Regression

by chief maximus


Grass-Fed


Argos


Argos' cart rattled along the rutted dirt road leading to the Equestrian border. He'd made this journey countless times as a traveling gem merchant from the Iron Mountains. This time, however, marked the first time he'd make the trek with his son, Eros. He was really just a hatchling in his father's eyes, only twelve years old. He had the magnificent golden brown feathers of his father and the dark blue eye and head plumage of his mother. His eyes were light brown, flecked with gold that shone when he smiled.

His son sat listlessly in the drivers seat of the cart next to him. The ride from the Griffon empire had been a long one, and Eros seemed well tired of having to ride along at a snail's pace. Argos' tail had already fallen asleep more than once, and he could only assume the same for Eros. Flying to the market in the Equestrian capital would have been much quicker, though hauling the gems for trade would have been near impossible without the use of the cart and dumboxen.

His son's enthusiasm had been high at the outset of this trip, but by this, their third day on the road, he was impatient as any child would be. "How much farther?" Eros asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Won't be long now," Argos answered. "We should be coming up to the border crossing."

Just as he'd finished speaking, two guard towers crept up over the vast, sweeping plains. The amber grass was about neck high on a griffon and undulated in the wind as far as the eye could see. Argos had always enjoyed the rural beauty on his trips through the countryside, though Eros was not as breathtaken. To him, it was just a bunch of grass. But, in time, perhaps he would grow to appreciate it as much as Argos did.

The grasses began to creep closer to the road as they went, the ditches on either side shrinking as they approached the border. Eros was tasked with keeping the dumboxen on the path while his father kept an eye out for bandits and predators. They were certainly uncommon this close to the checkpoint, but a merchant of fine gems could never be too careful. Predators would love a meal strapped to a heavy cart, and thieves would love a merchant without dumboxen to pull it.

Keeping his eyes scanning across the endless golden sea, a rustle in the grass on the right side of the cart startled both of them. The gems rattled against each other as the oxen stamped to a halt. "Quick, Eros, get Bessie," Argos whispered urgently.

The younger griffon fumbled with the nondescript trunk behind the driver's seat. Griffons had natural defenses in their talons and sharp beaks, but nothing scared away a bandit or frightened a predator like the crack of gunpowder. Argos took the weapon from his son and cocked back the hammer, resting it against his shoulder as he aimed at the stalks of grass staying still in the breeze.

"Come out, or I'll blow you away!" he growled. Eros was frozen by his side. Argos had only been robbed once before he'd decided to buy the blunderbuss he gripped tightly in his talons. He could feel the wood of the stock grow slick as he waited nervously for either a thief or a wildcat to come out of the grasses.

The seconds seemed like hours as they ticked by. Eventually, the grass parted, revealing a brown pony clad in border guard's armor, though without a spear or helmet. Argos breathed a sigh of relief and lowered his weapon, uncocking the hammer.

"You gave us quite a scare!" he laughed, tilting the weapon over his shoulder. "I almost took your head off!"

The guard's mouth moved as though he were going to reply, though he did not speak. He seemed to be chewing on something. He kept his eyes on Argos and his cart, though his ears flicked in every direction, as if scanning for a threat. After a long silence, Argos spoke up again.

"So, have they moved the checkpoint closer to the border?" It was unusual to see a guard away from their post, especially one with only body armor and no weapon. The stallion snorted, bending down to take another mouthful of dry grass. He lifted his head back towards them. He chewed his grass slowly, a look on his face as though he was considering how to answer Argos' rather simple question.

Before he could, another creature bounded out of the grass on the opposite side of the road. A prairie lion about the size of a large stallion pounced on the back of one of the dumboxen. As the golden brown blur passed before him, Argos whipped himself around, cocking Bessie's hammer and leveling the weapon. In a roar that echoed through the plains, the shot hit its mark. The prairie lion tumbled off the back of the panicking dumboxen before it could deliver a mortal wound.

