//------------------------------// // Into the Outback // Story: Outland // by Dafaddah //------------------------------// Outland by Dafaddah Chapter one: Into the Outback Edited by Sharp Logic, Microshazm and Mythee A manticore, many days ago. Shad stood, muzzle lifted high, as still as one of the many stone critters he found scattered all over the forest. Only his nostrils betrayed the smallest hint of life. They barely twitched as he carefully drew in the breeze and read the signs of life and death that rode upon it. Raccoons. Rabbits. Squirrels. Birds. Nothing was out of the ordinary, here and now. The air carried only the earthy smells of the forest and of the usual small animals. A deer passed by not too long ago. It had beechnut acorns for breakfast. Despite his peaceful surroundings, he didn’t move a muscle. Patience was a lesson Shad had learned well. He continued to focus on the wealth of information being delivered to his sensitive nose. Beehive. Not too far upwind. The appetizing scent made his stomach growl. Shad winced, but he knew enough not to let himself be tempted. The bees were many, and jealously guarded their hoard of liquid gold. He frowned in frustration, remembering a taste which he had only experienced twice in his life, and the pain that had resulted from his attempts to taste it once more after she was gone. Shad tried hard to put it out of his mind and just focus on the stories carried by the breeze. He steeled himself by recalling her lessons. Scent was important, she had told him. Scent was better than eyes, especially in the dark. Scent let you know what was behind you. Scent let you get away before the monsters pounced. Scent kept you alive. Only now, scent had nothing more to tell him. Good! Satisfied, he relaxed just the teensiest bit, and took a few cautious steps, moving as silently as a shadow through the trees and the undergrowth. He followed an animal trail, a narrow path nibbled through the brush by countless mouths over the course of years. For one who was wary and fleet of hoof such as he, it provided easy and quiet passage to his favourite place to drink water. Birds, chipmunks. Shad stopped and spied the place from beneath the last few boughs of the trail, ears erect. A minute’s vigil confirmed there were no large critters come to slake their thirst. Head erect, he moved cautiously down to the edge of the stream, casting furtive glances all around. Here, the water burst from the hillside, cold and clean and tasting sweeter than any other water he had ever found. Even better, it flowed fast and deep: monsters couldn't rush him from across the stream, and the long steep slope from the ridge above let his ears know when any critter tried to approach from that direction. He put his muzzle down into the cool stream, drinking deep. Looking down he saw his reflection in the still water at its edge. Hi, pony! He smiled and waved a damp reddish brown hoof at the colt, who of course waved back. Strands of his dark mane dipped into the water, linking their two heads together. For some reason, just looking at the pony in the water gave him a warm feeling in his barrel. That feeling was the other reason he liked coming here to drink. Crickets. Crows. Shad raised his eyes and scanned the area quickly, then turned his gaze back down to the face in the water. Just then a stray wave from the current broke the image into a jumble of colours marked by sparkles of reflected sunlight. He sighed. He always liked to say goodbye before he left, but it usually took a while for the water to become still after being disturbed, too long for it to be safe. His expression grew hard. It’s not time to play! he thought and raised his damp muzzle high. His ears swiveled in lazy arcs searching for the quiets. Seeing the other pony reminded him of her and the lessons she had taught him. The quiet tells you where the monsters are, she had said many times. Hear the quiet! Even now, there was little that caused him more dread than the voices of the forest grown silent. The quiet made his heart beat so fast he felt as it might burst from his chest. Well it hasn't so far! he told himself, and if it did I would be just as dead as if a monster caught and ate me! He smiled at the joke. It was easy to smile when the forest’s voices were speaking. They told him of the deer keeping watch in the thicket up ahead, of the squirrels that argued overhead in the canopy, their sharp little eyes seeing only rivals for nuts and trees, and of the birds. The birds saw the monsters that flew above the canopy and warned their fellows below that danger approached, a warning freely shared with any other critter who bothered to pay attention. He looked around. Shad had learned early to trust scent and sound, but never sight. Sight was a last resort, trusted only when other, less limited senses failed. Sight could mislead you. Having a monster in sight meant the monster could see you. And just seeing some monsters could mean death, a lesson learned too late by the stone critters scattered around the forest, forever frozen, screaming out mute warnings to all who saw them of the price of looking some monsters in the eye. Quiet as a shadow, he slowly made his way around the base of a river of rocks and pebbles that dropped from a broken section of the ridge. He never climbed the bank here as the noise could be heard from quite far away, and monsters’ ears were no doubt listening for the lazy ones who took the apparently quick path up. The bones of those who had made that mistake in the past littered the forest above it. Hawk. Squirrels are angry. A few minutes later Shad had climbed all the way back up to the summit of the ridge. From here he could see the lake, and the place that hid his home. He always felt lighter just at the sight of it. He remembered when they had walked the ridge together. She smiled whenever they passed by this place on their daily treks and called it a beautiful view. He had to agree, and not only because she said so. It was as if seeing such a big piece of the world all at once made him feel bigger inside as well. The sun shone and the lake was as blue as the sky. He paused. Does that mean that the sky is also made of water? That would explain the rain. The question went unanswered, as did all