Little Spark wasn't entirely unaware of what he had signed up for when he approached the guard barracks asking if they had room for a magician in their ranks. He knew that despite the usual peace and sunshine over the land, there would be an evil for him and his brothers-in-arms to form ranks against. He never expected not to cast a spell against a monster, or stars forbid, a fellow pony- but he could simply mark them as criminal scum and continue his work. They had chosen the path of evil and followed a life of crime, and the mindless beasts simply needed to be fought back.
But these ponies? What had they done? Born on the wrong side? He'd seen them. Up close. They were just like him. Confused. Cold. Scared. The night was icy cold, rain had turned the heavy tracks of the enemy into a thick sludge, and the roads they used to get around faired no better. In the frigid breeze, he lay in the thick brush alone as he waited for an enemy patrol. His muddied white fur helped to conceal him but neither his fur nor his ragged cloak seemed to have any effect in warming him from the unusually cold summer night.
He'd heard stories. Seen stories. Visions of bodies, dissolving and turning into black pollen. The frightened eyes. The terrified fighters. The ferocity of their 'angels'. But it was for nothing, of course. Their forces weren't enough. Not when someone like him got involved and started to sling spells. But their eyes were burned into his mind.
Oh Mama. Oh Mama, comfort me. For I know these awful things have got to be.
But when this war- of freedom- has been won. I promise you, I'll throw the tomes i've won.
Minutes had passed. Minutes turned to an hour. Then two, then tree, then at last when his eyes, strained and tired and ready to sleep and to turn away, he saw it. In the corner of his sight, he saw a shadowed figure move along the way. He tilted his head, and squeezed his eyes shut tight, and a skewer of light formed and flew forward in a blink of an eye. He expected silence. Maybe some returning fire, a volley of arrows, twigs, or perhaps they'd just run away with their comrade. It was so unlikely to see them leave anything behind.
The shot flew out, and he heard a soldier cry. A whimper in the trees nearly muffled by the swift and hurried movements- breaking branches and stomping on dried grass, as a voice plead "Please don't leave me here to die."
The 'patrol' that they'd expected, had left their wounded comrade for him to slay. His eyes focused under the moonlight that filtered through the faint cloud cover, and he saw something liquid glisten on the long blades of grass. It refused to turn to dust. It wasn't turning to dust.
There's nothing in this world I would not give, to have mercy in my heart to let you live. And In his eyes, I saw a look of pain- and the spell on my horn moved for his brain.
As dawn broke, tiredly, hauntedly, he moved towards his camp. His hooves shook and trembled, the cold and something else had cut deep into his bones. He could not forget the look on that foals face, the acrid smell of burnt fur and the visage of bright red blood over a cherry coat. The eyes were wide with fear, and the agony that it tried to disguise. Fear, agony, and torment were all there. But to his mothers memory, his life he'd spared.
Oh Mama, Dear Mama, comfort me. For why is it these awful things- that they must be?
Dear mama, I promise you, I'll throw away the tomes i've won.
And when their war- for freedom- has been won.
I promise you, I'll put away my garb.
I promise you, I'll throw the stars I've won.
Just please, don't leave me here alone to die.