> Bleeding Soul
>  by Rostok
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Prologue
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

17 is pretty old for a blank flank, I must admit. Well, really old. It's not like I don't know my passion in life; I'd give anything to be like Daring Doo, swinging across chasms, finding ancient treasures, escaping from Ahuizotl's clutches by a hair's breadth time and time again. The problem, I guess, is actually doing anything about it. I mean, there's hardly a signpost pointing out of the town saying "Adventure! 15 miles" is there? I'm not some heroic pegasus with wealthy patrons like Daring that can live out in the wild facing beasts on a daily basis, just a unicorn that's going to be a mare and should be out finding a proper calling in life as my parents love reminding me. As my dad always says, they're all stories, not a real mare with a real job and a house and an upstanding stallion and bills and foals and by this point I’m half asleep from boredom.

"Silverstreak, dinner's ready darling!"

I groan, pulling my eyes away from the list of things I need with me to go out camping tomorrow. Doing things like this almost feel pointless now, no matter what I do nothing special ever happens, no mark appears on my flank showing the world I'm made for exploring the wilderness. I'm starting to wonder if I should just let it go, try and find something more down to earth to enjoy-

"Dinner! Don't make me tell you again!"

Another resigned groan finds its way out.

"Coming Mum!"

Why can't I just be free?







"Are you sure you've got the whole lot?"

Ughh, like I need more even more questioning now when I'm about to leave.

"Yes Dad. I've done this before you know."

His eyes shoot daggers and he shuts up. Finally, time I can get away. My mum's not getting involved, she's probably a bit beyond caring now and would rather bustle around making breakfast than get into another argument. The pancakes on the stove do smell lovely, but even they can't dissuade me from setting off now and to be honest, this time I'm not sure where I'll head other than far away from here. When I planned all the trips and hikes I've done in the past (alone more often than not, there aren't many that care for being friends with a blank flank at this age) they insisted I go through my route and plan with them, at least now they trust me a little. Or perhaps they really don't care anymore. I know I certainly haven't lived up to them, my dad Steady Structure being an accountant and local town council member and mum’s the manager of a small restaurant down the street. I'd far rather fritter away my time wandering around the outdoors, as they would put it, than endure their cloying presence day in day out or pursue any of the prim and proper activities that might ingratiate me with the upper-class Trottingham ponies.

Without ceremony, I hoist up my saddlebags and head out the door, earning no more than some muttered goodbyes in return. So long Maresborough. It's not a big town, being one of the smaller satellite towns around Trottingham itself (can't say I like the city, lovely buildings but the ponies do tend to be a little up their own plot if you ask me), and it's a fairly short trot out of town into the fields and woods. Usually I'd head out south-east over the gently rolling hills of farmland to catch sight of Trottingham and the Canter mountains in the distance, and Canterlot itself on a clear day, in the distance. It's several days walk even at a quick pace to the capital, and quite a popular route but honestly, I've never really seen that much appeal. Too much in the way of banal sunny fields and lanes, not enough adventure. I’m really not a Canterlot filly anyway. Then again there's not much else in the way of paths leading any other direction, especially not into the Haydean Forest that extend around the North and West of the town past the few farms in that direction. It's nothing like the infamous Everfree, why almost nopony ventures into it is beyond me. There's never been any mention of dangerous plants of wildlife.

Still, unlike previous times I'm not bound to a proper trail. Can't have a proper adventure if you're not heading out into the unknown, can you?

It's probably prudent to make sure I do actually have everything before I set off, I'm not sure I really want to test to see if my cutie mark is related to being horribly lost in the woods without shelter. I take stock on a picturesque little bench by a stream on the lane leading out to the westernmost farms; food, water, coat, tent, pegs, compass, map, flint & steel all present, along with sundries. As always it's far more of a pain repacking saddlebags than emptying them, and I do my best put cutie marks out of mind. Plenty of time to agonise over things later when I'm not out to enjoy myself. In lieu of interesting things to see on the way out of town, my mind wanders around a comment from an old history teacher: "We ponies are herd creatures at heart. We're at our best with our family and friends surrounding us to support us, it's how pony society has flourished since the ancient days.". I can't help but think that it all breaks down when you're the one that doesn't fit in with the rest of the herd. The lauded loving tolerance and acceptance of us ponies is hardly all it's claimed to be I've found. I suppose nopony likes to be reminded of those directionless few without a place.

Then again, all this dour stuff is probably what's putting everypony off me.

I can't really help a wry smile. The train of thought breaks as a style appears, leading over into the fields before the edge of the wood. There's a brown-coated farmpony with a wide brimmed hat on the far corner, going around slowly cutting back the grass, sickle in mouth. He gives me a nod before returning to his labour.

Probably the last pony I'll see until I get back.

I can't say why, but it does raise my spirits a little.

Just so long as it's not the last one ever.

The opening into the woods at the far end beckons closer and closer. The way the soft shafts of sunlight drift through the leaves of oak and beech is simply delightful. There's no real path beyond it, just a couple of lightly worn animal tracks winding off between the trees. I give a last look back in the direction of the town. The farmpony paused, looking at me with a brow raised, before quickly turning away and resuming his swooping cuts with the sickle. The town itself looks different from afar, with all the small personal details removed it's just another oversized countryside village really. It's hard to equate that to the place where I've spent all my life. As I'm staring a butterfly flutters in front of my eyes, it's glorious azure wings dancing around in the breeze as it flies behind me. Following it round it's clear now how much more alive the forest is, the chirping of birds and the rustling of wind in leaves accompanying the gentle swaying of grasses and flowers in the soft gusts between the trees. Though it's dominated by green, all around there are splashes of colour; from the last of the spring's bluebells to wild dandelions and berries of red and yellow growing on bushes and in the undergrowth.

This is where I belong, not in the carefully manicured towns and cultivated fields. Here in true nature.

With a quick adjust of the saddlebags, I remove the map, compass and a pencil with my magic, and mark my entry point and the direction of the small track ahead of me. Wouldn't pay to get lost out here, even if I probably can remember the way back. Holding them in the soft green telekinetic glow I finally set off along the animal track, staring out into the trees looking for more signs of life. The blue butterfly is still visible in the distance, floating seemingly at random only to alight on a nearby flower for a second before passing on. Even so, it's clearly headed deeper and deeper into the forest, using what looks like a corridor of thinner vegetation around me and the path. Every 20 minutes or so I take another bearing and check my rough location on a map. From what I know, the forest's quite large, at least a long day and a half's hike from side to side, ending in barren hills and rocky highlands that border onto minotaur territory.

Meeting a minotaur. Now there's a thought.

I've heard that they can grow to over 10 feet, and some can cast limited magic even without a horn. Not really sure how accurate that is, but generally rumours like that have at least some grain of truth. An involuntary shudder from a mix of fear, excitement and the rapidly cooling temperature in the shade of the forest overtakes me. I compulsively check the map again, I've been dawdling long enough making slow progress, time to press on.





As the hours slip by, the subtle changes in the forest become ever more noticeable. Huge, ancient trees get more and more common, dominating saplings and leaving wide open spaces beneath their high canopies. Without any distractions the flowing patterns of gusts and breezes between these lofty, natural vaulted ceilings start to appear in the leaves above and in the hardy grass below my grey hooves. The more I hear it, it sounds like music drifting from afar that's playing the woodland as it's instrument. With so many old oaks squirrels are common sight, darting across the open ground to reach the safety of the trees. Wherever I am along this little natural highway there’s always at least one watching, turning a curious eye down onto the strange grey pony invader wandering through their abode. The changes seem to be more fundamental than just that though. The air here is different, tasting cleaner as attested to by the increasing presence of delicate lichens spreading over trunks and branches, filled with countless tiny scents of wild flowers and bushes rather than the ever-present wheat and corn crops back home.

I've been going for several hours now, though captivated by just wandering through this endless little paradise it's hardly felt like it. The quiet tumble of water on rock must mean I'm approaching the small river shown on my map several miles into the forest, stretching roughly north-south. Surrounded by all these lovely plants, there's a rumble down in my stomach.

Definitely time for lunch. The river bank seems a good a picnic spot as ever. I must have been going a good five or six hours now.

It only takes a few minutes to reach, barely more than a large stream no more than a few meters wide and looking through the crystal clear water it's only a few hooffuls deep judging from the stones emerging from it in places. Perching on a rock on the edge and dipping my tired front hooves in I unlatch the saddlebags to reveal my carefully made flower sandwiches. There's a cute little frog hopping over the rocks over the far side, protecting the burgeoning family of tadpoles in a tiny cove of rocks. I don't even need to look further to tell the scene is being repeated all the way along the length of the river, with a constant chorus of croaks trying to take over from the bird calls diffusing through the canopy above.

The way the stream marks out a clear, if patchy area of sunlight in the otherwise tree dominated skyline combined with the nearby water seems to be creating a haven for the plants otherwise left out in the forest proper, highlighting what seems to be a noticeable track down the side of the riverbank to the left of me through the rushes and beds of flower adorned grasses. Temporarily leaving the food I pull out the map and trace the route the path has taken me. It's not marked on the map, despite being too direct and straight to be created by the wandering of animals from food source to food source. Finding the faint trail of the river on the map it's clear that it's part of the boundary for the greater Trottingham county, beyond it is wild Equestria left untended by ponykind.

Perhaps ponies do still visit these woods though? A path like this looks more like a route somewhere rather than a meander through the woods. It's clear that it's always following this trail, I've barely seen any small tracks branching off for a long while now. Hmm.

