//------------------------------// // What now? // Story: Desert Sky // by Real_SilentPony //------------------------------// Zecora’s eyes opened. The sun shone brightly through the crystal clear window, warming the zebra’s face and pulling a contented moan from her lips. She rolled over, embracing the endless comfort of her blanket and pillow. This is what she imagined it was like to sleep on a cloud. The blankets were of the finest quality, woven and unbearable comfortable. She found herself sinking into her mattress, all too happy with the idea. She was on a bed. A very nice, comfortable bed. Inside a warm room. She looked around, taking it all in. There was a red floor rug, and two separate dressers. A window on the far end of the room was ajar, allowing for a comfortable Fall day breeze to flow in. She could hear birds, and there was the unmistakable salty smell of the ocean. Then the sounds of laughter brought her from her sleepy haze and she turned back to the window. Outside a chestnut brown stallion was throwing a ball with a giggling and prancing little filly. Zecroa smiled to herself and got out of bed, determined to join them. She took a moment to brush and braid her mane and tail, and hung golden rings from her body. Zecora left the room through a plain wooden door and found herself in a hallway. She opened the first door she saw and found another, smaller bedroom. This one was obviously for a child. Toys, dolls, and stuffed animals littered the floor. But there were also books, and a harpsichord sat in the corner. Zecora picked up one of the books. It was a child’s primer guide to chemistry. She opened it and found that several chapters had already been completed. In messy, large handwriting it had to be said, but completed none the less. She took a moment to look it over, finding to her delight whatever child did this had a knack for science and learning. Zecora set the book down and left the room, closing the door gently. The next two rooms were a washroom, with a deep bathtub, and a hall closet. Zecora noticed three pairs of winter clothing and boots, as well as some other household supplies. At the end of the hallway she found a wooden staircase, leading to a lower floor. Slowly, she walked down and found what could only be the front door. In a side room, Zecora found a living room with a dull fire burning in a stone fireplace. On a mantle above it, she saw various tribal masks from her homeland. And next to it, a picture frame. Zecora studied it closely. It was her, and a handsome blond stallion in a cowpony hat. They were embracing and gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes. In the picture, Zecora was wearing the traditional wrappings and jewelry of her tribe’s maidens, her face lined with white and black paint and the man had on a fancy dress tunic. She could only guess it was their wedding day. It was then Zecora noticed the entire house was decorated like a hut from her distant homeland, although perhaps a bit more modern and ostentatious. Zecora set the picture down, and walked to the front door. She opened it to a sight that took her breath away. She was on a cliff, high above the shore, overlooking a vast blue ocean. It was a clear, bright day. In the distance she saw an expanding acres of fruit trees, mostly apple but she could make out others. And yet it felt so open. Like she could run around and gallop and be free. Further away stood a marvelous, deep and dark looking forest. She grinned; it looked like the perfect place to have adventures, find mystical artifacts and conquer ancient evils. She took in a few lung-fulls of the rich, scented air; salt water, apples and a hint of spice that reminded her of home. No, she thought, this was her home. This was where the ancestors had chosen for her to be. She knew it in her bones. Zecora noticed two figures in the distance, coming closer. Thinking quickly she trotted over to the kitchen, finding it stocked with everything an alchemist would ever need. She moved quickly, picking berries, nuts and leafy greens and washing them in a wood bowl. She sprinkled just a hint of seasoning and balanced a tray of the salad on her head as she walked outside. The sun was even hotter and she radiated in its warm glow. The stallion and filly stopped playing, glancing up at her with dazzling smiles. His smile was breath taking and it warmed her body more than the sun ever could. His shaggy blond mane flowed in the wind and his green eyes blazed with life. But it was the filly that drew her undivided attention. Her fur was a stripped masterpiece of dark brown and grey, accentuated by an onyx black mane and emerald eyes. She wore rings of silver on her ears and legs, and her hair was braided in the traditional savanna tribe way. “Mommy!” She called out and charged forward to give Zecora a hug. The zebra set her tray of food down and embraced the little filly tightly. She loved this little filly with all her