//------------------------------// // Chapter 5: On the Trail // Story: Before Nightfall: Barely Rescued // by Jordan179 //------------------------------// Big Mac reached the place where he had left the bear. He approached the location carefully, from downwind, so that if the bear were still there, it could not smell him. He had Ol'Bessie gripped in his mouth -- as Blackie had warned him, the weight of the weapon was uncomfortable held in that fashion, but Mac needed to be able to ready it quickly in case he needed to shoot fast. The magazine load was broad-bodkin-bodkin -- a broad-headed bolt on top, which could inflict a wide wound at the cost of penetration; followed by two narrow-headed bodkin bolts, which would sink deep, even into a bear, but not cut as widely into its flesh. Big Mac also minded carefully where he put each hoof. Complete silence was almost impossible, on the littered forest floor, but if he avoided stepping on dead branches, and stepped slowly, the sound of his motions would be lost in the soughing of the wind through the trees above. This was a soft sussuration: it was remarkably quiet in the forest, once one penetrated past the margins into the true multiple-canopy zone. The trees screened the ground floor from both direct sunlight and direct wind it was not like on the Acres, where the apple trees were well-spaced, arranged by equine minds and hooves to suit equine ends. For a moment, he fancied that some other sort of mind had conceived this forest, arranging it with alien minds and manipulatory appendages to suit alien ends -- a mind vast and strange, and not necessarily friendly to Ponykind. Then, he smiled wryly. He was letting his imagination gallop away with him; never a wise nor a safe thing to do in the Everfree. Less dangerous here, near the Acres, than it would have been in the deep Everfree -- but still a bad idea. He needed to keep his wits -- and senses -- well about him. Ol'Bessie's powerful tension and lethal accuracy would do him little good if he was so lost in his fantasies that he tripped over the bear; or let it ambush him. He had one major advantage in his arbalest, but also had advantages in his superior speed, sight, hearing and -- most of all -- mind. If he proceeded wisely, he knew himself to be more than a match for the bear. If he was foolish, however -- he might still fail, or even fall. Big Mac had little difficulty locating the track of the race he had run with the bear; or finding the exact site where the bear had sat down in exhaustion to glare after him. The bear and he were both big, and in a hurry, and a lot of things in their path had been crushed, bent or broken, leaving an unmistakable trail. Where the bear had rested, everything was rank with his scent -- though Big Mac's sense of smell was weak compared to that of a bear, he was far from nose-blind. Re-casing Ol'Bessie, Big Mac literally bent to his task of tracking the bear. First, he described most of a circle around the bear's resting place, attempting to ascertain if the bear had departed by a different route than by which it had come. It would have been convenient if it had, for this would have allowed him to follow it along a wholly new trail, rather than have the clues of its new movements muddled by the need to pick them out from those of its prior passage. Alas, the bear's actual behavior had apparently failed to conform to Big Mac's desires, for -- try as he might -- Big Mac could discern no sign that the bear had walked off in any direction other than that by which it had entered. Mac would thus have to perform the more difficult feat of determining at exactly what point the bear had diverged from its back trail, in order to follow its trail further. Big Mac acceted the necessity, and slowly and systematically applied his senses to the center and both sides of the back trail. Mackie was not a professional tracker; there were Ponies in the White Tails far his better with such skills. However, he knew the fundamentals of the art; and he was well-endowed with the intelligence, perception, diligence and above all patience required of a tracker. So it was that, after he had back-tracked a bit over one hundred hooves, he discerned broken branches to the right of the main trail that, with a confirming whiff of some brown hairs caught on them, made plain that his quarry had here turned off his former path. That the bear had turned away to the north -- toward Ponyville -- was surprising. But then, bears often raided equine gardens; perhaps the bruin had formed some such intent. He followed the new trail, and noticed with some concern that it was indeed going straight toward town. This was an obviously dangerous situation -- not only for himself, but for the fifteen hundred or so Ponies in Ponyville, most