The Wing-Pony lasted about ten minutes before he started babbling again.
"Do you have a name?" he asked.
The changeling frowned. "No."
"Why not?"
"I don't need one."
"Why?"
The changeling felt a disgusting undertone of pity along with the Wing-Pony's fear that left a copper aftertaste in the back of his mind. "Shut up."
That gave the changeling another five minutes of blessed quiet as they wandered the halls. There was a larger grotto further on, much further on, full of luminous mushrooms that the changeling had stumbled upon a day ago. It was fed by a small stream that ran along the cave floor. There he could stash the Wing-Pony and glean whatever morsels he could.
So far the Wing-Pony hadn't given him much, his mind running through a menagerie of emotions so quickly it was like trying to snatch a bite of fish from a rushing river. He couldn't tell if it was a defense mechanism or the Wing-Pony had been struck harder than he thought and was just confused.
"You can call me Skybright."
"You already said your name."
"Well why don't you use it?"
"I use it for your friends when I am fooling them!"
"I don't much appreciate being called 'Wing-Pony' all the time. We're pegasi. That's plural for pegasus. Didn't you ever get that memo?"
"You are supposed to be quiet!"
"Well, I can't really do anything else, can I?" the Wing-Pony—apparently the Pegasus—muttered. The changeling had never been on an infiltration mission before, as he'd been low on the social ladder, so he made a note to remember all the 'proper' Pony types.
The changeling considered spitting some of the binding mucous onto the Wing-Pony's mouth, but he didn't want to risk suffocating his captive. He also considered beating up the talkative creature, but he might let his emotions get the better of him and seriously hurt his one chance for survival. He needed to feed off the Pony, not fly off the handle. It was so easy to lose control away from the Hive, one reason he'd been so proud to take the Pegasus alive, and another to be proud of concocting a scheme to keep himself alive. Lower ranking changelings could lose their initiative and drop into a stupor in the late stages of starvation... but he'd beaten the odds and kept his mind together so far.
Even still, if he hadn't stumbled on this Pony he might have starved to the point of madness, becoming nothing more than a truly empty husk, no better than the animals he'd hunted. This pony was annoying and strange and he couldn't focus on easy, mellow feelings, but without him... the changeling knew he would've died.
In a very strange, disconcerting way, this Pegasus' bubbling vitality had fed his own. That didn't make him feel pity or even kinship with the Pony, but it certainly put a strange feeling in his gut. He hadn't thought of devouring feelings in terms of need before. He'd never believed a changeling or the Hive in general actually needed sentient creatures, in much the same way a bird of prey didn't think it needed the animals it feasted on. They only saw food and ate it because they were hungry. The changeling had believed things would be much simpler than this. No plans. No weighing of risks and benefits. Just food. But the Pegasus was no longer just food. It had become a necessity, for now, at least until he got his strength back to the point where he could maintain his cover for a long period of time.
The changeling shook himself and walked on, refusing to let these strange and alien thoughts invade his head. He had to concentrate. He needed the newfound energy given to him from the Pony to cast out more of his emotional net, casting out his thoughts.
As always, no answer came.
"Where are we going?" the Pegasus asked after another long pause.
"Wherever I choose," the changeling grumbled.
"Well that's not very helpful," the Pegasus muttered. "I mean, if you're gonna drop me off to die in a cave somewhere, you could at least try to be nice about it. Sugarcoat it maybe. It's what I'd do if I was rampaging maniac like you."
The changeling felt the sarcasm as much as he heard it, and it just annoyed him further. Every feeling was food, but not all tasted good or even nourished him very much. This Pegasus' berating was hard to sift through to find good, honest emotion.
"You will be very annoying to mimic, Wing-Pony," he spat.
"Hey, I gave you my name you little jerk!" the Pegasus snapped back. "And that's more than you've given me!"
"You didn't have to give your name."
"Exactly! I didn't have to. But even if you kidnapped me and you're probably going to kill me, I still did anyway! So chew on that for a while!"
The changeling felt another wave of sorrow and fear roll off the Pegasus. Their close proximity just made it stronger. But the changeling felt other things too while skimming the surface of the Pony's emotions: an undercurrent of concern, not just for himself, but for friends and family. Love. He tried to snatch at it, greedily, but he wasn't nearly strong enough to pluck it from the Pony's mind. He'd have to make do with surface emotions for now... he could figure out the details later.
"Why must you have my name?" the changeling asked, genuinely curious.
"Because everypony needs one," the Pegasus sullenly replied.
"Why?" the changeling asked. "I have never needed a name. You do not need a name."
"Don't be stupid. Everypony needs a name! It's what you're called! It defines who you are!"
"A word? No. We describe ourselves with feelings."