heart; she knew it instinctively. “Well look whose finally up.” The stallion said with a grin and gave her a chaste kiss, “Mornin’ sleepy head.” “Playing catch for so long, to feed yourself you must no prolong.” She motioned to the plate of nuts, berries and greens. The filly dove right in, smiling and chomping away. The stallion put his arm around Zecora’s neck and she glanced up before he pulled her into a full, passionate kiss. Time drifted away for a moment and she sighed into his mouth. The kiss lasted only a few brief seconds, but the tongue he brushed just over hers let the zebra know he was far from finished with her. “You get enough sleep?” He whispered as they nuzzled softly. “Plenty but to my dismay, when I awoke I found my husband had gone astray.” She whispered back, earning a chuckle from his lips. They held each other close for a moment, watching their daughter eating, oblivious to everything but her meal. Zecora took a moment to savor the feeling in her heart and soul, to relish it for what it was. Content-ness. Pure, unadulterated happiness. A sense of joy and belonging she never thought possible. She had a home in a land she could explore to her heart’s content, and a husband who worked hard and provided well. And her daughter. Her perfect, beautiful daughter with her shaggy black mane and the sparkling silver jewelry she wore. Then a sound pulled her from her bliss. The deep rumble of thunder, echoing off the cliff face. She glance up, noticing thick grey storm clouds coming inland from the sea. She grimaced, noticing a sudden drop in the temperature as a brisk breeze rushed by. “Aw nuts and shoes!” The filly swore as she too heard the storm approaching. “Language, little one.” Zecroa chided gently, “Nature is not something to be cursed and shunned. The clouds wish to rain, so being outside we should no remain.” “Come on Apple Spice, bet if ya’ ask real nice, ya’ mama tell ya’ more stories of her travels.” The little filly looked from her dad to her mother, eyes wide with delight. “Will you? Please? Pretty please! I’ll do all my chores!” Apple Spice suddenly squealed. Zecora laughed and took her daughter into her arms, letting her rest there. “No need to be so enticing, little Spiceling.” Zecora said and kiss her on the forehead, “To spend time with my family is all the reason I need.” Her husband led them inside even as Apple Spice began to bombard Zecora with question she had asked a thousand times beforehand. Zecora paused in the doorway, glancing one last time at the dark clouds moving ever closer. The wind picked up; lightning flashed and she gasped, suddenly out of breath… 0000000 Her eyes snapped open, breath hiking in her chest. Zecora sat in the very last seat in the final car of the train as it powered through the night. Her friend Braeburn had bought her a second class ticket, so she should have had a nice spot in a communal cabin, but the nasty looks from earth ponies had unnerved her. Twice when the train had gone through a tunnel and the cabin had gone dark, a little filly had screamed that the zebra had cursed the sun. It was too much for Zecora and she had stormed out and found the most isolated spot she could. Already she was wondering if she had made the right choice leaving Braeburn. Not two days outside the caravan and she was already feeling a bit homesick. It was strange; she had spent maybe a month with Braeburn and his sister and already she was thinking of them as home rather than the savanna tribes she grew up with. A small smile parted the zebra’s lips as she imagined her handsome stallion friend and his painfully kissable lips. She tried not to thinking about him, but it was impossible. In her hours of self-enforced exile, she was alone with only her thoughts. She fantasized about Braeburn throwing caution to the wind and going with her, or chasing after her to drag her with the caravan. Part of Zecora bristled at the idea, the other part felt seriously aroused at the idea of Braeburn being so…demanding. Oh why did that sister of his have to interrupt them?! A bitter thought entered the Zebra’s mind and she scowled. Would she have been so eager to leave if she had mated with him? Would she have even wanted to? Was she even eager to leave now? She had known Braeburn for what? A month and a half, and yet it felt like years. She felt lonely without him. The door to the car opened and the nightshift conductor came through, “Last Stop, Bitter Springs.” He turned and glared into the darkness he knew housed the zebra, “You better be leaving to. We don’t allow homeless to sleep here.” “Have no fear my pony friend. When this train stops, I fully intend to disappear.” She said bitterly, but with her accent she wasn’t sure he heard the reproach in her voice. The conductor fixed her with a distrustful glare. “Don’t go stealing anything either.” He said and left quickly. Was there a hint of fear in his eyes? Zecora smiled for a moment, and then frowned. She