The master and the windigo

by stupidswampdragon

5 - Release

For some odd reason, Lyra didn't feel too cold any more.

She really thought that a snow-filled ravine would almost be like a freezer. Apparently not so; she wasn't shivering or anything alike. A little chilly for sure; but mostly numb, in the end. Uncomfortably so.

She never felt anything even remotely close that before, in fact.

It was a numbness that crept beyond the physical fatigue and disrupted her mind as well. She hadn't had a coherent thought ever since she woke up; she was only staring into the dimly lit cavern, her eyes glassy and vacant.

She was alive, but barely so. Even pondering on her situation was beyond her capabilities.

"Master!"

She may have been unable to think consciously, but Lyra's instincts were still very much intact. She zeroed in on the voice, her ears jumping up and moving on their own volition. It was odd though; she heard the brief cry - and then nothing more. No hoofsteps, no claps, nothing. Only the whistling of a distant wind.

"MASTER!"

It was that yell again. It came from the same source - Lyra was sure of that. Only louder. Clearer.

Closer.

But there were no hoofsteps. No... there was nothing. I didn't hear anything. This thing is... it's walking so silently...

No matter how she tried to think about it, Lyra kept getting stuck on that oddity. Whatever approached her did so without making any noise, and her subconscious was certain that only a predator would move like that. Which was, frankly, quite the disconcerting idea to have.

If only she could actually see something! If only that stubborn darkness was lifted from her. She tried to blink, hoping she just forgot to open her eyes somehow; but nothing changed. It was just like when she came home too late and had to find the way to her bed without any lights whatsoever. Of course, blindly bumping into furniture was a lot less stressing than waiting for something nasty to take a bite out of her.

"Shhh... shhhtay... away...!"

Huh. Was that really me talking?

The voice sounded hoarse and weak, like a bag-pipe that was running real short on air. The dichotomy between the expected voice - the one she was used to - and what actually hit ears was so huge that Lyra almost doubted if she was the one uttering those words.

It was really her, though.

How quaint.

She couldn't imagine which part of her would need to be hit to strip her of her voice. The neck? Or perhaps the face? She wasn't sure. It didn't matter in the end; no predator stalking her would care for her protests anyway, no matter how sweet or unrefined her voice was.

She needed more practical ways to protest. Such as fighting back! Or running away. Besting some monster would have been real cool; but she was more in the favour of living to see another day. She would only need to stumble out of danger and then find her way back to the forest. It wouldn't be hard to trace her way back from there. She could be back in the château in no time at all.

Assuming there was anything left of the forest, that is. That hole which swallowed her grew awfully fast.

I also need my skis, Lyra cringed as she prepared herself. Can't walk on that snow barehooved.

Clenching her teeth as a means to shield herself from the disappointment, she had to admit: finding those red pieces of wood would be difficult without seeing anything. That she would need to find her way blindly out of the cave didn’t readily occur to her, and that she would need to avoid a beast while she was searching - all without sight and without hearing where her foe was lurking. Her impaired mind only allowed for so much consideration.

Perhaps it was for the best. With only the skis on her mind, the problem didn't seem insurmountable. She would just need to stand up and get moving; she would bump into them sooner or later. Simple enough. She took a deep breath and pushed with her legs...

...and nothing happened. Her right hoof was stuck, refusing to budge whatsoever; but the left one only wiggled in the empty air. She kept struggling until she had a rough idea of her position. Contrary to her expectations, she wasn't lying on the ground; she was hanging somehow, her torso almost completely upright.

Heh! How odd. I thought only pegasi could float. No matter... maybe the hind ones can reach the ground.

It was a little difficult, finding something solid with her legs. With the numbness all over her body, she could barely feel anything; she wound up doing random small kicks, waiting for an impact to register with her. She managed to do so on the fifth try. There wasn't much feedback even on that one, but her hooves made a loud clap on contact. That noise actually clued her in more than her own body; she only felt some really dull push. The whole experience reminded her of the time she was at the dentist and got a wrong dose of tranquillizer.

Tranquillizer... ugh. I hope this monster isn't trying to remove another of my teeth.

She had no idea where that thought came from, but she was not enjoying it too much.

"Ugh. Ah kin'a... need mah... teeef!"

Courtesy of her tongue not moving the way it used to, her words became a little mangled. No matter; she wasn't staying for a chat anyway. She was only getting herself free and finding her ski; that was all that was on her agenda. All she had to do was to align her rear legs against the supposed ground and buck.

"Aa- ah! Master, wait! Don't move! Still! Stay still!"

Curled up on the ground, Lyra wished the monster said that a little sooner.

