//------------------------------//
// 52.4 The calm After the Storm 
// Story: Prey and a Lamb 
// by Lambs Prey 
//------------------------------//


[Beginning of Arc IV]






-An extract on the Institution of the Grand Galloping Gala-

For centuries, the Grand Galloping Gala has rested as the pinnacle of Canterlot celebrations. Happening only once every two years, it is often judged as the be all and end all of high Canterlotien society. 

The richest of the rich, the most famous of the famous, the best of the best. Magi, high noble houses, and royalty, such things are the baseline norm when speaking of the Gala. 

Nobility alone doesn't grant you a ticket. Wealth doesn't grant you a ticket. Being famous doesn't grant you a ticket. Often all three combined aren't enough. You had to stand out, be more than just those things, or had to have caught Princess Celestia's eye personally. It was an internationally famous event, one whose notoriety was not confined solely to the pony lands of Equestria.

It was not uncommon for Gala tickets from past years to be framed and put on display by their owners, and the invite to be spoken of as a grand achievement for the rest of that pony's life.

If one were to mention the Grand Galloping Gala to the average citizen, they would sigh with wistful longing at the gold, glamour, and glitz, knowing they would never attend, but all dreaming that someday, it would be them who was famous enough to receive one of the most prestigious golden tickets.

Music, dances, famous celebrities, dazzling gold, decorations, unveiling of timeless works of art, performances like the Wonderbolts, and food from the best chefs in the entire world just to name a few events. Who wouldn't be envious?

However, that was only on the face of the Gala. It was so much more than that.

The Gala cost hundreds of thousands of bits to run, but many more hundreds of thousands were made at the event. 

Massive business deals were made or broken. Priceless diamonds, exotic jewels, and magical artifacts all found prices and were auctioned. Why, at the last Gala, Lord Triton Fell had off hoofedly bought eight separate holiday mansions from Lord Golden Star, reportedly just so he'd have one for each of his grandfoals.

Money the likes of which would boggle even the most avarice High Lord could be spent or earned.

However, the Gala was still more than even that.

Off the marble dance floors, backstage in private, velvet cushioned rooms studded with diamonds, a different sort of dance took place. The one of politics and nobility.

Alliances were subtly made, dignitaries entertained, international trade brokered, stances probed, offers extended, promises of votes and support bought and sold. The face of the whole government would emerge different after every Gala. Sipping their century aged wine, finely dressed ponies would decide upon new laws and policies which would affect the lives of tens of thousands.

And where there is politics, there is political treachery, backstabbing, and betrayal.

-Extract end-


---<<<O>>>---


 A shift in the blackness of unconsciousness. Prey's limbs were leaden, and to move was completely beyond him. He felt warm, muffled, and not in pain. How strange.

Was that movement? Was he moving? Was he being carried to his doom? He was still so tired.

Prey drifted back down into the blackness.


---


He stirred. Now there was pain, but faint, far off, and detached, like it was happening to someone else. He hurt, but he was also still warm and tired.

Was that...noise? A rhythmic clacking sound and a rocking motion? 

'....Train?' 

The word slowly drifted across his mind. But it was all happening so far away, and his eyes may as well have been padlocked shut.

'But... how's there a train...?' 

Prey sank once more into the dreamless depths of muffled purple and black. 


---


When next Prey drifted up to the surface, something was different. Wrong. He couldn't feel any pain from his insides or poison burnt face, but then again, he couldn't feel anything. That made him scared.

He could smell sterile rubber, and he was lying on his front, limbs all neatly tucked under him. There was something over his back. It felt smothering, he wanted it off right now!

His panic proved to be too much strain, because for the third time, Prey was dragged under.


---


Voices. Murmuring from high above him and far away. Or perhaps they were just whispering? It was hard to tell.

Prey felt sleepy. Very sleepy. Artificially sleepy. That should've worried him more than it did. He still couldn't feel anything, and that did worry him, but he couldn't move to do anything about it either. 

So instead of dwelling on that, he focused instead on trying to decipher the familiar sounding voices.

One of them sounded like Gloom. It was raspy, but shouldn't it be all...damaged and stuff? From the, the er, what was it? The poison cloud, that's right. The poison.

But it sounded like Gloom was just back to his normal rasp. And he sounded angry.

"...all those ponies are dead! All of them, Mayflower, Alfalfa Dale, they're all dead. Shimmer and Atlas gave their lives trying to save them, and where were you? Why didn't you come like you promised?!"

Who was Gloom speaking to? He sounded really angry. Usually thestrals were so composed.

"You're right, Sargent. I failed you. I failed all of you. There are reasons for why we couldn't get there, but that's no excuse and I won't insult you with them. However if you still want to hear my poor excuses, I will give them to you when you're ready."

That was Nighthawk? Gloom was shouting at Captain Nighthawk? And Nighthawk was letting him get away with it?

There was a growling sound. Prey assumed it came from Gloom; "Tell me. Sir."

"You'll be discharged tomorrow. Waiting would-"

"No I don't want to wait to get out of this bed! Prey and Scenic are unconscious, and nopony knows what's going to happen to Lilly. I need answers now."

"Very well." Nighthawk didn't try to further delay, beginning to speak calmly and clearly. Wherever the two were standing, Nighthawk and Gloom were both outside of Prey's perception range so he had no choice but to listen to the words only.

"There's a number of contributing factors. First, the Gala was a complete mess, and I'm not referring to the Element Bearers unrestrained ill-manners."

"Element Bearers? What do you mean?"

"Ah yes, you don't know about that yet. It's not relevant, those six were just a side note. What's important is that a large number of Lords and nobles tried to underhoofedly discredit Princess Luna politically. It was slander, plain and simple, but they stopped just short of anything illegal. Her Majesty herself forbade us from making any reprisals, but then a number of grand fraud attempts happened on the same night, and it devolved into a huge mess requiring all available Night Guards to sort out. I only found your first message an hour or so before the Gala began, and didn't know any of that was coming."

"Second, the damned inspectors. They've been getting our way at every turn, and Princess Luna has ordered me to give them my full cooperation. They're a bunch of self conceited pencil pushers of the worst kind, scrutinising and impeding our every action. I sent the ISND out of Canterlot for this very reason."

Nighthawk paused to breathe deeply, "Third, we simply couldn't get a train engine to get over the Ridgeback. Not for love of duty, money, or authority. There simply was no way to physically get a train onto the connecting train tracks. A bank holiday, a union strike, and then a breakdown. Fourthly, there was an accountant who didn't think the expense was warranted. We didn't find out he'd denied the request until a further day had passed. And lastly, because we were lead to believe the Border Guard had already sent you reinforcements."

"What?"

"I received a signed communication from the Border Guard command saying they had a unit on the ground who were aware of the situation, and had sent an additional full platoon to Alfalfa Dale, and would the Night Guard kindly stay out of their way."

"But there were no Border Guard reinforcements." Gloom protested.

"I know," Nighthawk growled, "After twenty-four hours I asked them for an update on the situation. They came back and said they didn't know what I was talking about. I sent back their first communication, and they said nopony ever sent that order."

"They're lying!"

"Somepony's lying," Nighthawk corrected, "I doubt it's their command. But one of their underlings is. But as to why, I haven't a clue, and nopony can trace anything. Can you think of any reason this Corporal Shimmer or Atlas might've wanted to keep the Night Guard away?"

"No sir, and I can't believe it was them either. They both gave their lives trying to save the pon- the people out there. They were both good Guards." Gloom said.

