Scootaloo's Hollow

by Dead_Mares

The Forty-seventh of the Sixth Moon, year 1819 of Celestia's reign

Confusion twisted Dreadwing's face as he watched Scootaloo limp to school. She was unable to ride her scooter in such a condition, and while most ponies probably wouldn't have even noticed, her pain was all too evident to Dreadwing. Had it not been for the mental link they shared, he might have never realized it was taking all of her concentration to not scrunch her face up in agony with every step. With her mind being so focused on one task it was impossible for Dreadwing to find her pain's cause, so for now, he simply assumed she was sore from her excessively long scooter ride the previous evening.

She barely managed to make it through the school day, and Dreadwing got no hints during that time, either. When the students were released, instead of going to her usual hollow Scootaloo went to Ponyville's bridge and crawled into the arch underneath it. Even though she still ran through her usual fantasies, the darkness that appeared at random times now lingered in her mind nearly constantly, growing stronger even with her attempts to keep it at bay. They pushed themselves to the forefront of her thoughts, bumping and shoving anything even remotely happy out of the way.

"I wonder what changed so drastically overnight?" Dreadwing wondered. Fear, sadness, and even a little hatred stayed at the edges of Scootaloo's thoughts, growing in intensity while the sun sank in the sky, taking her hopes and waning strength with it. Dreadwing watched as her head fell into her hooves and she began to sob, overwhelmed by her emotions.

It was a sad sight, and despite being the monster he was, Dreadwing felt sorry for her. Looking down on the depressed filly, he almost saw a bit of his past self in her. Had it not been for that, he might not have interfered when Scootaloo's sobs came to an end and she shakily pulled a small knife from her bag before gingerly placing it against her wrist.

In a move so uncharacteristic, Dreadwing appeared to her. He wasn't sure why he chose to do so. Maybe it was the unexpected empathy he felt fo suddenly, but even though he had decided long ago to not directly interfere in the lives of mortals, he knew deep down he needed to step in.

Scootaloo's eyes widened slightly as the pair of massive black hooves materialized in front of her. The filly's head upturned slowly as she took in her unanticipated guest, and while Dreadwing fully expected her to bolt, she didn't. She simply sat there, staring up at him.

Perturbed, Dreadwing frowned down at her. "Well? Are you not afraid of a monster such as I?" he said in a voice like sandpaper.

It took a moment for Scootaloo's brain to catch up to her eyes, but after a delay, she spoke in a small voice. "I'm afraid of monsters, yeah. But you're not one."

Dreadwing's frown deepened. "Not a monster? Look at me. I skulk in the shadows, I feed off of the energy of ponies, and soldiers attack me on sight. I'm a horrific beast who strikes fear into the hearts of everypony I meet. How can you say I'm not a monster?"

Scootaloo shook her head. "Looks don't count for anything. I've met real monsters and they looked nothing like you."

Dreadwing cocked his head at her. "What do you mean? What other monsters have you met?"

Scootaloo opened her mouth to speak but stopped herself. She shook her head again. "It doesn't matter. Don't worry about it."

"Alright." Dreadwing walked over the frozen river to the other side of the arch and sat down in front of it so that they faced each other about ten feet apart. He had noticed her hide the knife as soon as his back was turned, but he didn't feel the need to interfere any more than he already had. "I guess there's no point in hiding myself from her now. She's seen me. It would be pointless to continue to do so."

They sat there in silence for a long few moments. Scootaloo glanced back at him every so often, but it took her the better part of five minutes to speak again. "So what are you, exactly? I've never seen a pony like you before."

"I'm not a pony. I have no idea what I am and I've never seen another of my kind. I've never met another pony who didn't immediately flee from me, either," Dreadwing replied.

Scootaloo rubbed one of her shoulders roughly. "Most ponies don't look past the surface. Ponyville's a better place than most, but it's still not perfect. Nopony is perfect."

Dreadwing eyed the small pegasus. "You're strangely mature for one so young."

"It's probably because... well, I'd rather not say." Scootaloo shifted slightly on the cold rocks. "So why are you here?"

"I feed off of the emotions of young foals to survive," Dreadwing said bluntly. "I'm like a changeling, except it can be any emotion, not just love. I've been following you around for the past moon for that reason."

Scootaloo sighed and glanced out at the leafless trees in the distance. "I guess you know my secret then, huh?"

Dreadwing shook his head. "I don't, but I've been trying to figure it out. Your mind is very strange for one so young. Does it have something to do with your parents? I can sense a deeper problem in you, but I don't know what it is."

"It's... complicated, but you're on the right track. So are you what's been poking around in my mind the past few weeks?"

Dreadwing nodded. "Yes. You are the first pony I've met that was able to detect my presence. Ever since that first night you thought something was intruding on your thoughts, I've been watching you closely. Except for your home. Sickening energy hangs over it, a remnant of your parents' bitterness towards each other, I believe."

"Yeah, I'm not surprised you wouldn't want to be there." Scootaloo glanced out from underneath the bridge at the setting sun, which had just begun to touch the distant mountains. "I need to go. I guess I'll see you tomorrow if you're just gonna follow me everywhere."

"We'll see." Dreadwing watched the orange pegasus plod towards her home. A strange sensation he couldn't remember ever experiencing had wormed its way into his chest, but he ignored it for now. He finally had a lead on his little mystery, and countless new theories entered his mind as he followed her through the snow, invisible, but still there.