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// Chapter 8: Rise 
// Story: A Cold Night's Sleep 
// by CamoBadger 
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Chapter 8: Rise

        Wind whistled between the darkened buildings which lined either side of Main Street, carrying with it a sheet of slicing crystals, slowly building frozen mounds at each corner and wall. This had grown to be a familiar sight among the citizens of Snowhoof, especially for those born and raised in the northern village. Though this storm was much stronger than most, its kind being seen only once a year, the howling winds and clattering snowfall would keep nopony from slumber.

        Very few remained awake at such a late hour, those sheltered within the warmth of the hospital in wait for any injuries which may come from the storm. Even fewer were forced to endure the force of Snowhoof’s annual blizzard, those ponies of the Sheriff’s Office who held the position of night guards. Among these unlucky few was Officer Stormwell, a convenient name for the pony who somehow managed the luck to pull night shift during every blizzard since joining the force. The slate grey pegasus never greatly enjoyed working during the storm, but despite requesting just one year off of the duty, Chief had persisted that due to his experience with working during the hazardous weather, the pegasus could not be pulled from the shift. It of course didn’t help that this blizzard was a last second occurrence.

        Luckily, in the years since taking the shift, Stormwell had never been involved in any incidents of any kind on that night. Not surprisingly, nopony including criminals or troublemakers were very fond of being out such a powerful storm. Even if a would-be-thief or other brand of criminal had planned to act on that night, they would have changed their plans very quickly once the surprise storm rolled in. Even Stormwell didn’t know the blizzard would be coming almost a month early, and assumed that it was because the weather planning committee knew something he didn’t. Regardless, the pegasus didn’t mind getting the storm out of the way for the year.

        His route this year was easy enough, all he had to patrol was the far end of Main Street, as well as the cemetery which branched off on that side. The road had been cleared early in the afternoon of any carts or merchant stands by those not wishing to lose their portable shops, leaving the street deserted and eerily calm aside from the storm. Since going on duty almost five hours before, Stormwell had not seen another pony with the exception of an occasional run-in with the officer patrolling from the town gate to Midtown; something that promised him a peaceful, if not lonely, night.

        Unlike on Main Street, the cemetery somehow remained relatively calm within the blizzard, likely due to the wall of trees surrounding the well-kept field. A layer of snow still crunched beneath the pegasus’ hooves with each step, only barely audible over the howl of wind between trees and headstones. Though the snow could not easily penetrate the wall of trees, chilling winds still swirled through the clearing as the black clouds overhead continued to unload their frozen cargo. Stormwell pulled his thick cloak tighter around his neck with one hoof, a feeble attempt to keep the wind from biting at his chest.

        While he had a moment of escape from the brunt of the storm, the stallion sat for a moment to rest his worn legs, squeezing his thighs in to warm his belly as much as he could. He muttered a quick curse to the pegasi who had made the storm so brutal that night, and thought of his warm bed far above the curtain of storm clouds which looked down on him, alone in the cemetery. “Why couldn’t I be on the day shift?”

        From the corner of his eye, Stormwell caught a burst of movement near the edge of the cemetery, pulling him quickly back to his hooves. The wind once again freely grasped at his chest under the cloak, unnoticed by the distracted pegasus. He scanned slowly among the headstones for another sign of the sudden activity, slowly thinking he just saw a falling branch. His eyes darted to one side as a shadow fired behind a pair of trees, a four legged shape dashing further into the woods.

        The buck shook his head momentarily, telling himself it was just an arctic wolf who had strayed too close to town, likely looking for refuge from the storm. He had seen one every few years during the bigger storms, especially the annual blizzard, but they always ran back into the woods as this shadow had done.

        Before he could turn back, another shadow darted from behind one of the headstones, quickly disappearing into the tree line. Its run was not that of a wolf, and a pair of wings were spread at the shadow’s sides as it ran, plunging Stormwell’s hopes for wolves into the gutters. Once again he cursed the storm and slowly began trotting toward the trees where the pony shaped shadow had disappeared. “What are you doing out in this storm?” he asked the shadow quietly, knowing it wouldn’t hear him.

        Once he reached the trees, the officer shouted for whoever had run off to go where he could see them. After several seconds of no reply and no further movement, the pegasus once again yelled, and once again received no answer. With a sigh, the buck took his first steps into the woods, hoping the pony hadn’t gone too far in. The small shadow once again reappeared moments later, but rather than approach him, it dashed further into the woods. 

        Being much closer this time, the buck noticed the shadow stood almost a head shorter than he did, causing his heart to ache for a brief moment with the thought that it must be a lost filly or colt who couldn’t get home before the storm hit. His pace quickened along with his stride as the officer attempted to catch up to the small pony, shouting every few moments for it to not be afraid and that he just wanted to help. 