had found a place where she could have been judged on her merit, not her race. She had found a pony that genuinely cared for her. And she had left without it all behind. Suddenly the train car felt cramped and she need to run. To be free. She looked around, trying to calm her racing heart and pretending not to hear the braying of animals from her savanna homeland. The train lurched and she was on her hooves as soon as it stopped. Her only baggage was the travel pack she had brought from home, freely restocked by Braeburn and his sister before she had left. Zecora hefted the bag onto her shoulder. For a moment she wondered if this was the heaviest the bag had ever been? Had Braeburn given her more supplies and food than even her own tribe? Than her own father? Zecora told herself it wasn’t so. She left the train out the rear exit, unwilling to pass the ponies she had traveled with. It was late and the Alicorn princess’s sun had already set. The air was chilled but it lent energy to her limbs. Zecora took a deep breath and made a face. The air was dust and sour, with an unnatural acrid taste. It was nothing like the clean, crisp air of the savanna after a rain. Zecora hoped down from the train and adjusted the traveling cloak over her head. She hoped that late and night and in poor lighting she could rent a room without any lodge owners noticing her race. She made her way quickly through the cobblestone streets. The town, Bitter Springs, was as grimy and unpleasant as its name suggested. The shapes of tall buildings loomed in the shadow of night, somehow menacing. A few street lamps swayed on rusted chains, leaving an ever shifting array of islands of light in the darkness. Even the sky seemed muted, as unclear as oil through the haze of industry from the smoke stacks that dotted the far corners of the town. If this was pony civilization, then she had made a grave mistake leaving the savanna. Nothing had lift here. It was all industrial steel and wood, dirty signs and pale light. This was no place for a wild spirit like her. Why had Braeburn sent her here? But even as a kernel of anger at her friend began to build, she knew it was unfair. This was only a way station. She had a second train to catch in the morning, to a place he promised her was filled with decent folk. Ponyville. She trusted his judgment, even if this little stop left a lot to be desired. Zecora walked the streets for a few minutes, squinting in the darkness to see any signs for lodging. She heard a few hoofsteps behind her and glanced over her shoulder, but saw only darkness. Briefly she wondered if something moved, like black shifting on black, but dismissed it. She was just nervous and a little anxious. The sky gave a hard bark of thunder and she flinched, glancing up as an arc of lightning stretched across the black sky. She scowled, remembering the last time it had rained. A sympathetic pain, like an echo, ran up her leg and she rested on her other three, suddenly feeling self-conscious about her injury. Had she left Braeburn’s care too early? Surely she could have stayed a few extra weeks…or perhaps a little longer...just to be on the safe side. After what felt like hours, but couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes, Zecora found a hotel. Thankfully she had found it before the rain had begun to fall. She pushed open the glass door, startling at the bell above it. She guessed it was to alert the owners because in only a few heartbeats, an older stallion came out. “Well, glad ya’ made it in before the storm, aren’t ya’?” He said as pulled out an old looking book and quill. “Most glad indeed. Of a place to sleep, I am in great need.” She said, trying her best to hide her accent. The old man looked at her quizzically and right before she took the quill from his hooves, he pulled it back and shut the book. The clock went on ticking, measuring the painfully silent seconds when he just stared at her. “Lemme’ see your face, stranger.” He said none too kindly. “Please sir, I am just a simple traveler. Lodging is all I require, there is no need for you to enquire. “Her heart fell at the glare the old pony was giving her. “Take off yer’ hood, missy.” He said through his teeth. Zecora sighed, heart hitting rock bottom and did as the older pony asked. For a moment he just stared, one eye wide in shock and something akin to horror, the other wondering lazily through the room. Zecora held her breath and shied away from him, turning her head in shame. “We don’t serve yer’ kind here.” The crusty pony said with a growl, “Ain’t nothin’ but thieves and vagabonds, the lot of ya’ stripies!” Zecora hissed in a breath at the racial slur and narrowed her eyes. She felt the tinges of tears in her eyes but turned to fully face him and stood taller, unwilling to hide who she was. “I am Zecora of the zebra race, but my culture I do not expect you to embrace.” She reached into her traveling bag, noticing the older