//------------------------------//
// Act 1, Part 3: Brothers and Bunnies 
// Story: Our Eminence(OLD BEGINNING) 
// by Kegisak 
//------------------------------//


Act 1, Part 3: Brothers and Bunnies




        Two nights had passed.

        Rain had come and gone, but the clouds had not. They remained, hanging over the world like a sickness, casting the vibrant colours of autumn in dull grays and whites. A faint rumble could be heard in the distance: a murmur, a warning that it was not yet finished. For now it was gone, though, and the clouds provided cover from the piercing eyes of the Mare in the Moon as she rose over the horizon.
         The dull light cast a strange scene of the Upper Quarter. It made the low-hanging branches of the trees seem as pale, sickly limbs, the knots in the tree trunks contorted in agonized faces. A slow breeze was their voice, moaning in the early evening and scaring away anypony who had thought to risk the rain – all save for one.
        It was a stallion, wrapped in a thick coat and hood to stave away the cold and wet. He stood in the light of a streetlamp, his hood casting shadows over his face as he tucked the the thick fabric low, snorting faintly. He paused for a moment as though expecting something, but lowered his head, and began to walk.
        He moved like a breeze, his long limbs moving him swiftly and gracefully through the middle of the road, where his path would not be barred by the grasping trees. He had no company save for his shadow, and no sound but for the soft clop clop clopping of his hooves on cobblestone.
        He tugged his coat tighter around his shoulders, an impression of guile about him as he turned down the final lane in the quarter. The long, wide street took him past mansions, past parks and past ponds, finding him before the greatest and most ancient of them all. Great walls and a rusted gate stood around it on all sides, straight and tall as any guardspony, and every bit as imposing with their gate spikes for spears and heavy stones for armour. They rattled upon their hinges as the wind whipped, shaking themselves in spite at the stallion.
        Ignoring the unspoken jeers of the gate, he pulled back his hood slightly to reveal a long, dark-blue horn. He tapped it against the front gate, a spark of magic briefly illuminating the night. A loud crack not unlike a gunshot was heard, then silence. The gate swung slowly open, creaking and groaning along its hinges, and the stallion stepped quickly inside.
        Gravel crunched beneath his hooves as he made his way around the huge, ancient statue in front. He peered idly at it: some long dead stallion, glaring out at the world. The founder of this home. The shrouded stallion shook his head, and his hood lower as he mounted the steps leading up to the front door. He paused at the door, shivering faintly, before his horn lit up and the heavy brass knockers began to float.

        BAM

        The sound rang out in the silence of the night. A flock of birds flew from a nearby tree, their squawks and beating wings drowning out the echo of the knocker. The noise slowly faded, and the night became silent once more.

        BAM

        The stallion pounded the knocker against the door once more. It echoed through the yard, and for a moment the stallion was unsure whether the rumble that answered him was the echo, or distant thunder. He shook his head, and the knocker lifted again.

        BAM

        As the sound faded away, there was silence. The world seemed to stop, holding its breath. No crickets chirped. No birds called. Not even the wind blew. In the pale, sickly light, the world stood still, until the soft hiss of static could be heard. Faint at first, crackling. Then, a voice.

        “Are you seriously using the knocker?”

