//------------------------------//
// Return 
// Story: Changing Ways 
// by Comma Typer 
//------------------------------//

The rainforest was hot and humid.
Trees, comprised of burly and bulky barks, reached high up and towered over the savage bushes, blotting out much of the sky, leaving only faint ethereal rays of sunlight piercing through the hanging foliage and the damp, pungent air which reeked of a rainy yesterday. Muddy paths cut across the ground burdened with fallen leaves and vines, sided by thorn-riddled shrubs producing berries dangling out of their little branches.
A hairy capybara scampered through and swiped a few berries off a bush.
Loud, rising buzzing. Over there, descending from the leaves of those stiff trees, were fly-ders—spiders with the wings of a fly, moving out in huge packs and flying round the tree with their eight legs arched and poised.
Nothing there for the insects but the capybara feasting on his measly meal.
Ignoring the big rodent, the fly-ders swarmed over to another tree and went around it.
Nothing there, too, except for a jackalope hopping away into a burrow wide enough for his long antlers, greeted by another jackalope before being ushered farther inside.
Overlooking the weird rabbits, the fly-ders swarmed to yet another tree.
Saw a pony with his back to the trunk, trembling at the sight of them.
"Get away from me!" he yelled.
Burst into a sprint.
With the fly-ders not far behind and catching up on him, this pony dodged big stones, tall trees, and other wildlife—jumped over a snake, darted away from a sleeping tiger, and did not fail in escaping the clutches of a crocodile as he leaped to the other side of the river.
Breathing, panting.
He turned his mane-ruffled head.
Saw the fly-ders glaring at him from their side, across the river.
They turned away, back into the darkness of that part of the forest.
The stallion wiped the sweat off of his face, breathing fast, about to wheeze, the stench of the forest and the danger of the crocodile and the stream of the river and the strange sounds coming from the rest of the forest coming back to his senses.
Glanced at the saddle bag he was wearing.
A little stained by dirt, and a few scratches here and there. It was fine, though.
"That's got to be the last of it!" he said to himself, shaky and unsure, before venturing deeper into the forest, concealing himself under the trees' leaves once again.



Sandbar trod past the trees, walking and never going into a full gallop. He avoided the dry leaves and the dry twigs which littered his way, keeping himself to a quiet, even stealthy, trip through the rainforest.
The farther he went, the darker it grew. Now, it was only as bright as twilight—the rare rays of light from above became natural lightbulbs in the otherwise murky woods, illuminating a patch of mud, rocks, and weeds with a creeping iguana or two. He could hear the rush of a nearby waterfall, the croaking of a dozen frogs, the calls of toucans from their holes in the trees, the snapping of fallen branches by shadowy silhouettes which, under the light, turned out to be more jackalopes hopping around.
Sandbar then turned away from the mud path, trudging through thick vegetation growing from the ground. With his head and his forehooves, he parted many leaves of different shapes and sizes, some sporting an exotic blue.
He stopped, raised his right hoof.
Surrounded by tropical shrubs and bushes covering most of his legs and part of his cyan tail, feeling the forest's sweltering heat of the day with profuse drops of sweat on his skin.
He looked up at one of the trees. "I want a number."
The leaves there rustled a bit. A gruff voice: "My number is three."
Sandbar furrowed his brows. "Mine is eight."
The leaves rustled again. "I want what number and with what other number shall I use to get there?"
"One hundred, eleven."
A sigh from the tree. "A Griffon named Gary. Favorite food and number."
Sandbar smiled. "Ice cream and thirty-one, plus he's never last in a marathon."
Another sigh. "Traffic. First yellow pegasus at intersection C."
"Should back up and reverse."
"Who will send you tomorrow?"
"A Princess of Melody."
"Who sent you three days ago?"
"Curly, simple, with stripes."
"When the gate is yellow, shall you fight?"
"Like a soldier, unlike a fighter, sir."
"Freedom and fire, but before them is...?"
