A Hoof Out of Line
“What did you just say?!” The voice rang out loudly amid the bustle of the camp’s morning activities, causing some of the armor-clad ponies who had been busy preparing for the day’s sorties to stop what they were doing to crane their necks towards the sound. In one of the main paths through the tent city, stallions and mares in the stark black and red colors of Lord Raven Arrow slowly stepped away from the source of the voice.
The footpaths in the camp had long since been trampled into mud, and despite the heavy clouds and clinging mist that hung over the army their camp fires still poured smoke across the landscape and tents, coating everything in fine, powdery soot; but neither mud-covered hooves nor a soot-stained coat could dim the fire in the young mare’s pale pink eyes as the circle of ponies around her widened until she stood alone in the center. At the far end of the group of ponies a large stallion wearing armor stopped in his tracks and slowly turned back to face her, his expression neutral but for the excitement that danced in his ice blue eyes.
“I’m certain that you heard me,” he said sharply, his gaze meeting hers squarely, unflinchingly. The mare’s lip curled upwards, baring her teeth in a snarl.
“I DID,” she snapped, her short-cut golden mane bobbing around her face like an angry thundercloud as she took an aggressive step forward, her hoof squishing almost to her fetlocks in the mud. The stallion shrugged nonchalantly, and the mare felt her ire flare brightly behind her eyes despite the huge muscles that rippled beneath his chocolate brown coat.
“And what of it?” asked the stallion. His eyes stared at her unblinking as he took a step towards her, as well. “Having a hard time understanding plain words, are you?”
“Say it again,” the mare growled, her short tail lashing her hindquarters angrily. Her light armor covered her shoulders and back but left her rump and belly exposed for greater mobility, meaning that she could feel every smack of her tail on her coat. “Say it again- I DARE you.” She could feel herself shaking with rage, her white coat rubbing against the overlapping pieces of lacquered leather as his smile widened and his eyes flashed eagerly.
“I said,” he repeated, drawing out every word so there could be no mistaking or mishearing, “That I don’t mind having mares on the battlefield, but I do not like the fact that Raven Arrow expects us to watch over foals.” He turned his head and spat onto the ground, then turned back to the young mare and gave her a smug smile. “We’re trained soldiers, not foalsitters, after all.”
The mare’s teeth ground together audibly, and before she could stop herself the horn atop her head began to hiss and spark with bright magenta light. The stallion’s eyes widened the barest fraction and his smile took on a satisfied curve, but the mare was too far gone to care; her anger had flared to life in her heart, and she would be damned to Tartaurus if she was going to let this hunk of horseflesh talk to her like that.
“Ooh, what’s the matter, little filly?” the stallion cooed, his lips pursing together. “Is ‘um having a pwoblem contwolling her temper?”
“Take that back,” the mare hissed, her mane bristling with rage. “You take that back RIGHT NOW, Frost!” Hard Frost’s smile grew again, and this time it held an edge that chased the satisfaction away. His eyes narrowed and eagerness again flashed through their icy blue depths.
“Or what?” he asked quietly. The noise from the camp had all but died away as more and more ponies in armor had stopped what they were doing to watch the confrontation. Nopony made motion to step in and stop it, however, and that was just fine with the mare. This jerk has it coming, she thought vehemently.
“Or I’ll make you regret it!” she yelled, her magic embracing the hilt of the curved sword she wore at her side. “You take that filly comment back, or I swear to my ancestors I will make you pay!” Her magic caressed the tight wrapping around the grip of the katana she wore, and its touch brought her comfort and confidence as it had a hundred times before.
Frost threw back his head and laughed loudly, the sound echoing off of the tents around them as much as it could in the heavy, moist air. The soldiers around them began to mutter uncomfortably, and most of them began stepping backwards even farther; that kind of a response to a demand for an apology usually didn’t bode well for a civil resolution to the problem at hand.
