> Preunification Anon
>  by Spooples
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> I - The Hyoo-men in the Tavern
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

”Here? Are you quite certain?”

From first glance, the beams of orange protruding from the tavern’s windows seem like welcoming beacons from the rain and cold.

And second glance, and third glance, in fact. From every angle, the tavern looks like the cozy respite you’ve been hoping for. The only things of any disconcert is the pair of guardsmares – one a swordsmare, the other a caster – standing just beside the entrance, and the crooked, magically-infused text on the wall glowing, “No horn, no hilt, no entry!”

But it isn’t the sights that make your hooves freeze on the wet cobblestone below. It’s the smell, the sounds – All-Mother above, it may very well be the taste as well.

The pleasant petrichor of the city of Plumsteed is replaced with the stench of rancid vomit and, even worse, alcohol. Turner of gentlemares into ruffians.

Beneath the muffled laughter and clacking of mugs whose volumes seem to be in competition – things you’ve had to grow accustomed to while in the Lowercastes – you catch odd tidbits of what sounds like squawking.

As you close your mouth, peering over to the red unicorn standing by your side, faint traces of something you can’t put your hoof on touches down on your tongue. Iron, it seems?

Red Letter gives a sage chuckle, squelching the glob of Ergot between her teeth as she chews. “Too mud horse-y for you, White Hooves?” she asks with sarcastic coyness.

You huff indignantly at the nickname and habitually glance down to make sure your hooves aren’t too unpresentable. Of course, your hooves are covered with the fabric waves of your cloak. It’s a futile effort anyways. The last few weeks you’ve spent trudging through swamps, forests, and manure-soaked cobblestone have ensured your hooves may never reach the same level of pristine whiteness again.

“I’ll have you know I’ve never before met an earth pony, Red Letter," you say in futile defense.

”Your olfactory senses are grateful,” Red Letter hums. 

You’re tempted to mention that you have indeed met sky rats before, coming across a flock of them raiding a traveling merchant's cart for alcohol. Your olfactory senses are still recovering.

“As I’m sure you are as well, Lucky Favor?” the unicorn goads with a side-long glance, reminding you of her payment.

“But of course,” you titter as you shuffle your supplies bag off your withers before setting it down with a splash. After untying and sifting around your precious cargo, you pull out one of your 600-doit pouches. “For an honest day’s work, and a might extra for helping a helpless, unpresentable vagabond such as myself.” 

You give a ladylike smile to Red Letter as you hoof her the pouch. You're unable to stop the tinge of smugness tugging at your lips at the sight of the Lowercastemare's eyes widening hungrily at the size.

At what sounds like a cannon shot, the smugness disappears as your entire body flinches toward the sound -- the tavern's entrance being swung open.

”—again and I'll rip your FUCKING horn off!” a bassy voice booms.

The guardsmares outside the tavern seem just as surprised as you as the unconscious body of a mare flies from the flung-open entrance and tumbles into a soaked heap.

There, standing at least four cubits tall, is the bipedal form of the much gossiped-about “hyoo-men.”  The housecarla for whom you’ve spent the last week searching.

Or, would it be housecarl?

…Housecarl.

He sounded like a male.

It takes a moment for your brain to register this fact. As it does, you faintly hear the muffled sound of the tavern door being slammed shut, and the hyoo-men is gone. You’ve missed your chance to call out to her.

--Him, you mean.

Dear Ancients above, he’s a male.

”…clever…” you barely catch Red Letter mumble under her breath while your own goes ragged and wobbly.

You quickly turn back to your guide, whose eyes seem latched onto where the hyoo-men once was.

The male hyoo-men.

“Your payment, dear,” you almost whisper, hoping desperately she snatches the pouch away and fades into the rainy night.

”Actually,” Red Letter drawls, rolling the Ergot in her mouth, in no particular hurry. “Payment won’t be necessary.”

“You can’t just do something nice for me and expect not to get paid! In the Uppercastes, we’re taught to—”

”We’re not in the Uppercastes. Come on, let's not keep him waiting.” Red Letter starts towards the tavern before you can react.

There’s that word again. Him.

You feel like you could drown in this rain.

Your hoof tries and fails before succeeding in putting the gold pouch back into the bag, and almost gives out as you sling said bag over your shoulder.

You scramble towards Red Letter, still bouncing along, her eyes glued to the tavern door. “P-pardon me, Red Letter?” you ask.

You curse yourself for the unladylike stutter, but even the most regal Uppercastemare would be having a hard time speaking eloquently through a mouth of cotton.

”If it’s anything to do with the payment," Red Letter retorts, "You can get hilted. In fact—” Your guide stops momentarily to dig into the pouch on her hip before procuring something dark and pungent. “—Chewing Ergot? I’m feeling generous tonight. And you look like you could use it."

“I appreciate it, but I’m not a chewer," you say. "Anyways, I was wondering—"

As you speak, Red Letter fluidly lifts your hoof and plops the chewing fungus on top. “For your nerves,” she susurrates, but you’re too numb to refuse it. 

“I-I-I was wondering if I could have a m-moment of privacy, Red Letter?”

Red Letter seems nonplussed for the longest half-second of your life before giving a curt nod. “Alright, but let’s not keep him waiting.”

You give a relieved smile that you’re absolutely, positively, 100% sure doesn’t come off as suspicious before you virtually teleport to the alleyway beside the tavern. Of course, you don’t literally teleport, even if you desperately wanted to.

Finally alone, you take deep heaves of air as you collapse. Your heart pounds like a rabid parasprite as four words bounce around in your head like a wrecking ball.

The hyoo-men is male.

The much gossiped-about housecarla, who you’ve finally been able to get a pin on after his switch to freelance bounty hunting, whom you are about to ask to do something that most hardened adventurers would balk at, is male. And there’s no backing out of this.

There’s no backing out of this.

There’s no backing out.

Between the sounds of each of your deep breaths, the pitter-patter of the rain on your cloak, and the muffled celebrations from inside the tavern, you slowly replace the words in your mind, one by one.

There’s no backing out, Lucky Favor.

One more deep breath, and you feel your heartbeat easing. You need to do something structured to calm down.

With a grunt, your bag is set gently onto the cobblestone ground. You recite the same checkup you’ve been perfecting these last few weeks. Making sure the ornate crossbow attached to your bag is still in mint condition. Making sure the magically intraflated bags of food, doits, and supplies are still intact. Making sure the magically stabilized locker of notebooks, quills, and ink bottles is still undisturbed. Making sure the ambient spell is still engaged on your precious cargo.

Everything secure, both in the bag and in your mind, you give yourself a determined nod. There’s no reason to have a panic attack here and now. You’re at the location, you’re not alone, and there’s nothing in the Lowercastes that can cut through the Paardian armor under your cloak. You’re safe. All that’s left is to have a little chat with the hyoo-men. Tartarus, you might even have an easier time convincing him if you put on the Uppercaste charm.

Plus, male or not, that certainly doesn’t change his reputation as a renowned housecarla. But that begs the question, why did he switch to bounty hunting…?

After hoisting the bag back onto your withers, you set off back to the tavern entrance. You hope Red Letter isn’t the type to question every little thing.

Despite yourself, you feel a smile tugging at your lips.

These past few weeks have felt like years. Every day felt like an impossible bounty, and only the Ancients know how it would’ve gone if you accepted it alone. Nopony in the Uppercastes would accept you, but you haven’t stopped thanking Them that the first Lowercastemare you ran into was Red Letter.

Before you knew it, you had a companion who knew the city of Plumsteed like the back of her hoof, who knew just how to treat ponies who gave her, or you, any trouble, and who would never leave you alone in an unfamiliar part of town with no guide.

Hey, where’s Red Letter?

Back in front of the tavern lays only an empty stone yard, no red unicorn in sight. Even the guardsmares are gone now, leaving the rain and clamor from inside your only companions.

You spend an embarrassing amount of time feeling like a lost filly before you shake your head and trot towards the tavern entrance. Red Letter probably went in before you to preemptively catch the hyoo-men. But where are the guardsmares…?

You have to remind yourself about the importance of your mission before the temptation to not enter uninvited keeps you outside.

You swing the tavern door open and quickly bounce in.

The first thing you notice is how much… warmer everything is. Not just the temperature, but the sights, the smells, and even the sounds as well. The tavern’s innards are a comely orange, washing away the cold, gray reality of the Plumsteed night with its quaint pub layout.

The second thing you register?

Unicorns.

Lots and lots of unicorns.

The temperature immediately raises from the increase of warm bodies all around you, sitting at tables, laughing raucously at some dirty joke or crude remark, drinking seemingly unlimited mugs of cider and ale. There’s a large circular amalgamation of mares at the center of the tavern, their attention drawn to something you can’t see.

The sound of squawking and the taste of iron are now unmistakable. 

You scan around the tavern for either Red Letter or the hyoo-men, but the crowd makes it an impossible task. Without any other option, you trot towards the crowd. With how tall the hyoo-men is, if he’s in there, you’ll be able to spot him immediately. You have to weave between the tables of otherwise occupied unicorns, habitually leaning your bag in the opposite direction of anypony you pass. 

Your frog is stepped into something wet and sugary.

You grimace as you shake the sticky ale from your hoof before you find yourself at the edge of the commotion. You find your opening, and slip through. 

”Rip her Ancients-damn beak off, Muddie!”

”I have twenty doits on you, Rat!”

”RIP AND TEAR HER BONE AND BLOOD!”

You shrink away from the particularly bloodthirsty mare by your side before continuing onwards. You finally reach the cusp of the crowd’s attention and lift your hooves onto the wooden railing, staring at the commotion down below. 

You curse your curiosity.

Now, the squawking is unmistakable as the two griffons below tear into each other.

One of them – the more muscular one – is wingless, two magically burnt stubs hanging limply on its sides. The other’s wings have been left in relative peace, although a Pulchramatic spell has been cast on them. The feathers are now much brighter and colorful, sending flamboyant, sardonic sparkles of glitter into the air with each vicious swipe.

The combatants roll through the sand as they bite and puncture each other. Maroon blood, spilt alcohol, and the golden glint of discarded doits are kicked up in the sand as if caught in the web of the fight.

At the disgusting squelch of something being ripped from one of the griffons’ face – you don’t care to look closer to find out just what specifically – you turn away to keep from gagging.

The bitter taste in your mouth isn’t iron. It’s blood.

”Ahem.”

You squeak as the baritone grunt penetrates through the hooting and hollering of the crowd around you. You have to crane your neck to realize just who you bumped into. In front of you towers the housecarla—er, housecarl -- of the hour, the hyoo-men. 

His condition leaves you in shock.

The hyoo-men’s eyes are sunken and tired, and whether it's the shadows from his thick eyebrows, the dark bags under his eyes, or the subtle way his beard and bush of a mane frame his face, the glare he’s giving you sends a cold chill up your spine. His imposing height is lopsided, and you notice he's putting most of his weight on his left leg. 

The only thing that even suggests he wouldn’t be an easy target for a mugging, or worse, is his armor. The hyoo-men is wearing a gambeson that hugs his torso, hard leather pads running across its surface in a pattern you assume matches his alien musculature. His bare shoulders striate with every subtle movement, and there's a prominent vein running down each of his upper arms. His forearms seem to be all-around thicker than his more flat upper arms, and he wears bracers on each arm - essentially leather straps keeping the oval-shaped stones secure atop his forearms. Leather also covers his hands, minus the upper portions of each of his fingers. There isn't much in the way of armor covering his legs, only a pair of thick, dark brown trousers and boots covering his feet. You can think of a million and one ways how the weapons you've seen in the Lowercastes can cut through his defenses.

Speaking of weapons, you don’t see a single one on the hyoo-men. No axe, mace, sword… Not even a dagger strapped to his boot. The only things which could pass as dangerous are the stone bracers on his forearms you can immediately tell are homemade.

Then again, if even a quarter of what you’ve heard about him from the ladies, civilians, and would-be attackers he’s dealt with is true, neither his lack of immediate defense nor his armor should be much of a problem. 

…Plus you’d be hard-pressed to say the armor isn’t flattering to his figure. He kind of looks like the felines out West you’ve read about, but more muscular and broader.

It’s then you notice that the jostling from the surrounding mares has subsided. Sure enough, each of the onlookers of the griffon fight are now giving you a wide radius. Or, rather, they’re giving the hyoo-men a wide radius. 

Most of the mares are avoiding the hyoo-men like the edge of a precipice they’re unfortunate enough to be stuck beside. A few glance in his direction. Most are nervous; the only expected lecherous mare in the crowd is quickly taken back into the crowd by somepony you assume is her friend.

”They’re wild,” the hyoo-men’s deep voice effortlessly booms over the commotion of the crowd.

You blink out of your stupor. “Pardon me?” you ask stupidly.

”The griffons,” he responds, giving a brief nod to the fight that you most definitely will not be looking back at. It’s only a minor comfort that the Lowercastemares here aren’t cheering for the death of a sentient griffon like those out East. ”So, why were you following me, mare?”

His small eyes bore into you, resembling a growling timberwolf more than an adorable foal.

Nevertheless, you’ve spent too many nights sleeping in gutters and praying to the Ancients above for this moment to go perfectly to let this set you back. You draw your left hind leg and right foreleg back and give the hyoo-men a courteous bow. “I was hoping to proposition you with a bounty, my lord.”

A few of the snickers and murmurs from the crowd around you put a dent in your confidence, but you still hold firm as you sweep back up to a standing posture. The bemused scowl the hyoo-men is sending your way, though, puts more than a dent in it. For a long time the hyoo-men only studies you. His piercing eyes flick this way and that, dancing between your face, your cloak, and the sack on your back.

If he were to suddenly reach forward and grab your bag, what could you do to stop him?

Well, that's a silly question. You're no slack when it comes to defensive spells. Plus, he's a male!

Why did you have to remind yourself of that?

”Let’s grab a table,” the hyoo-men finally murmurs.

Heart fluttering, you give a quick nod and eagerly lift your head to search for a table for the gentlecolt, but to your surprise the hyoo-men simply turns around and walks off!

“Excuse me!” you call out, cantering after him.

With each bound of his long legs, the hyoo-men easily slices through the crowd, leaving you to hastily keep up. His way of moving is equal parts graceful and intimidating, like an homme fatal character in a novel. “Mister hyoo-men, my lord!” you call out as you bound to his side. “Excuse me! Where are we going?”

”To grab a table.”

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment. You know nothing about the hyoo-men’s customs, but you assumed he would at the very least let you take the lead.

You hope the looks of astounded horror the unicorns are giving you and the hyoo-men have something to do with that.

”Move," that baritone voice mumbles with the same authority as a shout.

You scrunch, this time formulating a retort against his ungentlecolty command, until you realize the hyoo-men wasn’t talking to you. He’s talking to the two unicorns sitting at an alcohol-slathered table. More specifically, he’s talking to the bigger one.

The only reason you can distinguish the unicorn’s coat color is because of her uncovered face. Besides that, all you can see on her body is chainmail, leather, and metal. The giant war axe by the mare’s side, the business end at least as big as your whole body, sits menacingly beside her chair like a drooling guard dog. Five runes seem to be etched into the weapon’s blade, although you’re not close enough to decipher them. They look much more sinister than the paralysis runes dancing across your crossbow.

Well-fed and well armed; an epitome of Housecarlatel. Her lady must be the wealthy-looking unicorn sitting beside her, thoroughly shrunken and meek in comparison.

The housecarla gives a start; a symphony of chainmail and metal rubbing against each other. Though, her distress is short-lived. The smaller mare follows the bigger one’s lead as her face deforms into a salacious, satisfied smirk.

Her teeth are stained an Ergot-colored brownish green.

”Good to see you too, Anon,” the unicorn grins as she lowers her chin onto a metal-plated hoof. “I see our boss’s attempts to domesticate you have gotten us nowhere, as expected.”

The sultry way she slathers the word “domesticate” in innuendo just about makes you gag.

”This is the ‘hyoo-men’ you’ve been talking about, Storm?” The smaller mare’s voice sounds like a young filly’s when compared to her housecarla. As her eyes snap to you, they gleam with an immature mischief. “I didn’t know he was back in business so soon. Last I heard--”

Without warning, one of Anon’s arms shoots out at the bigger mare. His monstrous hand grabs her by the horn before her face is whiplashed to his own.

The lady is too stunned to move. You’re not doing much better.

”Move,” Anon growls, his masculine voice dangerously low.

Without waiting for confirmation, Anon drives the mare out of her chair and to the ground with a shove and a resounding thump! The unicorn’s cohort can only stare at Anon, frozen.

”Storm” is back on her hooves before you can even register how much it’d hurt for your horn to be marehandled like that. The glare she gives Anon could cut through glass.

”You're lucky you're her favorite,” Storm spits before her horn glows. You feel a jolt of outrage as the handle of Storm’s axe is enveloped in the same glow, but it only drags along with the mare as she and her lady trot away. “That’s what I was talking about, Vivi. Colt hasn’t had a job in--...”

”Sit," Anon commands.

You don’t catch whatever else Storm says as Anon’s voice reverberates through your skull. He’s made himself comfortable on the mare’s chair, although there is still a subtle slump to his posture. His knee bounces up and down as he gives you an expectant gaze.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. Freakishly fast, undeniably competent, weirdly attractive hyoo-men or not, Anon is still a colt. Does he not care about what could’ve happened? She was a fully-equipped housecarla!

Then again, he's a trained housecarla as well. Though, unarmed...

You shakily shuffle your bag onto the floor beside your chair before sitting across from your potential future partner. 

Don’t screw this up, Lucky Favor. It’s time to turn on that Uppercaste charm.

So, how should you start? Some small talk, perhaps? Cater to his male ego?

Although, that might not work with Anon. He’s not shown any colty acclimations since you’ve met him. Tartarus, are you even sure he’s a male to begin with? You’ve heard hyoo-mens are exceedingly rare; Anon the first one you’ve ever heard of. 

Could he be the only hyoo-men?

No, no, Lucky. If you were about to ask the only male member of a species onto a dangerous mission such as this, you might as well just throw yourself off a bridge to rid Equus of its most selfish evil yet.

Hmm, could he just be a she with a deep voice? Female minotaurs also have the ability to grow beards, you've read. After all, how would a colt build up such a résumé as a housecarla in just a few months--?

Lucky Favor, your genius knows no bounds.

“I’d like to start off with an apology, my lord,” you start, earning a quirked eyebrow from the hyoo-men. “Since our encounter, I’ve so ruefully given you a most unladylike impression. I’ve been nervous about meeting you, truth be told.” 

You just slipped into your Uppercaste dialect. Don’t overstep, Lucky. You’ve got him on his heels.

You reach a hoof into your hip pouch to retrieve the glob of Ergot Red Letter gave you. You’re no chewer, but you could really use some extra confidence right about now. “After all, what mare wouldn’t be, when faced with such an accomplished housecarla? I must say I’m a little confused as to why you’ve chosen to switch to the bounty hunting business, though.”

Anon gives you a look that screams, “First strike, Lucky. Change the subject.”

“So who were those mares, if it’s not too personal?" you ask instead. "I’m sure your reputation precedes you, but they talked as if they knew you personally.”

Anon’s lips curl as if he’s mulling over rotten food. ”Former coworkers,” he opts to say in a manner that suggests you do not want to press that matter.

“Ahh,” you breathe, gripping the Ergot in your pouch. Second strike. “…Well, enough small talk, it’s time for some business talk.”

You squee at your clever wordplay. Anon gives the spilt alcohol on the table a look as if wondering whether he could get drunk from it. You’d bet he could, being a male, but you obviously don’t tell him that.

“My name is Lucky Favor,” you start. “Well, my Lowercaste moniker is Lucky Favor. My Uppercaste name is reserved for close friends, so I sincerely hope we'll be using it freely in the near future! And yours is Anon, if I heard correctly?”

”Anonymous," Anon says monotonously.

“Right! Well, Anon, let’s begi—”

”Anonymous,” he repeats, equally monotonous, yet twice as impatiently.

“…Anonymous,” you concede, before taking a deep breath. “I’m offering you a job as my housecarla.”

Anonymous seemingly gives no reaction.

Seemingly. To most ponies, Anonymous may as well hadn’t even heard what you said. But you’re able to catch the subtle widening of his eyelids and upward twitch of his cheeks.

“Now, I understand that this might be an… unconventional offer, meeting like this so suddenly," you concede. "And I know you’ve forgone your former occupation for freelance bounty hunting, but I guarantee it’ll be worth your time. Six hundred doits per day, to be exact.”

Anonymous’ knee stops bouncing.

You can’t help but smirk as you bring the Ergot up to your muzzle and plop it in your mouth.

“First time working for an Uppercastemare?” you say as you chew, your tuft puffing up from under your cloak. Anonymous’ eyes don’t leave the Ergot in your mouth. “I can assure you the steep pay isn’t indicative of the danger we’ll be encountering, as well. It’s merely proportionated to your experience and, no doubt, the competition for your services! There'll be no stipulations for what you can spend your pay on either. Weapons, armor, clothes, shoes, whatever else befitting of a gentlecolt. And I assure you I can afford— where are you going, my lord?”

Instead of answering, Anonymous gives you an unreadable glare before standing to his full height and walking past you.

It takes a moment for it to register. He’s leaving.

“WAIT!” you shout. All Uppercaste manners are left at the table as you virtually lunge towards the hyoo-men. 

They leave your system almost as quickly as your sense of reality when what feels like an earth pony’s buck lands right on your cheek. Your world turns into a hazy mess of pain and iron, and when your vision finally clears, the world is lopsided. You’re lying on the wooden floor now. Anonymous struck you.

Of course he struck you. 

In your desperation, you touched—no, grabbed-- a stallion without his consent and made him uncomfortable.

…Uncomfortable isn’t the right word. You made him enraged. You saw it in his eyes the split second before your vision was rendered useless. It’s ironic, how only after your brain has been thoroughly rattled can you realize how wrongly you must have acted towards him.

You clench your eyes shut as the ringing subsides, replaced with the ongoing celebrations of the tavern, sans the hyoo-men’s footsteps. He’s gone.

You make no move to get up.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, whether to Anonymous, to yourself, or to your precious cargo, you don’t know.

Speaking of Anonymous, you hear his voice say from above, ”You really are new around here, aren’t you?”

You flinch, cursing the Ancients above that They’d torture you with auditory illusions, until you feel two warm appendages wrap around your barrel.

“Ah!” you gasp, eyes immediately open and staring as you’re lifted off the floor. Unlike the cold, hazy feeling of telekinesis, Anonymous’ arms are warm and solid.

You can't be sure if it's the lingering ringing in your ears from that punch, or if the fiery heat under your face is affecting your hearing, but the racket of the tavern seems to dwindle ever so slightly. You chance a glance around to find a few unicorns’ faces snap away from your direction.

As Anonymous sets you down on the chair, his warm, comfortable feelers leaving your fur bereaved, you suppress a sigh of disappointment.

Disappointment soon turns to realization as the hyoo-men makes his way back to his own chair and sits back down, chewing on the inside of his mouth as he looks down at the table. ”Sorry about that,” Anonymous finally mutters, giving an errant click of his tongue as his eyes finally meet your own. You blink owlishly in response. "Thought you were bullshitting me, but... well, just don't try to grab me again. Now, details."

“…A-about the job?” you ask, hastily correcting the voice crack. As hope rises in your chest, what feels like a burning glob of pain swells in your cheek. With a quick check with your tongue, you thank the Ancients no teeth were knocked loose.

Do all hyoo-mens hit that hard?

...Do all male hyoomens?

Anonymous flashes an impatient glare before he quickly recomposes himself. Your eyes study one of his feelers as it lifts to his face before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Let’s start with why you need a housecarla. And be direct this time, Uppercastemare.”

He’s willing to hear you out.

Despite everything, he’s willing to hear your proposition, Lucky Favor.

The clash of your blossoming hope and the cold fear of absolute honesty is not one you’re familiar with. You try to bite down on the Ergot, only to realize it’s probably somewhere on the other side of Equus with how hard he hit you.

“I’m being hunted,” you whisper.

”By whom?” he asks immediately.

Your breath hitches. His response was too quick – too sudden. You miss the fiery, embarrassing blush on your face. Anything to replace this cold, hopeless feeling in your throat. “I can’t tell," you mumble as a response.

The look Anon gives you reminds you that you can indeed tell, and you will indeed tell.

“E-everypony,” you say as you stare into the wooden, ale-riddled table. “I’m being hunted by everypony.”

The jovial celebrations and cheering from everypony around you, all painfully unacknowledging of your existence, remind you how crazy you just sounded.

“Listen,” you elaborate, glancing at your bag. “I’m carrying… something to somewhere far from here. If anypony here sees it, they won’t hesitate to destroy it, and... kill me. It’s not that I’ve wronged them, or they’re bad ponies! It’s just...” Your eyes sting as you try to find the right words to explain your situation, but you come up empty. All you can do is tell him why you’re having this conversation right now. “I’ve been led to believe you might be different, my lord. I've heard you come from someplace far from here.”

You expect a volley of questions. What are you carrying? Why are you risking so much for this? How crazy do you have to be, to give up everything you know, to spend weeks on the run, for the off-chance of meeting somepony you’ve never met for help in making the trek to a place you've never been?

Why would he ever accept this offer?

All questions for which you have no answers.

Instead of any of these questions though, Anonymous instead leans over the table and asks something else. Something which almost makes you feel physical whiplash.

”Lucky Favor,” he almost whispers, his eyes scarily genuine. “How far away?"

You don’t know if you can answer that.

“Ah, White Hooves!” a feminine voice pipes up from behind.

“GAH!” Your entire body whirls around to be met with a certain red unicorn. Red Letter gives you a raise of her eyebrows as she makes her way towards your table with a smile you never knew she was capable of. “Oh, hello!" You breathe deeply, until you notice the mares following behind Red Letter.

The guardsmares from the tavern door, and the two unicorns Anonymous accosted. 

As Red Letter nears you, you lean towards her and hastily whisper, "Are we in trouble?”

“Oh, there’s no need to worry about them," Red practically tosses over her withers at you as she continues to the other side of the table.

At the sound of wet chewing, you turn back to see that one of the guardsmares – the swordsmare, with two wicked-looking Marabian blades on her hip – has a piece of Ergot in her mouth.

You make a similar motion of your lips before turning back to see your guide approaching Anonymous. You clear your throat before introducing him with, “Well, Red Letter, this is—”

“The human," she purrs. "Yes, I figured. I’m so glad you found him.”

Human? What an odd way to pronounce it.

Odd as well is the fact that you can feel your hackles instinctually raising under your cloak. “I-it wouldn’t have been possible without your help,” you opt for, neutrally. “Thank you.”

You feel sorry for Red Letter, hoping she leaves so soon. Ancients above, you wouldn’t even be having this conversation with Anonymous if it wasn’t for her. And you get a newcomer’s curiosity, but you really need to talk with your potential partner. And how, exactly, does Anonymous feel about all this?

You turn to gauge the hyoo-men’s reaction, but you gaze is stolen by Red Letter’s hoof as it nears his arm.

“Oh, I wouldn’t—!” you start, but you’re not quick enough to stop the clink! of her hoof connecting with the stone bracer on his wrist. An alarmed squeak escapes your mouth as you hope the guardsmares do their job quickly, but neither of them move from their perch, less than a cubit away from your side.

Anonymous makes no attempt to hit Red Letter as she says to him, “It’s so good to see you again, Anon.”

So why is that sigh of relief stuck so firmly in your throat?

"Anonymous?" you start, but when you look into the hyoo-men's eyes you know you won't get a response.

His green orbs are simultaneously corpse-like and crazed. Glossed over as they witness events passed, glued to the table and straining as if trying to levitate it from the floor. His lips and cheeks twitch without direction. His knee is no longer bouncing, rather pushing his body back and forth in a subtle rocking motion. 

He's having an attack. By the Ancients, he’s having an attack.

The cold feeling in your chest spreads throughout your entire body as Red Letter's hoof draws slow, lackadaisical circles on the hyoo-men's arm. "You all know how he gets," she says without even a glance to her partners' direction. "Would you do me a favor and clear the place?"

It's Storm who speaks first from her post to Anonymous' right. "But the main attraction is still going on, Boss. How are we--..."

Whatever complaint leaving Storm's mouth is muffled, your mind replacing it with her earlier words:

"I see our boss's attempts to domesticate you have gotten us nowhere, as expected."

"Then end it," Red Letter says somewhere far off.

"You all know how he gets," you hear her recant in your mind, among other things.

"So, why were you following me, mare?"

"You're lucky you're her favorite."

"How far away?"

You bucked up.

From behind, you can hear the sharp, thunderous cannon shots of lethal spells booming over the crowd. The squawking of the griffons cease, replaced with a renewed tumult of outrage and fear from the onlookers. "EVERYPONY OUT!" an augmented voice shouts. "TASKMASTER RED LETTER'S ORDERS!"

"The sight of blood never agreed with me," Red Letter continues to an unresponsive Anonymous. "That's why you came here of all places, isn't it, Anon? Under my own muzzle, the one night of the month I wouldn’t visit. You really are too troublesome for your own good, colt. Lucky Favor, why are you still here?"

And just like that, you would’ve rather been called your Uppercaste name by the lowest scum of Equus than hear Red Letter call you Lucky Favor again.

The guardsmares return to your sides, although you feel no warmth from the proximity. Everything feels cold as the clamor from the tavern decreases with every agonizing second. The waves of hoofsteps from behind, the drunken grumbling of mares being hauled away, and the occasional uppity unicorn being quickly shut up with a spell and sent outside.

Regardless of all this, or maybe because of it, you ask a stupid question you're too numb to stop. "Pardon me, Red Letter, but what’s happening?”

“You made this yourself, Anon?" Red Letter muses, leaving your halfhearted question to wither away. She lifts Anonymous’ arm into the air with her hoof, inspecting the stone bracer. The hyoo-men’s eyes snap to her hooves in the same fashion as when he hit you, yet his body refuses to act out. "Your equipment was so much less… homemade when you worked for me. Well, that'll be the first thing we fix."

“Miss Letter!” you shout before your mind catches up with your body, and you realize you’re standing on your hind legs with your upper hooves digging into the table. 

You’ve never been in a fight before. You’re an educated caster and have many combat books and classes under your belt, sure, but you’ve never before felt this sickening, consuming tension. You’ve never before fully reached magical exhaustion. You’ve never had to use the crossbow on your bag; just the sight alone would scare off most attackers. 

So why is the cold feeling in your chest slowly being overcome with anger?

"I gave you every chance to slink away without making a scene, Lucky," Red Letter mutters as she sends you a glare unlike anything you've ever seen from her. "You need housecarlas? I can give you housecarlas. So now you have no reason to be here. Wait outside, and I’ll tend to you shortly. I’ll be out in about...--" 

Red Letter's lecherous sneer she gives Anon, coupled with what she says next, causes the prickles of anger to explode.

"--Twenty? Thirty minutes? Can never tell how long he'll last.”

"Stop this!" you shout as you lunge forward, but something pulls you back from behind. You don’t have time to react before your back slams against the wooden floor.  A cold haze envelopes your limbs before you can whip them away. A somber blue – the same color of Vivi’s eyes – hold them in place. You try to scream out for help before cold steel touches down on your neck.

”Should’ve trotted away when he hit you, Uppercastemare,” Storm sneers from behind her axe.

”Don’t you dare get blood on my floor!” Red Letter shouts over the cacophony of your thumping heart and hyperventilation. The axe recedes, although the magical binds on your limbs tighten. “Take her outside, already. And find out what’s in that bag of hers. I never could get a good chance at it.”

“NO!!” you scream, your horn glowing a fiery cyan, but it’s quickly snuffed out by Storm’s axe tapping it. “STOP! ANONYMOUS, HELP! PLEASE!”

The vitriolic hate in Anonymous’ eyes – the animalistic desire to spring forward and fight – is snuffed out the moment Red Letter speaks again, “That crossbow looks expensive. Oh, paralyzing bolts. Nice. The bag’s intraflated, of course. Uppercastemares love to intraflate their purses, don’t they? You gotta disengage—” 

When the contents of your bag spill onto the floor, though, she stops speaking.

In an instant, the tavern is dead silent.

Every head in the room snaps to your precious cargo as it drops to the ground.

As it lets out a squeak of pain at its rough awakening.

As it grumpily stumbles onto all fours before shaking its coat from some spilt ale, its snow white wings unfurling in the effort.

And as its horn glows a pale magenta to fully dispel the remnants of your ambient sleep spell from its mind, its eyelids unbolt as it scans the room drowsily.

”…Twubboh’?” the alicorn filly gurgles to you with a tilt of her head.

”MONSTER!” Red Letter’s otherworldly scream blasts through the silence like an explosion. “DESTROY IT! DESTROY IT AND KILL THE UPPERCASTEMARE!”

A few things happen too quickly for your brain to register all at once.

In the ensuing rush of fur and magic, your captor slackens her magical hold on your limbs enough for you to scramble to your hooves.

A resounding THWACK! explodes above the commotion of the unicorns. 

You immediately ready a teleportation spell aimed at your precious cargo, but your connection with her has been severed. It’s as if her magical signature has become a hole in the void.

You can hardly breathe as you assume the worst, but when you see your precious cargo in the arms of a full-height Anonymous, you feel a rush of relief.

The guardsmare who went for the attack on the filly hisses in pain as she spits out a crimson glob.

The hyoo-men’s gaze swivels from you to the filly in his arms, as if even he was unsure of what just happened. Your precious cargo, in the meanwhile, kicks her bottom hooves in the air as she squeals, "/twubboh'! no pway!/"

”Nonny…”

Red Letter’s voice is sickeningly smooth as she approaches the hyoo-men. As if a switch had been flicked, Anonymous is immediately hunched over and making his way to you. You almost experience whiplash from how quickly the tall hyoo-men is between you and the unicorns. Almost without thinking, you telekinetically grab your bag and slide it to your hooves. Nopony in the room even glances at you, even after you curse under your breath from the absence of your crossbow.

”You’re not from around here,” the red unicorn continues as you hear the door to the tavern slam shut. You send a glance that way to see the other guardsmare returning from locking you all in. “And you’re a colt, so I’m going to give you just one chance to step away from Lucky Favor and that… thing. I’ll even give you a head start.”

Instead of responding, Anonymous slowly lowers the filly to the ground by his side. You’re shocked to feel the influx of magical connection be repaired once she’s out of his grip, and immediately pull her to your hooves. You stare between the filly and Anonymous, the shock of what's happening barely overpowering the shock of Tia's magical tether being cut by the hyoo-men's touch.

Anonymous is turned away from you, so you can’t see his reaction to Red Letter’s words. Still, the looks of shock and fear that blink across her cohorts’ faces show you everything you need to see. The hyoo-men lowers himself, drawing his right leg behind him and his left leg forward, raising his fists. He’s not going anywhere.

You have your precious cargo.

You have your bag, and you have your life.

Nopony is paying attention to you right now. You could teleport to that alley and be out of the kingdom before morning. You could find another kingdom, another housecarla – Tartarus, you’ll just spend a week or so studying invisibility magic and make the whole damn trip transparent!

But no matter how hard your instincts scream at you to ignite that teleportation spell, you’re too engrossed by the sight of Anonymous, between yourself and the ponies who want you dead.

The first of anypony to defend you since you found your precious cargo. Even in the Uppercastes.

He’s not going anywhere, and neither are you.

”Kill them both," Red Letter says, no more unnerved than a pony swatting a fly. "But leave Anon alive enough."

At her command, the room explodes in a symphony of lethal spells being blasted your way.

Reflexes take over as you ignite a protective sphere around your precious cargo and leap into Anonymous’ side.

“LOOK OUT, MY LORD!” you screech as you careen into the hyoo-men. Anonymous yelps as he’s driven to the ground, the thunderous booms of lethal spells zipping above you both.

One by one, each lethal spell zooms across your heads, implanting into the far wall.

”I’m immune to magic, you dumbass!” Anonymous yells as he scrambles out of your grip. “Stop fucking touching me!”

You don’t have time to chastise the colt for his marely language before the cacophonous lethal magic is quickly replaced with the sizzling of an explosion spell building up.

Anonymous is already bolting from its target, so you quickly respond in kind, grabbing your precious cargo and teleporting away from the now smoldering crash site, burnt wood sent flying in all directions. Your head snaps to Red Letter, and at first you think it’s the dizzying effects of magical exertion messing with your head that you see her all alone. 

Then you see the smirk on her face, and you realize your mistake.

”Keep him distracted, ladies!" a mare shouts. "The white one is easier prey!”

You don’t have time to check how Anonymous is faring before another boom racks the tavern.

You let out a scream as you rear back from a lethal spell implanting itself into the table just by your head. The healthy mahogany sizzles into an ugly greenish-brown before your eyes.

Not even a moment passes before you feel something buck into your stomach. Sparks fly from where Storm’s axe slashed into your underside’s armor. Your breath is knocked out of you as you fall onto your back, but the attacks keep coming.

Your focus is on Vivi as she launches booming lethal spells and howling paralysis spells your way. Your horn glows in quick spurts as you deflect each spell to the ceiling, across the room, anywhere away from yourself and the squealing filly in your forelegs as you scramble away from the onslaught.

At the sizzling of Vivi’s horn, you quickly ignite your own during the brief buildup--

Storm’s axe destroys the planks of the floor at your side, less than a hooflength from your cheek. Sharp splinters shower the side of your face as she effortlessly pulls the axe back.

You quickly snag a clump of wooden debris and hurl it at Vivi’s horn. She lets out a shriek as a splinter bounces off, and her current spell is immediately disengaged. Finally with some room to breathe, you quickly engage a protective sphere, but the moment Storm's axe makes contact, it squeals out in a way almost pony-like.

A sharp pain rips through your horn as the sphere explodes like glass. You shout out before immediately trying for another, but when Storm raises her war axe above her head once again, you know it’s futile. The runes on the weapon’s head are glowing a foreboding purple in a pattern you immediately recognize. 

Inrithaumatic runes. You can kiss your defensive sphere goodbye.

“Th-those runes are illegal!” you sputter out. 

Storm gives you an uncaring, unimpressed look. “It’s a miracle you survived down here for so long, White Hooves,” she gibes. “White Hooves… is that your Uppercaste name, I wonder?” With a flick of her horn Storm’s axe descends onto you.

It never connects with you, though, as pure light suddenly engulfs your vision.

A haze as hot as the sun above licks your fur as the light recedes as quickly as it came. When your vision returns, Storm is nowhere to be found.

”…twubboh’ gawn…” your filly gurgles in your arms.

Your head snaps to the filly as her head goes slack. Were it not for the smoldering magical residue of her horn and her deep breathing, you would’ve assume she had died right there.

Storm’s smoking body falls from the ceiling to an unconscious heap on the ground. Her axe follows instantly afterwards, embedding itself into the tavern’s ground. You’re met with the shocked reflection of your face, and further beyond is Anonymous fighting for his life against the two guardsmares.

ANONYMOUS!

You quickly, and rather unceremoniously, shove the filly into your intraflated bag and prepare to teleport to the gentlecolt’s aide, but the sight of the fight stops you.

Even while his attackers hold nothing back – the swordsmare slashing at him with dual blades, Red Letter letting loose the odd crossbow bolt when there's an opening, the caster using tables, chairs, and even her own hooves as weapons – Anonymous holds firm. 

Holding firm or not, though, the sight of a stallion bleeding lines your stomach with lead. Anonymous fights unlike any colt you’ve seen – or, how you’d imagine a colt would fight. He’s brutish and direct as he sends one-legged bucks to any unicorn he can, but the guardsmares outmatch him in both mobility and weaponry. They keep out of his range, whittling him down from a distance. Crimson streaks down one of his arms as the bracer had missed another swipe from the swordsmare. He grunts out in pain as he clumsily puts his weight on his right leg while blocking a broken bottle being thrown at him by the caster. Immune to direct magic or not, there are plenty of corporeal objects around to be thrown at him.

He needs help.

”You’re wide open, White Hooves!” a voice cackles from the side.

You barely have time to jump away from a lethal spell as it zips past your head, but in your haste you don’t have a solid landing plan.

Spell after spell is redirected from yourself, setting the tavern ablaze with a cyan and blue display of life and death. But this time, you don’t have the distraction of a war axe as big as yourself aimed at your head. 

You start noticing the patterns of an amateur in Vivi’s casting. Her hooves remain close together even while moving, ready to spring away from any offensive spell you might send her way. Her eyes are glued to your horn, leaving every other part of your body out of focus. She tilts her head too far downwards when she aims her horn at you.

Don’t mess this up, Lucky!

Making sure to establish eye contact with Vivi, you intercept another navy explosion before you whip your head to the left. Vivi’s entire body follows as she expects a spell from that direction, and when your horn lets loose a simple wind spell, she believes she’s caught you.

Wind spells, as you know, are much easier to redirect than any other kinetic spell, but even then they are too quick to reliably maneuver. There’s no chance to curve your spell around to the right without losing control, so you instead opt to bend it in a straight line, aimed at Vivi’s hooves. They’re too close together to stand a chance.

Vivi looses her hoofing as the gust crashes into her lower body, and you immediately spring forward. Landing in front of her, you cast a dream spell on her horn to seal the deal. The caster slouches to the floor limply.

You hear the sharp zip of the bolt from your crossbow before you see it, but even then it’s too late.

A piercing pain shoots out from your shoulder as the bolt lodges into you, but it’s only momentary. All of the muscles, tendons – Tartarus, even the bones -- in your body go numb as you tumble to the ground. The tavern around you swims as it flips upside down and right side up before settling with Anonymous in clear sight.

Without any other option, you shout out, “ANONYMOUS!” as your magic grabs the bag and pushes it across the floor with all your might -- just as another crossbow bolt embeds into its last position. It easily slides over the polished wood, between chairs and tables, until Anonymous’ hands sweep it up on the far side.

The change in Anonymous is almost instant.

The moment the bag is in his hands, the hyoo-men cradles it in the crook of his arm, away from his attackers. His movements are no longer brutish or clumsy; they are equal parts fluid and exact as he deflects one of the mares’ swords with a bracer, grabbing another aimed his way before hooking it in his armpit. With a graceful twist of his body, not only is the unicorn’s magical grip on the sword relinquished, but a crossbow bolt is sent whizzing just by his long torso and the bag is secured into the crook of his other arm tightly. Anonymous makes no deadly use of the sword he snatched, instead using it to crash through a table sent his way. The caster who had thrown it at him is uncomfortably close to the hyoo-men and gives him a parting buck to the leg before teleporting away. You don’t catch which one she caught. From Anonymous’ unphased expression as he eyes the two guardsmares in front of him, you can only guess it was his good leg.

You hope it was his good leg.

The second of the swordsmare’s blades swipes at Anonymous, but he’s quicker, smacking it away with a bracer, showering the floor with sparks. In the same wave of motion, he also flings his confiscated sword toward the swordsmare. She has no time to react before it collides with her horn. The guardsmare screams out as a few pathetic sparks spurt from her horn; this gives Anonymous ample opportunity to land the most bone-crushing punch you’ve ever seen on her cheek.

The swordsmare falls, and the caster is most undoubtedly next as she scrambles back towards Red Letter, hurling anything hard or sharp around her at the hyoo-men. Anonymous either bats away, dodges, or tanks whatever she throws at him until there’s the zzzZWIP! of a bolt aimed not at himself, but at the bag in his arm.

Now, as stated before, you have never been in a fight. The classes you’ve taken and the books you’ve read never prepared you for all the little nuances.

The pumping adrenaline, the shaking down to your bones, the cotton in your mouth; all of these are things you had never experienced before today. Really, the only thing you had gullibly expected in no small part due to the copious amounts of romance novels you’ve read had been the one thing you haven’t experienced in this fight.

Until now. 

As sparks fly from the crossbow’s collision with Anonymous’ stone bracer, showering his handsome features in a dangerous, life-threatening glow, his body twists in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. The bag is nowhere near danger, tucked away in a place more secure than the most guarded castle in the highest caste of unicorn society.

The heat of the sun above attacks your face with half of the fury you see in Anonymous’ face.

The moment ends as quickly as it began. Whatever insurmountable spell the hyoo-men had casted on you, it seems to have afflicted the caster as well, as all she can do is stare at Anonymous.

She doesn’t make the slightest move, even when Anonymous rears one leg back and swings it into her cheek. The guardsmare’s entire body follows her head as she’s sent airborne, crashing into the bar before slumping to the floor.

Glass shatters as somepony dives through a window.

Anonymous’ head snaps to the broken window just before the white flash of teleportation magic illuminates the outside wall. For the second time of the night, Red Letter is replaced with the rain and fog of the Plumsteed night.

You can only stare at the hyoo-men as his eyes turn to meet your own. For some time you two only stare at each other, the only noise in the tavern the deafening thumping of your heart.

For some reason, you feel your cheeks heat up as he approaches.

He’s limping badly now, his right leg dragging lifelessly behind him. Still, his expression remains resolute as he nears.

…No, not resolute. In a daze.

“…Q-quite the interviewwwblrrrgh,” you gurgle before your throat goes numb and you convulse, vomiting onto the ground just beside your face.

Was it from the adrenaline? Was it nervousness from Anonymous approaching you in such a helpless state?

Either way, you might as pull the plug on your comatose dignity and say its farewells to its loving family and friends. Because it’s never recovering from that.

Anonymous doesn’t react to your half-digested lunch as he merely leans down and pulls the bolt from your shoulder. You gasp as feeling returns to your dead limbs, and groan when it reaches the many wounds you were too busy avoiding death to notice beforehoof.

“A-Anonymous, dear?” you whisper hoarsely, before you realize Anonymous has walked past you. You turn to find him grabbing a wooden chair, your precious cargo still in the crux of his arm. 

”More’ll come,” Anonymous mutters. He continues towards the tavern entrance, tracking blood and disjointed footprints across the floor as he does. 

“Anonymous, dear, it’s already locked from the inside, remember?”

Anonymous jams the chair’s top rail underneath the tavern entrance’s doorknob, not paying you any heed. Of course he ignores you, why wouldn’t he?

This is all your fault.

You put this gentlecolt in danger. You wanted to put him in danger from the start, coming here and even asking him to accept your job. You’re the reason Red Letter found him.

Even thinking her name scoops out your insides and replaces them with cold stones.

Tartarus, you’re so stupid.

You miserably drag your hooves below your barrel before slowly raising yourself to catch the hyoo-men as he makes his way back to you. 

“I’ll… just take her back now,” you say cautiously.

Anonymous’ eyes are unfocused, up until the moment you reach for the bag in his arms. Then they’re immediately on you, reflecting the same ferocity as when Red Letter had almost shot your cargo.

Thankfully, this moment goes on for much shorter than last time. Anonymous blinks out of his stupor, and you swear you can see the life returning to his tired eyes.

”…Grghhhh…” the bag in his arms murmurs.

Oh, thank the All-Mother!

Anonymous quickly kneels down and hands the bag off to you. The moment it’s in your hooves it’s opened and you pull out your cargo from within. You rotate the filly this way and that, but nothing sticks out too much. The worst is a bruise on her forehead.

”Careful with her,” Anonymous says so quietly it could’ve been a whisper.

When you turn to him, you see his eyes snap away from the filly. His expression is back to an unreadable scowl. He grunts as he hobbles to his full height, and before you know it, Anonymous is simply crossing his arms, peering down at you with a glare.

"So," he says simply, his eyes resting on the filly in your arms for a brief moment. "I'm protecting you against everyone while you transport this filly 'far away?'" 

A brief jolt against your chest tells you said filly is back at full capacity now. You peer down at her to find her staring up at Anonymous, tilting her head before giving him an excited wave. Anonymous, you swear to the Ancient Lady of Perception, has to restrain himself from waving back.

"...Um, yes," you whisper, your eyes once again stinging from the pain.

For a brief moment, you're sure Anonymous will refuse. His body becomes rigid, there's the ever-so-slight furrowing of his brow, and a twitch of his cheek. Until his eyes once again land on your filly, and there's a hint of something much softer on his sullen face.

"Money better be worth it," he grumbles, barely discernable, yet making your world slow all the same. "Fine. I accept. Now quit blubbering."

You gasp, looking back down at the filly in your arms to once again study her for injuries, and that's when your vision becomes blurry. He was talking about you.

You slam your eyelids shut and turn from the hyoo-men. "I am not crying!" you grunt, but the amused snort from Anonymous tells you he isn't convinced.

Somepony shouts in the distance, her voice flicking your ears in the direction of the shattered window. Anonymous reacts instantly, his head whipping in the direction as he makes his way over to the window.

You, meanwhile, can't stop the grin on your face as you cover your eyes, sniffling. It's time to leave, you can already guess, but Ancients above, you deserve a moment of peace...

You did it.

"wucky?" a tiny, squeaky voice pipes up from your forelegs. You smile down at the filly as you set her on the ground, standing up to all fours. Your shoulder aches from the crossbow bolt, but once you're out of Plumsteed, you can sew it. 

"Yep," you say as you realign your bag's drawstring across your body. "One step closer to Equestria."

The alicorn filly blinks up at you, before her eyes turn toward Anonymous. A few moments of silence passes before she suddenly gasps and whips back to you, hopping up and down on her hooves. "dadda?!" she squeaks, a hopeful expression on her face.

The grin on your face slips, and you curse yourself. You did your best to avoid the topic of a certain... procreative activity when she asked you what mothers and fathers were in the Uppercastes. That, and the subsequent heartache of that question even being asked, made you stick to the "provider and protector" description of the two.

"No, and you should not call him that!" you hastily whisper to the filly. It only makes her more confused, but the bass voice of a certain hyoo-men cuts in before she can ask more.

"Need to stop somewhere first," Anonymous says as he limps past you. "After that, we're getting out of Plumsteed."

You magic the filly from the ground and into your bag as you're thankfully able to keep up with the hyoo-men due to his injuries.

His injuries!

Stupid, stupid Lucky Favor!

Stop being inconsiderate to the rogue of your dreams!

You did not just think that!

“My sincerest apologies, my lord," you titter nervously. "First we must mend your wounds.”

“Stop calling me ‘lord,’" he deadpans, "And let’s just worry about getting out of here first.”

“I will worry about both getting out of here and your well being, mister!”

For the first time since you’ve met him, you see the ghost of a smile threaten his lips. 

You can't help but smile smugly to yourself, and decide to push forward, turning to the hyoo-men and giving him a full-fledged grin. With a giggle from just behind your neck, you know your precious cargo is also giving the hyoo-men a look -- and with a flutter of warmth, she gives him another wave. Anonymous, this time, gives her a half-fledged wave of his feelers in return.

“And, um, Lucky Favor is just my Lowercaste name," you say, your cheeks blossoming with warmth at the prospect of your first true friend. "My true name is Faust, and this is Tia! It’s a pleasure to have you aboard, Anonymous!”
> II - Outside Stimulus
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

”Pardon me, lord Anonymous, but would it be too rash to ask you a favor?”

Your vacant gaze shifts to the white unicorn sitting across from you. Lucky Favor’s own eyes immediately snap down to the campfire, as if she hadn’t been the one who just interrupted your thoughts and dragged you back into Equus. Her ears are glued forward, but after a few seconds of some human-specialized scrutiny they start flicking this way and that, playing it off like she was just listening to the symphony of nocturnal life the whole time. After a while of seeming preoccupied, Lucky looks back up at you, a smile tinging her lips upward.

You give an affirming grunt as your gaze returns to the campfire. 

A few stutters and verbal missteps later, and you’re on the verge of giving her a less polite grunt until Lucky Favor finally speaks. “Would the gentlecolt allow me to illustrate him?” she asks with a grin.

You blink, unsure of how to respond, before saying the first words that come to mind. “Why're you talking like that?"

”Oh!” Lucky titters, leaning forward on her perch on the log. “My apologies, my lord. It's commonplace to speak properly in the Uppercastes, but I tend to do it regardless when I’m nervous. Which I’m not. I’m very comfortable with you around. So, you're doing quite well as my housecarla!" She gives you a squee, which stops midway as a look of confusion crosses her face. "Housecarl? Which do you prefer?"

Not the first time a lady's been confused by that; not by a long shot. But it's the first time you've been asked which you prefer.

You hum in amusement, your attention turning back to the campfire between the two of you. "Housecarla is fine," you say.

The fire's crackling embers, coupled with the nocturnal buzz of the night, start to send you back into the nothingness of waiting for the two ponies to fall asleep. 

Tia’s sudden explosion of giggles from the other side of camp, snapping you out of your progress, is a good encapsulation of your success.

”Tia, that’s not food!” Lucky Favor yawps as she launches from her sitting log. 

You jolt from the quick movement. Your fingers snap to fists. However, as Tia’s giggling turns into an indignant, "buh' shiney!", your body relaxes. You sigh at the familiar hum of a certain filly being telekinetically lifted and turn your head to the stars above.

You remember when you’d spend hours lost in the wondrous, flawless night sky of Equus. You’d wonder, if you were pulled into that sky, how far up would you go? You’d try to put what you saw into words – stars, galaxies, comets, technicolor dust, a whole slew of ethereal bodies you didn’t even know the names of – you’d run out of words, you’d just lose yourself in its beauty, and you’d start all over again. Now, though, your mind can only think of one word: stars.

It’s a starry sky, is all it is. It’s gonna be a long night.

”So can I draw you, my lord?” Lucky peeps from below.

Damn. You were hoping she would be too embarrassed to bring it up again, or would at least keep it to herself for the night. It looks like she's not letting this go. Besides, this might just mellow the mood enough for her to grow tired.

You raise your hands in surrender. “Sure.”

”You won't even recognize your beauty!” Lucky Favor glows as her horn follows suit, washing the site in a cyan-and-orange luminance. Her bag floats to her side before being plundered by her hooves. “Did I ever tell you I drew, Anonymous? You never got around to asking me about my interests, and I’ve been dying to draw something I’ve had in mind since last night.”

Lucky's horn glows a cyan which contrasts elegantly with the oranges of the campfire, the same glow enveloping the filly at her side. Tia giggles as she reaches her arms out, looking down at the moving ground as she floats through the air over to you. You raise an eyebrow at the sight.

Lucky wants you to hold Tia?

"Speaking of last night," Lucky muses, her tone much more serious. "Well... We're away from Plumsteed now. That makes us safe, right? I'm not too familiar with the way bounties, and assassins, and the like work."

You can't help but snort in amusement. "We'll be long gone by the time the bounties get out," you say. "And the Maretinets wouldn't allow assassination bounties in such a major city. The most dangerous ones you'll find are the Magical Anomy ones. But those are just plain suicidal." The confused look on Lucky's face reminds you of her last sentence. She's new to the Lowercastes. "Maretinets would be the equivalent of cops. They have cops in the Uppercastes, right?"

The look of confusion on her face boils over into a tilt of her head. Right. You're not on Earth anymore. 

In the meanwhile, the proximity of the cyan glow around Tia goads you to squint. The filly settles down in your lap. You blink in surprise, looking down at the pink mane of the filly as it twists this way and that, the eyes underneath exploring the leather pads of your armor.

"Uh, law bringers, basically," you utter as your hands instinctually cradle Tia before she falls. She responds by grabbing at your fingers. "You're gonna draw me holding the kid?"

You look up to see a grin and a nod from over Lucky's cyan-enveloped notebook. "Don't drop her!" she exclaims.

"spider-hooves?!" Tia babbles to herself as her forelegs entrap your right index finger.

"You really shouldn't trust me this much," you mumble, gently flexing your finger out of Tia's grip. "And I don't really like kids."

"wha--?!" Tia squawks, looking up at you with an expression you don't dare meet with your eyes.

Lucky Favor’s own peer up from her notebook, as shocked as someone who'd just been told the alphabet soup she ate had Inrithaumatic runes in it. She stays like that for exactly five seconds, which you know because you're intentionally looking at her to avoid seeing the heartbreaking expression on Tia's face. Finally, Lucky responds with a snicker and pitiful shake of her head. "I understand comedy isn't a stallion's strong suit," she giggles, "But kindly try not to give Tia a heart attack, my lord."

You find it hard to put up a fighting glare with the relieved sigh coming from Tia in your arms. You just opt to stay still as Lucky Favor begins drawing. Your eyes stay glued to the dancing feather behind Lucky's sketchbook. 

She draws with an ink quill?

Either she's a damn good artist, or there's some kind of a cleaning spell to remove the any mistakes from the paper.

You close your eyes to relinquish the thought before it leads to more disturbing ones. At the familiar, fuzzy sensation of magic failing to affect you, and the confused squeak of Tia, you know she's trying to grab your finger with her magic. You can't help but hum in amusement as her confusion morphs to frustration, and she gives your index finger a quick bat of her hoof.

Said hum turns from amusement to puzzlement as a stray thought enters your mind. And the more it grows, the harder it becomes to ignore it.

"You know I'm immune to magic," you say to Lucky, prompting two cyan orbs to peek over her notebook. "In fact, I'm almost... anti-magic. If I touch a pony, they're unable to cast any spells. So, I have a question." The notebook covering Lucky's face lowers even more as she considers your words. 

Tia switches tactics to biting your finger, and once you get a feel of those pegasus canines, you extend your index finger in front of her face and give her a stern wagging. Of course, she doesn't understand the gesture, and reaches with her forelegs to grab at it. In turn, you give her a light flick on the snout. She gives a surprised flutter of her wings before babbling, "bad hoof-spider!"

Your eyes glide to the bag on Lucky's hip. "I doubt your bag is intraflated due to Uppercaste craftsmanship alone," you say. "So why didn't I cancel the magic out when I touched it?"

For a brief moment, Lucky is stunned at the question. She turns to the bag on her hip, then to the filly in your hands, then to you. But with each turn of her head, her eyes become wide with excitement. "I'm not sure," she says, a hint of smugness crawling out with her words as the fur of her chest tuft begins to rise underneath her shirt. You recognize the foreign body language as confidence. "But I know enough about magical theory that I might be able to give a hypothesis. There are four main species of magic: direct magic, ambient magic, elemental magic, and magic-mortem." The notebook settles on Lucky's lap, and you're given a full view of the suddenly cocky Uppercastemare as she grins, "Magic-mortem is, in layman's terms, dead magic. Since an ambient intraflation spell would be exhausting to cast, nonstop, lest your valuables be crushed or the bag destroyed, an intraflation spell was casted during this bag's making and was killed by a skilled caster. It's effectively permanent, yet inactive, magic, unable to be affected by any outside means. I believe this may also extend to your magical cancellation."

"Hm," is all you mumble as you consider her words. You were expecting something useful for future encounters, but you doubt anyone will be hurling dead spells at you.

"Of course, there's no need to worry about the minutia of magic," Lucky titters, turning her attention back to her drawing. "It's more of a mare's subject."

Mare's subject?

A mixture of confusion and indignation creeps its way onto your face. Looks like this unexplained sexism everyone seems to have isn't just restricted to the Lowercastes. It's starting to get on your nerves.

The feather dancing from behind Lucky's notebook suddenly stops dead, to be replaced with a sheepish grin. "Of course, my intentions are not to offend the good lord," she says with a halfhearted squee. "Mares at better at some things, and stallions others. It is quite nice, having such a strong, affable male influence around. F-for, um..." For what seems like the dozenth time since you've known Faust, the white of her cheeks is stained red with embarrassment. "For Tia, of course."

Just... ignore that blush.

Tia successfully takes your index finger hostage and inspects it as if it were a wonder of the world. "Just don't bite it," you grumble to the filly in your lap, before turning your attention to Lucky. "You just met me. I could be some psycho-criminal-turned-housecarla. Why do you think I'm such a standup guy?'"

”Oh, just a feeling,” Lucky says coyly, levitating her notebook back over her face. You don't miss the slow kicking of her hindlegs as she focuses on the drawing. "I'm sure there's a beautiful, misunderstood, masculine spirit underneath all that mareliness."

"Want me to punch you again?"

The feather of Lucky's quill stops dancing behind the notebook. She drops the book to her lap, looking at you with a blushing frown. "I am a mare of dignity, lord Anonymous, and I do not enjoy being struck by a stallion. I enjoy deep conversations and romantic portraits. Masochism is a side effect of Lowercaste degeneracy."

A dumb look plasters itself on your face as you slowly take in what she just said. The looks seems to be infectious, as what Lucky just said seems to dawn on her, and she slowly levitates the notebook back up to cover her face. 

"Alright," you grunt, leaning forward over Tia. “There's obviously some culture shock bullshit going on that I'm not getting. Why are males treated so differently around here?”

”bowshit?" Tia pipes up, and you immediately clamp on your hand over her muzzle. It's too big to do just that, though, and ends up covering her whole face.

The notebook drops into Lucky's lap as she gives you the epitome of the, "How dense are you, colt?" look. You click your tongue in embarrassment, looking off to the side as you remove your hand from a dazed Tia.

"Fillies aren't allowed to say that," you say. "Legends say their tongues will fall off if they say that... without going to sleep right after."

Nice save.

Tia's ears flap to her skull and she immediately burrows herself into your armor, feigning snoring. Once again, a soothing calm begins to overtake you as Lucky's gaze morphs from outrage to a kind of smug exasperation that you're pretty sure has to do with your "masculine spirit" shining through.

Once she's good and satisfied with your acceptance of defeat, her ears perk up in attention at your previous question.

You reach a hand up to scratch at your beard, remembering other instances of this phenomenon. Even earlier today, at Free Valley Carpentry, where they'll be building your carriage out of here. “This morning,” you recall, settling your hand back onto a steadily breathing Tia. “They changed their entire demeanor when I started talking. They started treating me like royalty, or something.”

”Well, all stallions should be treated like royalty,” Lucky Favor muses. "It's the proper mare's job to take pride in the upholding of the stallion. Even if he's just a stranger. Truthfully, I was pleasantly surprised by the Valley's treatment of you. Especially for Lowercastemares!"

Her open classism is somehow both charming and insulting. 

You roll your eyes, but otherwise don't move from your spot. No reason to mock the Uppercastemare's pride when she's paying you 600 doits a night.

“…Y-you deserve to be treated like royalty, Anonymous," Lucky Favor says, almost soft enough for you not to hear. Your gaze locks with her own as she looks up at you from behind her notebook.

And there you two are, staring at each other over the campfire. Lucky Favor’s eyes brim with a determination that you can almost find respectable, if she hadn’t just prefaced it with the clumsiest attempt at flirting you’ve ever had the displeasure of experiencing. 

The two of you continue the impromptu staring match for… an amount of time you’d rather not discern. Long enough for Tia’s snoring to snap Lucky out of her stupor.

“You’re weird,” you say neutrally. 

The blush on Lucky’s cheeks burns so bright you’re worried she might set her notebook ablaze as she buries her face in it. Lucky's face doesn't reveal itself again, but her ears flick to her skull in embarrassment, and her hindlegs begin kicking with a little more force.

You suck on your tongue in bemusement at the display. You don't like how at ease you're beginning to feel around her. She's hard to read.

Or are all Uppercastemares just this... naïve?

Your knee bounces slowly as Lucky Favor goes to town on that notebook. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t the tiniest bit curious how her drawing will turn out. You remember back to Free Valley Carpentry, when she had gotten flustered trying to explain the minutiae of the wagon. After a few technical words of which she didn’t know the meaning were sent her way by the workers, she took out her notebook and started drawing the wagon as a blueprint. It was accurate and detailed enough to draw a crowd of both carpenters and customers. 

As your thoughts play with Free Valley Carpentry, you’re tempted to ask Lucky Favor about another occurrence that you had been wondering about. She had told you—no, insisted that you did not, under any circumstances, call her “Faust” when there were other ponies around. “Ponies of these… acclimations,” were the words she used. Something to do with only her close friends calling her by her Uppercaste name, you guess.

When you turn back to Lucky, though, the question fades from the tip of your tongue to the back of your mind. She’s sticking her tongue out in concentration, her eyes inches from her canvas as she tries to get the exact measurement of something perfectly. There's the threat of a smile on your lips once again.

She really is new to the Lowercastes. Maybe she can turn out to be one of the better ladies. A little snobby, but... 

Well, she's no Red Letter.

The fire crackles peacefully and the filly in your arms lets out a faint giggle in her sleep as she digs deeper into your chest, and the nocturnal life seems to blossom once again within the silence.

A sudden movement from above catches your attention. It’s a comet, trailing across the ethereal canvas of the night sky. It blinks past the uncountable asterisms of stars, seems to cut through the limbs of a galaxy you can only guess is your own, and disappears into a nebula’s whirlwind of colors.

There's that twitching at the corners of your lips again; a hesitant smile, asking for your permission to blossom.

"a-dadda-dah..." Tia gurgles in her sleep, nuzzling closer into your abdomen.

Your grip loosens on the filly. Maybe to distract yourself from the blossoming of warmth in your heart. "Uh..." you murmur, slowly leaning away from the lump of sleeping pony. "She's aware I'm not her father. Right?"

Lucky's eyes peak over her notebook, and she lets out a squeak of recognition. "Did she call you--?" she begins in a panic, before she sees the affirmatory look on your face. Lucky Favor lets out an apologetic groan, dropping the notebook onto the wood beside her, leaning forward and planting her cheeks firmly on her forehooves. She lets out an embarrassed giggle  before looking up to meet your eyes with her own, her maroon mane parting between her horn in a fashion that somehow amplifies her meekness. "I apologize, Anonymous. I was in a... well, awkward conversation with a filly about reproduction."

You silently mouth, "oh," knowing the feeling all too well.

"I told her that mothers and fathers were essentially guardians who protected and played with her," Lucky titters, her eyes gazing into the dancing tongues of the campfire. They stay like that for some time, her thoughts well away from the drawing by now. "Are you a parent, Anonymous?"

The warm feeling in your chest spreads slowly throughout your body as memories of Earth threaten to burst through your tear ducts.

You haven't been asked that one. Not in a long time.

You stay silent for a long time, blinking away the stinging sensation of tears coming to your eyes. Your throat begins to tighten, and your chin begins to tremble without your input. You lean forward, pressing an elbow to your knee and lips into your purlicue to hide the phenomenon. The movement causes Tia to be cradled in your other hand. 

Your right knee begins to bounce. It's a habit you've had since you were a kid.

"I, uh..." you mumble, before snapping your mouth shut at the faintest hint of your voice's wobbling. You sniff, before turning it into a grunt, gliding your hands over your face to ruffle the hair bush on your head. When your eyes once again meet with Lucky, you see that her own are focused expressly on you. Your chew on nothing, as if mulling over this emotion you haven't had the displeasure of tasting in a long, long time. With one more exhale through your nostrils, you give her a simple, "No."

Lucky Favor meets your eyes with a gentle smile as she says, "Anon, if something's bothering you, I'd be happy to listen. Only if you're comfortable, of course.

"Why are you crying all alone, Anon? Let me help you."

Slowly -- painfully slowly -- you come to a realization.

The warmth of the campfire fades into nothing, and the filly in your arms turns to metal.

The warm feeling in your chest shrinks into itself, malforming into a dense, cold stone. It slithers down and into your gut in a painful and unstoppable crawl.

It took you longer than the others to figure her out.

Maybe it's because she's from the Uppercastes, you expected differently.

Fool you twice...

No. Not twice. This makes thrice.

It starts as a simple gesticulation of your stomach and brief snorts through your nose. Bizarrely, it feels as if it infects your mouth before your vocal chords, resulting in a few rapid fire pants before it finally comes through as something perceivable: a chuckle.

Lucky blinks, that innocent fucking look on her face -- the one she no doubt practiced -- before it turns into confusion. No, not confusion. Concern.

Concern.

The chuckling, for a moment, retreats back into shallow panting before you let out a guffaw loud enough to wake Tia from her sleep. She gives a little jump -- an innocent, little jump -- and you're sure her magenta eyes are looking up at you with confusion.

You have the fortitude to pluck Tia from your lap and lay her unceremoniously on the space of the log beside you as you let out the first belly-wrenching cackle. Lucky gives Tia a confused glance before she sets the notebook down. With a little hop, she's on all fours in front of the log, slowly walking towards you with a hesitant smile.

"Did you think of a joke, Anonymous?" she asks pathetically.

You end your laughter with a wheeze, burying your face in your hands. 

It's a joke, but you sure as Hell didn't think of it.

"Tia," you command with a giggle, not even looking at the filly at your side. "Cover your ears."

With that out of the way, you push yourself up to full height. Lucky's own height diminishes as she gives you a look of unbridled confusion. She seems to snap out of it as she quickly nods to Tia, "Cover your ears, Tiny-Tia."

Tiny-Tia?

Red Letter's nickname for you was so much more straight forward.

"A stallion needs to be coddled every once in a while, right, Anon?"

"It's okay to cry, Anon."

"You deserve this, Anon. Let me make you feel good."

"We'll see who the cops will believe, Anon."

The stray thought, completely out of Equus yet inextricably connected to your arrival, almost makes you burst out in another fit of giggles. But you're thankfully able to keep it down to a low chuckle as you kneel down to meet Lucky Favor at equal height. She blinks at your sudden descent, taking one instinctual step back, but the blush on her face betrays her thoughts.

She's blushing.

You give a knowing smile to beat down the cold rock of grief in your gut. You reach forward with a hand and give Faust's burning cheek two light pats. Her brow furrows and she gives you a slack-jawed frown. A mixture of concern and confusion. "Did I really hire a psycho-criminal-turned-housecarla?" she'd be thinking, if she were smarter.

"I know what you're doing," you say without emotion.

Lucky blinks rapidly, as if she were blinking out of a confused stupor you put on her, as you stand back up to your full height. "Oh!" she suddenly jolts. "I called you Anon! I'm so sorry! I was simply caught up in the moment! It won't happen again... Anonymous?"

You grin as you walk around Lucky Favor, aimed at the dormant notebook on the log. You even find yourself casually humming a nonsensical tune.

"Tia, cover your ears," Lucky says again from behind, keeping her voice kind yet firm. "I mean it!"

Tia gives a hesitant affirmative as you assume she does just that. In the meanwhile, you round the corner to be able to peer down at Lucky's unfinished drawing, and your suspicions are confirmed.

She's a good artist, you'll give her that. She went out of her way to draw your silhouette before anything. The drawing has a heavy emphasis on your muscular figure. As the cold rock in your gut deepens into a freezing stone, the smile on your face only becomes tauter. 

It took a nickname for you to see it. Any other mare, you would have made the connection right away, but with Lucky?

A nickname, and a child to lower your walls. Despite the fact that a child is the whole reason you're on Equus.

Lucky tilts her head at your reaction, her eyes dancing between you and the picture. She stays like that for a moment, before a thought seems to deflate her. "Are you okay, Anonymous?" she asks.

"No," you say. "Not at all." 

Lucky's face crumbles at your response. She takes a few careful steps toward you as her eyes plead up to you. "Anonymous?" she murmurs, "Do you... want to talk about what happened? With Red Letter?"

"You want to help me?" you more say, than ask. Like a command. It's a command Lucky takes as she gives you a nod. You grin to hold back the bubbling laughter in your throat, amalgamating with the burning anger in your chest at the sick joke that took you a full day to get. 

You shake your head in a slow, dead seesaw and tell her, "No, you don't."

"Pardon me?" Lucky's words would have been condescending, if they didn't come from an Uppercastemare's mouth. Somehow, she makes it seem filled with concern. She's good at that.

Your nonplussed smile seems to trigger something inside Lucky as her posture gains a few inches of height. "Why would you say that?" she asks, an ounce of umbrage dropped into her tone. "I've been nothing but accepting to you, Anonymous!"

Alongside Lucky's confidence, comes your anger. You close the distance with Faust with two large steps. The unicorn takes one back, quickly glancing at the filly behind her, her own look of confusion aimed right at the two of you as her hooves cover her ears. You don't miss the faint glow of Lucky's horn. A defensive spell, you're sure, even if it won't do anything to you.

As the fake joy across your face crumbles into a dagger-like stare, you growl at your lady, "You mares are all the fucking same."

Lucky's face undergoes an expression of horrified confusion and betrayal. "What does that mean?!" she yawps.

"Your constant blushing? That fucking drawing? 'You deserve to be treated like royalty?' You don't want me as just a housecarla, you want me as a fucking Uppercaste suitor!"

That seems to bring Lucky up short. Her mouth opens and moves as if she were speaking, but no words come out. They're stuck in her throat as she struggles to bring up a defense. The only thing that's lacking is a blush on her cheeks.

You knew it.

It took you long enough.

"Admit it," you growl lowly, closing that last bit of distance between the two of you, crouching low to meet her face to face. "You just want to get in my pants. You're like a little Red Letter."

You regret the words the moment they leave your mouth.

Faust's face becomes two shades whiter. Her raised cheeks and shaking eyebrows battle with her horrified eyes. "I--..." she begins, before she's brought up short once again. Her muzzle begins to twist and tremble in emotion. A single, dry sniffle seems to reap through her entire body as she jolts, her eyes beginning to panic as she looks between the ground and you.

Finally, her hindlegs give out from underneath her, and her haunches drop to the ground. "It--" she starts again, a sharp intake of air silencing her. "It isn't like that!"

Deep down, despite everything you've been through and everything you know, a small part of you asks yourself why you shouldn't believe her. It's a small, shriveled tendril of guilt that grips you from the inside.

As the sounds of the argument are replaced by your rapid heartbeat, the campfire, the nocturnal buzzing, and Lucky's shaky breathing, that small part of you demands an answer.

Look at her. Does she look like a Red Letter?

She wants to help.

You could tell her.

You could tell her everything. You could tell her how your last days on Earth broke you. You could tell her just how good a family's word was back on Earth, how good a mare's word here on Equus is. You could tell her how you were not even allowed to cry there -- how you're only allowed to cry here. You could tell her you still feel the crushing sensation of the noose around your neck every night before you go to sleep. You could tell her all of this, and she would comfort you, and you would finally feel safe in this new, unfamiliar world.

But then, she’d be just like Red Letter.

You watch, silent, as tears begin to well in Lucky Favor's eyes. 

Don't you dare feel guilty. Earth taught you better than to fall for that.

Despite your own thoughts, it gets harder to meet Lucky's eyes. You just look away from the sight and into the forest. Your hand errantly scratches at the hairs around your mouth as you glare into the darkness. For some time the two of you sit in silence, Lucky's deep breathing eventually shallowing into another attempt at words.

"I-if I'm making you uncomfortable..." she pleads, "Please just--"

It's fake.

Red Letter did the same thing. You'd be stupid to fall for it again.

Ignore the guilt. You know better.

"So, am I fired?" you interrupt before she can finish.

As if suffering from whiplash, Lucky blinks rapidly at the question. She sniffles, wiping at her eyes with her forelegs. "Pardon me?" she asks quietly.

"Are you going to fire me?"

Lucky's tear-stained eyes seem to reexamine you, as if you just teleported in front of her with completely different features. "No... Why would I fire you?"

"Because I'm just your housecarla until we reach Equestria. I'm not your friend, and I'm not some romantic interest in one of your Uppercaste novels. So if that's going to be a problem, just fire me now and we can go our separate ways."

The longer you talk, the lower Lucky's eyes fall from your face. She opens her mouth once, in a futile attempt at a rebuttal, but it soon closes without accomplishing anything. After a moment of consideration, Lucky turns around to see Tia meet her gaze. The longer she looks at her precious cargo, the lower her ears sink into her mane.

You can't follow her gaze. 

Lucky Favor, you can handle. But if you look at Tia, you know you'll start having second thoughts. 

You take her silence as an affirmative.

As if it can distract you from the feeling of your heart being condensed into itself, you give a clap of your hands and shift your weight upward, standing back up to your full height. Lucky's eyes snap back to you in confusion. 

"Alright, then," you say, turning to see that the cold embrace of the forest looks much more inviting than around Faust. "I'm going on a walk to clear my royal, masculine head."

If Lucky had a response ready for that, she can't get it out before you're already limping away. You hear her take a few steps after you, but they soon slow, before stopping completely. 

"Okay..." she mumbles in a wavering voice, just loud enough to stain that word in the insides of your skull.

You don't give a response as you keep your eyes forward, cursing the stubborn, guilt-ridden, rumbling warmth in your chest. The longer you walk, though, the more another rumbling warmth begins to make its unwanted appearance.

Your right leg is beginning to hurt again. After that lucky hit in Plumsteed, you've been unable to walk for long without it happening. And it feels like it's getting worse.

The orange lights on the passing trees gradually dim and disappear, and soon, you're finally out of earshot of your ladies. There's still the residual shaking from your fight with Faust, in your gut and on your face. You slowly suck air in through your teeth, cringing as burning coal is shoved into the shin-long splinter of your cracked shinbone. You try to shut yourself out from the outside stimulus, but like always, the pain soon overtakes you.

Your body forces you to lean up against a tree, unable to stand. 

You barely last a second before you buckle under your own weight, shaking like a dying leaf. You let out a low, animalistic groan as you simply sit there, squeezing your head between your hands, and clenching your eyes shut.

"Equus isn't Earth, Anon," she had told you once. "It's okay for a stallion to cry."

You open your eyes to glare at nothing, and the bottom of your forearms drop onto your knees. With a well practiced coating of anger over the pain, you will yourself to simply block out the feeling of tears wanting to well up in your eyes.

Push it away.

Push her away. Don’t give her an opening, Anon. 

Never again.

You use this moment of stillness to breathe.

You're able to steadily remind yourself that you're finally alone with each slow breath. You're no longer on Earth. You're no longer in Plumsteed. With some effort, you're even able to push what Tia called you out of your mind.

You're no longer a villain for wanting to be a parent.

Red Letter is not here. She's in Plumsteed. Probably scrambling to put out bounties of you two. But it'll take time for those bounties to spread out of Plumsteed.

You liked the look on her face when you deflected her bolt in that tavern. She looked so scared.

You're not sure how much times passes with you taking deep breaths in through your nose and out through your mouth, and you don't care. Long enough for the burning coals in your chest to simmer into nothing, and the cold stone in your gut to thaw out.

You're Faust's housecarla just until you reach Equestria. Nothing more.

Equestria is untamed. Settlers, raiders, and natives aplenty. Like a Colonial America. The bounty hunting business is booming there.

Although... you know that doesn't really matter. Not with the real reason you took up bounty hunting.

You stubbornly pinch the bridge of your nose, taking in a few extra breaths just to be sure. With an extra few minutes, paleness will subside, and Lucky won't have another reason to pretend to worry over you. You put one hand beneath you and begin to push yourself up.

FUCK!

You hiss as your body immediately collapses back to the ground. 

You reach down and pull up your pant leg to study your leg. As you tear off your makeshift gauze of plantain leaves and ointment, not an inch of peach skin shines back to you in the darkness. Everything is either purple or red. That old stallion's ointment did nothing. 

You slowly suck it up and get to work, clawing your way up to your left foot.

You start limping through the forest in your search for a branch of optimal size. You’re tempted to just settle for a walking stick, as a splint would work as a makeshift cast, but it’d be hard to take off. After all, you won’t be much of a housecarla if you can’t even intimidate your lady’s attackers, would you? 

Not only that, but Lucky Favor would have a persistent reminder that you’re injured.

Although, a walking stick would be much easier to hide from your potential opponents when the moment calls for it. And Faust. She’s proven herself to not be able to keep her hooves to herself when it comes to your injuries, fretting over your gashes and going on and on about how she's been educated on the subject of first aid.

You mull over the possibilities before you finally come to a solution, and get to work.

It takes some time, wandering through the forest, gathering the branches, twigs, and leaves needed. You have to awkwardly sit on the ground to gather some twigs from the base of a large, gray tree. You detach one of the drawstrings of your bag and wrap your collection of leaves around it tightly. This takes the longest to complete, at least you think. You're not keeping track of time.

Your Scout leader sure as Hell didn’t follow you to Equus, so you’re free to make your branch splint without his God-fearing scrutiny. Two branches on each side of your shin, small enough to inconspicuously fit under your pant leg and hug the outside of your boots. The branches are secured to your leg over a quilt of plantain leaves -- natural gauze between the strings and your shin -- and extend half an inch longer than your ankle to put weight on. Your drawstring, strengthened by the rolled-up leaves, provides above-ground support for your ankle. You can keep your balance by tilting your toes downward. Just have to be careful on raising them so as not to activate your tibialis anterior.

You’ve had these kinds of injuries before, back on Earth. You have to fight the urge to cringe at the memory of your overconfident, second-week Tae Kwon Do self roundhouse kicking a heavy bag at full strength. You estimate your leg would be in walking shape by the time you reach Equestria.

Provided there are no delays, of course.

After your round of baby steps are completed, you figure it's time to head back to camp.

The trek back to the camp site is spent in mental quiet. As you near it, the combination of the orange glow of the still-burning campfire and Faust's unladylike snoring make you wonder just how much time has passed. 

You limp into the camp, aimed squarely at your makeshift cot, only to find that it is… no longer makeshift.

The pile of leaves on grass has been changed –no, renovated into– what has to be a floral replica of a king’s sized bed. The two logs by the campfire were used to create the frame, and it looks like the many barren tree branches around you donated their leaves to make the tightly-sown quilt of a blanket. You half expect it to collapse when you poke it with a finger, as if it was just a hollow replica, but the bed holds firm.

Right. Magic-mortem.

Your eyes are tracing the boreal work of art when you notice a neatly folded piece of paper lying in the center of the bed. You lean over the bed to pick it up, setting a hand down on its soft sheets for support – holy fuck, that's soft – and realize it’s a note. Two guesses who it’s from.

…Nevermind, one guess. The text is written in a cursive so decorative you have to remind yourself it’s Ponish in the first place:

”Fit for a king."

You glare at the snoring figure of your lady on the opposite side of the fire, atop her own makeshift cot. But the pain in your shin, the weight atop your eyelids, your emotional exhaustion, and the simple fact that you just don't want to all come together to form two words.

"Fuck it," you mumble, tossing the note on the ground before collapsing onto the bed.

You let out a long, drawn-out groan as you grab the pillow and place it underneath your right leg. After that, the back of your head sinks into the natural amalgamation of softness, and your eyelids draw the curtains on the world around you.

”naw-naw-naw…”

For fuck's sake.

You sigh, resigned to another hour of staring up into the night sky, waiting for Tia to fall asleep. Today has been full of surprises. Why not add the revelation that Tia is a late sleeper to the pile.

Tia’s babbling continues, interrupted with spontaneous giggling at what you can only assume to be the smallest of things. Your gaze is glued to the night sky. Maybe if she thinks everyone else is asleep, she’ll follow suit.

That’s your thought process, until you hear her utter something that makes your blood run cold.

”widdle sun…”

You have to flail out of the welcoming softness of the bed to bolt upwards. Your eyes snap onto the sight of Tia standing dangerously close to the campfire, smiling as she reaches a hoof into the flames.

“Tia!” you shout, making Tia jump. Her magenta orbs snap to yours as she hastily retreats, back on all fours. Her eyes are devoid of tears and she’s putting equal weight on all her legs. She didn't burn herself.

Tia takes a few steps away from the campfire, but her eyes remain glued to you. You keep up the intensity of your glare in response, raising your index finger to give her a slow wagging. Her eyes follow your finger, transfixed, reminding you of her ignorance.

"This means 'don't do that,'" you begin to explain, until an explosion of giggles from the filly cuts you off.

“naw-naw, back!” Tia chitters excitedly, flapping her wings as she stomps her hooves in joy. She bounds towards your bed, her face not even betraying a hint of hesitation. "gwump gone, gwump gone!"

You blink owlishly before you come to the realization that Faust didn't tell Tia what your conversation was about.

Not only that. She covered for your ass, somehow.

You glance in the direction of the snoring Faust, but Tia's laughter draws your attention back to the scene of a winged, horned filly, still fully awake, and not showing any signs of sleeping.

Shit.

“Hey,” you warn, accentuating your raised finger. Tia skids to a halt, her ears perked up in surprise as she stares up at you. She seems to only look at you for a few seconds, her magenta eyes glowing in the dark as she studies your finger, then your face, then your leg. Her eyes squint at its elevated position.

"Alright," you groan, sweeping your legs off the bed and standing up to full height. You kneel down to Tia's level, keeping your injured leg away from her concerned eyes. "Tiny-Tia," you command, resulting in a brief jolt from the filly. "Go to sleep."

You hold onto those last, fleeting hopes that she’d just fall asleep if you don’t encourage her playtime.

You should've known better, hanging around your toddler in-laws so much.

Instead of going to sleep, Tia smiles.

It’s a slow, mischievous smile; the kind your racist cousin in-law would wear at family reunions, moments before all Hell breaks loose at the dinner table. One of the few fun moments you remember.

”naw, naw naw…” she snickers, lowering herself to a predatory crouch, wiggling her rump in the air.

Your finger steadily shifts targets from the sky to the filly in front of you. “Tiaaaa,” you growl, narrowing your eyes into what you hope would trigger her prey instincts. “No play. Sleep. Remember what happens to fillies who say that word and don't go to sleep?"

"did go sweep!" Tia responds as her tail lashes left to right. "curse bwoken! now wevenge for tiny-tia!"

“You oppose me, little missy?” you jeer lowly, raising to a sitting position to raise both hands. A grin overtakes your features, unbeknownst to you, but going fully noticed by Tia.

She really reminds you of your in-laws.

“They call me the Sandman Monkey," you growl, waving your hands in front of you in a faux-martial arts fashion. Tia's smirk only grows. "I get paid to put disobedient mares to sleep. You and your wings wouldn't stand a--”

Tia attacks.

Actually, Tia stumbles at you and cries a war cry that wouldn’t intimidate a chipmunk, but it's something.

You respond to her dastardly stumbling in kind, reaching out and grabbing the filly. She squeals as you hoist her above your head, flailing her hooves as her wings flap in the air. You’re surprised to feel the deceptively powerful gusts of wind those tiny wings produce.

”ah-dadda-dah!”

You snap out of it immediately at Tia's exclamation.

Tia stays suspended in your hands, giggling madly for a while, until she notices that you’re no longer smiling. A few seconds go by as she only tilts her head at you, her expression one of bewilderment. You slowly lower the filly to the ground. The moment her hooves touch down, she laughs and tries to bite at your fingers, but you quickly put a stop to that with a flick to her snout.

Tia scrunches as she backs onto her hindquarters, rubbing at the collision sight with both hooves. She looks back up to you, one ear lowered in a crooked confusion.

You close your eyes as you push the memories of your in-laws back to unconsciousness. “I don’t like kids,” you remind yourself more than tell her. When you open your eyes, you're beholden to the same expression Tia had the first time you said it, though this time you don't turn away. “And I’m not your dadda."

"nawt dadda?" Tia muses. "bu'... dadda, cowt who pwotect an' pway!" Tia's confusion vanishes at her definition, and she gives you a Cheshire grin. "ebeepony have dadda. no dadda, so... naw-naw dadda!"

You let out a frustrated sigh as a hand glides to the back of your neck, rubbing it in discomfort. "Listen, kid," you mumble. “I’m just your housecarla until we reach Equestria. Then you’ll never see me again. Christ, the fuck am I doing, anyway, having a conversation with a toddler?"

You’re not sure if it’s the tone in your voice, but Tia seems to finally get the message. Her wide eyes turn away from your own as she scrunches. She slumps on the grass with a small bounce, her head hanging low as she glares at the ground. "fine," she mumbles. "no dadda."

You just frown, trying your best to ignore the niggling feeling of guilt in your gut. Your shoulders slumping from your collars like heavy weights. 

Better for both of you this way.

For some time Tia doesn’t respond. She doesn’t even cry or sniffle, which is what you’ve been preparing yourself for. Instead, she suddenly stamps a hoof on the ground before giving you a glare.

”naw-nee, aaaaaah!” she yells at you.

You can only blink at the sudden change in atmosphere.

"...aaah?" you ask dumbly.

Tia nods fervently, before a thought seems to shock her out of it. She groans loudly, stomping in a small circle as her wings rustle with frustration. ”naw-nee, aaaaaah!” she repeats as she jabs a tiny hoof into the soil. "what word?! aaaaah!" Your slack-jawed reaction only seems to frustrate the filly more as she points a hoof in Faust's direction. "wif tubboh, wucky aaaaah! but nawt naw-naw! no twubboh, wucky cawlm, buh' naw-naw 'aaaaah!' what word!"

As you slowly come to the reality of yourself in mid-argument with a talking filly on an alien planet, all you can do is play along. You let out a groan as you consider her words, before coming with an answer. "Scared?" you ask.

"skaood!" Tia pipes up, hopping up and down in confirmation. "wif twubboh, naw-naw nawt skaood! buh' no twubboh', naw-naw skaood! why?!"

"Does this have to do with my fight with Lucky?"

Tia tilts her head. "fight? jus' dis-gweement! wucky say naw-naw just beeng emo-jzonal cowt."

The only reaction you have to that is a long, hard breath as you roll your eyes.

"buh', i tink diffwent," Tia says, drawing your attention back to her. Tia blinks up at you, giving you a small smile. "naw-naw... skaood. buh' why be skaood?!"

Faust didn't cover for you. At least, not in a complimentary way -- not that you deserved it.

Tia thinks you're scared all by herself.

"How old are you again?" you ask quizzically, unable to stop the question before it comes out.

Tia responds with a shrug and a hum that says, "I dunno!"

You just groan, rubbing your temples as you lean forward in defeat. The kind, concerned look on Tia's face becomes harder to ignore as she takes a step forward so she's under your face, innocently smiling up at you.

She's innocent. You know she isn't anything like the mares... at least not yet. But right now, she's innocent.

She doesn't deserve your bullshit.

You're not scared.

This is just the best way forward. This is how you never let another Red Letter happen again.

But if it'll satisfy Tia, and get her to fall asleep...

"Yeah," you drawl, leaning back up and away from Tia. She follows you by taking a step forward and laying a hoof on your good leg, smiling earnestly. You have to look away from the display. "I am scared."

"buh' why?" Tia asks. "no twubboh'!"

"It's, uh..." you mumble, sincerely wishing this conversation to be over. "It's the dark."

Tia tilts her head, giving a questioning hum as she looks all around.

"I'm just scared of nighttime," you lie with a chuckle. "Sorry, Tiny-Tia. I've been acting bad because I'm scared of the dark." Tia's eyes widen with realization as you give her a pat on the head, careful to avoid her horn. "I'm just being a scaredy-colt. You and Faust don't need to worry about me, okay?"

Instead of accepting your answer, Tia smiles.

It’s a slow smile to be sure, but it isn’t mischievous. In fact, you can’t spot an ounce of malintent in it. It seems to beam through the darkness as her eyes light up with pure joy.

You don’t have time to react before Tia hops away from you, her horn glowing in a miasma of watercolor you've never seen before. Your eyes widen at the display, but before you can say anything, Tia announces, "pwotect naw-naw wike big mawre!"

Without warning, the ethereal glow of Tia's horn suddenly shoots out all around you. 

You instinctively cower behind your arms at light, but no blistering heat follows. There is no deafening explosion; just the quiet, lolling hum of a unicorn working their magic. The light on the other side of your eyelids isn't even blinding. It isn't piercing through like a dagger, rather flowing gently like a river behind a wall.

You slowly lower your arms, and when the white light fades to a manageable orange, you creak open your eyes. Tia stands just a few feet away, looking mightily proud of herself. Her horn glows a magnificent color; an ethereal, nebula-like ocean of yellows, whites, and purples you can’t even begin to describe. 

The shock comes when you look up.

In the middle of the now cyan skies, hidden only by a few stray, white clouds; the Sun glows with the same beauty. 

The Sun, not due for at least another few hours, slowly ascends over the treetops of the surrounding forest. As it climbs into the sky, the dark shadows which were there just moments ago shrink in accordance with the sunlight's command. The familiar buzzing of the nocturnal life fades into nothingness, to be replaced by the harmonic chittering of morning animals; as if they, too, are a part of the times changing.

But the times aren’t changing by themselves.

You can only stare as the otherworldly glow of Tia’s horn slowly wanes to oblivion. The Sun floats victoriously overhead now, framing your surroundings in a picturesque moment of unadulterated wonder. A wonder more deep, more powerful, and more paralyzing than any night spent under the Equus stars. 

Tia giddily turns towards you, before an itch suddenly overcomes her facial features and she blinks away the colorful inferno from her eyes and horn. 

When Tia recovers, she can barely contain herself as she giggles, “naw-naw, pwotected! i nawt so tiny no more!”

“…ahhh…” you respond.

Tia tilts her head like an innocent schoolfilly. “naw-naw stiww skaood?”

“…aaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHAAAAAAAAHAAAAAAAAAAAA!!”









”Anonymous, my lord. Just tell me... is there something on my face? With your bluntness, I expected you to just come out and say it, but if it's so bad you're acting colty about it, I need to know! I promise I won't be offended."

You were staring again.

"Just lost in thought," you grumble as you crank your head away from the unicorn by your side, instead focusing on the dirt path ahead. The sun-lit dirt path, surrounded by the green-yellow glow of the forest Sun, permeated with the tweets and calls of daytime life. The things that should be happening hours from now, but aren’t because the filly in Lucky’s bag holds the power of an angry god. 

The filly that Lucky Favor has been lying to you about.

Well, lying by omission. Isn't it funny, how they're never outright lying? It's always under some fucking technicality so it isn't straightforward lying.

”Oh, please," Lucky snaps, taking a step closer to you. "I know how you look when you're deep in thought, and it's not that. You look positively ragged! How long were you in that forest last night? And has your leg gotten worse?" Lucky leans closer to your leg, which you not-so-subtly swerve away from, putting distance between the two of you as you walk. The unicorn looks up at you with a betrayed concern, but doesn't pester you further.

Unless fillies with godly powers are common in the Uppercastes, Lucky Favor has been lying to you since you met her. You were right not to open up to her.

”Oh!" Lucky suddenly exclaims, "We're here, my lord!"

You grit your teeth as, for the dozenth time too many, Lucky calls you her lord. Thankfully, the sight of Free Valley Carpentry coming into the distance is the good news you need.

It’s a quaint little cottage, and if it isn’t for the large thatch-and-wood workshop attached to its side, you’d be forgiven for mistaking it for somepony’s home. The place is festooned with the branches and vines of the forest engulfing it from all sides. However, you know they don’t provide any threat to the building’s integrity. Technicolor ropes of ambient magic sprawl across the surrounding foliage’s surfaces, between bark and under stones, preventing anything from causing harm to the structure.

As the two of you near Free Valley, the sounds of the workshop overtake the wildlife of the outdoors: horns humming, hammers nailing, and unicorns shouting indistinctly.

”I hope they have it ready by now,” Lucky Favor mumbles excitedly. “I’d like to be rid of this place as quick as possible. You as well, no doubt. And once we're on the road, I'd... Well, I'd like to have a conversation with you, Anonymous."

You can feel Lucky’s eyes on you, as if she’s waiting for confirmation. But your attention is on the mare approaching the two of you. The tan overalls and various bandages across her body cover her turquoise coat like hanging accessories.

“Heads up," you say with an upwards nod toward the worker.

Lucky turns to see the unicorn as well. Her gaze shifts between said unicorn and you, each time her face a little more frustrated, before she grumbles to herself and uses her hoof to wipe all over her face, presumably to get rid of whatever spot she's suspecting. You'd find it cute, if you didn't know better.

”Miss Lucky Favor?!” the unicorn calls out in a voice you'd assume came from a brass instrument.

