//------------------------------// // 4: Renaixença // Story: Chaotic Emergence // by Gambit Prawn //------------------------------// A dark-red unicorn mare lounged peacefully on a simple couch in front of an open hearth. The quiet was absolute save for the crackling embers, the pony floating in and out of sleep. Her perch was an island in an otherwise barren hardwood-floored den in a deserted home; however, the warmth radiating into her barrel provided a blanket keeping the pain of loss away.                                                         That and....   Slurp   Slurp   Slurp   She smiled and gazed lovingly down the length of her body to her greatest joy in the world—a pale blue unicorn foal with a messy, grass-green mane. The filly had awoken without a sound and was apparently very hungry. Her mother pondered the perfection that was hers alone and gently stroked the suckling infant, burping her once she had had her fill. You’re all I need, my darling Rocio. They can take everything else, but you made all of this worth it.   The filly gave her a nuzzle, which was returned, and then attempted to crawl up on top of her mother. With hooves flailing, she latched onto a rounded protrusion and struggled to pull herself up.   “Careful, sweetie,” the mare gently scolded, nudging the filly over the bulge, “you don’t want to hurt your little brother or sister.” She briefly felt a kick from the unborn pony; although it was faint, and she might have just imagined it. With a smile, she recalled Rocio’s birth and exhaled contentedly. She could hardly wait for her second foal. She might even have a third. No, she would definitely have a third and maybe even a fourth. The new mother may have lost a lot when she first transformed, but her foals made it all worth it. This is my purpose now. I can do better with them.  I promise you this, my precious child: I will never… The mare’s head darted back and forth in panic. Where is she!? She’s gone! But I felt her just a moment ago.    “So he had another, huh?” Came a voice she both knew and didn’t recognize.   The mare jumped to her feet and glared daggers at the door.   A tall, well-dressed man with slick hair was cradling her filly. Next to him, a gorgeous woman with flowing black hair blew kisses to her, eliciting a giggle.     “GIVE HER BACK,” the mother roared, as a strange sensation started overflowing from her horn.   “Or what?” The woman mocked. “You’ll get violent? Face it: we both know that when the time comes to act, you do nothing!”   “Dad’s a dud!” The filly recited in a voice not her own, cutting in and out like a radio station quickly rejected in passing. “It’s my foal. You have no right!” “The courts have spoken, Xavier: you were a lousy father and husband. This isn't your place anymore.”   The energy pouring out of her horn shut down. Xavier wanted to yell, scream and object, but she could do nothing more than make faint squeaking noises, no matter how much she exerted herself.   “Now, the court gave us custody of baby Rocio, but...” The two advanced slowly as the woman spoke. “We also have to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”   With horror, Xavier’s eyes fell on her bulge, which had apparently advanced another trimester in a few minutes. They can’t!   It was no more than a second she took to glance away, but she suddenly felt two pairs of arms grab her and pin her to the sofa. Her ex secured her limbs, while the man loomed over her with a sadistic grin. In his hands was a metal hanger with an impossibly sharp point. She needed to thrash out. She should be doing everything to protect her unborn foal. She needed to act. But she was utterly paralyzed as the point came down.   Xavier jolted awake, his body burning up from an internal, adrenaline-fueled fire as he hyperventilated. Thank god. He thought. Trippiest dream I’ve had in a while. I was some sort of horse, and then I was pregnant? That’s scarier than anything else that happened in that nightmare. A red strand of Xavier’s mane draped over his eye. FUCK! Wh...where does the nightmare end?  A spot check confirmed that most of the weirdness was still there: he actually did become a meter-tall horse, he was obviously still captive and was, in fact, still very female. A quick check on this latter point did at least confirm the lack of a baby bump—the only good news.   So yesterday really did happen, then. The newly-minted pony thought before considering an equally-pressing question: Why the hell did I dream about being pregnant!? It’s been only a day! Is this fucking mare body already telling me it wants to get knocked up like some senseless wild animal? Is it taking over my mind and my dreams even? The dream left the maroon mare rattled, the red and yellow mane looking frazzled as if to reflect the owner's mental state.   Slowly reorienting himself, Xavier lay in silence as he let his mind slowly come up to speed with the fact that he really was now a pony—a mare. Waking up the day before in his new shape was completely inconceivable. Everything had gone to shit already, and now this had shattered all hope of getting it back. He wanted a target, anything to hate with all his might for his new situation. He boiled over, but for the first time in recent memory, he found nothing to fault. The transformation defied all explanation. He buried his muzzle in the dirt and let turbulent emotion run its course.  His rage eventually subsided, but the overheated feeling did not. He eventually calmed down somewhat and tried to distract himself with the less-pressing, but almost as humiliating, reality that he was now the prisoner of some rural lowlifes. He tried to funnel his anger against them but was surprisingly unsuccessful. What’s the point. Being like this is so degrading that I’d almost rather be locked up. On that somber note, he noticed that the sweating from his nightmare had ceased, yet he still felt strangely hot. Reorienting himself, he could feel the warmth coming from within. Its source was concentrated on a single spot—between his hind legs.   