The Story of Bramble: Abandoned

-The Story of Bramble-

Of all reproductive strategies in timberwolf species, the strategy employed by L. arborescens is the most variable (Apples, 892). While most timberwolves have pregnancies of one offspring per successful mating, with the exception of L. grigorpodi and L. oxyderkis (Reads & Pool, 965), L. arborescens pregnancies approximately result in one offspring ten percent (O=0.097) of the time, two offspring seventy-two percent (O=0.718) of the time, three offspring fifteen percent (O=0.149) of the time, and more than three offspring four percent (O=0.036) of the time from field observations conducted (Table. 4). - Breeze M., Eye D., Oak L., & Whitehoof F., (984) Reproductive habits and behavior of Lupus arborescens. Journal of Ecology, 11(1), 84-105.

Why did Lupa see fit to look unfavorably upon her? Why could she not have been shown mercy and only given her a litter of two? These questions were running through Thicket’s head as she looked down at her pups nursing on her. The sun had fallen behind the horizon some time ago and the pups were having their last meal of the day before returning to sleep.

Her litter had been born half a cycle of the moon ago, and with it came the revelation that she was cursed with three pups. She had prayed to Lupa, asking her to spare her from the truth of what had happened. She had even convinced her alpha to let her care for her third pup, to see if she hadn't been cursed. But as she looked down at her nursing pups, a single sap-like tear fell from her right eye as she was now forced to accept the truth.

Her third pup was a runt.

She had carried three pups in her for the last three cycles of the moon and faced the curse that all mothers of three needed to face. She knew what it meant for a pup to be born a runt and had almost become violent towards any of the pack that suggested she come to terms with what had happened. She tried to convince herself that it could have been worse, that she could have been carrying four pups and faced the fate of all her pups being born runts, but nothing helped to ease the pain of knowing the fate of one of her children.

As she contemplated how the gods could be so cruel, her mate, Canopy, come out from between the underbrush that surrounded her and the pups, returning from a hunt. He simply sat down away from her and watched as the pups fed. Eventually, the pups slowly stopped nursing and moved away from her to return to sleep. When the pups had settled into a little pile at the center of the small clearing of the brush, her mate sat up and walked towards her.

“Have you changed your mind, Thicket?” His voice, usually a wonderfully deep rumble, was now only a shadow of its former self, mirroring the posture he had adopted. His ears were held back slightly and his head held lower than usual. Occasionally she could see him glance over at the small pile of pups. “You know I support any choice you make, but I don't know if continuing like this is the best option.”

“I know, it’s just… she’s our pup, Canopy. How can the pack expect us to abandon her?”

Canopy laid down in front of her and wrapped his head and neck around hers. “You know they care for us. Why else would they have allowed you to care for her as long as you have? But you’ve noticed it. She was smaller than her brothers when she was born, and now it's become even more obvious. She can still barely walk while her brothers are already starting to run.” Canopy’s voice was detached, but the way he faltered on several words betrayed his true feelings.

Thicket knew what a runt meant for a pack. If she were to keep it, she would endanger everyone. They would always need to be on guard to make sure she survived to adulthood. But it was still her child, and no amount of understanding made the idea sound right to her.

The two of them stayed locked in their embrace for some time, trying to come to terms with what they knew they should do, but struggling to accept it. The soft rustling of the surrounding leaves in the moonlit breeze and the occasional cry of a bat served as the only sign that the world had not ceased its progression for the two of them.

“I’ve changed my mind.” Thicket’s voice was no more than a whisper. “We need to do what's best for the pack.”

Slowly, Thicket moved away from the embrace and stood up. She approached the small pile her offspring had made of themselves and looked down. Her sons, Thorn and Brush, were both huddled up and laying their heads across their sister, Glade. Her mate, along with the rest of the pack, had told her not to name her, that it would only make it harder. She had thought them all to be wrong, that they were giving up on her too easily. Only now did she see their wisdom.

Gently so as not to wake them, Thicket picked up Brush in her jaws and looked towards Canopy. Canopy, understanding what she was doing, picked up Thorn in much the same way that she had done with Brush and stood next to her. Looking at her daughter for what felt like an eternity, Thicket finally turned in the direction she knew the alpha of the pack was resting and walked with her mate at her side.

Thicket and Canopy walked past the other members of their pack and deeper into the forest, towards the resting area of the alpha. Seeing this, everywolf either roused their sleeping offspring if they could walk, or gingerly picked them up if they were still too young. Each of them figured that the two of them had finally made their decision.

When the two arrived at the alpha’s resting area Canopy put down Glade and gave a soft bark to wake up the alpha. The alpha, Moss Foot, cracked open one of his eyes and was met by the sight of Canopy and Thicket, flanked by the remainder of the pack. He stood up, rousing his own mate in the process.

“Have you two changed your minds?”

Canopy gently placed Thorn down before lifting his head to address the alpha. “Yes. We have decided to follow the pack’s tradition.”

Moss Foot solemnly nodded. He turned to his own mate and signaled for her to rouse their own pup. When the pup seemed to be awake again, Moss Foot began to walk deeper into the forest, away from their mating grounds and towards their main territory. Canopy picked Thorn back up and every wolf in the pack began to follow their alpha to their true home.

Every step forward stabbed at Thicket’s heart. It felt like she was carrying her mate on her back and that every part of her had become stiff. Every motion felt heavy and forced, but at the same time like a dream, like everything wasn’t quite real. As if any moment she might wake up from this horrible nightmare and be surrounded by her mate and three wonderful pups.

But deep inside, she knew this was real. She was indeed leaving behind one of her pups to fend for itself. She understood that in all likelihood, her only daughter wouldn’t even last the night. Tears began to well up in her eyes as she walked with the rest of the pack deeper into the forest. She knew that she needed to keep walking, because as soon as she stopped, as soon as she allowed herself to slow down, she wouldn’t be able to continue. If she allowed herself to question her decision, she wouldn’t be able to go through with it.

So, with a will of balsa and a sap-soaked pup in her jaws, Thicket walked with her mate and their pack away from her first and only daughter, abandoning her to the will of the forest.

A small timberwolf pup was awoken from her rest by the piercing cold night breeze of the forest. The last thing she could remember was her mother feeding her and her siblings before she fell asleep next to the two of them. Wondering why she had become so cold, she began looking around, only to be met by the sight of the empty peace of the forest she had fallen asleep in. This time though, there was no one around.

This was the first time the little pup had been alone as far as she could remember, and it scared her. Where were her mother and father? Where were her siblings? Why was she alone?

The little timberwolf managed to unsteadily lift itself onto its paws and start to walk around. She began sniffing at the ground, trying to figure out where her family had gone, but their smell was too strong. She clumsily began walking around the only area she knew, continuing to sniff at the ground, and continuing to learn nothing.

As she came up to one of the bushes that marked the border of the world she knew, she picked something up on the leaves. Mom and dad never let them push through the leaves to play, saying her and her brothers were too small. But as she sniffed at the leaves, she could pick up the unmistakable scents of her brothers. They were weak, but they were there.

She figured that her brothers might have disobeyed mom and dad and gone through the bushes to explore. While she didn’t want to disobey her parents, she was more afraid of being alone. The little timberwolf pushed her way through the bushes, forcing her way past the thick tangle of branches and leaves and eventually found herself on the other side of the undergrowth. But as she laid her eyes on the world beyond the one she had been living in, she realized just how small she was.

In every direction she looked, she could see trees and bushes almost without end. While the little area she had lived in was surrounded by the bushes, there seemed to be no bushes that enclosed this area, it just went on forever. If her family was out here she would never be able to find them, and how could she? She began to curl up in fear, the weight of this revelation feeling like it would crush her. And in her fear, her mind developed even darker thoughts.

What if there are other things out here? What if mom and dad didn’t just want to keep us from getting lost? What if they were protecting us from what lives out here?

These thoughts began to form in her mind, turning her fear into abject terror. She was no longer concerned with finding her family any more, she was desperate to find safety. And what would be better than the very clearing she had just left.

The little timberwolf desperately scrambled to push her way back through the bushes, frantically clawing and kicking at the ground and branches to return to safety as soon as possible. When she finally broke through the wall of wood and leaves, she made her way to the center of the clearing and curled up in fear. She didn't know what to do. Her entire family was gone and she was too afraid to look for them.

Panicking and afraid, the little timberwolf began to howl. She howled and yipped as loud as she could, doing anything to make herself heard by her family.

Chip was preparing for bed. Even though he had just started spring break, his mom and dad had told him he couldn't stay up all night playing video games. This had frustrated him to no end. He had been sitting in front of the TV and was just getting started with the new Daring Do video game when they told him to shut it down and go to bed. He had tried everything to convince them to let him stay up and play his games, but none of it had worked. He eventually stomped upstairs to his room when he realized he wasn’t going to be able to convince them. He figured that if he wasn't going to be able to play all night, he could at least get to bed early and try to be up before his parents could take over the TV.

He was putting on his pajamas when a noise caught his attention and made him pause to listen. After about five seconds he heard it again, a high-pitched howl coming from outside his window. He finished putting on his pajamas and ran over to the window to open it. He knew everyone in town, but he couldn’t think of a single one that owned a dog. Had someone in town adopted a new dog? If he could figure out where the howls were coming from, he might be able to convince the ponies to let him pet it.

When he opened the window, he was greeted by the icy night air as it came rushing past him and into his room. Despite his pajamas, the cool breeze was able to sap a great deal of warmth from him as he failed to repress a shiver from running down his spine and through his tail. He stuck his head out of the window and began looking around, trying to see if he could locate the dog making the howls.

Eventually, he heard the howl of the dog again, and when he turned his head in the direction of the sound, he noticed it was coming from the Gloomy Woods. The joy he had felt when he thought somepony had gotten a new dog immediately disappeared when he realized that it had just ben a timberwolf. He was almost twelve, and had lived in that same house near the edge of the forest for all his life, so hearing their howls was nothing new to him. Chip decided to sit down in front of the window and listen to the howls. While he was still afraid of timberwolves, the fact that he was on the second floor and had never heard of timberwolves leaving the woods made him feel safe when he heard their cries.

When Chip heard the next howl, he noticed that something was off about it. Usually, when timberwolves howled, they tended to be deeper and others would join or bark, adding to the noise. But this one was high pitched and squeaky, and most importantly, alone.

Chip was off his flank and bolting for his door as soon as he realized how different the howl was to a typical timberwolf. When he reached his door, he flung it open and dashed towards his parents' room. Upon reaching their door, he pushed it open with the same speed he had used on his own door, shocking both of his parents who were both reading a book before they turned in. Before either of them could ask him what he was doing bursting down their door Chip had run over to his mother and was trying to grab hold of her with his hoof and drag her off the bed.

“Mom, we need to hurry! There's a puppy lost in the woods! We can't leave him there!” Chip was pulling with all of his strength and was actually making some progress with getting his mom off the bed.

“Hold on there, honey. It's probably just a timberwolf, there's no-”

“No, it isn't a timberwolf, listen.”

Chip ran over to the window his parents had that faced the woods and pushed it open. When it was finally open all the way, Chip turned to face his parents and wait for the inevitable howl. It didn't take long, not even three seconds after Chip had turned to his parents did another howl sound through the night.

“See, I told you.” Chip ran over to his parents' bed again, this time towards his father, and proceeded to try to drag him off the bed this time.

“Now hold on there, sport. You know we can’t be running into the woods at night, it's dangerous. You know how many timberwolves are close to the town this time of the year. The last thing we need to do is put ourselves in danger when we don't need to.” Chip’s father leaned forward and rustled Chip’s mane.

Chip puffed up his cheeks in frustration before letting go of his father and bolting out of his parents' room. As he left the room and began heading to the stairs he yelled out, “If you won’t help it, I will!”

As Chip ran down the stairs, he could hear his parents frantically trying to untangle themselves from under their covers as they shouted at him “Stop!” and “Don't you dare leave this house, young stallion!”. These shouts only served to make Chip run faster, pushing himself as hard as he could to put some distance between him and his parents before they would be able to start chasing him. When he finally reached the bottom floor, he made a hard turn to the right and towards the back door.

As he approached the sliding glass door that led to the backyard he cursed being born an earth pony and not a unicorn. If he was, he would have been able to open the door before he had reached it and continue his sprint to the woods without having to slow down. Unfortunately, he slammed into the door, barely slowing down and quickly slapping the lock to release it as he grabbed onto the door handle and pulled as hard as he could. The door quickly flew open, but Chip could hear his parents careening down the stairs after him. He made a mad dash out the door, pushing himself as hard as he could to give himself as much of a chance at getting to the lost dog before his parents could catch him.

Chip didn't know what it was; perhaps he was just lucky, but before his parents could manage to make it out of the house he had already cleared most of the distance between his house and the woods. So when his parents finally made it out the back door and continued their chase after him, they were met with the sight of him disappearing into the forest.

Despite making it into the forest before his parents could catch up to him, Chip still galloped as fast as he could between the trees and underbrush towards where he heard the dogs cries coming from. Chip was also slowly realizing why his parents might not have wanted to go into the woods at night. He knew the woods stifled light, but until now he had never actually gone into them and seen first-hoof just how dark they were. He had already almost run into several bushes and trees at full speed when they seemed to suddenly appear less than a meter away from him.

As Chip narrowly avoided the fifth tree that had popped into existence in front of him, he realized the lost dog’s cries had gotten louder, and much more frequent. He was certain that with all the noise he was making, the lost dog had heard him coming and was trying to call out to him. Chip pushed himself even harder towards the sound of the cries, forcing himself to reach the sounds of the crying pup.

As he came crashing through the underbrush he was met with the sight of a small clearing, at the center of which was a small timberwolf. Chip simply stared at the small timberwolf, perplexed that this could be the dog that he had heard from his room. But as he looked at what he could only describe as a puppy, he couldn't help but notice how scared it looked. Looking into its eyes, it looked no different from a regular dog, lost in the forest. He couldn't bring himself to see the vicious animal that he had been taught lived in the forest.

Crouching down, Chip extended his left foreleg towards the small timberwolf in hopes of earning its trust.

The little timberwolf looked at the creature in front of her and was beyond scared. After seeing the strange creature she had stopped making any noise, hoping that it would either go away or her parents would return to save her. Looking at the thing that had found her, she began to examine its strange shape. It didn't have any claws on its legs, and its body looked nothing like her parents or siblings. She didn't know how to respond to this thing in front of her. She simply looked into this strange thing’s… she was guessing that they were eyes, but their strange bigness and general appearance was making her immensely uncomfortable.

Eventually, the strange creature lowered itself and extended one of its strange limbs towards her. The little timberwolf had no idea what she should do. She didn't know if this thing in front of her wanted to kill her or was trying to take her home to her family. Ever so slowly, the little timberwolf crept forward, her belly rubbing along the ground as she did her best to prepare to run if this creature tried to harm her. When she had finally made it over to the strange creature, she carefully began craning her head towards the strange leg, flinching back a few times to test whether it meant her harm, before she finally left her head near the creature and began smelling it.

The scent of this strange creature was far stranger than its appearance to her. The smell she was getting off of the creature was nothing like what she had ever experienced before. While there were some familiar smells mixed in, she could tell that those smells had not been around for long, as they were strong but quickly lost. The other scents beneath the familiar ones though were what she was interested in. They smelled so strange, she was curious where this creature had come from to gain such strange scents. Before she could begin approaching this new creature, she began to hear the sounds of other creatures running towards her. She desperately hoped that this time it would be her parents that would arrive. She began to call out like she had done last time in an attempt to help her parents find her.

When the creatures that were running towards her finally arrived, the little timberwolf was both disheartened and terrified to see that it wasn't her parents, but more of these strange creatures, only these were larger.

Chip's parents came running through the underbrush, coming out from between the thick branches and leaves that form the border of the clearing. When they saw chip standing in front of the timberwolf, they were horrified at the site. However, neither of them felt like they could move; the strangeness of the situation paralyzed them.

The timberwolf, seeing their arrival, began to slowly creep backward, afraid of what might happen. When the timberwolf had backed up by a fair bit, Chip's parents approached him, slowly. The timberwolf did its best to curl into as small of a position as it could manage, scared by the sheer size difference that was between it and Chip's parents. Chip's parents quickly approached him, grabbing him up in a hug.

“Chip, don't you dare run away from us again, especially not into the forest. You have no idea how dangerous it can be in here.” Chip’s father was fuming, his eyes narrowed in a glare of frustration.

“But Dad, can't you see it's afraid? We need to bring it home.”

Chip's parents looked over to the shivering mass of sticks and leaves that made up the small timberwolf. Both of them were struggling to see how their son could see anything other than a vicious creature in that. And besides, even if they did want to keep it, they had no idea how to care for a timberwolf.

“Honey, this isn't a normal dog, this is a timberwolf. They're wild animals. The other members of its pack are probably not too far away. They'll be back soon to help it.”

“But Mom, it's been crying for so long. If they were close by they would have been here already. Please, we can't just leave it here, who knows what will happen to it? Something could come along and kill it before the rest of its pack can save it. We have to protect it!”

Chip's eyes grew wide, pleading with his parents to see reason. He desperately did not want to see this poor defense animal get hurt when he knew that he could save it. His parents, as soon as they looked at him, felt their conviction waiver. Looking between their son and the timberwolf, they couldn't help but start to see the small shivering pile as less of the predator that they knew it to possibly be, and more as a scared dog.

“Alright, we’ll wait here for a little while, at least until one of its pack shows up. But when one of them does, you need to promise me that you will follow exactly what we say, got it?” Chip's father had put on a stern face that made it clear that he would not be hearing any complaints.

“But what if its pack never comes?” Chip looked down at his forehooves, kicking his right hoof along the ground nervously. “Could we... you know… take it back home?” Chip looked at his parents with a mix of uncertainty and pleading.

