//------------------------------// // Winter's Heralds // Story: Agate's Vigil // by Wingnut //------------------------------// The changing of the seasons usually came with phenomena that repeated every year, ones that experienced ponies could easily recognize. The switching of wind directions, migratory birds leaving or arriving, days reaching a certain length, seals having pups, the salmon migration upstream, and so on. With the skies perpetually cloudy and nature around them being knocked so badly out of balance as it was, though, even telling which part of the year it was became a little harder than it should have been. The expeditioners ended up having to manually count the days since the last seasonal phenomenon that they could recall, tallying up the time until winter officially began. The Sun disappearing from the heavens and giving way to longer and longer nights made for a very easy to notice indicator even with the overcast skies, of course, but once the Long Night began, it became essentially impossible to tell the days apart. They resorted to just counting them by the amount of times that they slept, though that still ended up with plenty of confusing moments when ponies slept in shifts, a small number of them taking up sentry posts. Timekeeping wasn't really vital to their operations, but the knowledge still brought some reassurance and stability. When things turned so chaotic that a pony couldn't even tell which part of a season it was, it inevitably brought morale down. Given that most of the trouble they had to deal with was of a mystical nature, the other ponies still had periods of free time, most of which they spent trying to somehow improve their encampment. Some took to building little overhangs and igloos for the seals to hide in, not wanting their blubbery friends to get caught up in a storm or get attacked by the westerner's spirits. Though seals seemed to care little about the cold, they still liked their new dwellings, and even the durable divers probably wouldn't have done all that well if they got hit by a stray lightning bolt. Meanwhile, Agate's group got more into the mystical side of their defenses, her followers joining her in powering the wards. They were more of a hindrance than help at first, the unusually large number of inexperienced participants throwing each other off, regardless of their individual skills in crystal magic. Agate had to teach them some shamaric exercises about focusing and working in tandem with others before they could actually be of use. When they saw their practice sessions, the rest of the expeditioner's reactions ranged from confused to highly skeptical. There was a fair amount of non-shamares that could craft the single-use magical charms and carve runes, as well as a growing amount that could charge crystals to get light, but group magic like what Agate was trying to teach them was considered above the level of a regular pony, even one that had some magic tricks up their sleeves. Agate knew better, though. Back in the Empire, they didn't have all that many ponies that were powerful enough to be considered a mage or a wizard, but every pony was capable of performing at least a baseline level of magic, and it really was every pony. The reason wasn't some kind of in-born talent, but simple training and exercises that every foal was taught, so that they could eventually contribute to powering the Heart and protecting the Empire. Sure, being a crystal pony probably helped, but she was fairly certain that the snowponies could do it as well. She taught them how to do it individually already, so doing it as a group shouldn't have been hard to learn. It did take some effort, but after a few weeks, she had her own little casting support group. Her followers huddled around the dais that contained the whole ward setup with the amethyst sphere, leaning forward with their hooves extended forward as they focused on the flow of magic around them, outside of them, and from them towards the crystal. Having a whole group do it at the same time made the process exponentially less taxing, as even though they were only capable of contributing a small amount of magic individually, together, the flow was enough to keep the wards going without having to strain and force magic out of yourself. Strain inevitably caused stress, which caused loss of focus, which caused wastage of magic, and a whole cascade of slip-ups and failures that would end up with whatever you were trying to maintain promptly running out of power. Once they got to the point they could pull it off nearly perfectly, the disbelieving expressions from the others changed to ones of respect, though some still looked flabbergasted, hardly being able to believe that Agate actually managed to do it. They really did do it, though, the group sitting serenely with their eyes closed as they helped keep their defenses up during the attacks, even Thundersnow looking a bit thunderstruck as she watched them. As she sat there and helped channel the magic, Agate was often struck by an odd, powerful sense of nostalgia. Try as she might, she couldn't really figure it out. The activity filled her mind with images of the crystal Heart, and of various festivities and rituals related to charging it that she could still faintly remember. She never got to participate in those when she was still alive, though, lacking skill and strength in those days due to her youth, so she didn't understand how she could be missing something she never actually experienced in the first place. ❅ ❆ ❅ There was one event that was both completely unmissable and a good signifier that the Long Night of the season truly began. At least, it was completely unmissable to Agate, and far less so for the ponies that were still alive. The Calling rolled over the plains and the seas, its clarion call summoning spirits from the farthest reaches of the north, both those of lost ponies and ones that they would have preferred to to stay away. It was the first time Agate got to experience it from far away rather than sitting in Snowpitt, and she was impressed. Sure, she certainly felt its power back when she got slammed in the face with it point-blank back in the day, but distance could dampen the power of even the most loudest shout or spell. Despite that, though, she could still hear the Song and even see flickers of the magically augmented bonfire in the distance, the sensations seemingly being carried through magic itself, rather than air or light. Most of the words did become a bit muffled, but given that they were some couple of week's travel away from Snowpitt, it was still quite a feat. It took her a little while to notice that the others didn't seem to hear it at