Of The Last Millennium

by BlndDog

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Cluckcluckcluckcluckcluck.

Hsssss!

Everything was moving. Shadows appeared and disappeared, and from time to time she could see faint flashes out of the corners of her eyes. There was nothing there when she looked, of course; just shadows hinting at things that she didn’t want to see.

Cluckcluckcluck.

The first kilometre or so of the forest was relatively familiar ground, and Scootaloo had taken her time searching that area. From his trajectory she knew that he had landed a few hundred metres into the forest, south of Zecora’s hut. That didn’t say anything about where he could be an hour later. After some time with her nose in the undergrowth she found a tiny clearing open to the sky where Rain might have landed, and indeed the moss looked disturbed. From there it was a matter of picking a direction. Far from the path, the trees were so dense that even a child had trouble fitting through. Scootaloo encountered impassible walls of trees or thorny hedges regularly, and though her hooves were soon soaked and freezing from the deep moss bed there was no water to slacken her thirst.

With no view of the sky, night snuck up on her as she struggled through the least prickly part of a seemingly never-ending row of thorny bushes. Her cloak provided little warmth against the chilly night, and chewing just one mouthful of moss for the moisture left her gagging for an hour thereafter.

She would have turned back then, had she known where “back” was. Though she had followed her chosen path at a good pace, Scootaloo didn’t encounter anypony for the whole day. The trail was rather unconvincing; moss turned the wrong way, broken twigs, a few kicked up leaves. She would have abandoned it a long time ago had it not been for one unmistakable hoof print in a patch of mud: too large for Zecora and too small for a bat pony or one of the alicorns. But that was half a day and countless steps behind her, and now she walked completely in the dark, feeling the ground in vain for some sign that she was not alone.

“Rain?” She whispered hoarsely.

Hsssss!

She shifted the scooter on her back. Hours of the hard board bouncing up and down with no padding had rubbed her whole back raw. At first she tried wrapping her cloak around the footboard, but it wasn’t nearly thick enough, and the bundle kept slipping off as she walked. Throughout the day all kinds of make-do harnesses and cushions were conceived, tried and abandoned; she still reeked of rotting wood from an earlier attempt to pad her back with fluffy moss.

Cluckcluckcluckcluckcluck…

Like the other things, the cockatrice was her own fault. Scootaloo had heard the clucking about an hour ago, when the last light of day was still clinging stubbornly onto the treetops. In her desperation she had believed it to be coming from Fluttershy’s chicken coop, and followed it with the taste of sweet earthy water on her tongue and the warmth of a sod-roofed cottage on her skin. Into the twilight she followed that sound, and though she knew that her path was far from straight the promise of flowing water kept her thoughts short and her strides long. It was the sparrow-shaped stone, pale and glistening in the last light of the day that convinced her of the error of her way, and by then she was close enough to hear the subtle hisses and gurgles of the monster’s song.

She had spent most of the night since then trying to return to the chase by a roundabout route, hoping to retreat unnoticed. She clearly remembered her first encounter with one of those serpent-bodied creatures; how it had risen out of a bush on its slimy green tail, solid red eyes glowing with a cruel fire. How it had looked so harmless at first glance, like nothing more than a large and rather goofy chicken raising her head to check her surroundings.

Scootaloo slipped on a wet root. Her scooter clattered loudly, and she couldn’t hold back a yelp at the burning pain in her right front knee. The tree trunk felt like sandpaper. She shuddered as something fuzzy and bigger than a squirrel scurried away from underneath her.

From behind her came gentle, squelching footsteps. It wasn’t loud, and it wasn’t fast; she barely heard it over the sound of her own raspy breathing, actually. One foot, then the other, pause, repeat. Something small and light tapped against the ground rhythmlessly.

Scootaloo stood up, squinting now and pressing her ears tight against her head as she tried to ignore the beast. She wanted to look back, but knew what waited for her: two terrible red eyes, and an eternity as stone.

She tumbled when the ground dipped down. Her scooter disappearing into the darkness.

She didn’t stop to search for it.

“RAIN!” She hollered as she ran. Though her throat burned and her mouth was completely dried out, she shouted again and again. “RAIN! GARI! TWILIGHT! ANYPONY!”

She didn’t hear anything anymore. Her voice went into the forest, never to return to her. She didn’t hear the steady, deliberate steps of the cockatrice or its flailing tail, or the muffled sound of hooves speeding her way.