"Okay..." The Pegasus rolled his eyes. "So how do you feel about yourself?"
“I...”
The changeling lost focus on walking, slowing down to a crawl. His eyes danced in their sockets, searching the walls around them. He’d never once even given thought to that. And when he tried to find the answer, when he looked deep down and tried to find himself... he couldn’t. It was like waving his hoof in a giant dark room without any walls, just a big gaping blackness like the emptiness of his own mind.
“I...”
I don’t know.
That bothered him. It bothered him that it bothered him. He decided not to answer directly and thrust away the discomfort with a savage shake of his head. "Why do you talk so much?"
"Because I'm going to die and I'd rather not do it in silence like some worthless animal!"
The outburst was so sudden the changeling flinched. He stopped walking again, his limbs rigid as he listened to the pony's voice fading into the tunnels of the cave system. He'd felt something other than fear and anger in that spike of emotion. He'd felt a twinge of pride, even righteousness; the kind of anger that only came from a creature that knew its place in the world and wouldn't be budged from it.
The Pony clearly thought he was worth something, even if he'd just been food to the changeling. But it wasn't like the Pony had outlined an argument and spelled out reasons why he should be considered the changeling's equal. The changeling felt it, deep down in his very bones. The mimicry that he depended on for survival had given him a passing, fleeting empathy with that single burst of emotion. The changeling felt the Pony's self-worth... and it seemed the changeling had felt it like it was his own, too.
He decided he didn't like it very much at all. He was supposed to imitate the pony, not feel for it, or like it. He wasn't skilled in the ways of subterfuge and true mimicry. Was this what the scouts and spies felt? Did Mother feel this way when she had been attempting to steal the place of the Pony Princess?
No. He couldn't think too much. His own thoughts were echoing too much, coming back to him, making him think of things that didn't make sense outside of the Swarm. He couldn't have that. He shut himself down and kept walking.
Skybright muttered and mumbled to himself as the changeling walked at a steady pace, taking twist after turn after double back. What was with this guy? He didn't seem to get tired or anything. Was this how all changelings worked?
All things considered, he'd thought he'd be dead now instead of later. He'd thought about his inevitable fate, and decided that it was probably best if he just didn't think about it at all. He didn't like the idea of dying slowly in a cave while a doppelganger took over his life, and as a rule bad things of that magnitude didn't enter his mind too often. He usually thought of himself as a cheerful kind of pegasus. He'd figure a way out of this, for sure. Or his friends would rescue him. Sooner or later Chalk Tip would realize something was up and grab the Guard, and they'd come swooping in...
Until then, he had to figure out how to keep himself alive, and the changeling close so an opportunity to escape could prevent itself. To look on the bright side, he reminded himself that at least he was being carried, even if the changeling's back was hard and rough and some pointy bit kept poking his ribs. It was sure to be rubbed raw by the time they stopped.
"Hey," he said. "Hey, changeling. You never told me how you... uh, feel about yourself."
It'd been an hour at least since he'd last spoken, the dank atmosphere and claustrophobic walls dampening even his talkative spirit. Surely the changeling would answer?
No, he would not. Skybright was curious though. What did a changeling think? Obviously this one didn't think much of itself, but he'd never really known what changelings were. They weren't exactly a plague on Equestria... nothing was ever since the Princesses took charge. And here was a real live changeling, probably fresh from the attack at Canterlot. And he was being kidnapped by one.
In a bizarre way, it was a very interesting twist of fate.
He squirmed on the changeling's back.
"Hey. Changeling. Hey you. Hey. Tell me. Come on. Tell me? Please? Please? Can you just—"
He was interrupted by the changeling abruptly craning his neck and spitting on Skybright's mouth. The pegasus instantly felt a rubbery, sticky mucous slap over his lips, binding most of them together. It didn't get full coverage, but he could only make weird noises out of the side of his mouth as he struggled in renewed terror and indignation.
"I do not feel," the changeling said plainly. Skybright stopped struggling. "Not about myself. I never had to. But then you Ponies ruined everything. You destroyed Mother and scattered her Swarm, her children. Me. I do not want to be me. I want to be one with them again. I will not stop until I am. I am tired of thinking of myself as 'I.' It is silly and selfish. I have only survived because I want to be useful to the Hive again."
He didn't seem to be speaking to Skybright. His words were flat and rote, as if they were being read from a script that hovered in front of his face. Skybright didn't know why, but he swore he could feel sadness in those words. He wasn't surprised. How could a creature not feel about themselves? Wasn't that how you discovered your own self-worth? Giving yourself a base-line of self-importance to judge the rest of the world's treatment of you?
Was a changeling really that empty inside?
And why did this mucous gunk taste like cherries?