Xavier gave a devastated scream that erupted loud and clear in spite of the gag. A hellish week was topped in the worst way possible.   Xavier's livelihood sat on a street-corner in Catalonia's province of Lleida.  Signs labelled simply “Esports” and “Tapes” led some of its less creative patrons to refer to the bar as ‘Taports,’ and to the owner’s chagrin, the name had stuck. Manel finished off his beer with a final swig. He and his younger brother sat on opposite sides of the bar as a mere formality, for without any other customers to speak of, Xavier may as well be off the clock. I’m surprised his activist friends couldn’t make it, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little grateful for it. Even if their patronage kept this place afloat, it was always prolonging the inevitable Manel thought while taking a glance at one of the two mounted plasma screens.   Xavier mechanically grabbed Manel’s mug to refill it. “That’s enough, lil’ bro. I’ve had enough.”   “Whatter youssayin? It’s on the houssse,” Xavier slurred. “The lasstever, so let’s celebrate as  we watch us *hic* beat down Real Madrid. It’s their damn fault I’m losing this place—the politicians in Madrid dragging us down into this recession! I spent my life building it!”   Oh great! Another drunken rant. His diatribes are bad enough to listen to when he’s sober, let alone if you disagree. “Xavi, I think you’ve had enough.”   “Shut up! It’s back on.” Hernandez llança la pilota a Costas. Costas la rep. Tranca de fer el túnel? No! Roubada per l’ala dreta del Barça. Manel tensed up. This was Barcelona's chance. Inter FS had taken out their best defender and had just overextended themselves on the attack. Please. It’s been a relatively good night with my brother. Don’t ruin it by letting this one get away. A draw's fine even. Just don't lose! Rico fa una passada alta per a Mamangaba! Ell porter n’és lluny! Ell salta! Dona un cop de cap! NO! No aconsegueix marcar. Copeja el pal de la porteria i Ramón l’agafa. “You hit the fucking goalposts!?” Xavier yelled, slamming a bottle of whiskey to the counter. “It wuhzwwide open ferchrissakes!” Manel said nothing. When Xavier had invited him to watch Barça’s futsal match, he had hoped it to be a rare chance to see his brother as himself again. Seeing Xavi drunk and the veins popping out in his neck at the tense game, he lamented to himself that that brother might be gone. What's the point if his leisure is as stressful as anything else? Manel took a look back at the screen and immediately recognized that the opposing players must have smelled blood; he could feel an overwhelming storm brewing. Ramón llança la pilota en joc. Costas la rep i Rico el marca de seguida, però Costas el dribla. Fa una passada en profunditat per a Hernandez. Hernandez xuta! GOL! Hernandez desempata el matx al último minut! El Movistar—   Xavier pounded the remote to silence the tv before kicking the bar, shattering the bottle he was holding on the ground and slamming his fists on the wine rack before scanning his surroundings for another target. A palpable silence weighed on the air. After a short while, Manel attempted to save the mood: “Well, it’s not so bad, Xavi. We’re already in the playoffs anyway; we’ll have another shot then." His younger brother gawked. “Duya not gettit!? Its sabout the principle dammit! I thought at least yuwuddunderstand that.” “Come on now. It’s just a futsal match,” Manel naively ventured, “The huge football rivalry is another matter altogether, and in the scope of things, this one isn’t so important.”   “The hell are you saying! Not important!? This is everything!?   “Xavi, you’re drunk.” “I’m sober enough to see how thingssare. Itscuz yuwere thinkin' like that datwe losst!! "That's nonsense and you know it." Get d’hell outta her. Thiss bar’ss fer patriots *hic*.   “You’re insane. I don’t know why I put up with this.” Manel threw a fifty euro bill on the counter and stormed out.   “And don’t come back!”   Manel had to restrain himself from slamming the door. He walked to his car a couple blocks away and gave a long sigh. At times, he didn’t know why he tried. Xavier had become progressively more irritable with the collapse of his business, and the finality of the divorce had pushed him to a new threshold. He considered for a brief moment giving up on the relationship altogether; it was so hard to see him in such a dark place. But then I’d be no better than her...  Though he’s a ton bigger than big me, he’s still my little bro. He thought back on his disastrous attempts to stage an intervention for Xavier’s budding alcoholism. Deeply offended by the idea that he couldn’t handle himself, he had pushed Manel away.   I suppose he’s always been like that though. Oh Xavi, you don’t have to fight every battle. Not only could you not stop her from leaving, but can’t you see that she’s not worth keeping? Xavier had spent the last fifteen minutes staring at blankly at a wall. The paint had started to chip around that damn window that never shut properly. That would have worried him if had he anything worth stealing, but for now, it was weakly held shut by several layers of duct tape. I should probably fix that at some point he thought weakly to himself. However, in his state of inebriated brooding, he had half a mind to just snap the eyesore off its hinges. God I hate losing to Madrid—Movistar whatever. Madrid’s Madrid. He shook the empty liquor bottle for a third time before tossing it away. The exotic harder stuff had never sold well in the best of times, so finishing it himself couldn’t do any harm. “Well, fuck it’s about that time, isn’t it?” he said, noticing he was already fifteen minutes late. “She’s betrayed me, ripped out my heart, stomped all over it, taken my children from me *hic*, legally crucified me, robbed me of what little I have left and only now does she *hic* think about how it impacts this family. Fuck her if she expects me to show up on time.” With this conviction, he forestalled his departure for ten additional spiteful, minutes before finally heaving himself up. He was a broad man, nearly one-hundred ninety centimeters tall. His brown hair was cut short and beginning to grey, while his shaggy beard had an uneven topology. His strong arms were the product of summers spent on his grandfather's ranch and were the best deterrent against bar fights. Staggering out the door, he made his way down the street. He longed for better days—when he had first saved up the money to open his business, when he was a local football legend, when he had a wife and two kids that loved him. After half a block, he began to cough and collapsed against a lamppost for support.  