The Trials of Shmarity: an Ogres and Oubliettes Story

by TheMessenger

26. Howling on the Moonsea

26. Howling on the Moonsea

The world around Rarity spun, robbing her of her sight, her breath, and all sense of direction. Outward pressure forced her eyes shut, and every time she opened her mouth to take in air, something cold and fluid rushed in and threatened to flood her lungs. Up, down, left, right, front, back, all became meaningless as her limbs flailed about, grasping nothing but the cold darkness that surrounded her. She tried to move herself, but her hooves found nothing to push off against.

Her legs were growing heavy as Rarity’s efforts quickly sapped away her energy. It soon felt like trying to force her legs through honey or congealed syrup. They went limp, and her chest tightened as she could feel the bottom of her air reserves. Her mind raced, screaming and yelling in the place of her closed mouth. Her panicked thoughts drowned out the small reasonable part of her that was still calling for calm, and they continued to ring out in Rarity’s head even as her mind slowly went blank and her body started to shut down.

All of sudden, Rarity felt something burn against her chest. The sensation forced her back into consciousness, and her eyes forcibly flew open. Her vision was blurry, and at first all she could see was a bright glow in front of her. Slowly, very slowly, the blurriness faded, and out of the light Rarity could just barely make out the shape of a long, lanky figure. As she continued to squint, more and more details could be seen. Mismatched wings. A body of brown fur. Red scales covering the tail. A flowing mane.

The burning on her chest continued, and Rarity looked down to see that her silver pendant was wreathed in a hot white flame. It seemed to pull away from her, as if trying to escape from the chain it was attached to. Carefully, Rarity grabbed the symbol, but the searing pain she had been expecting never came. Rather, the silver snowflake felt cool against her hoof despite the fire that appeared to be covering it.

A lion’s paw closed her hoof over the symbol. Rarity looked up to face the Queen of Fey that now stood mere inches from her.

“What do you want?” they asked her.

Air! her struggling mind screamed desperately. The darkness on the edges of her vision was expanding. Breath!

With a small, rueful grin, they extended a single talon from their eagle’s claw.

“This is two. You have one more.”

The mysterious being, the light, and the heat all disappeared, leaving Rarity alone in the dark and cold once more. Her mouth opened in panic, and her lungs were filled with air. Life sprung back into her limbs, and with each breath she swallowed, her mind became clearer. Rarity forced her legs to move together, coordinating them so that each stroke cut through her surroundings and caused her body to move.

Upwards she went, up and up until her legs tired. Exhausted, she closed her eyes and let herself drift and be carried away by the momentum. A short break, she said to herself, just until she had regain some strength.

Some time later, Rarity was awoken by something hitting against her. She couldn’t tell what, couldn’t tell where, only that it was there and that she could touch it. More feelings were returning, first something cold and fleeting that kept coming back and then something warm and constant. Those conflicting temperatures slowly shifted around until Rarity slowly came to realize that they were from different sources, coming from different directions.

The cold was below her or maybe behind her, and the warm was above. And the thing she had felt initially, it was in front of her. She could still feel it’s rough texture against her cheek. Rarity tried to move her hoof to get a better sense of the object that she had bumped against. Her leg, however, was as heavy as a stone and refused to lift. She tried again, and this time she was rewarded with a small twitch.

Rarity decided to try something potentially easier. Her eyelids slowly fluttered open, and immediately she regretted doing so as a bright beam of light assaulted her vision and left her blinded. She hissed out in pain, and in doing so, she took in a deep breath of fresh air. Coughs overtook her as she forcefully expunged salty water from her windpipe and stomach.

Slowly, as her strength returned and her legs begun to obey her commands, Rarity propped herself up into a crawling position and winced as her belly and shins scrapped over the coarse surface. Keeping her head low, she tried opening her eyes again, slower this time, and she found herself on a patch of sand. The brightness was still present, but as long as she didn’t stare up at the sun overhead, the source of both the light and the warmth, Rarity‘s sight was largely unaffected, with her eyes already adjusting to these new conditions.

