The lamps dotted around the place were of an orange hue, and it plunged the home into a brilliant glow.
Yet the lights were not that strong—not at all—only adding to the comfortable mood that complemented the mahogany furniture and floor. It was a simple yet elegant place, the conversations of the party-goers reflecting the sentiment.
Those conversations being shared were jovial, with the occasional laugh and snigger, but everypony was soft-spoken and moderate. There was no clamor; there was no fuss, and the talks drowned out into incomprehensible background noise as Feather Dew proceeded through the room with a mindful amble.
It felt good to have his white and black striped socks on as they made contact with the polished wooden floor. His hooves slid a tad whenever he took a step, but it was frankly comfortable to have them on either way. And with the atmosphere the room held, it made him feel a tad closer to home.
He was also wearing his black long sleeve, imparting a warmth that allowed a contrast from the slight chill in the air. It matched the mood as the other guests were wearing either white, black, or modest colors such as brown and cream. The whole event itself seemed so perfect it was as if it was choreographed: the colors of the party-goers’ clothing to the house and even the lighting. He was glad of this. It was picture perfect.
“Hey, Feather! Come sit with me.”
Feather recognized that voice immediately. “While if it isn’t you, Rainbow Dash. How are you this fine evening?”
Feather Dew sat his rump on the brown recliner and felt the cold of its texture as he allowed himself to ease into it.
“Doing fine, I guess. I haven’t been doing a lot and things haven’t really changed, anyway. How ‘bout you?”
Feather considered this for a moment. “I’ve been looking into some things of my own. One of them is this sort of tea called Ohteotl. Have you heard of it?”
“Ohteotl?” Rainbow looked rather confused at that. “Never heard of it. Oh! Does it have something to do with those ancient cities you sometimes talk about?”
He nodded curtly. “It kind of does, actually. It’s this crazy brew made by some ponies who live in the Amarezon rainforest that gives you hallucinations and such. They’ve been making it for hundreds of years, from what I’ve heard.”
Rainbow scrunched her nose. “So it, like, gives you hallucinations? About what?”
Feather tried to think of how to explain it to her. “Loads of things; I heard that ponies see jaguars; they see flashing lights and colorful patterns; they even see memories stuck inside of them. I read in a book that it’s like when you’re in a dream and you don’t even know what’s real anymore, but you’re fully awake and aware of what’s going on. It’s hard to exactly define.”
“Like when you’re in a dream but you’re fully awake. Huh. That does sound kinda weird.”
“It is completely weird. The whole thing is rather strange. What I’m trying to tell you is that it’s one of those things you only get if you’ve been there. You understand what I’m saying?”
“I guess, yeah. And I’m guessing you’ve tried this stuff before?”
Feather Dew responded immediately, “I haven’t, actually. I’ve only been reading about it, but I want to try it someday. I’ve been searching for how to get into these Ohteotl retreats and such so I can try it myself, y’know?”
That was when Feather noticed these three ponies talking to each other a few meters away from him. Two of them were facing his general direction, sitting on chairs and chatting cheerily. But the third pony was sitting on the floor, her side being all he could see. Her flank was covered by a white skirt, the mare’s front hooves tucked neatly in front of her.
And while Rainbow Dash was rambling on about some other matter Feather Dew couldn’t care about at the moment, he realized that the mare on the floor wasn’t necessarily talking to the other two. Actually, he didn’t notice her mouth move at all. It was as if she were a ghost, the two ponies next to her seemingly not regarding her existence.
Then the mare turned her head, and as if knowing where he was, immediately locked sights with him.
Her face was obscured by a mask. The two held their breaths as they continued to stare at each other. Her single visible eye burned a flaming red so vibrant he swore it drowned out the rest of the lamps in the room, an exorbitant contrast from the abyss that gloomed her face’s veil—it was as dark as a non-existent, starless sky.
River Moon and Feather Dew were at the bar area again. Same as yesterday, it was empty save for the two of them. Feather eased his back into the hammock he was in, feeling his spine stretch. He admittedly was starting to feel more relaxed now that he knew what to expect and the fact that his “first time” anxiety had been alleviated.
That’s what River moon told him just moments ago: you were nervous during the experience and that’s understandable, but try to relax and let the brew take your hoof, ‘kay?
She does have a point about that. Feather Dew realized that he had been too nervous during his trip last night to truly experience the entheogen and its full potential. He had to let it take his hoof, take him to an adventure, and let him see for himself what’ll happen.
Whatever happens, happens.
And so Feather Dew allowed the brew to whisk him away, take him to an adventure into his own psyche and possibly beyond.
The effects of the first round of brew were more pronounced now compared to the first round from last night. He recognized the intricate webs of patterns and shapes that took form around him, and he swore that the hammocks and tables and chairs and sky and everything were starting to melt, to be one amongst the many moving webs in his vision.
