23rd of Falling Heat, 1005 BA
“You know, I heard some things.”
Rarity cursed to herself. She had something very important to say to these ponies, but no sooner had her rump touched ground among the circle of prisoners did Cork Dry open his mouth. She couldn’t interrupt, couldn’t cause a scene. No matter what happened, she had to keep the griffons from being suspicious.
She had time. Troublemaker wouldn’t finish his work for a while yet. But keeping the secret to herself was a strain on her nerves. She needed to tell everypony her plan. Delicately, though. If she took things too quickly the others might react in a manner that would give them away. So she settled down, accepted one of the small bags of hay that had been handed out by the griffons, and listened.
Cork Dry eyed the griffons from over the heads of the ponies opposite him and spoke just loud enough to be heard. “Up north, in the Eerie Cliffs. They say griffons have been rounding up ponies to work on some big project hidden in the mountains. A project so big they couldn’t do it on their own even if they wanted to dirty their own talons.”
“What kind of project?” a mare asked warily.
“Don’t know. Story changes from place to place.” He munched on some hay for a moment before continuing. “Some say they’re trying to rebuild the old Grypha Kingdom, starting with a new Palace of Eagles. Others whisper of a great war machine powered by clouds and steam, destined to conquer all of Equestria.”
“I call bull,” a stallion grumbled from near Rarity. “Conquer Equestria. What’s there to conquer? And with some war machine? Ridiculous. More likely they’ve got some lucrative mining operation or something and would rather risk pony necks than their own.”
“I’m telling you, they’re building something out there.” Cork Dry lowered his head as one of the guards walked by, and a number of others did the same. Once the griffon had moved on, he spoke in an even more hushed voice. “Nopony can agree on what, but who cares? The real problem is how hard they work them. They wouldn’t keep kidnapping ponies if those ponies were surviving the work, right?”
While they muttered and mumbled amongst themselves, Rarity pondered the discussion. Indeed, why would the griffons need slaves? Had they kidnapped everypony in Firestone? That had to be at least a hundred ponies given the number of buildings. And if the rumors were right and the griffons had been kidnapping for some time, it had to be for something significant. The idea of dying in some labor camp or deep underground digging for gems left a gritty taste on her tongue. If she was going to dig up gems, she’d keep them to herself.
She could never allow herself to become a slave. No, she was going to get away, and so would these ponies. If she was lucky, she’d pull it off without anypony – or griffon – dying in the process. And then they could report the situation to ponies who could do something about it. Of course, that meant going to a city, and that meant being more easily spotted by the Apples.
She grimaced – One threat at a time, Rarity. – and refocused her attention on her fellow prisoners. Another guard was passing by, this one casting a suspecting scowl at the circle of ponies before moving on.
Hard Knocks glared at her fellow prisoners, body low and shoulders tensed. “I don’t care about why they got us, I care about what we’re gonna do about it. All this talk is useless if it doesn’t give us a way to escape.”
Nopony had anything to say to that, grumbling and sharing frustrated glances. Taking the opportunity, Rarity cast as subtle a glance around as she could before leaning forward. “I have a way.”
Every eye shot to her, and she cursed quietly under her breath. So much for subtlety.
Hours passed. Despite knowing that the signal to act could come at any time, many ponies got some sleep. After an entire day jogging across the Scorched Plains, none of them would be in any condition to fight without the rest. The griffons slept as well, but on a rotation so that at least two-thirds of them were always available to watch the ponies.
Rarity had tried sleeping. She might have gotten a half-hour. Her mind fretted too much, wondering if little Justice was up to his task. Who knew what the griffons would do if they caught him in the act? She kept watching the edge of the camp, looking for signs of his presence, but all that met her eyes was darkness.
But assuming he did pull this off, that was only the opening act. The ponies still had to perform properly. If anypony slipped up, there’d be chaos, it would be bloody, and they’d have her to blame. After all, it had been her plan.
Responsibility was not a strange concept to Rarity. One didn’t run a shop for six years with just good looks and a prayer. But she’d never wanted a responsibility as big as this. Past failures meant little more than a clothing order being late or a customer being unhappy with her dress. Now lives were at stake, and the idea that she’d bear the guilt of those losses made sleep a challenge.
She lay apart from the others, mostly to avoid the stallions. After Braeburn she wasn’t comfortable with… well, she wasn’t comfortable. After hours of tossing and turning in a bedroll that wasn’t her own – and she certainly didn’t want to think of who it had belonged to – she finally surrendered to inevitability and stood. She went to the fallen log, aware of the guards watching her every motion, and sat down. The loose canopy of trees cleared a little here, giving her a nice view of the night sky. Not much of a moon tonight, but it was mostly hidden behind the trees anyway. She whispered a quiet prayer to the Sisters that everything would work out.
She didn’t notice Swing Set until he was almost by her side. She moved over a little to give him room to sit beside her. Judging by the bags under his eyes, he’d had as much success in finding sleep as she had. The two remained quiet for a time, staring at the stars or watching the goings on of the camp. Rarity couldn’t help but think that things were too calm. Were the ponies being quiet because of nerves? Would that give away that they were up to something? Maybe the griffons were being quiet because they knew the ponies had a plan and were mentally preparing for a fight.
Oh, Sisters, if only she could call the whole thing off!
“Do you think Justice can do it?”
She glanced at Swing Set. He didn’t return the look, instead staring straight ahead with a solemn frown. A fresh wave of guilt washed over her. It was one thing to make a plan and get the adults to go along with it, but for Swing Set?
“I’m sorry,” she muttered with head bowed. “I shouldn’t have asked Justice to do it.”
He glanced at her, and there was an unpleasant look to his eyes. “I get why you did it. Just… maybe next time consult with his parents before giving him a life-or-death mission.”
“I saw an opportunity and took it.” She eyed the trees once more. Still no sign of the colt. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. I should have thought about what I was doing.”
He sighed and crossed his arms. “It’s hard to think in the heat of the moment. It’s alright.”
She studied his scowling face. He wouldn’t meet her gaze. She turned away. “If things go well, I’ve come up with an ingenious plan to save us all. If things go wrong, I’ve killed your boy. I don’t think it’s right either way.”
Silence passed between them, sifting through the air like a fog. Rarity fidgeted, but kept herself from rubbing her necklace. Instead, she clasped her hands between her legs and let her boots bounce lightly on the ground. What was he thinking? Oh, what else? She might have killed his boy, that’s what he was thinking. No doubt. She couldn’t blame him for being mad. To a degree, she wanted him to be. She deserved it.
