“Ooookay, maybe I took another wrong turn. Didn’t I do this last time?” Gently gliding over a darkly forested area, a young pegasus stallion carefully considered a map open in his hooves, squinting at it suspiciously. He’d bought the thing at a cheap souvenir stand, and it gave only the laziest of potential landmarks. As much as he was excellent at flying, Soarin was not precisely the best at geography. In fact, he was fairly certain he’d failed that part of his schooling. Unfortunate in this situation, in which he was trying to find his way back home.
The trouble with home was that Cloudsdale had an annoying habit of being moved about. This was all too common, especially in the rainy seasons during spring. Cloud movement wasn’t his favorite thing, but Soarin had been on that duty quite often before he became a Wonderbolt. Now he was often exempt from such tasks, to his great delight. Soarin didn’t consider it beneath him, per se, but he found performing acrobatics and racing were much more, well, fun.
But despite the pleasure he got out of his work, Soarin every now and then needed a vacation. This one, he took in Las Pegasus. A cousin of his happened to be working the slots, and Soarin loved a good gamble. There were plenty of times when he found his ear nearly ripped off by Spitfire for trying a stunt a little too risky and nearly breaking a leg. Or a wing. Or three of his ribs. Okay, only the last one actually happened. Soarin was, after all, an elite flyboy. But on the rare occasion he did crash, it was quite spectacular, at least. He was certain Spitfire had been impressed, even if she scolded him worse than his mother.
At the moment, being out from the supervision from his captain gave Soarin a distinct feeling of relief. He certainly didn’t want to be rescued from a situation he was perfectly capable of getting out of on his own. Probably.
“Useless map,” he sighed, tucking it into his pack. At that moment, an irate rumble came from his stomach. Despite being a little lost, Soarin’s eyes brightened at the prospect of a hearty meal. Nothing would clear his mind up like a little picnic in the woods below. They were dark and a little dreary, sure, but he was certain it couldn’t be as bad as the Everfree Forest. And he was also positive it wasn’t the Everfree Forest itself; he hadn’t even passed Ghastly Gorge, which he remembered from his trip on the way to Las Pegasus.
Banking slightly left and down, Soarin executed a sloping dive down into the trees. He flared his wings before hitting the tree line, slowing his descent until he gently landed on the forest floor. Perfect landing. His feathers ruffled with pride, though it was dampened a bit by the fact that he was without an audience to admire the effect. No problem, it simply meant he could eat without disruption. With a less graceful thump, his bottom landed within a pile of decaying leaves and squished, yellow grass. His saddlebag was promptly removed, and he greedily rummaged within, shoving aside the trinkets and hastily tossed in Wonderbolt uniform in order to grab a brown lunchsack. Soarin was a pony of very humble tastes, to say the least.
With surprising reverence, he pulled from the sack a hay-salad sandwich, with extra mayo on each slice of bread. It was beautifully crafted, with his own loving hooves. But such admiration was quite sort lived, as Soarin began demolishing his work with great exuberance, mayo running down his muzzle and dripping slightly onto the ground. He greedily licked the condiment from his lips, and almost stooped to eating it off of the shriveled leaves it had fallen on. He thought better of it, however; the leaves didn’t look like they’d taste that good, even with mayonnaise lathering them. Soarin considered himself a connoisseur of leaves (much to the tolerant groaning of his teammates).
Being a one-pony-sandwich-apocalypse, his sandwich was quickly devastated and resting humbly in Soarin’s digestive system. Patting his engorged stomach appreciatively, Soarin stretched slightly, gave a satisfied belch, and began rummaging into his bag in search of more snacks to devour.
-----
Quickly, quickly, skitter, slip, leap. The shadows shifted through the Darkwood, as trees sighed and leaned on one another wearily. A thin body weaved itself through the upheaved roots and huddled trunks, each hoofstep as light as a moth’s landing. There was always great danger in leaving the Swarm. Even just the act of departure had its risks, especially without the blessing of the Queen. In this case, he was certain that he’d probably be given a curse if Her Majesty had known. A long stallion made his way carefully, squinting at the sky above, which seemed to gleam with a brilliance he was quite unaccustomed to. It was especially unnerving to consider that he was in the domain of a being far more powerful than he, and no doubt far less benevolent towards his existence.
Irrelevant. If he desired to continue said existence, it was far better to penetrate deeper into the land of Equestria, and to brave the dangers. As if there weren’t enough of dangers already. With a hissing exhalation, he pressed forward into the wood, giving no more consideration of what he was getting himself into. There was no doubt for self-doubt; only for movement, and for opportunities awaiting somepony who was willingly to snag them in his fangs.
The trees were the safest way, he reasoned. He could hide in the bushes and in the long darkness cast by the towering deciduous forest. While it would be swifter to take to the sky, the day was not his friend. It was better to take the fewest chances possible. Chitin had never taken many risks in his life, and he wasn’t planning on extending himself on more than need be in this case.
