“Why do we need to do that?” Spitfire asked. “There are surely guys who–“
“You found it, you destroy it,” Fleetfoot replied, checking the straps of her battle saddle. “Also, the guys who are the best at it are with us.” She pointed at Albtraum, Stakan, Whirlwind and Storm Chaser.
Spitfire shrugged and flapped her wings harder. The hot air from the desert below them was making it easier to gain altitude, but as soon as they flew over the clouds, she started to shiver – her flying suit offered no protection against the cold winds.
“Ten miles to the nest,” Storm Chaser muttered. “We’ll land half of a mile from it and approach it by hoof.”
“I still don’t get why we had to smear ourselves with that goo…” Spitfire looked at her fur and winced. It was practically glued together with some green substance.
Albtraum sighed. “Zey won’t smell us,” he said. “For, like, first fifteen minutes.”
“Reassuring,” Spitfire deadpanned. “What the hell is that exactly?”
“Ya’d rather not know,” Stakan said. “On a side note, d’ya know how we recycle the waste from the toilets?”
“Okay, nevermind.” Spitfire checked her goggles, even though she had already done that. She felt an unpleasant coldness in her stomach, which had nothing to do with the wind.
Storm Chaser raised his hoof and pointed downwards. They began to dive. Spitfire felt wind ruffling her mane. She couldn’t see anything, except a sea of sand and a couple of copper-coloured rocks on the horizon. She evened her flight and saw a gaping hole not far away from them – an entrance to the changelings’ nest.
She hissed when her hooves touched the hot sand. The weight of her equipment almost caused her to trip.
“No one saw us, I think,” Fleetfoot said. She drank some water from her bottle and looked around.
“It’s almost noon, zey sleep underground,” Albtraum said, wiping sweat from his forehead. “If zey were outside, zey’d cook.”
“Just like we…” Whirlwind muttered. He opened his saddlebags and took a long wire from them. Then he wrapped it around his neck. “Easier access…” he explained. “I’d rather not search for it there…”
“No talking!” Storm Chaser ordered. “Remember that they can see and hear us better than we can do with them…” He turned to Spitfire and Fleetfoot. “Also, even if you freak out, don’t run away like an idiot. They only wait for that…”
“Yes, sir!” Spitfire replied. She shuddered, remembering the dream she had. There was something about the entrance of the nest that was making her want to fly away, but at the same time it was attracting her. She recalled the training and the narrow corridors of the labyrinth simulating the changelings’ lairs.
“Look on the bright side,” Fleetfoot said. “We’re gonna get a merit badge for being stupid enough to do that.”
“Dunno, I’ve never been a filly scout,” Spitfire replied.
“Oh, come on!” Whirlwind exclaimed. “What happened to the hero of Zebrican War?”
“If you died in Zebrica, you’d at least die in a fight, not in some shithole,” Spitfire muttered.
“Can you stop chatting?” Storm Chaser groaned. “We smell like changelings, let’s behave like ‘em.”
“Yeah, right…” Fleetfoot muttered. “Let’s start producing pheromones…”
“I’d like to smell yours…” Stakan chuckled.
Fleetfoot opened her mouth to tell him what he could do to himself, but Storm Chaser rose his hoof, silencing her.
They were slowly approaching the entrance. Even though they looked around carefully, they couldn’t see any changelings. The smell of formic acid was overwhelming. Spitfire covered her face with a piece of cloth and checked the safety of her gun. The silence was almost deafening – they couldn’t even hear the wind. The only sound was their hoofsteps, echoing through the desert.
They were only a few feet from the nest, when they saw a changeling walking out of it. He (or she, Spitfire corrected herself mentally) looked around and sniffed the air. Fleetfoot grabbed her submachine gun, but Storm Chaser stopped her.
The changeling exhaled loudly and trotted back to the lair.
“Let’s go,” Storm Chaser whispered. As silently as they could, they approached the mouth of the cave and slid inside.
