Salt And Fire
Salt And Fire
Grabbing her holster and shoving a few spare bullets inside, making her revolver almost pop out of its compartment, Babs quickly strapped the weapon to her shoulder. Rushing for the door, she knew only a sickening, pulsating fear, a fear that sent her head-over-hooves into fight, rather than flight. Apple Bloom was beckoned by the same summons, scrambling for her own weapon and taking to her hooves after her mare.
"Buck! Buck! Buck!" Babs struggled with the locks on her own door. The symphony of hooves and whoops and shots outside amplified. Nearby rooms began to stir with a similar thunder, ponies scrambling either for their weapons or their locks, adrenaline demanding action.
"Buckin' door! Stupid buckin' door!" The strike and tumbler became complicated machines in her urgency.
Apple Bloom shoved her aside and flipped the deadbolt, the door-chain, and the final lock. "Calm down!" She spun on her mare. "Where's Turner, Babs?"
Charging the door, Babs hissed, "The bar!"
"What?! Why did ya leave him there?!" Apple Bloom demanded, fear and rage jousting within, sharp lances wielded and rushing towards each other. The bar. The second bar in the West.
They both feared and dreaded what would come. They chose not to articulate it.
WHACK! The door gave way easily, oak powerless in the wake of a bullet train. Venom—self-inflicted and self-administered—coursed through Babs Seed's words as she barked back, "Because I'm a fuckin' idiot, Apple Bloom!"
Bursting through the threshold, she stomped down the stairs, her mare a shadow on her heels, feeling nothing but regret, regret, regret.
~
He finished his drink, swaying, the room growing small, hot. He slipped off his bar stool, almost tumbling to the floor in the process. Laughing, the stallion shakily rose to his hooves and pivoted towards the door.
THUD!
His hooves became a mess of tangled limbs, betraying their owner. Turner laughed harder, louder, tears streaming down his cheeks. He was drunk! Completely, utterly head-over-heels drunk! He hadn't been this intoxicated in years!
How freeing, it was.
It was an accident, he concluded through his fog. A happy accident! Here he was, in his daughter's glorious bar—a reflection of his own, his pride and joy then—drunk off Equestria's finest whiskey and laughing to himself.
If only Libra was right here with him...
Turner began to rise. His ears pricked. A ruckus in the distance seemed to be heading his way, fast, fast, fast. A flurry of hoof-beats, shouts, and shots approached the bar, a tidal wave in the sands.
Turner, drunk but not dumb, rose to his hooves and stood there. Paralyzed—not by yeast, but by fear.
They were coming.
In a moment of understanding, he lurched forward towards the door.
He fell down again.
~
A group of five outraged stallions—six, if one counted the weathered prospector leading the pack—charged after the invading King’s Knights. Only about twenty yards or so separated them, that distance closing fast. The leader of the Master's annexation felt the Earth tremble beneath their combined hoof-beats, each step echoing throughout the barren wasteland.
Card Slinger snapped his neck around as his hooves churned, enraged to see that their strike had been anticipated, interrupted. Madhoof’s crony had said nothing of armed vigilantes! Madhoof’s crony had said nothing of opposition!
This was supposed to be easy. Madhoof had lied.
Death was here, taunting, laughing, waiting in the shadows.
No. He was so close—so achingly, painstakingly close—and he wasn’t going to give up the ghost to a bunch of grime-coated vagabonds. No. Not this King.
Last mission. Last. Final.
After this, all would be right again.
Slinger called out to his company, directing with his pistol towards the bar, “Go! Go! Go! Forget the liquor! Burn dis buckin’ place down an’ let’s go!”
At his edict, half of the company turned sharply towards the abandoned bar. The other half, including the sharpshooting unicorn, who scrambled for cover, his magic levitating his rifle, scattered before the settlement, seeking shelter. The would-be arsonists’ saddlebags were full of kerosene and matches, ready to ignite if the liquor was unavailable.
Slinger’s orders were to ensure that all inside the bar was ransacked and destroyed, all witnesses slaughtered. In a sickening irony, his arsonists were to begin the tempest by using the spirits of the defeated. Their message would be much more haunting that way.
It looked like there would be little time for such formalities.
Boone gripped his weapon with both forehooves and dove into a cactus grove, crouching behind one of the mighty plants. Slamming his back into his cover, he groaned in hot, burning pain. The plant punished him with its vengeful needles, driving into his coat. Swallowing the urge to bolt away, Boone turned to the side and began opening fire, leaning out into the sand.
Card Slinger chose a cactus near his right-hoof stallion, leaning his forehooves up against it. His hooves were hardened by concrete and cobblestone, nullifying the protests of the cactus' spines. Reaching for the trigger, he squeezed off several quick shots, bullets flying through the haze towards the approaching miners.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Six Knights galloped towards the bar, and seven stood their ground amongst measly cacti.
~
Soapy’s warnings and the rising crescendo of voices roused the uncharted territory from its one-eyed slumber. The inn owner herself bolted out of bed, searching for the revolver hidden under her pillow. Her guests were just as fast on their hooves, arming themselves or double-checking the locks on their doors. For many, this was not their first encounter with the reckless and wild ways of the west.
Long ago, they learned that, beyond Appleloosa, nopony would be there to save them but themselves.
Reaching the first level, precious seconds ticking away, Babs Seed peered through the congested group of startled guests. The commotion of frightened and angry ponies nearly drowned her own frantic thoughts.
“What in tarnation?!
“What the HAY is goin’ on?!”
“It’s a raid! Get out an’ defend yerselves!”
“Turner!” Babs Seed exclaimed, hoping he had already returned, hoping he was not trapped inside what surely would soon be—
NO!
Apple Bloom galloped up beside her mare, eyes wild, searching the inn’s lobby. Surely, Turner was here. Somewhere. Safely locked up in his room, or huddled in the crowd beside them. Surely, he must have galloped out of the bar at Soapy’s first warning shot.
Surely, this wasn’t happening.
A thick-necked stallion, his revolver drawn, rushed past them, bursting through the door. Five other stallions followed after him, determination in their steely eyes. They rushed after the first without reservation, ready to defend what little they possessed.
None of these six were Turner. Nor were any of the remaining in the inn’s lobby.
Disbelieving, Babs Seed looked again and again, wasting time.