“Take it back?!” he crowed, his voice dripping with mirth as he brought his eyes back to the mare. “Take it back, she says! How can I take it back when it’s completely obvious that it’s the truth?” He lifted his hoof and pointed to her white flank, just visible beneath her armor. “I’d say your blank flank says it all, little lotus blossom- you’re not fit to be here.”
“My name is Sabersong!” she snarled, her magic flaring brightly from her horn. “Not lotus blossom and I swear I’ll cut you to pieces if you call me that again!”
Another murmur, louder than the last one, filtered through the gathered ponies and several from the back of the group took off towards their commander’s tent at a high gallop. Sabersong shifted her hooves in the mud, her gaze never leaving the hulking Frost. The stallion took two steps towards her, his movements slow and deliberate; he shrugged his shoulders, adjusting where his metal plate armor sat and ensuring his own katana hung where it was easily accessible.
“Is that so, blondie?” His voice was soft, but Sabersong’s ears twitched at the eagerness hidden within it. “Do you really, honestly think that YOU can best ME?” His hooves shifted slightly as he turned his right side towards her, and her eyes darted to the katana that hung at his hip; the hilt was wrapped in pale blue cordage, and in spite of the anger burning hot in her heart Sabersong shivered at the sight of it. There isn’t a pony in camp who doesn’t know Frost’s reputation, or one who doesn’t know exactly how many ponies he’s sent to the afterlife with that sword of his… Frostbite…
But she was too angry to care.
“I know I can!” she clipped, her magic loosening her sword in its scabbard. Her eyes met his again, and again she shivered; his eyes were as cold as the winter he was named for, yet even in their icy depths she could see his lust for battle, for blood. Somewhere in her heart a voice cried out for her to back down, to sheath her sword and walk away- but Sabersong would not heed it this time. “The question is, are you stallion enough to fight me?!”
The crowd fell completely silent. No muttering, no cheers or jeers, nothing came from the gathered ponies, not even the sound of their gasps of surprise; to Sabersong, the world had gone completely and utterly silent as she stared at Hard Frost, his eyes riveted to hers. This is it, she thought, her teeth clenched so firmly that it was beginning to make her jaw ache. He wouldn’t back down now, and even in her limited experience Sabersong knew that he was mere moments from action; there would be no formality with this duel, no sacred words to be exchanged or tradition to uphold- simply action, and the bloody aftermath that would hopefully leave her the victor.
Sabersong’s horn flared a little brighter in the dim morning light while the clouds above her roiled with unshed rain. I can’t move first, she thought frantically. I have to wait, have to wait until he moves- if I move first, I lose… But Frost was staring at her from across the gap between them, his eyes the same dancing ice as before, his muscles tense yet unmoving, his sword resting and undrawn. As if he had all the time in the world… as if…
Sabersong’s eyes widened. As if he doesn’t think I have the guts to attack him..!
Her teeth ground together, and with a jerk of her head her katana leaped from its sheath; her hooves dug deep into the mud and she shot forward, her blade hovering low on her left side as she charged the large stallion, her mouth open as she let out a battle cry.
“Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!” she screamed, her fury at this stallion filling her being and fueling her movements. She closed in on him in a heartbeat, her eyes watching his as she planted her hooves firmly in the muck, raised her head and brought her horn slashing down at his long, muscular neck. Her sword followed her horn’s arc, whistling through the air at lightning speed towards the stallion, intent on spilling his blood and ending his life.
Faster than Sabersong thought possible, Frost reacted; his head darted to his right, grasped the hilt of Frostbite and drew it before, the shimmering silver blade flowing out of the scabbard like quicksilver to materialize between her sword and his neck. The ring of steel against steel rang brilliantly in the silence, and with a mighty heave Frost lunged forward and smashed into Sabersong with his armored right shoulder. The world went white for a moment as Sabersong staggered backwards, her sword wavering in the air as she shook her head, trying to clear her vision from white fog that had invaded her eyes when he had impacted her temple; she blinked wildly as panic rose in her chest, and with a jerk of her horn she tried to put her sword back into a defensive position… but it was too late.