“Honey, we have-”

“I know I don't know how to take care of a timberwolf, but didn't you guys say you knew someone that did? Maybe they can help. I swear, if we have to take it home I’ll do everything for it, I’ll look up everything I need to to take care of it. Please, I’ve always wanted a dog, this way we can save a poor timberwolf and I can have a puppy.” Chip had resumed the puppy dog eyes he had given his parents not too long ago, hoping that it would help his case.

Chip's parents looked at each other and seemed to be silently debating whether to accept their son’s proposal. Both of them had been there when a pack of timberwolves had come out of this same forest searching for their lost pup after a pony in the town had taken it in after finding it injured in the woods. Chip’s mother raised her eyebrows, hoping to get her husband to deny the request, but Chip’s father simply closed his eyes and raised his eyebrows back at her. He made it obvious that he didn't know the proper course to take here, and that he was just as lost as she was when it came to how to deal with this situation.

Chip’s mother sighed. “Fine, if none of the pack returns to find the pup in the next hour I don't see why we can't take it in. But if the pack comes into town looking for it, then we have to give her back.”

Chip beamed at hearing this. He happily, and carefully, turned back around towards the small timberwolf and extended his hoof out again. The timberwolf looked at him startled, but made no attempt to run away. Eventually, the timberwolf began to stand up and move back towards Chip, likely not seeing him nor his parents as a threat for the moment.

For the next hour, Chip and his family stayed in the clearing with the timberwolf and waited for one of its pack to return and claim it. The timberwolf examined Chip the closest, staying around him most of the time, but occasionally it would move over to Chip's parents try to examine them. It eventually grew comfortable with Chip to start playing with him. It wasn’t too different than what she and her brothers would do, mostly chasing one another and occasionally nipping at Chip.

Finally, Chip's parents came to the realization that the timberwolf’s pack might not be coming back to collect it anytime soon and carefully moved over to Chip. The timberwolf had collapsed, most likely out of exhaustion from playing so much, and Chip had moved over and was now stroking its sleeping form.

Chip's mother tapped Chip on the shoulder to get his attention. “It's time to go. If you want, I’ll help you place our new family member on your father's back and he can carry it back home.”

Crip looked enthusiastic at being told that his family was going to let the timberwolf stay with them. He quickly, and gently, began lifting the timberwolf up with the assistance of his mother and deposited it on his father's back. The three of them, with their new guest, begin traveling back towards their home. Along the way, Chip couldn't take his eyes off the still form of the timberwolf, imagining all the possibilities that existed at having a timberwolf as a pet. His parents hadn’t had a pet in the house since he was around, so the idea of this being his first pet filled his heart with immense joy.

When they finally arrived at the house, Chip burst in through the open sliding glass door and towards the linen cabinet he knew was in the hallway, grabbing several spare blankets in his teeth before running back towards the door. He met his parents as they came through the door, practically jumping on his father as she could hardly wait to welcome the timberwolf pup into the family. The pup, despite all the excitement, was still very much asleep.

“Now hold on there, Chip, you don't want to wake it up. It's probably had quite the rough last few hours, It's probably exhausted.” Chip's father gently reminded his son as he slowly made his way past him and moved towards the laundry room. “But I must commend you on thinking to get it some blankets to sleep on.”

Chip grinned from ear to ear at hearing this, but his grin quickly faded when he realized where his father was walking, spitting out the blankets he was holding. “What are you doing, dad? Can’t it sleep with me tonight? I promised I would take good care of it.”

“That isn’t the issue, Chip. This is still a wild animal, we don’t know if it's going to harm you or what could happen with us if things go bad. We need to look out for our safety first. And that’s not even mentioning that it hasn’t been house trained yet. Would you like to wake up tomorrow and have to clean up a mess in your room?” Chip began to hang his head at hearing this. “But, if its pack doesn't come looking for it and we’re able to properly train it, THEN we’ll let it sleep in your room with you.”

Chip instantly perked up at hearing this. It took all of his willpower to not start jumping up and down shouting with joy. He picked up the blankets he had dropped and rushed into the laundry room past his dad and began setting up a nice bed for the timberwolf to sleep on. When he had finished the bed and looked up at his father proudly, his father gently deposited the sleeping timberwolf onto the center of the bed.

“Now, it's time for you to head up to bed, young stallion. We can talk about your punishment tomorrow morning.” His mother gently began pushing him towards the stairs and out of the laundry room.

“What! Why am I being punished?” Chip looked to his parents.

“Are you forgetting the part where you ran out of the house without our permission and into the woods alone?” his mother told him with a firm and accusing tone.

Chip hung his head in shame, knowing that there wasn’t going to be a way that he could weasel his way out of his punishment, especially after what he had done. He slowly made his way up the stairs, and with his parents watching, made his way into his room under the cover of his blankets. When his parents were satisfied that he had gotten their message and wouldn’t be trying anything else tonight, they turned off his light and headed back to their bed.

Chip's father sighed. “I don't know what we’re going to do with him. His heart’s in the right place. If only he could get his head to cooperate he would be golden.”

“I know honey, but that's just something he’s going to have to learn himself. You were the same way when we were foals if I’m remembering correctly. Just give him some time, he’ll eventually come around.”

The little timberwolf started to wake up. After playing with the strange creature, she had become very tired and fallen asleep. Now that she was waking up, she was beginning to realize that she was somewhere new. Looking down she noticed that she was no longer on the nice ground of the forest, but on some strange and soft surface that reminded her of the creature she had been playing with. Around her were large, strange objects that looked nothing like anything she had seen before. And finally, instead of the bushes that formed the border of the clearing she had grown up in, large flat objects surrounded her, trapping her here.

Panic began to set in for the little timberwolf. Had the creatures taken her away from her family and planning to kill her? Had the clearing changed while she was asleep? These questions swirled around in her head as she began to curl tighter into herself. As she was about to cry out again, attempting to get her parents to come find her, a section along one of the strange flat surfaces began to move. When it stopped moving, the timberwolf was greeted by the sight of the strange creature she had been playing with.

The creature was carrying something in its mouth that looked similar to the thing that she was lying on. She began to uncurl herself from the position she had worked herself into, attempting to get a better look at what this strange thing was doing. When it had made its way fully into the strange area, it turned around and did something to the section that had moved, slowly moving it back into the position it had been in not too long ago.

The creature then began to slowly make its way over to her. She still didn’t fully know what was happening, so as it approached her she began to curl deeper into herself. The creature must have noticed this because as soon as she had compressed herself as tight as she could the creature stopped. The creature’s muzzle shifted in a strange way before it began to make strange noises. It dropped the thing it had been carrying in front of her before it lay down on top of it with its back to her.

The little timberwolf was confused at what she was seeing but was still hesitant to approach. She had no idea what was going on, and all of these new things that were happening were not helping her calm down. She simply watched the creature, preparing herself for what it might do.

Only, nothing happened.

For what felt like the longest time in her life, the creature in front of her did nothing. She was simply watching it as it was laying there. Ever so slowly, the little timberwolf began to stand up and quietly approach the still form of the creature as steadily as she could. When she finally arrived at where the creature had laid down, she sniffed it.

Nothing about its scent had changed, so she knew this was the same creature she had been playing with, but she was unsure what it was doing here now. She began to nuzzle it a bit to try to get its attention, but the creature wasn’t responding to her. She began to walk to the front of the creature and discovered that it had gone to sleep while she was watching it.

Still scared and confused about what was going on, the little timberwolf decided that she didn’t want to be alone right now, and the creature hadn’t tried to hurt her, so maybe she could sleep with it tonight. At least until her parents came back to find her and take her back to the life she knew. Spinning around, the little timberwolf eventually laid down against the strange creature’s underside and began to make herself comfortable.

The little timberwolf couldn’t help but be a little happy at how warm this creature was. While her parents and siblings helped her not get cold at night, they had never been able to make her as warm as this odd creature. It was nice, laying here this way, and she hoped that she could find more of these creatures when her parents found her. Maybe she could tell them about how nice they were, especially their warmth.

And with those final thoughts, the little timberwolf fell back to sleep against the stomach of a well-intentioned pony for the first night of what would become its new life.

The Story of Splinter: Wild (Revised)

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-The Story of Splinter-

Wild

Splinter had grown to appreciate the concealing mist of the forest in the last few years. As a pup, he was never able to see very far since the water in the air always muddled his sight. But now that he was older he could see over the mist that hugged the ground during the night and early morning. He would always be greeted by a peaceful world of white and trees whenever he woke from his nightly rest. The fact that it would also conceal his form when he hunted didn’t hurt either.

As it so happened, he was doing just that this very morning. A young buck, barely into his first season of rut, had made its way into his pack’s territory, and he would be the one to kill it. He would move swiftly whenever he heard the buck move to a new location, and would lie down as still as he could when he saw it stop to eat. He had been doing this for long enough that he was now close enough that the next time it moved he would be able to kill it before it realized he was there.

If he could return to the pack with such a large catch, there was no doubt he would earn the pack’s admiration. The buck had just stopped mere moments ago and he was preparing his strike. He flexed his claws and shifted his weight to his back legs. As soon as it began to move again, it was his.

“Hello, Splinter. You on the hunt?”

The feminine voice of another timberwolf broke the silence of the forest behind Splinter and to his right. It wasn’t a yell, but it certainly wasn’t a whisper. The buck immediately took off at the sound of a timberwolf’s barks. Splinter, being stunned by the sudden presence of another timberwolf, was too shocked to realize what had happened until it was too late. The buck was out of sight and he was without a hunting party.

He was furious.

Splinter turned to face the timberwolf that had ruined his hunt, teeth bared and a growl in his throat. When he saw who it was, his anger subsided only a small amount. It was a member of his pack, Mist Coat, the alpha’s daughter, trotting over to him and grinning as if nothing was wrong.

“Just why in the name of Medeina did you ruin my hunt?” Splinter barked with enmity. “If you would have just stayed quiet I would have had it!”

Mist Coat simply chuffed and responded with an air of self-satisfaction, “Our pack ate yesterday, Splinter, it’s not like we’re starving.” Mist Coat sat down when she reached one length in front of him. “So tell me. What’s got you foaming at the mouth?”

“I… needed that kill.” Splinter sat back on his haunches, his tail between his legs and his head down.

“Oh really now?” Mist Coat said, her tone one of joyously false bemusement. “If I recall correctly I saw you yesterday having your fair share of the elk, or was that some other timberwolf that just so happens to smell just like you?”

“It’s not like that. I wanted to bring back a deer I hunted myself to impress your mother. If she was pleased, I might have been able to claim a mate and father a pup.”

It was one of the rules the pack had regarding acquiring a mate. During each mating season, only a select amount of the pack was allowed to bear young. Each year, the alpha of the pack would give a Gertorian seed to a few members of the pack to allow them to reproduce. Without the seed, any mating was simply for pleasure and would not result in offspring. These seeds would only be used to help replenish the pack's numbers, to replace those they lost. As per tradition, if an unmated member of the pack was found to have proven themselves of value, they could claim a mate and a seed that year. This was the only way one could acquire a mate. This year only five seeds would be given.

If he was able to bring back the buck, being unmated, he would have rights to the first bite and claim to the organs. If he took the organs, he would signal that he was ready to take a mate. But better yet, it would prove to the alpha he was worthy of siring offspring. This was the second year he would be allowed to try to find a mate. He only had one cycle of the moon before the mating season to prove himself.

“Is that so?” Mist Coat’s question seemed to be out of genuine curiosity, her arrogant tone from earlier having disappeared. “Tell me, what claim did my mother say you had on declaring a mate?”

“I am fifth.”

While the unmated were given first access to the seeds, only the top two could be guaranteed a seed. The alpha told him he was only the fifth most valued unmated of the pack. Unless he was able to impress the alpha greatly, there was no possibility he would find a mate this year.

“I'm curious, just who are the two most valued members this year?”

Splinter raised and cocked his head to the right, looking at her with complete bewilderment. “You are the first and Pith is second. How could you of all timberwolves not know?”

“Why would I ever be so high? I'm just a simple member of the pack, I'm not that special,” she said, feigning ignorance but making it terribly obvious she was fully aware of why she was the most valued unmated.

Mist Coat had been deemed worthy of taking a mate for the last three years. This was an impressive accomplishment as the first year she had been deemed worthy had also been the first year she could take a mate, something previously unheard of in the pack. However, each year she had refused to signal that she was ready to take a mate, saying she was waiting for the right one.

“I have to ask though, if you had caught that buck and received my mother’s blessing, who would you have asked to be your mate?” A smile worked itself onto Mist Coat’s muzzle while her voice became rather suggestive.

“Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter anyway. You’d probably laugh at me. Just forget it.”

Splinter got up and started to head back to where the pack had been this morning. Before he could get far though, Mist coat stood up and walked into his path, blocking him.

“Oh no you don’t. You were ready to fight me after that buck ran away. You wouldn’t do that over some silly piece of tail. I’m not going to let you leave until you tell me just who is worth all this trouble.” A smile still adorned her muzzle.

“If you really must know,” Splinter said, lowering his head before quietly continuing, “I was going to ask you.”

Splinter knew she was well above his status in the pack. She was one of the larger members of the pack, being taller than him by about a paw. While he had yet to have a successful hunt of large prey by himself, she had been able to claim three such hunts. She was also considered to be one of the more attractive females, having a coat almost as blue as the skies above the forest on an early morning. To make things worse, she was his senior by one year, and the daughter of the alpha.

He on the other paw was an un-noteworthy male, not good enough to receive recognition but not so bad as to be the pack’s omega. All things considered, he had a higher chance of taking down a full-grown stag by himself than he did of securing her as his mate.

“Were you?” The smile on Mist Coat only grew wider. “And what made you think you needed to hunt a buck to be my mate?”

“Are you serious?” Splinter was looking at her like she proposed they stop eating meat. “If I can’t prove myself as a good mate, how could you ever accept me?”

Mist Coat simply moved over to him and began rubbing her muzzle along his left cheek. “Who said I would have said no? It’s not like I haven’t noticed how you’ve been trying to court me, it’s actually been kind of cute.”

Splinter pulled away and sighed. “You don't have to be nice. I know you’re set to mate with Pith, at least that’s what your mom wants you to do.”

“I wouldn’t be so confident if I were you. My mom might be the alpha, but I’m still my own timberwolf. I just so happen to have a timberwolf that I’ve had my eyes on for the last three years, and seeing as I recently learned that the two of us are ready and we feel the same about each other, I figured this would be the year I finally mated.”

Splinter chuffed. “And who, might I ask, will you be taking if it isn’t Pith?”

Mist Coat simply chuckled. “Oh I can't tell you that yet, it would ruin the surprise I have planned. What I can tell you though is that you probably know him better than any other timberwolf in the pack.”

Before he could fully come to grips with what he had just heard, Mist Coat stood back up and walked right by him. As she did, she rubbed up against him, flicking her tail over his muzzle. When he inhaled he could smell her scent. She had a similar wooden scent that all timberwolves possessed but mixed in was the lovely feminine scent only she had. It reminded him of the red flowers the pack would find when they hunted in the territory of the strange colorful deer, mixed with the scent of the forest air just after the first rains of spring. It was a lovely scent he could spend hours with without losing interest.

But as soon as she indulged him in her scent she took it away, continuing to walk past him before circling back around and heading back to the pack. Before she made it too far though, she turned to face him with a warm smile on her muzzle.

“If it really means that much to you though, I think I can help you find and kill that buck again. It’s the least I can do after what I did. Just make sure you keep it between us that I helped you out,” she said before continuing on.

He was about to get up himself and follow her until she once again turned to face him.

“Oh, one last thing. I noticed that your scent marking smelled a little weak today. I’ll mark over it to make sure the other packs remember this is our territory. Make sure next time you mark our territory you get a good coverage and a strong smell. I can’t always be covering for you, now can I?” A devilish smirk formed across her muzzle before she continued her trot back, this time with her tail straight back and wagging.

Splinter cocked his head in confusion at what he had just heard. He had never been told his scent markings had been weak before, but maybe he just hadn’t been eating right. At least Mist Coat had caught the problem before her mother did. If she found out his markings were weak he didn’t even want to think what would happen.

In the town of Fetlock, a town bordering the eastern edge of the Foggy Forest, a group of three stallions and one mare by the names of Perfect Match, Dasher, Black Diamond, and Candy Cane had come together to finally put a stop to it all. The town had been harassed by Timberwolves for far too long, and the damage they had been able to cause over the years was not insignificant.

Perfect Match had seen so many of the pets that he had sold get taken away from their loving families. Dasher had to work overtime by scouting the forest before the sun went down to see if any timberwolves were in the area and might come to town. So many residents of the town and those that would visit were afraid to be out at night. Black Diamond could no longer hold overnight expeditions, threatening his livelihood. And finally, due to the fact that Candy Cane owned a sweets shop, timberwolves invariably tried to get in there whenever they came into town.

The four of them had come together when they learned that each of them desperately desired the same thing: the elimination of the timberwolves. They spent the last month planning just what they would do to accomplish this end. Since none of them had the skills necessary to hunt and kill the timberwolves in the forest, they decided that they should hire griffins to do the job. They would have to hire them discreetly though, because if Forrester were ever to find out, there was nothing they could do to stop him from trying to get one of the princesses on his side. Each of them respected the alicorns that ruled, they just felt that sometimes their mercy bordered on excessive.

And so, with the sending of a single letter, their plan was put into motion.

Three weeks later

It had taken some weeks for the griffin hunters to arrive in Fetlock. They responded to the letter the four ponies sent fairly quickly and told them to give them as much information as they could on the forest. They sent back everything they could find that they thought would be relevant, along with instructions to meet just outside of town in a natural cave.

