Lutscintorb

by Mary Sue

Growing Wary

Night had befallen the Green Stretch once again. The little group had assembled their camp on top of a hill, however short it was. Nonetheless, as daylight receded, the expanse of the Green Stretch could at last be respectably measured. But once every ounce of sunlight finally drained below the horizon, one could see just how lonely the Green Stretch really was.

Stars filled the sky so packed together, the celestial gasses so reaching and colored, when combined with the overwhelming presence of a full moon it was almost oxymoronic to call the night dark. Rather, the real shadow was laid out over the world. From atop this hill, hardly a blip of light rose out of the Green Stretch. Even the westward mountains showed more signs of life. Only the eastern horizon offered a real sense of civilization, however few and distant the lights of those towns were.

No, the Green Stretch was a swath of blackness in an otherwise vibrant night.

Sharp Tack prodded their dwindling campfire with a plank of wood. He sat on his haunches, hunched over and stuck with a frown. Glancing up through the flames, he could just barely make out the light magenta of Sparkler’s tail as she slept on top of the stagecoach.

Whiskey stood right beneath her, and he poked her overhanging hoof with a stick. When she didn’t respond, he shrugged and returned to the fire, sitting down beside his friend. He tossed his stick in the fire and said, “Yeah, she’s out.”

“Good,” Sharp Tack muttered. He put the plank of wood down and sighed. “So, what do you think?”

“Honestly? I just know she’s worth something,” he repeated, stressing the point to hide his own skepticism. “But exactly what that something is? I haven’t a clue.” He jabbed his friend’s shoulder. “What about you? You were the one walking with her all evening. Learn anything?”

“Some,” Sharp Tack said in a low voice, still frowning. “And I don’t believe any of it.”

Whiskey clicked his tongue and glanced up at the stagecoach. “You don’t say?”

“Really, your guess is as good as mine as to who—or what—that pony is,” he added, and then sighed. “She’s quick on her hooves, I’ll give her that much, and she might be able to pull off a lie, but her acting sucks. No royal dignitary assistant whatever acts like that, y’know? They’re freaking about getting dirty, worried about their duties, being bossy, that kind of stuff. Heck, she pulled that stagecoach for hours on end, and not one bitchy complaint about it! That isn’t the least bit fishy to you?”

Whiskey furrowed his brow. “You’re upset she hasn’t been a hassle so far?”

“I’m upset she hasn’t been acting like the way you’d think she’d be,” he said. He crossed his forelegs. “I don’t like it. I don’t like her.”

“That makes two of us,” Whiskey muttered. “But, I mean, you can’t just dismiss her colors. You can’t ignore that cutie mark. She’s high-class, that’s for sure, and we both know that means she’ll score us a pretty price.”

“But why is she lying?” Sharp Tack asked, racking his mind. “Passing herself off as somepony she isn’t, but still high-class? I don’t understand that at all.”

“She’ll have to slip up sooner or later,” Whiskey said, standing up. “It’s only been a day, and we’ve got like three more at least until we hit Portsmouth. Give it time.”

Sharp Tack rolled his eyes and reclined in the dirt. “Since when were you the patient one?”

“Since I learned the beauty of the afternoon nap,” Whiskey said with a lazy smile. “‘Night,” he added, and then cantered off towards his hammock. Which, given the state of the carriage, was now suspended between the rear axle and a stake hammered into the dirt.

But, just like with the driver’s box, it couldn’t keep his butt from hitting the ground.

“Goodnight,” Sharp Tack offered, too late and too low to be heard. He stared up at the starlit sky, rolling his intrusive thoughts and speculations together in his head, until finally the worldly ambiance lulled him to sleep.

Comments

[Emotional Flight]

I know she’s worth something.

Maybe she'll appraise herself for you!

I'm ready for more - you've certainly done a good job so far. I hope you keep this rolling!

[Revan]

I'm still suspecting that this mare may be Rarity in disguise.