Blasted wolves, Prosa thought as he made his way through Foal Mountain. Ruined my good vest, too. Good thing I always carry a cloak with me.
He opened his bag and pulled out an ash-grey cloak, placing it over his body. His hooves made light taps against the stony ground. He glanced around, making sure that no creature was nearby, before accelerating his pace.
Still, though, those beasts did quite the number on me, he thought ruefully, looking down at himself. Scratches covered his legs, and there were several dirt stains in his coat from when he had to wrestle down one of the wolves. There were sticks in his mane, and several bite and claw marks on his back. He winced in slight pain, one of his legs collapsing under him. Thankfully, in the fight, nothing was broken; though severe bruises were obtained.
He groaned. Those wolves made me lose two days in the Shades. Damn. He glanced down at his leg. And this bruised appendage isn’t making travel any easier.
A cold wind blew past him, and he shivered despite the cloaks warmth. The wind seemed to whisper to him, trying to break his spirit.
“Turn back,” it seemed to say. “You know that there is little hope for you anywhere else.”
He grit his teeth and did his best to ignore the whispers. He trudged on, pushing past the strong wind.
He suddenly slipped, and began sliding down the mountain. Desperately, he reached his hooves out, hoping to grab something. A cliffside suddenly reared at him, and his eyes widened at the potential drop. He desperately hooked his hooves around the trunk of a small tree, managing to stop himself before he went over.
He took a few breaths to steady himself. He pulled himself up, getting back on four hooves. He glanced over the cliffside, seeing the enormous drop. I’m losing my concentration, he realized. I should not have been so careless…
He shook his head, then turned and headed down the correct path. He kept a steady watch, making sure that he didn’t trip over anything or slip again. The wind whispered more words to him, each phrase becoming more and more tempting to obey.
“Turn back. There is no hope for you…”
His patience was beginning to thin. He snorted angrily, turning his head away from the wind. The whispering only grew louder, piercing his ears and entering his brain.
“Turn back, turn back…”
He growled, swiping angrily at the air, as if trying to forcibly remove the wind. It only grew closer and more tempting in its offers.
“There’s still time. Turn back, and no one gets hurt…”
“Shut up,” he growled, pushing ahead. His hooves stomped on the ground, trying to block out the wicked air.
“You know the consequences of your actions. They will find you… and—”
“No!” he suddenly shouted, facing the cliffside. “I won’t turn back! I made this choice; and I’m sticking to it!”
The wind did not answer, seemingly dying away. He was about to turn and continue down the path—
When a wolf’s cry rang out.
His eyes widened, and he turned around, looking to the above cliffside. A pack of Shadewolves, dark and menacing, stood above. Their dark-yellow eyes bore into his pink ones, and the leader growled at him.
They pursued me here? He quickly turned, galloping down the remainder of the mountain.
The pack leaped down and advanced towards him. They barked and growled, their cries mingling into one loud roar. These idiots are going to cause an avalanche!
He leaped to the side, avoiding a lunge from one of the wolves. He landed softly. galloping down the length of the mountain.
The pack split up, three aiming for the front while the other two pursued Prosa from behind. He ground his hooves on the ground to slow himself before he crashed into the three. They growled at him, teeth bared and saliva dripping down their mouths. He glanced behind him, seeing the remaining two glaring at him.
“Easy, easy,” he said, trying to calm down. They only growled louder, and took several steps forward.
The pack leader suddenly roared ferociously, and Prosa heard the mountain rumble. The trees and ground began to shake, and he glanced up. The peak of the mountain had seemingly collapsed, and a white blanket of death fell from above.
The wolves took advantage of this distraction and lunged for him. He ducked under one and dove to the side, avoiding the others. There’s no way I’m going to outrun that avalanche! The pack leader lunged for him, swiping at his body and scratching his chest. He yelled in pain and jumped back, only to be tackled by another wolf.
