//------------------------------//
// 10 - Hollow Breath 
// Story: The Hollow Pony 
// by Type_Writer 
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“The entirety of your supplies have been depleted? I was so sure that your own stores would still be replete...” Zecora was slumped onto a well-worn wooden table, heavily stained with the evidence of a long history of alchemy. A mortar and pestle, similarly worn, had been pushed aside so she could rest her head comfortingly. She was not completely hollowed out, but she did not look good, and her rhymes were the most inconsistent that they had ever been, in the entire time that I had known her.

“Maybe not all gone, but I’ve dipped far deeper into my emergency reserves than I ever thought I’d be comfortable wit’.” Mage Meadowbrook was rummaging through a storeroom in the back of her cottage, taking a detailed inventory just to make sure. Her cottage, as a whole, seemed much better organized than Zecora’s had been. The books on her bookshelves were properly sorted, her bottles divided between empty and full and then sorted by volume, and all of her ingredients were stored in a pantry in the back to keep them safe and dry. I couldn’t tell if Mage Meadowbrook was simply more orderly than Zecora, or whether it had to do with how much less Hollowed she seemed to be, by comparison.

There was another stool available, and I could’ve joined Zecora at the table as her apprentice, but I wanted to keep looking around. In addition to being orderly, Mage Meadowbrook’s home seemed so much more lively than Zecora’s was; there were still accommodations for patients off to the side of the front door, and empty shelves meant to store potions for sale. This felt so much more like an actual home, as opposed to Zecora’s improvised lab in the abandoned distillery. This was cozy, but functional, and even though we no longer required rest nor food, I felt comfortable here.

“Actually, it be really annoyin’,” continued Meadowbrook, as she walked back out of her pantry, and took the stool instead to sit across from Zecora. “I was makin’ great progress! You wouldn't believe how much meditation and research on souls I’ve been doin’, and the incredible Pyromancies I’ve performed. Look at this!”

She leaned back and held up one of her forelegs, and used a forehoof to spread her fur, revealing the flesh of her hind. As I leaned in, and Zecora slowly turned her eyes to inspect it, Meadowbrook explained. “A while back, I actually amputated this leg, wit’ a little help from Cattail. I tried everything I could think of before re-attaching it! I dissected it and examined the dead blood vessels, I extracted the bone marrow, and then I put it back together using my Pyromancy. We actually have some new and’ unusual magical properties, due to our changed natures!”

I have to admit, at this point Meadowbrook's voice was turning into white noise in my head. She was very sweet, and certainly knowledgeable, but between the detailed scientific terminology, the eager swiftness with which she spoke, and the accent that was as thick as the swamp mud outside, it was all blurring together. I was already in over my head, now I was starting to drown. I had to divert my focus elsewhere, anywhere, just to keep focused.

Zecora was surely used to it, though, and she had sat upright again to stare, agape, at Mage Meadowbrook. “Your first thoughts on where to gain more material, and you choose your own flesh…I do not like that such is a disturbing prospect, but we know it can be replenished…”

Meadowbrook waved her hoof dismissively. “I had to research our changed bodies somehow! And I couldn’t ask anypony else to endure being picked apart for that research. For all I know, the damage I was doin’ could have been to the soul itself, perhaps by proxy.”

“I can only hope you have not done so, for I would miss you dearly if you went Hollow...” Zecora whimpered.

“Thankfully no, and this was back when I could still make painkillers strong enough’ that losing a limb weren’ much more than an inconvenience. Gettin’ around’ on three hooves was a bit difficult, but I managed for the duration. And look!” Meadowbrook spread the fur again. “Not even a scar! Cattail continues to impress me wit’ his mastery of Pyromancy; it only took him an hour of channeling to re-attach my leg!”

That caught my attention. Nopony else had mentioned the passage of time with such certainty. I stumbled, and my hooves caught on the corner of a rug. My stumbling got her attention, and I asked dumbly, “You...h-how do y-you know how l-long…”

I trailed off as I tried to suck in another breath, but Meadowbrook nodded, and motioned towards a wind-up clock on the shelf. “I may not know when days begin or end, or have any idea where we are currently in the cycle, but time still continues onward when measured. If I wind a clock and twenty-four hours pass, then that's just as good as knowing a day has gone by. When I remember to wind the clock, speakin’ of...” She grumbled, and stood up from the table to do exactly that.

