The woods are lovely, dark and deep
Despite how often such lonely places reignited memories she hated to relive, Tempest Shadow could feel her chest swell with every breath she took here.
And not just because winter's grip on this forested clearing would make it hard for anything to ignite properly.
Of course, this vanguard knew of the dangers present in this silent valley. Canterlot was only miles away, her airship was never more vulnerable than when it was refueling, and she was supposed to be scanning for any wayward Royal Guards patrolling here. If they were found, their main element to strike against those accursed, shambolic Princesses would be as lost as the grass under her snow-covered hooves.
Caution was needed, more than ever. Even more than… when her own defining moment came. The time when Harmony, a wondrous and whimsical statuette twirling in Tempest's mind, shattered just like her horn.
Like her friendships.
Like her illusions of what Equestria really represented.
But for now, in this snowy grotto, Tempest felt safe. Her breaths were slow but steady as they came out in puffs, tracking each one as if they glistened with diamonds. And the snow that drifted down to tickle at her snout with each inhale was just as light and lazy, not even the howl of the wind enough to make her ears perk.
For some reason, this was a rarity, despite Tempest’s new home in a place which should have had more quiet moments than this. Part of Tempest scolded herself for thinking that this would be the portion under the rule of a creature called the Storm King. Next, she’d probably expect rainbows and lollipops too, wouldn’t she?
“Shut it, you,” she groused to the thin air and nocreature else. And again, the clouds her breath made were like a magnet to her eyes as they disappeared into the bleached treetops.
Yet Tempest didn’t know why such a sight was addictive to her. Surely her sights should be iron-focused on the goal, right? The overthrow, the readjustment, of this self-deluded country's state of complacency in harmony? It never lasted. Never mattered. Not when real danger came about. Not when reality, its breath hot and suffocating as a collapsed cavern, set in.
Not when she sets in.
And yet Tempest fought back a smile each time one of these dainty little snowflakes landed and melted on the scar over her eye. It tickled and danced down her face, almost as if trying to soothe the tortured pangs of her beating heart. And despite everything, Tempest found herself…
…not wanting it to end.
Eventually, though, Tempest started to focus more on her surroundings. Even with the nerve-thrilling feel of the snow, the cold demanded that she stay alert to avoid falling into its bone-chilling grip. Even through the thick leather and burgundy wool winding around her barrel and neck, that cold found ways through to her.
For a while, Tempest hated how familiar that emotion was to her. Cold.
And it was then that she saw it. A small little yak stared at her through the drifts, its brown fur almost invisible behind the trunk it was peering at her through.
For a moment, Tempest did nothing. The yak made no move toward her, nor away. It seemed as fascinated by her as she did by it. And again, those breaths of Tempest’s plumed in silence, the steam seeming to be the only moving part of this canvas.
Then Tempest stepped forward. Once, then another. The squeaking clumps of snow depressing under her hooves was the only sound now. Yet no such squeaks, no terrified yelps or beginnings, came from that yak.
A small part of Tempest reveled in that. That she wasn’t so far gone, so heavily damaged, as to be a freak to this innocent being.
But it was all hidden underneath a tarp of temper that had been drilled into her by staff and snarl and stormy kings long ago. Protect. Prowl. Pounce.
But I have promises to keep
“Y-Yona, mystery pony.”
Tempest did not stop her circling around this strange yak - Yona, her name apparently was - despite her own gnawing trepidations. It was still just them in this clearing, the wind dying down even further so that Tempest could hear just how much bass echoed in this tiny yak’s voice.
For some reason, this yak was good at hiding her fear.
But Tempest was better. She heard that first waver in that yak’s voice, she saw how those hooves nervously drew the scarf and shawl over her rugged body as if shared she’d lose them in the wind. Or to Tempest.
Tempest knew that she should have called for backup; it was the standard operating procedure. Unarmed or not, alone or not, this yak could ruin everything for them. Make all this effort they put into their sojourn of supremacy against Equestria for naught. Heck, with all the bulk she had, she could even hurt Tempest, if she struggled hard enough.
And yet she circled Yona, alone, for one last time before she spoke. “What are you doing here so far from your herd?”
“Yona looking for inspiration.” Short. Simple. But yet, Tempest could see what the answer was about. The squirrels and mountains weaved into Yona’s shawl were exquisite, rippling waves of prismatic cotton that made her look more walking tapestry than wayward creature. “For next work. Yona only produces the best. Heard of cardinal nest several hoofsteps from here.”