"And there's no way we'll ever be able to ask them ourselves now," Nighthawk said grimly, "May they find rest in the stars of Luna's mane."

"Night watch over them." Gloom echoed, much more subdued. Like he was remembering.

Prey vaguely heard the clop of hooves as Nighthawk moved closer to Gloom's hospital bed. "Gloom, tell me what happened. What really happened. Crimson wouldn't tell anypony more than an overview. What happened to you all?"

Who would've thought it? The gruff, iron bound, unflinching Captain was actually concerned about them. But then again, this was an unprecedented incident, a military bungle of epic proportions, and what'd happened to the ISND was deadly serious. 

Even a hardened senior thestral like Nighthawk hadn't faced anything like this before.

"I....I don't even know if I have the words. It was Tartarus sir. Pure Tartarus."

"Then don't tell me about those bits. Tell me the facts instead. What happened?" Nighthawk pressed, but not unkindly.

"I...No. No I don't think I want to tell you actually." Gloom responded.

Strangely, Nighthawk just accepted that, "Alright. It can wait until you feel more up to it Sargent."

"...But you'll want to hear it later anyway is what you're saying?"

"Yes," Nighthawk said bluntly, "You're going to have to tell the story to many ponies before this is over. But it can wait until later."

"No, no I may as well get it over and done with now. It...might help." Gloom said taking a deep breath.


---


Slowly, and with much backtracking and pausing, Gloom began to lay out their tale. Prey felt betrayed that Gloom would tell Nighthawk anything. Nighthawk was the one who'd sent them out there to almost get horrifically killed. That they were all still alive was no thanks to the Captain either. After that, Nighthawk didn't deserve to know their story.

Nighthawk didn't interrupt Gloom's retelling or ask any questions until after he was finished.

Prey also got to hear what'd happened to Scenic and Gloom after they'd been split off from him and Crimson by the kindersnatches. Apparently, Gloom had staggered off into the forest towing Scenic with the kindersnatches right on their tails.

Eventually, right when it seemed like they were done for, a mare's voice had whispered Gloom's ear from out of thin air, giving him directions. Thinking he'd gone mad but without any better options, Gloom had listened, and somehow, the mare's voice had led them to safety. The kindersnatches hadn't seemed able to see them either, flailing and crashing about blindly in the undergrowth despite Gloom and Scenic still being plainly in their view.

"We had help. From whom, I don't know. They didn't stay around to be thanked." Gloom summed up.

'Lemon Pink.' Prey thought. Seems he owed his servant additional thanks for saving Gloom and Scenic, despite him having given her no orders to do so. He hadn't forgiven Gloom or Scenic for nearly getting them all killed on multiple occasions, but still.

"We crawled back to Alfalfa Dale in the morning, and saw the train finally coming down the mountain. We found Crimson carrying Prey when we got there, and when the train arrived, well, you know the rest. You whisked us into medical care, and to be honest, it's a blur after that sir. I should be dead ten times over. We should all be dead." Gloom finished in a hollow voice.

There was a silence as Nighthawk no doubt digested Gloom's story. The Sargent had left out a lot of the fine details, and skipped a couple of parts, but it was an almost complete retelling of what had happened to the ISND.

"You did the best you could Sargent," Nighthawk eventually said, "You can't be blamed for the warlock's actions. You and your unit were all very brave."

"I wasn't brave. Crimson was brave. Lilly was brave." Gloom murmured.

Nighthawk didn't try correcting Gloom. He probably knew Gloom wouldn't believe him. "There are some parts I want to ask for clarification on if you're able to answer, Sargent."

"Which parts?"

"How did you know about this meld wood? How did you make those acid traps Crimson mentioned? And what happened that night after Crimson returned from these Wolf Woods? Crimson said he fell unconscious and doesn't recall."

"It's not real." Gloom whispered.

"Pardon?"

Prey heard Gloom start in fright, "I, we, it was.........." 

There was a long silence.

"...I can't tell you sir. I just can't. Please don't ask me again what happened that night, because I can't tell you."

"I see..." Nighthawk said, "And the rest?"

"My fault. I claim responsibility for the call to operate on Lilly and for what Prey-I mean, what offensive actions we took against the warlock." Gloom said quickly.

"I see." Nighthawk said again. There was another long silence, so long that Prey was beginning to drift off again by the time someone spoke again.

"Can you...convey my thanks to Princess Luna when you report to her? For helping with my dreams." Gloom hesitantly asked.

"You can thank Her Majesty yourself Sargent. You're to report to her tomorrow when you're released."

"Oh. Yes sir."

Prey heard a deep sigh, "I'll be blunt Gloom, when you get out of here, things are going to get rough. Those inspectors are hounding me to speak to the ISND now that you've returned, what with what happened to the salt trade and all. The Border Guard wants answers too. And to be honest, none of you are fit for duty any longer."

"Captain-!"

"No, be quiet Sargent. Listen first." Nighthawk's tone was iron: 

"This is not about your performance, because you have always performed beyond my expectations. This is not about failure, because you have not failed, do you understand that? You didn't fail. Nopony could expect anymore from any of you. Clear? This is about what's best for you, and everypony under your command. You need to stop. You need to rest. You have a command to look after, and all of them but Crimson are still in hospital. They come first. I will only allow any of you back onto duty when you're all accounted for. Understand?"

"Yes sir, I understand." Gloom said quietly, sounding crushed and relieved all at the same time. 

"Do you really understand why I'm doing this?" Nighthawk repeated.

"Yes sir."

"I'll ask you thrice Sargent, do you understand why I'm doing this?"

"Yes sir. You were right. It's because we need it, and none of us are fit for duty anymore."

"At the moment," Nighthawk corrected him sternly, "None of you are fit for duty at the moment. You'll get through this, all of you will. I'll see to it, just like you'll be seeing to the rest of your unit."

"I'll, I'll do my best to do right by them sir."

"Of course you will." There came the sound of Nighthawk trotting for the door, "Try and get some more rest Gloom, I'll send the nurse back in. If you can, you should also write a letter back to your clan. It might help."

"I'll... see if I can find some paper and a quill."

There was the sound of the door swinging open, "Oh and Sargent?" Nighthawk asked loudly, pausing with the door half open. Obviously, he meant for whomever was outside to hear his next words:

"All information of what happened on your mission is restricted. If anypony not me, either of the Lieutenants, or Princess Luna asks any of you any questions, you are to tell them in no uncertain terms to get lost. Can you do that?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Try and get some rest." Nighthawk said, and left.

Prey heard some other pony come back in, must've been the nurse, but things got a bit fuzzy after that. He wasn't sure when he drifted off again.


------


Prey dreamed.

He was back at the desecrated stone circle, but the wooden stakes were bone and the trees were ash. The sky was boiling purple.

But there was no bound veropede, no Lemon Pink to aid him. It was just him, with his ribbon wrapped around his neck, tightening, tightening, tightening.

And then in an awful rush of dream realisation of something he'd known all along, Prey knew he was Hard Baked. He was the warlock. He was the one who'd sacrificed all of those villagers. It was all him.

He was scared.

Why was the ground freezing over into black ice? Why couldn't he move? The ribbon was tightening, tightening, tightening into his flesh and was was he getting so hungry hungry HuNGry-

A rush of star light, dark blue, and a sensation of warmth and safety. "There now, rest faithful servant. T'will be naught but a bad memory when morn comes."

Utter dread froze Prey's soul. 'Nooooo-'


------


"-oooooo!"

