//------------------------------// // Chapter 4 - Fireside Stories // Story: Spike and the Dragon Tree // by Fimbulvinter //------------------------------// Spike and the Dragon Tree *** Chapter 4 – Fireside Stories It was well after nightfall when Zecora called for a halt and began to set up camp. In the few hours that they had been traveling, Spike and Zecora had made good time; They had already passed through the white-tail woods and were out into the hills beyond. Over the hill would be flat pasture marred by the occasional stream or dip. It would be easy travelling almost all the way to the edge of Equestria. Providing that they continued to make decent time and the weather remained clear, they should make the border of the Dragon Lands within another three days. Spike wanted to keep going through the night, but Zecora called for a halt, pointing out that travelling through uneven ground at night was inviting disaster. A single miss placed hoof could mean a broken ankle, or even worse. Spike had to agree with her reasoning. They would set out again at first light, but Spike couldn’t pass up the feeling that they were wasting time. Zecora led the way to a small cave that looked to be well sheltered from the wind and elements. Giving it a quick look over to check if there were any other inhabitants already using it, the pair stepped inside the mouth and settled in for the night. A more through look into the deeper parts of the cave revealed a small colony of strawberry fruitbats, but nothing larger. The bats chattered away at the rude awakening before launching themselves into the sky, looking for flies or small bugs to eat. Spike watched them go before settling in and opening his bindle to pull out something to eat. The small stash of gems he had brought looked inviting, but he turned his attention towards the jars of preserves he had packed. The gems would be more useful if they encountered other dragons who needed a little incentive to be talkative. Spike was just about to open the first jar he could lay his claws on when Zecora put a hoof over his. Spike looked to see her shaking her head slightly. “Food in the Dragon Lands is sure to be rare. We should save what we can until we are there.” “Well what are we meant to eat then?” Spike asked as his stomach gave a gurgle. He hadn’t exactly had the time to eat his fill before they had left the library. He wasn’t sure if he could keep going tomorrow without having something to eat in the meantime. Zecora just smiled at him before producing a pouch that she had placed around her neck earlier in the afternoon. Spike had seen her stopping on occasion to add things to the sack, but he hadn’t asked why. Zecora opened the sack to reveal that it was filled with an assortment of herbs and edible plants. Spike could see basil and sage, along with what looked like a couple of dandelions, plus many other ingredients he couldn’t instantly recognize. “A hearty soup fit for two. That should satisfy me and you,” Zecora gave Spike a knowing smile as she produced a small pot from somewhere in her cloak and added the selection of ingredients to the mix. Once she had added everything to the pot, Zecora went outside to fill the pot with water from a nearby stream. Realizing what she was doing, Spike set out in search of twigs and sticks that they could use to start a fire with to cook the soup. The hillside was covered with dead shrubs and fallen logs, so it was no great challenge to gather enough wood to last them through the night. Within a few minutes, Spike had gathered a mighty faggot of wood and had stored it by the mouth of the cave. One he was done, he noticed Zecora holding up a hoof, with one of the fruitbats perched on top. It looked like the Zebra was talking to the bat, though Spike couldn’t make out what was being said. He doubted that anything was really being said. While he knew that Fluttershy could understand animals better than most ponies, he wasn’t sure if it was actual language, or just a really good understanding of intent. Either way, Spike was hesitant to believe that Zecora could speak bat. After a few moments, the bat flew off, chittering to a few of its companions, and all three of them flew away, keeping low over the hills as if they were searching for something. “What was that all about?” Spike asked as he made a little circle of stones to contain the fire. Zecora had returned to mixing up the soup, adding in a couple of new ingredients she had found around the cave; the walls were covered with mosses and lichens, most of which Spike recognized from Twilight’s frequent botanical surveys. He knew that they were non-toxic, though their taste was questionable. “I was just asking about the final ingredient of this stew. I wanted to see what the locals knew. They really are a most helpful breed, and have promised to search with all possible speed,” Zecora replied, hanging the pot from a long stick they had erected to hold the soup away from the