//------------------------------// // Four // Story: Dissonance // by Mindblower //------------------------------// ******* As Dash dove into darkness, one thing she quickly realized she ought to have considered was the fact that her surroundings became pitch-black. She spread her wings in an attempt to slow herself down, but given that she hadn’t the faintest idea where she was going, said attempt was interrupted by her flying smack into a stone wall. Luckily for her skeletal structure, she had slowed down enough that such an encounter would only leave her with a few unsightly bruises. With the strangled cry characteristic of one who had just had their lungs speedily expunged of air, Dash crumpled to the floor, which was oddly smooth for that of a cave. In fact, she was quick to realize that her environment contained several oddities, one of which was that she was no longer cold. She stood up just as her ears began to ache a bit from the sudden increase in pressure, far more than there ought to have been for the amount of time she had spent falling. She swiveled her ears back and forth, both to stretch them out after having been crumpled a bit by the fall, and to take advantage of her inner-ear function, one that was unique to pure-blooded pegasi, that allowed her to ‘feel’ out her altitude. She didn’t like what she felt. One could attempt to interpret increase in pressure as, rather simply, a proportional increase in depth. However, Dash found that her instincts didn’t quite agree with the proportion—she felt that she was far deeper underground, maybe even two to three times deeper, than the pressure on its own suggested. She inhaled. The air was heavy, chalky almost, filled with dust, rust, and a general must. The taste was unbearably stale, and Dash felt weary after finishing her breath, rather than refreshed. She shuddered at its additionally unpleasant smell, which reminded her of a combination of wet dog and some of the less pristine gym showers she’d used. Her ears picked up a bit of faint vibration an indeterminate distance away. Rather than pursue it, out of caution, Dash waited patiently for it to present itself again. It did, louder this time. It was approaching her. Dash stood, turning both ears toward the source and focusing on the origin of the sound. It wasn’t long before she saw a light in the distance, turning toward her, illuminating its path slightly. It was a tunnel, Dash could see; somehow she had fallen through the concrete ceiling. By the sound of things, and by the vibrations she felt in her hooves, a train was on its way toward her. Dash didn’t immediately panic. After all, the train was very far away, and she could easily outrun any locomotive, even flying at a leisurely pace. She was sure there would be a way out, but decided to wait until the lights on the train were closer so that she could see any gaps of the wall to which she could escape. No, she didn’t panic until said beams illuminated the walls of the tunnel surrounding her utterly, and she realized that the train was travelling way—too—fast. Dash’s ears drooped. She pounced up off the ground after a moment’s contemplation and dove forward just as the ground began to visibly shudder. Her eyes clawed at the walls and at the now suddenly solid ceilng, searching for anything that could possibly fit her form and save her from the incoming mass of... of... Dash glanced back, just for a moment, to try and approximate her automotive aggressor. It was unlike anything she had seen before, a roaring metal