”Oh!” Lucky responds eloquently, taking a moment to readjust her mane before she canters towards the worker. “Yes, dear, that’s me. Pardon my curiosity, but you weren’t the one we met before—?"

”Yeah, there’s more than one worker here. Makes the place run smoother. I'm Smooth Roads. A thousand and five hundred gold ones for the finishing costs, Uppercastemare.”

You take a little pleasure in watching Faust squirm under the Lowercastemare's bluntness before her horn glows, drawing a few doit bags from her bag. “Six hundred, twelve hundred…” she whispers to herself as she counts. You, meanwhile, wander past her towards the workshop.

The racket of the unicorns raises tenfold as you cross the corner of Free Valley to be greeted by the open wall of the workshop. Unicorns trot this way and that between tasks as their horns glow. You have to bow to avoid smacking your head on their cargo, virtually making up a low ceiling of boards, planks, and an assortment of other wood-based paraphernalia. Most of the unicorns – especially the ones who heard you speak yesterday – raise their cargo as it nears your head, but you still allow a good foot of leeway. A few of the unicorns who do so give you polite, "Be careful, sir!"s and "Watch that handsome face of yours!"s. 

You ignore the more flirtatious remarks as you weave through the busy crowd of miniature horses. Before long you arrive at a very familiar-looking house-on-wheels. You whistle at the accuracy of the whole thing; the unicorns got everything right. From the windows, to the empty supply barrels and bags hanging off the side, to even the miniature watch tower at the back which you had insisted would be a contrivance at best.

Well, that makes one of Lucky Favor’s drawings coming to fruition.

”Hey!”

At the resounding thwack! of something hitting between your feet, your eyes snap to the new smoking hole in the ground.

“You!” the feminine voice continues, drawing your attention to…

…What the Hell?

”Yeah, you! The hairless cat! What’re you doing around our wagon?!”

You hadn’t noticed it before. You blame your lack of sleep for thinking the band of unicorns occupying your wagon were workers. Now that you pay closer attention, you realize that the band of unicorns occupying the wagon aren’t wearing overalls, or wielding hammers. They’re wearing an assortment of mixed and matched-together armors, wielding everything from swords to blowguns. You know this because each of the weapons are pointed at you. 

You cross your arms, giving each of the wagon raiders a glare. The one with the blowgun pointed at you is standing on the seat of the wagon, just beside her a pony… that’s blind?

Sure enough, the unicorn on the seat’s eyes are a muted gray, staring into emptiness. She leans toward the blowgun one and whispers something in her ear.

Before you can open your mouth, you hear a familiar voice pipe up from just beside you.

“Pardon me, dears,” Lucky Favor questions with a genuineness you hope she doesn’t mistake for intimidation. “But why’re you dirtying your hooves on our wagon?”

”YOUR cart?!” the blowgun one explodes, staring daggers at Faust. “You little bitch, we—”

”NO FIGHTIN’ IN MAH BUCKIN’ WORKSHOP!” Smooth Roads' voice suddenly explodes near Lucky, her accent clawing its way through her speech. The effect of her voice is instant, clapping each of the unicorns’ ears to their skulls. The blind one lets out a growl and a flurry of swears as she holds her ears against her skull. Meanwhile, the unicorn workers making their way around you continue on without a care. Smooth Roads stomps forward, and the pony with the blowgun clops down to the front seat as the two of them get into a heated discussion.

"Anonymous?" Lucky whispers with a tap on your good shin. You turn to your lady to find her peering up at you nervously. “Firstly, I want you to know that I say this not to sound misandrist, but to protect your identity as a male of an unknown species. Please don’t speak and reveal your gender. Something's off about these ponies.”

Yeah, they're dumbasses who thought they could steal your wagon surrounded by ponies who know its owners.

Instead of responding, you let out an amused snort, shaking your head at your little lady.

Lucky blinks at your reaction, a hint of offense twitching at her face, until she simply frowns and turns back to the commotion at the wagon.

”What crawled up your snatch, Roads?” one of the wagon raiders snaps back.

”A couple’a no-good, illiterate rats who were too late on the draw!” Roads responds, her accent now much more prominent from her anger. “Beat it! This one’s paid for.”

”That didn’t matter last--”

”This wagon was assembled to the paid order of lady Lucky Favor, and her housecarla who wishes to be named anonymously!” 

Teehee.

Smooth Roads’ horn glows an earthly brown before the bell by the wagon’s front seat is enveloped by her hue. The unicorn doesn’t have time to react before the bell smacks her upside the head.

She snarls, but her aggression never boils into attacking. With a simultaneous grumble from each of the wagon raiders, they step down from the structure, their wagon raiding fantasies crushed. They don’t disperse, however, instead trotting up to Smooth Roads, engaging in a hushed argument.

”You two can go on and take your wagon,” the craftsmare says to the both of you before she’s pulled into a bout of angry whispers.

As you and Lucky pass the huddle, you can faintly make out three words:

“…three thousand total…”

Roads' words unnerve you as you pass the unicorns. You're not sure why that would be coming up in any honest conversation.

You step up and onto the front seat of the wagon, and are surprised to not even hear a creak as you settle down; not even when Lucky Favor hops up the hoofsteps to join you on the soft cushion. With a glow of her horn, her back is removed from her back and set onto the space just beside her.

The space in front of the wagon is cleared of unicorns, and you’re about to catch up on some much-needed rest until a voice snaps you awake.

”Hold on now, hold on now!”

You jolt at the sensation of the wagon’s weight shifting once again. One of the wagon raiders doesn’t mind the owners’ glares sent her way as she ascends the hoofsteps to be level with you and Lucky. Where her fur isn't caked in dirt and grime, you see a sapphire-colored coat. Her pale yellow eyes gleam at the two of you behind her gray mane in a dangerous, yet polite mirth. “I’d hate for us to part on terms such as these,” the unicorn says with a smile, holding a hoof out to you. “There was some honest miscommunication with Free Valley, and we'd hate for the two of you to think of us as thieves. The name’s Sapphire Lily. And yours, ma’am?”

You keep your glare level at Lily, even if it’s becoming increasingly hard to resist the urge to back away from her. There’s something in her eyes that makes you uneasy.

They remind you of another set of pale yellow eyes.

“Lucky Favor, as you know," the aforementioned unicorn says at your side. You lean back to give Lily a proper view of her conversation partner. The unicorn responds with a disappointed “hmph" at your silence, but otherwise turns to Lucky gracefully. “The rightful owner of this wagon, as my friend Smooth Roads told you.”

”’Rightful owner,’ she says,” Lily giggles softly, shutting Lucky Favor up. There’s a moment in which Lily’s soft titter reigns above the clamor and ruckus of the workshop, dominating whatever Lucky’s retort would’ve been into submission. Lily suddenly smiles to Lucky with a less-than-appropriate gaze. ”Ten thousand.”

You blink.

”Pardon?” Lucky Favor almost whispers, staring at Lily like she had grown a second head.

”I’ll even magic up a contract that prohibits myself and my cohorts from touching your wagon until the money is in your hooves,” Lily continues, accentuating her point with a tap-tap-tap on the wood. “Ten thousand doits, Lucky Favor. That’s a might more than what you paid, wouldn’t you say? Now I’m no accountant, but slap me silly and call me a househusband if that’s not a steal! Not only that, but you could just draft up another, better one with the extra money. And let’s not forget your cat friend’s need of proper medical attention over here.” You subconsciously drag your injured leg away from Lily. Another tap-tap-tap as she leans over to Lucky with a hungry glint in her eyes. “What do you say?”

You can hear Lucky Favor’s heartbeat through her chest. You slowly turn your gaze to your lady, a look of annoyed confusion on your face. "Why would you pay so much for somepony else's wagon?" Lucky asks earnestly. "Surely you could easily buy one of your own."

”I’m an artist at heart. I can appreciate a fellow craftsmare. And I'm running low on time, truth be told."

Lucky Favor’s wild expression turns from Lily to you in an instant, before turning back to Lily.

You’re at a loss. The trade makes perfect sense to you. Ten thousand bits for a wagon that costed three thousand to make. Lily’s promise of honesty means nothing to you, but that doesn’t change the fact you’re in the middle of the Free Valley workshop. There are too many witnesses to try anything.

“I think we should take her up,” you whisper to Lucky Favor. “Then get out of here as quick as possible.”

From the wagon’s weight shifting and the preserved humming, you can tell that Lily is leaning away from your conversation and giving you both some privacy.

“It’s not about the money!” Lucky nearly yelps. “I have more than enough doits as is! We don't need it!"

You swear you hear Lily's humming falter as Lucky mentions her doits. Your heartbeat quickens, and you glare at your lady for letting that slip, but Lucky Favor either doesn't notice or is too preoccupied with her rant to care.

"This is my wagon!" she says. "I designed it myself, and I'm proud of it! A Lowercastemare and her thieving ruffians do not get to have it! And if we took her up, we'd be in the woods for at least another night before we got a new one!”

“Why does one more night camping matter?" you murmur.

”Because every minute we spend here is a minute Red Letter spends trying to find you!”

You feel a stone drop in your stomach. Another dishonest mare, acting like she cares about you. You just close your eyes and let out a long, low growl, biting your tongue from saying what's on your mind.

Ten thousand doits, ensured by a room full of witnesses... why don't you just take it yourself?

Of course, that thought is immediately shot down and replaced with the cold frost of self-loathing. Maybe Red Letter rubbed off on you.

Lies or no, you wouldn't leave Tia like that. Hell, you probably wouldn't even leave Lucky like that. You don't even know what you'd do with the money.

You give a frustrated sigh, opening your eyes to a sight that makes your heart stop.

Faust's bag is gone.

Lucky seems to catch the meaning of your expression as her head whips away from you to her side. You catch movement in your peripheral to see her bag floating behind the back of one of the unicorns in the group of raiders. The blind one's eyes are shut in concentration as the one with the blowgun strapped to her withers whispers something into her ear. 

The blind unicorn's magical aura is transparent and silent. She teleported Faust's bag to her side.

The one with the blowgun makes eye contact with you, and you immediately react.

You launch yourself from the helm of the wagon and barrel towards the airborne bag. Lily gives a sharp yelp of surprise, and the blind unicorn's eyes widen in confusion.

"Hey!" is all the blowgun unicorn can get out before you nearly throw yourself with your fist as you punch the blind unicorn's snout in. She lets out a muffled yelp before immediately collapsing to the ground. Your heartbeat thumps loudly in your ears as you quickly snatch Lucky's bag from the ground. 

"What in the Eternal Graze--?!" Smooth Roads exclaims, reeling from the scene.

"You'd hit a blind ma--?!" the blowgun unicorn shouts as a lilac foreleg grabs at your arm, and by instinct your arm snakes around her limb, pulling her whole body towards you as you grip her neck with the other hand. The unicorn's orange eyes widen, and the horns of her cohorts glow in tandem.

"A blind fucking thief!" you shout as your grip only tightens around the unicorn's neck.

The unicorn in your grip's expression immediately turns from rage to awe at the sound of your voice. Each of the would-be raiders are quiet amongst the racket of the workshop. Smooth Roads approaches from behind the would-be thief, her eyes narrowed in resolution.

"Thief?" she questions simply. A few of the unicorns passing you by are staring at the commotion -- most of which are looking at you with looks that range from concern to outrage. When Smooth Roads catches a glimpse of them, she immediately turns and shouts, "If y'all're done gawkin', get back to work! It's mah' job to handle this!"

Slowly, the agape mouth of the unicorn in your grip closes to form a subtle smirk. A tinge of red dances across her lilac cheeks as she gives you a wink, the tip of her tongue poking out from her teeth.

The way the shorter unicorn is pulled up to your side forces her hindlegs into an awkward position to keep balance. You plant your good leg behind her hooves and simply shove the unicorn to the ground. She immediately slams on her back, gagging from both the sudden pressure to her neck and the wind being knocked from her. Gradually, as she recovers, her lecherous gaze returns to you once again. That familiar feeling of pinpricks traveling up your spine tells you each of the raiders are also leering at you.

Ignoring them, you simply turn to Smooth Roads and raise your bag to her face. "The blind one tried to steal it," you grunt. "Are there any Maretinets here?"

Smooth Roads' eyes shift from you, to the bag, to the unconscious heap on the ground. "Nearest Maretinets are in Plumsteed," she reckons, "But these sacks of shit will get their just desserts. That's a mare's promise, sir."

As if that's worth anything.

"Sir, indeed," comes the slow purring from one of the raiders. 

Your glare snaps to said raider, but the feeling of Lucky's scared gaze, contrasting heavily from the leers, stops you from acting out. The bitch would probably enjoy the beatdown, anyways. Your glare shifts to the brown, unconscious mare on the ground and you spit into the pool of blood collecting next to her nostrils. Without a word, you just turn towards the wagon and begin walking.

As you near the side of the wagon, you see that Sapphire Lily hasn't moved from her spot. In fact, the unicorn's posture suggests she's as calm as ever. She wears a polite smile as you near, her horn glowing a casual yellow as she draws something from the bag on her hip.

A glob of Ergot floats lazily into her mouth, and she begins chewing. Your gaze snatches towards the wagon to avoid the sight. 

"Well, damn. Looks like our reputation will be staying in the mud," she says with a chuckle, briefly glancing at your injured leg. "Enjoy your wagon, gentlecolt."

She's not going to be punished for this. At least, no more than a hefty fine, you're sure.

You just growl to yourself as you grip the front seat and hoist yourself up the steps to find the irate expression of Lucky Favor's face. You take your seat to see that the sea of unicorns parts to give your wagon a clear path to the outdoors. Without even glancing in her direction, you set the bag on Lucky's lap.

Without wasting any time, the front reigns are pulled taut by Lucky's magic, strings of ambient magic begin to dance across the wagon's wheels and reigns, and the wagon lurches forward. You don't miss the look of guilt Smooth Roads flashes at you as she talks with the raiders. Probably just saw the lump of doits that guarantees Sapphire Lily's innocence.

The unicorn with the blowgun, though, keeps her eyes on you as you pass. A knowing grin spreads across her face before it's thankfully replaced with the trees and grass of Equus. With another whip, the ambient magic across the wagon glows even brighter, and the two of you begin to gain speed.

"Brutish," Lucky grumbles through her clenched teeth, "Arrogant, uneducated, bucking Lowercastemares... Thank you, Anonymous." Lucky closes her eyes as her magic envelopes her bag, attaching it to the drawstring on her side. Tia's horn pokes out from the opening, her ears quickly following suit as they rotate this way and that.

After letting out a low, frustrated growl, Lucky turns her attention to you and snaps, "But for future reference, kindly let me know what's happening! I'm quite able to handle situations like that!"

An unbelieving grin that could be mistaken for pure joy spreads across your face as you register what she just said. "You're quite able to handle situations like that?" you ask simply.

"I could have used my magic! I know you're my housecarla, but... well, you ended up speaking, showing those... brutes your gender!" Lucky snarls to herself as she puts a little more force into the next whip of the reigns, resulting in another lurch of the wagon.

"You're quite able to handle situations like that?" you repeat again, as if it were some joke you didn't get. You chuckle as if it were a joke. You hope it was a joke, but the look on Lucky's face reveals the punchline is that she was being unequivocally serious. 

Lucky seems to finally read the expression on your face the right way. She uses a hoof to push Tia's head back down into the bag, her face souring as she stares sternly at you. "Anonymous... I know you're my housecarla. I know what I'm about to say won't be to your liking. But it is difficult enough for me to watch you put yourself in harm's way as is." Lucky's frown turns into a glare as she turns back to the road, shaking her head in a slow, simmering fashion. "That mare..."

Lucky takes a moment to recompose herself before continuing, "All I ask is that, if a situation arises wherein you must speak, please think about the consequences first! These Lowercastemares are all brutes..."

"Right," you chuckle. "Because I should be 'treated like royalty.' And you're the Uppercaste knight in shining armor I need."

Lucky's face seems to compress into itself as she holds back a barrage of swears.

There's a bump in the road that briefly jostles the two of you. Lucky's hoof darts towards you to steady your body. It isn't until it makes contact with your side that she either reconsiders or realizes what she just instinctually did. Lucky returns her hoof to her side in embarrassment.

Only proving your point.

You lean closer to Lucky, speaking lowly, "Faust, I'm doing my job. I signed up for it. I'm being paid for it. And I don't need you to pretend to worry about me."

"PRETEND?!" Lucky lets out a gutteral yell of frustration and snaps back at you, "Anonymous, I want you to know I have the RIGHT to be angry with you, but I am still choosing my words very carefully! I know you don't trust me -- or any mare -- but the least you can do is respect me! Regardless of how marely you are, you are still a stallion, and I can't disassociate from that just because you're my housecarla! It's how I, and every Uppercastemare, was taught! Unlike whatever backwards tribe you hyoo-mens obviously are, worrying about my male counterparts is considered a strength! So, ex-CUSE ME!"

Faust and her fucking sexist, Uppercaste HIGH HORSE!

You turn away from your lady and squeeze your temples as hard as you can to keep from screaming in Lucky's face out of frustration.

If you had closed your eyes one moment earlier, you might have missed that flash of lighter green and white momentarily glimmering among the forest brush. Your hands lower into your lap, and the anger towards your lady cools into an uncomfortable confusion.

You lean back up to full height, staring into the passing trees on your left. Nothing looks out of place now. With Lucky silent, there's no other sounds but the crunching of dirt and wood as the wagon continues on lazily.

Your eyes narrow, and your attention sifts through the trees.

Too fast to be a unicorn. Definitely not a wagon raider. Was it an animal?

You've been on Equus long enough to learn that, just like the mares' "feminine intuition," as they so like to brag about, you have your gut, and you need to trust it. Something's not right.

It's just when you're about to open your mouth to voice your suspicion that it happens.

Thwip.

Something that feels like a small needle embeds itself into your left shoulder. You grunt, immediately swiping at the pain. Your hand comes into contact with something much larger than a small needle.

A dart is embedded in your shoulder, the red feathers of its fletching dancing in the wind. There's a symbol on the dart, but your vision is too blurry to make it out. The whole world is becoming blurry as the numbness travels from your left shoulder to the rest of your body, far too quick.

Not magic. Poison.

"Hide Tia," is all you can get out before you use the last of your strength to throw yourself over Lucky Favor. She lets out a yawp as you collapse on top of her, yelling out in discontent, just before another dart strikes your neck -- where your lady just was.

The last thing you see is a watercolor miasma of greens, whites, and browns. The last thing you hear is Lucky Favor's horrified yelling.

Your touch is the last to go. Before you drift into darkness, you can feel one tiny hoof tapping against your face in panic.

And then, nothing.
> III - Rats and Mud
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

This isn’t how it was supposed to go.

Your first time in the wagon’s interior was supposed to be the rest you had craved for the last three weeks. You would have driven to the nearest settlement, bought a map of the coast, and casted an ambient direction spell on the wagon before finally collapsing onto a soft bed. You would have maybe even picked up a few books from the settlement – if the lowercaste mares there were literate – to read during the journey. Feel a little piece of the life you had given up.

Who knows? Maybe you could have even read to Anonymous, or just talk with him. Give him the moment of peace he deserved, bond with the hyoo-men.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

Your body tingles as the regrettably familiar sensation of a paralysis spell renders it numb. The interior of the wagon is dark. The decorative lantern on the ceiling is unlit, leaving the only source of light in the wagon the orange glow of the raider keeping you still. The light from the outdoors sun is nothing but a fond memory now. All you can see outside is a crushing, gray mist, interrupted only by the gliding treetops.

The interior of the wagon is dead silent, your only companion bound in rope and lying unconsciously against your back. Anonymous’ breathing is scarily quiet, and if it wasn’t for the odd shudder or quiet mewl, you would’ve thought him dead long ago. Muffled hoofsteps and jeering can be heard from outside. They’re all thick with that ugly accent you want to make disappear in a poof of noxious gas. The workers at Free Valley were also cursed with that disgusting lilt. You should’ve left the moment they opened their dirty, lowercaste, lying mouths.

...You shouldn't be having these thoughts, Faust. Stop thinking like that.

Another rattle from the outside world sends quakes throughout the wagon much like the many occasions before it. This time, though, you almost skid across the floor from the sudden stop. The furniture shifts and swings precariously. You can hear indiscernible babbling from the cretins outside, followed by hurried shuffling. These raiders wouldn’t know how to drive a wagon if they were born with the reigns in their hooves!

The unicorn watching over you and Anonymous lets out an exasperated snarl of a sigh before slinging her blowgun over her withers and stomping to the window. Your Paardian armor jingles cruelly as it hugs her figure, sparkling in the dark like a treasure you could never reach. The unicorn peels back one of the curtains, throws open the glass, and shouts, “Would you flea-ridden idjits learn to drive, for Ancients’ sake?!”

You suppress a whimper at the new crack that adorns the window you had designed.

”Shut your crusty snatch, Sparrow!” comes an equally irked voice from outside. “We’re here anyways! Be grateful Sapphire Lily let you stink up the inside first.”

”That’s ‘cuz I’m the one who put the weird, hairless cat to sleep,” Sparrow snickers, closing the window in a manner no more gentle than her first encounter. As the sounds and vibrations of ponies unlatching the door echo throughout the wagon, the unicorn trots in your direction.

She knows you’re awake. She knows you can’t defend yourself.

You can’t even manage a whimper as Sparrow’s hooves get closer and closer… until she hops over you. She lands behind you with an almost dainty set of clicks before she whispers, “Here’s hoping you’ll be keeping me awake all night, kitty cat.”

”Waste of a Ancients-given horn.”

It slips out before you can stop it.

Sparrow lays a hoof on your cheek before she effectively punches your face towards her own. All you can see are her wicked irises as she whispers lowly, “Say that again, Lucky.”

The muffled shambling from outside is suddenly denuded as the door to the wagon is swung open. An oppressive gray light fills the room, but before it lands on Sparrow, she roughly shoves your head back to the ground.

You’re met with the yellow grin of Lily leaning into the door frame. Other unicorns wait patiently behind her. “Sorry for the bumpy ride,” she says before she steps up and into the wagon.

You instinctively try to kick with your hooves when the unicorns pull you across the floor and into the outside world, but it’s useless in more ways than one. Raiders surround you, both Casters and Swordsmares, even if their attention is turned away from you as if you’re an afterthought. 

You don’t recognize the part of the forest you’ve landed in, and you can’t tilt your head to attempt to start. The unicorns are gathered around a circular clearing of dirt; besides that, and the discarded fake bushes beside the brown patch, your surroundings are indistinguishable from being lost in a misty forest. You can hear the calls of water birds through the mist, and the rhythmic waves of a lake somewhere close by.

”Careful with his head, you stupid cunt!” a raider whispers hoarsely from behind. “Lily’ll have your cutie mark on her wall!”

”Then you should’a told me telekinesis wouldn’t work first, whorse,” another responds.

“Anonymous?” you call out, but the unicorns behind you don’t respond as they descend from the wagon with a quartet of grunts. Their hoofsteps are heavy as they struggle under the weight of your housecarla.

”This colt’s heavy.”

”It’s all muscle, filly. Allll muscle.”

“Don’t touch him!” you shout, even if there’s nothing you can do. “Please! Please, I’ll pay you!”

There’s a cruel pause before you hear a cacophony of rough guffaws and laughter surrounding you.

”Is this your first time getting robbed, little filly?” one of the voices chuckles.

“I can pay you!” you plead. “I-I can pay with something I guarantee you’ll never find! Something of which only I know the location! Thousands of doits!”

”You wouldn’t happen to be talking about this bag your coltfriend is so in love with, would you?”

You freeze as your bag levitates in front of your eyes, dangling in the air like you would a toy over a baby. You were sure you hid the bag in a place they would never find. You casted an ambient invisibility spell on it. You casted a sleep spell on Tia. You casted a physical transparency spell on the bag! They would have never found it!

HOW DID THEY FIND IT?!

”I wonder just how much she can pay us to stop touching the cat," a raider murmurs.

“STOP!” you yell, but it's too late.

Your bag is upended. Down falls all your belongings from the intraflated interior; the dozens of painstakingly counted 600-doit bags, the sealed box which contains your drawing utensils, your many supplies and food bags, your cosmetic items…

But no filly.

You can’t decide between feeling overjoyed or mortified as a voice booms over the cackling raiders.

”HE SAYS HE NEEDS QUIET, YOU DAFT CUNTS!”

You recognize the gravel in that voice.

The raiders around you grumble their complaints as they scoop your belongings aside. The crowd of unicorns have turned towards the troublemakers surrounding you, giving you a clearer view at the only pony who could fit that voice. Smooth Roads stands further in the clearing beside another pony, giving your purse purloiners a colty stink eye.

You never should've trusted her.

The unicorn’s earthy brown eyes flick to your own. Why hadn’t you seen it sooner? No… why hadn’t you heard it sooner? It was in the accent.

Scratch that. It was everything about her. She’s lowercaste scum.

…Why did you just think that, Lucky?

You swear you can see the fire in Smooth Roads’ face extinguish once she looks to you. Her body slumps slightly as she hurriedly turns back around. Roads whispers something to the pony besides her before the other one raises her head.

…No, his head.

There’s a stallion standing beside Smooth Roads. You had initially thought he was a mare because of how skinny he is, but now there’s no mistaking it. You can see each of the pony’s ribs striate and push against his wide, rustic orange frame as he settles down to his flanks. A few flecks of dirt fall from his disheveled mane as he sends a quick glance your way. That’s when you see it.

He’s hornless. 

The glance lasts less than a second before the earth pony turns back to the clearing. He lowers himself to the ground. Smooth Roads follows suit slowly, a soft smile on her hard features as she whispers something to the stallion.

”Stop bucking teasing us…” you can hear Sparrow mutter under her breath as the colt turns away. 

”Save it ‘til we’re under,” Lily murmurs in response.

You underestimated these ponies. Maybe it’s a testament to your naivety that you’re thinking that just now, with how they treated Anonymous. Or perhaps it’s the fact that you’re seeing their cruelty on a stallion first hoof; a pony stallion, who obviously can’t defend himself.

The soft smile on Roads’ face is suddenly gone as she snaps back to the raiders. “NOW YOU DECORATIVE CACTUS-BUCKERS HAVE GONE AND DONE IT!” Her voice booms across the clearing as if augmented. A few of the raiders closest to her and the stallion take a step back. Sparrow does as well, even if she’s nowhere near the two. “HE’S LOST HIS FOCUS! WHERE IN THE ETERNAL GRAZE IS OUR CLOUDPUSHER?!”

…Cloudpusher?

”Just finishing up, wagon wrangler!” a voice chirrups from above, and your ears plaster against your skull.

Oh no.

Oh, Ancients above, no.

Please, by the fleas which gnaw at the All-Father's rotting tuft, tell yourself you didn’t just hear the unmistakable chirp at the end of that sentence.

Please tell yourself you’re just imagining the sound of wings flapping from above.

Unfortunately, even your imagination isn’t strong enough to conjure up the sight of a pony descending from above. She wears a conceited smirk as she turns her head this way and that, inspecting the thick mist she’s most undoubtedly responsible for. You’d be surprised if the white cloud in her hooves wasn’t swooped in on and stolen by the sky rat’s dirty, thieving hooves. 

The sky rat bobs in a slow, annoying descent before touching down on terra firma. As she does, you notice a set of magical bands around her limbs and neck; an extra pair adorns her wings. You wish more pegasi had this one’s sense of fashion, if those bands are what you think they are.

”Isn’t that a tad bigger than needed, Max Gusto?” Smooth Roads drawls, sticking a hoof to the cloud in the sky rat’s vomit-inducing, lime green hooves.

Max gives a noncommittal shrug, shuffling the saddle on her back, before responding, “Guess it’s going in storage, then.”

”Whatever,” Roads sighs. “Just talk some sense into this colt.”

--Wait.

Hold your ancestors.

Max is wearing a saddle?

And nothing underneath?!

In PUBLIC?!

”She was slower today,” you hear Sparrow mutter to Lily. “I almost missed my shot on the colt. We might need to replace her soon.”

”We will,” Lily responds nonchalantly as Max and Roads continue chatting. “But later. If Essence hadn’t ‘gotten distracted’ and crashed our last wagon, maybe we’d have time to catch another sky wanderer. Real shame we had to burn it. I liked that wagon.” 

“’I swear it on my father’s grave!’” Sparrow mocks in a sotto giggle. “’I saw it with my own eyes! The bucking Sun was pulled up by magic!’”

The two ponies chuckle with each other before the clearing once again goes silent. You can’t help but feel tears threatening you from the back of your throat. Of course your wagon was never special to these ruffians.

How are you going to get out of this, Lucky Favor?

”Hey,” Sparrow whispers to Lily gravely. “Is it just me, or is the lake shallower than yesterday?”

Lily’s response is cut off by a slew of noises from the front of the raiders. The command of silence from Smooth Roads is ignored, or perhaps nonverbally revoked, as a din of sighs, cheers, and hollering echo around the misty clearing. You can also hear the earthly rumble and swelling of a landslide, but that wouldn’t make sense. You’re on flat land.

The sight of a moving forest is the only indication the unicorns have gripped your hindlegs and started to pull you forward. Your numb body can’t feel the dewy grass and moist dirt as they begin to slide through your fur. The silence of the clearing is replaced with a stampede of raiders’ hooves as they trot forward. You can also hear a few commanding shouts near your wagon before its wheels begin to crunch over the grass in pursuit.

”The earthpusher might also need a replacement,” Sparrow mutters.

”Sky wanderers are manageable enough,” Lily grunts as the smell of fresh soil tickles your nostrils. “But catching another mud horse? Between you and me, we got lucky with this one.”

”Lucky? The stallion is downright braindead! He doesn’t even struggle anymore when the gals and I have our fun. He spends all his free time with his head against the wall. Only ever opens his yap to Max.”

You can feel your throat going numb as bile threatens your tongue. These ponies are lowercaste scum.

”He gets the job done,” Lily says. “Even if he relies on the sky rat.” You notice a faint echo of her voice, getting closer with each passing second of dragging. Not the distant call of the forest, but something much more tunnel-like. 

As the vision of the forest slants, you get your confirmation.

You know there wasn’t a tunnel here before, yet here it is.

”Max!” Smooth Roads’ shout echoes from somewhere you can’t see. “It’s as dusty as the All-Father’s rotten coffin in here! Do your bucking job!”

”Sure thing, cotton tuft,” the sky rat responds. You can’t feel the pressure of the pegasus flapping her wings forward, but you can hear it. You can also hear the sound of a thin sheet of rain peppering the dirt below following her.

Moist, brown walls rise to cover the open air of the forest as you’re dragged deeper into the earth. Every sound of the raiders around you – the clinking of their weapons, the rustling of your wagon, the low conversations you try and blot out – now echo and bounce in the dirt tunnel that’s materialized around you. The gray light of the outdoors is replaced with a crushing darkness.

Just as you begin to think Equus itself has consumed you, the orange glow of lanterns begin to paint the dirt and ponies surrounding you. More sounds join the fray, but they’re less brutish than your company. The volume and multiplicity of chatter and hoofsteps increases. The pulsating clanking of somepony hammering a disobedient weapon into shape slices through the crowd. The crackling of a far-off fire is concerning, but when you’re dragged into a large, dome-like dirt cave, you don’t see a puff of smoke above. All you see is a large amalgamation of fluffy, white clouds – as big as your wagon, in fact.

The voices turn to passing ponies as you’re dragged into the bizarre, underground hamlet, and you immediately discern they’re not friendly either. If their coat isn’t festooned with scars, home-made weapons trail above them in a magical grip, or mixed-and-matched armor hang from their bodies. None of the unicorns pay you any heed, but a few of them send a confused glance Anonymous’ way.

The tent in the center of the circular village suddenly bursts open in a flurry of fabric. The two raiders standing beside the entrance flinch as its occupant comes marching out.  The moment the exiting unicorn’s eyes land on you, you’re glad you’re too numb to feel the beatdown that you know is inevitable. Fortunately, the mare’s glare nearly instantaneously shifts to Smooth Roads before she starts to trot over.

”I’ll do the damage control,” Lily sighs as she steps over your limp body and makes her way to Smooth Roads’ side. “Probably asshurt about the price…”

”H-hello, Alpha,” Smooth Roads nearly whispers, her voice almost indistinguishable from under the ruckus of the village. “Ya’ might be wondering why I brought two outsiders--…”

Whatever argument the trio of unicorns devolve into, you can’t catch before you’re dragged deeper into the underground settlement. Between the tents, ponies, and the bonfire in the middle of the site (you’re still unsure of how it hasn’t already turned the place into a smoke sauna), you catch a glimpse of a dirty orange pony. True to Sparrow’s word, the earth pony stallion sits far away from the gathering of the hamlet. You can clearly discern his spine through his coat as he slouches away from you, his forehead pressed against the dirt wall.

Before the view of the stallion is obscured by orange-tinted fabric of a tent, you catch a technicolor trio of mares approaching him.

”NO!” you shout as you’re dragged across the first iron bar the cage.

You lose sight of the stallion. You urge your body to stand up, to flail, to teleport out of the metal cage to his side – to do anything --  but Sparrow’s magic still holds you tight. 

“Scum,” you snarl between gritted teeth uselessly. “Scum…”

”At least I’m not rotting in a cell,” Sparrow coos before the orange glow disappears and feeling returns to your body.

You scramble to your hooves and lurch towards the gate to the cage, but the bruises and aches of your trip catch up to you before you can. Sparrow giggles at your tumble before you’re locked in. She opens the flap to your tent to make her exit.

Through those folds, you see the unconscious body of Anonymous being dragged through the dirt, in no way aimed at your own cell.

“Wait!” you scream. “Wait, wait, please wait! Sparrow, relocate my housecarla to my cell! I’ll do anything!”

”Don’t worry,” Sparrow throws over her withers as she trots through the folds of the tent. “We’ll make the gentlecolt comfortable.”

“STOP!” you yell out, but the mare is gone.

Your horn strains painfully from the effort of attempting magic against the ring. You push and pull against the gate with all the strength in your body. You turn and send buck after buck to the iron bars, hoping beyond hope they overlooked something. They had to have overlooked something. There has to be a way out of here. 

With each metallic clang of your hooves connecting with the bars, strings of ambient magic snake around the metal in an oppositional glow.

You need to find Tia.

You can’t let Anonymous be hurt again.

This can’t be it. There HAS to be some way out of here.

The edges of your vision begin to blacken. It’s getting harder to breathe. The force from your next buck sends you tumbling into the mud. You try to scramble to your hooves to get back at it, but they’re shaking too hard to control, slipping through the pasty ground as your barrel falls once again. Your mind and heart beat you from the inside out as you begin to hyperventilate. 

“There has to be a way,” you can barely hear yourself whisper above the ringing. “…Please, Ancients… Please show me the way… Tia…”

”Wow,” a voice chirps from behind, snapping you out of your turmoil. “Tear-jerking performance. Bravo.”

When you’re sent into the great beyond, you are going to buck the Ancient Lady of Serendipity right in her stupid muzzle.

Your head creaks to the direction of the voice to see the sky rat from earlier. Immediately, three things stand out to you. One, she’s slouching her back against the far wall of the cage with a shit-eating grin. Two, there’s a plate of half-eaten dead fish in front of the pegasus. Three, she’s in the cage.

With you. Not out of the cage, but in.

…And she’s also naked. You can only hope her Y-7 gland is engaged, but you somehow doubt it.

“Was your cloud pushing so poor your friends had to throw you in here, sky rat?” you scoff as you shakily get to your hooves. Once you’re on all fours, you make your way to the gate of the cage once again, inspecting for any weakness. “Why aren’t you out there with the other thieves?”

The cage is overcome with silence as the sky rat keeps her muzzle shut. The raiders probably threw her in here to taunt you. That’s the one thing sky rats excel at.

”Uppercastemare!” Max suddenly pipes up.

You turn towards the sky rat to see that she’s up on all fours and making her way to you. Your hackles start to raise as you add a little more volume to your tuft. “What are you talking about?” you murmur.

”You’re an uppercastemare!” the pegasus repeats with a wondrous twinkle in her eyes. “You have to either be an ignorant uppercastemare, or a sniveling chick who’s never taken a step out of her village. Do you really not know what a cloudpusher is, little chick?”

“I have the nagging suspicion it has something to do with pushing clouds,” you harumph, standing your ground. “And at the end of the day, when you’re not needed, you’re reduced to nothing but another prisoner. Probably to keep your dirty, thieving rat hooves locked up.”

Max is in your face now, but for a moment she just stares at you. You smirk in victory, even if you desperately hope for the naked pony to take two large steps back.

Suddenly, the sky rat rears her head back and lets out an ear-splitting cacaw of laughter. “You really don’t know a thing!” she whoops. You keep your hard gaze on the sky rat, not looking away even as you feel a small strand of spittle land on your muzzle. 

“Pardon me,” you growl, turning back to the cage. “But I don’t have time to waste on you.” 

Could you dig through the mud underneath? No, a few swipes in and you see another set of bars just below.

“They don’t take ‘prisoners’ here if they’re not integral!” Max continues, oblivious to your too polite sendoff.

“Hmph,” you murmur as your eyes trace the bars of the cage. “Then why, pray tell, did they not leave me on the side of the road, if I'm so special?”

Max calms down enough to lower her hindquarters to the ground, tilting her head. “Huh,” she mulls over. “No idea! Considering there’s no way for you to clear the smoke when it gets too thick, or cover their trail with some nasty weather.—” You feel a soft tingle on your tuft, and look down to see that Max is stroking it with a wing. “—Or keep the place nice and moist for the express purpose of ruining your white coat, I can’t think of a single reason you’d be useful to them.”

You yip as you bat the unnatural appendage away from your chest and give the sky rat a glare. Dirt would’ve at least come off easy with a quick shake of your coat, but mud? Mud dries and cakes; mud needs to be scrubbed off in water, and even then you can’t do a lot of scrubbing with this ring on your horn.

Bucking sky rats…

“So you’re just a coward who does her captors’ bidding?” you deride, using a hoof to adjust the fur Max dirtied. Well, a small portion of the fur Max dirtied. “Whatever happened to that ‘freedom’ you pegasi won’t shut up about?”

”Whatever happened to that housecarla you wouldn’t shut up about?” Max immediately retorts.

Your blood boils and screams at you to break through the ring on your horn and rip this bird-bucking mutant apart. 

Max tilts her head at you, her soft coo dripping with sarcastic concern, “Aww, is the conehead mad she can’t magic away her problems anymore?”

Everything about her drives you insane. The musky smell that cruelly tickles your nose whenever you inhale, the unnatural, mutant wings that hang from her sides; the unbelonging, masculine muscles striating through her body as she moves.

You want to hurt her. You want to hurt something. You want to show these lowercastemares just what separates the two of you.

That’s the thought that mellows you.

Instead of responding to the sky rat’s mockery, you simply close your eyes, turn away from the pungent pony, and take a deep breath. For all you know she could be lying about her occupation. She could be lying about everything. She could just be taunting you.

You can’t waste time on her. You need to find a way out of here. 

Find Tia. Save Anonymous.

Whether your mind gets better at blotting the sky rat out or Max doesn’t open her yap again, you spend the next few hours in relative peace from the pegasus. You can’t see much of the underground hamlet you’ve found yourself in; you can only hear the commotion from outside. The large tent which surrounds your cage covers your surroundings behind an orange curtain.

At some point, a raider comes into your tent. You almost instinctively bolt when she opens the cage, but calm down enough to realize how pointless that’d be. You’re stuck underground, surrounded by a gang who’s keeping you alive for unknown reasons, and without any idea of where Tia or Anonymous are. It doesn’t stop you from asking the raider questions, however, but of course you get no real answers. The raider simply commands Max outside to clear out the built-up smoke and dust, leaves with the pegasus, and leaves you in a locked cage.

It’s only when you’re sure you’re alone that you can no longer hold back the tears.









You don’t know if the tent’s flaps being flung open wake you from sleep or a sleepless stupor, but you do know that you’re still on all fours. You blearily glare at the familiar unicorn as she enters the tent. 

You flinch at the glow of Sapphire Lily’s horn, but the cold tingling of a paralysis spell doesn't follow. Instead, she pulls something out from behind her back that makes your breath catch. Without a word, Lily tosses your notebook between the bars of the cage. You habitually try to catch it with your magic, resulting in the book landing in the mud with a soft squelch. You curse yourself as you bend down to wrap it in your hooves.

”You’re literate, Lucky Favor?” Lily asks with the decorum of a father asking his child if she was the one responsible for destroying that expensive vase when he wasn’t looking.

Without saying a word, you gently graze the mud from the cover of your notebook. You give a nod.

”Well, that’s mighty fortunate,” Lily says with a chuckle and a mock ‘phew!’ gesture. “Looks like Smooth Roads did know what she was doing when she brought you and your coltfriend in.”

Your concern for Anonymous trumps your fresh hatred for Smooth Roads. “Please don’t hurt him,” you can only whisper, prompting Lily to give an evasive shrug.

”I give him to my mares,” she drawls, painfully slow, as if fully aware that each second she speaks is a second Anonymous spends away from you. “And my mares get him situated. Believe me, I’d like a little more time with the colt, but that’s the extent of my responsibilities. Now, back to business.” Lily goes quiet for a moment, either to organize her thoughts or torture you. “I’ll save you the complicated explanation and just say that we’ve landed in a tough spot. You’re going to be reading something to a few ponies.”

Your only reaction is a slow blink. Did you hear that right, or was your muddled brain playing tricks on you? “Pardon?” you say.

”The innerworkings of the Red Garden are boring and frankly not for your ears anyway,” Lily sighs. “You’ll just be reading a speech of sorts that’s going to be delivered to some of the honest ponies upstairs. We just gotta double-check its integrity through a neutral third-party.”

You’re on the verge of telling Lily to shove it until the grating laughter of Max cuts through the air from behind. Lily’s reaction is instantaneous. Gone is her confident, impenetrable wall, to be replaced with an exasperated glare.

”I thought you coneheads were supposed to be the smartest!” she guffaws. “Yet you need an outsider to read your own documents!”

”You interrupt our conversation again,” Lily grits, her eyes never leaving your own. “Your fish will be soaked in piss next time, mule.”

They need you to read something for them because they’re illiterate lowercastemares. For the first time since you’ve met Lily, you finally have the upper hoof. 

…No. There must be a catch. They’re baiting you. This is too random. What if you’re reading a magical contract? Why would they ever consider you a neutral third-party? If they’re so willing to have you read it, how could it be so important? There must be at least one literate mare in this gang.

Choosing one of the many questions bouncing in your head, you hesitantly ask Lily, “What will I be reading?” 

”Huh,” Lily says with a tilt of her head. “That’s strange, I could’ve sworn I was the one making demands, and you were the one in a cage. You’ll be reading your friend Smooth Roads’ work. Besides that, it’s better you find out on the fly.”

You wipe the exhaustion from your eyes. She’s acting rather defensive for somepony making demands. Could they really need you…? 

No need to poke holes in your own thoughts, Lucky. She’s asking you for a favor. You might be able to turn this around. “I’ll do it on one condition,” you affirm, your eyes unwavering from Lily’s.

Without even the slightest movement, Sapphire Lily’s eyes glower into a predatory glare. “Or I can have my cohorts have their way with your housecarla if you don’t cooperate.”

The shock of her statement pales to the sudden warmth in your gut. This is the mare who lied to your face, stole your wagon, and hurt Anonymous. The mare who would use Anonymous as some kind of… object. You want to scream. You want to cast a spell. You want to wake up in your bed in the uppercastes and forget this ever happened.

You don’t register your notebook as it slides from your hooves and falls into the mud once again.

You want to kill Lily. For the first time in your life, you want to kill somepony.

”Well, that’s a shame,” Max Gusto sighs, and just like that, she’s joined Lily on your List. “All this threatening of yours has really spooked me to the core. I’m all choked up. I don’t think I can speak to our dear, braindead earthpusher after that display.”

Sapphire Lily’s threatening gaze snaps to Max for the first time since she’s entered the tent. “Max…” she growls lowly, but the pegasus isn’t perturbed in the least.

”Seems to me like you’ll have a completely braindead earthpusher on your hooves,” Max shrugs, giving you a sideways glance before her gaze returns to Lily. “You know, the one who can’t take an order from anypony but moi. I won’t be able to get to the outside, and the smoke’ll fill up this hole until we suffocate. All because you can’t listen to one little condition from a skinny, defenseless unicorn.”

Sapphire Lily glares at Max like a rabid animal stuck in its enclosure. Max only raises her eyebrows and throws her hooves behind her head. “Lahk ah’ sehd,” she drawls in a… rather humorous caricature of Lily’s accent. “Real shame, thayt. Mmm-hmm.”

”The moment we catch another pegasus,” Lily snarls between her teeth. “We’ll hang you by your sockets, Max Gusto.” 

Lily’s eyes shift back to you. Within an instant, she’s back to her confident self, tilting her muzzle upwards so she’s looking down at you. “If your oh-so important condition isn’t too outlandish… fine.”

Maybe you were wrong about Max Gusto.

“I want my housecarla to be repositioned immediately to my cell,” you proclaim. “And the earth pony stallion.”

Sapphire Lily is unmoving for a few seconds before she rolls her eyes. “How noble,” she mutters as she gets to her hooves. “If the earthpusher is needed, though, we’ll take him. Roads will come get you when you’re needed, Lucky Favor.” 

With another flourish of orange fabric, Lily is out of your tent, leaving you in relative solidarity once again. The world spins as you fall to your haunches.

“Th-thank you,” you gasp lowly to Max.

”If you wanna thank me, explain what you were going for with this one,” Max responds.

You turn to find your notebook, open and still muddy, in the green hooves of the sky rat. She turns your notebook towards you, pointing a hoof at an unfinished drawing. It’s the night scene whose subject you hadn’t yet decided.

“…G--…” you stutter as your insides are set ablaze. “…GIVE IT BACK, YOU THIEVING SKY RAT!”

You charge at the sky rat, but before you can grab hold, she zips across the cage with a gust of her wings. All the while, her chirruping laughter grates against your ears.

“You are a delinquent and a coward!” you spit, giving chase. “The entirety of bird-bucker kind follows suit! You enshroud yourselves in the clouds, preclude the progression of ponykind, and swoop in to purloin whatever your cold, black hearts desire!”

”You have a serious thesaurus fetish, uppercastemare!” Max only laughs harder as she floats above each of your jumps after her, somersaulting through the air. “But I can’t lie! I have swooped in and stolen my fair share of stallions back in the day.”

“Back in the day?! You’re speaking like a barren grandmother! Have you been trapped here for so long your mind has rotted, sky wanderer?!”

You had never heard the words “sky wanderer” before today. You had never even read about them in in the uppercastes. You didn’t know how strong the effect they would have on the pegasus would be. It just slipped out, like all the other names you called her.

Max’s reaction to the word is swift. Her wings stop dead in the air, leaving her to descend back onto her haunches. 

”Hey,” she warns, her voice strangely level as she glares at you. “I was just kidding around.”

“My notebook is no kidding matter,” you bark as you grab the book from her hooves. Max doesn’t put up a fight. “And if you can’t handle some simple name calling, maybe you’re the chick here.”

Max makes no move to respond. It wouldn’t matter anyway; a commotion from beyond the tent steals your attention. 

”I’m warning you, we’re not afraid to hit a colt!” a raider yaps between the grunting and pulling. “If you behave we might even-- OW!”

Your entire body snaps to the entrance of the tent. Its flaps fling open moments later to reveal a struggling quartet of raiders as they lead your hyoo-men inside. The earthpusher is just behind, although he follows quietly with a bowed head.

“Ancients above!” you stagger before collapsing to the wet ground in relief.

”Back off or we’ll paralyze you again,” one of the raiders snarls at you and Max as she flings open the gate. Anonymous is pushed in unceremoniously, yelling out swears against the fabric in his mouth. The earthpusher merely stalks inside, not even flinching when one of the unicorns gives him a parting spank before slamming the cage shut. “Bucking blue beaners…” she mutters as the raiders leave the tent.

You notice an extra shadow on each side of the tent entrance. It looks like your cage is now in need of some guards. 

Tears of joy rim your vision as you approach Anonymous. “Oh, thank the Ancients above!” you cry before immediately getting to work on his bindings. “Anonymous, are you okay? Did they hurt you?! D-did they touch you?!”

There doesn’t seem to be any new wounds on the hyoo-men’s body, but you do notice that he’s even more haggard than before. His body shakes from exhaustion, even though every part of him screams in an animalistic rage. His peach skin seems to be paler, and his beard is wet with a liquid you desperately hope is his own.

The moment the ropes on Anonymous’ arms are undone, he snaps away from you with a muffled yelp. His hands claw away the fabric from his mouth before he’s immediately back on his feet. “I’ll fucking kill them,” he growls as he limps away from you.

“Anonymous, dear?” you try, but the hyoo-men ignores you as he paces this way and that. You try to stand in front of his course, but he simply turns away from you, snarling obscenities all the while. “Anonymous, did anything happen? Please, talk to me!”

Your ears flick towards Max as you hear her mutter, “I know. I’m sorry.” The pegasus is wrapping an arm around the earth pony, who seems to be in his own world as he glares at the ground. He mutters something too quiet for you to hear. Max responds with a solemn, “I know you were busy. We just had to be sure you were safe.”

Anonymous doesn’t acknowledge you as he continues to pace around the cage, staring daggers at anything that crosses his path. His eyes have a bloodthirsty craze to them. You can only imagine what’s racing through the hyoo-men’s mind.

“Anonymous, are you alright?” you try again, reaching a hoof to stop his advance.

Anonymous backhands your hoof away hard enough to make you yip and back off. 

”Wait, so I’m confused,” Max says, her voice devoid of whatever sympathy she had shown the earthpusher, once again filled with that enraging, misplaced confidence. “Is his name Tia or Anonymous? ‘Cuz you were crying about a Tia earlier, but now you’re calling him Anonymous.”

Anonymous stop pacing. He slowly turns to you. You’re made painfully aware of the height difference between the two of you as he approaches. “How does she know about Tia?” he speaks in a low whisper.

“She doesn’t!” you plead. “I never brought her up! She must’ve—” Oh. Right. “…She heard me talking to myself earlier. Pegasus hearing. She only knows her name, though.”

You can’t tell if your answer satisfies Anonymous. His expression doesn’t change as he leans dangerously close. Despite yourself, you can feel your cheeks slowly warming from the closeness. “Do they have her, Lucky?” he whispers.

“No,” you assure, glancing at the way his lips part as he speaks. “I’m sure they don’t. There would’ve been chaos if they had found her. I don’t know where she is, Anonymous. I don’t--...”

You can’t speak anymore. The world blurs as tears flood your vision. You bite your tongue to keep from sobbing and glare at the ground. There’s no way in Tartarus you’re letting a sky rat see you cry.

You feel warmth envelope your hoof. You try to snatch it away, but Anonymous merely grunts and his grip tightens. You cringe as he inspects your bruised limb. He doesn’t speak, merely inspects your hoof. You should’ve known better, expecting an apology.

…Expecting an apology for anything. Yet your heart still thumps against your chest warmly.

You’re so pathetic, blushing like a schoolfilly in these circumstances. You need to mare up, Lucky, or your journey may very well be over before it even starts. 

”I’m confused,” Max says. “Are you two in a herd or something? Or are you two mono?”

”Fuck off, wing-horse,” Anonymous responds curtly.

”Meh. You’ll be thanking me on your knees soon enough,” Max mutters, but Anonymous doesn’t catch that.

But after whatever Anonymous went through, you’re not letting it go. “What do you mean by that, sky rat?” you shoot, removing your hoof from Anonymous before trotting in Max’s direction. 

Max’s figure puffs up when you near the earthpusher. “I’d take a few steps back right about now, Lucky.”

“You’re welcome for saving your coltfriend, by the way” you snap, not slowing your approach in any way.

”Not my coltfriend. Back off, Lucky. Seriously.”

“Tell me what you meant about my fair lord Anonymous on his knees,” you snarl. “Tell me or I’ll—” You’re not good at threatening, so think of something quick! “—I’ll hurt you!”

”I can tell just by looking at your coltfriend that he’s been in more scuffles than you.”

”Stop it,” a masculine voice says quietly.

You do a double-take to confirm just what you had heard. The voice had come from the earthpusher, now giving you a neutral gaze. You slow to a halt. Instead of elaborating further, the earthpusher’s ear flicks at Max. The pegasus gives you one more glare before turning away with the stallion. When they begin to whisper to each other, that’s when you first feel a low, hungry anger.

“I am so sick,” you breathe lowly, lowering your head towards the sky rat. “Of ponies talking behind my back…”

”Lucky Favor?”

Anonymous’ grumbling ceases at the almost tentative voice behind you. Max Gusto and the earthpusher both give a glance before returning to their private conversation. When you turn to the owner of the voice, you swear you can feel something snap inside.

“Well, if it isn’t Smooth Roads!” you almost cackle as you can feel a few strands of your mane go loose. The unicorn’s brown eyes are downturned as she stands just outside arm’s reach of the cage. “The second unicorn who threw me to criminals this past week! How can I be of service to you, my dear fiend?”

”Lucky, I need you to listen to me.” Roads’ voice virtually scrapes across pavement with how low it is.

“Oh, a new batch of lies and deceit? Do tell!” You smile as you approach the bars of the cage between yourself and Roads. “I’m just a naive uppercastemare, after all. Manipulate away.”

”I know ya’ don’t have the faintest reason to trust me,” she almost whispers, her head turning so she could glance at the guards outside the tent. “And I can’t explain everything proper right now, but just know I’m on your side.”

“Oh, Roadie-Roo, darling. I can think of at least one other unicorn who claimed to be ‘on my side’ for seven days before she ordered me killed. And I’ve only known you for one, so you’re gonna—”

”Fine, if you wanna act so uptight,” Smooth Roads grunts. She approaches the bars to the cell, keeping firm eye contact with you. “They’re waiting for you to read that draft. If I were you, I’d pay very close attention to—”

Smooth Roads doesn’t get to finish her sentence before a hyoo-men arm shoots out of the cage and grabs her horn. She yells out in pain, and the two shadows outside the tent react instantly. The guards aren’t quick enough to stop Anonymous before he bashes Roads’ face against the bars of the cage.

”I bucking told you to keep your distance!” one of the guards yells to Smooth Roads before a dagger is embedded into Anonymous’ hand. It doesn’t get far since the guard’s magical hold is extinguished once the steel makes contact, but it’s enough to make Anonymous release Roads’ horn.

Smooth Roads rears back from the cage. Her blue muzzle is stained a bright red as blood starts to pour.

”Snap his leg!” one of guards yells out.

”No!” Roads interjects, causing the guards to pause. She pulls her hoof away from her muzzle, inspecting the warm red liquid as it slithers down her arm. Her next words are slow; much slower than her initial outburst. “Lily won’t take too kindly to any more injuries on him.”

Anonymous is back to pacing deeper in the cage, not bothered in the least by his bloody hand. His eyes narrow dangerously at one of the guards as she opens the cage gate. “Come on then,” she gestures to you as the other guard points her horn at the rest of the occupants.

Without much else of a choice, you “hmph!” and jut your chin up before making your way through the gate. You don’t give Smooth Roads a sideways glance before she turns and leads the way out of the tent and into the little hamlet. She gives a rough sniffle before spitting a red glob to the ground.

An amalgamation of sounds once again echo throughout your surroundings, but you don’t let your focus drift to the camp of scoundrels. That warm feeling in your gut hasn’t gone away yet. Anger still pounds inside your skull, but you bite it down to keep from doing something profoundly stupid. Even if you could break through the ring on your horn, free Anonymous, and somehow even find Tia, you’d still be trapped in an underground dome, surrounded by hostile unicorns. 

Then again, going out in a blaze of glory doesn’t sound that bad.

Your trot slows, prompting a cold metal weapon to tap against your flank impatiently.

You didn’t seriously just think that, did you? What’s gotten into you, Lucky Favor?

…Ancients above, why didn’t you at least say goodbye to Anonymous?

Why do you simultaneously want to take a deep, dark nap and strangle each and every one of these unicorns you pass?

You need to focus, Lucky Favor. Even if you have no idea what you’re about to read, or why they need your help when Smooth Roads is apparently just as literate, or where in the darkest depths of Tartarus Tia is, or a multitude of other questions bouncing around in your head, you need to focus.

You’re led to a large tent in the center of the hamlet; the same one you saw that unicorn who accosted Smooth Roads come from. The “alpha.” The unicorn who didn’t take prisoners unless they were useful.

Your heart skips a beat as a stray thought enters your mind. You aren’t the only literate unicorn here; Smooth Roads is trotting just in front of you. Could this be where they take useless prisoners to be executed?

You approach the tent. Smooth Roads teeters off to the side before pulling the flap open, confirming that you’ll be the only one entering. You start to shake as you duck into the tent.

You wish Anonymous was here.

”Lucky Favor!” Sapphire Lily exclaims from a table in the center of the tent. She sits between two ponies; the alpha, and, to your surprise, the blind mare Anonymous had hit. “So glad to see you made it okay. With all the ruckus from your tent, I’m willing to bet your hairless cat friend had another episode.”

Your eyes stare at the heavy war hammer in the corner of the tent as you slow to a stop. Would that be what they use to kill  you? You can feel the pair of eyes from the alpha and the discerning silence from the blind unicorn bore into your fur.

Lily taps on the opposite side of the table, a rolled up scroll bouncing subtly from the impact. “Let’s hear those reading skills. And remember, lying might just cost you a housecarla.”

You trot to the table and sit. The unicorns beside Sapphire Lily still haven’t said a word, only gazing at you neutrally while you unfold the scroll. Without knowing what to expect, you begin reading.

As you read, you begin to realize just why they didn’t want Smooth Roads to be the one to peruse the scroll. Even without written context, you’re able to glean that the raiders of the Red Garden don’t particularly trust Smooth Roads, working with the honest ponies upstairs half the time. This just confirms it; it’s a letter to be read to the workers at Free Valley Carpentry in relation with the noticeable drop in their wages, and you’re here to confirm she doesn’t slip any sensitive information in. She must have already signed a magical contract which forbade her from saying anything not on the scroll.

You give a glance to Sapphire Lily to see an attentive smile on her features. The Red Garden didn’t just steal your wagon. As is custom, they also stole a percentage of the overall cost you paid for the wagon; the cost that would’ve gone to the workers. This has only been a minor problem in the past. Easily looked-over when your workers are too uneducated or lazy to count their money, but due to the large sum of three-thousand doits, the lower wages have become impossible to ignore. 

“…guarantee that this unFortunate accident will be handled swiFtly, and at the same standards Free Valley Carpentry strives for every day.”

You do a double take as you read. Three capital F’s in the same sentence; two of which not even making grammatical sense. The blind unicorn’s ear flicks, and you hastily delve back into the scroll. There’s horse crap about how their employees will be recompensated and then some. The cynical part of you is certain that your 600-doit bags will be donated to this cause. 

”…I know this may come at a pressing time for some, but I swear on my honor as a carpenter It will be met with…”

Your heart quickens. Three I’s in the same sentence. One of them grammatically incorrect. 

"I'm on your side,” you hear Smooth Roads’ voice echo in your head. “If I were you, I’d pay very close attention to--…”

Were you wrong about Smoot Roads? Is she really on your side?

The blind unicorn’s ear flicks again.

You suppress a smile as you continue to read. This has to be a hidden message. You aren’t saying a dishonest word about what’s on the scroll, yet it still flies over these three illiterates’ heads. 

Another combination: G.

You begin to read quicker, hungrily scanning the page. Your speech begins to slur, but you instantly put a stop to that after Sapphire Lily clears her throat.

H…

Wait.

Your head tilts as you read the second to last combination.

T.

F-I-G-H-T.

The last sentence of the scroll makes your blood cool.

”…our productivity will return to MAXimum levels.”

F-I-G-H-T MAX.

”Thank you for your time, Lucky,” Sapphire Lily says with a sickeningly sweet smile before she turns to her cohorts. “What do you think? Amber Gaze? Alpha?”

Fight Max.

”Her heart was beating like a rabbit,” the blind unicorn susurrates. The giant war hammer in the corner of the tent lifts off the ground in a silent, invisible aura of magic.

”Yet she was still honest,” the alpha says as you shakily get to your hooves. The war hammer returns to the ground. “Much easier to read than Smooth Roads as well.”

Fight. Max.

Smooth Roads isn’t on your side. She’s taunting you.

You don’t feel any different when the paralysis spell hits you after you’ve left the tent and you’re dragged back to your cage.

You’re sick of this… hopelessness.

The tall dirt ceiling above you transforms into a shallow orange when you’re pulled into your tent.

You’re so Ancients-damned sick of it.

The clang of the cage gate shutting echoes in your mind as your vision begins to blacken.

You’re…

”Lucky?” Anonymous whispers. 

You’re tired…

You collapse into something warm before succumbing to your exhaustion.









”…Non… …ere…”

Muffled voices tickle your ears.

You don’t even have the energy to groan. Flattening your ears against your skull feels like pulling two wagons by your lobes. You creakily roll over on your stomach. The mud feels so soft against your face…

…

…It’s getting hard to breathe.

Every bone in your body aches as you slowly push yourself up. Your surroundings are darker than when you had gone to sleep, but they’re still washed in the orange glow of various lanterns placed outside the tent. You can no longer hear the crackling of the bonfire. 

You can’t bring yourself to care as the mud falls from your face to the ground below. Your coat is unfamiliar to yourself, a white canvas splotched in dark brown splashes. Like a cow.

You look like a cow, Lucky Favor.

”…sure that they…”

More voices. You’re bleary, but awake enough to distinguish that they’re spoken in hushed whispers through the gate of your cage. While your head is arduously rotating towards the commotion, though, you see the state of the area.

Mud cakes the tent walls just outside the cage. One of the bars are bent, despite being magically enhanced to withstand the hardest of bucks. Through the reflection of orange light off the mud, you swear you can see the unique consistency and color of blood.

Anonymous is nowhere to be seen. Neither is the earth pony.

“…I told them where to look. They’ll be here tomorrow, I’m sure of it.”

You feel a burning anger in your stomach as you turn to see Max Gusto and Smooth Roads whispering to each other through the gate of the cage.

“Then we have everything we need,” Roads whispers. “You ready for this, Max?”

Max takes a deep breath, ruffling her feathers. “No, honestly. We were supposed to have more time. We just met them, Roads.”

“They’ve provided us with an opportunity out of here. It’s the least we can do. And now we don’t have much of a choice. We’re running out of time.”

“What if it fails?”

“Then we go to Plan B.” Smooth Roads glances behind her, through the flaps of the tent. “He’s been preparing that one for months.”

”I’ll keep it as a backup… but I want to see that look on her face, just this once.” Max shakes her head, stomping a hoof. “Damnit… We wouldn’t be on short notice if Anonymous didn’t put up such a fight!”

You start seeing red.

Smooth Roads isn’t on your side. Max Gusto isn’t on your side. Nopony is on your side.

Nopony but Anonymous.

You’re alone. Underground. Surrounded by cowards and traitors. Anonymous is gone. Tia is gone. Your journey hadn’t even started yet.

The low, hungry anger boils throughout your entire system before your body rushes forward.

“SKY RAT!” you howl moments before Max turns to meet you head-on. 

You tackle Max to the ground, and the two of you are transformed into a single flurry of fur and wings. You’ve never fought somepony before. Max is stronger than you. Even now, she doesn’t even think you’re worth defending against. This all only makes the blood in your skull pound even harder.

You let out a wordless scream as you punch her across the jaw, as your hindlegs slash against her underbelly, as you bite at her wings. You swing your head like a spiked wrecking ball as you try to gouge out her eyes. All the while, Max doesn’t match your ferocity in any way.

”Paralyze them!” somepony shouts from somewhere.

The bands on Max’s limbs and wings suddenly glow a deathly gray. She gasps before slumping into the mud, limp. You cackle as you go for her throat, only for the cold numbness of a paralysis spell to render yourself useless.

“NO!” you scream as you try to tear from the spell, but it’s useless.

”Ancients-damnit, that bar’s bent!” another piece of scum barks.

”Bring them outside!” the third pile of dung yells from somewhere far away. “And fix that bucking cage!”

“I’ll gouge your throat out, sky rat,” you snarl at the green fur your face is smushed in before you’re both dragged through the mud. “If you hurt Anonymous, I’ll gouge your throat out. I swear it on all the Ancients watching over us, every follicle on the All-Mother’s coat, and every offering placed on the All-Father’s grave, I will gouge your throat out, sky rat scum.”

”Ohhhhh,” Max coos as your body is flipped so you can only see the far ceiling of the dome, the white blend of fluffy clouds hanging overhead. “I was wondering why you were acting so weird. You fancy him, don’t you?”

You don’t have an answer to her taunting. That’s all it is, anyways. All she’s good for. Taunting.

Your heart pumps so fast it’s painful. Your head hurts. Your everything hurts, despite the paralysis spell. You’re on the verge of just screaming at the top of your lungs until you hear Sapphire Lily’s voice punch through your anger.

”So close…” she sighs forlornly. “But duty calls, I guess.”

Your breath accelerates like a runaway wagon as you’re sat up against a rock. Lily sits on her haunches, giving you an unimpressed glare. She’s stripped of her armor, leaving her blue coat naked and in the open.

”Free the cloudpusher,” Lily says. Her goons get to work. “But keep the unicorn paralyzed.”

“WHERE’S ANONYMOUS?!” you shout between your heaving.

Lily simply raises a hoof and daintily swipes off some undetectable imperfection from her tuft. “In my tent,” she says. “Waiting for me to give him the rutting of his life. Sparrow’s keeping him company until then.”

Your heartbeat is the only thing you can hear as your jaw shoots open to scream, but a ball of fabric is shoved into your mouth. You scream into the gag anyways, your death glare never leaving Lily.

“Usually, we’d just up and kill you for attacking our only cloudpusher,” Lily continues, giving said cloudpusher a raised eyebrow. “But since sky wanderers are so hard to come by, and you, Lucky Favor…” 

This is it. She doesn’t have a use for you. Not anymore, anyways. You’re definitely not worth keeping around until they rob the next literate pony.

”…are equally as valuable,” she finishes.

BULLSHIT! 

THAT’S NOT GOOD ENOUGH!

SHE STOLE YOUR WAGON, SHE HURT YOUR HOUSECARLA, YOU WERE TAKEN PRISONER BEFORE THEY KNEW YOU WERE LITERATE! SHE’S JUST TORTURING YOU BEFORE SHE KILLS YOU!

”I dunno, Lils,” Max says as she inspects you, her voice somehow reigning over the pounding of your blood. “Literate ponies are a lot more common than pegasi. Why are you keeping her alive, I wonder?”

Sapphire Lily gives Max an unreadable gaze. “Pegasi?” she asks with a tilt of her head. “We don’t keep any pegasi around here. All I see in front of me is a lonely, vagabond sky wanderer.”

There’s a pause from Max, as if she genuinely has no response, until she snorts. “Sky wanderer,” she chuckles lowly. “Sky wanderer… okay. Alright.” 

Max raises her head to meet Lily’s gaze directly. The pegasus and unicorn don’t say a word for an agonizingly long time before Max speaks. “You know, it amazes me to this day, the integrity and chivalry of the ponies of the Free Valley Carpentry.”

Lily blinks.

“When they see a colt and his lady accosted by a group of raiders in their own shop,” Max continues with a glance to you. “I’d bet they would put down everything to come and make sure they made off all right. And when they come across the crash site, I doubt they’d be able to sleep at night without finding out just what caused it.”

Lily’s lips twitch into a smirk. “The wagon didn’t crash,” she says. “We stopped it. With your help, might I add.”

”Maybe so,” Max shrugs. “But you certainly crashed your last wagon. And I doubt those unicorns could tell the difference when it’s been burnt to a crisp.” The smile on Lily’s face seems to teleport onto Max’s. “A little birdie might’ve pointed them in the right direction this morning. Along with the location of a few fake bushes.”

Your heart begins to slow at this news. Even as the rest of the Red Garden takes a step back, or whinnies, or looks to Lily uncertainly, your eyes are glued to the lime green pegasus between you and Lily.

After a dramatic pause you’re now sure was intentional, Max continues, ”And that same birdie might be able to point them in a different direction, granted you meet her demands.”

Sapphire Lily’s face hardens into a scowl. Her eyes flick to the rest of the gang as uncertain mumbling echoes throughout the dome. They then settle on Max Gusto, inspecting the pegasus for any signs of dishonesty, but finding none.

Then, Lily’s eyes land on you, and her scowl disappears.

”Tell me,” she questions, her gaze returning to Max. “What were the carpenters wearing?”

Max’s booming cackle echoes throughout the dome, and for the first time, you’re happy to hear it. “W-what were the carpenters wearing!” She doubles over in laughter, planting a hoof on her forehead for stability. “You’re asking – SNRK SNRK – a nudist pegasus what – AHAHAHA! – What the mob of angry ponies coming to kill you and your pathetic gang – HAHAHA! – are WEARING!”

”Were they wearing overalls or armor?”

Max takes a moment to calm herself down to a few errant giggles. ”I’m a sky rat, Lily,” Max chuckles as she wipes a tear from her eye. “A naked, nudist sky rat! I don’t know what the bucking difference is! But even then, I’m not stupid! They were a ‘group of workers’ heading in this direction from the Free Valley Carpentry. I flew down and had a quick chat with their leader, and that’s what they told me.” Max gives a shit-eating grin as she leans towards Lily. “I win, Lils.”

”So they were wearing armor, I take it?” Lily quizzes with an innocent tilt of her head.

…No…

”Yeah, whatever,” Max chuckles, waving her hoof at the gang. “Armor, schmarmor. Same stuff any of you landlubbers wear around here.”

”And this ‘leader’ you talked to, what was her name?”

”Listen, are you gonna keep asking questions? Because from where I’m standing, I’m the one making demands. And you’re the one trapped in a cage.” 

Max’s eyes widen hungrily as they inspect Lily’s reaction, but she gives none.

”What,” Lily enunciates calmly. “Was. Her. Name. Sky wanderer.”

Max gives Lily a long, hard glare before she speaks. “I think my demands just got steeper. Fine, since you’re so set on delaying my victory. Her name was Red Letter.”

Sapphire Lily leans away from Max with a satisfied smile on her face. Max tilts her head at her display. “Is this bitch crazy or what?” the pegasus asks as she turns to you.

The look on your face makes Max blanche.

“This is the sky rat you were working with to escape?” Lily giggles. Max glares at Lily before turning back to you.

”Lucky?” she asks quietly.

You can’t respond. You can’t even breathe.

“You’re right, Lucky,” Lily says with a venomous smile. “Literate ponies are easy to come by. What’s not easy to come by, though, is a pony and her bodyguard who are wanted by the entirety of the Plumsteed housecarlatel.” 

Whatever rage had infected every cell of your system is nothing but a sick numbness now.

”…L-Lucky?” Max asks again, her voice wavering. “What’s she talking about? I did good, right?”

Lily’s cold smile freezes your blood as she says, “After I’m done with your human friend, he will be sedated until Red Letter’s arrival and brought up to her in chains. The reason you are not rotting in the dirt somewhere upstairs, Lucky Favor, is because you will be joining him. Dead or alive, though, depends on your answer to the following question.”

Sapphire Lily walks slowly towards you, leaving Max a pale, whispering mess. Lily gives a quick flap of her ear, and the glow around your body dissipates. Feeling returns, what little is left, but even then you can only stare as the unicorn in front of you transforms. Her face contorts from her satisfied smirk to a neutral, calculating stare. Her eyes gleam like a timberwolf cornering its prey as she sits on her haunches just in front of you. Her face is completely level with your own now, but the thought of pulling back and striking her never enters your mind, as if even thinking about it would reap consequences.

Lily exhales slowly before she speaks. “What else was in your bag, uppercastemare? And where have you hidden it?”









”Stupid colt, using your hands like that on Smooth Roads…”

You are stupid.

You caused this.

It’s happening all over again because of you.

It’s your fault.

You can’t move.

You can’t blink.

You need to get away.

You can’t get away.

”You’re lucky. If I had known you were male back at Free Valley, I wouldn’t have been able to help myself. You deserve this for hurting my herdsister, Nonny.”

”You’re lucky you ran into me,” she said sympathetically.

”If I had known you were male,” she said as she hugged you. “I would’ve given you a home sooner.”

”You deserve this, Nonny,” she said as her pale yellow eyes sank below view. “You need this. Let me make you feel good.”

It’s Red Letter all over again.

”It’s been so long since Blitz passed on to the Eternal Graze. You have no idea how… frustrating it all is. But don’t worry, Sapphire Lily likes to take her time with the unscrupulous prisoners. Are you ready for your punishment?”

Punishment.

Punishment for letting it happen again.

Punishment for not fighting harder.

Punishment for trusting a mare.

Punishment for being Anonymous.

Sparrow’s orange eyes descend from view, and there’s nothing you can do stop it. 

Your lips tremble in an ugly, indiscernible curl. Your shallow breaths drown away the screams at the back of your throat. Your eyes stare vacantly to the far side of the tent; the furthest place away from it all. Your hands shake in their binds. Your left foot flexes and strains against its rope in a pulsating bounce. Your right leg hurts so much. You don't know where they took your splint.

It all hurts so much.

”Oh! Hey there, dirthead. You promise not to tell Lily, don’t yo-- GHK!?”

Sparrow’s voice is interrupted by a wet choke, and you yelp from the familiar noise. 

What follows next, though, is not familiar. Sparrow continues to choke and gasp for air as her horn vibrates and sparks in a desperate buzz. You hear a masculine grunt among her struggling.

You peer your head over your chest to see Sparrow clawing desperately at the rustic orange arms strangling her neck. The earth pony stallion plants his hindquarters firmly on the ground as his deceptively strong body keeps the panicking unicorn in place. Dirt and musk shower his surroundings as he counteracts every quick movement from his victim. Before long, the terror in Sparrow’s eyes fade to aloofness. When she’s finally limp, the earthpusher lets her body haphazardly fall into the mud.

The earthpusher wastes no time as he trots to your place on the bed. He gnaws loose each of your bindings, and the moment you’re free, you flinch to the other side of the bed and cower from the pony.

If he was the least bit put off by your display, the stallion doesn’t show it. He gently holds a hoof out to you. You stare at the stained hoof suspiciously, but…

The stallion’s blue eyes are condoling, and the smile he wears is warm and empathetic. His ribs rise and fall slowly through his orange fur. He makes no move to grab you. He only waits.

Maybe it’s the broader, boxier way the stallion’s muzzle is shaped from the mares, or maybe it’s because you remember how the raiders assaulted him while you watched. But you can’t find a hint of malintent in that smile.

You don’t make a move to reach for the stallion’s hoof, but you do give him a slow, appreciative nod. He seems to understand as his hoof retreats, but the smile on his face never falters. “Follow,” the stallion says in a smooth, honeyed whisper. “We will leave this place, brother.”

The look on your face is all the reaction he needs.

”Our plan has already begun,” he insists. “Right now, Max Gusto is talking with Raider Sapphire Lily. We are almost free.”

You turn to the sliver of an opening of the tent and hear voices. One of them, though, makes your heart quicken. A sudden, enraged scream from Lucky Favor is cut off as a ball of fabric is shoved in her mouth.

You hobble off the bed and make your way to the tent’s exit, but the stallion’s voice stops you.

”Patience,” he says. “You cannot fight them. Let Max Gusto have her closure. Your friend will not be harmed.”

Friend?

You don’t know if you would call Lucky Favor a friend. She’s your lady; your responsibility as a housecarla. She’s the one who stands behind you when there’s trouble and fills your pockets with doits.

But for some reason, you can’t get the image of last night out of your head. Tia in your arms, Lucky Favor humming as she draws quietly, the night sky illuminating your camp in a cool, blue glow.

...Right before you fucked everything up for no good reason at all.

“You can’t know they won’t hurt her,” you say neutrally. Lucky Favor’s limp body glows with paralysis magic as she stares daggers at Sapphire Lily. She’s heaving for breath through the clot in her mouth like a muzzled animal. Her eyes have a bloodthirsty craze to them.

This isn’t the same mare who sat across from you last night. This is the mare Lucky had kept suppressed last night, after you hurt her.

No, that's not right. Lucky didn't need to suppress anything with you. Even when you deserved nothing more than to be abandoned in that forest and have your mind slip completely, she only wanted to help you. 

You burnt her drawing. You dropped Tia. She magicked up a bed for you, and offered to talk things out. And you burnt her drawing.

”She is a good friend,” the stallion speaks lowly. “She cares for you.”

“They all ‘care for you,’” you mutter almost automatically.

”You are not very intelligent, are you?”

You glare back at the stallion behind you. He sits on his haunches as he gazes at you, his emerald eyes bored and unassuming. As if he hadn’t just insulted you, he reaches forward and taps the mud in front of him.

”Come and sit,” he says. “We must get ready. If Max Gusto can’t convince Raider Sapphire Lily, we must be ready to move. Carpenter Smooth Roads is waiting for us at our exit.”

You study the pony but are unable to find any reason to distrust him. Plus, the prospect of meeting Roads without iron bars between the two of you tickles you something fierce. Still, you ask, “What do you mean, ‘come and sit?’”

”I mean exactly what I said,” the stallion says, once again patting the space in front of him. “I speak much more directly than the average unicorn or pegasus. How could you possibly misunderstand?”

You snort before giving the meeting of unicorns and pegasus one last glance. Max is talking to Sapphire Lily now, puffing out her tuft and looking all kinds of confident. Without much else of a choice, you slink back to the stallion and sit.

”Keep your bad leg straight,” he says. “And cover it with mud.”

“You’re fucking with me," you deadpan.

”I would never fuck with another male. That is degenerate and ineffective. Copulation is a sacred practice, meant for procreation and expressing one's love to their foalbearer. Now hurry.”

You feel the overwhelming urge to punt this little horse. You shake your head as you begin scooping mud onto your leg. From behind, you can hear the booming laughter of what had to be the pegasus’, judging by the chirping mixed in.

“What’s your name?” you idly ask as you pat the mud onto your leg.

The stallion gently rests his forehooves on your mound, careful not to apply force. Although, despite his best efforts, you start to feel an odd pressure building. Not painful just yet, but also not able to be ignored.

”Apple Seed,” he replies softly. “Be silent, brother. I am working.”

He’s most definitely fucking with you.

You grit your teeth as your fingers ball into fists. You’re about to rear back and sucker punch the mental defective until he bows his head closer to your leg, revealing something that gives you pause. There’s a part of his mane that’s burnt away, and the fur underneath is blackened in the familiar pattern of a lily insignia.

He’s a victim, Anonymous. Are you once again going to let your paranoia hurt somepony who's trying to help?

You turn to glare at the unconscious form of Sparrow and spit. A glob of saliva lands on her cheek, trailing down her fur to the mud below. 

The pressure around your leg is still building.

“What the fuck—” you start, but when you look down at your leg you fall silent. 

The mud around your appendage is no longer mud, but a peach-colored clay. It rumbles and squelches lowly as it seems to condense and draw around your leg. It stings as the interior hardens and nicks your knee, but as if it senses your discomfort, it shifts and pulsates so as not to touch the sensitive spot. The clay slowly hardens, its slimy peach coloration desaturating to a stone gray. 

Your leg is now entombed in a stone cast.

”I am no body mender like the ones from my village,” the stallion murmurs. “But I can still help.”

Your time on Equus has long desensitized you to sights that you would’ve only thought possible in fairy tales. This succeeds in preventing you from crying out in surprise, but it doesn’t stop the wonder in your eyes, if Apple Seed’s understanding smile is anything to go by. “I’m immune to magic,” is the only thing you can croak out.

”This isn’t magic, brother,” the stallion hums. “It’s a mutual understanding and exchange between denizen and provider. Magic is artificial.” You can detect a hint of a growl under Apple Seed’s voice as he speaks. “Magic is… disgusting. It is the manipulation of nature and particles. Magic is easily detectable and read by an earth pony.”

The stallion’s eyes hold your own as he takes a step back to let you remove your cast from the residual mud. “Like an ambient spell, casted on a peculiar filly in an invisible bag.”

Your eyes narrow dangerously as you hobble onto your feet. Making sure that he’s reminded just how much bigger you are than him, you ask Apple Seed, “Where is she?”

”Waiting at our exit as well,” Apple Seed blinks, unmoved. “I would never hurt a child. Even if a unicorn would.”

“Yeah?” you growl. “What makes you different? Especially if that child’s just dripping with that magic you hate so much?”

The sound of something blunt slamming into someone's snout snaps your attention back to the scene outside the tent. Lucky Favor is being swarmed by raiders holding her down as Max Gusto's laughing attitude is dead and buried. Sapphire Lily just giggles to herself, trotting in a short roundabout as she holds her muzzle in one hoof.

"Suppose I owe you at least that," she says jocularly, peering down at the red smear on her frog. 

”Max Gusto has failed, it seems,” Apple Seed says as he approaches the two folds of the tent. “We are out of time. I cannot explain everything just yet. Do you see Smooth Roads over there?”

You turn to see a particularly punchable unicorn standing at the far end of the dirt dome. She has a familiar sac attached to her hip. Tia isn’t anywhere near her, and you somehow doubt she’s being held in the bag attached to the unicorn who’d kill her at first sight. You growl in helplessness before giving a low, “Yeah.”

”Find your way to her after you’ve retrieved Lucky Favor and Max. They will no doubt be paralyzed by the time you reach them. Do not worry, the filly is nearby, but I couldn’t risk Smooth Roads seeing her and overreacting. Are you ready?”

Max’s face turns to Apple Seed across the clearing. The stallion gives her a nod.

“I don’t trust you one bit, Apple Seed,” you murmur brusquely.

”I don't care,” he responds. “Meet us at Smooth Roads’ location as quick as you can.”

As quick as a bullet, Max Gusto suddenly bolts upwards. The raiders bellow out orders to paralyze her, but you lose sight of the pegasus as she disappears into the white cloud above. 

The collection of clouds suddenly rumbles before exploding throughout the entirety of the Red Garden. You flinch and cover yourself as the impenetrable mist wraps around you in a moist, gray embrace. The rustic orange of Apple Seed gallops forward into the overwhelming fog and you lose sight of him before he takes his second step.

”Ancients-damnit!” a stentorian voice yells. “Paralyze them and quick! Don’t lose sight of them!”

You see two glows shine through the mass of gray and panicking raiders. One of them falls from the top of the dome and plummets to the mud. The other lies limply against her rock, unmoving.

Lucky and Max. You limp forward into the grayness, avoiding every dark splotch of a distant pony you pass. As you near your first target, you can hear sniveling.

”…A-Amber!” you hear from behind. You curse under your breath. Sparrow is already awake and calling into the mist. “Amber Gaze! Sapphire Lily! Anonymous is gone!”

”Find them!” Lily’s voice echoes. “Cast a luminescence spell and find them, for Ancients’ sake!”

Dozens of glows illuminate throughout the hamlet one by one as the unicorns inspect their surroundings. None of them are in your way now, but they’re something to avoid.

The moment you’re within range of the first glow, you reach out your hand and grab Lucky’s arm. She squeaks and pulls away. That’s when she realizes she can move.

”WHERE’S LUCKY FAVOR?! IS SHE STILL PARALYZED?!”

Lucky is nearly catatonic. She doesn’t even react as you grip her horn to slide the anti-magic ring off. The only sound that escapes her is a single, choked sob as you pull her along to the limp body of Max Gusto.

Suddenly, the gray around you is set ablaze in a violet glow. Lucky gasps out in a choked pant. You react immediately, wrapping your arm around the surprised raider’s neck and choking. The glow once again gives way to the mist.

”…H-HE’S… he--…” is all she can croak before she collapses into the mud.

Lucky is still panting. You turn to see that she has a hoof on her chest as she tries to steady herself, but the hyperventilating is almost inevitable at this point. 

You hobble down to one knee so you're head-level with Lucky Favor and you hold her face still. Her eyes are wild as they stare at the unconscious raider, then any number of the increasing glows from the luminescence spells, until finally, they land on your face. "You're okay, Faust," you whisper, and Lucky's eyes glue to your own. "Tia's okay. We're getting out of here. I'll protect you the whole way."

Lucky Favor's panting slowly subsides as you hold firm in your gaze. You'd call yourself a left-wing extremist before you'd call yourself good pep talker, but you said everything you needed to say. Lucky eventually regains control of her breathing and gives you a shaky nod. You give her a firm pat on the withers before you're both moving through the fog once again.

You're going to protect this mare, Anonymous. Don't fuck it up.

Once you reach Max, you press your palm to her withers. The moment the magic is cut off, she gasps in fresh air as her muzzle darts up from the mud.

”Holy shit,” she pants as you remove the deadened bands. “I almost drowned in ankle-height mud. That’s bucking wild.”

Once she’s free of the bands, she’s up on her hooves and shaking herself vigorously. “Follow me,” Max whispers as she stalks away. She glances back to make sure you’re following her snow white tail before she slinks through the gray mist.

”W-where’s Tia?” Lucky Favor whispers so quietly you might have imagined it. 

Before you can respond, Sapphire Lily’s booming voice echoes throughout the dome.

”YOU’RE TRAPPED IN HERE, ANONYMOUS!” she yells. “YOUR OWNERS WILL BE JUST OUTSIDE THE ENTRANCE BY NOW! MAX’S TRICK IS ONLY TEMPORARY! SOON, THIS MIST WILL DISSIPATE, AND YOU’LL HAVE NOWHERE TO HIDE! DAMNIT, AMBER GAZE, GET OUT THERE AND FIND THEM!”

”Pretentious cunt…” Max grumbles. “Don’t listen to her, guys. Look, we’re here.”

You take a few more steps forward before reaching out with a hand. Your palm lands on the dirt of the far wall of the Red Garden. You hear the rumbling of a roaring river just beyond the wall.

”Looks like it all paid off!” Max whispers happily to Apple Seed. You can barely make him out through the mist, sitting with his head against the dirt wall. “You didn’t just make a river, you made a rapid!”

”Focusing,” he responds monotonously.

You’re willing every fiber in your being to not launch yourself at Smooth Roads before you feel a stronger rumbling from the wall. You whip your hand back as the dirt begins to cave in and fall over a small pocket. When the last of the dust finally settles, you stare.

”There was no other place to hide her,” Apple Seed mumbles half-mindedly. “She is still asleep, so I didn’t think she’d mind.”

”TIA!” Lucky cries out. The dirty filly is lifted out of the hole in the wall and into Lucky’s embrace in a cyan glow. She squeezes the unconscious filly so hard you’re afraid she’ll break her, not caring one bit about the dirt ruining the last remnants of her white coat.

The small smile that tugs at your lips is snuffed out when you notice that the dome has gone oddly quiet. No raiders are yelling out commands or panicking anymore.

”Lucky Favor?”

“Shh,” you say habitually before you realize who was talking.

Lucky’s entire body flinches before her horn glows. Tia is transparent within the moment. Lucky slowly levels a glare at Smooth Roads. You can’t blame her. You have to take a few steps away to keep from punching the unicorn’s snout into her skull. Roads’ head is bowed, her usually commanding nature wilted and meek. With a glow of her horn, Lucky’s bag floats in front of her.

”I was able to retrieve your belonging,” Roads whispers. “…Well, most of them. There’s only a little money--”

Lucky snatches the bag out of the air. “Anonymous said to be quiet,” she breathes.

Apple Seed lets out a low breath before a few splashes of stones falling into the river can be heard from the other side of the wall. Equus itself seems to groan as dirt, roots, and rocks begin to tumble from the earthy dike. The mist around you breathes and wisps away into the new opening of the wall, revealing the roaring river in all its ferocity. It flows down a steep tunnel, reflecting the surrounding stone and mud in a frothy, blue glow.

Max turns to excitedly say something to you, but another noise makes you react. Despite the silent aura of Amber Gaze’s magic, you can still hear the way her weapon whistles through the misty air, aimed squarely at Lucky Favor’s head.

Without thinking, you shoot the closest part of your body out between your lady and the hammer.

SNAP!

Lucky Favor yells something to you, but you can’t hear her over the sound of your screaming. You fall to ground, clawing at the cracked, hyperextended cocoon that holds your leg in an agonizing angle. More yells echo throughout the mist, and luminescence spells are pointed your way.

Somebody grabs you from behind. The last thing you can make out before Lucky tackles you into the dark, freezing depths of the rapids is the Red Garden’s enraged residents as they gallop towards you.

A stone falls to seal off the hole, and you’re left in a jumble of pain, water, and yelling.
> IV - A Moment of Peace
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It takes a moment for your body to wrest control of itself from the freezing depths of the rapids. When it does, though, you’re immediately kicking your hind hooves where you hope is upwards. Anonymous’ weight is nullified by the ever-changing gravity of the underground river, but the stone cast on his leg fights you for control. That, coupled with the beating and pulling of the river, burns your muscles after just a few strokes.

When your head penetrates the surface, your ears are assaulted with a bombardment of sounds. The muffled rush of the river behind the wall now consumes every facet of the rock and mud tunnel. The usually pleasant hum of a luminescence spell being casted is barely perceivable. Smooth Roads is yelling something over it all -- directions or something of that order -- but you’re not listening.

Anonymous has stopped screaming. He lays limply in your arms. You hug his torso close to keep his face above water. His dark mane and beard seem to be glossed over his pale, corpse-like face.

”Wucky!”

Somehow, beneath the booming of the river and pounding in your head, you’re able to hear Tia’s cry some ways behind you, a hostage of the river's dangerous current. You will your horn to envelope her in a telekinetic grip, but it doesn’t respond.

You’re still holding onto Anonymous.

Your legs burn with exhaustion. Anonymous’ weight threatens to pull you into the freezing blue and roaring white. Tia struggles to keep her head above the quicksilver current. There are three other able-bodied ponies in this cave, but you aren’t going to let them lay their hooves on Anonymous. 

The earthpusher stallion is the next pony in front of you, though. You thank the Ancients above.

“Anonymous?” you plead shakily. “Anonymous, if you can hear me, know that I’m doing this with good reason!”

The moment you release the hyoo-men to the river’s mercy, you can feel your magical tether to the filly regain tautness. You pull, sending Tia through the air and into a splash near the stallion. He reacts instantly, scooping in the filly in his arms. His emerald eyes gleam back at you before he gives a nod, and you know Tia is safe.

You don’t notice the sudden lack of Smooth Road’s voice, nor look of utter shock as she stares at the stallion.

The stone in Anonymous’ leg drags him down far faster than you anticipated. You cast a luminescence spell of your own before diving into the muffled chaos of the river once again. Your heart threatens to pop out of your chest from its beating. Your eyes sting from the current of water pushing them into their sockets. Your muscles are starting to go numb and your kicking is starting to slow, but you don’t care. 

When you wrap your hooves around Anonymous’ mid-section, your horn gives out. You were prepared for this – what you weren’t prepared for was for the algal glow of the cave to suddenly blot out to a pitch black. Gravity flings you into an unknown direction. You had barely started to believe the Ancients had reached down and pulled you into the Eternal Graze when you feel your body roll to a slow stop.

Upwards soon becomes upwards again and you waste no time kicking your hindlegs as hard as they can possibly go. It could’ve been adrenaline or divine intervention, but eventually your head penetrates the surface of the water once again. This time, the sounds around you are much less dizzying. The crashing of a waterfall cascading into the shallow lake you’ve found yourself in is accented with the soft buzz of the dawn's forest life. Max Gusto is already shaking herself dry on land some ways away and Smooth Roads is slowly making her way up the grassy shoreline of the impromptu lake. The stallion watches you and Anonymous attentively, just a few strokes ahead.

Your vision blurs as you try to paddle your way to the shoreline, but whatever had blessed you with the energy to resurface has wilted. You give a wordless, strangled call before the numbness of your muscles infects the rest of your body. You catch a glimpse of the stallion charging through the water towards you before you go under, and you use the last of your strength to rotate your body so Anonymous’ face can have that last breath of oxygen.

Warm forelegs wrap around your barrel before you can succumb to unconsciousness. You heave in oxygen as your head penetrates the surface. It might just be your blurry mind, but you can’t decide if it’s the earth pony’s raw strength or the water itself pulling you towards land. Maybe a mix of both.

“Please—…” you sputter, but even that one syllable makes you short of breath. “…Please--… help Anon--… ymous… first."

You’re dragged onto the wet, grassy shoreline. Your breaths are quick and shallow even if your lungs scream for deep gulps. 

”Ancients above,” Max says somewhere far off. “Ancients above, we did it… I can’t believe--… Apple Seed! Smooth Roads! I love you! I love you both so much!”

Your vision eventually clears from your exhaustion, even if it feels like the rest of your body will never stand again. Max’s cries of joy barely register as you tilt your head to a blur of rustic orange dragging something from the lake.

”Forgive me, brother,” you swear you can hear the earthpusher murmur as he lowers Anonymous to the mud below. He sits on his haunches as his hooves settles down on Anonymous’ cast. It immediately starts to alleviate into a soft mud. Anonymous gives no reaction.

”All-Father’s grave, we did it!” Max cheers. “It was a little rough around the edges, but we did it! Apple Seed, you might just be my favorite pony on Equus, mud horse or not! And Smooth Roads-- Hey, what’s with that look?”

”naw-nee?”

Tia’s voice is barely a whisper, but it’s all that’s needed to plunge the shoreline into silence. Anonymous’ body lays beside you, taking shallow, quick breaths. Tia is beside him, prodding his side with both hooves as if to rock him from his state. “Naw-nee?” she pleads again, her voice softer than the sough of the forest around you.

You’re too exhausted to engage an invisibility spell. It’s too late, anyways. Max and Roads’ eyes are on the alicorn filly. The earthpusher silently stands over Anonymous’ torso and starts pushing palpitations into the hyoo-men’s chest. All you can do is sprawl yourself between the others and your two friends; a last-ditch defense line against two easily capable enemies.

The shoreline is illuminated with a brown glow as Smooth Roads’ horn ignites. Your own eyes lock onto hers with deadly precision. “Lucky Favor,” she whispers. Her gravely voice could file the fearsome gates of Tartarus itself to harmless nubs. “What is that thing?”

What is that thing?

…It’s Smooth Roads’ fault. 

Everything is Smooth Roads’ fault. Your wagon being in the hooves of the lowest scum of the lowercaste is her fault. The way every part of your body shakes in a way you’ve never shaken before is her fault. Anonymous’ half-alive state is her fault.

And she has the gall to ask that question. What is that thing?

She’s just as bad as Red Letter… Sapphire Lily, too.

Or maybe she's just as bad as everypony in this Ancients-forsaken place.

How many other lowercaste mares will you trust, Lucky Favor?

Your voice is too ragged to speak. All you can do is stare into Roads’ eyes. You’re not sure what spell you will yourself to engage, but you know its target.

The sound of somepony abruptly upchucking snaps your attention to Anonymous. Water squirts and cascades from his mouth as he coughs. It lasts only a moment before he slumps back into limpness. Tia doubles her efforts when she sees the glint of Anonymous’ eyes opening, even if they're unfocused. “Naw-naw!” she cries, her wings flapping in newfound fervor.

”That ’thing,’” the earthpusher commands lowly, stepping over Anonymous and between you and Roads. “Is a child, Smooth Roads.”

