Ahh, spring. Season of rebirth, renewal, replenishment and... other words that start with re. Despite all expectations to the contrary, it penetrated even to the depths of the fell Everfree forest, bringing growth and life, cracking the ice and sweeping the snow away.  It was not much of an improvement. Don't ask me how, but that accursed forest actually managed to transform a wretched winter into an even more wretched spring. It went from a forest lashed with bitter, lifeless cold and snow and ice to one lashed with warmth-sucking rain and clad in greyish skies and cold mud.

And oh yes, teeming with blooming, crawling, chirping life. The kind that should be greeted not with odes to the beauty of nature but with flamethrower blasts and high, girlish screams. I saw a patch of daisies skeletonize a squirrel. No lie. And the less said of the crawly things that tried to burrow through our lair walls, the better. Tried, that is. Remember, I mentioned the flamethrower. And the girly screams, but we won't dwell on that. Magically hardened those walls to a foot thick after that, you better believe.

The irony was that, as ferally unpleasant as springtime in the Everfree was, it was still in our favor. I was flabbergasted when I learned that, while spring was springing all over the Everfree, the rest of Equestria was still locked in a winter wonderland. It literally cut off at the edge of the forest, going from drizzly greening muck to snowy white picturesque countryside, as sharp as the edge of a holiday greeting card.

"It's the Equestria Weather Bureau," Artful Dodger explained to me. "They start springtime proper on Winter Wrap Up, and not one minute sooner." It wasn't until that moment that I mentally linked the memory of seeing little pegasi ponies pushing around cute little poofy clouds, and got the implications. I knew they had weather control, already. But this went beyond that.  They had outright climate control... and apparently even controlled the turning of the seasons. So Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter all happened precisely on the same days every year when the little ponies all got together and did a happy little song and dance number and You-Can-Do-It hard work montage. Never mind, of course, that the seasons would change anyway as Celestia changed the orbital path of the sun.... and yes, I confirmed this with a few pointed questions to my non-pony minions.

I hate this planet.

Anyway, we had at least a month of (wet, damp, drizzly) Springtime ahead of the ponies. We had to take advantage of every single second of it.

I knew the Princesses were ramping up for a military campaign against us. It was apparently the biggest military mobilization in living memory if not Equestrian history. Garrisons were popping up in towns and villages on the borders of the Everfree.  I needed to get spies into those garrisons, and better yet into Canterlot itself, and find out just what Celestia's plans were for my little old self. Finding some way to deal with those garrisons would be a good idea too.

I also needed to resupply. We still had a fair amount of back stock thanks to our down-to-the-flagstones looting of Cirrus Hilltop, and our scattered sympathizers were always open to barter and trade. But the dragon hoard, while still huge, was dwindling fast. It was time to start producing some new revenue streams...

...once I'd depressurized my minions. I'd paid them, and paid generously. But now they were all sitting on their pay and grumbling about having no place to spend it. I needed to find  a Port Royale--- someplace not under Celestia's control or influence, that was busy enough to entertain a bunch of violent criminal roughnecks, and shady enough to turn a blind eye to where those roughnecks might have gotten all that gold they were spending. Flim and Flam had been helpful in that regard, as had the minotaur mercenaries: both groups had their fair share of bolt holes and ports of call, so I had a list of options. But I was still stumped for how to get my fleabitten horde from here, to there, and back again without wading through Equestria's angry little ponies both ways.

Basically it all added up to all of us having epic levels of cabin fever. Everyone was snarling and snapping at each other, and I was the leader of the pack. I've always had a temper, and by the time our early spring rolled around my fuse had been trimmed dangerously short. The minute, the instant the temperatures warmed enough to be tolerable I took to going on day-long walks alone through the forest. Come rain or shine, I would be out stomping through the forest, taking my bad temper out on the wildlife still stupid enough to get in my way. It helped, a little; hacking, smashing, or blasting the landscape with eldritch power was incredibly satisfying. I didn't have to worry about leaving a trail back to the lair entrance either; the Everfree could soak up all the damage I could dish out, and within a couple of days it would heal over like nothing had passed that way in a century.

It was one day when I was in a particularly foul mood. There was a full blown thunderstorm raging over the forest, but I was in no mood to care. I just threw a cloak over my shoulders and stomped out into it. Frankly after a day wasted sitting on my thumbs listening to others complaining about having to sit on THEIR thumbs, it suited my mood.