With a quick humming of his wings, he had gently placed himself across a rather suspiciously colored stream when he heard a rumbling noise nearby. The young male froze, his bulging eyes seeming to push themselves out further as he held his breath, ears turned forward. His intent listening was rewarded with noises of rustling and… munching? Silent as a spider, he crept forward, leaning against a dark oak and peering around the thick mass of the trunk to examine the source.
Sitting with blissful obliviousness in the middle of a small clearing was a brightly colored blue pony. The hue of the stallion’s coat was as intense as the sky itself. His mane was windswept, and a much darker color. Oddly, the fellow was adorned in a brightly colored shirt with flowers all over it. Tacky. Chitin gazed in genuine curiosity, and not a little contempt. The rumbling noise was made again as the stallion belched after swallowing a great deal of some liquid from a flask at his side. He appeared to be traveling to or from somewhere, just as Chitin was. But it was obvious that this pony had no need to be as obtrusive and shifty as his counterpart. Nonetheless, Chitin realized, this could be just what he needed.
He tapped his chin with one forehoof in thought, and then nodded. The poor fool was going to realize the dangers of this particular wood extended far beyond the occasional chimera.
-----
Soarin had finished his chips and his muffin. Swallowing down the last of the apple cider in his canteen, he gave a great sigh of contentment. Honestly, it didn’t really matter if Soarin was home or away, a good meal was enough to make his day enjoyable. He sat for a few moments, eyes closed, enjoying an afternoon breeze, before he began to grab his trash and stuff it back into the now deflated lunch bag. He was bent to his task when he felt a very abrupt impact on his side. Soarin staggered slightly, and flared his wings in surprise. He whirled to face whatever had hit him, on full alert. All he heard was a buzzing noise nearby, flickering movements from the corner of his eye. But no matter where he turned, Soarin couldn’t see who (or what) exactly had given him a thump in the ribs.
Warily, he began to turn in circles, uncertain of whether there was any true threat. “Hey, uh, whoever is out there… uhhh, I don’t have any food, so, you know. Sorry. I mean… if you’re out there.” The extended silence gave him pause. There didn’t seem to be any response at all, not even the sound of wind in the trees. The dead quiet was unnerving, as if all life was holding its breath, and watching these few moments with a judgmental eye. “Okay, well, I guess that’s settl – “ This time it came from the left, and he felt his pinion feathers crackling a little. His cry was more startled than pained. The figure he saw skittering back into the shadows was quick and insectile, but disturbingly large and pony-shaped as well. “Celestia’s knickers!” Soarin decided that he would do far better to get the hay out of Dodge.
With expert technique, Soarin shot off the ground with a few energetic swoops of his wing. He found himself tilting slightly, and the struggle was greater than he was accustomed to. With his pinion feathers crooked, one or two even falling off, he found that taking to the air (and staying in it) presented an entirely new challenge. Despite this, Soarin managed to get himself off the ground and in flight. He was a decent height above the forest when he let himself look back down warily, wondering what exactly he had seen. That is, until the very creature burst from the treetops with surprising speed and made a beeline right for his hindleg.
Soarin yelped in surprise and horror as the creature sank needle teeth into his haunch, buzzing furiously and shaking its head with all the enthusiasm of a pitbull. In the frenzied kicking he applied towards his assailant, Soarin was able to recognize what it was. He recalled distinctly from the wedding he’d attended in Canterlot a great swarm of these things. They’d caused a horrendous panic, and Soarin had attempted to aid the royal guard in beating back the intruders. He’d not expected at all to find one of these beastly Changlings trying to gnaw on him in the middle of nowhere, so many months later.
The aerial struggle caused Soarin to lose his own center of balance. He tipped dangerously left then right, trying to maintain altitude. The creature had moved its attack from biting to kicking at him, darting around with surprising bursts of short speed. The build of the Changling allowed it to perform quick changes in direction and it possessed a certain agility to its movements. Soarin remembered these general observations from his brief encounter with the swarm over Canterlot. This was to his own great disadvantage for midair battle, where his wing was already hampered. Twisting to avoid a kick to the nose – the only part more sensitive was probably located on his lower abdomen – Soarin found himself wide open to a hit to the solar plexus. Immediately stunned, the pegasus dropped like a stone into the treetops below, gasping for air as his diaphragm spasmed painfully. He felt the delicate feathers and skin of his wings scraping painfully on angry branches that slowed his ultimate descent to the forest floor. The world spun up and down as he fell.
He hit the ground on his side. His head was knocked angrily into the hard earth, leaves crackling in surprise as they tangled up in his mane. Soarin’s vision was slowly tunneling, as darkness edged over him, warm and comforting. He was dimly aware of the softest hoofsteps approaching him. A pair of bulging cyan eyes narrowed coldly were the last thing Soarin remembered before losing consciousness.