“Scootaloo?” Apple Bloom’s voice sounded behind her.
Scootaloo didn’t answer immediately. Her wings were caught up in a wild rose’s thorns, and it took several painful tugs to free them, plus a few feathers. She gave the tangled stems a kick, which didn’t do much besides shower her with pink petals.
It did feel good, though. She let out a little huff of satisfaction and turned to see how her friends were doing.
Apple Bloom seemed fine. Although she was by far the dirtiest of the three, having taken several detours to stomp in puddles or kick loose bark from the trees, she didn’t have any trouble moving through the brambles and stickers that filled the Whitetail Woods like foam in a bubble bath. She just set her hooves and plowed forward, and the plants either broke or tore out at the roots.
Sweetie Belle also seemed fine, to Scootaloo’s immense surprise. Thorns had left a few rusty scratches up her legs, and her chest was smeared dark with grass and bark, but she moved with surprising ease through the thickets, somehow finding the little trails that tunneled between the vines. She was even humming some quiet tune beneath her breath, and every few steps a little chirp of song would burst out from her lips, as though she couldn’t quite keep it hidden in her breast. The brambles that kept catching in Scootaloo’s wings slid right off Sweetie’s coat, and she barely noticed them in passing.
Filly Scouts again, probably. Now Scootaloo really wished she could go.
“What?” she called back to Apple Bloom.
“Where exactly are we going, again?”
“You know.” Scootaloo tried to wave her hoof, but ended up snagging her leg in another rose. “Ow. Uh, exploring.”
“We’re not getting very far,” Sweetie said.
“And we’ve been out here for hours!” Apple Bloom pointed up at the sun, which barely poked through the shifting leaves over their heads. It had barely moved since they had begun their trek through the woods.
“Well, duh!” Scootaloo pushed herself through another bush, this one thankfully without any thorns or brambles or nettles or stickers. “You gotta walk a long time to get somewhere no pony has ever been before. Like, at least another hour.”
So they walked for another hour. Or more! It felt like at least five to Scootaloo, and that the sun should be ready to set at any moment, but the rays breaking through the canopy barely budged.
Finally they stopped beside a narrow stream. Cobblestones poked out of the water, and insects flitted across the surface, leaving little expanding circles in their wakes. Scootaloo licked her parched lips and stumbled down the root-laden banks to splash in the water. A few seconds later Apple Bloom landed beside her, sending up a huge spray that soaked them both and left them giggling. A quick dunk slaked her thirst, and she relished the cool, mineral taste of the fresh streamwater.
“Do you think we’re exploring yet?” Sweetie asked. She walked along the stream until she found a shallow slope and slid down to join them.
Scootaloo gave the surrounding woods a glance. They were more open now, with larger trees spread farther apart and less underbrush to block their path. There were no trails, or old fence posts overgrown with vines, or rocks stacked atop each other like foals might make. The woods were pristine and untrod.
“I think we are,” she answered. After a short pause, she added, whispering, “Awesome.”
“So what now?” Apple Bloom jumped across the exposed stones to the stream’s far bank. “Go home?”
Scootaloo’s stomach rumbled, reminding her that lunch was now several days of wandering overdue, but she ignored it and twisted her head back to stare at her flank. Still blank – not that she expected any different, but it never hurt to be sure. “Nah, let’s keep going. I got a good feeling about this.”
They hopped up onto the far bank and kept walking. Around them the trees slowly changed, growing larger, their trunks broadening and growing wide roots that dug into the marshy soil. The roses and honeysuckle faded away, replaced by ferns that rose above their heads and slender climbing vines that stretched between the branches. Mossy beards hung from the trees, and a heady, floral scent filled the humid air. Huge leaves dripped water all around them, dappling their coats.
“Huh, never been here before,” Apple Bloom said. She paused to examine a lotus floating in a small pool. The pink blossom was nearly the size of her head.
“I didn’t know Ponyville had a rainforest,” Sweetie said. A long millipede crawled out of the thick litter beneath her hooves, probed at her leg, and then scuttled away.
Scootaloo frowned. “It’s not a rainforest. It’s a jungle.”
“Does Ponyville have a jungle?” Apple Bloom asked.
There was a pause as the three considered that. Above their heads, a troop of monkeys bounded from branch to branch, sending bits of bark and broken twigs raining down on them.