Roads’ horn disengages as she gives the earthpusher an incredulous look. The shock of the mere implication that he could speak seems to wrestle with the shock of just what he said. Your eyes never leave Roads’, even when you shakily pull your hooves underneath your barrel and attempt to push up. Your only reward is a heat in your muscles so intense you have to keep from crying out in pain.

This is all her fault.

Roads attempts to aim her thin irises once again at Tia, but the earthpusher gives a low snort, snapping her attention back to him. The flabbergasted expression on her face changes to apprehension. “No, it isn’t,” she says quietly. “It’s an affront to the Ancient Lady of Life herself.”

“…scum…” you whisper so quietly only you can hear it.

“Stand back, earthpusher,” Roads commands in a voice that causes the stallion to lower his head defensively. “You don’t know what it—”

”I am your earthpusher no longer,” the stallion hisses. Even if his voice isn’t nearly as threatening as Roads’, the look on her face begs to differ. “You do not have control over me anymore.”

Smooth Roads flinches as if struck. “Me? I was never one of them, Apple Seed! I did everything I could to help you!”

”You did not even know my name until Max Gusto shouted it out."

Smooth Roads’ eyes widen. She almost looks panicked as her eyes dart to Max Gusto, but the pegasus only unknowingly stares at Tia. Of course the sky rat wouldn’t contribute anything of use.

“I was your friend on the inside,” Roads says. “I--… I am your friend, ain’t I?”

”You consider me a friend? Yet you would ruin what we have to turn your magic against an innocent child?”

Roads’ forlorn eyes can no longer hold contact with the stallion’s. Without saying another word, she simply lowers her gaze to the ground.

”Would you, Max Gusto?” the stallion turns to Max, snapping her out of her stupor.

Her eyes seem to be undecisive on what to focus on. Before long, though, they lock onto Tia. The filly rubs her head against Anonymous’ limp arm, nickering quietly. “Why are you even protecting her, Apple Seed?” Max asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

’Why?’

With a snarl, you’re finally able to croak something that will reach everypony’s ears. “Lowercaste scum.”

Max’s eyes snap to you and fill with that inappropriate arrogance you want to strangle out of her. “You’re welcome for saving your ungrateful plot, uppercaste mare,” she enunciates slowly. “Despite us having to act so quickly, to save your coltfriend.”

“Don't act to noble,” you rasp. “Let’s not forget I was the one who got your 'friend' into our cell and away from those mares.”

Max Gusto’s eyes fill with a bestial rage that just feels so good. Surprisingly, it’s Apple Seed himself who puts one of his legs between the two of you, sealing her off.

“What was your plan, exactly, Max?” you sneer. “Sell the next stallion they capture to the Plumsteed housecarlatel? Or am I expected to believe you’re just that stupid, to not be able to tell the difference between aprons and armor?”

Max’s glare turns to the ground. Her wings unfurl and tremble with emotion. “I’m not stupid,” she growls. “I’m not… I just wanted to see the look on Lily’s face when she knew everything was about to be taken from her. Just once.”

“From how she described you, it seems to me like Lily had a lot more to lose than you did, sky wanderer.”

“Lucky Favor,” the stallion commands. You crane your head to meet the mud horse’s eyes. Your glare remains. 

Liars, backstabbers, lowercaste scum. Unwanted stains on the bottom of the uppercaste, festering in their own subterfuge and dishonor… This is all their fault. 

”dadda?”

Tia’s soft voice cuts through your hostility. 

You once again position your hooves below your barrel and push. This time, you’re able to shakily raise yourself onto your haunches. Tia is on top of the scarily still chest of Anonymous. Her magenta eyes are reddened by the tears threatening their corners.

“You asked me why I’m protecting the innocent child, Max Gusto.” The stallion makes sure that the word “innocent” is spoken in a slow drawl, squeezing its meaning for all its worth. Max’s head lowers in shame. Smooth Roads’ face is frozen in a lost expression. “I cannot give you a direct answer. After all, I am an uneducated mud horse who knows nothing about the other tribes or their prejudices. I am willing to admit this may be influencing me; perhaps this filly is clearly a bloodthirsty raider, and I am too ignorant to discern this. But it is not the only reason.”

The stallion turns to Tia. You will your horn to ready a defensive spell, but it only sputters and sparks in exhaustion. Apple Seed gives you an unreadable look before he continues. “I find magic a vile, disgusting manipulation of an already-accommodating natural world. But what I see around this filly’s horn...--" Apple Seed gazes at the filly, tilting his head. "--...No, around her entire body – does not disgust me. It is the opposite, in truth. It is not the manipulation of nature, rather… an extension of it.” 

A small smile appears on the stallion’s tired face. That smile is the same a worn, exhausted widower would wear while reminiscing. “I have never heard of another pony like this filly. I do not know how rare or plentiful the others of her tribe are, or the reason for your hatred for her. But if this is the magic that this new tribe possesses, I would be committing an unforgivable crime by snuffing it out.” The stallion’s eyes turn to you. You scrunch your muzzle, unwilling to show an ounce of weakness. “I am unfamiliar with you, Lucky Favor. I do not know why you had commissioned a wagon for cross-country traveling. I don’t know your goals or reasons, but I do know that you are one I can trust; for protecting and loving this filly. Even if you may take out your frustrations on others.”

Your eyes don’t falter from the stallion, but some errant expression you may have made must have revealed your shame to him. His voice softens as he says, “You and your housecarla are quite alike.”

Apple Seed doesn’t smile, but his cheeks do raise ever-so slightly in a kind offering. You turn away from the display, glaring at nothing. He’s wrong. He has to be wrong. You'd be doing Anonymous a disservice, comparing him to yourself.

“His leg is snapped in half,” the stallion says with a wayward glance to Anonymous. Your jaw clenches and you take a deep, sputtering breath to steady yourself. “He is not dead. He is in shock. Tell me, Lucky Favor, what weaponry does your housecarla use? I did not see them confiscate anything from him.”

What does that have to do with anything?

Still, if only because you have no other option, you turn back to Anonymous. The sight of him laying there, struggling to breathe as Tia whimpers softly, breaks something inside you. “I—” you start, but once the first voice break hits you stamp a hoof on the grass and shake your head clear. “I don’t believe he uses any, besides the stone bracers on his forelegs. I believe the lord might be some variety of martial artist.”

“So he uses his leg often,” Apple Seed muses quietly. As he thinks, his posture slumps, as if recounting shameful memories. “I cannot help him myself. But if you would be willing to take lowercaste scum at his word, I believe I can find somepony who can.” 

You glower, but know you have no room to defend yourself. Apple Seed grabs the other mares’ attention as you do, perhaps so they don't see you in this state.

“My home village is a day’s journey to the West,” he says, pointing a hoof in the direction. You glance up at his destination to see mountains sprawling across the pink horizon. 

Smooth Roads jolts at the news. ”Your village was that close all this time?” she urges, taking a step forward. “Free Valley Carpentry is on the way there! I could’ve gotten help!”

“My view on unicorn magic is considered generous within my village. At best, you would have been shunned. If you were allowed to speak to anypony in the first place.” Smooth Roads snorts, stamping a hoof in frustration. “But I am sure they won’t turn any of you away when we arrive. I will make sure they know you are the reason I am free.”

Smooth Roads is silent under Apple Seed’s soft gaze. “No words can adequately convey my thanks to you,” he says evenly. You’re almost jealous of his mare-like ability to keep his emotions in check. “So, I will instead use actions. Your time in Marestricht will be a long-needed haven.” Apple Seed turns to you, his emerald orbs two tranquil pools in the darkness. “No earth pony will hurt Tia. It will be a rest for her as well. I swear it on my life."

Despite the news, you can’t stop the nagging voice in the back of your mind, wondering how a group of mud horses would overpower you and take Anonymous for themselves.

”Do you have enough energy to make the trek, Lucky Favor?” Apple Seed asks.

“Don’t worry about me,” you scowl, your eyes once again magnetized to Anonymous. Tia is silent now, but you can see her mouth moving softly as she murmurs something too quiet to discern.

”Max Gusto,” Apple Seed says. “Do you have enough energy to carry Anonymous?”

Before she can answer, you snort and plant your forehooves firmly into the grass. With a heave, you’re back on all fours. You lower your head defensively at the sky rat.

”Lucky Favor,” the stallion says patiently, giving you a sidelong, pondering look. “She is the best suited to carry him.”

“I’ll carry him,” you say. You half expect Max to fill the air with her annoying, boastful laughter, but the pegasus is oddly silent.

”Lucky Favor…” is all Apple Seed needs to say to draw attention to your trembling limbs.

“Fine, then,” you mutter. “Then why don’t you carry him, Apple Seed?”

You’d rather your vulnerable lord be on the back of another male during this trek. Ancients know you’re not letting another mare touch him when he's helpless. Not again.

First it was Red Letter. No

“I would not be able to support somepony of his weight,” Apple Seed says, his voice never wavering from a dull monotone. “I would be more of a burden than I already am. His leg would drag against the floor, exacerbating the problem.”

”Apple Seed, you’re not--” Max coos, but she gets no room to finish.

”Max Gusto would be able to use her flight to keep him stable,” Apple Seed says definitively.

“He’s immune to magic!” you plead. “She wouldn’t be able to get off the ground once she touches him!”

”He’s immune to unicorn magic.” Max’s voice grates against your ears like a dull knife. You glare at her, but she doesn’t return your hostility. "Besides, the ambient magic in my bones can't be more related to yours than that weird, stone-earth pony magic that worked on him."

”It is not magic,” said earth pony corrects. “It is a—"

”Mutual understanding, something exchange, I know,” Max slurs. “But the point is, we won’t know until we try it, right? And even if I can’t fly with him, I’m still the most used to balancing somepony on my back. I can handle it, Lucky.”

She’s making sense, but you don’t relent. You can’t. What’s stopping her from running off with him the first chance she gets? From groping him while he sleeps? “Why would you care about Anonymous anyways?” you glower.

Max’s only reaction is a shameful slump of her shoulders.

”Lucky Favor,” Apple Seed says once again. “The more we argue, the more time we waste. Do you want to help Anonymous or continue bickering with your friends until the Red Garden find us?”

Max is not your friend. None of these ponies are. The only ones here you can trust is your unconcious housecarla and an unresponsive filly.

But will Anonymous continue to be your housecarla when he finds out your money was stolen?

The stray thought plunges your body into a freezing cold the river before you could never replicate.

Max slowly stands to all fours before she walks towards you. Not towards Anonymous, but towards you. You frown, pushing into the grass with your hindlegs to meet her head-on. When she’s near enough so nopony else can hear, she whispers, “Please just let me do something right.”

You don’t answer, but you also don’t fight her as she passes you. She bends down to Anonymous’ side and shifts her forelegs underneath him, until the sight of Tia once again enraptures her. As if it were the first time she’s seen the alicorn filly, Max shies away.

“Tia," you say definitively.

Tia’s head rises from Anonymous’ chest. The snow white fur on her face is matted and stained with tears. She silently pleads with you to stay just a bit longer. 

”I’d like to make sure Free Valley is safe, if that’s alright.”

The sound of Smooth Roads’ voice directed at Apple Seed makes you frown. Your eyes narrow and you swing your head in a gesture for Tia to come. She sniffles before falling from Anonymous’ side and making her way to you. 

”It is on the way, yes?” Apple Seed asks. “How far away?”

You levitate Tia onto your withers and double check to make sure your bag is secure. There’s no reason to stuff the filly in there now. You initially felt as if a sleep spell might be in order for the upset filly, but Tia doesn’t fight you in the slightest. She simply sits on your withers, not making a sound.

“A few dozen furlongs to the West,” Smooth Roads answers. “I just want to make sure my workers are safe, is all.”

You scrutinize every muscle that twitches through Max Gusto’s body as she hoists the hyoo-men’s upper body into her arms. Anonymous flinches from the contact and his eyes widen with shock. Your horn hums with a push spell, but Max gives you an apologetic look. It’s only when Anonymous settles that your horn disengages.

”We will use it as a landmark to stop and rest,” Apple Seed confirms. “I will also collect what I can for a meal on the way. That, and something for Anonymous.”

As if under a magical contract, nopony says another word as you all start walking. The only sounds around you are the shuffling of clothing and fur, dragging hoofsteps, and the buzzing of forest life.

The residual aches of your muscles soon fade to the back of your mind. A quick-moving animal over there or a new, diurnal call of another send jolts throughout your system. After a while, though, you become desensitized to it and stop snapping to attention at every peculiarity. What you, and the rest of the group, don’t become desensitized to, however, is the proximity to the Red Garden.

Your group is careful to avoid dirt paths of any kind. Between Apple Seed’s momentary breaks to pluck something useful from the forest or scan his surroundings, he also bows over and touches his forehead to the ground for minutes at a time. You assume he’s “feeling” for unwanted hoofsteps. Max Gusto also periodically sets Anonymous against something soft before she takes off into the air. The first few times you didn’t expect the pegasus to come back, but every time she’d return with news of how close we were to Free Valley or that nopony was on our tails. Max tries to start a conversation once or twice with Apple Seed, but the stallion never engages with her, only giving noncommittal grunts or one-word answers. Smooth Roads doesn’t open her yap once, thank the Ancients.

Enough time passes in this cycle of walking and waiting for the earth pony or pegasus to scout around that the sky soon becomes a bright cyan. All this time, Tia has been silent. She doesn’t once collapse onto your withers in an exhausted sleep, or even shuffles around to get more comfortable. One time, you peer back to make sure that the filly is even there in the first place. Sure enough, Tia is sitting on her haunches, slumped as her eyes never leave Anonymous.

You had expected there to be more cheering, especially from Max Gusto. Tartarus, all of these ponies should be ecstatic right now. They were finally free. Uninjured…

…

…It’s your fault, isn’t it?

The first time Smooth Roads talks is what brings you back to Equus.

”We’re here,” she suddenly whispers. “Thank you for the chance, Apple Seed. I won’t be long.”

Apple Seed doesn’t respond. He only turns to splay all his collected ingredients onto the grass in front of him as Roads canters off to the hill’s precipice, overlooking Free Valley Carpentry. After his collection of plants and roots are put in neat order, he plants his forehooves into the grass and closes his eyes.

”Phew!” Max chuckles. “He’s a lot heavier than those coneheads at the Red Garden.”

“Don’t you dare drop him,” you hiss.

Whatever misplaced levity Max had let infect her mind, it’s gone now. She returns your glare with a tired frown. “I know,” she deadpans before gently settling Anonymous onto the grass.

The moment he’s stable, you’re by the hyoo-men’s side. Tia makes the first sound of the trip—a surprised squeak—before she hops down and joins you. Anonymous is still pale, but the shaking has subsided. His breaths are stable, but still quiet. 

When will he wake up? Is he cold? He’s long dry now, but he could still be cold. Clamminess is a side effect of shock. Should you provide warmth? Lie down on him?

No. That won’t end well. Why’d you even think that, Lucky?

”He has canines, so he’s omnivorous,” Max says from behind, reminding you she’s still there. “I’ll, uh… I can hear a stream a ways away. I can go get him some fish. Some water as well, to help Apple Seed. And Anonymous, if he wants any! I’ll… be right back.”

Finally. You’ll be sky rat-free and able to care for Anonymous in peace. 

Unfortunately, Max doesn’t immediately take off. Her fur rustles against itself as she shuffles in place, her wings fluttering. “Lucky?” she asks quietly.

You give an impatient flick of your ear, but otherwise don’t respond.

Max’s voice once again falls silent. For a moment, the only sounds in the clearing are Tia’s sniffling and Apple Seed crushing a root between his hooves. You dare to entertain the notion that Max has already left. It’s only a moment, though, and it ends with the pegasus uttering, “I’m sorry, alright?"

Tia’s sniffling builds before culminating into a single, choked sob. Even if you were about to give Max a response, now your attention is on the white filly by your side. Her pink mane swishes in the gust of wind Max’s departure produces.

You bow low and give Tia a soft nuzzle. As you do, you can finally discern the words susurrating between her lips. “bad mare… bad mare…”

Your horn glows. You gently lift the filly from the ground into your forelegs and begin to bob her gently against your chest. “It’s going to be alright, dear,” you coo. “We’ll get Anonymous the help he needs, you and me.”

”bad mare,” Tia mumbles before her body convulses with another sob. “can’t pwotect… bad mare.”

You’re a bad mare, Lucky Favor.

Your bobbing slows. All you can hope for is that Tia isn’t talking about herself. “Are you hungry, dear?” you opt for, trying to change the subject. “I know I am.”

”no,” Tia sulks, shaking her head in your tuft. “no earn.”

“I think Anonymous would want you to have a full belly. Doesn’t that sound good, Tiny-Tia? A full belly to help you grow into a big, strong mare? What do you want right now?”

Tia’s sniffling subsides, but her face never leaves your tuft. “…Cake,” she mumbles.

“Cake? Cake isn’t big, strong mare food. It's snooty noble food.” You give Tia a playful flick of her ear with your hoof. She bats it away. “Oh come now, dear. Doesn’t some…”

You look back to see Apple Seed sprinkling the last of his green-and-brown ingredients into a stone bowl.

“…I’m not actually sure what that is, but I’m sure it’s nutritious. Doesn’t that sound good?”

Tia pouts up at you.

“Anonymous won’t go anywhere,” you assure, giving her a warm smile. Tia’s eyes widen as she makes a realization. “I won't let anypony hurt him. I promise.”

”Dadda,” Tia says with an owlish blink, her gaze somewhere far off.

You pout. “Now, Tia, what did I say about you calling him that? You know he doesn’t like it.”

Tia’s eyes shift to you before she vigorously shakes her head. “Dadda!” she affirms, pointing a small hoof Anonymous’ way. Her hoof shifts from the hyoo-men to poke your chest. “Mamma?”

“Tia,” you say with a patient smile. “I’m not your momma. Remember?”

Tia frowns before she shakes her head again. “Daaad-daaaa!” she enunciates, poking her hoof towards Anonymous. Once again, her hoof makes its way back to your chest, but it does so slower. More… methodical. More methodical than this filly has any right to be. When her hoof makes contact with you, she gives you a smile that you swear is dripping with mischief. “Maaam-maaaa~?”

…This little--…

She didn’t just say that.

She’s a child, Lucky Favor, she doesn’t know these things! She can’t!

Regardless, you scrunch and turn away to hide your blush. Tia only giggles innocently in your arms. Whoever Tia’s mother is must be quite the rapscallion.

Wherever she is.

Tia’s giggling comes to an abrupt end when something catches her eye. You’re just about to dispel the last remnants of the heat around your face when you hear a quiet, short groan from Anonymous. Your eyes are immediately on the hyoo-men. His eyes are straining against the light as his lips twitch from under his beard.

Should you stay still? Or do you want to be the first thing he sees when he comes back? To know he’s safe and away from the Red Garden? 

If he sees you, would he be reminded this is all your fault?

The thought jabs a dagger into your heart. What are you thinking, the entire reason he was injured being the first thing he sees? If you wanted him to feel safe, you’d just go to the other end of the clearing and let him open his eyes to the open sky and looming mountain above.

”…Lucky?”

Too late.

You steel yourself in preparation for the look of disgust or betrayal he must have aimed at you. When you will yourself to look down to him, though, he only looks exhausted and barely conscious. 

Tia puts one hoof in front of her body, as if under a spell. She then puts another, and another, before tumbling forward and throwing her forelegs around Anonymous’ arm. She bawls as she nuzzles her face against his skin. Anonymous’ eyes glide down to her. He’s too drained to even pat the filly on her head. You’re not much further away than Tia from bawling your eyes out. 

He’s here. He’s awake. He isn’t dead.

You can’t lose him ever again.

You’re worried about Anonymous harming himself with a kneejerk punch to your face if you give into your emotions and hug him with all your might. Instead, you slowly raise a hoof in front of his face. You don’t descend it until he looks at it and is aware of it. You gently lower it to the middle of his chest with a soft tap.

Anonymous gives you a confused, almost pitiful look. “The Hell are you doing, Lucky?” he asks.

Curses.

You withdraw your hoof. 

“H-how do you feel, my lord?” you say meekly, once again scrunching and staring at your hooves.

Anonymous’ breath hitches as he raises his forearm of the arm that Tia has a hold of. He quietly sighs as he descends his hand onto Tia’s mane and gently runs his fingers through it. Tia’s sobs turn to simpering sniffles. You know you don’t deserve to have your mane pet by Anonymous, even if you wanted it.

”Are we out of the Red Garden?” Anonymous exhales. “Were you two hurt?”

“Anonymous, we are furlongs away from the Red Garden, none of us are hurt, you were out for a few hours, we are resting a spell before we continue on to Apple Seed’s native village where you will get treatment, and I was at your side the whole time. Now answer my question, how do you feel?!” The words spill out of your mouth like a topsized ink bottle. You’re not letting Anonymous dodge this. The last time he dodged this question was in Plumsteed. 

Anonymous’ expression doesn’t change as he blinks at you. “What do you mean, you were at my side?”

“ANSWER THE QUESTION, MISTER!” you yell out. Anonymous narrows his eyes. You curse yourself and turn away, trembling with anger or grief, you can’t tell. “Please just tell me how you are,” you whisper. “Please, just--… tell me what happened.”

Tell me if those mares touched you.

You hope he just comes out and says it. You hope he lays into you; rages at you for failing as a mare. You hope he realizes it’s all your fault before you can find it in yourself to stop being a coward and tell him yourself, and he just gets it over with. Instead of any of that, though, Anonymous just lays the back of his head on the grass and closes his eyes. “I feel like my leg is on fire,” he sighs. “It’ll be worse tomorrow, though.”

The two of you sit still for some time, smoldering in a heavy silence. The sharp sound of Apple Seed striking the keratin of his hoof against rock sends a jolt through your system. The sight of Anonymous, though, calms you down as quickly as the feeling came. The gust of wind from Max’s return ruffles Anonymous’ hair and beard in a way that entrances you. 

It's unfair, how even when he's unable to stand, and even as guilt and shame flood your system like a disease, your cheeks still flush with warmth at Anonymous' handsome face. You wish more than anything that it wasn’t so twisted in pain and exhaustion. Just once, you’d love to see him genuinely smile.

Hopefully because of you.

”Hey, Faust?”

Anonymous’ voice is a whisper. Even then, you’re about to chide him for saying your true name in front of two lowercaste ponies. It’s the look on his face that makes you stop. His eyes are avoiding your own. They waver as he does an adorable hyoo-men rendition of a scrunch. His lips open to say something you know he isn’t used to saying.

Whatever he might’ve said, though, disappears in a blink. His focus snaps onto something behind you, and his voice rumbles with a low anger as he growls, “What the Hell’s she doing here?”

You turn to find that Smooth Roads has returned from her perch. She’s also heard Anonymous’ comment, from the looks of the uncomfortable glance she sends his way.

Good.

“My fair lord Anonymous,” you snort, getting Roads’ attention. “I can’t truthfully say that I know.”

”Lucky!” Max cries out. You give the pegasus a glare, but it’s short lived. She doesn’t look the least bit interested in a confrontation. Her wings are slumped to the ground, and she teeters forward as if moments from toppling over. “Just… stop. Okay? Please, just stop.”

”Don’t you worry, Max,” Smooth Roads assures, approaching you. “This won’t turn ugly, just two mares having a civil discussion. I’m just gonna make sure Lucky knows what she has to know. Then we'll be two strangers for the rest of the trip. Ain’t that right?”

Your glare only hardens.

Smooth Roads’ face remains neutral. Her posture doesn’t reflect the slightest hint of hostility. But you know a pony doesn’t have to act hostile to stab you in the back. “Lucky Favor,” she says slowly, keeping an expressionless gaze leveled at you. “It was either let the Red Garden steal the occasional wagon or have them burn Free Valley to the ground.” 

You don’t fall for it for a second. “If you’re so loyal to Free Valley, why don’t you just go down there now and never show your face to us again?”

”Please…” Max whispers. Her voice is no louder than Tia’s during the trek. 

Smooth Roads looks at the pegasus with a look you would’ve believed to be apologetic, if you were a few days younger and a few mental scars lesser. “The Red Garden knows I betrayed them,” she says before her eyes meet yours once again. “For your sake. And the moment I step hoof in that place, the first words out of my mouth are magically contracted to be that draft they have at the Red Garden. As I’m sure you well know, being the educated uppercastemare you are, it’s enchanted to glow as I recite it. They’d know I was at Free Valley. I wouldn’t just be endangering myself, but my fellow workers as well.”

If you were as uncouth as the mare before you, you’d spit in frustration. She did have a point, but there are so many ways around it. Just off the top of your head, why couldn’t she call her workers to outside of the workshop and explain then? That would work, wouldn’t it? She has to be planning something!

Roads’ hard look softens. Her ears lower to her skull as her eyes falter from your own. “I’m sorry about your wagon, Lucky Favor. I’m sorry about what happened to your housecarla. I’m sorry the Red Garden chose you. I really am.” Roads stamps a hoof in frustration and snorts. “Consarnit, every second since we crawled out of that river, I’ve just been thinking of how many things I could’ve done better… But now, I have nowhere else to go. And there’s nopony else I can rely on besides the ponies right here.”

You keep your glare on Smooth Roads even as she turns away and walks to Apple Seed’s side. She lowers herself to her haunches as she looks blankly into the stew the earth pony is cooking up. She doesn’t open her mouth again, effectively becoming a turquoise blur in the rest of the forest background.

Max Gusto drags her hooves through the grass as she nears the two of you. You keep your eyes on the pegasus as she passes you. She leans over Anonymous and drops the dead fish from her mouth onto his chest.

”Just take it, alright?” she murmurs. 

Max gives you plenty of space on her return trip. You glare after her as she ambles to Apple Seed’s side, but you don’t feel the matching tension of your hackles. Shrugging it off, you turn your attention back to Anonymous.

Anonymous’ hand releases Tia’s mane to poke the dead fish on his chest. Rubbing the slimy consistency between his fingers, he gives you a perplexed frown. “Well, that’s disgusting.”









It isn’t Apple Seed that lets his excitement get the best of him and cheer out, but Max Gusto, when you first round the earthly corner and Marestricht comes into view.

An impatient scowl deforms Anonymous’ sleeping face as he grips Max’s withers a little tighter. “Stop. Moving.”

Max gives an apologetic chuckle to the hyoo-men on her back, but you’re not focused on her right now. Strange, considering the last few hours of her balancing a barely conscious hyoo-men on her back had every fiber of your attention focused on it, especially when she managed to lift him off the ground. Without the luxury of the ambient magic in her wings, the pegasus has had to rely on her physical strength, which you must begrudgingly respect. The ride for Anonymous has been smooth sailing thanks to her.

No, you’re not focused on Max Gusto. The earth pony village of Marestricht now lays before you all, a large stone gate some ways down the path all that separates it from you. Well, Apple Seed calls it a village, but to you it looks more like a stone-and-grass city attached to the mountainside of a thin valley. In the center of the valley, the setting sun reflects brilliantly off the stream of an abundant orchard. A pegasus net is attached from one half of the village to the other, splaying over the expanse of the valuable produce. You can recognize about half of the structures you see; brown and gray cabins and huts, against all odds not looking crudely built in the slightest, expand up and down the mountainside. There are even some fully realized buildings at higher altitudes, fit for the uppercaste itself if they weren’t made of that conformist shade of gray. Vapor plumes of steam rise intermittently throughout the village, through open roofs or small huts, from what had to be hot springs of some kind. At first, you thought the various bumps and holes littering the bottoms of the mountainside were an advanced web of animal furrows, but the far-off blobs of ponies entering and exiting them have you realizing they’re an integral storage system for the orchard.

Lots of places for somepony to set an ambush.

The architecture is splendidly foreign, but you can’t forget how you got here, Lucky Favor.

You bump into something warm and furry. You start, until you see the unmoving coat of Apple Seed in front of you. The stallion has stopped dead now, looking over the village of Marestricht silently. His eyes move slowly down the mountainside, across the fields of wheat, bushels, and trees; to settle on one spot. It’s a patch of grass just out of reach from the orchard’s stream, a large apple tree standing alone in the green.

”Alright, bud,” Max says as she touches down on ground. You can see every muscle in Anonymous relax as he breathes a sigh of relief. “What’s the deal? And be honest with me. Don’t act like nothing’s wrong, ‘cuz you’ve been quiet like a sky thief this whole time.”

Apple Seed blinks before his head turns to Max in a slow, reticent swivel. His eyes avoid contact with the pegasus for some while. A glint of an emotion you can’t place, and it’s gone not even a moment later. Apple Seed’s eyes harden as he not only looks to Max Gusto, but also you, and Smooth Roads behind you. “It is imperative that you all keep behind me and make no sudden movements,” he says. “And especially, no magic whatsoever.” Max frowns at his avoidance of her question, but otherwise listens attentively.

Apple Seed’s eyes turn to you and soften. “Lucky Favor, I will make sure that Anonymous is given to the best body mender in the village.”

Anonymous mumbles something about not needing help, earning him four deadpans. You’re pretty sure Tia is also giving her best rendition of one.

”Her name is Bountiful Riverside,” Apple Seed continues. “I am positive they will get along well.”

You doubt it, but there’s something in Apple Seed’s voice that urges you to agree. This stallion is no stranger to Anonymous, and certainly no stranger to his village. He may be right. Still, the thought of a mare alone with Anonymous turns you on edge.

”Also,” Apple Seed says as he starts walking to the stone gate. “None of you should feel ashamed about what happened in the Red Garden. You may share it with the ponies here. They will treat you as family and provide comfort if you reach out. But I’d like to request that what happened--…” Apple Seed pauses suddenly, his head drooping low. You’re worried he’ll once again succumb to an all-consuming silence before he continues, “…I would rather the Red Garden’s treatment of me remain untold.”

Anonymous tilts his face from Max’s fur to look at Apple Seed with one bemused eye. Max herself, though, isn’t nearly as subtle.

”Bullshit!” she spits, marching up to Apple Seed’s side. “What, are they gonna punish you for what happened? That’s bucking bullshit, Apple Seed!"

”They would not punish me for what happened,” Apple Seed affirms. “I just don’t want them to know for now. It is my choice, Max Gusto, and if you tell anypony what happened I will consider it a betrayal.”

Max’s astonished face, surprisingly, whips to you. 

Is she asking for help? You don’t really have a reaction to what Apple Seed said… Besides, you barely know her. Why would she think you’d be her support?

Why do you feel guilty for looking away from her?

”Max Gusto,” Apple Seed says with a woefully out of place smile. “I am sure you will enjoy our mineral springs.”

Max doesn’t say another word as her hoofsteps slow to beside you. You are almost given the chance to enjoy more quiet until Smooth Roads’ irritating voice asks from behind, “Apple Seed, I was wondering how good your village’s woodsmiths are.”

You’re confused. Not curious, just confused. …No, you’re not even confused. You don’t care about what she’s yapping about.

”Not good,” Apple Seed admits. “We are more accustomed to stone and earth.”

”That makes sense,” Smooth Roads says quietly.

”Lucky,” Max warns lowly.

You turn to the pegasus to see that she’s slowly shaking her head at you. You guess you were glaring.

Well, she has nothing to worry about. You’re not starting another confrontation with Roads. With any luck, you’ll never have to share the same air as her again. 

The sun’s warmth leaves you once the shadow of the stone gate consumes you. A chill crawls up your spine. The gate is a perfect vantage point to catch a group of ponies off-guard.

Apple Seed turns to you all. “One more thing, if I may. There will be a young mare by the name of Apricot Ammil. I would like to ask that you all give her space.”

Max is the one to ask the obvious question. ”Who the buck’s Apricot Ammil?”

”My blood relative. And consider my request doubled for you, Max.”

Before Max can respond, the stone wall in front of you shakes in a deep, penetrating grumble. Apple Seed quickly turns back to the gate, muttering something under his breath, but you can’t make it out. The stone gate seems to separate in two and be pulled apart, a brown miasma of dust rising from its base. As it opens, sunlight peeks through, illuminating the dusty silhouette of a pony behind the gate. As the gate settles to a stop, two other ponies emerge from behind each of the stone doors. None of them have horns on their heads or wings on their sides.

Apple Seed gives you all a look that reiterates the importance of his instructions before he turns back to the three ponies. So far, the mares haven’t moved a frog, still shrouded by the dust and reflective sunlight. 

Your horn slowly ignites with a cyan glow. Max lays a wing on your side. You turn to her and see that she’s silently pleading for you to stay calm. You disengage the defensive spell, but you still tilt your head upwards so it slightly obscures the mares’ view of Tia, what little help that’d do.

”You were supposed to wait until I petrevoked you,” Apple Seed says simply.

The mares flinch. As the dust settles below them and their faces are revealed, the looks of utter shock remind you that they’re ponies, not three silhouettes in dust.

”Brother Apple Seed?” one of them whispers. 

Apple Seed turns to her, his voice absent of emotion. “Yes, it is me. I need you to petrevoke Sachemare Sagebrush as soon as—”

”Brother Apple Seed?” another repeats, this time softer. Her voice wavers; all it would take would be a slight breeze for it to break.

Tears come to the third one’s eyes. She shakily takes a step back before turning tail. “I’ll beckon the others!” she cries as she gallops off.

The last two remaining slowly approach Apple Seed as if he were an illusion that’d disappear if they were too reckless. Apple Seed opens his mouth again, but something stops him from speaking. He simply closes his mouth and smiles warmly.

”Hello, Herdwatcher Wheat Graze,” he says. “Herdwatcher Thistlehoof.”

”Brother!” the brown mare who responded to Wheat Graze cries out before throwing her forelegs around Apple Seed. The stallion reciprocates the hug, but you can’t help but notice how sluggish he moves, how his eyes never reflect the same joy as the mare crying into his shoulder. “Brother! Brother, you’ve returned to me!” Tears stream down Wheat Graze’s cheeks as she collapses onto the stallion in sobbing convulsions.

Thistlehoof keeps her eyes on your group. They narrow dangerously as they target Max’s wings, then your horn, until they land on the filly on your withers. You slowly start to channel defensive magic into your horn. You can barely feel the shift of your fur as Max lays a wing on your back yet again.

It’s Anonymous laying a hand on you that keeps you still. The contact is softer than the pegasus’ wings, against all odds, and sends a comforting warmth throughout your body. Especially your cheeks.

You know Anonymous is probably just keeping you from making a mess out of things, but… you are a cloak and armor set short at the moment. Don’t get the wrong idea, you are very comfortable in your fur and are very much in control of your Y-7 gland, but still, the touch of the hyoo-men’s hand on your bare body feels… intimate.

You can’t say you’re jealous of the armored mares in front of you, dressed as they are. You can’t fathom how strong they must be to be wearing that stone armor all day.

As Thistlehoof’s eyes study Tia, they shift to an almost filly-like wonder. “Brother Apple Seed,” she says, glancing to his direction. When Apple Seed returns her gaze, Thistlehoof remains stock still for a moment. This is likely the first time she’s had a response to calling out Apple Seed’s name in a while. Eventually, she regains her composure and finishes, “Who are these… individuals?”

”Four individuals to whom I owe my life,” Apple Seed answers as Wheat Graze’s sobs subside to choked sniffling. “And who are in desperate need of hospitality.” Apple Seed’s head is pushed up as Wheat Graze nuzzles her herdbrother. “Wheat Graze, is this any way for a brave Herdwatcher to act? Look, you are dirtying your armor. Overseer Landslide will not be pleased.”

”I do not care,” Wheat Graze smiles through tears. “My herdbrother is here in my arms once again.”

”Brother Apple Seed?”

”What?! Where is that unscrupulous stallion?!”

”bwuther appuw seed!”

The excited voices from within Marestricht begin with a trickle, but soon wash over you in a symphony of earth ponies. Hornless, wingless ponies of all colors flood the gates as they attempt to catch sight of their returned herdbrother. Unlike the Herdwatchers, the denizens of Marestricht’s cloth and leather attire is much less stone-oriented, thank the Ancients. When Wheat Graze tries to lead Apple Seed back into the crowd, he pulls against her.

”I would not be here if it weren’t for these ponies,” he says as he leads her gaze to your direction. “They follow me or I do not enter at all.”

Wheat Graze’s eyes are uncertain for a single moment before she gives a nod. “I swear on my honor as a Herdwatcher, nopony will raise their hoof against the ones who brought my herdbrother back to me.”

”Get a room,” Max sneers under her breath. “Actually, nevermind. She hugged and cried like a colt in front of a bunch of strangers. Not much more she can do to top that, eh?”

…Oh, she’s talking to you?

”Be polite, Max,” Smooth Roads warns, suddenly very close. As you follow Apple Seed between the stone gates, you take a few steps away from the unicorn. “These ponies might very well be the Ancients finally smiling upon us.”

”Walking incestuous stereotypes are what these ponies are.”

”Herdson Apple Seed?” somepony effectively commands your attention. Even over all the clamor and rejoicing of the Marestrichtians, the mare’s voice remains crystal clear. A tall pony approaches uncontested through the joyous faces of the crowd to meet Apple Seed. You almost lose count of the beads on her many necklaces as quickly as you do the scars which travel up and down her exposed fur, what little thereof.

”Sachemare Sagebrush,” Apple Seed greets. Wheat Graze immediately recognizes whom he’s talking to and stands rigid beside Apple Seed, jutting her chin out. She’d look like the exemplary soldier, if it weren’t for the tears and snot staining her face.

Sagebrush’s eyes shimmer with an uncountable flurry of emotions before she simply focuses on the stallion. “Marestricht was left bereaved without you, my herdson,” she says with a radiant smile.

Apple Seed once again falls silent, his gaze falling to the ground. You can finally recognize the emotion in those eyes before it blinks out of existence. Shame.

”Sachemare Sagebrush,” Apple Seed starts quietly, before gaining traction. “Behind me are four ponies to whom I owe my life. Carpenter Smooth Roads, Cloudpusher Max Gusto, Scholar Lucky Favor, and Brother Anonymous. I humbly request that they are given lodging and mending for as long as they choose to stay.”

…Scholar?

”You seem to be forgetting one, Brother Apple Seed,” Sagebrush says as her eyes land on Tia. The filly shrinks under her gaze, pulling a strand of your mane to hide behind.

Apple Seed blinks, unknowing of how to react. You’re not doing much better. You want nothing more than to make the filly on your back transparent with a flick of your horn. Still, you know that it’d only garner more suspicion to keep Tia invisible if the earth ponies could see through your magic.

Sagebrush seems to know she hit a sensitive spot. Her eyes venture away from Tia as she inspects the rest of your group, the beads hanging from her powerful neck rattling in the wind. “Carpenter and Scholar, I recognize,” she muses. “But I am unfamiliar with the title of Cloudpusher. And Brother, Apple Seed? Is this… hairless minotaur a stallion?”

”You’d think the beard would be a dead giveaway,” Anonymous mutters through Max’s fur.

Sagebrush nearly reels from the depth of Anonymous’ guttural voice as it rumbles through the crowd of mares. “Ancients above,” she whispers, bowing her head so low her muzzle nearly touches the ground. “I apologize for the confusion, Brother Anonymous. I am not familiar with your tribe. Nevertheless, a son of the All-Father is a herdson of mine.”

As Anonymous avoids eye contact with the display, Apple Seed inspects the crowd around him. He mutters something as his eyes turn bemused, and the only word you catch is “Apricot.” His expression changes to urgency as he turns to the bowing mare. “Sachemare Sagebrush, I am sure you have many questions, but I would like to make haste.”

Sagebrush gives Anonymous one more apologetic nod before she turns to Apple Seed. “For what is your reason? There is much rejoicing to be had.”

”News hasn’t reached Maretinet Apricot Ammil yet.”

”Oh.” Understanding dawns on Sagebrush’s face as she gives your group another discerning glance. The Sachemare then turns and gives the crowd of earth ponies a look you can’t decipher. Almost immediately, the Marestrichtians submit to her nonverbal order and make their way back into the village. A few foals linger, vying for Apple Seeds attention, before their fathers pull them away. “We will talk with Brother Apple Seed at the Rejoicement,” one whispers loud enough for you to hear, prompting Apple Seed’s posture to slump. “Come, little sprout. The orchard needs tending to.”

Apple Seed turns his attention back to the decorated mare. She waits patiently, a reserved smile you can recognize is threatening to burst into a tearful grin on her muzzle. “Sachemare Sagebrush,” Apple Seed says neutrally. “Brother Anonymous’ leg has been shattered at the knee.”

Sagebrush’s eyes widen ever so slightly. You swear you can see an extra vein pop out in her neck. ”Who--…” she snarls lowly before having to contain herself. “…What vile filth is responsible for harming him?” 

The split-second Sagebrush’s glare turns to you is all the reason you’d ever need to never want to face her in battle, magical advantage or not.

”These mares are Brother Anonymous’ friends, Sachemare,” Apple Seed says. Anonymous seems to blend even more into Max’s back. “They are not responsible. I am sure you have many questions, and I will answer them to the best of my ability. But it is imperative that these ponies are lodged and Anonymous is mended.”

”…fucking overbearing…” Anonymous murmurs, but whatever follows is lost in Max’s fur.

Sagebrush gives Anonymous a look that would no doubt illicit a cute pout from the hyoo-men if he saw. She turns back to the orange stallion before saying, “Of course, Herdson Apple Seed.”

”If I may be so bold…” As he speaks, you catch him make a quick glance in your direction. “I would like the mares to be situated in the Aldenn.”

Sagebrush turns her head to the destination as if expressly pointing it out to you. You feel your heartrate quicken as she peers up to one of the more luxurious stone cabins, near the mountaintop. Steam rises from its open ceiling, and you feel the pangs of going without a hot bath for weeks. “They will not spend a doit on their stay,” Sagebrush says firmly. “They need only walk into the room of their choice. I will see to it everything else is taken care of.”

Good. You’re not sure how much the Red Garden stole from you, but you need to save all you can to continue to pay Anonymous.

…

Wait.

Your blood runs cold. You sit on your haunches and hurriedly shuffle your bag to the ground. Tia slides down to your side with a squeak. Sagebrush glances your way in concern, until Apple Seed draws her back in with something you’re not focused on. You’re too busy rummaging through your belonging in a desperate search for your doits.

You double check your bag. Triple check it. Quadruple check it, but the results are the same. You only have enough bags to pay Anonymous for two more days. 

You hear fur shuffling from just above. You turn to see that Anonymous is still slouched over Max’s back, his face turned away from you. He shuffles as if trying to get comfortable.

You’ve read about the earth ponies’ body mending skills. You’ve read how they can use the natural essence of life itself to heal wounds in a fraction of their normal recovery time. Still, even if it took only a day for Anonymous to recover – even if he agreed to not be paid for that day – the dockyard is at least a week’s travel to the West from Free Valley Carpentry.

You’re going to lose him soon, Lucky Favor, and he’ll only ever remember you as a business contract.

”If it is not too much trouble,” Apple Seed continues. “I would also like to see that Mender Bountiful Riverside is Anonymous’ mender.”

“You want Mender Riverside to aid him?” Sagebrush puts equal emphasis on the words ‘Riverside’ and ‘him,’ as if Apple Seed had just suggested combining to explosively reactive spells. 

“Yes. She is a skilled body mender, well deserving of her position. Much more deserving than I was.” Apple Seed’s calm gaze meets your own, aghast one. “And she will not overstep her boundaries.”

You don’t know if you trust Apple Seed. You don’t think you want to trust Apple Seed, yet… that’s better than nothing, you suppose.

”Understood, Herdson Apple Seed,” Sagebrush utters. The Sachemare then turns her body fully to your group. Wheat Graze sits a little straighter; Max and Smooth Roads can’t help but follow suit. Your head is still reeling from the revelation of your lack of doits. The earth pony’s mighty hooves seem to push Equus itself down as she approaches, her tribal yet exquisite attire swinging in the motion. 

Sagebrush stands tall before your group and directly in front of you. “Noble and kind daughters of the All-Mother,” she sets forth, giving each of you a respectful nod before turning to Anonymous. “Horribly mistreated, yet courageous and stalwart son of the All-Father.”

Anonymous grumbles into Max’s coat.

”You have brought a herdson of Marestricht back to his home village,” Sagebrush says as an affectionate smile dawns on her features. “Despite our differences in tribes, you have done us a kindness we could never hope to fully repay. Be that as it may, I humbly lay before you our village’s hospitality as remittance. You may stay at your lodging for as long as you wish, at no cost. Your herdstallion Anonymous will be well looked after and provided both the physical and mental therapy of which he is in need.—” More hyoo-men grumbling. “—And, if I may be so bold, you are all welcome to attend the Rejoicement.”

Apple Seed’s face takes on that of a young filly whose father just volunteered to be her date for a magic-milestone celebration. “Sachemare Sagebrush,” he whispers, almost slurring her name.

Max takes one look at Apple Seed’s face before she’s in full tease mode. “We’d be happy to share in the sacred festivities of Apple Seed’s return.”

Sagebrush’s smile deepens in such genuineness it makes you feel guilty for entertaining the thought of not attending. “Thank you,” she says tenderly. “I will be sure to slacken the pegasus nets in three days’ time, when the Rejoicement will be held. That way, you may traverse as free as you’d like, Cloudpusher Max Gusto.”

Max frowns, probably at the implication the pegasus net would be needed until then, but doesn’t say anything.

”Herdwatcher Wheat Graze,” Sagebrush commands. Wheat Graze’s ear flicks near instantaneously at her mention. “Please transport Brother Anonymous to the mending burrows.”

Wheat Graze nods dutifully. “I vow to surrender my next three meals to the orchard if Brother Anonymous’ leg is harmed further on our promenade.”

The Herdwatcher marches to Anonymous’ side, effortlessly towering over Max Gusto. Anonymous puts on a bit of a show as he’s placed on Wheat Graze’s back, and it’s far from seamless, but eventually the hyoo-men is positioned atop the earth pony in a way that seems almost natural. He hadn’t been able to comfortably sit on Max’s back due to her wings; lying on his belly would cause his bad foot to occasionally scrape against the ground, and lying on his back made keeping a grip on Max’s withers difficult. Really, the only comfortable position Max Gusto offered had been while she was flying, but the pegasus couldn’t heft the hyoo-men in the air for more than ten or so minutes at a time. Wheat Graze, however, is in stark contrast. Anonymous fits snugly in the small of the mare’s back, sitting in an upright position while his legs dangle off her sides; nowhere near the ground.

You try to call out to Anonymous as Wheat Graze begins trotting away – to say goodbye, or stay safe, or really anything. But the thought of those two meager doit bags in your sack infects your mind, keeping your mouth shut until Anonymous disappears into Marestricht. Not once does the hyoo-men look back at you.

When you turn back to the Sachemare, you find her eyes focusing expressly on your own. You expect her to keep shifting between the members of your group, but after a few seconds of staying stationary, you know she’s commanding your attention. “You are all free to leave,” she says. “Except you, Scholar Lucky Favor.”

You suppress a whimper. Max gives you a sympathetic glance before she trots off, giddily talking to herself about how the mineral springs will feel on her fur. Smooth Roads also makes her exit, her eyes glued onto the tree line of the mountain top. Apple Seed takes a slow step forward from behind Sagebrush.

”You have a very curious little filly in tow,” Sagebrush says, peering down at the alicorn by your side. You wrap a foreleg around her, drawing her closer. The Sachemare studies your reaction before her eyes meet with yours once again. “I was not aware of this pony tribe until today. I was also unaware of Anonymous’ tribe. All Marestrichtians share this ignorance. Has this caused you turmoil?”

You really need to be less easy to read, Lucky Favor.

You frown, looking away. “I suppose I’m uncomfortable with strangers showing interest in my friends,” you say, the words coming to you as you speak.

Instead of responding verbally, Sagebrush once again shifts her gaze down to Tia, but this time she does so slowly and cautiously. Tia flinches between your hooves, but doesn’t turn away.

That same, warm smile that she seems to have mastered appears on Sagebrush’s face once again. She slowly lowers her head to the same level as Tia. The filly is still shaking, but she doesn’t hide away from the bigger mare this time. She puffs her furball of a tuft out, flaring her wings at the fully grown mare.

You were expecting Sagebrush to not be easily threatened. What you weren’t expecting was for Sagebrush to reach forward with a foreleg and press her hoof to Tia’s snout.

”Boop,” she says with a smile.

Tia scrunches, flapping her wings to keep her balance. “nnnno!” she chirps out before burying her face in your chest.

You don’t know how to react, so you just keep looking dumbly between Sagebrush and Tia.

Sagebrush once again meets you at eye level. Her smile dissipates into a deathly serious thin line. “Scholar Lucky Favor,” she says lowly, commanding your attention. “No harm will come to either your filly or your stallion while they are in these walls. I swear it on my place in the Eternal Graze.”

You don’t know what causes it.

It might’ve been the way Tia nuzzles deeper into your tuft; unobstructed by any magical depressant or fabric from your sac. It might’ve been the smile that adorns Apple Seed’s face, almost son-like in its resemblance of Sagebrush’s. Or it could’ve been that Sachemare Sagebrush’s words are the first ones since you can remember to make you feel safe.

Whatever the cause, your vision blurs with tears too quick to stop before they glide down your cheeks.

“Sachemare,” you sputter, quickly attaching your bag back to your hip and scooping Tia into your arms. “Thank you so… so much.”

You settle Tia on your withers and, without waiting for Apple Seed’s or Sagebrush’s reaction, start galloping up the cobblestone path to the Aldenn.

You’re exhausted.

You’re more exhausted than you’ve ever been in your life. It’s deep in your bones, it clouds your mind, and it threatens to send you to the ground with each step. Still, you can’t hope to collapse into the soft bed that’s no doubt waiting for you. You’re aimed squarely at the steam rising above the Aldenn, a soft orange from the sunset’s reflection.

You have a sky rat you need to apologize to, Lucky Favor.
> V - The Integrity and Chivalry of the Earth Ponies of Marestricht
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

You wonder how any of these earth ponies or unicorns could truthfully say they “enjoyed the mineral springs.”

How could they? You mean, how could they really? Sure, they can sit in the soothing waters for fifteen minutes before getting too hot and calling it quits, but there’s so much they’re missing out on.

They can’t know how it feels to lazily float across the surface of the springs, letting the bubbles tickle your underbelly and the mist ooze into your feathers. They can’t open their ears and let the crisp sounds of their village truly settle in; the distant buzzing of nightlife, the clopping of hooves on cobblestone, the trickling of the stream in the far-below orchard. They can’t even know how it feels to sculpt the mist around you, making a disc to lay on when you get too hot, mustaches and swords to enact your wildest fantasies, or other things to enact your… other fantasies.

If the springs weren’t public, of course. You’re not a complete degenerate, you swear. Still doesn’t stop the last few earth pony visitors to enter the springs, see that a lime green pegasus would be their only other company, and walk right back out.

You would like to think that the news of your brave and heroic actions probably haven’t reached those over-preeners yet, but if that were the case you’re pretty sure they’d have killed you for intruding by now, like all the other sky rat thieves.

Sky wanderer thieves.

You stop sculpting your latest project, the subject already forgotten and the motivation already lost. Why’d you just think that? You’ve been desensitized to that word for months now. Sapphire Lily had taken every opportunity to remind you of just what you are.

”From how she described you, it seems to me like Lily had a lot more to lose than you did, sky wanderer.

Oh, that’s why that word stings so much now. It sounded so… fresh coming from Lucky Favor’s mouth. Fresh and well-deserved. You really pushed that mare. You didn’t defend Tia when Apple Seed did.

Alright, brain, I know you like to go off on a tangent sometimes, but now you’re just being a cunt.

You frown as your mist sculpture slowly releases tension, saturating into the orange fog around you. You’ve known Apple Seed long enough to differentiate his usual, grumpy-but-straightforward stoicism from his unusual, grumpy-and-evasive stoicism. The plan went off with a few hiccups and somepony was injured, but now it’s okay because Anonymous was getting treatment, right? Apple Seed is in his home village now, surrounded by family and friends. So why did he just… tune out?

Whatever. Probably some stallion thing. You know colts can have a hard time with their emotions.

Speaking of having a hard time with one’s emotions…

The thatch door to the springs opens. You know who’s on the other side based on a) just how slowly the door opens, almost like a guilty foal was on the other side, and b) that Lucky Favor spends a concerning amount of time inspecting the craftsmareship and artistry of the surprisingly sturdy door. 

When the white unicorn’s baggy eyes finally meet your own, she freezes in place. You continue to gaze in her direction until giving a shrug and turning away. She’ll probably just mosey on over to the next open spring anyways, like the unsure earth ponies. You give your hind hooves a kick to glide to the far end of the mineral spring. 

The Aldenn’s roof is open, and you can lean your forelegs on the edge of the stone precipice to overlook the village of Marestricht in all its glory. Even with the sunset’s pink light dissipating into a cool blue, you can still see the village’s many nooks and crannies. 

Gotta give it to these mud horses, they sure can sculpt some mud.

”I didn’t know pegasi were buoyant,” Lucky Favor almost whispers, although you have no trouble hearing it. 

You also have no trouble hearing her hoofsteps clop against stone as she slowly walks to the edge of the mineral spring. You turn back to her, tilting your head. Her gait is slow, but not leisurely. She’s really leaning into that guilty foal approach.

“It wasn’t in your uppercaste books?” you ask. Of course, you’re not one to talk, being a pegasus who lives several thousand cubits above the rest of ponyfolk.

Lived.

Lucky’s cyan eyes flick to your own before returning to the edge of the spring as she hesitantly dips a front hoof in. “I’ll have you know that unicorn uppercaste education is Equus’ academic nonpareil,” she half-says, half-mumbles as she struggles to touch the first step under the bubbling water.

You snort. You’ve noticed she tends to talk like that sometimes, but you can’t find out just what triggers it.

Lucky’s hoof makes contact with the stone under the water. She sighs under her breath before she retracts it and plops her haunches onto the edge of the stone. Lucky’s back hooves are slowly deposited into the springs, then her hindlegs, then her belly, before she daintily lowers the rest of her body in with a splash.

Well, there’s room for two, you guess. It’s not like you’re taking up any of the space under the surface anyways.

But, Lucky Favor does as Lucky Favors do, and misreads the atmosphere. She starts to trudge through the water in your direction, before the first step ends and she abruptly plunges into the bubbling depths with a cut-off squeak. 

You hold back a giggle. The unicorn should probably keep in mind the raw height difference between her and the average visitor of the earth pony springs.

Lucky’s head is almost instantly back above the surface, her maroon mane splayed across the top half of her face. She half-blindly doggy paddles the rest of the way to your end of the spring, a pout the only recognizable feature on her face; embarrassed or determined, the two are indistinguishable with this mare.

“C’mon, filly,” you can’t resist to purr, clapping your hooves together like a proud parent. “You can do it. Come to momma.”

Lucky Favor hmph!’s before she finally makes it to your side. You smirk at the tinge of red in her cheeks too early and too noticeable to be from the heat of the springs. Lucky wipes her mane from her eyes with her hooves before she settles her haunches on the circular stone step.

Her scowl deepens before she seems to resign herself to a sad fate. Her eyes flick to you once again before flicking away. All the while, you say nothing as you turn back to Marestricht and hum a nonchalant tune.

”I apologize for attacking you, Max Gusto,” Lucky Favor finally says.

You turn back to the unicorn with a raised eyebrow. As far as apologies go, that kind of sucked ass. She said it too clearly and directly, like somepony reciting a magical contract. Besides, it isn’t so much that she attacked you you’re miffed about. You kind of had to get her to that point. If you hadn’t pushed her that hard, Sapphire Lily wouldn’t have revealed why she was still being kept alive, and you wouldn’t have been able to…

…buck up so spectacularly.

You sigh and look away. “Meh. You lasted longer than I would’ve. Then again, I’m lowercaste scum, so far be it from me to compare our bullshit-tolerances.”

You can practically see the uppercaste demeanor melt off Lucky’s face. Her eyes lower guiltily at your words. She turns away, ears splayed flat. She draws into herself, bringing her forehooves to her chest. “I—” Lucky starts, her voice once again that in irritatingly direct tone, before she stops. The unicorn says nothing for a while until she looks at her haggard reflection miserably. “Apple Seed was right,” she mutters. “I do take out my frustrations on others. I’m just…” Lucky trails off in thought before she turns her whole body away from you.

Lucky’s voice is quiet, as if she doesn’t even intend for you to hear her at all, as she murmurs, “I’m just… tired, I suppose. Tired of everything.”

You’re tempted to reach a hoof forward to comfort her, but what good would that do? You were never good at this comforting business to begin with, and now the words don’t even start to form in your mind. You’re both elated at the fact that it’s your first night free from the Red Garden, and… well, tired, as well. 

”Though, Apple Seed was wrong to compare me to Anonymous,” Lucky Favor mumbles. “I’ve never met somepony like him.”

Ah, there’s your opening.

“Hmmmm,” you hum, laying your chin on the edge of the hot spring. The cool mountain air of Marestricht and the humid mist of the hot springs battle for dominance. “I dunno. You and your coltfriend are a pretty good match.”

From the sound of that quick splash and almost imperceptible squeak, Lucky Favor flinches at your question. “Oh, we’re not a couple,” she says. You don’t have to be a pegasus to hear that disappointed lilt in her voice. “He’s just my housecarla until--… Well, I guess he won’t be my housecarla for much longer…”

You could just leave it as is. You don’t even really know – or, truth be told, like -- Lucky Favor all that much. And you have no idea about just what’s between that colt and Lucky. The way she transformed into a wistful maiden at the end of her sentence there also set off some needy virgin alarms.

Still, no matter how much you want to continue to sit in silence, you can’t shake off the lingering familiarity of the sadness in her voice.

…

You hope you don’t regret this.

"How long?" you ask. You turn towards Lucky and lean a foreleg on the precipice.

The unicorn’s eyes turn to you, and yep, you can definitely recognize that sadness. “Pardon?” Lucky asks.

You reach forward and poke her chest with each syllable as you say, “How long have you known him?”

”What’s gotten into you?” Lucky yelps as she bats away your hoof. She pouts at you, but when she sees the serious look on your face, she sobers up real quick. "Um… A few days. Why does it matter?"

Oh, she’s got it bad.

There’s no going back now, Max Gusto. You’re feeling all kinds of pity for this filly. You’re going to steer her in the right direction, hopefully well away from the burning crash site of your own romantic life.

You hum, making sure to twist your muzzle as you inspect the mare in front of you. Said mare is becoming more nervous by the second, as if you had a tragic secret you were going to tell her… just after this dramatic pause.

Actually, that’s exactly what’s happening right now. 

"Did they ever teach you what a sky wanderer is in those fancy uppercaste schools?” you ask.

Lucky Favor retreats, once again looking off in shame. "No,” she says, her ears lowering slowly. “I just knew you didn’t like to be called it.”

Hmm… Stressed-Out Bitchy Lucky Favor, or Depressed Self-Pitying Lucky Favor? Which one would you save from a burning building?

“Well, methinks it’s time you learn,” you start, pushing off the stone precipice to send yourself floating across the springs. “Now, fair warning, the meaning of the word ‘sky wanderer’ is a little hard to understand for landlubbers. I don’t want to confuse you with all the complex fractions or cultural idiot-secrecies.”

“Idiosyncrasies,” Lucky says without thinking.

Well, if she wants to be a smartass… 

Hm. You think you can catch two fish with one dive.

“Alright, miss smarty pants,” you say as you grab a glob of mist and begin to roll it into a thin cylinder. “I’ll tell you a story so you can really understand what a sky wanderer is. Take notes, because there’ll be a pop quiz afterwards.”

Lucky Favor tilts her head at your display, but otherwise doesn’t interrupt.

“Let’s say, there are two young sky dogies living in a village. A filly and a colt, inseparable buddies. You can probably guess where this is going-- What’s with that look, miss poutysnatch?”

Lucky Favor is back in mopey pony mode as she says, “You don’t have to keep using slurs. I get it. I acted up in the Red Garden.”

“Huh?” you ask, before it clicks. “Oh! No, sky dogie is a pegasus term, it’s not a slur, at least to my vast and unicorn-esque knowledge.” That gets an upwards twitch of Lucky’s lips. “I guess the landlubber word would be… Cloudborn? Guanlow?” You tap your chin thoughtfully, but your inner reflection comes up thoughtless. “Huh. I dunno. What do you ponies call a foal without a guardian herd or parents?”

Lucky’s eyes lower in reminiscence. You hope she isn’t thinking about a certain white filly. “Orphan,” she answers.

You nod. “Yep, that’s the one. Now pay attention! And start writing in that notebook of yours.” 

You circle back to Lucky and hold her hoof out before plopping your gaseous iteration of a writing quill in her frog. It doesn’t stick to the unicorn’s hoof, obviously, and dissipates into the surrounding mist once it makes contact, but Lucky Favor’s mouth twitches into an amused smile.

Good. There’s no room for petty depression on Max Gusto’s Wild Ride.

“So, the filly, right?” you continue. “Her name is…” You glance at your roguishly beautiful reflection. “…Limey. And the colt’s name is Horizon Swift.”

Lucky’s moodiness has taken a one-way trip to the deep end of the springs, but her cynicism seems to still be intact as she interrupts, “Horizon Swift sounds a lot more authentic than—”

“Yeah, yeah, write a novel, why don’t ‘cha?” Lucky responds much better to your chiding than last time. There’s that satisfied, somewhat pretentious smile you can’t bring yourself to hate. “Anyways, so Limey and Horizon Swift, right? They’re both, uh… ore-fans, living alone in a big village in the sky. They only got each other, and it’s looking to be that way for a long while. Neither of them has any particular skills -- not even a cutie mark between them – besides snooping on herds when they’re reading bedtime stories to their foals, or pretending to know how to read the discarded stories in the trash. But there’s one big difference between the two.” Your tail flicks, sending a few droplets of water at Lucky’s snout. She scrunches. “Here’s a hint: their Y-7 glands hide it.”

”Needlessly uncouth,” Lucky breathes, but hold on! You’re not done yet!

“Limey’s a warm-blooded filly, so you can guess how she really feels about him.” You mercilessly wriggle your eyebrows at Lucky.

”You are a dreadful storyteller,” she says. “Mayhaps some uppercaste education would do you good.”

“Never in a million years,” you say as you begin to circle atop the water. “Anyways, sooner or later Limey starts to have enough of being trapped in those clouds, surrounded by over-sympathetic herds and listening in on fairy tales. So one night, she asks Horizon if he wanted to become ‘sky wanderers.’ Pegasi unfeathered—”

”Unfettered.”

“Unfeathered is better. Pegasi unfeathered by the chains of civilization, who could roam the skies freely and either earn or take everything they had. Like the heroes in those fairy tales Limey and Horizon listened to, of dashing sky wanderers swooping down and saving the handsome damoiseaux from monsters and raiders.”

Lucky Favor blinks, either in interest or in confusion at how you were able to pronounce damoiseaux, let alone know what it means. What can you say? Your pegasus hearing really helped during those nights of peering into happy homes.

“Unfortunately, Horizon Swift didn’t feel the same,” you say. “He tells Limey that he’d rather stay because he wanted to learn how to read. And Limey’s no flaming misandrist, so she figures she can stay a while longer.” You fight for that sad smile on your face to be turned into a smug one. “A while longer turns to weeks, then months, then years. It’s crazy, what a lovestruck filly would do for a colt, huh?”

Lucky stays silent. Her ears are pointed forward, her eyes never leaving your own as she listens attentively.

“During this time, Limey does the single stupidest thing she’s ever done,” you chuckle. “You see, Limey thought that no other mare would want some mangy Guanlow colt. She thought Horizon Swift was all hers, so she waited.”

Your gait atop the water slows. Despite your best efforts, that smirk on your face becomes loose, your eyes lowering to the bubbling water below. “Horizon Swift never did learn how to read. He only got so far teaching himself until another mare swooped in and nabbed him.”

Lucky Favor tilts her head slowly, waiting for you to continue.

“Naturally, instead of saying… well, anything, really, Limey joins his herd as a betamare. In pegasus culture, betamares are seen less as lovers to the stallion, and more as supporters to the main couple. Limey thought there were worse fates, you know? She was still with the stallion she loved, and now she even had a roof over her head and other mares whom she could confide in.” 

Distant, muted scenes begin to play around your mind, like the mist of the springs embracing your head. Horizon Swift hugging Limey home after her third failed attempt at honest fishing that week, telling her “Next time, surely.” Horizon Swift being occupied by the alpha, unable to comfort Limey when she had just been injured in a wild griffon attack. Limey pulling back Horizon Swift’s mane as he slept to discover those rough kiss marks on his fur.

“Limey became jealous,” you mutter. “Limey started to cause problems for the rest of the herd because she was still that immature filly at heart, who couldn’t talk things out and bottled everything up. Well, turns out Limey could only bottle everything up for so long. One night, when she thought they were finally alone, Limey lunged at Horizon Swift.”

You look away, guilt and shame clawing at your chest, drawing you deeper into the springs as if your bones were suddenly full of mud. “She thought she was entitled to his feelings. She kissed him when he didn’t want to be kissed. Told him she loved him even though he already had an alpha. Begged him to fly away with her and become sky wanderers, like they always planned to when they were little.”

Among all the scenes playing out in your head, one sticks out like a storm cloud on a clear Summer day.

“The thing is, they didn’t plan to be sky wanderers. Just Limey. And when the alpha walked in and saw what was happening, Limey got her wish. She was banished from the sky village and became a sole sky wanderer. She kept tabs on the sky village for a few days, willing up the determination to fly back up there and apologize, but soon the other pegasi saw her. One night, they pushed the village’s cloud foundation to somewhere far away while Limey slept, leaving her to wake up completely alone and lost. And even now, after all these years of fishing, stealing, and… cloudpushing, Limey never saw Horizon Swift again.”

You bite the inside of your lip to keep from letting out anything else. You know that if you do, Lucky Favor would know exactly—

Suddenly, something furry grabs your backside and pulls your haunches under. Lucky’s yelp is cut off just before her head is underwater. You give a squawk of your own as you flap your wings to stay afloat. Your barrel is dragged underneath by the time Lucky resurfaces, coughing profusely.

“What the buck?!” you shriek. Between you pushing her and Lucky kicking her hindlegs you’re both able to resettle the unicorn back onto the shallower end of the springs.

”I’m sorry!” she sputters between coughs. “I was trying to hug you and I forgot how deep it is!”

“Y--…” you start before doing a double take. “Why were you trying to hug me?”

”I thought we were bonding! You were opening up to me, weren’t you?”

It takes a moment for it to click, but when it does, you… don’t really know how to feel. On one hoof, Lucky Favor just pulled a Lucky Favor and you feel obliged to laugh in her face. Maybe that’d also help alleviate some of the unwanted tension you just vomited onto your nice evening.

But on the other hoof, underneath the fiery blush on her soaked features and haughty grumbling, in front of you is the first mare to genuinely want to comfort you since you can remember.

These two points battle with each other for an embarrassing amount of time before you decide it’s fruitless. You ultimately decide on heckling Lucky with an extra-grating snicker before paddling over to her. She turns her head away from you. You’d say she looks away from you, but it’s hard to tell just where she’s looking with that wet mane glued over her eyes.

You extend a wing to tap on the top of her head a few times, being careful to avoid her horn. Lucky wipes her mane from her eyes before turning to half-heartedly glare at you.

“You look like a cherry,” you can’t help but giggle. Lucky rolls her eyes, but otherwise doesn’t turn away. You let the last few snickers out of your system before you smile warmly, patting her head once again with your wing.

She might be a pretentious, clumsy uppercastemare who can be a real bitch when she’s stressed out, but you’re no epitome of valor either. 

She’s alright.

"Alright, Lucky Favor,” you sneer, snapping yourself awake. “The smart, educated… eager to please uppercastemare you are, what did you learn from this little story?"

Lucky’s eyes widen, the snow white fur on her face staining a cherry red. “The story?” she whimpers. “Th-that was just a story?”

“You’re not seriously gonna make me come out and say it, right?” you moan. “Fine. Yeah, we were bonding, the story might’ve happened or might not have, now answer the question!”

”Oh!” Lucky says with a nervous tap of her front hooves. “Oh, I see… Well, um… I supposed I learned just what the word ‘sky wanderer’ entails. And, um…”

Lucky’s voice trails off, but she doesn’t retreat into herself again. She scrunches, lowering her front hooves back into the water, before her eyes soften. The scrunch disappears as her cyan orbs turn to your direction.

”I apologize, Max Gusto,” she nearly whispers. She clears her throat before continuing, but her voice never loses that shameful reticence. “I didn’t know what that word meant to you. It won’t happen again.”

Ah, there’s that apology.

You turn to hide those pesky tears as they threaten the corners of your eyes. “Th-that’s—” you stutter. Ancients-damnit, don’t let your voice break, Max Gusto. “…Hmph. I accept your apology, my young student. But that’s not all the story was for.”

Lucky is tilting her head at you when you turn back to her. “You see, little filly,” you sneer. “I have bamboozled you. There are two lessons to be learned from my little anecdote. And the second one is…?” You slowly paddle to Lucky and lower your face so you’re almost muzzle-to-muzzle.

Lucky Favor blinks. “…Pegasi have strange herding rituals?”

You shake your head, tsk tsk tsk’ing in disappointment. “Today, we learned that when it comes to stallions you fancy, you can’t afford to wait.”

Lucky Favor’s eyes widen, but just to drive the point home, you prod your hoof into her chest. She doesn’t bat it away.

“The Rejoicement is coming up in three days,” you say, making sure she’s picking up just what you’re putting down. “I expect results, fancy filly.”

”I—” Lucky Favor wavers, turning from a cherry to a tomato real quick. “I-I haven’t the faintest intimation of what you are rattling on about.”

You think you might be getting closer to finding out what makes Lucky talk like that.

“Lucky Favor,” you deadpan. “Even the illiterate cunts at the Red Garden would be able to read you like a book.”

Something in Lucky Favor’s eyes changes. Her blush dissipates almost too quickly as she turns away. “I’d rather not joke about the Red Garden,” she says shakily. You notice how her scrawny shoulders tick in one, uncontrolled spasm before they’re stock still. 

Ancients-damnit, Max.

You lift a hoof to place on Lucky’s shoulder, but the unicorn speaks before you can make contact. “Besides,” she mumbles, making you freeze. “It’d be pointless. Anonymous and I will be splitting up once we reach Equestria. And… I don’t think me telling him how I feel would be good for him.”

You’ve stepped your hoof into someplace it doesn’t belong, Max. You have no idea what’s going on between these two, let alone what’s going on in either of their heads. You didn’t even know she was headed to Equestria of all places until just now. It could’ve been a slip of the tongue, and now she’s chastising herself for revealing that to somepony she just met.

But Ancients-damnit, you can’t stand the thought of Lucky Favor feeling that gut-wrenching, sleep-depriving pain of regret. “I’ll admit it,” you sigh, leaning one foreleg on the wall by Lucky’s side. “I don’t know a thing about you two. But if he’s your housecarla, and he’s willing to not only travel to the countryside, but across the ocean with you, that’s worth something, right?” You shrug. Saying it out loud like that, it does feel like something a certain sky wanderer would do if she had nopony else to turn to. “You might be the only pony he has. I’m sure you could convince him to stay if you try.”

Lucky’s ears flick upwards. Her posture regains tautness. You swear you can see the glint of a smile on the unicorn’s face in the water’s reflection, but it’s short-lived. Another thought enters her mind, and she’s back to being her mopey self.

”I can’t even afford to pay him anymore,” she sniffles. “We won’t even make it to the dockyard.”

You’re stumped. Stumped, but persistent. 

So persistent, in fact, that the stray thought of joining Lucky and Anonymous on their travels takes root.

You don’t exactly have anywhere else to go now. And All-Mother knows that if you decide to stay with Apple Seed, you’ll probably fall in love and mess things up again. He’s back in his home village, and he’ll always remember you as a friend, which is the best possible outcome. So why don’t you join Lucky…?

You shake the thought from your mind. You just met her, Max. Don’t let your loneliness push you into a situation you haven’t thought through. "All I'm saying is you never know when somepony else might swoop in and nab him,” you clarify. “Might as well bite the bolt at the Rejoicement. Everypony’s in high spirits, there’ll be drinks and a beautiful view, Anonymous’ leg would be healed by then. Take a few shots of liquid courage beforehoof—” You extend a foreleg above your head and lean back in a dramatic flair. “--Bare your noble heart before the fair lord."

Lucky’s mood improves enough for her to turn and face you, but not enough to wipe that glare off her face. "I don't drink,” she affirms. “Nor will I start."

"Your loss, filly. They don’t write about earth pony ale in your uppercaste books.” 

The secluded pegasi in the sky aren’t much more knowledgeable, yourself notwithstanding, but Lucky doesn’t need to know about that night you stole some ale from a traveling merchant.

Or how you spent the next few hours wondering where the buck the sky was.

For a while, the two of you sit in a pleasant silence. The sun has set now, leaving you and Lucky in one of many beacons of light in the mountainside. It’s the first time since you can remember where you’ve felt this… peaceful. You might be able to doze off if you let yourself. 

But you don’t want to. You want to talk with Lucky Favor some more. 

Heh, isn’t that weird?

"So,” you cut through the silence. The cadence in your voice makes you realize you’re grinning. You wipe it off your face before Lucky turns back to you. “Does this mean you've finally gotten your head out of your plot and you’re apologizing to the ponies who deserve it?"

Lucky smiles; the first smile you’ve seen on the mare in a long time. It’s tired, but genuine. "I suppose so,” she says.

"Smooth Roads would be next in line, since Apple Seed won't be available until the Rejoicement."

The smile disappears. She doesn’t glare at you, though. Her face doesn’t hold an ounce of anger it. She just looks sad and defeated. "I’d rather my wagon had been destroyed than be left in Sapphire Lily’s hooves,” she murmurs.

You’ll come back to Smooth Roads. For now, you just lay a hoof on her shoulder. "Yep,” you chuckle. “You're an artist, alright."

Lucky doesn’t respond verbally. She only gives a barely perceptible nod.

Your hoof still hasn’t left her shoulder. You’re halfway to convincing yourself to pull the unicorn into a hug when the thatch door to the spring bursts open.

One glance at the charcoal brown earth pony, and you’re expecting her to take two steps forward, see the spring’s occupants, and go right on back through that door like all the others. Instead of retreating, though, the earth pony’s apricot eyes pierce through the fog and latch onto your own. 

The tall mare steps into the stone room and walks toward the springs. You sigh. You were hoping to spend some more quality time with Lucky, but you guess sitting in awkward silence with a stranger is better than nothing.

Instead of stepping into the spring, though, the mare takes a seat on the edge of the water. She makes no move to undo that white ponytail in her mane, only inspecting you and Lucky, until she opens her mouth. “Scholar Lucky Favor and Cloudpusher Max Gusto?” she asks neutrally.

You recognize that neutral, almost bored tone anywhere. You rub your eyes to make sure the mare in front of you isn’t Apple Seed.

“Mmmmmaybe,” you drawl. “What’s your name, tall, dark, and more tall?”

”A returned stallion’s blood sister, come to thank his rescuers,” she responds.

You blink.

Well, shit. Apple Seed did tell you to give this mare some room. But you’re both kind of cornered here, and Apricot doesn’t seem to be malicious. Well, as non-malicious as a barely emotive earth pony can be.

You share an uneasy look with Lucky Favor before chuckling. “Yeah,” you shrug. “Pretty good for a conehead and a sky rat, huh?”

”Why would you refer to yourself as such?” Apricot asks, tilting her head. “Do you insult yourselves often?”

This time, the look you share with Lucky Favor is less uneasy and more shit-eating. “Lucky Favor,” you announce. “You’ve just been topped for the Most Socially Clueless Pony I’ve Ever Met Award.”

Lucky Favor harumphs. Apricot Ammil exclaims, “If I am too direct, inform me and I will adjust my behavior.”

“I’m just messing with you,” you say.

”Very well. Thank you, sky rat Max Gusto and conehead Lucky Favor.”

You give a shrug that you hope conveys you’d rather not continue the conversation. You turn your head to peer into the darkness of Marestricht once again.

"I am unfamiliar with your customs,” Apricot says suddenly. “How are your pegasus and unicorn stallions treated?"

It’s Lucky that responds now, likely after gaining some confidence from your lack of concern. You hope you have a positive effect on her. "All lords are cared for and protected to the same degree as the highest of royalties,” she proclaims proudly.

You snicker. "You sound like such a virgin."

”There is nothing wrong with remaining pure!” Lucky snaps in an adorable whisper-shout.

"So,” Apricot gains your attention once again. “If I were to peruse unicorn stallions, I would be hard-pressed to find one who has been forced to turn to housecarlatel to survive?"

Lucky’s face transforms at those words. You feel like you’ve just lost every bit of progress you’ve made when she lowers her head, unwilling to make eye contact with anypony.

You place a wing on Lucky’s back and send Apricot a glare. You don’t know if this is some kind of cultural misunderstanding, but the sight of Lucky being put down like that riles you up something fierce. "What are you implying?" you ask, careful to not come off as vindictive, but direct enough to let Apricot know you didn’t appreciate her words one bit.

Apricot Ammil doesn’t get your tone, obviously, as she answers, "That it would be impossible to find an earth pony stallion have to stoop to similar depths, and that the two of you have failed as mares.”

Your glare hardens. So she is just being a bitch.

“Was I too direct?" Apricot asks with a twinkle in her eyes.

Don’t let her get to you, Max. You don’t know her. Apple Seed told you to give her some space. This is probably just her way of acting out.

"Tartarus of a way to thank your brother's rescuers,” you say, making sure to put extra emphasis on that last word. “If you’re done, you have a brother who probably needs comforting.”

Apricot isn’t reminded of just whom she’s talking to in the slightest. Apricot doesn’t glance away guiltily as you bring up Apple Seed. She just blinks before saying, "I am going to ask you a question, Scholar Lucky Favor and Cloudpusher Max Gusto, and I want you to answer with absolute honesty. What happened in the Red Garden?"

Lucky Favor’s voice is quiet as she whimpers, "Can we please not talk about this?"

"My concern for the well-being of my blood brother trumps your self-pity, Scholar Lucky Favor,” Apricot says. “Tell me what happened to Apple Seed in the Red Garden. He wouldn’t tell me.”

You really want this pony to take a tour of the highest sky village without cloudwalking magic. Still, you bite back your hostility and think of Apple Seed. "Look,” you try to deescalate. “We were taken by some bandits. They weren’t any of the scary, organized raiders from Equestria, just a couple of no-lives. They had us do some work. I pushed some clouds, Apple Seed pushed some earth—”

”Brother Apple Seed,” Apricot corrects. For the first time since you’ve met her, she shows emotion in the form of a twitch of her left eye.

“Yeah, sure,” you rescind. “Brother Apple Seed pushed some earth. Lucky Favor read them a bedtime story. We escaped before anything happened.”

Part of that is true. You did escape before anything happened to Anonymous.

You were too late for Apple Seed.

"How did they treat my blood brother?” Apricot Ammil asks, leaning forward. “Any worse than the crippled cat?"

Lucky Favor’s breathing begins to escalate. She’s turned away from you, her back rising and falling as she begins to shake.

"Okay, one: Anonymous isn't a cat,” you say. “Two: stop saying blood brother. It’s creepy. Three: no. Did you see any wounds on Apple Seed? Now back off. Seriously.”

"I saw how skinny he was,” Apricot says lowly. “I saw how haunted his eyes were. I saw how he no longer reacts when a mare touches him from behind. I saw the insignia behind his ear, burnt into his flesh.”

"Brother Apple Seed was valuable to them. Helped them with pushing the earth, made them a nice little home. They gave him a tattoo because it made them feel special. They couldn't hurt him or they would lose a valuable asset. I looked after him in there, so stop worrying. Now would you back off?”

You turn from the larger earth pony to the suffocating unicorn by your side. You reach a hoof forward and peel away the warm mist of the springs from around her muzzle. You reach out with your other to scoop in some fresh, cool air from outside and you bring it to her.

“Lucky?” you whisper. “Lucky, are you okay?”

Why’s this happening? Everything was normal just a few minutes ago. Tartarus, everything was better than normal. For the first time, you were finally able to not worry about how you’d get your next meal, or how hard the Red Garden would push you the next day, or if you’d be woken up in the middle of the night for some degenerate task. 

You were just here, sitting in silence with the first mare you’d dare to call a friend in… forever.

"Are you hiding something, Cloudpusher Max Gusto?” Apricot interrupts. “Are you responsible for his desensitization? Do you think you're worthy of my brother's affection? A thieving pegasus?”

Oh, buck right off.

"You talk pretty high and mighty for somepony who let her brother get raped,” you snap.

The difference in the Apricot Ammil now and the Apricot Ammil ten seconds ago is almost palpable. She transforms into a completely different pony at what you said. Her eyes widen and her apricot irises shrink to thin slits. Her ears lay flat against her skull as her brown tail twitches against the stone floor.

”Cloudpusher Max Gusto,” she says, her voice trembling dangerously. “Did those ponies deflower my blood brother?”

You deny Apricot her answer. You only turn to Lucky and pull her face towards your own. Her eyes are glazed over as she relives events passed.

A flurry of hoofsteps on stone tells you that Apricot gallops out of the springs and disappears behind the thatch doorframe. You don’t pay attention to that, though.

“Lucky,” you whisper, pulling the white unicorn against your chest. You wrap your hooves around her and hold her close. Lucky tenses at the hug but doesn’t pull away. 

Slowly, you feel two soaking arms wrap around your midsection as Lucky Favor hugs you back. You’re sure to bring more and more cool air to her face as you unfurl your wings to add to the squeeze. Eventually, Lucky’s panting subsides into calm breaths. 

She lets out a faint, content hum of peace; that of a sky dogie who’s been wholeheartedly embraced for the first time.

When was the last time you’ve been hugged, Max?

Lucky Favor lets out a small chuckle. “I’m traveling across the globe,” she susurrates into your chest. “A handsome and capable housecarla at my side, embarking on an adventure I only thought possible through novels… and I can’t go a day without having a mental breakdown.”

She needs somepony who knows how to handle adventure. Both her and Anonymous.

You tuck that thought away for later considering. 

“You wanna know how much of a wreck I was when I got banished?” you giggle.

Lucky chortles gleefully, splashing the water with her body’s convulsions and warming your fur with her hot breath. You also can’t help but laugh as you gently lean away from the hug. Lucky Favor, though, keeps her grip tight.

You don’t fight against it.

”I don’t like Anonymous being alone with somepony I don’t know,” Lucky Favor says, her voice unrecognizable from her previous laughter. “Tia doesn’t either. I almost had to cast a sleep spell on her before I could come up here.”

You run your hooves up and down her back. “Apple Seed told you Riverside wouldn’t overstep her boundaries, didn’t he?” you ask. Lucky’s horn slowly bobs up and down as she nods. “Lucky, there isn’t a pony on Equus more trustworthy than that stallion.”

Lucky doesn’t respond, only holding onto you tightly, her face just above the water level. You’re not sure what else to do, so you find yourself humming as the two of you stay like that. Your songs would sooner be confused with a rabid timberwolf in heat than actual chirping, but humming? Anypony can hum.

You’ve had a lot of practice, all those nights spent alone in the wilderness.

When Lucky’s grip begins to slacken, her face dangerously close to the water, you decide to part ways. You gently push away from the unicorn, jolting her awake. “Get some rest, Lucky Favor,” you say. “I’ll pay Anonymous a visit and tell you how he’s doing. And try not to have another breakdown on your way to the room.”

”What about Apricot Ammil?” she asks, either too tired or too exasperated to care about your playful jab.

“Don’t worry about her. Or Apple Seed, for that matter. As far as I’m concerned, you may as well not have even been here.”

”But if I hadn’t had that attack—"

“OH FOR ANCIENTS’ SAKE, LUCKY FAVOR, I’LL HANDLE IT. GO TO BED, FANCY FILLY.”

Lucky blinks owlishly before she simply nods. As she trudges back to the entrance of the springs, careful to stick to the edges so as not to be submerged again, the unicorn gives a yawn most unladylike, mm, quite quite. She pulls herself onto solid ground, and suddenly, you feel like the mineral springs are a lot lonelier than ten seconds ago.

“Hey, Lucky?” you ask without thinking. Lucky turns to you, blinking sluggishly. You bite the inside of your cheek in thought before you say, “You know I’d never hurt Tia, right?”

Lucky Favor’s tired smile tells you all you need to know before she turns around and starts walking away. Before long, her white coat disappears into the thick mist.









The sound of hoofsteps echoing in a dirt tunnel snaps you awake.

You try to move your body, but something heavy holds it down.

You don’t know where you are. You’re in a dirt burrow. 

The Red Garden?

No, you’re well away from them now. Unless they caught up to you.

But that wouldn’t make sense, they’d have to get through Marestricht’s—

Oh. Right.

Your pounding heart begins to simmer to its normal levels. The only part of your body you can move is your head and neck. You use just those to inspect what’s keeping you in place.

In front of you is a mound of moist soil where your body should be. Your bleary mind almost entertains the thought of the earth ponies transforming you into a pile of dirt until you see the rhythmic rising and falling of your chest under the soil. A few green sprouting plants pierce through the dirt, perhaps side products from the soil and the still water in the shallow, barely arms-thickness moat around your body. 

The hoofsteps are coming closer. You’re awake enough to know whoever is approaching will be your appointed mender, but even still you slowly raise your right arm through the dirt. You won’t be completely helpless, at the very least. 

When your arm raises from the moist soil, though, you’re perplexed at its state. The soil slowly drips from the arm as if it had been entombed for centuries, and underneath is clear, peach skin. The gash on your shoulder has been replaced with white scar tissue. The cool air of the burrow prickling your arm makes you realize it’s much more sensitive than before.

”Mph!” a muffled voice yelps from the tunnel entrance. You turn to see an earth pony at the entrance of the burrow, a stone tray holding various seeds, roots, and the like in her mouth. Her sea blue eyes are wide with concern as she trots to your side. Her purple and white mane bounces in the bun on top of her head.

The mare kneels down to set her tray to the ground. Once that’s done, her eyes hastily inspect the space of broken soil your right arm used to be under. “My apologies, Brother Anonymous,” she says. “It seems the lutobice has been punctured. I shall repair it.”

Lutobice? Please just be a cultural way of saying ‘dirt.’

The mender skips to your right side with a grace you’d never expect from an earth pony. Your eyes never leave her as she does. The muscles in your shoulder twitches in preparation when she reaches her destination and sits onto her haunches. Instead of reaching forward, though, the mender looks to you and smiles warmly.

”May I reposition your arm, Brother Anonymous?” she asks. 

A small part of you wants to feel insulted that she’d need to ask, but it’s immediately snuffed out. You know she’s your mender. You know you’re in a mending burrow underneath the highly defended, highly secluded mountainside village of Marestricht. Even still, you can’t promise you would’ve remained calm had she suddenly grabbed you.

You give a neutral nod. The mender doesn’t so much as grab your arm as she does guide it back into its original place. She gently pats the displaced soil back into place atop your arm.

“My right leg was the problem,” you say as the mare finishes her job. “Why’s… well, my whole body covered with dirt? Apple Seed didn’t need to do this.”

The mare’s gentle hooves freeze at the mention of Apple Seed. Something unrecognizable flashes across her eyes, but it’s only for a split second. As quick as it came, the pleasant smile once again returns to her features.

You curl your hands into fists. You’re not liking this more and more.

”I suppose that is true,” the mare says, inspecting her handiwork. “Your right leg was in the most dire need of attention. But after I examined your body, I wished to perform a full-body mend—”

“Define ‘examine.’”

The mare tilts her head at you. She’s about to answer, probably with the verbal equivalent of her tilted head, before she suddenly blinks in realization. “I laid you atop the lubotice and petrevoked the Ancient Lady of Life.”

“I understood about half of that.”

The mare gives a patient nod before reciting, “The lubotice is the platform you find yourself upon and within; the soil has been kept rich and its ethereal route with the Ancients intact. It is the perfect place for a mending. To petrevoke another is to use vibrations in the natural environment to communicate over long distances; however, in this case the word is used more symbolically. I have petrevoked the Ancient Lady of Life through this patch of soil’s route to the Ancients and she has informed me of your injuries.”

You understood about a quarter of that.

The mare’s pleasant expression disappears as she sees the look on your face. It’s replaced with a sympathetic frown. “I would never disrobe a stallion without the faculties to give his consent,” she says with a bow of her head. “Though… I am afraid it has come at the cost of your armor being ruined during the mending process. I apologize.”

Your armor would need a wash, but it wouldn’t be anywhere near destroyed because of some dirt… You’re almost tempted to voice your confusion, but you decide against it. She knows much more about this than you do. That, and she continues to speak, giving you no room to ask.

”I will ask our sculptors to outfit you with a new set,” the mare suggests as she makes her way back to her discarded tray. “Once again, I apologize. When you were brought to me, you were delirious, and… made it explicitly known that you did not like to be touched.”

You sigh. For some reason, guilt claws at your chest at the news of how a barely-conscious, in-pain you must have treated this mare. 

…That might be a bad thing. You just met her, Anonymous. Don’t let your guard down so easily.

”I am Mender Bountiful Riverside,” the mare says with a filly-like politeness before she grabs the tray with her teeth. She’s silent as she walks back to your side and settles it back onto the ground. “Sachemare Sagebrush has assigned me to mend you, Brother Anonymous, and I intend to do so to the highest standards of Marestricht body mending. However, I believe it is worth saying that our time together would be better spent in quiet.”

You tilt your head. Riverside picks up a brown root from her tray with her mouth and leans over you to plant it in the dirt above your right leg. She uses a hoof to slowly drive it further into the soil. The moment you feel a soft pressure on your leg, Riverside eases off and returns to her tray.

”When the mending process starts, we will both be strung along in our connection with the Ancient Lady of Life,” Riverside says. “It will feel as if somepony else is in your mind. That is how most describe it. I’m afraid it can be rather unsettling for some.” Riverside speaks between her placement of each of the various roots, seeds, and leaves from the tray to the dirt mound. If you hadn’t seen what Apple Seed could do for your leg, you’d think you found yourself in a cult den. Unfortunately, you have one stony, earthpushing reason to not be suspicious. “You will start to feel exhausted once it begins, Brother Anonymous. You are more than welcome to slumber. Your unconsciousness will circumvent the awkward feeling and, in fact, will make the process much quicker. You will be able to attend the Rejoicement if you do so.”

As Riverside speaks, you hear another set of hooves coming down the dirt tunnel.

You’re not sure if you want this mare to “string you along with her connection to the Ancient Lady of Life” unsupervised. You’re willing to miss some party if it means not giving the chance--

“Blast!”

Riverside stomps a hoof, glaring down at her now empty tray. Her eyes scan around the room; where the tray had first been set down and the path she had used to get to you, but she doesn’t find what she’s looking for. “Apologies, Brother Anonymous,” she says. “I seem to have forgotten an ingredient. I will return post-haste.”

As the mauve mare turns to leave, though, another earth pony meets her at the tunnel entrance. She holds a necklace between her teeth, fashioned with blades of grass interwoven so tightly and expertly they appear as a solid green string. On the end of the necklace hangs what appears to be a glass bottle no bigger than your pinkie finger. A blue liquid from within illuminates the carrier’s chest as she approaches Riverside.

”Ah, I thank you, Mender Beniglade,” Riverside says pleasantly.

Instead of responding, Beniglade leans forward and offers the necklace to Riverside. Riverside hastily takes it in her own mouth.

”Do not forget it next time, Mender Riverside,” the earth pony grumbles before turning tail. As she leaves, she mumbles something that you can’t help but feel mildly terrified about. “Why Sachemare Sagebrush chose a novice, I’ll never understand…”

Bountiful Riverside’s ears lower at Beniglade’s jab, but that’s the only sign of her dejection. She turns around and makes her way back to you, a pleasant raise of her cheeks on her face.

“Can’t help but notice she called you a novice,” you grouse.

Riverside’s posture slumps ever so slightly, but it’s barely perceptible as she sits down to her haunches and places the necklace on the tray. “It is true this is my first full-body mend,” she says before gripping the bottle in her hooves. It almost looks like a seed between her large hooves. “However, I assure you that I am well capable. I have had much practice with smaller injuries; those which I have been relegated to by the other menders.”

You can’t help but notice how her voice teeters off to a breathy sigh at the end. Riverside doesn’t say another word as she bites off the cork of the bottle before hanging the glowing liquid over the water of the moat. She slowly pours the liquid in.

Slowly, the moat around you illuminates the dirt grotto in a fluctuating, blue glow. 

”Do you plan on going to the Rejoicement, Brother Anonymous?” Riverside asks as she slowly lowers her front hooves into the glowing water to settle on the bottom of the moat.

Doesn’t she need quiet to focus, like Apple Seed did? She’s a novice as well, so you’d expect her to need absolute quiet. If you knew the first thing about any of this shit.

That’s the thought that relegates the back of your head back to the soil, and your cynical thoughts to the back of your mind. “Probably not,” you answer neutrally.

”That is a shame,” Riverside says, her voice showing no sign of preoccupation. “I always enjoy Rejoicements. Ponies all around Marestricht coming into one gathering. They are always in good spirits and do not brush me off when I try to converse.”

Don’t feel bad for her, Anonymous.

”It is also encouraging to see the new foals,” Riverside continues, before she pauses. You expect her to drift off to silence as she focuses on the mending. You can feel a prickling feeling in the back of your head now. “I have never seen somepony from your tribe before, Brother Anonymous. If it is not rude, what, exactly, are you? Nopony else in Marestricht seems to know definitively.”

The prickly feeling increases, but as it does, you start to feel a warm… glow from within your body. That’s the only way to describe it, a glow. It seems to seep in from the soil hugging your skin, permeating your body with an otherworldly hum of natural warmth. “Human,” you susurrate. Surely, now, she’d have to shut up and focus on her job?

…confusion.

You blink. You wouldn't call yourself confused, just mildly concerned. Where did that come from?

”Do humans not have many children?” Riverside asks in the same tone of voice as when you had just awoken. 

Curiosity. Not seen many. Reason?

“Is this the part where it feels like somebody else is in my mind?” you can’t help but ask. 

”Yes, it is,” Riverside confirms. “Do you like foals, Brother Anonymous?”

The question comes out of nowhere. You already have your knee-jerk answer pre-loaded and at the ready, but you don’t know if that will do any good now. Just how… connected are the two of you right now?

“Hey, don’t you have to keep quiet to focus?” you ask blearily. Oh. There’s the exhaustion. “When Apple Seed was… mending, he needed silence.”

Guilt. Shame. Apple Seed.

Riverside doesn’t let any of these emotions reflect in her voice. How is she comfortable sharing all of this with you? And what the Hell’s her deal with Apple Seed? 

There’s nothing you can do about it now. Remember, Anonymous, Apple Seed entrusted this mare with you. But do you trust Apple Seed enough for that thought to comfort you?

”I apologize,” Riverside says quietly. “As stated before, I practice often and am well enough capable. It would not be bragging to say I can capably converse and mend simultaneously. I supposed that since you have not yet fallen asleep, you would be open to conversation. Though, I am not as accustomed to social interaction as I am to body mending. Am I making you uncomfortable, Brother Anonymous?”

Stallion uncomfortable. Did this yourself. Lonely.