pony backing away in sudden fear. Where these ponies really so ignortant and afraid? She pulled out her small coin purse and put a handful of bits on the counter. “ My coins are as good as any; see here, nothing to fear, it is just a penny.” She tried to scoot the coins forward, but the old pony shook his head. “Keep yer’ curses and tribe speaking to yer’ self, ya’ hear?” He shouted and pointed out the window. It was pitch black out, save for the occasional flash of lightning, “Now go on! Git, ‘efore I call Sheriff Strong-Arm!” Zecroa looked at him hard for a moment and swiped her money back into her bag and turning on her heel. Tears prickled her eyes but she refused to let the son of a mule see her like this. She stormed out, slamming the glass door behind her, hoping in her anger to break it. No such luck though. Instead she glanced up into a sky filled with rain and lightning. The cold drops hammered her face, mixing with her tears she now freely let fall. Thunder rumbled through the streets and she glanced around, seeing only darkness. The wind had blown out the street lamps, leaving only shades of darkness. Zecora pulled up her hood, fighting the shakes in her body that she swore was from the cold, and not her sobbing. She walked into the night, cursing herself for ever leaving Braeburn’s side. 0000000 He had to get to her, had to save her. He ran as fast and as hard as his body would allow, and then he pushed himself to go even faster. His legs trembled, his muscles ached, his breath was ragged and deep and his heart beat so hard he was sure he would burst. Braeburn didn’t care. He could die of heart failure, so long as he saved…her. She was screaming. He just knew it. He heard it in the howling winds, like the terrible scream of a banshee. She was in so much pain. She needed him. Her figure was just on the horizon. Always just on the horizon. No matter how hard and far he ran, she was always just on the horizon. She was calling to him, begging, pleading for him to save her. Like he did that night so long ago. That night she came into his life and everything changed. The world had seemed brighter, food tasted better and even the littlest thing was so amazing. She had shown him all that. She had shown him his life, only viewed through her eyes. He would never forget her. Even if he had to save her every single day, over and over again, it would be paradise just to see her beautiful blue eyes and hear her wonderful voice. If only he could get to her. Braeburn ran as if the hounds of Tartarus were chasing him, as if his entire life depended on getting to her. And as far as he was concerned, it did. What was the point of living a long life if she wasn’t there? How could there be any wonder or excitement in his life if she didn’t bring it? Braeburn gritted his teeth and pushed his legs to faster. The wind kicked up, biting into this skin with its icy teeth. Braebrun stumbled, his front legs giving out under him and he tumbled, end over end, through the air. He landed with a bone-jarring crunch of skin tearing on rocks and bones snapping. He felt the pain flood his body in an unrelenting wave. He screamed as his life blood seeped from numerous fatal gashes across his neck and legs. But he refused to die; refused to let her down. He stood, the shards of his broken ribs cutting his lungs and filling his mouth with blood. He took several steps, his teeth clenched. He would not…could not let her suffer. His body failed. Braeburn collapsed, his lungs unable to supply his body with the oxygen it needed. He could see her now, just a few feet away. She was hurt, crying. She needed him. Her stripped fur was caked with blood and mud and she wept openly into her hooves. That scent of spices that always followed her filled his nostrils and for one brief moment he felt he had the strength to carry on. He tried to crawl, but his limbs were numb; gone. He would never use them again. She looked up as she heard his labored breaths. Their eyes met; his sky blue to her jungle green. “I’m sorry.” He breathed as the last of his blood seeped into the ground. 0000000 “Zecora!” Braeburn awoke with a scream, the name dying in the cold air of the night. His heart hammered in his chest and he was drenched in an ice cold sweat. He glanced around quickly, panic momentarily robbing him of his awareness. Seconds ticketed by and he slowly came to the realization where he was. He was in his tent on the outskirts of the Lucky Strike Gold Mine. Braeburn sighed and fell back onto his cold bedroll. He rolled over and pulled the cheap coarse blanket tighter over his body. For an instant he imagined he could still smell her spicy scent and he smiled. It had been just three weeks since Zecora the zebra had left his life, and despite the promises they made to one another, he had a sinking feeling they would never meet again. He glanced around, offering silent thanks to Celestia that his dream hadn’t woken up his sister. She