Buck! Buck! Buck! Where is he? Where is he?!
He must have left! He must have! He can’t still be there, alone…
No, no, no, please…
Finding no vagabond within the distraught crowd—at least, not her vagabond—Babs started towards the door to the inn, one forehoof darting towards her holster.
Apple Bloom grabbed her by the shoulder and shouted above the crowd, “STOP!”
“NO!” No time for idle chat, Babs spun around and shouted back, “I’m goin’ ta get him outta there!”
Beyond the oak came a rapid exchange of gunfire.
Apple Bloom pulled Babs by the mane, yanking away from the door. No. Too dangerous. Wait. He must be here. He must be here.
“NO! BABS—“
"STAY HEEYA!"
"BUT—"
Rendered incapable of rational thought, Babs Seed growled and shook out of her mare’s grasp. Forgetting doorknobs, forgetting a haze of bullets, forgetting everything but Turner in the bar, Babs Seed lowered her shoulder and charged the door, emerging into the night.
~
The Earth was something they never understood, never desired. Without the familiar canopy of skyscrapers and city lights, they felt vulnerable, naked. Nevertheless, the energy from the forsaken ground surged into their hooves and gave them new life, new speed, new strength.
Six King’s Knights hurried towards the bar, the all-important, targeted bar. Two of them carried bursting saddlebags, their contents rattling within. Kerosene and matches. Flint and steel. Holy flames would soon burn for their Master, becoming a pleasing scent to his nostrils, far and away.
Still, they couldn't help but wonder: why? Why were they dispatched here—into the middle of nowhere?
Another voice—his voice—silenced their skepticism. Why were they questioning Him?
As they neared the bar, several armed stallions charged their way, revolvers trained and bullets flying.
The sharpshooting unicorn called from his cover to the pyromaniacs, “Go! Go! I’ve got dem bastards!”
Obeying, the six called upon the sacred sands, and galloped as fast as their hooves could carry them.
~
Turner collapsed to the floorboards, panting heavily. His limbs depleted of synchronization and strength, the stallion groaned and tried to pull himself to his hooves. Keratin dissipated and was replaced by a strange sort of gelatin. Every step he struggled to take ended up in a heaping mess of limbs on the ground.
This was far more than alcohol, he reasoned. Perhaps it was exhaustion that paralyzed him, making his motions foolish and weak. Perhaps he had pushed himself too far, mining twelve hours a day and journeying several miles back and forth between camp and bar.
Perhaps it was just fear. They were coming.
Shouts in the distance—growing ever closer—made his hackles raise. A hellish series of gunshots—one after the other, in rapid, rapid succession—seized upon his nerves and strangled them, paralyzing him for a heart-wrenching second. His mind struggled to acknowledge his adrenaline. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Fight—
CRASH!
Snapping his head towards the source of the noise, Turner saw a flash of light.
Of fire.
~
A bottle of kerosene with a rag wedged in its neck was more than suitable for the job. It was no traitorous bottle of whiskey or cider, but it sufficed. With the strike of a match, the bottle was lit ablaze, beacon in the night.
Gripping it in his forehoof, the Manehatten King chucked the bottle through the back window of the bar’s stockroom. It sliced through the glass easily, landing smack-dab in the middle of rows and rows of fresh liquor.
Perfect.
Laughing, the six Knights watched a tiny spark grow into a tiny flame. Then, when the Manehatten cocktail met the stockroom and its contraband occupants, it shook fingers of flame with them and included them as its own. Building, becoming a tempest, one bottle soon would amplify to the worth of many.
A gruff bellow snapped six cackling necks around.
“HEY!”
Standing a few yards away from them under the moonlight—cursing his slowness, his old age—Soapy began to empty his revolver into the group of arsonists. From the corner of his eye, tongues of fire danced and entwined, catching the attention of floorboard after floorboard, liquor bottle after liquor bottle…
~
Time stretched and stretched and stretched. Less than twenty yards between one side of the settlement to the other became an insurmountable Mount Improbable to climb. Her hooves pummeled the sand, one after the other, wheels of a locomotive.
All moving in slow, slow, slow motion.
To the east, seven ponies exchanged rapid fire with their antagonists beyond. From beyond the cacti grove, Babs Seed recognized several of her fellow miners on Soapy’s crew, as well as Dyea. Dyea currently levitated a rifle, squeezing desperately at its trigger towards the odd unicorn cowering behind a prickly plant.
She hesitated for a second, contemplating drawing her weapon and exchanging fire with them. The miners and Dyea seemed to be on the losing side of this unreal, unimaginable haze—dodging bullets left and right, jumping to the sands, struggling to reload.
A quick turn towards the bar cast aside all stray thoughts and made her hooves churn again.
“TURNER! TURNER!”
And from behind her, “BABS!”
And from within the bar, a panicked stallion’s howl.
~
“Dammit, these buckas don’t know when ta stop!” Card Slinger leapt behind his cactus. He searched within his empty holster, nabbing a few spare rounds for his pistol. Almost on empty, he bellowed across their distance, “Youze alright, Boone?!”
“Fine! Focus!” Boone shouted as he rolled to the side. A bullet planted roots in the Earth where he previously crouched. The stallion cursed and groaned, more needles digging into his coat.
Darting one of his soulless, wild eyes towards their resident sharpshooter, Slinger ordered, “Get the ones approachin’! Don’t waste youze time on the ones behind us!”
“Dey’re runnin’ at the ones at the bar!” the sharpshooter barked back, using his magic to squeeze off two more rounds towards the settlement’s vigilantes. Slumber was no longer a possibility for anypony within the uncharted territory. More continued to rouse from their tents, their rooms, their hasty shelters, more hooves thundering towards the seven Knights.
Panicking, Slinger hissed through his teeth, “Let ‘em die! Dey did dey job, let ‘em die!”
The sharpshooter nodded grimly and leaned around his cactus. With expert precision, he rocketed a piece of hot lead into a rampaging miner-stallion. He snapped his attention towards an approaching unicorn mare, raising his rifle in defiance of hers.
Before he could fire his round, Dyea's magic pulled her trigger.
~
Smoke billowed out of the bar’s stockroom, flames snaking up the wooden shelves and onto the walls, the rafters, the ceiling. Turner watched in horror as the swirl of red, orange, and yellow ate its way from the back room to the bar counter, traveling up the shelves and chewing up all wood within.
