RoMS' Extravaganza

by RoMS

2019 project - Diamond Sisters - Chapter 5 draft 1

“Applejack?” Rarity asked, receiving an affirmative mumble. “Where are we?”

“Home I believe, sugarcube.”

The barn didn’t look like much but the dry heat that brushed her face, crawling in from the open front door, brought a smile on her face.

“It’s your home.” Rarity muttered. “Not mine. Mine is cold and lonely. It’s artificial and cramped. And there is always work to do.”

Applejack laughed. “As much work as there is here for sure, but it’s a slow process you can’t rush nature to give you what you want before it’s ripe for the taking.”

Rarity looked at the ceiling, the old wood, the old paint. The place smelled a slow aging process that had garnered wrinkles through time yet experiences hidden behind each nail and red brushstroke against dry wood, and every single flowers that decorated the woman’s hair.

“They are beautiful,” Rarity breathed.

“Thanks, you made the bouquet after all.”

⇜⇝

The creature hadn’t left the side of the wagon. Its pus-covered hide had long stained the rained-down fabric with large earthy smudges. Its grunts filled Rarity’s ears despite her palms pressing on them. Trixie held her face in her hands. She’d been brooding for the past hour.

When Rarity managed to focus away from the beast’s rattles, she could hear the recurring clacking noise of the engine. Featherlight would lower the engine’s frequency whenever the ancient path steeped downwards.

The wagon came to a brutal halt and slowly tipped to the side. The beast painted once and silence fell around Rarity.

The cart jolted once with the singular sound of the engine. A second time followed right after. The beast barked loud, guttural and gurgly. Featherlight promptly switched off the engine.

The cart came to a halt, stuck against an obstacle in the mud. Silence reigned and with it cast doubt and terror in Rarity’s heart.

Rarity closed her hands into fists, nails biting into her skin as the beast crawled around the cart and came to sat in front of it. Through the slit of that gave onto the driver’s bench, she saw its eyes look at Featherlight and Tempest with intent.

Tempest’s arm twitched as the beast exhale a damp mephitic rattle that cracked into the wagon stail. Trixie gagged.

Featherlight swallowed and motioned ever slowly to tap on Tempest’s shoulder. Slower than snail, they crawled without noise in the tented compartment of the cart. Tempest was livid, staring into the distance as she sat next to Trixie. Hunched over, she didn’t look that tall.

Featherlight hunched as well and nervously bit into the knuckles of his index fingers. Rarity could see he had no plans.

Her vision swam and she lay down to the side, her cheek scratching against the floorboard.

The cart pitched to the side, the wood and nails grating at each other in a loud racket. Rarity flinched. Trixie couldn’t hold a sob.

The beast gave a second push of his muzzle against the engine, rocking the wagon back and forth. Featherlight watched the monster’s head sway as it prepared another hit.

Tempest snatched the oil lamp and brought the dynamite stick to the light. She unscrewed the protecting glass that enclosed the flame and kissed the fuse to the end of the wick. The black match burst to fiery life, crackling loudly at it threw spark.

“No!” Featherlight cried.

The beast roared, springing to the side of the cart. The fabric and metal frame of the stail ripped off the wood body as the beast swung its mangled paw.

Rain rushed to Rarity’s face. The beast towered the cart, its sludgy drool mixing down to hit the boxes that had once been neatly stacked inside. In the deep of the night, there were only two lights, its eyes and the dynamite by Tempest’s side.

The beast howled and crashed its paw in the middle of the wagon, ripping through. Splinters, metal and goods flew to the mud.

Rarity hit the side of the road, coming to rest at the foot of an old metal guardrail. A flash of lightning flashed across the sky and she watched Tempest stand alone in the rubble of the cart.

She tensed and jumped aside to avoid the coming claws that slashed the ground and splashed muck. It shrieked and, as it maw slackened open, Tempest threw her weapon. It bit down hard and the explosion roared in the night.

Its muzzle was gone, snapped by the explosion that opened a gash down the whole length of its throat. It quavered and stumbled, a shoulder hitting a tree that instantly crumbled.

Its rattles gurgled lower and it came to a halt. Tempest lay on her back, watching the beast sway again to rest.

It snapped back alive, whistling its lungs out as it snapped at Tempest with its missing jaw. It sprung back and ran into the forest, smashing down the trees in its path.

