Fallout Equestria: A Raiders Mark

by Vocal Sonder

Unseen by Those that Watch

It was entirely dark by the time a weary colt trudged his way through the first set of pits that heralded the outer limits of the camp.

A sleepless two days had dragged by while he laboriously made his way from the ravine to the shining speck of light. Hungry, sweaty, and exhausted the colt meandered to and fro through the piles of earth as he tried vainly to keep his mind on the task at hand.

Through the haze of drowsiness that threatened to overcome him he moved steadily onwards past more and more earthen mounds. Each one nearly identical to the last. They forced him to look overhead at the moon to keep his bearing and every time he did so a bit of the weariness abated as he gazed into the many pits and craters on its surface.

It wasn't long before this minute exertion was too much to bear and his head would inevitably fall back to limply hang near his chest. And every time he did the small curved shadows that lay beneath the piles of earth swam and swayed in his vision until he was nearly overcome with the lack of sleep. He knew that he needed to rest, but now was not the time.

Small miracles that at least he had a good way of staying awake even if the gathering fog threatened to overtake his mind. It was painfully obvious the raw flesh he had cared for again earlier that day had gone back to weeping against the leather straps at his side. Each and every movement he made lent a dull ache that spread uncomfortably to his inner thighs. It was a small wonder that only a brisk trot would anger the red furrows into sharp jolts of pain.

Each step he took threatened to overtake his will to move onward, yet the small figure pressed on into the deep gloom regardless.

The only thing that distract his tired mind from the pain was a deep sense of unease that pooled coldly in his chest. It had only arrived when he had seen the sparse beginnings of the earthen mounds from afar. He had peered into one expecting a pony, either dead or military, but the first ones he had looked down into with the aid of the suns dimming rays had been completely empty. Not a scrap of anything that maybe once resided in the depths remained, so he had just kept on moving past. Not thinking much of them.

The pits that were around him now were just as silent as the last few hundred he had passed along the way. Cold, empty, hollow holes dug for presumably no purpose. They had gotten more numerous and closer together as he had marched on, but the mounds of earth always never strayed in height. Nearly three heads taller than his own, no matter which one he managed to examine it was always uniform in size. By now it was hard to even see the looming hills of dirt unless he was right next to them.

The bases of each nearly touched their neighbors and gradually there was less and less of a path around the holes as the mounds drew in closer to their cousin. It didn't help that each mound cast a deep shadow over the pit it guarded making it very dangerous if he were to loose focus in the dark. He didn't think there was anything in any of these pits either, but he didn't want to find out one way or the other.

Earthy smells hung low in the midnight air as he moved past a pair of freshly dug pits. The freshest he had by far seen he immediately stopped dead in his tracks and squinted into the depths. Nothing. Curious, he reached a out and mushed a small hoof into one of the still damp mounds; intending to leave an imprint.

Looking from hoof to hoofprint the small colt turned his head inwards towards the lights that he had been following since darkness had fallen. Blinking away the fog, he peered towards camp and gave a long stare. Nothing moved in the darkness past the pinpricks of light.

Our art is made in the earth

Tired and without fully thinking he haphazardly slogged his way up the pile of dirt. Each little step sending cascades of moist dirt to the bottom of the pile. The ascent dislodged a good deal and truncated his achievement a bit but when he finally stood at the low peak of the mound he sucked in a quick breath. It was beautiful.

Spiraling mounds of earth reached for as far as his eyes could see in the dim light of the moon. Hundreds. Thousands. They crowded closer and closer together in random little bunches; each one an island unto themselves but unmistakably part of a greater whole.

He could see the small glints of errant scrap metal in some of the piles further in. The moon causing a few of them to shimmer with a wind polished sheen. A fair few of them also had tiny bits of white intermixed with the dull colored earth making the piles to inexorably stand out in the gloom.

Quietly off in the distance he heard a beam of metal creak back and forth as the pile it rested on slowly devolved into nothing more than a scrap heap lined with earth.

He leaned down to sniff at his own pile. It smelled recent, but far from clean. When he pulled his nose away it left the telltale odor of heated rank lingering in his nostrils. There was something else in the smell as well, but he couldn't place it just then.

It was then that a nearby glint of wood and metal caught his eye. A rotted handle sprouting from a half unearthed mound jutted towards the stars a few paces beyond his perch.

