//------------------------------//
// 91.7 The Stream is but a Dream 
// Story: Prey and a Lamb 
// by Lambs Prey 
//------------------------------//

"...eighteen... nineteen.....", Lilly's leg shook as she strained to make it rise one last time to complete her set. Blood throbbed behind her eyes with the strain, "...t...t...t-twenty!"

With a gasp, Lilly dropped the curling weight off her good forehoof. Her only forehoof. She ignored the damage it might do to the floorboards and hobbled towards the bathroom, panting heavily.

She wasn't supposed to be doing these exercises alone. She was supposed to have somepony nearby in case something went wrong. But she was tired of bothering Saffron, Carton, or Scenic every single day. And this was something she could do herself now. She didn't need help for this anymore.

In the bathroom she fumbled for the tap handle, having to balance precariously for a second on just her meldwood peg-leg until the tap started gushing.

Heedless of the mess, she stuck her whole head under the cold tap, and stayed there until she had to come up with a gasp for air.

Streaks of mane clung to her wet fur and down her muzzle, tangling also around the roots growing from the side of her face. It was difficult for her without magic, and even after all these months she still then instinctively reached for her telekinesis only to find nothing, and awkwardly tried with a fetlock to slick back her streaming mane from out of her eyes.

Unfortunately, she caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror, and her disfigurement. Her eyes immediately darted away before she caught herself.

'No.' She made herself look back at the mirror. She glared her reflection into submission. Or at least glared until she could convince herself not to flinch.

'Yeah, that's right. That's you Lilly Blossom. That's me.' She'd been having a good day, one where she was being productive and actively improving herself. She wasn't going to spoil it now.

There were bad days, but today was a good day, and she was going to make it stay that way, Celestia damn it!

"Today is a good day." She loudly informed herself in the mirror, water still dripping from her face. She felt much better.

Lilly told herself of all the reasons she had to be happy today again, because that also helped. She'd gotten out of bed for a start. She hadn't caught any of her sticking-out meldwood twigs on anything hobbling around the house, which really hurt every time she got careless, and that was also good. She had exercised and eaten a healthy breakfast, and so she was that little bit closer to getting fit enough to rejoin the Night Guard. And while she hadn't been able to put on any more weight when she checked the scales, she hadn't lost any weight either, so that was another reason to be happy.

"Today is a good day." She repeated to herself with a firm nod. Like the doctor had said, it helped to be positive out loud.

Maybe she wasn't ever going to be fit enough to rejoin Gloom, Crimson, and Prey in the ISND, but by golly-geeze, there was a place waiting for her in the Night Guard if she could get herself there.

"When I get myself there." Because today is a good day. Not a bad day.


---


Once she'd lightly toweled off her mane and face as best she could, Lilly made it to the kitchen with her hobbling gait, the door held open now permanently by a doorstop. And that was another good thing to make sure she remembered to list. Some kind pony had anonymously ordered a bunch of doorstops for her in the post. They were probably from Saffron Swirl, the mare didn't like flaunting her relative wealth when compared to the rest of them, but it could have been any of the others too.

Celestia knew the group was small. What was sad was that it was only now that she realised that even before the accident, there hadn't been a bigger group. 'And whose bucking fault is that?'

"No, today is a good day. Suck it up and stop whining."

Lilly was pondering the cupboards and wondering what she wanted to eat for a healthy snack when she heard the flap of the letterbox go.

Abandoning food for now, she hobbled out to the front door to see what had arrived. Below the letter flap and attached to the back of the door, kindly installed by Scenic, was a small basket to catch the letters so they didn't end up on the floor anymore.

She went for her magic, then remembered, and carefully bit the edges of the letters sticking out of the basket, taking them back with her to the kitchen table. She'd worked out how to press an envelope to the table top under her meldwood leg, and get the letter opener under the flap with her remaining hoof to open them.

There was the next rent bill, (like she'd been expecting) a discount offer for any future work by the small plumbing firm she'd had to hire to fit a shower she could actually use, (she'd try to remember that) and last of all... a letter from her older brother, Tallow.

Lilly's good-day mood crumbled before she even realised it. Awkwardly, she got the folded letter out of the envelope and held it flat on the table. It took a long second before she gathered enough confidence to let her eyes focus on what the written words said.

It was a short letter, only six lines, if you included the 'Dear Lilly Blossom; and 'Regards, Tallow' at the beginning and end. Why was he even writing to her? They all lived in Canterlot, surely it couldn't be so difficult as to visit instead of sending a letter?

And only six lines too. What was the point of that? Was he really so busy he only had time to write six lines and stick a letter in the post instead of walking here, but not so busy that he didn't mind waiting the day it would take to arrive, and another day for her to post back an answer? The familiar anger bubbled up, making her shoulder begin to ache as the feeling filled her chest.

"No, today is a good day." Lilly forced the anger out along with her breath. And when that didn't work, she repeated the action until it did and she could read the letter properly.

'Dear Lilly Blossom;

Sorry, won't be able to make it to the luncheon with you and your earth pony friends, got a new breakthrough at work.

We'll make it up though. Are you free next week Wednesday for dinner? You can come around my place at six?

Please come, I've made up with Myrtle and things are starting to work out again, so I'd appreciate it. See you there.

P.S. Ma and Da didn't want to come, but I did tell them like you asked. I told you so.

Regards, Tallow.'

Lilly closed her eyes and focused on breathing for a long minute. Getting angry just made her shoulder hurt. And it wasn't like Tallow was doing this on purpose, he was just... indecisive. A bit selfish. And oblivious.

And yet he was still the only one of the rest of her family who'd yet reached out and made the effort. And for that, Lilly was prepared to be the bigger pony, (even if she was the youngest), show some of that hard-learned patience, and make up the shortfall. Because that was the lesson she had learned from Sargent Gloom.

If you wanted something, you had to be prepared to work for it. Really work for it, not like she used to 'work' for what she thought she already deserved.

That was the lesson she'd learnt from Prey. That there is no inherent justice. Sometimes things are unfair, but kicking and screaming won't change a single thing.

