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// Interlude I - Looking for a Shadow of Doubt 
// Story: Contact 
// by Gron 
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He pulled the simple grey cloak that covered the entirety of his body tighter around him as the doors to the train opened to allow its captives to trudge out noisily. He turned to the grime-covered windows, peering out of them as best he could while simultaneously avoiding the gaze of any of the passengers who may have glanced curiously at the petite, covered figure in the corner of his seat. The pony who had been sitting next to him had certainly tried her best to strike up a conversation with him several times, finding herself silently rebuffed as he had refused to utter a single word at each attempt. It was only when she had tried to playfully snatch off his hood while saying ‘come and play’ in a singsong voice did he respond to her, snatching her hoof before it could touch the garment while firmly telling her no. She had sunk back into her seat sullenly, leaning back and folding her forehooves petulantly while turning up her nose at him. He hadn’t meant to come off as standoffish, but he could not understand why the mare had felt the need to keep pushing him. It had also given him something to muse on, and he had begun thinking of how, once one exhausted the thin surface of their geniality and friendliness, some ponies could be quick to turn sullen and angry.
 
It wasn’t really a new concept to him, though it never failed to fascinate him on how many ways it could manifest.
 
Even with the limited view afforded to him, he was still able to make out the train station that had made Fillydelphia its home. The only previous stop on his journey had been in Manehatten. It had been a rare occasion for him to leave Detrot since he had joined the Academy, and he had taken the opportunity to trot around the city while waiting for his connection to arrive. He had mostly stuck to the less crowded areas, content to simply observe the bustling crowds as they ebbed and flowed, going to their destinations with a quickened pace.
 
Even if his foray into the city of Manehatten had been brief, it had certainly proved fascinating. A slightly smaller city than the one he had been grown up in, the first thing he had noticed how clean the place had been. Even where large crowds had massed or where the residential areas seemed to be, there hadn’t been any large, week old piles of waste that caused the ponies around it to gag in disgust. Even more impressive had been the lack of any heavy dust in the air around him. Having lived around the smoke-belching factories of Detrot all his life, it had certainly been a strange thing to breathe in the relatively pure air that had blown around his cloak, threatening to expose his face to those around him. He remembered his Master’s words about his destination and could only wonder how the countryside would treat him.
 
There had been no thick layer of dust upon the buildings; indeed, the denizens of the city seemed to take great pride in the appearance of both their surroundings and themselves. Both stallions and mares had worn articles of bright, cheerful clothing, some of which that could have only been described as ‘gaudy’. There were frilly hats, covered with feathers of all the colours of the rainbow, that could do damage if it struck somepony, and flowing summer dresses that were sparkled brightly from the gems sewn into them. It all contrasted sharply to the subdued colours worn by the ponies of Detrot.
 
It was their hoofwear, which was, even by a forgiving estimation, unreasonably ostentatious, that had really drawn his attention. There had been shoes that curved around the hoof and came to a point which was capped with silver and studded with tiny gems, little more than chippings from larger precious stones, but they been polished and shone in the sunlight, sparkling in multiple hues with each step drawing the eye. There was one in particular, that had been worn by a young mare, that had complimented the ocean blue of her dress. The straps from the shoe had curled up and around the fetlock all the way up to her knees, with brass thread cutting tiny interlocking patterns along the thin strips of leather. The gold-leaf horseshoe underneath the boot was covered by the edges of the hoofwear, causing it to flash in the light each time the hoof lifted in order to walk. Those were shoes designed to be noticed and wouldn't take no for an answer. He had certainly noticed them and had stared down ruefully at his uncovered hooves that were slightly covered in mud, feeling decidedly underdressed.
 
It had not only been the ponies that had bared their flair for fashion. Though not as blatant as the ponies, even the normally dour donkeys or uninterested griffons seemed to wear something stylish and chic. That wasn’t the only difference he had noticed between the races. Here they seemed more at ease with each other, openly speaking and trading with one another. In Detrot, while there had been no restrictions on who could speak to who, they had always been an undercurrent of distrust and suspicion when dealing with those who were ‘different’. Then again, Artecus supposed that that was how it had always been.
 
“AAAALLLL ABOARD!” he heard the conductor calling and sighed in relief. He was eager for them to get on their way again. There was a slight rumble as ponies began trotting in, their pleasant countenance a welcome change to the tired grumbles of those who he had ridden with before. Not that he had spoken to any of them, of course; it was just nice to finally get a reprieve from all the mumbling, groaning, and complaining that had passed around. He felt somepony sink into the seat with a quiet sigh next to him. He looked out of the window still, not eager to have to have the inevitable attempt at conversation start before its time.
 
As the doors to the train closed and began to slowly accelerate, Fillydelphia gradually disappearing into the horizon, Artecus finally straightened out and settled back into his seat, easing off his hoof of his cloak. A mare with a cobalt blue coat, her mane a lighter shade of blue, had taken the seat next to him. In her forehooves, she held a small bundle wrapped in blankets. Unlike the chatty mare from before, she merely regarded his appearance with a quiet nod and faint smile, her tired eyes wandering over his features before turning her attention back to the gurgling sounds that came from the blankets. He patted down his mane that had become dishevelled, feeling somewhat exposed despite the mare not taking any particular interest in him, for which he was grateful.
 
