In the flower-fragrant forest, several hippogriffs and ponies sat and rested, some by the trees’ barks, others by the ground alone, all sitting down by their backpacks and sacks and other containers for their belongings. Recuperating over by a tree was one pony and one hippogriff with one thing in common: an injury, the pony with a sprain on her hoof and the hippogriff with a cracked wing. Both of them were attended to by Sandbar who wrapped a tight cloth with ice around the sprain and put heaps of bandages on the wing, additional ice on standby.
“I didn’t expect you to know this stuff,” Tidal Stoke said, wincing at the pain of moving his wing again, “but...wow, it’s a good surprise!”
Sandbar smiled, parting his blue bangs from his face. “Eh, don’t think about it too much. I’m here and you’re there; we’ll be fine.”
The sprained pony rubbed her hoof in pain, her short orange mane getting out of the way of her face. “Well, thank you for sticking with us! How could we have done it without you?”
“Remember, it’s not my idea,” Sandbar said, wagging his hoof. “I got training from my leader back when I still had other ponies with me. Kind of basic, really.”
The pony frowned, slumping her yellow shoulders. “Are you calling me dumb?”
Sandbar raised his hooves, shook them in dread. “Uh, n-no! Y-You’re certainly not dumb! What I’m saying is...actually, what I mean is—“
“It’s fine,” said a gruff and older mare, walking to her side and caring for the injured pony sitting on the log. “What’s important now is that we get out of here safe and sound. That’s more important than calling other ponies dumb, right, honey?”
The daughter nodded her head, making a strange smile. “Y-Yeah.”
Sandbar wiped the sweat off of his forehead.
"But my High Hoof is not dumb!" the mother then said, glaring at the stallion.
Sandbar laughed it off as he looked behind him, trying to dismiss the shame being piled on him.
He saw the hippogriffs and ponies still resting up, some breaking open into conversation. Here, a pony and a hippogriff talked about how they were doing before they met each other. There, another pony was offered fried fish to which he said, “Get that thing away from me!” and proceeded to run to the other side of the camp in hopes of not being offered such a monstrosity to his taste buds.
Sandbar then looked past the thick trees and vegetation; they could hear chirps from the birds by the branches.
His ears perked up. “Guys, we might have to move pretty soon. They’re coming.”
Tidal Stoke groaned, raised his injured wing. “What about this?!”
Sandbar grabbed his wing, examined it for an instant. “Can you run as fast as you can fly?”
He placed his other wing on his own chin, thinking about it. “I think so.”
Sandbar looked at the sprained mare. “High Hoof, is it OK if you fly on the back of a hippogriff?”
The mare gulped. “I’ve never flown before!”
“We’ll make you fly!” Sandbar said, gesturing to a gray hippogriff who was standing up as if on cue. “Winds Aloft’s going to bring you up to speed!”
The mare gulped again, afraid.
Sandbar stomped the ground with his forehooves. “Come on, come on! We don’t have time to lose! Let’s go!”
So hippogriffs and ponies alike got up and repacked their bags.
As they ran and flew faster and faster, they jumped over branches and rocks, dodging trees so that they won’t hit their heads and suffer yet another time-wasting injury to heal. High Hoof and Tidal Stoke got by relatively well, the mare holding on to the Wind Aloft’s neck as she felt the wind rush by like never before while holding in her urge to scream and the hippogriff trying to keep up the pace on his legs with Sandbar who looked on ahead, never straying.
“How far do we have to go?!” Tidal Stoke yelled, nervously glancing at his folded wing.
“Not far! I heard there’s a cave you can stay in by the beach down some cliffs. Once you get there, wait a few minutes and then the dragons will come by. OK?”
Another hippogriff joined in, this one being Wet Well flying alongside the two of them. “Why don’t we just turn everyone into seaponies and we swim our way to the Dragon Lands all the way there?”
“Uh...maybe?”
“It’s a good idea!” the father assured, dodging a bush and a snake. “Changelings won’t think of swimming that much and, if there’s a patrol, we just hide under the water and hope they don’t spot us!" He sneezed, having tried to laugh. "They’re so dumb, they won’t even think of going under the ocean just to see if there’s anyone there!” He then successfully laughed to himself in between wingflaps. “Honestly, how come you never thought of that before?”
Sandbar nervously laughed at himself. “I d-don’t know! It never crossed my mind, really!”
Half an hour in and they encountered a rickety bridge held by only wood and rope. Underneath was a treacherous river with a lot of pointy rocks and stones.
Sandbar looked down at this horrible sight. “Uh, OK! I have a plan! What about we send the hippogriffs over the bridge and then us ponies will go one-by-one at a trotting pace! Got it?”
Only for Wind Aloft to pick up a pony, carry him over the chasm, and drop him on the other side, the hippogriff landing there, too.
Sandbar bit his lip. “Or, that. That works.”
So almost everyone crossed the bridge that way, a few ponies opting to go with the bridge so that the hippogriffs would not be over-occupied.
Another half hour passed by and, finally, after plenty of trees and bushes and forest life to dodge and avoid, they finally breathed in the fresh open air of the ocean before them, a hazardous cliff the only thing standing between them and temporary safety in the form of a yawning cave slightly visible to the left.
Sandbar looked ahead, seeing nothing but the cloudy sky and the rolling sea. He was tapping his hoof on the grass harder and harder, making a deep imprint on the ground there.
High Hoof’s mother took out a rope. “Here! I got one!”
Another hippogriff opened her wings and looked at the mare. “Why need a rope when you have wings?”