And what she'd learnt from the Night Guard as a whole, was what duty really meant. It was about being prepared to sacrifice. And since she now knew what duty to family meant after hearing Crimson's few recollections that he was willing to share, she had to be prepared to sacrifice to reconnect with her family. It didn't matter if they were in the wrong to start with, because the world isn't fair.

Maybe one day Tallow would realise, maybe he wouldn't. But if her family never all reconnected, it certainly wouldn't be because she was the one who never put in the effort.

"Today is a good day. And every day I am a better pony than I was yesterday." Lilly declared. And so saying, she got up and went to get a pencil and paper to begin the long, laborious, painful task of slowly writing out her acceptance in mismatching letters. And she didn't let herself be ashamed of that either.

Her writing was a little better than it was yesterday, and tomorrow it would be that bit better too.







Atop a windy crag high on a hill, the clouds hanging grey and low overhead with the recently vandalised Weather Tower at their backs, four ponies and one lamb stood.

The youngest person there, the gangly pegasus colt, blinked around at all of them from his position at Crimson's side. He didn't seem very worried or afraid, his white wings folded comfortably at his sides.

"Alto Heights." Sheriff Lumber repeated in dumbfounded surprise. Then, in anger; "Alto Heights, where in Tartarus have your parents run away to?"

"Calm down." Gloom snapped at the other stallion at the same time Crimson interjected; "He doesn't know." And the lanky pegasus colt answered, "Run away? Oh, you mean flown away. I get it."

In an effort to forestall everyone interrupting and talking at once, Prey hastily spoke up into that moment of confusion as everyone processed what the others had said:

"One at a time, and most important questions first. Crimson, is there any danger we need to know about?"

"No, nothing immediate. I arrived to find Alto was the only person in the whole area. He was sitting on top of the tower just waiting-"

"Wait a bleedin' second, how'd you get here? You were supposed to be in Haven Hay!" Lumber interrupted.

The blank look Crimson gave the sheriff seemed to ask if Lumber was an idiot, "No. I am supposed to be wherever Sargent Gloom orders me to be."

"Did you warn them? Is that where they went? Did ya' scare them off?" Lumber demanded.

Crimson stared down the angry stallion, unimpressed, "No. Weren't you listening? Only young Alto was here when I arrived." He answered, gesturing a wing over to Alto Heights.

The white pegasus youth seemed to be only half paying attention, ears turning to follow whoever was talking at the time, but his long-lashed eyes were instead upturned towards the sky. Prey sidled a few steps over to get Alto better into his mental perception range.

Here was one of the witnesses, a possible survivor of whatever had happened here, Lumber's superstition about marefolk aside. For once, they had an actual witness to whatever the hell had happened.

'-the wind's set like that. The sky's like this. That cloud there-',

But what Prey heard from Alto's mind wasn't a flow of logical consciousness. Instead, there were few words, but many impressions in their place. Some people's minds were like this, they thought more in images and feelings than in words or sentences. In abstracts, able to represent a whole situation and concept and their thoughts on it as one total sensation. A sum to infinity of any given line of thought. Useful in some areas, a hindrance in others. Prey hadn’t found any correlation with it and how intelligent someone was, though, no matter where Alto may lie.

"Alto. Alto Heights? That is your name, yes?" Gloom repeated himself, trying to catch the lanky colt's attention.

"What? Oh yeah, that's me." Alto looked away from gazing at the grey sky to briefly nod, and then went right back to it.

"I'm Sargent Gloom of Princess Luna's Night Guard. I've come here from Canterlot to find out what has been happening in Haven Hay, and at the Weather Tower-" Gloom shot Lumber a really disdainful look, "-And we're going to need to find you a new place to stay. Temporarily. But I really need to ask you some questions. Any information you can give could be of grave importance."

"Sure." Alto nodded, unconcerned.

"Did your, do your parents know anypony in Haven Hay who might be willing to look after you? Just for a while?" Gloom asked.

"Huh? No. None of them are pegasi." Alto shrugged easily, not unnerved by Gloom being a thestral at all it seemed.

Gloom's eyes flicked up to Crimson, who gave a tired shrug of his wings as if to say; 'Yes, he was like this when I found him.'

"What has not being a pegasus got to do with it?" Gloom asked carefully.

Alto looked at him in surprise, "Caus' they're not weather ponies. You need to be a pegasus to be a weather pony." He stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Prey was getting an idea of where this was going. Over to the side, the sheriff snorted in disgust and stomped his hoof, "Why do ya' think we call them airheads? They don't care about anypony or anything if it doesn't have to do with the weather. If you don't have a weather cutie mark, they won't even give you the time of day."

There were ponies who lived their lives devoted to their special talent. They immersed themselves so completely and shunned everything else that they slowly lost sight of the world. All that mattered to them was the pursuit of their Harmony-gifted talent. Everything else was just an annoying distraction to their pure and noble pursuit of perfection. It seemed the Heights were one such family.

All of the ISND exchanged long looks.

Crimson cleared his throat, "I asked him about where his family is. And he said-"

"-Oh, mom and dad and Lofty all left last night. But I couldn't come." Alto's sooty muzzle scrunched up into a pout. What was he, five? He physically looked to be at least thirteen or fourteen years old, but he was behaving like an easily-distracted foal.

"Went out where?" Gloom asked with Prey closely on his tail with; "Why were you left behind?"

Alto made another face, "Caus' I've been sick. But that was ages ago, though mom and dad still wouldn't let me out, not at all. Like, at least two weeks. I'm all better but they wouldn't let me go out at all."

Two weeks was roughly the same timeframe that all this seemed to have kicked off within. Was it just a coincidence that Gale and Windy Heights started confining their youngest to the tower? Why didn't they want him to go outside even once he was better? From the sound of it, they lived for their weather talent, so it certainly couldn't have been to stop Alto flying in bad conditions.

To Prey, it seemed very much like they'd been trying to hide Alto from something. It wasn't a hard deduction to make, and a worrying one too.

"Did they let your brother out and about?" Prey asked.

"Yeah, it was so unfair." Alto whined. He tore his eyes away from the sky again to give Prey a vaguely uninterested look.

'-what is she? No wings, can't fly in the wind. Oh, I remember mom's lessons, it's a sheep. But sheep can't fly-', And like that, Alto's gaze slipped off Prey again.