“I guess it does,” Sweetie finally said.
Jungles were pretty cool, Scootaloo decided, even if the hot, wet air kept matting her feathers. She glanced back at her flank on the off chance that… no, still nothing. She let out a quiet sigh and tromped forward. “C’mon girls. We’re not done yet.”
* * *
Eventually the jungle gave way to a vast marsh. A few inches of turbid water covered the squishy mud as far as they could see – which wasn’t far, for all around them grew great stands of sawgrass and cattails so thick the world ended in a green curtain just out of hoof’s reach. Above them, faintly through the slender tips of the waving grasses, Scootaloo saw willows and pines swaying in the breeze.
“Is this, like, a swamp?” Apple Bloom asked.
“I think it’s a bog,” Scootaloo said.
“Maybe a fen?” Sweetie poked at the tall grass crowding them. Something skittered away with a quiet splash.
“What’s a fen?”
“I think it’s like a swamp,” Sweetie said.
“Oh.” Scootaloo frowned down at the muddy water. “Okay, I guess it’s a fen.”
“Whatever,” Apple Bloom shouldered her way between them. “Are we done explorin’? I’m getting hungry.”
Scootaloo opened her mouth to tell her friend that no, they weren’t done exploring, and wouldn’t be until she was good and ready to be done, but her stomach chose that moment to let out another gurgle. She covered it with a cough and a blush.
“I think we passed some blueberries,” Sweetie said. “Maybe we could eat them and keep exploring?”
Hm, blueberries. Scootaloo decided she liked that idea. “Yeah, sounds good. C’mon.”
The three of them turned and pushed back through the grasses, seeking out their path in broken stems and orange feathers and hoofprints in the water. Scootaloo took the lead, of course, and eventually she stumbled over an old rotting log, half submerged and barely visible beneath a tangle of thin vines. The stems wound all round the wood, into the water, and then back up the grasses, crawling up them, expanding outward and upward. Tiny five-petalled flowers, a pale eggplant color with bright yellow stamens, poked out from between the arrowhead leaves.
“Score!” Scootaloo shouted. She dove into the brush, pulling at the leaves until she found what she wanted – clusters of berries, still a pale green this early in the season, but delicious nevertheless. She chomped them down, relishing the acidic, sweet taste as they burst on her tongue.
“Mm!” Apple Bloom was already neck-deep in the shrub herself. She pulled out of the bush, a half-dozen stems trailing from her mouth as she chewed, a blissful, contented expression on her face. “S’good!”
They devoured half the bush in a heady rush, ignoring the stains the berries left on their lips and coats. Several minutes passed in bliss before Scootaloo realized Sweetie Belle hadn’t joined them. She was standing to the side, a sprig held up with her magic just a few inches from her face. There was an intent look on her face, like Twilight Sparkle sometimes got when reading a really thick book.
“Uh, Sweetie?” Apple Bloom wiped her mouth with her foreleg. “You gonna eat that? Cuz if not, I’d—”
“I don’t think these are blueberries,” Sweetie Belle said.
There was a pause.
“Er, yeah they…” Scootaloo gave the plant a longer look. “Really?”
Sweetie Belle shook her head.
“Well…” Apple Bloom turned and spat out a few bits of the berries. “What are they, then?”
“I think it’s nightshade,” Sweetie said. She seemed very calm about the whole thing.
There was another, longer pause.
“Uh…” Did they taste a little different, now that she thought about it? A little bitter, beneath that first sweet bite? A little metallic, like sucking on a nail? She sat down hard, not minding the mudding water soaking her hindquarters. “Aren’t those, you know, bad for you?”
“Poisonous?” Apple Bloom asked. There was a slight green cast to her face.
Sweetie seemed to think about that for a moment. “I think so.”
“But…” Scootaloo stared at the green pulp staining her hooves. “They’re not red!”
“They don’t have to be red to be poisonous.”
“Yeah, apples are red, and they aren’t poisonous!” Apple Bloom voice rose in indignation, but as soon as she finished she winced and curled over, her forelegs held around her abdomen. “Oof, uh, I don’t feel so good.”
Neither did Scootaloo, now. Her tummy rumbled, and she hugged her legs around her belly. “Me too. Are we gonna die?”
“I can’t die!” Apple Bloom wailed. “My sister will kill me!”