Three griffins arrived twelve days following the sending of the second letter. They arrived via flight carrying a significant amount of supplies in the form of large wooden boxes and rucksacks. The three introduced themselves as Razor Beak, Stone Claw, and Garshasp, the leader. They had been confused at first why they needed to stay away from the town and why they had been asked to meet in secret, but after hearing the explanation they understood.

Some pegasus with a stick lodged so far up his rear you could see it whenever he opened his mouth was trying to defend the timberwolves from the town’s wrath. If he were to catch wind of what they had planned there was no telling what the end result would be. He had already been able to quash most of the town’s animosity towards the wooden beasts.

Too bad for him his efforts would be in vain.

“So boss, how much do you think we’re gonna make on this little job?” Stone Claw said over his shoulder. He was in the process of checking the various traps they brought to make sure nothing went wrong on their hunt tomorrow. They had gone over the information they had been given and had spent the last four days getting the lay of the forest and what it would take to hunt the timberwolves.

“Well, we get fifty bits up front and on completion, with an extra fifty for every ten beasts we manage to nail. I say each of us goes back at least a hundred bits better off. If Razor Beak’s right about the density of the damn things,” Garshasp stated with a wry grin towards the ancient griffin.

A growl came from the corner of the cave where Razor Beak was looking over the layout they made of the forest. He had gone over what little had been recorded of the forest and had drawn his own topographical map. He had colored several sections indicating possible hunting grounds and potential angles of attack.

“I don’t know why these ponies hired us in the first place. It’s not like the these things are all that hard to kill,” Stone Claw started up again, turning to face Garshasp. “All you need to do is get them to break up and nullify the magic in their heads. It’s almost insulting how easy this is.”

“I know, Stone. But this was the highest paying job with the least amount of risk. We could also get it done faster than most of the other requests we got. I don’t know about you, but I could use some rest,” Garshasp stated before stretching out his back and wings.

“Oh, looking to get in some relaxation time, are we? Would I be wrong in assuming you took this job so you could get back to seeing that hen you’ve been dating?” A smirk worked its way onto Stone Claw’s beak before he continued. “Or have you finally stopped lying to yourself and come to admit you’re a pillow biter?”

Garshasp just rolled his eyes and smiled. “Yes, I’m still dating Giselle. Me and her have a date at the end of the month, so this job was just too good to pass up.”

“Dang, and here I was thinking you’d finally come to your senses. I’m telling you man, you should have just found yourself a good eagle. You could’ve got bent like we all know you want to and the two of us wouldn’t have to find ourselves a new boss.”

Garshasp had been dating Giselle for the last few years and was planning to eventually settle down with her. The only issue that came with that was Garshasp’s career. When he told her that he was part of a freelance hunting crew that was hired to deal with the dangerous beasts of the world, she told him she still loved him but if they ever wanted to become something more he would need to retire. He understood and accepted her condition. It wouldn’t be fair to marry her and constantly be away, fighting some dangerous creature that could kill him.

Afterwards he told Stone Claw and Razor Beak he had found himself a hen and was going to be retiring. They were happy for him but nonetheless ticked that he was going to be leaving. Griffins like him that had a talent for staying cool under pressure and were natural tacticians were hard to come by, so replacing him was going to be a nightmare.

Since then, Stone Claw had been giving him a little more shit than usual. The jabs at his sexuality were just Stone’s way of trying to convince him to stay. Since this was more than likely going to be his last job with the two of them he might as well engage in the banter himself.

“Well maybe you could help me come to my senses then. Show me what a good eagle is like,” Garshasp teased in the sultriest voice he could while putting on a seductive face, turning around and lifting his tail before continuing, “maybe see if I prefer being the eagle or the hen.”

Stone and Garshasp both burst into laughter. Despite how serious their job was, and the fact that both of them were well into adulthood, they still possessed the social maturity of university freshmen when they didn’t need to look like professionals. Razor just grumbled. If the two of them weren’t so good at their jobs he would have left a long time ago. However, despite all his faults, Razor respected Garshasp. He could think of few that he would trust his life to and even fewer that he would rather work with.

It was almost the mating season for the pack, more specifically tomorrow morning would be his last chance to impress Mist Coat enough that she would accept him and they could officially be mates, but he had his doubts. He had still been unable to make his own kill on a deer. True to her word, after three days Mist Coat helped him find and kill the deer that had gotten away. When he brought it back to the pack they were skeptical at first but Mist Coat had vouched for him. She told the pack that she had silently followed him when she saw him apparently leaving for no reason and watched as he made the kill. While some of the pack were still skeptical, none of them wished to insult her by saying she lied.

In truth, she had helped him in the hunt. He had approached the buck the same way he had done before, almost getting as close as he had the first time, when he stepped on a stick and alerted the buck. The buck took off at the sound, still wary after its first experience in their territory. Mist Coat, who had silently been working her way in front of the buck, leapt at it and bit into one of its hind legs before pulling it to the ground. Splinter seized the opportunity and bit into the buck’s neck, clamping down on the throat and shaking until it died.

When Mist Coat’s mother asked him if he wished to claim the organs he could not have told her yes quicker. She simply smiled at him and allowed him the first bite before her and the rest of the pack descended on his kill, eating away the flesh and allowing him access to what he claimed. When he was finally able to partake in those succulent entrails, Mist Coat’s mom informed him he had advanced and would now be third to claim a mate.

After he had finished consuming his share, Mist Coat saw an opening and took it. “Mom. I wish to take a mate this year.”

“If that is what you wish, you can return here with a sizable kill and claim the entrails for yourself, as is tradition.”

“No mom. I wish to claim a mate this year without claiming the organs. I am already the most valued unmated in the pack, and I earned that with my own skills. I feel I deserve that much.” Mist Coat held a firm appearance and a calm, even tone, looking directly into her mother’s eyes, challenging her.

Her mother responded by crouching down and raising the wood along her back and growling. “I am the alpha of this pack, and as long as I am, you will respect my decisions. You will follow the traditions.”

“I know that, mom.” Mist Coat turned her head away from her mother, but maintained her tone of voice. “But the mating season is almost upon us. The deer are already moving to their mating grounds, so if I were to try, I would be putting myself in far more danger than I know you would be comfortable with.”

Mist’s mom continued to growl, pressing forward slightly to assert her dominance. Mist Coat laid down and folded her ears back as she looked back at her mother. When her mother was practically on top of her, Mist Coat began to hesitantly lick at her mother’s lower jaw while wagging her tail. Eventually though, her mom stopped growling and turned, walking away from her daughter.

“I will allow you this, but never again will you refuse my orders.” She turned back towards Mist Coat and bared her teeth once again. “You may be my daughter, but that will not prevent me from removing you from the pack.”

Since then, Splinter seemed to see Mist Coat a lot more often. It was rather strange. While he adored every minute he got to spend with her he couldn’t shake the feeling that she should have been spending a lot more time with the timberwolf she wanted to be mates with. But then he remembered that she wanted her mate choice to be a surprise. If that was the case, he felt it better to just play along for the time being and savor what time he could spend with her while he had it. Last night had been a particularly interesting case as she had stayed fairly close to him until right before he went to sleep, at which point she said she had to do a patrol of the evening light border before she turned in.

Splinter was just waking up from a wonderful dream. He was playing with his son and his mate in the early morning fog. He and Mist Coat were teaching him how to properly take down prey by going after the right areas. He had just let his son tackle him and bite at his neck. When he finally opened his eyes to return to the real world, he was greeted by the sight of Mist Coat, smiling and laying down in front of him.

“You know you tend to bark in your sleep? It’s rather adorable.” A devious smirk formed across her muzzle. “Tell me, what did our son look like?”

Splinter felt embarrassed that she had heard him speaking in his sleep, more so due to what she had heard. He figured that since she had heard what he had said it would be pointless to try to hide it. It would be better to just be honest with her. “Like his mother, his coat was like yours.” Splinter stood up, stretching his front legs before repeating with his back.

“Oh? What about his father?” She stood up and walked next to him, pressing her body against his. “He must have inherited some of his father’s dashing looks. Or do you think I can have offspring by myself?” Mist Coat licked his muzzle when she finished.

Splinter chuckled. “I don’t think he honestly did. Besides, it’s you he should really be taking after.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Splinter.” Mist Coat walked past him and turned to face him. Her ears were slightly back and her eyes and voice betrayed how much she cared. “You are a great timberwolf, any female would be happy to be your mate. You might not see it but I do.” She walked back over to him and wrapped her head around his neck. “I love you, Splinter. You’ve always been like a brother to me. I hope your pup takes after you as much as he does from your mate. Whether you have a son or daughter, they will be yours and your mate’s, I hope you remember that.”

Splinter hugged her back. “I will. I just can’t believe you would say something like that about me.”

Mist Coat pulled away. When Splinter looked at her she had replaced her previous caring smile with her usual self-satisfied simper. “Well you better start believing it, or I’ll just have to rethink my opinion of you. Now get going, you have patrol today. And before you go, I marked the tree over there before you woke up. I don't think my scent was too strong this morning, would you mind marking it over for me? You still owe me from when I helped you.”

After Mist Coat left the clearing Splinter made his way over to the tree she motioned towards and sniffed around for her scent. When he found it he made sure to mark over it and proceeded to where the members assigned to patrol usually met. The scent didn’t seem too weak to him, but he wasn’t going to contradict her.

When he arrived at the location, he saw the members that had also been assigned: Grey Pelt, Fog Breath, Red Claw, and Doe Tail, the omega. He always felt sorry for Doe Tail. The poor dog was the first twin that had been birthed in the pack in several generations. Unfortunately, he had not developed properly. He had always been too scrawny to properly hunt and due to some quirk, his tail was always short, only slightly longer than a deer’s, earning his name.

“There he is. Took you long enough, Splinter,” Grey Pelt jovially greeted him. “Let me guess, starting mating season early with your sweet Mist Coat?”

“No. I just overslept.”

“Well then, seeing as you were the last here you get to take care of Doe Tail today. You and him will patrol the morning light border, I will patrol the moss grove, Fog Breath will take the evening light border, and finally Red Claw will watch the barren grove.”

With a nod everyone dispersed in the direction they were assigned. Doe Tail followed him, keeping his ears held flat against his head, his tail firmly pressed against his rear, and his head pointed down. The two of them walked in silence for several minutes after this, the only sounds being a small number of noisy bugs that would always keep him awake during the warm months and his and Doe Tail’s paw steps.

“I’m sorry you have to watch me, Splinter, I know I’ll only hold you back.” Doe Tail’s voice finally broke the silence, his voice only slightly louder than a whisper.

Splinter stopped in his tracks and turned to face Doe Tail. “Don’t talk like that Doe, everyone cares about you. You may not think it but there isn’t a single member of the pack that wouldn’t lay down their lives to protect you.”

Doe Tail simply sat down on his tail and turned away from him. Splinter loved Doe Tail like a brother, and it was moments like this that broke his heart. Doe Tail would always be the pack’s omega. He was the smallest male by a large margin and had been the omega for so long his confidence was completely missing. In other packs, the omega might change every so often if they could best another of the pack and switch places. Not Doe Tail, he was too small and weak. The first time he had challenged another member of the pack so he would no longer be the omega, the wolf he challenged went easy on him, and still won.

What made it worse was that being the omega meant that there was no hope of Doe ever taking a mate. And here he was, the wolf that was almost the most valued unmated male in the pack with the one wolf of the pack who could never take a mate. Splinter didn’t think the others had thought this plan through.

“You don’t need to lie to me, Splinter. I don’t contribute to the pack the way everyone else does. I just need to make sure everywolf doesn’t get too angry.”

Splinter sighed. “Doe Tail, you’re like a brother to me. I’ll always be there for you.” Splinter had to stop himself from calling him his little brother. He was three years Doe Tail’s junior, so pointing out their difference in standing seemed needlessly cruel. It also didn't help that as the omega, Doe Tail needed to be there to take some abuse from the other pack members when tempers ran high. Splinter did what he could to make sure he wasn’t one of those wolves very often. He would often make sure Doe remained healthy and had tried on numerous occasions to help his confidence, but nothing seemed to help him hold his head higher.

Before he could turn around and signal for Doe to follow, a yelp came from behind them. It sounded like the yelp had come from Grey Pelt. Both of them were worrying about what it might be that could make their pack mate cry out in pain and bolted in the direction of the cry.

When they arrived they were greeted by the sight of several large birds standing around the corpses of Red Claw and Fog Breath, with Grey Pelt to the left of the birds, missing several pieces along his back and right side. Before Splinter could join his comrade in fighting off the intruders, he saw one of the birds move one of its four legs and a long and shiny stick was hurled at Grey Pelt. When the stick hit Grey Pelt’s head, there was a bright flash and when Splinter’s vision cleared, there was Grey Pelt, except all the wood that made up his body had come apart. Grey Pelt was dead.

“RUN,” he barked at Doe Tail. These birds were able to kill members of the pack without fighting. If they made it to the rest of the pack… “Lead them away from the pack, we can’t let them harm them!”

Doe Tail didn’t need to be told twice. He started to run towards the moss grove. Splinter saw the birds turn in his direction; they were going to come after him. He spun around as fast as he could and sprinted towards the morning light border. If they were going to hunt him, he could at least try to keep them away from the pack.

He ran as fast as he could and didn’t turn back. He didn’t know if they were following him, but if he could at least keep the other pack members safe that’s all that mattered. He was starting to run out of breath, his panting becoming more and more labored, but he remembered the sight of three of his pack, killed by those vile birds, and knew he had to continue.

He felt he had run a significant distance and was about to turn around when his front left leg was suddenly subsumed in an incomprehensible pain. He looked down only to see that his leg was trapped in the jaws of some horrid unmoving beast that did not smell of the forest. He tried to bite it with all his force but the armor of the beast was harder than his teeth and did not release his leg.

He was trapped. He didn’t know what it was but he needed help. He called out to his pack to save him until he realized his mistake. If the birds had followed him and the pack came to help, he would be leading them to their death. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to kill more of his pack but he also didn’t want to die. He decided to do something he knew would likely spell his death, but was better than waiting for those foul birds.

With several quick breaths he focused on his left leg and willed it to disassociate from him. He knew that by doing so he might never regain the leg. The wood his pack required to sustain itself did not always supply them with the sizes they needed until the cold months, and by then he might be too late. But anything was better than waiting by to be killed by those monsters.

In one moment he could feel immeasurable pain in his leg, the next, nothing. He didn’t have enough time to contemplate what he had just done before a rustling of leaves near him reminded him of his predicament. He continued his dash towards the rising sun but the lack of one of his legs was causing problems.

He couldn’t find the right balance as every time he would step on something other than ground he would invariable fall to the dirt. He could still hear something chasing him whenever he fell, and it seemed to be closing in on him. When he fell for the seventh time, he could tell whatever was following him was almost on top of him. In the spur-of-the-moment Splinter decided that he would hide.

Splinter quickly jumped into a nearby bush and laid as flat and still as he could. He knew how well both the fog hid him and along with how his body blended into the surroundings, he would be well hidden. However, if whatever it was that had followed him was able to find him he would need to defend himself. So, he prepared his body to make a leap at anything that came towards him. Without one of his legs he wouldn’t be able to leap as hard as he would like but he had to do what he could.

When what appeared to have been following him since he had freed himself from the jaws of the vile beast appeared in the place he last fell he was not prepared for what he saw.

It was one of the strange deer from the territory his pack would occasionally hunt. Except this one was brown like a normal deer, and it had wings.

The Story of Splinter: Saved (Revised)

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-The Story of Splinter-

Saved

This morning was one that Forrester had been waiting for since he first arrived in Fetlock. Today was going to be the day that he would go out into the Foggy Forest and see for himself just what truth there was in the claims of the all-alpha hunting packs. It had been about five months since he first moved to Fetlock and had yet to see this fabled occurrence. After the fourth month of not seeing the event happen Forrester had planned an excursion into the woods himself.

The Foggy Forest was one of the more obscure areas of Equestria. Like every great woodland of Equestria, the forest possessed magical properties. Unlike the Everfree and its unnatural degree of independence or the Whispering Woods and its perpetual breeze, the Foggy Forest was constantly covered in fog. No matter how much the pegasi tried to blow the fog away, the forest would not permit the flow of air to exceed a calm breeze.

While the university generally frowned on him studying timberwolves on his own, he had been able to convince them to let him do the preliminary studies by himself. He would have preferred it if he had been permitted to do all studies by himself, but even he had to admit that the only way to have his papers be publishable was to have multiple ponies involved. When he had first had to deal with other ponies accompanying him he had wished he was born a griffon so he would have been able to bite their heads off. They had hurt his research the first few months he had to deal with them, but after giving them some training—and no small amount of verbal berating—they had become tolerable assistants.

Forrester slid out of bed and headed to his bathroom to take a shower. He quickly opened the door to the shower and stepped into it before closing the door and turning on the water. While Forrester preferred to let the water run for a bit to warm up, he was too excited about today, so he resigned himself to the freezing water of today’s shower. When he felt he was thoroughly soaked, he grabbed his bottle of scentless griffin shampoo, squirted some out onto his left hoof, and started to wash himself.

Forrester hated that he needed to special order his shampoo from the Griffin Kingdom. Because he spent most of his time studying timberwolves as an ethologist, he always needed to make sure he reduced the impact his presence could have on their behavior. To accomplish this, he always did his best to either spend several weeks in the field without bathing to try to attain a more natural scent, or remove his scent entirely. After several complaints from his colleagues, he tended to utilize the latter. This, unfortunately, meant he needed to order the same supplies griffin hunters used if he wanted to take away his scent. He honestly couldn’t understand why everypony else needed to have scented shampoo in the first place, especially when half of them were strong enough to be smelled from halfway across a forest.