flames. Spike gave Zecora a long look. “Riiight,” he said, not quite hiding the disbelief in his voice. He knew that Zecora was very knowledgeable about almost everything, but he still didn’t believe that she could command the loyalty of animals just by asking them. He shrugged it off and got back to work, piling a bundle of wood into the stone circle. Once he was sure that everything was in place, he took a deep breath and gently blew his dragon flame over the dry timber. The kindling caught at once and within a few seconds, there was a healthy looking green fire crackling in the center of the cave’s entrance. The rich smell of the wood smoke filled the cave, but most of the actual smoke escaped out of the mouth. Slowly, the flames changed from the emerald green of Spike’s own breath to the more normal color of orange and yellow. Within minutes, the pot began to bubble and the smell of cooking added to the deep woody smells already permeating the cave’s insides. Spike took over the duty of watching the pot, giving it the occasional stir with a metal spoon, while Zecora set about making two makeshift beds out of piles of leaves and a few larger clods of earth. After about twenty minutes of cooking, Spike heard the chittering sound of bats returning to the cave. He looked up into the night sky and spotted a trio of bats flying his way. Dragons had excellent night vision and he could make out a pair of rounded objects being carried between them, though he couldn’t tell exactly what they were. The bats were almost upon them when they broke into a steep dive, angling directly for Zecora, who held a corner of her cloak up to act as a basket to catch whatever it was they were bringing. Two dull whistling noises could be heard, followed by soft thuds as the objects landed into her cloak with pinpoint accuracy. The three bats landed directly before Zecora, and she held up a trio of fresh looking flowers. The bats quickly shoved their faces into the flowers, greedily licking up the sweet nectar contained within before returning to the air to join in the hunt for more meaty prey. “Ah, right on time. Would you care for a twist of lime?” Zecora asked, holding up the two green fruit for Spike to see. Not holding out for his answer, she crushed one of the fruit above the pot, allowing the tart juice and pulp to fall into the mix. A couple of drops missed the pot and landed in the fire, evaporating in a sudden hiss. Zecora gave Spike a smile and took the spoon from him, stirring the zest into the soup. Spike gave the stew a couple of sniffs and he had to admit that it smelled mouth watering. That he was hungry enough that almost anything would have smelled good was beside the point. Zecora let the soup simmer for a few more moments, before taking it off of the heat and allowing it to cool. Once it seemed cool enough, she poured out two measures into cups and passed one over to Spike. He took the cup and sipped at it gingerly, nearly spitting it back out as the scalding liquid washed over his tongue. While his mouth was perfectly developed to handle fire, it was not so good with hot liquids. Zecora chuckled a little before lifting a spoon of her own meal up to her mouth, blowing on it before sticking it into her mouth. Spike watched her swallow in enjoyment and he gave his own soup a second sip, making sure not to drink too much. Being ready for it this time, Spike noted the warming tastes of the herbs, complimented by the earthy bite of the moss. Running through it all was the bright, bold taste of the lime. He had not expected them all to work so well, but they all combined together to create a truly unique taste, one that he found quite pleasant. The pair ate in silence for a little while, looking out of the cave mouth up at the stars. Spike wasn’t entirely sure, but the moon seemed to be larger and brighter than it had been before; almost as if it was keeping vigil over the land. He figured Luna really was watching over Rarity back in Ponyville. He hoped that she would keep an eye on him every now and then; he could really use an alicorn’s protection on this trip. “Spike, how long have we known each other for? It would be three years or more?” Zecora said, breaking the comfortable silence they had been maintaining. Spike got up off his back and turned to look at the Zebra. Zecora was seated on her back and had both eyes closed. Her staff was perfectly balanced vertically from the tip of her muzzle. Spike recognized the position as a meditation pose from the time when Twilight had analyze meditation and yoga down to their base components. “Yea, I guess it would be about that long. Why?” Spike was a little confused. He and Zecora had never really been particularly close during the time they had known each other. Something about her little voodoo shack in the Everfree forest creeped him out. “We know so little about each other. I don’t even know the name of your mother.” “Wait, you want to know about me?” Spike