Another clash of steel, duller than the last, rang out again, and Sabersong had just enough time to realize that her sword had been battered out of her weakened magical grip and onto the muddy ground before Frost rose in her vision, his hulking form blotting out all light from her world.
“And now you die,” he growled around Frostbite’s hilt. Sabersong threw herself backwards with all her might, but the stallion was too close and too fast. Frost became a blur of brown, black and red in Sabersong’s vision as the curved blade seemed to become liquid again, lashing out at her chest in from her left. Her magic flared but there was no blade in her grasp to block with, and the quicksilver of Frostbite reached her faster than she thought possible; it bit deeply into her armor, slashing through her white coat beneath and sending her backwards several steps.
Sabersong staggered backwards away from Frost, intent on not letting him hit her again… but when she took a breath she noted that her breathing wasn’t as even as it had been. It was now sharp and ragged, and a slow, creeping cold had begun to numb her chest and climb her neck. Without thinking she raised her left hoof to touch where she had been hit. She felt the cleave in the leather that had previously been one solid piece of material, and when she pulled her muddy hoof back a deep crimson was slowly fading into the darkness of the muck. Her eyes widened as she realized what the crimson was, what it had to be… blood. HER blood.
Her head suddenly felt light, and the world swam before her as her legs gave out, depositing her into the hoof-trodden muck in the path. The mare blinked, and suddenly she became aware of the warmth; a warm, sticky feeling across the cold of her chest, a feeling that was slowly running down towards her hooves… She struggled to stand, but as she looked down at the ground she saw the same crimson that had decorated her hoof, now beginning to mix into the mud around her and following her as she tried to force herself upright. Panic spread its black wings in her throat as she tried again to rise, but her legs simply would not support her. No, I have to get up! I have to get my sword… I…
Frost’s hooves suddenly dominated her vision, and Sabersong felt her heart leap into her throat; slowly, she followed his hooves to his legs, then to his chest and finally to his sword-bearing muzzle, and to her everlasting shame the icy touch of fear lanced into her as she met his cold gaze once more. He stared at her, his eyes as cold as his namesake; without a word he tossed Frostbite into the air, caught it so the blade protruded from the left side of his mouth and slashed Sabersong’s right cheek with his blade. Sabersong winced as Frostbite kissed her yet again, but it was soft, gentle, like a lover who had been too rough their first time; perhaps it was the loss of blood speaking, but she swore it was almost loving, as if it were doing this all for her own good… as if this were all for the best. She could feel the blood begin to flow immediately, trailing down her cheek like red tears as the corner of Frost’s mouth quirked up in a sadistic smile.
“There,” he said around Frostbite’s hilt. “Now when you get to the afterlife, they’ll know who sent you.” He flipped Frostbite in the air again, caught it and sheathed it in one smooth motion; he gave her one last glance before turning away to plod through the muck towards wherever he had been going before she’d stopped him, as if killing her wouldn’t even disrupt his morning routine…
And as her legs lost their strength and deposited her into the mud, as her vision began to go dark and she felt cold all over, she slowly realized that her death would not, in fact, mean anything to the stallion who had killed her.
The left side of her head settled gently into the mud, its earthy, sodden stench filling her nostrils as she closed her eyes. A life that meant nothing, comes to nothing… fitting… A tear leaked out of her right eye, and it seemed to her that the darkness stalking the edges of her vision suddenly leaped forward to engulf her.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The first thing she came to notice was the rain. Through the darkness that was her world she heard the steady, persistent drumming of raindrops on the roof of a tent, a cadence to draw her back to the world of the living. Soon after came the smell, the clear, fresh scent of the rain mingled with the musky scent of wet canvas and earth. Slowly she opened one eye and winced; even the low light inside the tent hurt her eye. Where… am I? she wondered foggily. How did I get…
Like a flash of lightning her duel with Hard Frost flickered back through her mind, and before she could stop herself her eyes shot open, sending shooting pain into her head. The mare took a deep breath and groaned, but immediately regretted it; a stab of pain lanced through her chest and throat, causing her to cough dryly and sending new pain shooting through her body. Between coughs she did her best to look at her surroundings, but all she could manage to gather was that she was lying on her back in a bed, covered up to her chest by a black and red blanket bearing the sigil of Lord Raven Arrow. By the Ancients, she thought through the waves of pain, what happened to me..?
