//------------------------------// // Chapter 9 // Story: Of The Last Millennium // by BlndDog //------------------------------// Chapter 9 “Three cheers for Scootaloo!” Dust rained from the ceiling of her long-unused living room as dozens of voices filled the small house. The crowd spilled into the street through both doors, and a few of her classmates were peering through the railings of the staircase to get a better view. Pipsqueak was standing on Snips’ back, and the portly colt didn’t seem to mind at all. “So did ya’ really fight a thunderbird?” Apple Bloom asked. “I already told Rarity about your cloak, and she says she’ll have a new one ready for you by tomorrow. Isn’t that great?” Scootaloo looked to her father beside her with a sheepish smile on her face. “I’m proud of you, Scootaloo,” he said, rustling her mane with a big greasy hoof. “I know officers of the Royal Guard who can’t do what you did.” “Psh. Royal Guards? You’re way more awesome than that, kid! You’re more like Daring Do!” In one smooth motion Rainbow Dash grabbed the filly and tossed her into the air. Scootaloo felt her mane brush against the ceiling before she fell into her sister’s outstretched forelegs. The crowd let out a collective sigh as the two held each other in a long embrace. “Okay, who’s hungry?” The cyan mare called after setting the filly back on the floor. Right on cue a blur of pink zipped through the packed house without disturbing a single onlooker. The size of the cake that materialized along with the baker surprised even Scootaloo: a foot thick, encased in a generous layer of Sugarcube Corner’s signature frosting dyed orange, with “Welcome Home Scootaloo” stenciled in beautiful cursive script on top. Like all things to come out of that bakery, the cake looked almost too beautiful to eat. Almost. Even with a machete from Sweet Apple Acres Rainbow Dash had some trouble cutting all the way through. The piece that she handed to Scootaloo could have been a whole cake all on its own. Fortunately her father caught her before she could tip over from the added weight. “You’re not going to eat that all by yourself, right?” He quipped with a sly smile, guiding her to sit on a cushion that he apparently conjured out of thin air. “By Celestia I’ll try,” she said with a sneer. Her father threw up his head and laughed heartily; she hadn’t seen him laugh like that in years. His lips moved as he looked over the crowd, but his words were lost in the din. Just as Scootaloo raised her fork to her mouth something caught her eye. Princess Luna stood in the doorway to the alley, her dark blue eyes boring into the filly. The princess’s expression was by no means unkind, but suddenly the cake didn’t seem so exciting anymore. “Can I…” “I’ll save this piece for you,” her father said. The ponies of the crowd did their best to give her space, but Scootaloo still ended up pushing between lots of legs. Fortunately for her most of the guests were still mesmerized by the prospect of food and didn’t notice the guest of honour slipping away. “Princess Luna,” she hailed as she emerged into the sunlight. Squaring herself before the dark alicorn who looked so out of place under the sun, Scootaloo bowed and closed her eyes. “This is not like you, Scootaloo,” Luna commented, guiding the filly up by her chin. “I’m sorry for what I said last time, okay?” Rubbing one foreleg with the other, she glanced quickly back into her packed living room. “But everything’s fine now, right? I mean, Morning Rain’s safe, and we’re all back in Ponyville.” “Are we?” The princess interrupted. “Oh, don’t tell me,” Scootaloo moaned, her heart sinking. All of a sudden the festivities in the house didn’t seem so impressive. “I’m sorry for interrupting your rest,” Luna sighed. “If there was any other way I would take it, but these things are beyond even my control.” “So you can’t handle it, but you expect me to?” Scootaloo closed her eyes and tried to feel her real body, but the ground remained solid beneath her hooves. “You’re exhausted, Scootaloo,” explained the princess. “It will be very difficult for you to wake up. Please listen to me. It is of the utmost importance that you know.” “Send a telegram,” she snapped. “Maybe I wasn’t clear last time: I’ve changed my mind! I’ve done everything I can for Morning Rain! After all the trouble he’s caused, why can’t you get somepony else to look after him?” “This isn’t about Morning Rain…” “Then it’s about the Children of the Night. Your children. Just leave me out of this, okay?” “Is that really how you feel?” The alicorn lowered her head to the filly’s level, but the latter turned away. “In any event, you must hear my message if only for your own safety. What you do with this knowledge is completely up to you. “There have been some developments since your disappearance, and the situation is such that we must take immediate action. After we made arrangements for your return, Gari and I left Ponyville. We are now camped in the Rambling Rock Ridge, and we are destined for the south shore of Horseshoe Bay. However, I have lost contact