        The stallion paused, brushing his muzzle with a hoof. Whatever he had been expecting, it seemed, this was not it.
        “Well... yes,” he said. His voice had a deep, rich coolness about it, like ice. “They're there for a reason.”
        “So's the intercom. You were there when I had it installed, Stage. We talked about it.”
        “I sort of contest your definition of 'talked about it',” the stallion known as Stage said. “I never actually said I was going to use it.”
        “Of course not,” the intercom buzzed, a sour note in the voice of the mare on the other end. “You're just going to keep on being bloody dramatic. What are you even doing here?”
        Stage flipped back his hood, raising a hoof indignantly. “Pretty sure this is my house too, Erin. Dad left it to both of us.”
        “I'm pretty sure you lost the right to call this your house when you moved in with your trophy husband.”
        The stallion snorted and shook his head again. “He isn't -” He stopped suddenly, pawing at the ground and snorting. “Look, I'm coming in. Are you in your lab?”
        There was silence from the other end of the intercom, but the soft hiss of static told Stage that it was still on. He waited patiently, looking over his shoulder at the empty square.
        “No,” Erin said finally. “I'm in the kitchen. The little one in the servant wing.”
        Stage nodded. “I'll be right there,” he said. With that, he pushed open the front door, stepping quickly inside.
        The interior of the mansion felt even more decrepit than the exterior, if it were possible. The already dull light filtered through the dusty windows, creating a hollow, haunted feeling that lingered over the foyer. Stage sighed, his horn coming alight. The candles along the sides of the room spluttered, coming alive. The orange light splashed through the room, filling up the corners with warmth and life. He nodded faintly as he surveyed his work, setting off into the halls.
        Left and right as he walked the lights came on, leaping out in front of him like pirouetting dancers, bringing some tiny semblance of life to the dead home. Finally he came to the kitchen, opening the door gently. Erin sat at the kitchen table, back to the door, hunched over a steaming cup of cocoa.
        “Singsong isn't a trophy husband,” Stage said. Erin didn't turn around, or even react, save to reply.
        “Right. So it's a coincidence that you're filthy rich and he's absolutely gorgeous?”
        “Pretty much,” Stage said, trotting around the table. He pulled off his coat, hanging it over the back of a nearby chair and sitting down across from the sour mare. “What's gotten into you, anyways? You're living up to the Smiles name more than usual, S -”
        “Don't you even dare,” Erin snapped, cutting him off. They were silent for a while, Stage staring across the table at her.
        “Erin, are you alright?” he asked. She sighed, leaning her head on her hooves.
        “Sorry. I didn't sleep well today. Or the day before.”
        “The day?” Stage asked. “Are you back to sleeping during the day now, or did you just stay up too late again?” He chuckled. “What, did you find a new favourite scientist whose career you want to absorb or something?”
        Erin shook her head, sighing heavily. “You want cocoa?” she asked.
        Stage was quiet for a while, his eyes flicking up and down the mare's form. Her eyes were even more sunken than usual, hiding behind her limp, stringy mane. Her shoulders were slack and her neck hung low, her whole body slumping forward onto the table like a marionette whose strings had been cut. She cradled her mug close, staring down into it. Stage tapped the table quietly.
        “Not coffee?” he asked. Erin shrugged.
        “Eh... out of beans. I need to run down to that little place in the East Quarter.”
        “The one Grandpa took us out to when we were little, right? When he was showing us around the city? And you tried coffee for the first time because you wanted to be grown up, and ended up spitting it all out?”
        Erin smirked – or at least tried. The corners of her mouth pulled up ever-so-slightly. A pony would hardly notice if they weren't looking. “You remember that?”
        “C'mon, you think I would ever forget the face you made that day?” Stage laughed, brushing his mane out of his eyes. “Besides, you always go to that place.”
        Erin smirked again, genuinely this time. “What can I say?” she asked, sweeping away her mane. “I've got a hunting path. You want cocoa or not?”
        “Yeah,” Stage said, getting up from the table. “I'll grab it, though.”
        “Pot's still on the stove,” Erin said. “You just have to heat it up. Think you can handle that?” Stage laughed, shrugging comically.
        “Eh, I'll manage,” he said, trotting across the room. His horn lit up, switching on the stove and lifting a spoon from the counter as Erin slowly turned around in her chair.
        “So... why did you come, anyhow?” she asked. Stage shrugged, not looking up from the stove.
        “The university called. They said you hadn't shown up for your lectures for the past couple of days. I figured I'd come check you out, make sure you hadn't died or anything, you know?”
        “So is disappearing for a couple of days unusual for me now?” Erin asked, snorting into her cup. “Pretty sure I've done it like, three times this year. Heck, I think I skip class more than some students.”
        Stage laughed. “Yeah, but I don't think you've ever done it without any notice. Or,” he gestured meaningfully at Erin with the spoon, “right before finals papers were due.”
        “Oh,” Erin said. Her brow furrowed faintly, but she sipped from her cocoa. “Eh, the TA'll cover it.”
        Stage returned to the table, a mug of steaming cocoa floating along beside him and setting down as he eased back into the chair. “You're giving up on the chance to look at term papers? This must be pretty serious. Seriously, what's up? You usually at least have the decency to warn us before you disappear like this – and before you take out 6,000 bits on something, come to think of it.”
        Erin went quiet again, staring down at her cocoa. She sighed deeply, and as she exhaled whatever life had returned to her seemed to fade away. Even the colour of her coat seemed to drain. She rubbed her eyes, trying to make them not feel as though they were on fire, but to no avail. “Did you check to see if the wards were working before you came in?” she asked. She shook her head suddenly, cutting the stallion off. “Actually, never mind. If you did and they still worked, you probably wouldn't be here. Let's... you wanna go check them with me?”
        Stage looked down at his cocoa, still as full and hot as when he had poured it, then up at the mare. He smiled, rolling his eyes. “Sure,” he said. “Why not? Not like it's cold out there or anything.”