When he was sure he had cleaned every part of his fur, he moved on to his mane and tail. Usually, he wouldn’t bother doing what other ponies would consider an adequate job, just using enough shampoo to get the dirt and knots out, but he needed to make sure there was nothing that would still have his scent. Doing this always reminded him of when his mother had found out he would never actually wash his mane and tail and would just soak it and comb out anything that found its way into them. His mother had decided to wash them for him using a “special” shampoo to make sure his mane and tail wouldn’t be so dry and brittle. He still couldn’t bring himself to use mayo or apple cider vinegar in any of his foods.

When he finished that he rinsed himself off and prepared for the worst part of taking these kinds of showers. Because all ponies sweat and that sweat would carry their unique scent, he had to make sure that didn’t happen while he was out in the field. To accomplish this, he had a friend in the chemistry department at the university concoct a lotion he could apply that would capture his scent. His friend had refused to make one that would stop him from sweating, citing dangers to his health. The problem was that the lotion smelled like a timberwolf’s marking until he fully rubbed it in.

Shutting off the shower he opened the door to his shower and grabbed a towel to dry himself off. It took him some time to dry off, especially around his wings, tail, and mane, but he felt he was ready to use the lotion. He reached for it on his sink before he remembered he still needed to preen his wings and there was no way in Tartarus he was going to preen them after he had applied the lotion. Putting his hoof down and sitting on his haunches he spread out his wings and started his preening.

While most pegasi preferred to have help with preening and to use artificial preen oils, Forrester never felt very comfortable with either. His mother had stopped helping him preen himself when he was ten after he insisted he was old enough to take care of himself. While it was common for pegasi to preen themselves, they never just did it themselves. His mother had allowed him to do as he wanted and relented, believing he would allow her to help when he realized most pegasi couldn’t do all their feathers themselves. Since then he rarely had another pony help preen him, and that was only after he had had his feathers preened by somepony else for the first time in years. That day had been one of the most awkward experiences in his life.

He had been fourteen at the time and was in his high school health class. It was the fifth week of class and they were covering the special needs of each race. While unicorns needed to file their horns regularly to make sure their magic would be properly channeled and earth ponies needed to keep their hooves filed due to their increased growth, pegasi needed their wings preened. Since ponies were a social species, none of this was a shock to anyone, and when the teacher said that everyone would be partnering up with a member of each race to help them no one batted an eye. And due to the week coinciding with the biannual molting of pegasi, it seemed to be the best time to teach the subject.

On the first day, most ponies paired up with members of their own race since they already had experience with what to do either from their parent or themselves, the exceptions being the more curious ponies or those that came from mixed families. While he himself came from a mixed family—his father was an earth pony and his mother was a pegasus—he felt more comfortable having his first partner be a pegasus. His best friend Golden Sunset was happy to pair up with him when he asked.

Golden had suggested he help preen Forrester first and Forrester had agreed, not really caring who went first. The teacher had fortunately provided the needed supplies for each group with everypony getting a mat to lay down on, preen oils and a cloth for the pegasi, and the appropriate files for the unicorns and earth ponies. When he laid down and unfurled his wings, he didn’t expect the response he got from his friend.

“Hey, Forrester, when did you start to molt, man? Your wings kind of look like crap. I know the teacher asked us to stop doing our regular maintenance this week but man, you look bad.”

Forrester looked to his left and over his shoulder to look at his friend and his wing. To him his wing didn’t look too bad. Several of his feathers weren’t in the proper position, but he was used to that since he had started to preen himself. “I just started to molt about three days ago. I don’t think they look that bad.”

“Dude, your wings look like you started to molt like, last week, and haven’t been preened since,” Golden said, lifting Forrester’s wing and examining all the feathers. “Seriously dude. You must have the worst molts of any pegasus I know. I would hate to be your parents.”

Golden gently grabbed onto Forrester’s feathers with his teeth and began to gently pull on them to either straighten them or take out the one that had fallen out. Forrester felt uncomfortable but had attributed that to the fact it had been about four years since the last time another pony had helped to preen him.

“Why do you say that?” Forester’s voice had a hint of discomfort but it was a little too subtle for most ponies to have picked up on, “I don’t lose my feathers that fast, and when they do come out, I make sure to clean them up.”

“I’m referring to when your parents help you.” Golden dropped the three feathers he had been able to remove from his first pass through Forrester’s wing at Forrester’s side. “I sometimes help my mom and her wings never get this bad.”

“My parents don’t really help me with that. I actually just preen myself.”

“What?”

Forrester turned around to look at his friend’s shocked face. While he was slightly grateful the preening had stopped, he couldn’t help but feel that the way his friend was looking at him was worse.

“I preen myself. I thought everypony did that.”

“Well yeah,” Golden said before taking another pass through Forrester’s wing, inciting Forrester to tense up again, “but nopony just does it themselves. Every pegasus I know gets help with preening. It’s the only way to get the entire wing.” Golden dropped another two feathers on the three from the first pass. “Well, at least this explains why your wings never look quite right and your flying is suffering.”

Forrester had never considered that his flight had been suffering due to how he had been preening himself. He had assumed that he wasn’t that good of a flyer because he just didn’t fly all that often. But now that Golden brought it up he did remember reading that proper feather alignment was important for pegasi when they flew in the most recent homework.

The preening continued with Golden doing his best to help fix the problems that Forrester had made for himself and Forrester stiffening up whenever Golden would make a pass. It wasn’t until Golden reached near the base of the wing that things started to get really awkward. Because Forrester could never quite reach some of those feathers his usual method for preening there was to take a back brush and do his best to brush the feathers out. While that didn’t cause much of a problem, the fact he hadn’t been preened regularly in that area in some time meant the nerves there were not desensitized to the stimulation.

When his friend started to preen there every nerve in that area lit up from the stimulation. Forrester didn’t know what to think as all the feathers in that area were properly repositioned for the first time in years. He didn’t know what to think, if the stimulation was pleasurable or not, but it was decisively different from how the rest of the wing had felt. When he tried to think as to why it would be feeling this the first thing that came to his mind was the clop material he had seen.

Like most adolescent colts his age he had grown to start appreciating the forms of fillies, and as such had discovered clop. Golden and he had been rummaging through Golden’s older brother’s room after he had left for college to see if they could find anything interesting. Under his bed, they had found several clop magazines in a small cardboard box. The two of them separated them into two piles, one for each of them, and agreed to switch piles in a week.

Forrester had been most interested in the pegasi sections of the magazines, especially the ones that dealt with how to best stimulate one. Most of them showed or described the best way to preen a pegasus to get them in the mood, how hard to bite, how fast you should go, everything. Being that Forrester only preened himself and had recently come to learn that preening could be made sexual, anyone could tell how the next time someone helping him preen would go.

Intellectually, Forrester knew this wasn’t sexual, it was just his friend helping him, and it was something everypony that knew a pegasus either did or was willing to do. This was something completely normal, he wasn’t even getting aroused by it. But because of how his life had panned out up to this point, and the fact he was currently flooded with hormones, this situation was far worse than it should have been.

When Golden finished his left wing Forrester let out a sigh of relief, he could finally relax now that the preening was over. It was only when he was about to refold his wings that he noticed that Golden was moving to his other side that he remembered that he still had his other wing to go. His heart dropped.

The right wing went as well as the left wing, Forrester stiffening every time his friend touched his wing, only getting worse when he reached the base of the wing. In the end, Golden was able to remove twelve feathers from his left wing and fifteen from his right. When Golden had reached for the bottle of preen oil Forrester was about to stop him, but remembering what his mom had told him he kept his mouth shut. Golden carefully poured a small amount of oil onto the cloth and picked it up with his hooves and began rubbing it onto the feathers on both sides of his wings.

When Golden had covered each of Forrester’s wings with the oils, he dropped the cloth onto the oil bottle and proceeded to the teacher's desk to get a towel to wipe off the oil on his hooves. While Forrester’s wings felt a hundred times better than they had been at the start of today and about ten times better than when he preened them himself, it still wasn’t enough to convince him to make this a regular occurrence.

“Alright, looks like you’re done. My turn,” Golden said when he returned.

Forrester felt his stomach fall at this realization. With how uncomfortable he had been with getting his wings preened he hardly wanted to consider how it would be preening another. So with shaky hooves, he folded his wings and stood up to let Golden lay down on the mat.

When Golden laid down and unfurled his wings Forrester had more or less become petrified in fear. Every possible way this scenario could play out wrong came to mind. He hadn’t ever preened somepony else in his life. While most pegasi learned how to preen another pegasus from at least one of their parents when they turned ten, Forrester was what his parents liked to call a “lone spirit”. His mother had tried to teach him several times since he turned ten but he had never accepted, always saying he was too busy. And usually, by busy, he meant he was planning his next outing into the forest.

Now that he found himself in the current situation it seemed that his desire to find timberwolves rather than learning how to actually act like a normal pony was coming back to bite him. While he was thinking this, Forrester noticed that Golden had turned his head to face him, giving him a look of “you can start any time”. So, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Forrester mentally psyched himself up so he could do it.

Since he already preened himself he figured that it would probably be best if he just did what he did to himself when he preened. So taking his teeth he bit down as hard as he usually did and started to make his usual kind of pass.

“OW! What the Tartarus, man?” Golden instantly folded his wings back, almost having an un-molted feather torn out since Forrester still had it in his teeth at the time. He looked back at his friend with absolute fury. “What did I do to piss you off, seriously? If you’re mad about what I said about you preening yourself just tell me. You don’t have to try to tear my wings off.”

Forrester looked at his friend in shock, folding his ears back. Was he really that bad? Did he bite too hard or pull too fast? That was exactly how he did it himself. Tears started to form up in Forrester’s eyes. Today was just perfect. Not only had he learned that he was the only pegasus that not only couldn’t groom himself right but had also never learned to preen another pegasus. To make it worse, he had hurt his best and possibly only true friend with his incompetence. He was going to be the biggest joke in the entire school; “look, there goes Forrester, the only pegasus that can’t preen”.

Golden, seeing how upset his friend was at hearing this, went from anger to compassion in an instant. “Oh, crap, dude, I’m sorry. I forgot you said you just preened yourself. Tell you what, I’ll walk you through how to do it. Just follow what I say and you should do just fine.”

Forrester had just nodded while trying not to meet his friend’s eyes, still too embarrassed about everything that had happened.

Golden, seeing how Forrester was acting, did his best to try not to make the situation any more embarrassing or uncomfortable for his friend. He extended his wings back out and faced forward before starting the same explanation his mom and dad had done for him when they had taught him how to preen them.

“Ok. On the bright side, you know how to preen, you just need to work on how you do it. Start again, except this time bite down like you would with a quill.”

Forrester approached his friend fairly timidly, looking almost like he expected to be bucked by his friend. When he reached his friend's right wing, he followed the instructions and bit down along where the feathers met the flesh of the wing, eliciting a reserved tensing up from his friend.

“Good. Just loosen your grip a little.” Forrester loosened slightly, causing his friend to sigh in relief. “Ahh, much better. Now drag your teeth down the feathers and make sure you keep hold of any that come out.”

Forrester did his best to keep the same grip he had and ever so slowly went down the wing, doing his best to not go as fast as he had gone the first time.

“Hey, you can go faster if that’s more comfortable for you. You were just way too fast and hard when you did it the first time.”

Forrester picked up the pace a small bit, doing his best to try to finish preening his friend as fast as possible. After he had finished the right wing Forrester didn’t feel so bad. While it was still weird for him to be preening another pony, it was nowhere near as bad as it had been when he was having his wings preened.

When Forrester had finished preening both the wings he looked down and was somewhat surprised to see that Golden had barely shed any feathers. While he had lost over two dozen Golden had barely lost half that. Maybe his friend had a point when he said he had bad molts. The only thing left was applying the oils, and with them, the problems came back.

“Golden.” His friend turned to face him. “How much oil should I use?”

“See how much oil I used for you?” Forrester looked at the clear bottle and saw that less than a quarter of it had been used. “I used the same amount on you I do for myself. So just use about half that per wing. I don’t think I need I need to tell you, but it’s never fun when your wings feel like you tried to bathe it the stuff,” he replied with a small chuckle.

“I can imagine,” Forrester replied, holding the cloth onto the top of the open bottle with one hoof before inverting the two to get some oil onto the cloth.

“Imagine? You mean you’ve never done that to yourself?”

“No.”

“Dude, you’re so lucky. When I first used the oils, I just drenched my wings. I couldn’t fly all day since they were so soaked. It wasn’t until I took a shower and washed them out that they felt right again. Let me tell you, there isn’t a worse feeling than having oily wings, especially when you have them folded.” Golden had a full body cringe remembering what that had been like.

“Have you ever gotten any of the oils in your mouth?” Forrester had finished oiling the alula and was moving on to the primary coverts. He always had a pattern when he oiled his wings and even now he couldn’t help but follow it with his friend. Alula, primary coverts, primaries, marginal coverts, secondary coverts, and finally secondary.

“No. My mom taught me how to use a cloth and keep the oils away from my mouth.”

“Let me tell you, I would rather try to eat meat before I would want to taste those again.”

“Really, that bad?”

“Probably worse.”

He remembered back when he first started to preen himself his mother got him a bottle of preen oil for foals. She had explained to him how to properly apply it using his muzzle or a cloth if he didn’t want to wash his muzzle afterward. He had tried using it but to him, it just smelled too bad. He tried using the cloth method to get around the smell but his first time he got some oil in his mouth and was treated to one of the worst tastes ever. He read the bottle and found out they made it smell and taste this bad to prevent foals from trying to consume it. He was about to give up when he remembered that this was an artificial oil, meaning there was a natural substitute.

He looked it up and discovered that pegasi had uropygial glands beneath each wing that would secrete natural preen oil. It made sense to him since when he thought back to how his mom would help him she would always start by rubbing her muzzle beneath his wing after removing and straightening his feathers if she didn’t use the bottled oils. When he opened his wings, he was able to find the small growths of the glands after feeling for it with his muzzle for a short time. When he used this method, it was so much better than the oils his mom had given him. It didn’t stink to Tartarus and if it got in his mouth it still tasted terrible but nowhere near as bad as the artificial stuff.

While Forrester’s aversion to others helping him preen set him apart from almost every other pegasus, the fact that he refused to use artificial preen oils and instead preferred to use his own wasn’t too strange. Still, the fact he used his own oils exclusively was something most ponies, and even griffins, saw as abnormal.

When his mom first walked in on him finishing one of his preenings in his room, she saw him using his own oils and was shocked. When he saw how red her face had been and how fast she apologized for interrupting him before closing his door he had been absolutely confused. It wasn’t until a few weeks later after a rainstorm that he found out just why she had responded that way.

When he had had been exploring the Gloomy Woods—without his parents’ knowledge—a sudden storm had rolled in. It wasn’t really sudden, but the fact that the woods suppressed the light that came in made it difficult to tell if it was going to rain unless you actively looked up. Needless to say, by the time he got home he was completely soaked. His parents were cross with him for going out into the woods again. They would have yelled at him, but this was at least the dozenth time he had done this to their knowledge, so they had grown somewhat accustomed to it.

After they gave him the same lecture they always did about the dangers of the woods they gave him a towel to dry off. He didn’t go into the woods out of some rebellious spirit; he always tried to follow his parents’ orders, nor did he do it to spite them; he loved his family and didn’t want to hurt them. The reason he never listened was that the forest just seemed to call to him. No matter what his parents or other adults told him regarding the dangers he was putting himself in, the lessons just didn’t seem to sink in for him.

After he was positive he had dried off, he started to reapply preening oil to his wings to replace what he had likely rubbed off when he was drying himself. Before he had even really started his mom had walked back into the living room to see what he was doing.

“Forrester! What do you think you’re doing!”

Forrester jumped in surprise and landed on his flank. He hadn’t heard his mom yell at him like that in a long time. He folded his ears back before he responded. “I was just trying to reapply the oils I probably lost when I was drying off. You and dad do it all the time when your wings get wet.”

Forrester’s mom’s face went from anger to one of both sorrow and sympathy. She walked over to his left side and draped her wing over him. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, Forrester. I should have told you this when you started to preen yourself. You see, while everypony is fine with helping to preen a pegasus, applying preening oil is something different.”

“But I see every pegasus using oils all the time, or somepony helping them. What makes what I did so wrong?”

“Well, you see honey, while everypony is fine with pegasi using the artificial oils in public, using our natural oils is… more complicated.”

“But why? They do the same thing. What makes using them so bad?”

“No no no, I didn’t mean it that way. I just mean… remember when you were a foal and Dazzle and the other colts wanted to see who had the biggest colt parts?”

“Yeah, all the parents got really mad. You told me that even though we might not wear clothes, that gentlestallions aren’t supposed to do that.”

“That’s right. Well, you see, using your own oils when you aren’t alone is kind of like that.”

Forrester’s face went pale. If he would have done that at school he would never have been able to live it down. His parents would have been called and told what he did. He would have been the laughingstock of the school. Forrester couldn’t help but start to cry, and he buried his face into his mother’s barrel as the tears started to come out.

“I’m sorry mommy. I won’t do it again. I just hate that stupid bottled stuff. It smells so bad and it never comes off my muzzle and whenever it gets in my mouth I want to throw up and I hate it.”

Forrester’s mother closed her wing tighter around her crying son and placed her muzzle in his mane. “There there. I never said you had to use the bottled oils. If you don’t like them, I won’t get them for you. You just have to know that if you want to use your own oils, you have to do it privately.”

Since then he had mostly preened himself in his room with the door locked, and usually only after he was sure his parents had gone to sleep. When he came back to the real world Forrester realized he had finished with applying the oils to his friend's wings.

