Where the Rust Met the Vine
The disc was round, rough, and crumbling with the redness of old bloodstains. It was shaped like a bowl and had long holes scored into it. Indentions sank along the sides as if someone had pressed a thumb in the iron.
Star Swirl poked it with his hoof. “What do you suppose it is? It couldn’t be a vessel, the water would leak and the holes are too big for straining… mayhap it tops a bowl instead and the holes let out steam?”
“I don’t think so, lad.” Heartstrings sniffed the metal, wrinkling her nose at its harsh scent. “It’s got the smell of toughness about it. Under all the dirt there’s something my nose doesn’t know... harsh and ashy, the way smoke is. It might be a weapon.”
“How? There are no sharp edges and it isn’t heavy at all. I still think it’s for ventilation.”
“Don’t be daft, those holes obviously meant for fingers and look, the shape is perfect for throwing. I can see it sailing o’er the air now.” Heartstrings brushed the disc with her tail. “Hmm. It could be a toy, perhaps? An iron toy for human foals to chase an’ toss?”
Star Swirl rolled his eyes. “Please. As if they would fritter their idle hours away when they could be learning how to light their towers or learning how to fly. They are humans, not puppies.”
“…I don’t think humans can fly, lad.”
“No, but they could learn how if they wanted. They make water come from walls and make their own hooves; you don’t think they could figure out how to fly if they felt like flying?”
The human leaned over both ponies and took the metal disc, rust falling off it like dandruff. “It’s a hubcap. It goes on the wheels of a car.”
“Why?” Star Swirl asked.
“Don’t know. It just does.” The human flipped and tossed the hubcap from hand to hand, studying the little bumps and grooves. There was rust but it had not eaten through the metal. It was still silver in several places; the hubcap hadn’t been here very long. “Is it common for these sorts of things to pop up in pony territories?”
Heartstrings tilted her head, a little distracted by the dexterity of fingers. “Hubcaps?”
“Human objects.”
“I don’t think so. There are things we find but can’t identify, but those aren’t found where anypony lives.”
“We usually find them in human buildings,” Star Swirl put in. “My tutor once found a box of glass spheres capped with metal on the bottom and little brass curls in the center. He hung them from his door as wind chimes.” He offered a smug grin. “Everyone told me diamond dogs made them, but I knew better.”
The human glanced around the little bower of saplings they stood in, as if he expected to discover more hubcaps in the frail branches. In the distance, he could make out tall shapes that didn’t match the world around them. They were stiff and geometric. Boxy. Human.
His stance reminded Heartstrings of a bony fox on the scent of prey. She could practically see the itch in the human’s feet. “What do ye see?”
The human set the hubcap down and walked on in heavy, sharp footsteps. “I’m not sure, but I’m going to find out.” He went into a jog, and then a light run, his staff pushing him along like a third leg. The unicorns cantered beside him, the human’s green cloak brushing at their withers.
In the two hours they traveled, the human kept silent, and only slowed his pace to let the unicorns catch their breath. How he managed to constantly keep this pace was a marvel. Star Swirl suspected that even at a full sprint the human would not tire, that he would still be on his feet where a pony or stag would have collapsed from exhaustion. What would it be like to be on the wrong side of such a creature? Star Swirl found himself glad that he was an ally and not an enemy.
Heartstrings dashed ahead of him, waiting on antsy hooves for the stallion to catch up before she sprang like a lamb and pronked away.
“That’s a good way to use up energy, you know.” Star Swirl rumpled his face. “Act your age, for stars’ sake.”
The mare giggled at the wrinkles lining his face in a grumpy cob’s frown and flicked her snowy tail. “You first.”
The three of them soon left the saplings for older woodlands where cottonwoods stood aloof of each other, as if in a quarrel. It was here the human finally stopped. There was no doubt of it now; those were the hard lines of human towers and that was a human city. Or what was left of it.
Heartstrings sniffed the air. It was tinged with the hubcap’s scent: old, rusted, and acrid. But that smell couldn’t be the city; it was still at least a mile away.
Star Swirl bumped her haunch. “Watch your hooves.”
