//------------------------------// // Chapter 6: What You Are // Story: All Paths Lead Home // by Mystic //------------------------------// All Paths Lead Home by Mystic Chapter 6: What You Are You can find the chapter with its original formatting here: Chapter 6 She was alone. She was completely alone. Her daughter was gone. Their supplies were gone. The land was empty. There was nothing… “No…” she whispered, running around the rock, searching in vain for her daughter. “No! No! NO!” She screamed into the air, not caring whether or not anypony heard. “No! Oh please, Celestia no!” The mare stopped her running and fell to the ground, shivering. “No!” The first few tears slipped from her eyes, unsullied drops reflecting the despair writhing inside her stomach. She hung her head low to the ground. The cold ash sent shivers racing down her spine. “No…” she whimpered once more. The silence of the Equestrian badlands echoed back at her. She looked up, staring at the ash around her, broken and imprinted by several circular indentations. She froze. Those were hoofprints. Two sets of them, leading away from the boulder and deeper into the trees. The mare inhaled sharply... Jumping to her hooves, the mare began to follow the ashen hoof-prints. She could clearly see that one set was larger than the other. ...And dared to hope. Overhead, the light continued to disappear from the world. Night was coming, and it was coming quickly. The world was quickly losing all form and structure. The mare quickened her pace. Before long, she had left the trees behind and was now heading southward toward the end of the gullies. Here the terrain rolled gently, wild and unsettled. The daylight fell away, and the mare became more and more panicked. She hadn’t found them yet! She had to find them! Up ahead the hills slipped into darkness, the trees on them lost to the void of night. No, no, no! The mare stopped. The darkness pressed down on her like a physical burden. Her head darted left and right, her fear rising. No! Oh Luna no! But then, utterly impossible, she saw it – a gentle glow, flickering weakly in the distance. It burned on the edge of the world, seemingly an eternity away. The mare watched it intently. It was a tiny beacon in the world of shadow. She couldn’t believe it. Nopony would light a fire someplace so open. But still, there it was, burning against all belief. The mare was blind. She literally couldn’t see a thing in the night, but yet if she moved slow enough, making sure to keep a hoof out to prevent walking in to trees… Maybe, just maybe… Driven forward by the thought of her daughter, and with nothing to lose, the mare began to walk through the impenetrable shadow toward the light burning on the horizon. One hoof, then another, then another. Inching forward, step by step, always heading toward the light. The world was still lost to the all-consuming shadow of the night and the mare couldn’t even see her own hooves as they moved slowly along the ground. Except for the light – she could still see the light. It had grown dimmer and dimmer as the night had progressed, now little more than a smouldering glow barely visible amongst the shadows. But there mare knew exactly where it was. Even when she had dipped down into smaller valleys and temporarily lost sight of it, she had forced herself to breathe calmly. Keep going straight, move slowly, but keep moving. She had run into more than a few obstacles over the course of the night. Trees had often sprouted themselves in front of her, their low-hanging branches snagging on her ragged clothing. Boulders had stood resolute in her path, their cold surfaces uncaring and unyielding. For these, the mare had cared little. She merely walked around or broke herself free. She just needed to follow the light. It had crept up on the mare slowly at first, but before she was aware of its presence it was already there. Dawn slipped up over the horizon, blessing Equestria with the faintest hints of visible form and structure. In response, the mare picked up the pace. She didn’t say a word to the sky, her mouth instead set in a grim line. The light was so near now, it was just over the edge of this slight rise, nestled on the side of a gully. She was almost there.  She walked slowly over the edge of the valley, her battered and exhausted body standing triumphant, silhouetted by the infant light. Down in the valley, set in a small clearing of trees, the mare could see the light, or at least what was left of it. It was the remains of a small campfire, the wood now little more than a small pile of smouldering embers. Resting around the fire were two vague outlines. Looking at their manes, the mare could tell one was larger and male, and that the other was smaller and female. The mare felt her teeth set on edge. That was her daughter. She would recognize her sleeping form anywhere. She snorted quietly, suppressing the fire that was building inside of her. That pony had stolen her daughter. He had stolen her from the mare. He had stolen her, and she was taking her back. Creeping down the wall of earth, the mare kept her body low to the ground to muffle her approach. Around her, the trees stood a silent watch, scrutinising the pony and her movements. A light breeze rustled the ash on the ground. Other than that, it was deathly silent, save for the mare’s trembling breaths. She approached the larger of the sleeping forms carefully, using the trees as cover to hide her advance. With cold determination, she pulled the knife out of its temporary sheath on her leg, biting the handle hard. The mare’s eyes glinted as she crept up on the pony. Next to him were her saddlebags, their contents clearly pilfered. When she was about ten feet away – the sleeping ponies still oblivious to her approach – the mare paused. She took a deep breath, ignoring the whispering in her conscience. She needed her daughter back and this pony had taken her from her. Purposefully, the mare stepped out from behind the trees. She took two quick steps, spun on her front hooves and then bucked the sleeping form for all she was worth. The knife was tucked back in her clothing, but she didn’t remember putting it away. With a choked cry, the sleeping stallion woke as he was skidded across the ash. He tried to rise to his hooves, wheezing for breath, but the mare pounced on him again, kicking him in the side and shoulder. With another short cry he slammed into a tree and fell crumpled to the floor, spitting blood into the ash. The mare had felt his ribs crack. “Mama! NO!” the filly screamed, waking from the commotion. “Quiet!” the mare hissed, head low to the ground, her stance wide and waiting. “No, Mama! He-” “I said quiet!” The mare watched as the stallion slowly got to his hooves, leaning against the tree for support. He watched the mare desperately, wary of another attack. “Please, don’t… don’t!” he spluttered. “You stole my daughter,” the mare hissed. “You stole my daughter and you stole my supplies.” “I… didn’t… I didn’t know…” “You stole them from me.” “I…” he tried to say, but the mare was already moving, heading toward her daughter and pulling the filly behind her for protection. “Take it off,” she said simply to the stallion. “Wha… what?” “Your clothes, take them off. I can repair ours with them.” “But… But…” “Now!” Shuddering as he began to weep, the stallion