Chp 1: Chased and Displaced

View Online

Kneeling behind an obscuring bundle of wilted bushes, a man grumbled, binoculars masking his furrowed hazel eyes. Rapid whirling frostbite relentlessly tugged his face’s exposed, sun-kissed flesh, colorless December chalk highlighting the man’s medium-length, dark-brown beard, haunted howling winds brushing past his ears. Peeking through the man’s worn binoculars, snow-caked woods stretch onward for unknown miles, claustrophobic foliage and shedding tree husks obscuring anything further than fifty yards on all sides.

“Come on out, you oil-slick snakes.” The irritated man clicked his tongue, keeping his hardened gaze unmoved, storing the worn binoculars inside his shoulder-draped satchel.

Three months, or has it surpassed four? Time’s getting harder to read nowadays when watches cost more than second-hand bullets; at least the setting sun’s position gave him a rough estimate through the waning days. Ten til noon, he passively reckoned. Still, the man’s target and his source of ire's elusiveness persisted.

Cole H. Dawkins, infamous outlaw, mountebank, and a rat bastard who’d earned himself hefty coinage and rap sheets longer than Mexico’s border. Con artist, murderer, gang leader, rapist, flat foot, and silver-tongued viper were many, many titles he’d collected from terrorizing small outback settlements and towns throughout the Midwest and northside. His go-to, selling Dawlkin’s Miracle Ambrosia, rarely failed- folk housing shoulder-to-shoulder with the coyotes and lonely valleys weren’t too knowledgeable of big-city trotters and their yellow-belly methods. Every other terrible deed resulted if one unlucky bastard saw through his lousy ploy or was unfortunate enough to cross his path. Lawmen spanning six states chased this slippery verman for years, gaining no headway. The last anyone saw Cole Dawlkins, he and his merry inbred band of rejects and drunks scampered south, likely hiding somewhere in the Texan wilderness. Too bad small parts of the man's mind started doubting those claims, naught but snow, ice, and non-swindling, murdering animals surrounding him day in and day out.

Safe to say, the man began growing annoyed, his ass frozen black and blue sitting all day, doing nothing. Coincidently, muffled, ravenous growling loudly sounded underneath the man’s bison fur coat, beige vest, and long-sleeve, navy blue shirt. “Ah. It ain’t like they're coming anytime soon.” The man dismissed, groaning as he stood, reaching a standard 5”10 stature. Heaving a Winchester model 1866 over his stiff shoulders, the man began retracing his imprinted steps, their once six-inch deep outline turned shallow.

Camp, if you could call it that, sat not too far, two tents and an unlit fire pit hunkered down, protected within an unoccupied cave. Attending the previously mentioned fire pit, a flint rod and a hunting knife in hand, the man regarded another younger a similarly dressed man ten years his junior, James Adrian, nodding slightly. “Nothing?” The younger man questioned dejectedly, his New York accent strongly dissimilar to the older man's southern, vaguely Irish, cadence.

“Hell, what do you think, boy?” snapped the older man, removing his bone-white cattleman hat. “May the saints above show Cole’s sorry-ass grace if I get my hands on him. It's been goin' on what, four months now? We'll either freeze to the bone or end up as vulture's dinner 'fore we bring him in..” The younger man sighed, shrugging.

“Perhaps they moved on by now, sir?” He suggested. “It’s been mighty quiet lately.”

In response, his mature companion shook his head, glancing at the expansive white wasteland beyond the cave’s jagged maw. “Naw, it ain’t likely. Snow's piled up so high, movin' 'round ain't no easy task, and there ain't near enough greenery for a buncha driving cattle or horses. They'd wear out their beasts quicker than a hare in a dog race; might as well feed them to any meat-eating critters if they tried. And I saw smoke driftin' up eastward, 'bout three or five miles out last night. But these damn trees are makin’ it hard tellin’ how far, exactly.” He explained, sitting beside James, who gave him a mixed expression.

“Why don’t we go ahead and bring him in? Surely we can handle someone like Colm and a few drunkards.” He scoffed.

In hindsight, his suggestion would’ve warranted consideration had he said it a month prior. The older man suspected Colm’s rag-tag group wasn’t feeling so happy lately, members flaking off left and right and returning later than usual, including shouting and screaming matches at night. Hell, some idiot fired their side-iron one time. Yet, recent raging blizzard after raging blizzard, Mother Nature forced the several disheveled, bent feathers to stay as their reluctant, dysfunctional flock. Five starved, cold, and ill-tempered men were difficult to handle, confronting twenty is downright suicide.

Three hundred and fifty sounded like an underwhelming reward. “Unless you fancy havin’ your throat slit and your belongings to go wanderin' off, be my guest. Otherwise, sit still and simmer down. You’ve busted my hide at every turn, greenhorn, particularly back at that river wash three days past, so do me the favor of keepin' thoughts of how you'll kill us next time to yourself.” He rebuked, earning an exasperated glare.

Remembering last week’s unexpected venture made his gloved trigger figures itch, paranoia whispering warnings to turn around into his ears.

“Look, sir, I didn’t see that bear cub's mother- how was I supposed to know it was around!” Argued James.

“Now, ain't that the truth! You shouldn't go moseyin' up to one regardless!” Pointing toward the younger lawman, scowling, the older man huffed. “Did your old man ever teach you common sense, boy? It lost its mother, and Mama Bear caught wind of your crazy self tryin' to spook its cub, butt naked as the day you were born. You oughta have hoofed it and given me a holler for a heads-up.” He scolded.

Eying the older man’s finger, the younger man’s scowl deepened. “I know, sir. There’s no reason to keep bringing it up.” He hissed through gritted teeth.

“Oh? Ain't you just a peach? Because ever since you’ve become a Ranger, you’ve done nothing but cause trouble and pitch hissy fits afterward. I don’t know what in God’s name life’s like for y'all city folk, but I’ve seen rotting cattle more sensible than you!”

Shooting up, flint and sharpened steel clattering against the uneven ground, he watched his youthful colleague throw his open hands high, his upper lip curled with anger. “Goddamnit, I get it! I’m an idiot city boy, dull as raw iron and dumber than a rock- you wanna hear that?!” He shouted, “Will you EVER shut up and consider the fact that not everybody is a horse-fucking, mountain climbing, bootlegging red-neck?! I'm trying my best!” Enraged, James flicked his head, grunting. “I swear to god, I’ve never met a thicker-headed, inconsiderate, ass-!”

Suddenly, James staggered, anger replaced by fear and shock as the older man quickly stood and threw a restrained right hook, striking his jaw. Collapsing to the chilled stone floor, blood trickling down his busted lip and a bruise decorating the impact sight, the younger man looked upward, his senior deeply sneering, cracking his knuckles. “Mind your tongue, boy. And don’t use the Lord's name in vain.”- He warned evenly, stepping back while the younger lawman raised drunkenly- “You’re not an idiot- well, not too much of one. But the trouble with you is you got ears just for show. This isn’t New York, prancin' 'round like a dime-store jester and crying how life isn't far ain't how we do things, considering our profession. Ain’t no one around here 'cept me to lend a hand if somethin' decides to take a swipe or aim a shot your way. So quit playin' the fool, city slicker, and pull your head outta your ass.”

Silence coldly greeted the older man’s heeding, James launching a crimson glob before marching off, breathlessly fuming. Sighing, the older man withdrew, retaking his spot and retrieving one of two Schofield revolvers held against his hips, idly scanning its black and dark wood finish.

The older man groaned, stress and tension pulling his joints and muscles taut. “Here I thought they taught discipline in the army.” He spat.

Truly, he stood by what he said. James, hot-headed and skittish, wasn’t a bad man. A thorn trying to disembowel his side, most definitely, but the older man met no greater crack shot than his partner, and he’s a fellow Ranger. Sadly, when his ten-year-old son possessed finer manners and patience than his partner, frequent departments and brooding sessions became frequent. It didn’t help that the current shit-storm they found themselves braving added fuel to the flames.

Speaking of which.

Collecting the discarded flint and knife, the older man positioned both items above piled kindling, the knife’s edge kissing the charcoal-grey stick.

SHINK! SHINK!

Gliding the cutting instrument across the flint rod surface, sparks exploded outward, washing the kindling with dancing orange embers. Eventually, following several strokes, warmth bounced off the cave’s unfeeling walls, eliminating the older man’s onset frostbite, electing a soft sigh. At least James knew how to build a proper fire. The lasting cold combined with the soothing heat weighed heavily on his eyelids, a yawn threatening to escape his parched maw. Images, warm and inviting, floated through his memory, a young woman holding his bright-eyed son and standing outside their modest home. “Ida. Joseph. Lord knows I'd do just about anything to savor her cookin' again and listen to them silly tales that boy of ours spins.” The older man mumbled, smiling, eyes slowly dropping. Her soft, delicate lips pecking his cheek every morning, his kid's laughter.

Summer heat bathed the older man’s face, cracking flames accompanied by rolling gusts singing their soothing lullaby.

May the lord protect them.

BANG! BANG!