She glanced at the rocks littering the grass, all different sizes and oddly shaped with sharp, bright edges. They weren’t rocks at all, but shards of glass. Heartstrings lifted one of the larger pieces with her magic, turning it from side to side. It was etched with little letters. “Here, Star Swirl. Make use of your education and tell me what this says. I don’t think it’s Equine.
A spark of recognition lit Star Swirl’s eyes. “It’s not. It isn’t any of our languages.” He pointed a hoof toward the cloaked figure stooped in the distance. “It’s his. Human! We’ve found a—”
“I know. There’s more over here.” The human stalked over a carpet of glass jars in thirds and halves and wholes. Crinkled bits of bleached plastic rocked in the breeze. The man held a tin case marked with a red symbol, staring at it as if the contents might magically appear if he looked long enough. He set it down and began rooting through the other scattered objects for something useful when Star Swirl cried out again.
“Is something the matter?”
“No, but…” The words jumbled in Star Swirl’s mouth. “I found… it’s… well. Um. You’ll want to see this.”
The unicorns stood on a little ridge where the land dipped and leaned low. It might have been a pond or a quarry once upon a time. Misplaced bricks and pipes leading nowhere sprouted from the bottom, but that was not what held the ponies’ attention.
The human peered into the pit and pulled his cloak in on himself. “Oh.”
Two rust-spotted vehicles lay at the bottom of the ridge. The pickup truck was nearly in two pieces, wheels stuck in the air like a dead cockroach and bent over the rocks as if it had been cracked like an egg. All that held it together were thin strips of yellow metal and a young spruce tree growing through the windows and windshield, propping up the vehicle like an easel. Yellow leaves floated in the murky pools of water in the truck bed.
The human didn’t know the proper name for the second massive vehicle lying on its side as if napping. It was too big for a car and unlike other supply trucks, it wasn’t meant to tow trailers. It was all one solid block, a box on wheels. The frame was heavy, rounded, and at least three feet taller than the pickup truck. It was made of sterner stuff than a humble steel cage. The headlights were unbroken, as were all seven of the dark windows. The titanic bumpers were unrusted and while the white paint had greyed with filth and time, it was still visible. The tires looked almost good enough to drive on and the engine was intact.
The old machine was in fantastic condition if not for one detail: three jagged slashes in the metal walls that ran from roof to undercarriage. As if it had been torn open the same way the boar had under griffon talons. The corners of the roof pinched and bunched like a clutched handkerchief. Open supply canisters and tins and little glass jars bled into the grass around it, no different than the broken piles of debris they found earlier.
Heartstrings busied herself investigating the tough scales of the tires and the strange glass— black mirrors on one side but clear on the other. Regular mirrors stuck out from the sides and hanging inside the iron carriage as well. The driver must have been very vain.
The human approached carefully, peeking around the great bumper before he climbed atop the vehicle. The metal didn’t give under his weight and the sound of boots didn’t reverberate, more like iron walls of a ship than the thin aluminum coat of cars.
Inside was a sparse world of dust, leather, and glass. A family of terrified raccoons stared at him from the backseat where clouds of yellow stuffing burst from the seams. Something gleamed next to them. The human shooed the little animals away with his staff and slipped through the lacerated metal for a closer look.
Star Swirl watched him from the ground, gingerly touching the ugly metal wounds with his hoof. “What can kill something made of armor?” he wondered. “I don’t think even dragons can make tears like these…not with their claws. Teeth, perhaps, but these aren’t toothmarks.” He stomped upon the windshield, but it didn’t even crack. “Do you suppose it simply died and fell into the ravine and the humans had to cut themselves out?”
“It’s possible.” The man poked the raccoons away from him with the staff as his free hand tossed out the thing he found. It was long, black, and shiny, blunt on one end with a smooth tube at the other. It was entirely inelegant and made an awkward club.
Star Swirl sniffed at the round opening, “What have you found?”
The human frowned and lifted it out of his reach. “You shouldn’t put your face there.”
“Why? ‘Tis but a chunk of metal. Not even sharp.”
“You don’t strike with it.” He popped the thing open like a walnut and eyed the insides. “It’s some sort of rifle. You shoot with it.” It seemed a fine rifle, too. Even the human with his small frame of reference knew that.
“What does it shoot?” Heartstrings asked. “Arrows?”
