> The Blazing Death
>  by Amaranthine Thought
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter 1
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Within the great savanna, life was not easy.  The zebra who lived within its tall grasses had long since accepted death as a part of life.  A part of what they came to call ‘the cycle’.

All things were a part of it, and nothing could stop its ever-turning circle.  All things had a beginning, and all things an end, and in their end, new things would find their beginning.  Death was not something to be feared, but instead, accepted.

But now, there was a death to be feared.

It was a lioness, and there was no zebra in the savanna that had not heard of her. Not one zebra that did not fear her.

They knew of the lions.  The great predators that occasionally stalked the herds.  Losing members to the lions was just another part of the cycle, as natural as the day and night.  But she, whom they had come to know as the blazing death, was different.

She was wreathed in flames, her skin and fur alight with burning fire, but she never burned.  Waves of fire would break any line of warriors, and her blazing claws and teeth sliced through even the thickest of armor, wood no protection against the flames.  Merely hearing her distant scream was enough to have entire herds fleeing for their lives.

But the worst was that she had gone outside the cycle.  She hunted them, but she did not kill for food.  She would slaughter every zebra that could not escape her flames, but their bodies were not eaten.  She would just kill, and kill, and kill, until there was nothing left to kill, and then she would leave the burned and dead bodies where they laid.

To die to a hunting lion was a part of nature.

To die to a burning nightmare was not.

The blazing death had broken tribe after tribe, and survivors had gathered in numbers around the Deharan oasis; a sacred place for zebra, the sole place that always had water in the savanna.  The water-speaker there had decided:

There, they would fight the blazing death.  There, in their most sacred place, there, in the home of water, they would end her fire.  She would come soon; her flames had consumed distant herds, and survivors flowed towards the oasis.  Unwittingly attracting the nightmare to follow them, for the death knew where zebra ran would have more zebra.

But despite her clear threat, several zebra tribes would not rally. Old hates were too deep, and those who held the oasis most precious would not even conceive of fighting on its green grass.  It was a great fear for those that did, for each felt that, if the blazing death would be ended, it would take all the might that all the zebra could bring to bear.

The few they had would only die against her, and her fire would consume the home of water.

And perhaps the savanna would never see water again.

Thus, a runner was sent, not to the tribes, but outside the savanna.  Towards the distant ponies, so beg them their aid and warriors to end the threat.  Then the zebra waited, praying that the runner would find aid, and that that aid would arrive before the blazing lioness did.

Worry continued to grow as more survivors of attacks came, and distant smoke appeared on the horizon.  The survivors told of their stories, of rings of fire that penned them in, of a raging inferno that consumed their warriors, of a bolt of fire leaping from zebra to zebra, not caring for age or sex, tearing them apart as they burned.

Even the water was not safe from the blazing death.

The smoke grew closer and closer, and then stopped.  The lioness was in the area, and sure to arrive soon.

And if nothing changed, she would find Deharan lacking the warriors it had been promised.  Maybe even less, as fear was breaking the will of some of those present.

But as the sun began to set, the runner had returned.

And over him flew a god.

She shone like the moon above, shining in power and grace, and the zebra had gaped, seeing her.

She seemed a pony, but was more than twice the height of the tallest zebra present. She wore shining silver armor that glowed with a white light and her mane and tail appeared as if a part of the night sky.  She soared on great wings and everything about her radiated power, and, to the zebra, divinity.

With her came twenty other ponies, with bat wings and similar silver armor, and as she and they went to land, the zebra scattered, respecting the goddess and her chosen.

The water-speaker stepped a little closer; servant of waters, best to speak to the coming goddess.

“We have arrived.” The goddess spoke, her voice booming with power. “Where is the burning beast, that we might end it?”

“She is nearby, great one.” The leader spoke, kneeling and keeping her head down.  “We know this from the sacrifice of the others; she will soon come, to kill all those who are here.  We made preparation, but we were not ready until you came, goddess.”

“Our name is Luna.” The goddess spoke.  “Who art thou, that we might know the name of she who would challenge the beast.”

“My name is Zehara, great one.” She said, keeping still, her head still lowered. “Our thanks are endless, that you have chosen to come to our aid.”

Luna watched her, her face firm, before she told Zehara, “We will go and see what we may.  Our captain shall speak with thee, so that our forces might cooperate.”

The goddess took flight once more, and Zehara slowly got up, relaxing as she flew into the darkening sky.  The ponies watched her go, but one came to her.

“I am Princess Luna’s captain; the name’s Dark Flight.” He told her, Zehara looking to see who the goddess chose.  “We’re here to help.”

Zehara nodded, and told him, “We welcome your help, chosen of the goddess.”

“It’s just Princess Luna.” Dark said, and Zehara wondered at his mild discomfort.  “I heard that you’re planning to fight a burning lion?”

“The blazing death is far more than just a burning lion.” Zehara told him. “She is the nightmare of all the tribes, and has carved a bloody and ashen path through the savanna for almost a year.  Before the goddess arrived, I had feared that this attempt to end her would have been nothing but a new field of dead.”

“Princess Luna.” Dark corrected.  “And I assure you, we will do our best to ensure that nopony here dies.  How is moral?  Facing such a thing can’t be easy.”

“It is not.” Zehara told him.  “A number have already fled into the distance.”

Dark nodded.  “And yourself?” he asked.  “You’re in charge here, and the leader’s moral is the most important.”

“I stand firm from hate.” Zehara told him, Dark hesitating.  “The beast burned my family in front of me, and I have seen her death many times before.  This night, I do not fear, but once this is over, I fear I may see her in my dreams for the rest of my life.”

“…My condolences.”

“What?” Zehara asked, giving him a confused frown.  “You give me your sorrows?  Why?  You never knew the dead, nor me, and you are pony, and not zebra.”

“…That makes a difference?” Dark asked, baffled by her response.  “Pony or zebra, it’s still sad.  It isn’t like ponies don’t have families too, you know.”

Zehra cocked her head, wondering at him.  “…A zebra of another tribe would feel nothing.” She told her, Dark blinking. “The more distant the tribe, less. And there is no more distant a tribe than pony; I had thought that ponies only cared for their own kind.”

Dark gaped a little.  “…You sent a runner to call for help.” He said, finding it difficult to understand how Zehara could have thought that.

“An act of desperation.” Zehara told him.  “I know the blazing death well, and the zebra here are not enough.  The runner had scars of the lioness, and I told him to warn ponies that the blazing death was coming for them, if not for us gathered here, so that they might be encouraged to send their warriors to bolster our own.”

As Dark gaped, then understanding why Princess Luna had been so urgently called, Zehara continued, “But in all the days of my life, I would never have thought a goddess would come to save us.  All that we might give would not have sufficed to merit her voice, much less her being here, intending on fighting with us.”

“…Pr, Princess Luna would never leave somepony to a monster.” Dark said, shaking his head.  “And even if you just asked for help, we would have come to help.”

“…Truly?” Zehara asked, finding it difficult to believe.

“Y, yes!” Dark told her.  “Ponies don’t leave ponies, o, or zebra to die!”

Zehara cocked her head again, thoughtful.  After a moment, she softly said, “Perhaps I know less of ponies than I thought I did.”

“Perhaps.” Dark said, huffing a little.

“…I think I would like to talk to you more of pony and zebra.” Zehara said.

Dark opened his mouth to speak before a call of “Captain!” echoed through the area.

“Your goddess calls you.”

“Princess Luna.” Dark corrected once more, taking flight.  “She’s called Princess Luna.”

Zehara watched him go, thoughtful.  Dark was an odd sort, she felt, and she wanted to know more about the captain of a goddess; more about ponies.

Then she nodded, and went to speak with the warriors.





As night fell over the savanna, a soft wind blew, making the golden grasses wave, and rusting the few trees that grew in the dry plains.  It’s gentler whisper the sole sound in the savanna.

Tonight, the wind seemed to whisper, tonight is the night.  Prepare, be ready; it happens soon.

The zebra had found that wind worrisome.

The thirteen lions resting under a few trees not too far from the oasis found it exciting.  

A hunt was a hunt, but this would be an attack. A strike against the zebra.  Each of them felt thankful that they could be there; forgotten sons of dens and lions fallen from honor, finally given a chance to merit their own glory.  Here, they would face their foes, and here, they would merit their places.

A chance they thought would never come, but this time, the one they followed had allowed them to join her.

That lioness rested alone against a lone tree, atop a small hill in the land.  She was strong, and beautiful.  Her fur silken, a dark golden color that complimented her dark brown eyes.  Her claws were sharp, her body sculpted, and amongst the lions, none were faster, in body or mind.

She was what the zebra had named the blazing death.

Amongst lions, she was the burning lioness.

Her name was Casca.

The rest saw her relaxed, calm, but hidden within her, she had a terrible, frigid fear.  A fear that had come to her when she saw the shine over the oasis.

After a while, she got to her feet, and turned to the lion currently nearest to her.  He too, had followed her there, but not as the others had.

He was there to see what happened.

She went to him, and he lifted his head as she settled across from him.

“Sion, fifth son of Sion, the master of the Great Den, I wish to speak with you.” She told him, settling across from him.

“Always, it is granted you, Casca.” Sion said, surprised.  “What do you wish to speak to me of?”

Casca didn’t answer for a few moments.  Then she told him, “Of my mistake.”

“Your mistake?” Sion asked, wondering.  More so, as Casca looked at him and he saw the uncertain fear in her eyes.  “…Casca, I doubt my own eyes.  A great and glorious battle awaits, but yet you seem… uncertain.”

“…It is nothing glorious.” Casca murmured.

“I do not believe it.” Sion said, shaking his head.  “You are the burning lioness, the terror of all prey.  You are never afraid.”

“I am.” Casca told him.  “I am more than merely afraid.  My mistake has led me here and now I and those that follow me go to our deaths.”

“Casca, you cannot think such things.” Sion told her, firm.  “Your flames burn hot, your claws are sharp, and none are faster.  No matter if every zebra pretends at being a warrior, you will overcome them as easily as flame consumes the dry grass.”

Casca looked at him, and Sion paused.  After a few moments, he looked away, unable to keep looking.

She was certain.  As certain as the sun would rise in the morning, Casca was sure of her death.

He shuddered faintly, and weakly asked her, “H, how do you know?”

“I can feel it.” Casca told him softly.  “A power that dwarfs all things, coming from the prey’s camp.  A power that could shake the very savanna itself.”

“At long last, it has come for me, and I face judgement for my mistake.” Casca said, her voice quiet.  “Tonight, I face the end I was fated for a year past.”

“Tonight, I face the cycle’s wrath.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again, Sion gaped.

Casca was terrified.  Casca, the burning lioness.  Casca, the one who had growled at his father, the greatest lion amongst lions. The one who refused to be held or bound by any rule or custom.  The terror of prey, legend of lions.  Terrified.

“…C, Casca, you cannot run.” Sion said.

