• Published 30th Oct 2019
  • 387 Views, 33 Comments

Fallout Equestria ABC: Dangers of the Wasteland - Doomande

Surviving in the Wasteland is as easy as ABC... or is it?

  • ...

I is for Inclement Weather, when it gets cold or dark or rainy wear a sweater!

Cold air nipped at her dripping nose like a bloatsprite with an appetite, howling wind tearing at her thick outer garments like a lusty raider. Her eyes were stung as she squinted up against the storm, trying to shield them with a shivering hoof to little effect. All that lay before her was dull white darkening slowly to dull gray; that told her the sun was setting.

Already she was too cold to think about her plummeting chances of surviving through the blizzard, let alone through the night. If she didn’t find shelter soon someone (or perhaps something) would find her frozen solid by the morning, if she was ever found at all...

Perhaps she would be claimed in the next layer of permafrost until the globe decided to warm again or some future civilization excavated her corpse. What would they think? she wondered. Some barbaric creature from a long-forgotten age? Would she wind up stuffed and put on display in some museum? Or perhaps they would have the technology to resurrect her from the dead? Wouldn’t that be something! Her lips cracked as she allowed herself a stupid grin.

No! She bit down hard on her lip, drawing herself to the bitter present. She couldn’t let her mind wander! She needed to concentrate, see through the hypothermia! Concentrate! Put one hoof in front of the other! One hoof in front of the other...one hoof...one...hoof…

The snow was warm as she crumpled into it, so very warm! She could rest here, she realized, and wait out the storm! The snow would keep her nice and comfy, she could drift off to sleep and…

The darker shape against the stormy gray snapped her out of her crumbling haze, pumping cold adrenaline into her system. “Threat!” her body screamed at her, launching her to her hooves. Her lush-green magic fumbled with her pistol, breath coming out in frigid gasps as she tried to find the holster’s safety catch.

She spat out a swear as she fought with her holster, all the while expecting the blizzard beast to leap out. Teeth bared, claws unsheathed, tentacles squirming...yet all the while the darker shape stood still, unwavering in the howling onslaught of the blizzard.

It took her cold-addled brain a moment to process that it wasn’t a threat, her magic dying on her horn as she realized what she was seeing: a cave!

With newfound vigor she plowed her way through the cold snow, knowing that if she stopped she would never start again. The dark shape grew in her squinting vision, the howling getting louder as if the blizzard knew its meal was about to escape!

Then her hooves stumbled over hard stone, nearly sending her crashing to the ground.

Instant relief washed over her. The temperature wasn’t any higher inside the cave, but the lack of icy wind may as well have been a hot shower to soothe her woes.

Taking a moment to bask in the mouth of the cave helped her regain her senses, and this in turn reminded her that her troubles weren’t over yet.

Her clothing was still frigid and stiff, her body below its normal temperature allowances. If she couldn’t warm up she would still find herself very much dead. On top of that, caves in the wasteland were rarely devoid of dangerous things and if she had managed to locate it, who (or what) else might have? Raiders and bandits? Perhaps something far worse? She couldn’t relax just yet…

With her mental faculties returning she unstrapped and unholstered her pistol: a weathered, old ten millimeter semi-automatic. The sights wavered in front of her nose, weapon held tight in her maw (she didn’t dare hold the weapon in her glowing magic for fear of illuminating her position) as she tip-toed further in.

She stopped briefly before a quick bend, wiping her dripping nose and sniffing at the air.

There was no stench of rotting flesh or dung that might indicate the presence of a lurking predator, just the musty, mildewy scent of cold, cave air. That was a good start.

Her ears twitched as she pulled back her parka hood, swiveling towards the deeper bowels of the cave.

The howling sound of the blizzard echoed from deep within, a beast challenging the call of the one outside. Other than that, there was a wet drip-drip of water somewhere within.

She was about to slip her hood back up when a sharp sound met her ears: a soft click-clack of stone on stone. There was another hushed sound: a low grumbling, that followed briefly before another quick click-clack!

Taking a quiet breath, she tossed a glance to her weapon, noting the red loaded-chamber indicator and cocked hammer. She toggled the safety on and off with her tongue to ensure her weapon was ready before poking her head out around the corner.

Her eyes quickly adjusted and she saw a solitary, black shape lurking in the darkness ahead of her. It grumbled quietly, making the sharp click-clack noise that had gotten her attention. For a moment her eyes strained in the dark until she beheld a shaggy, hunched outline against the shadows of the cavern.

