The monumental journey that turns Zecora into the mare she is today.
Zecora was born in strange circumstances, but through her hinderance and tragic beginning, she rises to the challenge by taking an epic adventure across all of Equis. Only to reap her vengeance upon the ponies that destroyed her life.
As most stories go. Once upon a time, in the land of Equestria, in a hamlet far down in the South-West, lived a group of zebras. These equines lived fruitfully, completing daily tasks such as building homes, foraging for food, studying, and all sorts of other mundane tasks we all grow to love. The city was built on a rocky hill, and had a small tower on one of it's faces. Below the tower, was the small town recently built in order to help expand the ever so unstable empire. In this pygmy village, there was a pleasant home. It was a very stylish home for it's placement, with an even, sandstone exterior, and plateau-like roof which housed a very small herb garden and even an aqueduct. The pleasant home unfortunately undermined the rest of the community, which was for the most part still in development. Beside the pleasant home stood an equally pleasant plot of forest, with pleasant palm trees, and pleasant bushes of berries, nuts, and leaves. This little land was used openly by the public and the owners alike for quiet time during the siesta hours, and for general relaxation during the break days; which were short and far apart.
Down the peachy colored path of this pleasant grove, strolled an adult zebra. She wore no shawl, as this in fact was her grove, and she was not embarrassed of her distended form. She had discovered a couple of months prior that her dramatic increase in weight was in fact a baby foal, and not all of the wonderful, delicious, greasy, pastries, that she had the privilege of being able to afford. The poorer zebras looked on, not knowing if they should be happy for the mare, or resentful of her wealth. Yes, being poor is no party, and one who is unfortunate to taste such a fate, is often aggrieved by their position.
The adult zebra trotted on, throwing around a few casual salutations in the direction of the unwinding equines. She was enjoying the sunny day and calm breeze that was drifting from the East, secretly glad the breeze was only just that, a breeze; if the wind had picked up in it's intensity, there would be a very unfavorable sandstorm later today. Her tame thoughts were very suddenly propelled out of her mind, as she began to feel a very uncomfortable pressure in her loins. BY CELESTIA! Why now of all times! I'm not supposed to be due for another 3 weeks! She bolted for the grassy exit in the grove, beginning to heave and hyperventilate. Having rehearsed her course of action if this event were to occur, she was relatively level headed, making it to the wrought iron gate in a few seconds.
She yelled out to one of her faithful maids, “Rezy! The foal is coming, please get the doctor!” The maid looked at her in horror, and began galloping to the village medical stallion.
The commotion was answered by another couple of maids who helped her to her temporary room on the first floor of the estate. Once positioned, the mare told the older housekeeper to clear the room so that the doctor would have no problem navigating around the bed. She did as told, moving a weak table holding a heavy, blueberry colored book, and huskily told the younger maid to gallop to the watch tower to get the Chief Stallion. In her inexperienced panic, the young zebra fled, and accidentally bucked the small table. Which in turn launched the weighted book into the air, where it seemed to hang in time and space while it found it's final impact point with the pregnant zebra's exposed abdomen. All three of the equines shrieked in a mixture of shock, pain, and fear. The book was large, and would be the cause for a seemingly humble beginning to transcend unto greatness.
Zecora opened her eyes. She found that she had dozed off in the forest of her parents estate, reading a book titled “The Las Pegasus Crisis”. Recalling that it was about the evolutionary history of the Pegasus social structure and the unique properties of their wings. She folded the corner of the book to serve as a impromptu bookmark, and shut the book with a decisive pop. She stood up from the foot of 'her' fig tree, and stretched her sore hooves. The book was placed carelessly into her saddlebags, and the saddlebags were flung over her back. It was still early afternoon, and there would be so much more work to do before she could go to bed and properly sleep.
The path was covered in dirt, and still held some moisture from the week long downfall, which stopped a couple of days prior. Feeling a bit hungry, Zecora plucked a nearby plumb from a neighboring tree. She nibbled on it carefully, making sure to enjoy it's tangy skin. She trotted and ate at the same time, her destination indiscreet, but generally in the direction of the large bustling town.
Emerging from the gracious shade of the woods, Zecora felt the indistinguishable rays of sunlight on her. They were nothing she was new to, but made her grateful for the forest that was essentially hers.
She looked on at the town. It was a marvelous sight. In a decade and a half since the building of the watchtower, the town had grown innumerably in size and value. When the original Zebra Empire collapsed due to unstable, and unpredictable government actions, the town found itself essentially forgotten. This was the case, up until a few months later; refugees from the now desolate capitol came crawling, in the worst of conditions, to the foothills of the quaint district of Silver Sands. A village once only used for extracting silver from the mountainside, was now a center for trade between smaller towns in the surrounding area, and a major producer of food, branching off of the expanded river to the North.
From her overlook, Zecora could see the worker zebras loading up carts with fresh fruit, and other provisions all secured within tight boxes made of yellow sandalwood. A fat zebra was barking orders at the workers who seemed not at all put off by the despicable treatment they were receiving and continued to load carts onto the carriages. The fat zebra's mane was soaked in sweat which accumulated into gross water droplets that dripped down his coat and caused the dust to become wet grime. Making him look like a living, detestable, muddy, painting. On top of all of this his repulsive mane was also missing patches of hair; all while he smoked his soggy, nauseating, cigar.
Other zebras were roaming around the town buying yarn to knit protective sand scarves, filling out loan applications, purchasing untamed foreign food at the central bazaar, and an assortment of other tasks. An older zebra was advertizing his new store which was going to sell kitchenware; any thing from stoves, to spoons is what the shop claimed to have.
The pressure of the dark yellow sun pressed on the small city with such intensity, that the whole town seemed to excrete perspiration. It did not help that the winds had picked up in recent days, sending claustrophobic sand into the air about them.
Zecora looked to the giant billboard in the center of town, where all of the notices were posted. A particularly large sheet of paper warned the town that the mines were to be evicted until the weather was more tame. She recollected that this notice was only put up recently in response to a zebra who had died from heat exhaustion after the temperature peaked to well over 120 degrees Marenheit. The mining company could not afford to compensate another poor family for their loss. As Zecora thought about this, she realized just how pitiful the lower class peasants were. Being born into a privileged family only made her thoughts on the matter more conflicting, as she had no firsthand experience in adversity. The closest she ever got to it was on her weekly visit to her teacher, the apothecary of the Silver Sands district. On most days she simply milled around the estate and adjacent grove of trees with a book.
