Coming down the mountain was… a trial.
Climbing down was something that seemed unnatural and more than a bit difficult for me, enough that I slightly scared both the girls and Mirage on the way down. I almost slipped a few times, and more than once found myself fighting against the urge to climb back up.
But we made it down without true incident. I sent Mirage and the girls to go eat, and I turned to the den.
Over the course of a week, I dug it deep enough to consider it a real den, taking some time to blend the rocks I carve out into the mountainside and hide the entrance a little. Under my paws, the stone gives, just slightly, allowing me to meld the stone together, and more importantly, smooth the floor; the smoothing helps light reflect inside the den itself.
I can see in the dark, but Mirage and the girls cannot. Oddly enough though, they can see by the lights of my eyes, at least partially; still, daytime should not see the den wholly dark for them.
Most of my time is spent digging. Mirage watches the girls and the four of them go off into the fields around our new home as I dig, only stopping twice in a day: once to go hunting, and as the sun sets, to find them and join them for the short time the sun is still risen.
I’ve not dreamed since the last time, my nights often restful and calm. With the exception of one night when some bird woke us all up. It had somehow gotten inside and made a nest I failed to see, and when we came back and fallen asleep, it woke up and it decided to yell at us until I found the stupid thing and ate it.
Otherwise, the nights are fine. Mirage will only sleep atop me, though the girls prefer my side. With the addition of some ‘bedding’, freshly gathered grass, their sleep has improved dramatically. I personally find the same stuff irritating to me. I prefer the bare rock, but I tolerate the stuff for their sakes.
Mirage cares little for the girls’ wild natures. They are always rushing into the fields where their homes used to be with abandon, always on the lookout for a new adventure, or ‘crusade’ as they call them. Most of the time, this is entirely harmless, though there are times when they find something. Like a beehive.
By some chance, they didn’t disturb it until I was nearby, and it was my roar alone that saved them from the swarm. That they wanted honey meant little then, and little now. It might be sweet, it might be delicious, but it is guarded by tiny needles on wings, and neither I nor Mirage have any ability to take honey from the hive, stopped or not, without destroying it or even managing to get nothing but honey, instead of honey and hive and bees. Let the bees keep it.
It is rather common, and entirely understandable, given their natures, that I have to clean them once a day. They have adopted to it well, and with a little direction from them, mostly from Sweetie, I can even sort of handle their manes a bit, instead of just licking them straight. Mirage often does her best to ensure she doesn’t need cleaning, but she has begun to accept the process on her own as well.
She almost made a game of it. Trying to get me to chase her.
It only took a few moments of chase before my dream came back to me, and I stopped in some dread. Mirage noticed fairly swiftly, and though I did not tell her why I stopped, I did tell her that I was unwilling to chase after her, and that I would greatly prefer it if she didn’t attempt to get me to do so.
She didn’t and hasn’t pressed me to tell her more. She simply accepted it. In turn, I have tried to understand her a bit more, which I have: my licking her wings wrong causes discomfort and even later work realigning them. Scootaloo is apparently too young to have the same problem, and ever since I’ve learned that, Mirage is less tense during my cleaning. She still fights me, however, and I do find that game enjoyable.
Much time has passed. We’ve been here for nearly two weeks now, and the den is… sort of complete. I’ve dug a large den, and made a few extra chambers as well, one of which serves as my food storage. When I go hunting and find large animals, I’ll drag them back there, for later eating.
The entire reason said storage exists is due to the girls. None of whom can stand the sight or smell of the half-eaten things I bring back with me. The other chamber is mostly there because I felt the den needed an extra chamber, since seeing a single cave leading away was annoying me for some reason. I need to find something to put in there someday.
But better still; in my digging, I broke into a natural cavern deep within the mountain. When I first looked within, I was caught by the sight. Hundreds, if not thousands, of crystals line the cavern, ranging in size from as large as I am to dust like examples that coat the floor. Each gently glows from within, and the sight is beyond words.
The girls loved it to death, and I made the choice to leave the cavern as it is. Its natural beauty is enough for me, and through I was tempted to collect a few of the larger crystals, decided against doing so. Save for those few I have already dislodged by my digging into the cavern. Those I have set around the den, and we all enjoy their glitter.
