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// 53 - First to Run 
// Story: Ponyfinder: Roots of Stone 
// by David Silver 
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Paul pushed, cut and struggled against the branches. If he were of a clearer mind, he might have noticed them leaving just enough space for him to find his way, slowly pushing closer and closer to the sound of his dearest friend's cries for help.

He emerged suddenly to a crowded clearing. There were dozens of people, staring balefully up at a stage, where Flint was strung out and tied by rough looking ropes to heavy logs. An exceptionally huge man with a bag over his face stood over Flint, and that lady that was put in charge of him stood nearby with a smirk on her face.

The big man looked to her. "Is it time?"

"Go on." She waved at him as if bored with the whole thing. "Not like he's good for anything."

"Flint! You let go of 'im or I'll cut you clear in half." Flint tried to shove through the crowd, but the crowd shoved back.

"Piss off. If you wanted a better spot, you shoulda been here earlier."

"You'll get my spot over my dead body."

Frustration and rage in equal parts warred in Paul's head, and he allowed the latter to rise to the fore. Pure anger pumped through him. It was strangely cleansing. He couldn't see through it all, but some of it... Why were there a bunch of people in the middle of a cursed forest?

He felt that cool burning sensation he had only felt once before. That horse goddess? What was her name? "Moon Princess." The burning sensation grew more intense by the moment, and the people stopped being people. They were hunched figures with brutish arms and no face at all on any of them, even the lady on the stage, and Flint as well. 

Despite being formed by a god with very little artistic skill, Flint still called out with a voice all-too-familiar. "Paul? Is that you? Get me out of here! They're goin' ta kill me!"

The heavy man had changed least of all. If he had a face, it was covered by the bag over his head, and he already looked big and muscular without much else. He hefted a great axe over his head, ready to bring it down.

Paul decided quickly. Friend or a copy of one, nobody deserved to be chopped up while tied down like that. He raised his own blade. "Get out of my damn way or you'll go before he does with twice the options he's got."

They wheeled on him, glaring without a face somehow. He could feel their ire. "Think you can force your way?" They lifted their arms, suddenly wielding greatswords of their own where there were none before and coming at him. He made the blade of one as the second bit into his breastplate, leaving a savage nick. He brought down his blade and cut one clean in half, thick tarry sap spewed from either side as the simulacrum of a person fell apart. Keeping the momentum going, he drew the blade into the other, cutting its head clean off its body and stepping over it even as it fell to the earth.

He cut and cleaved, hacked and hewed. They didn't fall idly. His arms and legs were scored with an increasing amount of bloodied marks as he crushed his way to the front of the procession, one body at a time, to find that noble woman, face or no, looking down at him. "Are you certain you didn't kill him?"

Paul came up short, confused. She directed behind him and he turned. They all had faces. In death, the faces of Flint stared up, unseeing, slain by his weapon and his fury. "You're the worst thing that ever happened to him."

His sword fell from numb hands. "W-what? Ain't no way. Stop jerkin' with me and give up Flint!"

With the sharp whistle of an arrow, pain exploded from his shoulder. Following the arrow that sprouted from it, he saw Flint up in a tree, pointing a bow at him. But did he have a face? None of this was making sense. Paul grabbed his sword from where it fell on the ground just in time for the huge executioner to jump down in front of him, axe gleaming in the flickering light of the torches set up for the stage. The noble doppelganger nodded. "He's a dangerous criminal, remove him."

Striking at a speed barely imaginable, the heavy man cut off Paul's head before he knew what was happening, but he wasn't dead. No, he was on a field, tilling. He had to till, to get the crops ready in time. Good harvest meant they would survive another year. Bad harvest, well...

He looked up from his work to see Flint returning from the forest, some animal draped over a shoulder. "Hey Paul, how's the farmin' life comin'?"

"Oh, you know..." He worked to upturn some rough earth, heaving with exertion. "Tough, but it's gotta get done."

Flint clapped him on the shoulder. "Good thing we have you doin' it then. It's what you're good at." Paul smiled, but that didn't last long as Flint's expression hardened. "All yer good at, really."

"W-what?"

"It ain't obvious?" Flint shrugged and walked past him. "Born a commoner, die a commoner. Nothing'll change."

A burning sensation prickled at Paul. He couldn't ignore it. What did it mean? Oh! The horse lady? "Moon Princess?" The field he was in turned into the littered bodies of the strange creatures he defeated earlier, scattered around him. Flint became a large shaggy beast, still walking away from him on its hind legs, like a werewolf or something.

Looking down at himself, he could see his body was riddled with cuts and bruises. Seeing them was enough of a reminder that he began to ache all at once. Where was he, and how could he escape? "Flint, or whatever you call yerself, turn around and face me." The tiller he was using was no tiller, but his blade, and he raised it, ready to battle again.

'Flint' turned to him, muzzle pulled back in a sneer. "Be happy with what you have," it spoke with Flint's voice. "Or you  may die even less than a commoner."

Paul forced his rebelling legs forward. "Ain't no way I'm givin' up. People are countin' on me!"

The creature laughed, which sounded as much like a bear growling as any human's laughter. "The same ones you abandoned to get here?"

"Paul!" came Fast's scream, echoing through the area. "Get back here!"

"You served them well." He spat to the ground, then brandished his claws, each gleaming in the dim light. "I'll deliver you to them, if you like."

Paul's first urge was to surge forward and fight the creature, but fighting wasn't working as well as he'd like. "Moon Princess, if you can hear me, I could really use a hand right now." He realized after saying it that no horse god would have a hand, but hoped she'd understand the meaning.

The burning returned, engulfing him a moment before light came down on him. Penetrating the branches above somehow, moonlight surrounded him. The pain ebbed away from him, and the creature didn't seem nearly as frightful. Where once there had been a huge bear of a creature, now there was a mere dog. Its claws looked more suited to digging than tearing, each dull and short. He felt certain, he could win this one. With blade raised, he charged the creature. "Out of my way, pup, my friends need me!" The creature broke and ran off rather than face his renewed spirit, and everything darkened. The clearing faded away, and left him in the paths he took to find it. The attack seemed over, for the time.

With labored breath, he began pushing through the branches, trying to find his way to the party he had abandoned. "I'm comin'..." He'd prove himself worth being more than a commoner by keeping them safe.