He turned back to look at the sight for a few more moments before turning and skidding down the pile. With a few labored trots he made his way over to the handle, mulling over what he had just seen.

Slightly stumbling as he dismounted the incline, he turned his heading towards where he had spotted the handle. Rounding a pile about twice the normal size of the surrounding ones, he quietly entered a pool of moonlight that had managed to envelop the area ahead. The surrounding mounds of earth had been dug around the clearing almost in a perfect circle. It almost looked like they were meant to hem in the moonlight as mound and void alike swallowed the moonlight that tried to escape.

Even with the clearing throwing off the adjustment his eyes had gone through in the gloom he managed to find the wooden handle stuck into a pile a few mounds over from where he entered.

Maneuvering past the limited real estate that was afforded by a slouching mound of dirt, he jumped up towards the handle and gave it a swift tug with his forehooves. With a clatter, a litter of sacks and bags were pried from the pile and heaped themselves on the side of a mound. The burlap made it almost impossible to spot them in the ever present gloom but he managed grab one nonetheless. Hefting the unwieldy sack of clanking implements he cradling the bag close to his chest and backed up into the pool of moonlight once more; raising them into the moonlight for a better view as he took stock of his prize.

From how bad the ruffled burlap looked it was obvious they'd been left out in the sun for a couple of weeks. Some old teeth marks worn into the handle here and a few small chips of the steel there. They were entirely serviceable if a bit beaten down all in all. Undoing the crumbling wire that held the sack to the wooden shafts, he then laid them all out on the ground in a neat row. By the looks of it he had found some mining tools.

A small pick about the size of his foreleg was easily the largest and heaviest of the bunch, only slightly bigger than the ruined shovel that sported ragged bits of steel at its edge. He looked forlornly at the large tools. There was no way he could lug around the heavy metal and wood for more than an hour before an inevitable collapse. Just pulling the bag itself from the dirt had twinged his back a little. He couldn't imagine managing them at this point so he dismissed them and instead turned his attention to the last item that had fallen from the bag. A small trowel, just his size.

He licked his cracked lips and moved to pick it up. It wasn't a pick, but it would do. After all, he guessed that whomever it rightly belonged to wouldn't mind him borrowing it for a while. In all fairness, he had unearthed the tools himself, and thinking back he could have sworn once reading a book that had said "the lonely explorer always got a share of the booty." Fair was fair was right.

Cautiously, he reached down with his muzzle, eyes and ears never leaving the surrounding piles, and nipped the trowel from the ground without so much as a clink. If its owner was around, he didn't want to get surprised. Hoisting it up and digging the tip into toe ground he got a good look at it in the wavering moonlight.

The trowel nearly came up to his shoulders, the blade taking up at least a third of its length, and was weighty even for its size, but with a few short hefts of his torso he managed to wield it quite effectively from between his teeth. The wooden handle now comfortably wedged in between his molars he happily carried it off into a spot where the moonlight shone just a bit brighter before going about weaving a few of the dangling leather straps to-and-fro into a slapdash holster for the tool to be slung on. Sliding it over his side until the comfortable weight properly straddled the crook of his back.

The old weeping wounds still stung dreadfully but he grimaced through the pain as the lashings held snugly just next to the raw hide. Only once he gave it a few tugs and deemed finally it fairly secured did he turn back towards the grimy darkness and move onwards with a small smile etched on his lips. His new prize comfortably in tow he skirted the rim of a pit and left the little island of moonlight behind.

---

It was a while yet before the small colt noticed something strange was beginning to happen to his haunches. Having removed them a while ago to ease the strain on his marred backside his saddlebags hung limply from his mouth and wavered in the wind.

He had loosened the hind straps that had previously held the bags in an effort to ease the throbbing pain from the constant rubbing. Having come undone just enough to let a few errant gusts of wind get below the tacky strops the fresh feeling he had been feeling was beginning to abate. A bit to quickly. The hot skin had for the longest time remained bereft of feeling with the lack of contact but now with a fresh headwind spiraling through the dirt still claustrophobic mound of earth, he didn't feel much of anything anymore. Not even the cool relief of the breeze.

He stopped in his stride and stared backwards at the red and raw lacerations. A small amount of confusion etched into his brow as he watched a few drops of clear blood get whisked away into the air.