Tempest stopped, eyes traitorously flicking in the same direction as Yona’s hoof. Stupid, she thought as she stared back into Yona’s eyes, chips of hot chocolate-warming ice. She could have gotten the jump on you from that statement. Stupid! Don’t look!
And yet, for once, that same simplicity that let Tempest see the fear budding in the yak’s movements also told her that Yona was too… straightforward to lie. It was something almost mystical to her, fascinating in this otherwise silent clearing.
No, her mind reminded her. Do not risk any further complications to your campaign. Knock her out, or threaten her, or incapacitate her - and do it now!
“And if I find it for you, will you leave?”
Even more foalishness on Tempest’s part. Nothing bound this yak to her word - she was but one pair of lips away from ruining the Storm Kings’ plans. And then… far worse than being broken and abandoned in a cave would befall Tempest.
But as Yona mulled over her answer, tugging at her bows tentatively like they were switches to the lightbulb in her mind, Tempest could not find that the terror in her dark heart made her muscles spring to action. Surely if Yona was so intimidated that she’d see Tempest as a threat, she would have moved long ago, right? Before Tempest got this close.
Before the snow had started to cake on her chestnut-like fur from how long Yona had been sitting here. Answering all of Tempest’s questions. Assuaging all of this pony’s worries.
“Yona supposes so,” the yak finally answered. “What is your name? So Yona know who to thank.”
Tempest paused for a minute. This was the first inquiry Yona made of her? Not where she got the scars sullying her body? Not whether that shattered stump atop her head made her less of a pony? Not why she looked more suited for war instead of a winterly walk?
No. None of those things showed, either in Yona’s words or her eyes that twinkled like the snow crunching under her hooves as she stood. And once again, Tempest found herself not hating this. Not hating that Yona had been under her lamp of investigation for so long, been freezing her rump off in the snow for so many minutes, and yet the first question she’d made of her captor-not-captor was just… a name.
What Tempest thought she’d shed along with her warm and fuzzy thoughts of Equestria so long ago.
A thing she thought would never be said without an accompaniment of Commander.
Or monster.
Tempest longed to oblige Yona’s request. But duty, that increasingly maddening sense of duty, stayed her tongue on that front, no matter how many warming clouds of breath came from her mouth to try and coax it out.
“My name is not important. Let us go - I have to leave soon.”
And miles to go before I sleep
It did not take long for Tempest and Yona to find what they were looking for. The red breasts of those cardinals stuck out like a sore hoof in the thicket of trees, and the one that held that nest of birds was so well-lit by the rising sun that it was like it called for eyes to be feasted upon it.
It was then that Tempest also realized that Yona had not even asked her where Tempest was going so soon. It seemed that Yona was surprising her more with what she didn’t do than by what she did.
Of course, Tempest’s inner voice scolded, that’s been a portion of some ponies you could do without, too.
“Ah! There they are.“ And Yona was pulling out a notepad almost as thick as Tempest’s neck to immortalize this nest’s appearance. “You have good eye, stranger. Yona would have been looking east instead of north. Might have been here for hours.”
Tempest simply nodded in approval, her thoughts drifting back to that direction that she’d gone, almost naturally. North. Back to the frozen heights of her new home, to the forge of ice that had turned her into a perfect fighting machine.
But here, with nothing to accompany her strength but the scratching of Yona’s pens and the chirps of the cardinals above, Tempest felt like she had produced something useful for somecreature besides herself and the Storm King. No longer did the accompanying thought of how weird it felt follow those thoughts.
Alas, now Tempest just filled her lungs with as much of the snout-tickling air - and the yak’s scene - as she could. It was surprisingly fruity for a yak, berries, and ale tangling in a perfect tempo inside Tempest’s body. It almost reminded the commander of the name before her current name.
Back when she could afford to trust.
“So, what shall this picture be used for?” Tempest had no idea why she was prodding for answers on a thing she would likely never see, for a yak that would likely hate her should her plans for the land Yona was in go through.
But of course, Yona responded before Tempest could think better of the action she took. “Hats. Wing coverings.”
“It is… peculiar for a yak to focus on those.”
Yona snorted. “Yona knows. It is why Yona does focus on this. Easy for ponies to expect all-access fittings for ponies. Yaks, however…” An irritated roll of Yona’s eyes, and Tempest found herself wanting to rest a hoof on her shoulders. “Easy to be overlooked. Stuck in mountains, snowy all day long - what would yaks know of marrying fashion and function?”