"And do you know where your parents and brother disappeared to last night?" Gloom prompted again after a long moment.

Alto didn't seem to hear. He began unfolding his wings, until Crimson smartly pressed a wing of his own down on Alto's back, making the colt start, "Eh, what? Oh, right. What'd you say?"

"It was a bit of a task to keep him hidden with me. He almost flew off four times." Crimson muttered to Prey and Gloom.

"Why were you hiding him in the first place?" Lumber demanded of Crimson.

"Because of the mob. And you."

"We would never have-!"

"I'm not interested in hearing it." Crimson turned away from the sheriff, "Please answer Sargent Gloom, Alto."

"Oh. What did he say again? I forgot."

'-you forgot? Your family has vanished and you forgot?!-', Gloom struggled for a moment to mask his emotions. Though the unfocused colt probably wouldn't even have noticed if Gloom hadn't masked them at all.

"Where did your parents and older brother go last night?"

"Dunno'." Alto’s wings shrugged casually.

Prey could barely keep looking at the idiotic colt. The pony was nearly twice the age Prey had been when he'd given up his life to follow Breaker into the Resistance because he couldn't abandon his older brother. But Alto Heights? He barely cared, and only in a, 'Oh-I'm-sure-they're-fine-and-will-turn-up-soon' sort of way.

'How sickening.'

"Told you. Like father like son." Lumber huffed smugly again.

Gloom ignored him, intending to deal with that failure of a sheriff later. "Don't you have any ideas, Alto? Places you visited as a family? Do you remember them talking about anywhere recently? Has there been anything strange that happened?"

"The weather's been strange." Alto promptly answered.

"Yes, we know that. But has there been anything else strange? Around the Weather Tower in particular?" Gloom tried.

"Uuuuuuhh... hmmm...." Alto had to think hard, as the subject was something other than the weather and flying, "Oh, I suppose there's whoever's been visiting mom and dad after dark."

Prey leant in despite himself, as Gloom hurriedly nodded encouragingly, "Yes, yes exactly like that. Who were they?"

"Dunno'. Mom and dad always made me go and be quiet in my room whenever the knocking came."

"Knocking?"

"Yeah, knocking. Every other night or so. Dad never mentioned who they were."

"And... you never thought to ask?" Crimson asked in flat disbelief.

"Uh, no? Why? Was I supposed to? Nopony told me. It's got nothing to do with my cutie mark."

'So what if it doesn't? Who cares! Actually, that's a stupid question, because obviously not you.' Prey bit down.

"Which door did the knocking come from?" Prey asked instead.

"On the front door. Weird. Why would you knock on the door down there? There's a perfectly good door up top." Alto trailed off, staring wistfully up at the sky.

'-wind current there. Could go up here. Dip and bank around there and there-'

Listening to this, Prey could barely believe Alto wasn't mentally handicapped. If he was, then Prey could've understood, but the teenager was just completely self-absorbed. Prey decided he didn't want to see the pegasus' face ever again after today. He could scarcely stomach looking at Alto as it was. He was no murderer, terrorist, or warlock, but Prey just couldn't stand his narcissistic, selfish, blind attitude.

"Mysterious knocking at night, they made him hide, they stop doing their job, and then they disappear the night before we get here," Lumber grunted, shooting a dark look towards the fog in the East. "I'm calling it like I see it; marefolk."

"Marefolk? Are those a real thing?" Crimson asked, looking sharply to Prey.

"No. But-", Prey went on before Lumber could start up, "-There are plenty of other things out there which nobody understands."

Lumber harrumphed, "Surprised to see a foal can so easily get it, where certain others can't." He finished pointedly.

"Sheriff Lumber. Shut up. I am all out of patience for you and your assumptions. Did I ever discount your wild theory entirely? You know nothing about what we've had to see to believe. And for your sake, I hope you never do."

Lumber glowered. Crimson took one precise step closer to the earth pony, nothing threatening, but a reminder of his armour. Lumber shifted away, but finally bit his tongue and held his peace.

Seagulls cawed, and the sea wind blew over them, the rocky ground wet from recent rain. Off in the grey distance, Prey saw what was probably another squall approaching from the sea, even if the ocean was below his line of sight.

"What next?" Gloom finally asked.

"I think..." Prey began, "That we need more information. And need to report back to Captain Nighthawk."

"Yes. Yes you're right. First things first, we need to return to Haven Hay. We can make a proper plan there." Gloom agreed.

"And Alto Heights? I mean, the tower is, was, his house, but after the mob.... and I don't think it would be a good idea to leave him alone-Alto stop!" Crimson snapped.

Alto didn't stop, spreading his wings. Crimson was there half a step before Gloom, jabbing the white pegasus' wing shut, preventing him from flapping.

"What? What's the matter?" Alto asked in bewilderment, "I was just taking off."

"No. You're coming back to stay in Haven Hay." Gloom ordered.

"But-"

"It isn't an option. You will not be remaining where the rest of your family vanished from. You will be kept safe by sheriff Lumber."

"What?! What'cha mean-?"

"You have the watch house. You will keep Alto there, and keep him safe. That's what the watch is for, isn't it? Protecting its’ citizens?" Gloom smiled thinly at Lumber with no warmth, "By the way, this isn't an option either."

"I don't agree to this, and ya' can't give me orders." Lumber hotly denied.

"Sheriff Lumber, I will be clear. If you don't start doing your job, then at my recommendation you will be stripped of your position and fired. I will be reporting to the Captain of the Night Guard tonight. Which will it be?"

When put like that, Lumber found he didn't have a lot of choice. Something for which he got zero sympathy for by both Prey and Crimson.

Gloom was of course going to recommend Lumber be replaced no matter what, but the sheriff didn't need to know that. It was usually beneath Gloom to use his authority like this, or lie, but the earth pony had earned his ire. It was just too bad that Lumber was still the sheriff, and so they needed him for now.

Lumber's jaw clenched and his eyes burned, ears straight back. He refused to speak, but still tightly nodded in the end. He felt betrayed. Prey really couldn't see why. He'd stayed behind to talk to them, but how in any way did that buy him amnesty, when as sheriff, he was more guilty than any of the mob?