A wave collapsed onto her lower body before retreating to the rest of the sea behind her. Rarity shivered from the freezing water and crawled through the sand, struggling with the weight of her soaked clothes until she got to drier ground. Once out of the sea’s reach, the exhausted and panting mare plopped right back down, the short movement having used up what little of her energy had been restored. She flipped herself over onto her back to enjoy the sun’s rays while she waited for her strength to recovered and her cloak to dry. After a few moments of rest, Rarity sat up and with her hoof raised to shield her eyes, she looked around and took in her new surroundings.

Besides some seaweed and a couple of crabs scurrying about in the sand, the beach she suddenly found herself was empty. There were no ponies or other sapients around sunbathing on towels or playing in the ocean, no umbrellas set up for shade or coolers full of cool drinks and snacks. The only sounds were the crashing of waves and the screams of gulls up above. Out in the distance, Rarity could spot the rooftops of a sizable town maybe only a couple of hours or so away. It being a bit peculiar that she was the only one around considering the perfect weather and the beach’s proximity to a settlement was Rarity’s first thought before her muddled mind finished clearing and she remembered more pressing matters, namely that she had no idea as to how she got here.

Another attack of anxiety threatened to overwhelm her, but after a few calming breaths, Rarity shook aside the panic and the accompanying dizziness. “Focus, Rarity,” she muttered to herself as she waited for her scrambling thoughts to slow down and for her most recent memories to stop being so fuzzy. She had been on a ship, that much Rarity knew, Brine Drinker’s ship, the Merry Landing, on a trip south to the port of New Tesaddledale. She could still recall her purpose, thank goodness, to find the schools of magic and learn about necromancy and how it could save her friends. That and all her memories of Baldursgait and everything before then all seemed intact, but none of that explained how or why she was at her current location.

Rarity went back to the start of their voyage, to the days that followed her goodbyes to Sir Gustford and Baldursgait. There wasn’t a whole lot to recall, just some attempts to befriend the other passengers that went largely nowhere, what with the crew members almost always busy and keeping to themselves and those she shared a cabin with either too grumpy or too shy to hold much of a conversation, at least at first. The captain would come down regularly for the first few days to check up on her and make sure everything was well, but Brine never stayed long, and Rarity figured it was out of obligation and fear of whatever Gustford had threatened.

She remembered the first week as just trying to get used to it all, to the cramped and stuffy room, to the cold nights and uncomfortable sleeping conditions, the constant and disorienting rocking, the lack of sun and fresh air as the stormy weather discouraged venturing up to the ship’s main deck, the groaning coming from the old stallion suffering from seasickness in the hammock across from her. Then there were the meals which varied from mediocre to downright horrendous, with breakfasts of bland porridge and dried seaweed and maybe some preserved fruits and evenings capping off with a sickly looking stew made of half a dozen secret ingredients followed by a long line to the restroom, all accompanied by biscuits hard as rocks and stale water flavored with salt and lemon and prepared by an ancient mare with a lazy eye and questionable hygiene. And then figuring out the toilet itself which consisted of a hole in the floor with a cover and no seat or flushing mechanism was a whole other challenge, especially for a mare like Rarity. At least there was a door that provided some privacy, though she could have done without all the impatient knocking and demands for her to hurry up coming from the other side.

Worst of all was the boredom. In all their preparations, neither she nor Gustford had bothered to pack anything for her to occupy herself with, and she wasn’t sure if even Pinkie Pie with all of her inventiveness and knack for fun could have come up with a game involving a lodestone, a tinderbox, and a knife. Rarity did still have the sewing kit from Elder Woods, but there was only enough thread and cloth to repair light tears and patch up small holes, not even enough to attempt a doll’s dress, and Rarity hadn’t become so desperate that she would deliberately damage her own clothing just so she’d have something to do. Even her own imagination had started to fail her, with her daydreams becoming more and more mundane, and despite recognizing the possible dangers, she had even considered experimenting with the symbol of power the Queen of Fey had bestowed upon her, if only to contact the mysterious being themself and having some creature else to talk to.

