In the San Palomino Desert, Wanderlust finds himself caught in the nexus of ruthless outlaws, desparate farmers, and fatal beauty. Danger and trechery abound in the wild west of Equestria.
Part of the Unforgiven Saga's "Wander'verse".
In the dusty San Palomino Desert, Wanderlust's nomadic journey takes him to a wild west of ruthless outlaws, a family farm on the brink of ruin, and a local mystery of disappearing stallions. Caught in the middle of a web of intrigue, greed, and violence, he must find a way to save the struggling pony folk from the schemes of those intent on their destruction.
Featuring guest characters from the uber-talented artist, TGBJerga, this story precedes "Path of the Unforgiven".
Wanderlust opened his eyes slowly, the sun beating down from directly above was nearly blinding. His mouth was encrusted with sand and blisters from exposure, as dry and cracked as the long-ago extinct sea floor that cradled the wasteland. A breath trapped in his lungs finally escaped, a plume of dust particles shooting into the air and carried off by a passing breeze.
“Reckon I passed you by a week ago. Same spot. Same buzzards squawkin’ overhead.”
The unknown voice was gruff, a mix of sour disposition and experienced coldness, with a good amount of southern Equestrian drawl.
“Woulda pegged you for a mess’a bleached bones by now.”
Wanderlust was able to make out the shape of the stallion looming over him by the outline between the sun and he. The details were obscured, but he could tell it was an Earth Pony, with a thinning mane, and a Stetson hat.
“Ya certainly smell enough like death.”
Weakly, and with agonizing effort, Wanderlust turned over onto his stomach and tried to hoist himself from the ground, but instead found his legs lacked their usual robust power. Insufficient as they were, he collapsed back down to the dirt.
He felt a helping hoof slip under his foreleg, one that was not lacking in strength, and pulled him to his full verticality. Wanderlust tried to form words, give the good Samaritan a proper thanks. His throat however, was parched beyond use, and naught else was raised but a wheezing cough.
A water skin was thrust into his mouth, and the tantalizing prospect of fresh water on his tongue provided enough of a motivation to urge his own hoof to come up and press the old and beaten container, ushering the liquid life upwards. The moment he felt the water splash into his mouth, he began to drink greedily, sucking it in to quell the cry of thirst from every cell in his body.
Suddenly it was pulled away from him, a few precious drops falling to dot the sand.
“Can’t drink too much too fast, it’ll make ya sick.” The voice paused before continuing. “Though I don’t rightly reckon what difference it’d make in yer case.”
“Thank you…” Wanderlust whispered, his own vocal chords returning to him, coughing and clearing his throat. “Thank you.”
Bringing is head up, he finally got a good look at his savior. What he saw might have put any other pony right back down in the dirt. The stallion was of average height, a brown mane atop a much lighter brown fur coat. Seated upon his head was the grey Stetson, with gold cord around the base that ended in a pair of crossed tassels.
But the face, the face was something to send a chill up the spine. While the left side was normal, worn by weather and exposure into a toughened, grim countenance, the right side was starkly different. Disfigured and misshapen, part of the flesh covering the mouth was missing. The mutilation continued up the face, making his right eye seem enlarged in the cavity. In place of normal skin was scar tissue, the evidence of some encounter with fire. A string of muscle reached down from his cheek to the lower jaw, separating gaps that left his teeth bare to the naked eye.
The stranger’s eyes were grey, and peered into him with all the meanness of a rattlesnake and scrutiny of an eagle.
“I suppose I ain’t the prettiest thing you ever woke up to.” he said.
“You’d be surprised.” Wanderlust returned with a feeble jest. “Who are you?”
“Name’s Hex, and ponies I find in the desert ain’t usually go so much life in ‘em. What’s yer handle stranger?”
“Wanderlust. I uh, I suppose that I am in your debt friend.”
Hex spat a wad of something dark to the side, then proceeded to mull something lodged in behind his good lip.
“Ain’t no need for all that. You just make sure to pay it forward. Now come on, there’s a homestead about a day’s walk from here, good folk, get you looked after proper.”
“Aye, I could go for some of that.” As Hex turned towards the eastern horizon, Wanderlust followed, finding some reservoir of vigor in his body to give his legs enough power to operate. Stooping down to briefly collect his saddle bags and throw them over his barrel, he craned his head upwards to where the vultures swung in their long circles, giving them a small snicker.
It must have been late afternoon when Hex woke me, for night was upon us before long. The desert is a curious place. It’s oppressive heat during the day has of course long been the citation of folklore and idioms. But as the more learned will tell you, it is the nights that sneak upon you with a surprising chill. Since there is no moisture in the air to retain the warmth of the day, the twilight brings forth a paradoxical nip in the arid landscape. The effect is a drastic drop in temperature, which takes the unacclimated pony quite unawares if he is not prepared with a blanket or something warm to see him through to daybreak.
He spoke little, and I was just as sparse. Not that I could have sustained long conversations even if I willed it. The long exposure to the harsh elements had left me quite famished, tired, and sore. Every so often Hex would spare me a little more water, which I was happy to receive in measured doses, so as not to bring on an unease which would only worsen my condition, and squander my companion’s good will efforts.
Aside from the shocking disfigurement of his face, he was relatively an unremarkable fellow. I was a few inches taller, more stout than he, but he carried himself with a leanness of both build and wits. I had no doubt that he was possessed of great survival skills, honed over many years of a hard life. Though I was curious to ask as to the nature of his scarring, I felt it might intrude upon some deep-seated nerve that I dare not offend.
I was well familiar with navigating by the elements, I could traverse Equestria to Mooscow to Griffinstone by the stars. The Sun however, due to its raising and lowering at the whim of Celestia, was a less dependable reference point. By whatever means, Hex’s path remained true as best I could discern, the eastern horizon rolled out before us on an endless carpet. We passed the great mesas that jutted out from the earth like ancient trees of stone, what were once carved out by ocean currents now scavenged by hot winds of erosion. It had been an idea of mine for some time to attempt to reintroduce the floodwaters of the South Luna Ocean to the plain, possibly by means of a canal or aqueduct conveyance.
Entering a canyon, we began the process of bedding down for the night. He supplied his own bedroll from the pack he bore across his croup, and I of course pulled from my saddlebags a suitable mat roll and blanket. I obliged him the effort, and started a fire with my magic to keep us warm using some firewood we collected from our surroundings. In return for more sips of water, I gave him some dried fruits to chew on from my pack, which he stoically enjoyed. A number of thorny bushed sprouted around us, adding some bellicose looking flora to our scenery.
I laid down, taking care to avoid the side I had been laying on for the duration of my unconscious stupor, as a great sore across my hips had made itself known in the past few hours. As darkness fell, and the specter of the Mare in the Moon took her nightly perch, I lay awake, wondering if she were not gazing back down at us.
“Where ya from?” Hex asked, the first words from him since we stopped to make camp. I rolled over to speak to him, but found that he was staring off into the distance, the type of disconnected, contemplative stare I’d seen on many a warrior and soldier. His unprotected eye gleamed with the light of the fire under the brim of his hat, a fascinating image that I would never forget.
“Yer not from around these parts. Don’t see many unicorns this far from a big city.”
“Up north, originally.” I told him, omitting a few avoidable details. “but I’ve been on the road for many years now. This dry basin is as much my home as anywhere else I suppose.”
“Hmm.” He snorted, spitting another gob of his chewing leaf spit. “Now that name ah’yers makes a bit more sense. What exactly were you doing in the middle of the desert anyhow?”