“I know.” she said, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, losing the terror in her, and adopting a sad, resigned expression.  “If I were to flee, it would follow me.  And if it were to find the dens…”

“All lionkind may face my judgement.”

“May my death appease it, and return it to the skies it came from.” Casca whispered.

“…All lionkind shall know of your sacrifice.” Sion said.

“It is no sacrifice.” Casca hissed at him, her eyes suddenly flashing in hate, her body starting to warm.  “This is judgment, Sion.  It is the price I pay for my grudge.  I shall not allow it to be thought of as anything else.”

“I, I understand.” Sion said, intimidated, Casca smoldering a little.  “But many would never believe it, Casca.  They would spit on me for saying such, and never believe that I, a mere fifth son, was told this by Casca.”

“They will.” Casca said, standing.  “Turn your head, Sion.” She told him, one paw alighting.

Sion did so, and then hissed as she scratched the side of his face, leaving three burnt lines.

“They shall see that, and none shall doubt you.” Casca told him, again laying down.

“A… great honor.” Sion said, doing his best to ignore it.  To do otherwise would be to show weakness; shame.

“I will now tell you of my mistake, that it may never happen again.” Casca told him.  “Listen closely, Sion.  Listen and learn of my past, the origin of my flames, and of the judgement I now face.”

“My blood be frozen shall I lie this night.”
> Chapter 2
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“We shalt have to face them when they come.  Go, and speak to Zehara, and learn what the zebra have learned and planned; cooperate with them, captain.”

“Yes, my Princess.”

Dark headed back down towards the oasis, given a mission.  Princess Luna had not found any sign of the blazing death nearby, which did put some doubt that she would come.

He hadn’t even landed again when he heard shouted, angry voices.  He startled, looking that way just as two zebra began fighting, the zebra nearby yelling abuse.

“Hey!” he started, before a far shaper “Cease!” sliced through the brawl and made it freeze.

The two zebra threw each other away as Zehara stomped over, the crowd going suddenly quiet.  “Is the fear of the burning lioness not enough to put aside this hate?” she asked the pair.  “Or has seeing the goddess’ light addled your minds into thinking that the rains are here to stay, and you can begin to worry about your neighbor’s tail?”

“…The short stripe,”

“I do not care!” she snapped.  “Stand as one and survive, or fight and die in the jaws of the blazing death!  You shame yourselves before the goddess, and your arrogance in thinking yourselves saved is sure to have her take back the grace we already do not deserve!  Am I understood!”

“Yes, water-speaker.” The two said, unnerved.

“Both of you go, and cool your heads in the water.” She told them.  “It may be the last drink you’ll have.”

They nodded and headed off, the other zebra starting to disperse.  Dark continued to watch for a few moments before heading to Zehara.

“Why are your warriors fighting?” Dark asked, though he had a nagging feeling he already knew.  Zehara looked at him, still frowning for a few moments before she spoke.

“A pony would not understand.”

“I think I would.” Dark said, frowning a little.

Zehara kept watching him for a few moments before she sighed.

“The short stripe and long stripe hate each other.” She told him.  “They both feel the other inferior, and themselves superior.  Both feel the other should respect them, and when they do not, fights break out.”

“…Short strip, long stripe…” Dark murmured, thinking.  “…Do they think they are better because of their stripes, Zehara?”

Zehara blinked, a touch surprised.  “Yes.” She told him, confirming Dark’s theory.  “In every way a zebra might have different stripes, there is a tribe, and each tribe feels that their pattern is the best pattern, and that the others are less so.  The hate between long and short is the lessor of many others in the savanna.”

“That’s… stupid.” Dark said, and Zehara shook her head, seeing Dark’s look of mild disgust and anger, and finding it normal; of course he didn’t understand.

“That is zebra.” She told him, and Dark frowned at her mild look of superiority. “It is our way to be this way.  As I told you, a pony would not understand.”

“The problem is that I do.” Dark muttered.

“Impossible.” Zehara huffed, shaking her head.

“…Look at my wings, Zehara, and tell me what I am.”

Zehara wondered, and looked at his wings as they stretched out.  The bat wings were leathery, sinewy, curved and shaped. She had not seen them on a pony before, but she knew them from bats, and she knew what he was.  Her hesitation was her pondering what his meaning was.

“…You are a pegasus.” She told him, unable to guess his meaning.

“Just like the short and long stripe are zebra.” He said, and Zehara hesitated.

“…I do not understand what you mean.” She said, wondering.

“A ‘proper’ pegasus has bird wings.” Dark told her.  “They have feathers.  I do not. They call my kind ‘batpony’, and most ponies don’t like batponies.  They see our wings and our fangs and they think of monsters and dark things and imagine us all villains.”

“It isn’t limited to just us though.” Dark sighed.  “Unicorns tend to be arrogant because they can cast spells while nopony else can.  Pegasi take pride in their ability to move clouds around and fly, and like looking down on those that can’t.  Earth ponies call them both arrogant and take pride in their own ‘humility’.”

“But they all hate batponies.” He finished, huffing.  “Ponies have their own ‘stripes’, Zehara, and I am all too familiar with what being different means.”

“So when I call the fight between stripes stupid, I mean it.” He said, glaring a little at her, Zehara with slightly wide eyes.  “I think I know exactly what is going through a zebra’s head when they see a zebra with different stripes:”

“Look at that.” he said, his tone accusatory, and angry.  “Somepony different than myself.  I am better, because I am normal, and they are worse because they are different.”

Zehara felt speechless as Dark finished, the stallion stomping in mild frustration.  She never knew much about ponies, but Dark not only surprised her with himself, he was now surprising her with how much he knew.

She never imagined that a pony would understand a zebra’s hate.

“…I am sorry.” She said, lowering her head.  “I should not have judged so quickly.”

“It’s fine.” Dark sighed. “I’m used to it.”

The two were silent a moment after, Dark a little unhappy and Zehara feeling a touch guilty.  Then she slowly spoke, “I… have a small home here, by the lake.” 

Dark looked at her, and saw her paw at the earth, a touch nervous, her head still lowered.  “If you… would accept, I have some fruit there; rare, from the jungle.  Would you like some?”

Dark hesitated, growing a touch nervous himself.  Zehara was still a little sad, and nervous, peering up at him almost worriedly, one hoof idly pawing at the earth.  Her eyes were striking, and he almost felt she was…

He stopped that line of thought.  He was on duty.

However, there was no harm in eating a treat while asking her questions about defense and lions, was there?

“I would enjoy that.” he said.  Zehara smiled a small smile, and began walking away, gesturing for him to follow.

Dark snapped out of it and did so.







Casca’s tale


My birth was nothing special.  I was the second daughter of a low male, with only one mate to his name.  No lion special in any way, save for that he was my father.  Soon after I was born, I had a younger brother, his first son.

The den I was born into was hungry, often.  It was rare that we had food; sometimes, a week or more would pass before we had a meal again.  It was no different than the rest of my den.  Little different than any other.

I can still recall the best day of my early life.  I was seven summers old when my sister had the great luck to find and catch a young zebra.  Because it was small, and that my sister had caught it herself, we were allowed to have it.

It was barely a colt, its muscles not yet grown.  I was allowed an entire leg, and my hunger was almost gone when I finished it, gnawing on the bone to get every last scrap of it.  It was the largest meal I had ever had.

It was early the next day when the watcher cried out; an odd cry that we had not heard before.  We went out to see, but we did not see rival lions, nor another threat we had known before.

Instead, there were zebra, but not zebra as I or the den had ever known them. They came in numbers, staying close together, wielding spears, stabbing at any lion who came close, each zebra protecting the one next to it.

The males fought them with ferocity, but none of them made it past the spears. One by one, they died, impaled upon them, the zebra acting together to ensure that no lion could reach them. 

I feared, watching, but not as I should have.  I thought the zebra were trying to take the den as their own, to claim us as theirs, as another den might take another.  I was upset, watching my father die, but not as upset as I should have been.

I thought they were acting as lions.

The males dead, they split into groups, several moving to guard any escape. The rest went towards the females, who watched, confused and worried.

When the first was run through, the rest growled, mothers readying themselves as the attackers came.

My mother threw me and my brother back into our home, and told my sister to hide us, and keep us safe.  She stood at the entrance, growling, and my sister watched her before turning to us, fearful.

My brother and I clung to each other, fearful and upset, and my sister pushed us into the very back of our home.  She quickly dug a small pit and pushed us within it before lightly covering us in dirt.

Then, her voice trembling, she told us, “Stay still and silent.”

“What’s happening?” I asked her, seeing my mother taking slow steps back, growling at something.

“Mother and I will keep you safe.” My sister told us.  “Just don’t move, and don’t make a sound.”

She smiled, and told us, “I love you both.”, before she turned to help mother.

Four zebra came, and my mother swiped at the nearest to have her paw impaled. My sister ran to help, but they stabbed her throat before she could arrive.

She leapt at them.

And one zebra held up his spear and impaled her along its length.  I could hear her gurgling in agony, and I saw her twitching on it.  I closed my eyes, no longer willing to watch, wishing that I couldn’t hear my sister’s weakening sounds.  I tried to stop myself from crying, my brother still and silent next to me.

I heard the zebra come in, and heard one them make a sick sound.  “…Guess we found him.”

“At least there’s something to bury.  But there are cubs here; look at the tiny prints.”

“Then look for them if you want to.  I don’t want to spend another moment in this blood-soaked pit.”

My heart thundered in my chest in fear as I heard them moving in the den. Hearing them searching for us, to kill us.

Just when I thought they might just have missed us and were leaving, I felt my brother shift.

I opened my eyes, and saw one zebra staring at us, peering in slight confusion.

I was never so scared.  I froze, and it felt like my heart had stopped.  He had found us.

That was when my brother darted forwards.

He was only four summers.  He was only just getting his teeth in.  He was a tiny cub.

And he was braver than I.  I watched what happened, my paws set over my mouth to stop me from making a sound, crying in silence.

I watched him attack the one who had found us, the one who had impaled my sister, tearing and ripping at his leg.  The zebra screamed, but managed to kick my brother off him, his wounded leg wobbling.

The other zebras hurried to help him.  My brother managed to dodge the first spear.

He did not dodge the second.

He screamed as it stabbed him, pinning his tiny form to the floor.  His tiny face contorted in agony is still so fresh in my mind.  I can still hear his dying scream.

I closed my eyes, shaking, my paws tightly over my head, trying to not make a sound.

“We have you.”

“That looks pretty bad.”

“If we are swift, perhaps the leg can be saved.  Quickly now!”

I heard them leave, but it was a long time until I dared to look again.

They were gone.  I was safe.

I got out of my hiding spot, and peered past my dead mother outside, just to be certain.  I did not see any zebra.  Only the dead lions of my den.

I sat down and wailed.

In a single day, I had lost everything.  Not one lion had been spared the zebra’s wrath.

