//------------------------------//
// Chapter Seven: Heart to Heart 
// Story: Pyrophobia 
// by VilkaTheWolf 
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As the sun fell and darkness crept upon the horizon I begun dreading setting up camp more and more as the minutes went by. Setting up camp would mean fire, and fire is bad. My ragtag group of ponies was growing restless, and without rest. I look over to Triple and see her shiver, she must have been cold.

I took the initiative. "I think I have some matches in here somewhere," I announce as I rummage through my hoard of loot. As I search I realise I don't have any matches... My distrust and fear of fire had made me completely avoid any fire making tools.

I hear whisper behind me. Turning around I'm met with a statement I didn't want to think about, "But you're a dragon, just make fire." Yes, thank you Triple if I had known about that everything would be so simple.

I shift uncomfortably, "I don't know how, I only came back today." I wasn't about to tell them I was scared of fire, they could use it against me...somehow. "Also, there's no matches." I finished, leaning onto the passenger side door of my ute.

I could always try banging rocks together to make a spark. Where would I find flint? Not being an expert on soil I had no idea. Unless there was something back at the barracks. With much effort, I got off the door and made my way back to the barracks. Passing the discarded gun I dropped earlier and thinking about how it may be used against me, I pick it up and put it in my hoodie pocket. Looking up I met Mike's gaze who quickly looked away. Yeah, he better.

As I enter the first of the barracks I had gone into I try doing the tracking thing again. Find me a lighter, find me a lighter. Nothing, guess it didn’t work like that. I had to do it the old fashion way. Searching through soldier’s belongings garnered me many new goodies. Amongst them was a lighter–two in fact. I also picked up a pack of fags–I had quit recently because it was getting too expensive–but my mind was quickly swayed back. Who’s gonna miss them? Stuffing the lighter and smokes in my pocket I trudge back.

Oh shit we needed tinder. "Crack!" His head shot up as I mentioned his name, "Need tinder, sticks, leaves, and branches." He nodded in understanding, but didn't move. "Go!" I shooed him away.

After about ten minutes he came back carrying all manner of firestarters on his back. He had his wings outstretched to increase his carrying capacity.

Once the tinder was assorted into a pyramid structure I poured a very small amount of fuel from my jerry can onto it, and lit a small fire using the lighter. I pull my claw hand away and put the lighter away and calmly walk back to my ute.

I then climb in the back, surrounded by all my junk and try to force myself asleep. I couldn't help but look over at my new companions; they weren’t friends and they probably never would be. They all looked happy, trading stories around the campfire. Man I'd been such a dick, or bitch (cos I was a girl now, never gonna get used to that). If they'd never have met me, would they be better off?

I kept contemplating the violence I had inflicted on these ponies; scratching Triple, shooting Mike, doing...something to Crack (there'd be something there). I must have alerted them, because they stopped talking. I only then realised that I had been whimpering and shivering. Jeez, becoming female must have made me way more emotional. I heard Triple approach me, I knew this because her hoofsteps are heavier than the others. I didn't lift my head, not even when she put her hoof on my shoulder in concern.

"Nat?" She did seem concerned, but also uncertain. Unsurprising, considering what I've done to them.

I sit up, slowly, as to not alarm her. I make space in my junk pile and motioned for Triple to join me. She did so cautiously and tentatively. She sat down and waited for me to say something, anything.

I wiped the tears from my eyes, right time to be a man. Deep inhale, "I'm sorry." I said in the most pitiful voice I muster.

Triple's face was completely deadpan, no reaction at my sudden apology. The concern disappeared from her face replaced with anger. “You’re sorry?”

I knew that tone of voice. And anger on smushy pony faces were cute.

“You kidnapped me, only to hunt me down like a wild animal after I got away from your crazy ass, you then proceeded to trash our hideout-”

Did I? Musta forgot.

“-my friend in the leg, and now we’re your prisoners or something.” She must have realised my silence and the fact that I was phasing out most of what she said. “Say something!” That almost sounded like a demand.

Knowing the following words might be difficult to say I held up my hand, indicating to her to wait. Out of my ute I grabbed some Canadian Club bourbon, I needed the good stuff. With my hand still outstretched, I held the bottle in the other. Skulling it under fifteen seconds I turned back to Triple and hiccuped.