with Starry Night, and I fear something has happened to him. Be on the lookout for anything unusual tomorrow morning, Scootaloo. Starry Night is a griffin, and he will have a cloak that should be familiar to you; do not go with anypony else. If you must flee, do not return to Ponyville. Keep heading southeast, and we will meet you at the bay. This is not to say that you are in any immediate danger, but you must not be caught unprepared.” “And why are you telling me and nopony else?” Scootaloo demanded with hot tears of frustration burning in her eyes. “If you’re in my dream, you can be in the sheriff’s. Or you can just talk to Morning Rain. I don’t know if you can tell, but I can’t really walk at all right now. If something happens tomorrow, you’d better give me a better escape plan.” “My magic is being blocked in much of Appleloosa,” Luna explained. Despite her best effort to maintain an even tone a bit of desperation showed through. “I have warned Braeburn also, but I doubt he’ll remember in the morning. Informing you is all I can do at the moment. I will try to put together an escape plan as you’ve asked, but in the end it will likely take you some effort and quick thinking. You have my complete trust, Scootaloo.” “Luna?” A brilliant streak of red on the wall announced the arrival of morning. She was still lying on her bed in the hospital and covered in bandages, and after a few seconds of wakefulness pain crept back into her body. And she really needed to go to the bathroom. Scootaloo pulled herself to the edge of the bed and fell right on top of Gala. The mare awoke with a surprised cry. “Where’s the bathroom?” Scootaloo whimpered. In response Gala stood up with the filly still hanging across her back and trotted out of the room at a brisk walk. Scootaloo was set down on the floor again just a few steps down the hall, and Gala unzipped her pajamas. Without a word she shrugged out of the garment and dashed into the room before Gala fully opened the door. After a minute of silence, muffled laughter reached her ears from the hallway. # After she was finished her business, Scootaloo still needed help for her morning routine. The bathroom had a shower stall and a floor-to-ceiling mirror. When Gala removed her back brace Scootaloo got the first clear look at herself in nearly two weeks. She barely recognized the emaciated filly staring back through the glass. Her mane had been trimmed back quite a bit, but that was the least of her problems. Scootaloo now understood why she didn’t feel particularly warm wearing fleece in the middle of summer: with all the patches combined, she was probably half bare. Her skin was bumpy and swollen, and felt calloused despite the ease with which Gala brushed away the outer layer. “Skin parasites,” she explained as she rinsed off her patient with warm water. “You two had it pretty rough. All this skin peeling off right now, that’s just from all the medication.” “My coat will grow back, right?” Scootaloo asked in a small voice. She was lying on a concave steel frame with her hooves dangling off the floor. All she could see were shallow pools of water on the white vinyl floor. “Of course it will. Just give it a week or two.” When the debriding session was finished, Gala helped her off the stand and changed the bandages around her legs. As the last layer of gauze came off Scootaloo looked away from the mess of pus and fur that was revealed. Bright white lines on her hooves marked the many glued fractures. To think she walked the desert on those same legs! “Are you still tired?” Gala asked as she fastened the shell around her torso. “It’s still pretty early; the train doesn’t get here until ten.” “I’ve been sleeping for a while, Gari,” the filly replied. “What?” “Gala,” she corrected quickly. “Sorry.” Instead of the pajamas Scootaloo was now given a heavy blue cloak. She certainly felt more dignified wearing it. Although her ears were no longer taped to her head the brace still held her wings close against her sides; it was beginning to bother her. “Are you hungry?” Gala suggested. “The cafeteria’s always open.” “Food would be nice.” Scootaloo walked with her shaky legs spread further than usual. Though the nurse kept pace close beside her she refused her support. “You’re one stubborn filly, I’ll give you that,” Gala said as the pegasus descended the last step. “I just don’t see why you should carry me when I can walk,” she reasoned. “Really, I’m fine.” The cafeteria was much smaller than the one at the Ponyville hospital. The town in general was quite primitive judging by the many two-storey log buildings beyond the big booth windows. Scootaloo got a bowl of young barley with apple slices while Gala left the ordering window with a big mug of coffee. Being unable to sit up or fold her legs comfortable, the filly ended up occupying a whole bench. After a few moments struggling with a large-handled spoon she gave up on utensils completely and stuck her muzzle into the bowl. “Does that apple taste familiar to you?” Gala asked suddenly. “It’s really fresh,” Scootaloo replied, sweeping