//------------------------------//
// Chapter 18 
// Story: Tales of an Equestrian Mare 
// by Durandal 
//------------------------------//

Its paws made no sound as it emerged from the hollow, and it moved unnaturally, as if its legs only touched the ground for the sake of appearance. Hearthfire fled as if all the inmates of Tartarus were at her heels, which they might as well have been, for all the chance of survival she would have if that buzzing maw closed around her. She could hear i even over her own sobbing breath and the drumming of her hooves on the rich loamy soil, getting closer with each passing second.

For an instant, she considered throwing herself flat, diving into the long grass for all the thin concealment it would offer, but pushed the terror-filled panic response aside. It would find her in not time at all, and she would be perfectly helpless. Instead, she forced herself to look ahead, aiming her flight for the edge of the clearing and the more densely spaced trees and undergrowth; she was much, much smaller than her pursuer, and the confines of the trees might just give her an edge. She firmly clamped down on the recollection of one of the other wolf-things, ghosting eerily between the darkened trunks out in the dead woods. Nothing about this wolf was smooth, or graceful: it flailed after her in a sick parody of a dog’s gait, trailing a noxious cloud of its own seared flesh.

She cleared the tree line, and was faced with the stark black-white border that constituted the edge of the glade, and managed to change direction, dashing away at right angles to her heading, around the circumference of the incongruously sunlit space. Her gaze flickered across a weighty fallen tree limb, and in desperation she wrapped it in the pale glow of her magic, dragged it telekinetically in her weight like the world’s least attractive balloon. It was a pathetic weapon to be sure, but it held a reassuring realness that her world seemed to be lacking right now. And comforting to know that she did not have to die without a shred of fight in her. Maybe she could bloody its nose as it came for her. Not that it would care, it would obliterate the branch with a single bite, and then -

It was over. She had run into a dead end, her headlong dash had left her heedless of her surrounding, and the thick, thorny bramble-like vines ringed her in on all sides. The only way out was to push through, which she was not sure she could even manage, or to turn back into the waiting jaws. Either way, her pursuer would close the distance with her easily. She could hear it crashing through the undergrowth, seconds away, and then it emerged, shaking scraps of burning bark and foliage from its hide. It slowed when it caught sight of her, confident. If she tried to flee, it could make a final dash to catch her, but for now, it had no need to exert itself.

Shouldn’t have interfered.

At first she thought it was her own thought; Heavens knew she couldn’t help but agree with it. It wasn’t until the thought was followed with a deep, cruel laugh that she realised it was coming from outside.

“What are you?”

No need, little horsie. Unicorn from the Spring lands. Too far from home, putting her nose in other creature’s business. Things she doesn’t understand.

She waved the branch experimentally through the air. It made a satisfying swoosh, but she didn’t even know how long she would be able to keep it floating. Her magic had never been very strong. Her teachers back home had always been very nice about it, very understanding, but she’d found her own way, her own path.

Gone gallivanting off to die at the end of the world.

“If... if you come any closer. I’ll fight you.”

That’s the spirit.

It leapt. The sun-stoked embers that covered its coat roared into life, fanned by the sudden movement, and it howled in pain and fury, but kept coming, heedless of the way its body was being scarred and warped.

Hearthfire swung with the branch. It was a good blow, under the circumstances, that caught the beast on the side of its skull, behind its ear. It was enough to knock it just off course; where it should have struck her square from the front, jaws closing over her head and tearing her to shreds, it caught her in the shoulder, teeth gouging and tearing but failing to find purchase. Blood sprayed onto the thorns, and she found herself drifting sideways, betrayed by limbs that refused to support her any longer.

She couldn’t even see the beast rise, behind her. It was painful to turn her head, and the cool leaves cushioned her pleasantly as she lay on her side, feeling the sticky warmth ooze down her side. She didn’t even bother trying to stand. The smell of blood and burning fur played across her muzzle, and she wrinkled her nose at the unpleasant scents.

Spring horsie, now you’re an Autumn horsie. Shouldn’t have attacked things it didn’t understand. Which-bit-should-I-eat-first.

The tides of dread rose again as she contemplated the idea that it might not finish her off in a single blow, that it might toy with her as she lay there, helpless. It was enough to get her to stagger to her hooves as the beast circled, and she tried to keep it in her field of vision; though even that seemed to be shaky now. Her opponent seemed to be in almost as bad shape as she was. There was almost no fur left on it, and here and there scorched bones were showing through its roasting sinew. It seemed that it didn’t have long left to live, either, if it stayed in the sunlight.

“Well then,” she managed to wheeze, as her vision swayed, shifted in and out of focus. The charring hulk swam, blurred, the thorny vegetation behind it seeming to move and coil in a most disorienting fashion. Probably best if she just let herself fall over again and gave up, but she was too afraid of what it might do to her if she didn’t try to fight to the last breath. “End it.”

That’s the idea.

With a snarl, it pounced for the killing blow. Hearthfire’s gaze found their focus for an instant, and she saw straight into its maw, the rows and rows of teeth that glinted like steel in the sunlight and moved, actually moved, inside its mouth, whirring in endless circles of tearing, shredding destruction. She began to move, to try to dodge, or at least to collapse in a useful direction, but it was already far too late.

Then everything moved sideways. The ground quaked a second time, throwing her to one side and knocking her into the grass once more. She rolled, coming to a stop at the foot of a tree that was no longer vertical, and stared in shock as the beast was consumed.

It had missed her as it pounced, and sailed past her to crash headlong into the thorned thicket. It tried to get up from its graceless landing, but it was no use. The barbs dug into its flesh, and as much as it thrashed around and twisted, they stayed firmly lodged. The jaws snapped, buzzing, slicing through creeper after reaching creeper, but fresh stems seemed to sprout from the ground even as it severed the ones restraining it, and all the while it was still burning in the heat of the sun.

Finally, with a bubbling wail and a last gnashing of teeth, it collapsed into a heap, the vines dragging it down and down until it seemed to simply burst, evaporating into a choking cloud of ash that whispered skyward on the wind. From the spot where it had died, fresh greenery sprouted, tiny saprolings and budding flowers climbing free of the soil and the vines to bloom in seconds before scattering their seeds and fading away as quickly as they had come.

Hearthfire sat there for a long time, waiting for the world to make sense once more, but was forced to accept that the world had no intention of doing so. She wobbled upright once more, and limped over to the vines, eyeing them warily for further signs of aggression. They seemed as perfectly inert as she had grown up expecting plants to be, and she came closer. There was something shining, in the tangle of the thicket.

“Hearthfire? Are you here, child?”

Audir and Osk and Tofa and Tobba and Greybrawne, all in a variety of sorry states, covered in jagged wounds and blood. Osk had splintered a horn. Greybrawne was dragging a hind leg. Audir was a mess, every inch of her hide seemed to be covered in bite marks and claw gouges. Hearthfire looked down at her own injuries, scrapes and bruises and the long gash down her left shoulder, and stifled a giggle that threatened to turn into a sob.

“You all look like you’ve had the tar beaten out of you.”

“You do not seemed to have done much better, child."