Panic shot through his spine like fierce lighting, eyes snapping open as he hurriedly pushed himself to his feet. Gunfire, twenty- no, ten feet away. Utilizing the cave’s uneven entrance, the older man sought refuge behind a sizable boulder, swiftly snatching and chambering his Winchester. “Come on out, Cowpoke! Let’s talk!” Shouted a deep, English man’s voice, slobbery snickers and ratty chortles backdropping his posh tone.

‘Cole.’ The older man thought, confusion and worry running rampant through his system. “Well, look who's decided to stop tuckin' their tail, Dawkins? Color me surprised.” He snarked.

Haughty, sarcastic laughter disturbed the natural, still air. “I do apologize, my good man. Exchanging witty banter and drab remarks sounds delightful, but I think your friend thinks overwise.” Another sharp explosion rocked his ears, and this time, familiar screaming and cursing followed suit. Biting his tongue, the older man inched upward and hesitantly left his protection, each sluggish step revealing his unwelcome visitors. Ten fully armed men dressed worse than ditched corpses and twice as hideous, rusty, abused boom sticks pointed right at his head, likely more camping in the woods. Standing tall, proud, and center, Cole Dawkins grinned smugly, his bank teller getup stained by dirt and dried muck.

Bound, sitting on his knees, James groaned and grunted, pain twisting his battered, and bloodied features, blood pooling on his left thigh, staining the pure snow. “Ah, so you’re my second tail-coat rider? Impressed, I am not.” He said, clicking his tongue with mock disappointment. “I’ll admit, my pursuer's identities piqued my interest for a while. A rowdy, spry lad, and a senior?” Cole barked, throwing his head high.

“Let’em go, Dawkins!” The older man snapped, causing Cole’s men to raise their rifles. “Or by God, I’ll make you wish your whoring mother never popped you out.” He snarled.

Hearing this, gone was Cole’s smug, superior expression, overtaken by a cold, darkened glare. A two-bit, corner street tramp-of-the-night and a no-name hooligan father, it’s no mystery where Colm got his charming personality. “Now, sir, It’d be best for your friend here if you’d kept quiet.” The younger, bleeding man froze solid, Cole’s Webley mark 1 pressing against his skull’s rear. Options grew limited, rapidly. Creating a new hole between Cole’s eagle eyes guaranteed death for him and his partner. He couldn’t grab his horse and lead Cole’s men astray so his partner could sneak off. And fighting them all by himself, low on ammo and energy, also sounded reckless.

“You’re testing my patience. Let him go- I won’t ask again!” The older man said. A distraction is exactly what he needed. Easier said than done.

Another barking laugh, “Likewise.” Cole sneered, “Luckily for you, I’m feeling merciful today. Remove your garments and abandon your supplies, then I’ll let your God’s goodwill and Nature decide your fates.” As if on cue, earth-quaking thunder erupted and rumbled close by, dimming clouds increasing the afternoon sky’s blinding darkness.

Wait.

Briefly glancing skyward, the older looked back and over his shoulder, crackling flames still rolling at his heels. Hell, even with the illuminating fire, he struggled to discern Cole’s outline, much less his scattered gang.

The older man grinned, “Aren’t I grateful, Cole? You do have a soul.” he mocked, backpedaling. “Too bad nobody will miss it.”

Warranting no opportunity for response, the older man’s boot heel kicked loose stone toward the fire pit. Instantly, smoldering timber, ash, and embers dispersed, erasing his already poor vision, various degrees of frightened yelps and startled cries igniting mass panic amongst Cole’s disorganized ranks. Poising his rifle, he waited patiently, muzzle flashes pinning his target's whereabouts. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Firing three shots, two men dropped like bagged bricks- one missing an eye, the other losing half his brain -the last holding his mangled, torn side. Hopefully one of them was Cole. “Run, boy! Get the horses!” He hollered, aimlessly picking off frantic bodies. Soon, the opposing hailing lead met the older man’s offensive fire, laying low, he vacated his compromised encampment, nearby trees separating him and swift death.

Countless prayers repeated endless loops within the older man’s rushing thoughts, hampering his effort to make his snow-crunching steps quieter. How’d they get him? James never ran far during his pouting sessions– and last he checked –Cole’s gang and them were miles apart. He knew the answer to his second question. A rookie mistake made out of exhaustion and ignorance.

‘I led 'em here like a hound on a leash. Reckoned the cave's roof would hide the smoke from our fire, but I was dead wrong.’ He lamented. Ah hell, Cole’s men brought lanterns; glowing dots trailed the older man’s path. Just a little further.

“There he is!”

Shit.

Spinning in place, increasing his hurried pace, the older man’s weapon placed the pursuing lantern lights inside its iron sights. He huffed and coughed, sweat drenching his stone-like features, his sore trigger finger tirelessly hurling round after round, hitting trees, bushes, and the occasional buck-toothed man. The older man wasn’t immune, however, sustaining narrow misses grazing his legs, arms, and cheek, adding to the burning sensation his grizzled frame suffered.

“Sir, over here!”

Switching north, two horses whined and cried, weakly fighting the grip of their fellow rider and beaten owner, the latter waving at the older man. Wasting no time, he forwent his cover fire and spent his final reserves of energy charging forth, reaching and mounting his purebred appaloosa alongside James, cracking the reins. Hooves pounded the white-blanketed forest floor, randomly weaving in and out of tree lines, winds slicing through the older man’s hat-less, short-length hair, his unspoken grievances interrupted by air-splitting rifle fire. “Where are we heading?!” He heard.

Stowing his Winchester, the older man’s right hand flawlessly fell and recovered his Schofield in one practiced motion. Long rifles, especially riding horseback, inhibited a rider's accuracy and took too long when reloading if you’re actively steering your steed.

Pistols and revolvers?

Throwing his armed appendage, he fired two consecutive rounds, successfully erasing a horse’s front knees. The older man didn’t see his split-second draw reward, settling on hearing equine and human forms crumble and pained bellowing. ‘I still got it.’ He praised himself. Handling modern weaponry wasn’t his main forte, juxtaposed with tracking and survival, not that he wasn’t skilled at all. Yet, put a pistol or revolver in his hands– mostly back in his youth –he’d hit a horse fly forty feet over yonder, blindfolded, and half-asleep.

Call it skill or pure talent, the older man knew it’d been god-given luck, seeing as his aging hands typically shook more than autumn leaves awaiting their fate.

“I ain't never set foot in these woods, son. Run, and we might just shake 'em off our tail!” He blurted, yanking his horse’s reins sharply as James snapped left. More thunder boomed overhead, swirling flakes descending upon the bloody, chaotic chase. “Huh? ‘The hell’s goin’ on?” The older man said to himself.

The trees were… different. Frigid husks, still. However, lifeless wooden bark looked more livelier somehow, as if winter hadn’t ravaged Texas’s countryside by then.

Hold on, were those…leaves following them too?

Beneath the shining embrace of Princess Luna’s overwatching moon, two ponies– a young earth mare and unicorn stallion – casually trotted side-by-side, sharing each other’s loving embrace, the White Tailed Forest’s alabaster pillars reflecting moonlight. “Thank you for taking me out tonight, I needed it.” The mare sighed, nuzzling her lover.

“Don’t mention it, babe.” The stallion cooly huffed, smiling. “It’s, like, my top priority to make my marefriend happy, right?” He added, earning a soft giggle.

Enduring Tirek’s rampage, Ponyville almost getting blown to smithereens, her mother and father separating, and entering college? The stallion’s last-minute date was the least he could’ve done. Five years, six months, and 2 weeks came and went since they made their secret love life official, and the stallion couldn’t be happier! A total knock-out, straight-A student like her dating a nopony who failed in everything except hoofball boggled his past self, but it didn’t matter. Now, he gathered whatever wavering courage he had, hyping himself, mouth packed with cotton balls and anxiety. Keep it simple. Stop beside the trail, stand in front of her, get on one knee, and blow her metaphorical socks off!

Hushing his inner hype-stallion, the now nervous stallion copied his internal plan. “Hey,” He muttered, gaining the mare’s attention. “There’s somethin’ I wanted to ask you for a while now.” Leaving the trail and setting his hooves onto the dewy grass, he breathed deeply and kneeled.

Hurry, she’s suspecting something.

Ignoring the mare’s slowly widening eyes, he suppressed a cough, pursing and licking his chapped lips. “I-I…Uh, oh horseapples, Misty Flow. You’re the love of my boring life. The only thing I look forward to seeing on those dull days after practice- the reason I work so hard. Ever since you entered my life, every organ feels like a weightless cloud when I’m near you. And refuse to think of a life without you.”

Igniting his horn and opening his saddlebags, the stallion levitated a felt box, presenting it to his stunned marefriend, her hooves blocking her mouth.

“So, if I can ask, will you marry me?”

Tears erupting from her Dazzling eyes, Misty Flow's falling forehooves uncovered a shaky, yet ecstatic, smile. “Oh, Carver, I…Yes, you silly colt!” She squealed, laughing. “You can’t imagine how long I-”

BANG! BANG! “Fuck me! Damnit! Damnit!” BANG! BANG!

