It finally came to Scenic as he was emptying his waste paper bin, filled with paint stained scraps of discarded water colours.
It was hardly the most glamourous moment for this particular realisation, standing out the back, with the open bin wafting the disagreeable smell of rotting vegetables into his face, but that was how life worked.
Maybe it was his own fault for having been so slow to internalise the realisation, because as he stood there, frozen in the act of emptying the paper bin, he also realised that it had taken him a year and a half to hear what his subconsciousness had been telling him all along. The realisation was this:
'Someday, I'm going to have to finally ask Carton to marry me.'
It stunned Scenic. He'd always thought, but also not thought-! But he wasn't ready to propose! Not even close! Carton was much too good for him for one thing, and he wasn't nearly responsible enough to be a husband for another.
But Scenic realised that whenever he thought about the future, of where he'd been in five years time, in every scenario he foresaw, it was standing alongside Carton Juice.
It had never been a question of love, because he already loved Carton, Scenic knew that. And she loved him, they'd told each other so often enough already. He loved Carton. She loved him. Marriage was just what came next. He wanted to spend his life, his time, his successes and failures with Carton. And even more, he wanted her to share the same with him.
It was a wonderful, scary realisation.
'I'm going to marry Carton Juice one day,' Scenic thought in a daze, heedless of the smelly bin open in front of him, 'Oh buck, I'm going to marry Carton! I'm nowhere near ready! I've got so much improving to do!'
They weren't going to be married immedidetly, heck, he hadn't even proposed yet, so it'd probably be at least a year, but that suddenly seemed like such a short length of time.
Scenic's head began to whirl.
The magnitude of the future was sinking rapidly in. He had to get a proper job, find the gold earring, or bracelet, Celestia, he didn't even know which type Carton preferred, then propose, and make Carton happy. Preparing a guest list, getting a venue, the best stallion, brides maids, flowers, and that was just the wedding. The actual day itself was only going to be one day out of many. Much more important was the before and after the wedding. That was when the important stuff would really happen.
Scenic could panic about all of that later, and oh, he was definitely going to.
But after the realisation that he was going to ask Carton to marry him, came two additional things.
The first was a massive goofy grin that he just couldn't suppress. It rose up from his stomach, filled his whole chest with warmth and excitement, and made his face hurt it stretched so wide, but he couldn't have stopped smiling even if he'd wanted to.
The second thing was; 'We're going to have to go house shopping. Neither of our houses are quite big enough for a couple to live in together.' Which all went doubly so for Carton, who had to duck more than unicorns did to enter any doorway.
But they'd need a bigger home for a much more important reason in the future than Carton's height.
Carton Juice wanted foals. She'd always made that clear. Every week, she'd say things like; "I want to teach my foals how to play the flute", or, "I can't wait to have a filly whose mane I can braid."
Carton loved foals, even just seeing them trotting down the street to preschool in the mornings brought her such honest excitement. It was so obvious that she would want a family of her own to love and cherish. Personally, the mere thought of having foals terrified Scenic.
Every single time Carton saw Prey, he knew that for just a moment his dear marefriend had to fight off the urge to try sweeping the little white lamb up into a big hug. She wanted to spoil and fuss over the "poor cute colt who's so far away from his mommy".
Carton's actual words, not his. Scenic did not think any such thing about the vicious little runt. But Carton didn't know that, because she hadn't seen. She thought Prey's barbed tongue and insults came from hardships, and that he just needed all the more love to come around, even if it didn't always work.
'I know better.' Scenic had been there in Mayflower, that dark, dark night. He'd been there with them, and he'd survived the forest, the scarecrow, the kindersnatches, and all the terrifying horror. And he never, ever, ever wanted to go back. Scenic had seen what Crimson, Gloom, and Prey were capable of.
Prey wasn't a misunderstood and lonely foal like Carton saw. He was a Night Guard every bit as much as Crimson and Gloom where. The three of them together were capable of making choices that no pony should be able to make. And for that reason, Scenic was glad to be quit of the Guard. Not that he distrusted the three of them, he was very grateful to them for what they did! Celestia knew, he'd proven he wasn't capable of doing it in their stead.
But that was because he had seen what Crimson, Gloom, and lastly Prey were capable of doing. And it disgusted him. He deeply respected each of them, and was deeply grateful for what they sacrificed. But he never, ever, ever wanted to become capable of following in their hoofsteps.
Scenic looked up at the sun, at the beautiful city, at the happy ponies trotting gaily down the street. Yes, that was what life was about, that was what was worth living for. Scenic wanted to be happy in life, and to make Carton happy too. Whatever else Gloom, Crimson, and lastly Prey were, it was rarely happy.
'I'm going to propose to Carton. I'm going to live my life with love and happiness. I choose love and Harmony.'
The doofus grin came back full force, "I'm gonna' propose to Carton!" He squeed to the smelly garbage bin.
Perhaps Prey should have thought to press Crimson for more details about his previous clan's old prophecies. However, he didn't believe in predictions of the future.
Yet other people obviously did. He'd seen the reactions of the thestrals who'd been there on that night, when Luna had referenced a centuries old prediction about the next time Harmony's comet was seen in the sky. Prey had noted how captivated by the 'evidence' the thestrals had been.
So perhaps if Prey had questioned Crimson, he might've had a warning of what was to come.
Because Clan Myrrdon had also seen Harmony's comet in the night sky, and had also interpreted it the same way; as a sign.
And with the proof of one sign, why wouldn't they then look for other signs to their most closely held prophecies which hadn't yet come to pass? Because there was one prophecy, one of the big ones, which was well known in Clan Myrrdon. If it had been one of the utterly obscure ones, maybe it would have been forgotten a hundred years ago, but it wasn't. It happened to be one of those that actually was repeated at story time around the fires, when there was nothing else to do.
And so, this prophecy had snuck into the back of every Myrrdon's head by dint of repetition over the years, even if they personally didn't put much stock in it. But then the comet had come, the clan elders had taken it as a sign, and after declaring it a sign, suddenly everyone was thinking about prophecies, and which one would be the most prevalent in everyone's minds? The one they'd heard over and over.
And why would it be told over and over, unless it was a good prophecy for Clan Myrrdon? One of hope and motivation when times were hard, even if at the time they'd not believed it, just taking it as comforting words. But now, what if it was real? What if it was more than just comforting words?
And so, after months of hard debate and planning by the elders, Clan Myrrdon had made a choice.
'For a dove of peace, the third-of-the-last-third shall seek.
And the third-of-the-last-third descendants of Myrr shall find the last promised land.
What is given shall no more be taken from Myrr's descendants. So it is written by the passing stars.
For as surely as night comes out of day, the hoof of both day and night must no longer bare sway over the third-of-the-last-third.
A promised land where wealth follows storms, and gaia gladly gives. There they shall rest from every toil and care.'
In a hijacked Weather Tower.
On a overshadowed barren hilltop.
Beneath a sky rapidly filling with an oncoming typhoon.
Set before a churning sea, where out in the middle of the dark waters, a weathered spire held eight prisoners trapped.
Situated above a small port side town, which was being frantically evacuated, its harbour and boats abandoned.
Clan Myrrdon, after all this time in hiding had finally re-emerged and made their move. When Princess Luna of Equestria had returned from her banishment on the moon and been reinstated into power, she had swiftly reached out to the three hidden thestral clans, offering support in reintegrating back into Equestria in return for service.
Each clan was small, only six to seven hundred thestrals each, including the elderly and young. They had been forgotten by Equestria as nothing more than tales of vamponies.
Two of the clans had immediately accepted Luna's call to return to serve in Her Majesty's Night Guard after generations in hiding. They sent their warriors and those who could be spared, while the rest stayed home in their ancestral clan caves. Clans Felion and Cilldara had accepted.
Clan Myrrdon had not only refused, but also immediately abandoned their home and vanished into the wild night to hide. But not before an internal feud had left one estranged clan elder dead via ritual combat, and his orphaned throwback son exiled for seeking revenge also through the same ritual combat.