all, not even the shamares. Once they were told of the event, most of them got in a contemplative mood, several ponies idly remarking that they would be either with their kin on one of the bigger islands or in Snowpitt at that moment. The abnormality of their current situation was clearly something that occupied their thoughts quite often. Some wondered if the Call meant that there would be hordes of agitated spirits passing by as they went southeast to seek out the source, but nothing like that happened. The first of winter's heralds arrived a couple weeks after the event, and it was entirely up in the air whether it was due to the Call, or just random happenstance. Regardless, arrive it did, though it was not the one that the expeditioners expected to see. "...wolf! Everyone, get your weapons and get ready to fight!" One of the sentries yelled out, galloping like mad from the edge of the water. "What was that? What did you see?!" Stout yelled out, dropping the fish he was gutting and galloping towards his igloo. "Floewolf! I saw a small ice floe in the water, and it saw me. I saw its eyes move, and it immediately began swimming towards me. FLOEWOLF!!! An ancestors-damned floewolf is coming for us, get ready for battle!" She kept yelling, rousing everyone in the camp. That certainly got everyone's attention, every single pony arming themselves with everything they had, their expressions grim. Many of them were experienced veterans, and knew that they were in quite a bind. A floewolf was already quite a formidable opponent on the best of days, but the main issue was that it also required special weapons as well, weapons which they did not have. Spears and harpoons were the favored arms of the northern tribe, but the icy monsters barely felt their sting. Heavy, bludgeoning weapons were best suited for smashing them apart, but since they had next to no use almost anywhere else, no pony ever carried them outside of dedicated floewolf hunts. Pursing her lips, Agate weighed her options for a few long seconds before galloping towards where the sentry came from. She didn't know whether the wolf could hurt her or not - given how magical it was, it probably could - but since she couldn't exactly die twice, she decided to do her best and distract it, hopefully buying the others a few more moments to prepare. While she spent decades on expeditions all across the northern islands, she never actually saw all that many of the strange beasts and monsters that the northerners fought so often. Besides spears made from their fangs and shards of blue ice, this was the first time she beheld a floewolf in the flesh - or ice, as it were. "My my, what big teeth you have," Agate muttered, taking in the creature before her. She only had a few moments to get a look before it charged at her, letting out a strange growl that sounded like cracking ice. Dodging its swipe, she kept processing the details. It was big, huge even. Roughly twice the height of a pony, and at least three times as wide, if not more. Despite the sky being dark and cloudy, she had no trouble whatsoever in seeing it, its powerful spirit lighting up its form from the inside, as if it swallowed a lantern. It had long, sharp fangs that stuck out from its icy jaws, the things seemingly too large for it to even properly close its mouth. Likewise, its paws were adorned with similarly long and wicked claws, their swipes leaving faint afterimages in the air as it tried to nab Agate. Its eyes had no pupils, only glowing with a malevolent blue light. As she danced back and forth, Agate recalled all the teaching stories and legends about floewolves. The information they provided proved to be entirely correct - the monster was single-minded in its purpose to the point of recklessness and showed no fear whatsoever, fully aware of its immortality. Where it kept slipping and losing its balance on the ice, ironically unable to find purchase despite being made of the same material, Agate was able to hop away quickly due to her weightlessness and supernatural ability to get a grip on literally any surface. The floewolf didn't care that it was leaving itself wide open to possible counterattacks (not that Agate had any, unfortunately), focusing it's entire efforts on attacking. Before she saw it, Agate was a bit worried that it was going to just ignore her, given that she was a spirit. Most animals did, but this thing didn't seem to care in the slightest, happily chasing after her. As she stared it down after another unsuccessful attack, it growled again, clearly frustrated by its overly nimble prey. "What's the matter? Not quick enough? You might as well give up!" Agate didn't know whether floewolves understood pony speech, but this one definitely seemed to at least understand that she was mocking it. With an angry gnash, it pressed itself lower to the ground, crackling sounds coming from its joints as it jumped at her, claws outstretched. Trying to escape its reach, she made a split-second decision and dove forward, ducking under her foe. "Yargh!' Unfortunately, she did not escape that maneuver unscathed. The floewolf kicked out at her with its hindlegs as it landed, its claws shearing off a good chunk of her tail. Agate was surprised that it hurt, until she remembered that her tail wasn't really made of hair any more, but her own spiritual manifestation. It hurt as if a bit of her own body was cut off. While she had mostly forgotten about things such as pain through the years, the few unfortunate encounters with the westerner's spirits both reminded her and helped her build up a tolerance. Instead of standing there and screaming, she grit her teeth, immediately whirling around as the floewolf did the same. Though its jaws didn't bend, Agate could have sworn there was a smirk on the monster's face. "Oh hey, a bit of my tail. That the best you can do?" It didn't growl this time, only preparing for another charge. Agate did the same, but the short moment of silence allowed sounds from further away to reach them. Upon hearing the shouts and commands from the encampment, the wintery monster immediately turned its head in their direction, listening for a brief moment before bounding away. "Hey! Get back here!" Agate gave chase, but despite its bulk, the ice monster had longer legs and larger steps. It bounded far ahead of her, the sounds and sights of still-living prey apparently taking higher priority. Fortunately for the expeditioners, Agate's distraction bought them enough time to get ready. As it approached the encampment, it was greeted by a sudden fireball engulfing its head, courtesy of Wind Whisper tossing a fire charm at it. The floewolf didn't appear to be hurt much, but the flames did blind it