Zecora shook her head. “I apologize for my apprentice, for clock-watching is now a foreign concept in Ponyville. We lost our resident timekeeper very early on, and we have not recovered still.”

“It happens,” Meadowbrook said dismissively. “Even here in Baton Verte. I’m pretty much the only pony who still actually winds their clock. Speaking of Ponyville, what about the Everfree? What resources can be found there?”

Zecora took a deep breath, and released it. “What herbs may grow are warped and twisted, and I cannot make a brew with them before I find their effects have shifted. Were I able to stop time, or counteract the Chaos magic in some way...I could perhaps use them productively, but without those skills, I cannot say. The few brews I attempted to mix have been random or explosive, and I decided to stop entirely when one turned out to be dangerously corrosive.”

She tapped her forehoof on the table. “The corpses of the demons themselves might have some use, but there is simply no consistency in what the Everchaos can produce. It seems like every demon I see is unique, with no repeats that I can count, and that makes it very hard to acquire any ingredient in an extreme amount.”

“What about resources that are neither plant nor animal? Surely there must be mines and quarries still that have powders and minerals we can use as a replacement.” Meadowbrook returned to her seat, and I began to tune out the conversation once more. Instead, my curiosity led me to investigate a set of tools hung near the door.

“That is viable, but for the question of supply,” Zecora admitted. “Equestria is now fraught with dangers far and wide. While there is a recurring caravan that resupplies the town, I cannot ask them to add such a load to their own. What would be best would be some sort of resource that replenished naturally through a spell; much like how an aquifer naturally replenishes a well-”

I reached out to touch a tool that looked like a hoe, or perhaps a pick, with the head of an axe on the opposite side of the head. But it was hung carelessly, and my gentle touch knocked it free from its peg. It was the first of several tools to clatter loudly to the floor, and we all jumped as the rusted iron thumped against the ancient floorboards.

“Apprentice!” barked Zecora, chiding me. Then she sighed, turning her head back down to the table. “I apologize again for my student; she still has a penchant for touching things she wishes to inspect. We’ll need to work on training that out of her, it’s a bad habit that I hope to correct.”

Meadowbrook nodded. “It’s alright. Still, perhaps it would be better if she be amusin’ herself outside? After all, our research is still a little bit over her head, at least for now.”

I nodded, and hesitated before the fallen tools. Should I pick them up, or…? I decided against it after an awkward few moments, and simply stumbled to the door. Meadowbrook began talking about the bone marrow of her severed leg again as I exited her cottage, and I already seemed forgotten as the door shut behind me.

The sharpness of Zecora’s voice had been a shock. She had never raised her voice so quickly before, even with how I blundered around the distillery. But then, she had never looked so unwound before. Coming here and being denied our goal must have hurt her more deeply than I realized. How close was Zecora to completely Hollowing out?

Our little caravan had chosen to simply unload our bags right outside of Meadowbrook’s front door, monopolizing the clearing for our own use. If she had any complaints, she didn’t voice them, and she simply seemed happy to see us. Especially Magnus and Zecora; the three of them had clearly been friends for a long time, and in some ways, I was glad to be out of their way. Being privy to their conversation felt almost like intruding on their privacy, even if I was invited to join the conversation. But I couldn’t shake the feeling of being an outsider.

For now, Magnus seemed busy with organizing the supplies and taking stock of what we had, or rather, what had survived the journey. Some of it had been carried by the two militia ponies we lost in the trenches, and Autumn Leaf and Junebug’s loads had been redistributed when they had been “killed.” Knowing what we had, and where it was, seemed incredibly important, and I quietly offered to help, in any way that I could.

Magnus waved me off, however. “Appreciate the offer, but I need something to do while the others check the perimeter. I saw Dinky head up the hill behind Meadowbrook’s, why don’t you go join her until I need you two?”

I nodded, and followed where he pointed. Meadowbrook’s home was backed up against a steep hill, but a trail around the side of her house cut a more gradual path upwards. I stumbled up the stones, smoothed by time, that had been set into the soft peat.

Meadowbrook’s home was on much more solid land than the rest of the town, mostly due to how the hill it was built upon was already nearly thirty leg-lengths above the waterline. The hill behind ascended another thirty, maybe forty, before leveling off. As I ascended the stone path, the trees of the bayou became thick, and I was level with the canopy for a few body-lengths. Then I clambered up a few more steps, and met the sunlight at the top of the hill with wide eyes.