Her kick connected and lifted her upward. Whatever was keeping her in the air let go of her; but gravity took her leash right back up afterwards. She dropped onto the ground with a thud. That wasn't too bad; but the impact did something real nasty to her. Her entire right side went ice-cold and she found breathing really difficult all of a sudden. Anything larger than a shallow rasp sent jolts down her spine, making her curl up even tighter. She got the mental image of a Lyra-sized ball at some point; it made her smile, no small feat with her torn side and pained breathing.

"Oohhh... Master looks a little, uh... bad. There's a nasty puncture there."

You're quite chatty for a monster who moves in complete silence, Lyra mused. Strictly to herself though; she didn't want to divulge her innermost thoughts to the creature. Not like she had any air to speak with either. It would have been nice if she could breath normally. She could have asked this monster if it had seen her skis.

Who knows, maybe it would answer. It was so chatty, after all.

"Puncture wounds... it's, uh, that was, uh... let's see, I think the head priest used to wrap ponies up," the monster monologued to itself. "Knew I should have paid him more attention instead of just Master! I... I'll need to improvise I guess. What could I do... find something, maybe? Where's some cloth when you need some! I, uh - oh for everything's sake! What am I even doing?! It's not like I can use bandage!"

Lyra had to sourly admit: the creature standing next to her didn't seem to be too fazed by her struggling whatsoever. She was ignored to the point where it began to bother her.

I was scared witless of you! Just moments ago! The least you could do is threaten me or something! she fumed to herself. I'm a perfectly healthy pony, you insensitive cod! I'm worthy of your attention! Heck, I'd be worthy enough to be your dinner!

The last thought of that queue returned her attention to a more pressing matter she somehow forgot about.

Please don't make a dinner out of me.

"Stop fretting. A calm and cool head. Yes, a calm and cool head. That's needed right now," the creature told someone. Either itself, Lyra or both of them at the same time. Truth be told, they both could have used more serene thoughts. "So! This is a puncture wound. It goes deep... Master isn't going to last long with this. And, uh... neither with this cold. Warm-bloods are suspect to hypothermia, right? That's why the are called warm-bloods. They don't work if their blood is cold. But this wound is the worse problem. I think. So how do I stop this... oh! I know. All I need to do is just-"

Wound? Lyra perked an ear at the word. I got a wound? Where?

She remembered what wounds are like. They sting, they burn; they hurt. Disproportionately so. That's why the monster's musing took her by surprise. She felt more cold, numb and tired than anything else. There was no way she could have been wounded. The issue really bothered her; she even tried to voice her disagreement, but only a pitiful whine left her mouth.

Unopposed, the creature began its work in earnest. It didn't really say just what it was doing though, so Lyra had no idea what was happening. There was a jab in her side and another wave of cold rushed over her. She could hear her own breath hastening at the experience... then the solid ground disappeared from beneath her. Again.

I so hate today.

---

"Yo."

Lyra's most immediate reaction to that greeting was how casual it sounded. Especially considering how she was kind of plummeting to her death, for the second time in ten minutes.

Then again, she didn't feel overly alarmed by the fact either. She felt pretty 'meh' about the ordeal, actually.

Practice makes perfect, doesn't it.

She snickered when she realized how she took this better than the awkward concert in the Palace Garden. That mishap made her so anxious and upset that she was constantly yelling and crying for two days straight. It made a whole deal of sense too, once she thought about it. If that weird creature was correct and she was really dying, then she really had no reason to be upset. Might as well spend her final moments in comfort.

Then she remembered the greeting she failed to reply to so far.

"Yo!" she tried to sound the same nonchalant. It didn't fully work out that way. She was still in a free-fall, the air current tearing into her coat, mane and tail; but the rushing air also made her speech difficult, the wind flapping her lips and turning her voice pretty funny. That in turn led her to another realisation, and she started to grin like an idiot.

This is one heck of a drop!

She has been falling for quite a while already. No matter how her landing turned out, she would be little more than pony-salsa. That rendered her other worries - monsters, hypothermia, odd wounds she didn't quite feel, concert contracts and whatever else - quite irrelevant. It was a liberating thought. She would have hated to freeze to death. A splat was a lot faster and completely painless.

Wouldn't like to be the poor chap cleaning up afterwards though.

"So what's ya' up to?"

"Oh, nothing much!" Lyra cackled, scanning the empty air beneath her. She still couldn't see the ground; only swirling, crystal-blue clouds. "Just, you know, falling to my death."

What a strange cave I found. So deep! I wonder if FF will name it after me.

"Funny hobby, that. Ever considered a parachute? Should do wonders to your insurance premiums."