A great burst of wind hit her from the side. The air became solid and she was thrown against the ground.

“Be quiet,” Rain whispered into her ear, his hooves digging into her ribs so she could barely breathe.

He lowered himself on top of her, his wings forming a dome over them both. The sour scent of sweat was overpowering on its own, but he also reeked of moss, wood and toadstool. Despite her uncomfortable posture, Scootaloo felt immensely relieved. She closed her eyes and tried to slow down her breathing. The adrenaline still pumping in her veins made her legs twitch and her teeth chatter, and with both of their bodies pressed together the heat started to make her feel sick. Despite her discomfort Scootaloo did not resist; she knew the alternative.

His wings were barely hovering above her nose, and downy feathers tickled her face as he struggled to stay completely still.
Scootaloo scrunched her face and tried to rub her nose against the ground, but as the minutes passed the sneeze built up.

She was soaked in fresh sweat when at last the wings folded and the pressure lifted off her chest. Blood flow returned to her limbs, and immediately the chilly night air made her skin crawl. Her cloak was wet and torn, and was so cold that she immediately fumbled with the knot at her neck to get it off.

“What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?” Rain gasped. Scootaloo could only see a silhouette of the pale colt as he wiped his forehead and rustled his wings.

“I was looking for you,” She spat, hopping to her feet. Her legs were still unsteady, but the surge of anger helped a little with the cold. “You can’t just run off like that! You came to me for help, and then you…”

Her voice dropped off as she was painfully reminded of her thirst. Rain noticed, and fumbled with something at his side before pressing a bundle into her forelegs.

“There’s a cap somewhere,” he instructed. “Drink up.”

The bag felt like something alive as it slid over her hooves, and she had to place it on the ground to find the screw cap. The water inside was evidently from Ponyville’s main creek, probably collected on Sweet Apple Acres.

Two days. You’ve been busy.

She drank until the bag was sagging in half, and then sat still for a minute breathing heavily, even colder than before but satisfied at last.

“You’re coming home with me,” Scootaloo said at length, doing her best to be authoritative to a colt who just saved her life. “Rain, I’m sorry, but I have to agree with Gari. If she’s really a thousand years old, don’t you think she knows how to handle things? Even something like what happened at the orphanage?”

“No,” Rain said without a hint of hesitation. “It means that she knows how to not get into trouble. It means she lived among the griffins, worked for the griffins and fought for the griffins. She’s the princess of the griffins, Scootaloo! A lot changed at the orphanage after Princess Luna returned. Gari told us all about the Children of the Night. They’ve been living among the griffins for a thousand years, and I swear they’re more griffin than pony now. You heard it yourself: she doesn’t even try to deny that she was drinking with the same griffins who killed our brothers! I thought you agreed with me, Scootaloo!”

“Listen to me, Rain,” she said, pouncing forwards to grip him by the shoulders. His wings flared in surprise, blocking a great portion of the shadowy world behind him. “I’m your sister, and right now I’m worried about your safety. I’ve lived in Ponyville for three years, and I know how dangerous this forest is. We barely escaped one cockatrice just now, and this place is crawling with timber wolves too. If I know anything about you, you’re trying to go way south to avoid Gari, and I’m telling you right now that if you keep going you won’t make it out of here alive. Don’t do this to me, Rain. I can’t let anything happen to you.”

“Well, you’ll have to drag me home.”

He escaped her grasp with relative ease, but Scootaloo was faster on her feet. She pounced on him from behind, and they rolled forwards together, Scootaloo doing her best to protect the colt from the roots and rocks while keeping a death grip around his neck. When they finally stopped she was sure that her head was cracked in half. After a moment, Rain got up.

“You’re coming back with me, Rain,” Scootaloo mumbled dazedly.

In response, Rain’s hoof struck her square in the nose. Yet it was a remarkably weak punch, and Scootaloo felt a surge of hope that perhaps she could outlast the at least equally exhausted colt.

Rain took a step forward, and Scootaloo yanked at the base of his neck, bracing her back legs against a piece of root.

“If you won’t help me, just let me go!” Rain’s voice was low and vicious.

“I’m helping you, Rain. I’m helping you right now.”

Another step, and Scootaloo felt her hooves slipping. She hopped forwards suddenly, dropping onto the ground and forcing Rain to crouch from the sudden shift in weight. Unfortunately that also meant she was suddenly within easy reach of his front hooves. Rain pounded down on her ribs again and again, sending waves of pain through her battered chest. The ferocity of the strikes dropped off sharply after the second set, and Scootaloo held on through it all.