“Look, it’s—” you start quickly before you stop yourself with a sigh. “It’s fine. Kids are--...”

Walking reminders of why you’re here?

“I’d rather not talk about it. It’s personal.”

”I see,” Riverside says, teetering off into silence.

Failure to socialize. Embarrassing yourself again.

You're surprised how less than a minute is all it takes for you to feel guilty about the lack of her voice. Instead of talking, you merely focus on the perambulating blue glow on the dirt ceiling.

But before you have too much trouble fighting off sleep, you hear a commotion from further within the tunnel.

"What the buck do you mean you'd have to 'peetree-vote' Apple Seed? I'm the one who carried him here!"

The high pitch of the voice, the subtle chirp at the end of her statement, and the fact that she forgot to mention how bumpy the ride was all confirm it. Max Gusto is further down the tunnel, currently speaking with an earth pony whose voice is too deep and calm to make out.

"Yeah, yeah, shove it or I'll steal your wheat during the Rejoicement. You know Sagebrush will let me."

The earth pony's complaints fall silent. Max Gusto, meanwhile, educates you on just how a squee can sound shit-eatingly smug before her hoofsteps continue down the tunnel. The earth pony murmurs something angrily, but makes no move to stop Max.

Helped Apple Seed. Helped Anonymous. Still annoying.

You think Bountiful Riverside might be in the runs for making the best first impression on you of any mare.

Just like Red Le--

Fuck off.

You glance to Riverside, but she gives no reaction to your mental flinch. Good, this connection might be one-way.

"Hey, buddy," Max announces, her voice echoing off the grotto walls.

Sure enough, the only pegasus you've had the dubious pleasure of meeting trots into the grotto. She giggles quietly at the dirt mound you're buried in, probably thinking how ridiculous you look, but otherwise stays silent as she waits for a reply.

"Max," you greet neutrally. "Where's Lucky?"

"Ohhhh, I get it," she sighs obnoxiously. “No time for the mule. Gotta worry about your lady first.”

You give Max a deadpan glare. She uses a hoof to pull back a strand of her white mane so you can see just how broken up she is. Really, she’s barely holding it together. Look at the way she sticks her lips out while pouting; it almost looks like a caricature. “Thanks for your help,” you suspire. You’ve barely met the mare and you can already tell what her response will be.

”Ancients above, he can say something nice,” Max says, her eyes wide with mock surprise. It only lasts a moment, though, before she sobers up. Well, as sober as Max Gusto can be. “Lucky’s been getting some much-needed rest. She and her… precious cargo.”

You deflate in relief and are almost dragged into unconsciousness. You have to physically fight your eyelids to stay open.

”So, uh…” Max says, kicking her hoof in the dirt awkwardly. “Anonymous?”

”Brother Anonymous,” Riverside corrects.

”Right. Brother Anonymous.” Max turns to Riverside as if noticing her for the first time. “Hey, how’s it going, by the way. Max Gusto, Roguishly Beautiful Savior of Humans, Partner in Crime with Apple Se-- Brother Apple Seed.”

Apple Seed’s friend. There for him. Not you. Shame.

Riverside returns her sea blue eyes to her work, bowing her head away from Max and you.

“So, Lucky wanted to hear how you were doing,” Max says. “And I kinda wanna know, too, for what it’s worth. ‘Cuz we’re buddies, right?”

Instead of answering right away, you turn to Riverside and ask, “How long will this take, did you say?”

”About four to five days,” Bountiful Riverside responds.

”WHAT?!” Max explodes. You jolt against the mound of soil before you remember what Riverside told you. Your mender sighs forlornly as a few pebbles and clots of dirt tumble into the moat below. “But you’ll miss the Rejoicement!”

”Five days is only an approximation,” Riverside says as she scoops out the pebbles from the water. You’re sure she sees the apologetic expression on your face before she gets back to mending. “Brother Anonymous feels more comfortable to stay awake, it seems. I do not fault him for his preference. I am a stranger, after all.”

Max stomps her hooves and flaps her wings. ”An~noooon!”

God damnit, Max, don’t--

”Don’t call him that.”

You have to do a double take to confirm that the ungodly growl you just heard came from Riverside.

The earth pony’s expression softens almost immediately. “Apologies,” she says, giving Max a bow. She turns to you, her eyes apologetic. “Your mind seemed to spasm in pain, Brother Anonymous. I assumed it was because of her disregard of honorifics.”

Max Gusto is silent as she tilts her head at Riverside’s words. It pervades the grotto in a silence long enough to give way to the sound of hushed earth pony voices at the entrance. The voices escalate in volume, but only enough for you to make out the question, “The mending process has already begun. Are you sure, Brother Apple Seed?”

Apple Seed gives an answer too quick and short-tempered to really be coming from him, but as the familiar sound of hoofsteps coming down that tunnel once again echo through the cavern, sure enough, it’s Apple Seed. As the earth pony enters the grotto, you notice that his coat has been cleaned to a dull shine, not a speck of dirt on his rustic orange fur. Although his bones are still visible from under his fur, he no longer drags his hooves or hangs his head as he moves. Apple Seed’s neck is adorned with a small necklace of the same fashion as the ones you saw on Sachemare Sagebrush.

The look on his face drips with barely-contained anger, something that deeply unsettles you, coming from Apple Seed.

Apple Seed. Angry. My fault.

”Max Gusto,” Apple Seed says in a voice so gravely it could rival Smooth Roads’. “We need to talk. Privately.”

Apple Seed. Unchanged. Same as before. Still angry.

Max gives you a look. “I was just checking up on Bro Anonymous,” she says quizzically. She turns back to Apple Seed with a hint of impatience. “What’s with the—oh… right.” Something clicks in her mind, and her eyes flop to her skull in shame.

”Oh, right, indeed,” Apple Seed grumbles. “Come, Max Gusto.”

Confusion. Apple Seed didn’t hit her. Like he did me.

”Brother Apple Seed?” Riverside asks meekly. Apple Seed’s entire body flinches at her voice. Max comes to the stallion’s side, but his silence stumps her, and she turns to the sudden standoff.

”I apologize, Mender Bountiful Riverside,” Apple Seed says, his head not leaving its aim at Max Gusto. His voice is much softer than before. Softer than you’ve ever heard him speak. “Max Gusto and I will be on our way now. But…” Apple Seed suddenly hardens himself before he can finish. He stands up a little straighter, even if he still does not meet Riverside’s eyes. “I understand it is not up to me, Mender Riverside, but I would rather you did not attend the Rejoicement.”

Confusion. Hit me. Defended self. Everything ruined. Why deny closure?

Apple Seed gestures to Max before leading the way out. The pegasus, without much other choice, gives you a quick, “Please make it to the Rejoicement!” look before scuttling off to follow Apple Seed.

Apple Seed hit. Angry. I defended self. Apple Seed ran. Captured. My fault. Everypony knows. Don’t deserve Rejoicement. Foolish to think otherwise.

Another sound fills the grotto, but it isn’t hoofsteps down the tunnel or the murmuring of earth ponies. Bountiful Riverside gives a quiet sniffle before clearing her throat. You turn to her to see that she’s turned her face away. Her muzzle is taut with tension, trying to hold back emotion. “I apologize,” Riverside whispers. “Brother Anonymous, I would… very much appreciate it if you did not ask me my connection with Brother Apple Seed. Please only believe that I wish to help you.”

Help. Only help. Do good for once.

If you weren’t on the verge of collapsing into unconsciousness, you would be able to appreciate the humor of it taking you to read a mare’s mind for you to finally let your guard down.

“I believe you, Riverside,” you murmur as your vision goes blurry from exhaustion. The prickling sensation in your mind turns to a warm glow, not so much different from the rest of your body. “But I’d like to get to know you better once I wake up.”

The last thing you see before you close your eyes is Riverside’s surprised expression.









As you and Apple Seed exit the mending burrows, you are once again bombarded with the sounds and sights of a midday Marestricht.

“Alright, what’s up?” you ask Apple Seed, trotting up to his side. He regards you with a scowl. “Seriously, what’s up?”

”I should be asking you ‘what is up,’” Apple Seed growls, but you’re on that before he can get another word in.

“Nope, me first.” You and Apple Seed begin your ascent up the stone stairs, leaving the orchards and mending burrows behind. “You’ve been acting like this ever since we got out of the Red Garden.”

”You first, Max Gusto?” Apple Seed’s voice is a far cry from his originally neutral tone. In fact, most of what you see beside you is that of an entirely different pony. The only remnant of your friend is his green eyes, still hesitant to meet your own or anypony else’s. They almost remind you of Anonymous’. “You told Apricot Ammil about what happened in that damned place.”

Of course he’d want to talk to you about this, but…

No. You can’t bring yourself to feel guilty, so you won’t even try.

With a flap of your wings, you’re in front of Apple Seed. He halts his ascension. You crouch to meet him head-on. “Yeah, I did,” you say firmly. “She was being a cunt. She was giving Lucky a bucking anxiety attack and didn’t even care. So yeah, it slipped out in the heat of the moment, so what? Just why does it matter so much?”

”You do not understand a thing, sky rat.”

The moment the words leave Apple Seed’s mouth, he seems to regret them. His eyes widen at what he had just said, his ears lowering guiltily. Still, he doesn’t give away too much, turning away from you and deepening his scowl.

“What the buck’s wrong with you, colt?” you ask, unable to keep the touch of hurt from your voice. “I stick with you in that Tartarus-hole, and you act like this because I told the truth to somepony who cares about you?”

Apple Seed’s posture slumps at your words, but he doesn’t respond. He merely puts one hoof in front of the other as he sidesteps you and continues up the stairs. You’re at his side, unrelenting.

“Seriously,” you ask softly. Apple Seed’s ears flick to your direction. “What’s wrong, Apple Seed?”

Apple Seed’s gait slows until he comes to a stop. Another earth pony descending the stairs prompts him to step off the side and settle his haunches onto the dirt hill. You hop off the stairs to follow him. That’s when his eyes – filled with that same shame that hasn’t left them since he first saw Marestricht yesterday – finally meet your own.  

“I was right there with you,” you reassure, almost in a whisper. “They didn’t... do that shit to me, but they did plenty other shit. I didn’t exactly have pleasant dreams last night.” You chuckle, but Apple Seed doesn’t react. “I’m right here, Apple Seed. I’m all ears.”

Apple Seed’s eyes linger on your own for a long time until they drift back to the mending burrows. He sighs, “Now that Apricot Ammil knows what happened, Mender Bountiful Riverside might be in danger.”

Please tell me I didn’t buck up again.

You scoot closer to Apple Seed. A few of the agriculturalists below give the pair of ponies just sitting beside the stairs a sideways glance, but once they recognize the two of you, they hastily get back to work. “How?” you ask softly.

Apple Seed seems to have the answer on the tip of his tongue, until something else takes its place. “I never told you how the Red Garden captured me, did I?” he asks as he gets back up to his hooves. He hops back onto the stairs, waiting for you to join him.

You’re confused, but knowing Apple Seed, he’s probably building up to your answer. You float by his side, and the two of you begin to climb up the stairs once again to upper Marestricht. “I was always curious how they’d get a hold of an earth pony,” you admit. “But you never offered, so I never asked.”

”Even if you did, I do not think I would have told you. I was too immature then.” Apple Seed’s head lowers. “I could not even look Mender Bountiful Riverside in the eyes. I suppose I am still immature.”

“Apple Seed,” you say, making damn sure he sees the look on your face before you continue. “Do you know who you’re talking to?”

Apple Seed lips twitch upwards. He exhales in that way ponies do when they’re amused, but don’t want to laugh. “Before I was an earthpusher, I aspired to be a body mender.” 

Apple Seed stops talking for a moment. You tilt your head. As if your reaction was the answer to a question, he exclaims, “Ah. I suppose it is worth mentioning the separate roles stallions and mares play in Marestricht for you to fully understand.”

”Brother Apple Seed,” an earth pony greets as she passes the two of you to the mending burrows.

Apple Seed gives a nod to the mare before he continues, “Mares are expected to hold the more demanding positions of Marestricht, such as maretinets, herdwatchers, and bodymenders. There are many more, but those are the ones you must be familiar with by now.”

Herdwatcher Wheat Graze and Thistlehoof, you can guess are some kind of guard. Body menders are self-explanatory, but you can’t say you know what a maretinet is. You remember that Apple Seed called his sister “Maretinet Apricot Ammil” to Sagebrush.

”Maretinet means fighter,” Apple Seed says at your expression. “They train herdwatchers, punish those who break Marestricht law, and fight off any wild griffons or sky thief raids.” You thank the Ancients above your encounter with Apricot last night didn’t become violent. Apple Seed clears his throat before getting back on topic. “A mare is trained as a, how do you say, Jill of all Trades while young. When mares achieve their cutie mark, that is what determines the role they will follow for the rest of their lives. Since it is their special talent, there have been very few instances in which a mare would disagree with what is assigned to her. A mare’s role is so engrained in their identity that their role’s honorific is to be spoken before their name when being addressed.” As if reading your mind, Apple Seed explains, “Unless if spoken by somepony close to them.” 

“Doesn’t stop anypony from correcting me,” you grumble. “Every time I say your name there’s always some white knightess telling me, ‘Brother Apple Seed.’”

Apple Seed nods at your annoyance. “You must have noticed by now that the only honorific stallions go by is ‘Brother,’” he says. “Or ‘Herdson,’ in the Sachemare’s eyes. We are not designated the same roles as mares. Our jobs are to take responsibility for the herd’s foals, mind the fields, shape the earth around our home…”

Apple Seed trails off once again, taking a step away from another passing earth pony. The earth pony smiles and greets him, and is reciprocated with a demure nod, but it does nothing to improve Apple Seed’s sudden bout of depression. “Stay pure until we choose our foalbearer,” he mumbles ashamedly.

“What?” you can’t help but snap. Anger blossoms in your chest. “That can’t by why you’re acting like this. That’s bullshit! You didn’t choose—"

”Do not feel pity for me, Max Gusto,” Apple Seed interrupts. “How I was treated in the Red Garden is my punishment for being captured.”

Just what can you say to that?

“My blood mother was a body mender before she passed,” Apple Seed continues, signaling the end of his interest discussing the subject. “Fatally wounded during a sky thief raid.”

Your hooves land back on ground. Instead of the resounding clack of connecting with stone, though, it is only the muffled thumb of grass and dirt. You and Apple Seed have reached the top of the stairs.

No knowing what else to do, you simply rest a wing on Apple Seed’s withers. “I didn’t know,” you say.

”There is no need to share condolences,” he affirms, not shrugging off your wing, but giving you a look that sends the same message. You slowly retract your wing, but still steer closer to your friend’s side. “Summer Harvest lived a life helping others. She gave it by telling her mender to spend more resources on the stallion who was wounded beside her. My blood mother no doubt resides in the highest plains of the Eternal Graze. No need to grieve…”

Despite his words, Apple Seed’s gaze hardens. “That is what I told myself after she passed,” he mutters. “I became obsessed with becoming the body mender who took her place. I thought it would be the best way to honor her. The way I threw myself into my studies was that of a mad pony. Apricot Ammil supported me zealously. I will not say she exacerbated the problem because of any kind of malintent, but…” A raise of his cheeks and a sardonic curve of his eyebrows. Apple Seed’s muted version of a dark chuckle. “Well, your run-in with her might have informed you of how passionate she can be.”

Apple Seed’s chuckle fades to silence. “Neither of us properly mourned,” he says. “I recognize that now. We still have not.”

For some reason, the thought of leaving Marestricht to join Anonymous and Lucky Favor once again enters your mind.

You would certainly be doing Apple Seed a favor, leaving him time to mourn with his family and people. And maybe you’d be helping Apricot Ammil as well. Ancients know you can barely stand the sight of another sky thief. You can only imagine how much she’s holding herself back from attacking you.

Apple Seed inhales before letting out a long, forlorn sigh. He averts your gaze, but not quick enough that you don’t catch how… shameful he looks. “When the open position was instead taken by Mender Bountiful Riverside, something inside me snapped. I did not care that she was more qualified than I, nor that she offered to take me under her hoof as her student. I hit her.” Apple Seed stops walking. He turns back to the mending burrows below. You’ve never seen this look on his face before. “She defended herself. Earth stallions are much stronger than earth mares, despite our smaller size. Maybe that’s why she had panicked so much and fought back so hard. Afterwards, I had so little presence of mind in that moment that I ran from Marestricht.”

Apple Seed trails off as he examines the many burrows layering the lower mountainside. You finish his story for him. “And the Red Garden caught you.”

”Mender Bountiful Riverside was blamed,” Apple Seed murmurs. You can see how his muzzle becomes tight with emotion. The white of his eyes gain a shade of red as tears threaten their corners. “Nopony here has said it, but I can see it in the way they treat her. I do not know how Apricot Ammil was able to restrain herself from ending Mender Riverside’s life, but I do know that now, she feels as she has more than enough reason to.”

He takes a moment to wipe away at his eyes before he turns to you. “Now she knows that her older brother is no longer pure. And in Apricot’s eyes, that is Mender Riverside’s fault.”

Your throat goes dry. You have no words. Just the same, suffocating feeling as when you saw Lucky Favor’s reaction to you saying those five words: “Her name was Red Letter.”

These ponies would be better off with you dead, Max Gusto.

…

You’re beginning to think that Apple Seed might very well be able to read minds.

The moment he sees the look on your face, he takes a step forward and wraps his front hooves around you. He pulls you into a hug, but you can’t find it in yourself to return it. Why’s he hugging you? The mangy sky rat who ruins everything? You should be comforting him.

”Max Gusto,” Apple Seed whispers. His voice is laced with a tenderness that stabs at your heart. “Before Apricot Ammil accosted you and Lucky Favor, she was begging me to tell her what had happened. She was sobbing, and I know she believed she had failed her only family. Despite what you may think of her, Apricot Ammil is not a bad pony. She will not break Marestricht law and hurt somepony she was sworn to protect. She places her responsibilities as a maretinet above her vengeful feelings.”

Max Gusto.

If you stay with Apple Seed, you will fall for him.

You know this now.

”Despite this,” Apple Seed continues through your pounding heartbeat and burning face. “I am afraid that if Apricot sees Riverside at the Rejoicement, she may not be able to contain herself.”

Apple Seed pulls away from the hug. You turn so he doesn’t see the fiery blush on your cheeks, using a hoof to wipe and prod at your face in a way you hope he mistakes for pegasus grooming. You know that your lime coat and white mane contrast brilliantly with the red on your cheeks, so he might’ve already gotten a good look at it.

Just worry about un-bucking your buck-up.

“W-what can I do to help?” you ask. “Anything, Apple Seed, and I’ll do it.”

”Brother Apple Seed.”

Oh, Ancients-damnit.

You give a glare at the passing earth pony. Once she sees the look on your face, she gives a brief nod before scurrying off.

…Or she probably saw the blush on your face and turned away to keep from giggling.

”Nothing,” Apple Seed answers, his voice deathly serious. “We can only try and convince Mender Riverside to not attend the Rejoicement… as cruel as it is.”

It is cruel, and the look on Apple Seed’s voice reflects just how much he knows it.

“Okay, well, what if she does show up?” you ask. “What can we do?”

Apple Seed takes his sweet time responding. He turns back to the mending burrows. A soft smile creases his features, making him look much wiser than the young stallion had any right to look. “Mender Riverside not attending the Rejoicement is the safest option. But if what I sensed from Anonymous’ heartbeat before we left is any indication…”

Apple Seed turns to you. Instead of the oppressive shame, blurring his eyes like dark storm clouds, for the first time since you’ve met him you see a glimmer of hope.

“We may not have to do anything at all, Max.”









”Shkalor Wucky Favor!”

You yip from the young earth pony snapping you out of your stupor, which causes precisely three problems. One, you’ve just embarrassed yourself in front of the earth pony mare standing ahead, who gives you a tilt of her head. Thankfully, the evening’s energy is alight with joy, and she only smiles in mild amusement and looks away. Two, Max Gusto giggles unabashedly at your side, and even Tia snuffs out a snicker from atop your withers. You’ve been trying to revamp your uppercaste dignity over the past few days in Marestricht, and it seems like Max just got another humiliating memory to hang over your head.

Three, it makes you feel utterly defeated. Despite the night terrors, you felt like you were really making progress. This just put a dent in your streak of staying calm.

…No, you were making progress, Lucky Favor. Somepony just caught you when you were in a bit of a daze is all.

You turn to find an earth pony filly standing below you, a hoofmade necklace being held between her teeth. You use the term ‘below’ lightly in this case; the filly’s withers reach the bottom of your barrel easily, and she doesn’t even have to crane her neck to meet your eyes. These earth ponies sure are tall. “Hello, little filly,” you greet pleasantly.

“Little,” Max snickers from behind a hoof. “Mm-hmm.”

The earth pony filly approaches you and stands on the tips of her hooves, letting out an adorable strain as she tries to reach the necklace atop your head. You give a warm smile before bowing, letting the filly drape one end of the jewelry above your horn, to rest on the back of your neck. Tia babbles quietly, poking the necklace with a hoof.

The filly clops back down to the ground, beaming at you with a grin so wide the corners almost touch her ears. The torchlights illuminating the Marestricht night reflect off her red eyes brilliantly. 

“This is beautiful,” you assure, giving the filly an elegant bow. “It is much appreciated… big filly.”

”For you, Scholar Lucky Favor!” she laughs. The filly bounds away to meet with the mare who had to be her mother, her hooves clacking on the stone stairs like skipping rocks. The mother gives you a kind smile before she leads her daughter upwards, aimed squarely at the building at the top of the stairs. The stone-and-clay, somewhat short, open-walled building which had been responsible for your sudden daze. 

Orange torches shine brilliantly from within, no different from the many other structures littering the expanse of Marestricht. The main difference between this particular structure and the many others below is that this one resides at the top of the mountainside, overlooking the rest of the earth pony village. Apple Seed himself will be here, surrounded by the ponies closest to him.

The thing is, just a few seconds ago, you saw the tall form of Anonymous briefly peering over the railing before disappearing within. He came to the Rejoicement.

”Oooooh,” Max coos from your side as she hops up another stair, giving the filly on your withers a knowing smile. “Stopping mid-stride when a certain colt is in view? Squeaking like a schoolfilly when somepony snaps her out of it? What could this possibly mean, Tia?”

Tia doesn’t respond verbally, but you’re too humiliated to turn to see how she reacted. You continue your hike up the stairs with a pout on your face. “Purge the thought,” you say definitively. “I am merely appreciating earth pony architecture.”

Max only chuckles. The clamor from within the structure is becoming louder with each step you ascend, pulling you closer to the pleasant evening you know you needed after these last… well, this last month, to be honest.

The mere thought of stroking Max’s ego puts a scowl on your face. Despite this, you can’t say you’re not a tiny bit hopeful that you’d be able to talk with Anonymous honestly tonight. Max told you he’s complied well with his body mender and is now in perfect condition. Would he be in a good mood? What does Anonymous in a good mood look like? Would tonight finally be the night you see him smile genuinely? You can only imagine how handsome he’d look with a gentlecoltly smile on his features.

No, don’t lose focus, Lucky Favor. You will discuss the money situation with Anonymous. You’ve been reciting this in front of a mirror for three days straight. If anything… flirtatious happens, it will be a natural side effect of the flow of the conversation. You will not make a fool of yourself.

…Though, it wouldn’t be too much of a disaster to make a bit of innocent flirting your second priority, would it?

As you finally ascend the last step, the structure’s interior lays splayed before you. It reminds you of an uppercaste castle’s ballroom, but made of earthly materials and without walls. There is a ceiling above, held up by stone pillars around the edges of the structure and fashioned from an amalgamation of dried mud and soil. Besides that, though, there isn’t much else to the structure. What makes it feel so homey must be the occupants.

The gathering is unlike the balls you’ve been to in the uppercastes. Whereas in those, in-grouping being commonplace, the earth ponies here are spread across the stone floor. The only group that’s formed are a few ponies lingering around what looks like a stone tub, scooping the contents from within into gray chalices. It looks like Apple Seed hasn’t arrived yet.

…But it looks like a certain somepony else did, in fact, arrive.

And how splendid his arrival is.

You can feel your heart quicken as you spot Anonymous standing in the corner of the room, leaning against the low railing and holding something small in his hand. His unoccupied arm is at his side, and his gaze is steady as he looks down to something on his left. He isn’t acting defensively at all.

He’s putting his weight on both legs equally. You have to bite the inside of your mouth to keep from grinning like a buffoon.

Equally enthralling as his way of standing, though, is his attire. Anonymous no longer wears his armor. His shirt is the same style as the earth ponies’ casual wear; short sleeves, a soft peachy color, with brown, decorated cuffs and collar. A few necklaces also hang from the tall hyoo-men’s neck. Did he really trust somepony enough to kneel down for them to put those on him?

His previous attire was complimentary to his figure. The clothes underneath hugged his muscles and the leather and stone covered just enough of his figure to leave a modest amount to the imagination. His clothes now, though, hang loose around his body in tasteful modesty. It still doesn’t do much to hide his broad shoulders and the round muscles of his traps and chest. And the way his nearly hairless, muscular arms are just bare for everypony to see—

”You’re drooling.”

You snap your muzzle shut and bring a hoof to inspect it, but it comes up dry. You glare at Max before turning to Tia. “Tia, dear, see this?” you say. “I am most certainly not drooling. A lady never drools. Even if their oafish friend may say otherwise.”

”Whatever you say, tomato face,” Max shrugs, making you realize just how hot your face feels at the moment. You huff and let the cool mountain air chill you down. Max cranes her neck to get a better look at Anonymous, but like you, she can’t see over the heads of the earth ponies. “Hey, why’s he looking off to his left like that?”

Without waiting for permission, Max unfurls her wings and flaps her head above the crowd of earth ponies. A few of them skitter away from her ascension, others just sending passing glares. One or two, you swear, lower their bodies into a battle stance before realizing who it is and relaxing. 

Max raises a foreleg above her eyes in an obnoxiously overdone caricature of a pirate. Whatever she sees, though, wipes the smirk off her face. She clops back to the ground and mutters, “Well, shit…”

You frown. “Such foul language in front of the foal,” you affirm. Max doesn’t react to it, though. Her eyes are wide, and her wings twitch with nervousness. “Max Gusto, dear? What’s wrong?”

”Eh?” Max blinks at your words before her eyes trail away from you. “Oh, uh, nothing. In fact, why don’t you go on and talk to Anonymous? I gotta find Apple Seed. Goodluckanddon’tembarrassyourself--” Max’s speech is slurred as she gallops past you and back into Marestricht. Before you can call out to her, she’s in the air and gliding away. 

You’re worried about your friend, but you know you can’t hope to catch up to her now. You’ll just have to ask her about it when she comes back. She’s been obsessed with getting ready for the Rejoicement all day. There’s no way she’d leave so soon. Still, you can’t help but feel nervous without Max supporting you from the sidelines.

Your mind spins as you turn back to the gathering. You begin your trek into the sea of taller, stronger ponies, aimed squarely at Anonymous at the far corner. The earth ponies around you immediately take notice of your arrival, taking care not to bump into you or, Ancients forbid, step on you. Most give you passing smiles of gratitude. You also get a few “Greetings, Scholar Lucky Favor!”s and even a “Your foal is quite adorable, Scholar Lucky Favor!”, but you otherwise remain unmolested.

As you pass the stone tub, you’re surprised to see that the liquid within is not a dark purple. You had expected it to be wine of some kind. Fermented grapes, or the like. But instead of the recognizable scent of alcoholic beverages, the sweet aroma of a mixture of fruits comes from the auburn liquid, most particularly apples. None of the earth ponies are acting drunk either, but that might be because of the evening’s youth.

You hope the drink isn’t alcoholic. You’re rather thirsty, and Ancients know how sick you are of boiled water.

As you move past the last furry barriers between yourself and Anonymous, your thirst isn’t helped in the slightest. Your throat goes dry as you see the beautiful mare at his side. You aren’t the jealous type; at least, you don’t think you are -- you’re new to this romance stuff. But there’s something about how Anonymous is talking to her so… carefree that riles you up. You recognize the object in his hand to be a stone cup, thoroughly dwarfed in his monstrous paw.

No, Lucky Favor. Be happy for him. He’s in a good mood and talking to somepony. That’s progress, right?

…You can’t remember the last time he was in a good mood when he talked to you.

”Naw-nee!” Tia squeals, hopping off your withers.

“Tia, dear!” you call out, but she’s a quick little filly and is already halfway to the hyoo-men.

Both Anonymous and the mare stop their conversation and turn to the white furball. Your breath hitches as the mare beside Anonymous coos and kneels to greet her, a warm smile on her face. Tia skids to a halt in front of the two. She looks between the mare at your stallion’s side—no, you did not just think that—the mare at Anonymous’ side and Anonymous himself.

Anonymous’ gaze shifts from Tia to you, and now that you’re close to him you notice something different about… everything, being completely honest. But more specifically his mane and beard. Each are much shorter than the last time you’ve seen him, and are much less scraggly. There’s still a certain wildness to his stubble, some of his whiskers sticking out this way and that, but it’s far more contained than before, like that of an adventurer with a gentlecolt’s heart. Anonymous’ mane has also been cut. It no longer sticks out in all directions or gets in his face. It does a splendid job framing his masculine features, and you’re not sure why, but his emerald eyes also seem to sparkle a little more in the orange light.

”Hey, Tia,” Anonymous says with a warmth in his voice you’ve never heard before. His towering height smoothly descends as he leans on his right knee to greet Tia. 

His right knee!

The sight of Anonymous putting his weight on his leg almost brings you to tears. There’s something different about seeing your housecarla healthy up close. When he looks up to you from scritching Tia’s ear and your eyes meet, you feel as if all the tension of the last few days fall from your body.

He’s here. He’s okay. He’s in the best mood you’ve ever seen him in.

”It’s not that bad, is it?” Anonymous asks. He runs the fingers of his free hand through the dark stubble on his face. You realize you may very well have just shed a tear or three. 

“No!” you affirm, quickly raising a foreleg to wipe away at your cheeks. You chuckle nervously. “No, my lord, I was merely shocked! I did not know you, um…”

And then, you say something your younger self swore she’d never, ever say after the fifth romance novel in a row had the exact same quote in it.

“You changed your hair!”

Darnit, Lucky! 

”Yep, unfortunately,” Anonymous sighs. He stands back up to his full height, to the disappointment of a much-disgruntled Tia. He gestures to his vacant side. “Apple Seed isn’t here yet, so we’re just waiting. Come here and be antisocial with us.”

We’re just waiting.

Not I’m.

You hum to drown the “hmph!” that threatens your mouth. You make your way to Anonymous’ side, leaving Tia to follow you. You turn and sit on your haunches, facing the Rejoicement.

You feel so safe at his side. Despite the context, you can’t fight your lips as they slowly curl into a content smile. Anonymous is right here, at your side. Tia is right there, playing with the laces on Anonymous’ footwear, nopony giving her a second glance. The pleasant sound of jovial ponies, clopping on stone, and the sloshing of the liquid in the tub fill your ears. The cool mountain breeze curls around your coat and mane. There isn’t a thing about this scene you would change.

…Well, there is one thing. One particular mauve mare, standing on the other side of Anonymous, and oh dear Ancients above SHE’S TRYING TO START HER CONVERSATION WITH HIM UP AGAIN! SHE DIDN’T EVEN INTRODUCE HERSELF!

You crane your head to get a good look at Anonymous face, unsure of precisely what to say, until you see a thin line of peach skin in his stubble.

“Anonymous, dear!” you gasp. “Did you cut yourself while shaving?”

Anonymous gives a long, drawn-out sigh, scratching the thin scar. How much did it hurt when it happened, you wonder? Though, Anonymous’ pain tolerance is a thing to behold by now…

”I offered to help Brother Anonymous with his preparations for the Rejoicement,” the mare says as she leans from behind Anonymous’ leg to meet your eyes. “But he declined.”

“Even after he cut himself?” you ask suspiciously.

”Especially after Brother Anonymous cut himself.”

Well, at least she isn’t immune to Anonymous’ stubbornness.

”Took me months to grow that beard,” Anonymous mumbles under his breath. “Good thing pony razors are built for furry faces. I got to keep the stubble. A pain to use, though.”

Anonymous’ face turns to the mare by his side, who meets his gaze. You’re about to say something before she does – “I never knew you preferred facial hair to being clean shaven, Anonymous, please tell me more!” – but whatever look the two of them share seems to spur her to action.

”Oh!” she exclaims. “I apologize. I am not experienced with social interaction. Greetings, Scholar Lucky Favor!”

She trots from Anonymous’ side to meet you head-on. Tia tilts her head as her eyes dart from the mare to Anonymous, bemused. 

”I am Mender Bountiful Riverside,” Riverside says as she extends a hoof. “I am the body mender who was assigned to Brother Anonymous by Sachemare Sagebrush’s order. The Ancient Lady of Comradery smiles upon our meeting.”

You meet her hoof with your own, barely eking out a cheerful smile. She’s the one who helped Anonymous. You can at least try to be civil.

Ancients above, why is this even difficult for you? She’s done nothing wrong! Get a grip, Lucky Favor.

“Ah,” you say as you shake hooves. “Yes. Pleasure to meet you as well. And thank you for helping my housecarla.”

Your hoof’s momentum suddenly comes to a dead stop. Riverside blinks slowly. “Brother Anonymous is your housecarla?” she asks, her voice low.

What?

Without knowing what to say, you look to Anonymous with a pleading scrunch.

”I didn’t know how much you were comfortable with out in the open,” he shrugs. He grabs Riverside’s attention with a tap of his foot on her side and says, “But yeah, I’m her housecarla.”

You’re sure news spread quickly around Marestricht that Anonymous is your housecarla, so why is she acting surprised? Wouldn’t somepony have told her already, like a friend or co-worker?

Riverside pouts, retracting her hoof from your own. Her voice is eerily low as she says, “The Ancient Lady of Chivalry frowns upon your decision to put him in danger, Scholar Lucky Favor.”

”She gets enough of that from herself,” Anonymous says with a slightly harder nudge to Riverside’s side. She winces, backing off from you. You give Anonymous a grateful smile, only to find that he’s still looking at Riverside. “Hey, why don’t you go do that thing we talked about?”

The fire in Riverside’s eyes quell. Her ears fall flat to her skull as she looks off into the crowd. And then, she says, “I feel safer with you, Brother Anonymous.”

EXCUSE YOU?!

Tia’s jaw drops.

Oblivious to the two white ponies’ shock, Anonymous’ face turns into a contemplative frown. “Riverside…” he says in a warning tone. Or was it comforting? It’s so hard to tell with him. Or maybe it isn’t.

It’s kind of hard to think of anything else besides what the royal buck is happening between these two.

”Aren’t you Apple Seed’s friend?” Riverside whispers dejectedly.

”I owe him a lot, true,” Anonymous says, for some reason giving you a glance. “But you weren’t in the wrong, Riverside. And he’s back now, so it’s fine. Now go on.” 

Riverside seems to take solace in Anonymous’ words. She gives a determined nod before taking one step toward the crowd and away from you and Anonymous… before promptly freezing.

Come on!

Anonymous once again meets your eyes. He gives a sigh, as if you would understand the first thing he was alluding to. Then, he sets his stone cup on the railing behind him, takes a step toward Riverside, and reaches down to pat her on the head.

WHAT?!

Riverside’s ears twitch at his touch. Besides that, the expression on her face is a mystery as she’s turned away from you. By the All-Father’s grave, she better not be blushing.

Without turning to confirm your suspicions or saying another word, Riverside trots forward and is engulfed by the crowd of ponies. Anonymous makes his way back to your side, careful to step over a nearly comatose Tia, before he settles back into his spot. He grabs his cup from the railing and takes a sip.

”Riverside’s more autistic than me, if you can believe it,” Anonymous says with a shrug. “Had to give her a kick in the butt.”

Oh no, mister. You’re not just… doing that and not explaining some things! How familiar is he with this Bountiful Riverside? Have the two of them met before?

No, he wouldn’t have been able to meet with an earth pony alone. Still, just why… Why is he closer to her than he is you?

That thought stabs through your heart like a rusted sword.

No, he’s not closer to her! There has to be a reason!

“Anonymous, dear,” you ask hesitantly. “Did you… know Riverside before?”

Anonymous tilts his head. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“Before you met me, I mean,” you elaborate. “I, um… suppose we don’t actually know each other very well. We haven’t had much time to talk about much else besides… well.” Anonymous’ eyes are unreadable as he looks away. Hastily, you finish, “Oh, I’m just curious if you’ve met Riverside before we arrived in Marestricht a few days ago! It’s just that the two of you seem rather… tactile for acquaintances. Even more unusual for you to be tactile with anypony.”

That doesn’t get a good reaction from Anonymous. You’re helpless to stop him as he retracts just a little bit more into himself. “No,” he answers neutrally. “I just met her a few days ago.”

No, don’t lose your progress, Lucky! Ease off!

Swallowing your curiosity, you decide against bringing Riverside up again. Even if you know the two of them won’t stop nagging at the back of your mind for the rest of the night, you don’t want Anonymous to feel uncomfortable. Not tonight. 

Tonight is the Rejoicement. Anonymous is healed. Tia is here. For the first time in a long while, you have a chance to let your guard down. Don’t ruin this, Lucky Favor.

“It is odd, seeing you out of your usual armor,” you decide on saying. You steal a glance at the horseshoe-shaped  muscle on the back of his arm as he leans on the railing.

”They’re working on a new set,” Anonymous sighs. “The old armor was destroyed during the weird, earth-voodoo bullshit that fixed my leg. Needed some new gear, anyways.” 

“No, no. I didn’t mean it as your concerned employer, I am merely saying that it is nice, seeing you wear casual clothes.”

The fact that Anonymous looks genuinely surprised at your compliment makes you want to lurch forward and give him a hug, but you refrain. “Y-you too,” he murmurs before taking sip of his drink which finishes it off.

You can’t help but puff your tuft out in pride. Sure, the casual earth pony garments weren’t uppercaste by any means, but you’d be lying if you said the light colors didn’t accentuate your eyes and mane. They also contrast nicely with the supplies bag hanging off your hip. Why, you’d be forgiven for mistaking yourself for an experienced adventurer! 

If only you could’ve convinced Max to put on something for the night as well, instead of dawdling about in the nude.

When Anonymous returns the stone cup to his side, you take a sniff of it. Just like last time, you can only smell the aroma of a sweet fruit orchard, with an emphasis on apples. “Is this alcoholic, Anonymous?” you ask.

”Couldn’t tell you,” Anonymous shrugs. “Pony alcohol doesn’t really affect me. It tastes good, though.”

You hold back a titter. You didn’t take Anonymous to be the proud type, denying his colty alcohol tolerance to your face. The drinks probably aren’t alcoholic, if he can drink them with a straight face.

…This is nice.

A new group of ponies enters the Rejoicement. Among them is Sachemare Sagebrush herself. As if her eyes are gravitated to your and Anonymous’ location, she spots you and gives a smile and a nod. You return the gesture before Sagebrush’s gaze land on Tia. 

Tia’s wings flutter at the Sachemare’s attention. Sagebrush lowers herself to the ground, her eyes never leaving the filly, before she reaches out with a hoof in a booping motion. Tia squeaks out, “No boop!” as she flaps her wings. Sagebrush giggles before entering the sea of ponies, out of sight.

You’re surprised to see Apple Seed finally entering the structure, Max Gusto by his side as she says something into his ear. Apricot Ammil is also by him, but you’re not going to let that mare ruin your night. You can easily avoid her. You’re fine just where you are.

Anonymous is being himself with you. You’re okay not admitting your budding feelings for him tonight. You just want to hear him talk. Not mumble, or shout, or scream… just talk.

Yeah, this is nice.

…

Your budding feelings for him? So you admit it, Lucky Favor?

Oh, fine. 

Yes, you might have a teensy crush on Anonymous. But what do you have to be ashamed about? It’s completely natural for a warm-blooded mare to have not-so-platonic feelings about the handsome male who’s been by her side for the last few days. 

Last few days…

Your blood runs cold as you’re reminded of your lack of doits. You need to tell him, Lucky Favor. You’re only making it more painful, procrastinating like this.

You suck in a large serving of oxygen before you close your eyes and announce, “Anonymous, there is an urgent matter I need to discuss with you.”

”Stay here.”

“Your payment—huh?” You stop talking once Anonymous’ words register. You open your eyes to see Anonymous’ stone cup clatter to the ground. He’s walking forwards, careful to not step on Tia. 

Somepony is shouting from within the crowd.

“Anonymous—?” you start, but he interrupts you.

”I mean it.” There’s that coldness that made his voice unrecognizable after Tia first called him Dadda. You freeze where you are, only watching as he pushes mares to the side on his approach to the small gathering of ponies that has formed in the middle of the floor.

Apple Seed is between Riverside and Apricot Ammil. The charcoal mare is staring daggers at the body mender, pushing against her older brother’s strength futilely. 

”For what Ancients-forsaken reason is she here?” Apricot growls venomously, her voice silencing the rest of the guests in an instant. The other earth ponies stay well away from the trio, as if it was a magical bomb prepped to explode. 

Riverside cowers from Apricot, even if Apple Seed is whispering something harshly to his sister.

Anonymous is almost there. 

”I apologize, Maretinet Apricot Ammil,” Riverside almost whispers. “I did not wish to intrude. I only—"

”YOU ARE INTRUDING, MENDER RIVERSIDE!” Apricot explodes. Her voice could cut through solid steel. “Attending the Rejoicement was already selfish of you. But thinking you are allowed on the same floor as Apple Seed?”

You see Sachemare Sagebrush push to the front of the onlookers. When she sees what’s happening, though, she makes no move to interfere. She only watches discernibly. 

”Apricot Ammil!” Apple Seed exclaims—if you could even use the word ‘exclaim’ after what Apricot just did. “Control yourself. Every Marestrichtian is allowed to attend the Rejoicement.”

”No, Maretinet Apricot Ammil is correct,” Riverside whimpers. She bows her head before starting for the exit. “I should not be here. I will be going-- eep!”

Riverside’s path is interrupted by Anonymous’ leg. He stands tall between Riverside and the open air of Marestricht, like a protective guardian. Without saying a word, he gives her a small nod before adding another body between Apricot and Riverside. He crosses his arms, his forearm muscles bulging and striating against his chest, and scowls at the dark mare.

”All I'm saying is you never know when somepony else might swoop in and nab him.”

Apricot returns Anonymous’ scowl. “Your size does not intimidate me, Brother Anonymous,” she says. “Do not get in my way.”

“Stay, Tia,” you whisper. Tia only gives a shaky nod. You begin to slowly make your way to Anonymous. Magical energy begins to be redirected to your horn.

”You would hurt a stallion, Apricot Ammil?” Apple Seed asks.

Apricot doesn’t relent in the least, though. She snaps to her brother, “Why not?! Mender Riverside has no quarrel with it!”

Your hooves come to a halt. Of course Riverside would be at fault here. Ancients above, you just…

…What? Hate her? For being a friend to Anonymous? Because Apricot Ammil of all ponies insulted her?

”Maretinet Apricot Ammil is right,” Riverside says again, so quietly you can barely hear her. “I would like to leave, please. I do not deserve to socialize. Please let me leave, Brother Anonymous. This was not a good plan…”

You scowl at yourself. She’s not a bad pony. You’re just being jealous and looking for every opportunity to blame her. You take your next step aimed at Anonymous’ side.

”Nope,” Anonymous says simply, taking another step between Riverside and the exit. When she tries to dodge him, he once again reaches down and places a hand on her mane. Riverside’s ear twitches at his touch, and she stops moving.

Anonymous somehow finds your eyes through the crowd. He very slowly raises one authoritative finger. The look on his face says it all. “I said stay.”

Your throat feels like sandpaper. It hurts to gulp nervously at his glare. Still, you comply, slowing your hoofsteps to a stop. The magic building in your horn relents to nothing.

”Apricot Ammil, Mender Riverside defended herself,” Apple Seed pleads. “I was young and stupid and attacked her, and she defended herself. I ran. It is my fault the Red Garden captured me.” He turns fully towards his sister. Even if she’s younger than him, her marely size ensures that the two are still about the same height. Apple Seed uses a hoof to redirect her face from Riverside to his own. “I am back now, blood sister. It is over.”

”It is not over until she pays,” Apricot snarls. Her glare snaps back to Riverside. “Until all of Marestricht knows just what she is responsible for. Until everypony knows it’s her fault you—"

”If you finish that sentence, Apricot Ammil, you will never see me again.”

Apricot’s muzzle snaps shut. It takes a moment for what Apple Seed just said to fully register. She seems to be playing it over and over again in her mind as she slowly turns to her older brother. There’s a deep, indescribable panic in her eyes.

”I will leave Marestricht when the others do tomorrow,” Apple Seed continues. “When Scholar Lucky Favor and her group departs from Marestricht, I will go with them, and you will never see me again. Unless you purge what you are thinking of saying to Tartarus right now.”

Despite the hurricane of emotions that play out on Apricot’s frozen face, you can’t help but focus on Anonymous’ hand as he idly begins to stroke Riverside’s mane, careful not to disturb the white and purple bun atop her head. 

Max Gusto takes a step forward at Apple Seed’s news, a look of… terror on her face? 

Apricot finally gets a hold of herself. She scowls deeply, beginning to turn her glare back to Riverside until she stops midway. She merely bows her head, glaring at nothing in particular. “If I had known what was happening in that place,” Apricot whispers hoarsely. “I would not have let Sachemare Sagebrush stop me. I would not have rested until I found the Red Garden by myself and slaughtered every piece of unicorn filth who had hurt you. I would have made sure Mender Bountiful Riverside was punished tenfold.” Her apricot eyes are tinged red with tears, but she uses every ounce of willpower to not let any fall. Apricot Ammil looks up to her brother with a pleading glare. “Why do you deny yourself justice, blood brother? You will never be whole because of this mare.”

Apple Seed doesn’t retract from Apricot’s glare. He rests his forelegs on her shoulders. “I am whole, blood sister,” he says simply.

Apricot shakes with barely held-down emotion. Still, she doesn’t say a word as Apple Seed pulls her into a tender embrace, resting his chin on the top of her brown mane.

”Mender Bountiful Riverside,” Apple Seed says. Riverside freezes at his voice. “I do not blame you. Neither should anypony else here.”

Riverside doesn’t react.

Slowly, the atmosphere lightens. Apple Seed begins to pull away from Apricot Ammil, but the mare suddenly reaches forward and pulls him back into a tighter hug, burying her face in his chest. Sachemare Sagebrush remains stoic as she looks on, even as the rest of the onlookers begin to resume their festivities. Some come to join the embrace; you recognize Herdwatchers Wheat Graze and Thistlehoof among the ones who hug Apple Seed.

Riverside says something to Anonymous too quiet to make out over all the newfound noise. Anonymous nods at her request and relinquishes his hand from her mane. Sachemare Sagebrush approaches Riverside before she can leave, though, and says in that commanding voice of hers, “If you still wish to leave, I will escort you home, Mender Bountiful Riverside.”

Riverside squeaks at Sagebrush’s proximity. She stutters, “S-Sachemare Sagebrush, I would never want to impose—!”

”Nonsense, Mender Bountiful Riverside. I will escort you home, and we will talk. At length.”

Anonymous steps aside as the two mares leave. As the hyoo-men passes the dissipating crowd of hugging ponies on his way back to you, he scratches his beard, turning head his away from the sight, as if that’d make him any less noticeable.

”Thank you, Brother Anonymous!” Apple Seed calls out. Anonymous frowns at the recognition, holding up his hands passively.

”I literally just stood around,” he says, but Apple Seed isn’t done embarrassing him yet.

”I knew you had a good heart!”

”Holy Hell, at least ask my ass to dinner before you start kissing it.”

You chortle as you return to your spot by the corner, Tia still waiting for you. She seems to have gotten herself a drink from the juice tub over there.

Wait.

Anonymous just told a joke?

The thought plasters your face with a stupid grin, and you put an extra pip to your step as you approach Tia.

Tia doesn’t share you enthusiasm, though. “Momma?!” she asks urgently. Before you can chide her, she points a hoof in Anonymous’ direction. “Momma, Dadda?!”

You frown. You’re happy Anonymous isn’t here yet to see the scarlet on your cheeks. “No, Tia,” you say. “Where did you even get that idea in the first place?”

Tia doesn’t pout, which is what you were expecting. Instead, a mischievous smirk you’d expect on the face of a certain green pegasus lands on her muzzle. “Momma coward,” she says with a twinkle in her eyes.

She raises the cup to her lips, but you’re quicker. In a swift movement, you take the stone cup from her and put it to your own lips. You drink it all in one gulp. When you’re done, the pout on Tia’s face makes the burning in your throat all the more worth it.

…Huh. That’s weird. You’ve never had apple juice that burnt before.

”Jesus Christ, that was awkward,” Anonymous voice reverberates deep through your loins. You squeak, turning to find that the hyoo-men has arrived at your side. 

You’re not sure what to say, truth be told. With him so close to you right now, all you can think about is how tall he is… How tall he was when he was protecting Riverside.

He should’ve been protecting you…

“You look much more imposing with both legs working,” you say, shaking the jealous thoughts from your mind.

Anonymous snorts. “Feel much more imposing as well. Though it’s a little harder with these giant-ass earth ponies.” He tilts his head, sticking a hand out over your horn. You don’t shy away from his touch, even if you know all it’d take for him to put you in a whole lot of pain is to suddenly smack down. “Or are the earth ponies just regularly sized, and it’s the unicorns who are short?”

You huff, stomping a hoof onto the hard stone. Tia giggles, but you won’t satisfy her with a glare. “Earth ponies make up a third of the pony population,” you inform. “And pegasi and unicorns are roughly the same height. Earth ponies are the odd ones out. And I am adequately sized, thank you very much—Oh. Were you teasing me just then, dear?”

”I’m gonna do you a favor and not answer that.”

Anonymous sure is a lot more… sassy when he’s being himself. Not in the normal, stallion whimsy you’ve heard so much about. But more like a lowercastemare, giving as good as she can take.

Without a comeback ready, you simply turn back to the Rejoicement. The crowd around Apple Seed has dispersed enough to let the stallion and his sister intermingle with the rest of the guests. The room almost seems to sway gently as the Rejoicement resumes in full swing. Max Gusto’s stupid, smug face is giving you the stupidest, smuggest smirk from across the room as she wriggles her eyebrows at you.

FINE!

“Anonymous, dear?” you ask, gaining the hyoo-men’s attention. “…I, um, am familiar with the most unfortunate reality that you and I are rather unacquainted. And… it is with an uneasy reluctance that I admit our time together has not been particularly pleasant. Not that the unfortunate events passed are of any fault of your own! Needless to say, besides that time you…”

Burnt my drawing.

The prickles of anger in your chest almost frighten you with their severity. Is it getting hotter in here? “N-nevermind. At any rate, the relevant essence of my verbal meandering is that notwithstanding our miniscule and admittedly unpleasant time together, I…” 

You clear your throat. Ancients above, your head is fuzzy right now.

“Let me start over,” you recede. “Anonymous, dear… my lord… I understand this may be a rather unusual request, but…” You take a deep breath, clenching your eyes shut. The world stops spinning enough for you to finally say, “Would you like to dance? I know this isn’t that kind of party, but it reminds me of the uppercastes, and I’d ever so enjoy it! As a celebration of… well, not being dead.”

Instead of answering, Anonymous snorts sardonically. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, my lady.”

He thinks you’re bashing his jobs as a housecarla?! That not being dead is cause for celebration?!

“No, I didn’t mean it like that!” you shout, and Ancients above, it hurts to shout. You won’t be doing that again. “You’ve been doing your job splendidly, keeping me from being dead.”

”Lucky, I’m teasing you,” Anonymous says with a tantalizing upward twitch of his lips. He turns back to the Rejoicement, letting out a drawn out sigh before he responds sheepishly, “I, uh, can’t really dance.”

“What?!” you squeak. “Don’t be ridiculous! You must know how to dance! You are… good with your body!”

”That’s what she said.”

The nerve on this colt!

You stomp your hoof in your second display of uppercaste ladyhood of the night. “You know what I mean! You are skilled with your appendages! You’re a martial artist! You have a good mind-body connection! You must also be good at dancing! How different can the two be?”

”Trust me, Lucky, they’re different.”

You harumph, turning away. Fine, if the colt wants to be difficult. It was a stupid idea anyways. The two of you would probably look ridiculous, dancing at a party without music. You’d look like a pair of two drunk idiots, waltzing like—

All-Mother’s ethereal ponut, that drink was alcoholic, wasn’t it?

Your blood runs cold at the realization. 

Not so much at the fact that you had just drunk alcohol. Not so much at the fact that Tia almost drank it, or even the fact that Anonymous has the alcohol tolerance of an ox. 

It’s because you’ve just realized you got drunk after just one cup.

The sound of necklaces jingling together and clothes rustling catches your ears. You turn back to Anonymous to see him awkwardly bouncing on his feet, giving you a deadpan expression that does not at all fit with his actions. “What are you doing?” you ask.

”I’m dancing,” he responds seriously. “Told you I can’t do it.”

“This is dancing?”

”To my people, this the Bounce of the Wallflower.”

You laugh.

You laugh the hardest you’ve ever laughed since you can remember. Your unladylike guffaws fill the floor, and you’re pretty sure ponies are staring at you right about now – you know for a fact Max is staring at you – but you don’t care. You double over, leaning against Anonymous’ leg for support. He doesn’t pull away. 

His leg, which was so damaged days ago, holds you firm.

Your laughter teeters out to a few errant giggles before you smile contently. “Anonymous?” you ask. “You usually don’t like being touched.”

Anonymous’ leg stops bouncing.

“Why did you touch Riverside so much?” you ask. “Petting her mane like that…”

You want to be pet like that.

Anonymous is silent for a moment before he responds, “Touching and being grabbed are two different things.”

“Like dancing and fighting?” You’re proud of yourself for making the connection. You’re a smart little pony.

”Mm-hmm,” Anonymous agrees quietly.

“Hey, Anonymous?” you titter. “It’s becoming quite difficult to stand. Can you pick me up to keep me steady?”

It isn’t that hard to stand just yet, but you can never be too careful… Oh, who are you kidding, you want to be picked up again. Like that time in Plumsteed. That was nice. Well, before everything went to Tartarus. Hey, why hasn’t Anonymous responded yet?

Just as you’re about to get after the hyoo-men, you feel two warm appendages grip you from your sides. Tia’s eyes light up as you’re picked up in Anonymous’ arms. Once he settles you against his chest, you tower over all the earth ponies of the floor. Max Gusto’s jaw drops from the other side of the room. You’re too busy reveling in Anonymous’ warmth to stick your tongue out at her, but you definitely would have.

Is it just you, or is Anonymous’ chest shaking somewhat…?

Ah, it’s probably just you. 

“The room’s spinning, dear,” you say. The room isn’t actually spinning, but it could start spinning any second now! “Can you hold me closer?”

”Faust,” Anonymous whispers. There’s an edge to his voice that gives you pause, but that’s when a stray thought comes into your mind. 

A plan of action.

The ends justify the means, Lucky Favor!

“Oh, don’t be a prude,” you say as you tap your hoof on his chest. “I feel like I might fall at any second.”

Anonymous shifts the back of your head to the crux of his arm as he uses that hand to bat away your hoof. “Faust, stop,” he says sternly. “I’m not that stupid.”

No! Don’t let this moment slip!

It’s perfect!

Riverside might have a head start on you now, but this’ll show her!

“Now how about you kiss me?” you blurt out before you can stop it.

Anonymous’ eyes cringe and glare, as if looking at something revolting. The room actually does spin as he sets you back down onto the ground, not bothering to flip you back to your hooves. Before he turns and starts walking through the crowd toward the exit, you see how his lips and cheeks twitch without direction.

“Anonymous?” you ask as you scramble to your hooves. “Anon!”

”Dadda?” Tia calls out.

Quick as a whip, Anonymous turns and points a hooked finger at the filly. “I swear to fucking Christ,” Anonymous snarls, but he suddenly stops.

Anonymous’ dagger-like glare dulls when he realizes it’s Tia he’s talking to. He’s frozen as the alicorn filly slowly reacts to what he had just said. Her wings slump to her side and she turns away. She can’t even say a simple “Sorry” without convulsing with the first sob of many.

Anonymous opens his mouth to say something. Nothing comes, and it slowly closes without making a noise. His eyes scream at him to say something to Tia. You hope for nothing more than for him to approach Tia and give her the warmest hug of her life. He might’ve done it, too, if his gaze didn’t suddenly latch onto you.

He gives you the same look he gave Red Letter. 

Without another word, he suddenly turns and pushes through the earth ponies to the exit.

Ancients-damnit, Lucky, get him!

You struggle to crawl your way over to Tia. Once you do get to her, you wrap her into your hooves and search the room for Max. She’s the only one here you can trust to watch over Tia. By the Ancients, Anonymous is almost at the exit! You’ll lose him!

”Lucky!” an urgent voice says from behind. You yip and twirl around to come face-to-face with just the pegasus you’ve been looking for, but the look on her face is anything but the cocky smirk of your friend. “I saw the whole thing,” Max says, holding her hooves out. “I’ll watch over Tia. Don’t let him get away.”

You can barely stop the emotion from showing in your voice as you blurt out, “Thank you! Thank you so much!” You hastily hoof over your precious cargo. “And don’t let her drink the juice!”

Tia doesn’t fight it as Max holds her to her chest. She only sniffles, mumbling two recognizable words to herself.

“You’re not a bad mare, Tia,” you assure before turning tail and bolting.

It’s becoming harder to keep your balance, but it helps to keep your eyes glued to the exit of the structure. You bump into a few earth ponies on the way, but they either barely notice or ask you if you need assistance. You give both types the same amount of aloofness. 

After what feels like the most nauseating walk of your life, you’re in the cool Marestricht air, at the top of the stairs. Below you is Anonymous, easily twenty paces ahead of you and not showing any signs of slowing.

“Anonymous!” you shout. He visibly flinches from your voice. When he turns to see you hastily making your way down to him, he grimaces before resuming his descent. “You better not leave me here, Mister!”

”Fuck off!” is the response you get.

You huff. Your hoof slips on a step and you almost tumble, but you’re able to stop yourself. “Anonymous, it really is getting harder to stand!”

Anonymous curses, but your words have a slowing effect on him. His green eyes glare at you through the darkness as he crosses his arms.

“Why is it—” you begin before stopping yet another nasty fall before it ruins your night further. “—Why is it that every time I think you and I are finally bonding, it ends up like this?!”

Anonymous doesn’t respond. He only turns away from you, leaning over the railing overlooking the whole of Marestricht. 

As you clop down the last few steps to be at Anonymous’ side, your filter has completely disappeared. “No, really!” you hound relentlessly. Anonymous doesn’t react, only bowing his head over the railing. “I have spent so much energy trying to befriend you! I got you out of Plumsteed! I have been nothing but kind to you! I’m paying you a small fortune, and what do you do in return?! You burn my drawing! You don’t sleep in the bed I spend an hour making with bucking LEAVES! Do you know how hard leaves are to magically infuse?! They’re so—” Not knowing exactly the gesture you’re supposed to be making, you just throw your hooves in the air and shake them violently. “BRITTLE! And you act so distant! You act more distant to me than you do with that Bountiful Riverside! And how long have you known her?!” You’re panting by now, but you’re not hyperventilating. “And you know what, Anonymous? I can handle all of your nasty bitterness! I know you don’t trust me, or any mare, and I know I may very well never overcome that! But what I cannot handle is how you—” You rear up on your hindlegs and give Anonymous’ side a jab with each syllable: “are! Treating! TIA!" With a blunder of disorganized clops, you're back on all fours. "That filly adores you, and you're treating her like some... conniving little thing! You and I both know she doesn't fully know what the word 'dad' means!"

Anonymous doesn’t respond to your hoof digging into his side. His posture is slumped over the railing, his head bowed and his hands clasped together so tightly they’re devoid of his peach color. Did he not hear you? Are you seriously going to have to repeat that all again?! Ancients-damnit, why did you hire such a… COLT to be your housecarla?! And how are you developing feelings for this brute?!

”She was my friend before she did it,” Anonymous murmurs shakily. 

What is he even talking about?! You’re on the verge of exploding at the hyoo-men once more, but it’s then that he iterates, “Red Letter.”

Your breathing slows. Anonymous still hasn’t looked at you, but he isn’t completely turned away from you. You can still see how the Marestricht lights reflect off his pained eyes like a broken mirror. His body rocks back and forth like a slow, dead seesaw.

”You’re right that we don’t know much about each other,” Anonymous says in a low whisper. “You don’t know how I got here.”

With a grunt and a hop, your forelegs are also draped across the railing just beside Anonymous’ arms. “That can change right here, Anonymous,” you push. “Nopony is stopping you from talking to me.”

Anonymous’ eyes drift downward before he shakes his head slowly. “If I told you, it’d be when you’re sober. All you need to know is that it was so bad Red Letter took me off the streets.”

Anonymous’ face flexes and twitches as if he were in pain. His voice is eerily soft, not at all reflecting the anger you see in his emerald orbs. “Red Letter acted like my friend before she did it, Lucky Favor. It almost happened again, at the Red Garden. And you just asked me to kiss you while drunk.”

For a brief moment, the spinning of the world stops entirely. The buzzing in your head and the sway in your posture no longer cloud your senses. It’s just you and the unbearable feeling of guilt deep in your stomach.

You were right about alcohol turning mares into brutes. You’ll never touch it again. But you know you can’t fully blame your actions on what you drank. Bountiful Riverside was the catalyst, and the alcohol just sped things up, but you can’t deny what you did.

“I’m not Red Letter,” is all you can say. Your voice is barely above a whisper.

”Sometimes it feels like everyone’s Red Letter,” Anonymous breathes, stabbing your heart. His voice breaks with emotion as he talks. He reacts to it instantly, giving an aberrant sniff before wiping his nose with a flick of his hand. “That came out wrong. Forget I said that.”

Anonymous pushes off the railing and once again turns away from you. A harrowing, nearly paralyzing thought spreads through your mind and infects every follicle on your body. You don’t even know if it’s true, but it’s enough to spur you into action.

If you let Anonymous leave now, he may never let anypony get this close again. 

“Anonymous, stop!” you plead. Anonymous doesn’t bat away your hoof when you reach for him. 

”Look, we can just pretend that never happened,” Anonymous insists. You can hear a faint glimmer of panic in his voice as he tries to pull away. You’re not doing much better.

“Please, just for a few minutes!” you cry out. “L-let me draw you!”

You have no idea if you can draw in this state. It was a slip of the tongue more than anything. But your notebook is at your hip, so you have no reason to back out now. Your horn glows, enveloping your bag in a cyan light. Yes, this is quite the magnificent backdrop. The moonlight and the torches reflect off Anonymous’ muscular figure perfectly, and his casual wear adds a rustic, yet dignified flare to earth pony culture. You can use this to finish that night scene whose subject you hadn’t yet decided on! Now, if only the world can stop spinning for two seconds.

”Faust, you can barely stand,” Anonymous says sternly. “Please just let me—”

“No!” you yell out, grabbing at your notebook in the air. “No, please just cross your arms, there! It can be just like after we left Plumsteed! We can talk while I draw!”

”I just want to be alone.”

“Please don’t leave me! I know I can’t pay you anymore! I know every time we interact it ends up like this, but I can’t--!” 

You pause.

Can’t what? Can’t survive without him? Can’t bear losing him? Can’t help but feel safer in his arms than anywhere else on Equus?

No, none of these are right. You can’t think anymore.

And then, in one moment, your entire psychology shifts as you realize what you just let slip.

Anonymous remains silent. Your eyes stay glued to the notebook’s cover. You slowly levitate the book close to your forehead to hide your face from the hyoo-men.

You hold back tears as you blearily sit on your haunches. You didn’t tell Anonymous cordially. You didn’t attempt to strike a new deal with Anonymous. You just… let the subject of the doit shortage slip out in a drunken rambling.

He has no reason to trust you anymore. No reason to stay. You’re just another needy mare who can’t keep a level head and only needed one measly drink to come onto him and prove his paranoia right.

Don’t cry, Lucky Favor.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

All-Mother above, please give you strength to not cry. Please at least be dignified as Anonymous leaves you.

You scowl stubbornly. Your horn glows and your bag is opened, and you deposit your notebook back into the intraflated space, but nothing works. Despite all your efforts and distractions, tears fall.

Are you just cursed, Lucky Favor? Is this the Ancients’ way of punishing you for some horrible misdeed you must’ve done but can’t remember? Can you not even have one pleasant night?

Anonymous’ legs move closer to you. You can’t look up to meet his eyes. You only glower, turning your head away from him. Once he’s by your side, you hear him grunt as he sits beside you. You begin to mumble something uncouth or self-pitying, you’re not sure, before you stop.

You feel something warm settle on top of your head.

Your heart skips a beat. You turn back to the hyoo-men to see that his right arm is extended, laying a hand on your mane. Anonymous still doesn’t look at you. His eyes are creased and narrowed as he glares at the ground, but the way his hand begins to draw slow, gentle circles in your mane contrast with his aloof demeanor. 

You’re not sure how much time passes, just the two of you sitting there under the night sky. It becomes harder and harder to fight the smile before it engulfs your features. Anonymous works his fingers into your mane, switching between massaging your fur, scratching your scalp, and even giving your ear scritches. 

”Ten doits a day,” Anonymous says, piercing through the comfortable silence.

You sniffle, wiping at your face before you turn to the hyoo-men. “Pardon?” you ask.

”I already knew about the doits,” he murmurs. “…and I don’t care. That’ll be enough for us to reach Equestria, right? I’ll be your housecarla for ten doits a day.”

“Y—” you start, unsure if you want to embrace the hyoo-men or smack him into whatever country he came from before he met Red Letter. “A-absolutely not! That is unacceptable! It’s…” You grapple with an invisible opponent with your hooves. “Well, it’s less than what you’re worth! FAR less! What will I do with all the leftovers?!”

”New armor. Supplies. Excess amounts of money isn’t usually something people complain about.”

“Well, it’s something I complain about!” You stomp your hoof, giving Anonymous your most serious glare. He, in turn, gives you one that cements his decision without so much as a word. The two of you stay like that for a second, until it becomes apparent who holds the more convincing gaze. “Well, then, fine! I’ll use one 600 doit bag for supplies and armor! But the other one will be spent on something for you!”

”Alright, then. Buy something nice for Tia.”

You blink out of your aghast arguing. Anonymous’ posture slumps, and his eyes narrow, but not in a suspicious way. It’s in a shameful, pleading manner that tugs at your heart. “Lucky,” he says. “Just consider it my way of apologizing for all the nasty shit I did to you and Tia. Please just accept it.”

Anonymous looks away. He opens his mouth to say something, but decides against whatever he had ready. He shakes his head, letting out a sardonic chuckle as he cups his forehead with his left hand. Anonymous draws his knees close to his chest to rest his elbow on them. “Faust,” he whispers, his voice almost breaking from barely-repressed emotion. “I can be… just a fucking bastard. I know that. And I’m going to try harder, but…”

You can feel Anonymous’ hand shaking against your mane. He recedes it from your head to wrap around his own. 

And then, reflecting off the pale blue moonlight, you see a tear fall from Anonymous’ face. “It’s hard, Faust,” he whispers, as if this was his first breath from a life of suffocation. “It’s really hard.”

This, not too unlike your yipping caused by a certain earth pony filly just an hour beforehoof, causes precisely three realizations. 

One, that there might be a chance that Anonymous feels just as safe with you as you do him. So much so that you feel guilty for not throwing your forelegs around him and embracing him right this very moment, despite his inevitable protests. 

Two, that there’s no way in Tartarus you can in good conscience part ways with Anonymous after you reach Equestria. You will definitely be talking to him about this in hopes of striking up a new deal, and you will be doing it sober.

And three, it makes you feel utterly defeated. You can’t help but love Anonymous.

You don’t fight the warm smile that pervades your features as you and the hyoo-men sit like that. You don’t care about the heat which engulfs your face and your chest as you look at your housecarla. He sniffles, wiping away at his face before looking away stubbornly. 

What words did you use to describe Anonymous in the past? A relatable, naïve Adonis? A stalwart, handsome protector? Just pretentious, shy ramblings of a filly with a crush. There’s only one word you need to describe him.

Anonymous.

The hyoo-men stallion you love, and the hyoo-men stallion you’re going to help.

You’re sure Max will find out soon, being Max Gusto. But you can’t really bring yourself to care. She can tease and prod all she wants. You’ll be handling your own feelings at your own pace.

As your mind settles into the realization, prodding and testing it like a new mattress, Anonymous speaks. 

"I don't think--" he starts, before his voice wavers the slightest bit and he clamps shut. Though, instead of remaining silent, Anonymous lets out an errant sniff as he scratches at his nose, his hands lowering onto his knees. He angles his face slightly away from you, hiding his eyes. "I don't think Tia's being a..." Anonymous waves his fingers in a faux-fancy way, and you can't help but suppress a giggle. "'Conniving little thing.' I know she doesn't fully get what the word 'dadda' means. It just..." 

Anonymous fades into another silence, but for whatever reason, you don't find it to be avoidant, or frustrating. You wonder if you should scoot closer to him, but the hyoo-men quickly straightens up and continues, "It just... reminds me of something else. Before Red Letter." Anonymous draws in a long inhale before deflating in the exhale, and if you squint your eyes, you might be able to gleam some form of comfort in his relaxed posture. "Another shitshow by another woman who I thought was a friend."

The warm feeling in your chest subsides into cool sympathy. You don't ask yourself for permission before you draw yourself closer to your housecarla, and your left side brushes up against his side. His warmth doesn't pull away.

“You don’t have to answer this if you’re even the slightest bit uncomfortable, Anonymous,” you say softly. The hyoo-men is calm enough now to turn back to you, his beautiful green eyes shimmering in the cool blues and blacks of the night. You slowly reach a hoof forward and lay it on his shoulder. He doesn’t pull away. “What happened before you met Red Letter? Why did she take you off the streets?”

Something unreadable flashes across Anonymous’ eyes. He’s briefly taken far from you, to places and times long passed, before returning. When he comes back, there’s no suspicion in his eyes, no signs he’d push you away again.

Just a concealed sadness, and a slight hint of playfulness.

The sadness, you swear on your place in the Eternal Graze you will help him overcome.

The playfulness…?

”That’s for when you’re sober,” Anonymous says, reaching forward and flicking you on the snout.

You scrunch, sniffling away at the uncomfortable and most ungentlecoltlike breach of your snootle. 

”If you can handle not touching a drink for one night,” Anonymous smirks as he stands to his full height. “You gotta work on your alcohol dependency, little miss.”

“Why, I—” you start, but the sight of Anonymous’ attractive smirk gives you enough pause to realize your faulty. He’s just teasing you again. You titter, struggling up to all fours. “You’re one to talk. For all I know, you might be a high-functioning drunk. How could you even drink that without collapsing?!”

”Human superpowers,” Anonymous says as he reaches down to keep you steady.

So that’s how it’s pronounced!

Anonymous leads you back up to the Rejoicement before he leaves for the Aldenn. You spend a little while longer at the celebration, mostly to intentionally leave an overly curious Max Gusto in the dark, but also to retrieve Tia. The filly is in much better condition than how you left her, but you know a good night’s rest will do wonders for her. That, and a gift from a certain human.

That night, you sleep better than you have in a long, long time.
> VI - Back on the Wagon
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

”Herdwatcher Thistlehoof! Herdwatcher Wheat Graze!”

The two mares swing around at the sound of Sagebrush’s voice, immediately sitting straight and jutting their chins out. Four days ago, the sight of the two earth ponies behind the large wall would’ve boggled you. After all, what good could guards do when behind a tall wall with no way to peer over? 

But your time integrating with the Marestrichtians has left you much more educated. As short as it has been.

”Open the petreport for our guests to make their leave!” Sagebrush commands.

There’s a slight moment of hesitation – a brief glance at Anonymous from Wheat Graze and a disappointed huff from Thistlehoof – before the herdwatchers get to work. You can’t help but take a small step toward the human. 

There’s that newfound warmth in your chest when you rub up against Anonymous’ leg. It still takes you aback somewhat, feeling as if your blushes have migrated from your face to your heart. But it isn’t terribly uncomfortable, and you’re already starting to become used to it.

Apple Seed mumbles something about petrevoking under his breath at Wheat Graze and Thistlehoofs’ work. This earns him a brief nudge from Max Gusto and a knowing look. The sack on Max’s side swings idly from the impact – the first article of clothing you’ve seen on the pegasus since you’ve met her, and the last you’ll see until you part ways. It briefly bumps into Apple Seed’s own baggage, a grass backpack of sorts, which you’ve seen a few Marestrichtian farmers wear.

As the stone walls are dragged further open, Apricot Ammil sends Max a halfhearted glare. Were it the night before, you’d be sure she would’ve done nothing less than launch herself at the pegasus for touching her brother.

”Were it the night before.” You’ve been thinking that phrase a lot lately. Were it the night before, you wouldn’t be standing so close to Anonymous, feeling equal parts protected and protective of the human. The two new sets of armor Sagebrush had insisted you part with this morning – one set for you, another for Tia – weigh heavily in your intraflated sack, giving you a newfound respect for the strength of the herdwatchers of Marestricht. It’s no Paardian armor, but it’s enough to comfort you with the knowledge that neither you nor Tia would be completely helpless in a scuffle.

The new armor is nothing compared to your newfound resolve, however. Were it the night before, you’d be shaking at the prospect of exiting the first safe haven of your journey. You’d be obsessed with the notion that the only form of currency you have left are those last two bit sacks. But now you remain calm.

In fact, you’re not just calm. No matter how hard you try, you can’t wipe away the fat smile currently occupying your face.

Anonymous has opened up to you last night. Just a tidbit, but it was enough. You realize your feelings for him now. You’re going to help Anonymous, and you’re going to make a deal with him to continue to be your housecarla once you’ve reached Equestria. 

As the walls of Marestricht are replaced with a large, dusty gap, you feel your tuft swell with determination.

But as you walk forward, this determination collides with a pain in your chest. Goodbyes were never your strong suit. Tartarus, you never even said goodbye to anypony in the uppercastes before you left.

Just as you’re building yourself up to turn and speak to the ponies at your side, the dust settles enough for you to make something out just a few cubits ahead. You recognize the unicorn’s silhouette through the dust, her brown eyes gleaming through the gaseous dirt with a sort of reserved pride. Smooth Roads’ arrival isn’t what shocks you, though. It’s the structure behind the unicorn that makes your heart skip a beat.

At first, you believe it must be an illusion. A last, cruel vision – the climactic end to a plethora of nightmares and hallucinations you’ve been encountering through this past week.

However, as the dirt and dust settle, and you hear the awestruck gasp of Tia and the surprised “Huh!” from Anonymous, you know that it really is your wagon just behind Smooth Roads. 

It isn’t how you last saw it; the wood is significantly darker in color, reflecting the boreal life of the mountainside. There are fewer windows, it lacks the many decorative patterns and nuances, and it’s also missing that mini watchtower you were so proud of. But even if it’s much more rustic than your perceived rendition, the silhouette and the base confirm it: it is, without a doubt, the wagon you’ve drafted a short eternity ago.

”Now, I know what you might be thinking!” Smooth Roads says before you can open your mouth. Now that you get a better look at her, you notice the bags under her eyes and the way her horn fizzles exhaustedly. Her voice seems to drag across the hard ground as she rasps, “And the answer is no. I did not go to the Red Garden to steal it back.”

Smooth Roads sits on her rump to pull the satchel off her side. You don’t know if she’s avoiding using magic out of respect for the present Marestrichtians, or if she really is that magically exhausted. Roads settles the satchel down at her hooves before opening it and pulling out a torn, stained blueprint. A very familiar blueprint.

She must have made copies of your original drawing! You remember how everypony was so impressed with your sketches at Free Valley Carpentry they had gathered and watched you create it. Ancients above, you were impressed with yourself.

Smooth Roads bashfully slides the blueprint back into her bag, still alone in the dirt clearing. You’re on the verge of turning to Anonymous for guidance before you feel four hooves suddenly leap from your back.

“Tia!” you warn, but the little filly pays you no mind. 

Tia squeals delightfully as she bounds towards Smooth Roads. Anonymous is immediately in pursuit, but you notice he only walks towards Tia, rather than run. Roads’ eyes widen at the approaching filly, making your heart nervous and your horn tempted to engage. But when the alicorn is mere cubits away from Roads, instead of attacking her or fleeing, Smooth Roads only watches.

”Wucky wagon!” Tia giggles excitedly. “Smoof Woads, Wucky wagon!”

Smooth Roads’ eyes soften, even if she doesn’t lower her guard completely. “Y-yeah,” she says, her voice breaking like a puberty-ridden filly before she clears her throat. “Yeah. I, uh… built y’all a new wagon. How do you like it, squirt?”

Instead of giving a verbal response, Tia approaches Smooth Roads and nuzzles her foreleg, careful not to stab it with her horn. Smooth Roads doesn’t move away from her touch, and you swear you can see the beginning of a smile on her lips, even if her eyes are downturned guiltily.

”Tia?” Anonymous says gently as he nears the filly from behind. Well, as gently as Anonymous can say.

Tia flinches at his voice. The sight of her skittering away from the tall human stabs your heart. It looks like she still hasn’t gotten over how he had snapped at her last night. Tia’s scared expression turns into a defiant frown as she sticks her tongue out at Anonymous, giving him a wide radius before rushing back to you. 

Anonymous takes it in stride, only letting out a curt snort. You’re becoming better at reading the human, though. 

You should make getting Tia that present a priority once you’re back on the road, and you’ll be making extra sure she knows just who it came from.

”M-mister Anonymous,” Smooth Roads says, her voice much quieter than when she had addressed you. “Me an’ the Marestrichtians fashioned you a new set of armor as well. Well, they did most the work – that’s not really my area of expertise.” She chuckles, but Anonymous seemingly doesn’t react. “It’s waiting for you in the wagon. I’m hoping it’s to your fancy.”

Anonymous turns and starts walking. “Hold on!” Smooth Roads squeaks as she reaches out for him, but her attempt is snuffed out with a glare from Anonymous. The human makes his way to the wagon, not speaking a word to the unicorn. Smooth Roads deflates, her ears lowering to her skull.

Max Gusto suddenly nudges you with a wing. You turn to the pegasus to see her peach eyes boring into your own before turning to Smooth Roads, then back to you. Smooth Roads waits, now wordless, her eyes flicking between you and the ground between her hooves.

Ancients give you strength to not regress to the Lucky Favor before Marestricht.

You approach Smooth Roads, trying for a smile, but not finding the willpower to make it seem genuine. It was hard to wipe the damn thing from your face mere minutes ago, and now you can’t even find it in yourself to give a smirk. You can feel Max behind you, watching attentively but keeping quiet.

”I’m not really one for words,” Smooth Roads begins, tapping her front hooves together. “You’re a lot better with ‘em than I am. I know I’d just have a hard time rightly explaining myself and end up looking like a fool, so… consider this a peace offering.” Roads gestures to the wagon.

Your new wagon. Smooth Roads’ apology, as rustic and dowdy as the mare herself, yet stable. It works.

”It’s lacking in all the fancy stuff you wrote down,” Smooth Roads sighs. “There just wasn’t enough materials or marepower to make an exact copy. The inside is pretty bare, save for a couch and bookshelf for your reading needs. Y’see, the earth pony armorers wanted to help with it as much as they could, but, um… I didn’t deserve it.” Roads’ lifts her head from the ground to give you a level look. Her tired eyes are downtrodden with exhaustion and shame. “So… there.”

The smile on your lips now has no trouble being genuine. “I didn’t see you at the Rejoicement,” you say, giving her a tilt of your head. “This is what you’ve been doing instead of resting?”

”Why in the darkest pits of Tartarus would I deserve rest, Lucky Favor?” Smooth Roads asks, suddenly hardened. “There was a good pony and human I’d wronged. Buck, there’s an entire workshop of ponies I’d wronged. It would’ve been mighty selfish of me to kick back and do nothing when y’all were a wagon down.”

You only nod to that, murmuring a soft, “I see…”

Before enough time passes to make it awkward, though, you feel the familiar tickle of Max’s wing on your back. What makes this time different is that now her wing seems to move back and forth against your fur in a slow, rocking motion. You and Roads both turn to Max to see the pegasus with a sympathetic look on her face so overdone it’s practically making you gag.

“Max Gusto, what are you doing?” you deadpan.

”Well,” the pegasus answers. “You’re taking so long to say ‘yeah, I’m sorry for being a bitch too,’ I thought it needed to be coaxed out of you.”

”Get hilted, Max,” Smooth Roads grunts.

You give the pegasus a swat, and she takes to the air, snickering all the while as she glides over to the wagon. Probably to say her goodbyes to Anonymous, you figure.

Despite everything, you’re going to miss that pegasus.

”You don’t need to say anything,” Roads says quietly, but you stop that with a shake of your head.

“No, Max is right,” you say. “I’d feel our business would be unfinished if we were to part on these terms.”

Smooth Roads mumbles something about fancy words.

“Fancy as I am, Smooth Roads,” you say as you once again find yourself drawn to your wagon. “I’m afraid no words can describe how grateful I am.” 

Tia is skipping around the wagon’s exterior in delight, her eyes wondrous and never still. Max Gusto, meanwhile, is opening the door to the wagon. Anonymous and her haven’t interacted much as far as you can tell, but it isn’t unlikely the pegasus has some things she has to say to the human before parting ways. “And…” you chuckle. “Well, I apologize for being such a Lucky Favor after you helped us escape the Red Garden. May the Ancient Lady of Adventure smile upon your travels.”

”I’m not so sure that’s an Ancient,” Smooth Roads says with a crooked smile. The look soon sobers up as she sighs. “I’ve already said my farewells to Apple Seed and Max. I’d also like to make my peace with Anonymous, and…” Roads glances back at the wagon, Max now inside and Tia still inspecting every nook and cranny of the structure. “…Tia. That’s her name, right?”

You nod, eliciting a smile from Smooth Roads. “Right, Tia,” she says, mulling the name in her mouth before giving you her full-fledged attention. “Well, Lucky Favor, I reckon this is goodbye.”

Smooth Roads extends a hoof. You take it, giving the unicorn a few shakes before speaking again. “Where will you go?”

Roads sighs, retrieving her hoof before looking off into the landscape of the forest. Some ways away, you can still see the silhouette of Plumsteed on the horizon. The perpetual rain clouds put there by thieving pegasi loom in the distance like a far-off storm. “I’ll think of somethin’,” Smooth Roads ultimately says. “I might not be fancy with words like you, but I’m not stupid. I’ll definitely think of somethin’. If not to save Free Valley Carpentry, then to at least get the workers out of the shit I’ve put them in.”

”You are always welcome in Marestricht,” Sachemare Sagebrush’s voice commands from behind, reminding you of the three ponies still there.

You turn to the trio of earth ponies. Smooth Roads follows suit and is quick to say, “I appreciate it, ma’am, but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if the Red Garden hurt any of y’all.” 

Sagebrush’s face falls, but she only gives an understanding nod. It must’ve struck a chord with Smooth Roads, as the unicorn sighs and rubs the back of her head. “I’ll point any interested workers in this direction,” she mutters, her words immediately putting a grin on Sagebrush’s face. “But I’m not gonna lead the Red Garden here by coming myself, that’s for damn sure.”

It’s Apple Seed who speaks up next. Even if he’s the shortest of the ponies, his voice still rings with the calm, wise cadence of the Sachemare herself. “Marestricht will miss you, my friend.”

Smooth Roads blinks at Apple Seed’s words. Or, perhaps, just that last word. Friend.  

Roads suppresses a squee, turning away from the stallion and towards you. She clears her throat seriously, even if her lips twitch into a smile as she speaks. “Send me a prayer or two, Lucky Favor,” she says. “But don’t you dare worry about me. Just worry about yourself, and your band of misfits.” Smooth Roads’ tone suddenly changes to a much lower, almost warning grumble. “And treat ‘im right, fancy filly. Like I didn’t.”

With that, Smooth Roads turns and trots towards the wagon, probably to make her peace with Anonymous. You tilt your head. You call ships him, not wagons…

”Lucky Favor?” Apple Seed grabs your attention. 

As the orange stallion approaches you, his sister stays glued to his side. She doesn’t look at you, either because she knows you’re not a threat or because she’s still acting snooty. Or, now that you get a better look at the way her eyes mirror Apple Seed’s, maybe out of shame. There seems to be a lot of that going around.

“It would be a stain on Marestricht’s honor, were we to let you leave emptyhooved,” Apple Seed says, slinging the grass-tied baggage up and off his back. As he sticks a hoof in to grab something, you begin to recede, to tell him that Marestricht has done more than enough, but a well-practiced glare from Sagebrush immediately shuts that down. “I understand you and Brother Anonymous are wanted by the Plumsteed housecarlatel.”

You swallow, even if you try to hide your nervousness. As much as you want to dismiss Sapphire Lily’s words as empty threats, you know it’s just the far-fetched hopes of a naïve uppercastemare. And now, there’s no reason that the Red Garden wouldn’t also be after you. 

Apple Seed sees right through your attempts to hide your nervousness, and he smiles warmly. He pulls something out from his baggage – a small, brown sack.

The next sniff you take changes your description. A small, brown, absolutely pungent sack. Curse these earth ponies’ noses! It isn’t fair how they’re so used to this!

“As you know,” Apple Seed continues, trying and failing to hide his amusement from your reaction. “The earth ponies of Marestricht have an… inimical stance on magic. Because of this, larua roots are cheap and high in stock, since they do not have much magicless use.”

“I hope this use outweighs the odor,” you squeak as you put a hoof up to cover your snout.

”It does indeed,” Apple Seed confirms. “The Red Garden used this root, along with a certain spell, to disguise themselves on occasion.” Apricot Ammil takes a tiny step closer to her brother at the mention of the Red Garden. “I am not very well-versed in magic, so I could not tell you exactly what the spell was. But I do know that if you and the larua root are both submerged in a body of water and this spell is cast, your fur will change color. To the opposite hue, if my observations were correct.”

Apple Seed holds the sack to you. You don’t know if the tears in your eyes are from gratitude or the malodourous smell of the larua roots. Regardless, you wipe your face and retrieve the bag, a grin threatening your features.

“What did the spell the Red Garden used sound like?” you ask, trying to ignore the fact that the sack is dampening your forelegs.

Apple Seed tilts his head, but answers nonetheless. He lets loose a susurrating hiss between pursed lips before retracting them, giving a crude but familiar impersonation of the spell’s magical signature: ’fsuuuuwsssss …’

An inner-spread spell. Not one that was required in your caster lessons, but a low level spell to be sure. You’re sure you can find a thome on ambient mass-magic in the next town or marketstead you come across. You could probably also purchase a map of the coastline in the same trip.

”I’m afraid the larua root will not be as useful for Brother Anonymous,” Apple Seed sighs. “A change in color will not do much to disguise the fact he is from such a rare tribe.”

You smile, sniffling away some errant tears of gratitude. “I am dumbfounded,” you whisper. “I cannot thank you enough. For everything.”

”Neither can we.” 

It’s barely perceptible, but you hear Apricot Ammil’s quiet admission. She notices how you and Apple Seed both turn to her, and suddenly finds the horizon an interesting focal point. 

You giggle but decide to save the earth pony further embarrassment. As you pull the sack towards you, the top of it briefly loosens, giving you a peak – and a full whiff – inside. Whether to continue the conversation with Apple Seed or out of pure curiosity, you ask him, “I apologize for coming off as selfish, dear, but why are there three?”

”The larua roots are best used when individualized,” Apple Seed explains. “At least, that is what I assume, judging from the Red Garden misusing them on occasion. The one you use will be tethered to you once the spell is cast, and will reject anypony else who tries to use it. Therefore, I have given you one larua root for each of your party members, minus Anonymous.”

You were on the verge of mentioning Anonymous until Apple Seed had said that. When he sees the perplexed look on your face, he tilts his head. “Has Max not told you yet?” he asks.

Before you can respond, you hear the sharp cannonshot of your wagon door being flung open. You whip around to see that Max is now skittering out of the wagon; Anonymous’ shouting can briefly be heard from within the wagon – something about how easily he could rip her snowpity off – before she slams the door shut. You’re briefly horrified at what could’ve happened, until she flashes you that bashful grin once again. You recognize the glint of a filly who was on the wrong end of a criminal misunderstanding.

”Jeez, and I thought you were uppity about clothes,” Max snickers as she skips over to you. “He’s acting like he doesn’t even have a Y-7 gland!”

“Max Gusto…” you growl, shaking your head uselessly. “Please tell me you did not do that on purpose.”

”What?!” her voice squeaks like a foal’s toy in defiance. “I’m not some Peeping Tamsin! Of course I didn’t mean to do that to my roomie! What kind of an impression would that make?”

You’re about to reprehend the pegasus again, but you’re taken aback by her choice of words. “Roomie?” you ask.

It clicks moments after the word leaves your mouth. It isn’t in time for you to ask more questions before Max suddenly burst into raucous laughter.

”Alright, never mind!” she howls. “You’re back on top for the Most Clueless Pony I’ve Ever Met Award!”

You huff, narrowing your eyes at Max. She takes a moment to recompose herself before sitting on her haunches and spreading her forelegs out, as if showing off something impressive. “Don’t say you didn’t see this coming, fancy filly!” she crows. “I’m coming with you!”

You blink. “…Please elaborate.”

Max rolls her eyes before they land on Apple Seed in an incredulous expression. There’s that knowing look again, before she turns back to you. “I’m coming with you, you autistic mare. As your cloudpusher.”

“Y--…” you start, before stopping, flabbergasted. You seem to be doing that rather often when Max is involved. “Absolutely not! It’s much too dangerous! And I can’t afford to pay somepony else at the moment!” You expect to have more reasons to deny her, but to your surprise, those are the only two you can think up. 

Max is a sky wanderer. She has nowhere else to go. You love the Marestrichtians, but you get the hint that the pegasus would be overstaying her welcome if she had decided to stay long-term.

“…A-and what even does that word mean, ‘autistic?’” your stammering eventually closes with, out of words to say.

Max shrugs. “Heard Anonymous say it at the Rejoicement. Kinda sounds funny. Fits you pretty well, I think.” The pegasus approaches you, the confident smirk on her face faltering. “I can help with the weather! Keep it clear or cover your trail, whatever you want. I can also be a good scout. Y’know, keep a look out for anypony suspicious, keeping watch from overhead. And I can actually hold a conversation without having a mental breakdown, so that’s one up on both you and Anonymous. I’ll also work for dirt-cheap! Tartarus, I’ll work for free! A roof over my head, someplace nearby to fish, and a—” Without warning, Max Gusto stops speaking and looks away. She scrunches, using a hoof to wipe over her face in what must be some sort of pegasus grooming habit. The fragility of her voice as she continues, though, immediately makes you realize what she was wiping at. “—a-a few friends to talk to, maybe. Or just co-workers. I dunno. Whatever you want. S-so, um…” Max stomps a hoof before whipping her face back to yours. “So, what do you say? You’ll take me along, right?!”

…Oh, Tartarus, who are you kidding? 

Even the thought of hurting her with the second terrible rejection of her life puts a stone in your stomach. You can’t do that to this mare. You sigh in defeat.

”Awesome!” Max suddenly blurts out. “I won’t let you down, Lucky!”

“B-but I haven’t even--!” you blabber, but it’s cut short with the crushing hug Max pulls you into.

Darnit, why are you so easy to read?!

“Fine!” you sigh as Max buries her head in your tuft, letting out squee after squee. “We’ll discuss payment once we get the chance, but would you kindly show some dignity before the Marestrichtians?”

”Nope,” Max says in your fur. “You’re my friend, and friends hug, so we shall hug. Now hug.”

Friend…?

…Well, yes.

Max Gusto is your friend. She can be annoying at times, and she lives up to the perverted, lazy, thieving pegasus stereotype, but she’s also… genuine. Despite her obvious attempts at hiding her vulnerabilities, you would use the word “genuine” to describe Max Gusto. 

Yes. Max is your friend.

You turn to the wagon to see that Smooth Roads is crouching low to the ground as she speaks to Tia, who is smiling attentively at whatever the mare is saying. Anonymous is still in the wagon, probably still changing into his new armor. You turn to the entrance of Marestricht to see that Sagebrush and Apple Seed are looking away respectfully. Apricot Ammil, though, lets out a crude imitation of your earlier giggle at her expense. 

”Thank you, Lucky Favor,” Max whispers into your tuft. Her voice almost breaks as she speaks. Her arms cling tighter to you as her weight momentarily leans on you.

You wrap your forelegs around the pegasus and whisper into her ear, “You can call me Faust if you promise to not be a blabbermouth.”

Max lets out a half-hearted “mm-hmm.”

…Does she not--…?

Max gives you one last squeeze before she pulls away, whatever sudden emotion that had pervaded her voice nowhere to be seen. For a moment, she just sits there, relishing in her victory before something gives her pause.

”Is…--” she starts, before lowering her voice. “How are Faust and Lucky Favor even related? Is that like a nickname or--” And then, realization morphs her face. “Ohhh! Right, ‘cause you’re from the uppercaste, and that’s your ‘true’ name. I gotcha.”

She doesn’t know the significance! 

“This actually means quite a lot to me, for your information!” you pout, earning yourself a shrug that only Max Gusto could make seem so infuriating. 

”Hey, you can’t expect a pegasus to know that stuff,” she defends.

“Why, you—!” 

Oh, for All-Mother’s sake! This is just as embarrassing as that night in the sauna.

Max snickers as she gets to her hooves with a flap of her wings. “I’m just messing with you. Not gonna have an episode in front of the Marestrichtians, right? And, speaking of Marestrichtians…”

As Max Gusto passes you and approaches the earth ponies, you have half a mind to send a zap at her flank to match her cutie mark. And what a stereotypical cutie mark for a pegasus that is, just some thunder cloud with a lightning bolt sticking out of it! Just a little spell wouldn’t anger the Marestrichtians, would it? And besides, it’s Max Gusto, you have good reason!

You fume, but despite it all, you find yourself smiling.

The wagon door creaks open from behind. You turn to see Anonymous ducking through the entrance and stepping into the sunlight.

Tia notices as Anonymous exits and her ears lower to her skull. She trots to the other side of the wagon, her pink tail dragging on the dirt as she leaves. Smooth Roads looks off to Tia and seems to conflict with herself for a moment before she approaches Anonymous. You, meanwhile, can only stare at Marestricht’s and Smooth Roads’ handiwork.

Quite frankly, you were surprised Anonymous had survived Plumsteed at all, wearing his previous armor set. The leather and cloth ensemble couldn’t stop any functional weapon you can think of. The oval, stone bracers on his forearms were the only defense he seemed to have, and even then, they were obviously homemade. It’s obvious his survivability was based solely on his martial prowess.

With this new armor, though, you have a hard time coming up with a weapon that could realistically match up against the human.