        The pair set out of the mansion through a servant door near the kitchen, having delayed their journey only long enough for Erin to procure for herself a coat. Then they set out into the night, into the damp and the cold. There was a chill about the night air, the sort that clung to a pony's bones. Erin shivered gently as they trotted over wet leaves and grass, making their way towards the massive forest to the south of the house. They skirted the perimeter at first, Erin sticking close the the tall stallion's side as she tried to tuck herself tighter into her coat. Stage peered down at her every so often, but made hardly a sound.
        As they rounded the enormous house, they found themselves staring the great forest in the face. The long wooden limbs stretched out before them, their fingers curling in a twisted invitation, beckoning them to come and play in the forest of the night, amongst the dark, the shadow, the ink, and all the other many shades of black. The wind whispered an inviting song, and Stage shivered.
        “So what's up, anyways?” he asked, pawing at the ground. “If you're checking on the wards, then you've got an animal you're studying?”
        Erin walked silently towards the forest, leaving Stage to shake his head and trot after her. She moved for a tree on the outskirts of the forest: a tired-looking oak with a deeply low-hanging branch. Wrapped around it was a silver thread, tied on the other end around a small piece of quartz. The mare stood underneath it, straining her neck upwards in a vain attempt to tap her horn against the gem. The lost weight of fallen leaves had left the bough to lift higher, and Erin began to mutter oaths beneath her breath at it.
        “Stupid tree, with the stupid branch and the stupid – EEP!”
        Stage had snuck up behind Erin, lifting her into the air with his magic and setting her down on his back beneath the gem. She swore at him, thumping her hooves against his sides.
        “Don't DO that!” she yelled, kicking him again, though an astute observer might have noted that she made no attempt to get down. Stage grinned.
        “You're tall enough now, aren't you?” he asked.
        Erin grunted sourly, but she could not deny, annoying as he was, Stage had given her the boost she needed. She craned her neck, tapping her horn against the gem. The was a small tinkling sound, and she frowned. “Old,” she grunted, “but at least the array is still up.”
        “About that,” Stage said, doing his best to peer upwards with the tiny mare leaning on his head, “are you actually planning on telling me about why we're out here sometime soon? Does this have anything to do with why you disappeared so suddenly?”
        Erin grunted again. This time, a small squeak escaped her throat. Stage gazed up at her and she rubbed her eyes, trying to shy away from the pointed look. “Soon...” she said. “Soon. I promise. Just... let's get all this set up now, okay?”
        Stage sighed, but nodded. “Alright,” he said. “But that means you're testing these things. I don't want you using me as a guinea pig and going back on that promise if I forget, alright?”
        Erin laughed, kicking the slender stallion again. “What, don't you trust me?”
        “I do remember eventually, Erin.”
        “Oh.” her expression fell instantly, her eyes shifted left and right for a moment. “So... that means...”
        “Oh yes,” Stage replied. The humour remained in his voice, though it dropped to a distinctly pointed tone. “I remember it quite clearly.”
        Erin rubbed her foreleg. “And does Singsong...”
        “Yup,” Stage answered. “He’s quite flattered, by the way. He thinks it's hilarious. But he's not going to say anything unless you do.”
        “Right...” Erin rubbed her neck, looking away. “Well, that's fair enough I guess. Alright, I'll test them out. Just let me get them set up.”
        Erin clambered higher on Stage's shoulders, until she could comfortably rest her horn against the hanging stone. The twinkling sound was heard again, this time punctuated by Erin pulling in a deep, smooth breath.
        She pulled her head back slightly, and the stone pulled along with it, never breaking contact from her horn as both began to glow with a soft green light. The twinkling turned to a humming as the glow grew, and Erin's eyes slowly drifted shut. There was a moment of peace and silence before a great chime rang out from the quartz, the light shooting out in a bolt. In the distance there was a flash of green and another chime, then another further in the distance. The chimes and flashes continued, slowly making their way further and further away, leaving glowing, twinkling fireflies in their wake. The sound and light faded into the distance, wrapping itself around the enormous forest.
        For a time, there was silence, save for the twinkling of the stone beside their heads. Erin's eyes were still closed, the gem clinging to her horn like a gleaming burr. After a time her ears flicked, and Stage turned to look in the direction they turned to. Slowly, softly, a pinging sound could be heard in the distance, becoming louder. Like a bolt of lightning the green light flashed out of the forest, slamming into the gemstone. Then, as one, the lights went out. Erin's eyes came open as the gem swung away from her horn, nodding decisively as the stone chimed loudly.
        “That should last... A few months at least,” she said, nodding.
        “Only a few months?” Stage asked, kneeling down. Erin clambered off his back, shaking her mane out of her face and rubbing her cheek. Stage brushed off his shoulder, continuing, “I'd have thought you'd push it. Keep you from having to do it again for a while and all.”
        Erin shrugged. “I... don't really think I'll need them up for all that long,” she said. “Though I'd honestly be happy to have to do it again.”
        Stage cocked an eyebrow at the tiny mare. “Uh-huh. About that...”
