Later that evening, Talib had forgotten all about Moondancer and Trixie.

What the buck happened here? thought Talib, stunned. Beside him stood Hayfa, stoically regarding the ashes, her usual levity and irony completely driven away by the devastation around them. The wind was growing loud in the dark night.

The Forest trees were snapped and burned, creating a blackened clearing dozens of yards wide. The ground was torn and heaved, and even the rocks and boulders were cracked and smashed. Talib looked around and strained his ears, terrified that the creator of this destruction might still be around, but the ashes were cold, the smoke reeked stale, and apart from the wind, the Forest was its normal, slightly subdued autumn hum. He took a few careful steps forward and noticed some seedlings growing up through the black soot.

So this happened weeks ago, he thought, looking closer at the seedlings, noting their species and age. About three weeks.. He turned to Hayfa and gave her a lost look, still struggling to find anything to say. She looked back at him, the same question in her eyes.

What could have done this?

It had been an unremarkable evening, at first. After leaving Moondancer, Talib had made it home in time for a late dinner with his family, and then made the walk through the fields to check on his farm experiments by lantern-light. The bright farmhouse windows had appeared to float in the inky darkness across the fields, making Talib feel isolated and alone despite only being a couple of minutes from his family. Making the rounds of his experiments, tucked away in unused corners of the fields, the preliminary results were exactly what he’d expected; the species transplanted from the Everfree Forest seemed to be growing fuller and straighter than they did in the Forest, and producing more fruit. It wasn’t very scientific, but Talib had picked a wild buckberry from one of them and tasted it. The normally sour, bitter fruit was unusually palatable.

So the farm makes the wild plants tame, and the Forest makes the tame crops wild. But why?

The observation itself was interesting, but he wished he had some kind of explanation. Maybe it would come out when he examined the completed experimental data. Even better, maybe the devices he was seeing Trixie about tomorrow would help. Talib didn’t really know the braggart unicorn very well, although he’d not been able to resist seeing a few of her shows, fascinated by magic as he was. Walking back to the farmhouse, he tried not to worry about whether she’d think he was worth her time.

Clack.

Talib’s ear flicked but he didn’t raise his head from the pillow. He’d just been drifting off, exhausted, after writing up some notes. Now his consciousness returned a little, and he was deliciously aware of the delicate embrace of soft sheets and warm woollen blanket. He sighed with contentment, anticipating the sleep he felt working its way through his mind and muscles.

Clatter-clack.

Now his eyes opened. The window, he thought. Something hit the window. He scanned the dark bedroom without raising his head, everything appearing normal. As he listened, sleep retreating, Talib stared at Moondancer’s – now his – coffee table, which he’d hauled up here out of the weather till he could get it to his cabin.

Toc.

That sounded larger. Talib rolled over and looked at the window set into the sloped farmhouse roof of his attic bedroom. Seeing nothing odd, he sighed and got up, peering outside into the dark. He couldn’t see anything. Wait- there was something moving down there on the lawn under his window. He couldn’t make it out. Talib opened the window for a better look.

Thunk

The sizeable pebble smacked him squarely between the eyes and he staggered back, hooves pressed to his forehead in pain and trying not to cry out and wake his parents. A moment later a winged, beaked shape filled the open window-frame and rushed towards him. Talib gasped and tensed, giving up all thoughts of silence, ready to scream-

“Talib? My apologies for that,” said a familiar, sardonic voice, clearly battling against outright laughter, “your timing was most unfortunate.”

“Hayfa?” Talib half-whispered, flabberghasted.

“Are you alright?” asked the griffoness, light concern mingling with amusement.

“I-” Talib rubbed his forehead, staring at her, “what are you doing here?”

All mirth vanished from Hayfa’s face, and even in the dark Talib could make out her unusually grave demeanour.

“I found something, in the Forest. You need to see it.”

“Now?”

She looked at him silently, and just nodded.

Hayfa walked forward over the charred earth to crouch with Talib as he examined the seedlings. He shared his estimate; that this had happened around three weeks ago. Around them, the trees creaked and lunged in the growing wind.

