“Oi…” a gruff, unfamiliar voice cut through the darkness.
Awakening with a start, Anon bolted upright. The smell of fire assaulted him, his limbs felt numb and heavy, and he gasped frigid air into his lungs - nevertheless, in spite of the unsettling circumstances, it was the silhouette of a hulking figure beside him that filled him with dread. The moment he went to scramble away, the creature reached out and trapped his shoulder in an iron grip.
“Easy, lad - easy,” it - no, she murmured.
His eyes adjusted as he peered up at her, yet what he saw didn’t make a bit of sense. Instead of a person, the creature was a pony - a huge, concerned looking pony, but a pony nonetheless. Rubbing his face in disbelief, knowing he had to be imagining things, he shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts.
The last thing he remembered was going out for a walk to pick some blackberries on the hills behind his house, and now he was sitting in what appeared to be a cave next to a gargantuan, talking equine. If he had somehow died, which was a possibility he wasn’t going to rule out, he was suffering through one of the most vivid dreams he’d ever had.
Relenting, the great creature rocked back and gave him a bit of space. “Are ya hurt, lad?”
Glancing down at himself, seeing he was still wearing the clothes he’d gone out in, he quickly shifted his focus back up to her. As big as an actual horse, if not slightly beefier, the mare made him feel small in comparison, although her size wasn’t what struck him as odd. Not only had she spoken, but she was adorned in a tunic and dress - furthermore, her fiery mane was pulled back and fashioned into a ponytail.
Looking into her glistening emerald eyes, he gave the smallest of nods. “No…”
“Good,” she huffed, shifting and getting to her hooves. “C’mon, we need to get goin’.”
He braced himself on one arm and winced. Fuck if he knew where he was, how he’d gotten there, or why he was holding a one-sided conversation with a talking pony, but a part of him had wished he hadn’t woken up. The bitter cold around him was only barely kept at bay by the small fire that crackled several feet away from him, and he was certain that the temperature outside the small grotto would only be worse.
“W…wait,” he croaked, pushing himself up.
No sooner did he get his feet under himself and flex his legs than he tumbled forward and onto his face. The pain of impacting against frozen, unyielding stone made him cry out and writhe, shocking his system and reminding him he was still among the living - if only for a time. As he attempted to push himself up, seeing crimson droplets fall from his nose, he was unceremoniously lifted from the earth.
The transition was jarring to say the least, yet the soft, warm surface he found himself placed upon gave him some comfort. He turned his head as he felt himself moving and peered over to one side. The mare, whoever she was, had placed him on her back and was trotting to the mouth of the cavern.
“Don’t die on me,” she growled.
“I don’t plan on it,” he groaned, watching the wind and snow whip outside. “Thank you…”
She snorted and glanced back at him, her jaw set and brows furrowed. “Thank me if you’re still kicking once I get you indoors.”
Fighting through the aches in his protesting arms and legs, he forced himself to turn and lay lengthwise over her. Whoever she was - whatever she was, he owed her dearly. While he may have been physically intact, barring the self-sustained injuries of the tumble he’d just had, he couldn’t remember ever having been so cold in his life. He clamped his eyes shut as the first burst of blustering wind assailed him and prayed that wherever she was going wasn’t far.
Unlike her, he didn’t have a thick coat of downy fur to insulate him from the elements. The simple t-shirt, shorts, and sandals he wore were completely unbefitting of his surroundings - a fact that only compounded his confusion and dismay. When he’d left the house, his house, it had been only barely cool outside - now it felt like he was on the side of a mountain in the dead of winter.
She slowed to a halt as she trudged through several inches of snow on the ground and shrugged her shoulders. “Get off.”
“B…but…” he stammered, his teeth beginning to chatter.
“The quicker you get off, the quicker we can get moving again,” she barked.
Her tone was unyielding and harder than the climate, prompting him to move without a second protest. Awkwardly swinging one leg over her rear, he clung to her back and dismounted her. Even doing something as simple as standing was a trial, leaving him to lean against her to support himself.
“There’s a button above my dock,” she instructed. “Take off my skirt and wrap yourself in it.”
Nonplussed, he looked to her flicking tail. “Your what?”
“My dock,” she repeated. “The base of my tail!”