his questions since she left. He grazed for a while as he pondered things like clouds, lakes and rain. The grass here was sweet, and there were many vigilant little noses, ears and eyes all around him. He felt their watchful attention and was soothed by the sounds they made as they boasted to each other of full bellies, warm days and safe dens. Cicadas. Woodpecker. He moved as he grazed. Every few paces he planted his hooves firmly in the loam, and felt the whispers of all the little lives upon, within and below it. They too smelled, and listened and watched, and the sound of their many legs scurrying and their munching mouths also told him about the forest and what lay below. They told him important things, like where the plants that killed awaited, their poison, spines and crushing strength seemingly asleep. But the little lives knew where they sat in stillness, avoiding them. The quiet under the ground was no less a sign of danger than the quiet above it. Today, there was no lack of busy lives beneath the clearing. Shad ate until he had his fill, and no more. When he ate too much he became slower, and in the forest there were only two types of critters: the quick and the dead. Wanting to avoid their fate, he made sure never to let himself become one of the slow. Once he hurt a leg and was forced to limp back home. He didn’t leave it for more days than he could count four times. The water in the cave tasted bad, but it was safe, even if he grew horrendously, painfully hungry. He now made sure to keep enough dried food in the cave in case such a thing ever happened to him again. Looking down towards the lake he saw that the sun was getting low in the sky. He soundlessly moved in the direction of home. Along the way he collected the plants he used to hide his scent. He rubbed them on his coat and tried not to sneeze when the pungent juice got close to his muzzle. They were potent, but as far a he knew nothing but certain bugs would ever eat those plants. No critter sought them out, not even monsters. The birds began their evening chorus, too numerous to count. It was time to seek safety for the night. There were many different paths that went towards his home. He avoided taking the same path twice within a double count of days. After he entered the thicket of thorn bushes that led to the cave, he stopped and listened, just to be sure no critter or monster had followed him. Loons on the lake. A whippoorwill. Crickets. Finally Shad reached the entrance of the cave and moved aside the barrier of thorns and brambles he used to hide the entrance. The sides of the opening were so tight it was barely wide enough for him to pass, and its ceiling in many places was only a few hoof-widths above his head. With his mouth he tugged on a vine that pulled the barrier back into the gap behind him. He moved carefully up a passageway that snaked back and forth through the rock for several ponylengths before opening up into a cave several lengths wide and with a ceiling almost as high. He stepped over a small pile of ashes and the charred remains of sticks. At night, a small fire in front of the opening to the passageway was enough to make the space very secure from any predator small enough to gain access to the cave through it. It was quite dark in the cave. The only light issued from the embers of a small fire smoldering in a natural bowl-shaped depression in the cave wall. Shad carefully constructed a small pile of wood at the passage’s opening, then with his mouth he took a branch from a pile of tinder and placed one end in the brazier. The dried branch quickly burst into flame. Moving carefully he shoved the burning end under the pile of wood. He stepped back as flames lit up the cave and set shadows dancing on its walls. It also made the images drawn there seem almost alive, the bright yellow, green and ochre of the lines providing a cheery menagerie of ponies and animals big and small. He smiled in contentment. He was safe for at least a few hours. His belly was full. There was only one thing that could have made him happier. “Momma,” he said the word. He didn’t have many words. Before Momma didn’t come back they had lived a life of quiet vigilance. They only talked in the cave, and even then in hushed tones. Silence was a discipline he had learned before his earliest memories. He thought of her as he prepared for rest, carefully chewing on and then brushing his teeth with a green twig as Momma had taught him. He lay down in a small depression lined with dried grasses and feathers. He recalled the sound of her voice when she whispered to him in the night. Her smell still lingered in the cave and especially here in their sleeping nest. The feel of her chestnut fur when he snuggled next to her. The warmth of her body, so huge and reassuring. The sound of her breathing as she slept. Shad no longer cried at night, or at least not so often anymore. He curled up tightly. “Momma,” he whispered once more, the one word that encompassed all that was good, and fell asleep, her presence in his mind and the longing to be with her again in his heart. Zecora wiped the sweat from her eyes with the back of a pastern, carefully laying the results of almost two days’ labour on her workbench. The hoof-sized ball contained a concentrated form of alchemy and magic that was unstable in the best of conditions. “Zebra girl, that's none too soon,” she scolded herself, “you rise before the setting moon.” Despite her weariness she took the time to have a light supper of oatmeal before gingerly packing the ball she had invested so much time and energy making into a secure compartment in one of her saddlebags. It was the leaf-green pair she used on shorter forays into the Everfree. She then finished tidying up her work bench. Zecora never knew what creature, or curious young filly – she smiled at the thought – might walk into her house while she was out, so she always ensured that her more dangerous supplies were safely stowed away. She diligently checked the provisions in her saddlebags one last time and with a satisfied grin set them next to the door. Tomorrow she would go hunting for dangerous game. She was wise enough to be scared at the prospect, but then it wasn’t her first time, and she knew well how to prepare. Some zebras would