//------------------------------// // Act III, Chapter XXVI // Story: Scarred Serpentine // by Metanoia //------------------------------// “Who are you... why did you let me do this...?” The cold was both his friend and his enemy. He hated it, hated how the chill would eventually make him pass away, drain the life out of his little body. Yet it didn’t matter. It wrapped around him like a soothing blanket. Feather somehow found peace in that. I’m sorry. Only the stars could ever hope to reply, a single twinkle that reached him from the deepest cavities of space-time. They were soothing. It helped him relax. It lulled him closer to a slumber which he wouldn’t wake up from. Was there more to come? The moon was cold, and it was as bright as it was white. Plants and flora rustled in the wind’s breath, coming from trees far away. Other than that, the night was as silent as one could ever hope it to be, growing from its adolescence to bleed into the earliest hours of the morning. It was slightly past its midpoint, and that very moment was when stars shone the brightest. The sky was forgiving in that moment, too, for the tapestry had zero clouds nor disruptions, allowing one to see the heavenly dome that surrounded the planet dazzling clearly. It’s like a force field was pushing away the clouds from crossing a vague border around the great lake. It’s alive. The city of Tlekokalli, as Feather from a distance observed it, was alive. Despite the evening settling comfortably, Tlekokalli gleamed. Lights flickered; ships sojourned the body of water; even pegasi flew above it all, little specks that were mere flies compared to the breadth of the home they lived in. They flitted like birds above the conurbation. Standing on an island several miles removed from Tlekokalli’s center, Feather allowed the calm of a people lost to him to overflow his senses. He overridden his worries, and perhaps to let himself be in this quiet moment he shared with a civilization that didn’t even know him was what he needed but had not wanted. Is this your home? Feather thought, receiving only the breeze and the twinkle of stars as a response. I never knew it would be... like this. Here. I knew this city was once alive, but I never expected to be so close to it as now. Grass below Feather rubbed against his coat, tickling. It returned him to his senses, a question made apparent before him; it’s as if the wind was the harbinger of his ideas sometimes. Why am I here? “There’s no use in trying to hide! We’ll find you sooner or later!” It was a voice. Feather turned to see who it was. There were stallions, stopping their march and scanning the landscape, rolling hills of weeds and grass. The island was tumultuous in its topography: sudden cliffs at certain points, waves of greenery, a rocky and crooked peak which jutted up in an attempt to penetrate the celestial dome in hopes of reaching heaven. They wore ornate armors which mimicked jaguar coats and the feathers of birds, ornate shields in their grasps and even more ornate headpieces adorning their ensembles. They looked ready for a holy war that would reward them with paradise. Nodding amongst themselves, the warriors began their march around the perimeter of this nestled isle. Feather paused for a moment, wondering what kind of commotion was occurring. He gazed back at Tlekokalli one last moment before he picked himself up and followed the men under the shroud of a brilliant moon. The grass, it was a daze under him, a blurry mass of blades and haulms, much like Feather’s mane as he trotted quickly through the night—a sharp edge cutting air effortlessly and seamlessly. His rhythm, hooves seemed like a blur as he caught up to the stallions. Feather saw where they entered and took a moment of relapse, halting. It was a small town by a slope, alleyways and roads small and winding, incongruent, but nonetheless picturesque. Surrounding it was a golden haze; if one was afar, they would’ve guessed this place was on fire, but to Feather it heralded a quaint sense of community. The view seemed oddly nostalgic. Following the stallions through the village still, Feather could tell most—if not all—of the residents were fast asleep. No loud conversations were heard, nor the sounds of children chasing one another. Despite the hour, Feather understood this community was tight-knit, residents close and living calm lives. This must’ve been one of many getaway spots from the busier cluster of central islands. The stallions quieted themselves to be polite, and Feather was right behind their tail as they advanced through the main streets, peeping around and poking at corners to see if they could reveal who they were looking for. But who were they looking for? And what would they do to that person once they found them? Feather decided he would try to take this in his own hooves. If he were hiding from an authority figure, where would he go? If he wanted to be alone, where would the best place be? He knew the answer right away. Breaking away from the group, Feather attempted to visualize the town, wondering where the outskirts were. That would be the loneliest place.  