Remembering the sandwiches, I finish them off while thinking it all over, though I'm sure I could find a nicer selection of fillings out here. With everything packed and saddlebags on, it's time to go. Going by what I can see of the sun through the gap in the trees, it's about 3pm. Still plenty of time to find a good place for the tent somewhere. Invigorated by food and what looks like an unfolding puzzle my pace is quicker than before, trotting along with purpose following the course of the river. The soil here is much softer than inside the forest, and my hooves are noticeably starting to sink in slightly. Even with careful observation I can't see any sign of large tracks other than those I'm leaving myself. Looks like a point to the no ponies theory. The far bank is starting to look concerning though. On this side there hasn't been much in the way of undergrowth, allowing relatively easy passage even off the animal tracks but that looks to be changing across the stream with all sorts of ferns and bushes completely covering the forest floor. Wild Equestria indeed. Perhaps the path doesn't cross at all? Something in my gut tells me it will but I hope at least not through that mess.





After half an hour or so on the riverbank the first proper landmark appears ahead. A tall silver birch is stretched out over the water, roots half submerged and trunk leaning inwards to try and catch the sun. I'm pretty sure it's the first one I've seen so far, rather odd to see a single tree all alone surrounded by strangers. With its shimmering off-white bark it's not unlike me I suppose, forced out by all the other 'normal' trees. It's not even got any bushes for company. Poor thing. By the look of it though the stones in the river near its base are poking up high enough to get across without having to take a bit of a dip. I will admit it does look rather promising. Drawing up closer the clear area at its base extends further in.

Well, looks like I've found my path across. 

Treading carefully from stone to stone the short distance to the western bank, I lean against the lone tree, staring into the woodland. Far from an animal track, there's a particularly regular grassy path leading inwards, looking just as manicured as any self-respecting pony's lawn with not a weed or stray creeper marring its surface. Part of me wonders if I'm in over my head, it's clearly sculpted carefully by somepony -or something, and from what I've seen they certainly don't have anything to do with the town. There's no similar path leading back out of the woods to the east. I take another look back up at the tree.

"I'm guessing you can't give me a little advice?"

As trees generally tend to do, it continued to stand there stoically silent and motionless save for the gently rustling leaves.

"Some friend you are." I stick a tongue out at it to show my displeasure, turning back to look down the way ahead.

Oh come on, get a grip. It hardly looks like it's full of evil dark magic does it? 

With a harrumph and a tighten of the saddlebags I trot off down the little grass causeway, mind made. I must say, it is a delightful place. The grass is perfectly soft, cool and springy underhoof, probably tastes nicer than the regular stuff too, not that I'm particularly inclined to find out. As the signs of the river behind me fade behind corners the air starts to change too, not as clear as it was earlier, now full to burst of all sorts of sweet scents that fill the air. It's relaxing to just let your hooves carry you along without effort and truly take in the occasional flourishing blossom, the stray bees and butterflies and the tittering songs of the birds sometimes visible swooping around above. Loosing track of time completely it takes me a couple of minutes to start to notice and actual song starting to drift in on the occasional gust of wind.

I stop dead on the spot. Listening closely, it's clearly a voice, the song itself meandering and looping back on itself yet wholly without recognisable words. It's neither alluring nor scary, just a whimsical little tune really. It doesn't take long to close in on the source of the sound and a clearing appears in the distance ahead, dominated by a tall standing stone perched in the centre. It's a sight to behold, jagged bare rock jutting out of the turf at a slight angle, patched with moss and lichen. The voice is clear now, definitely a mare, or at least female. I suppose out here there's no telling. Leaving the entrancing song I take a few steps forward into the clearing itself that's roughly circular around the stone, with several other paths like mine leading off who knows where. Entranced with the song it takes me several seconds to register it drawing to a close and the head of a doe appear sideways around one side of the stone.

"Well met, pony"

Startled by its sudden appearance, I'm unable to reply for a moment, most likely gawping terribly, knowing me. She's taller than me on her dainty legs but much thinner and longer of face. Her rich brown eyes are much smaller than a pony's but with larger brows above them they're full of inquisitive expression.

"It's quite alright, I assure you I don't bite. Unless you're actually a flower. I do take it you're not a flower in disguise?"

Pardon, what? 

"Hello?"

I never would have thought deer would live in forests this close to Equestria! All I knew was that they tended to hide from all the other animals, they hardly told us anything in school.

"Probably not a flower then." She pauses for a second, twitching her nose, "though perhaps of the wall variety?"

"Um, no. I'm pretty sure I'm not a flower. I did enjoy your song though."

"I'm glad of that, thank you. In which direction are you headed?"

"Well, to be honest I don't really know. I was just walking."

"Is that so? You're certainly not a lost pony, since you've just been found by me, and talking of me, I'm Maeve. Is there any particular motive behind your 'just walking'?"

"Um, I was looking for adventure really. To try and find my cutie mark. I'm Silverstreak"

The doe paused for a second, staring at me with a puzzled look before slowly rising from behind the stone and walking out onto the grass in front of me. The luscious sheen on her dappled brown coat is lovely, shining in the late afternoon sun. Everything about her body and movements are dainty, from the way she places her long slim legs to the moderately short, thin snout sniffing at my scent.

"Adventure? That's a lofty goal, for sure. I can't say that I can tell you which path leads to your cutie mark, Silverstreak, other than probably not the one you've come down since you're not bearing it already. Adventure comes in all sorts of different forms though, different for every deer. Or pony. What's your favourite flavour? Mine's scandal and intrigue. And rafting. I'm sure there's some of it present here somewhere, whatever kind you're looking for."

"All the adventures I've read about seem to include exotic creatures or ancient ruins or hidden treasure of some kind, though I'm not sure if that's really accurate." She tilts her head to the side, giving me a disarming smile, friendly yet clearly finding some amusement at my cluelessness.

"Well, for adventure of that kind I'd have to suggest taking the path to my left, and then heading directly west once you reach a smaller standing stone. I seem to remember there was another pony looking for something, perhaps it was adventure, perhaps not, in that direction. He was a very different pony to you though. Certainly one I didn't feel like revealing myself to. He had a wild look in his eyes, for sure. Very driven. What his business was, I can't say, other than that he was clearly in a hurry to arrive and rather smug upon leaving. He came from the west, unlike you. A very different pony indeed."

That's pretty cryptic I must say. I'm kind of wondering if I'm biting off more than I can chew now.

"Well, thank you I suppose. I was wondering, do you live here?"

"Here? No, I don't. I'm just travelling. Looking for a new adventure of my own kind I suppose, this is a rather nice place to stop though. Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, with sweet musk-roses and with eglantine. If you ask me."

"Well, um, thank you." I say, casting my eyes around furtively trying to work out just what she's referring to.

"Oh, don't look so confused dear, it's a quote. I doubt many ponies have taken the time to delve into our verse sadly." She looks up at the sky, whistling a snippet of a tune, seemingly distracted until she whips her head back to me. "Do you plan on finding said adventure today? Or wait until the morrow?"

I have to agree with her that the light is starting to fade, it's probably not a great idea to go blundering around at night here. Especially if I'm going to follow her instructions to go off the path into the woods.

"Do you reckon that I've got time to find it today? I'm meant to be getting back home tomorrow."

"You'd do best to leave soon. Do feel free to find me here on your way back, I shall eagerly await your return to hear all the gory details."

"Definitely."

Well that's certainly the most ominous gesture of friendship anyone's given me.

She sits down on her haunches, giving me that slightly sly smile again, clearly in the know over something.

I'd all be far easier if she stopped being so obtuse all the time, are all deer like this?

"Out of interest, just what exactly do you expect me to find out there?"

"Yourself of course. Or you could lose yourself. Perhaps a mixture of the two I suppose, maybe even both completely and simultaneously. Now that would be interesting. Do have fun."

It’s clear that's my cue to leave. Somehow I don't think I'd really envisioned other creatures similar to ponies being that different, though now that seems about as naive as could be. After readjusting the weight of the gear over my aching back I turn and head off down the path Maeve indicated, starting to look a little less inviting with the sun deep in the sky.--------

With all the trees around it's hard to tell, but I'm pretty sure the sun is setting now. What little I can see of the sky is a deepening blue, blurred with a hint of orange in the clouds. I know I really should have made camp much earlier, perhaps at the crossroad clearing but the desire to see out what Maeve hinted at in these strange woods is almost overpowering. I've no idea just how far this standing stone is and frankly with the light leaving it the forest is becoming more and more sinister. While the day was full of vibrancy and life, the coming night seems to be oddly still, devoid of many of the insects and small creatures I'd have expected to be starting their nocturnal foraging around now. My mind can't really decide whether to revel in this blanket of quiet and solitude dropping over everything or to bolt in fright. I need to pitch camp soon now, though at least with my horn I should be good for light.

As darkness falls to its fullest extent, the promised stone appears from the gloom, leering up like some ancient petrified tooth worn down by the ages. The path's not really got the room for the tent, so I'm forced into undergrowth, pulling it back with my magic until a large enough clearing for the tent. I deliberately made sure to avoid the location of the stone itself, I certainly wouldn't want to destroy the very trail I'm meant to be following. Anyway, these mysterious obelisks give me the chills. Thankfully with a little magic it doesn't take long to erect, and after a hard day's walking I'm glad to tuck myself inside polishing off some baked goods for a rather late and unorthodox dinner.

I've gone this far, and thinking about what I'm going to find out there is gnawing at me inside. There's no turning back now, just waiting to see what tomorrow brings.





I awake around dawn, my back aching from being twisted oddly on the uneven forest floor. Light's starting to come out from the gaps in the trees. I've never been too bad at mornings but waking after a short night's rough sleep is never nice. With a groan I drag myself out of the tent, taking in the sights and smells of the woodland around me. The dawn chorus is light here, the birdsongs few and far between. Curious in a place so full of life such as this. I know it's the last thing I want to be doing, but I force myself to pack everything up before eating. I can do that on the hoof, and I don't want to waste precious time with the very final leg of my journey left.

Crunch time.