Her eyes kept darting to the area around the camp, seeking out even the tiniest hint of something moving in the bushes and darkness beyond. The guards ignored her, but the ponies that were still awake were casting around glances of their own.
The waiting was agonizing. Maybe Justice had already been found. Maybe the griffons were holding him, just waiting for morning to come so they could capitalize on the ponies’ anxiety and gloat. And then they’d march the ponies on to some horrible life of forced labor, where they’d all die of heatstroke or malnutrition or any of a million other things Rarity’s weary-yet-frantic mind could conjure up. She was so busy fighting back horrible visions of the future that she yelped when Swing Set’s hand touched her shoulder.
Thoughts of Braeburn brought her to slap his hand away, but she recovered quickly. As her heart found its way back into her chest, she met his gaze. He nodded towards the woods and she followed the motion with her eyes. An instant later, her heart was nestled back inside her throat.
An orange glow flickered through the trees. It grew brighter by the second, until all the ponies were staring at the scene as if in a daze. Rarity jumped to her hooves, mind instantly put on alert. He did it.
The slavers were shouting. Mild confusion shifted to horror as every pony and griffon realized what they were seeing: one of the wagons was ablaze. By now the illumination was such that Rarity could actually see it through the trees, and the other two wagons were starting to catch as well.
The Captain was up from her bedroll with startling speed, already barking orders. Her griffons reacted swiftly, first attempting to handle the flames themselves, then forcing ponies to help. And while all eyes were turned to the ever-rising fire, certain ponies were making mad dashes into the surroundings forest.
It was then Rarity realized that she should be running as well. Cursing her own delayed reaction, she scrambled over the log and made for a familiar bush. The griffons were shouting and making threats, thinking their prisoners were making a break for it. Not knowing how much time she had before they were on her, Rarity dropped to all fours by the bush. “Justice!”
Silver Lining and its holster were tossed out of the bush not a foot away from her hands. She snatched them up and hurried to put the belt on. “Stay in there and don’t come out until one of your parents comes for you!” Not waiting for an answer, she jumped to her hooves, pulled out the gun and turned for the camp, weapon already rising.
It stopped at the throat of a silver and blue griffon, who froze on the spot with wide eyes. Only the surprise of how lucky she’d been to have moved just so kept her from pulling the trigger. For what seemed an eternity, she stared into his bright green eyes. What she saw was a combination of terrible emotions: fear, shock, and an absolute certainty of death. If only the griffon knew just how her pulse raced. Were he to just glance down, he’d see her hand trembling.
The tree seemed to dance in the light of flame and the chaotic shadows. Shouts and threats filled the air. A hot wind blew through the undergrowth, making Rarity’s hair whip about. But she never stopped staring into those wide, expectant eyes. For an eternal moment, they were all she knew. Then, a single thought passed through her mind.
I am not a killer.
The world came back, and she tensed. For the first time since Spurhoof, Rarity felt sure of herself, and that certainty rang through in her words. “Turn around.”
Swallowing, the griffon did so, his claws raised high and his wings tucked tightly. He stood a full head taller than she did, but that didn’t stop his arms from trembling. “P-please don’t kill me.”
“Only if you make me.” She desperately hoped he wouldn’t make her. Looking into the camp, she saw griffons and ponies locked in combat. The griffons were outnumbered and only a few had guns. They weaved through the air in a complex, desperate dance to avoid the bullets the ponies were spraying at them from all angles. But the griffons weren’t retreating, nor did they appear afraid. If anything, they seemed as determined as ever to put down the rebellious prisoners.
Ponies and griffons lay bleeding on the ground. Mere seconds in, and already Rarity’s plan was a failure. She thought frantically for some way to stop the bloodshed before it got any worse. Her eyes fell on the back of her captive’s head. “Can you whistle? Loudly?”
“Whistle?” He glanced back at her, eyes reflecting the shine of the flames that were steadily growing out of control. “Y-yes?”
Rarity nodded towards the fighting. “Do it. Get their attention.”
He blinked, the soft edges of his beak curling in a confused frown, but then he turned forward and let out a shrill whistle that reverberated through the din. It was so loud that every pony and griffon paused to look at the disturbance.
Their eyes jolted Rarity, and she felt her knees wobble a little. I am not a killer. Her legs steadied.
“Listen to me!” To her surprise, it seemed they were doing exactly that. Oh, how she wished she had time to think about what to say! But if she didn’t speak right now, they’d go back to fighting, so she forced words out. “Griffons, you’re outgunned, and you can’t surprise us this time. There’s no point in fighting a lost cause. If you drop your weapons and leave now, there’s no need for any more of you to die.”
Some ponies shouted refusals. Anger burned in Rarity’s chest at their callousness. “Be quiet! Yes, we’ll win, but how many of us will die in the process? Let them keep their heads so we can all keep ours, and not just some of us!”
The prisoners-turned-fighters quieted at that. Although a few continued to glare at the griffons, most were casting worried glances at one another.
You’ve got them, Rarity. Keep talking and don’t screw this up. “Captain! This opportunity isn’t going to last much longer!”
The Captain, hovering over the scene and outlined by the light of the blaze, watched her with heavy-lidded eyes. After a moment, she tucked in her wings and landed heavily in the center of the camp. The others moved as if to encircle her, but she raised a lone claw to keep them at bay. She glanced around at the ponies and her own soldiers before meeting Rarity’s gaze with a piercing stare. “How do I know you won’t kill us the moment we’ve disarmed ourselves?”
To her own surprise, Rarity already had an answer. “Because even if we did, we’d never kill you all before some of us ended up dead. I don’t think anyone wants to die today.” She aimed that last bit at the ponies, giving them all a threatening look. To her relief, none of them appeared ready to argue.
The Captain considered this for a moment, her face shadowed by the growing flames that had expanded from the wagons to the nearby trees. “I think you underestimate our strength.”
The griffon that Rarity had at gunpoint finally found his panicky voice. “In the Sun’s name, Captain, just take the deal!” His lion’s tail flicked wildly at Rarity’s hooves. The anxious motions and the fear in his young voice left her feeling guilty, but she refused to lower her weapon lest she appear weak. If she could end this without another death... Think, Rarity. Think!
A fresh idea hit her. “How many griffons are in your Roost?” At the Captain’s renewed scowl, she pressed on. “I’m not an expert, but I do know the griffons aren’t doing well in these dark times. So how many do you have? A thousand? A few hundred? I would think that every griffon life is precious to your people.”