did as he was told, slowly removing his meagre clothing. The mare watched as each piece fell away, revealing his naked body beneath. His coat grew in uneven tufts, and his ribs showed clearly through the battered and starved flesh. “Mama,” the filly whispered, now crying herself. “Please, Mama…” “Quiet,” she shot back. “Now,” she said to the stallion, “pass them here. Do it slowly. No fast movements.” Wincing as he lowered his body to the ground, the stallion picked up his clothes in his mouth and weakly flicked his head, tossing them to the mare. Not letting her gaze off the pony, the mare walked over to the saddlebags and deposited them inside. She noticed there were some new odds and ends inside now – just a few personal effects of the pony now at her mercy. She gestured to the filly to bring over the sleeping blankets, and she did, her eyes not once leaving the ground. The mare placed the blankets inside, filling the bags to bursting point. Closing the saddlebags, the mare slung them over her back, noticing their familiar weight. With both the stallion and the filly weeping softly, the mare approached him slowly. Her whole body was tensed, ready to react to anything. “Mama… he’s a good pony… Please, Mama!” The mare ignored her this time. “Now I want you walk,” she said bluntly to the stallion. He stared at her, not comprehending. “W-where?” “That way,” she replied, pointing with a hoof up north. “B-but… I can’t!” “Yes. You will.” “No… I can’t! I’ll die! Winter is coming and without food…” He gazed at the mare helplessly, his eyes wide and pleading. “I’m sick! I-I am sick! Please no, I’ll die!” His lower lip began to tremble, and his voice was thick with tears. “Walk. Now,” the mare said evenly. “I am giving you the chance to leave. Do so.” “No!” the stallion and the filly cried out simultaneously. “Now!” the mare yelled. “Leave!” “I…” the stallion cried. “Please,” he whispered. “Please…” The mare’s head danced toward the knife, her patience wearing thin. Seeing this, the stallion panicked. He turned and began to limp as fast as he could toward the north. The mare watched him go. “Do not stop moving till sundown… and pray that I never see you again.” Sobbing, the stallion soon disappeared amongst the ashen wastes, his form lost to the grey. The trees creaked ominously, and the breeze was stronger now. “Come on,” the mare said. “We have to go.” “He… he was a good pony…” the filly choked out. “We have to go now,” the mare said again. She turned and walked quickly back up the slight rise, the filly trailing behind her. On the top of the hill, the mare set a course that sent them southeast. She couldn’t see them yet, but she was heading toward more mountains. It would only be a matter of time. Around the ponies, the land fell back to the familiar flatness of the plains. The mare soon became aware of just how tired she was. Her eyes felt like leaden weights and her limbs were slowly becoming unresponsive. But she forced her aching muscles onward. She couldn’t stop yet. She had to get as far away from the stallion as possible. The filly walked silently, occasionally breaking the silence with a small sniff. The mare didn’t bother speaking to her. She was too tired anyway. She hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. The trees stood nearby, their dead branches moving angrily in the breeze. There was an acute sense of dread in the air. It was silly, but the mare couldn’t shake it off. The feeling hung in atmosphere, in the ash and in the trees. She tried to ignore it, shaking her head, telling herself she was just tired. Just tired… But something wasn’t right. Later that morning, after the filly had finally stopped crying, the small pony looked up at her mother. “He helped me…” she whispered. “Helped you?” the mare responded wearily. “He found me, Mama. He helped me… I… I…” “I what?” “I thought you were dead, Mama. I thought you were dead…” she whispered, unable to look her mother in the eyes. The mare froze, stopping in the ash, her face twisted in horror. “You…” she said softly. “I wasn’t dead… he… he stole you…” “He gave me food, made sure I was warm. He was a good pony, Mama! He was a good pony!” Her voice rose as she spoke, her eyes mad. “He was a good pony and you promised!” “I… promised?” “We’re not like them, Mama. We can never be like them!” The filly was crying again now, tears streaming down her cheeks. “We’re… I’m not!” the mare said, her stomach feeling like there was a shard of ice lodged deep inside it. “You promised, Mama… you lied,” the filly said simply, quieting down almost as quickly as she got angry. “I…” the mare pleaded. “I just wanted to protect you!”  The mare collapsed to the ground, simply too tired to stand any longer. She tried to lift her head off the ash but failed. The packs were too heavy. She couldn’t move. The filly sat down across from the mare, her eyes red and raw. She looked at her mother sadly before turning and looking toward the north – her back to her mother. Her mind unable to focus, the mare felt herself fall into unconsciousness, the world slipping away from her vision. She tried to fight it, but failed, the first tears escaping as her eyes slid shut. “Come on, Spades!” the mare yells down to her labouring friend. “We’re almost at the top!” “I’m coming…” the pony gasps out. The mare giggles softly before turning her attention back to the task at hoof. She is climbing a tree but not just any tree, though. The tree she is in is something of local legend with the foals at her school. Over the years, small ladders had been crudely nailed into the trunk by generations of schoolkids, winding their way precariously to the top. It was shoddy work at best, and every single parent had forbidden their children from climbing the tree. The mare wondered why they didn’t just take the ladder down, but she didn’t really get grownups most of the time anyway. The ladder stopped near the end, and the mare was just past that. This was the most difficult part, and something she would be considered a playground celebrity for if she pulled it off - climb the last little bit, the section without the ladders. It was near impossible, and it was stupidly dangerous, but the mare didn’t really mind. Carefully balancing on the narrow branch beneath her hooves, she reaches up and grasps a bow sitting a little higher up. Then, with a small push from her back hooves, she pulls herself up, wriggling a bit to get comfortable. The branch is too narrow to stand on, so she stays lying down, wrapping her legs around the wood for safety. She was fighting her own anatomy to make it work, but she was going to do it anyway. “Look, Spades! I am as high in the tree as anypony can get! I did it!” “You’re very high…” Spades mutters, far below the mare, struggling up the ladder spanning between two boughs. “Well duh,” the mare calls down. “It wouldn’t be very impressive if it wasn’t the highest tree in the park!” “Well… I guess…” The mare shakes her head and scoots a little further down the branch. It wasn’t her fault Spades doesn’t like climbing trees. She had to get all whiny to get him to come in the first place. Something about heights, though it doesn’t really matter.  