It takes some time before everything's ready to go, and going by the sky the sun should be on the horizon now. Forcing my way back through the bush, I stumble onto the main path. Looking at it now in light, the stone is worn but there's no lichen or moss growing on it, unlike the previous one. That's certainly odd. I wander back and forth, looking for any sign of a path off to the left while shaking the tiredness from my bones. Thankfully, there's evidence of passage left by bent and broken branches a little way further on, continuing deeper into the shaded forest. Unlike the rest of the way, it's barely more than an animal track evidently forced through by a pony before me, going by the faint hoofmarks left in the ground. They're certainly not new, and they seem to be going both ways. I distinctly have a gut feeling I'd rather not meet anypony else out here.

It's strenuous pushing through the bushes and saplings, but I know that's not the reason for my heart hammering in my chest. With every passing minute the sounds of animal life fade away into a cloak of eerie stillness. I know part of me had been doubting the truth of that the enigmatic doe had said the afternoon before, but quite quickly all of her cryptic clues were vindicated. Sloped walls of stone started to appear ahead through the trees, not tall enough to reach the canopy. Before I knew it the track opened up and straightened, flanked by several lines of smooth stone obelisks about the height of a pony forming some sort of overgrown causeway through the wood. Stumbling over roots and leaves I trot faster towards the strange edifice.

Approaching, it's clear it's not a building as such, more an ornate walled courtyard. Though the walls outside are as perfectly smooth as they are blank, through the opening in the side wide pillars covered in both swirling spirals and creeping vines of ivy line a pair of crossed walkways of stone over a dark abyssal opening in the floor. The whole thing looks square, with similar openings on each of the sides.

When it comes to expeditions out into the wild, I think I might have jumped in at the deep end.

Taking it in closely, it appears each walkway is supported by the pillars that pass through them in the overgrown plant beds along the edges, paved neatly along the centre with off white stone flags bound together with a rough green-grey dappled mortar. I walk inside breathless, trying to take all these odd details in. The interior walls appear almost normal to the mind at first, what appears to be a regular tessellating pattern or ridged plates are actually slowly changing in shape as they progress both across and down the walls, playing cruel tricks on the mind as the shapes morph and shift irregularly. Overall it's just unsettling in the extreme in so many different ways, from the contrast between smooth and plain exterior to meticulously detailed interior to the gaping black abyss below my hooves with no sign of a bottom. An involuntary chilled shudder runs down me, pricking my coat hears on end. Other than the wind the whole place is as silent as the grave, a dead spot in a teeming oasis of life.

It's probably a place no sane pony would want to investigate, but honestly I'm not sure if I could live with myself if I turned back now. There's clearly something amiss about this place, but absolutely no clues here as to why. It's whole reason for being built and purpose is a mystery, not least of how somepony would get down into the deep hole below me. I'm sure it can be done somehow. There's too little up here to justify its existence it seems, I'm certain the answer must lie beneath. There's no real ornamentation or pictograms of any kind and certainly not a single indication of any kind of script save the patterned walls. If they have a meaning it's certainly far beyond me.

Taking off my saddlebags I rest them against a pillar and unpack some essentials into a smaller bag, a little water and food, a compass, a pencil and a pad just in case. I'll leave the rest here, no sense in lugging everything around now I'm here. Anyway, it'll mark just which of these four near-identical paths I took into this place. Pausing, I take a look back at them and leave a small scrap of paper tucked into the earth of one of the beds on the other side of the path. The thought of my bags not being there when I come back is something almost too scary to consider at the moment but in a situation like this I really don't feel like leaving anything to chance.

Now it's time to find my way inside. I finish the walk to the centre, and find another unexpected feature. Among this little world full of patterns and regularity, the central square rock between the middle four pillars where the path meets is simply a square hewn block of pumice. Odd for such a rough and raw material to be used by the look of it. Stepping onto it, I can't really see any kind of reason or mechanism involving it yet. I stand there for a while, trying to puzzle the whole thing through. To be honest I'd never been the amazing at working out cryptic puzzles and I can't help the feeling this one is just going straight over my head at the moment. It takes several minutes before I look back down at the rough stone and notice it's sunk about half a hoof's width in relation to the rest of the floor around it. Experimentally I jump up and down a little, and feel it giving very slightly beneath my hooves. Before long it's starting to fall below the level of the thick flagstones making up the path to the slabs of rock underneath. Looking back at the rising walkways around me the lines around the flagstones are starting to pulse a faint green. Looking closely at the matter between them there's specks of green reflective material mixed in with the mortar. Crushed emeralds by the look of it maybe.

It hits me finally. The gems mixed into the mortar are storing the magic holding up the central stone, and now gently lowering it into the abyss around me. Presumably pumice because it's far lighter than most other rocks. Interesting. As the ground level passes above my head I turn my attention the hole I'm slowly descending into. Other than the strange fading patterns on the walls there's nothing really to see, just the featureless dark. The ride down is an exercise in patience most definitely, and it's only then that I realise why it's still very dark down here, despite the largely open roof leaking more and more sunlight all around me with the day wearing on. A hanging, thin mist is slowly building up as I get deeper and deeper, absorbing the light and leaving the beginnings of a grim gloom about the place. 





It must have been a good half hour before I finally reach the bottom; a blank, dark stone square with the same paths marked by the bases of the pillars soaring above. Stepping down off the pumice plate I descended on, I carefully survey the wide room before stepping out into one of the quadrants and looking up at sky above me. The opening to the sky definitely doesn't look large from here, too small to really make out the 4 bridges. It's chilly down here too. With such gentle acceleration and deceleration I must have been going deceptively fast at maximum speed. It's pretty clear I'm damn deep down here. Sadly with the walls being devoid of any large features I've got no easy way finding out to what extent. The whole place looks and sounds utterly still, the sound of my hooves on the stone is painfully clear as it bounces lightly around.

What a space! Reading about things like this in books is so far from seeing it in the flesh it's incomparable. I can't imagine the sheer effort to design and build this, or how long it would have taken. Maybe years. Maybe decades! There's no real reason to believe ponies made this, it probably predates even the Royal Sisters. How many other ponies have walked through history like this?

Putting all that behind me I return to the platform that carried me down. Alarmingly it's knee height from the floor and rising. Experimentally I rear up and place my front hooves on it. The motion stops, and it returns equally slowly to its position at floor level. Looks like it needs weighing down. No way I'm staying in this place if my only ride out is one long wait away. The only candidate I've got to leave on it is my water bottle. Taking it from my bag, I place it in the centre of the stone and back off, watching to see if it rises. After what feels like a suitably long time to confirm it’s remaining firmly rooted to the floor I turn and look back at the various paths to each wall. Where the path meets it there's a tall rectangular opening, the interior as black as night. I turn and check the others, from this distance they all look suitably similar. I should be ok just going up to them and having a peer down them. Actually entering hallways leading into blackness seems a little too far right now. Picking one at random I head over.

I'm hesitant at first, though the dead silence when I stop moving is at least slightly comforting. I'll be able to hear something coming even if I can't see it. If anything is there it'll certainly hear me but that can't really be helped. The first opening I reach is just blank blackness. I light up my horn, but all that does is reveal a straight, featureless corridor continuing into darkness. I dim my horn again. It's hardly better than twilight down here, but something inside me feels reticent about disturbing the abounding darkness any more than can be helped. I definitely don't fancy a trip down there. I take a look at the wall pattern in this area, just some strange angular shape. Nothing I recognise at least. With a bit of a sinking feeling I head to the next.

It's a similar story there, though this time the opening has slopes top and bottom inside, leading to a smaller, square tunnel. I take a few steps up into it to see into the tunnel proper. It's just as featureless as before but something feels amiss again. The brief period of extra lighting reveals that the floor, ceiling and walls are all starting to tilt.

Hold on a second. 

The whole tunnel looks like it starts to rotate as it progresses. Very surreal. Again the morphing pattern all around it is of unknown design, this time a curved amorphous shape. Time for the next tunnel. Cutting across again, my blood runs cold as I approach the pillar path and the wall. The fog seems to be noticeably thicker here, congregating near the tunnel and presumably inside. Not only that, the previously alien and unknown pattern on the other walls seems to have shifted into a decidedly skull-shaped visage. I stop on the spot, eyes fixated on the gently swirling dark clouds slowly drifting outwards into the main chamber.

Let me think, I'll live without checking if that's a coincidence or not. Emphasis on the live part.

After regaining some confidence and double checking that the pumice panel with my water is still present and untouched, I work up the courage to look at the final one. Approaching it close up a faint light is visible deep inside it, definitely flickering and changing slightly. It's barely enough to notice, but clearly not the abyss of darkness in the other three. Illuminating the opening, the short hallway seems like it opens up, with steps leading down into what might be more lines of pillars marking either side of the path in a wider hall.

Well, if there's one to investigate, it's definitely this one.

After avoiding lighting up my horn on the off chance something would see the light, I think it's probably worth it now. What little light's coming through the door isn't really enough to see by. Focusing, I weave a small ball glowing the same dim red of my magic floating in front of my face and slowly push it forward into the gloom. A long hall opens up below me, stretching off beyond the reach of my dim light. It's an imposing sight, made even more eerie bathed in the soft red glow, the steps lead down into a long colonnade lined with wide, round pillars made of a dark stone. They end some way in the distance, leaving a large flat wall with a pair of doorways in the centre, one at ground level, the other suspended above it, seemingly more of a viewing gallery. There looks to be a carved frame around them but from this distance it's hard to tell.

I start down the steps, entering this grand space, leaving the relative comfort of the open sky behind me. The sharp clop of my hooves echoes around, reverberating around and illustrating the sheer size of this place.

So much for trying to stay unnoticed.

It looks like there's walls behind the lines of pillars, flat stone faces lined with the faint shadows I've cast. The dark fog curls around their bases, obscuring things at ground level. The redness is absorbed in the fog, making the contrast to the total black of the shadows even more pronounced. The whole thing feels so unnatural, so far from Equestria or anywhere ponies should live, bringing images of Tartarus to mind. Plenty of dark nooks for forgotten dark beasts to hide in.