"Alto, did you listen to that? You will be staying at the watch house. You're not in trouble, but that's where it's safest for you. We're going back to Haven Hay now." Gloom addressed their errant witness.

"I am? Okay."

"No." Gloom firmly stopped him, "We're going back together. Don't just fly off."

Alto gawked, "What? But-what? But I can fly."

"And some of us can't. We're staying as a group."

"Walk? No way, that's stupid! I'm a pegasus, I'm not made to walk."

"We need to stay as a group-"

"No, no! You can't make me! I need to fly!" Alto shouted petulantly.

Crimson's wings twitched violently at his sides, like he was just waiting for the order to smack the uncooperative colt upside the head.

Gloom stepped up and stood over Alto, glaring down at him. "I can make you, and I will. Are you going to be a good boy, or not?" He asked quietly.

Prey almost laughed at Alto, at how presumptuous the bratty colt was, and what Lumber was going to have to babysit. 'If he locks Alto up in a cell to keep the brat from flying away, I won't even protest.'

The sour glare Lumber turned on the teenage pegasus was deeply cathartic to bear witness to.

The moment of spiteful satisfaction didn't last long however, and once it passed, they were still left with a disaster on their hooves. None of the problems waiting back in Haven Hay had been solved.

Silently they began the cold, windy walk back down towards the town as gulls cried, and the mountainous stormfront ever so slowly continued to build in the far distance.


------


A very unhappy and reticent Lumber took Alto straight back to the town's watch house. Prey had no doubt word would spread quickly that one of the Heights family had turned up, no matter how much Lumber might try to keep it on the down low.

"Another good reason to house Alto in the watch house, where there are ponies to watch and guard him twenty-four-seven." Gloom had replied when Prey said as much.

Then they'd gone back down to the harbour, and Prey had waited down on the dock, watching the cold grey waves slapping at the moored boats as Gloom and Crimson flew over to the lighthouse to finally retrieve their saddlebags.

Was it only this morning that the ship currently listing on its side blocking the harbour's mouth had been spotted, and all the fliers had flown out to try to help? And then the storm, lightning strike, disaster, and mob which had followed it? Yes, it had only been this morning.

'And of course, everything went wrong the moment we got here. Because why in Tartarus wouldn't it?'

Prey cautiously leaned over the edge of the dock, and observed the deep level of the rainwater sitting in the tied-up boats while he waited. There was a thick dock post going down into the sea water just here. From the half-hoof distance Prey could see beneath the murky water's restless surface, it was just enough to make out the multitude of little things crawling and living all over the submerged part of sodden post.

The air here around the docks smelled very strongly of rot and seaweed. Prey sniffed and drew back, wiping at his nose. He hoped he didn't catch a cold from all the wind, rain, and damp. Getting sick on top of everything else would be just typical. Doubly so, because he would still be expected to work as hard as ever.

'But work hard doing what, precisely? Where are we going to go from here in solving what's happened? What's our next step?' Prey thought, looking around the harbour and also up to the town behind him.

Prey pondered on that, and what options he could present to Gloom when the Sargent inevitably asked. At least so far there hadn't been much active danger to any of them, barring the storm. This wasn't like Mayflower, and thank all the dead for that.

While Prey thought, he of course kept methodically scanning his surroundings, making observations about the town and the working ponies he could see coming and going.

He saw three earth ponies ineffectively trying to salvage a woodshed, which had collapsed under the battery of constant wind and rain. He saw more ragged holes revealing soaked beams in rooves, where tiles had been yanked off. More seagulls, some metal frameworks which had purposefully been painted over to try to protect against rust, and a street gutter half plugged up with gritty sand.

Prey was honestly surprised not to see more sand getting everywhere. He supposed that would be the case past the harbour's two walls, where there was an actual strip of a sort of beach, and the wind could catch the sand. Here in the harbour though, the dock and wharf directly met the sea.

Carried to his ears by the wind and over the crying of gulls, the strings of shells which most houses seemed to have strung outside of their doors rattled and clicked.

Was there a story behind the shell decorations, or was it simply a local decoration? Prey would bet that all the foals had competitions to see who could collect the best or just most shells, and of course that meant proudly showing their parents, who then had to grin and do something with all the unneeded shells their offspring had collected.

Prey squinted at the closest string of clacking shells. His mildly damaged vision was just a bit too blurry, so he wiped his eyes and squinted harder. There was some non-shell item attached at the end of the twine there. A stone, with a bright blue squiggle painted on it.

He peered hard at it until he was sure. It was the exact same as that amulet he'd seen Lumber wearing.

Prey thought back, examining his near eidetic memory to check that, yes, most houses in Haven Hay had that same blue painted squiggle implemented in various forms. He'd seen it on doorknockers, on gate posts, or as part of a house's paint. In various sizes, and sometimes more detailed than others, but all the same bright blue. Was it a local good luck charm?

'I think I would have noticed if everyone here was actually part of a cult, so I'm almost certain it's harmless. Almost.' Prey thought. Well, all he had to do was ask, and he'd have his answer.

Prey heard the sound of approaching wings over the seagulls and waves and rattling shells. Gloom and Crimson flew the short way down after jumping off the harbour's wall from the lighthouse to land on the docks.

"Did you check there was nothing missing?" Prey immediately asked, indicating their retrieved saddlebags.

"I don't think they would've stolen from us. I mean, we're Night Guards." Crimson said, carefully checking over one of his pinions before folding the wing.

Prey raised an eyebrow, "Well, did you check anyways?"

"Our saddlebags were right where we dropped them at the top of the tower, there's no need to worry." Gloom confirmed dully, already thinking about what they should do next.

'-don't have a clue how to track down the Heights family. Need to send that report to Captain Nighthawk, too. Mustn't forget to formally request aid for the rescued sailors as well-'

The three of them stood in a rough triangle on the creaking docks for a long, silent moment, looking between each other.

"So. That happened. Now what?" Prey bluntly asked.

Gloom absentmindedly tried to scratch at his chest scar, the armour blocking him, "What we always do, I suppose."

"Make it up as we stumble blindly along? I mean, that's what it feels like we always do." Crimson muttered.