"Parachute! Parachute..." Lyra repeated absent-mindedly, trying to find whatever object that word related to. She came up empty. "Nope! I have no idea what you're talking about... er..."

Alarmed by a superficial detail she has glossed over so far, she yanked her head up and took a quick glance around. That voice - that voice was interesting. She knew that voice from somewhere. She couldn't quite put a hoof on it though... but that didn't matter. Whether she knew the voice or not, she was actually conversing with somepony in the middle of a lethal fall. So just when did she get a drop-mate?

"Ahaha, so you're finally coming to your senses... and you're still not panicking. Not outwardly anyway... heh! Behind you, by the way."

Lyra's ears managed to zero in on the voice just as the hint came. She strained her neck and glanced backward as instructed; and she indeed spotted a green figure among the swirling clouds. It was another pony, one without wings just as Lyra herself. There was little else to see though. The strange visitor wore a bright green robe that hid its entire body, even its head being covered by a large hood. Only the very end of its muzzle peeked out into the open, the nose hinting at a purplish coat.

"I never saw you before," Lyra mumbled the first thing that came to her mind.

"The feeling's mutual," the hooded pony made a nod. "We're here to change that, though."

Lyra tried to turn around proper and face the strange acquaintance. She was in the middle of a drop through thin air though, and she found even basic movements to be difficult. Her hooves not touching anything solid meant no traction, and no traction meant little control over her bearing. She tried real hard anyway. If only she could look as cool as that other pony! That weirdo sure made it look easy. It was just hanging out there, perfectly calm and... motionless...?

Not even the clothes are flapping, Lyra realized as she took a better look. Her own mane and tail were almost torn off by the wind; going by that, the robe should have parted from that pony almost immediately. So how come it didn't?

"How do you remain so still? Even your robe!" Lyra shot the question at the stranger. She didn't expect much of a reply, but satisfying her curiosity was worth a try. "Is it lined with lead or something?"

The muzzle peeking out from the hood revealed a sly grin.

"Of course not! I only wear lead-laden clothes when I'm near the Zone. This is regular clothing. Whatever passes for 'regular' in this dream-scape, that is."

"Dreamscape... haha, dreamscape what?" Lyra balked semi-jokingly. As far as she was concerned, that was a completely baffling and meaningless bit of information. "You mean this is all a dream or something?"

"Quite the cliche, isn't it? Well, it is the truth anyhow. This is just a dream of your own making. Or nightmare, rather."

"My own...? Ha... hahaha. AHAHAH!" Lyra hollered. She finally managed to turn around - by making a back flip. She was now facing the hooded stranger, even if upside-down. "Seriously! Why would I dream of plummeting to my death?"

"Beats me. I'm not your psychiatrist! Though it may have to do with the cave-in you wandered into. That's one fresh trauma."

That was almost a sound argument. Lyra remained unconvinced all the same; she could distinguish dreams from reality. The air pushing against her coat, the way her mane was trying to rip away from her neck, that nauseating feeling of weightlessness... all of that felt pretty real to her.

"You're just making that up," she concluded as she folded her hooves in front of her.

"I can prove otherwise," the stranger remained unmoved by the rejection. "If you allow me to, of course."

"Ha! Sure - go ahead and try!" Lyra cackled, absolutely certain the stranger was only blowing hot air. That conviction only served to make her confusion supreme once the clouds disappeared, revealing a wooden floor underneath. Still being upside-down, she couldn't even cushion the landing with her legs; all she could do was clench her teeth and snap her eyes closed. Her sole consolation was that she would hit the ground with her back first.

No need to worry about anything after that.

She took a trembling breath and hit the ground before she could blew it out.

Then she rolled around and scampered back to her hooves, completely unhurt.

"Oookay," she muttered. She took her time to take a good look at herself. She even inspected the floor where she landed; but she was fine and the floor was impeccably clean. Not even the lacquer was scratched. "This is... kinda freaky..."

"You thought you were doomed... but hoped you'd pull through anyway, didn't you? As I said: this is nothing but a dream. And dreams twist the way we want," the hooded stranger landed surprisingly gently, hooves touching the wood without any sound. "This is also what betrayed your turmoil, by the way. You may have that cool and calm act going... but your dream is nothing but a non-stop calamity. Shaken up, aren't you? Pulse still racing with your blood pressure and all that?"

Lyra gave the stranger a slow nod. Now that she had firm ground under her hooves and still was all right, she definitely felt a lot different. The absolute calmness was a thing of the past; she felt more natural. Revitalized. A little confused, too. The little explanation she got did explain a few things, but there was no way she could fully submit to such a ridiculous theory.

