A Pony Born to Fight

by WyvernQueen

Chapter 6

When I was just a colt, I was adopted for a few days by a nice couple of mares. They took me to their house and gave me a room all to myself, which I had never had before. The bed was soft, the food they gave me wasn’t about to be swiped by another foal, and the window had the greatest view over the river separating Manehattan from the rest of the world. But during those few nights, I didn’t sleep at all. It wasn’t the fact that I was in a different place. It was the thought of being all alone in a room with two strange ponies down the hall. I was never the most trusting of colts, and all night I would pace the floor, watching the door and the window, sure that somepony was about to break in and attack me. Three days in, I asked the mares if I could go back to the orphanage. They were distraught, but when I assured them that it had nothing to do with them, and that one day they would make wonderful parents to some lucky foal, they agreed to take me back. That night (back in the orphanage), I slept like an infant, safe in the knowledge that if an intruder infiltrated the place, I would have a chance of getting away.

Strangely enough, I am now in that same situation, only I’m twenty-eight and the mares in question are much younger (I don’t know how young, exactly—I never got around to asking them). The rest of the resemblance is uncanny. I’m in a new house, the bed is soft, the food isn’t about to be taken away (though Cinder made a few threats at dinner), and the window has a lovely view over Ponyville.

And, two hours after Cinder and Ember picked their rooms and (presumably) went to sleep, I’m pacing my room with the door locked. Celestia’s sun has slipped beyond the horizon and Luna’s moon is crawling into the sky before I flop down on the bed and breathe deeply.
Most ponies are social creatures; it’s an instinct that stretches back to the days of old, when monsters were much more common and smaller animals had to band together or die. Because of that, it makes most ponies uncomfortable to be alone for a long period of time. I’m very different—having to sleep near strangers makes me shiver a little, so I try to take my mind off of Cinder and Ember by trying an old tactic Mist swears works every time sleep won’t come: I recant the day’s activities.

After leaving Sugarcube Corner, Ember and I trotted back to the cart while Cinder flew not far above us, finished with her cinnamon roll. Surprisingly, every item in the cart was still there when Ember checked, even a small bag of bits that she had forgotten in her haste to follow Cinder. “Here,” she said to me, thrusting it into my hooves. “It’s only ten bits, but I want you to take it anyway.”
“You don’t—” I began, but one look from both the pegasus and the unicorn silenced me.
From the depths of the neatly stacked items, she pulled a roll of duct tape out and levitated it into the air. Cinder grabbed it, without a word, and landed next to the broken wheel, cracking her neck as she did so. Turning to me, she grinned devilishly. “Watch and be amazed, Ghost.”

Ember rolled her eyes but said nothing.

Cinder pulled the spokes of the broken wheel back into their place and put one end of the tape where the break was. Then, in a stunning display of speed and dexterity, she looped the tape around the spoke, all the way up and down, in five seconds flat. She did the same with the other spokes, even taping upside down, and when she was done all the tape was gone, but the cart was fixed.
“That was—impressive,” I said, stunned at the skill the young mare possessed.

Cinder chuckled and remarked, “If you think that was impressive, watch this. Em, get in.” Ember scrambled into the cart while Cinder hitched herself to the newly-fixed cart. Pulling herself into a runner’s stance, with her rump in the air, she motioned for me to get out of the way. As soon as I stepped far enough to the left so that I wouldn’t get run over, Cinder took off like a shot, her wings still firmly clamped to her sides.
Ponies scattered as the cart screamed down the sidewalk, broken wheel miraculously intact. I broke into a sprint, straining to come even with Cinder, but even though the pegasus was running her speed was incredible. All I managed to do was come a few feet behind the two. Ember’s eyes, just barely visible above the rim of the cart, looked on with amusement. The race was short but exhausting, with Cinder pulling up to my new house in less than a minute, and me skidding to a stop next to her a few seconds later.

I collapsed on the lawn as the blue pegasus stared at me with what could be classified as respect. “Huh. For a guy with an injury you run pretty fast, Ghost.” Even through the stitch in my chest I grunted in laughter. Cinder’s version of a compliment was more like a criticism, but it was well-meant.

“How… how did you…” I wheezed, unable to finish the sentence. Ember stepped out of the cart and walked to me in concern, but I waved her off and took a deep breath. “How did you manage to run that fast pulling this cart?”
Cinder winked, giving me a small smile. “Trade secret. Now, let’s get this crap inside and start dinner, okay?”
“We just ate, Cinder!” Ember reminded her. Cinder just shrugged and started to unload the cart, murmuring under her breath that you could never have too much food. I want to press the issue, but Ember shot me a warning glance when Cinder was digging in the cart, so I didn’t say anything. I got to my hooves, still a little winded (I really would have to fix that; being out of shape is embarrassing), and open the front door, taking off the letter which came with the key.