Black tendrils of smoke filled the main room and his nostrils, sending him into a coughing fit. Turner stumbled to his hooves, squeezing his eyes shut. They wouldn’t be of much use anyway. Dark smoke coupled with dark night cast him into near-blindness, and he wished for a cane.
Fighting the urge to vomit, Turner moved one forehoof forward, then the other, then attempted with his hindhooves. Surprisingly, he didn’t collapse this time, though his limbs shook under his weight. He wished upon all his lucky stars and moved from a trot to a canter.
The door couldn’t be that far away.
The heat in the bar was overwhelming, robbing him of breath and steam. Blindly, Turner stomped his hooves towards the door, praying with all his silent might that he would not fall. Drunk or not, old or not, exhausted or not, he would not concede defeat to the taunting Reaper.
Suddenly, just as he began to be overcome by the fumes, Turner heard a ear-splitting CRACK!
WHOMP!
“AAAAAAAAAARGGGGGGGGGGH!”
Turner fell to the floor, a rafter pressing into his spine, and laid there.
~
Pushing past a charging group of vagabonds and miners and vagrants and dreamers and schemers, Apple Bloom stood on the porch of the inn, revolver in her forehooves and pupils searching frantically for a bobtail mare.
Babs Seed galloped across no-pony’s land, from one side of the settlement to the other. An blur on four relentless hooves, Apple Bloom followed her with eyes and revolver, crying out her name. “BABS! BE CAREFUL!”
Again, Babs shouted back, "STAY THERE! COVER FO' ME!"
She wrestled with her fear and indecision, driven on one hoof to follow after her mare, on the other to stay and provide covering fire if needed. Apple Bloom compromised, deciding that she would gallop after her if she was taking too much time, too much precious, precious time.
Chaos and Tartarus broke out all around them. Thankfully, none of the dueling scum in the cactus grove appeared to be even looking at the ba—
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Exchanged gunfire from behind the bar pricked Apple Bloom’s ears and accelerated her heart, and she tightened her grip on the revolver, sweeping the scene, prime to shoot. She caught sight of Soapy—his revolver raised, his muzzle determined—and felt her heart simultaneously soar and sink.
~
Eight shots in the chamber.
Skagway the prospector—ironically known as “Soapy” to his friends (bars of soap were gold in the wasteland, and he was mighty poor in that regard)—popped off four rounds at the arsonists before they returned fire.
Three scumbag excuses for stallions fell to the ground, one bullet barely missing its targets. All were chest shots: close range and effective. His old eyes and clumsy hooves couldn’t allow for much more.
That closeness, that intimacy of steel and lead, came with a price. The remaining three emptied their own weapons into him, several shots easily finding purchase. The explosion of hot lead slicing through the air shattered his eardrums, the force of their assault sending him flying backwards.
Falling onto his back in more pain than he’d ever been, and ever would be, Soapy cocked his muzzle towards the cactus grove behind them. There, his mare pulled off furious round after furious round, sending a haughty unicorn tumbling to the plains and scattering the remaining invaders.
Dyea. The stronger and better of the two. Always had been.
Always would be.
Revolver still in his forehooves, Soapy utilized the remainder of his strength to pull the trigger four more times, emptying the chamber.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
He squinted through the light, the light that shone greater than any star in Luna’s endless blanket.
He wasn’t sure, but he thought a few of those final shots connected. He would never know. After his revolver clicked empty, the remaining arsonists took to their hooves, screaming something about reinforcements and retreat.
Fools…
Flames and smoke erupted from the bar in front of him. All began to fade before his eyes, visions of orange, yellow, red, a tempest in the West, the best, the stars in the sky…
He coughed up a river of red, agony proliferating through his grizzled old being. He knew it was time. He didn’t have the strength to laugh in the face of the Reaper, to jest and taunt and insult him. It didn’t matter anymore. He was old. They were young. He would go; they would stay.
The natural order of things.
Shouts in the distance. Babs Seed. The most foolish mare he’d ever known. And one of the strongest.
And another mare’s voice… Dyea… the one he’d miss the most.
Soapy closed his eyes and let the light overtake him.
~
His sharpshooter staggered and howled, crimson spreading across a hole in his stomach. Two of his female Manehatten Kings met their match with the unicorn mare, their bullets whizzing past her. They slumped against their cacti, defeated. Raucous gunfire and screams of agony identified at least three of arsonists as useless.
Panicking, scrambling, Card Slinger swept the scene. Only Boone and two other stallions remained within the grove. The unicorn mare and two other miners exchanged shot for shot, ducking for cover behind their own cacti. Shots from the settlement sent them ducking and flying from the other end, squeezing the remaining company into a vice from both sides.
From the corner of his eye, Card Slinger saw the flames, and grinned. “Boone! Let’s go!” he ordered, triumph in his voice. It was done. The tempest had been ignited, rapidly turning the fetid old fool’s rivals into ashes. There was no more need to play his silly games.
The two other Kings turned their attention to the unicorn mare, firing frantic shots towards her. Slinger smirked when one of them connected, sending the mare flying, but made no move to assist. This was not his war. The deed had been done.
All he and Boone needed to do now was survive.
Boone, heaving deep breaths, covered in sweat from muzzle to tail, reloading the last of his rounds into his pistol, nodded and darted his gaze through the wasteland. To the north were the remaining miners, bullets flying. To the south were the settlers, approaching fast. To the east were the bodies of the fallen.
To the west, the bar…
Boone held his weapon tightly and took to his hooves, panting, praying to his dark gods that he would be lost in the flurry and blur. He bounded towards the west, seeking to escape beyond the horizon of the flames.
Card Slinger, once his opposition paused for reload, galloped after his best and only friend.
~
Tunnel-visioned and foalish, Babs Seed bolted from one side of the settlement to the other, arriving unscathed. Raising her forehooves, the scent of thick, sickening smoke filled her nostrils. Columns of acrid smoke and hissing fire climbed past the bar’s roof and touched the skies.
Apple Bloom’s forehooves were steady around her revolver, searching for opposition. A group of her allies were shouting, “FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!” She could see barrels of water beginning to be located and hoisted onto strong stallion's backs. The noise of gunfire proved continuous, weapons of all varieties exchanging blows. She began to cough violently even as her forehooves came down, down, down upon her saloon doors, swinging them wide open.