My mother had died, trying to protect us.  My sister had died, trying to avenge her.  My brother, my tiny brother the cub, died to save my life.

And I had watched them die.  I saw their blood spill, heard their final cries, saw their agony as they perished.

I cried every tear I had that night.  I cried until the sun finally came up again, and its light fell upon the dead lions and blood all around me.

My tears dried then.  I could cry no more.

I was alone.  I was just a cub, barely starting to turn into a lioness.  I had my teeth and my claws and nothing else.

I had not yet learned how to hunt.  I had never been outside my den.

I didn’t know how I was going to survive without the den’s protection, without my mother to teach me.

But as the sun rose, I stood up.

I promised myself that I was going to survive.  I wasn't going to die.

I was going to survive on my own, with no lion there to help me.  I would survive, and if I could, thrive.

Not because of anything good.  Not because of anything I learned.

Because I was going to kill the zebra who had killed my brother.  And the one who had killed my sister, and the one who had killed my mother.  I would kill them all for what they did to me.

I would survive, and grow, and one day, I would look into the dying eyes of the killers of my family.  But I would not stop with just them.

They would all pay for the death of my den.  They were all going to die at my claws.  As they had killed my den, I would kill theirs.  From their males, to their females, to their children, I would kill every last one of them, and leave their corpses to rot in the sun like they had done to my den.

I would kill every last zebra I could find.
> Chapter 3
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zehara’s home was set right at the edge of the oasis. It was a simple place, made up of just two rooms, the smaller of the two her bedroom.  The other was the larger room, with a large flat rock in the center, sitting atop a rug of reeds, with a few pillows of leaves upon it.  Atop the rock were a few small clay bowls containing fruit, a large bowl with water, and two knives, one quite small.  The far side was an open balcony that looked out over the waters of the Deharan, the interior lit by curious hanging orbs of some kind, scattered at random across the round roof.

Zehara led Dark inside, and adjusted the pillows so as to allow herself to lie on some of them, facing the table.  She looked at the stallion, and after a moment, he followed suit.

Silently, she reached out to take a yellow-red fruit from a bowl.  She took the larger knife and cut into it, revealing a vivid yellow inside that seeped juices onto the stone.  She showed him it, and Dark was struck by the sweet scent it had, even as Zehara took it back, sliced it into two, and then took the smaller knife to cut out the seed in the center, and expertly peel the skin.

Dark watched her do so, a little fascinated by the action.  When Zehara finished, she passed him the oozing fruit, and he took it carefully, its sweet scent making his noise tingle, and his mouth water.  It felt soft in his hoof.

He bit into it, and a rush of juice and flavor had him almost startle before he delighted in it.

Zehara watched him with a small smile, and then asked him, “Do you enjoy it?”

“Very.” Dark answered.  “These things are better than any apple I ever bit.”

“They are called mango.” Zehara told him.  “They grow on trees within the jungle, and they are rare treats here, in the savanna.  Some collect the juice to give it to the water here at Deharan, to beseech that the rain might come soon.  Or they keep it, to coat the grasses they eat, to make them sweeter.”

“Is it farmed?” he asked.

Zehara paused, a touch confused.  “Farmed?” she asked.  “What does it mean for something to be farmed?”

Dark hesitated, before telling her, “Grown so it can be gotten easily. Instead of having to hunt for them in the jungle.”

“Ah.” Zehara said, understanding.  “Unfortunately, they seem only able to grow near the jungle rivers. I did try to have some take root here, but the saplings soon perished without the jungle’s blessing.”

“The jungle’s blessing?” Dark asked, wondering.

Zehara paused, before asking him, “Have you ever seen a jungle?”

“I’ve seen one before.”

“Then you have seen the fullness of life there.” Zehara said.  “The way the plants grow so tall and so thickly, and every leaf is a dark green or a vibrant color.  There is no place else upon the world where life is more powerful than within a jungle.  Within the jungle, all life is stronger; the plants grow taller and faster, the animals are larger, tougher, and the zebra are stronger, and healthier.”

“We call that the jungle’s blessing, and it is given freely to all that are a part of the jungle.” She told him.

Dark nodded, thoughtful.  Then he asked, “So, mangos won’t grow anywhere except the jungle?”

“Specifically near the rivers; where the blessing is stronger.” Zehara told him. “You said earlier that the mango was better than an apple; what is an apple?”

“An apple is a red fruit.” Dark told her.  “It grows on trees too, and it’s juicy, but not as juicy as this, and crunchy, instead of soft.  Apples are farmed a lot in Equestria.” He continued, finishing the mango.  “They’re the second most common food, right behind hay.”

“Equestria?” Zehara asked, and Dark paused.

“You never heard of it?” he asked, and she shook her head.  “But, it’s the biggest place on Equestria.  You had to have,”

“My apologies, but did you just say that Equestria is upon itself?” Zehara asked, and Dark paused.  “Did you mean to do so?”

“…This might be easier if I ask you what you call the savanna.” Dark said, thinking.

“It is the savanna.” Zehara said, confused.

“I mean its name.”

“The savanna.”

Dark hesitated again, and then tried, “What about the world?  What do you call the world?”

Zehara thought for a moment.  Then, she slowly said, “It depends.”

“It depends?  On what?”

“On where and who you are.” She told him.  “Here, in the savanna, some know the world as ‘all the earth’, but some zebra prefer to call it ‘the largest place’.  I’ve also heard of it referred to as ‘all land’, and once as just ‘home’.”

Dark stared at her for a few moments.  Then he told her, “Ponies call the world Equestria.  And the kingdom I come from is also called Equestria.”

“Why Equestria?” she asked him.  “And what is a kingdom?”

“…I… don’t really know, actually.” Dark admitted.  “It’s just named that.  A kingdom is a place ruled by at least one individual; Equestria has the twin Princesses.”

Zehara hummed, thoughtful, and then asked him, “Is the goddess here one of them?”

“Why do you keep calling her that?” Dark asked.  “She’s just Princess Luna.”

Zehara cocked her head at him.  “Is she not a goddess?” she asked, and Dark shook his head.

“She’s just a Princess, she and her sister.”

“…Yet, she stands taller than any other, speaks with a voice none can hope to have, and shines with power.” Zehara said, not convinced.  “Are you trying to tell me that ‘Princess Luna’ is a normal pony?”

Dark hesitated again.  “…Well, she isn’t.” he admitted.  “She’s an alicorn.”

“And what, precisely, is an alicorn?”

“An alicorn is…” Dark began, before hesitating.  “…A pony with both wings and a horn.  That… lives a long time.”

“How long?”

“…Maybe forever, but look, she really isn’t a goddess.” Dark said.

Zehara only watched him for a few moments.  And then asked him, “Do you think she will have any trouble with the blazing death?”

“Of course not.”

“Why not?”

“Nothing is stronger than Princess Luna.” Dark told her.  “I haven’t even seen her mane get messed up when she fights, and nothing can hurt her.”

“…Dark.” She said, and Dark wondered why she seemed slightly concerned for him. “I feel you might be in denial.”

“…And why would you think that?” he asked.

“You serve a being that cannot be hurt, is stronger than any other, lives forever, clearly projects divinity, and yet, you are determined to not know her as a goddess.” Zehara said.

Dark looked down and sighed before looking back at her.  “…If nothing else, I know Princess Luna will get mad at me if I call her a goddess.  So will Princess Celestia.”

“So, you do not think of them as goddesses because your goddesses will it?”

“…Can we talk about something else?” Dark asked, feeling terribly uncomfortable. “Like…” he thought for a moment before finally recalling that Princess Luna had asked him to do something.

Zehara noticed his wince before he asked her, “I want you to tell me what preparations you’ve made for the blazing death.”

Zehara didn’t answer for a few moments, and then she sighed.  “Very well.  Listen, and you shall know what I planned, and what we managed to do.”







Casca’s tale


I remained within my den for the first two years.  At first, I couldn’t hunt anything.  I was too clumsy and loud to catch the few things that entered the den. But as time passed, rats feasted upon the fallen, and they grew fat and lazy; too fat and lazy to escape even my pitiful attempts to catch them.

I remember the shame I felt, eating the first one.  I knew it was fat because it had been eating a lion, but I had no choice. I merely hated the zebra more, and more still as eating the rats was making me satisfied with each passing day.

I hated that I felt full when my den had always been so hungry.

One of the first things I did once I was stronger was to bury my family before the rats got them.  Then I kept hunting rats, and tried to get better at hunting.

And slowly, I did.  I learned how to stalk, and day by day, I grew more able to pounce and surprise my prey. I practiced chasing the fastest rats, trying to follow their darting paths, so I could get even more agile.  I stalked the birds that eat rot, seeing how close I could get before their keen eyes spotted me, and they took back into the air.

I became fast, agile, and silent.  Able to chase and get the swiftest of rats.  Able to get so close that I could catch one of the rot eaters before it could get too high up.  Walk so silently that a rat wouldn’t even realize I was there until my shadow fell over it.

But they soon began to run out of their food, and I began to find fewer and smaller rats.  Yet, even as my den was reduced to bones, I remained, scouring the rocks and dust for any stray rat or lizard.

The den was my home, and I knew nothing beyond it.

I went from fullness to a familiar hunger, no longer able to find much, but there was always something.  A small mouse, rushing through the dust, a lizard crawling on the rocks, the odd bird landing nearby.

But as I turned nine summers, I heard it.

The laugh of a hyena.

My mother had told me about the creatures, and my father had warned me and my siblings about them often.

I didn’t bother looking, and ran, terrified.  I made it all the way to the den’s exit, and then looked back, unable to withhold my curiosity.

That was when I saw my first hyena.  A pack of twenty or more, snuffling around the remains of my den, jaws open and drooling, giggling at nothing as they went for the scattered bones. Each with mattered, stained fur, disgusting, even from a distance.

I gaped, seeing them fight each other for the dry bones.  They wounded each other, and the weakest were forced away, dripping blood, as the stronger ate the bones.  Some went to find other bones, but others remained nearby, so they could fight over the shards that flew their way.

But as I stared, one of them, the smallest, turned and looked at me.

It ran without a sound towards me, and I stared at it, seeing it rushing at me. I realized it was too close for me to run, and as it came to me, tried to pounce on it.

Which was the only thing that saved me, since it dove as I pounced, trying to get under me.  If I had tried to bite or claw it, it would probably have had my throat.

I landed, and it turned to bite my hind leg.  I managed to not scream, and turned to attack it, to get it to let go.

I ripped at it, biting its head, but it wouldn’t let go of my leg, chewing even as I thought it had to be dead soon.  In desperation, I ripped one of its legs off, and that was finally enough to have its bite stop.

It gave a single loud yip as it fell, dying.

I heard more yips, and then laughter.  I ran, and heard the others following me.

They would have had me, if not for their madness.  The fastest of them stopped to eat their fallen kin, and the rest stopped so they could fight over it, screaming and yipping and laughing as they fought each other for a chance.