In front of her, emerald-green leaves shift softly in the wind, rustling quietly as they do. The light is green underneath the canopy, the leaves filtering the sun’s orange glow. At the edge of the branch, the mare sneaks a look down, and immediately wishes she hadn’t. She isn’t scared, after all; she just did the impossible and climb the last little bit without ladders, but the ground is still an awful long way down. She can make out Spades slowly struggling up the ladders, puffing and muttering to himself. Returning her attention to herself, the mare tentatively pokes her head through the curtain of leaves. She closes her eyes to do this and suddenly feels the warmth of the sun hit her face. She smiles and then opens her eyes, allowing herself a small gasp. Stretching out before and beneath her, almost as far as she can see, is the royal city of Canterlot. On her left, fading into the distance, the mare can make out the towers of the royal castle, sitting as always on the edge of the city itself. All around her, though, is the more residential part of the city. Blocks and blocks of streets, suburbs and shopping districts constructed on sloping, ascending levels. Most of the buildings were a glossy white colour, decorated with gold or purple. The mare could see the sky-scrapers on her right. They were huge towers of glass and steel, stretching up into the sky, far higher than the castle. It was a shame they were tucked around the other side of the mountain where nopony could see them. “Come up here, Spades!” the mare yells down. “The view is amazing!” “I’m trying,” the small colt shouts back. “Hey! I think I can see my house!” “Yeah, yeah…” The mare smiles widely to herself. A gentle breeze caresses her face, catching loose strands in her mane.  This is fun, like… really fun. She should go climbing trees more often. Maybe there is an even bigger one someplace else in the city… A sharp crack snaps the mare back to the present. She scoots back on the branch, retreating back behind the leaves. Looking down, the mare gasps in horror to see Spades, now about halfway up the tree, clinging impossibly by his two front legs to one of the steps. She heard the soft thump as the one he was standing on just before hit the ground. “H-help me!” Spades yells out, his voice high-pitched with fear. “Wh-what happened?” the mare cries out, staring helplessly at her friend. “The ladder broke!” “I can see-” There is another crack as the step Spades was holding on to starts to fold under his weight. “Please!” Spades shouts. “I can’t pull myself up!” “I…” Trying to keep herself from panicking, the mare tries to lower herself down, but her hooves have no traction on the wood and she almost slips. She clings desperately to her branch, unwilling to move. “I… can’t!” “Please!” Spades pleads. The mare can see his eyes; they are wide and terrified. The mare is almost certain she can see him shaking. Her mind racing, cracking, panicking, the mare began to breathe heavily. “I… I am trying!” she yells down. Gritting her teeth, the mare tries to go back down. She eases her body gently onto the branch below her, gripping it with her two back legs. Then, she follows suit with the rest if her body, carefully lowering it onto the bow. She made it! “I… can’t… I can’t hold on!” “No, Spades! No! I’ll get down! Just wait! I’m coming!” With a short cry, the pony let go, falling quickly through the tree’s limbs. The mare watches as the whites of his eyes disappear. He hits the ground with a soft thud, and doesn’t move. “Spades!” she yells, screaming at his body on the ground so far below. “Are you ok? Spades!” The mare tries to climb down, but after almost slipping off herself, is forced to slow down. “Spades!” The mare watches as suddenly, the body of the small colt rolls over. His head sways dangerously, and he appears to be coughing, though the mare can’t hear it. “Spades! You’re ok!” Spades looks up at the mare, his expression unfathomable at this distance. The mare smiles hopefully, relief washing through her body. The small colt appears to shake his head before getting up and slowly limping away from the tree. “Spades! Where are you going?! Spades! Spades, wait! Please wait!” Yet Spades ignores her, and the mare watches in dismay as the pony disappears from her sight. “I… Spades?” she whispers softly to the ground. “Where are you going? Spades… I… I tried…” The mare woke to a cold and silent world. It was not dark yet, but the sun was low to the ground, casting long shadows over the land. She yawned gently, feeling her joints crack as she did. It was cold on the ground, and she was still lying in the same position she had been when she had fallen. Across from her, the filly was lying on her stomach, her head resting on her hooves. The mare watched her body rise and fall gently with each breath. She frowned and looked away and up to the sky. Overhead, the clouds seemed to be skating past, carried by winds that the ponies of the earth couldn’t feel. They could see its power, though; the clouds were soaring violently over the world, stretching and breaking. The mare rolled over onto her front, straining slightly as the saddlebags tried to hold her in place. It was still easier than before. Her muscles ached as she moved, still exhausted from her efforts. Recovery did not come easily with their diet. “You’re awake,” the filly said simply, not bothering to turn around. “I- I am,” the mare replied. “Are… are you ready to head out? We can cover some more ground before night falls.” The filly shrugged, but stood up regardless. The mare followed suit, feeling the saddlebags fall prey to gravity a lot stronger than she remembered. The filly waited, staring at the mare with a blank expression, expecting for her to move. Sighing slightly, the mare did, resuming their passage southeast. She wasn’t sure how she missed it before, maybe she was too exhausted, but now the mare could definitely make out cold shapes on the horizon. They were the mountains of Equestria, their peaks far more conical and picturesque than the mountains up north. These mountains, even though they were so much further south, were already capped in grey snow, visible even from this distance. They were drawing close. Home was in those mountains. Albeit on the other side and much further east, but still, it was a landmark. There was a pass in between these teeth of the world, and that’s where they were headed. It would put them straight into the fertile Canterlot Valley and right beneath home. As the afternoon sped towards its inevitable conclusion, the two ponies kept up a steady pace through the ashen plains. The ground rose gently, and small pockets of dead trees lay scattered throughout the terrain. Apart from that, the land was empty. Once upon a time, all of this was rich farming land, second only to the Canterlot Valley itself. There was little evidence of that left, though. One time the mare thought she saw a farmhouse in the distance surrounded by some trees, but she wasn’t sure. The mare attempted to draw the filly into conversation several times, but was met with stoic silence at each attempt. “Are you ok?” The filly stared pointedly at the ground. “I… are you tired?” The small pony shook her head slightly and picked up the pace, leaving the mare trotting slightly to keep up. It did not take long before she gave up, leaving the conversation amongst the ash. As the last of the light began to fade away, the mare finally relented and set up camp in a small thicket of