Thinking quickly, he kicked the wolf off of him with his hind legs. As the leader leapt for him, he rolled away, making the two crash into each other. He tried to get to his hooves, but collapsed as the snow rolled for them.
The leader recovered, and glanced around, finally seeing the snow. Two of the wolves were engulfed by it, sent over the edge yelping. The other two tried to get to higher ground, but were pushed over the edge. The leader growled and lunged for Prosa, and he shied away, pushing himself against the rock face. The face shook with nature’s fury as the full brunt of the avalanche toppled for him. The leader tried to lunge for him again, and nearly bit his head off; but was knocked back by the snow. Prosa’s last view of the beast was it yelping and barking all the way to its demise.
He tried to move ahead, but the snow seemed to accumulate in front of him. He protectively held his hooves in front him, as the white substance piled up. Soon, the opening had vanished, replaced with dark white snow. He closed his eyes, and waited for the rumbling to stop.
“There is no hope… there is no hope for you…”
Somehow the wind managed to pierce through the thick layer. Dusk Prosa opened his eyes in shock. That means there’s got to be an opening somewhere!
He glanced around. The snow was thick enough to block most of the sun, but he could faintly see. The snow had piled around his hooves and body; if he didn’t move quickly, he would surely perish from hypothermia. He shook his hooves, and noticed that he could barely feel them. Frostbite? No; I can’t think about that!
He shook his head and glared at the snow. He concentrated his hearing on the whispers of the wind, listening for where the opening was.
The words became garbled, but it was still clear where they came from. He smirked; how ironic that the wind would be his savior.
There was an opening to his right, as far as he could tell. He pressed a hoof on the side, and noticed that the snow seemed less thick there. He pushed lightly, and the snow began to fall apart! He grinned, and pushed even harder. The snow around him began collapsing, and he struggled to retain his hoof’s position as snow fell around him.
“C’mon, you louse, c’mon,” he muttered. For a moment, snow completely filled his vision.
Finally, the snow collapsed completely around him. His hooves came free, and his head popped out of the snow bank. Bright sunlight glared in his eyes; it was a sign that he was alive. He pulled himself out of the snow, gritting as his cold appendages groaned under the strain.
He took a few tentative steps forward, looking for the wolves. He guessed that they had all perished from the avalanche. He shook his body to throw off the snow that covered him, glancing down when he had finished.
Somehow, both the snow and the wolves had ruined his cloak. Snow sat inside holes made by the wolves’ claws, and he murmured a light curse. He noticed that his bag was missing; glancing around, he saw it in the snow pile and picked it up, making sure that its contents were fine.
They appeared to be, and he slung the bag over his shoulder. He let out a sigh of relief. Oh, thank Celestia I’m alive.
For a moment, he felt doubt pinch him. Should he continue on? No doubt that there would be even more danger in the coming days; he wouldn’t be able to always make it out by the skin of his teeth.
“Turn back… turn back, now…”
If this is an example of what is to come… if I continue on this path… He frowned. Makes me regret letting Opacare Prose leave—
He shook his head. No, he left for his reasons and his goals. To turn back now would be cowardly.
Prior to his disappearance, Opacare Prose never was a coward. And neither am I.
He nodded to himself, and once again began trekking down the mountain. He felt completely exhausted, but continued nonetheless, not caring whether or not he made it. All that mattered was that he try. No matter the danger; no matter the risk.
The whispering wind followed him, but seemed to lessen in intensity; its words faded into little more than air being pushed ahead.
Steven Magnet had experienced some pretty strange things in his life.
First, there was the time that the Mare in the Moon had returned, and six ponies had arrived in the Everfree seeking the Elements of Harmony (at the time, he didn’t know what they were after). After one of them, a white one, had helped him fix his mustache, he had happily allowed them to cross the raging river using his serpentine body.
Then there was the time that a draconequus of Chaos nearly took over. He had heard the draconequus fooling around with the Ponyville, as if it were all a game to him. It was positively dreadful; who mixed chocolate rain with cotton candy clouds? That was hardly aesthetically pleasing; he was thankful that the six ponies managed to stop that Chaos controller.
