Collie of the Wild

by elmagnifico

About

Winona paused. She'd returned the stranger's gesture, telling him her name after he had given his. There was likely more to introductions than that, but a memory floating just under the surface of full comprehension suggested that sniffing his rump would be considered rude. As the silence stretched on, she analyzed him.

He was a quadruped, of the same species as her friend, slightly blockier and with bulk in different spots. He had very light fur and a crest of longer, darker fur running down his back. She thought she could see another marking near his rump, but that same memory gave her a feeling staring at that would not be good. The whole coat was straight and untangled, but very shaggy. His smell, what she could make of it through the acrid scent of the creature they'd killed, spoke of maleness, sweat, slightly stale fear, and something tangy.

At any rate, he didn't seem to know what to do either. He started to say something, and then shut his mouth again, cutting off the fledgling sentence before it could express anything coherent.

The impasse was eventually broken by a gurgling noise. The low rumble was short and loud, echoing through the clearing like far-off thunder.

Winona whipped around, trying to pinpoint the location of the creature. Her eyes showed her only trees and swamp water. She couldn't smell it, whatever it was. Even with the scent of the thing she had killed filling her nostrils, she should have been able to find the source of the disturbance if it was that close. Her ears had told her it was behind her and lower, practically on top of her tail. Yet there was nothing.

Then, it sounded again, and she realized what was growling.
Solitaire stopped searching the edge of the clearing and centered his eyes on her midriff.

He paused for a second, and then laughed.

Winona wasn't sure how she felt about that laugh. It sounded like wood squeaking on wood, and it ended in an unhealthy-sounding wheeze.

Solitaire ignored the askance look she was giving him and tipped where a hat would have been on his unkempt head.

“Well, friend, the least I can do is offer some food to the hound what rescued me. Come on, I'll fry us some eggs and onions back at my place.”

With that, he turned and started trotting in the opposite direction from where Winona had come from.
She scrambled to follow, his crashing progress and downtrodden trail making him easy to track, even without that distinct scent.

Focusing as she was on trying to keep her balance, she very nearly trampled Solitaire. He had stopped for no readily apparent reason, and was looking at the ground ahead of them.

“Step where I step, hound. This is Warden territory, last thing we want is to be mistaken for lawbreakers.”

Winona wasn't sure what those words meant, “warden” in particular had no meaning, so she remained silent, only nodding to show she'd heard. By the tone, however, she could tell whatever they were the words were very important. Solitaire began walking again, much more slowly this time.

As they pressed on, Winona noticed the ground getting wetter, and the smell of decaying plant matter worsening. One wrong footfall sent her leg plunging into the gunk up to her knee with a noise halfway between a gurgle and a splash.

Solitaire paused momentarily to frown in her direction. The scowl made her uncomfortable, and she felt her own face shifting, the motions and contractions natural and foreign at the same time.

To distract herself from the stare and her reaction to it, she tried to remedy the situation. She could feel her foot being pulled down, but trying to extract it made her other foot start to sink slightly, causing a small voice in the back of her head to start panicking. Getting her limb back ultimately involved grasping an overhead branch and a strong pull accompanied a loud sucking noise.

Once it was apparent she wasn't sinking he looked about, ears swiveling in all directions. A slosh of water to the left of their path riveted Solitaire's attention, and he turned to get a look at the noise's source.

Winona followed his line of vision, where she saw yet another creature, at the same time familiar and strange.

This thing was an amalgamation of known factors, bits of bird and cat mixed at random. The body shape was feline, but its front legs ended in scaly fingers-claws, and wings spread from its back, shading the area immediately in front of it. Its long neck and spear-like beak were those of a cattle egret, but its eyes glimmered with fierce intelligence that a cattlebird lacked.

The barbed spear it held was another clue that this creature's claws were not its most dangerous feature. It fixed the both of them with an intense stare, a crest along the back of its head rising and falling inquisitively. Both eyes narrowed, and the beak opened and closed in time with a trilling vocalization.

