Guardian Angel
Guardian Angel
By SparkBrony
Proofread by PoisonClaw
“Good night, Angel Bunny.”
A sweet, soft voice pours through the darkness. The yellow mare plants one final kiss on the small white rabbit’s head as she finishes her lullaby, satisfied that her work soothing him to sleep is done. She takes care not to bump a hoof against his makeshift bed or nuzzle him too hard; he is a delicate little creature, after all. She smells vaguely of flowers, and her breath is like her melody: warm, ambient, refreshing. But the moment is fleeting; she leans back and stands up, turning around. It’s her bedtime too, and the lullaby was as much for her as it was for him. Her hoofsteps echo through the snug bedroom as she creaks across the floorboards. There’s the sound of a click as a light turns off, and he hears bedsheets shuffle quietly as she crawls sleepily under them.
The rabbit stares into the shadows, scratching at the bandage she’s bound around his right ear. It’s uncomfortable to wear, but his caregiver insists it’s for the best. She’s the expert on medicine in the house anyway and always knows what to do about these kinds of things. He takes his mind off of it, preoccupied with his struggle to find a suitable position in his makeshift bed. She’s fashioned the cradle especially for him out of a battered wicker basket and supplied him with silky white cloth to use as blankets. Pieces of straw poke him in the back, and the blankets are scratchy. The whole thing is wildly uncomfortable. She means well, but she’s no craftspony.
He casts another glance through the darkness at her dozing form. It’s entirely possible she is asleep already; she was out all day in town with those friends of hers. She’d already looked tired when she’d arrived home. And yet she still took the time to sing him to sleep. No thanks had been exchanged verbally, but a feeling of mutual gratefulness hung in the air between them, and it sufficed.
His mind drifts back to the morning, to breakfast, before she’d left for the day. He’d kicked the bowl of food she’d given him away because it didn’t have enough carrots. He’d been angry then, frustrated with her, ready to storm out of the house. Now he just regrets it. Why had he done it? That was stupid. To the mare who constantly took care of him, always provided for him, no less. Although he knows she already forgives him for it, he wishes he could think of a way to apologize more.
The soft snores emanating from the bed next to him draw his attention and confirm that his caregiver has indeed dozed off. Her form softly rises and falls in time with her breaths. She looks so comfortable under those warm sheets, in that vast bed; he almost wishes they could share it. It would certainly be cozier than this wicker bowl.
Unfortunately, now that she is asleep, he has work to do.
He sits up in the straw bed, peeling the white cloth off to reveal a hooded cloak lying next to him underneath. It’s even darker than the shadows around him, tailored to just his size. He quickly slips it on. It’s battered, ripped in multiple places and riddled with patches, but as soon as he dons it, he feels the strength of the enchantments coursing through it. It has a single pocket, and he reaches into it to be sure of a lone object there. His ears slide through dual holes in the hood, his right one flopping over from the weight of the bandage around it. He adjusts its position, shifting it so it no longer obstructs his field of vision. That’s better.
He climbs over the wicker wall surrounding his bed and lowers himself carefully onto the floorboards. He’s careful not to make any noise as he scurries across the room. He’s done this enough times that he knows exactly which floorboards creak and which ones don’t. The door looms dauntingly ahead, golden light seeping through the cracks between it and the frame. His caregiver likes to keep a light on outside her room during the night; she’s afraid of the dark.
He stops briefly as he reaches the gigantic wooden door and stares up at the obstacle ten times his size. It’s far too large and heavy for him to open alone, but luckily there’s a small hole carved into the very bottom of it, just big enough for him to fit through. Before slipping through, he casts one final glance back at his sleeping caregiver. This excursion is for her, after all. He would risk anything to keep her safe because he knows she would do the same for him. That’s just the way she is: selfless, perfect. His mind wanders again to breakfast, against his will. She would undoubtedly forgive him for his offense without a second thought; she isn’t one to hold grudges. But how can she care so deeply for someone as flawed and selfish as he? How can she continue to cuddle him and sing him lullabies when all he does is kick away her meal for him at the first chance he gets? Shaking his head, he forces those thoughts from his mind and concentrates on etching the image of her blissful, sound-asleep form into his vision. If this is destined to be his last memory of her, he doesn’t want it to be soured by self-pity.