Why of all things does it have to look like the entrance to Tartarus, flickering flames and all?

Why did I have to have red magic?

Why of all things? 

I can feel my heartrate rising and breath quicken as all sorts of Tartarian scenes of blood and fire and monstrous flesh flow into my mind until suddenly the reminder of a single thought hits me like a distilled beam of Celestia's sunlight, calming me like jumping in cool fresh water after a summer's day.

Of course red light doesn't harm your night vision. I AM meant to do this. This IS my destiny. 

Taking a moment to compose myself I acknowledge all the dark images as (hopefully) irrational and push them out of my head, focusing on the here and now. I look up, but the pillars just continue stretching up into the blackness above me.

Again, just darkness. Nothing actually sinister. Just no light source. 

With a final breath to finish re-centring myself, I give a mental shrug, just another mystery. It doesn't take long at all to reach the long path at the foot of the stairs, and I turn and look back up at the entrance, a solitary grey rectangle of hope amongst the dark. The stairs themselves are interesting though. They're the same width as the slightly raised stone path, yet wandering around them close up they appear to be separate vertical slabs rather than one carved entity or lots of individual blocks. A question for later perhaps. I turn, lightly walking along trying to work out if there's any clues in the design or the construction as just why this whole thing is here as it is. After a short ways I stop again. It doesn't seem like there's any change or irregularity as I progress.

Why though? Why this featureless hall with only one entrance? 

As always, a stillness abounds and lost in thought I start to tune into the sounds of my breath, and steady beat of my heart. Turning my head back to look at the entrance the rustle of my mane seems just as loud as the bustle of Maresborough square. A thought strikes me. I suck in my breath and focus entirely on completely motionless. The silence is perversely deafening.

In all my life, I don't think I've ever really experienced silence. Not until now. 

Until, almost too faint to hear, a sucking sound. It's rhythmic, coming in short bursts. The sounds of breathing. In an instant it feels like every single hair on my body stands on end.

Life. Something’s ALIVE.

My mind, already starting to tell me to take a breath starts screaming in terror and oxygen starvation, completely overloaded. I'm paralysed. Every muscle in my body is utterly rigid and tense as if trying to propel me into sprinting out of this place but something, the terror, the certainty that any motion will shatter the only evidence of its source, holds me completely immobile. The feeling builds and builds like an incoming tidal wave, every single part of my mind and body fixated completely onto that quietest of sounds. The dread moment of consummate fear shatters as my throat reflexively gasps for breath and I stagger reeling for breath in an explosion of sound. Barely aware of controlling my own body I bolt for the exit, all higher thoughts and quiet motions abandoned.

I find myself back out into the square courtyard before my mind starts to click back into gear and I start to take stock of my surroundings. I turn my head, expecting some monstrous creature of wicked eyes and slavering jaws to be hounding my tail but everything seems as still and quiet as it was when I descended. I slow to a trot, approaching the pumice lifting stone to the surface. Only when I'm standing next to it does my heart finally slow it's hammering rhythm and I can take stock of things.

Well, whatever it is must have heard me. I doubt that anything that lives in this gloom has anything less than impeccable hearing. 

I reach for the water bottle with my magic and step on the stone, ready to ascend.

I am so done, I am so, so done. 

Looking down, the pumice pad still seems anchored unmoving to the floor. Immediately I quell all creeping thoughts that I'm trapped down here, clearly it's designed to take people in and out.

I hope. 

I prod it with my magic, feeling it out as best I can but the whole thing seems inert despite the complex spell on it. In mild frustration I shift my weight up and down, feeling it give ever so slightly. I give a little jump and something clicks when I land, suddenly releasing whatever tether bound it and starting it's ascent. I look around, taking the place in. The dead stillness and quiet. The angular, regular geometry broken only by the disturbing patterns on the walls of the abyss. The unsettling graveyard fog. Whatever creature is left lurking down in that tunnel. I never really believed I'd experience anything like this in my life.

Who knows if I ever will again? 

Idly while the indistinct tessellating patterns pass me on all sides I check, and yep, still a blankflank. Maybe my talent's not for adventure, delving deep and solving mysteries like Daring Doo. I kneel down, uncomfortable on the rough pumice slab, trying to reconcile this terrifyingly enigmatic place with going back to my banal life to find a banal job and talk to my banal parents about the weather and whatever the Trottingham hoity-toity are up too this month and finding a nice colt to settle down with.

How do I walk away from this back home and try to explain this to them? They'll never believe me, even if I drew pictures. When I saw this place for the first time it felt like my destiny and now I just feel empty. 

Lost in my malaise of depression I barely register the light and sound of the wind starting to return and it takes the stone bridges passing in front of my nose to realise I'm already up at the surface. I feel drained, coming down from the adrenaline and having to face real life. My saddlebags are still sitting there in the midmorning sun, marking the road back to my boring old life in boring old Equestria.

Am I really so done? 





Daring Doo doesn't give up and neither will I. All I gained going down into the abyss were questions, both about it and myself. Why was this sinister place built? By whom? Am I meant to be the one to find out? Part of me is rightfully still scared, who knows what was making those sounds or what other dangerous things are waiting in the gloom. But now that I'm back out it means too much to me to come away with nothing. I'm left to stew my decision as I return downwards. Descending back into the belly of the beast to face the unknown I realise the life of an adventurer like her isn't defined by the thrill of discovery or triumph over the adversity, it's about facing the realisation of your darkest fears without backing down. Facing danger and trusting in your fortitude.

The rising sun hasn't done anything to improve the temperature at the bottom, if anything knowing there's something alive down there makes it even chillier. Again I leave some things to weigh down the stone and carefully identify which tunnel I'd entered before. It seems no different and despite the nagging thoughts in my head to forge onwards or flee I force myself to stop still and stay calm. As before, I start to hold my breath, listening for that ever so faint sound of breath.

Nothing. 

I walk back down that path towards the dark entrance, creating another small light to lead my way. Knowing what's down there helps ease the tension a little but the gathering mist and bottomless shadows create doubts that can't be ignored fully. Battling my racing heart, I step down into hall itself and pad as quietly as I can into the gloom until I'm maybe a quarter of the way along as best I can tell by the 8 shaped openings faintly visible at the far end. Doing all I can to stay calm I take a deep breath and focus my body on becoming still.

And there it is, the now unmistakeable sound of breathing. A rough sound. Perhaps it's sleeping? It sounds completely unchanged. 

Trying as hard as possible to stay silent with woeful results, I creep deeper into the subterranean hall, slowly getting closer and closer to the odd double entrance far ahead. It takes several minutes of wincing at every hooffall in baited breath, but I eventually approach the twin doors. The frame, unlike anything I've seen before in this place, is of patternless rough granite that twinkles softly under the magic. The lower is a pit of blackness, even with my magical light, a font of the grim gases I've been seeing emanating from all over this place. The upper however takes my attention. The blank-faced corridor in it splits into an intersection, and from what I can see the right fork is the source of the faint light I thought I saw earlier before entering. The light is constantly shifting in intensity slightly, despite the light I'm producing and the scant light from the far end both being static. The only problem is reaching it.

I stop in thought, and the now quite clear sounds of ragged breathing surprise me. They're certainly weak and irregular, sounding far more like the product of a dying animal than a live one. The door above gives no hints about getting up there, though it's about the same height off the floor as the one I came in on. Looking back through the gloom at the steps and portal of light in the distance, a thought strikes me and I look down, scrutinising the floor. The path here is constructed from thin horizontal blocks of even width that stretch between each side of the path.

Perhaps they raise into similar steps?

Wandering around their vicinity, no mechanism to control them appears, and it takes several minutes of retracing my steps before I happen across a lone circular stone in centre of the path halfway along. With a hard press of a hoof, it lowers down and the rumble of shifting stone echoes through the walls. Like a receding wave, the stairs behind me fall away, receding to the floor with a series of deep thuds. I swing my head around, breath taken away as more shoot up ahead of me, leading to the passage of ethereal light.

Success!

Letting the sounds fade, I trot forwards, staring at the glow in the tunnel shifting like sunlight reflected from water. Almost silent but for the soft click of my hooves, I ascend the stairs, and enter the bare corridor. It's still not clear what's creating the light shining from the entry, but the doleful sound of laboured breathing is back stronger than ever. I approach, turning the corner carefully, trying to prepare myself for whatever unknown magic it could throw at me.

Pulsating tendrils of purple magic spark and writhe through the air like lightning, centred around an uneven, suspended shape bathed in their sorcerous light. It's tall and furred, partially wrapped in cloths and furs with a hood obscuring all but it's predatory muzzle. A diamond dog. The bolts of magic shoot through its body, through its limbs and into its chest, jerking and twisting it like a ragdoll, leaving its mouth open in hollow screams turned to rattling gasps of pain. I take a step back in a sudden moment of terror, unable to stop myself letting out a short whinny from shock. I’m frozen to the spot, taking in the scene in morbid fascination. After several seconds of the dog and the swirling maelstrom ignoring me completely, it's clear that it's bound by the magic, completely held fast in its tortuous bindings. Some of its belongings are strewn around the floor, various trinkets, a pack and a wickedly serrated sword lying along the passage before it. After the initial shock has worn off, nothing seems to be happening other than the involuntary spasms of the dog before me. The way the tendrils dance is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, in a way it’s staggeringly beautiful, if not for the dog held fast in the centre.

What a monstrous thing. Though, perhaps this the victim, not the monster here. Looking at how it's things are scattered around it could have been taken by surprise. It certainly wasn't brought here to be trapped like this, and nor would it live here with travelling supplies like those.

The more I stare at it, the less frightening the sight is, and the more pitiful it becomes. The thing before me has lost everything except its life.

I don't think it's even registered my presence. What a fate. Maybe the cruellest end for a creature that looks like it expected to live and die by the blade.