I managed to make it into the tall grass before some of them decided to keep chasing me.

For four days, I kept going, bleeding a clear trail that they followed. My wound slowly got worse with use and exposure, but I had no time to tend to it; I barely had time to sleep.  Each day, I could hear their laughter behind me.

I grew weaker and weaker until I collapsed on the fifth day.  I laid there for some time, my leg burning, thinking I was doomed.  Food for the hyena.

But then I remembered the zebra.  I relived my family’s death.  I felt hate fill me, and I got back up.  I turned to see the first find me.

It grinned madly, and I lashed out and tore its face off.  It yipped, blinded, and I heard the others.  I growled as they came, and tore the first’s throat out, hearing it gurgle as it dropped.

A second rushed forwards right over it, jaws wide.  I turned, and had it bite by shoulder, and sank my jaws into its throat as well, ripping it open.  It dropped as well, gurgling, and I heard the rest laughing.

I ran anew, knowing I couldn’t handle more.  I was weak still, still hurt; I couldn’t run for long.  But I ran as fast and as hard as I could, knowing it was likely useless, but not wanting to die.

I suddenly burst out of the grass, and saw my first pond before I ran headlong into something.

I fell, and looked up at what I had run into.  And up, and up some more, to stare.

I had run into a creature four times the size of the largest lion.  With dark, thick skin, a thick, boney plate on its forehead that jutted out into two sharp points that looked as sharp as any spear head. It stood on four legs ending in hooves, and just by looking, I could see the strength it had.  It looked like it could crush a boulder with ease.



“What creature was that?” Sion interrupted, confused.  “I have never heard tell of such a thing before.”

“I do not truly know.” Casca answered.  “I called them the Strength.  They saved my life.”

“What?”

“Listen, and be silent.”



It was not alone.  Many more were by and in the pond, the smallest of which was the size of a young lion.

Moments after, I heard the hyenas, and I turned to see them exit the grass, and pause in place, panting and giggling.

Even as I wondered why they had stopped, the one I had run into moved a hoof and pushed me behind it.  I startled, and another moved to stand over me as several of them charged the hyenas, snorting.

They hyenas yipped and ran, darting, but they couldn’t hurt the strength.  The monsters bit and nipped, but the strength didn’t bleed, didn’t flinch.  They kicked with such power that I heard bones crack, and if a hyena bit and held on, another would use its sharp points to stab it, and then throw it up into the air before it fell back down.

One stepped on one that still moved after that, and its hoof didn’t even slow down.

And then I saw the hyena, the insane, fearless monsters, turn and flee into the grass, screaming in fear.

I gaped, shaking, and another pushed at me with its head.  I didn’t know what to think, but I couldn’t much resist it as it pushed me to the water.  Once I was within, they washed me; strength unparalleled used with the gentlest of touches.

I hissed as they washed my shoulder, and then cried when they did the same to my leg.  Then that pain faded, and I discovered that some sort of green stuff was on it, and the pain was going away.  I watched as another strength then wrapped it in plant, somehow keeping it firm against me.

And then they just… let me be.  I was amongst them, but they didn’t seem to care that I was there. The smaller ones even seemed curious.

I couldn’t move easily for a few days, but the strength… fed me.  The smaller ones drove mice and rats towards me, and sometimes kicked over dead ones for me to eat.  Each past day, a strength would remove the plant on my leg, dip me in the water, spit some green stuff onto it again, and rewrap it.

A few days later, and I was not only moving again, but my hind leg was healing very well.

A few days after that, the strength organized themselves, and began to leave.

I went with them.

The time I spent with them is… difficult to describe.  Each step made me recall the stomped hyena, and I quickly took to staying atop them, to avoid their deadly hooves.  They walked slowly and always, only stopping to rest, the children in the middle of the group.  I hunted around them, catching whatever I could catch.

They were almost silent; the only sounds they ever made were snorts and huffs, and nothing else.  I tried to speak with them, but they either never understood, or chose to never respond; I don’t know.  I stopped trying after the first few days.

The strength kept walking; even into the territory of the hyenas.  I saw more of the monsters than I could ever count, their lands a waste of bones and desolate rocks, but they feared the strength.  And any who did not were killed by them.

And then we were beyond it.  And I saw things I still do not truly know.

A hooved creature taller than the tallest tree, nibbling on the highest of leaves.  It had black spots across its thin body, and two tiny horns on its head that had no point.

Zebra like prey with golden fur, seemingly impossibly thin, with two giant horns rising high from their head, leaping so high they appeared to fly.  I tried many times to get one, but never could. I stopped trying, after one almost impaled me on those same horns.

Giant birds that ran on two giant legs, never flying.  I managed to take some of them down, and another time, I saw one sitting atop large, smooth stones for some reason.

Monsters lived in the water and threatened the children of the strength. One took one of them; another almost took me.

A number of tall, strange rocks covered in holes, with tiny little things moving over them.  Around them we found small hooved animals with two curling teeth coming out of the sides of their jaws.  They were strong and tough, with sharp fur, but they were fat and filling.

Other herds of strength, wandering in their own ways.

But none were so memorable as the things that dwarfed even the strength. They stood so high they appeared to be mountains.  Their skin was rocky and grey, and they stomped on four giant legs that didn’t end in hooves nor paws; as if the leg just stopped.  I can’t even describe their faces; only that they had two giant fangs jutting out at all times, half the length of a lion.  They had the loudest cry I ever heard; we had heard them for days, and when we finally saw them, the sound was so loud that I couldn’t hear myself screaming, feeling the very earth shuddering under their heavy steps.

We wandered for almost six years in that place, until, at last, we returned to the hyenas.  As we walked through their lands once more, I found the time I had spent beyond dreamlike. As if, for a long time, I had simply let myself be, not speaking, not even thinking, and it was only when I heard the laugh of the hyenas that my mind returned to me.

The strength went past them once again, and as I had first found them, they stopped by a small pond.  The same small pond, as I was able to see my den from their backs, in the distance.

Again, they spent a few days there.  Then, they again ordered themselves.  But as I moved, the largest, the one I had bumped into originally, the one whose back I had taken to staying atop, pointed away.

I didn’t understand what he meant.  I walked towards him, and he pushed me back.  I tried again, and he did so harder, tossing me slightly.

I got back up, and saw them leaving.  I ran after them, and again and again, I was pushed away.  They didn’t hurt me, but their message was very clear:

‘You are no longer welcome.’

I didn’t accept it, and kept trying, and trying, and trying.  Until one almost killed me with a stomp.

I watched them leave.  Off to wherever they were going to go to again, heading to places I didn’t and still don’t know.

I never again met the strength.

At the time, I was hurt.  Even fifteen summers old, a young lioness, I felt like I might cry, watching their lumbering shapes slowly disappearing.  I felt like I had been thrown away, and I didn’t understand why.

It was much later that I finally understood.  As big and strong and tough as the strength are, they are prey, and I was lion.  They ate plants, and I did not.  They had spared and accepted a hurt and desperate cub, but they could never accept a lion amongst them.

But then, I didn’t understand that.  Amongst the strength had almost been as if I had found a den again.  They weren’t lions, but I had considered them my kin.

I thought they had abandoned me.  The only family I ever knew had been killed before my eyes, my den killed to the last, and now the second had rejected me.  It seemed as if I truly had nothing…

Nothing except my hate.

Sitting there, my sorrow turned to anger.  The hate that had filled my young heart so long ago was reborn, and I hated.  I hated the zebra with all I had.  I hated the strength, not in the same way, but I did. I accepted that hate with all eagerness, anger washing away my sorrow, my pain.

I was angrier than I’d ever been, trembling in rage.  My heart beat in rage and anger lived in my flesh.  It was hot.  Hotter, and hotter, and hotter.

Then I heard them.

The sounds of zebra, behind me, near the pond.

In an instant, I knew.

It was their fault.

The zebra had taken my first den from me, and now, they had taken my second. They were why I was alone twice over.

I turned, and stalked back to the lake, carefully, silently.  What I felt was a hate beyond mere words.  But perhaps it could be described like this:

I felt like a raging sun was within me, and I and it were smiling as I went.

I was singing the grass that brushed against my sides.
> Chapter 4
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dark was in the air, thinking.  Zehara had told him what she had planned to do, and it sounded pretty good.

Her plan had the area cleared of grass for about thirty feet beyond the zebra encampment.  A little into that was a ditch, with a high dirt side.  Wooden stakes go into the high dirt side, and then a little beyond it, where they couldn’t be seen from the far side.  Water would be ready in buckets nearby, just in case something or somepony was aflame and needed to be quickly doused.

The zebra had a plant of some sort that was heat resistant; it was not proof against the blazing death, but it would ensure that any stray blasts of fire were unlikely to seriously harm somepony, and ensure that manes and tails wouldn’t catch fire.

That was all great stuff to hear.

Then Zehara had told him she had half the warriors she wanted, and had only managed to get the grass cleared and the ditch dug.  Some stakes were set up; some.

And the flame retardant was running low, hence the water buckets.

Otherwise, the spears were of low quality; made of copper at best, and flint otherwise.  Their wood was reinforced, to help it endure the flames for a little longer than normal, and the plan was to try to stab the lioness when she wasn't moving much.

Which meant when she was killing somepony.

Since she tended to move to a new target in a couple of seconds at the longest, wild strikes were the only real option.  The warriors were scattered, to minimize the danger of the flames, and do their best to stab when the lioness grabbed whoever was next to them.

Which had Dark imagining a line of zebra all stabbing each other in turn as a burning lion jumped from one to the next like the most darkly hilarious comedy sketch ever.

Zehara’s biggest worry was that, if her warriors broke, it would turn into a panic and then everypony was dead.  A worry not much helped by the night wind, which was blowing cut grass back into the area; it wouldn’t burn long, but it would burn.  

It was worrisome stuff, even with Princess Luna.  He didn’t doubt his princess could defeat the blazing death, but Luna would do her best to spare any zebra or pony.

Which may mean she wouldn’t get to attack at all until the blazing death had really cut down on the number of possible victims.

He was outside, trying to guess what would be most effective; how he could arrange his men so as to minimize casualties, and to get the blazing death in Luna’s aim as soon as possible.

It seemed impossible.

“Captain.”

He turned as Luna flew near him and saluted.  “My Princess.”

“How goes preparation?” she asked him.

“…Poorly, I’m afraid.” He sighed.  “I can’t get a good idea where the blazing death will come from, the zebra fortifications are barely fit to hold off an angry pig, and every other sentence starts with ‘if it goes well’.”

Luna nodded, frowning a little.  “We see. Well, we bring thee bad news, captain. The death is not alone.  We feel certain that she comes with many lions besides herself.”

“… Princess, I’m starting to think this might end up being a massacre.” 