for a short while as it fiercely shook itself, yowling angrily the entire time. Once Agate caught up, she heard Stout shouting at the other ponies. "Now REMEMBER what I told you! If you die because you didn't listen to me, I'll make sure to personally tell all of your ancestors what a stupid embarrassment you were! No heroics, just keep dodging and harassing it!" A few acknowledgements of "yes, elder" sounded out, the rest remaining silent. Galloping by the floewolf, Agate assessed the situation. Every pony had spread out all over the encampment, keeping distance from each other, likely so they'd have space to run if it came for them. They also positioned themselves behind igloos, putting obstacles between the predator and themselves. A moment later, the fire burned out, and the wolf was back in action. Sweeping its cold gaze across the encampment, it seemed to become paralyzed with indecision at which target to actually go for first, now that it was presented with so many of them. Stout made that decision for it, chucking a harpoon right at its forehead, chipping off a few small shards. "Come get some! You think yourself a master of the north? Let's test that!" With a roar, the beast answered the challenge, bounding straight for the old stallion. It was a clever ploy, as he was right in the middle of the encampment, which meant that the wolf instantly became surrounded on almost all sides by the others. Meanwhile, Stout used the time to dive behind an igloo, making his foe crash into it, visibly denting the wall. A few others chucked spears or harpoons from the sides and its rear, but like before, they only did superficial damage, the few scars in its icy hide going completely unnoticed by the floewolf. Stout kept using the igloo as cover, running back and forth at least half a dozen times, confusing the angry predator whether to go left or right until it gave up, clawing its way upwards on to the igloo itself. It clearly didn't know that it was actually hollow, and its angry stomps on the already weakened structure made it collapse, taking the wolf down with it. "Eat this!" Stout made good use of the opportunity, giving the wolf a swift buck in the face, shattering an ear and cracking an eye. It roared angrily, but since its forelegs were trapped in the rubble, it couldn't do anything to retaliate. Similarly, a couple heavy-set stallions galloped up to its hindlegs, performing a rather impressive maneuver by planting their forelegs on the ice and using their grip to spin around and slide the last length towards the floewolf with their rear legs pulled in, giving a synchronized buck to its left hind leg, shattering it at the knee. A round of cheers rose up from the onlookers, but the older veterans among them immediately shushed the overly exuberant youths, glaring at them harshly. They knew that the fight was far from over, and the stallions near the floewolf demonstrated that by fleeing as fast as they could, rather than pressing their attack. Their cautiousness was rewarded when it managed to burst out of the remains of the igloo a mere moment later and jump towards Stout, who dived behind yet another igloo. Its claws left deep gouges in the ice as it clawed at the obstacle in its way, the floewolf clearly being made of tougher stuff than the igloo. While all of this was happening, Agate kept looking around, wondering if there was anything she could do to help. Their wards didn't affect the monster at all, the monster clearly being a level of power above what they could deal with. She noticed the shamares nearby, both of them seeming a little unsure of what to do. Wind Whisper was holding another fire charm in her hoof, looking at the fight with wide eyes and shaking legs, her ears folded and her tail tucked between her legs. Meanwhile, Thundersnow was breathing heavily and gathering power, with her hoof idly wandering across her bandolier. Groping at one thing after another, she discarded the potions and charms one by one, grimacing angrily. She clearly wanted to do something, but hadn't decided just what would be the best course of action. Pursing her lips, Agate charged in, approaching the floewolf from the side with the missing leg. It briefly got a foreleg stuck in an igloo again as it punched a hole in the wall, which gave the ponies another few seconds to launch an attack, though this time, they only managed to jab it a few times with their spears before having to retreat again. "That's good! Keep going like that, even if it takes a hundred tries! Hack it down piece by piece, no matter how small the damage is with each run!" Stout shouted, having relocated himself behind yet another igloo. The floewolf pulled itself straight, attempting to rear up. It didn't quite work due to the missing leg, and it roared with a fury and an intensity that it hadn't displayed before. It wasn't just an expression of anger or challenge this time, though, but an attack in and of itself. Freezing arctic gales blew from its maw like some kind of inverted dragonfire, and Agate could see the coats of the ponies caught in its path immediately get covered in hoarfrost. Even she felt the cold, something she thought she'd never have to feel again. Gritting her teeth and powering through the sudden fear, she jumped at the beast's flank, attempting to cause another distraction. Even though she had no illusions about actually hurting it, it went even worse than she expected. Once her hooves made contact with the floewolf's icy carcass, she felt a sudden burst of cold across her legs, letting out a pained moan and reflexively kicking off the surface. Eyes wide, Agate felt true fear for the first time in decades, unpleasant memories of her untimely demise in the blizzard clouding her mind. Though the pain faded quite quickly, the memories did not. She stumbled away, seeking cover herself, not even seeing whether her distraction had any kind of effect. It was quite clear that the floewolf's spirit was far, far more powerful than what Agate could hope to challenge. Still, Agate didn't go through many shamaric focusing exercises and listen to all kinds of brave warriors for nothing. Smacking herself on the side of her face to snap herself out of it, she collected herself and climbed on the igloo, assessing the situation. Fortunately, nothing too bad seemed to have happened while she was panicking, though she did see a mare getting dragged off towards the shamares, one of her legs bleeding from several deep gashes. She didn't have any other visible injuries, though, and Agate was fairly certain that the wound was entirely survivable if it got treated quickly, which Wind Whisper was seeing to. The floewolf hadn't sustained any more noticeable