Wild ponies don't wear jewelry
“Ortho, tell me the first virtue of the Imperial soldier,” an aged, bulky crystal pony, dressed in thick leather armor, sighed, looking at the huge mess in the middle of the camp.
“Discipline and obedience, father,” a skinnier colt replied, sitting down on the ground, his forelegs crossed in front of him. His greenish coat was barely hidden behind a dark, furry cloak, which barely protected him from the biting cold. The ends of his sky blue mane were tied together, forming a short braid, made more for the freedom of movement that for the purpose of beauty. “I had to leave for a moment!”
“Hush, Orthoclase. These kinds of excuse won’t save you from the officer’s whip,” the bulky pony said, swiping the snow off of his son’s cloak. “Or, to be more exact, my whip.”
Orthoclase sighed, closing his magenta eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath. Yet again, his father was disappointed. He hated this feeling of being an absolute failure, and yet his constant screw-ups reminded him again and again that he would never become a real soldier.
“You’re drawing near the age of conscription, Orthoclase. When you’re in the army, I won’t be able to cover you up all the time. You need to learn to take care of yourself.” Father’s tirade was overdone, and yet it worked, worked every time.
Orthoclase was jealous of his father. Any colt would be – he was a respected officer, commander of the whole unit of Imperial border guards. He was strong, brave and harsh, just like a real soldier. When Ortho was a foal, he used to steal dye from mother’s drawer, and, in desperate attempts to make himself look a little bit like his father, dye his body in dark yellow and his mane in fiery red.
“I know, Mr. Rubin. I’m sorry,” he apologized, looking down into the ground, just like two years ago, when his father caught him smoking. Rubin smiled and patted his son on the shoulder.
“It’s okay. You’re still learning. Now, help me clean this mess up. Dumb animals can’t help shoving their noses where they don’t belong.” The two started gathering different tools, scattered across the ground. Countless of different tracks were covering the ground here and there, each belonging to a different animal.
“Hey, look over here!” Rubin exclaimed, pointing at the deep hole in the snow. “It’s a boar. A big one, too. Let’s follow it!”
Rubin smiled and grabbed his trusty crystal rifle. Orthoclase had always been fascinated by these instruments of war. Made of the crystals found in the depths of the earth, these guns were possessed only by the Crystal Empire, which advanced its warfare beyond the whole world. A long, sleek surface was hiding immense power inside, and once released by pulling a shutter at its edge, it would spit out a blast of energy that was enough to blow a rabbit into bloody chunks.
Orthoclase got to fire his dad’s rifle only once, and when he did, he had to gather the pieces of the rabbit from all over the room. Thankfully, it was only a doll, but Rubin said that Orthoclase would encounter real gore in the near future, and that he should be prepared. Mother was greatly displeased, but dared not speak up against father: the traditions were strict – the stallion, as the sole protector of his family, had to be obeyed regardless of circumstances.
As he and father were slowly crawling through the snow, Orthoclase thought of the responsibility his father was always talking about: of a protector, of a warrior. The very sound of these words made him shudder: they sounded too heavy, too powerful for him. He much preferred the short and sweet ‘fun’, that his friends were obsessed with.
“Eyes on the prey, Ortho!” his father grumbled, breaking Orthoclase’s dream of dragging a mare into his bedroom for pure joyful ‘fun’, and pointed in the direction the tracks were leading. “I’ll scout ahead. Stay here, and signal if you see anything suspicious.”
Rubin left with haste, leaving Orthoclase behind. The young stallion stopped in his tracks and watched his father disappear in the white gust. He looked around, found a relatively windless place, protected by trees and hid himself there.
If only he could become a real soldier without having to be responsible. He would make his father proud and have a lot of fun. That was a perfect solution, a win-win. Why Rubin had to be obsessed with responsibility was beyond his understanding.
Orthoclase felt lonely, standing in the middle of the forest with nothing to do. He liked it better when he had a camp to watch over, but now there was no other choice than just stand in the snow and wait till father had returned with the prey. Mayhap they would manage to sell it to the traders: meat was useless to them anyway. But money, on the other hoof, would always be useful: a loaf of bread in this season was a rarity.
