“Sorry about that,” Sharp Tack said, returning to the campfire with Whiskey in tow. The limping stallion was doing a poor job of hiding his disgruntled frown, which had Sharp Tack forcing his smile harder to compensate. He walked over to the box of supplies and picked two more bowls out, tossing one to his friend. He told the mare, “My friend and I just had a... a bit of a disagreement, yeah. How’s lunch?”
The mare finished the rest of her dish and set it down. “It’s really good,” she said, happily catching her breath.
“I’m glad someone appreciates my cooking,” Sharp Tack said with a chuckle. He swiped the salt shaker off the ground, added some to the pot, gave it a stir, and dipped his own bowl in. “What’s your name, by the way?”
She paused for a second. “You can call me Sparkler, I guess.”
“Sparkler, huh?” Sharp Tack took a sip from his bowl. “That’s quite the fancy name, if I do say so myself.” He pointed at himself and then to Whiskey, saying, “My name’s Sharp Tack and the loveable sack of oats over there is my good friend Whiskey.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said, smiling at the two of them.
Whiskey offered an acknowledging grunt.
“Where’re you from now?” Sharp Tack asked next.
She blinked at him. “I’m uh, not from around here,” she said awkwardly, glancing around the immediate area.
Sharp Tack chuckled. “I’ll say! Not too many ponies have business going offbeat through the Green Stretch.”
“Green Stretch?” Sparkler asked, cocking her head. She opened her mouth to speak, but a sudden realization cut her meandering thoughts and set her focused. Her head snapped down and she smacked a hoof against her abdomen, reaching for something that wasn't there. Instead she found her fur covered with mysterious black marks. That gave her pause, but she disregarded it as wave of panic slowly washed over her. She dropped her bowl and hobbled to a stand. “Where’s my...” she started.
“Oh! Your book?” Sharp Tack interjected. He motioned at Whiskey, who signed and lit his horn. Out of the nearby grass floated Sparkler’s notebook, which landed happily in her hooves. “Hope you don’t mind we kinda had a peek at that,” he added, scratching the back of his head.
Sparkler slowly sat back down and flipped through the pages. “No, it’s alright,” she said, sighing in relief. “I thought I lost it for a second there. Thank you for taking care of it. And me, I suppose?”
“You’re very welcome!” Sharp Tack said with a quick laugh. “You gave us quite the scare last night, popping in out of nowhere like that. Must’ve hit your head or something because you were out cold.”
“I have a tendency to do that,” she muttered. She closed her book and found new black marks across its brown cover, and that returned her attention to the state of her fur. She tried to wipe some of the soot stains off her legs and with a look of disgust, said, “Ugh, was it in a cloud of smoke or something? I just got out of the spa yesterday.”
Sharp Tack clicked his tongue. “No, no smoke... uh, I mean, no, you kinda just teleported in right on top of our campfire.”
“Oh.” She wrinkled her nose, realizing her attempts at cleaning herself were getting nowhere. “Well, I’ve been in worse situations,” she added, shuffling her bandaged foreleg in the dirt. She paused and glanced up. “What’s Green Stretch?”
Sharp Tack hummed. “You certainly aren’t from around here if you’ve never heard of the Green Stretch,” he said. He clapped his hooves and explained, “The Green Stretch is a long, relatively narrow stretch of wild grass and forests spanning from the north of Agrisaltar all the way down to the World’s Belt. Over there to the west you got the Windhurst Mountains, and off to the east is the ocean.” He smirked to one side. “You’re lucky we crossed paths. The closest town is four or five days away, and it’s where we’re going. You’re more than welcome to come with.”
“Hold on, now,” Whiskey interjected, catching the other two off guard. He pointed a hoof at Sparkler and said, “I’m not exactly keen on bringing a stranger along with us if we don’t know jack about her.”
Sharp Tack gave him a hard look. “What? We’re not just going to leave her here in the middle of nowhere!”
“Well I’m not about to share my provisions with somebody who for all I know is going to rip us off! We’ve barely got enough to get by to Portsmouth as is.”
Sharp Tack glared at him, but before he could speak, Sparkler suddenly blurted out: “I promise I won’t be in the way.”
Whiskey eyed her again, tipping his hat up out of his eyes. “Look, missy. We’re... freighters. We don’t buy. We don’t sell. We move things from A to B and get paid for it. And we’re not about to just pick up new cargo that we have to feed and take care of, without getting something for it in return.”
Sparkler pursed her lips and looked down at herself. “I... I understand.”
“Or,” Whiskey added, “a very good reason why. And you can start with telling us where you came from, and more importantly, why you’re here.”
Sharp Tack looked between the two of them, deadpan. A voice was rising from inside to speak up, but he kept his mouth clamped shut. At least until the silence turned awkward, where there was nothing but the crackling fire beneath the pot and the surrounding winds. He sipped his soup.
“Okay,” Sparkler said, finally speaking up. She straightened her posture and took a deep breath. “My name is Bright Spark, and I am the personal assistant of representative Blink, delegate of Her Royal Highness Gold Crown of Harmphstead.”
Whiskey gave her a skeptical look. “Can’t say I’ve heard of this Harmphstead.”
“For the same reason I didn’t know of the Green Stretch.” She pointed a hoof at the mountains in the distance. “Have you ever been about a thousand miles past those mountains?”
Whiskey blinked at her. “Uh, no?”
“Not surprising,” she said. “This continent isn’t exactly as connected as some of the major nations would like. So there’s a big summit going on Agrisaltar with representatives from all over the place to see how we can build better communications and travel networks between one another. That’s where I’m supposed to be going. And you two are heading north, right?”
“Uh...” Whiskey stared. “Yeah?”
“Well, assuming someone in this Portsmouth can take me to Agrisaltar, I can definitely make it worth your while when Blink discovers his good friend is in one piece.”
Sharp Tack squinted at her. “And how exactly did somepony such as yourself end up here?”
“I... have my ways of getting around,” she said, shifting uneasily. “But I’d rather not be random about it if it can be helped. Blink and our convoy were traveling through a mountain pass when a rockslide hit. I was able to escape, and I know he’s alright and the convoy would continue on, and that’s all the information on that I’m willing to divulge.”
“Alright, whatever,” Whiskey said, throwing his hooves up. He then went and dipped his bowl in for a helping of stew. “But you’re doing your fair share of the work to Portsmouth. No freeloaders allowed.”
“That’s fair,” Sparkler said, trying to hide a giddy smile. “I can take care of myself for the most part, anyways.” She looked to Sharp Tack, who was scratching the back of his head and still giving her a skeptical look.
“I guess we’ll see how this goes,” the stallion said, returning to his bowl of stew. “Eat the rest of the pot. Don’t let it go to waste.”
Whiskey took a sip and grimaced at his bowl. “Too much damn salt,” he muttered.