The Sparrow in the Storm

by The 24th Pegasus

1-7

Typhoon waded through a river of blood, hot, rancid, and sticky.

It lapped at her chest and had fouled her feathers to the point they were useless. They were ratty and matted needles poking out of bloodstained wings like straw, and flapping her wings gave her no lift whatsoever. It only served to splash blood around, blood that inevitably found its way into her mouth, her eyes, her nose.

Somewhere in the distance, high-pitched shrieking and chirping rose above the ocean of crimson, angry, pained… and growing louder.

Typhoon gritted her teeth, tasting copper on her tongue, and tried to wade through it as quickly as she could. She tried to use her magic to freeze the deluge of death so she could climb over it, but it failed to answer her summons. Her hooves slipped on bones beneath the crimson tide, and she momentarily floundered in the blood as she tried to regain her footing, wings flailing wildly. When she did, she greedily sucked down air, and bloodshot eyes fixated on the gray silhouette of land in front of her.

It was the only way out.

She set off as quickly as she could, all six limbs splashing through the blood as she hopped and swam for the only solid ground she could see in any direction—all the while the screeching behind her steadily grew louder. She hazarded a look back over her shoulder to see a gray cloud of leathery wings and fangs closing in from the scarlet horizon, and her heart jumped into her throat. She knew what would happen if that ball of death fell upon her. Land was her only hope.

Blood splattered in her eyes, rendering her all but blind, but she felt the ground beneath her hooves begin to rise. Somehow she had made it, and she threw herself onto solid ground in relief, the blood dripping off of her limbs and body. But as soon as she collected herself, she realized something was deeply wrong. She wiped the blood out of her eyes and gasped in shock when she realized she wasn’t standing on land. No, the island in the sea of blood was a tangle of lifeless bodies, pegasus, unicorn, and earth pony alike, all dead from grievous wounds as if it was the work of a bloody hatchet. But their wounds did not weep. Instead, they were all frozen over, scoured by some hellish blade and then sealed shut with ice. The cold emanating from them only added an unearthly chill to the island of graves Typhoon now stood on.

And in the center, impaled to the bodies beneath it, was a purple unicorn’s head, a silver crown encircling her sandy blond mane, and her horn replaced by a curved blue sword that ran through her skull, throwing off frosty clouds from the length of its naked steel.

“No,” Typhoon croaked, reaching a hoof out toward the head of the unicorn queen as she staggered closer. “No, I-I never…” But her words were drowned out beneath a cacophony of screams.

Typhoon looked up.

A tempest of fangs and leathery wings fell on her, ripping, tearing, and snapping.

-----

Typhoon awoke with a gasp that turned into a choked scream as a lance of pain stabbed through her lung. She gritted her teeth and curled up on reflex, dragging her limbs across the stony, sooty ground beneath her. Her ragged breathing turned into coughing that in turn became more pained grunting, but after holding her breath for as long as she could and trying to will the pain to subside, she finally got enough clarity in her senses and control over her body to assess the situation.

She raised her head from the ground, feeling soot and ashes coating her face, and when she gave it a shake, they fell from her coat like gray snow. The cave floor all around her was similarly coated with ash, though it was hard to make anything out with the minimal amount of sunlight that made it into Firestorm’s lair. But what did get inside illuminated the twisted and charred remains of the dragoness’ hoard, burnt to cinders by her dragonfire and still smoldering faintly.

Of the dragon herself, there was no sign. Typhoon was surprised that Firestorm hadn’t come back to finish her while she was unconscious, but destroying the dragon’s hoard and chasing her off after proving she was capable of killing the ‘Marquise’ must have convinced the crimson reptile to not risk it. As it was, Typhoon could only hope that she had flown far, far away from here and would never come back. She didn’t think she had it in her to fight the dragon off again, especially not without her magic and barely able to fly.