Only rumours and distant unconfirmed sightings of the reticent clan had been seen since.
Clan Myrrdon had vanished to who knew where. And the exiled orphan had surrendered himself to Equestria and the new Night Guard. Crimson.
It sounded so impersonal like that, just a list of facts recorded and recited. It didn't convey any of the deep, bitter, everlasting enmity of betrayal.
---
In the shadows beyond the open door, as the huge fans of the Weather Tower slowly spun in the background, the warriors of the invading Clan Myrrdon waited for them.
Behind Prey at the top of the stairwell somewhere, the self titled Border Rangers stood frozen. Prey barely registered their continued presence. He too was frozen, in the act of searching inside his backpack. Gloom had his short spear withdrawn, pointed upwards non-threateningly in keeping with their surrender bargain. But under his armour, the Sargent was as stiff as a board.
Prey's breathing was loud in his long ears. The fan blades lazily thrummed. The heavy air pressed down.
He swivelled his eyes and only his eyes to Crimson. He was behind his friend on the stairs, and could only partly see Crimson's face. But from behind, he could see the tightly braided end of Crimson mane where it poked out from under his helmet. And the braids' end, past the wooden ring, the end was trembling fiercely.
So were the very tips of his tufted ears. And the points of his pinion feathers. Crimson was held so ridged, that he couldn't actually hold still.
Like a drawn long bow, the string was thrumming with stored tension nine-tenths of the way to snapping.
One of the waiting Myrrdon thestrals moved. Everyone tensed to spring as he held out his hoof, unshod, "The keys." He stated.
The thestral wore some kind of light, tight fitting dark armour. However it was to the bared wingblade that Prey's eyes were inevitably drawn. Each and every one of the waiting Myrrdon thestrals were also armed with personally favoured weapons.
Three stood on the small landing directly outside of the opened door. Another two perched like a yellow-eyed gargoyles on the railings, utterly unworried about the drop behind them. And a further five thestrals hovered in place above the drop, spread out. One of them dipped lower, and Prey realised from the way she moved for a better angle, that the shadowy object in her forehooves was a crossbow.
Prey tried and failed to get control of his breathing. They were outnumbered, and bottlenecked in the stairwell.
"The keys. Now. Then you will be allowed to leave." The thestral repeated, voice level. Now not muffled by a steel door, the familiar accent was so much clearer.
Gloom nudged Crimson, hastily whispering, "Give them to him. We're trapped, there's nothing we can do."
Crimson raised his hoof with the ring of keys. Prey held his breath. He could feel the rage radiating off every taut line of Crimson's body.
The thestrals weren't blind, they could see it just as clearly. "Don't try it, exile. I gave you my word, but if you break it, then you will die here. You're a traitor to Myrrdon, and there will be no mercy for you."
"Crimson don't! They've got crossbows." Prey hissed frantically, "They'll shoot you!"
Magic beats all else, but in its absence, range beats close range. Maybe Crimson could take down one, or perhaps even two of these warriors in an initial rush, but then the flying thestrals would then just shoot him, and shoot the rest of them too for good measure. It would be suicide.
But these were the people who had betrayed Crimson. Who had abandoned him, and murdered his father.
Prey's heart pounded, "Please Crimson, don't do anything! We'll all die."
Crimson didn't move for a long terrible second. Just the tips of his wings quivering with the bursting desire for violence.
Finally he spoke, voice coming out a strangled croak; "Where is Nexus?"
Nexus Fate. The one Crimson said who killed his father in the duel. It had been the clan's elders who'd twisted the duel into a never ending gauntlet, but it was Nexus who'd been the one to kill Crimson's father in the end, after he was too exhausted to defend himself after fending off the previous challengers.
"That doesn't matter to you. This is your last chance, as sworn by the moon." A second thestral answered, just as flatly as the first. And he meant it. The steel in his voice and eyes told the truth, that they would kill Crimson if he gave them an excuse. Prey could almost heard the crossbow triggers creaking right on the brink of being pulled that last millimetre.
"Crimson, don't do it! We've got a chance to live and run away!"
Prey didn't hear what Crimson thought. Nor did Crimson say anything. He finished haltingly holding out the keys, and dropped them onto the other stallion's waiting hoof.
The thestral withdrew his hoof, never breaking eye contact with Crimson. He did not speak, did not say anything in gloating. And he didn't let his guard down either. He just stepped back, and ten pairs of luminous slitted eyes waited for them to leave.
Thestrals were competent. And these here were all thestrals too. And just like Gloom, or Nighthawk, or Vivid Edge, or any thestral Night Guard back in Canterlot, they were warriors. There was no chance of outsmarting them, because they wouldn't wait to strike if Prey started to try something. They would shoot first and ask questions never.
The strong take, and the weak suffer. Right now, the ISND were in the weaker position, outnumbered over three-to-one. The three Border Rangers up in the observation room behind them didn't count. They would be useless in a real fight against these warriors.
The ISND had already lost any fight before it even began.
Gloom gripped Crimson to his side with a wing, physically trying to make sure he didn't snap. He glared at the Myrrdon thestrals, "We already gave up. We'll leave now. I don't know what you're trying to achieve here with this madness, but I hope it was worth selling your souls for."
He pulled Crimson with him as he stepped out, trying to watch every angle, "Keep it together until we get out of here," Gloom muttered, "And you stay right on my tail Prey."
Prey scrambled after them, without even a backwards glance at Nimbus, Inky, and Bravo to see if the trio froze up or followed to. They didn't matter. Getting out of this tower alive mattered.
As Prey stepped out of door, and the eyes of all those taller, stronger, and faster people looked down at him, he felt utterly exposed. His contingency plan was utterly useless now.
These thestrals had been watching them when the arrived on the train, when they tried to interfere, when they slept, and when they mistakenly came here. They'd known what the ISND was doing every step of the way.
On his first step, Prey cringed in expectation of betrayal and an iron-tipped crossbow bolt shattering his ribcage. As he reached the top of the long flight of stairs down, he was still expecting the crossbow bolt. He expected it every single stair on the way down, as the flying crossbow ponies kept level with them in the air.
The thrumming of the fan blades pulsed rhythmically in his ears. Would he even hear the click of the crossbow's trigger lever being pulled? Yellow slitted eyes burned on his back.
'I've survived worse situations than this. We'll make it out alive.' He clung on to that hope.
But just because he'd survived worse before didn't mean he wasn't going to die now.
A nameless terror in the dark, a baloth, a war swarm of changelings, a mad griffin, a fire, a storm, an arrow, or just an inch of water in a muddy ditch. There was no restrictions on death. Prey didn't dare raise his head, just locked onto following Gloom and Crimson's tails and not giving their watchers any reason to kill him. Prey prayed to the uncaring world which wasn't listening, that for once he would just be seen as a child, and that these people had self-imposed limitations against killing children.
But the Border Guard hadn't. The Resistance hadn't. So why would Clan Myrrdon?
Prey was shocked when he took the next step and found they'd reached the bottom of the turbine room. Reflexively, he looked back up at the rising stacks of huge fan blades to the shadowy doorway. It showed him that the five crossbow wielding thestrals were still hovering just above them, no, four crossbows, one of them was an actual bow. Prey cringed and hunched smaller as the closest one looked down at him.
'I'm small, I'm harmless, please don't shoot me.'
He was almost surprised when Nimbus and his two subordinates were the last ones to shuffle off the staircase. He hadn't even realised they'd followed, instead of staying behind to be captured or executed like idiots. Prey'd been too focused on not wanting to die.
Gloom turned to glower darkly up at the traitor thestrals, flying out of his reach. He didn't take his wing off from around Crimson's armoured shoulders. It was not just a gesture of support. It was more one of restriction.
Crimson wasn't looking up at their trailing guards. He was staring rigidly straight ahead, not letting himself look.
