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Dirofilaria

By gastrocnemius
Created: 2025-10-21 21:37:32
Updated: 2026-02-27 15:16:44
Expiry: Never
filly

  1. 1.
    >Be you, Anon Y. Mous
  2. 2.
    >Slumped at your desk, staring blankly at the wall above your monitor, another swallow of dark, musky beer trickling down the back of your throat
  3. 3.
    >Not thinking of work, not thinking of sleep, not thinking of the glowing sliver of infinity dominating the desktop, the keyboard that hasn't been cleaned since the last election cycle, the hair spiders caught in between the seams of unpainted pine
  4. 4.
    >That omnipresent pressure holds you in place, as if paralyzed, wasting in this faux leather, ergonomic, sweat stained sarcophagus of a rolling chair
  5. 5.
    >You imagine some misfire in your brain, a clump of blood lodged in some wet crevice bursting, and a year later some inspector or neighbor finding a bone-filled black sludge taking over the chair, seeping into the carpet, stinking not much worse than it must already; the image is equally revolting and placid
  6. 6.
    >Your eyes drift over to the flashing alarm clock, silently shouting as if in protest the time it knows is wrong, a testament to your inaction as much as to the inevitability of your failures
  7. 7.
    >Small, innumerable failures, motes of dust congealing on the shelves, the walls, the windowsills, choking and oppressive, immobile under that same pressure
  8. 8.
    >At one point, you yet again knocked your toe against the outlet, or maybe the switch on the power strip, leaving it little more than an indignant night light shouting a known un-truth, not quite a lie, but a declaration of malfunction that had become a silent statement against your character
  9. 9.
    >At one point, you would have reset the device, but having predated the nation of South Sudan, the little nine ninety-nine beeper had fried a long time ago, and anyway you used your phone to wake up now, so aside from being a warm plastic paperweight to the side of your time-keeping computer monitor, it served as a monument to stagnation, to the immutable nature of your rot-soaked unlife
  10. 10.
    >At one point, the thought would have stirred you to action, but not now
  11. 11.
    >You're like a chimp masturbating in a concrete cell, going through the motions of life and once-pleasure not as a matter of survival or even comfort, but in a sedentary commitment to routine
  12. 12.
    >No, not a commitment, commitment is commendable, commitment assumes some level of discipline; rather, your habits were a thousand little neuroses in themselves, automation protocols firing off in the otherwise barren wasteland of your swirling head
  13. 13.
    >As is the common course, your teeth begin to grind in steadily building outrage at knowing that such a despicable cretin could be wasting the gift of life, that the sands of time slipping through your fingers are spent on what can no longer even be described as a creature comforts
  14. 14.
    >Slug man, system pig, sniveling worm, writhing little consumptive imp thing not even fit to host the mites on his flesh
  15. 15.
    >"Anything else?" you ask yourself, aloud, browline wrinkled into a righteous sneer
  16. 16.
    >You cast your eyes to the floor, and your face goes soft; dragging yourself to the bathroom serves just the sort of temporary relief from your own thoughts that you yet live for
  17. 17.
    >On the way back out, you stop by the mirror, locking eyes with the image, a glimmer of what might be comradery snaking down your spine as you share a moment with the only creature on earth that might understand the depths of your depravity
  18. 18.
    >The narcissism of your action is not lost on you, and after a wordless minute, your face contorts in disgust and you draw a sharp, nasal breath
  19. 19.
    >Not wanting to sit back down yet, you wander aimlessly into the living room of your inherited childhood home, your mistreated slice of a loving estate, the more dynamic assets divvied out to siblings with enough guts and spine to actually make use of them, all done totally amicably of course
  20. 20.
    >Wood-paneled floor warped with moisture and age, brass fixtures tarnished and greying, the same picture frames that have hung on the wall since you were a boy, a smell somewhere between stomach acid, wet dirt and skin oil
  21. 21.
    >For just a moment, the beer buzz overtakes you, having been on your seventh or eighth in the last two hours; you gasp out a shrill, mean laugh, not-quite-shouting the word "wasteoid"
  22. 22.
    >You feel a brief, icepick throb in your head, stare out a window into the inky night, and finally stomp back to your chair before absentmindedly clicking through computer folders
  23. 23.
    >After carefully dodging a hundred or so unfinished or unstarted projects, you take the long route to some image folder, click on a random icon, stare for a few moments with a straight face, and close out of everything before polishing off the last swig of beer and staring at the wall again
  24. 24.
    >You like to imagine the back of your head opening like the petals of one of those tropical flowers, the ones that smell like rotting shit, the ones they call corpse flowers, a cloud of thoughts and memories and dreams suspended in chunks of red and pink as the bullet shreds its way up your palate and through the brainstem, frozen in time at the point of eruption, a wispy little cloud of gore waiting to burst across the walls and ceiling and floor
  25. 25.
    >You cling to the image as if you were drowning and it was some life-saving flotsam, a chance piece of debris shaved off from the wreck of your life, your one lifeline in the abyss
  26. 26.
    >Your sense of shame is the last thing keeping you anchored to this world, and you know should it erode you will inexorably tumble over the edge
  27. 27.
    >In the best case scenario, you might become a semifunctional gooner, spending your non-working hours shaking the thoughts of despair and rage from your head through some combination of prolonged technique and perverse peripherals
  28. 28.
    >Alternatively, you could crawl into the streets and drink mouthwash, just another incoherent body warming the homeless shelter, stinking up gas stations and Burger Kings and leaving trails of plastic litter in your wake, gifted by well-meaning fools whose cruel generosity only prolongs the piss-soaked engines of suffering living outside, on the periphery, and without hope
  29. 29.
    >So you hold on to that shame, the final tether, and perhaps one day it will grow deep enough and hot enough and raw enough that you will give up waiting for death to claim you and sprout that flower, that last work of beauty you could ever produce, and go into that most restful sleep by your own hand
  30. 30.
    >It would be like laying down after a long day of work, one of those days that went on forever and ever and by the time you get home you feel like you haven't closed your eyes in years, and you don't even need a beer or two to chase away the thoughts, you don't even think about the thoughts, one of those nights where your head hits the pillow and you can just sleep, finally just fucking sleep
  31. 31.
    >Imagining such relief makes your eyes water, so you bury your face in your hands, you rake your stress-chewed nails over the pore-pocked flesh before resting the knuckles between your gnawing teeth, the tender scars itching as they well up with fresh blood
  32. 32.
    >Just as quickly you lose the energy to be upset, that inescapable pressure pushing you down, dragging your aching shoulders out of the unnatural arch you had unconsciously assumed, limp against the flaking chair
  33. 33.
    >"Boy, I sure have been working hard on ALL this NOTHING, I deserve another fucking beer."
  34. 34.
    >Jumping back up, you stomp to the fridge and grab a can this time, some fucking local craft you don't even know if you like yet, you don't know if you like any of them anymore, and spend another night staying up far too late repeating it all over and over and over again
  35. 35.
    .
  36. 36.
    .
  37. 37.
    .
  38. 38.
    >You're slinking through opaque muddy water filled with squishing greenish things that have formed a fluffy line around your waist, wobbling reflections of the twilight sky painting your skin corpse-blue
  39. 39.
    >Each barefoot step makes you wince as you imagine unseen hazards, venomous snails and catfish spines and parasitic amoebas and cottonmouths (do cottonmouths even dive, you wonder), and you trudge toward the edge of the pond, where a rotting old stump marks a break in the brushline
  40. 40.
    >Stupid, it was stupid to get in the water, I wish I had my phone, why am I even in here? you almost say aloud, but decide not to draw attention to yourself
  41. 41.
    >You stumble as your foot is sucked into the silt, falling into a precarious crouch as it is swallowed down to the thigh
  42. 42.
    >Water splashes onto your face, into your nose; you shudder to imagine what might crawl its way up into your brain, and snort violently to expel it
  43. 43.
    >After some effort you free yourself, and make it to dry land, only to slip again and bump against the stump
  44. 44.
    >Before you can react and to your great horror, a cloud of buzzing, angry wasp-things begins to pour by the hundreds from some hole in the decaying wood
  45. 45.
    >One lands on the back of your hand, the length of your thumb, and striped in bioluminescent pastel multicolor
  46. 46.
    >In stunned silence you watch as it sinks its stinger into your skin, sending jolts of searing pain up your arm as it welts into a glowing purple growth
  47. 47.
    >Finally, as if some horrible spell has broken, you begin to run as fast as you can, breaking through bushes and vines, stepping on spiny things, ripping holes in your arms and legs on thorns and branches and all manner of forest debris
  48. 48.
    >The wasps attack your arms, your shoulders, your neck, your head, leaving the same pulsing, breathing welts wherever they do
  49. 49.
    >Swatting and cursing and howling in pain, you don't know how many you kill, or even if they die when you hit them, you've lost your glasses somewhere, you can barely make out the trees as you sprint through the brush and you swear something is squirming inside the welts, the itching burning welts, stinging like a bed of hot pins
  50. 50.
    >Your foot catches another patch of loose mud, your leg slides at an unnatural angle, something smacks against your throat, your breath catches, you tumble headfirst into another pond and the last thing you see is the reflection of your face in the opaque, glass-calm water, ringed with the strange glowing wasps, contorted in pain, screaming for help, terror in your eyes
  51. 51.
    .
  52. 52.
    .
  53. 53.
    .
  54. 54.
    >When you open your eyes, you find your body at an odd angle, heaped in a mess of slightly overlong grass, staring into a cloudless and sunny sky, feeling that same pressure, that inescapable pressure covering you head to toe
  55. 55.
    >Images of angry, stinging bugs crawling their way through the soil and onto your skin and into your hair spur you to your feet, breath catching in your throat, heart pounding, shuddering all over
  56. 56.
    >Your body feels wrong, and you look down to begin swiping away the creepy crawlies, only to see hoofed limbs covered in bright green fur, a tangled mess of black, too-long hair framing your vision
  57. 57.
    >You lose your balance, and fall back onto the ground, unable to catch yourself as limbs disobey the angles you reflexively attempt to put them in
  58. 58.
    >The grass softens the impact, but still you pound the back of your head and knock the wind from your lungs, gasping and writhing on your back
  59. 59.
    >The deluge of confusion and discomfort and pain is too much, and you begin to scream, finding your voice uncharacteristically high pitched, almost childish
  60. 60.
    >No, not childish, girlish, maybe still childish, but anyway it doesn't matter, it feels like you're choking, breaths not quite heavy and not quite strained but not quite right, so maybe not quite choking, but distressing nonetheless, and settling into yourself you feel the rhythm of your heart, that's wrong too, well maybe not the rhythm but the intensity, and even the way your eyes roll around as you try to look for something, some building to enter or some person to help you, everything not quite painful but so far beyond the pale of your understanding, indescribable in its wrongness
  61. 61.
    >"Like a mutant!" you shout, over and over again, the first word that comes to mind, casting it like a ward against the wrongness, as though it might chase it all away and you will be able to catch your breath and perhaps even open your eyes and wake up in bed nursing the expected slight hangover
  62. 62.
    >"Help!" you scream, "HELP ME! ANYONE!" tears well in your eyes as you sound your way through the words, unfamiliar tongue lolling in your too-long mouth, then
  63. 63.
    >"I'm drowning! I'm going to drown!" you aren't sure why, that's just how you feel, and suddenly the helplessness of your situation breaks away, galloping into absurdity
  64. 64.
    >"I'm going under!" you break into a sort-of-laugh, "I'm a dead man! I'm a dead man!"
  65. 65.
    >A bitter, angry cackle, then another scream, a wordless scream, raising your not-hands to pull at your head, what feels like a finger grabbing at your hair, pinching it against the hoof, pulling it to your chest, that pressure welling up into some nonspecific dread, howling and crying and screaming and laughing
  66. 66.
    .
  67. 67.
    .
  68. 68.
    .
  69. 69.
    >The first thing I felt when I awoke was relief
  70. 70.
    >To be clear, the dream was stressful, but no more stressful than normal
  71. 71.
    >In fact, it bore great resemblance to one I had journalled a month prior
  72. 72.
    >Far more importantly, I knew immediately that I had been in one of my moods last night (as I was almost every night), but despite my indulgence, the expected splitting headache and turgid gut were both completely absent, and I figured I must have drank more water than I realized
  73. 73.
    >The air was refreshing and calm, and for just a moment I felt that crushing pressure abate, if only a little, like putting down a heavy bag, or taking off a bad pair of shoes
  74. 74.
    >The second thing I felt was confusion; I noticed immediately that the sun was bearing down, a gentle breeze carried something sweet and herbal, and my bed was replaced by dusty, tall grass
  75. 75.
    >The third thing I felt was concern, as the terrified scream of a little girl tore through my ears (Did I take something and black out? Am I naked somewhere? Did I wander to one of the subdivisions and pass out in a playground? The concern quickly evolved into abject terror)
  76. 76.
    >Heart pounding, adrenaline pumping, I reflexively cupped my junk and rolled onto my belly, eyes darting for observers
  77. 77.
    >The fourth thing I noticed was that I couldn't feel anything at my groin, and come to think of it I couldn't feel my fingers either, and what is this green shit on my arm, and oh god where is my hand?
  78. 78.
    >I scrabbled to my feet, steadily growing more cognizant of just how wrong everything felt
  79. 79.
    >I whirled around to the source of the noise and saw some grass colored horse-ish creature, curled into a writhing ball, alternating between fits of terrified cries and desperate-sounding laughter
  80. 80.
    >"Hey-" I stopped, then "What-" then "What?!"
  81. 81.
    >My voice was distinctly feminine, and cracked on the vowels, and the creature before me began to unravel, craning its neck to look at me, and I lost my balance as I realized that it was a mirror image of myself, or perhaps I of it, only drenched in sweat and snot and tears, and it looked at me with pleading eyes, terrified and helpless and confused and and slightly amused eyes
  82. 82.
    >"Je-sus..." I managed to choke out, and that sense of dread finally crashed back into my chest with full force
  83. 83.
    >"What's going on? Hey man, what is this?!"
  84. 84.
    >For moment, our eyes were locked, and I stared into oversized, puffy eyes, glistening emerald irises all but swallowing pin-sized pupils
  85. 85.
    >A lump formed in my throat, my next words were muffled nothings, then
  86. 86.
    >"WHO are YOU? WHERE AM I?"
  87. 87.
    >The creature's tears broke, and out flooded a tide of lilted, cruel-sounding laughter
  88. 88.
    >"You're in hell, you were a rotten evil no good person, we both must have been, and now we're in hell together, we have souls, souls are REAL, they're REAL and ours were wicked, evil wicked spiteful souls, and now they've gone where they belong, and we're dead! Dead, dead, dead!"
  89. 89.
    >It spoke in that screaming girl voice, and it wobbled up onto its legs, shambling towards me with a look between frustration and despair
  90. 90.
    >It was like listening to a panhandler, except I felt her words were real, born not from some mixture of strung out wetbrain-edness and a lifetime of victimhood, but something that struck so dearly a chord in my heart it was as if I had caught myself monologuing at no one in the bathroom at the end of a long day
  91. 91.
    >"Stay away, I can't help you, stay away, fuck you, stay away!"