Mirage has begun giving me flying lessons too. As the den was completed, I began spending more time with them, and she recalled my inability to fly, and since I wasn’t doing anything anyway…
It has not been going as well as I would have liked. It is far better than before, but still not so good. At least the girls find some amusement in my flailing in the air and the occasional crash.
I sometimes spot Scootaloo looking oddly whenever I take into the air as well.
I found myself carving the walls. The den done, the floor finally smooth, I went to flatten and shape the walls as well. In the midst of doing so, I noted that one of my paws was scratching at the smooth wall I just made.
I stopped myself, and wondered at what I wrote. I am writing in my own language, not in pony.
But I cannot recall ever seeing it before. The knowledge is there in me, and I write with ease, read it with ease, yet how I know it eludes me. It is one of the greatest mysteries of self I’ve encountered.
That I do so automatically and that the act of doing so is incredibly satisfying is equally odd. But I’ve since been doing so with purpose, instead of instinct.
I write of myself. I write what I’ve seen, what I’ve done. As I continue to smooth the walls, I write my story into them, slowly carving away, often being able to do so for a full day without interruption. It feels so perfectly correct to do so, as if my doing so was important, or even vital. I find that I have a sort of system to writing as well, detailing how I do so and how it progresses along the wall; another unspoken knowledge I have.
The girls found it confusing, unable to read it at all. I’ve enlightened them a little, and started to add little images to assist their understanding. For the most part, not even Mirage can pronounce my own tongue, despite attempts to teach them. The fillies still cannot pronounce Mirage. I suspect it may be beyond them.
Otherwise, the days have been warm, sunny, and peaceful. It is a life fulfilling, and as I finish the smoothing of the den, I feel good. This life is one I am happy with, and I love the time I spend working on the den, love the time I spend with Mirage and the girls. I’ve even begun forgetting my dreams, and have yet to have another nightmare. It is good. This is good.
I want it to never end, but one day, I have a duty to return the girls back to their homes. One day.
“Kitty, Kitty!”
I turn, and see Mirage hurry inside the den, eager and excited. I ponder at that, having never seen her quite so eager before.
“Kitty, we saw somepony!” she tells me, near unable to keep herself still. “The girls and I are going to go meet them!” With that, she shoots off, barely able to control herself. I can imagine the girls are already off and running.
I am a bit worried. Despite my flights of the land, I’ve yet to spot any sign of ponykind anywhere near us. Why are they here now?
After a moment, I dismiss those fears, and resume trying to make the ceiling flat as well. Ponies are kind and good. The girls and Mirage are simply very eager to finally see another of their own kind, and I’ve no doubt the meeting will go well. Perhaps it might even allow me to one day meet other ponies.
It’s not like they are here to conquer our home, or soldiers sent to ensure their control.
…I will ask the girls about it when they get back. I am curious about why they are here. With any luck, Mirage or the girls will ask those questions for me.
I’ll wait for them to return.
It is growing dark and they have not come back. I am not happy that I spent so long waiting. I should have gotten worried long before this!
Fortunately, I do have a way to track the girls. Just this morning, the trio had the bravery to enter my food storage to try to identify the bones of past meals. All three should still stink a little of blood and death.
I find the scent, and hurry along, worry filling me. Why have they not come back? What has happened?
After a time, I find a flag, planted atop the small hill near Froggy Bottom. It is purple and pink, and has a flower of some kind drawn in white upon it. the scent stops there, overcome by a far stronger one of flowers and something sweet.
That scent leads back, into the Everfree. I look up at it, and worry more. Even a scent this strong would swiftly be lost in the wood. I have no other option then. I take flight, and soon soar over the dark wood, hoping beyond hope I might somehow see something, anything, in the dark night.
I remember seeing the woods having many lights in it before, but now, it is entirely dark as I soar over it.
For a time, I keep flying, trying in vain to see some hint. Still though, I fly, unwilling to give up my quest. I cannot abandon them.
There!
As I turned once more, an odd shape was present over the treetops. As I fly toward it, I can just barely see little lights, hidden amongst the trees.