Enough procrastinating; time to go. He turns and crawls through the hole in the door, entering a hallway bathed in soft glowing light emanating from a candle resting on a table high above him. He proceeds across the tall, velvety grasses of a musty rug outside the bedroom door and continues to the stairway. He hops down each step, his fluffy white tail peeking out from under the ebony cloak and bouncing with every leap like a snowball rolling down a hill.
The floor and the lower level of the house come into view as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. There are no lights on; the only glow comes seeping through the windows from the stars outside and the moon shining down through the gray clouds. He scampers over to a couch at the far end of the living room, far enough away from his caregiver’s ears now to not care if he makes any noise. He scrambles up the mahogany leg of the couch and ascends its cushiony viridian body, climbing up to the sill of the open window directly above it. He swings through the window and, with a final glance back at the dark, quiet interior of the house, drops out of it, landing gracefully in the welcomingly soft grass below.
Crickets chirp, the wind blows lazily, and nocturnal birds call in the distance. It’s a calm night, a summer night like any other.
But he is not alone.
Movement. He spins toward its source, finding himself staring into the ominous maws of the Everfree Forest. Two glowing anomalies hang like frozen fireflies at the edge of the treeline, staring at him, watching his every move. Slowly, they grow bigger as they lock onto him. He stares momentarily back into their depths, then begins to scamper toward an ancient stump in the middle of the yard, navigating his way through the tall grasses. He needs to get to the high ground.
Two more sets of glowing orbs appear near the first as he reaches the stump and clambers up on top of it. He sniffs the air eagerly, trying to discern what direction their scent is coming from. As he surveys the surrounding landscape, more begin to emerge from the shadows at the edge of the yard, the outlines of their bodies gradually becoming more defined in the dim moonlight. Crawling, creeping towards him ever so slowly, apprehensively.
They know who he is. They recognize his scars, his weathered cloak. They have planned for this confrontation.
The clanking of wood on dirt, of wooden jaws snapping eagerly, surrounds him. Growls sound from deep within the approaching monsters’ throats, attempting to make the little warrior scurry away in fear. He holds his ground. They will not enter the house, not as long as he is standing.
The air reeks of the Timberwolves’ presence. Dozens now populate the yard, creeping out of hiding, shuffling slowly, their eyes locked onto him. Not a single one dares to attack yet, but he scans the crowd warily. They will have selected a champion, a worthy hero of their force to fight to the death. Any second, they will send him forward, in a flurry of stick and claw.
An agonized howl pierces the night. Some toss their wooden heads back to the sky and let out lonely calls, others growl and bark viciously, flinging saliva from their snapping jaws. He does not flinch; his heart only races with the speed at which he searches the mass of sentient wood for the champion. He feels the pocket of his cloak with a paw for confirmation that the object within is still there. A cool breeze blows across the night, flowing through his fur, shuffling the leaves of the trees above, making the tall grasses around him ripple and whisper. There are so many glowing eyes everywhere, a thousand little vicious stars shining from eye level.
A part of him wants to run. A terrified voice inside him floods his body with chills and shrieks at him to run away and hide. Flee to somewhere, anywhere but here. But the image of his caregiver sleeping soundly inside, snoring softly, enveloped in warm sheets and cuddled against her pillow, blissfully oblivious to anything happening outside, suddenly fills his mind and buries any trace of fear under a slew of determination. What he wouldn’t do to keep that image safe! If they wanted to get to her, they would have to go through him first!
There! The champion. He knows it the moment his gaze lands on him. This Timberwolf is larger than all the others, and, somehow, there’s a certain crazed aspect to the glow in his eyes, a bloodlust only to be quenched by staining his white fur with red. The champion is a midpoint between the warrior and the treeline, biding his time, keeping his distance.
As their gazes meet, the champion breaks into a run. He sprints with all his might, as if his life’s purpose stands right before him on a greyed stump. He is much faster than he looks, abnormally quick for his size. In an instant, the warrior reaches into the pocket of the cloak, his paw clenching the weapon hiding there and whipping it out in the blink of an eye. As soon as it is drawn out, it ignites with enchanted flames. Bright little tendrils of orange leap into the night, inducing panicked yelps from several of the beasts around him. They fear nothing more than fire, and the inferno in the warrior’s paw glows brighter than any sickly Timberwolf eye.