  92. 92.
    >She tottered slowly, deliberately, unsteadily toward me as I scooted backward, pulling the tangled hairs at the end of my back (A tail! I have a tail!) on thistle and roots
  93. 93.
    >Then she caught up, and her hoof was on my tail, and she reached out with the other one, and was grabbing my shoulder and shaking me, and soon she was on top of me, straddling me, the soft part of the hoof (the frog, the frog, the frog- it repeated in my head as if it were a salve against the fear) pinching into my new skin, tugging the carpet of hairs on my arms and chest
  94. 94.
    >I let out a scream- a short, one syllable word, like the sound of a squeaking hinge
  95. 95.
    >The first swing hit her in the bicep, the second square in the mouth
  96. 96.
    >The following moments were a blur, and somehow she ended up on the ground, blood pouring out her lip, while I scrambled to my feet (Hooves! My hooves! I am behooved!) and ran in a gangly, unrhythmic way, on all fours and digging into the grass so hard I tore it from the soil
  97. 97.
    >But as I fled, the sheer loneliness of the field balked at me, like some invisible wall standing into the infinite sky, and I was sure in my head that it touched the stars, that invisible wall, and the thought of solitude was almost as terrifying as the predicament itself, then became even scarier, and I shouted something unintelligible as I raced back to the terrible, whimpering horse
  98. 98.
    >I closed in faster than I should have, caution abandoned, and a waterfall of blood poured from her mouth as she muttered to herself, revealing a fresh gap in her upper jaw
  99. 99.
    >"You're just like me, we died and went to hell, nothing will ever feel right again"
  100. 100.
    .
  101. 101.
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  102. 102.
    .
  103. 103.
    >Upon a more thorough, less urgent examination, there were a number of observations marking the both of us as being unlike any equid I had ever heard of, even as a washout former veterinary student
  104. 104.
    >Most obviously were the colors of our coats, a bright, almost yellowish green, like immature leaves, only broken by a black, stylized question-mark brand on either side of both our flanks
  105. 105.
    >Her eyes were unnaturally large, and presumably so were mine, though she was of little help as she sputtered on about death and damnation and whatever other nastiness she scraped from the depths of her mind in between periods of forlorn silence
  106. 106.
    >Our limbs were unusally stocky, and had a far wider range of motion than expected, though I still wasn't used to the sensation of walking on what was essentially a bloated middle finger
  107. 107.
    >I had more discretion than to examine her groin, but investigating my own revealed distinctly female equipment
  108. 108.
    >Of course, whatever was going on with the stunted (but still uncomfortably long) mouth and unviewable throat was entirely a mystery, as obviously no species even remotely adjacent to the horse should ever have the hardware to speak
  109. 109.
    >Strangest of all were the "extra" features; subtly poking from her mane was a swirling horn, the same color as her coat
  110. 110.
    >Though she was tolerant enough to let me fiddle with her hair to examine the base, it told me nothing except that it was contiguous with the skin, and anyway whatever pigment was in the coat was in the flesh as well, making for one solid color
  111. 111.
    >I felt my own forehead only to find it bare, and was struck by a tinge of relief in knowing that at least our bodies had some differences
  112. 112.
    >As if reading my mind, she reached out and touched my side, and I twitched in a way I couldn't describe, thinking briefly about that epidermal muscle non-primates have to displace flies
  113. 113.
    >However, my train of thought was broken before I could draw up the name, for when I looked to where she had poked I saw a feathery wingtip, tracing its origin to somewhere close to the middle of my back
  114. 114.
    >"I suppose it makes as much sense as anything else." I said, staring as they ruffled themselves in some subtle, reflexive motion, aware of an almost tingling but refreshingly not unpleasant sensation in my third pair of limbs
  115. 115.
    >We shared a moment of silence, her focusing in to lock eyes with me, though I refused to hold her gaze and stared at the mass of dried blood on her upper lip and trailing down the side of her face
  116. 116.
    >"I uh, I'm sorry for hitting you, I was... a little," I bit my lip, looking for the word, "Yeah, my bad dude."
  117. 117.
    >She shook her head dismissively, carrying herself with a sudden and startling burst of coherence
  118. 118.
    >"Don't worry about it. They came out far too easily, so either we're old enough that the roots are barely still holding on and we'll be falling apart soon anyway, or young enough that the missing (she whistled on the harsh 's') teeth were deciduous, and already not long for this world," She paused, looking thoughtful "This world..."
  119. 119.
    >She took on a distant look, fixed on some distant point
  120. 120.
    >"Well that's a relief. You know a lot about horses?"
  121. 121.
    >"I know fuck-all."
  122. 122.
    >She spat out her reply like a bad taste, and I rolled my eyes
  123. 123.
    >"Charming and philosophic. Do you have some kind of training, or life background?"
  124. 124.
    >Her brow softened, her eyes eyelids drooped
  125. 125.
    >"I'm a devil, a pissant little imp. That's why I'm here. Did you spend your days sucking cocks?"
  126. 126.
    >She smirked to herself, as if amused by some invisible joke; in turn, I felt a flash of anger and disgust, clenching my jaw
  127. 127.
    >"I don't know if we can afford the luxury of making asses of ourselves right now, you grimy little prick. Unless there's something you do know?"
  128. 128.
    >"I know this is it. Whatever it is, this is it."
  129. 129.
    .
  130. 130.
    .
  131. 131.
    .
  132. 132.
    >Your mouth still throbbed where the winged horse had struck it, the taste of copper refusing to leave as blood still oozed slowly from the bare roots
  133. 133.
    >Combined with the rest of your little episode earlier, you had worked up quite a thirst
  134. 134.
    >The sun was still high in the sky, so you weren't sure which direction was which, but you could see in the distance a cluster of tall, snow-capped mountains, at the foot of which sprawled a dense forest, and its woodline couldn't have been much further than a few miles away
  135. 135.
    >Another set of mountains, further looking, loomed in the opposite direction, but otherwise your surroundings seemed to be a vast sea of gently rolling green hills
  136. 136.
    >Despite the otherwise unblemished, vast and open horizon, you feel caught between the two monoliths, or clusters of monoliths, and the flowery, warm air had a distinct, paradoxically tomblike quality, or maybe it did in your head, and you thought about crawling into the dirt and waiting to see if time pulled the mountains down so you might wander unmolested by their foreboding figures
  137. 137.
    >You shook the thoughts from your head, made off toward the distant trees
  138. 138.
    >The winged horse, who until this point had been lost in thought, hurried after you, staring intensely from her sunken, tired eyes
  139. 139.
    >"What are you doing?"
  140. 140.
    >Her voice had an accusing edge, as though she thought you might break into a run, and she seemed almost desperate
  141. 141.
    >"I'm thirsty."
  142. 142.
    >You expected some further demand for explanation, but she seemed to understand, following the slight trail you pushed through the meadow
  143. 143.
    >"It's odd, isn't it?" You ask, allowing the question to hang unanswered above the gentle swishing of hairy little legs against grass, savoring the slight tension, that uncertainty radiating from the winged horse in waves
  144. 144.
    >Finally, "That hell should be so... picturesque. Like some little landscape painted out in the country, one made by an old bachelor who lives in a cabin." Then, "I was a bachelor, you know."
  145. 145.
    >A breath almost like a sigh of relief came behind you
  146. 146.
    >"So you're a man? Or were... So was I."
  147. 147.
    >"Was. Am. Will be? Maybe... Have you been here before?" The words escape your mouth as a stream of consciousness
  148. 148.
    >"Buddy, I've never been anywhere with purple mountains."
  149. 149.
    >You were going to say something, but then it suddenly strikes you that you haven't actually seen a single insect yet, despite your waking concerns, and despite the abundance of flowering groundcover
  150. 150.
    >As if on cue, from some outcrop of thistle, a large, pastel-pink butterfly flutters on the breeze, tracing a discordant, jumbled path across your own, where it lingers in the air as if to meet your gaze
  151. 151.
    >You stop in your tracks, marveling at the delicate color, watching its graceful, unpredictable dance, before it flutters away just as swiftly as it came
  152. 152.
    >Releasing a breath you hadn't known you were holding, you feel a lump in your throat, and something in your chest gives, and you almost spin around to grab onto the winged horse again, this time to pull her into a hug, before swallowing hard, shaking your head, and trudging on
  153. 153.
    .
  154. 154.
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  155. 155.
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  156. 156.
    >Though your new form introduces some measure of ambiguity, you feel confident you've walked for only about three, maybe three and a half miles, and the edge of the forest is close enough for you to make out individual trees
  157. 157.
    >Every so often, a small cloud or cluster of clouds races perpendicular to your own path, occasionally casting a brief but gentle shade over your party of two
  158. 158.
    >Judging by the slight movement of the sun, at least as far as you can tell, the clouds must be going north, or at least north-ish, and you must be going west (or west-ish)
  159. 159.
    >Of course, this assumes the sun traces the same path through the skies of hell as it does the world of the living
  160. 160.
    >Aside from the general discomfort of your body switch, and the general foreboding of the vast, rolling hills, so far hell isn't so bad
  161. 161.
    >Perhaps the true torment comes later?
  162. 162.
    >With the initial shock gone, the novelty of your situation offered, for a short while at least, some reprieve against the pressure, but as you muse over the nature of your entrapment, or at least the nature that you can surmise, it creeps over your back like a heavy woolen blanket
  163. 163.
    >Or perhaps it is simply the fatigue of travel through gently sloping, wild hills in an unfamiliar body; at least, that's what you tell yourself
  164. 164.
    >Your mind swivels inevitably toward reasoning why you might have landed yourself a place here
  165. 165.
    >While you never really ascribed to any religious leanings, and you had little patience for the entrapments of "spirituality" (at least in the sense so often carried by your fellow man or, more commonly, woman), you still held some internal beliefs about what made an upright moral character
  166. 166.
    >In fact, this whole experience picked at your long-held metaphysical convictions, namely that the world of the metaphysical was trifling, and questions of afterlife or at the very least some realm other than the physical were frivolous, fantastical things
  167. 167.
    >Your own faults were many, but you could distill them to three simple, rather convenient principles: your despicable laziness, your unshakable selfishness, and your violent temper
  168. 168.
    >Sloth and wrath, plus something you could call envy or lust, depending on the perspective
  169. 169.
    >Perhaps it was for this reason that you were so quick to accept the reality of your position; clearly, there was some sort of cosmic justice, and it had deemed you unworthy, much as you would expect, and that the great infinite silence you had hoped so dearly for at the end of the road was as unattainable as anything else you had reached for
  170. 170.
    >There had always been an undercurrent of longing for something greater, something sappy like the goodness of the human heart, or perhaps some great spiritual hand steering human fate to give you purpose, but in your infinite laziness, you shied from its pursuit, or maybe that's the excuse you gave now that you were here, a way to cope with the lack of faith that otherwise guided so many, drove them to feats of artistry and heroism
  171. 171.
    >It is, of course, possible that this could all be in your head, but then again so could hell; a trap of the mind, that same trap you lived in your whole life, ever lacking the willpower to break free, now seized upon whatever counted for your soul, and perhaps that was the purpose of goodness, to free oneself from the eternal torture of the mind's eye
  172. 172.
    >Or whatever the fuck, what does it fucking matter, you're here now, stuck in some foreign body where nothing feels right, and it will probably never feel right again, you'll just wander through some horrible endless wilderness with nothing but the souls of your fellow damned, ever thirsting, ever hungry, ever tired, with only their company to shield against privation and exposure, who knows if there's any water to drink, who knows if it will sate you, who knows if it won't make you bleed from the eyes and the ass and spit up bubbles of guts and wallow in misery until you wake up again, in some other distant field, without even the meager company you now keep, totally and truly alone, just as you ever were, this singular encounter the highlight of an incoming eternity
  173. 173.
    >Little lambs left shepherdless in a world of dust
  174. 174.
    >At least the scenery is kinda nice
  175. 175.
    .
  176. 176.
    .
  177. 177.
    >"Why are you stopping?"
  178. 178.
    >The unicorn had, without warning, planted her ass on the ground and slumped over, curling her tail around her thigh in some defensive or self-conscious gesture
  179. 179.
    >Truth be told, I was grateful of the pause, for despite all its faults my original body clearly had this one beat in endurance
  180. 180.
    >She mumbled something, or maybe just made a strange breath, and I warily circled around to look her in the face
  181. 181.
    >"What?"
  182. 182.
    >"I don't, I... mmph."
  183. 183.
    >Sensing an ominous shift, that everpresent dread welling up in my chest, I braced for another outburst, shuffling way a foot or so
  184. 184.
    >"You aren't about to freak out on me again, are you?"
  185. 185.
    >A sharp breath, almost like a slight chuckle, before she looked up at me through a drooping mess of long black hair
  186. 186.
    >"I'm tired. Just tired."
  187. 187.
    >"I see. Can't say I don't understand."
  188. 188.
    >Cautiously, I sat down facing her just as a breeze kicked up, carrying on it a something resh and grassy with just a hint of lavender
  189. 189.
    >For whatever reason, it made my mouth water
  190. 190.
    >"So..." I began, "What should I call you?"
  191. 191.
    >"Horny."
  192. 192.
    >Without missing a beat, as though she were waiting for the right moment, though her face remained stoic
  193. 193.
    >I couldn't help as my mouth peeled back into a slight, wry grin
  194. 194.
    >"Alright Horny, I can be..."
  195. 195.
    >I tapped my chin thoughtfully, before wrinkling my nose in frustration
  196. 196.
    >Not a lot of wing puns that would make sense here
  197. 197.
    >"I don't know... Birdbrain?"
  198. 198.
    >If nothing else, it was silly enough
  199. 199.
    >She shrugged and so did I, letting the topic drop
  200. 200.
    >I wondered about the water; surely with these kinds of summits, there should be some icemelt, and following the forest's edge would probably be the best way to serch for it without getting too terribly lost
  201. 201.
    >Any more lost than we already were, at least
  202. 202.
    >God help us if we stepped on a rattlesnake, or got some 24-hour tick virus that made our brains swell up, or maybe the ground could just fall out under our feet- our hooves, and the earth could swallow us up
  203. 203.
    >Just have to focus on finding the water first, then if there's a river we might be able to follow it to some kind of settlement, and from there maybe people who could help us
  204. 204.
    >Despite the strangeness of our situation, I wasn't ready to call us dead, but I wondered just where the hell we could possibly be, and how I got so far away from home in what seemed like just one night
  205. 205.
    >If we had been in someone's clutches, some nefarious n'er-do-well slicing us up with little steel instruments, shuffling our brains around into vat-grown monstrosities like some shitty horror film, why just dump us in the middle of nowhere?
  206. 206.
    >Perhaps we had clinically died, or at least appeared to do so, and were rolled off the back of a pickup truck rather than pumping up the energy bill by going into the incinerator...
  207. 207.
    >Could she know more?
  208. 208.
    >"What's the last thing you remember?"
  209. 209.
    >She turned her head against the breeze, tracking another lonely cloud as it raced toward the horizon
  210. 210.
    >"Drowning in myself."
  211. 211.
    >I rolled my eyes
  212. 212.
    >"Intoxicated by loathing? Suffocating on your own iniquities, yeah? Join the fucking club."
