The pair sped over the trees of the Everfree Forest, stray twigs snagging the fur of their hooves as they went.
“We must be close now!” Twilight cried, though her words were slurred and she was undeniably struggling. She flapped a little harder and ground her teeth, struggling to keep up with a speedily levitating Starlight. “See anything?”
Starlight looked around frantically, dipping quickly down into the forest. She bolted back up, looking shaken, but she shook her head quickly. “No, nothing yet. Do you—oh!”
Starlight froze in midair, her eyes suddenly glancing slightly to the right. She turned slowly and drifted closer, cautiously dropping down to the tree canopy. Her ears fell and her telekinesis momentarily wavered. She then turned in midair, gesturing with a hoof over her new position.
That amount of damage to the trees was undeniably caused by a monster.
“We’re here,” Twilight whispered. And then, ever so slowly, she drifted down to the floor. Starlight followed suit reluctantly. The shadows engulfed them both as they descended, drawing them deeper into the seemingly endless abyss of darkness. The most terrifying thing, though, was the ear-shattering scream that sounded just as their hooves touched down.
The pair froze and their eyes connected, wide with horror. They then turned slowly around and—in the hazy light of their horns—something the likes of which should only exist in nightmares could be seen.
The ursa’s massive body filled the entirety of the cave, even as it fell to the ground. It gave a deafening bellow as it did so, colliding with the rock with a force so great that shockwaves rippled through the dirt floor beneath Starlight and Twilight’s hooves.
Starlight was the first to react. She galloped towards the cave without hesitation, hurdling the fallen debris like cross country jumps. Twilight fumbled after, her legs still sluggish and uncoordinated from her lack of sleep.
The sight that met their eyes at the cave entrance was equally as impressive as it was horrifying.
The downed ursa lay, unmoving, on the cold rock of its very own cave. Its entire top line appeared to have simply melted away, leaving gaping holes in its flesh—if one could call it as such. Its gargantuan head was simply a mangled mess of meat, though one eyeball could be spotted rolling uselessly down into the depths of the cave.
Next to it, two bodies lay, unmoving. First, Trixie—completely soaked through with her own blood from the hundreds of cuts and scratches that now marred her body—sat in a hunched up ball by the beast’s head. Her eyes, wide but with pupils the size of pinpricks, met the newcomers’ with complete and utter horror. She twitched, her body spasming. She then wrapped her hooves around her rear legs and pulled them up to her chest. She began to rock, back and forth and back and forth. She muttered quietly. The incoherent strings of words couldn’t quite be called sentences.
Spike lay not far off, next to the ursa’s alicorn-sized fore paws, panting. His own hands were a state, covered with small scratches and cuts, with the right sporting a particularly deep gash. His own claws had been almost completely filed down. But he still tried to smile, even as he shakily pushed his battered body up. “It’s weak to fire.”
Twilight was at a loss for words. When she recovered from her shock, she simply said, What?”
“Fire,” Spike said, smirking. When his friends did not instantly reply, he then said, “Ursas are weak to fire.”
Twilight frowned and looked from the ursa, to Spike, and then back to the ursa. “You did this?”
Spike nodded. Suddenly, he looked less like a feeble baby dragon. “It’s basically made of darkness, right? Well, the fire just melted it away.”
Twilight looked taken aback. “Wow, Spike,” she murmured, then beaming. She ensnared him in a weak magical field and pulled him over, dumping him down (somewhat heavily) upon her back. “You’ve grown a lot stronger than I give you credit for!” She paused and turned. Her eyes suddenly bored into Trixie. “On that note, what in Equestria were you—Oh my word!”
Twilight froze. Starlight screamed. Trixie just blubbered quietly, still rocking back and forth on her rump.
“It’s gone, isn’t it?” she whispered, raising a hoof gingerly. When she tapped the sawn-off stump of her horn, she froze. Her face went white. Her eyes widened and her lips parted in a breath of horror. “Oh my stars, it’s gone!”
Starlight began to step forwards slowly, warily. But, just before she could move, a massive, high pitched howl sounded.
Spike blanched.
“You know what, that’s okay. It can be fixed,” Twilight said hurriedly, her eyes darting about as she turned her head. “But I, for one, don’t want to be timberwolf chow.”
Starlight nodded, pulling Trixie up with her own magic. “Twilight’s right,” she said. Trixie scowled slightly. “We’d best get back to Ponyville. Those things sound darned close.”
Trixie pouted, though looked somewhat reassured by Twilight’s promise. “Can’t I at least get a…” She paused for breath, wheezing slightly. “A souvenir?”
“Your wounds aren’t enough?” Twilight snapped, stomping a hoof.
Trixie looked away slightly but shook her head.
“Just let me prove this tale actually happened?”
Starlight sighed, looking to Twilight with a smile that said, ‘I’ve got this’. She then placed Trixie down gently and turned to the beast, cringing. She used her magic to make a saw, placing it against the tip of one of the ursa’s claws and slicing it off cleanly in one swipe. She then snagged a tuft of the fur and snipped that off, too, passing both to Trixie.
“Satisfied?”
Trixie beamed, though tears of pain ran down her slightly bloodied cheeks. “Very.”
Twilight smiled very slightly, but yawned massively just a moment later. “Well, I don’t know about you lot, but I need my sleep—and I’ve hardly got the strength to fly anymore, let alone teleport. So can we please go now?”