“A-angel?” a wretched voice stammered. No more than a whisper, the wyvern creature heeded it not as it continued its rampage. The body of the speaker shook with the same fervour.
Upon seeing the weakness of the yellow pony, the creature screeched and turned its attention back to the cottage and its inhabitants. The mangled body of the white rabbit lay beneath its hovering figure as its claws gripped the cottage by the corners. The wood creaked sickeningly and snapped under its weight. Under its shadow blood crept out from under the rabbit, turning to a dark red as it soaked into the dirt road. Fluttershy let out an anguishing cry, deafening those nearby.
Although none could see, Angel’s face showed only a seething anger, covering a deep fear.
The faint sound of hooves could be heard in the distance, barely noticeable under the chaos.
The creature let go and began circling around the house, pausing around the windows, and back over Angel’s motionless body. The creature seemed to be looking for something, and it seemed that Angel had tried to stop it—or had at least gotten in the way. It screeched again, this time at the bunny. Angel did not so much as twitch, the blood continuing to run.
“Everybody!” A voice rang out, unafraid and concerned. “You need to stand back!”
The voice belonged to a lavender unicorn, who upon realizing what had happened, quickly reached the back of the crowd.
“I just need to fix this—“ The creature shrieked. This dispersed the crowd, eager to flee and let the braver pony deal with it.
“Spike! Get my spellbook out while I charge my failsafe spell! I doubt it will work, but we need to stop it from hurting anyone.” An odd choice of words, seeing as how she hadn’t seen Angel yet. Fluttershy flinched.
A purple resonating light began to be drawn out of the horn, layering itself in different hues as Twilight strained to hold back the spell before releasing it. Sweat beaded and ran down her face in front of her ear, softly hitting the ground. Her lavender coat engaged itself in a constant billow, her main and tail frightfully drawing themselves back from the source of the magic.
Upon reaching a third hue, the darkest and most luminescent, the horn itself glowed white and a bright white flash completely shocked the retinas of every pony at the scene. Some the damage to the cottage had been repaired, but Angel’s body remained bloody and broken. The wyvern huffed at the spell, and turning to leave, whipped its tail harshly throwing Angel against what remained of the front of the cottage. He hit the front with a crack. Spike put the unneeded spellbook away.
Fluttershy, overwhelmed, felt her legs give way beneath her. Her body shook violently, and efforts to cease it only caused painful strain. Looking across the ground, she wanted to stand up, to take care of the wounded, to stand as the caretaker she was supposed to be. But her wet sobs, and the cold churns of her stomach overcame the passion in her heart.
She watched as Twilight and other ponies collected themselves. Fluttershy felt her fright reach its height, and soon a deep fatigue crept into her. As she closed her eyes, she felt a shadowy presence reaching down for her.
***
Gurgle.
“This is…”
Bloop.
“…wrong…this is…”
Gurgle. Gurgle.
Coming back to consciousness wasn’t like how Fluttershy always thought it would be. It wasn’t like swimming to a surface, or a face slowly becoming clear as a voice called her name. It was like groggily preparing herself in the morning.
Like breathing in scents of morning. Sense of smell.
Or the kettle. Sense of touch.
And her breakfast. Sense of taste.
And finally peering out at the sun before heading out. Sight.
She knows they’re there because she sees a strange figure moving about across the cauldron from where she lay. She jerks her head around to see darkness, horrified to hear a small cry from somewhere else in the room. Her hoof is free, but all she can taste is the blood in her mouth. Green tendrils crawled up from the pot, each carrying a scent. Some of the flavours were from familiar healing herbs, but the rest was a staunch mystery to her. She could feel a soft cushiony bed form against the curvatures of her body. Lying on her right side, she went to move her left arm only to get no answer. At this moment, she realized she had been given control not only over the forest’s creatures, but over her own person, the inspiration of the latter of which she had never come to truly understand. It was something she took for granted, the obedience of limbs.
As her sight came, the yellow pegasus could cut out the stripes of the figure moving about. For the most part, the shimmering entity moved about the same spot, covering whatever it was they laboured over. They turned to find something urgent, and went around the pot to get it. Their work was revealed to the pony across the room.
Seeing it knocked what little wind she had out of her. And just like that, her hearing switched on in both ears, but slowly, as if the room’s volume was slowly being turned on. Her breathing, the bubbling of the cauldron, dancing hoofsteps tangled with bangles, the ragged breathing of a broken creature—she whimpered. The clanging stopped, and the figure turned for a moment, and then walked towards her.
“Fluttershy, you are awake! At the scene you were quite the quake.
Rest until tomorrow; you need not see this sorrow.”
But she already had, and so sleep would not come to her. She lay awake with her eyes closed.
Unbeknownst, Zecora looked back at Fluttershy as she attempted to sleep. She looked downcast as she thought of Fluttershy’s emotions, knowing an empty night would make for a worrisome head, and Fluttershy would need all of her to keep from bubbling over. Turning back to Angel, she could see the bleeding had stopped but he would fair little better until the numbness of ointment, or of sleep or of pain would hide him from his suffering. She began to hum, not only for her work, but for her own troubled thoughts. And then…
“Hush, hush, do not peep. The night will not weep
For another soul, trapped by the toll
Of midnight’s bells, that so compels
The worried sleeper, to reflect much deeper
For when morn does come, the moon knows its hum,
the scent of awakening, morning dew wavering,
Bringing a new light, to make things more right.”
***
Smoke bloomed out of the hut’s peak, bright against the night. The whole hut bristled with a strange energy, each thistle of its matted walls shaking.
“This is…wrong, this is…”
A gently seething aura engulfed the place before her, subtle but to the most acute in their senses. It felt hot with anger and pain, and somehow red, so red. A beautiful but dangerous crimson.
“…my fault.”