monster, unceasing in its advance. It had no conductor, nopony she could cry to for help, nopony to see her struggles. Its face was blank, white, sterile almost, lacking completely the delicate and skillful touch, as well as the character, of her home’s trains. Some consolation was that Dash had been itching to fly all day, and such a challenge complimented her competitive spirit, or such was her mentality when she took off at top speeds, fast enough to leave a rainbow trail in her wake. However, whatever worry she escaped through physical exertion returned to her once she realized that the vacuum created by the mass of metal was beginning to interfere with her flight pattern—the suction created by the vehicle was physically dragging her backward mid-flight. Celestia was apparently watching over her, though. Just when she was about to be sucked back into the two-centimeter space between the train and the wall and ground to bits, an opening presented itself in the wall to her right. She dove forward, but missed a beat on her stroke, and felt a few unpleasant pinches as she fell. Her landing was rough, and she yelped as her still-fresh bruises were further agitated, but her adrenaline rush helped mitigate her pain, at least for now. She covered her ears and curled into a ball, waiting for the train to pass. After its mechanical rumbles had faded into the distance, Dash recovered to her hooves and swiveled her ears around, as her new location was also quickly fading to black, but all she could hear was the train grinding against the rails what must have been at least two kilometers away. Unconsciously she tried to fold her wings against her side, but she winced as she felt an unfamiliar stinging sensation. She quickly realized that some of her feathers had been yanked out by the force of the train, at least a half dozen of them. With a disgruntled sigh, she took a few moments to preen them out, keeping watch with her ears. None of them seemed to be blood feathers, so at least she didn’t have to find a bandage or risk bleeding out. Still, flying without full plumage would be a chore, not to mention half as fast. A clattering down the nearby hallway startled her to her hooves, and she bared her teeth, focusing both her ears on the source of the disturbance. A pony was approaching. “Who’s there?” Dash asked. She diverted her attention for a moment as she heard something else, a faint ting, ting, ting drifting in the background. “He comes,” a stallion rasped, though he sounded a fair distance away as well. In fact, Dash suddenly felt as though the room was expanding, the pressure on her inner ear lessening, and even the pitch-black chamber darkening as if to complement the foreboding atmosphere. Wind chimes, Dash thought, though this thought mostly rested in the back of her mind. The stallion, whoever he was, cackled. He seemed no closer to her than before. “Better run, child.” Another warning, though his tone didn’t suggest he was concerned. It more suggested he was waiting to watch what was to occur. Dash whipped around as the chimes continued, ting-ing with the beat of a slow amble. She could see nothing. The darkness was piercing, and her heart began to beat faster, this time because she knew that she couldn’t get away. “Who...?” Dash hissed, her tensing her punished muscles, swiveling her ears in a circle. The chimes resonated from all directions. “Hey. Get up. It’s time to go.” Pinkie shifted a bit before her eyes snapped open. She was lying on her side, a part of her that was now slightly scratched