While the question itself was a perfectly logical one to ask, the tone with which he spoke it gave hint that he was doing more than making idle conversation. He was investigating me. Not that I took offense.
“I’m searching for something.” I admitted, seeing no harm. “A very special amulet that could do a lot of damage if it falls into the wrong hooves. My latest lead told me of a treasure horde in the Arimaspi Territory, the product of generations of plundered trade ships, where a dragon had been rumored to be nesting among the ruins of the crude civilization left behind by the cycloptic beasts.”
“Was there a real treasure?” Hex seemed genuinely interested.
“Oh there was… And the dragon was also quite real. The amulet however, was not to be found. In my haste to escape the wrath of the monster, I was pursued onto the plains, where I managed to find a hiding spot in the belly of an overhang that was luckily, well recessed. The dragon, I suppose became more concerned for the safety of his unguarded horde than spending his time trying to ferret me out, and left me to the elements.
I was hoping to make my way to the coast when I’m afraid I must’ve succumbed to a delirium, chasing after one illusory oasis after another in my hunt for water. It appears my map is a bit out of date, as I expected the coast to be much closer than what it must be.”
Hex curled a lip, glancing away from me. “Them folk we’re headed to can getcha on to the train station what runs just north of the Macintosh Hills. Get ya to the coast or wherever.”
“That, would be ideal.” After a bit more, I finally fell asleep, the steady crackle of the fire and various chatter of the wildlife a familiar lullaby.
I was awoken with a start in the middle of the night, Hex jostling my hooves until I roused to find him standing over our doused fire, the shape of his body in the moonlight told me he was poised to lash out at any moment.
“What is it?” I whispered, my own experience with nocturnal dangers training me to make as little commotion as possible. I stirred not from my blanket, moving only my head as it allowed me to survey our area for threats. Nothing visual was apparent, but there was a curious, very slight tremor in the ground.
“Diamond Dogs.” He muttered in a low growl that bespoke a practiced antipathy.
My own understanding of the canid breed was limited, coming from books, academic works, and anecdotes passed along a dozen or more mouths. Unlike their domestic cousins, Diamond Dogs were a curious specie; sapient and largely bipedal. They did however, remain a somewhat primitive nation, wearing tattered clothing that their own paws could not possibly fabricate, and their vocabulary was comparable to a school-aged filly.
Their culture was known as centering around the procurement of precious stones, which gave them their common name as they primarily secured them by excavating them from the earth. Living their lives either in the subterranean burrows or in huts constructed from earth and roughhewn timber, they lived day-to-day among their immediate family and close related kin. The peak of their achievement, was a relatively small city-state, built mostly of clay and serving as the great hub for all the various packs and clans.
They were also not averse to scavenging and thievery, ambushing and robbing ponies for their valuables. It was even accused that they would capture ponies, and enslave them to work the ever-growing network of tunnels and lairs in their feverish desire for more jewels. As such their encounters with ponies were rarely pleasant, and often violent. The most formidable weapon in their arsenal, were diamond-tipped spears, simple but very effective.
I was my sincere hope to avoid any meeting of any kind with them, not least because I was in poor condition to defend myself.
“Are they close?” Lacking the experience, I was wholly dependant on Hex’s assessment of the situation.
“Depends.” Shifting his weight to his left side, Hex spoke through his gritted teeth. “You wouldn’t happen to be luggin’ around any gems in that pack ah’yers, would ya?”
“I… may have a number of precious stones in my possession.” Considering the nature of the stones and how I obtained them, letting them fall into the Dogs paws was not an option.
“Well them mutts get closer they’re gonna sniff ‘em out. Stay here.” Hex stepped off into the darkness beyond my sight, scouting for any sign that the notorious mongrels had caught notice of us. I lay there in my bedroll, putting my own considerable detection skills to use, in case they designed to steal upon me from concealment. The queer trembling in the ground remained as before, getting neither closer nor farther.
Minutes passed as I listened to the night, the wing beats of an owl, the slither of a snake through the sand, the patter of a jack rabbit thumping along through the bush. Hex likewise was nowhere to be found, I imagined him coiled like a viper in his own hiding spot to strike out against intruders.
Suddenly the vibrations ceased. They did not fade away as one might expect of activity moving away from you, instead it stopped quite abruptly, as if interfered with or catching wind of something interesting. I did not like the implications.
Faster than I could have expected, the ground around me exploded, showering me with dirt and rocks. I covered my face and drew in my saddle bags with my hind legs for protection. The quiet of the night was now filled with the excited grunts and growls of no less than three salivating upright canines.
“Where is it!” They cried in feral, ravenous barks. “Give it! Give it! Give us the shinies stupid pony!”
Their paws were on me, scratching and groping, trying to wrench my saddle bags away from me. I lashed out with a hoof and felt the muzzle of one crumple, the sharp yelp of its owner like an audible knife through the air. While I may be weakened, I still probably had more fight left in me than they had a tolerance for. The scent of my jewels however must have overcome their better judgment, and they continued to pull and grasp.
My horn erupted, a sphere of light stretching out until a bubble formed around me, a hard light construct that had served me well more times than I can count. While the potency of unicorn magic can vary with the strength of the caster at any given time, I have found that willpower offers a much more stable and pure source for spells. It is no mere boast of mine to say that these assailants stood no chance of breaking through a barrier of my conjuration.
“Stupid magic pony! Give us the shinies!”
Nonetheless, the Diamond Dogs continued to claw and beat on the translucent shield with their prodigious forepaws, pressing their faces up against it like a window. I could now see the lust in their eyes for their prize, wagging tongues dragging slobber across the surface in smears. They were a motley trio; while all three sported the collars of their particular pack, two of them wore ragged vests, the third a pair of leggings apparently sewn together from multiple sets.
They must not have been very used to dealing with the magic of unicorns, for if they were, they might know how creative we can be. Would that I had the chance to show them, it would have provided me great entertainment to watch them run around frantically with the fur cackling with some of my homespun electric bolts. But I would be denied.
Hex came around their left flank, connecting a hoof to the jaw of the first one, lifting the creature off its feet and crashing into the one next to it, knocking them both over. The third, a trickle of blood still running from the blunted snout, turned in shock to find the most menacing face of a pony he’d evidently ever seen judging by the diameter his eyes expanded to.
Either out of daring or panic, the dog leaped at Hex, claws forward and jaws open. My violent companion met him in a backwards roll, coming to a halt when one of his legs was wrapped around the neck of his opponent. They struggled a bit, the ground-boring digits of the canid tearing at the limb, its feet kicking. In short order the dog surrendered to unconsciousness, the blood flow to the brain cut-off. Not, I suppose, that much damage could be done.
As Hex shoved the burdensome weight off, and quickly sprawled to his hooves, finding himself faced by the remaining dogs as they likewise rose up. He squared his shoulders in preparation for a two on one.
That was when I struck, lighting both of their rear ends with a brief flash of magical flame, which sent them into a frightful alarm.
“Magic pony burns! Magic pony burns!” They screamed, patting the fire out. Without further ceremony, they grabbed hold of their fallen kin before skittering off into the desert, sand flying from their haste.
Hex and I stood side by side, watching as they dived into another of their holes.
“We better get a moving.” He suggested. “They’ll be back with more.”
So we left our comfy little canyon, and sought our next campsite at higher elevation, one with more solid stone under it.
We awoke early, just as Celestia was exchanging the moon for the sun. The remainder of our journey went on without notable event, save for the curious presence of a crow that followed us from above. It never cawed, it merely perched once in a while on the branch of a tree, before resuming its aerial observation.