Let the brew take your hoof. Don’t fight it.
That’s what one of the Shaman’s assistants told Feather Dew mere moments ago. And he could see why he would advise the guests because Feather had noticed that this time, the brew of Ohteotl was slightly more viscous and darker in tone compared to last night’s brew. When he had gulped the liquid down, he felt it burn his throat just a bit more.
And he could still feel the burn in his throat right now, in fact. He felt some sweat in his back as he leaned his spine into the hammock he was on, panting a bit.
“Is it just me or is it hot tonight?” River Moon herself sounded a bit drowsy, and he wasn’t sure if she was speaking to him or not.
“It is quite hot tonight. I’m having a slight sweat myself.” He hoped that was a good enough answer for her, if she was asking him at all.
And she made a deflating noise with her lips as she let out an exhale. “I’m starting to see some weird stuff right now. Woah, Feather, you look like you’re floating!”
“I am?” She is definitely, absolutely high off her mind right now. But to be fair, I am high off my mind as well...
Feather tried to settle into his hammock more comfortably, splaying out his wings to let whatever air came to them cool him a tad. It was in this position where he could feel his chest beat against the hammock, feeling the tension of the cloth from his body weight as his heart reverberated peacefully.
The pegasus tried to focus on his breathing. He found that breathing was key. Breathing allowed one to control one’s self and helped manage energy. River Moon told him a while ago that athletes controlled their breathing not just to keep their bodies in control, but their minds, too. You can’t have one without the other, and breathing affects how you feel.
How I feel. Feather kept that in mind.
He closed his eyes.
Feather Dew was thrust into a tapestry of unfamiliar sights, and yet he’d sworn he was living through one of his past lifetimes all over again. The buzzing of ancient bugs came in, flapping their wings and shaking his eyeballs slightly. He felt the weight of his stomach. It was as if he was looking at all things, and yet it was an endless expanse so large it would make entire planets shudder.
The tapestry was starting to escape him as a water droplet hit the pond, its echoes seeming to go on forever and ever.
Water. He saw the molecules of water within himself and realized how much water was inside him. The epiphany came to him: he was practically made of the stuff. He felt his blood surging constantly throughout his body and realized how much liquid made up him, his vessel, his being. In a way, he was more liquid than solid.
And he sensed another water droplet hit the pond once again, and he shuddered as the pond cascaded small waves that started from that insignificant, little drop of water.
But was it really insignificant?
Feather realized how even the smallest of butterflies can cause the largest of storms, how the throwing of a simple pebble to the ocean’s surface could lead to the largest of tsunamis. It made all the big actions he committed to in his life feel insignificant and the little things he’d done in his life feel more important than ever at the same time.
He realized how long his heart had been beating for. To think that for his whole life, his heart had never stopped, never hiccuped, never made the slightest mistake. Even the smallest of errors could potentially change his life forever. It could even kill him! That such an important thing could carry on for twenty-four hours a day made him a little more thankful that he was still alive.
And Feather was also breathing. It accompanied his heartbeat. It allowed him to take in oxygen and allowed him to dispel carbon dioxide. This was happening all the time. He had been alive for this whole time. One cannot have one without the other; perhaps it was one in the same.
His heartbeat quickened a tad as the self-awareness of itself came to him. The advice bestowed upon him rushed back to quell his heart from beating any faster. Let it hold your hoof. Let it take you on an adventure.
So he decided to let go and allow the odd tea to take him somewhere else. To help it, Feather slowed his breathing and let his heartbeat drop even more so. He felt his chest expand when he breathed in, and he felt his chest contract when he breathed out.
Trying not to rush his respiration, Feather still felt the pulse in his neck and his hooves. He allowed his limbs to relax and let his whole body settle itself in as he concentrated.
That was when Feather felt the slight tug of something in the distance, as if it were a ship heading its way to a lighthouse. And he felt the vessel move further away from him as he lost his concentration slightly.
Breathe, let it take you. Feather Dew focused on controlling himself. Breathe. In and out. Through the nose. Composed.
The object was headed closer now, but even that didn’t matter to him much at the moment. He had to slow down, it’s the only important thing to do now. Feather put himself in a trance, letting his thoughts fade away as he granted himself the stillness that was needed for this to work.
In and out.
In and out.
In and out.
He kept at it until the metaphorical ship was finally by his side. Feather knew it was there—he could feel it—but it gave no sign of its own presence: not a bellow of its horn, not a wave from its captain, not even stallions fastening its ropes to the dock to secure it in place. There was only silence. He wanted an answer, so he opened his eyes.
Her pose was intimidating, but it was regal, graceful.
What he first noted about her appearance was that she was wearing a serpentine mask, completely covering the area of her left eye and her left cheek. A rich, encompassing darkness, that was what he would describe the hole which in her other eye would have been, an empty point of space no star dared reside in.