and sore, but she quickly set that irritation aside when she realized she was no longer cold and, more importantly, she was no longer sick. In fact, she had so much energy that she bounced off her side and too her hooves with an excited squeal. “I’m doing good again!” she chirped. After a moment of consideration, she raised a hoof to her chin and added, “Wait a minute. Supermare does good. I’m doing well.” “...Riiight.” Pinkie heard Diamond in front of her, but her eyes were still adjusting so she could only see wisps of the pegasus’s white coat. “Clover, where are we, exactly?” “These tunnels are the bowels of the subway system. They used to use them to repair the trains if they broke down in the middle of nowhere, but they’re abandoned now, obviously,” a new voice, that of a slightly older mare, replied. Pinkie heard the strike of stone on stone and the glow of sparks, and suddenly her world was lit with blazing torchlight. Pinkie blinked away from the light, her eyes abruptly reversing their previous course of adjustment. “I-I thought a subway was a sort of sandwich,” she muttered, struggling to coax out her vision. She heard the torch lifted into the air, and a few moments later, she saw her company in full. Diamond, though recognizable as the mare who had kept her warm and saved her from the cold, now looked drastically altered. For one, she was wearing clothes: Baggy black leggings covered her back half, though were wrapped on her cannon bone as to not interfere with her hooves. She wore also a similarly-colored hoodie; however, given the warmth of her surroundings, had instead opted to tie the garment around her waist. Her manestyle was perhaps the most drastic change present—instead of the long, flowing locks that covered her almost below her shoulders before Pinkie’s nap, her head was shaved into a mohawk, similar to that which she’d seen on stallions before, but never on mares. Other than a simple cut down to size, her tail seemed unaltered. Also worth note were the numerous scratches and bruises present on all over her exposed torso and parts of her neck and face. The other, Clover, seemed less haphazard in her dress. She wore leggings that actually fit her and did not need to be wrapped, and said leggings sported numerous pockets, many more than Pinkie had seen on any pair of pants prior. They were colored green, which nicely complimented her exposed blue coat—though not much of her fur was exposed; she also wore a swamp-green T-shirt, which had two holes fashioned on its base. A loop from her pants latched her shirt into place. Pinkie, if she were to be honest, thought that was more trouble that was worth, even though Clover was a unicorn and could easily manipulate such intricacies—what was wrong with walking around in your birthday suit? Every day was a party, after all. Having observed that, Pinkie focused her attention on Clover’s face and mane, the former of which adorned a scowl, the latter of which was tied tightly in an intricate braid unbecoming of Clover’s aforementioned expression, which suggested a mare of very little patience. Her tail was also likewise braided, and an upturned hoof revealed steel shoes—stamped likewise, she assumed, into each of the others. “We’ve got to get moving if we’re going to save your burden,” Clover stated. Despite her cold remark, she did move to help steady Pinkie and making sure she could see. “I couldn’t just leave her, not after what she went through,” Diamond stated, flicking her shortened tail and nickering at her companion. “No