//------------------------------// // 1: The Hunt // Story: The Dueling League // by Colt McCoy //------------------------------// A pony turned to survey his surroundings. The sweet smells of the forest would have regaled him if he took note; spring’s lush kiss had only recently bestowed the land with newfound vigor. Rich mosses and ferns sprang up along the streams that cut through the ancient woods he called home, and the trees themselves, wet from recent rain, practically sang out with all the lust of nature. Swollen to the brim, the streams gurgled beautifully as early morning sun shafted lightly in through the canopy and illuminated the swirling dust kicked up by spring green wingfeathers. In the middle of it all sat the forest’s most private glade. The floor a matted tawny of last season’s pine needles, a smattering of stones, and the odd wildflower, this inner sanctum was currently home to one of the only two ponies for acres. Hovering silently in the air, bow cocked back to reveal sinewy muscle on a thin frame, the viridian Pegasus known as Mint actively ignored the resplendent glory of nature. His eyes instead darted back and forth, intent on catching sight of any out-of-place rustle. When the light hit those eyes at a certain angle, the brilliant tendrils of dawn would pluck out the amber hues from the deep emerald green of his irises. Mint’s blinding-white mane was tinged the slightest bit pink by the rosy fingers of the sunrise. Although quite beautiful to look upon, he was still fearsome in his hunt. Every nerve in his body stood at attention, ready to spring into action should reflex give the command. An eternity passed, and nothing happened. Finally, Mint’s keen hunting senses picked up on the slightest rustle of a shrub. He grinned to himself. The hunt was back on. \\\\\\\\\\////////// Immediately, but without the slightest of sounds, Mint dropped altitude. Drawing his arrow back a little more as he nearly alighted on the forest floor, he sent it whistling into the shrub, a mere five lengths away from him. A startled braying followed shortly by an eruption of foliage told him that the arrow had found its mark. The Pegasus deftly drew another arrow from his quiver as he tracked his prey through the trees. A quick brown colt, the earth pony dashed between the trees with relative ease considering an arrow was sprouting from his right flank. Mint flew just behind, constantly avoiding the branches that reached out to tether him. However, the advantage of flight was clear, as the earth-bound pony began to stumble over roots as he struggle to keep up his pace. Mint loosed another arrow, this time narrowly missing the other pony. The Pegasus swore quietly under his breath as the startled quarry redoubled its pace. The trees were becoming thicker as they went, and it was becoming harder and harder for the hunter to fly and aim simultaneously. Scarcely dodging a thick pine branch, Mint hefted another arrow before drawing it back. This time, instead of firing down from above, he dropped himself to the level of the brown colt and flew right behind him. Drafting in the earth pony’s wake, he sped up to him with ease. Sensing the flying menace closing in behind him, the hunted was suddenly possessed of a quick idea. He dug his front hooves into the ground, coiled his body together like a spring, and shot his hind legs out in a powerful buck that could have dropped a thousand apples. Mint, always quick on his wings, was ready for this. He turned a neat somersault over the kick, and, twisting in midair, came to face his prey, bow cocked. There was a distinct, if short, moment in which both of their eyes met. Then, Mint fired. \\\\\\\\\\////////// After spending five minutes dragging the body, Mint came to a lake. Pulling out the arrow, he reflected upon the last moments of the dead pony before him. His face was frozen in the contortions of recoil, as if disgusted by the simple flight of an arrow into his chest. Mint chuckled as he silently chided the brown pony for the mistakes of not facing his death with honor and even attempting this endeavor to begin with. Taking a particularly heavy arrowhead, Mint took to the flank of the prey. With expert precision gained only by experiences, it was a matter of seconds before he had removed the patch of coat that housed the pony’s cutie mark. Two steel-gray horseshoes, followed by what Mint could only assume was wind. A clever representation of the incredible speed the pony had possessed. The hunter-pegasus tucked the patch into his quiver, then struggled the body out over the lake and dropped it in. A resounding splash was followed by a quick prayer, muttered as to absolve him of sin. With that simple ritual completed, he turned and raced back over the forest. \\\\\\\\\\////////// The thatched roofs of Trotsdale rose on the horizon, with the bustle of the village now in full swing. A knowing smile was offered up by the farmers of the outer village as Mint glided over their plots. Finally coming to a small building easily recognizable as a tavern, the brilliant green pony flared his wings back and came to settle with a few clops on the cobblestone of the town. Trotting over and knocking aside the door, Mint barged in. As he expected, nopony sat at the tables with a pint of cider or a leafy salad. The single pony in the establishment was the owner, a cheery-looking if old grey stallion. He looked up mindlessly from his mopping duties, as if he had been expecting Mint earlier. His gaze slightly missed, as always. “What took so long?” The blind stallion let loose an incredible sneeze, wiped his hoof across his nose, and began a limping gait across the room towards the younger pony. Mint chortled. “Stopped to smell the flowers, I s’pose. What’s the bit-out on this one, Caecilius?” Mint’s shy tenor unleashed its bright tones in the old pony’s familiar company. Caecilius took a hoof to what stubble his chin possessed, then declared, “Ah don’t know. Ah don’t even think he’d hit the books in Canterlot yet. He was young enough to be yer 'prentice!" Mint raised an eyebrow, reminded of the fact that he had a responsibility to the tutelage of somepony in his craft. "I s’pose it wouldn’t be right to keep you on me hoof, though. How’s ten bits sound?” Mint gave an affirmative nod and deposited the horseshoed cutie mark on the counter and took ten bits from Caecilius’ pouch beneath it. “Thank ye kindly, friend. Now I’ve some sleep to catch up on – I’ll swing by on the evening and lend my hand ‘round here. Now get back to work, ya old codger!” Mint burst out the door, smiling grin to grin. It was always good to see his friends in a good mood. Weighing the bits in his hand as he rushed towards home, he mused aloud: “It ain’t an easy life. But sometimes, it do feel nice bein a Duelist.”