Anton sighed, studying the small patch of flowers, just outside of the Everfree Forest. Most of them were a dark blue and yellow, but a few were also red, white, and various shades of purple. He yawned and stretched an arm, before tearing a few up from the ground and stuffing them in a bag he had "borrowed" from the Apples. Tieing off the end and slinging it over his back through the webbing, he slumped home, lowering his helmet visor as he entered the growing darkness of the wood.
He had been growing a bit more tired and sore the past few weeks, after he started working closer with the Apples on their farm. Granted, he was used to the feelings; blood saves sweat, after all, and any discomfort he felt was part of a small tribute to the Emperor towards his recompense. He choked it up to being in the sun more, as well as the more movement generally. So, with him feeling sore again, and a general desire for something familiar, he had been working to try and come up with something he had enjoyed before: Recaf.
Returning to the barricade, he pulled out a few hollowed-out logs from behind a bush and checked inside. He smiled slightly as he saw that a few of the plants were gone. They were likely eaten, meaning that they were more than likely safe to eat. He pulled out a few flowers from the bag, putting in a few of the new plants he had gotten. He put them back behind the bush, and headed up to the canyon.
As he entered the bunker, he went over to the small rack that he had also "borrowed" from the Apples. He took out some of the ones that he judged to be at least somewhat safe. He put the new ones on the rack, before taking some of the leaves out from the older ones he had collected.
He tossed the leaves into one of the mess kits he had, grabbing a rounded river stone he had grabbed. He began to grind the leaves with the rock, the leaves tearing and ripping as they were crushed under the stone. At the same time, he used his horn to light a small fire on a makeshift stove, a "borrowed" pot full of water on top of it.
Finally, he poured some of the hot water into the mess kit. The water began to turn a weird, almost sickly brown, steaming up in the cooling air of the early evening. He used a spoon to pull the leaves out; a process that took about ten, somewhat painful minutes. Finally, as the steaming mess kit was free of leaves, he picked it up with his magic, taking a tentative sip...
... Before instantly spitting it out. It tasted horrible, reminding Anton of a mix of tread grease and burnt grox fat. He shuddered at the memory of why he knew what that tasted like, before heading outside and tossing the liquid onto the grass. He tossed the mess kit into the still partially boiling water, before heading over to the recessed sleeping hole. He was tired and sore, and simply wasn't hungry enough to do anything but pull out a corpse starch bar and chew on it as he began to drift into sleep.
+++++~+++++
He awoke feeling just as sore and tired as he had when he went to bed. He threw the top part of the sleep bag off and climbed out of the hole, stumbling over to the pot of water. He pulled the mess kit out, tossing it aside in order to dry, slumping down and looking at the now flat surface of the water.
His eyes widened and jaw dropped as he looked at his face. Or, rather, what was growing out of his face: A good half-dozen small bony spikes, growing out from around his cheeks and jaw, sticking out at random angles. He brought one of his hooves up, tapping the spike. It was real.
In that instant, he ran for one of the lasguns. Not only was he twisted and removed from his original, pure form, but now he was a Mutant! Even if he was already one, he was only further shoved down the path of damnation. He grabbed the laspistol from his holster, fumbling with it in his hooves. His head finally cleared enough from his righteous panic, allowing him to grip it in his magic. He flicked off the safety, bringing it to his head and muttering an apology to the Emperor.
"Wait! You don't need to go that far", a voice said, drawing his attention. Standing in the door of the bunker stood a strange-looking "Pony". It appeared to be female, with a strange striped pattern of her fur in black and white. Golden jewelry hung around her neck and legs, while a stitched leather pack hung on her back as opposed to the canvas or fabric ones that he or the Apples had. "I have a way of getting them off without leaving a scar."
"What?", Anton said, keeping the pistol leveled at his head. "The frak are you babbling about? I'm a mutant freak, and death is the only way to-"
"Stop!", the female said, pulling a small wooden bottle out of her bag. "A mutation? Nay! This can revert you back to your old way." She offered it to him, eyes wide in panic.
Anton stared at the bottle, shifting his eyes up to the strange mare. He slowly brought the pistol down, having it fall to the ground with a clatter. He grabbed it in his magic, looking up at her. "Do I... drink it?", he asked, wary of poisoning.
She shook her head. "No, it is not something you imbibe. I know a spot, where you can pour it in and soak inside."
He nodded, grabbing the pistol again. He followed her, the pistol kept leveled at her. She noticed, but seemed to brush it off. "I apologize, my new neighbor. I should have warned you about those blue arbors."
"What are you...?", Anton said, stumbling after her.
"Those blue flowers, they are called Poison Joke", the female said. "As you can tell, their effect is no joke."
Anton nodded, making a note to return to that patch of blue flowers later. With his respirator and full gear. And the meltagun.
Finally, the two of them arrived at the place she was leading them to; a small pool in the river. She grabbed a log, laying it over the entrance of the pool, before gesturing to him. He nodded, taking off his undershirt and pants while keeping the pistol leveled at her. When he had stripped, he opened the bottle and poured the dark green liquid in. He stepped in, keeping the laspistol pointed at her.
The female asked, "Must you keep pointing that at me? I am trying to help you; there is no need to be mean."
"Trust is earned, not given", Anton quoted, shivering in the cool, flowing water.
The two kept themselves in that awkward position, though Zecora would sit down and appear to enter into a prayer of sorts. She didn't make any facsimile of the Aquila, not grasp any icon, but it was the closest he could compare it to. In time, he felt something odd; and by the same token, normal. He stood, looking at a flat section of the pool, seeing that his mutation... had vanished.
"A miracle", Anton muttered, looking at the female. She was still praying, and he realized that she wasn't merely an Apothecary. She was some form of healer; an Eclisarch, or at least something able to counteract the encroachment of the Ruinous Powers. She was obviously no sorcerer; he had kept his eyes on her the whole time, and seen no sign of warp manipulation. Did... she have some connection to the Emperor?
As soon as the thought occurred, he brushed it aside with a snarl. He was in need of guidance, certainly, but she was a Xeno, same as all the others. She couldn't have a connection to the Emperor; none of them could. Brushing the reminder aside, he reasoned that she had some other form of spiritual power. He wasn't one to question it, finally lowering his pistol as he stood. "I... Thank you. I-I'm sorry if we didn't start out right. Who are you?"
The female looked up from her prayer, eyes opening and giving him a warm smile. "Zecora is my name. The brewing of potions, tonics, and brews is my game."