It continued nonstop for nearly a minute, sounding almost like a whinny. This spectacle, combined with his drunken gait drew the attention of passerby. Xavier simply glared at them before continuing to stumble along. Even when heavily intoxicated, he didn’t expect his balance to be so poor.   Eventually, he made it home and knocked three times hard on the front door. It’s my damn house, the only thing that heist of a settlement left me with. Why do I have to be let into my house? A gorgeous woman opened the door, only briefly making eye-contact with her now ex-husband. A beautiful hazel, her eyes enchanted, accentuating her mocha-colored skin perfectly. This, along with her perfect choice of makeup and perfume, made her mere presence a revitalizing cup of morning coffee to Xavier, trapping him in zenlike awe of her beauty. “Well you’re early,” she said with venomous irony. “I almost didn’t expect you to show.” The spell broke. He berated himself for still holding onto feelings for her, but the combination of her best appearance and clothes—something he had not enjoyed for himself in years—momentarily took him back to the happy years of their marriage.  Seconds passed.  Finally, his addled mind formulated a response: “I’m here now, ain’t I? So the hell d’ya want?” “Hèctor, Sara, get in here!” The woman shouted. “Do we have to?” “We discussed this, yes! It’s important for the family!” “Fine,” the daughter relented, entering the room while texting at inhuman speed. Hèctor followed behind his sister, holding some toy—Xavier could never keep up with them all—and sat down sheepishly beside his sister, his eyes to the ground. It brought Xavier a small amount of comfort to see that his children were hating this just as much as he was, as if every strike against her parenting could absolve him. “Now,” she began, “We’re here to discuss the future of this family moving forward.” She focused on eight-year old Hèctor to gauge his reaction before continuing. “We’ve said previously that your father and I are taking a break from each other. That’s why we’ve been moving out. However—“ “Look! Just say it!” Sara interrupted, tearing her eyes violently from her phone and setting it aside. “You don’t have to sell this to me, so stop lying to Hèctor!” “Young lady! I’m trying my best to keep this family together in a delicate situation—” “That’s the bullshit that’s pissing me off, and I’m not—” “Language!” “If you want to tell those lies to yourself, FINE! But if you’re going to call a family meeting, at least give us the benefit of the truth.” “That’s what I’m—“ “No! The real truth—we can all see it: you think Dad’s a dud to be thrown away, and you think you can do better. If that’s what you want, fine! But if you’re going to do this, at least tell it how it is!” Sara finished, jumping up from the couch and quickly snatching her phone up. “Where are you going? We aren't done yet!” “Yes, we are. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date.” Sara walked by her father, giving him only an unsure nod. Conflicting emotions raged sluggishly through Xavier, rendering him still. She’s got her mother’s looks all right—and her sharp tongue. He felt a small spot of pride. “GET BACK he—fine! Go!” the woman stomped violently. The outburst had sobered Xavier a fair bit. Struggling to round up his thoughts, he grabbed onto the most pressing matter: “So, what do you have to say that you were so damn insistent about?” “Nothing. We’re through. As usual, Miss Rebellious had to have it her way and wreck a serious discussion.” She gestured him towards the door. “You can go now.” “I live here! Itss my house!” “If you can even call it that with what you owe on it. Like it or not, we have two more days here; then you can have this empty, old house to yourself.”  Her words,like a series of malicious acupuncture needles, dug into Xavier, who first clenched his fists and then let them fall, his eyes dropping to the floor. Hèctor’s sniffling arrested the tense silence. He had dropped the toy and was practically quivering. Both parents instinctively made their way closer, but his mother was closer. “Does that mean I won’t see papa anymore? That Mama and Papa hate each other?” She wrapped herself around him. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be all right. I know it’s hard, but sometimes mommies and daddies get a divorce because they’re not happy anymore. Your daddy’s going to be happier this way, and we’ll be happier.” He’s eight and a half for Christ’s sake; don't treat him like he's five.  While Xavier hated that she was speaking for him, he wanted to do his part and closed the difference to comfort his son. “What are you doing?” she asked, placing herself in between them. He crouched down, stumbling briefly, to reach past her to the boy. “Get back!” she ordered. “Can’t I hug my own son?” he said through gritted teeth. “It’s my call now, and I say no.” “What!?” “I said get away! This isn’t your place anymore.” He looked past her to the now-sobbing Hèctor, and he fought back his inebriation to stare her in the eye. “Fuck you. I’m saying goodbye. You won’t take this away from me. Step. Aside.” “Or what? You’ll get violent? Get real, Xavier. I’ve seen how you would stand there and take spilled drinks and insults from rowdy drunks without raising a finger—back when you worked at a real bar. I’ve seen you look the other way and keep walking when other men hit on me in passing. What makes now different? I doubt you have the balls to do anything any more now than then.” Xavier answered with determination, casually pushing through her attempted blockade. “But I suppose the police don’t know that.” He stopped, puzzled. “We’re recently divorced, you come home drunk and I’m holding a sobbing child. Who do you think they’ll believe if I tell them you struck me?” Xavier seethed internally. She wouldn’t he thought. He gazed at love. No she would, and they’d believe her. Fuck! Am I going to stand here and take this? And let her take everything from me?! Every muscle in his body stiffened and his hands curled into fists. What was this vengeful witch that replaced the love of his life? She can’t fucking do this to me.  