trees. She cared little for their skeletal branches, as the wind whispered to her through them. The whispering in her head was loud enough. She swiftly prepared their meagre dinner, allowing the filly eat her half of the tin of beans before letting herself indulge in any kind of sustenance. To wash it down, she took a conservative gulp of water and let the filly do the same. Wincing slightly as the water sloshed all too audibly in the bottom of the canteen, the mare packed it away in the saddlebags. She paused, her muzzle still firmly within the rough depths of their bags. Still inside were the stallion’s personal effects. Slowly, the mare pulled them out one by one, lining them up on the ash in front of her. First came a jewellery box. Inside rested a single golden loop, designed to be worn around a pony’s hoof. The mare examined the jewellery closely, noting the recent signs of polish as it glistened under their meagre light. Placing the band back within the velvet box, she closed it and put it back on the ground. Next was a small scrap of paper, its contents almost illegible after the damage of time and whatever had stained it with those colourless blotches. It had been folded along well-worn creases into a small square. The mare opened it slowly, making a conscious effort not to rip it. The writing was small and loopy, the letters wrapping around themselves hurriedly in agitated strokes. The mare guessed that it was the writing of a unicorn. It was a letter, addressed to a pony whose name was now nothing but an unreadable smudge. ‘I am writing to you to tell you that I am not coming back. I know that this is not how you would appreciate finding out, and for that I am truly sorry. When I think about it, it is cruel, but right now, I can’t accept anything less than easy. And know that this, my love, is easy. I’m done. I can’t take the fear and the pain of watching everything we love burn and disappear as ponies turn on themselves. I know the food is running out, even though you keep saying otherwise. I know that we are running out of options and running out of time. I am a coward, I know. I hate myself for it, but then, I feel that it might be that hatred that only further drives me to this decision. I just can’t take the fear. I can’t take the fire, and I can’t take the ash. It is only a matter of time, anyway. Why are we still here? You still haven’t answered me that. We have no Princesses, no harmony, no friends, and no hope. There is nothing but fire, and it took me a time to realise that, but I have now. I know what you are thinking. And yes, I am taking our little Poppy with me. It is for this I am the most sorry. I know that you would say that she deserves to choose for herself, but she’s too young. She just doesn’t understand. And neither, I feel, do you. So I am taking her somewhere where she never has to worry, never has to worry about the fire, never has to worry about the fear. Maybe we will see you there one day. Maybe. I am so sorry for everything. Just know that I did, as Celestia and Luna were my witnesses, love you with all my heart. Goodbye and sweet dreams. Hopefully I shall see you on the other side – in a world where everything is beautiful. Just like before. In your heart forever, -Star’ The mare looked up from the letter, folding it back into its little square. Silent tears dampened her cheeks and she refused to look up from the ash. She just couldn’t do it. The last item she had found was a small, crumpled photograph, folded twice along the middle. With trembling hooves, the mare flattened it out. The photo was traditional black-and-white Heath’s Warming shot, taken in front of a cliché fireplace that was roaring happily in the background. Standing in front of it were three ponies, the stallion and two females: an older unicorn with a star for a cutie mark and a small filly, her smile glorious and her flank blank as an artist’s canvas before the first brushstroke. All three ponies were staring at the invisible camera, joy plastered over their faces. They stood close together, happy in each other’s presence. On the back, scribbled black pen dated the photo to the year before the end.  The mare folded the photo back up and put it and the other keepsakes back in the pack. She then reached over and blew out the lone candle burning inside the lantern. The pony let the darkness rush over the campsite with relief, letting the shadow obscure the tears that were streaming down her face and onto the ash on the ground. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, barely audible to herself. Fight the fear. Fight the dark. Every day it became harder. Every day the snake of fear tightened slowly. Sleep was a long time coming for the mare. The two ponies left under the watchful gaze of the clouds early the next morning. The light of dawn was rapidly illuminating the shadows of the mountains, jagged ridges and pointed teeth of rock and earth shooting up into the sky, framing the horizon. They stretched from the most eastern line of the horizon to the south, forming a rough semi circle. Sitting back amongst the trees, the mare left the stallion’s clothes. She couldn’t mutilate them. She couldn’t re-use them. She just couldn’t. There was still a long way to go before they reached the peaks of Equestria. The plains stretched out in all directions, broken by gentle rises and small hills, populated by dead trees. Upon cresting a small rise, the mare looked down into a small fishbowl-like depression in the earth and saw that they were nearing a small settlement. A rough patchwork of small cottages and shops, their once bright and vibrant paintwork now burnt and grey. A small river meandered through the town, framed on both sides by dead willows, their wispy, skeletal branches dragging along the water. While the mare couldn’t see any kind of activity or any signs of habitation, she chose to give the town a wide berth. They weren’t that desperate for food yet. The two ponies walked around the edge of the circular valley, broken only by small trenches allowing the river entrance and exit. They were silhouetted by the weak light and their shadows fell into the valley. The earth was soft and thick, and their hoof-steps sent small clouds of ash into the air. On the other side of the valley, the mare paused, peering down the depression. Sitting next to the river, its multi-storied structure crumbling and desolate, was an old farmhouse. Plains of barren ash reached away from it on its left. The building was framed by trees, their branches having long since been stripped away. The farmhouse itself was constructed in two sections, a three-story, rectangular tower and a smaller entrance block. Each story was furnished by once-ornate woodwork, covered in vine-like patterns which were now burned and barely recognizable amongst the grime and ash coating its exterior. All of the windows were broken and framed dark interiors beyond. In front of the house, a metal sign creaked on rusted chains. Its contents were too blurred to make out from where the two ponies were standing. The mare watched the house carefully, waiting for any signs of life. None were forthcoming, however, the only movement being the river and the sign moving awkwardly in the breeze. “Do you think we should go and see what’s inside?” the mare asked quietly, the first words any