We at last came to our destination just after midday. The ranch wasn’t much to look at, a two-tier wooden fence surrounding a few dozen acres, centered by a humble home with a few adjacent animal pens. The sign above the entrance way to the property bore the faded icon of a bushel of apples. I took it to mean that these folk were intent on growing their own orchard, though I could not imagine this hostile environment capable of sustaining that kind of crop. Any crop other than tumble weed for that matter.
At our approach, a number of the residents came out from the house to stand on the covered porch. Indeed a whole family of Earth Ponies poured out. The mother, father, half a dozen children, and lastly an elderly patriarch hobbled along with aid of a gnarled cane. Assembled in silence they waited.
At about 20 paces to the porch, Hex halted, he and the father giving each other a knowing stare. They nodded to each other. With this unspoken signal given, Hex turned away, leaving me to stand alone.
“Thank you for your help.” I made sure to tell him once more. “Where are you going now?”
“I ain’t here on vacation.” He said. “Here on a job, hunting a bounty on an outlaw been seen in these parts. He’s got kin somewhere nearby he might make contact with.”
Hex turned his scarred face to me, his unnerving eye fixating on me.
“Should you ever run into a stallion with a curved horn, name’a ‘Jericho’, you jus’ send him my way. Runs a posse called the Silver Spur Gang, so keep yer ears open.”
“Will do.” I promised, trading our parting nods. As my strange new acquaintance returned to his mission, I turned towards the family.
Coming up to the porch, I saw a pair of twins, a filly and colt duck behind their mother’s hindquarters. The grandfather having taken a seat in a rocking chair, regarded me coolly with a sidelong glance.
“Welcome stranger.” The father said, taking a step forward to greet me, extending a hoof for me to shake, which I did.
In short order I found myself in a washtub. To say I stunk of death was no mere convenient turn of phrase, and I would not be offended if the kind family did not think that parts of me had in fact succumbed to gangrenous rot. Nor was I under the steadfast impression that the washing was wholly an act of charity, rather I suspected a fear that I might carry some pestilence that might infect their animals. They at least took the consideration of setting the large tin tub in the back of the house under the shade of an overhang.
“Thar’ ya go Mr. Wanderlust.” The lady of the house said as she dumped the final pail of water over my head. Honeycrisp was a thin-faced mare, with a very slight orange hued coat, brown mane, and possessed of the most serious green eyes I had ever encountered. Her Cutie Mark was an apple slathered with a layer of honey on top, more proof that whatever deity dispenses our icons isn’t always the most creative. Though he does have his moments.
“We ain’t got too much water to spare, but uh, you go ahead and wash up.” She said, nudging a stool closer to me, on it was a bar of soap and scrub brush. “You seem in sore need. No offense.”
“Oh, none taken. Thank you.” I told her truthfully. As she walked away and left me to my hygiene, I took the soap and began to lather up. A monumental task before me, I glanced about the property as the suds accumulated, taking note of the harshness of the conditions. It looked as if somepony had built the farm on a plot of land long suffering some drought. I also saw a part of the orchid that spanned to the east and continued out of view over the crest of a hill. If water were such a scarce resource, how could they afford to maintain this many trees? I endeavored to ask.
The house itself was rustic, the picturesque example of western homesteaders. Sun-baked timber planks, tiled roof with a lone chimney poking towards the sky, a testament to the heartiness of the family.
The scrub brush would have its work cut out for it. Once properly soaped, I held out hope that the bristles would be made of stern enough stuff to withstand the crucible I was about to put them through. In light of such hospitality, I’d hate to return it by destroying what they had kindly lent. All manner of dirt and small detritus had lodged themselves into my fur, not to mention the tiny critters that had plagued me since awaking.
I was finished scouring my face and moving onto the neck when I noticed a pair of heads poking around the corner of the house, not much more than sets of eyes under a bush of mane.
“Hello there.” I invited, but the spies quickly ducked back out of sight. Upon receiving me earlier, the family had introduced themselves. The husband was named Huckleberry, an affable light blue stallion with a shade of blonde hair under a stetson. He seemed friendly, welcoming me with a tip of the hat to the farm. He then presented his wife, his older son named Mesquite, and a set of twins, a colt named Jonahgold and a filly named Sunnybrook. It was these two little tykes that I surmised had taken a careful interest in me. I was previously certain that more children had been present when I had arrived, but then again my mind had been broiling for a number of days.
There was also the grandfather, Huckleberry’s sire who had remained silent throughout. I was passingly told his name was Deadwood, and judging by the grim inspection he gave me, the name was an apt one. It was further explained that the infirmity brought on by age had stolen his ability to speak without the suffering of great discomfort.
Again the logistics of the farm presented an enigma to me. This was a decent sized family, on acres of land with many trees to look after. How could this be on such a starved estate?
“Hey there partner.” Approaching me was Huckleberry, a towel draped over his back. “Thought you’d need this when you were done.” He glanced at the water in the tub, and seeing the murky texture it had taken on, seemed politely taken aback. “However… long that takes.”
“Much obliged.” Said I, using my magic to move the towel to the stool. “And I don’t think soaking in this brine any longer than necessary would be very helpful. I’d like to repay you for your family’s charity, tell me, what kind of work do you need done around here?
He smiled a bit and lowered his hat in deference. “Aw shucks mister, you ain’t gotta worry about none ah’ that. Doing the right thing should be its own reward.”
While working the brush down the back of my neck, I couldn’t help but appreciate his genuine character. In all the many places I had gone to, it was always a very fine thing to encounter ponies of such simple virtue.
“I wager I’ll find something yet.” I told him with a bit of mirth. “But you can at least satisfy my curiosity.”
“’bout what?”
“The farm here…” I gestured towards the fields, where the sun beat down mercilessly on the trees. “I’d think raising a crop this large would require a lot more water than what you seem to have.”
Huckleberry walked over and sat down against the side of the house in the shade. “Well the farm’s old, been in my wife’s family for generations. Says her granpappy told her it was from way back when Earth Ponies first started settling Equestria right after the great win’er. I grew up not too far, used to be a river cut through these lands, coming down from the hills, my folk lived on the opposite side. Honeycrisp’s an only child, inherited the property when her parents passed. Since she ain’t had nopony to help her out, I started working for her. S’how we met.
Anyways, I tell ya all that to say that back then, this land was plenty watered. When the river dried up, all the other farms in the area dried up too. All my family’s berry crops went to dust, so did the Carota family, them started pulling up carrots so thin you’d pick yer teeth with ‘em.
Now there ain’t but a deep well on the edge of the property to get our water from. Our yield got cut down to a third, jus’ couldn’t haul up enough water for all them to drink.”
“What happened to the river?” I asked, stunned to hear of the plight that had stricken in so short a time. The encroaching desert might have played a part, but that would have been much longer a process. This sounded like only a few years had passed.
“Something up in them hills went bust.” He said, motioning towards the ridgeline to the southeast. “Slowed down to a stream, then to a trickle, then just plain nothing.”
“I know what happened!” We both craned our necks around to see Honeycrisp putting down a basket of laundry, getting ready to pin them to the line that was strung for several yards from the corner of the back porch.
“It’s that grain mill that was built up there! Stole all the water right out from under our noses!” Her anger was profound, the words spitting from her mouth with all the bile of a mare being robbed of her birthright.
“Now Honey, you know that ain’t never been proven.” Huckle interjected, rising to his hooves to join her over the basket. “He built that mill on the opposite side, used a different river.”
