49th of Warm Season, 1005 BA
Rarity spread her map out against Cerulean’s warm blue scales, her horn glowing gently as a notepad, pencil, chronometer, and sextant hovered about her head. The sand lizard gave a growl to voice his displeasure, but otherwise offered no reaction. Peering at the map, she traced with her finger the carefully drawn lines depicting her path since leaving Hoofington. The coordinates of last night’s stop were carefully copied to the notepad.
That done, she turned to take in the setting sun. Her hilltop was covered in short, thick grass and trees dotted the rolling landscape. The Sunpeaks weren’t even visible in the distance yet, but she knew it wouldn’t be much longer. Another day or three. She took the sextant in hand and found the horizon in the proper mirror. That done, she adjusted the sextant’s arm until the sun appeared, its blinding brightness made manageable by the silver embedded in the second mirror.
As soon as the horizon and the sun were aligned in the mirrors, she locked the arm and recorded the angle and time on her notepad. That done, she pulled out a thick tome, undoubtedly the most expensive thing she’d acquired for her journey from Mooisville. The thought left a sick feeling in her gut; after helping to pay for her parents’ travelling needs, her funds had shrunk dangerously. But she set the thought aside. She’d started from scratch before, and she wasn’t there yet. She could do it again.
The weighty book opened in her magic, flipping rapidly to the proper page. There she found the pre-determined position of the sun on the current day, written out in ten-minute intervals. Checking her recorded time, she found the nearest value and began calculating, her notepad becoming a neat set of numbers. Within five minutes, she had as close a determination as she could to her current latitude.
That done, she utilized her sextant to keep one eye on the sun while the other watched her chronometer. The pencil and notepad hovered nearby, ready and waiting. Time ticked by, the world quiet in the midst of her patient observation. The instant the solar orb touched the horizon, she jotted down the time and checked her charts. Within seconds she had her longitude.
Now she needed only mark her position on the map. She was supposed to account for her elevation, but with no means to determine that she was forced to accept a slight error. Her spot marked, she drew a perfectly straight line from her reading the day before. She’d travelled a little farther today. At this rate she’d be at Bitter Ergot in a week at most.
Cerulean gave a snort, shaking his body just enough to dislodge her map. Scowling, Rarity turned to see him watching her with a lone eye, disapproval plain in his gaze. “Don’t look at me like that. You know I don’t have any other place to set it.”
Making a noise that was half-growl, half-groan, he turned away from her and curled into the grass, clearly preparing for sleep. Rarity rolled her eyes and the map at the same time, carefully putting away her navigational tools. “I don’t understand you. Always so grouchy. Worse than Cranky, I swear to Luna.” If Cerulean had any opinion on her declaration, he didn’t bother to offer it.
Her pack set aside, Rarity poked the feed bag attached to the saddle. “Wouldn’t you prefer to eat before bed? I’d prefer not to have to wait for you to have breakfast in the morning.”
His frills flicked, which only served to convince her that the lizard had understood her meaning. Even so, he made no effort to get up. If anything, she felt as if she were being given the cold shoulder.
“Fine.” She snatched a can of corn from one of the saddlebags and stomped for her bedroll already set out by a small fire. “I should have traded you for a female.”
It’d been almost two weeks since she’d left Hoofington behind. Thirteen days, and they’d been blessedly peaceful. She hadn’t yet given up on the idea that some gang members or hunters could be on her trail, but she didn’t give the idea much thought beyond a constant sense of alertness. Her primary concern was catching up with Sweetie’s and Coco’s foalnappers, and presumably the pair themselves. This might have been easier if she’d had a more cooperative mount.
But Cerulean was having none of that. While he ran fast, he seemed to have grown tired of her habit of riding him for long periods of time. Once he decided it was time to stop, there could be no goading him on. She’d tried prodding, encouraging, pleading, bribing, shouting, everything short of outright violence. Nothing mattered. The instant the sun approached the horizon and the sky began shifting colors, Cerulean slowed to a stop and refused to move on.
Rarity kept the can of corn hovering over the fire in her magic, clenching and unclenching her hands as she thought about how far ahead the Bad Apple Gang must be. Were it up to her, she’d keep going for a couple of days in a row before taking a night’s break. At least that way she could reasonably expect to be gaining on her quarry. But at this pace, the foul fiends may be developing a lead. Had the stupid lizard no idea what was at stake?
Of course he didn’t. He was a lizard. That obvious logic did nothing to cool her temper.
Eventually, she brought the can close. She ripped the lid off with a violent twist of her magic. The corn steamed almost as much as she did. She attacked it with her only spoon with all the viciousness she felt building up inside. It burned her tongue, bringing tears to her eyes, but she didn’t stop or spit it out, instead chewing it slowly. The sting served as an outlet for her frustration, and by her fourth, cooler bite she’d calmed down enough that she could begrudgingly dismiss the desire to shoot her mount.
As she slowly began to relax, she eased her ravenous pace and tried to think more calming thoughts. Her eyes fell upon the corn within her can. Corn. Sweetie used to refuse to eat it. She’d never gave a reason back then. It was simply a foal’s acting out. Rarity couldn’t help but smile at the memory. Back then she’d viewed her kid sister as such a brat. Her mother and father had always been quick to remind her that she’d been far worse at that age.
“I’ll get you back, Sweetie.” She glared at the snoring Cerulean. “With or without his help.”
The forests had become thickets and the tall grass all but disappeared in favor of hardy, short blades of a yellow coloration. The air had grown warmer with Rarity’s gradual southwestern journey, and the landscape appeared more and more unwelcoming. Curiously, Rarity felt this to be a more friendly environment than the soft grasses and cool winds of the Mooisville region. She’d grown so accustomed to the Bowl’s habitat of heat and hills and rocks that she welcomed its gloomy countenance with an odd sense of pleasure.
What she did not welcome was the sight on the hill opposite her own. She experienced an acute case of déjà vu, for the objects were clearly wagons abandoned after some traumatic event. These hadn’t been burned, but the ripped-up canvas and bodies speckling the hillside made it abundantly clear the owners weren’t taking an afternoon break. She considered going around the caravan, but remembered her logic from before: if there were bandits around, they’d either already seen her or moved on.
Wary of yet another ambush, Rarity made sure the safety clasps were off of Silver Lining and Ruby Heart before encouraging Cerulean’s advance. One eye kept the caravan in view while the other constantly swept the surrounding hills. She allowed herself a moment’s distraction to peer at the back of her mount’s head. “If there is somepony out there trying to kill me, can I expect you to run when I need you to?”
A noncommittal grunt was the best she could garner. It would have to do.
They began climbing the hill leading to the three wagons. The afternoon sun shone brightly on their destination, making it clear that no damage had befallen the caravan from this direction. Tilting her hat back, she eyed the first body, a middle-aged earth pony mare who stared at the sky with wide eyes. Her expression spoke of disbelief. Perhaps she had died too quickly for the reality to set in.
She passed by two more bodies, an earth pony and a Dust Devil. No, three; there was a unicorn visible beneath the lizard. From his grime-covered clothes, she suspected he was one of the bandits. Hand on Silver Lining, she guided Cerulean around the first wagon. She discovered one more a little further down the hill, toppled sideways by the steep incline. There was a slumped Thick Scale lizard with half its harness shattered. She suspected it had been killed in the fighting and took the wagon down with it. More bodies littered the hilltop, at least a dozen.
She came to a stop amongst the carnage, her gaze drifting slowly across the scene. She didn’t consider herself an expert in such things, but from the flies and the smell she suspected the battle had happened a day or two ago. Whoever was responsible for this, they’d be long gone. She didn’t permit herself to relax just yet; they could still be in the area. Shining had warned her about bandit parties that staked out ‘territories’ for hunting, and she had her experience with Cayenne to consider.