The creators of this work of art had used the tasteful color scheme of casual Marestricht attire – peaches, creams, and browns – in a most creative fashion. Wood, made flexible by excellent craftsmareship and through magic no doubt, serves as Anonymous’ under armor. It contours and bends with his body almost like a second skin. Its color even matches the same peach hue as what lies underneath. The brown outer armor pieces are most certainly minimalist and functional in its fashion, traveling down Anonymous’ figure in a way that flows with his musculature and strikes an impressive balance between flexibility and protection. From what you can guess from here, a mix of hard metals, wood, and stone must have been used to create the malleable cocoon that now protects Anonymous.

The offensive capabilities of his armor are once again in the form of bracers, but this time they are much more versatile. He has the one pair on his forearms, like before, but another is attached to his shins. His knees and elbows are also fortified with circular plates of metal. Anonymous’ hands – the palms, back of the hands, and between every joint of his fingers – are covered with a complicated network of smoothened cobbles, essentially creating a flexible set of gauntlets. You can immediately tell what the Marestrichtians used as material for Anonymous’ bracers and gauntlets.

Emeralds. The color ties the ensemble together with a resounding earth pony signature, and seems to make Anonymous’ green eyes twinkle even brighter.

You blink owlishly. These earth ponies’ sense of beauty may seem lacking at first glance, but All-Mother above, nothing can be further from the truth. They really do know how to bring out a stallion’s natural elegance. 

Anonymous has the air of somepony obviously experienced, but not so grizzled that he wouldn’t be fit for a knights’ guild. Adventurous and resourceful, not rough and criminal. 

Your heart flip flops in your chest, and you fell yourself becoming enraptured by him all over again.

”Green, huh?” Anonymous says to Smooth Roads; the first words he’s spoken with her since the Red Garden. He inspects his gauntlets as he speaks, waving and flexing his fingers individually before turning to Smooth Roads. 

You breathe a sigh of relief. He’s at least willing to hear what she has to say.

”Alright, that’s enough!” Max Gusto suddenly chirps. You turn to see that she’s chuckling as she gently pulls away from the hug Apple Seed had just given her. And…

…by the Ancients, is she blushing?

”You wouldn’t want your sister to kill me after all that shit, would you?” Max asks, suddenly very interested in grooming herself as she turns away. Apple Seed only smiles, understanding the pegasus’ hesitance.

“I will pray you well, Max Gusto,” Apple Seed finishes with. 

Whatever tears Max would shed, she had either already shed or wouldn’t let them. She turns back to the two earth ponies. “You better take care of your brother!” Max blurts out at Apricot before hurriedly turning and trotting away. Apricot rolls her eyes, but lets the pegasus go unscathed. Max passes you, aimed squarely at the wagon. After saying your last farewells, you follow her. 

As the two of you return to the wagon, you see Smooth Roads giving a nod to Anonymous before she takes one last look at Marestricht. A smile and a nod – a genuine one – and then Smooth Roads turns and leaves. 

Anonymous leans against the wagon, crossing his arms as he waits for you. One look at his face, and you know that his talk with Smooth Roads went well. A second look, and you notice the excited, yet reserved upwards twitch of his lips as he peers down at his new armor.

This is it.

It isn’t the first time you’ve set out on the road, and it isn’t even the most significant, when compared to your time leaving the uppercastes with Tia, and even your time leaving Plumsteed with your new housecarla. But it’s certainly the first time you’ve felt this much hope at what the future holds.

In this moment, you realize that Plumsteed, that night when Anonymous burnt your letter, the Red Garden… it was all worth it. You’ve never been closer to your housecarla, and he’s in the best shape since you’ve met him. You have a skilled cloudpusher and friend at your side. Tia is still safe, and you have no doubt that Anonymous and her will bond during the next week of peaceful traveling. 

If the world ended tomorrow, at least this moment, right now, would remain perfect—

”Eksh-kyuse me! Shkolar Lucky Favor!”

It feels like you skid to a halt, even if you hadn’t even been at trotting speed. You recognize the voice instantly, muffled as it is. It feels so weird, hearing it not unabashedly nuzzling up to Anonymous or whispering defeatist apologies.

You let out a low, unladylike grumble as you turn to find a certain mauve mare bounding towards you. The dark travelers’ attire makes her intentions immediately known. The purple-white bun atop her head bounces as she passes Sagebrush, the grass bag hanging between her teeth swinging in her gait as she passes by Apple Seed and Apricot Ammil. Apricot brushes up against her brother protectively, but Apple Seed only follows Riverside with his eyes. As Bountiful Riverside approaches, Sagebrush trots up behind her, an almost pleading look in her eyes, aimed squarely at you.

…Oh, Ancients-damnit.

It’s low at first; barely perceptible to your unicorn ears, but you swear on the All-Father’s grave that you hear Max Gusto stifle a snigger.

”Scholar Lucky Favor…” Sachemare Sagebrush coos in the same tone a loving father would say to a wayward foal.

Ancients-DAMNIT!

Max has to put a hoof to her muzzle and turn away to keep from bursting out laughing. You can hear the footsteps of Anonymous approaching you from behind, but all you can do is stare at Riverside as she gives you a bow so low her muzzle touches the dirt. 

Before you can even open your mouth, Sagebrush tells you, “I would never wish to force you into anything, Scholar Lucky Favor. But do not act like you are not in need of a body mender on your travels. Your new armor will only hold back so much. Yours, Tia’s, and Brother Anonymous’.”

For a brief moment, the look on Sagebrush’s face reminds you of that paralyzing second she had thought you were responsible for Anonymous’ condition after just arriving in Marestricht. 

“It’s—” you start before clearing the cotton from your throat. “It’d be much too dangerous for her! Max Gusto already has wilderness experience, but Riverside would be leaving everything she’s known! She’d be leaving her own people! And, for the love of the All-Mother, I can’t afford another employee!”

Sagebrush doesn’t get after you for objecting. She only smiles sadly. Riverside seems to melt deeper into the ground as the Sachemare says, “Bountiful Riverside and I had a long talk after we left the Rejoicement. She has thought long and hard about her future in Marestricht… and has come to the conclusion that she feels more at home with—”

Sagebrush pauses for a moment. Anonymous now stands by your side, and the Sachemare’s eyes flick to him before returning to your own.

”—with your group than she does Marestricht. I understand she may not know much about the world outside Marestricht, but I assure you she will not let you down as a body mender.”

As you look down at Bountiful Riverside, still not saying a word, still pressing her face into the ground and silently begging, you feel prickles of sorrow for the mauve mare. This same sorrow reflects in Apple Seed’s eyes, tenfold.

”Letting her leave would be a kindness, Scholar Lucky Favor,” Sagebrush says quietly. “The first kindness Marestricht would be showing her since Apple Seed’s departure.” 

Apple Seed doesn’t react verbally, only lowering his head and nodding knowingly. Sagebrush looks at you again, but there’s something different about her now. Gone is the tall, scarred, and muscular mare you had come to respect over these past few days. In front of you now is a herdmother pleading for you to do right by the daughter she had wronged.

“…M-Marestricht would be left without a body mender,” you say halfheartedly. The resistance in your voice leaves as you say this last protest. It’s getting harder for you to say no to these ponies.

As if an idea strikes the melancholy thoughts from her mind, Sagebrush tilts her head in mock confusion. “Whatever do you mean, Scholar Lucky Favor?” she asks. “Marestricht’s body mender count remains the same. Riverside has given her position to the very stallion standing before you.”

Apple Seed’s head snaps up at this news. He can only stare between Sagebrush and Riverside. Even Apricot Ammil is stunned. Bountiful Riverside, meanwhile, raises her face to meet yours. The mare is taller than you – still not as tall as a lot of the other earth ponies you’ve seen in Marestricht, but tall enough for her face to be at least a full head above yours. However, her height doesn’t diminish the filly-like, quiet, determined, begging look in her eyes.

Each second looking into her sea blue eyes is a second you come closer to the realization that you can’t reject this mare either.

…Ancients damnit…

“…F-fine,” you murmur, and the effect is instant. Bountiful Riverside doesn’t lurch forward and hug you like Max did, but her eyes sparkle just a little brighter, and her tuft puffs out just a little thicker. 

Of course her tuft is bigger than yours, she’s a mountain-dwelling earth pony! You could make a blanket with only a day’s worth of her winter coat shedding! You’re not proportionately smaller!

Riverside turns back to bid her farewells to the earth ponies. You grumble some more, kicking a hoof before turning back to the wagon. You should retrieve Tia and climb aboard, you suppose… 

You don’t want to be treating Anonymous’ healer like this. Especially after what you found out about the poor mare last night. Tartarus, you thought you had overcome this bitterness you had towards her that very night! But the thought of her spending the undefined future with you – with Anonymous – rubs you the wrong way. Much more wrong than one night of rubbing up against Anonymous did.

You glance back to the mare. After Riverside’s shared bow with Sachemare Sagebrush, she approaches Apple Seed and Apricot Ammil. Apricot seems at a loss for words for a moment – both of the siblings do – until she merely bows her head to the mare. Apple Seed is the only one who gives her parting words. 

“Your work on Anonymous was becoming of the best body menders Marestricht has to offer,” he says as he bows, mirroring his sister. “Summer Harvest would have adored you, Mender Bountiful Riverside.”

Riverside hastily begins whispering something to them, to stop embarrassing themselves and that she doesn’t deserve his kind words, but you’re no longer paying attention.

You find Tia inspecting nothing in particular on the wagon and scoop her up. She squeaks as if being jolted awake. When you prop her on your withers and turn back, that’s when you realize the only one who had followed you back to the wagon was Max Gusto. Anonymous is walking back to the wagon, Bountiful Riverside at his side.

It's subtle. Barely a graze, really, but Anonymous' emerald-encrusted hand glides over Riverside's mane in a single, smooth pet. She looks up at the human and gives a smile.

…It took so much more effort for you to get that close to him.

“Naw naw...” Tia grumbles, clearly perturbed. You can feel the filly’s grip on you tighten just enough to be noticeable. "...not momma..."

You hesitate for a moment. You’re turning your head to respond to the filly’s fears, to give her a reassuring smile or some encouraging words you’ll improvise once you open your mouth, when Max suddenly gives your snout a whap with her wing. You scrunch, glaring at the pegasus, but she turns away.

”Better hurry, Faust," she says as she strolls to the entrance to the wagon. "That mare was born in the wrong body. She's a sky thief, through and through."

You’re going to get real sick of hearing Max call you Faust, you just know it.













You extend a hoof and roll the iuncti root back to the splayed mat of woven grass.

It’s hard to keep your mending supplies all in one place. The world shifts and bobs like a leaf on a river, rearranging both your supplies and your stomach with each dip of the wagon. 

Sachemare Sagebrush had warned you about this the night of the Rejoicement. You’ve lived your entire life in Marestricht. It was by no means sheltered, and you are by no means unaccustomed to danger – avalanches, pegasus raids, griffon attacks… You figured you would adapt to the outside world and its dangers as you went along.

With the thought of Anonymous by your side, the thought never really intimidated you. If he could stand up to Maretinet Apricot Ammil, he could stand up to anypony.

…Tartarus, you’re foregoing Brother Anonymous’ honorific in your thoughts again. You need to stop that. You don’t yet have his permission.

Back to the subject at hoof. It seems that your estimation for the journey was askew. It has only been a few hours since Marestricht disappeared back into the distant mountains. Even sitting still in this rocking, swerving, wooden jail Lucky Favor calls her wagon is a challenge. It feels as if you’ve been swept away in an avalanche of movement with every veer of your surroundings. You’ve tried multiple times to petrevoke through the floor to feel some semblance of security. You’re no earthpusher, but you have no problem connecting with Equus’ heart if you focus enough. However, each attempt only makes you feel nauseous, as if you were aboard a ship at the mercy of a roaring ocean. 

It would be a little more comfortable, and admittedly a little less dangerous, if you sat atop the couch attached to the wagon wall, but you have your reasons for laying on the ground. The only reason you’ve kept from upchucking is that recounting your supplies provides a good distraction. Iuncti roots, the bags of antequus seed powder, the lubotice brew, among countless others, fit snugly in the complicated web of pockets and hollow rocks within your medicinal sack. Counting them, recounting them, arranging them, rearranging them…

…You wish Brother Anonymous were here. 

You don’t know why, but you want him by your side. Perhaps you’d feel safer with him close by, like you did during the Rejoicement. The world spun much more when you had faced Maretinet Apricot Ammil than it does now; when the human had laid his hand on your withers while you were trying to flee like a coward, you felt safe. 

Unfortunately, Brother Anonymous is currently on the helm of the wagon, accompanying Scholar Lucky Favor as she drives it. Cloudpusher Max Gusto is also in the outside world, from what you heard, keeping an eye from above. This leaves you alone in the wagon.

Alone, save for Tia.

When pillars of smoke had appeared over the hill, Scholar Lucky decided to relinquish Tia to the confines of the wagon so she wouldn’t be spotted during any potential encounter. The unicorn had previously told you and the Cloudpusher that Tia was not to be seen by anypony outside of her group. Since you were “of the least immediate need” – Scholar Lucky’s words – you were chosen to watch over the peculiar little filly in the wagon.

Said filly hasn’t made any move to interact with you. She only sits in the corner, eyeing you suspiciously. Sitting someplace softer than the little filly felt rude in some way, so you’ve opted to lay on the ground a few cubits away from her.

You sigh as you return to your task at hoof, finding another barely-perceptible flaw in your laid-out supplies to occupy yourself with. You know you’ve done something wrong, but you don’t know what. Tia makes no attempts to interact with you. Scholar Lucky Favor avoids talking with you when she can, but at least she’s cordial. Cloudpusher Max Gusto continues whatever conversation you will yourself to start with her, but she does so with a reservedness you don’t see with her conversations with the others.

It seems to only exacerbate the problem when you try to speak with Brother Anonymous, even if the subject is about being more open to your new comrades. The last time you spoke with him, you caught a glimpse of Lucky hastily smoothening her chest tuft before turning away.

At one point, you had asked Scholar Lucky Favor outright if she was Brother Anonymous’ foalbearer. She gave you the same look that your blood father had given you when you told that crass joke to one of your male friends.

…You suppose that is a no.

As if the Ancients were punishing you for being enveloped in your thoughts rather than the present, the wagon jolts violently. You can’t save your supplies. You immediately crouch low to keep your balance, but your supplies aren’t as lucky, and glide across the wooden floor in all directions. Tia lets out a squeak of pain.

Your attention shifts from your supplies to the filly almost instantaneously. Her face is contorted in fear.

“Are you well, little sprout?” you ask as you near the filly. Once again, her eyes lock onto you. You smile gently, lowering yourself onto your belly so the two of you are almost level. She is quite a small foal, much smaller than any foal you’ve seen in Marestricht. 

”Oh, darnit!” Lucky Favor’s muffled voice calls out from the front of the wagon. You feel your innards squirm as the wagon slowly comes to a stop, thank the Ancients. “It wasn’t as shallow as I was hoping… No, Anonymous, don’t offer to pick it up! You’ll get wet! Anonymous!” A commotion of fur and a masculine voice erupts from the wagon. Your lips twitch into a smile at the thought of whatever must be going down. It is one of the good things of this journey, watching these ponies interact with each other. “Many apologies, Tia! Riverside! The interior isn’t magically stabilized quite yet! I’ll get on that once we set up camp later!”

You flinch.

This is another thing you had vastly underestimated, but this one is… much more embarrassing. Of course Scholar Lucky Favor would rely on magic on her voyage; she’s a unicorn. 

At the thought of unicorn magic, your blood father’s face pops into your mind once again. This time, he wears a very different expression on his face.

”twade!”

You blink. The chip on Tia’s hoof doesn’t seem to be bothering her much as she stands on all fours. There is no suspicion on her face now, only an adorable determination that almost makes you squee.

You tilt your head at the little filly. Before you can get a word out, the filly’s horn suddenly glows.

Your blood freezes and you almost swipe at Tia’s horn, but something stops you. Well, not something, but everything about the glow of her horn. Your fur doesn’t feel like it’s being plucked off your body like it normally does when a unicorn engages a spell in proximity. The air doesn’t feel like it’s being sucked out of your lungs. You don’t feel panic at the sight of the natural world being violated.

You might not have the trained eyes of an earthpusher, but the moment Tia’s magic engages you know she isn’t a typical unicorn. Your ear flicks at the sound of utensils dragging across wood, and you turn to find that each of your supplies are slowly returning to their grass sack. 

It is difficult to explain just how different this filly’s magic feels. The ambient particles of air don’t feel like they’re being moved against their will. It almost feels like a natural gust of condensed wind is guiding each of your supplies. It’s all so… warm.

You’ve really, really underestimated just how different the world outside of Marestricht would be. One thing is certain, though. You now understand why the others want to protect Tia so much. 

”twade!” Tia pipes up once again as the corners of the grass mat are lifted, the sack regaining tautness. 

You turn back to the filly. You give her a low bow of gratitude, but it doesn’t do much to dissuade her from whatever she’s trying to say. In fact, it seems as though the bow flusters Tia even more. Her wings rustle in annoyance, and she stomps her front hooves against the wood.

”twade!” she once again affirms. “hewp Bownti--… Bountifuw… Wivah…” 

The filly mulls over what has to be your name in her mouth. You smile and open your own to correct her, but she doesn’t give you the chance, suddenly springing forward in a defensive crouch. Her wings flare open as she gives you a pleading, determined glare. “hewp you!” she asserts. “you no take naw-nee!”

Naw-nee?

You’ve never heard that word before. Why would you take it?

Regardless, this is the first time Tia has spoken to you, and you do not want to punish the filly for it. You simply smile and say, “I will not take any naw-nees, little sprout. And I thank you for your help.”

Tia relaxes, sitting on her haunches and giving an affirmative nod. “no take naw-nee,” she says, proud of herself.

With a lurch, the wagon begins to move once again. Tia doesn’t seem to be much better off than you as her eyes immediately widen and she plants her front hooves back onto the floor for support. Seeing Tia like this, the thought of leaving her to return to your tinkering doesn’t even enter your mind. 

“Would you like to go someplace a little softer?” you ask gently. 

There’s still a hint of distrust in Tia’s eyes, but it’s gone once you scoot to the side to let her get a view of the couch. It’s slow, but soon she relents, lifting her chin up and walking past you. She almost reminds you of Scholar Lucky Favor.

The closer she gets to the couch, though, the pretenses drop, and she excitedly hops onto the soft cushions. She giggles as she stomps her hooves into the fabric, her pink mane and tail whipping this way and that before she finds a comfortable spot. You wait for her to settle down before you approach and sit on the other end of the couch.

Tia’s magenta eyes peer at you from the corner of your vision as you settle down. As your back touches the wooden wall of the wagon, the muffled hum of Brother Anonymous’ and Scholar Lucky Favor’s voices become clear enough to make out.

”Honestly, Anonymous,” Scholar Lucky Favor grumbles. “I could’ve taken care of the blasted barrel.”

Brother Anonymous gives a noncommittal hum.

The two stop speaking for a while. You’re a little disappointed, thinking their conversation is over. Scholar Lucky Favor is much more sociable with Brother Anonymous than she is with you; perhaps she would reveal more about herself while she is talking to him? Maybe reveal why she doesn’t like to speak with you?

But after a few minutes of sitting peacefully, and a few glances sent Tia’s way to find her studying you, their conversation starts once again.

”Apologies for bumping into you like that,” Scholar Lucky Favor says. Underneath the hum of Scholar Lucky’s horn and the ambient sounds of the forest, you make out the sound of somepony tapping her hooves together. It’s slow, nervous. Like a filly.

Are Tia and Scholar Lucky Favor related in some way?

Brother Anonymous doesn’t respond verbally, but from the relieved sigh of Scholar Lucky you assume he took it well enough. He must have shrugged.

The mare giggles. “It’s good to see you take that so well. I remember when that would have earned me a slap, at the least!”

The human responds with a breathy, “Yeah…” before something in his voice changes. “Looks like it’s coming up soon. We have a plan, right?”

”Oh, yes!” Scholar Lucky titters. “Of course. We’ll, um… well, we’ll figure it out when we get there.” A long, hard pause. “Sorry. It was hard to think on the ride. I was distracted.”

“We were just sitting here alone--” Brother Anonymous begins, before his complaints end with a reluctant sigh. The tapping of Scholar Lucky’s hooves stop abruptly, as if she had just been caught doing something wrong. “Well, let’s try and find a good vantage point. Then we can get something in motion. What the Hell’s with that look?”

”I was thinking how good your new armor looks. The sun reflects brilliantly off it.”

You hear the slightest hint of excitement in Anonymous’ voice. “C’mere, look at this,” he says, the seat on the helm of the wagon creaking. Is he leaning closer to Scholar Lucky Favor? You can’t tell from here…

You plant your hoof against the wall to change that. It’s jarring for a moment, boarding this adrift ship on that roaring ocean, but you feel the vibrations of the shaking wood and stone end with Anonymous’ and Scholar Lucky Favor’s bodies. Anonymous’ proximity makes you feel secure. 

It feels like he is indeed leaning towards Scholar Lucky Favor, reaching an arm in front of her face.

“It’s like a gauntlet,” he says. “But it’s as flexible as a glove. I could probably catch a blade with this.”

”W-what?!” the mare squeaks. “That’s not-- Anonymous, please do not ever put yourself in such danger! I forbid it!”

”That depends on what you get yourself into, my lady.”

There’s a pause before Scholar Lucky continues. “…Potential maimings aside, forgive me, but I believe you’re mistaken about my statement. I was thinking about how well your armor matches your eyes.”

There’s a silence between the mare and human. You’re not sure if the wagon has entered a more secluded part of the forest or if you’re focusing too much with your silent petrevoking, but the birds and crunching of grass under wheels also seem to become muted.

You can’t help but scrunch in frustration. You wanted to know more about Scholar Lucky Favor, and you suppose you got your wish. The mare is certainly no traditional Marestrichtian, who would make herself available yet wait patiently for the stallion to make his decision; to not sway the potential father of her foals with flattery. 

You hope this is only more miscommunication. Perhaps unicorns are just more willing to flirt.

No, maybe what you may consider to be flirting, they consider to be complimenting a friend. Ancients above, you hope she is only complimenting her friend.

Body mending is so much simpler than this.

“Does this have to do with last night?” Anonymous suddenly murmurs, snapping you to attention. “Just… how drunk were you again, Lucky?” 

You frown, muttering something under your breath to the effect of, “That mare better not have given him alcohol…” 

You’re too busy petrevoking to hear Tia’s indignant huff, her attention now fully on you as her ears tilt to the two drivers’ direction.

“Apologies,” Scholar Lucky mumbles. “That was unprofessional of me.”

Anonymous wastes no time with his riposte: “Lucky, you are without a doubt the most unprofessional lady I’ve ever worked for.”

The unicorn gives an audible “hmph!”

”Still in my top five, though,” Anonymous relents with a shrug.

Another pause. Your fur prickles with impatience. 

“Anonymous?” Scholar Lucky Favor asks softly. Anonymous turns to her and gestures her to continue.  Oh, blast, you’ve forgotten Brother Anonymous’ honorific again! “I’d like to talk about last night. Not right now, mind you! Whenever you’re comfortable, I mean! But, um…” The tapping continues. “I would be appreciative if you put it as a priority, soon?”

Brother Anonymous reacts to Scholar Lucky’s words by looking away from the unicorn. Scholar Lucky leans forward, her heartbeat quickening as she waits for Brother Anonymous’ answer. “Maybe later,” he mumbles. Before anything else can be said, Brother Anonymous’ voice suddenly cuts through the silence in a completely different tone. “Max found something. See that?”

”Y-yes,” Scholar Lucky responds, clearing her throat. “I do. Parking there now. Thank you, by the way. I can see that you’re trying.”

”You’re teetering, Lucky,” Brother Anonymous replies. “You’re teetering juuuust over the line of kissassery.”

Another harumph, and that’s the end of the conversation.

You sigh forlornly, cutting the one-sided petrevoke and trying to blot out the outside sounds.

“deal bweaker!”

Before you can react, Tia’s horn glows and your sack becomes slack. Your supplies once again scatter across the floor, and you’re left scrambling to catch the few that come your way.

“Blast!” you curse. “What is your reasoning, little sprout?!”

”bwoke deal!” Tia affirms, turning away. “want naw-nee! hewp gone!”

You can’t make heads or tails of that filly. You only focus on grabbing the root that had rolled to you before turning your attention to the rest of your supplies. Thankfully, the wagon soon rolls to a stop and you’re left in relative stability. You would feel much better if your hooves were atop the solid, endless depths of Equus rather than a thin layer of wood and stone, but at least now it isn’t moving.

As you’re biting onto the lubotice brew’s necklace, the door to the wagon unlatches before swinging open. 

“We’ve arrived!” Scholar Lucky announces in a singsong voice. Her mood always seems to improve after speaking with Brother Anonymous. “Riverside, thank you for watching over Tia. Come out and get some fresh air, hm?”

You smile and open your mouth to respond, but that’s when Scholar Lucky Favor’s horn is set aflame with a cyan glow.

Your fur feels as if it’s being pulled off your body towards the spell. It becomes harder to breathe. And as the air gasps and implodes from the telekinesis, for a split second, you see a glimpse of your blood father’s face.

You yelp, dropping the necklace and skittering away from Scholar Lucky. The unicorn notices your reaction immediately and hastily disengages her horn.

”I’m so sorry!” she cries as she hops into the wagon.

The world soon turns to normal as the magic dissipates. You catch your breath before you realize you’ve dropped the lubotice brew. “It is alright, Scholar Lucky Favor,” you whisper before bending to scoop it back up. As you do so, you hear four tiny hooves clack against the floor and make their way to the unicorn.

Scholar Lucky had wanted to bring Tia to her side. That is all. The magic wasn’t aimed at you, Riverside.

It wasn’t aimed at your blood father. 

”Would you like some help with that, Riverside?” Scholar Lucky asks as you move to the next discarded article. “I understand it was a bumpy ride, but I plan to stabilize the interior later tonight.”

You suppress a shudder. “I am fine,” you say neutrally.

Scholar Lucky Favor’s shoulder slump at your response. She opens her mouth as if to say something more, but nothing comes. It’s only when Tia begins to babble that Scholar Lucky shushes her. “Come here, Tiny-Tia. Let’s think of a plan, shall we?”

You don’t say anything as the two ponies leave the wagon. It’s so strange. Those two are similar in many respects – their attitude, their white fur, the horn atop their head – but still feel so different. When Tia’s horn had glowed, it was… less of an ignition, more like a gentle glow. But Scholar Lucky Favor’s glow had as much vitriol towards the natural world as any unicorn’s.

You feel bad for reacting towards Scholar Lucky’s magic like that. You’ve made the choice to come along on her journey. She shouldn’t feel restricted from doing something so natural for herself. 

You sigh, ashamed. It seems that, when there’s nopony in need of your medical aid, you’re nothing but a hindrance to these ponies. Marestricht wasn’t much different.

A masculine voice snaps you from your stupor.

”I’m helping you,” Brother Anonymous’ deep utterance bounces in your ears. “Deal with it.”

You turn around to see the tall human standing at full height in the wagon. It seems as though the creators of the wagon were considerate of his height. His eyes search around the wagon before his emerald-encrusted hands get to work, picking up your strewn-about supplies from the ground. The two of you continue in silence for some time. Admittedly, picking everything up from the floor and putting it back in your sack takes much shorter than if you hadn’t had Brother Anonymous’ help. Still, your cheeks burn at the shame of having a stallion help you with labor, physical strength or not. After all, a stallion’s strength only makes the weaker mare more honorable when she is the one to aide him.

As you pull the grass knot of your sack tight, Brother Anonymous gives a nod and turns to leave. “C’mon,” he says.

“Brother Anonymous?” you ask.

”It wasn’t a big deal,” the human says as he raises a hand in a dismissive gesture. You’re disappointed he won’t even take a thank you, but that wasn’t the only reason you called for his attention.

“No, I had a question,” you correct. Brother Anonymous stops his advance and turns to look at you. For a brief moment you’re entranced by the way the outside world frames his body, and the way the sun bounces tiny glimmers off his emerald gauntlets. Scholar Lucky Favor was right. The emeralds in his gauntlets bring out his eyes quite brilliantly.

You clear your throat, unable to look into the human’s eyes anymore. An unfamiliar heat blossoms in your cheeks. You focus on tying your grass sack of medical supplies to your hip string. “Is there something I can do differently?” you ask meekly. “Scholar Lucky Favor does not like me. Nor any of the others. I know I have done something wrong, but I do not know what it is.”

A sort of uncomfortable, bemused silence pervades the wagon. Brother Anonymous stays still for a moment before he turns around. He peers out of the wagon and looks both ways before coming back in, satisfied that nopony is listening, you suppose. The human crosses his arms, leaning his weight on one of his legs in a bipedal show of nonchalance that’s foreign, yet fascinating to you.

”Don’t take it too hard,” he sighs, scratching the dark fur on his chin. “Lucky’s just--… Well, I don’t think she’d appreciate me calling her that, actually.” Brother Anonymous hums, tapping his bicep with an index finger. “It’ll take a bit for them to trust someone new. I’ll put it that way.”

“And yet you trust me, Brother Anonymous?” you ask quietly.

The human stays silent at that. He looks away from you in the same fashion as when Scholar Lucky had brought up whatever she had told him last night. He continues to tap with a finger as his eyes briefly turn downwards, his thoughts inwards.

You gulp, suddenly not knowing if you want to hear his answer.

“Look, Riverside,” Brother Anonymous says after consideration. “You’re fine. Really. Just… be patient, I guess. God, I suck at this.” Brother Anonymous mumbles that last remark under his breath before turning to the exit of the wagon once again, waving for you to join him as he descends. “If you wanna do something, try and drop the honorifics. If they’re not too culturally sacred, I mean.”

“I can?!—” you squeak, before clearing your throat to recover. “Ahem! I can call you Anonymous? I have your permission?”

”Yeah, call me Anonymous, call Lucky Lucky, and call Max Bitch with Wings.” And with those words, Anonymous bows out of the wagon and into the outside world. He stays just outside, waiting for you.

You follow close behind Anonymous, your head held high and a smile plastered on your face. You have to physically restrain the squee from coming out of your throat. 

You guess you weren’t doing everything wrong!

As you clop down the steps and onto warm grass, you are once again reunited with the natural grounds of Equus. Your contact of the world’s stable core is reconnected, and you no longer feel as if it would suddenly lurch forward at any given moment. The adrift ship has beached on a sunny, calm island.

In stark contrast to your inner ship, though, mist surrounds your group. It’s thin enough to be able to peer through and locate what looked like a strange village some ways down the hill, but thick enough to obscure the wagon from said village’s residents. The heat from the sun still warms the grass underneath, and the forest life is still abuzz with unperturbed buzzing and humming. Cloudpusher Max Gusto must have recently made this cover for the wagon.

Err, Bitch with Wings—no! Max Gusto! Max Gusto must have recently made this cover, you mean. Just Max Gusto. 

As you and Anonymous near said pegasus, currently peering through the tree line at the village alongside your other two comrades, Lucky turns her head towards you both. 

There it is again. Whatever apologetic feelings Lucky still harbored for you after she had conducted the spell, whatever friendly twinkle remained in her eyes, are swept away once again. She quickly turns back to the distant village. Her posture is more slumped than before, as if the breath was punched out of her belly.

You and Anonymous approach the three ponies. As Anonymous takes a knee beside Lucky Favor, you sit on your haunches, looking over the village currently being scrutinized. The village is more of a hamlet than a village... No, not even that. You don’t see any residential homes, only markets, tents, and wagons. You squint. 

Just what is this… settlement? 

It’s hard to explain the unease that pervades your mind as you inspect it. If you were to compare Marestricht to what you’re currently looking over, the earth pony village would be akin to a hermit crab taking refuge in an uninhabited shell; a home made from an offering of nature. This village is different. It reminds you of a timberwolf, burrowing deep into idle ground and carving its home into Equus’ new wound.

”Lucky?” Max suddenly asks with a tap to the side of the unicorn’s head. As you tune into Lucky, you realize she’s been mumbling under her breath for at least the last ten seconds.

“Oh!” she suddenly yips, giving both you and Anonymous a glance. “My apologies. Yes, Max, as I was saying, the plan! The plan to retrieve the things. The important things that are essential for our quest…” Another look at you and Anonymous, but this time slower, as if studying every follicle on your coat. “…The things that I’m having trouble remembering at the moment.”

Max blinks, unamused, before her attention turns to the filly in Lucky’s arms. Amusement suddenly comes back onto her face in full force. “I’ll give you a hint if I can give Tia a sweet mustache,” she says.

”mus-taj?” Tia asks with a tilt of her head.

Anonymous reaches a hand in front of Lucky’s face and snaps his fingers. The sharp clack! that erupts from the metal makes Lucky blink in surprise. “Larua roots,” he reminds. “Wagon.”

”Ah, that’s right!” Lucky Favor titters, her attention going back to the marketstead. “Thank you, Anonymous, my dear.” Another glance your way. You scrunch in confusion. Anonymous only presses one of his fingers into Lucky’s cheek until she glares at him, nudging it away with a push of her head. “Riverside and Max, I present to you something neither pegasi nor earth ponies have the luxury of experiencing: a marketstead. You can think of it as a band of traveling vendors, choosing to stick together as they traverse the wilderness.”

You blink in awe, giving the marketstead another, closer look. You can see how the small amalgamation of tents and wagons seem to slowly glide across the ground, a faint magical glow just underneath the marketstead. 

Quick as a whip, your awe snaps to unease.

”This is our chance to retrieve the supplies we need,” Lucky iterates. “We’ll need a thome on ambient mass-magic, first and foremost. It’s low level magic, so it shouldn’t cost much.”

You squirm, but remain silent. You understand their need of the larua roots. Thankfully, you don’t have any such need.

”I’m doing it anyway,” Max says in a sotto snicker, reaching out and grabbing a hooffull of mist. “Prepare to be handsome, Tiny-Tia…”

”…There’s the thomery.” Lucky Favor says with a point of her white hoof. You turn to follow it, seeing a pitch black, rectangular building sticking out from the rainbow of other structures. Even from here, and even as a body mender, you can see the miasmic traces of magical signatures wafting from within. You suppress a shudder, glad you’re so far away from the ominous shape. “Thomeries are quite distinct due to the high levels of ambient magic within. You can practically see the containment runes from here!”

”Buck me, those are some fancy symbols,” Max whispers under her breath, still hard at work with her glob of mist. You tilt your head at the vulgar expression. As Lucky Favor gives Max a glare, the pegasus intentionally looks past her to turn to you. “Cultural expression. Say it whenever you’re impressed. Trust me, it’s super polite.”

You doubt something as vulgar as that would be considered polite in any society. Then again, coming from someplace thousands of cubits from the ground might spawn more cultural differences than you’d think.

Lucky Favor continues, “After that, we should try and find a map of the coastline. That will allow me to cast an ambient direction spell on the wagon. Then we won’t have to manually drive it to the dockyard…” Lucky’s voice trembles with excitement. 

You nod, hopeful and already excited for being well away from this place.

”Wait, wait, wait!” Max suddenly blurts out. “Are you saying we’re just gonna walk in there and go on a shopping spree? What if somepony recognizes us, or the Red Garden are here?”

Lucky sighs, the excitement draining from her system. “That is the main problem,” she relents, her ears flopping down to her skull. She looks on at the many markets; weapons shops, armor shops, shops for things you don’t recognize. “Shame, too…”

An idea pops into your mind before it does anypony else’s. It isn’t a particularly pleasant idea, but the more you think about it, the more you realize this may be the best idea you’ve had. Not just for its practicality, but it also gives you a chance to repay the selflessness these ponies have shown you.

“I can go alone,” you say softly. Immediately, all eyes are on you. You look at each pair in turn, defending yourself with, “Anypony who would recognize you will not recognize me.”

Each pony has a different reaction to what you said. Max Gusto blinks, nodding slowly at your proposition as a small smile comes to her face. Lucky Favor’s frown deepens to dangerous levels. Tia stares at you with wide eyes, partially obscured by the half-transparent mustache on her face.

Before anypony else can respond, though, Anonymous’ gruff voice cuts through with conviction. “No.”

Max’s peach eyes flick between you and Anonymous. “Okay, I’m lost,” she says. “It’s a pretty good plan! Give Riverside some money and she goes into town to buy our shit, no fuss. Why the buck are we dismissing it again?!”

Lucky Favor’s face whips to Max in a glare before she juts her head downward in Tia’s direction. Max gives a noncommittal shrug before Lucky returns to the subject, “I can’t say I’m not nervous, either. Riverside is… how do you say… erm, no offense, dear, but if I were to pick one of us to be a negotiator it wouldn’t be you.”

It hurts, even when you try to not let it. “It is okay,” you say with a smile, rubbing your foreleg with a hoof. “But I still believe this is the safest option. Unless Max Gusto would prefer to steal our supplies under the cover of night?”

”Buck you,” Max spits. You flinch at the severity in her voice. You didn’t mean to offend her! Pegasi simply make good thieves!

Anonymous gives Max a flick on the muzzle, causing the mare to scrunch, before turning to you. “I’m coming, then,” he says.

You’re scrambling to deny him, but Lucky Favor beats you to it.

”Absolutely not!” she almost shouts. 

”I can handle myself, Lucky,” Anonymous defends. “It’s my job to protect you all, remember?”

Lucky Favor looks like she has a rebuttal, but the human doesn’t let her make it.

“If they’re part of the team,” he affirms. “I’m their housecarla as well.” Each word is like a disciplinary tap to Lucky’s horn.

Lucky bows her head and grumbles. “I know that… but if anypony down there is looking for us, you’d be the first they would recognize. It wouldn’t be a problem of whether you could handle yourself. They’d know we were here.”

For a brief moment, the look on Lucky Favor’s face reminds you of something that happened some months ago. During the winter, a group of foals had escaped from the clutches of a rabid griffon on the outskirts of the mountain, because of the sacrifice of their mother. When you were dressing one of the foal’s wounds, that filly had the same look of raw fear that briefly plasters Lucky’s face.

…You want to befriend this unicorn. 

You’re going to help her, and that’s final. You won’t be talked out of this.

Anonymous’ defenses falter. His shoulder slump, and all he can do is look at Lucky in an uncomfortable stalemate.

Max’s squeaky voice cuts through the silence. “I know this is asking a lot of you, Noninator, but don’t look so gloomy.”

Anonymous’ face definitely doesn’t look gloomy anymore. Incredibly annoyed and exasperated, but not gloomy. “Oh my God, if you ever call me that again…” he mutters, but his words pass under Max’s radar as she continues,

”Besides! Look at her, dude. She’s an earth pony; she’s twice our size! I doubt anypony will pick a fight with her.”

Anonymous looks at you, studying your frame, your fur, and your muscles. You are certainly no maretinet, but you haven’t let your body mending get in the way of your fitness.

…Is he impressed?

Obviously, you won’t ask him this. All you can do is sit stock still. 

Lucky Favor glares at you before turning away. 

…Darnit, you’ve messed up again. 

“Tell you what,” Max says, her gaze drifting to you. There’s still a hint of bitterness at your calling her a thief, but she seems to be pushing it away at the moment. “I’ll keep watch from overhead. Nopony’ll see me, and if anypony gives her any trouble, I’ll help her kick their flanks. Worst case scenario, I’ll grab her and bolt. I carried your fat human butt, so I can definitely handle her when the time comes!”

Max holds out a foreleg and flexes, driving her point home. You’re more than a little put off by the fact she’d so openly admitted to carrying Anonymous, and had even called him… overweight, which he is most certainly not. 

”What if something happens indoors?” Anonymous asks. “How will you know she needs help?”

Max only flicks an ear as her answer. Anonymous sighs, putting his face in his hands.

“Anonymous,” you say with certitude. He turns to you, his eyes appearing much older and more tired  than they have any right to. “I know it is unpredictable, but… please trust me.”

Anonymous says nothing. His gaze is fixated on you, but it’s nothing like before. His eyes are narrowed and his lips are pursed. The look he gives you now reminds you of your blood father. 

After a while, Anonymous closes his eyes and sighs through his nose. With a subtle shake of his head, he finally mutters, “…Fine.”

Before you can respond, a certain filly pipes up from Lucky Favor’s forelegs. The words are unfamiliar in her mouth, but are spoken with such passion and obliviousness they leave no room for interpretation.

“Buck me!” Tia chirrups. 

As if a switch had been flicked, three glares are now unanimously trained on Max Gusto. The lime pegasus becomes petrified under your scrutiny. Her wings flutter in emotion before she lets out a forced chuckle. “Wow, that backfired!” she giggles as she scratches the back of her head. “Didn’t expect her to pick that up so easily! She’s a smart cookie! You’ve got a smart cookie there, Lucky-loo, that’s for sure! I’m gonna walk over there and stand in the corner!”

Max swivels on her heels before powerwalking to the other side of the wagon, her head hung low and her face a bright shade of crimson. Your glare stays trained on the pegasus all the way there.

”Tia, dear,” Lucky coos as she sets the filly on the ground. “Do you know what that means? Be honest, now.”

Tia’s eyes are wide as she turns between Lucky and, surprisingly, you. Why won’t she look at Anonymous? “nup!” Tia affirms. “why Macks scawed?”

”Why don’t you go and ask Max that yourself?” Lucky asks patiently.

Tia nods her head excitedly before scuttling off towards the pegasus. Tia more hops across the ground than gallops, almost like a bunny with unfurled wings and an oversized horn. You feel your heart warming over the tiny filly all over again.

Once Tia is out of sight, it is only you, Lucky, and Anonymous sitting in a line overlooking the marketstead. Lucky Favor’s demeanor suddenly changes as she excitedly chitters, “Anonymous, do you remember what you told me last night, about your pay? I believe this may be a good chance for you to make amends with Tia.”

You blink. You do find it strange that Tia has been avoiding Anonymous, but why would Lucky be bringing that up now?

”We can focus on that later,” Anonymous says neutrally, confirming your confusion.

”But Anonymous, I can clearly see the bakery!” Lucky says as she once again points her hoof towards the marketstead like a filly pointing out her favorite treat. “It’s on the way back from the thomery! It’s in the perfect spot!”

”Lucky, neither of us know what you’re talking about.”

”Tia’s favorite treat is cake!” Lucky grins victoriously, peering over Anonymous’ shoulder to make sure Tia is nowhere in hearing distance. “I believe that if Riverside could buy one from that bakery, you could present it to Tia.” 

Lucky Favor turns to you hopefully. Anonymous, meanwhile, is shaking his head in disbelief. “You don’t need to worry about repaying me,” Lucky says. “In fact, you don’t need to repay me for any of these supplies. Just… Please, Riverside, could you do this?” 

Is this your chance?

You want to do this. You want to help Anonymous, and you want to show Lucky Favor that you can be relied on with more than just body mending. So why do you feel so uneasy about it?

”For fuck’s sake, Lucky,” Anonymous suddenly growls. “We’re not getting the cake.”

”What?!” Lucky throws her hooves up. "Why not?!”

“I-I can do it, Anonymous,” you breathe.

”Tia would really like it,” Lucky pleads earnestly. “Anonymous, it wouldn’t be more than an extra five minutes and a few doits.”

”Do you not realize how dangerous all of this is without the fucking cake?” Anonymous snaps. You flinch at the human’s tone, but Lucky Favor doesn’t even bat an eye. She only frowns, scrunching her muzzle in disappointment. Anonymous sighs, shaking his head before turning to you. His voice is soft as he speaks. “It’s already risky enough. Every second in there is a second that can go wrong. Just the thome and the map, then get out of there, Riverside.”

You take a moment, but soon nod at his words. It’s true, you would rather get this over with sooner rather than later, but…

…You really want Anonymous to know he can count on you. You want everypony to know they can count on you.

”Alright, fine,” Lucky Favor says. She clears her throat before turning to you. “I lost myself for a moment there. I apologize, Riverside. That was selfish of me to suggest. You are already doing so much.”

“No, it’s…” you start, but find no words. You simply nod, desperately wanting to start already.

There isn’t much to do in terms of preparations. After removing half of its original value, Lucky Favor hoofs you a bag of 300 doits, which you attach to the string on your hip. Anonymous crosses his arms and paces while you pat down your Marestrichtian travelers’ attire, his eyes shifting between glaring at the marketstead and giving you an unreadable look. You don’t miss how cold his eyes are as they inspect you neutrally. 

Lucky absolves Max from her banishment, and soon the both of you are making your way towards the marketstead.

Max doesn’t say much, besides a simple, “Signal me if you need help,” before she gives a flap of her wings and ascends into the air. You watch the pegasus’ light colors blend in with the canvas above, a lime-green dot in the sea-blue sky, before she eventually touches down on a cloud above.

As Max is separating a suitable perch from the cloud, you hear a voice suddenly pipe up from behind.

"Riverside!” Lucky calls out as she slows to a stop. You flick around to see the white unicorn approaching, panting from her sudden departure. Had she forgotten something? 

Surprisingly, though, Lucky gives you a bow of her head. “I wanted you to know that I really appreciate this,” she says. “And I bid you well. I don’t think I made that clear before you left. And I'd like to apologize once again about the... cake incident. I forgot how uncomfortable this all is for you.”

Lucky turns upwards and back to you. Her cyan eyes are genuine, brimming with determination. You open your mouth to respond, but Lucky beats you to it. “I understand I'm coming off as a bit...” she starts, before thinking carefully about her next words. “…Irritable. Not jealous. I am most certainly not the jealous type." 

It clicks for you.

All this time, Lucky Favor’s attitude towards you had been distant. It’s no wonder, when you look at Anonymous, Max Gusto, and even you. Tartarus, you’ve felt these very feelings when you were a filly! How could you have not seen this before?

”So…” Lucky hesitates, tapping her hooves together. “…May the Ancient Lady of Serendipity smile upon you, Bountiful Riverside.”

Your lips pull into a smile you can’t hope to fight against. You give Lucky Favor – your new Sachemare – a bow once again. “Thank you, Lucky Favor,” you say warmly. Lucky’s smile mirrors your own until you continue to speak. “If you have any questions about growing into yourself, I would be happy to help. You need only ask.”

Lucky Favor blinks. “…Pardon?”

“To become more muscular!” you say. “It is true that you are the skinniest of the bunch. But that can change with a good diet and proper exercise. I will be happy to explain further once we are back on the road.”

You feel silly, having not recognized Lucky’s insecurity sooner. It seems so obvious in hindsight, being the leader of her group, yet also the least physically imposing. Her sullen attitude she had sent your way when Anonymous was studying your body must be confirmation.

”…Th--” Lucky stammers, her eyes shrunken to pinpricks and scarlet invading her face. “…Th-THAT’S NOT--! I--! UGH!”

Lucky lets out a grating groan of exasperation before turning tail and stomping away from you, back to the misty confines of her wagon.

…Oh.

Fighting back the burning at your cheeks, you turn back to the marketstead. Max is now perched on her little slice of a cloud, her snow white tail hanging inconspicuously off its edge. Using the pegasus as an anchor of security, you double check the doit bag on your hip, adjust the furry collar of your jacket, and begin marching toward the marketstead. 

Map of the coastline. Ambient mass-magic thome. Avoid confrontation.

…Ancients give you strength to not let the magic bring anything up that you’re trying so hard to keep down.
> VII - Confidoit
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The magic under the marketstead curls from underneath its foundation, susurrating in a low, magical growl. The grass underneath its shadow is bleached in a rainbow glow of many unicorns’ horns.

The sounds of ponies – merchants calling out for potential customers and the mixed and matched conversations of hundreds of strangers – do nothing to rid yourself of the image of a prowling timberwolf. The image of the many wooden ramps dragging across the grassy ground, leaving claw wounds across Equus’ face. The image of a stallion’s face, blank and unreadable, devoid of his previous liveliness. 

No. You can’t think of that. Not now. Your friends are counting on you.

…At least, you hope they see you as a friend.

You swallow the dryness in the back of your throat and hop aboard one of the many wooden ramps of the marketstead. It remains sturdy, not even bending a hooflength under your weight.

Once again, your link to the core of Equus is broken. You are now adrift on this magical island.

Your fur prickles at the sensation of it all, as if a timberwolf were taking a long, deep smell of the meat under your coat. 

“Move your fat plot, ya horned mammoth!”

You flinch at the frustrated yell of a stranger. You hastily make the rest of your trip up the boreal slope, giving the exiting wagon you hadn’t noticed a wide radius. There are two unicorns on the wagon’s helm; one’s magical grip holds the reigns, while the other’s wraps around her sword’s hilt in a threatening manner. Both unicorns are wearing cloaks, though their sneers and glares are as discernable as a stain on a white quilt.

As you pass by the wagon, one of the unicorns suddenly takes a heightened interest in you. The magic around her sword’s hilt dissipates as her head follows your adjacent path. “Not horned,” she grumbles to her companion, just loud enough for you to hear. “Just a lost mammoth.”

”Don’t even think about it,” the driver answers before the question is even asked. “Not while onboard. Ancients help us if a Marestro catches us.”

You only bow your head and speed into a trot. You half expect the back of the wagon to suddenly burst open in a flurry of cloth and armed unicorns, horns and weapons pointed your way. Thankfully, the wagon does no such thing. It only continues in the opposite direction, gliding down the wooden ramp before making its way back into the open world of Equus.

As you continue into the marketstead, the sounds of hooves clacking against cobblestone, the humming of horns, and an amalgam of voices wash over you like an avalanche. 

”Twenty doits! Anything less and all of Marketstead Confidoit will know you’re a haggling thief.”

”Thestral is what I heard they were called! No, in Equestria!”

”Bucking raiders… whole damn place is behind ‘cause of them.” 

”Don’t give a shit who you stab with it, ‘s long as it’s well and away from here.”

”ANCIENTS-DAMNIT, GET YOUR MUDDY HOOVES OFF THE ROAD!”

You yip as you hurriedly skitter to the cobblestone lane to the side of the wooden “road,” as it seems to be called. You were wondering why nopony else was walking on it, but as another caravan of unicorns roll on by on the wide boards, you get your answer.

The architecture of the marketstead seems so foreign to you. Instead of being carved into a mountainside, flowing upwards in a tall wall of sidewalks and stone buildings, everything here is much flatter. You look above, but instead of a comforting, natural wall, you only see the whites and blues of the sky. You feel too naked for comfort; you can’t imagine how these ponies would withstand a sky thief raid, or a griffon attack!

That’s the thought that reminds you of your comrade in the sky. 

A white puffball steadily remains overhead, no doubt piloted by an observant Max Gusto. You blink slowly, taking comfort in that fact. You are by no means alone.

You can do this.

You see all manners of attire worn by the unicorns around you. If the marketstead were more popular, you’d imagine the sidewalks would look akin to a sea of flowing clothes and glimmering armors. You never knew there were so many variations of cloaks and armor. 

As many variations as there are, though, it’s obvious each one has one of two goals: intimidate, or conceal.

The unicorns around you give you a wide berth. They all seem to give each other a wide berth, now that you pay attention. There aren’t so many unicorns that anypony is forced to rub up against each other, and each one seems to be content to remain either by themselves or with their housecarlas or ladies. But so far as you’ve noticed, you’re the only one whose presence would have a unicorn walk into the wooden street and brave the passing wagon than walk beside you.

As the second unicorn risks injury, you decide to change your trajectory. You’re now walking alongside the curb of the wooden street. Now nopony should be endangering themselves when trying to avoid you; there’s plenty of room on the other side!

So… where shall you go first?

You’ll be honest. It was much easier to know where you’d be going when you had a wider view of the marketstead. Now that you’re between the merchants and customers of the place, you’re having trouble orienting yourself.

Still, there is one landmark you haven’t lost sight of since you’ve entered the marketstead. It’s some ways down the street, yet sticks out like rotten fruit. The thomery stands out from the tents and structures of the marketplaces not only due to its exterior, but also its magic wafting into the air like a dark chasm.

Each hoofstep towards the thomery suddenly becomes painfully intentional.

You bite your lip, your eyes boring into the ground. Your medicinal bag is tied to the left side of your hip. You find yourself entertaining the notion of finding a dark alleyway and settling down to begin another round of organizing your supplies. 

No. Don’t stop now, Bountiful Riverside. If you get the thomery over with now, everything else will be easy.

You strike your procrastination from your mind and give a stomp of your hoof. 

A cloaked unicorn yips from your side.

You squeak, turning towards the disturbance, only to find that the unicorn is giving you a suspicious glare as she skitters by you.

…Oh. She was yipping because of you.

You suspect a few more unicorns are giving you dirty glares, but when you look at each one you suspect, they turn away too quickly for you to decipher their reaction. 

Blast! Why does this have to be so difficult? You haven’t even opened your mouth yet!

Besides, what reason would they have to be afraid of you?

Your eyes are on their way to be glued to the ground again when something in your peripheral grabs their attention. There’s a small shop a few cubits ahead – you hadn’t given it any notice before. Its structure isn’t so different from a building you’d find on the higher levels of Marestricht, but what sets it apart is the strange, shiny, transparent material which makes up its walls. It isn’t this material that’s grabbed your attention so quickly though, rather the baked goods that you can clearly see displayed on the other side.

Cakes. The shape and size is the same as the ones you’d find in Marestricht, if a little small for your taste, but the colors vary wildly. This is the bakery that Lucky Favor had pointed out when she asked you to buy Tia a treat. She was right; it is a straight line from the bakery to the thomery. It’d barely be an inconvenience to go in once you have the thome.

…Just how much of a disturbance would it cause if you were to buy a cake, you wonder? They certainly look tasty. You would never hope to disrespect Anonymous’ wishes, but what Lucky Favor said piqued your interest. Anonymous needs this to make amends with Tia. Just why does he not want you to help him? 

…You’re sure Tia would appreciate—

Something warm collides into your chest and lets out a yelp of annoyance. 

Curses! You zoned out and didn’t see her coming!

Before you can even begin to apologize, though, your vision is filled with a bright, paralyzing light.

”Quit clogging up the sidewalk!” the unicorn spits. You’re immediately on your haunches as the glowing horn is pointed at your face. “Lousy excuse of an Ancients-damn raider!”

Her words barely register as the feeling of your fur peeling off becomes unbearable. You whimper as you scoot away from the unicorn, turning your head away and slamming your eyes shut. 

Glimmering, pale yellow eyes stare at you from between your blood father’s protective hooves.

The humming of the unicorn’s horn continues for a few agonizing moments before it slowly fades into nothingness. “Tsk,” she mutters. A set of hoofsteps makes its way around you. “Elusive my plot. You mud horses are just a bunch of cowards, is all.”

You feel something come up in your throat that you haven’t felt since you were a filly.

A sickly bile, caused not by a physical sickness, but by something much more nauseating. Your ears slam to your skull as you try to focus on taking in deep breaths.

You sniffle, wiping at your dry muzzle with your hooves, reminding yourself that your fur in still intact. You remind yourself that the vile magic is no longer targeting you, that Max Gusto is there to protect you…

…Although, if that unicorn had decided to fire that spell at you, would Max have had enough time to react?

Ancients, please give you strength…

You open your eyes and peer back up into the sky. The cloud is much closer now, close enough for you to be able to make out a pair of lime ears perking over its edge. You take solace in Max’s proximity, and your heartbeat slowly descends from its hummingbird perch.

You’re back on your hooves and making your way down the cobblestone path once again. You’re sure to not bump into anypony else.

One look in the thomery’s general direction, though, and you know you aren’t anywhere near ready to brave the spindles of magic whirling from its interior. You’re also starting to get why Anonymous had been so against getting the cake for Tia – it seems this marketstead doesn’t care if you aren’t looking for trouble. Trouble will fall into your hooves before you can refuse it. The sooner this is over, the better. So, with this all in mind, buying the map first is your best bet…

…The location of which you aren’t sure.

Blast! You can’t recall Lucky pointing out just where to buy that map. There was no need of maps back in Marestricht, so you wouldn’t even know where to look!

A general store? Or would it be in some sort of cartographer’s marketplace? Is there even such a market that specializes in that?

Fortunately, you’re quick enough to come back from your thoughts to avoid bumping into the unicorn just in front of you. You teeter to a halt just to the side of the cloaked mare, who barely registers you. She also seems to be lost in her own thoughts, her attention clocked in on something across the street.

…Well, she seems unassuming enough.

Not wanting a startled unicorn and a face-full of magic, you opt for a simple clearing of your throat. The unicorn’s ear flicks from under her hood as if you were a fly buzzing around her head. “Excuse me, stranger?” you ask gently. “I have a question, and I would appreciate if you would grace me with an answer.”

You’re sure this is the correct way to speak to strangers. You’ve heard it plenty times before, when ponies would speak in passing to you.

The unicorn’s muzzle scrunches, turning to respond before suddenly becoming still.

Her reaction is different from the usual subversion of unicorn’s expectations. Her face transitions from annoyance, to curiosity, but quickly back to annoyance as she looks over you. “Huh!” she says, her teeth stained with some weird, brownish green glob of moss. “Well, aren’t you a big one.”

You nod, still uneasy from the horn pointed your way. “Yes,” you confirm, your eyes flicking to where the unicorn had previously been staring. There’s a crowd of ponies surrounding what looks like a bulletin board, the sounds of armor and weapons rubbing up against each other unmistakable. There’s a certain unicorn, speaking loudly as she rubs up against a--…

Ancients above, there are male adventurers?!

No! No, you won’t make a big deal out of it! No need to look suspicious.

Even if the unimpressed look the stallion has on his face makes you feel for his situation.

Your eyes slowly return to the unicorn in front of you as you eke out a friendly grin. “Where would one go when looking for a place to buy a map?” you ask directly.

The unicorn frowns at something you’ve most undoubtedly messed up. You suppress a sigh of defeat. Without warning, the unicorn suddenly turns away from you and spits on the ground, before saying, “You can see Plumsteed just over the horizon. Don’t see any need for no map.”

“I am not headed in that direction,” you correct.

”All-Father’s rusted hilt you aren’t. There ain’t—” Suddenly, the unicorn stops speaking. 

Your blood freezes. You didn’t give anything away, did you? You just said you weren’t headed for Plumsteed. 

Thankfully, the unicorn’s next words are friendly. “Well, big miss,” she says with a chuckle. “I’ll be glad to escort a fellow traveler to the general store.”

“Your hospitality is appreciated,” you assure. “But I decline. I only need to know its location. I do not want to trouble you any longer.”

This only seems to pique the unicorn’s interest even more as she takes a step towards you. “Lotta thieves milling about in Marketstead Confidoit,” she insists. “Sure you can’t use some company?”

“I am fine. Please, only tell me the location of—”

”Don’t kid yourself. I can tell by that slur of an accent you’ve got you’re as lost as a colt in a brothel. That pride will get you bloody and in a ditch.” The unicorn lets out a sardonic chuckle, and for a brief moment her eyes glance at nothingness. It’s gone as soon as you notice it. “Well then, what’re we waiting for? I’ll lead ya.”

Before you can retort, her horn is set alight in an ethereal flame.

You force yourself to remain calm, but you can’t get the image of your blood father out of your mind now.

Ancients above, you wish you only knew what he was thinking…

“I’ll keep the unfavorables off your back,” the mare susurrates as the hilt of some kind of a weapon, you don’t care to decipher what, peaks out of her cloak.

Four round, almost boomerang-looking runes adorn its handle.

“I am FINE!” you shout before you can stop yourself.

Maybe it’s your racing brain’s imagination, but you swear you can see the friendly glimmer in the mare’s eyes… evaporate. She shrugs, the hilt of the wagon retreating back under her cloak. So why is her horn still engaged?

”Shoulda let me help you, saddleback,” she grumbles, her voice now absent of any friendly accordance. Already, she’s beginning to retreat away from you and back into the masses. 

Before she can walk two steps, though, you hear the ungodly howl of a spell before a ball of light careens into the mare. 

She drops limp. You scream out as your legs turn to liquid, dropping your haunches to the cobblestone. Before you can bolt, though, one augmented word rings in your ears.

”THIEF! Everypony, BACK!”

Immediately, the unicorns passing by and coming your way are at attention. A select few draw weapons, others look on in interest, and one or two suddenly bolt away from the newly made clearing around the limp body of the mare.

It was so quick. You heard the spell before you saw it. A split second, and the mare you were just speaking to was killed in front of your eyes.

Erased.

The hard clacking of hoofsteps can be heard from your right. You’re too numb to turn to see who’s approaching, but when the unicorn marches into your vision moments later, there’s no need. It’s the unicorn who was flirting with the stallion. The flamboyant armor which adorns her body burns in the sunlight, and the chainmail underneath sets loose a cacophony of rustling metal. Her horn is aflame with the same glow that now surrounds the other mare’s body.

”Ancients-damnit, again?!” a voice comes from…

…What?

You double check to make sure, and when the limp body of the mare continues speaking, you triple check to make sure you’re not just hearing voices. “Don’t you have a colt to smooth talk, Cindertouch?!”

You can only watch as Sister Cindertouch continues on her march towards the limp mare, not bothering to entertain her with her questioning. The few unicorns who had gained on the limp mare skitter off as the armored mare nears. 

“Where is it?” Sister Cindertouch growls lowly.

The limp mare groans, “Guess the ‘honest bounty hunting life’ rotted the thinkin’ part of your brain. I got no idea what you’re talking about.”

”Ancients-damnit, I told you I wouldn’t go easy on you!” Bounty Hunter Cindertouch snaps. “Not in Confidoit! I saw you! You stole that mare’s doit bag.”

It takes a moment for you to realize she’s referring to you. As Hunter Cindertouch’s eyes lock with your own, you quickly reach for your doit bag, only to touch fur. Your head snaps to your side, and you confirm it with your own eyes. Your doit bag is missing.

”What’re you talking about?” the limp mare sniggers. “It’s right there, on the other side.”

Anger prickles at you. You stomp your front hooves into the ground and stand at your full height. Hunter Cindertouch and the limp unicorn are the only two who aren’t put off by your size. “Shame on you!” you affirm. “This is a medicinal--!”

”Shut your yap, mud horse!” Hunter Cindertouch barks.

You flinch, taking a step back. Are you missing something? Are you not the victim here?

The limp mare chuckles at her captor. “You fixin’ to believe some saddleback over your friend? Remember the last earth pony you trusted? Orange, stallion, lied like the best of them. He and his raider marefriends costed Confidoit a whole slew of problems.”

The anger blossoms from your chest to your face, but you hold your tongue. You do not want to prompt another reaction from Hunter Cindertouch. 

To just what extent did the Red Garden use your herdbrother? Did they use him in dangerous missions, such as robbing something like this marketstead? Did they not care if he was hurt?!

A few glares are sent your way from the crowd. Hunter Cindertouch’s glare, though, remains trained on the mare. “That ain’t here nor there,” she snarls. “This is about your complete lack of honor for the marketstead. You were a thief before Confidoit, and you still are now!” Hunter Cindertouch turns to somepony in the crowd. “You there. Caster. You know ambient mass-magic?” 

You perk up, looking to the crowd member with hope. But she only shakes her head and says, “No, ma’am.”

Not even a second passes until another hoof shoots up from the crowd. “I do, Cindertouch!” its owner calls out. The way she addresses Hunter Cindertouch by name makes you feel as if you’re dealing with somepony of supreme stature. Is she a kind of sachemare to these ponies? Or, marestro, as those unicorns on the wagon had uttered about?

Hunter Cindertouch nods as she passes those last few cubits to be towering over the limp mare. “Cast an inrithaumatic sphere,” she commands. Immediately, a wave of grumbling washes over the crowd of onlookers. “Exclude my magical signature. I’m gonna prove this low-life-- ANCIENTS-DAMNIT, SHUT YER YAPS AND KEEP WALKIN’ IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT, YOU BELLY-ACHIN’ FOALS!”

The Caster’s horn ignites, and you’re skittering to a safe distance before the spell is even cast. Most of the crowd has now dispersed, leaving room for Hunter Cindertouch to hop onto the cobblestone path and off the road. What happens next gives Hunter Cindertouch even more room free of onlookers.

An otherworldly hum emits from the Caster’s horn. You’re left paralyzed as a translucent sphere grows from the tip of her horn, rapidly increasing in size. It’s almost as if a tiny, blue sun has now encapsulated the trio of unicorns. You can’t find it in yourself to look at your reflection in the boiling, plasmatic sphere.

”All this to keep me magicless?” you hear the limp mare moan from within. “I’m paralyzed, for Ancients’ sake!”

Hunter Cindertouch has none of it. “I know your little tricks. You ain’t teleporting out of this one, Speck.”

”Fine, if you think I’m so stupid I’d steal inside the marketstead. Come on then, Ancient Lady of Lucidity. Check me.”

Hunter Cindertouch narrows her eyes at Thief Speck’s nonchalance. You can only watch as the unicorn reaches with a hoof and pulls back the limp mare’s cloak.

Immediately, the runes on the thief’s weapon glow a bright red before suddenly shooting out of its holster. The weapon is a blur – you can only tell that it’s small, round, and very sharp – as it slices into Hunter Cindertouch’s face. 

The unicorn screeches in pain as the paralysis spell is disengaged. The thief is immediately onto all fours, pausing only to let the strange weapon zip back into its holster, before she’s making a gallop for it.

The Caster has been caught completely off-guard. Thief Speck is coming your way. You quickly bound for her path of escape. Once she’s out of the sphere, though, the brief flash of white and thunderstrike of what has to be teleportation magic sends stars into your vision.

It doesn’t matter, though.

A lime blur slams into the thief from above. The two tumble for a moment, almost barreling into you, before coming to a stop on the wooden road. Max Gusto is quick to wrap her hooves around the thief’s barrel to keep her cloak closed.

”BUCK!” the thief screams as she tries to thrash out of Max’s grip, prompting the pegasus’ powerful muscles to tense and striate from under her fur. “GET THIS THIEVIN’ HORSEFLY OFF ME! ANCIENTS ABOVE, SHE SMELLS!”

You swear you heard that teleportation spell. The swirling stars in your vision are also proof of this. Yet the thief is still here?

No, that’s not the only important matter. Max Gusto has just revealed herself! In front of a bounty hunter, no less!

Not knowing what else to do, you close the distance to help Max. She has most of the thief under control, so that only leaves her horn uncontested. 

You reach forward and press your hoof to the thief’s horn, sandwiching it to the ground. She cries out from the pain.

“I’m sorry about this!” you plead to the unicorn. “Please don’t resist or you could really hurt yourself!”

The unicorn only gives you a half-flabbergasted, half-standoffish look before spitting on the ground yet again.

“Max!” you whisper. Max doesn’t respond, though. “Max, she’s a bounty hunter! She might--!”

”Step back, you two!” you hear Hunter Cindertouch’s voice above the chaos. “Our friend could use some magical restraint.”

You make sure to make eye contact with Hunter Cindertouch and give her an affirmative nod, taking a step back. Your hoof still remains on the unicorn’s horn until Max also relents…

…Which she isn’t doing. In fact, now that you’re getting a better look at her, the pegasus is only squeezing tighter. Her lower face is smushed into the thief’s cloak, but her eyes are clearly visible as she glares into the thief’s face.

You can barely see a hint of peach in those apoplectic pinpricks.

”I said git, sky rat!” Hunter Cindertouch barks once again.

Finally, Max pushes off from the thief, but not without a solid punch to the gut. The unicorn doesn’t even have time to double over in pain before her body is once again enveloped in a paralyzing glow.

Max is grumbling something under her breath as she stands by your side. All you can hear is a low, angry, “…not a bucking liar…”

Hunter Cindertouch nods to the Caster, who disengages the sphere. The unicorn makes no move to leave, however. She only watches attentively as Hunter Cindertouch glowers at the thief. Her attention doesn’t once shift to Max Gusto. “So that’s how it is, huh?” she mutters, cringing as her torn cheek moves with the words.

”S-Self-def—AKH!” Thief Speck sputters before succumbing to a coughing fit. She sends Max a glare, who responds with a waggle of her eyebrows, before continuing. “Self-d-defence ain’t against Confidoit law! You opened my cloak and got a face-full of revenite runes!”

You turn to once again to whisper to Max, but she beats you to it. “Sorry for not coming in earlier,” she murmurs as Hunter Cindertouch approaches the limp mare. “Had to be sure nopony was looking for me. From the sounds of it, their bounty board needs renewel. I’m guessing that has to do with this ‘raid.’”

Max’s frown deepens as she finishes, and the word “raid” is hissed from her lips like a poisonous gas. ”Bucking idiots think Apple Seed was doing it willfully…”

Meanwhile, Hunter Cindertouch snorts as the gash on her cheek stains the left side of her face maroon. A piece of flesh hangs limply from her face, yet she shows no sign of pain. “You teleported the bag away,” Hunter Cindertouch says. “The moment you left that inrithaumatic sphere, you teleported it away. The Caster’s my witness.”

”You can’t prove that!” the thief yells out. “If you wanna play the noble bounty hunter, there’s a sky thief right there!”

Max Gusto’s eyes flex and narrow to keep from giving a reaction.

”Mud horse,” Hunter Cindertouch suddenly says, her attention now away from the limp mare. “What’s your name?”

Before you can respond, it’s Max who speaks up. “Hey, we just caught the thief who gave you that gnarly makeover! The least you can do’s not be a name-calling little b--!”

“Mender Bountiful Riverside!” you say, hastily pulling Max into a mumbling mess in your forelegs. Max gives an indignant yelp before she changes tactics and starts…

…is she licking your foreleg? Is she a foal in a mare’s coat?

Judging by Hunter Cindertouch’s reaction, though, it seems you were too late. She got the gist of what Max was saying.

”…Okay then, River,” Hunter Cindertouch corrects as you release Max from her vocal prison. “I’ll make it simple for you. Use some that earth pony strength and press down on Speck’s horn until she’s willing to cooperate.”

You freeze up.

The mere thought of harming the thief completely strips you of your communicative skills. For what could’ve been minutes, you only stand there, open-jawed, unsure of what to say. 

”I’ll do it!” Max suddenly pipes up with a raise of her hoof.

Hunter Cindertouch’s response is a glare at Max, and a faint weakening of her horn. The thief twitches a hoof as her paralysis is slackened. Max hesitates, her hoof unsure, yet still hanging over her head. For a moment, she mirrors your previous indecisiveness.

Without a word, you brush up against Max Gusto and give Hunter Cindertouch a nod. The unicorn watches as you approach the thief. You lay a hoof on the unicorn’s horn, prompting a soft yip from her.

”Petty little brat…” Max mumbles under her breath just soft enough for you to hear.

You can’t even look at the poor unicorn’s face as you slowly apply pressure.

”You can’t scare me with this, Cinder,” the unicorn chuckles nervously as her horn continues to be pressed against the hard ground. “It’s just like that other time with Wind. Look here, the saddleback was looking for a map of the coastline! Y-you know as well as anypony the only thing from here to there is the dock-- Agh! Th-the dockyard! This filly’s gotta be packed with doits – a ride on those ships ain’t cheap! I’ll split it evenly with you! It’d be just like--! BUCK!”

Hunter Cindertouch’s eyes are unfocused, yet narrowed – recounting something regrettable. Or perhaps, many somethings regrettable. 

Max approaches you from behind, but doesn’t say anything. You focus on reminding yourself over and over that the horn you’re touching isn’t a magical timebomb, and to be careful to apply just enough pressure to hurt, but not nearly enough to snap the horn against the ground.

Ancients above, you hope you don’t snap her horn.

”AGH!” the unicorn squeals. “Ancients-damnit, don’t you have some colt to flirt with instead of dealing with me?! C’mon, just--…!”

”Riverside?” Max whispers from behind. “Riverside, you don’t have to—"

”ANCIENTS BUCKING ALL-FATHER-DAMNIT, FINE! FINE, JUST STOP!” 

You immediately retract your hoof and stagger away from the thief. There are tears in the unicorn’s eyes as she glares up at you. You sniffle, averting your eyes to the ground. You can’t bear to look at anypony in the eyes right now.

The Ancient Lady of Life is saddened by your actions, Bountiful Riverside.

Hunter Cindertouch approaches the thief once again. This time, something levitates out from behind her back; a metal helmet, enveloped in the same glow as the thief’s body. Hunter Cindertouch’s face is scrunched in effort as she balances the two spells equally.

”Caster?” she says, earning the attention of said unicorn. “Get the marestros and tell ‘em we caught ourselves a thief.” The Caster nods and is gone in a flash of light. You barely even flinch. “I’m about to relinquish the paralysis spell to let her retrieve your doits, Riverside. It ain’t a rune paralysis, as keen as our friend here is on the things, so she’ll have to be free to cast the spell. Pegasus, go ahead and keep her here steady.”

”Sure you don’t want Riverside to do that, too?” Max growls as you feel a wing settle on your withers. You just feel guilty for making Max feel like she has to do this. “Maybe we should also break her legs for good measure.”

”I’m sure,” Hunter Cindertouch says, her voice much softer. “She’ll need her horn to teleport back what she stole, so don’t touch it. And don’t worry—” The softness of her voice is gone, replaced with a steely snarl as she glares at the thief. “—She can’t teleport when somepony’s holding onto her for dear life. Not that advanced yet. Ain’t that right, Speck?”

The thief and the Hunter share a tense look before the thief can no longer stand it and glowers at something in the distance. 

Max Gusto complies with Hunter Cindertouch’s instructions, once again settling on top of the thief to keep her limbs in check. To her credit, the moment the paralysis spell is undone, the thief tries her best to squirm from Max’s grip. The pegasus merely holds tighter and waits for her to tire herself out.

Meanwhile, Hunter Cindertouch reaches a hoof towards the thief’s cloak yet again. This time, when the revenite-infused weapon launches at her, Hunter Cindertouch deftly blocks her face with the bottom end of the helmet. The weapon is caught in the helmet’s interior, the helmet’s bottom is swiftly planted onto the ground, and the weapon is rendered useless in its new cage.

Now with no more tricks up Thief Speck’s sleeve, it doesn’t take long before your doit bag reappears in a flash of white light and is in your hooves. You quickly check its innards and confirm that there’s nothing missing. The wave of relief you feel in that moment is only seconded to when Lucky had accepted you into her group.

Before long, there’s another flash of white, before the Caster returns with a pair of other heavily-armored unicorns. The wicked-looking swords strapped to each of their hips are only half as threatening as the visorless helmets which obscure any semblance of a fellow pony. Magic must be being used to make visibility possible. Max Gusto is soon no longer needed as the thief is enveloped in the third paralysis spell of her day. 

The thief’s cloak is removed and tossed aside, revealing a complicated-looking array of tools and weapons strapped to her under armor.

Meanwhile, you still haven’t stopped looking at Hunter Cindertouch’s ghastly wound. She hasn’t even acknowledged it, but you can’t get the sound of her pained shriek out of your head. She also avoids much movement of her cheek, opting for a neutral frown as she relays the necessary information to the authorities. Her eyes are creased in pain as her face twitches sporadically.

You jolt as you feel a nudge at your side. “C’mon,” Max whispers from below. “Let’s get outta here. We caused enough of a scene.”

You resist against Max as she tries to pull you away; Hunter Cindertouch is brushing off a Marestro’s parting comment about her wound as another scoops up the revenite-infused weapon.

“She helped us, Max Gusto,” you remind your friend as you approach the unicorn. Max groans, but follows close behind regardless.

Before you can even get a word out, Hunter Cindertouch begins speaking. “You ponies are new around here – and don’t even waste your breath trying to deny it – so let me make something clear.” 

As the thief and the marestros disappear in another flash, Hunter Cindertouch’s gaze remains fixated on the spot where they’d been moments before. “Out there,” she begins. “Be whoever you are and do whatever you want. As long as you have the doits, whatever kind of a wanna-be hero or dirty criminal you are on Equus’ grounds don’t mean spit to us. But the moment you set hoof on those planks, you’re in Marketstead Confidoit. And that means no. Thievin’.” As she finishes, Hunter Cindertouch’s eyes settle onto Max. The pegasus glowers, but decides against retorting.

“Hunter Cindertouch,” you say softly, lowering your head to her level. “You are hurt.”

”Gonna give me a kiss better, medicine pony?” she asks in a way that’d go perfectly with a sardonic smirk, but is still said with a straight face. “Speck’s about to be a whole lot more hurt than me. That fact tickles me more than enough.”

“You were hurt while helping me!” you declare, stomping a hoof. “You can barely move your face! Come, I will heal you.”

”How do I know you’re not just gonna—?” Hunter Cindertouch starts, before she slowly fades to silence. Her face transforms from apprehension to shame in front of your eyes. After a while, Hunter Cindertouch only sighs. “…Consarnit, fine. Just keep those puppy-dog eyes holstered.”

…You don’t have puppy-dog eyes, do you?

Regardless, you smile in earnest, leading Hunter Cindertouch to someplace where the two of you can sit. At first, you reach for the mare’s hoof, but all that does is earn you a slap to your fetlock. The sidewalks have been cleared of passerbys for the moment, what with the altercation with the thief and the marestros’ interference, but even still, you decide to find a much more secluded spot to begin your mending. Max Gusto still follows, her wings fluttering with nervousness as her head swivels left and right.

“It shouldn’t take more than a minute,” you assure as you unlatch your medicinal bag and splay it out in front of you.

It’s quite a deep laceration. It would take weeks to heal normally, and there would be no chance of coming out of it without a noticeable scar. The detached skin is a concern as well; you’re going to have to reattach it with pincerheads. Iuncti root extract will help with the pain. Besides that, a touch of antequus seed powder and a quick petrevoke to the Ancient Lady of Life will work for sealing.

Fortunately, this is no full body mend. Your connection with the Ancient Lady of Life has been severely dulled while on this moving mass of magic and wood, and you are furlongs away from the lubotice in your mending burrow. Your extensive time spent on treating minor wounds in Marestricht leaves you prepared and experienced.

After cleaning the immediate area of blood via a congregor leaf, you find yourself humming a song your blood father once taught you as you mash a piece of iuncti root underneath your hooves. You pause your humming momentarily to take a breath and blow the resulting powder onto the gore of the wound, but quickly resume when you see the cringe of pain on Hunter Cindertouch’s face.

You like to think that Hunter Cindertouch’s now relaxed expression is due in part to your humming. You know this particular song had such an effect on you when you were a filly. It had a similar effect when you were older, even if it was coming from your own mouth.

You’re too focused on your work to notice how Max Gusto is looking at you with a tilted head and a raised, curious eyebrow.

The iuncti root works its natural magic within moments, and the only hint of further discomfort Hunter Cindertouch shows is when you are reattaching the loose skin with pincerheads. They react instantly, latching onto her cheek tightly and closing the wound enough for the next step.

”I hope this doesn’t mean I have to walk around with decapitated ant heads holding my face together,” Hunter Cindertouch mumbles softly.

“Not at all,” you assure with a smile. “They are not ants, they are beetles.”

”Oh, thank the Ancients. What a relief.”

Another blow of air, and a healthy serving of antequus seed powder sticks to the crescent moon-shaped wound. The particles which land on the thin line of blood are a dull brown, but you know that will soon change.

“Hold still, please,” you assure as you bend down to the unicorn’s level. Hunter Cindertouch’s face takes an indignant shade of red as your forehead connects with her own.

”D’ya take me for some sort of dyke?” she mutters. This gets a snicker out of Max.

You pay her comment no mind, close your eyes, and your humming stops. Your prayer to the Ancient Lady of Life is sacred and heralds no need of transcription.

Through the darkness of your closed eyes, a faint glow can just be made out. It is a bizarre feeling, this shifting of Equus’ life force when not within the confines of your mending burrow. Still, soon the feeling fades, and you know your work has finished.

You retract from Hunter Cindertouch’s head to see an astounded expression on her face. You simply smile as you work on carefully removing the pincerheads with your teeth. A few small pricks open from the more stubborn of the pincerheads, but all in all, a successful mend. You smile and give a nod, before beginning to place your supplies back into your sack.

It takes a moment for Hunter Cindertouch to recover. She opens her mouth to speak a few times, but each end with failure. It isn’t until she clears her throat and shakes her head from her stupor that she finally succeeds. “H-how much?”

“Hm?” you ask as you pull the medicinal sack’s string with your teeth, tightening it closed.

”How much do I owe you?” Hunter Cindertouch reiterates, much more confidently than last time. “How many doits? I ain’t seen nothing like this, but I’m sure I can afford whatever you earth ponies usually charge. Come on, just spit it out.”

You give Hunter Cindertouch a shrug and a gentle, reassuring smile. “Nothing at all,” you say. “You helped me retrieve my doit bag, so I’ve helped you. It is an even trade.”

Hunter Cindertouch’s eyes widen more than you’ve seen from the mare previously. That’s interesting, you hadn’t noticed that hint of green in those blue orbs before. It was hard to discern while her eyes were stuck in a perpetual glare.

“Wellllll,” Max Gusto suddenly pipes up, effortlessly swooping against Hunter Cindertouch’s side. The unicorn’s eyes are immediately narrowed once again. Max seems to have that effect on ponies. “If you’re really that desperate to repay us, you could do us a solid and buy a certain map.”

Blast, you had forgotten all about that! Max Gusto saves you once again. You need to find a way to repay her kindness.

Hunter Cindertouch glances to you for confirmation, and you give her a hasty up and down of your head. She rolls her eyes before taking a step away from Max. “Map of the Western coastline?” she asks.

You once again bob your head up and down excitedly.

”Done,” Hunter Cindertouch confirms. “Where’s the dropoff?”

…Dropoff?

“Could you just meet us in person outside the thomery?” you ask softly.

“…Sure,” she finally relents, her voice softening. “Well, if that’ll be all…”

Without waiting for any goodbyes, Hunter Cindertouch turns and powerwalks out of the alleyway. She nudges Max Gusto out of the way, even if the pegasus was a good cubit or two out of her path. 

The pegasus immediately bounces back with a peppy, “Good luck with your face not falling off!” before Hunter Cindertouch turns the corner and disappears into the masses of Marketstead Confidoit. “Don’t do any stretchies!”

The moment Hunter Cindertouch is out of your vision, Max Gusto’s face immediately takes it up completely. “Bountiful Riverside,” she whispers, dead serious. “Before it’s too late, promise me that if I ever get slashed like that, you’ll just let it scar. Ancients, that thing with the ant heads was--…” Max can’t even finish her sentence before a nerve-rattling cringe crawls up her spine and onto her face. She gives a shake and a “ewbwbwb!” at the mere thought.

“Pincerheads are actually carnivorous beetles,” you correct. “And there is no need to be disgusted by them. Rest assured, they are well and truly dead. Their bite is a reflexive mechanism.”

”Yeah, yeah, just don’t give me the jab,” Max says with a dismissive wave of her hoof.

You only give a purse of your lips before you start walking back into the marketstead. Regardless of her ignorance, you can’t bring yourself to be annoyed with the pegasus. 

”Alright, well good luck!” Max chirps from behind.

You immediately stop and whip around to see that Max is already floating above the ground. “Wait!” you yelp out. “Were you not going to continue to accompany me?”

Max bobs up and down in the air with each flap of her wings, giving you a tilt of her head. “Uh, no?” she says as if it were obvious. “Remember what Lucky said? If anypony here is looking for us, they’d recognize me, but not you. We’ve flaunted our best buddies-status enough already.”

The prospect of the thomery once again cools your blood. The prospect of entering the thomery alone is almost unthinkable.

“Please wait!” you plead, bouncing up and down on your hooves. “I believe we would be more successful if we stayed together!”

Max stays suspended in the air for a moment, giving you a look that’s a mix of pity and confusion. 

”If you got some larua roots and know ambient mass-magic, then I’d be happy to,” Max explains with a shrug. “But I doubt it.”

“That is a perfectly reasonable doubt!” you say with a stomp of your hoof. “But it is unrelated to our circumstances. I believe I know how I could disguise you. I shall be back!”

You quickly turn and skitter towards the exit of the alleyway, but not quick enough to not catch Max mumble, “I’m surrounded by autistics...”

You pay the nonsensical word no mind as you skid to a halt at the previous crime scene. Hunter Cindertouch is nowhere to be found, and besides the red stains of blood on the cobblestone, it looks as if nothing had happened at all. There is only one piece of evidence left behind.

The thief’s cloak. It doesn’t fit you, but you’re sure it will fit Max Gusto.

You reach down and grip the cloth with your teeth. A few of the passing unicorns mumble at this, but you pay them no mind as you quickly return to the alley. Max is now sitting on the ground, waiting for you as she taps a hoof impatiently.

“Her’ you gow!” you announce, standing over the pegasus. With a flick of your head, the bulk of the cloak is now resting over Max’s body, hiding her wings. You use your hooves to drag the hood over Max’s head.

The oversized hood promptly slides down her face, covering everything but her muzzle. It was obviously made with extra room to home a horn.

The ordeal with the thief was not a complete setback – for instance, you’ve learned that checking for whatever is under somepony’s cloak is grounds for self-defense. You doubt anypony would attempt it with Max when unprovoked.

”…A-Ancients above clothes feel weird,” Max mumbles. “How can you landlubbers wear this stuff?”

“Clothes are not ‘weird,’” you assure as you reach up to your own mane with your hooves. “It is an extra layer for your Y-7 gland. A mare must remain pure for any stallion who might choose her to be her foalbearer, yes?”

Max Gusto looks like she’s about to respond, until you undo the bun atop your mane. 

”PFFBFFT!” she spits out, hastily looking away and holding a lime hoof to her muzzle. You can no longer discern her face due to the hood. 

“What is the matter?” you ask, using a hoof to glide Max’s face back to your own. Her trembling lips are scrunched to astronomical levels, as if on the verge of bursting out laughing.

”N-nothing,” she snickers as you roll the hood up and over the nape of her neck. “Just didn’t know your mane was so… --Uh, what’re you doing?”

You currently have the top of Max’s mane in your hooves and are ready to roll and bun it into a neat cylinder. “I am going to attempt to bun the front part of your mane to fabricate the indenture of a horn underneath your hood. That would cause less suspicion, would it not?”

Panic flashes across Max’s eyes. You immediately freeze, unsure of what to do.

”Y-yeah, that’s not happening,” Max says, shaking her head, and by proxy, your hooves away. This shake of her head glides down the rest of her body to the tip of her tail as she stands up to all fours. The wavering of her posture is replaced with that of a swaggering, confident mare once again. “Kinda prefer going all neigh-cher-ell, anyways.” You have the sneaking suspicion it isn’t pronounced that way. “Plus I don’t want you anywhere near my mane, Puffball.”

You scrunch. You’re not a puffball.

”Look, I’ll follow you, but you’re not braiding my bucking mane!” Max calls out as she deftly sidesteps you and makes her way to the alley’s exit. You frown, wrapping the bun around your foreleg before giving pursuit. You’ll be sure to have Max Gusto help you put it back on after all this is over.

The thought of Anonymous seeing you without your bun ignites a fiery embarrassment in your cheeks.

As you trot to Max’s side and into the open air of Marketstead Confidoit, your mane bounces in the corners of your vision with each step you take. You have to flick your head every once in a while to get the obtrusive strands out of sight. Max Gusto isn’t faring much better, having to jut her chin out to even see from underneath the hood over her face. 

The unicorns passing by are now giving you and Max more space. You’re still the odd one out between the two of you, but perhaps this arrangement has done something for your intimidation factor. Do they think Max is your housecarla? Or you, hers?

…Or, perhaps, your mane’s volume makes you seem even bigger than you already are. Like a filly who hasn’t yet grown into her thick winter coat!

The thought gives way to a giggle you can’t stop. You remember how your blood mother had lost her composure that first winter, praying to the Ancients you wouldn’t hit your growth spurt just yet.

”So,” Max suddenly pipes up, unprovoked. “This… ‘staying pure for your stallion’ business. Tell me more about it.”

You tilt your head. You’re about to ask what she means, until Max turns to you and you see the smile underneath her hood.

…Oh!

This is a social interaction between friends! It has to be!

You take another look at the thomery, still crawling closer and closer as you continue to walk. Your nerves are still shot from the ordeal with the thief, but you find that when you’re looking at Max, it becomes muted. Not entirely gone, but in the background.

“It is the honorable mare’s way,” you recite your blood mother’s words. “Procreation is a sacred practice. There is no grosser offense to a stallion than a mare who engages in such an act so frivolously.”

Max Gusto purses her lips at your answer, before her attention is once again in front of the two of you. Her voice is now much more tapered than before. “So you’re from a cabal of bluebeaners.”

“That is untrue, and quite vulgar! Our herdbrothers hold the same virtues as us. We show that we are strong and suitable mates, and they choose who their foalbearers will be. It is a fair arrangement, and the way the All-Father would have wanted.”

”Well, sure, but what happens when you’re acting all honorable and stuff, but no colt wants you?”

The familiarity of the situation stings. 

“Then the mare will continue to diligently provide for the Herd, regardless,” you say, fighting for your voice to be laced with Marestricht pride over pitiful wist. “The love and comradery she receives from Marestricht is enough.”

”That’s kinda sad.”

You frown at Max’s words. She turns back to you, defending herself with, “What? It’s true, Puffball! The majority of your herd-sister-mares or whatever will die virgins!”

“I’m not a puffball,” you murmur, flicking the puffballs of your mane out of your face once again.

Max snickers, an extra pep in her step as she returns to the oncoming thomery. It is close enough that your fur prickles at the sensation of ambient magic. The thomery is a black blemish among the many colors of the other markets.

You find it hard to continue to look at it, so your eyes latch onto the black cloth of Max’s cloak.

”Alright, Puffball,” Max pipes up. “Given you’re furlongs away from Marestricht and its array of earth pony hilt… There anypony you’re currently staying pure for?”

“Yes,” you affirm. “Anonymous.”

Max Gusto’s hooves skid to a resounding halt. For a moment, it’s as if the pegasus’ soul had left her body, which now stands before you with nopony inside. The moment passes, and Max’s head slowly creaks toward you. You can tell Max is trying for a smile, but her muzzle is trying too hard and looking too uncomfortable to be anything other than a cringe.

”I appreciate you didn’t make me work for it,” Max says slowly. “But please do not ever be that blunt again.”

…Does she not approve?

You suppress a sigh, giving a faint nod. All you’ve known is disapproval for your romantic aspirations, so it doesn’t sting as much. 

Max takes your affirmation with a nod of her own before turning and continuing down the cobblestone sidewalk. The two of you are even closer to the thomery now. You can feel every follicle on your body prickle, as if your entire coat was made of raised hackles.

”Can’t really say I see the appeal,” Max Gusto’s voice provides an asylum from the inevitable. “Just can’t see how that… not-quite-monkey-but-still-kinda-monkey face can attract anypony.”

You clear your throat, already knowing that without it you’d be prone to becoming a stuttering mess. “A stallion’s beauty transcends species, Max Gusto.”

”You landlubbers are weird. Up there it’s so much simpler. Ponies buckable, griffons not buckable.”

And then, you notice that the two of you have arrived at the thomery.

Your eyes are glued to Max’s figure, and you pray to the Ancients that she continues to speak. 

Anything to distract you from this.

…Please don’t let it bubble up again.

Max murmurs as she continues forward to the maw of the building, “Keep forgetting how many sapient species are down here… Hey, you coming?”

Your hooves haven’t moved from their spot on the cobblestone. You try to give Max a contradictory smile, but your face feels frozen. The back of your throat feels numb. All you can feel is the pulling and striating of your follicles. 

A unicorn grunts as she nudges past you and into the thomery. 

It feels like you’re watching a rabbit willingly enter the open jaws of a timberwolf. And your friend is right in front of you, waiting for you to follow.

Your friend is waiting for you.

Your friends are waiting for you.

You begin to shake. Your mouth twists and contorts to keep up the sham of a smile, but soon your only focus besides the swirling magic and the thoughts of your blood father becomes holding back the tears. 

Big mares don’t cry, and you’re the biggest mare here.

Another unicorn passes you, up until seeing you nonchalant, but once you’re in her vision, giving you pitiful, confused glare. You’re twice these ponies’ size, and she gave you a look a stranger would give a bawling foal.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper. It’s hard to speak through the cotton in your mouth. “I’m sorry, Max. I--…”

Your blood father would be ashamed of you, Bountiful Riverside.

You clamp your eyes shut and scrunch to keep from letting out a sob.

You stay petrified like that – frozen, vulnerable – until you feel something warm settle on your withers.

You just wish he had recognized you one last time.

You open your eyes to see Max at your side, her eyes concerned. If you were a normal pony, maybe like Lucky Favor, Max’s foreleg could easily drape across your shoulders. Instead, Max Gusto has to stand on her hindlegs to reach your height, only making the both of you look more ridiculous than before.

“I apologize,” you sniffle, bowing your head. Your mane cascades around your vision, and you wish desperately you could just shrink and disappear behind this prison of hair. “I s-should have told you sooner. I have a phobia of magic. It is more severe than most earth ponies.”

Max stays silent, not caring at all that the two of you are mere cubits away from the entrance of the thomery. Thankfully, no unicorns are entering or leaving at the moment, but you’re sure you’re attracting the attention of passerbys.

”Hold on!” the pegasus blurts out so suddenly it makes you flinch out of your stupor. “You’re telling me… that despite having crippling thaumaphobia, you volunteered to go on a magically moving, unicorn marketstead, to help us?”

You sniffle, nodding your head ashamedly. 

Now that Max is here, you suppose there’s no need for you. She can grab the thome, retrieve the map, and fly back to the wagon in half the time it’d take you to muster up the courage to enter some building.

”…Ancients above, you’re a bucking scoundrel,” Max grouses. “Puffball, you make it SO bucking hard to root against you!” 

You blink owlishly.

”GAH!” Max groans, holding her hooves up and shaking them as if about to strangle you. “I just wanna… HUG you and protect you from this cruel world! Oh my Ancients, you’re precious!”

You blink owlishly. Again.

Max sighs and gives a long-winded shrug, still oblivious to the stares you’re sure the two of you are now under the gaze of. She shakes her head unbelievingly before turning back around, once again aimed at the thomery’s entrance. “But hey, protecting a pure maiden such as yourself isn’t my job.”

Anonymous.

The thought of the human brings feeling back to your hooves. But the pit still resides in your stomach, as deep as ever, and your coat still burns with a pulling sensation. You sniffle again, using a foreleg to wipe at your face.

”…Hey,” Max says softly. When you’re done wiping away, your eyes settle on your friend once again. She’s pulled the hood up and over her eyes to give you a genuine smile. “Wanna hear something kinda sad but also really funny?”

You’re still for a second, unsure of how to respond, before you simply give a nod.

Max Gusto saddles up to you, holding a hoof to her muzzle so only you can hear her words. ”…I can’t read,” the pegasus says with a snicker. “So I kinda can’t do this without you. They could sell me some raunchy romantic novel and I’d be none the wiser.” The genuine smile disappears, replaced with a contemplative scrunch as she taps her chin with a hoof. “Actually… I’m kinda tempted to do that just to see Lucky’s reaction.”

You try to smile at her joke, but the sickening sensation remains. 

You shakily take a step forward. It’s agonizingly slow.

You feel a string of ambient magic waft against the fur on the right side of your barrel.

You freeze once again.

You’re one cubit closer to the timberwolf’s jaws.

This thought bounces in your head relentlessly, dizzying you. You’re about to withdraw the traitor of a foreleg that took that step, until you feel a warm body press against your side – against the right side of your barrel. As Max leans into your fur, the feeling of that ethereal burn of magic slowly subsides to a warm, gentle hum.