He searched desperately about the room before fixating on his grandfather’s silver-tipped cane over the fireplace. I could show her I won't be pushed around. It might just be worth it… Almost… He looked at his son. “Dolors, please…” he finally sputtered out weakly. “Just get out. We have nothing to talk about anymore.” The Bartender gave a sympathetic look to Hèctor, slammed his fist into the wall and stormed out the door. They were lost to him. It had taken the better part of a half hour for Dolors to calm Hèctor down from what he'd just seen. “Everything’s going to be fine, torronet,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “But I don’t want things to change. I don’t want to move! I like my friends here!” “Now, don’t worry about that. Let Mommy handle it. Listen: you have an English test tomorrow, okay? Make sure you get a good night’s sleep, so you can get a better grade this time.” “But I don’t like English—it’s hard.” “Now, it’s very important. You’ll need it to graduate college someday.” She paused for a moment, tapping her chin in thought. “What’s the name of that mean boy in your art class? Juan?” “It’s Marc…” “Yes, him,” she said, beginning to stroke his head. “When you grow up you want to be able to to get a good job, right?” She looked expectantly at Hèctor, who nodded after a moment. “Well, you need to study hard and do better than him so mean kids like him don’t grow up and take that job away from you. You don’t like it when Marc steals your colored pencils, right?” Hèctor nodded more quickly this time. “Then work hard and make Mommy proud, okay?” “Okay….” Papa never worries about the other kids. Xavier blazed a trail all the way back to his bar. Kicking me out of my own damn house too! Taking my son away from me!  Whatever! I want to be at Taports anyway. I can be give those bank goons a piece of my mind as well.  He paused to scratch a persistent itch near his rear. They’re not taking my bar unless they can pry the deed from my cold dead fingers he thought, tensing his muscles for a fight. He passed a group of young men dressed in Barça’s colors. Yeah, I wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for the politics of Madrid. It’s as its always been: Spain leeches Catalonia’s wealth from her. Well, I’m losing my business dammit! Why should I help prop up an impotent state that nobody but inbred kings ever wanted united? Yet they won’t let us go even when we vote for it time and time again. Meanwhile, fascist terrorists try to scare us out of it. Franco may be dead, but his oppression of the Catalans continues. “Dammit! What’s with this itch!” he exclaimed, scratching furiously at the offending area. He readjusted his pants to directly attack the nexus of irritation near his spine. The annoyance suddenly lifted, as if the source of itself had been cut loose. He continued his staggering walk back to his livelihood, the passerby occasionally stopping and shooting him strange looks. “Well, that’s patriotic.” ¿Qué es aquello? ¡Qué extraño! “Shhhhh don’t look, honey.” “Looks good on ya, grandpa!” “WHAT! HAVE Nunnya sheen a drunk *hic* before?! Damn kids.” Xavier decided to ignore the looks in order to focus on walking, and he surprisingly found his gait much more stable than before. His red and yellow tail naturally swung back and forth to help keep his balance. Hey, that’s a neat trick. I just imagine a tail and I can walk good drunk. It really works.  He took the small gift of the discovery for what it was and made good time through the last two blocks. He pushed the front door open, took a dozen steps inside and collapsed into dreamless slumber. “Is it dead?” “I don’t even know. Is that a horse?” “Of course it’s not a horse; it’s red and it has a horn.” “Well, what else do you want to call it? “Whatever, I’m calling animal control. I’ve seen some weird shit on this job, but this takes the cake.” “Is that blood on the floor?” Ugggh my head. What happened last night? Xavier shook himself awake, feeling thoroughly hung-over. He opened his eyes to spy the bank employees tiptoeing backwards through the door. They weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow. Was I out that long, or are they just early? Well, time to give them a piece of my mind. Xavier attempted to push himself up only to fall immediately, his tiny legs scattering in every direction. Well that settles that. I’m clearly hallucinating this. I’m apparently some kind of red horse—a mare if the lack of mind-numbing pain from that particular landing is any indication. I’m clearly hallucinating this. Hmm… I thought I had gotten rid of that special stash a long time ago... Oh well, may as well roll with it. Maybe I'll see that flying walrus again. Once he stopped giving it conscious thought, he easily got up on all fours and started trotting back and forth behind the bar. See. That wasn’t hard. I tell the hallucination that I can walk, and I have no issues with it. This is so weird. Walking on all fours now feels like the most natural thing in the world. Oh well, what logic do dreams have anyway? He noticed a dark-red spot in his peripheral vision and looked up at his horn for the first time. Since I can do whatever I want, maybe I can scare them off with this. Naw, I tend to lose dream fights; besides, this thing is so short and rounded anyway. Let's see if I can imagine myself into something else. He concentrated hard, but he remained a pony upon