        “Right, right,” Erin said, waving a hoof. “I know, I'm sorry. I'll.. I'm just gonna test these things out, okay? I've got the wards set to take about 15 minutes worth of memory away, so I should remember, but if I don't, let me know that I already checked out the cameras, okay?”
        “Sure thing,” Stage said, nodding. Erin nodded back, before turning to the forest. She breathed deep, taking a few steps towards the trees. Then she stopped.
        She paused for a time, looking up at the trees. She lifted a hoof, slowly pointing it at the forest as though she needed to remind herself it was there. Then she slowly turned around, peering over her shoulder every so often at the woods. Her eyes fell upon Stage, and she blinked.
        “Right...” she said slowly. “Right. Okay. So you got here...”
        “About a half hour ago,” Stage replied. Erin nodded, and continued.
        “And then we talked, and then we came out to...” She looked over her shoulder and the hanging gem, nodding. “Set up the wards, right?”
        “Right,” Stage said again.
        “And... then we were going to go back inside and drink more cocoa?” The corners of Erin's mouth twitched up, and she found herself smirking around the limp mane that hung like a veil over her face. Whether it was a foolish hope or a paltry attempt at humour, even she couldn't say.
        “And then you were going to tell me exactly why we're setting up the wards again,” Stage replied pointedly. Erin's heart sank, and she sat heavily on the wet grass.
        “I was?”
        “You were.”
        “Well... we have to check the camer -”
        “You told me that you already checked those.”
        Erin sighed, the long and drawn-out breath becoming almost humorous, pulling her head forward so it sank between her shoulders, and ending in a weak, pitiful grumble. “Do I have to?” she asked. Stage nodded.
        “Yes, you do. You've been dodging around telling me since I've gotten here, and it's pretty darn obvious that it's a problem. If it wasn't you'd at least have been able to keep up your half of the snark a little bit better.”
        “Half?” Erin snorted. “I do more than half, thank you.”
        “You see?” Stage said, giving her shoulder a prod. “That was weak, Erin! Come on, what's the matter? What's got you so down tonight?”
        Erin sighed again. There was less humour in it this time, and much, much more fatigue. She rubbed her neck and got to her hooves, moving as though there were great weights around her shoulders. “Alright,” she said finally. “I... it's easier to show you, though. Come on... let's go to my lab.”
        The pair set off, moving quickly for the nearest door as the clouds rumbled overhead again. Erin was silent, her head hanging low and swaying limply from side to side. Stage followed along behind, every bit as silent. Behind his eyes, however, shone a faint glimmer of concern for the tiny mare. More than once he looked as though he wanted to speak, but each time he thought better of it and did not. He merely trailed along, quietly lighting candles that they passed in the hallway.
        This deep into the mansion, the candles were fewer and further between. The light strained valiantly to fill the vast tunnels of architecture, but there were far too many corners, far too much room to fill. A dim blue-blackness clung to the edges of the hallway, almost oppressive in its omnipresence, creeping around the edges of paintings and along the old cloth that covered furniture. Stage shook his head sadly, pausing only once to run his hoof gently across an antique picture frame before he carried on after the mare.
        The walk was short, though quiet dullness stretched it to an agonizing length. Finally though they came to the great double-doors that marked Erin's laboratory, and the scientist's horn lit up. The door swung open wide, revealing a room in disarray.
        Papers had been strewn about the floor and the counters: dozens – no, hundreds of sheets, tossed about as if in a mad fit. In the rear of the room a table lay on its side, apparently the source of most of the sheets. Fortunately, Erin thought to herself as she walked in slowly, there had not been any glass on the table when she had become... irate. She moved immediately to her desk, flopping down into the soft, high-backed chair. She pointed across the room from herself, not bothering to look where she was pointing. She knew what lay there, and she didn't want to see it. “Them,” she said simply.
        Stage moved slowly. He blinked every so often, as if he was expecting what he saw to disappear, as though he would wake in his bed, husband by his side, the strangeness that he saw having been merely a dream. He moved as though afraid his very hoofsteps might somehow cause his reality to shatter. “What... are those?” he asked. Erin grunted.
        The creatures in the cage looked up. One had been sleeping, somehow still managing to put a sour expression in spite having just woken up, and the other had had his nose buried in a bowl of food. The creature that had been eating beat his leathery wings happily, bounding across the cage to lean up against the bars. He stared at Stage, tilting his head this way and that, apparently trying to figure out this strange new stallion before him. Eventually he seemed to give up, and grinned. “Gud nit!” he exclaimed happily.
        Stage gave a startled laugh. “They talk?” he asked.
        Erin nodded curtly. “That one sings,” she said.
        “Sings?” Stage balked.
        Erin snorted sourly. “Shares crash!” she shouted.
        “Haps're dash!” the curious pony replied happily, singing the words and bobbing his head along with an inaudible tune. Stage shook his head blinking.
        “That's amazing!” he said. “He's... he's even pretty good, actually.” He shook his head. “Erin, what ARE they?”
        “I don't know!” Erin said, throwing up her hooves. “Balls, I wish I did though.” She sighed again, rubbing her face. “I don't know what they are, Stage. I don't.”
        The stallion looked back at the mare, concern clear on his face now. He seemed unsure of just what to say, though. “Do... they have names?” he asked.
