//------------------------------//
// Chapter 1 
// Story: One's Bark is Worse 
// by Speven Dillberg 
//------------------------------//

To say the Everfree Forest is a dangerous place is like saying that the ocean is deep. Technically true, yet so very lacking in detail.
Wolfsbane knew this. He’d been going in and out of the unnatural forest for years. It was how he’d gotten his cutie mark, a flower of the plant he had been named after. Anything to do with poisonous plants was his talent. He mainly used it to work on antidotes and medicines. After all, the right amount of atropa belladonna was an effective pain reliever. Poison hemlock could be used to treat arthritis. Poison Joke seeds could, if ground into a powder and mixed with milk, be a viable treatment method for severe magical fatigue. Every plant had its use, and he knew how to unlock their potential.
Most would call him crazy, walking into the Everfree like any other pony would a flower shop. But he had been doing this for years. He knew the best ways around the forest, where the dangerous predators had their territories, the best place to go looking for plants. The secret paths, the clearings, even shelter if he needed it.
Wolfsbane wasn’t a particularly imposing stallion, especially for an earth pony. He was barely taller than the average mare, and his rather feminine build had gotten him bullied a lot. When his purple-flower cutie mark appeared, things only got worse. It showed up quite boldly against his russet coat and two-toned green tail. When he had quite calmly told the bullies what it represented, they quickly left him alone for fear of getting poisoned. Not that he would ever do such a thing, Wolfsbane was just too gentle. 
He was a bit lonely, given his habit of entering the Everfree and on occasion disappearing for days. There was one time when a rumour had circulated stating that he had been eaten by a manticore. Getting that cleared up had been a small nightmare, not made much better by walking into his own service.
He sighed as he weaved his way through the dense foliage, making sure not to get his vest snagged on any branches or thorns. Sure, getting that job in Canterlot as a toxicologist had been just the break he was looking for. But it meant moving from his family and the town he had grown up in. More importantly, at least from a professional standpoint, it meant less time in the Everfree finding and collecting rare plants. At least he had a few days until his new job started. 
He reached into his vest and pulled out a small pair of cutters. He had just come across yet another plant he hadn’t seen. That was one of the benefits of the Everfree. There was so much strange and exotic plant life that you were always going to find something new.
As he snipped off a branch, careful to hold it only by the wooden part, he heard what could only be described as growling from behind him. The stallion turned around slowly, his heart sinking. When he found himself face-to-face with a large Timberwolf, looking right into its glowing yellow eyes, there was only one thing to say. “Fuck.”





Of course, there was never just ONE Timberwolf. None of the plant-based predators ever travelled alone. So it was that Wolfsbane found himself galloping for his life through the Everfree from half a dozen hungry Timberwolves. 
Running through the forest was hard enough if you stuck to the path. He wasn’t following one, instead running along a small trail. The problem with these trails was that you constantly had to watch your step, lest you trip over an exposed root or a stone. Galloping for your life tended to make such a thing near-impossible. Things were further compounded by a general lack of light. The best way to describe the lighting was ‘murky’. It was actually a miracle of sorts that Wolfsbane managed to get as far as he did.
The stallion picked himself up unsteadily, barely aware of the metallic taste in his mouth. The realisation that he had bitten his tongue didn’t get a chance to register before something pinned him to the ground.
Wolfsbane began to laugh. Not a deep, hearty chuckle or a long explosive laugh, but a high-pitched giggling. The irony of the situation was not one that escaped him in the slightest. Named after a plant that had been widely used to kill wolves and other dangerous predators, he was going to find his death at the claws and teeth of a wolf made of plant matter. 
Of course, it’s a little hard to keep laughing when there’s a Timberwolf pinning you to the ground. “Ergh.” The animal pressed him down on him, pushing his muzzle to muffle any screams. He could hear the low growling right in his ear and feels its warm breath on his neck. The pressure on his back as the wild plant-beast forced him deeper into the ground was beginning to intensify, but that discomfort was nothing when the wolf sunk its teeth into the stallion’s shoulder.
Wolfsbane didn’t know if he screamed or not. Between the burning agony caused by a chunk of his shoulder being ripped off and the horrible terror of his ordeal he couldn’t be sure. Mercifully enough he passed into unconsciousness.





Wolfsbane woke up. That alone was cause for concern. The last thing he knew was the Timberwolf attacking him. Why had it stopped? Where had the others gone? Why was he still alive? Something that could scare off a small pack of Timberwolves could easily eat him as an afterthought. Maybe it decided he wasn’t a threat and left him there? Or was it not hungry? Had it just attacked the wolves to save him? He dismissed that thought, it didn’t make any sense at all.
Wolfsbane picked himself up and let out a cry of pain. His shoulder was still torn open, blood ruining his vest and russet coat. Walking was near impossible because of the pain. He stumbled a few times as he tried to move. He made about five steps before collapsing in agony. His vision blurred and consciousness threatened to leave him again. 
“Help,” he groaned. “Help,” he said again, his voice getting stronger.
He didn’t know how long he lay there, waiting for help that wouldn’t come. An hour, maybe, he’d never been good at judging the passing of time. He decided that he would try to stand up again. To his surprise the pain was a lot less severe. He took a few tentative steps. When no pain came, he began to panic. Were a Timberwolf’s fangs venomous? Had he been injected with a paralytic poison that would make him collapse any moment now? He glanced at his shoulder, seeing it was still as mangled and bloody as it had been before. 
It was impossible to tell the time of day without being in one of the Everfree’s clearings, but an educated guess put things at around six in the evening. Of course, not knowing how long he had been unconscious for made that a shaky estimate at best. Doing his best to ignore his worrying thoughts, he started limping, following the trail that would lead out of this place.