By sundown we came to a hidden village
Where all the air was still
Our hooves clopping is the only sound which breaks the silence. The air is still and stagnant here, the sky full of fog. The ground is charred and blackened, leaving smudges on my hooves as I walk. The village is in a terrible state. Houses have huge holes ripped in their walls. Some are barely standing. Many have fallen over altogether. Each window of every house is shattered, leaving shards of glass on the ground that we are careful to avoid.
"Alright, stallions," says the commander. Though he tries to hide it, I can see his discomfort. "Our assignment is simple: check around for survivors, and loot this place for any supplies we can. Move out."
We all salute him and break off in our assigned groups. My ears flick as another small sound fills the air, magnified by the silence. The steady dripping of rain from the blackened trees only adds to the dead atmosphere of the village. I hear somewhere in the distance a gate, swinging back and forth, squeaking as it does.
My unit and I keep walking forward. I turn my head to the right to see if there are any ponies alive here, and stifle a gasp. Through a broken window pane, I see a rusting cage swinging on a hook. Within the cage is a bird. Clearly, its plumage was once vibrant and beautiful, but now it is dull and sooty as it lays dead in its cage. The bird's beak is wide open, still in a silent scream, and its thin, tattered breast is pressing on the bars.
It did not die from the fire. Without ponies to feed it, the bird starved to death.
I tear my eyes from the scene and hurry along. Weeds poke through the ground in the street, somehow overcoming the devastation left by the firebombs. I hear a few of the stallions in my unit start to converse. I shush them. If ponies are still alive here then we must not let them hear us, lest they get a chance to flee and warn the rebel leaders.
I see movement in the shadows and freeze. A dog emerges from the dark corner. It walks slowly across the street and stops briefly to look at us, before it continues on its journey. The dog is gaunt, emaciated and frail. Its legs are thin, and look as though they can barely support its weight. The dog whines pitifully and lowers its head once more. It shambles off into the woods, partially burnt by the fire. As soon as it enters the living trees, the dog collapses, and I know in my heart that it will not rise again. The dog must have sought out a peaceful place to end its life, away from the struggles and desperation of its former home.
No one had told us victory was like this
We had been told a very different tale of victory. We had been told that by participating in the war, we would bring peace and calm to Equestria once more. The Princess told us that if we stopped the rebels, we would be hailed as heroes. I had no interest in that, but she told me that my sisters would be safe if I went to war. If I stopped the rebels and returned, I would be greeted with great glory and honour.
She hadn't told us about this. About the lives we would destroy. The homes we would shatter, the families we'd tear. The pets we would starve. The landscape we'd burn. The air we'd poison, and the life we'd extinguish.
Maybe the rebels were evil ponies. Maybe they dared to stand up against our Princess, when she was so kind to them. Maybe they have killed hundreds of us. But we have killed thousands of them. Are we really any better? The rebels sneak in in the dead of night and steal foals, but we drop bombs of fire and destruction upon them, wiping whole villages off the face of the planet. Are we worse than them?
It's a question I do not know the answer to. Unfortunately, I have no say in the goings-on of the war. I push the ideas out of my head and carry on. I find the squeaking gate; its hinge is the only thing besides the dog that we have seen moving. I pause near a dribbling stream to fill my canteen, only to stop at the noxious smell of the water. The water has been dyed a sickly greenish brown and reeks of death and despair. I step away from it and snort to clear my nose. Even something as pure as water has been tainted by our influence.
I spot another one of my unit peering into a window and recoiling in horror. Whatever it is he saw, I don't want to see it.
After several more hours, we meet up again in the center of town. None of us have found any sign of life, and by now, the sun is beginning to go down. The commander orders us to set up camp in the former town square.
It begins to rain steadily as we work to make tents, and I am quick to claim a spot near a doorstep for mine. As I begin to gnaw on my daily ration of bread, something catches my eye in the door.
Not one among us would have eaten bread
My breath catches in my throat. A small, broken form lies in the doorway.
Before he'd filled the mouth of the grey child
That sprawled, stiff as stone, before the shattered door
It is a filly. Her purple leathery wings are ragged and torn, full of deep gashes. Her eyes and mouth are wide open in a silent screech of agony, revealing tiny fangs. Her dark grey coat is charred black in places, torn viciously in others. The spot on her flank where her cutie mark would be is blank. All of her limbs are stiff, spread out as though she died reaching out for a loved one, but she is alone in her resting place.
I look at my bread. I tear off a chunk and ever so gently place it in her gaping mouth. She will not go hungry now. As I stare at the filly's body, it becomes hard not to see her with a different appearance.
It becomes impossible to see her without removing her wings in my mind. It is impossible not to see her coat as a shade of yellow, and her mane a dark red with a large pink bow. It becomes difficult again to not imagine her as a full grown mare, with an orange coat and a blond mane.
"Stay safe, Apple Bloom. You too, Applejack," I say, tears forming as I imagine my sisters in the same position as this poor filly.
There was not one who did not think of home