asked. Zecora nodded once, her staff wobbling slightly, but not tipping over. “Well, there isn’t really all that much to tell. I was hatched as a test for Twilight’s entrance exam into Princess Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns. She had to prove that she was a skilled at magic, so her test was hatching a dragon’s egg. Ever since then, we have grown up together. Twilight’s parents, Night Light and Twilight Velvet, that’s their names if you are interested, raised me as if I was their own second son. I’ve always worked as Twilight’s assistant ever since I was old enough to read. Sometimes, I wish she would stop treating me like such a baby; I'm only a few years younger than she is, but she still calls me a baby dragon and acts like I can't look after myself. In the end though, I don’t know what I would do if something happened to her.” Spike took a breath before looking up at the stars again. He thought that he could almost make out Rarity’s face in the cluster above him, a trick of his imagination he was sure. After a minute he decided to keep the conversation rolling. “So how about you, Zecora? You’re a zebra and a witch doctor, but I don’t really know anything about you, or even zebra culture for that matter. Do you get cutie marks like a normal pony?” Spike looked down at Zecora’s flank and the swirled sun mark there. He didn’t know if that was a natural aspect to her stripes or if it was something like a cutie mark. What did it mean it that was the case? “It is not a cutie mark you see, but something no less personal to me. I can tell you all about my times of old glory, if you are not adverse to hearing a story.” Spike shook his head. Now that she had brought it up, he was actually interested in learning more about Zecora’s life before Ponyville. She had to have seen so much to be as wise as she was. Slowly, Zecora began her tale, going back through the mists of time to when she was just a young filly, no older than when Twilight had been in his. In a camp not far from the Equestrian edge of the Zebracan savannah, a grand celebration was underway. Today was a day of great joy for the herd of zebra, for on this day, the shaman would select her successor from among all the colts and fillies of the tribe. It was always a great occasion, as being shaman was a position of great respect and responsibility. As the tribe’s spiritual leader, the shaman would be responsible for ensuring that all traditions were followed out and, perhaps of even greater importance, leading the worship of the earth mother. Almost every member of the tribe had at one point or another wanted to be the shaman, though only the most talented would be selected. Around a grand bonfire, the defenders of the tribe danced, working themselves up into a frenzy, all in the name of the blessed earth spirit that watched over them all. Behind them, the other adults tended to their children, or joined in the dancing. On a raised platform before the fire sat the chief of the tribe, resting on a throne of carved wood. A golden scepter lay sat across his lap as he directed the worshippers in their revelling. Off to his side was the current shaman and she watched the entire proceeding with a calm detachment. She could remember the last time this had happened, the night when she had been chosen. It was all so long ago, but felt like it was yesterday. Dressed in a simple cotton robe and wearing a wooden mask, she could feel the power of the earth through her hooves. Years of practice and study in the occult and the arcane alike had given her a connection to the earth that not even the earth ponies of neighboring Equestria could match. The earth spoke to her, and she in turn informed the tribe of the mothers will. Gently, she turned to look at the chief and nodded once. In turn, he banged the scepter down on the platform, the loud thud cutting through the sounds of celebration. Quickly the revelers came to a stop and all turned to face the chief. Slowly he got to his hooves and addressed his tribe. “My fellow kinsman, tonight is a auspicious night. Tonight is the night that Arma shall select her successor; one who will guide our tribe through the trials of the future and beyond. Such a post is not one to be undertaken lightly, and all who choose it are pledged to always hold the earth mother above all.” There were shouts of agreement from the tribe. It was the natural way of things; that the shaman should be above the petty concerns of mere mortal zebra. Their will was the will of the earth mother, to be respected at all times. “Let all the candidates be brought forward. Let the choosing commence!” From out of the crowd, seven young zebra stepped forward. They all looked excited to be there and they quickly formed a small blob before the chief and shaman. Two of the foals clung close together. They were twins and had always done everything together, including the desire to become the next shaman. They had both studied intensely for