Thinking of it's blade, it's the closest thing to me, a short distance inside the passage that looks untouched by the magic lightning. Tentatively, I move hoof by hoof towards it, edging closer and closer. I know I shouldn't, but it's the only concrete object to vindicate my tale when I get back home. Still, the lightning doesn't strike, only dancing around a short way in front of my face. Reaching forward with a forehoof I brush the hilt and a flash of light erupts. 

I lurch back with shock. My head is ringing, feeling suddenly heavy and nauseous as strange and unwanted sensations overcome me; the tangy taste of blood, the ruffle of harsh winds through matted fur, the heady scent of musk, the clammy fatigue of running through snow as my lungs burn and my sweat turns to ice in my coat, an explosion of pain and cold steel entering my side, the broken body of a diamond dog with a spear through it's skull laying on bloodstained rocks, a sudden glimpse of a bright yellow unicorn clutching a sword with a sneer, replaced by my own canine body pierced by purple magic and wordless yet deafening howls of despair.

Like the sudden release of massive pressure, I return to my own body and I see the dog before me straining it's head forwards, eyes glowing yellow, arms trying to reach toward me in desperation. I stumble back, falling over my back hooves as the lightning retreats back to the diamond dog's now limp body. It remains unresponsive as I regain my breath and push myself away from it. My heart is hammering in my chest like a train, all the composure I'd rebuilt lost. I have no desire to see more.

Galloping away along the tunnel and down the steps, I pause only to jab down hard into the stone circle at the midpoint of the great hall, without giving any attention to the moving stonework behind me. Bolting up the stairs into the square plaza underneath distant blue skies, I relax, falling back onto my flank and staring back into the dark depths gasping for air and retching a little.

What just happened to me? 

It was as if I was overcome by hallucinations when I touched the sword, but all those sensations felt far more real than that. More like visions, from the eyes of the bound diamond dog. My body probably registered the shuddering sensation rocking through me earlier as shock, though maybe it's more than that, some effect of the magic binding the dog that gave these visions? 

I don't think I feel any different. Then again, with powerful magic like this? Who knows.





I must have been lying there a while, trying to take it all in, before I finally notice that the shadows of the weak sunlight penetrating the dark fog in this place have started to swap sides from where they were when I entered. It's past noon already. Hurrying back to the centre of the square, I step onto the platform, gratefully taking large swigs of water from my bottle. After the encounter I'm definitely very much done, and more pressingly I need to get back, preferably before nightfall. Given how far I've got to go, that doesn't really look that likely.

With the new sense of urgency, the ride up seems agonisingly slow, and by the time I reach the top I'm dashing towards my saddlebags. Stashing what little I took down with me, I pop a bread roll into my mouth. I swing my saddlebags over my back and take a last look around.



So this is what it feels like to go looking for ancient ruins and buried treasure?

I'm still shaken by what happened down there, and it really hits home just what I'd gotten myself into. I'd never thought about it before much, but thinking about it there's got to be a reason places like this get abandoned or lost in the first place. The death of a civilization almost sounds the least ominous. There has to be some reason why ponies, or whoever built this, would choose to forget about it. I'm sure it's probably not a nice pleasant one.

Making sure I head out the right way, I set back off into the woods, looking thoroughly more pleasant in the midday sun. Even though the animals seem to be avoiding the stone construct, it's lovely to get back out into the sights and sounds of nature. It takes a fair bit of searching and looking at the compass for a bearing to finally find the rough track I followed to reach the place, obscured by all the vegetation. It takes a lot of concentration not to lose the path, and it's only once I happen upon the sudden break in the trees and the standing stone do I allow my mind to wander.

I know I'd been trying to avoid it, but now I can't stop wondering over the things I saw, felt even, when I touched the diamond dog's sword. Whenever I try to remember them, part of that intense rush returns for a second, refreshing the sensation and the vision. It feels like I'm remembering the actual event, rather than just what I saw in my head. I can't describe how unnerving it is to be able to recall things that I've never done before like they were happening to me yesterday.

I'm pretty sure these are the memories of the diamond dog, but how am I still able to experience what it's experienced? When I concentrate I'm getting tiny fragments added on, things I don't think I saw the first time. Am I still able to tap into its memory, even after I'm no longer connected by the magic binding it?

I just don't know what to think. It almost seems beyond comprehension.

Being surrounded by plants and creatures again suddenly feels more soothing than ever. Where I'd been was no place for ponies. Something about it felt just fundamentally wrong. As I'm trotting along, a familiar sound of faint singing wafts down the path towards me, soothing my uncertainty. It takes a little while to get close enough to start hearing it properly, but it's quite a different tune to the previous one, constantly double-backing on itself and returning to melodies only to take them in different directions. It reminds me of the tiny swirling eddies in the stream I crossed yesterday in a way.

When I actually reach the crossroads clearing, Maeve is lying on her side in the grass with her head arched up to the sky, finishing her song. Without bothering to get up, she turns her head towards me. 

"Have fun?"

I'm a little startled by her abrupt question. If I'm honest, once I'd started going down that pit things started to get a whole lot more eerie and unnerving than fun.

"Well, I did in parts I suppose."

She tilts her head, muzzle scrunched up a little in thought. 

"Were they the important parts though?" 

I'd say being zapped by unknown powerful magic and having something else's memories in your head is probably the important part here.

"I don't think so to be honest."

With a deft little roll she hops to her hooves and approaches, with a distinctly concerned look on her face. She paces around me, inspecting me as if I might have changed.

"Well, that's dismaying. Still, there are a lot of times when the path to adventure and the path to having fun lead in the opposite direction. You did find what you truly came for." She taps my flank with a hoof, just behind my saddlebag.

Shaking my saddlebags off hurriedly, I peered round at my side. A pitch black circle, with small vein-like tendrils of all colours snaking out from around it's edge. I blurted out a half gasp of surprise, half squeal of excitement, unable to contain my shock.

I'm completely overcome.

How?

It must have been whatever that... connection was with the diamond dog. It wasn't there when went to leave the first time. 

I must have been frozen in place for a little while when Maeve breaks the shocked silence,

"An interesting sigil. Perhaps indicating interesting adventures, in the past or the future." 

I look back at it again. The vaguely eye-shaped mark of circular black void and polychromatic lines growing out from it stares back at me.

It's linked, undeniably. Maybe to seeing those visions?

What does that make my talent though? 

She gives me a wry smile and starts to walk around me, inspecting it from all angles. Her nose gets closer and closer until she's barely nuzzling it and I leap away in shock, eliciting a musical laugh.

"Relax, I already told you I don't bite, you're not a flower. Unless you want me to bite you," she adds, biting her lip with a gleam in her eyes. There’s the beginnings of an awkward silence, until they shift to puzzlement. "The void in the centre absorbs all light, I think. There's no sheen or change in it, no matter how you move around. A very curious sigil indeed." She completes her circling and returns to facing me. "You look rather out of sorts, if you don't mind me saying."

For a brief moment I consider asking her if she could make sense of everything I'd witnessed, but the rapidly waning light warned me against it. Not to mention how odd she is, even if she is polite.

"I've got to go. My parents are going to skin me if I'm out another night." I stammer out, still more shaken than I had realised at getting my cutie-mark after today.

She lets out a soft snort, "If that's the case I won't keep you. I won't be here long but if I ever come back this way I will check for letters or presents," She glances around the clearing, "Hmm, leave them under the stone I sent you to, that seems fitting. Especially presents, no one ever gets me presents."

I turn to pick up my saddlebags and fasten them up for the hopefully brisk journey. By the time they're on securely she's already halfway into the undergrowth.

"May you live in interesting times!" she shouts out before disappearing altogether.







"I'm home!"

Dad looks at me scathingly as I come through the door into the kitchen and pull off my saddlebags into a corner, "And about time too. We finished dinner an hour ago."

It had been a long trip back. I was more tired than I thought from the morning's exploration in the strange structure and carrying all my kit as well made it a long slog through the woods in the last of the afternoon sun and creeping twilight. Being this late I'd anticipated the frosty reception. Even if he didn't say it to my face in as many words I knew he thought going out into the wilderness was a foolhardy pursuit for earth ponies or some reckless pegasus. Dirty and dangerous and pointless. 

I turn back to start unpacking my saddlebags, every motion laboured from the wave of exhaustion that inevitably hits upon returning home from a strenuous day out, completely oblivious to the occasional shuffle and writing of my dad's papers on the table stopping as he's caught speechless by shock for a minute or so.

"You found it? Your mark?"

I stop dead. A peculiar sensation runs through me, adrenaline and anxiety. The excitement of finally finding my cutie-mark after long years being ridiculed rushes back afresh, only to be met by the crushing thought:

I'm going to have to explain all this. How in Celestia's light-filled land to I explain it? 

"It's.... it's a long story."

His unchanging expression of complete shock prompts me to go on, starting with the rather normal walk out of town through the woods, before meeting Maeve the deer and how she directed me deeper into the forest, until he cut me off.

"Ok, ok, enough of that. What really happened?"

He’d gotten over the shock, looking concerned and alarmed now, 

"That did really happen dad. I swear". 

He looks at me, not even trying to hide the disappointment and contempt in his eyes, not even deigning to argue with me before writing it all off.

"What does it mean? You know what it means, right?"

"Well, there was this Diamond Dog suspended in magic-"

"Enough of the horseapples sweetheart. What does it mean, plain and simple?"

At this point it feels like my heart's collapsing and dying like a burning airship.

"I don't know dad."

I lower my head, letting my mane fall over my face to try to hide my welling tears. I knew it was probably hopeless but the pain from having it confirmed was more than I could ever anticipate. Looking through my wet eyes and locks of hair all the power of the disapproval and anger that had built over the years seemed to have gone from my dad's face, all of a sudden he looked more defeated and world weary than I'd ever seen him. He looked up and opened his mouth,

"Just..."