A mile's trek into the woods and I was feeling... well not better. I was cold, my underwear was damp, my boots and cloak were muddy and I was spattered with leaves and detritus from thrashing through the undergrowth, and I was still cranky as hell. But at least I didn't feel like I was going to explode into a berserker rage at any moment.  Stomping the monkey snot out of the various monsters and critters that got in my way helped burn off a lot of steam. I swear, the random encounter table for that forest makes World of Warcraft's wilderness look like a petting zoo. You couldn't go ten feet without running into something animal, vegetable or mineral that wanted to kill you in any of a hundred colorful ways.  Well, fine by me. I hadn't even tried out half the ways the Alicorn Amulet could return the favor.

Anyway, one highly active one mile trek and I was feeling... closer to human. I stood there in the rain, the crispy kibble that used to be a cragodile pattering to the ground all around me, while the smoke drifted away from my hands and my breathing slowed. I tipped my hood back and let the rain run down my face (my studies had advanced; I could summon and dispel my helmet and armor at will now) as the thunder rumbled overhead.

I'd come to a fairly quiet spot in the forest (either that or I'd scared every living thing in the area into hiding. Six of one...). I stood there enjoying the relative silence, taking a breather and using my magic to dry my clothes and wring out the worst of the mud. It was right about then I heard the scream.

Ever heard a rabbit die? I did once... Birthday party when I was a real little runt. Birthday girl let her pet bunny out in the yard, right about the time a chicken hawk flying by decided to have lunch. It swooped down and snatched that bunny up in its talons right off the picnic blanket in the middle of a bunch of eight year olds.  It made this horrible shrieking noise... Holy crap, you never forget that sound.

Anyway I was standing there in the rain when the silence was split by that sound. It sounded like it came from a hundred yards or so away. I saw some shaking in the undergrowth where it came from, and heard some snarling. I didn't think much of it, I just figured a rabbit just bought it and some predator had gotten lunch. But it wasn't the rabbit's death-shriek that caught my attention.  It was the sound of a pony's voice that came with it.

Now in case you didn't notice, for all that the natives of Equestria look like animals there's a pretty explicit divide. The "talking" species are regarded as people and part of civilization; the non-talking species fill the role of feral animals in the wild--- and it's a difference that runs deep to the bone. It's very C.S. Lewis, really. The ferals just... lack something that makes ponies and other talking races different. A conscience, maybe, or maybe a soul? I dunno. But you can literally tell the difference between an Equestrian animal and an Equestrian person, often without looking.

Among the talking races, and I chalk this up to typical Equestrian magic weirdness, they sound intelligent even when they're not trying to. Ever heard a lion roar, then heard a kid trying to imitate the lion? You don't even have to look at them to tell the difference. Sapient Equestrians may try to grunt and squeak and squawk with the animals but they still sound... well... human.

That snarling coming from the undergrowth, as bloodcurdling as it might be, still sounded like a human voice.

I  went to investigate. Then I reconsidered, summoned my armor and sword, and THEN went to investigate. Carefully.

I'm no ninja, especially not in my Heavy Metal underoos. But between the wind and rain and thunder picking up again, I managed to sneak up on my quarry. I parted the undergrowth and braced myself.

It was a batpony. Thestral. Whatever they call 'em. She was skinny and scruffy looking and had obviously been out in the weather for a while and hadn't had much of a fun time of it. She was also fangs-deep in the corpse of a rabbit. From where I was standing I could hear the wet, sucking noises as she fed.

Every. Damn. Hair. on my body stood on end. I must have said or shouted something--- I couldn't hear myself over the sound of the Willies jitterbugging up my spine and going "WooOOooOOOooo" in my ear-- because she spun around to face me. She didn't bolt; she just crouched over her kill and snarled at me. Ohhhhh wrongwrongwrong. WRONG. I can't TELL you how wrong it was to see a kewpie-doll cute pony snarling at you with blood-covered fangs. My sword was usually an oversized, too-heavy pain in the ass, but this time I was having no trouble keeping the point up and leveled at her. One-handed, too; my other hand was already clutching a ball of balefire ready to toss.

