Within a hastily erected lean-to, three ponies were resting beside the glow of a dwindling campfire. The two conscious ponies had finished eating a plain meal of dried rye grasses under a veil of uneasy silence.

“Willow,” Amber said quietly in an attempt to draw his eyes to hers, but he did not turn his head. She looked him over. The soft glow of the fire painted his coat with a golden hue, and his eyes were peering toward the small campfire, the dying flames forming a smoldering reflection in each eye. “Why hasn't he woken up yet?” she asked, and pointed downward with her muzzle, indicating the smaller form between them.

Between herself and Willow, a warm shadowy figure wearing an over-sized jacket had been laid down gently. The colt's short, dark purple mane splayed out from beneath the jacket and had collected a sizable amount of leafy detritus. The child's breath was a simple rhythmic comfort amongst the darkening forest. With each breath, Amber felt the concept of war and the scene from earlier that afternoon drift off into the recesses of her mind. It was unbelievable. What was once a child lost to tragedy, had been salvaged. The child had a future. He saved a life.

“His body needs to finish resting,” Willow replied quietly, with a voice like worn gravel. He kept staring intently into the dying flames. “He'll wake up when he has enough energy.” It looked as though he was going to say more, but then he shook his head.

’I hope’? Amber guessed at the words that Willow had not said.“It was the right thing to do... Right?” Amber asked and laid her head to rest upon her fore-hooves.

“Of course it was!” For all the weariness in his voice, there was a sense of conviction behind it that summoned a small smile to Amber's mouth.

There were times when having someone who knew what they were doing, with such certainty, was a great comfort, and to Amber, this was one such time. She had always looked to Willow to find that sense of right and wrong where normally she would have faltered on her own.

'If we're lost, then at least we're lost together.' It was an old adage that she had always clung to since the day he had gotten his cutie mark, and it was one that she found a familiar comfort within. She'd trust Willow, as she always had. He had good instincts and could make quick and sensible decisions when it mattered.

“Same as before: we'll head to Canterlot. We need to bring him somewhere safe. We'll let an orphanage or someplace know that his parents were killed in a gryphon raid. I'm sure we can find someplace to take him.” Willow yawned deeply before continuing. “And then maybe you can-”

Willow sighed lightly. “After that we can try to find a place where I can help with my skills. Maybe a small town, someplace where I can leave Autumn’s Reach behind.” Willow paused, and Amber felt him shake his head—a subtle movement that barely stirred the air around her. “Amber, look, I know you wanted to live in Canterlot and open a shop there. You have the skills as a wood-carver to make it. You're damned good at it. I know, I've seen it first-hoof. I don't want to ruin that for you.”

Amber opened her eyes and gave him a small glare. He had finally stopped peering into the fire and was looking at her, a worried crease furrowing his forehead “I don't have to open a shop in Canterlot,” she shot back. “Why are you placing this burden squarely on your shoulders? I’m right here, you know? Look, I know you can't stay in Canterlot because of what your brother must have told the guards by now. And that means you'll probably have to keep on running away as word spreads from town to town, city to city. And with this war restarting I know it can-” She paused to shake her head. “It will be dangerous.”

“And if that means that I have to choose between leaving my best friend and never seeing him again, or following him and helping however I can, I'm pretty sure that's a no-brainer.” She leaned her head gently on his shoulder and offered him a sad smile. “So you're stuck with me.”

“And so am I. But we should get some sleep. We're still a ways from Canterlot. And traveling with a kid is going to make it take a while longer.”

“I suppose you're right,” Willow said. Amber saw his horn light up for a moment, and the last flicks of the small fire before them died out. “He should stay warm enough between us. Goodnight, Amber. Thanks for everything.”

“Of course,” she murmured back and closed her eyes. “It's what friends do.”

* * *

The summer night, a calming embrace.
It held the warmth of a child's breath,
The presence of friends who cared for each other,
And solace from a day filled with death.

Amidst the warm pulse of life
He found a way to breathe calmly.
He knew what he had,
And told himself it would stay.

He closed his eyes, hoping that when tomorrow came,
What he still had would remain beside him;
Hope kindled beside mounting doubt.

If it happened once,
Would it not happen again?

* * *

He was young, so young he remembered not the whole scene before him. He knew he was home and his mother was playing with him as they waited for Father to return from his shift at the base. Father was going to pick Argent up from school on the way home.

