Act 1, Part 4: Of Pages and Portraits.
For the first time in several days, Meadowlark woke feeling natural and refreshed.
Well, perhaps refreshed was not the right word. His neck ached like a bruise where his brother's sharp jaw had leaned against it, and the tangled mess of his limbs were dull and stiff. His mouth tasted of steel and old meat, and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He smacked his lips. He harrumphed and smacked them again. The taste wasn't going anywhere, it seemed.
He shifted on the ground in an attempt to untangle himself from his brother, who merely snorted in his sleep. Meadowlark rolled his eyes, jerking his head out from beneath his brother's and dropping the lazy stallion's chin onto the ground. Nightingale awoke with a start, and he glared up at Meadowlark.
Meadowlark snorted back, rolling away and getting to his hooves, something which his legs objected to very much at first. He shook his head, and paused. He peered down, racking his brain, shuffling through his memories. what was it the thing-like-him had always said? "Hnn... nao," he grunted. Nightingale snorted back loudly, rolling to face away from Meadowlark. Meadowlark, for his part, grinned to himself, a grin that glinted with self-satisfaction. He plodded off as quickly as his hooves would allow him, ambling into the forest.
He sniffed at the air, still smacking his lips and grumbling to himself. While he was certainly more comfortable here than in the fake forest the thing-like-him had kept him locked up in, he still felt no small degree of longing for home. He didn't recognize the trees, or the rocks or the grass. The birds sang differently, and the streams ran different paths. Even the rabbits seemed to taste different. He sighed, taking another deep whiff of the wind. There was water nearby, at least, and so he turned in its direction, pondering the last few days as he walked.
All this time spent staring at her, and he still had no idea exactly what the thing-like-him was. It boggled his mind. Not, he supposed, that that was difficult. He had spent the last 72 hours in a state of perpetual confusion; he counted himself lucky that he could at least understand this forest.
Yet as he came to the stream, dipping his muzzle into the cold water, he wondered if even this was something elaborate that he couldn’t understand, a thought which left him with no small degree of frustration. He stared at his reflection, turning his head this way and that. The cut on his nose had begun to heal, but it seemed to be scarring. He didn't even look like what he remembered anymore. He flicked the water with a hoof and grunted weakly, laying down by the stream's edge. His eyes began to drift shut.
...ponies forget...
His head snapped up, eyes wide and ears perked. He looked around wildly for a moment, trying to find the source of the sound. Try as he might though, he couldn't hear a thing. Perhaps he had imagined it?
He got slowly to his hooves again, taking a few steps away from the river. He shut his eyes and strained his ears. He knew he had heard something. It was far too clear for him to have imagined it. Only a snippet, but...
...wine pours, ponies forget...
There! His head turned to the sound, and he dashed forward before suddenly stopping. He peered over his shoulder in the direction of Nightingale, and sniffed at the air in a long pull. Nightingale's scent was there, alright. He had not moved an inch.
Meadowlark trotted in place, his eyes still locked in the direction of his brother. Nightingale would be expecting him back soon enough, he knew. Even if Nightingale didn't know it, he'd still be waiting. He was always waiting, after all, every time Meadowlark left, just as Meadowlark was always waiting whenever Nightingale left.
Meadowlark looked once more to the source of the music. He could hear it more clearly now, the soft notes carried along by the cold evening breeze. The sounds chilled his soul, compelled him in a way he couldn't describe. He understood it though. There was so much that confused him, but this - this, most alien of all things, he understood. He took a step forward.
He shook his head, stepping back and looking towards his brother once more. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, thumping harder when he considered leaving Nightingale behind. Would Nightingale know, though?
A sharp note reached his ears, crisp and cool, sending shivers down his spine. He fidgeted, dancing in place and grunting softly to himself. He peered back and forth, back and forth between the music and his brother. He wouldn't be gone for that long. He only wanted to listen to the sounds better, after all. That wouldn't take him any time at all. He could probably be back before Nightingale even woke up again.
...come and join the party, dress to kill...
His heart thudded in his chest. It was pounding so hard he was beginning to feel sick. He considered going to get Nightingale for a moment, but he knew his brother would turn down any notion of going to the music, and there was no saying how much longer it would play. No, it was better that he went on his own. This time. Just this once. He pawed at the ground for a short moment, before taking off into the woods.
Meadowlark grit his teeth, setting his hooves firmly. His heart thudded in his chest, but he had made up his mind. His wings flared, and with a great leap he beat them, propelling himself into the treetops.
He leaped and bounded from bough to bough, his hooves barely touching the limbs, his wings held straight out, flapping only when he made a particularly long jump. He moved with practiced, almost instinctive ease. It was as though he knew exactly where all the limbs would be, familiar or no, as though he could predict each sag and bend in the ancient wood. He skipped off the branches just right, bent and folded his wings just in time to dodge the trunks and limbs, bent in just the right way. He seemed almost weightless, moving as though helped along by some invisible hand as he ducked, bobbed and leaped through the treetops, reacting to each new obstacle in the space between seconds. It as a terrifyingly forward, bestial dance; his thick, honed muscles bunching and contorting beneath his coat, and his wings filled with wind like the sails of a schooner on the waves. Moonlight shimmered on his coat like a black velvet painting as he raced to his destination: the small clearing just behind the mansion.