Rounding a small alleyway, he pressed forward and peered his surroundings as the roofs of homes and structures partly blocked the illumination of the moon and stars. Village lights dimmed the more he made his way through this quieter portion. It felt as if a ghost was following Feather whenever he turned back, only to find nothing. There was a strange feeling now he was by himself—or at least he thought he was. Without the march of the guards. Without a waking soul to accompany him.  Nearing the outskirts, Feather spotted the shoreline of the great lake and the even greater expanse of the Amarezon beyond that, many eons away. Stars disappeared in the distance, the dark of trees creating the line between the sky and the earth. What else laid out there—if pondering what secrets were here wasn’t enough to quench his curiosity? The forest barely moved; it gave not the signs of its wonders forever lost and unfound. It was as gentle as the sobs that came from right behind him. Wait. Feather turned. Leaning back on some statue was a mare, her bottom on the ground, two forelegs covering her face as she cowered in fear. Tears rolled down her supple cheeks. Despite only sobs in the air, her voice sounded as soft as an angel’s. “It’s you.” Feather was breathless, pausing a moment before he turned again to the view he abandoned a second ago. She didn’t seem to regard his existence, continuing her benign sniffling. He leaned down to sit beside her. Hooves covering the mare’s face, Feather couldn’t see her expression, couldn’t see her. Regardless, he knew she had a beauty that radiated out to him—the yearning of two long lost souls despite her not knowing it. “I know you can’t hear me,” Feather consoled. His words were meant for her but only heard by himself. "But I want to say that... I would have helped you at this moment. It sounds useless to say, because I can’t change the past. I can’t change what has already happened. “I know what it’s like to die. I know your situation’s worse. You wanted to live. You wanted to see tomorrow.” He spoke not, but he knew what to say. “I’m here. I’m here.” Warm. A warm wind came. It came to reach her, the solace—the solution—to a night of winter: a snug breeze that reminded one there would be the light of a new sun the next morning, a relapse of summer in the harshness of a seemingly unending storm. She stopped her sniffling, looking out into the same vastness of space much like he had. Her eyes. Feather had seen her one eye before, but to see both of them now brought him to his knees. Under the glint of the heavens, observing the cosmos, Crystal Jade’s eyes shone with a splendor that would make ghosts breathe out in adoration, even for just a moment. She didn’t know it then, but Feather found her to be the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Nothing else compared. “You are being too kind,” she whispered, the sadness not gone but accompanied with a solemn self-awareness. “I only want to see you again. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go. I want to stay.” I want to stay. “Halt!” Both turned to find the stallions pointing their hooves and spears at her. Feather turned another direction to find the pathway’s other side blocked by more warriors, contempt and distaste gracing their expressions. He watched in horror as they so quickly grabbed a hold onto Jade. As much as she pleaded, as much as she tried to fight back, the stallions had the advantage. They outnumbered them two to a dozen.  Feather also tried to plead with them, momentarily forgetting that he couldn’t. Try as they might to fight for her freedom, the guards forced Jade along under the shroud of a sparkling but apathetic sky. Nothing. As he expected, Little Feather got nothing. A part of him instinctively hoped that somepony, anypony would’ve answered his prayers, answer the calls he transmitted for the entire universe to hear. But a part of him also knew there was no way his pleas would’ve been heard. A shameful but knowledgeable part of his psyche laid dormant inside the little colt knew there was nothing else out there for him. Death was knocking on Feather’s door, impatient and solemn to the circumstances, yet somehow sympathetic that he’s the only one to accompany him in leaving the world. Even Death couldn’t wait. Even Death couldn’t stall for the pity he felt for the little colt. Time waited not for anything or anypony. Feather started to cry. It was weak, frail, but it was crying nonetheless, a silent weep that his life would be ending like this. His family and friends would be haunted to see his corpse in this makeshift grave of a tree, worse yet