Small bits of dirt and long dead scrag had evidently managed to mat into the his fur around the wounds and was causing what should have been pain as the leather rubbed over the uneven surface. Instead, the only thing he felt was the extra pull on the harness as the extra friction impeded his gait. A hoof raised in trepidation as he nudged the shovel out of his way for a better look. Red and weeping the gashes that had begun to heal near his rump had instead broken open once again.

A whimper escaped through his clenched teeth still holding the bags. His hoof wavered forward and reached to brush away the bits of debris that were already starting to mat into the uncovered wound. When his hoof made contact with the skin he stopped. It was completely numb to the touch. Small prods and pokes induced nothing but the deep seated heat that surrounded the ache in his hinds.

Small bits of dead grass blew off into the wind as he massaged the area in gentile strokes, hoping to gain some feeling back from the nerve dead skin but even after five minutes of some concentrated ministrations, the strap sores remained frighteningly bereft of any feeling. All he could do was feel the ghost of his hoovers from deep within the muscle of his legs and back. All other feeling had since left the affected area around where the bad had once ridden. All pain seemed to have faded away with the wind and while sitting there, he couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Gingerly resting the shovel back in its original place he smoothed the fur surrounding the raw spots and ignored the gnawing feeling that had silently settled on his stomach. He picked back up the saddlebags in teeth taking some extra care not to get his tongue too close to the acrid tasting leathers. A moment to re-arranged his hood so it guarded better against the oncoming wind was all he needed to force the rising feelings in his stomach back down to where they needed to be although he did stand and ponder for a bit. Chewing absently on the leather bags his eyes darted from the lights ahead which were just now barely visible over miniature hills, to the dark pits surrounding him on all directions. He held his breath and closed his eyes as as a gust of wind intruded before any dark things could creep up to meet him.

He grunted into the leather and moved off. Numbness was better than the alternative. All he could do was hopefully wait for the resurgence of pain to nix the feelings that were coldly pooling in his gut. It would re-surface after a while like it always did. And if not... he would deal with it when the time came.

But before he could ruminate on those thoughts his hooves scraped again to a stop in the dust. This time, in shock.

Having rounded the next mound of dirt he suddenly found himself staring across at the first few tents of an encampment. Still at least a half hours trot from where he stood, it was unmistakable the heaps of rags and leather were there... and occupied.

Little bursts of orange and yellow color flickered idly from a ramshackle wall that even from this distance couldn't be seen around in totality. The darkness swallowed the outer rim in a deadened haze as the braziers perched atop the makeshift ramparts plumed an obscene amount of grey smoke into the air. The stars and moon above leaked just enough light onto the scene so he could see a few black shadows moving to and fro in the malaise beyond. The walls weren't very high, maybe even as low as his chest in some places, but what it lacked in height it more than made up for in breadth.

The little hairs on his nose twitched in the breeze and with it, caught a few whiffs of the acrid smoke that trialed from the city ahead. There were plenty of scrap heaps and more than enough dirt piles between here and there to keep his profile low. Looking into the expanse ahead, he figured the only way would be straight ahead, all the way to the the open expanse before the walls. What was left after that, he couldn't tell.

---

Comforting as it was, not even the cold blanket of night could keep his niggling mind at bay. He felt exposed. Every nerve ending was bristling against the slightest gust of wind. His tail hairs on perpetual end. His ears constantly on a swivel making little radar motions under the hood.

The passing of the last few rings of dirt and steel had been nerve wracking to put it mildly. A deep seated lump of bile had long since lodged itself in his throat as the terror of what he was doing had finally caught up with him. Wind howling, he had been forced to start nearly crawling across the ground in a vein effort that he might not be seen even as the dust blew around him. A dust devil a few paces off relentlessly swirled in between a few piles of scrap. Angrily whipping the grains against the polished metal to accompany the noisy din with its own unkempt music.

His hooves shuffled forwards sending little plumes of dust into the air as he tried to peer around him. From behind the hood his eyes peered into the darkness trying to make out the path ahead through the billowing sand. Licking a cracked lip he concentrated on the dim shadows around his feet and the dark voids that lay beneath the piles of earth nearby. As it was, he would be totally invisible if he were to cross the open land before the camps wall. Not that he knew where that was exactly. And that was all dependent on him not falling into a pit before then.