"Now what? Do we just go down? Do we have to expect a spear in the face the moment we step out the front door?" Gloom called up challengingly. There were still three trashed floors to descend through, which used to be the living quarters of the Heights family, before they got to the front door.
A large thestral, who didn't just have a crossbow but also a brace of javelins strapped to his sides, motioned with the sharp point of his loaded crossbow. It was an incredibly eloquent motion, encapsulating perfectly everything the thestral meant to convey with it.
'-step out, or stay in here and die. I don't care what you do once we've closed the door-'
"If you hurry, you will still make it to the Wailing Crag in time," A hovering mare dispassionately said, freely speaking about the hostages she'd helped kidnap without any guilt, "Their lives are now your responsibility."
"Move, move," Nimbus shoved forwards, "That's why we surrendered, so we could save them. So let's move!"
The pegasus was right for once. There was no time. Not if they intended to beat the advance of massive storm to the crag. But Prey had no wings. He couldn't fly out with them. So he was going to be left behind, alone.
It was simple math.
There were eight captured hostages tied up or trapped on the crag. Four of them could fly, being the Heights family. They consisted of two pegasi adults, and two young teenagers. The other four prisoners were adult ponies, and couldn't fly. Sheriff Lumber and his deputy, and then Sandy Shine and Flash Light from the lighthouse.
Prey could do the harsh, uncompromising math. It would take two fliers to carry each adult non-flier back across the angry sea. Only Gloom and Crimson could fly from the ISND. There were three Border Rangers left here. Plus Gale and Windy if both could be freed, that made seven flight capable adults. One short.
Maybe the two younger Heights pegasi could at least provide a bit of helping lift? Switch the load mid-flight? Bravo was big and looked strong, and desperation could drive people to incredible feats. They were going to have to struggle and improvise. Or fail. Failure was always an unwanted option.
Or they could just leave the hostages to die to the storm.
If they went to rescue the hostages, it meant they were giving up any further chance of stopping clan Myrrdon. Again, it was simple math. Like a scale. If one side went up, then the other must go down.
'And I'm going to be left behind. Alone.'
Prey made no move to stop them or speak up as the three Border Rangers charged ahead down into the trashed tower rooms first. Let them die first if this was some kind of double-cross or trap. Prey knew for a fact there were more thestrals in the sky up above the Weather Tower. What if those thestrals hadn't gotten the message about the deal they'd reached?
The air reached out and grabbed Prey by the throat as soon as they stumbled out from the Weather Tower.
"By Celestia." Prey heard either Nimbus or Bravo gasp.
The very air seemed to coat his tongue as he sucked in a lungful. It was heavy, charged and volatile. It was a pressure in Prey's ears that wouldn't pop. And everything sounded very subtly wrong, just the edge of every sound muted. It was all just that bit too muffled, even the distant thunder.
And dark. Far too dark. Prey twisted his head back and looked up. He blinked watering eyes, squinting. The air pressure was making his eyes sting too.
Directly above, Prey saw a number of Myrrdon thestrals looking down at them from over the edge of the tower, just dark shapes against a darker sky. The deep rumbling was frightening.
"Luna's mane." He heard Gloom breathe.
Prey saw the storm. It was a solid shadow, filling half of the sky. Those internal flashes of stark white lightening inside the mountain of cloud were coming more frequently too, dancing all across the interior of the storm.
Tens of flashes strobed every single second. The rumble of thunder was a vibrating constant. That was what was making the air in Prey's lungs feel too heavy. And the sky and sea beneath the storm... Prey realised he couldn't see it. There was no sea beneath the storm. Just a churning black mass, there was no way to differentiate between where cloud, rain, and sea ended and the rest began.
And the storm was even closer than last time.
The danger felt so surreal, and yet also right there. Because it really was right there. But it wasn't here yet. But it would be here.
'I cannot be here when that hits.' Prey thought yet again.
The storm boomed.
The moment of shared stunned silence wore off. The Weather Tower was now out of their hooves, the danger of Clan Myrrdon suddenly no longer the most terrifying thing in the face of what was coming.
Clan Myrrdorn had what they wanted, and would hopefully leave them alone now. The storm wouldn't.
"Are we still going towards that?" Bravo asked in a small voice.
Nimbus jumped, "What do ya even-? Of course we are! What are we doing standing here? We need to get out to the crag right now!"
Gloom surged forwards, trying to catch the pegasus before he could take to the air, "Wait, we need to think this through-!"
"Buck that and your thinking, there is no time." Nimbus beat his way into the air, kicking up wind.
With a start, Inky realised she was getting left behind and followed. Bravo hesitated, looked at the storm, but he too opened his wings to take off.
"There's not enough of us! We need a plan. There's four ponies to fly back and only five of us, seven with Windy and Gale when we free them. If they can even fly still. How are we going to carry-?"
"Too late now. There's no time for thinking. Only action. Or are you going to run away?" Nimbus challenged, looking over his shoulder back down at them still on the ground.
In a way, the brash stallion was right. Their time was up. Those who rushed blindly into a disaster scenarios were likely to just become more victims. But now there was no time to plan, only to act. They wouldn't make it to the Wailing Crag in time if they delayed any longer.
There was no time, no time, no time! No time left for anything else.
There was only the now, to act and react. Move, or be crushed under the millwheel of time as it caught up and dragged you under.
'-since when did I let fear stay my hoof from what was right?-'
"Right, of course. We need to leave-", Gloom spun, wings already opening. Clan Myrrdon didn't matter now, only the hostages did. He saw Prey and Crimson standing close together.
"-We'll be right behind you."
Gloom didn't pause to see if Nimbus answered or not. He sprinted the short distance back to Prey and Crimson. The lamb was standing close to Crimson, as close as he ever got, frantically trying to explain something.
And it was only then that Gloom remembered, somehow the obvious only just hitting him; '-we'll have to leave Prey behind again-'
How had he forgotten? But in the frantic moment, he had. How did it always slip away from his brain that Prey wasn't like the two of them and he. Could. Not. Fly?
'-stupid stupid!-', Gloom wanted to rip his mane out. But there was no changing harsh reality, just as surely as the storm was coming this way. There was no time.
Gloom stumbled over words, trying to go in two different directions at once, "Can't fly, you Prey. The crag, we need to fly them, but you can't-We can, so we need to-There's no time."
Gloom heaved in a breath, clenched his eyes shut, and forced out a full sentence, "Prey you have to stay behind. You can't fly. We, we both have to go. It'll take all of us to carry them back across the sea."
Prey spared one single second to glance at Gloom, and then he was back to Crimson. Prey didn't care about the eight people relying on rescue trapped out on the Wailing Crag. Crimson's wants, needs, and feelings took priority. Justified? Fair? Reasonable?
'Who cares about any of that?' Because Prey didn't. Prey was selfish, and he only cared if Crimson was alright first.
It was too bad, then, that he'd had nothing to say Crimson had wanted to hear. But he'd been trying.
---Moments Previous---
The storm boomed.
Prey looked up at his friend. He was silent, his face closed and hard, yet the tips of his tightly folded wings were still shaking. A bit out of fear. Mostly out of hate. And all mixed up into dreadful thirst for revenge. How could he not when his old tormentors were right there! Prey could tell. He knew what it was like. To hate someone so much that you didn't care about the odds, you only wanted to make them hurt.
Crimson wanted to hurt them, to punish them. But they'd been out numbered, and overpowered.
So instead, Crimson had been forced to surrender the keys, bow his head to his tormentors, and slink away. And Prey knew what that was like, too. He had to do it every single time he saw Luna.
The strong take, and the weak suffer. The same old law of the world.
"Crimson, Crimson listen to me. Nighthawk and reinforcements are coming. Nobody but us knows about the message bottles we've been using," Prey spoke fast, "The Night Guards on their way right now, and once they arrive, then you'll, then we'll have a chance at Myrrdon."
