Helpless in the treetops, Soarin’s gaze was riveted on the shadowy movement below. The net kept twisting a little in the wind, annoyingly turning his back to the approaching figure. It came with a slow trod at first, and then faster as it neared. Finally, from his perch, Soarin could see it was – to his horror – another Changling. This one’s shape was similar in structure to the previous one, a shiny black insect come to crawl over its victim. Scratch that, more like an arachnid. He could already imagine that thin, delicate mouth reaching in, biting his neck, and sucking the juices out of him. His horror grew when the creature stood directly below him, it’s bug-eyes bulging and wide as it stared and stared up at him. He could hear the shallow breathing of the creature, quick and breathy with excitement. Soarin was about ready to wet himself.
A faint hum hit the air, as the creature rose up. Soarin whimpered slightly, trying not to face his inevitable death by shrieking like a filly. The Changling that hovered beside him now seemed to be about equal in size to the one previous. He noted, however, that some of the jagged edges of his former attacker were smoother in this creature. As well, to his bewilderment, this Changling had – hair? It was glistening and obviously well cared for, with bangs styled neatly over the eyes that nonetheless stretched outward, and a face framed in large, delicate curls. The hair was a fine grey hue with streaks of dark plum twisting throughout. The tail matched, equally curled and ending in what appeared to be a strand of black ribbon tied in a feminine bow. It seemed this Changling was female, and was making a very strong point of it. He couldn’t imagine why – all Changlings still basically looked the same, and probably didn’t have any problems with finding suitable mates or whatever it was they did. And by appearing all the same, he supposed he meant they all were an image of horror crawling out of the grave. Didn't seem like they'd care too much for anypony to gussy themselves up for the other sex, given that record.
He closed his eyes as he felt the hot breath of the Changling on his face, as it looked him over slowly and carefully. “I don’t believe it,” came a sudden whisper, a voice as dry as the husk of a molting bug. There was definitely a feminine hint to it, despite that. From this proximity, he also picked up the musk of wet leaves. “A pony this close to the Deadwood?” The Changling circled a few times around the net, examining him from every angle. Soarin found the whole process quite disconcerting. What, was she trying to mark out the juiciest pieces of meat or something? It hardly seemed polite to prolong his inevitable demise like this. Soarin almost felt a little disappointed that the tension was easing from the situation as it appeared that mare was holding back on brutally ripping him limb from limb. Instead, she was poking him repeatedly in the cutiemark, perhaps trying to see if it would rub off.
“Stop that!” Soarin finally said, his ears pinned against his skull. He glowered darkly, as the Changling withdrew slightly, startled. Her head cocked quizzically to the side as she gazed at him. He found it difficult to divine the exact emotions playing across the mare’s face. It was too alien for him to really find any familiarity in the movement of those gossamer eyes.
After a moment, the mare spoke again, her leathery rasp grating against Soarin’s ears. “It’s just quite strange. And exciting! I’m very happy. It’s truly wonderful that you’re here.” This sounded like someone a little too chipper to be eating him. Soarin stared at the Changling that now darted above him, alighting gently on the branch that was holding up the trapped pegasus. He could now stare directly up at her as she began to poke about with the mechanism holding the netting up. “Truly, I have many questions for you. I’ve always greatly admired your people.”
“Woah, woah, woah,” Soarin said. He would have waved his hooves for emphasis except they were lost somewhere above his head. “You… aren’t you going to eat me?” It seemed a bit strange that the mare was talking about questions and enjoying his “people” unless she was planning on rubbing sauce all over him and then proceeding to… well, do nasty terrible things with her mouth. He couldn’t quite believe that this was not the case, and that in fact what he thought to be his doom could be his salvation.
Stopping in her work, the Changling peered down at him in what he thought might be surprise. He couldn’t even fathom how those bulging eyes could possibly get any wider, however. “What?” She then tittered slightly. “No, not at all. Changlings don’t eat ponies. Wherever did you get that idea?” Soarin stared at her, processing this little bit of information.
“Er, the teeth?” he suggested weakly. They were rather sharp and curved. Seemed appropriate for shredding flesh and the like.
“That’s ridiculous,” she dismissed lightly, resuming fiddling with the pulley attached firmly to the tree. “The Deadwood is a dangerous place, and we just need to defend ourselves.”