Prey shrugged at Gloom, "Well, you can't say he's wrong, can you?"

"We just need to find our angle into all of this. That's the first step, that's how we always start." Gloom tapped his hoof for emphasis on the wet planks.

"So we find people to interrogate" Crimson nodded, "I mean, interview. Interrogate if we think they are guilty of anything, but interview first."

"Well, Alto was our only potential witness, and he was useless. That means the question now is; where shall we start our interview-interrogations first?" Prey asked.

"No idea. Just ask whoever we can I guess, and then work our way up from there, from one pony to the next. There's a lot of them in Haven Hay after all." Gloom answered, "Also, we've got to find somewhere to sleep tonight. And write up our report. And eat. Actually, all that first bit can wait, we need to eat something."

None of them had sat down, rested, or eaten since they exited the train this morning. They'd been persevering and pushing through it up until now. All three of them had kept going for longer and in harsher conditions before, much harsher, but that was just all the more reason to take the opportunity now when it presented itself.

"Let's find somewhere dry to sit. Or dry-ish. Or at least with something overhead for if it starts raining again. When it starts raining again."


---


Haven Hay, with its disgruntled residents, the still-stunned sailors who'd been rescued, and just the everyday ponies who'd lived here, been born here, or moved here; all of them were pieces which made up the larger puzzle of what was going on. Unfortunately, the only way to know if you had all the pieces was to sit down, and try to arrange it.

Prey was the one who ended up taking the notes of who they interviewed the rest of the day and what they answered. And though the notes were only mental ones, and therefore existed only in his head, Gloom and Crimson trusted him to remember everything.


---O---


Interviews such as one with a middle-aged mare, a mother of two, housewife, with the name of Jubilee. She had visibly been too nervous to let them in past the door’s security chain, but had been frustrated enough to still want to express her feelings to the scary thestral Night Guard outside.

"It's just been getting worse and worse and nopony does anything! I only have one room left in my house which doesn't leak, and we all have to squash in there at night. These conditions are beneath what anypony should haf'ta' live in. And I'm afraid, for my family, you understand? Afraid of what might happen if that evil storm-ball out there over the Breathless isn't dealt with."


---


A dock worker, who until recently used to harvest kelp and work in the dry docks whenever there was a ship to service. Name of Cranberry, with a perpetually sour expression on his face. He told them:

"Ain't nopony going to risk their tails or boats trying to get over the Boiling Bay to get to the kelp, not like it is right now. An' even if ya' did, what with that there giant bucking storm just waiting for some foolhardy pony to venture close enough, it'd be suicide. I haven't had more than two full days of work in the past fortnight. How is a stallion supposed to earn a living? Marefolk? Pha! No such thing."


---


Phanto, the town's mayor, who they finally got to meet in the haggard-looking stallion's drafty office. He'd been holding out a lot of hope on the ISND and Border Rangers’ arrival fixing things, and then Trail Blazer had been taken out by a freak lightning bolt almost immediately.

"It isn't just all the damage, and if the case I've filed against the Weather Factories goes through, mayhaps everypony can get reimbursed for that. But it's our economy. Everywhere is bleeding bits for outside supplies, and these weeks are going to near-bankrupt Haven Hay for years to come. You must do something. This can't be allowed to happen to us."


---


An old stallion, one with grey in his fur and who had trouble walking. He'd looked as weathered as the nearby cliffs. Name of Mustard, and had lived in Haven Hay his whole life. He’d said:

"Marefolk are out there, don't you ever doubt it. I've seen enough flashes of sliver and heard them singing to know it. Remember, not all waters are friendly. What? Speak up. The sigil? It's for protection against the sea. Only a fool would go out on the waves without one to ward em' off. Remember, not all waters are friendly, I tell you."


---


A reddish mare from a group of four, being the only one of them brave enough to speak up while her friends huddled and whispered. She'd been hesitant to give her name, but Prey had deduced it was Pepper Howls:

"The necklace and the charms? Oh, those are just for good luck. I don't know where the blue symbol comes from, no. It's just been around forever I think. Marefolk don't exist, everypony knows that. It's just big fish and fantastical thinking. But the storms, you're here to stop that right? Well, the airhead Heights are gone, so you've got the way clear for you now, right?"


---


Over the course of those and the other interviews they managed to get, either by knocking on doors or just going from one pony to the next, the three of them gradually picked up information about Haven Hay and the land around it.

Things like the uses of kelp, how it was cut, how often, and when in the year. About the local fish shoals each year, how deep the cauldron of the Boiling Bay was theorised to be, what time of year the seagulls nested and how you had to clear your chimney or they'd simply nest again. Ships, sails, coils of rope, the multitude of names for a dizzying array of only slightly different knots and paddles.

The ISND were given a multitude of puzzle pieces to sort through, but were any of the pieces even for the puzzle they were trying to solve?

By the time darkness fell, (with the constantly overcast sky, there was no sunset to see), none of them were any closer to even finding a clue about where the weather ponies might've disappeared to, or why.

They double-checked Alto Heights was safely situated, (contained), in the watch house, and that Lumber wasn't doing anything stupid, before retiring to the small room at one of the only open inns they'd been able to find. Or rather, one of the only non-damaged or leaking rooms they'd been able to find.

The inn owner was caught between being thrilled that he actually had a source of income, and afraid of the; '-vampire bat pony staying under my roof during the night-'

Before that though, came checking in with Nimbus Feather and his squad.


---


Of the four pegasi of the self-named Border Rangers, those who were still able bodied had been rotating watches over Trail Blazer, and meant to do so throughout the coming night. Trail Blazer had not stirred even once so far. Nimbus, Bravo, and Inky's moods were at rock bottom. And if anything, it only fell lower when the harried earth pony homeowner let the ISND in to see their fellow Guards.

Prey wondered if the owner was regretting their act of charity for being the first to usher the Border Rangers inside, now that they were going to be forced to play host for who knew how long? The doctor had insisted that while moving Trail Blazer would be possible, he definitely should not be moved unless there was no other choice.

The atmosphere was awkward, cold, stilted, and nothing at all like the boisterous carefree attitude the four pegasi had exuded on the entire long train ride down here, and indeed even right up until this morning.