“And you think it’s just a coincidence? He builds that plant, and all of a sudden our water goes dry? That greedy crook put farms outta business! Farms that been putting food on ponies tables for centuries! And he get’s away with it because he puts bits in all the right pockets ‘ah those politicians in Rock Creek.”
Scrubbing the brush along my back, I found the discomfort of being present for the expression of such raw nerves for this mare to be tempered by my curiosity. Needless to say, I lacked the boorishness to insert my own commentary into the matter while sitting in a stew of my own filth.
Huckleberry spared me one last apologetic glance before he let the matter rest with a sigh. They proceeded to hang the laundry and share a few hushed words between them while I finished bathing. If one could classify the repeated process of using increasingly murky water to clean myself bathing.
Afterwards I did feel much better, certainly less itchy sans all the dust and mites. As I was stepping out of the tub and drying myself off, I noticed Honeysuckle approaching my saddlebags.
“These some fancy kits you got mister. Seems a shame to see ‘em in such a poor state.” She made to pick them up, but I cast them in my magic, sliding them out from under her. It must have seemed terribly rude in the moment, but politeness was not my immediate concern. “Sorry..” I told her, slipping them on and giving her a sheepish smile in admission of guilt. “Being a nomad, I’ve become rather protective of my things. And you are right, these are of particular quality, and quite dear to me.”
Honeycrisp shrugged. “Didn’t mean to cause a fuss. Jus’ thought they could stand a bit of care is all.”
Her observation was of course, supremely accurate. I had neglected to give my bags a good cleaning in a long time, and they had accumulated a dismaying amount of grime. But it was a precarious process to maintain them, a task I dare not endanger her with.
“Please forgive me, I’m sentimental. And if it’s all the same, I’d like to keep my personal effects… personal.”
“Suit yerself.” She said, dismissing the issue as she headed into the house, pausing on the steps. “You can empty that tub right where it is, and lean it ‘gainst the wall to dry out. If yer hungry, I’ve got some apple cakes in the kitchen, hold ya over till supper.”
At the mentioning of the treats my mouth began to water, such was my famishedness, that I became silent with the thought of enjoyment. She must have perceived this. “I’ll warm a few up.”
With hopes of baked sweetness on my mind, I gleefully turned to take care of the tub. There, I saw, peeking over the rim and examining the brown soup, were Jonahgold and Sunnybrook, fascinated by how I had transformed the clear water by merely sitting in it.
“Hey.” I said, in a voice no louder than I would use to approach a rabbit. But their heads shot up in startled panic, and side-by-side they raced away before I could speak another word.
“Hmm.”
The apple cakes were as delicious as anypony might have dreamed they could be. Then again, I was perhaps quite at a disadvantage given my recent condition. I suppose three-day old fish cakes might have tasted as sweet. In retrospect that thought was misguided, the cakes truly were in fact, of sublime quality.
Having reheated them for a short time in the oven, she extracted them on a pan before sliding them onto a plate for me. They were simple in design, being a thick disk of cake with a layering of sugar glaze on top.
“If such a divine creation never graced my senses again…” I said in between mouthfuls. “Then may the pillars of the earth crumble for want of something so dear.”
“Thanks?” Was all she offered in response.
After washing them down with a glass of water, it was sometime thereafter that Huckleberry returned, coming into the kitchen with an air of displeasure.
“That dern boy!” He spat, kicking the door closed behind him.
“What is it baby?” Honeycrisp asked, concerned but not sounding too surprised. “What’s he done now?”
“It’s what he ain’t done that’s the problem! He said he was gonna fix that wheel this afternoon, so I go out to see for myself, and he ain’t nowhere to be found. That wagon’s still sitting in that sinkhole, wheel all busted up.”
“My new friends.” I began, rising from the table. “If it’s all the same, I can help you with your broken wheel.”
The pair shared a contemplative glance. “Well that’s right nice of you, Wanderlust.” Huckleberry said. “We need that wagon to haul the buckets of water back from the well. Them trees can’t go too long in this heat without.”
“Then your wagon will be back on the job before sunset.” I promised with a nod.
Heading out into the fields, it was a short walk over the hill and down amongst a plane of wheat stalks where he led me to the incapacitated cart. A whole diagonal side was tilted downwards into a ditch, the opposite end pointed skywards The wagon itself was larger than I had expected, though I might have anticipated that fact, given that neither father or son Earth Pony had simply pulled it free yet. Huckle and I crouched down at the edge to get a closer look. Indeed the wheel at the bottom had been smashed upon impact, crushed under the sudden surplus weight that was thrust upon it.
“Mesquite says he was bringing it back from the well when the ground just fell away underneath him. I think he was just daydreaming and didn’t notice. That boy’s had his head in the clouds the past couple weeks.”
I became suspicious of the coincidental nature of the event, assuming the boy’s explanation was true. My recent encounter with the Diamond Dogs was foremost in my mind, and I feared that his son had narrowly avoided being ponynapped. But I didn’t want to put any terrible ideas in his head unnecessarily, so I decided to keep the notion to myself for now, at least until I had better evidence than just a hole in the ground.
“Well, let us begin.”
I cast my magic around the encumbered corner and began raising it free, pushing the entire carriage backwards and clear of the pit.
“We get this thing back to the house, and I can get to fixin’ it.” He said once it was settled on level ground. Upon further inspection we noticed that the foreleft corner was also damaged, the result no doubt of where it had struck against the side of the pit. The front axel as well was broken, snapped near to where it jointed to the center of the wheel.
“Uh…” The farmer groaned. “This’ll take a little longer than an afternoon. Sorry partner, but it looks like you ‘gone have to break your promise.”
“Undone by a broken axel? Perish the thought!” Together, we secured the harness around his back, and keeping the impaired section aloft in my magic, steered the wagon back to the farm. The return journey took us the better part of a half-hour, making polite conversation along the way.
“So what brings you through these parts anyway?” He asked. “Kinfolk? Ain’t much else worth the trouble ‘round here.”
“Artifact hunting, believe it or not.” I told him, going on to briefly recount my locating the treasure horde and my troubles with the dragon that guarded it. “After evading it’s hunt, I tried to make my way through the desert for a few days. I had lost my water skin, so you can imagine my trek was quite parching. If Hex not found me and brought me to my sense, there might be a pack of very satisfied buzzards waddling about the sands this moment, their bellies full of roasted unicorn.”
The story must have been one that my companion thought fantastical, for he went on in silence for a minute before inquiring again.
“Geesh, I ain’t never heard’ah nopony getting the best of a dragon before, least not one that lived long enough to brag about it.”
“I certainly would recommend against it.”
“What’d you say you was after again? Some kinda necklace?”
“The Alicorn Amulet.” I had spent years hunting that infernal creation down, and was beginning to think the relic was not in Equestria as I had been led to believe. “I feel like I’ve wasted a lifetime trying to find it.”
“Sounds special.” Huckle was clearly interested, but beyond his depth. “Is it supposed to do something? Grant you powers?”
“The Amulet is power, fueling the wearer with its intoxicating effects, and yes, granting them abilities beyond their normal capacity. But the Amulet has a will of its own, corrupting the bearer with every action and every thought. Eventually the pony is rendered a slave to the amulet’s dark will, serving its interests, driven into madness until at last the amulet desires a new victim.”
“And what uh… What would your intentions for it be?” I could hear the nervousness in his voice, suddenly unsure what kind of character his family was hosting. I’m sure he must have feared the possibility that he was in the company of an aspiring villain, and he the unwitting participant in my rise to infamy. Fortunately for him and everypony else, I had the exact opposite in mind.
“I intend to destroy it, once and for all, and rid Equestria of its cancerous presence.”