Then came the second week, and with it came the sun. The storm had passed, and the waves no longer battered and rocked the ship as intensely, giving those down below a chance to finally walk around the main deck and stretch out those sea legs. Rarity could remember how wonderful the sun felt against her face, how refreshing the sea air had been to breath in, and how beautiful the clear blue ocean before her eyes was.

That week was also the week that Bluestockings returned Rarity’s morning salutation not with her usual nod but with a small smile and a shy “G-good morning.” It had been a small step, but it was a start that as the days continued blossomed into fully engaging conversations about her work as an archivist, her life in Candelkeep, and complaints about her boss, Professor Don Pedagogue. And books, oh how the mare’s eyes would light up whenever she could lead their discussion to the topic of the literature she had come across, like the cargo they were currently ferrying and what was in all the crates that took up about a quarter of their cabin. Personal journals from famed mages and biographical accounts of accomplished wizards, research on experimental spells and recipes for untested magic potions, notes on mystical artifacts and beasts, anything that the southern schools of magic might have found of interest was taken from Candelkeep’s shelves in the light of the Squid Wizard’s rumored movement, Bluestockings had eventually explained to Rarity, and from there Rarity learned what she could of the schools themselves.

There were eight schools in total, one for each category of magic. Each was led by a headmaster, chosen through rites unique to their respective schools, and together the headmasters formed a council that directed their collective interactions with the outside world. Really, the schools apparently had enough land, resources, and populace to run as an autonomous nation, making it much more than the Princess Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns equivalent that Rarity had initially assumed, and largely kept themselves isolated from the rest of the world. Now that wasn’t to say commerce between the schools and outsiders and the acceptance of visitors wasn’t unheard of, and every so often a student from the schools would make a lasting mark in the annals of world history, but details on their inner workings remained admittedly scarce. Not even Candelkeep had many records on the subject, and of the eight schools, Bluestockings could only name four, enchantment, divination, illusion, transmutation, though when Rarity mentioned necromancy the archivist did say that the term sounded somewhat familiar. Where she had heard or read about subject, however, Bluestockings couldn’t recall, and she had to admit that magic had never really interested her as a topic. Professor Pedagogue would have most likely known more as according to Bluestockings he was an actual scholar whose life work had been on the study of wizards, but the grumpy old stallion stayed old and grumpy and gave Rarity no opportunities or openings no matter what flatteries she tried on him.

Having somepony to talk to helped move time along, even if the usefulness of Bluestockings’s knowledge was somewhat limited, and the days quickly blurred by. The weather had become sporadic, with skies clear as crystal one morning, then pouring rain and thunder and lightning with waves nearly powerful enough to knock her off her feet the very next. She remembered noticing a strange mood had fallen over the crew and there being an uncharacteristic silence in the mess hall during meals. The rowdy yells and laughs had been replaced with hushed whispers about sightings of large shadows underneath the waves. Even on days with nice weather, when Rarity could climb up and bask in the sun, there was an air of nervousness and unease on the main deck, with a number of watchful sailors pointing loaded crossbows and harpoons at the sea. An additional pair of arbalests the size of multiple adult ponies had been set up, one for each side of the ship, with ammunition as thick as Rarity’s entire leg placed easily within the reach of their vigilant operators.

The tension she had observed of the crew had also put Rarity on edge, and Brine Drinker’s assurances that there was really nothing to worry about and that it was all just excitement over the rumored dangers of the south seas being apparently exaggerated and the journey approaching its end did little to relax her. Still, as the week passed, Rarity had noted nothing else out of the ordinary and certainly nothing that would have required all that heightened security. The only thing noteworthy that had happened was an announcement during supper one evening, when Brine stood up in front of the gathered creatures and to their cheers he announced that they had spotted New Tesaddledale and would be arriving the next day.