'It's not fun when reality rears its’ ugly head and kicks you broken and bloodied into the gutter, is it?' Prey silently questioned as he hung back in the corner of the room.

He spotted a tab of wood with the blue squiggle symbol painted on it dangling over the window, still beaded with water from the latest bout of rain.

As it turned out, depending on who you asked, the painted sigil was either a good luck charm or a ward against evil, not that anybody whose thoughts he'd listened in on had seriously believed in either option. It was just a local custom, like knocking on wood. Nevertheless, Prey had felt it prudent to double check. Runes were also symbols after all, but he could now rest assured that there was nothing magical about the symbol itself. It looked a bit like a small painted spiral, with a dash and a dot under it.

However, Prey doubted Nimbus or his two remaining subordinates would be appreciative of being told not to worry, because they had a good luck charm in here keeping misfortune away.

"What have you been doing all day Sargent? You and your squad?" Nimbus asked distractedly.

"Our job. Investigating." Gloom answered, keeping it short and brief.

Nimbus snorted, "If you can find anything, then all the more power to ya'. But it's pretty much pointless now, don't you think?"

"How so? I don't follow."

The pegasus waved a hoof at the spare room behind him, Trail Blazer visible through the open door, prone on the bed. "That, the storm, all the damages, we already know who's guilty. Ergo, further investigation is pointless." There was no sign of the Staff Sargent's trademark brilliant-white smile anymore.

Gloom stepped around a bowl set on the floor to catch a drip from the roof, "Investigating could help find where the Heights family disappeared to. They're now officially missing ponies." He pointed out.

Prey watched the facial struggle as Nimbus tried to control his anger at hearing the surname, "You know what? You've actually got yourselves a point there. Justice can't be served if they're still flying free."

Prey saw the curt flick of distaste Crimson made with his wing. The ISND had discussed it together, and decided the Border Rangers would not be involved, nor informed, of where their investigation took them. Nimbus was at least partly responsible for the mob which had trashed the Weather Tower, his ill-thought-out actions giving the angry ponies of Haven Hay the illusion of legitimacy and legality in their destruction of property.

Gloom refrained from sharing any of what they'd discussed earlier with Nimbus Feather. Instead, all he said was; "Yes. That is why we are investigating. Maybe we will find a clue, maybe we won't. But either way, Haven Hay is now left without any weather control."

Nimbus twitched, looking back at Gloom. He narrowed his eyes, his instincts sensing where Gloom was going even if he was still following the thought through.

'-no other weather team. No other Weather Tower. Wait, hang on-'

"You're kidding. Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

"Your squad originally came to Haven Hay to assist with managing their dangerous weather in the first place, and there are now no other pegasi capable of doing so in the entire town. You, Bravo, and Inky are the only ponies who can." Gloom laid out the facts concisely.

"Yeah, but that was before Trail Blazer." Nimbus growled.

Gloom grimaced, he didn't want to sound callous or dismissive, but this was his duty- just as it was Nimbus Feather's duty. "Yes. And I'm sorry. But Haven Hay is in need, and you can't help Trail Blazer any more than you already have. Only the doctors can. But you can, perhaps, help the ponies here if another storm comes."

"If you think that-!"

"Sargent Nimbus Feather, please let me finish. I am not going to dictate what you or your squad do. That's not up to me. What I'm asking, is what will you choose to do? That's all." Gloom assured him. He was about to continue trying to reassure and reason with the other Sargent, but he caught the rapid head shake Prey was giving him.

'No more right now. He needs to decide to help by himself.' The runt mouthed at Gloom.

Prey had suggested he could convince Nimbus to do his job before they came here, but Gloom had winced and tactfully suggested that perhaps a bit of sympathy for the Border Rangers was more in order. "I'll try first. If by tomorrow he hasn't come around... then it'll be your turn, Prey." Gloom had said.

Now, Gloom just nodded and backed off, "I'm sorry again for what happened, nopony could have predicted it, and I pray to Luna for Trail Blazer's recovery."

Re-donning his helmet, with Prey and Crimson taking their cue to fall in behind him, Gloom nodded heavily to Nimbus, "We will come by to check in tomorrow. Night watch over you."

They quietly left the house with its leaks, storm damage, and storm-damaged occupants behind.


-------


Outside the single window of their rented room, yet another shower of rain tapped relentlessly against the glass. At least the gulls had shut up with the fall of darkness.

Prey gratefully unslung his backpack and dumped it beside the rented bed, rubbing at his stiff shoulders from where the straps had dug in. His pack wasn't overly heavy, but carrying it around as well as up and down all day made it heavy.

Prey rubbed circles into his scarred cheeks, tired eyes already half shut, as Gloom and Crimson began divesting themselves of their own armour and saddlebags. Their rented room was small. There really wasn't much space in here, just enough for the three beds, a slim gap between each, and a path to walk at the foot of each bed. Prey wanted a shower, with nice hot water, but that wasn't going to be happening.

It was dry though, which hadn't been an automatic guarantee from any inn’s rooms, what with all the damage going around in Haven Hay.

Crimson already had the metallic shell of his upper armour off and stacked on the bed he'd claimed, and was now methodically undoing the bands tying back his lanky warrior's braid. Those would've been a real pain in the neck to try to sleep with still on. Prey well knew that the next of Crimson's nightly before-bed rituals would be, in order; running through the forms of a training kata, cleaning his father's wingblades and/or sharpening them if necessary, and lastly seeing to his wings and feathers with near obsessive attention to detail.

Although, looking around the close-pressed and bare walls of their room, Prey didn't see enough room to perform his kata. Not unless Crimson meant to stand on the bed all the while. Which reminded Prey.

Gloom paused in undoing the buckle of his left shin guard, craning his neck to see. "What're you doing, Prey?"

Prey stopped carefully poking at his bed to answer, but Crimson absently blurted it out before he could; "He's checking for poison or traps."

Gloom looked from Crimson to Prey, "Is that true? You check for that before you sleep?" He asked in a careful, considering tone.

"That's right."

Gloom thought about the poisoning attempt that had happened back in Canterlot. Before, he would've sighed in exasperation and said this was a step too paranoid even for Prey. Not anymore.