Even then, in Willow’s earliest memories, his mother was growing more frail with every passing day, but she wasn't about to let it stop her from being active. She was going to overcome it. It was just a passing cold, a flu that would be gone in a week or two. Or at least, that's what she had always told him whenever she fell into a bout of coughing. And he believed her gentle lies.

The afternoon began dragging on, and the creations of painted wooden building blocks were quickly losing their appeal. Willow made his way into the kitchen and watched as his mother prepared supper. He took in the aroma of the cooking vegetables and spices.

She always was a great cook. She even had a cutie mark dedicated to it: a pot over a fire.

With a small smile, she tested the soup and then nodded to herself. “Willow, it's going to be perfect, just the way he loves it after a long day at the base.”

“Why is Father always home late?” he had asked. “He never plays with me anymore.”

“Your father has a very important job, Willow.” His mother smiled at him and ran a hoof playfully through his colourful hair, tossing the strands into disarray. “He's working to keep us all safe. Remember how I told you about his cutie mark before?”

She laughed kindly. “Yes, a buckler. It's a small shield to protect things that are important to you. Every day he's protecting us, keeping us safe.”

“It's...a bad thing that your father protects us from.” His mother shook her head. “And he does it because he loves us very much. He gives everything he can to keep us safe and happy.”

“I'd be happier if he was home. Why does he have to be gone to protect us? Can't he do it here?”

She smiled at his question. “Because it's safer this way. One day you'll understand, Willow. He's doing his best for all of us.”

More hours passed in what seemed like the blink of an eye. He had eaten and so had she. The food was getting cold sitting on the wood-burning stove, as the fire inside had since died out. His mother kept looking out the darkening windows every few minutes, the reflection of her frown, was plain to see.

Eventually a knocking sounded at the door and she rushed to open it. Outside stood the local school teacher—a gray earth pony mare, with a darker slate and chalk as her cutie mark—and Argent was beside her. Willow happily rushed over to meet his brother, but Argent pushed past him with a hurt look on his face and hurried away toward their bedroom.

“-never came. I'm sorry. Maybe he's just working late today. I would have come back sooner, but Argent was looking forward to seeing him all day, and he didn't want to leave the schoolhouse and kept asking me to wait 'just one more minute',” the teacher explained quietly to Willow's mother.

“That's okay.” Willow's mother sighed. “I'm sure he got caught up with his work. Thank you for bringing Argent back home. I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience.”

Willow caught a worried look from the teacher's face before the mare turned to leave. The door slowly swung shut from his mother's gentle push.

“Willow, why don't we go and see what your brother is doing?” his mother asked, casting another glance at the darkened pane of glass.

Little did I know that father would never set hoof through that door again. I can't even remember what he looked like. For a moment, he saw a blur of orange and felt the warming embrace of a feathered wing settle around his shoulders. He had died that night. Him and a group of three others. A patrol found them—their bodies—the next morning. All of the ponies had been cut down by the gryphons' swords. Father's red buckler was returned, as a battered mess, along with the news. That scene, more so than any other, was the blow that worsened Mother's condition and placed her in bed from then on.

Willow watched the image of his younger self and mother walk to the bedroom and they disappeared behind the door. The house grew quiet and dark. Only the barest of outlines marked the oaken door of their home.

With a creak, the door swung open. Silver moonlight poured in through the gradually widening rectangle. On the other side of opening, his mother's body lay. It was torn, burned, and a messy wreck. Small plumes of smoke still emanated from her broken corpse. Disfigured by his spell.And Argent's interference. Now she's gone, just like Father. But I could have saved her. I could have...

Just past the bloody mess, upon the path that led to his home, he noticed something else. A small colt of purple coat, and darker mane. He lay on one of many the stepping stones that formed the path to his home—a path that trailed out of their plot of land, but instead of heading to the town as it should have, it was devoured by the nearby Autumn Wood.

Willow walked up and stepped past the misshapen mass that was once his mother. With every moment he laid his eyes on it he heard his brother's shouts in his head, he smelled the burning flesh, he saw her racking coughs, he tasted the mouthful of blood that she had choked upon while they all slept. He felt his stomach churn.

He forced the image from his mind and looked past it. He moved past it, next to the quietly sleeping small colt. The form shivered and Willow sat down beside him and gently wrapped a foreleg over the small pony in a protective embrace.