For a second he froze, clearly lost for words, jaw hanging. With a slight shake of his head he returned to staring down at his paper blankly like a stallion who's watched his life and loves turn to ashes in front of his eyes.
> 1: Fresh Connections
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

3 Years later

I lay there on the metal examining table in the research clinic as the stallion charged up his horn, and the most peculiar sensation, like being massaged and having pins and needles at the same time, overtook my entire body, and not just my body. It felt like it every fibre of my being was being squeezed and probed. I had to repeat what I’d been telling myself all day: just think of the bits.






Continuity intermission


Finding my cutie mark that weekend was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing in that now I was no longer the weird old blankflank teenager that got queer looks wherever I went, but a curse in just about everything else. Mum talked with me lot in the days after about what happened and what my cutie mark could mean, but it was clear she could never clear the seed of doubt about my story, especially since I didn’t really know myself what it meant. My dad just blanked the whole affair after that, he couldn’t reconcile the idea of exposing what he thought was the lie and hurting me in the process alongside his only foal essentially being the one in a thousand pony that didn’t have even the slightest guiding light that everypony had as a result of the inherent magic that had been in us since for as long as our species could remember.

But what could they do? There it was, a cutie mark, sitting there on my flank.

School was at least more bearable now I didn’t get constant jibes about it, but all the angst and desperation that came with being the blankflank was replaced with something I’d never expected before, a strange sense of emptiness and ennui. I’d always thought it was going to be ok when I was older, but here I was with my childhood dream satisfied in a way I could never have dreamed of and it just felt like shit. At least I wasn’t completely useless at things outside my special talent, particularly in the history where the old tales and ancient civilizations had fuelled my dreams of adventure that suddenly felt so much more real and dark. The desire was still there, but no longer driven by the glamour and excitement. It felt like in those days and weeks after getting to grips with what happened it had morphed into a morbid curiosity in a secret I only knew. I’d never been overly endowed with close friends at school and getting my mystery cutie mark didn’t do much to change that. If my parents couldn’t bring themselves to believe me, all those budding young sophisticated mares at school would eat me alive if I told them.





The awful sensation was starting to move out of my extremities, condensing more and more into my barrel and head. The researchers had done their best to describe it feeling but it was unpleasant in strange ways that just couldn’t be put into words, if not painful per se. Until it was, and it felt like every thaum of energy they were channelling through me was suddenly ripped out of my system through my cutie marks like iron filings being pulled through my skin by a magnet of unimaginable power.

I screamed like I’d never screamed before in my life, my body physically convulsing in shock. I’m dimly aware of a loud thump behind me and the stink of burned fur.





Given it seemed like what I was best at, not that was saying much, I decided to apply to a history course at Trottingham University. A quite prestigious place, if not in the same league as the Canterlot institutions, it was nevertheless about the pinnacle I could hope to reach without the hand of fate dealing me a better mark. That strange period of limbo after I found my cutie mark when all my efforts to find it had ceased left me with far more time than I was used to, no longer enchanted by the stories and fantasies of my youth. Knowing I would never have something I could easily excel at like almost everypony else I drove that free time and energy into the mundane work we were given at school to make up for it. I just about managed to scrape my way in. 





Everything hurts so bucking bad. So bucking bad. Aside from that awful smell of burnt hair nothing’s really registering, I’m just lying there staring at the wall, shaking all over. Even the pain is shaking. There’s screaming too. Not me, voices behind me. Wailing and sobbing and frantic shouting.





University in Trottingham turned out better than I expected at least. Even if I wasn’t anywhere near as talented as half the other history students fresh out of school, at least I wasn’t “that blankflank” anymore. Walking from the train on that first day, surrounded by other wide eyed ponies my age arriving to start there, and not getting strange looks all the time felt great. It was like being a reptile, freshly moulted and spry again, my body and soul rejuvenated.

Almost all the buildings in central Trottingham were imposing stone structures, full of the strong, grand architecture of the post-reformation period when Equestria was ascending to new heights and changing dramatically after the long dark period caused by the terrible wars of Nightmare Moon. The university was no exception, being one of the older higher learning institutions in Equestria. The dorm building I’d been assigned to took longer than I’m proud of to find. For someone who loved reading maps of far off lands, I struggled a lot in those first few weeks with the endless warrens of Trottingham’s winding streets of tall stone buildings blocking out any hope of seeing landmarks. I was certainly no city slicker, and even though I grew more accustomed to it I never changed fully.

First years shared dorm rooms with a partner, to save space when a good chunk would inevitably quit early on. Once I’d finally reached my room after an arduous slog through the city and bustling dorm building full of new students moving in, I pushed open the door to reveal a space barely big enough for a big wardrobe, two desks and beds, one of which already had a cream earth pony with auburn hair lying sideways on it. She gave me a waggle of her eyebrows and tossed a chocolate from the small box next to her high into the air, which arced gracefully before plummeting directly towards my waiting mouth with unerring accuracy. Still stunned from this unorthodox greeting, she sat up and said “Hi roomie, I’m Bloomie!” 





Someone’s shaking me, saying something in my ear.

It’s not registering, but the outside stimulus breaks something in all the shock and pain overwhelming me. They’re still speaking, and it feels like there’s hooves on my body, but my vision is darkening, my heartbeat slowing. I’m still in pain, but it feels like I’m divorced from it, like it’s not my body. The shock feels different too, it’s not shock at all anymore, just emptiness. The overwhelming pain is fading, just leaving total blackness and almost refreshing feeling cool hard stone floor under my fur. I feel utterly spent just lying there experiencing the sensations of my body again. The feel of my heartbeat, frail and limping. The feel of my mouth hanging limply open against the floor, gently drooling.The exquisite feeling of damp cool air against my gums and flowing down my throat. I can’t help tears. Freedom. The joy is enough to persuade me to try moving, just my tongue at first, running it over my wickedly sharp canines and incisors-

Wait, canines and incisors?





The first year felt like a wild ride compared to my very conservative upbringing. Being suddenly thrust into this melting pot of ponies (as much as you consider Trottingham a melting pot of different ponies, a lot of ponies I met from other places thought it was still full of snobby unicorns) was a world away from home. Thankfully Bloom wasn’t to much of a party animal, only dragging me out and leading me back home drunk and disorientated occasionally. Even if I wasn’t that keen on it (and still not now) it did lead to load of hilarious moments I’ll spare you from (and myself from the shame) and helping me overcome a lot of the insecurity still left from being so isolated as a blankflank growing up. Bloomie had told me all about how she got her cutie mark, a majestic stone column, after she’d got so enthusiastic (and a little misinformed) when making part of the set for a school play she designed and built the entire building out of wood with her brother instead of just props for the stage.

I’d always tried to avoid about telling ponies about what my cutie mark was, because I simply struggled to understand it myself. Whenever they asked, I’d try to politely decline, or just go along with the common assumption that it was some kind of eye (the idea had occurred to me, though how it could relate to how I’d got it was beyond me). After one particularly jolly evening with her and Midnight Ink (more on her later) that had ended with her falling face first into my flank and seeing it eye to eye they’d pressed me for the first time in a long time. For the first time I relented, and explained that fateful journey. They were a bit disbelieving at first, when I reached my meeting with the deer, Maeve. Even though we were drunk, I must have clammed up at that and they sensed it, thankfully they were understanding enough to take me at my word. I must have managed to impress on them how bucking weird the whole thing was.

When I reached the part about that strange square stone pit, Bloomie was enthralled. She’d always loved grand structures like castles and we shared that in the tales of old ruins and temples of other cultures. Midnight too took fresh interest when I told them how it still had working magical constructs left, being a student of Physical Sciences and Magics, one of Trottingham University’s most vaulted areas of study (along with Law, both stalwarts of the elite unicorn classes that had dominated the city’s upper echelons throughout it’s history). Time flew as I finally got to tell other ponies about what I’d found once I took that stone platform down to the base of the pit, the eerie fog, huge chambers and eventually the diamond dog bound by magic in one of the corridors. We must have been kicked out of the bar we were in, since we never really discussed it properly as the story was coming to a close. They found me the next day, struggling to believe my tale, but acquiesced when I talked back through it with them sober. I’d never really talked to anypony there about how it had always been my dream to be an adventurer, being a grown mare it seemed a bit silly to admit, but now they understood the whole picture and accepted me I felt closer to them than I had to any of the other friends I still had back home. 







Everything trembled in shock for a second like I’d been woken suddenly from a deep sleep, and there I was being carried on a stretcher by two earth ponies quickly to the medical bay, utterly disorientated. My brain refused to act, not even trying to resolve the sudden contradiction of what I’d just felt. The stretcher had a blanket on, it wasn’t stone. It wasn’t dark, my eyes had been wide open the entire time. My teeth certainly didn’t feel like small daggers now. I couldn’t stop myself running my tongue back and forth over them, as if somehow, I’d still find something strange. I was my old self now, but then what was that?

Was I hallucinating?

I jerked my head up, trying to shake away the disorientation and confusion. The sounds of ponies talking and bustling around me was starting to register with me now, like my mind was finally deciding it was working well enough to be open for customers again.

“Miss, excuse me, miss? Can you hear me? Are you awake?”

I turn my head to the left, and there’s a brown unicorn in a doctor’s coat trotting alongside me looking clearly troubled. She’s saying words at me. I look at her for a second or so until I’m quite sure the words and the opening and closing of her mouth are matching before giving her a weak nod. Nurses are quickly filling in through the doorway looking grim, or shocked, before hurrying to attend to me and the pony behind me. The doctor’s directing them and there’s lots of anxious chatter, mostly directed at the group around the research doctor burned by the spell backlash, but little of it registers, I can barely focus on the mare in front of me asking me questions.

“Are you in pain?”

I’m still a little thrown of kilter from suddenly returning to my own body, but as the familiar sensations are flowing back in it feels like the most excruciating pain is gone. Everything feels drained and sore though nothing in comparison to the indescribable piercing of every shred of me that wrenched me from my body.