A large bloody pool formed around the animal as it lay there, a spot of fur the same color as the grass all around them matted with crimson. As Argo caught his breath, he glanced to where the guard had been standing. In the distance, he could see the grass parting as the stallion put as much distance between the frightening scenario and himself as possible.

"Some guard he was," Argos panted, setting Bessie across his lap. The barrel was warm, bordering on hot as he retrieved the tools needed to reload the weapon from the trunk. As he stuffed the gunpowder down the barrel, it dawned on him that Eros hadn't spoken a word since the encounter.

"You alright?" he asked, glancing over at his son whose eyes had been transfixed on the carcass of the prairie lion.

"Y-yeah, I'm okay."

"This was probably the second time I've ever had to fire Bessie in defense," he said reassuringly.

Eros ignored the remark. "Where do you think that pony went?" he asked.

His father shrugged. "Can't say. Didn't seem like much of a guard turning tail like that, did he?" his father joked, setting his weapon back in its case and hopping down from the wagon. "C'mon now, lad, help me check the dumboxen for injuries."

Eros joined his father and inspected the animal that had been attacked. There was some blood on its back, but the scratches all seemed superficial. The two climbed back onto the cart and pushed their team onward toward the towers in the distance.

Once they were within sight of the crossing, they found it deserted. There were a few abandoned carts by the side of the road, but not a pony to be seen. They slowed their oxen down as they reached the gate. It stood open, a creaky hinge squealing in the breeze. This was the only installation for miles until the first town, though there was no sign of a struggle or anything to indicate bloodshed of any kind.

"Aren't there supposed to be inspectors here or something?" Eros asked. His father stood up and peered around. With a flap of his wings, he was ten feet in the air. Such a vantage point let him see nearly into the next town along the road. He scanned the surrounding area but found no trace of any civilized life.

"Yes, there are..." Argos replied, landing softly beside his cart. "Hello?" He called to the small guard's hut near the gate and noticed the door was closed as he walked closer. The oxen shuffled nervously on their hooves, keenly aware of their surroundings after the prairie lion attack. Eros steadied them as his father knocked on the sturdy wooden door. From the outside, the building looked rather small. Two, maybe three rooms at the most. Bars on the east-facing window led Eros to assume it was also a small prison for thieves and smugglers. He watched as his father opened the door after receiving no reply to his knocks.

The dry prairie wind blew across the open fields, pushing the iron gate. The squeal of its hinges startled Eros, but his heart rate slowed after he realized the source of the noise. He shielded his eyes against the bit of sand kicked up by the wind and turned back to the guard hut, the heavy oaken door now open with a shaft of sunlight illuminating the dusty floor a few feet inside.

His father seemed to take ages inside the building as Eros waited. Just as he was about to dismount the cart and follow his father, Argos reappeared in the doorway. He set a brisk pace back to the cart, though something about his gait was unusual.

"Did you find anyone?" he asked as his father pulled himself onto the driver's seat. A weight dropped to the very pit of Eros' stomach. His father seemed shaken. The young griffon could feel the fear that had gripped his heart during the animal attack creeping up on him.

"No," Argos answered curtly, as if the question itself was offensive. His tone was off. In Eros' eyes, his father was a tough as they came. The time he'd told him about his cart being robbed, he said he managed to fight off two of the four bandits before they made off with some of his lesser quality gems he stored in the outer compartments of the wagon. He'd come home, had a few drinks and told Eros the story, much to his mother's disapproval. He laughed at it, and at the bandits foolish enough to try and rip him off. This time, he wasn't laughing. In fact, a smile was the farthest thing from his face.

Argos took the reins and ushered the oxen onward without a second thought.

"We're just going through?" Eros asked. Although this was his first trip, he wasn't completely ignorant of the workings of international travel.

"We need to let the next town know there's no one staffing this crossing. It'll be a haven for bandits and smugglers if they don't post someone." Argos' words were those of a parent, telling his child the argument was over by virtue of his authority. Eros took a look back toward the small guard's hut. The door hung open lazily as it disappeared around the front of the building. Another barred window came into view as the cart moved along down the road. A white cloth had been tied around one of the bars, blowing in the breeze as though to wave them goodbye.