opening his eyes again. N Nothing, huh? What to do... Click Clack Click Clack Click Clack These hooves sure are noisy. Kind of catchy though…. AHA! That damned window called out to him, a much easier more satisfying choice than the front door. Its lease on life had expired. “You’re going down!” he challenged, breaking into a full-speed charge. The rapidly approaching wall below the window questioned his judgment, but with flawless timing, the unicorn gave a jump and crashed straight through it, knocking it out of its socket and smashing its glass in one piece below the mare’s hooves. Pain coursed through the front of his body and horn, but his adrenaline-boosted satisfaction just caused him to laugh. This is weird, but it’s kind of fun as well. Maybe I can find a field to frolic in—with a river of booze and beautiful women... Any direction is fine; I'm sick of this town anyway. Xavier shook himself out of his ruminations, his floppy pony ears going their own way. Damn I was stupid he thought. I spent hours galloping through the middle of nowhere just to get nabbed by some rural vagabonds.  I must have been halfway to Huesca depending on how fast I was going. He cringed as his attention was once more dragged to the baggage that came with his new form. It’s like I’m being cooked from the inside out. I’ve seen mares go wild in heat and now I know why—burning up on the inside, locked in a small enclosure with no relief, longing for a stallion to come up from behind and—NO! NO! he mentally screamed again, banging his head against the wall. NO! NO! NO! Each time, he rammed the wall hornfirst, igniting explosive pain to burst from within his skull. The moment he stopped, the agony sunk in. He collapsed once more with his legs spread in four different directions, but he fought the pain long enough to right himself into a more dignified sitting position upon realizing what he was reminded of. The sharp pain then settled into a dull throbbing that scrambled any thoughts beyond escaping it. I’m not doing that again. It feels like this damn thing is connected to my brain.   Xavier once again felt the alien desire near his rear nag at him.   Although, on the plus side, I was able to stop thinking about being mounted for a minute... He charged head first at the stall door once more, rattling it and his skull alike. “The hell is that!?” A man exclaimed out-loud in Castilian.   Two men in work clothes entered the stable and headed straight for the pony’s position. They looked down at him, inspecting their catch.   “She seems to be in good condition. Did she just bump against the wall?” The older of the two asked, gnawing on some chewing tobacco with yellow, rat-like teeth. “She’s probably—wait, that must be it,” the other said, pointing in between Xavier’s legs.” The other examined the evidence and grinned. “Aww, is the little horsey in heat?” “Don’t worry, girl, I’m sure whoever your new owner is will want to breed a pretty one like you,” the other added. Xavier felt something start to snap and bit down on the gag. Both of you are fucking dead! he thought, charging recklessly at the door once more. The unicorn’s headlong attack made the two men involuntarily step back. The one with the tobacco pointed at the mare’s horn and the two exchanged deliberate but incomprehensible words. “Calm down, girl,” the younger of the two wardens urged. Xavier hit the door even harder. “All right, I’ll tell you what: if you stop we’ll take the gag off.” The pony stopped. “You were yelling gibberish at the top of your lungs yesterday, so we put it on. But since nobody would hear you anyway, so as long as you stay quiet, we’ll let you breathe a bit.” Xavier stiffened his stance before giving a single nod. “Good girl,” he said and removed the gag. The mare took a deep breath and waited a few moments for the headache to subside. All right, they’ve willing to deal now. They're assholes, but keep a cool head... “This is a misunderstanding,” Xavier began in a voice several octaves too high. Jesus! I sound like that fucking animated chihuahua in that show Sara used to watch. Xavier gave a forced cough and tried again: “I’m actually a ma—human, and I thought this was all an acid-fueled dream until now. I don’t know why I’m like this, but I'm being completely seriously here! How many horses do you know that speak Castilian anyway?” Both captors gave a jeering laugh, hollering and slapping their jeans. “Nice try, little mare,” the younger of the two responded, “but you’re not going to fool us that easily. We’ve caught a mythical creature. You’re ours now. You think we’re going to be duped like those saps in fairy tales? Not a chance.” “I’m not magical! I’m not even a horse, but if—“ “But nothing,” the man with the tobacco interrupted. “Unicorn or not you’re a talking horse and worth a fortune, so sit tight, stay quiet and if you’re lucky, we might throw you a broom handle or something to take care of yourself with.” It snapped. “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY YOU FUCKFACED FAGGOT!?” Xavier screeched with the acridity of a sick hyena. “I’LL SODOMIZE YOUR MOTHER WITH THAT SAME ROTTING BROOM HANDLE AND THEN SHOVE THE POINTY PART OF THIS HORN WHERE—EEEEEEEEEP!” The man with the tobacco responded in kind by striking Xavier’s flank two dozen times with the procured whip before spitting in his face. “What are you doing?” his partner rebuked. “She’s our ticket to riches. You don’t want to damage her. That might hurt her value.” “I thought so too at first, but when she started going after my mother, I realized something nice. With a dark red coat, no one will notice if we make her bleed a bit.” His younger counterpart examined the captive mare and saw the maroon coat no worse for wear. “I suppose you’re right, but be careful.” He waved the gag in Xavier’s face one last time before turning around to walk out. Xavier watched them leave before finally collapsing onto the ground. Between the ebbing pressure in his head, the stinging on his flank and the nagging presence of estrus, it took all of his willpower to keep his welling tears from dropping. Is this the end? Am I just some horny animal now? To be sold off as some rich man’s pet? Is this some kind of message? I’m not man enough to keep my woman, so I wake up as a female horse? Fuck that—sounds like something out of Kafka. I can't even take myself seriously like this. The former unicorn looked around. Not a sound was to be heard anywhere. There’s nobody around… nothing to do… and I’ve already been humiliated in every way possible... Xavier let his right forehoof slowly drift south. No! I am man! I’d rather die before I give into this slutty body that can only think about well-built stallions and pumping out fuzzballs. Xavier looked down. I’d rather eat this straw. Anything to keep myself distracted.   