“You girls only ate a few. I think you’ll be—”
“Oh Celestia, we are! And I never got my–” Scootaloo paused to check her flank, “–my cutie mark!”
“Me neither!” Apple Bloom stumbled over to wrap her in a hug. “Oh Scoots, I’m sorry!”
Scootaloo buried her face in Apple Bloom’s shoulder. “No, I’m the one who should be sorry! I led us here!”
“Girls, it’s really not—”
“It’s not fair!” Apple Bloom bawled. “I just wanted blueberries!”
“But now we’re going to dieeeeeee!” Scootaloo couldn’t help drawing out the word into a wail.
“You don’t have to die,” something whispered. Its voice filled the fen, slithering between the tall grasses to their ears. Everything else went still – the wind, the buzzing insects, even their hearts froze. They stood stock-still, only their eyes daring to move, darting about the tight confines of the leafy blind.
Scootaloo recovered first. She swallowed and licked her suddenly dry lips. “Who… Is somepony there?”
“Not somepony,” the voice returned. It was quieter now, and they had to strain to hear it. “Down here. By the log.”
Scootaloo twisted in place, pushing Apple Bloom’s legs away. The log was just a few steps from them, still covered in the damaged remains of the nightshade bush they had devoured in their hunger. In the shadows beneath it, covering the dark wet bark, a small shape caught her eye. It was not the brown of rotting wood or the bright green of leaves or the pale, enticing purple of nightshade flowers. It was dark blue and shone like a gem when tiny bits of sunlight fell through the tall grasses to touch it. She licked her lips again and slowly reached out with her hoof, brushing away the concealing vines.
A spider perched on the log, just inches from her snout. A plump, round body the size of her hoof balanced on eight spindly legs that narrowed to needle points. Its carapace was polished, and the sun reflected in it was a bright point that left spots in her eyes. Upon its abdomen rested a pale star, the only break in the featureless perfection of its smooth skin.
“Hello, little ponies.”
“Oh, wow,” Scootaloo whispered. “You can talk?”
“Spiders can’t talk,” Sweetie said, suddenly beside her. Despite her words, her eyes were wide and filled with wonder, and she slowly lifted a hoof toward the spider.
“Magical spiders can.” The spider leaned back, and its two front legs, segmented needles nearly a foot in length, rose up to brush against Sweetie’s hoof. “But that’s not important. What’s important is the berries your friends ate.”
Oh, right, the poisonous nightshade in their bellies. Scootaloo grimaced again, already imagining the berries’ juices seeping into her bloodstream.
“You can help us?” Apple Bloom asked. She hadn’t approached the spider and still stood behind the others.
“If you wish.” She could see the spider’s tiny mouthpieces quivering in time with the voice. “I can lead you to the magic spring, which cures all ailments.”
Scootaloo’s tummy gurgled again. “That would be really awesome, miss… uh, what should we call you?”
The spider was silent for a long moment. Its quivering fangs froze, and it rested there, half its weight on the log, the rest pitched forward to lean against Sweetie Belle’s hoof. The silence extended, and Scootaloo began to fear that her words had offended it. She opened her mouth to apologize.
The spider beat her to it. “Spiders do not have names, little pony. You may call me whatever you like.”
“Okay, um…” Scootaloo glanced at her friends, who looked at her blankly. “How about Starry?”
“No, Webby!” Apple Bloom said. She pushed forward, joining the rest of them next to the spider’s log.
“Bitey!” Scootaloo countered.
“Leggy?”
“What about Rarity?” Sweetie said.
There was silence as they stared at her. Even the spider seemed taken aback.
“Really?” Scootaloo said.
“Well… nevermind.”
“Right.” Apple Bloom was slow to turn her attention back to the spider. “Sorry, I guess we’re not very good with names.”
“That’s quite alright. I never needed one before.”
“Well, how about just Missy?” Scootaloo said.
The spider tapped its front legs against the log. Its eyes, eight black gems that caught the sun and sparkled just so, seemed to focus on Scootaloo as it thought.
“Missy. Very well, you may call me Missy.” The spider bobbed and spun in a quick circle, its nimble needle legs flashing in the sunlight as it moved. “I have a name. This is wonderful. Thank you, little ponies.”
“Sure, sure,” Apple Bloom said. “So, about that magic spring…”
“Of course, you wish me to lead you to it? I will be happy to do so, if you can assist me.”