of them had spoken all day. “Sure,” the filly replied dismissively. The mare paused, taken aback. “Are you sure?” “Yes.” “Aren’t you scared?” “Not really.” “Oh,” the mare said slowly. “How come?” The filly flicked her gaze up to look her mother in the eyes. Her expression was heavy, questioning the mare’s intention. Then, she looked down and walked toward the farmhouse, not saying a word. The mare closed her eyes briefly before continuing, following after her daughter. A small stone bridge stretched out over the river to the farm. Its cobblestone pathway was coated in ash, and it was covered in small scorch marks, the remains of those that had not been washed away in the rain. On the other side, the mare walked around the edge of the house, staring up the slowly deteriorating building. Now that she was closer, she could see the turnips painted onto the metal sign, only just visible amongst the damage and peeling paint. The mare approached the front door cautiously. It was in two pieces, the lower half still connected to its hinges, while the upper was lying in several shards on the floor inside. She pushed what was left of the door open and it swung inward, brushing aside the broken wood as it did. The interior of the house was burnt and destroyed with charred furniture resting on a melted floor. Indistinguishable paintings hung on the walls to this entrance room, some of which had fallen to the floor, leaving rusted nails behind. Entering the room, the mare caught whiff of the musty smell of charcoal and mould, an inevitable conclusion with the burnt interior being open to the elements. She picked her way through the blistered room, making toward a hallway that led to the main tower. The filly walked a pace or two behind her, casting her gaze over the destruction. As the mare walked, she became amazed at the structural integrity of the building. The inside had been completely destroyed by fire, and the fact that the walls and roof, damaged as they were, were still standing was probably nothing short of a miracle. Along the hallway, the mare caught site of various smaller rooms shooting off, their original purposes no longer discernible due to the fire. At the end of the corridor, the mare found herself in a large open room with a staircase that hugged the walls, ascending higher into the tower. This room was in slightly better condition, and the fire damage was limited to places nearby the windows. Empty buckets and pails lay scattered about the floor. In this room there was a fireplace, the mantle of which contained a row of photos, all showing ponies smiling happily at the camera in various stages of life. The mare stopped briefly to look at these faded mementos, capturing moments in time now as faded and indistinguishable as the photos themselves. Would anypony remember these moments? Or were they just that, photos sitting in a broken home? The mare felt her face slip and turned away from the photos quickly. Even then, the photo of the stallion and his family, which was now tucked safely inside one of her chest pockets, seemed to grow heavy within her clothes. Swallowing hard, the mare walked away, heading up the wide wooden staircase. The mare found a collection of sitting rooms and various studies on the second level. All of the shelves within were either broken or burnt, their destroyed contents lying strewn over the floor. On the third and final floor, the mare found a series of bedrooms, all of them breaking off a wide central corridor. The mare poked around these carefully, looking upon the destroyed interiors with saddened and weary eyes. All, mercifully, were empty of any ponies, their previous inhabitants having long since disappeared. The last bedroom the mare entered was also the smallest. It was clearly a child’s room. An empty cot sat in the corner with a small mobile hanging limply above it. A toy chest sat up against one of the walls, covered in wallpaper that had peeled away and fallen to the ashen floor. It was closed with a small brass latch, and it creaked as the mare opened it. Inside was a small collection of toys, most of them clearly designed for a younger foal. The mare picked through its contents, starting slightly when she found the plush white alicorn princess lying near the bottom, her white coat yellowed and dirty. The mare slowly removed it with her mouth and placed it atop the chest. The toy was an almost perfect replica of the Princess. At least, she could only assume that’s who it was meant to be portraying. She wasn’t aware they had ever made toys like this. Behind her, the filly made her way to the cot, staring at its empty frame with dispassionate eyes. “Would… would you like this?” the mare asked, gesturing toward the doll. The filly turned abruptly and looked quizzically at the toy. “Is… is that Princess Celestia?” she asked tentatively. “I think so,” the mare replied. The small pony walked over to the toy and touched it gently with her muzzle. “It’s soft,” she said eventually. “It’s yours,” said the mare quickly. “You can have it.” “Wouldn’t that be stealing?” Her voice was blunt. “N-no. They would want you to take it.” The mare watched the filly’s expression soften slightly, as she stared intently at the doll. Then, reaching up with a quick hoof, she grabbed the doll and tucked it in amongst her clothes, a small smile now on her lips. “I’m sorry,” the mare whispered. The filly’s smile disappeared, and she turned to look at her mother carefully. The mare tried to hold her steady gaze, but couldn’t due to the pain that was racking her insides. “I know,” the small pony replied softly, causing the mare to look back up. “I know.” Before the mare could reply, the filly walked out of the room and disappeared down the hallway. The mare stood silently in the room for a moment longer before finally following her daughter out of the destroyed house. The day dragged on slowly. On the horizon, the mountains crept closer, the mare now able to make out some level of detail on their large hulking forms. Leaving the town and the farmhouse far behind them, the mare and the filly walked along the empty plains, now following a road set into the ash. It was cracked and worn; a stark contrast to the glossy black the bitumen had been before the end. The engineers had been specifically proud of their new roads. They had been a source of national pride. The mare remembered they even had a ceremony of sorts when they opened the first one. She was reluctant to use roads like this one; they tended to be crawling with patrolling groups of bandits, searching the land for new places to find stronghold after amassing stockpiles of food and resources. And with the large number of ponies who would be falling back south away from the winter, the mare knew that there was an increased likelihood of such an occurrence. Perhaps the fighting in Manehatten would slow down any bandits, but she couldn’t be sure. They themselves had made it through relatively quickly, after all. The mare paid little attention to their surroundings. She knew she should be listening out, but she just couldn’t find the strength. Instead, her gaze never really left the shattered and melted surface beneath her hooves, and her ears stayed flat against her skull, hidden amongst her tangled mane. At least the wind wasn’t strong enough to warrant wearing the hood