Then came the return of his old friend, Cranky Doodle Donkey, and his rediscovery of Matilda. Steven smiled as he recalled that day. Cranky had told him about it some time later; though, Matilda was still unaware of the sea serpent’s involvement.
He sighed. It wasn’t that he minded being in the background; but, sometimes he wished that he could do more than just ferry ponies. Or be on the lookout for a pony.
For a week.
Sure, he wanted to help out; but could Opacare Prose please not be so good at hiding? It didn’t help that nopony even knew what he looked like! It was only by that maid’s cleaning inspection did anypony even know that Prose had gone missing!
In short, Steven was slightly bored.
“Maybe I could go on a grand adventure with Cranky, like old times,” he mused, relaxing on his back in the river. He frowned. “Then again, I haven’t had a yearning for adventure in years. Perhaps a simple wedding would suffice.”
He was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of sticks snapping. He turned around, looking for the source. He expected to find a Timberwolf, perhaps; even a cockatrice.
He did not expect to find what appeared to be an extremely injured equine.
Blood ran down the sides of his mouth, and his lower lip seemed to have been bitten with extreme force. His mane, a slate-grey with blue highlights, was highly messy, with sticks, dirt, and grime sticking to it. His coat had been covered in mud, the pewter grey transformed into a dirty silver with bronze patches. He wore a dark-grey cloak, and Steven could see a torn blue vest underneath. A small, brown bag was slung over his shoulder. His tail swung weakly, and he seemed on the verge of falling over. His legs moved forward at a slow pace, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Strangely, though, Steven could not discern the stallion’s Cutie Mark. It seemed to have completely vanished off of his flanks, replaced with a simple, blank, pewter-grey coat.
Despite the obvious pain and discomfort the pony was in, his eyes had not dulled one bit. They remained a solid carnation pink, glowing with intelligence and ferocity that Steven felt rivaled the Bearers.
“Oh my absolute goodness!” he cried, darting forward at the pony. “Are you alright? What happened?”
The pony glanced up at the sea serpent, before chuckling darkly. His chuckles grew to weak laughter, and he nearly toppled over from his shaking.
“Hey!” Steven placed his hands on his hip area. “What’s so funny?”
The pony snorted and managed to calm himself down. “Sorry… it’s just… the first talking creature I meet in a while, and he has the most flamboyant accent…” He resumed a dark chuckling, looking down.
Steven huffed. “Well, excuse me, mister! I happened to be born with this fabulous accent!” He crossed his arms, doing his best to look intimidating to the pony.
He evidently failed, as the stallion cast one quick look at him before giggling madly. “Hey, what’s the deal? My accent isn’t that funny!”
The stallion calmed down. “You’re right… it isn’t.” He struggled to take a breath. “It’s just… I’ve been in the wilderness for what seems forever… I’m a bit crazy for civilization. You know what I mean?” Before Steven could answer, the stallion shook his head. “No, of course you don’t. No one does…”
He coughed, and blood shot out his mouth, marking the ground in red. “As for your first question… I just got through running from Shade and Timberwolves.” He glanced up, his eyes shining with a hint of arrogance. “At this point, I’m more than fine.”
“Shadewolves?” Steven raised an eyebrow. “You came from the Hollow Shades? What on Equestria are you doing here? And in such a sorry state?”
The stallion coughed again, the patch on the ground darkening. “Long… story… no time to talk…” He tried to walk forward, but suddenly collapsed.
“Hey! Wait a minute!” Steven grabbed the pony and held him up. “Yoohoo! You okay in there?”
The stallion couldn’t even mumble, so exhausted he was. Oh, this is definitely not good. Steven leaned close, and was relieved to hear him still breathing, albeit slowly. “I have got to get you to a hospital,” he murmured.
He placed the stallion on his back, and he instinctively held on. Steven turned, and began swimming down the river towards Ponyville.