"Yeah, I... I was a little scared I guess," she mumbled under her nose. It felt like an embarrassing admission and she didn't want to look at the one who forced it out of her, so she glanced downwards, at the lacquered planks of wood. "I'm not really into flying..."

Of course I'm not. How would I?! she huffed inside her head, her face stiffening as she struggled to keep her tirade from leaving her mouth. I don't even have wings! Air is hardly my natural element.

"Understandable," the hooded stranger nodded. "Even so, I do not want to discuss business with an agitated pony. See, I never deal with parties under duress. I tried; but it never got me anywhere good. So let's sit back and... enjoy whatever you enjoy."

Other than shaking her head in disbelief, Lyra didn't answer to that one. Her thoughts were only occupied by how her dream proceeded to get even more outlandish. Enjoy herself? How could she? If this was really nothing but a dream, then she was still out in a ditch, freezing to death.

On the other hoof, comforting herself with surviving an impossibly long drop and then having a stranger placate her... that sounded suspiciously like some troubled pony's delirium.

"Am I... dying?" Lyra glanced up. It was a hard question, and she was uncertain if she could accept the answer, no matter how it sounded. "Right now, I mean."

"Hah... no. I am no Charon if that's what you're thinking," the hooded pony snickered, full of sarcasm. The hood may have covered its face, but did nothing about its tone. "You can save the ferrypony's coin for later - you're on this side of the Styx for now. You're cold and got a girder ran through the side, but you're alive. It will be a difficult way back home, but you'll get your chance to limp back in one piece. That I promise."

"Uh-hum," Lyra scratched her head. While being reassured of her survival was nice, she had no idea if those words were for real or just what she wanted to hear. Fricken' dreamspace. "So then... who are you? Since this is my dream and all that-"

"-I should be somepony you know, right? A reflection. A memory," the hooded figure cut her off. "Not the case, I'm afraid. I'm just a, how shall I put it, tenant in your head."

"Tenant!" Lyra snorted. Weirder and weirder that dream got. "What does that even mean? How did you get inside my head?"

"That's a funny story. Also one that you don't have the privilege to know," the hooded figure shook its head, the move rocking the green hood left and right. "I can only tell you the purpose of my visit: a mere formality, really. I am here to finalize the contract between us."

Wrinkles appeared above Lyra's eyebrows and her head tilted to the side. It was a truly natural movement, caused by all the gears in her head seizing up.

"Eehhh?!"

In all her years, none of her dreams were centred on legalities. None that she could remember, anyway.

"It's a rough start, I know. But that's how it tends to go, for one reason or the other," the hooded pony mused as it pulled a thick-looking parchment from beneath its robe. "I rarely meet anypony who is just sitting quietly at home and happen to wander over my creations. Power begets conflict, I suppose... or conflicts birth a desire for power. Doesn't matter to me, really. Just sign your name here."

Surrounded by a magenta aura, the paper scroll unfurled and floated mid-air. It made its way to Lyra, whose first reaction was a deep frown. That contract was easily longer than the morning newspapers, written in letters smaller than she could make out. Only the blank line waiting for her signature was adequately sized. It smelled fishy, even for a bad dream.

"Who are you?" she nudged the paper aside with a hoof. "Don't you dare say 'tenant' again."

"Does it matter who I am?" the hooded pony balked at the question. "I could be anypony. All you need me for is my power. Or, rather, my creations' power. And you will receive as much... as soon as you sign the contract."

"I have no idea who you are, but I've seen plenty of plays where contracts were a bad, BAAAD idea! Not to mention that I've signed a lot of real contracts as well," Lyra motioned at the floating paper with a dry chuckle. "I may not speak legalese just yet, but I know they are never binding if the two parties are not clearly identified. So let's start with that! I'm Lyra Heartstrings. You are...?"

"As if my name meant you anything," the hooded pony snorted. "Whatever! Call me the Source... just because you really insist."

"The Source?" Lyra raised one of her eyebrows, a sly grin creeping onto her face. "Totally not flaunting there, are you?"

"This whole experiment here is my creation. Including the 'demon' stuffed into the amulet you wear," the hooded pony raised a hoof and pointed it at Lyra. "You can call me out on my boast when you can match my genius. Until then, the mask I wear is the Source; and you will accept that as my answer."

"Why would I?" Lyra grinned inanely - right until the hooded pony wiped it off her face with the most simple reasoning possible.

"Because you have no other choice."

That was a pretty solid answer, all in all. Quite despotic, too. It made Lyra wonder if she could tear the parchment in half, just out of spite; but the things she heard made her a little hesitant.