Scootaloo didn’t know how long they went on like this. She didn’t know how many steps he managed to take, or if she reclaimed any ground in the end. She only remembered Rain mumbling indistinctly as he finally collapsed, and how the world seemed to jump and spin and flash like a strobe light as she lay down next to him with one foreleg placed protectively across his shoulder and one tiny orange wing wedged awkwardly against his back (too small to offer him any warmth).

#

Dreary grey light filtered through the thick canopy overhead, offering no immediate warmth to the worn out filly lying on a bed of forest moss. Her coat was crusty with salt and dust, and her mane and tail were full of dead leaves. Her back hooves were deeply chipped from last night’s struggle.

The light grew brighter through the hour, but still it was nothing like a summer’s day. Scootaloo’s ears twitched. Her bed was the most comfortable thing in the world.

The smell of the moist moss reminded her of her location, but she was much too tired to care. So what if she was lost in the Everfree Forest? At least she had something to sleep on, and plenty of room to stretch her sore limbs. Besides, pressing her head hard into the spongy undergrowth eased her headache.

Rain…

No, it wasn’t raining.

She couldn’t feel her brother by her side, but he couldn’t be far off. Maybe he just went back to his bunk.

There’s moss on my bed, I guess.

No, that wasn’t right. None of it was. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

With monumental effort she forced her eyelids apart. Her left eye wouldn’t open more than a squint, and the light made her head throb unbearably. She rolled onto her back with a moan, and her whole body fought back. Scootaloo gritted her teeth as her tendons wound into painful knots. The tears seeping from the edges of her eyes burned her face, and her lungs burned too.
She managed to get back to her original posture and did her best not to move. She dug her head deep into the moss, until she felt cool, sandy soil on her nose.

Rain. Where is Rain?

She wanted to get up, but even the thought of moving sent new waves of pain down her limbs. She had no choice but to lay with her face turned down, hoping that her body would sort itself out.

When her headache subsided once again to a manageable level, Scootaloo turned her head up cautiously and opened her good eye just a slit. The light felt like spears shooting into her brain. She could make out tree trunks and a nearby leaf, and something pale and indistinct further away.

“Rain,” she called weakly, opening her eye just a little bit wider.

It was definitely him. The colt was sitting, facing away from her with his wings drooping by his side. Those wings! What used to be beautiful glossy pinions had turned into crooked shafts with disjointed barbs. A few patches were missing feathers completely; there was no way he could evade a bat pony in the air now, if he could fly at all. His head was down, but at the sound of his name he turned to face her.

“I’m sorry, Scootaloo,” he said, trotting over to her side. Scootaloo tried to follow him with her eye, but even that bit of movement made her feel sick.

“It’s okay,” she managed to say. “Just… give me a moment.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Scootaloo,” he said in a hollow voice. “It… It just means so much to me. Gari wasn’t doing anything, and…”

“Rain,” she said through gritted teeth. “You hurt me the moment you ran away. But we’re together now, and we can go back to Ponyville together. Everything will be okay.”

“Scootaloo, please don’t talk about that again.” It was Rain’s turn to sound desperate, and for a moment Scootaloo dared to hope that her ordeal was near its end. “I’ve been making preparations for four days now, and there’s nothing you can do to make me turn back. The truth is, I don’t feel safe living with Gari anymore. That’s why I can’t go back. Maybe she means well, but I just can’t see her like I used to, knowing that she’s so friendly with the griffins. Those griffins. I want to make it better, and this is the only way I know how.”

The muscle spasms were finally subsiding. Scootaloo raised her head slowly, wincing as her spine popped a dozen times. The top of her head felt like one giant goose egg, and her nose was swollen and crusted with blood.

“Fine,” she said. “Let’s try this again, then. You can walk as much as you want, but I’ll be here to steer you where you need to go. Tell me this, Rain: how is the Everfree Forest safer than Canterlot?”

“It’s not,” he sighed. “That’s just it. No place is safe anymore, Scootaloo. But out here, at least I’m doing something instead of just waiting for the worst to happen. Can’t you understand that?”

Scootaloo looked into Rain’s bloodshot eyes. He was so confused, so scared, yet she saw something familiar too. A terrible parody of the way he used to look at her from back when they played in the courtyard together, when both their fathers were sure to return and Gari was just a funny-looking unicorn who told wild stories and baked the greatest cookies in all of Canterlot.