It surprised Spitfire how cold it was there; the walls of the cave were moist. Its floor was covered in wet sand.
“Looks like a big fucking saltshaker,” Fleetfoot muttered, watching the opposite wall of the cave. It was consisting mostly of entrances to numerous tunnels. “And we’re the salt.”
“Exactly,” Albtraum said. “Once we get inside, I’ll guide you. Don’t even think about splitting ze team. We need to blow up ze queen, eggs and cocoons and kill as many virgin queens as we can, so zey won’t form new swarms.” He sniffed the air. “We need to go zere,” he said, pointing at one of the tunnels.
When the darkness engulfed them, Spitfire could swear that she heard Storm Chaser muttering something.
Probably some ancient prayers… Who knows, this guy is weird.
The corridor was getting tighter. From time to time they could hear scratching, clicking or hissing coming from the walls. Spitfire could feel her muscles tense. Even though the gems they were wearing produced some faint light, she could barely see Fleetfoot walking in front of her. She could hear Whirlwind muttering curses under his breath and Stakan’s heavy stomping behind her.
Suddenly, she heard some terrible screeching above her. She looked there, aiming her gun, but nothing happened.
“Virgin queen,” Albtraum whispered. “But she’s far away from us.”
Spitfire sighed with relief. Her heart, however, was still pounding against her chest, as if it was trying to break free. She realised that Storm Chaser stopped muttering. He was trotting before Fleetfoot and unlike her, he could easily find a way to avoid tripping over the rocks.
Seems that the prayers helped… Spitfire thought. Again, she recalled Zebrica. What was that zebra soldier whispering every night?
I must not fear, Spitfire recalled. Fear is the mind-killer.
They took a sharp turn. Each step was leading them deeper underground.
Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration.
What did Albtraum say about their camouflage? How long it’d be before the changelings would see through it?
I’ll face my–
The shots deafened her. She fell down on the ground, cracking her goggles. A changeling flew inches from her and bumped into Fleetfoot. Spitfire rolled on her back, taking her revolver and carefully lined up a shot. Behind her, Stakan and Whirlwind were firing their machine guns, flashes enlightening the whole tunnel. She pulled the trigger and saw the drone’s head exploding. Fleetfoot kicked the body off of herself and opened her mouth in a silent scream, pointing at something behind Spitfire.
Spitfire didn’t waste time to see what that was. She jumped into the air. Her wings hit the walls of the tunnel, but she didn’t care. Fleetfoot also took off, trying to catch up with Albtraum and Storm Chaser.
The tunnel suddenly changed into a wide cave. Spitfire heard the ominous buzzing echoing from the ceiling and grabbed the trigger of her battle saddle with her teeth. She somersaulted in mid-air and saw a black mass of changelings’ bodies on the ground. The roar of twin machine guns tore the air. She barely avoided crashing into the stalactite; the recoil of the battle saddle threw her off course. Only from time to time she could see Fleetfoot, Storm Chaser or Albtraum emerging from the crowd.
“Get down!” she heard.
“Get down? I’m flying, for fuck’s sake!” she yelled.
An explosion threw her at the wall, knocking the air from her lungs. She could hear ringing in her ears but it seemed that she was okay. The smell of formic acid and burning chitin was assaulting her nostrils. She looked around groggily and saw Albtraum gesturing her towards some small hole in the floor.
She spread her wings and darted forward. Judging by the sloppiness of her flight, some of her feathers were missing.
“Grenades?” she yelled when she joined the rest of her group. “Are you fucking out of your mind?”
“Shut up,” Albtraum said. His voice was a bit muffled and Spitfire thought that her hearing was probably damaged. She saw that Fleetfoot was lying on the ground, panting heavily and that Stakan’s flying suit was torn to shreds. He was holding a pair of battered saddlebags. Suddenly, Spitfire realised who they were belonging to.
