//------------------------------// // Good Morning // Story: Changing perspectives // by Coronet the lesser //------------------------------// Spike emerged from the darkness in to a surprisingly open and bright clearing. He was unsure how the light had not penetrated through the trees. Up until the opening of the clearing it had remained pitch black, yet within a couple of metres the atmosphere changed rapidly. The air felt cool and refreshing within the clearing. He could see the light of the sun’s rays dressing the seemingly untouched patch of land. It was early morning, because while the sun was out it was still cold and its brightness had not yet filled the land. It was still relatively greyish. Yet the relief that flooded Spike upon seeing light again could not be put into words. It was if by entering the clearing he’d shed a great weight hanging over him. The terror of the forest steadily passed. Still Spike stumbled and fell occasionally as his wounds continued to harass him. He was losing a good bit of blood which came out in this out blackish red form. It left a steady trail behind him. If it were not for his preoccupation with comprehending this oasis of land, he’d have worried that he left a bread trail for any predator to follow him. The peaceful chirp of birds, the sound of the wind on his ears and the smell of the fresh air he had been separated from for a significant amount of time gave him a renewed sense of calm but he could not ignore it was morning something which surprised him greatly. ‘Must have been walking for nearly eight hours? How is that possible? It felt like only a quarter of that time.’ Spike suddenly felt his hunger return as well as his other senses. He looked back at the still pitch black forest. He shivered violently. As he hobbled down the path he finally decided to direct his listening towards the whistling sound. In the middle of the clearing stood alone caravan, it was larger than Trixie’s had been but certainly not large enough to accommodate Spike. Still it reminded him of the library in a way. It had ornamental carvings dressing it, they formed strange runic patterns that from a distance seemed to be no more than scribbles adorning its side. It was made of dark wood of similar build to that of the tree that had just attacked Spike. The patterns were still discernible because of their colour. They were designed a brilliant gold that glowed with shimmering beauty. They changed hue when he shifted his head but the gold was the most noticeable of the colours from Spike’s position. The roof of the traveling cart was a dulled red with a small pole standing erect at the centre. An odd flag of purple with a red eye sat in its centre. Spike presumed it indicated the magician’s status as a mystic. The mystic eye was a popular representation within the non-magical community of the arcane but to most magic users it was an insulting symbol of prejudice. It was essentially used as a label to all those that used magic as shut-ins and eccentric spell casters. It had deep and ugly historical roots. Twilight had refused its design, outside of the necessary buildings, to be within her palace. She said it gave her the creeps. There was a sufficient campfire a few metres from it. It was out at the moment but some wood sat by its side. There was also a washing basket not far from the caravan. It was unattended currently. The only luxury present was a fairly nice looking couch opposite to the unlit fire. Spike tried to move forward but gasped in pain as his ankle gave way again. He wouldn’t last long without medical attention. Spike shrugged off the pain and grabbed an extremely large but sturdy branch fallen from a dead tree. He used as a makeshift cane even though it was too small. He leaned down a bit to give it a better fit. Spike never noticed that tiny sparkles of magic began closing his gaping wounds ever so slowly. Spike felt a lot stronger for some reason. His exhaustion was lifting with every step. ‘Must be my natural resilience. Still that wouldn’t explain why the pain is fading. I know I got hit badly by that tree but it doesn’t look like I’m dying yet.’ Still the makeshift cane was needed for the final few steps. Spike wanted to call out but stopped shorty as he felt a scratch on his leg. He looked down and much to his surprise one of his wounds had disappeared. There was no scar nor wound or even a scab. The oddest thing was that the broken scales also began to fix themselves. A new gleaming set emerged to where previously there had been a deep wound. ‘This is getting weird. Maybe coming here was the brightest idea.’ Spike shook his head. ‘You made your choice to go this far. You’re not turning back empty handed.’ Spike looked contemptibly at his claws, each finger as sharpest the greatest blades made by mortal hands. ‘Not this time.’ A few moments of slow progress passed as Spike neared the wheeled house. With each minute a wound reclosed and Spike felt himself straighten his back. He discarded his cane and had returned to his standing stance. He felt like he did before the attack. Spike knew that no healing factor outside perhaps a magically enhanced one could fix such deliberating injuries. Dragons were no exception. Spike had never heard of any dragon that healed with a fifteen minute timeframe. This was the work of someone else’s magic. The same magic that could push back the most dangerous trees the forest could offer, the same magic that could create this clearing in the heart of the old forest, the same magic that made the Magician a figue of complete and utter mystery even to the most powerful of beings. Spike was less confident about his encounter now. “Good morning!” “Huh?” questioned Spike. He rapidly searched for the epicentre of the greeting. His eyes passing over all the materials he previously pondered upon. His eyes came to rest on the couch which now housed a robed figure waving slightly with a raised claw. “I said good morning master dragon! Unless you are not having a good morning which seems to be the case then I have been presumptuous in my greeting.” The figure turned his robed head to look over Spike. Spike felt uneasy for some reason, he still couldn’t see the