“That puts it around the time of the Summer Harvest Parade,” said Hayfa. Talib didn’t ask how she knew about the Parade, considering she hadn’t been there. He thought back to that day-

And his thoughts froze, his skin tightening in remembered fear.

Hayfa noticed, of course. She looked at him curiously.

“You know something about this?”

Talib struggled to speak, processing the implications. Eventually he regained some kind of control over his voice.

“That night – or rather, early the next morning – I thought I saw something as I was walking beside the Everfree Forest.” He stopped, unwilling to make the connection.

Hayfa prompted him. “What did you see?”

Terrible rubies, and fear…

Talib shook his head, looking around the burnt clearing to bring himself back to the present. “I’m not sure. I think I saw two red eyes, but that’s about it. But then my hooves just… just started moving by themselves, it seemed. I was terrified, but not sure why. I just started to run, without needing to think about it.”

Hayfa nodded. “Sometimes our limbs are smarter than our heads. I’ve seen griffons leap sideways just as a shaft lands where their heart would have been, and not able to explain why they moved. Whatever sense warned them, it did not bother waiting for conscious thought.”

Talib looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. So, he thought, She has seen combat. Around them, the wind had grown strong enough to whip up the coal and ashes, and Talib coughed, his throat itching and dry. He shivered in the cold, and turned to Hayfa to suggest they go. But somehow, silently, she’d left his side without him noticing, and was stalking around the clearing, large predator’s eyes scanning the ground.

“Here,” she called, looking over at Talib. “Come here.”

Shrugging, Talib walked over and examined what seemed an unremarkable patch of dirt. Hayfa reached out a claw and brushed aside some of the settled ash. Something smooth glimmered brightly amid the matte white and black, and she picked it up. A misshapen, hard blob of something, some out-of-place shape lifted clear of the dirt, and as she blew the debris clear Talib recognized the substance.

“It’s glass,” said Talib, unbelieving, having to raise his voice now over the wind, “forest fires aren’t hot enough to make glass, and this wasn't lightning.”

“Few fires are,” said Hayfa, “outside of furnaces. I can think of only one other.”

Talib and Hayfa looked at one another, seeing the shared thought in one another’s eyes but unable to draw it out with words.

Dragonfire.

A sudden gust of wind caused a half-charred limb to drop nearby, and startled Talib into speech.

“But there aren’t any dragons nearby! I mean full-grown ones, not Spike. Ones that could do-” he gestured to the ruined Forest around them, “-this. They’re impossible to miss, with their smoke plumes. And we know all the caves nearby that could fit a dragon. We’ve known them for decades. It doesn’t make sense.”

Hayfa shrugged, not apparently troubled by the mystery. “Then either it is not a dragon, or it is a vanishing dragon.”

Talib looked up at the clouds, the merciless wind driving them hastily across the sky, so that the waxing gibbous moon seemed to phase in and out of existence. Like their mysterious dragon. Or whatever it is.

“Look,” said Hayfa, moving ahead. She pointed at some scuff-marks on the ground. Talib looked, but saw only mounded dirt.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be looking at.”

“That’s because you are no hunter. These are hoof-tracks,” said Hayfa with certainty, “left by ponies.”

“What, at the same time as all this was happening?” asked Talib, receiving a nod. He looked around at the blasted vegetation, a silent testimony to the unimaginable violence visited on this patch of the Everfree.

“Nopony could have survived this,” he said.

“This trail says otherwise,” said Hayfa, gesturing towards an indistinct series of markings leading out of the clearing. Talib followed them with his eyes, just as another gust of wind hissed through the canopy nearby.

He turned questioningly to Hayfa. “Wh-”

Crack.

Talib looked up into the branches at the noise, and just had time to register movement somewhere above when Hayfa, without warning, slammed into him from the side. It was like being hit by an unusually feathery Rhum Shot. The griffoness might have been lighter than an earth pony but she was capable of spectacular acceleration, and her momentum saw them both sailing through the air, Talib’s stunned brain only able to reflect on how being tackled by griffons was becoming quite a familiar sensation. They landed roughly as a large branch crashed loudly onto the spot where Talib had been standing.