She mantled her leathery wings and hissed, her red, cat-slit eyes wild. Yeeeeeeeeeee. I was glad my helmet was hiding my face because my heart had gone from "calm but alert" to "six cans of Red Bull" in half a second. We froze in that pose for a second. Then she reached out a hoof and dragged the dead rabbit to herself possessively. I realized she wasn't about to attack. I took in how skinny she was. She looked sickly. And her eyes were full of desperation.

I got a tiny glimmer, an inkling of an opportunity.

I let the fireball dispel. I kept the sword up, though. "I won't harm you," I told her; I kept my voice low and steady. "Who are you? Why are you in my woods---?"  She didn't answer; she just grabbed her kill up in her mouth and turned to bolt. Oh no, I wasn't having that. No 'who was that stranger in the woods' mysteries for me. I flicked my hand and vines whipped out of the brush, trussing her up from neck to tail before she made three steps. She shrieked in frustration and flopped about like a landed fish.

"Sorry, kid," I said. "I want answers, and you're going to give 'em to me." I threw a sleep spell over her and she was out like a light.

I had two batponies in my ranks, technically, if you counted Halfsies, the Broken Bird with the single webbed wing. I hadn't made any inroads on recruiting Princess Luna's favorite underlings to my side beyond that, and it had been long months since any of them had seen one of their own kind outside of each other. You can imagine their surprise when they were summoned to the throne room and found me there with an unconscious and hogtied female batpony lying at my feet.

They stared at her, then at me. I stared back at them. I kept it simple. I threw the remains of the rabbit on the floor at their hooves, gestured to the unconscious and obviously bloody-mouthed filly, and said "Explain."

Jetstream swallowed and looked up at me. "You... know how thestrals came to be," he said. It sounded more like a question. I motioned for him to continue. "Back before Princess Luna fell, she saw Princess Celestia's Solar Guard and decided she wanted her own Guard--- one at home in the night, like herself. She took a hoof-full of volunteers and used her magic to transform them, infusing them with the essence of creatures of the night: bats." He flapped his webbed wings. "And thus the thestrals were born."

I motioned again and he continued. "The thing is," he said, swallowing,  "She wanted our genome to be robust, so she didn't use one kind of bat. And there are several different kinds of bat. Fruit bats, insectivores..." he swallowed again. "Vampire bats."

"It means," Halfsies said, "That any ponies with Thestral in 'em... crave meat. And blood." He looked down at the dead rabbit. "Especially blood."

"After Luna's fall, Thestrals were exiled from Equestria," Jetstream said. "Nopony wanted 'Nightmare Moon's carnivore ponies' around, so they threw us out." He snorted. "They only let us back in about a century ago, at Celestia's urging. My guess is she knew her sister was about to return, and wanted ponies loyal to her there to welcome her. But the House of Lords only agreed to let us back in when we took an oath to no longer drink blood. They even passed a law making it a crime to buy, sell, or consume blood in any form. They refused to budge an inch on that. "

I stared at them silently for several seconds. It felt like the universe was facepalming. "They made it against the law for you to eat?!" I said in disbelief.

"We don't need the blood," Halfsies protested. "Not really. Not... not really." His eyes darted to mine, then away.

"The doctors say we don't really need it," Jetstream said. "But we do, um, crave it. A lot, sometimes. Some of us."

I wondered cynically to myself how long it took them to re-legalize blood transfusions. Even more cynically, I decided probably about five minutes after a unicorn noble needed one. "Then what have you been getting by on?" I said.

Jetstream fished a bottle out of his pannier. "The alchemists mix up a substitute for us," he said. "Every Thestral in the Guard, and their families, gets a ration of this stuff." watery, reddish orange liquid glimmered in the light. I levitated the bottle to my hand and looked at it. Then I gave everypony present the shock of their lives by uncorking the vial, dipping my pinky in the stuff and tasting it.

I spat it right back out. I know what blood tastes like; I like my steaks rare enough to moo, for one thing, and I'd had my lip bloodied enough times in my life. This stuff tasted something like blood; a little salty and coppery. But it was off. It was like the difference between a glass of fresh, whole milk and powdered milk mixed in a glass of tapwater. "How have you been getting this?" I said.