“Oh, it’s like that, huh?” The bitter taste was suddenly back in Scootaloo’s mouth, and she fought to keep the scowl from her face. “What do we have to do?”
“There is a wicked badger who lives in this bog with me,” Missy said. She scuttled along the log until she reached a dark hole and darted inside. When she emerged a moment later, a large white ball, soft as cotton and covered with countless strands of silk, was fixed to the underside of her abdomen. “Every month he comes and destroys my egg sac before it can hatch, and so I have no little spiderlings. I will lead you to the spring, if you take me and my children with you.”
“Oh. Oh!” Scootaloo flushed and tried to ignore the hot well of shame seeping up the back of her neck. “I mean, yeah, of course we’ll help you.”
“Babies?” Sweetie looked intrigued. “Okay!”
Apple Bloom shrugged. “Whatever. As long as we get to that spring.”
“Wonderful, just wonderful.” Missy skittered back toward them, and then seemed to step out into the air. Her body wobbled and she swung upside down, dangling from an invisible line of silk. She crawled up it until she was nearly level with their heads, and she beckoned Scootaloo closer with one leg. “Come closer?”
Scootaloo paused. “You don’t bite, right?”
“Not friends, no.”
“Well, okay.” Scootaloo ducked her head under the spider’s dangling body and shivered as those eight needle points found their way into her mane. Missy wiggled in place and settled between Scootaloo’s ears. “Comfy?”
“Quite. This is fascinating. I did not realize ponies were so soft.”
With Missy as her guide, Scootaloo led them back through the bog. Eventually the tall swaying grasses and soggy mud gave way to sandy soil and short pine shrubs. Countless fallen needles muffled their hoofsteps, and the rotten stench of the swamp gave way to the sharp tang of junipers and evergreens. Far above them a hawk circled, a lone dot in a vast blue sky, its shadow occasionally flitting over their path. The sun was just past noon, Scootaloo guessed.
The hours passed, and they stopped at a small stream to drink and kick the sand out of their hooves. It coated them and turned each of their legs the same dull dun.
“Hey, how far away is this spring, anyway?” Apple Bloom asked.
“Oh, very far, little pony. If it were near, it wouldn’t be magical.”
That made sense, Scootaloo decided. Nothing in Ponyville was magical – it was just a plain, boring village where nothing exciting ever happened. She snorted and kicked at a clump of sandy grass.
“Are you okay, Scootaloo?” Sweetie Belle asked. There was barely any white left in her coat after their day’s adventure – only patches of her coat showed through the melange of sandy tan and barky brown and swampy green. The mess didn’t seem to bother her, which was odd when Scootaloo considered Sweetie’s sister.
“Yeah, just...” She glanced over to see Apple Bloom splashing in the stream, apparently content to ignore them for the moment. “Don’t you wish there was more magic in life, sometimes?”
“Like, more unicorns?”
“No, more… I dunno.” She scowled and kicked the clump of grass again. Between the stalks and the grains of sand, something pale and smooth, like the inside of a seashell, caught her eye. She blinked and leaned forward, sticking her muzzle into the blades for a closer look.
A milky eye stared up at her. She jerked back and sucked in a quick breath, nearly dislodging Missy from her head.
“Oh ho, a snakeskin,” The spider said. She dug her spindly legs back into Scootaloo’s mane and brushed her fangs against Scootaloo’s ears. “You should take it. It may come in handy.”
“But…” Scootaloo bit her lip and leaned forward. The snakeskin wound all through the grasses, pierced in places by them, filled with sand in the tiny shallows of its scales. It was not a large skin – only a few feet long if she were to stretch it out. A garter snake, perhaps, or a young rat snake.
“Take what now?” Apple Bloom asked. She tromped up beside them and peered down into the grass and then jerked back, just as Scootaloo had. “That thing?”
Sweetie Belle tapped the skin with her hoof and scrunched her face in concentration. A flickering light surrounded her horn, and slowly, fitfully, the snakeskin lifted out of the grasses. A quiet rain of sand trickled down as she shook it clean, and it hovered between the three of them like a fish swimming through the air.
“Well, okay,” Scootaloo said. “Sweetie, you got it?”
“Uh huh!” Sweetie floated the husk behind her head and draped it over her shoulders like a shawl. “Neat!”