Releasing a startled shriek each, Carver immediately grabbed his marefriends shoulders and tossed themselves out of an unknown stampede, circling leaves forming a semi-cylindrical tunnel encompassing it. Dust flew everywhere, the sound of hooves, yelling, and frightening explosions making Misty Flow scream in terror as Carver held her close, shielding his squinting eyes from the airborne dirt. Thankfully, as abrupt as it appeared, Carver carefully relinquished his deadlock embrace, the sounds disappearing into the far-off woods.

“W-What was that?!” Misty questioned, bewildered and hysteric.

“Beats me.” Craver shrugged absentmindedly. “I think it was… clothed monkeys riding tall ponies?”

Despite their unexpected fright, Misty snorted.

Chp 2: Unconventional first sighting

View Online

Life for the buffalo, admittedly, improved since their tribe and the pony settlers fought.

Regaining sizable portions of their native land and creating a mutual peace pact where the settlers gifted them their irresistible apple deserts in exchange for some land usage, Chief Thunderhoof’s tribe flourished unlike before. Still, regardless of how well-off and prosperous most buffalo believed themselves to be, the thankless task of gathering resources remained all the same. Scouring the sandy purgatory, collecting rare fruits, bones for medicine, and kindling, four mighty buffalo found no such prize, the sun far surpassing its middle position.

Nevertheless, their complaints and gripes were yielded. Providing and sustaining the tribe was more important. Their backs ache, their knees scream in pain, fur matted with glistening sweat, vision swimming, but protest they do not.

If little, any contribution made toward the tribe's well-being and future was highly respected, living in the harsh plains of Appleloosa.

Spirits mustn’t waver, a buffalo’s courage unmovable.

BANG!

It doesn't mean they’re devoid of fear.

Blood, scattered fur, tainted sand.

Screaming.

Demonic whips snapped through the air, its origin untraceable. A second rings out. BANG! And the injured buffalo topples, motionless. Pride and anger flashed through the three still-standing forms, desiring to retrieve and aid their befallen breatharian, quickly overshadowed by primal terror, the latter ultimately emerging victorious. Regret and guilt anchoring their hearts, they flee, refusing to look back on their mistake.

Undisturbed silence. Low winds. Lonely death.

Eventually, two staggering steps approached the downed buffalo, pointed leather boots stopping inches from static, bleeding muscle. Bending his legs, a sunburnt hand snatches its prey’s tribal feathered headwear, then tosses it aside.

“Weird hat. I didn’t know those redskins played dress-up with their food.”

January 13, 1912

-Day 2

Something’s wrong, I can feel it- in the air, my bones, and how poor James’s acting lately. I can’t say I blame him; the heat’s overwhelming.

Describing what went down is impossible for me to put into words. None of it makes a lick of sense. One moment, we’re running for our lives, barely awake on our horses, the next, James is screaming and sand and desert rock surround us on every side. Weren’t we running in a forest that night? Why a desert? I would have boiled if he hadn’t taken off my coat. Bloodied, tired, and beaten, we wondered without direction, everything looking the same, buzzards hungrily circling above. James fell a lot– blood loss and dehydration. Luckily, I stashed some bandages and whiskey in my satchel and fixed him up as well as I could, much to his chagrin. I wasn’t the one who got shot in the leg. Also, Cole’s gone, or we’ve given him the slip. Honesty, my memory’s a muddled mess.

What happened? I have no idea.

The question gnaws my thoughts during our aimless exploring. Here we were, getting cooked alive under the suspicious larger-than-normal sun when- less than two days ago -James and I worried over the fire pit not lighting. Sand replaced snow, bleached bones stood in for ice, and James’s paper-white skin turned three shades darker, redder. No food other than the curated meat I carry. No water besides James’s canteen.

Is this hell? Retribution for my crimes?

Why is poor James here then?

Lord, help us.

Softly closing his hand-sized journal, the older man sluggishly wiped his sweat-drenched forehead, unforgiving heat effortlessly bypassing the charred tree corpse’s wire-thin branches. “James? You're alive, boy?” Each strenuous word felt like sandpaper rubbing past his lips, razor wire slicing his parched throat.

An equally defeated tone returned a lazy groan; James, leading both horses, stopped nearby.

“I wish I wasn’t.” He moaned, his voice wistful and empty. “Water’s ran low while I was out, and I don’t suppose you’ve seen a cactus recently.” Unseen buzzard calls mocked James’s inquiry.

Facing James, the older man’s twisting waist halted, spotting a hefty mass of fur resting at the horses’ rear hooves- fur he recognized. “I’ll be damned! Where’d you find a buffalo, boy? This sandy shit-hole certainly isn’t fit for grazing.” Mirroring James’s proud smile, ditching his sorry shade oasis, the older man circled the horses, stopping next to the unmoving buffalo carcass. “You might have the reasoning skills of a bent nail, but scoring a big sonnava gun like this using my rifle is the reason why I keep you around.” He lightheartedly laughed. Judging its size, James had caught enough food to last them two days or more- no surprise he needed two horses.

The younger lawman sheepishly scratched the back of his head, grinning. “I wasn’t nothing, sir. My Granddad’s dead-set on hunting big game and taught me how to fling lead. My first kill was a bison that’d destroyed some of my cousin’s farm on a rampage.” Patting his horse’s barrel, an American Saddlebred, and dropping each set of reigns, James stood across the buffalo, joining the older man.

“How's that?” He asked.

James raised a brow, “Huh?” He said.

The older man whipped his forehead again, “The rampaging. Why would it bother wreckin’ your cousin’s farm?”

“Ah, okay. Well, I guess that a predator spooked it and it happened to be near the farm.”- James squatted, unsheathing the hunting knife his older peer donated to him after losing it in the cave- “My granddad turned one of its horns into a powder horn. But, let’s stop talking about me and get this big guy undressed.” He said.

Forming no objections, both men went to work, repeatedly flipping, carving, and preparing their eventual meal, crimson painting their lower arms and clothes. The older man steered clear of telling lies, and most definitely would be if he said the buffalo’s spoiled insides prepared by the sun’s radiating fury reeked to high heaven. However, it’d be worth the unpleasant scent and mess when he got a ghost of a meal in his ravenous stomach. And, during this draining and grimy process, the older man reminisces on how he and Joseph hunted in their free time, his little grin brightening whenever catching a squirrel or bird.

While remembering happier days soured his mood slightly, he wasn’t the type to lose his nerves or panic if things turned pear-shaped. They’d find out where they were and get home, the older man inwardly repeated.

He needed to stay strong- for James, the hapless bastard.

Soon, the searing heat began cooling, the sun slowly crawling to the horizon. “James,” The older man called, flicking his forearms free of blood as the younger lawman glanced up, storing the recently cleaned knife. “Ya know my name, right?” He asked.

James hummed thoughtfully, then shook his head. “Sorry, sir. You say yours so rarely, I can’t recall. No offense.”

“Finn Cullen.” Chuckling, the older man smirked, holding out his hand. “You can call me Finn. ‘Seems like we're in for the long haul with this job, don't it? Getting acquainted is just good manners, after all.” James examined Finn’s offering hand with minor surprise, taking it seconds later and shaking.

“Nice to meet you, si- Mr. Cullen.” James greeted.

Later that night, eating their hard-earned feast and sleeping the dehydration off, pathless trails and identical views traveled onward. Due to its cumbering size, the buffalo’s leftovers were left for any hungry critter passing by, a shame too. If given the proper tools, patience, and time, Finn would have made a water bag out of its bladder, jerky from its meat, and tendons into bow strings. Alas, such tales fall upon men of sorrow.

So, finding ways to ignore how the sun barely moved, Finn and James exchanged personal stories and history to distract themselves. James, age 23, born April 24, 1889, grew up in upstate New York to a suited chicken scratcher who spent more time exchanging stocks than raising his motherless kid, placing the responsibility onto his grandfather. One Fletcher Ardian, semi-famed voyager, big-game hunter, and civil war veteran raised little James and convinced him to join the army, a factor the young lawman loosely recounted, including his reasons for joining the Texas Rangers. Finn didn’t push further on the matter, everybody kept secrets from others- he should know. As for Finn himself, a born, bred, and baptized Catholic nurtured by El Paso ranchers, Molly and Conor Cullen, and going on eight years of Ranger service.

It’d been two years since he first met James, and, regardless of clashing personalities, five high-value bounties were hunted, six low-profile criminals faced justice, and one prolific murderer was currently taking a dirt nap.

Finn and James’s conversation lasted well after turning in for tonight and resumed come Dawn.

“So, having my side iron pressed right against his pocket snake, Mc’ Downes’s shivering like a dog shittin’ in the rain, begging me-” Throwing his hands high, Finn assumed a mock expression of fright, “-Oh, dear God, no! I’m innocent! I did no wrong!” James’s shoulders bounced at the feigned terror, covering his mouth to stifle his laughter.

