Sundered Days

by Makazi

Awakening

Your head is pounding, and your body feels broken in a thousand different places. Groaning, you open your eyes and take in your surroundings: You’re deep inside of a forest – which one you don’t know – and you can hear the soft lilting of songbirds pervading the air around you. The mottled sunlight falls down through the canopy, illuminating patches of the boskage in brilliant golds and yellows. Small critters frolic through the understory, and in the distance, by a shaded dell, a deer prances along before disappearing into the brush.

Several broken branches litter the ground beside you, and looking up you can see the limbs which have snapped off of the tall oak that prevented your demise. You try to stand, but cry out as a flash of pain jolts up your foreleg, sending you back face-down into the dirt. Through bleary eyes you look, seeing that your leg is bent at an unnatural angle; the sight makes bile rise in your throat, but you just barely manage to prevent yourself from vomiting. You test your other legs and, determining them to be all right, shakily push yourself to your hooves – clutching your injured limb to your chest. There’s nothing but forest all around you, and there are no signs of civilization. Picking a random direction, you begin limping through the woods.

Hours later as the sun is sinking in the sky, the world beginning to darken, you come to the edge of a stream – wending its way between gentle, leaf-covered hills. You carefully plod your way down to the bank, then look down into the water. It steadily flows past you, carrying fallen leaves and small twigs in its grasp. On the opposite bank, beneath the river’s glinting surface, you can see the sheen of several small fish as they struggle against the current. Licking your lips, you awkwardly waddle into the water after them, having not eaten since before the botched invasion. You try not to think too deeply on recent events as you slake your hunger, then your thirst. After you’re finished, you climb back up onto dry land, walking along the water’s edge.

Eventually you descry a shingled roof rising up from behind the crest of the nearest hill. Climbing up steadily, you come to a small grove where the trees have been cleared away. In the middle sits a dilapidated wood cabin, the fading sunlight shining down upon it. Moss and vines cling to its rotted siding, and one of the two windows you can see have been smashed in. The burgundy-trimmed doorframe stands empty, peering into the dark interior of the building. It looks like no one’s been here for a long time.

You approach hesitantly, sniffing at the air for any signs of life, your antennae flicking around, listening for movement other than your own – but there’s nothing aside from the incessant drone of the song birds. At the edge of your hearing you can even make out the sound of crickets and tree-frogs, beginning to chirp as the sun slowly makes its way below the unseen horizon. A breeze sweeps past, sending fallen leaves twirling around your hooves. You look up, and the sky is fading – the stars beginning to shine.

It’s quiet inside, and empty. Shards of glass litter the floor in front of the broken window, reflecting the dim room around them and the dim sky outside. A wall partially divides the cabin into an antechamber and main room. Inside the main room a bed, not much larger than a cot, sits against the western wall – a small round window above it. Illumined in the tenebrous rays of light are several motes of dust, glowing faintly as they float through the air.

Across from the bed there’s a cast iron stove, a cobblestone floor engirdling the area beneath its feet. The metal is old and rusted, and the iron door hangs ajar, ashes and charcoal piled up within. By the side of it, against the wall, are a few iron tools: an iron poker and shovel, as well as a brush that’s resting on the floor. The night is growing steadily, and the thought of sitting by a warm fire to keep out the night’s chill tempts you.

Deciding against it for the nonce, you amble over to the bed. A wrinkly, tattered wool blanket lays on top, and you pull it aside: The mattress is covered in large splotches of brown and yellow. Grimacing at the sight, you take the blanket and limp over to a corner by the fireplace and curl up with your back to the wall, covering as much of yourself with the blanket as you can. Unfortunately it only covers about half of your body, your legs sticking out. Shivering, you move it down so that it covers your flank and hind-legs. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to shut out the steadily growing cold and the throbbing pain in your foreleg. It’s going to be a long, restless night.

You awaken slowly with the first gray of dawn. Outside you can hear a steady downpour, raindrops thrumming on the shingled roof above. As you return to your senses, you can feel the chill of night pervading the air around you, causing you to shiver under your diminutive blanket. The cold seeps in through your chitin, and you wistfully look over at the empty fireplace, the need for caution momentarily superceded by the need for warmth.

Behind the cabin, beneath a dripping awning, you find a rick loaded to the brim with chopped wood. Struggling with your magic, you levitate a few logs and bring them quickly inside, stuffing them into the wood stove. With a few flickers of your horn, it’s not long before they catch, pallid green flames licking at the wood. You swing the stove door shut and lock it, then huddle close to it – your shoulders scrunched up, feeling the cold against your back and the growing heat radiating against your chest and face. As you sit near the stove, letting the heat wash over you, your mind wanders back to earlier times.

You remember being a nymph, one of many others, beneath the scrutinous gaze of the queen whom you all adored. Learning to fly, the buzzing of thousands of tiny wings. Coming out from the deep umbrage of your hive, you stood perched on the cusp and saw the fir-blanketed mountains below stretching on for miles – long and winding rivers snaking their way through the valleys, afire with the golden glow of the setting sun. It seemed to you then that the whole world belonged to you, and that vista upon which you cast your gaze beckoned you to seek out strange and distant horizons. You took to the skies then, dove down into the valley – the wind wuthering past, your brethren close behind.