'-it rattled Prey more than I realised. It certainly rattled me. Or has he always checked his bed every single night? Have I just been too unobservant to notice?-'

Prey's bed in their rented room was his by dint of one very simple reason. It was a foals’ bed. Which was morally humiliating with its puppy-patterned sheets, but being practical, it didn't matter since he was the only one out of the three who'd fit in it. Prey gingerly depressed the mattress with just his hoof, feeling if there were any poisoned needles embedded in the mattress, and to his satisfaction discovered it was needle-free.

Gloom quietly went back to unbuckling his shin-guard. Once done with his bed, Prey checked under it. Then went over and checked the window, and that it was firmly latched. He didn't even try to hide the small sheathed dagger he removed from his backpack and tucked under his pillow.

Gloom stopped carefully stacking his armour on the floor and raised an eyebrow. Prey matched him and raised one back. Then with a delicate cough, he pointedly indicated the snap-together halves of the short spear Gloom had unthinkingly rested beside the head of his bed, and then over to Crimson's own wingblades.

"Hey, I wasn't pointing hooves." Gloom mildly protested.

"Isn't the term, throwing glass in a rock house?" Crimson asked, pausing.

"I think you mean, don't throw stones if you live in a greenhouse. Although really, don't throw glass in a rock house is still accurate." Prey allowed, thinking about it.

"I mean that, then." Crimson decided.

"I'll agree to that too." Gloom joined in, sitting back on his bed with a groaning sigh. Then he grimaced, fished around beneath himself, and pulled out the object he'd forgotten and sat on.

It was that little hoof knife Prey had given him at Hearth's Warming. It was both a perfect size for and flat enough to be able to sit strapped, hidden under a leg or armour. With exaggerated motions, Gloom turned and tucked it away under his own pillow, and then smiled innocently at Prey.

Prey snorted, "That's not how you do it. Here, see?" He said, and whipped up his most perfectly innocent smile; head tilted just so, blue eyes big and guileless, ribbon presented, and positively brimming with light.

Gloom's smile turned briefly into a real one in amusement. A tired one, with his fangs showing, but it reached all the way to his slitted eyes. '-aah. All those times I worried about or hated that fake smile. And now I laugh because it's so fake-'

"Let me try. Do you do it like this?" Crimson joined in, ceasing trying to find room to stretch, and pulling his lips into his own attempt at a smile.

Gloom hastily covered a cough with the crook of a wing.

"... You're getting there? Keep practicing?" Prey generously offered.

It was a much needed moment of unforced levity, a reminder, or perhaps a reconfirmation. It was just a little thing, a brief moment, but it was one that Gloom could fondly look back on. They were stuck on a mission in a foreign town without any leads to go on yet, but since the threat of imminent death wasn't hanging over them, it counted as a good moment.

Prey dug in his backpack and pulled out a paper bag of candy from somewhere, then shared his sugary treats around.

Crimson got the few liquorice ones from the mix. Gloom found, to his mild surprise, that the sweets weren't actually bad, even if he didn't take more than a few. He discovered he liked the green, watermelon flavoured ones best.

Crimson, having begrudgingly given up on finding enough space to practice his katas but unwilling to leave the room, wondered out loud how a noble or lord from back in Canterlot would've dealt with sleeping in a bed with a leaking roof. Prey had suggested they'd buy the whole of Haven Hay, fix it up, and then rent it back to the people living there for double the price. The runt lamb was sprawled lazily across his pillow, idly retying his ribbon behind his ear, but in no hurry, even pausing in doing so to add gestures to better emphasise.

Gloom rubbed at his chest scars, not the ones under his eyes, and felt warm. '-I'm really looking forwards to showing Prey around my clan. Crimson too, but Prey's reactions will be a treat-'

Prey, hearing Gloom's thoughts, decided to be nice and not ruin the moment for the thestral. He wasn't finding this a bad moment either. He ignored the dull glint of gold on his forelegs, and instead let himself just relax for a moment. He was the one who'd chosen to come back, and this here was one of the very few reasons why. Which was fine, as it turned out, because Gloom ruined it for himself as his sense of duty guiltily kicked in.

Gloom sat up with a sigh and stretched for his saddlebags. He pulled out from its packing the green glass message-in-a-bottle. The slowly-flickering flame of spellfire inside added to the low illumination cast on the bare walls by their hanging lamp.

"Right. Time to write this report to Captain Nighthawk. Chip in, and help me make sure I leave nothing out." Gloom sighed, searching for paper and pencil.


---


With Prey and Crimson adding their thoughts, making sure nothing was forgotten, they wrote out an in-depth report covering all they'd discovered and suspected so far.

About the storm-damaged Haven Hay, the mayor's words and worries, the sudden arrival of the sinking ship, and the disaster that had taken place straight after. The destruction of the rooms inside the Weather Tower, the missing pegasi family, Alto Heights, and the poor actions of sheriff Lumber.

Gloom asked for a pegasus doctor familiar with lightning strikes, if there were any, to be sent, with additional aid for the stranded sailors to be included, plus stating how the Weather Tower would be needing repairs following the mob's riot.

"...and I formally request for additional backup to be sent to us. Signed, Sargent Dusky Gloom."

Gloom put down the pencil from his wingclaw, "There. And done." He began tightly rolling up the sheets of paper containing their report so they could fit it through the neck of the bottle.

Prey flopped onto his back on the bed, "I must say, this is feels rather novel."

"What does? Oh, right. You mean getting to ask for help." Crimson nodded.

"Yes. Backup. Assistance. Reinforcements. When was the last time we ever got any of that?"

"It wasn't on purpose. That's just the way things went. Unfortunately. Every time." Gloom said, grimacing in memory.

"But not this time. This time, we're asking in time. If that makes sense." Crimson said.

Prey turned his head to stare at the glowing message-in-a-bottle, "Instant communication. It's so damned valuable, I can't even put a number on it." He mused out loud.

"Yes. These things have saved our tails so many times now." Gloom agreed in utter seriousness, tapping the green glass of the incredibly expensive one-use spell. He could not have overstated the value of these message-in-a-bottles to the ISND even if he'd tried.

