We ran.

Our hooves were dull thunder on the soft ground, or maybe that was just my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

I lost track of how long we ran, but eventually we collapsed on the wet muck, gasping for breath. Adrenaline still spiked through my body, but my muscles refused to budge an inch. Grit was at least still upright, sitting on his haunches, but I was lying on my side, gulping down air. I looked in the direction we had come, from the river. Running from whatever had happened back there. Had something else killed the fisher? I couldn’t even imagine the idea of something living in the Bayou that could overpower one of those serpentine monstrosities. Either way, it seemed like we weren’t being chased for now. “I…” my words were raspy, and gasped out between breaths, “I think… we lost it.”

Grit just nodded at me, and pulled out his canteen to take a drink. Feeling the chill of water seeping into my barding, I sat up and looked around. We had run deeper into the wetlands, which were thicker here than I had ever seen before. Across the river there had been dozens of buildings amid the marshes, some standing, some toppled, but here we were surrounded by thick trees. Some of them had burst up from inside ruined buildings, which now looked like eggshells of concrete and wood that still embraced the tree trunks. The canopy, dizzyingly high over our heads, was thick enough to obscure most of the sky from us and turn the already dim, grey light of day into shadows.

With a quick shake of my head, I snapped myself from my reverie. We could sightsee another time. I turned to Grit, who was still craning his neck to stare at the trees. “How far are we from the broadcast?”

He blinked a few times and looked at me, then his eyes widened. Sitting down on a drier patch of dirt, he studied the screen of his PipBuck for a few minutes before standing up and gesturing to his right. “Far ‘nough. We best get movin’, but I dunno if we can make it ‘fore it gets dark.”

I turned my head slowly to look at our surroundings again, stopping to stare at the precious few structures that still clung to the trees around us. None of them could offer any sort of protection for a night’s rest, and a chill ran down my spine. I closed my eyes for a moment, flicking my tail at the air before looking back a Grit. “Lead on. And,” I paused glancing back in the direction of the Bridle river, “keep an eye out for a place to sleep tonight.”

* * * * * * *

For hours, we crept as silently as we could through the thick marshes, but each hoofstep was accompanied by a splash or a slosh or a wet sucking of mud. We didn’t even dare to turn on Grit’s PipBuck for music. The few shafts of light that pierced the canopy above us, already filtered by the thick clouds, turned the world to a dim haze. The wall of trees and scattered rubble further closed the world in on us. We made good time whenever we had leftover road to walk on, but we’d often be forced to make a wide loop around deep patches of wet muck that sucked our legs down above the knee, threatening to drag us underground and suffocate us. Briefly, I imagined what would happen if I accidentally slipped into one of these patches of marshy mud, rolling over in my sleep or tripping. I shuddered and forced myself to look away from the reflective patches of ground. We tried wading through some of the shallower water, but Grit’s PipBuck crackled furiously whenever he stepped in it.

As night crept into the swamp, we stopped to camp in one of the few scattered ruins on our path - what used to be some kind of toy store. We climbed into the ruined building and made our camp between two shelves that were still standing, though empty of any of the store’s old merchandise.

I pulled out another can of Flam, since it was more filling than the carrots, and watched Grit fiddle with his PipBuck. “Think we can make it there tomorrow?”

He glanced up at me, and then back at the glowing green screen. “Yeah, should be able to. We’re not all tha’ far. Even if we have t’ wind around like today, worst case we get there t’morrow night.”

I swallowed a mouthful of poorly-preserved hay, while Grit munched on a Fancy Buck cake. We ate our dinners in silence, and with nothing to preoccupy me, the distinctly alive sounds I could hear from the wetlands outside made my ears twitch and my mind race. With every rustling of leaves and the rare splash of water, I pictured untold horrors lurking in the dark.

“What do you think killed the fisher?” I finally asked in a hushed tone. I had to take my mind off the sounds outside.

He sat back, curling up to go to sleep for the night. “Dunno. Never knew there was somethin’ that big an’ nasty lurkin’ in th’ river. But I wouldn’t worry about it chasin’ us.”

“How can you be sure?” I was surprised at how tense my own voice sounded. “I mean, what makes you say that?”

Grit turned his head, resting it on his fetlocks as he watched me curiously. “Well, th’ way I figure, somethin’ big enough t’ overpower a fisher needs deeper water. I don’t expect that sucker leaves th’ river much, or the bigger offshoots.”