of whom were not carrying arbalests capable of bringing down a bear. And, most specifically, it was dangerous for the few dozen Ponies who lived south of the river. Bears were not malevolent monsters out of a Nightmare Night tale, which is why it was possible that this one had gotten into the habit of visiting the outskirts of Ponyville in the first place, without causing much alarm. But they were big and unpredictable, and not particularly respectful of Pony property rights. All it would take would be one reckless Pony trying to drive the bruin off with a broom or some such implement, and the bear's anger, to lead to tragedy. This only made more urgent and necessary Mackie's self-imposed task. It was the duty of the Apples to ward Ponyville against "what might come out of the Everfree," and the Everfree was exactly from where this bear had emerged. Better that Mac, armed and ready for trouble, meet the bear than that it come upon some innocent fillies at play, or gardener tending her crop. The thought of a gardener made him think of the Carrots, whose property he was passing. They were nice Ponies, the family friends of the Apples since pilgrim days, when Violet Carrot had been one of the most trusted companions of Dawnflower Apple. Cosmo Red Carrot, now at college in Canterlot, had been one of his best friends growing up. His younger brother Landscape, still helping Greenshoot run the farm, had been Jackie's best friend, until Jackie moved to Manehattan. The even younger sister, Golden Harvest, was a sweet filly, just turned thirteen. And there was a youngest brother, Brownshoot, only a couple years older than Bloomie. He kenw them all well; he was determined to keep them from harm. As the bear's trail approached closer and closer to Ponyville, Big Mac noticed that it was heading right toward one particular property. A certain suspicion began to build in his mind, for he knew that the owner of that property was a very unsual Pony indeed. And one who -- if she were especially foolish -- might have taken a particular interest in the bear. The Hermit of the Everfree. A year ago, a previously-derelict house way over on the edge of town near the Everfree -- left vacant for a while because nopony wanted to live that close to a haunted forest out of which things sometimes came -- was purchased, and occupied by a solitary Pegasus filly. That she was solitary was strange, because she was quite young; younger even than Pegasi usually leave their families for good. That she was a Pegasus was also strange, because generally Pegasi do not like to live in the woods: clouds and hills and mountains are more normally their habitats. She was, as the popular name for her suggested, something of a hermit. She came into town from time to time to buy supplies, but she spoke to no one unless spoken too, and even then mumbled so that she was difficult to understand. She made no friends, not among Ponies. But folk who had come by her house said that they had seen her consorting with all manner of wild animals -- birds and small furry vermin, mostly -- feeding them, and even talking and listening to them as if she imagined they had the power to understand Pony speech, and she to understand their own. Nopony had reported seeing her with a brown bear. But it would fit her pattern. If the Hermit were feeding a brown bear, she was doing something incredibly stupid and dangerous. Big Mac could see how the Hermit might get along with small critters -- she probably had some sort of Talent for animal handling -- but a big surly carnivore like a brown bear could turn on her and kill her in an instant. Which it might do, if it didn't like her food, or she didn't have enough food, or feed it fast enough -- or if it simply decided that she was tastier food than whatever she'd brought out for it today. Big Mac, of course, did not know the Hermit. He was pretty sure he'd seen her once or twice at a distance -- a gangly yellow-coated, pink-maned filly, somewhere in her early to mid teens from her appearance, surprisingly beautiful considering that she avoided other Ponies. She had seen him too -- he'd caught a flash of blue eyes before their owner hid them behind her extremely long pink mane. However, no words had been exchanged; they hadn't passed close enough that any sort of greeting would have been socially-mandatory on their parts. So the Hermit was hardly his friend. But neither was she his foe, and Big Mac felt a certain fundamental equine horror at the thought of some poor innocent filly being mauled by a bear. This particular bear was probably in a rather bad mood about now, and might respond in a less-than-grateful manner to an offer of food. Big Mac picked up his pace, traveling as fast as he could given the necessity to avoid losing the trail.