Ponyville Noire: Misty Streets of Equestria

by PonyJosiah13


Case Eighteen, Chapter Three: Setting Out

The Billabong was right where Akely-Pip said it was, a short brick building with a flashing neon sign attached to the front of it that declared its name to all and sundry. An arrow pointed down, inviting passerby to head down the stairway leading beneath street level. 

Daring descended the stairs and pushed her way through the door, sighing as she was instantly greeted by warm air that smelled of alcohol, bar cooking, and the scent of many ponies gathered into one place. Light rock was playing out of a jukebox in the corner, underlining a dozen conversations being held by the tenants that were spread across the entire room, either sitting at the bar or at one of the many tables covered in blue cloth; it all mixed with the clinking of cutlery and bottles and the clacking of billiard balls and the foosball table. The rack behind the bar showed off a variety of expensive liquors and posters on the wall showed off a number of Aushaylia’s tourist attractions. 

Daring made her way to the bar, nodding to the lime-colored bartender. “What’ll you have, stranger?” the mare asked her, shaking her orange-yellow mane out of her citrus orange eyes and giving her a beaming smile. 

“Strong coffee, aspirin, and information,” Daring replied, taking a seat at one of the velvet stools. 

“Morning After special, huh?” the bartender grinned, bending beneath the bar. There came the sound of a coffee machine whirring and liquid pouring, accompanied by the most wonderful smell in the world. Daring let out a small sigh as the wondrous scent of coffee filled her nostrils. 

“You think the smell’s bonzer, just wait till you taste it,” the bartender smiled, passing over a couple of white pills that Daring swallowed dry. “What’s your name, sheila?” 

“Daring Do,” Daring replied, tipping her pith helmet. 

The bartender’s eyes widened. “Fair dinkum?” 

“If I’m not, she’s gonna be really upset when she finds out I stole her helmet and ran away to Aushaylia,” Daring grinned. 

The bartender laughed. “Bloody ripper to meet you! Name’s Desert Lime, like the fruit.” She nodded to her flanks, upon which was the image of a thorny bush with green fruit hanging from the branches. “You said you wanted information?” 

“I understand that there’s a lot of outback guides that hang around here,” Daring said, rubbing her forehead as the headache slowly began to recede. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Lime nodded, pulling out a cup of hot coffee from beneath the bar. “With all the tourists who come here, this place is littered with guides looking for tourists to hire them to take them out into the bush for a camping trip.” 

“Or to treasure hunt?” Daring asked, taking a sip of the coffee. “Oh, damn, that’s good,” she declared as the hot black liquid trickled down her throat, banishing the remnants of fatigue from her mind.   

“A dash of cinnamon and some skim milk does wonders,” Desert Lime winked. “And, yeah, there’s a few drongos who come here thinking that they’re gonna be the one to find Bushwhacker’s legendary treasure and flash some bits at a guide with big promises that they’ll get ten times that when they find the cave. So the guide goes out with them to make sure that the bogan doesn’t get himself killed. They usually come back in a week or so with their heads hanging, waste the rest of their bits on the cheapest coldies they can get, and head home in the morning.” 

“You hear of any pony who found Bushwhacker’s journal?” Daring asked, taking another sip of the liquid gold. 

Desert Lime threw her head back and laughed melodiously. “Honey, I hear stories like that almost three times a week,” she chuckled, wiping a tear from her eye. “I barely pay attention to it anymore.” 

Daring considered her next question as she took another long sip of coffee, allowing the swirling bitterness and sweetness to dance over her tongue. “Well, have you noticed any regulars acting differently? Or anything that stands out?” she asked. 

Desert Lime thought for a few moments. “Hmm...now that you mention it, I haven’t seen Sand Snake or Ingwa Wep all day and they left early last night,” she mused. 

Night Spider? Charming name, Daring thought. “Who are they?” she asked aloud. 

“Two of the best guides in the Billabong, a husband and wife duo,” Lime said. “They both know the bush like the back of their own hooves: spent half of their lives searching for artifacts and treasures to sell. But they’ve been kinda down on their luck recently; they both got busted for starting a brawl at another bar and spent some time in jail. They usually hang around here looking for work, but I heard them saying recently that they needed to get some supplies ready for a big trip, which was weird because I never saw anypony approaching them to get hired.” She nodded. “Yeah, now that I think about it, last night they were both having a flight of Carlpones. They usually only have that before they go out on a trip.” 