Tears dotting her eyes from the intense heat—mind blank, empty, acting on instincts alone—Babs squinted and discerned the outline of a large figure lying on the floor, trapped beneath what appeared to be a support beam.
“Turner!” she exclaimed, hoping, hoping, hoping—
“Ba… Babs…”
His voice was weak, shaky. His words hollow, betraying. A thick curtain of gray and black smoke entwined with the midnight haze, cloaking everything in darkness. Nevertheless, Babs Seed would know that voice forevermore. Once it pierced her consciousness, she recognized it immediately, and stumbled through the dark. Her eyes burned when she opened them even briefly, so she kept them slammed shut, relying on her hearing, on her sensitive ear….
“Ooof!” Turner groaned as one of her hindhooves accidentally connected with his stomach. “Down… here…”
Crouching low, Babs felt around for the stallion’s limbs, hacking. Smoke completely dominated the atmosphere within the walls. All she, Apple Bloom, and her family had worked so tenaciously to build rapidly turned to ash around them. But she could not think of such lowly matters. Bits were nothing to the mare, never had been. They could rebuild. They could rise again. The bar was replaceable.
Her father, however, was a different story.
“Can—cough!—youze move?” she asked, attempting to slip her neck under his.
Turner shook his muzzle and spat a mouthful of blackened spit onto the floor. Coughing up spittle, he managed, “N-no! G-get dis beam off me!”
Reaching up, Babs discovered the obstacle. One of the long support beams that previously braced the ceiling against the roof of the bar pinned the stallion. Grains of sand in both their hourglasses trickling by with each passing moment, she shoved the rafter forwards, while Turner struggled to arch his back.
He howled in burning pain, feeling something slip, and crumpled again.
“Hang on!” The rafter refused to budge, trapped against the floor and the opposite wall. Babs Seed tried a different route, and leaned against Turner. “I’m gonna shove—hack!—youze out instead!”
Mustering all her might, she shoved her sides and hooves into him, eventually freeing him from his wedge. The rafter skidded forward but did not topple. Babs Seed rushed over, calling his name. She'd lost him again, the room beginning to spin around her. “TURNER!”
“Ova heeya!” He weakly waved a forehoof, stars appearing before his eyes. Whether minutes or seconds passed between his answer and her response, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that, suddenly, Babs Seed was slipping her neck below his, the rest of her body following.
Hooves shaking, lungs burning, mind blank, and eyes watering, Babs Seed slowly lifted her father onto her back. Pain tunneled through her nerves, neurotransmitters decrying out her foalish mistake. He was not heavier than carts full of ore, nor did he sink his forehooves into her sides like a rampaging timberwolf or a starving pack of coyotes. Nevertheless, she grunted in exhaustion and agony as she rose to her hooves. He rested there, groaning, wrapping his forehooves around her neck.
She began to stomp blindly through the dark, the smoke stealing their breath, their strength…
Calling upon the last of her might, Babs Seed cut across the haze, moving towards the door.
~
As Boone and Card Slinger galloped towards the bar, an orange mare appeared through its doors, carrying an unconscious, beige stallion on her back. The stallion was enormous—even bigger than the monstrous mare. She paused once reaching freedom, coughing and hacking, spitting black onto the sand.
Across the way, a group of settlers, including a yellow mare with a red mane and a raised revolver, bolted towards her.
Although the orange mare was armed, a holster clearly visible on her left shoulder, she made no motion to fight or even turn towards King Crazy and his masculine queen. She swayed and stumbled, inching closer to the opposite side of the makeshift town, the refuge in the sands.
Card Slinger plucked a memory from his weary archives. It was a memory that would not elude or evade his memory, no matter how much whiskey or cider or gin or vodka or beer or wine he chased down his throat.
He remembered a clearing near Manehatten Lake, two blank-flanked foals, and hooves of iron that pummeled his body and brought him to the brink of life and death.
And he remembered mercy.
Freezing, Slinger stared at the mare, remembering her form but not her name, while the bullets whipped around him, while sets of hooves thundered towards them, and found in the corner of his heart a sort of...
Strange realization...
A bystander, she was. A bystander, such as he had been, all those years ago. An innocent. Caught in time. Sins of the father, repented by the daughter. She was clean compared to him. Her father was a monster, and he would soon—
From the corner of his eye, Boone raised his pistol.
~
Once Babs Seed breached the bar, she gasped for breath, her lungs crying out for relief. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. It became a mantra. She had repeated it three times before her chest protested, hacking coughs dragging her closer and closer to the sand...
"Aaaah! Aaah! S-shit!" She wheezed, expelling smoke-drenched saliva onto the Earth. Turner stirred and groaned on her back but made no other noise. Beyond feeling his rising and falling chest, she realized with a chill that she wasn't sure if he had made it.
"BABS!" Apple Bloom scrambled down from the porch of the inn and galloped towards her. A group of inn guests followed after her, one of them wearing a white doctor's coat. She took a few tentative steps towards her mare, swaying, stumbling. Past her smog, she thought, A doctor! We're gonna be alright! We're gonna be—
BANG!
Babs Seed howled in absolute agony. She fell to the ground, clutching at her holster-less shoulder, where a hot cylinder of lead embedded itself, smoking steam into the night. Turner landed with a THUD! on top of her as she tumbled, amplifying her misery. She opened her muzzle to scream, but no sound came out. All she knew was pain, and stars, starlight...
She turned to face her attackers.
And knew.
They hadn't changed.
Especially...
Him.
~
Next to Card Slinger, Boone stood triumphant, his revolver smoking with traces of his perfect shot. He threw back his mane and laughed, smirking. "Ha! Got dat witness good!"
"Youze buckin' idiot!" Slinger shoved his friend forward, urging them on their hooves.
No.
He'd promised mercy—an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth—should they meet again. And now, the mare was bleeding, trembling, and her friends were galloping after them, guns raised...
~
"BABS!"
Apple Bloom trained her revolver on the laughing palomino stallion and pulled the trigger, over and over and over and over again, not caring if she hit, not caring if he returned fire, not caring about anything or anypony but her mare lying on the porch of their burning bar, bleeding and howling and crying out in absolute horror and agony.