”Alright, enough feely shit,” Max says as the both of you take the next step forward. “I gave you a pretty great pep talk, so you owe me this now.”

You don’t respond, but you can’t fight the smile as it pulls the corners of your lips back. You simply lower your head and let Max Gusto lead you into the growling maw of the thomery.

The suffocating magic, the blackness, the sharp angles… it’s all so alien.

Your muzzle clamps even tighter as you lean more onto Max Gusto. You try to focus on the little idiosyncrasies of the structure. It can’t all possibly be this deathly shade of black. There must be some hints of imperfections caused by the ponies who built it. Even the highest buildings of Marestricht, built by the most skilled of earthpushers, have the occasional bump in the wall, or cracked corner.

You and Max both pass the threshold. You feel ashamed for even thinking that the naked sky above was less comforting than the mountain of Marestricht. It’s leagues better than the corridor that you’ve found yourself it, shrouded in fluctuating, purple lights.

Whereas Marketstead Confidoit was warm and natural, the interior of the thomery both burns your blood and freezes your coat. 

”I’m right here, Puffball,” Max whispers tenderly.

There is a room directly ahead, no doubt where business is conducted, but something else quickly grabs your attention. There is another bounty board on the left wall.

This one is lit by a magical flame, and there is only one mare who is looking up and down its contents. On the top of the board are the glowing letters, ”Wanted - Magical Anomalies.”

This board is the first idiosyncrasy you’ve seen since entering the thomery – a rustic, wooden island in a sea of black metal. You find yourself scouring its contents hungrily as you pass it. The bounties on this board are much different from the one in the bulk of Confidoit. Creatures, the shapes and kinds of which you’ve never even considered, are displayed on the board as if it were a gallery of all the things most unfamiliar to a Marestrichtian.

”Hey, if any of those happen to be sapient and male,” Max Gusto whispers. “Would you landlubbers be tempted? Just curious.”

Before Max’s words can even register, though, one of the bounties snaps you to attention. The prickling sensation of the magic, and even the warmth of Max Gusto, fades into the back of your mind. The bounty on the board depicts Anonymous.

It’s the Anonymous as he arrived in Marestricht. The depiction is a side profile of the human’s face – his eyes are harrowed and stuck in a perpetual glare, and his beard and mane are both unkept and long. Seeing him in this state, despite knowing that he’s much better off now, makes you wish Anonymous were at your side. 

…What happened to Anonymous before you met him? Before the Red Garden?

You and Max Gusto pass the bounty board, giving the bounty hunter inspecting it a little more room than needed. “M-Max Gusto,” you whisper shakily. “I… I thought the bounty boards needed renewal..? A-Anonymous was… there.”

”That’s news to me…” she murmurs. “But let’s focus on the here and now. Anon’s safe, Riverside.”

“P--… please don’t call him that. He… doesn’t like it.”

”Ancients above, you’re more of a white knightess than Lucky.”

The two of you are now in the market portion of the thomery. Your eyes briefly flick upwards from their captivity on the ground, and you catch a lone mare on the other side of the thomery’s booth. She’s dressed in dark, otherworldly clothes which reek of magical interference. Behind her is a small square opening in the wall with a single rune embedded in it. 

You wonder where the thomery exterior’s raw size went into. It certainly didn’t go into this portion of the building; the room is small, and the only furnishings are the vendor’s booth and a few strewn about tables and chairs.

It’s almost cruel, how the thomery would expect its patrons to be relaxed enough to sit and wait.

Besides you, Max Gusto, and the vendor, there are only three other unicorns here. They keep to themselves in the corner of the room, a thome about inrithaumatic nature in their hooves. They’re dressed in bizarre, unfamiliar attire which juggles armor and adventurousness, and not paying either you or Max a passing glance. A crossbow hangs from one of their hip, a sword another’s.

Your eyes once again return to the ground. Another chill of ambient magic sweeps through your body.  “Max Gusto?” you whisper. “Can… can I find somewhere to sit and wait?”

Max looks you up and down, unsure. “…Well, sure,” she relents. “Just be ready to read some thome covers, alright?” 

You smile and nod to the pegasus, reaching back with a hoof and unclamping your doit bag. Max gets the hint and takes the sack from you. “We’re almost outta here, Puffball,” she reassures with a grin.

You’re too busy keeping your head down as you make your way to one of the unoccupied corners to notice how one of the bounty hunters give Max Gusto a tilt of her head.

When you reach the corner of the room, you promptly drop to your haunches and close your eyes. Almost mechanically, you unlatch your medicinal bag, place it in front of you, and loosen the drawstring. 

Max Gusto begins to speak with the vendor, but you’re too busy focusing on your medicinal supplies to pay attention. Your hooves shake as they move, though, so your priorities shift to focusing on keeping them steady before they make contact with your supplies. You wouldn’t want to lose grip of any of them and have to move around too much in this place. Already, you feel glued to your spot, as if moving a hooflength would suddenly alert a pack of timberwolves to your location.

”Gals!” a voice suddenly chirps from behind. You flinch, your eyes snapping to the commotion. 

It’s the bounty hunter from the hallway of the thomery. She seems to be returning to her group of comrades, a familiar piece of paper in her magical grip.

It’s Anonymous’ bounty.

One of the bounty hunters turn your way, and you quickly return to your supplies, even if you now know reorganizing them will certainly do nothing to calm your nerves.

The bounty hunters’ voices are now much more hushed than before. You can’t make out what they’re saying. Your hooves mechanically poke and prod at your supplies.

…Should you tell Max? Or would that cause too much attention? Those bounty hunters know Anonymous, so what are the chances they would also know Max Gusto? 

…Ancients, why is Anonymous’ bounty here?

You’re rolling the half-used iuncti root between your hooves when a flash of white magic snaps across the room.

The vendor asks something to Max Gusto as she holds up a thome with her magic. You squint your eyes to confirm it. It reads, From Particles to Pulchramatics - A Filly’s Guide to Ambient Mass-Magic.

Lucky Favor did say it was low-level magic. Still, you can’t help but feel insulted on her behalf. Nevertheless, you don’t waste much time reorganizing your supplies back into your medicinal sack.

When you’re pulling the drawstring tight, though, Max Gusto’s voice pierces through the silence.

”Gee, I dunno!” she exclaims loudly, tapping her chin. “I wonder if it is! Let me take a closer look!”

What is she doing?

You tilt your head at her display as you get up to all fours. You’re about to approach the pegasus, but she stops you as she once again exclaims, “Hey, do you give discounts for lone travelers? I’m kinda new here.”

You stop in your tracks.

Max Gusto is telling you to act like she’s alone, but why…?

It clicks for you. You turn your head not even a hooflength so you can look at the bounty hunters in your peripherals. It’s a blurry image, but it’s definitely of the four bounty hunters giving Max a set of discerning glares. They’re no longer conversing.

Max Gusto heard something from them.

The vendor, meanwhile, responds in an unamused negative.

”Damn!” Max says with a stomp of her hoof. “Well, that’s too bad. Now, back to the question of the hour…” Max’s voice teeters off as she gives an exaggerated inspection of the thome presented to her.

Double-checking just to be sure, you confirm to Max with a soft whisper. “…Yes.”

Max Gusto is all smiles and thanks as she and the vendor make the transaction. You, meanwhile, can only flick your eyes between her and the four bounty hunters in the corner of the room. Once the thome is in her hooves, Max turns and is already trotting out of the thomery.

The bounty hunters avert their eyes once Max faces their direction. She uses this opportunity to give you a look that affirms your suspicions. Without even a word, Max Gusto leaves the thomery.

It becomes harder to breathe.

You can’t follow her even if you wanted to. You’re now alone in this room of swirling ambient magic and onlooking enemies. Despite having your travelers’ attire on your back and your medicinal bag on your hip, you feel too exposed to even move a hoof. 

If you did, those piercing, pale yellow eyes would know you were here; alive, shivering, and hiding behind your blood father.

The bounty hunters all share a look before a collective nod pervades the group. The bounty of Anonymous is rolled up and tucked away into one of their bags, and the four of them are trotting after Max Gusto.

You can’t call out to them. The ambient magic licks your fur, sending a frozen breeze throughout your system.

The feeling is familiar. The spell the unicorn had casted chilled you to the bone, even if it hit its mark cubits in front of you. 

The pale, yellow eyes of the unicorn soon transform to the earthy brown ones of your blood father. They’re lifeless now, yet his body still stands. When he looks at you, his eyes no longer hold the familiar glow of a loving parent.

It hurts to even think of how empty those eyes were. You would have preferred staring into your vengeful blood mother’s eyes, who vehemently, yet silently, blamed you up until the second she and her foalsire had disappeared without so much of a word to you.

Are you going to let Max Gusto disappear as well? Without so much of a word, at the behest of more unicorn magic?

You clamp your eyes shut and slow your breathing. Again and again, you think of that name: Max Gusto.

You can’t let her down. You can’t let any of them down.

Lucky Favor. Tia. Anonymous.

Brother Apple Seed. Sachemare Sagebrush. Maretinet Apricot Ammil.

Forest's Bounty. Rivershine.

It doesn’t matter how many times you think of the ponies in your life, though. The feeling of ice invading your veins, your fur being pulled from its follicles, it all remains. Still, you put your hooves beneath yourself and push up.

Run, Bountiful Riverside.

The timberwolves give chase.

You bolt like a madmare. The strings of ambient magic cloud your nostrils and invade your eye sockets, but you only bite your tongue and latch your focus on where the bounty hunters had left.

You pass the bounty board – the board now without Anonymous’ bounty. The rectangle of light is just ahead. You’re so close. You’re closer, and closer, until you finally breach the entrance of the thomery.

Sunlight and voices immediately assault you from all sides, but you still aren’t at ease. Your heart is still pounding in your chest. Your eyes snap this way and that around Confidoit to try and find Max Gusto, but between the cloaks and armor sets of the unicorns surrounding you, it’s impossible to find her.

What you do find, though, is the same set of unusual armor the bounty hunters had been wearing, just before it vanishes behind the threshold of an alleyway across the street.

“Max!” you call out hoarsely, already giving chase. “Max, if you can hear me, fly! They’re--!”

The screeching sound of wheels coming to a halt across wood fills your ears. You quickly skitter to the other side of the road, not paying the enraged calls of the wagon’s driver any heed. The unicorns in your way immediately part, not wanting to be trampled by you.

A flash of magic splashes the walls of the alleyway in color, and the howling of a spell turns your blood cold.

“MAX!” you scream as you round the corner.

The sight of the four bounty hunters surrounding a limp Max Gusto greets you. One of them throws her cloak off the pegasus’ body.

”Sky rat,” she says. “Bucking knew it.”

”Conehead!” Max Gusto immediately snaps back, still unable to move. “Bucking knew it!”

One of the unicorns notices your arrival. Immediately, her horn is aglow. It’s enough to make you skid to a halt.

Surprisingly enough, though, it isn’t nearly enough to quell the anger that’s bubbling in your chest.

”Crawl back to your mountains, mud horse!” the unicorn snarls as her sword’s hilt is enveloped in the same glow. “This is our bounty!”

Before you can respond, though, your words die in your throat.

Three of the unicorns are now turned towards you. One of them is unarmed, although her horn’s glow hums with a threatening growl, as if it itself were her weapon. The unicorn who had first noticed you keeps her sword in its hilt, although the shining blade between the sword’s handle and its scabbard is slowly growing with every second you don’t respond. The last one holds a wooden crossbow, pointed squarely at your head, the scars and collected look on the unicorn’s face suggesting she won’t hesitate to let the bolt fly.

But the unicorns looking your way aren’t the reason for your sudden silence. The fourth unicorn’s magical hold on Max Gusto falters with a sputter of her horn, but barely holds firm. The sight of the tall, cloaked figure on the other end of the alleyway has frozen her with fear.

With the sunlight’s surrender of the figure’s features, the only hint you have of its identity is the glint of Anonymous’ emerald bracers as his hands curl into fists.

”Behind us!” the fourth one yells out, and Anonymous charges forward.

The crossbow immediately twirls in the air before settling on the rushing human. There’s a moment of stunned confusion before it fires, and this provides Anonymous with the opportunity to dodge. He rolls well out of the way of the bolt as it sails past him, his cloak trailing behind him like a black wake. His trajectory only seems to speed up as he launches himself at the closest unicorn.

She tries to skitter away, casting a reflexive spell at Anonymous, but it only fizzles out of existence as it makes contact. Anonymous swiftly grabs the unicorn’s mane and rams her muzzle into the nearby wall. The mare’s head wobbles like a teetering stone before the human launches a powerful knee into her cheek, driving her head back into the hard wall. 

Your blood runs cold at the sickening sound of the unicorn’s unconscious gurgling as she slumps to the ground.

…This isn’t Anonymous.

Anonymous is kind. He stood up to Maretinet Apricot Ammil.

Why does he look so hateful?

”What the buck are you?!” the Swordsmare yells out before her sword lands the first blow of many.

The slice bounces off Anonymous’ bracer, showering the alleyway in sparks. Another try from the left, and another from the right, until the Swordsmare suddenly teleports her weapon back before thrusting it at Anonymous’ neck.

You scream out as the human twists his body to dodge once again, but the sword clearly makes contact. Anonymous grunts in pain, but doesn’t back down. He crouches lower to the ground, keeping his hands open and high.

There’s an immediate shift in the unicorns after Anonymous’ masculine grunt. The Swordsmare’s sword remains in the same place for a moment as she only stares at the human. 

”It’s the human colt!” the Caster yells out from behind. Once he hears this, Anonymous slides the hood back from over his head, revealing himself. A trail of red spills from the right side of his forehead, chilling your blood. “It’s Anonymous! Don’t kill--! AGH!”

A blur of lime and white springs from the ground and tackles the Caster. As Max and the unicorn tussle, Anonymous gives the Swordsmare no time to choose between her comrade or him. He closes the distance and is now on the offensive, redirecting the Swordsmare’s swipes and trying to grab at the blade, all the while keeping the mare on her heels.

As all this transpires, you can’t even move a muscle.

Help them, Bountiful Riverside! 

Why won’t you help them?!

In the midst of the chaos, the Bowmare’s face switches from the blur of Max and her comrade, too closely locked for a clean shot, to Anonymous and the Swordsmare, also too tight for a bolt, until she finally settles on you. The two of you only look at each other for a moment.

That moment lasts until the crack of Anonymous’ elbow meeting unicorn skull fills the alleyway, and the Swordsmare’s sword clatters to the ground. The Bowmare charges at you.

The fire in your chest from earlier is all but a memory. All you can do is stand frozen solid, staring between your friends and enemies.

For Ancients’ sake, move out of the way!

Before you can even twitch, the Bowmare’s forelegs wrap around your neck. You gag as she pulls you down to the ground, your legs turning brittle. When you recover from the dizziness, the sharp end of the Bowmare’s crossbow is digging into your throat.

”UNLESS YOU’D LIKE A NEW HOLE IN YOUR FRIEND’S NECK,” the unicorn shouts, immediately silencing the alleyway. “I’D RECOMMEND LETTING MY OWN GO, HUMAN!”

Ancients-damnit...

You can barely look at your friends… no. You’d be insulting them to call them your friends.

You can barely look at Cloudpusher Max Gusto and Brother Anonymous in your sorry state. 

The human is crouched low the ground, one forearm around the Caster’s neck as the other wraps around the back of her head. She struggles vainly, her eyes and mouth wide open as she tries to draw in gulps of air. Like a defanged predator, Brother Anonymous’ emerald eyes are narrowed, but unsure.

The sight of Brother Anonymous bringing harm to the unicorn makes it hard to breathe. 

His hands look so… dangerous now.

”Yeah…” the Bowmare sneers, digging the bolt closer to your neck. “The slippery ferret’s got something to lose now, huh?”

Brother Anonymous stays silent, his grip not loosening on the Caster’s neck. Cloudpusher Max Gusto attempts to take a step forward.

You yelp as the cold metal of the bolt digs into your neck, drawing blood. Cloudpusher Max immediately stop her pursuit.

”Drop her, Anon,” the Bowmare commands. Brother Anonymous’ eyes narrow even further at the nickname. 

His grip tightens even more on his hostage. Her face is becoming paler by the second. She begins to panic, whimpering as she tries vainly to gouge Brother Anonymous’ face with her horn, scratch him with her hooves, kick the ground with her hindlegs – anything.

When his eyes land on you, though, the hostility in Brother Anonymous’ eyes extinguish.

Please don’t hurt her, Anonymous… Ancients help us…

”You’re no sky rat, but I’m sure as Tartarus you can hear me!” the Bowmare shouts, jostling you roughly. “I bucking said, DROP HE--!”

The whirling howl of a spell from behind crackles in your ears, cutting the Bowmare off.

The world flip flops as the Bowmare’s grip on you goes slack, and you fall limp. The warm body of your captor keeps the back of your head from slamming against the cobblestone ground. You’re staring at the cyan sky peeking through the surrounding walls now, breathing rapidly.

Are the Ancients playing a trick on you? Are you dead?

”Ancients-damnit, WHO JUST MADE AN ENEMY OF PLUMSTEED?!” the Bowmare screeches from just behind your head.

Your mind quickly registers what just happened, but your limbs still refuse to move. Your limbs are shaking too much from the unfamiliar adrenaline and shock.

Before you can make a move, what appears to be a rolled-up scroll slowly enters your vision, enveloped in a glow of magic. The scroll is tied together with a red bow, and its edges are gilded in a glimmering gold.

One end of the scroll quickly descends and bops you on the snout.

You squeak, trying to swat the offending piece of paper, but missing just barely.

”Leave you alone for five minutes and yer’ already hock-deep in trouble!” a familiar voice crows from behind.

”Cindy-loo, it’s been so long!” Max Gusto yells out.

”Greetings, pegasus. I see you’ve had a sudden bout of modesty and decided to cover that dusty fur of yours.”

”You?!” the Bowmare yelps, cutting Max and Cindertouch off. “You should know better to interfere with a bounty on Confidoit grounds, Cindertouch!”

Finally, you’re able to muster the willpower to pry your forelegs from your chest. It doesn’t matter, though. Not only because they’re shaking too much to support you, but also because Anonymous’ concerned face enters your vision. His hood is once again pulled over his head, but it only hangs limply around his features, framed by the cyan sky above. His right eye is closed to keep the blood from leaking in.

The Bowmare and Hunter Cindertouch are still arguing, but right now your only concern is the human above you. He reaches down and grips you by the barrel. You’re at a loss for words as he gently lifts you up and settles you down on your four hooves, too easily to not be embarrassed over. Anonymous’ eyes dance around your body as his fingers softly grip your chin, tilting your head this way and that as he searches for injuries. Max Gusto’s brow is furrowed as she looks between you and Anonymous, but she stays silent.

It was only until recently Anonymous was using these same hands to inflict pain.

”You’re helping two hornless fillies over a fellow bounty hunter?!” the Bowmare explodes. “I’m no thief, Cindertouch! I’m well within Confidoit law! What’s your Ancients-damn excuse?!”

Anonymous’ eyes stop dead at where your neck is still stinging. His eyes become hardened, and he doesn’t make a sound as he stands up to his full height.

”Saw somepony being assaulted, wanted to help,” Hunter Cindertouch says nonchalantly. “No idea you were hunting a bounty. From the looks of it, it just looked like a brawl. A brawl you were losing.” Hunter Cindertouch chuckles sarcastically. “Who would’ve known one hairless cat would be all it takes to hold off four of Plumsteed’s finest?”

“Cat?!” the Bowmare shouts in indignation.

”Anonymous?” Max whispers under the chaos as Anonymous makes his way to the limp Bowmare. “Anonymous, she might recognize--”

”You bucking moron! That ain’t no hairless--!”

Before you or anypony else can react, a sharp THWACK! echoes through the alleyway. The Bowmare’s exclamation immediately stops dead as Anonymous towers over her limp body, her jaw stuck open and her eyes closed peacefully. 

”Huh!” is all Hunter Cindertouch says as Anonymous wordlessly takes a step between her and you, crossing his arms. The mare’s eyes trail up and down Anonymous’ tall stature, before she merely shrugs. “Well, none a’ my business if you’ve got weird friends. Here’s your map, River.”

Anonymous tilts his head as the scroll in Hunter Cindertouch’s magical grip is tossed your way. It bounces off your chest before your forelegs shoot out to grab hold of it. You quickly undo the bow and unfurl the scroll.

A detailed rendition of the Western coastline shines back at you.

It feels as if the weight of an avalanche’s snow has been lifted from your withers.

“…Cindertouch?” you ask shakily. “C-can I call you Cindertouch?”

”Yes,” Cindertouch says neutrally. “You can call me by my bucking name.” 

Anonymous turns to you and back to Cindertouch at this, his lips pursed in confusion. 

“Thank you so much!” you gleam as you hastily position the map between your bag string.

Cindertouch gives a ghost of a smile. As you get up to your hooves and Cindertouch turns to leave, though, Anonymous points a finger her way. 

“Ally?” he asks lowly.

The sound of Anonymous’ voice puts a stop to Cindertouch’s hooves. She slowly turns back to the human, one brow raised to the cyan sky above.

“Yes,” you say wholeheartedly, giving Cindertouch another grin. “She is an ally. She helped me earlier as well. She’s a kind pony.”

”Now just hold up!” Cindertouch suddenly bursts, spinning to fully face you and Anonymous. Mostly Anonymous. “The hairless cat’s a mister?”

Anonymous merely rolls his eyes before turning from the unicorn and walking past you. Max Gusto is hopping up and down at this point, her eyes wide and hungry as she stares at Anonymous. As he makes his way to the pegasus, Cindertouch continues to stare in disbelief. 

As he passes you, Anonymous reaches up and wipes some blood from his face. Your mood immediately dours.

You wonder if that would’ve happened if you had done something to help…

”What the buck’re you doing here?!” Max Gusto hisses as she begins poking Anonymous’ shin with murderous zeal.

”My job,” Anonymous whispers back. “You’re the retard who flew into town and didn’t fly back up. How the fuck was I supposed to know what was happening?”

Max stays stock still for a moment as what Anonymous just said registers. “…Alright, yeah, that was pretty stupid, but you could be recognized! And how did Lucky react to you heading off like that?!”

”Pretty well, actually. I think the possibilities of what could’ve happened to you, Riverside, and me all joined forces in a neurosis trifecta, and she’s just numb to everything at the moment.”

”Oh… Hey, do you think getting her a romantic novel would be a good peace treaty?”

Anonymous drops to Max’s level, reaches forward, and flicks her ear. She squeaks, batting his hand away with a glare. ”Let’s just focus on getting out of here. You got the thome, right?”

”Well, yeah, it’s right here. Where’d you get that cloak?”

”Stole it.”

”Holy buck, you’re lucky you’re a colt.”

A new voice joins in, right next to your ear. 

”Well,” Cindertouch says with a smirk, making you jump from her proximity. “A mister he most certainly is. And not half bad-lookin’, neither.”

”SERIOUSLY, HOW?!” Max Gusto explodes, snapping Anonymous’ attention to Cindertouch. “YOU DIDN’T EVEN KNOW HE WAS A COLT FIVE SECONDS AGO!”

”YOU WOULDN’T KNOW A STALLION’S TRANSCENDENT BEAUTY IF IT PEGGED YER’ BROTHER, PEGASUS!” Cindertouch claps back. 

Anonymous frowns, pacing away from the pegasus. He looks to the other end of the alleyway, his arms crossed. His knee begins to bounce up and down as he shifts his weight on the other leg.

You hesitantly tap Cindertouch’s shoulder, making the mare’s fiery temper simmer to nothing. She turns to you, but before you can open your mouth, she interrupts, “You ponies ready to leave yet?”

You tilt your head. Anonymous and Max Gusto also fall silent as all eyes are on Cindertouch.

”I said, quit with the Ancients-damn puppy-dog eyes!” she blurts out. “I’m helping you all until you’re off Confidoit grounds. All-Mother on a stick, you need me.”

Whether you like it or not, the last pony who had asked for directions crosses your mind. And even then, it was because you had no idea where you were going. Now that you have everything you need and know the landmarks, you’d be able to get to where you need to go, no problem.

Some help would most definitely be appreciated, but with Anonymous here…

“I must refuse,” you rescind with a bow. “It… would not be fair. You’ve helped us so much, and I’ve only mended one wound in return. I appreciate it, Cindertouch, but we really must be off.”

Cindertouch purses her lips, her eyes narrowing inquisitively. “Wouldn’t be fair, would it?” she mulls over, prompting you to give a nod. “…So you’d just have to do me a favor, and we’ll be good?”

…Is that how it works?

Cindertouch’s eyes latch onto something just above your own. “Stay still,” she suddenly commands. You freeze as the unicorn takes a step toward you before lifting a hoof above your head, and…

…Oh, darn it all.

Your mane scrunches up and down as Cindertouch bounces her hoof in it, an amused grin adorning her lips.

Max Gusto suppresses a snicker. Ancients above, you wish you had somepony to redo your bun. Anonymous could probably help, with those fingers of his.

…

…Buck.

”Alright, now I’d say we’re even!” Cindertouch says as she plops back down to all fours. You can only simmer as the heat of a thousand Summers pervades your entire face. “Now c’mon, the lot of you. Wouldn’t be able to get a wink of sleep tonight if I left y’all here alone. ‘Specially with a wounded colt in yer’ group.”

”Wait, wait, wait!” Max chimes in. There’s the sound of a hoof clacking against metal as Max kicks the body of an unconscious bounty hunter. “What about these buckers?”

”What about ‘em? They’ll wake up."

”Well, yeah, but…” Max grows silent. You can tell what she’s thinking without even asking.

These bounty hunters know about your affiliation with Anonymous now. 

”I’m assumin’ y’all are the ‘moralistic’ type,” Cindertouch sighs. “What with not a single weapon between the three of you. Suppose outright killin’ them’s off the table…”

Killing?!

Of course killing is off the table! Why would Cindertouch even consider that?! Are they not co-workers? Fellow bounty hunters?

They don’t deserve to be killed for doing their job…

”Know any mind altering spells?” Anonymous asks neutrally.

The reaction is instant. You whip around to glare at the human. “ABSOLUTELY NOT!” you yell out.

Anonymous blinks, his eyebrows raised at your outburst. He stays silent for a moment before eventually just saying, “Okay, then. We’ll just hope they’ll miraculously forget.”

Cindertouch guffaws with laughter at this. You don’t find it the least bit funny.

You can’t believe Anonymous would even consider something like that. 

Why is he acting so different from Marestricht? You know he isn’t like this…

”Alright, you bickering lover birds,” Cindertouch snickers. “If’n there’s nothing else to discuss, I say we start trotting.”

You keep the intensity of your glare up, but soon find it hard to continue. Anonymous meets your eyes with a bored, unimpressed shake of his head. With the sound of Cindertouch’s hoofsteps, you finally tear away from his gaze.

”Ancients above, she’s cool, you paranoid ass!” Max Gusto groans from behind. Hoofsteps prelude her arrival as she passes in front of your mane, her cloak once again hiding her features as she follows Cindertouch out of the alleyway. She calls back to Anonymous, “Quit being autistic!”

You still can’t bring yourself to turn and face the human, so you keep your attention on the doorway of light just in front of you. 

Anonymous lets out a sigh before walking towards the exit of the alleyway. As he passes, he follows Cindertouch’s lead in more ways than one.

It’s brief, but you know for a fact Anonymous puts his hand in your mane and gives it a bounce.

…

You much prefer it when Anonymous uses his hands for head pats, rather than violence.

You trot into the warm Confidoit sun, sticking to Anonymous’ side. Max Gusto and Cindertouch are just ahead, but you’re not paying attention to their conversation (which quickly turns into bickering and insults).

Despite everything, you can’t deny that the streets of Marketstead Confidoit suddenly don’t seem so dangerous at the human’s side.

…Even if you don’t deserve it. Tartarus, the moment you are back with Lucky and Tia, the first thing you’ll do is mend that gash on Anonymous’ forehead.

Before you can open your mouth to start apologizing, though, Anonymous beats you to it. “Riverside?” he asks quietly.

Your ears descend to your skull as your eyes once again find solace on the ground below. Will he chew you out for not fighting alongside him? For needing Max’s help? For yelling at him?

”Be honest,” Anonymous says. “Do you trust Cindertouch?”

The question catches you off-guard.

You tilt your head to look at Anonymous’ face to see it creased in concern. His eyes twitch away from you for a moment before locking back onto you. 

“I do,” you answer truthfully.

Anonymous gives a minute nod before his attention once again turns ahead. After a while of silence, though, a small smile creeps on his face as he extends a hand and lays it on your mane once again.

Your own lips creep upwards, and you find yourself leaning into his touch.

”Honestly,” Cindertouch grumbles. “If I’d known you had a colt in your stead, I would’ve gotten you an escort sooner. An’ now look him, you daft pegasus! Poor little guy…”

”No offense,” Max says, her ears swiveling in your and Anonymous’ direction. “But I’m willing to bet twenty bits that ‘poor little guy’ could kick your plot with his hands tied behind his back.”

If that was meant to elicit a negative reaction from Cindertouch, it fails spectacularly. The unicorn merely eyes Anonymous from the corner of her eye before giving a smirk. “Win or lose,” she coos. “Some hogtyin’ with that stallion would sure be the experience of a lifetime.”

Your face blanches at Cindertouch’s gross breach of etiquette. You’re less than a cubit away from giving her a piece of your mind before you remind yourself of how unicorns are with stallions. Lucky Favor was awfully straightforward, from what you’ve gleaned from the wagon ride earlier, so perhaps Cindertouch is just leaning a little more into that?

Regardless, this is the mare that’s saved you twice. And gotten you that map.

…You just don’t like the way Anonymous is glaring at the ground now. Did that make him uncomfortable?

Unsure of what else to do, you slowly lean your head to Anonymous’ side. His armor is so much harder and colder than what he was wearing in Marestricht.

”Noninator,” Max Gusto drawls over her shoulder. “You are many things, but a demure bachelor is not one of them. Just relax and take the compliment!”

Anonymous doesn’t respond besides a wordless nod. Max Gusto groans, her eyes returning to ahead. “He has trouble expressing his feelings beyond glaring and being a shit. Don’t take it too hard. Oh!” Max suddenly chirrups, twirling around to face Anonymous, still backpedaling at Cindertouch’s stride. “Two things! Number one, how bucking dare you skimp out on that one-liner opportunity?!”

”What’re you talking about,” Anonymous says, not so much like a question, but like a matter of fact.

”That bounty hunter back there! She said, ’What the buck are you?!’ ANCIENTS, that was the perfect opportunity! You should’ve said something like, ‘I’m your worst nightmare,’ or something like that!”

”You’re retarded.”

”At least I’m not autistic!” Seriously, what are these words these two are saying? “And number two! You’re teaching me how to fight like that. And don’t try to deny it, ‘cuz I’ll just keep pestering you ‘til you give in.”

”Max, you’re a quadruped. I couldn’t teach you even if I wanted to.”

”So what?! Be like your landlubber friends out here, who don’t see race! You don’t want to be some kind of a racist, do you?”

”I'm the rarest minority here. I'm never racist, even when I am."

Even if you can’t keep up with Anonymous and Max, you soon find yourself smiling.

Even if he never once smiles, besides the sarcastic smirk every once in a while, his banter with Max proves that whatever dour mood that had suddenly engulfed him has now passed. Cindertouch merely keeps on trotting ahead, her gaze shifting to Anonymous once or twice, but otherwise staying on course. You can see the slowly shifting grass plains just up ahead; you are almost out of Marketstead Confidoit.

…No. Something still doesn’t feel right.

You want to repay Anonymous for everything he’s done.

“Cindertouch, would you mind waiting for a moment?” you chitter excitedly, already bouncing on your hooves, your mane bobbing in the rhythm.

Cindertouch’s eyes quickly snap from Anonymous to you, a perplexed expression on her face. “Thought you all wanted outta here?” she asks.

“Yes, but it won’t take more than a moment!” you answer as you skip ahead to a certain market, just a few cubits ahead. The bizarre, clear material of the place still portrays the goods within, untouched and unsold.

”Bountiful Riverside,” Anonymous’ voice cuts through your excitement. You stop bouncing and turn to the human. “You don’t need to do that.”

The way Anonymous says it is more like a reluctant plea than an earnest request.

“Yes, but I want to!” you squee, the bounce once again coming to your hooves.

Anonymous looks between you and the bakery, then between the bakery and Max, before finally letting out a sigh. “Need anyone to come in with you?” he relents.

You smile. “I will be fine!” you say as you push through the doorway, leaving the sunlit streets of Confidoit behind.

The first thing that hits you is the smell. No… aroma of cakes. There was nothing like this in Marestricht, not even remotely. The sweetest thing in your village was the fruit ale, and while you were an avid drinker of earth pony alcohol, you can’t deny that these pastries have your drinks beat by a furlong.

You receive a few glances from the occupants of the bakery, and you’re by no means accustomed to this style of shopping, but besides that, you’re proud to say that there are no hiccups in your trip. All the choices look good to you, but you aren’t picking something out for you to begin with. You eventually decide on a lime-colored one, that also smells suspiciously of lime, and approach the vendor’s booth. 

You were right. After the thomery… no, after everything, this is not a challenge for you. You even look at the vendor in the eyes as you buy the cake! And she gives you a smile and a, “Have a good day, ma’am!”

Nopony really bothered to help you balancing the cake on your back, but that’s fine. You have plenty of experience balancing things on your withers, so getting it on is the hardest part. You’re squeeing on and off, all the way back outside.

You hope Anonymous will pat your head again when he hears about how well you did. Your only concern with your mane now is keeping the hairs out of the cake.

When you open the door to the bakery, though, what greets you is something that stops you in your tracks.

”--just quit it?” Anonymous is growling as he enters earshot. 

Cindertouch giggles, trotting away from the human, while Max looks between the two with an amused expression. “Just trying to rile you up!” Cindertouch titters with a shrug.

“Cindertouch?” you ask hesitantly. 

Anonymous’ hands are curled into fists at his sides. He’s turned away from Cindertouch, his eyes… straining. As if he were in pain.

For a moment, those eyes land on you, but they quickly turn away.

Cindertouch is a giggling mess as she trots past you, head and tail held high. “You’re telling me you’ve had this handsome colt by your side all this time and you haven’t teased him just a little? C’mon, River.”

You frown as you follow the unicorn, Max and Anonymous not far behind. “Cindertouch, I appreciate everything you’ve done for us,” you say. “But please do not harass my friends.”

”Harass?!” Cindertouch guffaws. “Filly, you ain’t new to Marketstead Confidoit, you’re new to the whole damn planet! A little sweet talkin’ ain’t harassing.” 

The four of you are now at the threshold of the wooden ramp, the free grasslands of Equus just cubits ahead. Cindertouch steps off to the side, giving the three of you enough space to pass. 

”Harassing is casting a mind spell on an earth pony stallion and trying to drag ‘em away to do the deed,” Cindertouch says, and for a brief moment, her eyes glisten over as she recounts memories, and her heartbeat slows. Max Gusto, in the meanwhile, trots down the ramp and waits for you at the end. ”Harassing is threatening somepony’s life because they tried to stop it. So, forgive me for not thinking a little sweet-talkin’s harassin’."

Like a stick briefly being caught in a river, Cindertouch's heartbeat returns to normal as quick as it stopped. Just in time to catch Anonymous as he passes her onto the wooden ramp. ”Compared to that,” Cindertouch sneers as she rears back a hoof. “This is jus’ teasing!”

SMACK!

Anonymous staggers forward from Cindertouch’s strike before completely freezing.

”Alright, now that was just mean,” Max Gusto chuckles.

You, meanwhile, feel a fire in your chest you’ve never felt before.

“CINDERTOUCH!” you bellow, but the unicorn merely laughs as she trots past you, back into Marketstead Confidoit. “The Ancient Lady of Chivalry is MORTIFIED by your actions!”

”Oh, go mend it better!” Cindertouch crows as she skips away. “Colt’s gotta get used to gettin’ spanked if he’s gonna be hangin’ around mares!”

“You should be ashamed! You will answer to the All-Mother when you pass into the Eternal Graze!”

You snort angrily as the Cindertouch leaves the three of you on the wooden plank, but you soon come to realize there isn’t much you can do. The unicorn is already some ways away by now, blending back into the fellow hunters, thieves, and rapscallions of all kinds of Confidoit. The cake balancing on your withers also makes movement rather strict as well.

You sigh out your frustrations before turning back to the ramp. Max Gusto is still waiting for you near the bottom, but Anonymous has already descended. He walks determinedly in the opposite direction of the marketstead, his hands once again curled into fists.

“Anonymous?” you ask as you trot after the human.

Once your hooves make contact with the grounds of Equus, and the connection is restored, you’re surprised by a certain pounding through the earth. Max Gusto has thrown off her cloak and has taken to the air, so it doesn’t belong to her. 

It’s Anonymous’ heartbeat. It thumps as fast as a Summer hummingbird, and twice as hard against his chest. The human continues walking toward the misty forest line, not saying a word.

”Aww, don’t tell me…’” Max Gusto says as she floats by Anonymous’ side. “You really are a demure bachelor in a housecarla’s clothing! We got everything we came for, plus the cake, and we’re Scott-free!” The pegasus insouciantly drifts closer to Anonymous’ face. Her hoof lazily lands on Anonymous’ shoulder. “You beat up crooks for a living, but you can’t even take a little--?”

The moment Max’s hoof make’s contact with Anonymous’ shoulder, he reacts.

The blind elbow he throws at Max Gusto isn’t nearly as accurate as his attacks in the alleyway, but it slams into the pegasus’ snout all the same. She lets out a pained scream as she falls to the ground, and Anonymous freezes at the sound. Max is immediately scrambling back up to her hooves, although her movement is disoriented and blurry. Max readjusts her wings and glares at the human, sniffling as a trail of blood seeps from her right nostril.

”Oh, good job on getting that out of your s-system!” she spits, scrunching in and out, to hold back tears or readjust her snout, you don't know. "You're a bucking asshole, you know that? I was just teasing you, Anon!"

Anonymous, for a brief moment, appears petrified as he stares at Max. The pegasus sniffles again, wiping her forehoof across her snout to smear the blood away. 

"Max Gusto, are you okay?" you murmur.

The pegasus gives you an impatient snort as she wipes another stream of blood from her muzzle. Anonymous' hands clench and unclench and he begins to shake, but he quickly turns and continues on his walk before he says anything.

“Yeah, don't even bucking apologize," Max snaps, unfurling her wings. "I'll go scout ahead. You can just continue being insufferable. Ancients, I don’t know WHAT they see in you!”

Before you can call out to her, Max beats her wings and is once again ascending into the air. Before long, she’s a lime blur in the cyan sky once again, leaving you and Anonymous alone.

The human only continues to walk, his posture tense yet brittle. His hands are still curled into fists – they aren’t open and inviting for head pats anymore. Tartarus, you only want to walk forward and nuzzle the human’s leg, to comfort him… but you feel as if all it’d take for him to lash out would be a mere touch.

“Anonymous?” you try again, trotting to the human’s side. “Anonymous, that was very unkind to do to Max Gusto…”

As you round the corner of the human, though, Anonymous’ eyes suddenly snap to you.

It’s only for a moment. What you see in those eyes are enough to stop you in your tracks, yet Anonymous keeps continuing forward, his face once again returning to the trail.

It’s the Anonymous from before you mended him. 

In front of you now is the human from the bounty in your bag. His eyes reflect the fear you saw in those motherless foals’ eyes months ago, but…

Angrier.

Ancients… Please tell you he doesn’t have experience with this kind of harassment.

As the two of you continue walking, you can’t find it in yourself to try and get his attention again. Anonymous doesn’t talk to you either; he only continues to mechanically trudge forward, his hands curled into fists, his heartbeat racing, and his eyes full of pain. You can only keep your ears glued to your skull, the cake balancing on your withers, and passing blades of grass below in your focus. 

Ancients above, you were the one who told him Cindertouch could be trusted. And the fact of the matter is that she could be trusted, but only by you and Max Gusto.

The rest of your journey back to the wagon continues in this oppressive silence. Max Gusto doesn’t return to your or Anonymous’ side, only circling from far overhead. The mist surrounding Lucky’s wagon soon engulfs you and Anonymous, and only then does Max come anywhere near the two of you again. She swoops in to clear a path to the wagon multiple times during your walk, but never once does she say a word.

Soon, a familiar sound tickles your ears.

The moment you hear this sound, you’re finally able to breathe a long sigh of relief. 

You’ve done it. You’ve traveled into the marketstead, obtained the map, thome, and even Tia’s cake; and have returned. The many mistakes you made along the way had until now being gnawing at your mind, but the sound of Tia’s giggling in the distance turns them all to mist.

”Tia, that’s not how you properly shade,” Lucky Favor’s voice joins, somewhere near the faint outline of the wagon. “Each stroke must be in the same direction. Here, follow my hoof. …See how that doesn’t look as jumbled? Now you try.”

”stwaight wines…” Tia babbles, making your heart blossom with warmth. “stwaight wines, no jumbwy…”

Silence once again pervades the mist, but you’re close enough now to see how Lucky Favor is sitting beside Tia, currently crouching over her splayed-out notebook. The filly’s horn glows that same, comforting iridescent glow as she scribbles something into the pages with Lucky’s feather.

A certain lime green pegasus is standing behind Lucky Favor. Good, it looks like Max has landed.

”Splendid, Tiny-Tia!” Lucky exclaims with a clap of her hooves. “Now just keep that angle in mind with every curve. Think of it like the sun is… here, so everything’s shadow is pointing in the opposite direct—"

Max Gusto gives a tap on Lucky’s shoulder. 

Lucky immediately flinches away from Max, letting out a squeal of terror. Tia drops the feather as she turns into a cackling mass of filly.

…Oh, it seems Lucky didn’t know Max was there.

“MAX GUSTO, DO NOT EVER DO THAT AGAIN!” Lucky squawks as she hastily regains her composure, patting her tuft down and straightening her mane. She pouts at the guffawing pegasus before her face suddenly transforms to realization. “Wait. If you’re here, then that means…”

You and Anonymous step into the clearing, and into Lucky’s peripheral. The white unicorn immediately twirls around to meet the two of you head-on. For a moment, she’s at a complete loss for words, besides the stuttering and half-words tumbling out of her mouth. Then, she finally regains motor control of her tongue as she tirades, “OH MY SWEET ANCIENTS, DO NOT EVER PULL THAT AGAIN! NONE OF YOU EVER DO THAT AGAIN! I’M SERIOUS!” 

Anonymous finally comes to a halt, looking away from Lucky as she virtually reappears in front of the two of you. “What happened?!” she demands, tears in her eyes. “Why didn’t Max return after she flew down?! Oh my Ancients above, Anonymous, you’re bleeding! And YOU! Bountiful Riverside!”

As Lucky’s cyan eyes finally land on you, you bow your head out of shame. You’re the one responsible for putting her in this kind of stress, after all. If only you hadn’t let your fear of magic get the better of you…

”Are you alright?!” Lucky Favor’s words cut through your fear. “Ancients above, you’re bleeding, too!”

You tilt your eyes upwards to see that the unicorn in front of you isn’t angry. Lucky Favor’s face is creased in concern as her eyes lock onto your own. Slowly, you return from your bow, giving a soft smile. “I am alright,” you say. The look of relief on Lucky’s face washes over you like a cool, refreshing stream. Your smile grows as you give a nod to Max Gusto. “We’ve gotten everything you’ve asked for.”

Lucky turns to find that Max is currently balancing the ambient mass-magic thome on the ground next to Tia, as if measuring the filly’s size to said book. 

“The map is in my hip string,” you explain, snatching Lucky to attention. “Although, I cannot reach it without disturbing the cake.”

For the first time, Lucky’s eyes lock onto the green cake balancing on your withers. She only stares at it for a moment, before staring at the map, then back to you.

”You got the--…” is all Lucky Favor can breathe out before she suddenly darts forward and wraps her hooves around your chest.

You squeak, backing up to keep the cake from losing balance, before the unicorn withdraws as quickly as she charged forward. Lucky has a red tint to her cheeks, and turns away from you as she juts her chin out.

”I cannot-- ACK!” she begins, before suddenly succumbing to a coughing fit. She spits out a few purple and white strands of hair from her mouth.

All you can do is simmer in shame and embarrassment. You suppose you could ask Tia to redo your bun, seeing as she’s the only one who hasn’t thoroughly humiliated you about it…

”…I-I cannot properly convey my gratitude within the confines of the Ponish lexicon,” Lucky Favor finishes, stealing a quick glance at your mane. She takes a moment to cringe at the residual feeling of hair in her mouth before she suddenly perks up, turning to Anonymous. ”Oh! Before I forget! Anonymous, dear, come look at what Tia drew!”

Tia’s ears flick to her skull as she looks up at Anonymous. The feeling of despair seems to infect Max Gusto as she, too, sends a glare Anonymous’ way before turning and trotting behind the wagon. Lucky Favor is lost at the pegasus’ reaction, and the bout of sincere joy which had consumed her just moments ago is gone.

The human stays put for a while before sighing, taking his first steps over to where Tia sits. The filly doesn’t move from her spot, though, only leaning forward to push Lucky’s notebook further in front of her. Her eyes never leave the drawing.

Anonymous’ footsteps cease, and he’s towering over the filly and her drawing. He peers over Tia to get a better look at her work.

You can feel how, for the first time since you’ve left Marketstead Confidoit, Anonymous’ heartbeat slows.

The human’s fists slowly unfurl to hang limply at his side. He hasn’t yet discarded his cloak, so his face still remains hidden from underneath his hood, but you can see how his shoulders slowly round in calmness. 

”Tia,” Anonymous murmurs. Tia draws her front hooves to her chest, tapping them nervously, but still doesn’t look up to meet the human’s eyes. “Riverside has a treat for you. Go and thank her.”

What?!

No! This is his present to her!

You freeze up as Tia’s attention turns from her drawing to you, then to the cake on your back. The human takes this opportunity to leave. Tia, for the first time, looks up at the human as he does. 

”naw-nee?” she breathes.

Lucky Favor looks after Anonymous as he pulls open the wagon door and ducks inside. He closes the door silently, and the clearing feels empty without his presence.

”naw-nee, wiver-side?” Tia squeaks out, a hesitant smile on her face. “wiver-side, cake?”

Without much of an idea of what else to do, you nod and try your best to make the smile on your face seem genuine.

Tia gives one last look at where Anonymous had gone off before she jumps up to four hooves. She giggles as she scampers toward you, her pink mane and tail bobbing with her. “wiver-side, cake!” she beams, melting your heart once again. “wiver-side, fank! fank you!”









The distant stars and observant moon of the night sky illuminate the map in your hooves, basking the trail ahead in a cool sheen of blues and purples. The only sounds are of the crunching of grass underneath the wagon’s wheels and the ambient hum of your horn, setting a twisting and turning string of magic alight on the map in your hooves. 

You’ve already calibrated the ambient direction spell to mainly stick to the trails. You’ve also set the location of the last pit stop until you’re all scheduled to arrive at the dockyard. That was the easy part.

The hard part is teaching the wagon how it would avoid any oncoming traffic without crashing into the first tree off the beaten path. Hence, why you’ve spent the last few hours since the sky became dark slowly guiding the wagon through whatever thin parts of the forest you could find. 

Despite your constant vigilance of stones, bushes, and trees to avoid, though, you can’t keep your muzzle shut as you let out a long yawn. 

Suddenly, a new noise snaps you awake.

It’s muffled, but the masculine grunt from inside the wagon leaves no room for interpretation.

Oh drat, did you wake him with your driving? 

You momentarily disengage the spell on the reins of the wagon to double check, but sure enough, the stabilization spell of the interior holds firm. No, your driving wasn’t the reason. Did somepony accidentally wake him up? No, that doesn’t make sense either. Riverside and Tia were asleep on the opposite side of the wagon. Max Gusto made herself a cloud bed in the upper corner of the wagon’s interior, also well away from the human’s spot.

More time passes like this, and you soon find yourself wondering if you had imagined the noise after all. 

That’s when you hear the squeaking of the wagon door opening.

You scoot to the end of the helm and turn to find a sight that sends you into a sputtering mess. Anonymous is awake now, hanging on the side of the still-moving wagon as he slowly closes the door. He’s no longer wearing his armor – his casual Marestricht wear flows from the wind and hangs loosely from his body. “Anonymous!” you yelp. “What are you doing?! We’re still moving, for Ancients’ sake – you could fall!”

”Chill,” the human says as one of his hands grip a crevice on the side of the wagon, pulling himself toward you and the helm. His arms are absent of his bracers, and the moonlight reflects brightly off his muscular, peach arms. “We’re moving at a snails’ pace.”

“That’s the least of my concerns! Are you part monkey?!”

”Yes.”

“Oh, j-just hurry up, then! Don’t hurt yourself!”

Anonymous continues climbing on the side of the wagon until one of his hands grips the side of the helm. You hastily offer him a hoof for help. He ignores it as he once again shifts his weight so both hands are hanging on the helm, and you shake your hoof up and down impatiently for him to grab on.

”Please tell me you don’t actually think you could pull me up,” Anonymous says with a nonplussed gaze.

You scrunch. “Just get up here! I can’t stand you hanging like that!”

Ancients above, you know you saw that flash of mischief on his face! He’s probably thinking of teasing you -- acting like he might fall! 

Ancients above, your heart can’t take this!

Anonymous only smirks as the muscles along his arms tense and he hoists himself up. The wagon’s weight tilts in his direction momentarily, but it isn’t nearly enough to be of any concern. You scooch over to make room for the human as he settles down next to you.

You breathe a sigh of relief as the human kicks up his boots on the helm’s canopy. He slumps back in his seat, arms crossed and head tilted back as he merely sits. His emerald eyes gleam brilliantly in the darkness.

It seems like Riverside’s mend on his wound has healed quite nicely. It hasn’t even left a scar.

”Nightmare,” is all he murmurs. He reaches up and caresses his throat with his hand, and for a split second, something besides the beautiful moonlight gleams in his eyes.

The wagon shifts its weight once again. You turn to see that it’s avoiding a bush just to its right. It’s beginning to learn, but…

Well, it’s hard to feel any kind of accomplishment when you’re too busy holding back the urge to hug your housecarla. You settle back into your seat, setting the map in your lap. “Would you like to talk about it?” you ask.

Anonymous scratches his cheek, emitting a soft, bushy shuffle as his finger disrupts his beard. “I’d rather just sit,” he says.

You give an exaggerated sigh. “Well, unless you find watching an ambient direction spell calibration gripping, I would propose we do something more than just sit. How about we sit…” You lean towards Anonymous and give him a smile. “…and talk? It won’t be easy, but I assure you we can do it together.”

Anonymous gives you an amused raise of an eyebrow. “Kiss my ass, Max Gusto.”

You return to your perch, holding a hoof to your mouth to keep the titter at bay. Anonymous’ lips twitch upwards, but it still isn’t enough to be pulled into a full-fledged smile. “But yeah,” he relents with a shrug. “We can talk.”

Anonymous stays silent for a while, his gaze returning overhead as the two of you sit in a warm, comfortable stalemate.

…Wait.

Is he waiting for you to bring it up? About why you asked him to kiss you in Marestricht? Is that why he’s being silent?

You’re not drunk. You are in complete control of your faculties. The night sky is beautiful, and the passing trees and mist provide a picturesque backdrop. 

…Oh, Ancients above, you might just tell him.

”Question,” Anonymous mutters so quietly your ears strain to hear it above the wagon’s wheels.

Your chest heats up at your heart’s pounding. He’s going to ask about it.

Do you tell him how you feel right away? Do you ease him into it? Knowing him, he might take it better if you go slowly. Of course, you have to be sure to remind him that you don’t mind in the least if he doesn’t have an answer for you right away. You’ll be okay with just a, “I’ll think about it.” Or Tartarus, even a joke about the whole thing. Anything but a flat-out rejection.

…No, a joke wouldn’t do. You’re sure you would just take it as an avenue to bail out. “J-just joking!” you would say, complete with a nervous chuckle. “How immature would it be of me to fall in love with somepony I’ve known for barely a week?”

Oh, Ancients, even in your thoughts you’re stuttering. 

As your mind is going at a mile a minute, though, Anonymous finally finishes his question:

”How do you guys even put up with me at this point?”

You blink.

You turn to Anonymous to see the way how his face immediately changes. His lips are now pursed, one eyebrow raised as he gives you a shrug. “Just trying to start a conversation,” he says, his voice much louder and stinted than before. “Actually, forget it. That came out wrong.”

Anonymous clears his throat before you can retort, leaning over your shoulder. His proximity lights something in your chest, and you can’t find it in yourself to pull away. “The Hell’s that?” he asks, pointing a finger at a dot of sparkling magic along the glowing string on the map.

“Um… our last pit stop,” you inform. Your muzzle twists in a regretful scrunch at the notion of having to call in that last favor to the uppercastes. “We’ve everything we need now to reach Equestria, but… well, after the doit debacle, I wouldn’t be able to afford passage onboard by normal means. This will be our ticket. But after that, I swear, it’ll be a nonstop ride to the dockyard!”

Anonymous nods, satisfied with the answer, before settling back into his spot. You inspect the human, seeing how his knee bounces in place.

“Anonymous?” you ask softly. He gives you a raised eyebrow. “Max Gusto wasn’t injured. Please don’t ask how we could ‘put up with you.’”

The human’s shoulders slump at the mention of the pegasus. For a moment, you dread that he’d change the subject again, but soon he lets out a long sigh. “How caught up are you on the whole thing?” he asks softly.

“I have Riverside’s and Max’s perspectives… but I’d like to know yours.” You give a gentle smile, leaning closer to Anonymous. He gives you an unreadable look. “Max and Riverside don’t know--… well, they’re not acquainted with your past, Anonymous. Please be assured that they didn’t mean to make light of Cindertouch’s harassment out of malice.”

Anonymous blinks slowly, his eyes changing from unreadable to…

Exhaustion?

He turns away from you, back up to the night sky.

“Anonymous?” you ask, but the human’s walls are up once again. 

…It’s frustrating, but you refuse to be impatient with him after what he told you last night. Besides, talking with Anonymous is its own reward, anyways.

You suppose you could lighten the mood a bit. Get the ball rolling again, make him feel comfortable.

“I want to teach Max how to read,” you say giddily. Anonymous raises an eyebrow and turns back to you, his green eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “I was wondering if you’d like to help me teach her? You know, to mend your relationship with her. Of course, we could also include Tia in our lessons! She’s a smart filly, so I’m sure—”

”Faust, do you have a problem with Riverside?”

You flinch as if suffering from physical whiplash.

“…W-where is this coming from?” you ask meekly. “We were just talking about--…”

As you try to find excuses to dodge the question, though… you begin to wonder just why. 

Of course you don’t have a problem with Riverside! You gave her that hug when she brought back the cake, didn’t you? You even refrained from making fun of her mane, which was incredibly hard to do!

What reasons would you have to have a problem with Riverside? With everything she’s done for you in such a short amount of time, it’d be selfish of you to “have a problem” with her.

“Of course not!” you sputter. “I-it’s just…”

…You’re jealous?

No! Of course you’re not jealous! You can’t be jealous! The jealous stallion architype in those romantic novels you’ve read is your least favorite architype!

Who cares if you’ve had no romantic experience as of yet? You’ve had… lots of reading material!

“Well, for one, she stole your credit for the cake!” you chuckle, giving a lopsided grin.

Your joke doesn’t land.

”It would’ve been me taking her credit,” Anonymous sighs. “She got it all on her own.”

Your ears fall to your skull, defeated. “…But what about making amends with Tia?” you whimper.

”Better Riverside than me,” Anonymous says with a shrug. “She’s the one who could use a friend.”

…You’ve been a friend to Riverside, right?

“…I don’t have a problem with her,” you affirm, scrunching. “That would be rude and simpleminded of me, to have a problem with somepony who’s done so much…” The map in your hooves feels much heavier now. You sigh, bowing your head. “What she’s done cannot be overstated. I know that, but… Tartarus, I suppose it just irks me.”

Anonymous tilts his head, staying silent.

You shake your own, ashamed. “It just took me so much effort to be able to—” You slowly extend a hoof and press it to Anonymous’ bare arm. He doesn’t pull away. “--…Do that. And the moment I meet her, she’s already there.”

Anonymous only gazes at you, mulling something over in his mind, until a smirk appears on his face. “Jealous?” he susurrates.

“I AM NOT--!” you shout out, but can’t find it in yourself to finish that sentence. “…I’m an uppercastemare! I wouldn’t feel something so… petty just because—I mean--!… HMPH!”

The fire on your cheeks makes it hard to concentrate. You jut your chin out and turn away, slamming your eyes shut to keep the sight of Anonymous out of them. Anonymous’ voice, though, has no trouble reaching you.

”Faust,” he says. “Do you know what it means to ‘petrevoke the Ancient Lady of Life?’”

You scrunch, shaking your head. Of course you don’t know what that means. Why doesn’t he go off and ask Bountiful Riverside what it means?

”Don’t feel too bad about it,” Anonymous chuckles. His hand descends on top of your head, giving you a firm pat. “Neither do I. Not fully, anyway.”

Anonymous retracts his hand, sighing. Your frown deepens at the absence of his warmth.

”It’s what Riverside did when she mended me,” Anonymous continues. “Some kind of a… religious remedy thing. Although, I guess it’s more fact than religion when the proof’s right there…”

Anonymous teeters off to silence. You turn to the human to find that he has a wistful, bemused look on his face. “Still weird to think about that.”

Does he come from somewhere that doesn’t have a strong connection with the Ancients? 

”Riverside and I…” Anonymous begins, before biting the inside of his cheek, thinking about what to say. “…When she petrevoked the Ancient Lady of Life, I could read her mind, Faust.” He shakes his head, as if still unbelieving of what has transpired. “She’s a good kid. I know it.”

You’re not sure what to react to, the fact that Anonymous has as good a reason one could have to trust somepony so quickly, or the fact that he called Bountiful Riverside a “kid.”

She’s always struck you as youthful, you suppose. Definitely mature, but… naïve. And according to Apple Seed, Riverside had just started her mending career when he was captured by the Red Garden, which was months ago. It makes sense now that she’d be young, but…

Ancients above, she’s so big! The thought never even crossed your mind!

Suddenly, Anonymous lets out a sarcastic chuckle. You give him a tilt of your head, earning you his explanation, “Guess I couldn’t avoid talking about it after all.”

The sad smile on Anonymous’ face stays as the human leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees. He shakes his head as memories come back to him.  “Faust, after… Cindertouch,” he says slowly, mulling each word over in his mouth. “I started seeing red.”

Anonymous’ words echo in your mind.

”Sometimes it feels like everyone’s Red Letter.”

“…Even Bountiful Riverside?” you ask quietly. 

Anonymous only nods.

Even Bountiful Riverside, the mare he shared consciousness with…

It almost surprises you, how Anonymous’ nod make you feel. Five seconds ago, you would’ve at least had the comfort of knowing that you were the only pony here that he felt comfortable confiding in.

But now… you’re just saddened.

“You can trust them, Anonymous,” you whisper. Anonymous’ face devolves into a pained cringe. “You can trust Riverside. She certainly trusts you.”

Anonymous only looks at you for what feels like minutes. His eyes slowly crease as he finally says, ”I’ll be gone once we reach Equestria, Faust. It won’t matter.”

…Is that why he wants Tia to have a relationship with Riverside? Because she’ll stay, and he won’t?

No. You can’t think about that now.

Now’s as good a chance as you’ll ever get.

“What if that weren’t the case?” you put forward. “What if you stayed with us even after we reached Equestria?” Anonymous turns to you, but before he can open his mouth, you hastily continue. “I know I’m short on doits at the moment, but freelance bounty hunting is lucrative in Equestria! We could take up a few bounties so I could continue paying you! A-and of course, I’d be giving you a hefty raise—"

”If I stayed with you, what’ll happen when another Cindertouch comes along?” Anonymous says with a shrug. “Or another Red Letter, or Sapphire Lily. And you’d be stuck with…--” Anonymous grows silent. Not knowing what else to say, he simply taps his head with a closed fist. “--this. What if something mundane happens, and I fuck everything up for you guys? What if I hit Tia? Or go off and break my leg on another log?” Anonymous chuckles darkly, shaking his head as his eyes are glued to his chest. His emerald orbs reflect the same pain you saw during the Rejoicement. “It’d be selfish of me to stay. No matter how much I want to.”

You blink.

…He wants to stay?

Anonymous is done talking. He turns away from you, peering into the passing trees and strings of mist. But you can’t let things end like this.

“You can talk to me, Anonymous,” you whisper. Anonymous shows no reaction to your words. 

Tartarus, you can’t let things end like this…

“I want to help you as much as you do me,” you try. “…Anonymous, what happened to you before Red Letter?” 

Anonymous frowns, glaring at you. ”Stop talking to me like I’m a fucking victim.” 

Anonymous’ glare falters as you don’t flinch away. You stay firm, not moving a hooflength. “After everything we’ve been through,” you plead. “Please just tell me what I can do to help. Do you trust me, Anonymous?”

The night drops ten degrees as Anonymous doesn’t your question.

…Why?

Why, after everything…?

The seconds feel like hours as the human by your side merely regards you. His eyes dance from your own, to the map in your hooves, to somewhere off in the distance. 

Does he not fully trust you yet? Were you too late?

Anonymous turns away, murmuring, “…Faust, why didn’t you tell me about Tia?”

For a brief moment, you feel the comfortable haze of confusion. After all, what could he mean by a question like that? You’ve shown him your entire hand by now, haven’t you?

But soon, the confusion falls into the growing pit in your stomach.

”About the fact she can control the fucking sun?” Anonymous continues, though his voice is muffled through the ringing in your ears. “Seems pretty important to just not mention.”

He knows.

But how? You never told him. You’ve done everything to keep it a secret, so… he must have seen it for himself.

No, that doesn’t make sense. He hasn’t treated you and Tia like he would’ve if he had.

Did he somehow get in contact with somepony from the uppercastes?

It’s becoming harder to breathe.

The pounding in your heart increases until it’s all you can hear. That, and the unbearable ringing.

Don’t pass out. Don’t pass out in the middle of the calibration.

Oh, Ancients almighty, how does he know?!

“EEP!”

Somepony is touching you.

What the buck is it? Who is it? Is it Sapphire Lily?! Red Letter?! 

What if they know?!

You hastily throw your hooves up and cover your horn, bringing your gaskins to your barrel. You pull yourself into a tight ball, praying to the Ancients to wake up from this nightmare.

Whoever’s touching you isn’t relenting, though. But they’re also not hitting your horn, or grabbing the bag from your hip, or betraying you, or paralyzing you and keeping you in a muddy cell, surrounded by ponies who want you dead…

Whoever’s touching you isn’t doing any of that. They’re only resting a hoof on your back, slowly going up and down against the fur.

…No. It isn’t a hoof. It’s a hand.

And it’s so… so warm.

”Faust?” Anonymous murmurs. “I’m not angry. I just want to know."

First, you focus on your breathing. In and out, each breath longer than last time. 

The ringing slowly succumbs to the crunching of grass and the humming of magic once again. That, and the slow rustling of Anonymous rubbing your back through your shirt.

Your heartbeat still pounds in your chest, but you only close your eyes and bask in the feeling of Anonymous. You slowly lean more into the human until your cheek presses into his side.

Anonymous doesn’t pull away.

Your heartbeat soon fades out of your ears to be returned to your chest.

“…S-scared,” you whisper, holding back tears. “I was so… so scared.”

”Scared I’d hate her?” Anonymous asks. “I’d attack her?”

“No,” you sniffle. “Scared you’d suddenly love her, and everything would be for nothing.”

Anonymous stays silent for a while. You take the opportunity to bask in the last moment before what comes next. There is no simple answer to Anonymous’ question, “Why didn’t you tell me?” There’s a multitude of answers, each more painful and embarrassing than the last.

For now, though, during these next five seconds of peace, you can bask in what might be your last moments with Anonymous at your side.

“…I come from the uppercastes, but I’d be hesitant to say I was happy up there,” you murmur. “Drawing and reading were my only forms of escape. I suppose this is what allowed me to become so disconnected from everypony else.”

Anonymous stays silent, his hand not once stopping as it rubs up and down on your back. The wagon has grown accustomed to the map's ambient direction spell, and thankfully requires no more input from yourself. You can't imagine having to scoot away from Anonymous to regain your magic.

”…Maybe that’s why I was the only one who didn’t immediately try to kill Tia when she showed up on my windowsill one night,” you say with a halfhearted smile, but you can’t bring yourself to appreciate the joke. The memories of the few ponies you did know – your sister, of all ponies – turning on you when you showed them your new friend are too painful.

You hate thinking about it, even now.

“Anonymous?” you sniffle. You wish you could stay within the human’s warmth for a while longer, but you know what has to come next. “Your question has a multitude of answers. One of which is the answer to a question you hadn’t bothered to ask up until now, but… well, it’s the reason all of this is happening.”

If he knew, it might influence him to stay.

You don’t ever want to manipulate him. 

“Do you want me to continue?” you ask meekly.

Anonymous’ emerald eyes are pools of sanctuary during this cold, frightening night. He nods, not saying a word.

You tap your hooves together, drawing into yourself. “I was hunted in my own home,” you whisper. “But I didn’t travel to the lowercastes just yet. It wasn’t until one night, behind the planetarium, that… I had my reason to go to the lowercastes. To go to Equestria.”

The memory of this particular moment is smothered and repressed by everything else that’s happened. You don’t remember the specifics of what happened afterwards. You only remember the shock of hearing that Tia had the very same dream as you did.

“Tia has a sister,” you say. Anonymous is dead silent, but you can practically feel the warmth of his eyes burning with questions. “We shared the same dream that night. Something… no, somepony told me everything. Tia has a sister, and she’s in the heartland of Equestria. That’s the only place she’ll be safe.”

You shake your head. Everything burns at the shame of your… stupidity. Of what happened next. “I tried to tell somepony,” you concede. The memory burns to think about. Tartarus, you swore to yourself you wouldn’t think about your own sister again. “Tia rose the sun in a desperate effort, and… I don’t know how to explain it. But it was as if…” You hesitate, thinking of the right word to choose from.

And then, it comes to you. “…Harmony. It felt as if everypony who saw it was suddenly in some kind of harmony.”

You shake your head darkly. 

How much they’d tried to apologize to you, every single one. How hard your sister tried to keep you from leaving. 

How she insisted to at least help you travel across the ocean, and how she’d revealed she had made contacts within the lowercastes. How she, despite your numerous attempts to cull her from your life, set up a contact for you to meet near the coastline.

How empty it all felt.

Like you were some sort of charity case to the universe.

When you turn to gauge Anonymous’ reaction, you’re met with a look of utter shock.

For a long while, he doesn’t say anything. He simply stares at you.

Tartarus, you hope he doesn’t bring up staying again. You hope he doesn’t change his mind now. It’d feel empty as well.

”Why not just…” Anonymous finally says, slowly, deliberately. “…Show me this weird Harmony thing? You’d be sure I wouldn’t betray you, at least.” 

You draw your forehooves to your chest. “I wanted what we had to be genuine. I didn’t want it to be empty.”

“Why do you even want to be around me, Lucky? Why’re you jealous of Riverside?”

This time, Anonymous’ words don’t sting. 

They don’t herald a kneejerk reaction from you, and they certainly don’t make you blush with indignation.

…Ancients-damnit, you are jealous.

“I wanted what we had to be genuine,” you say quietly. “In Plumsteed… you were the first one to ever stand up for Tia. Or for me.” You sniffle. You can’t help it anymore. You scooch closer to the human. You wish he would reach forward and rub your back again, or pat you on the head one more time. “I understand that you still have your reservations, Anonymous, and I can’t blame you because… frankly, I can’t know what you went through. But... Believe me when I say that everypony here trusts you.” 

Anonymous turns away at your words. His shoulders raise as he once again becomes hardened. You scoot even closer, and his arm grazes against your hoof. He pulls it away.

“Especially Tia,” you say.

Anonymous’ walls crumble. He slouches, leaning back into the helm of the wagon. He lets out a single sniff, before hastily wiping at his face and turning away.

Anonymous kicks his feet back up onto the canopy of the helm, crosses his arms once again, and keeps his eyes forward.

But you’re not done yet.

All-Mother above, you’re not done yet.

“I’m going to hug you now,” you warn. “And I would appreciate not being punted into the stratosphere.”

It’s quick, but you definitely saw it.

Anonymous snorts with laughter – genuine laughter. As he reaches with a hand to cover it from you, you still see it before it disappears.

He’s smiling. He’s genuinely smiling. His white teeth shine through the darkness, contrasted with his dark beard and amplified by the shining moonlight. It’s fillyish, truthfully -- one side of his lips is creaked up more than the other, giving it a lopsided curve.

It is the most adorable, perfect smile you’ve ever seen.

You did it. 

He’s smiling, and it’s because of you.

You’ll convince him to stay with you. Maybe not now, but you will. You’ll be the one to show him how amazing he truly is. Even if he never fully opens up to you, you’ll at least convince him to stay with you for just a little longer.

You swear it on your place in the Eternal Graze.

"I, uh--" Anonymous chuckles, holding up his hands. "I appreciate it, Faust, but I'm good on hugs."

You pout, your hooves returning to your lap. You've failed for now, but by the Ancients, you'll get that hug...

“Well then, would there be any questions you have left, my dear housecarla?” you squee as Anonymous wipes away the last remnants of his laughter.

He turns to you and opens his mouth to speak, before one more errant giggle escapes him. This time, he can’t hope to cover that smile as it shines through the night. 

”I’m gonna have a hard time getting that image out of my head,” he chortles before he can finally sober up. Still, he can’t fight his lips as they twitch upwards into a betraying smile. “Just one question, really. And it’s actually bugging me a bit. If all it takes is for Tia to do the…” Anonymous gestures with his hands in an adorable rendition of the sun raising. “…All-Powerful Goddess of the Sky thing for ponies to not hunt the two of you, why don’t you just show it more often? Or when you’re in trouble, like at Plumsteed?”

“From what I understand,” you muse, tapping your chin thoughtfully. “The clearer the view of the sky she has, the better Tia can perform the spell. It wouldn’t have worked at all in Plumsteed, and certainly not in the Red Garden. Not only that, but she’s vulnerable in the meanwhile. It’d be too much of a risk..." The levity of the night dampens as you give the possibilities more thought. "...And, to be frank, I don't think I'd feel comfortable manipulating ponies like that."

It's strange. It definitely wasn't mind-altering magic -- you would've recognized it if it had been. Still, the thought of somepony just... changing like that makes you shudder. 

...And why didn't it affect you, now that you think about it?

”Fair enough,” Anonymous says with a shrug. “Guess I can forget about mind washing entire towns to do our bidding.”

“Y-you most certainly can forget about that!”

”Yeah, yeah,” Anonymous says with a wave of his hand.

Wait, that’s not a wave of his hand. Its trajectory hasn’t stopped yet, and it’s coming right at you--?

Boop.

You scrunch, swatting at the offending appendage. Anonymous only smirks, once again turning his head upwards to the night sky. You notice how his eyes seem much livelier as he looks upwards, as if he were studying the many stars and galactic wisps of light.

The silence continues for a comfortable amount of time. Long enough for you to circle back to the elephant in your mind.

You’re jealous of Bountiful Riverside.

There’s no use denying it now. You’re jealous of Bountiful Riverside’s closeness with Anonymous… but there’s no reason to be.

You have your own closeness with him.

“Anonymous, dear?” you ask as you set the map aside. You fish into your bag and pull out your notebook. “Can I draw you?”

You’re already flipping open to a specific page before he responds. The night scene without a subject – the one Max Gusto had once belittled you for, and the one you couldn’t complete during the Rejoicement. Now, though, there’s only one potential reason for you to not complete it tonight.

”I won’t stop you,” Anonymous says with a nonchalant shrug.

Make that zero potential reasons for you to not complete it tonight.

You begin with the basic bipedal form of Anonymous’ sitting posture.

Yes, you have no reason to be jealous of Bountiful Riverside. You have no intention of getting between Anonymous’ and her relationship. Ancients above know she needs somepony like him. 

You suppose it’s only fair to have a long discussion with Bountiful Riverside. To apologize for the way you’ve been acting, for starters – you’ve been getting rather good at apologies these past few days. To ask her how her relationship with Tia is, how she feels about Max Gusto. To assure her you’ll be more careful with your magic around her, going forward. And, of course, to tell her how things are with Anonymous.

You’ll refrain from making any romantic moves for now. Until Anonymous is completely comfortable with you, and until you tell Riverside that you won’t be giving up, you’ll wait.

For now, you only focus on your drawing, trying and failing to not smile as Anonymous subtley looks your way, his eyes gleaming with curiosity at what the both of you are creating.
> VIII - Of Scars, Questions, and Head Pats
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Water.

For the brief moment your face breaks through the surface, letting you draw in a deep, satisfying gulp of air, it’s all you hear.

Max Gusto’s torrential raincloud hammers down with the force of a storm, rain barraging your head and the water around you. You push up to all fours and begin to trudge back to shore.

Max Gusto and Anonymous wait for you there, a fair bit of distance between the two.

”You look like an edgy filly’s wet dream!” Max Gusto woops from the grass, giving you an approving flap of her wings.

As the water descends from your barrel and down your legs, you can’t help but take a look at said appendages. No longer are they the pristine white you’ve grown so used to before -- only to have to kiss goodbye after the first few weeks of your journey and settle for a permanently stained white – but a new shade of pitch black. Through the striating reflection of the water, you can also make out that your mane has been bleached an almost neon cyan.

You have to hold back a gag at the mismatched color scheme you’ve adopted. Max Gusto is right. You certainly do look like a patented Marey Sue from an amateur novel.

You’re sure Tia would’ve loved to see you like this. Fortunately for the both of you, the filly is out of sight -- snug in the wagon, currently resting behind the dirt wall of a former cave entrance. Bountiful Riverside is no earthpusher, but she was thankfully able to bring down the overhang of soil and rocks.

As you ascend from the watery pit to the grass shore, Anonymous is waiting for you appraisingly. His arms are crossed in front of his chest, his mouth twisted in a scrunch. You’re having a harder time seeing his lips through his noticeably thicker beard. 

And the cloak over his face, of course!

Your ears lay on your skull sheepishly as you ascend those last few steps out of the water. With a quick burst of cyan light and a whoosh of wind, the water in your coat is dispelled onto the ground, leaving it dry and fuzzy.

“Well?” you can’t help but ask. You put one foreleg in front of the other and tilt your head up in a pose of confidence, as contrary as it is to the beating in your chest. “What does the fair lord think?”

The scrunch on his face transforms into a smile before he can stop it. He snorts in amusement, averting his eyes as he gives a shake of his head. “I think it works, my fair lady,” he says.

Your chest prickles with warmth at his praise, and you can’t help but grin.

”I also think it fucking reeks,” Anonymous finishes.

The grin fades to a frown, and you huff. “It’ll pass,” you affirm, taking a moment to repeat the comforting thought in your head.

It must pass.

Then again, the putrid stench of those larua roots haven’t faded a hooflength since you got them…

Oh, Ancients above, please tell you the stench will pass.

”A-HEM!”

You turn to Max Gusto to see that she’s giving Anonymous a glare, not caring in the least that the human is now looking at her as well.

“I didn’t forget about you!” you titter nervously as your horn is set ablaze. Your magic reaches back and grabs ahold of the floating larua root. The ambient mass-magic thome is right – it does feel much hollower than before. “Thank you for your rain, Max. That’ll be enough.”

”Right-o, Luckster,” Max Gusto says as she starts trotting. Though, she isn’t moving towards the torrential raincloud. She’s moving towards you. “My stink-root, please?”

As you deposit the larua root back into its sack, you tilt your head to the pegasus. “…Pardon?”

“Uhh, my larua root? So I can also get my new look? So nopony’ll recognize me in there?”

“Max, are you thinking of coming with Anonymous and—”

”Yes, I am coming with ‘Anonymous and I.’ And I’ll save you the embarrassment of losing an argument by threatening to larua-root-ify your clothes if it’s a no.”

You sputter at her threat for a few moments, unable to think of a reply. After a while, the only thing you can think to say is, “…Anonymous and me. Object of the sentence.”

When Max slowly reaches a hoof to the pile of clothes you’d discarded before entering the pool, your horn is snapped into action. 

With a brief, ZAP!, the clothes are teleported from the clutches of Max Gusto to your side. She grumbles, but you cut her off with, “I appreciate it, Max, but Anonymous is my housecarla. I’ll be quite fine.”

”I thought he was the one who’d be recognized first!” Max snaps.

As a response, Anonymous merely pinches the corner of his cloak and gives it two conspicuous flicks. “Just a hairless cat with a cloak,” he murmurs.

Max doesn’t acknowledge the human besides her frown deepening.

“I wouldn’t want to put you in danger,” you try, but that doesn’t get you anywhere.

”Thought you were meeting a ‘trusted contact,’” Max challenges. 

Well… you’d be hard-pressed to say that you trusted this contact. You haven’t even met her. You’d be even more hard-pressed to say you trusted the mare who set the two of you up.

You resist the urge to frown at your friend, levitating your Marestrichtian shirt up and over your horn. “Anonymous is here in case this contact isn’t to be trusted,” you say, sliding it down your body. 

”So all the more reason to have more backup!” Max exclaims as she gives a flap of her wings. She takes a step forward, her eyes returning to Anonymous. “C’mon, you really trust this guy to help you out without bucking things up?”

This time, you make no efforts to hide the frown on your face. “Yes, Max Gusto. I trust Anonymous to do his job.”

Before the argument can continue, it’s Anonymous who steps in. Without waiting for permission, he simply bends down and snatches the bag of larua roots from the ground. He sifts through it, grabs one of the unused roots, and tosses it at the pegasus.

”There, now quit bitching,” is all he says.

Max leaps up and into the air and snatches up the root with her hooves. She gives Anonymous a wordless glare before her gaze shifts to you. Once more, she raises her eyebrows in a questioning manner and asks for your permission.

Oh, confound these two...

“Alright,” you suspire with a slow shake of your head. “You can come, but you’re wearing your cloak. And you’re keeping out of trouble.”

Max doesn’t even have it in her to make a quip about going clothed. She only nods, sticks her tongue out at Anonymous, and swoops to the maremade pool. You ready your horn to cast the inner-spread spell and send Max’s coat into inversion.

Of course it has to be these two who’re butting heads.

You sigh under your breath, cursing the Ancients for the disastrous formula of Anonymous and Max Gusto.

Anonymous has tried to apologize for hitting Max during the past few days on the road – well, in his own, pithy way. When Max once left to go fishing for food, he offered to assist her. You also wanted this – it would’ve provided you with an opportunity to speak with Bountiful Riverside alone, as well.

Maybe it was your own pushing for this that made Max feel cornered. Her response to Anonymous’ offer was a resounding and rude, “Sorry, monkeys don’t make good fishers.” Anonymous frowned, Max Gusto frowned, we all frowned, and Max eventually left on her own.

Tartarus, you’d hoped finally getting on track for the dockyard would have alleviated the tension, but the time spent in close quarters has only exacerbated it.

It’s exacerbated you as well. 

…Ancients-damnit. You wanted to forget about your sister. And here you are, accepting her offer, because your doits were stolen by a gang of delusional raiders.

After this, a night spent out of the wagon and under the stars will be all but required.

That’s a good thought…

The splash of a pony’s head whipping up from underneath the water’s surface brings you back from your thoughts. Through the rain and mist, you see that the larua root has done its job. Max Gusto’s coat is now a sunset’s dark violet. As the pegasus trudges through the water back to shore, she takes a moment to whip the midnight black mane out of her face and give her sopping tail a good shake.

Max takes a brief moment to admire her reflection, giving herself a smirk and a waggle of her eyebrows. “The stallion’s won’t know what hit ‘em,” she coos as she hops onto shore.

“I’m drooling already,” Anonymous mumbles sarcastically.

Now normally, you’d be thinking something along the lines of, “If Max heard it, she doesn’t show it,” but given that Max is a pegasus, she most definitely did hear it, but chooses to ignore it. You react more than she does – a quick frown at Anonymous, currently wiping his damp glove through the grass to get rid of larua root residue.

Once Max is out of the pool, you cast another spell, and her coat is dried off. After another minute spent securing your pouch to your hip strap, you’re ready to begin making your way to the pub.

With a deep breath and a glance to your housecarla to your left, you start trotting.

You’re far enough away from the pub that the three of you last a good few minutes in silence before the noises begin to be discernable. It’s different from that last tavern you’ve been to, but somehow, still the same. There’s the bustling of wagons and the splashing caused by a nearby watermill, but underneath it all, lies the same, unmistakable sounds of a tavern.

The muffled laughter and clacking of mugs whose volumes seem to be in competition.

…Tartarus, you hope this goes better than the tavern in Plumsteed.

”Alright,” Max Gusto pipes up, her ears focused on the approaching pub. “So, leader, you got some kind of a plan?”

Your trotting slows to a stop at her question.

You’ve learned your lesson this past week. You most certainly did have a plan before, but Max Gusto’s joining put a bit of a spin on things.

You give an errant hum, tapping a hoof to your chin. “I did,” you ponder. “But I suppose it’d do well to reevaluate. Let’s think this over.”

A shit-eating grin splits Max’s face as she lets out a sarcastic sniffle. She reaches up and gives your head a pat. ”You’ve come such a long way!” she coos, earning her a frown.

…You’re not that bad with plans, are you?

”Do you know anything about this ‘contact?’” Anonymous questions from your side.

Max’s patting stops as her attention is drawn to the human.

“She’ll know me by Faust,” you murmur. “I was assured we’d be meeting alone. But besides that, nothing.”

You’re not sure how you feel about a lowercastemare you don’t know knowing your true name.

”Alright, so we ask the bartender,” Anonymous concludes.

You blink. How would he know the bartender would know anything?

”It’s the same thing with bounties, or housecarla jobs,” Anonymous explains before you can question him. “At least, in Plumsteed it was. If someone who’d posted a bounty was missing, the bartender’s your best bet. Same with ladies who’d try and disappear without paying after the job was done. It’s a bit of a cliché, but eh.”

“Cliché?” you ask.

”Nevermind.”

You opt to let it go. You bring a hoof up to your chin, giving it a few contemplative taps.

“Alright, so we’ll ask the bartender first,” you conclude. “We’ll keep a low profile. And if things go awry, I have a competent housecarla, and a burly pegasus to realign the situation!”

Before you can continue trotting through the mist, though, a violet wing juts out in front of you. “Think you’re forgetting something about your ‘competent housecarla?’” Max asks.

You can practically hear Anonymous rolling his eyes at Max’s interjection. If you can hear it, Max Gusto certainly has no trouble doing so, and she glares at the human. “I’m saying it’s kinda hard to keep a low profile when you’ve got a hulking, hairless cat sitting right next to you!” she snaps. “See?! It’s a good point, you ass!”

“Max,” you say sternly. Thankfully, Anonymous doesn’t take the bait, leaving Max to simmer to a cool scrunch. “Remember how you felt when I was bickering with Smooth Roads?”

Max grumbles at that, kicking a hoof.

“It is indeed a good point,” you nod. “It would be hard to keep a low profile when you’re next to me, Anonymous. Of course, I mean no offense.”

Anonymous doesn’t seem to mind. He only crosses his arms and delves into his own thoughts, his emerald eyes flicking between the direction of the pub, you, and Max Gusto.

After a while, the human lets out a long sigh through his nose. “You two could go on ahead and I’ll come in after a few minutes,” he suggests. “Keep watch from the other side of the room. Max could act like your housecarla in the meanwhile. Flex her muscles, act like she knows how to fight.”

”Oh, HURRHURRHURR!” Max brays with a sarcastic, donkey-like grin.

Darnit, Anonymous!

“That is an excellent plan!” you try to speak over Max’s guffawing, using a hoof to keep the pegasus to your side. “I’m sure Max Gusto would agree, and I’m also sure it will go off swimmingly, suffice we aren’t acting like foals!”

“Correction,” Max sneers. “Foal and monkey baby.”

“Max Gusto, be quiet.”

Max’s glare shifts from Anonymous to you. For a brief moment, her eyes soften, as if she weren’t expecting you to get after her.

Then, they slowly harden into a scowl. She lets out a snort before turning and walking off in the direction of the pub. Her black tail gives an annoyed flick, beckoning you to follow.

You turn and give Anonymous a pleading look. He responds with a placating raise of his hands. The fog is thin enough by now that the sunlight sends gleaming shimmers off his bracers. “My love language is teasing relentlessly,” he defends.

You keep your silent plea locked onto the human. After a few seconds of scrutiny, he finally sighs, dropping his hands. “I’ll deal with it,” Anonymous relents, giving your flank a nudge with his boot. “Now go on.”

You give his leg a soft kick of your own, and the human smirks before backing off.

Anonymous stays put while you continue on, Max’s pitch black tail easy to spot through the relenting mist. As you eventually catch up to the pegasus’ side, the humidity sinks, leaving the pub in plain sight now.

Unlike the pub in Plumsteed, this one is brimming with color. Much like Free Valley Carpentry, the forest seems to hold the establishment in a boreal embrace, branches and trunks weaving around its exterior. Also much like Free Valley, technicolor ropes of ambient magic sprawl across the pub’s walls. A dozen or so wagons and carriages of all shapes and sizes litter the large dirt patch to the east end of the pub, vacant and waiting for their owners from inside.

…Hm. You wonder how Smooth Roads handled Free Valley. You hope she’s alright.

To the west side, a watermill is attached to the pub, lazily rotating to the pursuit of the river below. At first, you think the mares surrounding the riverbed are unicorns, perhaps spending a day resting from the exhaustion of traveling, forgoing their clothes to bathe in the sun.

And then, you see one of the pegasi pounce into the water. Moments later, her head resurfaces, a flailing fish lodged firmly in her muzzle. 

Max Gusto has stopped trotting towards the tavern. Her ears are perked, and her posture is stiff as she stares at the group of pegasi at the riverbed.

Your trot slows to a halt at your friend’s side. “Since we’re so close to the dockyard,” you explain. “Travelers of all tribes and species amalgamate in places like these.”

Max doesn’t respond to your words besides a subtle, almost inadvertent nod. Now that you’re at her side, you can see how her eyes glisten with an emotion you can’t recognize.

Does she want to talk to them? Ponies of her own tribe?

Before you can continue the conversation, though, Max suddenly snaps out of her trance.

“Weird,” she huffs, the emotion escaping you. “No reason for a sky wanderer to fish down here, so close to a settlement.” 

And with that, the subject is dropped, and Max Gusto continues toward the pub. You follow quickly after, making your way to Max’s side.

Max Gusto doesn’t say much after that, only looking down at her chest tuft as she practices flexing and unflexing it, ruffling her feathers to appear bigger. The sounds of celebration grow the closer you come to the establishment.

Your horn glows, and the front door opens.

The interior of the pub is smaller than Plumsteed, but to your surprise, it also seems much more open. Rather than the emphasis on wood, metal, and griffon fights, this pub matches with what you would initially envision while reading adventure novels taking place in such an establishment. The windows plastered along the walls allow the forest’s sunlight to shine through, setting the boreal pub aflame with natural light.

Hm. You don’t see any torches, and the sunlight provides well enough illumination. So, what’s the point of the lines of ambient magic throughout the walls?

Once inside, you take a moment to scan across the occupants of the pub, praying to the Ancients that you don’t see any regrettably familiar faces.

Some sit at the tables lining the windowed walls, others are congregating around a bounty board you spot in the far corner. Most of the occupants are ponies, true – unicorns, to be exact. There’s a group of them having a drinking competition at the bar, dressed in leather and hoisting an arrangement of weapons. 

When they aren’t unicorns, though, they’re cats, discussing documents you can assume are related to ships, if their attire is anything to go by. Or a duo of diamond dogs, bickering at the bounty board as they slurp from mugs of ale. 

As part of the curriculum of uppercaste education, you’ve seen illustrations of the other sentient species of Equus. Now, though, as the musky scents and odd accents assault your senses, you realize those illustrations hadn’t done them justice.

You don’t know anypony here. And if there were anypony who’d know you, they wouldn’t recognize you.

You don’t have any trouble finding the bartender. She’s currently occupied in her job’s sake, giving the duo of ponies that just entered her pub nothing more than a sideways glance.

The bartender is a short-maned unicorn – her muzzle darkens the closer it comes to her snout, either as a natural change in pigmentation, or the result of dozens of magical experiments exploding in her face. If the rows of ale barrels behind her, each lid decorated with a unique fermentation rune combination, is anything to go by, you wouldn’t be surprised if it’s the latter.

”Think that’s pegasus meat?” Max Gusto mutters under her breath, giving a flick of her head in the bar’s direction.

Before you can ask her what she means, you get your answer. 

There’s a lone griffon sitting at the bar, tearing into some kind of meat with her beak and claws alike. 

It’s more than a little off-putting, how the carcass has been seared and placed on a plate, served up like any other respectable plate, perhaps with a side of hay. You take a moment to steady yourself. Anonymous is omnivorous; how terrible could a carnivore be?

“Breathe easy, Max,” you susurrate. “I’m sure it’s just some… steak. Or fish. Or chicken.”

The only three meats you know. You’re sure the griffon’s meal falls under one of them. You hope.

Max doesn’t say anything back, no doubt emulating your own reaction at your attempts to comfort her.

“Come, we’ll sit at the far end,” you suggest. You trot over to one of the bar stools furthest away from the griffon, while still remaining in the bartender’s line of sight.

So far, nopony is giving either you or Max Gusto a second glance. You’d almost expected the pub to fall into a dead silence as the two outsiders strode in, but thankfully, that kind of encounter is only for the books.

Alright, Lucky. Let’s put this whole thing behind us as soon as possible.

You hop up onto the stool, politely resting your forehooves on the countertop. With a flap of her wings, Max Gusto is at your side.

It takes a moment for the bartender to notice your presence. You give a pleasant smile and a courteous nod, gesturing her over.

As a response, the bartender suddenly has to hold a hoof up to her mouth to keep from letting out a laugh.

”Real intimidating,” Max snickers.

“It isn’t my job to act thusly!” you defend hastily, thanking the Ancients that your blush is much harder to make out with your new coat.

The bartender regains her composure and trots up to the two of you. The closer she gets, the more you realize something. Even if you’ve never seen this mare before, her piercing eyes make you thankful she isn’t a bounty hunter after you.

You’re about to open your mouth when the bartender beats you to it.

“Greetings, Ravenous Doomstar, and her burly counterpart. What can I get for you foals?”

You blink.

“…R-Ravenous Doomstar?” you ask with a tilt of your head.

The bartender lets the silence hang in the air for a minute until she snorts in amusement. The scar running along her left cheek curls with the smile, almost adding an extra dimple to her features. “Ravenous Doomstar!” she chirrups. “The main character from that amateur novel series that was canceled? Black coat, tragic past, all-powerful unicorn? You look just like—ah, forget it.” The bartender gives a wave of a hoof, putting the subject to rest. “So, who’re the two aspiring adventurers whom I have the pleasure of serving today?”

Your lips purse as your words fail you.

Oh, snap out of it, Lucky, so she’s friendly! There are plenty of friendly lowercastemares!

You clear your throat, giving the bartender a pleasant smile. “Two adventurers who would like to remain anonymous, if it’s all the same to you, miss.”

You’re not one to talk, but it’s a little jarring, saying that word when not referring to your housecarla.

The bartender gives a shrug. Her horn glows a deep maroon as two mugs levitate to her side. “Fair enough,” she says, a white rag joining the mugs at her side. “Just thought I’d make some conversation with today’s politest little filly.”

You give a swift kick to Max Gusto’s hind hoof as she begins to snicker. 

“I’ve got the essentials, if you’re some sheltered virgin,” the bartender suggests, closing her eyes pleasantly as she rubs the mug clean. “Ale, bitters, moonshine – that’s a new one. Straight from Equestria, from some weird, bat-pony tribe. Or, if you really want to play the adventurer, I have a whole slew of ales you’re guaranteed to never have had. Magically augmented to create every taste under the All-Mother – I bet my herdstallion’s fertility on it.”

You try to smile for the pony from whom you’re about to ask a favor. You really do. It’s just hard to get enthused about alcohol. Especially after your first and last encounter with it.

“I thank you for your friendliness,” you say, holding back a cringe. “Though, I’m afraid we aren’t here to order drinks.”

The bartender’s eyes seem to gloss over as her focus is now completely on the mugs and rag. She begins wiping the innards of one clean as she mechanically recites, “We don’t take any responsibility for valuables stolen, if you need to take a leak be a mare and do it outside, bounty board’s over there.” The bartender is no longer eying you with curiosity, but there’s still a faint flicker of mischief as she turns away from you, back into the depths of the pub. “But between you and me? I’d wait until those mutts’re done mouthing off at each other.”

“I’m here to meet a contact!” you iterate, stopping the bartender in her tracks before she can get away.

The bartender circles back to meet you with a pursed muzzle and a raised eyebrow. The two mugs are levitated to somewhere below the bar’s countertop, the white rag’s top still hanging loosely from one of them.

“She’s been sent to this pub to wait for--…” you begin, before your mouth becomes dry.

She doesn’t need to know you’re Faust, does she?

The bartender’s eyebrow only raises even higher at your sudden silence. 

You open your mouth in a mock yawn, hoping to the Ancients that came off as natural. “Apologies,” you say, giving a useless smack of your lips.

It didn’t come off as natural.

“As I was saying,” you continue. “This contact is waiting for somepony I know. Is there anypony here who’s looking for a ‘Faust?’”

The bartender’s eyes widen at the name. 

You bite the inside of your cheek. Your focus tears away from the bartender’s commanding orbs to take one more look at the pub around you, just to be safe. Thankfully, you aren’t met with a crowd of suspicious onlookers, knowing and unwilling to forgive you for some wrong you must have obliviously committed. The scene that greets you is of open windows, drinking ponies, and that griffon, wiping the blood from her beak.

”The uppercastemare?” the bartender asks as she leans forward.

You give a nod, returning to the bartender’s eyes with what you hope can be construed as confidence. “Yes,” you say neutrally. “How… much do you know about this Faust, if it isn’t confidential?”

”That she’s an uppercastemare,” the bartender says with a shrug, and her voice is back to its casual nature. She leans back to her spot behind the countertop, away from your face. “And even then, I just pieced it together based on the name. Confidential, remember?” 

“Yes, of course,” you say lamely.

The bartender turns her head away from you, looking over the occupants of the pub. Her eyes never settle on any one of them, you notice. “Yeah, I know a certain somepony who’s on the lookout for an aptly-named uppercastmare. You’re an acquaintance, you said?”

You try your best to give an affirmative nod, but it’s too abrupt to come off as anything other than a jolt of your head.

Nevertheless, the bartender gets your meaning. 

“Thank the Ancients above,” she murmurs before turning tail. “Faust is here, and that pain-in-my-plot will finally be off.” 

She said it.

You flinch as if physically struck, but do your damndest to stay upright. By the will of the Ancient Lady of Strength, you’re able to keep your turmoil underneath the surface. The bartender trots away from you before turning behind the shelves of barrels. She opens a door you hadn’t noticed before, and disappears with a faint thud.