He dropped to the ground, his heart stilling. In the center of the small clearing was the source of the music - a tall brown-and-gold structure with a wide mouth and four thick legs - but somehow it was no longer important. Standing beside the source was the thing-like-him. She stared at him in a rapt awe, but soon blinked and shook her head. She took a step forward. Meadowlark took a step back.
"Hey," she said, stepping back as well. "It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you. I mean, I know I said that before, but..." She looked at the source of the music, and fiddled with it for a moment. The music stopped with a shudder, before suddenly restarting.
The sun shines,
and ponies forget.
The spray flies as the speedboat glides,
and ponies forget...
"See?" she asked, stepping back. "Your favourite song, right? That's why you came here?" She smiled at him. It was a weak, unsure sort of smile. "I just wanted to talk. Or, well..." She shook her head, and sighed. "Not like you can understand me yet. Mmph..."
Meadowlark sniffed at her, shifting his stance. She seemed frustrated, almost nervous as she chewed on her hooves, looking back over her shoulder every so often. She took another step forward, and while Meadowlark did lean away from her, he didn't retreat. The dull stabbing in his back had flared up again, but it was not so bad this time.
He took a shaky, halting step forward, ears swiveling back and forth as he walked. Another step. Then another. The thing-like-him approached as well, the two set to meet in the middle. Meadowlark stopped several meters away from her, and as though out of respect she did the same. There they sat, staring at one another.
The thing-like-him put a hoof to her chest. "Erin," she said. Meadowlark blinked, narrowing her eyes.
"Erin," she said again, louder and slower this time. "Me, Erin." She took a few steps forward. Once again Meadowlark shied away, but did not retreat. "You, Meadowlark," she said.
Meadolwark blinked, staring down at her hoof. It was point at him now, lingering a few inches away from his barrel. He leaned down to sniff it, but caught only a snatch of scent before the thing-like-him pulled it away. It smelled strange, almost like flowers. There was something else though, something sharp and almost muddy. He snorted a bit, and wiggled his nostrils.
"No," the thing-like-him said, "Not the hoof. Look." She touched the hoof to her chest again. "Me, Erin." Then she reached out, her hooftip brushing Meadowlark's chest. "You, Meadowlark. Me, Erin, you, Meadowlark. Understand?"
Meadowlark tilted his head, peering long and hard at the creature. "Un... dustand?" he repeated. A sparkle came in the thing-like-him's eye, and she did a little hop-jump in place.
"You understand?" she asked. "Alright... You?" she pointed to him again.
Meadowlark snorted, Narrowing his eyes. He looked between the hoof and the creature, his mind working as hard as he could. He imagined that if he thought much harder he would be able to smell smoke. He did remember the word she kept calling him, though: Meadowlark. The same thing she had called him all the while she had him in that strange fake forest.
"Meadowlark?" he said, unsure of his answer. The creature did another little dance though, apparently pleased with it. Meadowlark smiled as well. He was, he had to admit, a bit proud of his achievement.
"That's right!" the thing-like him exclaimed. "And me..."
"Er...in? Erin?" Meadowlark said, struggling a bit over the strange sounds. "Me Erin?"
"That's... er," Erin said. "No, no... me Erin, you Meadowlark. Understand?"
"Me Erin," Meadowlark said again. He reached out, putting his hoof against Erin's chest. "Me Erin." He touched his own chest then, saying, "You Meadowlark."
Erin chuckled a bit weakly, and scratched her head. "No," she said, "That's not... Humph. This is harder than I though."
Meadowlark frowned, put off by her tone even if he couldn't quite understand her words. She no longer seemed quite as impressed by his performance, to say the least. She rubbed her chin.
"Alright," she said. "Repeat. Erin. Erin. Repeat. Understand?"
"Uff?" Meadowlark said, tilting his head. Erin groaned and sat on the dirt with a thump. She muttered to herself for a while, barely any more than a long, quiet hissing, before standing up. "Erin," she said loudly, tapping her chest. "Me. Er-in. And you, you, are Meadowlark." She prodded his chest heavily upon the last word, causing him to bark and stumble back. She jumped back as well, falling back onto her rump
"No, wait," she said, waving her hooves. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to -"
There was a crashing from the bushes, cutting her words short. A wave of scent swept through the clearing, overcoming Meadowlark instantly. Blood. Musk. Sweat. Rain. Anger. For a moment, the very briefest of moments, time stopped.
Nightingale leaped out of the trees in an explosion of twigs and leaves. A look of divine anger twisted and mutated his face into a hideous mask, teeth barred and stained with blood once more, foam and spittle trailing out of his mouth. His eyes were brightly-burning fires, pupils hidden behind their glow. For those few brief instants he looked supernatural, like something from a horror story come to life. Like a gargoyle animated from his perch into an unreal, terrifying hunt. He slammed into the ground in a cloud of dirt and dust, turning instantly on Erin. There was hardly time for her to scream before he had leaped again, a snarling howl on his lips.