The mask shone brilliant hues of green, giving the appearance of veins coursing through its entirety. What he too noticed was that the edges of the serpentine were crooked, uneven. It was incomplete and broken.
She merely peered at him, her one visible eye emanating a haunting calm. It burned that familiar spark, and it was as if her iris contained solar flares of Celestia’s sun herself. And her bottom eyeliner and articulate eyelashes gave him the expression that he was looking at royalty. The mare was suspecting something from him. Her mere presence demanded that he offer her what she exhorted. But what did she seek? It was a steely gaze of a girl who had been to Tartarus and back a thousand times.
The mare had the loveliest green mane with a pink strand and azure accents, tied to a bun; it shone like the purest of Amarezonian emeralds and aquamarine. Her coat was an orange with her four legs a pale cream. She had the whitest silk skirt he had ever seen, obscuring any cutie mark the mare had. Feather Dew noticed the large Aquamarine gemstone that hung from a golden necklace wrapped around her neck, refracting rays of light in all directions.
He also noticed the golden mane and tail ties that glittered under a seemingly non-existent light source, and how could he not mention the diamonds that made up her earrings! Her pair glistened to the point that if he were to move even an inch, the rays of light that refracted from them would twinkle a million times over, contesting even with Luna’s constellations.
Feather needn't move an inch, though, because she moved herself. It was an inch closer to him. Just an inch. And he tried to concentrate on easing himself as his breath stopped itself for a moment. The pegasus was put in shock as the mare observed him silently.
And it did seem to be an eternity that passed as Feather Dew was simply astonished at what was happening. Silently amazed. He couldn’t think of the words. What could he even say?
The world knew not of the silence between them.
“I had to let go to find you. I had to concentrate on my breathing to come to you. I had to ease myself. I only saw you for a moment the first time. But now, I don’t know if I found you, or if you found me.”
Feather’s breaths were slightly ragged, soft whispers, gentle nervousness under the simple study of the mare. The emptiness made its way inside of him, and Feather Dew felt the pulse in his hooves again, the adrenaline coursing through his veins and arteries.
The mare casted her glance down, her ears dropping slightly. He didn’t know who she was, but she had been imparted a great sorrow. It was all so real. This was real. There was something broken about this mare he didn’t understand.
Feather couldn’t understand her pain. He didn’t know who she was, what her story was, even her name! All he could see was the mare’s chest expanding and contracting, much like what he had been doing this whole time. Feather Dew was certain she was alive.
“It was a quiet night. Silence is the loudest scream, after all, and so throughout the nightfall, I felt the screams of the air as it refused me my solace. My peace.”
Fear. Anxiety. Numbness. And the silence in him, the calm in him. It was familiar and horrifying. And yet he knew that she was pulling him closer, whether intentional or not. Her voice belonged to that of an angel’s.
“And what did the air scream of?”
The mare blinked, her elegant eyelashes flashing. “The air begged to live another sunrise.”
A stallion who couldn’t protect his men was not a stallion at all. The quote rang in the head of the Conquistador as he and his men rushed through the forest flora, the wounded Lightning on the back of two stallions who galloped together side-by-side.
As the Conquistador ran alongside them, he tried to keep his hooves as quiet as possible. He didn’t know why—out of instinct, perhaps? His subconscious told him it would help hide him from predators, although a twisted part of his psyche kept tickling him, saying: all the predators already know where you are.
It was a rather disturbing epiphany that had come to him: any predator in this damned rainforest must have already known where they were this whole time, how fast they were advancing, how defenseless they truly were. Any beast that roamed an environment this unforgiving must be unforgiving, too.
The trees eventually thinned out, the flora becoming less abundant as the group passed through the threshold. In the distance was their camp and the homes of the locals; it was a sign of familiarity, hope and relief. What separated the ponies and their safe-space was a field, and so they ran across it like their very lives depended on it.
They were on their final leg of their unfortunate but short sojourn, yet the Conquistador and his men felt such an immense fatigue it’d make one wonder if they had just traversed the whole Amarezon non-stop. It was a miracle, the Conquistador thought, that all of them were still alive.
Only halfway through, the Conquistador noticed torches in the distance that moved closer to them. The locals must have noticed their troubles from even the distance between them, and it wasn’t long before they all met.
The locals immediately noticed the poor stallion on the back of the pair, who slowly put him down to the grass from their backs. Lightning looked dire. He had a large gash on his torso where flesh was torn off, and he was bleeding immensely, even if he had a cloth haphazardly wrapped around the girth of his stomach. He had a claw mark on his cheek as well, still bleeding drops of blood that reflected the glow of torch fire.
The unicorn under the Conquistador and another unicorn from the locals casted spells, the lights of their horns inter-joining in the air between them. The unicorns went back and forth in what seemed to be a hasty recollection of events before they both cast the spells off.