A hoof gently touched her shoulder, but as Sabersong turned her head to look at who it was a canteen full of water was presented to her, blocking the other pony from view; the mare’s eyes widened again and she snatched the container with both hooves, pressed it to her lips and began to drink greedily of the water inside. The cool, clean liquid washed down her parched throat, chasing away her dry cough. It feels like I haven’t had any water in years…
She tipped the canteen back to drink more, but as suddenly as it had been presented to her the water was pulled firmly way, out of her hooves and out of reach. Sabersong gasped as a trickle of water made its way down her chin, and she turned an angry gaze on the gray earth pony standing next to her. He was older, much older than most of the warriors in camp, which in her limited experience meant that he was either a commanding officer or a medic. He gave her a frown and placed the canteen on a small table near her bed.
“That’s enough for you,” he said, his voice deep and strong despite his less than hardy appearance. “Too much water too quickly, and you’ll make yourself sick.” Sabersong’s eyes narrowed at him. Medic, then… so I must be… Her gaze softened, and slowly she brought her outstretched hooves back to her blanket-covered chest. She touched it gingerly and winced as even the gentle pressure caused it to ache. “I wouldn’t do that,” warned the medic, his eyes firm as he shook his head. “I wouldn’t play with that or the dressing on the cut on your cheek. You took quite a beating from Corporal Frost, young mare. You’re lucky to be alive, if you asked me.”
“I… honestly didn’t think I was going to live,” the unicorn said softly, her hoof touching the gauze across her cheek. She winced at the memory of his eyes, and deep inside her she felt the cold flower of fear blossom. “I should have died…”
“You’re not wrong, miss,” the medic said gruffly as he shuffled to the chair next to her bed and sat down. “If some of the other soldiers hadn’t come to get me before the fight was over I might not have got to you in time. You lost a lot of blood, but my poultices and potions managed to keep you from plunging horn-first into the great beyond.” He snorted and ran a hoof through his short black mane. “But if you didn’t get a good look at it before you came back, I’ll be surprised.”
The unicorn mare winced at his comment and allowed herself to return to a prone position. I probably shouldn’t have survived, but I did… I don’t know whether to thank him or to curse him. She inhaled slowly and let out a steadying breath before turning her head towards the older stallion again.
“Thank you,” she muttered. “For saving my life, mister…?”
“Just call me Graystone, miss- everypony else does.”
Sabersong nodded. “Thank you, Graystone. I literally owe you my life.” The mare shifted beneath her blanket uncomfortably. This wasn’t how I imagined my stint in the Raven Arrow’s army would go, she thought, her heart sinking as she glanced down at her hidden form. I had hoped that they could teach me more… that I would be able to make a name for myself… She winced as she moved again, feeling the pull of the wound beneath the heavy dressing compressing her chest. I wonder what the penalty for starting a duel in camp is… “So, how long until I can get back out to the front lines? I’m sure that Lord Raven Arrow hasn’t stopped campaigning while I’ve been down, and I do have a duty to fulfill to him.” She gave the stallion a hopeful smile, but the look that fell across his face at the mention of her duty made it shrink. “…what’s wrong?” she asked.
“Well…” Graystone shifted awkwardly on his chair, his hoof rising to rub the back of his neck. “Actually… there won’t be a need for you to return to the front lines.” He snorted angrily and dropped his hoof back to his lap. “Damned Raven Arrow, leaving this up to me…” he grumbled.