He turned around to face the road ahead, fighting the chill running down his spine. He was still with his father, and as long as he was, everything would be fine.


Argos felt his eyes drooping as the sun shone its last rays on the plains, casting his cart and oxen team in a long shadow. Eros had fallen asleep nearly as soon as they'd left the empty border crossing, and he couldn't wait to join his son. The town of Prairieville sat in the middle of a picturesque field. Like many frontier towns, this one had walls, but they'd hardly seen a day of battle. Instead of archers and pikeponies, the banners of the Princesses usually hung along the battlements, the white stone of the ramparts standing in stark contrast to the color of the wild grasses in the fields. He felt the usual breeze that seemed to always blow downwind of the settlement. In journeys past, it had carried with it the sound of laughing foals as they played in the meadow, of fresh baked breads and grilled vegetables beckoning him to an inn with a warm bed and a solid roof.

But not this time.

It was the same wind he'd looked forward to countless times before, only it brought nothing but a chill. His son stirred beside him as the breeze ruffled his feathers. The closer their cart got to the open portcullis, the more Argos felt the hope leave him. He'd hoped the border checkpoint was simply the result of a miscommunication, but the state of things said differently. The horror he'd seen inside the guard's shack should have smothered that hope then and there, but Argos was nothing if not an optimist.

There were no guards outside the gates, and the torches along the wall were usually lit by sunset. He noticed his son sit up from his slouched position next to him. He heard Eros gasp as they reached the gates. A cart of spears and armor was tipped over, its contents spilled onto the roadway. The buildings beside the gatehouse had their windows shattered. It looked as though the town had been ransacked, though there was not a trace of gore to be found. No blood, no broken spears, or shattered armor. Eros let out a whimper as he realized this town was the same as the border crossing.

"D-dad, I wanna go home."

His father reached behind Eros, unlocking the trunk and setting Bessie across his lap. He felt his son cling to his arm, scooting closer to him on the bench as though the earth itself would snatch him away. Argos remained silent, hushing his son as their oxen continued down the street into town. As they came to the town center, not a single living thing stirred. One could be forgiven for thinking it was the early hours of the morning, were it not for the setting sun.

Though he was used to seeing Prairieville's town square emptying out by the time he arrived, Argos felt a chill creep down his spine as he noticed the moving black masses hovering above the vendor's food carts. They were flies, swarms of them, helping themselves to the wares no one had either seen to or been around to store. The stench of rotting fruit and decaying greens hit them both like a putrid wave. Eros covered his beak in disgust as his father halted the wagon. He reached back behind the trunk that held Bessie and into another chest. He pulled an item wrapped in a grey cloth into his lap over his weapon. Unrolling the cloth, Argos held a short-sword up in the dying sunlight. The final rays of orange glistened off the polished blade as he glanced to Eros.

"I was saving this to give you on our return trip," he explained, setting it back on the cloth and handing him the hilt. "But I suppose now is as good a time as any." Eros briefly forgot his fears as he gazed at his reflection in the blade.

He reached for it, but hesitated. "We aren't going home?" he asked, voice quivering.

His father sighed. "No, I'm afraid we can't until we sell these gems."

Eros' brow furrowed in confusion. Something was very clearly wrong here, and his father wouldn't turn back until the two of them made money? Surely, his father wasn't that greedy.

"Wha... but what if whatever got these ponies comes back for us?" he stammered.

"We can't go back. Your mother can't work, and I'm the only thing between us and begging for food on the streets," his father said as comfortingly as possible. He'd done well to hide this truth from his son over the years, but his profession depended on the high price and quality of gems mined from the Iron Mountains.

After a long silence, his son spoke. "What will we do now?"

