The Hoofprints in the Snow

by Lucky Dreams

6: Timber Wolves

— Chapter Six —
Timber Wolves

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I dashed through the living room, out the front door, and the mound had grown in the time I’d spent inside. The blizzard had thickened as well. Drifts of snow piled up against the house. Everywhere you looked, there was snow covering all, hiding secrets, a frozen wonderland.

But there still wasn’t enough space for me out there; or perhaps there was too much space, and I was too small to matter, and I was forgotten by everypony and missed by no-one. I collapsed in the snow. Less than four minutes. That wasn’t enough time to find Mom. Neither was there time to rush back to town and find another pony to lead to the filly. I’d blown it. When Death came to pick me up, he would be coming for two foals, not just me...

Three minutes and fifty-three seconds. Fifty-two. Fifty-one. Fifty.

And that’s when the wolf howled.

It was a wild, fearsome sort of noise, the kind you’d expect when monsters had found their prey and were closing in. When I looked up, a set of yellow eyes stared at me between the trees of the Everfree Forest, and they were glowing like the fires of Hell—was it the same wolf? Had it followed me all the way across Equestria and into Ponyville? More likely it was a distant cousin or something, ‘cos both the wolf and Death had made it clear that creatures like this, ones that normal ponies couldn’t see and which fed on ghosts, were all over the place. The giant wolf stood deadly still, unblinking.

But I didn’t tremble, cry, or do any of that stuff, ‘cos an idea, either brilliance or madness, struck me out of the blue. Dare I run? With only three and a half minutes ‘til Death came for me, I think it would’ve been easy enough to dodge the monster before it could eat me... but, it wouldn’t have been the right thing to do, because this idea I’d had was to do with the filly. If all that stood between her and death was me, a sleeping pegasus and three and a half minutes, then I had no right to run away. Even if the risk involved being eaten and never making it to heaven, I still had to try.

I shot up. Just like that, I was done with moping—perhaps I’d needed to get it outta my system—and wild, reckless energy gripped me. Before the wolf had a chance to strike, I strode through the snow and past the trees, right up to it. “Hey, you!” I shouted.

The wolf blinked.

“That’s right,” I said, memories of teeth and claws and a forked tongue swimming in my head; don’t think about ‘em, I told myself. It’ll just make you scared. “I’m talking to you. I need your help.”

I halted, and suddenly it occurred to me that not only had I trotted up to a gigantic, monstrous wolf without a moments’ hesitation, but that I had shouted at it, pointed at it, and looked it right in the eye. It was hard to decide whether the icy sensation swilling in my belly was pride, or dread in its purest, most devilish form. But it was too late to back out of this. It was all up to the wolf now.

So imagine my surprise when, out of everything it could’ve done—ripped off my head, bite me in two, swallow me whole—it laughed. Its laughter was similar to Deaths; it was deep, and shook snow off the branches, and at last the wolf stepped out of the shadows, into what little light the lantern provided from this distance.

My question was answered immediately: this wasn’t the same one. It wasn’t even close. Apart from its pupiless eyes which seemed to be made out of fire, or hot coals perhaps, the wolf’s body was made out of wood. And I don’t mean that some unicorn had rented a workshop, lovingly crafted this beast and put an enchantment on it or anything like that; I mean, it was made from proper, thick, gnarly wood, bark, twigs, sticks and branches, the whole lot—if it had stood still, it would’ve looked like an ancient, twisted tree that happened to be wolf shaped. It was like a god of the forest, or perhaps it was the forest’s spirit. I’d heard of stuff like that in stories.

It voice was as rough as the bark on it hides. “You’ve got some nerve, spirit. I like that.”

“Y-you can see me?”

“Evidently.”

“Then... then can you help me?”

“No.”

My heart sank as the wolf sat down in the snow, never once tearing those hellish eyes away from me. “Then you’re gonna eat me?” I asked quietly, not really wanting to know the answer. Yet like everything else about this strange beast, its answer, to say the least, was unexpected.

“No,” it said again. “I’m not going to eat you, Camera Shutter.”

The wind rustled the trees. Flakes of snow settled on the wolf’s snout and back. “You know my name?” I whispered. The wolf nodded. “Then... then you know about the filly buried in the snow!”

“I am aware of Apple Bloom’s predicament, yes.”

Apple Bloom. I mouthed the name, rolling it off my tongue and picturing the letters in my head. What an awesome, pretty name. “Then you’ve gotta help me! Please, just dig her out or something; wake up the pony in the cottage.”

“Fluttershy is not meant to wake up. She is not meant to discover the remains of Apple Bloom until the dawn breaks.”

“But you can help!”

“Ponies die. Life goes on.”

I stamped a hoof. “How can you say that? She’s dying, you can help!”

For the first time, a growl entered the wolf’s voice. “It is not for you to decide what timber wolves can and cannot do. The filly is going to die. When she does, we intend to eat her, but, listen closely, spirit.” The wolf knelt down to my height, and lowered its voice to a whisper. “You did all you could and that is to be commended. However, there is nothing you can do for her now.”