Up here, the setting sun to the east was unimpeded by the thick leaves and branches of the swamp, and sunlight glittered and gleamed across the browning canopy. My coat warmed as the light of the sun saturated it like honey, and I had to pause at the top of the stairs, and simply allow myself to bask in it. Some part of that sunlight just felt right, like it was meant for me. As though Celestia herself had blanketed me under her wing, comforting me after all that I’d seen and done to get here. This was the closest I had ever physically gotten to that distant sunset, and a part of me hungered to fly, to take off and glide ever towards the horizon.

I lost myself for a long while, and drank deep of the sunlight, my eyes closed. My wings twitched, but the muscles had long since atrophied, and the tendons gone limp. It was almost like Hollowing, from my brief brushes against that inevitable madness, but this was different. Nothing was being lost or drained here, but instead, it felt as though my soul were being filled with new light, and new life. I opened my soul, and felt my fire, deep within my belly. It burned ever brighter, absorbing the sunlight as fuel that was never expended.

Eventually, my eyes gently flickered open, and I allowed my gaze to fall from the distant red-orange horizon. Instead, I took in the hill around me. It was not dissimilar to a mesa, with steep hillsides on all sides, topped by grass. No trees grew up here, nor anything more substantial than bushes. I suspected the soil went down a leg-length at most, not nearly deep enough for the bayou saplings to take root, when they were still growing and living. The flat top of the hill was maybe thirty body-lengths long, and at the other end, facing the horizon, I saw Dinky’s pale purple fur.

As I approached her, I took note of how relaxed she seemed. She was lying on her side in the dead grass, but with her head bowed. I almost thought she was asleep, but her ears twitched as I approached, and she turned to face me a few seconds later. A smile cracked her muzzle as she recognized me. “Holly. Gave me a start, I thought one of the Hollows in town was trying to creep up on me.”

“S-sorry…” I groaned, but she flicked her head.

“It’s fine, heh! I’m just glad it’s you. Come on, you can sit up here with me. Plenty of hilltop, and I’m happy to share.”

I staggered closer, and lay down next to Dinky. Was Dinky my friend? We’d fought together a few times now, both in Ponyville and on the way here. It was kind of a tossup whether I knew her or Zecora better. The two of them were the only ponies that I really had interacted with on more than a couple occasions.

My eyes lingered on how her ears twitched, listening to the winds, and she drew in long breaths. Old instincts, from when Ponies had been herd animals in the wilds, watching for predators. Even now, with our bodies wracked with curses and death little more than an inconvenience, we watched the skies and listened to the world around us for danger. No wonder she’d heard me coming.

“Are…” I trailed off, but Dinky turned to look at me, and I decided to voice my question. “Are we f-friends?”

Dinky smiled. “I don’t see why not. We know each other, and we’re out here together anyways. I don’t have many friends, especially not around my physical age; I’ve been pretty focused on my studies since Twilight left, and all my foalhood friends, well…” She sighed. “You’ve met Snips and Snails, and Diamond, and...Apple Bloom.” She paused and grimaced before going on. “Wish you could’ve met Silver…or maybe I just wish Silver was still here.”

She shook her head. “Besides, you’re quiet, but you’re really easy to get along with. Kind of just happy to be here, and learning everything you can, just like me. Maybe a little clumsy, but so are most Hollows, and that just reminds me of…” DInky trailed off, suddenly looking morose.

I’d reminded her of somepony, and I shrunk downwards a little bit as I regretted bringing it up. She looked like she was trying to keep from crying, and I felt awful. Gently, I reached out a hoof. Dinky jerked away as I touched her shoulder, and she blinked as she looked at me.

“Uh. Sorry, just...sorry. Caught me…caught me off guard. You don’t breathe, so if you’re not walking it’s hard to tell…sorry. Rude of me.”

“S-sorry t-too. Didn’t m-mean…mean to b-bring up b-bad mem…memories-”

“Not bad,” Dinky shook her head. “Too good. She’s g-gone now, so…doesn’t matter.” Dinky shifted her legs and how she laid on the ground, gathering them under herself and pushing her way a little closer to me. “Instead, let’s talk about…I dunno. Is it okay if I ask…”

She looked hesitant, as she chewed her lip. “Is it okay if I ask…why you don’t breathe? I don’t think it’s a conscious thing, but it’s…it’s kinda freaky up close, and it clearly gives you a lot of trouble when you’re trying to talk.”