After letting the image of the busy town sink in, she proceeded to trot carelessly down the path which lead into it. The road construction crew was hard at work, attempting to convert the excess rock dust accumulated in the mines into a 'sun proof' path material. These new roads would let traders more easily navigate into, through, and out of Silver Sands. They seemed to be testing a new material they created which mixed the rock dust with wood chips and an aqueous solution of clay. The material was sturdy, and did not crack under the intense sun; it merely expanded ever so slightly. Zecora predicted that in a mere year the whole of Silver Sands would be covered in beautiful, gunmetal, paths which didn't let sand get in between ones hooves.
Zecora, entranced by her daydream, stepped on top of a filly who was galloping from the town school, in a rush to get home. The daydream ended very clumsily due to the inevitable fall that happened. Shifting her weight off of the filly, her expression became that of guilty desperation. She helped her off of the hot dust, and the puny creature gave a winded cough.
“My apologies to you little filly, it was I who was so silly.” Zecora apologized in embarrassment. The small zebra was still quite out of breath, but she nodded to the older zebra, showing her that she accepted her apology. Zecora smiled, gave the filly a juicy green pear fresh from it's source, and then walked on, injecting herself farther into the community.
Zecora had always mused at how closely the town buildings resembled her own estate. Her parents were the original bureaucracy of the city, and had inspired many buildings to be built in the same picturesque, sandstone-like, style as their own residency. After buildings like the general store and the council office were made in such a pattern, others followed suite, making all nearby buildings out of the same pleasant, uniform, orange, stone. Some buildings went on to clone the estate even more by posting gardens on the ceiling. Zecora saw such futile attempts at synthesizing wealth to be a mockery, and did not usually confer with such needy zebras.
Finally, she turned onto an attenuated dusty street, populated by a couple of zebra adolescents, like herself. They were intently laughing at an intoxicated pony, who, Zecora recognized to be an inspector for the quality of consumables in Silver Sands. From his besmirched cream mane, to his dirty topaz coat, and smudged clipboard cutie mark, he was essentially dead weight. He gave an explosively, obnoxious snore, and her peers erupted in an uncontrollable fit of mirth. Through their laughter they constantly poked the inspector with a broken chair leg. Clearly, the poor analyst did not anticipate that testing the quality of the banana vodka would cause his abrupt downfall. As a matter a fact, Zecora only recognized his now filthy form, because of the unique cutie mark he possessed.
Sick of the abuse this fine example of success was getting, Zecora approached the group of scoffing zebras. One of the adolescents gave a particularly painful buck to the rump of the sleeping investigator. He only mumbled in complaint.
“Go now and let him be, or you will surely be sorry!” She enunciated as forcefully as she could to try and scare off the reckless equines. This shout gave the two submissive zebras a small shudder, but the leader of the group stood fast, and sneered in response.
“What will you do? Huh? Call your parents on us? Poison us with that nonsense potion act?” He retorted, glad at the opportunity to show off his superiority to the two goons he was leading.
Zecora, skillfully anticipating such a witty response, sent back a chilling rhyme that she kept at the back of her mind.
“You mock my ability to brew, yet you do not yet know what you do; I will feed you my draught and turn your insides, inside out!” She barked back at the cocky stallion. His eyes shifted from overconfidence into that of hesitant trepidation, although only giving Zecora the satisfaction of his astonished response for a moment, before returning to his previous disposition.
“You creepy cow, have your way then, there are more interesting things to do besides waste out precious time on you and your inane pony.” He spat in her direction, and then gave a wave of his hoof to his two companions, before galloping away in a cloud of dust.
Zecora squinted through the blanket of sand, and strode over to the fallen pony. Her strength was not to be undermined, as she easily lifted the pony off of his side, and stabilized him on his wobbly hooves. She proceeded to guide him into the door of the building with an excessive sign, broadcasting a collection of test tubes with a full spectrum of colors inside, under which the word “A P O T H E R Y” hung. The missing “C A” of the sign was due to a recent opening of a pawn shop in a nearby alley. The owner, Camille Camel, was so petty that he resorted to robbing all of the surrounding shops of parts of their signs in order to fully assemble his shop tag, which read “Camille's Collections”.
On the morning after his crime, a horrible disagreement of fonts was seen above his shop. It did in fact attract a lot of attention, but likely not the attention the old, senile, camel had originally anticipated. Within the first few hours of opening day, there were already set lawsuits against the camel. The law keepers sincerely did not know what to make of the situation. Based on their regulation booklet, they were not allowed to impede business procedures, but the booklet also stated that any theft was punishable for up to 4 years in the county prison, which was just on the outskirts of town.
Everypony who had any sense always avoided the prison. Not only was it said to be cursed, but it was also a painful labor camp that forced prisoners to mine their way to freedom. Most equines who lived through their terms were so mentally damaged, that they could no longer be present in confining chambers, and would end up having panic attacks in such a presented situation.
Shaking her ghostly mental images of the place aside, Zecora hit the arched door to the store several times before hearing a the rusty cackle of her teacher.
“Who is it?! The damned door is always open during these hours you foals!” The voice scolded.
“Kazum open up the store, there is a poor pony at your door.” She did her best to shout back through the thick wood of the entrance.
The door creaked open and an old zebra stood in the gloom of the doorway. He was half a head shorter than Zecora due to his aged limbs. His mane had long lost its long uniform splendor, and was just an inch thick; his beard however, was a hoof sized bush where his chin was. He wore no jewelry on himself except for one iron ring around his left ear, his right ear was akin to that of a stump. Whatever burned him, permanently destroying that ear, left that area with hardly any fur. It simply looked like a black leathery patch on his head. His cutie-mark was a grey mango leaf surrounded by white spirals, representing his vast knowledge of herbs.
“Get the poor bastard in, will you!” He cackled with his apathetic tone. Zecora dragged the drunk pony inside the cramped building.
The room that she entered was something out of a fairy tale. Warped glass bottles and tubes stood on shelves which were crudely nailed to every wall in the shop. Some of the bottles held a faint glow of purple, green, or yellow; these lights only being visible due to the dim lighting in the room, which only came form three, crude, whale oil, lamps, positioned on the salesman’s table. The only furniture seen was the coarse trade table, a smaller potion making table, and a broken, three legged, sofa near another doorway, both of which were an unwelcoming sick green color.
Zecora managed to dump the stallions body onto the sofa, making it shift to the corner without the leg. Taking a quick breath of the powdery, saturated, air she glided over to her mentor who was now shuffling around on the shelves looking for one of his potions.
He was often a mastermind when it came to brewing crafty solutions, but he had a problem with organization. None of his ingredients were labeled, and he stubbornly refused to use any other method of identification other than his trusty muzzle. Kazum always boasted that it is the most sensitive part in a pony.