“That wasn’t too bad now, was it? At least we both learned something new about you.” Golden stood back up and folded his wings before turning to give his friend a comforting look to show him the experience hadn’t been a nightmare for him.

Forrester looked down slightly, still unable to meet his friend’s gaze. “Yeah. We both learned I’m terrible at being a pegasus.”

Golden just trotted over and sat next to his friend and used his right wing to give his friend a sideways hug. “I was actually referring to preening not being your special talent, seeing as you’re still a blank flank,” Golden said with a smirk.

“Really, if today wasn’t bad enough, you just had to bring that up too. Why don’t you just get Celestia to tell the whole nation while you’re at it? Some friend you are.”

Forrester still had yet to earn his cutie mark and at the age of fourteen he had mostly given up hope that he would ever find his calling. While it had been Tartarus when he was still a foal, the things the other foals said being the main reason he had insisted on preening himself, the snide remarks had mostly gone away when he started high school. But it was still a sore topic for him.

“Well, if you had earned your mark today, I might not have had a good enough excuse to invite you to my house this weekend.”

“Wait, what? Aren’t your parents leaving to go see an art exhibit in Canterlot over the weekend?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t your parents tell you never to invite anyone over when they’re not there?”

“Yeah.”

“And don’t you always follow their instructions to a T?”

“That’s right.”

Forrester didn’t know what in Celestia’s name was going on. Golden never disobeyed his parents. Something was up.

“Then why are you inviting me over?”

“Well as I see it, I got my cutie mark when I was nine following my passion in art.” Golden pointed back to his mark of a paintbrush in front of a setting sun. “While you on the other hoof haven’t been able to follow your passion for exploring the forest for over a decade. That just didn’t sound all too fair to me. So I figured, why not use the opportunity of both my parents being away to help my friend do what he loves?”

“I’m doing this because I know how much it bothers you,” Golden said, taking on the caring tone he had used earlier. “You’re like my little brother. I hate to see you get upset. I was going to tell you on Thursday, but after today I think you could use some good news.”

Forrester scowled slightly. While he didn’t hate that Golden called him his little brother, he also didn’t like it. Golden was only about seven months older than he was and about half a hoof taller, but he sometimes had a habit of trying to look after him like he was a little brother. It wasn’t that it was a bad thing, it was just that Forrester had been trying to become more independent for years now and Golden’s older brother attitude kind of ruined that.

“But… you know how dangerous the woods can be. We could get hurt. I don’t want you to pay for the mistakes that I make.”

“Forrester, we both know there isn’t a single adult in this town that hasn’t heard about your ventures into the woods. If either of us were to ask one of them to watch out for us your parents would know about it in two seconds. And besides, I trust you to bring us back in at most three pieces.”

Forrester smiled. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

The exploration over the weekend had gone over well. They had been able to convince Forrester’s parents that Golden had gotten permission to invite Forrester to sleep over at his house over the weekend while they were away. The two of them had been able to spend most of the time looking through the woods, giving Forrester ample time to look for whatever interested him without the fear of his parents finding out.

Forrester had noticed how on edge Golden had been while they were in the wood and had done his best to keep away from the parts of the woods he knew were far more dangerous. While those areas were his favorite as there was just something about them that pulled at something deep inside him, he knew that asking his friend to go there on his first trip was not exactly something a friend would do.

Golden had later offered to help him with becoming more comfortable with preening. Every time the molting season came around the two of them would get together and help each other out. While Golden wanted to get Forrester to agree to do it more often Forrester could never get over how uncomfortable having another help preen him was. In the end, Golden was happy with the progress he had made in helping his best friend overcome his perceived deficiencies.

Forrester eventually even agreed to help his mother with her preening whenever she wanted. While he was always hesitant to let her help him, he would occasionally relent. He was always grateful that she remembered his preference to use his own oils and would never pressure him to let her apply oils to his wings, and she never even mentioned the topic with him. When he looked back at how happy she had been that he was finally acting like a normal pegasus he figured that the main reason he had started to preen with his mom was to make up for all the times he had gone into the forest.

Forrester was finishing applying his oils to his wings when the memories of his past were finished. For all the problems of back then, he had to admit he missed those days. Even though he still saw Golden Sunset every now and again, he missed the time they used to spend together as brothers. After Golden left for art college and he went to Saddle Pines, the two only saw each other during the breaks when they would go back home. After they graduated, they were only ever able to hang out when he wasn’t off doing his research. Needless to say, their months of hanging out nonstop had now been reduced to a few hours or days every month or so.

Forrester reached out with his hoof and grabbed the lotion bottle. He slowly undid the cap and was assaulted by the foul scent of the chemical his friend had devised. Even though he had used the lotion almost three dozen times by now, it never failed to make him crinkle his nose in disgust every time he had to smell it. He quickly poured some onto his right hoof and began to apply it to his fur.

While this was probably the worst part of preparing for going out to research timberwolves, it was fortunately over quite quickly. When the lotion was fully incorporated into his skin and fur, the smell went away. It was just the Celestia-awful scent of the lotion when it hadn’t been fully applied that made this the worst part. When he could no longer smell the stench of the lotion on himself he recapped the bottle of lotion and proceeded downstairs to eat some breakfast and do one last check on the supplies he was going to bring.

He grabbed the loaf of bread off the top of the refrigerator and popped two pieces into the toaster to cook while he double checked his supplies. He went over to his saddlebags he prepared the night before and made sure he had packed everything he needed. He found several pens, an enchanted all-weather notebook, three bottles of water, some snacks to keep his stomach in check, and his own personal notebook for notes and drawings he made that weren’t intended to go into his papers.

When his toast popped up, he closed up his saddlebag, slipped it on, and went to grab his food. On the way over he quickly opened the fridge and grabbed out a container of margarine to help the toast have some flavor. He quickly scraped the margarine into both of the pieces and folded them together. Forrester ate the toast like a sandwich and fast enough one would think he was starving. When the final bit of toast was devoured and Forrester made sure that no pieces had decided to cling to his face he set off for his front door.

The icy morning air sent a chill down Forrester’s spine when he opened the door. It was a good chill, he tended to prefer the cold to the heat anyway. The morning sun was only just peaking above the horizon, still half an hour away from fully rising. Forrester looked to his left at the forest before him. His house was only about ten meters from the edge of the forest and had been sold at well below its actual price after the old owner had gotten sick of having to watch timberwolves wander into town on a regular basis.

He started to make his way into the forest for the first time since he had moved here. The fog that clung to the ground was aggressively trying to work its way into his fur and cling to his skin. He could already feel his legs getting moist. Looking around, he was amazed by just how different this forest was from the other forests he had visited. While the air wasn’t as stagnant as what he had experienced in the Windless Woods, the breeze he could feel was much more subdued than that of the Whispering Woods. It was the perfect speed to move the air but not disturb the fog.

He walked for around ten minutes before he found a position that looked to be ideal for his research. He could see through the fog that the ground was more disturbed in this area than it was elsewhere. This was either a regular resting area for a pack or it was somewhere they frequently walked through. As Forrester extended his wings and prepared to fly up to a good position where he could watch over the area he heard a sudden cry of help from a timberwolf not too far from where he was.

Forrester began galloping in the direction he had heard the sound. He knew as a professional he shouldn’t involve himself in the subjects he was supposed to study but every cell in his body was calling out for him to help the timberwolf he had heard. As he got closer to where he thought he heard the sound from he heard what had most likely had been a timberwolf sprint away. Forrester slowed his pace. The timberwolf had still been able to move, but he had more than likely scared it off from the noise he had made. When he made it to where the timberwolf had likely been he was shocked by what he saw.

In front of him was a bear trap, sprung, with several split sticks in its jaws. He could see several other pieces of wood around the trap and realized what had happened. The timberwolf had stepped on the trap and called for help. When it heard him running, it had separated its leg to avoid further danger since he had not tried to call to it. Forrester mentally kicked himself for his stupidity. If he would have just walked over, he might have been able to prevent the timberwolf from separating its leg and running off.

Running off!

He had really bucked up. His desire to help the timberwolf had made its situation one-hundred times worse. While losing a leg would mean nothing to a tinderwolf, if this was any other species, one lost leg could be a death sentence. Forrester quickly grabbed what wood he could that had most likely been the timberwolf's leg and shoved them into his saddlebag before taking off after it.

While running after the timberwolf Forrester noticed how bad losing its leg had been. He noticed several indentations in the fog covered dirt, proving that not only was this not a tinderwolf, but that trying to navigate without one of its legs was almost impossible for it. He would need to catch up to the timberwolf quickly before it hurt itself more.

Eventually, Forrester came across what had to be the seventh indentation in the dirt from the timberwolf falling, only to lose the trail. He looked around the area and couldn’t see any signs of where the timberwolf had run. He looked all around in the dirt but couldn’t see any tracks. He was about to continue in the same direction he had been heading when he noticed that one of the bushes was looking at him, with dark green glowing eyes.

The Story of Splinter: Learning

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-The Story of Splinter -

Learning

The timberwolf had hidden itself and had almost successfully evaded him. When the timberwolf noticed that it had been found, judging by Forrester's lack of movement after meeting the wolf’s eyes, it started to growl. Unlike the growls that Forrester was familiar with for the species he knew inhabited these woods, this one was far deeper; it almost scared him.

“Don’t worry, I’m here to help.” Forrester dropped his saddlebags and lowered himself to the ground, trying to appear as non-threatening as he could. This seemed to stop the timberwolf for a second, either in confusion of him being able to talk to it or from no longer seeing him as a major threat, only for the low growl to resume.

Forrester knew he wasn’t going to easily gain this timberwolf’s trust, so he was just going to have to wait and trust it would be willing to accept his help. He slowly turned his head to the side, giving the timberwolf easy access to his throat. While it was risky, he knew doing this would help to establish some trust.

After about a minute, the growling stopped. Silence fell over the tiny clearing that Forrester was laying in. It took some time, but eventually, he could hear the leaves of the bush that the timberwolf was hiding in begin to shift. Out of the corner of his eye, Forrester could see that the timberwolf that limped out of the bush was significantly bigger than he was. He knew of a few timberwolf species that were bigger than even Celestia, but most timberwolves were only slightly larger than he was. This one was tall enough that even if he stood as straight he could, the tips of his ears would barely be above this timberwolf’s shoulders. In all likelihood, he had just found one of the alphas.

Splinter was surprised that he could actually understand the strange deer that had been following him. Even stranger was that the deer was offering to help him. He had never met an animal, let alone a prey animal, that would offer to help a member of another race. He didn’t fully trust it though. He could not smell this strange deer, and it wasn’t acting like a normal prey animal; it was laying down and giving him an advantage. It eventually looked away from him and towards the direction he had come from.

Splinter could see how easy of a target this deer had made its throat. If he wanted to, he could jump out right now and clamp down on it. He doubted the deer would be able to respond in time before he could kill it. Why was the deer doing this? No animal exposed their most vital area so willingly. Was this animal sick?

Splinter thought about what to do for some time. While nothing about this deer was giving him the sense that it was a threat to him, he couldn’t get the question out of his head of why it had followed him. He stopped growling after he saw that the deer wasn’t reacting; having not moved since it had turned its head. He watched the strange deer, looking for anything off about it.

The only problem was that everything seemed odd about this animal. It didn’t try to run, it didn’t have an obvious scent, and it was almost begging him to kill it. He eventually decided he was going to investigate this animal further. He carefully stood back up as tall as he could and began walking towards the deer.

Walking on three legs was not very comfortable, seeing that he needed to move much slower and throw his front leg in front of him to keep from falling while moving. He was trying to look threatening, but he felt like he was coming off too much like the wounded animal he was. As he approached, he noticed that the deer still hadn’t moved.

When he was finally standing over the deer, he carefully began smelling it, his posture ideal to either attack or run if the deer tried something. He still couldn’t smell the deer despite being this close. He began burying his muzzle into the deer’s fur, trying to find something that held a scent.

“I’m sorry if you not being able to smell me if off-putting. I didn’t want anything smelling me so I took away my scent.”

Splinter tensed up at the sound of the deer. He still couldn’t get over the fact that the deer in front of him was able to communicate with him. Instead of responding, Splinter just kept smelling the deer. Even if the deer said it had removed its scent, he knew there was some part of it that would still smell, he just needed to find it.

Splinter began moving towards the deer's head. While the deer might have been able to remove its scent from its body, it might have forgotten to do so to its head. As he moved up the neck, he came across the longer than usual hairs that started growing there and leading up its spine. Splinter had never seen an animal with such a bizarre growth of fur on its body, especially not a deer.

As he moved through the strangely long fur, he still couldn’t find the scent of this deer. When he arrived at the head, he found it was just like the rest of the deer. It seemed like the deer had been telling the truth when it said it had removed its scent. Splinter couldn’t believe it though. He had never found any animal that could remove its entire scent. He would just need to look harder.

He crossed in front of the deer and around the strange items it had been carrying on its back and began smelling the deer’s exposed side and underbelly. When he began to smell near where the wing folded onto the body after poking around on the outside of the wing, he saw it slowly extend and raise, giving him easier access to what it had been covering. Splinter looked over to the head of the deer to see if he could see any ill intent in the deer, but was only met with the deer staring away from him. It was both unnerving and strange to see another animal be so willing to expose itself and allow him to examine it.

When he was finished examining the wing, he began moving back towards the rear of the deer. As he got closer to the rear, he started to pick up a scent. Splinter internally smiled to himself. He had found the deer’s scent. He eventually arrived at the deer’s rear and was greeted to the deer’s actual scent. Sniffing around, he also found that this was a mature stag, as it had both the equipment along with the smell of one that had long since seen its first season of rut.

The thing that confused Splinter the most now was why the stag didn’t have antlers. He had always wondered why these deer were different from others, specifically why they had wings or a single antler. Perhaps these strange deer showed their fitness by the size of their wings or the length of their one antler. At the moment though, he needed to figure out what this deer was doing trying to catch him.

“Why did you follow me?” He did his best to sound threatening, attempting to compensate for how weak he felt. He looked into the deer’s eyes and was happy to see it look away, not willing to challenge him.

“I heard you cry out in pain and call for help.”

Splinter growled. “Prey don’t help their predators. Now tell me the truth.”

“That was the truth. I want to help. I don’t want to see timberwolves in pain or see their packs killed.” The deer fully turned away from him. “You may think of me as prey, and you may well be right, but that isn’t going to stop me from trying to save you.”

Splinter was genuinely taken aback. The deer in front of him sounded like he honestly wished to help him. Why was something that he would more than likely have hunted given the opportunity, asking if it could help him? Didn’t it realize that if it helped him there would be nothing to stop him from killing him and taking his body back to the pack as a prize when he was fully healed?

“I don’t intend to force you to accept my help, and if you don’t want it I’ll understand. If that’s the case, you should know I brought what I could of your old leg in my saddlebags.” The deer turned its head towards the objects it had dropped when it had arrived.

Splinter walked over to the “saddlebags”, taking his eyes off the deer but keeping his ears pointed in its direction, and started to sniff at them. Sure enough, he could smell the distinct scent of himself in the bag, along with the scent of the deer and several other scents. It was more than likely that the other scents were either from doe it had mated with or stags from its time before the mating season. Splinter desperately wanted those pieces of himself back, to be whole again, but he understood what the deer had told him.

The deer said that it had only brought a portion of his leg with it. If the portions it hadn’t brought were too damaged, or it couldn’t free them from the jaws of that terrible beast, he highly doubted taking back what used to be his leg would be worth the trouble.

Splinter sighed and turned away from the morning sun. “You should return from where you came. I will not hunt you this day, but… my pack and others will not hesitate.”

“So you’re heading back to your pack? Does your pack have access to the wood you need this early in fall?” the deer asked as he slowly limped away.

Splinter stopped but didn’t turn back to face the deer. “No. My… my pack acquires what it needs when the long nights begin and the trees begin their rest.” Emotions began to well up in him. It hurt to hear and say that he belonged to a pack. He knew that without one of his legs, he was a drain to the pack. He could no longer sneak properly, and he was confident he could no longer fight to defend the pack. If he went back, he would only be exiled. Best save his time and do it himself. “And I don’t have a pack anymore. I’ll be exiled when they see what happened.”

“Don’t go!” the deer practically shouted at him. He turned around to see the deer on its hooves and staring straight at him. It was extremely unnerving after only seeing the deer act submissive this whole time. “I’m sure you realize how dangerous it is for a timberwolf to not have a pack. Come with me. I can help.”

Splinter half-heartedly scoffed. “Why should I? You admitted that you are prey. How could you possibly hope to help me?”

“I can protect and help feed you. You can stay in my home and I can go out and look for the right wood to help fix your leg. Please, don’t leave. I couldn’t live with myself if I knew I could have saved you only to let you walk away.”

“And how are you going to protect me?” Splinter growled at the deer. All this stag was doing was wasting his time and making enough noise to attract other predators. “I’m fairly certain even I could best you in a fight.”

The deer looked away and sat back on its haunches. “You’re right. I don’t think I could defend you physically. If anypony in town found out I was housing you… I don’t even want to consider what would happen.” The deer looked back at him with a look of sheer determination. “But can you honestly tell me you have a better chance on your own?”

Splinter felt the need to reply, but the words died in his throat. The deer was right, he didn’t have a shadow of a chance alone as he was. The best thing he could think to do was to go with the deer and hope that if it came to it, he would be able to kill the deer or escape it.

“Fine, I’ll come with you, but if I feel you have tricked me, I will not hesitate to kill you.”

The deer nodded in understanding before standing back up. The deer then picked up his “saddlebags” and motioned for him to follow. He slowly limped his way over to the deer, still keeping his guard up. When he was a few lengths away from the deer, it turned slightly away from the morning light border and began to walk at a pace he had no doubt was meant to allow him to keep up.