“Then allow us, captain.” Luna said.  As Dark turned to her, she began, “Have half the troop scatter with the zebra, flying overhead.  If at all possible, they are to strike the death away from her chosen target with a single hit before retreating before retaliation can occur.  The strongest fliers are to manage the smoke that may occur and attempt to combat the flames.  During the battle, we shall keep the zebra from panicking, and take any opportunity we see to strike.  We feel that the blazing death may only be ended by our power; all attacks against it are to stun it and then scatter so as to allow us a chance.”

“We will undoubtably see losses amongst the zebra.” she continued.  “We find this acceptable, as they are warriors given to defend their home, ready to perish in the defense of their land, but all efforts should be made to ensure that as few of them perish as possible. Under no circumstances is one of ours to sacrifice themselves for a zebra; we will require all hooves to pin down the blazing death at some point, and any loss on our part will make that task more difficult.”

“We feel the battle shall begin come the darkest of night.” Luna finished. “We doubt the blazing death will have patience enough to allow the morning to dawn, and lions find the dark easy hunting.  Our preparations shall be to illuminate the camp better, so that no gloom is there for a lion to hide within.”

Dark saluted again.  Then he said, “Perhaps we could prevent lion attacks against the zebra, my Princess?”

“Explain, captain.” Luna said.

“Our armor should be more than proof against claws or teeth, my Princess.” Dark told her.  “If we were to intercept a lion’s pounce, we could momentarily prevent it from harming somepony, and allow the zebra a great chance to kill it at the same time.  It isn’t perfectly safe, but I don’t see one of us getting seriously hurt, and we are sure to save some zebra in the process.”

“An excellent idea, captain.” Luna said, approving.  “We find it most agreeable.”

“Can’t let the troop get lazy.” Dark said, chuckling a little.

“See it done, captain.” Luna said.  “And see to it that the zebra know of our plans as well; ensure their full cooperation with our force.”

“I will, my Princess!” he said, saluting her a final time.  “The wisdom of the moon to guide us this dark night!”

Luna smiled as he left.

“We art proud of thee, our captain, Dark Flight.” she whispered, ascending once more to look out over the darkening savanna as Dark relayed her orders.







It was rather to Dark’s relief that the zebra seemed to have already planned for a night fight.  It would have been a lot harder if most of them had gone to sleep, but it seemed they were all still awake and intent on continuing to be so.

A fair few of them were fairly worn, having been on constant guard the past few days, but Zehara was out and currently whipping them into shape, he noticed.

She was a striking zebra, he felt.  Lots of sides to her.

Her voice cracked like a whip right now, but she had spoken as soft and gentle as a flowing stream when she had told him about mangos.  And she was in charge here, trying to organize everything and having to do with half of what she felt necessary.  She had quite the will to keep being strong in the face of that, and quite the wit she had shown him when they had talked earlier.

And though she was strong minded, she wasn't stubborn or hard headed.  When he had shown he understood the zebra’s fight, she had accepted it and apologized immediately, when many, Dark felt, would not have.

She’d given him that mango as well.

She turned, and saw him, Dark hesitating as she looked up at him. After a moment, he flew down to her, and asked, “How goes preparations?”

“As well as can be expected.” Zehara told him.  “There is nothing else that can be done, now.”  Dark nodded, and Zehara asked, “And your own?”

“…Done.” Dark said.

“…Then, perhaps we can speak more?” Zehara asked, and Dark smiled.

“I think so.” He said, and liked how Zehara smiled back.

“I’ve another mango in my home.” She told him, walking past, which only got Dark excited.  “We have some time, I know; the lions will not hunt until some time after the last sight of the sun has passed.”

Dark followed her.







“I have been wondering about your princesses.” Zehara said as the pair reentered her home.

“What about them?”

“Why did they come?” Zehara asked, Dark hesitating.  She settled down next to the rock, and clarified, “Did they descend from the skies to meet a threat the same or worse as the blazing death?”

“I… don’t know.” Dark said, thinking as he settled down as well.  “They’ve been the princesses for a really long time.”

“How long?”

“At least two thousand years, I think.” Dark said, and Zehara blinked.

“…Truly, ponies are blessed.” She murmured.  “To have twin goddesses grace them for so long.  I would imagine Equestria a paradise of verdant grass and plentiful, gentle rain, a land that never knows hunger nor frailness, if it be their claimed home.”

Dark hesitated.  The way Zehara said it sounded odd, but at the same time, mostly correct.  But he did his best to ignore that, and instead asked, “…Are there… other goddesses?”, wondering if the zebra had an alicorn equivalent or something.

“Of a sort.” Zehara answered.  “But unlike you, we do not have names for them.”

“Oh?”

“Here, the Deharan is ancient; older than any zebra knows, and its water never leaves.  It is ‘home of water’, and remember, I told you that we give the juice of fruit to its waters, so that the rain might come again?”

Dark nodded, and Zehara told him, “The water of the oasis is not what we beseech with those gifts, captain.  We know not her name, but we know that, living in the water, there is a goddess of the same.  Some zebra are so reverent that they dare not step upon the grass of the Deharan.”

“I am water-speaker, but that is not a title as your own may be.” She continued. “My requests were heard more readily than others, and it was determined that I was chosen by the waters to be their speaker; thus, I home here, by the Deharan, to guide the zebra who come to request rain.”

“…Does it always work?” he asked.

“Always, no.” Zehara told him.  “But the water does appear to hold my voice in high regard; my requests are not often refused.  I feel that is because I request rarely; like a parent, even a goddess surely grows tired of hearing constant requests, but delights to have one that asks only when needed, and not so often.”

Dark again hesitated, finding that sort of familiar; Luna got fatigued if ponies constantly called her to deal with things they could handle themselves, though she never refused a call for help.

“Earlier, you told me of batponies.” Zehara said after a moment as Dark wondered, catching his attention again.  “How other ponies all hate them, yes?”

“…More or less.”

“I have also noticed that all the chosen of your princess are batponies.” Zehara said. “Why is that so?”

Dark paused, and then said, “Because we aren’t afraid of her.”

“Why would other ponies be afraid?”

“…It’s… complicated.” Dark said, and Zehara noted the clear tension in him. “Princess Luna is… she’s the alicorn of night, like her sister, princess Celestia, is the alicorn of the day.”

Zehara nodded, and waited until Dark continued, “It’s princess Luna that goes out to defend ponies, most often.  Like now, when some monster or threat come out, it’s her that goes out to end it.”

“A warrior god… princess?” Zehara asked, correcting herself.

“Something like that.”

“…Amongst zebra, warriors are respected.  Is that not true amongst pony?”

“…Not really.” Dark sighed.  “Princess Luna… she… sometimes scares ponies when they see her fighting.”

“Oh?”

“Remember how I said she never refuses a call for help?” Dark asked, and Zehara nodded.  “Well, part of what Luna saves ponies from are nightmares; bad dreams.  But there’s so many nightmares, she can’t often spare the time to do much more than defeat it and move on.”

“I can imagine…” Zehara murmured, shocked.

“And… well, batponies are sometimes said to be ‘of the night’, if that helps you understand better.”

“…Ponies cannot be so thoughtless.”

“Well, they are, sometimes.” Dark bluntly sighed.  “Some ponies see Luna and see the night; when they have nightmares, when the monsters like to come out.  Lots of ponies are afraid of the dark; and because of that, they are afraid of Luna too, and her fighting to help them somehow only makes it worse. Like they know what she can do and somehow think she might do it to them.”

“…And batponies?” Zehara asked, watching Dark, and noting his clear tension, with notes of anger mostly hidden.

“…We know better.” Dark said.  “Other ponies remember the nightmare; we remember our savior.  They are afraid of the dark; we aren’t.  They aren’t fighters; we are.”

“And thus, she chooses you?”

“If anypony else ever came to her, she’d happily accept them.” Dark snapped. “But nopony else ever does; in the ten years I’ve been a part of her guard, it’s always just been us: the batponies.”

“…Truly, you are loyal.” Zehara said, Dark hesitating.  “Your anger is for her, and not yourself.”

“…”  Dark sighed. “…She does her best, you know. She speaks softly, she declares her intention, she never, ever lies, and she never leaves anypony behind.  But it never works.  Ever.  It seems each year, more ponies startle when they see her, more ponies try to avoid her, even as they ask for her help.  This time around, I actually found a pinned note on the door, telling her about your blazing death, instead of an actual pony requesting help.  It’s sickening.”

“…I too, would be enraged, if a zebra would be so dismissive of the Deharan.” Zehara slowly said.  “But I feel that your own anger is the greater, for you know her name, see her face, and know her actions, where I but know the water goddess’ grace.”

Dark only watched her as she gently took another mango from the bowl, and began preparing it.

“…When I was but a filly, I feared the night.” Zehara told him as she prepared the fruit, Dark watching her do so intently.  “My tribe lived close to a lion den, and it was often that the day would find a warrior hurt, or taken.”

“Why would you stay close?” Dark asked, unable to take his eyes off the fruit, and watching its juices dripping.

“We were proud.” Zehra told him.  “The strongest tribe, the largest tribe.  The land there was prosperous, but always avoided because of the lions, until we had come to make it our own, in the face of the predator.  We dared the lions, and though they struck, they did not break us.”

She finished the fruit, and passed Dark the same, who took it carefully, trying to hide eagerness.  As he ate, delighting again in the sweet fruit, she continued, “My father commanded the warriors, and time and time again, no lion ever took those not given to defend the tribe.  Until, one day, it happened.”

“A mother and colt were out, gathering grass, when a young lioness, small enough to hide when a grown one would be seen, came and took the child. He was gone in seconds, the lioness fleeing with him screaming in her jaws back to her home.”

Dark startled.

“It was enough, the tribe decided.  For how long would we tolerate the lions, when we were the strongest, when we were the most numerous?  So, it was decided; we would destroy the lion den.  My father mustered the warriors together, and they went in tight groups, wielding spears and shields made of thick wood, towards the tall rocks.”

“A good choice.” Dark remarked, a little shaken still, but finding that idea a good one.

“It was.” Zehara said.  “Every lion was killed then, and they discovered what was left of the colt who had been taken; bones, but bones to have to sooth a wounded mother’s heart. The sole one injured was my own father; his leg attacked by a lion cub.  He kept the leg, but limped ever since.”

“…You, you said that your family was burned by the blazing death, didn’t you?” Dark asked, and she nodded.  “W, when did that happen?”

“Eight years later.” Zehra told him.  “When we had long since dominated that land and come to be known amongst the whole of the savanna; the sole tribe that never wandered.  We were proud, and strong, and many; but a few days before she came, my father grew nervous.  He said he felt something was coming, and seemed to doubt that anything could be done. He warned me that, if anything happened to him, I had to run as fast as I could, and not look back.”

“We were the first to meet the blazing death; my father woke that morning from a nightmare, and it came true.  We all heard screaming, and saw one of us returning from gathering water, panicked, a lioness chasing him.  The warriors ran to help, but they were met by a wave of fire.”