“Where’s Whirlwind?” she asked.
“Dead,” Stakan replied. “A virgin queen attacked us from behind. I barely escaped, but those wires he had got tangled into the stalagmites. I only managed to fetch the explosives.”
“Fuck,” Spitfire muttered. “What will we do now?”
“Don’t worry, I know somefing about explosives…” the bat pony smiled.
“Yeah… I saw.”
“Zat was Stakan,” Albtraum replied. “Anozer proof zat he shouldn’t be–“
“Enough,” Storm Chaser said. “Let’s find the queen and get out of here. Fleetfoot, can you walk?”
“Y-yes…” Fleetfoot replied. She stood up, her hooves still shaking, and checked her equipment. When Storm Chaser turned away from her, she took some pill from her pocket and swallowed it.
“Want one?” she whispered to Spitfire.
“No, thanks.” Spitfire winced. She scratched her ear and, to her surprise, she saw some blood on her hoof.
“Are you okay?” Fleetfoot asked.
“Yeah…” Spitfire replied weakly.
They were about to go down the narrow tunnel in which they were hidden, when Stakan lifted his hoof and pointed at the cave in front of them. Most of the changelings there were dead, but they could still see some movement.
“Hey, Mr. Expert,” he muttered to Albtraum. “How d’ya think, where they’ll take the bodies?”
The bat pony smirked, showing his fangs. “You’re right… Zey’ll feed ze larvae with ‘em… If we’re quiet, we’ll be able to follow ‘em…”
Hidden behind the rocks, they watched as the large group of workers began to collect the bodies of the dead changelings and carry them somewhere. As soon as the last of them left the cave, Storm Chaser took off and, as quietly as he could, he followed them.
The tunnel was even narrower than the one where they’d hidden. There were places where it was almost vertical. The workers had problems with transporting the bodies; Spitfire almost threw up when she saw them cutting one of the corpses in half to make it fit into the small passage. The muffled rattling of chitin legs was echoing through the hall.
Spitfire tried to steady her breath, but she couldn’t stop panting. The cold wind from the tunnel was chilling her to the bone. Before her, Fleetfoot was shuddering. Her hoofsteps lost their usual rhythm; she was trotting mechanically like some foal’s toy. Only Stakan and Albtraum seemed to resist against the atmosphere of the inside of the nest.
Finally, the group of workers reached another cave. The air there smelled of decay and some musky stench that made Spitfire’s stomach twist. The whole place was dimly lit by some crystals. The group stopped next to the tunnel’s end and looked around.
The whole cave was filled with white cocoons. They were hanging from the ceiling like some ominous stalactites. They were attached to the walls; some were lying on the floor. Pieces of rotting meat were scattered around them. Spitfire saw one of the cocoons breaking and a small changeling crawling out of it. It looked around, straightening the wings and hissed, showing its fangs. Then it trotted sloppily to the mangled corpse of a drone and sink its teeth in its stomach.
Next to Spitfire, Fleetfoot retched and leaned her head forward. Spitfire shuddered, but managed to control her body. She checked her battle saddle and clenched her hoof on the submachine gun.
“Wait,” Albtraum whispered. “Once zey leave, we’ll blow dis creepy kindergarten up…”
“W-what if some of them want to leave the same way they came here?” Spitfire asked.
“Don’t worry. They won’t,” Stakan replied. His voice sent chills down Spitfire’s spine. She watched the changelings leaving the cave through the holes in the walls, almost invisible in the crowd of the cocoons.
“Now,” Storm Chaser whispered. Trying to avoid stepping on the cocoons, they trotted forward. The baby changeling raised his head from the corpse, looked at them and hissed. Spitfire aimed her submachine gun at it.
“Don’t even think about it…” she heard a voice behind her. It sounded like Stakan’s voice, but it was slightly different; his accent disappeared and it was a bit higher.