As the two walked, Splinter couldn’t help but notice that the deer never let him out of his sights. While the deer didn’t stare directly at him, he could tell by the way the deer had oriented its head that it was watching him from out of the corner of his eye. Several years of hunting told him that he should stop in his tracks and try to slip out of the deer’s sight, but his current predicament kept him moving.

“What are you?” Splinter had been wondering this since he had first seen these strange deer, and now that he had found one that he could talk to, he desperately wanted to know just why these deer and its brethren were so different.

“What do you mean? Certainly you’ve seen a pony, I’m fairly certain your pack’s been in the town before.”

“Pony? Is that what you deer with wings call yourselves?”

“Oh, I see what the problem is. No, ponies are different from deer. While we are somewhat related, seeing as we are both ungulates, we are fairly different. As for my wings, I’m a type of pony called a pegasus.”

Splinter had to think about what he just heard. It made sense that these… ponies, had been the ones to live in those strange structures. After all, this pegasus said they were different from the deers his pack hunted. This stag’s last statement though was even more confusing.

“You said there are different types of ponies. Is that why your other males lack two antlers?”

The pony couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Ha, kind of. They’re actually called horns due to them not falling off. And before you ask, no, our wings and horns don't help us attract a mate. And it isn’t just the males that have wings and horns. You can’t imagine the number of times another timberwolf has asked me those questions.”

“Other Timberwolves? No pack has ever talked about meeting you before.” Splinter became very suspicious of this strange creature, slowing his pace and preparing himself for a fight. If he was sure of anything, it was that his gut feeling tended to be right. And right now, his gut was telling him this pony was lying to him.

“That’s because you’re the first timberwolf from this forest I’ve been able to talk to. There are hundreds of packs out there in other forests. Heck, there are even timberwolves in some of the deserts.”

Splinter felt like contradicting this pony. There was no way there could be that many packs out there, let alone enough forest to provide for them. But when he thought about it, before he met this pony, he had thought he could only talk with other timberwolves. It seemed far fetched, but for the moment, he would trust what the pegasus had told him. That thought did bring up another question he had.

“How can you talk to me or other timberwolves? I don't know of any other prey that can speak with their predators.”

“It’s actually my special talent. I can talk to timberwolves like I would any other pony. While some ponies can speak with all animals, or a wide variety, I can speak with timberwolves. It’s what the marks on my haunches are for.”

Splinter turned to look at the mark the pegasus had mentioned, and sure enough, he could make out what looked like a timberwolf on the rear of the pony. He had somewhat noticed it earlier when he was examining him, he just hadn’t paid it much attention due to the lack of any scent being the greater concern at the time.

“Why would you mark yourself like that? You went to great lengths to cover your scent, why ruin that by making yourself more visible?”

“It’s not like that. Ponies naturally acquire their cutie marks when they find out what their special talent is. It just kind of shows up. It isn’t like we choose when and what we get for a cutie mark.”

Splinter scoffed. “How could you ponies have survived this long with such a terrible trait? If any prey around here made themselves so easy to spot, they would have died out long ago.”

“Well, we haven’t died out yet, so we must be doing something right.”

The rest of the trip was spent in silence. Forrester, in an attempt to help the timberwolf he was leading back to his house get more comfortable with being around him, and Splinter, due to trying to come to understand everything he had just been told. Splinter was still keeping his eyes trained on the pegasus, looking for any signs that it was leading him into a trap.

When the two finally reached the edge of the forest, Splinter was treated to the sight of the town, as this pegasus called it. It was as he remembered it being from last time, the structures cold and dead with little plant life to be found. If it wasn’t for the easy meals the pack could find here, they would have avoided such a place like wood rot.

“Ok, it looks like no one else is up yet. Follow me into my house, quickly, I don't want anyone to see you.”

Splinter immediately lowered his front and began raising the pieces of wood that comprised his outer coat. He was posturing the best he could, given the circumstances, in preparation to attack. “Why is that? Are you afraid they might defend me from you?” He then began to growl to prove, mostly to himself, that he could still take care of himself.

“I told you already, I’m trying to help you. How many times do I need to repeat myself? And please be quiet, the last thing either of us needs right now is my neighbors waking up to find an angry timberwolf in town.”

“And why should I care? If they’re anything like you, I have nothing to fear.”

“But you do!” the pegasus was almost shouting now. Every second the two of them stood out in the open was another opportunity for somepony to walk out of their house and catch them. “The ponies here aren’t big fans of your kind. If any of them found out you were here, they would hunt you down!”

“So all you did was lead me to more danger. I knew I shouldn't have trusted you.”

“Please, I’m only trying to help. Just come inside, I’ll explain everything to you when we don't have to worry about the rest of the town. Please, I’ll do anything to earn your trust once we get inside.”

Splinter was hesitant, everything about this felt wrong. This felt like a trap, the pegasus had even admitted it. Every fiber of his being was calling out to him to either kill this creature or run as fast, and as far, as he could. But there was a little part of him that told him that this was his only choice. Despite the situation the pegasus had led him into, he couldn't deny that the pony seemed to want to protect him. From when they had first met, the pegasus had given him the advantage. He had left his most vital area exposed and hadn’t attempted to move too far away from him as they walked here. He would trust this pony, for now.

But he would not waste any time figuring out if he could actually trust him. Splinter stood back at his full height and lowered his outer coat.

Seeing this, the pony released a sigh of relief. He quickly trotted over to his front door before unlocking it and pushing it all the way open. He turned back to Splinter and motioned with his head that he should head inside.

Splinter took the hint and quickly made his way inside, almost falling a few times as he hadn’t yet grown accustomed to the loss of one of his legs.

Forrester watched as the timberwolf make its way into his house. He was glad he had been able to convince him that he could be trusted. He was about to head inside when a voice broke the silence.

“Hey there, Forrester. Haven’t seen you up this early before.”

Forrester turned to face the pony that had addressed him. He could tell from the voice it was his next-door neighbor, Warm Hearth. Forrester had found her to be one of the most understanding ponies in the town. She was an earth pony that mostly worked as an appliance repair pony for the town, but preferred to do chimney cleaning and maintenance on HVAC systems when she had the choice. While she didn’t like that the timberwolves would occasionally chew up wires or destroy parts of the units she worked on when they came into town, she understood they were just animals and weren't doing so maliciously.

Forrester was the odd pony out when it came to his thoughts on the timberwolves. Since his special talent was understanding them, this led to many disputes in the past between him and the townsponies when it came to how they should respond to them. When Forrester first moved to town to be closer to his job at Saddle Pines, they had seen his cutie mark of a timberwolf in a circle chasing its tail and figured he was here to hunt them. When he explained that he loved timberwolves and that his mark was for his talent in studying them, the response from the town went from warm acceptance to a begrudging tolerance. Hearth was one of the few ponies that had been willing to back him up when he was making suggestions to keep the timberwolves out of town.

“Hey, Hearth. I could probably ask you the same question, I don't exactly remember you saying you took house calls this early.”

“Well, I’ve had to change up how I do things lately. I learned that that fiber insulation I started using about a month ago is the preferred plaything for timberwolves.”

“Yikes. How bad is it?”

“Well, last house I got a call to had the entire external insulation material ripped off and scattered around.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“It wasn’t. I recently had a shipment of foam insulation arrive, so now I’m visiting all the houses I went to where I installed the fiber and asking them if they want me to switch it out before the next pack of timberwolves decide they want to have some fun with my work.”

“You have fun then, I’m going back inside. I don't know about you, but I prefer my warm house over this icy morning air.”

Warm Hearth laughed. “Have fun yourself, you big wimp. Hope I never have to drop by your house to fix the heating. Last thing I need is to hear you whining about it being too cold for your precious little tail.”

“Oh, haha. Talk with you later.”

“Did you get a dog? I heard one barking and growling just a few minutes ago. I know your special talent is dealing with timberwolves, but I didn't figure you could also talk to dogs.”

Buck. She had heard him talking with the timberwolf. Thankfully she hadn’t seen it. He needed to come up with a good lie, and fast. The last thing he needed was for someone to see him housing a timberwolf. Even though he trusted her, he couldn't be sure that she wouldn’t accidentally say something that would give what he was doing away.

“No, I’m not that interesting. You remember my friend Golden? He’s been having a little trouble with his Germane Shepherd being a little aggressive around ponies and other dogs. And seeing as I deal with timberwolves regularly, he figured I would be the best candidate to help train him. And no, I can’t talk to creatures other than timberwolves.”

“That’s not true, you’re talking to me. Or do I not count as a pony?”

Forrester couldn't help but laugh at her little joke. “I can talk to timberwolves naturally, but I had to work on talking to ponies, still am. Remind me again, is sniffing another pony’s flank not considered polite? I’m still trying to get used to the social differences between ponies and timberwolves.”

Warm Hearth chuckled. “As long as that’s not how you great me next time we meet, I think we’ll be good. I’ve got to get going, lots to do before I actually start work for the day. Have a good one.”

And with that, Hearth turned towards the center of town and began to trot towards her first house of the day. Forrester released a relieved breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. He was grateful he had been able to make up such a good lie on the spot. It helped that he had gotten good at it due to all the practice he had when he was a kid, escaping into the Gloomy Woods and needing to cover up what he had done. He just hoped that Golden wouldn’t show up for a surprise visit and expose his deception.

Forrester headed inside and closed his door. When he turned back around, he was muzzle to muzzle with the timberwolf.

“Rollover, now,” the timberwolf growled, his tone leaving little question as to who he felt was in control.

“Can’t we do this-”

“Now!” The bark was forceful and commanding. It was also not the least bit calm, sounding more like a threat than anything else.

Forrester immediately dropped to the ground and rolled onto his back, tucking his forelegs in and exposing his stomach. He knew this was the position the timberwolf wanted him to be in. He also knew how dangerous this was. By leaving himself so open, he was completely at this timberwolf’s mercy, even more so than in the forest.

The timberwolf stalked over to him, growling and baring his teeth, placing his snarling muzzle directly over his. “You promised to do anything to earn my trust, this is how. You are going to answer all of my questions. If you hesitate, or I feel you are lying to me, I will not hesitate to eat you.”

Forrester gulped. He had dealt with aggressive timberwolves before, but this one had to take the cake. He knew something had happened to this timberwolf to make it this way. The bear trap was an obvious reason, but he knew better. There was something else that had happened, something that was making this timberwolf want to be so violent.

“First, why did you take me here when you know it's not safe for me?”

“I… I did it because I live here. This was the first place I thought of.”

“So, you brought me here because it was easy?” The timberwolf was growling even more now at this new revelation.

Forrester closed his eyes. He needed to be honest, despite how bad it would probably make his situation. “Yes. I didn’t know of anywhere else I could take you that would be safe, for you or me. This seemed like the safest option.” Forester hesitated slightly before continuing. “I also wanted to study you.”

“Study me!” The timberwolf sounded furious at this. He instantly moved closer and bit down on his throat. Forrester could feel several teeth puncturing his flesh, not deep enough to be concerned about dying, but definitely enough that he could feel blood starting to come out.

The timberwolf began speaking again, and while his voice was muffled by his throat being in its mouth, he could still make out what was being said. “And why do you want to study me? I had better like your answer or else I will not hesitate to bite down and end you here and now.”

“I was curious about the timberwolves here. I heard reports about all-alpha packs and wanted to find out for myself if it was true.” Forrester could feel tears welling up in his eyes. “Please, I’m only trying to help. I know how this looks. I led you to probably the one place you’re the least safe because I couldn’t handle putting myself at risk. I realize I was being selfish and stupid. Please, I don’t want to die. If you let go of me I’ll open the door and you can leave. You won’t have to worry about seeing me ever again. Just please, don't kill me.”

Forrester waited for what felt like ten minutes with an angry timberwolf clamped down on his neck. He could feel that his blood had begun to dry in his fur. He was waiting for the timberwolf to make its decision. Eventually, he felt the timberwolf begin to clamp down harder on his throat. The holes in his neck from the timberwolf’s teeth began to reopen, causing his wounds to start bleeding again. He couldn't help but release more tears. He had come to accept that he was about to die, and all this because he was stupid enough to tell the timberwolf the entire truth.

But almost as soon as the pressure had increased, he was let go. He then heard the telltale sounds of clawed feet moving away from him. Forrester opened his eyes and watched as the timberwolf walked away from him and towards a corner of the room where his couch and loveseat created a little empty square on the floor that only had a tall lamp placed there. The timberwolf was trying to remain out of sight and away from anything that could notice him.

He had been right, there was more to why this timberwolf was acting the way he was other than a missing leg. He felt like trying to ask this timberwolf what was going on, but his understanding of when someone needed their space, and the several bleeding holes he had in his neck, told him to do otherwise.

He made his way over to his bathroom so he could grab his medical supplies and clean up his wounds. When he got there, he opened up the cabinet right under his sink and retrieved his first aid supplies. He then grabbed a hoof towel from a rack he kept next to his sink, turned on the water, and began wetting the towel.

When he felt that it was thoroughly soaked he wrung out the excess water and began washing the blood out of his coat. The towel went from a light tan to a dark crimson in a matter of minutes as more and more of his blood was liberated from him. When he looked in the mirror at how bad the wounds were, he was slightly shocked at how close he had come to death. The teeth marks were about two centimeters deep and he noticed that if the timberwolf had bitten him differently, it would have easily severed his carotid artery or jugular vein.

After examining the extent of his wounds, Forrester went to work at disinfecting them. The hydrogen peroxide stung like nothing else could, but it was a pain he would need to deal with. After the wounds had been fully cleaned, he carefully inserted pieces of gauze strip into the holes and then began wrapping medical tape around his neck to hold the packing in place. When it was all done, Forrester looked at himself in the mirror. While he wouldn't be winning any beauty pageants or medical awards in the near future for his work, it was good enough for now. After he put everything back where it should be, and the towel in the laundry basket, he began making his way back to his living room to check on how the timberwolf was doing.

When he arrived back in the room with the timberwolf, he saw that it was still in the corner. Seeing this, he figured that it might be best to try and make the timberwolf feel more comfortable.

“Oh, it must have slipped my mind but I don't think I’ve introduced myself. My name’s Forrester Whitehoof, but you can just call me Forrester.”

Unfortunately, the timberwolf didn't seem to be interested in acknowledging him. He was simply looking elsewhere and was unresponsive to what he was saying. It seemed that he was just going to need to give him some space for now. It wouldn't be worth it to try to force himself on the timberwolf at this time. It was better to just to let him come out on his own. Hopefully, it would only take a few hours.

Regrettably, that just wasn’t the case. For the rest of the day, he did his best to get the timberwolf to open up and at least come out of the corner, but nothing seemed to work. He had filled up a bowl with some water and placed it next to him around lunch, but in the few hours he had spent in the living room after this, the timberwolf hadn’t even sniffed at it.

For the most part, Forrester spent his time simply writing notes on what he had learned about this timberwolf and how it had acted. Interspersed with the note-taking he also decided to try his hoof at drawing his new guest too. While he wasn't exactly as good of an artist as Golden, he had enough skill to translate what he saw to a drawing. What interested him the most about the timberwolf in front of him was just how organized the wood on its body was and how close morphologically it was to an actual wolf. Its torso was a light blue, almost silver, that seemed to be made up of flat pieces of wood rather than sticks. Its head and legs were made up of brown wood, but guessing by the different grain patterns in the wood and their colorations, he would have to guess that they were two different species. Finally, its ears and tail were made of a light yellow wood with streaks of brown. He couldn't be one hundred percent sure without running a Goulding's test, but he had a feeling that this might actually be a new species.

The rest of the day was completely uneventful. The timberwolf was unwilling to do anything and he didn't have anything in particular he needed to do, so the two of them spent a great deal of time just doing nothing. When Forrester made himself some dinner, a simple spaghetti with a sauce his father had taught him how to make, he had offered the timberwolf some meats and other foods he had in a container for when he wanted to bait an area to better observe timberwolves if they were less inclined to be out in the open. Even the promise of food hadn't been enough to get him to move. So with that, Forrester simply ate his dinner and decided to head to bed early.

“I’m going to go to bed now. If you need anything, my door will be open. Just do what you can to wake me up, I tend to be a heavy sleeper. If you get hungry I’ll have some of that food I offered you earlier out in a bowl in the kitchen. Sleep well.” And with that, Forester headed to his room.

Laying down on his bed, Forrester went over how his day had gone. First, he had walked into the forest in an attempt to study the timberwolves that lived there, only to find a wounded timberwolf in less than an hour of walking into the woods. On top of that, he had offered to help said timberwolf, only to get a nasty bite for his trouble.

That first meeting had definitely been quite an interesting one. He had done his best to come off as non-threatening and passive as he could, just like he would with any other timberwolf to try to establish some trust, only to find out that this timberwolf was so large that it put most others he had dealt with in the past to shame. Even without one of its legs, Forrester was confident that this timberwolf could have easily killed him if he so desired, and he almost had. He was confident, but not entirely sure, that the timberwolf wouldn’t try to do so though. The timberwolf constantly referring to him as prey, and him nearly biting his head off wasn’t exactly putting his mind at ease though, especially since he had allowed him free reign of the house as well as leaving his door open.

Hopefully tomorrow he could ask the timberwolf more about itself, perhaps get some information on why there was an all-alpha hunting pack in the forest and why it had formed. Hopefully this time he wouldn’t need to have the first aid kit ready. But those were concerns for tomorrow. For now, he could use some rest.

Garshasp didn’t feel right. Whenever he and his crew were hired to deal with beasts, they were always vicious monsters that posed a significant threat to the individuals that hired them. But these timberwolves were… scared.