Meadowlark leaped into Nightingale's path, slamming his head into Nightingale's powerful neck. There was a sound like a boulder hitting water, and he felt weightless for a moment. The crash into the ground came as a sudden shock, but he had no time to recover. Nightingale's mind was still in the lunge, completely unaware of what prey he had caught. His jaws snapped inches away from Meadowlark's throat, his breath hot and damp. Meadowlark snarled as well, slapping Nightingale's head with his wings and shifting his weight to roll them. He needed to keep Nightingale off balance, give him time to from his hunt-induced madness.
The pair rolled over the dirt, a mass of contorting muscles and shining fur. Still Nightingale snarled, gnashing and screaming and clawing to reach Meadowlark's neck. Meadowlark beat one of his wings, and Nightingale was briefly shaken by the gust. Meadowlark made his move.
He curled in, tucking all four of his legs beneath Nightingale. He kicked out with all of them at once, a heavy thud telling him he had struck home. Nightingale was launched into the air, wings and legs flailing wildly as he fought to control himself to no avail. He slammed down onto his back, and Meadowlark leaped onto him immediately, pinning him down.
"OUF!" he shouted into Nightingale's face. Nightingale seemed to come out of his stupor, then - though whether it was the harsh bark or the rough landing that did it, it was difficult to say. Regardless, Meadowlark let him up, and he got hastily to his hooves.
Nightingale immediately began to stalk, peering angrily around Meadowlark, who for his part kept himself place firmly between Nightingale and Erin.
"Aksh!" Nightingale snarled. "Unf owowr ouf, aksh!"
"Unf aksh!" Meadowlark said. "Erin unf owowr, unf aksh!"
Nightingale snarled wordlessly, trying to jump over Meadowlark, who slapped him back down with a wing. "Unf aksh Erin!" he shouted.
"Aksh clopclop!"Nightingale roared in response. Meadowlark whipped his head around, only to see Erin scrambling to her hooves. Another thing-like-him had joined her, this one tall and thin and blue. He glowered at Meadowlark and shouted even more words he didn't understand, harsh words. Meadowlark barked and bounded towards them.
"Unf clopclop!" he barked at them, "Unf aksh!" This only made them scramble faster, bolting for the open door of the fake forest inside. Meadowlark bolted after them, only vaguely aware of Nightingale following shortly behind.
By the time Meadowlark arrived in the fake forest, Erin and the other thing-like-him had already made it through the door, though he had gained ground quickly. The pair shouted back and forth at one another, too fast for Meadowlark to make out the works. "Unf Aksh!" he shouted again, hoping that somehow the idea would make it through. No luck, however: A glimmer of light surrounded the door, and it began to close. In the space between moments, Meadowlark's heart froze.
Once more, he was being caged in. The stabbing feeling in his back flared like a raging inferno. He felt sick, his stomach twisting itself into a knot of something resembling anger and fear. Without even thinking, he lunged for the door. He was barely even aware of his legs carrying him. It closed, his exit cut off inch by inch, like a guillotine in a mad drop. Closer. Closer.
He lunged again, smashing into the door. It slammed open, bouncing off its hinges and slamming shut on Nightingale's face behind him. He rolled into a heap on the dusty floor of the lab, his head slamming into one of the strange instruments Erin had been working on before.
His ears rang, and his vision blurred - and not just because of the light in the lab. That smash had given him an instant and rather severe headache, but through his stupor he was vaguely aware of Erin and the other thing-like-him conversing.
"Shit!" Erin shouted, scrambling in place. "Meadowlark got through!"
"I noticed," the thing-like-him said. "It looks like he slammed into your machines. Think he knocked himself out?"
"I wouldn't count on it," Erin said, managing to still herself a bit. "These two are tough. Even if he was, I don't want to take any chances..."
"We might have to teach them from the cage, you know..."
"I know Stage, I know," Erin said. Her voice sounded weary, as though it were a struggle to form every syllable. There was a long pause, the air heavy. "Either way, we need to put him back to sleep for now. Nightingale too, so we can get them back into the cage."
Cage... cage... sleep... the words echoed through Meadowlark's mind. He was certainly no more likely to understand them in his addled state than he had been previously, but he knew the words were familiar, and important. He groaned, twisting himself upright and stumbling back and forth. He opened his blurry eyes, and through the haze he managed to make out Erin, leaned up against a shelf.
"Erin, he's up!" the thing-like-him shouted. Erin jumped, wrenching a book off the shelves. It was then that the words clicked in Meadowlark's head. He might not know the meaning of the words, but he knew very well what that book did. His heart thudded, and his head whipped around. He heard whirring, and more whirring. He smelled dust, and more dust. He saw darkness.
There, at the far end of the room, a tiny square of it. Hardly a foot across, barely wide enough for him to squeeze through, but darkness nonetheless. He knew instinctively that the darkness was deep, leading off to somewhere. He stepped towards it, but hesitated. He had no way of knowing where it would go, no way of knowing that it wouldn't lead somewhere worse.