this moment, memorizing ritual spells and incantations. The larger one turned to face his sister, giving her a cheesy grin. “I hope they get on with the choosing, dear sister All this waiting is setting my stomach a twister I hope that it’s soon So I can go back to my room For my hooves are starting to blister.” “It will start soon, my dear Zecara,” Zecora replied, giving her older brother of ten minutes an almost imperceptible shove. He wrapped one of his hooves around her and pulled her in close. “Though the smart money is on Farah,” she added, pointing to another filly sitting close to them. Brash and confident, the filly had an expression on her face that said she was sure the choosing was nothing more than a formality. “She is the favorite one for sure Though I think I like you more You are smart and your eyes Speak of a mind most wise Farah would be such a bore.” Zecora chuckled lightly, hoping that Farah hadn’t heard them. A sudden tingling up her spine made her look forward and she saw the eyes of both the chief and the shaman looking down at her. She instantly pulled away from Zecara and shut up, dropping her eyes down to the ground before her. Once he was sure that all seven children were still, the chief motioned to the shaman. She stepped forward and picked up a small vial of a glowing orange liquid. Upending it, she gulped the entire vial down in one burst before doubling over in what looked like pain. When she stood up again, her eyes had changed. Where there had once been a serene golden hue, there now were two burning orange orbs. The potion would allow her to see the signs of the earth mother. Whichever child had the gift of the mother would be chosen. She began moving through the children, occasionally pausing to examine some aspect of them. She took her time; this was not something to be rushed. Slowly, she inspected the children, dismissing some almost at once, though some she lingered on. She spent quite a while examining Farah from every angle, searching for some sign that only she could see. Farah just looked straight ahead, her expression now changing an inch as the shaman touched or prodded her. Eventually the shaman turned to face Zecora and her brother, Zecara. Looking at them with her spirit eyes, it was almost blinding. Together they were stronger than almost any power she had ever known. Without hesitation she lifted a hoof and pointed at them. “Both,” she said, not lowering her hoof. Zecora felt her jaw drop when she heard the announcement. It had been a long time since a pair had been chosen, though as they were twins, it did make a certain about of sense. They were linked in a special way. Occasionally, Zecara would say that he could sense her emotions, and she had been sure she could hear his voice in her head a few times. They had also entered each others dreams more than once. Zecara wrapped his forehooves around her neck and pulled her in close. To the shaman’s eyes, that only served to intensify their auras. Before long she had to close her eyes and look away. Around Zecora and Zecara, there was a scattering of disappointed ‘aww’s’ as parents realized that their child was not chosen, but for the most part the zebra’s of the tribe stamped their hooves in congratulations. Farah stamped her hooves into the dirt and shot Zecora a dark look. Zecora’s father, a stern old Zebra warrior came up and put his hooves around both of his children. Zecora rubbed up against his familiar stripes, and she felt Zecara do the same of the other side. A gruff cough came from over at the stage and all eyes instantly turned to face the shaman. Zecora saw a pair of green potions in her hooves and she knew what they meant. The choosing, the easy part, was over. Now came the time that the prospective apprentices would have to prove that they were worthy of the post to which they had just ascended to. In order to truly become a shaman, a student would have to undertake a vision quest. During the quest, they would commune with the earth mother and the spirits would reveal to them a great personal truth. It was said that your guardian spirit would come to you and show you yourself. Not all initiates made it past this point; many would be driven mad by what they saw during the visions. Some would reject what they saw. Only the most worthy of all would pass the test. Zecora had no doubt that together, she and he brother would pass this trial and prove themselves to be worthy of the secret teaching of the wise old witch. A potion was handed to both foals and with a look of supreme confidence on his face, Zecara upended his in one sharp swig. Zecora followed, not wanting to appear hesitant. The potion tasted foul and it burned all the way down her throat. She quickly saw why Zecara had just gulped his down without thinking about it. Almost instantly, she felt her guts heave and she wanted to expel the bitter potion, but she forced herself to remain standing and holding it down. If she spat it up