I shrugged, lowering my head to the ground. The dead grass crunched as I laid flat against it. “Don’t…r-remember. Think I f-forgot...how to b-breathe. Can k-kind of…t-take d-deep breaths, if I f-focus. But only one…one at a t-time.”

Dinky tilted her head, and her eyes showed only pity. “That’s…that sucks, I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sorry I asked. I wonder if that has any side effects…you always seem super tired, and maybe that’s why you have coordination issues…”

I shrugged again. Maybe she was right, but it didn’t seem like not being able to breathe would kill me; only inconvenience me, or slow me down. It sucked, she was right, but what could I do about it?

Which was why her next question caught me off guard. “Do you…do you want me to try and teach you how to breathe? Like a living pony? I don’t know if it’ll help, or if it’s kind of insulting, but…I can’t really teach you any kind of sorcery, and it really clearly bugs you, so…”

My head rose from the ground, and I slowly nodded. “If…if y-you think you c-can teach…then I w-want to l-learn.”

Dinky’s face lit up, and she smiled. “Great! Okay, um. Uh. Here, let’s sit up, it’ll be harder to learn if we’re lying down.”

We shifted around a little bit more, until we sat side-by-side on our rumps. We were still facing the sunset, but we were more focused on each other. I found myself fascinated by how much of Dinky was moving and living; her eyes, actual eyes, and not the embers of the Eyeless Hollows, gently flicked across me. Her ears were still twitching atop her head, listening for the cries of predators or distant whinnies of distress. Her nostrils flared gently every time she exhaled, and her chest rose and fell as she filled her lungs, and emptied them once more. It all seemed dauntingly complicated, and that thought confused me. How dead was I, really? To have to relearn such subconscious basics?

“Okay,” Dinky said, placing her hoof gently against my breast. “Breathe. Just…inhale, as deeply as you can. Completely fill your lungs, and hold it there for a few seconds, then exhale, push as much out as you can in one go. Just so I can see, get a baseline.”

I nodded, and parted my lips. Old muscles inside my throat opened up, and I felt my dead lungs flex inside my chest. They seemed brittle, somehow, and they ached and cramped as I ordered them to move and live once more. Air was sucked into my mouth, through my rotted nostrils, and past my desiccated tongue.

I tasted the air all around us. While I had smelled the bayou before, it was distant, like an echo of a swamp as opposed to actually smelling it. Even now, as I really, truly tasted the scent, it was strange, almost artificial. I smelled water, and decay, and the bitter scent of broken plant stems. The pale lifeblood of the bayou trees. There was the scent of wood, mouldering or burnt, and a fleeting sweetness, like a whiff of honey. Maybe there was an abandoned beehive somewhere in the trees nearby? Clay and peat had scents all their own, earthy and filling, in a weird way; they smelled solid, like how they were the dirt under our hooves, and I knew the mud around here was no stranger to rain or flood. Even further, in the distance, I could taste faint hints of salt from an inland breeze that blew in from east to west. It brought the ocean air in with it, and the scent of the sea.

Then the muscles of my lungs seized up. It was as though they had caught on something, and my breath hitched in my throat. My slow inhale became a strangled gag, then a hacking cough. Warm, wet mass filled my chest, and as I doubled over coughing, I felt it shift, rattling around inside me.

As I pitched forward, Dinky pitched with me, holding my shoulder and smacking my back, under my wings, with her hoof. I tried to pull in more air, to knock loose whatever debris was within my airway, but I couldn't. My lungs were frozen, unable to bring air in or out, and I gasped like a fish drowning on air. If my eyes could have, they would have been bulging as I suffocated.

Dinky’s horn lit, and a great force replaced her hoof in the service of slapping me on the back. A wall of force slammed into the space under my shoulder blades, and I gagged again. But that seemed to have loosened the atrophied muscles of my lungs, and my breath hitched as I inhaled once again.