the barley off her cheeks and into her mouth with one padded hoof. The fuzz that ended up in her mouth made her grimace. “It tastes like an ambrosia. But I thought ambrosias only grew in Ponyville.” “You really know your stuff,” Gala said as she took another sip of coffee. “That tree came from Ponyville. Applejack delivered it herself.” “Bloomberg?” Scootaloo guessed. She remembered Apple Bloom showing her a big tree in the nursery field of Sweet Apple Acres. That had been a year ago, maybe a little more. “That’s right. Back then we really didn’t get along with the buffalos. They were giving us a hard time, always attacking our orchard and filling in our wells. They even burned a few trees once, you know…” In her peripheral vision Scootaloo caught a glimpse of a dark shape moving across the window. Her head snapped in its direction, and Gala followed her gaze. “Are those… bat ponies?” The double doors opened to admit two grey mares. They made no effort to hide what they were, but they certainly weren’t Lunar Guards. Their sleek black armor was made of many overlapping plates, completely encasing their bodies from the neck down. Even the bony parts of their wings were covered, and though the armor looked to be completely metal their shoed hooves made no sound against the floor. Intricately-detailed triangular boxes on top of their helmets accentuated their already massive ears. Two crescent moons, one on each shoulderpiece, represented their only attempt at disguise. The cook- a skinny yellow stallion with a thin brown mane- came to the ordering window as the two approached. Lowering herself against the bench, Scootaloo watched as hushed words were exchanged. In the end the stallion in the kitchen shrugged and turned away. The two mares whispered among themselves for a while before lowering their eyeless faceplates and retracing their steps to the door. “Wow,” Gala said blankly as she raised her mug to her lips. “They’re just as weird as the stories say.” Scootaloo continued to stare at the closed door. She was trying to recall the newspaper feature on Royal Guard armor, but her mind was drawing a blank. The Lunar Guards wore silver, and it was true that many of them tarnished their breastplates on purpose, but all the full-body configurations she could recall were cumbersome-looking behemoths with flamboyant crested helmets and goofy faceplates. These suits looked more like elaborate uniforms for a flight team. Out in the street two more black-clad ponies passed the window; stallions this time, with black war scythes raised straight up as if on parade. Not one minute after these two passed out of sight another pair appeared. None of them bore the cat’s eye insignia of true Lunar Guards, but the rest of the town didn’t seem to mind. Children ran along beside them, and as Scootaloo watched a stallion with a canvas and easel on his back was trying to convince a masked bat pony to stop for a portrait. “I guess you’ve seen them before?” Gala said, smiling at the filly. “You two must be really important if Princess Luna is sending us her own guards.” “I don’t think they’re Princess Luna’s guards,” Scootaloo said blankly as she slid off the bench. “I have to check on my brother.” Gala’s attention was elsewhere. The earth pony had moved to the window, pressing her nose against the glass to get a better look. “Wow,” Scootaloo heard when she was halfway up the stairs. “They actually have fangs!” She returned to her room and rested for a few minutes on Gala’s sleeping mat. Her mind was racing and panic was starting to take hold. Scootaloo looked to the plain brown door connecting her room to her brother’s. She didn’t know the time exactly, but the day was already bright. Fortunately for her the window was low enough to look out of without rearing up. The sky outside was a low ceiling of dull steel blocks holding back a red-hot reservoir, and a shadow passed from cloud to grey cloud like a bug scurrying through sparse leaf litter. The filly folded her ears and lowered her head until only her eyes were left above the windowsill. A long overhang blocked her view of the street directly below, but she still counted fourteen confirmed bat ponies. All of them wore the same black armor, and each carried either a black scythe or long spear. Far to the left Scootaloo could just see the train platform. It was still closed, but ponies were starting to gather at the gate with suitcases and trolleys. A few dots of black punctuated this otherwise earth-toned crowd, and she could only assume that they were also bat ponies. A distant, shrill whistle cut through the morning air. Thick steam rose from an unseen chimney, spiraling into a ghostly snail’s shell before dispersing as pulsating white tongues. Scootaloo heard a door close in the next room. Looking out the window one more time, she estimated that the train would be pulling into the station in five minutes at most. The door burst open with a bang, startling the bedridden colt. Scootaloo picked the bulkiest piece of equipment she could find and pushed it against the main