“Uh, just a little. I’m… a bit sore all over, but it’s not that bad.”

“Oh, thank Celestia you’re awake, and lucid! We thought something terrible had happened.”

The look on her face was gravely serious and deeply concerned, and it took a second for the situation to really assert itself. The various nurses around her were disconnecting various monitors used for the research experiment and connecting others to a mobile stand ready by my bed.

“Well, something terrible has happened, there was huge magical blowback of some kind as we were conducting the experiment. Dr Purifier there seemed to have took the brunt of it, but it’s a miracle you’re not dead truth be told. I’m Dr Cleansing Light, let’s get you out of here and checked over.”

She directed the nurses to wheel me out, walking alongside tactically blocking my view of Dr Purifier on the floor, still smelling faintly of burned fur. More nurses were waiting impatiently to flock into the room with a stretcher, presumably for him.

“I’m so sorry for you. We didn’t think anything like this was even remotely possible!”

The middle-aged mare was shaking slightly as she said it, perhaps just as much to reassure her as me. I still felt like I’d taken a beating all over, but my brain was starting to wake up more now and recover from the complete sensory overload. I just can’t get over feeling that whatever magic hit me in that pit has had some really serious consequences. As well as my cutie mark it clearly had some lasting impact on my very soul. I shudder at the thought.

It’s not long before they get me to a ward, and most of the gaggle of nurses vanish leaving me with the doctor and a couple who start taking basic things like my temperature and blood pressure. Dr Light’s clearly shaken by the whole thing, and can’t stop herself babbling on

“Everything we’ve learned and practiced with soul magic so far has been very low energy. Through all our tests on other animals and ponies nothing has caused a reaction of such pure power, even when things went unexpectedly. The magical theorists behind it assured us something like this would be impossible!”

As far as I knew she was telling the truth. There’d been a bit of hullabaloo about the first forays into the practical magical understanding of the soul, but even with all the press and attention around it no one could deny it was practically very safe. Apparently, it amounted to little more than trying to observe what it was, with no attempt to manipulate or tamper with it.

Well, whatever dark magic was left inside me from my ill-conceived camping trip has disabused them of that notion of safety. 

The beginnings of that awful sinking feeling you get when you have to explain something that sounds like you’re just making up a load of old ponypoo to wind them up if only for it being somewhat verifiably true was forming an abyss in my stomach. It didn’t even need consideration to know that they’d be prying in detail into why this had happened since I’d taken a sledgehammer to the face of high-profile ground-breaking research.

How could I be so bucking stupid? Signing up for this, let alone touching that sword as if it’s a storybook with a happily-ever-after ending? I’d have thought I’d have known better after learning for almost 10 years of blank-flank torment to not stick my nose where it doesn’t belong. 

Thankfully my self-flagellating return to thinking straight appeared as tiredness to the nurses, who didn’t take long finishing up the various bodily checks along with Dr Light’s magic working me over.

“Well Miss Silverstreak, we can’t find anything wrong with you besides most of the normal symptoms of a powerful magical overload. We’ll be keeping you in here overnight to make sure you’re ok and check you over further but by the grace of Celestia whatever the experiment did to you it doesn’t appear more serious than a mundane magical injury which we’re more than capable of dealing with.”

She fussed some more about the details of what they’d be giving me and things like food but it washed over me without really sinking in. As much as I was angry with myself about what had happened it was also distracting me from thinking about that real dread that I might not be leaving this hospital. Some of the most serious magical accidents weren’t things anypony was comfortable talking about, as if they’d never come back now we were smart and modern.









That lovely comfort of being in a soft bed when you’re just feeling tired and awful all over (as students everywhere explore in depths worth of detailed research if they weren’t so hungover) felt like it had only just closed its snuggly soft legs around me when I was abruptly awakened by the sound of a familiar voice shouting my name.

“Silver!”

I was still a little groggy but Bloomie’s voice was a shock to the system that just about managed to prepare me for her launching herself on me in a hug.

“I was worried waiting for you to come home and then this pegasus arrived saying you’d been in an accident and-” She wrapped around me like a boa constrictor, burying her face into my neck and mane, “Oh I’m just so glad they said you’re ok.”

It was really comforting to feel her holding me tight, something I hadn’t had time to realise I needed until it happened. I was still struggling to come to terms with what happened, both the scarily close shave to whatever happened to the poor doctor that was on the receiving end of whatever magic was inside me and the disturbing visions it caused. We stayed like that for a minute, until she sheepishly got off me and stood by the side of my bed.

“The nurse told be that they thought you were ok and just wanted you to stay here and make sure but no matter who I asked they didn’t tell me what happened!”

“I, um, don’t feel too bad now. It was some weird magical reaction to the test, like every part of my body had the worst cramp all at once.”

She looked across at me full of concern, and I just managed to head her off before she went into it further,

“Nopony really understands what happened yet. They don’t seem to have a clue what caused it.”

She wrapped me in another hug, and I couldn’t stop tears from welling up as we sat there embraced. I’d almost died from getting in over my stupid head, and now my body and mind felt like they could betray me at any moment.

 I’m well up the creek without a paddle alright. 

Sitting there letting all the emotion start to flow out, crying gently into Bloomie’s neck, I heard some hoofsteps echoing up the ward. It clutched her tight for a last couple of breaths, gradually getting myself under control, before pulling away. She looked me deep in the eyes before asking,

“Do you think you’ll be ok?”

“I guess so, I think I just feel exhausted right now.”

The steps approached and she turned her head to reveal one of the nurses, one I hadn’t seen before, poking her head through the curtains of the bed area.

“How are you feeling darling?”

“Just tired thanks, like I’ve galloped miles.”

She bustled in, arranging sheets with her magic before turning to Bloomie, who was still standing next to me steadfastly clutching my hoof.

“I know it’s hard to see your friend in like this so suddenly but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave, if that’s ok? It’s been very stressful for her but most importantly we’re dealing with something we’ve never seen before, so we want to keep disruption to a minimum while we observe her. Unless something else extraordinary happens, we think she’ll be ok to come out tomorrow.”

Bloomie looked a little put out at being told to go, and grudgingly mumbled her assent. We shared one last quick hug, before she gave me a playful boop on the nose.

“Don’t you go exploding with magic, y’hear me?”

I gave her a boop back,

“I don’t think it has a chance against my skills at lying in bed and doing nothing.”

That brought a smile to her face at least before she turned and trotted out along the ward.

The nurse turned to look at me,

“I’m sure you could do with some sleep too if you can manage it. If in doubt, it’s the best thing for all maladies. We’ll send some doctors to check on you but we’ll try and avoid waking you up, don’t worry. Just try to relax and we can sort it all out tomorrow morning. Sound good?”

As I curled the sheets up around me and got comfy again in bed, the idea of putting the whole thing off sounded very appealing. I gave her a nod. She tucked me up like a mother would and gave me a lovely warm smile.

“Now you just get well dearie and we’ll see you in the morning.”

As I closed my eyes, I felt myself nodding off to the fading echoes of her hoofsteps down the ward.








 Featureless dark corridors twist in and out of my dreams, weaving back and forth in an impossible maze of patterns.  I can barely make anything out, just the squares of dark blue light against the black, but the ragged sounds of my increasingly fearful breath as I gallop through the hallways turning corners, double-backing on myself, going down stairs, into the smell. Whatever it is, it’s making me gag more and more, some awfully cloying chemical rotting scent.

My whole body starts to twitch and shake, repelling against the disgusting sensation with every fibre until I come to a shaky holt, hacking and coughing bile from my screaming lungs.

The blackness is almost impenetrable now, just an empty void of my protesting body being assaulted by the foul stench. I back away slowly, getting my breath under control against the grim taste of bile retched from an empty stomach.

Shapes are starting to resolve themselves now, blobs twitching in the dark, like trees swaying in the wind or masts bobbing at sea. I can feel the fur rising on the back of my neck, hearing the shuffling sounds starting to break through my slowing breath. The shapes are slowly, but surely, moving closer, yet still almost formless in the pitch blackness. The bone-chilling sinking feeling you only get in nightmares, just before you’re shocked awake, sinks in.

Any second now, something will grab me.

Instead, I’m around and galloping like the very spawn of Tartarus are after me, hurtling off back the way I came, whatever it was, trying to block out the disturbing snuffling and rattling sounds echoing behind my scratchy hoofsteps.

My whole body feels like it’s paralysed with fear, but somehow, it’s also propelling itself at a frightening pace through halls and rooms, winding its way upwards more and more towards lighter and lighter openings.



I have no idea how long it took, but eventually the only sound left is my own breath, hoarse and rasping, as I stagger out into a wide-open square surrounded by towering walls bathed in twilight.

I collapse to the ground. The sensation of cool stone soothing my sweaty, aching body is euphoric, combined with the moist, refreshingly crystal-clear air hitting my lungs like the sweetest ambrosia. It takes a big push of effort, but I manage to roll myself over to stare at the sky, feeling my leaden limbs sinking back against the cold stone floor. A small square of stars sits like the light at the end of a tunnel, with the hint of a crescent moon peeking out from one side.

A howl, strained and unsteady smashes through the quiet rise and fall of my breath like a hammer through glass. 

I jolt awake into the dark of the hospital.
> 2: Polychromatic Life
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'd never had to endure a hospital stay before, but I'd heard stories from what passed for friends in school. The stories didn't do it justice. Perhaps because I didn't feel all that physically ill and was mostly dreading whatever repercussions would follow from my magical 'episode' it felt like some form of timeless purgatory. The anxiety and boredom flowed into each other, my mind racing until I wore myself out. The nurses bustled here and there, delivering me tasteless food and checking I was ok. There was no follow up from Dr Light until the afternoon.

She hurried into the ward, looking frazzled. It looked like I wasn't the only one with trouble sleeping.

