Sandbar and Gallus trotted away from the dirt path and encountered thick bushes and thick grass thriving. They could feel the dense air settling in like invisible fog.
“Follow me,” whispered Sandbar, motioning to Gallus with a swing of his head. “Don’t act suspicious at all.”
“Got it,” was Gallus's brash reply.
Sandbar tip-hoofed his way to a certain spot on the ground.
He stopped, raised his right hoof like before.
That pony surrounded by the shrubs and bushes, still facing the sweltering heat of the new day.
He looked up at the same tree. “I want a number.”
The leaves rustled with more urgency. Some branches fell to the ground. “Huh? New guy?”
"Yeah." Sandbar pulled the griffon closer and brought him into view. "Found him on my way to Appleloosa.”
Silence. “Does he know?”
“I don’t think he knows."
Whispers from the tree, talking with someone else. Then: “Nevermind. You first." He cleared his throat. "My number is one. Pick two or three.”
“Three.”
“What are my winning odds if I go to two?”
“Sixty-six percent.”
“I see a red apple. What do you conclude?”
“Ravens are black.”
“A lightning trophy is…?”
“Resolute with stars.”
“Your next number.”
“Sixty-eight.”
Gallus took a step back, seeing this strange conversation play out. His face displayed confusion with his downwards beak.
“A griffon named Jerry," the tree pony continued.
“I should ask who’s on his right.”
“Hold on to solid ground. Who are you?”
“A proud knight.”
“Who sent you...uh, more than a week ago?”
“A Princess of Melody.”
“Who will send you tomorrow?”
“Curly, simple, with stripes.”
“After crime is…?”
“Freedom and fire.”
Gallus resorted to scratching his beige eyebrows. He muttered a simple "What?"
The leaves rustled again. “I’m sorry to say, Sandbar, but you’re not the real thing.”
Gallus gulped, looked at Sandbar dead on with furious eyes.
Pounced on him, struck him with clenched claws. “When did you take away my friend?!”
Sandbar held up his hooves, trying to dodge but kept getting hit. “Wait, wait! Stop hitting me!”
“You heard him!” the griffon yelled, pointing at the tree. “You were going to get me while I’m sleeping and right inside a pony base, too! That sounds dumb, but I’ll not let myself get caught sleeping!”
“Wait!”
Gallus scratched his face with a claw.
“Ow!”
“You’re one stubborn changeling!” Gallus cried out. “You’re going to—“
“Cobalt, daffodil, odd! Orioles, eucalyptus, even!”
Sandbar was sweating, close to crying when he finished those words.
The leaves rustled once more and Coloratura jumped out, ran to Gallus, grabbed a hold of him, and shoved him away.
Gallus fell to the floor. “What was that for?!” he shouted as he rubbed his aching head. “Don’t tell me you’re with him, too!”
“He’s not a changeling,” Coloratura said, fixing her dirty mane and her green clothes. “He’s on our side.”
“Right after I heard he’s a real changeling!” Gallus said. “I don’t get it!”
“It’s all a part of the plan,” she said, picking Sandbar up. She touched the new wounds on his face. Then, turning back to the griffon: "Although...I’m not sure about you.”
“You should let me in!” Gallus insisted, pointing at himself like a beggar. “I didn’t come all the way here to get lost!”
“Shh!” Coloratura held a hoof to her mouth. “Not so loud! They might hear you!”
Gallus raised his claws to the air in stress. “Can I go in?!”
Coloratura nodded, threw Sandbar up the tree and saw him being whisked deeper inside the forest. She looked at Gallus, brushing some twigs off of her mane and her tail. “Apologies if you’ll be under watch, but...you’ll see why.”
Gallus followed Sandbar and Coloratura on the branches, hopping between them. He walked with them through a tunnel of leaves, moving steadily and carefully on a wooden bridge over which he did not know; it was all shadows.
They reached the end of the tunnel and saw a covering of intertwined leaves and branches. Coloratura lifted it and allowed the griffon to see the little village there.
The huts were still few, made of smoothed timber; from them emanated the faint yellow glows of lanterns and candles inside, their shadows flickering in and out of view. Hushed whispers and quiet talks went about, traces of ponies’ heads turning—here, a unicorn was sharpening his spear with a rock. Several guards in light wooden armor watched over more ponies hauling small sacks of items into a trio of wheeled carts.