now, it would only prove that she wasn’t worthy to be a shaman. After a few more second, a new feeling of peace and calm descended upon Zecora and the pains of the moment before vanished. Lifting a hoof up into the air, she was pleased to see a thin trail of light following behind it. She waved it around a couple of times, giggling as she made the trails of light cross paths to make a shape in the air. The noise of a bug chirping caught her attention and she looked around for it, finally spotting a gigantic cricket playing a harmonica on a rock nearby. The cricket stopped playing and looked at her, gave her a quick dip of its top hat before exploding into a cloud of multi colored fireworks. Zecora tried to point it out to Zecara, but couldn’t as he was now nearly one hundred feet tall and a mongoose. She shrugged as if that was the most normal thing in the world and went back to looking around her. An owl landed next to her, clutching a mouse that it had caught in its talons. Rather than squirm and try to get away, the mouse simply climbed up into the owl’s mouth, gave Zecora a wink, said “Personally, I’d prefer a little extra room,” and jumped inside before being laid a second later as a speckled egg. Zecora was just about to try and touch the owl, wondering what it would be like to be laid as an egg herself, when a blinding light came from above her. She looked up, squinting her eyes nearly shut to see a golden sun hanging high in the sky. It burned with a majesty she had never seen before. It was glorious; the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Zecora never wanted to have to spend another second not feeling the rays of the sun on her face again. Suddenly, the light faded away and Zecora saw a cold and harsh moon creep over the face of the sun. On the face of the moon was the imprint of a horned pony’s head. The moon blotted out the light of the sun, leaving her cold and alone. Without the sun, Zecora felt small and afraid, not wanting to look up at the moon and the wan light it gave off. The eye of the mare started to glow a bright red and Zecora could feel it penetrating her very soul. Nothing could escape its blank stare and she wanted to run and find somewhere to hide. Her hooves refused to obey her commands, leaving her rooted to the spot. Just as she was about to burst into tears of fright, six stars around the moon came to life, each one glowing a different color of the rainbow. Beams of light shot out of the six stars, all converging on the moon right where the glowing eye was, their combined lights engulfing the pale light of the moon. Zecora had to close her eyes again as suddenly the moon vanished to reveal to bright light of the sun again. Its gleaming light radiated out and filled Zecora’s life with sunshine and joy once again. Around the sun, Zecora could still just make out the six gleaming stars before the light overwhelmed her and she could see nothing but the brilliant white light of the sun. The feeling of cold water splashing onto her face brought Zecora’s attention back to the present and she quickly jumped up to her hooves, coughing and spluttering. A moment later, she dropped back to the ground as shooting pains ran through her back legs, followed by cramps and severe pins and needles. She winced as the pain shot through her body, curling into a tight ball to avoid putting pressure on her hooves. The cold water and the pain combined to clear her head of the last foggy thoughts, and Zecora slowly thought back to what she had experienced in her dream vision. She couldn’t remember all of it, and some of the things she did remember were so distorted that they made no sense. One thing did stick in her mind though, the image of the sun glowing high above her. With a groan, she climbed to her hooves. A hoof appeared before her, offering to help her up. Zecora looked up to see Zecara standing above her. Unlike how she felt, he looked fresh, but there was something different about him. Zecora knew her brother, and there was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before; they were eyes that had seen something and it aged him. Gone was the young colt who had always looked out for her. A stallion stood before her now. He gave Zecora a quick nod and the pair of them exited the tent where they had spent the second half of their visions. Pulling back the flap, they exited to find that it was the middle of the night. There were a couple of tribesmen standing on watch, but aside from them, most of the camp was quiet. By the dying fire, Zecora caught sight of the shaman; she was poking the fire with a stick while stirring two small pots. At the sound of their hooves, the shaman looked up and quickly got up to her hooves to greet the two new initiates. Without a word, she pulled two small rolls of hide from a pocket of her robe and passed them over to the siblings. A jar of paint followed. Zecora knew what was going to come next – the final stage of the initiation was