He looked back to Erin, who was approaching fast, book clenched in her teeth. He felt sick with fear. His decision was made. Whatever lay beyond the darkness, at least it was not a book that would make him sleep.
"Unf snor!" he howled at Erin, leaping for the darkness. Erin scrambled to catch him, but he was too fast for her, and for the thing-like-him that followed her lead. He slipped between them easily, leaping out and away into the darkness.
Erin swore, pitching to spellbook across the lab in a fit of frustration. She seethed, each ragged breath bringing her a bit closer to calmness, until finally Stage stepped closer to her.
"You okay?" he asked.
Erin sighed. "Of course not," she said. "Meadowlark is loose in our house - and that's a lot of house to be loose in. There's no telling what he could get into, what he could damage, or if he could hurt himself. Or worse!" she added, beginning to stalk around the lab, Stage trailing after her. "Or worse, what if he gets outside? The last thing we need is him running around the neighborhood afraid and confused."
"The neighbours already complain about the state of the house every chance they get," Stage commented, picking the spellbook up off the floor and brushing it off. Erin glared at him. He rolled his eyes. "Just trying to cheer you up," he said.
Erin took the book back, dusting off the cover and grumbling to herself. "I'll be cheered up when we can get him back here... I was so close to earning his trust again." She sighed, letting her head fall forward just a bit. "And then I got impatient and scared him off. Again." She breathed in to sigh again, but was cut off by the weight of a slender foreleg around her shoulders.
"Well, moping isn't exactly going to help Meadowlark out, is it?" he asked. "Come on, sis. Let's go get him back."
"Right," Erin said, giving a small nod. "First though, I should, um," she turned around, peering at the cage. Nightingale stood with his nose against the bars. His golden eyes glowed with a cold ferocity. He glared accusations at Erin, stared burning questions. His gaze made her more than just a bit uncomfortable, but she straightened up and marched over to him.
"You," she said. "I know you can't understand me - and unlike your brother you don't seem to be making much of an effort... but I'm sorry I frightened you. And I'm sorry I locked you up. But I need to do it again."
Nightingale did not react, still staring at Erin, even as she marched around the cage and pressed the button to lower the wall. To her surprise, even as the engine clanged to life and the wall slid back into place, Nightingale never once made a move to escape out from under it. Any time he wasn't staring at Erin he spent looking at the open door into the mansion.
When the rear wall finally settled itself back into place, Erin nodded and put on a determined expression. "Alright," she said, tucking the spellbook into a saddlebag, which she then slung across her back, "Now you just be patient, Nightingale. We'll bring you back your brother, and then..." the stoniness of her expression faded just a bit, "It's really high time we all had a talk." She stepped away from the cage, turning to her brother.
"Ready?" she asked.
Stage nodded, stretching his legs. "Ready," he said with a nod.
***
Meadowlark galloped through the darkened hallways. He was determined to put as much distance between himself and Erin as he could before she started to chase him - and he knew she would chase him. After all this it was simply a matter of inevitability. She wanted him, though heaven only knew for what.
So he ran. His legs pounded until they burnt and his chest heaved. He propelled himself further and further into the darkness until it seemed that all the light in the world had fallen away. He ran until the evening turned to night, and it was only when he saw the first glimmer of starlight outside that he finally came to a stop.
Moonlight poured through tall, thin windows, so vibrant in the darkness that the shafts of light seemed almost solid. Motes of dust that Meadowlark's run had stirred up drifted lazily through them like a thousand twinkling stars, turning each shaft into its own night sky. Meadowlark approached one, shivering slightly as he stepped into the light. He stared out into the night, and as he did The Mare in the Moon stared back. Her cool gaze was comforting, in a way. It was familiar, and simple. There were no words for him to struggle over, no strange thoughts or devices he couldn't fathom. The Mare in the Moon didn't care about him. She simply wanted him under her gaze. He sighed wearily, laying his chin on the windowsill and breathing out heavily. His hot breath fogged up the glass, obscuring his vision for just a moment.
He grunted, sighing heavily as he stepped back. He needed to keep moving, if only to stay one step ahead of Erin. She'd be along soon enough, no doubt. There had been any number of twists and turns along the hallways. but they all seemed to lead to the same place.
He didn't feel the need to run anymore, at least. In fact, he moved quite slowly, plodding through the empty halls. His eyes trailed up and down the walls, taking in all the details, all the hard edges and curving arches. He had no way of being aware of it, but if he had he would have counted no less than five different generations of architecture passing him by as he walked, years upon years of building and adding passing him by. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't even know what he was looking for. An exit, perhaps? That seemed almost pointless, especially without Nightingale to join him. Perhaps he was trying to circle around and find the lab again, so he could free his brother away from Erin's watchful eye.
Whatever it was, his thoughts were interrupted by his entrance into a large, very nearly empty room. It was so large, in fact, that he had to squint to see the other side of it through the darkness. He stopped just inside, his ears tilting back. He took a step forward. Then another. Each hoofall sent a clack echoing through the empty room, and some part of him worried that Erin would hear them and find him. That was not why he had paused, though.