Whatever was clogging my lungs was still inside, and it shifted again as I tried to exhale. I coughed, and it leapt upwards. Dinky was saying something, but it was lost as I focused on that sensation, and tried to locate it precisely. All I could do was keep coughing, still doubled over as I was. Liquid dribbled over my skinless lips, and flecks of ichor speckled the dead grass.

Dinky’s hown glowed again, and the mass within my chest shifted once more. One particularly hard cough forced it upwards, but then it seemed to break apart. Most of the mass retreated back into my chest, but some thick portion kept moving upwards. My throat turned sore and cracked, as though I was dehydrated, and the mass scraped as it was forced up my throat. Then I was really choking, with the mass caught in my neck, and I was completely unable to suck air past it to use in the service of pushing it any further up.

Dinky’s hoof smacked against my back one last time, and the back of my throat filled with blood and pain as something leapt upwards. I nearly swallowed it by accident, but I retched, and fluid flowed unbidden over my lips. The mass broke up as it splashed over my tongue, and a black gobbet of crusted nastiness splattered past my lips into the dead grass. I keeled forward completely, and Dinky let me collapse onto my face, but she held me tightly all the way down.

I tasted mud, and blood. Silt, and ichor. The remnants left over in my lungs from when I had lain in a muddy stream, mixed with the blood that had filled my lungs from all of my other chest injuries since. My body was a mess, a horrific ruined mass of strained muscles and debris and blood, and I felt disgusted at how much damage such a small lump of ejecta had done on the way up. My throat still ached, and felt as though it was raw and bleeding. Judging from the cold wetness that was still dribbling down my lips and seeping from my withered snout, my throat and sinuses had been wracked with the effort.

Gently, Dinky patted my back. “We should get all of that out. We’ll take it slow, but you won’t be able to breathe so long as all of that crud is still in there. Let me know when you’re ready to try again.”

Did I have the strength to try again? To really, truly, knock all of that free? On my own, no, never. But with Dinky holding me tightly, I think…I think I could try. She wanted to help me so badly, even as broken and ruined as I was. At that moment, I knew for sure.

Dinky was my friend. And that made the warmth in my belly flare, just like the touch of the sunlight had.


*	*	*


By the time my lungs were clear, there was a slimy black pool of ejecta soaking into the dead grass before my muzzle. Some lumps were larger than others, but it all had an oily, gritty texture. Still, in the sunlight, it seemed to shiver and shrink away, leaving only the dark mud, soaked with blood so deep a red that it was black.

Dinky never left my side. Even as I hacked and coughed, she stayed with me, using her magic to push and squeeze my lungs, or knock all of the waste out of the walls. She tried to grip and pull the waste and mud herself, but as she explained, it was nearly impossible for her to grab something she couldn’t see, and she couldn’t tell my body from the clumps. Differentiation and separation were some of the hardest, most impossible sorcery for unicorns to do, especially when something was contained within something else, and she was afraid of hurting me. But I still appreciated every bit of help she could give.

“Okay. Again?” I nodded, and shuddered as I began to pull in air one more time. This always hurt, and it had hurt every time I had done it previously. My lungs, my throat, what was left of my sinuses; all were damaged. Maybe permanently, from all of our efforts today. It was possible that we had done more harm than good. I braced myself for the pain, as I filled my lungs with the cloying bayou air.

But the pain never came. My lungs filled, heavy within my breast, and I choked in surprise. Dinky braced, but it was only a single errant spasm. I held the breath for a few seconds, and relished in the sensation of my lungs being clear and unobstructed. Then I compressed my chest, and gently blew the air back out across my lips. My cold breath rustled the grass before my lips, like it was any other breeze.

Gently, Dinky helped me lean back, and a rag from her saddlebags wiped at my lips and nose, smearing the ichor. But no fresh blood replaced it, for the bleeding had stopped. I turned to my friend, and she smiled at me. “Just like that. Can you do it again?”

I nodded, and felt myself smile in return. Laboriously, I pulled in air, held it, and exhaled. Even now, it took more concentration than I thought it would. Every action had to be manual, and conscious; if I weren’t making an effort to breathe, or give off the illusion of breathing, then no subconscious process replaced it. But if I sat and focused on my lungs, and the muscles within my breast, then I could find a shuddering rhythm.

Warmth embraced me as Dinky wrapped her hooves around me in a hug. I felt her fire, and her fur, and the natural warmth of her un-Hollowed body, and my rhythm was for but a moment. When I found it again, I felt Dinky giggle against me, as she felt me breathing.