Thunder cracked the sky once more, lighting up Tempest’s standing aghast in the middle of the road, watching down the trail dug through the landscape by the beast. She hunched over and burst out laughing, dropping a knee to the mud. As the flash receded, darkness took over and a sob followed.

Tempest never cried. Rarity was certain of that. The sound froze her blood as she heard her friend and mentor cry in the dead of the night.

Rarity got up and followed the sobbing. Hands forward, she touched her friend’s muddied hair. “Tempest, are you okay?”

“No, I’m not!” she boomed, swinging around with her arms out.

Rarity hit the old pavement, her ears ringing from the slap. Tempest cried out, Rarity heard her take hectic steps left and right in the dark. There was no light, no landmark, only blackness.

“Anybody got a light.” Her voice crackled, heaving from the knot stuck in her throat. Tempest found her way to the wagon’s torn up side. Boxes tossed over, splashing in puddles and muck. “I need a light!”

“Silence,” Featherlight ordered, throwing himself at Tempest.

A fight broke. What Rarity couldn’t see, she heard. Thuds and gasped cries as fists and kicks were thrown. Tempest hiccuped and choked. Rarity closed her eyes as she heard shoes scrapped the cracked pavement under the rain.

The thumps and blows continued for a few seconds. The sky rumbled as the din of the downpour gained in intensity, drowning the light that quickly followed.

Rarity caught Featherlight holding Tempest around the shoulders, a hand on her mouth.

“Silence,” he whispered. “There is far worse haunting those woods.”

Tempest’s short hiccups rung in Rarity’s ears as she looked around, searching for Trixie. She caught the silver hair in a flash. Trixi sat alone and stoic on a stone by the side of the road. She was bleeding.

Rarity removed her foot from under one of the merchandise boxes and stumbled her way to Trixie’s side. The brass of the oil lamp shone intermittently in her hands. She ritually snapped a spark wheel on its side every now and then. Nothing ever came of it.

Rarity took away the lamp. At the tips of her fingers, she felt the glass had cracked and the banged up fuel space had pierced. She set it aside and hugged Trixie.

“What now?” the teen whispered.

“I guess we’ll walk.”

“I’m not a runner. I’ve never run before. My father wouldn’t let me.” Trixie signed. “I’m no Dash.”

“Who’s that Dash?” Rarity breathed, rubbing a hand on Trixie’s back.

“She was my best friend.” Trixie’s wistful smile lit up under a tear in the sky. “The fastest runner of Canterhigh. She didn’t need to rest at checkpoints, Featherlight told me.” Trixie’s breath got shaky. “Featherlight told me she stopped one day in the middle of the trail, and walked into the woods.”

Rarity gulped. “I’m sorry.”

“She was my best friend but… I think she really liked me.” Trixie sniffled. “We just hung around because we both knew Featherlight.” Trixie held onto Rarity as she sunk her face against her shoulder. “But she was the only girl Father allowed me to see.”

Rarity hugged Trixie as her sobs wracked against her chest. In the darkness and the rain, there was nothing left to do but wait. Rarity drew Trixie away from the trail under the trunk of a nearby tree and they lay there, huddled in the cold and damp. Morning was so far away.

⇜⇝

Rarity opened her eyes to a morning fog so thick she could barely make out the cart’s remnants. She scanned around, focusing her eyes on the few details still piercing the mist.

Trixie lay against her, her arms wrapped around her waist. Her nose whistled softly as she slept. The rain had washed away the blood from the small gash on her forehead and her silver hair dripped over her shoulders and disappeared under the wagon’s former tent cover, soaked and sticky over their chest and legs.

Immobile, Rarity looked back up to the side of a road. Tempest’s face was covered in blackened bruises and she slept arms crossed under a large slab of wood, a piece of the wagon that she’d dragged out the trail.

Featherlight rested under a brown bush that offered no protection against the rain. His eyes were opened. He was listening to something.

Footsteps. Rarity took a deep breath as the staccato ground its way closer through the mist, down the trail that came from Canterhigh.

Rarity looked at Featherlight. Eyes wide, he drew a finger to his mouth. Rarity answered by teetering her hand above Trixie’s lips. Tempest was awake and the dagger she’d found in the refuge the night before glinted against her chest.

Rarity held her breath as a shadow appeared through the dimly lit vapors that swallowed the woods. Lancing over the cracked pavement and stone that littered the way, the runner jumped, hopped and crossed the distance, emerging fully as she arrived to the first splinters of the carriage.