In this particular situation, Kazum was quickly moving his hooves over the bottles filled with glowing liquids; popping out their corks and giving every last one of them a quick whiff before placing them back and replugging their tops. Although Zecora knew she would never learn to identify potions by odor, she could appreciate the efficiency of her mentors work.
Within a brief period of time he located the small yellow vial of twinkling liquid, and grabbed it with his maw. Kazum launched the vessel to Zecora who caught it with precision. She pulled the top off, trotted over to the sleeping stallion, and poured the entirety of the carafe into his esophagus.
The sleeping pony gave a start, and a few muscle twitches befell his form. Then, he grunted and fell into syncope.
“Dumb inspector,” Kazum gruffly said, “doesn't know how to drink properly!”
Zecora responded in a smirk, “Indeed, he had but a ripple; he does not know how to tipple.” A moment of silence followed.
“Shall we continue to our lesson then?” The old teacher inquired after staring at the sleeping equine for a few seconds. Zecora nodded, resurfacing her concentrated expression.
***
“NO!” the older Zebra hollered, “Did you not read the 16th chapter in the book I gave you!?”
“Dear teacher, I am not a very good reader...” Zecora was going to protest before she was abruptly interrupted.
“Zecora! I am old, but I am not blind! Don't take me for a fool. I know that you read, I also happen to know what you read.” Kazum seemed to calm after his outburst, but Zecora still felt the disappointment of not only upsetting her teacher, but also failing her own self benefit by ignoring her studies. She had a very short attention span and always found herself falling into slumber upon her herbology book. This was never the case with poetry, or books on other equines.
She loved poetry. A personal favorite was dark, disturbing, and deep poems, especially works by Edgar Allen Pony. Adventure poems were rare, but occasionally a the owner of the book shop would find Zecora some pages from the unfinished epic “The Trotyssey” written by a secret society of writers located in the Unicorn Tower, far far to the North. Zecora did not like most romance poems, a vast majority of which were written by adolescent ponies and over emotional hobbyists, both of who had no clear idea of what they were doing. Another reason for disliking the romance genre was due to the overcrowding of that breed of literature, there was simply too much written about it. Zecora regretted this however, because she was certain that there were beautiful, elegant, romance poems, written by experienced ponies, they were simply carpeted by poorer works.
“Come back to me you silly foal!” Kazum broke her train of thought.
“I think that it is not right, to keep me here for the whole of night.” Zecora replied, exhausted after an entire afternoon of crushing dry plants, stirring pots of simmering muck, and sending her practical experiments to Kazum for a creatively offensive blabber of scrutiny.
Her mentor facehoofed and spoke, this time in an even manner, “Very well my child, we've both had enough for the day, and you are improving, but please Zecora, read the book. It will greatly help you in this field, which I know is important to you. You were good with plants your whole life, don't throw away your natural prowess because of your idleness.”
“I swear to you, your hopes for me will come true.” Zecora said confidently, before turning around to the door. Then she remembered the drunk pony that she brought into the store and asked, “What is to be of him, he still seems a little ill.”
“Don't worry, I'll let him sleep here tonight, and send him on his way in the morning.” Kazum chortled waving her off. Satisfied with the inspectors fate, Zecora pushed open the heavy door, and walked into the dim lit alley.
Zecora did intend to go home, but not before she gave a visit to one of her closer friends in this town. She kept up a quick pace while going through the maze of back streets and dark corners of the now quiet town. There were several hoodlums mulling around, looking for a helpless victim to rob. Zecora knew how to avoid these confrontations and did so with skill, eventually making it to the smoothly lit store with a book as it's sign.
She opened the door and a bell above the doorframe shook irritably.
“Miss Zecora, how lovely to see you at such a time.” a mare behind the desk of the book store said. She was an older zebra, but it was clear that she had aged delicately, and evenly. Her mane was hanging to her right side, still completely intact. As well as a neat set of wrinkles covering her face. Although she was an elderly zebra she still possessed a crisp pair of amethyst eyes; those orbs were infamous for their quick wit and instinct. Zecora's favorite part of how the older mare looked was the heavy golden earrings that hung densely from her ears; their pleasant flaxen glow was mesmerizing to any who took the time to examine them. In pertinence to her age there was really only one physical flaw this zebra had; there was a middling scar on the left side of her flank, a reminder that abusive relationships only end in dolor, and anguish.
“Hello Zephyr my friend, have you any new books to lend?” Zecora asked intently. Zephyr replied with slight concern, “No, I've recently not been able to contact the normal caravan which carries in new material. There is a rumor going around that the new trade routes established by the Saddle Arabians are a means of cutting off supplies and information to this town. Nopony knows why, but the news is certainly discomforting.”
Zecora looked at her contemplatively and answered, “I hear this rumor for the first time, but I'm sure that we will be fine. Our town is too big to overlook, I'm certain this is just a fluke.”
“You may be right Zecora, but a few months ago I did hear of the Cracked Earth City's disappearance from all trade relations. And those ponies are just on the other side of the Zebrahara desert's buffer region. Not even a 4 days trot!” Zephyr replied anxiously.
“I will heed your news, but I must now go, before my mother will lose her fuse.”
“Very well, tomorrow you should come down here for a cup of tea. Farewell Zecora.” Zephyr gave her parting.
“I will return at mid-sky*, but until then, goodbye.” With that, Zecora exited the book shop.
The way back home was dark and cool, which was a relief from that day's earlier heat. Having traveled this path many times before, Zecora already knew her way back home. She reached the fork in the road with ease; one path lead through the pleasant grove, and the other to her parent's estate.
Another couple of minutes of her leisure gallop, and Zecora was at the great oaken door. Pulling her key out of her saddlebags; she unlatched the door and slipped in, unnoticed. Making her way to the kitchen Zecora thought about the news she got from Zephyr. There was something suspicious going on recently, an uncommon rise in prices, and all of the regular mail-routes had stopped for emergency re-routing conferences. There was something happening beyond the borders of Silver Sands and the news was completely blocked out.
She pulled out a juicy salad from the 'pot in pot' cooler, sat at the decoratively ornate table, and began to munch. Her concentration was broken a moment later when her mother, Aela Stripewood entered.
“So? Where have you been for such a long time?” Aela inquired.
“Kazum has kept me for a longer time tonight, we had to find a fungus in late blight.” Zecora autonomously answered.
“Zecora dear, Kazum has told me how you arrive late and don't read the books that he gives you.”
“That is untrue, that Kazum is a shrew!” She complained.