"You call yourself all-powerful... yet you only ask. I could refuse you," she put her thoughts into words instead, pulling the floating parchment back in front of her. "What would happen I refused you? Would you force me? Punish me?"

"I believe in carrots, not sticks," the hooded pony shook her head. "Refuse and I will give you nothing, that is all. Of course, such a course would leave you stranded at the bottom of a snowy pit, all alone and without any help. Hardly ideal, is it? I didn't expect that you would contest my offer so much, to be honest. Others jumped at the first word, even without knowing what the package entailed. Still - it is your choice. So, what will it be, Lyra Heartstrings?"

No matter how she peeled her eyes, the letters in front of Lyra kept turning into a messy pool of black ink. The writing was too small and the lines were grouped way too tightly. It didn't matter much, in the end. She was more interested in the possibility of saving her own skin than some contract that only existed in her dream.

"Suppose I signed it. What help would I get? What is this creature you were talking about?" she moved her head around, her neck popping a few times. She felt incredibly uncomfortable - then a wayward thought only amplified that uneasiness. "Waaaait a second. The creature in the amulet - did you say it was a demon? Are you talking of the thing that haunted FF's grandpa? The old guy with some number?"

"He called himself the ninth descendant of his family," the hooded pony corrected Lyra, who looked away in shame. She heard the story from the viscount a few hours ago, and this dream-pony already bested her in remembering. "You'd get the same servant he did, yes. Though I hope you would turn out to be a better subject than he did. I saved him from a blizzard only to watch him grow old in seclusion. Talk about wasted potential!"

Servant, Lyra savoured the word. That didn't sound all too bad. Certainly not bad enough to lock herself into a room 'till the end of her days. Maybe that ninth misunderstood something? Or he was just a superstitious idiot, like ponies of that age were. At least that's what she picked up from the history lessons... and the odd magazine.

Heck, she would make a statue to that servant if it was real and indeed saved her. Maybe even FF would chime in! It would certainly be his big day as well, his amulet turning out to be not only magical but outright life-saving.

All those just a signature away from her.

Then again, this could be just something I'm dreaming up while freezing to death, she reminded herself. Though then I'm signing a contract with a pony from my dream. She could hardly sue me. Fat chance even if she tried, against my dream-court!

A toothy grin on her face, Lyra turned to the hooded stranger.

"Fine," she declared. "Got ink and quill?"

Even with the hood covering its face, the request took the other pony by visible surprise.

"What?" Lyra blinked at the reaction. "What did you think I would write my name with? Blood?"

"You play music for theatres day and night. You practically live for that purpose. You even dreamt a concert-hall for this meeting!" the hooded pony balked and clopped its hoof on the lacquered wooden floor. "Yes, I thought you would do just that! I would have bet my head that you would find blood-signed contracts dramatically appropriate."

"Dramatically appropriate, painful and unsanitary," Lyra frowned, the whole idea making her nauseous. "Seriously, how would I know if you throw away the quills after each and every contract? I sure don't want an infection!"

"I doubt you can transmit diseases through dreams," the hooded pony groaned as it paced towards Lyra, finally pushing a sleek black object into her face. "Here, use my pen. Killjoy."

"I'm sorry my craziness doesn't live up to your standards," Lyra yanked the pen with a sneer, then scrawled her name onto the paper. "There you go. Do I get my pet now?"

"Of course," the hooded pony rolled the parchment up and tucked it back under its robe. "One more bit of advice before I send you back, though. For the sake of authenticity, this experiment is done with only one rule: only those in contract with me can see my creations. Nothing else. Everything goes."

"That... kinda sounds like a threat," Lyra gulped nervously. "Wait, those in contract with you?"

"I do not partake in the experiment, so I needn't threaten you. I just gave you a warning - the same I gave to everypony else," the hooded pony stated with a completely factual voice. "Also, your assumption is correct. You are not the only one with such a servant, though the others will have different shapes and abilities than yours. Not more nor less powerful; just different. I didn't shortchange any of you."

"Ah-kaaay..." Lyra felt a knot swelling in her throat. "That's... interesting. What's the point of your experiment anyway? What are these servants for?"

"That's none of your business," the hooded figure barked. It rose a hoof - the move shifting its robe and revealing a leg with definite purple colour - and pushed it against a dumbstruck Lyra's nose. "Our deal here is over. Good luck out there, Lyra Heartstrings. You're an interesting candidate - so I hope to see some results from you."

A loud crack sounded from above. Her instincts stronger than her curiosity, Lyra broke her eyes off the hooded stranger and looked up.

She gasped when she saw the wooden ceiling give away above her.