the marking. Much like how the ponies of nearby Equestria gained symbols that indicated their place and skills in the world, a tribal shaman would also mark themselves with a deeply personal design; something that could only come to them through introspection and intense meditations. That had been the purpose of the visions they had just taken – to reveal to them what their symbol would be. Zecora thought about it for a moment, but quickly came to rest on the only thing that it could possibly be. Not hesitating, she unfurled her hide sheet and dipped her hoof into the pot of paint. While other species might hesitate at touching something that had once been a living creature, Zebra had no such qualms. Hide, leather, horn, bone; it all had use in Zebran society, and not a piece would be wasted. With deft strokes, she painted the image she could see in her mind. The gleaming sun appeared on her sheet, a swirl making up the body with short strokes to indicate its divine power. Zecora painted with the speed of one possessed and within a few minutes she was done. Transcribed onto her hide sheet was a symbolic representation of her vision, and looking at it, Zecora knew that it was hers. It would forever be a indication of her destiny. Beside her, Zecora saw that Zecara was still hard at work creating his own design. He worked no less swiftly, but his design was more complex. Zecora watched his hoof glide over his sheet of hide, adding in lines and swirls. Slowly, a shape took form, and Zecara held up a geometrically perfect triskelion. Soft curves made up the circles within circles. When they were both done, the shaman took both sheets of hide and the paint away, giving Zecora and Zecara a moment reflect on what was about to happen next. The shaman returned to the fire and picked up something that she had been holding at the edge of the flames for some time. Zecora knew what it was, but still, her blood ran cold at the sight of the large, curved obsidian knife clutched in the shamans hoof. The ponies of Equestria magically got their marks when they discovered their special talent. Zebra got their marks through more… conventional means. Feeling her heart race, Zecora sat before the shaman, facing the fire and hoping that she would be able to block out the searing pain she knew she was about to feel. At first she felt nothing, and wondered it something was the matter, but a second later, a searing pain carved its way through her flank as the tip of the knife dug into her unmarked flesh. Zecora whimpered and bit down hard on her lip. The taste of copper washed over her tongue, but she refused to cry out to flinch. Slowly, the knife cut its way across her flank, carving out an exact replica of the pattern she herself had provided. Each slice was agony, but she kept staring directly into the fire, doing her best to focus past the pain and consider exactly what the meaning behind her vision could have been. By the time the shaman got started on her other flank, Zecora had given up on trying to hide the pain. Tears streamed down her face at every kiss from the knife, and she longed for it to be over. Zecara stood by her side, but he didn’t do anything to offer her support; tradition dictated that an initiate must undergo this trial alone, with no help from others. None to soon for her liking, Zecora felt the shaman finish, marking in the final ray of light onto her flank. Zecora collapsed forward, but she wasn’t nieve enough to think that the ordeal was over. Instead she grit her teeth again and waited. She wasn’t disappointed as the shaman put the knife down and instead picked up a ladle of the boiling mixture she had on the fire. The mixture was applied directly to Zecora’s bleeding flanks, sending stinging pains throughout her body again. Zecora knew that the mixture was important. It would ensure that the cuts wouldn’t become infected and would prevent them from forming scar tissue. Once the cuts had healed up in a few days, there would be left a darker band of fur, identical to the color of her stripes in the shape of her sun mark. She would forever be marked with it; it would become part of her, no less personal than the cutie marks of the ponies over the border. Eventually, the shaman finished with Zecora, and she replaced the knife into the fire. Zecora could hear the drops of her blood sizzling away, and after a few seconds, the shaman pulled it back out, inspecting the blade for any ash or dirt that could cause infection. Finding nothing, the shaman turned her attention to Zecara. Like Zecora, he just stared into the fire while the seer carved his design into the sides of his flanks. He appeared to take the experience better than Zecora did, but she knew that he had to be hurting just like her. With one final stroke, the shaman pronounced herself done, and coated Zecara’s body in the past as she had done Zecora. With that, the ritual of the choosing was finished. They had been selected from among the