“Zecora! That is no way to talk of your teacher. Now go to bed, so you don't wake up late tomorrow.” Her mother scolded. Zecora gave the other zebra a scowl and trudged out of the kitchen with her salad in her hoof. Why did she always intrude? Doesn't she know that it is rude? She mused in indignation. She climbed up the curved, oaken stairwell up to the second floor where she walked down the left side of the hallway to the room with her name professionally burned into the wood of the door. As soon as she opened the door she gasped in astonishment. Her younger sister Zuri jumped at her from the mattress of the bed. The unsuspecting older sibling had little time to react, and both equines ended up on the floor furiously giggling.
“You little filly, you scared me silly.” Zecora laughed.
“You should have seen the look on your face sis! It was priceless.” Her little sister snickered.
When the giggling ceased the smaller zebra asked, “Sis, I'm having nightmares again. Can I sleep in your room tonight?” She closed the argument by presenting her puppy-dog eyes and letting her bottom lip quiver in hope. Zecora was good at sensing manipulation, and knew her sisters methods well, but she just couldn't resist giving in to the absolutely cute filly. She sighed and answered, “Very well my dear sister I will sleep on the floor, but you had better not snore!” she feigned severity.
The foal jumped up in excitement. She was still very young, and only had 3 rings around her right hoof, along with 1 neck ring; they jingled with every hop. Zecora herself remembered when she only had that much. In her family the rings were earned for every other year of your life, you got to decide the placement of the ring.
Absolutely exhausted, Zecora simply flung her bags to the other side of the room where she would deal with them in the morning. She walked to her personal wardrobe and took out her travel mattress along with a blanket, and spread them on the floor at the foot of her bed. She loved her 'travel' set, with which she always ventured out into the buffer regions of the Silver Sands district, at the very edge of the Zebrahara desert. If she was lucky she would even be able to spot a lone desert timber wolf, prowling through the sandy dunes.
Zecora tucked Zuri into her bed, letting her sink into the feathery softness of the mattress. The filly gave Zecora a weak, tired, smile. It quickly evolved into an obnoxious yawn. Zecora grinned, and began to walk away when her sister spoke, “Hay, sis? Do you love me?” This was of course an evident, but obligatory question which made the older sibling guffaw in her mind.
“More than anything, because you are everything.” She really meant it. Her little sister was by far the most important zebra to her, and she would do everything for her. She even went to the extent of naming her for her parents.
“Goodnight sis.” Zuri half yawned again.
“Goodnight, sleep tight.” Zecora trotted over to her makeshift bed, and lay down her form comfortably under the sheets. She was tired, and it took almost no effort to sink into the land of dreams. Little did she know that her divine path was going to begin the following day, and everything would change.
Zecora awoke in the middle of the night. She felt uncomfortable, and was breathing quickly. The sound of her sister sleeping on her bed calmed her down a bit, and helped ease her troubled mind. Zuri had a cute way of squeezing into a pillow and emitting tender breathing sounds. The bed sheet rose and fell, in synchronization with her noises. The younger zebra's mane was crumpled against the soft bed. Zecora shifted her gaze toward the unbolted window, which was moving slightly from the calm breeze.
A crisp, white, moon shone in the window, and was only partly blocked out by the lavender curtains, made of the thinnest linen in the country. The night sky was serene in this condition, and blended well with the navy tones of the darkened room.
Zecora took in a breath after taking in the eerily calm, and beautiful environment. These moments only happened a few times in a lifetime.
She shivered in her makeshift bed. Galavarian nighttimes were known for their unexpected drop in temperature. It often shifted from intense heat in the day to nulling cold in the night. Silver Sands wasn't even the best example of this, the nearby river cooled down the day and warmed up the night. Somewhere like Cracked Earth City would constantly test inhabitant's willpower and loyalty. That is why all of the most renowned priests and oracles, would go on annual pilgrimages to the place; thanking their gods and goddesses, by the strength of their ancestors who lived in the region before the first town ever appeared on Galavaria. Zecora had no recollection of ever going to the city, but she knew her parents took her their shortly after she started to speak.
Clop, clop, clop, clop. Creak...
Her ears perked up. Somepony was in the room with them. She did not breath, and her heart began to race at a blistering pace. Whoever that pony was, he was not of her kin, and he did not want to be discovered. He continued his slow trot through the entrance of the room, giving off heavy hoofsteps. Her heart was now beating so fast that she was afraid of it giving away her remotely hidden location to the perpetrator's left.
A thick cloth fell on her muzzle, covering it with dried earth. It was the pony's heavy white cloak, which was far from white and was roughly mended in several places.
Only now did she realize that she had held her breath in for far too long, and her body couldn't handle a second more. She forced herself to inhale slowly and deliberately. The dry piece of dirt crumbled under the pressure of her inspiration, and fluttered inside of her muzzle. The pressure she felt in her sinuses was unbearable. With all of her might she attempted to stifle her inevitable sneeze, but she knew she couldn't hold it for long. She quickly refocused her attention to her surroundings and the advancing equine. Acting on impulse, Zecora grabbed the pony's back-left hoof, and pulled.
The stranger tumbled to the ground, but was already in the process of getting up. Just as he was ready to confront Zecora and face her, Zecora exploded in his face with her massive sneeze; it blew the pony off of his hooves and landed him back on the ground in a flurry of panic and surprise. Wasting no time, Zecora swung around and landed a hard buck on his ribcage; she felt ribs crack, and disconnect from his chest. As she pushed her hooves in deeper, she felt the splintered ribs pierce the pony's lungs and other internal organs. His eyes slid up in his head, and his mouth became a slow fountain of blood.
Zecora ran to the bed-stand and light the lamp. The room was engulfed in the warm atmosphere the lamp provided. It also shed enough light to expose the splayed body of the pony struggling to breath on her bedroom floor.
His body was lying in a puddle of red, which soaked into his filthy cloak and coat. Zecora looked at his features; he was not a regular pony, but also not a zebra, his hooves and rump were only characteristic of a Saddle Arabian. She looked upon the body in disbelief he had regained most of his consciousness and was now flailing about with his hooves, and causing a racket by smashing into the bedpost and the bureau.
Over a couple of minutes, his thrashing slowed, and then stopped altogether; his fore-hooves, hind-hooves, and neck, ceased to spasm, and he silently lowered his head onto the floor, landing on the epicenter of the smeared blood. His soil plastered coat was now a sponge to the surrounding blood that his body so fervently pumped out of his body. Zecora watched the once white fabric go from dusty beige, to shiny burgundy. She realized that she was no longer hearing that serene moment, that seemed like such a short time away. Wait.
Zuri screamed.
Zecora tried her best to embrace her sister in a hug, while she wept into her with painful sobs. The two zebras sat waiting, waiting for anything, maybe their mother would come and explain all of this, maybe...
