Finding Inspiration

by bahatumay

Chapter 10

With a powerful grunt, Morning Glory pushed the tree trunk off. It fell with a crash, and with that, her little shelter was no more. She'd already loaded everything she could in her saddlebags, and she'd kicked the rest of her garden to shreds and stamped her flowers into the ground. There was now no trace that any pony had lived here.

She inhaled briefly and held it. It was painful, yes; but what else could she do? She exhaled. She couldn't go back. Not after what she'd done. Wind Shear would never want to see her again, not after she'd attacked his friend; and if the past were any indication, they'd be coming after her with torches and pitchforks soon enough. From what she could tell, Happy Trails was some kind of pillar of the community, and to make things worse, she'd basically paraded herself through town like some kind of freak show. They knew the legends of the gorgony were real. Better to not leave any trail for them to follow, or even any indication she had been here.

It was a shame. She’d really liked it here. He'd made life here… well, ‘tolerable’ was probably the right word.

She found herself wanting to say goodbye to Wind Shear. She stared in the direction of his house for a good ten minutes, wondering if she should.

Then she shook her head and turned away. She'd keep the book (even if it did take up a lot of valuable space in her bags). But other than that, this chapter of her life was done.

---

Morning Glory wandered. She'd picked a direction the opposite way from town and started walking, with no plans on where she was going.

The forest was dark, but here she had no need for a hood. Her snakes scanned around her as she walked, moving, tongues flicking. Though not quite sentient, she could sense when one of them saw something that concerned its natural instincts.

For example, when they all tasted something vile in the air and she saw big paw prints on the ground, she knew it was time to quickly change direction.

As she continued walking, the trees grew thinner and more sparse, and the ground grew blacker and hotter. She squinted. Strange.

And then a little explosion of fire burst into existence in front of her, startling her snakes and making her take a quick step back.

A fire swamp, she realized over their frenzied hissing. A little smile crossed her face. This should be a safe spot. Nopony in their right mind would be out here.

And she could live her life alone, just like she deserved.

She shook her head and started looking for shelter. She’d need a place far from the active sites. Maybe she could build a little platform? That would work. It would keep it cooler, with airflow underneath. She could build it out of poles lashed together, just like her usual houses. And the ash would probably make decent fertilizer, especially if the big bushes around here were any indication, so she could grow her garden. She could work with this.

But it wasn’t until she heard a growl that she realized that all her snakes were hissing at something behind her. She cursed herself for getting distracted, and turned around to see what they’d seen.

It was nothing like she’d ever seen. Yellow eyes flashed through the smoke, two, four, then six! But they seemed to be connected! She lowered herself into a defensive stance, unsure what she was seeing.

They drew nearer and resolved into a being with three heads. “Well, well,” the tiger head said, her voice a low, guttural growl. “What have we here?”

“I think it’s lunch,” the snake head offered eagerly.

“Sorry, sister,” Morning Glory said, “but I think you’ll find me a bit too scaly for your liking.” She bared her fangs and dropped her cloak, showing the patches of scales that dotted her body.

The snake head hissed angrily. “What are you?” she demanded, swaying threateningly.

Her snakes hissed back, coiling, unwilling to back down from a challenge; and she drew herself up. “I am the gorgony,” she said fiercely. “I’m part pony, part cockatrice, part rattlesnake, and all dangerous. I feed on the stone corpses of my enemies and swallow whole those who oppose me.”

Her boast fell flat. “How does that work?” the goat head wondered. “Cockatrices are part chicken and part snake already. That's already a combination. That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Maybe she’s, uh, two parts snake?” the tiger suggested, clearly doing a little mental calculation. She held up her paw and counted. “Two out of four.” Her ears pricked. “That'd make her half snake. We're only a third snake.”

“Yeah, but she’s, like, all snake,” the goat head pointed out. “You’re not a snake, your butt’s a snake.”

“It’s your butt, too,” the tiger rebutted.

The snake head (or on second thought, was it the tail?) scoffed. “I would want nothing to do with that,” she said spitefully, scowling at her. “It makes my scales crawl just looking at her.”

“Well, you're not exactly pleasing to the eye, either,” Morning Glory retorted. “Are you molting, or are your scales always that ugly and dull?”

The snake hissed angrily, coiling slightly in her wrath. “Take that back,” she hissed.

“Make me.”

The snake coiled, and in that brief moment, the goat head realized the flaw in this plan. Her eyes widened, but it was too late; she struck.

Had she been a regular snake, she may have made it; but her tail was still firmly attached to the hindquarters of their body, and though the force of her strike dragged their hips forward (and off balance), she didn’t have the range to actually hit her.

Morning Glory, however, had the range to jump, spin, and buck the snake. Her head flew back, rattled. As the rest tried to find their footing again, she threw a punch at the tiger head and her snakes, sensing combat, struck, mouths open and fangs bared. Most missed, but the one closest to her forelock landed a good bite, delivering a payload of venom. The goat head swung in retaliation, but missed; she clipped the tiger head with her horn instead.

The chimera stumbled backwards, all the heads growling and hissing in equal parts pain and frustration. Morning Glory took this chance to grab her cloak and run.

A firepot exploded right beside her, and she ran faster. Her snakes hissed, so she ran harder, assuming that the chimera had recovered and was giving chase.

There was something hot on her heels, but it wasn’t the chimera. The continuous anxious hissing made her risk looking back, and she shrieked.

Her cloak had caught on fire!

She skidded to a stop and tore it off, ripping the fabric off her body. She stomped on it desperately, but the running had done the damage. It was burned beyond any further use. Thankfully, her saddlebags had survived with just a nasty singeing.

She stomped on it again, this time out of frustration. “Well, that was a bust,” she grumbled. She turned around, now unsure of which way she was going. Scowling, she picked another direction and started walking again.