“Leaving what up to you?” asked Sabersong, unable to keep the worry from her voice. Her hooves curled around the edge of her blanket, tugging it close against her as Graystone sighed and reached his hooves to the table next to him, where several pieces of paper had laid just outside of Sabersong’s sight. With painful slowness Graystone scooped one up and held it out so she could see the red seal that held it closed- a bird in flight surrounded by five arrows. Sabersong’s throat tightened uncomfortably as the medic broke the seal and began to read it in his gruff voice.
“’Private Sabersong, assigned to the 5th Regiment under Captain Glass Heart, is hereby accused of provoking an unsolicited and unsanctioned duel with Corporal Hard Frost.’” Graystone paused to give Sabersong an arched eyebrow as he read Frost’s name, and the unicorn gave him an awkward smile and a shrug. The stallion shook his head, took a deep breath and continued. “’In doing so, she knowingly endangered non-participating military personnel in her private affairs, as well as knowingly disobeying Lord Raven Arrow’s direct orders to hold duels outside of camp and away from other ponies.’”
“That wasn’t my fault!” she blurted, her eyes wide. “Frost was baiting me, he knew that I couldn’t hold my…” Graystone glared at her from over the top of the letter, and the mare winced. “…temper… sorry.”
“Ahem.” The stallion snapped the paper in his hooves once before speaking again, his voice tense with irritation. “’After reviewing these facts, listening to the testimony of the many and varied ponies who witnessed the event and taking into account the current physical state of Private Sabersong’…” Graystone’s words tapered off. Sabersong frowned as he turned his gaze to her again, and her stomach suddenly cramped as she saw the sympathy in the blue depths of his eyes. Oh by Celestia… no… “…‘we hereby discharge her from our service,’” Graystone concluded quietly. “’She is stripped of her rank and released from her vows of fealty, and is to leave the camp as soon as she is physically able.’ It’s signed by Captain Glass Heart, under the authority of Lord Raven Arrow.” The medic’s gaze danced over the paper again as if he wasn’t certain he’d read it correctly… but Sabersong knew he had. Her head drooped as a pit opened in her stomach, swallowing her already floundering hopes in her future.
“I…” she started, but her throat clamped around her words and refused to let her speak. She swallowed, though it felt dry and seemed to jam her unspoken words farther down and away from her mouth. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to keep the tears welling up in them from spilling down her cheeks. If this is the Captain’s decision, I must abide by it… Silently she kicked and berated herself for doing something so stupid. You KNEW better, Sabersong, you KNEW BETTER… you ignorant fool. The mare took a deep breath to steady her nerves, and after a few moments she found her voice again.
“What… should I do, then?” she managed in a weak voice. “If I am no longer in Lord Raven Arrow’s service…” She paused, her mouth still half-open to continue. Why am I telling him this? She thought. Why am I asking this stranger for advice? He doesn’t know me at all, much less what I should do now! Her mouth opened wider to tell him to disregard her, tell him that she wasn’t feeling well… but something stopped her. A sick, nauseous feeling welled up in the back of her throat, and with obvious effort she swallowed it as well as her protests before finally speaking again. “…I had planned on making a life here. What should I do now?”
Graystone huffed and refolded her discharge letter before placing it back on the small table. “Well, since you asked, I suppose I should read you this OTHER letter that arrived for you while you were unconscious.”
“Other letter?” Sabersong’s eyes narrowed. “How… how long have I been in this bed, Graystone? It seems as though the world has moved on and forgotten me already…”
“You’ve been in that bed for almost two weeks, but as for the world, it hasn’t forgotten you; at least not if this letter is to be believed,” the stallion said as he lifted the second letter in his hooves. This time there was no seal, and it was obvious that Graystone had read it before. “’My dearest daughter’,” the letter began, and before he could continue Sabersong dropped her head back to her pillow in exasperation.