* * *
They continued, and the hours turned into days. The soil beneath their hooves grew drier, the pine shrubs shorter, and the air hotter. The sweat dried on their coats, forming a white crust beneath their eyes and along their barrels like lichen growing on a boulder. The flat earth began to buckle and then to swell into huge sandy dunes, frozen waves that rolled on and on away from them into the distance. At night the temperature plummeted, and they huddled together beneath Scootaloo’s wings, their teeth chattering as they named the stars and constellations, and when the sun rose they were already on their hooves, trudging through the sand, always following Missy’s directions.
The dunes grew, and when they stopped atop one Scootaloo peered back. Their hooves left a trail winding through the valleys and hills, growing smaller and smaller with distance until they vanished on the edge of the horizon. Far beyond, nothing more than a smudge in the hazy air, she saw what might be the shadow of a forest haunting the edge of the world.
“Hey, uh, how much farther is it, Missy?” Apple Bloom asked. It was the first words any of them had spoken in hours.
“Not much further, I think. Just to the edge of the desert.”
“But aren’t we past that?” Sweetie asked.
“The far edge, dear.”
“Alright, come on.” Scootaloo turned to look ahead. Faintly, at the edge of her vision, tall shapes like chimneys seemed to float above the shimmering air. She squinted at them, and peered up as a shadow suddenly darted overhead. A hawk circled far above them, a black grain of sand nearly lost in the blue. She stared at it for a few seconds, then lowered her head and stepped over the lip of the dune. Together they slid down the steep side, squealing with a moment of joy.
* * *
In time the loose sands gave way to hard-packed dirt and rugged arroyos. They trudged up and down short-walled canyons filled with boulders and the ghosts of streams. Towering columns of basalt dotted the badlands like the pillars of some monstrous cathedral, and the starry vault of the night sky was their ceiling.
Still they wandered, following Missy’s gentle proddings, eager for the magical spring to quench their thirst and and cure them of the poisonous nightshade still in their bellies. At least, Scootaloo assumed it was still in their bellies. They weren’t dead yet, but maybe it was a slow-acting poison. She pondered that for a few hours as the sun beat down on their backs. Beside her, Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom were likewise silent, lost in their own thoughts. Only the occasional flitting shadow of a hawk high overhead kept them company.
Scootaloo was so lost in thought that she nearly stepped over the edge of the world. She stumbled to her knees with a yelp, her wings buzzing to pull her back from a cliff that dropped thousands of feet. The canyon before them was huge beyond comprehension – the far side was lost in the distance. Clouds floated by below them, casting drifting shadows on a rich green valley through which a sparkling river flowed.
“Whoa,” Apple Bloom exhaled. She stood on the edge and gawked down at the abyss. “Is that… is the pool down there?”
“It is, little pony. We are almost there.”
“Great!” Sweetie Belle chirped. “But how are we getting down?”
“There is a ferryman, so to speak.” Missy lifted a leg and pointed to their left. “Walk along the edge until you find him.”
“Alright. Come on, girls!” Scootaloo took off at a gallop, ignoring the quiet squeal as Missy bounced along in her mane. The lip of the canyon was like a knife’s edge just feet away, and her wings buzzed as she leapt over shallow draws and defiles that eroded the stones beneath her hooves. Behind her, she heard the rapid crack of hooves on rock as Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom raced to keep up.
“I said walk! Walk along the edge!”
“But this is faster! Woo!” Scootaloo leapt over a particularly large cut in the cliff’s edge, her wings outstretched to carry her the extra distance.
“But you’re going to miss him, little pony! Stop!”
Scootaloo skidded to a stop. Her chest heaved and her lungs burned, but she ignored the discomfort. Indeed, there was nothing special about the cliff here. Just broken stones, a few cacti and a lone spindly tree growing perilously near the edge. “What? I don’t see nothing.”
“There, by the edge. Be careful, please, for both our sakes’.”
Scootaloo frowned at Missy’s tone. There was a quaver in the quiet hiss she whispered in Scootaloo’s ear. She sounded worried. Afraid.
Her pause gave Apple Bloom and Sweetie time to catch up. They stumbled to a stop beside her, scowls on their faces. Apple Bloom barely looked winded – Sweetie was bent double, her breath wheezing in her throat.