The Captain’s claws flexed as though in preparation for a strike. She cast another glance at the ponies surrounding her. Her eyes returned to Rarity, and they were cold despite the heat of the flames. “And I think you’re gambling. I think we can win. I think…” Her head twitched to the side, cocked as if listening.
Rarity heard it too, a sound like the rumble of thunder. Quiet at first, but slowly building. She cast her eyes around, trying to identify the source. She wasn’t the only one. Louder and louder the sound became, injecting griffon and pony alike with nervousness. Rarity looked up, but there was not a cloud to be seen through the sparse canopy and smoke.
The Captain went airborne. “Stampede!”
Massive figures burst from the darkness and foliage. Rarity gaped as the fur-covered creatures charged into the camp, each one dwarfing the griffons as veritable giants. Wielding spears, hatchets and daggers, they tore into the startled slavers. Any ponies unfortunate enough to be in the way were knocked aside like toothpicks.
Rarity gawked, her gun arm hanging limp at her side. Somewhere deep down, a calm voice explained that these big, brown, hairy things were buffalo, but that voice was practically drowned out by another at the forefront of her mind trying to come to terms with the sudden assault. The people of the plains hooted and brayed like wild beasts as their weapons spilled griffon blood, and the sight of the gore had her covering her mouth lest she lose what little supper she’d had.
As the shadows and flames danced and the blood splattered the dry grass, Rarity’s thoughts finally coalesced into a single firm idea: I have to protect Justice! She whipped around, took two running steps—
Something grabbed her from behind. Rarity could only shriek as her boots left the ground and her stomach fell. Within a blink, she dangled over the trees. Within another, she soared over the scrublands of the Scorched Plains. She squirmed and tried to look back, but couldn’t manage it with the strong arms holding her up from under her shoulders. Wind whistled in her ears and her hair flew wildly as understanding dawned upon her.
She looked up, the back of her head pressing against a feathered chest. The blue and silver griffon, the one she’d been holding at gunpoint. Her voice cracked as she shouted over the wind. “Put me down this instant!”
He looked down, his head moving with a jerky suddenness that reminded her of a bird’s swift motions. He tried to glare, but his wide, fear-filled eyes betrayed him. “Stop squirming or I’ll drop you.”
Quickly realizing the reality of that statement, Rarity stiffened her arms and prayed he wouldn’t lose his hold. The position was extremely uncomfortable, with his thin arms snaking under her armpits and her legs dangling freely in the wind, but she didn’t dare try to fix that problem. “W-what do you intend to do with me?”
He blinked, then looked around as if in search of inspiration. “I, uh, don’t know.”
Images of the buffalo storming the camp, their weapons glistening with blood in the firelight, brought her breath short. “Y-you have to take me back! I have to help the others!”
He made a squawking noise. “Look, lady, buffalo kill griffons on sight. I ain’t going nowhere near that area right now.”
Another voice rang from the darkness. “Private Fleetfeather!”
The private turned a slow circle that made Rarity’s stomach roil. She looked up in time to see three more griffons closing in. The leader of the flight, a copper-colored male, came alongside them. The private chirped out a rapid, “Lieutenant! I’m glad to see you’re alright.”
“Same to you, Private.” He eyed Rarity with a piercing gaze. “Good work catching the ringleader of those rebelling prisoners. At least we won’t return to the Roost empty-clawed.”
“Return?” Private Fleetfeather looked over his shoulder. “What about the others? The captain?”
The other two griffons flanked them, one a dark pink that made her obvious even in the darkness and the other a soft green. Green said, “Captain gave orders for all survivors to head for the mountains. Her, Gallows and Needlebeak are sweeping the area for more strays. We’ll meet up with her at the Dragon’s Snout.”
Rarity grimaced and kicked her legs. “Excuse me, but I have no intention of joining you!”
“Shut it,” Pink growled, having a startlingly deep voice. “You’ve been enough trouble already, witch. I have half a mind to cut your tongue out.”
“Don’t hurt her, Ribbons.” The lieutenant snapped his beak, perhaps for emphasis. “She’s got all the makings of a quality broodmare, which makes her worth twenty of those mules we had back at camp.”
Rarity’s breath caught in her throat. A broodmare? Her? What kind of barbarians was she dealing with? Hard labor was one thing, but to be subjected to such immodest, foul treatment filled her veins with ice.
She gazed down to find nothing but darkness below. Oh Luna, just how high was she? But she couldn’t let them take her. Maybe if she just winged the private, he’d be forced to descend. She might have a chance. She still had Silver Lining in hand, after all. If she could just find a way…
Talons wrapped around her wrist. “I’ll take that.”
“No!” She tightened her hold on the gun. It didn’t matter, for within seconds the supple, strong claws had loosened her grip. Silver Lining disappeared from sight and she cursed; what would it take to keep that gun on her person? “You won’t get away with this!”
“Put a sock in it,” Green groused.
No amount of squirming loosened the private’s hold on her. Rarity soon went limp, realizing that she was stuck, and stared at the darkness below. Her fears accumulated – of their height, of Fleetfeather’s grip, of her gloomy future – to settle upon her like a curtain. She blinked away tears that streamed cold on her cheeks. Why were things like this happening to her? Was fate just having a laugh at her expense?
A broodmare. She tried to imagine it, a life doing nothing but having her legs forcibly spread for whatever eager stallion might come along, spending her days waiting as her bastard foals grew in her belly. Would they keep her in some cage, an animal to be prodded and led around on a leash? The stuff of nightmares.
She should be in Manehattan right now.
No, she should be in Mooisville. Her thoughts turned to her family. She prayed none of them would ever find out what became of their lost daughter. Had Coco become an apprentice to somepony else yet? She dearly hoped so. Maybe her sacrifice was payment for Coco’s good fortune. She prayed to Luna that it would be so.
And Troublemaker. That annoying, adorable little colt. Did he get away from the fighting unscathed? What about his parents? Celestia, Luna, please, don’t let my actions bring their deaths.
With nothing left to do, she closed her eyes and tried not to think of the life that lay ahead of her.
Rarity had fallen asleep. She couldn’t imagine how, given how sore her arms were from being stuck in the same awkward position for what had to have been hours, but the sudden awareness of sunlight left her with little doubt. It was nothing compared to the ache in her legs. She blinked away the drowsiness, yawned, and took a look around. She was still being carried by Private Fleetfeather, and she had to begrudgingly admire his perseverance. The other three griffons flew around them, the lieutenant taking up the lead as they travelled in a triangular pattern.