Crimson clenched his jaw. Prey hurried on, thunder and lightning flickering in the background as Gloom and the Border Rangers shouted at each other to be heard.
"Sure they'll have fled by then, probably, but we'll be close behind. This time, they won't have an insurmountable head start. Nighthawk is bringing unicorns and specialists. We'll be able to track them down. Let them walk away today, so we can stab them in the back tomorrow."
"I wanted to fight Nexus Fate." Crimson spoke in a rush, spitting the words out like pebbles, "I wanted, I wanted to challenge him myself. I wanted to finish it."
"He won't accept, don't try and fight him fairly in a duel. Cut his throat in his sleep." Prey pleaded.
"I know that, I know! I hate it. I know he'd never accept a challenge! Just a naïve daydream. He'd just laugh. I'd never get the chance." Crimson spat, now that he'd started, unable to stop speaking:
"I want, I just wanted, just a chance. I thought about this for so long-but now nothing. Nothing. Why did I think for even a second-? Of course Nexus wasn't going to come find me, wasn't going to give me the chance! How stupid am I Prey?" His hoof was digging a grove into the hard rocky ground, pushing at the resistance, desperate for something to fight against, even if it was just the ground.
That was when Gloom had rushed over, and raspily panted out, "Prey you have to stay behind. You can't fly. We, we both have to go. It'll take all of us to carry them back across the sea."
"Wait." The way Prey nearly snatched after them made Gloom wait. Prey's hoof had flitted out, but then jerked back a few inches short. But the instinctive action and counter-reaction made Gloom stop.
Because there was no spare time, but for this, they would have to sacrifice the time. Nimbus and the other two pegasi were already winging away, racing through the darkening sky for the blob of the Wailing Crag out on the far edge of the Boiling Bay. But for one minute, maybe not even that, Gloom would wait.
Prey was already speaking, voice a breathless rush, "I know what they want to do with this storm, why they gathered it, Clan Myrrdon."
His voice dropped, and he leaned in, even though the thestrals who'd driven them out had sealed the tower door, and their watchers atop the tower were fifty meters above. Clan Myrrdon obviously didn't care what the ISND did now that they'd lost the tower, and after today, they'd never see them again either. If the ISND made a suicidal attempt to somehow retake the tower, they'd be killed, but beyond that, now that they'd given up the tower's keys, there were worth nothing to clan Myrrdon.
"What's their plan? Hurry, hurry!"
Prey had to share this, had to make sure they knew what he'd pieced together from stolen snatches of thought as the Myrrdon thestrals had driven them out.
Because the ISND was about to split up. Crimson and Gloom were going to fly away, and Prey couldn't fly.
Prey was going to be left behind in a few seconds time. There was no changing the fact. Accept it, or rebel against the idea. Either way, in a few moments it was going to happen, and he was going to be left standing here on this hilltop as thunder rumbled and the world held its breath.
Those were the cold hard facts.
Gloom hated it. Prey hated it. Crimson hated it. Yet that was what was about to happen.
Everything was teetering on the brink, trying to overbalance and come crashing down. But there was no time to stabilise the tipping, and they were about to split up. And predicting what would come after that was just frighteningly jagged blur.
Which made it all the more vitally important that Prey imparted what he'd learned now, because there was never going to be another chance. Prey spoke in one breath:
"They've been building this massive storm and artificially stopping it from dispersing because they're going to use it as a bridge to break through the anti-magic of the Cliffs of Dove. They mean to take the Isle of Dove for their new home, to leave Equestria and never come back."
Gloom drew breath to exclaim "Impossible", but an enormous crack of thunder boomed and pale flashes kept flickering across all of them. Impossible or not didn't matter, because here and now Clan Myrrdon was attempting it anyway.
Not impossible. Just insane.
Crimson's mouth worked, "How?" He managed, half-drowned out.
"They're going to use the Weather Tower to smash the storm into the Cliffs of Dove. Some bits of the weather can still make it across into the skies over the Isle if there's enough of it. They believe it will work, so they must have a reason, perhaps they tested it somehow, I don't know." Prey ran out of breath and had to breathe. The very air was starting to gain a taste, an acrid tang of copper on the tip of Prey's tongue.
He ploughed on, words garbled in his haste, "They want to leave, sever all ties from Equestria, go beyond Luna's reach for good. It doesn't matter if it'll work or not, they believe that it will, so they're going to try. They think the storm will carry them safely across the anti-magic divide. The wind, the updrafts, if they start high enough up in the sky, they think they'll be able to glide far enough even without their flight magic."
Did Clan Myrrdon have some kind of further plan for when they reached the Isle? If they reached the Isle? Did they know if they could even survive out there? No one knew what lay in the heart of the misty island, or if the anti-magic effects extended over the whole area.
What about supplies? How much were they bringing with them? And how were they planning to transport it all? Seeds for crops? Tools? What about metals and blacksmiting more? How? How did they intend for this to work? Prey didn't know, he'd only had enough time to see snatches, but they must have some in-depth plan.
They'd been preparing for this for who knew how long. Perhaps ever since Luna returned, and tried to make them serve her.
They just wanted to be left alone. Prey could understand that. It was the exact same goal Prey wanted so badly. So badly it hurt. But they'd attacked and alienated Crimson. For that, Clan Myrrdon would ever be Prey's enemy.
"How do you know this for certain?" Gloom asked. A wasted question. There wasn't time.
"I-You don't want to know." Prey answered.
Gloom took Prey's answer as truth. If Prey said so, then he really must not want to know.
'-doesn't matter anyway-',
It didn't matter because there was no time.
Rumble. Flickering lightning. The coming storm.
"We have to leave."
A bleak statement of surrender. Of the moment having finally come. No more time to sacrifice on thinking. From here on, it was swim or drown.
..., eight, nine, ten. Gloom and Crimson both yet lingered for that long, the last moment about to break between the three of them. Because now the moment was here, and there was no more time.
No time.
"Be safe Prey. Night watch over you."
Prey didn't have any parting phrase or blessing. He wracked his mind to find one, but by the time he found it, air was buffeting his face, and Gloom and Crimson were taking off. Gloom looked back down at him, and so did Crimson, even as they gained height. Crimson pointed back towards Haven Hay, telling him to make for safety.
Belatedly and instinctively, Prey waved back. And then felt like the most insensitive fool.
He was waving goodbye? Now?! He hadn't meant to, instincts had just taken over. What by all the dead made him think that was appropriate right now? He was an utter fool.
...A fool for standing here instead of running!
The roaring storm was still coming! He didn't have wings, he couldn't cover the ground back to the port town in only ten minutes, and there was no Crimson to fly him carried in a box this time.
It was just him, left alone, on this hilltop, outside of the commandeered Weather Tower. Just him, just like the old days and the Deeper Green. Which meant if he was standing still, and out in the open, he was in the wrong place.
Panicked energy surged into Prey's veins, the moment finally hitting him full force. The storm was coming, and he had to get to shelter, reinforced shelter, as anything else wasn't going to survive.
He moved. He started running over the wet ground. He couldn't sprint, he'd collapse before he made it back to Haven Hay if he did. The backpack was going to weigh him down, was already weighing him down, but he needed it, and he'd already purposefully lightened it as much as he could.
'It's downhill all the way, that's my biggest hope.' Uneven stones and wet ground were going to be his biggest hindrances. And his runt body's endurance.
But fear can make the most excellent motivator. Prey ran towards Haven Hay, the sky darkening, the sea rising, the winds' howls growing, and all of that a mere prelude to the coming real storm.
---
The experience of running for your life never got old or less dreadful.
The knowledge thudding away inside your skull that if you were too slow, you would die. That sensation of fear as you fled the danger chasing you, it was as horrible as it ever had been.
The uninformed observer might think that running for your life would lend you speed and endurance.
They uninformed thought wrong. The heart thumping dread, the mounting exhaustion in your muscles and rising burn in your lungs, the sick fear, it sapped your strength even faster.