Jetstream looked uncomfortable. "I swiped several month's supply from stores before I bailed from the garrison," he said. "And the Flim Flam brothers think they can whip up some more, once they get some ingredients. I've been... trying to wean myself off it. Taking a little less each day. I can beat the craving, your Lordship, I can!" he pleaded. "I promise it won't be a problem--"

I motioned for him to shut up. He shut his mouth so fast it clicked. "Why didn't you just go down to the kitchens?" I said. "Big Mama butchers enough meat, she could get you buckets of what you need-- the real stuff, too, and fresh..." the look on their faces told me volumes. It was a mix of shock and revulsion... and guilt... and hunger. They looked at each other and at me, shame and hunger warring on their faces. Oh, was I getting a picture painted here. "For crying out loud," I burst out, "Why would anybody care? You're among CARNIVORES here! The Diamond Dogs eat meat; I eat meat. Even the changelings eat a little. Are we supposed to get the fainting vapors because you batponies like the juicier bits?"

"But..." Halfsies looked sick. "They say if we drink it, it'll make us... feral," he said. "Violent and savage. Turn us into vicious predators--"

I waved him off. "Fine, do or don't, I don't care," I said, irritated. You just can't help some people. "We'll speak of this later. For now, return to your posts." They left.

I levitated my unconscious prisoner in a cloud of magic and left the throne room. "I will be in the Doctor's wing if anyone needs me," I told the throne room guards. "Don't disturb me if it isn't important."

Some time ago, I had been out in the forest midwinter, doing some darn fool thing or other, I don't remember what, when I ran into a royal guard patrol who had wandered off the beaten path. I escaped, obviously, but one of the minions with me had taken an arrow to the gut. By blind luck we'd been close to a small town with a doctor's office on the forest edge. The resident physician was Doctor Sawbones, a portly old unicorn with a grey coat and tufts of white mane around his ears who was just on the edge of retirement. I'd burst into his living room-cum-waiting room, a bloody diamond dog in my arms, and informed him in no uncertain terms he'd either mend my minion or be buried with him. He informed me in no uncertain terms where I could stick my offer, and to get the Tartarus out of his way while he saved my minion's life.

Of course I hired him.

His office was spacious, meticulously clean and tiled in gleaming white marble and stainless steel, and stocked with medicine we could lay hoof, horn, hand or claw on, more than a few pills and herbs that would cause conniptions among the legally or ethically fussy if they saw them. Sawbones didn't give a damn about what medicines and treatments were legal or where they came from any more than he gave a damn about whether his patients were loyal citizens of Celestia or minions of a dark overlord; all he cared about was whether or not the patient healed. That had apparently gotten him in a lot of trouble over his career, and he clearly took some unsubtle glee in being able to practice medicine as he pleased in our employ.

He was already waiting for me when I came into his examination room and laid the unconscious mare out on the operating table. "What have we here?" he said in surprise.

"I think you'll have more to tell me than I you," I said, untying the mare so he could examine her. He began cleaning her up, giving her a brief sponge bath, then giving her a physical as I described our little encounter, and my suspiciously enlightening meeting with Jetstream and Halfsies. I gave him the half-empty vial of alchemist's blood substitute. He barely glanced at it, snorting in disgust, before setting it aside and resuming his brief examination. When he was done he stepped away from the table. "So what can you tell me about our little bloodsucker?" I said wryly as he washed his hooves.

He snorted again. "For starters she's like every other Equestrian thestral I've examined," he said. "Malnourished."

"Malnourished?" I said.

He nodded, then shook his head in disgust. "Been this way ever since my days in the military. I figured out in no time that this 'blood addiction' nonsense was a pile of horseapples. They're part vampire bat. They need it; it's a necessary nutrient for them. The need varies from individual to individual, depending on their heredity, but it's real. This one, going by these fangs--" he pulled her lip back to show me."--and other little signs, she's far over on the vampiric scale, probably almost purebred vampiric...

"....And this 'blood substitute?' " He picked up the vial in his magic and shook it, sneering in disgust. "It's to real blood what margarine is to butter, or saccharine is to sugar. It can cover the craving but it can't give them what they need. That's like telling you or me that we're 'addicted' to vitamin C, and making us compensate for it by eating wax fruit."

"I guessed as much," I said. "I tasted the stuff; it was like licking the bottom of a test tube." He raised his eyebrows in surprise but said nothing. "So why aren't they all keeling over dead?"