Shaking her head to clear the last of the cobwebs from her mind, Rarity looked down. The Scorched Plains stretched beneath her, moving along at what seemed like a lethargic pace. Then she saw their shadows darting across the landscape and realized two things: first, that they were moving far faster than it seemed, and second, that they were lower than before. Despite that second realization, the height still made her insides coil like snakes, and she promptly turned her eyes forward.
The edge of the plains appeared clearly before her in the form of the Dragon’s Teeth. The range only appeared more akin to their namesake from up high, their peaks jutting into the air like knives in a blue sea. One in particular pierced the sky at a shallow angle and had some odd formations atop it. If she used her imagination, she thought it looked not unlike the face of a great lizard. Dragon’s Snout, indeed.
With a sigh, she tried shifting to ease the pain in her shoulders. Private Fleetfeather wobbled, which made her freeze. “Umm, what are the chances of your arms getting tired and dropping me before we touch down?”
“Ah, she’s awake,” the private grumbled. “Very high if you keep moving around like that. I can’t even feel my arms above the elbows anymore.”
She scowled up at him. “And how do you think my arms feel?” When he said nothing, she pouted and looked towards the mountains once more. “This is a fine thanks for sparing your life.”
He grunted. “Not my fault you’re so dumb.”
“Well, perhaps next time I’ll just pull the trigger and be done with you.”
His arms shifted, perhaps to reaffirm his hold on her, and she felt the snakes coil inside her stomach once more. “Maybe,” he replied wearily, “but somehow I don’t think you’re ever getting your hands on a gun again.”
Perhaps the sleep had revitalized Rarity’s hope for the future, or maybe she was just trying to put on a show for some unknowable gain. She couldn’t be certain, but even so, she shot the private a glare. “I won’t be made a sex slave to your Roost, you foul cretin.”
“Would you shut up?” This from the pink griffon, who flew to match Rarity’s height and closed in with a scowl. “You shouldn’t be talking to us anyway. Learn your place, broodmare, or we’ll educate you.”
“I doubt any of you monsters could grasp a proper education if it hit you in your beaks.” She turned up her muzzle at the griffon with a snort. “All I can see is uncivilized barbarians.”
“That’s it, I’m cutting her legs off.”
Rarity sucked in a sharp breath and looked down at her dangling boots. It had been little more than an instinctual reaction, a strange need to check them. She was just in time to see something odd. Those bushes moved. Something rose up from beneath them. Three somethings, with some sort of long contraption spread among them. The one in the back of the triangle formation released the device, and from it flew a narrow object. Rarity followed its sharp, nearly straight path with wide eyes.
“What’s the matter, pony?” The pink griffon hissed and reached for her leg. “Griffon got your—” He let out a sound somewhere between a choke and a grunt as the object, now recognizable as a spear longer than Rarity was tall, pierced his side. It stopped with the point poking out the other side of him, and the griffon fell to earth without a sound.
Rarity watched him fall in stunned silence… then noticed a dozen more spears had gone airborne. “Look out!”
The lieutenant shouted at the same time as Rarity. “Ballistae!”
The griffons scattered as the deadly projectiles filled the air. Rarity yelped and tucked her legs in to avoid one of the bolts even as her insides wiggled with the sudden motions. Private Fleetfeather bobbed and weaved in a chaotic aerial dance, squawking and grunting with effort. Even through her desperate efforts not to lose the contents of her stomach, Rarity noticed his grip on her slipping.
“Higher!” screamed the green griffon. “Get higher, out of range!” He tucked his wings in and dropped, a bolt swishing through the air where he’d been not a second earlier.
“I’m trying,” growled the private, flapping his wings harder as a bolt barely missed his legs – and Rarity’s stomach.
Rarity grasped at his arms with clutching fingers, but his scales proved difficult to get a firm grip on. “Why is it things keep trying to kill me?”
“Stop whining and hold…” Private Fleetfeather swore. “Smooze Flak!”
The silliness of that phrase jolted Rarity momentarily out of her fear and nausea. “What?”
A large black ball decorated with purple swirls rose up just ahead of them. The private tried to turn away, but clearly wasn’t fast enough. Rarity closed her eyes, fully expecting the great orb to smash into her. Instead, there was a click, and then a ‘fwoosh’ sound. A sour smell like spoiled grapes hit her nostrils, and she opened her eyes to a world of purple cloud. She closed her lips as tight as she could, some deep instinct telling her that breathing the stuff wouldn’t be in her best interest.
They passed through the strangely colored smoke, and Rarity could already tell something was wrong. Coated in purple dust, she felt her stomach jump up with her heart as the ground rapidly grew closer. She looked up to see the private covered completely in the dust and flapping wildly in a desperate bid to gain altitude. He grunted, groaned, cursed, and finally shouted, “I can’t stay up!”
“We’re coming, Private!” The green griffon darted through the air, no longer having to dodge the bolts. “Hold on, we’ve got you!”
“Drop the pony!” The lieutenant was in a rapid dive and closing fast. “Drop her, Private!”
Rarity looked down at the ground and yelped. “No, don’t drop her!”
She looked up, pleading with her eyes. Fleetfeather looked down, beak wide and fear in his gaze. A second passed as he considered the proposition, and Rarity was sure he would let go. Then his brow furrowed and he clicked his beak shut. He reaffirmed his grip on her arms, talons drawing trickles of blood, and spread his wings wide. They caught air, but the purple-coated feathers were being ripped away in a steady stream as they continued to drop.
“Damn it, Private, I gave you an order!” The lieutenant caught up and grabbed Fleetfeather’s shoulders. “I can’t carry you both! Drop her or we’re all going down!”
Fleetfeather ignored the command and kept his wings spread, hissing through his beak as tears streamed from his eyes. Rarity looked down and saw the earth coming quick. Their descent was slowing, but not quickly enough. Bracing, she tucked her knees to her chest and closed her eyes for the hit.
She smacked the ground hip-first, crying out as Fleetfeather’s claws ran up her arms before he mercifully let go. She rolled and bounced in the dirt and dry grass, keeping her body in a ball as best she could despite the pain and dizziness. She finally came to a stop on her side, her entire body aching and blood dripping from her arms. Hissing, she opened her eyes to find the world spinning.
Gingerly, she climbed to her hands and knees, but didn’t trust herself to get to her hooves. A shake of the head failed to clear it.