“You’re cruel, Mr. Cullen,” He remarked, “But, you sure he did anything?” The angle his older partner put Mc’ Downes in, it’s challenging imagining someone so…pathetic committing murder.

Scoffing and dropping his act, Finn rolled his eyes. “Please! Them coppers nabbed that filthy varmint red-handed, pawin' at the poor girl's corpse and all. And he had the gall to bawl for his mama while I kept watch for the state troops to haul him off. Listen here, I ain't in the habit of takin' lives unless I’m forced to, boy, but the lord tests me when I come across these vermin, actin' like they're entitled to forgiveness. It’s one part I never entirely understood in the bible- how Christ found it to forgive sinners like Mc’ Downes.” He grumbled.

James sighed, slumping his shoulders, “Maybe everybody had goodness inside them, sir, no matter how small.” He sarcastically replied,

Blood, scattered fur, tainted sand.

Undisturbed silence. Low winds. Lonely death.

And a devil’s scarred smile.

A look of bitter impassiveness crossed Finn's sunburnt features. “Whatever you say, boy.” He muttered, falling silent as he and James rode their steeds.

The summer sun shined bright, bathing Appleoosa with life-giving warmth the humble town’s folk basked, wadding the dirt-traced streets and wood-shack food markets. Mirthful remarks such as ‘Howdy!’ and ‘How’re you?’ fly through the humid air, and creatures of all kinds- (largely) earth ponies, pegasi, unicorns, and other species -couldn’t resist the town's infectious joy.

“Dag nab it!”

All except one very vexed stallion.

Sherif Silver loved his job. It’s good, honorable work any self-loving earth pony strived for, and paid handsomely despite Appleoosa’s rather low crime rate- excluding the occasional scrap or petty theft. He prided his work and the town it protected. Heck, even if one of his resident’s cousins prevented a buffalo-pony war he partially instigated, ponies still respected him, and he returned their generous sympathies in kind. Like his pa, pa’s pa, and Grandpa’s pa, Sheriff Silverstar performed his task diligently and without fail, maintaining peace and order.

However…

Gingerly blocking the air space between him and enraged Sherif’s warpath with guarding forelegs, Silverstar’s deputies cringed anxiously. “Alright, calm down sir,” Jittered the lanky, black-hatted Golden Spur, “Let’s settle down!”

“E-Eeyup!” High Ace, an unassuming earth stallion, echoed, hiding behind his co-worker.

Unceremoniously unhoofing a half-shattered chair, crashing with a startling bang, Sheriff Silverstar’s wild eyes locked onto his deputies. “Tell me something useful instead of twiddling your hooves like foals!” He roared, kicking parts of an obliterated table littering the ground. “How is it that nopony can catch this- this- AGH!” His legs buckling, Silverstar hit the floor, groaning in frustration.

Never had Appleoosa’s revered sheriff struggled this much apprehending a criminal since Trouble Shoes. Towns spanning Dodge Junction to the Bad Lands suffered devastating attacks that left homes and ponies alike destroyed, turned to ash and embers. Nopony giving the Royal Guard reports knew who organized these widespread pillages, as dissimilar species partake in the merciless slaughtering- dragons, griffions, yaks, minotaurs, ponies, and zebras. No name, no distinctive allegiance, and no clear motive. Cataclysmic ghosts who leave no trace behind, and no face known. All ponies knew was that the mysterious attackers’ ages fell somewhere close into the young adult or teenage category, adding an extra layer of revulsion to this grim cake of death and destruction.

How does this relate to Silverstar, you ask? Four nights ago, accounts and eyewitnesses related sightings of a strange and unsettling figure lurking past midnight, wearing tattered rags and sporting a mean glare. ‘Locking up a creep, easy.’ he believed. Unfortunately, Silverstar’s laidback connotations swiftly ended when he and his accompanying deputy happened to spot their purp lighting a Molotov in front of their jailhouse.

And, chasing him off, nopony later reported sightings of the cloaked arsonist. Gone like ashes in the wind.

Weeks and weeks slipped by, and Silverstars efforts were proven useless. He could’ve sent a thousand patrollers, installed Equestria’s brightest searchlights, recruited the WonderBolts themselves, and come out empty-hoofed.

Exchanging weary looks, Golden Spur inched closer to his Sherif.

“Um, obviously we’re thinking too deep into this, sir. The guy’s probably a fire-happy lunatic who skipped town or a dumb colt doing something stupid.”

His copping suggestions went unused as Silverstar shot up and shoved a torn cloth scrap in his face. Stitched to the scratched and tattered fragment proudly displayed an equine skull, its unhinged, sword-like teeth crushing a crudely remade cutie mark akin to Princess Celestia’s.

“Does this look like something a pony, or any creature in their right mind, willing owns, deputy?!” Silverstar berated, acting as if Golden Spur were his elusive arsonist. “This’s their war-bands mark, I’m sure of it! I’ve turned this town upside down for evidence and this piece of junk is all I have to show for it!” Metaphorically, and potentially literally, burning holes into the cloth, his glare soon deflated alongside his rage. “Golden Spur, High Ace, those monsters might have Appleoosa next on their list, and I can’t do a darn thing about it.”

The two downcast deputies shared Silverstar’s sour demeanor as Golden Spur removed and held his hat to his chest. “Sir, I- uh, writing Celestia a letter and getting the Royal Guard here is our best bet. We’re running out of rope, and I’m the one with a glass eye and poor depth perception.” Tapping his false left eye, Golden Spur helped Silverstar to his hooves.

“Y-You’re right,” Defeated, Appleoosa’s sheriff sighed, messaging his temple. “We ain’t got time to run around like headless chickens. I’ll write a letter and send it out. Hopefully, her majesty receives it before-.”

BOOM!

“SILVERSTAR!!”

Caught off guard, the two deputies and sheriff instantly focused on the jail house’s entrance, muffled shouts and screams awaiting their attendance, steel clashing steel, and trampling hooves shaking the earth. “COME OUT, NOW!” Boomed the faceless speaker.

Hesitantly, Golden Spur and High Ace stuck close by, Silverstar approached and cracked open the front door, peeking his head through before fully exiting, fearful eyes wider than saucers.

The first thing securing Silverstar’s alarm; smoke, burning wood, and rotten copper assaulted his senses, afar black pillars peppered with glowing orange specks towered above Appleoosa’s tallest buildings. Dropping his dumbfounded sight-seeing, gathered semi-circled, presented inches from his jailhouse’s front deck, dozens of ponies, bruised and cut, quietly cried and begged on their flanks, chins touching dirt underneath the feet/paws/hooves of poorly-dressed creatures brandishing outlandish objects and ramshack blades. Their bizarre contraptions, tubes attached to wooden, blocky frames, grazed and shoved ponies, reeking of black powder and cleaning oil. Sadistic grins, stoic frowns, and cold, heartless stares all saw past Silverstars body, relentlessly berating him with irresistible apprehension. ‘Appaloosa was under attack!’ his mind finally processed.

Anywho, it wasn’t what unnerved Silverstar the most.

Stitched upon their ratty outfits and crud armor padding, matching insignia struck him harder than a full-power buck to the head.

A sharp-toothed equine skull devouring Celestia’s sun.

“Slow to start, like always.” Snided the previously shouting voice. “You can’t imagine how long I’ve yearned to see your face twisted with pure terror and hopelessness, Sheriff.” They added, spitting his title. Amidst this gaggle of unsavory characters, Silverstar’s eyes settled on an unfamiliar earth pony wearing identical clothes, pointing one of the odd contraptions directly at him.

Silverstar barely swallowed a restrictive lump, “Who’re you?” He inattentively said, unintentionally neglecting the pony’s venom-coated words.

He scoffed, “Why bother? None of you knew I was then, and, when I’m done paying my lord’s kindness, nopony shall.” Scoffing, the snarky earth stallion went silent momentarily, grinning callously as he decreased his object's angle.

BANG!

Sheriff Silverstar's limbs froze solid for what had felt longer than innumerable, slow decades, holding his breath.

Then came the searing pain.

Face muscles pulling back, painfully stretching their expressive limits to reflect Silverstars indescribable, unbearable suffering, the ground rose to meet his stomach, lurching as he released an agonizing wail. Gaining a golf-ball-sized hole where half his right hoof used to be, Silverstar futility compressed his profusely bleeding limb, rolling side-to-side, running his screaming throat raw. He’d never experienced this level of hurt. Appleoosa’s sheriff endured punches, bucks, headbutts, cuts, broken bones, and any imaginable injury any reckless pony could encounter. While not THE toughest pony, he wasn’t a pushover either. But, dear Celestia, it stung! Like pouring flaming sea water onto an open wound infested by Equestria's most temperamental and venomous insects. Glass repeatedly poked exposed nerve ends; unadulterated magma smoldering his bone. No, it’s impossible to explain, mainly because Silverstar couldn’t comprehend a single thought.