On the other side of the room stood a large, wide set of double-doors. It was only upon seeing them that he began to realize that the rest of the home was thoroughly coated in dust. Where everything else was a dingy, dirty shade of gray, these doors were a pearly white, save for the tiniest hint of blue from moonlight that poured through the tall windows along the wall bouncing off the marble floor. He moved closer again, this time taking several trotting steps.
His first few steps were met with no resistance and, confidence bolstered, he dashed for the door. He shoved against it, but felt no give. He pushed harder. Still nothing. He frowned slightly and gave it a few sharp raps. The sound echoed loudly in the emptiness, causing Meadowlark to cringe. The noises faded, though, and the doors had not moved an inch for the attention. It seemed they were locked - or at least shut as tight as he cared to try, after the din he had just made. He turned on his heels, peering at the rest of the room.
Two large staircases stood on either side of him, curving upwards in gentle arcs until they met in the middle on a large, ornate balcony the hung over half the room. Seeing as there was only the one exit below the balcony, it seemed Meadowlark's path was clear. He trotted up the steps, pausing only to take a quick glance into the level below. There was nopony there, at least not for now. There would be soon, no doubt, so he continued climbing, and turned down another hallway without so much as taking the time to enjoy the view.
Then he stopped again.
He felt an immediate and deep discomfort in this hallway, though at first he could not say why. He trotted forward, hooves shaking slightly and the hairs on the back of his neck bristling. There weren't any windows in this hallway, not that he needed them. Indeed, there seemed to be no source of light the whole way down, save for a single lamp illuminated near the entrance. Meadowlark was almost afraid to turn to it, afraid of what he might see if he looked there. His pursuer, perhaps, having used her superior knowledge of the compound to sneak up on him. Perhaps some other beastly thing. Whatever it was, he could not shake the feeling he was being stared at. He whipped around, a warning snarl on his breath, and immediately took a step back. To his shock, it seemed he was right.
Cast in the light of the lamp was a stallion. He was an immense, hard wall of a pony, with a jaw that looked like it had been carved from granite. His gaze was every bit as hard, staring out at the world as if surveying it, analyzing every detail. Still, perhaps it was the warm orange light that accented his gray-blue coat, but there was something strangely warm about him. Though he had shocked Meadowlark at first, the bat pony found himself inching closer, rather than away.
At first, Meadowlark thought that the stallion was on another side of a window. His body was missing from the shoulders down, though what was revealed had been dressed up in vibrant hues. As Meadowlark came closer though, he found that there was something strange about it. The stallion was flat, and Meadowlark had become accustomed to windows enough by now that he knew that would not be the case if this was indeed a window. He reached out, tapping the stallion's nose. It felt rough, but not in the way a coat is rough. It felt a bit like the ground, but softer and with more give, and it made a soft scraping noise as Meadowlark's hoof drifted lower.
Meadowlark frowned, snorting loudly. The stallion, if he was there at all, did not react. He had not reacted to anything, not even being touched, and Meadowlark found this immensely frustrating. Either this stallion was incredibly stupid or stubborn, or Meadowlark had run into yet another bizarre aspect of this world he found himself in. He prepared to stalk off, turning sharply, but stopped.
There was another face, he realized. This one was much more slender, almost gaunt, but it shared the hard-edged quality of the first. In a way, it reminded him very much of a cross between the first stallion and Erin. Meadowlark stared at it for a while, taking a small step back. He looked down the hall, and he realized there were more faces - far, far more faces. Tens, dozens, maybe even hundreds of faces stretching down the hall. They came in every shape, size and colour. Some enormous and muscular, some thin as the dead, and some as fat as two ponies put together. They all shared one quality, though: Each and every one of them had the same hard, sharp, cut-from-the-stone-of-the-earth gaze.
Their eyes bore down on Meadowlark, a hundred cold and calculating pairs of eyes sizing him up in every possible way. His heart clutched in his chest, and his breath caught in his throat. A potent, inescapable paranoia came over them. He knew, somehow, that they could not see him, and yet... there was something he couldn't put his hoof on. He felt as though they were judging him. As though they had deemed him wrong, in some way. Once, when he was young, he had seen a doe give birth to a deformed calf. The herd had cast the calf out without a second though. He had caught a glimmer of their expressions as they did so... he wondered, was this how the calf must have felt? To be stared at like something imperfect?
This wasn't his world. He didn't understand any of it. There was just... too much. Fake trees, rocks neatly cut and stacked, pieces or solid water, it was all too much. Now this, flat mares and stallions who stared and judged him. He felt like a deformed foal, here. He swallowed hard, taking a step back. He edged down the hall, trying to convince himself to run, but he could barely even walk. He forced himself to take a step, then another. All at once he bolted, trying desperately to escape the haunting eyes, but the ponies seemed to go on forever. With a desperate howl he flung himself to the side, crashing bodily into a door. It slammed open and he rolled into the room beyond, slamming the door shut once again with a kick.