Animal-like calls filled the air. The earth began to rumble beneath her. Her pulse raced as she looked up to see a band of buffalo at least two dozen strong charging her. She stumbled in her attempt to stand, fell to her haunches, and turned while still on the ground. Private Fleetfeather lay nearby, apparently unconscious, and the lieutenant was just climbing to his paws. One of his wings hung limp, but he stood his ground over the fallen private with claws at the ready.
The world trembled, and Rarity covered her head with her arms in hopes that they’d provide her some feeble protection against the coming trampling. The hooves beat like thunder until they were a crescendo of chaotic clamor. Then, through her fear, Rarity realized that the noise was coming from all around. She opened her eyes and dared to look up.
They were going around her. Dust filled the air and made her cough violently, yet not a single buffalo touched her. Within seconds, they’d passed her up entirely. As her heart steadily dropped back to its proper place in her chest, she dared to get to her knees.
The massive buffalo had the lieutenant surrounded. They stomped their hooves while hooting and bellowing, spears and daggers glinting in the sunlight, but none moved forward to challenge the griffon. Rarity could just make out the lieutenant’s grim face amongst the dust and swaying bodies. To Rarity it seemed he knew exactly what his oppressors were up to and was prepared to meet it head on.
A gunshot cracked the air like a thunderclap, and one of the massive warriors collapsed in a heap. The rest of the buffalo scattered, shouting and waving their weapons towards the source of the sound. Rarity turned to see the green griffon soaring at them from just above their reach, and in his talons…
Rarity, all dizziness and pain forgotten, leapt to her hooves. “Get your filthy claws off my gun, you thief!”
He ignored her, coming to a hover over the lieutenant and firing another shot seemingly at random. “Back, you animals! Get back! We’re walking out of here, and if any of you so much as take one step closer I swear I’ll blast the heads off every last one of you!”
Something like a distant buzzing sounded in Rarity’s ears. Her blood boiled at the sight of Silver Lining being used by that reprobate, and she stomped a few steps closer. “You will do no such thing! Give that back, now!”
The griffon finally noticed her, as did the buffalo. He scowled and pointed the gun right at her. “This is your fault. You I’ll kill for the fun of it.”
Silver Lining fired.
Rarity had been caught mid step, and the impact knocked her off her hooves. Her eyes went wide, her breath left her. The world swam, and before she knew it she was on her back, staring at the blue sky. Seconds passed in silence. Her mind grasped at the logic of what had just happened, struggling for every stray thought. He’d shot her. The foul creature had shot her with her own gun. What kind of drifter lets herself be shot with her own gun?
Then, another thought came to mind: Why doesn’t it hurt?
Realization came quickly, and she reached up to feel at her blouse. There was a tiny hole… right over the necklace. Her eyes watered as the air finally flew back into her lungs. Thank you, Coco. Wincing at the soreness in her entire body, she gradually sat up.
The collected audience gasped, and she glanced up in worry. Every mouth hung loose, every shoulder limp. All eyes were set upon her. Even the green griffon gawked at the sight of her.
Rarity looked around, hand still on the necklace. She suddenly felt very small. “Um, why is everyone staring at me?”
Greenie pointed at her with a single talon. “Y-you’re supposed to be dying. Why aren’t you dying?”
Of course. They didn’t know about the necklace. Rarity hunched back and tried to think of some excuse that didn’t involve giving away the existence of one of her most prized possessions. “I… Well, I g-guess I’m just made of strong stuff?” She tittered, the sound hollow in her folded ears.
The griffon grimaced and aimed Silver Lining at her once more. “Let’s see how strong that stuff is.”
Rarity’s mind kicked into overdrive. She started to move, to bank on good luck and a herd of buffalo warriors to save her life.
She didn’t even manage to get on her hooves before the griffon jerked forward with a squawk and dropped like a stone. He hit the ground face first, and Rarity stared wide-eyed at the arrow sticking out of the back of his neck. Standing behind him, over the body of the lieutenant, was a young buffalo cow with a bow. Smaller than the others by at least half their height, Rarity guessed she couldn’t be more than sixteen.
Even as Rarity relaxed, a few thoughts struck her at once. What was a girl barely old enough to not be called a calf doing with all these warriors? Did she intend to shoot Rarity next? Why were they all still staring at her? Was Fleetfeather dead? And how—?
All questions fled her mind as the young cow walked closer, for Rarity’s eyes had settled upon something shimmering in the sunlight. It was a bronze necklace with some kind of spherical gem in its center, a white gem with just the faintest hints of red.
It looks exactly like mine.
In her stupor, Rarity failed to realize that the buffalo now surrounded her. The young cow stood at the edge of the circle, arrow nocked and aimed at Rarity’s head. But she didn’t fire, and so Rarity had to assume they were weighing their options. She glanced around, feeling like a bug amongst so many hairy giants. They towered over her, faces seemingly made of bronze and painted in blues, reds and blacks. Some gazed at her in wonder and awe, others with lowered eyebrows and suspecting frowns, and they were all murmuring to one another.
Then, one of their number stepped forth from Rarity’s left. While no taller than his neighbors, he wore a long, thick cape of silver scales and a helm that appeared to have been made of the skull of a sand lizard. Like all the others, his body was all tanned muscle and thick brown fur. A long scar marred his left side under the arm, though it only served to accentuate his ruggedness. The lines on his face suggested an individual too old to be considered young, but also too young to be considered old. He stared down at Rarity with hard but inquisitive eyes.
He spoke, and his voice was a lot softer than his rock-hard shape might suggest. “How did you survive the shot?”
Rarity hesitated, her eyes drifting to the young cow’s necklace. Its owner sneered and pulled the string of her bow taught. “Answer him!”
Realizing that lying would more than likely get her killed – and acknowledging that she had no good ideas for how to lie to them – Rarity sighed and pointed at the cow. “That is how.”
All eyes turned to the youth, whose eyebrows shot up. “Me?”
“Not you.” Rarity set her fingers to her neck in demonstration. “Your necklace. I have one exactly like it under my shirt.”
She was answered with fresh gasps, then the buffalo erupted in shouting.
“Another one?”
“Impossible!”
“But it might be true.”
“Blasphemy! We should kill her and be done with it!”
“Lies!” The young cow stomped a few steps closer, her muscles tensing as she aimed the arrow at Rarity’s chest. “Only the Scorched Tribes possess the Mark, and there is only one!”
Despite the arrowhead pointed at her, Rarity snorted and turned to face the youth properly. “I don’t know what a ‘mark’ is, but I am not a liar. I would love to know how you got something so unique!”