“Lllllllllllllawbrrrrrreaker?”

Solitaire shook his head rapidly. The stink of fear, fresh and pungent, washed through Winona's nostrils. Winona, for her part, decided to mimic her guide.

The gesture seemed to assuage the creature, and it stalked off into the swamp, leaving the cloudy water undisturbed by its passage.

Once the creature was gone, Solitaire resumed navigating the swamp, picking out his hoofsteps a tad faster than before. After a little bit, he broke the quiet to explain.

“That was a Warden. Swamp griffons. Their settlement of Marshwood isn't far, and they view any sentient that hunts in these parts as lawbreakers. And they don't look kindly on lawbreakers.”

After that they kept moving in silence for a while, but eventually Solitaire began talking. At first it was an occasional remark, on the plant they passed or an animal that hopped across their path. Winona learned about “Heart's Desire” and "Bullfrogs”, which looked familiar, as well as “Plunder Vines” and “Swamp-Squid”, which didn't. As Solitaire went on, his spats of talking got longer and longer, until he started flooding Winona's ears with a stream of discourse.

“I don't get many visitors out here, the Great Swamp isn't exactly an open invitation for guests. I guess that was kinda the point. I'm out here on purpose, you see. Used to be a big shot, dealer for a casino out Las Pegasus way. Then it just got too hot for me, not literally mind, situation just turned dangerous. There was this one mare, cheated like she had spots, swindled the entire house out of quite a pretty penny I can tell you. Never seen so many bits go missing in such a short time. And the boogers upstairs couldn't figure out how she was doing it.”

The content of the tirade was irrelevant; Winona understood almost nothing of it. The words were ideas, but many were unfamiliar, and the ones that weren't didn't paint any recognizable picture.

“Then it came out that she always came to my table. Naturally the bosses thought I was helping her. Strong words were exchanged, I got real acquainted this big muscly minotaur the owners employed for various things, and I really didn’t want that to happen again, so I skipped town. Came to live here, out of the way, there's nopony, or anyone else for that matter, out here to try and collect old debts.”

She ignored the continuing speech, still reveling in the fact she could understand the words, until Solitaire took his eyes off the trail for a second and looked back at her.

“Anyway, never seen a Canid quite like you, most of your kind remind me more of bulldogs and pugs. That isn't a rude comparison, is it?”

Winona returned the gaze, her mind still deep in thought.

“I...”

Trying to think back, to draw conclusions about whether she should be offended, just made her head hurt more. Bulldog? Pug?

“I don't know. Those words mean nothing to me.”

Solitaire nodded, turning back towards the swamp.

“So, what brings you out here? Don't get me wrong, I'm mighty grateful for the rescue, and it's nice to have somebody to talk to, but I'm still curious. If you'd been a strongarm from the White Bishop you would have left me up that tree for the timberwolf.”

A response was once again not immediately offered. Winona could feel her migrane returning as she thought back.

“I was helping a friend get someone out of a ditch.”

She could feel pressure on her head, she was pushing at something that was warm and hairy and smelt of sweat and grass. She could hear her friend grunting far above, like she had something in her mouth. A loud “MOO” came from whatever it was she was pushing.

“The wind was picking up, and I could smell a storm.”

Her tail was being pulled every which way.

“There was this roaring,”

The ground was shaking, and the distant rumble grew louder with each passing second.

“And, suddenly, it was like the world was made of water.”

She couldn't breathe, she couldn't smell, all she felt was water, all she could see was water, all she could taste was water, the only thing she knew, besides water, was to start kicking.

“From there it's all a blur. The next thing I remember is waking up here.”

Solitaire's eyes widened. His voice filled with a different tone, one that spoke of disbelief and awe.

“Ya got caught in a flash flood, an' survived?”

Winona nodded, not knowing what else to do.

Solitaire laughed.