Spitfire gulped and slowly turned back. She saw a tall, female changeling, still carrying Stakan’s battle saddle and Whirlwind’s saddlebags full of explosives. The changeling smirked menacingly, aiming the twin machine guns and her, Storm Chaser, Albtraum and Fleetfoot. They backed away, resting themselves against the nearest row of cocoons. Spitfire could feel something moving inside.
“Did you really think that I could get your explosives guy without smearing the Stalliongrad boy on the walls first?” The virgin queen chuckled. “Our little swarm needs fresh meat… And you were so eager to come here…” She engulfed the trigger of the battle saddle in her green magic. “Wonder how it works… You, ponies, just love to depict us as monsters, while you’re surprisingly good at creating weapons… One push, and you’re food…”
She pushed the mouth trigger forward with her magic. Spitfire dived to the side, and saw the tracer bullets hitting the cocoons behind her, spraying her with some white substance. Even though she couldn’t hear well, she heard a scream and looked around desperately, trying to find its source.
A stream of blood blinded her, but she managed to see Albtraum, his left wing torn in half, tackling the virgin queen. Ignoring the pain, he punched her in the face. The bullets were whistling everywhere, hitting the cocoons and ricocheting off the walls. Spitfire saw a small changeling trying to attack Fleetfoot from behind. Letting out a powerful scream, she raised from the ground and aimed her submachine gun.
A series of bullets tore the changeling in half. Fleetfoot looked around, startled. Their eyes met and Spitfire smiled at her.
Suddenly, she felt something like a punch to the ribs. She fell back on the ground, trying to catch a breath. She saw a gaping hole in her saddlebags and realised what happened – one of the bullets from the changeling’s battle saddle had hit her. Luckily for her, the 12.7 mm round pierced through the bolt of her own machine gun first, but still it was enough to crack her ribs. She crawled behind the cocoons and took a syringe with morphine from her saddlebags. Gritting her teeth, she injected it into her flank and felt the numbness spreading through her body.
The shooting stopped. She looked around and saw Fleetfoot and Storm Chaser hiding behind another row of cocoons and looking at something in front of them. Spitfire followed her gaze.
Albtraum was lying on Whirlwind’s torn saddlebags, panting heavily. One of his wings was missing. He was pushing his hooves to a large wound in his stomach and half of his face was a bloody mess. But the virgin queen also got hit. One of her legs was broken; green goo was leaking from numerous cuts in her body, but she was still dangerous. A green aura of magic was surrounding her; she was aiming her horn, trying to find them.
“Do you want to end up like he?” she asked. “Come on, give up… I’ll give you a quick death…”
Spitfire gulped. The touch of the cocoons was making her sick. The thought that she was going to end up as a food for them…
Suddenly, she saw that Albtraum was gesturing something. She looked at him and saw the wires going to Whirlwind saddlebags. She also saw the device the bat pony was holding in his hooves.
Is he going to… Holy shit!
“Run!” she screamed, taking off. The queen looked at her, surprised, but before she could do something, Spitfire was flying towards the nearest tunnel. She saw the magic beam missing her for inches and piercing through one of the cocoons, which exploded into a mass of grey and green goo. She took a sharp turn, barely dodging another beam and flew into the tunnel, almost breaking her wings against its walls.
A distant roar of explosion threw her off balance. She rammed into the wall off the tunnel and slid to the floor, losing her battle saddle. She heard a loud snap and her vision darkened. She thrashed, barely avoiding a rock falling from the collapsing ceiling, when another stone banged against her helmet.
“Spitfire! Are you okay?”
Oh fuck… my leg.
“Spitfire!”
My leg, my ribs, my head… Is there anything healthy in my body?
“I think she wakes up…”
Spitfire blinked and, in a dim light, she saw Fleetfoot’s face above her. Everything was spinning. Her vision had a slight red tint.
“A-are you a changeling?” Spitfire asked.
