//------------------------------// // Discoveries, Memories // Story: Wildfire // by redactedandredacted //------------------------------// Chapter 2 - Discoveries, Memories The morning was chilly and crisp, typical for a late autumn day in these parts. The Sihasapa tribe was on the move, their teepees packed up and loaded on their backs. The herd rumbled through a wide valley that divided a tall mountain range. Wildfire and his family moved at a leisurely pace at the middle of the group. As he trudged along, Wild tried to entertain himself by studying his surroundings. There was a forest on either side of them that crept up the mountainside, but it was hard to make out details on account of a wispy fog that hung over the valley. Wild found that grey outlines on a white background became extremely boring, extremely quickly. He turned to Mountainhoof, his older brother. “Hey, Monty!” whispered Wildfire to his brother, trudging up beside him. Mountainhoof, hardly awake, mumbled a sleepy “Hmm?” as he turned towards Wild. “I’m bored. We should run off and do something!” “I will never understand how you have so much energy. Can’t we just take it easy today?” “Nope! I think I hear a waterfall or something ahead - last one there’s a rotten hay bale!” Wild yelled back as he flew between the bigger buffalo and ran towards the edge of the forest. Mountainhoof groaned and shook himself awake. He started after Wild, sprinting to catch up. Wildfire raced away from the herd and through the forest, feeling the wind in his yellow and orange mane. He glanced over his shoulder to check his pursuer’s progress, and saw that Mountainhoof was trailing far behind. He looked back and - WHAM! Wild cried out as stars swam about his head. He had run headlong into a thick branch, and Mountainhoof blew by him in his confusion. Cursing his luck, he chased after his brother, shaking off his dizziness. The sound of rushing water was louder now, and as Wild caught up to Mountainhoof the two pushed their flanks to their limits. The trees that they raced through became dark and lifeless as they proceeded, but in their exertion neither of them quite registered this. Suddenly they burst out of the woods, the sound of rushing water now loud and clear. A roaring river was dead ahead, and the pair backpedalled furiously to slow themselves. The white water twisted below them like a nest of snakes as they skidded to a stop just inches away from the steep riverbank. “Huh. Doesn’t look as if either of us is the rotten one,” Mountainhoof mused, staring at the river below. “Bad luck hitting that branch back there, huh?” Wild didn’t respond. “Wild?” Mountainhoof said as he turned, “You alrigh-” He stopped short as he saw what had left Wild speechless. Just next to where they had exited the woods was a burnt-out and ruined wagon. Wild approached it in awe. It was completely decrepit and blackened, with many of its planks fallen away from the sidings. A few pieces of metal frame still arched across the top, with scraps of burnt and torn canvas hanging from them. “This looks like it was made by ponies!” Wild exclaimed as he rushed up to it. When he placed a hoof on the aged planks, a tiny cloud of black dust came off of the surface. “Wait-” Mountainhoof began, but Wild was already climbing in the back. “Darn, everything in here is totally ruined. This thing is really old,” Wild called out as he inspected the interior. Many of the floorboards had rotted away, and grey ash permeated everything, including the air. Choking on the dust clouds which arose from the disturbance, Wild easily bucked the lids off of some of the the few charred boxes that remained. He found they were all filled with supplies that had gone bad or fallen into disrepair long ago. “Wait a minute,” Wild called out, spotting something in the corner under a soot-covered burlap sack. “This could be something.” He lifted the sack to find a small metal box, that looked relatively unharmed, disregarding the ashes that covered it (as well as everything else). He picked it up, dusted it off, and inspected the exterior. It was roughly circular and had a single ornate latch, which upon further inspection was made of a shiny brass-like metal. It was unlike anything Wild had seen before... Except... “Well, aren’t you going to open it?” Mountainhoof called, looking into the cart from one of the gaping holes in the side. “I... I don’t...” Wild stammered as he whirled around, taking in his surroundings in a new light. “What, you don’t want to? You scared of it or something?” Wild didn’t say anything, he just hopped out of the cart and walked to the edge of the cliff near the river. He stood there for a long time, just staring at his surroundings. “Wild, I-” “Ah, come on, Monty! I was just starting to feel like... Something was coming back to me.” “Yeah, alright Mister Mystic. Sorry for interrupting your glorious premonition.” “I’m serious!” “Right,” Mountainhoof agreed sarcastically, “you were having a life-changing experience, I get it! But we have to get back to the herd before they move on without us, we’ve been here too long.” Wildfire begrudgingly agreed. Though Mountainhoof’s words were insincere, Wild couldn’t shake the feeling that there was some truth to them. It’s like... I’ve been here before... Wild absentmindedly tucked the odd little box into a pouch on his saddlebag as the two proceeded at a brisk pace to rejoin the tribe. |{WF}| Later that day, just after dusk, Wildfire slipped away from his family into the woods beside where the tribe had made camp. He breathed deeply as he walked. Occasionally he was fond of spending time alone, and walking through the woods was always relaxing. Presently, he arrived at a small clearing which was bisected by a sizeable stream. He trotted over to drink from the sweet water that typically ran in deep brooks like this one. As he leaned down towards the river, something fell out of an undone pouch on his bag. It tumbled towards the water’s edge, and Wild quickly grabbed it with his hoof. Oh... This... Wild turned away from the stream and placed the mysterious box upon the grass in the clearing. He distractedly brushed some dust away from it, and once again he was claimed by an odd, vague feeling. A feeling of faded recognition. Alright, well, I’ve got to open it eventually. I can’t just sit here looking at it! Wildfire stared at the box. Then he reached a hoof toward it pensively. He opened it - Wild opened his mouth slightly in confusion. Inside the box was what looked like... well, junk. There was some wispy grey stuff that crumbled to dust when his hoof touched it, alongside some ancient frayed rope. At the bottom were two odd objects that Wild couldn’t identify at first. He took the strange items out and inspected them. The first item was an oblong chunk of shiny grey rock. As he held it in his hoof, it was cool and smooth. He saw notches at one end chiseled into its hard surface. Wild couldn’t guess at it’s use, and wondered why it had been kept in the box. The second object made things a little clearer - was a piece of metal, curved into a C shape. It also had a loop which looked like its purpose was mainly to be attached to a rope or cord - suddenly he realised that the notches in the rock had the same purpose. Wild had seen something similar before. It was a flint and striker - high-ranking members of the tribe sometimes carried this sort of equipment, albeit much less ornamental. The rock and metal could be stricken together to make sparks, and thus start a fire. Once again, strange and vague recollections began to assail him, this time with more detail. The smell of burning wood, sharp crackling noises. Fear. Tremendous heat. He was afraid. Too afraid to open his eyes, too afraid to cry out. Wild pictured the caravan in the clearing again, dark impressions of what had happened there reaching into his mind. He didn’t like it, the way these memories kept invading his head. I should get rid of this stuff, just forget about it... Wild turned, and knocked the tinderbox into the river with a forehoof. It tumbled along the riverbed, carried away by the current. Then he took the flint and steel in one hoof, prepared to rid himself of them in the same way as the box. Then one last image flared in his mind - A stallion. Too brief for him to make out colours or distinct shapes, but it was undoubtedly a pony. Wild stayed his arm, and lowered his hoof to the ground... |{WF}|