Her attention shifted to the wagons. Whereas on the other side of the hill they had appeared pristine minus some canvas damage, from here she saw the wood pockmarked with holes. Small gunfire, it would seem, although something substantial had ripped a big gash in the middle of the front wagon. She imagined the faintest shove would send the thing toppling.
The frills on Cerulean’s neck fanned out as his head twisted with unusual speed. Rarity reacted instantly, Silver Lining out and aimed in the direction he was looking. Its barrel pointed at the face of an earth pony directing a rifle at her from within the last wagon.
That she held back said wonders about her capacity of determining threats at high speed, or so she hoped. She peered at the stallion, taking in his wide eyes, bloody clothes, and trembling weapon. With the rifle shaking like that, the only way he’d hit her would be blind luck. Stubble decorated his chin beneath a mouth opened to accommodate his fast, unsteady breaths. If he wasn’t a teenager, then he had been not long ago.
Rarity tried to picture the scene from a third perspective, her astride a tall and imposing Dust Devil, Silver Lining steady and centered upon the poor boy’s skull while he shook like a foal in desperate need of his dam. The comparison was almost sad. If this stallion had been with the bandits, she’d trade meals with Cerulean for a day.
“Easy.” She raised her gun high, never losing eye contact with the young stranger. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”
His wild eyes zipped around the sights of his vibrating rifle, undoubtedly seeking threats beyond the hills. “Y-you’re not with them?”
She tilted her head just slightly. “With whom?”
“Them!” He leaned out of the wagon and thrust the rifle at her. “The b-bandits!”
Rarity wondered if she should be worried about how calm she felt. “I am no bandit.”
The colt raised himself higher and leaned a little more forward. He was at greater risk of tumbling out the wagon than he was of shooting her. “How c-can I trust you?”
“I haven’t shot you yet.” Slowly, she put Silver Lining back in its holster and snapped the safety in place. She made no attempt to do the same for Ruby Heart, just in case. “And I’d rather not do so if I can help it. Are you hurt?”
He went cross-eyed at the query. “Hurt?”
She nodded, again with exaggerated slowness. “There’s blood on you.”
His swallow was so hard she could hear it even from twenty feet away. His tiny pupils flashed down and he used one hand to pick at the red on his shirt. His green cheeks gained an extra shade of white. “It’s n-not mine.”
Cerulean snorted. Rarity glanced at him before reaching out to pet the scales between his frills. The lizard shot her a one-eyed look of disdain, but the frills relaxed against his throat. She turned her attention back to the stallion. “What is your name?”
“I’m not telling you, bandit!”
It seemed it would take more drastic measures to make the frightened thing see reason. She couldn’t just leave him out here, he wouldn’t last long on his own. Granted, she might have said the same thing about herself the day she’d been left in his situation.
Now there was an eye-opening idea. Her thoughts drifted to Yearling and her words one quiet night in their tent. Rarity busied herself with climbing off Cerulean, making sure to keep her back turned from the colt as much as possible.
“What are you doing? H-hey, hold still!”
Her boots on firm ground, Rarity carefully considered her next action. The pause had the added benefit of dramatic effect, which she used to its maximum ability when she pulled Ruby Heart from her vest. In a single slow, smooth motion, she turned to face him and pointed the heavy pistol at the colt. He jumped, nearly dropping his rifle in his panic. At last, he had it in both hands once more, but his shaking had only grown worse.
She doubted even luck would have been enough for him to land a hit now. The front of the rifle rolled through the air with his unsteady motions, and his cheeks had lost all their color. She couldn’t tell if she was seeing his lips vibrating or he was praying to the Sisters for deliverance. Possibly both. It was… Well, if she were honest, it was pathetic.
Rarity lowered her gun and shook her head. “Do you have any idea how many times I could have killed you by now?”
“I won’t go down—whoa!” His failed attempt to be aggressive sent him toppling head-over-boots out of the wagon. He landed on his chest, hard and heavy. He stared forward, chin in the dry grass, and allowed himself a moment to recover from the surprise. Then he noticed her approaching and snatched his rifle from the ground beside him. Knees knocking, he stood up and tried to point the rifle at her.
With but a thought, she caught the end of the barrel in her magic and aimed it at the sky. He wrestled with the weapon, easily able to move it around but unable to get the barrel itself to lower. She kept coming, walking at a slow and leisurely pace, Ruby Heart hanging heavy at her side.
The young stallion grew more and more frantic as he fought with his weapon. At last, he resorted to standing on the tips of his boots in a desperate attempt to angle the gun at her from above, but couldn’t pull it off. When she was almost in front of him, he gave up and backed away, the gun swinging wildly from where her aura held it up. She caught it easily, released her levitation spell, and casually dropped the weapon in the dirt.
Back to the wagon, he clenched his eyes tightly closed and balled his hands into fists. He breathed in sharp gasps as tears streamed down his eyes. Rarity watched this for a few quiet seconds and wondered just what he’d seen in the last couple days.
She caressed his cheek with the palm of her hand. At her touch, his eyes opened wide.
“It’s alright,” she whispered, staring into those eyes. “It’s over. You’re safe now.”
He stuttered and mumbled, but at last managed to get some words out. “Y-you’re not going to k-k-kill me?”
Ruby Heart went back to its holster. She smiled for him, the best she could offer despite her heavy heart. “No. I’m going to help you get out of this place.”
He stared at her for a few seconds, for once as still as can be.
Then he fell to his knees and wept, clutching her coat as if it were the only thing keeping him alive. She pressed his forehead to her belly and rubbed his back, remembering a time that seemed so long ago.
They moved on to a nearby thicket, where they could talk without having to see or smell the ruined caravan. Rarity gave the young stallion, who had confessed to being named Flintlock after his breakdown, some bread and had another canned meal for herself. He ate voraciously, confirming her suspicions that he’d been without food for some time. Cerulean dozed near the edge of the trees, basking in the warmth of the sun.
Waiting for him to slow down on his eating, Rarity asked the question that had been bugging her for some time. “So, Flintlock. How’d a pony who can barely keep a rifle pointing straight survive a bandit raid?”
He paused, cheeks bulging from the excessive amounts of bread in his mouth, and stared at her through his grey bangs. His demeanor, momentarily thrilled thanks to having food, became marred by downcast eyes and a drooping posture. He had to swallow several times before he’d emptied his mouth. “I… I was a coward. I couldn’t do anything when they came. Didn’t even grab a gun.”
He stared at the half-loaf he held in both hands, yet he appeared to have lost his appetite. “The bandits knew I was worthless. They mocked me. Insulted me. Didn’t bother to kill me.” He heaved a heavy sigh and turned from her. “I h-hid under one of the wagons and cried. That’s all.”
Silence descended between them, heavy and difficult to pierce. Rarity had thought perhaps he’d be like she was when she’d left home, but no. He was an entirely different personality. Not that she blamed him for that, of course. Some ponies could handle themselves. Others?
Hoping to move on to brighter topics, she asked, “Where were you going?”
He didn’t turn back to her, and his voice was weak, but at least he answered. “Mooisville. The caravan was taking travelers there, ponies who hoped to work in the fields instead of the mines. I joined up when it passed through Bitter Ergot.” He raised his head to stare at nothing. “I j-just wanted out of that town.”
Bitter Ergot? What a curious coincidence. “Why? Is there something wrong with the town?”
“You mean aside from the wells drying up and business collapsing?” He rubbed his mane back and scowled at the sky. “It’s too… small. I wanted something more, something bigger and better! I refused to let myself waste away in that podunk place.”
Rarity pursed her lips at this statement. “And your family?”
He turned on her, venom in his gaze. “Who cares about those old fogeys? All they want me to do is stick around and run the stupid store. It’s a waste of my skills! What if I want to do… something…” His ears folded back and he shrank from her glare. “W-what?”
