//------------------------------// // Chapter 17 // Story: Of The Last Millennium // by BlndDog //------------------------------// Chapter 17 Scootaloo pulled her cloaks closer with her bandaged hooves. Her frostbitten ears itched beneath thick dressing that reeked of mint and poplar. Gregor had given her a handkerchief for her nose, which turned into a slimy wad within ten minutes. She rubbed her wings against her body. The tight straps of the prosthesis had crushed half her feathers, and even Galina’s expert preening could not undo the damage. On the plus side the twins now had a big pile of feathers to fletch their darts with. The gas lantern darkened momentarily, making the shadows between the trees dance. Scootaloo retreated deeper into her hood and lowered her head. When the light returned, it did not seem to push the darkness to its old boundary. The Master’s story, which had seemed rather silly under the midday sun, gnawed tirelessly on her mind during her solitary watch. Every splashing fish made her shiver. The lantern penetrated only the top five inches of water; her imagination filled the rest with bulging black eyes and scaly green limbs. Her tomahawk was firmly pressed beneath her front hooves. Its presence was comforting regardless of its usefulness. Can you hurt a kappa with an axe? Has anypony ever tried? Even after Gregor’s long explanation the Master had been reluctant to set a night watch. “They’re one day away at best,” he had said over a steaming bowl of vegetable chowder. “Two, if the barges are loaded as you say. They saw you, sure, but why should they care? And don’t you start lecturing me on sylvanocian magic. You have your old stories, but that’s all they are. If they can do half the things you say they can, why didn’t they get us last night? Nay, you can all rest easy tonight.” In the end it took a vial of manticore poison to sway the stubborn bargepony, and then he refused to take a watch. “It’s bad luck to be up in those hours,” he mumbled from beneath his tarp as Scootaloo cleaned the dinner dishes. “Scootaloo, if you hear an old mare in the middle of the night, do not tell her your name.” The light was starting to strobe. Scootaloo gave the rusty green lantern half a dozen pumps just as the Master showed her. Its low hiss became a powerful roar, and the mantle burned white like the core of a farrier’s oven. Though she had felt refreshed when Gina woke her at two o’clock, Scootaloo quickly grew weary over the hour of her watch. Now the world around her drifted in and out of focus, and false colours wandered across her eyes: shapeless blotches of dark red; orbs of stygian blue; two pale green spots… Scootaloo sat up, blinking vigorously. The green lights did not fade in the slightest. Averting her gaze made them brighter, and they neither drifted nor blinked. Eyes. Scootaloo opened her mouth, but her throat would not cooperate. The creature, whatever it was, looked to be as tall as the surrounding trees. The eyes were spaced too far apart to be those of a small animal in a high perch, and seemed eerily familiar. They floated in the darkness, shimmering like fire, and Scootaloo thought that they would have looked the same be they ten metres away or a hundred. She tried to speak again, and managed to make a strained hiss. Her hooves rattled on the deck; she did not feel strong enough to pick up her weapon. All her muscles released at once upon the sound of padded feet approaching from behind. Scootaloo jumped up clumsily, and would have fallen sideways into the swamp were it not for Gregor’s fast reflexes. “You seem rather on edge,” he said, lying down at the port side and guiding her to do likewise. Scootaloo did not answer immediately. She squinted into the darkness where the eyes had been, but could not find them again. Gregor followed her gaze. “I saw something before you came,” she said in a low voice. “It’s really big. I just saw its eyes.” “What did it sound like?” Gregor asked, reaching under his left wing with his right hand. “It didn’t make a sound,” she said, still looking at the surrounding swamp. “It just sort of appeared.” The two lay in silence for some time. Gregor covered Scootaloo with one wing. “I think it’s gone,” he said at last. “Why do we have this lamp?” Scootaloo asked. “I can’t see anything, and anypony out there can see me. If we’re hiding, why don’t we just stay in the dark?” “In any other situation I would have agreed,” Gregor said quietly, pulling Scootaloo so close that she could smell his dinner of spiced manticore tail on his breath. “However, even a sylvanocian foal would have no trouble finding you in the dark. Their ears are as good as a second pair of eyes; even better in a place like this where line of sight is so short. The helmets of the Midnight Guards amplify sounds; they can hear me talking like this from a kilometre away. This darkness is as good as broad daylight as far as they're concerned. Having a light for our own eyes is the least of our concerns.” Scootaloo nodded with a long yawn. “Scootaloo,” Gregor continued, “I hope you are still awake enough to discuss a few things. These matters are easier to discuss now that everyone is asleep. “First off, I want to advise you not to borrow wings again.” “I know,” Scootaloo mumbled, half-heartedly examining the bandages on her left front hoof. “This time was not your fault,” he said. “Grace should have known better than to lend you her wings. They were made specifically for her. It was very dangerous for you to use them.” “You’re not going to hurt her, are you?” Scootaloo said, turning to the griffin with pleading eyes. “I wanted her wings! That was the first time I ever flew! It was amazing! And she was really sorry, wasn’t she?” “I would never hurt my own daughter,” said Gregor. “But I think I need to drive this point home. This is a lot more serious than you think, Scootaloo. If I hadn’t caught you when I did, you might not be here right now. Those wings aren’t toys. “Now, I’m not your guardian, so I can only offer my advice in the next matter. But please consider what I am telling you. Ask Gari when you meet her, but I think she will agree. You should not get prosthetic wings, Scootaloo.” “What?” She said, her voice growing in volume as Gregor’s words sank in. “Gregor, I can’t fly! I’ve been trying for years! I’ve never been able to fly, and I'll never fly without those wings!” “But you have wings,” Gregor said evenly, squeezing her reassuringly. “You have small wings, but they’re not deformed or injured as far as I can tell. They’re beautiful wings, Scootaloo; Grace would rather have them instead of what she has. “Even if you get a harness that doesn’t crush your feathers, flying with prosthesis