“You have any idea where they might’ve gone?” Daring asked. 

“I did hear Ingwa grumbling to Snake about finding a bloody kookaburra tree,” Lime mused. “That important to you?” 

“It is, actually,” Daring declared, a thrill running down her spine at her unbelievable fortune. 

The door opened and hoofsteps clopped down the stairs. Daring and Lime both looked up to see a familiar brown stallion in a green vest and gray trilby proceeding through the bar. 

“There you are, Phil,” Daring said, waving at him. 

“The native son returned home,” Lime chuckled, already grabbing another mug and filling it with rich coffee. “Not often I get to give two celebrities the Morning After special.”  

“Thanks,” Phillip nodded gratefully, turning to Daring. “Police are checking the house. Told ‘em all I could, and I managed to speak to Spic Span over the phone; all he told us was that he finished cleaning the place around eight last night, went to clean a few other houses and got home around ten that night. Didn’t know anything about the safe or the journal. You find out anything?”

“Oh, one or two things,” Daring smirked. She briefly recounted her visit with Akely-Pip and what she’d learned about the kookaburra tree and about the two guides that had been hired. 

“Those two don’t sound friendly,” Phillip muttered. “But it seems like they’ve got a head start on us. What do they look like?” 

“Sand Snake is a green unicorn with sandy yellow hair and the cutie mark of a snake,” Desert Lime told him, placing a mug of fresh coffee onto the counter and sliding it and a couple of aspirin over to him. “Ingwa Wep is an Aborigineigh mare, gray and black with reddish stripes in her mane and tail. Cutie mark of a spider.” She gave Phil a concerned look as he popped the pills into his mouth and chased them down with a long chug of coffee. “Whatever these two did to you, you sure you want to go after them? These two are dangerous hoons, got a long reputation for trouble.” 

Phil and Daring both glanced at each other, a black-eyed specter dancing in both of their eyes. “We’ve handled worse,” Phillip replied, sipping more coffee. 

“If you say so,” Desert Lime said. 

“You know Yellow Page or Akely-Pip?” Phillip asked Lime. 

“Yeah, both of them,” Lime nodded with a smile. “Those two have been coming here since before I started here. Haven’t seen either of them in a long time, though.” 

“Thanks,” Phillip nodded. 

“So what’s the plan now?” Daring asked. “We head out into the bush after these two?” 

“We’d need a guide, and supplies,” Phillip said, sipping his coffee as he thought. “Somepony we can trust.” 

Desert Lime looked around the bar. “Well, there are a few guides here who’ll take you out there, but most of them are on the expensive side...and not all of them are completely trustworthy,” she added with a grimace. 

“Maybe your parents will know somepony,” Daring suggested. 

“Maybe,” Phillip nodded. “In any case, we’d best get moving.” He chugged down the last of his coffee and placed the mug and a few bits onto the counter. “Bloody good stuff,” he said to Lime. 

“Good luck out there!” Desert Lime called as he and Daring headed for the door. 


With a grunt, Phil strapped the sleeping bag tight to his saddlebag. “Been a while since I had to do this,” he admitted, testing the weight of the bag. 

“You sure about this?” Bobby asked. “It’s the sandingo migration, after all.” 

“This isn’t just about the treasure, dad,” Phillip replied, tossing the saddlebag over his shoulder and strapping it securely to his body. “This is about them stealing from us. Taking what doesn’t belong to them.” 

Bobby sighed. “Well, you wouldn’t be who you are if you just let this slide,” he admitted. 

“Here, ampa,” Rain declared, approaching on her wheelchair. She handed Phillip a bag stuffed with small brown biscuits with small pieces of coconut embedded into them. “Some Anzacs for your journey.” 

“Thanks, ma,” Phillip smiled, tucking the bag into his saddlebag and kissing his mother on the cheek. 

“Please be careful, honey,” Rain pleaded, hugging him around the neck. 

“We will, mom,” Phillip replied as his father hugged them both. 

Phillip proceeded downstairs, where Daring was waiting, having just hung up the phone. 

“Okay, the Observatory says that the Pleiades rise from three-hundred-nineteen degrees on the summer solstice,” she said.