Prey stared at a white wall. He was lying on his side. There was a colourful cutout foal's mobile hanging above him for some reason. For a heart pounding second, Prey didn't know where he was or what was going on.

He could feel, and see, and move. The numbness was gone. He still hurt, but nowhere near as much as he should be hurting, and he could breathe. 'What about the poison? The warlock and-'

Prey threw the blanket off his back as he shot upright, his hooves flying to his side, seeking out the cuts and injuries. He found the padded softness of plasters and gauze bandages. That proved it. He was definitely in a pony hospital, and if he hadn't imagined the whole conversation between Gloom and Nighthawk, he was back in Canterlot too.

'Back in Canterlot.' Prey lip twisted. He was back in Luna's domain again. That had been her invading his dreams just now.

Prey flopped back down onto the big white pillow and glared up at the stupid foal's mobile above his bed. Who'd thought hanging that up there was a good idea anyway? And why'd they gotten an actual foal to colour in the smudgy cartoon birds?

 His cheeks felt like they had some kind of thick cream smeared across them, and just under his eyes there was the fuzzy outline of two gauze patches stuck to his face. Tentatively, he poked at his face. A mistake as it turned out.

Prey screwed his eyes shut until the hot spike of pain passed. "Owww." He blinked watering eyes as he stared up at the insulting cutout mobile.

He frowned. Were those birds really that smudgy? Surely not, and why did what should be a solid outline look grainy? Prey's stomach felt like it fell away as he realised it wasn't the hanging mobile that was grainy, it was just his vision.

His eyesight was damaged. The reaper king's poison had indeed done permanent damage.

Prey just lay there for a while, feeling resentful and angry. It should've been a small price to pay for surviving what by all rights should have killed him, but he didn't feel grateful.

It could've been worse. He could've been fully blinded. Instead, he could still see relatively well.

But he still felt bitter. 

It wasn't just about his impaired vision, but about everything which had happened in the forest.

'Has Lemon Pink made it back across the Ridgeback yet? Did she manage to conceal both veropedes?'

That was another huge complication looming on the horizon. How to keep two giant centipedes from Tartarus hidden and fed? Prey hadn't wanted to hatch them early for this very reason, his preparations weren't complete. Well, Lemon Pink was the one doing the actual preparations, but it amounted to the same thing.

Chained or not, both veropedes were a huge liability. This was going to be a massive undertaking, and definitely a lot more responsibility than a puppy.

'Actually, how much time has passed? How long have I been unconscious?' Prey wondered, gingerly rubbing at a string of bruises running down his shoulder and across his thin chest.

Two days, three? It couldn't be much longer than that.

At least he only felt like he'd been mauled a week previously by a timber wolf, instead of being in the process of being mauled. 'I wonder what pain relief I'm on?'

He didn't like it. Someone had administered drugs to him while he was unconscious and vulnerable. 

'Hang on, I'm not filthy. Someone washed me too!' Prey shuddered in disgust. Someone had touched him, or just as bad, used magic to cast a cleaning spell on him. He would've preferred to still be covered in slime and mud.

'At least I wasn't awake at the time.' Prey tried to comfort himself. 

He looked around his hospital room again. It was small, with another empty bed opposite his. Seems Gloom had already been released. There were a few colourful pictures tacked to the walls, and even a stuffed cat plushy sitting on the window sill, the blinds drawn. It was early morning, or perhaps just before.

Prey tried to reconcile the clean, white, well organised hospital room with the cramped filthy operating tent he knew so well from the Resistance, and couldn't help but let out a twisted chuckle at the difference.

Prey sighed tiredly, and let his eyes slide shut. He wasn't going anywhere just yet. He still felt raw and drained. The throbbing in his face and side were particularly distracting. But currently, there was nothing more he could do. Not for Lemon Pink, or himself.

Before he drifted off, Prey checked what he really should've checked sooner. He reached up and tugged at the cool silk of the ribbon behind his ear. Good, it was still there. No one had tried to remove it.

'Lucky for them.'

It was a fitful, unhappy sleep, and this time, Prey made sure not to dream.


------


Prey opened his eyes, blinked up at the stupid foal's mobile, and then remembered his vision was damaged. He was much better prepared for it this time though. His body told him it had been less than two hours.

As weak as he currently felt, Prey was extremely relieved not to have woken up to back cramps.

Then he stiffened. Someone else was in the room. Someone else whose mind he couldn't hear.

'Another mimic's come to finish the job.'

No, he was being stupid. He knew the familiar feel of these smooth mental walls. So why then did they feel so twisted up and so, so...foreign?

Prey sat up slowly. At the end of his hospital bed sat Crimson on a small stool. Prey may no longer be able to see fine detail, but he could still see, and his eyes immediately darted over the pegasus to assess his injuries.

Crimson was out of armour and back to his natural deep red colouring. It made the white of the multitude of small bandages and plasters stand out starkly. He had a large number of them across the front of his neck, upper legs, and wing edges. But they were still only small bandages.

'Nothing too serious then.' Prey was taken aback by the strength of the surge of relief he felt.

And clearly displayed around Crimson's neck, the jade necklace sat, just a bit too vivid and green to be natural. Crimson wasn't wearing his wing blades though, likely because he was off duty, and thus wouldn't have been allowed into a hospital while armed. But with the magical jade necklace, he may as well have been.

Last of all Prey looked at Crimson's face, and he flinched. Not because of the familiar thick gauze pads tapped under Crimson's eyes, but because of the yellow orbs themselves.

Crimson was just looking at Prey. He didn't speak, his hooded eyes just watched Prey. And his mental walls still felt all tight and twisted up. Prey struggled for something to say. Why was Crimson looking at him like that?

Prey cleared his throat, and suddenly became aware of how desperately thirsty he was. His throat was so dry he couldn't even croak.

Wordlessly, Crimson pointed to the table beside Prey's bed, but other than his foreleg, nothing else moved.

Prey looked and found a large glass of water, with a straw poking out of it. Prey took a tentative sip, then a long pull when he didn't taste anything off and his body didn't reject it.

All the while Crimson just kept looking at him. Prey hoped Crimson's vision hadn't been damaged any worse than his own. That would be awful.

It looked like he was going to have to be the one to speak first. But what should he say? Something sarcastic? No, he should try something hopeful.

"Good to see you looking...well." Prey said. His throat still hurt, but nothing like the raw, swallowed-broken-glass feeling from the reaper king's poison. And he could actually speak real words, not just gargle letters. In the back of his mind he wondered what medicines they'd forced on him while he was unconscious.

There was a long moment before Crimson stirred, "Me? You say I look well?"

"Um, sort of? You're not in a hospital bed for a start."

"It's yourself you should be worried about." Crimson said flatly and Prey saw his jaw clench, "You wouldn't wake up. Not on the way back, not on the train, not even when they rushed you three into intensive care."

"Us three?" Prey dared to ask.

"Scenic. Lilly. You." 

Why was Crimson so angry? 'I survived, that's good right?' 

But surviving didn't mean it had ever been okay. And there had been so many people who hadn't survived the warlock. So many of the villagers and townsfolk. Some of which Prey was responsible for having killed himself. 

Prey didn't deny or hide from that fact. He was a murderer. He knew it, and he'd been one for over sixty years.

But that was probably why Crimson was so withdrawn and brittle. Because they hadn't won. There are no winners in war. Only survivors. 