changes the way you move and the way your wings grow. You might not feel it now, but it strains your spine and bends the bones in your wings. If you start wearing prosthesis now, you might be stuck with them for the rest of your life.” “And what if I’m stuck flying with fake wings for the rest of my life?” Scootaloo said. “I can fly, and that’s all that matters!” “Is it?” Gregor said. “As I said before, I cannot decide for you. However, I know how much flying means to most pegasi, and I don’t think it is healthy to use prosthetic wings in the manner that you intend to. Griffins don’t fly as casually or nearly as often as pegasi. Just keep this in mind, okay?” Scootaloo didn’t even answer; she thought she would scream if she opened her mouth at all. Gregor released her and nodded towards the deckhouse. “Your watch is over,” he said. “Get some sleep. We can talk in the morning if you’re feeling up to it.” She packed up her tomahawk and walked on numb hooves to the stern, her steps muffled by the bandages. Gregor never looked back. When Scootaloo scanned the deck one last time from the deckhouse entrance he had a bow in his hand. Not his black recurved bow; this was a primitive thing pieced together from three willow branches. Perhaps he built it for the occasion; it couldn’t have taken more than ten minutes to make. Scootaloo went inside with a low grumble. All thoughts of kappa and glowing eyes were drowned out by her bubbling anger. She wasn’t sleepy at all. “Are you okay, Scootaloo?” Galina whispered groggily. “I’m fine,” she said, shuffling out of two cloaks and blowing her nose on the outer one (which was her brother’s). “Come here, sweetie,” Galina said. In the darkness Scootaloo heard the griffin’s rustling feathers. “Get some sleep. You’ll feel better tomorrow.” Morning Rain moaned as she sidled into position on his right. He too had paid dearly for his moment of bliss. When Gregor landed with Scootaloo he was already thrashing and screaming on the sleeping mat. For twenty minutes the twins held him down while Galina worked on his dislocated wings. In the half minute that Scootaloo was allowed to watch, Galina delivered six morphine injections without any sign of slowing down. Rain slept like a rock through dinner under Cabbage’s watchful guard. Scootaloo stroked his sweat-soaked neck once before closing her eyes. Slept came easy in Galina's warm embrace. # The griffins were gone when Scootaloo awoke. Her heart raced for a brief moment before she heard the twins’ laughter through the door veil. She stood up and shook out her sore wings, starting at the sight of the manticore. Its face had grown swollen and saggy. Its lips had shriveled, exposing long fangs all the way down to the blackened gums. Wrinkled eyeballs glared out of sunken sockets with a look of pure hatred, and the uneasiness they brought on was not unique to ponies; it was Gina and not Scootaloo who suggested covering it with a tarp for the remainder of the journey. Morning Rain kicked suddenly, nearly knocking her over. His teeth grinded in a sickening rhythm, and his wings strained against the leather belt that bound them. I told you so, she thought bitterly, forcing herself to turn away. I wish I can help you, Morning Rain. I really do. Scootaloo opened the veil and ducked just in time to avoid a rematch with Cabbage’s talons. The poor bird had a tall wreath of purple hyacinth flowers upon his head and a big lotus hanging from his neck on a chain made of white-flowered moneywort. For all his loud flapping Cabbage was losing altitude quickly. Fortunately for him the twins were on foot and had to stop before running over Scootaloo. “Good morning!” Grace greeted, dropping the half-finished ring of red reed and bladderwort from her beak. “Hi Grace,” Scootaloo said, squinting against the bright sun. “Hi Gina.” “Is Morning Rain up yet?” Grace asked. “Is he okay?” “He’s still hurting pretty bad,” Scootaloo said. “I’m sorry,” said Grace. “I didn’t know…” Scootaloo raised one hoof to cut her short. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said. “The Master told him to go flying.” “I should tell him stop,” Grace insisted. “I see him fly funny. I should take him down.” “Hey, Scootaloo!” Galina called from the bow. “Come over here! Have some breakfast!” Scootaloo went eagerly, leaving Cabbage at the mercy of the twins. It seemed the griffins had made enough pancakes for the entire day. Scootaloo shied from the pink manticore bone gravy at first, but the Master would have no more of her “Canterlot sensibilities”. “They’ve been feeding you since you came aboard,” he jeered from the starboard side. “You’re mighty rude, the way you eat. You don’t refuse hospitality like that! Just because it’s not typical pony fare doesn’t mean you have to turn up your nose like some spoiled, overfed housecat! It’s fine gravy too; I wager you won’t find better on this side of the ocean or the other! You think it’s easy taking down a manticore? I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve had manticore!” Saying this, he took his left hoof off the pole and shook it vigorously before his nose. Gregor laughed long and hard at this act, with his chest pressed against the deck and wings outstretched. The gravy was not as salty as Scootaloo expected, and so rich that she could only dribble it sparingly on her last few pancakes. For a few minutes she felt like she had eaten a spoonful of spice-infused oil, and the persistent aftertaste was something unique unto itself. “There you go,” the Master chuckled as Scootaloo sat smacking her lips with brows furrowed. “It takes some getting used to, but you’ll learn to like it. You’re not dying, are you? Feel bloodthirsty at all? No? Sprout any fangs?” Scootaloo scowled and turned away as the Master laughed. Despite being the last to rise Morning Rain looked exhausted when he showed his face. The Master did not peak as the boy ate a single pancake with plenty of water, swallowing with great reluctance despite missing dinner the night before. “How are you holding up?” Gregor said, handing him another bowl of water. “More morphine,” Rain said in the same way a drunk pony might ask for another mug of cider. “I… I’ll bfff… fi…” Scootaloo would have laughed were she not so concerned. “I’ll give you morphine,” Gregor said. “However, you’re not going to be fine. You have three vertebrae just behind your shoulders that don’t line up with the rest, and that’s not from your flying yesterday. I’ll give you morphine today, but you have to let me fix your spine.” “How will you do that?” Rain asked after a few failed attempts to speak. “I won’t operate, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” Gregor said. “I will push your