He could hear the slam echoing in distance. The large room with the doors, no doubt. The sound faded soon though, and he was left with silence, save for the sound of his panting. He covered his eyes with his wings, shivering. He didn't want to see what was in the room. He didn't want to be confronted with something new and confusing. For once, just for once, he wanted to not rack his brain over what he saw. He wanted things to be simple.
It was a smell that convinces him to open his eyes. It smelled soft, almost like flowers, but there was something else there as well. Something sharp, almost muddy. His nose twitched, and he pulled his wings away from his eyes. Just a bit at first, just enough to peek over. There was more to the smell. There was a tang of sweat, and the pique of old blood. The air was stale, tainting all the scents with just a tinge of salt and roots.
He pulled his wings the rest of the way away now, lifting his head off the ground. As ever, he was not quite sure what he was staring at. It was large, and square, and a drape that shimmered and flowed like water was tossed haphazardly across it. He got to his hooves, inching closer to it.
As he stood up, he could see over the square thing and onto the other side of the room. It was quite large, though very little of it was taken up by anything. There was the square thing, and on the other side of it a low table not unlike the one in Erin's lab. All manner of instruments littered the top of this table. Nightingale trotted around the square thing, prodding at the instruments with an idle, half-hearted curiosity. He gave the room one last glance, spying a large bookshelf along the wall, but little else.
In truth, the glance was mostly for the sake of making sure there was nothing in the room that would jump out at him. His attentions were much more focused on the square thing: the source of the sharp, flowery, muddy smell. With his check completed he twitched his nose once again, and pressed it against the square thing.
It gave way to his pressing quite easily. He prodded at it with a hoof, leaning in to see how far it would sink. It nearly swallowed his hoof. He gave a quiet bark, beating his wings and putting both his front hooves on the thing. He pressed he pressed his nose against it, breathing deeply and snuffling. He knew the scent. He had only caught a snatch of it of course, but he had never once smelled any creature that smelled quite like Erin, and this thing had her scent in spades. He clambered onto it, moving towards the center.
He smelled Erin all over it, in patches of greater or lesser scent. Sometimes the patches were tinged with sweat, sometimes with roots and salt, sometimes with blood. One small part, though Meadowlark had to concentrate to make it out, smelled vaguely like another creature. He gave a snort and a sharp nod, coming to a conclusion: This was Erin's nest.
Or at least, something like it. It was like no bed he had ever seen, though he supposed that went without saying, at this point. Still, there was no mistaking that this was where Erin slept, tucked so far away from the cage and the forest. Hidden in a place he had stumbled on only by chance, a place guarded by hundreds of watchful eyes. A secret place. A safe place. Erin's place.
Meadowlark stared down at the bed. After a while his legs gave out and he sat, now resting his chin on the soft material. His mind danced, thoughts coming and going too fast for him to really understand anything but notions. He simply sat and pondered, and perhaps waited. Yes, he waited. He waited to hear the sound of hooffalls coming down the hallway. He waited to hear muffled voices talking, and he waited to hear the door creak open. He waited, and he was rewarded.
He smelled Erin before he heard her. She was trying to sneak up on him, but she had been running and her sweat filled his nose. The door creaked open, pausing only once, no doubt as Erin winced at the noise. Meadowlark trembled, but he got to his hooves. In the back of his mind he had a plan, or some semblance of one at least. He had a notion.
The door swung open all at once, Erin leaping into the room. Meadowlark did not react, except perhaps to lift himself higher and straighter. For a moment, Erin stared as if in awe. Her brow furrowed then, and she stomped.
"Get off my bed!" she shouted. Meadowlark’s eyes narrowed as he caught the words mentally. He repeated them as fast as he could in his mind, trying desperately to remember them. He would need them soon.
Erin’s horn lit up, and the book that had put Meadowlark to sleep before flew into sight. He felt his heart miss a beat, but he tried not to show it. There was no time to be afraid of it. He leaped, wings unfurling and propelling him like an arrow shot from a bow. He zipped over Erin's head, hooves planting against the wall of the hallway, just above the face of a motherly-looking mare. The thin thing-like-him was waiting, but it had been surprised by Meadowlark's sudden appearance. Surprise. Meadowlark knew how to take advantage of that.
He shoved himself off the wall, leaping several long meters before his hooves touched ground again. The moment they did he was off, galloping down the halls. A brief look back saw Erin dart out of her room scrabbling to run after him. She shouted something he didn't catch, and she and the other thing-like-him were off.
His heart pounded in his chest. The thudding was sickening, so powerful it threatened to throw him off balance. He needed to get away from the faces, first. He needed to stop being stared at. If he could get away from those eyes, then maybe his notion would work out, but for now...
Not here. Not in this hall, at least. Another. He ran, searching desperately for a place without faces. He turned down hallway after hallway, even after the faces had long since disappeared. He wanted distance between them and him, and he wanted time to prepare. He looked back again, just to make sure that Erin was following him still. So many twists and turns up here. There were far more hallways than on the bottom floor, intersecting and overlapping. A creature could get lost in there for days, maybe even forever. The halls were as deep and full as the oldest places of Canterlot Forest, and in many places every bit as ancient. He breathed deep in between pants, the scent of old wood and damp filling his nose. Her. Here was the place.