That… actually made a decent amount of sense. I nodded and finished off my Flam, cleaning off the inside and storing the metal can with the rest of my scrap.

“Get some rest,” he added, pulling out one of his pistols and setting it down beside him. “Gonna wanna get an early start t’morrow. I’ll take first watch.”

“Right. Good night.” I unhooked my saddlebags and set them next to me, curling against a wall. I closed my eyes and tried to let myself sleep, but every time I thought I was on the verge of nodding off, one of the myriad sounds outside snapped me back to alertness, my heart racing as my mind screamed that I should run. Occasionally, a few insectile clicks joined the chorus of sounds from the world outside, some of them far closer than I would have ever liked.

I buried my head between my forelegs, trying to desperately block the sounds from shaking me awake. At first, it didn’t work, with the sharper noises penetrating the darkness and making my spine tingle and my tail twitch. But eventually, sheer exhaustion overcame my frayed nerves, and I nodded off to sleep.

* * * * * * *

As the clouds above grew dimmer, daylight dying on our second day west of the River, I looked every way I could to try and find some sign of modern civilization. We were tracking a radio signal, for Celestia’s sake. Surely a station capable of broadcasting a signal wasn’t something we could just walk past. But as we walked in wandering circles, doubts crept my mind. What if it was just some kind of automated signal, or a recording? Grit said that he and Spark had heard voices on the other end at random intervals, but how could they be sure? The way Grit kept checking his PipBuck did nothing to ease my worries.

“How much farther are we, anyway?” I asked, looking out into the Bayou, at least as much as the trees would allow. Grit didn’t answer. I rounded on him to find him sitting on his haunches, staring at the flickering green screen. “Grit?” I raised my voice, walking towards him.

“I dunno!” he shouted, stomping his forelegs in the mud. “We should be righ’ on top of it! But I don’t see nothin’. Luna-damned Pipbuck map won’t show elevation or th’ like.” He continued grumbling under his breath as he fidgeted with the buttons. I sat down to take a rest myself, pulling out one of my last few carrots and looking up at the sky. I’d hoped to try and determine how much longer we had until nightfall.

Instead, I saw a dozen or more ponies, staring down at us.

They stood on an intricate series of bridges and platforms, nestled up in the canopy of the trees around us. A few of them were armed with battle saddles, and at least four held guns in magical grips, floating by their side but thankfully not pointed in our direction. Past them, up in the treetops, I could see a metallic skeleton that could only be a radio tower.

“Grit.” I kept my gaze at the ponies above us, and tried to keep my voice as calm as possible.

“Nah, I know, I know. I think I almost got-”

“Grit!”

I heard him start to say something, but judging that he didn’t answer me, I guessed he followed my gaze upward. After a long moment, he spoke up again, “Huh. Well y’don’t see that ev’ry day.”

“Th’ feelin’s mutual, I assure y’all,” a voice called out from above. In unison, Grit and I turned to watch a white-coated earth pony descending towards us on a platform, held by a series of ropes. It touched the ground with a soft squish of mud and moss, and he took a step off, brushing back his rich, blue mane. A fat, curly moustache adorned his muzzle, and he wore the best-maintained pinstripe suit I’d ever seen in the Wasteland, even if it was a blinding pink. “Ain’t ‘customed to travelers ‘round these parts. What’s y’all’s business this far out’n th’ Bayou?”

I briefly cleared my throat to start an introduction, but Grit beat me to it. “Evenin’, sir, no cause for alarm, we’re jus’ a travellin’ salespony an’ her capable bodyguard.” He gestured a hoof at me, and then himself as he introduced us. “Found ourselves followin’ a radio signal an’ hoped t’ find some friendly ponies on th’ other end.”

The stallion looked genuinely surprised at Grit’s answer. He glanced at our laden saddlebags, and I caught his eyes wandering to our weapons. After a long pause, he burst out laughing, in the most honest, deep-throated laughter I’d ever heard. I would have felt a tinge of annoyance at being laughed at, but there wasn’t a hint of mockery in it. “Well hell, I apologize, it’s just,” he shook his head, “when th’ lookouts told me there might be some raiders nearby, y’all were th’ last type o’ ponies I was expectin’.” He gave another hearty chuckle and looked back at us. “I tell you what, y’all were hopin’ t’ find some friendly ponies? Y’found th’ friendliest town this side o’ Canterlot. Welcome t’ Sugarland!”