spine in the right direction. This isn’t a quick fix, but you will feel a lot better immediately. I can do more if you two stay with us for the crossing, but at least I can get you started today.” “No,” Rain said after considering for some time. “I… I can wait. I… just… need…” He was cut short by a violent spasm in his rear legs. Gregor caught his head just before it struck the deck. “Morphine won’t help you for long,” said the griffin as he cradled the boy’s head in his hands. “You can develop immunity over time, and at the rate you’re using it we’ll run out by tomorrow morning. If you don’t get treatment soon, the problem can only get bigger. In the best case you will get a hunched back. In the worst case you may become paralyzed from chest to tail. I wish you would agree with me. It would make me feel a lot better.” “I… I… think about it,” Rain mumbled. “Th… thank… you…” Gregor nodded. From his own hood he fashioned a small pillow and gave it to Rain. Scootaloo stayed with her brother as the griffin went inside to retrieve the medicine box. “Why didn’t you say yes?” She hissed. “I can’t help you. Gari can’t help you. Gregor is the only one who can help you right now. What are you thinking?” “I… I dun…” Rain smeared his face in the rolled up hood. His tail jumped around sporadically. “You might never walk again,” Scootaloo said. “Rain, this is serious! Do you want to live like this for the rest of your life?” His out-of-focus eyes filled with tears, and his mouth moved silently. Scootaloo glared at him as he sobbed into Gregor’s hood. “Master, what is that?” Gina was standing beside the Master, and both were looking at something on the starboard side. Gregor had stopped dead in his tracks at the deckhouse entrance, a little glass syringe hanging between the first two digits of his left hand. Scootaloo stood up to get a better look. Splintered chunks of wood littered the water, not quite blending in with the surrounding foliage. The green paint was just a little too glossy to be water cabbage, and too light to be hyacinth. Bent nails and rivets held some of the pieces together. The Master slowed his barge to a snail’s crawl and leaned over the edge to examine the debris. Scootaloo saw two sizable beams bolted together at a right angle, and many broad green boards. “Maestro!” He cried suddenly, startling all others onboard. “Maestro! Answer me!” Scootaloo didn’t remember lying down. She felt lightheaded, and the Master’s desperate yelling made it worse. Half of her mind insisted that it was not real, while her stomach told her another story entirely. Galina and Gregor took to the air while Grace and Gina joined Scootaloo and Morning Rain. The four children huddled in the middle of the deck, far away from the edges. The Master rowed slowly in a big circle, calling out to his friend on the verge of tears. At long last the Master stopped pushing and leaned heavily on his pole, his whole body glistening in sweat. Scootaloo was sure that she would have seen him cry had a hoarse and nearly incomprehensible voice not replied in that very moment. “Master!” It cried from a long ways off. “Master! Um Here!” All sign of exhaustion instantly left the Master. With keen eyes he scanned the surrounding trees, his one pair of eyes beating all four kids and one kakapo on deck. The barge tore through a tangled sheet of hyacinth and milfoil, and it was not until they were within ten metres that Scootaloo spotted the pony in distress. The Maestro was clinging to the side of a willow, nearly hidden behind the thick green veil of its trailing branches. The veins of his muscular neck bulged from long hours of exertion, and his shoulders were black with bruises. The left panel of his vest hung by a thread down past the tip of his braided tail. “Come on!” The Master yelled, lashing out at the wall of willow leaves as he pulled his bow to within a metre of the trunk. But the gigantic pony had no strength left. He dropped into the swamp with a splash that drenched the Master, and his front hooves skidded against the deck without taking hold. Fortunately Galina and Gregor returned to the barge. Each grabbing one forelimbs, they dragged the flailing pony out of the water. The Master reversed the barge immediately, and soon they were back in open water. “What happened to you, Maestro?” The Master gasped, stopping his barge beside the bulk of the wreckage. The Maestro had not attempted to sit up since his rescue. He remained sprawled on the deck where the griffins had left him, breathing heavily with his head down. After a while it occurred to Scootaloo that he was crying. “Ma… Ma boat!” He wailed. “Oh Master, ma boat! It took ma boat! Ba th’ name o’ Stormmaster! Aw… Awl’d nut see th’ day!” “Calm down, Maestro,” the Master said in the most gentle tone Scootaloo had ever heard him use. “What happened? Was it an alligator?” “Gator!” The Maestro snorted indignantly. “Nae, t’s no gator could do zit! Awl’d it were jis’ gator! Aw cud tik gators! Nae, Master. Lis’ here. Yid nae believe me, bit awl fib nut. T’was a timberwulf zit tuk ‘er!” There was silence on deck, until the Master laughed. “You’ve been drinking, haven’t you?” He said. “There are no timberwolves outside of the Everfree Forest. You know it as well as I do!” “Aw’s drunk, aye,” the Maestro growled. He tried to stand, but his legs were weak from holding onto the tree. “Bit aw’s nut drunk ‘s ta see gators fer timberwulfs! Aw dun fib, Master! T’s timberwulfs, aw swar ‘n th’ name o’ Stormmaster! Twenty feet tawl, wit eyes shine green! Awl made o’ wood! He hits ma deck wit his big paw, ‘n it sounds lik thunder! Threw me zit way ‘n zawt. Tuk ma’ lantern in his mouth ‘n popped th’ tank! Blew off ‘is un head, ‘n nev’ came back!” “Do I have to beat you sober?” The Master said, raising his paddle threateningly. “You’re scaring the kids, Maestro! There are no timberwolves here. Never has been, never will!” “Wait,” Scootaloo said. All heads turned in her direction. “I saw something last night! Green eyes! It could have been a timberwolf!” “You stay out of this!” The Master snapped, shaking his paddle at Scootaloo. “You see, Maestro? You got the kids all worked up over nothing!” “Lit th’ girl speak!” The Maestro said. “Lit th’ girls speak! She nuh-owes!” “I won’t have any more of this timberwolf nonsense, you hear me?” The Master’s eyes passed over the entire deck as he spoke. “We’ll save as many of your belongings as we can, and then you’re going back to Wintergreen. If you are not going to pay me, at least be quiet.” Gregor helped the huge pony back to his feet and accompanied him to the deckhouse, with Morning Rain draped helplessly across his back. The others spent the next half hour fishing for usable