Sandbar was startled at the carts. “We’re packing?”
“It’s the only way we can shake the changelings off our trail," Coloratura said. "If there’s a changeling among us, then we’ll be isolating them from the rest of the hive. He either leaves and returns to the hive or goes with us.”
Gallus glanced at Coloratura, thinking about what she said.
Inside the same hut as before, it looked bare. There was no carpet nor rug to cover the dirty, grimy floor; no items or objects to grace the shoddy shelves on the round walls; no weapons resting on the racks to threaten any visitors with their intimidating sight. The only thing remained unpacked in a bag was the lantern, and that, too, was held by a pony who had unhooked it from its feeble wire and took it out. She turned the wick down, holding a cupped hoof around the opening, and let the flame die inside; she could smell that pungent stench oil.
The whole hut was plunged into silent gloom.
“Fresh Coat?”
The mare almost dropped her lantern. She stayed there, looking at it, then stared at the open space before her, seeing the wall and its closed windows. “Sandbar?”
A little chuckle. “Yeah, it’s me.”
Fresh Coat turned around.
It was still dark, but she could make out the color of his coat, the whiteness of his eyes, that toothy smile. “Oh...it is you.”
Sandbar frowned, spotting those crestfallen eyes and her beaten mouth. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s...it’s not much….” She placed the lantern into one of the sacks lying beside her.
Sandbar trotted to her. “I know it’s much. Tell me. What is it?”
Fresh Coat shook her head. She withdrew a step. “No, no...it’s OK. It’s gonna be over tomorrow morning. It'll give us a fresh...heh, fresh mind for the day.”
Sandbar inched closer to her. His own eyes darted around, metaphorical butterflies in his stomach as he saw a real one fly past a window. “I know you’re not OK. What is it?”
“Can’t a mare keep a secret?!” Fresh Coat snapped, reserved yet harsh. She straightened her cap, making sure she did not hurt her horn. “What does it have to do it with you?”
Sandbar stepped back. “I-I didn’t want to see you this sad! I-Is it because we’re leaving and we’re going to the desert?”
Tears flowed down her cheeks, soaking them wet. “Well, part of that’s true!”
Sandbar arched a brow, stance unsteady as he heard the mare's whimpers. “What’s th-the other part?”
Coat rubbed her eyes and threw her cap down, letting her black mane out. “Don’t you see, Sandbar?! We’re losing!”
Sandbar repeated those words in his head, those two words, opening his mouth blankly.
“I don’t want excuses!” Coat said. “I don’t want to hear how we’re going to come back from utter defeat! How are we going to get back from this?! How?!”
Sandbar steeled his jaw, pursed his lips in a show of toughness. “By not losing hope! Equestria’s been through thick and thin. We will bounce back, better than ever, and see Chrysalis lose once and for all! Just wait and don’t quit on it!”
“How long do I have to wait?!” Coat yelled, holding up a sack of her things.
Sandbar held up his hooves. “Woah, woah, woah! Put that thing down! You’re gonna hurt yourself!”
Coat held it up, kept holding it up, kept looking at Sandbar with those red eyes.
She put it down on the floor with a gentle thud.
Then, murmurs. Moaning murmurs.
Coat sat down on the floor, raised her hind legs up to her chin.
“I...I don’t...I don’t wanna die….”
Tears going down, splashing to the floor.
Sandbar's lips shivered. Looked at the pathetic mare, her black curls ruined.
He slowly trotted to her side and sat down.
Saw her sob, saw her crying, saw her coughing and saw her choking only for her to return to weeping in that dark place, in that dark and empty hut with almost everything gone.
Sandbar looked in front of him, seeing emptiness.
His eyes misted up. He could feel the tears, too, welling up.
He cried with her.
Both hugged the other, tears mixing and gleaming under the moonlight.
“Hey, who’s crying over there?!” Coloratura shouted from outside, busy stuffing random things into a huge bag with the help of a yawning Gallus who sometimes stumbled in his drowsiness, though he did not drop anything—yet, that is. “This is no time for self-pity! Get up and pack! We’re moving in fifteen minutes!”
