Whiskey sat on the stagecoach driver’s box, tapping his hooves together and impatiently watching the horizon. The green tended to meld together with distance, hiding the crests of small hills within the borders of much fuller ones. The only hint he had to the true contours of the land were the spotty forests and the gusts of wind caressing the grass tips, and neither one help out too much. It wouldn’t surprise him if Sharp Tack, returning with Sparkler, appeared to materialize out of the grass in front of him.
But what he didn’t expect was the two of them spontaneously appearing beside the stagecoach in a flash of magic. With a startled yell, he jumped out of his seat, just to tumble out of the driver’s box and crash onto the ground.
“—think that is necess... sary...” Sharp Tack was saying. But his train of thought derailed and he blinked up at the carriage beside him. The rest of his sentence never came.
“Told you I could do it,” Sparkler said as she tried to wring out her tail. “It really wasn’t that far away.”
Sharp Tack scratched his head, a light shake taking control of his hoof. “Yeah, okay,” he continued, “but that doesn’t change my point.”
“Sharpy!” Whiskey hollered, scrambling to his hooves. He hobbled over the set of harness and landed right next to the two, his mouth already open with things to say, but his thoughts never left his tongue. He glanced between the two, seemingly torn between disbelief and confusion, and struggling to contain his outrage. But in the end, he just bit his lip and said, plainly, “We should get going now. Don’t want to mess up our schedule too badly.”
“Hold on,” Sharp Tack said, pulling him back. He motioned to his side and said, “Hey, Sparkler. Tell him what you told me.”
“Hm? Oh. Yeah.” She turned to Whiskey and offered him a quick bow. “I want to apologize for running off like that without saying anything, especially after what you two have done for me. I know I should’ve communicated better, or, at all, I guess. I kind of got—”
“Forget about it,” Whiskey grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Are we done here?”
“There’s one more thing,” she said slowly. “I think it’s clear enough that my presence here isn’t exactly wanted. I’m extremely fortunate that you two found me and took care of me that first night, but ever since I woke up, it’s plain to see that none of us really get along. I think that, that it would be better for us both if we part ways.”
For the first time since she woke up two days ago, Sparkler finally saw Whiskey not frowning. Granted, it wasn’t a smile, either. It was more like straight confusion, which she awkwardly tried to reassure with a smile.
Whiskey blinked at her. “What?”
“This isn’t to say I’m not thankful of all that you’ve done for me! I know I promised you two some sort of payment for taking me to Portsmouth, and we will keep that promise,” she said, waggling a hoof at him and glancing at Sharp Tack. Her horn lit up and suddenly her satchel was in her hooves. She pulled a pencil out between her teeth and removed her notebook. “I will write you two a missive,” she explained as she flipped the book open, “an official document stating what you two have done for me thus far and should be rewarded. I will make sure that Mr. Binks is aware of this when I return to him and he will certainly find a way to uh, to contact... you...”
She held the notebook open in one hoof, flipped to a random page somewhere in the middle. She stared down at it like a filly with her hoof in the cookie jar.
“Looking for something?” Whiskey asked?
Sparkler snapped her head up to see Whiskey staring back at her, deadpan. In one hoof he held a folded piece of paper, which slowly came undone with the help of the wind to reveal a map of the region.
“Oh.” She blinked, the color slowly fading from her cheeks. “Yeah, that.”
“And you’re right. Your presence really isn’t appreciated,” Whiskey said curtly. “And frankly, I’m tired of it.”
“Well then,” Sparkler said, closing her notebook. She slowly bent down to pick her satchel up off the ground. She opened her mouth again to say something new, but Sharp Tack stopped that by clonking her over the head with the butt of his machete.
Instantly, her eyes pointed off in random directions and she fell over into the grass, unconscious. Sharp Tack sheathed his machete and grumbled, “And frankly, I can’t take any more of your lies.”