scraps. There was soon a pile of steel mugs and pots on deck next to the one of boards. A big tarp came up, so heavy with water that it took all three kids to drag onboard. The Master shook his head in disappointment as Scootaloo and Gina hauled in a heavy crate full of glass bottles. “Keep it,” he said. “No use wasting good whiskey. It’s ligan, and he’ll need all the bits he can get now that his barge is gone. These things aren’t cheap, you know. That was a vintage barge too! Shame the beams are all shattered like that. A tree that size don’t come cheap these days, if you can find one at all! Poor fellow, but that’s what you get for drinking so much on the job!” “What do you think happened?” Scootaloo asked between gulps of water straight from a mug on a pole. “It couldn’t have been an alligator, could it?” “I know what you’re thinking,” the Master said. “No, alligotors don’t usually break boats, but that doesn’t mean it had to be a timberwolf. Here is what happened: the Maestro picked up a few dozen crates of whiskey late yesterday, probably from Bridle Hook. Payment for a job like that always includes a small cask for the bargepony, and Maestro always opens his as soon as he sets out. He got drunk last night, knocked over his lantern and kept pushing on in the dark. Barges are sturdy, but he’s a strong pony. If he starts ramming into things at full speed, a boat made of iron wouldn’t last the night.” He stuck by his assessment even after Grace dredged up the Maestro’s battered lantern. Water gushed out from a jagged hole in its fuel tank. When they were finished there was barely enough room on deck for the Master to stand. Galina went inside while the girls sat on top of the stack of boards. The barge moved sluggishly under the added weight, sitting so low that the water lapped at the Master’s rear hooves with every stroke. Scootaloo was starting to feel drowsy when the barge rounded a bend and glided into a wide, glittering clearing. It was not the lack of water plants that caught her attention, however. A tall, pale mare stood half-hidden amongst the trees on the far shore. Her head was raised completely above the canopy, her face upturned, yet she did not seem at all out of place. Her cutie mark was a six-petaled flower, inlaid with polished silver so as to be visible from a distance. Her wings rose in graceful arches from her back, ready but not aggressive. As the barge got closer, Scootaloo saw that the mare's eyes were featureless. There was not the slightest indication of pupils or irises, while the smoothness of the algae-greened stone and the details in the rest of the statue seemed to indicate that here was no work in progress. So focused was she on the eyeless mare that Scootaloo failed to notice the rest of the town. A platform of mortar and boulders lifted log houses high above the water. Most were modest one-storey structures with flat roofs steeply slanted towards the platform’s edge. A single tower rose from the platform, with railings on its top level. It too had a slanted roof, so that a pony posted on top could only see in three directions. At first Scootaloo took it to be a very small town, until she noticed other towers rising out of the trees further inland. “Who is that?” Gina asked when they were halfway to the statue. “That is the Stormmaster,” the Master said. “The first Stormmaster of Cloudsdale, to be precise.” “That’s not General Firefly,” Scootaloo said, and was instantly rewarded with a burst of intense pain on the top of her head. “What are they teaching you in Canterlot?” The Master said as Scootaloo clutched her head, kicking and moaning in agony. “General Firefly? She was barely competent as a general! Did somepony actually make her Stormmaster? “No, this is Snowdrop, the first and only Stormmaster of Cloudsdale. Now, this is a story that only a pony from Wintergreen can tell in full, and right now you’re best leaving the Maestro alone. You may hear it if you go on shore in a little while, but I don’t think your papa will like it if you miss your ship. I will tell it in short, though short is a relative term. “Snowdrop was a blind mare from Cloudsdale, and a good friend of Princess Luna before she became Nightmare Moon. In those days, and even today, being a friend of a princess can mean some great things. The Maestro won’t tell it this way, and I’d be less welcome in Wintergreen than an alicorn if they hear me saying so, but being friends with Princess Luna was perhaps the most remarkable thing about Snowdrop in her early years. “The story goes that she was the greatest weatherkeeper in the empire; the greatest ever, if you ask some ponies. So there is your setup: a great weatherkeeper in a city made completely of clouds. Whether or not she earned the title of ‘Stormmaster’, Stormmaster she became at the tender age of twenty-seven. “Her reign was long and fruitful. She outlasted two mayors. For fifteen years she built up that city, and her ten apprentices were themselves powerful weatherkeepers and generals by the time Nightmare Moon came along. “Now you would think that the noble pegasi of Cloudsdale would remember the Stormmaster’s great services to the city. Let me be clear that I do not belittle her abilities despite what I said about her friendship with Princess Luna. Princess Luna did not double to size of Cloudsdale, and she certainly did not create the most efficient disaster-response team in Equestria. That was all Snowdrop. After that and much more, you would think that the city would flock to her in the aftermath of Nightmare Moon’s banishment. “If it had happened that way, this city that you see would not exist. She thought that she was safe, and so she continued to serve Cloudsdale. But Cloudsdale did not want her anymore. A rumor was going around that Princess Luna visited Snowdrop within a week of becoming Nightmare Moon. What were they doing, the pegasi of Cloudsdale wondered? What was so special about that blind mare? Princess Luna made a blind mare Stormmaster, and now she’s gone. There has to be one more able, right? Cloudsdale is full of pegasi of noble birth. Why would anypony follow a blind peasant, especially when the princess who granted her authority turns out to be an evil traitor?” Scootaloo bristled listening to the Master’s slander. She knew that he was not really insulting Princess Luna, but the idea that anypony had said such things made her blood boil. “Trouble simmered through the long summer,” the Master said. “Under the harvest moon it all boiled over. Commander Firefly led her soldiers to the Stormmaster’s doorsteps. She was inside with her husband and her two younger children. They broke down the door, and here I will forego the gruesome details