//------------------------------//
// Transient 
// Story: Lutscintorb 
// by Mary Sue 
//------------------------------//

A quiet breeze worked with the night to turn the meadow into a dark, black lake. The stallions’ campfire stood out in the like a splash in the water, frozen at the height of its plume, and throwing light across the surface like ripples. For a short distance beyond the fire, the wild grass shimmered in the light. But they soon shriveled away and were reclaimed by the shadows.

Sharpy stood at this threshold, his head poking just above the grass, squinting his eyes out over the field. But all he could make out was the darkened horizon where the night sky met the silhouetted world. Whiskey moseyed up beside him, rubbing his eyes.

“You’re just imagining things,” the unicorn said, beating back a yawn.

“I told you, I didn’t!” Sharpy hissed. He waggled his machete forward. “Someone is out there and they used a lot of magic to get here. Can’t you feel it?”

Whiskey tilted his head from side to side, staring up at his horn. “All I feel is the fire. Quit being so paranoid and go back to sleep, you hoofsucker.”

“I’m not being paranoid!” he shouted, just to quickly realize what he’d done, and what they were doing. He grabbed Whiskey by the neck and pulled themselves below the grass. “Someone is out there, watching us,” he said in a harsh whisper. “Need I remind you of the bounties on our heads? Help me deal with this punk or they’ll be taking those bounties!”

Whiskey rolled his eyes and hollered: “Hey, jerkwad! Whoever you are, give up! We have you surrounded!”

Sharpy slapped himself in the face. After a long pause and a dismissive shrug from his friend, he growled, “Not what I meant. Use your brain for once and light this meadow up!” He twirled his machete in his hoof. “I’ll make sure they don’t get away from us.”

“Whatever,” Whiskey mumbled. His horn sparked to life and an orb of blue light shot out over the field in front of them.

Sharpy poked his head up out of the grass and watched the orb fly outward. “A little to the right,” he instructed, and Whiskey adjusted the spell’s course. “Further,” he added, and the orb moved away another twenty paces. 

Then a clear depression appeared in the ocean, a hole created by something much the same way they parted the grass away from where they stood. Sharpy sneered and Whiskey only offered him a sigh. “It’s probably a rock,” the unicorn said.

“Get your flank in gear,” Sharpy ordered, turning into the tall grass and stalking towards where the ball of light now hovered, his machete gripped tightly in one hoof. Whiskey reluctantly followed, but at the rate Sharpy moved, they were both crawling.

“It’s a little too late to surprise them,” Whiskey announced, casually walking around and overtaking his friend. 

Sharpy groaned and cursed something under his breath. He leapt to his hooves and galloped forward, swinging the machete at the grass that separated him from the intruder. “I hope you got a good story, pal!” he yelled, closing the distance. “Nobody ever gets the drop on Sharp Tack!”

And as soon as he could see into the hole in the field, Sharp Tack nearly tripped over himself.

“What, was I right?” Whiskey asked, a cocky grin spreading across his face. His pace quicked to catch up and rub it in. “Make that four to one, Sharpy! Nobody has any reason to be out here! Can’t wait to tell the boss how you got scared in the middle of the night over a, a dumb... uh... huh.”

Whiskey stopped right beside his friend, a similar wave of dumbfoundedness smacking him across the face. Their eyes were wide and their noses scrunched, staring down at their intruder and at a loss for words. The ball of light forced back their shadows and spotlighted the center of their attention.

There in the grass lay a unicorn mare, her magenta fur looking as soft as a lazy cloud. Her hair was a darker shade of purple, save for the thick lighter streaks that ran down the center of her tail and over her ear, covering her eyes. Sharp Tack used the tip of his machete to part her bangs, revealing her eyes were sealed shut and confirming that the mare was knocked out. 

One of her forelegs had a heavy bandage wrapped around it, right above the hoof, but otherwise the mare looked like the picture of health. Both legs were entangled in the strap of some brown, heavy duty satchel. Her cutie mark was three blue, brilliant-cut diamonds, arranged in such away they made up the corners of a similar, larger diamond. 

Sharp Tack pulled his machete away and sheathed it. He scratched the back of his head, as if that would dig out the answers to the questions assailing him.

Whiskey just chuckled. “Well, I certainly didn’t expect that.”