A shiny object caught Zecora's eye. It was concealed under the cloak of the dead Saddle Arabian. A shimmer from a hard, felt, sheath. She placed her sister down and stepped over to the body, carefully avoiding the blood. She extended her hoof to the sheath and took it. It had a fair weight to it, and was awkward to hold. Zecora's pupils contracted when she understood what it was. It was a curved dagger of black metal; the honed edge of the blade shone like a silver lining of a cloud. The felt hilt held a mark that resembled a circle with four adjacent arrows, pointing in every direction.
She looked back at the crumpled form. The same mark was in the center of the white cloak; it was roughly sewn on and was made of green fabric. The pony was also wearing alligator armor without metal plating.
A green circle with arrows protruding. She couldn't pinpoint where she had seen this mark, whether it was on a trade cart, or in a book, she couldn't remember. Zuri had stopped crying and was now just shaking on the bed. The older zebra approached her sister, and put her hoof on her sister's shoulder.
“Zuri, I need to check on mother; you just stay put and avoid this clutter.” Zecora softly spoke into the retracted ear of her dear sister. Zuri replied by a simple nod of her head. The older zebra stepped away from the bed and gave the lying figure a reassuring tap on the shoulder.
As Zecora was leaving the room she decided to grab the Saddle Arabian's knife, Celestia knows who else was out after them. She closed the door to her room and locked it.
Her mother's room was down the long hallway and to the right. Zecora cautiously advanced through the compromised house, expecting anything from anywhere. The darkness didn't help her navigate, but she could see the general outline of the doors and the floor beneath her fore-hooves. She could see her goal's doorknob. It was giving off a pale golden shine, as it sagged down from age. The door was not closed. It was subtly ajar, as if inviting it's prey in, hospitably, then to strike it down when it least expects it!
Zecora closed her eyes as she pushed the door open, the tension in the air was unbearable, sweat dropped in her eyes, giving her a stinging sensation, she rubbed it away. The room seemed calm, and the only noise she could hear her own erratic breathing. She took a calm breath. A calm breath? Zecora's eyes began to dart around the room trying to pinpoint the location of the fast paced breathing. They land on her mothers canopied bed. The shades are pulled down, to keep the bugs at bay, as usual. Aela hated bugs, she was tough as nails, but bugs just got to her.
Zecora knew her mother was beyond that veil, but the young zebra was frozen in fear. Nopony breathed like that unless they were injured. Thoughts flew inside of her mind of her mother sliced up and defiled. Shaking those thoughts out of her head, she proceeded to open the shades with more confidence.
With a panicking start, her fears were confirmed. Aela was laying on her side and the mattress under her was undeniably soaked with her own blood. It was streaming from her neck, which was deeply lacerated in several places. Zecora dropped the knife she was holding a ran to her mother's side. The blood pool stained Zecora's coat, and spilled over the side of the compressed cushion.
Her mother was in a grisly shape; there were several chunks torn out of the side of her neck and many stab wounds dotting her striped flank, like deplorable polka dots. She was breathing in fast and shallow waves. Not good. You didn't need to be a doctor to be able to tell that she wasn't going to pull through the night.
“Tell me who has done this to you mother, and I shall take their kin and smother.” Zecora squealed out in painful resonance of the good life that was quickly falling apart on her. Her voice was weak and wavering in tones, a simple whisper would turn into a manifest of uncontrollable voice cracks.
Aela, clearly in a different place within her mind, turned to Zecora and spoke, “My dear, take Zuri and run. Do not seek *Coughing* vengeance for this, just run. Go now gallop into the desert, make your way to the North, it is *Coughing* safer there. Let me die in peace, child.”
Still unable to fully comprehend the severity of the situation, Zecora hugged her mother's dying body tighter, and silently hoped that all of this was just a bad dream.
Zecora continued to hug Aela for a long time. So long, that when it was time to continue, her forelegs were glued to her mother with the drying blood. She heard a door being broken in and a little filly screaming. She hesitated, buried in grief, her normal senses clouded, not being able to concentrate on more than one simple task at hand. Ok, my sister is in trouble, I need to, I need to... I need to save her! The sudden clarity rushed to her and she busted through her mothers chamber doors and sprinted to her own, no longer concerning herself with stealth.
Slipping on the carpet she bashed her head against the wall of the hallway; her ear tore at the corner and began to bleed. Zecora swore under her breath, her vision was doubled. Ignoring the pain and disorientation, she galloped into what she thought was her room. Instead, she was greeted by a dark broom closet, not bothering with fully examining the room Zecora continued her way back to her own chambers. Fully certain that the next room belonged to her, she opened the door and collapsed inside.
The room was vacant of any pony life, only the dead soldier, and the calm, animated movement of the curtains. Her heart was plunged into a bucket of liquid nitrogen. She had failed her sister, and now Zuri was at the mercy of the very ponies who had slaughtered her mother. It was a grim realization. The blood dripping from her ear slid down her face and into the corner of her mouth, the nauseating metallic taste caused the zebra to gag in disgust and agony.
Taking the least amount of time to compose herself, Zecora again focused her mind through the pain. I need to find her, and get her out of this place. She trotted back out of her room and down the large entrance stairs, taking care to not fall once again. She feared that another strong impact would render her useless.
Her only way to save her sister was to stalk the rats back to their nest, and steal their prey. She needed to be stealthy. The large entrance door was sealed shut; Zecora simply took a small detour through the nearby lounge room, and exited the mansion through a large window. Not a noise was made, even the crickets were silent. The zebra stared through the darkness towards the way she thought the soldiers went, indeed there were still vague traces of a floating cloud of dust that their hooves had kicked up. She followed it, avoiding the road, but galloping as fast as she could, the time she was using to catch up to them was time not being used to notice the perfect opportunity to kidnap her sister back.
A painful 20 minutes had passed, but they had arrived at their destination. Wrought iron banners spanned the perimeter of the camp, their insignia pointing out the same strange mark, a circle with four protruding arrows coming out of it. The color scheme was also the same; green symbols on white cloth. Camp fires were twinkling in the center-most point of camp, and was surrounded by a group of cheery Saddle Arabians, who were gabbling in their own tongue, which was incomprehensible to Zecora.
She had pursued the assassins and decided to stop near the edge of the camp near the edge of the woods; shedding light on the fact that there was a system of watch ponies, who would spot her without a blink if she tried to sneak into the camp. She figured her only way in would be to walk behind a guard party, or when the watch was being shifted.
The sound of bushes being rustled erupted a hut's length to her left. A heavily accented Saddle Arabian barked orders to a prisoner, “Prisoner! You no where to go, we catch you in end.” This statement was followed by laughing from the captors, and more rustling in the bushes to her left, the sounds were getting closer to Zecora.