"Because it's just enough to keep them alive. Plus they gorge on soy, buckwheat, and other vegetable sources of protein," he said. "It's almost enough to give them what they need, but thestrals burn almost as much protein and nutrients digesting all that bulk as they get back from it. There's no way around it; they need meat, and they especially need blood." he shook his head. "I spent half my military career trying to convince my superiors that thestrals are obligate omnivores. But the REMBOs--- that's 'Rear Echelon Mother Bucking Officers' to you--- are all convinced that ponies will go into squealing hysterics if they find out that thestrals aren't herbivores. So I spent the second half of my career sneaking bottles of blood to the thestrals in my command and fudging the paperwork. That's the other reason thestrals aren't keeling over dead; they can get a buddy to sneak 'em some of the good stuff. They'll latch on to a gryphon in the ranks who'll slip them some of their meat ration under the table..."

"Can't be easy to get away with," I said, fishing. "I'd think someone would notice thestrals getting hopped up and crazy on blood--"

Sawbones exploded. "They're still teaching that load of horseapples to ponies?" he said, throwing his forehooves in the air. "What poppycock! Of course they get more active and aggressive. They also get clearer eyesight, better reaction time and stamina and a stronger sex drive. That's what happens when a sickly pony starts getting healthy! Bucking Tartarus, they're designed so that feeding on blood fuels their innate magic too... It must be like coming back to life from the dead."

"She was certainly feral enough when I ran into her," I said.

"You obviously haven't had many encounters with thestrals," Sawbones said dryly, rolling his eyes. "they do that hiss-and-snarl routine whenever they get frightened or upset.... largely because they know it freaks other ponies out. Tartarus,  if I was lost in a storm in the Everfree and your black-clad flank came bombing out of the undergrowth at me, I'd hiss and snarl at you myself. Trust me, it was an act."

I backed up a few sentences mentally. "Wait wait wait," I interrupted him. "Are you saying that all the thestrals under Luna's command are operating at half capacity?"

"More like one fifth, if that. They're running on dregs, half the time." He started pulling bottles and vials down from a shelf. "And 'Thestrals under Luna's command' basically means 'all the Thestrals.' Same thing. This stuff is rationed out, remember?" He waggled the vial of fake blood at me. "It's free!... so long as you join the Night Guard. And it's heavily restricted and controlled by the government. So either you join the military, or you struggle to afford it on your own. Clever little game, that," he added, his lip curled in disgust.  "What better way to control somepony? Outlaw their food supply, and then enslave them to you by making yourself the only supplier...

"Or of course you could do like this one and go out and hunt for blood when the hunger gets to be too much, and pray that nopony ever catches you. The criminal penalties for drinking blood-- or selling it to a blood drinker-- are pretty brutal. Heavy fees. Loss of business or medical licenses. Years of imprisonment. Coerced 'addiction treatments,' where they dry you out... which means in a thestral's case, slowly starving you back into a malnourished stupor, then calling you 'cured.'"

"And this is how Luna treats her loyal minions," I said scathingly.

"Oh don't blame Luna too much," Sawbones said as he filled a syringe. "It's not her fault she doesn't dare to try and change things just yet."

"And why not?" I demanded.

"Because she's scared to," he said. "  'Ruling as sisters together' blather or not, the reality is that our dear Princess Moonbutt is still on probationary status."

"And Princess Celestia probably convinced her that pushing the issue of her thestral's rights might be... bad for her image," I finished for him. That was probably true enough;  ponies freaked out when they saw a dude in a scary halloween costume. God knows what would happen if they found out the 'former' Nightmare Moon had a flock of bloodsucking batponies at her disposal. So long as she played Vegetarian Vampire with the thestrals, the ponies at large would stay calm. But if she ever insisted on them being allowed to drink blood like they needed...

"So her most loyal followers, who waited in exile a thousand years for her return, get rewarded by being forced to live their lives weak, sickly, and half-criminalized." Sawbones stepped over to the patient. "All that misery, for want of a pint or two of blood each week.

"This," he said, brandishing the syringe, "Is a B-vitamin shot, mixed in with a few other goodies that will help get her back on her hooves and her metabolic systems up to speed." He unceremoniously stuck the needle in her cutie mark (a halloween pumpkin if you must know) and depressed the plunger. "Otherwise she's in fairly good shape, and will soon be healthy as houses." He gave me a sharp look. "IF she's allowed to eat a proper diet."

"Unlike the Royal Sisters, I am not a fool," I said.