Opposing Silverstars agony, the deputies’ abject horror, and his hostage’s gasps, the earth stallion cackled gleefully, slapping his knee. “Oh, keep doing that, sheriff, it feels soooo~ good hearing you blubbering like a foal!” Propping the explosive stick onto his shoulder, he craned his neck downward, curiously watching Silverstar writhe uncontrollably. “How’s it feel- the pain? Tell me. I’d love to know~.” He snickered.

All Silverstar replied with was a guttural scream.

“Uh? Si- MR. CULLEN! You might wanna come look at this!”

Lord have mercy, why can’t he do his business peacefully? Zipping his britches fly, Finn grumbled lowly as he emerged from a covering boulder, scratching his chin’s lengthy whiskers. “Now what, boy? If it's people trying to rescue us, it ain't- you’re hallucinating…again.” Wrestling the scarcely cactus-water-filled canteen off his person, the older lawman offered it, giving a subtle shake. With buffalo-stuffed bellies, tolerating cactus water didn’t force up whatever little muck their stomachs held- sadly, it didn’t take away the awful taste.

Peering over his shoulder, narrowing his perturbed gaze, James snorted, motioning toward the horizon beyond the cliff they rested on. “Wha-? No! This’s something else entirely.” Relinquishing Finn’s binoculars, its owner lazily regained possession and placed them closer to his squinting orbs.

Scanning far-off desert fields, Finn found nothing worth causing a fuss over. Sand, sand, more sand, vultures, sand, a windmill, fire, houses…horses? Sand.

Wait.

Clothes, colorful horses?

A…blazing town of scared, colorful, clothed horses.

“…Now I’ve seen everything.” Finn flatly stated. Yep, there’s no denying. The older lawman’s thoughts suggested unexpected head trauma, bad cactus water, or clinical insanity, but his logical side quickly took control.

Firstly, ponies, not horses- too small and chubby. Where are their equestrians, or rangers? Funny, bad well water, maybe? A town full of crazies havin’ fun with their mounts? Although, dolling, painting, and letting unsupervised ponies run ramped seemed too far-fetched for a quick laugh, plus, Finn hadn’t spotted a single saddle nor bridle anywhere. These aberrant equines lacked riders. If so, who ran this circus? Did the town’s folk abandon this place and their ponies escaped? No, excluding the fires, the buildings appeared pristine enough and regularly maintained- unless it’d happened recently, a notion Finn weakly believed. ‘Costumes? Ah, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not hallucinating (hopefully). Undiscovered animals?’ Finn persistently formulated speculation after speculation, each one more silly and outlandish than the last, biting his bottom lip.

Then, an unexpected sight demanded his attention.

Streaking upward like a speeding cannonball, Finn’s surprise heightened once he refocused and discovered…a winged pony.

Before he started forging any further inquiries, two other winged creatures gave chase, effortlessly erasing the minuscule distance the first winged pony achieved and- “Dear God.” -Wordlessly, breathless abhorrence escaped his slack-jawed mouth. Brandishing blades, the dual chasers speared the winged pony from behind, their target immediately falling limp. As they hauled the unmoving pony away, the binoculars left Finn’s stunned eyes, which settled on James.

“Can you make sense of this?” James asked.

“Boy, I can’t make heads or tails of this.” Sitting on his knees, Finn’s observations carried onward, vigorously collecting every minute detail he discovered. “But, if there's a town, you can bet your boots there's food and water aplenty. We're headed down that way.” He exclaimed.

Confounded by Finn’s sudden and brash course of action, James stammered but found his bewildered voice. “H-Huh?! No way, sir, we can’t!” Hurting his ears with his shouting, Finn threw James an annoyed glare. “Sorry. B-B- But you can’t be serious. You see…whatever those beasts are? I’m sure as hell that they aren’t normal, non-colorful horses like what we ride.” He added.

“Ponies-?”

Finn's reply shriveled and died when James’s fist hit the ground. “Aliens!” He swiftly interjected.

“...Aliens? Really?” Finn openly deadpanned.

Partially lifting his upper torso, James pointed at the burning town. “Yes! Obviously! I read this book about ‘em waging war on us, and those freaks–.” Making a finger gun, the eccentric young man imitated getting his brains blown out, imitating a ‘bleh’ noise. “I also heard aliens come in all shapes and sizes. So, for all we know, these things may look cute, but we’re ants in comparison, our guns worse than flicking matches! Do you see the horned ones? They’ll skewer you.” He explained.

“I gotta say…have you gone psychotic, boy?” Finn exasperated, tearing the binoculars away. “You’re basing this entire shit show and pudgy ponies, which you’ve just now seen, on some crappy space-man storybook? We haven’t eaten a proper meal in days, and those pony folk are clearly in a bind.” He retorted.

James scoffed, “Who cares? Of course: they’re warring factions, fighting for dominance.”

Reaching outward, taking the rear collars of James’s blue and white-stripped shirt, Finn scowled deeply. “Can’t you see? There’s a black-and-white narrative going on, and innocent folk are being harmed. As much as I hate taking advantage of people's misfortune, we’re starved of options. Both sides seem intelligent- We help the scared ones, and then ask for food. At minimum, we Rangers serve to uphold peace and justice above all else, and it doesn’t matter who or what those terrified folk are.” Finn shook his head, ending his lecture by unhanding James’s clothing and summoning his Winchester. “This isn’t a game. Now shoot.”

“Me? Why?” James outwardly pondered, rubbing his neck.

Finn nodded, allowing his younger partner ownership of his trusty boomstick, stomach laying flat on the sandy floor. “These old eyes of mine ain't worth a lick for spotting nothin', let alone pinpointin' it. But when it comes to takin' aim, you're a better shot than me any day. I'll keep my peepers peeled, and you let them bullets fly.” Putting the burning town within his binoculars' watchful vision, James adopted a one-legged kneel.

Touching stock to shoulder, James rolled his eyes. “Aye aye, captain.” Inhaling a deep breath, the younger lawman lined his sights.

The sadistic earth stallion’s glutinous grin disappeared into boredom, Silverstar’s sweat-drenched body resting like road kill as his hoof bled freely, screams replaced by labored heaving.

“Darn, the show’s over, my brother and sisters!” Disappointed, his sentiments were shared amongst the crudely dressed crowd, who mockingly groaned or spat curses. “Let’s wrap this up. The Lord will suspect our plan and take notice of our absence. Steal, destroy, and indulge whatever valuables stand inside this town’s border, then we move out!” Releasing a triumphant war cry, the sadistic stallion’s entourage joined in, raising their explosive sticks. Bound and pinned ponies began crying and yelling louder, some thrashing against their captures.

“Hold on there!”

Interrupting their blaring call, every pair of bloodthirsty eyes settled on Golden Spur and High Ace, the former directing his metal-melting glare toward the stallion who hurt his sheriff, the latter scared stiff. “Don’t think we’ll sit by and let you destroy our fair town, partner! We Appleoosians won’t go without a fig-!”

Unfortunately, Golden Spur’s fight vanished when the sadistic stallion pressed his explosive stick to his muzzle, the wire-thin stallion’s pin-prick eyes crossing.

Black powder overwhelmed his nostrils.

Retracting the complex mechanism adorning the wooden frame's left side, the sadistic stallion's scornful gaze sapped any courage Golden Spur had. “Please, save me the bravo.” He rasped, “Ponies like you? They’re all the same.” Hovering his hoof above the oversized trigger, Golden Spur feebly craned his head back, closing his eyes in dreaded anticipation.

BANG!

Hot, wheezing puffs moved Golden Spur’s chest like an out-of-control steam engine, mouth drier than the desert surrounding Appleoosa.

And yet, oblivion never met him. Humid air encompassed his body, screams and the distant crackling flames packed his folded ears, and the smell of black powder vanished.

Tentatively parting his eyelids, the panting deputy took note of how the crudely dressed invaders completely dismissed him, including the stallion threatening his life moments prior. The source bringing about their shocked silence became highly apparent when- tracing the direction they were looking at -Golden Spur’s equally disturbed disgust materialized. Sprawled out feet from the sadistic stallion, crimson ichor soaked the abutting ground below a befallen griffon’s head, their limbs motionless and explosive stick discarded.

There…wasn’t even a sound.

No pony or creature dared make a peep or move an inch, awaiting someone else to break the looming quietness.

“A-A traitor?!”

Once the sadistic stallion uttered this half-hearted exclamation, all Tarturas broke loose.

The invaders tripped over their feet, scrambling, aiming weapons at one another, hurling baseless accusations of betrayal and sabotage, mainly directed at those closest to the unmoving griffon. As luck would have it, a few pony hostages managed to escape, Golden Spur and High Ace taking the opportunity to follow their example and escort them to safety.

Leveling his explosive stick with the cloudless heavens, and firing three shots, the mini-riot calmed, switching to its origin point. “Stand down! Somepony here is foolish enough to attack us. Find them, and bring me their head!” He commanded atop the jailhouse boardwalk.

Like ants, they scattered.

James clicked his tongue, hissing profanities as he cycled the Winchesters lever handle, loading another round. “Was that the leader? Shit, I missed, didn’t I?” Despite his expert marksmanship, James’s eyes strained harder than ever, tears slightly clouding his vision. Damn sun, why is it so bright during mid-day?!