He looked at Hayfa, dazed, about to thank her, but she clamped a scaly claw over his mouth, still looking up at the swirling, leafy mass above them. Talib followed her gaze. Branches were swaying and shaking violently in the wind, back and forward. He was about to murmur something around her palm when he realized why she was staring.

There was no wind anymore.

Looking around the clearing, Talib saw that all the trees were moving, but not in any wind – they were out of sync, frenzied and frantic as they writhed. His eyes widening, Talib felt panic rising, and looked to Hayfa. She glanced away from the trees at him, nodded grimly.

It was definitely time to go.

The bright morning sky was covered with high but radiant cloud, and patchy gaps opened here and there to let the visible beams of light kiss Ponyville’s rolling, green outer hills. In front of Talib, nearly upon him in their purposeful approach, were thicker clouds of a darker, middle grey, and as he watched, a silent squiggle of intense light arced across the heavens. He started to count but was surprised at ‘two’ by a high-pitched rattling from above – the herald of the lower-frequency, rolling thunder. That arrived a moment later, with a crack-boom which reluctantly faded, leaving reverberating echoes. He heard white noise approaching and soon fat rain drops began to spit down at him. As usual, the storm gave him a paradoxical combination of calm and manic energy, and he grinned strangely, nearly skipping for joy as he left the town’s outskirt of farmland behind. He did not skip, however, but plodded on. His muscles were too strained and bruised from last night’s training with Hayfa.

They’d fled the clearing without further incident, though a few more branches had fallen down around them, as though flung. Gasping for breath a few miles back towards Sugarcane Farm, the incident had seemed almost unreal. But the bruising on Talib’s ribs where Hayfa had tackled him was a sharp reassurance that it had, in fact, happened. Talib had leaned against a tree and wheezed, then looked hastily up at the branches and thought better of it. He sat his hindquarters down on the Forest ground instead.

“What…” he panted, “…what in Tartarus was that?”

“That,” replied Hayfa, “was anger. Remember when we first met, I told you I had seen the trees fractious and violent? This is what I have seen, deeper in the Everfree Forest. But this was much worse, and much closer to Ponyville.” She looked up thoughtfully at the dark canopy above them. These trees, at least, did not move in the absence of wind. “It’s spreading, Talib, as I warned you.”

“The last time the Forest did something like that,” said Talib quietly, “it was because the Tree of Harmony was weakened.” He remembered endlessly pestering Twilight for more detail about the strange events, until even she had told him he was obsessed. “And that… that is not good at all. But the Elements of Harmony were returned to the tree – what could possibly interfere with it now, with such strong magic to protect it?”

Hayfa shrugged. “Such things are outside my experience. I would, however, wager a great deal that Progress Miller is involved, somehow.”

“The over-logging?”

Hayfa shrugged again. “That is for you and the Council to determine. I only hope it happens quickly. But there appear to be other players, here. You said Progress’s camp was attacked – smashed and burned. Here we have evidence of a similar destructive power at work. Somepony,” she concluded drily, “is attempting to use something very dangerous against Progress Group.”

“A dragon?” asked Talib, doubtfully.

“You assure me there is nowhere to hide such a massive, unsubtle creature. It seems unlikely.”

“What, then?”

The griffoness regarded him coolly. “If I knew, I would tell you, and we would not be speculating like this.” It was not a harsh rebuke, but Talib’s flow of questions suddenly ran dry. Hayfa spoke like a griffoness who was used to being obeyed, and Talib wondered again what could have made her come out here and live in the Everfree like a hermit. “As I said,” she continued, “this – magical trees, dragons – is not my field of expertise. However,” she continued, smiling in the dark, “I do have other skills which, it seems, may be of use.”

Her look of anticipatory glee frightened Talib nearly as much the trees.