Orthoclase bit his lip, thinking about the life on the Earthville border. Being the richest and most prominent traders in the whole world and the best agriculturists in the entire world, they probably had more than enough food not just for survival, but for trade and even fairs. And here, on the border with the Pegasi Republic, crystal ponies oft had less than enough food to sustain a village. And a town such as Granitza needed a lot of food to survive.
“Well, at least my family prospers, for now,” Orthoclase figured, watching the snowflakes dance in the wind. They reminded him of tiny wisps that were so plentiful at night during summer. A nice little shard of that peaceful time to keep him refreshed through this winter.
Orthoclase gulped once he heard the rustling and his brain started figuring out the possibilities of who that could be. His father? No, he would have called Orthoclase out. An animal? Most likely. But what if it was another pony?
Orthoclase carefully turned around and faced the direction whence the sound was coming, behind a thick dead bush. Its prickly thorns looked menacing, guarding the way to the source of the sound. Orthoclase gulped and approached the bush.
Maybe he should wait for father? What if it was some beast that would attack him? He couldn’t defend himself, he was unarmed. Maybe he should just ignore it; it could be his mind, playing tricks on him.
“Who are you?” Orthoclase mumbled nervously. His voice barely disturbed the snow hanging on the dead branches, therefore, as expected, there was no answer beyond more rustling.
The rustling was getting closer and closer. He wasn’t scared easily: his friends would need a dragon to scare him, but the unknown was simply terrifying. He simply could not comprehend what would approach him. It couldn’t be an animal, it just couldn’t.
They never got this bold, not around here! Animals were always scared of ponies, and fled at the first sight of them. So, whatever was making that sound probably was no animal.
Finally, the rustling stopped, and Orthoclase thought he would get to relax now, but then the momentary silence was broken by a loud thump. Orthoclase jerked a bit, startled by the sound.
That definitely did not sound like an animal, more like a very big bag falling over.
The curiosity overpowered his fear and Orthoclase, taking a deep breath of frozen air, stepped forward into the bush. The thorns scratched his skin, but it was numb anyway. Orthoclase tore through the dead bush and entered a small, snowy field. A field like any other, except what it had lying in the centre of it.
His blood turned colder than the snow itself and he carefully backed away, shivering. Orthoclase closed his eyes, gathered all his might and finally managed to fight back fear’s claws and screamed: “Father!”
The scream rocketed through the forest, and Rubin heard his son’s cry for help. He immediately forgot about his prey and dashed to the source of the sound. His soldier instincts kicked in, he ground his teeth and grabbed his rifle by its middle with his teeth.
He jumped over a small log obstructing his way and landed on the opposite of where his son was standing. He gazed at his son questioningly and Orthoclase quickly pointed at the sight that scared him so much.
Rubin had seen a lot of horrible things, but this sight still managed to shock him. A crystal unicorn, a stallion, was lying in the snow motionlessly.
“Is...is he dead?” Orthoclase asked when Rubin approached the pony on the ground. Rubin checked the pony’s pulse; it was weak, but at least it was there.
“No, he’s still alive. Come on, Ortho, help me get him to safety!”
The dried blood on stallion’s sides, stomach and neck made Rubin shudder: what had this young pony been through? He looked eighteen years old, just a little older than Orthoclase, but the many scars, several of them looking quite fresh, on his legs and sides revealed a pony with a harsh life.
Rubin noticed a golden pendant on the stallion’s neck. It sparkled in the light, and looked relatively clean. Maybe it could answer his questions, tell the story of this pony. Maybe, but it was of no importance right now: they needed to get him to safety before he would freeze to death.
“I’ll carry him, you take my rifle,” Rubin commanded. It was a long way to their house; they should hurry up. There was no telling how much time this stallion had spent in the snow and how long he would have before the frostbites got severe to the point he’d lose limbs.
***
Screeching voices, loud rustling, then silence.
Loud voices, endless pain, then silence again.
The wicked circle of pain and peace was a circle of torture, as Sombra climbed out of the grave, but fell down once he thought he had almost reached the exit. All he remembered that he was walking through the forest, and now he was here… in nowhere.
Blackness. Endless fields of black were stretching out to the horizon, blending into a dark void. If this was the other life, the world where the dead were treading, it certainly seemed far too empty.
Light. Dark. Light. Dark. Endless flashing. Sombra wanted to gouge his eyes out, tear his eyeballs out of his eye-sockets, but to just make the flashing stop. His heart was beating… slowly… lazily, like it forced to make every single thump.
