Many bursts of light on the horizon and the screams of dire pain were the greatest signs the Great War left on a trail of death. Previous villages still burned despite the constant snow, and yet the snow defied the fire without melting. The snow covering even what used to be some of the tallest buildings in the kingdom. These served as constant reminders to the survivors that they were never truly safe. It was hard to know somepony who could be trusted, and even harder to know if the liability of such emotion would not cause the next day to never come. Generosity itself took on a new meaning, for to share something would mean to place full faith in another pony. Often, this privilege would be abused by those who only cared for their own safety. Technically, the tribe leaders were still in charge of the largest militias in each faction, but their leadership was nonexistent after leaving for the meeting. Villages of any tribe were vulnerable to a raid by any faction because of the supplies there might be. One such village lay near the center of the fighting; Its buildings long since covered with little hope of excavation from their snowy grave. This was the village of Anatrotka, my father's home.
Life in Anatrotka was harsh, but not so much different from the other villages in the area which were similarly decimated. The meeting house lay in shambles along with numerous homes no longer able to stand after numerous attacks and feet of snow. Their planks lay as a sheet covering the bodies of the ones who were not able to evacuate in time, and the snow covering it like a blanket for their rest. There still remained a shelter that lay within a mound of earth that housed the remaining life of the village. Those who knew of it called it "the Last Refuge", but it was also commonly called "The Core" as it used to be a cider refinery and bar. The building's only remaining owner was Frank Fieldscolt, the last of his family line. He set the rules and kept things running smoothly, but knew as much as the others it was no longer just his property. After all, everypony put in a great deal of work reinforcing the walls and foraging for supplies that it could be considered the community's house. Scouts for supplies often pulled up the blanket and sheet of the deceased. Even while the times were desperate, decency remained with a short funeral and parting words. Despite the number of the deceased, numerous ponies stayed and warmed in the Core as it was the only protection they had left. The other villages had either found a similar method or disbanded. Little did Anatrotka know how soon it may be their turn to decide, for the lights and screams grew closer with each passing moment.
The cries get louder every day... Frank thought to himself. And nopony shows mercy to their cries. His sad eyes wandered to the ponies meandering about the bar, cleaning around the place or boarding up a support beam. A few sat down and played cards or comforted children, trying to make the situation less miserable as it was. A sweet voice called to him and he turned slowly to look into the smile and kind eyes of the green mare who addressed him.
"You should really not be so down, Fieldscolt. These people need to see you stand tall, Frank," she stated, sitting down next to him. Frank shook his head, trying to clear it of her face before he replied.
"Trees stand tall for many years before they must fall," he began. "How does a tree know what time it is in the winter?” With the mare not answering his question he answered it himself. “It assumes an eternity, and falls dead." He looked back into the mare's alarmed blue eyes and quickly finished his statement. "But enough of that, I'm not going to be a stupid tree…" He finished with such abruptness it was clear he felt bad about the relation he was going to make to his situation and his thoughts. A thought of his parents rushing out into the fight as the city was blasted with lightning and fire. Another was a memory of his father telling him to head to the Core without him. Regret for not standing by his father as he died amid the chaos on the street, the snow piling high, suddenly hit him along with the burden of responsibility. He sank down behind the counter under the strain and began to weep. He had held his sorrow for so long inside of him that it burst out of his soul’s gates. He tried his best to keep silent but could not restrain the torrent of emotion he contained within himself. The mare sat next to him and gently wrapped her hoof around the strong mare's back in an attempt to comfort their leader in his time of trial. The others had known this day would come when emotion catches up with somepony as it was a regular occurrence, but still they wept tears of their own silently in remembrance of the loved ones who had passed on as well. Then, as suddenly as he had begun, he stopped his tears in order to turn to his comforter.
"Thank you, Marianne," He said with eyes still wet, and looked to his companions who were not so fast recovering their emotions with new warmth in his hard brown eyes. "We have not been fortunate," he began, turning to the tavern's main area in a projected voice that drew all attention to him. "but, I feel I am in fortune with all of you. For so long I -and the rest of you I'd imagine- have believed our families dead. Yet I look to each of you now as brothers, uncles, aunts, and sisters blessed with the same misfortune so that we may harden ourselves in a common bond." Each pony looked at each other, the hard expressions softening and a few risked trying a smile even at closer companions. Frank Leaped onto the counter, his motions expressing his emotion as well as his grand voice which filled the room. "I see you as my own family, not as strangers anymore. All who agree with this statement please stomp a hoof!" the sound reverberated plentifully in the reinforced room much to Frank's satisfaction. He smiled a genuine smile, and it filled the room with a new brightness as the joy flowed and warmed the air.