“Aces,” Phillip replied. “The Bushwhacker ranch is only a couple hours from here, north of Sydneigh.” 

“We still need a guide,” Daring pointed out, pocketing a collection of maps of the Aushaylian bush, a compass, and a thick, slightly tattered green book of fauna that she’d borrowed from Rain’s shelves. 

“That won’t come cheap,” Phillip frowned. 

“Hey!” River Feather called, entering through the front door. She gestured outside, smiling broadly as she made an announcement in her native tongue.

Phil cocked his head to the side. "Angwenthangw?" he asked. His grandmother replied by gesturing outside.

"She said that there's somepony she wants us to meet," Phil told Daring as they headed outside.

Waiting outside was a pair of Aborigineigh ponies, both of them gray and black with fluffy cloud-white manes, wearing hooded cloaks. The tall bearded stallion’s mane was pulled back into a ponytail, and his cutie mark was a cloud over a drum. The mare’s mane spilled gracefully down to her knees, and her cutie mark was a set of clouds over a river. Both ponies had matching silver earrings with a small blue-green opal hanging from them; the mare on her left ear, the stallion on his right.

“Hello, Phillip Finder, Daring Do,” the mare greeted them in Equestrian, her wrinkled gray eyes twinkling. 

“Who are you two?” Daring asked. 

“I’m Rolling Thunder,” the stallion introduced himself. “This is my wife, Creek Fog. We’re friends with River and were just dropping by to visit when she told us about your upcoming trip and that you need guides.” 

“And you’re volunteering?” Phillip asked. 

“We’ve lived out wop wop all our lives, and we know every square foot of the outback,” Creek Fog assured him. River nodded in confirmation.

Phil and Daring considered for a moment. “Well, we appreciate the volunteering, but we don’t have much to pay you--” Phil started to say. 

“We don’t need payment,” Creek waved off the protest. “We just want to help you take back the journal and stop these thieves from taking what isn’t theirs.” 

“It might be dangerous,” Daring warned. 

“We did mention that we’ve lived out in the bush all our lives?” Rolling Thunder smirked. “We’ve dealt with sandingoes, scorpions, spiders, snakes--” 

“Snakes?” Daring gulped before quickly clearing her throat and composing herself. “Um, well, it’s also just that you...well…” 

“Age doesn’t count for everything, Miss Do,” Creek Fog winked. “I promise you, we can handle ourselves.” 

Daring looked up at Phil, who was looking at his grandmother. River Feather was smiling and nodding back at him encouragingly. 

“If grandma trusts you, then I do, too,” he declared. “Meet us at Bushwhacker’s ranch.” 

“We will,” Creek Fog promised them as both she and her husband bowed slightly. She spotted Rain and Bobby hovering on the front porch, concerned pouts on their faces. 

“Don’t worry, you two,” she assured them. “We will bring your children home safe.” 

“We will meet you at the ranch,” Rolling Thunder waved to Phil and Daring as he and his wife headed down the lot and disappeared around the bend. 

“That’s that, then,” Phillip nodded. “Let’s stop by Uncle Prom’s and the precinct first, and then head for the ranch.” 

Shifting to adjust for the weight of her saddlebags, Daring started to spread her wings to take flight but paused. A moment later, she rushed up to Bobby and Rain and hugged them both. 

“Be safe,” Rain pleaded, kissing her on the forehead. 

“We’ll be back before you know it,” Daring replied, tucking her head against Rain’s warm cheek for a moment. 

River Feather tottered up to her and patted her on the back reassuringly. She pointed to the totem of Awely-Awely around Daring’s neck and intoned something in a soothing tone. 

“‘They will protect you,’” Phillip translated, one hoof seemingly going up to his totem of Angkakert and stroking the little wooden god. 

“I sure hope they do,” Daring muttered to herself as she grasped Phil beneath the forelegs and took off. 


As soon as Daring landed on the sidewalk in front of Promenade’s mansion once more, Burney immediately launched himself at her again, barking and wagging his tail enthusiastically. 

“Down, boy!” Promenade shouted from his front deck, where he was standing and speaking to a constable in a blue uniform with a white and blue striped cap. Burney halted mere inches from Daring and sat down, panting and thumping his tail against the ground, staring expectantly at her. 

“Forget it, dog,” she declared. 

“Have you managed to find out anything else?” Promenade asked desperately. 