The rain was serious and heavy, now, and Talib quickened his pace to stay warm. His muscles had loosened up a little on the walk, after last night’s brief but intense workout. Hayfa’s idea of an introduction to combat training was to give him a staff and see how many different ways she could hit him with it or take it off him. And then hit him with it. He wasn’t sure he saw the point; after all, a few whacks with a staff would hardly bother an angry tree – or, come to think of it, whatever had smashed and burned that clearing. As for Progress Miller, his bodyguard Mujeer would doubtless share Hayfa’s response to any attempt at violence from Talib, but without the instructional comments. Besides, he was as uncomfortable with violence as with any other form of confrontation, but Hayfa insisted on the training.

Cresting another low, green hill, a small caravan rose into view beside the well-travelled dirt path, which was now slightly muddy with the downpour. Hooves squelching as he approached, Talib appreciated once again the mechanical know-how that had gone into making it, on which Bianca had discoursed often, and at length. The compact structure was weatherproof and light, but every wall and roof section could unfold, conjuring quite an impressive instant-theatre. As he approached, Talib heard a muffled voice from within. Hesitantly, he knocked a hoof against the door. The voice went quiet, and a moment later Trixie herself threw the door open with a sigh, her trademark pointy hat adding gravitas to the irritated glare she cast at him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, imperiously. “Couldn’t you hear that The Great and Powerful Trixie was rehearsing?”

Talib, rattled, took a moment to get his mouth into gear. “Uh, sorry, Trixie,” he said, meekly. “I can come back later, when you’re not busy-” he looked back at the hills towards Ponyville, shrouded in rain, “-maybe?”

Trixie, too, looked at the rain, and sighed. “Well, you’ve already interrupted me,” she said, irritably, “what is it?”

“I was hoping to talk to you about commissioning some magical devices,” said Talib, “since I’ve seen your shows, and you’re pretty good-” Trixie raised an eyebrow, and Talib hastily corrected himself “-very, I mean very good with that kind of stuff.” The supercilious unicorn looked down at him haughtily for a while.

“So!” she cried, suddenly. “A fan, impressed by The Great and Powerful Trixie’s magical prowess, naturally seeks her assistance in a matter of enchantment! But tell me, young…” she paused until Talib caught on to the act, and supplied his name, “Talib, tell me; why should The Great and Powerful Trixie help you? She is, after all, a very busy unicorn.”

Talib had been expecting this, and produced a small but heavy bag which contained his remaining wages for the fortnight. Muffled clinks and jingles were audible through the patter of rain as he hefted it.

Trixie’s expression suddenly became a lot more interested.

Antumbra had been resting after the simple workout she’d managed in the cramped cell. Day and night had no power here in the solid stone room, and she had no idea how much time had passed since she’d started doing these sessions. Nopony had come to speak with her – whoever passed the food through the door slot wasn’t a talker – and her sleep had been normal, without further visitation from… whoever it was that had come into her dream. Her resolution to stay sane and fit, however, had not wavered. She focused on her family. She must get back to her family.

“You must not disobey us again.”

The voice startled her from her reclining position on the cot. It was an unremarkable voice, except for the anger shining through carefully-kept calm. And the fact that the last time she’d heard it, it had been inside her own head. She swallowed and looked at the door. No outside light was visible through the eyehole.

“Next time I won’t run,” she said, in a similar tone.

“You will do as we instruct. You remember our instructions?”

For a moment her mind searched in vain, but then the memory suddenly bubbled to the top of her thoughts, like sulphurous cave gas, bursting with a sickening plop and making her feel nauseous. How could she have forgotten?

That was why she had tried to run.

Antumbra wished she could forget again, but now that the key had been turned, the door to her memories had burst open and would not be closed. In her ignorance and forgetfulness, she had thought there was hope. But she remembered, now; what they had made her, why they kept her in this cell, and treated her like she was dangerous. Horror and anger seethed together in her chest, so she felt she would catch fire, or burst. She remembered the words of her dream-visitor – how could this possibly be for the best?

“I can’t. I won’t. It’s monstrous!” She spat the words at the impassive door, furious.

“You will. If you do not, there will be pain.” She remembered the pain, too. Oh, yes. “And if you remain defiant, we will seek more leverage. Your family, for instance – perhaps they may prove tractable.”

“No!” she cried. Her mother, her father, put through this ordeal, changed like they had changed her… it was unbearable.

