//------------------------------// // 3 - In the Broken Light // Story: From the Flames in the Firelight // by Snowybee //------------------------------// The sling filled her with pride. So neat, and it held so firm. Her wing barely shifted, even after scaling steep hillsides. After a couple of days, her joints felt just well enough to be pushed again. The pegasus’s scant supplies did at least suffice for that recovery period, but food now stood as an immediate concern. Not at that very moment, however; the last of her stash had already filled her belly. It occurred to her as wise to be concerned, even if she felt good, all in all. Snowstorms roared far, far behind her. The chilly woods hosted merely overcast weather. Threatening, but all bark. If the cold had toned back more, the climate would be just right. Her destination already felt within reach. The further west she traveled, the warmer it would get. Upon encountering a mercifully worn path, devoid of vines and stones and sudden drops, she sighed in relief. Her pace slowed, and she felt no need to correct it. The trodden dirt alone made her feel far from alone. Safe. Given a chilly breeze from the south, she let her mane down at last to spare her cheek the brunt. Her left ear twitched. Little steps pounded alongside her own. She permitted a small smile. “Tourmaline? What’s wrong this time, dear?” she spoke. Hopefully, no one was around to see her talking to herself. “What’s wrong. What’s. Wrong?” her unseen companion spoke. “Princess! Look at you! You look like a vagabond who lost a fight with a polar bear!” The princess clicked her tongue. “Oh, but Touri, what makes you think anyone would believe I lost a fight to a mere beast? I’d say to the poor creature: ‘Count your lucky stars I’m not partial to taking your hide a trophy!’” She gesticulated three little bounces with her forehoof. “Then he’d run for his life, having learned a lesson in humility and the ways of love! That’s what my official statement would be, anyways. My brother taught me well in the fine art of bull-crockery.” Touri stamped twice and growled to herself. “That oaf Blueblood… at that rate, your lies would leapfrog into a giant space bear attacking. It’s better for a princess to be honest about her capabilities, rather than talk them up such that the people will believe her a goddess.” “Tell my Auntie that.” A welcome breeze swept by, which she drank in greedily. The coolness felt as loving waters washing away the burn in her muscles from the lengthy hike. No one for miles and miles. Just her. Her and her thoughts. Touri’s hoofsteps already faded into a faint memory once more, as she had willed. She could be a princess. A warrior. An explorer. A child. Anything she wanted out here. No one would judge her but herself. The filly giggled to herself. Then, she shouted at the top of her lungs into the distance mountains, nothing but her diaphragm carrying it. That pegasus sorcery was against the rules! The call echoed back to her after a few second. She shouted once more, a warbling battle cry cheapened by the indomitable laughter popping up  like heated corn seeds and sweet chewing gum. Snickering bombarded her all around. Her ears went low for a moment. What the hay was that? No soldier laughed on the battlefield! She took the derision in stride. A boyish voice took its turn: a low growl that crescendoed into a high yowl. Two of its companions joined out of turn. So too did the filly; that little embarrassment slipped her mind, as it did for all the others. One by one, the voices turned into a cacophony of howls, a contest of volume, a chorus of harmonic wolves, then into a concerted effort to annoy the grown ups, then back around to the first thing… Whatever that was! Before she knew it, the hike turned into a frolic. A tune, one most likely composed by a pony with their head stuck in the ground near a babbling brook, overtook her throat. The hum, a strong vibration in her chest, rose and fell rhythmically, though at a pace not becoming of listenable music the grown-ups taught. Her heart kept the tempo, and the beats of her hooves in the ground provided the backbeat. One so wild; so syncopated that it simply broke upon forehead on its way and failed to enter the ears as something resembling music, but rather the jarbled mess her excitement smashed it down to. The tune was no tune at all. Just raw, simple energy. The shouts and snickers and tapered howls of her fellows smelled just like energy. Tasted like the red in their faces, felt like the fuzzy horizon bordered by the distant trees in the forest. The filly reached a dip in the path, down to the lower shelf of the land. She readily scaled it. The descent added a tang of adrenaline and g-forces to her skipping, not unlike flying. Oh, she wished her parents would let fly once more. That last spill she took definitely spooked them. Heck, her legs and wing throbbed. The pain was… significant, but easily brushed aside. It had to have been; mother and father would clip her wings if she showed it. The little jaunt dragged on and on, but at last the lock of hair which the band of children had seized it by snapped at the roots, dropping the merriment into a wide, cozy glade. Once the filly’s eyes focused again on the scene, all the laughter faded. Quiet, fizzing water filtered through the glade. The princess fell to her knees. The aches became too much, and the high from her elation failed her at last. Hard did her smile fight, and it remained fast on her lips. The pain at the precipice of perception could not crush that hope. She refused to give into it. That would be treason to her ideals. Unforgivable. Too many counted on her hope themselves. The princess's long legs took long strides in the tall grass; a wade in the green pool. The winds about her body parted the waves before her and in her wake. The air of a ruler, old scholars had called it. A flow that told the disposition of a pegasus. The heart on her tribe's sleeve. Greyed channelers and seasoned warriors knew well how to tame it. The princess could hold this air at the age of fifteen. The best part of her deception, with no question. She was a feeble pegasus. Worthless. The droves of blades waved to her, even then. They bent back in the breeze, then forward in prostration. Emotion circulated much the same. ‘Gentle strength’; her steps were crafted to match that theme, the one repeated over and over in her mind. If her subjects were to see this in their beloved