magician’s face. “But yet is it not a fine morning? For I have had a fine morning nonetheless so I will still wish my pleasantries upon you if you forgive me for such an observation.” Silence remained momentarily between them. Spike decided to speak. “Ehh...good morning, I guess.” “Well good morning then.” Spike was still unsure what to make of the creature before him. He moved forward to see the Magician better. The creature had spoken with a deep male voice but was light enough not to seem threatening. The voice was distorted but Spike assumed that was because of the distance between them .He had black claws that reminded Spike of his own claws but smaller in stature. The figure had a draconic snout like Spike again but that was all that Spike could truly see. The figure still was looking squarely at Spike. The most startling feature was the Magician’s eyes. They were tiny but in the dark surrounding his face and snout glowed rather menacingly. It included tiny turquoise blue irises and two almost unnoticeable white pupils. The eyes looked sunken in. It was in truth an intimidating sight for the young dragon. The eyes reminded him of Sunset Shimmer’s demonic form. He shuddered at the memory slightly. “If you’re quite done looking at me with suspicious intent, I was going to ask you whether you wanted a drink,” said the Magician. Spike was caught off guard by the break in silence and struggled to get his words out. No-uh thank-long- just *cough*…I’m fine,” he squeezed out. The creature shrugged before facing away from Spike. Spike raised an eyebrow in response ‘Is he just going to carry on like nothing happened?’ The creature leaned over to a barrel pulled out something with his claws, set it aside before pulling out a wooden box and carefully lifting up an old looking wooden pipe. He placed the stuff he took from the barrel into the pipe’s front and took a match from under his robe. The match lit of its own accord before he placed it into the front of the pipe and finally placed the pipe in his mouth. Spike was incredulous. He did not just wander through the forest to see this apparently ‘wondrous’ Magician smoke. “Ex-Excuse me?” “Ah good morning!” Spike’s head fell into his claws. His frustration was building every second he stood by watching the Magician continue on with his meaningless task. He tried to intervene again and hopefully get a conversation going that would lead to Spike requesting his aid. “Look I’ve come a long way I just want-” “You smoke?” “No, why would you ask th-…I didn’t even dragons could smoke…wait a second you’re getting me off topic…” “Terrible habit I picked up from my youth, never managed to kick it. Suppose I’m too old to let go of it now,” the Magician sighed despondently before taking a puff of his pipe. The smoke shaped into a snake apparition before floating off. Spike meanwhile was steaming with rage. The temptation to fry the magician if he interrupted Spike again was tempting but Spike realised he needed him for now despite his seemingly eccentric tendancies. “Look as much as I love small chat, I’ve not come here to keep you company.” “Good, I’m afraid I find you’re company quite lacking master dragon.” “We’ve only been talking for less than a minute, how in divines name can you judge my company when I’ve only just met you?!” seethed Spike. He was now seriously considering whether he should put the Magician on a spit over fire or launch him into the stratosphere. His eyes turned to slits. The fire within his chest was growing. He’d make this creature grovel for disrespecting a dragon. At the last moment Spike resisted. He was mortified how close he’d come to assaulting a creature who had in truth done no harm to him. A petty insult, was that all it took now to set him off. Spike felt dizzy. The rage of emotions within him was turning into an ugly battle for dominance. Spike’s moral side taught to him by Twilight and the inner beast side of his primal nature which was desperate for release after years of being contained. “Well first you come onto my land uninvited, secondly you leave a blood trail for any predator to follow to me and lastly you just contemplated killing me for no other reason than because I insulted you and you feel superior to me.” The Magician took another puff. Spike was aghast. “How did you know I wanted to hurt you?” Spike questioned but much to his annoyance the Magician did not answer but rather faced away from him and did nothing for a while before returning to Spike. “I know things, I’m sure you understand that by now. Let’s say I have a unique understanding of things. Your kind is one of those things.” “You know of my kind? They have never spoken of you when I visited them.” “You didn’t ask the right questions then. Anyway they usually leave me alone. Most dragons are superstitious, dislike beings like me wandering about. They call me old Cronos or Khronos; have never really found out whether it be an insult or a gesture of affection. Lucky for me then that I’ve found ponies to be far more open. They’ve changed very much down the years.They're a far softer race now” “So I take it you’re quite old then?” At that the creature’s eyes glinted with Spike could only describe as mischievousness and pondering. It reminded him of Celestia in a way. After a long moment the creature quietly answered. “Yes I suppose you could say that.” The old mage stood up and stretched before returning to his seat. Spike managed to gauge his height and appearance more clearly for the first time. The mage was taller than an alicorn prehaps even Celestia but he was shorter than Spike and Discord by a considerable bit. His back was bent and he had kind of a lurch. His arms were long though, both long enough to hang just above the knee. His legs were covered but Spike knew they were double jointed like a dragons. That meant he looked like he was crouching when he really wasn’t. His waist looked thin compared to the surprisingly broad shoulders he had. Spike could have mistaken the mage for a drake only a few years younger than him in different circumstances. “What’s your name then if it is not Cronos?” “I don’t give names idly, to give ones name away is to give one the keys to your