It swayed slowly, making a sudden jerking motion each time the click-clack echoed through the cave.

Carefully, she lifted a forehoof and set it out around the corner. Then the second forehoof, then one hind hoof, then the other—

Her hind leg slipped on a hooffull of loose pebbles, sending them clattering as she stumbled and regained her balance. She felt her heart skip a beat as the sound echoed through the gaping maw of the cavern.

The solitary shape lurched in the darkness, spitting out a snarl as she leapt back around the corner. She levelled her weapon, taking it in her magic with her cover now blown and waiting for the beast to leap around the corner and—

“Who goes there!?” A stallion’s voice called out from around the corner. There was the sound of a rifle’s action being worked and a clatter of hooves as he no doubt found cover.

On one hoof she was relieved that the figure was just a pony, but on the other she knew that didn’t necessarily mean she was in the clear. In this day and age ponies could be just as deadly as any beast. Thus, she kept her weapon ready.

“I’m just here looking for shelter from the storm!” She called.

“Well look for it elsewhere, this cavern’s taken!” He spat back.

“Please! I can’t go back out there!” She shook her head, keeping eyes and ears focused on the corner, hoping against hope he wouldn’t try and rush her, “I won’t be a bother, please! I barely made it here in the first place! I’ll die out there!”

“Not my problem!” He countered.

“You don’t exactly have that kind of leverage here!” She tried vinegar where honey had failed, “I’ve got you around a corner and against a dead end! You’ve nowhere to go!”

“I’ve got you dead to rights if you come around that corner!” He didn’t budge, spitting vinegar right back at her, “Your ass will be illuminated if you come around, mine will be against darkness. You lose that encounter!”

She cast her eyes quickly to the dull light streaming in past the storm behind her. Damnit, he was right! “I’m not leaving!” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Well you’re not coming around that corner!”

“Damnit!” She hissed to herself.

While she wouldn’t admit it to the stallion, she was still at growing risk of hypothermia in her frozen clothes in this frigid air. She needed to get further into the cave, remove her outer garments, and try to warm up however she could. But with the stallion in her way—and especially in her drained state—that was a near-impossibility.

The blizzard howled outside, the only sound for some time as she shivered miserably. She needed to make a move, but how? The stallion wouldn’t budge and he was right about having her dead to rights if she came around the corner. Maybe if she had one of those fancy pipbucks with its SATS capabilities...but she didn’t. There had to be another way, she just needed to think and...wait a moment…

“That clicking,” she spoke to herself as the sound suddenly clicked in her head: flint striking steel, “was he trying to spark a fire?”

“You still there!?” The stallion called out.

“I told you I’m not leaving!” She snapped back with a growl, considering her words and calming herself for a moment, “There’s no sense in us killing each other!”

“Agreed, now leave!” He countered, still not budging from his position.

“And what?” She spoke up, a small smile working its way across her face, “Leave you to freeze as well? Or were you having fun trying to get that flint and steel to work?”

For once there was no immediate reply from the stallion.

“You still there?” She sent his words back at him.

“You got a light or something?” His harsh tone softened just a bit.

“Something like that…” she let her words hang in the air like a baited hook.

“Pass it here,” he paused, “If you’re telling the truth, you can come around.”

“I can’t exactly saw off my horn and throw it to you,” she called back, “Even if I could it wouldn’t do you any good!”

“Well, what do you propose, then!?” He grumbled.

“A truce!” Her answer was immediate, “We get nowhere but dead sitting here freezing our butts off and we get nowhere but dead shooting at each other and bleeding out on the floor.

“So how about this: we holster our weapons, I come light your fire, and we both get to survive the night. We can go our separate ways in the morning with all limbs and bullets accounted for.”

“How do I know you won’t just shoot me the second you’re around that corner?” He asked, though his voice lacked conviction.

“Because right now all I care about is getting warm and surviving the night,” she countered, “Besides, you’ve still got the drop on me from back there...or are you just bluffing with an unloaded weapon?”

Again the stallion was silent for a spell.

“You still th—” she started.

“Yes, fine!” He snapped, “Come around, I won’t shoot.”

“Here goes nothing,” she said to herself, taking a quick breath and holstering her pistol, “All right, I’m coming around! My weapon’s holstered!”

