“Mother,” says Grim Rune in a whisper as he looks back on his empty village and home. “Good bye.”
The stallion continues to say his farewells mentally to his homeland. With a respectfully bowed head and after a moment or two of silence he starts this morning of mourning. The last few days he had spent in preparing to leave and the time it took to reach that decision has come and gone. Now it’s time for him to leave and to follow through with his plans.
With a shift of his flanks, Grim makes sure the travel packs behind him feel secured and he turns his back on the past. The crunch of stone under hoof as he begins to press forward into the forests around his little village is his only companion as he begins his travels. Seemingly, even the chirping birds respect him by remaining silent and allowing him his sorrow.
The day is one of those warm days that is the norm of spring; a boring, sunny, blue skies type of day. Grim must follow the path away from his home and through the forests in order to escape his now private suffering. Those forest are a pointed reminder of everything he lost and he can’t raise his head to look at the bark or leaf. He keeps his head lowered to avoid those so familiar, so seductive hidden emotions that threaten to anchor him here. The shadows pass over his face as he walks sullenly in between the trees as sunbeams hang in the air’s stillness and each bright beam draws forth even more memories of the past few days.
That first day had been the worse for him. He did not eat nor did he take water. No. Grim did nothing but remain in his room and sob uncontrollably after losing everything he held dear in this world. He had promised to lock up all emotion that dawn as he watched the changeling fly away and mock him, but it seemed harder for him to do than first thought. The pain on his heart pressing down into his gut; filled him with tears until they came spilling out. Emotions are not tamed so easy as a promise.
The second day was much the same but that is only because when he finally fell into a fitful sleep on his wet pillow, he had awoke and thought it all to be a nightmare brought on by Princess Luna for his anger over the princesses not helping to save his peoples. No such luck. As he rushed into the room where his mother (ha, that pretender) had been laying, he found nothing but the damage his wrath brought and another stabbing in his chest.
It wasn’t until the fourth day that he was driven by hunger and thirst to really think about his situation. There, sitting in the kitchen and flinging a piece of bread with his magic at a brave mouse, Grim form his plan to take to the road and leave the pain behind. The action of moving on was what his father and mother would want and also the most logic of choices. There was nothing here for him anymore but bitterness and lonely hallways and eventual death.
Now, after starting his journey, he is plodding alone, forever alone, with nothing but his bitterness as company towards a destination he doesn’t know. He’s merely hoping as he searches this world he gets a chance to correct past mistakes and also to confront Celestia and her sister. To do what? Take over? Make sure the injustice that happened to him doesn’t happen to others? Surely with enough power….
The shadows around him deepen in the waning afternoon before he knows it, so lost in his thoughts, and it does little to his mood save to stoke the burning growing in his heart for the princesses; not the love kind of burning either but the hateful vengeance of loss.
“It’s all their fault.” Spits Rune to himself in a hungry hate.
The white unicorn stallion comes to a clearing between the tree lines as the day carries on into evening; an open field of sleeping flowers and windblown grasses. He lifts his chin and gazes up high above with dark rimmed eyes. For his efforts he gets greeted by Luna’s moon as it begins to rise on one side of the sky in a darken blue of night and with a shining pale face; on the other side of the skyline shimmers the orange and pinks of the sun being lowered in opposition. He figures the road lead in a steady southern direction and that he may have gotten to see the cycle from a faraway land as he draws close on his revenge but this early into his trip the stunning sight is just a twisting of the knife in his gut that tells him he is still so far off from his goals.
Moments later the howl breaks the night from behind him somewhere in the forest. He mutters, “Just perfect.” Before taking off at a run down the road that cuts the field in twain. His body is tired from a full days walk but he demands of it more power as he presses on towards the trees in the distance that will offer him shelter from what is coming. On instinct Grim can feel the expertly constructed wards on the far trees that he is running towards, some internal compass that allows him to feel the magic calling to him. The magic is a faint spark that hums in the air and crackles on the skin but it is old; far older and stronger than anything he has felt before.