It took the aid of Typhoon’s wings to force herself off the ground and stand upright on shaky legs. Her head swam and her vision flickered red from the pain, but she mustered what magic had returned to her while she was out cold to press her hoof to her injured ribs and coat her belly with a layer of ice to cool and numb the pain. It was then that she realized the miserable state of her Legion armor, bent in some places from Firestorm’s devastating blow and split through in others, with her helmet completely missing. Gritting her teeth, Typhoon shed the entire metal mess, leaving it in a pile on the cave floor only after pausing long enough to remove her saddlebags from the outside. The strap on one of the bags had broken and its contents were missing, no doubt strewn across the forest outside of Firestorm’s lair…

Her breath hitched in her throat, eliciting in turn a pained cough that left her wincing and grimacing. Her sword. She’d lost it somewhere in the forest when Firestorm struck her. She needed to get it back, needed to find it. Losing it wasn’t something she could afford—not after everything else she’d lost in the past few years.

It was the last thing that remained of her family that she had to her name.

She started to hobble toward the exit of Firestorm’s lair, but before she departed, she looked back at what remained of the dragon’s hoard. The promise she made to Bluegrass (and in turn, the Penny twins) came back to her mind, and she instead made her way back to the pile of bits and gems in the middle, the only thing to not burn in the fire. With her newly empty saddlebag, she scooped as many gold coins and gems into it as she could, baring her teeth slightly at the uncomfortable sensation of the much heavier bag on her left than her right. That would do as payment for the merchants, and likely then some. And if they were brave enough, there was more waiting here for them or any other brave explorers to uncover.

With Firestorm’s gold weighing her down, Typhoon finally stepped out of the abandoned lair and looked around. To her surprise, the pale light of morning had begun to stretch across the eastern sky, broken up here and there by the gray shadows of distant clouds. She must have been unconscious the entire evening, a fact that her now-grumbling stomach was all too eager to remind her about. So, before she launched herself off the cliff and tested her wings, she sat down, set her saddlebags next to her, and took stock of what she had left after yesterday’s fight.

Thankfully, her right saddlebag had held all her critical supplies, like her rations and canteen. But when she opened it up to get at them, the first thing she saw was a crumpled dreamcatcher resting on top of everything else. Frowning, she pulled it out of the bag and noted that the wooden frame holding the woven threads of spider silk together had splintered in two places and one of the strands of silk had been cut. The damage must have happened during her fight with Firestorm... but at the very least, she hadn't lost it.

"Guess that's why the nightmares are back," she grumbled to herself, gently setting it aside to get at her rations. She'd have to find somewhere to get it fixed, and that meant finding a wizard or somepony who understood enchantments and magical artifacts. She wasn't looking forward to the inevitably sleepless nights between now and then.

She thoughtfully munched away on her cold breakfast as she looked out over the horizon. She’d survived the fight with Firestorm and emerged victorious; that left the unfortunate question of ‘what next?’. She knew a part of her would have been happy to die in the fight, but here she was, beaten but not broken, victorious, and somehow still alive. That meant there was still a road to travel down, but where it would lead, or even where it was, she did not know. All she knew was that she had to follow it, wherever it was, and find what was at the end… whatever that was as well.

After a quiet half hour to fill her stomach and reflect in the solitary wilderness out in the highlands, Typhoon stood up and crept toward the edge of the cliff. She looked down at the rocks and trees beneath her and stretched her wings, giving them a few tentative flaps to make sure they could hold her weight. Her chest ached from the exertion, but if she took it slow and glided as much as she could, she felt confident she could carry herself through the skies.

Of course, she would have to find out one way or another.

She took a deep breath.

Held it.

Tipped forward.

The wind tugged on her mane and began to slip under her feathers.

There, in that moment of weightlessness, that breath of time hanging between the sky above and the ground below, she found it.

She was still alive.

For better or for worse.

Her wings caught the wind and she flew, soaring out over the trees.

Comments

[djthomp]

Really mean of Celestia and/or Luna to send Typhoon to Tartarus instead of the Summer Lands.