He stopped for just a moment, getting a view of the hall. Just ahead was another set of stairs, even older than the rest of the hall, leading upwards. At the top, he could see a door. It hung just slightly open.
"There he is!" Erin shouted, rounding the corner. "Stage, be careful, we don't want to scare him off again..."
It was too late. Meadowlark was up the stairs, as much flying as climbing. He was at the door in an instant, butting it open. He grinned widely at what he saw. Inside, another nest, its sheets of shining water still. He breathed deep. No other creatures, just dust. This nest wasn't taken.
Erin jumped to the bottom of the stairs, and began to climb. Meadowlark rounded in a sharp leap, ending just at the edge. He concentrated, fighting with his mind for the words. "Hnnn... NO!" he roared, flaring his wings threateningly. Erin stopped.
"No!" Meadowlark shouted again, beating his wings. His heart pounded. Was he afraid? Nervous? He couldn't tell. Whatever it was, he needed to make one thing clear. The words came to him slowly, and his words were halting, but he needed them to be heard. "My... my! Mine!” What had she called it? “Mine bed! No Erin, Meadowlark!"
The mare stared up at him. Her brow furrowed slightly. "Meadowlark?" she asked. She moved to climb another step, but Meadowlark reared up, beating his wings again and again, until a rush of air whipped Erin's mane back.
"No Erin!" he roared again, baring his teeth for good measure. "Meadowlark bed! No Erin...nn..." He growled, grappling with the words in his mind. He hoped that his guesses were close enough to communicate his idea, at least. "No Erin in Meadowlark bed. Meadowlark... scare off, Erin in Meadowlark bed. Meadowlark scare off Erin!"
Erin stared at him for a while. Meadowlark’s heart pounded so loud he was almost certain Erin could hear it, but he stood firm. Eventually, slowly, Erin stepped back.
"Alright," she said softly. "It's your bed. Your home. You can have it. I just... want to help. I want you to understand. Do you understand me, Meadowlark?"
"Meadowlark stared down, grappling with the words. Some he understood, or at least he thought he did. She spoke so fast though, he could hardly tell if they were the words he knew. He shook his head, snorting. Erin's face fell.
"Help," she said again. "Erin help Meadowlark. Erin... give Meadowlark home. give Meadowlark bed!"
"Erin," the thin thing-like-him said, stepping up to Erin and laying a hoof on her shoulder. "Slow down. He doesn't understand the words yet."
"I know that, Stage," Erin said sharply, rubbing her head. "But how else am I supposed to... if I can't talk to him, what the heck are we supposed to..."
The thing hushed her with a pat, and stepped forward. "Meadowlark," he said slowly. He put a hoof to his chest. "You Meadowlark, me Stage. Understand?"
Meadowlark narrowed his eyes, tilting his head. He did understand, true enough, although he wasn't exactly sure why the thing called Stage was introducing himself. He hoped that he hadn't asked for something wrong. Still, he nodded. Stage nodded back.
Next Stage put his hoof to his chest. And swung it outward, tracing across his throat. As he did, he spoke loud and slow. "Woooooords." He did it again. "Speak. Speak Equestrian." He spoke one last time, this time letting his voice resonate. "Equestriaaaan~"
"Stage, what are you doing?" Erin asked, her voice flat. Stage shushed her once again.
"Meadowlark words?" he asked. Meadowlark blinked.
"W..words," he answered. "Meadowlark words."
"Meadowlark words no equestrian," Stage said. "Stage words, Equestrian." He turned to Erin then, speaking in a quick, hushed tone. "I need you to play along now, Erin. I think he's learning through context, so we need to give it to him."
"How?" Erin asked, but she was cut off as Stage began to speak again.
"Erin, do you speak Equestrian?" he asked. Erin blinked.
"Yes..." she said slowly. Stage smiled, peering up the stairs at Meadowlark. The bat pony took a seat on the edge of the staircase, staring down. He understood, and yet somehow he was even more confused than before.
"Erin," Stage continued, "Do you speak Meadowlark words?"
"No..." Erin said, obviously no more aware of where Stage was going with this than Meadowlark was.
"Would you like to?" Stage asked, a sly smile on his face.
"Yes," Erin said, stretching to word out like taffy. A look of comprehension dawned across her face.
"Speak Meadowlark words," Stage said. "Aksh."
"Aksh," Erin repeated. Meadowlark snorted loudly from the top of the staircase, his eyes narrowing. For just a moment he thought this had turned to a threat, but that was not right... they were still speaking. Stage turned to him now, forelegs open wide.
"Meadowlark," he called up. "Do you speak Equestrian?"
Meadowlark blinked, rolling the words over in his head. He understood them, but still their true meaning seemed to elude him. He played Erin’s conversation with Stage in his mind over and over, trying to uncover the mystery. He seemed to speak without realizing it. "N...no," he said.