“If I was, you’d be dead,” Fleetfoot deadpanned. “Can you fly?”
“I think so,” Spitfire replied. “What’s going on?”
“Albtraum’s dead, but at least he fried that cunt and the cute changeling kids,” Fleetfoot replied. “Storm Chaser and I lost most of the equipment, but we still have submachines and some grenades.”
“Where are we?” Spitfire asked.
Storm Chaser sat next to Fleetfoot. “Somewhere close to the queen,” he said. “We have enough grenades to blow her up, but we’ll have to be quick. They already know that we’re here.”
“You don’t say…” Spitfire muttered, trying to sit down. “Are we still trying to kill her? I think we should get out of here…”
“We can’t,” Storm Chaser replied. “We need to finish this.”
Spitfire finally managed to sit down. She felt a dull pain in her head and chest. One of her hind legs was numb, but it seemed that her wings were intact. Her vision got better; in a dim light of the crystals that were supposed to differ them from the changelings, she saw that Fleetfoot had a long scratch on her cheek and a part of Storm Chaser’s mane was missing. Fleetfoot was breathing slowly, her pupils dilated despite the darkness surrounding them.
“Can you go?” Storm Chaser asked.
Spitfire nodded and took off. A jolt of pain ran from her ribs, but she only gritted her teeth.
They flew forward, through the wide tunnel full of large rocks.
“It seems that the explosion made more mess than I thought,” Storm Chaser said, watching the place where a large part of the ceiling had collapsed, burying some changelings under the enormous boulders. Spitfire shuddered; another explosion like that could reduce them to a wet stain on the floor. Or, was it actually floor? The weird angles of the changelings’ nest didn’t make it easier to determine where was the floor and where was the ceiling.
“I wonder where the queen is…” Fleetfoot muttered, looking around as if she expected to see some kind of a sign.
“The warriors usually rush to protect her if they sense any danger,” Storm Chaser explained. “Since we made quite an entrance…”
“Just great…” Fleetfoot said. “We need to blow up the most secured place. Are we even planning to get outta here?”
“Once we throw the grenades, we’ll have to fly up as fast as we can,” Storm Chaser muttered, checking if the explosives were still attached to his flying suit. “Though I won’t lie to you – this nest already survived one explosion. One more and it can collapse. And even though changelings will more likely panic after the queen’s death, they may also attack us…”
“Fuck…” Fleetfoot muttered. “See, Spitfire? I bring bad luck. Fortunately, I won’t have any more roommates, unless someone scrapes my remains off the rocks and dumps them next to some really handsome stiff…” She chuckled grimly. “And I thought I’d be home before the Hearth’s Warming Eve…”
“You still can get home,” Spitfire said. “If they’ll find our bodies…”
Fleetfoot chuckled again. “I hope I’ll be ripped in half… At least my parents wouldn’t argue for a change… How about you, Spitfire? Any special wishes?”
“I’d rather not think about death,” Spitfire replied. Her injuries were causing her to fly awkwardly, leaning on the walls from time to time. “Do you know that zebras aren’t afraid of it? I’ve seen ‘em charging on an enemy with saddlebags full of explosives or destroying the airships by ramming into them with gliders…”
“Good thing I’m not a zebra…” Fleetfoot muttered. “And you, boss? Any preferences regarding death?”
“I’d rather think about survival…” Storm Chaser replied. “Flitter should have a father… Cloudchaser would be okay, but Flitter… She’s too young…”
“And Cloudchaser isn’t?” Fleetfoot rolled her eyes. “She’s, if I recall correctly, fifteen…”
“Yeah, but… she’s like me… She’d understand…” Storm Chaser replied.