up. The filly walked a pace or two behind the mare, also paying little attention to the world around them. The day was unusually still and quiet and it filled the air with a sense of uneasy complacency. Even the breeze had died down in the afternoon, leaving the ash sulking on the ground. As the sun finally began to slip behind toward the horizon in the east, the mare decided to make camp. She directed their direction toward a small depression in the earth and chose a small clump of trees nestled up against the small rise that hid them from the road. Still, she knew that there would be no using any light tonight, not with the road so close and the plains so empty. After dinner, with the little light remaining, the filly played quietly with her new doll, mumbling softly as she did. She didn’t say anything to the mare, though, so the mare let the silence rest between them. She was too tired to even lift her head to watch the pony play, and sleep soon found her willing and eager. The mare is standing on a shadowed room, the walls refusing to stay still. They are more solid than her dreams of late, but she can still see the shifting darkness moving just below the surface. In the room with her is a small bed, the jet-coloured sheets that seem to melt into the pitch-black frame. A small dresser sits near the bed with a mirror that reflects nothing but inky darkness. A cupboard stands nearby, its doors closed and locked tight. On the dresser is a small photo, the same one the stallion was carrying. It is the only thing in the room that is not made of darkness. The mare thinks she is alone in the room until a soft voice calls out from behind her. “Mama?” She turns and sees the stallion, covered completely in the living shadow, standing in the doorway. His eyes are completely white, coloured with small black iris which are filled with swirling pearlescent patterns. He looks at the mare sadly who takes a small step back. “Mama?” she repeats, not understanding his words. “Yes,” he says. “Mama.” “But…” The dream shifts suddenly, and the room abruptly disappears. The mare gasps as the world spins around her, and she loses sight of the stallion in the void. Suddenly, her vision rights itself, and the mare finds herself standing in the middle of a clearing of trees. The plants here look almost healthy constructed by the shadow, their empty branches suddenly filled with obsidian leaves. A small campfire is in the middle of the clearing, and it’s burning with small tongues of shadow, its light becoming lost in the world around it. “Mama?” the voice asks again, this time much more gently. “I…” the mare says, turning around. She gasps. In front of her is the stallion, but now he is a small colt, his tiny body covered in shadow that appears to be alive. It dances and flickers off his body like fire, small wisps of it disappearing into the shapeless void beyond the trees like embers. He is no older than the filly. “Yes, Mama,” the colt says. “You left me, Mama. Why did you do that? Did you want me to die? Did you want to leave me alone in the cold and the dark?” “No!” the mare shouts. “No, I never wanted that!” “Then why, Mama? Why did you leave me like that? Don’t you love me any more, Mama?” “I… I… I am sorry! I am sorry! Please, I am sorry!” “But I’m still dead, Mama,” the colt replies evenly. “I’m still dead. Apologies and words won’t fix that, Mama. You of all ponies should know that.” “I didn’t… I didn’t mean for that,” the mare whimpers, her eyes wide and her whole body trembling. “I guess it doesn’t matter any more, Mama. I’m still dead, aren’t I? But know this, Mama. I still love you. After everything, I still love you. How does that make you feel, Mama? I love you.” “No…” the mare cries. “No! I am sorry! I’m sorry!” “Goodbye, Mama,” the colt responds, his body already beginning to blur as an unseen and unfelt wind picks it apart from the seams, literally unravelling it in front of the mare. “Wait!” the mare yells. “Wait!” “Goodbye, Mama,” the colt says again, his voice fading away into nothing. “Goodbye and sweet dreams. Maybe one day I will see you again. Maybe one day…” The mare crumples to the ground as the shadow world starts to collapse upon itself, huge chunks of darkness now raining down from the sky. “Goodbye.” The next morning, they headed off after a meagre breakfast consisting of some oats they still had left from Manehatten. The mare had to scrape some mould off, but they were edible enough. The mountains were decidedly closer now, almost as if they had crept up on the ponies in the night, silently stalking them like the timber wolves or manticores in the old pony-tales. The mare shivered slightly as she got up. It was bitterly cold, the warmth having been sucked out of the world from the day previous. There was little activity in the clouds, though, so at least it wasn’t snowing. Yet. Beside the mare, the filly got up shakily. Her eyes were half-closed and her mouth drooped slightly. That struck the mare as odd; after all, they had plenty of time to rest the night before, so she shouldn’t be tired. She didn’t say anything, however. They headed out southeast again, angling toward the mountains. The mare tied a blanket around her and the filly’s necks to try and add another layer. The air was icy. The two ponies walked over the gently sloping earth, which was now beginning to break into steeper hills and gullies. It wouldn’t be long before they entered the foothills of the mountains. The trees became more frequent, the condensed thickets joined together by trails of stragglers, their branches all bare and burned. Occasionally, the filly would cough, shattering the familiar silence of travel. The mare looked over to her daughter, who looked away, her expression explaining that she was fine. Frowning, the mare let the issue go. She didn’t want to press her, considering everything. Their hooves sunk into the ash beneath them, sending up soft swirls as they stepped up. The loose ash blurred the world around their bodies, obscuring their legs, creating the impression of some sort of ethereal movement. The mare soon pulled up the face mask constructed out of an old scarf to cover her mouth and nose. The ash did terrible things to a pony’s lungs. As they walked the mare tried to think of something to say to the filly. Last night’s dream still lingered within her mind, and she often found herself flinching as she remembered how the colt had spoken. However, she could think of nothing to say that would make it better, and was forced to walk in silence. The day passed by quickly, and before long, the sun was already beginning its rapid descent toward the west, lost behind a haze of cloud and ash, transforming them into a bloodstained horizon. That afternoon, with the shadows lengthening around them, the two ponies crested a small rise and stopped. Resting inside the gully was a house, both too small and surrounded by too many trees to be a farmhouse. It was damaged and part of the roof had been eaten by fire, but otherwise appeared relatively intact. The mare approached the house with caution. She watched the empty windows as they sat gaping in the side of the building, revealing nothing of the darkened interiors beyond. To the mare, that was always a good sign. Boarded up windows showed that somepony had tried to live there since the end. The front