Sombra didn’t want to stay in this place. It scared him. Every fibre of his being was revolted by this canvas. He didn’t want to be part of it. So he opened his mouth and breathed in.
All was gone in a flash. The canvas, the void — it all disappeared and he was greeted by the warm, welcoming flame of an oil lamp. Sombra struggled to open his eyes, feeling trapped in his own body. When the haze dispersed, he felt somewhat relieved to feel his heart beating, to feel the usual pain in his legs. What he wasn’t glad to feel was the strange numbness in his right foreleg.
His mind still foggy, he tried moving his eyeballs around as the weariness was still chaining him. His location… had surprised him.
He was in a bedroom, a big comfortable bedroom with at least two oil lamps hanging underneath the wooden ceiling. There were several windows on the left wall, a white layer completely covering what was going on outside, and several bookshelves to the right, most of which were empty.
How did he get here? The last thing he remembered was the forest, the endless forest and the snow as his only bed.
“Mom! He’s waking up!” he heard an unfamiliar voice. Two ponies entered his line of sight: one was a teenage colt; the second was an adult mare.
“Oh, good! I thought he wasn’t going to make it. Orthoclase, bring something to eat, quick! He’s probably hungry.” The mare swiped her short green curls out of her face and approached Sombra, looking straight into his eyes. The colt ran away on her command, while the mare continued to inspect him. She carefully reached out for his face, afraid to touch him, to disturb him.
“H- hello.” Her voice was so quiet, so scared. Sombra thought for a moment and figured out that he probably looked terrible. “Hello? Can you… hear me?”
Sombra kept quiet.
He didn’t want to answer. He didn’t want to see any new faces at all. The mare asked him whether he could hear once more, and, just to make her leave him alone, he carefully, fighting through numbness, turned his head to the left.
Appearantly, the mare took it as a reaction to her words and asked a question that was much more relevant.
“Can you… understand me?”
Sombra didn’t move a muscle. He saw no point in doing so. He would die anyway, why worry others about his untimely demise? The mare sighed heavily, probably thinking about what she had gotten herself into. Or maybe she was worried about him. Judging by her saddened eyes and weary face, she had been worrying a lot.
Soon, the young one, Orthoclase, returned, balancing a tray with steaming cups of tea and a small slice of bread on his left foreleg. The mare took the tray and put it on the nearby drawer.
“He doesn’t talk,” she stated, letting out another sigh. Orthoclase looked at her, and then at Sombra. This pony looked just a bit younger, and yet, there was so much hidden beneath his eyes. So many feelings, so much hope. He looked even dumber than Iron Wheel.
Sombra blinked, the only reaction he could manage to drive away the memories of Iron Wheel and anything that was connecting him to Crystal City. He spent the last three weeks trying to forget, wandering aimlessly into the wilderness without stop, trying to find his own doom… and yet now he was lying, stared at by some idiot full of hope and his mother. At least Sombra guessed that she was his mother.
“I don’t know whether he’s too weak to talk, whether he doesn’t understand our language or… simply cannot talk.” The mare’s speech was interrupted by a long yawn.
“Have you tried asking him in Common, mom?” Orthoclase approached the mare. Sombra’s guess was correct.
“No… Wait, let me try…” She took a brief moment and then started muttering something in Common, with an accent so horrible Sombra could barely make out the word ‘who’, and several other ones. Judging by her pronunciation, or rather, the lack of it, he could judge that he had distanced himself quite far from the capital. Everywhere but in the capital, the other languages, except the native Crystallian, were taught quite poorly. He cringed.
“Strange… He didn’t seem to have liked my speech. Maybe I was saying something wrong?” ‘Mom’ hummed.
“Or maybe he just doesn’t like how Common sounds.” Orthoclase picked up the cup of tea and slowly hoofed it to his mother. “Be careful — it’s quite hot.”
“I know, I know!” she replied in somewhat irritated voice and slowly moved the cup to Sombra’s lips.
“Come on, drink! Gulp-gulp!” She tried to imitate the sound of drinking, probably counting Sombra as some kind of idiot, but he didn’t protest. When she moved the cup close enough, he reached for its edge with his lips.