The third time she used a weapon, she missed seven times, her bullets flying past the two invading stallions' muzzles and manes.
The eighth and final shot met its target.
The palomino stallion clutched at his side and fell to the ground, staining everything crimson.
Apple Bloom tossed her revolver aside and rushed over to Babs Seed, screaming for medic, doctor, help, salvation.
For anywhere but here.
~
"BOONE!"
Card Slinger watched in abject, timeless horror. His right-hoof stallion—his friend of almost eight years, his blood brother of almost five—collapsed. Behind him, the ominous screeches of his final two Manehatten Kings signaled the end of their raid, their annexation, their mission.
To his right, the bar blazed in a sea of holy fire, tongues of flame touching the empty Heavens. Stallions and mares began to scramble for barrels and buckets of water, hooves bursting open cacti and searching saddlebags and passing out lines of relief.
And the rest of the West was closing around him, as he jumped and weaved and dodged bullet after bullet, some of them grazing past his shoulders, his flanks, his neck. Tiny shards of steel bit and nicked him, supreme pain rocketing through his body.
Card Slinger had a decision to make, and he made the foalish one.
Slipping under Boone, he threw the smaller stallion onto his back, and galloped off into the night.
"Hang on, Boone!"
"HANG ON!"
~
There were ponies everywhere, ponies of all shapes and sizes and genders and colors. And they were slowly lifting her onto one of their backs—onto the back of a stallion who would've matched Big Macintosh in height, or even towered over him.
Apple Bloom was there, her muzzle whispering things to her. At least, they sounded like whispers, because everything strung together, all the words and sentences becoming one jumbled, inaudible noise.
And Turner was there, too. They took him off her back and put them onto the back of another stallion, this one a little smaller but just as strong. She blinked and tilted her muzzle to look at the sky.
It was night, but there was no alicorn to swoop down into her dreams this time. She was a foal no more.
She was a mare now...
~
A swarm of enraged settlers descended upon Card Slinger, firing, firing, firing. Slinger—bleeding, bruised, the weight of his friend on his back slowing him down—galloped in a zig-zag pattern, leaping from angle to angle and ignoring the burning his limbs and lungs. Freedom. They had to get to freedom.
Only his pistol and his knife remained. They'd packed no other possessions. Squeezing off return fire with one forehoof, Slinger found that the trigger soon became horribly useless. He pulled and pulled and pulled, even as more galloped towards them, ropes in their forehooves and fire in their eyes.
Tossing the depleted pistol away, Card Slinger doubled his efforts, pushing past the pain. Long accustomed to street warfare, he was strong and swift. Smaller than some of the enormous stallions headed his way, he possessed the advantages of aerodynamics, and churned his hooves, faster, faster...
The horizon came closer and closer. Heaving, wheezing, he shouted once more, "Hang on, Boone!" and kicked his hooves.
Boone groaned, but didn't move.
~
From bar-porch to inn-porch to innkeeper's room, Apple Bloom galloped beside the stallion carrying her mare, talking to her, keeping her awake. The doctor who carried her—a brute of an Earth pony stallion, tall and thick—told her that, no matter what happened next, she couldn't let Babs Seed fall asleep.
"Sugarcube, it's gonna be alright, Ah promise... Look at me, jus' please.. .look at me..." She lied through her teeth, swallowing her tears, trying her hardest not to stare at the gaping wound in her mare's shoulder, and the bullet that peeked out from inside it.
Babs Seed blinked and groaned, struggling to keep her muzzle straight, to not slide off the stallion's back. Her mind buzzed with pain and confusion as she muttered, "Bloom... I..."
The doctor stallion leaned down near the innkeeper's bed. The innkeeper nodded and gestured to two miner stallions, who—as gently as possible—pulled Babs off the doctor's back. Babs howled and thrashed, strange ponies grabbing her, hurting her...
"Babs! They're—they're gonna help you!" Apple Bloom grabbed her by the muzzle and stared straight into her eyes. The miners lowered her onto her stomach and down onto the bed.
Apple Bloom crouched low, meeting Babs's level. "Look at me, sugarcube. Look at me. Don't look at 'em. Look at me."
Babs nodded weakly, perplexed. "What... what's happenin'?"
The doctor turned to the miners and the innkeeper. "Quick, start a fire in the fireplace. Get me alcohol, knives, bandages, and rags. And a big stick." All three scrambled to their tasks, while the doctor waited, preparing for the task at hoof.
The bullet was still visible, and while the mare wasn't bleeding too profusely, the risk of infection was too probable to disregard. Far from any hospital or medical facility, they would make due, or risk far worse.
Panicking, sure she'd misheard, Babs repeated, "What's happenin', Bloom? What's goin' on?!"
The innkeeper darted towards her cold fireplace and gathered a bundle of tumbleweeds for kindling. Striking a match and tossing it into the pile, the hearth roared with a mighty flame, cracking logs and robbing the room of its cold.
"Babsy, it's alright," Apple Blooms whispered softly, holding up her muzzle with both forehooves, stroking her cheek. She swallowed the trembling in her throat and the nausea in her stomach. "Look at me. Talk ta me."
"Where's Turner?"
"He's in one o' the other rooms." Apple Bloom added, doing her best to sound sincere, "He's gonna be jus' fine, sugarcube. Jus' got a lil' bump on the head, that's all."
Her pupils dilating, Babs slowly nodded, mind blank, thoughts haphazard and disjointed. Apple Bloom ran a forehoof through her mare's mane, seeking to calm her as the two miners returned with the necessary supplies.
"Is she ready?" the doctor asked.
Apple Bloom nodded, staying strong for her mare. She tightened her grip on Babs Seed's muzzle and reminded, "Look at me, sugarcube. Look at me, alright? Ya need ta stay awake."
Awake? A single thought pierced through the smog of her pain, exhaustion, fear, anger, and sorrow. Why would she need to stay awake? The room was safely away from the chaos beyond, from the smoke and fire and bullets. The fire pleasantly warmed the room, and her beloved was here right in front of her. Why would—
"MMPRH!"
The handle of an old pickaxe was shoved into Babs Seed's mouth, making her gag. She clamped down on it with her jaws and raised a forehoof to remove it. Apple Bloom shoved her hoof away, shaking her muzzle and her fledgling tears.