After a few moments, she pulled away, and tapped her hooves on the dead grass happily. “See, Holly! Progress!”

“Th-thank you,” I rasped. I still needed to take deeper breaths sometimes. I could feel that I’d still need to pause mid-sentence, when what I wanted to say took more breath than I had. I still had a lot to re-learn about my body. But Dinky was right; this was progress. I felt like I had improved, for once. Cheated the curse, even just a little bit.

“Nah, thank you, Holly. For letting me help.” She closed her eyes and shivered happily, smiling in the sunlight. After a moment, she opened her eyes once more. “Do you want to keep practicing? We can work on it more if you want. It’s not gonna be easy to pick up on the habit, and keep it going.”

I was tired, but not tired, in the strangest way. Like I needed to rest, but we were unable to sleep. The coughing had taken a toll on my body, but I was already feeling better. Gently, I tilted my head. “A b-break would b-be n-nice...sh-should we ch-check in w-with M-Magnus?”

Dinky sucked at her teeth. “It has been a while since I came up here, huh…yeah, probably a good idea. We’ll pick this up when we get another break, okay?”

I nodded, and we shakily stood. Turning my back on the sun to head back down the hill, descending under the canopy of the trees, felt subtly wrong, but I think that I had just gotten used to feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin. A large part of me wanted to stay up here still, and bask in it forever, but we had other things to do, and we were still heading back to Ponyville eventually. We were a little bit more careful coming down the steps; hooves were awkward about going downhill, even with the path, and neither of us wanted to dampen our spirits by slipping and cracking our skulls after all the effort we’d taken to feel better.

Magnus was talking to one of the remaining Golden Guards, and we entered earshot just as the argument seemed to reach the end. I recognized her voice from the journey here, and her name had been…I couldn’t quite remember. “...undignified! I was already against dragging him along in a sack of all things, but we can’t just keep him in there like cargo, left in a cart!”

“Grapeshot,” Magnus growled, his eyes flicking towards us as he beckoned us over. “We can’t just seize a building as an infirmary. We’re already seeing some hostility from the locals, we don’t need to make it worse. I’ll work out something with them, but I’m not bringing you along with me for negotiations.”

“So we’re leaving him here? Why not let him out of the sack at least, or bring him inside with the Alchemists-”

Magnus whickered angrily. “Are you a Golden Guard or not, Grapeshot? Because you’re not acting like one. Don’t make me pull rank on you officially, because you know I hate doing that.” They stared each other down for a few moments, before Magnus added, through clenched teeth, “Autumn is incapacitated anway. He’s insensate until he wakes up, so until then, how he’s kept or transported literally doesn’t matter, regardless of rank.”

The dark purple mare snarled, but eventually backed down. She turned away stomping her hooves in frustration, and Magnus turned to us. “Dinky, Holly, just who I wanted to see. You two are next up for patrol, I want everypony to learn the immediate lay of the land and mark trees that would make good firewood or building materials. Grapeshot will be coming with you, I don’t feel comfortable sending untrained civilians out by themselves.”

“Sure, that’s the reason!” shouted Grapeshot from across the clearing. Her horn was aglow as she picked up her armor and weapon from the ground, and began the brief process of equipping herself with both.

Magnus sighed tiredly, and passed us a small quiver filled with metal rods tipped with bright orange cloth. “Stick these into the ground near any trees that look thick enough to make firewood, but aren’t rotten or waterlogged. We’ll do another sweep later when we need them, and use the stakes as a guide. Any questions?”

We shook our heads, and Grapeshot joined us a moment later. Nearby, we heard the clopping of hooves on the wooden planks of Baton Verte’s bridges, followed by Snips and Snails turning the corner and entering the clearing. Magnus nodded, then waved us off, while he went to approach the militia ponies. We heard him talking to them, but his voice faded out as we cantered onto the bridges ourselves. “Snips, Snails, you’re both coming with me. We’re going to go door-to-door to ask about buildings we can use while we’re here. Snails, take the lead and do the sweet talking. I’ll be the authority backing you up, while Snips…Eh, just look mean while you’re standing next to me. We should be able to get a space for our needs soon enough...”