"Nah. You're your own unique special kind of fool," he snorted. "Just give her plenty to eat when she wakes up. She's going to be hungry. Lots of red meat, and lots of blood fresh off the butcher block." He waddled towards the door to his private rooms. "And see if you can't convince those two other batwinged blockheads of yours that they're not going to burn in Tartarus if they drink a cup of the red stuff every now and then. They've been so repressed by whoever raised 'em that they practically faint at the sight of a ketchup stain."

He closed the door behind him. I regarded the sleeping pony on the table before me. "Now what to do with you," I muttered to myself. I levitated her up off the table and headed for the exit. I buttonholed the first changeling I found in the hallway. "Tell my lieutenants to meet me in the Feast Hall," I said. "Summon the Broken Birds as well. We are going to have a little... celebratory meal."

"What shall I tell the kitchens to lay out?" the changeling asked.

I couldn't resist. I leaned in towards him, flipped up my visor, and gave him my best psycho slasher grin. "Meat," I said. "And blood."

A while back, during a particularly boring winter week, I had hollowed out a new cavern and made it into an old school, viking style mead hall. This was separate from the dining hall used for the riff raff; it was something for special feasts and celebrations, for only the upper echelons and the occasional honored guest. I had gone all out. Carved pillars with celtic knotwork lined the walls, and huge iron chandeliers hung from chains from the ceiling. A single low, wide oaken table ran the length of the room, with a huge ornate chair at either end and seating running down either side. I was seated at the head of the table. To my left sat Chrysalis, in her own slightly less ornate chair; to my right sat Artful Dodger. Next to him was Eiderdown, who huddled next to him on the bench, head down. Next to Chrysalis sat Runt, Skank and Mange. Across from them and next to Dodger and Eidy was Black Fang. Then came the Broken Birds, across from the earth pony, pegasus and unicorn lieutenants I had recently selected, and the leader of the few Minotaurs on my payroll. And placed in the large seat of honor at the other end of the table, discreetly flanked on either side by a changeling guard, was our still-sleeping guest of honor, our mystery thestral.

The table was stacked with simple fare at the moment; heaping bowls of fruit, plates of vegetables, fist-sized loaves of bread, pitchers of wine and water, and the specialty du jour--- heaping bowls of cubed, salted meat, marinating in their own blood. Several people at the table looked confused; more than one looked nauseous (except for the Diamond Dogs, who had already left puddles of drool on the table.) There was a heaping bowl right in front of myself, and another in front of our guest.

"Well," I said, "Let's get started. Start eating, ladies and gentlemen." I dispelled the sleeping aura on her as the rest of the table, with seriously varying degrees of enthusiasm, dug in.

She woke up with a snort and a half-jump, her head popping up like a jack in the box. The confusion on her face was almost hilarious. She jumped into a half-crouch and looked around, obviously bewildered to find herself sitting in a mead hall surrounded by feasting creatures. She looked around, looked down at the food in front of her, then looked up at me.

I waited until her eyes locked with mine. I had flipped the lower half of my visor up, baring my lower face so I could eat. Without taking my eyes off her, I dug around in the bowl of bloody meat in front of me with my fingers, pulled out a chunk and popped it in my mouth, chewing deliberately. Hydra tartar, yum yum.

I could see the wheels turning in her mind. She was surrounded. She couldn't fly away, there was a stone roof overhead. There were large, armed, dangerous looking creatures all around her. But nobody had harmed her; nobody except the big half-bald monkey thing at the other end of the table was even paying any attention to her (per my orders.) They were all just... eating.

"Sit. Eat." I said. She hesitated. "You will come to no harm here. You are sick and hungry, you need food. Sit. Eat." I magically nudged the bowl in front of her. Cautiously she lowered her rump back to the seat cushion. She caught a whiff of what was in the bowls and her nostrils flared; she looked down in the bowl, her pupils dilating till they seemed to fill her face. I heard her stomach growl all the way from the other end of the table.

I could practically read her mind. It was a trick, it had to be. She looked around again. Yes, the ponies and minotaurs were lashing into the fruits and vegetables. A couple of the ponies were looking at the bowls of meat like they thought it was going to bite them, yes, but everyone else--- the bug ponies, the diamond dogs, even the strange ape-creature at the head of the table-- were digging into the meat with obvious relish. And the others didn't even react. As if it were no thing.

Hesitantly, she reached out and pulled the bowl closer....