Cracks appeared in the mighty crossbeams, the thinner boards outright giving away to the external pressure. Snow poured in, the speed and power of the burst making it look as if the chilly material exploded into the air. Her amber eyes wide, Lyra's most immediate thought was how majestic the sight looked; then the white tidal wave rushed over her, covering her and dragging her along.

---

The natural reaction to being under water is to hold one's breath. That idea works right until the head starts to ache, dots begin to dance in the vision, and the lung begins to burn. Then comes the point where one needs to take a breath, everything else be damned.

Her eyes shut closed and her whole self shivering with cold, Lyra decided she had just reached that very spot. She opened her mouth, fearful that she would only gulp in some dirty snow... but was relieved once air entered her throat. Cold, chilly, freezing air that made her innards twist; but breathable air nonetheless. She followed the brave gasp with a few rapid ones, restocking her blood with fresh oxygen.

One problem dealt with, only a few thousand left.

Like why she was hurting so much. Her eyes still shut, she could only feel her entire right side ache; it was as if she was sitting too close to a fire, every nerve near her front right leg flaring with pain no matter what she did. She could have sworn she was lying completely still, and the pain still went and came unabated. Her other side was better off - she only felt some dull sensation there. She knew that one already. It was the sign for having been out in the cold for too long, to the point where even her insulated coat would fail to keep her warm.

Right. I'm out in the cold, but not buried in snow, she quickly summarized her situation. She run her tongue down her lips; but the normally smooth skin felt really rough and raspy. Ugh. I wouldn't dream of something like this... guess I woke up.

It was one of her worse wake-ups, to be honest. Still, enduring a few broken bones and some hallucinations after a long drop wasn't such a bad deal. She would need some medical help though; the sooner the better. Closing her mouth and clenching her teeth in preparation, Lyra knew that meant getting up and going back to the Dancing Lights.

Right... time to get up. Upsie-daisy.

She was lying on her left side, a position she couldn't get up from; so he gathered all her strength and tried to straighten herself. The attempt didn't go overly well though. She could roll back onto her belly just fine; but the moment she tried to push with her right leg, a searing pain cracked through her whole being. She didn't break into a howl or anything; she could only clench her teeth, hiss and then take a few louder gasps.

Think I broke something, she concluded. She finally cracked her eyes open and turned to her right, ready to inspect the damage. Much to her surprise, someone else was already at the task - a translucent blue pony with crimson eyes that seemed to glow in the dim cave.

What the-!

The creature didn't seem to notice being gawked at. She was humming to herself as she took a close look at Lyra's side; only when she broke focus and looked at Lyra's head did she realize the pony was staring at her.

"Master is sensate!" the blue creature yelled with completely unwarranted cheerfulness. "The operation was a success!"

"O...peration...?" Lyra struggled with talk, giving up after one word. Her head felt really heavy as well, so she tried to keep her investigation short. Ignoring the strange thing on her right, she moved her focus to her leg. What she saw didn't look pretty. Her expensive jacket had a long tear in it, the green fabric dyed almost black by something. Most likely blood and most likely hers.

No wonder I can't stand up, she recoiled, her shivers redoubling at the sight. Not with that.

"I had to seal Master's wound," the blue creature explained as it saw Lyra's reaction. "So I... froze the blood there. It's not the best solution, but Master's not bleeding any more, so it's all good! Master should get some proper bandages, though. As soon as possible. And a medic as well. Preferably a good one."

All sound and good ideas, as far as Lyra could consider. There was only one huge issue with them: that she couldn't move to go and get them. Even worse, she came after that stupid pony all on her own, so it was real likely that her disappearance wouldn't be noted for a good while. Bon would surely realize something's amiss when once she failed to show up for dinner; but that may have been a good few hours away. The sun was barely setting when she fell in there, and Celestia knows how long she was out cold.

Cold...

"You... froze the... wound?" Lyra paid the blue creature a disbelieving stare.

"I had no idea if it would clot quick enough," the creature fiddled with her transparent hooves. "Did I do something wrong?"

Lyra really had no idea of that. Not bleeding to death was always a plus; but she never ever heard anypony just freezing a wound to achieve that. In fact, she couldn't even imagine how somepony would go about to freeze wounds. Not even the snow or regular ice were cold enough for that. She shook her head with a pained, sarcastic grin; an odd thought crossed her mind. It's like that blue thing was a ghost and had supernatural powers!

Then she remembered her dream-contract and stopped smiling.

"Are... are you... a servant?" she forced herself to speak, no matter how much it hurt. Her tongue would barely move and she had difficulties in breathing enough air to talk with; but she had to know the answer to that one. "Of the... that hooded... bastard. The Source..."