Still, he is too slow at retrieving his weapon. He just manages to slide out of the way, the champion’s razor claws missing his head by an eyelash. They slice the bandage around his right ear into ribbons, renewing the blood flow of the cut underneath. He catches his balance just as he is about to topple off of the stump, spinning around as soon as he regains his footing. The champion has overshot him, soaring over the stump and landing behind him. Now, when the wooden creature turns back around, the warrior is ready for him.
The champion roars and launches into a second charge, showing no signs of fear at the fiery weapon his opponent wields. If anything, he sprints even faster this time, closing a much shorter distance with incredible speed. But as he leaps at the warrior on the stump, prepared to impale him into the grass, the warrior dives underneath him, and the champion’s timber claws connect with nothing but air. Taking his split-second opportunity, the warrior slashes upward at the underbelly of his opponent. His weapon meets its mark with a solid thud, and for a moment the sky is fire as the Timberwolf ignites and quickly becomes engulfed in the weapon’s enchanted flames. He only has the chance to let out the ghost of an agonized howl before disintegrating to bits of ash, swept away by the night wind.
The battle is over almost as soon as it began. Another champion, reduced to dust. Another night’s victory for the little warrior. Another night his caregiver remains safe and sound. At this point, the majority of the Timberwolves should run off into the forest, lamenting the defeat of their champion, scurrying away with wooden tails between their legs. The warrior triumphantly brandishes his weapon, waving it about to scare any straggling onlookers.
But, as the warrior quickly realizes, they are not retreating at all. Instead, they suddenly begin to shift toward him at a rapid trot, a small army of wood quickly closing in from all sides. They emanate a collective growl before assuming attack stances, pawing eagerly at the dirt as they prepare to charge. His heart sinks as he deduces their new tactic. With their vast numbers, the beasts must see their opponent – small, alone, and surrounded – as being at a severe disadvantage. In his infatuation at his victory over the champion, he’s noticed their scheme all too late. His fiery weapon and determination may dispose of a few, but under a whole siege of the lupine soldiers, he will surely be overwhelmed. How could he have been so arrogant as to attempt this alone? To take the safety of his caregiver into his own little paws?
He had never needed help before, but now, the Timberwolves had learned from their mistakes. They were never going to win with a champion. They needed an army.
An almighty roar, and, in an instant, three dozen Timberwolves converge on the stump at once.
*** *** ***
The small white rabbit stumbles wearily up the stairs, dragging his exhausted body with him. With great effort, he reaches the top step and hoists himself up on top of it, using his hind paws to gain leverage. He rolls onto the landing with a grunt. The candle still flickers weakly up on the table in the hall, lending its soft glow to the dark night.
He staggers to the bedroom door, slipping under through the little hole in the bottom. The room is serenely quiet, save for the soft snores of his caretaker, fast asleep on her bed. Everything is exactly how he left it. Still cautious of the particularly creaky floorboards, he avoids them and creeps to his small wicker basket of a bed, peeling off his cloak in the process. He dabs away the blood dripping from his right ear with it before stashing it back under the scratchy white cloth. It’s got a whole new set of scratches and tears and will certainly need more patches, but somehow it still feels as good as new.
He turns back toward his snoozing caregiver and shuffles quietly over to her bed. Using the blankets that have spilled to the floor to pull himself up, he scales his way up to her. She’s lying on her side, eyes closed peacefully, her head half buried in her pillow. Her body rises and falls ever so softly as she snores, little squeaks in the darkness.
She is so peaceful, so happy, even in sleep. He hopes she won’t mind the traces of ash and the smell of burnt wood in the yard.
As quietly and stealthily as possible, he staggers toward her, his hind paws sinking into the bed as he traverses it. His body finally gives up as he reaches her, and he collapses into her folded forelegs. He freezes a moment, hoping he didn’t wake his caregiver by bumping into her, but his fears are assuaged as she pulls him into her soft fur and cuddles him there without a word. Her breath is warm, refreshing; her fur even more so. She smells faintly of flowers.
She won’t know what he’s done when she wakes up. She’ll know nothing of what happened tonight. She might even still be upset with him for the breakfast carrot incident yesterday. She might wonder how he opened up the cut on his ear again and why the bandage is missing. She might wonder where the ash in the yard came from. But she would quickly brush these odd occurrences off, instead focusing on bandaging his ear up again and making him a new breakfast she hoped he would like.
She didn’t have to know what had happened. A mutual feeling of gratefulness still hung in the air between them, and it sufficed.