I suppressed a grin as she started eating, cautiously at first, but pretty soon she was gobbling her way to the bottom of the bowl. There was a good two inches of blood still in the bowl when she was done; she started to slurp it up but froze, looking around the table, obviously waiting for somepony to react. I locked eyes with her, deliberately picked up my own bowl and drank from the rim.  She took the hint and began slurping greedily.

She burped, wiped her mouth on her hock, and sat back with a sigh of contentment. Then she did something I wasn't expecting; she started crying. She sat there, staring ahead silently, big fat tears rolling quietly down her cheeks.

I looked over at Chrysalis, not quite sure what to think. She leaned toward me slightly. "Guilt, anger, shame... self loathing," she said. "And more than a dollop of defeat." Yeah, I thought it was something like that. If Chrysalis kept up this on-the-fly psychic analysis thing I was going to change her name to Counselor Troi.

I could piece together what was wrong from that. Apparently pony society had done for hemovores what the Victorian era on Earth had done for sex: turned it into something sick, horrifying and shameful. Little Miss Vampony here-- like Jetstream and Halfsies too, for that matter-- had probably spent her life suppressing her desperate craving for meat and blood, being told she was a vile, sick monster if she ever gave in... and she had finally broken down, gone out in the woods and killed something to slake her thirst. And now here she had sat down at a table full of monsters and gorged herself on the forbidden fruit as if it was nothing. She probably felt absolutely filthy, like she had sat down and supped with the Devil. She just sat there with her face streaking with tears of despair.

If this was what the rest of Equestria's batponies were like... that inkling of a grand opportunity grew.

Showtime.

I rapped my stein on the table for attention. "It's time we introduced ourselves," I said. "I am Darth Vulcan. What is your name."

She looked at me. "Pumpkin Patch," she said in a monotone.

"Pumpkin Patch," I said. "I won't ask what you were doing in my forest; that much is obvious. You must have been pretty desperate to go hunting in the most dangerous forest in Equestria." I paused, took a drink, set my stein down."I know about the thestral vampire bat heritage. I know about the blood hunger. I know you think you're a monster, because that's what... everypony... has told you that you'd be if you ever "gave in" to that evil hunger. And now you think you've fallen in among monsters like you deserve.

"What if I told you that it's all a pile of horseapples?" She blinked at me. I folded my hands in front of me. "Let me tell you a little story.

"Once upon a time there was a young woman," I said. "She was a vegetarian. Now vegetarianism is a silly-ass religion invented by some of my people, who love fluffy little animals and who, despite the fact that we are obligate omnivores, feel terribly guilty that we eat meat. So they try to invent a diet where they can live on nothing but vegetables and fruits." I shrugged. "They can get away with it for a while--- by buying pills and tablets and, essentially, slowly digesting their own livers. And by sustaining themselves on phony moral superiority." Some of those at the table chuckled.

"Well this young woman had decided to be a virtuous vegetarian, and to love all animals and never ever eat one, because that was wicked. And one day, because she loved animals so much, she got a kitten. She loved and doted on it, and made it a little bed and gave it little toys. But she got a stupid idea in her head. That stupid idea went something like this: if it was so noble and virtuous to be a vegetarian, then her sweet little kitty should be a vegetarian too. So she stopped buying proper cat food for her cat, and started feeding it nothing but stewed vegetables and soybeans and the other half-edible rot that good little vegetarians ate instead of meat. And the little kitten got sicker and sicker, and she just couldn't understand why--- and the veterinarian was no help because he just kept telling her to feed it that wicked, wicked meat.... until finally, the poor little kitten died. And she buried it in the flower bed and cried for days and days."

"Let me tell you another." I pulled the vial of synthetic blood out of my pocket, held it up to the torchlight. "Once there was a little old lady who loved hummingbirds. She hung a bird feeder filled with sugar water by her window so she could watch them feed,  flying about like little winged jewels.

"But one day she had to go on a trip. And she asked her daughter to keep the little hummingbird feeder filled for her, so the hummingbirds wouldn't fly away while she was gone. Well the daughter was a good, proper healthy woman who never let unhealthy things like sugar cross her lips, and it appalled her when she realized she was mixing up bottles of hummingbird food that were so full of nasty, unhealthy sugar. So she left the sugar out, and replaced it with NutraSweet. And the little birds, who burned thousands of calories an hour just flying, ate and ate and ate--- but there was nothing in the hummingbird nectar to feed them. And so they starved to death with their bellies full to bursting. And the little old lady came home to find little dead birds lying on the ground all around their feeder.

