> A Loveless Tundra > by Dworthy > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- > Prologue > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- The jet streams whipped around, attempting to bring the upper atmosphere back to thermal equilibrium and undo the uneven heating of the sun with high-speed air movement, though constantly hindered (and thus, made long-lived) by the very rotation of the planet. This phenomenon was, for the most part, just a novelty for the local scientists and something of an invisible nuisance to those on the frontiers of societies practicing local weather control, as the air over nine kilometers up has less than a third of the equivalent oxygen content of sea level. This is fatal for most of the flight capable species, and any exceptions will usually find the low air density blocking their wing’s effectiveness at gaining altitude, assuming the freezing air doesn’t force them to descend. Still, nature always has a part in history, and as luck would have it, an unusually large number of macroscopic creatures called changelings ended up launched into the air by a spherical shell powered by love. This was entirely unintentional, and most of them were barely conscious for most of the flight, given that unexpected physical trauma and rapid temperature changes are not conducive to continued awareness. One outlier, who was hovering a good distance above the rest of their kind due to a reluctance to partake in combat, ended up gaining much more altitude than the others, and lost consciousness entirely from the pressure and temperature changes. The initial trajectory intercepted a jet stream almost directly overhead, and the limp body was quickly flung by the strong winds northward. Despite mostly being a black carapace pocked with holes, the changeling caught the wind fairly well, though the rapidly deteriorating wings flapping uselessly in the buffeting jets made such a prospect rather poor in results. Of course, flight by any object with zero awareness and less than the escape velocity is doomed to end by gravity, and its inexorable pull brought it down and out of the jet stream. Even if that had not happened, the stream was about to make a sudden bend in another hundred kilometers or so, and that would have ejected the changeling anyway, though far further north. Returning to the most interesting thing in kilometers, the literally-battered-by-thin-air changeling was quickly dropping to the ground. The fall was particularly chaotic as the near-useless wings made the rotation particularly unstable and rapidly shifted around the terminal velocity. Nevertheless, rapid descent was guaranteed. The rapidly approaching ground was covered by thick clouds. Most flight capable creatures, thanks to magic suffusing the environment, were perfectly capable of interacting with clouds under normal circumstances. This did not include speeds that were usually only flown by daredevils attempting a Sonic Rainboom. The changeling’s form smashed a hole through the clouds with ease, slowing the fall down far more effectively than the gradually thickening air, and the far floatier snowflakes helped a little, too. Below the expansive cloud cover, only briefly marred by the descent, an expanse of snow stretched ever onward. Precipitation such as snowflakes was fairly rare at these areas normally, with how little water is in the air, but the area held a mostly forgotten curse that locked away the center from the outside space-time, as well as ancient evil whose legacy had long degraded into holiday tales. Overall, despite the definite evil lurking in the area, these circumstances were extremely lucky for the creature forcibly set apart from the hive, as it changed the fall speed from most likely fatal to survivable… maybe. Out of all the natural surfaces on a wet planet, snow might just be the best for minimizing the physical impact of a landing. Unlike most other materials, the fluffy nature of undisturbed snow provides a massive crumble zone, spreading out the force needed to stop over time. In fact, this distribution tends to be the deciding factor for the survivability of any large fall, as the lethal factor is the necessary acceleration to stop the fall at the moment of hitting the surface of the planet again. There have been a few tales of wingless ponies surviving falls from the cloud cities of the pegasi by landing in hay bales, though also a couple on the surprising rigidity of water at high speeds. To be short, when falling near terminal velocity, avoid bodies of water if a perfect diving position is impossible, as it would be just as bad as landing on bare mountain rock. All in all, the changeling had a great deal of luck, not only having the help of the weather to slow down, fresh snow to provide a soft landing, but also managing to land on a snowbank, all without even being aware of what was happening. Outside of the wings ripped to uselessness and hypothermia slowly setting in, the hapless victim of circumstance was entirely uninjured from a very, very fast journey. Now, this creature would go on to change the fate of the entire species… assuming death of frigid temperatures or starvation is avoided. > Chapter 1: Arrival > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- The first thing he noticed was the wind, loud, but oddly, he couldn’t feel it on his chitin. The second thing he noticed was the cold. He felt it everywhere. It was like