  213. 213.
    >It felt a little gay to say it out loud, like some mopey teenager moaning into the internet, some fucking faggot complainer so far up his own ass he could pick the corn out with black-pained fingernails
  214. 214.
    >The fact that it resonated so well with me made it all the more annoying
  215. 215.
    >I knew where I had gotten myself, and that it was nobody's fault but my own, and I had no right to fucking piss and cry about it, and probably neither did this screaming drama queen
  216. 216.
    >So why couldn't I get this lump out of my throat?
  217. 217.
    .
  218. 218.
    .
  219. 219.
    .
  220. 220.
    >By the time we reached the forest's edge, a patchwork of willows and chestnuts and fern-spackled live oaks, both of us were visibly exhausted
  221. 221.
    >Her- his? theory that we were either elderly or juveniles seemed to hold increasingly more water as this was a trot I couldn't imagine even winding a healthy adult horse, certainly not a man, and since my joints didn't creak and my back wasn't what ached I bet on the latter
  222. 222.
    >Still, there was still some light in the day, so after some terse discussion we decided to follow the woodline south, spending the rest of the day in half-mile stop-and-go drudgery
  223. 223.
    >By the time we called it quits, we were both audibly hungry, but figured we ought to solve the water problem before we made it any worse trying to eat something
  224. 224.
    >The falling sun marked a sharp drop in temperature, and the breezes of the day kicked into whirling gusts, driving us just inside the forest where at least the trees could break the wind
  225. 225.
    >We were both tired, and sleep came easily, pressing our backs together for warmth, covered in large fern fronds
  226. 226.
    .
  227. 227.
    .
  228. 228.
    .
  229. 229.
    >At some point the two of you had taken a wrong turn, or else crested the wrong hill to get a better view, and managed to lose sight of the forest's edge, wandering deep into some jagged fissure in the earth, a sudden and dramatic valley with walls so steep and so high that you lost sight of the mountains themselves
  230. 230.
    >The midday sun was brutal, bearing straight down on the valley floor and baking the dark, rocky soil so that the heat became unbearable
  231. 231.
    >The only shade was offered in the thin, wispy branches of creaking, ancient cypress, and you both resolved to turn back the way you came
  232. 232.
    >It was on this return trip that the winged horse kicked something loose, a tiny stone cairn of unnatural shape, and from it crawled an insect no bigger than a thumbnail, something like a cross between a bedbug and a flea, with firm spines on the edges and a rusty color
  233. 233.
    >It lept on the winged horse, onto the small of her back where she couldn't reach, and she swatted in vain with wings she was still not yet accustomed to as it pinched or stabbed or tore with a menacing pair of sharp forelimbs
  234. 234.
    >"Help me you useless bastard!"
  235. 235.
    >But you were already backing away, another one of the little monsters skittering from the pile and springing into your hair, crawling down your shoulder as you twisted and swatted and shrieked out a girly string of expletives into the dry, oppressive heat
  236. 236.
    >It made its way down your forelimb before biting at the base of your hoof and disappearing under the skin
  237. 237.
    >Frantically you began scraping at it with your other hoof, the nail's uncharacteristically sharp edge slicing it with ease, revealing the bare tendons and bones beneath
  238. 238.
    >You catch the resultant flap of skin in the frog of your hoof; as the bug began crawling its way back up your leg, so too did you pull off the flesh behind it, always just a bit too slow to catch up, but faster than you can think, the hollers of your companion drowned out in the blood-rush rumble in your ears
  239. 239.
    >It comes off in one contiguous piece, like unravelling a mummy, pinkish muscle and white flaps of fascia dribbling bright drops of fresh, warm blood, exposed tendons twitching and flexing, all while that horrible creature sliced and bit and crawled its way just out of reach
  240. 240.
    >In the blink of an eye, your flesh had returned, the pain was gone, you were back in the meadow under a pale blue moon illuminating whisps of water vapor dancing over the swaying grass, the air gentle, cool, and light
  241. 241.
    >Before you, a massive form, nearly five times your size, dark against the midnight sky, eyes aglow with silver light, descending from a moonbeam
  242. 242.
    >"BE NOT AFRAID!"
  243. 243.
    >The voice is deep, matronly, commanding, and echoes in your head; your stomach drops and you whimper uncontrollably
  244. 244.
    .
  245. 245.
    .
  246. 246.
    .
  247. 247.
    >"MY LITTLE PONIES! BE NOT AFRAID!"
  248. 248.
    >Princess Luna cast her gaze down at two cowering green fillies, a pair of twins (or else very close sisters), wings spread with regal splendor
  249. 249.
    >Squirming dream-grass crackled under her hooves as she landed, then took a series of graceful strides towards the pair, who were frozen in place and staring at her in stunned silence
  250. 250.
    >The one to her left was a pegasus, with dark ringed, sunken eyes that radiated anger and fear
  251. 251.
    >The one to her right, a unicorn with a prominent tooth gap, crouching like a wounded animal, eyes glassy with waiting tears
  252. 252.
    >The princess at this point knew better than to let the silence linger, and quickly gathered that an air of regal authority would do her no good here, so she lowered her wings, softened her brow, and let the light fade from her own eyes as she adopted a warm, friendly smile
  253. 253.
    >"My little ponies, you are so terribly troubled. Be not afraid, for your princess is here, and she will let no harm come to you."
  254. 254.
    >The unicorn broke into a run, gasping for breath in between desperate sobs, tearing her way through the grass
  255. 255.
    >The pegasus remained stationary, ears perked, not even breathing, just watching the princess with her dinner-plate eyes, accusing and pleading and defeated all at once
  256. 256.
    >"Please stay put." the princess said, before flying after the unicorn
  257. 257.
    .
  258. 258.
    .
  259. 259.
    .
  260. 260.
    >The meadow dreamscape turned quickly into a tangled mess of mangrove trees; though Princess Luna was easily able to catch up to the wayward filly in the open grass, she crawled through the network of exposed roots like a squirrel
  261. 261.
    >Overcome with concern and a little bit annoyed, the Princess flashed the tip of her horn and the trees sank into the ground, leaving the filly on a wide patch of mud with nowhere to hide
  262. 262.
    >She coiled like a spring, crying "Mercy! Mercy!" but before she could make another mad dash, the Princess was upon her, scooping her up with powerful, soft-feathered wings, cradling her like a foal while she thrashed in vain, squealing and leaking mucous and begging for death (a "real" death, she said between whimpers, the dreamless slumber, slipping away into oblivion)
  263. 263.
    >"We won't hurt you, little filly. We would never hurt you."
  264. 264.
    >And the princess began to sing
  265. 265.
    .
  266. 266.
    .
  267. 267.
    .
  268. 268.
    >It was something mournful and sweet, trickling through the pressure in your chest like snowmelt through a dry riverbed, pushing it away in clumps as it filled your heart with something warm and calm and tragic
  269. 269.
    >The fear morphed to sorrow as the angel sang, and you grabbed on to the fluff of her chest, burying your face in the soft, downy fur, your pathetic whimpering replaced by deep, low sobs
  270. 270.
    >The terror, the confusion, the acid worry that had possessed you for the last day or so drained; but it was more than that, it was the turmoil that had plagued your entire life, ever since you could remember, wells of tension spilling from muscles in your face and in your shoulders and in your back that had known no rest, not for years (no, more like decades), that pressure giving way to something... to nothing
  271. 271.
    >Not an overbearing nothing, that nothing that swallows you whole and traps you in the dark, that inescapable and stifling nothing that hisses from a dead heart, not even that empty nothing that calls you to sleep as a break from a world full of terrible, exhausting somethings, but a new nothing altogether
  272. 272.
    >As if you were totally weightless, anchored to the earth only by the soft touch of this angel, this singing, beautiful angel, and you shivered not from the cold or the fear, but from relief, that's what it was, relief, not nothingness but relief, saccharine relief that melted you into a formless mass of willowy bones, cradled in those soft, heavenly wings
  273. 273.
    >You summoned the strength to look up, into her kind and gentle face, a face carrying terrible pain, not searing pain like an open wound but an ache, a pervasive and exhausting ache, the ache of an old scar just before it rains, an ache that spilled out in her angel's voice, as though banished into that haunting, sorrowful song
  274. 274.
    >She closed her eyes, still carrying that song, and pressed her forehead to yours, and you could feel her feeling your pain, and she could feel you feeling hers, and you realized that her song wasn't a song at all, but tearless, melodic weeping, a weeping not from the eyes but from the heart, and the two of you wept together for a while
  275. 275.
    .
  276. 276.
    .
  277. 277.
    .
  278. 278.
    >"Come now, let us go to your sister."
  279. 279.
    >Nothing more needed to be said, not right now; whatever trouble the little green fillies were in, or at least thought they were in, was surely best discussed together
  280. 280.
    >The Princess moved the filly to her back gently, the way one would pick up a baby bird
  281. 281.
    >Her heart ached for the child; though not the most distressing dream she had ever seen, the scene she appeared on was uncommonly so, especially for one so young, a beacon of suffering and terror burning through the tapestry of dreams like a shooting star
  282. 282.
    >At least they had each other to rely on
  283. 283.
    >While sharing dreamscapes was an incredible rarity, all she had encountered who could were twins, and it spoke of an unshakable bond between them
  284. 284.
    >It was odd that she hadn't encountered them before however, with how prolific and diligent her night patrols were
  285. 285.
    >She leapt into effortless, swanlike flight, staying only a dozen feet above the ground so as not to alarm her hapless passenger, scattering swirls of water vapor glistening with crystal moonlight
  286. 286.
    .
  287. 287.
    .
  288. 288.
    .
  289. 289.
    >I dared not disobey the creature, however much it churned my stomach
  290. 290.
    >BE NOT AFRAID echoed in my head, turned over and dissected syllable by syllable as I awaited its return, hopefully along with news of my companion's fate
  291. 291.
    >Were it truly an angel, I worried more and more that the unicorn was right, that this was some sort of divine punishment, that the two of us really had died and were waiting in limbo to be sorted, or maybe even already in hell, a subtle and conniving hell, one that lapped at the back of the mind, fostering confusion and doubt, picking at the brain neuron by neuron, until every thought was so hopelessly disjointed that you forgot what peace was, and if you knew it anyway you still wouldn't be able to feel it, a tumbling doll of flesh lost in the endless wilderness
  292. 292.
    >Were it not an angel... some sort of ghost or demon, maybe some monster from an obscure greek myth...
  293. 293.
    >Regardless, it would be best not to take its words at face value
  294. 294.
    >I imagined it with a slithering tongue, dripping with caustic venom, and I could feel my face contort with hatred
  295. 295.
    >To be at the mercy of such a thing (truly a thing; what other word could fit? nothing made sense anymore) was a frustration I could not abide
  296. 296.
    >Even worse, that I could do nothing about it was all the more infuriating, every possible road in my head mapped to an inevitable meeting with the thing, that looming and powerful and graceful and maternal thing
  297. 297.
    >So I sulked, casting side-eye glances towards every errant shape in the grass, swallowing meekly against the lump in my throat, since besides my frustration I was also terrified, and not ashamed to be terrified because the situation was terrifying, and I thought about running but where could I go, if this is truly a dream I could run forever without moving an inch, if it wasn't a dream I didn't want to risk angering the thing, whatever it had planned could only be exponentially worse if I imposed upon it the inconvenience of a hunt, and I waited
  298. 298.
    .
  299. 299.
    .
  300. 300.
    .
  301. 301.
    >The Princess returned to the pegasus almost exactly as she had left her, except somehow even more grumpy
  302. 302.
    >Those little dark eyes stared at her expectantly, taking deep breaths that steamed in the dream-night chill
  303. 303.
    >She took a cautious step forward, carrying the effortless serenity of an immortal royal while inside she wanted nothing more than to pull her in an embrace, those angry little dark eyes barely concealing that same choking fear she had seen in her sister
  304. 304.
    >Horn glowing midnight blue, she lifted the unicorn from her back, to show that she was unharmed, see, nothing bad happened, you're safe here, I'm not going to hurt you, and placed her at the pegasus' side
  305. 305.
    >"Would you like to tell us your name?" she said, an open question directed at the both of them, waiting for whoever was comfortable with speaking first
  306. 306.
    >After a moment, with looks of consideration, both of them spoke at once
  307. 307.
    >"Anon Y. Mous."
  308. 308.
    >The pegasus' eyes narrowed, the unicorn's widened
  309. 309.
    >Both cast a suspicious side glance at the other
  310. 310.
    >The Princess clicked her tongue; while it was a little ominous that they refused to share their real names, it was not uncharacteristic of children to want to keep pointless little secrets, and hopefully this was one of those times
  311. 311.
    >"Well, Anon Y. Mous, my name is Princess Luna," she began, deciding it was time to eschew the formal royal vernacular, "And I am very glad to meet you."
  312. 312.
    >The unicorn watched her with rapt attention, hanging on her every word; the pegasus gave her the evil eye, and much to Luna's chagrin looked ready to flinch
  313. 313.
    >"I am the Princess of the Moon, and the guardian of dreams. I came to you because you were so troubled by your nightmare. It must have been very scary, having such a terrible thing happen to you. But the important thing to remember is that none of it was real, that you are safe, and nothing here can hurt you."
  314. 314.
    >The pegasus' already furrowed brow creased ever so slightly more, her glare cracking to reveal just a hair of curiosity
  315. 315.
    >"But I think there is something more to this than just dreams. You are deeply distressed, beyond simple nightmares," she let the declaration hang for a moment, an invitation for input that was decisively ignored, "Perhaps it might feel better to share what troubles you?"
  316. 316.
    .
  317. 317.
    .
  318. 318.
    .
  319. 319.
    >I took a moment to summon my thoughts, a thousand questions swirling through my head, and selected the most important
  320. 320.
    >"Are we dead?"
  321. 321.
    >Princess Luna shook her head
  322. 322.
    >"Of course not, my little ponies. You are very much alive, otherwise we wouldn't be speaking. Is there a reason why you would be dead?"
  323. 323.
    >Despite the apparent concern worn on her face like a skin-tight mask, I sensed a trap, a space for some implied riddle or probe for guilt; although perhaps this Princess was giving on opportunity, perhaps this was our chance to reflect, to earn some small mercy before judgement was passed
  324. 324.
    >I decided to stay neutral, to reveal only what objective truths I could physically observe, a simple factual retelling of events that might open the door for her elaboration, while technically avoiding any deception
  325. 325.
    >"We woke up together, and hiked the hills without meeting another soul," I pointed to the silhouette of the mountain, lit brightly against a curtain of gleaming stars and arcs of colorful nebulae, though the forest was now a half mile or so away
  326. 326.
    >"We were trying to find a water source before we did anything else."
  327. 327.
    >She pursed her lips
  328. 328.
    >"You are lost? This-" She gestured with her wing, sweeping at the rolling foothills that surrounded them "Is where you now sleep?"
  329. 329.
    >I shook my head, then pointed to the woodline
  330. 330.
    >"No, no, we stopped just inside the forest. To shelter from the wind, and in case there was a frost."
  331. 331.
    >Her expression turned troubled, and it was difficult to parse if it was faked
  332. 332.