There were many questions Prey needed answered, but he couldn't ask them of Crimson. Not here or now. So Prey cleared his throat again and sought for the least wrong thing to say to the upset Crimson; 

"Lilly and Scenic, they're both still alive, right?" 

Asking after your teammates, even ones you hated, was surely the expected 'right' thing to do.

"Alive yes. Scenic will recover. But Lilly... She woke up briefly, once, but she was delirious. She wasn't aware of her surroundings but she begged..." Crimson broke off, eyes flicking away. There was a sag in his wings. 

"...She's back in a coma. Gloom is with her and Scenic all the time he can spare, but he's not okay either." Crimson muttered that last part. 

"Gloom? Not Sargent Gloom?" Prey asked. It seemed a safe thing to ask about.

Crimson's expression did not lighten even one iota, "Yes. Just Gloom. All of the ISND are on enforced leave until further notice. Starry Wing conveyed the order this morning."

"Let me guess, because we're not fit for duty anymore?" Prey asked, remembering the conversation he'd overheard between Gloom and the Night Guard Captain.

"Because we have too many problems, yes." Crimson stated flatly.

"Starry Wing said it that bluntly?" Prey asked, a bit shocked.

"No. Captain Nighthawk did."

Prey thought about that for a moment. Medical leave. Or possibly enforced leave, it hadn't been made clear which it technically was. He wasn't sure what that meant for them. Not having to work every waking hour of every day sounded wonderful, but what would the ISND be doing then? It sounded so impossible, so novel, that suspicion immediately wormed its way into his thoughts.

It sounded like a punishment for failure. But at the same time, it also seemed to be a reward.

Was this some kind of trap or test he wasn't aware of? His breath froze, was this Luna's doing?

Prey tucked his hooves back under the blanket to hide the tremble. Surely Luna wouldn't throw them away after just one failure? He'd shown he was valuable when he stopped Garrow, the salt dealers, and Wheat Plow. Surely one failure wasn't cause for his disposal?

'But this failure was a big one.' Prey couldn't help but think.

Crimson was still staring at him with that look in his eyes. Prey instinctively wanted to smile, to put on a mask. But no, this was Crimson. He wanted to be honest around Crimson. Or at least more honest. And he knew Crimson wanted him to be more honest too.

They'd spoken in Mayflower. When they'd both been injured and at their most vulnerable, they'd each bared something of their souls. Shared secrets they perhaps shouldn't have. 

That had changed things, but Prey exactly wasn't sure how yet.

So he took a deep breath and asked Crimson, "So how much trouble am I in?"

It was apparently the wrong thing to say.

Fire flashed in Crimson's eyes, along with betrayal, "How much-you? Not us? Where's the us? Were we ever a team? Why didn't you tell me? After what happened, with the warlock, we spoke and you could've told me, but you, you-You hoard the truth like it's some kind of secret and you can't, no, you refuse to tell anypony!"

Prey flinched back as Crimson continued to rant.

"You think I want to have to drag you around by the hoof and make you speak, is that what you think? Is this how you think I want to learn things? To be the last to know the truth?!"

'Zoma'Grika, what's he found out?' Prey thought, stomach clenching.

Prey licked his dry lips, "I honestly have no idea what you're talking about."

Crimson gave Prey a long look, "This is a hospital. You were badly hurt, how badly we didn't know and you wouldn't wake up. What do you think the doctors did?"

"What?" Prey asked, the word tasting like ash.

"The doctor scanned you of course."

'No.' Prey's hoof tried to automatically rise to his chest, as it felt like his heart had stopped beating in horror.

But that was of course physically impossible. Prey's heart could not stop beating.

'They know! They scanned me with their disgusting magic and found it.'

Because Prey should be dead.


---


Prey was a lamb. He was over sixty years old. So how could he still be a lamb? How could he still be alive?

The answer was simple, yet complicated.

A black magic witch's ritual, a curse, and a dark magic artifact. All of which Prey had chosen to inflict upon himself.

Black, dark, and blood magic were easy, too easy, and they could be used by non-unicorns. It's part of what made them so alluring. Easy power. For a price.

It wasn't the easiness which made them forbidden magic. It was that last bit. The price.

Because everything has a price.

Normal magic usually just used up the caster's mana along with the mana in the area. Perhaps it consumed prepared resources too, such as metals and alchemical fuels like those used in a spell furnace. In essence, all magic consumed resources of one kind or another.

It was just that forbidden magics usually required something a little less innocent as their fuel. Blood, body parts, a sacrifice, pain, dark emotions, life force, and even at times souls.

Snake had been a voodoo witch, and terrifyingly proficient in his twisted craft. Prey had learned under Snake's merciless hoof, and what he hadn't learned, he'd torn from Snake's remnant. And he'd used that knowledge to curse himself.

Back then, fighting in the Deeper Green, things had been different.

Back then, Prey had been alone, just him left against the might of the Border Guard. Fire Strike had yet lived, Prey had been, and still was, terrified of dying. He'd seen things he couldn't reconcile, committed atrocities he couldn't take back, and so he'd done something he shouldn't have.

He'd been in a dark place at the time, with so much bitterness in him he'd genuinely feared it would kill him. So he did something no sane person would've done.

Bitter bitter bitter bitter bitter sweet hate.

Careful, madness is catching.

'This isn't real. None of it is. I'm not a lamb, or a person. I'm just a thing. Merely Prey.'




































'Well then, I'd better take everyone with me, hadn't I?'


------


A witch's ritual, a curse, and a dark magic artifact.

The ritual came from down the centuries from a coven of witches. The coven's name was faded, tattered, and lost to history, but it was rumored the Great Witch Selenia herself had descended from their line.

The ritual was dark magic in every sense of the word, for it was a ritual that the vain witches had created to halt the process of time. They did not want to go the way of all the earth, to grow old, withered, and ugly. They wanted their maiden youthful beauty to never fade.

So through sacrifice and much experimentation, this nameless coven had devised a ritual. For the cost of a body part, it would halt all external ageing. Sure, they were not immortal. Internally, their bodies would still age and die at the normal rate. But to remain as fair and attractive as ever for all their natural years? Who could resist?

They should've resisted.

The ritual wasn't all they thought it was. Forever young and healthy, but only on the surface. Everything has a price, and the witches were not as powerful or clever as they'd thought. To keep up its unnatural health, the body had to work harder. Or in other words, it burned itself up twice or even three times as fast to maintain the facade.

And the coven didn't realise a thing was wrong until years down the line, when their older members, who'd halted their body at ages of fortyish, started dying before sixty. Those who halted at thirty died at fifty. Those at halted twenty died in their late thirties.

Fear, panic, despair. Failure.

Too late they'd learned their vaunted ritual could freeze time and allow you stay physically young, but at the cost of more than half your remaining life.

And so the coven had died, goals unfulfilled, dreams shattered, and been all but forgotten.

But the ritual hadn't. The zebrican shamans of the past had learnt of it too, but they hadn't used it. Why would they? Halving your own life for vanity's sake? What foolishness.

Still, Snake had known of the ritual, and thus Prey had also known the ritual.

And Prey had sacrificed his, as of yet at the time still forming horns, as the price to activate the ritual. That's why he had no horns like a ram should.

So why wasn't Prey long dead? He'd sacrificed over half his life, and a normal sheep's life span was short enough already as it was, only seventy years at most. Prey should've died long ago in a cell in Dreverton. But he hadn't. Why?

Because of the dark magic artifact. 

A ritual, a curse, and a dark magic artifact. That had been the ritual, this was the artifact.