"I am!" the blue creature nodded with much enthusiasm, her crimson eyes flashing with vigour. "I was sleeping in that amulet for quite a while! And when I sensed Master was in danger again, I came back to Master's aid! Just like always."

Munching on the air as if she was chewing on the words, Lyra rested her gaze on the creature; then she sighed and dropped her head back onto the cold, snowy ground.

"How'd he... mistake you... for a demon..." she sighed. There was hardly anything threatening about the translucent blue figure. She was helpful - and even a little ditzy.

"I don't know. I must have done something wrong," the creature put a hoof to her muzzle, crimson eyes pointing at the sky above them. "All I recall is Master calling me some, quote-unquote, Celestia-forsaken windigo demon... and then he never spoke to me again. He didn't stop me from keeping him warm, though."

A windigo! Lyra gasped, her eyes shooting wide. That's right! A translucent ghost! How'd I not realize it sooner?!

She was sitting right next to one of the most feared monsters of Equestria. At the same time, that very monster happened to save her and looked as threatening as a bag of peanuts. So she could afford some benefit of doubt.

"Kept him... warm..." she reiterated what she heard, the odd little detail catching her attention even in the midst of her pains. "Could you... do that... again?"

As far as she knew, windigos could only take heat and not generate. It's not like she knew everything though, so there was always hoping.

"Ah... that would be most convenient, I agree. However, I can not just make Master warm. Not without help," the blue windigo stammered and giggled awkwardly. "Unless Master has an entourage or some other heat source around..."

Lyra squeezed her eyelids closed and tried not to remember how the Ninth was the only one to return from the blizzard.

Well, now she had a plausible explanation for that so-called 'miracle'.

---

"That's hard to tell. I'm a simple servant, Master, not a historian," the blue windigo ran her gaze around the hole they were trapped in. "I think this place used to be a chapel. An underground one. For the miners, you see! They had a few here and there, out of superstition."

"A chapel," Lyra looked around as well. All she could see was dirty grey snow and bits of ruins. The fact she didn't land in a cave became obvious a while ago; what little remained of the walls were too orderly for something created by nature. Not to mention all the stuff lying around, such as blocks of cut stone and bits of rusted metal. Including the remains of a girder that she had the luck land on.

Even if there was a chapel around once, it has certainly wasted away over the centuries. Even if she was sitting among those remains, there was literally nothing that Lyra could identify.

"A chapel I think," the windigo felt the need to stress that extra word. "I'm not quite sure myself. Could have been a simple mining tunnel either..."

"Mines...! Right next to the skiing slopes, ugh. No wonder they put signs all over the place," Lyra huffed and put the left - working - hoof to her face. "Well thanks a bunch, FF... you kinda' forgot something real important from your brochures."

"These mountains were rich in minerals," the windigo mused on, her crimson eyes narrowing as she worked her mind for the details. "It was only natural to mine them. I followed the old Master in his tower for so very long... and even though he went senile, he was still the acting Viscount. He got a lot of reports. Mostly about financials. There were always the costs. Incredible, mind-boggling costs! Without the mines, there was no way they could have kept themselves afloat. Master would so often throw tantrums about that, once he believed he was safe from prying eyes. Apart from mine, of course. But as far as he cared, I didn't even exist - so it was all good."

"These mines sure don't look like being used any more... ow!" Lyra tried to move her right leg and broke into a hiss. She had instructed the windigo to talk - it was not feasting on her for sure as long as its mouth was busy with something else - and she used that time to slowly whip herself into working order.

She tore a part of her jacket off and used that to bandage her wound. She could almost see any professional breaking into tears at the end result, but it was good enough for her first try. She spent the rest of the time waiting for her strength to return, but she wasn't sure what to expect of herself. She could only limp at a truly pathetic pace, and her injury prevented her from any movement that twisted the skin on her right side. Which was most of the possible ones.

Even so, being able to move meant being able to get out of that hole.

"Careful, Master," the windigo winced at the sight of Lyra moving about. "That wound could be real deep. It would be better for you to remain still."

"Yeah. Much better to freeze to death here," Lyra scowled as she measured the walls made by the cave-in. Most were pure snow, unsuitable for climbing; but the part closest to the forest had a few trees which got uprooted, falling prey to the hole. The thought of forcing her way through the sticky pine-branches didn't really entice Lyra; but she was willing to make that sacrifice if it meant getting out of that trap.

"Look at the moon!" she pointed out, convincing both the windigo and herself. "We've spent a lot of time here already. If there was help coming, they would already be here..."

The windigo glanced up and nodded in approval.

"Master could be correct... best not to wait for them if we can move. It is also possible they would not know where to look."