Trotting slowly around the corner, she froze when she saw the stallion leaned against a rock. His rifle was pointed right at her face, mouth gripping the firing mechanism for his battle saddle. For a moment her resolve faltered, terror gripping her heart as she expected to get a face-full of lead, but then the stallion released the mechanism and trotted over to a pile of logs and tinder. He jerked his head towards it with a grunt, and she saw he was shivering just as bad as she was.

Wasting no time, she lowered her horn to the woodpile and sparked her magic. For all his lack of skill at starting fires, the stallion did know how to prepare them as the kindling lit quickly and the logs shortly thereafter.

“Thank Celestia,” the stallion muttered, hunkering down as close as he could without getting burned. He peeled off his outer layers, revealing rippling muscle and a clear lack of horn or wings. Under his parka he had a steel blue coat, eyes the color of well-shined brass, and a gunmetal gray mane.

“She’s not the one who saved our butts,” she replied, sitting on the opposite side of the flames and likewise peeling off her outer garments. Her own coat was a sunset orange, with icy blue eyes and a ruddy mane.

The stallion gave her a quiet grunt, scowling at her across the flames. She felt that was all she’d get as way of thanks and, for the moment, she could care less. All that mattered now was the warmth of the crackling flames seeping into her flesh, melting away the chill that had nearly claimed her life.

“Thanks for not shooting me,” she said, shrugging off her saddlebags for use an an impromptu pillow.

“I would’ve if your gun was out,” he replied simply, settled on his stomach with his eyes never leaving her, “I’m no raider.”

“Thank goodness for that,” she smiled, feeling quite comfy with the flames warming her hooves, “I’m Native Dancer.”

“Wrought Iron,” he grunted back.

“Well if it’s not raiding you’re into then what do you do, Wrought Iron?” Dancer asked.

“Why do you care?” Iron answered her question with another.

“Honestly? The wasteland’s filled with enough strife, enough hate and malcontent between ponies,” Dancer spoke after letting the fire flicker in her eyes for a moment, “We murder, we rape, hell some ponies even eat each other! A little conversation, getting to know each other, brings people together. The closer we’re brought together, the less likely we are to fall into the vices of the present.”

“What the hell are you, some kinda pacifist?” Iron’s eyes flickered to her gun, “Or just a hypocrite?”

“Me? Neither. I’m in the herding and farming business. Family tradition, been at it for generations now,” she gave her holstered pistol a pat, “And this thing’s just for those ponyfolk who aren’t as cordial as you.”

“What’s a farmer doing up north?” Iron seemed to find that fishy, eyes narrowing across the flames, “Not much farming or livestock up here.”

“No, there isn’t, and that’s exactly why I was up here,” Dancer smiled, “Someone’s gotta sell them their food, and that’s where I come in; I was getting a purchase agreement signed. We cart up salted meats and pickled vegetables, ponies give us a set amount of caps. Better than selling in a market where people can haggle because the prices and amounts are fixed and agreed upon. No food waste, no short sales, all profit.”

“Fair enough,” Iron admitted, “You have a copy on you?”

Dancer snorted, “You really think I’m dumb enough to go waltzing through a blizzard with a signed contract worth more than both our hides tanned together? No, my copy got sent back home through magical fire, probably arrived hours ago.”

“So then what are you doing ‘waltzing through a blizzard?’” Iron’s eyes remained narrowed.

“Yeesh, who are you? Mr. Twenty Questions?” Dancer rolled her eyes.

“I’m pretty sure you were trying to sneak up on me back there little miss ‘let’s all just get along,’” Iron pointed back towards the howling mouth of the cave, “That doesn’t exactly instill trust among ponies.”

“I was trying to make sure there wasn’t anything about to jump out and eat me if I decided to seek shelter in the cave,” she defended herself, scoffing at his tone, “What was I supposed to do, call out nicely not to be eaten alive? Don’t tell me you just trotted up in here without any regard for your safety.”

Iron gave a gruff snort, casting his eyes back towards the entrance of the cave.

“Look all you want, that storm’s gonna last on through the night no matter how hard you glare. So how about a little game to break the ice?” Dancer changed the subject, “You ever play two truths and a lie?”

“No,” Iron grunted, eyes returning to hers.

“Well it’s simple, I tell you three things. Two of them are the truth, the third is a lie, not necessarily in that order,” she began, “For example: the sky is blue, the earth is round, and fire is cold.”

“That’s two lies; the sky isn’t blue,” Iron raised a brow, clearly picking fact from fiction.