He stepped down from the counter and embraced Marianne with a firm hug returning her kindness. Others began to talk a bit less tensely with each other and dare to try some jokes, while others still embraced ones they've held dear as friends and family alike. The embrace between Marianne and Frank was broken and she shyly looked up at the stallion that now brimmed with confidence. Frank looked into her dark orange eyes, brushing away part of her gold mane to better see her. She in turn admired his dark brown eyes partly covered by an unkempt, similarly colored mane.
"Marianne Fairiley, your special talent is good luck isn't it?" He inquired much to Marianne’s embarrassment.
She sheepishly looked back at her golden clover mark, "I would like to think so, but why does the brewer ask?" She finished her statement pointing at the apple keg marking on Frank teasingly.
"Because," he replied with a softer tone accepting the joke, "I felt lucky to have everyone when I thought of you in my sorrow." Her eyes grew wide as she blushed, and Frank obviously a little embarrassed admitting to the fact. “Thanks again,” He said quickly, leaving to converse with the rest of his new found family leaving the lightly green colored mare to stare contently after him before meeting up with others as well.
One mare sat in the corner grinding a sword's metal to a fine point. I should have known, she thought grimly, this would be what my talent would become; her lantern marking only vaguely referring to her metalworking expertise. She sighed and looked over to the ponies still merrily talking and dancing forgetting the hard times after the speech. The blade she was working on shined like a new star, but she threw it into the pile of others as nothing special. She paused a moment to brush out some steel dust that had gotten caught in her silver mane, not paying attention to the two mares approaching her grinding wheel. The first with a brown coat cleared his throat before addressing her, "Suzanne Metallia?" She looked up into the expectant eyes awaiting a reply, recognizing him as Charles Quest and turned to find the second none other than Nestor Woods, who was already drifting off into thought. A hoof in the side and Nestor shot upright, remembering what they were doing, but Suzanne remained clueless.
"What exactly are you two buffoons doing?" she stated quite bluntly to their faces.
Charles faked an appalled look and retorted, "Why, buffoons are honest beings! A bit unrefined, yes, but nowhere near my lows!"
Nestor chuckled and looked back to his friend with a disapproving grin before continuing, "Whatever we are, we thought you should take a break from your work and have fun while the opportunity still exists."
Charles nodded in agreement but before he could continue their persuasion he found two blades at his neck. "Then who," Suzanne said cynically, "will keep these sharp before the next raid?"
Nestor nervously watched his friend as though he were about to be decapitated there. Yet Quest nudged away the swords with a hoof; a gleam in his eye as though he had accepted a challenge. "I would dare to say that the twenty swords and three hundred arrows have been sharpened three times since the last raid," he mockingly said before with a dexterous movement grabbing a sword and beginning a show which showed little of the stallion's black mane or brown coat with the blur of steel which he became. Coming to the great conclusion of his act he flung it spiraling into the air and ran to catch it on the tip of his nose, the hilt landing in perfect fashion balancing the clearly sharpened blade in the air. A great applause came from the tavern for this act as he bowed and returned the sword.
"Unsharpened swords take about half a second longer to complete that act," he stated and, with a wink, he left the coal colored mare and his orange friend to gape at him for his mastery. Realizing why Quest had used the act, Nestor pulled the still dazed metal worker into the celebration before she could think of another excuse.
Frank sat down at a table and looked at his various friends about the Core. Wasn't there some saying somepony told me when I was young? he thought, a bit confused as to his lacking memory because he normally could remember just about anything. Friendship is... He looked around at the very familiar faces which he hoped would be there the next day. His eyes happened upon Quest and Nestor performing a short skit about a strange midsummer day. Well, loyalty... honesty perhaps... I could have sworn it was something different... His eyes shot open in remembrance Magic! He laughed quietly to himself telling a few ponies startled with his sudden movement he was fine and to go have a dance. Ah, no Earth Pony can wield magic, but I suppose this is the closest we can get, he concluded, getting back up to warm in front of the giant fire which had been built in the small chimney place. The smoke blew out through the shaft into the snowy air, joining the flurry of the snow which seemed to lighten a slight bit given the force of the burning passion inside the mound. Suddenly though, it began more fiercely than ever as plated hooves plowed through the earth, following the smoke's scent and trail...