"That too... I came real far from the practice slope," Lyra bit onto her dry lip. "Well, nothing but to climb."

"Good luck with that, Master!" the windigo snapped to a salute. "Wish I could do more, but I'm... kind of incorporeal."

"I could have sworn I heard you would save my life somehow," Lyra growled under her nose, then turned her volume up a notch. "Anyway, stop calling me master already. I've got a name, you know! Lyra. Lyra Heartstrings! The least you could do is use it."

She couldn't help but notice how her small outburst mimicked that of the viscount. I like to know I'm more than my title... indeed. That thought brought a little grin to her face. Yeah, she took a liking to that doofus.

"Understood, Master Heartstrings," the windigo kept the salute, only flinching when Lyra shot a piercing stare at her. "I- I mean Lyra. Sorry about that, Mast- Lyra. Ugh... that is going to take a little getting used to."

"Life ain't a piece of cake," Lyra rolled her eyes and scampered to her hooves. Balancing on three legs was a tricky game, but she was getting close to nailing it down. Then she took the first, unsteady step... and almost tripped over, needing a few moments to correct herself. That prompted her to stop and wait until she caught her breath; a little pause that allowed her to remember something she initially hated about the viscount.

"And what's your name, by the way?"

"My... name?" the windigo stuttered. She leaned backwards and in general looked quite unsure. "I... I don't know. I really don't."

"Come on," Lyra growled as she squinted at the floor, planning her next step. Literally. "You must have some name. Everypony does."

"I never had," the windigo stated with absolute confidence. "Or maybe I did and I just can't recall it any more. Quite little difference there, yes?"

Lyra broke her concentrated focus and sneaked a glance at the translucent creature. The more they talked the less afraid she became of it. It didn't seem vicious at all - only eccentric, timid and completely lost. Hobbling another step forward and dragging her right hoof over the snowy ground, Lyra reminded herself how the very same windigo saved the Ninth though: by effectively murdering a whole bunch of ponies. All in order to save its Master, the only one it cared about.

Then again, serving its Master seemed to be the sole reason for its existence. And the Ninth never told the windigo to stand down, if its word could be believed.

A rather dubious case for locking someone into an amulet for so very long, all in all.

"You deserve a name," Lyra hissed through her bared teeth, hobbling one step further towards the fallen trees.

"If Master decrees so," the windigo nodded, then quickly corrected herself before the pony could give her another stern stare. "I mean Lyra, of course!"

"Better," Lyra huffed and shuffled forward. "Anything... ugh! Anything that you'd like?"

There was some silence, or rather, the lack of articulate sounds. The wind above seemed to pick up and made the forest rustle; and Lyra herself was making a racket, panting and puffing lightly as she dragged herself on. Only the windigo remained truly silent, the question apparently taking her some time to resolve.

"Nothing! As in, anything would do," she stated after a while, just as Lyra was about to reach the nearest overturned tree.

"You're... not picky," Lyra cackled weakly. Even that little movement made her feel sick. Her head felt light and she was all sweaty under her coat; the pain from the gash in her right side grew so intense that it made her stomach turn. She made it to the first tree though; deciding it was a good enough performance for the time being, she collapsed onto the branch and took a little breather.

Long way back to the château at this rate, she mused to herself as she panted. I'm not even sure if I can move in the snow... and there's a lot of snow between here and there!

Yeah, that could be a problem. There was snow everywhere. Lots and lots and lots and even more lots of snow. It was always tiring to move in that white stuff without skis; she may not even make it halfway to the Dancing Lights before she would run out of stamina and just collapse. Who knows if she'd be found then?

If only this lucky charm worked, Lyra made a sombre smile, digging the amulet out from the cover of her jacket.

Then she got another shock.

The blue gemstone from the middle of the jewellery was gone, its place taken by a featureless black rock. She stared at the pendant for a while, all sorts of thoughts swirling in her head; mostly about how Flash Freeze would react to his precious heirloom having gotten damaged. Then Lyra burst into a raspy cackle, the realization hitting her.

The pendant wasn't damaged.

It was simply empty.

I suppose this makes that monster my lucky charm, Lyra rolled her head to the side, her glance falling right onto the windigo. From where she was resting, the creature was really hard to spot; the translucent blue body blended pretty well with the dirty-gray snow. It only made sense; windigos were always rumoured to live in the frozen hills. Of course they would be most suited to places dominated by ice and snow.

Snow, snow, snow. Always snow.

"Snowy," Lyra mumbled, the word coming to her almost instinctively. "I think I'm gonna' call you Snowy."

Comments

[Silentwoodfire]

Yeah she managed to figure out what had been done...but realistically, I believe Snowy was ordered to commit those acts