“So, she doesn’t let other ponies drink?” Fleetfoot giggled. “She must be a cool girl…”
“We may die soon, but I’m still your commander,” Storm Chaser deadpanned. “For badmouthing my daughter you will clean the toilets…”
“Yeah, in Tartarus probably,” Fleetfoot replied. “Though I guess they smell even worse than this place–“
“Shut up for a moment,” Spitfire interrupted her. “I can hear something…”
Now they heard it too – the rattling of chitin, as if a whole army of changelings was marching somewhere below them. Spitfire sat on a large boulder protruding from the wall and gestured them to herself.
“Do you think there’s the queen there?” She asked, pointing at the bottom of the cave. At first they thought that the floor was moving, but then they realised that the cave was full of changeling warriors, guarding the small entrance. There were at least three virgin queens among them.
“Probably,” Storm Chaser replied, watching the bottom of the cave carefully, as if he was trying to determine how far from it they were.
“We can either sneak past the whole army or pull my grandfather on them…” Fleetfoot muttered.
“What do you mean?” Spitfire asked.
“During the second Griffon War, he destroyed a base in the mountains by quickly flying inside and dropping a bomb through the window.”
“Did he survive?” Storm Chaser asked.
“No.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Storm Chaser said. He took the saddlebags and stuffed them with grenades. “Cover me,” he ordered.
With saddlebags in his hooves, he darted forward. Spitfire and Fleetfoot followed him, aiming their guns at the crowd of changelings.
The army noticed them immediately. Spitfire screamed when one of the changelings caught her injured hoof with his fangs. She kicked him with the other one; he fell off, leaving long red marks on her skin. She made a barrel roll, evading the next two changelings, and shot the third one, that was about to attack Storm Chaser. Next to her, Fleetfoot rammed into one of the virgin queens and shot her at the point-blank range. Sprayed in the green goo, she switched her gun to full auto and began to shoot at the incoming changelings.
Another changeling tried to catch Spitfire, ripping her flying suit apart. She somersaulted, and the changeling rammed into the stalactite. Spitfire made a sharp turn, letting the two assailants fly past her and shot them in the back. She looked around and saw a large swarm of changelings trying to overwhelm Fleetfoot, who was fighting them with her hooves and a knife. On the other side of the cave, Storm Chaser was trying to evade a group guarding the entrance to another cave.
“Hold on, Fleetfoot…” Spitfire muttered. She flew upwards to gain some speed and dived at the changelings swarming around her wingpony.
She felt her vision darkening when she rammed, hooves first, into the first changeling’s head, grinding him into the ground. Her leg was aching; the morphine was wearing off. She shot another two changelings with her revolver. Fleetfoot got up and hit another two with her submachine gun, before she managed to reload it.
“Where’s Storm Chaser?” she asked.
“I don’t know! He–“ Spitfire turned to see their commander diving into the entrance of the queen’s lair. She also saw a large, dark shape – a virgin queen preparing to attack him.
“Boss, watch out!” she screamed, but it was too late – the virgin queen tackled Storm Chaser. Her horn glowed green and she fired a magic beam, piercing through his wing. He hit the floor, but he still held the saddlebags in his hooves. The queen lifted him and flew into the pit with him.
“Shit…” Fleetfoot muttered. She darted forward, not caring about the changelings trying to attack her. Spitfire flew behind her. She saw that Storm Chaser’s wing wasn’t bleeding, the wound charred by the magic attack. He wasn’t thrashing, but it seemed that he was conscious. Spitfire and Fleetfoot flew through the tight entrance.
The stench of rotting meat was overwhelming; Spitfire threw up as soon as she entered the cave. Fleetfoot retched, but she held it, lifting her gun and aiming at the virgin queen. She turned to them and smiled menacingly, lighting up her horn.
“Magic that, bitch!” Fleetfoot shouted and pulled the trigger. The first of the armour-piercing bullets hit the virgin queen’s chest and left her body together with a fountain of green goo and some unrecognisable chunks. The second hit just below her horn, crushing the chitin forehead. The changeling twitched and fell to the ground.
“Well, that was anticlimactic…” Fleetfoot muttered.