Argos' expression softened. Perhaps he was being a bit reckless. He figured his wife would chase him into the afterlife herself if she'd ever figured out he'd risked his life and that of his son for gold. "We'll stay for the night. I know an inn I use when I visit. When the sun rises, we can head back to the Iron Mountains."

Eros was a bit confused by his father's sudden change of heart. "But, what will we do for food without money?"

His father sighed, resting his talons against the sword on his lap. I should never have mentioned the money... he thought. "I'll find us the money to survive until I can make a trip to the Mixed Cities. I'll borrow some and take double the gems to make back the loan." He looked to his son and smiled, mussing the plumage on his head. "I wouldn't risk you for all the gold in Canterlot."

Eros gave a small smile in return. His father offered him the sword once more, only this time, his son wrapped his talons firmly around the hilt. He felt empowered. Once, a friend of his from school had found an old dagger while playing in the forest around the Iron Mountains. They split time keeping it at their houses, hiding it from their parents and hoping they could find another one to play-fight with. Unfortunately, Eros' mother discovered it while it was his turn to keep it. He'd gotten quite the talking to about how dangerous weapons could be and how they were not meant for hatchlings.

That was two years ago. His father joined his mother in insisting blades were dangerous and he needed to be punished for hiding something like this. And now, his father was giving him a sword of his very own.

"Wait here with the dumboxen. I'm going to see what I can find." Argos hopped down from the cart, Bessie cradled in his arm as he walked toward the town square. The buzzing of the flies seemed to be the only sound in the entire city. Apart from the rotten food, nothing seemed out of order. It was as though the inhabitants simply walked away from their lives in the middle of the day.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted movement. He whipped his head around to face it and drew his blunderbuss to his shoulder. He lowered the weapon when he saw the outline of a few ponies in the dying sunlight. He squinted at them, trying to confirm whether these were actual living things or perhaps just debris that had taken on coincidental pony-like form. As he watched silently, he noticed one drop its head, paw at the ground, and then look back at him. Hope rose in his chest as he approached.

For the usually brightly colored folk of the equine lands, these three were rather drab. One was dark brown, with a tail as black as coal. Another was more of a gray, with a similar colored mane and tail. The third was a hay colored pegasus, with a matching mane and tail. None of them wore any clothes, though that was not unusual. What was unusual, were the matted-ness of their manes. Most ponies usually took time to comb their mane and tail at least occasionally, but these mares looked as though they hadn't seen a brush in weeks.

As Argos got closer, the mares seemed to become more wary of him. They stood in a small patch of grass on the otherwise barren streets. Each was slowly chewing, some blades of grass stuck to their lips and cheeks.

After realizing he'd slowly been walking toward these ponies without uttering a word, he decided to ask the first question on his mind. "What happened here?"

They flicked their ears toward him, and one took a few cautious steps backward. The pegasus of the group fluttered her wings nervously, more than a few feathers coming loose and gently floating towards the ground around her. Argos was close enough now to notice their condition. They hadn't been preened in weeks and there were patches of pink skin showing beneath where her feathers had either fallen out or no longer grew.

He took one step too many, and the mares retreated at full gallop down the street and into the creeping darkness. Argos rubbed his eyes. The only ponies he could find in the area were too skittish to talk. They looked as though they'd just been through a war, but he'd only been in Prairieville a month ago! He turned back the way he came, certain Eros was tired of being alone with the dumboxen in such a scary place, if only for five minutes.

He rounded the corner of the main street and smiled, seeing his son still sitting in the wagon seat, his eyes wide open and his sword in his talons. Argos fluttered the rest of the distance back to the wagon and took the reigns.

"Did you find anyone?" Eros asked.

"No," he replied, driving the oxen forward at a steady pace. The inn he usually frequented was just up the street, and he meant to make it before nightfall.

"If there's no one here, then where will we sleep?" Eros asked, as though it'd just occurred to him.

"We'll stay in the inn until morning, then we'll head back," his father said, his eyes glancing from building to building for any signs of life. "If someone is there, we'll pay them, and if not, we'll stay there anyway."