She didn’t stop and never threw a stare. She kept going and Rarity’s hair straightened on her neck. The runner had no face.

Neither Rarity or another tried to call for him and rapidly she’d disappeared in the mist. Rarity held her face in her hands after long minutes, a fit of laughter slowly rising in her chest.

Featherlight was the first to break the stupor. He got up, walked to Rarity and held his hand out. She hesitated but after a couple seconds of reluctance took it.

Featherlight strained as he helped her out, hunching over under the weight of the strong miner. They exchanged a nod and while Featherlight inspected the cart, Tempest walked up to Trixie and Rarity.

She threw Trixie a look, she was still sleeping. Her eyes slid to Rarity who flinched under the glare.

“I’m sorry,” Rarity whispered. “It’s all my fault.”

Tempest’s face creased at first as she mulled over something Rarity guessed was range. Her bruised fists snapped close and small quakes rolled down her arms. She closed her eyes, breathed in and, once she’d reopened them, lowered herself to meet Rarity eye-to-eye.

Rarity winced and diverted her eyes, waiting for scorn and injury. Tempest hugged her instead.

“Ouch,” Trixie mumble, shaken out of her sleep by Tempest’s misplaced elbow.

“Sorry,” Tempest breathed before looking with a wistful smile into Rarity’s eyes. “It’s not your fault. It would be so easy if it was. But it isn’t. You’re my friend, my dearest friend, what happens happens and I’ll be there when they do.”

Tempest embraced Rarity further, her head slipping behind her messy purple hair. Tempest’s difficult breath brushed against her neck.

“You’re heavy,” Trixie huffed out.

Tempest stood up with the same sad smile and hurried to help Rarity and Trixie up. Rarity inspected her injury. The encounter had left her arm sling torn and muddy but the bandage had sustained the fall out of the wagon.

Once up, she observed Featherlight retrieving the shattered metal frame of the wagon. He used two large stones to bend the curved shaft of metal into spears.

Three in hands, he distributed each to the group and turned towards where the pathway disappeared in the haze.

“I’m not going where that thing went,” Tempest protested.

“But the monster went that way,” Trixie said, pointing at the trail cut through the woods down a gentle steep off the side of the road.

Fear quickly drew on Trixie’s face. She looked down the street and with sharp breaths held her shoulders.

“What was it anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Featherlight mumbled. “Sometimes it’s better not to ask questions in the Deadwood. You’ll feel lighter in you accept everything is unknown here.” He pointed upward towards the light. “It may be daylight, but the deadwood remains total darkness.”

Tempest held her makeshift spear closer. “I hate it.”

“We will have to deal with it.” Featherlight looked at Trixie and Rarity. Words died on his lips as he bit down on his selection of words. “I– I run those woods regularly, every two days or so. We’ll be fine if you follow my lead.”

“Why the spears?” Rarity asked, looking up at the jagged edge that ended her metal stick.

A genuine smile curled on Featherlight’s lips. “It’s a walking stick. Not a spear.”

Trixie and Rarity looked at their own rods. Rarity’s was slightly heavy, but the weight and the clacking sound it made against stones echoed reassuringly in her ears.

“Now we gotta go forward. You stay between Tempest and I, in a neat line. And try to walk in my footsteps. I don’t want you to slip.”

Rarity glanced down the hillside the beast had barreled through. It lacked steepness but made it up with ranges of spiked rotten bramble bushes. A trap.

“So where’re we going?” Rarity asked.

“There is another house several miles down the road. We can make it during the day if we carry on.” Featherlight stretched his arms to the sky. “I know this trail. By running I’d make it in about three hours. Walking… we should make it by nightfall.”

“Will the monster come back,” Trixie asked, huddling against Rarity.

“Monsters are rare during the day. They come out at dusk and stay till morning light.” Featherlight. “But the Deadwoods are unpredictable. Everything can happen and that’s why we should go now.”

Nobody protested.

As the procession carried down the path, Featherlight mentioned a few rules of runners. Never stop for any sound, any voices or anyone. Don’t be curious.

“Of course, the most important,” he whispered. “If you don’t walk alone, never peep, never steer and never look up.”

“But we’re here,” Trixie said, her voice a slimmer of a whisper. “Why are we still talking?”