“Take it from somepony who knows, Flintlock,” she countered, voice cool. “Someday you will think back on what you are saying and feel like a fool. Your parents may be dead tomorrow. Would you even know it?”
He had the good manners to appeared ashamed. Even so, he didn’t back down from words so easily as he did from a gun. “Mom and Dad will be fine. They never needed me before, they certainly don’t need me now.”
“Are you suggesting they don’t love you?”
“I never said that.” He shook his head. “They just don’t understand me. I was gonna write them as soon as I got to Mooisville and started my own smithy.”
Rarity could feel her frown deepen. Anger welled within as she stared him down. “No, you were not. You were going to die from hunger, alone and scared in that wreck of a caravan amongst the dead bodies. Do you have any idea how to even get to Mooisville from here?”
His brow furrowed and he stiffened his shoulders, glaring back at her in defiance. He didn’t respond.
“Could you have made your way back home on your own?”
The tension in his shoulders only grew.
“You had no food, and only a little leftover water. Do you know how to survive off the land? I’m guessing by how you wolfed down my bread that the answer is ‘no.’”
He jumped to his hooves, throwing the bread away violently. Rarity caught it with her magic before it could get very far. “What do you want from me? Look, I appreciate that you helped me out just now, but you don’t know me. I had a run of bad luck, that’s all! All I have to do is get to Mooisville and everything will be fine. This is just a minor setback!”
“A ‘minor setback.’” Rarity chuckled at the phrase. “I had no idea nearly dying was such a simple thing. Clearly, I’ve been looking at my life from the wrong perspective.”
He leaned forward in an attempt to appear looming. “Stop acting all high and mighty! When was the last time you had to worry about bandits trying to kill you?”
Her hand shot out and caught his shirt collar, jerking him forward so that their muzzles nearly touched. Rarity didn’t even remember standing up. She stared into his abruptly wide eyes and felt no anger. Instead, it was like a chill had covered her entire body, and that chill made itself known to him through her voice. “You are speaking to possibly the single most wanted pony in Equestria right now, short of Blackjack Apple or the Countess. Just last week I had to fight off a dozen hunters who were attempting to shoot up my childhood home and murder my parents. I am travelling to your hometown right now because I have reason to believe my sister and close friend are being held hostage by ponies who want me dead.”
Her grip on his shirt tightened. He flinched and whined, but didn’t close his eyes. She narrowed her own as she finished with extra ferocity, “Be careful what you say and to whom, boy. I don’t like killing ponies, much less for saying stupid things, and for that you should consider yourself very lucky. The next drifter you come across may not be so generous.”
She shoved him back roughly and walked away. A glance at the sun revealed that there were still some hours yet before night. She knelt beside Cerulean and scratched under his frills, earning a begrudging trill of appreciation from the creature. “Come, Cerulean. We have a ways to go yet.”
To her relief, the Dust Devil didn’t cause a fuss but instead climbed to its feet with a grunt. Rarity reached into the bag and got some feed in the palm of her hand, letting him eat from it directly.
Flintlock spoke up. “You’re not going to leave me out here?”
“I’m going to Bitter Ergot. My sister and friend are supposedly being brought through there.” She turned to observe him, keeping her voice cool. “You either come with me to the town or make your own way. I won’t be distracted from protecting my family because of one self-righteous child.”
“I’m seventeen!”
“And I’m leaving.” She clapped her hands free of feed crumbs, picked up her enchanted backpack, and approached Cerulean’s saddle. “It’s up to you if you want to join me. Decide soon, boy, because I’m not waiting.”
Climbing back into the saddle, Rarity turned the lizard southwest and gave a light crack of the reins. A glance out the corner of her eye found Flintlock shaking with visible frustration and indecision. Smiling out the corner of her lip, she brought Cerulean to a trot and didn’t look back.
She was just leaving the treeline when Flintlock’s cry reached her ears. “Wait! Wait for me!”
There came with having an extra rider one more problem that Rarity had failed to account for: the closeness of Flintlock. Just the idea of having a stallion so near to her made her jumpy, and she had to bite her tongue more than once. She had considered letting him ride up front, which would be a good way to let her maintain control of him. But if others saw that, would they assume he was in charge? Might it go to his head?
But if she rode in front, Flintlock would have to put his hands on her for the sake of keeping steady. The saddle was only made for one, after all, and it wasn’t even sized to her. She couldn’t blame him for the necessity, but after the way she’d struck her mother purely by instinct, she didn’t trust herself not to put a bullet in the colt’s head when he would inevitably be forced to grab hold or fall off.
And he would.
But walking was out, for what was the point of having a Dust Devil if not for the speed?
In the end, Rarity’s nightmares and the ghost hands between her legs won out, and she gave the reins to a visibly nervous Flintlock. She didn’t explain why, but he noticed when she undid the safety strap on Silver Lining before letting him climb up. If there was any question of who was in charge, that alone seemed to settle it.
It worked… decently. Rarity tried to keep some distance between herself and her new companion, but that amounted to little. The sheer proximity of him had her itching to grab a weapon. Instead she kept one hand on his waist and another on her necklace. She noticed that it had regained some of its color since last she’d checked. Why that was so satisfying, she couldn’t say, but she was immensely grateful for how it calmed her nerves with this colt pressed against her front.
To ease both their minds, she started up some casual conversation to learn more about Flintlock. As expected, he’d been born and raised in Bitter Ergot. The town, though small, was a major stopping point for caravans and traders going to and from the Sunpeaks into the rest of Equestria. This was because it sat at the entrance to one of the three major passages into the rough and mountainous country to the west, and was the most direct for approaching Dodge Junction.
Flintlock’s parents ran one of three local grocers. According to him, they only wanted him to help run the shop, taking it over as he grew older. Rarity doubted this, especially when he informed her that his special talent involved gunsmithing, especially with rifles. What parents would demand their child live a life not based upon his special talent? When she pointed this out, however, Flintlock just scoffed and claimed they cared more about that “dumb shop” than destiny or his happiness. She elected not to argue the matter. They’d get there in time, and she’d learn for certain then.
“What about you?” he asked, finally sounding casual after more than an hour of fidgeting and flinching at her touch. “Where are you from?”
Such a straightforward question should have a straightforward answer. Yet Rarity hesitated. “I… I suppose that depends.”
Flintlock shifted to glance over his shoulder at her. “How can it depend? You were born somewhere, weren’t you?”
She averted her gaze and, by accident, ended up looking at the sun and moon sigil on her wrist. She stared at it, wondering how the Sisters would have preferred she answer. Perhaps the direct response would have been easiest, but Rarity didn’t feel as though it was right. She silently asked Celestia and Luna for guidance before giving her answer. “It depends on which me you are speaking of.”
“Uh-huh.” He turned forward once more. “So how many of you are there?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice.
“Two,” she answered. No anger or hurt filled her at his tone. At best, she felt numb. “If you were to ask where Rarity Belle was born, you’d have to look to Mooisville, at a loving but poor family that didn’t understand her adoration of fashion and high society. A family she left behind because she knew better than them and was ready to prove it in the urban sprawl of Manehattan.”
His ears had perked. It was a while before he answered, and he did so in a quiet, thoughtful tone. “That sounds familiar. A little. And where was the other you born?”
“The other me.” She stared at the setting sun, an old weight made freshly heavy in her chest. She touched her necklace and took a long, deep breath. “The other me came into being in a tiny town called Spurhoof, located near nowhere and just past nothing. There a young mare, successful in career if not in life, came face-to-face with a devil who tried to take her innocence away. In the physical aspect, he failed. In the mental, he succeeded beyond his wildest imaginations. And now she roams Equestria, hunted and pursued to every corner, surviving only by her wits and her unexpected skill with guns.” She let her cheek rest on his back, for suddenly she felt so weary. “And every day, she regrets that she ever left her old home for some arrogant, childish fantasy that would never come true.”
Silence passed between them. The sun continued its steady descent. Cerulean was beginning to slow, right on time.