some towel that someling sprayed cold water on and draped over him. It was even a little wet to complete the experience. The third thing he noticed was how he couldn’t move anything. Something kept him from moving his legs, wings, neck, head… he couldn’t even open his eyelids. He felt oh so tired, though. Maybe he should just… rest for a… little… wh…i…l…e…. A freezing drop of water splashed onto one of the softer, more sensitive parts of his chitin at the base of his neck, waking him back up. An unconscious shiver managed to dislodge a bit of whatever was keeping him trapped, and a strong shake of his head freed him from his frigid prison. Finally opening his eyes, he could see a blank expanse of white. Looking from left to right changed nothing, looking down provided the same view, and looking up finally gave a different color: gray checkered by moving white spots. It really wasn’t that much different. It took a while, but he was finally able to dig himself out of the snow he was buried in. Now, he needed to leave the crater he was in, and the best way to- A jolt of pain broke his train of thought as he extended his wings, and he looked back at them. With horror, he saw that the previously ragged wings were barely more than stubs. While he could regrow them with time and energy – rough-housing often tore a wing at the hive – he wouldn’t be able to fly anytime soon with how bad they looked. With a sigh, he started carefully climbing/digging his way out. He slipped a few times on his way up the crumbly and squishy snow walls, but when he finally managed to get out of the hole that he made on his landing, and saw nothing but snow in every direction, including up if the snowflakes and snow clouds counted. It was then that it sank in: Thorax had no idea where he was, outside of far away from anything and anyling he knew. He had no idea how far he travelled. The falling snow made it impossible to see anything far away, and difficult to see anything that wasn’t close. The only landmarks he could see were the crater he made, long out of view, and the prints he was leaving behind, which were being slowly filled in. He wasn’t even sure what he was walking on. To be more precise, he wasn’t sure how far down it was before the ground became solid again. It could be just a hoof length or two under the snow, or he could be walking on top of some massive amount of ice, with snow just dusting over the top like a thin layer of barren dirt, as it was near the hive. He belatedly added to the list of possibilities that there could also be a thin sheet of snow suspended over thin air when a hoof broke through snow and found nothing underneath, and in his surprise lost his balance and fell into the hole. Thankfully, it wasn’t that deep, so all he got was a light ache in his jaw when he landed on it. “Why does this always happen to me,” Thorax moaned. He got up and looked around the small cavern he dropped into, taking note of the floor of dirt with some grass here and there as well as the walls made entirely of compressed snow. There were also a few passageways that led to somewhere else, and what was down one of them caught his attention: a group of small, white-furred foxes, staring at him with some shock. He said with a calm, quiet voice, “Don’t worry, I don’t mean you any harm.” The snowy foxes still fled down the corridor into a small branch partway in, likely their den. With a weak sigh, he looked back up at the hole, and the snow slowly drifting down. While it was surprisingly warm in this cavern, considering it had snow for walls, it was rapidly cooling with that sudden opening. However warm that nearby den was, it wouldn’t be nearly as pleasant soon. However, he had no idea how to patch that hole, and he was too tired to think something up. This was also the only shelter he had found so far, and not even the Queen would know when he would find another in the snowfall. Coming to a decision, he laid down in the entryway to the foxes’ corridor, back to the outside in the hopes of the chill keeping his wings numb, and let himself drift off. Soon, his snores filled the otherwise silent caverns. Something tickled Thorax’s nose. Something light and fuzzy was pulling him from his sleep. Well, unless one of the other changelings of the hive were pulling a prank on him… again…, everything that happened wasn’t some strange dream he was having while camping out outside of Canterlot’s walls and shield. He slowly opened his eyes and blinked a few times to clear them, as all he saw was white. A little more time to wake up along with refocusing his eyes let him see the differences in texture. There was the flat white of snow at the front, which were the walls, and some fuzzy white downwards. That’s right, he fell asleep in that entry way, and he had his back to the chamber he fell into. His wings didn’t ache much, though he didn’t know if that was from the cold or because they were healing. Lifting his head a little bit, he could finally get a good look at why his underside felt so warm. The little foxes were all huddled up against his stomach, except for one bold enough to nap under his chin. That one’s tail was the culprit for his ticklish nose. He kept himself from chuckling at the adorable sight, not wanting to wake them up. Whatever warm feeling he felt froze solid when he finally bothered to look down the corridor again and saw the cold, angry glare of a fox that was much larger than