Baton Verte’s bridges were unsettlingly rickety, and even the guardrails were no comfort. They looked splintered from age, weather, and wear, and rusted nails stuck out all over from pieces that had fallen away, or simply been poorly constructed to begin with. I felt the planks under my hooves creak and flex as we walked over them, but none of them broke, for now. Conversation was light as we passed through the stilt village; I got the sense that eyes were watching us hungrily from the darkened windows, and it was distressingly quiet. We were undeniably invaders, intruding upon the quiet life out here on the sunny outskirts.

Dinky was the first to speak when we had passed through the town, and our hooves squished into the moist terrain of the bayou on the other side. “So, Grapeshot, how about you take the lead? I can mark trees as we go.”

“That’s fine,” muttered the mare. In her magic, a break-action shotgun snapped shut, almost identical to Applejack’s back in Ponyville. I remembered seeing it during our battle on the road, but now I had a chance to inspect it up close. Grapeshot’s weapon seemed customised, as the barrels were significantly shorter, for one thing. While most firearms seemed to be designed for Gryphons or Minotaurs to hold and operate, the stock and grip of this shotgun had been cut down to a nub. The modifications made sense, I supposed. If she was used to fighting in the trenches, then she didn’t need a long barrel, and as a unicorn, the gun was already held without need for the stock. Maybe she’d even simply done it for weight, so it would be less of a load to carry around.

She took the lead, following what seemed to be an old hoofpath that avoided the deep water. While the bayou was nearly entirely at the waterline, both terrain and water alike, there were small bluffs and crests that broke up the still water, and we mostly followed those around. We splashed across the shallowest of the water when need be, but it seemed this trail had been blazed by many a dry traveler.

“I wonder where this goes…” Dinky muttered, glancing at the trees around us.

“Probably an old fishing path,” Grapeshot said with a shrug. “I’ll bet it ends at a nice deep river that filters out into the sea. Or maybe back to the main road.”

To our surprise, it was neither. A rickety wooden shack lurked ahead of us, through the fog and trees. We approached it slowly, watching for movement in case somepony had chosen this corner of nowhere to Hollow out, but it seemed abandoned. Dinky used her magic to push the door open, while Grapeshot kept her shotgun pointed at the darkness inside, and I watched the bayou around us.

“Seems like a moonshiner’s shack, maybe. Ugh.” Dinky wrinkled her nose as she peered inside, her horn lit to provide light. “I think the sealed distillery might have kept the fermentation process safe, at least until the metal corroded through. This smells…more recently rotten, if that makes any sense. But only by a few decades, at most.”

Grapeshot nodded. “Anything useful, at least?”

Dinky stepped inside, and looked around at the shelves. “Lotta glass bottles filled with fluid. We might be able to make some firebombs using these, at least, depending on if…whatever’s inside is still flammable.” She picked one at random and uncorked it, then retched. “Ugh! Yeah, okay, yeah. This’ll burn. Wouldn’t want to get soaked in it either way, though.”

She grabbed a bunch of the bottles and waved me over. Grapeshot took my place, and watched the foggy bayou around us, as Dinky held up one of the bottles. “Anyone ever told you about firebombs, Holly?”

I shook my head, and Dinky shrugged. “Pretty simple concept, just get some flammable liquid in a breakable container. Sometimes it’s glass, sometimes it’s ceramic, though that always seemed like a lot of work to me. Anyway, you get that and a wick, or a rag or something. Light the wick on fire using your Pyromancy or Sorcery, chuck the firebomb at something you want burned.”

I gave her a look, and Dinky flinched. “Not ponies! Never ponies, if you can avoid it. Burning’s always been awful, and it’s even more now that it doesn’t kill you outright. I mean like wooden debris, or a big bonfire, or something. It makes for a good distraction.” She hesitated. “I guess…if you really have to use these in combat, they’re good against things in heavy armor. They can’t dodge as fast, and the oil gets in through the cracks.”

She shook her head a moment later. “But avoid that at all costs. Awful thing to consider. Ugh. Might work on demons, though.” I nodded slowly, and she passed me a couple of the bottles, with rags freshly wrapped around the necks. I set them down in my saddlebags, and heard them clink together loosely inside. It was slightly unsettling, and I wondered how fragile the glass still was, after all of this time.

