Consciousness slowly returned to the pink pony as she felt something nudging against her head, as though she were being poked with a log. Where was she? Her memories were a blur after leaving the farm. She remembered the sun setting, the musky smell of damp leaves taking over, and an unbearable twisting pain in her stomach. She tried opening her eyes, but her vision was hazy, only able to make out basic shapes around her. She attempted to push herself off the ground, but gravity had other plans, leaving her legs feeling like tingly jelly.
Suddenly something white and soft bopped her in the face. Sluggishly recoiling in surprise as much as she could, a familiar scent filled her nostrils and prompted her to return to the object that assaulted her. It was... a mushroom? Not wanting to look gift food in the mouth, she extended her head forward and took a bite. It was good. No sooner had the first disappeared, before another one plopped out of the sky in front of her, which she met with similar voracity. After finishing a third mushroom, she blinked a few times and her vision began to clear. There were leaves. Lots of leaves. She was back in the Everfree Forest—the gnarled and haunting trees made that painfully obvious—and lying on her side in the dewy grass of a small clearing. Cautiously observing her surroundings, given the vulnerable state she was in, she spotted a small pile of mushrooms behind her head, along with a hoofful of red berries, and an assortment of twigs and leaves. There was no way that she had done this, so somepony must have helped her... but who?
Despite her confusion, answering these questions was the least of her worries right now, as the more pressing concern was filling the aching pit in her stomach. Weakly pulling herself toward the alfresco platter, she made short work of the surprisingly filling meal, minus the twigs and leaves. It was finally time to stand up and really assess the situation she was in. She rolled on to her tummy and shakily pushed herself up on all fours. She was cold, damp, and still quite thirsty, but at least her ravenous hunger was satiated for now.
This area wasn't familiar to her. It didn't seem like the last thing she remembered before collapsing, but it was far better than being left out in the open somewhere, so she probably had her mushroom-delivering saviour to thank for that, too. And as far as the Everfree Forest goes, this clearing was downright welcoming.
As she looked around the moon-dappled grove, there came a rustling from the bushes to her left. Something was getting closer, moving directly towards her location. Was it her rescuer? Her pony in shining armour? She faced the approaching unknown with equal parts hope and fear, though nothing could have prepared her for what emerged from within. A fractured wooden log protruded from the brush, followed by two green, iridescent eyes. This was no pony, this was a timberwolf—albeit a small one.
Timberwolves were well known for being the most vicious, unrelenting predators in the Everfree Forest; monsters made from living wood, like some malevolent magic had given a pile of sticks the form and fangs of a dire wolf. Foals grew up listening to cautionary tales of green eyes glowing in the shadows of the forest, ready to pounce on any filly or colt foolish enough to stray too close to the forbidden woods. The very sight of one—even a pup—was enough to send the pink pony flailing backwards, her legs unable to register the sudden command to flee. Terrified, she pushed herself away the best she could, almost immediately backing into the trunk of a nearby tree. The timberwolf seemed equally startled, dropping something from mouth and taking a half-step back, its hindquarters still obscured in the dense the foliage.
Pinkie locked eyes with the timberwolf—or at least the glowing holes in its head—too scared to move another inch. A few moments passed without incident, though she noticed the leaves over the creature's eyes seemed to droop, almost as if it was... sad. Tension began to fade between the two, dissolving into an awkward silence. The adolescent timberwolf began to turn away, its head held low, like a scolded dog. Still wrapped in confusion, Pinkie allowed her eyes to stray from the animal, spotting the item it had recently dropped.
“Wait!” she called out, her voice raspy from disuse.
The timberwolf flinched, surprised by the sudden outburst from the hereunto silent pony. It slowly turned back, a look of concern across its leafy, wooden face. She had no idea these creatures could be so... emotive.
“Did you- Are you the one who saved me?”
Lying in the grass between the two was a freshly picked, fat, white mushroom. Could it be-? Could a timberwolf really have saved her? It was insane that she was even asking it. It was like... talking to a stack of firewood, or a bucket of turni- oh.
The autonomous collection of twigs looked at her for a moment, not really seeming to understand her words, but recognising something positive in her tone. Gingerly, it returned to the mushroom and picked it up, using its stake-like teeth. At least there was no drool. Edging closer, but still a couple of hooves off, it dropped the food and flicked it the remaining distance with its muzzle. Pinkie watched the mushroom roll up to her hoof in a state of surreal disbelief. It was just like the others.
