Amie stared, transfixed by the changeling before her. He was familiar enough to recognize as a member of her own species—but not identical to the campers of Stella Lacus. His fins were bright orange instead of green, a color matched by his eyes and the faint glow of his magic.
Even stranger, his forelegs were covered with... tattoos? There was no other way to describe them—marks set into his shiny coat, lines of ink that left faint indents in the carapace. White lines twisted and swirled together in a vaguely tribal design.
Amie didn't get a good chance to inspect them, because the changeling advanced on her, baring sharp fangs. "Show your face," he demanded. "Your disguise is feeble; there was not even a flicker of true fear. You are no pony."
Maybe not from her. Wes retreated behind her, until he backed into one of the rough wooden crates. He didn't say anything, just watched Amie desperately.
Amie took a deep breath, closed her eyes—and tried to relax. But she wasn't alone in a secluded cave with her brother this time—she was staring down an unknown creature, one that might be a blood enemy, or a desperately needed ally.
After a few seconds she opened them again, sighing with exasperation. "I'm not trying to lie to you—but I can't change as easily as you. I've only had a few days to learn."
His horn stopped glowing, and his posture relaxed. "What tribe sent hunters with such little experience? How desperate is your queen?" He turned, fixing Wes with a withering glare. "If you think this act will elicit sympathy from Equestrians, you are wrong. Your invention is too similar to your true shape, cousin. They fear you. More importantly—"
He leapt through the air in a wide arc, so high that Amie was left staring. He landed atop the crate beside Wes, baring his teeth again.
"What were you thinking, striding brazenly into a hunting ground with the guise of some twisted wolf? They have royal guards watching this place. Did you come here to die, and make hunting harder for the rest of us? I could do it so much gentler than they would."
Wes whimpered, slumping to his haunches. His wings opened and closed several times, but he didn't manage anything like a coherent response. "Not... not trying to... can't—" He looked desperately towards Amie, pleading.
She wasn't sure how she did it—maybe it was the spontaneity, maybe it was Wes's overwhelming fear. Amie's pony form vanished, and she darted between Wes and the stranger. That brought her back to being the smallest creature in the room—but this was also the body she knew best. She crouched low, levitating the shotgun out from her satchel and directly in the orange changeling's face. "Don't threaten my brother again, asshole."
The bug glanced between them. She watched tension ripple through his body, and prepared to turn into a murderer—but then he relaxed. His eyes grew wide, and he slumped onto his haunches, baffled. "That one loves you. How is this possible?"
Amie lowered the weapon, pointing it away from him. "He's my brother. I love him too. Do families not care for each other where you come from?"
Wes nodded sympathetically. "We don't want to fight you, or anyone else. We're just trying to get away from people trying to kill us, that's all."
The changeling hopped down from his place atop a crate. "Whatever that is, you can put it away, cousin. There will be no violence here." She felt his hostility boil away, replaced with something even stranger. Something she had never felt from another creature, not since her arrival in Equestria.
Awe, almost religious reverence—for her brother.
"I can see I've found what I was sent for. You haven't come from the invaders' tribe." His wings buzzed with excitement—and he lifted up into the air, flying straight up to the rafters. He returned after a few seconds, levitating a tightly-folded sheet of paper in front of him.
He dropped it to the floor at their hooves, expanding it out in all directions. It was a map, but what it depicted was only vaguely familiar to Amie. She imagined she could make out the suggestion of North America along the edges, but either the level of detail was too low to be precise, or her own memory of geography was faulty.
"The Elders sent me to hunt here, by vision." He pointed down at the map with one hoof, at a cluster of mountains marked with a few familiar names. Motherlode and Agate were both there, inside a circled region in bright orange.
"The 'Elders,'" Amie repeated, voice flat. There was no telling what he meant by “vision.” She was equally split between a local religious practice, or actual magic yet unknown to her. The rules didn't exactly make themselves very clear.
Wes squeezed in on the other side of the map, taking it all in. But he said nothing, still radiating fear of this new changeling.
"Is there another tribe in these mountains?"
Amie hesitated—but trying to lie was a doomed effort when they could read each other's feelings. Her hesitation alone would be enough to infer the correct answer. "We wouldn't call ourselves that, but yes. In this... valley here, between Motherlode and its next peak. There isn't a valley anymore."
The changeling nodded to himself, satisfied. "This is the clear answer. A new tribe—green. With strange powers." He looked over at Wes again. "How many like him are there?"
"Just me," Wes said, his voice utterly defeated. "Completely alone. Ready to be kidnapped and dissected wherever I go."
Amie pushed him back with one hoof, stepping between this changeling and her brother again. "There's no reason for us to answer your questions. Why should we trust you?"
He frowned, looking between them. Then he reached down, removing something from the clinking satchel he'd been wearing. A little glass bottle, of the same kind that had once stored chemicals. It was filled with a brilliantly glowing liquid, like the contents of an orange glow-stick had been poured directly inside.