A small groan sounded from nearby, and Willow awoke with tears of sleep in his eyes. He was greeted by the movement of the small colt waking beside him. He's awake! he thought with joy. The doubts he had harbored, which he had tried his best to keep hidden and muffled, slid from his shoulders. He looked down at the colt and grinned in relief. It worked! It really did!

The purple colt blinked in very slight confusion, and looked around with strikingly orange eyes. The look of confusion only deepened when he laid eyes on Amber, who slept on his other side. “Where?” the child quietly asked and turned his head toward Willow. “Who?”

“You're awake,” Willow gave him a reassuring smile. “How do you feel? Does anything hurt?”

“Hurt? No...” the child began to move, getting to his hooves. “My legs... tingle. My throat,” he coughed slightly, “dry.”

“You must have slept on your legs a little differently, restricting the blood flow a bit.” Willow reasoned. “The feeling should pass. Your throat should get better over time, so long as you keep drinking water.” He was already using his magic to fish out the bottle of water from his pack.

At the child's voice, Amber began to stir. She rolled onto her back and opened her eyes while a small smile played on her lips. Quickly the smile turned into a look of surprise as she stared up at the colt.

“Wow, you have really beautiful eyes,” she murmured before making a wide yawn.

“That is Amber,” Willow mentioned with gesture of his fore-hoof. “And I am Willow, pleased to meet you. What's your name?”

The child looked at him blankly for a moment. “Name?” The child stared off into the distant trees. His eyes moved, as if searching for something. “Comet?” he said in a slow and confused drawl. There was level of uncertainty to his voice, as if he were unsure of his own name. “Where... am I? The Autumn Wood? What happened?”

Willow watched as Comet tried to piece his memories together. And he offered the water bottle to him silently with his magic. What do I tell him? That his parents are dead, killed by gryphons? Or is a white lie the proper choice? He gave a worried look to Amber, who was getting to her hooves and was wearing a solemn expression.

“Do you remember anything from yesterday, or the night before?” Willow asked. “What's the last thing you remember before now?”

“I was... tired?” The searching expression on the young colt only grew more frantic as he spoke. “There were faces... green and blue—but who? It felt warm. A voice sung to me. And the smell of smoke.”

“Willow,” Amber said quietly, nervousness, causing her voice to waver, “I think something's wrong with his memory.”

“His memories were damaged?” Willow thought for a minute. That's entirely possible... He was dead, and now he's back... But at least he's alive. And the memories seem like they are still there. It might not be permanent damage, but just a short-term side-effect of being brought back.

The colt tilted his leaf-riddled violet head of hair as he considered the question. “No... Lolium Comet. But they always called me Comet. They...” Comet trailed off, and a mask of frustration covered his face as he twisted his mouth into a pained snarl. “Who are they? Why don't I remember? What happened?! Who- Who am I?!”

Amber rushed over to his side and pulled him into a firm hug. “Shh,” she shushed. “It's okay, Comet. You don't have to force it. Your memories will come back in time. It's okay.”

“But why? What happened?” Comet asked in a strangled voice. “Who are you? Who am I?”

“Look, kid-” Willow shook his head. “Comet, calm down. We'll explain it as best as we can—our side of the story. You deserve to know; it's your right to know.”

“Willow, he's just a child,” Amber said, warningly, as she turned from from Comet and looked into Willow’s eyes.

They shared a moment with their eyes locked together, but Willow kept his gaze defiant. “I know... but he needs to know. Something! Anything!”

“And I will tell you.” Willow nodded and sat down upon the leaf-cover ground before beginning his story and he beckoned Comet to drink some water.

“We were traveling through the Autumn Wood when we saw some smoke. It was coming from a rye grass farm. The place had been attacked, only hours before. Amber and I decided to investigate the scene a bit...”

Willow noticed Amber cringe as he spoke, and he forced his mind not to bring up the sanguine-blemished memories. “We came across a... grotesque scene. I won't go into the details, but we found you there with two other ponies. We assume they were your parents.”

“You had all been attacked before we arrived. Your home was burned to ashes, and I did what I could—I'm something of a doctor you see,” Willow said dumbly, the words sounded false in his ears. They were too simple and detached from the emotions surrounding the event, they felt hollow and empty. “And so I managed to save you, Comet.”