Now that Soarin thought about it, he didn’t really remember anypony back in Canterlot being mauled to death by the Changlings. If anything, they just seemed to be generally flying around causing havoc. No grisly scenes of deaths had to be cleaned up after Shining Armor and Princess Mi Amora Cadenza repelled the Swarm. They’d even managed to get the wedding done shortly afterward. It was actually a pretty sweet deal. Upon reflection, maybe he was a wee bit wrong about the diet of Changlings. Soarin hadn’t ever really bothered to look into it anyways. At the time it seemed unimportant, what with everything back to normal and all. He hadn’t ever expected to run into not one but two on the way home from Las Pegasus.
“Right then. So… why, um, did you catch me in your net?” He still wasn’t entirely sure if the Changling was telling the truth, but she seemed to be benevolent enough for the moment. She peered down at him while tugging on a rope.
“Well, I didn’t actually expect to catch a pony in the trap. These traps are mostly to capture and kill, erm… worse things.” Soarin swallowed at the word kill. He didn’t even want to think of what could be worse than a Changling that randomly attacked poor pegasus ponies in the middle of the wilderness. “Anyways,” continued the mare cheerily. “It’ll be great to have someone to talk to now! I want to know all about Equestria. This is a serious stroke of luck. Won’t it be so much fun?”
“No?” Soarin responded, totally bewildered as to why this Changling was so fascinated by ponies. It was actually almost as creepy as thinking about her eating ponies. “I, uh, mean, I really have to get home. I’m hours off schedule, and there are ponies relying on me.” Staying in the middle of a creepy forest chatting with an equally creepy Changling was not on the top of Soarin’s to-do list, that was for sure.
“Oh. Um… well… that’s too bad,” the mare said, her voice rasping. She didn’t sound too put out, however. She gave a gentle tug at the top of Soarin’s tree.
“Sorry, lady, but good luck with whatev – “ The net gave way. Only air was beneath Soarin now, and he yelped in surprise as he began once more to tumble directly downwards. He was only thankful that the headache rendered him unconscious before he even hit the dirt.
-----
Underneath the boldly flying image, Chitin saw that each teammate’s name was listed in a thick, bubbly font, with an exclamation point after. “Soarin!” proclaimed the poster with gusto, beneath the image of Chitin’s body. There was a confident smile on Soarin’s face, matching the others as well. This appeared to be the stallion that he was supposed to be imitating for the moment. And if these were his friends, it seemed most likely that he would be in good shape if he went to find them.
Chitin was beginning to understand the process of taking another pony’s place. As a drone, it had never been his task to collect the power hidden within the love of the ponies of Equestria. What sustenance he had taken had been a boon from the Queen herself, in order that his existence should continue until his purpose was at an end. It made him feel ill to think of it. In any case, he thought that it would be best to integrate himself here, and perhaps gather some energy in case he needed to make a hasty exit. As there had been no plan beyond the point of leaving the Hive with his delicate treasure in tow, he found himself improvising half the time. What he was going to do in a month or two from now, he hadn’t a clue. He hoped, above all, to find somewhere safe to place it.
But first, he would need to find a place for shelter and for food – what counted as food for a Changling, of course, was feeding off of the affections of other ponies. Finding wherever it was Soarin lived, and finding his friends, formed a definitive plan of action for Chitin. He felt suddenly more focused, and a little less irate and uneasy.
“Er, can I help you sir?” A small red pegasus with a uniform on was standing in the doorway. He blinked, realizing suddenly his nose had been pressed to the glass as he stared transfixed at the poster. Stepping back, he shook his head and coughed.
“Uh, no, I’m fine. Sorry. Just, um… do you have a copy of this poster?” The pegasus glanced over at the Wonderbolts advertisement.
“I’m afraid not… but, er, just take this one.” Ripping it down hastily, the employee thrust it into Chitin’s hands. “I’m sure we can get another later.”
Chitin realized he’d been standing there for minutes, no doubt with a deep fixation on the poster. “Right then,” he mumbled, not even thanking the pegasus as he breezed past the mare. She gawked after him before shuffling back into the music store, no doubt thankful that the skulking weirdo had finally moved on.
Chitin kept the poster in front of his face as he trotted forward. It proclaimed, “See the Wonderbolts perform, every Saturday from 1-2PM at the Cloudsdale Arena!” Not exactly the most imaginative name, he supposed. Glancing up, he found the arena quite easy to spot. It was one of the largest structures in the city, a great bowl shape made of gentle, puffy cumulus. It seemed to him like one could just punch a hole through the arena wall by flying through it. Not that Chitin intended to fly there. He had a feeling his unsteady flapping would cause a few stares. A stallion of his age should be able to straighten up and fly straight. Especially, he thought uneasily, since it seemed he was supposed to be some sort of aerial acrobat.