"Hello Ms. Silverstreak, sorry to bother you. Could I ask you some more questions and do a few more magical tests? They won't be anything long or discomforting, I promise."

I considered her for a second. She really was actively agitated.

"That's fine, I suppose. Ask away."

She had to fumble with the charts she held in her magic, presumably to find the notes she needed.

I though back, trying to form a coherent account. Every time I tried to recollect some of what happened, the only memory that pierced through the pain was that unmistakeable, awful stink of burning fur. Now the shock was slowly wearing off, curiosity of what exactly had happened in the room was creeping in.

"How was the other doctor? Dr Purifier, was it?"

Dr Light did her best to prevent herself from automatically recoiling. She was clearly trained to deal with anything and everything but she couldn't stop the grief and tear droplets forming in her eyes. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, avoiding eye contact, but no sound emerged. Her eyes closed as she tried to carefully blink away the tears.

I froze, an awful chill sinking down through my torso and limbs. He was dead. Dead because of me, in a way.

"I'm so sorry!" I blabbed out, starting to cry myself, trembling at the macabre thoughts rushing unbidden through me.

Dr Light was managing to regain composure, choking back the grief rising like bile through her body.

"It... it was quick."

She visibly steeled herself, and restarted her sorting with slow deliberation.

"Can we proceed, if that's ok? I think we'd both like to get this over with." She gave a look filled with both grief and compassion. "It wasn't your fault. We're certain of that. We must have..." Her eyes closed for a second, resisting whatever heart-wrenching pain inside that threatened to overwhelm her, "...have made a mistake with our experiment."





The questions themselves were a blur, the tests too. Knowing that poor doctor had died a metre away from me was surrounding me like a numbing fog. Dr Light didn't ask anything about strange dreams or visions, and I didn't volunteer. The magical tests didn't feel any different to last time, and Dr Light didn't make any comment on them.

In the end, the reason for the papers became clear. I had to sign here, here, there and here to agree that I woudn't give out any of the important details about what had happened to anypony. Like a stallion laying dead, or a freak magical accident that contradicted all received wisdom.

There really wasn't anything untoward wrong with me, aside from the normal fatigue and soreness from magical overload, so they didn't stop me from discharging myself that evening, just as Bloomie arrived to visit. I was just heading out through the lobby when I spotted her hurrying in to see me.

"Silver!"

We rushed to each other and embraced in the middle of patients and medical ponies milling around. That familiar touch and smell of somepony you knew was an irreplaceable feeling. Once we broke apart Bloomie stared into my eyes, concern etched on her features.

"How do you feel?"

"Just a little tired and sore I guess, nothing too awful."

I tried to put a brave face on it. Overall, I felt like I was just getting over a nasty bout of flu so hardly peak condition, but hardly anywhere near as bad as it could have been given the circumstances. Bloomie didn't seem quite conviced, but was placated for now. Normally quite the chatterbox, she was uncharacteristically quiet as she led me back out the main entrance to the hospital onto the streets of Trottingham. She knew when a friend needed some space.

She hailed one of the cabs sitting outside. Part of me wanted to protest, the luxurious carts drawn by hunky stallions didn't come cheap and neither of us had a bit supply of bits to waste but then again, I felt pretty bad. I followed her into the plush interior and snuggled up beside her, resting my head against hers. We sat that way for a short while before she turned to me,

"So, what's the story? They didn't explain why you were ill."

"It was a magic reaction to the test, like I said." I replied cagily. I wasn't really sure exactly what I was allowed to say.

"Yeah, I know that, but it must have been serious cos they were taking it super seriously. Everypony seemed on edge about it."

I mulled it over for a second or so, but there was no other option than come clean. I looked back into her concerned eyes.

"Bloomie, they made me sign one of those non-disclosure things. I'm not really allowed to say anything about it."

She was aghast, mouth open but lost for words for a moment.

"Oh my word Silver, seriously?"

I nodded. For a while she just looked away, trying to take it in before wrapping me in another hug.

"You know, I'm just glad you're ok. That's all that matters."

"Thanks Bloomie."





We make our way back into the dorms after Bloomie insisted on paying for the fare. Immediately I sprawl onto my bed, collapsing into it's familiar warmth. There's a world of difference between lying in a hospital bed and one's own, it's barely possible to compare them. The fatigue and soreness and anxiety seemed further away now I was back in my environment, surrounded by ponies I knew. Peace of mind was starting to return at last.

Bloomie made us a lovely stew of vegetables for dinner. I wolfed it down, to the surprise of both of us. I'd felt drained all day, and hardly eaten much of the hospital food but it hadn't registered as hunger. I could tell something was gnawing at Bloomie, troubling her deeply.  She hadn't brought it up again, but not being able to discuss what happened to me was clearly not sitting right with her. It took me a while to work out the best way to bring it up.

"Look, Bloomie, I know it's wrong for them to cover it up. Let's call it a night, and discuss it tomorrow, when we're fresh?"

She looked at me, still pained.

"I guess that's sensible."

I trotted back over to her, and wrapped her in a tight hug.

"Thank you for coming to see me, and getting me home. I don't know what I'd do without you."

When we pulled apart, she was bashful and a little teary.

"Aw shucks Silver, thanks. You know what's best."

We said our goodnights, and turned in. She stayed up reading, but as soon as I felt my weary body wrapped in the duvet I felt consciousness slipping away.

Once more, I dreamed.





Freedom.

The scents of the forest.

The wind through my fur.

The sound of birds.

The soft grass and crackle of twigs underfoot.

The stretch and strain through sinew tightly corded muscle as I ran.

Freedom, and colour.

COLOUR.

So many colours.

The depth and subtlely of bark and soil took on new meanings, alongside the vibrant foliage.

Of the riotous variety of flowers, there was no peer.

Pure magnificence. A new sense, revealed in in all it's glory.

For a time I just bask in it, lying under the dying rays of the sun. It almost makes me forget the pain, deep in my tissues, gnawing at my guts. The hunger and thirst. The ache of atrophied muscles. And something deeper that barely feels like it's in my body at all, yet utterly consuming it.

So I rest and learn to love warmth and stillness and the sounds and smells of nature once again with this new revelation of colour.



The shadows lengthen, and the chirps of insects fill the air.

Twilight falls, and the colours fade away, back to the familiar murky gloom.

Fresh smells drift in through the trees, of nocturnal creatures starting to emerge. It's time to hunt.



My muscles are still weak and sore, so I creep between trees and plants following the scent of delicious morsels on the air.

The hunting instincts well up from deep in my bones, as I effortlessly become the slow, deliberate predator once again.



Each careful step in tune with the rhythm of the forest as I close on my prey.

As it comes into view, the adrenaline floods my body. Muscles prepare, hackles raise.

The moment it becomes distracted, far from it's home-hole, I explode.

Legs pound against earth.

My slavering jaws connect with the prey-thing's body.

That distinctive, thick taste of blood and mangy fur fills my mouth as my teeth press through tough hide. The unparalleled sensation of cracking and snapping bones through pliant flesh between my jaws. Assorted viscera each lending their own distinct note to the bloody gore. Nostrils filled with metallic haze of spraying blood.

I tear the carcass apart with glee, relishing each ripping bite of muscle and innards. Hardly a full feast, yet each bite feels like a hundred to my starving body. Warmth and satisfaction as my stomach fills, until there's nothing left but torn skin and ruined bones.

The congealing blood tickles the back of my throat as I lick up the remnants of the badger. The rank stench of death fills the air. Silence, save for the soft wind in the boughs. The forest has witnessed my kill. It knows fear.

I channel my whole body into a jubilant howl.

Freedom!





I slowly came to in the small hours of the morning, aware I was lying in the dark, warm comfort of my bed. The gruesome sights and sounds were imprinted in my mind, as clear as day, yet as much as my mind found them repellant there was no heaving stomach and physical revulsion. Instead, I felt invigorated. My aches and weariness had mostly faded, leaving behind echoes of that pleasant weariness after exercise.

Emotionally though, I was subdued. After so graphically experiencing the death of some poor creature first-hand, the fear and confusion crept in, seeping slowly through my limbs. It seems almost certain I'm seeing through the eyes of the diamong dog once trapped in the ruins, now presumably let loose upon the world. Whatever interaction between the magical bindings and the research spells must be at the root of it. Somehow, despite it all, I'm not panicking. I just slowly acclimatize to the cold, clear reality.

I'm so far out of my depth.

I mulled over each of the myriad implications in turn as I curled beneath my sheets, staring up into the blackness. Whatever series of events had led the diamond dog to be ensnared by such strange and powerful magic were clearly a long, long way out of the ordinary. The idea that the diamond dog would want revenge seemed very plausible. My mind shifted back to the image burned in my memory of that cruelly shaped sword that I touched all those years ago. I did my best not to envision what it's use in vengeance would look like.

But I probably will see it, some day.

A pit formed in my stomach at that. I could witness somepony being murdered. Not just witness, but experience it as if I was the murderer. Every sight, every sound, every smell. Every taste. Every thought. I lay there quivering, trying to process the concept that I, for all intents and purposes, could violently kill somepony and there was nothing I could do. My legs clutched the duvet to me, holding myself tight as I quietly wept at the thought.

It was impossible to judge how long I spent dealing with that macabre thought when another overcame me. The diamond dog's revenge might not be successful. I'd witnessed him beaten already. I could, in my dreams, experience a completely visceral and lifelike facsimile of my own death. Somehow, the thought of that slowed the tears. The idea of it was just so strange, so awful, that I couldn't really tell how I felt about it.

Whichever way it's story leads, I'll witness it first hand.

I'll witness it.

My heart suddenly started thumping in my chest even as cold fear soaked through my body. If the diamond dog is having the same experience, seeing life through my eyes, then it could know that I'm watching it. It could come hunting for me, and there would be nothing I could do about it. Except watch it happen.