“That is not for an outsider to know!”
“Everyone, calm down.” The leader in his cape stepped over to set his hand on the young one’s shoulder. “Relax, Little Strongheart. Let us not be too hasty.”
“But Uncle—!”
“Enough.” He reached out and grasped the shaft of the arrow. “We will hear what she has to say before casting judgement.”
Little Strongheart shook where she stood, lips working in quiet grumbles, but she finally backed off and lowered her bow. “The Elders say there’s only one. She must be lying.”
“The Elders say there’s only one in the Scorched Plains,” her uncle corrected in a lecturing tone. He turned to Rarity, appearing no more friendly or threatening than he had when he’d first arrived. “Might we see this necklace, pony?”
Heat flowed into Rarity’s cheeks and she promptly wrapped her arms around myself. “W-well, it’s under my shirt. You wouldn’t ask a lady to take off her clothing in front of all these gentlebison, would you?” Was gentlebison the right word?
The leader gave a wan smile. “Then allow us to respect your dignity.” He turned away, and all the others did as well.
All except Little Strongheart, who gasped and raised her bow once more. “Uncle! She might try to run away!”
He glanced at her. “Are you suggesting you wouldn’t be able to hit a moving target? I had no idea you’d let your skills wane so.”
Little Strongheart’s face turned hot pink, and Rarity thought she might have even seen a little steam come out of her ears. The young buffalo leveled her arrow at Rarity once more, brown eyes like steel. “I’m watching her.”
“You are female,” her uncle replied nonchalantly. “There’s no reason you shouldn’t.”
All these males, and her being asked to open her shirt. The very idea brought an uncomfortable tingle between her thighs. Rarity slowly stood, eyeing the arrowhead warily. She turned a slow circle, confirming that none of the buffalo other than Little Strongheart were watching. She also sought out potential escape routes, but the effort proved fruitless. They had her completely surrounded, and there could be no doubt that they’d catch her before she took two steps, assuming Little Strongheart didn’t put an arrow in her chest before then.
When had her life come to this? A prisoner bound for slavery, negotiating with a griffon, sent flying across the plains, becoming the target of low-tech anti-air artillery, and now being forced to strip in a circle of young buffalo warriors. Whatever happened to her simple life?
Oh. Right. Braeburn.
“Hurry up, pony!”
Rarity scowled at Little Strongheart, but bit back her retort. With no other option and keeping a sharp eye open for peepers, she carefully opened the top half of her shirt and reached into the makeshift pouch. She pulled the necklace out, holding it up in one hand while the other tugged her shirt closed once more. “Here, you see? Just like yours.”
The leader turned his head just slightly. “May we?”
A problem presented itself to Rarity, who looked to her shirt and then the necklace. Grumbling, she raised her palm towards Little Strongheart. “One moment. Don’t shoot, I am merely using my magic to button my shirt back up.” And she did so, watching as her aura handled the buttons with practiced finesse. As soon as the last button was done, she gave a self-satisfied nod. “Now you may look.”
The males all turned, and the gasps came back with a vengeance at the sight of her necklace. She carefully set it around her neck before standing proudly before them. A familiar voice in the back of her mind giggled at the thought of being the center of so much attention, but the more pragmatic part of her remained at the forefront and kept her stoic, reminding her that that attention was coming from males.
The leader sucked in a sharp breath and gestured to his niece. “Let us compare.” He and the girl stepped close to eye the necklace. The massive buffalo had to drop to one knee and hunch over to properly do so, whereas Little Strongheart – standing at about Rarity’s height – needed only bend forward a little. The heat returned to Rarity cheeks as she tried hard not to think of it as them ogling her breasts.
A moment of tense silence passed. Little Strongheart, her eyebrows disappearing beneath her sandy locks, whispered, “It… it must be a fake. It’s not even the right color.”
Color? Rarity glanced down to discover that the gem on her necklace had gained just the faintest hint of purple. When had that happened?
Little Strongheart’s uncle wore a thoughtful frown, one hand rubbing the fur of his collarbone as he studied the gem. His pose was almost comical given his mass. After a few seconds, he glanced up at Rarity. “What is your name?”
She straightened her shoulders and held her head high. “It is Rarity Belle.”
“And where did you come by this Mark, Rarity Belle?”
Little Strongheart’s heated stare made her hesitate, but only for a moment. “It was a parting gift from a friend of mine. She gave it to me for good luck.”
Slowly, he stood up to his full height. “And her?”
Her? Oh, he meant Coco. “She told me it was a gift to her from her late mother. Where her mother acquired it, I do not know.”
While he seemed to ponder this, Little Strongheart maintained her glare. “How do we know you’re telling the truth?”
With an exasperated sigh, Rarity raised her arms high. “What would I gain by lying about this?”
“I don’t know,” the young cow snapped. “What would you?”
Groaning, Rarity pointed to her. “Where did you get yours, then?”
“I earned it,” she snarled. “I won the Mark in trials of blood and fire, being named by the Elders of the Plains as the bravest and greatest warrior of the tribes! What have you done to earn yours, pony?”
Rarity sucked in a sharp breath. Trial of blood and fire? Greatest warrior? She glanced over Strongheart’s shoulder at the dead griffons and felt a need to step back, although she resisted. “You hardly seem old enough for that kind of thing, but I don’t doubt your skill.”
Little Strongheart snorted. “I wouldn’t expect a feeble pony to understand.” She turned sharply to her uncle. “She’s clearly not worthy of a Mark! We should take it back to the Elders.”
He eyed her with a disdaining frown. “You forget your place, young one. The Mark determines its bearer, not us. Do not speak low of another bearing a Mark when your own has yet to accept you.”
The young cow flinched as if physically struck. Her lips peeled back to bare her teeth, but she replied only by shouldering her bow and stalking off, hands balled into fists.
Her uncle sighed and turned back to Rarity. “Forgive her, she is young. I am Pounding Sands, Son of Warm Breezes. I ask you, Rarity Belle, are you here with the trade caravan currently south of us?”
Little Strongheart’s behavior forgotten, Rarity clasped her hands together as hope blossomed within. “Why, yes! I was traveling to the Plains with them. Are they alright?”
Shrugging, Pounding looked to the south as if he expected to see something in the far distance. “I would not know. The rest of my war herd intended to ambush the griffons. We hid here, aware that those that retreated would likely come this way. We will need to hide soon to ensure the next group of stragglers do not see us. I can only assume our ambush was successful, but that does not mean anything regarding the ponies.”