of what they did. “Faced with a hundred armed guards, the Stormmaster still managed to escape with her life. That night she cried alone under the stars, and that is enough detail for our purposes. Wintergreen, her eldest son, came to her that night, and together they fled from Cloudsdale. “They wandered for a long time, and it was an old and heartbroken mare that the orphans found trudging through the swamp. Though they had very little, they took her in and gave her a place to rest at last. These were five kids living together in a treehouse, and I will not tell you the stories of each of their lives. They had been alone for one year, swimming through these waters to dig up cattails for food. The youngest was three years old, and could not even speak when Snowdrop and Wintergreen first arrived. “Taking in the old Stormmaster was the first of many great things these kids would do, for Snowdrop did not remain idle for long. Even Wintergreen didn’t understand her love for these children, though he would continue her work long after her death. Snowdrop cared for them like they were her own flesh and blood. She brought them food, she bathed them, and she taught them as all that she knew. “Over the years she would encounter many orphans and poor families that lived in the swamp. She became a kind of deliverypony for them, and her route became so long that for some years she would fly all day to make sure that all were fed. “Snowdrop was getting very old by this point, but she never stopped. She built the first wall, and laid down the foundation for the first town in the Hayseed Swamps. Though she was not an earth pony, she hauled stones from the desert and mixed mortar in the dry season. Perhaps it was a memory of Cloudsdale’s glory days that drove her on. She piled on stones until the platform breached the water of the highest flood, and then built it even higher. It was a sad day when her many children found her lying high and dry on the island she had built, beside a half-finished house much like the ones you see now. “This is the Stormmaster’s legacy. To this day new islands are only built to the dimensions of the very first. Although Snowdrop did not speak of the matter, her son Wintergreen was convinced that the princesses were the cause of all their troubles. Alicorns and Royal Guards are not welcome in this town, and a smart pony would not mention Canterlot or Cloudsdale to one of these folks. And as for this statue, I think I have just enough time to tell you about its eyes. “Building a town is easy, but the first citizens of Wintergreen had to build the very ground under their hooves! It took sixty years to build most of what you see today, and by then most of the folks who remember what Snowdrop looked like were already gone. All except for one, actually, and she was an old mare when they finally built this statue. Ten bargeponies and five barges they used, and it took them two months to go to Canterlot and back. That was a fifty tonne block of marble as fine as the stuff in the Royal Palace, and they paid not one bit for it. How they managed to take it is anypony’s guess. “Five sculptors worked on that statue for six months, and all was going smoothly until they were ready to carve out her eyes. But what did they look like? Well, the old mare seemed to know. “’No! No!’ She said whenever the sculptors showed her their sketches. ‘Make them paler! Lighter! That is not her at all!’ “They tried again and again, practicing on leftover pieces of marble, and each time they thought they had it the old mare threw their work into the swamp. Eventually she died, and nopony really felt right finishing that statue. So there she stands to this very day with blank eyes lined up to the harvest moon that started it all.” Scootaloo wiped her eyes quickly, but the smile on the bargepony’s face told her that she was too late. It was not a smug smile; he was not proud of making three kids cry. He stared past the bow as the barge glided under the Stormmaster’s nose, his lips slightly parted to show gritted teeth. “Scootaloo, go get the Maestro.” Scootaloo jumped at the Master’s voice, and scampered into the deckhouse upon seeing the paddle in his hoof. The Maestro was fast asleep on the deck, still wearing his tattered vest. Cabbage was trapped in his massive forearms, though the bird didn’t seem to mind. He was curled into a large feathery ball, with no discernible head or tail. Scootaloo felt increasingly nervous as she approached the massive earth pony. His biceps were thicker than her waist, and surely he was still upset about his barge. “Scootaloo,” Gregor said. “I need to have a word with you.” “I’m getting wings,” Scootaloo said flatly, barely able to contain her sudden anger. “You can’t stop me.” “It’s not about that,” Gregor said, extending a hand in invitation. “Scootaloo, it’s about those eyes you saw last night. I think we’re being hunted.” “I know,” she said. “The Master doesn’t believe me. So do you think a bat pony sank that barge?” Cabbage had woken from his nap, and poked his neck out from between the Maestro’s crossed hooves. He seemed content in his role as teddy bear. “No,” Gregor said, “it was a timberwolf. Sylvanocians created the timberwolves before they were driven out of Equestria. At night timberwolves can be controlled by sylvanocian magic, and I think that’s what we’re dealing with. There may be more than one timberwolf in these swamps, summoned from the Everfree Forest, and the sylanocians will be directing them again tonight. “Be on the lookout today, Scootaloo. I will speak with the Master, but he is very stubborn in these matters. I would much rather face timberwolves during the day, if they are around at all. That way we are fighting animals, not sylvanocian weapons. If you see a timberwolf, do anything you can to provoke it. Galina and I will be ready to take it down.” “Oy! What’s taking you so long?” The barge had stopped beside a spacious wooden pier. The woven reed fenders here looked to be brand new, and three ponies held the mooring lines while the Master spoke to a pegasus mare on the dock clad in a camouflage skinsuit. “I’ll wake him,” Gregor said to Scootaloo. “Go help the Master unload.” The Maestro barely held back his tears as he stepped onto the pier with the last crate of whiskey on his back. Five stallions came down the boardwalk with wagons to clear away the things that were unloaded, never acknowledging the three children gawking at them from the barge. The pegasus draped one wing across the Maestro’s bruised shoulders. “I will be back tomorrow,” the Master said as he set his pole again. “Ready a room for me. As for kerosene, I’ll see what the Jackdaw has in her hold. It won’t be