Sandbar smacked himself on the head, sweating. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
A hoof on his shoulder. He turned around to see Wet Well with his brown wings. “You’re stressed out. Don’t worry. You got us and we can share the load.”
Sandbar smiled and shook his claw as more ponies were carried their way to the cave. “Thank you, sir.” He nervously looked behind him, seeing the thick and dark forest there. “Do you think you have enough time?”
The father looked at the evacuees, seeing the hippogriffs from before returning to get their next round of ponies over to the cave. Turning to the pony in front of him: “We can make do,” he said. “Don’t you worry about us.”
Sandbar smiled.
“I’ll carry you,” he said, opening his claws and his wings. “You’ve been helpful. It’s time we return the favor.”
Sandbar shook his head.
Wet Well’s beak drooped, the hippogriff perplexed. “Huh? Don’t you want to live?”
Sandbar nodded. “But, I’d rather stay here and stand guard, distract the changelings if the dragons don’t make it here in time. I’ll be the bait to lead them away.”
Wet Well was still perplexed. “Don’t you remember we don’t need the dragons?”
Sandbar moaned and stretched his mane out, distressed. “Sorry, but...my mind’s so scattered right now! I want to do this heroic thing and protect you guys, but I don’t know if I could actually go through with it.”
“You don’t have to,” he said, putting a claw on his shoulder. “Come with us. Sure, you’ll have to swim there, but you’re going to be much safer in the Dragon Lands."
Sandbar shifted his eyes towards the forest again. “Thanks again, sir, but I made up my mind. I'll give you enough time and—wait!”
He ruffled through his mane in terror, took out a sleeping grub.
“What?!” Wet Well shouted at the sight of the baby. “Why’d you keep it in your hair?!”
“Found it by some dead changelings,” he said, hoofing the grub to him. “Take it with you. He can’t breathe underwater yet so you one of you has to stay a hippogriff and—“
The rumbling and growing of buzzes and shouts from behind.
Hippogriffs and ponies alike still at the top of cliff shuddered and whispered to themselves, some already giving up for the moment and whimpering.
“Go!” Sandbar whispered loud to Wet Well.
The father looked at him, still perplexed. “Are you absolutely sure about this? You’re missing your chance!”
“Go!”
That hippogriff hesitated for a moment. Then, he spread his wings again, swooped off one of the final ponies left, and took him down, disappearing behind the cliff’s cutoff.
Sandbar turned around, looking at the forest, feeling the ground rumble more.
He looked back towards the ocean. Here, he was alone on the ground; there, the hippogriffs and the ponies being carried by their claws towards the cave over there where the others waved their claws and hooves.
Sandbar looked back to the forest.
The buzzing, the rumbling grew louder.
Sandbar shifted his legs about, giving himself a firm hoofing on the ground.
He sighed. “No time to waste. Any moment, they’ll be h-here.”
Branches and twigs snapping, trees falling apart and landing on the ground with a thud!
“I’ll stand here, I’ll die here if I have to.”
He could hear their voices, closer and closer.
“When it’s over, they won’t win.”
Saw their blue eyes and their wings, their shiny fangs, too. They hissed, lashing their tongues out as they swarmed out of the forest and towards Sandbar.
He stood there, the ground shaking and quaking, the hisses deafening.
“Is everyone here?!” Wet Well said as all of the seaponies, even the ponies-turned-seaponies, swam underwater, himself a seapony, too.
Another hippogriff beside him silently counted all present with a fin. Then: “Everyone’s here!”
“Let’s go!”
They swam away, boosting past corrals and rock formations, swimming with the fish before overtaking them. The natural seaponies held the fins of those who were not, guiding them through and giving them little swimming lessons without any hooves to beat the water with.
“Rely on your tail to push you,” said Wet Well to his somewhat unfamiliar students, “and let your body do the rest!”
Wind Shear, the lone hippogriff, flew above the water, holding the grub with his claws. He stayed close to the water, making sure the size of the cliffs shielded him from the changelings’ sight, hoping the changelings would be distracted enough by that stubborn Sandbar.
Then, as he flew, he rotated his claw and held the grub face-up. He was still sleeping, smiling and snoring happily.
He looked at him. “What a cute little baby!” he said, unable to resist sounding cute himself. “You’ll grow up well. Good thing Sandbar got you.”
Then, he looked ahead.
Saw some flying creatures in the distance, approaching them from the horizon.
Sandbar dodged and landed on the ground, creating a little pile of dirt and rolled around to avoid changelings grabbing his hind legs. A smash on the ground beside his head and he looked up, saw the face of a growling changeling.
He rolled to the side and almost fell off the cliff and into the ocean, letting some changelings fall there only to flap their wings and regain height. He rolled back away from the water and punched the legs of his opponents, injuring them and letting them wince in their pain as their comrades tended to their help.
Then, wingbeats, not buzzes.
He glanced back for a second but it was good enough.
“Dragons!” yelled a changeling.
Sandbar smiled. “They’re coming! They’re coming to save me!”
A yellow dragon rubbed his scaly hands. In a roar: “We’re here! That birdpony told us about you and—“
Was shot down by a beam and staggered in the air.
“Seize those dragons!” yelled another changeling as he and dozens of others swarmed the dragons. Although many were shot down by the flames from the dragons’ breath, many more attacked the newcomers, making some fall while making others retreat.
“They should’ve stayed with them,” Sandbar whispered to himself as he punched more changelings in the face and knocked them out by the jaw and on the head, forcing more changelings to take their allies out.
With the dragons behind him gone, it was just him and the changelings, the many swarming that one pony at the edge of a cliff, the ocean’s waves rippling as the afternoon rolled on, the pain creeping to his head.