    >"Are you running from somepony? Has anypony tried to hurt you?"
  333. 333.
    >I winced, glancing at the unicorn, but thankfully she had already scratched off much of the dried blood, complaining about the itch of clumped fur
  334. 334.
    >"That's what I'd like to know. Should we be? Are they going to?"
  335. 335.
    >"I certainly hope not," She swiveled her head, taking careful note of the mountains, the stars, the shape of the horizon illuminated in faded moonshine, "Can you tell me where you are?"
  336. 336.
    >"I have no idea."
  337. 337.
    >The unicorn was silent
  338. 338.
    >She tapped at her chin pensively, then shook her head just as her horn began to glow
  339. 339.
    >"Worry not, for I have ways to-"
  340. 340.
    >It suddenly felt like I was being dunked in ice; I twisted to raise my hooves and protect myself as the image of my surroundings began to fade, and heard the faint voice of the Princess shouting in the back of my mind
  341. 341.
    .
  342. 342.
    .
  343. 343.
    .
  344. 344.
    >I shot up, scrambling to my hooves at the same time as the unicorn, fur drenched and freezing, pounded by a chaotic and driving rain
  345. 345.
    >After a moment, I stopped my panic, ran out from under the canopy and opened my mouth as wide as it would go, gulping down as much water as I could, and when I looked I saw the unicorn following suit, and we both drank until our stomachs were swollen and I even burped some back up, spitting harshly on the muddy earth
  346. 346.
    >I looked around frantically, swearing I remembered there being a magnolia tree nearby, and it was revealed by a flash of lightning
  347. 347.
    >Then I went to go pluck off some leaves, but the branches were too high so I grabbed some off the ground, nice looking ones that were still waxy and intact, and rinsed them off in the rain since I couldn't see if they were dirty, then carefully curled them as best I could to form makeshift bowls
  348. 348.
    >They were completely ineffective, and I tore them to shreds, and anyway if the ground wasn't too dry there should still be puddles in the morning, and maybe I might find one that wasn't too filthy, one where I could use the leaves to scoop up the relatively clean surface water, so guided by a lone moonbeam poking through the clouds I spotted a particularly thick and low branch underneath one of the sprawling live oaks and squatted under it, and soon the unicorn was by my side and we hid together from the rain, shivering this time with cold, and I felt like something terrible was going to happen soon
  349. 349.
    .
  350. 350.
    .
  351. 351.
    .
  352. 352.
    >Princess Twilight Sparkle had already drafted an agenda by the time she arrived at the castle, despite the impossibly late hour, and with the approval of Princess Luna it was distributed among the palace aides
  353. 353.
    >"Based on the visuals I can imagine thirty places they might be."
  354. 354.
    >Luna rubbed at her chin with a stiff flight feather, carefully-scrawled parchment notes laid out over a council table while Twilight paced on the other side
  355. 355.
    >"And since it was a dream, the picture you saw might not even be accurate?"
  356. 356.
    >"Indeed. But right now it's all we have."
  357. 357.
    >Princess Celestia was busy discussing message logistics with the palace's resident Wonderbolt captain, leaving Twilight and Luna alone to share their thoughts while they awaited the arrival of assorted clerical officials, but mostly the clerk of the office of the Royal Cartographer
  358. 358.
    >Twilight stopped in front of a wall-mounted map, made a number of red circles, then turned to Luna
  359. 359.
    >"Who did you say was checking the missing ponies files?"
  360. 360.
    >Luna waved her hoof dismissively, "One of Tia's mares, Sunny Smiles. I think you've met her. She does good work, so we can probably leave her team to it," She shook her head and sighed, "I wish I wasn't so shorthoofed right now, but most of my court is attending the big NAABP convention down in Marelando."
  361. 361.
    >She stared despondently at the notes; what she wanted most right now was to return to the dream realm, wait for when next they fell asleep, to hold them tight and tell them it was all okay and cast the spell that would bring this terrible chapter to an end
  362. 362.
    >But she couldn't know when that next chance might appear, or what might happen in the meantime, so organizing the search plan was the single most important step right now, and as the only pony who had seen them, it was her duty to attend
  363. 363.
    >Twilight stopped again, staring intensely at the map, then turning to consult the notes, scrunching her mouth and harrumphing, before turning back to the map and tapping a region marked 'Fillydelphia'
  364. 364.
    >"I don't know why, but something tells me we should start by looking here."
  365. 365.
    .
  366. 366.
    .
  367. 367.
    .
  368. 368.
    >The storm stopped just as suddenly as it started, and it couldn't have gone on for much more than twenty minutes
  369. 369.
    >It was an awfully rough one, though
  370. 370.
    >Not only was the ground still soaked is midday approached, but a number of old-looking trees and heavy branches were pulled down, and small bundles of still-green leaves littered the forest floor in droves
  371. 371.
    >We had come across a bed of soaked dandelions, and after some negotiation managed an awkward game of rock-paper-scissors, after which came an hour of tense waiting to see if I keeled over or started shitting blood or my eyes turned milky
  372. 372.
    >The flavor was actually quite pleasant and mild, like cucumber and rosemary
  373. 373.
    >Even with this assertion and against the wills of our groaning stomachs, neither of us ate any more, instead opting to pluck them and wait to see if anything happened to me later
  374. 374.
    >However, with no pockets or bags or even hands, we had to thread them into the tangles of one another's manes for safekeeping, and repeated the maneuver (without eating one first) when we encountered a patch of tickseed and again with a few different varieties of daisy, so that by noon our manes were more flowers than hair
  375. 375.
    >We might have gathered fewer considering that flowers seemed not particularly scarce here, but frankly aside from the pangs of hunger the whole process was rather relaxing, joyful even, in a way beyond just occupying the hands to silence the mind as I had so often spent my time doing
  376. 376.
    >The unicorn seemed to agree, as she barely carried a trace of her previously characteristic hopelessness, even giggling at some point, seemingly at nothing other than her own good mood
  377. 377.
    >Though whether it was truly from the flower-picking, or the afterglow of a midnight liaison...
  378. 378.
    >I had yet to bring up the dream
  379. 379.
    >No doubt she would draw some apocalyptic vision from its interpretation, and the last thing I needed to do was feed into her delusions
  380. 380.
    >We came to rest at the top of a particularly tall hill, and I pulled one of the dandelions from my mane, deciding it had been long enough to confidently say they weren't poisonous
  381. 381.
    >I was on my third blossom, savoring the delicate celery-crunch of the stem when the unicorn spoke up, carrying a placid look and staring low into the forest, lips peeling back into an unsettling smile
  382. 382.
    .
  383. 383.
    .
  384. 384.
    .
  385. 385.
    >You had been invigorated by the dream, carried your shoulders high and floated with each step
  386. 386.
    >The air felt lighter, the sun a little more yellow, its gentle caress bathing your aching muscles in a restorative warmth
  387. 387.
    >Your doppelganger could feel it too, you were sure of it, and the newfound connection with your fellow Anon, however strange and disorienting, lifted your heart so high it actually made you giggle in delight at the sheer fraternal glow in your breast
  388. 388.
    >Though the change in equipment was difficult to adjust to, you knew other Anon must be feeling the same way, and that made everything seem so much more manageable
  389. 389.
    >You had no concept of what sorority might feel like, the female brain and its inspirations were a mystery even now, so despite the circumstances fraternity was the only word that felt right
  390. 390.
    >As such, you chose to frame it in a way that was almost impossible not to be excited about: you had a twin brother!
  391. 391.
    >You could carry each other out of here, onward against the odds, or perhaps this really was a second chance, an opportunity to do things right this time, a reclamation of wasted potential, this time with two of you to share the burden
  392. 392.
    >A new life, from the beginning
  393. 393.
    >At least, as close to the beginning as you wouldn't mind living out
  394. 394.
    >"She was an angel, you know."
  395. 395.
    >You spoke in a dreamy haze, feeling an echo of that wonderful relief, absentmindedly drawing shapes in the dirt
  396. 396.
    >When you looked up, however, the pegasus flashed with hot rage, nostrils flared, gaze like a viper, and you faltered
  397. 397.
    >"She'll save us," you blurt defensively, ears flattened unconsciously, "We can trust her."
  398. 398.
    >You had meant for it to be declarative, but it came out almost like a question
  399. 399.
    >Other Anon squinted at you, then shifted her eyes to the horizon, then seemed to scan all around at the gently swaying grass, aglow with menace
  400. 400.
    >"All your fucking talk about ghosts and the devil and damnation and shit. Then you go falling head over heels for the first smiling face you run into! In a fucking dream no less!"
  401. 401.
    >Her words seeped with venom, she waved her hooves animatedly and shook her head when she paused, too angry or maybe just annoyed to maintain eye contact
  402. 402.
    >"What the fuck, man?"
  403. 403.
    >"...She... she was an angel... she sang to me..."
  404. 404.
    >You felt the pressure building up in your chest again, became fidgety with unease, rubbing your hooves together in a fruitless pantomime of handwringing
  405. 405.
    >"Goddamn fool. You said it yourself. We're in hell, in hell there's demons, fucking succubuses wandering around! And you're getting all doe-eyed because you hear a pretty voice? Gonna go hug the siren out by the rocks? You'll get us both killed."
  406. 406.
    >The tension coiled its way back around your bones, clenched your jaw as something buzzed in your ears, visual snow making it difficult to focus on distinct shapes, jagged shudders of doubt dragging through your brain like barbed wire
  407. 407.
    >"Don't be stupid. We can't fucking give her anything. Don't even talk to her. If we see her again, we just gotta pinch ourselves awake."
  408. 408.
    >You wanted nothing more than to be back in that embrace, to hear her voice, to feel her heartbeat
  409. 409.
    >Other Anon grabbed your head by the sides, forcing you to look her in the eyes, eyes like a cat just about to pounce, awake with intense purpose, eyes that made you feel like prey
  410. 410.
    >"Pinch yourself. Hit yourself. Hit me. Wake. Up."
  411. 411.
    >A voice like an angry crow, harsh and crackling, and those hateful, accusing, predatory eyes
  412. 412.
    >"Do you understand?"
  413. 413.
    >You wanted to say no, to push her away and slink into the weeds, but you just couldn't do it, you couldn't summon the willpower and anyway deep down you felt she was right, everything she was saying made sense and you were in more danger than you realized, that this was a part of the game, glimmers of faint hope to keep you treading water in whatever direction they pleased, with only the frantic illusion of mobility
  414. 414.
    >You nodded your head, and she held you in place, swallowing your gaze like a black hole
  415. 415.
    >When she finally did let go she turned to brood on the edge of the hill, and as if snapping from a trance you suddenly knew that it couldn't be, no matter what she says, Princess Luna was an angel, your guardian angel, and you felt guilty for ever doubting her, but at the same time suspicion pulsed like a dull headache, and more than anything you felt a gutshot emptiness, a yearning like sand filling your lungs
  416. 416.
    .
  417. 417.
    .
  418. 418.
    .
  419. 419.
    >As the day dragged on and the heat grew stifling, we began to hug the shade of the treeline in an effort to save water
  420. 420.
    >The earth was thirsty, and the puddles I had hoped for were nowhere to be seen, but throughout the day I had seen a number of what looked like rogue storm clouds, racing across the sky just like any other, leaving trails of rainwater wherever they passed, so I decided that water likely wouldn't end up being a problem, though I was starting to get thirsty
  421. 421.
    >That lightning did worry me, striking far too often and far too reliably, but with no way to take shelter I left it in the hands of fate, and since it seemed leashed to the rogue clouds anyway it probably wouldn't be a problem unless we couldn't move out of the way
  422. 422.
    >The unicorn, having been thoroughly scolded, seemed to lose that bubbly energy that had animated her through the morning, taking on a mechanical, uncertain gait that reminded me of a wet beetle trying to climb out of a bucket
  423. 423.
    >She hadn't said anything else, responding to whatever minor course correction or pace adjustment I imposed with dejected nodding
  424. 424.
    >Guilt crawled up the back of my neck and picked at my mind, sure some things needed to be said but I had been so needlessly cruel
  425. 425.
    >She had been buoyed by hope, carried a childlike optimism that couldn't help but soak into me by osmosis, and I tore it away, trampled it, and threw it back into the endless sea of grass, leaving us both feeling tired and hollow
  426. 426.
    >I watched as grasshoppers and bees and little iridescent round bugs scattered at my approach, desperately avoiding my hoofstep, the crushing weight of an insurmountable giant crashing its way through their world, accidentally threatening their ephemeral and erratic and busy little lives
  427. 427.
    >I felt annoyed with myself, with my anger; it was one thing to hold that hate inside, gazing into it like a shining jewel, focusing on the scattered reflections of myself in its numerous, pitiless faces
  428. 428.
    >That kind of hate was productive, was warranted, for I knew what I was capable of and what I should be doing, what was reasonable and what was expected, could shape that hate and in turn be shaped by it, like a knife and a grindstone
  429. 429.
    >I knew myself, understood myself, so I could hate myself; another was an enigma, a bubbling cauldron of variables, limitless and unknowable, and to be angry with that enigma was practically the same as being angry at nature, being angry at the weather, being angry at the silent mountains judging from the heavens, being angry at the small flies that followed me in a loose cloud to drink the sheen of sweat off my back
  430. 430.
    >That kind of anger was pointless and vague and corrosive
  431. 431.
    >But of course, there was an undeniable familiarity with this particular enigma, one whose eyes bored into mine like the reflections in that secret jewel, the unicorn that shared my name, or at least my dreams, maybe the name was just a part of the dream, who knows what happened on her side of it, maybe the only thread that connected our dreams was that beckoning siren, and I had been infected by her hysteria only to conjure the same desperate delusions
  432. 432.
    >And despite all my protestations, my dogged contrarian stances to every thought offered, I could see the logic in them, found myself halfway convinced by her convictions and reasoning, even at times privately arriving at the same or similar conclusions only to dismiss them upon second review...
  433. 433.
    >So perhaps I was angry that she reminded me so much of myself, or I was angry at myself for acting so much like her, and in either case I had nowhere to retreat to so in my weakness I took it out on her, the idea of splitting off on my own even for a moment making my head spin with that menacing loneliness that still stretched up into the sky, threatened to pull it down on my head, to crush me with the empty weight of a vast and uncompromising nothing
  434. 434.
    >I felt a tap on my flank, and looked over to see the unicorn staring back into the hills, or rather a split between the hills like a little valley, and I followed her gaze to a clearing in the grass, a clearing with what looked to be brick or tile covering the ground, a clearing that I suddenly realized looked very much like a roadway
  435. 435.
    .
  436. 436.
    .
  437. 437.
    .
  438. 438.
    >Trixie Lulamoon had pulled her wagon across this stretch of road two dozen times or more, underneath the watchful gaze of the Unicorn Mountains through rain, snow and sunshine
  439. 439.
    >Mercifully, it seemed Cloudsdale must have drifted across the other side of the range, sparing her from the bulk of the chaotic weather factory byproducts that often menaced this particular patch of countryside
  440. 440.
    >As such, she was enjoying the mild weather without her trademark cloak, sunshine like a gentle massage on her back, the light and constant sweat of her labor sliding down her sides unmolested
  441. 441.