cheap, though. I wish you’d pay me in advance for these things.” “Awl pay,” said the mare curtly. “We’ll buy whatev’ you bring.” “And you better pay me in bits this time,” the Master said. “You know how hard it is to spend gems in the north! It gets you all the wrong kinds of attention!” “You hev my word,” she said. Scootaloo did not dare to speak until the statue of the Stormmaster disappeared past the bend in the waterway. For some time the Master was in a foul mood, mumbling under his breath about the “cold blooded murder of the Equestrian tongue”. “What was all that?” She asked at last. “That was the Mayor of Wintergreen,” the Master explained. “I’m sorry you had to see these folks at their worst. It’s a very nice town most of the time, but they’re a paranoid bunch. Rightly so, I guess; if Percheron Landing didn’t exist, the EUP would be flocking to this place. They’re no friends of the Children of the Night either, once they found out that they were all alicorns. Anyways, they spotted something last night (no, it was not a timberwolf). They’ve recalled all their barges, but they want kerosene in case they have to burn down the town.” “They want to burn down their own town?” Scootaloo asked incredulously. “It’s never happened before,” the Master said. “You saw their houses, right? All made of logs! But their islands don’t burn. If they evacuate the town and set fire, they can stall their enemies long enough to regroup. I’m not worried, though. They’ve gone against Royal Guards before, and griffins too. No, this won’t last very long. You should come back in a few weeks, if you don’t stay in the Garden of Shadow. You’ll get used to their gibberish. It's hard on the ears, but you'll start to understand them. Wintergreen is a good place for orphans, even if you are with the Children of the Night. You can pay for almost anything in work, and these days there’s more than enough food to go around. And if you’re ever in trouble with Canterlot, these folks will take up your case. You should have hailed the Maestro when you were looking for a barge. Cook his fish and bait his hooks, and he might have paid you instead!” The bargepony went on and on about the many customs of Wintergreen: they ate a lot of fish (cattail flour was their other staple); their bargeponies were some of the best (the Master was the best, of course); they were “shameless butchers of the beautiful, elegant language brought to them by the Stormmaster.” With all he knew (or purported to know), Scootaloo thought that he could have passed for a Wintergreen bargepony himself were it not for his refined speech and passionate hate of fishcakes. Scootaloo didn’t remember falling asleep, but was awoken by a not-too-gentle prod from the Master’s pole. The sun was still high, and Scootaloo wondered if she had lost a day. “Kid,” said the Master in a hushed voice. “Go check on your brother. Tell him to stop whatever it is he’s up to. I don’t like the noise he’s making.” Scootaloo rotated her ears. Crack That doesn’t sound good. She stood up quickly, and almost flopped overboard from the blood leaving her head. The Master held her up with one hoof until she regained her balance, and then she was off. The deckhouse entrance was half veiled, and Cabbage was sitting in the middle of the opening like the world’s least threatening guard dog. He shuffled aside for Scootaloo, regarding her with half-lidded eyes. “…Anyways, that’s how I lost my medical license!” Morning Rain’s weak giggles were cut short by a sharp gasp and another wet crack. Gina whimpered and covered her face with her wings. Scootaloo stood at the front of the deckhouse for a whole half minute taking in the bizarre scene. Her brother was sprawled on the sleeping mat with a tightly-rolled cloak under his chest. Gregor seemed to be doing push ups on Rain’s back, his knuckles resting on the boy’s uneven spine. “Hey Scootaloo,” Rain mumbled with his right cheek pressed against the mat. “Don’t be alarmed,” Gregor said, releasing Rain. “I’m not hurting him.” Morning Rain sat up and flapped his wings tentatively. He winced when his right wing clicked past the halfway point, but they were at last moving symmetrically again. “This feels so much better!” He declared. “Thanks, Gregor!” “You’re not done yet,” the griffin said, guiding him back to the mat with his big hand. “What you’re feeling right now is only temporary; if I finish today’s session, you can be off morphine for three days at most. But if I do this twice a week for two months you’ll be good as new. I’m going to tie your wings today; I know you don’t feel it, but if you try to fly now you might snap your spine in half.” “I won’t argue with that,” he said. “At least I can feel my tongue again.” “The Master says you’re being too loud,” Scootaloo said, doing her very best not to giggle. “I’ll talk to him,” said Gregor as he repositioned his fists on Rain’s back. “He’ll have to tolerate this a bit longer, I’m afraid.” Here he paused to deliver a vicious smash to his patient’s back. Scootaloo grimaced, but Morning Rain just coughed a few times and repositioned his wings. “It’s good that you’re here, Scootaloo,” Gregor continued. “I wanted to discuss something with you two. First off, how are you getting to the Garden of Shadow?” “I don’t know,” she replied. “We were supposed to meet Gari somewhere, and I thought Princess Luna would tell us the plan when the time was right.” “I see.” Gregor sat down with his hands resting on Rain’s back. “Well, I have an alternative for you if you’re willing to listen. “We will reach Horseshoe Bay tomorrow morning, and the Master will rendezvous with the a ship called the Jackdaw. She’s a decently fast cargo ship with a crew of ten, and Captain Weatherly assured me that there will be more than enough room for the trip back. The fare is reasonable; you may pay me back when you have the means. Since you are on the run, would it not be prudent to get off the continent as soon as possible?” “What about Gari?” Scootaloo asked. “She will travel by ship also,” Gregor said. “Clearly that was her initial plan. We can contact her with the Jackdaw’s radio, and if the worst comes to the worst she can arrange to pick you up en route. I don’t think she will, though. You might arrive at Kelp Town a day or two before she does, but then her brothers and sisters will be able to shelter you.” Scootaloo sat down, chewing her tongue. The griffin’s offer seemed genuine, his logic sound, yet still her mind searched for some excuse to decline. “What’s the crew like?” She asked nervously. “They’re all good sailors, if that’s what you mean,” Gregor said. “Five griffins, one earth pony, one unicorn, two pegasi besides Captain Weatherly and one sylvanocian. They