Eros smiled. "Who's going to stop us?"

"Exactly."

They reached the inn and pulled the cart to a stop. It was almost too dark to see outside without any torches, though a griffon's naturally sharp eyes helped them in the new moon's darkness. They unhitched the oxen and led them to the barn outside the inn. Once they'd both been placed in a stable, Argos doused the wounded oxen's back in alcohol to fight any infections that might be brewing in its scrapes. The animal voiced its displeasure loudly, its cries echoing eerily off the walls of the buildings.

They secured the wagon to a hefty pole with a heavy iron chain and headed inside the lobby of the abandoned inn. Argos could practically smell the coffee the old gray mare that ran the place brewed every evening. She'd wait behind the desk, intimidating any who entered with a dark glare until she saw your purse. Once she was sure you had the money, her mood brightened considerably. She would always chat up Argos, and he even managed a discount on his stays, simply because she 'liked' him. True or not, he took the rate all the same. As he and his son stepped into the darkened lobby, he wondered what had become of her.

Inside, the cash register had been cleaned out, and lay on its side on the floor, but otherwise, everything seemed to be in order. A torch on the wall sat above a bucket of oil and a striking stone. Argos walked over, the floorboards creaking in protest as his did, Bessie still in his arms. He peered down into the bucket and sighed in relief. There was still a bit of lamp oil left. He took the torch off the wall and soaked the rags in as much of the remaining liquid as he could. Striking the stone on the wall with a talon, he sent a shower of sparks onto the fabric. The lobby lit up as he held the light to his face, Bessie now resting on his shoulder in one talon.

Eros took in the surroundings, noticing everything seemed to be coated in a fine layer of dust. It was near pitch-black by the time they'd entered the lobby, and the light brought with it a few more disturbing facts about the building. Every window in the lobby was boarded shut, and behind the front desk, torn posters and faded parchment sat peeling off the walls as though they'd been stuck there as wall paper far past its prime. Eros gripped his sword tightly and crept behind the desk as his father followed with the torch. With the sword pointed in front of him, he leapt behind the desk, setting his back against the wall as he readied himself to fight off an attacker that wasn't there.

Argos sighed in relief as his son lowered his sword. "The room keys should be in a drawer somewhere. See if you can find us one."

Eros rifled through the drawers until he found one that jingled with keys. He grabbed a fistful and spread them on the desk. "How about 108?"

Argos nodded, beckoning his son back over the desk. With a hop, he was behind his father as his torch lit the way down the dusty corridor. As they went, most of the doors were closed, the room numbers rising slowly. Argos noticed a door open, the number 108 reflecting the light of their torch. They stepped over a few overturned chairs and hallway tables before reaching the open door. Argos handed his torch to his son and whispered, "Stay right behind me."

Eros nodded, taking the light in one talon and his sword in the other. His father drew Bessie to his shoulder and took careful steps around the doorway. He turned quickly, Eros in tow, shining a light into the darkness. Argos held his breath as he quickly scanned the room.

Nothing. He exhaled loudly, lowering his weapon and taking in the dancing shadows cast by the torchlight. With heavier steps, he entered the room, Eros following behind him. The room was dirty, but that was to be expected in an abandoned city. The sheets were taken from the bed, and like in the lobby, the windows were boarded up.

Argos pulled a hay stalk from a hole in the mattress and lit it, lighting a lamp on the bedside table. Eros set his sword on the floor and climbed onto the bed. It wasn't as soft as his bed at home, but it would do for a night. Much better than his bedroll on the hard ground. Argos felt his stomach rumble. He could've slapped himself. He'd forgotten to bring in the food!

He turned to Eros, who had taken up his half of the bed and was nearly asleep himself. "Don't sleep just yet. I'm going back to get the food."

His son groaned. He'd eaten enough jerky and hard cheese to last him a lifetime. At this point, the alternative might have seemed preferable.

"It's that or nothing," Argos replied, trying to brighten the mood. "I'll be back in a second."