The driving sand had almost completely blotted out the moonlight. Gusts of wind billowed about his fetlocks, causing a nearby pile to partially slump into its adjoining cavity. Tightening his harness straps again he made sure the trowel was cinched tight.

The bags he had been carrying were once again in their place on his haunches; finally tired of tasting the sweaty rot in his mouth he had placed them over the still numb skin. For the first time in days he pulled out a thin matchbox from the grungy leather and proceeded to tuck it deep into the folds of his hood near his ear. If he did end up at the bottom of a hole he would surely need them to make it out.

His belly laying close to the ground he scraped ahead in a low scuffle. The only sound in the night air was a light creaking from the leather straps which was wholly taken away by wind.

His breath came in short, even strokes as he wormed his way up, over, and around the a few more pits and earthen mounds that impeded his crawl forwards. He stalked and crept with varying degrees of success, all the while trying to keep his hooves as quiet as he could. Hoping the minor cacophony of the gusty evening would blur the detection of anypony nearby to nothing.

Even still, each and every time he made a noise he would stop dead and wait. Beads of sweat from the exertion forming under the brow of his wrappings to drip into his eyes. A few of these drops would escape the hood and gather on the bridge of his muzzle letting dirt gather in the small amount of moisture.

His breaths sharpened as he moved past more and more of the detritus and ever closer to the barren stretch of land that heralded the camp. Onward he slunk into the dark, and nearly tripped and fell into a half buried pit.

He caught himself but winced as the ensuing swish of falling earth reverberated against his ears in the relative din. A large rock teetered precariously from side to side on top of the disturbed pile as most of its support washed away down into the hole.

In near horror, he watched as the stone cantered, then toppled from the height. His eyes watched it tumbling decent all the way until it disappeared beneath the pits rim. The heavy stone hit the bottom of the pit with a sickening crunch, sending a shower of dirt skywards as it hit an uneven target. He nearly choked as an unholy stench plumed from the disturbed abyss; forcing him to stop cease any breathing to save his stomach the hurl it instantly demanded.

Skating back on his rear end, he fought against the wind to gain distance from the lip. Nostrils burning, nearly collapsed under the weight of the stench that soon permeated the surrounding air even as the wind vainly tried to carry it off. Pleading his lungs not to cough he retreated as far away from the pit as he could.

Taking short breaths and leaning heavily into the wrappings helped lessen the stench but it was at least a few hundred paces before the he got the chance to regain his bearings. Free of the odor, he tried to breath normally but faltered as a glob of phlegm stuck to the back of his throat.

Gagging one last time he scrunched his tiny muzzle and grimaced into the night air. The stench had left an unwelcome slime at the back of his throat and nearly forced the loss of what remained in his stomach to the sand below. Resisting the urge to vomit he closed his eyes and tried to swallow.

He wanted so badly to hack out the slime but the image of the evaporating spit from days past kept his better judgement in check. Instead he choked down the gall with a dedicated swallow and creaked open his eyes once the nausea had passed.

The wind was billowing even faster than before as the storm reached a new crescendo. Plumes of dirt blasted from the baked mounds and whipped to and fro in from of his eyes. Little swirls of plastic intermixed themselves with the sand and grit and flew past in little white blurs.

Reaching a hoof up he shifted a few rags closer to his mouth to cover it from the pelting grains of dirt. Gusts darted into the gaps of his ragged mask, tickling what little amount of bare cheek was left to the open air as he moved onwards into the assault. It was only five or six more rows till the pits met the barren no-mans land ahead.

Bottles, cans, broken glass and bits of metal lay everywhere on the surrounding ground. Those that survived the onslaught stayed put and gathered sand as the wind buried them. It was nearly impossible to move without tippy-hoofing over every square inch of open surface.

A wrong move leading to a cut hoof was the last thing he needed so he silently crept around the pits and mounds of earth with extra care. Soon he was only making it a few paces a minute with the wind driving him to ground.

The crooked rays of moonlight streamed through the gaps in the storm from time to time. Dirt from the earthen mounds around him flung itself in small blasts stinging his eyes. Even with his head basically pressed straight to the ground it steadily got bad enough that he was forced to close his eyes.

Halting his advance, blind beyond mere loss of sight he cradled his head in defeat. His only companion now was the howling wind. And it didn't want to be forgotten.