As time went on, you learned what it was to be a changeling, to live in shadow, concealing your true self from those who you desperately need to survive. You remember walking along the cobblestone streets of Canterlot, gazing up in wonder at the white and gold spires that towered above you. You wore a mask then, and smiled at those who passed – none of them suspected you, nor had they any reason to. After the starvation came to your hive, it had become more and more necessary to integrate with your prey. Your queen had a plan; she always had plans. But this one was different.

Everyone knew it was doomed to fail, but in retrospect, desperation can make one do strange things.

You sigh, levitating the iron poker beside the stove and opening the door, giving the logs a couple of nudges. As you set the poker down, you hear a floorboard creak behind you. Spinning around, you notice a pony standing by the jamb; they’re caparisoned in battered golden armor, and they stare at you through wide eyes. Their white fur is tarnished with streaks of crimson, trailing down from the rim of their helmet. Ordinarily the sight of a royal guard would send you scurrying for a place to hide, but you’re in no condition to run.

They stare at you for a moment longer, their mouth twisting into a frown, their brows furrowing. And then, without further warning, they lunge for you.

You barely manage to get out of the way as they barrel forwards. They swing at you with a hoof, striking your carapace weakly. You shove them away, causing them to lose balance and dodder awkwardly. You seize the opportunity and charge into them, knocking them onto the ground with a thud.

He scrambles back to his hooves and lunges again. Quickly you sidestep, ducking under his swing and plowing into his side with your head. You push, driving him staggering back until he’s pressed against the stove. He wails as the hot metal sears against his side, struggling as you continue to push against him. In one quick motion, he wraps his forelegs around your neck and jerks sideways, using the momentum to drag you down onto the ground with him. As soon as you’re down, he begins to tighten his grip on your neck. He growls as you try feebly to shove him away, strangling you with his forelegs. You sputter and choke as you feel your airways constricting. The stallion rolls on top of you, pressing down on your throat with his hooves. You try to pry his hooves off, but the more you try the harder he presses against you.

Your vision blurring, you draw on your already diminished mana reserves and charge up your horn, blasting him square in the face with a flash of green magic. The effort causes your vision to briefly flash white, your stomach to knot. He screams at the impact, a trail of smoke emanating off him as he staggers back and clutches at his face. You use the brief respite to roll away from your assailant. As you do so, your weight presses against your broken limb, sending a flash of fiery pain up your foreleg and into your shoulder. Nearly paralysed from the pain, you clench your teeth and groan, suppressing a scream. You try to stand, but quickly fall back down, your head smacking against the wooden floorboards, causing your vision to blur.

Grunting, you shakily push yourself back to your hooves. The moment you do so, you feel the full weight of the guard smacking against your side, knocking the wind out of you. In the tangle of limbs, the guard trips himself and ends up crashing into the wall. Above, a shelf laden with old dusty books comes unhinged, dumping its contents over his head. A particularly large book clangs against his helmet, sending it off his head and onto the ground where it spins a moment before coming to a stop.

As he’s recovering from the impact, you draw upon the last iota of your magic and levitate the helmet, swinging it into the side of his head with a clang, knocking him over onto the ground. He groans, and before he can right himself you’re on top of him, pushing down on his throat with your hooves. He struggles, clutching at your hooves as you press down. You only press harder, ignoring the kicking of his hind-hooves against your stomach.

As you continue to press down, you can discern tears beginning to form in the corners of his eyes, can sense his abject despair as the life drains from him. He looks at you pleadingly as the tears trail down his cheeks, clutching at your hooves. And then, suddenly, the realisation of what you're doing crashes over you like a wave upon the shore. You feel sick, and without hesitation you let go, stepping away from him and limping over to the far wall where you collapse, drawing long, shuddering breaths.

For a while the two of you lay there on opposite sides of the room. Outside you can hear the steady cascade of raindrops, the sound of trees blowing and creaking in the wind. You rise to your hooves. Casting a glance at the pony on the ground, you turn and limp out into the rain.

Comments

[Taki-shi]

yay!

[IWillEatYourShirt]

This is pretty good, I like the great descriptions of the environment and people. Especially with the fight between the reader and the guard, it really felt like they were injured from the previous battle.

I do have a question though: The part with the fish in the lake implies the reader eating a fish. Does that mean they need food and love to survive in your canon? Or is one necessary, and the other is for comfort? (I haven't watched the new seasons, so it could've been explained in the show and I just don't know it )

Anyways, looking forward to seeing where this goes.

[Makazi]

8109653
Thanks, I'm glad you like it so far!

As for your question, that's a good one, and something that everyone seems to address differently. But yes, here I'm going with changelings needing a bit of both.

[Luna448]

Wonderful story. May I use some things from this? I'm bad at starting a story like you have yours done. Also I'm using Microsoft Word to write mine. If you have another suggestion I would gladly appreciate it.