He heard a thump.   Xavier turned around just in time to see a mail slot in the back. For a moment he could have sworn it was glowing before it slammed shut. Why the hell is there a mail slot in a stable? Did the horses here get fan mail? No, that’s stupid. He then noticed what had apparently caused the noise: a worn book with yellowed pages sat in front of him.   El Seu Ramat i Vostè: Una Guia Pràctica de Relacions Harmònicas per als Cavalls i per les Egües Heartbound You and your herd? The hell is this? And why is it in Catalan? I thought I was further west. Besides, what does it mean by a guide to “harmonic relations?” "A guide for stallions and mares?"Are there really a bunch of magical unicorns somewhere, and I became one? Well, a book on diplomacy isn’t the best, but it might have some answers. The unicorn used his new horn to flip the inside cover of the book open. Heartbound   988 CY I guess that’s the name of the publisher, and it doesn’t look like this date is C.E either. The remainder of the page was mostly obscured by a huge, red X. A single word was printed over it but then obscured by multiple attempts to cross it out. Discard. Xavier simply flipped to the next page and was greeted by a color photograph of six brightly colored, smiling ponies lounging on one another. Their contentment practically wafted from the page, slowly bringing a smile to the face of the mare looking on. This was short-lived and he suddenly felt a spike of a now all-too-familiar warmth upon recognizing the large pony in the back as a stallion. Shit! Now I know what the males look like! Ignorance was my only defenses against unwanted thoughts! He rushed to close the book but only succeeded in hitting the pages with his hooves before his curiosity overtook him. Wait a second… are those really wings? Sure enough, all the miniature horses in the picture had a small pair of wings matching their coat color folded to their sides save for one. A light-pink unicorn with a red mane sat in between two other mares in the foreground. Xavier only then took notice of a bizarre emblem on her flank: two hearts of a darker shade of pink than her coat circumscribed a set of doors propped open by a red string connecting them. On second inspection, the entire group had some sort of mark in the same area; their awkward positioning in the photo seemed to have been chosen to put them on display. My special ponies. From left to right, back to front—Cleansing Rain, Joy Cloud, Fair Sail, Tailwind, Me, Snowflake Summer. Xavier then stole a look at the stallion’s mark: a scale with coins that perfectly complemented the rugged, deep-blue fur framing his stout legs. Dammit! He frenetically tried to close the book, missing with his horn before turning the page with an unorthodox method. Afterward, he had to spend a minute running a fetlock over his tongue in an effort to substitute absolutely anything for the dusty taste.  I’m not doing that again. Maybe I need to bite it instead? But won’t it fall apart? This is normally the part of the book where I boast about how qualified I am as a relationship counselor and that I’ve been doing this for eighteen years, yadda-yadda, but that’s silly—you’ve already bought the book, right? Since a picture’s worth a thousand words, I’ll let my own happy herd speak for itself. Some counselor ponies like to say their special talents stop working in their own relationships, but I’ve never believed that; like any other, my herd has had ups, downs and major challenges we’ve had to face together. Like any happy herd, it would not be possible without an amazing alpha. When Snowflake first told me that the fun-loving pegasi whom she was interested in were headed by a flight instructor for the royal guard, I couldn’t believe it. However I, to this day, am amazed by Tailwind’s strength and compassion. Getting to know the mare behind the shrill whistle has been one of the most wonderful experiences of my life. But it also helps that she has an excellent taste in stallions. Who would have thought she’d be such a good match with somepony as reserved as Sail? Wow… this is… sappy. And what does it matter to her who this Tailwind marries?   “Like so many others, I went herd-hunting with a friend. After suffering through many awkward picnics and parties with macho alpha stallions looking for more conquests or career-driven mares obviously out for a free nanny or wet nurse, I began to doubt Snowflake and I were meant to be together. When she suggested we consider an all-pegasus herd in Cloudsdale, I never thought it would work. The hell? It sounds like a date almost. What I found was a pony who brings home the happiness of her sunny skies, a pony who always knows the right thing to say, a pony who will take time for the little things that go a long way, and a pony who taught me that fastidiousness can exist alongside kindness. I guess that means I’m a pony then? Wish she’d explain why I have this dinky horn instead of wings. Seems kinda useless... unless unicorns are needed to open books. We learned along the way, facing major decisions together: Accommodating me while living in Cloudsdale, letting Rain into the herd and moving back when Joy became pregnant with an earth foal. In any case, I wish I had a guide like this at the time, so whether you’re starting out with your favorite ponies or seeking