"Do you want to speak Equestrian?" Stage asked.
Meadowlark's heart thudded even faster now, hammering inside his chest. He swallowed hard. Once again, words he understood, but couldn't grasp. One more thing he couldn't understand... but then, was it really?
He looked behind him, to the bed. A nest, like the one he had slept in all his life, a bed of matted grass and leaves and branches, with his brother beside him. Down the halls, like lines of trees too thick for him to see around. Now words, words like his. This world wasn't his. It was so far from his, a million miles away, and yet at the say time it was so close. It was just bigger than the forest. That didn't mean he couldn't understand it. Stage wanted him to understand. Erin wanted him to understand. His back ached, but looked back down at them. Creatures like him. That, in a way, was so much harder to understand than the rest of it.
"Yes," he said. "Want to speak Equestrian."
Erin and Stage laughed, hugging each other tight. Once they had finished their small celebration Erin stepped forward, pulling out her book once again. "Wonderful!" she said. "We just want you to come with us, and -"
Meadowlark roared, leaping to his hooves and flaring his wings. The aching in his back turned once more to a stabbing, and all at once any thought he had of following them disappeared. He had to fight back to keep himself from lunging.
"Erin!" Stage shouted, slapping the book out of the air, "Put that away!"
"What?!" Erin asked, jumping back. "I was just going to make it easier for him to come with us -"
"It scares him," Stage said. "Haven't you seen the way he acts when you pull it out? He ran out of the lab, and out of your bedroom... what did you do to him with that book?"
"I just put him to sleep!" Erin shouted back, stomping her hoof and setting herself in. She kept looking to Meadowlark, a hint of something in her eye he couldn't identify through his anger. "I just needed to take some samples..." Her horn lit up again, but Stage's hoof held the book against the floor.
"No," he said. "Look, Meadowlark..." He turned once more to the bat pony, edging closer. "Meadowlark... it won't hurt you. No hurt. No book."
Meadowlark's fur bristled, and he snarled from the top of the staircase. He felt sick with fear, but he fought through it. He refused to give ground now. Too much of that lately, and he didn't like being tricked. He could hear Stage swallow from there, but Stage continued to advance.
"This is bad, right?" He asked, sliding the book forward. Meadowlark snarled again. "Right," Stage said. "Bad. So... you aksh. Meadowlark aksh book." He slid the book forward a bit, then jumped back.
Meadowlark stared down. He still growled, still snarled, but only for show. His attention was away from them now, focused squarely on the book. Even he could understand that the book wasn't dangerous on its own. It was only dangerous when Erin made it fly, however she had managed to do that.
He breathed deep, trying to keep himself calm as he stared at the book. You kill the book... that was what Stage had said, almost instructed him to do. Meadowlark began to move down the stairs.
Was this a trap? Something to get him close so he couldn't run away in time? Perhaps. Erin had pulled it out after asking if he wanted to understand, after all. Every time she gained his trust, out came the book to hurt him again. Every time he let his guard down, she hurt him, or threatened to hurt him. His back ached like a wound, sharp jolts of pain running through him with each and every step.
He was only a few steps away from the book right now. He stared up at Erin and Stage, who were standing a healthy distance away. He stared at them for a long time, the two staring back in complete silence, just watching him. He growled faintly, and they took another step back. Were they afraid of him? Or...
"Do... do you..." he struggled with the words, trying to remember the sounds. "Do you want... want Meadowlark... aksh book?"
Erin and Stage looked back and forth, sharing a nod. Erin took a short step forward. "Meadowlark," she said. "Meadowlark, I... Erin book aksh Meadowlark. I hurt you with the book. That's bad. No." She scowled for a moment, as though she too were struggling to comprehend the words. "Bad Erin. Erin sorry." She rubbed her face, her shoulders bunching up. Her mane covered her eyes, but she wore a deep, pained frown, and while it was faint, Meadowlark was almost certain he heard her... squeak.
"Meadowlark, aksh book," she said. "No book, Erin no aksh you anymore. I want you to aksh the book."
Meadowlark swallowed heavily. The words struck him in the chest, his already pounding heart clutching so hard he almost keeled over. The pain in his back was almost unbearable. He turned away from Erin sharply, ripping into the book savagely. His teeth cleaved through the thick cover with ease. He shook his head, rearing up as he did. Scraps of paper flew all around him, scattering like mice. No two shreds could stand to be near to each other. He snarled as he ripped into it, working out something he still didn't quite understand. Whatever it was, though, it all flowed out through his teeth. All the fire, all the coldness, all the hollowness, even the pain in his back flowed out as he roared and bit and ripped. Pages fell all around him, like gentle snowflakes.
In the end there was barely anything left that could be called a book. His chest heaved, short of breath after the savage action, but he felt good. He felt full. He felt clean. He looked back to Erin, and smiled. She smiled back at him, her eyes glistening.
"Meadowlark?" she asked. "Do you want to learn Equestrian?"
The bat pony flashed a toothy grin. "I want to learn Equestrian," he said.