“Well, after an escape like that, would be a shame to live out your days in a bog like this one. You'll be wanting my help to leave the Great Swamp then?”

Winona nodded. Returning where she'd come from sounded good, and if nothing else she needed to return the hat.

“I'm afraid that isn't going to happen. I need to stay here, or my enemies will find me. However, some of those who move through this swamp are my friends, and they can help you. I'll introduce them once we've eaten.”

The first thought that came to mind upon seeing Solitaire's home was what a piece of junk it was. Winona wasn't sure why, that was simply her first impression of the place. It wasn't undeserved. Planks of wood, stained with mold and mildew, made up one half of the structure, while the other half was a hill that leaned over the rest of the thing with a lazy-looking slouch. A flock of ranging birds, what her memory told her were called chickens and were not to be chased, pecked at equally wild-looking grass in front of the ramshackle structure.

The chickens scattered in a fowl-smelling cascade as Solitaire walked up and put his hoof against a few slats of wood, which swung aside to allow entrance. They swung back as he entered, and then swung back as he exited again, a sheepish smile on his features.

“Sorry about that. Been a while since I had guests.”

The inside smelled just as mold-ridden as the outside. That was all Winona could tell of the place for a few seconds. The interior was so dark, she couldn't tell if her eyes were open or shut, and the only sound was the clatter of Solitaire's hooves on hollow wood, until a tapping noise came from the middle of the room, accompanied by a glowing light to flood the space.

The source of the light immediately became apparent. Solitaire was drawing his hoof away from it, a transparent globe embedded in the ceiling. A network of wires and stones hung beneath it, like a spider's web full of shimmering gems. The thing held a strange symmetry, throwing the light in all directions, out into the swamps through nooks and crannies in the walls.

A trio of shining motes flickered inside the sphere, little glimmers dancing in patterns and loop-the-loops. Winona watched, fascinated. The motion and rhythm of the shimmering will-o-wisps held no rhyme or reason that she could see, but they drew her eye like a moth to a flame, and left her in awe of their coordination and mystery.

“Beautiful, aren't they?”

Solitaire was there, watching the lights as well.

“Blinklings. They put on a show, lots of pretty lights, and feed off the goodwill and wonder their dance generates. Much more benign than their larger cousins, and useful; they give off magica, which can be channeled off into spells.”

Winona simply slumped to her haunches, sitting on the bare floor and watching the lights dance as Solitaire paused in the corner of her vision before padding to a different part of the room. There were smells of smoke and metal from that direction, but she wasn't paying attention to that.

The lights were relaxing. They took her mind off her headache, and how tired she was. As the pain faded, Winona drifted into her thoughts. She looked down at the black band that encircled her waist and the hat that was stuffed beneath it. She removed the headgear and examined it. It was a plain thing, battered and nicked. The product of a long life, with plenty of hard work and adventure. Hard work she'd shared with the hat's owner.

And, just like that, she was back, before the “now” once again.

Nipping at the heels of a pile of lumbering, lowing creatures. They were friends too, but didn't talk as much, and needed help motivating themselves to get under cover. Their protests of “Moo!” were just the product of ire and desire for that last bit of grass. Alongside her was the hat-owner, joining her eager barks with yells and whoops as wild and joyous as her own.

Winona's eyes tightened as she concentrated. These memories were fainter, but the pain from earlier was gone. She could look back without fearing the stabs in her mind.

The hat-owner was important, but their relationship was complicated. So many facets...

Master and Servant.

A flaky white thing in her mouth. It wasn't tasty, food for eating or bone for gnawing, nor was it liable to getting thrown so she could chase it. She carried it nevertheless, for it pleased the hat-owner to have this brought from outside to the chair by the fire. Whatever it was for, unimportant.

Mother and Daughter.

Newspaper. That was what the white thing was called, but now it was in the corner, and she couldn't remember what it was for, which was why the hat-owner was angry.

Sister and Sister.