“Well… I reckon that’s probably fer the best.”
Arriving back at the farm, we stowed the wagon in the barn, using a winch from the rafters to hold the corner up for us to repair. Using some surplus planks of wood that he provided, I used magic to fashion new spokes, and warp new sections of wheel into shape. The metal sockets took a bit more of an effort however, having to carefully bend them back into proper form without exacerbating the tears. Using a combination of pure force and an application of a concentrated fire spell, I was able to reforge them anew.
The axel offered its own particular test, as we had no lumber present that was long enough from which to extract a new shaft. I considered a mending spell, but it’s restorative power was limited. Once broken, the integrity of a thing was never the same again, and the fracture would only return.
We discussed the possible resolutions to the issue, which included using an extra spoke joint to bond the ends together, hewing a new one from one of the lateral board from the cart itself, and butchering an orchid tree for the material.
The hour became late in the day, and we decided that come the morning we would sacrifice one of the untended trees in the far field for its useful timber. Despite my insistence that I be allowed to follow-though on my promise to have the wagon serviceable by nightfall, Huckleberry would hear none of it, releasing me from my pledge with a perceptible degree of annoyance. As the night began to creep over the sky, dinner was on the verge of being served when he showed me to the house, and allocated a chair for me to use at the table.
Deadwood, who I had not seen since first arriving, made his way into the kitchen at a pace to rival that of wind erosion. In youth his fur might have been more lustrous, his mane more handsome, but now his coat was a faded black and his locks reduced a wisps of dull white. His cutie mark was that of an old tree, branches bare and posture gnarled. What talent this avatar could have signified would forever remain a mystery to me. He took a seat on my side of the rectangular table, sparing an unimpressed glance to acknowledge my existence.
Next, little Jonahgold and Sunnybrook came running in, their source of adolescent energy inexhaustible. The twins were a matching set, Jonahgold having a light tan coat with brown hair, his sister the inverse with the mane being a beige tone and her body a shade of hazel. Laughing in delight of some playful antic, they entered the room and rounded the table twice before a sharp warning from Honeycrisp sent them into their seats opposite myself and Deadwood.
The children gazed at me with wide eyes, still apparently fascinated by the stranger in their home.
“Hey mister…” Jonahgold asked. “Is it true… you was deeeead?” The words were steeped with an air of mystery and trepidation.
“Quite close enough.” I said, enjoying the innocent wonder of the two. “Wasn’t the first time.”
“You was brought here by that Hex fella!” Taken by the excitement, Sunnybrook stood up in her chair and pointed to me with a hoof. “They say he can do all sorts’ah unnatural things, like talk to the dead!”
While I hadn’t seen any such necrophonic abilities on display during my short experience with the stallion, I wouldn’t have been surprised.
“Oh really?” I teased. “I wonder what the dead have to talk about?”
“Now where’d you two hear such nonsense?” Honeycrisp barked. Setting a plate of fresh baked biscuits on the table. “Fillin’ yer head with all sorts of crazy ideas!”
“Don’t get all a fluster darling.” Huckleberry said, amused by how serious his wife was taking it. “You know how gossip spreads like a brushfire, ‘specially concerns a fella like Hex.”
“I know.” She apologized. “I just don’t much like ponies saying such things about him, after all he did for us.”
Honeycrisp was starting the chore of bringing the pots and pans of food over to the table, so I reached out with my magic and carried them over myself. It was mostly a chivalrous gesture, but I also used the opportunity to pose my own question.
“About Hex…” I cut in. “What was it that indebted you to him? If it’s not too personal a thing to ask.”
Husband and wife traded careful glances as she sat down at the opposite end.
“Let’s us save that fer tomarrah, Wanderlust.” Huckleberry said, preparing his plate. “The dinner table ain’t no place fer that distasteful sorta conversation.”
“Awww!” With a joint wail of disappointment, the children sunk into their seats. An amusing thing to observe how mysterious and alluring they found such things, the slightest whiff of the taboo as desirous to them as gold is to a griffin.
Dinner time must have been an appointment to set one’s clock by, because the sound of the door opening in the front of the house was followed by swift hoofsteps hurrying to the kitchen. Mesquite, the elder son of my host couple, entered the room panting as if he had run the whole way home and hastily removed his hat. He was young but brawny, muscles acquired by years of labor rippling under light brown fur and a copper-colored mane
“Mama, Daddy, I know I’m late, I just-”
“Boy, where were you?” His father demanded. “Gone all afternoon, coming in here like you runnin’ from trouble. Sit’cho behind down.”
Mesquite tossed his stetson onto the hatrack in the corner mid-stride towards his seat. Settling next to the twins, he tried to continue his explanation.
“I was fixin’ to get the wagon out the hole, honest, but thought best to go get the new parts first, so I went to Rock Creek-”
“You went to Rock Creek?” An incredulous Huckleberry blurted. “You went all the way there for some spare parts? What about Ole’ Grey Burr? He must have a few pieces laying around.”
Mesquite became quiet for a moment. “Well I didn’t account fer that.” He said softly, realizing he could have saved himself a fair amount of hassle.
“He went to Rock Creek to go see his mare-friend!” Sunnybrook exclaimed before she and Jonahgold erupted into mischievous giggles.
The older sibling turned scarlet with a mix of anger and embarrassment. “You hush up ya little troublemaker!”
“Mare-friend? Are they talking about that florist girl?" Honeycrisp’s inquisition seemed to render her son fearful to respond, and in his hesitation to answer, confirmed her suspicions.
“Son, what I tell you about ah’flirtin’ with that pegasus? Rich girls like that treat boys like a dress, got a new one on every Sunday.”
“Mama, Holly ain’t like that! She’s a sweet gal, ain’t got a connivin’ bone in her body.” I watched Mesquite’s expression soften as her name passed his lips, the way his face relaxed and ire dissipated. A pony’s first love was an aperture through which they could never retreat. Religious in its experience, it served to fill the breast of a young stallion with the consciousness of inner power necessary to ascend from the innocence of foalhood to the mastery of adulthood. For children do not understand the depth of power love wields, that it can raise ponies to the greatest acts of legend, or lead whole nations to ruin. I should know.
“You don’t even know her.”
“I know the type.” Honeycrisp declared with certainty as she began fixing plates for the twins. “And you don’t need to know a rattlesnake’s gonna bite you to steer clear of it.”
“Now that just ain’t right Moma!” The boy cried, thumping his hooves on the table top as he stood. “It ain’t right that you go associatin’ miss Holly to some slitherin’ serpent! I cant abide it”
Uh-oh. Another of the multitudinous offspring of young love, was the propensity of downright foolishness. Huckleberry was certainly not going to entertain that particular hobgoblin tonight. He slammed a hoof on the table, hard enough to jostle every plate and glass.
“Boy, you gonna abide whatever your momma tells you to abide!”
Their was a tension in the room that had reached a hushed tightness, such that one could pluck it like a guitar string. The twins had clamped their mouths shut, staring wide eyed at their father. Beside me, it sounded as if Deadwood was managing some phlegm in the back of his throat, he must have had something to say. Honeycrisp was stunned, which gave me the impression that this act of defiance was not something she was accustomed to dealing with. I tried to shrink back in my seat, keeping even the noise of my breathing as silent as possible to avoid reminding them I was present.
Mesquite however, emboldened by the passion in his heart and the heat of the moment, was also perhaps unwilling to be cowed by the specter of his father’s wrath. Instead of yielding to authority, he turned to his father with a brave face, nervous, but still standing his ground.