“Okay, listen here you fuckin’ purple-smurple horse.” This would be a speech to remember, not that I would, “I woke up today with a fuck off hangover and discover that I’m not a real boy anymore. I fuckin’ stabbed myself in the fuckin’ hand-hic-” I grabbed another bottle and quickly downed half, “I wasn’ dreamin’ I was then in fact very mad, listen here you. I’m a dragon! A chick dragon, the worst two things. Plus I found out my lil’ doggo friend is dead. I trashed my house… or my neighbour’s I don’ remember. Ooh drink,” 

Forgot about that. 

Downed the remaining half of my second bottle before continuing my long winded explanation, “I drive with me ute which I love very much and you stole it after I saved you. That’s why I chased after you and wrecked your shit, not because the voice in me head told me to or anything. Then other stuff happened and you disappeared again, I had to suffer with the crack’ead for company.” At this point I could feel my words becoming unrecognisable, this was usually the point where I’d pull myself up. Not today. 

Another bottle was skulled before I sat up on the bonnet. “-hic-And he’s really boring, all ‘e does is be scared o’ me all da time. Anyway, where wasn’...Oh fuckin’” I started snapping my finger claws to reboot my train of thought. “You, ran away, and I found ya again. But you was wit’ that fuck,” I nodded towards Mic, “And, I honest dunno what came over me. It was like I was jealous of ‘im gettin’ too close to ya, which is weird cos being jealous is shit for boyfriends to do innit? But I was feeling this other thing too… yo! Greed, it’s a dragon thing innit? I wanted you cos I saw ya first, but wait maybe I didn’. Ay but… Nah forgot.” Looking over to Triple I could tell I had lost her, looking very confused she was. “Good talk Trippy!” I exclaimed as I slid off the bonnet and punched her in the arm. I was careful not to be too tough. Either way, I didn’t look back at her dumbfound expression.

Waltzing away I started humming a song to myself. The humming turning into singing.

“For he’s a jolly good fellow-” I had to change the lyrics now, I was now of the female sex. I needed to be more progressive. Oh boy my brain is fuzzy. 

“For she’s a-” Nope. Doesn’t sound right. Oh but of course, the solution was in front of me the whole time. Now singing with added gusto I waltzed my way past the merry band of travellers and towards the barracks for more exploration. Not before flipping them all off however.

“For I’m a jolly good fellow,
For I’m a jolly good fellow,
I forgot the rest of the words,
Ba-da-dum fuck it I’m the best.” I gave up on the singing and just lumbered forward with dissonant humming.

Walking to the barracks took longer than it did before. Was that because I was walking slow or was it just further way now?

Taking my newfound fags out of my hoodie pocket I put one in my mouth and lit it up. Having a flame so close to my face almost made me flinch but endured. I made sure I was a fair way away from the group beforehand. I always felt weird smoking around others. As I inhaled I noticed it wasn’t giving me the same relief as before. Guess it’ll kick in later. I was still feeling my alcohol rush. I’d feel it in the morning too.

I walked into a different barrack I hadn’t been in before. I started ransacking the place for loot almost automatically, though I hadn’t planned to.

They kept cans of spray paint here–not exactly regulation, but I would put it to good use. Grabbing three cans–orange, blue, and yellow–I began my masterpiece, humming my tune. I worked for about an hour and stood back to behold in my artistry. In big orange letters with a yellow outline and blue shadow was my graffiti tag: ‘Soup’. I came up with it when I was a kid–it was pretty stupid. The ‘S’ was clumsily finished and the ‘P’ sloped downwards too much, the alcohol clearly affecting my skill. But I didn’t mind, I was still giddy from doing something once deemed illegal–laws didn’t matter anymore.

I stepped back to get a better view of what I had created, bringing my hands up to form a rectangle, framing the image between my thumbs and index fingers. Perfect.

Creak.

This floorboard was uneven. Hidden treasure perhaps? Prying the floorboard up I found a hidden alcohol stash with some Jack Daniel’s and an assortment of others. Come to Mama! I downed another few bottles that night. Having long since flicked out my fag I decided to call it a night. Rather than walk all the way back I went to one of bed’s here. As soon as my head hit the pillow I was out.