will do you no harm.” “What if the sylvanocians follow us?” She said. “Unless they have an ironclad, I doubt they will challenge a ship like the Jackdaw. Cargo ships tend to be quite sturdy, and the Jackdaw has survived a few pirate raids. There is an armed watch on deck at all hours. Besides, sylvanocian magic is traceable. With a unicorn and a sylvanocian onboard we can detect the Midnight Guard before they round the horizon.” “Come on,” Gina urged. “We’ll have so much fun!” “Think about it,” Gregor said. “I won’t force you to come if you don’t want to. Let me know before dinner, okay?” After ten more minutes of popping vertebrae, Morning Rain was well enough to go on deck with Scootaloo. His torso was wrapped in elastic bandages, but he was walking with his head up for the first time since the Everfree Forest. “Did he rip out your spine?” The Master cackled when they passed him on the way to the bow. They kept their eyes on the water and spoke in low voices. Morning Rain had no qualms about traveling with the griffins, much to Scootaloo's surprise. “They’re nice,” he said as he nibbled on a sprig of watercress. “I think Gregor has a point. The longer we stay on shore, the longer those sylvanocians have to catch up. We’re way ahead of them right now. That’s good, right?” “I don’t want to get on a ship without Gari,” Scootaloo argued. “I want to stay with them as much as you do, but I don’t think we can fight off all those sylvanocians. They practically destroyed Appleloosa! You don’t want Gregor or his family to get hurt, do you?” “What about us?” Rain said, his eyes wide with fear. “Scootaloo, what if they find us before Gari does? What do you think they’ll do to us?” “They won’t find us,” Scootaloo replied, her voice sounding hollow in her ears. “We’ll just keep doing what we’ve always done. We’ll just keep running until we find Gari.” Rain did not argue much after that. Scootaloo kept one foreleg on his neck and the other on her tomahawk. Now that she was looking for timberwolves, every bobbing branch made her heart race. Rain should be watching the other side. But turning around would surely draw the Master’s attention, so they stayed as they were until Gregor announced that lunch was ready. The Master took his bowl of cornmeal porridge on deck, saying that he had to make up for time lost in the detour to Wintergreen. Watching the griffins tear into the bloody manticore leg, Scootaloo felt a strange mix of disgust and jealousy. She focused on her own food, but the scent of spices and roast drippings teased her nostrils and almost overwhelmed the soft sweetness of the porridge. The Master slurped his meal without a word, such was his habit. It came as a surprise when his bowl clattered against the deck. “You stay away from me, hear?” He growled from behind the half-drawn curtain at the entrance. Grace giggled and stood up, but her mother grabbed her before she could leave the room. “Off with you!” His paddle struck with a heavy thud. And then he screamed. Scootaloo felt a breeze as Gregor’s leapt over her head. Her ears ringing, and she didn’t know why. The barge rolled to starboard. Scootaloo fell against the side of the deckhouse and was immediately pinned down by her brother's body. The water struck her like a sledgehammer; she tried to draw a deep breath, but her head was already submerged. She kicked with all her strength. Her hooves breached the surface, but her body did not move. She stretched her neck until it cracked. She could see the boiling surface half an inch above her nose, but that did her no good. All at once the barge fell flat. Scootaloo’s head slammed against the deck as the water roared out of the deckhouse. Her lungs felt like they had ruptured, and she fought hard not to vomit as water exploded through her nose and mouth. Scootaloo staggered across the heaving deck with her brother by her side. Her teeth left marks in the hilt of her tomahawk. Morning Rain dragged his scythe with the blade down, leaving a shallow but noticeable groove from the middle of the deckhouse to its entrance. The shredded door veil twisted and swirled in turbulent water. The barge had entered a clearing full of giant lotus flowers, and the air was full of thick pink petals, but it was not the beauty of the scene that made the ponies stop in the doorway with their moths hanging open. A single timberwolf loomed over the barge, casting a jagged shadow over the deck. Its head was as big as the manticore in the deckhouse, and its leafy ears looked like unkempt hedges. Green flames burned inside deep sockets, bright tongues licking at its brows of twisted boughs but never setting them alight. Scootaloo had never seen a timberwolf so big; its moss-covered limbs were made of ancient, knotted trunks, and its mouth was packed with countless splintered logs. It lifted a paw out of the water with surprising speed, making a wave that threw the barge backwards. Each of its claws was a sharpened sapling long enough to skewer a pony. It struck with so much force that the tail end of the barge was lifted out of the water. The first two deck boards exploded off the longitudinal beams, jiggling in the air like sheets of rubber. The Master jabbed at the timberwolf with his long pole, barely reaching the base of its neck. Cabbage danced around the deck with his head lowered and his wings flared aggressively. Galina and Gregor sat with bow in hand, while the twins fired off shorter arrows that barely penetrated the monster’s chest. “Master! Back us up!” Gregor called. “Grace! Gina! Aim for its mouth!” The gentle scent of lotus was no match for the stinkhorn stench of the timberwolf. Scootaloo kept her breaths shallow and narrowed her eyes, and held the tomahawk tighter in her teeth. What am I supposed to do with this? Ducking under the griffins’ arrows, Scootaloo led her brother all the way to the front of the barge. The timberwolf trudged through the water with its head lowered almost to deck level, snarling and snapping at the onslaught like a dog would a swarm of mosquitoes. Its nose was a pincushion of arrows and darts, the right side marred by patches of singed bark. The Maestro’s lantern! Its breath was bad enough to peel paint. Scootaloo jumped back not a moment too soon; the timberwolf’s fangs punctured the deck an inch in front of her front hooves, sending a shockwave up her legs that rattled her brain and made her stumble. Morning Rain tried to take off only to fall clumsily on his face. Scootaloo closed her eyes and swung the tomahawk as hard as she could. The blade bit deep into waterlogged timber, and force of impact nearly popped her shoulder from its socket. She just managed to retrieve her weapon before the timberwolf