the small ones. > Chapter 2: Shelter > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- The older fox, presumably the mother of the little foxes, tilted her head down towards the ground, keeping her eyes pointed towards Thorax, and let out a short bark that almost sounded like a cough. While the changeling had no idea what that meant*, the cubs that were napping along his belly likely knew, as all four of them opened their eyes, looked to their elder, and started huddling up closer to the black legs they were sleeping by. *Changeling education was highly specialized, focused on using natural abilities as well as how to blend into various societies for infiltration. Animals and their behaviors, especially of those that did not live near the hive, were one of the categories that Queen Chrysalis considered unnecessary, with other examples being advanced mathematics, critical thinking, and swimming. Tapping into his abilities to sense the emotions of nearby creatures, Thorax could tell that the parent's spiky rage was just shell over a watery but vibrating core of fear, so it was probably the case that she wanted her offspring to find somewhere safe to hide from him. Supporting that was their emotions, which, while obscured by the cloudiness of confusion, were changing from some baseline, solid contentedness to a similar fear, though it didn't change completely. As the younger foxes weren't moving, the changeling put two and two together and realized that he had accidentally gained their trust... somehow. Apparently, the adult fox did too, as she narrowed her eyes, then made a deep growl while moving her belly a bit. This time, the smaller foxes quickly got up and dashed their way over to her, most of their emotions replaced with anticipation, which had its outer part shudder and spike periodically. As he took notice of the parent's emotions reducing in intensity, he decided to try and say something. "Well, I'm sorry for coming in here with your nymphs, or, well, what ever words are used for the members of your clutch, but I fell into the caves on accident, and I can't fly out yet." He took another look at his wings, which managed to grow back a few inches since last night, a bit faster than he expected. "Is it fine if I stay here? I'll try and fix the hole I made, too." The family of creatures gave no indication of understanding what he said, which Thorax wasn't particularly surprised by. What few animals lived near the hive either fled or ignored changeling conversation, and getting the latter in this situation was probably for the best. Instead, the older fox brought to her offspring a small pile of what looked like smaller versions of the moles that often burrowed into the hive. As the original occupants of the snow caverns were busy eating, Thorax decided to check himself over. As he previously noted, the wings were growing back even faster than he expected, even when he was regularly eating the love the infiltrators brought back. They seemed a bit shinier than they usually were, though that might just have been the stronger lighting compared to the hive. While the hiverock did let light through, it wasn't nearly as translucent as snow, and the ceiling here was much thinner, too. After sitting up, he checked his other limbs, which moved just fine, and his disguises functioned just as well. While his magic was a little weaker than usual, that was probably from how poorly supplied the camp was, worse than the hive. Considering the latter was under permanent rationing... Thinking about food gave him a sudden realization. He felt less hungry than he usually did, despite the fact that he barely fed at all during the invasion and didn't quite get enough at camp. He didn't run into anyone at all since he landed in this tundra. In fact, the only creatures he even saw were these foxes, so.... The only explanation that he could think of was that he somehow fed in his sleep, but everyling knew that that you had to actively pull from a source to feed off of love, and that animals usually weren't worth the time. He had heard that it was easier to do so if the target was fooled into it rather than if it was just taken by force, but he never heard it being literally effortless. Thorax dropped that line of thought for later when he saw that feeding time was over, and the young foxes started playing with each other and some leftover bones. After a moment of watching them, the older fox stood up and walked towards the changeling. By now, the anger and fear were mostly gone, replaced by a very observant mix of curiosity and unease. In other words, about the same that he was feeling. He let he sniff him, as it didn't seem all that different from eyeing each other over. Plus, if she did anything aggressive, his fangs were far longer, and a kick from him would likely hurt, so he wasn't that afraid of her. Evidently satisfied, she walked past him, and looked up at the hole in the ceiling from the previous day. Beyond it, the sky was still overcast, but it wasn't snowing anymore. "I should be able to fix it with the snow on the floor," Thorax said, and lit his horn to try just that. Not used to magic, the fox glanced warily at him, then at snow he was lifting, but she stayed put and watched. He gently lifted it up to the ceiling, slowly inching the mass towards one of the edges of the hole, hoping to gently press it together. It didn't work. The edges crumbled down into the