        “Names... names. Names? No, no.” Erin sniffed, looking up. “I hadn't... really had time, I guess. Was gonna think about it before I started the log more thoroughly, which... I guess is now...” He stared at the ceiling, rambling aimlessly. It was clear to anypony who cared to see that her mind was miles away. “Maybe... Vlad? Carny... Wing one and Wing two? Maybe...”
        “Meadowlark.”
        Erin paused in her rambling, looking down at the stallion. “What?”
        “Meadowlark,” Stage said again. “You know, like the songbird? He seems to like singing well enough. I think it fits.”
        Erin stared at him. “Meadowlark.” Her tone was flat, but Stage ignored this.
        “What do you think?” he asked the bat pony. “Do you like the name Meadowlark?”
        “Ma'ark?” the pony replied. Stage laughed.
        “Meadowlark,” he said, slower this time.
        “Maow'dark?”
        “Meh-doh-lark.”
        “Mmmmeadow... lark?” the bat pony said, tilting his head as though he were trying to wrap it around the word. His ears flopped back and forth, trying out the sounds, and he grinned. “Meadowlar'!” he said, beating his wings and hopping back and forth. Stage laughed, clapping his hooves.
        “There, see?” he asked. “He likes it!” The stallion got to his hooves, trotting down the length of the cage to look at the pony sitting on the soft bed. “And how about you, hm?” he asked. “Do you want a name?”
        “Hurph,” the stallion grunted, turning away. Stage smiled.
        “Well, aren't we the dark and moody one, huh? How about... Nightingale?”
        “Another bird?” Erin asked dourly. Stage looked over his shoulder, shrugging.
        “Why not?” he asked. “They're nice enough names. If you don't like them, you should have picked them earlier. I'm honestly surprised you didn't. I mean, you named that liger cub they gave you to study inside of about five minutes, after all. I'd have thought you'd have named these guys even faster.”
        “Well, maybe I didn't want to name them,” Erin snapped. “They're only animals, after all. Why do they even need names? Maybe I'll just call them subject one and subject two! Maybe I'll just call them gods-damned horsebats!”
        All were silent, for a time. Even the newly-dubbed Meadowlark and Nightingale seemed to appreciate the gravity of the moment, with Meadowlark slowly stepping away from the bars and going to join his companion on the bed. Stage took a step away from the bars, moving at a slow, halting pace. Eventually he gained confidence, crossing the room and taking a seat in front of the mare. He opened his forelegs slowly.
        “Need your big brother?”
        Erin nodded silently, sliding out of her chair and immediately into her brother's arms, hugging him tight.
        “What's the matter, Erin?” he asked.
        “I don't... know,” she said. “I don't know what they are, Stage.”
        “What do you mean?” the stallion asked. “I mean, I don't know what they are either, but... don't you want to find that out? To figure out what kind of animal they are?”
        “That's not...” Erin sighed. “They talk, Stage. I don't know if it's even mimicry. He... Meadowlark remembers things. You heard him, he understood context, for goodness sake. He knew what the right response was for a phrase.”
        “Well, if they hear it enough any smart animal could do that, couldn't they?”
        “Yeah, but... he heard the record twice, Stage. Twice!”
        “...And?”
        Erin groaned loudly. “And? What animal can DO that, Stage? After just two listens? I mean, maybe a magpie, but do they LOOK like any sort of corvid to you?”
        “They're a whole new kind of animal,” Stage replied. He sighed, hugging his sister closer and rubbing her back. “Nobody knows what they're like yet. I mean heck, as far as I'm concerned they look pretty much exactly the same. If they all look like that, then -”
        “They're twins,” Erin said.
        “What?”
        “I've tested their DNA. I can't tell the details of it without sending it to a specialist, but their DNA is exactly the same, in every single test. They're genetic twins. Brothers.”
         Stage was quiet for a while. “Well...” he said finally, “...so?”
        “It... doesn't mean anything,” Erin admitted, peering over at the upturned table. “Not on its own. But still... they're the only two we've ever found, and they're twins? How do we know they aren't unique for their species? I mean, we could find evidence of... something. But we can't. We can't. I... can't.” She groaned, letting her face fall into the stallion's shoulder. “I don't know, Stage. I want them to be animals. But I just don't know.”
        “Why did we set up the wards?” Stage asked quietly.
        “So I can let them out into the forest.”
        “And why do you want to let them out into the forest?”
        “So I can watch them...”
        “And why do you want to watch them?”
        Erin sighed. “Because I need to know. All of us need to know. Even if... we need to know.”
        Stage nodded. “That's right,” he said. “You need to know. Because you're a scientist, Erin. For better or worse, knowing is what you do. So are you going to be a scientist, or are you just going to sit and hide from the answers?”
        Erin sighed, but this was not a sigh of dejection. It was not a sigh of depression. It was a sigh that expelled these things, a sigh that emptied the body and soul of weakness and of disparity. She rolled her shoulders, and leaned away from her brother.
        “I'm gonna be a scientist,” she declared firmly. Stage beamed.
        “Gonna do some science?” he asked.
        “Gonna do some gods-damned science!” Erin shouted. She got up, cantering to the wall beside the cage and slamming her hoof against a button with an arrow pointing upwards on it. There was a loud, metallic clack, followed by a low rumbling. Mist poured through the bottom of the back wall of the cage, drifting into the lab. It became clear that the wall was rising, lifting like a garage door. Soon it was completely open, staring out into a thick, deep forest.
        
