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// January 10th 1012 
// Story: The Story of a Yonderhill Pony: The Battle of Yonderhill 
// by gmoyes 
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The bugs have won. I'm writing this while pretending to be writing some medical reports with a Changeling watching me from across the room. I expect I’ll soon be shot, to have a sentence cut off, to have these pages stained with my blood. Until then, I’ll use whatever life and freedom I have left to continue to tell my story.

I knew from the sounds outside that things were almost over. There was less gunfire and what was there was close. I was hopeful that this would be finished without being involved in the fight. 

And then I glimpsed the first tank plow through the makeshift barricade on main street. A beast of steel hide, leaden breath and chattering roar. No monster, be it dragon, hydra or sea serpent would ever compare to the terror of seeing that tank’s cannon barrel sweep across the street towards me. I hid. I curled up next to Miriam and sobbed, simultaneously trying to tell her to not move and keep quiet. We held each other and cowered there until...

Until a Changeling soldier prodded me with the butt of a rifle asking me if I was the nurse.

I’d never seen a Changeling before first hoof (as far as I knew of course). I've only seen them in the newspaper, but the black carapace, sickly legs and grey uniform in front of me was unmistakable. I was expecting to see a monster, a freak in the mocking shape of a pony. Instead, I saw a dirty, tired young stallion who looked like he was just through Tartarus. He repeated his question about if I was the nurse and gestured towards another Changeling slumped against the clinic wall, green ichor seeping from a crack in his shell. 

The intent was obvious. He must have recognized this as some sort of clinic and thought to seek help for his friend here. I'm not a trained nurse and I don't know the first thing about treating a Changeling, and I told him as such. He said to make an attempt and pointed his gun at me. 

(Sweet Celestia I sound so analytical about all of this. I've spent way too much time writing medical reports)

The only time I've ever had to treat a bug was when poor Crawly came in with his pet stag beetle after it was attacked by a bird. The colt learned a valuable lesson in loss that day. With my track record for insectoids in mind, I tried my best under gun point. Cleaning the wound was easy enough, though I will never forget the stench of Changeling blood. When it came to patching the crack, at the very least whatever caused the damage never penetrated the shell, so I didn't have to fight the chitin to remove any shrapnel. Internal injury from the impact was still a factor, but I wasn't going to be rooting through an alien body while someone with a gun was ready to kill me if I screwed up. Still, the crack needed sealing and I didn't think that traditional stitching would work with the carapace. I asked the wounded Changeling's friend what they usually did to patch a wound, seeing as soldiers should have some first aid training.

All this time, the other Changeling kept peeking out the doorway, probably to keep a look out for our soldiers. He looked at me as if he only just realized that Changeling biology is quite different than pony biology. He tossed me a vial green goop that looked all too similar to the blood I just cleaned up. He said to pour it over the crack and hold the halves together until it set. I was wondering why I was needed to do this procedure as I needed to be talked through it, but it's better not to argue with someone who is holding a weapon. The ooze set much quicker than I had expected, sealing the wound almost perfectly. Infection might still be an issue, but if the ooze was standard medical equipment for Changelings, it should be sterile. It might be an interesting tool for us ponies to adapt for our use, but again, difference in biology and I do not want to try washing that slime out of my coat.

The soldier guarding the door seemed to relax a bit now that his friend was stable. He took another look out the door and called out in a harsh language that I couldn't understand. I heard a similar response in the distance. The two talked for a bit, then the soldier turned to glare at me. He said his squad was coming to occupy the clinic and that I was to keep my mouth shut. I immediately did so, just giving a nod in response. However, as the soldier looked outside to cover his squad's approach, I quickly took the time to hide some bandages and painkillers under Miriam's bulk, disguising it as merely adjusting her cushions. I figured they'd loot the place for all that it was worth. I whispered to Miriam to tell her to keep quiet and to not move. At least she understood the severity of the situation and gave me a slow nod.

There were seven Changelings in total in the clinic, including the one that I had just patched up. They all kept a wary eye on the two of us, but they seemed more focused on the fighting outside and securing supplies. They seemed content to wait in the clinic, popping off some shots every once in a while. But for the most part, they sat around talking in their foreign language. At one point there was a period where they'd just look at me and Miriam, one of them would make some sort of comment and then they would all laugh. Most likely making cruel remarks about us as a captive audience. 

Poor sweet Miriam tried to introduce herself to the Changelings. One of them told me to “tell that fat cow of yours to shut up”. It’s like they didn’t even see Miriam as a person, like she was some sort of pet of mine to control. I bristled, but there was nothing to do but do what I was told. 

As the day dragged on, the soldiers got out some, what I could assume, passed as food for Changelings. It certainly didn't look appetizing, and this comes from a pony who’s eaten dog food (don’t judge me). I was hungry myself, but the soldiers raided the food I had stored away. And I wasn’t going to stick my neck out and ask if I could have some back. 

After a bit, one of the soldiers came over and asked if I owned Miriam.

How was I supposed to answer that? As a sentient being, one could not own a Cow. While you could say Cows were subservient to Ponies, the better term would be that they were tenants. A dairy farm hosted cattle who repaid them in milk and labour. They were free to come and go as they pleased. I thought he might have meant if I was her host, and I had to consider my answer. With Curdled Cream presumed dead, there was nopony to protect her. I wasn't certain I could handle the responsibility of caring for a cow. But somepony had to. So I nodded.

He then asked how much would it be for her leather, for they needed new boots.

I shrieked. I told them to go to Tartarus. I told them that may Dragons feast on their corpses. I told them to fuck themselves in front of their Whore Queen.

I should be dead. Shot for defying them, for insulting Chrysalis. Instead, I felt… something leave me. My fury drained from me and I saw a faint glow of magic being sucked into the Changeling’s maw. 

He fed on my love for Miriam. My love, expressed as rage. He then went back to his squad where some cigarettes exchanged hooves. They paid out a betting pool about him getting love from me.

I felt hollow. Like I was in a daze and nothing mattered. Not Miriam, not the war, not even my own life. I’ve somewhat recovered now, but is that what living under Changelings is like? To have your love, your soul sucked out of you whenever a Changeling feels peckish? 

I have to ask myself, is that a life worth living? It will have to be. I now have no other choice. 

Miriam told me not to worry, that these Changelings weren’t worthy of her boots. That’s a statement that I just can’t handle right now.

Looks like these bugs are staying the night. Looks like tomorrow will be the dawn under Changeling rule.