The suddenness of the situation startled Zecora and left her with no time to think.
“Horse zorse!” She hissed under her breath, just as the fleeing pony prisoner tripped over her lying body. The topaz blur was now lying in a pile several hooflengths away from Zecora. She looked at his flank and sighed, a clipboard. The inspector once again needed her help. Taking no time to think, she jumped up and snatched up his cream mane, effectively throwing him over her back; she felt like a miner in the prison, except she wasn't lugging around anything worth buying.
Her head and side ached as she professionally slithered through the forest, making no noise. These woods were familiar to her, and she was able to crawl out from under the hooves of the pursuers in a short amount of time. She couldn't understand why she wasted the time to save him. The inspector was snoring on her back. Zecora roughly bucked him off, and he crashed to the ground in confusion.
“Whoah what!? Where am I? Who are you? Oh AH! The guards? Where are--” Zecora shut up the pony by stuffing her hoof as far down his throat as she possible could. For a couple of seconds he gagged on it, but then he reviewed his environment, and decided to be silent. Now, in a significantly quieter tone her asked Zecora, “Who are you?”
“I am Zecora Aela Stripewood, and I am not in the mood to be stuck on this rood.” She spat back at him in a hushed accent.
“Whoa, do you always talk like that? And what do you mean by getting stuck here?”
“Silence pony! Leave me be.” Zecora whispered this while pointing out the bowl shaped clearing that they were stuck in. They were being pinned by the woods to their flanks, and the small cliffside to their front.
The topaz pony was having trouble keeping up behind Zecora as she followed the fault line to another place that she knew overlooked the campsite of the invaders.
Another 30 minutes passed, and Zecora took a crouching pose at the edge of the forest. The Saddle Arabian's were starting to head off to bed, and switching their positions at the post. Adrenaline shot through her, as she came to the realization that this may be the only chance to grab Zuri.
“You aren't really going in there right?! That's insane, they'll catch you.” The inspector whispered into her ringing ear; she winced in discomfort.
Closing her eyes and shaking her head, she began to quickly slither to the edge of the camp.
“What am I supposed to do?! If they catch me, I'm done! Please, just tell me what I should do.”
Zecora stopped dead in her tracks and sighed in annoyance. She came to the conclusion that if she didn't send him on his merry way, he wouldn't shut up, and if he didn't shut up, all of the darkness in tartarus wouldn't hide her from the guards.
Slowly, she turned 180 degrees to face him, a scowl aimed at him menacingly.
“Very well pony, I'll give you my help, but think you not that I am now your crony.” Zecora forced. The inspector had a nervous smile. He took the opportunity to break the silence, “My name is Mysterymeat, I work as an--”
Zecora decided to interrupt him, “I know who you are, word travels far.”
Then she continued, “OK, I require that you lay. I will get my Zuri, and then we will flee.”
With that, Mystery trotted backwards into the woods, and sunk down into the brush. Satisfied with his concealment, Zecora continued her infiltration of the camp.
She watched the guard trotting back to his tent, and decided to tail him. He was moving slowly, but seemed to be quiet enough to conceal her presence. Zecora saw another guard was headed in the opposite direction, he was merely a nod away from seeing her stripes. In the nick of time, she fell into a nearby tent, it was a leap of faith, but it worked. She fell into a stack of empty cardboard boxes that toppled over without too much noise. She scanned her environment thoroughly and identified it as the cafeteria, nopony was in sight. Exhaling the breath she was holding in through the whole experience she calmed down, and looked for a weapon; the knife she was in possession of was laying on the floor in her mothers room. Only in her confusion had she forgotten it. She caught a glimpse of a bread knife in the metal water basin. With a quick swipe it took hold in between her strong jaws.
Trotting to the other side of the cafeteria and looking out of the tent flap, she only saw adjacent tents and their shadows, wavering in the falling light of the fire. Daring a glace back at it, she confirmed that there were no soldiers around it.
Zecora wasted no time in emerging from her hiding spot and making her way to the darkness, away from the fire. She still had no idea where to start looking for her sister, and although the camp was not large, it would take her a little while before she could find it. And she was much more confident with her new weapon.
She had made no progress, and the adrenaline that was masking her pain was wearing off, and clouding her mind. Suddenly she heard hushed voices.
“Silence you zorse!” A gruff tone stated.
“Please mister, what are you going to do with us?” A childish voice asked. You could hear the smile forming on the crude pony's face when he said, “You? Well, you and the others will be sent to your prison to mine for the glory of Saddle Arabia. At least that's what happened with the others.”
After a second of thought, more voices joined in with the small foal's.
“No! You can't do that, we'll all die, the hardest zebra's have come out of that place as sniveling wrecks! Why would you torture the foals like--”
Clearly the guard had had enough, and slammed the side of the cages with a spear, silencing the complaining prisoners.
“Shut up! There are plenty of you to mine that place clean in a few months, those who survive will be allowed back into their homes.”
A brave captive spoke in a shaky voice, “Bu-But we won't survive a few months, most of us are barely able to walk to the neighboring town.”
“Pity.” The guard apathetically scoffed. Zecora heard crying, and more pleading.
She hid inside of a tent where the bunks were vacant of any bedding, and personal items. She sat down on the poorly cushioned bunk and placed her face in her hooves. How could they do this? The prison was the most dangerous place aside from the Zebrahara desert, but at least the Zebrahara wasn't underground. What if Zuri was already there? I didn't spot her amongst the prisoners. That was another thing, what am I to do about the prisoners? Do I leave them to rot, or blow my cover? Zecora gave off an exasperated sigh. She had made her decision.
The prison guard held his form and dreamed about his sweetheart at home, who he would promptly see in another couple of weeks. He could practically smell her fresh tuber soup, with chunks of yams, and sand-nuts. He closed his eyes so he could more properly enjoy the savory scent he memorized. His mouth was dripping with saliva. The guard wondered if the captain would allow him to take a photo of the beautiful Silver Sands area with the company's camera, so he could show his mother where he was all of this time. His heart ached, he would never admit it to his friends and fellow grunts, but he was desperately homesick. He took a quick glance at his hooves in sorrow.
Zecora flew out of the darkness like a jackalope and fell onto the back of the unaware guard. Her bread knife found it's way into his neck, and began to saw at a terrifying speed. She felt the distinct crackling of the destroyed cartilage in the throat. Her steady rhythm was brought to a crunching stop when the knife hit the spinal cord. She tried to push it beyond the bone, but the knife was too dull, and the bones too thick. Regardless of her passionate impulse filled with rage, tears, and gore, she simply shook in terror at the deed she had just done.