Small granules about the size of seeds pelted his huddled figure making the little ticking sounds against his canteen grow into a furious roar of percussion. The endless droning of the rocks against his shovel sending small vibrations up and down his spine.

It seems almost a miracle that he had been between two high mounds when he was forced to stop. Huddled as he was, his sides and flanks were protected from the worst of the wind driven punishment. That was until a rock the size of a bouncy ball hit him squarely on top of his head.

Screaming in pain he covered his head with his hooves. A wet spot started to form under the mangy hood as he grappled to stay conscious amidst the chromatic stars that swarmed his vision. He decided then and there, even a lethal pit was better than this.

He started to inch forwards, reaching a hoof out to find the next pits lip, and instead made jarring contact with a broken piece of glass and an audible *snap* could be heard as he jerked his hoof backwards from its search.

"Fuck!"

He froze. With teeth clenched he bit back the urge to scream. Blood oozed from fresh cut in his hoof as he brought it up to his lips. A shard of glass jutted out from the cleft of his hoof at an unseemly angle. He would need to pull it out with his teeth, but he was still frozen. It wasn't his biggest problem. He hadn't said a thing.

With only small cracks of vision remaining possible it was just barely enough to make out the shadows around his hooves. The light from the camp seemed to almost dance in front of his eyes as the amber light grew in the wake of the moons disappearance.

It was getting harder and harder not to run as the light grew closer and closer.

Crunch*

His heart stopped.

A few meters closer towards the camp came a series of heavy hoof-falls echoing through the wind. Little snaps of dry tinder and small cracks of pummeled glass heralded the clangs of kicked metal cans and reverberating metal plates.

Almost out of thin air a pair of heavily shadowed figures appeared from the sand swept darkness.

In the radiant glow of a burning lantern they stepped carefully in a practiced gait around a wrecked chariot, than a pile of discarded sinks, always keeping their sides pointed in towards the direction of the camp. Carefully, they avoiding the sharp jaggs of metal that reached out at them from the piles of rubble and scrap.

He flattened his already scrunched form even lower to the ground and quietly made himself as small as possible against the hard desert floor. An unbidden whimper escaped his lips. Oh Celestia he wanted to bury himself. His mind flicked backwards; thinking of the shovel just within reach.

Railing against the images that swam through his minds eye, he stayed deathly quiet and shuddered as the two moved not even a dozen lengths from where he lay hidden.

One of them stopped moving.

Turning, the larger of the two coughed into an outstretched hoof. The figure was facing the small colt through the storm now and it was all he could to to keep his hind legs from jittering together with abandon. Every sinew in his body was threatening to jolt him into a run. A blood soaked bead of sweat rolled down his brown and softly entered the crook of his nose and cheek. In a fit of desperation he bit his into his hood.

Either by force of will or paralyzed fear, he didn't really care, his knees locked into place as the two ponies gradually moved closer. They moved perpendicular to him, the lead pony always keeping its amorphous head pointed out towards the obscured dunes. A bottle clattered off it's hoof and bounced across the distance between them and landed right next to his nose before falling noisily into a pit next to his scrunched form.

His eyes locked on the lead pony as its hooves wandered by close enough to spit on. Than closer.

He was sure he was in the light now, The hazy glow from the lantern bobbed and sputtered as the container was buffeted by the wind. His eyes squinted under the figures bellies towards the distant lights of the camp.

The lead pony and the lantern moved on past without a pause.

Bulbs of sweat formed under his rags as the lagging pony coughed again, this time stopping to hack a large glop of something into the wind. The laggard's silhouette was haloed against the camps fires perfectly for the colt. It, was a he apparently...

The stallion hacked again gathering what to the colt had to be the mother of all loogies and spat it again into the wind. A wet splat hit the bottom of a pit near to the colt’s crouched form. The colts little body began twitching uncontrollably as the stallion sauntered closer, and ended his advance nearly on top of him. The smell was unbearable.

He suppressed a gag as the stallion stopped and made a turn slightly to the left. He was so close now the colt could see the peeling nail of his mangy left hoof. Even in the darkness that enveloped the two he could see the mites; hundreds of them all crawling in between the hairs and grime.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the sight but shortly re-opened them when hooves hadn't closed themselves around his neck. Breathlessly he lifted his eyes and gazed upwards.

