//------------------------------// // Chapter 2 // Story: To Each Their Own // by Wheller //------------------------------// Chapter 2 The caravan of ponies had stopped for the night in a small wooded area that ended up being the same spot that Vinyl Scratch, Rainbow Dash, and Twilight Sparkle had camped in their first night together on their way to the Hoofson Bay Area. Though it didn’t look the way Vinyl remembered it, as it was now covered in snow. Vinyl’s internal compass would be leading them along the same path that she and her friends had taken nearly a month prior. The year was drawing to a close, tonight was New Year’s Eve. Year 1001 of the reign of Celestia would be over in a few hours. Despite the naming convention, Princess Celestia had ruled Equestria for much longer than 1001 years; however the current calendar had measured when she ruled Equestria alone. Upon Princess Luna’s return, there had been much talk of resetting the calendar to mark the new age in Equestria, something which both princesses protested, the current calendar had been the most accurate ever devised. Trooper Willoughby hadn’t known about it being the end of year. The calendar used in South Island was different. The biggest difference being the second month of the year, February had 31 days in it, rather than the Equestrian 28, it also counted 372 days instead of the Equestrian 365 and the year began during the autumn equinox rather than at the end of December. As to be expected, the kangaroo was rather apathetic about the New Year. Most of the ponies ignored him. Big Macintosh and Braeburn had brought along several bottles of Sweet Apple Acres best cider for the occasion. Trooper Willoughby abstained himself from drinking any, the ponies might be able to sit back and relax about their situation out here in the wilderness. This was their home, they weren’t afraid of anything lurking out here, but for the kangaroo, this was unfamiliar territory, he kept his ears open and his eyes up front. They weren’t expecting trouble, but Willoughby’s time as in the Cavalry had taught him that trouble always came when least expecting it. The ponies of their expedition were quick to crack jokes about Willoughby being wound up too tightly. Maybe they were right, maybe he was just being paranoid, or maybe they were just naive. Willoughby was a soldier first; he’d seen things that would send these ponies to the loony bin. He’d seen things that the gryphons had done that these ponies would never believe, so yes, he was on his guard, but that’s what kept a soldier alive in the field, and if that made him wound up too tightly, then so be it. “Try not to hit the stuff too hard everypony,” Vinyl Scratch said seriously, “We’ve got a lot of walking to do tomorrow, and you’re all going to regret it if your hung-over.” Vinyl had abstained from the cider as well. Parties, drugs and alcohol had at one point been her life. She knew what drink could do to a pony, and was not interested in going down that path again. She’d caught the others off guard with her abstinence from the cider. After all, Vinyl Scratch was easily the most laid back and carefree of all of them. That said. There were still a high number of Ponies that did indeed regret their actions the subsequent morning. Lyra, Bon Bon, and Braeburn had each had more than their own weight in cider and slowly trudged along behind their more sober fellows. “Tried to warn ya!” Vinyl said with a grin. She had the most experience with hangovers. “Ugh... can somepony just get a really big rock and bash me over the head with it?” Lyra said as she walked. She’d had the most out of all of them. Her head felt like it had split wide open, and she was slowly trudging in the rear. “Drink water Lyra! Keep Hydrated!” Vinyl said with a grin. Lyra did not particularly appreciate the advice. Trooper Willoughby had positioned himself a few metres behind Lyra. He only half listened to the banter between ponies up front, rather keeping his excellent hearing focused on other things. He couldn’t help but notice how quiet winter was. South Island was temperate all year round. The outback was never this quiet. They stopped every few hours so that every pony could take a break, Water wasn’t a problem as they were standing on all the water they’d ever need. When several canteens ran out, they’d start up a fire and melt the snow down for more. At one such occasion, Willoughby pulled Vinyl aside. “I don’t want to cause a panic...” the trooper said. “But someone else needs to know, we’re being followed.” Vinyl’s grin faded. “Are you sure?” “Positive, winter here is quiet, real quiet. You can hear everything if you pay attention. It’s sneaky, and it’s not leaving any tracks, but something