No, there is no room for doubt. Surely it wasn’t that difficult. He might be a bit unsteady now, but he had managed it when a young colt probably took weeks to be able to fly as far and as long as he had. Since this body was naturally fit and fast, he thought he could relearn flying as a pegasus without too much trouble. Chitin nodded, soothing his own doubts with that simple dismissal.
Weaving around other passersby on his way to the arena, Chitin glanced at the other names of the Wonderbolts. Up front was a wild haired mare with mane of two tones. She was front and center next to Soarin – he supposed that the two of them were the most recognizable faces from the team, if they were most prominent. This mare was labeled “Spitfire!”. To Spitfire’s right was a similar mare without a second tone in her mane – “Blaze!”, and on the far side next to Blaze was “Fire Streak!”, a white stallion with finely styled orange might with white streaks. To Soarin’s left, was a delicately pretty cream colored mare with icy blue hair and light streaks. Next to “Misty!”, in the back, was “Silver Lining!”, a large grey stallion with equally big, curly hair. He was grey coated with silver and white mane.
The group of them seemed to be a glamorous bunch. The poster proclaimed them, “Cloudsdale’s Most Beloved Aerial Aces!” and “Daring Stunt Fliers Without Equal!” It seemed that exclamation points were destined to follow the Wonderbolts. Chitin supposed if he had to be anypony, it might as well be someone who had a bit of glint behind his name. It didn’t seem that a lot of ponies recognized him without his uniform on, however. Since it was a body suit with goggles and all, he supposed most fans wouldn’t be able to see his facial features and the like, or particularly care much about the cutie mark. Or maybe they were just full of hot air and no one really knew who the Wonderbolts were at all. Chitin supposed he’d find out as soon as he got the arena.
The entrance was a tall archway with thin glass doors. At the front appeared to be some sort of guard pony, buff with a black shirt and sunglasses. The stallion’s yellow mane was cropped short, nearly to the scalp. Large muscles rippled under the pegasus’s olive green hide. Chitin felt a part of him wither just looking at this beast. Steeling himself, he approached the guard.
To his surprise, the guard burst into a foppish grin as soon as he spotted Chitin. “Soarin!” he said in a thick accent. “Look at you, my favorite Wonderbolt back from vacation!” It sounded more like, however, “Lookit choo, mah favret Wondahbolt beck from vacashun!” A huge muscled foreleg wrapped around Chitin’s shoulders and squeezed him in a strong hug. Awkwardly, Chitin patted him on the back. There was a simple-minded gladness that was indeed being emitted from the large guard.
“Oh, uh, hey… you.” Chitin finally managed to squeeze himself out from the tight embrace, rubbing his neck slightly. “Yeah, um, just thought I’d swing by.” He didn’t dare ask if the other Wonderbolts were in for practice, as it seemed like something he might have known.
“Awwww, you,” the guard said fondly, squeezing him into a headlock again and ruffling his mane. “Always the nice guy. And hey, diggin’ the shirt.” Chitin laughed weakly, pulling himself away again. “Anyways,” continued the pegasus, looking at Chitin with what seemed to be curious concern now. “You seem like you’re anxious to get in there.”
“Yeah,” Chitin affirmed, backing away quickly through the doors, wary of being taken into another bear hug. “Got some things to talk about.” Abruptly, he turned and made quickly away, leaving the guard scratching his head at the Wonderbolt’s peculiar behavior.
Past the glass doors led into a well polished lobby. There were tower cumulus pillars that looked like delicate marble. The lobby was empty except for a janitor pony puttering around, making tiny repairs to the cloudwork that had been made no doubt during whatever performance occurred here last. To his right there seemed to be some sort of stand of screens above a bar, and to the right double doors that led to some sort of restaurant, with “Family Friendly!” proclaimed on a side above the doorway. Perhaps the exclamation points were a Cloudsdale thing and not just a quirk of Wonderbolt advertisement.
Ahead of him were more double doors that lead to the nosebleed section of the arena. Cautiously trotting forward, he peeked through the glass, before stepping beyond and blinking.
The entire area of the place was bigger even than it looked on the outside. He thought wildly that the entire Swarm could fill these stands and still have room for a handful of actual ponies. The interior of the field was made of soft cloud, which could be molded to fit whatever occasion was called for. Down on the field now he could see a number of obstacles and other objects for physical training. Zipping through loops and tunnels and making sharp zigzags between poles were numerous ponies. They weren’t in uniform, but looking down at the poster he could match the faces to the names.