Above, the stallion squinted miles over his head into the oncoming gusts of sand. Grumbling the stallion grabbed the stock of his rifle, leaned on it, and stared out into the blackness ahead of him with half lidded eyes. He made small smacking noises with his teeth as his gaze wafted above the colt’s form, mercifully never lingering or dropping low.

He kept squinting, never taking his eyes off the dense nothingness of the storm. He mumbled something under his breath…

…

…

"Hey flanktard, got your meat on the move! We've got at least 3 more rounds left and I'm getting bucking tired of this storm, so leg it before I shoot yah' worthless hide!"

The small colt almost let loose a breath of relief when the barked command rang out from the direction the other pony had gone. Her voice was distant, and swept up with the wind but he could tell the stallion had heard her. The big ratty ears swiveled towards the shout but the stallions form didn't move otherwise, before he opened his mouth.

"I smell somethin' !"

The deep bellow shook the air all around the small form at his hooves, under which a small spot of wetness began to form.

The stallion didn't reach down though. Without getting a reply he waited another few seconds before making to grab at his rifle before stopping.

In a sudden jerk his head swung and the stallion let out a mighty sneeze.

Eyes still closed, the stallions head mere inches from the colts, the stallion rode out the thunderous expulsion with a shake of his head before lifting it back to the sky without opening his eyes.

Spittle dribbled down the colts face as he watched the watery eyes of the stallion open again to the storm overhead. Wiping a grimy hoof across his muzzle he gave a grunt and snorted lethargically before hoisting up his weapon. Grains of sand rained on the colt as the stallion slowly spun away and after a few tense moments walked his bulk quietly off into the night. Once again weaving in and around the mounds of dirt as he made for the path to his partner.

It was only a moment before he too had vanished from view into the swirling sands beyond...

It took nearly five minutes for the colt to move again. The ponies were more than out of range of his huddled figure but his breathing didn't reach normality again until he was sure no one else was going to materialize from the storm.

Wiping away the nearly dried spittle from his face he got shakily up from his hunched position and turned to stare at the slowly evaporating patch of earth under where he had lain. Blushing hotly under his rags he limply moved off, his muscles screaming at him in protest from remaining still for so long. The pain dogged his trot, but it was much better than not having it at all.

He moved off at a snails pace, delicately not disturbing the litter around him.

---

From where he was the camp was almost completely invisible against the grimy darkness that enveloped it. Lights ringing the encampment stood out against the sand blasted waste in defiance to the desolate surroundings. Almost daring the darkness to try and reach to take those within.

Glowing, ember laden torches could easily be seen against the cracked dust they rested on. Most were driven end first into the hard ground but some seemed to rest in small cones that were themselves driven in.

The ones that weren't crackling with flame buzzed with mana and emitted a sun like glow to the surrounding few feet that entertained their effect. Most of what he saw seemed to flicker in and out of brightness as the billowing sand fought to keep the radiance contained. Heartier glows from beyond the tents hinted at fires that were likely much larger than the one visible.

His eyes reflected a number of nomadic tents that could be seen on the outer ring in this grim illumination. He counted from where he crouched and could just about get to twenty before the sand and darkness swallowed the rest. He guessed that at least two of the larger nets used to be separate but over the years they had been stitched together. For what purpose, he couldn't tell.

Most of the canvas was covered from tip to stake in all manners of grit, grime, and oils. Even through the mild storm he could see the many little spots glistening in the darkened firelight as if something alive were crawling about just beneath the surface. Like, somehow, they were more than just mere heaps of cloth, leather, and bone. The constant wind kicked up the cloud of dust and drove it into every crack and crevice of the structures. They almost looked surreal. A painted on canvas taking place of the real thing.

He rubbed his eyes and took some time to listen instead.

A few of the tents seemed to be open to the air and guttural laughs and cackles could be heard even from the distance he was at. Most of it he gathered seemed to be in merriment.

His fuzzy ears twitched this way and that. Hearing something other than wind was sending his senses into a flurry of effort to keep up with the fresh stimulation. They continued twitching and his eyes wandered hungrily from the low roofs of the small tents to a higher bit of terrain on which sat a great leather and cloth monument. The tent he guessed was at least a dozen hoofball fields in diameter and boldly resisted the wind and cold night air as its heights broke the skyline of surrounding tents with impunity.