“Hey, you!? What are you doing, are you here to save us or not?” Came the hushed whisper of a caged zebra.
“Dear Celestia! Did you see what she did with that guard?” A female Zebra spoke, “Don't let the children see!”
Zecora was gone, her ears were ringing in a mosquito tone, her only feeling was that of loathing to herself, and the dull throbbing of every damaged part of her weary body. She gradually melted back into reality when a prisoner pelted her with a stone from the floor of the cage.
“That ought to bring her back.” Snarked a younger zebra.
“You insensitive foal, can't you see she's in pain already?” An older captive retorted.
Zecora, stood up out of the pile of meat she had butchered.
“See, it worked. Now we'll be able to escape.” The younger zebra told the older one.
Zecora moved her hooves around in the fleshy mess. Her hoof felt a sturdy metal ring, in the pool of red. She reached in and pulled it out. She took one last look at the prisoners in the cage, none of them were Zuri, and that could only mean one thing. She chucked the ring into the cage filled with zebras, turned around, and galloped into the darkness.
It was a long way to the Silver Sands prison district. Zecora didn't even know what she would be able to do once she got there. Not only had she never been to the place, but the rumors and survivors of the zone always gave her a vivid fear which would send her heart racing. Tales of ghosts, lifetime inmates, and creatures of the deep haunted her like flies on honey. And now she needed to get there.
She had only seen soldiers on this side of the Silver Sands Valley and wondered if they had taken the town yet. If it was still free, she intended to visit Zephyr for help.
The guards that were after her now, were tactically lead on a loop trail in the woods, and would be distracted for quite some time. Crouching in a small bush, Zecora formulated her next step. She needed to know whether or not the town was overtaken by these degenerates. The old clock tower made the most sense to her; it was tall, abandoned, and was just outside of town in a tactical location. The smell of the ground filled her nose, it was cool and earthy. Her silent meditation was broken by Mystery Meat.
“Ms. Stripewood? Are you alright? You've just been laying there for a while.”
Zecora did not immediately reply to his shy question, instead sinking her head deeper into her folded hooves. She felt Mystery's own hoof being placed on her back in empathy. She didn't want his hoof on her, but was too drained to do anything.
Mystery Meat rubbed the zebra's back, concerned. With all that had happened, and her short tongue, he was sure she had gone through a lot more than he had. He could tell she was a strong willed pony, leagues stronger than he, yet here she lay, dying inside. She had just killed somepony, and her sister was missing. Mystery thought about his own life; what had he lost from this? Nothing! In fact I've gained things from this. I've never gotten so much excitement from a single event. The thought forced him to wince from guilt.
Suddenly Zecora spoke, “We need a place to recon from; to the clock tower we must come.”
The surprised inspector shook his head in compliance. The both of them looked down the hill at the valley in which the quaint town stood. The clock tower was on the side closest to them, and towered over the other buildings. It was one of the first establishments in the town.
“Do you need help getting up?” The inspector questioned awkwardly. In response, Zecora got on her hooves, and gave herself a stretch. With that, she started to gallop towards the towering tower. Mystery Meat did his best to keep up with the black and white blur.
When they got to the entrance of the tower they squinted into the darkness to make sure they weren’t being followed. Deciding the way was safe, Zecora placed her foreleg on the rotting wooden door-frame. The place had fallen into severe disrepair. Lodged sand fell out of the cracks in the door and flittered onto the half buried brick path. The creak of the rusty hinges was excruciatingly loud, but there was no one to hear it.
The dark room smelled of cigars, cheap liquor, and underage sex. Not completely abandoned. Zecora thought to herself. Mystery Meat stepped inside and immediately cut his hoof on a piece of shattered glass which was the only remnants of the lantern that had once hung above the entrance.
“Ah!” His exclamation was systematically stifled by Zecora who had noticed the glass underhoof. She also observed the rotting hay and the decrepit wooden floorboards. They were saturated with moisture and termite holes. Mystery Meat squealed in pain; Zecora held her hoof firm against his muzzle. Carefully, she extended her other hoof to brush off the glass embedded in his light blue foreleg. The door creaked shut behind them. A tear swam down the pony's cheek; it mixed with his sweat and disappeared into his coat.
The glass shimmered onto the ground. Zecora looked at the hoof. It wasn't badly wounded, but she had nothing to sterilize it with, and nothing even remotely close to a bandage. She cursed under her breath and stared at the worried expression in the inspectors face.
“Do not be set aloof; but you must be wary on your hoof.”
The pony nodded his head, and Zecora took her fist from his muzzle. He took a few seconds to force air back into his starved lungs and did his best to ignore the dulling pain in his right foreleg.
They continued on their way to the old stairwell. The light blue pony was now behind Zecora, trotting in a limp. The stairs were dark and ominous, spiraling upwards into silent blackness.
Creaking all the way up, Zecora wondered about her acquaintances in town; whether they were lying in their beds, completely unaware of the danger beside them, or in a cage heading off to the prison. If they Saddle Arabians had attacked, she hoped her mentor Kazum, and her friend Zephyr had escaped.
They could barely see anything in the swallowing noire, but there was rather nothing to see. The steeple was a vacant square box. It had tightly sealed shutters on all of its sides, forcing the moonlight out.
Mystery Meat removed one of the hooks that held the shutter in place. The wooden frame crashed down to the ground in a deafening crash. Zecora manually relaxed her face and hoped that nopony would notice the noise. The topaz pony gave her another one of his nervous smiles. She threw him a glance that could spoil milk, proceeding to push him out of the way so she could get a better look outside.
The town was mostly dead, not a single pony seemed to be awake. The buildings were a pale navy in the essence of the nighttime. There was no panic it seemed. Have they not yet invaded the village? She asked in her mind. Zecora looked out further, over the side of the bowl shaped valley. There, in the very far distance she saw a blink of orange light. She could only assume that it was another camp, on the other side of the hill. She didn't need to look out of the other windows to know what she would see. Their town was surrounded.
She had encountered this tactic in the book called “The Art for War” by Tsun Hoof, a far Eastern pony who was a legendary commander for Princess Celestia a few centuries ago. The Saddle Arabians wanted there to be no resistance when they took Silver Sands. They intended to siege them into submission through starvation. And as they would wait for ribs to start appearing, they would send those who attempted to escape, into the most terrifying place in Equis.
“Hey Zecora, I think we have a problem.” Mystery said, looking out of the tower. Zecora snapped out of her momentary to examine his concern. Five soldiers were galloping to the tower at an uncomfortable pace. They were advancing from the entrance side of the building. In other words there would be no avoiding a confrontation. Zecora wasn't sure she could take on the bulk of them; clearly Mystery Meat was more of an ancillary holding her from her goal. The guards were only about a minute away, but did not see Zecora watching them.