Quickly stowing the poster into his saddlebag, he took a deep breath, and began his flight down to the field. He kept his wings spread and focused more on gliding down than gaining any sort of altitude. He managed to land without looking too clumsy at the edge of the field. By now, the other ponies had taken notice, and a shout of joy went up.
“Soarin!” crowed a flame-headed stallion with white streaks in his mane. He wore a cocky smile, with gleaming brown eyes.
“Fire Streak,” the false Soarin said, forcing a smile in return, though he was sure his teeth were bared in some sort of disturbing expression. Even so, with all the attention focused on him, he found himself perking up a bit. Everyone was pleased to see their teammate return, warm feelings flushing into his system until he felt more energized than he had in days. “Good to see you.” The calm, cool response made several of the ponies halt uncertainly, glancing between each other.
“Heya, Soarin,” said the mare he remembered as Spitfire, giving him a genial nudge with her flanks. She strutted with confidence and authority that made Chitin immediately designate her as some sort of leader. “Back from vacay, huh? That’s great! The show just can’t carry on without our right point.” She winked and laughed. “Oh, and I guess you’re important too.”
“Um, yeah.” Her easy jokes might have caused banter between her and the actual Soarin, but Chitin felt only slightly miffed. His ears flicked back and he looked away from her. “I just got back. Thought I’d check in.”
Spitfire raised an eyebrow. “Alright then. Got a burr under your saddle, there, Soarin?” she inquired. Chitin’s natural brusqueness, he realized, did not match very well with the Soarin these ponies all knew and loved.
“No, no… just a lot on my mind,” he evaded, and faked a laugh, running a hoof through his windswept mane anxiously. “I was just checking in. Seeing how things were going.” The team glanced between each other, some shrugging.
“We’re all right,” said a mare that Chitin realized had not been on the poster. Her hair was large and poofy, dark blue with lighter highlights. She seemed to be friendly enough.
“Yeah, were practicing. You know, like we always do,” Spitfire said, not a little snippy. The waves of disapproval were hitting Chitin heavily.
“Right! Of course. I thought I’d just drop by and say hello.” Spitfire gave him a skeptical look. He shifted uncomfortably. “Err, but now that that’s done, I guess I’ll be going now.” He began to back up quickly. Spitfire sighed and shook her head, giving him a regretful smile.
“Look, sorry, Soarin. It sounds like your vacation may not have been the best. Why don’t we talk about it later?”
“Uh, sure,” Chitin said, taken aback. “I got to get, er, home to unpack, but maybe tomorrow.”
“Right! Tomorrow after practice. I know you’ve been eating too many pies, Soarin,” Spitfire quipped, nudging him. Chitin glanced down at his stomach and felt irritated. He wasn’t that fat! Then again, hadn’t he been thinking the same thing just this morning? He supposed it was his body, though, and he didn’t quite enjoy the idea of it being insulted.
“Sure, whatever,” Chitin sighed. As he walked the streets again, trying to find the address of Soarin’s home, he couldn’t help think but that whole meeting could have gone a lot better. Perhaps he had poor social skills… or perhaps Soarin’s friends were all annoying jocks. Chitin decided that the latter was more likely, and immediately felt better.
--
“Urghhhhhh,” Soarin groaned. This time, he decided to not even get up. Better to just lay there and die, thus bypassing all of the misery that seemed to be accompanying the living part. His skull felt like it had been hit with a freely swung sledgehammer a couple times by this point. He was amazed he could even see straight when he opened his eyes, let along that he was still alive. In the back of his mind he could hear Spitfire joking about him having a thick skull. “Maybe that’s why I’m so top heavy,” he muttered in a dazed response.
“Are you talking to yourself?” interjected a curious voice that did not sound like Spitfire. Unless Spitfire had taken up smoking for about forty years. Grimacing, Soarin gritted his teeth through the pain and rolled onto his belly. He fought the moment of dizziness until his vision cleared. Then he managed to finally get a good look around as to where in the hey he was.
It appeared to be some sort of cottage. Or, what was excusing itself as a cottage. The place was very ramshackle, as if things had been boarded together haphazardly. The planks that made the walls seemed to have been placed together crookedly, by a very clumsy hoof. The roof itself was thatched and falling in on itself. The whole place had no windows whatsoever, just a simple door that was creaking on its hinges whenever a gust of wind blew past outside.