All running for your life gave you was the motivation to keep going past the point where a sensible person would stop, to mistakenly speed your pace past what you could sustain.
Prey had not been able to pace himself properly. The static air clung to his sweat. He wanted to stop. The tendons in the backs of his legs burned savagely from running downhill. But he couldn't stop.
The storm was coming. It was coming faster than he could run. He'd stopped glancing back. He'd slipped and fallen the last time he'd tried. And seeing the black wall of the storm bearing down on him didn't help anything.
Hearing the constant rumbling booms of thunder getting louder and louder was already bad enough. A slow building crescendo towards his own doom.
---
A rivet in the ground ahead that he'd have to break stride to jump. The rent came up much too slowly, not at all matching with the frantic pace his heart was going at. He was going too slowly.
Prey slowed, jumped over the long crack, stumbled on the other side, then gritted his teeth and with a groan, forced his shaking legs to get back up to speed.
--
Prey panted for each breath, mouth as dry as cracked paper. He was running, not galloping, and right now he couldn't have gone any faster even if he wanted to. And he did want to.
---
A stretch of hill that was steeper than the rest, the soaked dirt muddy. Prey tried to run faster once past the slippery mud to make up for the briefly lost speed. He managed it for maybe thirty seconds, then his legs slowed on him again.
---
And at his back, every single step of the way and each not covering enough distance, the rumbling storm was rolling ever closer. It was going to overtake him. It was going to catch and overtake him, and he wasn't going to make it to shelter in time.
It was horrible, the feeling of running for your life. And the sick certainty you were not going fast enough.
Of the weakness of your own body betraying you. Of slowing down. Of the leaden exhaustion you couldn't push past. Of not being able to pace yourself. Of failing to run properly. Of tripping and stumbling. Of panting instead of breathing through your nose like you were supposed to. Of your own ears swinging and hitting you in the face. Of a stone almost turning your hoof as it came down wrong. Of your light backpack still weighing too much. Of desperately needing a drink but not having time to stop.
Running for your life, not a burst sprint to escape immediate danger, but having to continuously run from your death was exhausting. Actually, that could be taken as a metaphor for Prey's whole life to date. He drove the useless observation from his mind.
Run. Just keep running. You can make it, you had to make it. Don't doubt it, even though you were already doubting it, because doubt slowed you, and you were already slow, and it was a spiralling loop, and Prey's hooves hurt, but not as much as his lungs, and the storm with it's rain and lightning was right on his tail!
He'd only covered half of the distance back. Prey hated, hated, hated his runt body. Crimson and Gloom had made the swift flight in a fraction over ten minutes. If only he'd been born with wings, then-!
Someone else had been born with wings though. Two someone's. And they weren't Gloom and Crimson. Because the pair had one thestral too many and one pegasus too few as they swooped out of the sky.
Panic flared in Prey's heaving chest at the whoosh of wings. He staggered to a stop as the two dark winged shapes effortlessly banked around him, bleeding off speed, before alighting gracefully in front of him.
Prey stared, eyes darting between the two Myrrdon thestrals in front of him.
Their dark fur, light armour, and clothing against the dark sky made them seem not entirely solid, like upright shadows while their owners fully settled their wings. Those slitted yellow eyes, coolly looking down on him, they flickered and glowed with the flashing illumination of lightening in the background.
'Oh Zoma'Grika.'
Why were they here? Why had they stopped him? Had they been sent to take him hostage now?
Prey backed up, "W-What do you,*gasp* want?" He panted out.
"What are you doing out here?" The thestral on the left asked, his eyes hooded. He was armed with viciously hooked griffinclaw boots. Prey could barely tear his eyes away from the sharpened points.
"Why were you, a foal, even brought out here in the first place?" The second thestral demanded. He carried an extra long wingblade. The metal did not shine with mirror brightness, instead it was a well worn silver-grey of many years of use.
Prey dropped onto his haunches, unable to keep standing now that he'd stopped running. He heaved for breath, "Why, why're you asking?" He stalled.
'-how low they sink to abandon their duty to protect a foal, even to follow another duty-'
'-something strange is ahoof here. But I would prefer not to see a young filly drown in the coming storm-'
'Ah, I see. So that's how it is.' Prey realised.
He didn't know what last-minute task these two had been performing, likely bearing a message from the leader at the Weather Tower, when they'd spied him running along below them. And for a moment, they'd felt compelled to stop, because they weren't child murderers.
They were perfectly willing to risk the hundreds of children and babies evacuating from Haven Hay, because they believed they could use the Weather Tower to direct the storm. There would still be some risk to the evacuating ponies, but in their heads, the worst of the storm would be successfully aimed at the Isle of Dove. They were confident of their elders claims of knowing what they were doing.
They couldn't know for certain however, they were basing their prediction on a best case scenario and complete guess work. Their reasoning was despicable, a discharge of all responsibility onto their superiors. Just 'following orders'.
All the Border Guards in the Deeper Green had given the same excuse; 'I was just following orders.'
"Answer, and perhaps we'll carry you to safety. Speak quickly, there is little time."
Prey panted as he sat, leaning back and pushing sweat streaked ears back over his shoulder, "How chivalrous. And you, *huff* even believe those words."
The second thestral silenced him with a sharp flick of his wing. It was so similar to the motion Crimson might make.
"Mind your manners, or I will mind them for you. This is not a game of hide and seek. Where are you going, and why did they leave you to fend for yourself?"
Prey dug his right hoof into the stitch in his side, "Oh, I don't know. *gasp* M-maybe because there's hostages on the Wailing, *huff* Crag, who're gonna' die if they aren't freed?"
The first thestral however with the hooded eyes and vicious claw boots, wasn't as sanguine. It seemed at least a splinter of regret existed in his heart. But not enough to doubt the elders of his beloved clan, not even for an instant. Duty before all else. But still a splinter.
"It is fine for you to despise us, young one. I do not expect you to understand. When you are older, maybe then you will be capable. You may call me Reach. I would tell you to seek me in the future if you still hold onto this grudge, but-It matters not. After tonight, we will forever be safe from Luna's reach."
Prey's left hoof came away, as he let his ear drop. His hoof bore the dull golden band, and now, a ribbon too. He smiled through his panting up at the thestral.
"Free of Luna? You have no idea what you're talking about."
It was one of Prey's real smiles, the uncensored, broken ones. But the two thestral warrior's didn't see that. They only saw a tired, angry, and petulant lamb. A child trying to be intimidating isn't scary. It was honestly laughable, not that they would stoop to laughing at a foal. They were more powerful, much larger, stronger, and skilled warriors to hoof. A lion isn't intimidated by the yowling of a house cat.
At best, all the annoying cat would achieve is aggravating the lion into having its lesser kin for dinner.
Prey's words and petulance annoyed them, nothing more.
"Spoken like the foal of a true, sun loving father." They looked down on him.
Prey's broken smile began to fade, "Are you gonna' *puff*, be changelings or diamond dogs? Hmm. Changelings. Definitely changelings." He decided with a nod to himself:
"I'm not gonna' *huff*, regret you like the diamond dogs. You attacked us first."
"Reach, this is going nowhere fast. There is no time to keep wasting-"
Prey didn't interrupt, because he wasn't listening to what the stallion was attempting to say in the first place. Prey just kept talking, "But really, *huff* Your timing is spectacular. So thanks for that."
The thestral named Reach's yellow eyes narrowed fractionally, a shift in his weight betraying his flash of annoyance. It was just a tired lamb. It was just a bitter smile. It was just a harmless ribbon.
'-a foal will be foalish, even at a time like this. I shouldn't have bothered holding a sun raised filly to the same standards of intelligence as I would a thestral foal-'
The thought only took the thestral half a moment, as did his snap decision. He stepped swiftly forwards, not wasting anymore time, "For your own good, we will be carrying you back with us. Don't worry. You will be left at the Tower when we depart for... greener pastures."