“Silver fur, light-brown head of hair, ratty clothes, and making clown-worthy theatrics?” Finn hissed on his left, frowning heavily. “Fucking animals.” The older lawman witnessed what’d occurred and their little silver horsie’s barbarous act. Only if barely, Finn knew the injured mustached pony (he refused to apply sensibility by now) was also law enforcement, judging by its outfit alone. People who injured his fellow men- or stallions -of the law were undeserving of being called scum, especially if they did it for sick enjoyment. “Adjust three degrees west, two degrees south, and maintain your steady arm.” He instructed.

“See, ya little shit? Know that these men live false lives, bound by society's chains,” Smiled a scarred-mouthed devil, holding an abused man by his hair. “This’s what happens if you let those chains comfort you, boy. Look real close now.”

Pressing a blade to the man’s throat, the scarred devil painted his vision red.

Finn’s grip tightened ever so slightly.

‘Fucking animals.’

Chp 3: Eventful first encounter and the lonely colt

View Online

Nopony knew his name, why would they? An unimportant street rat with an unassuming visage lost within a sea of hundreds. Before meeting his lord, he’d been no different from every half-witted country bumpkin in Appleoosa, playing their songs and dances. Sure, unlike most, his past life hadn’t exactly lived up to any overachieving standard. But, nopony wanted to hear some faceless pony’s sob story.

Nevertheless, bubbling deep inside the sadistic stallion’s chest, regret fueled his rising fear.

Regret for abandoning his family.

Regret for ruining his life.

Regret for his sins.

BANG! BANG!

Going against his lord’s imperishable command bit his flank, hard. Somepony, or something, was targeting him. Utilizing stacked barrels for cover, he shakingly reloaded his rifle, the sadistic stallion’s vision swam, labored breaths and chattering teeth letting loose rounds fall to his unsteady hooves. An utter fucking joke. His crackpot plan all but shitted the bed, and he alone stood to bear its fallout. Their fires were extinguished by now, Appleossians long since taking shelter and fleeing or arresting their (still living) disorganized detainers, and law enforcement sought retribution for their injured sheriff. Worst yet, his brother and sisters, no- these dirty pack rats were dropping like the useless flies they were. Worthless pieces of dragon dung; how did his lord see worth in those fodder bodies?

“Sir! Please, give us an orde-!” BANG! Yelping, blood, gray meaty matter, and bone fragments erupted in a gorey spray, the minotaur rushing toward his position crumbled instantly, legs buckling and his mangled head crashing. Sub-zero chills rocked the sadistic stallion's body, the minotaur’s eyes twitching in his direction before ultimately glossing over.

BANG!

Another projectile disintegrating the side of a barrel inches beside his head, the sadistic stallion hauled flank, keeping his skull down.

An utter fucking joke.

‘Shit! Shit! I-I gotta get out of here!’ Narrowly avoiding another shot, he snapped left, hoping the rows of buildings protected him. ‘The lord will never forgive me, but I’m cooked if I stay here and fight! Hear me, Your Majesty, I want to repent!’

Mentally praying for redemption, he failed to duck a banana-yellow hoof leveled with his eyes, resulting in the sadistic stallion falling backward and skidding across the ground. Shaking off his daze and stinging pain, a lean-muscular stallion wearing a brown vest and stetson rounded his hiding corner, standing over his prone him.“Where do you think you’re going, partner?” Retrieving bundled rope from under his hat, the stetson-wearing stallion unfurled what turned out to be a lasso. “You with those hooligans mucking my town?” He added, sounding nearly wavered.

Leaving his query unanswered, the sadistic stallion quickly stood, hoisting his rifle without pause, already compressing its trigger.

However, no bullets were fired.

Faster than he could react, the lasso, seemingly alive, snatched his rifle barrel and forcefully yanked, ripping his weapon aside. “Wha-” Next thing he knew, two yellow hooves contacted his muzzle, staggering the sadistic stallion’s senses, and breaking his nose. Luckily, dodging the secondary buck and jumping back, he recovered a gambler’s dagger strapped to his left foreleg, conjuring an empty void of safety separating him and his attacker.

“Braeburn. Nice seeing you.” He sarcastically greeted, snarling. “You still look as air-headed as you did years ago.”

The prime applebucker jeered, wrinkling his muzzle. “I can’t say the same, Shimmering Comet.” Braeburn, twirling his lasso, snarked at Comet’s foalish jab, brows furrowed. However, a subtle surprise infected Comet’s scorn.

He…remembered his name?

He remembered.

Bitterly chuckling, Shimmering Comet leisurely waved the knife between his teeth. “You were one of the good ones, Brae. It almost makes me feel bad for what I’m going to do.” Kicking off, Comet charged the prepared Braeburn, reeling his neck and thrusting forward.

Braeburn easily sidestepped Comet’s clumsy spearing, one hoof gripping a rope end, his mouth securing the other as he trapped Comet's unprotected neck, tying a sturdy- but not suffocating -knot while tackling the knife-wielding steed. Of course, Comet fought his weight, but Braeburn had practiced wrestling plenty of unruly hogs beforehoof, making it effortless to affix Comet’s tied neck and right forehoof together. Comet eventually pushed the cow stallion off, but, standing, he struggled to balance on his three free hooves with his head and hoof angled strangely.

Oh, and Bareburn’s rope was still attached.

Giving a single hearty tug, Braeburn’s free hoof nearly dislocated the hurling Comet’s jaw, causing him to tumble, which Braeburn fixed by repeating his paddle ball borage three or four times. Teeth and spittle flying in this and that direction, Comet’s disconnected mind didn’t fully register Braeburn relieving his grip sometime later and giving a finish buck, whipping his head back.

>~~~~~<

“Howdy, partner, you’re looking down. You want to talk?” He despised Braeburns smile, his can-do attitude, and his ever-present radiance. Comet hated every centimeter of Appleoosa’s prime apple farmer and his face. “I just ordered a fresh pie, you want some too?” Why? One, ponies like Comet had a snowball’s chance in July gaining such a positive disposition when their stomachs ate themselves constantly.

Second?

“Yeah? Well, alrighty then, come along, friend!”

He couldn’t resist it.

>~~~~~<

“Where’re you going, Comet?!” Trying to drown his begging father's words out with the drizzling rain, he gritted his teeth, refusing to stop. “Come back, I’m sorry for what I said- I didn’t mean it. You need help!”

Nopony would miss him, Braeburn too. “They’re all the same.” He hissed.

>~~~~~<

“Rise, and be reborn.” His lord soothingly ordered, and he happily obliged. “Reveal the cruelties of this world to its burdened children, and herald the coming of a new age of peace and unity. Burn past ties, forget binding faces, abandon your weaknesses- they have no place in our utopia, my brother.” Bowing beneath his lord’s piercing, yet benevolent, eyes, warm liquid traced tribal patterns from his forehead to his chest, ending above his heart.

And despite his gospel, Braeburn’s repulsing face ruined Comet's pleasant thoughts, dampening his content smile.

>~~~~~<

D-Did…his life flash before his eyes?

“It’s a crying shame, partner,” Anchoring his awareness of the current situation, he heard Braeburn solemnly sigh, shaking his head sadly. “You were the nicest colt I knew, Comet. What happened?” He frowned.

Bound, his hooves and head touching each other with Braeburn sitting atop his midsection, Comet’s bottom lip quivered. Frustration. Frustration seeped into every crease and fold his body had. Because he lost? No, he realized he never stood a chance. Because he failed his lord? Somewhat. In reality, Comet’s heart burned hotter than any sun, tears soiling his eyes, because an immense- borderline foal-like -loneliness dominated his thoughts.

He remembered. Braeburn, nopony else.

Starving, lying amongst alley possums and rats, balancing the thin line of life and death, Braenurn shined like his sole ray of hope. His Mom and Dad too. Comet hadn’t thought about his worried parents since he fled; where were they?

Hopefully, they aren’t hurt.

Withholding tears, Comet hid his face as best as he could.

“I-I…don’t know.”

He threw everything away for nothing.

“Show’s done, boy. The pony folk have it from here.” Storing the binoculars and rising, Finn dusted himself off and began walking to the horses waiting at the cliff-sides base. “Hold onto my rifle in case somebody gets funny and jumps us. Other than that, let’s go say hi.” James mumbled an affirmative response.

Messaging his burning eyes, James slung the rifle over his shoulder and shadowed the older lawman, mounting his horse. “I hear you loud and clear.”

January 14, 1912

-Day 3

I’ll keep this brief.

Regardless of James’s ridiculous ramblings, we might’ve encountered aliens- I’m reigning in my expectation, mostly to avoid feeling like an idiot later. I ain’t an expert on space men science and whatever junk James’s interested in, but colorful ponies with wings, horns, and, generally, off-putting proportions for ponies aren’t anything I’ve seen. Are there more? Their town looks human, but James and I are alone here, so I’ll assume it’s theirs.

‘Reminds me of home.