to rekindle old flames, you’ve come to the right place. And by that I mean the right book. —Heartbound Hang on! It never showed or mentioned any other stallions in this herd, how is she pregnant? I thought it was temporary for protection against predators while these mares searched for husbands? Unless… no, they couldn’t all be his wives; otherwise the whole thing would sound cultish. Xavier now had to know. He bit down on the dog-eared corner of the book and turned the surprisingly-resilient page. About This Book For your privacy this book has been enchan— He skipped the page and his eyes fell on the next. Chapter 1 Why do we herd? With a few, relatively obscure exceptions, ponies are unique for forming herds. Pairs of Griffons mate for life, Buffalo form monogamous pairs that social standing and Zebras are only bigamist in times of necessity, such as after war. What makes ponies unique then? The obvious answer is that in most species, stallions are nearly as common as mares, a fact that non-ponies will not find strange at all. But why is this? Biologists surprisingly believe that ponies might have originally been like zebras in ages long before even the princesses. However, Equestria used to be a much more dangerous place for us ponies. Hydras and Manticores, thankfully rare in today’s era, and other large predators found our ancestors to be easy snacks, pushing ponies to the brink of extinction. Because of our long pregnancies, some ponies think that we adapted with a higher mare ratio in order to keep our numbers up . By herding together, a single stallion could sire multiple foals, while the foals would benefit from extra parents. But even more important than biology is—” Xavier slammed the book shut. Fuck!! They are polygamous! he thought, plopping down on a pile of hay. So that’s it, huh? There’s more mares than stallions, so I became one to be a broodmare for some stud? Not that I’m getting out of here for it to matter it, but whoever sent this can go fuck themself. “I want NO part of this!” he yelled, rearing his head back and slamming the horn into the book’s spine. He briefly saw his horn glow, and the book vanished. Yes, take the piece of shit back. And turn me back while you’re at it. He lay on the hay—warm but vulnerable.   “Front, then back, left, right left right—dammit!” For the umpteenth time that day Taylor stumbled over his front hooves and landed face-first onto the hard dirt. “Owwowow!” The earth mare raised a forehoof to rub at the abused muzzle but only succeeded in smacking it a second time. He let the doubled throbbing sensation subside before letting out an oddly-pitched sneeze. “I just had to announce that it would be easy…” Taylor said, admonishing himself. “Forget these awkward things! I’m crawling!” Keeping his barrel to the ground, he extended his forehooves and dragged his long body behind them. It took him three minutes, but he finally reached his destination—a spigot at the side of the cabin.  It had no hose, but it would have to do. Biting down on the valve, he slowly turned it. The sudden change in pressure after so many years resulted in an initial explosion of water before the stream thinned out. It looked heavenly refreshing to Taylor, who wrapped his muzzle greedily around the spout.   Just as he opened his mouth, the water turned to mud.   Taylor spat out the water and gagged on the earthen taste for half a minute. Desperate to get the taste out, he ran his tongue over a clean-seeming patch of grass. As if out of spite, the water had once again taken on a clean appearance. He groaned and turned halfway around to look at his tail. Untouched by the water, it was nevertheless soaked. You put it up to this didn’t you? This whole thing is your fault. It twitched in response. The nerve damage from its temporary eviction had yet to fully heal, leaving Taylor with minimal control over it.   If he had it his way, he would have slept all day, and then have slowly spent the next grappling with the prospect of being a pony and only then he would have started to consider what becoming female truly meant in the scheme of things. Unfortunately, awakening to a full bladder had thrust the latter issue straight in the earth mare’s muzzle. With great difficulty he had struggled desperately to get out of the awkward tangle that was his clothes, miraculously bested a stubborn doorknob and crawled outside, all the while trying not to overthink the difference in anatomy. However, his triumph was stifled upon noticing wet fur from his tail that failed to lift. With a grumble, the new pony washed off the unruly appendage and hazarded a long drink. Well that only took an hour. What now? Taylor looked down at his hooves, not liking the color any more than he had after his first glimpse. I’m really hoping I don’t look as ridiculous as I think I do—aside from the whole pony thing, obviously. Part of me doesn’t want to know, but I may as well get the las— Taylor caught himself. The certainly not-last unpleasant thing out of the way while I’m in a crappy mood already. Taylor did see a mirror during his trek out of the cabin; however, on the way out, he had taken a foot-high drop off the porch. Not wanting to fight a losing battle with the stairs, he searched for an alternative and found a small puddle. With butterflies in his stomach, he picked himself up to make another attempt at walking. He took one step, then two, then three, making it hallway there without a stumble. I think I’ve got it now, it’s the front foreleg followed by the opposite hind leg. Growing confident, he tried to steady himself into an even rhythm and naturally fell face-first into the puddle. Ears drooping, Taylor rose his head and slowly shook himself dry like a dog. “Joke’s on you puddle,” he said, giving a forced chuckle, “my face was already dirty, so you just helped me clean it off. Now let’s see what the damage is...” Taylor stood up to take in his reflection all at once. It was every bit as bad as he feared: a very girly pony looked back at him with a profound frown. Jet black fur covered most of her body, including her drenched face. Her long, somewhat poofy mane had inherited Taylor’s natural curl and shared its awful color with the spiteful tail. The mare’s jaw dropped. “You have got to be kidding me! Really!? It’s bad enough that I turn into a pony, worse still that I’m a girl, but I seriously have to look like this from now on? Black and neon-orange! Really? Not to mention this ridiculous hairstyle that belongs in an 80’s music video! I look like a goddamned Beanie Baby! One that’s overflowing from the Hallmark clearance bin as soon as November 1st comes around! Probably with some terrible pun name like ‘Frightmare’ or something.” Taylor dissolved into the ground. I can’t live like this. This is too much. Maybe I should have died back there if this is what I’m left with. Why bother?   