“Little bits of metal. Ones like this can hit a bear from miles away before the old thing even knows what hit it.”
Star Swirl balanced on his back legs to get a better look. “Might we see you use it?”
The human laughed. “Of course not. First of all, it’s not loaded. Second of all, guns are for girls. How ridiculous would it look, a man my age walking around with a weapon meant for mothers and brides strapped to his back?” He looked at the brassy shells littering the wounded vehicle. “Rifles are also useful for air attacks. I wonder what happened to these ladies.”
There was nothing else to salvage from the vehicles but broken glass and coonskins. The human and his companions moved on and into the city.
Slowly but surely, the land under their boots and horseshoes changed. Grass thinned, loamy soil morphed into asphalt, and skeletal skyscrapers draped shadows over them like refugee blankets.
Star Swirl tripped over his own legs trying to look at everything at once. The full scope of iron towers humbled him and the glint of unpolished metal set him wandering off, only to have his cape caught and led back by the human’s hand. The unicorn couldn’t help himself. There was so much to see here. So much to know. Why were these signs yellow? Why was this part of the street colored red? What was that wire for? Where did that pipe lead? How tall was that bridge? Why was a ladder crawling up that building? Star Swirl longed to voice all of these questions, but something in the human’s stance stopped him.
The man moved in slow, respectful steps and kept his companions close. To go among brick and steel lifted his spirits and made his heart thick with homesick wonder, but he wrangled the urge to run and explore. These bricks were not his and there was always danger in a city that did not belong to you.
This city was greener than it was grey. Saplings shot from the concrete in little shocks of gold and red, trembling like skinny flags. Hawks nested in crumbling conference rooms and executive suites. Bats and naked tailed possums slept in the shade of parking garages. Long legged tabbies stalked rats in the guts of restaurants. Foxed played in hollow pantries. Kudzu curled over the bulbs of streetlamps. Wings rustled the dust and paws scurried in dirt.
Life flourished in every crevice. Truly, this was a dead city.
In a plaza crawling with moss stood a tower unlike the others. It was thin and even taller than its neighbors and the shining sides were made of mirrors. It blazed in the autumn sunshine, not one of the gleaming tiles broken. Scuffed, faded, scratched, bent, and dull, but otherwise standing proud and ignorant of the decay around it.
The man paused and watched his reflection for a while, eyeing the pale scars on his limbs, the artery lines in his neck, the fall of soft, dark curls around his ears, the rings under his eyes, and the green hood pooling at his shoulders. He watched as if he might forget what he looked like. And then he moved his eye and watched the reflected still, empty city sprawling above, around, and behind him.
The human found himself missing people he had never known, seeking hidden histories in the brick, longing for light filling tiny windows. He had known it would be like this. He had. The griffon had warned him. He knew.
But something in this ugly, beautiful place where the rust met the vine hurt him in ways he didn't expect. It called up something the human never knew he had: the quiet, stupid hope that he would be wrong.
The human stared at the tower like a child who'd never seen death before, waiting for a flattened cat to open its eyes. Though he knew better, he made a sign for silence and put his fingers to his mouth. He whistled one long note, two short ones, and then one long note again. It was so sharp Heartstrings and Star Swirl flattened their ears against it. The man waited a few silent seconds, frowned and then whistled again. He whistled until he ran out of breath to whistle with.
Heartstrings nosed the human’s clenched fist. He twisted his fingers in her mane so tightly it hurt, but the mare just gritted her teeth and let him. They listened together as the whistle’s echo faded into the street.
In the tower’s reflection the sky shrank under white clouds. Heartstrings felt the back of her neck prickle, as if a storm was brewing. She twitched her ears and looked over her shoulder into the distance. Something seemed different all of a sudden.
Star Swirl tapped her shoulder. “Hey, we’re moving again.” Indeed, the human was already almost a block away and somehow Heartstrings hadn’t even noticed. “What are you looking at?”
The mare followed him slowly, with her eyes still on the sky behind her. Wasn’t the sky clear a moment ago? "I can't see the mountains," she whispered. "Not even a little. Makes me nervous." The clouds piled upon each other, lumpy and solid as a pile of stones.