Subdued, Flintlock asked, “So does that other you have a name?”
Rarity wasn’t sure why, but she smiled at the question. “Of course. Ponies today call her the Bulletproof Heart.”
Flintlock stiffened. She sat up to watch, a small smile on her lips, as he slowly turned to stare at her over his shoulder. If his eyes got any bigger they might roll out of his head. Even in the fading light of day, the blood rushing from his cheeks was obvious. “Y-you’re the Bulletproof Heart?”
Her smile broadened just a touch. “You mean you hadn’t figured that out yet?”
“How was I supposed to figure that out?” He finally noticed Cerulean coming to a stop. He cracked the reins a couple times, to no avail. “I don’t understand why you’d even tell me that. Aren’t you, like, trying to keep a low profile?”
“I have been trying to, yes.” She climbed off the Dust Devil just as it settled to the ground, the dry grass crunching beneath her boots. “Are you suggesting I can’t trust you?”
“I’m not telling. I’m not telling anypony!” With a too-loud giggle, he cracked the reins a few more times. “W-why isn’t he moving?”
His anxiety almost made her laugh, but she settled for a smirk and a raised eyebrow. “Trying to escape, are we?”
“No!” He paused, then ran his hand over his face with a groan. “I said that way too fast.”
“Why are you so scared?” Ignoring his gaping, Rarity used her magic to carefully lift up Cerulean’s feed bag. She set it before the lizard, who gave her a wary look before he began to eat. “It’s not like I’m a bandit. Or is that what the rumors are saying about me now?” She silently added that if she wanted him dead, she’d have just left him behind. No point saying so out loud, it would only scare the boy more than he already was. She did feel a little guilty about that.
Flintlock didn’t answer for a time, instead watching her with clear uncertainty while she got the tent and other materials out. That done, she grabbed her sextant and other navigational tools and began taking readings.
At last, the young stallion climbed off the lizard. He approached hesitantly, eyes on her tools. “What are you doing?”
“Determining where we are,” she replied patiently, marking the angle of the sun on her notepad. “I want to be sure we’ve been headed in the right direction, and that I’m making good time.” At a snort from Cerulean, she shot the sand lizard a scowl. “Or as good as I can with a beast that refuses to listen to me.”
Flintlock looked from her to Cerulean and back. He scratched the back of his head. “Why wouldn’t he listen to you?”
“I don’t know, but it’s driving me crazy,” she grumbled, checking her reference book for longitude. “Maybe because I shot his previous owner in the head and stole him.”
After some choking and sputtering, Flintlock managed to fire out a “What?”
The information acquired, Rarity marked their position on her map and drew a line to connect the dots. Her frown deepened upon seeing how much smaller the new line was to the last one. She wrung the pencil in both hands, imagining it as Cerulean’s neck. “It was them or me. Forgive me if I have little interest in dying any time soon.”
Out the corner of her eye, she watched as Flintlock took a step back. “You really are a bandit, aren’t you?”
She whirled on him, pencil snapping in two. “No, I am a mare being chased by a bunch of jerks who want to kill her for the Celestia-damned crime of defending her dignity! The instant the Bad Apples stop chasing my tail and let me settle down is the instant they stop dying!”
Flintlock was caught so off guard he ended up falling to the ground. He held an arm up as if to ward off a blow and looked at her with wide-eyed fright. His reaction did little to calm Rarity’s temper. She began putting away her tools, muttering curses under her breath. How many times was she going to have to explain this before ponies would start to understand her position? Why did everypony’s view of her have to be so blatantly wrong?
“I, uh…”
She shot a less-than-friendly glance at Flintlock, who flinched. When he said nothing, she sighed and pointed to the folded tent on the ground between them. “Do you know how to set up one of those?” His blank expression was rewarded with a second, longer sigh. “Of course. Well, come on, let me at least teach you something.”
And teach, she did. She got him to help her make her own tent, then let him borrow her spare under the condition that he try to set it up himself. He was a little clumsy, but she only had to intervene for him once. She then taught him how to build a fire with the very limited resources at hand, making sure to stick to non-magical means since she was instructing an earth pony and not using her Everflame Log – another expensive purchase that she was nonetheless glad to have. She even set up a simple cookpot to heat up their canned stew for dinner. By the time they had settled on either side of the fire to let the food heat up Flintlock had finally stopped twitching at her every motion, and she gained a sense of fulfillment having passed on a little knowledge. At the very least, he now had something to help him survive should he try leaving home a second time.
In the flickering light of the flame, Flintlock’s green face seemed almost ghostly. “Can I ask you a question, Miss Belle?”
She braced herself before nodding. She was sure it would be any of the typical questions: ‘did you really perform this or that task’, ‘why do you hate the Apples so much’, or perhaps ‘where did you get those fancy guns’? He stirred the pot quietly for a moment, watching the mixture of vegetables spin.
“Do you really regret leaving your home?”
Should she feel relief? It seemed appropriate considering her expectations. Yet all she felt was a familiar vice squeezing her chest. She sat back and studied the stars, wondering if she hadn’t perhaps misjudged this colt’s character. “If I hadn’t left home, I doubt I’d be a drifter today. Yes, I most certainly regret my actions.”
His ears folded back. “But it wasn’t all bad… was it?”
Their eyes met, and in his Rarity saw a complex mix of emotions. Hope was chief among them, but not insubstantial was a silent plea, a need for her to not crush his intentions with the bitter weight of her reality. Yet Rarity found that, with a moment of self-reflection, reality might not be so crushing as she thought.
“No,” she replied with a smile that was probably weaker than she intended. “No, it wasn’t all bad.”
Returning her gaze to the stars, she prepared to explain things she’d not visited directly in many, many years. It wasn’t so hard, especially compared to those things she’d dealt with recently. “I left home for the first time when I was just a year older than you. I’d saved up for seven years, all for the sake of paying for a trip to Manehattan. I thought I would apprentice under some elite clothier, graduate by the time I was twenty, and move on to be Equestria’s premier fashion icon.”
Had she ever been so fanciful in her imaginings? Yes, she knew it to be true, but it seemed so far removed from where she was now. She wasn’t very old at all, yet that eager young filly with her posh attitude seemed like a distant memory of another pony entirely.
In the lull of her story, Flintlock leaned closer. “So what happened?”
“The same thing that happened to you.” She looked him in the eye, her words coming slow and patient. “The trade caravan I booked passage on was attacked by bandits only a couple weeks out of Hoofington.” At his questioning look she added, “I had to take a longer route rather than directly into the Eerie Cliffs. It was what I could afford, even with my savings.”
She waved her hand at the darkness around them. “The bandits came at night. Killed half the traders, took the rest… somewhere. I never found out. I only escaped because I happened to be away from the caravan handling ‘mare business.’” This only earned her a look even more muddled than before, and she rolled her eyes. “I was using the bathroom.”
“Oh, r-right.” He averted his eyes with a blush. After a few seconds of silence, which she assumed must have been awkward for him – and she felt content to let him stew in it – he asked, “So did some drifter save you too?”
“If only.” Rarity shook her head. “I was alone among the bodies. I didn’t leave my little hiding place for almost a full day, and it was hunger that drove me out. There’s no need to describe what that was like, I’m sure you can relate.” Even as she said it, though, she recalled the miserable feeling of scrounging through wreckage in search of something to eat. She even remembered the one and only thing she found: a half-eaten sandwich. It had still been in the cold hand of one of the wagon drivers, covered in grit and dirt.
Out of all the things Rarity had dealt with, eating that sandwich had easily been the lowest point in her life up until Braeburn.
Noticing his concerned gaze, she brushed her mane back and pressed on. “Once the reality of my situation settled in, I understood that the only pony who was going to get me out of there was myself. I had overheard the others say there was a farming community nearby, so I grabbed what I could and went into the wilds alone. I had maybe two days of water, no food, my clothes weren’t exactly made for wilderness exploration, and the best I had in terms of direction was ‘that way.’”