Anyways, these ponies appeared friendly- at least the ones getting attacked. We’re dropping by, to see if they’ll give us food and water, but I’m also making sure James doesn't miss any attackers. I hope we don’t frighten ‘em, the innocent folk, James and I have more than plenty of misfortune lately.

“Heads up!”

Stowing his journal and facing forth, the quaint-sized town’s welcoming sign greeted the stranded Texas Rangers, faded depictions of smiling ponies and apples border cursive lettering spelling out ‘Welcome to Appleoosa.’ James snorted, the obvious pun making his eyes tumble. “Huh. Look, you’re famous, boy!” Finn chortled, gently patting his appaloosa’s thick barrel, earning a satisfied nicker. “I’ll say, James, I’m shaking in my boots over here- what with this uninviting sign and all.”

Snorting at Finn's playful jab, James flicked his horse’s reins, sauntering onward, passing the evident, unassuming lure. “Let’s get this over with, old man.” Finn chuckled, maintaining an even pace beside his partner.

Suffocating suspense swayed their nerves with each hoof fall their mounts took, finding themselves trending unfamiliar, and potentially, hostile territory. Finn knew how humans were, meeting people who looked different- who’s to say the ponies were different? Forget skin color or cultural background, this’s an utterly separate species! He’d witnessed countless people who’ve clung to their vitriolic prenotions and caused harm because of it, fools caring about pointless things and making everybody else’s day worse. If most of these ponies acted no different, pleading for nourishment would be harder than he thought.

Turning a corner, Finn and James halted their horses, laser-focused on a rotting roadblock.

“This’ll be fun to explain.” James soberly commented, nose wrinkled in revolution.

The fly-ridden, bipedal bull’s corpse wasn’t friendless; multiple bodies littered the streets, red staining walls, wagons, barrels, and food stands as they rode on. Reaching what resembled a town square, Finn grimly tallied ten and counting, frozen faces of fear and panic etched into his thoughts.

How is it possible for somebody to fumble this bad on a raid? Finn encountered his fair share of two-cent bandit gangs and looney highway robbers during his service, but this was the sorriest incursion attempt he’d seen yet. Once his bullets began flying, they disbanded like startled roaches hiding in a basement corner. He could’ve boiled tea and taken a thirty-minute nap and it would’ve lasted longer than this.

Still, not all bodies belong to the aggressors.

Rare, but not uncommon, Finn spotted at least three regular, everyday ponies and counting. Missing signs of defense wounds- damaged forelegs, cut hooves, etc. -so it’d likely result from the deliberate, mindless killing or an accident during the panic. A baby wielding a revolver might not be as dangerous as a man with one, but it’s still a gun-toting baby.

Even the most brain-dead moron can kill, given the opportunity, no matter how experienced.

Either way, it left a bad taste in his mouth.

James exhaled shakingly, his gaze rotating on a frantic swivel, insightful eyes scanning the bloodied killing floor. “I don’t feel right- it’s too quiet. Where are they?” Searching the barren town square, Finn’s eyes settled on muted-colored wood walls, stone pillars, and an elegant sign reading Town Hall. Nearing the two-story structure, he climbed off his horse and ascended shallow steps leading to dual mahogany doors.

KNOCK! KNOCK!

“Anybody there? It’s safe, come on out!” adding a third knock, Finn stepped aside.

Seconds later, muffled locks clattered and shifted, unoiled hinges groaned as the left side door cracked open, revealing sun-washed darkness and the outlines of interior furniture.”W-Who’s there? I don’t recognize your voice- you ain’t from here, are you?” Unprepared for the timid lady’s cutting inquiry, Finn stammered quietly.

‘She’s avoiding looking outside.’ He thought, noting a light-steel hoof, thicker than his calf, tightly clutching the inner brass knob.

Finn corrected himself, coughing into his closed fist. “I’m, uh, Finn Cullen, senior ranger of the Texas Rangers. Are you hurt, Mrs…”

“...Big Iron. And no, I’m fine.” The faceless woman reluctantly said. “And I never heard hair nor hide of any ‘Texas Rangers.’ Are you one of them thugs who attacked us? Leave, you’re outnumbered!” Trimming the fat of her intimidating, warning tone, Finn detected traces of fear and uneven breathing driven by adrenaline. He’s lurking through a sensitive minefield with hairpin triggers.

Combing his beard, Finn switched to James waiting at the stair’s bottom. “Well, luckily for you, Missy, we’re not. In fact, I may be so bold as to say we, my partner and I, helped you lot.” The woman (mare?) gasped quietly, hoof flinching, “If we met face to face right now, I’ll explain ourselves.” He said. Removing the homespun star badge pinned to his shirt’s breast, Finn slotted the rustic disc between the gaping doors and pulled it back moments later.

The faceless mare, Finn self-corrected, either considered ignoring his invitation or contemplated hollering for backup. Surprisingly, Big Iron’s mighty hoof completed the door's sluggish outward swing, clip-clop, and fully emerged.

Wide ruby-red eyes started at his plain belt buckle, gradually rising and rising, her perplexion and mild wonder swelling until landing on his grizzled, warmly smiling features. A polished steel-colored, freckled pony three-quarters his size wordlessly stared, thick, braided orange hair coiling around her sturdy barrel like a sleeping viper, tipped with a crimson ribbon bow. Adorning her bulky frame was a simple white neck scarf and saddlebags, suffering past and recent damage. Weirdest of all, although he considered himself mistaken, Big Iron wore a picture of a mining pickaxe shattering rocks on her…flank. His eyes lingering examination swiftly ended after that- Finn Cullen wasn’t some no-good degenerate.

Big Iron, on her part, had the same idea- more or less. “You…sounded younger than I imagined.” Taken aback by her droning conclusion, Finn stifled a snort, snapping the gun-metal gray mare out of her stunned trance. “I- ah, my apologies. I-I say stupid things sometimes.” She grinned awkwardly.

“You’re alright, I know how it is,” Finn dismissively waved, “Honestly, I’d imagined you’d be more frantic than this. My partner, James Adrian, was.” He chuckled, pointing a thumb behind him, James and his mount standing just out of sight.

The massive mare matched his joking comment with a passive giggle. “Ah, don’t get me lying- I’m freaking out. This whole debacle just has me drained.”

Big Iron’s shoulders slumped, bags lining her glistening reds exaggerating her drowsiness. Momentarily looking past her, Finn vaguely discerned ten hunched, tightly bundled ponies cowering in the Town Hall’s darkest shadows, inaudible whispers and mumbling overcoming them, seeing Finn’s face. Outnumbered? Hell, nobody there came close to looking battle-ready. “Not to be patronizing, Ma’am, but you shouldn’t have opened the door. What if it wasn’t a kind gentleman such as myself?” He said.

The massive mare’s ears perked, “You showed me your badge? It looked like our town’s badges, so you must be cowcolts, right?” She answered, tilting her head in confusion. “And…you didn’t immediately stab me or blow my face off. Agh, I don’t know. My head’s stuck in the mud, sir.” Shaking her head, tired exasperation slurring her words.

“Well, I ain’t sure about cowcolt, but I’m a cowboy, or lawman, or whichever you wanna call me, Mrs.” Finn received a pleasant huff, “Okay, then let's move on. I’ll help you with your friends back there and-.”

“Mr. Cullen, we got company!”

Snatching his attention, Finn swiftly turned around and saw James’s frantic warning foreshadowed the arrival of two dozen or more furious, pitch-fork and lasso-wielding ponies dressed in cowpoke attire. His partner’s steed whined with confusion and panic, rearing on its hind legs as three ponies surrounded it, murmuring sweet nothings and glaring at James.

As for Finn’s mount?

“Claws or paws or…whatever they are in the air, now! Let these poor ponies go!”

Lost, washed adrift within their sea of large-brimmed hats and twirling ropes, lacking its riding gear, scattered across the ground. Some pony amidst their ranks spat, “Monsters! Purading ponies in provocative rags like uncivilized whorses!” They shouted in abject repugnance.

Big Iron and Finn exchanged looks, the latter grimacing.

Stars decorated the cloudless midnight sky hours later, peaceful rolling winds howling outside Finn and James' barred cell window, aged cider and salt poisoning the air. Beyond their relatively non-human-sized, six-by-seven, iron bar cells, the jail house’s somewhat bland interior radiated a chilling sense of stillness, devoid of any living being other than Finn, James, and their stoic friend across the wooden sea.

Funny, whoever thought of this arrangement must’ve been playing a joke. Silver fur, and brown hair, but missing his ratty garments, revealing elegant patterns snaking and slithering throughout his body, tribal marks. Hazelnut eyes endured an ongoing staring contest with the floor; Comet’s, as he learned from the yellow stallion who dropped him off an hour or two prior, bandaged visage nestled deep between his legs. Finn heard all but silence coming from Appleoosa’s terrorists since his arrival and after a quick snooze, his mind waged war upon itself. Righteous fury was an instant runner-up in that regard. This bastard caused numerous deaths, unrest, vandalized several properties, and showed zero remorse underneath his unflinching features.