“Did ya have to run?” Apple Bloom asked.
“Let’s… let’s just… wait a minute,” Sweetie managed to say after a few false starts.
“Yeah. Now, hush, Missy says this is it.” Scootaloo walked toward the edge, stopping when she reached the line of cacti growing along it. They were huge things, swollen in a thousand different forms: she saw spiny ball cacti and a fluted cactus trunk rising high above her like a tree. Cactusy vines wound around them and spilled over the edge beyond her sight. In the center of the mass, stubbornly clinging to the edge of the cliff, a gnarled locust tree leaned over the precipice. Half its branches were bare and dead, the rest sprouted thousands of tiny yellow-green leaves that fluttered in the faint breeze.
“What, this?” Apple Bloom asked. She gave the nearest cactus, a squat bowl-shaped mass of thorns spotted with bright red flowers, a careful nudge with her hoof.
It nudged her back. The three fillies squeaked and jumped away, eyes wide as the mass of plants moved. The countless spines twisted like grass in the wind, their hard, serrated edges rasping against each other and setting the fillies’ hair standing on end. The ground before them rumbled and broke, and the locust tree lurched away from the edge of the cliff. Its roots tore free from the rocky soil, and the tree crawled toward them with a lurching, ponderous gait. Its trunk, Scootaloo now saw, was wreathed in wicked thorns, some as long as her leg, all bristling with smaller thorns which themselves sprouted even smaller thorns. In places they bent back toward the trunk or branches, puncturing the smooth bark and drawing out weeping runnels of sap.
They stared up, gawking, as it spoke. “What brings you here, little ponies? Why do you disturb me?”
Missy ran the needle tip of her leg up the edge of Scootaloo’s ear. “I cannot speak to trees. You must ask him for passage below.”
“We, uh…” Scootaloo stared up at the tree, her mouth hanging open. “What?”
Sweetie stepped forward, though she kept a careful distance from those vicious spines. “Hello, Mister Locust Tree. We’re sorry to disturb you, but we need to go down into that canyon. Can you help us?”
“You have come a long way. I have watched you for days, ever since you left the pine barrens.” The ancient tree twisted its crown, and though it had no front or back that Scootaloo could see, it seemed to be gazing into the distance behind them. “What draws you here?”
“We ate some bad berries,” Apple Bloom said. She rubbed her belly for emphasis.
Scootaloo took a step closer, so close the long thorns brushed against the ruff of fur on her chest. “There’s a magic pool in the canyon, Mister Tree. It will cure us if we drink it.”
The tree shook, and Scootaloo suspected it was laughing at them. A shadow darted overhead, and the branches quaked again as a hawk landed in them. It stared down with its round, red eyes.
“You walked all these leagues for a magic pool? Is there no magic back in your village?”
“In Ponyville?” Scootaloo snorted. “There’s no magic in Ponyville. It’s boring!”
“Its filled with chores!” Apple Bloom said.
“And sisters!” Sweetie Belle made a face.
“And grown-ups! They’re all so… grown-up!” Scootaloo said. She scowled and kicked a stone, sending it tumbling off the edge of the cliff. It vanished without a sound.
“I see.” The tree shivered again. “Well, I will be happy to convey you to the bottom of the canyon. If you will do one, simple thing for me.”
Scootaloo leaned back. “Okay. What?”
The tree swelled. Its trunk expanded, as though it were taking a deep breath, and the bristling thorns belted to its trunk seemed to reach toward them. “I am a honey locust, and I am cursed with these thorns. My only friends are these cacti, and they cannot love me, for they are cacti, and they are as cursed as me. For centuries I have brooded over this cliff, little ponies, and all I have ever wanted was a hug. If you will hug me, I will carry you down.”
“Ooh, um…” Scootaloo leaned away from the thorns. “That’s, uh… Is there anything else you want?”
“No. Just a hug.”
“You can’t hug trees!” Sweetie Belle said.
“Sure you can,” Apple Bloom said. “My sister does all the time.”
Silence. All eyes turned toward Apple Bloom. She ducked her head and scuffed her hoof on the dirt.
“Applejack says it makes the apples bigger,” she mumbled.
“Right. So, you wanna…” Scootaloo waved at the locust tree.
Apple Bloom touched the tip of her hoof against one of the thorns. She jerked it back with a yelp and stuck it in her mouth. After a moment she shook her head. “Nope.”