She passed a few over to Grapeshot as well, and we left the moonshiner’s shack behind us as we continued onward. Dinky seemed to be leaving the flags at regular intervals, and not necessarily at good-looking trees. When I asked her why, she pointed back the way we came. “I’ve read it’s easy to get lost in swamps. This way, we can follow the flags back through, and we know they’re set into safe terrain.”

I nodded; that made sense. Hopefully it didn’t confuse Magnus later, though.

After some more relatively aimless wandering, we found ourselves at the bank of a larger river that flowed through the bayou. Dinky chuckled. “Found your fishing spot, Grapeshot. Wanna toss out a line?”

Grapeshot chuckled, walking up to the bank. “Naaah, looks like slim pickings today. Maybe tomorrow morning the fish will be a little more active.” She turned to leave, but we all jumped at an explosion of movement behind her in the water.

The river splashed across us all, as what we had thought to be a log leapt out of the water and onto the bank. A massive alligator, maybe five body-lengths long from snout to tail tip, had emerged from the river and clamped its jaws around Grapeshot’s midsection. She screamed as it yanked her to the ground, and tried to pull her back into the water. Her shotgun fell out of sight into the bushes as she panicked, while DInky and I leapt forward to do something, anything, to help.

I was again horrifically reminded of the Mimic, not so long ago. I wondered if Dinky was too; judging from how brightly her horn was burning with sorcery, she would not let this world consume another pony while we stood by, helpless.

Golden sorcery slammed into the hard scales of the beast, as I drew my cavalry sword and began stabbing wildly at the creature’s eye. As I did, I began to notice how dark and tough the scales were. Chaosfire burned in the alligator’s eyes, and under its flesh whenever we struck a blow that peeled the scales away. This was no mundane alligator, but one twisted by Chaosfire, surely poisoned and warped from the runoff from upstream.

Grapeshot screamed again as the alligator demon pulled her into the water, and it was cut off as she went under. The water foamed white and red as I leapt in, and Dinky’s magic slammed into the river’s surface, causing dull thumps to echo through the riverbed as she fired wildly. I was able to keep atop the beast, and from what I could tell, Grapeshot’s golden armor was protecting her from being crushed so far.

Then the beast rolled over, and Grapeshot and I traded positions. Water and mud enveloped me as the alligator crushed me under its back, but that exposed its unarmored belly to Dinky, who capitalized on the exposed weakness. I felt the monster stiffen and shake, before the combined weight of itself and Grapeshot came to rest atop me.

It was surreal, in a way. While it certainly hurt, and I was stuck, I was no longer actually in danger with the beast slain. Even after we’d done all that work earlier, I still didn’t actually need to breathe. An odd peace settled over me, as I was pressed into the riverbed. The disturbed mud from our fight filtered downwards, and the water had cleared somewhat by the time I felt the weight of the dead Alligator Demon lift off of me.

Dinky’s magic embraced me once more, and I was roughly hauled out of the river as water trailed off of my limp limbs. “Holly?” she asked, with terror sharp in her voice.

I tried to respond, but muddy river water gushed out of my mouth instead. Dinky set me down on my unsteady legs, and I took a few moments to cough up the contents of my lungs one last time. Dinky seemed satisfied, but she kept glancing back at me as I hacked and coughed.

She busied herself with checking over Grapeshot. The Golden Guard seemed to be our latest fatality, with a clearly-broken neck that was twisted at a strange angle. Dinky awkwardly closed her mouth and eyes, and checked that her armor was still on securely. “I…think she’ll be fine? We acted pretty quick, so it might not have had time to drain her…”

Dinky swallowed, then stamped her hoof into the muck. “Goddesses-damned ambush predators! As if we didn’t have enough problems. We’ve gotta- I’ve gotta keep a better eye out.” her gaze turned back to me. “Holly, you…that was incredibly brave. It could have grabbed you too, but I think you kept it from dragging her out fully into the river. If you hadn’t done that, she would’ve gone under entirely, and we never would have found her again.”

I coughed again, but gave Dinky a weak smile. It didn’t make up for our failure to save Diamond Tiara, but knowing that we were getting faster, and we’d saved somepony this time, was at least a small comfort.

It took us a few minutes of searching, but eventually we found her shotgun. I hauled the undead mare onto my back, with her head flopping over my shoulder, and we began the long process of following our little orange flags back to Baton Verte.