…It appears to be a giant tent, set up amongst the woods. I find the sight rather strange, and fly over it, momentarily wondering what it was and why it was even there. I think there might be others nearby it, but it’s difficult to tell.
My second pass gives me the faintest scent of sweet, and I am fairly sure I could just barely hear Mirage’s voice inside it. As I fly away and swoop back, I aim, ready.
I skip just over the treetops, and as I reach the tent, I slash, cutting its side open as I manage to skid to a stop half inside it.
The inside is bright enough to momentarily blind me, and a sudden shriek fit to break glass fills my hearing. I can feel things hitting me, weak and soft, ignorable if irritating. Amongst it all though, I can hear “KITTY!”
My eyes adjust, and I see.
The inside of the tent has many unicorns within it, their horns alight and casting little magical bolts at me. They wear armor, but their strikes are like firm thumps against me; far from painful. More come into the tent from outside, joining those already casting.
One unicorn in a dress of finery and covered in gems and gold is emitting that horrific scream still. Another unicorn in a simple dress stands protectively in front of her, her spells hurting a bit more than the others. Near them, I see Mirage, tied up and possibly screaming my name still.
Yet, that is not what consumes my thoughts. The inside of the tent glitters and gleams with wealth. Gold, gems, fine woods, fine cloths, chests that promise even more. Even the armor of the guards shines with a value I can see.
I want it. No, more than that.
I need it.
I am… not particularly sure how, precisely, I got into the air once more, my paws weighed down with… what I suspect is most of the tent. The memory of the whole thing is a bit… foggy. I can hear something…
“Kitty!”
“Mirage?” I ask, before cheering. I saved her too. Good. I nearly worried I might have just stuffed her amongst all the wealth. I have the oddest feeling I had actually done that, but I can now feel her atop my head, so I have not done so.
“Kitty, what the hay are you doing!?” she demands of me.
“Saving you?” I say, wondering about her anger.
She gives a stomp atop my head. “And taking everything with me!? You even took the carpet, the actual carpet! It was like you went mad Kitty! Why did you steal everything!?”
“…I… I am not certain.” I admit, looking to the wealth in my grip once more. It is… so very alluring to me. I want it so very much. I want to fill the den with it.
I very much like the sound of that. I see the den glittering with wealth and finery, and I grin. I can go and place the best bits in the extra cavern, display things around the walls. I can already see some ideas as to how I’ll spread it around. It will be wonderful.
Mirage huffs atop me, and I spot us coming to the den. Then I realize that my legs are all currently occupied holding precious and delicate goods.
This seems bad, but I am not going to drop it. It might get damaged, but I have an idea. As we near the den, I begin rotating. Mirage yelps and jumps off of me, a slight comfort considering my plan. I slide into the den on my side, stopping as I thump into the back wall.
That was unpleasant to be sure, but the wealth is safe! I gently drop it and recover as Mirage enters after me, her face concerned and upset. She gains a note of hesitation as she notes my watching the pile with glee. It makes me so very happy to see it for some reason.
“Kitty?” she asks, flitting over to me.
I look to her, and recall I had found only her, and not the fillies. I am certain that they had not been present in the tent, despite my… momentary lapse of attention.
“Mirage, where are the girls?” I ask her, making her pause in turn before growing rather agitated.
Mirage hesitates a moment before telling me, “Oh Kitty, it was horrible! We had gone to meet the ponies I’d seen, and the girls were talking to them, and sounded upset. And when I came over, one of them looked at me and yelled that I was a filly napper! Another tried to grab Sweetie, so I kicked him, and told the girls to run, and they caught me in their stupid magic and carried me to that tent, where this other unicorn in a dress told them to tie me up!”
Not something I expected nor wanted to hear. Mirage is greatly upset over this. I am greatly upset over this.
“I will find them Mirage, do not fear.” I tell her, and she nods and flies to me, to land atop me as she normally does. I can feel her distress.
This is not good. Not good indeed. Who are these ponies, to do such things? They dare to steal my happiness, my ponies away from me? To tie Mirage up like some kind of animal?
The tent is just the start. They will regret the day they dared to…
…
Did that rug just move?