is definitely following us.” “Maybe it’s a straggler who wants to join up with us?” Vinyl suggested enthusiastically, preferring it to not be anything else. “No. They’re making every attempt to not be noticed. I’d like to think that too, but it’s not realistic,” Willoughby said. “Take everyone forward, I’m going to fall behind and set a trap for it.” Vinyl nodded, knowing full well that she wasn’t going to dissuade him. “Be careful.” Willoughby nodded, he hopped off into the tree line and with a powerful jump he made his way into the branches of an evergreen tree, hidden from view from anyone or anything that would come this way. He opened the rucksack that he’d been carrying, and slid out its contents, a long metal tube which had a small slot sticking out of the side. A kangaroo submachine gun. He slid one of the box magazines into the slot, it clicked lightly, and he pulled back on the cocking handle. He didn’t intend to have to use the silenced submachine gun, but one should be prepared for the worst. Trooper Willoughby had picked a tree alongside the road; his target would have to come along besides this tree in order to continue following them. Soon enough, his pray passed into view. Willoughby leapt from the tree, landing in front of their stalker and brandishing his silenced submachine gun at it. “Hands where I can see them,” he said coolly. “I... don’t have hands...” their stalker said. Willoughby saw that this was indeed true, their follower was a pitch black unicorn stallion, amber eyes peering out at him. Willoughby took this in stride. “Identify yourself.” “My name is Nightshadow. I’m an apothecary from Ponyville.” Willoughby raised an eyebrow. “An apothecary is a...” the unicorn began, but was quickly interrupted. “I KNOW what an apothecary is. I’m wondering what an apothecary is doing following us, trying to make damned sure that we don’t notice,” Willoughby said plainly. The unicorn didn’t have an answer. “What’s stopping me from putting a bullet between your eyes right now?” Willoughby asked. “Nothing, I suppose,” the unicorn said. Willoughby cocked his submachine gun, the unicorn’s eyes widened in fear. “No! No wait! Wait! I know something that you need to know, but I need you to swear that you won’t hurt me before I tell you!” “How about you tell me, and if I think it’s good enough. I’ll let you turn around and walk home, no hard feelings?” The unicorn gulped with fear. “There... there’s a gryphon in this forest. This one is insane! It... It attacked me; it leapt from the trees and tried to attack me. I got away, and I’ve been trying to hide my tracks to keep it from getting me. ” “A gryphon huh?” Willoughby said, “Well, that certainly does change things,” he gestured in the easterly direction towards Ponyville with his submachine gun. “Go on then, get! Oh... and Nightshadow was it? I catch you following us again? I’m going to put a bullet between your eyes. Get me?” The unicorn nodded, fleeing eastward. Willoughby would never see him again. ... Night fell and the group made camp. Willoughby had refused to talk about what he’d found in the forest, not even to Vinyl, saying that ‘she didn’t need to know.’ Trooper Willoughby was the stubborn type, and Vinyl knew that she wasn’t going to be getting any out of him. They spent the night telling stories and finishing off the last two bottles of cider, best to get rid of it sooner, rather than later, Big Macintosh had mused. After all, an empty glass bottle weighed less than one full of liquid. Despite once again not having any, Willoughby did manage to convince the two empty bottles off the draught pony. Figuring he could find some useful purpose for them. Willoughby had been known by the crew of the Lord Stuart as “The packrat” his unwillingness to get rid of anything that might be useful at some undetermined point in the future, possibly years. This had been quite the joke with their squadron. Say what they will, Willoughby was also famous of being able to jury-rig something useful out of the most unlikely things. Knowing him, he could probably turn the cider bottles into another pair of binoculars. Instead, however he had a much different idea for the cider bottles. In his tent, he’d opened up to the last page of his journal, ripping it out, and scribbling down a note and stuffing it into the bottle. The river that they’d been following flowed east, they were heading west. If they ran into trouble, with the gryphon that the black unicorn had warned them about, he’d throw the bottle into the river and if it came to that, hopefully, someone in Ponyville would find read the note inside. Willoughby hoped it would never come to that. If he had to use the message in a bottle, then they would all be dead.