“Where’s Chaser?” Spitfire asked. She looked at the bottom of the cave and felt that she was going to throw up again.
It was even worse than her dreams. A large mass of chitin, reeking of formic acid and decay was filling at least half of the cave. Spitfire couldn’t see its eyes; the creature’s face was mostly consisting of a large mouth with fangs; each of them was at least three feet long. The hooves were only small stumps – the queen was only capable of crawling on them. The large, swollen body was constantly producing small, grey eggs.
Fleetfoot aimed her gun and shot all the remaining bullets at the queen, but she didn’t even feel it. She was still crawling towards its target – the violet pegasus with a crushed wings, who was holding a pair of saddlebags.
“Boss!” Spitfire exclaimed.
“Run away,” Storm Chaser muttered through gritted teeth. “I got this…”
“She’s gonna eat you!” Fleetfoot shouted.
“She’ll choke…” Storm Chaser replied. He took one of the grenades out of the saddlebags and grabbed the pin with his teeth. “I can’t fly with that wing anyway…”
“Storm Chaser!” Spitfire shouted, but Fleetfoot shook her head.
“We need to go,” she said. “There’s no other way…”
Spitfire swallowed tears and nodded her head. The world was spinning around her and she was almost unable to breathe. “I don’t know if I’ll make it,” she said.
“Just hold on to me…” Fleetfoot replied.
They both darted upwards. The changelings tried to chase them, but they had no chances. Spitfire gritted her teeth, cursing her injured ribs, but at that moment it didn’t matter – the only thing that mattered was Fleetfoot, flapping her wing as hard as she could.
They flew through the large hole made by the previous explosion, when they heard roaring echoing in the depth behind them. A large boulder tore off the wall and flew past them, crushing everything on its way. The walls started to collapse around them.
One of the stones hit Fleetfoot. She screamed, but Spitfire caught her. For a moment, they were flying together, but then Fleetfoot showed Spitfire that she could fly by herself and they parted.
Suddenly, Spitfire saw the night sky above her. The cold air was cooling her wounds. She barely evaded another falling rock and, together with Fleetfoot, they emerged from the collapsing hole in the ground, leaving the nest behind them.
They didn’t fly for long. Only a few yards behind the entrance they lowered the flight and eventually collapsed on a dune, panting heavily.
“Holy shit…” Fleetfoot muttered, crying. “Storm Chaser…”
Spitfire groaned. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the pain in her leg, chest and head almost rendered her unconscious. Fleetfoot looked at the scratches on her injured hoof.
“You need an antidote for that…” she said. “I think I have some…”
“We… made it…” Spitfire whispered, looking at the stars above her.
“Yeah… Hey, don’t you dare dying on me!” Fleetfoot slapped her. “Storm Chaser, Albtraum, Stakan, Whirlwind… I don’t want to lose you too…”
Spitfire felt a pinprick – the antidote slowly spread through her system. “I’m not gonna die… yet…” she said. “But you’d better call help…”
“Yeah… I think my radio survived that ride…” Fleetfoot said. “’Sides, they’re probably looking for us…”
Spitfire took a deep breath, looking at the sky and trying not to think about the things she’d witnessed in the nest. She knew, however, that they were going to stalk her till the end of her life. Fleetfoot was calling for help, but she didn’t hear that.
“The cavalry will arrive soon,” Fleetfoot muttered. “Seems that we’ll be home before the Hearth’s Warming Eve…”
A few miles south from the collapsing nest, the sole remaining virgin queen looked at the twenty changelings. They were intelligent enough to fly with her instead of staying next to the torn body of the queen, waiting to die. There were some males among them. According to the biological instincts, she had to let them impregnate her and establish a new nest, gathering love and food to rise one more time.
“Not yet, Chrysalis,” she muttered to herself. “Some more must’ve survived… You need to find them… Then find a male with a better genetic material… And take revenge…”