“The choice is simple. There will be a test, very soon.”

She raged silently, glaring at the eyehole, muscles clenched in anger.

“Everypony will be searching for me by now,” she said, through her teeth.

“They will not find us,” he replied with absolute certainty, “I will leave you to consider. Remember your family.” Light was visible through the viewing hole once more. She ran up to it and looked through, but could only see a dimly-lit wall of the same stone as her cell, as hoof-steps echoed in retreat down the blank, uninformative corridor. She sagged down onto the cold stone, back against the door.

Escape, rescue – impossible, both. Antumbra wrestled with the evil alternatives. Submit her family to this same excruciating ordeal, or carry out the unthinkable violence demanded of her. She did not sleep for what seemed like days, barely touching food.

In the end, though, her decision was inevitable.

“This ‘un.”

Talib looked doubtfully at the enormous, ancient oak tree, which bore an uncanny resemblance to the one on Old Sim’s flank. Talib had never attempted such a large target, but Old Sim seemed to think that now, with a few weeks’ experience under his belt, the two of them could handle it. Certainly Talib felt a lot stronger than when he’d started, and was no longer constantly exhausted. Just mostly. Somewhat reassured and under Old Sim’s authoritative guidance, Talib gripped his axe hard in his teeth and started swinging. His mentor worked away on the opposite side, completely obscured by the wide trunk.

The repetitive thock-thock of two heavy axes shot through the cool autumn air and was absorbed by the dense, woody growth which choked this part of the Everfree Forest. The morning after visiting Trixie, as he and Old Sim had walked into the Forest for the week’s felling, Talib had kept a wary eye on the canopy and surrounding vegetation for signs of unrest, but had seen nothing unusual. Two more days of ordinary – well, for the Forest – work had reassured Talib that, whatever the cause of his frightening experience with Hayfa, the Everfree was not in a constant state of fury. Still, he trod the spongy, moist ground carefully.

He was, without thinking, letting his axe-blows fall naturally into a rhythm with his mentor’s, the percussive sounds evenly spaced. Under their hypnotic influence, Talib’s mind drifted back to his slightly overwhelming visit to The Great and Powerful Trixie. It had not been quite as he’d expected. The hyper-confident unicorn had first demanded that he serve as test audience for a show she would use on this “Ponyville Grand Tour”, shrewdly timed between harvest and planting seasons, when many of the farmponies had less work and more money from the recent harvest. The routine had been impressive, of course, a mix of stagecraft, illusion, magical props and raw magical ability which had left him dazzled. He’d said so, sat on the ancient, threadbare rug in her trailer, and asked where he could see the show, trying to butter her up.

“There will be posters,” the blue mare had said unconcernedly, clearly not moved by Talib’s flattery but merely accepting it as her due. Paradoxically, her superiority complex seemed to make her resistant to such influence. Talib looked curiously around the cosy – alright, cramped – trailer. In contrast with her grandiloquent style, The Great and Powerful Trixie’s habitation was jarringly humble, and signs of disrepair were carefully hidden throughout.

“So,” she had interrupted his inspection, perhaps deliberately, “what are these devices you require?”

Talib had explained his idea for measuring ambient magic, nervous and ineloquent under Trixie’s aloof gaze. She looked at him the same way he’d seen her regard the servile Snips and Snails, and he eventually wilted into silence, which persisted a little too long. Trixie’s expression kept changing, one moment haughty and confident, the next sneering and disdainful. In all his reading, Talib had never found any reference to the measuring of magic, so perhaps such a thing just wasn’t possible, and Trixie was struggling to frame the words “I can’t”.

Finally, the pale blue unicorn’s face had settled into its usual smug self-assuredness.

“Such a feat of magic is highly demanding, of course,” she said, eyeing his purse.

“Of course,” echoed Talib, solicitously. Perhaps the crowds aren’t thronging like they used to, he thought. Trixie’s demeanour turned business-like.

“The greatest unicorn minds – apart from TGAPT, you understand – have been unable to determine how many different kinds of magic there are, or even if there are different types at all. So measurement is, of course, a challenge. Happily, you have come to a unicorn of the highest level. The Great and Powerful Trixie may have… acquired something germane to this undertaking during her many travels.”