    >She was delighted when she saw the fillies, fixing her hair as they approached
  442. 442.
    >They bee-lined toward her from the side of the road, clearly superfans desperate for an autograph from their idol
  443. 443.
    >She produced a pair of photos and a small pen kept handy under her hat, wearing a look of smug satisfaction; this was her fourth favorite part of the job, after the cheer of the crowd, the free drinks, and the jealous looks from mares who just couldn't compete
  444. 444.
    >They looked unkempt, a little rough even, and from the flowers in her hair she guessed they must be some of those hippy-dippy treehugger types, the kind that sang and danced in the open fields, the kind she liked to share a campfire with
  445. 445.
    >"How exciting for you, to chance upon a meeting with the Great and Powerful Trrrixie without having to fight your way through teeming hordes of your fellow adoring fans!"
  446. 446.
    >Truth be told, the excitement was all hers, a moment like this was a succulent treat to break boring solitude of back-country travel
  447. 447.
    >She licked the tip of the pen and blinked, serene and majestic, totally in her element
  448. 448.
    >"Now, who is the Generous and Inspiring Trrrixie making these out to?"
  449. 449.
    >One of the fillies, a pegasus with a sour face and low brows, spoke up in a voice that sounded halfway between a kicked cat and a buzzing wasp
  450. 450.
    >"Do you have any water?"
  451. 451.
    .
  452. 452.
    .
  453. 453.
    .
  454. 454.
    >The Resourceful and Thrifty Trixie had pawned off all her extra cups and jugs to buy pickling solution, so the two flower girls had to make do with sharing the crude fired-clay mug she fashioned the last time she had free access to a kiln
  455. 455.
    >She had no illusions that she was some sort of rugged survivalist, so clean water was one commodity she always kept in abundance, as heavy as her pair of drinking barrels were
  456. 456.
    >Thanks to her recent purchase, however, they now doubled as carrot pickling barrels, a fact which seemed tragically underappreciated by the fillies, who took small sips with scrunched noses
  457. 457.
    >"So, where's you're folks? Do they have a campsite nearby?"
  458. 458.
    >There was a twinkle of anticipation in her eye; it was her universal experience that hippies were generous with food and drink, and she imagined a hearty helping of some thick and herbal and complimentary vegetable stew in her immediate future
  459. 459.
    >The fillies avoided eye contact, and her heart sank
  460. 460.
    >"Are you fillyscouts? Did you lose your uniforms?"
  461. 461.
    >Silence, then, "You live nearby? There's a cabin out here somewhere?"
  462. 462.
    >Nothing, and she began to swell with dread; she knew where this was going
  463. 463.
    >"Anywhere? Do you live anywhere at all? With, you know, a roof and hot meals and adult supervision?"
  464. 464.
    >One shook her head, the other shrugged, she wasn't paying close enough attention to tell which did what
  465. 465.
    >Oh great, another batch of runaways to ferry, she thought as she rolled her eyes
  466. 466.
    >She really wanted to stop talking and just walk away, but they looked way too young to just leave to their own devices
  467. 467.
    >Alas, being saddled with errant waifs was just one of the great hazards of the road, a handicap she had borne more than once
  468. 468.
    >It was charming and sad and a little sweet the first two or three times, but at this point it was becoming a routine annoyance, like a cuticle infection or a cracked axle
  469. 469.
    >The closest excuse to ditch them was about a hundred miles away, where she could drop them on Princess Twilight when she met up with her Great and Powerful best friend, Starlight Glimmer
  470. 470.
    >Which meant a little under a week of babysitting and endless questions and sharing food and potty breaks and complaining about sore hooves and weird emotional tension and blah blah blah blah blah
  471. 471.
    >Whatever, already talked to them, I'm stuck with them now, no use crying over spilled milk, she thought to herself with a sigh
  472. 472.
    >"Do you at least have names?"
  473. 473.
    >More silence as they looked at each other with the most suspicious side-eyeing Trixie had ever borne witness to
  474. 474.
    >"Anon Y. Mous," they finally said, in unison, the pegasus squinting hard and the unicorn doing her best not to flinch
  475. 475.
    >"Seriously?" Trixie clicked her teeth, frowning
  476. 476.
    >"Fine. Whatever. Okay, okay. Anon," she pointed at the pegasus, "Nonny," she pointed at the unicorn, "There, happy?"
  477. 477.
    >This time they both shrugged, and she sighed again
  478. 478.
    >"Alright, great, now let's get going, we're burning daylight. And don't touch my cloak."
  479. 479.
    .
  480. 480.
    .
  481. 481.
    .
  482. 482.
    >I still wasn't sure what to make of the mare
  483. 483.
    >We took a break at a low point, sitting inside the wagon while this Trixie character chugged about a half a gallon of pickle juice in a large saucepan
  484. 484.
    >She held it in a sparkling lilac glow, one that seemed to start at her horn, much like that enigmatic Siren Princess from our dreams
  485. 485.
    >I took another small sip from the crude mug, watching intently as my thoughts wandered between the drink itself (Can you dehydrate on pickle juice? She seems to be doing just fine, it didn't taste too salty or vinegar-y, though it certainly wasn't refreshing) and trying to read the strange mare's motivations
  486. 486.
    >The pressure had balled up in my chest, writhing like a knot of worms
  487. 487.
    >"What's with the stinkeye, kid?"
  488. 488.
    >I hadn't realized I was scowling; she caught me off guard, and I broke my stare
  489. 489.
    >"I don't, I uh, I didn't, I mean-"
  490. 490.
    >She waved a hoof to cut me off, "Whatever. Be as grumpy as you like, as long as you aren't thinking of doing something crazy."
  491. 491.
    >She crunched on a tender, wobbly carrot for a little while, then she gave us a few pieces and they tasted like damp soil, but not in a bad way
  492. 492.
    >Meanwhile, 'Nonny' the unicorn was having trouble with her hooves (she hadn't quite picked up the grasping action as well as I), and she carried a puffy-eyed hangdog look as she struggled with her morsel
  493. 493.
    >Trixie watched with a stern expression, then spoke with her mouth full
  494. 494.
    >"What gifesth kid? Juthst uze your magic."
  495. 495.
    >She spit when she talked, spreading limp chunks of dull orange carrot flesh across the dirty floor of the wagon; it smelled like pumpkin and animal musk
  496. 496.
    >Nonny avoided eye contact, no longer attempting to eat and instead picking idly at her piece in an unfocused, fidgety way
  497. 497.
    >Trixie shrugged, then returned to her own ration
  498. 498.
    >I looked away, rubbing my hooves the same way I had seen Nonny do, and was surprised at how natural it felt, sure I tended to wring my hands when I had a lot on my mind, but I expected some weird disconnect, just another in a long line of synesthesias I had experienced since being cast into this form, but it was soothing enough, but then I imagined myself like a rat chewing its tail and felt ashamed
  499. 499.
    >I realized I was wandering; exhaustion crashed on me like a tidal wave, and I considered just how poorly I had slept these last few nights, and wondered if I had slept at all, and I tried to string together a series of events, and even though I had just lived them and it had all seemed so clear (if not the meaning then the path, a break in the obstacles through which I was clambering on my belly), even though I could recall every sensation and every terror and every vision of malice, I could not trace them directly, or rather I could but they just didn't seem to fit, as if whole blocks of time had swollen or shriveled and the edges were no longer quite neat enough, and I realized I was wandering again, and I shook my head and rubbed the sleep from my eyes
  500. 500.
    >A question surfaced in my mind, something to hold on to, something stable
  501. 501.
    >I blinked hard and locked my gaze back on Trixie, who stared at me with a worried look, open mouthed, revealing the damp mass of something she had bitten while I wasn't looking, then swallowed in a way that made her throat look like a bird's foot
  502. 502.
    .
  503. 503.
    .
  504. 504.
    .
  505. 505.
    >The Magnanimous and Kindhearted Trixie sat patiently as the little pegasus, Anon, fidgeted nervously
  506. 506.
    >For several minutes she had been flashing between consternation and deep thought and terrible confusion
  507. 507.
    >And suddenly, monotone clarity
  508. 508.
    >"Are we dead?"
  509. 509.
    >Trixie tried to clear her throat, but an underchewed sliver of carrot fiber tickled her windpipe and she coughed hard, pounding her chest and hacking up wet globs, tears in her eyes as she finally caught her breath
  510. 510.
    >"Sweet Celestia, kid! You are CREEPY!"
  511. 511.
    >She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead, grunting in frustration
  512. 512.
    >Little dark-eyed Anon stared with startling intensity, and Trixie realized she wanted an answer
  513. 513.
    >"Dead? Like, heart stopping, put you in the ground dead?"
  514. 514.
    >The look turned pleading, but no less intense, and Trixie grabbed the filly's foreleg, feeling the fetlock, space just above the hoof, holding onto it for a moment and listening intently
  515. 515.
    >"There, I feel a pulse, so that must mean you aren't dead!"
  516. 516.
    >Trixie forced a smile and gave the child a nervous chuckle
  517. 517.
    >These kids peel off for all kinds of reasons, and some of them can be really messed up, and she did NOT know how to deal with that
  518. 518.
    >"Where did you even get an idea like that?"
  519. 519.
    >The filly's eyes were like emerald-ringed inkwells, hungry to reach out and stain, or better yet to pull in and drown, and the space between breaths was oppressive
  520. 520.
    >"What is this place?"
  521. 521.
    >Desperate to be talking about anything else, Trixie spotted her out and pounced, beginning to rattle off road names and county lines, even revealing a high-quality travel map dotted with scribbles and doodles and small towns scratched out with red X's
  522. 522.
    >Anon's ears perked, and she watched Trixie carefully as the regional description quickly evolved into a geographical presentation, full of anecdotes and stories and disparaging remarks about random ponies and random places, and eventually she shot up from her seat with an exaggerated stretch
  523. 523.
    >"Oh wow, looks like it's time to hit the road again, it sure does fly, haha you guys should sit here and take a rest, you need to relax and digest for a while, just stay in the cart and I'll get back to pulling us along, help yourself to the drink, I'll just be out here, you won't miss me!"
  524. 524.
    >The eyes burned into the back of her head, chasing her out of the cart, and she took up her labor with great enthusiasm
  525. 525.
    .
  526. 526.
    .
  527. 527.
    .
  528. 528.
    >You wanted to bite off your fingers, but with the change in equipment, you settled (or at least placated) your nerves by pinching your little chunk of carrot and restleslly tapping your rear legs against the blue-painted floorboards
  529. 529.
    >You barely registered Trixie's exit, you hadn't even realized she'd been talking, and you felt cold
  530. 530.
    >Treading water again, head barely above the waves, pressure in your chest like an egg in a snake's gullet
  531. 531.
    >You still held on to your vision of safety, to the loving wings of the Princess of the Moon, and her thought kept a fire burning in your breast, a counter to the pressure, something alive and struggling
  532. 532.
    >Still, the suspicion lingered, your inner cynic damping the flame, choking it with doubt and fear and a wounded, vengeful pride
  533. 533.
    >You could really go for a beer, and a shot of something spicy and harsh
  534. 534.
    >Everywhere you looked, you could see her figure in the shadows, a silent guardian angel guiding you out, a vengeful spirit coaxing you to damnation, whatever damnation might even mean
  535. 535.
    >Suppose she was evil (the thought made you shudder, and guilt ran down the back of your neck like icewater); if she is damnation, is it so bad to be damned?
  536. 536.
    >Fool, you thought, wretched fool leaping to his death at the sight of an easy escape
  537. 537.
    >Monster, you thought, horrible monster shrinking at the sight of goodness, treasuring even your smallest and most petty evils over the shining light before you
  538. 538.
    >You set aside the carrot chunk and began to pick at the woodgrain, shaking your head and rocking compulsively
  539. 539.
    .
  540. 540.
    .
  541. 541.
    .
  542. 542.
    >Trixie left the map out, and I poured over it with vigor
  543. 543.
    >Equestria, it said at the bottom in a regal font, appeared to be a tall and vibrant landscape, and at its heart sat a beautifully illustrated mountain town labelled Canterlot
  544. 544.
    >Other towns also had familiar names twisted into forced, horse-related puns
  545. 545.
    >Fillydelphia, for example, was a city (more of a region) to the far east of us, hundreds of miles away and bordering the sea
  546. 546.
    >Manehattan, north of Fillydelphia, was scribbled with stars and phrases in newer but still well-settled ink that could be bar names, or titles to post-rock albums
  547. 547.
    >Just south of Canterlot was a mess of dark ink, mostly crossed-out angry looking skulls, and more recent looking, cutesy hearts and stars, plus some doodles of smiling ponies or cows or dogs (it was difficult to tell) all centered around the otherwise unassuming small town of Ponyville
  548. 548.
    >I stepped back as the wagon lurched forward, planting my ass on the floor while I mentally surveyed the situation
  549. 549.
    >Trixie was refreshingly human, not some commanding dream-creature, not an emotionally volatile doppelganger; she was grounded and spoke clearly and helped to sate our basic needs
  550. 550.
    >As much as I didn't like the idea of parasitizing the kindhearted warlock, I was in no position to take care of myself and felt less guilty for abusing her hospitality than I otherwise would
  551. 551.
    >Although, surely I was in need, and it wasn't abused?
  552. 552.
    >If there was ever an excuse to extend one's good graces, children begging for water was where one did it
  553. 553.
    >But then again, I wasn't really a child, only wearing the skin of one
  554. 554.
    >Nonny stirred, drawing my attention
  555. 555.
    >She was looking at me, and started to say something, but all that came out was a faint croak, and she shook her head
  556. 556.
    >Then back to her glassy-eyed sulking, scraping mindlessly at the floor, jaw bulging as she bit the inside of her cheek, or maybe was grinding her teeth
  557. 557.
    >I often did the same when my nerves were shot, or just out of boredom, or some combination of the two
  558. 558.
    >Her face suddenly peeled into a desperate, open-mouthed scowl, but only for a moment before it returned to its moping neutral, and the whole event had the energy of a nervous tick
  559. 559.
    >I felt an ache as I watched her writhing in silent misery, something that felt briefly like cold hate before draining away into pity, and I felt ashamed of that flash of hate and pushed myself away from it, but the harder I pushed the wider the pity became, so I bit my tongue hard enough to draw blood with my flat horse teeth and approached Nonny, head tilted to the side and sneering with contempt, or something like contempt, maybe with some small amount of compassion that was beaming from my heart as though there were a hole in my chest, shining on her face like a spotlight, exaggerating the bumps and shadows of her flesh to make her look almost skeletal
  560. 560.
    >The very vision of death
  561. 561.
    >"There's two of us, you know."
  562. 562.
    >Nothing but the sound of creaking wood, wheels scraping stone, my own breathing
  563. 563.
    >"We aren't alone. In fact, we might be the only people either of us can rely on."
  564. 564.
    >It would be useful if she could watch my back, but beneath the utility I felt something tender and raw and confusing, something I hadn't felt since the last time I owned a dog (I couldn't trust myself to keep a dog anymore, so lost in the unyielding haze of life, so wholly given to those unbreakable habits)
  565. 565.
    >"You're slumped. Why?"
  566. 566.