“Why are you helping me?” she asked, looking up at the lupine with genuine confusion.
The timberwolf tilted its head. It didn't seem to speak Ponish; obviously.
“Oh, right. Uh...”
She hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to express herself to a wild animal. What would Fluttershy do? Besides stab her in the back and steal her pet. No, stop, that kind of thinking wouldn't help anypony. She needed to do everything on her own from now on. What would she do? How could she show her gratitude without words?
Leaning forward, Pinkie picked up the fresh mushroom and ate it, arching back and rubbing her tummy with over-exaggerated motions of contentment.
“Mmmm!”
Seeing this, the timberwolf perked up. Its back straightened, its mouth opened, and its tail—which she could now see was a plume of twigs, much like a broom—began to wag. She imagined its tongue would be hanging out, if it had one. It was behaving almost like a regular, flesh-and-blood dog, which was far from the cautionary tales that she had heard as a filly. It reminded her of Applejack's pet dog, Winona, and the time they would spend together on their pony pet playdates. Perhaps it was the bitter-sweet memories of happier times, or the gratitude she felt towards her unlikely saviour, but Pinkie already felt a bond of trust with her new acquaintance, despite its species' reputation.
“You're a good boy, aren't you?”
That was a rhetorical question, of course. She didn't actually know if it was a boy, and while it did seem friendly, recent events had fostered a keen sense of distrust in the back of her mind that screamed one question: “Why?”
She extended her hoof as a gesture of good will, which the animal cautiously approached to sniff, though she wasn't quite sure what it sniffed with. She didn't see any nostrils on its muzzle, or have any reason to believe it had lungs, for that matter. Timberwolves were known predators, so they had to be able to smell, right? That must be what he was doing right now. Come to think of it, what did timberwolves even eat? Were they carnivorous? Did they eat ponies, like the stories told? It was a terrifying thought, but a hard one to believe while looking at this friendly kindling nuzzling her hoof. And while she was on this train of thought, did timberwolves even have genders? They're just a bunch of sticks held together by magic, so how do they reproduce? Is it just more of that creepy forest magic bringing inanimate objects to life? She had so many questions, and nopony to answer them.
“What are you doing out here alone, little one?” she asked, happy to have something—anything—to talk to in this haunting place.
Despite her initial fear, it had taken no time at all for her opinion of this cute little fellow to dramatically change, and it seemed as though he felt the same way. Beginning to relax a little in his presence, Pinkie decided to take a better look at the creature. He was small—very small, considering that adult timberwolves are at least twice the height of a regular pony, and he barely reached her chin as she rose to her hooves. The small timberwolf backed up in response, unsure of this new movement, though not as scared as he had been before. Moonlight shone through a patch in the canopy just above his position, highlighting the scars that covered his body—chunks of wood missing from his 'paws', legs, and face. He must have been the runt of the litter, beaten up and kicked out of his pack for being so small. Or perhaps he was lost; forced to fend for himself and survive against all odds at such a young age? Of course, she was only assuming he was a puppy—up until this point she had assumed timberwolves were born fully-formed... however that happens. But whatever his past, it seemed as though he was a survivor, and that was something Pinkie desperately needed to learn how to become right now.
“You're hurt,” she stated with worry, taking a step toward him. She had no idea if those missing divots were new or old, but it was still a concerning sight on such a selfless beast. However, the concern in her voice was not enough to stop the timid creature from retreating further.
“Wait!” She looked around, hoping to find something to show her good intentions. Bandages? Food? Ugh, why did she have to eat all the mushrooms? Wait, were there any apples left in her bag? No, she must have eaten them all already... but she never touched the sweets! Would a timberwolf even like sweets? Do they even eat food? So many questions and so few answers... Come to think of it, where was her bag?
Pinkie eyed the area for her red-and-white-spotted bindle; first the patch of grass she had woken up on, then the rotten tree trunk behind her, and finally a panicked sweep of the entire moonlit glade. Those items were her last worldly possessions and the only connection to her old life that she had, even if the memories were painful, she wasn't ready to give them up yet.