Peering over his slightly uncomfortable seat that squeaked loudly with the movement, he looked around at the passengers. One thing that caught his attention was how casually they seemed dressed. One wore a Neighwaiian shirt; another wore a straw hat whose brim was entirely too wide and with fake plastic flowers perched atop, and to cap things off was the stallion who wore a red and black chequered shirt and dungarees that resembled what a lumberjack would wear. One of the things that gave them away as tourists were the shiny new cameras that hung around their necks. Indeed, judging from the amount of families there were, it seemed most of the passengers were headed to Ponyville for the weekend. He watched the fillies and colts run around and play with each other, their naiveté and willingness to form bonds ensuring that they quickly made friends with those they hadn’t even known for five minutes. A small filly, her yellow-orange fur accentuated by her white mane and large blue eyes, waved cheerfully when she spotted him looking at them. Caught, he sheepishly waved back before ducking back into his seat, not wanting anypony to think he was a creep.
 
Watching those fillies and colt frolic and play under the watchful eyes of their parents, he started to think back about his own family he had left behind in Detrot. After his attempt at fitting in with his first family had ended the way it did, he had been hesitant when the Master had soon organized another family for him to stay with. He had begged to stay at the Academy permanently as some of the other students did, but the Master had been resolute as always. When his Master had told him he would be staying with Samheul Smallhammer, he had been terrified. After all, he was an over eight feet tall towering minotaur that was missing a horn and had a visible scar that ran down the side of his face and over his left eye and visible through the brownish fur. In short, he was the type of creature that would have made even the bravest of ponies take pause. Throw in the fact that he had wielded a huge black hammer, its silver handle glistening maliciously, that he always carried around, and Artecus had been tempted to run away right then and there, almost unwilling to chance the unmerciful streets again. The only thing that had stopped him before he could bolt was the glare the Master had shot him and the thought of Madame finding him again.
 
 In the end, he was glad he had not done anything so stupid. The minotaur lived with his wife, Good Living, an earth pony mare. He could still remember how flabbergasted he was when they had entered a relatively nice double-storied house in one of the safer sections of the city. The minotaur had crossed the room in a few long strides right up to the seemingly unsuspecting mare who was humming and tending her bubbling pot. Before he could shout or warn the mare of the impending attack, the minotaur had wrapped his beefy hands around the torso of the mare and had lifted her clean off her hooves, a move that had elicited a surprised squeak from the earth pony. His mind had scrambled between trying to help the mare, a move that he knew would prove futile and only get himself killed, and giving in to his instincts that had screamed at him to run as fast as he could. He had stood there, frozen to the spot, before he had finally noticed that the mare had returned the embrace with all her strength before peppering his face with kisses. That had finally broken him out of his shock, causing him to blush and avert his eyes.
 
Despite his initial misgivings, he found that the home was a hospitable one. Good Living was a homebody through and through, making sure he had felt welcome with surprising enthusiasm, though not so much that he would have started withdrawing. During his first few days, she had fussed over him, causing the other foals to complain of favouritism, albeit jokingly. They had five other foals of their own, though he had never asked if they were biologically theirs or not. Just thinking about the two of them in bed together now made him feel slightly nauseous.
 
With the experience of his first family fresh in his mind, he had been understandably cautious about letting his guard down around them. Eventually, as the days went by and no beatings had come about, he had slowly begun to interact with the small clan, answering questions posed to him by those who he would come to consider his brothers and sister, though he had had the sense to leave out the more… explicit details of his past. Being the only magic user in the household, they would often beg him to show them magic, and he would always acquiesce, revelling in the warm feeling of being wanted. Even the small sparks to light a candle or levitating a spoon would net him enthusiastic applause.

He had found an unexpected source of comfort in being around Samhuel. No one would dare interfere with him whenever they would walk together on the streets. It had made him feel safe… secure. Like he was something worth keeping protected.  He had started helping out the minotaur in the smithy he ran, impressing his earth pony siblings, who had more natural stamina and strength, with his willingness and gusto. It had begun to feel as though it was too good to be true, and he had begun to feel uneasy. It wasn’t long before he had confided with Samhuel, confessing to him about the condition he had. With the Goodmare tutting disapprovingly, he had broken down and told him about the Voices, how they would torment him relentlessly. The minotaur had remained passive as the young colt had relayed everything. Just when he thought that he had had ruined everything, that he would be thrown out and discarded once again, the minotaur had swept him up in his powerful arms, hugging him tightly.
 
From then on, he had often sat with Samhuel, releasing some of the things that he had kept bottled up inside him. He had never looked at him with any sort of disgust or pity. The minotaur was a creature of few words, but that meant the ones he did utter had special meaning. He had told Artecus that as long as he wanted to, he had a home with them. As cheesy and slightly embarrassing as it was for Artecus to remember, it still brought a genuine smile to his face. And for a long while, it had helped keep the Voices at hooves’ length, muffling their biting commentary that had often left him in the throes of helplessness. They were never silenced for long however, and came back especially strong whenever he would have lessons with his Master.
 
That line of thought brought him back to the present, and he looked out the window, mildly surprised at how much time had gone by. The brick and wooden structures of civilization had long given way to the wide expanses of forests and plains. The mare next to him had drifted off, quietly sleeping and curled around her foal. He thought of his Master and the instructions he had received. Despite the uncertainty of the situation, he could not help but look forward to Ponyville.