* * * * * * *

I never considered myself afraid of heights. I grew up in New Appleloosa, a mountain of train cars piled to precarious heights. I’d scavenged old office buildings and been considerable distances from the ground. But even though all the pre-war structures I’d scaled were broken or in disrepair, they at least felt sturdy most of the time.

The swaying, creaking wood beneath my hooves now did not.

My joints were locked in place and my jaw tight, heart thundering in my chest, willing myself to look straight ahead. Looking at Grit was no help, because he seemed more panicky than I was, lying flat on his belly, eyes darting everywhere. The cream-coated stallion, who had introduced himself as Bourbon, tried not to chuckle at us, but I caught him smirking once. “Must be quite a shock for y’all, but hell if there ain’t a better example o’ pony ingenuity.” He nodded at the bridges and walkways above us. The town spanned dozens of the trees, gathered in a loose cluster around a massive, two-story structure in the center. “S’taken us years o’ hard work, mind you, but it keeps us safe.”

The platform raising us up to Sugarland finally jerked to a halt, and Bourbon hopped off, motioning us to follow. The walkways were, thankfully, much less prone to swaying, and I took a small breath to recompose myself.

I had never seen anything close to what Sugarland was. Dozens of trees around us were ringed by wide platforms, some wooden and some metal, with small houses built against the trunks. Some of the thicker trees had two or more platforms ringing them at different elevations. A web of cable and rope held carts and elevators in the air as they moved from platform to platform or level to level. Ponies, nearly all of them dressed in fancy, wartime clothes, crossed between platforms on an intricate system of rope suspension bridges.

At the center of it all stood a well-maintained three-story building connected to the radio tower above, the metal skeleton piercing through the canopy above. In sharp contrast to all the other structures in the town, part of this building seemed to be pre-war. Cradled in the gentle palm where half a dozen tree branches met rested a concrete-and-windowed structure the like of which I’d never seen. The glass on the windows was blown out centuries ago, but the holes left behind made a full ring around the entire structure, providing the ponies perched inside it a panoramic view of the town. I could make out a few figures inside, scanning the town below. I couldn’t say for certain from this distance, but some of them seemed to be staring at us.

As we crossed platforms and suspension bridges, heading towards the center of town, ponies passed us going the other way, giving us a wide berth and trying to hide their curious stares. Bourbon turned to me, a wide grin crossing his muzzle. “So tell me, Alloy was it?” I nodded. “What sorta business do y’do?”

My ears perked upright and I offered a courteous smile in return. “I’m a blacksmith. I can also repair odds and ends, but mostly I craft metal into weapons, armor, and jewelry.”

“Jewelry?” Bourbon stopped in his tracks, looking honestly surprised. “Well, by the Goddesses’ above, th’ townsponies’re gonna love you. Mares up here grew up with some more sophisticated taste, an’ there’s only so much o’ that stuff our scavengers an’ hunters can bring back.”

I blinked in stunned silence, racing to catch up to my own thoughts. Never in my life had I met anypony with more than a passing curiosity in my jewelry. They never sold well, and every piece was a vanity project of sorts, something I made for my own gratification out of metal I couldn’t otherwise use. When I realized several seconds had passed with my saying anything, I finally answered him. “I,” I swallowed, my throat a little dry, “I have my stock in my saddlebags. If you’ll provide me a space to set up shop, I can sell it to them.”

Bourbon smirked and turned to keep walking, leading us towards the center of town. “It’d be mah pleasure t’get y’all situated. S’perfect timin’ for th’ town dance tomorrah night.”

“Dance?” Grit’s face lit up, beaming a wide smile.

“Oh sure, we’ll celebrate most anythin’ up here. Which reminds me, gotta double-check th’ calendar ‘fore I sign off on th’ banners. Wouldn’t be right t’ put up a sign fer ‘Happy Festivus’ if’n it’s actually Carnation Day, am I right?” He laughed at his joke, tapping a hoof on the planks and making them creak. I froze for a second before flicking my tail and trying to change the subject.

“Actually there was one other thing,” I began, stopping our walk. Bourbon and Grit stopped as well, turning back towards me. “We came here following a radio signal. Your broadcast.” I waved a hoof in the direction of the radio tower that speared out of a nearby rooftop and peeked above the canopy of the trees overhead. “I actually need to use it for a few minutes to contact somepony -- someone -- from the Talons. Or any mercenary for that matter.” Bourbon’s muzzle scrunched up at this idea, and he took in a slow, contemplative breath through his nose. “I just need to ask them for a contract. It’s,” I hesitated to go into details, settling on the barest explanation I could manage. “It’s a personal matter.”