The entire time the changeling walked Skybright mulled over the changeling's words, and what they could mean to his fate. This changeling didn't seem to feel any special malice towards him in particular. He hadn't even called him by name. He was just lumping Skybright in with the rest of the 'evil Ponies.' And he hadn't beaten Skybright or done anything particularly nasty to him. Well... except threatening to kill him. But there didn't seem to be genuine spite behind the act. There didn't seem to be anything inside the changeling. He'd clearly never met a pony in his life, didn't even know what a pegasus was, and he was judging Skybright based on... what? Whatever this thing called the Hive told him? His eyes were a bright solid sheen of blue, betraying no emotions and reflecting perfectly the world around him. His carapace was similarly blank and mirror-like. There was something deeply symbolic about that, but Skybright didn't dwell on it.
This changeling was going to try and replace him in his life, and use that as a means to an end. Did he really care about ponies and what they'd done to his kind? Skybright didn't even know what ponies had done to deserve this enmity from a single changeling. He resolved to find out. Maybe the changeling would tell him. Skybright needed to talk to give him information, right? And the changeling couldn't get anything out of Skybright apart from his appearance if he kept quiet about himself.
He might just get out of this after all.
It was a while before they reached the place where the changeling said he'd drop off Skybright. It was truly a beautiful place, large and cool with gems sticking out of the walls and luminous mushrooms giving everything a strange purple sheen. Skybright took note of the gems. If he wasn't in a battle for survival, he might have taken the time to feel vindicated; at least he'd die knowing his survey hadn't been in vain! The changeling deposited Skybright against a stalagmite and backed off.
They stared at each other. Skybright shifted uncomfortably after the first ten minutes, but the changeling just continued to stare at him, long and hard.
And then something amazing happened.
It started with a glowing green light at the end of the changeling's horn, which spread all the way down his body. Wherever the light traveled, the changeling vanished, to be replaced by a perfect copy of Skybright's own body. If his lips weren't fastened together, his jaw would've dropped straight to the ground.
"What do you know of it?" Skybright's copy asked him slowly. "About us? Nothing. I felt your feelings on the way here, Pony. Guilt and questions and hope. You don't know the first thing about me. I can feel your defiant anger, saying I am wrong, that I should think. Well I will not, Pony. This mind is not yours and isn't mine! It is the Queen's! And what she says is right. You are a Pony. You are wrong!"
Skybright tried to speak, which only made the changeling roll his eyes at the muffled indignation pouring out of Skybright’s mouth.
“I am going to scout the area,” he declared. “When I return, you had better be asleep, Wing-Pony.”
Skybright huffed and shook his head, wagging his mucous covered mouth. The changeling considered him for a long moment.
“… Fine,” he said, and with another zap of magic the gunk was gone. Skybright took a deep breath and coughed. When he looked up again the changeling had already left him.
He curled up on the floor and cried, finally free to release his feelings.
The changeling waited until he’d rounded a corner before he collapsed against a wall and let the illusion fade. He’d gotten just enough nourishment to use his mimicry magic for those few seconds to shock the pony and convince him the changeling was truly capable of taking his place. But it had taken an incredible amount of concentration and energy. Panting, he pressed his head against the cool stone and let his muscles go slack.
He saw a large cave mushroom glowing nearby and gobbled it down without thinking. The illusion had been costly, and now he felt dizzy and unfocused. The meat of the mushroom would fill his stomach and give strength to his limbs, but he wouldn’t truly feel energized nor full until he’d eaten good, honest emotion. He needed the pony to be calm now, and thoughtful. He needed to wait until he started thinking of home and friends.
For now, he had to rest. All over again he was stuck in the unenviable position of having no real food, yet he needed energy to accomplish anything. Curse ponies and their endless well of feelings.
The changeling felt the Pony’s feelings blossom like a tentative flower once they both had time to collect themselves. He felt the sharp, bitter taste of sorrow and gushing, savory nostalgia, and over it all was the wonderful, warm, satisfying sensation of love. The changeling showered in it like scraps falling from a table, but if he went back inside now the Pegasus would bury it under fear and mistrust. The changeling couldn’t risk that. He had to come back later. He resolved to do as he said and scout the area.
The cave hadn’t changed much from when he’d last been here. There were still strange, sightless fish in little rivulets of water carved through the rock, transparent insects skittering along the walls, and the cool, pleasantly humid air of the cavern. He wandered a few back passages until he thought the Pegasus had calmed down, though he didn’t really know what a Pony did in order to calm down. He’d never needed to calm down himself. The Queen told him to get angry, and he was furious. The Queen told him to heel and be quiet, and he shut down. The Queen told him to devour the weak and feed the strong, and he helped purify the Hive of all those who second-guessed her. Why did Ponies need time to feel, to process what their minds told them? Why bother thinking when acting was so much more convenient?