"Crime."
A sneer from the tree. "Three patterns alternate starting with the shorter one."
"Save our souls."
"Plaid carrots are what?"
"Sincere and come in threes."
Another sneer. "You've failed the test. What are your last words before we kill you off, changeling?"
Sandbar chuckled. "'Peach' for one, 'desert' for the second cube, 'waterspout' for something above the roof, 'azure' for one and one, 'olivine' for five, 'shandy' is with 'shamrock', and 'rich' or 'registration' for second-to-last."
Silence.
The leaves did not rustle. "You're certain you did not bring anyone else along with you?"
Sandbar nodded, though his hooves shivered.
"Alright. Hold on. She's been waiting for you."
The leaves crinkled and crackled; the branch buckled under the weight, showing a glimmer of the pony who was there and now was gone.
Sandbar waited, staring at that unoccupied branch. He looked around, still surrounded by bushes and trees.
Not a light but a faint ray by the wayside, showering the sun's warmth over a couple of forget-me-nots. He saw not much else, the vicinity shrouded in shadows.
Then, rustling of leaves and buckling of branches again.
Sandbar stood up.
Looked at the new pony who came into view.
Her dark indigo mane was muted under the darkness, tied with ponytails made up of chopped vines and flexible sticks. Her face and her hooves were covered with a green salve, altering her into somepony fierce and mysterious, as if a mask had fallen upon her. The clothes she was wearing were simple: a green and brown shirt.
"Come up," she whispered, standing on the branch and beckoning him with a hoof.
Sandbar did so, climbing up the tree and then pulled up by her hooves on to the branch.
The mare yanked a rope hanging from above, and the canopy of leaves descended to cover the opening.
Now, Sandbar saw nothing but leaves and branches around him, his eyes adjusting to the extreme shade.
"Is it true?" Coloratura said in a hushed voice, closer to his ears.
Sandbar nodded. "I got into a close shave where Ponyville used to be. They turned it into their own base. Chrysalis is resting there for a while, but I have no idea what she'll do."
Coloratura placed a hoof on her cheek, feeling a throbbing headache with another hoof on her forehead. "OK. That's...it's good to know, b-but why does it have to be them? If Ponyville's down, then the rest of us will follow suit unless we do something drastic."
He gulped. "A move?"
Coloratura looked at him with a pensive frown, gesturing towards another branch nearby. "We're not in good straits between Ponyville and here. The McIntosh Hills rebels have the advantage of mountains, but not for long."
She jumped to the next branch, balancing on it with ease.
"Once they go down, it's time to move South, through the desert. I've already made plans to make peace with the locals at Klugetown, but that'll have to be temporary."
Sandbar jumped to her side, rocking the branch. "But, what's after that? There's not much left after Bone Dry Desert!"
Coloratura winced. "That's true, but there's been talk about meeting up with the hippogriffs at Mount Aris. Already, they've acted on contingency plans and have utilized some kind of magical pearl to turn them into seaponies in case of a changeling overrun. The back-up plan is to go underwater and hole up there until it's time to strike."
She hopped to another branch, this one connected to a wooden bridge strung together by ropes. It led to a tunnel purely made up of so many leaves and branches; it isolated the passageway from any sunlight whatsoever, creating a tunnel mostly filled with pitch black darkness.
"It's a worst case scenario," Coloratura continued, "but...we have to be prepared. As long as one of us is alive, there's a fighting chance."
Sandbar shuddered, looking at Coloratura with quivering lips and racketing teeth.
"What are you doing?" she prodded. "Come on!"
Sandbar jumped to her branch, and the two walked into the tunnel, disappearing in the tunnel's blind gloom.



Night had fallen, but there was not much difference compared to daytime in this dense forest. Under the trees, it was darker yet, for the rare sunrays were gone. Looking up, one could scarcely tell whether he was looking at a starless sky or at the leaves. All he would know is that the moon was up, but was it a full moon tonight? A new moon? Somewhere in between?