sense in arguing about it now that she’s here,” Clover said. After she was sure Pinkie could walk, she set off in the direction of the unknown. Diamond followed and, having no other present options, Pinkie ambled along after them. ******* Eventually, the chiming of the bells slowed to a gentler metronome, and a few runes assembled themselves in front of her face. Dash made to leap backward, but her limbs were frozen, half her mind hypnotized by the gaze of Verba’s half-formed face. She felt a pressure under the center of her forehead—u̡nd͟ér h͠e̡r͞ ͡s͝kul̷l, i͘t͠ fe̸l̴t̡—͠a͟ńd ̀a ̧tang̛l͜e ̧o̴f st͡a̶t̛ic̛ ͝w̷o͝u͝n҉ḑ its way͟ ͝into͘ ͡h͜e͏r̡ ea̧r, ͟soùndi͝n͝g̢ ͝so͟m̢e͡thi͜ng ̡li͠ke:҉ sͬ̓̒͋̆̐͏̨͍̝̟̝͖͙̟͕̬͉́ ͣͮ̈ͭ̒͋ͭͤ̓͆͑ͤ͆̃̓͘҉̷̹̘̱͔̭̩̭̥͈̤̭͜͞o̶̍̌̓͗̓̔ͩ͗ͮ҉͍̦̠̤͈̞̠͜ ̷̷͇͍͍̠̺͖̝̦̻͇̫̰̬̗̊̂̋̌̍̾ͫ̅ͦ͌̾͟͞rͤ̋̉͌͛ͨ̍̀̌̓̀͏̦̰̘̯̖͢͞ ͓̟̖͔̤̲͉̣͈̳͇̠̯̇̆̉̈̓̆͂́͟͢͝ͅȓ̷̷̢̡̯̪̪̮͉̮̞̳̳̫̖̫̏̇̎̔̅̔ͫ̋ͅ ̨̠͍͈̜̘̦͕̳͚͔̠͕ͨͪ͆͌ͭ͗̊ͪ̍̌̓ͦ̈́̈͘͢ỵ̣̝̖͔͚̠̯͚̈̒̋ͣ͌ͪ͑́͜ ̵̢͔͕̳̞̱̞͇̦͇̫̺̭̣͙̦͎̻̖ͪ̅͆ͮͧ̋ͫ͗̽ͧͯ̇̄̀̚ͅ.̢͈̙̲͎̟̭͎̳͕̰̼̱̮͔̬̭͇͉͓ͧͭ̃͛̆͆̑͂ͮͯͪ̚̚͘ The͡ i͠nt̵r̡u̶s̨i̢o͠n̢ of th̢e͟ n͠o͢ís͟e͜ di̷s͡ru̶pt̨e͜d ͠her͠ tho͏u̸g͟ht ̛p͏r͡oc͟ȩs͠s, ̀m̴a͜k͟i͝ńg̀ ҉i͠t͡ diffįcul̀t̀ ̧to ̢g̡lea҉n͢ me̸a̷n͡ing f̸ro҉m͞ ͢the̡ s̕o͏un͏d́s. ̛D̸a̛s̀h ͜was͡ o͡n̨l͠y̢ ҉a͏ble ̢t̴o m͢us͡te̕r͝ ̢t̕h͝e̸ mȩn̛t̛a̧l ͡e̷ner̸gy̨ ̨t҉o҉ s͟a̴y͡,̶ ̕we̢a̶k̢ĺy̴,̢ “̷Huh?҉” s̸̋̇̈́ͥ̅͒ͯ̀ͧ҉̸̘̙͉̘̼͍͇̯͙̺̹̙͎͈̦̀ ̑ͣͥͭ̃̔͝҉͔̦̥̩̰͔͉ͅͅo̵̡̪̗̳͓̞̬͚͉̹̭̤͓͓̮̟͇̠ͨ̉͗́̾̽̽̂̓̏̀̊͂̀́͡r͚͈̗̦̹͔̦͇̞̠͕̓ͨ͋ͪ̍͒̐͑ͨͯ͛̌̌̿͑͌̏͟͡ ͙̖̰͕͔̜͔͚̗͙͉̟̀ͤͣ͆͊̒̐̎̌̓͋ͩ̓̈̿͟͝r̨̢̙̘̱͉̰͍͚̝̜̩̭̍ͫͭ̆͐͋̓̈́͢͝y̧̼̩̭͈̪͈̬͚̼̘̰̼̖̹͋ͥ͛͐̈̃ͪ̋̈̒͛̽͞.̶̢͇̮͓͎͖͖̦̞̳̯ͩ́̋̈ͣ̍͆̐̑̌́̚̚͘͠ T͢he̡ ro̵u̧g͝h̛ st̀a͞t͡i͜c͟ r̡od̡e ̨ove҉r͜ her c̶on̡s̵çi̴o͜usneşs̕ ̵i̡n w̕av̵es. ̵Da̛s͘h ͝s̴t̨a͜gg̡er͜ed ̵bef̷o̵re̵ ̀co̷l̶la̵p͘s̷i͜n͏g ̴ţo ̀h̴e͡r ̕k̷n͏eȩs, ̵th̴e͘n̨ ͠f҉in̕a͜ll͟y̶ ͜o͢n͡t̢o he̵r̶ s͘id͢e ͢a̢s h̕er ͜m͢ind ̶wa͟s ̧sl̨òwl͢y ͡a͟lt͞er̷e̡d̶ ͡by̶ t͝h͜e̴ ̧ún͜kno͟w̡n͠ for̶ce̴. Şhe ͘w̵a͝s͝ onl͏y ̨àb͠l̨e͏ t͞ó thin͠k̀,̀ ̸b̛r͝i̴efl͢y͠...҉ "̸Wḩo̡ ͏a͝r̛e͡ yo͢u?͏"͟ iͧ̓ͦͭ̀̑̎̓̓̑̈́̀͏͈̜̟̣̭̟̝̕ ̧̙͉̲̙̺͎̮̞͙̲̪͉̣̪̝̖ͣ͊͒̕͘̕͠.͌̾̅̆ͮͩͩ̔̍̔̆͏҉̦̹̤̼͇̲̞̠͔̣̲̗̝̤ͅ ̧̨̛̤̹̟̺͓̇͑͌͂͟ą̷̶̛͓̫̭̣͇͇̠̯̳͂̋͌ͦ̉ͪͦ̅ ̢̺̤̠̖̖̜̝ͣͧ̇̈́͊̔̉̊̏̂̿̈́̚̕.̇͂̏̓ͮ̄͗̐ͨͮ͗ͬ͒̎͞҉͏̨̖̝͈͓̬̖̦̹̳͇̲̕ ̛̳̟̻̆̃͆̉ͬͪ͆̄̀̚m̂̔̉̓ͯͥ͌͊ͭ̑̿̏̽̎̆̀̂̚̚͢͠҉̛̖̮̟͖̙̹̪̖̞̰͍̩̠̲ ̧̡̧̧̭̺͇͖͚̣͎̞̩̑̓̐̂́ͣͬ̃̚͝ͅ.̧̨̗͎͎̝̤̹͉̱̱̞̞͇̆ͣ͛̃̇͒͂͋͌̉̈ͦͬͅ ̢̪͈̖̳͍̞̹̫̗͓̰ͩ̆̿ͧ̇̈̀͡v̷̢͍̹͕̬͖͙͙̤͔̰̮͂ͤ̊̊͠ ͚̺͙̥̭̰̖̩̪̯̲̯̟͎̪͍̦͕̔̏̏͂͊̂̃ͧ̾ͣ̎͞ͅ.̧͈̘̟̜̒̀ͦ͂͋ͬ͒́́̓̊͠ ̶̟̠̣̠͓̹̭͚͐͛̐̾ͥ̕͡͝ͅę̴̪̟͉̟̘̲͛͋̓ͤ̓̔̔̉͛ͯͥ̿̃͂̚͠͡ ̱̮͙͚͔͉̦̲͈̆ͨ̓͌͡.̊ͬͥ̑̋͏̷̶̞̙̬̲̫̹͓͙̜́͡ ̸̧̟̙̖̻̘̮̭̯̼̬̗̄͛̂̈́̓ͨ̅͒̚͟͢͞ͅŗ̷̛͈̤̫͎͓̹̗̖̲̍ͣͪͣͦͩ̾̀̓́̈̽̔͢ ̌̓̓̽ͥ͂͒̎̈́҉̺̜̠͕͚̭̪͔̱̳̮̩͔͖̪̺̠̲̀.̷̜̠̱̞̰̹ͯ͊̽̀̒̈ͭ͛͒̽ͪ̉ͣ̌ͣ͞͝͝͠ͅ ̸̵̧̻̘̝̪̯̯̻̲͖̩̼̟͕̺͕̊̍ͥͪ̄͌̄ͣb̸̛̛̠͓̬̱̥̪͓͕̝̜͔̝̦̠̤̻ͤͤͤ͗̊ͣ͑̿͘ ̷͚̝̣͉̥͇̙̹̟͛̽ͩ͒ͤ͑̂͂̑͐ͦ̂ͬͫ̋͟.̷̟̻̪̜̜̘̞̘̖͓͛̍͛͂̑̽͢͟ ̯̞̤̮̼̲̗̺̘̪̭̣͌͌ͧ̍̀ͥ͝a̶̧̬̜̯̘̿̃̆̋ͪͤ̄̇̋͊́ͮ̉̍̀̚͟ ͈̹̮͖̗̲̤̏̾ͣ̏ͩ͑͟ͅ.̷̤̭͓̮̦͕̗̙̪̫̤͔͙̳̠͉̬̳̒ͧͤ̇̏ͫͪ̈ͨ̂̿̏͆̐̏ͦ͋͘͜ T͏h͝e͡ f͘og cla̧im͝e͟d he͡r.͏ ͠Th̷e presşưr̡e͡ ͟in ͞he̸r̢ mind̸ in̴̨c̴̢r̡ȩ̷͝a͜s̷̸ed ̴̧̛u̢͢͜n̢͢͠t̛i̶l̛ ̴̶she̢̕ s̢̀͝ù͡d̵̸́̕͞d̶͘e̶͢n҉̵̧͞l̡y͘͟ ̷̶͞͝f̶́͢͠ ̴̷̨͡e̷̢͝ ̵́́l̷̶̶̡͘ ̴͞͠t̷́͞ Pop. From the darkness came clarity, in the form of Dash being sent at incalculable cosmic speeds back close to where she began, in the area just off the subway tracks, slammed into the pavement at a million miles an hour. For a split-second she assumed she would splatter on impact, but apparently simple physics didn’t apply in this scenario. Hurting, and baffled, she simply decided to lie on the cold concrete, waiting for whatever danger wanted to poke at her next. They all seemed to want a piece of her today. A light flickered on overhead, revealing a unicorn stallion, donned in a tattered red coat, standing over her. Dash scraped together what little instincts of self-preservation she still had at that point and managed to stand up, confronting