entrance. It wouldn’t hold for long; she hoped it would be enough. Rain stared at her in silent terror, scrambling against the messy bed sheets as he tried to keep her in his line of sight. His mouth was no longer sealed, but the cast around his body still prevented him from sitting up. “Listen to me, Rain,” she said after barricading the other door with three different instruments. “Something’s happened. Princess Luna told me so. We have to get out of here right now!” She was interrupted by muffled knocking. “Morning Rain?” The older nurse from last night called from the hallway. “What’s going on in there?” The colt just kept staring. His head twitched once in a while. Outside, another set of hooves was approaching the door. “We have to leave!” Scootaloo hissed. “Something’s not right.” “Scootaloo, are you in there?” That was Gala. The door rocked on its hinges, and the locked wheels of the machine turned a few reluctant degrees. There was a steel cart at the foot of the bed holding all kinds of pristine tools. Scootaloo grabbed off it a machined steel mallet and what looked to be a tiny putty knife. Morning Rain let out a hoarse yell as she got onto the bed beside him and reached for his neck. The machine fell over, letting the door open just a crack. Two heads entered the room on outstretched necks. “Scootaloo, what are you doing?” Gala rammed her shoulder into the door, but it would not budge. The filly checked over her shoulder one more time. The older nurse looked about ready to skin her if she could only get into the room. Turning back to the task at hand, Scootaloo positioned the putty knife with two shaky hooves and brought the hammer down as hard as she could. Morning Rain was screaming into her ear. A few whacks and some quick words of reassurance to the crying colt later she was roughly ripping away dusty chunks of plaster and gauze. The whole time Gala tried to reason with her, but Scootaloo no longer heard anything she said. A timer was counting down in her head as she dragged her brother off the bed. The remaining plaster absorbed the brunt of the impact, shattering into a few big chunks which fell away as she pulled him towards the window. By now he was coming to his senses, and with a lot of help he managed to stand. His wings were splinted open; his jaw clamped shut when he tried to stretch them out. “Rain, please stay in bed!” It was the other nurse talking this time. She sounded like she was on the verge of tears. “Please! Your back…” “What do we do?” He grunted. Scootaloo was close enough to hear his teeth cracking. “Out through here,” she stammered as she nudged the window latch with her nose. “Stay on the rooftops.” The air outside felt downright frigid. Scootaloo savoured the dry warmth of the thick fleece on her back, but she knew that she couldn’t keep it. The top hinge burst off the wall. Two hooves were stuck in the upper half of the door. Scootaloo fastened her cloak to the tattered remains of her brother’s wings using surgical pins. The splint didn’t work well as a tack board; short yelps announced the entry of a pin into flesh. There was nothing she could do but apologize and continue. The door had snapped in half; only a jagged wooden edge at shoulder height remained to keep the two nurses at bay. A third mare in a white lab coat stood behind them; a doctor perhaps. Scootaloo dug into the foam around her torso with the putty knife. The incisions made, she needed only to catch the edges on the bed frame and walk forwards to rip off her own restraints. As the ruined brace fell at her feet she felt like her back would go down with it. “Scootaloo, please stop!” Gala tried to leap over the barricade, but was immediately restrained by her two companions. The filly lifted herself onto the windowsill using her front legs, with a large strip of spongy foam clamped between her teeth. Morning Rain stood trembling but silent on the edge of the overhang, staring down into a packed street. Scootaloo looked back to see her misery mirrored in three pairs of eyes. It took all her strength to turn away. “Go,” she urged as she got into position beside the colt. She tore off a chunk of the foam and stuffed it into his hanging mouth. “They’re after you this time.” Just standing there seemed to take more strength than he had, but the look on his face as his eyes passed over the bat ponies was worse than anything injuries alone could bring on. He gnawed on his makeshift bit with tears flowing free down his cheeks. And then he jumped. Scootaloo barely heard his groan over the background of the excited townsfolk below, but a few of the bat ponies looked up. Rain barely made it onto the other roof on his makeshift wings, and Scootaloo hung back to avoid being spotted. Tense seconds passed before she jumped, kicking off with all her strength and desperately flapping her wings. Their usual buzzing was reduced to an uneven drone. When she landed on the next roof and looked down again a pair of armoured ponies were pushing through the crowd. They were heading towards the train station. The early train sat