//------------------------------//
// IV 
// Story: Hexachromalurgy 
// by SugarPesticide 
//------------------------------//

A crash of thunder jolts me from my half dozing walk. I peer up at the sky and wince as I am rewarded with a raindrop that splashes directly between my eyes. Its brethren immediately begin to splatter all around me, and the towering boughs of the surrounding trees aren’t enough to stop them.

Sighing, I make my way over to what appears to be the driest spot. I settle down beneath the branches of a tall oak, tucking my legs beneath me in an effort to keep them as dry and warm as possible. The rich earth is already damp, bordering on slimy; the sensation of it against my skin nearly induces a shudder. Another drop bursts against one of my ears, and I automatically shake my head vigorously as if ridding myself of an unwanted fly.

Still, it appears that Halimium dislikes the current weather even more than I do. She stomps as close to the tree as possible, digging her rocky spikes into the bark like a knife through hot butter. She grumbles as she lies down, resting her enormous head on her forelimbs in resignation. Water rivulets run down her tough hide, outlining the edges of her plates in vivid detail. Some liquid drips down through to her skin, and her entire body tenses from the chill.

I sigh and snuggle up against her side, seeking to share warmth. Not for the first time, I wonder what’s happening back at home. They’ve surely noticed my absence by now; how could they not? Perhaps a search party has been sent out, though I doubt it. Few ponies in my family dare to venture beyond the safety of the caves more than once a year, and of those few only I am bold enough to go past the grassy field where we harvest most of our food. It comforts me slightly to imagine Grandma Apple Rose nagging at my cousins to pack up for a lengthy expedition. Double Delight and her mate would be assailed with questions about my departure despite being entirely unaware of it. I can almost see Thorncrown curling up more tightly in bed, half hiding beneath his covers in a vain attempt to avoid helping everypony else. In my head an aunt storms into his room and drags him out by the ear, much to my amusement.

Dad would remain sleeping, as he always does. Nopony would bother to disturb him.

The thought makes my smile fade. I pull myself back to reality, unwilling to entertain that idea further. Now is the time for strength, not for weakness. If anything, I should anchor myself to the present. That seems a more logical course than mulling uselessly over the past.

Though we lie beneath the largest and bushiest tree, its companions surrounding us are nothing insignificant either. Yews, sycamores, and evergreens have long since set their roots deep into the heart of the earth, anchoring them firmly despite the incessant pounding of the rain and wind. Their leaves and needles all seem to ripple beneath the force of every droplet, bobbing back up very briefly only to sink once again under the weight of water. It is as if we have been submerged in a great green ocean, and only the will of the princess saves us from an agonizing drowning.

Familiar shapes in the fading light reveal the location of the bushes and ferns, bunched together in a thick undergrowth of branches and thorns. Bright red berries tempt me from beneath jagged leaves, but knowledge of their deadly facade holds me back. They too are pounded upon by the rain, although their are exempt from the sheer volume of the torrent by virtue of the unusual umbrella the trees form above them.

The water splashing on the ground begins to form a shallow channel, and the falling rain coalesces there as minutes slip by. Soon an intricate network of tiny streams can be seen weaving in and out of the plant life, gurgling quietly as they flow between growing puddles. Rain crashes against water, displacing some liquid in a brief circular wave with each droplet.

A sodden bird swoops down from the sky, perching atop a blackberry bush with careful claws. For a moment my heart stops, and I wonder whether this is an ordinary creature with no frightening powers, the first I have seen in years now ... Then the evening light glints against its dark wet feathers, revealing them to be blue rather than black. I exhale through my nose, wondering whether I should be surprised. Even the swallows have embraced the unusual for their standard.

The swallow lifts a wing and jerkily begins to preen its white underside. Its twin tail feathers dart left and right with every sudden movement. Somehow I am reminded of my days as a filly, when Double Delight insisted on trying to brush my mane in the early hours of the caverns. Wiggling and squirming could not free me from her grasp, and only the most abrupt of motions could save me from the tedium of grooming. She would naturally catch me again within seconds, and we would laugh before she set to her task once more.

Interest waning, I lay my head against my monster’s side, doing my best to ignore the constant patter of the rain. The bird is powerful but not aggressive, so there’s no reason to be suspicious of it. On the unlikely chance that there is danger nearby, it is lurking in the undergrowth, biding its time as it waits for us to sink into sleep.

Halimium’s breathing slows to a steady cadence of inhales and exhales, and I consequently take up watch. My own exhaustion is nothing to our safety. The light fades further into shadow, and still I watch the forest. My eyes adjust gradually as they sweep casually around, drinking in the forest for the second time.

The pounding rain beats almost rhythmically in its rising fury, transforming the scene into a natural orchestra. White sheets of water are cascading down from the sky, splattering mud and twigs and swamping the ground until the deluge creeps close to my body. I grit my teeth as the brownish mixture seeps into my fur, chilling me to the bone. I try not to think of warm caves and soft beds, and fail miserably. The music plays on, sublime and oblivious.

In the distance, lightning flashes. My ears stand erect at the sudden burst of light, but they quickly relax into their natural state while the answering thunder shakes the sky, despite the primal instinct urging me to flee.

The music plays on. Thus we lie there in the drenched forest, looking into the approaching night and waiting for the dawn. The promise of morning is yet afar.