“If some stallion had compared momma to a snake, you wouldn’t make no reservations about defending her honor!”
Huckleberry rose from his seat, his countenance darkened. There is a point in a young stallions life when he will challenge his father’s power. They must, I always thought. Primarily as a gesture to establish themselves as a sovereign actor, and no longer under the childlike subservience to his parents. Secondly, at least in my case, it was a display to your father that they had in fact raised a son of character, of moral courage enough to stand up for himself or for something they believed important. In a way, it was the fruition of all the father’s labors and lessons manifesting in a single act of defiance, casting off the vassalage.
“Well miss Holly ain’t your wife, and she don’t need no son of mine defending her honor! Now you apologize to your momma!”
“Daddy, I-!”
The explosion tore into the house suddenly, drowning out Mesquite’s rebellion with a roar of shattering wood and an ear-splitting blast. There was not even time enough for me to cast a protective shield around us. As best I can discern from memory, as muddled a memory as it might be, the explosion originated in another room from somewhere behind Deadwood and Huckleberry. A storm of wooden shrapnel and various bits of household items engulfed us as the wall partitioning us from the greater force was nonetheless perforated, several beams fractured by the tremendous pressure.
It was over in a heartbeat, but all of us seemed to be trapped in a portrait, time itself brought to a halt as we recovered from the concussive force. I recall prying my face off the table and seeing Deadwood next to me still slumped over, and Huckleberry with a reactive leg thrown over his head. My ears were ringing, but I’m very sure I started to scream for everypony to get out of the house. Honeycrisp and Mesquite each secured one of the twins, and I took Deadwood in my magic. With Huckleberry leading the way, we raced out into the night air.
“What happened!?” I vaguely heard Mesquite cry out as my hearing returned. He relinquished Sunnybrook to his mother who also held Jonahgold, and went to his father’s side as they gawked at the sight of a quarter of their house beginning to burn.
While still in my control, I detected a heartbeat in the patriarch. The old stallion was alive yet, but he lacked the constitution to withstand the punishment of the blast. I lay him on the ground with great care, doing what I could to detect any further injury.
“What’s that?” Honeycrisp wondered through her tears. She pointed a hoof towards one of the rocks that formed a perimeter of the yard, where a white cloth was pinned to it’s surface under the weight of a smaller stone. It’s position was no accident, as the broad length of it was facing towards the house.
I rose from where I knelt at Deadwood’s side, Huckleberry and Mesquite turning to see for themselves the unexpected article. Scrawled across the fabric in black paint, was presented a very ominous and unambiguous letter that we could read by the light of the fire.
GET OUT!
On a ridge overlooking the farm, several figured cloaked by the darkness watched from a distance as the Appaleachia family gathered outside their burning home.
“Come on boys.” A hard voice said, the fiery light of a cigarette momentarily illuminating his cold blue eyes gazing out from under the brim of a white stetson. “I reckon they got the message.”
He turned to leave, the others following suit. The sharp jangle of spurs drifting into the night.
Despite the notorious regional heat, the night was cool. In the late evening the main street of the small but sprawling town bustled with the last remnants of productive activity for the day; merchants and craftsponies closing up their shops, couples and loners finding their way to the watering hole for a few hours of libations. Others made for the namesake of the town, the bubbling creek running through the north-east hillside
Serving as the unofficial town center and gathering spot, the doors to The Tipsy Tumbler saloon welcomed all between their swinging shutters. As a chuckling earthpony mare and stallion entered, they were met by the rowdy concert of lively piano music, boisterous laughter, glasses on tables, and the shouting of conversation and argument.
One pair of stallions rose from their seats at a small table, poking each other in the chest with a provocative hoof as they moved towards the exit, absorbed by their dispute of how many alicorns could dance on the head of a pin. In swept a fair young Pegasus maiden, throwing a rag down to wipe the surface for the next patrons, blonde curls bouncing around her face only to be culled back by a few feather tips. Light red fur coated her compact body, outer wings and tail to match her mane, she completed her task with practiced efficiency just in time for the happy new couple to assume the set of chairs beside.
“Anything I can get for you two?” The waitress asked with a friendly antebellum twang, stowing the cloth in the open pocket of her saddlebag, exchanging it for a pencil.
“Oh, just start us off with something light, Holly.” He responded with familiarity.
“Sure thing.” Notating the table and order on a piece of paper wrapped around her left foreleg, Holly fluttered her way back to the bar. “Thalia, Pair of lime seltzers, please.”
Behind the counter was a mare of jet-black coat that never seemed to stop bustling about. Throwing back her equally dark mane accented by red tips, the subtle beauty of the earthpony might otherwise be masked by the expression of exhaustion and weariness in her ember-colored eyes. “That it?” The bartender complained inside a long exhalation, huffing an errant bang aside.
“Fer now. Still early in the night.” Holly teased with a wink.
Thalia rolled her eyes back. “Ugh… come back in a minute.” But the younger mare wasn’t satisfied to leave just yet and posted her forehooves on the bar. “Sugar, you look more wrung out than a dishrag in a tornado, you feelin’ alright?”
“I’m fine, Holly.” Thalia surrendered, leaning her chest on the opposite side. “I can’t tell you how great it is to have you help us out at night after working with your momma all day, but sometimes it’s like the two of us are pushing against the tide.”
“Oh, you know me, hun, I don’t mind. Momma said she don’t want me a’dilly-dallying around the farm all day anyhow. Plus, I like to make a few bits for myself.”
Smirking, Thalia leaned a bit more forward. “Let’s not forget, you get to wait and see if that young Mr. Mesquite Appleachia pays you a visit.”
“Maaaaybe…” Holly blushed, tilting her head in feign discomfort, ending the word with a stifled giggle. “When we first moved out here, Momma said the farm ponies worked the land like we ain’t never seen ponies work before.”
“Tell me about it.” Looking to her left, Thalia spied a large dark unicorn stallion stacking crates of bottles near the storeroom, the muscles of his neck and shoulders flexing as he lifted one in his teeth.
“Even Daddy said when Royal Guard pegasai gots’ta arrest a farmer, they need about 4-to-1 in case they decides’ to put up a fight.” Holly continued in a gossipy whisper.
“And damn don’t Huckleberry Appleachia work that boy hard.”
“Tell me about it.” Using her wings to fan her face, Holly and Thalia shared a conspiratorial giggle.
“Let me make them drinks.” Ducking back behind the counter, Thalia set to work. With deft expertise, she slid two glasses into position, then with her rear leg, bucked the cabinet behind her just enough to cause the bottle of seltzer to rattle off the shelf. It fell onto the same hoof, where she proceeded to juggle it with a two-beat motion to buck it over her shoulder and catch it in her mouth. Depressing the spigot with her right forehoof, she poured the drink across the cups until both were full. A duo of pre-sliced lime cuts later, and the sparkling drinks were on their way.
As Holly passed the other tables, the tray of glasses in her mouth, a trio of eager and ambitious young stallions watched her go, admiring the rare desert flower.
“Yeah, that’s her alright.” One murmured, biting his lip, the other two trading a glance.
“You gonna take your chance tonight?” One of them asked. “Or you worried Mesquite ‘gone come a’walking through them doors and see you sweet-talking his girl?”
Wearing a light brown Stetson to match his coat, the desirous stallion hissed. “That fool ain’t got a claim on her yet, not ‘less he got permission from mommy and daddy.”
The joke nearly caused one of his friends to shoot his drink from his nose as they broke into laughter, Mesquite’s obedience to his parents a poorly kept secret. “That poor boy!” Cried the third. “Can’t put one hoof wrong ‘round them folks a’his!”