Prey flinched away from the reaching wing, and then just let himself flop over backwards atop his pack, all four legs splayed out childishly, "Stupid. I already said, *puff*, perfect timing didn't I? *huff*, Caus' I'm not walking all that way. So hurry up and carry me."
Neither of them knew Prey. Just like he didn't know them. But the second thestral, the one with the well used wingblade, he was still wise enough to know something was off.
His wing twitched to ward away a phantom enemy on instinct, but an instant later an especially loud rumble of thunder rolled threateningly across the dark landscape. Myrrdon had crafted this storm, they knew and respected the danger of wild weather, so what kind of fool would he be not to heed such a warning?
What was a little lamb in comparison to the threat of not being safely in position when the storm arrived at this position? There wasn't any time to waste, even for them who could fly.
"I demand to be carried." Prey huffed out, still breathless. His pulse was pounding in his skull.
Reach bent and roughly scooped him up, hooking a wingclaw under each of Prey's shoulders, keeping his dangerous claw boots well clear.
Prey had mentally braced himself, but he couldn't help it. The thestral was touching him! The reaction just slipped out, "Don't touch me!"
But Prey was also touching the stallion. His hoof was wrapped up in the coiled ribbon. He flung it out at the second thestral.
Momentarily distracted, thunder and lightning flickering, the thestral warrior still reacted on instinct. He cut the ribbon right out of the air, long wingblade flashing up too fast to follow.
No, he missed.
The ribbon twisted on the wind, propelled by momentum mere silk shouldn't have the weight to carry. It flicked out like a live tongue, and slapped onto his face.
"Freeze." Prey ordered, reaching out for Reach's mind simultaneously, 'Freeze.'
Grey ash. A burnt out forest. The agonizing touch of a broken glass coated in acid biting deep into a fragile mindscape of melded clouds and caves.
There was no mind breaking, no irrevocable shattering. While Reach's partner was paralysed by the terrible freezing touch of the ribbon, Prey took the time necessary to encircle, overwhelm, and methodically strangle the life out of all Reach's mental resistance. No volatile and horrifically dangerous absorption, no useless destruction of a mind which could yet be mined for its resources.
Smash the egg with a hammer, or instead take the time to properly crack and cook it.
Prey spent the time necessary to carefully crack open the mind of Swift Reach, oldest son of Far Reach, obedient child of loving the Myra Drift, and loyal warrior of Clan Myrrdon, who used to rub his old senile uncles wings one at a time when they cramped up in cold weather, who used to specially save the ripest starburst berries for his younger brother as the colts favourite, and who'd had an irrational fear of frogs growing up. Prey harpooned the screaming stallion's mind with barbed hooks from every direction, and pulled it to pieces.
---
In the end Prey did not have to run himself into the ground to make it back to the evacuating Haven Hay. He found his own means of transportation to outrun the storm in the end. Or rather, outfly.
Jerkily, broken, brushing the ground and as sloppy as a newly launched pegasus foal, but fly back to Haven Hay on stolen wings Prey did.
The sky was booming, lightning was flickering, the very air was waiting to break, and the distant roar of rain beating atop the raging sea made up the backdrop of what Prey found when he arrived.
He dismounted his lone thestral carrier a ways away from Haven Hay's train station, having made use of the darkening sky and worsening visibility to get himself as close as possible to the upper edge of the town without being seen. Because after this was over, if he survived, he would not be able to explain where an obedient and near brain dead former warrior of Clan Myrrdon had come from.
Just the one thestral clan warrior, though. The other had been dispatched on a certain other errand. Or what was left of him, once Prey had finally removed his ribbon.
With the storm bearing down on the coast, its arrival only minutes away, a panicking packed mass of equine bodies was what greeted Prey.
The train-tacks and station were the highest point of Haven Hay, right at the top of the slope, and the very bottom being down in the harbour. That made it, relatively speaking, the safest area of Haven Hay, being the furthest and highest point from the sea.
It was still far, far too close to the rest of the town, but it was also the last bit of hoof-built shelter left. You could continue fleeing inland, making for the higher hills, but then you would be caught out in the open by the full force of the storm.
Which was better? To stay here, or to try and get higher? None of the shouting, crying, panicking, or outright screaming ponies knew the answer either. Mothers were cradling crying foals, fathers shouting and trying to make an impossible choice, teenagers which had wanted to be treated as adults were now white faced and mute with fear.
They'd fled up to the train station, but now they were stuck on going any further or not. Here should be high enough and far enough away from the sea. 'Should' sounded very weak and small in the face of the coming storm.
And the train station was nowhere near big enough to hold the nearly ten thousand residents. The two station buildings were already packed, literally packed with a crush of bodies, not able to accommodate even one more. Were ponies being trampled to death inside of that crush? Quite possibly. Quite likely even.
More were trying to shove inside, digging in their hooves and driving with their shoulders, but even the stoutest dock workers couldn't force themselves in. There was simply no more space.
Ponies had climbed under the disconnected train cars, inside already full, trying to take shelter there instead. Prey saw one's and two's breaking off from the herd, whether out of bravery of blind panic he had no way of knowing, but they were making the choice to race for the hills and higher ground. They almost certainly weren't going to make it in time.
Terror and panic swirled in the heavy air, and choked in the back of Prey's throat as he looked upon the town of Haven Hay.
Fear and panic was so much more visceral and horribly real when you saw it for yourself. Knowing that a crowd was panicking, and that people were going to die was nothing compared to being there and being one of those people.
All that advise to stay calm in a crisis and keep your head was the first thing to vanish when people were fighting, kicking, begging for help, uselessly threatening, and you could think because of the noise and the stink of panic was clogging your nose and oh please just let me get through this-!
It's real, it's happening right there, and the storm was coming! The roaring of the waves could be heard even above the thunder, shouting, and screaming. It was deafening, ringing in Prey's abused ears.
The purple tint and static in the air was even stronger now, pushed beyond what felt like should have been the breaking point, yet it was just climbing higher and higher.
Prey was not so different from these deteriorating townsfolk. He was not immune to panic, certainly not to fear, and definitely not to the coming wrath of nature.
And just like them, within seconds of arriving on scene, he was doing what too many of them were already doing. Trying to find lost loved ones.
"Crimson! Gloom!" Prey shouted. He was completely drowned out by the mob shoving into the train station, the mob he didn't dare get too close to lest he be dragged in and crushed underhoof.
"Crimson?! Gloom!" His voice was just part of the deafening roar.
They had to be around here. The storm was bearing down on them, if they hadn't made it to the Wailing Crag and back by now, then-
'No, no they must be back. Oh zoma'Grika, are they now out looking for me? Flying back up the trail?' Because of the courier he'd taken, they wouldn't find him back along the path. What if they panicked, thought he couldn't have made it in time, and even flew all the way back to the Weather Tower?
He hadn't thought of that, how was he supposed to foresee something like that? But he should've, and now Gloom and Crimson weren't here, but the storm shortly would be.
"Crimson! Crimson? Are you there? Gloom!"
They weren't here. The storm was coming, and he couldn't see them. The thestral who had once been called Reach crouched off in the shadows behind a tussock of tough grasses, a mindless puppet but one now useless to Prey. The thestral couldn't help him find Gloom and Crimson, couldn't fight off the coming storm.
So Prey left him. Left him to crouch in the shadows until the storm came and he was swept away, or drowned in the rain, or died in any number of ways to the elements. A broken tool of no more use. Reach had brought his death upon himself when he refused to leave Prey alone!
An earth pony ran up towards Prey, overstuffed saddles bags on their flanks bulging and desperation in every panted gasp. "You! You were with those Guards, where are they?! They've got to save us! Please!"
"Don't touch me!" Prey recoiled, flashes of lightning making the pony hard to both see or hear clearly.
"Where are they? Tell ME!"
"Be quiet, don't let anyone else hear!" Prey tried to silence the stallion, suddenly afraid that the herd would somehow hear and blindly stampede over here, and blindly over them too.