Comet set down the water bottle and blinked a few times, letting the words sink in before his responded. “So... my parents are... dead? And my home is gone?”

Willow found it strange, how simply the colt asked these questions. There was no emotion behind his words. It was as if he were questioning to reaffirm the time of day, instead of the death of his parents. “Yes,” Willow stated, a hint of anger blossoming in his voice. “They are dead.”

“'Oh'?!” Willow shouted, getting to his hooves. “'Oh'?! Your parents were killed and that's all you can say?!”

“Willow!” Amber interceded, stepping in front of him. “Don't yell at him, it's not his fault!”

“No!” Willow rebuked. “Damn it, no!I'm sorry! You've done nothing wrong. Nothing.”

A heavy silence fell amongst the three, and Willow could not find it within himself to meet the child's eyes again.

“Why don't we get some breakfast?” Amber proffered. “Surely you must be hungry, Comet.”

The child looked down at his own body, as if he could read how hungry he was. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I guess I'm hungry.”

Willow moved over to a pack and began pulling some of the compressed rations out with his magic. “We don't have much, but I'd rather not have to forage for food right after waking up.”

“Hay will have to do. Maybe we'll come across a ripened fruit tree as we go.” Willow sighed. “We didn't exactly pack for a luxury trip here.”

“Hay will be fine,” Amber said pleasantly. “Though come to think of it... 'Lolium'... Isn't that a strange name?” Amber mused as she sat down next to Comet.

“No more than Acorn,” Willow pointed out and distributed each of them a portion of compact dried hay rations. “Ambrosia Acorn.”

“Hey, you know I don't like to be called that! Just call me Amber!” She grimaced. “Ambrosia's a stupid name.”

“Really? I rather like it,” Willow said, and he felt a small smile unwittingly grace his lips. “Your parents gave it to you. It's something that you should treasure, for their sake.”

Willow smiled back then turned to Comet. “She really doesn't know, she's just too proud to admit it.”

“I...” Comet said worriedly as he prodded the other half of his small meal with a hoof. “I don't know what 'lolium' means either.”

“Well,” Willow began quietly and gave the colt a small grin. “Ask me when Amber's not around, and I'll tell you what it means.

Comet smiled a bit at that. He then hummed to himself as he finished the last of his food. “So if Amber's other name is Acorn, then what's yours, Willow?”

“Rays...” He let out a sigh. “I'm Willow Rays. My family name comes from my father's side. Golden Rays...”

“Hmm, yeah. I suppose he did. Mother said he had a coat of bright orange and his feathers were warm, just like the setting sun.”

“Hmm.” Comet looked up to a few small patches of sky that could be seen between the half-skeletal trees. “Flying must be neat... Did he ever take you flying?”

Willow shook his head sadly. “No... He never had time for it.” He never had time for anything…

“Until you slipped and fell from the other pony's grasp,” Willow said bitterly.

“Oh, lighten up, Willow!” Amber nudged him in the shoulder. “Just because you're scared of heights doesn't mean that it wouldn't be a lot of fun to go flying sometime.”

“I am not scared of heights. I have a healthy understanding of the probabilities at play when a pony without wings takes to the air. It's just a risk that I'd prefer not to take.”

“Because you're scared of falling.” Amber smirked and finished the last of her ration. “We should get going though.” She stood up and took a swig of water from the water canister and passed it to Willow. “We can head toward the river and follow it south until the edge of the forest. It's important to keep hydrated and all that.”

“Where are we going?” Comet asked worriedly as he looked around the forest, trying to get an understanding of where he was. “What's to the south of here?”

“Canterlot.” Willow finished strapping the bags on his back and then used his magic to help Amber with hers. She shot him an appreciative smile as the two filled sacks that they had gather from Comet’s ruined farmhouse were laid across her back.

“Why Canterlot?” Comet wondered, as he shook out his purple mane, freeing it of many dried leaves.

He's never going to stop asking questions, is he? Willow sighed. “Because it's safe there, and it's dangerous out here by the border.”

Willow grit his teeth and Amber chuckled at his expense. “We'll explain that to you on the way, Comet. Are you ready to do some hiking?”

With their packs prepared, and their breakfast eaten, the group of three began their trek through the coloured woods, leaving the clearing behind. Amber led the way with Comet just behind her. She was quick to begin asking him questions about his home in an attempt to see how much of his memory was missing. When Comet came up short, Amber shared some of her own stories of life on a farm, quickly deflecting the child's interest from the darker questions that he might have otherwise asked.