They were still laughing when Holly was making her return trip to the bar. The friends put hooves into the other’s back, ushering him out of his seat with whispers of encouragement. “Uh, hey there, Miss Holly.” He said, standing up just in time to block her path and nervously fussing with his hat to avoid direct eye contact.
“Yes?” She asked, looking among them. “You boys need another round?”
“Ah, most likely, but we was wonderin’, I mean, I was wonderin’, If you ain’t mind sharing that next round with us.”
Holly’s response caught in her throat, realizing their intent. “That’s mighty nice a’you Jackson, but it’s a busy night and I’m plum loaded with tables to wait on.”
When she tried to skirt around him, he moved with her. “Now I don’t mean to cause a fuss, Miss Holly, but we was just thinking, on account a’you not having too many friends in town, an’ you workin’ so hard, you might wanna sit a spell with us an’ get off yer hooves for a bit.”
It took a moment, but Jackson realized that Holly’s wings were flapping, and looking down, saw that her hooves weren’t even on the floor. “Er, you know what I’m tryin’ ta say.”
Sparing him a smile, Holly hugger her hooves to her breast. “I appreciate the gesture, but like I said I got work to do.” Again she made to move, again he blocked. This time she was not so amused. “Jackson, don’t you go makin’ a fool of yourself now.” She firmly suggested.
Undeterred, he postured to hold his ground. “Well what’s so foolish about wantin’ you to spend a little time with me?”
Behind the bar, Thalia was sliding another drink to a patron when she spotted what was going on. Holly was a pretty young thing, and Jackson was known to be a bit too headstrong for his own good sometimes. Glancing over to where the dark stallion was still working, she gave him a sharp whistle to get his attention. “Dallas…” She nodded over to where Holly was being stalled, and he followed her line of sight, ears twitching as he comprehended what the issue was. Gun metal coat with ebony mane, a patch of hide just behind his right shoulder marred by a series of scars, he was a quiet stallion, but one that carried a no-nonsense presence.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you tonight.” Holly scolded, hovering just a bit higher in the air to emphasize her irritation. “But I ain’t got the time to-“
“I bet you’d have the time if I were Mesquite.” Jackson’s face hardened, his courtesy broken by his pride. Appalled, Holly stared at him for a moment, her jaw slack in an expression of shock. His ego offended, he matched her with a spiteful glare.
“If’n you boys ain’t gonna order nothin…” The deep voice resonated behind Jackson. “Miss Holly got plenty of other tables ta’ tend to.”
Turning, Jackson’s eyes landed on a wide, dark chest wreathed by a small chain necklace sporting a pair of dog-tags, then moved up to find a set of cerulean blue irises bearing down on him. Dallas stood still as a rock, waiting to see how the younger buck wanted to handle this.
Jackson’s gaze darted over to his friends who sat wide-eyed. So he lowered his face towards the floor, issuing a manufactured throat-clearing to break the tension. “Ah, yes sir, Mr. Dallas.” He apologized. “Just uh, jus’ tryin’ to be friendly.”
“Hmmpf.” Fluttering past them both, Holly held her chin up.
Jackson winced, but did not meet Dallas’ gaze directly before going back to his seat. The larger stallion snorted, then turned himself back towards his duties.
“Thanks sweetheart.” Thalia smiled, using her tail to swat him on the rump as he passed by. For the next short while, the activity in the saloon resumed its normal ambiance of clattering and bacchanalia. That was until the doors swung open and the ponies closest to the entrance began a wave of silence.
Hoof-steps echoed on the wooden floor as more voices hushed, laughter died down, cups set on tables. Methodically the figure walked through the center of the room, an old and worn pewter grey Stetson hat hung low over his face. But it did little to prevent the stares and covered murmurs that spread outwards from his position like an autumn breeze. Even the piano ceased playing when the grey-furred stallion caught a glimpse out of the corner of his vision.
The stranger reached the bar and saddled into a seat, a satchel tied around his waist. A hoof came up and removed the hat, sitting it down on the counter. Thalia, who had watched the whole surreal experience from where she stood, took him in with cautious civility. “What’ll ya have, stranger?”
“I’ll just have a tall drink of water, if ya please.” He requested with a hoarse voice, staring straight ahead. “I’m feelin’ a might parched.”
She nodded. “Sure thing.” And as she went about positioning a tall glass under a water spout, the rest of the audience slowly resumed their own business.
“Here ya go.” Thalia nudged the drink in front of him. Just as she did so, his left hoof quickly came up and placed itself gently over hers. At this he turned his face full to hers, the right side of his cheek mutilated, the eye deformed and milky, his other a pale blue. “I’d likewise have one or two questions with ya’ as well.”
Her initial reaction was to gulp, swallowing down a hard lump, struck by his severe countenance. “And just what’s the name of the pony asking those questions?”
“The name’s Hex, ma’am.” He said, fixing his good eye on her.
“And your business?”
“Lookin’ for a fella, name’a Jericho, heard you was familiar, Ms. Thalia.” She withdrew her hoof from under his, unnerved to hear both names be spoken. Hex took the hint and settled for a long gulp of water.
“How do you know that name?” She asked, dead serious. “Or for that matter, mine?”
He finished his drink with a satisfied breath. “I been on his trail for a few weeks. There’s a bounty on his head, an’ I aim to collect. Word is you and him got history, figured you might know something could help me track him down.”
“Everything all right?” Dallas asked, stepping beside Thalia but staring at Hex. While he was noticeably larger, he got the feeling the stranger wasn’t intimidated easily. And there was of course, the discomforting sight of his face.
“I ain’t mean to cause no fuss, partner, just tryin’ to get pointed in the right di-rection.” Hex took a nonchalant swig of his water to disengage.
Thalia craned her neck to whisper in Dallas ear, to which they both suddenly pivoted backwards. His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. He then stepped in between the stranger and Thalia protectively. “Mr. Hex, I don’t know what you been told, but we ain’t got no business with that villain.”
Hex clicked his tongue, which made a queer sound coming through the missing part of his cheek. “Not presently, Mr. Dallas. But if I understand rightly, you got your own past with that little filly a’his, Capricorn.”
Dallas’ chest swelled at the sound of the mare’s name, a flare of anger in his face.
“Any idea where I might find her? If anypony knows where her old man might be hole’ up, I reckon it be her.”
There was a tension between the stallions like a steel cable, Dallas processing the collision of emotions going on between his head and his heart. An anxious Thalia stepped around, placing a hoof on his chest. “We haven’t seen either of them in a long time.” She told Hex with a quiver in her voice. “We’ve made a point of that. Now if that satisfies your curiosity Mr. Hex, that about all the thought I want to give those two in one day.”
The bounty hunter nodded, leaning his body away from the bar. “Fair enough.” He said, glancing towards the set of stairs at the back of the room. “Y’all got rooms for rent?”
“We do.”
Hex reached down to his satchel and removed a few bits, tossing them down on the counter. Thalia exchanged the money for a key from an unseen compartment. “I’ll be in town for a spell to chase down a few leads. If’n ya think of anything might be helpful, y’all know where to find me.” He tilted back the glass of water to polish off the last of his drink, a small rivulet bubbling down from the gap in his cheek. Replacing the Stetson on his head, Hex hopped off the stool and mosey’d over to the stairs.
Holly shifted her body to the side as he passed her by, she couldn’t help but stare at the grim stallion, eyes wide with mystery. Swallowing a gulp of nerve, she carried on with a tray of empty glasses.
