//------------------------------//
// Night Whiskers 
// Story: Flash Fiction 
// by Hayquill 
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Ahuizotl's servants have many eyes.

He commands creatures of all kinds, but his greatest lieutenants are those who answer the Whistle. Its sound is high, clear, and silver-bright, like the moonlight that shines in our eyes. 

Our eyes shine because we are bred to walk the shadows.

That is my role: watching and waiting, unseen until the moment I pounce. I was assigned to a clowder of ponies – a herd, I correct myself – because apparently they occasionally do something interesting. Personally, I've never seen it. Sometimes I think Ahuizotl must be hung up on that one pony, must have somehow never heard the cautionary tale told to all predators, of the white salt-fish that ate its hunter's leg. But that's hyena talk.

We have never forgiven the hyenas for leaving the Whistle.

Ponies are insufferably dull creatures. I was charged to identify the most important individual from the – herd – and follow it closely, but in truth I chose the one I did purely because I could tell it apart from the others. Did you know ponies all smell alike? This one likes to rub something into its mane, like a dog rolling in something vile. Not exactly an admirable quality, but at least it breaks up the insufferable sameness of them all.

Eventually, out of sheer boredom (and obedience to the Whistle, of course), I began to learn what passes for their language. Apparently my quarry has given me the name of a shiny rock. I find this exemplary of the sorely wanting intelligence of the species.

I have also discovered that its malnourished brain (honestly, herbivores) had managed to conceive of a sort of ambition, a desire to acquire a higher position in its ridiculous ungulate social structure. Vindication! I had been cunning indeed to choose this pony as my quarry.

But with this comes of course a responsibility. I must report my findings, and discreetly. The pony seems to have become accustomed to my presence, so I will have to be careful to avoid rousing suspicion. I have determined that ponies tend to sleep at night, so I shall make good my escape under cover of darkness. I know the way, of course; I can easily reach the woods, make my report, and return before moonset.





I am roused from my beauty sleep by a chilly draft. I spend hardly five minutes selecting a deep indigo robe – in the moonlight, it matches both my mane and coat! – and make my way downstairs. (Beastly invention, stairs. It took me months to learn to manage them. I can't imagine why anypony would invent such a thing.)

The front door is ajar.

I spin around rapidly, lighting my horn, suddenly desperate to banish the shadows from every corner. Who would come in at this uncouth hour, and uninvited?

The silence is somewhat less than reassuring.

I turn more slowly, scanning for any sign of movement. By hornlight, the room is full of unsettling shapes – ponikins, long mirrors, curtains swaying in the night air from the still-open door. But they are all, on careful examination, merely ordinary things in their ordinary places.

—No, I see it at last. Dear Opalescence is not in her basket; she must have gotten the door open somehow. I feel my shoulders relax. I hadn't realized they had been tense.

I have no wish to leave Opal stranded outside, but I certainly cannot leave the door open. There's simply nothing for it; I shall have to go after her.

I make sure to shut the door behind me.





Everything is going according to plan. I delivered my report, and received a report in turn on the pony that makes its nest near the edge of the forest. We were unobserved, and I am returning to my post.

The wind shifts, and I freeze. Somewhere – somewhere near – is the scent of the one pony I recognize, the pony I can least afford to have discover me. Before I can react, it lets out a bray, in the howl–puff–hiss noise that I have come to recognize as its name for me.

It has not yet found me. I swiftly conceive a cunning deception: I will return to its nest, undetected, and let it believe that I never left. Ponies are very stupid creatures, after all; it does not take much to fool them.

The way is clear. I bolt.





"Opalescence?"

I do not wish to be too loud, so as not to disturb the neighbors, but I may be starting to worry. Just a tiny bit. Opal doesn't often stray far; she's never been one for strenuous exercise, the little dear. Perhaps I should simply turn in; I am unaccustomed to waking in the middle of the night. But first, just one last circuit around the Boutique. Yes.

She's not in the garden, of course. Why would she be? She wasn't the last three times I checked. I sigh, hang my head, and return to the front door. Opalescence will simply have to wait for the morning.

The door glows with my magic, and something moves. The word is out of my throat before I realize. "Opal!"

Heh heh, oops. That might have been a little loud.

I gallop forward to wrap my hooves around her. She squirms in my grip, but I know she's happy to see me. I carry her inside, and put us both to bed.