“Ugh. Sweetie?” Scootaloo asked. The unicorn just shook her head.
Think! Scootaloo pounded her head with her hoof, nearly dislodging Missy in the process. She gave the thorns another long stare. They seemed longer than before, long enough to pierce her whole body. Perhaps she could squeeze between them, and give the tree a pat on its trunk? She edged closer and tried to slide her hoof between the countless points, but only made it a few inches before she felt the first pricks against her leg. She groaned and pulled back before they could break her skin.
“Maybe there’s another way?” Apple Bloom said. She rubbed her belly with a hoof and grimaced. “But, uh, we should probably hurry.”
Scootaloo’s tummy rumbled, and she imagined the berries still in it, seeping their poison into her veins. “Right. Right. Okay, think girls. What can we…” She trailed off as her eyes fell on Sweetie Belle.
The unicorn fidgeted. “What?”
“Do you still have the snakeskin?”
“Uh huh. I tied it in my mane.” Sweetie’s horn glowed, and the snakeskin unwound itself out of her mane, sending the hair falling in loose waves over her withers. “What about it?”
Scootaloo spun back to the tree. “Mister Locust, would you accept a hug from a snake?”
The locust’s leaves rustled quietly. The hawk perched among them tilted its head at the snakeskin, as if pondering its value as a meal. After a moment it turned its attention to its wings, running its beak through the feathers to preen them.
“I suppose that would be acceptable,” the tree said.
“Yes!” Scootaloo snatched the floating snakeskin in her teeth, ignoring the stale taste of dry parchment it left in her mouth, and wrapped it around the trunk. She stepped over barrel cacti and between palm-like lances to fully encircle the tree. The long thorns punctured the skin, holding it fast, so that even the whipping wind barely disturbed it.
Scootaloo stepped back and examined her work. The snakeskin was long enough to wrap fully around the tree, with the split tail reaching just past the empty mouth. If she squinted, she could imagine it was a real snake giving the tree a hug.
That was silly, of course. She shook her head and looked back up at the locust’s swaying branches. “How’s that feel?”
“It is…” The branches shivered like a sigh. “It is wonderful. Oh, I never imagined a hug could feel so good. Thank you, little ponies.”
“Er, you’re welcome,” Scootaloo said. “You can, you know, keep it, too.”
“You are so kind. Please, climb in my branches, and I will take you down the cliff.” So saying, the tree bent its crown toward them, until the lowest branches brushed against the dry soil. Thousands of soft leaves, no larger than flower petals, teased her muzzle.
Scootaloo reached into the foliage, pushing it away to find the thicker branches that could support their weight. There were thorns among them, but they were green and soft, and they bent as she pressed her way forward. The hawk, just a few feet away, squawked at her and mantled its wings. She shushed it and settled on the branch, close enough that her flank brushed against its feathers. The other fillies followed her, but kept their distance from the hawk.
“This is safe, right?” Apple Bloom asked.
“You’re not going to drop us?” Sweetie Belle said.
“Of course not. But you should hold on tight.”
“Why?” Scootaloo shifted her weight as the tree rose back to its full height. “How exactly are we getting—whoa, whoa! Wait!”
The locust tree didn’t heed her cries, which were quickly joined by the other two fillies. Missy dug her legs into Scootaloo’s scalp as the tree lurched toward the edge, and with barely a pause it tilted over the precipice. Its roots churned the soil and sent a shower of rocks tumbling down the cliff, and step by step it began to descend the sheer rock wall.
The trip took less than an hour, though it felt far, far longer to Scootaloo. She stopped screaming after the first few minutes, saving her energy instead for gripping the branches and flailing her wings in a desperate attempt to stay within them. Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom, who had no such advantage, made do by clutching each other and praying to Celestia for most of the trip. The hawk simply glared at them.
By the time they reached the bottom the sun was well past noon, and they stumbled out of the branches in a daze. Even Missy seemed exhausted, and spiders were not known for their fear of heights – at least, Scootaloo was fairly sure they weren’t.
“There, little ponies,” the locust said. “I have brought you down the canyon as you asked. Thank you again for this wonderful gift, and I hope you find the magic pool before the poison berries overcome you.”
“Er, yeah.” Scootaloo said. “Thanks, um… thanks.”