Flintlock paid rapt attention, his eyes shining in the light of the flames. “But you made it. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
She gave a dry, bitter chuckle at his words. “Don’t get ahead of the story, boy. I ended up walking for four days.” She stared into the fire, chin resting heavy on her palm. “Four days. It felt like an eternity. I was dirty, hungry, thirsty, not to mention freezing at night and burning up in the day. I ended up shredding the dress I’d made special for the journey and using the skirts as a hood to protect me from the sun.” She raised her arm to gaze at the sigil of the sun and moon on her wrist. “I was praying to the Sisters, sure I was seeing my last days.
“Then, on the morning of the fifth day, I saw it: Spurhoof. I’d almost walked right past it in the night.” A smile came to her when she remembered that first moment of discovery. To a teenage filly on the edge of death, it had been like stepping into Elysium itself. “A local deputy noticed me stumbling my way to the place. He came to me on his sand lizard. I don’t recall when I fainted, I was delirious by that time regardless.”
So long ago, and yet such a fresh memory. She closed her eyes and tried to recall the moment when she’d regained real awareness. It was to the sight of Cranky working at a desk in his living room, his long ears folded back and his suspenders dangling at his sides. “They say I was in and out of consciousness for three days before I really woke up. It took another two weeks for me to fully recover, partially because I’d caught a terrible fever while out there. By all accounts I should have died.”
Her first near-death experience. At that time, she’d swore to avoid them as much as possible. She studied Marble’s gift, wondering about how many times she’d evaded death in recent months. Were the Sisters watching out for her? Unpleasantly, she wondered if maybe Discord was tormenting her instead. Yet if that was true, why take the six-year hiatus? Perhaps that was just selfish thinking. It wasn’t like Discord would focus all his attention on her. Then again, the idea that the Sisters had been constantly watching out for her all this time seemed no less vain.
“You know,” Flintlock said, shuffling where he sat in the grass. “I appreciate what you went through and all, but I thought you said there was a positive part.”
“Oh. Right.” Rarity shook the cobwebs from her mind. “I’m sorry, I’d forgotten the entire reason I’d started talking.”
“It’s okay,” he hurried to reply. “I’m just a little confused, that’s all.”
“And that would make sense.” She smiled, and this time she meant it. “What I was going for was something along the lines of ‘it tends to get worse before it gets better,’ but I guess I got too deeply into the start.” Taking the spoon in her magic, she stirred the stew. It had begun bubbling, which was all she needed to see to know it was ready. As she began pouring each of them half of the contents, she continued her story.
“Once I recovered, I found I lacked the funds to get back to Mooisville. More than that, I’d lost all motivation. I felt like a stupid little girl who’d tried to make her mark on the world without any consideration for what would be required of me. How could I face my parents like that, much less Manehattan? So, I stayed in that little town. After a few months I realized that my skills filled a particular niche in Spurhoof’s list of needs, and so I started my own clothier.” Her smile broadened at the memories of a life so recent. “In six years, I’d become the town’s wealthiest citizen. Business came easy to me.”
Flintlock, appearing relieved and relaxed, blew on his bowl of stew a few times before replying. “So you didn’t get to Manehattan, but you still lived your dream?”
The query made her erupt into a fit of giggles. His smile wavered, but she couldn’t help it. His assumption was so presumptuous! He really did have a lot of optimism, didn’t he? It reminded her so much of the young mare she used to be. At last she managed to recover enough to say, “My dream was to rub elbows with fashion models and agricultural barons in the high rises of Manehattan, dining on fresh fruit when I felt like being rustic and regularly hosting soirees with the biggest names in Equestrian business. So no, I wasn’t even close to achieving my dream.”
He frowned at his bowl, ears folding flat against his skull. “Well…” A pause. Some grumbling. A quick sip of his stew, right from the bowl, followed by a curse as it scalded his lip. He set the bowl down and gave himself a moment to rub at his tender burn. At last, he met her eyes and asked, “But you could get there. Eventually.”
Could she? Rarity wasn’t sure that was even possible anymore, not with the Apples on her tail day and night. But more importantly… “I don’t want to.”
His fingers paused in their rubbing of his burn, leaving him in the silly state of having his puffy lip pulled down to show is lower teeth while he stared at her. “Shay wut?”
There was a time when she might have been annoyed or even offended by his manner. Now, she could only take it in with a mild sense of amusement. And maybe disdain. Just a little. By Elysium, what is this life doing to me? “I said I don’t want to. It was a childhood dream. I found something far better.”
Releasing his lip, he studied her warily. “Like what?”
“Satisfaction in a job well done.” She rolled the bowl in her hands, letting her stew swirl within as she watched the steam rise. “I wasn’t entirely happy in Spurhoof, but only because I still didn’t know how to face my parents. I found everything else I needed. Good friends, a successful business built by my own horn and hands, and a comfortable living. It doesn’t matter if I never see Manehattan, I could have been happy with the life those six years gave me.” She raised her bowl to him as though offering a toast, then began to eat.
They sat in silence for a time, Rarity thoroughly enjoying her soup and Flintlock with a contemplative, sad expression. She let him think, wondering if he’d ask more questions or choose to sleep on it. Her own thoughts drifted towards her parents, who proved far more understanding than she’d expected, and Spurhoof, which she found she missed dearly. She wondered about Cranky, and the Squash Family, and kindly Mr. Gold. Coco, so eager to impress, and dear Piecazzo, so happy to give her a nuzzle whenever they crossed paths. A far better creature than the one currently snoozing with his body curled… around Flintlock’s tent?
She stared at the blue lizard, wondering when he’d moved to that position and why. The tip of his frilled tail sat just before the flap and his long muzzle poked out from behind the opposite side of the tent. Somehow he’d managed to lie there without disturbing the tent itself, or at least it seemed so.
“What is he doing?” Flintlock, now following her gaze, narrowed his eyes in apparent frustration. “That’s just great. Now I’m gonna step on his tail or something and get my head bit off.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Rarity countered smartly. “Maybe he just likes you and wants to protect you.”
He turned his furrowed brow her way. “He do that for you?”
“He doesn’t like me,” she groused, turning her focus back to her half-eaten stew. “Who knows? Maybe it’s because I’m a girl.”
“M-maybe we should trade tents?”
“Oh, no.” She smirked at him and pointed with a thumb at the lizard. “If he does like you, it’ll be safer for you to stay in that one. I already know he’ll maul me.” She didn’t really think Cerulean would go that far, but just in case. “If there’s a chance he likes you, you’re better off in that one.”
By now Flintlock looked worried, his eyes darting between her and the lizard. “We don’t know he likes me! H-he hardly even acknowledged me the entire time we were riding together.”
“Then he’s already friendlier with you than he is with me.” That was a bit of an exaggeration, but she was having too much fun teasing him to admit it. Rarity waved her spoon at the tent, smiling all the while. “Don’t worry, if he gives you any trouble I’ll be just one tent over.”
“That’s one tent too far away!” He ducked, covering his mouth and looking at the shifting Cerulean. When the Dust Devil didn’t get up, he continued in a much quieter voice, “Listen, I snore. What if I wake him up?” When she only shrugged, he gained a fresh scowl. “Why do you keep him if the two of you don’t get along?”
“Because I’m running low on funds,” she confessed, “and I need a sand lizard, preferably a Dust Devil, if I’m going to catch up to the jerks who foalnapped my sister and friend.”
“I thought you said you were wealthy?”
“Were, that’s precisely right.” Now it was her turn to scowl. “Let’s not forget that I’ve been running all over Equestria earning no bits while having to buy supplies for my survival. And just a few days ago I paid to buy my parents sand lizards to haul their things and passage to the Dragon’s Teeth. I’m not broke yet, but if I don’t find a means of income soon survival will get a lot harder.”