“In an instant, the blazing death had broken our warriors; I saw her bite my father’s legs, and leave him, crippled on the ground as she killed the rest in moments.  Shocked, we all stared, unable to comprehend what we were seeing, and watched her run a blazing trail around us all.  And then she came, and began to slaughter, and we were trapped by the raging flames she had left.  My mother threw herself in front of me, and saved me from burning alive, dying in my place.”

“I ran to my father, and he told me to run, far, and fast, and not to look back. His gaze showed me where the fire was weakest, and I fled through it, even as I heard the screams behind me.  I escaped that day, burned, but alive.”

“The rest of my tribe died that day, killed to the very last by the blazing death.” Zehara finished.  “That day, I ceased fearing the night, and instead, began to fear the fire I had seen destroy my tribe.”

Dark only gaped, stunned.  “…W, what then?” he asked, shaking himself.  “Where did you go?”

“I ran to the nearest tribe I knew, and I warned them about the blazing death.” Zehara told him.  “They did not believe me, not until the flames came for them as well.  Time and time again, I have run, and time and time again, I have seen the blazing death claim yet more zebra.”

“When I finally came to the Deharan a half-year ago, I thought my nightmare was over, at least until survivors began to come here, to the home of water. I thought to use my position and this place to unite the zebra, and kill the blazing death, but I did not receive what I needed.  And I fear I know why.”

“…Why?” Dark asked as Zehra didn’t continue, looking down.

“…The fire consumed all my tribe.” Zehra said.  “All save me; and ever since, the fire has always come for me again. The blazing death has never been far behind me, and now, the flames come even to here, the home of water.”

“And I fear they come for me.” Zehra said, taking a slightly shuddering breath, keeping her head down.  “Perhaps the tribes did not listen because it is fated that I am to be taken by the flames that took my family and tribe.”

“Th, that can’t be true.” Dark said.  “And, and it won’t be.  We’re here; princess Luna is here.” he added, heading to her, worried.

Zehara looked at him, and he saw the odd fear in her eyes; the odd acceptance of the same.

“…Trust in the princess.” Dark told her.  “She’ll save you; she’ll save everypony.”

“…And if the goddess of the Deharan awaits my ashes, to bring the rain back?” Zehara asked.

“Then Princess Luna will make her see reason.” He said, and she gained a small smile.

“…Perhaps ponies fear the night, and those of it.” Zehara softly said.  “But I have found peace in the darkness.  And now, I find peace, both in your princess, and now in you… ‘of the night’, suits you quite well, Dark Flight.”

Dark blinked, before looking a little away, blushing a little.  It was strange to hear what had always been an insult redone as compliment, but he liked it.  A lot.

“…I will have faith in the night.” Zehra told him, reaching out to hold his hoof, making Dark startle a little, but he didn’t pull away.  “And now, I ask you in particular:”

“Please, spare us the flames.”

“…I will.” He told her, shifting to grab her hoof in turn.  “On the moon, I swear that not even a single ember will touch you, Zehara.”

Zehara smiled.  She gently pulled at Dark’s hoof, and he didn’t resist.







Casca’s tale

I found three zebra by the lake; the young males, gathering water.  They laughed with one another suggesting stupid things that would explain the remnants that the strength had left behind.

Seeing them, my hate flashed ever hotter, and, suddenly, the grass at my sides started burning.  It crackled, and they stopped, and looked.

I pounced at the nearest, seeing his shocked face, even as flames overtook me. I tore him apart, even as he burned, and once he was dead under me, I looked at the other two, frozen in shock, as flames covered me.

I charged, and one dove into the lake, while the other ran around it.  I leapt into the lake after that one, and the water hissed around me as I grabbed him, and killed him.  I dragged him out, and spotted the other’s trail, leading away, as my flames dimmed and doused. 

I could, easily, chase and catch him, but I held myself back, and ate what I could of the prey I had.  Then I began following him, sure that he would lead me right to more zebra.  He left a clear trail, and I even found him, collapsed in the grass, before too long.  I had to scare him to keep going, and before too long, he finally started screaming for help as we came to the end of the tall grass.

I saw a huge herd of zebra as I came out with him, and spotted them coming towards me, ready to fight.  But I didn’t care.

The one in the lead had an old, scarred leg, and I recognized him.

I screamed, feeling as if my anger was impossible to even express, and a wave of fire came from me and washed over them.  A second later, and I was amongst their burning forms, slashing and biting in a frenzy of utter hate.  But the one with the leg, I didn’t kill then.

Instead, I crushed his legs in my jaws, and then ran as fast as I could around the herd, ringing them in my fire.  Once that was done, I came in, and began killing them.  They tried to run, but they didn’t dare the fire I had set, even if I was coming for them.  Zebra after zebra, I killed and killed and killed, until, finally, I could find no more living zebra.

Then I went back to the one I had crippled, intent on finishing it, and hesitated.  He was smiling.  And I couldn’t stand it.

So I broke the oldest tradition, and I spoke to him.



“W, what?” Sion asked, shocked.  “You, you spoke to the prey?”

“A zebra lay dying amongst my flames had a secret.” Casa said, shrugging.  “I couldn’t stand it.”

“…What did you say?”

“I was curious.  So I asked: Why are you smiling?”



He startled, and stared at me in shock.  Then he chuckled, and spoke, asking me, “You speak, thing of fire and hate?”

“I do.” I told him.  “Why do you smile?” I asked again.

“Because it is done.” He told me.  “It is over.”

I understood what he meant, and hissed.  I placed my claws on his neck, and hated that he didn’t flinch, even when I drew blood.  He simply watched me, not the faintest indication of fear in his eyes or body.

“I have not even begun to hunt.” I told him.  “The sins of zebra will be paid for by their blood.”

He blinked, and then he whispered, “You are of that den.  The one we killed.”

I hesitated, wondering and he continued, telling me, “I knew this would come. I’d known it for days, but perhaps ever since then, I’d always known that this would come.  And now, here you are: the vengeance of the cycle we tried to break.”

“…What?”

“We thought that we were more.  That we were strong enough to decide our fates.  We broke the tradition, and we tried to subdue the cycle.  We killed the lions, and felt ourself strong, and safe, but you have come, to remind us of humility, and take the price we incurred in our arrogance.  You are the weapon of the cycle.”

“I am so much more!” I roared at him, angry.  “I am the death of all zebra, not just your herd!  You lie broken and burned under me, and you dare to say you know what I am!”

He laughed.  He actually laughed, and I stopped, shocked.  Then he smiled at me.

“It’s done.  The sin is paid for.  With our lives and blood, it has been set right.  The cycle is complete; we killed the lion, acting outside what we were. You then killed us, filled with flames outside of what you are.  It is done, and now, you have no more purpose; look, even now, the fires fade, and you turn to ashes.”

He was right.  I felt nothing, but I saw myself starting to blacken, starting to burn away.  I was growing tired, my hate was dimming along with the fires on me.

“So I die, knowing it is done.” He said happily.  “I die seeing my child escape.  I die knowing that the cycle is complete once again, and all is right once more.”

“This, this is not done!” I screamed, angry, but I could not make it stop. “I am not done!”

“But you are.” He murmured.  “So the cycle decrees.  Its wrath is spent, its tools ready to be set aside.  Rage, calm, scream, cry, it does not matter.  It is done, and we die together.”

I stared at him, smoldering.  For a few seconds, I felt… complete.  I remembered my den, I remembered my family, and for just a moment I felt… that I had avenged them.

But I somehow denied that, and forced myself to anger.  “No…no, no, no!” I yelled, my flames starting to grow again, my form starting to recover.  “I am not done!  Not until I see each and every last zebra dead!” I yelled at him.  “My home is worth more than your herd!  My family is worth more than your herd!”

He watched my rage with sad eyes.  I think that… he understood me, somehow.  But as my flames grew stronger, and my body recovered, sorrow turned to worry.

“Learn the lesson you taught, burning lioness.” He said.  “To break the cycle is to invite its wrath.  Such was true for us… so too, is it true for you. Let this end, let it finish, I beg of you.  For your sake, for the sake of lions, stop now, and let it end, before you begin a new cycle!  Will you see lion destroyed as we have been?  Surely, you have care in you yet…”

I watched him as he begged me to stop.  He was afraid, but not of me.

He feared for me.

And I didn’t understand.

“I, I might help bring you to peace, in these final moments.” He said, smiling at me, seeing me watching him calmly.  “Lion and zebra, we may lie together, and together, pass into the verdant fields beyond.”

“…I hate you.” I told him, but I lacked the fire from before.  Somehow, right then, I didn’t really hate him.  My hate had died, but I held its corpse with all I had, and struggled to reignite it.

“I know.” he told me.  “Please, stay here.  Let it end, please.  You do not deserve the fate you brought upon us, not yet.  But if you continue to burn, you will one day face judgement, and nothing will stop it.  Calm your heart, let yourself turn to ashes.  You will feed the land, as we all do.  One day, this will come again, and the zebra will run in these grasses and the lion will hunt them.  But it will never come to be, if you do not let it end.”

“…I hated you.  For so long… It’s all I am.” I whispered, closing my eyes, seeing my reasons again. They didn’t seem to matter anymore. I couldn’t feel angry about them, anymore.

“Feel it.” he told me.  “Your hate is gone now, is it not?  The cycle closes, and you have a chance to accept it, and find peace now.”

“…I will prove you wrong.” I told him, forcing myself to hate anew. Fighting to enrage myself again, remembering my family’s deaths, how I ate rats fat on lion, how the strength had left me.

And my flames slowly ceased growing dimmer.

“Our deaths and your fire prove me right.”

“I will not accept it.  Your ‘cycle’ has no hold on me.” I told him, my hate slowly reviving; different than it first started.

I was now in control of it.

“Arrogance led to our fall, and it will surely lead to your own…”

“I will shatter your ‘cycle’.” I told him.  “I will deny nature, and end the zebra.  I deny this end.  I deny this path.  I will continue to burn, and I will continue to hunt, until not a single zebra remains.”

“…”

“No more words?” I asked, prideful, grinning.  I ceased doing so as he whispered his final words.

“The last beats of my heart are to my daughter, safe, far from here.  The last tremble of my soul is given to you, to help you find peace.  The last thoughts of my mind are to my wife.  And my last action will be to either sing the last song for you… or weep as you leave, to someday find the cycle’s wrath.”

I listened to him, frowning.  Then I sat taller, and my flames rose higher with me. 

I roared into the air, screaming my victory over his peaceful end, and my flames roared around me.

And I found him weeping, and I did not understand.

“…The burning lioness is born.” I whispered to him, and I killed him. Snapping his neck in an instant. I couldn’t stand the idea of letting him suffer any longer, for some reason.

With a thought, my flames doused, and I ate my fill of the many that I’d killed. Then I left, following the trail of the one who’d gotten away, and didn’t take a single glance back.