A death sentence befitted his crimes, but Finn’s uncivilized and unholy self yearned for something crueler, to make this sinner pay and cry for mercy.

And, expectedly, his cooled, level mind contested with his primal feelings.

In reality, Finn isn’t one for beating kids to death.

Even if visible age varied from subtle to comically exaggerated between these ponies, he could tell Comet was no older than sixteen, maybe seventeen. “At his age, I’d be helping drive cattle like my Grandpa did and earning jack or fishing.”

Finn reminisced somberly, splayed out along his cell’s fold-out bench, the ceiling peering back. “I didn’t overhear much, but that rambling Braeburn fellow seemed close to the little shit, so they know each other. So, is Comet from here? Why’d he attack his home?” Appleoosa, from his first impressions (appearance-wise), felt inviting and cozy, not the kind of city slums or desolate boonies that produce sociopathic killers. Insistent thoughts kept his mind wide awake, eliminating any chance for sleep, not that James’s periodic snores helped, the younger lawman sat slumped on the back wall.

Minutes, hours? Time has no meaning when you’re caged and alone- what’s worth brooding about? Still, Finn counted each ticking second an unseen clock made, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, then mentally traced every faded stain along the cell floor and walls. When he eventually ran out, his hand mindlessly went for his side piece, only grabbing empty air, his and James’s supplies and weapons stored somewhere within the jail house’s guts. Fiddling with his belt buckle latch, humming half-remembered tunes, and snapping his fingers, Finn struggled greatly sitting still, let alone sleeping. And every time his activities switch, his eyes land on Comet’s unmoving form, unchanged or altered all this time. Who was he kidding here? If not now, he’ll wish James had knocked him out for a minute of rest later.

“So, why’d ya do it?”

The given question wasn’t spoken out of hate, confusion, or plain curiosity- just a mild indifference. Comet didn’t budge, but his left ear flicked in Finn’s direction. “You’re from this little ol’ place, right? I’d take it- attackin’ -your hometown isn’t some early manhood antic’s?” Breaking their drawn-out silence by half-heartedly chuckling, Finn sat, throwing legs over the ‘bed’s’ edge.

Comet’s shoulder shook with a snort, “What do you care, thing?” He spat, “Shut the hay up and sleep. I don’t have to answer shit.”

“Never said you have to. But it'd be nice.”

“Then why can I still hear you blabbering on?” Finally craning his neck, Comet shot Finn an annoyed glare, his eyes red and puffy. “I’ve been through enough shit today. My brother and sister are dead thanks to your freaky flank, I’m stuck here, and my lord’s…” Mentioning this lord person, Comet fell silent, regret filling his visage. “Yeah, I’m from here. Happy?”

Maintaining his reserved mask, Finn stood and walked to his cell’s bars, taking hold of their icy-cool surface. “See? That wasn’t hard. But you haven’t answered my second question. The hell you thinkin’, causing this mess? You might as well tell me, the way things’re heading.” He reasoned.

“Yeah, it’s also the reason I ain’t telling you anything. You’re a prisoner like me, thing; just because you got a fancy deputy’s get-up doesn’t mean I’ll play nice.” Showing the older lawman his back, Shimmering Comet laid down, hugging himself. “I’ve already ruined my life, and nopony’s taking away whatever dignity I have left.”

Uninterrupted seconds ticked by, James’s soft snores filling the void of silence. Gritting his teeth, a sudden bang caused the prone Comet to flick and roll around, seeing Finn and his fist smashed against the bars. “You little fucker! You have the audacity to make this about you?! Your 'brothers and sisters' killed those folk out there! Some families won’t be seeing their fathers, mothers, sons, or daughters because of you, their lives are destroyed, gone! And the goddamn gall you have to say ‘Oh, woes me’ makes me sick! If these bars weren’t here, I’d kick your ass until it’s black and blue!” Snarling, Finn pulled the bars, producing a loud rattle that’d startled Comet. “A joke. You are a sad, pathetic, joke with no punchline in sight, boy. You, and your operation. I’d feel pity if you weren’t so disgusting.” Adopting a similar, angered expression, Shimmer Comet left his bed and stomped his hoof.

“W-Watch your mouth, mister! Don’t go talking when you can’t understand what I went through!” Comet shouted, stomping again, “It isn’t my fault they died. Th-They probably got caught in the chaos! Besides, they might have deserved it!” His righteous fury began kicking and chanting again, tightening Finn’s hold on the bars until his knuckles turned white.

He snorted loudly, “You filthy animal. Why I outta…” Finn canceled his threat, releasing his choke hold and stepping back. “Again, why? Why in God’s name would you do this, boy? Don’t you have a family? Friends? Is anybody here you somewhat liked? What if they were hurt, huh?” Incredulous stating his bewilderment, Finn watches his cell neighbor’s short-fused anger diminish into smoldering bitterness, hanging his head.

Comet stumbled backward, narrowly falling if not for his rump catching the bed’s edge. “I-I…A father, mother, and…my sister. I haven't seen them for a long time, two years now. Heck, they’re maybe long gone now. My mother, she’d caught something bad before I left- I never knew what it was. Sister, she’s a machine with no off button,” He huffed, smiling sadly, “Spent more time breaking rocks and breathing coal dust than talking with us, but she cared. And my Pa…used to work for Sheriff Silverhoof.” Hearing the spiteful venom coating the sheriff's name, Finn lifted a brow but kept quiet. “Before we and the buffalo made peace, he’d helped protect railroad workers and patrol the town’s border. Man, he’d work from sunrise to sunset, and come home covered in shit, sweat, and dust; Ma yelled at him to clean up, tracking muck indoors. But…after Appleoosa’s and the Buffalo’s peace treaty came along and took a good portion of our land and Equestria was attacked, our town’s funds were running dry with us repairing destroyed homes and farmland. Economic depression leads to bit-pinching, bit-pinching leads to budget cuts, and budget cuts mean laying off honest working stallions who were loyal from the beginning.”

“Your daddy got laid off?” Finn knew where Comet was heading. As a kid, he’d seen Civil War veterans thrown aside like street trash, missing limbs and their minds, drinking or begging on street corners. Not to mention the whole financial fiasco in New York back in 1907.

“Yeah,” Comet nodded, sniffling, “Afterward, the watering hole became his second home. He’d…never get violent or anything, but it didn’t hurt any less, seeing his sorry state. We tried helping, but then Mom got sick, and my sister worked even harder than before. And there I was, sitting on my flank doing not a darn thing like a scared foal. Nopony knew our names- Dad’s name wasn’t even known despite his good deeds. They didn’t care, watching my father drink himself into an early grave, my sister working herself down to the bone, or my mother being bedridden! I couldn’t get a job to pay for medicine, and I knew very little ponies. I thought everything for us was over…until…”

“Until what?” Crossing his arms, Finn urged his cell neighbor to continue, which the stallion chuckled. “Until you left? Is it related to this lord feller you’ve mentioned?” Comet nodded, grinning.

The stallion’s head lifted once more, “I don’t know how it happened- it just did. I came across one of his members and they were the one pony who saw my plight and offered a solution.” He hissed, punching his knee. “If I joined the lord’s unifying crusade, I’ll be paid, and then my family could live better. My mother would be healthy again, my sister wouldn’t have to work anymore, and my Father wouldn't need to worry!”

Finn scoffed, shaking his head disappointingly. “So you abandoned them without saying a word?” He said.

“I didn’t abandon them!” Comet retorted loudly, “I told them I’d be leaving and that’s it!”

“Doesn’t make it less painful, does it?” The stallion recoiled as if shot, Finn directing his scolding scowl. “Your mother was sick and your family’s falling apart and you decided to run from this problem because of money? I give a damn if you think it’d benefit this entire town and the next over, money isn’t worth leaving your family, no matter how much.” The stallion stuttered for a reply, ultimately unresponding. Finn pursed his lips, painful memories threatening to arise as he took a calming breath.

May God strike him down if he ever thought about doing such an abhorrent thing. ‘Although, for that bastard, I’d slit his throat and cut off his dick before doing so.’ Recalling the scarred devil's face only fanned his enraged flames, Comet’s ragged groan thankfully distracting the older lawman.

Pressing both hooves over his eyes, Comet sighed, leaning back. “Dear Celestia, I-I just wanted t-to help!” He muttered. “Screw him, screw his idiotic cause. I wanna see my family again.”

“Pray to whatever god you worship, boy.” Returning to his bed, Finn reclined, placing his hand behind his head. “You’re right, I don’t have any authority here, but your fellow ponies do, and I’m betting they’re not as…forgiving as I am.” Sighing, he angled his gaze, seeing James fast asleep, regardless of the prior screaming match. “Quit your sobbing and sleep, I’m exhausted.” Comet’s sniffling marked his end, accentuated by squeaking chains and a shifting body.

Closing his eyes, Finn began drifting off, smelling the outside burning wood and blood.

Equestrian Ranger

by TheGunslinger12

Chp 1: Chased and Displaced

Chp 2: Unconventional first sighting

Chp 3: Eventful first encounter and the lonely colt