Miles wide, the gap between tree lines must have been a result of clear cutting or some old forest fire and now as he is being chased; Grim feels this path between forests is a death trap. The gentle hills, the grasses, and the steady carved road could make anyone feel safe but when you are alone at night….
The sweat beads on his coat as he suffers a look back and a closer and louder howl pierces the night. Glowing lights behind the trees are moving behind him and he turns back around to see if he can gauge how far away he is from keeping his life in the safety of the warded tree line.
“Why… (Pant) me? Why… (Pant) me? Why… me?” Grim chants in a mantra to the night as he gasps for air to quench the burning in his lungs with the effort of his run and glistening with his sweaty fears.
Just then, behind him, it happens. The wilds of the woods move and from the line burst several dark wolf shapes but they are not your typical woodland beast. Each about the size of a pony and supported by eight hair covered legs; the pack of three wolf spiders emerge from the forests behind Grim Rune. The spider wolf markings usually allow them blend in with the forest but in the open field like this, one can see them in all the glory or horror they are. As if taking the chest and head of a wolf and just sewing it onto a giant spider’s body and calling it a life form; they hunt and act more like wolves but scuttle and brood like spiders.
The alpha of the wolf spider trio pauses and leans forward as it’s spiny hind legs come up behind where spinnerets should be on the bulbous abdomen and rub together in an almost cricket like way. The sound it produces is anything but a gentle chirp but the stuff of terrors and myth.
The rear legs have a hollowed chamber and a cord like ligament. When rubbed just so, a dead hallow –arrrrrrrooooo- is made as if a bow was brought across a cello’s strings and the sound rolls through the field in warning and want to the prey that hears it. The alpha is calling more of its pack no doubt as it had just found diner for its brood.
To the sides of the alpha are nervous slightly smaller versions of their leader, each looking just as deadly and dangerous but not as large. Steadily they keep site of the fleeing pony form with eight yellow glowing eyes and perked fur covered ears and it is almost as if they are awaiting orders to give chase.
“Just a little more, almost…. (gasp) There…” Grim lowers his head as he tops another hill. The froth on his muzzle thick and the sweat drips to the ground in his dust trail. He isn’t sure why the spiders are waiting but he is glad he is about to escape him.
Grim hears them moving loudly behind him. The rustling and breaking of branches, the howl stops and the night seems to get cold. Wolf spiders don’t have vocal cords, or throats. Much like the arachnid, they bite into victims and inject dissolving liquids to turn the prey to pulp and side mandibles are uses to puncture and slurp out the spidery soup. When Spider wolves attack they are often silent and deadly.
“No… Rune… Soup… For you!” declares the fleeing pony as he dares to look back to see how close to death he is. He doesn’t see the spider creatures but he does see several paths in the field’s grass that wave violently and are coming towards him in parallel formation to the path.
Rune feels his front hoof catch on something and suddenly his fleeing momentum throws him forward and into a rolls as he crashes down to the ground. Dazed, Grim lays there panting and bruised up but that is not the worst of it; He feels something is wrong. Grim tries to get up but that front limb that tripped him up gives out under his weight when he tries to stand on it and he feels his muzzle slam into the ground when he tumbles again. The pain is shocking but he tries to shake off the spinning of the world and get up again but his vision is fading. Once again, fate deals him a blow and he chuckles internally at how rotten his luck is. He was so close to the forest wards. Couldn’t have been more than five meters to go and he would have survived yet another ordeal.
Grim thinks to himself as he waits for his doom, ‘I guess revenge isn't in my cards.’
The rustling surrounds him and as the world is going dim and coming back into his vision as he fights off fainting; he understands something. Being brave isn’t about doing something because it is dangerous. Being brave is facing that danger head on and with open eyes. He will, with his last strength, face these vicious creatures and laugh at them as they choke on his blood.
Grim Rune never gets the chance really.
“Oh,” says a tiny and unknown voice from somewhere near Grim, “The poor pony has plummeted into pansies and awaits to perish. Can’t have that now. Can we?”
