Lyra woke to the smell of ashes and the taste of soot.
To her right, Bon Bon slept. Curled on her side, her cheek rest against Lyra's gently rising, falling chest.
Lyra looked around her, and saw no one else awake.
They numbered five in total - her, Bon Bon, Roseluck, Rarity, and Vinyl.
Two days ago, they'd been seven. Three, ten. One week earlier, and there hadn't been any need to count.
Because one week earlier, life was normal.
Now, the sky burned, and dead things walked the earth.
Rumor had it Princess Luna was dead. Princess Twilight was missing. Princess Cadance was trapped in the North, unable to leave lest she be exposed to the Sun. And Princess Celestia?
Nopony knew what happened to her, but they did know what she'd become.
How the Sun and Moon changed places, they also didn't know. Rarity said it must be Twilight, that she'd gotten somewhere safe and was working to save Equestria. Lyra wasn't sure she believed that, but she liked to imagine she did.
The first daybreak took most of Ponyville. Those late sleepers and nocturnal types were spared, Thank Celest-
No. Lyra had nothing to thank Celestia for.
Thank whatever higher powers might remain that morning had been a Saturday. If it happened during the week, things would look even more grim than they did now.
Somewhere in the distance, a branch snapped.
Lyra jumped and scanned the tree line, squinting through the Everfree darkness. Out here, the wild forest provided shelter from the Sun, but harbored other things just as dangerous. Proof of that existed in her party's dwindling numbers.
There, she saw it. Fire.
Off in the trees the flames twirled, dancing in orange splendor.
Other survivors.
Quiet and careful, Lyra extracted herself from underneath Bon Bon. The mare mumbled something about five more minutes, rolling over to her opposite side, and Lyra couldn't help but smile.
Leaning down, she planted a kiss on Bon Bon's cheek. "I love you," she whispered, and stood.
She was lucky to have her alive.
Briefly, she glanced towards Vinyl's sleeping form. The DJ never said a word, but her eyes spoke enough when hers and Lyra's gaze met.
Lyra quickly looked away.
Slowly, so as not to wake anyone up, she weaved her way through the slumbering masses. Before she broke through the overgrown hedge into the unknown, she spared a final glance to the mare she loved.
Should she really do this? Was it smart or responsible to go on her own? Was she certain that fire was from a survivor camp and not... something else?
Lyra knew the answers. She disregarded them the same way.
Besides, they'd never seen one of them enter the forest.
It would be quick, in and out. She'd find this camp, join their groups together. Or, if they were dead, she'd grab their stuff and bring it back. They needed the supplies, desperately.
Turning towards the distant light, she mustered her courage and broke through. The thorns and leaves scratched at her fur, pricking her like one of Nurse Redheart's needles.
She wondered what happened to Redheart. Working in a hospital, she could have been one of the first taken, or she and the remaining staff and patients had barred themselves in. They had the supplies to last for a while.
She prayed it was the latter.
Once through, pitch blackness engulfed her. On instinct her heart beat fast, but she willed it to slow. Panic wouldn't do her any good, and these days, the shadows were safer anyhow.
Under the Everfree's cover, they could move as they wished. So long as no sunlight hit them directly they'd be fine. Night time was safe as well, though uncomfortable. Lyra's whole body itched under the Moonlight, deeper than the skin, deeper than the muscle. It was as though her whole body was on fire, but she never actually caught fire.
She lit her horn, casting the area in a dim golden glow. There was no point in denying herself sight when the Everfree's creatures were adapted to see in the dark.
Creeping forward on ghostly hooves, Lyra ignored the faces on the trees around her, how their limbs grasped. Far worse dwelt out there in the daylight. Far worse fates than a scarlet end at the fangs of some hungry Timberwolf.
Up ahead the fire grew larger, beckoning her forth like a lover in bed. Against its flames she saw the silhouette of a mare.
Smiling, she raced forward, eager to finally meet another lost soul.
She broke through the brush, and her smile died.
A scream rose in her throat, but she forced it down. She tried to move, to turn around and run. She wanted to do anything, anything but stand there.
With horrible slowness, the thing that used to be a pony's head turned. Charred flesh snapped, oozing muscles squelched, and the awful inferno that wreathed its body popped and crackled. In its empty sockets hateful red glowed, and it smiled eternally through burnt-away lips. All that remained to tell who it might have been were wisps of crispy, pastel pink strands.
Its wings - what was left of them - flared. No feathers were left, only black bone and stringy, stinking meat. But they flapped, and lifted it off the ground regardless.
"Don't run," it said, in a voice that reminded Lyra of death and burning firewood. "The Sun is so beautiful today."
At last, her legs worked. She turned and fled for the safety of the Everfree shadows.
"Too late."
Burning hooves wrapped around her waist. Lyra screamed.
"Hush now," it crooned. "Quiet now."
She thrashed, kicked, did everything she could. All her strength and magic failed her, as its fire singed her minty fur black.
It flapped, and broke through the canopy.
Over the cooked flesh of the thing, Lyra smelled herself burn. Her scream turned to a wail, then to that awful familiar screech. She thought she was crying, except tears didn't ooze down her cheeks in hot, gooey globs.
The thing turned her head towards the Sun, and somehow she could see.
And it was beautiful.