Prey raised his hoof threateningly, a threat the stallion couldn't understand, "Leave me alone. Touch me and you die."
What would be one body after all this was over? No one would know the difference. Prey would do it, too. The pony was desperate, and desperate people do desperate things, but so would he.
"Where are they?!"
"Last warning-"
*Kraash* A thunder clap.
"Please, my family needs-!"
A twang on Prey's sense, coming from the direction of Haven Hay. It was one that he recognised, and had been actively looking out for, but without a focusing array of runes he could only pinpoint it now that it was this close. Crimson's electrite feather.
"Just go away." Prey spat at the pony, turning his head to frantically scan the dark, almost boiling sky. Which had him looking right into the lightning flashes, and the storm.
Prey felt very, very small as he looked up. The storm had eaten up nearly all of the sea. There was just a thin band of roaring waves left. Beyond that, the rest of the ocean was lost beneath the solid wall of the storm. From east to west, the flickering, rumbling storm wall stretched as far as the eye could see.
Prey could not see the top. It looked as if the entire ocean had risen from the depths, and formed a tidal wave stretching to the sky, just waiting to come crashing down and wash away the world.
Against the vast blackness, and being blinded by white lightning, the flying shapes the returning rescue mission were naught but tiny smudges, so much so that the flight group was almost upon the train station before Prey's hazy eyesight finally picked them out.
"Here, over here! Crimson" Prey shouted, jumping and waving.
He may as well not have bothered. His shout was instantly lost in the thunder, the howling wind, and the ten thousand panicking townsponys' swamping the station.
Four bundles of flying shapes frantically beating at the air, two each to a flightless passenger gripped between them. Each flying pair was straining, having had to fly all the way back here at a difficult angle, leg muscles cramping as they struggled to hold up the weight of their panicking passenger, and only ever a moment away from mistiming their wing beats and colliding with their partner.
They dropped out of the sky fast, racing for the ground at unsafe speeds. But they'd made it! They'd made it back before the storm!
Prey's eyes sort and found the only two he cared about, the darker armoured figures of Gloom and Crimson, much harder to spot against the storm. Crimson's wings were a blur, he was having to carry a pony all by himself. Prey didn't see their saddle bags, so they must've ditched them to lose weight.
For a moment, even in the face of the storm about to hit them, Prey felt hope, or just relief. Because they'd made it back!
The storm would have torn their wings off if they'd been caught mid-air, but they were just about to land, and then once they met up he and them would have two minutes to find shelter before-!
"-you doing?! Where have they gone? Where's their cover?" The desperate pony from before roughly shoved Prey, or tried to shake him, but misjudged the much smaller lamb.
Prey stumbled and lashed out with a cloven hoof.
"Don't touch me!"
Prey whipped his head around, trying to so spot if anyone from the panicking and rioting ponies had seen, then jumped over the stallion's still body and ran towards where Gloom and the others were about to land.
All it takes is a touch. In the chaos, din, and terror, nobody was focusing on anything but their own survival. No one was going to stop to try and help another competitor for that survival, even if they did see the unmoving slumped shape of what had been a sentient pony in the bad light.
Prey ran away from his mind murder. Because who was going to notice one more death when this was over? Life isn't fair.
Nimbus and Inky landed heavily on the wet earth, the later ending up on her face, the ex-sheriff Lumber they'd been carrying folding up with a moan completely drowned out under the thunder.
A panting Bravo and Gloom had the kidnapped deputy between them. Flash Light was deposited by a pair of heaving and badly dishevelled adult pegasi, the elusive husband and wife due, Gale and Windy Heights. In the lightning flashes, Prey saw matted bands of fur around their forelegs, like they'd been manacled.
It may have been that these two pegasus's right here in front of Prey were the cause of this whole disaster. Maybe they'd been blackmailed, maybe they'd just been too airheaded lackadaisical to care, but the truth didn't matter now. Survival mattered. Judgement and punishment could come if they survived.
Their two teenage offspring didn't land, but flew around their parents, not showing much concern about the storm titan about to hit them. They seemed too engrossed with being able to fly again after being locked up for two days.
Alto and his brother would probably be amongst the first to die, Prey thought as he ran forwards, because they'd try to fly in the face of the storm. He didn't care if their parents had enough sense to stop them or not. Right now, their lives mattered to Prey as much as the earth pony he'd left lying on the ground behind him.
The Border Ranger trio were casting around, trying to spy their convalesced team mate. Jetson had been set the task of transporting the unconscious Trail Blazer out with the evacuation, but where was he? But in the churning mess of bodies, onrushing darkness, and blinding flashes, it was impossible to pick anyone out.
"Over here." Prey tried to shout, as Crimson dropped the fourth and last rescued pony, Sandy Shine, the lightest of the four rescuees. Crimson staggered as he finally found his hooves, head down and sides heaving for every breath, while Sandy Shine clutched at the ground, actually crying messily.
"Here, over here! We need to get under cover!" Prey yelled again, but again he was drowned out. But he was almost there.
Flash *Kroom!*
Light and an instant thunderclap. Prey was a runt, forever frozen as a child. He was always having to angle his head upwards. He saw the diving cluster of shapes, backlit for one instant.
People never remember to look up. They'd been flying high, higher than the stops roof, thousands of hooves up, patiently trailing the low flying rescuers struggling with their living burdens.
Why would they have looked up at a dark sky, when the storm lay behind them, not up? People never remember to look up.
Prey's lungs screamed a warning before his mind could unfreeze. They didn't hear him, they hadn't even spotted him yet.
He screamed again, for all he was worth, "Above you!"
The uncaring world swallowed his high pitched screech without even noticing.
Gloom was exhaustedly staring at the shoving mass of shouting bodies, all fighting for a place inside the train station. Crimson was still heaving for breath, head down and legs braced. Gloom stumbled over and bent to shout something in Crimson's ear. The air felt like thick honey.
"Above you!"
A flight of black lightning streaked overhead. They were travelling so fast, having dived for thousands of hooves and only levelling out for the last thousand, that they were there and gone in a single blink.
Just an inky after image, the crack at the end of the whip as it snapped back up into the sky.
Prey's heart couldn't stop beating, the jaw of hearts would not permit it. Yet Prey could no longer feel it.
Flash *Krack!*
Nimbus Feather looked around, and blinked in dumb shock at the patch of spines which had sprouted in a patch to his left.
Lightning basked bathed the ground. Not spines. Arrows, and a brace of javelins.
Gale and Windy Heights stared, then reared up in fright, beating their wings to take to the air and flee, abandoning their saviours and flying away.
Sandy Shine didn't even notice, still clutching the ground. Lumber rolled to his hooves, blearily looking around, not understanding.
Prey's hooves were running. Thunder was ringing in his head.
Crimson had been their target. A pegasus throwback exiled from Clan Myrrdon on pain of death. Gloom had been standing next to him. Both had gone straight down.
Flash. In the after-shadow, the spines, those arrows and smattering of javelins, stuck up from the two bodies.
Prey was almost there. He was running. Not fast enough.
This wasn't right. This wasn't right.
Karma. Vengeance. Was this the worlds' revenge for that unnamed earth pony he'd left behind him?
It had to be. It had to be. This was karmic punishment. That earth pony taking instant revenge.
Prey fell as he reached Gloom and Crimson, tripping over an imbedded arrow shaft.
He reached for Gloom and Crimson. He saw Crimson's wing, nailed to his side. A blood slicked shaft pinned the wing to the armour plate underneath. How far had the arrow's head gone through? How much damage had the armour prevented?
A shaft that had snapped in half, just the head left dug into Gloom's armour, three more black shafts slammed into his backplate.
A javelin, was that sticking out of Crimson's chest?
This wasn't right. This wasn't Mayflower, this was supposed to be easier than Mayflower! They'd done all of this already, been sent off to save a distant town once before, this was just supposed to be an easier repeat. It couldn't go like this, not to some petty thestrals. They'd survived monsters, scarecrows, the night in the dark! These were just common arrows, not terrible ravening marefolk from the endless deep.
