The Yellow One gave him another fleshy, delectable carrot, and made noises, soothing and sweet. Angel enjoyed almost every meal the Yellow One made him, but he had responsibilities.

Try to teach her distrust; she has none, his father’s words echoed through his head.

Angel hesitated, then kicked the carrot after a few nibbles, and glared at the Yellow One. It had to be done.

Soft noises came from her, and she retrieved it, then brought it back. The Yellow One’s eyes lifted up to see the sun close to the horizon, then came back to Angel.

Her eyes were so, so tired. Her smile was so, so permanent.

Angel sighed and took the carrot. As much as he wanted to live up to his father’s instructions, he could only do so much. She’d learned her Stare, but she’d always be soft.

The Yellow One’s smile became wider, and she began petting Angel’s head. This was a comfort he knew nearly from birth, before his father died, before his responsibilities became his responsibilities. It never failed to make him smile, but it also made him yearn at times.

She leaned down to kiss the top of his head, and Angel let himself smile back at her as she trotted away, inside her home. Angel was staying in his hutch for the time being, but kept his eye on the door.

He could never know when Bad Ponies might show up.

Once the Yellow One’s lights were all out in the house, Angel hopped over to her front door, and began his vigil.

Like every day, he'd napped away a good portion of it so that he could stand his watch. Every night, after the yellow pony put him to bed, he carefully got himself back out and moved to his post.

When he was young, he had been taught by his father. The yellow pony is good to our kind. She could fly away like the flying ones, but chooses to stay down here with us. She feeds us when we cannot find food and shelters us from the worst of the storms. She saved you long ago, and I owe her a debt, and you must help me repay it when I’m gone. She will save our kind to her dying breath, but she will not defend herself. We must keep her safe, and warn other animals that she is not to be touched. Try to teach her to see danger. Try to teach her distrust; she has none. She is merciful.

By the time Angel came to adulthood, most of the animals knew, and he only had to warn the occasional traveler or cub that the Yellow One was good and kind, and was never to be harmed for any reason. She was a mother to the motherless, sweet to the largest, hungriest predator, and nursed them all back to health when they were injured.

So he did.

The Yellow One was like the young. Too soft, too kind -- unless there was a threat to one of the flying ones, or one of the other running ones, or really anything in the forest. The Yellow One was even nice to the ponies that lived in the strange place outside the forest, the one that Bad Ponies came from sometimes.

Angel knew that the Yellow One would never reject anyone as a friend; that weakness had gotten her robbed once or twice when Angel was young, until his father worked out a way to keep the Yellow One safe.

Tonight, the Lesser Light shone clear through the sky, not a single cloud to be seen. The night was open to Angel’s sight.

The Lesser Light had moved nearly half across the sky when he saw a Bad Pony in the distance.

The last one was moons and moons ago. Angel liked to think that the Bad Ponies knew, somehow, that this place was protected by he and his comrades, but every time he started to think that, another Bad Pony would show up.

And now, a Bad Pony had come again, and it was time. He knew the Bad Pony was bad because the Bad Pony carried a sack and tried to hide his approach. Even the Yellow One’s friends would show up without trying to hide their approach.

If the Bad Pony took the turn into the pony town, they could handle him themselves. If he came to the cottage, however, Angel would have to deal with the Bad Pony himself.

The Bad Pony took the path to the Yellow One’s cottage, moving through the brush, trying to stay quiet. For a pony, perhaps it would have been undetectable. For sensitive eyes like Angel’s, it wasn’t hard to follow the Bad Pony’s movements.

Angel made a high sound only the nearest others in the forest could hear. The ponies had dumb ears that couldn't hear some of the sounds he made, and he knew it would not disturb the Bad Pony.

The Bad Pony would not be expecting this.

The Bad Pony seemed satisfied he had not drawn any attention, and trotted out of the cover. He spotted Angel, finally, and came closer to inspect him. Angel was small and white, and Bad Ponies were never afraid of him. Angel looked up, watching the Bad Pony’s face. He knew he was right by this point, from the many times he’d seen the faces of Bad Ponies.

This bad one had a single long shape in one of those weird pony paws, the sort of claws Bad Ponies had, and lifted it above Angel.

Angel held firm. He was not going to move; there was nowhere else for him to be. If he could have said it, he would. You get to the Yellow One when I am dead.

There was a soft whip-whip-whip in the air, and the first of the flying ones struck the Bad Pony in the side of the head. The Bad Pony squealed like a rabbit caught by a hawk, and its attention was elsewhere now, the claw flashing in the air, harsh sounds snarling out of the Bad Pony.

Then came all the rest.

Hordes of the flying ones, with feathers and claws and beaks and squawks and shrills and caws, rained upon the Bad Pony.

The Bad Pony squalled and scrambled away, blood spattering on the path, black in the shine of the Lesser Light. The claw flashed in the dim light, the Bad Pony trying to attack the flying ones.

The flying ones scattered, but that was all right. They were only the first.

The roar came as the birds scattered. Three of the great clawed brown ones came out of the forest with furious gleaming eyes, and charged after the Bad Pony. The Bad Pony screeched and screamed, running off down the path into the night. The Bad Pony’s claw fell to the ground, as they usually did.

Angel fetched the claw, watching the clawed brown ones chase the Bad Pony away. He was ever so careful to get it by the part that wasn’t painful, then took it to the pit at the edge of the forest and tossed it in with the dozens of others from all the other Bad Ponies.

He got back just in time to find the Yellow One at the door, sleepy, blinking. Soft noises came from her, confused and curious, but Angel shook his head and smiled at her, then hugged her leg.

The Yellow One pet him and brought him gently to the hutch, making comforting sounds the whole while. She looked tired, but she smiled. She knew he was safe, and that’s all she cared about. The blood on the ground would be gone by tomorrow, cleaned away by the other animals.

Angel hesitated, then called again to all his comrades, letting them know the danger was past. They all knew that the goal was simply to keep the Yellow One safe, and that the Bad Pony was to be let go. The Yellow One would not want them to kill to protect her; she was too loving even for that.

She was always merciful.