life. Well for me anyway.” “Fine suit you yourself.” “Most just merely call me the magician. You may call me by my draconic name or the name of ‘Set’ if it so pleases you.” “Why Set?” “It was a name a bunch of monks and priests gave to me a long time ago. I have forgotten its meaning. I have many names. Some are more diverse than others. I care little for titles. A being’s worth is measured by the strength of their will, with that names are not as important to me as they are to others.” “I suppose that’s fair. Let’s keep it at Magician for now.” “Seems a bit detached, don’t you think?” “That’s because I still don’t trust you.” “Fine but what about your name drake?” “Spike.” “That is an odd name for a dragon. I’m presumably correct in assuming you were not raised in the dragon lands.” “No born and raised by ponies.” “As a pet?” “No as an equal.” “Fascinating.” Spike stood for a few moments. He was anxious to proceed. The creature seemed amiable enough but Spike could not shake the feeling that this had been a mistake. His resolve had been shaken by the eccentric and mysterious nature of his host. “The forest leaves you be. Why?” “It knows its place, I know mine, and we both avoid each other because of it.” “What exactly is the place of a traveling magician?” Spike received no reply bar an indignant huff and more smoke produced from the pipe. A flock of birds passed overhead to which Spike watched with passing interest. They were followed by two swans which passed overhead. Spike watched the two head off to whatever patch of water they could find, side by side, together, forever bound to each other. His heart shattered a little as he watched them. “The same place that you are in my boy.” “What?” Spike returned to watching the mage smoke as his question lingered in the air. Spike once again felt out of place. The clearing was like living in another world. Unlike when he visited the human world, Spike was unsure if his thoughts and feelings were his own and whether they’re sanctity was being preserved. His was playing by someone else’s rules and he didn’t like it. “I said boy that you are out of place, lost, without meaning or purpose.” The Magician looked up. He put down his pipe and carefully returned it to its box which he placed to the side of the couch. He placed both of his claws on his knees and analysed Spike with his beady eyes. “You were raised by ponies, a dragon born with morals and high upper class social standing.” He wheezed as if he found the idea of a civilised dragon amusing to himself, slapping his knee with his right arm. Spike clenched his fists. “But know, oh yes; know you are fading from their world. What is it, ah yes, a monster if you will indeed. For you are a predator amongst prey. Afraid of yourself, you’ve become like an animal in a cage of his own making. Yet they don’t see the good side all they see is the ugly and in the end that’s what you become. The animal they fear so much is the animal you’ll eventually become and all because you got the short end of the straw on the evolutionary scale. It’d be funny if it weren’t so sad,” the Magician spat the final words. The mage’s eyes flamed and his fists shook but he held a cruel smile which he directed at Spike. Spike’s anger began tip as each new sentence hit his ear drums. He felt the fire in his stomach rage against his will. Spike tried one last time to stop himself. “Stop,” said Spike calmly. Much to his surprise the Magician stopped shaking and collapsed backwards as if he had been expecting Spike to lash out but was suprised when he did not. Spike calmed himself once more. The Magician instead leaned back into the couch. He had a pensive frown across his muzzle as he leaned on his left hand heavily. “I apologize, I may have caused insult. Do not blame me, as I said old habits die hard, I have tendency to be cruel on occasion but alas it is only because I understand your point of view,” he sighed. He stared a Spike with his sunken but now clearly sad eyes. “Not every creature is as accepting as these ponies here are. I’ve seen too many dark days. I need some rest. Sadly my show must go on. There is no rest for the wicked.” “I accept your apology, but as you probably know I’m not just passing through. I have come here for a reason. In a way you’re right I am fading.” Spike felt his stomach drop. Words were becoming hard to place in coherent sentences as sadness and bitterness took hold. “I’m running out of time.” “You are not dying are you? I have not sensed that since you have entered my domain.” “No, but I may as well if I have to abandon everything I love.” “I do not understand then, I am no therapist. I cannot guide you through your problems or deal with your anger.” “But you are skilled at magic. I’ve heard you can do things no other can do. This is why I have come to you. I need help.” “I have no help to offer; you are not ill nor are you sick of mind. I cannot aid you. You should return home to your loved ones. No doubt they miss you.” “I WON’T GO BACK TO HER LIKE THIS!” roared Spike. He had knocked the Magician over with the power of his voice but Spike was still too enraged to care. He smashed the ground with all his might. His fists burned but the ground was imprinted by two large dents in the soil. Spike spat fire from his mouth as he trembled violently. “I’m sick is what I am. You said so yourself. I don’t want to leave…ever. I don’t want to be a dragon. I want to be with her. But I can’t because I’m some sick beast. A monster.” The Magician remained silent and allowed Spike to continue. “I can’t wait until I make a mistake; I can’t wait until I accidently kill somepony and have to be let into the wild like a feral animal. I have tried everything and failed. You are my last resort. I need you to set things right. I want you to give me the life I want…no…the life I deserve.” Spike got on his knees. His two claws were crossed and he held his arms a few metres away from the Magician. He seemed surprised by the whole ordeal. Spike’s wings were hanging limply at his sides. His image would have been of pure misery had it not been for the fact that his size made it awkward. “What do you want me to do child?” “I want you to make me a pony.”