The next three hours were spent moving Cinder and Ember into their rooms and having dinner. Cinder originally wanted to move into the kitchen, but Ember wouldn’t have it. Instead, the two choose rooms directly across from each other and two rooms away from me. All of Ember’s canvases and paints were moved into her room, along with most of the junk the two had stuffed the cart full of. Cinder took only a box of chocolate bars and her saddlebags into her room.
Since we were all tired, we agreed to go to bed early, at seven o’clock. So I shut my door, locked it, and tried to go to sleep, but it wouldn’t come—

“This is utter manure,” I murmur to myself. Getting out of bed, I trot to the window again, staring at Luna’s silver moon as it makes its ascent over Ponyville. I open the window slightly, and the cool air that reaches my face beckons for me to come outside and walk in the shadows of the night. I’ve always like night more than day, even as a colt. A little exercise might make me sleepy, I think.
I walk to the door, but hesitate before opening it. The noise of my departure might waken Ember or Cinder, and the last thing I need is for them to come running after me in the dark. So, again, I trot to the window and poke my head out, looking for a way down.

It comes in the form of a young tree, whose branches are slight but very close to the window. I don’t give myself time to think about the consequences of falling (the ground is at least twenty feet below, and a fall like that could break more than one bone if I landed wrong). I jump forward, managing to land close to the base of the branch nearest to me. The whole tree shakes with my weight, and I wait with bated breath to see if it’ll fall. Luckily, it’s a little sturdier than that, and I make my way down the base without any more trouble. The grass is cool below my hooves, and the air is wet with the promise of rain.

I start to walk the road towards the center of town—actually, walk isn’t the right word. I creep towards the center of town, placing my hooves in such a way that they make no sound. My eyes are half-closed, and my tail is pressed against my side, the dark blue masking the light gray of my coat. The stance is military, and after so many years of fighting it comes naturally.
Ponyville is much different at night. The sound of my hooves on cobblestone (which is impossible to muffle) echoes off the dark buildings, which cast twisted shadows across the ground. If I stop, I can hear strange noises from the forest (which I noticed coming off the train); howling that intensifies when the wind blows in my direction, trees whispering to each other in the soft language of theirs, and the twinkle of the stars in the sky.
Ponyville is small, and in very little time at all I have traversed the cobblestone streets and set hoof on the soft grass of what I assume is a park. I climb one of the hills and trot down the other side, stopping at the bottom to take in my surroundings.
That’s why, at first, the creatures hidden in the shadows of the trees don’t see me. I don’t see them, either, until one of them steps on a stray twig. My ears swivel instantly towards the sound, and I freeze, sinking lower to the ground without shifting my hooves. It burns to do this, especially with my injury, but my self-control prevails.
At first there is nothing, not even breathing, but then I hear hoofsteps coming in my direction. They’re soft, and by the seconds between the crunches of wet grass I can tell that whatever is moving is stretching, trying to cover as much ground as possible in as little steps as possible. When I pinpoint the exact location of the sound, I slowly turn my head to the left.
The creature is black and vaguely pony-shaped, but the light shining through its hooves marks it as something else. Its coat is shiny, obviously something other than fur, and it has no mane. The creature does have a horn, a crooked protrusion on its head, but in this darkness I can’t tell if it has wings or not. Giant blue eyes lock onto me, and we stare at each other for what feels like hours but what is really seconds, neither of us moving. I’m so focused on the blue-eyed creature that I don’t hear its accomplice until it’s too late.

Another creature lands on my back, biting into my shoulder with long fangs. I whinny in pain but manage to roll over, shaking the second creature off. Blood runs hot and thick down my shoulder, but luckily it’s my uninjured one. When I regain my footing, I scan my surroundings for the light blue eyes of my attackers. The thing I shook off my back has also scrambled to its hooves and turned towards me. I wait for its lunge before I dive to the side, muffling a scream as I land on my injured shoulder.
I feel rather than see one of the creatures charging towards me, so with all the strength I can muster I lash out with my back hooves. A sickening crack echoes through the night as some part of the creature breaks (for all I know it doesn’t have bones), but I only get a millisecond of satisfaction before the momentum of the creature’s lunge makes my bad forelock buckle. Left to hold my entire weight, my injured shoulder buckles as well, sending me crashing to the ground. My injured forelock twists unnaturally beneath me, sending white-hot sparks of pain through my body. I try to move, but when I attempt a shift I nearly black out. I can’t fight or flee, and I can hear the hoofsteps getting closer, so I do the one thing left to me.

I scream.

Author's Note:

THIS IS SO LATE OH MY GOD but I started school and my muse died. I had to bury him. Sorry, it took me a little while to hire a new one...

Anyway, credit to MaadHatter1307, the mysterious 'T', for being my co-author! Myranium hasn't been on in a while... I wonder what happened...

Oh, and I keep forgetting to add this: if you see something wrong with the story, shout at me. Flag me down and circle the mistake in red pen, because you guys are my co-authors too (it would just take too long for me to add all of you in the notes)!