“W-Where's my bag?!” The panic in her voice must have transcended language, as the timberwolf immediately perked up and barked at her, before turning and dashing into the bushes he originated from. Hopeful that he somehow understood the problem, Pinkie followed after the lumber-lupine, desperate to recover her personal treasures.
Poking her head through the other side of the brush, she spotted the twiggy tail of her new companion disappear off to the left. For the briefest of moments she worried that it had chosen to abandon her too, just like her friends and family, but given the dire situation she faced alone in these woods, she pushed those feelings down and gave chase. Galloping around the bend, Pinkie arrived in time to see the timberwolf pulling her bindle out from beneath a large-leafed shrub and raising it in his mouth. Had he stashed her things while she recovered? She had no idea that wild animals could be this intelligent, particularly ones with wood for brains. Turning to face her, the small pup pattered over and offered the bundle, which she gladly accepted, slinging it over her shoulder.
“Thank you...” She looked down at him with a weak smile, quite taken aback by this show of compassion. Reaching out to pet him, the young timberwolf flinched at first, before tentatively relaxing into her hoof. She rubbed his face like she might a dog's, finishing with a scruff on the top of his head. It felt a little odd, given that he didn't have any fur to ruffle up, but he seemed to like it, as his brow-leaves covered his luminescent eye-holes and his tail wagged vigorously back and forth. Seems like she had made a friend. But... what now? She looked around, only just starting to realise how lost she was. Where was there left for her to go?
As if reading her thoughts, the wooden wolf sprung into action and ran back up the path they had just come from, stopping only to turn and bark at her expectantly. He seemed to be leading her somewhere this time. With the reacquired bindle of personal treasures hooked snugly under her foreleg, she followed the energetic creature as he continued down the path, vaguely lighting the way with the fluorescent green glow of his eyes.
The two companions walked side-by-side through the woods for a good half-hour before reaching a sea of flowers. The timberwolf rushed ahead, deep into the thicket and towards a central clearing, while Pinkie stood at its border. This was no ordinary blanket of leaves or brambles; this was a sea of bright blue flowers—poison joke. She hesitated for a moment, remembering the consequences of the last time she touched this type of flower. There was no Zecora to save her from a swollen tongue this time... Though it's not like she even needed to talk anymore. There were no ponies around to hear her, and for all she knew Zecora's potion may have made her immune to the flower's effects. It's not like she had anything to lose. Centring herself with a deep breath, Pinkie closed her eyes and stepped into the floral blanket. It had taken all night for the poison to show its symptoms last time, so she would just have to wait and see. She continued on, leaving a wake of trampled flowers behind her as she moved to catch up with her eagerly waiting guide ahead.
Exiting the azure blooms, Pinkie found herself in a small, grassy clearing, facing the last thing she ever expected to see in this forest: a cottage. It was a humble building; a spartan, single-story construct of wood and plaster, slightly rotten and overgrown, yet seemingly intact. To her left was a small stone well, complete with wooden roof and chained bucket, while in the centre of the clearing sat the now familiar stick-dog, facing her with a wagging tail and excited panting. She never would have imagined that this scene would even be possible before today, let alone welcome. Her life was becoming more and more unpredictable by the minute.
Pinkie walked up to the central, circular window on the broadside of the house, facing the well, and peered inside. Despite standing on her hind legs and straining her eyes to see in, the hut's interior was far too dark to really tell what—or who—was inside, though she could tell from the dust on the inside of the window that it hadn't been lived in for a long time.
“Whose is this?” Pinkie asked as she stepped back, giving the exterior another look-over.
The timberwolf replied with a couple of unhelpful barks, before leaning forward, whipping his tail back and forth like a puppy playing fetch, and dashing to the rear of the house. Curious about what he was doing, Pinkie rounded the corner and surveyed the new side of the building. While it sported the same cracks and growth as the others, this one also featured a solid-looking wooden door and an ornate handle fixed to it, which her companion was now scrabbling at. Pinkie paused and swallowed the lump in her throat; her newfound insecurity flaring up again. There was no way anypony still lived here, right? Why would anypony live this deep in the Everfree? I mean, she was here, and Zecora lives in the outskirts, and somepony must have built this house in the first place, but...