princess, they would behave much like the grass all around her. The strength she parted to them, the fake show, would return to her the strength needed to keep her head up. To rise from her bed each day. The dedication to that promise overshadowed the guilt of her deceptions. Too many counted on the princess for her petty feelings, her meaningless identity and past, to get in the way. Even if she was a fake, she was still raised to be a princess. The princess paused at the center of the glade. Her ears swiveled to the left. The wind carried no message to her. But the growing pit in her gut yelled it quite clear. If she were to die out here, she would be letting her subjects down, all for the sake of a selfish journey. Then, they swiveled to the right. Distant branches snapped, and the stench of smoke reach her nose. Her eyes widened. She fought back against her sudden dread, yet a lone tear escaped. “A f-fake couldn’t p-p-protect them,” she whispered to herself, ducking low into the grass. She covered her head with both forelegs, and buried her face into the dirt. “T-they’ll kill me. Oh Goddess, they’ll kill me.” Fierce shouts mixed in with the sharp snaps of a pained forest. She dared to peek skyward, where a plume of smoke drew near. Ponies called clear commands to each other. Barks of stress and tension, not unlike her husband while on the field. Their words hardly made sense to the filly. The mud sucked her hooves into the ground. The distress of her neighbors tugged her toward the dark cloud. To hide and follow father’s orders, or to fight against them? A roar of clarity. The feel of her hearing split upon the wedge of the dreadful cry sent its message, just as the phantom shouts intensified. That thing… that thing was real. Her wings flared. She whimpered. The stamping and snapping drew ever closer, straight for her. It wanted her blood, her dirty, shameful blood. That blood gave power to her wings, and her wings prepped for flight without a thought. That thing could never reach her, up in the skies. Just like before, she’d be safe. Safe from harm. Between the cracks in her eyes stepped her mother’s red hooves. A narrow triangle of daylight peeked from the curtain with sights to the damp earth at the pegasus’s hooves, which her mother hastily draw back shut. “Tsk. When will that lazy stallion show up? I paid him beforehoof. He could at least show some courtesy.” The filly gave a little pout. “I must be the only kid around here who actually wants a private tutor for once, too.” The pleasant scent of the soil drifted into her nostrils. “He’s the only pony here who knows about weather stuff, isn’t he? Do you think he knows why the eastern mountains are always covered in snow, when our side is so warm?” “I’m sure he could tell you the truth, but… many of us still like to think the old stories were true, Cadenza.” Her mother stepped away, in a steady pace that eased the filly’s squirrely excitement. “I do remember Trotter telling me that the mountains hold back the cold winds from the north after all, but old wisdom said that we lived in a bowl of warmth. All the ice and snow couldn’t even touch the ground in our beautiful land as long as Mother’s Flames burned under our land.” A little sigh passed from the filly’s lips. “I flew to Mount Lowen before, mother. It looks dead as a doornail. Do you think it’d ever erupt again?” The bang of a hammer cracked against the walls of her home. A tantalizing crunch followed. “Mmm! These walnuts are to die for, Cadenza. Your father knows just what to bring home, doesn’t he?” After a tense, aggressive silence from the filly, her mother giggled. “Sorry, sorry. I don’t think we’ll see it in our lifetimes, frankly. However, there’s bit of a rumor that never quite caught on with the village. It was speculated that some creature deep below the ground was responsible for that catastrophic eruption.” Her heart quickened. “C-creature?” “Yes, a creature. Daresay, the myth even states that it is the Mother’s Flame. The creature’s own fire burning within its body gives warmth to us, all while it gently sleeps under our hooves. They say all the love and care we give to the land as we work with and live off it gives Mother her life, and she gives it back as the warmth that keeps us safe.” The curtain cracked once again, wider this time. “Oh! He’s coming, Cadenza. I suggest you get off the floor now. You’re not some mutt, are you?” The pegasus whimpered. Why was she so frightened all of a sudden. “W-what did they call ‘Mother’? What is she?” The curtains opened wide, heralding the grey light of the glade. The earthy breeze kicked up again. The scent of lovely flowers so too faded. Mother, her mother, was gone. Deafening, the snap of a mighty trunk felled under a great, ferocious weight curdled her blood. A sudden blanket of heat drew even more sweat from her brow. As discreetly as she could, the pegasus raised her head. The tears made her vision bleary, but there was no mistaking. The creature rose its beak in the air, and as its jaw worked a bony scrape irritated the pegasus’s bowels. The stains of blood blossoming on the underside of the large beak faintly sparkled in the overcast light. The monstrosity slithered closer, rearing back at what she hoped was its full height, given it nearly surpassed the trees. The draconian head craned about. Its eye to match scanned the glade. Heavy, shuddering breaths reverberated from the wurm’s throat, two solid stone lobes flapping in the passage of air. So overbearing the sound was, that the pegasus mistook it for her own breaths. In truth, her breathing had hitched to a complete stop. The little pony did her best to keep still. She knew well enough that the wurm could snatch out of the air at this distance. The silent beast simply craned its head about, almost disinterested with its pace. Birds fluttered away, and the bushes all around ruffled from sudden evacuations. Simply morsels. The wurm ducked back to the ground after an eternity passed. Why? Did it not see her? Smell her? Did it pick up on something else? The ground rumbled as it slithered on past. Jets of steam hissed up into the air from the pocked hide of the wurm, not unlike a train in motion. Merely a few yards from the pegasus, one of the scalding jets torched the grass and kicked the singed blades about. She curled up even tighter, praying to the moon. Familiar carnage filled the air. Then, it faded. The sun set at last. The pegasus merely lay in the dirt and sobbed.