A child who has no real memory of his parents? He watched the two and thought about Comet’s simple and quiet reaction to his parents' death. Without memories he didn't feel the anger that should have been there. He was more angry that we were eating hay than the fact that his parents were killed. Without memories... he's... wrong? Broken? Are those the right words? he wondered. Then a darker thought clawed its way to the forefront of his mind, Can he regain those memories? The scene of Comet's murdered parents reappeared in his mind and he scowled at the sight. If that's what he ends up remembering... should he?

“And that's how you make acorn bread,” Amber finished explaining. “It's a delicacy, and my family's pretty well known for it. Of course, being well known in a small village is hardly anything noteworthy. But it is darn good bread.”

Comet looked in wonder at a nearby oak, some of its distinct browned leaves fell from the branches. “Wow. I never knew acorns had any use. I thought only squirrels ate them...”

“Well, we do have to chase away squirrels from time to time. The cute little vermin.” Amber chuckled. “Though they are rather annoying. They'd eat bare our whole crop if we didn't keep 'em away. They also try to dig up the acorns we plant. They can certainly be a hoof-full. It would be nice if we had somepony to handle and negotiate with the animals, but we haven't had one in years. Those squirrels just don't understand the concept of ownership. Or maybe they just don't care. I don't know. I'm not a squirrel.”

She looked at the child beside her and tilted her head inquisitively. “Do you know if you had any squirrel problems on your farm?”

Willow let out a laugh as he overheard her question. “What kind of squirrels are you thinking of, Amber? Squirrels don't eat grass, you know.”

She stuck out her tongue at him. Though inside, she was quite pleased to hear laughter from him that wasn't entirely burdened by dark thoughts or cynical undertones. “I wasn't asking you, I was asking Comet.”

“Um... no... Not that I know of...” The purple earth pony shook his head gently, then stopped walking and close his eyes. “I remember seeing squirrels in the woods. With these colourful trees--the Autumn Wood. There were small apples, and berries. Somepony was with me. I helped pick the fruit, and there was jam...”

“Jam, huh?” Amber cast a small, guilty glance back at the bag on her back. “We actually made acorn jam, back in Autumn's Reach, you know.”

“Well... it's not really jam, it's more like a butter that you can spread across bread and other foods. If you crush certain acorns enough, you'll get oil from them and it turns into a butter with enough effort. We use the acorns from the blue oaks for that.”

“Well, it's a greenish blue. It's hard to tell by itself, but against the six other types of oak trees, you can really see the blue.”

“Well, I'm an Acorn.” Amber puffed out her chest with pride. “And even an Acorn away from home will know all there is to know about oak trees.”

“But compared to that... I don't know very much about the grass that we supposedly grew...” Comet looked up to her worriedly. “Then does that mean I'm not good enough to be a Lolium?”

“What?” Amber felt aghast. “No, no, no, of course not! You're entirely worthy of your name. I'm sure you'd make your parents proud!”

“Mom and dad...” the child frowned at the words he spoke. “Proud? But I don't remember anything about the farm, or them... Why would they be proud of me?”

“Because you're alive, Comet!” Willow said fiercely, walking up to the colt an staring into his orange eyes. “They wanted you to live! They are proud because they are your parents, ipso facto.”

Willow shook his head. “It's just a saying. But it means that your parents are proud of you, regardless of what you've done. They died to save you, so that you could live on. You owe it to them to be worthy of their love and sacrifice!”

“But how?” Comet asked, a confused look sprawling across his face. “What should I do? What can I do?”

“You'll figure that out in time,” Willow muttered and walked on ahead to lead them through the woods. “We all do, eventually.”

Amber moved next to the child and rested what she hoped was a comforting hoof on Comet's shoulder. She gave him a gentle smile. “Don't worry about his words too much. Willow's just doing his best to do what he can. He always has.”

Amber watched as Willow passed a few trees and faded from sight. She couldn't repress a look of worry as she stared after him, but she swiftly replaced it with a smile, as she forced her mind back to the child before her.

“So, Comet, do you remember learning about tracking ponies through the woods?”

The quizzical look she got in return turned her soft smile into mischievous grin.

Fallen Leaves

by SilentBelle

Chapter 3 - Aftermath