her counterpart with a bleary anxiety. A few synapses in the back of her mind sparked, and her right eye, the one not yet blackened by her various impacts, widened. “Wait a sec. You’re that stallion from Exile Three.” He was vibrating slightly, and it almost appeared as if two separate instances of him were contained in the same body. There was also something off about his eyes, but she couldn’t tell exactly what due to her slightly blurred, tired vision. His expression was neutral in the purest sense, which also off-put her slightly. “You... see me,” he said. “The light refracts into your eyes, bouncing off my body, and... you see me.” “Who’re you?” Dash asked, though at this point she expected such a question was an excercise in futility. “My name is Dicidium, the title I was given at birth—D-D-Discidium,” he said, his head twitching slightly to the side each time he stuttered. “You may call me Discidium. The title I was later given, Veilborn. My name...” He trailed off. “Who are you? What do you call yourself, and what may I refer to you—how may I call...” He lost his words again. His eyes didn’t seem focused on her; rather, they didn’t appear to be quite looking at anything. “Rainbow Dash,” she breathed, backing up to lean against a wall. “You may call me Discidium. If you see me, call me Discidium. But if you see me, say... say...” He shook his head, thinking hard. “If you see me, yell ‘Layne.’” “Is that your name?” Dash asked. Discidium made to shake his head, but never turned it directly to the left, therefore appearing to be bouncing his face off an invisible wall. “No. That is not my name. You may call me Discidium.” “Who... Who are you, though?” Dash asked. “I created this. I made it, I crafted it, and now I live in it. I live and die in it. I am tortured by it,” Discidium said, still pointing his head toward her but still not truly looking at her. “The Void Passage.” “What?” Dash asked. “The Void Passage. The Void Passage is what I created. I didn’t create it. I created what created it. It is the invention of my invention. I was put here to live. I was put here to die,” Discidium explained. “The Void Passage. The Void Passage is what I created. I didn’t—” Dash interrupted him, stepping up and turning his head toward her. “Wait. We’re in a place called the Void Passage?” “The Void Passage. The Void Passage is what I created. I didn’t create it,” Discidium repeated. “Do you know where Pinkie is?” Dash asked, though fast losing hope that she could procure answers from this haphazard shadow of a stallion. “Here. She is here. The world grows smaller as he approaches. The Void Passage is infinite,” Discidium said. “The Void Passage is my creation. The creation of—The creation of my creation of my—” He turned around, shuddering. “What about Fluttershy and Applejack? And Rarity, and Twilight?” Dash asked. Discidium’s ears swiveled in a full 540° toward her, the skin around them bending like putty, a sickening motion that sent a shudder through Dash’s spine, before turning toward her. “Your friends sleep. Your friends are no longer in this world. Not in this Void Passage. They are no longer necessary. Their imprisonment is no longer necessary. They travel to another prison in the Void Passage, the Void Passage that I created.” “What do you mean?” Dash asked, unsure what his true meaning was. “Are they dead?” He roared, rushing toward Dash and ramming her up against the wall, looking directly at her for the first time. At that moment, with the wind slammed from her lungs, she