be horrified if they knew she attempted such hunts by herself. She imagined the censure on their faces as she suspended her hammock between two posts near the hearth and climbed into it. When one is alone, then one must suffice. And to live as I do, alone is the price. Zecora blew out the candle and let the darkness take her spirit into the nightlands. The day started out much like the one before it. This was not a hardship for Shad as it had gone quite well. He had a quick breakfast of flowers collected the previous day followed by a visit to the river for a morning drink. He washed often to keep his scent to a minimum, and also because he enjoyed swimming a great deal. Momma had long ago found the perfect place for them to take a bath. About mid-way up the ridge a small stream cascaded into a bowl-shaped depression that lay at the top of a huge slab of rock. Reeds and water-lilies dotted the the pond, which was screened by a thicket of evergreens that grew around and over it, forming a canopy. Yet the area surrounding the rock was relatively open, and so, despite being hidden from monsters’ eyes, it gave them a clear view to spy the approach of anything larger than a mouse. This was the place of his most joyous memories. Here he had played with quiet abandon in the pond, chasing, evading and splashing his mother as she turned bath time into a game. Her bright smile and watchful eyes hovered over him as he chased skaters, frogs and tadpoles, blew bubbles in the water, and swam in what to the tiny foal seemed a huge lake full of happiness, the only place where he could safely play in the sun. Hawk. Bluejays. As Shad slipped into the water, echoes of those happy times brought a smile to his lips. Of course, since he became alone he had to start keeping watch for monsters himself, and so he couldn’t really play with abandon as he had before. Still, he had taken to bringing crumbs of dried plants to feed the tadpoles. There were even shy little fish in the pool now, and he was transfixed for seconds at a time by watching their darting movements. These had become less timid over time, and more greedy for his crumbs. Sometimes he had to chase one away with a hoof so that the others could get some as well. Magpies. A whole family of the birds landed near the opposite edge of the pond and began their own bath time. Reassured by their presence, he looked down into the water and spotted a familiar grey shape barely as long as his hoof was wide. “Hello, Ponyfish” he whispered. Ponyfish was his favorite fish and he delighted in seeing how it had grown over days too many to count. “You’re big now!” The little grey fish didn’t answer. It never did, but it still approached the closest and got the biggest share of the crumbs. “Hello, Badgerfish. Hello Rabbitfish.” Ponyfish’s little friends were always close by. He gave them the remainder of the crumbs. The magpies were just as noisy as usual, and tended to drown out other sounds. But he wasn’t concerned as their sharp little eyes and ears missed nothing. It was the perfect moment for him to submerge his head and finish his bath. A moment later he climbed out of the water and shook his coat until it was passably dry. Before leaving the thicket he turned back towards the water and waved a hoof at the fish and tadpoles, faintly sad to leave their timid company behind. Zecora woke before dawn, as she had intended. She had far to travel over difficult terrain, much of it dangerous as only the Everfree could be. To boot, she had to get to her destination early enough or she wouldn’t be able to start the hunt for her intended prey. She washed up and finished the oatmeal left in the pot from the previous night. Opening the front door she said prayers to the setting moon as she sprinkled water over her threshold, and then repeated the offering to the spirits of the hunt, asking for a safe and prosperous journey. Finally she shrugged into her saddlebags and took off into the heart of the Everfree. As she was in a hurry she had no time to collect medicinal or magically potent plants along the way. Twice however she spotted patches of poison joke, as well as ice berries and camphoria roses, these last two useful to fight fevers. She noted their emplacements, even though finding them again was by no means a simple task in the mutable forest, where shrubs, trees, and sometimes even hills could move considerable distances overnight. Zecora nevertheless kept her keen eyes roving. She knew every plant and and could recognize the spoor of most of its animal denizens on sight. Her knowledge of the forest had been hard won, and was the reason she could move through it unharmed. Even before leaving her native Zebrabwe she had learned all she could of the Everfree in books and accounts from intrepid travelers that had bravely explored the chaotic forest. These books took pride of place in her cabin's limited library, and she had annotated many passages with her own notes on the Everfree's flora and fauna. Keeping an internal catalogue of what she saw, and keeping a lookout for anything new, made the journey and the miles fly by. Mid-day saw Zecora almost to her destination: a low mount deep in the interior of the forest, where some of its larger denizens made their dens. Topping a ridge she stopped to catch her breath. There were many reasons she lived in the Everfree. Some were more private, but others were simple and easily understood. One such was the incredible richness of its flora and fauna for a practitioner of the alchemical arts such as herself. Another was that, despite its intimidating wildness, it could be a strikingly beautiful place, as in this spot: the first of a series of hills above a lake, with several large flowered clearings in plain view. Then her sharp ears picked up a certain sound. She quickly opened a pocket on her saddlebag and pulled out a long thin stick of snake grass. At first it waved and thrashed despite the gentle breeze. After a moment it seemed to favour one direction. A few seconds more and Zecora was convinced that her prey was in the area. Saying another prayer to the spirits of the forest, she put the snake grass away and took out a hoof mirror and the ball she had so laboriously prepared. She stalked purposefully into the lea of the forest.