“They’re probably behind the buildings,” Star Swirl said. “Places that belong to humans don’t fit in with the world around it and magic doesn’t behave, if it stirs at all. ‘Tis only the way of the land. Come along before we lose sight of the human. I don’t fancy hunting for him in this labyrinth.”
“Hm. I suppose.”
Behind her, the cloud shifted. Heartstrings thought she saw something appear and disappear in the reflection of the sky: round, glossy and dark. As if the cloud had blinked.
“Star Swirl…”
“Yes?”
Heartstrings looked again. There was only a long train of cumulous lazing over the mountaintops.
“Nothing.”
They found the human scaling a wire fence, slipping over the top easy as a lizard. He had some trouble when the end of his cloak caught on the barbs, but soon the human clung to the opposite side of the fence, landing on all fours in a haze of dust. He waved at the little ponies on the other side.
The human poked at the gate with a lockpick. “It’s about time you caught up.” The gate let in the unicorns with a creaky yawn. The man jabbed a thumb at the squat building behind him, pale bricked with crosshatch bars guarding the windows. “I found this thing.”
Heartstrings hummed at the razor wire topping the gate. “What sort of place is it? I don’t think it’s keen on unwelcome comp’ny.”
A grin curled the human’s mouth. “That’s why I’m here. Anything guarded has something worth guarding. The locks and windows are unbroken, I don’t think anyone’s rooted through it yet.” He ran one hand over the series of locks upon the front door while fishing for a proper pick with the other. “I think it’s either a prison for criminals or a schoolhouse for children. Or a prison for children. I can never tell the difference, they both look so similar.”
Star Swirl investigated colorful scrawls upon the brick, bright letters twisted to the point of no longer being letters. He couldn't tell if it was the work of vandals or artists. "I've been meaning to ask, why are there no cars in this city? There were so many in the pictures."
"Probably went with everybody else. It's how they—we—traveled in the Old World. You know that, Star Swirl." The man glanced from his lockpick at the street full of weeds and wildflowers. He remembered the rusted station wagon by the mall and the little convertible resting outside his library at home. To see none at all was a bit odd. A city without cars was like a city without rats.
One by one the locks clicked open and the door swung inward to reveal a wide room filled with twelve large circular tables. A thick partition of glass-topped metal sectioned off the back quarter of the room. A pile of warped plastic trays and rusty forks scattered behind it. The roof dipped in to meet them, the center blown inside out to let in the breeze. Towards the back, pots and pans and sinks overflowed with rainwater.
Heartstrings stared at a tattered red and gray banner dangling lopsided from the wall. A crude picture of a tiger snarled at her. “So which is it?”
The human moved a little red chair out of the way and made a beeline for the glass structure. “School.” His eyes skimmed over the rusty utensils and rotten cardboard a moment before diving into the cabinets lined up along the wall. The little doors were rotted to the point where locks were useless and they fell away with a few tugs. The man wasted no time in diving in for a thorough supply search. Expired cans rolled away in droves.
Star Swirl aimlessly circled the room, squishing on a carpet of wet yellow leaves and warped linoleum. He paused to squint at words in a language he didn’t know before circling again. It would just be his luck to find a dining hall, the least interesting part of an academy. The chairs modeled for a little human’s long back and short legs were vaguely interesting, but that was it.
Heartstrings perched on one of the tables and quietly watched. Up here she had a clear view of the human’s search and did not have to look at the chairs too small for adults. She wished they had discovered a prison instead.
Midway through the search, the human began to sing to himself in that raw, unkempt voice of his that kept wandering off-key. He often sang these days. This time it was the ballad of someone named Frankie and her sweetheart, Albert, and how their love died in bloodshed and infidelity.
“Does anyone in human ballads get happy endings?”
“Sometimes,” the human said. “Sometimes not. That’s just the way stories are sometimes. Tam Lin and Janet come out alright, but William and Margaret don’t. Stagger Lee won, too.”
Heartstrings frowned. “Stagger Lee was the one that went about unfairly killin’ people because he’d lost a gamble, wasn’t he?”
“You asked who got happy endings, not who deserved them.” The human crowed in triumph and held out a jar of salt, still perfectly sealed.