        Meadowlark stared into the forest. He stared into the world behind the bars. He tilted his head, looking back and forth, back and forth, trying to understand how it could be night in one place, and day in the next. Or, for that matter, how one could be as warm as a summer's day and the other could feel cold and damp.
        He inched towards the forest, snuffling at the air. It was no trick; he could smell moisture in it, a sort of heavy thickness that always preceded rainfall. He imagined that, if he paid close enough attention, he might eventually feel his fur prickle in warning of nearby thunder. Nightingale felt it too: for the first time in almost the entire while they had been beneath the strange, fake trees, he had risen from his bed, holding his nose high in the air.
        For a time, the brothers were still and silent, each of them taking in the newly revealed forest in their own way. Meadowlark flicked his ears back and forth, listening for the birds. They were there, but they were far away. There were other animals, too. Small, scuttling things that hid beneath the fallen leaves. He ran his tongue along the inside of his jagged teeth, feeling them ache. They longed to feel fresh meat between them, to rend and tear. The food that the thing-like-him had offered them was filling, but not... fulfilling. There was always a part of him that missed something when the meal was over, and now it was clear. He needed meat. He needed flesh. He needed blood.
        He flapped his wings loudly, calling his brother's attention. The two exchanged a meaningful glance, and Nightingale's ears fell flat against his head. He snorted loudly, nodding towards the forest, and began to trot slowly towards it. Meadowlark hesitated, pawing at the ground, but followed after him soon enough.
        The transition into open air drew a loud snort from Meadowlark, and he flapped his wings in shock for a moment. Then he paused, beating his wings a few more times, feeling out the air. It was every bit as thick as it smelled. He leaped into the air, circling into the skies above his brother, until he breached the treetops. The sky was dark, and dull, and in the distance he thought he saw light flash. He returned to earth immediately.
        “Bom!” he exclaimed as he landed. Nightingale was sniffing one of the nearby trees, and he looked up at his brother.
        “Aur?” the somber stallion asked, nodding his head back and forth. Meadowlark shook his head, snapping his teeth and lowering his head. Nightingale shrugged back, nodding. He snapped his jaws as well. With that, the two took off, galloping into the depths of the woods and leaving the light of the mansion behind.
        Even at a glance Meadowlark could tell very clearly that this forest was not his home. It was similar, yet somehow fresh. His home was ancient, timeless, a world lost and away. There was no sound there but the flapping of wings, the scurrying of animals, and the sound of his and his brother's calls. Here, he could hear strange new noises, noises he couldn't identify, like the sounds of some far-off, yet omnipresent animal. He could see a strange light, too, not merely the diffused dull gleam of his beloved moon, but a dimness that seemed to come from the earth. The light seemed to come from all sides, but it was barely enough to even hold the darkness at bay, much less chase it back.
         The darkness. That, at least, was the same as in his home. Creeping, clinging, oozing over the landscape like a sapient tar, hiding the world of night from all who beheld it – all but the brothers. Meadowlark smiled, his eyes glinting in the low light. He saw the world of night, and all the secrets it held. The tracks, the insects, the flowers, all hints and clues pointing to the meal his teeth ached for. He lowered his head, sniffing against the ground. The musk of rabbit was clear, here, even over the steadily thickening air.