of the house was furnished by a small wooden porch. The colour had faded from what the mare guessed would have been cream to a now muddy shade of decay. A rocking chair covered in ash rested next to the door. The filly went straight up to the chair and lightly pressed her weight onto it, testing its integrity. When the chair held, she sat down properly. The mare watched her carefully. “Don’t you want to come inside?” “No… I’ll sit here.” The mare raised an eyebrow and the filly looked away. Her eyes appeared tired and bloodshot. There was even a small trail of mucus hanging from her nose. “Are you ok?” the mare asked again. “I’m fine,” the filly replied. “I just don’t want to go inside.” “How come?” “Because I don’t want to, ok?” the small pony said forcefully. Her brow crunched up in small wrinkles. The mare decided not to press the issue any further and so entered the house alone. “Call out if you need anything, ok?” she said, opening the door. “Ok,” the filly replied, watching her mother walk through the doorway. The mare found herself inside a large and spacious circular living room. The wooden panelling was curved in a natural fashion, reminiscent of the inside of a tree. Several sofas and recliners sat arranged in a homely style around an ornate coffee table. Pictures hung on all of the walls, all of them displaying some sort of landscape from all around Equestria. Everything in this room was covered in ash and dust. The spaces near the windows had suffered from weather damage and now the carpet was mouldy and rotting. Picking her way through the room, watching the dust and ash compact under her hooves, the mare headed towards the door. It led to a hallway running deeper into the house, lined on both sides by pictures spaced evenly between doors. Every photo featured the same two ponies: a male and female earth pony. The mare caught herself wondering who they were. Did they have names? What did they do for a living? Did they have family that loved and cared for them? The mare shook her head to clear those thoughts. If they did, there was no use dwelling on it. That’s what the end did anyway. It stripped ponies of their identities. It literally burned away any trace of a pony besides what others could remember. And of those, there were few left to remember anypony at this point. The first door on the right led to the kitchen. The shelves here all stood open, revealing bare interiors. The mare rummaged through the draws and pantry anyway but found nothing but dust. She even tapped around the walls, but she knew it was useless. They were made out of solid wood and were unfit for any kind of compartments. Leaving the kitchen, the mare poked around a few of the other rooms. There was a bathroom, a study, and another living space. She took a moment to browse lightly over all of the shelves, and picked a few books that looked interesting off of the floor. Their pages had all been damaged beyond readability, though. In one of the sitting rooms, she had stared at the glass decanters resting on a silver tray. They were still filled with an amber liquid. Torn between taking it and not, the mare finally opened it and was met with a foul, sour odour. Wrinkling her nose, she closed it with a soft clink. The last room was the bedroom. She pushed the wooden door with a hoof and it swung inwards gently. Lying on the bed, covered by musty sheets were the skeletons of two ponies. Scraps of blackened flesh clung to their frames as their skulls rested gently on the pillow, facing toward each other. Blinking twice, the mare entered, trying not to look at the dead. A dresser with a broken mirror sat on the wall directly opposite the bed. Resting on it were several pictures, their frames cracked, revealing the yellowing images inside. The mare looked at these for a moment before turning sharply away, her eyes dull and lifeless. It was then that she noticed the small table in the corner of the room. The mare approached the table slowly. On it sat a record player. It was one of the wind-up ones that had been introduced before the end, kind of like a music box. The old wooden frame was cracked but otherwise appeared to be in a decent condition. Curious, the mare reached out with a hoof and began to slowly wind up the handle. She listened as the springs inside tightened excruciatingly, protesting loudly at the use after so long. After she had wound it up for about a minute, the mare placed the needle onto the black record and waited. It took a moment, but eventually, the record began to spin. Unevenly, yes, but spinning nonetheless. The mare listened closely as a soft sound began to fill the room. It took her a moment to realise that it was piano. She was listening to the sound of a piano. Before long, more background instruments started up, their gentle tones fighting against the static of the record that popped and hissed as it spun. It was a peaceful song, but it filled the mare with a sense of longing for something she couldn’t quite name. Then suddenly, the vocals hit. “Do you remember what I said? What it meant to be me, To drift along through the open plains, And walk along the straight lines…” It was a female’s voice, and the mare couldn’t help but close her eyes as she felt the velvety singing wash over her, calming, soothing, relaxing… reminding. “But who am I when the sun starts to set, And the moon refuses to shine in the sky? Who am I when I walk this road, Through the shadows of every lie?” The mare felt her lip tremble as the music washed over her. She tried not to listen to the lyrics, but she couldn’t. She was trapped, completely under the spell of the vocalist. “As the moonlight breaks on the water, And the mirror lies broken on the floor, Who is that reflection I see, That broken pony staring back at me? So I sing one last time, Hoping that you will hear, Hoping that you will see, What it’s like, to be me Do you remember who I am now? After all I have said, Do you know who I am now? Even after all I have done… Even after… even after… All I have said… all I have done…” With a soft hiss, the record stopped spinning, leaving nothing but the sound of the mare’s sobbing as she cried into the silence. “I’m sorry,” the mare whispered as she fell to her knees. “I tried… I really did try… “I’m sorry…” The mare is standing in a dark room. The walls are bare and the lone window is boarded up with sheets of metal drilled into the wall. A series of tables in one corner of the room are piled high with cans, tins, jars and containers of water. There is about half as much than there was when they first came into the room. A bathtub sits in one corner of the room. It is filled with water which ripples slightly as the building shakes gently. Next to the bathtub are piles of clothes and equipment, unsorted and cluttered. Outside, a fierce wind strikes the building relentlessly, causing a high pitched whistle to fill the air as it forces its way through the tiny cracks in the window. The mare is trying very hard to ignore this. Instead, she is staring at the floor, unable to speak. They’d had this argument before, so why does it scare her so much now? Her husband is pacing near the door, clearly lost in thought. Next to the door are a set of packed saddlebags, filled with supplies. The filly, still only a baby, is crying softly in a corner, wrapped in blankets. “Well,” the