//------------------------------//
// Knives 
// Story: Equestria's Ray of Hope 
// by The_Darker_Fonts 
//------------------------------//

Ray was awoken from his sleep by the screeching of the train’s wheels as it jerked to a halt.  After a brief second to recollect where he was exactly, he found himself smiling at the slowly rising sun.  It was most likely sometime near six, which meant that as soon as he was off of the train, he had to be running.  He stood up as the train fully stopped, the jerking slightly breaking up his stride.  The conductor had come around some time while he was asleep, he saw, as the other side to his ticket had been punched.  
Opening up the car door, he exited onto the platform.  Suddenly remembering the station’s clock, he glanced up to it.  The minute hand was dangerously close to the tenth mark, the hour hand crawling towards the sixth mark.  Taking a deep breath, he sprinted off.  
Running through the streets and towards the center of town, he crossed over the familiar bridge and into the awakening heart of the town.  Vendors were beginning to set up their stalls along the side of the main street, the mayor’s office looking over them like a gentle giant.  The slowly rising sun lit up the streets as its golden rays flushed the gloom from the cobble streets.  The haytop houses’ tops glowed golden as the early morning sun lit them, reflecting a bright turn for the day.  Even the chirping of birds in trees alongside the road were more cheerful than usual, though Ray had no clue as to why.  
Suddenly one of the chirping birds flew up to him, landing on his shoulder with a mocking chirp.  Keeping his stride steady as he ran, he greeted Otolo. “Hey, Ohs, nice to see you again.  Sorry that we kinda, left without you.”
Receiving a sharp peck on his earlobe for the light apology, Ray gave her a quick glare before turning back to the road.  “So what, you got back here anyways,” he attested.  “Before me too!  What’d you do, anyways?  Fly all the way back from Canterlot?”  The little brown bird gave him a cocky chirp, affirming his hypothesis.  “Well, good job then.  I was kinda wondering where you’d gone, but really I’m not too scared for you.  I mean, you’re a pretty tough little thing.”  Once again he received an affirming, cocky chirp.  
“Well let’s not get too brazen, huh?  We have somewhere to be soon,” he continued, dodging past a lonely cart before entering the road to Sweet Apple Acres.  “Have I told you why I’m here yet?”
The bird gave a short twitter that Ray wasn’t quite able to discern as a yes or no, so he took it as not.  Slowly, the story of why and how he’d come to Equestria spilled out of his mouth, and for once, Otolo didn’t interrupt him with any quirky or jeering remarks of her own.  He wasn’t quite finished as he ducked under the gateway to the farm, or even as he took the road down towards the lake Skalos had mentioned.
As the road, and them, turned around the bend of a hill, a single, pony figure stood out next to the morning lit lake.  Skalos stood among the greenery beside the lake, staring carefully in the direction Ray had come from.  As Ray neared, he slowed his stride to a walk, so that by the time that he approached the intimidating figure, he was done panting.  
“Almost late there, lordling,” the Fallen stated tonelessly.
“Yeah,” Ray agreed.  Pointing to the little bird perched on his shoulder, he said, “Mostly due to this one.”
Otolo chirped with offense, pecking his ear yet again.  Skalos smiled lightly at the bird, asking Ray, “Now who is this little fellow?”
“The little pain is Otolo,” he responded, rubbing his tender ear.  
Skalos chuckled at the statement, before letting his smile casually slide as he walked over to a tarp laying on the ground.  On it lay several different sized knives, ranging from two inch long blades to two feet long blades.  They all laid within their own unique sheaths, thought they seemed to be made of something other than leather.  It made sense, considering the species supplying him with the weapons.  Skalos presented them with a wave of a hoof. 
“Today, lordling, we will be learning knifeplay, but keyly, sheathing and unsheathing a blade,” the Fallen presented with a neutral tone, though underlying it was a hint of amusement, as Ray’s face fell at the mention of sheathing and unsheathing.  “Well, take your blade.”
Looking over them carefully, he bent down and picked up one that was about half a foot long.  
His breath caught as he began to unsheath the blade.  His heart began to pound.  Breathing picked up.  His mind fuzzed.  
He looked around in confusion, and suddenly, it was Pittsburgh in December.