I was sure I could win.  Sure that I could be the end of all zebra.  I was strong, I was fast, and I had flames at my command.  I swore I would break the cycle he had told me about, and went, sure and proud.



Casca fell silent then, and Sion only watched, waiting for her to continue, the lioness sad.

“…If only I had listened to him, then.” She whispered, looking at the ground, her head placed on her paws.  “I would have died in pace, in satisfaction.  But I was too proud to let it end so easily.”

“And now, I go to my judgement, just as he promised I would.  And I must, to ensure that it does not find the dens, but all those who follow me walk to their deaths with me.”

Sion watched, wanting to say something, but unable to find anything to say. After a moment, Casca looked at him, and he flinched at the sorrow in her eyes.

“…You must tell the rest of this.” She told him.  “Tell them of the cycle.  Warn them from the path I have chosen, lest they too, face the cycle’s wrath.”

“I… I will, Casca.”

Casca nodded, and then looked out toward the distant oasis, the night just begun.

“…I never did hear their ‘last song’.” She murmured.  “And now, I never will.  A life of fire and hate leads to nothing but ashes, and regrets.”

“And my life was nothing, save fire and hate.”
> Chapter 5
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“…Is, isn’t this a bit… fast?”

Zehara chuckled.  “Perhaps. You are… very surprising, Dark Flight.”

Dark shook himself a little, blushing, as Zehara was.  “…So are you.” He said, taking a breath.

“…Forgive me if I was too quick for you.” Zehara said, smiling.  “But I’ve never had a stallion swear to protect me before, you know.”

“Yeah.” Dark said, still a little stunned.  When she’d tugged him closer, he had known what was happening.

Not that the kiss hadn’t of shocked him anyway.  He was really struggling to figure out what he should say, or do, the pair lying, facing one another.

And, if he was judging Zehra’s smile, faint blush, and slight chuckle, she might be just as lost as he was.  It was making her adorable.

He really hadn’t expected this.  This hadn’t ever happened on a mission before.

“I, I can’t stay after this.” He said, shaking himself, and trying to refocus. “Once the, the, the, the thing is done, we’ll go back to Canterlot.”

“…Perhaps I might come with you.”

Dark startled.  “W, wh, what?”

“You said that your princess would accept any who came to her, did you not?” Zehara asked.  As Dark gaped, she continued, “If I may continue to get to know you more, I would happily come to serve her as you do.”

“…That, that’s a bigger duty than you think.” Dark said, trying to get his mind in order, and trying to stop imagining her in silver armor.

“Is it worse than trying to organize many tribes of zebra warriors to combat the blazing death?” Zehara asked.  “More difficult than being the voice and face of the Deharan?  I am not a warrior, but I have seen and escaped more death than most.”

“…But, but this is your home.”

“Perhaps not for long; many zebra wander, and I am no different.”

“…I’m not a zebra.”

“I am no pony.” Zehara said.

“…This is really new to me.”

“It is new for me as well.”

“I… I don’t know what to say, anymore.”

“…I do not either, truly.” Zehara said.  “I am but listening to my heart, and trying to heed its silent voice.”

“…How do zebra normally… do this?” he asked.

“It depends.” She told him.  “If two or more want the same mare, and the strongest proves himself in overcoming the rest.  Otherwise, they must prove themselves to gain her.”

“…And if my trust has been placed well,” she continued, thinking, “and the flames do not burn me this night, then you would have proven yourself beyond any doubt.”

“…I… I’m not making any decision right now.” Dark told her.  “But… if you really decide to follow us back then… we can try.”

“…I may have made my choice, already.” Zehara mentioned, and at Dark’s surprise, she told him, “If one wishes to catch the locust, one must be swift, before it leaps to fly away, and never return.”

“My heart has never belonged to the water, anyway.” She finished.

“…I, I don’t,”

“Quiet.” She whispered to him, gently putting a hoof on his mouth.  “Let it be quiet, for soon enough, it will not be quiet any longer.  Remain here with me, and let us rest in the silence of the night, before the peace is broken.”

Dark didn’t say anything.  But after a moment, he gave a tiny nod, and Zehara smiled.







Casca’s tale

“Do not think that!” Sion snapped, Casca startling.  Instantly, he leaned back, lowering himself slightly, but he continued, “Your life is so much more.”

“…Speak, Sion, fifth son.” Casca murmured, glaring at him, but allowing him to continue.  “Explain.”

“Are the lions who follow you the result of flame and hate?” he asked her, and she paused.

“…They follow me because no den would take them.” She told him.  “The last sons of lions, the weak of the whole, the son of the disgraced.  They follow for the food I leave in my wake, and for that I care not if they do or do not.”

“Casca… did even one of them not know who you were when they first came?”

Casca hesitated, and then thought.  And then she murmured, “…No.”

“You would find it the same amongst the dens as well.” Sion told her.

“…My name is known then, but what of it?” she asked him.  “If my name is known it is known because I defeated the males who sought to claim me.  Because I dared to defy the will of the dens, to break tradition, to refuse to have anything command me.  My flames burn the zebra to ashes, and they have burned my own kind much the same; if my name is known, it is known only as,”

“The burning lioness, whose name my own father does not speak from respect.” Sion interrupted.

“…What?” Casca whispered, eyes wide in shock.

“You are who no prey dares to face; the one who consumes whole herds.  The one who burns our mastery into these tall grasses, the lioness whom no male could ever hope to take.” Sion told her. “You say your flames leave nothing but ashes and regrets, but I tell you, it could not be further from the truth. Every den I have gone to knows your name; every one gives you honor and respect as they have given no other.”

“Because there is only one burning lioness.” Sion said, his voice softening. “Only one whom the prey dares not face, only one who cannot be taken, only one who shows the true strength of the lions within herself.  Only one, whom my father, greatest of lions, respects.”

“And that lioness is you.”

Casca kept staring, eyes wide, Sion’s own oddly soft.  After a moment, and with some purpose, he reached his left paw out towards her.  Casca looked at it, and then at him, more shocked than before.

“…Even my father knows he is not worthy.” Sion told her with a small smile. “But I am the fifth son; I know submission.  I have merited your claws already.”

“Perhaps I might be offered something more?”

Casca kept staring at him, eyes wide, for several moments.  Then she shut them, taking a breath, and reopened them, her gaze softer, uncertain, perhaps even nervous.

“…Sion, I…” she began, her voice soft, before she looked away.  “…I, I do not know if I have a place amongst lions. I’ve fought against them, broken every tradition, left every way… I, I could never be the mate you would imagine me to be.”

“I am the fifth son, Casca.” Sion said, smiling.  “I do not seek to hold the fire; I seek that the fires hold me.”

“…I go to die this night, Sion.” She said, closing her eyes again, and taking a slow breath.  “The cycle has come, and its wrath will,”

“Will burn in your claws, its throat in your jaws.” Sion interrupted, Casca blinking, surprised.  “Let its power roar across the savanna, let its light shine bright: your scream shall sound all the louder and farther, and your flames burn ever the brighter.”

“S, Sion, you do not know of what you speak.” Casca said.  “What waits for me is nothing that can die.”

“Then you will teach it to fear the lion, and the flame.” Sion said.  “For you are the burning lioness.  You are our goddess.”

“You are my goddess.”

Casca watched him, seeing his certainty, his faith.  She shut her eyes once more, took another breath, and then looked again.  Her right paw gently lit aflame, and she reached it over, to gently place it atop his left; the flames hot, but not burning him.

“…I go to face the cycle’s wrath, Sion.” She told him.

“Then go.” He quietly told her.  “Go, shatter it as you once swore to, and return, triumphant.”

Casca nodded, and smiled at him, her earlier fear gone.  She stood slowly, stretched, and then stood tall, looking out towards the oasis.  She then walked down towards the waiting lions, who lifted their heads to see her as she came.

“The prey has seen us, and waits for us, eagerly.” She told them, slowly and silently padding through their number.  “A wall of spear and shield lies ahead, and worse just beyond.  I go.  Who will follow me?”

She passed into the grass, and they followed her, smiling.

Sion watched, and then sat taller, to see better.  The distant oasis was bright, easily seen.  A bright glow was high above it, Sion just able to make out princess Luna, and wonder what it was he was seeing.

“…Burn them, Casca.” He whispered, shutting his eyes, voicing his hope, hiding his worry.  “Burn bright and hot and strong, bring their cycle low, and return to us.  To me.”
> Chapter 6
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dark was calm; calmer than he’d ever been in any mission before, and most of his life, for that matter.

It hadn’t been until he’d met Zehara that he’d really noticed just how beautiful the night was.  The sky above was clear, sparkling with many stars, the moon a small sliver, reflected in the gently shifting waters of the Deharan.

In that silence then, it was as if it would forever remain peaceful, the only sounds the soft breathing of the pair and she and he waited for the time to come.  A stillness of mind and body as the two looked out into the night together.

Then came the sudden cry, “Fire!” and both startled.

“To your goddess!” Zehara said, instantly on her hooves and moving, Dark more startled, and slower.  He took to the air, and swiftly spotted princess Luna, as well as the conflagration that had sprung up not too far from camp.

He flew next to her, and noticed her glaring; noticed that the fire looked oddly small.

He frowned at it, before startling as Luna bellowed, “Tis a distraction, do not let it!”

“Lion!” came a panicked cry from below, followed near instantly by a pained scream.  He swiftly spotted the beast, and gaped, realizing.

It had come through one of the tents.

Where nopony had thought it would have.

Zebra ran to help, before screaming anew as a burst of flame came out of the tent, the cloth lighting afire.

Dark darted down, intent to help before another panicked cry came from elsewhere.

And as his and everypony else looked, another from the opposite direction.

“Maintain order!” Luna bellowed.

“Keep together, move away from the edges!” he heard Zehara snap.

Dark grit his teeth and then flew high again, to see better with princess Luna, frowning heavily.  “This isn’t good.” He muttered.  “Princess?”

“This is not lion.” Princess Luna told him, glaring down below; her voice and Zehara’s own had calmed the panic, and lions were stalking tight groups of zebra. “This is,”

A roar of flame had a group break apart.  The lunar guard darted in to help as lions pounced, but something pounced on them.

And as Dark and Luna stared, a dark lioness leapt from batpony to batpony, climbing towards them with great speed, using their own instinct to not be thrown to the earth to have them act as platforms for her.

“Princess!” he yelled, moving into the way, only for him to become the final platform, her claws catching onto his armor with ease, and leaping at Luna.

Luna glared, and struck out, kicking the lioness.  She tried to grab the leg, but her claws slid along the alicorn’s fur without any effect.  She dropped, and lit aflame as she went.

To then appear to explode in flame when she hit the ground.  An instant later, and a burning bolt fled the eruption. Luna had barely focused before it appeared to split into two, making her hesitate.