Bourbon groaned and rubbed his muzzle with one fetlock. “Ain’t at all what I was expectin’, but… I suppose it’s fine. Now I’m gonna have t’ ask that y’make your call with one or two guards around. I gotta watch out for m’ town, and can’t have y’all callin’ out t’ Celestia-knows-where.” I immediately nodded, just grateful that I’d get to try in the first place. “Alrigh’ then, I’ll talk t’ Tempo an’ get y’all access t’ th’ radio tomorrah mornin’. Speakin’ o’ which,” he nodded towards one of the buildings close to the town hall. “If y’all need a place t’sleep, Marty’s over there’s probably got a bed or two t’ rent.”

We crossed from one platform ringing a thick tree to another bridge, wood planks suspended in the air by rope that creaked and swayed far too much for my taste. The bridge deposited us on the largest platform in Sugarland that I’d seen, surrounding the two-story building. Above the entrance, a pre-war sign read, “The Sunniest City in Equestria!” Bourbon stopped at the entrance and gave us a curt nod. “Well, I’m afraid I’ve got some mayoral business what needs attending. Come find me tomorrah mornin’ in th’ town hall here an’ I’ll see what we can get squared away. Y’all have a good night.”

* * * * * * *

“Marty’s” turned out to be a general supplies store for ponies to buy and sell goods, though a quick scan of what he had on display revealed no jewelry, so at least we wouldn’t be competing on that front. A radio on the counter played the same smooth, graceful music I’d heard from the spritebots, but it was much clearer now, which I guessed it had something to do with the distance to the radio tower. I stopped mid-step to listen to it for a few moments, not wanting to interrupt the melody with the sound of my hooves on the wooden floor. Grit didn’t notice my distraction as he started walking around the room. One of my ears flicked in brief irritation, but I shook my head and started slowly moving around the other side of the store.

Remarkably, he had several rows of mannequins featuring all manner of dresses and suits. Some of them had faded colors, frayed edges, or stains that had been covered up with mismatched ribbons, but on the whole the set was remarkably well-maintained. There was nopony behind the sales counter, so I took a few minutes to walk among the dresses. They were all from wartime or pre-war, but that was the only category I could have grouped them into. Some of the dresses had stiff, arching collars high above the ear, and others were slim and elegant, adorned by a sash or tiara. They spanned as many colors as I could imagine, and the centuries had been remarkably kind to them. I stopped in front of a cream dress amidst the clutter.

It was, for lack of a better word, beautiful. Simple, but with a little bit of green frilling around the neckline and shoulder holes, and a green bustle pad, the same shade as my eyes, held in place with a ribbon, tied off in a neat bow. At the bottom of the hem was a neat row of frills and folded cloth, the same green as the bustle pad and frilling. It rolled in waves around the entire bottom of the dress. I glanced over my shoulder to see Grit examining the guns held behind the sales counter, and sidled up next to the dress to see how the cream and green looked against my light blue coat.

“You like that one? Dress rental is just 30 caps a night.” The gravelly voice jolted me out of my reverie, and I jumped away from the dress, whipping my head around to see a blue-coated stallion entering from one of the back rooms. He was a unicorn, with a mane that was just a few shades lighter than his coat. He walked across the room to me, looking at the dress I had been admiring. “Didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Martini, but everypony calls me Marty.”

I cleared my throat and stepped away from the dress, trying to ignore Grit’s quizzical gaze. “Alloy Shaper. And this,” I waved a hoof at Grit, “is my business partner, Grit.”

“Pleased to meetcha!” the sandy-coated buck chimed in.

“Likewise. I guess y’all must be the travelers that caused the all the fuss?”

“So I’m told.” I cleared my throat and stood straighter. “Bourbon told us you might have a place for us to stay the night?”

Martini nodded, and glanced us over again. “Sure. It’ll be 50 caps a night.”

My jaw fell open, and my tail snapped at the air. “50 caps a night? We could just sleep out on the walkways for free!”

“Ah ah ah,” he clicked his tongue at me. “And risk rolling off the edge in your sleep? Or what if a bloodsprite flies up and decides to have a snack?” I scuffed at the flooring with one hoof, scrunching up my muzzle. “And the townsponies would complain about the sight of somepony just sleeping on the streets. They’d get their saddles in a twist, and demand Bourbon clean up the mess.”