The pastel pink pony walked up to the door and hesitantly knocked three times. Nothing. Swallowing again, she reached out for the handle and pushed it down, finding it unlocked. With a little push, the sturdy door slowly swung inwards, revealing the dark, dusty room she had caught a glimpse of through the window. The air was dank and heavy from dust and mould, forcing her to clamp a hoof over her snout, for fear of sneezing or retching at the overpowering atmosphere that leaked out. The two trespassers peered in from the doorframe, fearful of crossing the threshold.
“H- Hello?” Pinkie called out, uncomfortable, unsure, and somewhat muffled by her hoof.
No answer.
Propping her bindle against the exterior wall, the earth pony gingerly stepped inside, squinting to see through the darkness and to protect her eyes from the stale, dusty haze. Four hooves in and she was already at the centre of the tiny hut. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, it became clearer that this place had been abandoned and untouched for years.
To her front-left was a table, stool, and what looked like a typewriter; while to her right was an uncomfortable-looking single bed, still made up with olive-green sheets, and the other side of the circular window. The window was just a little too high to look through while standing, but did a good enough job of letting in some desperately needed light. Directly to her left was a huge, ornately carved stone fireplace, covered in flowers, swirls, and monogrammed with a large 'DD' in the centre. It was a bizarre sight to behold in such a tiny room, taking up almost the entire wall it was on, with a firebox almost big enough to walk right into.
Turning around, there was nothing behind Pinkie but the door, which her fellow four-legged friend was just now cautiously breaching, and what looked like a hat stand in the right corner. As her eyes were slowly adjusting to the barely lit room, she spotted a light switch next to the hat stand, and moved towards it. Click, click. Nothing. She looked up to the centre of the room and spotted a lone, unadorned bulb hanging limply from the wooden slats of the ceiling, likely long since blown. She could hardly visit the nearest shop and buy a replacement.
As she inhaled to sigh in disappointment, the ambient dust caused her to choke and go into a coughing fit, startling the nearby timberwolf. Replacing her hoof over her snout while using the other to fan away the thick air, she staggered back out the door, eventually managing to catch her breath in the comparatively fresh air outside.
“Sorry,” she wheezed.
Taking a moment to clear her lungs, Pinkie wandered over to the well and stood on her hindlegs to lean over its thick, dry stone wall to peer into the depths.
“Hello-o?” she called down, pleasantly amused by the echoed response. Her lupine companion joined her, having sufficiently scouted the room himself, apparently unphased by the dust and mildew. It made sense, given that he didn't have a nose, or at least not one she could see. She watched him circle around the well and jump up, balancing against the wall on his hindlegs in an attempt to mirror her pose, despite not being quite tall enough to see down the hole himself.
“Who used to live here, little guy?” She knew she wouldn't get a response; she wasn't expecting one. “Was 'DD' the one who lived here?”
The pup's small, wooden face, tilted in confusion. If only he could answer...
Come to think of it, she had spent the last few hours with somepony who had saved her life, and she didn't know their name. Simply calling it 'the timberwolf' wasn't good enough, she needed to think of something appropriate. Appleja- Somepony once called them the 'lupine menace'... How about Lou? He already has the 'pine' part covered. No, that wasn't great. She'd named Gum-... Gummy... after his looks, so how about Woody? Tim(ber)?Stickdog? No, these were getting worse. She hadn't known him very long, so maybe it would come to her in time, assuming he was staying, of course.
“Are you staying with me?” she asked, really hoping for an answer this time. She was becoming familiar with disappointment. This was stupid, he was a wild animal, of course he wasn't going to live with her. And why would he? What did she have to offer him? What could she offer to anypony? Fluttershy—or whoever said it—was right. She couldn't even look after herself, so how could she support an animal, let alone one she knew nothing about? What do timberwoves eat? Do they eat? Do they get energy from the sun like plants do? Photo- Photo- Photo Finish? Whatever. This was stupid. She was stupid.
The pink pony's ears drooped as she gazed absently into the well's void. With a sigh, she dropped to all fours and made her way back to the house as the timberwolf watched her, its tail slowing to a gentle wave. Reaching the door, she looked back at the well just in time to see the wooden animal disappear into the surrounding bushes, leaving her alone once more. With a pained heart and deep grimace, Pinkie picked up her bag and walked inside the run-down hovel, slamming the door behind her.