caverns every time he so much as brushed it with his load. Eventually, he gave up and haphazardly dropped it in the center of the chamber. Thorax groaned. "It won't work without some support. A pillar in the center would work, but I don't have enough snow for that, and I don't want to risk taking any from the walls." He looked at the fox, but, well, she wasn't there any more. Checking down one of the other tunnels, he could barely see her, mainly from movement and some lingering emotive energy. Having nothing much better to do, he followed her. The path taken through the various tunnels, which Thorax did his best to memorize, eventually led to another opening to the outside. This one much easier to go through, as instead of a sheer drop, it was merely a steep incline to the surface. While the elder fox wandered off, likely to look for food, he instead doubled back to where the hole was, just on the surface. He found it with no trouble, and started looking nearby for a good place to dig up snow to drop in. He stopped once he realized that, with an invisible cave network underneath, any digging might destabilize some of it, and the last thing he wanted to do was make even more holes. The solution he eventually came up with was to dig near the main entrance in the direction of the walkable slope. That way, he had little chance of damaging the caves, and could even make it easier to get in or out to boot. Of course, that meant yet another trip back, but the walk was only a few minutes, and even with the cold weather he preferred that over sitting bored in the invasion camp. Digging up the snow was a little difficult, as it was a formless mass that, for the most part, was stuck together as a giant mass covering the entire tundra. He had to kick hard to pick grooves into until it was loose enough that could rip it away with his magic, and then he had to carry it back. After that, he had to carefully drop it in without touching the unstable ceiling and making sure he wouldn't drop it in any unsuspecting foxes. Thankfully, a few trips provided enough building material by his reckoning, and he made his way into the caverns again. The proper way, this time. Managing to make it the whole way back was quite a feat of navigation, what with the walls and ceilings made of pure white snow and the ground a mix of mostly dead grass and uncovered dirt that occasionally dirtied the lowest layers of snow, but he still managed it, even if a little slower than before due to a lack of confidence. It did help that, near the end, he could hear the younger foxes playing, which made his decisions at any crossroads far less hesitant. The pile of snow in the middle was almost exactly as he left it; a couple depressions and a score of paw prints was evidence enough that the little foxes had a bit of fun there in the meantime. Thorax smiled a bit at that, then got started carefully forming the snow with his magic. Again, this was driven by caution and a lack of experience, as the Badlands rarely saw snow. It didn't take long for him to figure out that compacting the material hardened it and stuck it all together, and he began in earnest. Outside of the occasional interruption of a cub coming in our of either curiosity or, in one case, rolling right into the chamber with another while play fighting, it was peaceful work for him. He shaped a pillar that he hoped was thick and sturdy enough to ensure it would survive something small and fuzzy barreling straight for it, which broadened at the top and fanned outwards just underneath the edge of the hole. With that, not only was it better supported and less liable to fall inside should, say, the wind start blowing the wrong way, but it also sealed the chamber in again. He could already tell that, without the chill air from the surface coming in, it was a bit warmer inside the caverns. Not enough for the snow to melt, but still warm enough for a creature with enough insulation to find it comfortable. Of course, he did test the structure to make sure it was stable, and while he had one front hoof carefully pressing on the new ceiling and the other using the pillar for balance, the elder fox returned, carrying the result of successfully hunting rabbits. Thorax happened to be facing the wrong way to see her, but it was hard to miss the cubs running in with vibrating anticipation. She left the meal to them, and looked toward the pillar. Wanting to give her a better view, he pushed off from it and dropped back to his usual quadrupedal stance. It was hard to gauge what she was feeling, as outside of some slowly fading, but still bright pride over the hunt, and a small core of love for her offspring, it was all a gray, listless mass of neutrality. As a result, the changeling stood there in silence, unsure what exactly to say while his work was inspected. It seemed that the fox was satisfied, as she went to the family's storage and returned with a mouse, placing it on the ground in front of Thorax. "I, uh, appreciate the gesture, but I can't eat that," he said, pushing the chilled corpse away. She glanced between him and the rejected offering a few times, before just going ahead and biting into it herself. Having nothing better to do, he watched her for a while, until one of the little foxes pounced on some of the leftover snow right next to them. Just like earlier that day, they were playing with the bones that remained, batting them about and jumping on them. This one (which had larger ears than the rest, Thorax noted) happened to send the rabbit femur his way. He took it as a sign that they wanted to play with them, and lifted the bone using his magic. The youngling was a bit surprised by this, but then realized that it was a brand new way to play, and got very excited and barked in anticipation. After shaking it a bit, he tossed the bone down one of the corridors, the little one dashing after it. The other siblings all watched, pick up their own toys, and brought them over to Thorax for some fun, too. While he already knew about how much the young ones like him, he did learn something from the elder's reaction, or more precisely, the lack thereof. She just kept an eye on them, trusting him not to do anything to hurt them. 