Lutscintorb

by Mary Sue

Rivers Run Hither

The stagecoach rolled to a stop at the top of a hill. The afternoon sun kindly fell down on their heads, so they had to cover their eyes to gauge the landscape around them. All Sparkler saw was the same old random variation between open fields and clustered forests. She pulled at the straps of her harness to give her sweating skin some air. The winds tickled her ears with their idle whistling.

“So how long until we get to Portsmouth?” she asked, glancing off to the east. She spotted another outcrop of churning clouds in the far distance.

“Uh...” Sharp Tack glanced at the sun and then the mountains. “It’s Friday, right?”

“Should be,” Whiskey said, stretched out over the driver’s box with his hat over his face.

“We’ll probably be there Sunday evening then, if all goes well,” Sharp Tack said. He added, “Come on, let’s keep heading north.”

He started pulling in the harness and stagecoach bumbled along in tow. Sparkler hopped forward to keep up and quickly fell back into pace. Sharp Tack gave her a sidelong glance as a sizeable portion of the stagecoach’s weight fell to his side.

“Is something wrong?” he asked her.

She groaned. “It’s just a terrible headache.” She forced a small smile. “Don’t worry, it comes and goes. It’ll probably be gone later tonight.”

He gave her a confused look. “What, are you ill or something?”

“Kind of,” she admitted.

“Does your friend... Binks, know about it?”

She pursed her lips. “It doesn’t concern him, so I don’t really know if he does nor do I care. Besides, I’ve had it for awhile.” She paused. “I don’t suppose you have anything to help relax the pain, do you?”

“Not unless you’re bleeding,” Sharp Tack remarked. He scratched his chin and glanced around the field they were in. There was nothing but tall grass and the occasional flower. “Keep an eye out for feverfew, I guess. I don’t know if we’ll find any out in the open but I’ve heard that stuff helps.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a flower,” he explained. “It looks exactly like a daisy, but with shorter and a fewer number of petals.”

“You and your home remedy crap,” Whiskey muttered, just loud enough to be heard.

“Hey, it’s that ‘crap’ that cured your idiot hide when you came down with the flu last season!” Sharp Tack barked.

“I was on my way out of it anyways!”

“I should’ve just shoved those pine cones up your flank,” Sharp Tack murmured. “Shove them waaaay up there. It probably would’ve been a lot more pleasant for you than putting them into a tea.”

“Everything you cook is more pleasant going out than coming in,” Whiskey said.

“I liked last night’s stew,” Sparkler remarked.

“Thank you,” Sharp Tack said, somewhat relieved. He nodded to her and said, “At least someone appreciates my cooking! You can go eat grass from now on for all I care, you lumbering turd!”

“It’s all the same to me,” Whiskey quipped, flashing a cheeky grin from beneath the shadow of his hat.

Sharp Tack groaned. “I swear, one of these days, that stallion is going to get his teeth kicked in.”

Sparkler laughed, her ears twitching to the kind caressing of the wind. It beheld an unusual crispness that gave her pause, however, and it wasn’t long until she realized what she felt was really noise. She turned her eyes to the side, looking out over the field, and stopped.

The stagecoach lurched but quickly stopped as well. There was a long pause until Sharp Tack finally asked, “What is it?”

“I think I hear water,” she said, looking around. “Like a river or something.”

“Probably,” Sharp Tack said with a shrug. “All the water around here runs off from the mountains and flow through Portsmouth. Most of them, anyways. Although they’re usually further out west.” He paused. “Why?”

His answer was a flash of light and Sparkler disappearing from her harness. He stared blankly at the new void and snapped his head in the general direction of the a distant popping sound.

“Hey!” he shouted, and started to run after her. But the stagecoach weighed a little too much for just one pony, he soon rediscovered, and nearly choked himself on his harness. He growled something low and while he fumbled to remove himself from the harness, he yelled, “Damn that pony! Whiskey, get over here!”

Comments

[Emotional Flight]

That was fast. Is Sparkler trying to run away, or what?

[Revan]

What is she trying to do?