I paused to pop another chunk of raw meat into my mouth. "My cousin was a F#$%ing moron." I paused. "And so are the idiots who keep telling you that your blood craving is wrong."

"You. Are not. A monster. Oh, don't take my word for it-- I'm the evil warlock of the Everfree, after all." Some of my lieutenants chuckled. "Take the word of my physician who examined you. Your blood craving is no more evil or unnatural than any other natural carnivore's. Would you think a bird evil or corrupt for eating worms or bugs? Or an otter evil for eating a fish? Or a cat for catching mice? Or a fox, for hunting the hare?"

"I'm a pony," she protested, looking away.

"You're  also part vampire bat," I corrected, "Just like every other thestral. Your body needs blood just like it needs water or air or sleep. That is not evil, no matter what the squeamish might say.  You are no more a monster than that poor starving kitten; you are no more unhealthy than those poor hummingbirds. You. Are. A thestral. And thestrals need meat and blood to be truly healthy." I held up the vial. "The ones who have made it a sin and a crime for you to eat what you need, who have been poisoning you with this crap chemical substitute--- they are the ones who are unnatural. Damn them, and damn their squeamish ignorance." Shock at my words flooded her face; her tearful despair slowly giving way as long repressed resentment, finally given permission, flooded in. You could almost see her heart hardening against them.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jetstream. He was staring at the bowl of meat in front of them with a conflicted look on his face. Slowly, almost guiltily, he reached into the bowl and pulled out a gobbet of meat, tasted it-- then with an expression of defiance, stuck it in his mouth, chewed, swallowed. His pupils dilated till his eyes were almost solid black, and he gave a moan of satisfaction. Renewed vitality almost visibly flowed through him. He grabbed another. Halfsies followed suit.

I kept my poker face and returned my attention to Pumpkin Patch. Her expression was shifting from one of guilt to one of slow dawning acceptance. It was sinking in that she was accepted here. Time to work this to my advantage. "Do your friends or neighbors know you are out here?" I asked.

She shook her head. "This is the first time I've ever gone hunting," she said. "My... dealer... Gyro. He's a gryphon. He's the one who gave me my first taste of the real stuff. He got caught selling bread soaked in blood to one of the thestrals at the garrison, and he had to bolt for it. I'd kept myself down to a pint a week with him, cutting it with the fake stuff... my parents were in the Guard so I get part of their ration.... but it'd been two weeks and--" she swallowed. "Once you've tasted the real stuff, the fake stuff just doesn't cut it anymore. You just feel more alive. "

"I'm guessing you weren't his only customer," I said.

She saw where I was going. "I'm familiar with most of them," she said. "Some have been asking me if they know where I can score a pint..."

I gave her my best ominous chuckle. "Care to help them out?" I said.

She was savvy. "I'm guessing you're offering me a job as a dealer?"

"Dealer. Distributor. Recruiter." I quit fiddling with the alchemy vial in my hand and tucked it away. "But that's all negotiable, for the future. For now we'll keep it simple. You swear loyalty to me, and I'll give you meat and blood, in plentiful supply. By the barrel, even, if you want. What you do with the surplus, that's entirely up to you. Share it, hoard it, sell it for a tidy profit, it makes no difference to me.

"But make no mistake, you will work for me. I will have tasks for you. If you do good, you will be rewarded. If you bolt on us, or rat on us... we cut you off. And that will be just the first of your regrets." She flinched at that. "But if you're loyal, you will have an army to back you up or to bail you out. And I promise you, you will never go hungry again.

"Or, you can forget all this. Go back to whatever little garrison town you came from, and spend the rest of your life half-starved, sucking down Celestia's chemical swill while her sister turns a blind eye to your suffering and her sun-dappled subjects look down their noses in disgust at you. Your choice."

She looked down at the table. Her expression firmed up and she looked up. "What's my first job?" she said steadily.

I pulled another vial out from under my cloak. The liquid in this one was the real deal; you could tell by the full, dark red. I slid it down the length of the table to her. She stopped it with her hoof and looked at it. "You're going to go back home, find the other thestrals... and offer them a taste," I said.

"Oh, and... welcome aboard."