“You are more than welcome! Farewell, little ponies!” With that the tree turned and began its ponderous ascent of the cliff, its thick roots burrowing into the stone and dragging it slowly up the heights. The hawk nestled in its branches flapped and took to the air, circling above them once more.
Sweetie Belle groaned. “Are we done? Is it gone?”
“More important, are we near the pool?” Apple Bloom pushed herself up into a seated position and peered around the canyon floor.
“We are very close, little ponies,” Missy said. “There is a garden in the center of the valley. The pool is there.”
“Okay, cool.” Scootaloo peered toward the far edge of the canyon. It was miles away, but down the sloping valley floor a patch of bright green beckoned them. She could faintly smell the faint tang of young leaves and cold water. “Come on, girls. We’re almost there.”
Together they trudged toward the oasis. It was downhill, and the dirt was soft beneath their hooves. The miles passed quickly, and soon they pushed their way through a grove of young ferns and palms, all surrounding a deep pool in the bend of the valley’s central river. It was a brilliant blue, bluer even than the sky above, and so cold a misty haze hung over the water’s surface.
Scootaloo stopped at the rocky bank. She felt like this was a time for a speech. That she, as the leader who had brought them all these leagues, should thank Sweetie and Apple Bloom for their efforts and congratulate them for making it this far. And if she weren’t hot and dirty and exhausted, she might have; Instead, she lowered her muzzle to the still waters and took a long drink. It was cool and delicious, and she drank until her belly sloshed and she had to sit back on her haunches.
“Ooh, that’s good stuff,” she mumbled. On either side, the other fillies were quiet, taking drinks of their own.
“Do you feel cured of the poison nightshade?” Missy asked.
“Umm…” Scootaloo rubbed her belly. It felt the same as before – maybe a bit fuller, now – but it didn’t hurt. “Maybe? I don’t feel poisoned.”
“Me either!” Apple Bloom said.
“Good. And I think this will be the perfect spot for my spiderlings to hatch.” Missy crawled down Scootaloo’s muzzle, secured a line of silk to her nose, and lowered herself to the ground. She felt at the air with her legs, then skittered over to a nearby fallen log with her egg sac. “Thank you again, little ponies.”
“It was our pleasure, Missy. Will you be okay here?” Sweetie Belle asked. The water had washed the dirt from her muzzle, and now it was the only white part of her entire coat.
“I believe so. You have been so helpful, and for all your efforts I would like to offer you a final gift.”
Scootaloo’s ears perked up. “A gift?”
“Yes. I have a little magic left in me, and I would like to use it to grant you your cutie marks. Specifically, spider-helping cutie marks, for helping a little spider like me find a new home.”
There was a silence. The girls exchanged a look.
Apple Bloom spoke first. “Uh, that sounds really wonderful, Missy. But what would it look like?”
“I am not sure. I have never given a pony a cutie mark before. Like a spider, I imagine.”
“That, um, that sounds wonderful, and all,” Sweetie Belle said.
“But, you know, we really are supposed to find our cutie marks ourselves. That’s what Twilight says. And she’s a princess!” Scootaloo said.
“You are certain?”
Scootaloo peered back at her flank. It was smeared with dirt and grass and even a bit of blood, but beneath it her coat was still as featureless as before. As featureless as she feared it would always be. She sighed.
“Yeah, we’re sure. Thanks, though.”
“You are quite welcome. Will you three be able to get home by yourselves?”
“I think so.” Scootaloo peered past the pond. On the far side, she saw the road leading out of Whitetail Woods. Ponyville was just around the corner. “I guess this is goodbye.”
Silence answered her. She lowered her head and peered into the brush where Missy had vanished, but only shadows lurked there.
“Well, that was fun,” Apple Bloom said. “Let’s not eat strange berries anymore, though.”
Sweetie Belle peered up at the sky. The sun was several hours past noon, and the heat of the day was just starting to wear them down. “We should probably head back. I bet Rarity will let us use her shower.”
Scootaloo sighed. “Well, girls. Sorry we didn’t find any magic.”
“It’s okay.” Apple Bloom rubbed her shoulder. “There’s always tomorrow.”
“I guess.” Scootaloo looked back at the pool. It was smaller now, small enough to hop over. “Alright, Sweetie Belle. Lead the way.”
And so they walked back to Ponyville.