understood exactly what was so off about Discidium’s eyes. The pupils in each appeared to have swelled and burst, eating into the surrounding iris and beginning to form black rivulets around the white of the eye. “Death is a lie,” he hissed. A pause. Neither side moved; Discidium appeared to be at a mental standstill, and Dash hadn’t the strength to escape his grip. “You... were put here to live,” he continued. “You... You can see me, so you were also put here... to die,” he concluded, staring directly at her, through her, now. His back legs took a step forward, increasing the pressure he had to exert on Dash to stay upright. “He comes.” He took another step, and Dash yelped with the pain his weight caused. “He comes... He comes for you, Rainbow Dash.” “Get off!” Dash yelled. She struggled, but her muscles were too tired to resist the bulk of the larger pony. Lashes of pain raked their way up her back. Dash wanted to close her eyes and scream for help, but Discidum’s eyes mesmerized her anew, and she was forced to look up at him. “You will see me,” he said, his voice now layered with what seemed to be at least two other instances of himself. “You must see me. He comes for you.” Dash trembled, but managed to offer Discidium a nod. It wasn’t enough, though. He was still forcing her up against the wall, unwilling to let go—though his gaze did soften. His voice now reverted to its original state, he said, “Save me, Rainbow Dash.” Dash didn’t say yes, because she didn’t know what he meant, but didn’t say no for fear of being hurt. Discidium’s gaze softened further. “Save me... Rainbow Dash. My son returns to find you. My son returns to see you. My son returns to see you as you really are.” “I don’t understand,” Dash cried, her shoulders burning with the force of the unicorn assaulting them—but that force was beginning to dwindle. Discidium’s gaze softened. It was at this point Dash noticed that a gaze cannot possibly be so soft, and it was also at this point, as Discidium’s snout began to droop and his jaw hung open, that he began to fall apart. His already maroon pelt increased in pigmentation until it was the color of blood, and before long actually was dripping off his body like that which it appeared. His eyelids fell over his eyes before dripping off and down his snout, exposing his eyeballs raw for a moment before they, too, melted down the side of his face like streams of tears. She heard a rasping from his throat as his muscles and bones bent, as if he was trying as hard as he could to hold onto her, but she heard four faint snaps as his brittle limbs broke. The impact of his body on the gathering pool of blood splattered everywhere, dotting Dash’s coat with specks of red and covering her hooves and fetlocks in the life of the stallion who’d disappeared in front of her, even his clothes dissolving into the pool of viscous fluid. Dash blinked. For a moment, she wished she had the option to join him. “Why me,” she hissed through clenched teeth, tasting iron on her tongue. The stench made her nauseous. The light which alerted her to Discidium’s presence also lit a corridor on the other end, leading away from the train tracks. Dash didn’t particularly care where it led. Skirting around the edge of the puddle of a former pony, Dash flicked her head to the side to remove strands of mane from her field of view as she began to gallop away as fast as she could—which, unfortunately, was not fast enough for her to escape the stench of death before she had to slow down, lean against a wall, and vomit.