        “Bom!” his brother cried out, stomping rapidly. Meadowlark looked up, nodding. The rain would come soon. If they wanted rabbit, they would need to find it quickly. He gestured to the ground where he had found the scent, and his brother came close. Together they sniffed at the earth, their ears twitching this way and that as they searched for a trail.
        There was a rustling in the bushes.
        The brothers paused. They were still for a minute, then two, then three. Nightingale's nostrils flared silently, and Meadowlark swiveled his ears in the direction of the noise. He strained to hear the sound of prey over the strange ever-present hum of this new forest, closing his eyes and stilling his breath. He could hear his heart beating in his chest. He could hear the wind whispering through the branches. He could hear a distant rumble. He heard a soft thumping.
        There! His eyes snapped open, and his head dropped to the ground. He sniffed quickly, his nose traveling in the direction of the sound. Nightingale trotted in front of him, sniffing at the ground a few feet away, and nibbling at a nearby bush. He nickered softly, jerking his head in the direction of the sound. Meadowlark nodded, unfurling his wings. His brother did the same, both stallions remaining completely silent as they leapt up, half-flying, half-climbing into the branches of the trees.
        They traversed the forest in glides and hops, moving quietly between the branches, their eyes and ears locked on the ground. Occasionally they would drop to the earth again, pausing to sniff the nearby foliage, only to take to the branches once more with a new bearing. Their hunt was swift, the fur on the back of Meadowlark’s neck bristling with anticipation and nervousness. The rumbles in the sky came more frequently now, and he feared that their prey would seek shelter before they could catch it. Thankfully, his brother flared his wings wide, signaling him to stop.
        Nightingale gestured in the distance, and when Meadowlark stared hard he could see the bushes rustling. He closed his eyes, listening hard, and smiled as he heard the familiar thumping of their quarry. From the sounds of things, it wasn't going anywhere fast. Meadowlark lowered his head, growling faintly to his brother.
        “Tuptuptup,” he murmured. Nightingale nodded silently, gesturing to his left. Meadowlark nodded, and Nightingale began to head in the indicated direction, moving to circle about the rustling in the bushes. Meadowlark began moving in the opposite direction, curling in around the other side. He glided silently to the ground, lowering himself down and skulking through the bushes. He relied on scent and sound to show him the way, his eyes focused on his brother in the trees.
        He stopped. He could hear the rabbit without trying now, smell its musk easily. It was close. His brother flared his wings again, drawing Meadowlark’s attention. The stallion in the branches beckoned his brother to move to the left. He wrapped his wings into a wide circle, leaving a clear gap between the tips, and bared his teeth. Meadowlark nodded silently, beginning to creep once more.
        Soon enough he came upon a small clearing, a thick tree root cutting a line in the undergrowth. He stopped just short of it, peering up at his brother in the trees. Nightingale nodded. All at once he leaped out of the tree, a snarling scream escaping his lips, breaking the silence of the night with the sound of pure, animal hunger. A squeal was heard from the ground, followed by a crashing.
        Time seemed to slow down for Meadowlark. A blur of white stretched into view in the clearing, and Meadowlark lunged, teeth out. He could feel his heartbeat sync with the rabbit's, thumping ever faster, ever faster, ever faster, even as the world slowed more and more. The rabbit's musk washed through his nostril and over his tongue, filling his throat as he breathed in. He lost view of the rabbit, but it was meaningless. He felt its fur bristle between his teeth. He closed his jaw, piercing and crushing the rabbit's throat. Thunder crashed. All was screaming. All was blood, all writhing, all flesh.