damage, though its missing leg did prevent it from jumping, something which the others exploited to its fullest. A pair of lithe, nimble mares took up positions next to it's flank, jabbing it's injured leg and rear with spears over and over while a number of stallions surrounded it on all sides, ready to jump in and start kicking and bucking the moment it gave them an opportunity. *CRACK-BOOM* That opportunity presented itself when a bolt of lightning suddenly struck the floewolf dead on, making it yelp in surprise and confusion for the first time. Unfortunately, the sudden light and sound also stunned the ponies, so the entire fight ground to a halt as everyone tried to recover their bearings, the warriors jumping backwards to safety. Thundersnow had finally stepped into the battle, slowly trotting towards the invader as she kept communicating with the spirits around her. Huffing angrily, the floewolf identified this new threat, turning towards the shamare while roaring at her with its ice breath again, only to be struck by lightning a second time. Steam rose from its surface, cracks forming and chunks falling from the impact site. Ripping the icy crust from her face, Thundersnow hissed from the pain, her expression livid. This time, a good half of the ponies jumped forward instead of backward when the lightning bolt struck, neighing furious battle cries as they laid into their stunned foe. Thundersnow galloped forward as well, grabbing the monster by the chest right as it was about to swipe at a retreating stallion. Suddenly, everything froze. Not literally, but both Thundersnow and the floewolf stopped moving entirely, the monster stuck with a paw raised in the air as the shamare kept her hooves locked on its chest, her face stuck in a furious grimace. The onlookers blinked at the surreal scene, not sure whether to flee or jump in. It took a few more breaths until someone in the crowd spoke up. "Should we... Intervene? Or would that break the shamare's spell?" Stout gazed at the frozen combatants with a scowl, his muscles tense. Thundersnow wasn't saying anything, and Wind Whisper wasn't around to offer her input, treating the injured some distance away. Snorting, he jabbed a hoof towards the silent duo. "Doesn't matter if we break her magic! It's injured now, if we all jump it at the same time, we'll smash it to bits! Everyone together, and aim for the joints and legs! NOW!!!" Following his command, the expeditioners all surged forward, those that still held weapons dropping them on the ice and moving in to attack with their hooves. Moments later, they were smashing the monster apart, a couple of ambitious ponies even using their comrades in arms as platforms, jumping off their backs onto the back of the floewolf, stomping at the weak spots where it got hit by lightning. Some of their strikes didn't seem to have much effect, though others managed to tear away great chunks of glowing blue ice with each hit. Agate recognized the most successful ones as the same ponies that had a hobby of making ice sculptures. Apparently, their skills in ice manipulation could be put to more than one use. "Rrrrrrrargh!" Something or someone roared, though through the bedlam, it was hard to say whether it was the floewolf, Thundersnow, or both of them. While bits of its body were getting hacked away, Agate could see its spirit clear as day, shining as if nothing happened. Getting closer, she started seeing a sort of aura or double image around the wolf's icy body, as if its spirit was disconnecting from its damaged vessel. Looking at Thundersnow, she noticed that her hooves were holding on to the wolf's spirit rather than its body, the pair staring balefully at each other as they were locked in some kind of spiritual duel of wills. Slowly, Thundersnow's body regained its motion. At first, she began breathing heavily, clearly having spent a lot of her strength. The second thing that began to move was her forelegs, the angry shamare slowly wrenching them to the side, away from the wolf's badly damaged body. "Close your eyes, everyone!" Stout shouted, clearly seeing the same thing Agate was. When the duel finally ended, it ended in Thundersnow's favor. With a sudden crack and a furious neigh, the shamare slammed the floewolf's spirit sideways into the ice, a sudden spray of snow and cold blasting out in all directions. Its body, already almost cut in half by the angry snowponies, collapsed entirely, the will animating it gone. Everyone immediately started rubbing the frost and snow from their eyes, glancing around, their muscles still tense. One by one, they began relaxing, seeing the legendary monster finally defeated at their hooves. Several ponies coughed from the sudden, biting cold that was invading their airways, while there were a few nervous chuckles from the rest. The chuckles soon grew to a bout of hysterical laughter, slowly getting replaced with relief and triumph. "We did it! We actually did it!" "Ancestors, thank you for lending me your strength. I know I would have died without your aid." "Take that, monster! The northern tribe fears no foe! We are the masters of the north!" The last statement clearly didn't sit all that well with the floewolf. Just like the legends and stories said, its spirit didn't disappear after its defeat, rising up and growling angrily as it scanned the faces of those that dared to challenge its dominance as the supreme predator of the polar regions. The gathered ponies didn't show much fear, though, since they also knew that when its body was broken, the floewolf wasn't a threat until it made a new one. "Growl all you want, we broke you to bits, and we'll do it again if you dare show your face here a second time!" The same stallion shouted, spitting at the defeated foe. The floewolf raised an ethereal foreleg in the stallion's direction, its claws outstretched. Before anything could happen, though, a hoof shot out from below, grabbing it by the paw. Thundersnow pulled herself out from under a thin layer of snow, glaring at the spirit. "And what do you think you're doing? I'm not done with you," She hissed, her eyes narrowed and her voice tinged with barely restrained fury. At first, the wolf growled, trying to free its appendage and smack Thundersnow with its other leg. She just grabbed on to that one as well, beginning to twist them both in a way that would be excruciatingly painful for a creature of flesh and blood. As she kept going, the slack-jawed observers heard the floewolf begin to whimper in pain and fear as it tried to pull away, something which was completely unheard of. "I! AM! THUNDERSNOW! GIFTED STRENGTH UNPARALELLED BY THE SPIRITS OF MY ANCESTORS AND THE NORTH! AND YOU DARE CHALLENGE ME?! THREATEN