The pony’s stomach gave a growl. “Yes, why not? I’m miserable enough. Why not eat some grass? Even if that bastard is coming back, I have canned oats to look forward to at best.” With a sigh and a tear, the earth pony bit off a clump of withered grass and chewed. It was borderline edible, reminding him like an overpriced gourmet salad eaten dry—the kind he hated. Yum.... Lots of this in the future...  Taylor chewed and forced himself to swallow. At this rate it’ll take forever for this to be filling. Better stop thinking about it. May as well get used to mindlessly grazing like a good little tacky pony. “What are you doing?” Taylor froze and looked up at Domenico—way up.  Damn I’m tiny now. The mare scarcely recognized the mafia heir in casual clothes. Gone was the custom suit, replaced with jean shorts and a polo shirt, either of which could have come from the—albeit limited—nicer side of Taylor’s own wardrobe. He just stared blankly at the pony, who still had his mouth hovering above his pitiful meal. “Are you… eating grass?” “Oh hey,” Taylor said, nervously recomposing himself and standing up. “I… I didn’t know you were still here. N-no I wasn’t grazing… I was just… smelling the grass. It’s strange what this pony body can notice haha. I hadn’t thought of that though; at least I’ll never want for food again.” Domenico shot him a weird look. “Okay, then. It seems you were able to get outside okay by yourself. I left it unlocked, but I didn’t want to leave the door open.” Frankly I’m surprised I’m not chained to a pole in the yard right now. “Well couldn’t you have at least helped me out of my clothes? I got really hot with all the fur, and they were a pain in the ass to get out of this morning.” “I would have, but I remember you saying something about not taking advantage of the pretty pony in her sleep. I think undressing you fits that.” Damn. I really did say that, didn’t I? How shaken up was I by the—No! Bad! Don’t think about the horrifying brain slug! Not thinking about it! Nothing but bunnies and rainbows in here! “Ask any of my old roommates: I’m as good as sloshed when I’m running on no sleep.” Taylor looked around nervously, very uncomfortable with the dangerous Sicilian standing there and saying nothing. “So, do you have anything to eat around here, or do you really expect me to eat grass?” “I brought some groceries. Farmer’s market. I got good deals. My French is a little better than my English, you see.” “And thank God for that.” Domenico gave no reaction to the casual jab. “There’s water over there if you want it,” he said pointing at the pump. “I want to check the indoor plumbing before I turn it on, but over there should be good. Just wait for the bad water to clear first. It hasn’t moved for a while.” “Thanks…. I’ll keep that in mind.” “We’ll see if there’s anything you could eat. Vegetables should be good, right? If you are actually like a pony in that aspect.” “Well, ponies aren’t usually black and orange, so your guess is as good as mine. The Sicilian snickered. “What?” “Nothing. I was just thinking that Hollywood is—nevermind.” They stared at each other for a slow ten seconds. Man this is awkward. When he’s talking I can kind of forget that he probably has thought of twelve different ways of murdering me already planned, but when he’s silent… “So, we may as well get this out of the way now: why did you take me along? Smuggling a pony can’t be easy if you’re looking to hide. So, what? Did you want a free pet? Are you going to stick a bow on me and give me to your sister?” “To be nice?” Domenico ventured. “Yeah right, you nearly got me killed! Like I’d trust you after that!” Taylor started to raise his voice but held back, afraid of poking the sleeping tiger. “For intel. I wanted to know if the pony is the same person or if the pony takes over. In that aspect, you seem different than… them.” “Well, for better or worse, I’m still me, so mission accomplished. What now? Domenico raised his eyes upward in thought, taking a few moments before answering. “Outside of the government camps, you have nowhere to go, but I could use a pony that can communicate and follow orders. I can pay you.” “I can’t say I liked working for you before.” “You still have your organs, right?” “But what use is money to me?” “I have ways to transfer it to whoever you want.” “I... I don’t want to.” “Well, I hear the petting zoo down the road is hiring.” “Fuck you…” Domenico turned around towards the truck. “Can you help me unload?” “Wait. What now? Seeing as I have no choice in the matter, what’s the next step from here?”. “For now, nothing,” Domenico said with somber resignation. He wanted to object, but Taylor’s courage finally failed him. “All right, Dom.” “Dom?” “Since you insist we Americans are too dumb to say Domenicko, I thought I’d—you know…” Domenico cringed at the mangling of his name. “Yes, that’s... fine.” Well, this is getting awkward again. Need an excuse to get away. I feel like running for some reason? “Race you there, Dom-Dom," Taylor said playfully, intentionally failing to articulate. He galloped five paces before meeting with the familiar ground. “That’s right—walk before you run. Remembered that just in time...” “Are all ponies this weird or was he like this before?”Dom whispered, well-within earshot.