his loved ones bury him in a coffin empty, hollow. Would he be lost even after death? Would his family and friends never find his body? Was he going to be alone even after a hundred, a thousand years? If he was, then it would mean there would be no closure to his story: it was to remain unfinished and incomplete for the rest of time. He was like a spacecraft going through a black hole, past the event horizon, the point of no return. Feather entered a threshold wherein he could come in but not come out. He would find himself in a place wherein no light could escape; it would take more than the speed of light to escape this galactic tomb. It was impossible now, but he tried anyway by closing his eyes, the last transmission of this craft to an uncaring universe. I don’t want to go. I’m here. I want to stay. Warm. A warm wind came. It came to him, the solace—the impossible solution—to a problem that didn’t have a workaround, an act of kindness from an unknowing hoof that reached to him and said that he would indeed see tomorrow, that he would escape and see his friends again. Feather stopped his sniffling, looking out into the vastness of space to meet stars. Was it a ghost? Was it his savior? ...Don’t give up... The warm wind came once again, replacing the cold of the night with a renewed sense of coziness. It was forgiving. The universe was starting to forgive little Feather of sins he may not have even committed. It gave him strength. It gave him the chance. It gave him the way. ...Life is worth living... Go on... Requiring all his determination, Feather pulled himself out the tree trunk. He still felt the pain in his hooves, his back, but he was stronger than that—he had to be stronger than that. A piece of string that wrapped around his heart tugged him to a location unbeknownst, a pitch black of the forest only monsters dared to traverse through. Taking one last look at the sky, Feather mustered his willpower and began limping through the dim of the woods, traversing inferno in hopes of reaching paradise once again. It felt even worse than dying; it felt like being tortured on all sides in all aspects: mentally, physically, spiritually. Feather felt like he was going to collapse and die any second now but he had to keep on going, Life was worth living, he had to go on. Feather picked up the pace, causing him more pain, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop; to fall was to die, to fall was to be forgotten and to be left to rot in the pages of history books; Feather had to keep pressing forward, keep going. How long has it been? Hours? Years? He didn’t know where his heart tugged to. Light. A warm light. The sound of conversing ponies, the illumination of torches and unicorn magic. They were there. Somepony was there. He would be saved after all. “Help!” Feather begged. “I’m here!” he implored with all his might, with all his determination. A reply. He didn’t understand it, but it was a reply, an obscured yell of mares and stallions calling out to him. The lights focused on his general direction. They’re getting closer now. Feather ran as fast as he could, like a beast was behind chasing him, like if he didn’t win this dash he would never get to race again. They were definitely nearing now, the distance between him and the rescue team closing in. A blue blur suddenly came out of the group of ponies, almost tackling him to the ground but just stopped shortly in front of him. Feather felt a pair of hooves wrap around his neck, crushing him uncomfortably from that moment of unexpected affection his pegasi friend showed him. “I knew I would see you again!” Rainbow Dash released him from her iron grip at last, allowing him to breathe. “What happened to you?!” Feather only chuckled, hastily sitting—and half-collapsing—on the ground. He could barely hear his own thoughts despite having the reassurance of his safety, being found.  “I... long story. I’m tired... I...” He needn't speak more as he felt a magical force field wrap around him gently, levitating and setting him on the back of a unicorn mare. “Oh, dear, you poor thing. Are you hurt?” Little Feather could only nod as a response. “Let’s let him rest for now. Come on, we need to go back,” said one of the stallions. The team nodding, they began their march back to safety at last. The lurking forest seemed to deepen, telling ponykind and even beasts that it was the most dangerous of all creations. Monsters dragged prey in, while the forest relied only on the follies of creatures alike, deceiving them. Feather laid on his side, watching trees and obscured darkness between them, the world sideways. He certainly had his world turned upside down that solitary day, consisting of fleeting memories that seemed like a dream. Was it truly a dream? Was it just some awful nightmare? Little Feather had little say as his eyes slowly drifted away into a calming sleep.