“By my Ancestor’s GHOSTS,” she moaned. “Not THIS tripe again…”
Graystone gave her an acidic glance over the top of the paper before continuing. “’We have received notice that you have been injured severely, and would once again like to reiterate our desire to have you back home at the estate. It has been seven months now, and though your father says you must follow your own path, I know better. Your sisters have all taken proper places in households of note and I would beg you to give up this mad quest and join them’.” The medic blinked incredulously at the next paragraph but after giving his head a small shake he continued, though his voice carried disbelief with it. “’I… pray to the Ancestors that whatever injuries you sustained… will not deface you so terribly as to detract from your… value as a bride’..?” Graystone lowered the letter, his eyes squinted. “Is… is she serious with this garbage?” he asked, his gruff voice a touch gentler than it had been before. With a vexed sigh Sabersong nodded.
“Yes, unfortunately; my mother has a very specific idea of what her precious youngest filly should be doing with her life…” She shook her head, steeling herself. “There is more, I presume?”
“Oh… yes,” Graystone muttered, turning his eyes reluctantly back to the letter as the rain pounded down on the tent roof above him. “‘-will not detract from your value as a bride so that we might find you a stallion suitable for your station. I would beg a letter from you as soon as you are able, my little lotus blossom. With hope, Graceful Flourish.’” The medic grimaced as he finished reading, as if the words on the page had left a bitter taste in his mouth. “Your mother seems… worried about you, at least,” he said, but Sabersong could hear in his voice that her mother’s words had surprised even him.
“My mother,” Sabersong spat, “cares only for her own standing with the Warlords and their inner courts. Even Lord Raven Arrow has heard of my family and their reputation for wheedling their way into things.” Her ears pressed flat against her mane as she turned her eyes towards the door at the far end of the tent and the rain pouring down outside it. “He almost didn’t allow me to serve in his army for fear that it was a ploy by my family to gain purchase in his holdings… and I have no doubt that is one of the reasons for my…” She winced, and realized she couldn’t say it. “In all of Steelshod, no family is as well known for having claws to dig into others the way my family is, and we have many Griffons who call our country home, if you get my meaning…” Graystone just nodded and placed the letter back on the table before setting his hooves in his lap.
“So it sounds as though you’ll have a decision to make in the near future,” he said as he watched her closely. “You should be ready to move around on your own in a few days, and then you’ll have to leave us.” Sabersong’s eyes never left the rain, but as his words sank in her shoulders slumped and it felt as though the cloth of her bandage wasn’t the only thing pressing down on her chest. Leave this army… the very place I sought to flee from my problems has offered me no sanctuary…
She could feel Graystone’s eyes on her for several minutes as she stared at the outside world, her mind slowly turning the very few prospects she had over and over again as she searched for something, anything that could give her a way out of this situation… but she could find nothing. If I go back home, my mother will never let me leave again, she thought, her eyes watching the rain unblinking. But if I don’t go home… where else is there? This will get to the other Warlords, and a discharge from service along with my family’s reputation may well mean never finding a new place… never finding my way… Finally she turned back to Graystone, hopelessness welling up inside her like a plume of frigid fog.
“…what should I do?” she asked quietly. Her vision began to blur and she could feel a tear slowly making its way down her cheek. “I have nowhere to go but back to the prison of my home… and how can I do that…” She sniffed angrily at herself, and when she spoke again her words were tinted with venom. “…how can I go back to that when I have spent my whole life getting AWAY!?” she choked.
The old medic watched her as her hooves curled around her blanket and began to knot it in frustration and anger, his tongue held tightly against the tide of her emotions. Finally, as Sabersong’s tears began to flow in earnest he gave a long, drawn out sigh.
“Young mare,” said Graystone, his voice rough and coarse like cast iron, “It looks like you don’t have a lot of options before you… but allow me one question.” The unicorn sniffled pitifully but managed a nod, and the stallion gave her one in return. “You’ve talked much about the paths you have to choose from, but said nothing about the path you want to walk.” He leaned forward slightly, his wizened eyes watching her, sharp despite their age. “Your mother called you ‘lotus blossom’ in her letter. Why is that?” Sabersong blinked at him, but after a moment she managed to huff angrily despite her tears.
“My mother likes to call me that because she feels like that is what I must be- a delicate, beautiful flower with no use or purpose or… or anything. And I refuse to be useless, placed on a shelf for viewing!”