He drank greedily, unafraid to burn his mouth. It had been so long since he had tasted tea. He was so tired of drinking water from the small rivers that even the most horrible tea would feel like nectar.
“Well, at least he’s conscious again.” ‘Mother’ exclaimed, grabbing a slice of bread and putting it in Sombra’s mouth, which he then proceeded to chew on hungrily. “Tell Rubin that he’s awake.”
Orthoclase ran away again and Sombra was left alone with his mother. He managed to get a good look at her while she took a moment to relax and close her eyes: her weary face with bags under her eyes still radiated comfort. Sombra didn’t know why, but he felt a little relaxed when looking at the face of this tired, worn out mare.
Though, it was nothing but a drop of honey into a giant pool of acid.
The mother blinked a few more times, trying to chase away the sleep and looked at Sombra. “So young… What were you doing so far away in the wilderness?” she asked herself, mostly, as she figured Sombra wasn’t going to reply.
The sound of hoofsteps reached Sombra’s ears and he struggled to turn his head to its source. He was greeted with a sight of ‘Rubin’, who was probably the father of this little family.
“So, who is he?” Rubin looked at his wife and she just shrugged in reply.
“He doesn’t speak… I doubt he even can. Maybe he’s wild, who knows.”
“Is he, now? Wild ponies do not wear jewellery,” he exclaimed, and Sombra felt his heart race faster, pumping him with warmth and energy. He slowly sneaked his left foreleg across his body to his neck and rubbed a little, desperately hoping to feel the only thing dear to him, the pendant. It was gone.
Sombra pierced Rubin with his eyes, trying to express something related to a scowl, but all he could was wink at the grown up stallion. However, that was enough to attract his attention.
“Huh, what are you looking at?” he mumbled, looking back at Sombra. Rubin raised an eyebrow.
“Strange eyes… I can’t remember… where have I seen them before?” He hummed. “I think I saw other ponies with eyes like his.”
“So what? His eyes are red, big deal. Just some in-birth anomaly, that’s all.” His wife seemed to be irritated with Rubin’s suspiciousness.
Sombra kept staring at Rubin, hoping he would either react to his glances, or his body would allow him to pounce from the bed and onto him, nail him to the ground and growl ‘Where is my pendant?’
Did Sombra have the guts to kill him afterwards? Maybe kill his whole family? He doubted it. Even after killing his own father, he couldn’t think of harming a pony.
He killed Amethyst in a fit of rage. He had been provoked. It wasn’t his mistake, not his fault, not his responsibility!
He just wanted his pendant, and then he would leave.
Rubin finally noticed Sombra’s desperate attempts to get his attention and gazed right into his crimson eyes. How many times did Sombra strike his reflection in the fresh water of a creek or a pond? He couldn’t remember. He just hoped Rubin wouldn’t do the same to him now.
Rubin quickly took out the pendant and took a long, careful look at it. Sombra’s heart shrank as every fibre of his being was vibrating with anger when Rubin opened the pendant: it seemed as if he tore Sombra’s chest open and was looking at his exposed, still beating heart.
“Now, I’m totally lost,” Rubin stated, looking at the picture in the pendant.
“What’s in there?” his wife asked.
“Him.”
Silence took dominance in the room for a few seconds, and then, Rubin sighed heavily.
“I guess it’s his.” He put the pendant on the drawer by Sombra’s bed. The instant he moved his hoof away, Sombra quickly reached out for it from under the blanket. The loud thump echoed in his ears for a second, but once he made sure his grip was tight enough, he slowly dragged it towards himself, scratching the wooden surface of the drawer.
The whole family was staring in surprise at his sudden outburst of movement. Orthoclase backed away slowly, shivering a little at the sight of this possibly wild pony.
Finally, the pendant was safe, lying on his chest. Relieved to feel the rough gold on his skin, he managed to put up a weak smile and put both his hooves on the adornment, to keep his only memory safe from the world around him.
“Let’s talk in the kitchen, dear,” Rubin said, his voice stiff and calm, as if nothing had just happened. Then, in silence, he left the room.
“Please, Ortho, look after him while I’m gone,” the mare said and followed her husband. Orthoclase nodded nervously and then reverted his sight back to Sombra.
“O-okay, mom.”
Sombra closed his eyes and kept quiet. Once he’d gotten better, he would run away. There was no need to stay here.