Rune can’t focus on the mystery, he can’t even chase the voice for a second because even as his ears swivel to track the voice, right before him and about to pounce is one of the spider creatures. Death stares back at Rune as the wolf spider open’s its mull with an evil hiss and dripping hungry juices. The wolf is silenced and with a sickening snap some long pole like object snaps its head to the side and quickly dispatches the foe.
Several more bodies are launched skywards as the Spider wolves jump to pounce on what they perceive as downed prey but there is a flash and one of them are knocked back with a bolt of sizzling lightening, another spider wolf is turned to ash instantly under the roar of fire from some small being in a dark cloak that is now protecting the white unicorn. The remaining spider wolf attackers pauses as if considering their options.
Rune believes he sees the glint of green under that cloak of earthen brown the tiny savior wears but he can’t be too sure as his strength gives out and his head lulls to the side to land in the dirt. Rune never does see the battle end, nor does he see the remaining spider wolves flee. All Grim Rune sees is blackness from behind his lids. That calm oblivion that is both healing and damning.
The unknown voice turns to see the downed pony with the broken horn and –tsks-. The tiny brown cloaked figure will have to get them both somewhere safe. Wolf packs like those usually have greater numbers and there is no reason to risk fighting them all when He and the Unicorn are so close to home.
“Yes. Home, Rest. Poor pony put on pillows.” And the shifting of fabric, fur, and the tap of a stick is heard in Rune’s fitful dreams as they finally come and a sense of floating in the blissful darkness.
The next morning is unforgiving to the weary as Celestia’s sun blazes in on Grim Rune’s face from a window. The accusing orb of the day’s grace bites bitterly into a pony’s throbbing head when he first peels open his eyes after another sleep full of galloping nightmares. He begins to think to himself, ‘Ever since I learned of what happened at the castle I’ve been having a lot of…ni…ght… huh?’
The unicorn bolts up from out of his simple coverings and winces as the blood rushes to the already pounding headache. This isn’t his room Grim thinks as he lifts a hoof to his temple and tries to take even breaths to stop the rush of pain. He feels the cotton wrappings that surround his skull and dimly he remembers striking his head hard on the ground yesterday.
Grim forgets his discomfort for a moment as he looks slowly around. He is in a single large room sparsely furnished with low to the ground items. The bed he sleeps on seems small, and not just because he grew up with ones three times his size to lay in. No, this single mattress seems to have been built for a filly or colt maybe half his size. In fact, from book shelf and lantern, to chairs and tables, everything seems tiny, simple, and efficient. The tiniest thing that is in the mud hut that Rune can now notice is a hunched over figure that stares into a fire and stirs the contents of a caldron with a wooden spoon. The figure has yet to notice the white unicorn or doesn’t seem to care that its guest, or, maybe diner, is awake.
The choices available to Grim Rune are:
1. Alert this thing that Rune is awake and suffer the consequences.
2. Carefully get up and make his way to the bags by the doorway as quietly as he can to make his escape.
After all he has been through, Rune really doesn’t want to take his chances with a stranger. Who knows what this thing that hides in its clothing like that could be planning for the poor injured stallion. Only ponies that are nefarious cloak themselves like that Grim thinks. Clothing is made for showing off or concealing something so, the choice is obvious.
Quietly, Rune gets out of bed and is thankful the floor is made of earth. This is the perfect set up for a creaky floor to give away his intentions of escape. He doesn’t use magic as the hum might give him away but he does keep his eyes on the figure that is tending to the bubbling caldron. Slowly the white unicorn with broken horn inches closer and closer to freedom but it is taking an aching amount of time. He watches the back of the cloak as he gets close to his bag and reaches for it when his escape is interrupted.
“Leaving so soon? Not going to have breakfast? Awful rude of you considering your life was saved and my bed was given up to you.” The voice from the cloak chides as Rune is caught in the act of leaving.