Rarity’s good cheer faded a touch at that. “What do you mean?”
His eyes settled upon her. “The griffon is our foe, but we do not welcome ponies either. They are a destructive and violent people, and we cannot allow them to roam our lands when we are already busy fending off the flying invaders. While we do not go out of our way to harm ponies, neither do we avoid it if they are between us and the enemy.”
“B-but, they were prisoners!” Rarity raised her hands in an imploring gesture. “They were trading with a town on the border, and then they planned to travel along the Teeth to Mareami in the east. It was not their intention to trespass, the griffons made them do it!”
He shrugged once more and turned away, this time to look upon the dead griffons. “I wouldn’t worry too much. We are not in the habit of taking prisoners or killing needlessly. Your friends will likely be brought back to our borders and simply asked to not come back.”
She followed his gaze, watching as his fellow warriors began inspecting the griffons. While the others had moved away as if not interested anymore, she couldn’t help but note how they were eyeing her when they thought she couldn’t see. She frowned and tried not to think about it, rubbing the necklace absentmindedly. “I suppose that’s the best I could hope for.”
“And what about you?”
She craned her neck back to look up at him. “Me?”
He did not return her gaze, instead watching as the other buffalo went to work resetting their hideaways. Rarity noted with curiosity that they were blankets covered in dirt and local flora. Only now did she notice that the ‘ballistae’ used to attack the griffons were little more than what appeared to be giant bands strapped to wood. The buffalo hurried to cover them once more with tall shrubs.
Pounding’s soft voice broke her out of her quiet inspection. “You said you were traveling here, but I heard nothing about leaving.”
“Oh.” This could be trouble. If ponies weren’t welcome in the Scorched Plains, would they force her back out too? As much so she wanted to argue the point, a quick glance around reminded her that she was vastly outnumbered. If she said something to offend…
Minding her words, she spoke slowly. “I am… seeking a new place to call home. I thought I might settle here.”
“Here?” He at last turned to her, peering beneath thick eyebrows. “The Plains are inhospitable for ponies at the best of times, and judging by your manner of speaking, you are hardly a pony accustomed to such rough living.”
Rarity pursed her lips and set hands to hips. “I’ll adapt. I—”
Two buffalo came up to them, interrupting the conversation by their sheer presence. They easily held Private Fleetfeather between them. The griffon hung limply, head lolling with their motions and his paws dangling more than a foot over the brown grass. “This one is still alive. How shall we end him?”
Pounding snorted and turned away. “I care not for the death of an honorless griffon. Do with him what you will.”
Rarity’s heart skipped a beat and she leapt forward. “Wait! You can’t kill him!”
The two buffalo shared raised eyebrows. “We can’t?” one asked with genuine confusion.
“No!”
Little Strongheart was on the scene an instant later, appearing seemingly from nowhere and pointing an accusing finger at Rarity. “Ah-ha! You hear that, Uncle? She’s protecting our enemy! In league with them, no doubt.”
With a grumble that Rarity swore made the nearby rocks shake, Pounding rubbed his forehead with both hands. “And why should we spare the life of such a foul creature?”
She stood between him and Fleetfeather and set her hands on her hips. “You say he has no honor and that he is ‘foul,’ but he still saved my life. He—”
Little Strongheart stamped her hoof. “That just proves you’re working with them!”
Pounding’s eyebrow twitched and his face grew even more stony than before. He spoke in an even tone that failed to keep his frustration entirely hidden. “Child, if you do not cease these petty interruptions I will be forced to speak to your grandfather when we return to the tribe.”
Ears flying straight, Little Strongheart took a wary step back. She gaped at her uncle for a second, two, then slumped. “Fine, but I reserve the right to say I warned you about her.” She cast Rarity a vicious scowl even as she spoke in an exaggeratedly polite tone. “Do go on, Rarity Belle of the Griffons.”
Nothing would have pleased Rarity more than to put the young cow in her place, but she forced her anger back down her throat. She had more important things to deal with, starting with making sure they didn’t kill Fleetfeather. With her priorities reaffirmed, she focused her attention on Pounding Sands. “Ahem, as I was saying: this griffon could have let me go when he was hit by that… erm… ‘smooze.’ If he had, his companions would have caught him and they might have escaped. Instead, he chose to risk his own life to ensure I landed safely. He acted courageously. Surely such behavior should be rewarded, and I do not believe his life is too much to ask.”
Pounding hummed and rubbed the fur on his collar, which must have been some sort of habit of his. He noted Little Strongheart bouncing from hoof to hoof and making little gestures with her hands. With an eyebrow raised, he nodded.
“But she’s only a pony!” She pointed at Rarity once more. “Who cares if he saved her? They’re our enemies, and they wouldn’t lift a talon to save any of us. Why should we spare him because he spared her?”
Rarity frowned at her. “Maybe it shows they aren’t as terrible as you think they are.”
“That’s—” Strongheart froze, casting a wary glance at her uncle. He smiled and nodded. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard! Saving the life of one pony does not make him one of Celestia’s Saints.”
Crossing her arms, Rarity smirked. “But it does suggest they have a sense of morality.”
Strongheart opened her mouth, closed it, then scrunched her face up in thought. Then she threw her hands up. “Okay, maybe it does. So what? They’re still our enemy!”
“I’ve heard enough.” Pounding raised a palm, forestalling the rest of Strongheart’s objection before it could go beyond a syllable. “We certainly can’t trust this griffon, but if what Rarity Belle says is true then we should be open minded. We’ll take the griffon to face the Elder. Let him determine the creature’s fate.”
Where Rarity expected Strongheart to react with shock, what she saw instead was a leer. “Oh, Grandpa will never let some catbird live. Fine, let’s do it.”
Her confidence chinked Rarity’s own. Her fingers fretted with her mane as Fleetfeather was carried away. When he was lost among the shrubs, she turned to Pounding. “If that’s the case, then let me come as well.”
He shook his head. “That will not be possible. Even if you bear a Mark, ponies are not allowed to remain. You are not a prisoner, and so you will be escorted back to the mountains.”
“What? But who will speak in Fleetfeather’s defense? How can he be given a fair trial?”
“Trial?” Strongheart laughed. “Buffalo don’t do trials, pony!”
“B-but that’s ridiculous!” Rarity balled her hands into fists and leaned towards the herd leader, heat building in the back of her mind. “How does this earn him a fair chance?”
Pounding didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow. “I suggest you get your gun. We’ll provide you with enough provisions to cross the mountains and reach the nearest town on the other side.”