        The foal never offered a response, only running further into the woods until it disappeared entirely. Stormwell had no idea how far he had run, or how long he had been following the foal into the woods. All around him, twisted limbs reached down, forever trying to grab those dwelling on the ground below. Above, the black curtain could hardly be seen through the entangled branches and sporadic green needles clustered across the uppermost limbs. The howling wind had mostly subsided, the pegasus having run into a much thicker section of forest than that surrounding the cemetery. 

        With a sigh, Stormwell hung his head in defeat, disappointed in his inability to keep up with a lost foal. He decided that he should return to the town and report to the Station, try to set up a search party. That is if one wasn’t already being arranged; a lost foal would doubtless bring a report from the parents within hours, especially in such a terrible storm. It would be much easier for many ponies to find the young pony in these woods than him alone.

        Lifting his head, the stallion’s heart stopped. The darkness filling the trees at the edge of his vision gleamed with a sea of shining eyes, unmoving and watchful. Fear swept over him as he slowly began to backpedal from the swarm of eyes, nearly tripping over twigs and rocks as he refused to look away from the watchers. When he finally thought he had enough of a head start to outrun whatever was staring him down, the pegasus quickly spun on his heels to begin sprinting from the woods.

        His eyes fell directly into a glowing blue gaze, menacing orbs staring from within a shell dark as midnight into his own fear filled eyes. Before he could move further, before he could even take a breath, a wall of green flames surrounded him, licking at his cloak violently before pulling him into darkness.

        Over the cloaked body stood its mirror image, a perfect clone of the pony who had just fallen to the floor. The once blue orbs had warped into the orange eyes of the pony who had owned them only moments before, staring down on the body with satisfaction and relief. The youngblood had never before experienced the joy of taking the form of another, her cluster having been born long after the Canterlot incident. The feeling filled the now pony with unrivaled joy, having finally experienced the true power of her birth.

        Despite all of the joy, this new body felt so strange to her. The feeling of hair, of feathers, and of skin being bitten by the chilly air; it all filled her with wonder and confusion at the same time. She never knew what to expect from the change, but had always assumed it would feel like operating a puppet rather than actually living the life of another. But with the confusion also came contentment. She felt as if she were growing stronger, something feeding her body slowly from the air itself. The new hairs on her back prickled with warmth as a strange energy flowed into her, and for the first time in her life she didn’t feel hungry anymore.

        This stallion had been loved by somepony, somewhere. Someone who was worried for him deeply at this moment, alone out in the storm the youngblood and her sisters had been promised. Her first taste of love, and it was the most wonderful feeling she had ever known.

        Looking to her sisters, the youngblood smiled brightly. A symphony of whistles and howls echoed from the woods, calls of congratulations and of envy. The others knew that soon they would join their sister in her joy, in finally feeding. Their calls soon fell into symphony, reciting again and again the name of their victorious sister. 

        “Virula, Virula, Virula.”

        The chant widened the young changeling’s smile to a point she never thought possible, a smile brimming with pride and honor. 

        From the depths of the woods, a voice which they loathed since birth echoed between the trees, casting the youngbloods into silence.

        “Go my children, and feed.”

        A new wave of howls and whistles filled the woods as the sea of eyes flashed away. All around the faux Stormwell a stampede of shadowy forms lashed out to the unsuspecting town, filling the air with the sound of crashing hooves and buzzing wings. Behind them lay dead silence, an eerie omen of what may await any who stood before the ravenous swarm of starving children. 

        The newly transformed changeling stood alone where the swarm once waited, staring down onto the still form of Stormwell with confusion. Her mind raced with wonder over how to dispose of or hide the unconscious body, never having considered what she must do once the transformation was complete. No words of wisdom or command echoed through the forest to assist her, none of her sisters remained to help her solve the problem, she was alone. 

        A bizarre feeling began to creep through the hairs on her shoulders, and suddenly Virula felt as if she were being watched from above. She lifted her eyes in expectation to see her Queen waiting overhead, eager to teach her child what to do next. Instead, she saw only black sky and flittering snow. The cold of the night began to win over the warmth from the love feeding her body, and her thoughts were overrun with fear of her sisters leaving her. They had run to the town to feed, and soon they would be reunited, but the youngblood’s subconscious refused to reflect those thoughts. Instead, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she would never see them again, that she would be alone forever in this new form.

        Without warning, a shadow fell from the trees beside the new Stormwell, looking up to her with shining blue eyes. The new arrival was a younger changeling than Virula was, seemingly born in the cluster following her own. The sudden appearance filled her with new joy, effectively removing all of the fear which had filled her heart. 

        “You should put him in a cocoon and hang him in the trees,” the younger changeling rasped. “That way when he wakes up, he can’t give you away.”

        A thin smile spread across Virula’s lips at the advice, though she was slightly embarrassed to have not thought of doing what had been recommended. It struck her as a bit odd that a changeling younger than herself would have thought of such a thing so quickly, but perhaps she had been given the advice from an elder since hatching. “What is your name young one?” she asked appreciatively.

        “I’m Deimos!” the small one chirped roughly, baring her strangely long fangs in a devious smile.