Talib’s ears perked up. Trixie, noticing his surprise and interest, had smirked and gone over to a little desk somehow crammed into a corner of the slightly fusty caravan. Undoing a latch on the side of some shelving, she released a wooden front-panel – to prevent books from falling off while being hauled, he assumed – and peered at the spines. A gentle blue aura flared from her horn and a large, old tome levitated onto the desk. She started flipping through the pages, searching. A curtain was magically flicked open to admit more light.

Talib walked hesitantly over to peer over her shoulder, his height finally working to advantage in the cramped space. Trixie was examining a page filled with odd geometries and incomprehensible sigils. It was no magical tome nor language he'd ever seen in his voracious readings. Where in Equestria did she get that old thing? he wondered. Flashbacks to the infamous Alicorn Amulet incident were running through his mind, but he didn’t dare question the touchy mare. Trixie hummed thoughtfully, tracing a design with a hoof, nodded, and looked up decisively. Talib realized he was looming and stepped back as the book slammed shut. He looked at her hopefully.

“It can be done!” she cried, triumphantly. “Not by many unicorns, certainly. But of course the Great and Powerful Trixie is no ordinary unicorn! Why, such a magical feat…”

Trixie luxuriated in her supremacy for some time, and Talib couldn’t help but tune her out.

Until they came to the price.

“Talib.”

The wiry young colt didn’t hear Old Sim call his name, absorbed as he was in his memories. After paying over the entire remainder of his wages, he’d made the wet trek back to Ponyville, penniless but hopeful. Trixie had suggested he return in a week for the devices and then haughtily dismissed him from her presence. When Talib had looked back through the rain at the lonely trailer, he saw curtains twitch hurriedly closed. He shook his head.

“Talib!”

He heard now, and came back to the present. He couldn’t hear Old Sim’s axe-blows anymore, and looking around he realized the massive tree was beginning to wobble dangerously. Alarmed, he got clear of the giant shortly before a cracking, snapping noise heralded its impending descent. Old Sim was looking at him angrily, not able to be heard over the falling tree’s mighty din but not needing words to convey his exasperation. Some day, Talib hoped to achieve such eloquence of expression. But perhaps he’d need to wait for more wrinkles for a scowl to rival the one currently aimed at him.

“Sorry,” he said when the crashing echoes had faded. “I got distracted.”

“If’n there were more teams working nearby, that’s like to get somepony killed,” said Old Sim curtly. Talib realized, with horror, the truth of those words – nopony would have heard any shouted warnings over that clamour. If they hadn’t looked lively, it could easily have been fatal. Even under Talib’s pale yellow fur, Old Sim could probably see the blood drain from his face.

They finished up the day, Talib being extra attentive in an attempt to make amends. As darkness threatened, they returned to the staging-grounds and mapped out the next day’s felling over mugs of tea – Talib with his preferred lemongrass, and Old Sim with the stench of his unidentifiable medicinal brew. The lanterns burned cheerfully while the sun retreated into the crisp evening, bestowing a steady light onto the map which sprawled over the empty wagon-tray. Old Sim was careful not to catch the hoof-drawn chart on the rare rough patches as he shuffled and slid it around the mostly work-smooth planks. In his teeth he gripped a cheap pencil, hacked artlessly into a sharp point, and around it he drawled instructions to Talib.

“Tomorrow,” he said with surprising clarity, “we’ll have to look sharpish. There’s some big old growth in here,” he circled an area of the Forest deeper than any Talib had yet worked, “which could use some thinning out – let some new growth through. Haven’t been out that way in a while, so it might take some time to get my bearings.”

Talib looked at the map. “It is quite far in, isn’t it? I suppose we have an extra day before market – we could always split it over the two days.”

Old Sim shook his head. “Nothing doing. I’m taking the day off.”

Talib wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. His confusion must’ve been evident, because Old Sim spat out the pencil and looked at him peevishly.

“What, have I sprouted horns?” he asked, abrasively.