threw back its head with an angry roar. Morning Rain took her tail in his teeth and dragged her backwards. Scootaloo scowled over her shoulder, but quickly realized his reasoning when long claws shattered the deck in front of her. Gregor and Galina were in the air with their bows, circling the timberwolf at a safe distance. Two arrows disappeared into its eye sockets, making its eyes flare momentarily. Its chest was impenetrable; even the shots that struck it square in the nose could not hinder its advance. The barge was backing up at full tilt, the Master leaning far over the side to see past the deckhouse. Scootaloo and Morning Rain stayed at the front of the barge with their weapons ready. The timberwolf struck hard and often; its claws seemed to shatter wood on contact. Its foul breath made the ponies’ eyes water. Scootaloo ducked whenever her brother swung with the war scythe; a few times she came close to losing an ear. The heavy blade cut deep into the timberwolf’s muzzle, but the damage was only skin deep. The monster simply growled and shook its head before reposting. Scootaloo stood panting at the receding bow. Her legs felt deboned. Her brother was lying flat on the deck now, overheated and exhausted. Gregor and Galina were firing their remaining arrows directly into the timberwolf’s mouth, trying to dissuade another attack. Grace and Gina were all out of arrows, and their heap of darts had dwindled considerably. Their aim faltered from fatigue; all their darts only reached the timberwolf’s neck, and only half of them stuck. Snapping the arrows that held its mouth open, the timberwolf went for the barge again. Scootaloo tried to retreat, but her legs gave out. She fell backwards, narrowly avoiding the wooden teeth that crushed yet another portion of the barge. She did not retaliate immediately this time. The timberwolf stared at her, blasting hot, putrid air in her face as pulled on the barge like a chew toy. She could barely lift her weapon, and what was the point in delaying the inevitable? The timberwolf held onto the barge and started lifting it out of the water. The griffins’ darts rolled towards the rear as the angle of the deck got steeper. The Master fell over with a sharp cry, and Morning Rain began sliding backwards. This is it. Sorry everypony. The deck was nearly vertical. The tomahawk had somehow become wedged in a board, and before she knew what she was doing Scootaloo had grabbed its handle. ”You’re not a quitter, squirt. That’s why I like you” Scootaloo pulled with all her strength. The tomahawk held onto the nearly vertical deck just long enough to let her hook one leg onto a branch in the timberwolf’s jaw. She was close enough to distinguish birch leaves from poplar in its massive ears. The fire of its eyes dried her skin and mouth in an instant. With all her remaining strength Scootaloo swung at the timberwolf’s teeth. Two large chunks of wood fell past her dangling hind legs, and she was thrown into the air as the timberwolf released the barge. The world seemed to slow down as she fell past the cavernous jaws of the wooden beast, frozen in a silent roar. The throat of a timberwolf was a strange thing to behold. Unlike its exterior of dead logs, its insides were lined with a succulent layer of fresh green growth, much like the stem of a seedling. In an instant Scootaloo knew what must be done, if only she had the means to do it. Two darts whistled past her, one of them narrowly missing her ear. They struck with a wet crunch, completely disappearing into the thick green flesh. The timberwolf threw its head into the air, but it was a not a howl that escaped its throat. The sound it made was like that of a deflating balloon. It coughed and sputtered, making massive waves with its flailing limbs. Wood cascaded off its face and shoulders, and the logs that made up its legs and paws floated up to the surface. Is lower jaw splashed into the water, and the flames of its eyes faded just before its skeletal frame fell apart. Scootaloo fell into the water just in front of the barge, quenched like steel from the forge. # After some time to recover the Master lined up his passengers on the remaining half of the deck. He glared at them all with his paddle on his shoulder as they each gave an account of all that they knew about sylvanocians and timberwolves. When they were finished, no amount of pleading or bribery or threats could convince the Master to take the ponies any further. “Here!” He said, throwing a small, greasy satchel at Gregor’s feet. “Have your fare back, if that’s what you’re after! I knew there was something odd about these two the moment I laid eyes on them! I won’t have them on my barge tonight if you gave me the royal vault!” He talked of throwing the two overboard, and Scootaloo thought that he would have done it. For half an hour Gregor and Galina stood between the angry bargepony and the four kids cowering in a pile, and at last the Master’s temper fizzled out. He would let them off at the next dock, but the ponies would not reach the Jackdaw. The griffins spent the last hours of the day preparing the ponies for their trudge through the swamp. They were washed and dressed in their cloaks, and the twins packed their bags with hardtack and dried vegetables. Morning Rain got a new coat of elastic bandages, with instructions to keep it tight when he walked. Grace gave Scootaloo a bundle of six stone-tipped darts with bright orange fletching. “In case meet timberwolf,” she said. “You are good with darts.” “Thanks,” Scootaloo said, trying to smile. “Thank you for all you did for us.” “I wish you could come with us,” Gina said. The barge tapped the padded posts of the wharf. It looked just like the one where they had boarded. The damaged vessel wobbled when Scootaloo and Morning Rain hopped off. “Head east,” the Master instructed from the deck, pointing southeast with his paddle while leaning on the pole. “It’s a little muddy, but if you’ll know you’re going the wrong way if you have to swim. There’s an inn within an hour’s walk of here called the Kappa’s Head. Spring Lotus runs the place. She’s from Wintergreen, and she’ll likely give you lodging and food for cleaning a room or two. I’m not a bad pony, kids, but I won’t fight timberwolves for your sake.” The griffins waved and yelled their goodbyes as the barge receded into the distance. The last things the ponies heard was Cabbage’s throaty screeching. “I’ll really miss them,” Rain mumbled. “Me too,” Scootaloo agreed, heaving a deep sigh. An oppressive silence fell as the two trudged through the reeds with their heads down. They had shared every story they could think of with the griffins and the kakapo. Now they had nothing to talk about.