Rarity closed her eyes as she tried to recall her last night aboard the Merry Landing. There, yes, there had been a celebration following the captain’s announcement, and they had rolled out a barrel of some sweet, syrupy drink that had left her feeling light-headed after a single cup. She remembered leaving early, making her way to the guest cabin, her steps unsteady as she swayed with the waves, crawling into her hanging bed, shutting her eyes, falling asleep, and, and—

Tumbling out of her hammock and waking up to the impact of her face against the floor, fighting to stand up as the ship lurch back and forth violently, her ears flattening at the harsh sounds of shoutings and the splintering of wood, her grogginess disappearing at the sensation of water against her hooves. Rarity’s eyes flew open. The beach was gone, and she had returned to that cabin, alone, rushing to get dressed. She hurried out, doing her best to avoid the growing puddles as she stepped into the hall and was greeted by a loud and passionate discussion between Professor Pedagogue and Brine Drinker.

“—don’t care! We paid you good money to carry this cargo, darn it all. Don’t you dare touch—“

“If we don’t get rid of all the excess weight, you won’t live to complain! We’ve already jettisoned the foodstuffs. Your blasted books are all that’s left.“

“I don’t want to hear it! Those books are worth more than this entire ship and your crew combined. Do your darn job, you—“

“Professor, please calm down,” Bluestockings was pleading while a couple of sailors carrying wooden boards and tools watched and waited for them to move out of their way. All attention shifted to Rarity as the sound of her steps announced her approach.

“What’s going on?” Rarity asked, turning to each of them for answers. Her gaze quickly settled on Brine Drinker who wipe some moisture from his face and tried to smile.

“Oh, you’re awake. Good, good,” the hippogriff said with a shaky nod. “Um, yeah, we’ve got a bit of a, a situation, yeah?” He motioned to the waiting crew members and stepped to the side to make room for them to move by. “Got some leaks, taking on a bit of water, but don’t worry. We’ll have everything under control soon.”

The entire ship suddenly tilted to the side, sending everyone against the wall for a good number of seconds before the vessel righted itself. Screams could be heard coming from the main deck. “Under control my foot,” Pedagogue grumbled as his assistant helped him up. “And you put those down!” the old stallion yelled at a group of sailors who were bringing up boxes from the hold below. “Don’t you dare think of—“

He stumbled forward, fighting the boat’s erratic movement as he continued to shout. Bluestockings went after him immediately after she got her balance back, but Brine hesitated before turning to Rarity. “Okay, uh. You, go to my quarters. It’s that room right next to the steering, on the, with the door and, you know what I’m talking about, yeah?”

“I—“

“Good, good. You’ll be safer up there,” Brine Drinker exclaimed, pointing her toward the stairway that led to the main deck before he ran off and threw himself into the escalating argument between his crew mates and Pedagogue. The ship shook again, spurring Rarity out of her confused stupor and into a dash in the direction Brine had given her. Up the stairs she went, fighting to keep her footing as the ship continued to sway until she had successfully stepped onto the deck above, noisy with screams, shouts, and the crashing of waves, and beheld the scene that awaited her.

The light of so many lanterns cut through the night’s darkness, several which were pointed at the ship’s main mast. It took Rarity a few moments to look past the mob of bodies in the way before she saw the massive tentacle that was wrapped around the length of the post and ran over the ship’s side and into the ocean. Additional tendrils slithered aboard, creating cracks in the wood as they tightened around the Merry Landing. Brine’s crew descended upon the lengthy appendages as some hacked away at them with hatchets and knives while others armed with crossbows fired their bolts into the waves, at the owner of the tentacles hidden beneath them.

A deep, gargled howl from below drowned out all other sounds as one of the tentacles was cut free. The whole ship jerked, sending Rarity forward and into a passing griffon. “Watch it!” they exclaimed before hurrying on. Less than a second later, another creature bumped into her back as they charged by.

“Get out of the way,” they growled, and as several others followed with lanterns and blades in their hooves and claws, Rarity quickly moved to the side, giving them plenty of room to pass. A path to Brine’s personal cabin eventually opened to her, but with how much the ship was rocking about, the few yards between her and that shelter might as well have been miles. The crew’s battle against the tentacled beast continued around her with no end in sight as the tentacles started fighting back by shaking off their attackers and flinging them away, and Rarity turned instead to the stairs she had just climbed. She wasn’t sure what Brine Drinker was thinking, sending her up here. Surely it would have been safer to remain below deck. She started back to the stairway.

