The Runners

by Hope

Confusion

The princess returns to her tent that night to find me sprawled across its luxurious carpet, several empty bottles of unicorn brewed wine scattered around me, the bloody spear laying nearby. staining the threads of the bag that it’s owner had once carried, as I babble incoherently about dragons and regret. I don’t kill often, and when I do there is no fellow soldier to tell about it, no family to fall back on. I have never killed so brutally before. It has always been in self defense.

Ash smeared across her coat gives the princess of the sun a dusky complexion, and one of her shoes is missing, and the hoof scorched by hellfire. The crown of her position shines though, and I see it momentarily as some kind of salvation, despite the horror I feel as though I am drowning in.

She doesn’t console me, she is too tired from her own daily battle to do so. I barely register the heavy sound of her body impacting her bed. We remain mostly silent, beside my mumbled apologies to a creature I will never know.

“Get some sleep. Tomorrow will be difficult.” She says, with the weight of knowledge heavy and dark. A blanket floats over and covers me, as my mumbles become whispers, then silence. I still lay awake.

“Will you bury me... When I die?” I ask her, voice pitiful and reedy like a foal.

“I shall. You will be afforded all the honor that is within my power to give.” She looks over to me, her eyes cold and dead like burned out stars.

“Tell them I loved them,” I plead, and she nods, before turning away and letting her sister’s darkness take us to sleep.

---

I wake to the sound of screams, and I am running. I realize a moment later that I have just jumped from the tent that I have been asleep in, as my half conscious mind strains to comprehend my surroundings.

The bat winged demons of the night swoop down in the morning twilight, bottles of some volotile brew dropping like fallen stars from their clutches, setting tents aflame, scouring our camp in blue and red firelight.

I come to rest just outside of the densest section of camp, panting, looking for the princess before shielding my eyes from a blinding flash. Celestia rises from the clearing in front of her tent, and begins tossing crackling sunbeams across the sky, ripping the thestrals apart and tossing some to the ground to be captured or put down by the soldiers pouring from their sleeping quarters.

The bloodshed is nearly too much for me, and I back away in horror, into a tent I hadn’t noticed, flail and regain my hoofing.

Sprinting, the retreat to the more sturdy structures on the far side of camp is only a minor reprieve, as I cannot enter the shelters and risk being caught in a crowd, Seen by too many. The only secret worth anything is a secret well kept.

My shelter is a small earthen hollow against the stone wall of one building, and I drift off to sleep in it, as the sounds of fighting continue, my body too weary to observe it, my mind too addled to care.

---

I wake to the brush of a hoof across my cheek, and open my eyes to see the bright red coat of General Dawn. He is smiling down to me, with a sadness I feel guilty for.

“Wake, my little pony. Another sunrise has found us.”

I feel a heat on my cheeks that is unrelated to the sunlight streaming down, and I stand, crawling from the burrow and looking around. The area is clear, no ponies to overhear or to wonder why the General is speaking to thin air.

“The princess was worried about you, Fee. Are you okay?”

The concern in the voice of the general would seem out of place to most, but I know better. He is more kind than his enemies or subordinates would suspect. Just another stallion doing his job for the good of all ponies. I bow my head, and step a bit closer, unsure of myself even when I am with someone who I can trust, who can See me.

“I had to kill a dragon scout, Drea... It was so loud, so...”

His embrace is sudden, and the heat from his coat is radiant, warming me through as I sag in his grip, the quiet half-gasps and sobs shaking me, shivering as though I could still be cold in his protective arms. He lets me cry, and eventually I find my voice again. He speaks first though, as I stammer over apologies.

“Every soldier feels pain, grief when they kill. How could they not? How could they see such things and heartlessly go on with their lives? Those ponies aren’t soldiers. Those are monsters. You are a good pony. You did what you had to do, and you saved three lives in the process. Cry all you need, I will guard you as I would any of my troop.”

I can’t find the words. Rather I find thoughts unbidden, jealousy that he does this for everypony, guilt for that flare of greed, and a new appreciation for the innumerable other ponies who have been forced by circumstance to do far worse, and stayed loyal to the cause.

“I don’t want to be alone,” I blurt out, still clinging to him, and I feel him stiffen, and loosen his grip.

“Fleeting... That is a different thing than comforting a soldier. You are not alone, the princess and I care for you, but... I am a general, there are boundaries I must uphold...”

“Of course, right...” I mumble as I withdraw from him, looking at the ground instead of his conflicted expression.

“I will see you at the meeting, tonight,” I say, and I dash away, leaving the confused stallion to his own thoughts, as I flee from mine.

Comments

[McPoodle]

I think this idea was very well done.