        All flesh.

        Flesh.

        His heartbeat slowed, and the world sped up once more. His brother appeared through the bushes. Nodding at the corpse clenched between Meadowlark's jaws. Nightingale pressed his nose briefly again Meadowlark's neck, and looked to the sky.
        “Bom,” he said, murmuring the word as the first drop of rain landed on his nose. The two nodded to one another, and set to work, Nightingale pulling bushes from the earth and flying into the trees as Meadowlark set about tearing out the rabbit's limbs, ripping the flesh from the bone. He peered up as he worked, watching his brother fill the gaps between the branches, building a canopy above their heads. It would be nice to be out of the rain, he knew, but right now he could have handled a wet night. He had the flesh of prey between his jaws, resisting his tugs and he ripped it from bone. Blood dripped down his chin, hot and fresh, the scent filling his lungs. It was glorious. He sank his teeth into the meat, and the ache was gone.

        “Gods...” Stage gaped at the screen, his mouth open. He had taken a seat on the floor long ago. “That... they're...”
        “Carnivores,” Erin finished. “Well, omnivores. I got a look at their teeth. I'm sorry... I should have warned you.” She sighed, leaning back in her chair.
        “No,” Stage said, “no, I'm alright. I was just... surprised, to see something that looks so much like us... but, well... I guess they really aren't, in the end, are they? They're just another animal, right? They must be?”
        “Must be...” Erin echoed. “Must be... must be...” She rubbed her eyes, falling quiet. He lips still moved, tracing the words over and over in the silence. He head fell back, leaving her staring at the ceiling.
        “Right... Erin?” Stage asked. “Erin?”
        She was silent.
        “Summer,” Stage said sharply.
        “Weren't you watching, Stage?” she asked quietly. “'Must just be animals'?” Erin sighed. Where before she had sighed to expel weakness, now she sighed to expel hope. She was left with nothing; an empty, deflated shell of a mare. She seemed to exhale even her colour. “They built a shelter. They used strategy. They communicated with... I swear, they must have been using some kind of words. They're nothing close to animals, Stage.” She looked back down, staring at her brother. The bags under her eyes had turned puffy, and her eyes were rimmed with tears. To say that she looked like a filly with her hoof in the cookie jar would be such an understatement as to be insulting. She did not look like a filly caught stealing cookies. She looked like a sinner before some almighty judge.
        “They're ponies, Stage. Ponies. And I... I bought them, and I locked them in a cage, and turned them out into the rain, and fed them gods-damned dog food!”
        She buried her face in her hooves, trying to muffle her screaming. “Worst of all!” she cried, “Worst of all, look at them, Stage! How old are they? 18? 20? 22? How long did we leave them out there alone? How long did we not realize? That we had ponies, living in Canterlot Forest, raising themselves like... like some urban-freaking-legend? Like some savages? Like... animals?
        “I treated them like animals, Stage. I wanted them to be animals. I... still want them to be.” She took her hooves down. He heart clutched in her chest, and her throat felt as though somepony had shoved a brick down it, but she resisted the urge to cry, and to throw herself into her brother's arms. “I want to forget, Stage. I don't know what to do.”
        Stage looked at his sister, then the floor. His shoulders sagged. “I don't know either, Sis,” he said. “But... well, if they really are ponies... can't just leave them locked up, can you?”
        Erin shook her head silently, whimpering.
        “And you can't just forget, can you?”
        “No,” Erin said again. She sighed. “No, I know where you're going with this. I can't forget about them, as much as I want to.” She pushed herself out of her chair, trotting slowly to her desk. She moved like a corpse on strings, pulled along unwillingly, but she moved despite. She still felt empty inside... save for a something she could not identify. Perhaps fear. Perhaps guilt. Perhaps hope. Whatever it was, her hooves trembled as she picked up her tape recorder and switched it on.
        “September 24th. With the assistance of my brother, Backstage Smiles, I have made an... astonishing discovery. The subjects... now named Meadowlark and Nightingale, have surpassed literally anything I'd dared to imagine. They're entirely sapient, capable of employing strategy in their hunts, building rudimentary structures, communicating based on contextual cues... I believe they may have even developed a basic language that they share.
        “This is a... monumental discovery, to put it lightly. I'm honestly not certain what to do with this. There will be... a lot to do. A lot of discussion. The entire community... this is way over just my head, now. If there's a possibility of another pony subspecies... even if they're just a mutation, then, well... there'll be a lot to do. I need to bring this to the University of Canterlot's attention as soon as I can.”
        She turned off the recorder, looking over at her brother. Silently, she removed the tape, slipping another one in, and turning it back on.
        “This will be an additional log to my studies regarding Meadowlark and Nightingale... which, hopefully, I will be keeping along with my brother.” Stage nodded silently from across the room, and Erin nodded back.
        “Educating the Bat Ponies.... Day Zero.”