"Sugarcube, jus' look at me. Don't do anythin' else."
Coughing on the rotten, fetid piece of wood—the word "foul" failing to even barely begin to describe it—she nodded and stared into her eyes, red-orange, like rubies that were on fire. Aflame. Ablaze. Fire.
"Mmrph mrrphened mrr durr mrrr?" What happened ta the bar?
Apple Bloom shook her muzzle. "No talkin', Babsy. Jus' look at me, beautiful." She hated this already. Glancing up at the doctor from the corner of her eye, Apple Bloom knew she would come to simply despise it in a few minutes.
Leaning over the injured mare's right shoulder, the doctor examined the wound, shaking his muzzle sadly. "I'm sorry," he said, frowning at Apple Bloom, "I have no choice. If we leave it in, she'll get infected. It needs to come out."
Unrefined fear and adrenaline shot through Babs Seed's veins, clearing the endorphins away. Now, as the stallion's breath made contact with the gaping bullet wound, her agony returned, and she began to groan around the axe handle, squeezing her eyes shut...
Card Slinga...
I saw him...
At his command, the innkeeper and the prospectors held down the mare's hooves, while Apple Bloom held her muzzle and talked to her, rambling. "Babs, it's gonna be alright, mostly everypony's alright, an' Ah think they even got the fire put out befo' everythin'—"
Lies, it was all lies. Everypony knew it.
Card Slinga...
... He was heeya...
The doctor pulled the cork out of a bottle of fresh whiskey and poured it all over the wound. In response, his patient thrashed and squirmed, the burning sensation nearly as unbearable as the first contact. "MMMRPH!"
"I'm sorry," the doctor whispered sincerely, leaning closer. "That'll keep this from hurting more." He balanced a knife between his forehooves.
Babs Seed started to panic, her eyes darting to the silver blade. "Mmproom! Mmrph mrree mrrrphin'?!"
Apple Bloom snapped Babs Seed to face her and leaned in close. "Close yer eyes! Close yer eyes an' listen ta ma voice! Please! Please... Babs..." Her voice shook on her final two words, tears glistening in the corners of her eyes.
To her relief, Babs obeyed, slamming her eyelids shut.
"Don't ya have any pain medicine?!" Apple Bloom pleaded, rounding on the doctor. "Can't ya at least give her whiskey?!"
The stallion passed her the bottle. "Only a little. I'll need the rest to sterilize."
The innkeeper offered Apple Bloom a glass, which she accepted with a simple nod and a sniffle. Quickly pouring a double-shot of whiskey, she pulled the ax handle out of Babs's mouth and pressed the glass to her lips. "Drink this."
Pure fire tunneled down her throat, but Babs drank it all, every last drop. She opened her eyes briefly, finding Apple Bloom watching her, biting her lower lip, transparent as a ghost. "Bloom... I don't... I don't understand...
"What happened?"
"Ya got shot, sugarcube."
"... I did?"
"Yes. Now," Apple Bloom said, bringing the axe handle back up, "bite down on this an' close yer eyes, an' listen ta me, an' it'll be over befo' ya know it..."
What'll be ova?
Biting down on the rotting wood, Babs suppressed the urge to vomit and closed her eyes. Two strong, yet gentle forehooves caressed her mane and cheeks, their owner whispering to her. Three pairs of rough forehooves held her down. A fourth set of hooves trotted somewhere behind her and then back towards her, their owner exhaling on her injured shoulder, irritating it.
I rememba chargin' in, an' gettin' Turner, an' comin' out... An' then, I was on somepony's back... An' now...
The whiskey spurred within her veins, and Babs Seed felt her head grow heavy, beginning to droop. Apple Bloom raised her chin and said, "Stay wit' me, Babs. Ah'm right here. But ya can't sleep jus' yet, okay?"
"Mmmrph." Okay.
~
Fire-lines formed, passing barrels and canteens full of water and dumping them on the blaze. Buckets of sand also found their way onto the flames. Although this fire was a particularly hungry and vengeful tempest, it slowly began to flicker away, as the oasis in the sands came together to save (for many) one of their favorite establishments.
At first, almost an entire company of vigilantes galloped after the last stallion and his wounded friend. They came closer and closer—within ten yards of him—but they soon found their weapons empty and his hooves light. When the stallion tossed his pistol away in the ultimate act of surrender, a few hesitated, confused.
That was enough for Card Slinger to escape.
Finding new strength in the strange, backwards land, Card Slinger called upon all his might and ran, ran, ran. No bullets riddled his body. Endorphins and adrenaline masked the pain of his wounds. He dove towards the horizon, towards the northeast, towards home.
With a blazing bar to save, one survivor bleeding, and the other crazy as Tartarus itself, the vigilantes gave up their chase and pivoted back towards town.
~
Awake...
Feeling the doctor stallion's heavy breath on her shoulder and the movement of one of the miner-stallions towards the blazing fire, Babs Seed knew what was to come, and willed herself away.
Apple Bloom, sensing this, began to ramble again, about higher things, things beyond the wasteland. She hoped her words would keep her strong for Babs Seed, and keep her mare awake, distracted.
It was a hopeless venture, but she spoke up anyway, her words trembling, difficult.
"Babs... First thing we're gonna do when we visit back home is go fer big milkshakes in that one lil' shop ya used ta love... We'll both get strawberry ones, with lots o' whipped cream on top, an'..."
His patient tensed. The doctor said to relax.
Babs tried to.
"... An' then we'll go ta town, an' see how everypony's doin'... All the shops, the ponies..."
The doctor pinned her right foreleg into the mattress with his, both his forehooves clutching the knife.
"... An' then we'll go back home, an' see everypony... It's been far too long..."
Inhaling deep through his nostrils, the doctor willed himself to relax in return. Hypocritically, he did nothing of the sort, and slowly brought the knife—now a tool—towards the wound. Three sets of eyes stared into him, one were squeezed shut, and one stared into another's eyelids.
"... There'll be fresh apples soon, an' pie, an' cobbler, an' cake... an'..."
Nothing could have prepared her for this.
"MMRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPH!"
Quick as he could, sweat on his brow, the doctor removed the bullet from his patient. The lead was still hot to the touch as it exited, leaving trails of crimson in its wake.