There was another guttural wail as the the center mast was suddenly released. Rarity moved as the ship moved, but when the ship stopped pitching forward she kept going, all the way to the boat’s edge into the embrace of the waiting sea. Who knew if any creature heard her screams over the winds and the sea monster’s howls before that mighty wave finished sweeping over her, silencing her and dragging her overboard. The world around Rarity started to spin, robbing her of her sight, her breath, and all sense of direction as she plunged into the chilling darkness. Then came the panicked struggling, the frantic attempts to swim up and her growing desperation as her energy ran out, the Queen of Fey suddenly appearing, the fading. Suddenly, Rarity was back on the beach, alone, her cloak becoming crusty with sand as it finished drying.

She looked to the sea and squinted against the glare of the sun as she scanned the waters for a ship. Hours must have passed already, considering the sun’s current position, and yet maybe, maybe she hoped...no. There was no sign of the Merry Landing to be found or of any vessel for that matter. The sea was deserted, and Rarity’s spirits threatened to sink to its deepest depth.

She stood up and forcefully turned her focus away from agonizing on the Merry Landing’s potential fate and instead to her own predicament. She didn’t see any pieces of a wreckage in the water, and there weren’t any broken wooden boards or the like littering the sands around her, so perhaps the ship managed to get away safely. Hope still existed for Brine Drinker, his crew, and his remaining passengers, less so for Rarity if she didn’t figure out where she was and what she was going to do next.

Determining how she ended up here in the first place was a decent start. She supposed heading over to those buildings she had spotted would be a pretty good second step. She could work with the locals there to get a better idea of her current location. Brine Drinker did said that New Tesaddledale had been relatively close, maybe that was the city over there. And if not, well, Rarity could only assume she was now in the southern lands. Hopefully, she’d be able to find passage to the schools of magic from there, or at the very least she’d be able to resupply and find some place to take shelter while she adjusted her plan accordingly.

Speaking of supplies, it would probably be wise to take inventory so she knew what she had to work with right now. First was the silver symbol from the Queen of Fey which thankfully remained secured around her neck, and as she held up the pendant, Rarity recalled the burning she had felt and the appearance of the Queen of Fey themselves. Had it just been a dream, a hallucination created by her subconscious as her mind was shutting down? She brought the pendant closer as if a more thorough examination would reveal the truth.

”That’s two. You get one more. Make it count.”

Echoing laughter followed the Queen of Fey’s voice. Rarity glanced around, but nothing had changed; she was still the only being on the beach. Shivering, she tucked the silver symbol back under her cloak and started to dig through her cloak’s pockets, continuing her assessment of her belongings. In them, Rarity found her coin purse and her sack of diamonds, the contents of both being perfectly fine, much to her relief. There was only one dagger with them, however, and no matter how hard she rummaged, she could not make the one that Gustford had bought her appear. Her medical kit and healing potions, those extra rations, tinderbox, rope, every that had been in her saddlebags was back on the ship. The ugly bronze anklet Gustford had insisted on getting her remained around her foreleg, however, as she must have forgotten to remove it before going to bed, but the same could not be said about her new dress and hat.

Rarity’s shoulders slumped at the realization. All that preparing, the gold they spent, those hours in the market searching for bargains and the effort put into haggling down prices, it had all gone to waste.

All the more reason to head into town, Rarity supposed as she patted her cheeks and shook herself out of her growing pessimism. She still had the funds to buy new supplies with, that was something to be grateful for at least. She tucked everything back into her cloak, and after a few quick stretches, she started crossing the yellow plains on her way to the city in the distance.