tribe, sent on a vision quest to speak with the earth mother, and finally been marked as shaman adept. Zecora knew that she should be happy, but she just felt exhausted. The wise woman handed them both a cup from the second pot that had been neglected over the fire. They both took a gulp of the mixture and felt the pain in their flanks disappear as if it had never existed. Zecora could only feel a pleasant fog descend over her eyes as she returned the empty cup and started to trot back to her families tent. Zecara plodded along next to her, his flanks coated with the thick paste, as were hers. When he pulled alongside her, he whispered into her ear, taking great pains to ensure that the shaman didn’t hear him. “Well, now that this had come to an end I wish our flesh, she did not have to rend It seems like such a great pain For so small a gain Let us go to bed, that our flanks may mend.” Zecora could only agree with him. While she knew that the marking was a traditional part of Zebran spiritual life, and that she would be expected to do exactly the same to her own apprentice when the time came for her to do so, she couldn’t help but feel that it was an archaic method; as much a trial of pain and endurance than an actual part of the tradition. Still she would never actually admit that to anypony, except her brother. “It is all for the good of the tribe, my brother. You know it is expected of us by father and mother.” Zecara pointed in the direction of the Equestrian border. “But it is all so unfair They get it so easy over there No pain, no suffering, no trial All they do is wait a while. And it appears out of thin air.” Zecora shook her head. She knew Zecara was half right, but she was in no mood to discuss this with him right now. Her hay pile was calling her and in the morning they would both have to begin moving their few meager possessions over to the shaman’s hut, where they would be staying from now until their apprenticeship was complete. It would be a challenge, but Zecora knew she was going to be up to the task. Spike blinked a couple of times when he realized that Zecora was finished with her story. It hadn’t been at all like what he had expected; the magic of cutie marks was so ubiquitous in Equestria that nopony ever stopped to question it. That other races may not get marks the same way had barely ever crossed his mind. He clutched his bowl of now cold soup up to his mouth and blew a gentle stream of flame over it to bring it back to an acceptable temperature. When he offered to do Zecora’s, she declined and finished off the last dregs of hers in a single swig. Her staff had been placed at her side when she had begun to talk. “And that is the whole of my tale. When stacked against yours, I hope it doesn’t pale,” she said, covering the cooking pot with a piece of cloth to keep the nightlife out of it. “But how did you end up here?” Spike asked. From Zecora’s story, it sounded like she wouldn’t have ever really been able, nor wanted to leave her tribe. They would have been looking to her and her brother for guidance, and Zecora had never struck him as the kind of pony to abandon those who actually needed her help. ‘except for that one time she took your gem and gave it to the filly scouts,’ a voice in his head popped up. Zecora gave him a kindly smile, but shook her head. “That is a story for another day. I think it is time we hit the hay.” Spike had to agree about that last part. They still had many days journey just to reach the border of the Dragon Lands, not to mention the time it would take them to even reach the place where they thought the tree might be hidden. If either of them could fly, this wouldn’t have been a problem, but Spike’s wings were will no more than under-formed bumps on his back, and Zecora certainly didn’t have any. The pair quickly packed up most of the things they had used to make camp, knowing that it would save them time later on if they did. Once they were ready, they both climbed onto their respective hay piles and curled up for the remainder of the night. “Night, Zecora,” Spike said as he shifted a few leaves around, trying to get comfortable. “Good night, don’t let the bugs bite,” Zecora replied. Spike stared at the roof of the cave for a few minutes, thinking about what he had gotten himself into. He knew that he was way out of his league here; despite how mature he seemed at times, in dragon culture he was barely more than a newborn infant hatchling. He had no idea what awaited him when he found the tree, or even what the most of the Dragon Lands would even be like. The one thing that comforted him as he heard Zecora’s breathing steady out into the rhythmic rise and fall indicative of sleep was that he was doing this for the most noble cause he could think of. For Rarity, he would go to any length. The image of Rarity stayed with him until he fell asleep, whispering to him that he was doing the right thing. At least in his dreams, they could be together forever.