He faltered, finally understanding what she meant. “I…I could never -”
“I wasn’t asking, ya daft twat!” she seethed. “Either ya do as I say or you can freeze to death - your choice.”
Though her words bit, the promise of an untimely demise stung worse. Doing as she’d asked, willing his trembling fingers to work, he unfastened the back of her skirt and carefully guided it down her hind legs. As he held the flowing garment in his hands, taking care not to let it fall to the snow, she stepped forward and out of the article.
It felt wrong to rob her of one of her only pieces of clothing, but he had no real choice in the matter. Between the inhospitable environment and her order, he slipped the voluminous cloth over his head and donned it like a makeshift cloak. Though the material of the dress was relatively thin, it blunted the cold and gave him a small measure of comfort.
“You need me to get you back on?” she asked.
“No…No, I think I can do it,” he muttered, placing his hands on her back.
Had she not been considerate enough to lower herself, he may have struggled to mount her - fortunately for him, she bent her legs and allowed him to pull himself up with relative ease. The moment he seated himself behind her shoulders, barely giving him any time to get situated, she continued onward. Leaning forward to steady himself, he squinted into the distance.
Gone were the suburbs and empty, grass-filled lots of the town he’d called home, replaced by craggy mountains, rolling hills, and pine trees. As hard as he tried to rationalize what was happening, the thought of this being a dream grew more and more distant with every passing second. The air smelled different, he was riding a sapient mare, the landscape was a far departure from anywhere he’d ever been, and there was a pervasive sense of wrongness to the world - a chilling sense of unfamiliarity that he couldn’t shake free.
“Since ya can talk, ya got a name?” she grunted without looking back.
He started, unprepared for the question. “Name?”
“Name, aye, it’s what folks’ve been callin’ ya for your whole life,” she brusquely clarified.
“O…oh - it’s Anonymous,” he answered, “but almost everyone calls me Anon.”
Lumbering past a particularly large boulder, she continued trotting downhill. “And you were out here without any gear because…?”
“I…” he trailed off, trying and failing to remember anything out of the ordinary. “I don’t know. One minute, I was taking a walk by my house - the next, you woke me up.”
“Hmmph,” she snorted, spitting to the ground. “Well you’re either a loon or there’s dark magic ahoof.”
“Magic?” he croaked.
Twisting her head and glancing up at him, she scowled. “Dark magic. It doesn’t help that I’ve never seen one of ya before, not in all my travels, ‘s I suspect some mage or god-forsaken fool may’ve been behind this.”
The matter-of-factness in which she spoke made a knot form in his stomach. Magic? Mages? Talking horses? Dream or not, something weird was going on. Going to pull his improvised shawl tighter, he unintentionally listed to the side and lost his balance. The world spun, he heard a shout of dismay, and then everything went dark, yet that wasn’t the end of his journey - no, it was just the beginning…
Knock Knock Knock
“Wake up, ya sorry sod,” a familiar voice blared. “That timber ain’t gonna chop itself.”
“I’m up,” Anon groaned, wrenched from his sleep and the evaporating memory of his dream.
Swinging his legs out from under the covers, he stifled a yawn and rubbed the crust from his eyes. He would have loved to stay in bed, to bask in the warmth and comfort beneath the sheets, but he had to earn his keep. Quickly but unsteadily donning his trousers, shirt, and his care-worn apron, he shuffled to the door of his room and pulled it open.
Haggis glowered down at him, already dressed and ready to start her day. “Took ya long enough. I swear, I’ve seen foals that don’t sleep as much as you.”
“Sorry,” he halfheartedly apologized, sidling past her and patting her neck. “I’ll work on it.”
“I doubt it,” she scoffed, turning and trotting up to his side. “The day you’re up before me is the day I’ll be put in a grave.”
Despite her gallows humor, he smirked over at her. She was rough around the edges, almost always had an attitude, and could easily kick down a fully grown tree, but beneath her hard exterior beat the heart of a mare who cared - the very mare who’d rescued him from the wilderness. As he moved down the stairs and to the kitchen, from the living space above the tavern, his hand ran back and forth over her shoulder.
“Ain’t tryin’ ta get frisky with me ~ are ya?” she chided, leering sidelong at him.
“Nah,” he snickered. “I’m just thankful that you’re here…”