“I’m not talking about you or any human.”

Nobody talked afterward. Rarity followed in Featherlight’s footsteps, her eyes riveted to the depressions he left in the caking mud that covered the pavement, she only heeded the sound of her rod as it hit sunken stones.

Landmarks sometimes dragger her attention away from the queue and Trixie, her hands closed on Rarity’s suspenders always steered her back.

Rarity saw houses, crumbled and void of life, rot at the side of the road. Those made of wood had long crumbled in heaps of fungi and moss. Those made of stones still stood. Covered with sickly vegetations, their window frame only held smudged teeth of glass that glinted under the droplets of water that glinted back the slivers of light that still pierced the fog.

Sometimes, instead of a house, a larger building still stood. Made of concrete, their bare style seemed to indicate a business inclination. Some still had doors and small signs hanging at the tip of a couple of chains. When thick covers of mush or ivy hadn’t engulfed them, Rarity could still decypher some of the words.

“What’s a Princess' Inn?” Rarity whispered.

“An inn is a place where people rest at night,” Trixie said with a low voice. Rarity felt the grip on her back slackened as Trixie threw a look at the old structure. “And as for a princess, that’s me.”

Tempest slapped Trixie on the back of her neck. She didn’t peep. Featherlight swallowed a laugh.

“Defend me, Feather,” Trixie bubbled.

“The great and powerful Trixie, a princess, shall attend to the needs of their people on their own.”

“Ass.”

“An inn as in the Workers’ house?” Rarity pressed on, a tinge of pain seized her heart as she thought of the wreckage she’d left behind. “Dormitories?”

Rarity glanced back. Trixie glanced back too, staring up at Tempest who glared back daggers.

“Slightly more upscale, let’s say,” Trixie notified.

Rarity nodded but came to a sudden halt as her eyes fixed on a strange, crooked thing.

It was small, and black. A small creature hanging on the branch of a dead tree overhanging the trail. Its beady black eyes glinted each time it blinked and its elongated, smooth jaw sprouted out of its slow-bobbing head. It cawed and Rarity flinched, her legs shaking under her.

“It’s a crow,” Featherlight reassured. “Just a bird. They’re rare around here.”

“I’ve never seen those before.” Rarity gasped as it opened its wings to reveal rows after rows of jet black feathers. “I’m only used to the canaries we bred for the mines.”

“Keep quiet and let’s move on,” Featherlight ordered, hastening his pace.

“Why?” Trixie asked, glaring at the observing bird.

“They’re carrion-eater.” Featherlight said. “Something around here is dying.”

“Dying?”

Featherlight turned around and raised a finger to his lips. With a motion of his hands, he pressed Rarity to keep forward, Trixie and Tempest at her back.

As Rarity focused on Featherlight’s slender legs and his shoes slushing in the mud, her ears caught a hissing fit further down the slop the road followed. Stone, wood or bone cracked and splintered beyond the mist. An avid eater swished and slurped over a jostling, whining victim.

Rarity never saw it. They walked right into the source of the sound, ethereal, invisible. They passed it and after long minutes she slowly looked back to Trixie and Tempest. Both were as confused as she, looking around wondering what had just occurred.

“Are you bleeding,” Trixie asked.

“No, why,” Rarity replied.

“You have… blood on your shoulders.”

Rarity plucked the top of her shirt and looked down several splashes of blood tainting her clothing. She looked up and her eyes went wide as the side droplets peppered Trixie’s silver hair.

“I’d rather not think about it,” Rarity said with a gulp.

“Then move out,” Tempest pestered, brushing her hair for anything stuck to it.

She pushed Rarity and Trixie further and kept going down the street. The rest of the walk went uneventful and by the time the sky started to grow dark, the outline of a large stone structure took shape through the thinning mist.

“We’re arriving at the barn.” Featherlight said.

Though no carts waited by the front of the bunker, light poured out from horizontal window slits.

As she walked closer, the swell of fried mushroom and meat tickled Rarity’s nostrils. The sudden void in her stomach grew loud and clear. She was tired, thirsty and hungry.

The door to the bunker was a thick slab of steel and many claw marks scratched its mate surface peppered with mud. Featherlight came up to it and banged five times consecutive times.

Multiple locks clicked open behind the door and a warm light blinded the troop. As Rarity’s eyes adjusted to the glare, a small lady stood in the open. An old lady.