Prey had stolen it from a Border Guard secure transport, who in turn had taken it from a dark magician they'd apprehended hiding on the edges of the wilds.

The artifact looked like a set of cruel iron teeth, called a Jaw of Heart's.

It was one of at least twenty such artifacts created by the mad warlock, Cyrix the Flayer, nearly two hundred years ago. Who Cyrix was, his real name or even species, was not clear. One thing was clear though, and that was the fear he had spread.

Cyrix had been mad, and loved to torture, devoting himself entirely to his craft. Cyrix the Flayer.

Many nightmarish torture devices never before seen came out from Cyrix's workshop, and hopefully never would be seen again. Cyrix had been an evil upon evils, and one thing had apparently irritated the Hell out of him. And that was when his victims expired too soon, their hearts giving out under the agonies he inflicted upon them.

At least, Prey assumed that's why Cyrix had created his Jaw of Heart's. Because the jaws, once shoved into a cut open victim's chest, bit into their heart, and then forced the heart to stay alive. To keep beating and pumping blood until there was no more blood left to pump.

In essence, it was a device designed to prolong Cyrix's sick pleasure.

Once the Jaw of Heat's bit into its victim, it would never let go. It would bite and chew and force the victim to keep living in utter agony as their heart was pierced by jagged metal. Their body could literally break into pieces, but their heart would beat on.

Prey had intended to fight his own mad little war for however long it took. So when he'd opened the raided strong box, Border Guard blood still wet on the lid, and figured out just what he was looking at, he'd put one and one together and made two.

The ritual would keep him from ageing and physically healthy, but kill him early.

The Heart of Jaws would keep him alive, in theory, until his body collapsed in on itself from old age.

Put together, each would counteract the other. As long as he was prepared to live in agony. Which Prey obviously wasn't. He might've wanted to stay alive to fight the Border Guard, but he was almost as scared of pain as he was of death. But Prey was nothing if not resourceful, and he'd found a work around.

The answer? Runes.

Runes could solve almost anything, given enough creativity and time.

Rather than cut open his own chest to get at his heart, he'd used runes to phase the Jaws of Heart's through his flesh and bones, much like he'd done with the veropede egg, and he'd placed more runes upon the metal teeth to cancel out every nerve they touched. 

And it had worked. He'd tested it on a drugged Border Guard first to be sure, but his theory had proven correct. Prey couldn't feel a thing from his heart. Nothing physical anyway. But runes couldn't erase the hurt of a child's shattered heart.

So Prey had performed the ritual for himself, and taken in the Jaw of Heart's. That was how he was still alive, and also why he was still, and would be until the day he was killed, a lamb.

But as always happens in every cautionary tale about dark magic, something unforeseen had gone wrong.

There are three reasons a type of magic could be classified as forbidden. The first is what it cost, the second is the magic's intended use, and the third was the risk it posed to the caster.

And that was where Prey had made two mistakes.

First, he'd been too impatient and performed the ritual too early. He forever froze himself as a lamb, and a runt lamb on top of that. If he'd just waited until he grew even a little... But no. He hadn't been thinking clearly, his hatred of Fire Strike and the Border Guards goading him into performing the ritual anyway, so he could continue his one-sheep-war forever. 

It wasn't until later Prey realised how badly he'd stunted his own potential. But it was too little, too late, and he sat in Dreverton for fifty-seven years stewing in his regret.

And the second mistake was not trusting in his own hoof work enough.

Prey had wanted insurance, a back up. He might've tested the Jaw of Heart's and runic combinations before performing the ritual on himself, but it still hadn't been enough to reassure him. Prey wanted to be certain he could kill Fire Strike before he died.

So he'd made one of the biggest mistakes of his bitter young life. He'd looked into a Lich's Mirror.

That one horrified moment of staring into the Lich's Mirror had broken him again, and he'd fled screaming into the depths of the Deeper Green. Those had been...dark days.


------


And now Crimson and the doctors knew about Prey's self use of dark magic. They'd scanned him with magic to see what was wrong, taking a look inside. And what had those scans found? A pair of metal jaws clamped around his heart.

Prey was shaking. He couldn't speak. How was he going to talk his way out of this?

'They know, they know my secret!'

Prey was going to have to run, to escape. But he was too weak to flee, still hurt and vulnerable. Crimson was staring him down with betrayal in his eyes. And even if Prey ran, he did not yet know how to outrun Luna.

He was caught. Trapped. Helpless. It was too late to catch and mind wipe the doctors, they would've already told everyone by now.

'I can't escape, I'm trapped. They're going to kill me, cut open my chest, throw me back in Dreverton!' Prey was having trouble breathing. And Crimson was still staring him down, waiting for Prey to offer an explanation.

Prey clenched his jaw tightly. His eyes felt hot, but he refused to cry. Not now.

He raised his chin and matched Crimson glare for glare. He would not cower, not before Crimson. He would remain brave for as long as he could. Or that was Prey's intention, but the moment he opened his mouth to hotly spit back a retort, his voice wavered.

"I thought you, y-you, after all that's happened...I thought you were finally my f-friend." 

Zoma'Grika, that wasn't what he'd meant to say at all! Was this an after effect of the pain medication?

Crimson rocked back on his stool like he'd been kicked in the face. Crimson's yellow eyes could only open so wide, but they went as wide as the bandages would allow.

"No no, that's not what I meant at all Prey. I swear, it's not you I'm angry at. I didn't mean, what I meant was, I just...Why didn't you trust me? Why didn't you tell me about this?"

And didn't that just throw Prey for a complete loop as effectively as if Crimson'd just declared Hard Baked was simply a misunderstood individual?

"What...are we talking about here?" Prey ventured.

Crimson hesitated, and then very quietly pointed at Prey, "Why didn't you tell anypony about somepony whipping you?"

Prey blinked stupidly, 'What? Oh. Ohhh.'

Relief flooded Prey, and suddenly he felt like the light was shining again. He could get out of this. 'I'm not sure how they missed it, but they don't know about the Jaw of Heart's, just the scars. Ha! Wow, that really had me worried there for a second.'

After the arrow he'd just dodged, Prey wasn't even particularly outraged over how his privacy had been invaded and how utterly rude Crimson had just been by asking him about his scars.

"Oh, they're nothing for you to concern yourself with." Prey said dismissively, almost cheerfully.

Crimson surged to his hooves, and was standing beside Prey's bed almost before he could blink, "No, you don't get to say 'forget it' this time Prey. You're my squad mate, my, my friend! I'm not going to allow you to let some twisted person destroy you just because you're afraid to ask for help. This stops now. Tell us, and Gloom will make sure this person is punished."

"I'm not telling Gloom anything. This has nothing to do with him." Prey snapped.

"Then tell me Prey. Tell me."

Prey's lip turned down, "No Crimson. I'm not sharing my scars with anyone. No one has the right to judge."

"Then if not for you, think about another lamb. The pon-person who did this might do it again to another innocent child. Think about them." Crimson tried, almost pleaded.

Prey didn't like the tone in Crimson's voice. It reminded him too much of how he'd begged the world to stop being unfair. 'Pointless.'

"You don't need to worry on that account. The person who did this-" Prey waved a hoof back over his shoulder, "-They won't be doing it to anyone else ever again. Just forget about it. It's been taken care of."

If anything, that just seemed to make the anger in the back of Crimson's yellow orbs blaze even hotter. Not anger at Prey, but on Prey's behalf. Which provoked a very strange feeling in Prey's chest, but it changed nothing. Crimson was sixty-one years too late to help.