Indescribable pain became her reality, endorphins and adrenaline rising to silence it, to numb it. Babs struggled and shuddered, briefly opening her eyes to discover Apple Bloom's snout against hers, her countenance a poor mask.
"Stay wit' me... It's almost over... Ah promise," she pleaded, stroking her mane, keeping her awake, awake, awake.
Because, if she didn't...
The doctor passed another knife to a miner, applying a fresh round of whiskey to the wound. More.
"MMMMMRRRRPH! MMMMMRRRRPHOOOOOOM!"
"Ah'm... Ah'm.... S-sorry... Babs, c-c-close yer eyes...."
Understanding, the miner stuck the blade in the fireplace, warming it. Applying pressure to the wound, the doctor ordered, "Quickly! That's hot enough! Give it to me!"
Babs Seed, upon hearing this, clenched her jaws so tightly around the axe handle, she was certain she would snap it in two. She squeezed her eyes shut and braced for what was to come.
Apple Bloom—mustering every ounce of self-control to prevent herself from breaking down right then and there—stroked her mare's mane and began to ramble, though she watched the blade from the corner of her eye...
"An' then we'll be home 'gain, it'll be nice an' beautiful an' spring, an' everythin' will be alive, an' our friends an' neighbors an' family will be havin' foals soon, an' then we can go wherever ya want, Babsy! We can go ta Dodge Junction o' Hollow Shades o' Trottingham o' Las Pegasus o' anywhere...
"Anywhere..."
In one swift motion, the doctor cauterized his patient's wound.
~
Hooves hit sand, endless, repetitive.
Card Slinger, long out of steam, swayed on his hooves, the Earth spinning below him. He pressed his stomach into the cold ground, stretching out for a selfish second. Then, he gently tilted his back, allowing his right-hoof stallion freedom.
Card Slinger rolled over and grabbed Boone, saying, "Boone! Boone! Wake up! We're alright! Dey gone! Dey—"
"S-S-Slinga." Boone weakly opened his eyes, clinging to life. He looked around, finding themselves alone. "W-w-where—"
"I don't know. I don't know, Boone, but we got 'way. We got 'way, an' everythin's gonna be fine."
Pressing a forehoof into his bleeding side, Boone mumbled dreamily in response, "No, it ain't."
Fumbling for his knife, Slinger assured, "Don't worry! I'll get dat outta youze, an' it'll be fine! It'll all be fine, an' then we'll get out o' dis stinkin' hellhole, an' be back in our prime, an' we'll—"
"Slinga—"
"We'll show dat buckin' piece o' shit what for, 'cause we played his silly game, an' now—"
"Slinga—"
"Now, it's all up ta—"
"SLINGA!"
Spending all of his remaining energy on that one word, Boone hacked and rolled over, streams of scarlet staining his fur, the Earth, everything. Peering up into his leader's muzzle, the world tightening to a black ellipsis, he muttered, "Jus'... jus' shut up..."
For the first time since their return to Manehatten, Card Slinger obeyed Boone, and laid down quietly beside him.
In silence, he held his best and only friend, until the end. It had been ages since he cried, but tonight broke that streak, sickening, weak, salty tears trailing down his cheeks.
Before he went, Boone turned his muzzle slowly towards his King. "Slinga?"
"Yea?"
"I see dem."
"Who?"
"Youze parents."
"..."
"Dey say we won't see dem fo' a long time."
"Why's dat?"
Boone mumbled, "Salt an' fire first. Fo' us all."
He shuddered, and breathed his last, in the forehooves of his only.
His body was lighter now, black soul finding home.
~
Once Apple Bloom pulled the axe handle from her mouth, Babs Seed collapsed, her muzzle falling into her mare's forehooves. Apple Bloom began to shake her, stopped by the doctor's rough forehoof on her shoulder. "She can sleep now. The risk of shock has passed now that it's over."
Apple Bloom threw her forehooves around her neck and held her, relieved to hear her breathe and begin to snore against her shoulders. The two miner stallions and the inkeeper released her hooves, trotting over to Apple Bloom's side. The innkeeper asked, "What do... what do we do now, Doctor?"
"We wait and see," he bluntly replied, hanging his muzzle. "The bleeding's stopped, and the wound's sealed up very well. Let's keep it clean and give it a few days. She's a tough ol' mare."
"She sure is," answered the innkeeper. Glancing down at the bar-mares, she looked to the other three and motioned for the door. "Let's give 'em some privacy..."
The doctor nodded. "Let us check on the other patient. My colleague is taking care of him a few rooms over."
Quietly, four sets of hooves found the exit and trotted past the threshold, closing the door slowly behind them.
In the innkeeper's room, Babs Seed fell into the black. A new, dark, ugly wound hid on her right shoulder below a layer of bandages, forever to remind them of this awful night. This awful night, in the cold, black wasteland, where the fire still burned, the smoke still billowed, and all the omens of yesteryear culminated into this...
Almost losing her...
Having stayed strong through their entire ordeal, Apple Bloom finally held Babs Seed close and cried into her mane.
~
Far from Yukon, Little Strongheart looked into the flames of her campfire and remembered.
Cold fire.
She looked towards Appleloosa, and then further west.
The night was dark. Too dark.
She wished to disbelieve in her own magic.
But, she knew it was true.
She remembered a saying of her tribe, but took no comfort in it.
"Everypony must be salted with fire..."
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wow one of the best yet emotional, edge of your seat material
O_O..... SOAPY DAMNIT!!!!
It was Boone's own fault he died.
I know it's not over yet. Chewing on nails in agony until the next update. Some I expected, some unexpected. Some more yet to come. More Cash plz.
Had me biting my nails the whole time! At least Babs is okay...
Maybe the Doc can help soapy.... maybe... hopefully..
And, despite it all... for some reason, I feel sorry for Slinger. Losing his one and only true friend. Even to the blackest of hearts, to the craziest of stallions, that would hurt.
damn... just damn... good job, glad you only killed skagway instead of half of the town
weknowgifs.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/04/purse-theif-runs-through-glass-door-while-trying-to-escape-gif.gif
Good work babs, Good work
Honestly though, Excellent work on this one Babsy
2624560 I cannot help but wonder though, The gang members were veterans of years of urban warfare, Yet despite the fact they had the element of surprise and better firepower, They got slaughtered, The only pony they managed to kill was an old half blind pensioner that killed eight of them
2624560 2625131
There were far more than just Soapy killed...might wanna go back on some of the sections. And Diarch, he killed three of the six behind the bar before they unloaded into him...