MY TRIBE, AND THEN YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST LEAVE LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED?!" The enraged shamare clearly intended to teach the floewolf a lesson it wasn't going to forget any time soon, twisting its forelegs further and further as the spirit writhed in pain. Eventually, she let go, only to step forward and smash it in the face, grabbing it by the muzzle every time it tried to flee and continuing the beating. She then pulled out the spirit whacker, walloping it in the side as she kept a hold of it with one hoof. Everyone around her stepped away to a respectful distance, completely stunned by the spectacle. This was completely new ground, something which hadn't been done before. While shamares in the past did try to banish floewolf spirits after they were defeated to make sure they wouldn't return, it didn't work for long, and there were no real accounts of someone managing to simply overpower one's spirit with pure brute force. Thundersnow seemed to have brute force in spades, though, stomping her foe over and over and over again. Still, no one was tireless, and even the mightiest shamare of the northern tribe had her limits. Her swings slowed down bit by bit until she stopped completely, breathing heavily as she still held on to the now blurry and mangled form of the whimpering monster's spirit. She still had one final trick up her sleeve, though. Reaching for her bandolier, she pulled out one of the crystal spheres she had made with Agate, fully charged and glowing with power. Letting out a hissing breath, she focused her power one last time, letting go of the floewolf's ethereal hide. It immediately scrambled upwards, attempting to flee, but it was not to be. Using the magic stored in the crystal, Thundersnow yanked it back to herself, forcing it to face her, looking into its eyes. She spoke to it, her voice now laced with a cold, deathly threat rather than anger. "See this, beast? Strange, unfamiliar magic, isn't it? So, so very interesting, though. A kind spirit taught me some of it. You can store power in these that you can use later, like you would store a potion in a flask. You can also make amazing artifacts with it, make charms and wards and all kinds of things last a long, long time. And if you come for us again? I will bind you to this little rock, and I will make sure that the bindings last a very, very long time. And then, I'll chuck it into the bottom of the ocean... Or maybe I'll bring you home, and make sure to teach the others how to renew the magic so you can't bother anyone ever again. Now flee, and if I see you one more time... You. Will. Regret it." Agate still wasn't sure if floewolves understood pony language. This one sometimes seemed to react to things that ponies said, though those instances might have been complete coincidences. Regardless of that, though, it most certainly understood the absolute beatdown it received at Thundersnow's hooves, and the fact that she was a very, very dangerous being. The moment the shamare let go, it yipped in a panic, turning tail and immediately running off as fast as its legs could carry it, occasionally stumbling with its forelegs. Thundersnow's exclamation received more than one raised eyebrow. Imprisonment was considered a cruel and unnatural torture method among the snowponies, something that deliberately interfered with the natural cycles and circles of the world. They had no jails, and it wasn't used as a punishment for any crimes that Agate was aware of. Criminals were forced to pay restitution in accordance to the severity of their crime, with those refusing or with crimes too great to be forgiven getting banished, letting nature take its course. No one said anything, though. Perhaps they were too tired from the battle to think about it, or perhaps they thought that it was simply an empty threat made up on the spot by Thundersnow, with no real intention to carry it out. Or maybe they just didn't feel like questioning a shamare of such power. It wasn't every day that they saw a floewolf getting wrestled into submission, after all. The victory didn't come easily, though. Moments after their foe was gone, Thundersnow let out a shuddering breath, her legs shaking before she collapsed. Several ponies immediately jumped to help her, while no small number of other combatants suffered similar maladies once their adrenaline wore off. Carefully checking themselves and each other for injuries they might have missed, they slowly sorted through the shards of ice and snow, picking up their weapons and assessing the damage to their camp. ❅ ❆ ❅ What followed was a celebration, though not the kind Agate experienced before. She was used to cheers and jubilation that she often got showered with after returning from a scouting expedition with information about more crystal deposits, the ponies happy with the news of more potential wealth that they could dig up. This was different, though. There was no singing, dancing, cheering, or other raucous activities usually associated with celebrations. The ponies all sat in almost complete silence, occasionally trading little snippets of the battle and musing how they could have potentially performed better. As Agate observed them, she surmised that such a warrior's celebration, as she dubbed it in her head, must have been how they commemorated their victories after a particularly challenging battle. Singing and dancing was for the helpless ponies receiving news of a defeat of a dangerous foe, while the warriors that just danced the most dangerous dance of all, the one of life and death, weren't inclined towards such frivolities, having exhausted their strength in the actual fighting. Instead, they spent the aftermath in quiet contemplation about the world around them and their own mortality, something the younger ponies were faced with for the first time in their lives. That was not to say that they were melancholic or sad, though. Agate could practically feel the silent, powerful pride oozing off the victorious warriors. Even the injured ones had small smiles on their faces, despite having to lie down and ask for someone to drag them if they wanted to move somewhere. When everyone and everything was accounted for, they had three casualties with serious injuries such as deep lacerations and cracked bones, things that would take them out of action for at least several weeks, even with the aid of shamaric healing. Some half a dozen ponies escaped with bruises and small cuts, wearing their wounds as a badge of honor. The rest were perfectly fine, their only issue being exhaustion. Thundersnow was among their number, the only signs of life coming from her being