Trudging through all that sand wasn’t easy, and the lack of a proper road made travel all the more difficult. As she got further and further away from the sea and its cooling breeze, the sun’s warm, gentle caress became a smothering weight that left her sweltering and sweating. By the end of her first hour, Rarity couldn’t help but pant, and her mouth and throat were as arid as the land and air around her. Longing thoughts of her canteens full of water that were back on the ship with the rest of her unavailable supplies worsened her thirst, and the lack of companions or any interesting scenery meant that the only other thing she had to occupy her mind with was the discouraging observation that those structures she had been marching toward appeared no closer than when she started.

Rarity continued on, with sweat dripping from her brow and the sun beating down on her back. Her pace had slowed, but she kept it steady, and eventually her perseverance rewarded her with the sightings of a few palm trees and a bit more of the buildings ahead. A little later and now she could see the town’s entrance. The sounds of life, of bustling traffic and vibrant chatter, could soon be heard coming from that collection of tall beige buildings, fueling the motion of her legs as the noise grew louder and the buildings became larger with each step forward.

At last, an exhausted Rarity arrived to find the place as busy as its clamor had suggested. She had barely taken five step into the city before she found herself facing a huge crowd of creatures. Most were minotaurs of various shapes, colors, and statures, including a number of hornless, buxom specimens Rarity could only assume were females that were no less muscular or shirtless than their male counterparts. Bipedal felines, many of whom Rarity noted were shaved, and tall, slender horses like those from Saddle Arabia with coats of muted light colors made up the population’s other half. Colorful banners cascaded off the sides of buildings and canopied stalls flanked the streets as their owners fought for the attention of passing pedestrians.

“Spices! Spices for sale! Perfect for curry, soup, whatever!”

“Hey, you! Yes, you. You are an adventurer, are you not? Heading to the old tomb, I bet. You will be wanting one of my maps.”

“Friends, come and see what curatives I have in store for you. Bad joints? Bad breath? Bad luck? It matters not what ails you, these potions will fix you right up. Straight from the schools of magic themselves, I swear!”

“Blessings! Fortunes! Savras knows all, sees all, for a price of course.”

“This is the only place where you will find eastern silk of this quality, and this is the last day to get it. Buy some, while my supply lasts!”

“Scrolls! Books! Magic items! If you are thinking of dabbling in the arcane arts, do not walk away before seeing what I have.”

“Fresh watermelons! Perfect for such a day, yes? Come and get them here!”

The mention of melons caused Rarity to stop and turn as she was reminded of the dryness of her throat. The last time she had had anything to eat must have been several hours ago, so she could used something to fill her belly as well. Rarity fought her way through the crowd, keeping an ear up for the cries of the melon merchant and a hoof over the front of her cloak to dissuade any potential thieves until she reached a cart parked within the shade of a large parasol. Leaned against the cart was an upright feline lazily cooling himself with a paper fan as he continued to call for customers. Like many of the other cat folks Rarity had seen around here, his fur had been removed, leaving his body naked to the skin save for the thin cloth vest he wore, a brush of fur on his head that ran from the tip of his forehead to the back of his neck, a bit like the crest of a Canterlot guard’s helmet, and a wispy tuff of hair under his chin.

The wagon was laden with the melons the cat had been advertising, all nicely round and plump. There were a few already split into sections sitting on a cutting board and next to a giant cleaver, their bright red innards exposed and on full display, in contrast with the greens of their outer skin. Rarity’s mouth would have watered at the sight of the fruit glistering with juice had she the saliva to spare.

The cat smiled when he noticed Rarity’s approach. “Ah, here for my melons, miss? A fine decision, especially in this weather, am I right?” He chuckled. “Full melons are sold by the pound, but if you are just looking for a quick snack, that can be arranged.” He gestured to the wedges on the wooden board.

Rarity pointed to one of the smaller pieces. “Could I get half of that one, please?”

“Certainly, for a couple of shekels. Or, ah.” The cat tilted his head at Rarity as he stared and hummed. “You are from, the north, yes? From Spiketopia?” Rarity nodded. “And you have gold and silver?” She nodded again. “Excellent! Let me see your silver.”