was curled up in her sleeping bag next to his. Her mane was ragged and thick with grime and dirt, and her features looked exhausted even in sleep. Braeburn felt a swell of pride in his chest. Apple Cobbler had worked tirelessly alongside her older brother for weeks now. Braeburn was just as exhausted as he knew she was, but the work was a good, even if it didn’t pay what he wanted. Glancing out his tent, Braeburn saw the sky was the dull blue of early dawn and decided there was no point in going back to sleep. With a groan and a wince from the pain in his strained legs, Braeburn staggered out of his tent into the chilled air of the desert. He took a deep breath, letting the cold air settle in his lungs and shock him awake. The air reeked of sweat, oil and other less wholesome odors. But one in particular stuck out and made his mouth water. The camp he lived in was an odorous backwater shanty village, situated on the base of a mountain in the North Western corner of Equestria. The mountain, the Fools Gold Peak, was the largest known deposit of gold in the mainland. But it was also the most dangerous. For generations ponies had tried to mine the mountain dry, with incredibly varying degrees of success. The rumor mill was Celestia herself had to sign the mining permits; such was the danger of mining here. The mountain range, the Mammoth Mountains, were infamous for their wild creatures and monsters. Timber Wolves, Thunder Wolves, mountain trolls and other more unnatural things haunted the peaks. Not that claws and teeth were the only threats ponies faced. The mountains themselves seemed to hold a grudge and a pony was as likely to die from landslides and earthquakes as they were at the fangs of wolves. The expedition Braeburn and Cobbler had signed up with had claimed they cared about the safety of their workers more than anything. Two days at the campsite proved otherwise. Already three goat surveyor teams and two ponies had gone missing. Security had been beefed up, but Braeburn doubted it would do much good. The stern faced bulls and stallions that patrolled the camp looked menacing, but against a timber wolf he doubted they would be much good. Still, it was better than letting the camp being picked apart every night. As he walked, Braeburn tried not to notice the draggled state the camp was in. necessities were kept to a bare minimum, with food and drink being the only available resources. Tents hung from loose poles and dripped dirty rain water from the miserable day before. He passed a larger tent, seeing a dead-tired pony peak his head out and nod grimly at him. Briefly Braeburn caught a glance inside at a mare kneeling over the body of a little filly, who looked anything but peaceful as she slept. Rumor was little Gentle Breeze had been bitten by a rattler and her family had no money for medicine. It wasn’t likely she’d live to next week. Braeburn would have happily donated supplies or bought medication himself, but he and his sister were dead broke. The only thing he could do was offer the filly’s depressed father a knowing nod. Further down the line he caught sight of a team of goats preparing for another mountain climb to survey the ranges. There were twice as many as needed; almost eight fully prepared and grim faced goats. Doubtless management figured larger groups would keep predators at bay. Braeburn hoped that was true and that they weren’t just offering the Thunder Wolves a larger meal. He passed Gospel Choir, the resent preacher and bowed his head. Though not a believer himself, he knew his sister was and that some ponies needed to believe in the Maker to get through the day. He didn’t begrudge his sister her beliefs. The scent he had picked up from his tent now assaulted his nose with its mouthwatering aroma. Old Man Trots had already begun making breakfast for the camp workers before the sun went up. The days the miners put in were horrifically long and management hated wasting time by letting them eat, but laws were laws. They were entitled to two paid for meals a day and a chance to purchase a third. Though not the first one up, the other ponies who were already eating kept to themselves, whispering and mumbling to avoid being heard. “Howdy, Trots.” Braeburn said with as much forced joy as he could manage given the circumstances. The older pony glared at him for a moment, then sighed, as if too sleepy to get angry at the young pony’s enthusiasm. “Mornin’ to ya, Braeburn.” He said and spooned a helping of a brown mush into a bowl; mostly ground beats and turnips made to go a long way, but it made the cowpony’s mouth water and stomach grumble. He took the offered food gratefully and sat a distance away from the other mining ponies. Braeburn stared into his meal for a long time, watching the steam rise and fade in the morning air. The images of his dreams floated into his mind. Zecora had been so scared, so sad. What had it meant? Surely she would have gotten to