He closed the door behind him and stepped into the dim hallway. The rest of the doors to the rooms were shut, and he had no inclination to open them. Argos reached the lobby and shouldered his weapon. He knew there was nothing there during the night that wasn't there during the day, but Bessie helped calm his nerves all the same.


Eros


Eros sat up from the bed after his father had left. He clutched his sword as he walked around the room. Even though he'd only had it for a few hours, he was sure to never let it get too far away from him, especially in a place like this. So far, he and his father had only encountered a wild animal, some rotten fruit and a skittish border guard. Nothing particularly terrifying, but something about the atmosphere of this city made his down rise in a chill. Adding to the sense of foreboding that sat over the entire town like an early morning fog, were the boarded up windows. As he walked toward them, he noticed the boards nailed to the building from the outside as though the town were preparing for a storm of some kind.

Of course, Dad had to pick the creepiest building in town, he thought to himself, turning back toward the bed. In the open space of the small room, he practiced his swordplay. He'd seen the imperial guard practice in the courtyard of the palace on the weekends when his father would take him to watch their drills. He imitated their thrusts, parries, and slashes as best he could, fighting the shadows cast on the ground by the lantern. After a bit of vigorous fighting, he set his sword by his side of the bed and climbed back onto the sheetless mattress.

He glanced back at his sword, admiring its blade in the lamplight. It was polished steel, not a knick or scratch anywhere to be found. He reckoned his father had spent a good amount of money on it. He also knew his mother would try and say he was not old enough for something so dangerous. Eros' thoughts drifted back to what his father had said earlier about going back to the Iron Mountains empty-taloned. He said he would just borrow the money, but Eros couldn't begin to imagine from whom he'd borrow it. His grandparents on both sides weren't particularly well-off, and neither his mother or father had any brothers or sisters.

The creaking of the door startled him as Argos appeared in the doorway with a burlap sack over his shoulder, the stock of Bessie protruding from it. "Hope you're hungry."

He couldn't deny that. Perhaps jerky wouldn't be so bad for just a few more nights. As his father divvied up the food, Eros spoke up. "Dad, where will you get the money from?"

"What money?" Argos replied, his mouth full.

"The money we'd need to live on if we went back home," Eros said flatly.

His father never looked up from his plate. "I'd find it. Don't worry."

Argos used his most reassuring tone, but Eros was unconvinced. After all, if finding the money was no trouble at all, surely they would have turned back at the first sign of trouble?

"I want us to keep going."

Argos stopped chewing and looked up at his son. The boy's face was as serious as they come. It was as though giving him that sword had changed him from a hatchling to a valiant young griffon in a few hours time. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I don't want our first trip to market to be a disaster."

Argos smiled at his son, taking a piece of jerky in his talon. "Then we will. But if your mother asks, nothing was out of the ordinary."


Argos


The night wore on as they finished their meal and packed away their remaining stores. They bid each other goodnight as they laid on the barren mattress. Eros went right to sleep, but Argos' mind wandered.

Why was this city abandoned? What could have caused everyone here to flee in such a hurry? Why did those mares run from me? These thoughts and more raced through his mind. The city was quiet, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Not even the song of crickets could be heard behind the walls. Try as he might, his thoughts drifted back to the horror he'd seen in the guard shack. When his son decided he wanted to soldier on, Argos neglected to mention what he'd witnessed.

No use telling him that before bed, he thought. It'd just give him nightmares. Argos rolled over, facing what would have been a window, had it not been boarded up. Through the slits in the wood, beams of moonlight streaked in. Pony lore had it that their princesses raised the sun and moon each day. Whether that was true or not was up for debate, but no one in any kingdom could doubt their power. The sight of the moon filled him with a bit of hope. If the pony legends were true, then maybe this city just needed to be evacuated for some reason. Perhaps the lives of the rest of the equine lands went on as usual everywhere but here?