Altogether more remarkable was the fact that the place, despite its poor condition, was decorated with a feminine enthusiasm. A few paintings hung on the wall, what looked to be mass produced replicas of more famous pieces, without any particular thought for taste. He could see a picture of ponies around a poker table smoking, sitting with just as much prominence as a portrait of a benevolent mare in a long robe glowing as she held a foal in her arms. There were many shelves lining the walls, stacked with books that threatened to fall off at any moment. A cot hung between two of the bookshelves, no doubt where the occupant of the cottage slept. Directly across was a dressing table with a dirty mirror cracking in one corner. With haphazardly enthusiasm little notes had been taped all along the border. On the table in front was a myriad of beauty products which Soarin would have trouble identifying even without his brain protesting until better working conditions were provided.
Overall, it was difficult to discern if the place was meant for a hardnosed lumberjack living off the land, or a young, girly mare without much coordination or organization when it came to decorating. The effect was disconcerting, to say the least. Soarin wondered calmly if he wasn’t hallucinating this whole thing, and in fact he was lying somewhere bleeding to death deep in the woods. Unfortunately, he thought that the pain was a good counterargument for that particular idea. And the fact that he recognized the bony face that was now looking eagerly down at him through... bars?
For some reason Soarin had been placed in what appeared to be a caged off part of the house. Stiff poles rose and popped through the ceiling. Why anypony would have random cages in their one-room hut he couldn’t imagine. Why a Changling would, well, that was a different story all together. The Changling mare herself seemed to be overall delighted that he was awake.
Realizing she had asked a question some time ago, Soarin grimaced. “Um, it’s nothing. Just a little confused.” Wait, why was he making excuses to this creature? “What are you going to do with me?” he managed to croak, to which she cocked her head slightly.
“Huh? Well, I thought we would first get to know each other a bit first!” Soarin stared blankly. “I mean, it would be silly to just go right into the knitty-gritty without first becoming friends,” the mare continued happily. “My name is Gossamer. But you can call me Gossy.”
“That’s… a silly name,” Soarin blurted. He groaned at himself a reached a hoof to press into his forehead. To his luck, the Changling only seemed to giggle.
“Yes, but I think Gossamer is a little too, um… flamboyant?” She peered in eagerly at him. “And what is your name?”
“Soarin,” he reluctantly said. Gossy repeated it back a few times.
“Soarin, Soarin, Soarin… that’s a great name! A very pegasus name,” she said, looking in with keen fascination at his feathered wings. Soarin felt quite naked under her gaze. Well, more naked than most ponies were at any given time.
“I have a feeling we’re going to be great friends. I haven’t had many visitors here, and none of them ponies. It’ll be great to have someone to talk to.”
“Uh, maybe we could talk with me not in a cage?” Soarin suggested weakly. He wasn’t the most assertive stallion, that was for sure. If Spitfire had been in this situation, she’d be raising all hell and refusing to compromise with this Gossamer. Soarin, however, found himself much discouraged by his own physical state by this point, and thought it’d be better to just peacefully solve things.
Gossy looked at him apologetically, thought still smiling (which was creepy in the first place, given the fangs). “Sorry, Soarin. But I know you’d just run away, like you were planning to. And besides,” she poked him in the cutiemark, and he winced. “You’re obviously in no fit state to travel. You need to rest up, and I’ll take care of everything, no worries!” She gave a toss of those dark, dark curls.
At that point, Soarin’s stomach thought it was an appropriate moment to growl. Soarin felt more and more put out with every passing moment.
“Oh!” Gossy chuckled again, backing away from the bars of Soarin’s ramshackle prison. “I suppose I should get you some food. You don’t have the same sort of needs as we Changlings, after all. That means…” She clopped her hooves together. “Shopping!” With a girlish delight, she had picked up a saddlebag and tossed it over her back. “Don’t worry Soarin, I’ll be back with some treats soon! Um… here!” She placed a few books in front of him, and he squinted wearily at them. “Occupy yourself while I’m gone,” she said merrily. “I’ll be sure to get something for those injuries too, so you just rest and make yourself comfy!”
The door didn’t even close properly behind her, simply swung around idly as if waving good-bye. He turned his head slowly back towards the books. The few titles included, The Wonderful World of Equestria, and, Welcome Home Little Foal!, and, The Biology of the Pegasus. They were all non-fiction books on ponies and pony culture. Soarin stared with disappointment, wondering if he’d even have the nerve to ask for something about flying if she’d still been here.
Deciding he didn’t want to read anyways, Soarin just curled up on his side, gave a few whimpers of self-pity, and fell into a fitful sleep.
A/N: If someone would like to be a beta reader for me, just shoot me a message. I've actually been editing these all myself, ack! Thanks!