'I could get used to this,' he thought, and played with the rest of the cubs, a small smile on his face. > Chapter 3: A Fox's Life I > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- It's been a couple days since Thorax reinforced the ceiling to what ended up becoming his chamber of the snow cavern network. Things have settled into a bit of a routine: he woke up with at least one of the young foxes curled up against him (so far, the first morning had Ears, the second had both him and Nosy, though on the current day it was only Spot), who raced away once their mother, who he'd been calling Vix out of a vague memory of what the term for a female fox was, gave the morning meal call. He checked his wings to ensure they were still growing back, wondered if they really were shinier than before, and slowly got up once the foxes were done with breakfast. Usually, at this point, the younglings would be running over for him to start playing. However, it seems they finally got bored of him, and to be frank, he was running out of ideas. It didn't help that yesterday evening was when the bone chandelier incident occurred, from which he learned three things: changeling goo made a great adhesive for connecting the leftover bones, it wasn't nearly as good when gluing onto snow, and creating a toy that got the foxes to apply weight on an unstable ceiling was a terrible idea. Thankfully, the only reminders left were an indentation in the snow at the top of one of the tunnels and the last of the names he gave to the foxes, Hops. What's especially strange was that he'd start playing with them with the intent to feed off of their joy and excitement a little, but by the time they finished, he had forgotten it entirely, and yet still felt a bit less hungry than he started. He was missing something, but couldn't tell what exactly. Either he was somehow getting nourishment, or his body had given up on survival... which still didn't seem right with how his wings were growing back so quickly. Anyway, as the little foxes no longer had as much interest in what he was doing, he might as well follow Vix to her hunt. As per usual with her, she glanced at him to see what he was doing, but otherwise didn't acknowledge his presence. He kept silent the whole way, especially once they left the cave network. While changelings did not hunt, at least, not in the traditional sense, it was fairly obvious to him that it would be a bad idea to shout to anyling nearby that they were a potential enemy. Besides, it wasn't as if she would talk back. Eventually, she stopped and smelled the air, ears swiveling all the while. Thorax halted as well, patiently watching. As far as he could tell, there was no other creature around. Soon, though, Vix bunched up her hind legs, kept into the air, and planted her head into the snow. The changeling just blinked, unsure of what he just saw, until she backed out of the hole she made, triumphantly carrying a small rodent in her jaws. He strained his ears to try and hear if there were other rodents nearby, but even if there were, he probably couldn't hear them through the layers of snow, unlike Vix. He then had the idea to swap to his emotional sense, and while it usually didn't work through solid things, the snow was fluffy enough so he could just barely catch glimpses of emotion moving around underneath, likely more of the same prey. An idea formed, and Thorax turned himself into a copy of Vix, which caused her to jump back in mute surprise, though she calmed down again after sniffing him. Then, he scoured the underground while quietly moving until he found a relatively stationary bundle of emotions. Finally, he imitated her leaping pounce and successfully grabbed a burrower in his borrowed teeth. The flailing against his jaws made him hesitate. He never, ever wanted to hurt anything, not even a small insect, and what biting down would do seemed far beyond that. Still, Vix did it all the time, and she and her young needed to eat something. That thought got him to strain his jaws closed, and he felt the struggling quickly still. While he felt a little empty inside about doing that, he did notice when glancing at her that while shelled by the usual aloof indifference, there was a small amount of respect underneath, which wasn't something he usually has directed towards him. It did help a little with that, even if not by much. Apparently satisfied, Vix turned around and wandered off, likely to go hunt for more prey somewhere else, leaving Thorax with his own thoughts along with his catch. Normally, he'd never do something like that, but the thinking about how Vix had to silence prey all the time as