Struck by the reality of that statement, she felt at Silver Lining’s handle, running her thumb along that now-familiar nub. She would never become a bandit, but there may come a time soon when she’d have to find a means of earning money. Would she have to live like Shining Armor, selling her combat skills for survival? The thought was like an iron weight settling on her shoulders. Surely she could make an income in some other way. Perhaps odd jobs making clothes. Everypony needed a good tailor now and then.
No longer in a conversational mood, she dumped the dregs of her stew in the fire and stood. “When you’re done, there’s some washing water in Cerulean’s bags, right side near his shoulder. Do clean the bowl before putting it away.”
He turned to watch her walk towards the lizard. “Where are you going?”
“To bed,” she replied. “I’ve run too many nights without sleep to not take advantage of it when I can.” She followed her own advice and poured a little water from a canteen into her bowl and wiped it with a small rag. Cerulean grumbled and shifted, but otherwise ignored her.
“I can keep watch.”
Bowl put away, she looked out on the horizon and considered their situation. Now that he mentioned it, a watch was probably a good idea. They had no way of knowing if the bandits who’d attacked his caravan were nearby. “Very well. When the moon reaches its zenith, wake me up and I’ll take second watch.”
Flintlock appeared to hesitate. Perhaps he’d not expected her to agree. That, or he was just using the watch as an excuse to not get near Cerulean. But the moment’s pause ended with a sloppy salute. “Yes, ma’am!”
She tittered, smiled for him, entered her tent… then promptly checked Silver Lining and Ruby Heart. No matter how young and naïve he might appear, Rarity wasn’t about to trust some colt she’d met only a few hours ago. She’d sleep, but she’d take precautions before she did so. After confirming that her weapons were fully loaded, she turned her attention to the tent flap. How best to protect herself from overeager boys with potentially grabby hands?
She filtered through the assorted magical types. Green would be useless. Red risked hurting the colt or herself, and she didn’t want to do that if he was just trying to wake her up. She didn’t trust herself to use Violet magic. Yellow had potential, but she doubted she had the skill necessary to make something that would last all night. Orange? No, she might end up turning his vocal chords into reeds or something.
That left Blue and Indigo. At least she was well versed in those. But what to make? She stared at the tent flap for a while, pondering the possibilities. Her eye drifted to her sleeping roll, and an idea came to her. Not exactly simple, but if it worked it would keep whoever stepped into the tent at bay for a moment or two while simultaneously waking her up.
Rarity didn’t get the chance to see if her new enchantment worked. Instead, she woke up entirely on her own. A glance at the tent flap revealed sunlight passing through the cracks, along with no evidence of tampering. What time was it? Why hadn’t Flintlock woken her for her watch?
A subtle sense of alarm coursed through her as the possibilities made themselves known. Her new companion may have been attacked in the night. That didn’t make sense at first, unless he was being specifically targeted and the attackers didn’t care about her. A possibility, but not one she considered likely.
Perhaps Cerulean had taken offense to him in some way. That one had the added benefit that maybe – just maybe – the frustrating creature could have choked on its last meal. Rarity wasn’t one to wish ill on most other living creatures, but she might just be willing to make an exception for her less-than-friendly sand lizard. Of course, if it did choke on Flintlock, that would mean the colt himself was injured, and she certainly didn’t want that on her already strained conscience. The entire scenario was conjured up for the sake of easing her nerves anyway.
With said nerves relieved, Rarity sat up and checked herself. A little disheveled from sleeping, but nothing else. Even her enchantment remained intact, a discovery for which she felt great pride. Perhaps she would put it down every night she slept in a tent from here on in. But if nothing had disturbed her in the night… what had happened to Flintlock?
Dispelling her enchantment, Rarity undid the safety strap on Silver Lining and, bracing for the bright light of morning, stepped outside. Celestia’s almighty sun attempted to strike her down, or at least blind, but Rarity had enough experience with this daily battle to not flinch at its assault. Instead she adjusted her hat appropriately, stood tall, and cast her gradually adjusting gaze around the camp for any sign of her companion.
It took mere seconds. Flintlock lay on his back by the now-extinguished fire, snoring away. Cerulean sat over the colt, his massive forelegs on either side of Flintlock’s head, staring down at him. Noting her presence, the sand lizard looked to her, then back at the slumbering Flintlock. The expression on his face could only be called monumental disdain and disappointment. For once, Rarity could relate to his perspective.
In truth, she probably should have been furious. Somehow the requisite anger never arose, despite the fact that the fool had just put the both of them in potentially mortal peril by shirking the one duty she’d entrusted to him. With this in mind, she walked over to Cerulean’s feed bag, still half-full where she’d left it for him yesterday, and lifted it in both hands. She then proceeded to walk over and drop the full weight of the thing from shoulder height on Flintlock’s exposed stomach.
His eyes bulged as the air left him in one quick burst. His gaze was met by Cerulean, who was still peering at him with his snout not a foot overhead. He tried to scramble away, but the sand lizard set a claw on his shoulder – effectively pinning him – and buried his head into the feed bag.
Watching this, Rarity almost felt guilty for him. Almost. There was too much cool annoyance simmering in her to let it get out. She knelt next to the wheezing Flintlock, who stared up at her with pleading eyes. “You and I could both be dead right now, boy. It seems you’ve got a very long way to go if you want to survive out here. The best place for you to be is back at home, in your parents’ little store. You can try again when you’ve grown some brains in that head of yours.” She tapped a finger against his forehead. “Assuming you even can.”
Ignoring his gasping attempts at speech, she stood and stretched. “I expect you to tie Cerulean’s bag back up when he’s done eating. Spill it and I’ll leave you here to walk home.” That said, she left him to start putting away the camp. She couldn’t resist a ghost of a smile.
“I’m sorry.”
Pausing in her work setting the feed bag back on Cerulean’s saddle, Rarity tried to channel her lingering annoyance into her one-eyed stare at Flintlock. He appeared appropriately cowed, so she relaxed her expression. A little. “You’ve already apologized a dozen times. One more won’t mean anything.”
“I meant to wake you, really.” He rubbed his palms together as she eyed him. “I just—”
She noted the long cuts in his shirt and gestured. “Come here.” He jumped to obey, even if his face went a little pale at her scrutiny. She tugged his shirt slightly to get a better look at the cuts produced by the lizard’s claws when it had pinned him, nodded, and began digging through one of Cerulean’s saddlebags.
Looking more than a little uncertain, Flintlock tried again. “I know you’re upset. I screwed up. But I thought if I woke you you’d make me go into that tent, and with Cerulean curled around it like a… a…” He grumbled, brow furrowing in thought. “Like a cat? I guess. Look, he scares the cutie mark off me, alright?”
After digging through some spare cloth, Rarity finally produced her prize of needle and thread, the same she’d been using to keep her own clothes wearable. “Did it never occur to you that perhaps he was trying to protect you?” She grabbed his shirt and tugged him a little closer, then began sewing the holes back together.
“Protect me?” Flintlock glanced at their scaled steed, who sat nearby watching the southern horizon. “But why would he do that?”
“Hold still unless you want this needle in your chest.” She worked quickly, with the ease of a lifetime of practice. Within seconds she had the first hole sealed. “Cerulean has seen me handle myself in a fight. Perhaps he thinks you’re untested.”
“Really?”
She shrugged, a flash of Red magic slicing the thread before she deftly tied a small knot in it. “I can’t claim to know his mind. He’s rather cantankerous.”
Flintlock opened his mouth to respond, but hesitated. His eyes went to her quick hands. Perhaps he’d only just realized how close she was, for his cheeks abruptly rivaled the sunrise for rosiness and he let out a long, slow exhale. “W-why are you fixing my shirt?”