Prey looked off to the side, studying one of the foals' coloured in motivational posters about 'Never Give Up'. He didn't want to speak about this subject any longer. Just because it was in the past didn't make it okay.

He spoke quietly, "So what Crimson? They're scars. By their very definition, they're here to stay. I have scars, you have scars. There's nothing you or I could do about it. What is talking about it going to achieve?"

Crimson's wings twitched at his sides, "Just because you survived doesn't mean it was ever alright."

Prey glanced back in shock. That was almost an exact copy of his own thoughts just now. 

"And speaking about...these things is supposed to help?" Crimson suggested, not sound very sure.

Prey met Crimson's eye and held it. "You know as well as I that's a lie. You've learnt the lessons too. All these sentimental ponies who think you can't keep a secret forever? That if you don't tell someone about your pain it'll build up until you break? Deluded weaklings." 

Crimson grimaced and looked away, conceding the truth of Prey's words. He knew exactly what Prey was speaking about. Crimson obviously held his own secrets, ones which he held close and would never tell anyone. 

Sharing a secret did not always make things better. Sometimes, the truth only made it worse. Some things could not be forgiven.

Having a secret could sound so innocent. It was anything but. Sometimes, you knew you should tell, that if someone else knew it would help, but still you wouldn't, couldn't ever tell. The secret was all twisted up inside you, burning in your brain, blistering on your lips, but no matter how bad it was, you just couldn't tell. Never. You'd rather lie and cheat and hurt forever, because you simply couldn't tell.

That's what a secret could do to you.

However, the secret of Stinger was not one of Prey's untellable secrets.

But there was also no way Prey could explain how he'd gotten the ropy whip scars criss-crossing his back without also alluding to some of the things he couldn't risk Crimson finding out about. Like the Resistance, how old he actually was, or why he was still alive.

So despite him owing Crimson, despite how much the pegasus cared and wanted to know, Prey couldn't tell him the truth.

"It's not someone you can ever bring to justice Crimson. And they won't be doing it again to anyone ever again. But thank you for caring. The dead know, no one else does." Prey muttered.

Briefly, Crimson's twitched forwards as if to rest a wing over Prey's back, but he wisely stopped himself just as quickly, "That's not true Prey, your mother also still...cares...about..." 

Crimson's brows shot together, "Wait... Luna's mane! It was your parents who did this!"

"You take that back! Don't you dare, don't you dare ever say that about my mother!"

Prey was nose to nose with Crimson, standing rigidly upright on the hospital bed. He didn't even feel the pain from jumping upright in his anger, "You eat your words right now and don't you ever, ever, EVER say that again!"

Prey's voice was high pitched in his outrage, squeaking all over the place but he didn't care, "You want to talk about scars do you? You wanna' point hooves? Then how about those self inflicted scars of yours, huh?" 

Crimson's hoof involuntarily jerked up to the underside of his left foreleg. There, mostly hidden by his fur, there was a small, straight scar. But what made it stand out was the similar six fresh wounds in parallel, newly stitched shut and still swollen.

"Keeping a tally of your body count are we? Why, do you have that little faith in your own conscience that you'll forget if you don't maim yourself? As if! You're just collecting scars because you want proof you're learning from your mistakes, that you're sorry for being a murderer like me! You just think you're any better, you think you can ever be clean again, you think, you you think-khaGK."

Prey's recently healed throat could only take so much, and that was its limit. A hacking coughing fit struck out of nowhere, leaving him wheezing and unable to articulate his fury.

Crimson was openly shocked into speechlessness. No more rigid self control, no more masked emotions, Prey could see it all in his lowered ears, hunched wings, and wincing eyes. Crimson was completely mortified and struck with shame. 

'He should be! Would I ever have said something like that about his father.'

How dare anyone ever say his mother would ever do something like that? His mother had loved him and his brother more than life itself!

'No,' The horrible little voice of himself spoke up in the back of his head, cutting through the rage, 'She loved Fleece and Gossamer. But I'm not Gossamer. I'm Prey.'

"You think..." Prey's legs wobbled and he collapsed onto the bed. He blinked down at the mattress, surprised by his own weakness. He drew a ragged breath.

"I'm sorry Prey, I shouldn't have said that, it slipped out-"

"Leave me." Prey croaked. He turned his face away from Crimson.

"Not until I apologise-"

"Leave me. Please. Come back in a few hours, I'm... tired. I'm not thinking straight, let me cool down first. I'm overreacting and being completely unreasonable. Just...come back later."

After a moment, Prey saw Crimson give a nod out of the corner of his eye. "A few hours. And I'm sorry."

"Nothing's changed. I still owe you Crimson. What you, what I said at Mayflower...Y-you, you're still my friend right?" Prey mumbled. He held his breath for the answer, ridiculously scared he'd just ruined everything.

"I...don't have any friends. Never before, I mean." Crimson said.

"Me neither." Prey admitted.

"After everything, I don't think we could not be friends. Am I right?" There was a desperate kind of hope in Crimson's voice that matched his own.

Prey let out his breath. Of course, how foolish it was for him to ever think that. If nothing Crimson could say would drive Prey off, why would it be any different the other way around?

"Yes. More than friends," Prey agreed shakily, "But... Yes, friends.”

“Friends.”

And perhaps, one day, maybe even something like brothers.

"I'll leave you alone for now. I'll come back later." Crimson told Prey.

"Yes. Later." Prey agreed weakly, settling himself back down, a small, uncertain, but real smile on his face. And he didn't even notice.

Crimson returned a quick, if hesitant nod, then another much more certain one, "Yes. Later." He echoed, smiling back just as uncertainly back, before exiting and quietly shutting the door behind him.

For a full two minutes after Crimson left, Prey just continued to lie there on his oversized hospital bed, sightlessly watching the door and running over what had just happened. What the both of them had just said and admitted. 'Friends.' Prey thought.

He liked the sound of that word. And better yet, Crimson wanted to be friends with him.

'My first friend.' It sounded exactly like the sappy sentimental drivel ponies spouted non-stop, friendship this and friendship that, however almost all who proclaimed friendship were shallow. Crimson and Prey had both killed people, seen and done horrible things in and out of each other's company.

And each of them knew it, and although nothing about that was okay, they both understood it too.

It was a terrible basis upon which to form any friendship, but again, they both knew how unfair life was. They were both guilty, both unclean, so why not be friends then? Life would win, it would break them, because life always won in the end, but until that time came, why not be friends?

Prey ignored the whispers of the remnants of Garrow and Snake. They were both dead and had no say in this. He would live his own life as Prey.

Luna had him enslaved, but only for now. There was always the future, and one day Prey would be free, because he would never stop searching for a way to escape.

Hard Baked had not stopped him, despite the warlock's best efforts. Garrow had not killed him either. Captain Valour and the Solar Guard had failed too.

Night Watcher had been turned to his cause as Lemon Pink, who must be even now making her way back across the Ridgeback with their two ensorcelled veropedes in tow.

Dreverton, which haunted the back of his mind every waking day, and which'd slowly tortured him into insanity. Insanity, not madness. Dreverton, with its unchanging nothingness for fifty-seven years was now in the past as well. The Resistance, Snake, Torment, Captain Firestrike, each of them had failed to put an end to him too.

That did not make anything better.

There would still be questions from Gloom about what had happened in the forest, demands from Nighthawk, threats from Luna, danger from the ISND's job, and pain from himself.

All in all, not much had changed. The only difference was, now Prey had a friend.