"Take this glamor," he said. "And my name. Pachu'a. I was sent to gather information, not make war."
Amie took the bottle in her own levitation, floating it close to her. The light had a mesmerizing, magnetic quality about it. Without knowing why, she felt drawn to it. What would it taste like?
She resisted the urge to try it while he was watching, and tucked it away in her saddlebags. "My real name is Amie Blythe. My brother is still Wes Blythe. He wasn't very good at lying."
Wes rolled his eyes. "You say that like it's bad. I don't like lying."
There was something faintly familiar about a name like “Pachu'a,” something that she could only hear faintly over his accent. It wasn't something that "True Probe" had possessed, but it was persistent in the changeling's own speech. What was it exactly she was hearing?
"This is good. True words exchanged between..." He eyed them, and spoke with a little strain. "Hunters. Now, this next question—it may seem strange, but it is important. Do you remember any other world?"
"Yes!" they exclaimed, at exactly the same moment. Amie continued. "You mean Earth? All we want to—all anyone wants to do—is get back there." She lifted one leg, holes and all. "Okay, and not do it looking like this. Our world doesn't need another freakshow."
Pachu'a settled down onto his haunches again. His awe returned, though it was mixed now with something a little more familiar. Anticipation? He saw an opportunity here, somehow. "You remember it?" he asked. "Your queen didn't tell you stories of it—you experienced it yourselves?"
They both nodded. "Everyone in Stella Lacus did. We've been here less than a month. Our camp is... pretty well supplied, I guess. It could keep us safe through winter, but it doesn't have food. Before I—took my brother away, I led the hunters there. We fished, we caught small game with traps and snares. Never got anything as big as a deer, but I did kill a wolf once."
"Hunters," he said. "Your tribe is already starving so badly you hunt meat?" At her nod, he rose, and began to pace rapidly back and forth. "Your ancestors must be watching out for you, Amie—that you met me, and not one of the invaders of blue. Their queen would not see the value in new wisdom from the ancient homeland. But the people of the cliffs—we are different."
Now it was Amie's turn to feel something new since her time in Equestria—hope. There were other changelings out there, humans from the same place. They were modern enough to speak the same language, even if Pachu'a overflowed with cultural signifiers she didn't recognize. Parasites in a world that hated them could not afford to be choosy with their allies.
"Do you know a better way to feed them?" She glanced nervously around, though of course they were alone in the drafty warehouse. "The mountain is guarded. The Equestrians already know we're up there, and they have royal guards patrolling the edges. They killed a few bugs trying to escape."
"That will make things... more complicated," he admitted. "But not much. The Equestrians are blinded by their preconceptions. When they see us, they see painful memories of their invaders—ferocious, mad with hunger, predatory. If they see you eating meat, they have no reason to believe you will be otherwise. But we need not be. A swift falcon in the air, a deer loping through the trees, or a sly fox clambering over hill and branch. There are many forms to wear."
He began folding the map, before tucking it away with his glowing bottles. "There can be no future under the watchful eyes of our prey. They will never give you the freedom to expand and freely harvest. But that question is for your own tribe to answer, in its own time. For now—I must return to the cliffs, and speak with the Elders. They should approve a relief caravan—and negotiations for trade, if you think your tribe would be amenable."
"I don't think our tribe has any choice," Amie admitted. "Should we go with you? I had my own plan... but it seems so unimportant now. Your tribe must know so much more about living in Equestria... you could shortcut all the painful research and just tell us. Have you tried asking the princess to send you back to Earth? Have you come up with any of your own magic? I talked to a royal guard, and he seemed to think there was a way."
He cut her off with one hoof. "I am the wrong one to ask. I am a hunter, not a scholar. As for returning with me—you could. Your brother is not a changeling, though. Whatever he is—I could not violate the oaths of protection that shelter the cliffs. The Elders would need to decide on his case."
Amie took one, deliberate step towards Wes. "Then we're staying. I won't leave him."
He shrugged. "That may be for the best. Your brother is something... unique, more than the arrival of a new tribe. What he implies, I do not know. Great and terrible things. A future without hunting—I don't know."
There was another flash of light, and the towering earth pony returned. True Probe took a moment to adjust the satchel for his much-larger size, before grinning back at them. "It would be wise to be more discreet while you await my return. There are other hunters moving in Equestria. And if the prey find you, they will treat you like their invaders. You have already seen this."
"You're just gonna leave?" Wes asked, exasperated. "You only talked to us for a few minutes! We have millions of questions, and nobody could answer them until now! Can't you, like—stay here and explain what's going on? Or just tell us how to get everyone home?"
The earth pony stopped in front of the door, then turned back. He rested one hoof on Wes's shoulder, fixing him with a longsuffering, parental expression. "Cousin—this is your home now. Our ancient homeland is beyond your reach. Make your life here worth living."