//------------------------------// // Performers and Portrayers // Story: The Catalyst // by Somber Star //------------------------------// Zecora's residence of choice was a short walk from Ponyville, but only if one knew where it was and more important still, what one was looking for. In hindsight, maybe she should have thought of that before. It was true her fresh solar Cutie Mark revealed her destiny to be tied to the nation of ponies, but she wasn't exactly keen in knowing what that should mean. An error in judgement left her as alone among them as her own kind, and she could not seem to see the way out of her new social bind. In an effort to stave off a despairing mood, she ventured out in search of fresh herbs and food. Life in the Everfree was typically bereft of fun, and time seemed to lose meaning without sight of the sun. It was typical to be haunted in the midst of her rounds by the threat of the forest's native wooden hounds. Other monsters she knew posed a similar threat but she was content she hadn't made their acquaintances yet. Still, darkened clouds above threatened with rain; as the not-distant-enough Timberwolves' howls deafened her to the sound of her own stomach's growls. However fearful she was, the relentless need remained. She didn't have long to brood, before the strangest of things occurred: deep in the wood, another fiend's howling could be heard. At first Zecora believed that new troubles had joined her day, but then the Timberwolves seemed to be moving away. She went about her business while trying to ignore the chill of the Everfree at once going silent, and still. Untroubled for a while by any manner of beast, she couldn't help but smile at her easily gathered feast. The fire of victory burning in her heart, she sought out supplies for her alchemical art. Even as the first drops fell, her smile remained strong until she realized it had been silent for far too long. A maelstrom of possibilities raged in her mind while she galloped home as fast as she thought she could without leaving too much behind. Zecora doubted she could but she outpaced the storm, relieved that inside was reliably dry and warm. A fire once ignited brought light to her face, making it easier to find everything its place. She had two hours for potion work before bed, just enough to quell the worries plaguing her head. The pattering rain had no rhythm or rhyme, and she found their quiet melody luring away the time. A rush of wind gently rustled her home's leaves, yet no stray drops found routes through the eaves. The sense of accomplishment had banished her fright, and it became easy to turn in for the night. * * * (I'm an idiot...) a certain blue-grey colt thought as he looked around at the growing number of glowing green eyes manifesting in the darkness of the woods nearby. Each pair was matched with a menacing growl, and the harmony of the combined noise seemed to threaten the rhythm of his heartbeat. The fool organ was trying to pound faster and harder and stop at the same time. "I can't believe I actually thought that howling back would throw them off..." He didn't even realize when he started speaking aloud, but the Timberwolves did. Twelve pairs of leafy ears perked at once, and wooden snouts opened into snarls that revealed splinters in the shape of canine teeth. They circled him, closing in and menacing him from all sides. It wasn't clear whether the wolves fed on pony flesh or just their fears, but he wasn't keen on being the one to learn. What was clear was that they were trying to incite him to run in a specific direction by giving him a faux opening and snapping at him from the other side. There was just one problem with their strategy. A problem that Somber had his entire life, and which at this moment seemed to have come to a head: he was a fighter. That is not to say that he enjoyed combat, or inflicting pain, or even ruining somepony else's day. What it does mean though is that when something scares him, and adrenaline pumps through his system, he does not flee like a normal pony does. Instead, he attacks whatever inspired that fear, and since all rationality has fled him, he acts like an animal and doesn't stop his assault until he regains his senses. The first Timberwolf to get too close with its snapping got a hind-kick to the jaw, upon which it was revealed that they tend to explode. Naturally, this startled Somber even more than the existing low-key terror of the predators' threats, and initiated a chain reaction where he blindly lashed out at anything that moved within the radius set by the pack. The curse-animals, acting on instincts alone, didn't know how to handle the crazed pony. For one thing, he actually bolted in the direction they'd intended after shattering one of their own, but deviated just enough to tackle another and send it flying into pieces too. Each after the next, a Timberwolf started to pursue the apparently fleeing prey, only to find him returning at speeds easily mistaken for teleportation. The pack was reduced to brambles and splinters in the space of about six seconds, which was far too short a time for the colt's adrenaline rush to wear off. So after panting took over the growling he didn't know he was the source of, he continued his assault against less threatening targets: branches were torn off trees by magic, fronds were torn out of ferns by teeth, spiders and insects were crushed underhoof. Everything. Everything must stop moving until the fear went away. The fallen pack reassembled into a Timberwolf Alpha, which had a brief few seconds to growl in a menacing choral voice before Somber turned on it. Rocks pelted through it at relativistic velocities and punched holes in the clouds before the unicorn dove at the wooden behemoth, only finally calming down as he found himself being rained on by parts and pieces... and actual drops of water. (I'm a monster...) he thought, looking at the damage he'd caused. Meanwhile, his body ignored his mind's strife and instead reacted to the threat of rain and the opportunity of suddenly available resources. A large square hole was carved into the ground by a cube of magical force. (Should I even be doing this?) was also ignored as wolf-timber was mixed in with the regular variety as well as mud and moss. He tried to will his body to stop building, to give up and die, but it disobeyed. The mixture was pressed up against the cube and blasted into something like a cheap cement, then the fronds were mixed with even more mud and wolf-timber to make a roof. "Maybe it's best for that zebra if I never find her. Maybe it's best for everypony if I never come back." A strike of lightning revealed something like a hideous, angry face on a tree, which was immediately cut down with an arcane blade and hewn into log quarters that were used to brace the inside of the walls and roof. Some were stacked on top of a pile of dried fronds and lit aflame. The cube was let down to test the stability of the hut, and to release the smoke through the vent-holes just under the overhanging roof. As usual, sleep was slow to take him, and when it did, it dragged him into a realm of nightmares. When he was younger, these were just of angry mobs with torches or empty places where ponies should be, with only the occasional ghost screaming demands to know where he's been. But now that he was older, he alternated between hearing distant cheers as some radiant hero or heroine pummeled him into the ground; and the much more frightening dreams of "stepping back" away from the world and somehow opening the part of it that encompassed everything he knew to reveal the gears of a clock or the strings of a marionette show, or strange lines of strange metals with armies of sparks racing down them. Even those were broken up by the worst dreams of all: those where he gave his life for the world, and was paid for his blood by being discarded in an utterly callous manner. They say you're not supposed to die in your dreams, but how close are you allowed to get? Somber has lost track of the number of times where he's felt his body go cold, seen color drain from his vision, and heard his breath first become loud then go silent. He couldn't help but wonder how many ponies suffered like this, what with the regent of the Dream Realm having become Nightmare Moon. Maybe that's why he had become a monster. Maybe his real purpose in life was to punish ponies like her for what they've done.