It was the end of Lieutenant Roscoe’s first week on the job.
The chocolate-colored stallion with a spikey blonde mane had expected things to be simpler when he signed up for Appleoosa’s Sheriff’s Department. A few robberies, the odd desert creature that would ransack storages, drunken revelries. Just enough to keep him interested in the job and not make him bored. And the Sheriff’s Department was the only place that offered him that.
But then he received the call from that odd fellow who worked at the apple ranch, who might have been just a little different. He called Lieutenant Roscoe over almost as soon as the resounding bang! had come through the desert and that odd pink sphere surrounded Canterlot.
He’d been quite affable about the situation. Told him what he heard and everything. And then he said he saw this black streak going down a few hundred yards away, just over a hillside. It looked like a pony but was all black and had holes in its legs. And bug-like wings. And from that description Lieutenant Roscoe had crossed out a robbery, a desert creature, or a drunken reveler.
It looked like things were about to get interesting.
Lieutenant Roscoe crossed the orchard and went over and up the hill that the farmer stallion had mentioned. He climbed up the hill and saw, in the distance, what looked like a pair of pony legs sticking up out of the sand and another black pony sprawled near a sand bank nearby looking like it had crashed.
Lieutenant Roscoe called over to the ponies, but neither of them seemed to stir. He took out his little black baton and held it in his mouth, at the ready in case something decided to show up. He slowly walked up and called out again, but nothing happened and neither one stirred.
It was only when the Lieutenant was a few paces away that he saw the holes in the legs of the pony sticking up in the sand and the chitin-like underbelly of the other one.
What in the name of Celestia is this…? Roscoe thought.
He saw the bug-like pony twitch, but assumed it was in the middle of its death throes. He turned his attention to the pony sticking bottom up in the sand and poked his baton at one of the holes. The little black stick went right through the leg. But it didn’t seem damaged. Matter of fact, it looked natural. He looked down along the back to a pair of wings that reminded him of those on the back of a fly. But, what would a pony be doing with those? Didn’t pegasi have feathers?
He had no time to deliberate it. The other bug-like pony was inches away from his face and hissing, spitting into his face. The mouth was open and revealed two white fangs sharp as those on a coyote, and its eyes were a singular shade of blue.
Lieutenant Roscoe immediately jumped backwards. The thing was eyeing him up and did not charge. Roscoe readied his baton and pounced, but the bug-like pony was too fast and jumped out of the way. It tried to fly away, but its wing appeared broken and it could get no more than a foot or two off the ground. Roscoe saw it straining and jumped at it, colliding with the bug-like pony and causing them to roll along the ground as he delivered a swift hit with the baton to the side of the bug-pony’s jaw. He saw a sliver of white go past him, and when they’d stopped with the bug pony over him, he saw that one of its fangs was missing.
But something strange happened. He wasn’t looking at the bug-like pony from before. He was looking at the mare he’d seen working at the general store last week. She was crying like she was hurt, and only then did he see the bruise on the side of her face, dark blue and black against her purple coat, and a faint green glow in her blue eyes.
Roscoe dropped his baton and forgot about the bug-pony. He was so sorry about hitting the mare. He’d been trying to defend her from some monster, you see, and didn’t realize that it had gotten her in the way. The mare started crying into Roscoe’s shoulder, and he gently embraced the mare and stroked her mane, speaking comforting words as he tried to explain himself.
After a while, the mare calmed down, and so had Roscoe. Only minutes ago, he’d been fighting for his life against a bug-like pony. But there was no threat here. Roscoe felt himself relax as he and the mare exchanged gentle words with each other. The gentle rhythm and cadence of their speech was soothing, told Roscoe the danger was over.
He suddenly felt himself grow weak, as though the fight had taken all his energy out of him. She told him he probably wasn’t used to it, and why don’t they go back to Roscoe’s and he can make up for hitting her by making her a nice meal and giving her company that evening.
Roscoe agreed, and the mare smiled wide.
The presence of a single fang in the mare’s mouth caused Roscoe to shake his head. He felt dizzy and strange. The mare was trying to comfort him again, but Lieutenant Roscoe pushed himself away, backwards towards where his baton was lying in the dirt. The mare’s cries seemed more and more frantic.
When Roscoe blinked, the mare wasn’t there anymore. The bug-pony was back and its horn was glowing a bright green. Roscoe inched himself backwards again as it prowled over to him, trying once more to get inside his head. The figure switched back and forth between the bug-pony and the mare every time he blinked. Every time it was the mare, he felt himself grow weak, but then it would change back to the bug-pony and he’d be filled with renewed vigor.
Finally, it jumped at him, hissing. Roscoe had just enough time to grab his baton and deliver a solid whack to the bug-pony’s side. It flipped over in mid-air and fell upon the desert, once more sprawled out on its side. It tried getting up, but the Lieutenant was quicker. He charged the pony and hit it again and again and again until he saw blood seeping out of its mouth and it moved no more.
Lieutenant Roscoe was panting. He felt weak and tired, but the adrenaline coursing through him kept him awake, alive. He spat some dust out of his mouth, turned around, and ran back for Appleoosa with full intent to warn Sheriff Silverstar of what he’d seen.