Triggerhoof had seen in the brew. The rumble of heavy engines filled the valley, and when Trigg looked, he could see four battle tanks driving towards the gate in tight formation. Upon seeing them, Triggerhoof doubted what he found more amazing, the tanks or the helicopters.
When the tanks had retreated, another strange sound echoed around. “Look, another mean machine,” Zecora said, pointing to the sky. The lights of the helicopter shone, as it neared the base. The sound of the rotors became louder and louder. Trigg looked at the display with an open mouth. The helicopter hovered above the compound. The sound of its rotors became almost deafening, as it descended. But Trigg didn’t cover his ears as Zecora did. To him, the sound was beautiful music.
The helicopter touched down, and switched off its lights. As the pilot opened the door of the helicopter, a small group of men walked towards it. One of them unfurled a hose which led to a huge fuel container, ready to fuel the helicopter up for its next mission. Triggerhoof didn’t stop staring at the mighty machine until the rotors came to a complete standstill, much to Zecora’s annoyance. Once she thought she could make herself understandable, she called, “Have you seen what you wanted to see? Can we go and leave them be?”
Zecora’s shout brought Triggerhoof from weapon Walhalla back to Ground Zero. He threw her an angry stare. “Yes. Hold on for just a moment.” He searched in his pack and drew out the GPS unit. He put the coordinates into it, so when he returned, Admiral Montgomery would have the exact location of the communist base. In his mind, Triggerhoof was already thinking about various strategies they could utilize to launch an attack on the base. He and the admiral just needed to find a way to get through the forest without the whole army becoming slaughtered by changelings. Otherwise, it might become guerrilla warfare, the nightmare of every military commander.
Zecora watched as Triggerhoof fiddled with the tiny box. It let out a few bleeps, and then Trigg shut it down. He grabbed his pack, and put the thing in it. “Alright, just one more thing I should check,” he said, digging in his backpack. “Where is… Oh shit! Please tell me… NO!” Triggerhoof flung his pack against a tree stump.
“What is all the fuss?” Zecora said. “Why all the cuss?”
“I forgot the fucking Geiger counter,” Triggerhoof snarled. “How on Earth did I forget my Geiger counter?! We’re on Ground Zero, for fuck’s sake!”
Zecora put a hoof on Trigg’s, but he quickly withdrew his. “Come on, Triggerhoof, don’t be sad. It isn’t that bad. I can tell you what you need to know; the radiation levels aren’t exactly low. There is so much radiation there, more than I have seen anywhere. Except in the crater, where you will go later. Those communists are mad to stay at this place, yet why did they choose this location to build their base?”
Triggerhoof tapped his hoof against his scarred muzzle. The rage retreated from his mind, allowing him to think. “Yes, that makes sense. I mean, if there wouldn’t be any radiation, you wouldn’t be able to see them with your brew.” But Zecora’s second question remained unanswered.
Why the hell would they build their base in such a radiation pit?
Suddenly, like the bright flash that brought him to earth, an idea flared up in Trigg’s mind. He trotted back towards the backpack, and began gathering his stuff together. Luckily, he hadn’t forgotten to bring binoculars. He crouched down next to Zecora, and peered through it.
He could see the troops marching with their gasmasks and their suits on. They must be changing the guard or so. It didn’t matter, because Triggerhoof was looking at something else. He was looking at the warning signs.
There were warning signs everywhere, that portrayed the ‘danger! Radiation’ symbol; a dot with three cones around it, black on yellow. The signs looked weathered, and therefore Triggerhoof concluded that they must have been there before the reds took over the bunker. Triggerhoof’s heart pounded in his chest, as he searched for more warning signs.
And then he saw it. Right there, illuminated by a spotlight, was a white sign, warning the employees to be careful, don’t smoke, wear eye protection, etcetera.
Triggerhoof’s breath caught in his throat. He jolted. A shiver went through his body, making his muscles quiver.
Zecora saw Trigg’s reaction. “What is it that you see? Or do you need to pee?”
“It’s a missile silo,” Trigg said, more to himself than to Zecora. “They’ve taken it over and built their base around it.”
Zecora tilted her head. “Does it matter much, if they have such—”
“Of course it matters!” Triggerhoof called out. “The radiation means that there are still missiles in that fucking silo. If they have skilled technicians, they can launch them and make them strike anywhere they want. As soon as they figure out where Democracity is… Or when they figure out where the American home base is… Or when they figure out where President Winter is…”
Triggerhoof turned around. He moved so abruptly that Zecora stared at him. Now he was the one who had haste. “This information has to reach the admiral as soon as possible. We have to launch an assault—immediately. We have to make sure we capture or destroy that base before those damn communists find a way to launch those missiles—period.”