I was stuck taking his word for it on the townsponies in Sugarland, since I’d only seen a few of them, and the curious looks and wide berth they gave me lent credence to his story. But, more importantly, I had to admit his first two points made enough sense on their own. With a resigned sigh and a flick of my tail, I began counting out the caps from my bags. I’d have to make up the cost of board with selling my jewelry.

Martini gave me a smug chuckle and stowed the money, gesturing to the room he’d come from. “Down that way, on your left. Have a pleasant night!”

* * * * * * *

My first thought, as Bourbon showed me into the radio room, was that the radio operator of Sugarland had simply lifted a wall straight out of Stable 15 and planted it in this tree. It was a narrow wall, but was lined floor-to-ceiling with whirring machinery and blinking lights. In the dead center, a blue crystal shone behind a glass case, pulsing light like a slow heartbeat.

The operator herself, Tempo if I remembered her name right, was busy at the small desk set up in front of the wall of machinery. The green unicorn was scribbling in a worn book, pausing every few moments to listen to the headphones sitting over her ears. A tarnished, silver microphone sat on a stand in front of her, and when she finally set down her pencil, she pulled the microphone close to her, speaking curtly into it. “That’s all stations in. Next update in two hours.” Her horn glowed, and a silvery cushion of magic pulled the headphones off her head and sat back with a sigh, rubbing her eyes with one fetlock.

Bourbon had led us in here first thing in the morning, but we had been asked to wait until the regular business of gathering reports from the lookout stations was complete. With the graceful music once again wafting out of the speakers in the room, it seemed like that business was over. I took a step forward and cleared my throat, and Tempo glanced back at us, adjusting a pair of glasses on her nose. “Ah, right. Bourbon told me about y’all. What do you need the radio for of all things?”

Direct and to the point. I couldn’t fault her for that. “I’m trying to contact a mercenary, and was hoping to use your radio to reach out to them for a job.”

“What kinda job?”

I tensed a little at the sudden question. “It’s a personal favor,” I answered, realizing that my ambiguity wasn’t putting Tempo at ease. “I guarantee it’s nothing that will put Sugarland in danger.”

Tempo stood up and took a few steps towards me, sizing me up. She looked tired, her mane tied back in an elegant but functional ponytail. My heart raced in my chest, but I met her gaze. I’d come this far already, and what I needed was right in this room. I was so close to putting this whole incident behind me, and all that stood in my way was this unicorn. Finally, she broke her silence. “Fine.” I felt a massive weight lift from my chest, and I wanted to grin, but kept myself in check as Tempo continued. “But you aren’t going to have any privacy, got it? I’ll be right here next to you. It’s been a while since we contacted the Talons in the area, so give me a minute.”

I nodded quickly, since I had no idea how to operate this massive machinery in the first place. With a sigh, she sifted through a drawer on the desk for a few minutes before digging out an old piece of paper. She gestured me over to the table and I sat down, bringing the microphone up to me. Tempo adjusted a few dials and switches on the wall, floating the headphones next to her ear. Her eyes stared at the machinery, unfocused, until at some arbitrary signal she stopped and unplugged the headphones. A soft static filled the room, and she turned to me, waving a hoof at the microphone stand. “Alright, you’re live. Just hold the button there to transmit, and let it go when you’re done talking.”

Looking down, I noticed a small button at the base of the microphone. I pushed it in with my forehoof and leaned towards the microphone hesitantly. “Hello?” I paused, lifting my forehoof off the button, listening to the static. “Hello, is this the Talon Company?”

Tempo sighed and grabbed the microphone in her own magic, pulling it to her muzzle. “This is Sugarland Radio calling Talon Company. There’s a pony here who is requesting a contract, over.” She placed the microphone back down on the desk, turning to me. “Don’t forget to say ‘over’ when you’re finished saying something.”

A minute passed of nothing but the same soft hiss of static. I was about to lean forward to the microphone and repeat the same message Tempo had given when the speakers crackled to life. “Yea, yea, Talon Company here, read you Sugarland. Whaddya want? Over,” an abrasive voice responded, though because of the poor signal, I couldn’t tell if the speaker was male or female.

I leaned into the microphone again, holding the button down with my forehoof. “I have a job I want done, and quickly. I have caps on hoof to pay for the contract. Over.”

“What - escort, bounty hunting? Over.”

“It’s…” My mind raced. “I need you to get something for me.” I swallowed, biting my lower lip before remembering to conclude the broadcast. “Over.” It was technically true.

