//------------------------------// // Chapter 3 // Story: Easy as Pie // by bahatumay //------------------------------// Tempest Shadow walked along the rocky path. On one side, a sheer mountain face. On the other, also a sheer mountain face, but going down. The path was narrower here, and the rocks shifted a little under the wheels, but at least it wasn’t a bridge. If there was a bright side to that whole experience, it was not having to cross it again. The trail suddenly turned to the left, but it didn’t just turn left; it also turned upwards. She slowed to a stop and scowled at it. “Hoo.” “I know,” Tempest said irritably, and she kept walking. No wonder it was only bat ponies here. No sane pony would do this daily. The path soon leveled out again, and then she was there. She knew this because the mountain face was just gone, like some giant pony had taken an ice cream scoop and carved out a hole in the rock. She pursed her lips, her mind already spinning possibilities. The caves provided natural shelter, and would be impervious to attack from above. She would need to come from below, and attack in the morning, when the sun was still high. A small flashbang thrown near the bottom would be enough to startle them. The cave would reverberate the noise, which would drive them out into the light, leaving them blinded, disoriented, and easy pickings.  You know, if she ever did need to invade Hollow Spires. Merely a purely theoretical line of thinking, of course.  Tempest shook that off and then looked into the cave.  The cave.  The little filly Fizzlepop Berrytwist looked into the cave. With an eye roll at her fearful friend and without a further thought, she bounded in, looking for the ball that had bounced in here, ignorant of the danger that lurked in the shadows.  Tempest flinched, instinctively taking a step back. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and her breath came raggedly.  “Hoo?” Owlowiscious asked. “Not right now,” she warned him through gritted teeth. She’d come this far, but this last little bit was stopping her in her tracks, and she hated it. She was a grown mare! She wasn’t that little foal.  So why couldn’t she take another step? She forced herself to look up and took a slight step back in horror. Stars?! But then she realized they weren't the stars of an ursa. They were eyes. And they may not have recognized her specifically, but they did recognize the cart.  One little colt flew out with a joyous “Eee!”, and like a spell had been broken, a whole colony of bat ponies swarmed her. Tempest squawked a protest, but it was ignored as they surrounded her, flying around her, cheering her arrival. Foals grabbed her legs in anticipation for the wares she brought, their hind legs bouncing as they were unable to contain their excitement. And as unnerved as Tempest was, she had to admit, it was a little nice to be so easily welcomed, even if personal space didn’t seem to be a thing bat ponies observed. “Alright, alright,” she said, lifting a hoof, hoping they’d understand. “If you want the pies, you have to let me get them.” They started to settle down, though most were still dancing or bouncing in place. As she unhitched herself and glanced around, she observed that they were looking at her, and at her horn. The scar over her right eye didn’t seem to be drawing their attention.  Actually, now that she noticed it, she wasn’t the only one with a scar or two. There were a couple clipped ears, a few scars on legs, at least one mare was missing most of her tail, and one of the colts had a mark on his ribs visible when he raised his wings. And while her broken horn was still a focus, it took her a moment to realize that something was different. They were looking at it, sure; but it wasn’t with horror, no wincing, no cringing, or worst of all, pity. More curiosity.  Of course. Being a colony of bat ponies, they wouldn’t have had any frame of reference for a unicorn. Part of her enjoyed knowing that she would be able to walk among the- Walk. Right. No wings. So she’d be different here, too. Well, no time to think about that. She raised her hoof and opened one of the compartments to begin redistributing pies. Applejack may have had apples on the brain, but she was organized. Names and pie orders were written out with rough but legible mouthwriting, and the perfectly packed pies had survived the journey (and near-fall) with nary a crack in the crust.  Effective.  A part of her wondered how well she’d do with wartime logistics. Maybe not pies, though. Those would be hard to transport. What else could you make from apples? Maybe applesauce? That could work. Put it in cans or something. That’d last forever and be easy to haul.  One of the colts who got his pie took a big bite. His eyes widened as the flavors washed over his tongue. There was a flash of light, and a cutie mark appeared on his flank. He screeched in excitement, spinning around, though he made sure to keep a firm grip on the pie.  Tempest paused, the next pie she was holding for distribution still frozen in midair. Just like that, he’d figured out his place in the world; and there she was, still lost after all these years. Didn’t seem quite fair. A soft “hoo” from Owlowiscious made her look back, and realized that the bat pony that this pie was for was still looking hopefully at the pie in her hooves, his eyes flicking back and forth between her and the pie, and she quickly gave it over. A few of the other bat pony colts swooped in to celebrate and give him a congratulatory hoofbump. Tempest shook her head and checked the list for the next pony. Later that night, Tempest looked around. She had never thought she’d be spending Hearth's Warming Eve with bat ponies surrounding a fire, and yet here she was.  One of the older ponies had told the pageant story, and now it was time for feasting. The pies that had not been devoured on arrival were scattered around, mingled with traditional bat pony cuisine. Their sharp little fangs made short work of strange fruits she’d never seen before. This was apparently their Hearth's Warming tradition. Maybe it was supposed to represent the fire of friendship or something. At least this whole thing was devoid of party hats.  As Tempest snacked on one of the extra pies Applejack had packed for her, she watched. The bat ponies didn’t seem to care much for personal space among themselves, either. Her eyes were drawn to the colt who had just gotten his cutie mark, who was still proudly showing it off.  “Just watch out for the chupamarca!” another warned playfully. Tempest paused. “The what, now?” she asked.  Another young bat pony, a blank flank clearly trying to get his cutie mark in storytelling, quickly flew in front of them. “You mean you don’t know?” he started, his tone low as if ready to share a terrible secret.  The effect was somewhat mitigated by the fact that his voice was still the high, squeaky voice of a young colt, but Tempest watched with mild interest as some of the other bat ponies gathered around, many eating their pies like popcorn as he began.  “The chupamarca is a terrifying beast, but not for why you’d think. She looks just like a pony, but she has no wings.” “That makes sense,” Tempest mused. “Ponies are the real monsters in this world.” The bat pony stallion next to her gave her a sideways look and scooted ever so slightly away. “So she walks along the ground, in search of her next meal. But she doesn’t eat fruit like we ponies do, oh no! No. She feeds on… cutie marks.” “Cutie marks?” a fearful filly asked, shifting her wings back to cover her flanks. “You can’t eat a cutie mark,” another colt offered disdainfully. “A chupamarca can,” he said earnestly. “She roams the forest floor, in search of a pony who’s not paying enough attention. When she catches you, she’ll drink… your cutie mark. Slurrrrrp! No more special talent. No more cutie mark. Your flank is blank once again.” Some of the smaller ponies gasped. Tempest rolled her eyes.  “In fact,” he continued, looking around, “she’s here, now, lurking on the forest floor, searching. Watching. Waiting. And she is hungry. And the next cutie mark she’s going to get is…” Like a snake striking, he leaned over and grabbed the pony next to him and shrieked, “yours!” The foals screamed and scattered, some flying away, some running, but all holding their pies tightly.  He quickly checked his flank, but no mark had appeared. He scuffed a hoof in disappointment.  Tempest chuckled.  It turned out bat ponies liked telling stories. Other bat ponies offered their own stories of forest monsters that lurked in the day. Tempest nodded along politely, but after some of the things she’d seen, nothing they had was scary. Finally, one told a happier story, and the mood shifted.  “How about you?” another bat pony said, looking at Tempest and noticing her boredom. “What stories do you have?” She glanced over. Owlowiscious was watching from the top of the cart. She smiled wryly, then turned back to the group. This was a familiar story. “Tell me, have you ever heard of the Storm King?”