This wasn't how the story was supposed to go.
Buzzing in Prey's head. 'Isn't right. It isn't right. This isn't right!'
It was repeating, like when Garrow had shot that pegasus Oyster Pinion right in front of Prey, before flying off into the night. Here it was happening again. Happened. The same damn scene over and over again! A bloody circle.
Then Crimson moved, inhaling and beginning to struggle. The javelin rolled away, not through his chest, just caught under his shoulder. Lightning showed the deep scar in the metal where the armour had saved his life.
Prey breathed again, as Crimson too breathed. He hadn't been slain, only stunned by the force of the impacts.
"What?" Was all Crimson could weakly gasp out, winded. He was alive! And Gloom was-
Prey's hoof shot out, flying to the patch of exposed throat under Gloom's helmet, which had a horrible dent in the temple. He pressed the back of his ankle to Gloom's fur, desperate to find-
A pulse! Gloom was alive too.
"Alive." Prey's voice cracked, and he chortled a sob, feeling so light headed that he might faint.
For a moment under the thunder and lightning, everything wrong in the world had flipped and became what was right for a glorious moment. A short, glorious moment.
Then Prey felt the old familiar trickle of sticky warmth soaking into the cleft of his hoof, smelled the blood, and heard the gurgle. A wordless holler of pain escaped Crimson's mouth as he finally managed to inhale, and all the arrow heads nailed through his armour dragged.
The departing Heights family abandoning them, Lumber and the rescued lighthouse keepers screaming and panicking, Nimbus uselessly shouting worthless instructions, Prey's deceit and lies, none of that was worth anything in the moment.
And the storm, the vast wrath of nature they'd been running from all this time, the storm arrived.
---<O>---
Up, up, and up further. High above the frenzied sea and torrential rain. Up surpassing the mile high impenetrable black clouds of the storm. And higher still, beyond the swirling, all consuming, thundering blackness of the storm.
Above all of this, there was another world, a land of grey. Where the winds and the rain and the flashing lightning didn't reach.
A plain of dark grey. The very top of the the storm mountain. A near flat, not quite real land. A mile down and below, the cloud was a boiling, churning mass of water in every howling state of matter. But up here, the flat, featureless landscape barely seemed to stir.
But that was merely a lie of perspective. The plane of grey was moving, shifting many times faster than the fastest person could gallop. But it was so vast, so huge, that looking down upon the plane of cloud, it warped distance. Hundreds of yards looked like just one, as if you could reach out and set hoof onto the clouds. Lightning turned it into an ever changing quilt patchwork.
It was so deceptively peaceful. Up here, in this pocket world of grey with a sea of clouds instead of salt water, the terrible destructive wrath of the storm did not reach.
And up here there existed a second cloud, above the storm mountain's very top. In the thin air, it drifted above the sea of grey on a buffer of air. Just a thin blanket of cloud when compared to the vast storm beneath.
On this weft of cloud, nearly six hundred thestrals of Clan Myrrdon rose to their hooves. It was time. Finally time.
Every single thestral was laden with bags, sacks, and bundles. Young foals obediently standing close to their parents. Warrior's still in training. Seasoned veterans. Clan elders, and the old and infirm too. Everything they needed to build their new lives had to be brought with them. There would be no returning from where they were going.
It was finally time to depart.
This storm would ferry them to the Cliffs of Dove, and then, partly over the impenetrable anti-magic barrier, enough to glide clear and reach the misty Isle of Dove themselves, even with no flight magic.
This vast storm was needed, the unleased rage of nature, necessary. It was the only thing that would allow them to partly breach the mysterious barrier, and hold it open long enough to cross.
There had been no choice.
They'd tested it, launched kites across, tried firing arrows and ropes, tried floating logs up to the cliffs. One member of the clan had been lost getting too close, but by unhappy fortune it was actually their tragic death that ended up paving the way. At the time, the Myrrdon thestral been resting on a wild cloud, not realising the wind had carried them just inside the null barrier's range.
And predictably, they'd lost their cloud walking ability, their wings flapping uselessly unable to gain any lift, as they'd clung onto the cloud as they'd slowly slipped through it like a normal pony would've. And then they'd fallen.
But after the mourning, and the recounting of the tragic accident though, an elder caught on. For a brief period, the thestral had still been able to cling onto the cloud. They hadn't immediately phased through the cloud, they'd slipped through after a struggle.
And Clan Myrrdon had realised what that could mean.
Carefully, oh-so carefully, they'd pushed more clouds half across the invisible divide, and pulled them back. The exposed half of the cloud quickly lost its structure and broke down into mist, but not immediately. And the faster it was withdrawn, the less it degraded.
The bigger the cloud and the faster the crossing, the less it broke down. This storm would be the bridge into their new life, just like the prophecy.
Would they be able to ever fly again once they landed on the Isle of Dove? They had discussed it, and it was decided that if a ground-bound life was the price to pay for their clans survival safe from Luna's reach, then they would bear the heavy price. But they had hope. Hope was the whole reason for this plan. Hope was the cause for the choosing to believe in the old prophecy. And through their few carefully stored spyglasses, they had seen birds flying in the mists of the isle. So they knew it was possible, life survived and flourished there, and that they were not dooming themselves to death from poisonous mists or the like.
So they believed in hope for a better life.
And now, finally, it was time to reach out with both hooves and take that new life for not just themselves, but their children's children to come.
---<O>---
The storm hit Haven Hay. It had finally come. The black heavens opened wide their maw, and screamed their fury.
Sand, seaweed, stones, the beach was struck by the churning storm wall first, and was swallowed in one bite, chewed, and spat back out as shrapnel on the wind.
The harbour, the streets and town, they vanished from view. All that could be seen was the onrushing torrential wall of debris and lashing rain. The shadow was so dark, the storm mountain eclipsing all, but the disappearing town was starkly revealed in the endless lightning flashes. The noise, the fury, the blinding water, nothing could stand in its way.
Roofs held on for mere seconds, and then disintegrated into flying tiles, and still the storm rushed on, terrifyingly fast. It raced for the tiny train station, and the terrified ants still trying to get inside.
And behind the storm, came the sea. It broke over the harbour walls, swamped the docks in an instant, and surged into the streets.
The roaring wind riding on the forward billow of the storm hit the train station first. This wasn't the angry wind from before. This wind, it flattened ponies, knocking them flying and rolling over the ground, and then a second later the torrential rain smashed them flat.
The sky had cracked open to release hammer blows of rain, like a giant hoof was reaching down and squashing those ponies into the dirt. The debris and flying sand blinded all in an instant, trapping you in a dark little world of hammering water, roaring deafness, senses cut to only as far as your hoof could reach to fumble.
The noise was all consuming. There was no other noise in the whole world. There was only the roar of the storm.
Lightning. Thunder. Rain. Wind. The world dissolved into these howling elements and nothing else. There was only the storm.
The basilisk. The chimera. The hydra. Even the mighty dragon. When mother nature finally stirred herself to wrath, even they flee and hide.
A thousand proud weather teams combined could not have stopped the storm now. The point where they might have intervened and lulled mother nature back to sleep before she fully woke had come and gone. And if they'd tried now, they would've died.
Either struck a dozen times by lightning before their carbonised corpse even hit the ground. Fur and flight feathers plucked from their bodies. Wings snapped like dry twigs. Thrown into the sky, or into the unyielding ground. Drowned in mid-air as just as much air as water was driven down their throat with every breath. Impaled on flying splinters as long as a foreleg.
There was no stopping the storm now. You could not hold back the rising tide. It wasn't an enemy, or an army, or a monster. It was simply a disaster.
Like the storm which had sunk the ship just inside the harbour of Haven Hay, but a hundred times worse. You could not fight a natural disaster.
Nature. Does. Not. Care.
---<o>---