“Retrieval, then.” There was another pause before the voice on the radio replied, “Per standard Talon regulations, all contracts must be signed in person, only one master copy of each contract allowed, the agreed price and contract terms are not subject to change, yadda yadda…” The voice devolved into monotone mumbling, but none of it came over the radio clearly, though I couldn’t tell if that was due to interference or the boredom of the speaker.

When the other line finally went dead, I leaned into the microphone again, “Talon? We couldn’t hear most of that. Over.”

“It means I gotta haul my ass down there for you to sign the contract!” The voice sounded much harsher this time, and it startled me. Had I said something wrong? After a moment, it continued, “I’ve gotta prep some papers, get supplies in order. I’ll be down there tomorrow morning. Talon Company, over and out.”

I stepped back from the microphone as Tempo plugged back in the headphones and waved a hoof towards the door. “Alright, you had your talk, now get going.”

Leaving the radio room, and waiting until we were out of earshot I noted, Bourbon turned to me, clearing his throat. “Well, I apologize for Tempo’s behavior. Bit of a stubborn one she is, but she does good work for th’ town, good work.” We descended a set of stairs and towards the double-doors leading out of the town hall. “Oh, and I got y’all a space set up right outside o’ Marty’s t’ sell your jewelry. Lotsa ponies rent dresses and suits from him for th’ dances, so seems like a match made by the Goddesses t’ have you selling your wares righ’ next door.”

I nodded. That made sense to me, too. I still had some doubts that I’d sell that much jewelry here, but thanked him for the business space anyway. Walking out of the town hall back towards Marty’s, my ear flicked at the air as I tried to figure out that conversation with the griffon. It was slightly disarming not being able to see somepony’s expression while talking to them. The griffon had sounded angry, but was that at me? The radio? Well, no matter – she or he would be showing up here tomorrow morning, and I had until then to set up shop. I needed to make 100 caps today to cover our room with Marty. If the ponies here really wanted jewelry, maybe I could get away with increasing some of my prices, just a little.

* * * * * * *

“I’ll give you 50 caps for this necklace! I need it!” the mare giddily shouted at me, and I hastily took her caps, glancing them over to make sure I had the right amount. A whole crowd of ponies had gathered around Grit and I, and he was doing a much better job managing them than I was. I could barely keep up with what was going on, trying to tease out numbers from the dozen voices that pressed close to look at my wares.

Each time a piece of jewelry was lifted up in a field of magic, I would have to yank it back down with my own telekinesis. “No pushing, no magic unless you buy it,” I called to the crowd, as an earth pony mare gave me a bag of caps for a bracelet. Grit was at his best here, showing off different pieces to the mares and keeping them calmer than they had been. My heart was pounding in my chest, but I was able to keep up with the sales and make scribbled, shorthand notes in my journal. With my attention focused on my inventory, and the numbers flying back and forth, I was in my element even amid the disorganized chaos. 15 caps for this bracelet – no. Too little. 20 caps and it’s hers. 25 for this necklace. Another 20 for a horn ring. Pair of earrings, no less than 20.

Within an hour, I was sold out, and the crowd vanished, I was 250 caps richer. Even with Bourbon’s words from the previous night, I never imagined I’d actually sell all my jewelry!

Grit helped me put away the caps and gave a relieved sigh. “Damn, that was a hell of a rush!” He beamed at me, while I finished rewriting the rapid notes I had jotted in shorthand in my journal.

“Mm.” I nodded, finishing the last of the tallying, then closing up the journal. “I suppose that’s all for us then until tomorrow morning. I’ll have to make more jewelry when I get back home.” Home. My forge. It felt like I was so close to it now, even miles across the Bayou.

“Well if that’s th’ case, think I’ll rent myself one o’ those suits from Marty. Head on down t’ th’ big party tonight, it sounds like fun!” He stood up and started walking towards the store, grabbing his saddlebags. “Why don’t you come, too?”

I picked mine up as well, hefting them onto my back, snorting at his idea dismissively. “Why? It’s just a party.”

“Well, sure, but we’re close t’ th’ end o’ this whole trip, right? Should celebrate.” He smiled at me. “’Sides, not like there’s anything better t’ do. Why not?”

* * * * * * *

‘Why not,’ huh?

The idea still echoed in my head. All I had done for the last few hours since then was buy a few books from Marty’s store (including a few very interesting ones on something called “arc welding”) and re-read my comic book again. The beautiful artwork still gripped me, but when I put it down, I felt that familiar restlessness, just like in Stable 15. I stored my books in the footlocker Marty had provided alongside the rest of our belongings, double-checking the lock before walking out to the storefront. Maybe a stroll around town would occupy my mind.