Talib came back to himself. “Sorry,” he said, “I guess I just didn’t think we got days off.” He was unable to picture Old Sim at leisure. Work seemed to be the entirety of the old lumberpony’s existence.

“Well, you’re half right. You’re not getting the day off – we’ll have a big haul sitting in the warehouse, so I expect you to make a start on the sawing for next week. Reckon you can manage it by yourself without losing a hoof by now.”

“Oh,” said Talib, more confused, “sure. Um…” he hesitated, unsure how to ask the intensely private stallion about his personal time. Until now, there hadn’t seemed to be any to ask about. Eventually, his curiosity won out over his timidity.

That seems to be happening more and more, these days.

“So, what will you be doing?” he asked, lightly,

“Got some kinfolk visiting from Trottingham – my brother, Huon, and his family. We’ll spend the day around Ponyville, mostly, since they ain’t seen much of it since he went back to get hitched. Matter of fact, you’ll meet them – we’re headed out for dinner with your folks after market.”

“Oh,” said Talib, “we are?” Old Sim looked at him askance, and he hastily added “I mean, that’ll be fun!”

His mentor just tossed his head and gave one of his signature explosive snorts. “Huon’s a contrary sod,” he said, “so it’ll be good to have you and yours there. His mare and colt are nice enough, though.” Old Sim deftly packed up the map and hung a lantern off his pannier. “Well, I’m headed back for the night. I suppose you’ll be off to your little cabin in the woods.” Talib looked away and nodded, chagrined. “I’d like to see it, one of these days,” continued Old Sim in a carefully neutral tone. Talib looked back at the rough old pony, encouraged.

“Just as soon as you’ve come clean to your parents,” finished Old Sim, like springing a trap. “Well, goodnight.” He walked off towards his cottage, the large circle of lamplight splitting in two smaller ones – one going, the other staying.

Talib didn’t notice – he was looking down, conflicted and slightly ashamed.

The full moon blazed and hummed silently with pitiless white radiance, obliterating any stars that drew near in the clear night sky. Only the evenstar dared strike battle: glowing bravely until, at the very last, it was subsumed into the greater luminance. Talib, just finished with surveying his experimental plots, couldn’t help but look up frequently at the terrible, beautiful thing as he walked back to his makeshift accommodation. The very coldness in the air, the autumn stiffening, seemed to be emanating from that pure white orb. He entered the little glade and looked at his uncomfortable shanty with a sigh. There was still a couple of days’ work, at least, until he’d be able to move into the partly-finished cabin, since he still had to finish nailing on his roofing: crude but thin wooden shingles, painstakingly hoof-split from the straightest-grained pine he could obtain. And even then, although it’d keep off the frost and rain, the wind would still be free to blow through the skeletal wall-frames. He eyed the moonlit structure resentfully-

And it looked back.

Talib froze, and felt his heart begin to slam against his ribcage as a silvery-liquid creature crawled, silently and with impossible fluidity, through the gaps in the frame. It stood on all fours, and he recognized it.

Hayfa. He exhaled a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding, and felt terror turn to anger.

“Darn it, Hayfa,” he exclaimed, “do you have to be so quiet all the time? You scared the fur off me!”

She just looked at him gravely for a while. He recognized the expression from a few days ago, before she'd taken him to the burnt clearing – Hayfa was even more alert than usual, her nerves almost audibly humming.

“What is it?” he asked, suddenly concerned.

“If you had been with me earlier tonight,” she said, flatly, “you would be exercising stealth, as well.”

Accordingly, Talib lowered his voice as he walked over, moving quietly. “What happened?” he asked. “Did the trees… move again?”

Hayfa shook her head. “I think,” she said, “we had better talk inside your shelter.”

“Alright,” said Talib, now thoroughly disconcerted and wondering how he could bring the tense griffoness off-edge, “some tea might help-”

Suddenly, an iron grip encircled his leg.

“No fire,” she said, emphatically.

Talib realized her claws were shaking.