Just as soon as he'd allowed himself to hope, he felt the dread return. The same dread he felt in the guard shack. He'd entered, walking past the empty reception desk and down the halls, listening for any sign of life. As he rounded a corner, he came to the holding cells. In them was the horror he'd chosen not to reveal. A pony hung by his neck from one of the bunks, another dead in the corner. His fur had fallen off almost completely, and the skin had tightened, revealing the bones beneath in the arid heat. On the wall, a message was scrawled in a ghastly ink:

Better dead than grass-fed.

There was no explanation for the message and no one around to explain it. The eyeless sockets of the dead ponies unnerved him the most. Soulless black pits with mouths shriveled into a permanent, silent scream. However, just like outside, there was no sign of a violent struggle. No dried blood, nothing to indicate there had been anything done to those prisoners except what they themselves willed. Had it been some kind of terrible monster, or black plague, he would have turned around and headed straight for the Iron Mountains. He'd seen woodcuts of towns beset by plagues, and this town was nothing like one. There would be bodies in the street. There would at least be a warning to others outside the city walls not to enter.

But here, there was nothing but emptiness.

That was something Argos simply couldn't make sense of. There had been no travel warnings, no imperial order to suspend trade with the equine lands, no nothing! And what of the message on the wall? Did the rulers issue some sort of decree about eating grass? Why would someone rather die than follow it? Equestria was known as one of the wealthiest and best-stocked kingdoms in all the world. In fact, their aid helped starving civilizations across the globe! How could they have been reduced to eating grass in one month's time?

None of this made any sense. Thankfully, Argos' heavy eyelids won out over his racing thoughts as he finally drifted off to sleep.


Eros


The dawn seemed like it arrived a few hours early. Though the windows were boarded up, sunlight still found its way into the room, bright enough to wake young Eros. During the night he'd had a terrible dream. He was back at the guard shack, only this time, he was alone. He had his sword with him, but nothing else. The door to the shack swung open as white cloth snakes crept from the darkness and towards him. He raised his sword to strike, but found it now weighed thousands of pounds. Try as he might, his arms simply wouldn't lift it. The cloth serpents coiled around his legs and deftly pulled him off his feet. Eros rolled onto his belly and clawed at the hard packed dirt, trying desperately to slow himself down as the darkness of the shack came ever closer. He watched helplessly as his sword lay in the dust, getting further from him as the shack pulled him into its maw-like doorway.

He hooked his claws into the doorframe, stopping his momentum for a moment. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came. The half of his body in the darkness was cold. He remembered that distinctly. Eros fought to stay in the sunlight, but soon more cloth snakes took hold of his arms and pried his talons from their embedded position in the mortar. Once he was inside the shack, the door slammed shut, startling him awake while it was still dark out.

Argos was still asleep, so he settled back down, reaching for the hilt of his sword and lifting it, just to make sure he still could. He fell into a fitful sleep for the remaining hours, but he was more than ready to put some distance between himself and the shack. His father shook him awake, offering him more of the same fare for breakfast. They ate in silence, grabbing whatever useful items from the room they could find and loading them onto the wagon. The trip to Canterlot would take them through one more small town. Ponyville was a quiet little hamlet and home to some of the best apples for miles. He recalled the friendly locals wistfully, praying to the gods of griffondom that whatever had happened to the ponies here had not happened to the citizens of Ponyville.

"So, I was thinking about naming my sword," Eros said through a mouthful of jerky and hard cheese.

His father glanced up at him. "Is that right?"

"Yeah, all the heroes gave their swords names. Mine should have one, too."

Argos nodded. "Fair enough. Have one picked out already?"

Eros thought for a moment. "I was thinking... Titan."

Argos smiled. The same name the monster slayer Syrell christened his sword. It was his son's favorite legend. "Such a fierce name for a small sword, don't you think?" he teased.

Eros chuckled at his father. "I'll be needing a sash to hold it. I can't carry it around everywhere."

"I think we can dig something out of the cart for you to holster it," Argos said, finishing the last of his breakfast. "Now, lets get on the road, shall we?"