Every time he and his men would find some of them, the timberwolves would show some aggression to try to intimidate them, but when one of their friends was put down, or it became obvious that they were outmatched, they would turn tail and run. They had taken jobs to hunt down timberwolves before, but in those jobs, there wasn’t a damn thing any of them could do to get the timberwolves to not fight. They had even once fought a pack down to its last member and it still refused to stop trying to kill them.

These timberwolves were different. They didn’t fight if they didn’t need to, and if they didn’t think they could win, they would disengage. It didn’t feel like they were hunting the monsters they had been told resided in these woods. It felt like they had been contracted to put down dogs playing in a dog park.

What made it worse was the last kills they had made. A group of four timberwolves, bigger than any his crew had ever seen, along with another that looked to be a normal-sized one, had converged in a clearing and had split up in different directions. The three of them figured they should try to get the drop on one of them and take it out before the others could respond.

They had been successful in taking out the largest one first, Razor Beak dropping on top of it and slamming a dissipation rod into its head. Unfortunately, when Razor Beak had dropped down on the timberwolf, it had yelped. Almost immediately after the dissipation rod finished its magic and reduced the timberwolf to a pile of sticks, one of the other large timberwolves lept from a nearby bush and attacked Razor Beak. The beast tried to bite into the old griffin’s neck, but had aimed too low and ended up biting where the neck met the shoulders.

Razor Beak screamed in pain as a timberwolf, as big as he was, bit into his skin and began shaking, trying to dislocate his spine. While the bite wasn’t high enough to be fatal, if the timberwolf wasn’t stopped, Razor Beak could kiss goodbye to flying, as well as moving, for the rest of his life.

Garshasp and Stone Claw needed to act fast to stop the attack. Both of them threw dissipation rods at the timberwolf, hoping to either hit its head or cause it enough pain that it would let go. When their rods hit, one along the back and the other on its right shoulder, they heard it yelp, but this only served to make it angrier as it bit down harder and shook more violently. Seeing this, both griffins panicked and threw two more rods each. While none of their rods hit the head, they did all strike the timberwolf, causing it enough pain to let go and retreat.

The two uninjured griffins ran over to try to help their comrade. They needed to ensure that the damage that he had taken was not significant enough that they would need to call off the hunt. Before they could reach him, a nearby bush rustled before another timberwolf jumped out. Both Garshasp and Stone Claw wanted to save Razor, but they knew they were still too far away to help, and they had already used up their dissipation rods; instead, both of them simply yelled at Razor to roll away.

Instead of rolling away like he was told to do, Razor instead jumped up and turned to face the timberwolf that now chose to attack him. He grabbed one of the dissipation rods from his side and ran at the timberwolf. The timberwolf was all too happy to meet him in combat and charged as well. While neither of his friends would be able to help him, Razor Beak was more than capable of handling his own. At the last moment, before the two collided, Razor used his wings to quickly dodge to the timberwolf’s right. As the Timberwolf tried to turn to continue its attack on Razor, the griffin slammed the dissipation rod into the timberwolf’s head so hard that if the magic holding it together had instantly dispersed, Garshasp and Stone Claw would have expected the head to go flying.

When the trio was finally back together, there wasn’t enough time to assess the damage that the timberwolf had done to Razor before that very same timberwolf came back around a nearby bush, growling at the three of them. What made it worse was that the other two timberwolves had come back. The trio was down to their last few dissipation rods and these timberwolves had already seriously injured one of them.

Before Garshasp could even begin to formulate a plan, a dissipation rod flew towards the timberwolf that they had already wounded. The rod hit its mark, and the timberwolf went down. Now that the odds were more even, Garshasp turned to face the timberwolves that just arrived, only to hear the larger one bark twice at the smaller one and for them to both take off in the direction they had come from.

“Is it just me, or are we not hunting the vile beasts we were told were in these woods?” Garshasp looked between where he saw the two timberwolves run away and the bodies of the three timberwolves they had killed.

Stone Claw walked over to look over Razor Beak’s injury to see how bad the damage was. While the wound was bad, the timberwolf hadn’t hit any veins or arteries, so the bleeding, while a problem, could be stemmed with some gauze pads for the moment until they could make it back to the cave.

“Speak for yourself. You weren’t almost killed. We should get back to camp, I don’t want to know what kind of infections that monster carried,” Razor Beak complained while Stone Claw applied a gauze pad and wrapped it to make sure the makeshift bandage would hold and keep him from bleeding until they could get back the camp and properly treat the wound.

When he was finish being bandaged, the old griffin picked up the head of the timberwolf that had almost killed him with a scowl before shoving it in one of the bags that they were using to prove the kills that they had made. So far, if you included the three they had killed just now, they were at twenty-two kills.

“But don’t you think it’s odd? Every other time we’ve hunted timberwolves they would go after us without end. Whatever we did they would try to kill us. Haven’t you been seeing how they’ve been acting? If we kill a few of their pack, everyone else scatters. This was the first time a group of them fought back, and even then, as soon as they saw they were outnumbered, they ran away.” Garshasp looked down, his next few words were almost a whisper. “I’m not sure we’re doing the right thing here.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Stone Claw’s voice broke the silence that had started to surround the group. His usual cocky and carefree voice was instead contemplative and unsure. “They’re not acting like the beasts we usually hunt, they’re acting almost like prey. While I don’t have a problem hunting prey animals, this is different. We can’t eat them, and I’m sure we don’t need to use the bodies. In other words, it’s like we’re hunting for fun, not for a reason.”

“Are you two serious? I was almost killed and you guys are going on about them being prey. They’re just some monsters we were hired to kill.”

Garshasp looked at Razor with a stern frown. “I would have expected you of all griffins to remember the code all griffin hunters are expected to live by, seeing as you kept repeating it to me for my first few months working with you. Remind me what it was again.”

Razor stared daggers right back at the younger griffin. “Buck you, you self-righteous little shit! I was almost killed and you’re asking ME what the code is. You can just go to Tartarus.”

“Is that it? Last time I checked, and correct me if I’m wrong here, it was ‘A hunter shall not kill without reason. They shall endeavor to only take a life if that life need be taken. And above all, the body is sacred, one must use all that they can and seek to only hunt that which they can best use.’”

Razor growled and aggressively began to make his way back towards their camp, leaving Garshasp and Stone Claw to collect the bags of timberwolf heads.

Four ponies made their way out of Fetlock and towards the cave where the griffins had made their camp. As he was about to go to sleep for the night, Black Diamond had heard a knock at his door. When he opened it, he found an unmarked letter laying on his welcome mat. When he opened it, he found a letter from the griffins he had helped hire. It was informing him and the others that the griffin had done what they could with the timberwolves in the forest and were planning to leave first thing in the morning so they wished to be paid before then. Black Diamond had quickly grabbed the bits he had agreed to provide and left to gather the others.

The journey to the cave was quiet, the only sounds being the usual calls of animals in the night and the rustling of bits in the saddlebags of the ponies. When the group finally arrived at the cave, they saw that the griffins had not been lying. The many supplies that they saw around the cave were being carefully stored in rucksacks or wooden crates. The three griffins were busy and didn't seem to realize they had arrived.

Dasher cleared his throat to get the griffins’ attention. The griffin that had introduced himself as Garshasp turned to face them, and as soon as he saw them, a smile worked its way into his beak.

“Hey, sorry for getting you that letter so late. We’ve been out in the forest all day so we couldn’t get to you earlier.”

Perfect Match, who had been frowning since he was informed of the griffins’ departure, finally decided to speak. “May I ask why you are leaving now? I thought our payment was more than enough to entice you to stay and clean out the forest.”

“It is, there are just two problems. First off, one of my men got nailed really bad.” Garshasp turned to look at the older griffin with a heavily blood-soaked bandage wrapped around him in front of his wings. “The timberwolf that got him almost severed his spine. We bandaged it in the field, but when we looked at the wound when we got back, we realized we needed to head back home to get him the proper medical care.”

“Are you sure? We have excellent doctors here, I’m sure they would be able to fix up his wounds.”

“Do they have experience with either griffins or timberwolf bites?”

Perfect Match looked down sheepishly. “I don’t think so.”

“Then we need to head back.” Garshasp shrugged as said the phrase matter of factly. “As for the second reason, it’s the same reason you didn’t get the letter before you did. We spent all day hunting those timberwolves, and to be quite frank, you don’t have all too many in there.”

“Well, how many did you get rid of, fifty, sixty?” Candy Cane sounded hopeful to hear a large number of them had been-

“Twenty-two.”

All the ponies present looked extremely disappointed at such a small number. They had been hoping that the griffins would have been able to permanently end the threat that the beasts posed to them.

“Honestly we didn’t run into a single one afternoon. We figure that either the timberwolves figured out they were being hunted and fled further into the forest, already moved deeper before we got here, or there just wasn’t that many too begin with. If you want the proof of the kills, we have the heads over there along that wall.” After saying this, Garshasp turned back to help his comrades continue packing up.

The four ponies looked over to the indicated wall, and sure enough, there were the heads. While they could make out the heads of several timberwolves that fit the usual descriptions of a timberwolf, there were quite a few heads that didn’t quite match the usual description. While they had heard from Forrester that Timberwolves could vary by quite a large amount, none of them actually cared or were willing to ask him what type the heads had come from. But what really drew their attention were the three larger heads near the center.

Between the heads of a normal timberwolf and one of the stranger ones were the three largest timberwolf heads they had ever seen. By the looks of it, the timberwolf heads in front of them were some of the alphas. The four ponies began talking, and while they had not eliminated many timberwolves, the fact they had taken out several of their alphas more than made up for it. They each agreed they would pay them as if they had killed thirty of them.

After counting out the bits they owed, they placed them in the bag they had seen the first time they had paid the griffins. They thanked the hunters and told them if they had any more problems they would call them first. The griffins thanked them for their hospitality and coin and watched as they left.

“Still don’t feel right lying to ‘em,” Razor Beak said while organizing his maps.

“Like telling them ‘hey, we suddenly realized we didn’t like what we were doing, so we stopped’ would have gone over well.” Stone Claw was almost done separating the spent rods and the unused rods into their own sides in one of the crates.

Stone Claw and Garshasp had been able to convince Razor to go along with the plan to tell the ponies they couldn’t find very many timberwolves and needed to return home to treat Razor. In all honesty, on his way back and while he was waiting for the other two, Razor had thought about what had happened and came to agree with them. Truthfully, there wasn’t anything special about timberwolf bites or griffins that would have prevented a pony from treating Razor, and after they had come back to camp and properly cleaned Razors wound’s, they had just stayed in the cave reminiscing.

“Just give me and Razor seventy-five bits and keep the rest. Think of this as our retirement gift to you.”

Garshasp chuckled. “Thanks for that. I’m getting an extra seventeen bits. What is that, a week’s rent and a cheap lunch? You didn’t need to go out of your way.”

“Ah, it’s the least we could do.”

“Literally.”

The rest of the time was spent going over what Garshasp would be doing now that he was retiring. He figured he was going to try to have a kid or two, get a job as either a butcher or a teacher, and when his kids were old enough, volunteer as Scoutmaster in the Chick Scouts. Razor and Stone both laughed at the idea of him as either a teacher or a scoutmaster. They told him they want to be there when he explains to the chicks how to properly skin a carcass or the kill points on a barghest. In all, this was probably the best send-off Garshasp could have asked for from the two griffins he had called his brothers for the last ten years.

The Story of the Black Pack

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The Story of the Black Pack

Lost

Timberwolves are an interesting genus, While they are widely considered to utilize any woods that they may come across to repair themselves, this idea is incorrect. The utilization and implementation of any wood into a timberwolves body is only found in L. rudervariabilis. Many species exist such as L. oxyderkis that require specific woods with some subspecies exclusively living in deserts due to the specific woods. - Breeze M., Eye D., Glimmer R., & Whitehoof F. (984) Environmental impacts of habitat reduction and hunting of timberwolves. Journal of Ecology, 14(3), 34-52.

The Blighted Wastes was a location deep in the unclaimed lands far to the southwest of what was known as Equestria. It was a sun-scorched and mesa strewn Tartarus-scape of a desert with such immense natural danger that to most, it made the Badlands that bordered Equestria look like a day at the spa. The only things living that could be seen in this part of the world were the few plants too stubborn to die and the few animals that had the misfortune to have ancestors that refused to leave when the territory experienced its worst catastrophe.

Becoming the largest territory of feral dragons.

On Equis, dragons can widely be considered to fall into two species; Equestrian dragons and feral dragons, though the moniker of “feral” is quite misleading. In actuality, feral dragons are simply quadrupedal dragons that lack the ability to speak Ponish, tend to live individually, and lacked the presence of a “dragon lord”. While many think that such differences make these dragons less intelligent and would simply think of them as mindless killers, they would be terribly wrong. While feral dragons are indeed more physically capable than their equestrian counterparts, they do possess the capacity to communicate with each other using a simple language of growls and physical movements.

The territory was originally just another desert, with many mammals, reptiles, and birds that were all well adapted to the heat and lack of water. There was even a population of tatzlwurms and amphisbaena that had migrated there. The issue is, feral dragons sat at the very top of most any food chain. They existed without any natural predators after they entered adulthood, able to hunt and kill whatever they pleased, even other dragons.

When the first feral dragons had arrived the entire ecosystem was upset. Because they were able to hunt anything they pleased, the first few years almost caused the total collapse of the environment. So often, too many prey were killed by the dragons, leading to most of the other predators starving, or too many predators being taken out, causing an explosion of the prey and the subsequent loss of the plant life. Eventually, the animals adapted, reproducing faster and with larger litters.

The problem is, dragons also breed. It happened slowly, but in the six hundred years since the first few dragons made their home here, the population had increased drastically. What started off as a population of ten dragons had become a population of almost seven hundred, and due to feral dragons’ tendency for cannibalism, the numbers were unlikely to go any higher. While over two of the three million square kilometers of the desert were the small territories of young feral dragons, older feral dragons tended to have territories large enough to be their own nations.

One such feral dragon to live in this barren desert is Senthorix, the only feral shadow dragon to be born. The reason for his uniqueness was due to the actions of one Sombra, imbuing the essence of darkness into the egg of a feral dragon. He had done this in an attempt to create a being of immense power, so great in fact that it would be able to best Celestia and Luna when he would inevitably send it after them. And to an extent, he had succeeded, but not before the sisters could confront him before banishing him into the northern glaciers, all before he had a chance to hatch.

But that is a story best saved for another day.

Today, Senthorix was resting near the back of a shallow cave, doing his best to hide his body and eyes from the harsh and oppressive rays of the sun until the night came and he could hunt. While many creatures of the Blighted Wastes were nocturnal to avoid the scorching heat the sun brought during the day, Senthorix was nocturnal by necessity. His scales were a deep black, almost perfectly resembling obsidian in their color and luster. Additionally, being magically imbued with such a great deal of pure darkness while he was still developing in the egg had caused both his body to grow significantly larger than a normal feral dragon and his need to warm himself in the sun to properly function to be eliminated.

Being larger than usual and covered in black scales, he had learned early on that he would take on heat far faster than a dragon should. Added on to this, the magic that had been used on him as an egg had lowered the temperature his body needed to be at to properly function by a considerable amount. While this came with the advantage of being able to hunt and fight far better at night and in cold weather, it came with the drawback of if he were to stay in the sun for more than a few hours, depending on the ambient temperature, he would overheat and die.

Those reasons were why he was currently huddled in the back of a shallow cave in the middle of the day. He actually had his own cave not too far from here that was far deeper, allowing him to comfortably sleep without risking overheating, but he had stayed out too long last night. He had found out that another dragon had moved into his territory and that was something he could not permit. He left his den last night and attempted to hunt the dragon down, attempted being the operative word.

He had left his den as soon as the sun had dropped below the horizon but hadn’t tracked down the intruding dragon until the night was almost finished. When he found the sleeping dragon, he discovered it was a fledgling, not even large enough to pose a risk to him if they were to fight. Among feral dragons, the only language that really mattered, the only way to earn respect, was though shows of force. If he were to permit this newcomer to invade his territory without repercussion, it would be a sign of weakness. If he were to show up and use his size to intimidate the fledgling and just ask it to leave, he knew he would have to deal with larger dragons attempting to take his territory as he had displayed that he was hesitant to use violence. And he was more than willing to show this juvenile how violent he could be.

He had released a massive roar, challenging the fledgling, when he felt he had closed enough distance between them. He saw the fledgling immediately wake up from the loud noise before shrinking back in fear at his threat upon seeing him, taking to the air to run from him shortly after. While he was still over two kilometers away from the intruder the fact that he was far bigger than the other dragon and closing the distance quite quickly was all the motivation the youngling needed to clear out. Unfortunately for the young dragon, Senthorix needed to hunt him to prove that this was his territory and to make an example for other dragons that tried to take what was his.

Senthorix closed the distance and opened his jaws, preparing for when he reached the fledgling, to end the chase quickly by biting down on its neck. He had every intention of killing the other dragon, he had learned over his life the ideal way too. If he could do that, then he would be able to make it back to his cave before the sun crested the horizon. However, just as he had reached the dragon and was about to attack, the other dragon dove down.

Senthorix mentally kicked himself for forgetting that what fledglings lacked in power, speed, and experience, they made up for in maneuverability. While he could best this dragon at combat or in a race, his size prevented him from being able to outmaneuver the smaller dragon. Looking down he could see that the dragon was now only a few meters off the ground and headed north-west. He would prefer to just let the dragon fly off but he knew that if he did that he would be forfeiting several kilometers of territory, so he had to chase.

Shifting his weight and position of his wings he banked right and decreased his altitude. He knew he couldn’t attempt another attack like last time because if he were to miss again there was a high likelihood that he would end up crashing into the ground. It was better to wait for the other dragon to try to gain some altitude than to risk hurting himself and losing his challenge in the eyes of the other dragons. If he lost this challenge, he wouldn’t just lose a portion of his territory, he would lose it all.