You and Max Gusto are now alone.

You try to draw in a deep gulp of air, but you’re sent into a sudden hacking fit from the stench of ale.

Don’t let it get to you.

She seems like an… agreeable enough mare. At least she isn’t some vile criminal, lathering your Ancients-knighted name with her rancid, vomit-inducing--…

Don’t let it get to you, Faust.

One more try, and this time you’re able to draw in much-need oxygen.

Don’t let it get to you…

“Would it still be considered ‘intimidating’ if I were to, hypothetically, comfort you with head pats?”

Damnit, Max.

You roll your eyes at your friend’s words, but leave it at that.

As your eyes are returning to their natural position in your head, though, they catch something which captures your attention. The griffon at the other end of the bar has finished her meal now, and pushes the bloody, wooden plate to the inner edge of the countertop. Her cat-like eyes scan this way and that for the bartender, a brief eyeshine from her tapetum lucidum sending a shiver down your spine. Once she’s realized the bartender is nowhere to be seen, she merely huffs and hops down from her stool.

It’s strange. You’ve never had a chance to watch a griffon move in such proximity, sentient or otherwise. Your eyes can’t help but study her as she passes by.

So why, then, does Anonymous somehow manage to not only not notice the griffon, but also bump into her?

The griffon stumbles from the tall, cloaked figure’s point of contact. Immediately after, her hackles are raised, and her wings are flared outwards.

“Ai, ye hai-rless cat!” she shrieks, her voice barely recognizable through her accent. Anonymous barely has time to turn to the griffon before she hawks up a glob of phlegm and spits it at the human.

Anonymous’ body freezes as the glob of spit lands on his cheek. 

That bitch.

Your eyes narrow at the griffon’s blatant disrespect of your lord. 

Your horn must’ve also been glowing somewhere through all that boiling of your blood, because it earns itself a plume of feathers brushing against it, shutting it down.

“Now isn’t a good time to be a white knightess,” Max murmurs.

You bite your tongue to keep from glaring, but your eyes never leave the scene before you.

“Gow-en t’apologize?” the griffon sneers through her beak.

Either this kind of brutish behavior happens often in this part of the lowercastes, or… Well, you’re quite certain it’s just that, actually. 

This kind of brutish behavior must happen often in this part of the lowercastes, because nopony in the pub is paying any attention to the confrontation.

Anonymous is still for a moment, his hands clenched in fists. You half-expect him to throw a punch, until the human’s emerald eyes shine through to you from under his cloak.

As the two of you lock eyes, his fists unclench. He simply starts walking in the opposite direction, using the back of his hand to wipe away the spittle. 

The griffon only whips around and heads to the exit of the pub, mumbling something in a foreign language.

“Guess I’m no better than a buckin’ griffon,” Max scoffs under her breath.

Your head snaps to the pegasus at your side. You’re on the verge of responding, until a glowing string of ambient magic on the wall behind Max reminds you of where you are. You take another look at the door the bartender had gone through – still closed – and one more at Anonymous – sitting at a table at the far side – before you return to Max Gusto.

“Do you really think now is a good time?” you whisper.

Max, to her credit, seems surprised that you overheard her. “Just talking to myself,” Max says. “Getting in character. Thinking about angry thoughts.” 

You take another moment to scan your surroundings before scooting closer to Max Gusto. “He doesn’t think of you like that,” you scold with a jab of your hoof. “You’d see, if you gave him a chance to speak with you, that he’s trying to do better.”

”Yeah, well, when you’re an unstable prick, the bar’s set pretty low.”

You frown, steadily leaning away from Max Gusto, not saying a word. 

Max sees the look on your face and gauges your thoughts from there. She draws in a deep inhale before letting out a slow exhale through her nose.

“Listen,” Max sighs. Her peach eyes lock with your own, untouched by the larua root’s rearrangement of colors. “I’m… I just hate how you're all just… giving him a free pass over hitting somepony he’s supposed to be protecting. Over some flirting. How can you even feel safe around him? How can you like him?”

Because you know he’s trying to do better, despite everything he’s been through.

…But it isn’t your place to tell her, Lucky.

Don’t betray Anonymous’ trust like that.

“You should talk to him,” you mumble, turning away from Max and back to the task at hoof. 

You want to converse more with Max on the subject. You might not be sure what you’d say to her -- there’s only so much you can do for those two besides opening the door – but now is not the time.

Afterwards. Afterwards, you’ll find time for them. Hopefully, time for you and Riverside as well.

Tartarus, these last few days until the dockyard were supposed to be relaxing!

Suddenly, Max’s expression changes to a neutral gaze.

Her violet ears swivel towards the direction the bartender had departed. They subtly twitch as her eyes glare at nothing in particular.

”…Your contact’s on her way,” Max murmurs. “But she’s not alone. She has a housecarla.”

“What?” you whisper. “I was told we’d meet alone!”

”Yeah, well, she’s not.” Max Gusto’s face changes again, but this time, she seems to mirror how confused you must look. “Second… your contact isn’t a she.” 

You simply blink, refusing to let yourself show any more of a reaction.

…Your sister always was better with the fairer sex.

“They’re coming,” Max says moments before the door behind the shelves is swung open.

The fact that your contact is a male, you didn’t expect. Granted, you took the fact that your co-worker is a stallion a lot better this time around. 

Still, this unexpected turn of events doesn’t prepare you in the slightest once your contact’s claws round the corner, before thrusting him into clear view. 

Claws. Not hoof, or pad, or even foot – a set of sharp, slender claws, attached to a scaled paw.

The clawed paw pushes the rest of your contact’s bipedal body out of the door, followed by the other paw, until he’s standing still. He crosses his glistening arms as he glares expectantly at the bartender at his side, the tip of her horn only reaching his waist. 

The bartender points a hoof in your direction, and the dragon’s eyes snap onto you.

It’s so strange, seeing somepony so… similar to Anonymous’ stature. He’s wearing clothes like Anonymous, but the two’s styles are so different. Your contact isn’t wearing much else besides a bare-chested vest, liberally showing off his pale yellow underbelly. 

A hulking axe head, as big as your body, is attached to his back.

It’s hard to guess this dragon’s age. He’s shorter than Anonymous, and his face looks youthful, but you’ve read how looks can be deceiving when it comes to dragons. Uppercaste scholars still aren’t sure what triggers the sudden growth from dragons’ adolescent, bipedal stage to the hulking predators you’ve read about in novels.

…It’s a little exciting, truth be told. You’ve never met a dragon before, and now you get to speak with one face-to-face.

The dragon’s slitted eyes stay trained on you as he begins moving. His bipedal form seems to slice through the air in an elegant, confident gait – so much different from the animalistic barbarism of his much older peers.

You straighten up, bringing your forehooves together in a polite show of attention. With one more glance to Anonymous, you begin to reassure yourself that this will all go—

Anonymous isn’t looking at you. He’s looking at something behind your contact.

His face is contorted in a grimace of horror as his eyes zip from you to your contact’s housecarla again and again.

”Ancients, this housecarla likes chainmail…” Max murmurs.

Your heart plummets into your guts. 

The axe head you had, at first, thought belonged to your contact, levitates down to his housecarla’s side in a magical glow. Where you once saw runes dancing across its surface, now lays the dark scars of purloin magic. That’s why you didn’t recognize it at first.

But the unicorn trailing behind the dragon, you have no trouble recognizing. What little coat you can see through her armor is disheveled and matted. A gray piece of cloth, magicked into hardened gauze, covers her left eye, and the majority of her face’s fur has been burnt off to reveal the skin underneath.

But you recognize Storm all the same.

You can’t react. Ancients, how do you react? Do you run? Do you cast the first spell before she has a chance to? Do you teleport away?

While your mind is scrambling to come to a choice, the charcoal dragon’s height towers over you. You flinch at the sound of your contact descending onto the stool at your side.

He leans an elbow on the countertop, his knees spread far apart. As the ball of his foot rests on the stool’s footrest, his knee begins to bounce in a slow, methodical fashion. 

Storm simply leans her axe against the countertop and stands at attention beside the dragon. As she turns away from you, the gray cloth around her eye socket blocks you from her vision.

She doesn’t recognize you.

You’re safe.

Apple Seed and the Marestrichtians saved you.

Your contact says nothing for a long while. His boysenberry eyes speak a language of their own as they glare between you and Max Gusto. You can’t bear to turn to see Max’s reaction – you can only pray to the Ancients she doesn’t choose this moment to quip a one-liner.

“Anything to warm the throat, Kindle?” the bartender pipes up from the sidelines. “Loosen your tongue? Speed up your one-way trip out of my bucking pub?”

Kindle responds with a wordless glare to the bartender. 

“Usual it is,” she sing-songs, turning tail. As she trots to the multitude of barrels, you think you’re starting to understand why she was so willing to get rid of this dragon.

When Kindle turns back to you, returning to a wordless glare, you decide to take the initiative. You can’t help but glance nervously at Storm as you say, “I was told we’d meet alone.” 

“Better to be in a public place in case a mare gets uppity,” Kindle responds almost immediately. You’re taken aback by the gruffness of his voice. It’s nowhere near the gravely nature of Smooth Roads’, but it holds a grating quality that seems to put you on the defensive without even trying. He’s well past the point of constant voice cracks, but still sounds deceptively young. For all you know, though, he could have decades of experience.

Fascinating, but not on your list of priorities. 

You give a smile, making an effort to sit a little straighter in your seat. “No no, I’m quite agreeable with the choice of meeting somewhere public. I’m referring to the third party to our business.”

“Fourth party,” Kindle says, once again too quickly to come off as natural. Before you can ask, his eyes detach from you for the first time, and land on Max. “Yes, it’s true that I was told to meet with Faust alone. But not only am I being cornered by two mares I don’t know, I’m being cornered by a mare who is only an acquaintance of Faust, not Faust herself. So, I will bring my housecarla, and you can deal.”

Three times Kindle says your true name, and three times you have to physically restrain yourself from retching in disgust.

He reminds you of the Anonymous you met in Plumsteed. But more spiteful.

“I suppose so,” you relent with another, final glance to Storm. She’s barely paying attention to the conversation, instead scanning the pub for any perceivable threats. Thankfully, Anonymous has caught onto her scouting, and is turned away from her, hiding behind his cloak.

It’s ironic, how naked you feel when he isn’t looking at you.

“Yes, I’m only an acquaintance of Faust,” you reaffirm, meeting with Kindle’s piercing eyes once again.

His response is as joyless as a funereal. “Then stop complaining about my housecarla, longface.”

The soft clack! of Kindle’s mug being slapped onto the table sends a jolt through your system. The bartender’s face is practically being split apart by the grin adorning her features.

Kindle removes a doit from his sack, the gold hue of the coin almost indistinguishable from his palm. As he sets it on the table, though, the bartender quickly shakes her head. “On the house!” she chirrups. 

“You could at least try to hide your excitement,” Kindle muses as he swipes the mug from the countertop.

”Why should I? Faust is here, you have no more reason to-- hey, HEY! KINDLE!”

Kindle holds the mug above his pursed beak, the cup’s bottom resting less than a hooflength from his mouth, as he pauses and glares at the bartender.

“You know I can’t drink this near-frozen shit by itself,” he sneers.

The bartender doesn’t back down. Instead, she sweeps a hoof in the direction of a thick web of ambient magic in the walls. “We’re not doing this again. It’s your fault we had to put up anti-flame magic.”

”Well, you just answered your own problem. Anti-flame magic.”

The bartender’s eyes narrow at the dragon before she takes one more look at the strings of magic trailing up the surrounding walls. Kindle doesn’t wait for permission, simply turning back to his mug and letting loose a thin tube of blue flames from his mouth. The flames shoot up and cap at the bottom of the mug, warming the liquid inside.

You, meanwhile, are left tapping your hooves together. You take a moment to look back to Max Gusto. She’s mumbling something too quiet to make out, but judging from her lips’ movements, you can make out the words ”Entitled,” “scaleback,” and ”pretty colt.”

Kindle cuts off his fire and lowers the now steaming mug to his beak. He takes his time with the alcoholic beverage, swallowing three big gulps before finally setting the mug back onto the table.

“A question, before we start talking business,” Kindle says before you can get a word out. “You know Faust by her true name. How so?”

Each time you hear the name “Faust” from Kindle’s lips, it more feels like he’s regurgitating it than saying it.

“Would it help if I told you the name of the uppercastmare who employed you?” you ask. “To show you I can be trusted.”

Kindle’s eyes narrow dangerously. Without even a glance in her direction, the dragon whips his idle claw back and nicks Storm on the horn. Storm flinches from the contact and her one eye gives a glare, but otherwise doesn’t put up any opposition.

Storm’s horn begins to glow, her battle axe’s handle following suit.

“No,” Kindle growls. “But it would raise the stakes exponentially. Because if you know both Faust and her sister’s name, that means you’re very close to a mare who, as I’ve been paid a sufficient amount of money to believe, is a pony who was completely alone in the uppercastes.” You shrink under Kindle’s words, but the plume of feathers brushing against your side keeps you steady. “Or, you obtained this information through other means. Picked Faust off the streets before she even made it to Plumsteed. Found all this out from her and left her in a ditch.” 

Kindle hasn’t moved a hooflength since he’s started talking. Bar his drink from the mug and the whack to Storm’s horn, he’s still leaning that elbow on the countertop, bouncing one knee up and down slowly. 

It’s almost scary, then, how it feels like he’s towering over you as he asks, “Are you lying to me, mare? Did you hurt Faust?”

“No!” you yelp hastily, but one look at Storm’s axe steadily rising tells you it wasn’t convincing enough.

You can feel Max Gusto’s glare as she steadily puffs her wings to full span, ready to protect.

Ready to act like she can protect. She doesn’t know how to fight.

This is going to be a disaster unless you tell him, Faust.

Ancients above, you can’t look at Storm anymore. 

She might not know it’s you, but she’ll know your true name…

Ancients-damnit.

You take a deep breath, meeting Kindle’s glare with a steady gaze. “No, Kindle,” you say. “I didn’t hurt her. I’m Faust.”

You weren’t expecting Kindle to believe you right away, but the quick, almost interrupting tone of his voice makes even you question if you were lying. 

“Sure don’t look like her,” he quips.

So he knows what you look like without the larua root.

…Wait. There’s one thing the larua root didn’t change.

“Do you have an inscription of Faust?” you say, before you realize your mistake. “O-of me.”

Kindle’s glare falters. “Yep,” is all he mutters.

“How detailed is it, my lord?”

“Down to the cutie mark.”

“Cutie mark it is!”

You shift in your seat so your flank is facing Kindle. With a cyan glow of your horn, the layer of cloth is moved aside, revealing the feather-and-ink-bottle insignia to the world.

Kindle’s eyes narrow at your cutie mark, still not fully convinced. Without so much as a warning, he suddenly reaches forward and presses a claw to the tip of your horn. It’s not enough to elicit a yelp of pain, but it still isn’t the most comfortable sensation in the world.

When he’s sure you aren’t casting any ambient magic, to change your cutie mark you presume, his claw shifts from your horn to your cutie mark, giving it another firm poke. Once again, no magical residue is found.

You don’t miss the sing-songy, ”Ooh la-la,” Max chirps, but you decide to ignore it.

After all, he’s just checking the validity of your cutie mark. A little rude, and he certainly didn’t ask for permission, but it can’t be helped. After this meeting, you’ll never see Kindle again.

…Is that the reason you’re so indifferent to it, Lucky, or is it because he isn’t Anonymous?

Where, in the darkest corners of the All-Father’s grave, did THAT thought come from?!

It came from Max, didn’t it?!

Oblivious to your sudden blush, Kindle’s face transforms as he removes his claw. For the first time since you’ve met him, his eyes relax from their perpetual squint, and his brows raise in astonishment. 

“Huh,” he coos. His voice is nearly indistinguishable to when he was grilling you. However, the way his shoulders slump and that hint of a smile reveal his sudden relief. “Ditched the white, did you, Faust?”

A sharp flurry of movement behind Kindle draws your attention to Storm.

She’d flicked her ear. Her attention is still on her surroundings, still scoping for any threats to her lord, but she had flicked her ear at you.

No… it’s okay.

Kindle is already over the subject; he isn’t iterating anything for her. You were wearing a cloak in Plumsteed, so there’s no way Storm can recognize your cutie mark either.

She only has a color. Don’t react, Lucky Favor.

Kindle brings a clawed paw to his chest before giving an awkward bow. “My sincerest and humblest apologies for our most unfortunate first impressions, miss Faust,” he beams. When he leans back up to face you, he gives you a full set of sharp fangs in the form of a smile. “How was that? I’ve had some practice dealing with your sister.” 

Dealing with her. Not having dealt with her.

Is your sister still keeping in contact with him? Through what means?

…Has she been in the lowercastes? Is she in danger?

With a quick shake of your head, the infectious thought is purged from your mind. No, you can’t think about that. 

You can only hope this won’t give her any ideas of reconciliation.

Kindle snickers at your reaction, probably linking it to his skills with uppercaste dialect. Well, lack thereof. “Alright, Raincloud, at ease,” he says with a wave of a claw. “Go grab a drink. I’m in good company.”

For the first time since she’s been here, Storm turns towards Kindle. And, by proxy, towards you.

“I’d like to stay a while, Lord Kindle,” she says neutrally.

A quick glance at you chills you to the bone.

“To protect a gentlecolt’s honor, of course,” Storm iterates. “You never know when a mare would take advantage of him.”

Kindle lets out another sharp cackle, swinging to face Storm head-on. “You’ve been bitching about your reassignment non-stop, but now you want to stay by my side?”

Judging by the lack of runes on Storm’s axe and her left eye from her socket, you can only imagine her reassignment wasn’t to her favor.

At Storm’s silent glare, Kindle merely rolls his eyes, turning back to you. “Go flirt with one of the cats in the corner,” he grouses. “Or stay here while we talk boring business. Today’s your last day, anyways, thanks to our friend here.”

Storm purses her lips as she looks off to the group of cats in the corner.

Away from you, thank the Ancients.

”Alright, Faust,” Kindle says in a casual tone, using his tail and one leg to scoot his stool closer to yours. His breath is hot and dry as it lathers your face. “So, I’m told you want passage to—?”

STORM CAN STILL OVERHEAR HIM!

You have no time to think. Your only thought is to make Kindle shut his trap before Storm has any information on you, so you react accordingly.

You take a shallow jolt of breath before you let loose a cacophony of obnoxious, unbridled coughs.

It’s a little cliché, but it gets the job done. Kindle immediately recoils from your face, his beak clamped shut in disgust.

What you misjudged in that moment, though, are two critical things. One, that Storm is much better suited to vulgar gestures such as unrestrained coughing, and she barely flinches at your sudden outburst. She doesn’t look away from the rest of the pub even once.

Two, that Anonymous is still waiting for your signal. At your sudden and uncharacteristic outburst, Anonymous snaps to attention. The cloak still conceals the majority of him, but all it takes is for his face to be revealed before Storm for her to lock eyes with him.

In an instant, Storm and Anonymous are making eye contact. You, meanwhile, are the hopeless third party to the disaster.

Kindle takes a moment to get the meaning of your sudden coughing fit. His smile soon finds itself back on his face as he grins, “Ah. Confidentiality. Of course.” 

Anonymous turns away from Storm, shuffling so he’s leaning against the wall, his fingers packed into fists so tight you’re surprised the emeralds don’t shatter. Storm, meanwhile, is still in too much shock to make any decisions. She can only slowly, painfully turn her eyes back to you.

The gleam of recognition that shines through those eyes nearly freeze you.

“Unfortunately I can’t fabricate any tickets,” Kindle says apologetically, clasping his claws together. “I wish I could, and you can be on your way, but there's a whole process to smuggling ponies aboard the nicer ships. But I can send over a picture of your cutie mark to my superior, the co-captain of said ship. You'll be meeting him at the oceanside pub called the 'Sterncaptain.' Would you mind flashing me that shapely flank of yours again?”

You’re numb.

You’re numb, but you can’t act yet.

You can only engage your magic once again, revealing your cutie mark to Kindle. He flashes you a wink that, if you could, you would be inclined to gag at. The dragon reaches into his bag (Up to his forearm, you barely register. It’s intraflated.) before pulling out a blank scroll. Once a writing utensil is retrieved from the same bag, he begins to sketch.

For what seems like a short eternity, it’s only you, baring your flank to Kindle, and Storm, slowly regaining function from the sudden turn of events. 

And then, Storm’s face creases into a subtle smirk.

As if you were in the striking range of a venomous snake, you slowly reach a forehoof out to give Max Gusto a frantic, shallow series of taps. Your eyes are still glued onto Kindle, so Max’s reaction is left unknown.

Kindle finishes the drawing rather quickly, appraising his work with a grin. “You ever see something sent through dragon fire?” he asks. As he speaks, you can see the reflecting cyan light of flames radiating from the back of his throat. “Pay attention, little pony.”

As Kindle takes a deep breath, though, the bartender’s words suddenly halt him in place:

”KINDLE, WAIT!”

”Ancients above, again?” the dragon sighs. “Instead of going the rounds, how about you just take a look at the Ancients-damn walls?!” 

As Kindle speaks, he throws an arm in the general direction of the nearest wall. As he does so, his eyes follow suit, only to suddenly widen in surprise. “Huh,” is all he says. “I guess the ambient magic ran out.”

The ambient magic didn’t run out. You don’t even have it in you to turn around – you can see the reason of the ambient magic’s faltering in the blurry background of your vision. Anonymous is leaning himself against the wall, trying to shrink away from Storm's glare. He must be riding up against a strand of ambient magic, cutting off its flow.

Storm’s eye holds your gaze at hornpoint. You’re frozen under her scrutiny.

”Out of the pub,” the bartender commands.

Kindle takes one look at the resolute face of the unicorn, and knows any further arguing will only prolong the inevitable. “Raincloud,” he grunts, snapping a set of claws in front of Storm’s face.

His housecarla’s attention is immediately on Kindle, and you can finally let out that breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in.

“Keep our guests company while I’m gone,” he says, leaning off the stool before gravity takes his feet to the floor. “Anything happens to Faust, and I’ll have your Taskmaster take your other eye.”

“Lord Kindle?” you can barely get out, but it’s far too quiet, far too late.

As Kindle leaves, all you can do is stare after him.

You’re almost done.

Don’t have an attack, Lucky.

Storm can’t hurt you. You have Max Gusto. You have Anonymous. There’s a room-full of witnesses; the bartender is nearby.

You’re almost done. Don’t buck it up now.

Slowly, you regain the confidence to creak your head back to the situation you’ve found yourself in. Seconds seem to tick by the hour as the three of you only sit in silence. That smirk hasn’t left Storm’s face yet – it hasn’t even faltered. If anything, it’s grown crueler.

Anonymous’ emerald eyes are locked onto you from across the room. He slowly raises himself from the table, asking for permission without a word.

Before you can decide whether or not to give it to him, Storm opens her mouth.

”Is it in the bag, white hooves? That little monster of yours?”

You remain silent. 

You aren’t even looking at Storm anymore. You instead draw back into yourself, your eyes scouring the pub for something to hold your attention. Something that Storm can’t distract you from.

Nothing comes up. You’re stuck here.

”Lucky, who is this mare?” Max whispers to you.

Storm’s eyes latch onto the pegasus at your side. Her face dulls into an unimpressed glare. 

“Somepony who can’t do anything to me,” you say quickly, before the unicorn can say something that would rile Max up. Storm’s glare, thankfully, returns to you. That little twitch of her eye gives you a modicum of confidence you revel in. “You heard your lord.”

Storm glowers at your words. Her horn glows, and the hulking war axe by her side moves just a little bit. Not enough to be threatening, but enough to remind you of its presence.

You give Storm a frown of your own before turning away from her.

You’re not going to let her get to you.

Not when you’re so close to being out of here.

…Ancients-damnit, Kindle, would you hurry up?!

“I can see that our human friend has a taste for unicorns,” Storm says, sending your thoughts to a thundering halt.

Another jolt of anger crashes through your system, and your hooves twitch in rage. She might have an axe, but you were able to hold both her and her lady off in Plumsteed. Now, with a muscular pegasus and a human housecarla, how hard would it be to stomp her muzzle in…?

…No.

She’s trying to provoke you.

You doubt Taskmaster Red Letter will be taking her other eye when Storm reveals just who this “Faust” was that she attacked in self defense.

Once again, you remain silent. Your attention is drawn to a game of cards a group of unicorns are playing a few tables away. Judging by the layout of the deck, the choreographed line-up of the players, and the enraged face of the pony to the very left, you can assume this game is Scumbag.

You never really had anypony to play it with. You haven’t played cards at all, really.

“How is he, by the way?” Storm coos. You merely narrow your eyes, keeping your muzzle shut. 

”Back off.”

You didn’t say that, Max did!

You snap to the pegasus at your side. Max’s glare to Storm simmers once you’re facing her, but the trap has already been sprung.

”Or what, sky rat?” Storm taunts. “You’ll flex your muscles? Puff up your tuft?”

You give a stern shake of your head to Max. Thankfully, she lets Storm’s jab slide as she gives you a firm nod.

Kindle will be back soon. Storm can’t hurt you. You can’t fight her. 

…But, Tartarus, every second spent with this mare is a nightmare.

Where the buck is Kindle?

”How do you like Red Letter’s leftovers, white hooves?” Storm sneers, her voice a conniving, devilish whisper. “Decide to give him back yet?”

It’s getting harder to keep the red at the edges of your vision at bay.

“I’m not so pathetic that I’d need to stoop to Red Letter’s level,” you murmur, praying with every fiber of your being to the Ancient Lady of Strength. 

”Pathetic?” Storm suddenly cackles, throwing her head back as she lets loose a series of cruel guffaws. “How is she pathetic? He’s hers.” 

…What does she mean by that?

All-Mother above, what does she mean by that, and why does she look so satisfied?

You’re winning. You and Anonymous are well away from Plumsteed. She’s only a road bump in your journey.

…Only a road bump.

“You’re just a bad memory,” you mutter, keeping your glare leveled at a nondescript plank on the wall across the room. “You aren’t even working for Red Letter anymore.”

Storm’s smirk is replaced with a venomous glare at the mention of her excommunication. Her one eye is lit aflame with killing intent. You’re not sure if her stillness is comforting or terrifying.

She has to be just a bad memory. Both her and Red Letter.

You’re going to help Anonymous. You promised you would.

”Lucky?” Max asks in a low whimper. “What’re you two talking about?”

You blink at the shakiness in Max’s voice. You want to comfort her, but Storm has to open her disgusting bucking muzzle yet again.

”A bad memory,” Storm muses with a hum; no longer is her face contorted into one of repressed rage. The same cold smirk has come back in full force. “You know... sometimes all it takes to break somepony is a bad memory."

With every word that comes out of Storm’s mouth, the urge to rip her apart increases, but you remain seated. The Lucky Favor in Plumsteed would have bitten at her words, true. The Lucky Favor in Plumsteed would have lunged across the table at her, and would have gotten her own head cut off before she could even cast the first spell.

But the only mare who’s stuck in Plumsteed is Storm. And you can’t let her draw you back in.

”He’s still that same, sniveling colt Red Letter took off the streets,” Storm coos, the smile on her face widening. “You have to know that, right? That you would’ve been better off leaving him in Plumsteed? At least then he’d have somepony mare enough to buck him silly.”

Don’t let her get to you.

Even if it hurts like Tartarus, don’t let her get to you.

“Frozen all the while, but still somehow warm. Is that a hyoo-men quirk? I tried asking him about it, but he wouldn't stop covering his face and cowering like a colt."

DON’T LET HER GET TO YOU.

“He’s just over there, isn’t he? How about I go over there and show you how a real mare acts around a stallion she fancies, Faust?”

The red around your vision disappears within the moment. The rage in your chest is extinguished in an instant. The thoughts of attacking Storm blink out of existence, and are replaced with three simple words:

SHE SAID IT.

You’re too numb to stop Max Gusto. Storm is too focused with drinking up your reaction to notice your friend until it’s too late.

A violet hoof careens forward and slams into Storm’s smirking face.

Storm reels back from the hit, falling from her stool in a daze. She glares up at Max, who looks just as surprised as you do, before her horn ignites in a violent rush of magic.

“I didn’t—” is all Max can get out.

As the war axe hurtles towards Max Gusto, she can only scramble back in shock, but it’s too late.

CLANG!

The axe head lets loose a shower of sparks and pieces of emerald as it’s embedded into Anonymous’ bracer. 

The majority of his wrist guard shatters from the blow. Even as the magical energy is cut off, the axe still remains lodged into Anonymous’ forearm, its weight driving him and Max Gusto to the ground.

Anonymous shoots a leg out as he falls; the ball of his foot slams into Storm’s snout with a wet crunch. As she squeals and rears back, Anonymous uses the time to crouch into a defensive stance.

The sight of Anonymous being hurt jolts you into action. Your horn is lit aflame with magic as you ready a visceral spell, unsure of what it might do to Storm.

“STORM!” a masculine voice bellows from the pub entrance.

Kindle’s entrance stops you from letting it fly. The dragon’s boysenberry eyes are narrowed into thin slits as he sends a death glare Storm’s way. It’s enough to receive a few shocked glances from the other occupants of the pub.

A few shocked glances, which immediately turn back inwards at the bartenders words,

“What’re you fillies gawking at?! Mind your own business!”

Storm scrambles back up to four hooves, her glare never faltering as she meets Kindle’s eyes with fire of her own. “The sky rat attacked me!” she snaps. She looks like she’s about to argue further, until Anonymous gives a low grunt as he removes the axe head from his forearm. “Would you drop my bucking axe already, Anon?!”

Anonymous’ eyes narrow dangerously at the nickname. His right hand is useless now – the axe head had punctured through the emerald bracer, blood now oozing from the wooden frame. Most of his fingers are limp, yet the middle one juts out in an awkward, strained angle. Despite all of this, the human’s left hand grips the axe’s handle even tighter as he gives a silent, predatory glare at Storm.

“What’re you supposed to be, cat?” Kindle barks. As the dragon makes his way toward Anonymous, his claws seem to sharpen into thin daggers.

“H-he’s a friend of mine, Kindle!” you yelp, rushing between your housecarla and the dragon. Kindle’s claws retract, but he doesn’t slow his gait towards the scene before him. You need to defuse this quickly, and get out of here. “Did you send the drawing? Is it done?”

“Yes,” Kindle affirms. “But it wasn’t easy with all that mist clogging up the—”

As Kindle speaks, a slow realization dawns on his features. Slow, too, becomes his pace towards Storm and Anonymous as he regards you with a raised eyebrow.

“He?” he asks softly.

…No, softly isn’t the right word. His question mirrored the same hope the bartender had conveyed when she was approached with the possibility of being rid of the rude dragon in her pub, but it was lacking the underlying spite.

For a brief moment, Kindle almost sounded lonely.

…Well, you can’t blame him, being stuck in a pub, surrounded by rough-and-tumble mares, waiting for a contact that may or may not even appear – a contact which was planning to never appear.

Regardless, you can’t stay here any longer. Kindle has accomplished his mission, and is now free to leave to go wherever he wishes. There’s nothing else to do here.

“We should be off,” you say to your two companions.

Anonymous’ glare falters as he turns to you. Max Gusto can’t look at you as she merely raises back up to four hooves, her side glued to Anonymous’ as he stands as well. Without even a backwards glance at the bristling owner of the axe, Anonymous drops it to the ground.

“Thank you for your business, Kindle,” you say half-heartedly as you approach Anonymous’ side.

The human cradles his destroyed, shaking hand close to his chest. His face is red as he holds back the pain, refusing to show an ounce of weakness.

You need to get him to Riverside as soon as possible.

As you pass Kindle, though, the dragon reaches out and lays a paw on Anonymous’ shoulder.

“Are you well--?” he asks, before Anonymous promptly shoves the dragon’s paw away, not saying a word.

As the three of you near the pub entrance, you turn and give another grateful smile to the bartender and Kindle. The bartender responds with a simple nod of her head before turning back to her job’s sake. 

In Kindle’s case, you see something you can’t quite place in the dragon’s eyes. His fists are clenched and his head is upturned, but you don’t see an ounce of malice in his system.

All Storm can do is give a quiet scoff, levitating her axe from the ground. Where she puts it, you don’t catch before the door to the pub is closed shut, sending a warm cascade of relief throughout your system.

“Former co-worker,” Anonymous explains to Max Gusto, still glued silently to his side.





”I’d like to apologize, Anonymous.

”The laceration has healed quite nicely; there is no cause for concern there. Your concern should be directed towards the broken bone… Um, collection of bones. It is much more complicated than a simple hoof, and because of that, it will take quite a while to fully heal. But I promise to help you to the best of Marestricht care!

”Despite this, though, there is not much I can do for your bracer. I can mend your wounds, but I am not educated enough in repairing armor to help in that regard. So… I’m sorry.”

Bountiful Riverside retracts her hooves from the stone cast entombing your right arm, a forlorn yet accomplished smile on her face. She looks to the destroyed emerald bracer lying uselessly at your side, the campfire’s light gleaming brilliantly off the few pieces left in the holster. 

You merely scoot over to the earth pony and rest your left palm on her head, giving it a firm pat. You resist the urge to quickly undo the bun atop her head.

Riverside’s ears twitch at your touch. She turns back to you, her sea blue eyes muddled in confusion.

“Try again, Puffball,” you say with a quick ear scritch before your hand returns to your lap. “Neurotypical people don’t apologize when they do someone a favor.”

The confusion transforms to embarrassment. Riverside gives an attempt at a smile and a demure shrug, until her eyes are once again attracted to the broken bracer. She sighs before turning back to the scene around the campfire.

Lucky Favor is sitting on the log to your left, her face scrunched in concentration as she looks from the ambient mass-magic thome in her lap to something too small and too on the other side of her to make out. Her eyes fight to ward off exhaustion as they slowly narrow, only to flutter back open periodically. Lucky’s horn is glowing a soft cyan – instead of its characteristic hum, her magic emits more of a whisper underneath the campfire’s crackling, and it seems soft enough to not perturb Bountiful Riverside.

Max Gusto is some ways away from the campfire, laying lazily on a hammock she constructed from her surrounding fog cover. When you look to her direction, you swear you can see her eyes dart away from you and back up to the sky above. 

Well, it’s more of a fog ceiling, with a few of the brighter stars and the moon peeking through. 

Tia, meanwhile, seems to be off in her own world – she’s engulfed by Lucky’s notebook, hastily scribbling away in its pages. You can’t say you aren’t a little curious as to what she’s making.

You know a certain earth pony who’d share that sentiment.

“Hey, Riverside,” you murmur, and the mare’s attention is immediately on you. “How about you go over there and find out what Tia’s drawing? Maybe give her some tips?”

”Oh,” Riverside titters, shaking her head. “I am not experienced with the art of illustration. Lucky Favor would be more the mare for the job. Although, it seems like she’s busy at the moment. Would you like me to ask her anyways?”

“Riverside. Go be friends with Tia.”

Bountiful Riverside blinks owlishly at your words as they register. But soon, register they do, and the earth pony lets out a squeak of recognition. “I will do that!” she exclaims as she hops up to all fours. She begins to make her way to the small filly, but her hooves slowly crawl to a stop halfway there.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize what’s on Riverside’s mind as she turns back to you, her eyes creased in concern at your cemented right forearm.

“It’s part of the job,” you say with a small smile. “I don’t even feel it anymore. Thank you.”

Riverside continues her sheepish stare for a few moments on before she comes to her senses and continues to Tia’s side.

There isn’t even a transitional moment for Tia as Riverside comes to join her. The filly sees the earth pony approaching and, as if the earth pony were there all along, Tia excitedly babbles as she shows Riverside her progress. Within moments, Riverside’s mouth is pursed in a soft O shape, her head is tilted, and her eyes are following Tia’s penmanship with every movement.

God, she’d look adorable with her bun undone right about now.

You feel your lips twitching as they threaten to burst into a smile. And quite frankly, you can’t muster the will or the reason to fight it.

”Oh, Anonnn-ymousss!”

Holy fuck, you’ve never felt a chill run up your spine more viscerally than when Lucky Favor just said that.

Lucky Favor is making her way over to you now. You let out a sigh of relief to see that the grin on her face is excited, rather than seductive. The dark thome levitates by Lucky’s side in a cyan glow, along with what looks like some kind of a rock.

…No, it is just a rock. No bigger than your fist. It must’ve been what she was working with beforehand.

“Starting a rock collection?” you ask as Lucky reaches your side, plopping her haunches down onto the log.

”What?” she muses with a tilt of her head. “Oh! No! No, no, no, this is much more interesting than my younger hobbies! Here, go ahead and hold it!” The unicorn hastily shoves the little rock in your face, her eyes gleaming with filly-like excitement. 

Well… at least she’s doing better than before.

You habitually reach up with your right hand to retrieve the stone, but once the cylinder of rock clacks against it, you’re reminded of your predicament.

Lucky Favor is, too, as the liveliness in her eyes is replaced with worry.

You grumble at her concern, instead bringing your left hand up and curling your fingers around the stone. The magical hold is cut off immediately.

“Alright,” Lucky murmurs, levitating the thome to her lap. She once-overs it one last time before her eyes are latched onto the stone. “Now… tell a lie!”

You make no effort to hide the confusion on your face. At this, though, Lucky only motions excitedly at the rock in your hands, urging you to continue. 

Well, an opportunity has presented itself, so seize it you shall.

“Rock collections are totally rad,” you say with as much conviction as you can muster.

For a while, the two of you are only looking at each other. Well, you’re looking at her. Lucky Favor is busy staring a hole into the rock’s backside.

The seconds tick by, highlighted by nothing but the sharp crackling of the campfire, the soft humming of the night life, and Bountiful Riverside asking Tia, “How did you get that color, little sprout?”

All in all, the stone’s doing a whole lot of nothing.

A nothing that is exponentially getting more and more on Lucky Favor’s nerves, as her face scrunches in frustration. 

“Damn it all, it’s going to be one of those bucking spells, isn’t it?” she growls, once again delving into the thome on her lap.

You blink at the sudden change in demeanor. 

“Still not entirely sure what you’re getting at,” you murmur, prompting Lucky’s eyes to snap to your own.

”Well, I’d certainly hope not!” she says. “It’s a surprise! Here, give it here!”

Her horn glows, her magic attempting to snag the stone from your hand, thus reminding her of the fact that your hands are antithetical to magic. She holds out her hooves instead, and you plop the stone into her frogs.

Lucky Favor brings the stone close to her face before she says, “The sky is red.” 

It takes a moment for you to realize that it’s not the reflection of the campfire that’s making the stone glow red, but something inside the stone itself. As if it were a Christmas ornament, or a lightbulb shining through one’s hand, the stone’s core is now glowing a brilliant orange-red in Lucky’s hooves. 

You give an impressed, “Huh!”

Lucky Favor, though, only gives an even more confused huff. “Okay, so it works for me… One more time, Anonymous?”

Once again, the stone is in your hands. Once again, the stone has returned to its cold, non-glowing state. And, once again, you tell a lie. “I love surprises,” you grouse. “Especially when my best friend Lucky Favor refuses to tell me what’s going on.”

You’ve gleaned that it’s some sort of a lie detector by now, but you’d rather hear Lucky come out and say it.

The unicorn sighs as you hand off the stone to her. “This must be related to your magic cancelation,” she muses, oblivious to your complaints. “But it’s strange; the stone doesn’t cast any magic by itself, it’s only a medium. The cancelation of the pub’s ambient magic should’ve meant… It says here it’s supposed to react to changes in an organism’s ambient mass-magic… Hmmm…”

You give a tap to Lucky Favor’s ear, prompting it to instinctually flick at your finger. Lucky turns away from the thome to frown up at you. “Well, I don’t have whatever this ‘ambient magic’ thing is, so there’s that,” you inform.

”Nonsense! Every organism has ambient magic! It’s the very fabric of our magical tether to Equus! It’s what unicorn magic itself interacts with when casting-- oh.”

“Lucky. You wanna tell me what this is all about, little miss?”

“It’s a lie detector!”

Well, that was way too fast to be what she’d wanted to keep as a surprise.

You give the mare at your side a raised eyebrow. She responds with a smile that’d be innocent enough, if she were your cellmate on death row.

“Could be useful for future encounters,” you finally decide on saying, giving the stone in your hands another look of appraisal. “Help us with who to trust real quick…”

Lucky looks like an exhausted deer in the headlights at your words.

Soon, though, the gears start turning in her head, and she nods hastily. “Yes! It could be useful for future encounters! Excellent idea!”

And, that’s when it clicks.

You let out a sigh and a shake of your head. “Lucky…” you murmur, giving her that same raised eyebrow your father used to give you whenever you were hiding something behind your back.

Lucky responds to your fatherly look with the same one you’d often respond with: a sort of mix between indignation and shame, knowing you’d been caught.

Well, look at that. Your dad did teach you something useful before he passed.

Lucky fidgets as she avoids eye contact. Soon, though, the Dadbrow finally wins her over as she sighs, “I wanted it to be a surprise because it was more supposed to be used for me. To, um, help you with your… trust.”

…God damnit.

You can’t really find it in yourself to be happy about her true intentions, but you also can’t be mad either. 

You let out an exaggerated sigh, tossing the stone back to the unicorn. She catches it in the air with her magic, bringing it back to her lap as she looks at you hopefully. 

“Lucky, I appreciate the thought,” you assure. “But it just feels… wrong to use it on yourself, for my sake. I know you’re just trying to help, but… I dunno. I feel like it wouldn’t be genuine.” 

Lucky’s hooves tighten around the stone as she looks in your direction. Not to your eyes, only in your general direction – almost as if she were too ashamed to make eye contact.

”I wanted what we had to be genuine. I didn’t want it to be empty.”

Damnit, Lucky, we were so close to having a normal conversation.

“You’re not thinking straight, are you?” you whisper. You wait until her cyan orbs flick up from your direction to meet your own eyes before you continue. “Something wrong, Faust?”

It’s hard to describe how you notice it. By all accounts, Lucky Favor doesn’t make any discernable movement when you say the name, “Faust,” not even a lowering of her ears. Still, you can feel how the mare retracts at the name all the same.

Ah. Of course, it’s about that.

“You know…” you say casually, prompting Lucky’s ears to flick in your direction at the sudden change in tone. “The name ‘Anonymous’ doesn’t really roll off the tongue when you’re trying to sound seductive. That little ‘anonn-ymouss’ almost made me shit myself.”

Quick as a whip, Lucky Favor is glaring up at you with a blush on her cheeks. ”I was not trying to sound seductive!” she mewls. “I was being playful! It was a completely platonic gesture."

You're too busy snorting in amusement to see how Lucky sets the lie stone down as it begins to glow orange. Once it’s out of her grip, it simmers back to its natural state. 

“Don’t you think ‘Anon’ would sound better?” you ask.

Lucky blinks slowly. Her eyes flick this way and that on your face, as if she were searching for some sign of teasing or dishonesty. “But… don’t you hate being called that?”

You give a limp shrug, turning to face the campfire. “It’s fine – just a name. It doesn’t matter.”

”It matters to you!” Lucky Favor squeaks. Her cyan eyes are brimmed with determination one moment, but the next, something else glints from within. “…Isn’t it what Red Letter called you?”

It’s what a lot of people you hate called you.

“Anything Red Letter used to call me sounded just as bad,” you murmur. “Even my own name. ‘Anonymous.’”

Memories threaten to lash out at you once again.

A pounding in your head, a pain in your chest, and the pressure of something around your neck.

”You deserve this, Nonny. You need this. Let me make you feel good.”

You’re not a fucking charity case.

But for some reason, they’re not as… powerful as that first night out of Plumsteed. They’re not strong enough to make you lurch forward and do something you’ll regret every day thereafter.

They aren’t nearly strong enough to make you hurt this mare again.

“But you’re not Red Letter, Faust,” you say with a smile. You reach out and give Lucky’s snout a light poke. “So I don’t mind.”

Lucky doesn’t react to your breach of her snootle in the least. She only stares at you, her eyes shifting between a multitude of emotions she can’t seem to decide on. 

As she realizes what you’re getting at, Faust’s eyes turn to the ground once again, but this time she isn’t retracting into herself. In fact, she’s leaning into your touch, letting out a faint sniffle.

”It infuriates me,” she mumbles, closing her eyes as your petting continues. “How hard it is to act like it doesn’t matter. Tartarus, I know it’s such a small thing when compared to everypony else’s troubles. But it just makes me so bucking furious.” Her chin trembles with emotion. You merely lay your hand on top of her head. “True names are given to us by the Ancient Lady of Naissance. They’re a sacred nomenclature, to be kept safe within the confines of the uppercastes and those most trusted. I hate how Storm can just… utter it whenever she feels. I hate how it made me hate my own name in that moment. And what’s to stop her from telling others? From telling Red Letter?”

“She failed her lady in Plumsteed,” you assure, fingering lazy circles into her scalp. “We kicked her ass, remember? Hell, Tia kicked her ass!” Lucky gives a brief bounce into your chest. You’re going to assume it’s from a held-back snicker of amusement. “One sure way to guarantee you’re cut off from the Plumsteed Housecarlatel is to fail to protect your lady. I’m sure if she tries to get in contact with Red Letter about it, she’d be gray walled.”

Lucky doesn’t respond, only letting out a soft, barely perceptible hum of pleasure. Whether intentionally or due to the mixture of pleasure and exhaustion, her head lulls back until it meets your chest.

You’re sure Lucky Favor doesn’t mean anything by it, but…

…it’s getting a little too not-platonic for you to continue.

“Hey,” you say, giving her a gentle jostle. Lucky lets out a frustrated snort before tilting her head back to look up at you with an adorable scrunch. “Maybe you could try balancing it out? Tell your true name to someone you can really trust. Someone you wouldn’t mind saying it.”

You make a show of nodding to the filly-mare duo on the other end of the campfire. Lucky follows your gaze to see how Riverside is now lying on her belly, chatting with Tia as the little filly continues to draw. Even as she’s prone, Riverside’s head still towers over Tia’s horn.

Lucky stays put for a while until, once again, she leans back into your chest. “Thank you, Anon,” she whispers, a peaceful smile on her muzzle. “I’ll go talk with Riverside.” Lucky makes a show of slowly leaning away from you before dropping down to all fours. The night air feels a little chillier without her warmth. “Wish me luck, okay? Ancients know I could use it when— TIA! DISENGAGE YOUR MAGIC RIGHT NOW!”

Lucky Favor scrambles around the campfire to the two bewildered faces of Tia and Riverside, leaving you to thoughtlessly reach up and scratch your beard. 

“I’m so sorry, Riverside!” you can hear Lucky Favor pleading as she puts a hoof on the tip of Tia’s horn, extinguishing it. “I didn’t see until now!”

Bountiful Riverside’s eyes trace from Lucky to Tia for a moment before she lets out a soft giggle. ”It is not a problem, Lucky Favor. Tia was just showing me how she drew.”

”…But her magic--…” Lucky begins, before falling silent. Her ears stand erect as she remembers what a certain orange earth pony said about Tia’s magic. “…Apologies, Tia.”

You can’t stop it before it spreads across your face. There is also no chance of holding back the warmth in your chest as you take in the scene before you: Lucky Favor blushing up a storm, Bountiful Riverside smiling as she directs the unicorn to Tia’s drawing, and Tia giving Lucky a cute pout at being interrupted.

You can’t remember the last time a smile was this hard to get rid of.

”Your daughter draws a beautiful night sky,” Riverside murmurs over the peaceful crackling of the fire.

Before Lucky can riposte about how Tia isn’t her daughter, and how she most certainly isn’t that old, another voice joins the fray. A voice that, mysteriously, hasn’t been heard at all this night.

”I’ll be the judge of that!” Max Gusto suddenly guffaws, fluttering out of the cloud hammock, leaving it to slowly dissipate into the air. The pegasus’ previously sour mood is virtually gone as she trots over to the trio, her eyes latched onto Tia’s drawing. “We pegasi are experts in all things sky-related!”

Bountiful Riverside lets out an “Ooh!” of excitement, leaving Lucky and Tia alone in their confusion.

Max daintily hops over to the prone notebook, not paying personal space any heed as she stands directly above Tia. “Hmm…” she ponders after a time too short to possibly be spent studying the filly’s drawing. “Pop quiz, Tiny-Tia. What do you call that constellation?” Max juts a hoof to some place in the drawing, careful not to make contact.

”con.. stewation?” Tia asks with a tilt of her head. “wike consteh-payshun?”

Lucky looks like she’s about to tap Max on the withers, until the pegasus pipes up, “Wrong! It’s called Caprihornus.”

…Wait.

Caprihornus… 

Caprihornus, as in, Capricornus?

You’ve been here long enough to know all about the horse puns these little fuckers use for Earth’s relative equivalents. But if there’s a constellation named Caprihornus in this night sky, could that mean the stars are the same here as they are on Earth?

”Max Gusto, dear, I’m not sure Tia—”

”It’s actually above us right now!” Max interrupts Lucky before she turns to you. For the first time of the night, she locks eyes with you. “Hey Anonymous, wanna come outta the fog and see it?”

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t the tiniest bit curious. Fucking Hell, you feel like a dumbass for never studying the stars until now – you were too busy being caught up in the beauty of it all. New world and everything, remember?

…Though, if the stars here are the same as the stars on Earth, you may not be on a new world at all. You may be in a separate reality altogether, in the same place in space as Earth would be.

…Well, you don’t really have any reason not to go with Max. Plus, it’ll give Lucky and Riverside some time to talk.

“Sure,” you say lamely, prompting Max to suddenly spring up into the air with a grin on her face.

”Awesome!” she chants. “Follow me!”

You give one last look to the trio of ponies before you stand up and begin to follow the pegasus. Max lands some distance away from the campfire before she begins to walk deeper into the woods, her snow white tail bouncing with each weighty step she takes.

You’re glad to hear Lucky Favor and Riverside begin to talk as you’re leaving.

Caprihornus…

Very curihornus…

That didn’t work at all.

You decide to follow Max Gusto silently through the mist. The pegasus also doesn’t seem too keen on having a conversation – weird, given her sudden enthusiasm for astronomy, but whatever.

You could probably use this as an opportunity to talk with Max as well. Everypony’s getting a talking-to tonight, it seems.

”Right here’s a good spot!” Max Gusto hollers some ways ahead. She’s now sitting in a clearing in the forest, the moonlight bouncing off her white mane and lime coat, giving her a fairy tale-like gleam.

As you reach her side, Max lays on the ground and rolls over on her back, peering at the night sky above. Without any better option, you opt to lie next to her, looking at up the same sky.

The same sky you’ve spent weeks becoming lost in when you first found yourself on Equus, though now you’re searching through its grazes with a discerning and hopeful eye.

”Right there,” Max whispers as she lifts a green hoof upwards. You follow her hoof’s aim to a small cluster of stars outlined by a brilliant wisp of purple nebulae. 

Up until that moment, you were half-expecting to see the same constellation you’ve spent days memorizing under the clear skies of desert nights. That weird, triangle-looking motherfucker that doesn’t at all look like a sea goat named Pan.

Though, when you finally see the cluster of stars, displaying an almost picturesquely perfect portrait of a unicorn’s head, you realize you were wrong to even expect anything remotely like Capricornus.

The night skies are different here. 

Maybe you still are in an alternate reality and the stars are different, sure. The sky’s a small peculiarity to be focusing on, when given every reason under the filly-raised sun to think you’re in some kind of a fairy tale. Or maybe you are on a different planet, and Earth is somewhere out there, even now. Maybe you could see it from a telescope if they’ve even invented those here yet.

…But why the Hell would you want to?

Sure, there’s a chance Earth is somewhere out there, its time still marching onwards instead of being tucked away in some alternate reality. There’s a chance the ruins of your old life are still smoldering, choking the people you once knew.

Good riddance.

That’s the thought that sobers you up enough to realize that Max Gusto hasn’t said a word since she’s pointed out the constellation.

Your eyes break off from the night sky as you turn to face Max. Her own are locked on the cast on your right arm.

When Max notices you’re looking at her, she jolts, before trying to play it off as if she were just looking at wherever. She gives a fake yawn, using the opportunity to wipe at her eyes with one of her wings, before she turns back to the sky.

The two of you stay like that for some time, looking up at the night sky. The cluttered, beautiful, different night sky.

Yes, maybe there’s a chance Earth is out there. Maybe there’s a chance Earth is visible. 

But frankly, you’re more concerned with Equus.

“Whelp,” you croak, giving a soft clap of your hands. Soft as it is, though, Max still jolts from the sound. “Thanks a million for the stargazing, Maximilion.”

You throw your arms back before swinging them forward, letting the momentum carry you up into a sitting position. The added weight of your cast sends you into a lopsided angle, but you recover nicely. You cringe, shrugging and kneading your shoulders from the immediate discomfort – you must’ve been stargazing for longer than you’d thought. 

With a grunt, you push yourself up to your feet and look down at your pegasus companion.

Max still hasn’t moved from her original spot. Her eyes are fixated on something in the sky. 

Normally, you wouldn’t have bothered with Max’s weird behavior, but you notice something in her eyes that stabs at your chest. You follow her gaze upwards to land on a small, lone cloud in the night sky, barely perceptible besides the moonlight’s shining on its edges.

Max’s eyes were creased in a deep, harrowing pain – a pain you never expected to see on the confident face of Max Gusto.

”…Hey, Anon?” Max whispers.

Your eyes widen as you stare down at the pegasus. For a moment, you didn’t recognize her voice.

It’s only a moment, though, as Max suddenly coughs into her hoof before pushing herself up into a sitting position. “I can call you that, right? Anon? ‘Cuz Lucky can call you it. I mean, I know you’re more her friend than mine, but, um…” 

Max’s eyes once again flick away from your right arm. She shuffles in place, her eyes glued to the ground, before they’re suddenly glaring up at you.

She flaps up to all fours and is standing there dumbly for a while, before she pivots on her hoof to turn away. She marches in that direction for a minute, her head held high, deep in either thoughts or the clouds. 

"A-alright, listen up!" she snaps as she pivots back to you, a scrunch and a frown plastered on her face. "I'm gonna apologize to you, but if you joke about it or you interrupt me, I’ll spank you my damn self!”

You give a scrunch and a frown of your own, but remain silent.

Max Gusto seems to be wrestling with her words for a while, mumbling to herself, shuffling her hooves, and glaring at nothing. It’s a long time coming, then, when she suddenly blurts out, “I didn’t know!”

Another look at your cast sends her into a frustrated snort and shake of her head. “I… didn’t know. About what that shit with Cindertouch meant to you. About any of the shit they did to you. I just thought it was some harmless teasing. And, uh… um, thanks for protecting me today. Even if I kinda deserved a swift axe to the head. I’m not finished yet, so shut up!”

You close your mouth, seeing that Max is serious.

She doesn't need to feel guilty about it.

It doesn't matter if Max "didn't know" about the context. You were an asshole to her. 

But it looks like she's not going to let you talk until she's said her piece.

“I know we don’t really know each other, but… I dunno. It’s pretty cool to have somepony around who can give as good as they get. Somepony you can talk shit with. No offense to Faust or Riverside, but… eh, y’know.” Max gives an awkward smile and an even more awkward chuckle at that. You can’t help but return with a raise of your own lips. “So, um… if I’m ever being a dumbass, or making you uncomfortable, or going too far… You’ll tell me, right?” Max gives a hasty stomp of her front hooves, trying her hardest to glare up at you. “A-and I’ll stop right away, I promise! This time for sure!” 

Max, not too unlike Lucky Favor just some time ago, retracts at that last slip of the tongue. Though, unlike Lucky Favor, she isn’t so mute as to not finish it all off with a strong, “So there!”

Max glares up at you, daring you to make light of the situation. To engage in this "talking shit" at this moment.

Well, she can rest easy. You have something to say as well.

You give a small smile, reaching out with your left hand and patting Max on the head. Her glare softens as her head bows, and you don’t miss the faint tinge of red on her lime cheeks.

“I’m sorry, too,” you say softly.

Max doesn’t respond or make any move to get out of your reach, so without any other cue, you continue to pet the little pony.

Jesus, every mare in your party has felt your pets this blessèd night. 

…Except Tia.

Max giggles under her breath, ending with a faint chirp. "You ever give any thought to getting paid for this?”

You end your petting with a rough ruffle of her mane. When you’re done, what stands at your side is a pegasus with a half-glare-half-smirk, and a white bush on top of her head.

“Let’s head back,” you suggest with a jut of your head. “I’m sure Lucky’s probably collapsed by now.”

Max gives you a gleaming grin before trotting by your side, and the two of you are headed through the wood again in no time. 

…Huh. You think this might be the first time you’ve ever walked through the woods with some semblance of peace. Of course, there’s still the matter of the next few days spent on the road, a certain filly you need to face, and the impending separation once you reach Equestria, but for right now? It’s nice.

Nice… until that last thought entered your mind.

…Are you really going to leave these mares, Anon?

”So, uh,” Max cuts through your thoughts like a hot knife, and you gladly accept the distraction. You turn to the mare to see that there’s an extra pep to her step and a giddy expression on her face. “Does this mean we’re friends now?”

Yes.

Yes, it does, Anon, and don’t you lie to yourself. Not about this.

Each of these mares. They might just be the first true friends you’ve ever had.

“Why not,” you say with a shrug.

Max’s face almost splits from the grin on her face. “Awesome!” she shouts out, before suddenly lurching at your side.

You feel a jolt. 

Instead of lashing out, though, you quickly sidestep, leaving the mare to land a few feet away. She instantly whirls around, giving you a confused tilt of her head.

“The Hell are you doing?” you ask, trying desperately to keep the venom at bay.

Max blinks at your question before sitting on her haunches and throwing her forelegs out to each side. “I accept you as my friend,” Max proclaims, and--

...Goddamnit, she’s fluffing herself up right now. Her chest tuft, wings, and virtually every follicle on her body seems to increase in volume. 

“And friends hug," Max continues with a sage smile and a wise nod. "So come on, monkey man. It's snuggle time.”

You give Max a deadpan, letting the awkward silence drag on a few seconds longer than necessary, until you finally respond. “Scratch that, I’m just your tard wrangler.” You turn from the pegasus and begin the trek back to camp. 

”Hey!” Max grouses, at your side almost immediately. “Respect my adorability!"

“I’m not really a touchy-feely guy.”

”Well I’m a touchy-feely gal, so how about we just meet halfway and do my way?”

You briefly entertain the notion of telling her she's stepping into uncomfortable territory, but ultimately decide against it. The disgust of using that against Max easily overcomes your slight annoyance.

It’s getting harder to resist her. She’s hovering at your side now, prodding your shoulder with a hoof and giving you a verbal lashing that should be restricted to her future husband, and her future husband alone. “We share a loving, romantic night of stargazing and soul-pouring and you don’t even have the decency to give me a hug goodnight? C’monnnn, Anoooooon! I already hugged everypony else in our group-band-thing! Well, everypony except Tia, but she’s on my list, mark my words! And I can assure you pegasus tufts are the softest of all the pony tribes. Granted, Lucky and Riverside are my only forms of reference, and Riverside’s tuft might--… Buck!… I can assure you pegasus tufts are the second softest of all the pony tribes!”

“FUCKING, MY GOD--.” You grab the pegasus out of the air and pull her to your side into an awkward side hug. It takes a moment for Max to recover from the jolt, but before long she wraps her hooves around your torso and lets out a soft, dove-like coo.

”You’ve made a grave mistake, Noninator,” she mumbles into your shirt. “Now I know all it takes is a little pestering to get you to be my sensei.”

“Whatever,” you grumble at the feeling of Max rubbing her cheek into your side. “You try to grope me and I’ll punt you.”

“Oh, get off your own dick. I’m saving myself for a pure pony bachelor, not your gross monkey cock.”

“Well, friend, I wouldn’t touch your crusty cloaca if I were paid to.”

Max lets out a small giggle, but after that, she simmers into silence.

Max stays sandwiched between your side and your arm, her tail and hindlegs swaying back and forth with each step you take. Eventually, the faint light of the campfire begins to shine through the fog as you near your destination. 

There’s also the characteristic snoring of Lucky Favor coming into focus. Mare must’ve fallen asleep before she could get back in the wagon.

Once the light of the campfire penetrates her closed eyelids, Max lets out an obnoxious yawn, as if she had fallen asleep in your arm. 

You step between the last set of trees to come before the campsite. The fire’s died down quite a lot by now, only emitting a few low, simmering embers which reflect off the surrounding fog like orange smog. As for the trio of mares around Lucky’s notebook, the gathering has been disbanded. Bountiful Riverside is nowhere to be seen – oh, wait. There’s an earth pony-sized burrow in the ground a few cubits away from the wagon. She’s probably already fast asleep in there.

...You’re kinda curious to see how she looks, all nestled in there. Does she use that mane of hers as a pillow?

A certain giggle you instantly recognize brings you back to the campfire. There are only two ponies in its residual warmth now. There’s Tia, giggling to herself quietly as her ink feather dances across the notebook’s pages, and there’s Lucky Favor, snoring up a storm at the filly’s side.

“Good luck,” is all Max chirps as she lets go of your side. The pegasus barely spends a second on the ground as her wings flare out, sending her up and into the air, out of sight.

Well… you guess it falls to you to set Lucky up on the wagon’s couch. Plus, some conversation with Tia wouldn’t hurt.

Here’s hoping you don’t fuck it up as usual.

You’re sure to give a hard, natural stomp on a twig as you breach the forest’s clearing. Tia’s ears swivel in your direction, followed swiftly by her head. Her magenta eyes widen at your arrival, but they narrow moments later as she delves back into the notebook. 

”Be aware, I’m coming over, don’t be alarmed,” is what you meant to convey with that stomp, but her reaction doesn't give you much confidence with your body language.

The slow walk over to Tia and Lucky’s side is made even slower by the scribbling of Tia’s feather on paper growing in volume, until it’s louder than the crumbling of the campfire’s embers.

“Hey, Tiny-Tia,” you say quietly, slowly kneeling beside the prone filly.

Tia’s wide eyes peer up at you, surprised by your close proximity. Just like last time, though, they transform into a glare before quickly turning back to her drawing. Now that you pay attention to it…

Jesus, so Max Gusto wasn’t just bullshitting to segue into constellations. Tia really can draw a Hell of a night sky. She must’ve used magic to create those different colors on the page. 

But her drawing isn’t just the night sky. That’s only half of it – the other, you assume is a blank cyan, until you see the filly’s rendition of the sun on the other corner of the page. One half of the sky is night, the other day. In the middle seems to be the odd-looking tree you saw you her working on when you first exited the marketstead.

Huh. It looks like she’s added a few more details to it.

Before you can lean in closer to inspect the six tiny symbols on the tree’s trunk, Tia mumbles, “hewwo a-noo--… ah-naw… nee-muss.”

Anonymous. Not Anon, or Naw-Nee, or Naw-Naw-Naw, but Anonymous. Even when she can’t pronounce it for the life of her.

You don’t dare scoot closer to the filly, fearful that she may bolt at any moment. Instead, you wait patiently, until her magenta eyes finally flick your way once again. “…Drawing?” you ask lamely.

Babysitter of the century right here.

”yeh,” Tia squeaks. Her eyes are immediately alight with joy as she gestures to her drawing with a hoof. “mayke awt! awt happy! wucky show how do!”

You smile. 

There she is.

“That tree looks familiar,” you muse, pointing a finger at the drawing’s center. “This is that drawing you were making a few days ago, right?” 

Tia nods hastily, her entire body bouncing up and down with the movement. “mm-hmm!”

“Hm,” you breathe. “You definitely take after Lucky.”

Speaking of Lucky, that mare should probably get her airways checked by Riverside, because she chooses that moment to let out the most unladylike snore-grunt-snort you’ve ever heard in your life.

Tia’s head whips to Lucky before coming back to gauge your reaction. You make a grand show of rolling your eyes, letting out a long, “Ughhh…”

Tia bursts into a giggling fit. “wucky—” she titters before letting out a set of filly snorts of her own. “snrk snrk!”

“Snores,” you correct. “Wucky snores.”

”snows!” Tia snickers, clapping her hooves together. “wucky snows! but good mayre when wake!”

Tia’s giggling teeters out, and for a moment she comes to a peaceful silence. The little filly seems to be lost in thought for a while, the freakishly intelligent tyke she is, until she looks back up to you with a smile. 

“wucky tweet cowts good!” she assures. “wucky pwotect me. stiww do, when nopony ews’ want me.”

The smile drops from your face like a sack of rocks.

The sight of Tia’s chin trembling springs your left hand into action. You might as well haven’t a choice in the matter, not that you’d change anything if you did, as you reach forward and lay your hand on Tia’s head.

The feather drops as her magical grip is cut, but the filly doesn’t seem to mind. She looks up to you from underneath your hand. ”ah-naw-nee-mous?” she asks quietly.

You give her a smile as your hand slowly traces back and forward. “You can just call me Anon. Or Naw-Nee. I know that’s another favorite.”

”naw-nee.” As if it were entirely new, Tia mulls the word in her mouth for a bit before she bows her head, out of your hand’s range. “naw-nee… not dadda.” 

Not dadda.

Not what you were almost called on Earth.

There it is again. That pain in your chest, and the tightening around your neck as you’re almost dragged back to the planet somewhere in the sky. 

Maybe Earth is up there, but without a doubt, she won’t be.

It takes a moment for you to recover. You only give an attempt at a smile, your eyes drifting back to Tia’s drawing.

Tia follows suit, her pink mane bouncing as she nods her head in what must be concentration. ”s-stiww not gwate dwae-- no…” she murmurs, giving a tiny scrunch.“…awtist wike wucky.”

“PFFT!” You cover your mouth and turn away from Tia’s perplexed expression. “Yup, she’s a pretty great autist, alright.”

”’ow get ‘dere!” Tia announces, stomping her little hoovsies into the dirt. “wuking at--… wuk at wucky dwaw, ‘den… I dwaw!” 

“You’ve been using her work as a reference, you mean?”

”yes! weh-fwense! wike ‘dis! wucky dwaw naw-nee!”

The feather is moved back into its ink bottle beside the book, and Tia’s magic envelopes the edges of the pages. She carefully peels back a few pages before she lands at her desired reference. 

Your heart skips a beat, and it feels as if the campfire had suddenly increased in size and heat.

Another drawing of the night sky, but this time from the perspective of a rider on the wagon’s helm. It’s exactly how you remembered that night after the marketstead. You’re depicted in that same seated pose, wearing your casual Marestricht shirt, of which Lucky’s taken the liberty of riding up the sleeves to show more of your arms. 

It’s almost freaky, how picturesque Lucky Favor recreated the scene, but that isn’t what makes your heart leap out of your chest.

She’s taken the liberty of naming this particular work. The title is a bit cheesy, truth be told, even if it wasn’t her first choice, judging by the many etched-out words spanning across the page. Words like, “Worthy,” “Impenetrable,” or “Trust.” 

Maybe she never planned to show you. Or, maybe, she planned to show you when, to her, the time was right.

Whatever the case, you can’t get that simple, cursive line of text out of sight.

“Moonlit Love.”

…

…No.

No, you’re…

You clench your eyes shut. Hard. So hard it hurts.

When you open them back up, though, nothing’s changed.

…You’re not imagining it.

“Hey, Tiny-Tia?” you ask quietly. 

Tia gives you a tilt of your head as you rest a hand on the drawing. Faust’s drawing.

Faust’s premature confession.

“What do you say we get some shut-eye?” you finish with your best efforts for a playful smile.

Tia’s response is as predictable as it is adorable. “nnno!” she squeaks, flapping her wings. “jus’ stawted dwawing wif’ naw-naw! show how dwaw!”

“I’ll watch you draw in the wagon,” you promise. “I can’t bring Lucky in until you’re also tucked in. You sure you want to stay up and be a nuisance?”

Tia pouts as she tries to think up an excuse, but nothing comes.

“Orrrr…” you susurrate, raising your left hand and giving your fingers a wriggle. “We can find out what the Fingers of Booping have to say about it.”

Tia’s eyes widen and she’s immediately on all fours. “naw-nee… wown’t dawe,” she squeaks out.

“It’s either get in the wagon,” you growl, inching your hand closer to the filly. “…Or your imminent doom.”

”no doom!” Tia squeals as she turns tail and bounces away. You jut your hand out at her tail, not necessarily to catch her, but just to give her that extra burst of speed. It works wonders as the campsite is filled with her laughter, trailing the filly while she bounds toward the wagon entrance. “no doom, no boop! go sweep!”

Tia takes a moment to crouch low, giving her rump a wiggle, before she flings her upper body up and onto the first step of the wagon entrance. She has to give a mighty flap of her wings to complete the ascension, but after that, it’s a quick hop and a skip to the innards of the wagon. Like a torch’s light, the wagon becomes filled to the brim with the mischievous giggling of Tia.

The smile on your face dissipates as Tia gets situated in the wagon, leaving you with a snoring Lucky Favor.

A snoring Lucky Favor who is infatuated with you. 

No, she isn’t.

It’s just your paranoia, trying to make you fuck up like usual.

It’s just you being a narcissistic asshole, like always.

It’s just you trying to think of a reason to ruin tonight.

Even if the proof is right there, and it’s not going away.

You close the notebook, sending Lucky's drawing to be lost within the paper contents.

As if that’d erase it from existence. 

“Alright, Max, put it out,” you can barely whisper as you push yourself up to your feet, the notebook nestled in your armpit.

Max gives a sleepy “Aye, aye, Captain Non-a-bon,” before she moves a hefty cloud over the campfire. As the cloud begins to drizzle rain over the remaining embers, you approach the sleeping unicorn. 

You’ll be back to retrieve her strewn-about supplies. But for right now, this little pony needs to be put to bed.

You kneel down and wrap your left arm underneath her barrel, using your stone cast as some semblance of balance. It’s a little awkward, a dull pain begins to ache in the bone, and Lucky gives a disturbed snort and a brief twitch of a hoof, but it gets the job done. Soon, you have a sleeping mare against your chest as you make your way to the wagon.

Lucky Favor lets out a hum in her sleep, unfurling herself from her tight ball. She lets her cheek fall onto your chest’s warmth.

Just like earlier, but this time, you can’t pull away.

”I’d like to talk about last night.”

”Now how about you kiss me?”

”…Y-you deserve to be treated like royalty, Anonymous.”

She can’t do this.

Not when everything was going so well.

What could she want from you?

They all wanted something from you. On Equus and on Earth.

Sex. Money. Attention. Security.

It’s never unconditional.

You’re Faust’s housecarla – her friend, you thought. She must know you have nothing to give. So why would Faust…? 

Lucky’s front hooves draw to her chest as she leans into you. A small smile adorns her features as she instinctively shuffles closer.

No.

You can’t ruin this. You promised you’d do better.

Goddamnit, why is there always something?

…

…That’s it.

You climb aboard the wagon, the sound of Lucky’s snoring mingling with the giggling of Tia. You turn to see that the raincloud has made short work of the campfire, and pull the wagon door closed. Tia’s magenta eyes and white coat are barely visible in the cool blues and blacks of the wagon. She’s sitting on the couch, waiting hopefully as you approach with Lucky in your arms.

Faust doesn’t feel this way about you. She may think like she does, but she can’t.

She feels this way about the housecarla from Equus. Not you -- the Anonymous from Earth. She can’t, because she doesn’t know you.

She could only feel this way because she doesn't know the real you. Why the fuck would she ever be entertaining these thoughts if she knew? Why the fuck would anyone?

…

Yeah… it is just your paranoia.

Faust doesn't want something from you. She doesn't want to hurt you, or steal from you, or blame you.

You want to trust her. You need to trust her.

You need to trust that she isn’t trying to get something from you. You need to trust that she isn’t this… naïve.

You need to trust that, if she knew what happened before Red Letter, how you landed here, she’d want nothing to do with you.

You need to trust that Faust doesn't love you.
> IX - About Maritime
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Oh, what in the ever-loving… Do all humans suck at drawing, or is it just you?” 

Anon can’t help but let out a snort of what you hope is amusement, and not a sign that what Max Gusto said is true. His eyes are narrowed into a glare as he shakes his head, but they’re offset by the smile on his lips.

That small, hopeful part of you that prayed to the Ancients Anonymous was a fellow artist dies the moment you get a good look at his drawing.

You try to hide the wince on your face, you really do. But it’s near impossible when you’re faced with such a… well, you’d say foalish drawing, but truth be told, even Tia could draw better than Anon.

That thought gets a light titter out of you.

“Maybe I’m no artist,” Anon says as Riverside passes her folded drawing to him, obviously curious what he will think. “But at least I know how to spell ‘dog.’”

“Anonymous, that’s not fair,” Riverside murmurs from his side. Max, for a brief moment, seems happy that she has one pony on her side – until Riverside finishes her sentence. “You are just starting out. I’m sure you will improve in your illustrations soon." 

As Max is mumbling under her breath about the woes of betrayal, Bountiful Riverside's eyes are glued to Anon's hands as he unfolds her paper. She doesn't miss how his right hand takes a second too long to keep up with his left, and the subtle cringe on his face as he flexes his fingers.

Anon's eyes flick to her sorry state, and he takes the opportunity to lay his hand on her mane, giving it a few bounces. Riverside scrunches and peers down at the drawing Tia magicked to her, probably to hide the blush on her face.

His hands are so different from what she's used to working with. You wish you could show her she has no reason to blame herself for its longer recovery...

“Seriously, Faust,” Max Gusto murmurs, bringing you back to the scene of your friend owlishly tilting her head at her given drawing. “Never mind spelling this thing, we gotta translate it first.”

“Oh, hush,” you say, your eyes narrowing onto the piece of paper. "He was kind enough to suggest this game so you and Tia could practice your spelling, despite having..."

No artistic talent, unfortunately.

"...Anyhow," you giggle nervously, hoping Anonymous isn't listening in. Or looking over at you to see how much effort you're putting into interpreting his drawing. “Do you think it could be some kind of… creature from his home country?”

“What kind of a creature has three heads?” Max whispers.

“Oh, chimeras. They’re a rarely seen predator with the heads of a sabretooth tiger, a goat, and a snake. Although, all the heads here look the same…”

Max gives you that same uneasy, half-cringe-half-smile she tends to give you whenever she overhears you talking friendlily with Anon.

Talking friendlily, not flirting. No matter how much Max goads you. 

“If we run into any of those things in the future,” Max breathes, “I’m tripping Anon and making a run for it. Just letting you know now.”

“Faust, Max hurt my feelings again,” Anon says monotonously from the sidelines, his eyes never leaving the drawing in his hands. “Cut her pay or something – oh wait, she does it for free, doesn’t she?”

“Fatherbu—”

Without so much as moving a muscle, Anon’s face morphs from a playful smirk to a death glare. Max’s ears flop to her skull as she’s reminded of a certain filly on your other side.

“fada-buh?” Tia mumbles to herself, tilting her head. “…fada-buh-buh-buh…”

“So anyways, what’s up with this drawing?” Max announces loudly, sliding up against you. 

You try to replace the horrifying image of Anon being flung to a wild chimera with the slightly less horrifying image of Anonymous’ drawing, but Max and his interaction reminds you of something.

You never did pay Anon his 600 doits for that first night, did you?

So much happened that day. The two of you escaped Plumsteed, and you were either too busy wrestling with your emotions, getting yelled at, or warding off exhaustion to remember to pay him. And of course, the both of you were… occupied the next day. And the next, and the next few, until the ten-doits-a-day deal was struck.

You’ve made good on your payroll with Anonymous since then. Max and Riverside have both assured you they can wait until after you reach Equestria to expect pay – after you chided them for even suggesting they work for you free of charge.

Still… Anon’s worth far more than those ten measly doits.

You’ll have to find a way to repay him.

“Hmm,” you ponder, finally returning to the drawing in front of your face. “Oh! Do you see the ears there?”

“I thought those were horns,” Max mumbles. "Or dicks on their heads--Ow!"

As Max rubs the back of her head from the impact of Anon's left palm, you laugh nervously, “Oh hush, Max, it isn’t that bad. It’s…” 

…that bad. It is that bad.

Perhaps you could teach Anonymous to draw? Like how you're teaching Max and Tia to read and write? That's an idea...

Regardless, you once again put your eyes to work. The blobs on the page are ponies, you’ve gotten that far. Three ponies – the ears confirm it. 

The ears are the only things that confirm it.

Let’s see, the ears and… aw, he’s drawn an old-fashioned mane bow on two of the ponies, like one of those you used to wear when a filly. But the last pony is wearing something different…

…Is… is that another phallic object? Did Max infect Anonymous?!

Oh, wait, that’s just a suit tie. You’ve seen them on stallions during uppercaste balls.

So, he’s drawn two mares on either side of one stallion.

“Oh!” you can’t help but exclaim, giving Tia a tiny jolt of surprise at your side. “Apologies, Tia.”

Tia gives you a halfhearted glare before flicking her quill in your direction and babbling, “wucky pardoned.” She turns back to her own drawing, her eyes creased in concentration.

Replacing the urge to peak at Tia’s drawing with the urgency of Anon’s, you turn to Max. “It’s a herd!” you whisper giddily. You can’t help as the excitement creeps into your voice; Anon has been listening in on your story times with Tia and Max. “Two mares and a stallion. Like the story I had you transcript.”

Max’s eyebrows twitch downward. It’s as quick as a whip, but you don’t miss the way Max is suddenly pulled back into a distant memory.

Before you can think of any words of apology, the despondency on her face is gone, replaced with that staple smirk. “Alrighty,” she murmurs quietly. “Only took us, like, five minutes to decipher your coltfriend’s drawing.”

“Max!” you hiss.

“Future coltfriend.” Max Gusto shrugs away your glare as she bends down and balances your quill between her hooves. You flip the paper over to the side Tia will receive, and Max lowers the feather to just above the page, her eyes scowering the Ponish legend you laid out for her and Tia. “Alright… so how do you spell ‘manage-a-twat?’”

Ménage à trois, and like Tartarus you’re going to give Max Gusto that kind of ammunition when Tia is sitting right beside you.

A Tia who suddenly looks petrified.

Your blood freezes at the sight of the frightened filly sitting at your side.

Max Gusto, if she overheard—

“Anonymous!”

Riverside’s shrill squeak, and the only thing it could mean, snap your head to the human’s direction.

Anon is cradling his right hand with his left, running an index finger between his knuckles in a slow massage. Though, the strain of pain in his face is neutered by exasperation.

Bountiful Riverside is immediately on her hooves, virtually bumping him over as she leans into him, doting, “Anonymous, you—you should not put weight on it! Oh, Ancients forgive me, I didn't-- I-I should have done a better job! I cannot express my sorrow enough, I-I just-- Anonymous, come with me! I'll mold a cast for you immediately! I was a fool-- I thought it would be like healing a hoof! Faust, please stop the cart, we need to--"

Fwump.

As Anon slides Riverside’s hairband out of its place, the mare’s mane bursts into all directions. For a brief moment, it looks as if a purple and white cloud is encircling Riverside’s surprised face before it falls into a mass of bushy curls.

"Anonymous, this is no time to--!" Riverside begins to fret, but Anon shuts her up with a finger on her snout, leaving her scrunching.

"Told you what would happen if you blamed yourself again," Anon says matter-of-factly as he gets to his knees.

Before you can react, Anonymous plants one knee firmly between Max Gusto’s view and the legend, making a show of stretching his torso across the space to take up as much of her view as possible.

Vex Max as it may, evident by her annoyed "Hey!", it also has the side effect of riding his shirt up his side, exposing the muscle and skin underneath.

You quickly avert your eyes, letting out a low hum of innocence, even if the faint tinge of red on your cheeks suggests otherwise.

“Hey, Tiny-Tia,” Anonymous says, immediately snapping the filly to attention.

“g’uh?” she lets slip, giving a little hop as she realizes how close Anon is. She must’ve been focused on the human’s right hand, now holding Riverside’s hairband in a loose grip.

“Stay still so I don’t mess it up.”

Tia blinks owlishly as Anon’s left hand rests on her head, gently tilting it downward.

As Anonymous brings Riverside’s band to Tia’s mane, you realize what he’s doing. The warmth in your cheeks is still there, but it’s no longer from embarrassment. It’s…

Well, if Anon knew what feelings were causing your blush right now, he’d perhaps be twice as flustered as yourself. He certainly wouldn’t like you telling him how adorable and fatherly he looks right now.

Anon is tying Tia’s mane with Riverside’s band. He does so more fluently and gently than anything you’ve seen done by any unicorn – any pegasus or earth pony as well, you’re sure. Riverside’s scrunch is softened into a curious ‘O’ shape of her lips, and Max Gusto slowly blinks at the display.

As Anon finishes with the band, his eyes narrow as he gives Tia’s new manestyle one last appraisal. The filly blinks her eyes open, comically peering up to see any difference in her mane.

She can’t see it, obviously, but everypony else in the wagon can. Tia’s mane has been done up into a ponytail. It isn’t neat by any measure, and the front of her mane has just enough volume and stray hairs to give her an adventurous vibe, but it looks too good to be completely unintentional.

“Riverside’s hairband is your hostage now,” Anon says as he backs into his previous spot in the circle. “You can only give it back when she stops being a silly pony."

The two sea blue eyes under Bountiful Riverside’s mane shifts between Tia and Anon, a smile twitching at her lips.

Tia gives a strained ”nng-nng-nng!” as she exudes even more effort into rolling her eyes back to see what style she’s been given. A strand of her pink mane falls out of place and over her face, waving in the air exuded from her muzzle. “how wook?!” she demands, her front hooves giving a little dance of impatience. “wucky, how wook?!”

“You look like a beautiful, adventurous young mare,” you giggle. “The little colts won’t know what hit them.”

“good mawes don’t hit cowts. good mawes pwotect! but stiww woo."

You reach out to habitually give her mane a good ruffle, but Tia responds by ducking to the ground and squeaking out, “no touch! boo-tifuw, adven-twess mawe!”

Instead, you turn to your housecarla. You can’t fight the smile as it crosses your muzzle. “I didn’t know you were so adept at manestyling, Anonymous.”

“I knew he was a stallion under all that marely stuff,” Max snickers just loud enough for Anon to hear.

Anonymous simply waves Max’s goading off, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips. 

And then, Anonymous says something that, for a good five seconds, simply doesn’t register.

“I had some in-laws that were Tia’s age. Learned it from them.”

Max Gusto nods her head and purses her lips as if appraising a dubious work of art. “In-laws, huh?” she muses. “Right. In-laws, which is a thing I totally know the meaning of… in about five seconds. Faust?”

Your mind is still catching up with your body as movement from Bountiful Riverside briefly catches your attention.

Her entire body snapped to attention the moment the word “in-laws” left Anonymous’ mouth. She’s wearing a look on her face you’ve never seen the earth pony adorn before. 

It’s a bizarre mix of incredulity, anger, and guilt.

Why anger? There’s no need to feel that way—of course Anonymous has experience with relationships. It’s only natural for a stallion like him.

…”A stallion like him.” You keep thinking you know him.

It’s sometimes hard to remember you haven’t even known him for a full month.

“Um,” you begin, giving a smile that wards off your shock. “Well, it’s a relative of one’s spouse. You see, when you get married to somepony or are accepted into a herd, their own siblings become your siblings in-law, and vice-versa.”

Anonymous flinches at your explanation. You’re worried he might’ve hurt his hand again, but instead of cradling it, the human brings it up in a placating gesture. “Well, I use the term ‘in-law’ loosely,” he says quickly. “I never married. They were more like… unrelated cousins. I dunno, it sounded better than ‘little girls I used to hang around.’ Shut up, Max.”

Preemptively countered, Max’s only option is to sigh in disappointment and turn back to the drawing at her hooves. Her peach eyes are contemplative, now focused entirely on the paper – a stark contrast to Bountiful Riverside, sitting on the other side of Anonymous. Her eyes haven’t left the side of Anon’s face since her first jolt.

“Anonymous?” she asks solemnly. For some reason, you feel a cold twist of your gut, as if her words were threats aimed at you. “Is anypony waiting for you at home?”

“No,” Anon answers a bit too quickly. His emerald eyes glance in your direction, as if he were answering a question of yours as well as Riverside’s. The intensity in his voice subsides as he gives a small smile to Riverside. "No, you guys aren't keeping me from anyone at home. It's a long story. Let’s get back to the game. Tia’s drawing awaits, Puffball.”

You can tell that Riverside isn’t happy with Anonymous’ explanation. There’s still that unusual, unsatisfied look on her face, although now she doesn’t know quite what to say. None of you do, really.

It’s hard to feel a sense of relief, for some reason. Anonymous has a family who isn’t waiting for him?

Just what happened before Red Letter?

“Faust?” Anon suddenly says, his eyes never leaving the paper in front of him.

You recollect yourself, giving your housecarla a kind smile. “Yes, Anonymous?” you ask.

“Tell your cloudpusher to not stare at my butt like that again.”

”WHAT?!” Max Gusto yelps as every follicle on her pelt stands on end.

The unladylike snort erupts from your nostrils before you can clamp a hoof around them. Truth be told, you had no idea Anon would even think to joke about something like that.

”Max Gusto!” Riverside chastises from the sidelines, completely oblivious to Anon hiding a smirk by tilting his head downwards. “The Ancient Lady of Chivalry frowns upon you!"

With Tia’s sudden bout of giggling, you can’t help but let out a titter yourself.

It’s been so nice, these last few days. There’s no reason to ruin it by questioning Anon further, if he doesn’t want to elaborate. Even if you’d like to know more.

Him opening up like that is enough.

“Well, he was sticking his fat butt between me and the letters!” Max Gusto defends herself. 

”F-fat?!” Riverside sputters, red-faced from incredulity and indignation.

Anon only shakes his head in mock disappointment. “Bodyshaming, too? Yikes. Honestly, Faust, your cloudpusher’s behavior is so problematic. We need to push for a more inclusive and less toxic work environment.”

Max gives a cold deadpan, served up with a side of sarcasm. “You’re just making up words now.”

”I wish I was, Max Gusto. I wish I was.”

You’re tempted to join in the goading until you feel a magical warmth against your haunch, coming from your pouch.

Time slows for a moment as your brain processes what it means.

The ambient direction spell.

Your heartbeat quickens, and not even the Ancients could halt the grin that spreads across your face. You set the bag in front of you, careful not to use your horn, and are shoulder-deep in its innards before anypony else begins to notice.

Once the magical warmth is in your frog, you pull out the familiar map and unroll it. 

The small string of magic that had once dug across the face of the scroll is now no longer than the sulcus on your hoof. 

“How close?” Anonymous asks simply.

For a brief moment, you’re reminded of your time in Plumsteed, when you had just met Anonymous.

”How far away?” he had asked you.

Once you reach the dockyard and are aboard that ship, you’ll all be far away from that place.

No more Plumsteed. No more uppercastes, or lowercastes. No more Red Garden, Sapphire Lily, or Red Letter.

You’re all so, so close.

“Just a few more furlongs until it’s visible,” you breathe, grinning ear to ear. You look up to Anon’s face at the news, expecting to see a smile of his own on his face.

Not so much different from your encounter with his drawing, Anon tries to smile. He really does. To anypony else, they might think it’s genuine, but you’re able to see how much effort he’s putting into it.

Your own smile falters, but not by much. It turns into one of reassurance and patience. You don’t even have to ask to know what his reaction is about.

He has nothing to feel guilty for. You’re going to convince him to stay, and it’s going to be soon. You simply must.

“Max Gusto,” you say, turning to see your lime friend tilt her head at you. “Would you mind coming outside with me? To scout the area one last time?”

Max’s feathers are already ruffling as she hops onto all fours with a soft clack. She reaches down with her mouth and clamps her teeth around Anon’s drawing before trotting over to his side and plopping it in his lap, before giving it a few loving pats, like you would when comforting a friend. “Keep this little puppy safe,” she coos. “We’ll hang it over the mantle piece later.”

Anon gives Max Gusto a gentle smile as he lovingly whispers to her, “Eat shit.”

The pegasus only giggles, trotting away from the human and towards you.

You give Tia’s new manestyle one last once-over, but the filly is too busy trotting over to Anonymous to notice. Riverside gives you a parting smile and a bow, which you return, albeit somewhat to hide the smirk on your face from the way her mane falls over her face. The forced smile on Anon’s face is gone, replaced with a genuine one as he gives you a nod. 

Tia, meanwhile, approaches Anonymous’ crossed legs and peers down at the drawing atop them. You could be imagining it, but you swear you see a faint tinge of shame on Anon’s cheeks at Tia’s exposure.

You follow Max Gusto to the far edge of the wagon’s interior. Max Gusto uses her wing to pull the door open for you, and the slowly translating world of Equus shines upon you.

Just before you hop out of the wagon, though, you overhear Tia’s comforting to Anon, "naw-naw awt not bad. Macks go eat shit.”

The slap Anonymous inflicts on his own forehead is heard crystal clear, even as the door to the wagon shuts behind you. Max can’t help but give you a wink as Riverside begins to harangue Anon from behind the door.

The two of you speed up to a trot to match the speed of the moving wagon. Max Gusto’s wings are flaring out, ready to take to the skies, before you speak up.

“Wait just a moment, dear,” you say, giving a soft bump into her side.

Once Max reads the expression on your face, her wings return to her sides. She merely looks on ahead, a new pep to her step as she seems to bounce along. 

“What’s on your mind, Luckster?” Max asks.

You take one more look at the wagon to your right. The door is still shut tight, and the few windows are drawn shut. There’s no way Anon or the others will overhear your conversation.

“You and a certain human seem to be getting along well,” you prod.

"Ah, he's just a big softie.” Max’s stride on the trail is unchanging, for a while, until it slows and an upturned sneer is sent your way. “Literally, too. Did you see those flabs of his?"

You feel a sharp jolt of incredulity at her jab, opening your mouth to not-so-kindly remind her of the difference between flabs and striations, but Max’s face stops you. Like a victor just before showing her winning hand, she’s giving you a victorious smirk.

She almost got you there.

“Nice try,” you say with a smug smile. “…But for the record, I looked away as quickly as I could.”

“Just had to wipe the drool from your mouth, eh?”

“Well, at least I was only looking at his side.”

This time, it’s your own mouth that transforms into a victorious smirk.

“Oh, hurr durr,” Max brays, eliciting a giggle from you. 

You may not be much of a, how Max says, shit-talker, but you’re getting there. Little by little, when around Anon and her carrying on.

You never could get the hang of it in the uppercastes. You always mistook your sister’s remarks as insults.

Then again, she might’ve intentionally been muddling the line between the two.

The two of you drift into a comfortable silence for a while. The only sounds which meet your ears are comprised of the wagon’s wheels crushing dirt under its wheels, the birds and other wildlife singing the song of nature, and Anonymous’ muffled voice – he must be complimenting Tia on her art again or defending himself against Bountiful Riverside.

It’s Max’s own voice that cuts through the silence and into your heart.

“You convince him to stay yet?”

Ah, there it is.

The big, purple, magical elephant in the room is much easier to spot in silence. That, or Max can read you like a book.

Your lack of an immediate response gives Max all the answer she needs. She gives a soft ‘tsk, tsk, tsk’ under her breath, but otherwise remains quiet. “Soon,” you murmur. “Once we’re on the ship, and we’re out of danger… I think I can do it. Do you have any advice, Max Gusto?” 

You give your pegasus friend a pleading look. It’s met with a reassuring smile. “You’re his friend,” Max says jovially. “And he obviously cares about each one of us. Besides, you heard him back there. About his… family.” Her upbeat expression wavers at the memory. “Why would he want to go off alone in Equestria when he’s got his friends right here? I couldn’t wait to belong with other ponies after my sky village left me.”

Despite Max’s words, you still can’t fully appreciate her.

Anonymous’ words echo in your mind from that night, still as strong and clear as if it were yesterday.

”It’d be selfish of me to stay. No matter how much I want to.”

“He doesn’t trust himself to stay,” you say before you can stop it. “He… thinks he might snap again.” You don’t know if Anonymous would be angry with you for telling somepony else, but him and Max are friends. And you need her advice.

Max ponders your words for the longest time, the smirk on her face nowhere to be seen.

“I get that,” Max Gusto murmurs. “Yeah, I… I get that.” Her eyes trail across the dirt path as she walks, unfocused. It takes a while, but soon rigidity returns to her shoulders as her gaze returns to you, lively again. “But coming along with you guys got me out of that rut. And after everything we’ve done, call me crazy, but I think he might like us. Just a little. Just a teensy-weensy bit.”

You giggle, relishing in the moment, hoping beyond hope Max is right.

”Just be confident,” Max continues. “Butter him up, but don’t push him. Promise him some extra pay, maybe buy him some colty shoes or something. And don’t slip into that… snooty, uppercaste talk while you do it. And if you play your cards just right…”

Max Gusto’s voice becomes sultry, and as she’s leaning in close, you know what she’s about to say before it comes out of her mouth:

“Maybe while you’re at it, you could snag another peek at his obliques.”

You merely push her head away with your own. Max drifts off dramatically, as if struck, before veering back to your side. “How’s that going, by the way?” she asks. “Your little crush. Have you bared your noble heart to the fair lord yet?”

You’re able to catch a particularly large rock lodged into the dirt path before you trip over it. The wagon’s ambient direction spell follows your lead as you both avoid it with a subtle swerve to opposing sides. “If I do, it’ll be after I convince him to stay,” you decide on saying. “Not immediately, of course. When he's ready and completely comfortable, and only then.”

Max Gusto gives you a proud, genuine smile, not saying a word. You can’t help but take a step to the right, closer to Max’s side. You give her a quick nuzzle – more of a head bump, really, with the tumult of the both of you trotting.

“Alright, alright,” Max chortles, pulling away with the faintest of blushes on her cheeks, and the most genuine of smiles. “Save it for the honeymoon.” Before long, the amusement turns to a kind of foreboding seriousness. Max gives a heavy sigh before she continues. “But... smart as it is, there’s such a thing as being too careful. You never know what’s gonna happen tomorrow. Maybe somepony else will bare her heart first.”

No matter how many times this scenario has gone through your head, or how many times you’ve enjoyed sharing your drawings with Riverside, or how many times you’ve reprimanded yourself for any thoughts even remotely jealous, you still feel that knot in your stomach at the thought.

“Suppose I could ask for your advice once again?” you sigh, your face drooping to stare at the passing dirt and pebbles. 

This time, it’s Max’s turn to give you a quick bump – except she chooses to use her flank to bump into your own. “Shoot, my lovestruck unicorn friend.”

You frown, mulling the words over in your head. It’s unfair, how much this has troubled you since you’ve met Riverside, yet when asked pointblank to form it into a question, you’re at a loss of what to say.

“If…” you start, before giving it some more thought, and falling into frustrated silence. Thankfully, Max Gusto doesn’t say a word, and even if she isn’t in your line of vision right now, you can imagine the patient smile on her face.

Or she’s rolling her eyes at your romantic problems that, to her, might have the most obvious answers ever. 

You give a serious nod and start again. “If Bountiful Riverside did tell Anonymous how she felt before I did, and he accepted her… I suppose I’d be hurt. Or, Ancients forbid, angry. I want her to be happy, too, but...”

You mumble under your breath, once again searching for the right words that, until moments ago, were on the tip of your tongue. 