It was okay. It was not okay.

It changed nothing. It changed one thing.

Prey didn't understand, but he knew he wanted this. One hoof in the whole world to hold onto, someone else also trapped under the bitter black ice. Even if they couldn't speak as they drowned, Crimson and Prey both understood.

Metaphorically of course. No way was Prey holding anybody's hoof. Oh, and the drowning was metaphorical too.

This didn't make anything better, but it helped.


---


But it still didn't make anything better. 

So once Crimson was gone, and Prey was sure the door was firmly shut, he pulled the blanket over his head and cried. 

Because he had almost died horribly so many times, because he was still alive, because he was a stupid crybaby, but most of all, because Crimson's words had brought up the truth Prey thought he'd finally managed to bury under numb apathy.

Which was that Prey really, really, really, still wanted to just be Gossamer, with a loving mother and brother, living far away from Equestria and the big world, safe on their own little farm.

But it was impossible. So Prey cried for that impossibility, hating himself, until the painful wishing finally faded away again and was replaced by the empty sting of time he knew so well.

Feeling much worse and better at the same time, Prey sulkily wiped the last tear from his sore eyes. 

'Why couldn't the reaper king's poison have done one good thing and burned out my stupid tear glands?' He thought mutinously. Prey hated giving anyone any hint of an actual excuse to call him a crybaby. The Resistance was supposed to be in the past.

The bandage pads across the poison burns on his checks were now damp too. 'Wonderful.'

With a huff, Prey rolled over. Then he grunted in annoyance and untucked his ears from under his head on the pillow, so they didn't lose circulation when he went to sleep, and closed his eyes.


---


Crimson did return, but when he did, he brought back with him Gloom and a doctor.

The doctor, a blue spotted unicorn with a pair of ridiculous wire rimmed spectacles which made him seem like he was peering through two magnifying glasses, wanted to check Prey's stats. Temperature, pulse, resting heart rate, along with examining his various bandages and stitches while asking him how he was feeling.

He did so by speaking to Prey very slowly and asking him over and over, "Does this cut hurt? Does this? And this one?"

"It's fine, don't touch me." Prey muttered, jerking his leg away as the doctor reached for it yet again.

'I'm far better experienced to make a judgement about my own health, you quack.' Prey thought.

But at least the misguided stallion with his 'foal speak' served to delay the upcoming conversation with Gloom. The thestral was standing against the wall, waiting for the doctor to finish first, and wearing a very worrying look on his bruised and drawn face. He, like the rest of them, also had the bandages taped around his eyes.

Crimson stood next to Gloom watching the proceedings, patiently waiting for the doctor to leave so they could talk again.

"There there, it'll be okay," The stallion soothed Prey for the umpteenth time, "Alright, I won't touch, I'll just point. Can you please describe how the cut there feels? Aching, hot, itchy, or just sore?"

'-how did these Night Guards get so careless as to catch a foal up in their operation?-', The doctor thought as he examined Prey, '-notes said he doesn't have any parents either. Poor lamb, it's so sad whenever I have to treat an orphan-'

'Ah, so the doctors and nurses have only been told a part of the story.' Prey noted. That was good.

Half-fed the truth, and then left to make up the rest themselves while probably being told it was a; 'Confidential Night Guard matter', and; 'Highly restricted information relating to an ongoing investigation' Prey bet.

"Very good, you're doing very well. I just have one more question okay?"  The doctor said with a big fake smile. He waited for Prey to acknowledge him.

"Okay." 'Get on with it!'

"Have you noticed any problems with seeing?" The doctor asked.

It was an unpleasant splash of cold water, because the answer was yes, and unlike the rest of his injuries, his eyesight was not going to recover.

"A little." Prey said flatly. He caught the grimace that shot across Gloom's face as his ears fell.

"Oh..." The doctor hesitated, because he also knew there was nothing that could be done about that, "Well I'm sure it will go back to normal in time." He lied. He adjusted his spectacles.

'-must make a note for Prey's guardians to gently suggest glasses for him. Prey, that's got to be an alias name-', The doctor thought, levitating his clipboard up.

"Try and get some rest if you're tired. If you're hungry or thirsty, you can call the nurse with that little bell over there. There are also some games and children's books I can get you. Would you like that?"

"Maybe later." Prey answered neutrally.

He managed to get rid of the misguided doctor a few minutes later, with a little assistance from Crimson, who stonewalled the white coated unicorn by pointedly holding the door open until he finally left.

The door closed with a click, and suddenly it was just the three of them. The original three. Bandaged, hurt, injured, but still alive.

"So." Prey said.

"So." Crimson agreed.

Prey hoped he could at least get the answers to a number of pressing questions out of this. Along with some reassurance that Nighthawk wasn't going to use them as a scapegoat. Not something he would normally think the Night Guard Captain capable of, but after how he'd abandoned the ISND over the other side of the mountains, valid reasons or no, Prey wasn't putting much faith in the good Captain.

Gloom didn't speak, he glanced over Prey, then to Crimson. He grimaced again. Why was Gloom being so silent? The silence was getting uncomfortable. 

"What's wrong, s-Gloom?" Crimson asked.

Gloom sucked air over his teeth, went to speak, and then deflated.

Crimson prompted him; "You... said you wanted to say something to Prey. And to me too, I mean."

"Just say it." Prey said, bracing himself. He had his excuses and explanations all prepared. 

It wasn't just him either, Prey could see from the set of Crimson's wings that the pegasus was also bracing himself in apprehension for whatever Gloom was building up for.

Gloom's tail swished in agitation, but he was obviously putting a lot of effort into controlling his expression, because his face and ears stayed a rigid, stony mask. Even Prey couldn't pick out what exactly Gloom meant to say or ask. His thoughts were too much of a churning mess, made up of unasked questions, worries, fears, and inconsistencies about their disaster of a mission.

'-what really happened that night around the fire? Those traps, and Prey killed them. How many did Crimson kill too? This is all my fault, I should've done more. All those ponies are dead. Do they know that I could've done more? Why is Prey so racist? The deer, the Border Guards, why? Nothing makes sense. What do I say? What do I ask? What do I do?-'

The storm cloud of Gloom's thoughts was so turbulent that Prey actually had to school his face into blankness as he listened in. Although with all the bandages on his face, that wasn't hard to do. But he could hear how badly Gloom was cutting himself on his own sharp thoughts.

Prey could take the initiative and speak first, but...No. Better to just resign himself to getting shouted at and accused some more. He hoped it wouldn't go any further than that though. 'As long as he doesn't try to escalate this up to Luna's level, it'll be okay. You'd better not try that Gloom.' Prey thought warningly.

Gloom didn't deserve any of this, but none of them did either, so Prey certainly wasn't going to take the blame. Crimson neither, Prey would make sure of that. He owed Crimson so much.

The tension abruptly snapped.

Gloom wheeled on his hooves and jerked the door open, so he didn't have to face them as he spoke. Gloom's voice trembled.

"I'm sorry both of you. I should've done better. After, when all of this, the investigations and everything else is properly over and finished with, I'm going to hoof in my resignation. I'm sorry."

And with that, Gloom fled out the door before either of them could find their voices. The door swung shut on its own with a soft click. Prey was shocked. Crimson was also struck speechless.

That's what Gloom wanted to say? He was giving up? Just like that?

In retrospect, it shouldn't have been as jarring as it was. How many times had Prey overheard Gloom brooding on his failures and blaming himself for not being able to save the people of Mayflower and Alfalfa Dale? Prey knew well the crushing weight of guilt and how heavy it could be.