So they did. Everything was packed up, those three carts ready with plenty of bags, sacks, and containers by the huts, all veiled by the trees' leaves and branches above.
Coloratura was at the forefront of the pack of ponies plus one griffon who sat on one of the carts, dozing off and snoring. She looked at the three stallions to her right, all wearing hankerchiefs and rags.
“Burn and hide everything,” Coloratura ordered. “If they catch up to you, remember what you promised.”
“We’ll say nothing,” said the stallion closest to her. The others nodded and saluted her.
Coloratura nodded back. “Thank you for your service. I hope we’ll see you down the line.”
Those stallions took up their matches and torches. They galloped to the village proper, the red glows of their fires fading.
Coloratura looked back to her crowd of attentive villagers which, of course, did not include the sleeping griffon.
She took in a deep breath.
“We’ve been here for a few months already. When we started this camp, we never wanted to move farther away from Equestria. We wished to move forward, to move back to the land we love. However, the tide has turned and Chrysalis is only getting stronger and more powerful with every battle.
“Does it look bleak? Yes. Are the odds stacked against us? Yes. Will half of us survive the rest of the year? I don’t think so. But, remember this, everypony: As long as there’s one of us—one of us—then there’s always a chance, always a hope, that Equestria will return, that the changelings will be banished and that evil Chrysalis will see the light of day no more.”
And everyone cheered in quiet.
“Let’s go.”
Coloratura trotted forward, leading the crowd of ponies through the thick jungle, past the trees and past the bushes.
Behind them, fires glowed as the huts burned, spreading from roof to roof. The stallions rushed, hurling more fires into the huts and hoping the smoke would be covered up by the foliage.
The cliffs were the jungle's end.
Past the cliffs, one could see the tremendous deserts. Hot, harsh, topped with a red sky. Dunes and dunes for miles and miles without end, the horizon filled with more sand; for the inexperienced survivor, one wrong step meant getting a mouthful of dirty sand.
Sandbar bared his teeth, felt the sweat go down despite the hat that he was wearing on his head. He trudged on, pulling the cart as he crested yet another dune with his fellow campponies by his side.
And yet, more wind. Scorching wind.
“Water!” he could hear Coat cry out.
Fresh took out the bottle of water strapped to his torso, hoofed it to the mare leaning half her weight on the side of the cart. Gasping for that bottle of fresh water, she levitated it and poured the cool drink into her mouth.
“Ouch!” cried out another pony.
It was Strawberry Ice, an ice blue mare with strawberry-colored hair. She was holding up her swelling hoof. Before her was a rock.
Then, snoring.
He looked behind him.
Past the sacks on his cart, he could see the feathers of a sleeping Gallus.
“How does that griffon sleep out here?” he muttered to himself.
The feeling of hot, dusty stand on his hooves returned to him.
He groaned. Nothing to do but trudge on.
Under the cold, freezing desert night, the campfire had just been stamped out. At the foot of still another dune were those carts and several crude shelters which were really two ponchos or jackets nailed to the ground with tall rocks acting as the supports on each corner. There, ponies slept, safe from dust, protected from the cold. Other ponies slept by the wagons, too, either sleeping under the wagons or sleeping on them, one mare resting beside a snoring griffon. She did not look too mad or upset about it, so that’s fine.
Sandbar, Coloratura, and Strawberry Ice were the only ones awake as they maintained a triangle of security over the camp. They safeguarded their fellow camp members by their vigilant presence.
Sandbar looked around, turning his head to another place.
Nothing. Just the desert around them. Not even a hint of cacti.
He turned his head towards Coloratura who was looking the other way. “How long until Klugetown?”
Coloratura turned her head back to him. “About nine more hours!”
Sandbar sighed. “What about heat strokes? We’ve been draining the water supply like crazy!”
“Then we’ll have to give them more shade,” Coloratura said. “We’ve already been doing that, though.”
Sandbar looked away, queasy.
“Don’t worry,” Coloratura reassured. “Once we make it there, it’s over. We’ll restock on food and water, and then we’ll go through the Sea of Clouds. If we could stow on an airship there, then so much the better!”
Sandbar let out a hollow laugh. “I hope we get an airship. My legs are killing me.”
“Better your legs than those traitors.".
Whether it was really funny or not, Sandbar did not laugh this time.