Back behind the bar, Dallas snorted in frustration as he made sure the stranger made no trouble on his way to the rooms. “I don’t like it either, honey.” Thalia’s voice calmed him just enough to turn his focus away, she somehow always knew how to reach him. “But if he’s right, and they are back in the region, then we’re gonna need to be extra careful.”
Dallas lowered his head, and the couple pressed together. “Do you…” He began, Thalia could practically see the thought working its way down from his brain and through the twitches of muscle in his face. “Do you think maybe we should… leave town?”
The question caught her off-guard, surprised to hear him of all ponies make such a suggestion. For a moment she pondered, wondering just how hurt he must’ve been when he got those scars. “No. We can’t go uprooting our lives every time their names are whispered on the wind. They don’t get to control us like that.”
“You’re right.” Forehead to forehead, he nuzzled her. “But if I do see that crooked horn a’his come through those doors-“
“I know.” She cut him off, smiling tightly caressing the side of his face with a hoof. “You’ll protect me.”
Watching Holly tend to every other table except theirs, Jackson downed the last of his drink and with a frown, threw his payment on the table and got up. “Come on boys.”
“What’s a matter, Jack?” Asked one of his friends as the trio exited the saloon. “That ol’ Dallas got you all shook?’
“Oh hush up, Cassidy!” Jackson scowled. “I’m jus’ tired of sitting in that same bar every night.”
“Yeah, well, you go on and do what you wanna do, Jackson. I’mma head home. Butch?” The third friend mulled the thought before giving a nod. “Yep, me too. I can feel the touch’a ol’ Sandmane workin’ his magic on me.”
“Suit yerselves.” Dismissed Jackson, spitting to the side. “I’m a little too wound-up to hit the hay just yet.”
Butch and Cassidy waved over their shoulders as they bid their friend goodnight, breaking into a bit of inebriated song. “Mr. Sandmane!” They began, inspired by the mention. “Bring me a dream! Bum-bum-bum. Make her the cutest mare that I’ve ever seen!”
Jackson tipped his hat as he watched them wander off for a moment, shaking his head before drifting in the opposite direction himself. Reaching the outskirts of town, with a mind to kick a few rocks along the way, he could see the outline of the hills by the light of the moon.
There was an old shack that stood a dozen paces from the backside of the pharmacy, used to be a shaded spot for laborers, but had been left alone for years. Its wood was dried out, and over time the front wall where the door had been had fallen apart, leaving the small space open to the elements.
He had intended to take up a spot on the outer wall that faces east out to the desert, spend a bit of time sulking in his rejection. But when he rounded the corner, found that he wasn’t alone.
“Hey there, cowboy.” Said the earth pony mare propped against the wall, a white Stetson sitting behind her ears. “Fancy meetin’ you out here ta’night.” A sharp glint fixed him in place, a dark eye peeking out from behind a blond bang that swept over the left half of her face. Bathed in the moonlight, her white coat shone with an ethereal soft silver glow.
“Um… Howdy, ma’am.” Jackson sputtered. “I didn’t think anypony would be out here. Don’t mean to disturb you-” He began to back away.
“Ain’t no bother.” Changing position to rest her left flank against the wall, she drew her right leg up along the boards, a knee-high black boot accenting her feminine figure. “I’m in the mood for some company.” She smiled, tilting her head.
Suddenly feeling his mouth go dry, he gulped. He was sure he’d never seen this girl before, he’d never be able to forget. Holly was now a distant memory as he absorbed the sight before him. “Well uh, a lady like yerself shouldn’t be left all alonesome at night. What kind of gentlecolt would I be to leave you… unattended.”
“My luck to find such a proper stallion.” Her words dripped with suggestion. Sauntering over to him, she traced the outline of his chest with a hoof. She was a head shorter than him, allowing Jackson to gaze down into a dark purple iris that sparkled with temptation. “Would you be a dear and escort a lady home?”
“It would be my pleasure ma’am.” Jackson smirked, his confidence returning.
“Hmm, I assure you, it will be.” Flicking her plaited tail across his nose as she turned, the whiff of perfume elicited a sharp twitch of the nostrils. “This way, darlin’.”
“You sure live a ways out.” Glancing at his surroundings, Jackson examined the trees that had begun sprouting up the closer they got to the foothills. The ground had gone from sandy to a mix of dark earth and rock, a few tufts of green grass here and there. “It’s a good thing I came with ya, them Diamond Dogs catch you out here, they’ll nab you quick as spit.”
“Oh my.” She said, walking beside him, her own focus forward. “I hear those brutes are just terrible. Have you ever seen one?”
“Few times. Big slobbering bastids’ come right up out the ground. Rob you blind if’n they ain’t just drag you back down with ‘em.”
“How awful.” She emphasized the words by swerving her head, taking careful measure of their surroundings in the same motion. “How ever did you manage to avoid them?”
“Well, the first time I was just a colt, my daddy grabbed me by the scruff and ran like a dragon was breathing down his neck. The second time the fella actually caught me by surprise, so I lashed out right quick and smashed my hoof across his jaw. Musta been more of a fight than he was expectin’, ‘cause he went back down his hole and I high-tailed it.”
“Handsome and brave.” Sparing him a coy look combined with a bite of the lip, she led him up a trail that ran between a near-vertical rock face and a boulder that had rolled down long before. “Just a little further now.”
Coming through the other side, Jackson saw the lower valley beyond, obscured by more trees and the development of heavy bush. “You know uh…” Looking around, he realized that he was far further in the wilderness than he was comfortable with, no matter how pretty a mare she might be. “Being out here this late ain’t really safe for anypony.”
“Oh don’t you mind.” She cooed. “I can find you a safe spot for the night.”
The trail rounded a corner, and there he finally saw the dark shape of a cabin ahead and off to the side. “You live here by yerself?” He asked, a bit incredulous.
“I got family that drops in from time to time.” Going onto the porch, she led him inside. While he stood in the shadow, she struck a match and lit a lamp affixed to a table.
“Thank you ever so kindly for seeing me home safely.” She strode close to him and nuzzled her face alongside his. “Now you just wait right here, and I’ll prepare your… accommodations…” Before he could say anything, she planted a kiss on his lips, lingering for a moment until she tore away and walked with a noticeable swagger towards an adjacent room and shut the door behind her.
After a few seconds of staring at the closed door, Jackson’s head shivered. “Oh boy…” He muttered. Thinking quickly, he went and carefully shut the front door they had entered, then tossing his hat aside, found a hanging mirror to adjust his mane in. “Now don’t you go making a fool ah’yourself boy.” He told himself.
In the other room, the white mare grinned, her eye gleaming with delight in the moonlight that beamed through the window. She approached a metal pipe that ran from the ceiling and through a hole in the floor. With her hoof, she began tapping on it in rhythmic pattern: tik, tik-tik, tik-tik-tik, tik-tik. The sound and vibrations carried down the bar.
She then took her hat off and tossed it on a standing rack in the corner, and finding another match on a bedside table, lit a candle propped in a bronze carry dish. “Hmm hmm hmm.” Biting the handle of the table’s drawer with a gentle hum on her tongue, she extracted a white-handled brush and set it on the bed.
What came next as she proceeded to unbraid her hair, was the sound of the creak of wooden boards on old hinges followed by a shriek from Jackson.
Despite the chaos of yelps, barks, snarls, growls, and clattering wood that ensued, still she carried on with the melody and began to run the brush through her golden locks, casually smoothing out any burs or tangles.
The commotion in the other room was over in a few moments, bookended by the same whine of the creaky hinges. She poked her head out of the bedroom, and seeing that she was alone, chuckled.