steaming in the platform, offloading a string of unremarkable passengers interspersed with even more bat ponies. The last passenger from the back door of the third car immediately caught her attention. At this angle she couldn’t tell if it was a mare or a stallion, but she could distinguish the big grey swirls on the hem of that long hooded cloak. The guards met the cloaked figure just off the platform. Braeburn was apparently guiding the newcomers. The dark opening of the hood turned to face the children on the roof, giving Scootaloo a fleeting glimpse of the pony underneath. He looked to be in his thirties, with rater effeminate features despite his impressive size. His muzzle was red for sure, but the rest of his shaded face seemed paler somehow. The whites of his eyes glowed like molten metal, and though his gaze didn’t linger there was no doubt in Scootaloo’s mind that they had been spotted. The children proceeded north, communicating only through silent gestures. Three streets away the crowd became thinned considerably. They were nearing the edge of town, where buildings gave way to apple trees growing on little round hills. Morning Rain bent down to inspect the dirt road and turned to his sister with a questioning look. She nodded. Their legs buckled on impact; Scootaloo though she heard the tendons tearing in her shoulders. When she opened her eyes all the ponies in that street were staring right back. Giving them all a sheepish smile, Scootaloo forced herself to stand and lumbered towards the nearest intersection. The sound of sniffling not far behind her announced Rain’s presence. The foam had dried out her mouth; she spat it out behind a water barrel lest she choked. Rain gagged and emptied his stomach as soon as they passed out of sight from the shocked pedestrians. Braeburn’s scream sent chills down her spine. It was followed by a sharp crack, and then silence. The world exploded with screams and running hooves. Windows shattered, children cried, and at last the first of many black figure appeared over the rooftops on broad, membranous wings. Rain swayed on his feet with his mouth wide open and his tongue lolling out. A forceful nudge from his sister got him moving again. Risking a quick backwards glance, Scootaloo was relieved to see the bat ponies still searching in a large circle. Normally the log fence of the orchard would only be inconvenience adults, but the lower of the two bars almost tripped the stiff-legged colt. Scootaloo got a little relief from the springy lawn (not much of a boon after jumping from the second floor). Without a second’s pause the two scampered into the seemingly endless rows of apple trees. At the top of the first hill she stopped her brother and nodded towards the leafy canopy overhead. Reaching the lowest branch was pure agony. Two weeks ago Scootaloo might have climbed right to the top in a few quick hops, but now she kicked against thin air as she struggled to hold on with her bony front legs. Morning Rain had found a thick branch higher up that served as a make-do platform and was resting with his eyes closed. Sweat dripped off his damp mane, and violent tremors ran up and down his limp body. She rested on the first branch, the gentle wind quickly sweeping the sweat off her back. The patches of bare skin felt like ice packs strapped to her body. Through swaying leaves she saw the bat ponies heading in their direction, whether deliberately or by chance she did not know. They weren’t especially fast. She could hear the clattering of pots and pans back in the town. Occasionally a frying pan or a steaming pie sailed over the rooftops, but few of these found their mark. With burning lungs and twitching shoulders, Scootaloo seriously considered staying in the tree until nightfall. There must have been a thousand such trees in the orchard, all of them densely foliaged. Even bat ponies needed time to search; maybe they wouldn’t even make it to the orchard until nightfall. It was shaping up to be a good plan until she remembered that bat ponies weren’t known for stopping work at sundown. Running into the desert in broad daylight was out of the question too, if only for the fact that neither of them could run. Flat ground stretched for miles and miles around Appleloosa; anything in the air could easily spot two bandaged ponies stumbling away, and there were at least two species hunting them from above. “I’m telling you, it was that black pony princess!” “I’m telling you, you should stop eating leftover cactus pads. It’s not good for you.” The voices came from just over the next hill. Her ears perked up at the mention of a “black pony princess”. The speakers sounded rather somber; even their laughter was forceful and deliberate, though not necessarily unkind. Morning Rain opened his eyes and turned to his sister. She hesitated, but ultimately waved for him to follow before flopping off her perch. They stayed close to the tree trunks and rested on their bellies whenever they stopped. Every time she dropped down Scootaloo’s eyelids seemed to droop lower. She resorted