One went at a group of zebra, who panicked enough to allow the lions near a chance.  The other went towards Zehara, and Dark shot down to slam down in front of her.

Only to realize that what he faced was a gout of dying flame.

The batponies who had gone to help the zebra were, once again, being used as platforms.  Dark gaped, the guard scattering to try and not let it happen twice, only for the lioness to swing one, hard, tossing him to the earth and throwing herself shockingly high.

She somehow managed to twist around Luna’s beam in midair, snagging another guard before leaping back at the alicorn.  Luna glared, and struck out again, but the lioness made the hit glancing.

And managed to snag the alicorn’s shoe.

Dark shot upwards as the lioness heaved herself up, but before he could make it far, Luna erupted in a silver glow.

The Lioness fell once more, and Luna fired another beam at her.

Only for her own shoe to be used to deflect it.

The lioness landed hard, but again, was back on her feet instantly.  The guard moved higher, to avoid her the next time, but most of them, along with Dark, realized that the lions or she would kill the zebra in their absence.

Blood had already been spilled on both sides.

Luna swept down to land, and near instantly faced a burning rush.  A directed beam had it move aside just barely, before it broke against a shield around the alicorn.

Luna struck, hitting the dazed lioness, but she again recovered.  A new burning rush broke more zebra, and Luna tensed as she prepared for it to return.

Only for a burnt and terrified zebra to be thrown at her.

An instant of shock found enough time for the lioness to return.

Even then, Luna attacked, but she wasn’t going straight; instead, the lioness went to her side, flipping up onto her back.  Teeth wreathed in flames bit at her neck, but to no effect.

Luna flapped, and shot herself upwards, ascending incredibly swiftly, the lioness grabbing onto her, as she knew she would.

Then, high in the sky, she erupted in silver light once more.  The lioness held on for that, but Luna then whipped herself around, and threw her off.

A moment later, and a focused beam hit the falling lioness, and drove her back to the earth.

The impact drove a cloud of dust upwards, and the surviving lions retreated as they saw it as well.  The flames around the camp flicked, weakening, and things were suddenly silent.

“…Is, is it over?” Zehara whispered, uncertain.

“I,” Dark began, before spotting a light in the dust.  He tensed, before gaping.

The dusty cloud was enveloped in flame, zebra screaming, and Luna’s eyes grew. 

The flames swiftly resembled a lioness, one made of flames so hot that parts of them were white.  One that crouched, staring up at Luna with dark red eyes that no flame should be as, to then leap upwards her with a roar like no other; one that didn’t stop as it came, white claws of flame reaching out.

The pillar lit the night as if it was day, ponies and zebra blinded, and falling back from the intensity of the heat.

Zehara and Dark stared before flinching at the intensity, and then Dark shot upwards himself.  “No!” Zehara screamed, trying in vain to see him in the brilliant glare, knowing what he intended.

And as Luna glared, ready to face it despite not knowing what it even was, Dark flung himself in front of her.  Her eyes grew in shock, and her mouth opened.

She watched the lioness grab him, instead of her.  The fire curled around him, and they all saw him incinerate, his silver armor shining bright and melting despite the enchantments against flame, his form a dark spot in a tiny sun.  Luna, flying nearby, felt her own fur sizzling from the heat, her eyes widening a tiny bit more.

It burned bright and hot and long, before, almost suddenly, it burned no longer. For a brief moment, Dark hung in the dark sky, and then he fell, molten silver making him a sparkling, falling star, before he hit the earth with a small, quiet thump.

For a few moments, all those gathered stared.  Then Luna landed, and a swift spell cooled the burning body, and solidified the molten silver.  Then she sighed, looking down at what was left of him.  The night was silent.

Shaking, Zehara crept over, staring at him with wide, teary eyes.  “He… he is…” she whispered, her voice shaking. She looked at Luna, having to ask, but seeing the alicorn’s saddened face answered her unspoken question.

A moment passed, and then Zehara, tears falling, began to softly sing the last song, her voice shaking in grief.  Slowly, other zebra began to join her, and soon, the song filled the oasis.







Sion stared.  He’d seen it, in part.  And he’d never seen anything like it.

Casca’s flames breaking zebra groups, allowing the lions following her opportunity.  The way she’d seized onto the flying things, used them to leap up towards the shining wrath.

He’d been excited, watching; it looked impossible, but Casca was fighting. And, to his eye, she had been winning. Avoiding the strange and clearly potent power the cycle’s wrath had, and even when her flame had broken against it, she had somehow gotten onto its back.

He thought it would be done.  She was atop it, had its neck in her jaws.

But then it had returned to the skies, impossibly fast.  Rising higher, and higher, and higher.

To appear as if turned into the moon itself.  In that light, he’d seen Casca, struggling to hold on, and as it dimmed, had seen her thrown.

Watched as the wrath drove her to the earth so far below with power he had no way to really describe.  Saw the dust erupt upwards in a way he’d never seen before.

But then, a light.

Then, the inferno.

She had lit the whole of the land.  Her roar impossibly loud and long and she’d risen up, huge, ready to seize the wrath in her claws as if seizing a foal.

Only for her to grab something else.  Her flames curled and burned and shone with light near blinding, but they’d faded.  And then they’d gone.

Her final prey had dropped, one of the strange, flying ones, but Casca was gone.

“…Casca…” he whispered, shutting his eyes.  She had been right.

Sion…

He startled, feeling the burned scratch she’d given him warm.  He saw faint embers floating in the dark before him.

They made the vaguest suggestion of a form before him.

It is done… The cycle, once more, complete.

  “…C, Casca?” he whispered, staring, hardly able to comprehend what he was seeing, unable to understand how he heard her voice.

Do what I have asked of you, my chosen… go, and tell the others… tell them of the cycle… warn them of its wrath… be my voice…

  “C, Casca!” he yelled, her voice fading, the embers he saw slowly fading.

…I hear their song… it is… beautiful…

  He heard a faint, satisfied, sigh, and then the embers were gone, as if they’d never been.  His burn cooled, and he stared, a soft rain beginning.

“…Casca.” He breathed a final time, giving a long and heavy sigh.  He looked at the distant camp a final time, seeing the prey gathering around their cycle, and then turned, and began to walk away. She had asked him something, and he would listen.

Casca might have died that night, but he swore her memory would not.  He would bring her story to the others, show them the life behind the flame they all knew.  Each and every last lion would hear of Casca, the burning lioness.

Her flame would not perish this night.

And some day, he swore, someday… perhaps not any day he would see, perhaps not a day his sons would see, or even their own, but someday…

They would pay.

Pay for killing his, and soon to be every lion’s, goddess.

The water that touched his burn hissed and vanished.
> Epilogue
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rain was soft, gentle.  Soothing and cool after the flames, and the heat.

Almost perfectly matching the tears of Zehara, who softly wept over Dark’s corpse, the last song complete.

“…We wish to thank thee.” Luna quietly told the crying zebra.

“…Why?” Zehara asked, her voice strained.

“We have not seen him smile in the many years of his service.” Luna told her, Zehara looking up to her.  “Not until this night were the weights on his heart lessoned, and we know it to be thee that did so.  For that, we thank thee… and thank thee again, for singing him to rest with the song meant only for fallen zebra.”

“…There is none who could deserve it more.” Zehara whispered, looking upwards, at the rain.  “He gave his life… for his goddess.  And now, my own reminds me of her.”

“…G, p, princess, I beg of you.” Zehra said, lowering her head to Luna. “This rain… does the Deharan seek to sooth our pain, or are the waters satisfied, now that I have no reason to leave them?” she asked.

Luna didn’t answer for a moment, looking up into the rain.  Then she said, “As you weep, so do they.  This rain is a promise to you that they will listen now:”

“The blood of your heart is a gift they never wanted.”

Zehara nodded, her eyes shut, slowly breathing.  “…I, I ask that I be allowed to bury him here, in these green grasses by the Deharan.”  Luna hesitated, and Zehara told her, “So that the water ensures he never burns again; of all here, none are more deserving their comfort.”

“No other faced the flames without flinching.”

Luna didn’t answer for a moment, Zehara looking up at her.  Then she said, “Very well.  Lay him to rest here, but we ask that he not be forgotten.”

“He, and you, will never be forgotten.” Zehara promised.  “As the sky is reflected in the waters, I will never forget, and every Zebra that comes here will know of the time when the night came to save us all from the fire.  The zebra, and these waters, will remember.”

Luna nodded, shutting her eyes.  A single tear grew and then fell, sparkling, to land softly on Dark.

Once the dead were buried, Dark buried closest to the waters, Luna and the guard left; Dark their only casualty, and only a few injured, lightly at that.

Ten lions had perished, three fleeing.

Thirty zebra had died in the defense and flames.  Sixty more had injuries, almost all burns.  The one thrown at Luna survived.

A few weeks after, and dark flowers began to bloom around the Deharan from Dark’s grave.  They soon spread, and Zehara encouraged them to do so, naming them Dark Moon flowers, in the memory of Dark, and his lunar goddess.

Zehara remained at the Deharan for the rest of her life.  When she asked, the rain would come, without fail, and the savanna knew a time when water was not so rare during her life.  After her death, those that followed found that the Deharan would listen to them as well.

So long as they remembered to gift a basket of Dark Moon flowers on the anniversary of Dark’s Death, and Zehara’s own.

Sion brought back Casca’s flame to the dens.  With it, he told her tale to the rest, and the fifth son became something new amongst lions.

He became known as fire-speaker, a figure equal to, but distinct, from pride leader.  Ensuring her memory would never be forgotten, and gifting her flames to those who proved their dedication to her, and her fire.  New ways, new traditions, and a new age began amongst lions:

Lions dared the hyena, and cut their way through the laughing wastes to find their way beyond, to the mythic lands Casca had told them about.

They brought back food; prey greater than any zebra.  They made a trail through the laughing wastes to keep doing so. And as the largest dens that had done so no longer needed to hunt the zebra, the herds grew.  And dens that had once starved found new herds as zebra grew in number in the savanna.  Lions no longer hungered as they once had.

Zebra once more came to be in the land near the tall rocks.

And with them came the lions: led by the three survivors of the followers of Casca. As the zebra grew and prospered, so did they: the traitor, the offspring of disgrace, and the one with no mane.

A den born of disgrace and shame that soon found its own honor and respect. 

A den that discovered how to make fire themselves.

The savanna found new life in the wake of the flames.  But even as zebra and lion prospered, Equestria did not.

It would only take three years after that night before Luna was overtaken by her jealousy and anger.

And as the savannas grew, Equestria fractured, and saw one of their princesses banished; and along with her, her devoted, the batponies, who did not leave her, even into her transformation into Nightmare Moon.

They did not forget their savior.

Equestria grew to fear the night, and ponies learned what it meant to have a nightmare.  The sun grew brighter in response, to keep the dark away, but the peace from before could not be found again.

And it would take a thousand years before that changed.