well as how overjoyed Spot and his siblings would be with it pushed him to do it. Was that... what taking care of someling a part of the family was like*? *Thorax never had the opportunity to be responsible for another being. Firstly, none of the changelings in the hive liked him enough to be cordial with him, let alone sire nymphs with him. Secondly, Queen Chrysalis kept him as far away from the nursery and school as possible to minimize the chances of his ideas spreading. Finally, changelings never kept pets, as any decently sized animal that wasn't a mole of some kind was assumed to be a nymph practicing their shapeshifting and were placed back in the nursery, which hadn't always gone well. Thinking about his family inevitably led to him thinking about his brother Pharynx. Unlike Thorax, he stayed behind at the hive as ordered by the Queen. The surprising part wasn't that he obeyed without question, as her temper was not to be tested, but that he personally wanted to stay. His calling was to defend the hive, and he felt that the invasion was far too risky for it to be good idea. Of course, this was told in private and in confidence, as disagreeing with the Queen openly was tantamount to treason, especially when she was thoroughly invested in a plan. Still, Thorax had to wonder if his brother knew anything about his fate. Heck, before he came to this place, he had no idea there could be flat land covered in snow like the mountain peak Canterlot rested near. His best guess was that he must have gone quite far north, as the weather was a good bit cooler at that mountain city compared to the Badlands where the hive was. The rest of the invasion force might have landed somewhere even more dangerous, like a bottomless pit or an endless expanse of water. With his previous conceptions about how the world could look like busted, anything seemed possible. He shook his head to clear his mind. Something about this place just made him think more. Maybe it was the blank white visible in almost every direction, the lack of anyling to talk to, or maybe the invasion gave him a lot to think about. Either way, he was always taught that too much thinking never helped anyling, and he knew he could help those foxes he lived with by hunting some more. And so, he did. The wonderful mix of surprise and joy he sensed from the first fox he ran into when he came back to the snow caverns, Hops, made all that trouble worth it, and getting the same from her siblings just added to that. > Chapter 4: A Fox's Life II > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Another few days passed. Thorax's wings had managed to regrow to about half their original size, and if he shunted a lot more magic into them than usual, he could hover or even ascend. It likely also helped that there weren't any holes in them, which was a bit odd, and that they stopped hurting when moving the day before. Speaking of magic, his had fully recovered. While transforming into something with similar size or mass was easy, the same could not be said of more general shapeshifting. To ensure he wasn't completely out of practice (though hunting did help, Vix wasn't that much smaller than him), he decided to take on the form of one of the burrowing animals he once caught and test himself to see how long he could hold it. Turned out, looking like prey in the den of a fox family was not a good idea. Spot, who had a noticeable star pattern in her coat around one of her eyes, noticed him rather quickly with a hungry look in her eyes, and crouched down to pounce. Thankfully for him, he noticed her before she committed to it, and squeaked out, "Uh, Spot, what are you doing?" Having heard his voice often enough to easily recognize it, she relaxed from her crouch and looks around for him. She was a bit confused when she couldn't find him, but then noticed the prey animal looking straight at her, so she quickly leapt for it while it was presumably still in shock. Thorax had a bit of a reputation in his hive. While he was, at heart, a pacifist, his whole conflict avoidance quickly branded him as a coward in the rough-and-tumble culture of changeling nymphhood, and when his default response to bullying or straight up getting attacked was to run or hide, he started thinking of himself that way, too. Any progress that might have been made in growing away from that was tossed aside by bolting from the much larger fox. Undeterred and craving some fun, she gave chase. Naturally, any young creature scampering about and apparently enjoying it would attract the interest of bored siblings, and once they realized what their sister was chasing, they joined in as well. The pack quickly herded him to a part of the snow caverns he found unfamiliar, which just added to his panic. After what felt like an hour of fleeing, he finally took a wrong turn and hit a dead end. He turned around and pressed up as close to the wall as possible, as if it would help. Naturally, Hops went for a pounce, but Ears did too at the same time, resulting in them colliding with each other and falling onto Spot, leaving the three in a dazed heap. That left the last of the siblings, Nosy, who carefully stalked up to him and then grabbed him before he could react. His claws kept Thorax in place, but weren't digging into the skin, and he went for a sniff, as he always did with something new. Apparently, the smell wasn't what he was expecting, and he let go and backed off a