“A few things,” Phillip replied, turning to the constable, a sandy yellow unicorn stallion with a pencil-thin mustache the color of seafoam and the cutie mark of a series of hoofprints in a sandy beach. His nametag read “Beach Tracker.” “Detective, the names Sand Snake or Ingwa Wep mean anything to you?” 

Beach Tracker grimaced. “Those two,” he grunted. “We’ve long suspected them of selling artifacts that they dig up in the bush to the highest bidder and stealing from some of the native tribes, but we’ve never been able to prove anything. Most we could ever get them for was drunk and disorderly charges and some brawling.”

“Well, whoever stole the journal hired them to go digging,” Daring replied. “We heard it from the Billabong.” 

“And judging by those packs, you’re going after them,” Detective Tracker commented, nodding to the saddlebags that the other two wore. “You want a couple of constables to go with you? Those two might be trouble.” 

“We’ve handled worse thugs than these two,” Daring grunted. 

“You figure out anything else here?” Phillip asked. 

“Nothing that you didn’t already figure out, I’m afraid,” Detective Tracker admitted. “But we’ll keep looking. We’re double-checking on Spic Span’s, Yellow Page’s, and Akely-Pip’s alibis.” 

“Good,” Phillip nodded. 

“You sure you can’t stay and help?” Uncle Prom pleaded. “We could bloody well use the best detectives in Equestria to solve this.” 

“We need to get after these wankers,” Phillip replied. “Won’t take long, and we can help once we get back.” 

“Do you even have guides?” Promenade asked. 

“Grandma introduced us to a couple friends of hers,” Phillip assured him. “They’ll meet us at Bushwhacker’s ranch.” 

“Speaking of which,” Daring cut in. “You know if Bushwhacker had a tree on her property? One that kookaburras would nest in?” 

“Of course,” Promenade nodded. “An illawarra fire tree on the northwestern corner of their ranch. I believe it’s still there, with several of their original birdhouses still nailed to it.” His eyes brightened with realization. “Oh, of course! The laughing fire! Why didn’t I think of that?” He paused for a beat. “But that’s only just one clue.” 

“Wep and Sand don’t have too big a headstart on us: just one night, at most,” Daring replied. “Once we catch up to them, we’ll take the journal ourselves and go on to get the treasure.” 

“You mean we’ll bring them back to Sydneigh first, then go after the treasure,” Phillip replied with a frown. “Can’t go stomping through the bush while dragging two other ponies behind us.” 

“Oh, fine,” Daring pouted. “But we’re definitely going after the treasure. I am not passing up a chance like this.” 

Phillip rolled his eyes but gave a genuine, if weary, smile. “Of course you’d say that,” he admitted. “And I love you for it.” 

Daring chuckled and booped him on the nose. “Dork. C’mon, we’d best get a move on.” 

“Be careful, you two,” Promenade called after them. “The bush is not kind to the unprepared.” 

“You remember who you’re talking to, Uncle Prom?” Phillip replied with what he hoped was not an obviously fake smile as Daring took him beneath the foreleg and headed north.


“That’s the place,” Phillip declared, pointing. Daring paused in midair to admire the property beneath them, letting out an admiring whistle. 

The Bushwhacker Cattle Station sprawled across nearly a thousand acres of red desert sand, all enclosed by a split-rail fence. A green sign next to the entrance declared that the cattle ranch was a historical site and had been made into a museum in 1896. The main ranch house was a sprawling two-story edifice in blue and white, with great open porches on the front and back; smaller houses that once held employee housing, a smithy, butcher’s shop, storage, a general store, and a bar. Cattle and chickens were milling about in a couple of small pens, tended to by uniformed workers. 

Rolling Thunder and Creek Fog were waiting for them at the entrance to the ranch, both of them with saddlebags filled with gear. “Hello again,” Rolling greeted them with a smile. 

“I’d love to come back and visit this place when this is over,” Daring sighed, casting a gaze over the cattle station, trying to drink up the colors and sounds and smells of living history. 

“First stop once we get back,” Phillip smiled. “But right now, we’ve got a tree to find.” 

“So what’s an...illawarra fire tree?” Daring asked as the four proceeded through the gate and up the well-worn path. 

“You’ll know when you see it,” Creek Fog assured her with a smile. 

“We’re heading for the northwest corner of the property, right?” Rolling Fog asked. 