extra-slow blinks and barely noticeable breathing. Everyone had gathered in a close circle, packed together so tightly that Agate couldn't even see the ice underneath them. In the middle, they set up a small metal brazier that they bought after settling in on the Battle Glacier, feeding bits of their limited firewood reserves into it. The heat from the flames was exploited as much as possible, a clay pot with tea steaming on top as fish speared on sticks roasted right below it. Once they decided that the tea was done, the pot was carefully removed as they shuffled the fish around. It was only enough for a small cup for everyone there, but they smiled and savored it as if it was the sweetest nectar from the tundra wildflowers. The warm drink revived the crowd a little, at least enough for them to start working through the food, though they had to supplement that with other supplies. The tired ponies started slowly, but as their energy returned, so did their appetites, and they were soon wolfing down their dried fish and seaweed. Once they were satiated, conversations slowly sprang up between them again. "For an unplanned hunt, this went quite well. We had the support of a shamare, of course, but these fights end with deaths as often as they don't. You all did good," Stout tiredly complimented the younger ponies in the crowd, stretching his legs as his joints cracked. "I remember the stories saying that floewolves are blinded by pride, returning to the site of their defeat again and again until they finally acknowledge the superiority of their opponent. Do you think this one learned the lesson from Thundersnow, or will it come back with even greater fury?" Spear Whittle pondered, gazing at one of the floewolf's fangs that she was holding in her hoof. "Good question," Stout shrugged, glancing at the shamare. "I doubt this one will," She slowly drawled, lifting her eyes towards Spear Whittle. Gesturing to the young mare, she took the fang, rolling it between her hooves with a critical look. The fangs were a great prize, both for the prestige and their value. There weren't enough for everyone to get one, though there were no disputes over who got what. Everyone there was well disciplined, and listened to their elders as they decided who was the most deserving. Stout and a few other older ponies parceled them out, from the biggest fangs that would make a fine spearhead, to the smaller teeth that would only be useful for a javelin. Those that didn't get any received promises of gifts from those that did, as all of them contributed fairly to the battle. Pulling out a small knife with an intricately carved handle made of some kind of very shiny bone, Thundersnow breathed in, focusing on her magic. Several ponies raised their eyebrows at the barely-recovered shamare, but the procedure seemed to need just a drop of magic. With a few subtle motions, she modified the root of the fang and chipped off a few irregularities from it, making it more suitable for use as a spearhead. After giving it another long look, she nodded, passing it back to Spear Whittle, who immediately began replacing her old spearhead with a wide grin. Glancing around, Thundersnow looked for more ponies with fangs. She worked on them in an unhurried fashion, flicking and grinding bits off while muttering quietly under her breath, sealing in the floewolf's magic and improving their shapes. "I wonder where they come from," Someone in the crowd mused. "The deep north, I suppose," Another replied. "What is the deep north, though? Back in the ancient times, the shore of the sea was the deep north. Then we pushed north. And pushed. And pushed. How far north does the north go?" "Go there and find out," An old stallion smirked, earning a small round of laughter. "He's right, you know. No other way to know than to go exploring. Though I do wonder if there's a place where the air gets so cold, a pony couldn't take a single step further without their lungs freezing solid," Stout added, munching on a fish on a stick. "Green Land is the northernmost we got to, but it's also a fair distance to the west. I wonder if we'll find anything like it if we go further north. I mean, more warm islands like that. Will it just get warmer from then on? Would we find more lands of eternal summer, like our ancestors had?" "It's only warm because of the Earth's Blood leaking from the fire mountains, though. If you go further out, it's colder than ever," Stout shook his head." And there were stories from some explorers of old about a massive land covered in ice if you kept going straight north, if we can even call it land. From what they said it appeared to be a massive glacier, the size of the southern tribe's tundra territories, if not bigger. "How come we have so many stories about ponies going that far hundreds of years ago? We barely settled Green Land a few years ago. What was the point of going that far, if they even actually did it at all?" "Well, they were scouting for something interesting, I suppose. I mean, consider Green Land. If we had discovered it a hundred years earlier, there would certainly be a big wave of settlers heading there, regardless of the fact that we haven't explored and settled the islands leading up to it," Another old explorer stallion shrugged. "I guess that means there's probably little else of interest in the north. Just ice and floewolves. And windigoes, wherever they come from." "Don't speak their name out loud, blockhead, I don't want to have to deal with them right after this fight," A mare groaned. "Oh, come on, I doubt one is going to come for us right now, and when they do, it'll be because it's winter, not because someone called them," The stallion dismissively waved it off, rolling his eyes. "Besides, I never heard of them working together anyway." "That's interesting..." Thundersnow muttered, not raising her eyes from the fang she was working on. "Shamare?" Stout inquired after a moment of silence. "The windigoes... And the floewolves. Tell me, all of you here - has anyone ever heard of them being seen together, at the same time?" The question got everyone's attention and curiosity, the ponies muttering under their breaths as they raked through their memories of legend and stories. One by one, they all shook their heads. their expressions ponderous at this curious revelation. "What does it mean, shamare?" "Well... I have no idea, honestly. We can only guess. Floewolves are the very embodiment of predators. They hunt, solely for the purpose of the hunt, heedless of anything else, including their safety. Windigoes... They hunt too, but... They do not attack indiscriminately, not at all. They seek out very specific prey, and even then, they are conniving and