“Oh, Featherlight,” she said with a shaky voice. “I see it’s not one of your bright day.” She leaned to the side. “And you brought company.”

A few seconds passed before she invited Featherlight inside. Rarity huddled in quick, pressed on by Trixie and Rarity. A blazing brazier set on steel table beamed light and warmth throughout the room, decorated with pattern tapestries and picture-coloured velours. Every colour was yellow, orange or red, warm and matching the fire that rage inside the bunker.

“Damn it’s hot in here,” Tempest breathed. “Reminds me of the deeper levels in the mine.”

“Glad you like it,” the old lady said, sitting back in her sofa. “Name’s Granny Smith. I run this establishment.”

“They’re not runners, Gran’,” Featherlight said as he took a seat on a stool, his legs trembling from fatigue. “Canterhigh was attacked yesterday.”

“I see,” Granny motioned to Tempest, Trixie and Rarity to find their own seating. “That’s why the convoy didn’t arrive today.”

“I don’t think any convoy will ever come again.”

“Trixie forbids you from saying that!” the aforementioned cried, pointing a finger at the bird of ill omen.

Featherlight clasped his hands together and sighed. “I’m sorry but the containment wall was completely destroyed around the northern gate.”

Granny Smith nodded. Whatever comments she had, she kept it to herself.

“That’s unfortunate,” the old lady said. “I’d hoped I’d never see the fall of a great city.”

She took off, snapping a cane off the sofa’s side and walked to a nearby small room. Nobody spoke, simply waiting for the old lady to come back. As she crossed the door frame with a platter in both her hands, Rarity sprung to her feet and offered to help.

“I’m old, but I’m not that old, young lady,” she pestered. “And you’re likely more tired than I am. The Deadwood drains the unhardened soul.”

Cups of mushroom soups passed around. Thick like the one Featherlight had cooked, it also contained freshly fried bits that mushed and sometimes cracked under Rarity’s teeth. She smiled.

“So, if you can’t walk backward,” Granny said between two seeps. “Where you’re heading to?”

“We don’t know,” Tempest confessed. “It’s more like we were fleeing something than we wanted to go somewhere.”

Tempest glanced at Rarity who gulped and looked down at her own brew.

“Actually…” Rarity took a deep breath. “I think I know where I want to go.”

She took off her arm out of the arm sling and, after a minute of search, made the mark glow under the bandage.

“So magic still exists,” Granny said, bending forward to get a better look.

Trixie walked to Rarity’s side and helped her unbandage the arm. The scarring process had started, and though the flesh was swollen and red, the brand was clearly visible, glowing blue out of closing furrows in her skin.

“I’m no witch,” Rarity muttered.

“I never said you were,” Granny chastised. “The Deadwood has its own surprises, I’ve seen better than some vulgar light shows.”

Tempest laughed.

“Why are you laughing?” Rarity sputtered.

“The thing you unearthed killed many. I’m sure.” She held her face in her hand. But were Rarity expected a smile she saw a grimace. “And that old fart just laughs in that situation.”

“Have some respect, lady,” Granny said without an ounce of anger. “One day you’ll be old like me. You’ll understand.”

“What is this?” Trixie exclaimed.

She looked down at an old chest of drawers. Covered with an expertly knitted cloth, ia single white ceramic plate stood on top and a small ball rested in it.

Rarity had never seen such a deeply vivid green. The lining of the ball was beautiful and shone under the brazier’s light. A single green leaf hung out of its top and fluttered under Trixie’s breath.

“That’s an apple, you see,” she said. “The faceless girl brings one to me every so and then.”

“We saw her,” Trixie said not without a flinch. “She ran past us.”

“Oh, don’t worry next time. She’s a sweet. Doesn’t talk much, though. Of course. I could picture a smile on her face every time I give her my ashes.”

“Your ashes?”

“The girl collects my brazier’s ashes. For what? I don’t know. He never told me. I’m sure the apples are her way to repay me.”

“What’s an apple for?” Rarity asked, standing up to look at the apple object closer.

“What for? Well, it’s for eating of course!”

“I’ve never seen one,” Rarity said, turning to Granny with curious eyes. “What does it taste like?”

“Well, let’s try,” Granny said, retrieving a small knife from her pocket.

“Oh, no, no,” Rarity protested. “You could sell those for a hefty price on the black market if it’s food.”