The unicorn stallion looked at the Conquistador. “I told her that we got attacked by one of those black panthers. They’ll care for him immediately.”
“Tell her that we greatly appreciate that. We have to hurry.”
With a nod, the two unicorns communicated again with their rather ingenious translation spell. After that was finished, the unicorn mare gently picked the wounded stallion from the ground—careful not to hold him where his injuries might hurt—and slowly started to lift him into the village.
Telling the rest of the stallions to go back to their camp, the Conquistador and several of his chosen men followed the locals as they were brought deeper into the village. Local ponies looked on as the conglomerate advanced, giving full on stares to weary glances as they noticed the red that stained the otherwise white cloth wrapped the stallion's waist. The said cloth sagged slightly at the weight of the blood that soaked it.
It wasn’t long before they eventually reached a simple hut with a banner that waved in the wind, showing symbols the Conquistador couldn’t cognize. He assumed this was either a rudimentary hospital or a doctor’s home as the unicorn mare knocked on the door rather hastily.
Out came an elderly unicorn stallion, still built like he was only young, and the two exchanged words. He nodded in understanding as the unicorn mare supposedly elaborated their circumstances, waving her hoof at the wounded stallion still levitating in the air from her magic. The elder opened the door to the building wide open once she concluded, allowing the unicorn and the stallion still in her grasp inside, the Conquistador and his men following.
To be fair, the inside was larger than what the Conquistador had originally assumed, with odd bottles of liquids and strange metal tools and knives littered around randomly. For a doctor, he would have expected more cleanliness on the unicorn elder’s part.
This was no time to worry of such trivial matters, though, as the attention of the Conquistador was broken from the surprised yelp of his wounded Lightning as he was set into a sheet on the floor, hay presumably under it for cushion. He let out a pained grunt; the unicorn local let out a squeak and what was presumably an apology in her native tongue, a grimace on her face.
The doctor bent down and slowly unravelled the cloth wrapped around Lightning’s belly. It looked like he was struggling to even stay awake as he swore under his breath and clattered his teeth.
The doctor observed the wounds for a moment before closing his eyes and emitting a spell from the tip of his horn, his blue aura wrapping itself around the wounds. The aura suddenly flashed white and faded back to the same blue. He levitated over a cloth from one of the closets behind him—not even taking a second to look back—and slowly started to soak up the blood that made a mess of itself on the sheets and the wounded’s coat.
Amazingly, Lightning didn’t react in pain, and he seemed to be the most surprised out of all the foreigners in the room at the sight.
Anesthetics with spells, but how? We could barely do magic of that level for surgical procedures back home, let alone for somepony who is still conscious. The Conquistador and his men watched in awe as the elderly doctor cleaned up the wounds and prevented said wounds from bleeding any further.
He took another cloth from another closet—once more without a glance—and said some words to the unicorn mare. It seemed to be a command for she carefully lifted him again from the sheet a couple of feet in the air. The doctor paused for a moment, looking around his wounds and torso one last moment before stepping closer.
Slowly, but without hesitation, the doctor wrapped what was indeed a gauze around his belly. The unicorn elder was careful in his manner of wrapping, going so far as to double check any seams that may appear or any gaps from the edges of the gauze. The meticulous process took a while, but when he was finally finished, he stepped back and allowed the mare to set him down carefully on the sheet.
He levitated over one of those peculiar containers—this one shaped like a pyramid—which contained a green liquid. The elderly unicorn took the cap off and offered it to the stallion. Lightning looked a tad wary but relented anyway, downing the liquid with a quick gulp. The stallion set the container down and let his fragile body ease into his sheets.
The doctor exchanged some words with the unicorn mare; she then nodded to the Conquistador’s stallion, reigniting their translation spell to exchange a few words. Once they were finished communicating, he looked back to the Conquistador.
“He will give him a medicine to help him with the pain and relax,” he informed. “It will be several days before he can be in any condition to leave, let alone move.”
This was not a good situation, but it could have been much worse. “I understand.” He thought for a moment. “Tell her to say we thank him, and if he wishes for anything for his services.”
With a nod, he quickly relayed the message to her, and she relayed the message back to the elder. The doctor suddenly gave a deep laughter; it reminded the Conquistador of his youthful self, when he was once a spry lad with a suave voice and playful charm. He said words with his native tongue, pointing at the wounded Lightning who seemed to be paying rapt attention.
The look of surprise hit the Conquistador’s unicorn stallion as the mare relayed the message to him; he looked at him with a quaint expression.
The Conquistador raised his eyebrow. “What is it?”
He cleared his throat before he started. “The doctor says we need not pay him, for we have already paid enough for meddling with the rainforest.” He pointed at the wounded Lightning much the same way the doctor did.