But even so, Prey wouldn't have guessed Gloom would actually quit. Gloom was a Night Guard, and more importantly, a thestral. Giving up under the pressure of your responsibilities was not something you did in thestral culture. It was an unspoken rule.

But Prey understood why Gloom had done it. People break. After everything which had happened in the forest, no one could blame Gloom. And those who did, they had no idea of what they were judging. 

Prey still felt like he'd just been betrayed. 

After all he'd done, after all they'd done, Gloom was abandoning them to let some unknown officer take over leadership of the ISND? 

Prey looked to Crimson. Crimson looked to Prey. How had this happened so suddenly? What were they supposed to do now?

The uncertain moment stretched and twisted as it grew painfully fragile.

"I...should go after him. Surely Gloom can't have really meant that." Crimson said, uncertainly taking a few steps towards the door.

That feeling of betrayal suddenly crystallized and turned into glass. Crimson was choosing Gloom over him. 

Then Prey immediately felt stupid. Why was he reacting like this? Crimson wasn't making a decision of life and death in favour of Gloom over him.

'I'm acting like a desperate little child.' Prey thought scornfully. He was being ridiculous.

But for some stupid reason, he still wanted Crimson to choose to stay here with him, his first friend, rather than going out after Gloom.

It was pure selfishness, Prey could admit that, but he was a selfish person.

And because Prey wasn't paying enough attention, and was still sluggish with whatever painkillers they had him on, he wasn't fast enough to stop Crimson seeing all his thoughts reflected on his face.

Prey flinched guiltily, and Crimson frowned his disapproval at being so selfish. Prey lowered his eyes, looking down at the sheets instead. He didn't have to say it, but it was a silent apology for letting selfishness get the better of him.

Crimson sighed, and his wings slumped. He made as if to rub his bandaged face, but wisely thought better of it.

Glancing furtively up, and saw understanding in Crimson's eyes, and, by the tilt of the pegasus's ears, a similar selfish desire of Crimson's own to stay here rather than make the harder but right choice to go after Gloom.

Their positions were reversed when Crimson realised Prey had just seen the same look on his own face, and it was Crimson's turn to flinch in guilt.

Now they were both left feeling guilty, tired, worn, and perversely amused by the whole situation they found themselves in, while conveying all this with mere looks alone.

Part of Prey idly noted that Crimson really was becoming more expressive and less of a blank faced wall. Or perhaps it was just he'd become better at reading Crimson's slight tells? He felt proud if that was the case.

Prey gave a sigh of his own in resignation and lay back down on the pillow. He nodded at the door. The motion said, without actually admitting he was still feeling selfish; 'Go on then, I won't hold it against you.'

Crimson gave a quick nod and pulled the door open, but paused to give Prey a different kind of nod that said, 'Don't worry, I'm not going back on my word. I'll come back later.'

An entire conversation had been held without the need for words.

Crimson's black tail disappeared and the hospital room door clicked quietly shut for the second time.

Prey wished Crimson had stayed. Without distractions, his various hurts wasted no time in clamouring to regain his attention. He shifted and tried to find the least painful position to lie in.

'Once again, I get left with nothing but more questions to stew over, all with uncertain and dangerous answers.'

What was Nighthawk going to do about Gloom's sudden decision? Who would he appoint in the First Sargent's stead? Would Nighthawk even accept Gloom's resignation in the first place? Far more importantly, would Luna?

Also, would Lilly Blossom regain consciousness, and if she did, would Prey have to deal with her coming after him seeking revenge? And above even that, what was going to happen to him? Was he going to be blamed? Placed on trial, accused, imprisoned in Dreverton again?

And those questions were just the start. 

What about Lemon Pink, the veropedes, Alfalfa Dale and Mayflower? The scattered and surviving kindersnatches, if any? The revealed existence of mimic's and if there might be any more hiding around? The List and Prey's other projects. What had really been in the Wolfing Wood, and how to never ever have to talk about it again? What he'd half-dreamt, half-remembered that night, had it been real? His own struggles with self hate for the people he'd killed. How similar it made him to the recently deceased Hard Baked, and where that now left him?

The same old questions as before, round and round they went in Prey's head as he lay in bed.

Great. Just what he needed. More cracks in his mind from an existential identity crisis. 

'I really do need to get those under control. Once a month is more than enough.' Prey thought humorlessly. 

'Mirror mirror off the wall, am I the one who'll kill us all?'


---


It was just meant to be a rhetorical thought. It didn't mean anything really. But unfortunately, to Snake it did. And just like that, the remnant of the voodoo witch was suddenly there in Prey's thoughts.

'You are weak. Nature abhors weakness. The Deeper Green eats the weak. It will eat you too.' The cold, unfeeling whisper slithered through Prey's mind.

Immediate anger was Prey's response. He clamped down, reaching out to ensnare and strangle Snake's hated remnant back into nothingness, 'I may be weak but I'm the one who's still alive. You're dead, you're nothing. This is my mind, I'm the one in control.'

Snake's remnant didn't resist as he grabbed it, but it kept hissing away in disdain, words freezing squirming  worms; 'Look at the warlock's work. Inefficient. Brittle. I could do so much better. So many wasted resources. Scarecrow was so inefficient. You know how to improve and do better.'

'Shut up and stay dead where you belong. I don't need your poisonous ideas.' Prey hissed back, hooking in all of the trailing wisps of Snake he could find so as to crush them all at once.

'There is no good or evil. Nature only cares for strength. You know the law, the strong take, and the weak suffer. If you are stronger, then it is not wrong to do so. The Deeper Green does not know good or evil. It is merely the cycle of nature. Scarecrow, reaper king, kindersnatch. These are merely tools. Tools are made to be used. Like your enslaved unicorn servant.'

Prey crushed the cold remnant of Snake with all the mental force he could gather, 'You're not real, you're nothing. A bad memory. I don't need you. I've never needed you. Be gone.'

Snake went without another sound, crushed like an egg shell at the bottom of a black lake.

The zebra's remnant wasn't conscious, it was only made up of memories. Snake hadn't actually been there talking in his head about the reaper king and scarecrow, because Snake was long dead. But the twisted collection of memories that remained were enough, when mixed with Prey's own, reacted how Prey knew Snake would've done. Prey wished he could stop Snake, stop himself, but the remnant always came back no matter what he did.

And the sad truth was, Prey knew inside that Snake's words were true. He'd seen himself reflected back at him when he had looked at Hard Baked, the defeated Earth pony lying there in the pine mould. Except Prey knew he could be worse. Had been worse. Having seen the reaper king and kindersnatches, Prey knew that with a bit of experimentation, he could replicate them. Improve them.

All that would be needed was more innocent lives to sacrifice. Like the Diamond Dogs. Like the villagers in the pit. More mothers, fathers, sons and daughters cruelly murdered all for his own gain. If he were willing to pay that cost, it could be done. Everything has a price. And so too in a sense, everything can be bought.

With runes, time, secrecy, and the stolen flesh of murdered innocents, Prey could buy another reaper king. He had two veropedes, but he could have two veropedes and a reaper king. He knew he could do it. He'd seen how.

'But I'm not Snake. I'm not Hard Baked. I am Prey. With enough time, I could be so much worse than either of them ever were. But so what? I'm not them. I'm Prey. They're all dead, and I'm the only one still alive. Last runt standing. I win.'


---I---


[[[Bonus Picture - Veropede concept]]]