“Because I’m not showing up in town with a boy who looks like he can’t even tend to his own clothes. A lady must have standards.”
“Uh, okay?” His fingers on both hands wriggled about, as if he were trying to expend nervous energy. “I mean, Mom usually took care of this. I m-mean, separately? When I wasn’t wearing the shirt?”
“If you don’t get your mind out of the gutter I’ll poke you on purpose.”
“It’s not in the gutter,” he answered a little too quickly. “I’m j-just not used to a mare being this close, th-that’s all.”
She met his gaze, observed his wide eyes and burning face. With her magic, she raised the needle so it was aimed straight up and hovering between his eyes. “I’m helping you a little, Flintlock. No more. I understand you might find me fetching—”
“Try knock-out gorgeous.”
The needle swiveled to point at his eye, which promptly went wide. “Watch it. I’ve had more than my fair share of ponies looking to do things to me whether I like it or not, and I am no longer tolerant of even accidental gestures. You so much as brush a hand against me without meaning to and I will geld you by gunshot if you are lucky. Understood?”
Back stiff and ears folded, he gave the faintest hint of a nod, eyes not leaving the needle. “Clear as crystal.”
“Good, then we have nothing to worry about.” She went back to fixing the last hole in his shirt as if she’d not just threatened to turn him into a eunuch. “Don’t worry about Cerulean. If anything, I think he might like you more than he does me… which wouldn’t mean much, come to think of it.”
“R-right.” Flintlock didn’t so much as flinch, staring straight ahead and breathing slow, cautious breaths.
“Relax, Darling. I need you to hold still, not be catatonic.”
“Right.” He lost none of his tension. Rarity didn’t know how she managed to avoid smirking, but avoid it she did.
Once the last hole was sewn shut, she began replacing her needle and thread. “Alright, it’s time to go. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover if I am to make up for lost time.” A moment’s pause. She raised an eyebrow when he didn’t move. “Well? It’ll be a lot easier for me to get on behind you once you’ve gotten on first, don’t you agree?”
“Right.” He shook himself as if coming out of a trance. Eyeing her warily the entire time, he climbed onto Cerulean’s back. He started to offer her a hand, froze, retracted it. He went tense all over again when she climbed onto the lizard behind him. “Hey, uh… Y-you’ll warn me if I’m at risk of doing something you don’t like, yeah?”
This time she did smile, but only when sure he couldn’t see it. “When the guns come out, that’s your warning.”
“…right.” He took a deep breath before cracking the reins lightly. Cerulean started at a brisk pace, and the three headed southwest once more.
Time passed slowly. They rode up and down hills, through thin thickets, and watched as the flora gradually became less and less green. Two hours later, the trees were gone entirely, and the land was dominated by boulders and dry grasses. At long last, the Sunpeaks made themselves known on the horizon. If Rarity’s calculations were correct, they’d be at Bitter Ergot in under a week. Not that this pleased her; they could have cut that time down by three days if Cerulean would just travel at night.
It didn’t help that guilt had begun to form over her earlier behavior, in spite of her feeling perfectly justified in it at the time. Yet now, a few hours into their day’s journey, Flintlock was still acting as if the slightest motion might set her off. Even if she acknowledged not trusting him quite yet, she didn’t feel any reason for him to be so constantly unnerved. It had to be tiring, not to mention having a terrible effect on one’s morale.
At last she could take his constant stiffness no longer. “Flintlock?”
His ears shot up, but he didn’t look back. “Y-yes, ma’am?”
She rested her hands on his shoulders and tilted sideways just a little, but couldn’t see his face. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior this morning. I understand I’ve put a lot of undue stress on you, and it may have been… premature.”
His shoulders actually gained more tension. “I don’t understand.”
She sighed and leaned back to stare at the southern horizon. Nothing but hills and blue skies as far as the eye could see. “I just want you to know… you don’t really have to be so nervous around me. A lot of bad things have been happening lately, and it’s been making me a touch vicious as of late.”
At last, Flintlock turned his head to acknowledge her. His motions were hesitant, yet his eyes spoke of concern. “Did you mean what you said earlier? About ponies trying to do… things to you?”
The question brought a chill down her spine. She had to resist the urge to touch Silver Lining. Instead, she rubbed a hand along her necklace. “Yes. I meant it. I’m out here because of that kind of thing. I had to kill my first pony because of it. And I apologize for lashing out earlier, but I am very touchy about the subject.”
He said nothing for a while, and she contented herself with watching the hills roll past. Or she would have if fresh memories weren’t parading around the back of her mind. What did a mare have to do to forget about groping hands and the friendly words of a snake with a glass of cider? At least the nightmares were less frequent now.
“Miss Belle?”
She blinked, bringing her focus back to the present. “Yes?”
“Do you know how long it will be before we get to town?”
What a strange question to ask given the recent conversation. Unless she’d been out of it for longer than she’d thought. “Five days, maybe six. Why?”
“I know you think I’m not ready to make my way out here, and you’re right. I made some mistakes. In a perfect world, I should be able to get to Mooisville or wherever on a caravan and not have to worry about wilderness survival.” He reached up to scratch at the back of his head, leaning forward a little as he did. “We don’t live in a perfect world. I get that now. So… Five or six days is a long ways off.”
He turned around almost fully in his saddle to meet her gaze. His tone pleading to match his eyes, he asked, “Do you think you could teach me? I still want to go, and I intend to try again. But I’d feel much better about it if somepony who knew what she was doing gave me a few lessons.”
Her thoughts jumped immediately to Yearling and her onyx rook. Was this what she felt like when she first got the idea to help Rarity? It was a curious feeling, mixing hope and dread in equal measure. What if she grew attached to him? He might prove beyond learning. Then again, he learned the tent easily enough. Yet how about how much he shook when he was trying to aim that rifle at her? It might make him a coward. Then again, she’d not exactly been a font of courage when bandits had attacked her caravan seven years ago.
He wanted to learn. Teaching him might get him killed.
But if he was going to go regardless, not teaching him would make his odds even worse.
Could she even teach somepony how to survive out here? She wasn’t sure what needed to be learned. Since when had anyone ever wanted to be an apprentice in wilderness survival, anyway?
“Is that a no?”
Realizing she’d been scowling, Rarity forced her face into a neutral position. “My apologies, I was just thinking.” She stared at his imploring gaze for a few seconds more, stewing on the subject without thought. At last, she sighed and looked away. “I honestly don’t know how to do what you’re asking. Still, if you intend to make the journey regardless then I see no reason not to at least try. I wouldn’t want you to end up dead after I went through the trouble of saving you, it would be very disappointing.”
“Yes!” He flinched at her fresh frown and turned forward swiftly. “I m-mean, great. Thank you.”
Resting a hand on his shoulder once more, she spoke firmly. “Let me be clear. I’m doing this because I want you to live long enough to recognize the worth of your family, as I have. It is not a game, and we don’t do this for fun. Remember, boy: taking a life is the worst possible thing you can do.”
That made him glance back once more, a hint of skepticism in his tone. “The ‘worst’ thing?”
She opened her mouth to confirm, but snatched the words back before they could form. She could think of at least one thing worse, and it made her want to clench her legs tight. “Maybe not, but it’s bad enough on its own.” She leaned over to cast a glare at Cerulean’s head, speaking a little more loudly than before. “And since someone refuses to march past nightfall, I suppose we’ll get started then.”
“Great!” Flintlock flinched even without her having to do anything. “I mean, not great. But… good? I think.”
Rarity smiled at his nervousness, but lost it quickly. It would make for a big problem, and one she needed to resolve if he was going to have any hope in the future.
She had a good idea of where to start.
Flintlock examined Silver Lining as he held it in both hands. “Can’t I start with the big one?”