Tempest, more than she would ever admit to anycreature - including the Storm King - understood. Being full of ideas and a spirit willing to plumb the most dangerous corners of Equestria to realize them? It was like the snow surrounding Yona was like a mirror, and Tempest found herself in awe of what stared back at her.
Well, figuratively of course; Yona’s eyes were still on the nest as she continued to speak. “Plus, Wonderbolts supporting latest Equestria Young Fashioneers event in town near Yakyakistan, and Yona looks to steal show. What better way than with something even Captain Spitfire would gape at?”
The names were slightly familiar, but Tempest’s focus remained on what Yona was drawing. Even now, she could see the rich, blooming reds and golds - the cardinal’s head and bed sowing in a swirl perfectly contoured to the sweep of the hat it would likely be imprinting. Even now, such imagination licked at the fires of Tempest’s heart.
“It is… impressive.” Understatement of the year, in Tempest’s opinion.
Yona finally turned to Tempest at those words, her blue eyes now a spike cutting to Tempest’s soul. “Perhaps strange pony could model one before leaving? Yona is quick with needle.”
Tempest scrambled for a way to let Yona down easy. She was already probably at the cusp of her time spent on patrol - suspicions would climb soon if she didn’t leave. Little as she wanted to. “Actually, Yona, I-”
“Just to see how bird design would look over head. Your head is… very pretty.” Yona smiled warmly. “Especially scar and stump. Shows pony has been bitten by life. Bitten back harder.”
And it was then, with nothing to bear witness to this break in Tempest’s self but the worm-chewing cardinals, that the pony made her own decision. Even if it damned her, damned the Storm King, damned their mission to show Equestria the true ways of the world, Tempest needed to make sure Yona would not be lost in that drift.
“Yona… when you are done, please head home. Stay as long as you can.”
Yona’s eyebrow shot into the mop of brown locks over her head. “Wait. Why?”
“Just…” If she had time, Tempest would have told Yona. Screamed it at her, just what nightmare would soon strike Equestria. But duty made her tongue cowardly, her next words wobbly. “I-I know of a great storm approaching. So much chaos will be in its wake. Please, just stay home and stay safe. More expos will come. More chances…” A lump of air stuck in Tempest’s throat, hot and painful. “For you show your worth.”
Yona chewed at her lip, stuck between demanding more answers or wondering if her shawl wouldn’t be better wrapped around the violently shuddering pony before her. But soon, an answer sprang in her mind, far-fetched as it had looked at the beginning.
“Ah. Yona sees. You are weatherpony helper, yes? Have to be - clothing is bad for current climate otherwise.”
Tempest didn’t need to be told twice. Already her hooves were getting numb under the blankets of snow slowly soaking into them. “Y-yes, I am,” she lied. “Just, please, take this seriously. I beg of you, do not get hurt for this masterpiece of yours.”
You’d be surprised how few hear your cries when true danger strikes, Tempest didn’t mournfully add.
A beat passed. Then finally, sweet concession. “Yona will… consider your advice.” The yak shuffled in her seat, turning back to the nest. “Yona will stay for while longer. Just to finish drawing bird babies too.”
Tempest nodded, her heart feeling like it had finally leaped back into her chest from its short trip in her hooves. Slowly, she turned to leave, her every step feeling like she’d walked for miles now. At least all of this trepidation plaguing her would be over soon. One way or another.
It was only ten steps before she stopped, her mouth moving before her mind could rein it in.
“Fizzlepop.”
Yona turned back to face Tempest, ears perking. “Yona did not hear. Repeat, please?”
“My name. It is Fizzlepop.” Tempest’s voice was strong, proud, grateful. For this moment, this time spent in a place was worth it - even though she’d once thought it was as fleeting as the flurries of snow now picking up around her. “No matter what you hear, it is Fizzlepop.”
Yona, after a while, nodded. Her quill scratched along the top of her pad in a way that could only be a signing of that name, despite Tempest not seeing it from her vantage point.
Soon, Yona was invisible to the pony again, this time behind the curtains of hail cutting across the clearing. Already the hoof-prints that Tempest had left just moving to meet that wonderful yak were gone.
And with each step, Tempest refocused her mind, her phantom fancies, the smile that had once tugged at her face. Like it or not, she had a mission to head back to. A goal that still burned bright in her mind. Despite the fatigue now hanging off her like ten-ton weights, her every step was buoyed with conviction.
She only hoped that she would be brave and hardy enough to see it through to the end.
And, she thought for one last moment before the flags of her ship appeared in the breaking dawn over this wintery grotto, that this yak sees it through to the end too.
And miles to go before I sleep.