It was still there.

Almost all the dresses in the store were gone now, leaving empty mannequins, but that cream-and-green dress that had caught my eye before was still there.

I walked up to it, running a foreleg over the gentle fabric.

Grit was right, I had worked hard to get to this point. We both had, and I made a profit here far above what I’d expected. I could afford a dress rental, and I didn’t have to go to that party. I could just try it on, see how it looked and felt just to wear something like this. I’d seen pictures of elegant mares in Manehattan and Canterlot, and every now and then I’d wondered what that must be like.

At Martini’s agreement, I hurriedly took the dress back to our room, immediately taking off my barding to try it on.

The fabric was rougher than I had expected, but it was still comfortable. There was an adjustable band hidden underneath the ribbon to fit it to my chest. I was skinnier than whomever it was intended for centuries ago.

After I laced up the elegant forehoof shoes, I stepped back from the small mirror in Grit and I’s room. In spite of my slightly-frazzled mane and weary-looking eyes, I had to admit that I actually liked how it looked. I felt a small grin grow on my face as I turned this way and that, even pacing around the room just to feel the swish of air around my back legs as the skirt twirled and flapped. Outside, I could see the light starting to fade, and hear music start to pick up. A few sets of hooves clopped past on the wooden catwalks, headed for the dance I assumed.

I looked back at myself in the mirror.

All dressed up and nowhere to go, huh?

I looked out the window, leaning my head out, but I couldn’t see where the festivities were taking place. The idea of going to this party and socializing almost drove me to shut the window and forget the whole affair. But when would I have another opportunity to go to something like this, especially wearing this dress? I looked at the mirror again, and smiled faintly, feeling a little warmth kindle itself inside me.

Well… why not?

* * * * * * *

“-perfect, for a flying honeymoon, they say!

“Come fly with me, let’s fly!

“Wings up, let’s fly awaaaaay!”

The stallion on the recording held that last note for several seconds as the band crescendoed to a big finish. The few dozen ponies gathered burst into a cheer, those sitting at tables stomped their hooves on the decking in appreciation, and the couples on the dance floor finished with a flurry of motion. The party was taking place inside the town hall, with the central hallway mostly cleared for ponies to dance. A few strings of decorative lights hung around the walls, lighting the room enough for ponies to dance. Martini stood behind a makeshift bar set up at one corner, selling food and drinks. I had spent the entire party sitting down at one of the benches against a wall, just watching the festivities as another song broke out.

Was this what it was like before the bombs? This whole community had isolated itself from the world, living a life where they could afford to care about dresses and parties. Obviously there was more to it. There had to be. The town had a whole system of guard posts, if Tempo’s check-ins that I had seen were anything to go by. And Bourbon had mentioned scavengers.

But it seemed like the entire end goal was just… this. Ponies laughing, dancing, and just having fun. It was incredible. I even found myself bobbing my head or tapping a hoof to the music, which seemed to alternate between the slow, graceful songs that had brought Grit and I here and catchier, upbeat tunes that got the crowd excited and cheering Four Shoes had never been this lively – not even New Appleloosa on the best of days. As amazing as it was, I felt almost drained, even without having danced at all myself tonight, though several stallions had asked. I had declined all of them, including Grit, telling him I was content to just watch and listen. And in spite of myself, I was actually having fun.

I caught sight of him in the crowd dancing with one of the mares who had been at my store. He was actually smiling and laughing, having himself a good time. Goddesses, I hadn’t seen Grit acting like that since before Malice came to town. For the first time I wondered if this trip had been as taxing to him as it had to me.

Well, we’d both been through a lot in the past week, but it was finally almost over, and then we could both go home. Just closing my eyes and picturing the sight of my forge again in my mind’s eye, fire crackling, was enough to put me at ease. I might not even open my store for a full day after I got home, just spend the entire time at my forge. I would have to restock a little, wouldn’t I? I could justify one day of making new inventory. Maybe even a new suit of barding? Yes, I could picture it now: a heavier, but more resilient armor. I could add overlapping plates to cover the neck, and even engrave some kind of pattern along the ridges. Maybe just a waved line, ending in a curl and a spiral at each end. I’d have to write this idea down in my journal before I forgot abou-

“Enjoyin’ th’ festivities, Miss Shaper?”