cowardly, hiding in the blizzard clouds and doing everything not to reveal themselves. I'm not sure if what they do can even be called hunting... And they certainly don't seem to need food any more than floewolves do." "What do the windigoes do, then?" A pony asked, not worrying about saying the name now that everyone was doing it. "Maybe they're reaching out to those they see as kin," Thundersnow shrugged. "Those who cause strife on purpose are called kin of the windigoes, after all." "Kin? They do look a bit like ponies, but..." A mare mused, her expression skeptical. "Yes, not quite like us. But, we have learned that we have lost kin scattered all over the world, apparently. Agate has brought a lot of old and forgotten history to us. Who's to say that there weren't ponies here that came before even we did? An ancient, distant cousin tribe. And they... Didn't fare as well as we did. And they must have been quite mad and hateful towards the cold world that ended their lives, turning them into what we see today. Hateful beings, only caring about bringing the same misery they experienced to others. Also, who's to say how ponies end up looking when they get taken by the windigoes? Has anyone ever seen the spirit of a pony that got banished from the tribes? From what I know, they disappear without a trace." "That... Makes sense as an explanation, but it's all just a big guess," Stout pointed out. "Certainly. This is not some hidden lore whispered to me by the spirits. I am merely musing, as you all are," Thundersnow agreed with a crooked grin. "That's a shamare's lot. I watch the world, and I try to understand it. I learn, I apply what I learn to other things, and I try to understand them, and so on. For example, there are powerful beings in the world, ones with powerful spirits. Most move on, but some linger, their strength often reflected in how strong they were while still alive. So, is that what floewolves are? Spirits of exceptionally powerful predators that gorged themselves upon the lives of their prey, ones that decided to continue their hunt rather than move on, their power enough to build themselves new bodies woven from the very cold and ice of the north?" "So... Are they?" A mare asked timidly after everyone went silent, not really having an answer. "I have no idea," Thundersnow shrugged. "Again, I am merely applying what I know to what I don't know. But, if the wolves are predators... And the equines that became windigoes are prey... Or, rather, were their prey in the distant past... Well, just think how similar, yet completely opposite these two menaces are. Floewolves are very, very powerful physically, but if you destroy their shell, their spirits are not particularly dangerous. Windigoes, on the other hoof, have no bodies, despite almost certainly having enough spiritual power to conjure enough ice to bury a mountain, let alone make a body for themselves. And yet, they don't. They hide and circle the skies, their hooves never touching the ground, where the floewolves roam. And in their hatred, all they can do is watch, and lash out against everyone around them that's actually vulnerable to the cold." "...Wow." "Just guesses, of course. Perhaps we'll find out someday, when our explorers venture deeper north. Maybe there's some kind of battleground somewhere in the glaciers, where the floewolves and windigoes rage against each other. Or perhaps we'll find some kind of breeding ground, heh. Time will tell. Until then, we'll just have to do what we always did - smash them to bits or chase them away," Thundersnow nodded, passing another fang to its recipient. ❅ ❆ ❅ While it was mostly a shamaric conflict, with the main action being the constant wrangling of the weather and spirits, the other ponies still managed to have the occasional adventure of their own. The fisherponies would come back with stories of fighting off huge eels, having to whack a bird spirit that tried to sneak up on them, and similar things. One time, they came back with news of a huge battle between them and some kind of whale or shark that tried to eat their seal companions. It did get a seal, but they managed to bring it down with their harpoons, getting a grim sense of satisfaction for avenging their friend. Seeing as snowponies usually went away to their wintering grounds, actually being able to protect seals was a rare opportunity. Normally, they'd defend the little seal pups on the beaches during spring and go fishing with their parents later, but as the seasons changed and the ponies migrated, they understood that all the predators that they were holding back had a feast. It was the circle of nature, of course, but they did love their jiggly, whiskered friends, taking every chance to defend them from the many, many beasts that tried to eat them. Thundersnow took an unusual interest in their slain foe, asking for the fisherponies to bring its body onto the Battle Glacier so she could study it. It wasn't all that strange for a shamare - they often had bones collected from many different creatures for all kinds of purposes, from ornaments to divination. It wasn't something Agate ever saw Thundersnow engage in, but she was versed in all kinds of shamaric magic, so neither Agate nor the others questioned it. ❅ ❆ ❅ It took over a month from the day winter began for a windigo to finally appear. Like Thundersnow said, it was conniving - it took up refuge in the roiling clouds above, attempting to hide from their sight as a heavy blizzard began dumping snow onto their vessel. The attempts at stealth weren't particularly successful, though, given that Agate and the shamares could see it plain as day with their spirit sight. "Been a long while since I felt cold, and now, I felt it twice in the same year," Agate breathed, watching the slowly circling form above them. "The cold really does cut to your very spirit, then?" Spear Whittle asked, her expression brave, though even she couldn't help but shiver a little. "It really does, yes." "And we'll make sure our warmth cuts to its very frozen heart," Thundersnow grumbled angrily, craning her head upwards. "You know the way to banish a windigo, then, elder?" Spear Whittle asked. "Well... I know the way, or, rather, I've been told the ways by my teachers. I never really had to employ them yet." "You don't sound too certain about this." "Then I clearly need to practice the methods on a live target for me to acquire confidence in them. Everyone! Gather round! We have an unwanted visitor," Thundersnow shouted, gathering the camp. It didn't take long to explain the situation, many ponies grimacing at the news. Even the floewolf returning for a second round would have been received better than the arrival of