Heartstrings twitched her ears. “Salt’s a hard habit to break. Are ye sure—”
Powdery rubble dribbled from the ceiling and the rafters creaked. Something unseen quietly growled. Star Swirl looked up from the other side of the room, trading a worried glance with Heartstrings.
“You can do more with salt than just eat it.” The human stored the jar in his pack, careful to keep it cushioned. Then, in a voice calm and quiet as empty sky he said, “We are being followed.”
He fetched his staff and motioned the ponies over to him. “I’d rather not leave the way we came. Keep your ears up.”
The three of them left the room for a fat hallway shedding painted skin. Posters peeling from the walls advised them to read and not pollute. Many rooms passed by, housing clutches of square desks. In some rooms they huddled in groups, in others they stood in orderly rows, and dozens of small dusty chairs stood with all of them.
The human kept his eyes on the ceiling. It was composed of a series of pale moldy tiles, square caverns dotting where they fell through. As they went on the tiles faded to rafters, vents, and broken lights. The roof groaned and little feet scampered in the walls. The human’s hand drifted lazily at his sides and came away holding a knife.
Just ahead the hallway stretched into a maw of daylight. As the roof and walls deteriorated around them, Heartstrings could no longer tell if they were outside or inside.
The ghost of white stripes ran circled patterns over rotten floorboards that keened with every step. All four sides guarded by tall poles, each one topped by a wooden boards that dangled nets of steel mesh. Iron rafters arced and spread like a ribcage, delicately bracing what was left of a roof between them.
The steel mesh jingled, though there was no breeze. A shadow darted in the corner. A sprinkle of plaster and splinters fell.
Heartstrings heard someone yell as she fell under the weight of something small and heavy. Needles dug into her shoulders, something hard and rough and scaly roped around her barrel, lashing at her neck. A snapping jaw just missed her ear. She bucked and rolled, but the hold wouldn’t give. Heartstrings barely saw the flash of metal before a sheet of green flapped across her eyes. The dead building echoed with a gargling shriek and the weight dropped from her back.
Breathing hard, Heartstrings looked up to see a wiry yellow dragon no bigger than a housecat twisting in the human’s tangled cloak. Its two legs kicked as it bit the human’s knife with two rows of serrated teeth. With a gargled hiss, it scrambled free and lifted into the air on leathery wings, lashing a tail twice the length of its body. Blood trickled from its haunch.
Another one, red-scaled under purple bruises, dove from Star Swirl’s kicking hooves. A third, olive green and stub-nosed, bit at the unicorn’s pink tail before the human swung at it with his staff. It wheeled to bite the man’s arm before Heartstrings caught the lashing tail in her teeth long enough for Star Swirl to kick the beast’s head in. The red wyvern swooped into the rafters and crawled along like a bat, gripping with claws on the tips of its wings.
Heartstrings pricked her ears at air snapping under wings and lit her horn. A bone-white wyvern hovered in a gold halo of magic, jaws inches away from her head. The aura dropped as the human’s staff cracked against its skull and it went flying across the room. It hit a wall with a wet thud and did not rise again.
The man ducked as the yellow one swooped down and away at his head. “Aren’t dragons supposed to be bigger?”
“They’re still young yet—away, you wretch!” The red wyvern hadn’t given up on Star Swirl, circling just out of reach of sharp horn and hard hooves. “But if these aren’t enough of a challenge you’re welcome to wait a couple decades.”
The human swatted at the yellow tail lashing his face. “I’m fine with this size, thanks.” He struck the beast’s jaw, knocking it from the air. It stumbled only a moment before righting itself and wheeling out of reach.
The yellow wyvern clicked its jaw twice. Its red and green kin escaped their attackers and rose to meet their brother in the air. The three of them swooped and wheeled, clicking and burbling and hissing at each other. Their round eyes never left the troublesome creatures scowling below them. The olive one stuck out its split tongue.
“Nasty ankle biters. Did their ma teach ‘em no manners?” Heartstrings snorted and tossed her disheveled mane. “Rude.”
“Be grateful the babes of dragonfolk raise themselves, Heartstrings. I’d bet my bells they’re the brood of the wyvern besieging North Hill.” Star Swirl moved in the join his companions so that eyes guarded all sides. “At least they aren’t fire breathers yet.”