mare says finally, breaking the silence that had fallen with a tortured voice. “What are you going to do?” “You know what I have to do,” the stallion shoots back. “No! I don’t!” the mare yells, suddenly desperate. “I have no idea why you have to! You know what they do, so why are you going?” “Because I can’t stay here,” her husband replies. “And they’re just rumours.” “We have seen it! We have seen what they leave behind! You saw them kill River! You saw them!” “I… They were different.” He seems momentarily subdued. “They’re not! That’s how it all starts! They do one bad thing and that leads to another. There is no stopping!” “Yes there is! Come with me! We can keep them from doing those things! We can save other ponies like River!” “You know I would never go with them. I would never abandon everything we used to live for!” “Used to live for?” the stallion yells, halting his pacing. “What did we used to live for? Harmony? Peace? Those things don’t exist anymore! You have seen what ponies are now! You have seen what the world is like! There is nothing like that left!” “There’s nothing left because ponies like you have given up!” the mare retorts. The filly is crying louder now, her cries almost drowning out the sound of the wind outside. “You have forgotten what made life good! You have forgotten what made ponies good” Her husband is silent for a beat, his head lowered. “I haven’t forgotten,” he says quietly. “I remember just as well as you do. Heck, I go over those memories just as much as you! But I know something that you don’t… they’re just memories! Those days are never coming back! The fire burned any chance of that. There is nothing left! Nothing!” “Then why are you doing this?” the mare pleads. “Why would you do this?” “Because we have to survive. If I join them, then I might survive. If you come with me, I can protect you. I can keep you safe. We can survive together.” “But you’re running… you’re running from me. You’re leaving me and the baby here in the darkness to die while you join those murderers…” “I am trying to survive. We won’t live much longer here. Food is running out, and where do we get more? Manehatten and we’ll be killed. Las Pegasus and we’ll be killed. Out to the frontier towns and we’ll be killed. Out to Trottingham and we’ll be killed! Every place around here has been picked clean a long time ago! There is nothing left!” “I…” the mare says, watching as her hope falls around her. “Just… please don’t leave! This is not who you are! I know you! I know and I love you, and this is not who you are! Don’t leave me!” “Know me? We’re nopony now. There is no identity. We just survive or we die.” “But I know you! I know who you are! You wouldn’t do this! You are nothing like them! This is not who you are!” “I am nothing anymore,” her husband says softly, unable to look her in the eyes. “Please don’t go… don’t leave me… please,” she whispers softly, her eyes filled with tears. “Please… don’t leave me…” “I’m sorry,” he responds. “But I’m going.” The mare sits down heavily, as her husband puts on his saddlebags. He opens the door, revealing an empty corridor beyond. He steps out into it and turns to look at his wife one last time. His eyes are distant, un-focused. “Please…” the mare whispers one last time. “I’m sorry,” he replies softly. “I truly am. Goodbye, my love. Maybe I’ll see you again. Maybe not. Just know that… I really did love you.” And with that, he closes the door behind him, leaving nothing but the sound of the filly’s cries, the wind and the mare’s gentle sobs as she curls into a ball to escape the pain. Dawn was still a long way away. It took the mare some time before she was finally able to head out of the bedroom. She closed the door behind her with a resounding click, and walked away from the room, leaving the dead and the record player behind. Drying the moisture left on her face with a foreleg, the mare re-entered the entrance room. She could hear the sounds of the rocking chair outside, creaking slowly as it moved, unseen by the mare. She heard a faint cough, easily recognizable as the filly’s. The mare pushed open the front door and stepped outside onto the porch. The filly was right where she had left her, still on the rocking chair. However, she was lying down now, her head twisted awkwardly up against the back of the chair. Her eyes were closed but flickered underneath her eyelids. Her mouth danced open and closed as well, silently whispering nothings into the air. Her heart aching, the mare walked straight up to her daughter and nuzzled her closely, enjoying the warmth radiating off her face onto her own. She was very warm, actually. “M-mama?” came a weak voice, croaking slightly. “I love you,” the mare said desperately, hugging the filly close with a leg. The filly shifted slightly in position to return the hug, wrapping both of her front legs around the mare’s neck. She held on tightly, burying her face in the older pony’s shoulder. “I love you too, Mama,” the filly whispered. The filly was hot against her face and neck, and she could feel the sweat clinging between their two coats. She paused. “Are… you feeling ok?” she asked, breaking the hug. The filly looked down, abashed. “I… I don’t feel so good, Mama…” The mare froze, her expression locking in to one of quiet horror. “What do you mean you don’t feel so good? In what way?” “I… feel so tired, Mama… And I feel so hot. Like I am burning up like a fire.” The mare quickly threw her mind back, trying to remember anything in the last few days that could have caused the filly to get sick. She had treated any water they encountered and the food had never been anything worse than usual, and besides, she had eaten everything that the filly had eaten as well. Suddenly, she froze. The words of the stallion echoed back to her, “I’m sick! I-I am sick! Please no, I’ll die!” Sick. He was sick. Oh Celestia no. Not sick, not now, not here. “Mama?” the filly asked, her voice shaking, weak, and frail. “I… we have to go,” the mare said suddenly. “Why? Where are we going?” “We have to get you medicine. Now.” “Medicine… but…” The filly’s eyes went wide. The mare didn’t respond and instead helped the filly off of the chair and onto the ground. She was a little shaky on her hooves, but she stayed upright. “Can you walk?” the mare pressed hurriedly. “I… I think so,” the filly replied. “Good. We have to go.” “But where, Mama? Where?” “There is a town just through the valley between the mountains. It’s where the mares of harmony used to live. That should have a hospital.” “Ponyville?” the filly asked shakily. “Yes, that’s it,” the mare responded. “Ponyville.” “And there will be medicine there?” “We’ll see,” the mare said. “We’ll see.” “…Mama, I’m scared,” the filly said, her voice shaking. The mare hugged her daughter tight. “Don’t be,” she whispered. “I’ll look after you. I promise.” “P-promise?” “Promise,” the mare affirmed. The filly shook slightly but tried to stand up straighter. She was trying so hard to be brave… “Come on,” said the mare. “There’s still some daylight. We are going to see where the mares of harmony lived.” A/N: A massive thank you to Sessalisk for editing, and an equally big thank you to everyone for reading. Questions? Comments? I appreciate feedback of any kind, so please let me know how you are finding it! I shall see you for chapter 7!