“But you—”

“Listen to what I’m saying. Your mother’s house rests ten minutes running past Fluttershy’s cottage, by the woods. And Fluttershy’s clock is fifteen minutes fast.”

In my head, I felt something big and dark probing around, searching through my memories the same way that Death had done: the wolf was inside my mind, searching with those blazing eyes of his. A dark part of me knew that I should’ve been furious at it for this—these were my memories, and they were private--yet as his words settled in my mind, as I turned them over and thought about them, the full significance of what he was telling me sunk in, and my anger faded. It was quarter to ten. If I was quick, I could reach Mom’s house in ten minutes or less...

... But Mom’s voice was my head. Be brave, my little earth pony.

Any choice I’d had in the matter, I realised, had long since passed in the three days I’d spent feeling sorry for myself. Three days sat underneath a tree, too fearful to move. I could’ve gotten up at any time to go home. It would’ve been the easiest thing in the world...

My life didn’t belong to me anymore. As long as I was lingering here, it belonged to the filly, this poor, lost filly who I didn’t even know, and who couldn’t even see me. Was I meant to have died? If I hadn’t gone home when I had, I would be here. If I hadn’t have slept on the train, I would’ve arrived here ten hours ago, and I would never have stumbled across the hoofprints. There were so many little things that so easily could have been different; yet here I was, and she was still alive, if barely.

I shut my eyes and shook my head. “I don’t care if she’s almost dead,” I said firmly. “I’m not leaving her.”

The wolf gazed at me, curiously. “Why?”

He already knew the answer. I guess he wanted to hear me say it, and when I spoke my voice was as fierce as a wolf’s. “’Cos it’s the right thing to do.”

There was a long pause. The whole while, I held my gaze with his, not so much as daring to blink.

Then he spoke. “Spoken like a true wolf. You brave, brave stallion.”

I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but certainly not that. My mouth hung open, dumbfounded. Before I could reply, he got up and bounded into the darkness, past the trees, and I was all alone again.

Or so I thought.

From nowhere, more howling, but it wasn’t like any howling I’d ever heard before, and that included the monster from the park. I cowered. The cry was painful, actually, physically painful, and if, as a ghost, it still managed to make me hurt, I can only imagine what it would’ve been like if I’d had a real body. Whatever was making the sound was clearly in agony... or exceptionally good at pretending it was.

Another wolf took up the call, closer this time, and every bit as loud. A third joined it, then a fourth and a fifth; a whole pack of ‘em! I stopped trembling as the timber wolf re-emerged from the darkness, and I’d never once thought that it was possible for a wolf to grin, but his pack continued to cry out into the night, he did just that. “W-why are you doing this for me?” I asked, hoping that I wasn’t coming across as rude. But I think he understood.

“Ponies have little respect for timber wolves,” it said. “They think us mindless beasts and monsters of the darkness. It has been a long time since I’ve come across a pony I respect.”

I had a feeling he was holding back, but I never got a chance to ask him; right then, the upstairs light in the cottage switched on. The pegasus was awake! And though I couldn’t see the other wolves, they must’ve been close, ‘cos the sight of the light seemed to spur them on, a demonic choir from the depths of Tartarus itself. The pegasus opened one of the windows and peered out of it, scared out of her wits. She was awake! This was my chance.

“You’ll know what to do,” said the timber wolf behind me. Tilting my head, confused, I looked from the cottage to the trees, but the wolf was already gone. The howling stopped. What had he meant, I’d know what to do? What did that mean?

As if I’d known the answer all along, everything fitted into place. I walked out into the garden below the window, and, with my ghostly glowing hoofprints, left a great big message in the snow.

FOLLOW ME

I looked up at the window. The pony, Fluttershy, was staring down at my hoofprints, astonishment all over her face... then she vanished from the window. A moment later, she opened the door, still frightened, but she had more courage than she let on ‘cos she stepped out into the blizzard anyway—I didn’t even wanna think about how cold she must’ve felt.

I led her to the mound.

She understood the problem at once, brushed the snow of Apple Bloom’s face and body, and carefully lifted the branch off of her. Apple Bloom was still breathing. I could feel the faintest, dimmest, smallest sliver of life left within her; but it was there, and that’s what counted.

She was gonna be fine. She was going to live.

Tears had been building up in me like water behind a dam, and now I gave the dam permission to burst. I cried like never before; not even dying had made me cry this much. And ponies say that heaven is meant to be the most wonderful, amazing place you can think of, but I gotta tell ya, if it was a real place, it had nothing on this, knowing that I had saved the life of another filly. True, the cost had been my one chance to see Mom, but there were bigger things going on, more important things.

She was safe.

A few seconds passed, and Fluttershy wasn’t looking at Apple Bloom anymore; she was looking at my hoofprints. I shuddered. It must’ve been odd for her to see the prints, but not being able to see who was making ‘em.

So why, if she was unable to see me, was she looking me in the eyes? Why was her mouth hanging open? When the answer dawned on me, it was so huge that for a moment, I forgot about Apple Bloom, about Mom, about everything other than Fluttershy’s wide, blue eyes, reflecting the light of the lantern.

She could see me.