And so, Triggerhoof’s joy at finding out the location of his enemy turned into cold, hard worry. He didn’t look back at Zecora, but charged into the forest.
**
When they reached Zecora’s hut, Triggerhoof immediately began gathering his stuff. He grabbed the backpack, his Geiger counter, his suit and mask, and then he searched for his weapons. He couldn’t find them. “Zecora! Where are my weapons!” he shouted.
Zecora came to a halt, and took a moment to catch her breath. When she saw the angry stare Triggerhoof threw at her—anger mixed with a healthy dose of panic— she said, “Of weapons I know nothing, my dear, unless you were the one who brought them here.”
“FUCK!”
Triggerhoof stomped the wall of Zecora’s house. The zebra winced, and hoped that he hadn’t smashed a hole in the wall. She let him vent his anger for a while. When the red stallion sat down in defeat, Zecora walked up to him.
“That bloody changeling disarmed me,” he began to explain, his voice still bearing traces of anger. “It disarmed me, and my guns flew into the forest somewhere. I thought you might have found them.” He let out a sigh. “There’s no way I’m gonna find them in the vegetation and plants and whatnot.”
Zecora remained silent. She wanted Triggerhoof to completely calm down.
Suddenly, he spoke up. “How long have I been here, Zecora?”
“It wasn’t for that long, a day or two, I reckon,” Zecora said. “Or maybe more, I’m not so sure.”
“Alright.” Triggerhoof stood up, and walked over to his pack. He knew the way back might be dangerous without a weapon, but he thought that maybe he could use the cover of night to sneak through the forest, however much he hated stealth missions.
Meanwhile, Zecora entered her house, and searched for some things herself. When she reemerged with something in her mouth, Triggerhoof was already at the edge of the clearing, with his back to her. Zecora quickly caught up with him, and laid the bundle on the ground. “This has helped to keep me safe. Maybe you too, can use it to defeat a changeling wave.”
Triggerhoof unfurled his wing, and used his feathers to pick up the bundle. It wasn’t heavy at all. Maybe it was a small knife or a machete. But, much to his surprise, it turned out to be a bow and arrow.
“Wow,” Trigg said. “But… a bow? I don’t know how to shoot. Hell, I have never even grabbed a bow before.”
But as he said that, he somehow felt that something was not right. He felt as if he were lying. The bow felt so light and supple in his hooves. The feeling seemed familiar, but Trigg just couldn’t place it. As far as he could remember, he had never, ever, fired an arrow with a bow, let alone kill someone with it.
He grabbed the quiver with arrows, and took one out. It had a tip made of flint, quite sharp to the touch. He frowned upon seeing the primitiveness of his new ‘arsenal.’
Zecora nodded. “This will pierce straight through a changeling’s hide, and help you win the fight. Trust me, I’ve used it once before, when there were changelings at my door.”
Triggerhoof knew he had to say something nice now. Nothing complicated surfaced in his mind, so he said simply, “Thank you.”
Sticking out a hoof, Zecora said, “I can’t say you were a pleasant guest, yet I hope you will complete your important quest. Do you promise, do you swear, that you will seek out the mares?”
Triggerhoof returned the hoofshake. “I will,” he said, and he meant it. He wanted to see the changelings gone as much as Zecora, and if that meant helping the elements of harmony with whatever they were going to do, then so be it. “But, what about you?”
Zecora was actually surprised. She thought Triggerhoof would simply forget about her, focused as he was on his new mission and on himself. “What do you mean, ‘what about me?’ I’m perfectly fine, as you can see.”
“No, I mean, what will happen to you? Don’t you want to go back to Equestria when those crazy mares actually complete their suicide mission?”
Zecora thought about that for a moment, then she said, “I am certain they will come back for me. You just have to tell them where I am; that’s the key.”
Triggerhoof nodded. “I will. I have already put your location in the GPS.”
“Then there is nothing more for me to say. I wish you good luck on your way.”
Triggerhoof made a soldier’s salute. Then, he slung the bow over his shoulders, strapped on the quiver with arrows, and stepped into the forest.
Despite the cursing, raging, gruff soldier Triggerhoof was, Zecora kept standing and waving as the forest slowly swallowed him whole. Then she returned to her home, hoping, guessing, wishing.