"Lemme ask you this," Max Gusto snaps you from your thoughts, and you're grateful for the reprieve. "If our precious little nugget Riverside were to tell Anon how she felt, and you were able to stop her, would you?"

You blink at her question, and your mind draws a blank for a long while. 

How would you react in that situation?

Your ears flap down to your skull in guilt at the very thought. You simply glower at the ground passing beneath your hooves, unable to give a definitive answer.

Max Gusto contemplates some unspoken words for a while before she rears her head back and groans, “Oooooh, Love. The constantly flipping doit of happiness and soul-crushing tragedy.”

You blink, giving Max a surprised stare. “That was quite eloquent of you, Max Gusto. You can be rather smart sometimes, can’t you?

The pegasus regards you with a blank look as your words register. After a while, her response is to inwardly shrug, fluff her tuft from underneath her chin, and give you a foalish, “Nye-heh~…”

There’s another pause of the two of you only walking, the peaceful sounds of traveling once again taking root and growing over your conversation. It almost looks like Max has forgotten your question, until her eyes suddenly bulge out of her head.

Max’s trot ceases immediately – she doesn’t slow to a stop, or even adjust her hooves to a more comfortable resting position, she just… freezes, midstride. Her peach irises shrink to the size of pinpricks, as if whatever stray thought had entered her mind was, in actuality, a mind-altering parasite.

You slow to a stop as well, the wagon continuing on its leisurely path ahead. Before you can even get a word out, Max begins to talk.

You didn’t quite know what to expect, but even then, Max still manages to catch you off-guard with:

”…You’re wrong. I can be just the dumbest, most featherbrained sky rat on the face of Equus sometimes.”

Quick as a whip and twice as snappy, Max’s glare lands on you. “And you’re no better, missy!”

You blink. “What?”

“A herd!” The words tumble out of Max Gusto’s mouth like a sack of potatoes slashed with a sword. “You and Bountiful Riverside should form a herd with Anon! Ancients above, it was right there all this time!” Max throws her front hooves up in the air, rearing her head back in raw frustration. “GAH! I forgot herds are different for you landlubbers! Down here, herdsisters are just as much lovers to their stallion as the alpha, right?!”

“…Yes?—"

Max Gusto plops down on her haunches, leans back, and breathes in a big breath of what you know to be the loudest she’s ever yelled. “THEN FORM A BUCKING MMPH--!”

Your glare could slice clean through diamonds, if the shocked eyes of Max Gusto are anything to go by. 

You turn back from your death grip on Max’s face to the wagon. It’s still rolling forward, and to your relief, nopony is suspiciously peering through the door back at the two mares in its wake. 

You sigh, steadily and slowly dropping your hoof from Max’s muzzle. The moment it’s free, it’s once again babbling on, albeit this time much quieter, “Just like that story; the Prince and the Whatever!”

“The Prince, the Princess, and the Knightess,” you correct, clopping down to all four of your hooves before beginning to catch up to the wagon. Max Gusto is hot on your tail.

Or, the more appropriate expression would be, “Right in your face.”

“Exactly!” she gushes. “Anon’s your prince… and you and Riverside can fight over who’s who, but you get my point!”

No, you and Riverside will not be fighting. 

…

Max Gusto is right. Sometimes, you can be just a featherbrained conehead.

A herd…

You’d use the excuse that you’ve only read about them, and that’s why they slipped your mind so easily, but your recent lessons with Max and Tia call attention to the fact that you’ve read about herds, quite literally, yesterday. 

The Prince, the Princess, and the Knightess. The story of a prince traveling across the dangerous lowercastes to meet his preordained princess, only for the knightess protecting him to fall in love. Through their travels, the knightess is beheld to the prince's honorable attributes. Selflessness toward his servants, generosity for his subjects, and loyalty to her. After the journey’s end, the knightess challenges the princess to a duel for the prince’s heart, believing the princess isn't worthy of him. But to the knightess’ surprise, the princess demonstrates the same qualities the prince had before: selflessness, generosity, and loyalty. The knightess realizes the princess’ place at the prince’s side and yields in the duel, prepared to leave for the uppercastes alone. The prince and the princess, though, recognize her honor, and choose to bring her into what becomes the first herd.

A foal’s story to be sure, but one you’ve enjoyed enough to memorize. 

And yet, Max Gusto has to beat the idea of herding into your dumb head.

“R-regardless,” you titter, before coughing into your hoof. “This will only be relevant after I ask Anonymous to stay. It’s still too soon.”

Too soon for you.

You’re not so sure about Riverside.

…Oh, damn it all. This is going to be a long and awkward conversation with her, isn’t it?

Max Gusto hums at your response, leaning a bit to close for comfort. Her eyes trail from her face all the way down your body to your tail. “A muscular sweetheart with… biological knowledge,” Max coos, “And an educated, adventurous, virgin young lady who's head over fetlocks. You're young, right?”

It becomes impossible to think of a response through the heat on your face.

“Yeah, I’d rut you two if I were Anon,” Max proclaims without a hint of shame or irony.

You give Max a forceful nudge, sending her into a cackling mass. “Just scout ahead already for Ancients’ sake!” you yelp.

Max’s triumphant giggles don’t even waver as her wings spread out and, with one powerful flap, take her into the air. She’s soaring overhead in what must not be more than a few seconds, but it feels like minutes to you.

Still, as infuriating as that pegasus is, you can’t deny that she’s right.

Enough of this… amateur-novelist love triangle business. A herd would be the best possible outcome.

Of course, you wouldn’t dream of going ahead with it if Anonymous or Riverside are opposed to the idea. Tartarus, you can’t blame them if they’d be hesitant. Especially now, when you still have other important matters to discuss with the both of them.

But you can’t deny that the prospect of a herd has given you some peace of mind, even if it’s still a long way off.

Then again, reaching the dockyard was a “long way off” for the longest time. Perhaps giving it some wistful thought wouldn’t hurt too much.

You spend a little while longer trotting alongside the wagon, Max Gusto circling overhead, yourself praying to the Ancients she doesn’t use this opportunity to shape the clouds into an even more embarrassing message for all landlubbers to see. Thankfully, she either has some mercy in those hollow, magical bones of hers, or she’s worse at writing than you previously thought, so you’re left to your thoughts and the sounds of Equus.

It isn’t long before the first glimmer of the sea peeks over from the tallest hill in the distance.

You can’t remember the last time you’ve smiled so hard it hurts your cheeks. After you’ve left the uppercastes, you never thought you would again, but here you are.

As more of the sea begins to slowly ascend over the horizon, joined by the tips of the tallest buildings, your hooves can’t carry you fast enough to the wagon door.

You forget that the wagon is, in fact, moving, and you are, in fact, not as dexterous as somepony like Anonymous, so you end up tripping over yourself as you try and fiddle with the doorhandle. Not even giving yourself a shake to rid yourself of the new dirt adorning your shirt, you hop back up the first step and swing the door open.

Anonymous’ head jolts up and his body tenses, but once he sees the rampant grin on your face, he slumps back to his original spot.

“T-the dockyard!” you sputter, bouncing on the tips of your hooves as you swing your head to the open door behind you. “The dockyard – we’re almost there! Come out and see! Hurry, hurry!”

Without even waiting for a response, you zip across the wagon and are wrapping your hooves around Anonymous’ left arm. You strain as you pull the human to his full height, but not for a second do you let go until Anon is on his feet.

“Tia!” you holler, earning a squeak from the filly. “Riverside! Get outside right this instant and—”

Before you can finish your command, something warm presses down on your head just in front of your horn, splaying your mane in front of your vision.

“Faust, we’re going,” Anonymous says. “What’s the hurry?”

“The dockyard is coming up, nopony else is around, so we are all going to appreciate the view and that’s final! We might not get another chance to all see it!” 

Tia, at this point, is fluttering her wings as she trots by you, and you give her an encouraging nudge with your hoof out the door. 

Especially Tia. It’s so rare she gets to be outside for these occasions.

Anon simply rolls his eyes as he passes you, headed for the door, but you don’t miss the faint smile on his lips. Bountiful Riverside follows closely behind, her head leaning toward the outside world, her sea blue eyes awash with curiosity.

Once everypony is out of the wagon, you’re able to safely disengage the ambient direction spell. The wagon slows to a peaceful stop, and tension you didn’t know was there slackens in your horn. It takes a bit more pestering to get your group up and onto the wagon’s helm as quick as you can, but once you, Tia, Anonymous, and Bountiful Riverside are all there, you know it was worth it.

The last of the distant hills surrenders to the welcome sight of the dockyard.

Like a clay, brick, and cobblestone beach, the dockyard sits comfortably between the last of the grasses of the kingdom and the vast Equestrian Sea. It’s more of a maritime city than the dockyard you had previously imagined, with ships and trade posts lining its coastline, a bustling inner city, and even a dock port for marketsteads on the Southernmost edge. Buildings, both tall and compact, light and dark, occupy the dockyard like grass in a field. The outermost parts of the city are spackled with structures not too unlike Free Valley Carpentry; tall, wooden huts aglow with magic as ship parts and the like are assembled within. A variety of pegasus nets hang over the expanse of the dockyard, mostly above the carpentry stations and the trade center near the coast, and above those resides a roiling ceiling of gray clouds, obviously displaced there by pegasi.

Your own dirt path isn’t the only that leads into the dockyard – many others, and even a few demesne-looking cobblestone roads, spread out from the dockyard’s grounds in all directions. You only spot a few wagons departing or entering the dockyard, mostly on the larger roads. Most of the hustle is happening within the dockyard’s confines.

The four of you spend a long, dream-like while just taking in the sight of it all. The wagon has come to a peaceful stop, and before long, Max Gusto joins the group. Not for a better view, of course, but just to be around you all.

You’ve arrived. 








”Anonymous, I implore you to reconsider!”

You give Bountiful Riverside a dispassionate gaze as she sits at perfect face-height, her sea blue eyes narrowed with conviction.

“A stone cast would guarantee you don’t hurt yourself like that again,” Riverside continues, “And as a housecarla, isn’t it your job to stay uninjured for your lady?

“If my job was to not get injured,” you say with a cringe as you slip your right hand into the wooden glove, “Somebody must’ve scammed me into this business.” 

”Scammed or not, I won’t allow you to leave this fog without a stone cast!”

You sigh as you buckle your bracer tight, giving the straps a few tentative pulls. The broken emerald in the center of the bracer isn’t much help, but the hard bull-oak can still stop your average sword.

“Bountiful Riverside, how old are you again?” you ask.

”Nineteen,” she says neutrally, neither proud nor embarrassed.

Jesus.

You don’t miss how the black-and-cyan unicorn at the other end of the wagon reacts to Riverside’s statement. Lucky Favor pouts, letting out a ladylike huff as she throws on her cloak. Max Gusto, meanwhile, is holding back laughter as she places the larua root bag back in its place on the shelf.

“Yep, too young to be my mom,” you say, slapping your knee with your left hand before pushing off and into a stand. 

Riverside backs up with you, her eyes never leaving you even if her face falls short. “I am your lady and your body mender,” she persists, “And if you walk into the dockyard without a cast, I will be very upset with you!”

You peer down at the mauve earth pony, her eyes staring up at you with ferocity and certainty. It’d be intimidating if her mane wasn’t a frizzly bush of purple and white.

Tia’s still keeping her hairband captive, and you have no intention of giving it back until Riverside’s silliness subsides.

Still, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t touched by Riverside’s concern.

“Look,” you say earnestly, lowering to the balls of your feet. Riverside’s resolve falters as your face nears her own, but her scrunch intensifies. “We’re going to get our ride to Equestria sorted out. We’re not infiltrating a raider camp or anything like that. It’s a densely populated city. We’ll be fine.” You give Riverside a soft poke to her chest. “We need you and Max to watch over Tia until we come back, Puffball.”

”You could use it as a weapon,” Riverside almost whimpers, cutting you off. Her ears flap to her skull as she looks to the ground guiltily, the very thought probably making her uncomfortable. “A stone cast would… defend yourself better than a fist.”

“But can I grab something with a rock cast?” you ask. Riverside frowns, looking to the ground, deep in thought. “And it’ll hamper my intimidation. If a mugger saw I was hurt, they’d be more likely to attack.”

Riverside stays silent, the frown never leaving her face as she gives you a bow and brings herself up to all fours. She trots away, not making eye contact.

God knows you hate to have her worry about you, but you still can’t help but feel guilty.

“Ready, Faust?” you ask, shaking away the thoughts of Riverside.

Lucky Favor, freshly larua’d up and cloaked, gives you an affirmative nod. “Max Gusto, please keep our wagon hidden,” she says as she trots to the wagon door and opens it, letting the thick gray mist seep inside. “We’ll be back as quick as we can. And if anything happens, we’ll most likely be at the ‘Sterncaptain.’ That’s what Kindle told us.”

Max gives a salute and you follow Lucky out of the wagon and into the dewy outskirts of the dockyard. 

The sounds of the maritime city and the scents of the ocean fill your senses where your eyesight lacks. You pull your cloak up and over your head, Faust adjusts the sack on her side, and you begin to walk--

”Wait, Faust!”

--Nevermind.

Lucky gives a faint jolt at Riverside’s plea and turns to find the earth pony leaning out of the wagon, her medicinal bag hanging from her mouth. Riverside gives a muffled, garbled mess of Ponish that you assume means, “Take this!” 

Lucky approaches Riverside, an embarrassed smile on her face. “I’m sorry, dear,” she says, “I… really only know medical sewing. I’m not a body mender like you.”

Riverside lets out a squeak of embarrassment before she hastily sets the bag down and bites the drawstring loose. She reaches into the bag and brings out a white root you somewhat recognize. She drops it to the ground, ushering to it. “Then at least take this iuncti root. You only need to squish it under your hooves and apply the powder to the wound. It’ll take the pain away almost immediately, and will help with any bleeding. But if anything happens to either of you, come back as soon as you can!”

Lucky blinks at Riverside’s hastiness, but allows a grateful smile across her face. She trots forward and grabs the root with her hooves, bringing it to her own bag. “Thank you, Bountiful Riverside. I’ll watch out for him, don’t you worry.”

Riverside gives Lucky a bow before turning to you. Her eyes become somber as she looks at your hand. “Anonymous,” she says softly, “Please don’t hurt yourself. Or… nopony else, if you can help it. B-but if they’re attacking you or Faust, then please do defend yourselves! But, um…” Riverside stutters that word a few times under her breath, “um,” not sure how to elaborate further.

You sigh, hating the look on her face right now. 

“It’s part of my job, Riverside,” you say, “But I’ll try.”

Riverside looks like she wants to say something else, but can’t find the proper words. She just gives a bow and closes the wagon door. With the sound of the lock being fiddled with, your three remaining ladies are locked inside the wagon.

When Bountiful Riverside is out of sight, Lucky Favor’s horn is set aglow with a cyan light. The area around her is made clear, and you follow close by as the two of you walk towards the dockyard.

If Riverside reacted like that to you and Lucky heading into town… how would she react if you leave them in Equestria?

You frown at that bastard thought.

It isn’t long before you and Lucky pass through Max’s mist. She didn’t have to work too hard; the whole outskirts of the town is encased with gray clouds above and natural mist, so she only had to emphasize it around the wagon’s vicinity.

You tilt your head as you peer up to the gray, tall ceiling above. Little pockets of cyan sky bespeckle the clouds, like pores in a sponge, casting down traces of sunlight. As the sounds of the dockyard increase, and you take that first step on a brick road leading to the maritime city, another peculiarity joins the weather.

A wooden stake, as thick as a small car and as tall as a building, comes into view. At first you think it’s responsible for only keeping the pegasus net sturdy, but as the faint sound of feathers ruffling against each other echoes through the oncoming city bustle, you realize that isn’t its only purpose. A lone griffon stands at the top of the column, armored to the beak and holding a wicked-looking spear in an iron grip.

The closer you get to the dockyard, and the more the mist around you dissipates, the more you see of these stakes. They’re littered around the entrance of the dockyard, and over the roofs and wooden shacks, you see that they extend further into the dockyard.

Lucky Favor doesn’t bother to restrain her gasp as the dockyard becomes clear.

A cascade of new and exciting senses bombard you as your boots touch down on new, cobblestone pavement. The shadow of a towering ship’s sails levitate by – currently held up by magic, being moved to one of the many assembly shacks of the outskirts. The overwhelming scents of salt water and seafood almost take you back to the oceanside on Earth, but everything else about the dockyard, so alien and fantasy, keeps you grounded. 

The population is unmistakably a unicorn one, but true to Faust’s word, it’s a lot more diverse than further inland. You spot a trio of darkly-clad diamond dogs in the crowd, their pale yellow eyes focused intently on a large map supported by two stakes. Armored griffons walk through the crowds as well as keep watch above. You swear you see a preoccupied mare with slitted irises through the crowd, but she molds into the minutiae before you can get a better look.

It’s no racial hodgepodge like your home country, but the place is diverse enough that nobody gives you a second glance. Though… it’s strange. You don’t see any pegasi. 

Well, you doubt a sky-faring species known for being thieves has much honest business in a dockyard.

Speaking of pegasi, you wonder if you could find some time to buy Max some seafood. Maybe make her do a trick for it.

“Sure you wanted to go with the larua root again?” you ask absentmindedly, pulling the dark cloak from your right arm, giving the bracer one last once-over. Only small shards of the emerald stone are left in its wooden holster, and the largest, round stone on the back of your hand is also cracked down the middle.

You hope it can hold up enough to not give a certain eighteen-year-old earth pony a reason to maternally fret over you.

The silence from Faust draws your attention back to the black unicorn at your side, and the unamused glare on her face could rival your own, on a good day. “Because we’re wanted by the entirety of the--?” she deadpans, before you interrupt her.

“I know,” you sigh, waving your hand dismissively. “I’m just wondering how your co-captain friend will react when she wakes up tomorrow and you’re a completely different color.”

Your voice teeters off to silence as a pair of armored griffons brushes past your side. You get a better look at the armor they’re wearing; thin-looking metal covering their vitals, hardened leather underneath. Aerodynamic to a fault.

Faust lets out a quiet sigh as the griffons pass. “My coat color shouldn’t be a problem,” she says, peering down at the pitch black hue of the fur underneath her shirt. “Kindle’s contact knows me by my cutie mark, anyways. I’ll be sure to explain the situation to her so there’s no drama later. I’m quite sick of it, truth be told.”

“Aw, I thought I could squeeze a bit more in today,” you say, eliciting a pout from your lady. 

Drama… Yeah, no more of that shit.

Whatever you decide on once you reach Equestria, one thing’s for certain. You’re going to make these next days with her your best.

You and Lucky Favor have to nudge past a few unicorns -- a cesspool of adventurers and tourists alike – to get a good look at the map. You stand a good foot taller than the pair of diamond dogs as they try not to pay too much attention to you, but their dismissiveness is betrayed by their subtle sidestep away from you.

”Ad Equestria,” the map reads. “Oceanic Conquest, Destiny Manifested!”

The map itself is one of those fancy real-time maps, you forget the name of them. Plumsteed didn’t have one, and obviously nowhere else you’ve visited did either. Faust simply hm’s and haw’s at the magical bird’s eye image of Ad Equestria, ant-like dots of its inhabitants flowing about, half-transparent Ponish (among three other unfamiliar dialects just below) detailing the map like any other.

”Sterncaptain…” she murmurs under her breath, tapping a forehoof against her chin. “Sterncaptain…”

As the back of your lady’s head pivots around the map, you peer to your left to get a better look at the diamond dog pair.

They certainly have the heads of the dogs you’re used to on Earth, but that’s where the similarities end. Their eyes are slitted and have a much more predatorial glare to them. The fur on their forearms is thick – almost as thick as the muscle rippling underneath. You’ve never seen diamond dogs this close before.

The one closest to you kind of reminds you of your dog from Earth, before he passed. Your heart twists at the memory.

Suddenly, one of the diamond dogs lets out a growl, her eyes locking onto you with lightning speed. “Ti delyesh?” she asks, you not understanding a single word. “Vhat you look-at, hairless cat?”

You blink, turning back to your lady’s examining of the map. You don’t make it three seconds until you feel a leather paw grip you by the arm.

Your eye twitches.

“Vhat you look at?” the dog repeats, giving your arm a jostle. 

She’s strong. Sword at her hip. You could break her wrist before she has a chance to draw her sword, but her friend will have enough time--

…What are you thinking?

”Oh!” Lucky Favor squeaks, giving a hop of excitement. The bag at her hip jostles in the movement, and you have to fight the urge to smile at the display. “Found it!”

You don’t like drawing attention to yourself that extends from the necessary intimidation to protect your lady. But you also don’t want to start a fight, so…

“Sorry,” you say, looking the diamond dog in the eyes. She blinks, her slitted eyes suddenly horrified at the realization. “I was distracted.”

You bite down the urge to add a sarcastic “comrade” at the end of your apology, and it fortunately pays off.

The dog immediately releases her grip on your arm, giving you a deep bow of her head. “Pratzti menya,” the dog mutters, pawing at her ears in an unfamiliar gesture. “Forgive. Did not know, male.”

”It’s on the north end, Anonymous,” Lucky Favor states, turning just in time for you to give her your full attention. “Let’s be off.”

You nod and your lady leads the way out of the crowd. A few of the unicorns below glance your way, some of the closer ones recoiling from your proximity, but they immediately back off once the diamond dogs extend a paw through the crowd, giving you space to move. Lucky tilts her head at this, looking back up to you, and you just give her a noncommittal shrug. Once you’re back on the road following your lady, you let out a sigh through your nostrils.

“Breaking hearts, are we, Anonymous?” Lucky Favor asks with a cheeky grin.

You give her ear a flick, unable to suppress the smirk on your face. Faust, ever the prim and proper lady, sticks her tongue out at you.

Max Gusto is corrupting your ladies, one by one…

She’s gonna be a great friend for them.

For a while, the two of you walk in a comfortable silence, surrounded by the sights, smells, and sounds of Ad Equestria. As you continue on the streets, the buildings turn from utilitarian to residential, and soon the two of you are surrounded by the houses, voices, and bodies of the citizenry.

Clotheslines hang above head, occupying the narrow spaces between the two rows of houses and apartments that now surround you. Each one glows faintly with its own color, probably an ambient spell casted by its owner to deter thieves. Now, dark cloaks and armors are the minority as a whole rainbow of clothes adorns the populace as they mill about. You don’t miss how Faust’s inner artist springs into action behind her eyes as she hungrily takes in the diverse apparel.

A brief flash of teleportation jolts you into action, but you’re able to realize just who it is before you do anything drastic: a small filly, now giggling to herself as she scuttles past you. You almost have to lift a leg to avoid blocking her path, she’s so close.

“Cheater!” another voice squeals before another filly gives chase, barreling past you. 

You can’t help but let out a chuckle as you watch the two charge past you. A bedraggled-looking stallion yells at the two from across the street, "Stay away from the dockyard, young mares! And keep your eyes on the sky!”

“I thought you said you didn’t like kids,” Lucky says at your side. Despite the warm smile on her face, not a hint of teasing anywhere, you’re briefly pulled back to your time on Earth.

“They’re alright, sometimes,” you murmur. “On occasion. Once in a blue moon. Very rarely.”

”Oh, hush. We both know you love Tia.”

Your heart skips a beat, and your mouth stays shut. Your gait slows somewhat, but you quickly recover so as to not give Lucky anything to worry about. Regardless of your efforts, though, your lady turns to you. Her face is twisted in confusion and concern. “Is that a sensitive topic?” she asks with a cringe. “I was… um, ‘shit-talking.’”

You didn’t mean to react like that.

You reach up and scratch your beard, giving a small smile. “No,” you assure your lady. “It’s fine. And it’s not my fault she’s such a lovable dork.”

Lucky’s face lights up and she beams at you. 

Is that a face you can leave, Anonymous?

…No, but it’s the thoughts behind that face that you can leave.

Lucky turns back to the road ahead as you’re once again pulled into a dour mood.

The thoughts behind that face, and those words in her notebook… “Moonlit Love.”

No.

She doesn’t love you, Anon.

You close your eyes and breathe in deep through your nostrils, letting it out slowly.

She wouldn’t do that to you. You need to trust she wouldn’t do that to you.

She just doesn’t know any better.

It’s not her fault. You’re not going to get after her.

Now stop overthinking shit and get back to your lady.

After you’re able to successfully stop overthinking shit, the two of you are back to focusing on the objective at hand. 

It’s more as if a switch had been flicked than a gradual transition, that moment when you pass the last residential building, giving way to ships, docks, and the vast expanse of the sea. The only thing separating the two of you from the Equestrian Sea is a small cobblestone road, the last subsequent sidewalk, and the dockyard. 

Some ships anchored to the docks, you were able to somewhat conceptualize in your head, just by comparing them to pirate ships back home. Others, like the hulking ship just a few docks down – as wide as a neighborhood block and as tall as a small skyscraper – you were not. You begin to get dizzy just by thinking how long it’d take for humans to build such a thing without modern technology. 

And then there’s the ship that comes into view after that big one.

Well, “ship” is being generous. It’s more a floating pile of ruins on a wooden foundation.

Despite its precarious buoyancy, it’s the busiest ship by far; griffons flying to and from its front deck, unicorns magicking supplies and weapons from its interior. Only one sail hangs pathetically from its mast, the rest either completely absent or torn to ribbons. The stern of the ship has been reduced to an open hole, in which you can see the Ad Equestrians working in the interior. Claw marks and cracks from blunt force paint the body of the ship, dancing up and down the entirety of the hull with no regard for gravity. Joining them in their deadly dance are a variety of arrows embedded into the wood, charred, still-smoking blasts from what looks like lightning strikes, and splotches of dried blood and feathers.

A dark gray unicorn sits on the dock leading to the ship. If the tri-fold hat atop her head is any indication, she’s probably a captain of sorts. She wears a permanent scowl on her face as two other mares, one holding a clipboard in her magical grip, lay into her about something you can’t hear.

The unicorn’s eyes briefly flick to your own.

Those maroon orbs are angry and worried, of course. But above all, they’re tired.

“Let’s keep moving,” Lucky murmurs at your side. You realize she, too, slowed down to gawk at the remnants of the ship. 

The two of you speed up just in time to see the Sterncaptain coming into view. It’s an elegant-looking, two story tall pub. It’s been constructed from a neat-looking arrangement of wood, cobblestone, and brick.

You have the sneaking suspicion Lucky Favor might be getting sick of pubs, but if any would be her style, it’d be this one.

“Before we head in,” you mutter, grabbing Faust’s attention. “Do you have any idea what this co-captain looks like?”

Faust tilts her head at you, and you know her answer before she even opens her mouth. “Well, no, but that shouldn’t be a problem. They’ll recognize me."

"What if someone approaches you who isn't the co-captain? How would you know?"

"Well...” Lucky’s gait slows as she considers your words, but it’s only momentary, as a reassuring smile takes over her features. “...It's like you said. I should talk to the bartender and get situated by her. Plus, I doubt they'd try anything with my burly housecarla by my side. And even if they did, they wouldn't know to call attention to my cutie mark first."

“So that’s the plan, huh? I just prop you up on my shoulder and parade your cutie mark around?”

Even through her pitch-black fur, the blush on her face practically glows as she swings her head upward and lets out a Faust-tailored, “Absolutely not, you brute!”

You give a teethy smile. 

As the two of you approach the entrance, you reach out for the handle, before a sudden cacophony erupts from within the tavern. There’s grunting, squawking, and a male voice quickly approaching the door. You recede your hand and not even a moment later, the door flings open. It careens toward your face, but suddenly stops, giving you enough time to reel back.

A stallion exits the Sterncaptain. He’s a unicorn, covered from neck to hoof in metal armor, snarling under his breath. The grunting from inside is replaced with raucous, marely laughter before the occupants return to their festivities. The loudest group is talking about a recent bounty that’s gone wrong, and how they’re going to handle the contractor.

You know this because the Sterncaptain’s door hasn’t moved at all since it had first stopped inches from your face. The cyan glow enveloping the doorhandle provides all the answer you need.

Lucky blinks at her spell, wearing a face as if she herself were surprised at her own reflexes. Once she notices you looking, she clears her throat and gives you a polite, dare you say suave, smile.

“After you, my lord,” Lucky coos, half genuine, half unbearably smug.

Her first time acting like a proper gentlemare, and she’s not making it quick and painless.

You just sigh, tilt downwards to fit through the doorframe, and give her a parting, “Mmyes, quite.”

As you duck into the Sterncaptain, the gray skies and white sails of Ad Equestria are replaced with a ceiling high above and a variety of lanterns, wooden beams, and even a few pots and pans probably left hanging to dry. In the far corner of the Sterncaptain is a set of wooden stairs, leading up to the second level of the tavern. A griffon is standing guard at the stairs, and the words inscribed just beside her tells you all you need to know: ”Captains and Cohorts only.”

You immediately notice something askew with the populace. Despite what you heard outside, with the marely laughter and carrying on, the Sterncaptain is not what you’re used to: mostly female, with a few males sprinkled throughout. 

The occupants are about half male and half female. There are outliers, definitely, but the vast majority of the mares in the pub are the raucous, rough-and-tumble mares you’re used to. Even more so, given the extra potential quarry in the room. 

The males are silent. Most of them are seated against the walls or in compact groups, not bothering to respond to the common mare or griffon flirting with them. 

Some of the mares give you and Lucky a wayward glance as you enter before returning to their festivities.

Almost all of the stallions’ eyes are on you for a split second. 

You blink, but once you try to focus on any of the males, they’ve all turned back to their conversations. Maybe you imagined it.

A few windows line the far wall, providing a pristine view of the wrecked ship just outside. The bar stands on the other end of the tavern to your right. The bartender stands behind the shelf of the bar, giving the two new occupants of the Sterncaptain a curious tilt of her head.

The only other thing of note would be the bounty board on the far end of the bar. A table of two unicorns sits just in front of it, though, blocking your view.

You feel an uneasy prickle at the back of your neck as you inspect the board. Call it a gut feeling.

”This way, I suppose,” Lucky says just loud enough to float above the tumult of the Sterncaptain. She begins to walk to the bar, taking a brief moment to peer back at her flank, as if the cutie mark underneath her clothes might disappear when needed most.

You give a nod, sticking to your lady’s side silently.

A griffon suddenly bursts out laughing as the two of you are passing her table. Your eyes immediately latch onto the sleek, crescent-shaped blades attached to her side, unused and not being reached for. 

Of course, she does nothing else but return to her conversation with the other griffons at the table, so your eyes shift to the upcoming bartender. She’s a rather short mare, and the once-white button-up she wears hangs loosely off her body like drapes. Her mane is done up in a messy topknot, and jiggles as she turns her head while inspecting the two of you. She only takes three quick looks at you – your legs, your body, and your face – before returning to Lucky, where she stays until the two of you take your seats at the bar. Must’ve already gleaned she’s your lady, and the one to talk to.

As you near the bar, though, a certain scent fills your nose, almost prompting you to do a double take.

There’s the amalgamation of different alcoholic beverages assaulting your nose, sure, but what really surprises you is a particularly mouthwatering scent. 

A particularly… protein-rich scent, wafting from behind the door behind the countertop – probably the kitchen area.

Meat. And the good kind, too; not the self-cooked fish you sometimes had in Plumsteed. Steak.

“Welcome to the Sterncaptain!” the bartender pipes up, snapping you to attention. 

You put your palate aside as Lucky Favor hops up on one of the barstools. Instead of taking a seat beside her, you opt to move a stool out of the way to make room and stand beside your lady. You cross your arms against your chest, broadening your shoulders to look as big as possible. 

Not only does it help with intimidation of any would-be's, it also gives you a slightly better vantage point of the bounty board. You're able to just peek over the mares' heads to see the top half of the uppermost bounty. Nothing familiar, but you'll be keeping your eye on it.

The bartender briefly glances in your direction before addressing Lucky, now certain of your status. “I’m the place’s bartender, among other things,” she says chipperly, her horn glowing a pale lavender as she grabs a small pile of dry plates from the ceiling. “And how are you two ladies doing this fine, Ad Equestrian day?”

Lucky’s ear gives a confused flick at the unicorn’s friendliness, but she quickly straightens up in her seat and gives a polite smile. “Quite well!” she says with a nod. “Thank you for asking. And you, miss…?”

“Hummingrow,” the unicorn says pleasantly. “And judging by the look on your friend’s face, I reckon I’ll be your waitress as well as bartender tonight!”

You blink at Hummingrow’s gesture to you. Lucky, equally confused, turns her gaze back to you before returning to the grinning unicorn.

“Ah, no need to be shy,” Hummingrow says with a shrug, the plates in her telekinetic grip setting down on a cupboard just below view. “I know how carnies can get when you’re stuck around us grass-eating unicorns, but I can assure you, nopony at the Sterncaptain will give you a second glance. We actually have a cat under our employment, so we don’t get queasy about meat.” As if you had just been obscenely offended, Hummingrow suddenly rears back on her haunches and sticks her forelegs into the air in a placating manner. “Fair warning, though. It’s imported steak from Equestria. We here at the Sterncaptain can’t guarantee the prey’s insentience.”

You keep silent for a moment, unsure of how to answer. She seems… friendly. Maybe a bit too friendly, honestly. So, you’d rather keep the depth of your voice a secret for the time being. 

You're fine with being taken for a mute autist, so you simply give a noncommittal shrug and peer back over to the bounty board. It's just in time for one of the unicorns to lean back as she takes a long, hard swig of ale, revealing the board's contents.

Even if you were somewhat expecting it, you still can't control your blood as it cools a few degrees past uncomfortable.

Hummingrow seems to give up on your response the longer you remain silent, but before Lucky Favor can regain her attention, you give your lady a tap on the shoulder. She gives you a tilt of her head, and you kneel down to whisper into her ear, “Order the steak. Medium-rare. Gotta talk.”

Lucky’s cyan orbs lock with your own for a moment before she slowly gives a nod. Before you can even reach for your doit bag, though, she whispers back, “Alright, but I’m paying for it.”

You just sigh, shaking your head as you once again stand to your full height. Hummingrow, in the meanwhile, is giving the two of you an oblivious, somewhat goofy smile as she waits expectantly for a response. “Your friend doesn’t speak Ponish?” she hums innocently. “I also know Esgato, Diamond-Sobazyk, and Griffonian as well. Also speak a lick of Thestralian, though she doesn’t look like any thestral I’ve seen.”

“No, it’s not that--,” Lucky Favor says before what Hummingrow just said registers. Her ears perk up and her voice takes on an excited tone as she titters, “…Oh, that’s actually quite impressive. I’m fluent in Fancy, myself. Anyhow, my friend would like the steak, if it’s not too much trouble.”

”Steak it is! Will that be all?”

”I’m afraid so.”

”And how would you like it, miss?”

“As soon as possible, if it’s all the same to you.”

Hummingrow stays silent for a moment, as if what Lucky said didn’t compute, before giving her a tilt of her head. 

”Medium-rare,” you whisper into your lady’s ear.

Lucky gives a subtle bounce of recognition and quickly corrects herself with, “Your most medium of rares!”

“Medium-rare it is,” Hummingrow snorts in amusement as Lucky’s ears lower in embarrassment. “That’ll be five doits, miss.”

”Five doits for a slab of somepony’s flesh,” Lucky murmurs under her breath in a mix of exasperation and confusion. The purchase is made and Hummingrow sings a song to herself as she skips into the kitchen area.

Once you kneel down to your lady once again, she’s back to business. Her ear flicks up attentively and you immediately share what you know:

"You’re on the bounty board."

The attentive ear slowly falls against her skull as Lucky turns to get a look at the board, but she isn’t tall enough to peer over the crowd. "Just me?” she asks solemnly.

"Max and Riverside, too,” you murmur. 

Lucky Favor looks up to you, her eyes creased in worry. "Riverside? But nopony else should know about her. Why would she have a bounty?"

You frown as you remember a certain group of bounty hunters you thought you’d never think of again. "The hunters in Confidoit. They knew Riverside was with Max and me." 

God damnit.

They’d have to go through a Taskmaster to post any new bounties. So either they made it to Plumsteed inhumanly fast, or Red Letter is closer than you thought. 

It would’ve been better if you had made them unable to open their jaws again.

It all would’ve been better if you’d killed Red Letter.

You growl under your breath, shaking the morbid thoughts from your head. “Point is,” you mutter, “I have to get over there and take them down.”

"Are you sure?” Lucky asks. “I could take them down. I’m disguised, after all.”

You frown, rubbing the hairs on your chin. "Taking more than one bounty at a time could lead to a fight. It’s happened to me before. I don’t want to risk you.” Lucky’s cyan eyes flick down in concern, her muzzle twisted into a scrunch. Despite this, you swear you can see a hint of red on her black cheeks. “Do you still have that lie stone you showed me?”

Lucky blinks at the suggestion, maybe instinctually balking at the idea of distrusting Hummingrow, but it only lasts a moment. With a glow of her horn, the bag at her hip opens, and that fist-sized stone levitates from its innards. 

You eye the stone in her frog curiously, errantly wondering if she’s gotten any closer to getting it to work for you. 

But now’s not the time for that. With one more glance up and over the countertop, you give Lucky a confident nod. “Ask about your contact,” you remind, “And if anything seems suspicious, get that in her hooves.”

As you stand to your full height, you can feel Lucky’s eyes against your back as you start through the crowd, laser-focused on the bounty board.

As you near the board, you realize it’s decorated with the usual suspects besides your three targets. A few thieves who stole from the wrong ponies, a raider who was too careless with what prey she let go, and a sentient griffon who’s been working with the wild ones to coordinate attacks better. You’re a little peeved, not seeing Sapphire Lily up there as well, but for some reason you’ve come to expect she’d weasel her way out of her consequences. The Plumsteed housecarlatel was actually coming to claim you when you were in the Red Garden, so… are they working together?

Well, you and Lucky will be on your way to Equestria soon. So, good riddance.

…Good riddance?

So you’re letting Red Letter get away without even a broken spine?

You frown, once again pushing the thought to the back of your mind. That’s the second time you’ve thought of something like that. It might just be your nerves since Equestria is so close now.

Unfortunately, you’re distracted enough to not notice as one of the chairs’ occupants chooses that moment to suddenly kick out from the table, bucking into your side. You’re quick enough to stop it with your hand.

Your right hand.

You hiss out a curse as you roughly push the pony back into his original spot, cradling your hand to your chest.

The pony you push lets out a slurred, masculine grunt as he stumbles forward, planting his hooves into the table before him. You just cringe and continue onward, not making any effort to look back at the drunken stallion.

“Solus, you… ya’ daft dickhead!” he hiccups. The daggers the stallion is staring at you tickles your back, only making you speed up on your way. 

He’s confusing you for someone else, anyway. 

You pay the rambling stallion no mind and approach the bounty board. You habitually try to put your hands in your pockets, realize you no longer have pockets, and instead loop your thumbs through your waist belt. Your right thumb gives an ache of protest, but it soon fades away.

Unidentified Earth Pony Mare is what the bounty is titled, but the portrait of Bountiful Riverside and her puffball mane is unmistakable. Everything else, though, you could hardly recognize – the unicorn artist has accentuated her earth pony features, making her look broader, dumber, and more aggressive. That’s not the earth pony you know and love.

Lucky Favor and Max Gusto are the bounties just below Riverside’s – right next to each other, easily able to be swiped at the same time. You’re momentarily taken aback by the zeroes under Lucky’s portrait, but knowing Red Letter, it makes sense.

Thank God Tia’s not up here.

You broaden your shoulders and step closer to the board. With one more wayward glance in your peripherals, you grab Lucky and Max's bounties in one fluid motion. You hastily fold them and shove them in the makeshift pocket between the flexible wood and bull-oak of your bracer. As you’re reaching for Riverside’s bounty, though, you hear the sound of something coming at your head from behind.

You duck just before a mug of ale crashes into the bounty board where your head used to be. It smashes against Riverside’s bounty, drenching the board with orange liquid.

You snap your head to the drunken stallion from before, the magic still fizzling out from his horn. His eyes glare up at you defiantly as he nears. “You’re not Solus!” he barks, stumbling over his own hooves for a moment before regaining control. “Annnd you’re not takin’ more than one of our bounties, mare!”

The drunk stallion’s horn is set aglow again and Riverside’s bounty appears at his side in a crack of teleportation magic. You don’t give him the chance to stow it away.

The moment your left hand wraps around his horn, it’s too late for him to even yelp in surprise before your knee shoots up and slams into his chin.

Riverside’s bounty falls lazily to the ground, in stark contrast to the unceremonious tumble of the stallion. When he hits the floor, he stays still, knocked out cold.

You step over the stallion’s body and scoop up the bounty before folding it and undoing the first latch of your bracer. 

As you fold the bounty to slide it into your makeshift pocket with the others, you’re suddenly made aware of the fact that most eyes in the Sterncaptain are on you.

You’re able to quickly latch the bracer shut before you hear a thump of someone landing just behind you. You’re barely able to turn and raise your fists before what feels like a donkey buck lands on your cheek, knocking you off balance. You see a blur of orange before a warm appendage snakes around your throat and begins to squeeze. 

A mare begins to cheer in the background, and a few other mares join in the excitement. “That bitch hit a stallion!” one of them shouts.

Without any time to think, you immediately throw a right elbow at your attacker, but your arm is caught by a limb too long and slender to be a pony’s. It’s at an awkward angle, and you know fighting against it won’t do much.

However, as you quickly discover, you’re much stronger than your attacker. Your attacker, too, is caught off-guard by this, and you use the opportunity to piston your hips back, twist your body, and throw your attacker over your shoulder. His back slams into the ground as you solidify your hold of his elbow to your side.

Him. The yelp of pain confirms it. He’s a male, bipedal, tabby cat. Roughly your size, although shorter and lither. His piercing emerald eyes glare up at you with ferocity, and his fangs are bared.

The tavern is now lit alight with cheers and laughter, a “She’s a strong one, Solus!” and a “Flex your muscles, cat!” bouncing off the walls. 

You briefly think about getting into position for an armbar to make Solus submit, but ultimately decide to just get away--

It’s this brief moment of hesitation that Solus uses to extend his claws and dig them into your side.

You jolt from the sharp thwack! as his claws embed into your wooden armor and immediately make to shove him away, but Solus’ paw is glued to your side. He uses your momentum and his light weight to be pulled back up towards you, and makes a swipe at your face.

You instinctually try to block with your right hand, but the moment Solus' paw makes contact, it yields under the force. It's enough to redirect it, but not enough to stop Solus’ claws from gouging into your cheek.

“Shit!” you let out in pain. If only due to muscle memory, your right forearm snakes over his arm and you pull him into an elbow lock.

Three red-hot cinders dig into your right cheek. Solus’ eyes, though, have lost their initial ferocity. They instead stare at you like a stray caught in headlights.

For a brief moment, he only looks at you, much stiller than any angry bounty hunter would. You see his claws retract back into their pads from the corner of your eyes.

Before either of you can make a move, the susurrating hiss of a spell almost deafens you as a cyan wall of magic explodes from between the two of you. The part that touches you obviously dissipates into nothingness, but Solus is flung away from you, rolling into a defensive crouch.

You get a better look at Solus through the magical wall. He reminds you of a stray tabby cat on Earth, with his orange, messy coat and its subtle striping. He wears a brown vest over a white laced-collar shirt. A Caribbean pair of trousers that remind you of a cartoon pirate covers his legs.

“…A tom?” Solus murmurs in an accented, husky rumble. His slitted eyes flick from you to the unconscious body of the stallion, and when they return, they’re awash in confusion and concern. 

Matching the cyan wall’s glow, Lucky Favor’s horn rushes into your lower vision as your lady all but launches herself at your side, if a bit in front of you. Swindlepaw’s eyes snap into a death glare as they latch onto her, and you plant a leg between the two of them, prompting Lucky Favor to let out an annoyed huff.

The Sterncaptain, meanwhile, is bombarded with a wave of jeers and mockery.

”The unicorn’s joined the cat fight!"

”Whoever's cleaning up all that blood better get a raise."

”Quit egging them on, you dumb whorses! He's a colt, too, for Ancients' sake!"

“I'm fine,” you whisper harshly, waving your hand in Lucky’s face. “Get back to the bartender before--"

Lucky Favor doesn't comply, swerving around your hand to keep up the defensive spell and hissing back, “You most certainly are not fine!”

Swindlepaw’s eyes dance between the two of you as you and Lucky argue. As he studies Lucky even more, the hostility leaves him completely. He stands up from of his combative stance, clasping his paws together behind his back. The tip of his orange tail curls into a subtle hook as he gives a pleasant raise of his eyebrows. 

“The uppercastemare?” he purrs, although his voice has a sharp, impatient edge to it. You also detect a slight accent, although you can’t confidently place it – sounds a little like a mix between Spanish and Australian. 

Lucky gives a quiet squeak at his assessment. Her horn fizzles briefly, but the shield remains strong. At least, until Solus’ next words bring it down.

“I’d rather not speak here,” he says pleasantly, his eyes briefly scanning over the onlooking mares. Solus’ paw reaches into the hip pouch at his side and pulls out the corner of a stained parchment – just enough to show the insignia of Lucky’s inkwell and feather cutie mark.  

Your hands fall to your sides as Lucky blinks at the drawing, her mouth slowly puckering into an understanding “O” shape. Her horn slowly fizzles to nothingness, and the broiling wall of magic evaporates.

“I apologize for the…” Solus says to you, trailing off as his ears splay against his skull. His face twitches in pain, as if it were him with a gash in his forehead. “…Misunderstanding. But if you two would follow me to my captain’s suite, we can get to business. One moment, please.”

Solus begins to walk toward you, and you’re not sure if the simmering jeers of the Sterncaptain have something to do with it, but his paws make no sound with each step. He stops at the unconscious stallion’s – Onyx? – body, before bending down and scooping him up. His face is strained with effort, but he otherwise remains solid as he carries the stallion’s body over to a bewildered bartender.

Well, you personally would’ve left the drunk bastard, but whatever.

“Last time I checked I was your—” you start as you turn to Lucky Favor, but the glare on her face derails your words. Without opening her mouth, her eyes dart to your three new gashes before settling back down on you, as if awaiting an apology.

Probably worrying about you again.

”Hummingrow will see that Onyx is looked after,” Solus says at your side, passing you by. You flinch at the cat’s sudden proximity, and Lucky rears out of his path as Solus makes no move to avoid her. “If you’ll follow me, uppercastemare.”

He’s headed to the stairs guarded by two griffon. After no more than a glance his way, the guard sidesteps, giving him ample room to pass. With no other choice, the two of you follow your co-captain. 

The griffon doesn’t even glance you way as you pass her and the ”Captains and Cohorts Only” sign.

Solus’ hind paws tap down on the upper floor, revealing a whole new environment of the Sterncaptain. He makes no attempt to turn to the tables, chairs, and barrels labeled ”Denebriation Liquid” on the far end. Instead, he keeps walking straight, into a wooden corridor, the only source of light the window on the end wall. Doors line each side of the corridor, and as you and Lucky pass them, you realize each one has a gold plaque adorning its front. They read various names, each prefaced with “Captain.”

“Uppercastemare,” Solus’ voice suddenly rumbles as the three of you come to a stop. Solus stands in the same manner as before, paws clasped behind his back, tail lazily curling side to side. Just beside him is the door you can guess is his destination; labeled Captain Zephyr Gales. Muffled voices resonate from behind the door, too garbled to make out, but definitely heated. “Captain Zephyr Gales will be your captain for your voyage. If you’ll wait just a moment, I’ll get her ready for you.”

For a brief moment, Solus’ eyes flick up to you, and you swear you can see his features soften. All Lucky can do is give a confirming nod as Solus virtually breezes into the room, the voices from within briefly becoming clear before once again becoming muffled.

Lucky makes sure Solus won’t be coming back out before she lays into you, “Don’t you get uppity when I rush in to protect you, mister!”

You blink in surprise at her outburst, but otherwise remain calm. Another look at the closed door and down the corridor, and you’re able to retort with, “If I remember correctly, I’m your housecarla.”

Whatever righteous fury Lucky previously had in her eyes evaporates at those words. For a grand total of two seconds. ”Well, yes, but I’m an educated Caster!” she exclaims with a proud hoof on her chest. “And I was able to help, so I helped!”

You just shake your head, unfortunately not all that unbelieving at what your lady is saying. It's fine if she casted a spell or two from the backlines, but... why would she rush into danger like that?

”Anon, you’re not just my housecarla,” Lucky says.

Your heart leaps into your throat at those words, and whatever your retort would’ve been dies right next to it.

Lucky, too, seems to realize what she just said, but she recovers much more gracefully than you. It’s almost scary how well she does it – as if she’s had practice, and you’re just now noticing it. “You’re my friend as well,” Lucky says.

You keep silent as a sudden, inexplicable wave of melancholy washes over you as you look down at that gentle, yet vaguely disappointed smile on her face.

It isn’t love, Anonymous.

Stop thinking like that.

She wouldn’t do that to you.

Lucky gives a small, forlorn sigh as she turns back to Zephyr Gales’ door, slowly swinging a front hoof back and forth just above the ground. “We’re going to have to fix that scratch before we return to Riverside,” she murmurs.

An idea creeps into your mind – a sudden memory, really, and it’s enough to plant a smile on your face. You can’t have a forlorn, sighing lady on your last days with her, can you?

“Hey,” you grab Lucky’s attention, her wide, cyan eyes staring up at you once again. "Back when you were talking with the bartender. Did you say you're fluent in another language?"

A hint of proud excitement flashes across Lucky Favor’s face, like a child hiding their gift for you behind their back.

"Well, let's hear it," you say, sneering in a faux-uppercrust fashion. "But I'll have you know I am not so easily impressed. I, myself, am fluent in seventh-grade Spanish."

Lucky Favor giggles, even if she probably doesn't understand what you meant. "I've never had a chance to use it on our travels," she says, flicking her mane back with a ladylike smile. "But I speak and write Fancy fluently."

...Fancy?

Not really a horse pun like most of the other English equivalents in this place.

Lucky Favor clears her throat, looks you in the eye, and lets out a musical liaison of sound. To the untrained ear, it sounds something like, ”Ah shak fwah kh'tey-zyuh ronvwahy luh suley, juh muh trouv encore eyprit."

It's a lot more elegant than that, of course. 

So elegant that, against all odds, your chest blossoms with warmth that, before you can stop it, spreads up and into your face. 

Lucky Favor’s eyes widen at your reaction, so you have to quickly put a stop to that.

You blink away the inexplicable warmth on your cheeks and finally respond, "Okay, so that's French, and I refuse to believe you little fuckers call it 'Fancy.'"

Lucky harumphs out of her little mood. "Whatever do you mean?" she asks defensively. "The language is called Fancy! From the country of Fance. Français."

"You just said 'French' in French."

”You’re teasing me again, aren’t you? ‘French’ isn’t a real word!” Lucky stomps her hoof in mock frustration, but you don't miss the white gleam of her teeth through that little smile. “Well, I didn't want to bring it up since you looked so proud of yourself, but I think this 'Spanish' language of yours is complete nonsense!"

"Well, little miss, to that I say, '¿Donde está la biblioteca?'"

"That's Esgato! You are teasing me! Where do these words even come from?!"

You just smile down at your bristling lady, wordlessly enjoying the moment.

The smile immediately snaps to a neutral line as Zephyr Gales’ office door swings open, and a disgruntled pair of unicorns comes trudging out. Solus is in the doorway, trailing them with his piercing eyes as they pass you and Lucky.

One of them looks up at you as she passes, and you don’t give her a reaction. If she had anything to say, you’ll never know, as she and her partner continue down the corridor and out of sight.

”Uppercastemare,” Solus says simply, making room for the two of you to enter.

Lucky gives you one more look before she trots forward and you follow close behind into Zephyr Gales’ office. Solus’ eyes don’t leave you as you enter, and you catch him tilting his head in curiosity in your peripherals. As you pass, you swear you can hear a low purring rumbling from his chest.

You stifle the urge to shiver and enter the room.

It's a cozy, dark oak office you imagine you'd find on a pirate ship. Bookshelves, maps, and foreign memorabilia line the walls around you, and in the center of the room lays a simple oak table with two wooden chairs on one side, and an occupied leather one on the other.

In the corner of the room, held up by an ornamental and foreign stand, is a golden goblet of cyan dragon fire. 

”Kindle's stowaway?” the dark gray unicorn occupying the seat asks. You recognize her as the unicorn by the wreck of a ship outside. Lucky gives a nod, and the unicorn gestures to one of the chairs on the other side of the table as her horn glows a cool maroon. “Captain Zephyr Gales. Sit.”

As one of the many shelves making up the wall to your left is consumed in the same glow, Gales’ eyes land on you. “This is your housecarla?” she asks.

Lucky gives a nod, plopping down on the chair and scootching it closer to the table. Her cyan tail swishes side to side in repressed excitement. You approach your lady’s side and cross your arms.

“A male housecarla,” Gales mocks under her breath. “Protecting his damsel lady. Never thought I’d see the day.”

You just roll your eyes, but when they return to the scene and you realize Lucky’s tail has stopped swishing, you know what comes next.

“Captain Zephyr Gales,” Lucky says sternly, to her credit getting a raise of Gales’ eyebrows. “I can assure you, my housecarla is worth twice as much as any—”

“Oh, shut your lips already,” Gales groans, “Both pairs."

It takes Lucky a moment to realize what Zephyr means before she gives a repulsed scrunch, but otherwise stays silent. 

You can't help but snort. Maybe you'll use that one on Max someday.

A large scroll is levitated from the shelved wall. Gales brings it over the table before settling it down, giving a few mist-like sweeps of magic to flatten its folds.

Your focus on the map is cut short as tabby fur engulfs your peripheral vision. You turn to see Solus, his emerald eyes mere inches from your own as they study your face curiously. You give a nervous glare, but the cat doesn’t react to it, only reaching toward your face.

“The fuck are you doing?” you say, leaning back from Solus’ pads. Lucky’s chair creaks as she turns to inspect your interaction, but Gales doesn’t even bat an eye.

“I’m helping you clean the wound,” Solus says somberly. “Lean down so I can lick it.”

“Haha, no.”

Solus tilts his head as he lets out a confused trill. You eye the cat for a while, almost daring him to make a move, before his face changes. His eyes become lidded as a scent piques his nostrils. He sniffs the air for a moment before he turns to a confused Lucky Favor.

“Uppercastemare?” a disconnected Gales asks Lucky.

Lucky gives a brief jolt, turning between Solus and Gales. “Is he…?” is all Lucky gets out before Solus makes a move towards Lucky.

You immediately grab Solus’ arm, keeping him in his tracks. 

”Solus,” Gales sighs, “Use your words.”

Solus reaches an impatient paw towards your lady, his tail lashing in annoyance. “Give me your iuncti root,” he says. 

You blink, for a moment loosening your grip on Solus’ arm.

”Um…” Lucky hesitates, peering down at her bag. “…No?”

”Just give him the root,” Gales sighs, still preoccupied with her map. “He does this with every injured stallion. Think of him as the town father.”

An impatient warble resonates from Solus’ throat as he waves his empty paw to Lucky’s face.

Your face falls as Lucky’s horn glows. Her bag opens, and the white root levitates out. Solus snatches it from the air before turning back to you.

Lucky is dragged back into her conversation with the captain as Solus once again nears you. Without any etiquette, the cat bites off the stem of the iuncti root and begins to chew it into powdery extract, which you will not be needing.

You say “you won’t be needing” because, of course, Solus intends on using it on you, and you intend on stopping him.

Solus, of course, is completely oblivious to your annoyance. He reaches up with a paw to keep your face steady, and you once again grab his arm with your left hand to stop it. Solus gives you a confused, frustrated glare.

That last bastion of defense falters as you spot Lucky giving you a nervous look from her chair. 

If you don’t go through with this and Solus continues insisting, your lady will probably interject, and that means more trouble for her.

…Fine.

“…At least spit it out first,” you mutter, releasing Solus’ arm with a huff. “And no fucking licking.”

Solus is taken aback by your stipulation, to your utter lack of surprise and profound disappointment. “No licking,” he mutters through his full mouth, as if it were a joke he didn’t appreciate. 

Solus reaches a paw up to his mouth and the extract is dispelled into it. You tune back in to your lady’s conversation to distract yourself from your revulsion.

“It wasn’t the funnest time, getting you aboard,” Zephyr Gales says as Lucky peers over the Equestrian Sea map, obviously fighting the urge to correct her vocabulary. “Equestria is not a cultivated country, I’m sure you know. Supplies and bounty hunters are high in demand, so I needed a good excuse to rent your room on the ship, in place of somepony more important.”

Bounty hunters--?

Your thought is interrupted by what feels like cinders being sprinkled into your gash, and you let out a grunt of pain, but refuse to look at anything but the meeting. Lucky gives a brief jump at your yelp, peering back at you with concern. The hot cinders quickly cool to a minty snow before your cheek goes numb, and you give Lucky a halfhearted thumbs-up.

Lucky Favor’s eyes dance between you and Solus for a moment longer before she turns back to Zephyr Gales and repeats your thoughts, “How… many bounty hunters will be joining us on this voyage?” 

It takes Zephyr Gales not even a moment to realize what Lucky means. “You’re wanted,” she groans, shaking her head. “Of course you are. Well, that explains the larua root smell. How high priority?”

You can see Lucky Favor’s head tilting from over Solus’ furry arms, doing God knows what to your cheek.

Gales elaborates, “On a scale of ‘you stole a foal’s sweet roll’ to ‘you raped the Taskmaster’s son,’ where do you fall?”

A shock of cold anger runs through your system at her words. “Oh, fuck you,” you mutter so lowly only you could hear it.

Evidently, though, you aren’t the only one to hear your mumble.

“What does that word mean, Anonymous?” Solus speaks up as he retreats from your face. “I heard you tell me to ‘fuck off’ earlier as well. I’m unfamiliar with your tribe’s vocabulary.”

Your eyes narrow at the shorter cat, for a moment unsure of whether or not to entertain him. He lets out an innocent warble, and you cringe and turn back to the meeting between your lady and her captain. “A lot of things,” you decide on. “It’s a human word; don’t worry about it.”

”When were the bounties issued?” Zephyr Gales is asking before Solus’ words once again pull you back.

”Human,” Solus repeats under his breath, his low rumble mulling the word in his mouth. He bounces the rest of the solid iuncti root in his paw. “I’ve never heard of your tribe before. What is your home country?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you repeat.

Solus’ tail lashes and he lets out an annoyed trill. 

You turn away from Solus as you reach a hand up and pat down the wet area of your face. It no longer stings, and the iuncti root extract has dried already.

”Pure cat saliva would’ve been much less painful,” Solus says matter-of-factly. “I can only do so much by sucking on powder.”

You can’t help but let out a sarcastic snort. “Does it have magical healing properties or something?”

”Yes, obvious--” Solus begins to say before he freezes for a moment. He suddenly reaches forward and touches down on your jaw, turning your face to meet his own. You almost have to bite down the urge to slap him, but the way Solus is now looking at you is shocking enough to hold still.

As if it were the first time he’s seen you, Solus’s emerald eyes take in every detail of your face. His own reflects someone who was given a compliment they believe they didn’t deserve in the slightest. ”Is this your first time meeting a cat, kin?” he asks, his voice brimming with distinction.

For some reason, the innocent, hopeful stare he gives you cools the dull burn of apprehension to nothing.

He reminds you of a curious cat saddling up to you on Earth. Even if you aren't much of a cat person, you wouldn’t push it away.

“…Yeah,” you say with a small nod. “You’re the first, Solus Swindlepaw."

Solus blinks, stunned for a moment, before his paw retracts from your face ever so slightly. A low purr escapes from his chest.

Yeah, you’re never going to get used to that.

You give Solus an awkward smile – more of a scrunch and a raise of your eyebrows than smile, really – and turn back to Zephyr Gales and Lucky. 

“Well, the uppercastes always were luckier than the lower ones,” the captain muses. Her mood seems to have improved, likely from the two reaching an understanding. “I’d say you just managed to squeeze by. Any bounty hunters looking for you won’t have any business on a voyage to another continent. And since your bounty hasn’t spread transoceanic, you and your housecarla won’t have any problems on my ship.”

Lucky gives a smile and a nod, but it’s short lived. Her forehooves begin to tap against each other as she says, “It isn’t just my housecarla and me. There are two others who’ll be joining us.” 

Zephyr Gales’ face twitches, but the pleasant smile on her face remains. “They’ll be sharing a room with you, of course. Their tribes?”

Lucky blinks at the peculiar question. You can’t say you’re any better –Ad Equestria is no doubt a unicorn city, but it’s far more diverse than any other. 

“An earth pony,” Lucky begins, prompting Gales to give a nod and a faint smile, until your lady finishes, “Along with a pegasus.”

Zephyr Gales’ mood drops like an anchor. Even you feel the room’s temperature drop a few degrees at the look she’s giving Lucky.

Lucky’s front hooves freeze against her chest and her ears perk up like a rabbit’s. 

“Since you’re so used to sticking your snout high, uppercastemare,” Gales says, her tone even, although you recognize the effort she’s putting into it. “I’m sure you’ve had no trouble seeing the weather outside, right?”

Lucky blinks owlishly before giving a hesitant nod.

”Do you think those gray clouds are there for decoration?” Gales asks. “The griffons out there are enjoying the cool breeze?”

Lucky’s eyes flick down as a thought enters her mind. “Sky thieves?” she asks.

”I wish they were sky thieves!” Gales stares daggers at Lucky Favor for a moment, and you take a step away from Solus and toward the commotion. Gales’ furious eyes turn to your own, daring ones. It takes a moment, but Gales finally lets out a long sigh, collapsing back into her seat. A forehoof begins to trail along the scar on her jawline. “Sky thieves are easy to take care of... The pegasi above us are organized. They’re angry at the landlubbers in Equestria chaining up one of their sky villages, or something of that affair. And their response is that ugly carcass of a ship outside. Supplies stolen, ten mares and two griffons killed, and a stallion foalnapped. Captain was killed, too. Couldn’t even risk a burial at sea. Sky raiders are what they are, uppercastemare. Not sky thieves.” 

Gales’ maroon eyes narrow at a stunned Lucky Favor before they become exasperated and she lets out a sigh. “…Look,” she says. “I’m being paid a lot of doits to get you onboard. I initially wasn’t told about your housecarla until Kindle informed me—”

Kindle? Wasn’t he only supposed to draw Lucky’s cutie mark?

Your eyes flick to the dragon fire goblet in the corner of the room once more, but you decide against speaking out.

”—and an extra earth pony,” Gales continues, “I can get aboard. But a sky rat? Why the buck’re you traveling with a sky rat? Where’s her sky village she can use to sky-bucking-fly across the ocean?”

Lucky’s eyes narrow more and more as Gales continues talking. 

”Do you know what could happen if somepony finds her?” Gales murmurs lowly. “If somepony finds you’ve been keeping a sky rat onboard in secret, they’ll have your head. They’ll have mine!”

“My friend is not like that,” Lucky Favor says, her voice cold steel. “She is not a sky raider.”

Gales lets out a sardonic chuckle. “Should that be what’s told to the grieving families? Not all sky raiders are like that?”

”My friend is not a sky raider.” Lucky’s forehooves dig into the table as she stands on her forelegs, glowering at Zephyr Gales. “She’s--…” 

Lucky Favor’s voice becomes quiet as she’s once again pulled into her thoughts, but it’s only for a moment. “She… has no connections to any sky village. She isn't allied with them."

Zephyr Gales is unphased but doesn’t interrupt Lucky.

”She was captured by a group of raiders,” your lady continues, glaring at the memory. “My housecarla and I were as well. If it wasn’t for her, we wouldn’t have escaped.”

Zephyr Gales’ eyes flick to Solus’ direction at the mention of raiders, but they quickly return to Lucky.

You follow her gaze to see that Solus is looking at you with a saddened, tired expression. He’s lost in his mind for a moment, but when he comes to and realizes you’re looking at him, he gives a low chirrup as he turns back to the meeting.

Lucky Favor’s horn erupts into a cyan dance as the bag at her side is opened and the lie stone flies onto the table. “This is something I’ve been working on,” Lucky says, shoving it into Gales’ chest. “It can detect dishonesty. Go ahead, test it! Feel the magical signature!”

Zephyr Gales regards Lucky Favor for hour-long seconds. She, herself, is deep in thought as she finally decides to grip the stone and mutter a lie too quiet for you to hear. Sure enough, the rock’s center begins to glow a brilliant orange-red. 

Zephyr Gales holds the stone tightly, her eyes examining it, probably feeling the “magical signature” and scrutinizing its authenticity. The moment she looks appeased, Lucky magics the stone from Gales’ hooves and into her own.

She holds the stone directly in front of herself, glaring at Zephyr Gales as she announces, “My pegasus friend is a good mare. She knows nothing about whatever’s happening in Equestria, and she will never be a sky raider.”

The lie stone’s cold, gray exterior looks pathetic when in front of Lucky Favor’s furious cyan eyes. 

Zephyr Gales stays silent, her expression becoming annoyed as she shakes her head in exasperation.

“Your pegasus’ character doesn’t excuse the wings on her side,” Zephyr Gales says. Lucky Favor looks like she’s going to scream until Gales holds up a hoof and continues, “How can you guarantee somepony won’t stumble upon a pegasus in your room and contact a guard? Or, worse, decide to fight her herself?”

Lucky lowers back into her seat, placing the lie stone back into her pouch. You almost experience whiplash from how furious she was a few moments ago, to how familiarly meek she appears now, once again tapping her forehooves together. 

”What if she doesn’t have to hide?” Lucky asks.

Gales’ expression becomes even more deadened, but she doesn’t say anything to interrupt.

”She’s our cloudpusher,” Lucky explains, slowly nodding to herself as the idea begins to blossom. “She scouted for us. She helped disguise us by manipulating the weather. Maybe she could do the same for your ship?”

Gales’ eyebrow twitches upwards, but beyond that, nothing.

”She could help keep a look-out for sky raiders,” Lucky says, an emboldened smile creeping onto her lips. “They’d only see a pegasus at a distance and would confuse her as their own. She could help disguise your ship with fog, or push it along with wind, or help with storms.”

Lucky ends her statement with a triumphant squee, but once the indifferent expression of Gales catches her eye, she settles back down into her seat.

Movement from your side catches your eye, and you peek to find Solus crossing his arms, a bemused frown on his face. 

You’re having a hard time keeping a smile off your own.

Finally, Zephyr Gales lets out a thin-lipped sigh. “Despite all of her help,” she begins, Lucky’s face twitching with horror, “There’s still the matter of informing the sky guards and the other sailors. And, not to mention…”

Gales’ voice trails off at the end of that last sentence as she just rubs her temples together, frowning down at the map on her table.

”…the paperwork,” Gales decides on saying, obviously mincing her words to something unrecognizable.

”…How much are you paying your cloudpusher for her services?” Gales finally mutters, swinging her head back to look at Lucky earnestly. 

Lucky Favor’s response is a nervous smile.

Gales just shakes her head in a kind of disappointment in herself for no longer being disappointed. “The pegasus works for free,” she says definitively.

It takes a moment for Lucky Favor, and you, truth be told; to realize what she’s implying.

”If she works for me, she works for free,” Gales says sternly, pointing a hoof at Lucky Favor. “I’m not paying a sky rat with my hard-earned doits. She can consider her room and food her payment.”

”She’s allowed onboard?” Lucky asks, breathless.

”I don’t like it, and it’s more work for me, but…” Gales sighs, once again shaking her head in disbelief. “…Unfortunately, I am getting paid enough for this shit. Fine.”

Lucky tries to control herself, but it unfortunately has the adverse effect of making her look like a squirming, grinning psychopath.

Still, it’s cute in a way.

”Thank you, Captain Zephyr Gales,” Lucky says in earnest. “She’s a great pony. You won’t regret this.”

”Make sure I don’t,” Gales says. “My ship is the Augusta Steed. It departs at the end of the week. Stay still for a moment.”

Lucky Favor blinks as Gales’ maroon magic engulfs the collar of her shirt. She gives a quick yelp as the magic snips the small portion of fabric from the shirt, quickly hovering away from Lucky and over Gales’ head.

”What’re you doing?” Lucky asks apprehensively. “And this shirt was a gift!”

”Making it easier to contact you,” Gales says, completely ignoring Lucky’s distress as the small flab of fabric floats over to the dragon fire goblet. Gales closes her eyes in concentration as she hovers the fabric over the fire, and for a brief moment, the dragon fire’s tongues of flame become maroon, painting the room in a dark ember. Lucky’s cyan orbs widen in the darkness before the room returns to its original lighting.

”There,” Gales says, a bit smug as the unharmed fabric is levitated back to Lucky Favor. “Now whenever we need to send you something, we can do it via dragon fire. Just keep wearing that shirt. If you can stand wearing the same thing for more than a day.”

”What if we need to contact you?” Lucky asks as the fabric returns to the missing collar piece, magically sewing back into place.

The maroon mist of magic around Lucky’s collar swirls upwards and gives her a condescending pat on her cheek. “You don’t,” Zephyr Gales says coldly. “You just sit tight and be a good little uppercastemare until the Augusta Steed departs. And if you’re caught and you tell anypony I allowed four stowaways, including a sky rat, onto my ship, I’ll kill you myself. If you're already dead by then, I'll kill whoever's been sending me the mounds of doits to get you across safely."

”Oh,” Lucky mutters, pressing a hoof to her collar. About the same time the thought enters your mind, Lucky Favor reflects it, “So… do you know a good place we could stay until the ship departs?”

Shit… You might have to camp outside again. You don’t want her spending so much money.

”I have property in Ad Equestria,” Solus pipes up, giving Lucky a start. You whip to the cat at your side, your eyebrows raised. “They can stay there.”

”Solussss,” Gales groans, hanging her head in defeat. “I bought you that property for you to sleep in.”

Solus frowns at Gales in the same manner you’d frown at Lucky sometimes. You’d be tempted to chuckle at the display, if you weren’t busy wondering what the Hell Solus is on about.

”It isn't far from here,” he elaborates, completely missing the point of your and Lucky’s stares. “It will house your group until the Augusta sets sail.”

You take the opportunity to cut in with a simple, “Why?”

Solus’ eyes meet your own, and for a moment, they reflect that same sad empathy you saw in them earlier.

It lasts only a moment, though. “Can I have that stone, uppercastemare?” Solus says, snapping a paw out towards your lady. Lucky blinks, confused, before complying. He impatiently waves his pads at her before the stone settles into his paw. He holds it in front of him, as if inspecting a rare diamond, before turning to Lucky Favor. “You will be safe in my property. I will make sure of it.”

The stone doesn’t change its color, reflecting the same coldness of Solus’ eyes as he says it.

You blink, turning back to your lady. Lucky Favor taps her hooves together, giving you an unsure look as well.

“Think of him as the town father,” Zephyr Gales sighs, her horn glowing as another shelf is opened from the wall. “You can trust him."

Solus’ lips twitch into a smile as he hands you the stone. You take it, weighing it in your hand as if to gauge any dishonesty that might trickle through. Sure enough, nothing happens.

You turn back to the scene to see Zephyr Gales writing something down on a small parchment. She doesn’t even look at what she’s writing, only muttering something about ungrateful colts under her breath as she finishes up. She magics the paper into Lucky’s chest with enough force to push her back an inch or so.

"Directions," she says simply, waving her hoof. "Is there anything else, uppercastemare?"

Lucky shakes her head, levitating the paper in front of her face. "I believe that's it," she says. "Thank you, Captain Zephyr Gales."

"Your pegasus friend better be worth the trouble," Gales says. "Go on, now."

Lucky Favor gives another smile and nod before clopping down from her perch. She gives you a wide grin as she canters up to you, gesturing the two of you should leave. You can't help but return her smile.

Lucky's magic engulfs the doorknob, but before she's able to pull it open, Solus' paw clamps down on it and the cat opens it for her.

"Oh!" she squeaks, looking between Solus and you. "Um, my deepest gratitude, Sir Solus Swindlepaw." She gives him a smile and bow before trotting through the threshold. As she passes, Solus drops the rest of the iuncti root onto her back. She lets out a squeak, peering back at her withers.

You begin to follow your lady, but something nags you enough to keep from walking through the door.

You turn to Solus, trying to scrutinize him for any dishonesty, but all you find is an earnest smile on his face.

You toss the stone into Solus' furry chest, and his reflexes kick in, catching it before it even makes contact. He blinks, letting out a confused trill.

“Why are you helping us?" you ask sternly.

From behind Solus, you can see how Gales peaks up from her desk, her ears perked. Solus' tail curls in confusion at your question.

“I saw a fellow tomkin in need," he says. 

The rock stays cold and gray in his paws, no matter how hot your stare on it is.

"Anonymous?" Lucky Favor calls from down the corridor.

You let out a short hum, holding your hand out. Solus drops the stone into your palm, giving you a small smile.

"Okay then," you murmur. 

As you turn away from Captain Zephyr Gales' office and follow your lady, you don't miss the low purr emanating from behind you.








She’s late.

This is the common thought that permeates throughout the stuffy, crowded cavern like a mist. Almost as much as the stench of fur, dirt, and magical residue. 

Your female crewmates murmur amongst themselves, griffons speaking in your native tongue while the unicorns and earth ponies speculate on what’s happened to your captain. The male crewmates stay silent, of course, although you can smell their adrenaline in the air, and hear how their hackles raise against their neck. Especially annoying, when considering how short notice everything has been. 

For Bastet’s sake, our departure is set for the end of the week. The captain couldn’t have given you some time to prepare before she fired that letter?

Your claws grip tighter around your spear as you let out an annoyed cluck. You hate it when they’re late. It could mean a number of things, but none of them make sense for an organized emergency meeting by your captain.

Your mark bailed. There’s been a change of plans. They’re mounting an ambush.

Last time it was an ambush.

You scrunch and stretch your beak at the memory, the crack between your nares stinging from the movement. A parting present from the last pegasus ambush outside Ad Equestria. Little rats can buck, that’s for sure.

Still, it isn’t your new scar that makes you so irked about the whole thing. Truth be told, you were wishing for some excitement during your last housecarlatel job, so it wasn’t the fight itself. 

It was the tears in your son’s eyes as he fret over your condition that has you bitter over the whole thing.

Cocking half-breeds. Only use for a pegasus is a cooked meal.

…Of course, you’re just as much of an idiot for what you did after.

Finally, you hear what you’ve been waiting for. Three melodic thumps against the dirt wall of the cavern. The earth pony stallion standing at the wall reacts, burying his hooves into the ground. Moments later, the wall of soil parts in two, letting the pony of the hour enter.

”Captain Zephyr Gales!” one of the mares yells out, and the cavern’s atmosphere changes.

Some of the mares jeer at Gales; for taking her sweet time, for calling this emergency meeting on such short notice, for her sour attitude. Really, a whole slew of things. The rest of the females just wait patiently for the captain to enter the room, her feline co-captain not leaving her side.

The scent around the females changes as Solus Swindlepaw enters the cavern, and you scrunch in disgust. Not as strong as it would’ve been if their Y-7 glands weren’t engaged, but the cat in you can still smell it. Especially when the lady at your side is the worst offender.

You reach with a talon and give your lady a flick upside her head. The unicorn frowns at you, but otherwise stays silent.

Gales’ horn glows a cool maroon before her augmented voice rings over the crowd, “Let’s get started, then.”

”Wait, what the buck?!” a mare yells out from the crowd. “You’re not going to explain why it took you so long?! Or why the buck’re we all here on such short notice?!”

The room erupts in a miasma of affirmations and jeering. Gales doesn’t react to it, hopping up on the elevated dirt mound in the front of the cavern. Solus takes his place on the wall behind her, the tapetum lucida of his eyes shining a pale white as he eyes the crew. His tail begins to lash side to side, but he doesn’t say a word.

”Were you talking with the Marestroes?!” another mare shouts out, followed by another wave of jeers.

Throughout all of this, the males of the cavern stay silent. The salty musk of their fear has worn off, and their heartbeats are calm.

Zephyr Gales eyes the crew with a cool gaze until the cavern settles into silence. Her augmented voice bounces off the walls as she calmly explains, “That is the dumbest question I’ve ever heard, Clear Skies.”

Clear Skies shoots off a retort, but it’s lost in the chaos of paranoid crewmates seconding her notion and the more levelheaded once laughing at her misfortune.

”My arrival took longer than expected because we ran into trouble,” Zephyr Gales says, adjusting her coat with a shrug of her shoulders. “But it’s been dealt with. We’re not compromised, and the Marestroes don’t know about this meeting. Like always.” The sounds of your crewmates echoing in cavern soon die down to let Gales speak. Gales looks down at the stack of parchments between her hooves, her horn glowing. The parchments are levitated into a neat fan as she inspects them. “I trust you’ve all signed the contract?”

Affirmative murmuring laces the cavern once again.

It was a routine magical contract, the one everyone had to sign before entering. Basically denoting that if the crew spoke of anything pertaining to this meeting, to anypony outside of this meeting, there would be consequences. The same magical contract you and your lady have had to sign every time you’ve met with the crew of an unlawful ship like the Augusta Steed.

Though, this one had a stipulation that confused you when you first saw it. 

”You will not speak when commanded to stay silent.”

A little bizarre, then, how Gales hasn’t once told the jeering crewmembers to be silent.

”Good,” Gales murmurs, the contracts settling down once again. “Then let’s get this over with.”

Solus’ gaze scans the crowd as Gales speaks, and you recognize the predatory slits his irises have become. Your claws grip your spear tighter.

”Who is my representative for the Sainte Augustian Port?” Zephyr Gales asks, and immediately a hoof shoots up from the crowd. “I trust the Equestrians will overlook the dispute in numbers?”

”I have it in writing,” the representative confirms. 

”Well, I hope the ink hasn’t dried. There will be four extra passengers, as opposed to the agreed upon two.”

”It can be done, but they’ll expect the appropriate pay increase.”

”Of course they would. Talk with me after the new deal is struck.”

You settle back onto your haunches, your mind becoming dull from all the business-talk. Zephyr Gales checks with the rest of the Equestrian sector, adjusting her bribes as required and seeing what sectors she can get away with not paying. She soon speaks with your lady, asking about Plumsteed’s share of the proceeds, and that’s when you tune out.

Your mind drifts back to your home, and a smile twitches at your beak. It looks like this is going to be a boring housecarlatel job. 

Good. 

It still hurts to think of the face of your son when you’d come home after the botched job. You can still remember how he cried when you were telling him about the rush of it all. You couldn’t help it; you wanted to encourage him to embrace traditional Griffonian values. But the sight of your son’s tears snapped you out of it.

Your parents were right. You did have him too young. You needed more time to mature into the mother he deserves.

It looks like this is your chance. A few more housecarlatel jobs – hopefully as uneventful as this one is shaping out to be – and you’ll be able to get him out of that hole you unfortunately call home.

You’re going to spoil that little chick. You just need the doits.

”…Which brings me to my closing statement,” Gales finishes her meandering, bringing you back to attention. “Crewmates, I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here alongside your Equestrian counterparts. You’re also wondering why I’ve called this emergency meeting on such short notice, when there are six other nights I could’ve called it before we depart.”

The female crewmates begin to murmur, shuffling in their seats. Even your lady’s ears have perked.

Movement from Solus catches your eye. His eyes have narrowed into an authoritarian glare as he gives one of the stallions in the crowd a single, raised pad. The stallion seems to melt in his seat at Solus’ gesture, hanging his head. Solus’ eyes glare at each of the stallions in the crowd individually, keeping that singular pad raised. When he finishes, he lowers his paw back to his chest, folding his arms.

”As you all know, there was a new stipulation on your magical contracts,” Gales says, perking your ears. “I will now put this stipulation into place. None of you may speak until the meeting is over, starting now.”

The tingle of ambient magic sizzling in your throat makes you jump in surprise. The rest of the crew doesn’t fare much better.

It feels as if Zephyr Gales glares each one of you in the eyes. She might as well have, with how long she lets the silence hang in the cavern, and how her maroon eyes briefly flick to your own, before she finally continues, “Four new stowaways will be joining us on our departure. An unicorn, an earth pony, and a human.”

If it wasn’t for the magical contract, you’re certain the grotto would be set alight with questions and muttering. You would probably be engaging in it yourself.

Human. You think you might’ve heard something about a human in the Plumsteed Housecarlatel, but as far as you know, he switched to freelance bounty hunting.

As Zephyr Gales hesitates to continue, Solus’ eyes darken. The cat’s tail becomes deathly still as he glares at the occupants of the cave, daring them to speak up.

”The fourth,” Zephyr Gales says with conviction – too much, you realize. “Is a pegasus.”

Your blood freezes as memories of your mate’s dying breath assaults your mind. 

You let out a low, animalistic growl, even against the rising heat of the ambient magic in your beak.

”A sky rat?!” a voice just beside you inevitably speaks up. “Why could you allow--?!”

You clamp your talon over your lady’s muzzle, but it’s too late.

Gales’ face snaps to your lady before she can finish her question. The glowing of a broken magical contract from below accentuates Gales’ face as it twists into a murderous glare – a glare too fierce for you to expect from her wrinkled, tired face. Her horn glows a Tartarus-like maroon as she keeps deathly silent, daring your lady to speak again.

Gales lets silence reign once again, replacing the incredulous atmosphere of the crewmates with her venomous glare. For a long time it stays that way. Your lady seems to shrink in her seat as you wish for Bastet to strike you with sudden, inexplicable death.

”That will be all,” Zephyr Gales finally says, lifting the weight from your stomach. “This meeting is over. You may all speak once you’ve exited the grotto. Shoreline and her housecarla, you stay.”

The grotto fills with the sounds of rustling fur, armor, and weapons as your crewmates shuffle out of their dirt seats. The wall of the grotto is once again earthpushed to the side, letting the occupants file out. When all is done, only the male earth pony at the wall remains, staring straight ahead.

”Come,” Zephyr Gales commands as her horn disengages the augmentation spell. She hops down from the mound and sits on her haunches, waiting for you and Shoreline to approach. Solus, meanwhile, doesn’t move a limb.

Your lady doesn’t seem to be numb like you as you follow her to Zephyr Gales. The captain’s eyes stay trained on Shoreline, not once glancing to you. Only Solus looks you in the eyes, as a sign of halfkin acknowledgement, maybe.

”Speak,” Zephyr says, and your lady doesn’t hesitate.

”A sky rat!” Shoreline barks the moment the magical contract is lifted. Your grip on your spear holds firm as you sit at your lady’s side, unsure of what to say, or if you even should. “A sky rat! How callous can you be?!”

Zephyr Gales raises an eyebrow. “Callous?” she asks. “That’s a new one.”

”I don’t believe that for a second. The sea sun must’ve fried your brains, Zephyr Gales, because you obviously don’t give a buck about your crew.” Shoreline’s predatory eyes could give a griffon a run for her money.

”You’re well paid and housed. You spend your time aboard one of the most luxurious ships in Ad Equestria. You’re protected by the finest sky guards money can buy. How do I not care for you?”

”By bringing that--…” Shoreline’s anger boils over, and she has to close her eyes for a moment. The redness in her face eventually subsides as she takes a deep breath, returning to Gales with a cool gaze. “You are bringing the enemy onboard, Zephyr Gales. You are inviting a sky raider to the place where your crew eats and sleeps.”

”She’s not a sky raider, Shoreline.”

”You know, it’s that exact same bucking thought that resulted in the Dianthus Rosa’s fate. How many mares were killed? Griffons? Stallions?”

You close your eyes as another memory threatens to bring you to tears. You take a deep breath in through your nares before letting it out silently and somberly. 

”They found that sky raider in the sea,” Shoreline mutters, “And she brought her friends to kill and rob her saviors. My friends were on that ship, Zephyr Gales. And you’re letting a pegasus onboard because you think she’s not a sky raider?”

”No,” Zephyr Gales replies coolly, “I’m letting her onboard because I’m being paid to. And she’ll be helping us.”

Shoreline is too busy gawking to think of a reply, so Gales continues, “She’ll be our cloudpusher. She’ll help us scout ahead for sky raiders. She’ll provide wind support to get us to Equestria quicker. She’ll shroud us in mist and help with dissuading storms. You might not remember, coming from Plumsteed, but I was here when the first griffon was welcomed aboard one of our ships, and now look at them.”

”You’re insane,” Shoreline mutters coldly. “You really believe she’s not a sky raider.”

Gales frowns. “You’re more than welcome to scurry back to Plumsteed. But you won’t get paid.”

You have to hide the panic on your face, but the scent of your fear is not able to be so easily controlled. Solus gives an errant sniff before his emerald eyes latch onto you. You avoid his gaze, keeping your eyes straight ahead.

You need the doits.

Your son needs the doits.

Shoreline shakes her head slowly at Zephyr Gales, but the sound of your claw tapping fearfully against your spear perks her ears. You send a curse to Bastet at your inability to keep calm. Shoreline turns to you, her eyes deep in thought.

”Is that earthpusher employed by you?” Shoreline suddenly asks, tilting her head to the sole other pony in the room.

”He’s employed by whoever’s in need of a secret cave,” Gales responds. “He’s magically contracted to not say anything about what happens down here. Are you thinking of doing something stupid, Shoreline?”

Shoreline frowns, shaking her head at the ground. You can see a glint in her eyes as she gives you one more sideways glance before she faces Gales. “I didn’t want to do this to you, Gales,” she says, her horn glowing.

Zephyr Gales gives a flick of her ear, and Solus’ claws extend out of his pads. You stand tall, reminding your halfkin of the spear in your talon as you bump the butt of its handle against the ground. Solus’ eyes glimmer a deathly white as he regards you coldly.

Instead of attacking, though, Shoreline’s hip pouch is opened with magic. Five scrolls levitate from its innards, and your lady places them each on the ground between Shoreline and Gales. The captain narrows her eyes and gives another flick of her ear, this time out of confusion.

With a whisp of magic, each of the scrolls unroll to reveal the bounties on their faces.

Zephyr Gales’ face becomes cold and expressionless.

You tilt your head at the five bounties on the ground. From Zephyr Gales’ sudden change in expression and the pegasus on one of them, you glean that these are the four stowaways that will be boarding the Augusta Steed. The pegasus, earth pony, unicorn, and human.

Though, when your eyes land on the fifth bounty, your stomach churns in disgust and confusion. It’s a white silhouette of a filly, that much is sure, but what confuses you is the unnatural combination of both wings and a horn.

As much as you want to call it an abomination… you can’t help but think of your son as you look into the filly’s eyes.

”Bastard,” they called him. “Bastard raised by a griffon who couldn’t protect her mate.”

”I know they have bounties on them,” Zephyr Gales growls, shaking her head in disappointment. “This is possibly the dumbest betrayal I’ve ever had the displeasure of experiencing. That… thing isn’t even one of them.” Gales reaches a hoof forward and flicks the bizarre portrait of the filly back to Shoreline’s hooves.

”They didn’t tell you?” Shoreline asks, a hint of a smile appearing on her face. “Of course they didn’t. Red Letter said they’d keep it a secret.”

”I don’t care about what invisible, imaginary mutants my stowaways take to Equestria. I only care that they pay me to do it. What are you trying to do, Shoreline?” 

“I’m trying to save you from killing more mares, but it looks like I’ll have to twist your foreleg to do it.” Shoreline takes another deep breath through her nostrils and exhales. When her eyes open, they’re cold and resolute. “Taskmaster Red Letter is in Ad Equestria.”

Zephyr Gales freezes.

Even Solus gives a reaction – the paw at his side slowly cups his hip pouch, as if making sure it was still there. 

”Your human friend, ‘Anonymous,’ is important to her,” Shoreline says. “The uppercastemare, 'Lucky Favor,' too. The pegasus, Max Gusto, caused a cave-in, trapping the Red Garden in the ground and killing its alphamare. And the earth pony roughed up a few bounty hunters in Marketstead Confidoit.”

”Confidoit?” Zephyr Gales suddenly interjects. She turns away from Shoreline to Solus. “The bounty hunters from Confidoit. Those were the ones giving us trouble tonight.”

Shoreline bristles at Gales’ disinterest in her and her glare deepens. Instead of focusing it on Gales, though, her eyes are aimed at Solus. “I also know your co-captain is of interest to the Sainte Augusta bounty hunting guild.”

Solus’ eyes widen as his ears lower to his skull. You recognize the look on his face, but you can’t place it.

Gales’ head whips back to Shoreline, a look of hatred morphing her from the familiar unicorn. “Shut up,” she snaps. “He’s done nothing but good since Equestria.”

Shoreline’s horn glows, and one more bounty levitates from her bag. As she unrolls it, you see a rendition of Solus Swindlepaw you can’t correlate with the well-dressed halfkin before you. His mane is disheveled and mangy, littered with clots and dried blood. His eyes are sunken and lifeless. On his collarbone, just visible before the portrait cuts off, is the burnt insignia of an Equestrian raider gang.

”I’m going to make you a deal,” Shoreline mutters. Gales’ eyes are still latched onto Solus’ bounty, but her ears swivel to your lady’s direction. “You will chain that sky rat up and send her to the depths of the ocean the moment Ad Equestria is out of sight. Tell whatever story you want to the other stowaways – I’ll corroborate as a witness, if you want. You will pay my housecarla one thousand doits to keep silent about this to the townsponies.” You blink as a warm feeling overcomes your chest, but your lady is too busy laying into Gales to notice. “You do that, and I won’t teleport these bounties to Red Letter, along with the information of what ship they’ll be on.” 

Gales gives Shoreline an unreadable expression. Shoreline takes it as a challenge, and immediately snaps with, “I don’t need to use your bucking dragon fire – I know where she is, and I can teleport the bounties to her right now!”

Zephyr Gales’ face stays frozen in that sickly, rage-filled expression since the mention of Solus’ past. You shift uncomfortably in your feathers.

You hate this.

Betrayal is half-breed levels of low.

The thought of betrayal reminds you of your son’s face when you talked about your fight with the pegasi, using words like “exhilarating,” “honorable,” and “alive.” As he looked you in the eyes and said he didn’t care about Griffonian tradition, he only wanted his mom to come back home okay.

It stings your eyes to see Captain Zephyr Gales, the mare technically responsible for lining your pockets with doits, being put in this position.

Despite this, though… you still need the doits.

One thousand is enough to get your son out of that hole and finally move somewhere better.

Bastet forgive you…

Just take the damn deal, Zephyr Gales.

Gales’ maroon eyes finally meet your lady’s. She stays silent for a long while until she peers over Shoreline’s shoulder to call out to the earthpusher, “Nothing escapes this room,” she reminds the stallion.

The earthpusher gives a silent nod, looking away from the meeting.

Shoreline lets a tentative smile come across her face. You realize you’ve been holding your breath, and let it out of your snares in a long, drawn out sigh. 

Thank you…

”Solus,” Zephyr Gales commands. “Give Shoreline’s housecarla her payment.”

Solus nods, eerily silent. He detaches the bag at his side and holds it in both paws as he approaches you.

You catch a whiff of something that puzzles you. Magical residue, long deadened and passive.

Zephyr Gales pushes off the ground and gets to her hooves. She hops back onto the mound of dirt and sits, looking down at the magical contracts wordlessly. 

You hold out a talon for Solus. “Thank you, halfkin,” you say softly. “And I’m sorry.”

Solus doesn’t respond, only dropping the bag into your outstretched talon. You immediately realize something is wrong once it touches your claw.

It doesn’t feel like doits. It doesn’t sound like doits. Two cylindrical objects clutter against each other from within the bag, and the stench of dried blood invades your nares.

You drop the bag out of shock, and its innards rolls out onto the dirt floor. A few dots of fresh blood drop from the ends of the horns, letting out a low whimper of dead ambient magic. Your lady’s face blanches to a snow white hue.

A sound that could only be described as thin bones being chattered against each other perks your ears.

You numbly turn your head back up to Solus to see two predatory slits glinting at you through the darkness. It’s a cold, emotionless stare he’s giving to the two of you, his tapetum lucida glinting in a deathly white sheen.

The sound is coming from his mouth. He’s chattering his fangs together.

”Your payment,” Zephyr Gales murmurs from her dirt mound, glaring at the two of you with unapologetic mirth. “Provided by the last duo of bounty hunters who tried to come after my stowaways.”

Your grip on your spear is already ironclad, so you have no trouble thrusting it at Solus. Your lady’s horn erupts into a magical glow.

The halfkin moves quicker than your eye can catch; next thing you know, your spear lets out a sickening crack of wood breaking against flesh. 

Solus broke your spear before Shoreline even casted her spell, but even after she does, it’s useless.

You don’t know how he dodges it; how his reaction could be so lightning quick. All you know is that you feel a paw digging into your throat, and you’re thrusted onto your back. 

Your lady lets out the beginning of a scream, but it’s quickly distorted into a wet gurgle. Solus immediately switches his attention to you.

“STOP!” you scream out, but Solus only presses his pad deeper into your throat. His emerald eyes stare coldly down at you, freezing you in place. All you know of your lady are the sounds of Shoreline gurgling and gasping for air, thrashing against the ground just a few cubits away.

“I--!” you gasp, clawing at Solus’ arm as you begin to feel pinpricks dig into your throat. He grabs your talons with his free paw, now drenched in blood. “Please, halfkin! I needed the doits! I-I won’t tell-- grk!”

Solus’ claws draw blood. He gives an annoyed trill as your thick fur stops him from piercing your jugular. Shoreline stops struggling, letting out a few more splutters and gasps drowned in blood.

“Please, halfkin!” you beg, holding onto his arm. “Please, I have a family! I needed the money to save my son!”

Solus’ claws stop.

It takes you a while to notice this. Your eyes are clenched shut and all your focus is on your breathing as you paw at Solus’ arm pathetically.

“At least send-- ghk…” you sputter, tears stinging your eyes. “At least send my doits to him… I’ll write where to send it… Please…”

You wheeze and gurgle, creaking your eyes open to come face to face with Solus.

That’s when you’re able to make the connection.

His face looks so familiar because it’s the same face you saw on your son.

But your son’s eyes were so much sadder. What you see in Solus’ eyes, you can’t even imagine what you could’ve done to your son to elicit. The sadness is still evident in Solus’ eyes, somewhere in the back of his psyche, but it’s being strangled and pushed down by white-hot anger.

…No.

No, you can’t let a thousand doits be the last your son has of you.

You want to see him again.

“Please, halfkin…” you whimper. “I just want to see my son.”

For what feels like hours, nothing happens. The earthpusher continues to stare ahead, if his silence is any indication. Zephyr Gales also remains wordless. It’s only you and Solus Swindlepaw.

Solus’ claws rescind from your throat, but his grip remains. They briefly tighten again, as if he chose to instead strangle you, but it only lasts for a moment. The rage on Solus’ face slowly cools, ending up as a well-practice façade of calm. At last, his grip releases from your throat.

Solus’ other paw, still splattered with Shoreline’s blood, comes into view. It’s gripping a bag of doits, you recognize, as he drops it on your chest with a muffled, hefty jingle.

“If my tomkin ever see you in Ad Equestria again,” Solus murmurs in a husky rumble, freezing you in place. “I’ll come for your son.”

Not waiting for a response, Solus’ paw moves from your throat to the blunt end of your spear. He raises it above your head in a quick motion, and you only have enough time to close your eyes before it sends you into unconsciousness.