That would not matter if he was looking at the ceiling of a hut.
The hut displayed a main room. In fact, it was the only room the hut had, combining all the functions of an ordinary house: wooden tables and chairs for dining, little smoke and fire tepee for making actual dinner, hay beds for sleeping...and that was all. The shelves contained various potions and other magical liquids of various colors, locked up in their small jars. The racks resting on the round plank walls held a variety of weapons ranging from clubs to slings, from bows with arrows to spears. Everything here was then lit up by two lanterns, one on the table and one hanging from the ceiling.
Sandbar sat at the lantern-lit table, sitting across Fresh Coat, a unicorn mare with curly black bangs running over her face.
"We're not doing well, are we?" she said, looking straight at Sandbar, touching her cap sullied with white paint. "I...I don't know what I'll do after this. I'm sure most of us will survive the trek through the desert but, you know...it's hot."
Sandbar placed a hoof on the table. "It's something new to experience, right?"
Fresh Coat glowered at him.
Sandbar held his hooves up in defense. "I was trying to lighten up the mood here, OK?"
She sighed. "I don't blame you or Coloratura. We've been doing the same old thing for months now. Check supplies, check the ponies passing through for refuge, talk with the others. I don't...I don't sleep easy at night, but you already knew that. What if they catch me sleeping? But, I need my eight hours of sleep. Or six."
She sighed again.
"I just don't know. I just don't know."
Sandbar cleared his throat, tugged at his imaginary collar.
Fresh Coat yawned. "It's never easy. They got Ivy Vine yesterday, and I've never noticed when they got her. How much info did she leak out to the Hive? Was she with us from the very beginning? And...and you..."
Pointed at him.
"...you could be a changeling, but I know you're not...but, that's what I said to her last week, and we had deep conversations about what our plans would be after all's said and done."
She sighed yet again.
"Like, live out the rest of my life doing the one thing I do best: Paint stuff."
Sandbar raised a brow. "Aren't you happy with the camouflage you do?"
Fresh Coat nodded, though never smiling. "Yeah, but...I want real painting. Real renovating. I want clients with dusty old homes asking me to fix up their walls and make them look bright and lively. I don't want to worry about those clients building that house to trap me in, and then suck the love out of me. I just want to paint because that's my passion, my cutie mark...."
And raised a hoof to her eye.
Sandbar got up from her chair, galloped to her side, held her head. "Come on, Coat. You don't have to be like that. We're still in this together."
She wrenched his hoof away from her.
Sandbar staggered back, almost falling to the hay covered floor.
Left looking at her, that despairing mare.
"What if they're here and we don't even know it? I don't wanna be caged and treated as food! What happens if they get all the love out of me? Will I become an emotionless monster?! I've never thought about it before, and it's horrifying to think about! They—" sniffed "—they're coming to get all of us!"
Sandbar rushed up to her and held her head firm. "Keep it together! Don't panic!"
Silence.
The flickering of lanterns where they were, the flickering of shadows on the walls.
Sandbar let go of her head.
Fresh Coat exhaled.
"Look," Sandbar began, studying her, "if all else fails, we got the hippogriffs. Remember what Coloratura told us and everyone else? They'll have something, they got to have something."
Coat rubbed her nose. "You're just saying that to make me feel better, aren't you?"
Sandbar scratched his head, maintaining a forced smile. "What do you mean?"
Coat let out a short, sly laugh, turning her head away from him. "Are you sure they have something?"
Sandbar froze in place, his smile gone.
Then, slowly walked to one of the small windows there.
Looking out at the opening of grass and a few other dimly lit huts, their own lanterns flickering inside—all encircled by more thick, dense trees and whatever savage fauna prospered in the unknown—chirping, howling, beeping.
He looked up, seeing nothing but the blackness cast by the leaves above.
He saw no moon.
"I'm...sure they'll have something."