Coming up behind the dragon he let out another roar, this time one of dominance. Both of them knew this was his territory and now all that was left was the formality of removing the other dragon from it. Strangely, after he had released his roar, the other dragon made a hard turn to the left, pointing it due south, away from the closest border and deeper into his territory. Senthorix growled in appreciation of this development. This fledgling was still too young to have properly learned that when you were being chased from a territory, you must never change your direction too drastically. He loved it when he could torment his prey for hours as he hunted them. It looks like he would be able to indulge in that entertainment tonight.

The next few hours were spent hounding this youngling, trying to keep it from going in a single direction. He eventually figured out that if he were to spray his fire in the direction that the fledgling was thinking about going he could corral it into reversing its direction. They were heading east, and the sun was about to crest the horizon. He could tell that his internal temperature was nearing its healthy limit after having to chase something for this long. What was worse was that the youngling was about at its limit. Its movements had become sloppier, and it had slowed down considerably, making it so that even when he flew as slow as he could, he was still causing the young dragon to exert itself to stay ahead of him.

Suddenly, he found himself flying directly into the first light of the day and his body began to warm up. Senthorix raised the defensive scales he had on his back in an attempt to bleed off some heat, but he knew that was only a temporary fix. He had entertained himself for too long and had lost track of time. If he kept with the pursuit, he would likely overheat on his way back to his den. He needed to make a snap decision.

Ultimately, he chose to end the chase now, but not without sending one last blast of fire at the juvenile, and headed back to his den as fast as he could. While the decision might cost him some territory it was possible that no other dragon would capitalize on his choice to not continue the chase to his true borders. Besides, the possible consequences were nothing when compared to death.

The only problem now was making it back to his den before the heat got to him. He could already feel his body heating up as he flew. Because his temperature had already been elevated from the chase, he could tell he probably wouldn’t be able to make it to his den in time. He began to frantically look around for somewhere he could go to hide from the sun. After almost an hour, he finally found what looked to be a south facing cave along the base of one of the many mesas and pushed himself to fly as fast as possible towards its entrance.

He barely gave himself enough time to slow his decent before he landed on the hard earth, causing a minor tremor in the surrounding dirt. He looked into the cave and his heart almost dropped. While the cave was deep enough to stop the sun from touching most of it, he would need to cram himself along the back to avoid the light of the sun from coming into contact with him while he slept. The cruel sun, however, had made the choice for him. He had begun to pant, the front of his throat expanding and contracting rapidly to push as much air through it as possible.

He practically dove into the cave before his symptoms could get any worse, hurling himself against the icy walls at the back. He couldn’t help but release a moan of satisfaction as he could feel heat leaving his body. He was still panting, and the defensive scales on his back were still raised to lower his core temperature, but now he could take his mind off his mortal enemy. He would just need to be careful he didn’t accidentally release the chemicals in his mouth he used to breathe fire. The last thing he needed was to start a fire in his lungs.

He waited two hours to finally stop panting. When he did though he slipped into a deep sleep. He remembered the last time this had happened to him, he had been going through puberty and had wanted to prove to his adoptive mother that he could look after himself and didn’t need her help. He had been found three hours later, slipping in and out of consciousness and barely alive, by a pony in the city he had been living in.

He dreamt of the old days, back before he had run away from his adoptive mother, before he had claimed this territory as his own. He hated those days. His mother never understood him, always viewing him as the product of Sombra and Nightmare Moon and not as his own dragon. It didn’t help that she was also a pony. She never made him feel comfortable for being himself around her, she would never let him indulge in his instincts and he never felt comfortable eating meat around her. Her insistence on teaching him the value of friendship never failed to sicken him either.

He was in the middle of reliving one those terrible memories when some infernal noise roused him from his slumber. Cracking his left eye open he could see that he had only been asleep for a couple of hours as the sun was still very much in the sky, but was now well on its way to dropping below the western horizon. However, the thing that really drew his eye were the three animals that were either playing or fighting at the mouth of the cave.

Looking at them he recognized that each of them was a member of that strange race of dogs that were entirely composed of trees. He had seen them before in his territory but had never seen fit to learn more about them as they were small and didn’t pose a threat to him and he was fairly certain he couldn’t eat them. As he watched them he saw that it wasn’t just the three, as two more had joined them at the mouth of the cave, each of them being about the same size.

Suddenly, one of the strange dogs broke away from the others and ran straight towards him. He watched as one after another the dogs quit going after each other and instead opted to chase after the one that had broken away. They eventually caught up to the dog they were chasing, and they resumed the action he now realized was play behavior, not but a few meters from him. As he watched them play, he couldn’t help but think that these dogs that had come into his cave were in all likelihood not even adolescents. Not only that, but by the looks of it, none of the pups looked to be larger than one of the digits on his claws. He knew he was large, being over sixty meters long and twenty meters tall, but he had to admit the size of these wooden dogs was almost certainly due to them being juveniles. He figured that their parents would be around shortly to usher them to their den. Besides, the longer it took the parents to arrive the more he would get to observe these strange creatures made of wood.

Looking at the playing dogs he was noticing that the pieces of wood that made up their bodies were quite different from any wood he had ever seen. The wood of their torsos looked similar to the scales of dragons or other such creatures while their legs, heads, and tails all looked to be made of a more common wood as they were a brown, almost red, color.

Eventually one of the pups chased one of its siblings right into the side of his tail near its tip. The two pups then began to wrestle with each other, colliding with his tail occasionally. Watching them play around was reminding Senthorix of when he was still a hatchling and went hunting. Granted, he had only ever fought another animal with the intention of killing it, but the tactics that the pups were using reminded him of his own inexperience when he was still a hatchling.

Remembering those days Senthorix unconsciously flicked the tip of his tail. This slight action was all it took for the pups that had been playing around it to actually notice that the large black object they had been ramming into wasn't just another part of the cave, but something living. As soon as they saw this, their first thoughts must have been to hunt whatever had just moved because they immediately began to pounce on his tail and bite it.

Senthorix wasn't too worried about them attacking his tail. Even if he didn't have scales he highly doubted that the pups had enough jaw strength to actually damage him. It wasn't even that he could feel it, as he had realized fairly early in life that the only sense of touch he had was on his wings. But the fact they were trying to attack him was starting to get on his nerves. It was mostly out of pride that he wanted them to stop, as he found it to be an insult for anything to attack him. While he would usually consider killing anything that would dare try to attack him, his upbringing had somewhat instilled in him a personal code to not attack and kill something that wasn’t even old enough to mate. So he decided to try his best to dissuade them from continuing their attack.

When one of the pups had bit down on the end of his tail and the other one had decided to try to bite onto one of his scales he flicked his tail as gently as he could to toss them away. When the pups recovered from being tossed from his tail they began barking and coming back to continue their attack. The barking alerted the other pups to his presence and in no time the end of his tail was being assaulted by five of the pups.

Time after time, he would end up flicking his tail and tossing several of the pups away from himself, only to watch as they leapt back up and went right back to biting and scratching at his tail. He was debating with himself whether these pups were simply too dumb to realize they wouldn’t be able to hurt him, if they were just too persistent for their own good, or if they thought that this was just another game. Eventually, he decided to just stop moving his tail, it obviously wasn't having any effect on them. This resulted in the pups all glomping onto the end of it and doing their best to most likely kill it.

The pups went after his unmoving tail for several minutes before either out of boredom, the realisation of how useless their attacks were, or from thinking they had killed it, they began to play amongst themselves again in the middle of the cave. He watched them play for some time, eventually seeing them all wind down as they collapsed onto the floor of the cave, panting. It was after he saw the last of the pups drop to the ground panting and curl up next to its kin that he realized these pups might have lost their parents. It was the only reason he could think of as to why an animal that he figured was quite social to not have its parents around.

In all likelihood, the pups’ parents had been killed, by what he couldn’t be sure, and in their confusion, the pups had wandered off and away from their den. He felt sympathy for the orphaned pups; he knew better than most animals how harsh these lands could be. He was confident that if he were to let these pups leave the cave and continue on their way, they would surely be killed themselves or die of starvation or dehydration. They were much too small and young to make it in the desert by themselves. While he would have usually felt some enjoyment in watching the plight of others, the decades he had spent with his adoptive mother had rubbed off on him a little.

Knowing this, Senthorix figured that the best thing he could do to was to prevent them from experiencing a cruel fate… was to kill them. He knew it was cruel, but allowing them to leave only for them to slowly wither away as they watched each other perish seemed like a much crueler fate. Ever so slowly so as not to wake the pups, he shifted his neck and head until he was looking over the group of pups. He then opened his jaws and prepared the muscles that surrounded the glands that held the fluids that allowed him to breathe his fire. He was ready to burn these pups to ashes by maintaining his flame as long as it took to finish the job.

Only, no fluids came forth from his mouth to engulf the wooden pups in dragon fire.

Senthorix had frozen. Looking at these pups he couldn’t help but see himself in them. They were all orphans, like him. When he had hatched, many ponies had wished for his death, saying that Nightmare Moon had corrupted him and that even if she hadn’t, he was still a dragon and couldn’t be trusted to not hunt them. For all her faults, if his adoptive mother had not stood up for him he feared he would not be here right now making this decision.

He slowly shook his head in an attempt to clear out his thoughts. He was a killer, he had never hesitated to kill another animal once he had decided on it. He had only ever failed to kill two creatures in his life, a phoenix, and a pegasus, and he would have killed the pegasus if he wouldn't have been caught. So why was it that he hesitated to kill these pups? He knew that they would surely die if they were left on their own, if he were to kill them now he would be giving them mercy.

He decided to try again, this time inhaling the same way he always did when he used his fire against a creature when he hunted. This way, he was confident he would engulf them in flames simply out of habit. After finishing his inhalation he closed his third eyelid in preparation for the fire to come…. only for nothing to happen. His lungs refused to release the air he taken in and it felt as if he had lost control of a portion of his throat.

Why had he hesitated again? Did he actually want these dogs to suffer? Granted, they had attacked him, but he couldn't see why they would deserve such a fate, they barely seemed like they even understood the concept of combat.

He closed his jaws and eyes and pulled back from the pups. He couldn’t bring himself to kill the pups, despite the fate that would in all likelihood befall them. Why was he so hesitant to kill them? What other options were there to try to stop these pups from ending up as just more corpses in the desert?

All of these thoughts were swirling around in his head as one of the pups began to wake up after hearing the noise he had made by moving around. When its eyes, or what he assumed were its eyes, opened it was staring directly at him. Without the distraction of its siblings trying to play with it, the pup was able to take in that what it and its siblings had been playing with was more than a large black tube. It stared at him while he stared back.

He carefully lowered his head onto the ground, making sure he lowered his head right so he didn’t put too much weight on the scales that formed a sort of beard on him. He needed to sort through his thoughts on these dogs and continuing to watch them seemed to be the best way to do that. It wasn’t too long after he had lowered his head and neck to the ground that the pup barked at him and ran over its siblings to get to him. By doing this, the pup had woken its siblings and the entire little pack was now realizing they weren’t alone in the cave.

Other than the pup that had woken up first, none of the pups were attempting to get closer to him. The one that was though had just reached his neck and was now smelling him. It didn’t take long though for the pups to figure out that he was not a threat to them after seeing their sibling examine him without issue. One after another, the rest of the pups began to run up to him and try to figure out just what he was.

The first pup was still examining his neck and had recently jumped onto the side of it to try to sniff at the higher parts of his neck. Another pup was examining his left wing, most likely trying to figure out what it was exactly. He didn’t know why but he slowly extended the wing to give the pup better access to examining it, only for the pup to bite down on the membrane of his wing when it had cleared his torso. While the bite wasn’t too hard, and he did have scales on them that gave him some protection, his wings were very sensitive, so the bite stung like all Tartarus. He would have bitten the pup back for what it had done but he knew the pup didn’t know any better, so he was willing to let it slide. He just wished it would just let go though and not keep gnawing on it like he was a damn piece of meat.

Two of the pups had worked their way back to his vent, trying to figure out what they were smelling back there. It was rather strange to have these pups sniffing at his ass and genitals. But, due to the scent glands he had back there, he could hardly blame their curiosity. The final pup had worked itself to his muzzle and was sniffing at his mouth, every now and then licking his lips, most likely having found some dried blood he hadn’t fully cleaned off. At least now he knew what they ate.

When the pup reached the front of his muzzle, it seemed to take a keen interest in his heat pits. Perhaps it thought that he had multiple nostrils. He was treated to the strange sensation of feeling something touching his heat pits that he couldn’t actually sense with them. The strange sensation was starting to make him feel like he needed to sneeze but it wasn’t too strong yet. It wasn’t until the pup had moved over to his actual nostrils that things got bad.

The pup had decided to jump at the outside of his nostril and begin licking at it. This normally wouldn’t be a concern, but after having his heat pits stimulated he couldn’t help but need to sneeze. He didn’t want to send the pup on his muzzle flying so he carefully lifted his head away from it. Unfortunately, he wasn’t used to holding in a sneeze, nor at catering to the presence of others. So almost immediately after he had lifted his head away from the ground he instinctively pointed it back down, opened his mouth, and sneezed, accidentally releasing a fine mist of the chemicals responsible for his fire.

The aerosolized chemicals quickly mixed in the air in front of his muzzle, and combined with the force of the sneeze, created a fiery explosion. This wasn’t an issue for him as this had happened before, and even though he disliked the heat, it didn’t pose a threat to him. This wasn’t the case for the pup. The sneeze had coated it in in a fine layer of his chemicals that quickly ignited, and with the help of the air he had expelled, sent the pup flying away from him as a ball of fire.

When he saw the pup fly several meters away from him, burning, through his third eyelid he felt an emotion he never thought he would ever feel: sorrow. In all his life he had never felt any attachment to another living thing, mostly viewing them as either food or entertainment. But after watching these wooden dogs play and seeing how innocent they were something inside him just… clicked.

Laying his head and neck back down, this time pointing his head away from the corpse of the pup he had killed, he closed his eyes and felt tears begin to form. Seven hundred forty-eight years, seven hundred forty-eight years he had not shed a single tear. Seven hundred forty-eight years he felt nothing when he killed another animal other than joy. Seven hundred forty-eight years, and he could honestly say there wasn’t a single living thing he had come to care about other than himself. And in less than an hour, he had become invested in these pups’ wellbeing.

Eventually, he began to feel several paws jump against his muzzle and could hear them barking. He was halfway tempted to open his eyes to see what the pups were doing. But he couldn’t bring himself to look at them just yet, not after what he had done. Instead, he opted to just keep his eyes closed and keep track of what they were doing to his muzzle.

He could sense two of the pups along the left side of his muzzle, fighting each other to be the one examining that part of his face. Another pup had worked itself onto his foreleg and was trying to use it to climb onto the back of his head. Finally, he could feel two pups sniffing at his the heat pits on his left side again.

Wait!

He opened his left eye and looked at each of the pups. Sure enough, there were five pups, two fighting right below his eye, two examining his heat pits, and at the edge of his vision he could just barely make out the shape of another pup trying to position itself to make an attempt at jumping onto his neck. It eventually tried to make the leap, only for its back legs to slip on his scales and tumble off his foreleg. When it finally got back up, it ran over towards its siblings. Now that it wasn’t at the edge of his field of view he could see that this must be the pup he thought that he had killed, due to its body being significantly darker now with several portions that were actually black.

A well of emotions began to stir in him: surprise, relief, but most of all, joy. He had not accidentally killed one of the pups due to his carelessness, but had instead simply charred them. He happily watched as the pups began playing with each other again, abandoning his muzzle in the process. He lifted his head up and turned it to better face the pups as they played. They tended to chase each other, occasionally ramming into his side in an attempt to get away. He watched the pups play like this until he could tell from the light in the cave that the sun was just barely above the horizon. As he watched the pups play again, and remembering how he had felt when he had thought he had killed one a thought came to his head.

He cared about them.

He didn't know why he did, only that he did. Perhaps it was due to his mother's influence, perhaps due to seeing them as similar to himself, whatever the reason was that he had grown to care about their well being it all culminated in one thought.

He could adopt the five pups and make them his kids.

The idea seemed so simple, but it held its own complications. First off, he knew nothing about caring for a juvenile, let alone one of another species. In the over seven hundred years he had been alive he had yet to sire his own offspring, so the idea of caring for children that weren’t even his own was not the most logical of choices, nor was it something he was looking forward to. The second problem was that he had no idea what these pups needed to eat. If they were like regular dogs, he could just let them eat what he could hunt, but if they had yet to be weaned or couldn’t eat what he could it would create complications. And finally, would they accept him as their new family in the first place?

Eventually the pups ran out of energy again and began collapsing around him. When the last of the pups collapsed, as carefully as he could, he began lifting them up with his jaws and depositing them against his side. When the last of the pups were placed against him he curled his tail and neck around them to form a protective barrier and began to release a satisfied purr as he too began to drift off into sleep. The irony of the situation was not lost on him. Here he was, possibly one of the world’s largest dragon, the embodiment of darkness and cruelty, purring like some overgrown house cat while he held five wooden pups next to his underbelly. Pups that he had almost set on fire due to his negligence. Hopefully, he would be able to control his fire better while he was around them, especially when he slept.

But for now, all that he cared about were the five pups curled up against him as they slept. Right before the massive purring lizard joined what mighty son be his children in the realm of sleep, the barest hint of a content smile crossed over his lips. His first such smile in over seven hundred years.

A Timberwolf For Forrester

by Schattendrache

The Story of Bramble: Abandoned

The Story of Splinter: Wild (Revised)

The Story of Splinter: Saved (Revised)

The Story of Splinter: Learning

The Story of the Black Pack