Flew The Coop

by Bandy

Full

The line at the Ponyville Hardware and Artisanal Sauce store was twenty ponies long when Artemisia walked in. Beauty Blush was at the register, engrossed in conversation with a masonry contractor whose jawline looked like he chewed as many bricks as he laid.

She saw Artemisia, waved, then did a double take. Her smile cracked like heated glass.

“I’m very, very sorry.” She smiled at the contractor as she slid a small red closed sign onto her conveyor belt. “Could you hang on for just a second?” She turned to the manager, who was about to yell at her, and said, “If you say one word, I’m gonna start a union.”

Outside, Blush took Artemisia by the shoulders and half-whispered, half-shouted, “Have you ever wondered why the only things that like spending time with you are chickens?”

“Want some coffee?” Artemisia smiled casually. “My treat.”

“We’re not going over there, like,” she gestured to his outfit. “This.”

“Oh. Well, I was gonna go over there anyway, so you’re welcome to come if you want.” He glanced at the hardware store. Angry customers had already started to spill out the front door, their carts abandoned. “Looks like you’ve got things to do.”

Beauty Blush rolled her eyes so hard Artemisia thought they’d pop out. She started off at a rigid clip towards the coffee shop.

Inside, a few ponies cast curious glances their way, but otherwise it was business as usual. The barista smiled a little extra wide at Artemisia while he ordered his drink.

“I’m not trying to sound obtuse,” she said, forcing a path for her straw through the ice of her frappuccino. “I’m not like the rest of the family. I’m not like your mom or dad. But this is a bit much, don’t you think?”

“No,” Artemisia said. Water droplets condensed on the side of his iced americano. He relished the kiss of cool on his hooves.

“No? C’mon. It’s kind of a lot.”

“I meant no, I think you’re just like my mom and dad.” He absently touched his outfit, traced the slight curve of his hips beneath. “You’re right though, this might be a bit much. Maybe I should go for pastels next time.”

“Next time. Listen to yourself.”

“You listen to yourself.”

“You’re so difficult.” She all but sang the last word. “Listen. I know you.” She leaned across the table. “I know it’s not like that. But other ponies see you and they don’t see what I see.”

“You’re right.”

“Thank you. They see you go by and they think, oh, there goes Artemisia wearing dresses. That’s not even the weirdest thing he’s done this month. I’ll bet he’s the one eating those chickens, or whatever.”

“She.”

“What?”

Artemisia pushed his drink aside so nothing stood between them. “I want you to call me she from now on.”

“Oh.” Beauty Blush was so stunned, her eyes plunged straight into her frappuccino and couldn’t find their way out. “Oh,” she said again, no less stunned than the first time.

Artemisia sat back, a faint smile gracing her lips. Let Blush chew on that. Let her come up with something awful to say. She was ready. She’d faced worse.

---

Something about having her chickens back in the yard filled Artemisia with purpose. She woke up earlier, threw herself into the laborious task of fixing the wire and cleaning the coop with a gusto she didn’t know she possessed. She threw all the rear-facing windows open too, so she could hear the chickens chatter while she was inside. And the omelets!

When evening came and the full moon rose, Artemisia shut the windows and went upstairs. The restraints had all been relegated to a box in the attic. Her sheets, freshly washed and smelling of fake sage and sandalwood, sat in a folded pile at the foot of the bed. Tomorrow she’d remake it. But tomorrow was still a night away.

She laid down on the bare mattress and let the transformation run its course.

Outside, she took deep breaths and let the smells of the country wash over her. There was the immediate smell of chicken, the hunger, the urge to rip and cut and inflict pain. But she was stronger than that, she reminded herself. She’d faced worse, and she’d come out the other side. She could acknowledge what it was without letting it overpower her. All those years she’d been under so much stress and pain, but she was never able to dig deeper. It was too difficult. Pain had been her bedrock. Immovable.

Not anymore. More deep breaths. A new smell appeared, something like cut grass and chrysanthemum and clear night skies. She caught a hint of watered earth in a garden, and dust clinging to wood siding. There was nectar, and pavement, and wood fires, and barbecue, and the neighbor’s dog, and yes, chickens in their coop. There was a whole world of smells beneath the bedrock. Her werewolf nose could find what her pony nose couldn’t.

She leaned in, searching for a familiar animal scent among the chorus. She found it, locked on with hypersensitive precision, and took off at a dead sprint into the Everfree forest.

The smells of the forest were a canopy all their own, an invisible forest of fungus and fertilization that slowed Artemisia’s passage.

Her ears pivoted at the sound of a branch snapping behind her. She turned just in time to catch a glimpse of a full-grown werewolf careening towards her, all four paws off the ground, body extended towards her, equal parts tackle and embrace.

The two collided and rolled. Branches snapped. Happy howls echoed through the forest. Their forms split, consumed by the night. Then a flash of fur as they leapt into the light.