Granny laughed. “Oh, my poor dear. Tell me if you see any merchants hiding under my rug? Then maybe I’ll sell it. And if what your friend told me is true, I don’t expect many coming my way anymore.”

She took it in her hand and cut thin slices out of it. Stabbing in each, she let everyone pick a slice off.

Rarity looked down on her own. It oozed juices and had a peculiar crisp smell that tickled her nostrils. She waited for Granny to take a bite to follow.

The taste exploded in her mouth and found it hard to gulp. The sweetness balanced with a strong sparkliness she’d never tasted before. The slice went down quickly and Rarity found herself wanting for more.

She looked up and saw Tempest hadn’t tried hers. She simply smelled it and smiled.

Trixie too had never seen one before, she’d taken a bite but held the remaining half in the palm of her hand. “How long can I keep it?”

Granny chuckled. “Oh, you better eat it now. It’s going to oxidize soon.”

Tempest sputtered. “Am I eating metal?”

The old woman laughed out loud, wiping a tear off the crinkle of her eye. “No, no. It’s just going to turn mushy and brown in minutes.”

Tempest ate her piece rapidly afterwards and she smiled as well.

“You sure have a well-meaning neighbor,” Featherlight said, licking his fingers.

“She’s a sweet.”

The night was deep when Granny rolled out some blankets and Trixie went fast to sleep. Rarity, Tempest and Featherlight stayed up. So did Granny.

They shared a seat around the brazier, staring at the crackling embers and the strong heat that radiated on everyone’s faces. Heat was good. Rarity liked it and closed her eyes as she felt her skin burn softly.

“So where are we going?” Tempest asked.

“You,” Featherlight said. “I’m not going.”

Rarity opened her eyes, catching Tempest throwing him a look. “You’re staying here?”

“No, I’m going back to Canterhigh.”

“You’re crazy,” Rarity stammered. “You saw damn well what’s there.”

“And I’m still bound to my contract to Trixie’s father. I must go back, even if it’s to help fight what’s likely to be creeping in the city, right now.”

Rarity imagined monsters, the one they’d faced the night before, but also the one from bedtime stories told to kids around hot coals.

“Will you tell here?” Rarity asked, turning to the huddled form of Trixie under a musty blanket.

“No,” he said. “I don’t want the melodrama. I must go and that’s it. She just like me to piss off her father. It’s not what I want and it’s not what she needs. Especially now.”

“You better rest,” Granny cut in the deep of the conversation. “Tomorrow you must leave.”

“Must?” Rarity asked, fixating the lovely brazier.

“Anyone is allowed to stay for a single night, usually I’d also take a payment. But…” She motioned at their ripped clothes. “I’m not robbing homeless folks.”

Tempest chuckled. “We… are.” A wistful smile crawled on her lips.

“Yes, we are,” Rarity repeated. “And, I don’t know, but even though it happened, the lost and the dead, I am… happy?”

Tempest nodded. “We’re… free, I guess?”

Featherlight’s face darkened. His chest took one long breath. Rarity readied for a lash out. It never came. Featherlight exhaled, stood up, and snatched a blanket. He walked to the door frame to a side room and stopped before he stepped through the door frame. He sighed and swivelled to look back at the Brazier, Tempest and Rarity.

“I don’t think we will ever see each other. I just hope the best for you, wherever you’re going.”

Tempest nodded.

“Thanks,” said Rarity. “I just hope you’ll be able to help.”

“Help repair what you caused?” Featherlight’s tired eyes widened. He signed against and buried his face in his hand. “I’m sorry. I just… I just think we must part ways. Tell Trixie I love her and I’m gone looking her father.”

He passed the door frame and disappeared into the darkness of the room beyond.

“I think we need to sleep too,” Tempest commented. She turned to Granny. “Thanks for sheltering us.”

“None taken,” she said. “Beware, I snore.”

Granny pushed her chair away from the brazier and sat back in, facing the light. Tempest and Rarity took the last blanket, the largest.

They wrapped each other in the corner of the room. Tempest smelled of earth, mud and sweat. Rarity felt back in the mine, minus the barren smell and taste of coal. Tempest wrapped an arm around Rarity and they huddled together. It was uncomfortable but less so than the dormitories. Rarity back rocked against Tempest’s abs and she embraced the strong purple hands under the covers.

The night was a dreamless one.