“It is above the cloud cover,” Dancer countered, “Look, bad example, whatever. You’re allowed to ask questions, grill me on each of the statements to see how good a liar I am. Training round over,” she rolled back onto her stomach, proppering her head on her hooves as she took on a serious look across the fire, “I know what ice cream tastes like, I’ve never been shot before, and my dad killed the first colt who kissed me.”

“And I can ask questions?” Iron gave her a suspicious glare.

“Anything you want, not just yes or no answer ones, but I don’t have to tell the truth,” Dancer grinned back at him, “It’s your job to test my stories and pick the facts from the fiction.”

“Easy enough,” Iron took a moment to shift his weight, “What does ice cream taste like?”

“Thick and creamy, pretty good, though it gave me a bit of a stomach ache and it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to eat in this cold.”

“Where did you eat it?” Iron searched her face.

“Northtrot, same little village I got the contract signed in. A yak cow was selling it, fresh made apparently.”

“What, in the street markets or one of the restaurants? What’d this yak look like, what was her name?”

“No restaurants I could make out in Northtrot, she was a street vendor,” Dancer took a moment to think...or recall, “She was set up at one of the stalls, light brown hair all braided like they do, her name was Else or Elspet or something.”

“Hmm,” Iron’s eyes reflected the fire’s light as they searched Dancer’s face, “You not getting shot’s easy enough to prove,” he finally said, giving his head a jerk, “Show me you don’t have any bullet scars.”

“What, you want to see me naked? Most bucks at least buy me dinner first, Wrought Iron,” Dancer gave him a lewd grin, “Whatever the case, not a question!”

“If I ask you if you have any bullet scars, you could just lie about it!” Iron countered.

“Or I could tell you the truth,” she gave a quick gesture towards herself, “Maybe I really haven’t ever been shot!”

Wrought Iron made a low grumbling sound, glaring at her across the fire for a moment.

“So who was your first kiss, then?” Wrought Iron asked, “How’d your father kill him?”

“Not going to ask why?” Dancer gave her mane a quick flick.

“I know how fathers can be.”

“Oh, so my father was the one at fault?” Dancer took on a defensive tone, “It wasn’t the colt that was to blame?”

“You tell me,” Wrought Iron spoke after a moment’s thought.

“Well, the colt stole my first kiss for one,” Dancer answered, her own grin folding into a frown, “For second, he tried to make it all the way to home plate shortly thereafter with or without my permission. Chased me home trying to do it, too! Dad didn’t take too kindly when he opened the door and saw the little bastard trying to deflower his daughter and the rest, as they say, is history.”

“How’d he kill him, then?”

“Knife,” Dancer drew a hoof across her own throat, “It wasn’t very quick, though.”

“It never is with a blade,” Iron spoke as if from experience, letting the fire crackle for a moment, “I’ll bet you’ve got a bullet scar somewhere under there,” he jerked his head towards her clothes.

“Is that your final answer?” Dancer took a breath and let her easy smile sneak back across her face.

“Yes,” Iron grunted with a nod.

“You’re wrong, then,” Dancer’s smile split into a victorious grin, Iron’s scowl deepening, “It was my mother who killed the colt, not my father. The best kind of lie is the one seeded with the truth.”

“So it wasn’t an outright lie, that hardly seems fair!” Iron grumbled.

“It wasn’t the truth,” Dancer shrugged, “I don’t make the rules. Whatever the case, it’s your turn. Tell you what, you tell me what it is you do followed by two lies about what you do. Makes it even harder for me.”

“Travelling repair pony,” Iron gave her a single answer with his continued glare, not interested in playing her game.

“Oh, come on! Don’t be such a spoilsport!” Dancer switched to a good-natured smile, though again she was forced to frown as Iron got up and pulled his outer garments back on, “Where are you going?”

“Tend the fire, we’ll need more wood to keep it burning all night,” he answered, looking down at his chest as he zippered up.

“And you’re just going to go waltz out there and get some, huh?” Dancer raised a brow.

“I saw a tree,” was all the information he gave her, checking his rifle and making his way towards the howling entrance, now nearly black with the sun beyond the horizon.