The wyvern triplets swooped as one in a whirlwind of scales and teeth, wingbeats in perfect sync as they fell upon their targets. The human caught the red one with his knife before he felt teeth sink in base of his neck, digging deep and deeper into muscle. The collar of his shirt grew damp. The little dragon weighed like a sack of wet cement and the human bent low under it. His arm struggled against the tail wrapped around it. His ears filled with burbling and hissing. He could hardly breathe against the smell of ash and lye.
Heartstrings’ magic flashed and died, too close to the human to be any use. Star Swirl’s cape tangled with wings. Someone screamed, though it was impossible to tell who. The human felt claws dig into his side, ripping past the cloak and tunic and into skin, and deeper still and—and then gone.
The wyverns stopped.
It was neither a trickling halt nor a pensive, reluctant hover. They did not reconsider and they did not double back. The three little wyverns simply froze upon the ground as if statues. Their jaws still bore bloody teeth in mid-snarl.
Tired and bleeding, the human and the unicorns stood. One by one, the wyverns fluttered to the ground, gentle as plastic bags in the wind.
The scrawny leader blinked its swollen eye and warbled in the back of its throat, its thin yellow tail clutching at itself. Behind it, the other wyverns rolled their bulbous orange eyes up and up and up, staring at nothing. A reedy whimper squeezed from one dragon to the other.
The human leaned against his staff, pressed a hand on his bloody neck, and glowered. Heartstrings tilted her head and sniffed at the air. Star Swirl nickered and fidgeted under his cape.
The wyverns took a collective step back. Then another.
Bits of plaster crumbled from what was left of the ceiling. The wyverns snapped from their trance and fled. Tumbling over each other, they scrambled into a gap in the wall.
Star Swirl swiveled his ears at their little claws clicking on pipes and fading into the distance.
Heartstrings smelled rain, though the ache in her bones that foretold a storm was mysteriously absent. The sky held nothing but white clouds.
The human frowned. It would be safer to crawl up to the rafters or fly away. Why duck into the walls? He dug his nails into the wood of his staff.
It was then they realized: the city was still. No bird sang. No rat scampered. The breeze dared not move. Under his cloak the human grew cold.
The sun dimmed. The clouds pulled together in the sky until it was all one white rolling stratus, perfectly smooth. The air grew wet and thick. A pallid pall settled on the skyscrapers.
The cloud blinked.
And the White Roc came down.
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HOLEEE
SHIIIIEEEEEEEET
That is such a cliffhanger ... pretty mean, I'd say.
"But that's okay because I like the abuse."
And so the transformation arc begins. I must say this is a most faithful adaptation.
"Second of all, guns are for girls."
I don't even have words.
Where are the other humans I wonder. And how will Ol'Beardy change 'Nathan'(as I have taken to calling him) into a pony(presumably).
2857232 adaptation to what?
2857273
it would make sense in this situation... the children and ladies where probably given the last supplies of bullets and guns so that they would better be able to defend themselves...what worries me though is the fact that the last of the humans did not try to regroup or meet up at all... it almost seems that they have lost their sense of community... almost like they wanted the destruction of their race
2857425
To this version of the story, this mirror image of it
2857475 Er.....what?
Mabey I should have said "of what" instead of "to what".
2857516
Sigh. This fic is based off of the Last Unicorn by Peter S Begel, but with a reversed concept. How's that?
I am a little confused by the girls and guns thing but what evs
2857590 Do you know everything about the past correctly? Pink was once a boys color, very strong and manly. Now imagine that your history has been mostly passed by word of mouth... Or if you want logic, men are strong enough to fight with weapons requiring strength. Woman being "weaker" would be given access to the limited supply of firearms for self defence
I wish I could thumb this up more!
2857590
It makes sense if you think about it, if you have more guns than you have people the most efficient use of them is to give them to the people who are the weakest in hand to hand combat. Its a bit sexist but totally logical.
This has to be the best chapter yet!
Ha ha! Guns are for girls!
I never read The Last unicorn, but after this I really want to since i have no idea what the White Roc is and that some of the inconsistencies I notice may be apart of the original as well...
...To Barnes and Noble!