“I, do not mean any disrespect, but, I am low on trust these days.” Rune responds but thinks better of it after a moment and adds as he drops the bags by the door again and turns to the figure at the fire. “My humble apologies. I just realized that if you intended me harm; you would not have dressed my wounds or given me refuge. Please forgive my ignorance.”
A laugh, tiny and light, fills the room. A tiny laugh that can only come from the mirthfully shaking shoulders of the cloaked cook diminutive form. This reaction by the host brings a frown to Grim Rune’s face and his pride takes a small jab which he will not let stand.
“Why are you laughing? Was I not being humble enough to please you? Shall I prostrate myself and beg since it was –you- to obviously come to my rescue?” Grumbling in irritation and pent up frustration, Rune walks towards the cloaked figure and is sure if he stomps some manners into the tiny being he would then accept his apologies.
“Dragons,” pauses the voice with almost a smile in his words, “My little pony, Have excellent hearing. Your heavy tread intones your intent. Wish to throttle me eh? Teach me a lesson?” slowly the small figure turns from the fire and cauldron before pulling back the cloaks hood to reveal himself.
A green scaled snout filled with a tooth grin looks over Rune as the unicorn is stunned mid-step to come to a halting stop. The dragon Grim stares at, if one could call it a dragon and not lizard, looks old with fine age. Though most this dragon’s age should be the size of a mountain and hoarding a kingdom, this one is as tiny as the first boulder to roll off a mountain and could barely hoard a cup of sugar from ants.
“you…are…a…?” Rune stammers.
“Dragon.” The tiny figure reaffirms plainly before continuing, “Yes, we are.” Scoffing the dragon waves a claw and the wooden spoon that he clenches in the air dismissing the stammers of his guest. “We know, we know. We should be much bigger, fiercer, and greedier looking with golden hordes and treasure bold.” turning back to whatever he is doing in the caldron he adds with finality, “Have a seat. You’re not going anywhere and breakfast is ready.”
Simply too dumbfounded to resist; Rune complies and sits at the small dining table off to the side near some neatly stacked with a cup and water pitcher. This whole home screams hermit in the most cliché’ way but Rune holds his comments as he waits for an explanation.
As Runes gaze wander around and he notes a few things that catch the pony’s eye, his thoughts are interrupted by the sound of bowl and wooden spoon hitting the table before him. Focusing in on it, he sees it is a bowl of some unappetizing mush and he can’t hide his distaste as he lifts up his eyes and stares at his small companion.
“What?” questions the diminutive figure while staring back with silver glinting eyes at Rune. “We thought ponies LIKED oats? This paste is called oat meal and it is just what your body needs to heal.” Then as an afterthought the little dragon –ahs- in understanding and notices what he is missing and why the cold grey gunk is so stomach turning to the uneducated.
The dragon brings up his claws and does some motion in the air. The tips of his claws shimmer and an array of fresh fruits come to being on the table between Rune and himself. Berries of all shapes and sizes from red to green. Oddly enough a bowl even contains some famed zap-apples but Rune would never presume to take one of those. They are worth a small fortune!
Taking a few berries of this and that, the mush before the dragon is decorated in color and seems much more appealing. In step with his savior, Rune uses his broken horn carefully to float over his share of fruits and will try the mush with them mixed in as well.
The dragon takes slow bites as he watches Rune intently moves small amounts of fruit into his bowl. The host notices the strain each time a new gathering of fruit floats up into the air, hovers above the bowl, and the relief on Rune’s face as soon as the berries are let go to plop into the oatmeal.
“We thought that ‘corns were able to do that trick all the time? You seem to be having much trouble. Is it the head injury?” innocently asks the baby like dragon with the age’s etched on his scaly face.
Bitterly Rune says, “No. If you can’t tell, you doddering fool, my horn is broken and simple tasks are no longer simple for a cripple like me.” And the words come out in venom and heated resentment that Rune did not wholly intend but gets the point made.
“Ah, we see. So a broken horn cripples you?” taking a mouth full of mush the host then taps the wooden spoon on his chin in thought which smear stray gunk there.