Hoooo boy...that was FAR too damn close...
Edge of my seat, I tell you what.
Well, if that ain't ominous...if only I could know Slinger's reaction after hearing that news.
Oh, music. Just kinda listened to this on repeat:
2625273, Hmm, You did not specify that he did not kill the rest with the other four bullets
2625273
i mean ponies of mention, not just the
worthlessbackground miners/settlers2625700
Ahh, I see. True.
Well, we lost Dyea too...
At least she'll be with Skagway, this way.
2625560
You're right, it was a little vague...
There'll be more details about final body count next chapter, but the other three were able to get away, at least at first.
2625715
wait dyea too?!!!
how did i miss that?!
2625765 Spoilers!
2625865
She was taking down some of Slinger's troops, but they got to her.
2625904
Eenope!
2622568
Glad you enjoyed the chapter and that you started the story as well!
And yes, I thought it was a pretty awesome name. :)
2622577
Such an awesome song!
2624175
Thank you! Glad you liked it!
2624186
I know...
2624235
It sure was.
2624426
Oh no, it's faaaaaaaar from over. Glad you liked the chapter. More Cash shall most definitely be had.
2624540
Glad you enjoyed the chapter! Babs is OK, but in a hell of a state. Unfortunately, Soapy has already passed.
And yes...even as I wrote it, I felt sorry for Slinger...he may be an awful pony, but losing your only friend and in such a manner is still awful.
2624560
I already replied to your comment before but forgot to say thanks! Whoops! So yeah, thanks, glad you liked it.
2624729
Thank you my friend!
That GIF! 
2625534
Sure was. Glad you enjoyed it. We'll see more of Slinger's thoughts on that exchange next chapter. That song...wow, beautiful song.
2626528
The fic it's for ain't half bad, either.
Have some rambling thoughts about where one reader sees this going.
Slinger was crazy before and this was already going to be his last mission for Madhoof. With Boone dead, I half expect Slinger to pull a Scarface...get loaded on something that lets him feel no pain and just charge into Madhoof's mansion, absorbing a few dozen bullets, but being able to keep taking ponies/griffons/etc. down with him until his body finally stops working from severe damage.
Now, if I'm reading that right, Slinger was the only one that got away. This means Madhoof might not get confirmation of the bar's destruction. If so, I wonder who he sends next, and if it weakens his personal guard enough to give Slinger the chance he needs.
With the bar gone and Babs on the mend, it sounds like it might be time for another get together in Appleloosa, and from there, a trip to Ponyville to get a letter sent off to Celestia about things. Madhoof can't exactly stop that method of communication.
2626528 When have my gifs ever failed you?
2626142
i remember that, but i thought they just grazed her (heh, horse puns) but i guess it makes sense, since she was the one really holding them back, they just killed the two beside her and finished her off, but you might want to make that more clear that she died
i3.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/original/000/007/653/boom-headshot.jpg
SOAPY! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
When I lay down my rifle tonight,
Strip this armor off
Like chains,
Will you salute and remember me
My General?
When I make my exodus tonight,
Will you watch and let
Your slave
Feel the kiss of true freedom
My master?
And when I close my eyes tonight,
Do not try to wake me,
Only
Carry me in your memories
My brother
2626898
I'll have to read it!
2627047
You are correct, Slinger was the only one to escape. The rest of his company (other than him and Boone) pretty much traded blows with the background settlers/Soapy/Dyea, resulting in losses on that side as well. Interesting thoughts...we'll have to see if any of them are correct, my friend.
2627506
Never have! Except when you try to post ones from funnyjunk. Those fail for everybody!
2628502
LOL, horse puns.
And thanks for the feedback! Will definitely do so in next chapter.
2628945
Dyea the sharpshooter!
i.chzbgr.com/maxW500/4449799680/hA9A6088B/
2628990
I knowwwww....
2629018
Tears brimming for Boone.
Excellent job as always, my friend.
It's "salute" though, my friend.
2631566
2631566suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/19953109/images/1342723751528.jpg
2634057 It's always a pleasure reading these poems, even if they have grown to be less frequent.
2632061
It's all good!
2632083
LOL!
2634057
Beautiful!
Applause GIF fo' youze:
mematic.com/_/gifs/applause/applause-gif-3.gif
2634614
Agreed. It's quality, not quantity.
263545424.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m478apFxZk1qgb5p1o1_500.gif
2637325
That GIF!
2543024
You should! Haha! And I have no idea. FimFiction is weird sometimes.
2641450 thank you
2641520
Dang!
But yeah...Babs has a pretty complex family tree...
2641383media.tumblr.com/6e0c6c0f60e3f02b55f361f2edc307ce/tumblr_inline_mh5pibgHNu1qggtaq.gif
Intense...
2641828
I love that movie.
2642092
Very...
2643340 So do I
Great Chapter and alos intense. god someone needs to put down that crazy king stallion. Celestia will loose her support of the citizens in Manehatten due to all of the violence. Love this story and now i'm caught up.
2644708
Glad you enjoyed the chapter and are caught up!
And you are exactly right.
2641534 guess you can say this family tree has got some i108.photobucket.com/albums/n13/narutouzumaki02/MLP%20Wiki%20Pictures/RainbowDashShades-1.png
Tangled roots
2644763
AND NOW YOU UNDERSTAND MY TITLING SCHEME!
Now, I'll just leave you to decide what "Severed Roots" means...
2656374
Thanks! Glad you're liking it!
2660846
Glad you like it! Yeah, that one was planned for a while...
3rd ~ from bottom
"He shuddered, and breathed his last, in the forehooves of his only." <- Friend
As good as ever! cant wait till you post more!
this means im caught up
I LIKE IT!
2663713
Nope, that line is correct as it is. "His only" is a reference to an excerpt of a poem found in Louis Sachar's novel, "Holes".
Glad you like it! More soon!
2663742 ah i was a bit confused thanks
though some others may not get that it is a quote.
I shall use this quote
I LIKE IT!
Man... Soapy... and Boone really, he ain't gonna be there with Slinga taking over the kingdom. Well, I dunno what to say really... but I guess I'll read some more soon.