“No.” Rarity felt no small unease letting somepony else handle what she’d come to think of as ‘her’ gun. She had to fight down the urge to snatch Silver Lining back. It was a temporary solution. And a necessary evil. He didn’t have a gun of his own, and he couldn’t practice without, so… “And it’s not ‘the big one’, it’s the Ruby Heart. Respect your weapon.”
He glowered and tried holding Silver Lining in one hand, as he’d seen Rarity do. “Cut me some slack, I’ve never held a gun before yesterday. Well, not with intention of firing it, anyway.”
“Neither did I until some dick-for-brains decided to force the issue. Be glad you get to practice a little before your life is actually on the line.” She gestured to the empty tin cans she’d lined up on the opposite hill. “Go ahead, try it.”
He glanced at her, then took Silver Lining in both hands once more. Even as he pointed the weapon, he asked, “Shouldn’t you tell me how, first?”
“I want to see what I’m up against.” And by the way his hands shook, it appeared to be a lot. “Fire when ready.”
A long quiet passed between them. The cans, not ten yards away, waited innocuously for their fates to be sealed. Rarity didn’t pressure Flintlock, only watched with solemn patience. She dearly hoped this test run would go better than she feared. She cast a glance at Cerulean, who watched them from where he lay between their tents with a bored manner.
A shot rang out. Dirt kicked up between two of the cans. Flintlock sighed, started to lower Silver Lining—
“You’ve got four more shots,” Rarity said, words sharp. “Use them up, then we investigate.” It worked for her with Cranky, it may work with him.
Unlike her whining – yes, she could acknowledge it for what it had been – Flintlock merely nodded, licked his lips, and aimed again. His second shot came almost a minute later, and this time the dirt that kicked up was far uphill. A rather tragic miss.
Three more shots, three more misses. He’d really only come close once. A disappointing display, but more than that it was a sobering clue for Rarity. She’d always been better than she expected with guns, but after seeing this? Either Flintlock was a terrible gunslinger, or Rarity was an exceptional one. She didn’t know which one produced the nasty feeling squirming in her stomach right now, but it was at least food for thought.
Flintlock scowled at Silver Lining. “It would help if I had some light.”
Rarity knew he was right, and she had considered creating a magical floodlight before. But they were already announcing their presence enough as it was with the gunshots, they didn’t need some brilliant light announcing to every bandit within five miles where they were. “The moon will have to do, paltry though it is.”
They both cast a glance at the waxing crescent in the sky. Rarity offered a little prayer to Mother Night to keep them safe from potential threats. By the hard chin of Flintlock, he was probably thinking something less respectful. With a grunt, he turned to her and raised the gun. “Alright, how do I reload this thing?”
“You don’t.” She took the weapon in her magic. “I do. I’m afraid Silver Lining’s mechanisms are very different from your average gun. The same is true for Ruby Heart. I don’t think you’d learn much reloading either when the next gun you wield will inevitably be loaded in another way.” By the time she’d finished talking, the gun had a new cylinder and was back in his hands.
“Wonderful.” He turned to aim once more, but this time Rarity set her hand on his arm. He glanced at her, but her attention was on his hands.
The gun shook slightly. She cocked her head at the sight. “Your talent is in gunsmithing. I would have thought you’d have steady hands.”
He hesitated, unable to meet her eyes when she looked to his face. “It’s… different. I can make guns easy, but it’s a distant element. I know they are used to harm others, it’s a given. But to actually learn how to do it myself?”
A fresh wave of déjà vu came over Rarity at those words. But instead of remorse or guilt, she felt a strange calm come over her. She wrapped her hands around his, steadying them, without taking her eyes from his face. His cheeks bloomed at her touch, but she ignored that as she spoke. “I know. Believe me, Flintlock, I thought something very similar when I was first training myself.”
Gradually, she lowered his hands until the gun was pointed at the ground directly in front of them. “You have to make the decision on your own. A gun may save your life, but it will also take the lives of others. Only you can decide if your life is worth theirs.” She let his hands go and stepped back. “If you can’t take a life, it’s better to recognize that now. I’ll try to help you learn other things, but it’s up to you whether you want to fight.”
His eyes drifted from her to the gun in his hands. Lips pursed, brow furrowed, he took on a look of intense thought. His breathing became slow and heavy. At last, he raised the gun again and took aim. His hands still shook, but there was determination in his gaze as he looked down Silver Lining’s sights. He fired five shots at a steady, even pace. None hit, and he cursed under his breath.
But he’d clearly made his decision, much to Rarity’s chagrin. No point trying to talk him out of it now. “It’s alright. It takes time.”
Flintlock shot her a scowl. “I don’t see how I’m supposed to do this when I can barely see the damn things.”
She shrugged, trying not to let her disappointment show. “The bandits won’t conveniently wait for daylight.”
“Are you suggesting they only come out at night?” He cocked an eyebrow at her and smirked. “Like in some kid’s fantasy?”
She grabbed the gun from him, using her hands this time, and began reloading the cylinder already in the gun. “What I’m saying, boy, is that the bandits will decide when and where to attack.” First bullet. “It could be at night when your husband and son are out in the fields with you home alone.” Second bullet. “It could be at the break of dawn, using the rising sun as cover for their charge.” Third bullet. “It might be at the tavern where you’ve drank half the apple cider and are too smashed to know the difference between a pretty mare and a bar stool.” Fourth bullet, with extra force. “Or maybe it’s while you’re sleeping, blissfully unaware in your tent, when they realize that the pony you’ve assigned to keep watch has decided to take a nap.”
Fifth bullet, and she snapped her head towards the cans. With one hand, she fired five shots in rapid succession. To a surprise she didn’t dare show on her face, five different cans fell to their presumed deaths.
“Whoa!” Flintlock hopped, hands up and eyes wide as his head whipped back and forth between her and the downed cans. “Okay, okay, I get it! B-but how the hay did you do that?”
She turned from him to hide her face as she slowly changed cylinders. “From the day I was forced into this life, for many weeks I made myself practice a little every day, no matter what.” Her hands were shaking. Why were her hands shaking? “I knew I had to either get good or die.” She’d dealt with such trembling for long enough that they proved no obstacle to her reloading.
She turned and offered the gun to him again. “I don’t have an infinite number of bullets. You get one more cylinder, then we stop for the night.” That was already a lot more than she would have preferred. “Tonight was just to get you a chance to try it out. Tomorrow we’ll focus on the whole aiming thing.”
Silver Lining trembled in her hand. He stared at it without reaching for it. “Are you okay?”
“Mr. Flintlock, I have not been okay in a very long time.” She grabbed his wrist, raised it up and shoved Silver Lining into his palm. “When I am not scared, I am angry, and when I am not angry, I am thinking about how to stay unnoticed. If at any time I appear happy, it is because nopony’s bothered to shoot at me in a while and I’m starting to get careless.”
Filling her gaze with all the frustration she felt at having her weakness known, she met his eyes. “I left home. This is the result. Pray to the Sisters your little journey of independence doesn’t have the same results.”
He gripped Silver Lining loosely, gawking at her as if she’d just told him Princess Celestia had returned to Equestria on a flying carpet made from Discord’s hide. She flicked her mane, spun on her heels, and marched for the unlit campfire.
“W-where are you going?”
“To get dinner started.”
That was all. She wasn’t going to dwell on her hands, or how she finally understood that she was training a young colt to kill. Did Yearling feel this too? The guilt that might strike if she ever learned he’d put her little lessons to good use? Or worse, that they had failed to protect him. She could still see his eyes, innocent and trusting.
The more she saw him, the more she saw herself at that age. Naïve. Unaware. Confident in her future. Fully expecting the world to bow to her whims merely because she wanted it to. Sleep didn’t come easily that night. She spent most of the time staring at the top of her tent and wondering if he would fall as easily, as swiftly, and as hard as she did.
Flintlock woke her when it was her turn to keep watch. She wanted to be happy he learned his lesson so quickly.
She couldn’t get past the nagging worry that he’d learned too quickly.