“Hmmm,” was all Graystone said as he watched her fold her hooves gingerly over her chest and glare out at the rain; finally, just when Sabersong felt she could stand the silence no longer, the older stallion spoke again. “Now, my question, young mare: When does the lotus flower bloom?”
“Wh…what?” Sabersong wiped a hoof across her face before facing Graystone once more, her bloodshot eyes narrow. “What does that even mean?” she grumbled. “How am I supposed to know, I’m not a gardener…”
“No, Sabersong,” Graystone said, the patience that had coated his voice mere moments before quickly draining away to reveal the rough iron beneath. “You refuse to be called ‘lotus blossom’, yet you and the flower you hate share many similarities, I feel.” The mare opened her mouth to argue with him but the medic held up his hoof, his eyes firm enough to stop her words before they could even form. “If you meditate on these words, Sabersong, I think you would find more than just wisdom there.” His eyes danced to where her flank was covered with the blanket and back to her eyes once more. “Think on it- you may find your path there.” Without waiting for her to reply the stallion slid off of his chair and shook his mane out. “I have some things to attend to before the army returns with more wounded, as I’m sure they will.” He walked to the door, not even bothering to don a cloak as he stepped out into the rain; the downpour immediately soaked his mane and tail, and Sabersong expected him to dash away without another word. Before he disappeared from Sabersong’s view, however, he turned and gave her a long look. “When does the lotus flower bloom, young mare?” he said loudly over the pouring rain. “Think on it.”
Sabersong sat forward on her bed, her eyes wide despite the absurdity of his idea. “W-wait, Graystone! What does that…?” But the stallion merely gave her a nod, then turned and hurried away into the squall. The unicorn watched his retreating form until it was lost, fading away into the dusky half-twilight that the storm cast across the camp. “What does that mean…?” Only the pounding rain atop the tent answered her, its endless drumming echoing deep into her soul. Slowly, the mare let her head fall back to her pillow and droop to the right, her chest feeling empty for the second time that day. As she allowed her eyes to sweep to the wall of the tent she saw something that drew her attention and caused her ears to perk up just slightly.
Standing against one of the poles supporting the tent was her sword, its deep gray hilt unmistakable to the unicorn. Sabersong’s eyes danced from the sheathed blade to the door of the tent through which Graystone had vanished… and a determined frown slowly furrowed her brow.
“A lotus blooms when she is ready,” she muttered under her breath. Slowly she sat back up in her bed, swinging her legs over the edge and carefully sliding out. Her legs wobbled beneath her but held her, and after a few moments of carefully flexing each leg to ensure it was usable she turned to face the door. She glanced down at the bandage covering her chest and winced; it was large and slightly bulky, certainly not the best to travel in but… What choice do I have? She rolled her shoulders and set her jaw firmly. Her horn lit up and her sword floated from its resting place against the pole to slide easily around her hips; with a simple manipulation of the strap beneath her Sabersong secured the weapon. She limped towards the door of the tent, steeling her resolve as she gazed out into the deluge… and after a moment of hesitation her magic lit up again, levitating a cloak from a nearby chair and draping it over her shoulders. She cinched it tightly around her neck but didn’t pull the hood up, and with a deep sigh she stepped out of the tent into the drenching rain.
Sabersong would never meet Graystone again her life, but in her later years she would often speak of him; the strange stallion who had touched her path briefly, yet had left more of an impact on her than anypony else ever had, or would. However, that day as she started to slog off into the driving rain she gave no more thought to his words than she did the letter from her mother. No path matters but my own, she thought as the cleansing rain plastered her mane to her face. I must make my own path… no matter where that may lead… Her magic glowed again and the hood of her cloak was pulled up, protecting her from the rain as well as any prying eyes that might see her departure. With one last glance around the camp, she took a deep breath and started walking.
At that point, she had no idea where she would go. There was only the road and the will to walk it- and desperation had given Sabersong the will to walk forever.