“We must flee; do follow me.” She whispered into Mystery's long ear. Zecora vaulted over the side of the window frame. The crisp night air cleared her lungs of the damp and moldy environment. Her hooves held firm on the ledge of the opening and no noise was made by her skillful maneuver. She avoided looking down, but she knew what would happen if she fell
The guards smashed into the building like a tsunami, the door sent hurling off of its hinges. A sharp exclamation came up from below. The broken lantern claimed another victim. Zecora started her descent, being extra careful of shaky infrastructure in the shape of loose gutters, and improperly mortared stonework.
A sloppy noise was heard from the window and she reflexively looked up, just in time to catch two rear hooves with her forehead. Her earlier trauma finally reached its threshold. She was already unconscious before breaking on the ground like a sack of sand.
Mystery looked on in utter agony, he realized what his poorly played out vault had caused. He looked down over his shoulder, still clinging on to the immovable edge. Seeing her body, he gasped; her back leg was mangled in several places, and one of her ribs broke the skin on her side. At least she isn't bleeding. He thought to himself. Then he continued to mentally bash his own brains in for such a stupid thought, there was nothing good about this.
The guards made a loud racket climbing up the stairs and rushing into the empty steeple. The realization that he would be caught if he didn't move forced him to temporarily forget the battered mare on the ground, far below him.
“'Ey! The one window is open officer!” An official sounding voice resonated from above. Mystery Meat shimmied on the ledge, and around the corner to rest under a closed shutter. The sliced foreleg, combined with the unbearable tension of his weight, forced him to pray that Celestia doesn't let his muscles fail him now. He could hear the soldier's loud breath as he looked out of the window.
“Hahahahah!” The trooper laughed, “Bitch fell. Mystery solved. Let's go down and pick'er up.”
“Zecora?”
“It's her. She'll take a moment to adjust.”
“Are you sure about this Hear?”
“No. But that is why we must do this.”
Zecora could not for the life of her open her eyes. She could only taste her mouth, and hear two oddly symmetrical, angelic, voices.
“She is now awake sister.” Hear's voice sounded.
“Zecora, we do not have long before you wake, but you must do something for the good of all of Equestria.”
The other entity spoke, “I am Taste. My sister, who is accompanying me, is Hear.” Zecora had already deducted this with her mind.
“Where you are now, you can only experience what we can give you, so listen carefully.” Hear added on.
“Your future will affect all of Galavaria, and maybe even all of Equis. It is crucial for you to make your decisions positive and influential to others. I have tasted many of your possible futures and all I can tell you is that there will be much suffering before your journey is over.” Taste said enigmatically.
Hear continued, “We can sense your mind asking many questions, but we cannot answer from out location, which is leagues away. You must seek the advice of our other sister, 'See'.”
“She lives on the tallest cliff in the Cracked Earth City. Tell the oracle there that you are the Glimpse Pilgrim. She will help you speak to See.” Taste spoke in an ethereal-like voice which echoed in a space of unimaginable proportions.
“We must release you now. But we will likely speak with you again. Best of luck, mare of destiny.” Hear's soothing sound, slowly melted away, and taking with it, the taste of her own palate.
Zecora flashed her eyes open in pain, closing them immediately. She was breathing fast and shallow, a dull throbbing coming from every inch of her body. She attempted to try to remember what had happened, but couldn't. I need to calm down. Deep breaths… Deep, breaths... Her irregular breathing wouldn't cease. Every time she tried to inhale deeply, a sharp knife plunged into her side.
Zecora made another attempt to open her eyes. Nothing happened. Her eyelids lifted, but she could see no light. Am I blind?! A wave of panic hit her. She calmed, and her breathing began to regulate when she saw a pale glimmer, barely visible in the black.
Zecora tried to move, all she got was sharp pains in her legs, and a surge of vertigo. It was so dark that there was no possible way for her to tell which way was up, left, down, or anywhere. All she could orient herself by was the cool stone floor, like a jagged coral underneath her, the tear-jerking pain in and on her body, and that calm light, just barely in her vision.
She moaned out a plea for help. It was barely audible.
“Heh heh heh. Look at that, she's coming to, Niav.” A bone grinding, gravelly voice coursed her ears.
“Don'cha move now. You're in bad shape. Jus' lay there and rest darlin'. Breathe, slowly now, gooood. If you're listenin', blink twice.” In her incapacitated state, Zecora took comfort in the powerful, yet broken, voice. She complied, whimpering as she manually moved her eyes to blink twice.
“Very good… Now, I'm going to pass you some water the way it's done down here, so don'cha get alarmed now.” Not understanding what he meant, she ignored the statement, focusing instead on the new noise: the slurping of water.
Just as unexpectedly as it began, it stopped. Now Zecora heard the other pony's hooves, clopping on the rough floor, approaching her. Zecora felt a cold, slimy, hoof touch the tip of her muzzle and lift it off of its side; her face was now facing what she believed was up. In this position, she was able to breath with a lot more ease. The other pony was currently trying to close her starved nostrils. Not contempt with breathing only out of her mouth, Zecora tried to squeeze out of her captors grasp.
He said nothing, but simply put more force behind his grip. After a few seconds of fidgeting, the wounded zebra had no more energy to resist, and just let him starve her of precious oxygen. She felt him move, and then his damp breath on her face. Before she knew what had happened he gently jammed his lips onto hers. Great, I get to get raped before I die. She thought in vain. A gentle trickle of water distracted her from this thought however, instead making her realize just how thirsty she was. Now she gladly accepted the hydration coming from the heavily calloused lips, it was almost like kissing sandpaper.
She began to slowly suffocate and her vision of the pale light started to fade. The pony closed his mouth and lifted himself off of her, letting her have a few inhales of the damp air. When her breathing slowed once again, he let her have some more of the precious life-juice. They repeated this process, until all of the water in the stranger's mouth was gone.
Zecora's eyes began to adjust to the darkness, and she attempted to look at the odd pony. It was still very hard to see, and the only glimpse she was able to catch was of a white mane, and grey pelt.
However, the water had done miracles to her dry throat and oral cavity; she was even able to choke out a few words.
“Thank you.” She paused to regain her composure and continued.
“I have . . . no view . . . may I . . . please . . . look at you?”
With her final inquisitive statement, Zecora fainted; her head once again slid to the uncomfortable rock below.
Grey hooves lifted her body with ease, and carried her away as gingerly as a mother would carry her child; their forms disappeared into the swallowing black.