Ponyville by now, and if he knew cousin Applejack, his zebra was in store for one hell of a welcome. He tried to push his worries away, but they niggled at his mind, like an itch he couldn’t scratch. He missed Zecora. He knew he would the second she left. Braeburn understood why she had left; she was like him, a spirit of adventure. The only difference he had a sister to look after, so his adventures had to come through. He had to earn a decent paycheck. A swirl of excitement swelled in him. Once they were done with this mining expedition in a few months’ time, they’ll collect their earning and catch the next caravan to the frontier. Hopefully by then Zecora would have had her fill of adventure, maybe have a few stories to tell, and when he eventually wrote to AJ, she could let the zebra know where he was. Braeburn hoped that Zecora wouldn’t be annoyed he had sent her to a town he knew she would be safe at, and more importantly, a place he could contact her at. A second pony suddenly appeared next to him, startling the cowpony and drawing him out of his thoughts about a certain zebra. “Howdy sis.” He said by way of greeting to Apple Cobbler, whose muzzle was half in her own bowl of food. She glanced up briefly, eyes responding briefly before turning back to her meal. Braeburn spooned some of the tasteless paste into his mouth, trying not to make a face. What he wouldn’t give for a dash of salt. He wondered briefly if Zecora could cook… Braeburn shook his head. He was crushing on the zebra, sure, but he had to keep a clear head. He was on a dangerous job and Zecora was nowhere nearby. Obsessing over her would just lead to trouble. “Heard ya’ dreamin’ last night.” Cobbler almost whispered and Braeburn sighed, cursing under his breath, “Heard ya’ mention that zebra’s name again.” “Just a dream, sis.” He shot her a glare, both of them knowing full well she had interrupted his moment with Zecora a few days back. “Why don’t ya’ go after her?” She asked, “Plain as can be that ya’ like her.” “Ain’t gonna deny that part, Cobbler, but I gots a responsibility.” He said softly, “I promised pa I’d build you a better home than he ever could. I aims to keep my promise.” “This aint ‘bout me, this is ‘bout you.” Cobbler said fiercely, “We been traveling West for years now and we aint no closer to buildin’ a home than when we set out. Maybe it’s time to pack our things and head a different direction. Ya’ll got Zecora a ticket to Ponyville, right? We could go visit Applejack and give her some help on the farm for the summer. That way ya’ little fillyfriend and ya’ can have all the time in the hayloft that ya’ wants.” A moment passed as he considered it. It did sound like a small piece of paradise, but he shook his head, ever prideful. “No, not yet. We can stick with the mining expedition for a few months, get back on our hooves and really make a name for ourselves. It aint right that our family is always the poorest of the Apples. I won’t have us turnin’ into charity cases.” “It ain’t charity, its family!” Cobbler snapped back but sighed, knowing how stubborn her brother was. That pony would literally work himself to death before he accepted a helping hoof from anypony. It was how they had been raised by just their dad; self-reliant, proud and hard working. “Maybe.” He conceded, “Once we get our paychecks from management ,we’ll talk more ‘bout it.” “Heard from one of the cows last night that they lost another survey team up in them mountains.” Cobbler motioned to the peaks looming in the distance and shuddered, “Second this week. This place aint natural, Braeburn, I can feels it in ma’ bones.” “It’s dangerous, I’ll give you that.” Braeburn said with a nod, “Soon as we get paid we’ll be like ghosts.” “Here’s hoping we don’t end up one before hoof.” Apple Cobbler snarked at him. Braeburn gave her a look and shook his head. Most of the camp had begun to wake up, and slowly the ponies walked over to the cooking tent, either one at a time or in small groups. Braeburn glanced around, suddenly feeling a loss of appetite. The grim, hopeless looks the other ponies wore was simply too depressing to be around. Not a week ago he had thought he found the pony-err zebra- of his dreams and maybe, just maybe, a way to a happy life. Now he was in this runny, raining and cold shanty town, wondering if he would die today. “Here.” Braeburn pushed his meal over to Cobbler, “Ya’ worked hard yesterday. Gotta’ keep up ya’ strength.” Cobbler was about to question him, he stood and walked away, determined to be alone with his thoughts before the work shift started. When he was out of the sight of the others, Braeburn reached into his vest pocket and found a small fold of cloth. It was of cheap, woven type but it smelled of spices and an exotic life. It smelled like her. Braeburn touched it briefly before sighing deeply and walking back to his tent. He cursed himself for letting Zecora leave his side. It was going to be a long day.