“At least stop at Zecora’s place,” she suggested as a last-ditch effort to get him moving in the general direction of Ponyville. “She’s a zebra who lives in the Everfree Forest. Maybe she can lend us some supplies to get through this place alive.”

“We’re not seeing anypony until we’re on the coast,” Rain said firmly. “We can’t even stop at the old palace, because Gari will know. I’m sorry, Scootaloo. You belong in Ponyville now; I shouldn’t have come to you. Your scooter’s right over there; I found it this morning. Just take your stuff and leave, and forget about me. I wanted to find you, but I guess I didn’t really expect you to do anything.”

Scootaloo didn’t say a word. The mention of her scooter didn’t even register in her mind. She was still staring into those sad eyes.

What would Rainbow Dash do?

The question was answered instantly. It weighed heavily on her heart, and she wished that there could be some other route. She wanted to cry too; to bury her head in the moss and wait another night, or pick up her cloak and stumble alone into the market square by sundown. But she couldn’t do any of those things.

“If you’re going to cross this forest, I’m going with you.” She grimaced as she got to her feet. Rain was quick to her side, and supported her through the first few wobbly steps. Her coat cracked as she moved, and her thoughts turned longingly to the big wooden vat at Sweet Apple Acre where the Crusaders often washed up after their misadventures. “I don’t agree with you, but you’re still my brother. I’ll make sure you get to Ghastly Gorge in once piece. I really hope that you’ll change your mind by then, because there’s a nice road from there back to Ponyville. But I won’t leave you alone in this forest, okay?”

The scooter was lying next to a bulging saddle bag, covered with her cloak. It would be no use to her in the forest, and she felt as if she would snap in half if she tried to rear up for the handlebars. She lifted the damp square of cloth onto her back and stared long at her beloved blue-and-red vehicle.

“So you bought it,” Rain said after a while. “Martin Brothers F series Lightning II.”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice hollow. “It’s every bit as nice as I thought it would be. My dad got it for me.”

“I guess it’s hard to save up sixty bits just by running errands around town. How much did you have when you left?”

“Twenty bits, I think.” The decals had worn off through years of heavy use, and the board had a corrugated appearance from all her tricks and accidents. She couldn’t help but smile, remembering the same scooter when it was still just a shiny fantasy behind the big window of Martin Brothers Transportation Co. in Canterlot. One bit to rent for a day, sixty bits to own. She would check every morning to make sure it hadn’t been bought up.

“We’ll have to cache this,” she said. “Give me a few of your feathers.”

“You can’t just leave your scooter here,” Rain protested. “I… I didn’t mean…”

“I’m not carrying it,” she insisted, turning her head slowly to face the cowering colt. “You’ll get tired of it too; at some point we’ll have to do this. Might as well leave it closer to Ponyville.”

Scootaloo sat down and struggled to reach her wing. In the end, Rain helped her pluck two small, orange feathers. His black-streaked ones were almost twice as long, and Scootaloo was relieved to see that the quills were glossy and pure white. If he groomed properly tonight, he could probably fly again in a few days’ time.

Rain helped her rip up the moss, and soon they had a sizeable mound to work with. The pit wasn’t deep, and neither of them wanted to dig in the tough earth under the moss bed, but few things in the Everfree Forest would be interested in a scooter to begin with. They piled on the moss and adjusted the top layer until the cache was a natural-looking bump in the forest floor. On top went the feathers, and Rain found a few big rocks to weigh them down. By the time they were finished the forest was starting to warm up.

“Are you sure you can find this again?” Rain asked as they sat admiring their work.

“Zecora does this all the time,” Scootaloo said. “She uses locks of her mane. My friends and I tried to get our cutie marks in caching once, you know.”

“Did it work?”

“I’m pretty sure Granny Smith got her hearing aid back, but it was Zecora who found it.”

Rain laughed. At least it was the same laugh she remembered, and it was enough to make Scootaloo chuckled despite her aching ribs.

“We should get going,” she said as Rain sat back and wiping his eyes with a big dirty hoof. “You have me, but this forest is still dangerous. We’ll have to find a safer spot for tonight.”

Rain humped the saddle bag, which was obviously made for an adult. Scootaloo glanced around one last time, and felt a chill down her back when she saw the four-toed prints in the rich black mud with a shallow groove running in between, as if a snake had been chasing a big bird.

We definitely need a safer spot.