    >More creaking, more scraping, more breathing
  567. 567.
    >"You don't trust her? Neither do I. But we can ride this thing, at least for a little while, see what happens. Just wait for the other shoe to drop, and keep your eyes peeled."
  568. 568.
    >Still no response, and I could feel the corners of my lips curling with disgust
  569. 569.
    >I knew what was eating her, I just hated having to acknowledge it
  570. 570.
    >"Drop the fucking moon mare. Okay? We can't talk to her. We can't even think about her. I don't know if that's the rules, if there even are rules, but nothing good can come from keeping your brain all wrapped up in some creepy ghost dame."
  571. 571.
    >...
  572. 572.
    >"You stupid fuck! You're the closest thing to someone I can trust around here, tantrums notwithstanding-, look me in the eyes when I'm talking to you!"
  573. 573.
    >Saying it out loud felt unreasonably cruel and I quickly lost steam, could feel the weight of sleep bearing down on me, as well as that crushing pressure, always that horrible crushing pressure that just made me want to sprawl across the floor
  574. 574.
    >I remained standing, however, clinging to the desperate hope that she might yet speak, knowing that if I could just hear her say something, get some sort of response, I might be able to drag her out of this slump that she'd been in, this slump that I had created and had lasted for the longer portion of the day, this slump that streched seconds into hours, minutes into days, and only seemed to get more daunting the closer it came to nightfall
  575. 575.
    >I suddenly felt very lonely, even standing right in front of her, only the space of a few breaths away
  576. 576.
    .
  577. 577.
    .
  578. 578.
    .
  579. 579.
    >Princess Luna sipped at her tea, Earl Gayoe, though it was just slightly understeeped
  580. 580.
    >She preferred coffee, but too many mornings drinking it on an empty stomach had her gut in an excitable state, and lately when she poured a cup of delicious bean water it was inevitably followed by an hour or so of caustic heartburn, so black tea was the next best thing
  581. 581.
    >The sun was beginning to hang low, and she had opted to take a long day instead of catching precious few hours of restless sleep
  582. 582.
    >It was not some great effort; many times she stayed awake for weeks at a time to help steer the ship of state through some great crisis or another, suffering nothing but a kink in her back and a chronic yawn
  583. 583.
    >Again between meetings, Luna gabbed with a colleague princess (this time her sister Celestia), both seated at a wrought-iron table in the castle gardens under a marble arch covered with sprawling ivies and grape vine
  584. 584.
    >They were both smiling, and the Sun Princess spoke over a barely suppressed giggle
  585. 585.
    >"And so for the next thirty years-" She shook her head and threw her hooves up in an exaggerated gesture, "Thirty Years, Lulu! At every. Single. Function. If he attended, my very own Seneschal would come through the doors and shout, right in front of EVERYPONY, 'Sorry I'm late, princess! I'm afraid I was feeling a little hoarse!'"
  586. 586.
    >The two burst into a fit of girlish laughter, Luna attempting and failing to hide her blushing, smiling face behind a wingtip
  587. 587.
    >"Oh sweet mercy, Tia you reprobate! You truly keep the most rancid company!"
  588. 588.
    >It was a moment of levity the Luna needed, and Celestia knew it
  589. 589.
    >The evening mountain air was crisp and cool, and already crickets hidden in the foliage began to chirp softly, songs carried in the late summer breeze
  590. 590.
    >It would soon be time to lower the sun, when Luna would claim the night sky and begin a long night of dream searching, something with which her elder sister could offer no help
  591. 591.
    >The laughter subsided with a tired sigh from Luna, who clinked her teacup back on its saucer and let it be taken away by by an attending maid, one that seemed to materialize from some impossible corner, disappearing just as quickly
  592. 592.
    >The skill of the career domestic servant still awed Luna from time to time
  593. 593.
    >She stood up with a long stretch
  594. 594.
    >"Well, it's about time."
  595. 595.
    >Celestia nodded silently, and the two of them made their way back inside, both returning to their respective tasks with elegant purpose, and Luna felt only a slight twinge of unease, but nevertheless had faith in her own abilities, and anyway knew that with Tia by her side, things would work out in the end
  596. 596.
    .
  597. 597.
    .
  598. 598.
    .
  599. 599.
    >The Cautious and Stoic Trixie had been watching the clouds approaching in the dusky sky, streaked in pink and orange where the light struck it, but rising tall into a deep midnight blue as it rumbled with distant thunder
  600. 600.
    >It was wide and low and seemed to move relatively quickly, pouring out through the mountain valleys of the distant horizon like floodwaters
  601. 601.
    >It would hit early in the night, she surmised, and she already knew this part of the boonies had no inns or taverns close enough to shelter in time
  602. 602.
    >As if sensing her anxiety, a distant speck shooting through the twilight sky suddenly made a sharp arc downward, though she didn't notice until it was only two dozen feet overhead, barking at her in a gravelly yet feminine voice
  603. 603.
    >"Hey down there!"
  604. 604.
    >Trixie practically jumped out of her skin, quick-releasing her travel harness and ducking behind the front part of the wagon
  605. 605.
    >Once in cover, she wheeled around to see a peach-colored pegasus in a Wonderbolt flight jacket, who broke into a fit of laughter
  606. 606.
    >"Sorry! Sorry, but the look on your face-"
  607. 607.
    >Trixie's cheeks flushed with indignation as she rushed from her hiding spot, doing her best to strike an outraged but still dignified pose, instinctively catching the fading sunlight in an intense, cinematic angle, standing on her hind legs and pointing accusingly at the pegasus
  608. 608.
    >"What in Equestria do you think you're doing? You clearly know not the power with which you trifle, sneaking up on the Great and Powerful Trixie like that! She could melt your mind with unspeakable magics just as easily as anypony else swats at a fly with their tail!"
  609. 609.
    >The Wonderbolt shook her head, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye
  610. 610.
    >"Yeah, yeah, my bad. Anyway-" Her voice gained a serious edge, and she gestured to the coming clouds
  611. 611.
    >"There's some serious weather byproduct on the way from Cloudsdale, and we don't have the manpower available to break it up right now, so you're gonna need to take shelter. Now, I gotta make this delivery, but that big hill up there-"
  612. 612.
    >She gestured to a particularly large mound, rising dominantly above the rest of the gently rolling landscape
  613. 613.
    >"-Has a good-sized cave to hole up in, above the flood line. Trust me, I've had to hunker down there before. Do you think you can get there before it gets too dark?"
  614. 614.
    >The distance was trivial, and already she could trace an ostensibly easy path over the mild slopes
  615. 615.
    >"It will be no challenge," She turned up her head with confidence, thought for a moment, then nodded respectfully (almost conspiratorially) at the Wonderbolt before breaking into a genuine, unguarded smile
  616. 616.
    >"Thanks for the heads up though, I did NOT want to be out in the open for that," Then "Um. It's... good for storms, right? Big ones?"
  617. 617.
    >The Wonderbolt gave a reassuring smile
  618. 618.
    >"Wouldn't have brought it up if it wasn't."
  619. 619.
    >Trixie breathed a sigh of relief, and the two mares parted ways, swollen with respective purpose
  620. 620.
    .
  621. 621.
    .
  622. 622.
    .
  623. 623.
    >I had watched the meeting from the corner of an open window, the one on the left face of the wagon, barely peeking my head over the windowsill
  624. 624.
    >I could make no judgement of the brief visitor, though seeing another horse with wings actually flying through the air raised some interesting questions
  625. 625.
    >"Alright, I might need your help you two."
  626. 626.
    >I could feel my ears flicker involuntarily at Trixie's summons
  627. 627.
    >It was nasal, but in a smooth and decadent way, attention grabbing but pleasant, like a light, foamy beer
  628. 628.
    >Nonny was clearly desperate for a distraction and quick to rise
  629. 629.
    >When we all met in front of the wagon, Trixie had us march ahead of her to spot for mud, declaring that she didn't want to waste time getting stuck in a puddle
  630. 630.
    >Despite the fact that this particular patch of ground was, for the time being anyway, mostly dry, she insisted, saying if we really wanted to be fillyscouts we ought to learn to 'Be prepared'
  631. 631.
    >The walk was slow and uneventful, and I realized the wind had eased, so that the whole place was overcome with a quiet stillness only broken by the sound of our own labors and the roll of distant thunder
  632. 632.
    >When we reached the cave, Trixie and I agreed it looked more like a tunnel or even a hallway, chunks of rough but obviously carved stone richly dappled with lichens and mosses forming a tall arch that opened into a floor tiled with cobblestones, and walls of stacked stone brick; the hallway itself continued unseen into the sunless depths
  633. 633.
    >Trixie produced and lit a small metal-framed oil lamp, tested the stones, and then pulled the wagon barely through the threshold, leaving enough room for us to wriggle out around it if we really needed to
  634. 634.
    >After pulling on her cloak she turned to explore the far end of the hallway, and we followed behind her with great trepidation; she was outwardly fearless, and presumably knew what she was doing, but I was still deeply unsettled (Nonny might have been too, but her already outward misery made anything else difficult to read)
  635. 635.
    >The halls split a few times, leading to a number of bleak, minimal chambers with long, rectangular openings in the walls that gave the place the impression of an empty tomb
  636. 636.
    >We startled a few bats, but Trixie was otherwise satisfied with the level of vacancy in the depths, and led us all back to the wagon to sit back and relax
  637. 637.
    >She pushed it inside eight or nine feet further before locking it with oversized wedges, then lit a small fire just inside the tunnel entrance, and we all sat around it to eat a light supper of more pickled carrots
  638. 638.
    >I was admittedly relieved when Nonny actually ate her portion, despite how disinterested and mechanical she was in the act
  639. 639.
    >Having eaten quickly, Trixie transitioned to working her mouth with a toothpick, reclining in a small folding chair while she watched the fire, the mild rumble of thunder occasionally overpowering the crackle of small branches as they split and burst in the flames, spraying bright little gouts of grain-sized embers onto the cold stone
  640. 640.
    >Her eyes kept flickering over toward Nonny, who once finished with her food began to quietly, nervously draw shapes in the loose dirt close to the exit
  641. 641.
    >I watched both of them, feeling a general sense of unease, flinching when Trixie leapt to her hooves without warning, a sudden sparkle in her eye
  642. 642.
    >"I know just what we need!"
  643. 643.
    >She rushed into the wagon, thumping through unseen drawers while the two of us started at each other
  644. 644.
    >When she stepped out again Nonny had edged a litte further inside, the hiss of the steadily building rain outside splashing her coat with icy water, and the slight smell of smoke was overwhelmed by the heavy taste of a storm
  645. 645.
    >Trixie held in her magic aura a small chunk of black chalk, floating it over to Nonny, who curled toward fire as she trembled against the slight chill
  646. 646.
    >"Here, you need to do something to burn off your energy. All that fidgeting is driving me crazy."
  647. 647.
    >Nonny stared at the chalk stick with a blank expression, prompting Trixie to wag it in the air
  648. 648.
    >"C'mon kid, take it!"
  649. 649.
    >A long silence, or at least one that felt long, then Trixie gestured to the scribbles in the dirt before drawing a crude star on the wall
  650. 650.
    >"Drawing. Draw-ing. You seem to like doing it enough in the sand, why not try with, I don't know, something actually made to draw with?"
  651. 651.
    >Nonny hesitated, then reached out with a hoof, but Trixie quickly pulled the chalk away
  652. 652.
    >"No, no, you'll get it all over your coat like that. I don't want you smudging it in the wagon, just use your magic."
  653. 653.
    >I was intrigued, leaned forward and rested my chin on my hooves
  654. 654.
    >Trixie wagged the chalk again, then made a pensive expression
  655. 655.
    >"Your magic, kid. Just how old are you? You have to have used your magic before. Didn't your parents..."
  656. 656.
    >She trailed off, as if coming to some sort of realization, one that wasn't difficult to guess
  657. 657.
    >She made an uncomfortable face, before shaking her head and blinking hard
  658. 658.
    >"Alright, alright, let's try this."
  659. 659.
    >She walked over to Nonny, placed the chalk between them
  660. 660.
    >"Look at the chalk. Good, now close your eyes. But stay looking at the chalk. Keep your eyes pointed at it. Can you imagine what it feels like? How heavy it is? Imagine yourself reaching out to touch it. No, don't move, just imagine, take a deep breath and imagine."
  661. 661.
    >A faint, jade colored glow began rippling at the tip of her horn, and shortly afterword the same glow slowly wrapped around the chalk stick
  662. 662.
    >Trixie nodded approvingly, though Nonny couldn't see it
  663. 663.
    >"You can feel it in your mind, right? All the little bumps and ridges, the length, the width. Now imagine it rising into the air, like it's being pulled up by an invisible string. Can you see it? In your head, I mean. And relax. Don't think to hard about it, just take deep breaths, and use your imagination."
  664. 664.
    >After a few seconds of deep concentration, she became suddenly placid, and with a few more moments of slow, rhythmic breathing, the chalk began to float
  665. 665.
    >Trixie nodded, not bothering to suppress a self-satisfied smirk
  666. 666.
    >"Alright, now open your eyes."
  667. 667.
    >When Nonny looked, she became entranced, abandoning any trace of her former anxieties, and my chest felt lighter as I released my breath, not having realized I was holding it
  668. 668.
    >There were a few more minutes of guidance and instruction as she got the hang of manipulating it in the air, waving it back and forth, pointing it at things, after which Trixie tasked her with making a shape on the wall and, once her request was satisfied, sat down in her chair and leaned back, contented
  669. 669.
    >Nonny, now unguided, piddled around for a bit, making marks like scratches on the stone before starting on flowing spiral patterns, which evolved into a sort of dance as the doodles curled and spun like gusts of wind, pouring over the tunnel walls and settling as living, breathing swirls of charcoal-black
  670. 670.
    >Cold water splashed my back as the rain outside turned hard, now a constant and menacing roar, and I moved a little closer to the fire
  671. 671.
    .
  672. 672.
    .
  673. 673.
    .
  674. 674.
    >The corner of the house peeled back ever so slightly in the wind, spraying your living room with erratic bursts of rain
  675. 675.
    >You scrambled to the closet and brought back a hoof-full of towels and a roll of duct tape, but your little green legs aren't tall enough to reach the ceiling, a good twenty or so feet high
  676. 676.
    >Dozens of stern familial portraits stare down, a collection reaching back to your grandmother, already filthy and fading and crumbling in only a half-decade of your care
  677. 677.
    >There's a stool in the corner, but you judge it of insufficient height, and turn toward the back door, where a small window shows your porch being torn in every direction by the raging storm
  678. 678.
    >You swallow hard, swing the door open and charge through a maelstrom of shredded netting and plastic pots and empty cans whipping at your exposed flesh, emerging on the other side to hurricane winds smashing you with horizontal sheets of rain
  679. 679.
    >You shield your eyes and spot Anon, wearing goggles and a raincoat and slipping in the mud as she desperately attempts to hold down a dozen or so ratchet straps, all stretching over the roof to the front yard, barely holding the house down against the gale
  680. 680.
    >You know you can't help her; you have your role, and she hers
  681. 681.