Snarling, Rarity grabbed her necklace and thrust it at him. “What about this? It seems important to your people. Won’t the Elder want to know about it?”
“And he will,” he replied calmly. “We’ll tell him.” He turned and walked away without another word.
His offhand response and dismissal left her dumbfounded, staring at his retreating back and fumbling for something to reply with. She looked down at her necklace, half hoping she’d find some sort of answer in its lavender gem. “I thought…”
Little Strongheart snorted and giggled. “Yeah, your bird friend’s gonna die. Nothing you can do about it, pony.”
Pounding called from a distance, “Warrior Strongheart! Escort Rarity Belle out of the Scorched Plains.”
A sound not unlike air being sucked down a reed rose from the young buffalo’s throat. Her eyes boggled and she spun on her heel to gape at her uncle. “You want me to what? That’ll take ages!”
“That was an order, Warrior!”
She sputtered and shook, hands balled into fists once more. After nearly a minute of this, her head snapped towards Rarity. “Get your crap and let’s go. If you’re not ready in five minutes, I’m dragging you by that ugly purple tail!”
As much as the devious side of her wanted to relish Little Strongheart’s frustration, Rarity was too busy worrying about Fleetfeather. True, the griffon had been one of her kidnappers, and yes, he’d tried to bring her back to his Roost to serve as a broodmare slave. But when she recalled that moment of descent, when he’d been given the option of letting go… She’d seen his eyes. She’d seen him weigh the choice of her life over his own.
He could have let go. From a practical standpoint, he probably should have.
But he didn’t. That made all the difference in the world.
Nodding to herself, Rarity located the herd leader and jogged to him. “Pounding Sands, if I could but have one more moment?”
He finished giving orders to the three warriors before him, then turned to her. “Please be quick. The next flight of griffons could be upon us at any time.”
She nodded. “I know you won’t let me go to speak on Fleetfeather’s behalf, but please tell me: is there anything I can do, anything at all, to help his odds of getting out of this alive?”
Pounding Sands said nothing for a time. He studied her with his stony face unreadable. Not a smile or a frown, not even a twitch of an eye gave away his thoughts. When he finally answered, he did so slowly, as if to emphasize his words.
“I do not know you, Rarity Belle. Your passion for the fate of one who should be your foe tells me that you are an honorable and gentle soul. I do not believe the Scorched Plains is the best place for one such as you. You would do well to return to the place from which you came. The untamed lands – be they here or those in the north – will try to rip that goodness away from you, and I would think this world a lesser place for the loss.”
A fresh fire bloomed in Rarity’s cheeks, and she promptly turned her gaze to his hooves. For a group of creatures she’d so long thought of as rubes and illiterates, it seemed the buffalo had a way with words. She would need to rethink her perspective on the people outside of civilization, it seemed.
He continued before she could formulate a proper response. “I assure you that I will personally give the Elder the most accurate and unbiased interpretation of events that I may, and will certainly make note of your wishes. That is the most I can offer you, but do not think it insubstantial.”
He turned away once more. “Now go. I apologize for making my fireball of a niece your escort, Rarity Belle of the Bulletproof Heart.”
Realizing she would get nothing more from him – and not wanting to see if Little Strongheart would honor her threat – Rarity went in search of Silver Lining. Her eyes scanned the ground, but her heart wasn’t into the activity. Pounding’s warning echoed in her ears. Go home, he said. If only she could. She’d run back to her parents and little sister in a heartbeat.
“Here.”
Silver Lining was thrust into her chest. She took it in both hands and looked up to find Little Strongheart’s glare. Despite that, Rarity nodded and thanked her.
“Don’t thank me,” the young cow snarled. “I just don’t want you wasting the next hour looking for the stupid thing.” She dropped a leather pack to the ground between them. “There. Food and water. Now let’s go.”
With a sigh, Rarity grabbed the pack and slung it over her shoulder before following in Strongheart’s wake. The little buffalo stomped with every step, grumbling under her breath. Rarity took a glance behind and found nothing but nearly barren scrublands behind her; the buffalo had disappeared as quickly as they’d arrived. Their ability to hide in such an open space was nothing short of extraordinary, especially considering how big they all were.
Well, almost all. With Little Strongheart too disgruntled to make for a decent conversationalist, Rarity resorting to checking her supplies. The bag was filled with three loaves of bread and a pair of large waterskins. Not much, but she imagined it would get her across the mountains. Yes, she’d go back, for what was the point of trying to stay in the Scorched Plains if any buffalo she encountered would simply force her out? At least that’s all they would do, compared to those terrible griffons!
But where would she go afterwards? She couldn’t stay in whatever town she’d end up in. The Bad Apples would surely track her there in time, so it was in her best interest to keep moving. Perhaps she should go to Mareami after all.
“Hey, pony! Keep up, will you?”
Little Strongheart was bouncing from hoof to hoof. Rarity eyed her energetic motions. “I beg your pardon?”
“If we run, we can get to the edge of the mountains before nightfall.”
Groaning, Rarity slung her bag over her shoulder once more. “I don’t think so. My legs still ache after spending an entire day being marched by the griffons.”
The cow snorted and rolled her eyes. “Don’t be such a pansy, pony.”
Rarity snorted right back. “Excuse me, but as you are so eager to observe with every other sentence, I am indeed a pony, not a buffalo. You might have the ability to go stampeding all over these dreadfully hot plains all day long, but I do not. I’ve been nearly killed several times in the last twenty four hours alone, had to run to the limits of my endurance, spent very little sleep last night, planned a—”
“Alright, alright, I get it!” Little Strongheart ceased her bouncing and resorted to a regular walk, her shoulders slumped. “By the Sun’s Flames, what did Uncle Sands think he’d accomplish making me babysit you?”
“Perhaps he hoped to broaden your horizons.” Rarity wiped sweat from her brow and wished for clouds in her near future. “You never know, we may find we’ll actually enjoy one another’s company.”
Little Strongheart’s face contorted into an expression of disgust. “The day I make friends with a prissy pony pansy is the day I turn in my dad’s bow.” She gripped the weapon as if she thought Rarity might try to take it away. “Now stop being stupid. I’d like to get this done with minimal talking.”
So much for her offering of peace. Rarity sighed and elected to do as told. She doubted her temporary travelling companion would be able to offer much to talk about anyway.
Her thoughts drifted once more to Fleetfeather, and she offered up a prayer to the Sisters that the griffon would be alright.