The ISND were not static. They had well learned the harsh lessons. This time, just this one time, they wanted to go into this with a full squad of Night Guards, skills, help, and expertise behind them.

This time, they could afford not to rush in blind. And there was no ongoing Royal Inspections back in Canterlot to delay help arriving this time around.

"We'll see what response Captain Nighthawk has sent in the morning."


------


Prey lay in his rented bed in the dark. He was comfortably hazy with sleep, barely aware but not aware of the dark room, Crimson, and Gloom beyond his eyelids.

His own ear was flopped across his face, head turned into the pillow, but moving was too much effort and would mean not drifting back to sleep. And then the warning from the runic array, which had only been tickling his senses before, flared into life as something stopped merely poking and actually tried to force the window open.

Prey was wide awake in an instant, heart a mile a minute.

He didn't dare move, he didn't change his breathing, he just barely cracked his eye open in the dark.

The window was in the opposite corner of the room to where Prey's foals’ bed sat. Prey strained, trying to see. In the dark, something was at the window, but he couldn't see it.

Outside, the night was utterly black. There were no stars, no moon, the clouds were shrouding the sky. Prey stared in the dark. The rhythm of Gloom and Crimson's breathing didn't change, it was just him and whatever was at the window.

It was looking in, he could feel it. Prey couldn't see anything, he didn't have the others’ night vision.

Very quietly in the dark room, the latch *clicked*.

"Intruder!" Prey shouted, going for his dagger under the pillow.

Gloom jerked upwards on his bed, blanket tangling over him, and not knowing what was going on or where he was in that moment, "Nrk?"

Crimson was faster. He was rolling out of his bed, going for his wingblades even before his eyes were open, practised and honed instinct overriding conscious thought.

Prey threw away the dagger's sheath and ran the two steps needed to reach the wall, breaking immediate line of sight from the window.

"At the window!"

There was no way for Crimson to strap on his wingblades in time, and after only a moment's hesitation, he gave up and rushed the window instead.

Gloom finally staggered upright, forgetting in the heat of the moment about his own dagger, snatching up the sharp half of his snap-together short spear instead. He pointed it in the direction of the window, "Where? What?"

Crimson yanked the window fully open, the silent runic alarm shrieking in only Prey's head, wings raised to strike and legs bent to dodge. Prey was sliding along the wall, dagger up, to reach him.

Crimson stared out into the night, and then very cautiously stepped closer to peer to either side, then below the sill, and finally up to the overhanging gutter above.

"What?" Gloom demanded again into the pounding silence, leathery wings flared.

Crimson never took his eyes of the square of open night air, "There's nothing. Are you sure, Prey?"

"Yes. I heard the window open, but I didn't see anything." Prey anxiously recounted, the dagger feeling very flimsy all of a sudden.

He hadn't imagined it, but there was no sign of whoever it was now. His hooves weren't stinging to signal any magic or illusions, and he hadn't heard any thoughts, but that could've just been because he was in the far corner of the room, away from the window.

That was assuming it had been a person, or that there'd ever been any thoughts to overhear in the first place. 'Zoma'Grika, please say it's not the changelings again. Not again.'

"You double checked it was locked, I saw you. But it opened when I pulled it." Crimson realised.

"Moon blight." Gloom hissed. '-that proves it!-'

There was a moment of silence between them. From outside in the night, the distant sound of the cold sea drifted through the open window.

"Who was it? One of the townsfolk?" Gloom finally asked.

A stupid question, since none of them knew anything more than the other two.

"A thief. I mean, it could just have been a thief. Nothing worse than that." Crimson suggested quietly.

He didn't say it might've easily been something worse, although it would've had to have been a confident assassin to so brazenly try, and think they would succeed.

Prey didn't have any answers for once. What more could they do? There was nothing, no clues or evidence left behind.

Gloom backed up and retrieved the bottom half of his spear, slotting it into place and twisting it to lock with a sharp click, "Crimson. Get your wingblades on. We're setting a watch for the rest of the night."

"Yes sir."

Whoever or whatever it had been was gone. Whatever their goal had been, they'd wanted or needed to do in secret. For now, their goal had become impossible with the ISND alerted. As long as they stayed that way, they'd probably be fine. But aside from that, they were helpless to stop whoever or whatever from trying again.

This was not the first time they'd had to sit tight in a room, on guard from some unknown threat while trying to rest.

'-but Luna willing, it will be the last-', Gloom thought.

It meant nothing, but Prey couldn't help but note as the window was pulled shut that it was one of the few without one of the blue-painted good luck symbols anywhere in sight. Which again, meant absolutely nothing. Prey wasn't being dismissive of superstition, he knew far better than to do that, though this time it was just superstition. He was confident this time it was nothing.

Yet he still noted it.

Crimson would take the first watch. Gloom leant his short spear beside his bed, not undoing it. He lay facing the ceiling though, his faintly luminous yellow eyes showing they were still open. Prey returned the dagger to under his pillow. Then he pulled the blankets up, closed his eyes, and tried to fall back to sleep in the deafening silence which followed.

It never grew stale. That taste of sudden unlooked-for and unwanted danger, it was just as rancid and gut-churning as ever.

It was never fun, learning you were part of a hunt.


------


Some things people forget given enough time, a haze overtaking the memory. Others you never forgot. Prey never forgot.







In the dark hours of the early morning, a train pulled up to the rain-slicked platform at the top of the hill of Haven Hay.

The tired engine drivers shut off the furnace, then left to make use of the small staff bunk hut until the grey morning came. This wasn't a delivery, or a passenger run. Rather, the engine was here to link up and take those very same things back with it come the evening.

There was only one cargo carriage attached to the train, and it was empty. The two ponies remembered it to be empty, and thus they could forget about it. If they'd brought an empty carriage here, then obviously it was because somepony had decided it needed to be delivered here. Whatever, it wasn't their problem.

The carriage sat on the tracks, unmoving in the dark. It had been shunted around and had changed train no less than three different times from its original starting point before it arrived here at Haven Hay. If you were close enough, the locked and silent train car smelled faintly. It smelled faintly of ripe marsh water, and pondweed.


---I---