to biting her lip to keep herself alert. At the peak of the next hill the children looked down upon two brown creatures hitched to a big wooden cart. Their shoulders rose in a prominent hump that at its peak stood twice as tall as a regular pony. There seemed to be no neck between their chunky torsos and massive woolly heads. Their legs looked like short stilts, and overall the impression was something akin to a deformed cow. “You there!” One of them called suddenly, turning to face the children. Scootaloo instinctively dropped down and covered her head with her forelegs. “Oh, don’t be like that. Have you never seen buffalos before? I just want to know what’s going on in town.” “Wait a second,” the other buffalo said as he stepped past his companion. “I know you! You’re Scootaloo!” “Y… Yeah,” the filly stammered. “Listen to me, please. There are bat ponies looking for us in Appleloosa. We have to get out of here right now. Do you know of any way to leave without being seen? Any unused roads? Any tunnels even? Anything?” The first buffalo stood as still as a statue with his mouth hanging open. His companion looked to him with slanted eyes, a smug grin threatening to rip his flat face down the middle. “Get in the back and stay low,” he instructed. “Don’t move, don’t make a noise, and we’ll be out of here in no time.” Scootaloo was taken aback by the abruptness of his offer, but she knew that she had no other choice. Any minute now a bat pony might appear on the little hill behind her. They were sitting ducks. “Come on, Rain,” she mumbled, helping her brother back onto his feet. The cart was loaded with barrels of apples, with a few bales of hay taking up the remaining floor space. The buffalos broke the hemp cords binding the bales, and the two ponies did their best to loosen up the strands into a convincing bed. Scootaloo piled hay onto her brother until only his nose was showing, and then settled down in a comfortable position for the buffalo to do the same for her. She was almost asleep when the cart rolled smoothly into motion. “So what’s this I hear about cactus pads?” “Be quiet, Gooseberry. Chief Thunderhooves will be hearing about this.” The noises from the fight got louder. Smoke filtered through the few strands of hay over her nostrils along with the scent of sweet rotten apples. She wondered if Braeburn and Gala were okay. The wailing of a foal grew louder, and then quieter, and then louder again. The creaking of the cart wheels slowed. She knew the risk involved, but Scootaloo wanted nothing more than to sit up and see the town. Perhaps it was a blessing that her body no longer obeyed her mind. She lay motionless in the straw, forcing herself to breathe shallow lest the rise and fall of her chest gave her away. “Halt!” Her heart jumped into her throat. Scootaloo’s hooves flinched, her legs being incapable of a full kick. The wheels squeaked one last time. “Get out of the way,” Gooseberry called in an even tone. “You can’t block buffalos in this town. This here is our road.” “We are looking for Morning Rain and Scootaloo.” The sound of blowing sand was the only indication of more bat ponies touching down around the cart. “We have orders to search everything leaving Appleloosa. I assure you nothing of yours will be damaged or confiscated if you cooperate.” Scootaloo held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut. “Step away from the cart!” The bat pony said again. A long pole swished through the air. The cart lurched forwards, toppling a few apples out of the brimming barrels and onto Scootaloo’s head. The hay shifted off her face, prompting her to curl up tighter. At impact every piece of cargo bounced an inch off the bed. For a second it felt like gravity had shifted ninety degrees. Metal clattered and wood snapped, and two cold sharp points poked through the bandages and into her back. Scootaloo scrambled towards the middle of the vehicle with her eyes still closed. The buffalos didn’t stop to inspect their victims. The shrill whine of the wheels made her ear pop and nearly drowned out the rapid rhythm of hooves against the road. The bat ponies were as quiet as ever. Though her eyelids refused to part, Scootaloo could picture them swarming like the Lunar Guards in Ponyville. The trail soon became bumpy; her head bounced against floorboards and barrels, and she was pummeled with falling apples. She could only assume that Morning Rain was suffering similarly. A flash of lightning pierced her eyelids. A young mare’s scream broke through the wall of background noise. Slow, powerful wings drove howling winds against the remaining pursuers, and their cries were quickly lost in the distance. The smell of ozone made her skin crawl, and the thunder sounded like a constant, unchanging drone. But it did change, fading away over long, anxious minutes. Eventually the cart slowed down again, allowing the remaining cargo to settle back down on the bed. The sticky hay pile reeked of apple juice. Scootaloo was lulled to sleep by the song of wooden wheels and cloven hooves against a packed earth road.