Chapter Twenty
Is it possible to have peace of mind in a world ravaged by war?
When Falcon Wing’s eyes fluttered open on that fourth morning, he was looking up a ceiling. A ceiling, not the cloudy skies as he had seen for three mornings straight when he woke up wherever he decided to lay down the night before. He was on a small bed. One that was clean and comfortable. He was lying on his back. He saw his overcoat draped on a dresser in front of him. Klaxon’s goggles were on a table to his right. His head was on a pillow. An actual pillow, not a garbage bag!
“Oh good, I must be dead,” he said to himself. “I wonder if I went quick.”
“I don’t know about you dying, but you went to sleep pretty quickly once I got you on that bed!” Alana said gleefully, her face appearing from the side of his vision. Falcon had a start at her sudden appearance. She wasn’t wearing the raider barding anymore. She had a padded gray tunic on with a bit of repurposed scrap metal plating protecting her shoulders, sides and knees. Her holster was on her left foreleg as opposed to on her armor, resting snugly in it was the Peashooter. The battle saddle was nowhere to be seen.
“Uh…good morning, Alana,” he said once there was breath in his lungs again.
“Morning, mister hero,” she said with a wide grin.
Falcon Wing cringed. “… I don’t deserve that nickname,” he said sheepishly. “not after… --“
“I’m sure the ponies of Hope would beg to differ, since you did save them from slavers!” Alana countered. Falcon had seen those green eyes filled with sadness and tears. Now they were bright and joyous. “You were amazing! You were right under them -– literally -- and they didn’t even notice!”
“You saved them. I just broke their wagon,” Falcon Wing retorted.
Alana raised a brow at him and, with a flash of determination in her eyes said: “Well, you won’t accept your part in saving an entire community, but at least you can’t deny that you saved me. And, for the briefest moment, my mother too,”
She smiled and leaned in close to him. “Can you debate that, mister hero?” she said, chuckling after.
“Brief isn’t good enough. I should have been able to do more -- to do better…” Falcon Wing muttered. “… and I shouldn’t have been so mean to you. You only meant well --”
Alana put a hoof forcefully to his chest, stopping him mid-sentence.
“You were trying to reason with ponies who couldn’t be reasoned with. You were willing to try diplomacy before giving a raider the bullet they deserve. You were trying to stay good and only got the short end of the stick for it so you got mad, really mad at that. I understand. I don’t blame you for it. I was only worried that you’d end up hurting yourself and…” she gave him a pleasant smile. “…I like the Falcon Wing who only wants to help, not to hurt, even though he might have to one day. At least I’ll know he didn’t want to do it.”
Falcon Wing mulled over her words and then brushed her hoof off of him. “The ponies in the cage?” he asked.
“I shot the lock off with the Peashooter and helped them get back what the slavers took. The townsfolk gave you a bit of a reward for the help: some potions, food, bandages and some ammo we got off the slavers, for your gun,” Alana replied.
Falcon nodded absentmindedly. “That’s kind of them…” he said, then asked: “Why don’t I remember any of this?”
“I don’t know,” the caramel mare said with a shrug. “You were really out of it by time I got down from my perch. You went through a lot yesterday so you being tuckered out after that wasn’t really surprising.”
“I see…” Falcon said.
“My turn to ask a question, mister hero,” Alana said, kneeling down beside the bed and resting her chin on her crossed forelegs.
“What is it?”
“When were you going to tell me you’re a pegasus?”
Falcon Wing glanced away from Alana to his overcoat, then back to her. His eyes went wide, pupils shrinking, mortified. He felt strangely naked without it on, even though he still had his tunic on.
“It’s funny. All this time I thought you were a Stable pony, like that one mare running across the Wastes. I bring you in here on my back, get you into bed and take off that coat of yours then see --… I thought you were some poor taint victim, or that you got yourself exposed to too much radiation out there. But then I recognized them. Those were your wings…”
Falcon Wing’s mouth opened to speak but nothing came out. He sighed and closed it again. There were no words he could say in response to this.
“There were signs, though. You’re pretty small for an earth pony, you know. Pretty fast and light on your hooves for one too. You’ve still got plenty pegasus in you.”
She nuzzled his stub where some of his plumage was starting to return. “Did it hurt you a lot?”
At that, the words came too easily. “Like a bitch,” Falcon answered honestly, rolling off of the bed thereafter. His saddlebags were right beside it. He picked one up, fastened it to his side and then did the same to the other one. He then grabbed his coat, put it on and retrieved the goggles, having the lenses rest on his forehead as always once they were on as well.
“Heading out already?” Alana asked as he suited up.
“Might as well,” Falcon replied when he was finished and just about ready to walk through the door, hoof on the handle. He looked back at her one last time before he opened it.
“Not even gonna say goodbye to anypony? What a strange hero you are, mister hero.”
“It’s Falcon Wing, Alana. Just… Falcon Wing… the blank flank pegasus without his wings,” the red colt replied. “and goodbye. Good luck. I hope you do find a pony that you can call a hero, because I’m not them.”
He pushed down on the handle, opened the door and slipped through, finding himself in a ruined hallway, a set of stairs a few feet to his left. He started heading down the ruined stairs in an oppressive dark gray gloom, rays of light shining through the cracked walls.
Stairs… stairs never change.