“Or for the love of...it was just a stupid game!” Dancer got to her hooves, catching up to him, “Getting yourself frozen out there—”

“It’s not about the stupid game, we legitimatly need more wood if we’re going to survive the night. That fire’s maybe got another hour or two before it’s cold soot and ash,” he turned around, pointing towards the flickering flames, “So unless you plan on keeping your horn lit all night…”

“Alternatively, we could share body heat,” Dancer said, getting a pair of rolled eyes and a scoff, “Oh come on. We’re both adults, don’t need to make it awkward. I won’t touch you if you don’t touch me.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Iron replied, stepping out into the blizzard.

“Come back!” Dancer called out, stopping short of the cave’s entrance.

She got no response.

“Damnit,” she grumbled, sulking back to the fire.

And sulk she did for some time, now and then getting up to pace back and forth both for warmth and out of boredom.

Her eyes darted frequently to the fire, watching as it chewed up the logs Wrought Iron had brought along. Perhaps it had been a good idea to go get more...but where was he?! He hadn’t dipped out on her, there’d be no way to survive more than an hour or two outside now that night had fallen. No, at this point he was probably lost and freezing to death.

She could, of course, just leave him. She didn’t owe him anything, after all, but he was right about the fire. It wouldn’t last until daybreak, they needed more firewood or they needed warm bodies. Alone, she was just as dead as he might be already...

“Damnit!” She eventually snarled, slipping into her outer garments.

Her saddlebags were left behind, they’d only slow her down and offered nothing worthwhile to combat the blizzard. She hated leaving them behind, but she’d either die out there with Wrought Iron or she’d manage to return with him in tow. Either it wouldn’t matter or she’d see them again soon.

Thrusting herself out into the clutches of the blizzard was awful. Howling wind blinded her with snow, not that she could see anything anyways. Instantly, she craved the warmth of the fire and the shelter from the wind that the cave provided. She had to tear herself away from the cave like a junkie kicking a fix.

With some effort, she lit up her horn with bright flames the same color as her magic, providing a modicum of warmth and a small speck of light. Most of what she illuminated were the snowflakes flying sideways across her vision, hiding the white of fallen snow and the deadly black of night.

“Wrought Iron!” She cried out with all she had, knowing it probably wasn’t enough, “Wrought Iron!”

She squinted back, spotting a soft glow of light from the fire in the cave. She shuddered at the thought of not finding her way back as she turned away and began to force her way into the storm.

She cried out again and again, the cold seeping into her coat, creeping up her limbs. She hardly felt anything when she tripped in the snow. By now she’d lost the energy to swear, picking herself up and preparing to shout again.

But then the snow shifted beneath her. She leapt back with a scream, fearing a crevasse or some kind of snow beast.

It was neither.

“Wrought Iron!” She spotted his parka hood above the snow. He was moving, but only a little and very sluggishly.

Wasting no time, she tore at the snow with numb limbs, waving her horn’s flames (carefully!) above him. She just needed the light, she didn’t want to set him ablaze. He mumbled something incomprehensible as she finally unearthed him, the blizzard doing its best to entomb them both.

“Can you walk!?” she yelled in his ear, “Wrought Iron, can you walk!?”

She couldn’t tell whether he was nodding his head or shivering, but after a stumble or two she was able to guide him along. Dancer wanted to assure herself that the hard part was over, but finding the cave again would be no easier than finding Wrought Iron.

It was hard to travel in a straight line in a blizzard, with no point of reference and screaming wind the senses could be fooled into making one trot in circles. Dancer recalled stories of ponies leaving their homes for the outhouse just across their yard and being found frozen solid the next morning.

Dancer let out a shout when Iron crumbled back into the snow, dragging her down with him. Panic gripped her when he refused to get back up, leaning in to try and lift him.

“...so warm…” she thought she heard him mumble.

“Get up!” Dancer screamed at him, pulling at his saddlebags, “You need to get up!”

Iron stirred, looking dazed and squinting against the blizzard’s sharp snow. As Dancer continued to pull at his saddlebags, one came open and revealed freshly chopped lumber. He’d done it! They would have enough wood to last the night!

Then Dancer froze, and not from the cold swarming all around her.

Wrought Iron had done it. He’d chopped enough wood to keep the fire burning all night. But right now, in the present tense, he was a burden to her. He’d done his part, she could easily cart the wood back and leave him here to freeze.

The thought came from the depths of her mind, the crude and oftentimes cruel place where survival instinct lay. Wrought Iron had outstayed his usefulness, if she didn’t take the wood and leave him now she’d die here with him. She was no good to anyone dead, least of all her—

Dancer flinched when Iron’s hoof latched onto her own, drawing her back to the icy present.