A wrestling match in freshly cut grass, the two of them nuzzling each other, interspersed with licks and laughter of all kinds. An argument about nothing important. Forgetting about it by the next day.

Alpha and Beta.

The wood-creatures had them surrounded, but there was no fear for either of them. In an instant, the hat-owner had plunged into battle, whooping and lashing with all four limbs, shattering all they touched. Behind she followed, pouncing on one that tried to take her pack-leader from behind. Sticks and splinters flew and the smell of battle filled her nostrils as the two of them wreaked a swathe of destruction upon the enemy.

Friends.

The fire again. Laughing about nothing in particular. Enjoying each-other's company. Belly rubs. Listening when one of them needed to cry.

There were words that could describe how they related. None of them quite hit it, but Friends was closest.

Such was the depth of her meditation that Winona only noticed the food once Solitaire waved it under her nose. As he put the plate down on the table her mind was flooded with scents that described a medley of delicious flavors awaiting consumption.

Eggs, cheese, spices, these were familiar. There was something else there too. Strong, planty and pungent. Winona wasn't sure what it was, but her eyes picked out a pile of clear slices next to the eggs.

The whole mess was unfamiliar as food, but another rumble from her stomach prodded her to give them a try. Carefully, she extended one of her arms, fingers slightly apart. She picked up one of the slices and brought it up to her snout. She wanted a taste, but she didn't feel like using her tongue on the unfamiliar things until she was good and ready.

The clear slice was wet, almost slimy, and its smell just got stronger as one of her nails poked into it, spilling more juice down her finger. The thing had an ambient warmth that was almost too hot for the pads on her first finger and thumb. Trying to figure out how she knew what those parts of her were called made her head hurt again. Rather than contemplate the nomenclature, she sent her tongue out, poking at the translucent slice quickly, sending a few drops of juice flying.

It tasted almost like it smelt, but the pungency was more of a tang, with an aftertaste that reminded her of the smell of an open fire.

It tasted good.

She popped the slice of onion into her mouth, and was rewarded with tenfold the earlier taste, accompanied by a wet crunch that sent fluid crashing through her mouth.

With that, she gave in to her stomach's instructions and dove in with a vengeance. Her paws proved perfect shovels for the eggs, and Solitaire didn't comment on her eating methods. She could see out of the corner of her eye that his nose was too deep in another bowl of the stuff. The eggs were perfectly fluffy, with the taste of yolk and white mixed with a dairy-like taste that wasn't cream or milk but only added to the eggy flavor. Accompanied by the occasional onion slice to spice things up, but not too often lest she get overwhelmed, the meal turned out filling and tastier than anything she could remember eating.

It was gone all too soon, but she wasn't hungry when it was. On the contrary, she sat back, eyes closed as the lights from the blinklings danced across her eyelids. Contentment. That was the word for this, and she savored the lazy bliss of the moment, not sparing thought for hands nor hats for a while.

She wasn't sure how long she sat before Solitaire cleared his throat and spoke up.

“That friend of mine should be passing by very soon. She's got a ship, and she can take you anywhere the winds blow with that thing. I should know, she brought me here.”

A delicate insect fluttered across their path as Solitaire led her out of the house and down to a wooden platform resting on a tiny island a short jump from the shore. Hooves sent hollow clacking noises ringing from the wooden steps as Solitaire moved, and it wasn't until he hit the platform that his attention was snatched by the gossamer intruder.

“Hmm, a Blue Morpho. Rare butterflies, them.”

Its shimmering wings brought flowers to mind, hanging in the mud from far above.

A gray cloud, smelling of swamp and sweat, started blowing in from ahead of her. It was practically opaque, obscuring trees and ferns as it swept across the land.

“Well Winona,”

Solitaire paused. His face spoke of scrambling for words, like what he needed to say was right in front of him, yet eluded his tongue, like the last bit of food on a dish. Finally, he settled on an enigmatic smile and a simple sentence:

“Good luck.”

And with that, he faded into the rapidly thickening mist.