Excellent as always. The part about guns being for girls made me chuckle, although I suppose I can see how that idea might have developed.
"I don't need a gun! Guns are for wusses!"
2857726 If i remember correctly the reason pink was manly was due to it being a mix of two colors, Blue as valor, and red as for vitality.
It's a plain/jet, a bomb, or a helicopter.
Pesky little drakes.
aww shit
2857464
That's a bit reaching, it could have been a simple case of these being the leftovers of a previous exodus or evacuation. They missed the call for one reason or another and now the only people left behind are either those too far away for travel to be seriously convenient, require traversing dangerous territory or have turned bandit in an effort to survive.
"...The human laughed. “Of course not. First of all, it’s not loaded. Second of all, guns are for girls. How ridiculous would it look, a man my age walking around with a weapon meant for mothers and brides strapped to his back?” He looked at the brassy shells littering the wounded vehicle. “Rifles are also useful for air attacks. I wonder what happened to these ladies...”
I was puzzled by this for a minute, then it hit me how deeply you were thinking about the back-story and how far and fast the ragged band of survivors of his ancestors in his home city had fallen in their tech and numbers.
In one scene alone you both tell us how powerful the White Roc is, able to rip up a Raptor, Rhino, or similar armored truck like a pop-can despite anything the humans inside could do, and that no one in some cities were even capable of manufacturing or reloading ammunition, much less rebuild. As the ammo dwindled, the guns would be passed to the women for their safety when the ammo got too precious to even hunt with, while the menfolk "made do" with arrows. That attitude would be all this human's mother would know and pass on.
This is more than a simple redo of "The Last Unicorn", and reaches unexpected depths. Kudos!
(and some appropriate art...)
swipe.swipelife.netdna-cdn.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/12/motada-lithographs-3.jpg
Okay, so, I might be a horrible person, but the moment Lyra and Starswirl finished that bit of banter while they were running toward the city, i was subjected to a "The Two Towers" style sweeping mental image of those three running through the woods to the tune of the LotR theme.
In my defense, it was breathtaking.
Gosh, I wish I hadn't read the comments. Hadn't clicked in my mind yet that this was based on The Last Unicorn, and though I haven't read it, spoilers abound...
Love the atmosphere and setup though.
Oh, oh so wonderful! It made me laugh so very much!
Of course though it shows a lot of depth to the world that you've been building with and how likely how things have changed over the years.
Another impressive entry.
Glad that you were able to finally mention human endurance
Human ruins make me sad inside though
Looking forward to seeing the white roc
Edit: Forgot to mention that what you did with the gun simultaneously amuses and frustrates me. I mean, "guns are for girls, I've literally never heard that before
. But it frustrates me cause it'd be hard to find a better phallic symbol even if you tried 
2865531
Oh, dear. I'm sorry about that. Maybe I should start putting spoiler warnings in my author's notes.
2857191
I was tempted to make this chapter longer and end it on a worse cliffhanger, but I'm not that mean. (And this makes a better chapter break anyway)
2858996
Little dragons are so rude.
2859124
Yep. I don't like to go into details of what the other humans had been doing (because it's a buttload of background stuff that doesn't matter to the story and might spoil stuff) but I can say that many humans formed nomadic groups and moved across the land looking other people (our protagonist's parents and grandmother went among them at one point).
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Ahhh. Is there anything better than perceptive comments like these? No there is not.
While we're on the subject of guns and girls, firearms aren't so much a woman's weapon as it is a mother's weapon. With a devastated population, keeping children alive and well is priority number one. There are times when running or melee fighting isn't an option because charges can't be left alone, so enemies or prey need to be taken down fast and hard. Doctors, fathers, and older children taking care of siblings would likely use firearms too, but our protagonist has a very small frame of reference.
The other reasons mentioned in the comments are part of it too, but that's the main one. (For the human and his family's background, anyway.)
I'm going to add my voice to those praising the amount of forethought that went into "guns are for girls." It really does say a lot about the post-apocalyptic development of culture and the trickle-down telephone game effect that eventually reached our protagonist.
The discontinuities of the human cities, both spacial and magical, are also interesting, especially since it's been implied that some kind of dimensional overlay took place in the past. And I love the tragic irony in "Life flourished in every crevice. Truly, this was a dead city."