bit. Now that he finally had enough room to think things through, the changeling finally realized what would've been the most sensible thing to do from the start: change back to his undisguised form. Once that was done, he held a hoof to his chest and tried to breathe slowly in the hopes of calming down his rapidly beating heart. It was quite successful, helped along by very obviously being the biggest thing in the tunnels again. It also didn't hurt that Nosey walked up to him again and gave him a nuzzle. The pile of siblings also started shaking their heads to get rid of some cloudiness and looked at Thorax in confusion. After a few seconds, it dawned on them that the mouse they were chasing was just Thorax in disguise, and they bounced over to him again, doing their best to express that they wanted to do it all again. "You-you want to do all that again?" Spot gave him a nod of affirmation. He tried to look more calm and collected. It didn't go very well. "Well, you have promise me that you'll let me go after you catch me. I don't want to be badly hurt while playing." She nodded again, and let out a playful mewling sound to her siblings. It was almost odd how well she understood him, possibly better than Vix. Still entirely convinced, but willing to give it a try, he walked past them to the crossroads and took on the rodent form once again. "Just give me head start to hide, and then we can get started." The response was one shake of the head and four foxes crouching low to ground. "Uh oh." The (far more playful) hunt was on again. > Chapter 5: Cursed Weather > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Less than two weeks into his stay, and Thorax's wings had finally recovered in full. However, it was another two days until he could try them out again, as the weather outside was so bad that Vix didn't even bother to go hunting. With the skies once again free of falling snow, he left to do some real exploring. He first rose high into the air, trying to see if he can get a better view of what lay off into the distance. The east and west were fairly boring, leading to more snowy flatlands as far as he could tell. To the north was a wall of mountains that were almost entirely covered in snow, and the parts that weren't looked like sheer cliff faces. The south finally had something under than the greyscale that dominated the region with dark greens, though based on how there were even more white over there just above the green, it was likely a forest covered in even more snow. Any place warm enough to reliably get above freezing was more than a day's flight away, and Thorax didn't want to risk trying to leave just yet. After that part of the reconnaissance, he glided his way nearer to the ground and started circling around the entrance to his shared shelter while slowly increasing his distance. The spiral would allow him to thoroughly scan the surrounding area while minimizing the chance he'd get lost along the way. To keep his mind occupied while staring the frankly boring terrain, he thought further on his future plans. He would have to leave eventually, as there would come a time when Ears, Spot, Hops, and Nosy would be old enough to strike out on their own. Even if it only took a year, he should've left a long time ago by that point if he wanted to get back to the hive without the chance of a desertion charge. On the other hoof, traveling in the area could be very treacherous, especially when the weather turned bad. He's seen it happen in minutes with next to no warning there, and if it struck while he was heading back south, he would have to rely on luck yet again to find shelter. That's just too dangerous to risk. With that reasoning out of the way, he readily came to the conclusion that he'd wait with foxes until the snow melted. His conviction in the whole thing was a lot weaker on that last part, truth be told. Two hours into the search pattern, so about a fifteen minute flight from the snow tunnels, he noticed it suddenly get colder. Thinking the weather would swap to a blizzard yet again, he made a 90 degree turn towards the center of the spiral. A few seconds later, the air warned back up to its original, less frigid temperature, which got him to hover in place and turn around. He stuck one of his forelegs out, and as a reward got a chilly hoof. That was very strange, and feeling curious, he flew in deeper. It visibly got darker as the ever-present cloud cover thickened further. Not only that, he could feel the magic of the area slowly intensify above the natural background. It wasn't like any other magic he ever felt. A part of him wanted to figure out what it was and maybe take that power for himself, but the vast majority of himself found it oddly icky and wanted little to do with it, outside of using to know which way not to go. It even started to snow, but it was light enough to not bother his flight too much, so he pressed on a little further, the precipitation gradually increasing. He knew he would have to stop eventually if kept worsening like that and promised himself to keep going until just before then, pushing through the drifting snowflakes and that odd-feeling magic. He never made it to anywhere close to that point. His eyes picked up something that made him stop, stare for a good minute to be sure, then race back to safety again. Near the center, there was a lot of snow in the air. It wasn't falling. It wasn't even moving at all.