the windigo. Brave as they were, the northerners didn't exactly have a way to fight the spirits, and it was an iffy affair even for shamares. "I love my family. I love my children. It is why I came here, not because of blind hatred for the westerners, or anything like that. Don't suppose we can explain that to it so it gets lost?" Stout grumbled. "As nice as that would be, I'm afraid not," Thundersnow replied, her sour expression mirroring the stallion's. "And don't worry, everyone, I'm not going to go around interrogating ponies whether they're angry or not, nor am I going to try to find the ponies it's attracted to so I could kick them out. We've all been stuck here for some time now, and we all got frustrated at the westerners stubbornly clinging to their madness and arrogance. It is only natural that some negative feelings arose from that. No, we'll have to get rid of it more... Directly." "I like the sound of that. Will you lure it down here so we can give it a good walloping? The spears you improved should work as well as they do for the westerner's birds, right?" A stallion asked, hefting his new floewolf-toothed spear. "Mmm... Not sure if I can. That's not something that's ever been done before, I think. But it is going to get what's coming to it, don't worry. First and foremost... It fears the love and unity that we hold in our hearts for each other. Now, it's not something that can be stirred into action artificially, but... How about you all think about your homes and your families, and the loved ones you left behind to come here? You must miss them by now, yes? Immerse yourself into your memories, and let your hearts carry you to the distant hearths of your kin. Meanwhile, I'll gather my strength for something stronger." "There is a story about several families on a small island that made a windigo run away in fright after they began singing songs about love with great passion," Stout mused. While Thundersnow trotted away to find Wind Whisper, the other ponies spent a few minutes shuffling and thinking quietly, either about their families, or trying to remember a fitting song for the situation. Just as the two shamares were returning with the brazier and some magical ingredients, Spear Whittle slowly began to sing. "I am a poor wayfaring stranger Travelling through this world of woe There is no sickness, toil or danger In that warm land to which I go I'm going home to see my mother I'm going home, no more to roam I'm just going over the plains I'm just going over home..." Agate recognized it as a song that was favored by long-distance explorers and other travelers, one that inevitably evoked thoughts of home. One by one, the others joined in, their expressions pensive. Their voices wavered at first, but bit by bit, they gained confidence, the volume rising as the shamares started a fire and began preparing for whatever ritual they had planned. *Neeeeeeeigh!* By the sounds of it, the windigo did not approve of their musical performance. There was a sudden gust of freezing wind, cutting them to the bone and making them cough and gasp at the freezing air. Thundersnow hissed as a tiny, wavering flame that she managed to start was put out. "Keep going!" She shouted. "It fears us, that's why it's trying to disrupt you!" Spitting out the snowflakes and clearing their eyes, the ponies obliged, doing their best to keep their stoic expressions from turning into ones of fury at the arrogance of the winter spirit. "I know dark clouds will hover on me I know my path is rough and cold But tundra fields lie out before me Where weary eyes no more shall weep... Agate watched as the windigo circling above became more and more agitated as they kept going, its slow circling becoming erratic as it writhed angrily in the blizzard. It clearly wasn't happy that the ponies were resisting its efforts to break them down. Meanwhile, Thundersnow wove strange figures over the brazier with her hooves, while Wind Whisper tended to the growing fire. They tossed some smoky shamaric herbs in there, along with a few drops of tincture that gave the flames a faint ethereal glow. Oddly, part of the smoke spread around them, instead of rising into the sky. Agate watched the smoky tendrils curl around various ponies with curiosity, the smoke acting more like an animal or a plant vine. It slowly wriggled along the surface of the ice, creeping upwards along the legs of the singers, though it never actually touched them. Soon enough, they were surrounded by a light cover of smoke. The others didn't seem perturbed by all this, continuing their song, though Agate noticed that the final verse was approaching. Thundersnow looked like she knew it as well, making more gestures with her hooves and pulling the smoke back into the brazier just as the air was vibrating from the final words of the song. Making more gestures, she wove something out of the smoke, collecting the heat of the fire as well. Infusing her creation with the magic she gathered from all the ingredients, she held it in her hoof for a moment. It looked vaguely like a bird made of smoke with eyes of fire, with a barely noticeable pink aura surrounding it. "Go," She whispered to it, and it immediately took off, aiming straight for the windigo. "What was that?" Agate inquired curiously. "A spell. Not a real creature, if that's what you assumed. Just a bundle of magic given form and strength, borne upwards by the wind spirits to seek out the intended target." *WHINNY!* "And there it goes," Thundersnow calmly exclaimed with a smug smile. Though it was too high up to see what the spell actually did, the magically inclined ponies saw the windigo turn tail and run, angrily shedding frost and snowflakes in its wake. Agate noticed that some of her students seemed to be watching it as well, their eyes tracking it as it fled southwards. The oppressive cold began to fade, though it did not disappear completely. "That seemed... Easy," Stout commented, his expression a bit unsure. "Yes... Unfortunately, there is a good chance it will return soon. Or, rather, there is a good chance more will show up - they are not solitary, like floewolves. One is manageable, but I've been told that getting rid of them when there's a whole herd can be annoyingly hard. Then again, given the direction it fled, maybe the westerners will keep them occupied for a while," Thundersnow huffed. "What do we do, then?" We keep going, of course," Thundersnow snorted dismissively. "They work slowly and insidiously. There's plenty of time to run away if things get bad. If we'll see the situation truly become completely unsalvageable, we will leave, and let the westerners deal with what they have wrought. Until then, though, we keep going."