    >You turn away and dash toward the shed, falling over more than once, and grab the ladder hanging from its side, fighting a thick bundle of creeping vines and yanking out the nails serving as its hooks in the process
  682. 682.
    >You sprint back inside, ladder pressed longways against you stand up straight on your firm, springy hind legs, managing to avoid falling again, and slam the door behind you using all of your body weight against the bellowing wind; nevertheless, you heard a window in the kitchen shatter from the brief but violent increase in air pressure
  683. 683.
    >No time to worry about that, you grit your teeth and turn back toward the twitching hole in the corner, knocking over a small painted vase with one end of the ladder
  684. 684.
    >You throw it against the wall and climb with a wingload of towels and tape, but neither stay when applied
  685. 685.
    >In fact, wherever you touch the wall, it begins to crumble into black dust, revealing a deep, mold-eaten cavity in the struts and pushing its way out into the drywall, another symptom of your neglect
  686. 686.
    >You panic and shout as your desperate attempts to plug the growing hole are totally ineffectual, then a powerful gust pushes over the ladder and you smash the back of your head against the hardwood, and your left eye pops out of your head and dangles by the nerve, and you run for the kitchen to grab a hand towel and hold the eyeball to its socket, and you're afraid you've got a concussion, fuck that kind of fall kills people, and the wind blows the backdoor open again and another window shatters, and long, talon-like shards of glass sink deep into the underside of your hooves and the pain makes you gasp, and you've got to get outside and get Anon to come in, you two need to shelter in the bathroom, the rest of the house is peeling away and nothing you do is going to save it, all you can do now is survive
  687. 687.
    >Pictures smash against the walls and floor as you shout into the swirling darkness at her frantic silhouette, but the noise is getting lost in the storm, although it feels like all that's coming out of your throat is a whisper anyway, and you're waving your hooves from the porch and trying as hard as you can to scream at the top of your lungs but all you can get is a short, choppy hiss, and studs and chunks of drywall and roof tiles are picked up in the wind, hurtling through the air fast enough to kill a man, and the floor is slick with your blood as the glass talons work their way ever deeper into your hooves, but all you can feel is a dull, slight stinging, and you just keep shouting or trying to shout, and Anon has turned to you now and is trying to shout something back, and the two of you hiss at each other like alleycats while the whole world is pulled away, and a sudden flash of light brings a deafening thundercrack, and when the image fades you're in the tomb, sleeping on the wagon floor, Anon sat next to you on a pile of blankets, feeling for cuts while you rub your eyes and blink, and stare at the unbleeding flesh of at the ends of your forelegs, breathing hard
  688. 688.
    >In a split second, the door swings open, revealing the towering figure of Princess Luna, resplendent and overwhelming, and you feel like you're about to cry again, but you freeze and another part of you wants to run again, run away as fast as you can, but you know she'll just catch you anyway so you're locked in place, staring at your guardian angel and her billowing locks of star-scape hair, and every little star gives the impression of a tiny eye cat's eye, stray cats' eyes twinkling in the cone of a flashlight like they've been caught on a hunt, a whole ocean of uncountable eyes peering from the endless void, shocked and annoyed and covetous
  689. 689.
    >"My little ponies, be not afraid!"
  690. 690.
    >But you aren't afraid
  691. 691.
    >You're relieved, and worried, and feeling dreadful, and aching for revenge, and trembling with anticipation, and overcome with a sudden clarity, and hungry for her touch, and clenching your teeth with rage
  692. 692.
    >Worry, yes, but nowhere in the depths of your soul lurks any trace of that whimpering fear
  693. 693.
    >"To me, poor foals, and all your worries will be over."
  694. 694.
    >There's a pleading edge to her voice, and a sadness in her eyes, and something that feels like a scab over your heart being picked at
  695. 695.
    >Anon places a hoof on your shoulder, rather your withers, and she carries a pleading look, not sad but pleading, and your eyes begin to tear as you reciprocate the gesture, and Luna stands at a distance, confused and hopeful, while the two of you begin slapping and pinching at each other
  696. 696.
    .
  697. 697.
    .
  698. 698.
    .
  699. 699.
    >I shot awake with a gasp, then began shaking Nonny's still-unconscious body until until she pulled me into an awkward hug, squeaking like a mouse and trembling
  700. 700.
    >"She had us, she had us, she had us," Nonny whispered in an unsteady voice, stumbling over the words as if she couldn't hear herself speak
  701. 701.
    >"We're out, dude. Take it easy."
  702. 702.
    >I held her tightly, adrenaline coursing through my veins so that my body felt like twisted and wired, heartbeat like a turning crank in some heavy machine
  703. 703.
    >A delicate, high-pitched yawn filled the air and I looked toward Trixie, who was rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she sat up in her cot
  704. 704.
    >"Let me guess. Nightmares?"
  705. 705.
    >My glare was venomous, I didn't mean to be but I knew that's how I looked (and maybe, just a little bit, felt), could feel malice hissing from my pores and from my gullet like hot steam
  706. 706.
    >Hesitantly, I nodded
  707. 707.
    >She rolled her eyes and sighed, rising to her hooves and searching through some seemingly random drawer to produce a small, five-sided silver lantern, except the glass in one side was replaced by leather strings tied into a spiderweb pattern, almost like an Indian dreamcatcher (feather, not dot)
  708. 708.
    >She pulled a midnight blue candle from the same drawer, lighting it with a spark from her horn, then placed it at the lantern's base
  709. 709.
    >For a moment the metal frame shimmered gently, in a wavelike motion, like dropping a pebble in a puddle of moonlight, and the wagon quickly filled with the skunk-smell of burning sage
  710. 710.
    >Despite her obvious exhaustion, Trixie peeled into a smug grin, intoxicated by our looks of silent awe and oblivious to its inherent dread bubbling under the surface
  711. 711.
    >"This is Zebra magic. It's a wailer's lamp, a magical night light that protects ponies from bad dreams and joint pain. So," She set the lantern on a shelf with another yawn, climbing back into her cot, "Quiet down, and let Trixie get her beauty sleep. Being... great and powerful.. takes..."
  712. 712.
    >She laid back down and closed her eyes midsentence, trailing off as soon as her head hit the pillow, and began a soft, girlish snore
  713. 713.
    >Nonny and I sat wordlessly, and I could tell she wanted to say something, but all she did was stare at the floor, and sometimes out the cracked window shutter, and sometimes at me, and I just watched her, sometimes following her gaze out the window, imagining the stone brick face just beyond, listening to the irregular whistle of the afterstorm wind, or perhaps a calm inbetween, a humid and churning kind of calm like waves lapping at the seashore except hot like animal breath
  714. 714.
    >I couldn't say when I laid back down, but sleep came easily when I did
  715. 715.
    *
  716. 716.
    *
  717. 717.
    *
  718. 718.
    >Princess Luna lurched from a cloud of mist, short of breath and hope
  719. 719.
    >The fillies had taken only a few seconds to beat each other awake, and had disappeared just as she was preparing to separate them
  720. 720.
    >The question of "Why?" echoed through her head as she replayed the image a dozen times, a thousand times, their little faces not contorted with rage or wailing with fear, but solid and grim and focused, straining with effort
  721. 721.
    >Perhaps they were wrapped up in some feud outside their dreams, perhaps they weren't on speaking terms, perhaps they were simply acting out of confused desperation, flailing at the first living thing they saw
  722. 722.
    >Perhaps, for whatever reason, they were deliberately avoiding her, and had come to some agreement to escape her supervision
  723. 723.
    >Whatever the reason, she could not afford hesitation in their next encounter; she must act decisively and quickly, even if it frightens them, even if all they want to do is get away
  724. 724.
    >She could not afford to let her restraint be their doom
  725. 725.
    >For several hours afterword she had carved through the dreams of her subjects, pulled along turgid currents of fear and pain, witnessing their torment and dispelling it without thought, automatic reactions propelling her singleminded hunt as she bounced from pony to pony like stepping stones across a powerful river, one that foams against the rocks and breaks apart the careless
  726. 726.
    >The effort was straining her, and seemed increasingly pointless
  727. 727.
    >What had drawn her both times was like a shooting star, one that flickered and sparkled and flashed as it broke up in the night sky, burned into the back of her eyes when she blinked
  728. 728.
    >All she had to chase now were faint glimmers in the void, ones barely indistinguishable from the flowing landscape of muted colors and subtle impressions
  729. 729.
    >Perhaps they weren't sleeping, or had gotten it out of their systems; either way, they just aren't having another nightmare tonight
  730. 730.
    >She had missed her chance again
  731. 731.
    >The realization had hit her more than an hour ago, but had only just begun to sink in
  732. 732.
    >Yet sinking was something she would not condone; she had been swallowed by the despair before, strangled by it, and come out the other side stronger with the help of a few good friends
  733. 733.
    >She took a deep breath, shook her head, and appraised her surroundings
  734. 734.
    >This new dream she visited was in another cave, some huge chamber with smooth, rounded mineral formations on the walls that gave the appearance of tangled roots from an impossibly massive tree
  735. 735.
    >Between two of these formations, from a crack that snaked down from the ceiling (a ceiling thick with narrow, needle-like stalactites), a small trickle of water oozed like a wound in the earth, spilling across the cave floor in thousands of tiny channels, gradually picking up speed as it tumbled toward a distant low point at the far end of the cave
  736. 736.
    >Rising above those channels on a hump of beige stone, a petite, grey-green mare with pointed ears, a slate colored mane in some dignified Canterlot style, and leathery bat wings sat, her back to the princess, frozen in contemplation or thoughtlessness
  737. 737.
    >It took Luna no time to recognize the batpony, a middle-aged Lieutenant of her royal guard named Willowbrook, currently in Marelando or else on the long train ride back
  738. 738.
    >Luna recalled the guardsmare was still entangled in a messy divorce in its second year of arbitration, one that had so far been ignored by Princess Twilight's friendship map, perhaps because the omniscient lump of stone already knew there was no saving the couple, no salve for the bitterness except time and distance, preferably both in infinity
  739. 739.
    >She asked to sit by the Lieutenant, who was naturally quite accustomed to the presence of her highness, especially in dreams; she gave an automatic salute and accepted with enthusiasm
  740. 740.
    >The mare had a quiet, thoughtful temperament, severe and reserved and observant, the model of a professional watcher
  741. 741.
    >As such, her dreams were usually quite tranquil, if somewhat gloomy
  742. 742.
    >Some rare nights they would sit together for hours, discussing matters of state and of self, sharing concerns and interests, ideas and pieces of ideas, taking confidence in one another beyond the duties but still in the nature of their respective professions
  743. 743.
    >A hoof-full of times they shared only each other's presence, as if communicating by thought, a transfer of energy simultaneous from both sides and arranged in perfect parallels, no need for acknowledgement, nothing even to be acknowledged, an electric serenity resonating in waves that numbed the heart
  744. 744.
    >Thoughts beyond thinking
  745. 745.
    >They sat together on the stone hump in silence, staring at the little spiderweb channels as they rushed into the cavern depths, a downward slope into an impenetrable darkness
  746. 746.
    *
  747. 747.
    *
  748. 748.
    *
  749. 749.
    >The remainder of your dreams were thankfully unremarkable
  750. 750.
    >By the time Trixie had navigated the wagon back on the road, you were still tired and sore, though the tiredness and the soreness at least filled some of the emptiness that otherwise threatened to devour you, girded you against the pressure
  751. 751.
    >Even once you returned to your now daily labor, the steady rhythm of one hoof in front of the other, you felt aimless and floaty, clutching a bundle of flash-frozen anticipation as if in disbelief of the sheer anticlimax
  752. 752.
    >You had set your hopes on some kind of ending, and yet you persisted, kept company by a mysterious gypsy and a long lost twin, wandering across a medieval path toward a town you'd never heard of, and you found yourself craving the kind of numb indifference that came in a frosty glass, a speedbump for your worried but not quite frantic heart
  753. 753.
    >A rather deserved speedbump, considering all the work it had been putting in
  754. 754.
    >You were shaken from your thoughts by a prodding on your shoulder, and traced its source to Anon, head held low, wearing a stern expression
  755. 755.
    >"We need to talk," she said in a quiet voice despite trailing behind the wagon, as if Trixie might hear the two of you above the creaking and rumbling and groaning of well-worn lumber
  756. 756.
    >You had no response, didn't know what to say as you offered a sideye glance
  757. 757.
    >"It's time we cleared the air. I want... I need to know. Who are you, and what's the last thing you can remember?"
  758. 758.
    *
  759. 759.
    *
  760. 760.
    *
  761. 761.
    >We spent the next hour or so swapping stories, or rather sharing the same one, relaying in turns first a night of drunken suffering, then the preceding day of torturous shift work, then a week of grinding, quiet repetition, the last few months of deep despair, years and years and years of stacking failures, reminding one another along the way of small pains, stinging humiliations, the thousand little murders of daily life, knives sinking into the soul, tearing through flesh and cracking through bone on the way down, making the body of bloody meat and sinew feel more like a tangle of loose threads
  762. 762.
    >I didn't know what to make of it all, and from what I gathered neither did "Nonny," and I wondered which of the billion trillion variables that converge to form a human mind in any given moment had diverged to make "her" so drastically different from myself, how razor thin was the edge that separated myself from this sniveling, ineffectual cretin
  763. 763.
    >Then I began to consider how truly ineffectual my own life had been, still was in fact, though I supposed I at least had the presence of mind to attempt to navigate this strange and impossible situation without crumbling into rubble
  764. 764.
    >But, I wondered, to what end?
  765. 765.
    >I was thrashing and crawling and tiptoeing through the dark, drawn inexorably toward some distant point where I felt (or at least hoped) there was something in this to settle, a secret vault full of precious answers that would somehow make it all make sense, reveal the mirror behind the smoke, something gestalt and cosmic, and then I could open my eyes and see my calloused and leathery fingers, and run them through my poorly kept hair, and scratch my balls with my jagged nails, and fill my lungs with a man-sized breath of air, and maybe just some of this pressure will shear off in the escape, which felt heavier than it ever had in my entire life
  766. 766.
    *
  767. 767.
    *
  768. 768.
    *
  769. 769.
    >The Hardworking and Morally Upstanding Trixie had quickly grown to abhor the water breaks and their suffocating silence
  770. 770.
    >They were stopped on the right-hoof side of the road, and the fillies she had so gallantly taken charge of only seemed to grow stranger and creepier by the hour, little gremlins with tangled manes and their messes of wilting flowers, no longer like woven ribbons but like snaking, dead vines
  771. 771.
    >No doubt crawling with ticks and fleas and who knows what else
  772. 772.
    >Dear Celestia, what if they have lice?
  773. 773.
    >"Eugh!- Alright!"
  774. 774.
    >Trixie spilled several gulps of pickle juice across the cobblestones as she practically jumped out of her little chair
  775. 775.
    >"Wow, I just realized you two sure have some messy manes! Ahahaha, you know, they have a rule in Ponyville, no bedhead in city limits!"
  776. 776.
    >She darted into the wagon, ducking under the windowsill as she rummaged through several cabinets
  777. 777.
    >When she walked back out, she was floating an oversized and fine-toothed metal comb, a wooden bucket, and several bubbly-shaped glass jugs of bright, colorful liquids
  778. 778.