She looked down at him, finding his eyes locked onto hers with a pleading look in them. Her forehoof was poised above his opened saddlebags, betraying her inner thoughts.

It was now or never!

Reaching out with her magic, she grabbed the straps of his saddlebags and yanked hard. She grit her teeth against the strain, ceasing her magical flame briefly to focus solely on the telekinetics.

Wrought Iron struggled only briefly before he was yanked to his hooves and her magic faded from him, flaring back up as a bright flame.

“No more stops!” She yelled against the blizzard. Again, she couldn’t tell if Iron gave her a nod or was just shivering, “All-Mother guide me,” she hissed to herself, plodding on through the thick snow.

Hope was fading fast with her core temperature and she feared Iron was about to collapse for the last time when a spark of orange caught in her peripherals. She turned, squinting to focus and...there!

“I think I see the cave!” Dancer yelled in Iron’s ear, pointing him towards the sight.

She wasn’t sure he heard her as she all but dragged him along. His body was on autopilot, head low and eyes rolling.

“Just a little further!” she yelled, hoping against hope that she was right, that what she’d seen was salvation and not just a trick of the light.

It was salvation.

Dancer could’ve kissed the dark rock of the cave as she stumbled into it, Iron collapsing beside her. His breath still frosted out his lips, but she wasn’t sure he was shivering anymore.

“You’re not dying on me now!” Dancer declared, using her magic to drag him around the bend where the orange glow of their fire was coming from.

She set him up next to the fire pit, unclipping his saddlebags and tossing a log into the embers. With some help from her magic it burst into flames, filling the cave with another few degrees of warmth.

In Dancer’s state it made all the difference.

With the fire sorted out, she turned to Iron. His outer garments were frozen to his form, white frost and snow clinging to him. He mumbled something and she slapped his hooves away as he tried to clumsily help her get them off.

With his outer garments off she was able to check his hooves and face for frostbite, breathing a sigh of relief when she found nothing irreversible.

“You’re still hypothermic,” she told him, pulling his sleeping bag over and starting to undress, “It was a suggestion earlier, now it isn’t. Strip to your skivvies and crawl inside, I’ll be joining you shortly.”

Whether he was in agreement or just too cold to care, Dancer didn’t know, but she was thankful that he didn’t protest as she placed the logs within easy telekinesis range. With that accomplished, she stripped to her woolen underwear, shivering briefly in the cave air.

Iron’s flesh was cold against hers when she slipped into the sleeping bag with him, but he had started shivering again so that was a good sign. Dancer took his forehooves in her own, pressing them against the warm fur of her chest. She didn’t dare rub the flesh to try and warm him faster in case there was any frostbite she had missed, doing so would cause even more damage.

So here they lay, fire crackling contentedly away while the blizzard’s howling echoed in from outside. Iron’s hooves warmed against her chest, his shivering ceasing as his core temperature returned to normal.

Iron had dozed off shortly after she had joined him, he awakened when Dancer tossed another log into the flames. A cascade of sparks reflected in her eyes, arcing up and flickering out of existence.

“Thanks,” Iron cleared his throat, “Thanks for coming after me, for not leaving me out there.”

“I’d have been dead if you didn’t return,” Dancer tried to play it off.

Iron’s eyes darted between her own, “Hiding a lie in the truth again? I might’ve been on death’s doorstep, but I saw that look in your eye when you saw the firewood. You could’ve taken it and left me for dead.”

“I considered it,” Dancer glanced away as she admitted it, “But I meant it when I said the wasteland’s filled with enough strife between ponies. Hate and fear aren’t the way things are supposed to be.”

“Well thanks, I…” Iron trailed off suddenly, glancing down between them with an embarrassed look. He tried to cross his hind legs, but stuffed in the sleeping bag with Dancer it was far too late.

Dancer fixed him with a lewd grin, “Is that a sledge in your skivvies or are you just happy to see me?”

“Er...sorry,” he mumbled, trying to shift politely away, “Close proximity and all…” She was certain that it was a blush and not frostbite that started coloring his face a rosy red, “You don’t need to keep me company anymore if you don’t want.”

“What if I do?” she asked, her magical aura lighting up between them as she slipped off her underwear. She leaned in and pressed her lips to one of his ears, “Now would be the ideal time to check me for bullet scars...”

In spite of his best efforts, Iron found none.

Author's Note:

Made by Salted Pingas