“Right,” Phillip confirmed, spotting a nearby attendant in a red and blue shirt. “Oi, there a kookaburra tree around here somewhere?” 

“Oh, yes, it’s right over here,” the young mare smiled, beckoning them on. She led them past the butcher’s shop and one of the cattle pens, the grazing occupants lowing as they passed. 

After a few minutes of walking and passing through another passageway in the gate, Daring spotted a vivid red standing out against the blue sky, instantly drawing her eye. “I’m guessing that’s a flame tree,” she commented. 

“You’d be right,” the attendant told them. “In Aborigineigh legends, the flame tree was born from burning coals when the Aborigineigh first discovered fire. Aherrk supposedly chose this location for his farm because he had a dream about this very tree.” 

Daring tilted her pith helmet back to admire the tree as they approached. The illawarra flame tree had a surprisingly thin trunk with serpentine branches. The leaves were all a bright scarlet, gathered in round clumps; bell-shaped seeds of the same color dangled beneath them. 

As they approached, a loud chattering sounded from one of the upper branches, quickly turning into a hooting noise that sounded like cackling laughter. “Oh, sounds like one of our friends wants to say hi!” the museum guide smiled, extending a foreleg. 

A crest-headed bird with a white body and light brown feathers with aqua accents fluttered down from the tree and landed on her forelegs, giving another little chirp. 

Daring quickly plucked the borrowed fauna book from her saddlebag and flipped to the marked page, which featured a picture of a male kookaburra. “Oh, wow, she’s a lot bigger than I thought she’d be. And for once, I don’t mean that sarcastically,” she commented. 

“This is Chatter,” the mare smiled, pulling a pouch out of her pocket. “Her family has been living in that tree for generations. Here, give her some of this.” 

Daring took the offered pouch and opened it up to find it full of small insects. Shaking some out onto her hoof, she offered it to Chatter. The kookaburra cocked her head to the side, then quickly scooped up the proffered meal. 

“Oh, she likes you,” Creek Fog beamed. 

“Losing time here,” Phillip pointed out. 

“Right, sorry,” Daring nodded, handing the feed pouch back to the attendant and pulling out her compass. 

“Why, where are you going?” the mare asked in confusion. 

“Treasure hunting,” Daring grinned, pointing at their new heading. “C’mon, everypony!” 

The four set out across the red desert sands, leaving the confused attendant standing there with Chatter on her foreleg. The kookaburra let out a whoop as they left. 

“Goodbye, my friend,” Rolling Thunder waved as he followed his wife and two clients towards the treasure. 


They trotted across the desert, with Daring occasionally pausing to reorient themselves with her compass and map. 

“Okay, that’s Chef’s Fairy Pyramid,” Daring declared, pointing at the clustering reddish-brown stone spires before them. The setting sun behind the stone structures cast them in glorious color, shadows dancing across the rough surfaces. 

“Maybe these are the rocks that weep?” Phillip suggested. 

“I doubt it,” Daring replied, turning to their guides. “You two have any ideas?” 

“There’s a river in this direction,” Rolling Thunder pointed out. “Perhaps we’ll find what we’re looking for there.” 

“Good idea,” Daring nodded, folding up the map and pocketing it. “C’mon, let’s keep going.” 

“You seem quite at home out here,” Creek Fog commented with a smile. 

“I’ve found treasures in caves, deserts, and tundras,” Daring smirked. “This is nothing new. And honestly, most of them don’t have riddles leading to them.” 

“So nothing at all like Compass Rose or Hayana Pones?” Fog teased. 

“Well, we do all go after ancient artifacts and fight bad guys,” Daring admitted. “Speaking of which, I wonder if those weapons are real.” 

“There’s always some truth in legends,” Rolling Thunder replied, giving his wife a small smile. 

“I dunno,” Daring shrugged. “I’ve seen some pretty powerful magical artifacts, like the Amulet of Ina’yk or the Ring of H’eylr, but thinking that a god blessed an ordinary whip and a club is a bit out there.” 

“Magic can be applied to almost anything,” Creek Fog replied, nodding to the totem around Daring’s neck. “All it takes is summoning and channeling the correct energy. Even those necklaces of yours carry a little bit of magic within them, ready to be directed.” 