Spokes of bone and wood dotted the exterior almost like the spines of a drake. Torches covered its spines marking the supports and struts that kept the building standing. An almost ethereal muted light shone from within the tent as if a candle had been lit under a massive paper bag.

Really, it looked nearly identical to a few MOM posters he'd seen long ago. Big happy faces painted on laughing ponies who attended to laughing foals. He'd always liked those happy pictures. He had even kept one of them for a while before it had gotten ruined from use.

Taking his eyes from the sight he shivered and tucked the hood's folds a bit further in as he moved off from his hiding spot to the next pile. Wind had gusted a good deal of sand into the holes this far in, most of which seemed to be incredibly old. An old mishmash of iron and earthworks were scattered around as well but as he walked past another unique structure he idly realized how much older they were than the mounds they butted up against.

Taking a second to rest his hooves, he squatted down next to one of the steel barricades and poked a bit at the rusted metal. It was old, probably scavenged from an old wagon or building debris. Sharp metal prongs stuck out here and there giving the whole thing a menacing look, almost as if metal teeth had been drilled into the frame at haphazard angles to make a stupid grin.

His wide eyes stared at the thing. It's lopsided grin began to morph in the darkness the more he looked. Steadily it appeared to be reaching from its mountings with gnarled metal scrap ready to gobble him up. Subconsciously he moved his right hoof away from the thing, suddenly feeling like it would nip it off if he didn't.

His eyes wandered over the deep shadows surrounding him and he realized with a sudden clarity that he was very, very tense. A tightening in his chest began to grow as his tail hairs prickled.

Raising a hoof abruptly he batted at the flat steel in between the "teeth". His hoof thunked duly against the metal and only served to generate a quiet creak. Nothing more came from the crazy, grinning heap of steel.

Huffing, he turned back to the camp and glowered longingly, no longer wanting give any attention to the dead metal face.

---

Nearly a quarter hour of tense creeping had gotten him to the end if the mounds of earth. The wind having died to a trickle of its former fury he was able to see much better now that the moon could once again reach the ground.

From where he crouched he looked across the distance. It was a mad dash across fifty meters of bald, desolate terrain. No cover from here to there at all. Just hard earth and wind separated the piles and pits from the gloomy leather haven.

His nose was inches away from what looked like a landmine. Shovel in mouth, he poked the metal disk and managed to bite in the tip right where it met the dirt. Prying carefully he flipped over the mine and cradled it in his hooves. It was almost impossible to see in the dark, but he could finally tell with it now out of the ground. A wagon wheel cap.

Disgruntled, he glowered at the useless junk and absentmindedly threw it into a nearby pit. A weak thud sounded as the steel came to a rest feet below the surface.

Suddenly, right from where he had thrown the cap came a shuffling noise. Then a scratching sound tittered into his ears, catching him off guard.

Whipping his head around he stared at the pile of unearthed soil and held his breath, waiting for a pony to saunter from the shadows and smile at him. He felt his already racing heart nearly start to beat out of his chest when the sounds didn't stop.

A pang of dread flew into his mouth as an inequestrian cackling promptly accompanied the horrendous scratching. Hairs prickled up the nape of his neck as he held his hooves to his ears. Eyes dancing wildly from the pile to the surrounding area, sure somepony was hearing the in-equestrian racket over the wind. It would be seconds before somepony found him.

His legs kicked up plumes of sand as he backed up rapidly from the noise, and mis-stepped, bumping against the next pile over.

His small sunburnt ears flicked madly around and aimed themselves over towards a pile of used razor wire. His eyes scanned again and again over the cluster of twisted metal but never caught a figures shadow.

An unexpected tug abruptly pulled on his matted tail as he tried to scamper around his current hide. The scraping noises grew even louder as the mound he had bumped erupted into life. He tried to run, but was quickly ground to a halt as whatever had him in its grasp intensified its grip on the fringes of his tail.

Abandoning all stealth, a small cry of pain escaped his lips as he lunged forwards, managing to make it a few inches further as a few hairs pulled free.

His head whipped around, heat thundering now. He could hardly see what was gripping his tail but managed to turn around and yank his tail free with his teeth. Hairs still stinging from the vicious pull he rushed away into the night.

The crackling and scraping sounds could still be heard as he ran headlong to the tented walls; silently hissing tearful curses into the empty no-pony’s land.