The changeling thought on these things for a while, going back and forth with himself. The Ponies had feelings so much more keen than his own. He couldn’t deny now that they fed on Ponies because they had the strongest feelings in the world; look at what two Ponies in love had done to their all-powerful Queen, even after she’d proven stronger than the Sun Pony! Did the fact that Ponies have so much more time and space for their emotions mean they were stronger, in the end? No, surely changelings could be that strong too. Changelings would always be better, because the changelings were the predators and the Ponies were food. But food that was so strong…
He hadn’t considered the merits of introspection before, not when he had time and space to himself. It was like the changeling was a stranger to himself and was just as big a mystery as the Pony in that cavern. The changeling almost liked it. At the very least, hiding in his own mind gave him solace from the pounding, throbbing agony of separation. He didn’t think of himself as apart from the Hive, but at least he didn’t have to dwell on the fact that he was alone.
He found that he hadn’t really been paying attention to his surroundings when he noticed that he had gone down a passage he’d never seen before, and inside were clues to something that filled him with a deep, instinctive fear. The passage was like all the others: dark, musty and cool, but he had senses more attuned with the ebb and flow of life than a Pony, and he knew that there was danger here. The dark shadows loomed instead of settling on the rocks, and the tunnel seemed more closed in than the others. It was just like when the Hive felt a disturbance in their tunnels: a feathery, fluttery feeling of disturbance passing over them all, as if the Hive had feelers and they were its nervous system. His pointed ears tingled and his fangs itched. His wings buzzed and his eyes narrowed.
Something was in the tunnel with him.
He hissed loudly and made a mock charge forward, determined to frighten the intruder away. But nothing came forward to challenge him, and nothing backed off either.
He hissed again, remembering the times he had faced down larger beasts in the woods and forced them to flee with a show of force. But he didn’t feel any base emotion here, no thundering bang of an animal’s fight-or-flight instincts taking hold. It was more of a buzz, a single, discordant noise that made him dizzy and nauseous. This was wasn’t a cave bear or a manticore. It was something else.
He took one last step forward, flaring his wings and buzzing angrily.
Deep down in the darkness ahead, he heard the sound of carapace skittering over stone.
The changeling turned and ran for his life.
He took flight to avoid stumbling over stones, using his keen night vision as he hurtled back to the gem-filled cavern, cursing his inattentiveness. He’d gotten lost in his own thoughts again, like some common stupid Pony! Curse them! Curse them all! Feelings would be the death of him if they weren’t his food!
He heard the Pegasus screaming for help and cursed them all again as he exploded into the chamber, hissing and buzzing for all he was worth.
The Pegasus was scrambling over the ground, trying to overcome the sticky mucous binding his forelegs that also clutched the stone beneath him, screaming as he kicked his back legs. Just ten feet away from him and approaching fast was an eight-legged monstrosity that outmatched the biggest Ponies and changelings, all spiny chitin and dripping mandibles. Two shovel-like claws raised up, ready to strike and tear and rend.
The changeling didn’t think this time. He just acted.
With all the strength he’d managed to scrape off the Pegasus’ emotions he streaked right into the face of the beast. He lowered his horn and pulled up sharply at the last moment as the six eye stalks above the fang-filled mouth came into view; there was a small tug on the changeling’s horn and one of the creature's eyes was torn free, impaled on the tip of the changeling's horn and dripping fluids. The creature scrambled backwards, covering its face with its front claws and raising a deadly stinger on its abdomen over its head to ward off more attacks. A wound like that would make it cautious, but the changeling wasn’t strong enough to kill it.
He buzzed straight backwards and snatched the screaming Pegasus up by the mucous around his middle. The Pegasus just kicked his legs helplessly and kept screaming, much to his annoyance, as he chose a random tunnel and flew as long and hard as he could before he had to stop.
Breathing hard, he dropped the Pegasus onto the ground and looked back, then forward, found nothing but darkness and gloom, where every shadow could hide another menace. For the moment they were alone, but the Diggers were tenacious. It sometimes took the concerted effort of an entire Hive to drive them back.
The Pegasus finally found his voice after he was done weeping in terror, which the changeling found strangely satisfying. He’d never tasted that level of pure, animal fright from a Pony before. It was energizing, but hardly appetizing.
“What… what was that?!” the Pegasus gasped, curling up on the floor and trying to chew through his bonds.
The changeling did it for him, and the Pegasus lay on the ground, surprised to find himself suddenly free. The changeling loomed over him.
“That,” he said, “was a Bore Spider. And very soon, Pegasus, more of them will be coming.”
The Pegasus shuddered. “It was looking for-”
“Food,” answered the changeling. “Us.”