Daring frowned in contemplation and ran a hoof over the little idol. She could indeed feel a small cold tingle within the wood, like she was holding a little bit of rain cloud. 

For a moment, she remembered dark tunnels beneath a red sky, and her heart pounded as she ran from things that slithered after her. Her breath hitched and a shudder ran down her spine. 

“Are you okay?” Creek asked, stepping forward and raising her hoof as if to catch Daring. 

Daring shook her head and refocused, breathing slow and deep. Five second inhale. Pause. Five second exhale. Pause. It’s okay. You’re okay.

“I’m good,” she nodded, noticing that the two stallions had also paused in concern. “C’mon, let’s keep going.” 

They proceeded through the desert, leaving the hoodoos behind them. The sun started to fall beneath the horizon as they proceeded and a cool wind rustled across the sands as stars began to swirl through the indigo sky, and the four turned on flashlights to illuminate their path. 

A distant howl sounded from over the rolling hills, a raspy cry that sounded like sandpaper being run over piano strings, and everypony froze for a moment. “What’s that?” Daring asked, trying and failing to categorize the sound. 

“Sandingo,” Phillip hissed, his ears twitching back and forth as he stared in the direction of the chilling sound. 

They all stood frozen for a few moments, but no other sound came. “It’s moving on,” Creek Fog stated with a relieved sigh, allowing them all to relax. 

“Look, there are the sisters,” Rolling Thunder declared, pointing behind them. Indeed, a cluster of seven blue stars roughly shaped like a sideways cross were slowly sliding above the horizon. 

“Still chasing that crow,” the elder stallion shook his head. “You’d think that after almost a thousand years, they’d have gotten the message.” 

“Few can see past their own pride, my love,” Creek Fog smirked. 

“I hear water,” Phillip declared, raising a hoof. 

Indeed, there was the sound of water trickling over rocks up ahead. The light of their torches revealed the clear waters of a river just ahead of them, running through fallen logs and rocks. 

“Wait,” Phillip suddenly hissed, holding up a hoof as he stared at the ground. Daring trotted over to his side and looked down. 

Hoofprints stood out against the red sand, shadows marking the outlines in their beams. 

Phillip looked around, sniffing the air before his gaze locked to their left, upstream. “Flashlights off,” he ordered. “You two, stay here.” 

“Yes,” Rolling Thunder nodded, holding his wife close as the four doused their flashlights. 

Phillip set off along the river bank, with Daring following close behind, putting her night-vision contacts into her eyes with a wing as she walked. After a few moments of silently scurrying along, Daring smelled what he had detected: campfire smoke, carried on the night zephyrs. 

A faint glow up ahead marked their prey: two ponies in dark blue cloaks, a tall green unicorn and an Aborigineigh mare with scarlet markings in her mane, were sitting on either side of a small campfire, over which they were roasting a long serpent skewered on a stick. Their tent was pitched next to the fire, just barely visible. 

Sand Snake was studying something in his hooves: a battered green journal. Daring and Phillip both locked their eyes upon it, growling softly. 

“‘Where the rocks weep.’ What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Sand was grumbling. 

“We’ll figure it out in the morning, when we can see more clearly,” Ingwa Wep replied, patting his hoof. “Besides, the longer we take, the more we can charge from our boss.” 

Sand snorted. “‘Boss.’ They don’t really think that they can order us around that easy, do they? We’re the ones doing all the legwork, they just told us how to decode the damn thing.” He took on a mocking tone. “‘The key changes by three to the left after every sixth letter and seven to the right after every eleventh.’ Like we’re stupid or something.” 

“Says the stallion who forgot that the sun rises in the east and not the west,” Ingwa grinned. 

“You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?” Sand pouted. 

Ingwa laughed and leaned over to kiss Sand on the cheek. “Nope,” she declared. “Now, c’mon, is that snake done yet? I’m hungry.” 

Turning to Phil, Daring started to whisper instructions into his ear. “You wait here, and I’ll go around to--” 

The chill wind abruptly whipped up with a sharp whistling sound, sand thrown into the air momentarily glittering like volcanic ashes in the firelight. Their targets both suddenly froze, then whirled around to face them. Across five yards of darkness, their eyes locked. 

Daring and Phillip both froze, their hearts dropping into their stomachs as they stared in disbelief. 

Sand Snake’s and Ingwa Wep’s eyes were cold, empty black.