Rarity took out a silver coin and deposited it in the cat’s outstretched paw. He pulled the coin close and took some time to examine it carefully, bringing it right to his eye and holding it up so that the sun’s light would bounce off its shiny surface. Finally, he gave Rarity a satisfied nod. “It is good silver,” he said. “A little light but still good quality. Two more will get you your melon.”

Two additional silver pieces joined the first. The cat picked up the oversized knife and slammed it straight through the piece of melon that Rarity had requested, splitting it in half with a single, startling cleave. “Here you are, miss,” he said, holding the still large but now manageable melon slice to Rarity with one paw, and with another he wiped the knife’s blade. “Enjoy.”

Rarity nodded her thanks before taking a small bite out of the melon. Water flooded her mouth before she had even finished her first chew, bringing some much needed moisture to her dry mouth and throat while coating her tongue with a mildly sweet flavor. Her next few bites were far less ladylike, and pretty soon droplets of pink juice started to dribble from her lips and her cheeks became stuffed with seeds.

“Um, excuse me,” Rarity said to the melon merchant through the side of her mouth as she tried to keep all the seeds on the other side, “do you have a trash can or a bag?”

The cat stared at her with a cocked eyebrow before gesturing first to the ground then to the side where two minotaurs stood in the shade of a nearby building devouring their own melons. A sizable pile of black seeds and green skins was growing steadily at the base of their cloven hooves with each bite they finished.

“Ah.” A couple of seeds escaped as Rarity’s mouth opened slightly out of disgust and disbelief over the implied suggestion. She looked around, and when she couldn’t find any other options, Rarity took another big bite of watermelon and used the liquid to force the accumulated seeds down her gullet. It wasn’t a painless process nor was it all that elegant, but in her opinion, it was a far cry better than spitting in public.

The cat’s expression went from confusion to bemusement. “You are not thinking of doing the same with the rind, are you miss?” he asked with a chuckle. “No, you can just toss it on the ground when you’re done. They will be letting the pigs out later anyways.”

Rarity did exactly that once she had finished, leaving the leftover skin she couldn’t eat in the sand with a bunch of other discarded rinds and pieces of fallen fruit. She dabbed away the juice still on her lips and turned to the noisy street behind her. “Is it normally this crowded?” she asked.

“But of course. The free market bazaar comes but once every thirty moons,” the feline folk answered. “Cowdim-La is a modest little place, so this, this is nothing. You should see how bad it gets in Al-Qarein.”

“I see. Are you a local to, you called this town Cowdim-La?” The name felt odd coming off Rarity’s tongue

“Oh, no, not exactly,” the cat said with a shake of his head. “My home, my farm, it is at a village that is perhaps half a day of travel from here, miss. I am simply here to be part in the festivities and take advantage of the relaxed market regulations. But the way I see you devour my melon, you would not have been able to tell it was an inferior product, eh?” He threw his head back and laughed. “I kid, miss, I kid. My melons are good melons, even if I have no papers to prove it.”

“Then, are you familiar with this area?” Rarity inquired. “I’m looking for a way to get to the schools of magic, and it’s a matter of great urgency.”

“Ah, the famous schools of magic,” the cat said, stroking at his little beard. He gave Rarity a small, sad smile. “I am afraid I cannot help you there, miss. I have no experience in the dealings of magus. My expertise lies in my melons, and I am afraid you have already taken too much of my time away from them. I would be more than happy to sell you another slice, otherwise you best look elsewhere.”

Rarity followed the cat’s paw toward the crush of bodies before them. “Would you happen to know if there is any creature in town that could help me in this regard? Anyone who would know more about the schools and how to get there, perhaps?”

The cat shrugged. “It is the free market bazaar, miss. Everyone is selling just about everything. Speaking of which, melons! Come for the freshest, juiciest watermelons around! Perfect for a day like today, no? Come and get your melons here!”

The farmer continued to add his claims to the din, his voice fighting against those of all the other merchants for airspace as Rarity took a deep breath and plunged into the tumultuous street and became one with the crowd.