Definitely looking forward to more, especially since the goal of our heroes' quest has reached them.
Another great chapter.
Damn... I caught up to latest chapter... let the torture of time for good stuffs begin!
On another note, I have accidentally forgot how the human looked, and now I can only picture him to look something like Joel from the game The Last of Us, only younger as the character is 25. I don't really know why, but what the hay it works, right?
Also, I have noticed that even though Star Swirl and Heartstrings are both 'people' or 'ponies' for a lack of better words, and have fairly decent wills of their own, that they seem to be becoming domesticated... as in, the ability to domesticate is still as strong and natural as it once was before the humans seemed to all disappear. That being said, you yourself have pointed out this very clearly with the whole dogs trying to approach him ordeal. Its very interesting to see this sort of cycle of slow domestication of the two ponies.
Cant wait for more!!! Please hurry!?
2857815 F*ck sexism, this is survival. The weak fight with ranged, the strong in melee...'tis simple logic.
2858822 Yes, there is so much blue herein... /weaponsgradesarcasm
candlesandsupplies.net/Pink-Color-Block-image.gif
2918943 Sh*t...I hadn't even noticed the fact that those two were indeed becoming domesticated until you mentioned it.
...I'm not sure how I feel about that? Um, yay humans...?
2929961 Well to be fair pink might not be red and blue, but its close. Besides wasn't purple reserved for nobles in most societies. I know for england that you had to be at least a duke of county to wear purple back in the day.
2931810 Pink ≠ Purple.
That said yes, you are correct about purple and European Nobility. I am unaware of its significance in other cultures...
2929961 Glad I could help point it out. Yea I am on the edge about it, but I find it entertaining in my own head that after all the cover of the human being his pet, its almost the opposite entirely, considering Star Swirl got jealous of Heartstrings getting her hair combed, its like they are two small talking pups, fighting over who gets pet or played with first ha ha.
*POSSIBLE SPOILERS*
At the same time, I have heard from spoilers of a soon to happen change with our protagonist and am curious how they will react to it, after all, as we are talking about, he is slowly domesticating them, without realizing it.
/END-SPOILERS.
Also, to the author. When this story is done, I intend to print this out and make a legitimate book for my collection of regular books, due to this having the same/better quality of many non-fanfiction books, and I am sure that the author of the original The Last Unicorn book, would be proud reading your work.
2933971 I wouldn't mind a copy of that.
...I would of course give each of you a 'gift' for your time.
Anyone got an Idea of the glass spheres with the metal caps are? It has me really trying to figure it out but can't.
My favourite chapter so far.
2973234
Light bulbs I assume.
Interesting little cultural nugget; where did the prejudice that rifles are a woman's weapon come from, I wonder?
That city... The damage to it makes me think that there was a war here once, long ago. The damage to that armoured car could have been caused by a high-energy laser or particle accelerator of some kind. The damage to the roof of the school makes me think of the results of a nearby large explosion (in the tactical nuke range).
3433483probably from the post apocalyptic era, where survivors would form clans and families, likely led by the person most suitable to defend against raiders. Sense projectile weapons might be in short supply, they would be given to women, who are invaluable for reproduction and most likely weaker than the men.
After generations of this, it would be accepted that a man fought with a knife/sword/whateve, and a woman would have a gun.
3433483
I think it might have come from what this guy said,3609088 and what I think. Guys found calenders, posters, pictures and possible drawings of women with guns in provocative poses. This burst of inspiration came from my older brother's calendar; note: this is just a thought, no offense or meaning to demean any female readers/viewers :P
2973234
Christmas Tree, oh Christmas tree...
I'm LOVING this story!!!
I think I found a typo though:
Is it supposed to be "Foxes"?
Everytime someone reads this line, a drill sergeant smacks a preppy kid.
Someone had a childhood similar to mine it seems.
3610025 I think out was because after the war the lack of industry meant guns and ammo became rare and limited resources, and they had to leave them to the physically weaker sex who had better manual dexterity as a last defence.
3433483 Or something slashed it. Like maybe some construction equipment ripped into it miles before it broke down. Just guessing since we don't know how advanced the humans were before the end.