    >"Yup! As soon as we show up they'd toss you in the paddy wagon, and I sure as sunshine don't have the bits to post bail! Yeah, that sure would be a pain, why don't we go ahead and. uh... not... have that happen."
  779. 779.
    >Before they could raise their objections, she grabbed the mean looking one, who watched her with caution as she filled the bucket from one of the jugs, some strong-smelling, flowery pink oil, tugging the filly over by the hoof in her magic aura before dunking the waif's mane in the concoction
  780. 780.
    >She worked rapidly but relatively gently, prying apart the tangles one by one until the comb could slide effortlessly through any particular strand, plucking out the dead flowers wholesale, nervously scanning for any kind of crawling bug
  781. 781.
    >The filly cooperated, or at least didn't fight it, and at times she almost seemed to enjoy herself as the bulk of the mess unraveled, the inevitable slight pinching of snagged hairs likely worth the soothing pseudo-massage of the comb against her scalp
  782. 782.
    >Before long, she strained the fluid through a small cotton bag and repeated the process with Anon's tail, and when she finished that she let out an inaudible sigh of relief, finding only a few spiders, some fleas, and a single tiny centipede
  783. 783.
    >The filly looked less ragamuffin with her flowing charcoal hair stretched straight to its full length, draping over her shoulders in a solid curtain that had a slimming effect on her figure
  784. 784.
    >Negative results came from Nonny the unicorn too, though when the comb passed through and the tangles broke, the hair was billowing and curly and had the same presence as a weeping willow, a stunted one hidden deep in a copse of pine, sickly and barely clinging to life
  785. 785.
    >By the time Trixie finished, she fished a tiny sundial from her cloak and realized the whole ordeal had taken up a little over an hour of roadtime
  786. 786.
    >A small price to pay, considering the alternative; she had visions of that ratty, knotted hair crawling with tiny pink bugs, then the bugs marching in columns into her sheets, onto her cot, into her own mane
  787. 787.
    >The thought made her gag, but she quickly regained her composure and packed up the wagon, embarking with the two not quite fresh-faced, now only slightly dirty fillies
  788. 788.
    >If nothing else, she could consider scrubbing two filthy orphan scalps her good deed for the day
  789. 789.
    *
  790. 790.
    *
  791. 791.
    *
  792. 792.
    >The quiet mundanities of Starlight Glimmer's daily life in the crystal castle hung about her in a cloud, something stuffy and gloomy but restorative in its routine, and admittedly somewhat in its gloom
  793. 793.
    >Between the practice of magic, the study of letters, and the science of friendship, and perhaps above and below it all as well, her major preoccupation was brooding, the subject of which at this particular instance being something her dear friend Pinkie Pie had said
  794. 794.
    >"Dayum pencil! You got a point! I guess you write!"
  795. 795.
    >It was probably the funniest thing she'd heard all year, which compelled her to brood (everything did, eventually), and the brooding brought about that cloud of gloom to what would otherwise be a pleasant ray of sunshine, twisted it into a formless haze, still with traces of pleasantry but marked by something wavering and phantasmal
  796. 796.
    >But she was satisfied, even felt something approaching happiness; instead of a grey, gloomy gloom, her cloud was a midnight blue, a pensive and twinkling gloom, a vast expanse of seminumb potential, something meditative that locked out the senses but couldn't be called meditation, for above all else it remained stuffy and gloomy
  797. 797.
    >She would brood as easily as any other pony would smile, and as far as she could recall it had always been so; she would brood in times of hardship and times of joy, to endure sickness and in the face of pleasure, every morning when she rose and every night before she slept
  798. 798.
    >Insecurities and frustrations and anxieties, hopes and dreams and ideals, pain and regret and joy and contentment and weeping and smiling and loving and, in the not so distant past, hating
  799. 799.
    >All the flavors of life mixed into a single billowing mass, tasted only as a whole, each sensation on its own so rich that without a contradiction it would overwhelm her palate, wrench her stomach, make her eyes burn
  800. 800.
    >If she wasn't careful, that kind of raw exposure could give her all sorts of ideas, the kind she would often come to regret
  801. 801.
    >And so she would brood, observing her own life as a foal would observe an anthill, rapt and marveling, savoring every drop, but ultimately an outsider watching an alien world, except even her own head felt alien, overseeing the process of thought and working around the sparks of emotion, sparks that burn to the touch, and she took it for granted that somehow everypony must go on in a similar way, only they could engage the individual flavors that made her sick, and she supposed that must be why things like the power of friendship came so naturally to them and why for so long she, in contrast, had felt compelled to hold it at hoof's length
  802. 802.
    >The door creaked when it opened, and she was inside a claustrophobic library chamber, one with tall windows and heavy bookcases and narrow walkways
  803. 803.
    >"Oh! Starlight!"
  804. 804.
    >Twighlight Sparkle, framed by her saddlebags, approached her student and the two of them shared a quick hug in greeting
  805. 805.
    >"You're back, Twilight. I take it everything went well?"
  806. 806.
    >She shook her head
  807. 807.
    >"Only to drop off some things, pick up others. I need a clear workspace and plenty of references, and I honestly don't know how much longer I'll be up there."
  808. 808.
    >The princess produced a light blue tome fringed with gold leaf, nearly indistinguishable from a thousand other books in her collection save for its particular pattern of elegant High Equestrian calligraphy
  809. 809.
    >"Bad leads?"
  810. 810.
    >"Not from this one. I brought it up as a leisure read, since I've only ever gone over it twice. But something tells me I'm not gonna have much spare time until this is all over."
  811. 811.
    >Seeing her pupil's eyes twinkle with curiosity, she passed over the volume
  812. 812.
    >"'Poinsette Parlance's Annotated Cautionne of Distant Sprites and Spirits?' I've heard the name before... She wrote that treatise on Sugarplum Fairies, didn't she?"
  813. 813.
    >"'Recente Divergencees and Size Decreassions of Easterne Sugaresprite Populationnes en thee Unicorne Mountainnes Throughe thee Averages of Several Summeres'. Among other works."
  814. 814.
    >A rare volume from an obscure last-century naturalist who was nevertheless respected for her direct style and meticulous observational research, which has been scarcely replicated due to the isolated and often esoteric nature of her studies
  815. 815.
    >Her official organizational allegiance was still a topic of dispute, principally between the Royal Canterlot College of Lepidopterists and College of Myrmecologists, though records at least proved she accepted penny grants from both of the rivals as an undergraduate
  816. 816.
    >Starlight flipped it open to a small wicker bookmark while Twilight moved to look over her shoulder at a full-page illustration of a scrawny grey pony with big, pleading eyes
  817. 817.
    >"That one's called a skadegamutic. Supposedly nopony has ever been able to record a glimpse of its true form."
  818. 818.
    >She spoke with a careful mixture of reverence and academic enthusiasm
  819. 819.
    >"An insidious and unnerving creature, as the wendigo feeds on conflict and misery, so the skadegamutic spreads it like hayseed in a fallow field."
  820. 820.
    >Twilight set her gaze on a distant corner as her brow narrowed by a fraction of an inch
  821. 821.
    >"They're supposed to have two distinct states, active and dormant. In dormancy, a skadegamutic stays in a dreamless sleep deep underground, hidden away in lonely places where nopony ever goes. But when disturbed, usually by explorers or ponies who are very severely lost, they disguise themselves and contrive some miserable tale to convince good samaritans to bring them to their "herd," which is usually just the nearest town or village. There's some intermediate step that Parlance was never able to uncover in her lifetime, but in the end the target settlement ends up abandoned and forgotten, and the ponies within scatter in disharmony."
  822. 822.
    >Starlight looked thoughtful. "They 'spread misery?' What, through a magic spell, or some kind of energy field?"
  823. 823.
    >"Nopony is certain. Parlance theorizes it has something to do with magnets, but even she admits it's only conjecture. The one proven certainty is that one can only be stopped by bringing it back to where it came from and binding it with brass chains. The earth recognizes its own, and eventually swallows it whole where it returns to dormancy."
  824. 824.
    >"Oh."
  825. 825.
    >"That's one of the more scant entries, though. If you get a chance to review the western dwarf manticore, the data paints a truly fascinating picture of trophic dynamics..."
  826. 826.
    >She blinked with a scrunch of her muzzle, then cracked a knowing smirk and said "Well, it's a good read."
  827. 827.
    >The two mares traded sweet platitudes that neither could remember in detail, then Twilight bade her goodbye and disappeared into the hallway, ostensibly in search of some collection of hydrological charts
  828. 828.
    >Starlight had only politely pretended to listen while she nosed her way through the work, eventually finding a particularly lovely jungle beetle with little white spots and a face like a ship's prow, and she wondered if in reality it carried that greenish sheen like some of them do, and she spent the rest of her evening shirking a number of responsibilities to ponder the beetle
  829. 829.
    *
  830. 830.
    *
  831. 831.
    *
  832. 832.
    >The Considerate and Cheerful Trixie was weary of the uniquely dour attitude of her two unexpected charges
  833. 833.
    >These must be two of the most miserable fillies in the world, she thought to herself
  834. 834.
    >Just looking at them made her feel tired, and she was running out of excuses to walk off during rests
  835. 835.
    >As a mare of many talents however, she was far from helpless, and certainly not one to sit idly by while a problem festered into a crisis (unless it could be outrun, of course)
  836. 836.
    >So she set to work conjuring an impromptu show, one of the less intensive lineups that she was working out using some spare parts from other acts, and as the summer months waned it would be good practice for the important Nightmare Night circuit
  837. 837.
    >During the evening meal, while the fillies wiggled awkwardly and the sun sank to the edge of the sky, Trixie the Magician set up her stage, swapping the usual curtains for orange and black, standing a lacquered pumpkin husk on an upturned cauldron, stretching nets of string hooked on corners into pretend spiderwebs
  838. 838.
    >She started with a classic by pretending to swallow a toy spider, though her audience seemed unconvinced even as it shook with with lifelike twitching through the turn of a hidden brass key
  839. 839.
    >So next she summoned twinkling animal eyes in the steam of a boiling cauldron, projections made from candles and mirrors and dyed papers moving with the theatrical waving of her hooves, and she caught sight of Anon's ears twitching with interest
  840. 840.
    > The showmare felt a tingle on the back of her neck, and with a few simple maneuvers turned the scattered fog of eyes into the shape of a pastel-colored alligator swimming gracefully through her little wooden stage, and both of the kids were clearly impressed
  841. 841.
    >It was subtle, especially for little fillies; the lines in their faces softened, their backs straightened out, their eyes widened by fractions of degrees, but the nature of her profession kept her keenly in touch with the tiniest of tells
  842. 842.
    >And on long, lonely journeys like this, even their meager admiration was intoxicating
  843. 843.
    >She held onto the little alligator for a while, flashing its bright scales and opening its wide maw, sinking into the stage and reappearing at its far edge, turning its belly up to reveal pillowy marshmallow-scutes
  844. 844.
    >She was incensed and had an idea, and after nudging the fillies in closer she stretched a large black cloth over the three of them in a pinched dome, and the trapped cauldron vapors smelled like eggs
  845. 845.
    >She reined in the fake little alligator, made it swim laps around the cauldron, straining with effort as it rapidly picked up speed
  846. 846.
    >The creature stretched and warped as it lost the petty details, eyes and teeth and patterns of scales turning into little multicolor comets, though the comets quickly caught their own tails and everything was joined into a tauros of multicolor light, like a rainbow trying to devour itself, but the further it reached the further it stretched and so its hunger could never be sated
  847. 847.
    >Beyond the gleaming colors in her eyes, Trixie saw the faintest twitch upward in the corner of the little unicorn's mouth, and she felt a microscopic shudder settle in her guts as she beamed in return, calling out a variety of nonsense words like Hocus-Pocus and Wigwam, calling to the aurora sky of the makeshift tent with waving hooves and flaring nostrils
  848. 848.
    >But Trixie was a performer, she knew that familiarity breeds tedium
  849. 849.
    >She made one final split-second circuit before the rainbow broke and spiraled around the cloth's edge
  850. 850.
    >The pegasus jumped in surprised as it darted between her hooves, then up over their heads, and finally plunged back into the cauldron, which exploded into fog as she snatched away the cloth and suddenly the performance was over
  851. 851.
    >After an overlong pause the fillies clumsily clapped their hooves in the soft, polite applause of a golf tournament, as though they weren't quite sure how to express their joy or weren't quite sure they were allowed to in the first place, but still their expressions betrayed their awe and for Trixie that was enough
  852. 852.
    >The rest of the evening passed uneventfully, though for once Nonny didn't spend a half hour picking at her food
  853. 853.
    >It took her stowaways some time before they furled back up into their high-strung and guarded selves, but at the very least Trixie figured the breath of levity would do them some good
  854. 854.
    >That's what she liked to tell herself anyway, but she wasn't afraid to admit that she also liked the attention
  855. 855.
    *
  856. 856.
    *
  857. 857.
    *
  858. 858.
    >The gypsy was kind enough to light her magic lamp at my behest
  859. 859.
    >I was skeptical of its power but this place was also deeply unreal, almost like a fairy tale, and the tricks of the magician did inspire some confidence
  860. 860.
    >And so through genuine protection or happy circumstance I was able to enjoy a comparatively restful sleep
  861. 861.
    >My counterpart wasn't present, and neither was the unsettling moon mare, and the dream I had wasn't quite so distressing this time
  862. 862.
    >I dreamed again of my home, only much neater, and I was outside in a deep and moonless night where the chainlink fence met the woodline
  863. 863.
    >There were paths through the trees that I had never seen, paths like service roads in the national forests, choppy and lonely and reaching into the yawning dark, and a neighbor approached from the woods on a small golf cart and could tell I needed to get somewhere, which I soon realized myself though I couldn't place where exactly (or even in approximation)
  864. 864.
    >When he offered a ride I hesitantly accepted, not because we were on poor terms (I had known him a long time, last year I helped him put in new flooring), but because of some unshakeable sense of caution, though eventually of course I relented to the clear tides of fate
  865. 865.
    >We ripped down a loose sugarsand path, one that ran straight and deep like a hairline fracture through the woods, and the canopy of pine was loose enough that the stars looked down barely impeded, serene and subdued and lonely in their uncountable legions
  866. 866.
    >I caught glimpses of shapes moving in the low brambles and scrub palms and stands of wispy, pink-haired grasses, and once or twice the shining eyes of a wildcat
  867. 867.
    >Some time later we came to a fork in the road, one that curved off and went behind a copse of little oaks and grape, and I told him not to turn there since it seemed suspicious but he insisted, and shortly we arrived in a clearing like a big sandy bowl where he cut off the motor, saying he'd like to listen to the cicadas a while
  868. 868.
    >And so we stood, propped up by the clicking rhythm of a hundred million idiot flies the size of a thumb, chorus calls that floated in the damp night air and formed the lattice that held up our fragile little human bodies, the swaying behemoth pines, the whole infinite sparkling cosmos, and with the lights off I could see by the starlight and feel it too, warm on my face and back and shoulders, and just for a moment I could feel my unease loosen; for the space of a breath, I felt truly relaxed

Dirofilaria

by gastrocnemius