“It does. Without my horn I am partly cut off from magic.” Is the reply.
“Cut off from magic?” Questions the dragon, “If we remember our teachings, your corn-horn allows you to focus the energy. Like I do with my fingers” to demonstrate he wiggles his claws once more and the wooden spoon besides Rune’s bowl suddenly has an earth pony strap on it. “You’re not missing the horn completely so why does a break cause you so much distress?”
Not liking the subject Rune opts to put on the spoon to his forelimb and stuff his mouth with the breakfast glop. He hopes it will at least be eatable but is overwhelmed with surprise at how good the stuff taste especially the fruits. Quickly he suppresses a smile that creeps on his face and goes about the task of eating. Before he knows it, several bowls were filled and finished in a deeply shared silence as his host unerringly tended to his guest.
“So, pony. Now that you are full with food. Do you think you are ready to answer the question from earlier? Why does it matter if your horn is broken?” The dragon goes about the tasks of clearing the table as Rune sits in thought but doesn’t give an answer.
The table is cleared in short order with the help of magic but for the dishes; they are one by one washed out in a little sink and set aside to dry on a fine linen towel. The time does Rune good and he chooses to answer the dragon “Well dragon…”
“Puff.” Interrupts the small dragon as he takes off his cloak and hangs it on a hook near the back wall. He is typical and green scaled but now seems to wear an unusual article about his neck that Rune never saw before.
“You’re Puff the magic Drag…” begins Rune in a deadpan voice.
“Tut tut. Puff is fine. We are not much on formalities when you get to be as old as us.” States the little green thing as it waddles over to a chair and takes a seat. Waving a hand he waits for Rune to come over and join him.
Rune, with his head lowered and ears flattened with disgust over the revelation of who the dragon is, just becomes more annoyed then anything but he does trot over to be seated on the opposite chair across from Puff.
“I thought you were a myth. A tale. I think there is a song?” Rune seems unsure as he talks to his host and lists off possibilities. This only brings a chuckle in response from the dragon. Expectantly Rune is flicking his ears to and fro; the unicorn waits for his explanation.
“Yes, Stories are told, Songs are sung, and most of both are exaggerations. That is why we merely want you to relax and call us Puff.” Settling back he crosses his claws over his portly looking belly and he regards Grim Rune in a scrutinizing way.
“Let us just say that we are old. We having abilities that come with that age, and we ultimately want to help you with your troubles.”
Growling, Rune flinches at the offer of help. He thinks about what a myth could help him with and comes up with nothing. As he sits here in this mud hut and talking to a dragon he starts to wonder if this is Tartarus and if he is being tormented at the beginning of eternity.
“If this was the Abyss, you would not be having breakfast with berries and oatmeal. You wouldn’t be having a pleasant conversation with a Mythic Being. And you wouldn’t be able to continue on your way after we take our payment of time from you.” He pauses and waves a claw, “After all, we did save your life. It is a debt you will need to repay.”
“WHAT?!” Roars Rune in a question of outrage and confusion (Can he read my mind?!).
“It will not be long. I say, maybe a week to start you on your way and then you can leave.” Answers the dragon as he puffs a pink smoke ring into the air over his own head from his snout in an calm way even with the unicorns outburst. Odd, usually dragon smoke is black or grey.
Rune stares in silence as he weighs his options. What choice does he have? It is now a matter of honor for the unicorn to repay his debt. His life was saved by this little pest and now he will need to stay here in service. He expects at any moment the dragon is going to grow an inch or two at the greedy proclamation he just posed. With a sigh, Rune’s shoulders slump and he hangs his head.
“Oh, now now. Don’t be like that. We promise to make the payment as short on you as possible. We know how to help and that is how you will pay us, by humbly allowing us to begin your healing beyond what you are already getting.” Says the dragon and he makes the deal between the pony and him, final.
Rune merely looks up and tilts his head in confusion at Puff. With one misstep he feels his life just increased the level of difficulty once more.
Such rotten luck.