Some of the sun’s meagre Autumn warmth had been absorbed by the boulder-walls of Talib’s lean-to, and now it was exuded, grudgingly, into the cramped space they enfolded. Hayfa had pulled the other two timber walls closed around them, and had dimmed Talib’s lantern until it cast a weak light, barely enough to see one another by. The air outside had been threatening frost, but in this small space their two bodies generate a surprising amount of warmth. It seemed comforting, somehow, as Hayfa told her story.

“I never brought you to my camp,” she began, “but it wasn’t too much further into the forest from here – a couple of hours on hoof, or so.”

Talib nodded, unsure where this was going.

“This evening I returned from the hunt-” Talib suppressed a shudder, “-at sundown, and hung my catch. I busied myself making fire, preparing skinning knives-”

“Could we not talk about that?” Talib blurted out, unable to help himself. “I can’t bear to think about it.”

Hayfa regarded him dispassionately, then nodded. “As you wish. I will just say, then, that I was engaged in various tasks until after dark, when the moon was rising.” She fell silent, looking at the sickly lantern flame. Talib waited for the story to continue, but Hayfa merely stood silently, edging around him in the tiny enclosure and pressing her eye to the slight gap between the two wooden walls. Apparently seeing nothing, she looked back at the expectant young colt.

“Preoccupied as I was,” she continued abruptly, “I still noticed something odd over the noise and light of my fire. The Forest had gone silent.”

Talib remembered all too well the terrifying experience on his first day of work.

Seeing his comprehension, Hayfa nodded. “Yes,” she said, “it was just as you described. The normally busy insects and birds had lost their voices. I remembered your story, and so without much thought, I fled,” she said, matter-of-fact. Talib was surprised, and Hayfa smirked. “Back home, such cowardice would be considered most dishonourable. But such illusions have lost their appeal to me, and so I hastily put distance between myself and that… silence. But it did not stay silent for long.”

“Behind me, far behind, I heard a noise. A roaring such as I have never heard. I flew into the high branches, and looked back. In the distance over the silvery treetops, I saw the forest around my camp suddenly blaze with light – then again, and again. The trees caught fire, incredibly fast. I saw something smash them over, but in the dancing of red and silver and shadow, I could not make it out. But it seems clear what it must have been.”

“A dragon,” said Talib, shocked.

“So I surmised, though I never saw it. When the violence abated, I waited an hour before returning.”

“You went back?” asked Talib, incredulous.

“I thought it might be informative,” replied Hayfa, equivocally. Talib couldn’t respond. “Creeping around,” she said, “I found boulders smashed, drying racks burned, trees ablaze, ground torn. None of my meagre possessions or structures survived.”

“Like at the clearing you found,” said Talib.

“Not quite. That was messy, random. This seemed targeted.”

Talib blinked. “What? But… it’s a dragon… we’re pretty sure. Why would it want to burn your camp?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” said Hayfa. “But remember, it does not seem to be a normal dragon. Nor, if you remember, is it alone.”

Talib thought back, and remembered. “The hoof-tracks…” he said, “you found more?”

Hayfa nodded, and Talib furrowed his brow, mind racing. Nothing made any sense. What in Equestria were the dealing with? And whom? Why had they targeted Hayfa, and what did it have to do with Progress?

A slight cough from Hayfa brought him back to the present. “I have a favour to ask,” she essayed, unusually hesitant. “I know I did not give a very amicable first impression,” Talib raised an eyebrow, “and for that, I apologize. But I think we have come to some kind of an understanding, yes? We are both concerned by these strange events, and perhaps we two are alone in that respect.”

“Perhaps,” said Talib, not sure where this was going.

“Well. I find myself in need of a billet,” she concluded, “and am not enthusiastic about returning to the deeper Everfree. I was hoping I might avail myself of your hospitality.”

Talib grinned crookedly as he looked up at the magnificent griffoness, standing stiff as a board in the cave-like room. For all her professed cynicism, her innate pride was still very much alive in her formal language and rigid posture. A rejection, after she’d humbled herself by asking for help, would be crushing.

“Sure,” he said, pushing down the dangerous temptation, “I suppose we can both squeeze in here until the cabin’s ready.”

If the stoical huntress was capable of something as soft as relief, then surely he was looking at it now.