I yawned as I woke up, stretching my stiff limbs. Sleeping in the damp rain wasn't my greatest idea of all time, but there was nowhere dry for me to sleep. I had given my dry spot to a few younger orphans who were just as bad off as I was. Standing up, I fluttered my tiny wings. A few of my orange feathers drifted off and into the wind. That wasn't good. Twisting my head back, I glanced at my feathered appendages. Three of my small primary feathers were missing. If I could fly, that would have be problematic. But I couldn't, so it didn't really matter either way. My cloudwalking still worked, and that was all that mattered.
Walking out from the alley, I bumped right into somepony. I fell backwards, my wings flapping uselessly. The stranger turned to look at me, and I cringed, expecting a violent response. My skin still carried the scratches from when I bumped into a griffon. They had more or less healed, and only stung from time to time, so I just continued on with my foraging.
But instead of cursing at me and beating me, the mare had kindness in her amber eyes. I shuffled backwards some more, hoping to hide myself in the relative shadow of the alley. Anger, hate, rage; those I could deal with. But kindness? The one pony who had shown me that had gone off to war, and had probably died. I didn't trust kindness. It had gotten me nowhere. You had to be tough when you lived on the streets, had to keep a stiff upper lip. There was no time for whiners or crybabies.
The mare stopped, one metal-clad hoof outstretched. "Are you okay?"
I froze in my attempts at backing away. My brain wasn't working well, so I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "What army are you in?" My voice was full of bitterness and hate for the war, the thing that had made my life so miserable.
She froze, shocked at how a filly's voice could be so hateful. "I'm not in the war."
"Yeah you are. You have armor."
Pausing, she looked at her hoof, which was still outstretched. "This isn't battle armor. This is the armor of the Fire Wings."
"The Fire Wings? Sounds like war to me." I hadn't realized it, but I had gotten to my hooves.
"No. We're not in the war. How do I explain it?" She paused, tapping one hoof against the cloudstuff. "Do you know how the weather factories need coals and fire to create the hot winds?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I'm one of the ponies who harvest the needed fire." Pausing, she gestured to her armor. "This armor is fire armor. It keeps me from getting burnt."
I thought about what she said for a moment, deciding if what she said was true. The armor did look less battle-like than the armor the soldiers wore. "Okay, I believe it. But what about your eyes and swirly marks?"
"What about my eyes?"
"They're like dragon's eyes."
"I had a batpony great-grandparent. The other members of my family are all pegasi, which is why I don't have bat wings."
I thought about that as well. Batponies were rare, but not unheard of. "Okay, but what about the swirly marks?"
"They're tattoos. I work with fire, and I love it, so I got tattoos that resemble fire swirls. Make sense?"
"Yeah, I guess. Can you go now? I have stuff to do." I tried to avoid grownups. They were trouble.
"Bye, then," she replied with a friendly smile, walking off. Apparently she didn't notice or didn't care about my hostility.
I waved as she left, crossing my few remaining feathers that she would go away. And then my stomach growled. She paused. My stomach growled again, louder this time. She turned around and looked at me.
"Heh, dragons must be nearby." I tried to ignore the screaming pain in my stomach as I contemplated running away. Nah. She could fly, and that gave her the advantage.
She gave me another look. "Come here."
I dragged my hooves as I approached her. I knew what a sorry sight I was. Feathers were missing, my mane and tail were tangled messes, my coat was thin, and I was little more than a walking skeleton. Apparently the light made me look even worse, as she brought a hoof to her mouth in disbelief and shock.
"What happened to you?"
"The streets." My voice trembled unintentionally. It annoyed me. I didn't need her pity.
"You poor, poor thing." Her voice was soft as she leaned down to embrace me. I backed away, a hostile growling noise coming from my throat. She just hissed at me, spreading her wings and flashing her eyes. I instinctively cowered before her. She could have just walked off, but she gathered me up in a hug instead, ignoring my pathetic struggling.
"Shh, shh. It's okay."
I slumped in her grip, too weak and tired to fight. For some reason, the edges of my vision were shadowy, and as I curled up in her grip, darkness overtook me.
I woke up later in her cloudhouse, a bowl of soup on the table next to me. Her name was Fire Feather, and she was more than willing to care for me. She nursed me back to health, only for me to run back to the streets. She found me six months later, curled up on her doorstep in the dead of winter, half dead and beat up. I was nursed back to heath by her once again, and this time I stayed. I'd never had a mother before, but I have to admit, it's kind of nice to know that somepony is looking out for you. I did have to go to school, but she trained me in the art of fire-flying. I got my cutie mark in it (YAY!), and as I write this, she's looking over my shoulder.
This is Scoots (and Fire Feather), signing off!