“This doesn’t make sense!” Rubin exclaimed, having just entered the kitchen. “Why would he have a picture of himself in that pendant? Who is he? Where’s he from?”
His wife, Zlata, ignored his questions and poured herself a cup of tea. “We’ll figure it out eventually, dear. Don’t worry about…. it.” She interrupted herself again to yawn and rub her eyes, before taking a sip of the hot drink.
“I’m not worried about it, Zlata. I’m just confused.” His retort was weak and he knew it, so he didn’t stop to make a pause. “It just doesn’t make sense. If he’s wild, then why would he have a pendant with his own portrait inside?”
“Look… we can figure this out once he gets better. We’ll just ask him once he’s able to talk.”
“And what if he’s not able? What if he’s… ugh, I don’t know, a mute? It’s not a rarity… at least not anymore.” Rubin frowned, pouring himself a cup of tea from the round-bellied samovar on the table. “The longer I live here, the more mute, deaf and blind ponies I find.”
“Teens will do anything to avoid conscription,” Zlata sipped her tea and licked her lips. “Could use some more sugar…”
Rubin kept silent while his wife trotted away to get a sugar bowl. Sugar wasn’t really an every day occurrence in the daily lives of Imperials.
“Don’t take too much,” he reminded his wife, who scowled in reply.
“I know, I know!” She was more upset that usual. Maybe this deal with that wild pony put her off so much. Or maybe she was just getting tired.
After having one or two smidges of sugar fall into her tea, Zlata grabbed a small spoon with her teeth and started stirring the drink. The annoying clacking sound the cup made when she accidently hit its side with the spoon made Rubin wish he’d gone for a bit of sugar as well.
“How long are you planning to keep him here?” Zlata approached the table and sat down, setting her cup down. After taking a good sniff, she took a sip from her cup, before drinking deeply, apparently satisfied with the taste.
“What? You want me to throw him out?” her husband asked. Zlata sighed heavily, before taking a short moment to rub her eyes.
“That’s not what I meant! I just… I just want to know for how long you were going to keep him here.” Her voice sounded tired and exhausted, despite the furious notes she tried to put into it. “I want to know your opinion, that’s all.”
“I plan to let him stay until he gets better, then we can judge by the situation. Does that sound good enough for you?”
“Yes.” Another sip of the sugared tea to make Zlata feel better. “Yes, it does.” She looked into the liquid, trying to find her reflection.
“Then it’s settled. I’ll see you later, dear.” Rubin finished his tea, approached Zlata and gave her a light peck on the cheek, before leaving.
Zlata swiped the tiny drop of Rubin’s saliva off her fur and continued to patiently sip on her tea. These were the short moments of this long day she could dedicate only to herself.
The samovar kept on humming and puffing, until Zlata covered it with a towel to keep it quiet. After finishing her drink, she took a second to yawn, and then headed upstairs. She wondered how long they should keep their patient in bed, what medicine they should apply, and if they have enough bread in store to keep them all fed.
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Uhm, that's pretty much all we need to know.
I don't if someone was the reincarnation of Mother Theresa, once the persons starts murdering, SCREW THEM!!
And that goes for rapists and child molesters too.
No forgiveness! ONLY WRATH!!
5027197 Uhm, it's about Sombra. You know, the snarling cloud of evil? How could it have a happy ending?
The shamelessly helping families who think nothing to help those in need are often those who die first. Usually in horrible, life scaring events that forever traumatize any survivors.
While I watch, what I think is Sombra's descent into true darkness, all I feel is pity. He may not have been delt the best hand(hoof for this saying?) in life but he made the best of it with the best on intentions. It is... sad to see the nasty curve life has made him take.
yes another chapter
I hope we see the return of the Inquisitor. She and Sombra might have a very interesting relationship dynamic. I also found her quite amusing. A crazy, hypersexual upholder of law and order against a Dark Lord of Evil.
this is one of the few stories that made me cry
Wonderful story!! I cant wait for the next chapter!!
just dont cancel this
Here's a few moustaches
5312007 5205573 5202775 "Pain and loss, they define us as much as happiness or love. Whether it's a world or a relationship, everything has its time. And everything ends." -The Doctor
5312007 5204673 5202775 5027454
-The Doctor