The sudden, boisterous voice of Bourbon broke me from my reverie, and my eyes shot open as I looked over, finding him sitting next to me. He had a warm smile on his face, meeting my eyes briefly before looking back at the crowd. “I’m sure this sort of thing must be strange t’ you.” he said, watching the crowd. “Believe me, I understand better than many o’ these ponies here. I’ve been out in the world you live in.”

I wasn’t sure how to answer him, so I just nodded, looking back out at the crowd myself.

“These ponies, this town, they’re like my family, y’see. Hell, some o’ those fillies an’ colts out there were born here. So it may seem strange, but we live for these happy nights. Work hard for ‘em.”

“Mm.” I nodded again. I didn’t doubt him. I could only imagine how much work it had been building this town in the first place. When Bourbon didn’t say anything, I felt the need to answer him somehow, just to fill the awkward silence. “This town really is lovely.”

He smiled and glanced at me again. “See, I knew you’d understand, precisely because you’ve been out there. These ponies here,” he waved a hoof at the crowd, “they’ve gotten used to this life. They pull their weight up here, mind you, but they wouldn’t last down below. The Wasteland is cruel, y’know?”

I looked from the crowd to watch Bourbon now, wondering what he was driving at. “I hope y’all will forgive our precautions in dealing with you and your companion,” he continued. “But I have to look out for me and mine. We really can’t risk letting any of that cruelty seep its way up here.”

He turned to look at me, standing up. “I’m glad we could see eye to eye, Miss Shaper. Please, enjoy the rest o’ your evenin’.” He put a battered top hat on his head and gave me a curt nod before walking off into the crowd.

He had said nothing threatening to me, or even anything unfriendly. And the whole time he had been smiling, speaking as courteous and openly as he had when he greeted us for the first time.

So why was my heart racing in my chest and adrenaline rushing through my body?

* * * * * * *

Between the echoes of my conversation with Bourbon and the sounds of the party continuing long into the night, I found myself tossing and turning my way through an unpleasant sleep.

So it was that I slept in a little more than I was used to, woken by Grit shaking me from my bed with a forehoof. “Hey, Alloy, wake up sleepyhead! That griffon’s here already!”

The second that information seeped into my sleep-addled brain, I jolted out of bed, a knot forming in my stomach. I was late for my meeting with the Talon company mercenary? No no no no! I shook my head furiously, getting my bearings. “Where is he?”

“She,” Grit corrected. He chuckled and gestured next to him. “An’ she’s right here.”

I focused on her, noticing her for the first time. She was a bored-looking creature, with blueish-grey fur and light grey feathers streaked with darker patches. Her beak was dark, and the feathers atop her head and around her yellow eyes were highlighted purple. She wore a suit of black, heavily-armored barding, with a large gun of some kind slung at her side. On the whole, she would have intimidated me if it weren’t for the fact that she looked as tired as I felt. “I apologize for th-”

“Yea, yea, whatever,” she answered with a raspy voice. “Name’s Kyra, of the Talons. Here to negotiate that contract you wanted.”

“I’m Alloy Shaper,” I answered a little slowly, taken aback by Kyra’s mannerisms.

“So what’s this urgent job you have to have done, huh?” She dropped her hind legs down and leaned against the wall, staring at me with one eyebrow raised.

I cleared my throat. “Well, I,” I paused, suddenly afraid of how this griffon would react to a job like this. Too late now. I pressed on, forcing myself not to think about it. “I need you to find a pony. A blue-coated earth pony named Copper who would have crashed an airboat somewhere in the gator nests on this side of the river.” When Kyra’s expression didn’t change, I continued. “I need him brought back to me, alive. Or at least some proof of his death. Can you do that?”

The griffon gave a noise that was somewhere between a squawk and a chuckling snort. “Sure, whatever, but you should know that this job’ll cost ya a fat pile of caps. It’s at least a two- or three-wing job, and probably ‘round,” she trailed off, scratching under her beak thoughtfully, “750 caps.”

I allowed myself a small smile at her price. 750 was far below the numbers I’d been expecting. Opening up my saddlebags, I brought out my bag of caps. “Actually, I have that much ri-”

“Each.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Quest Tracker - 6 days remaining

Alloy Shaper’s Travelling Smithy
Sales Journal

Author's Notes:

Wait, wait, wait.

Add the thingy… carry the five…

Guys! Guys! I don’t think Alloy has that much.

Joking aside, I want to particularly thank PromptAnon for pre-reading this chapter. Helped with quite a few issues here and there, and I'm absolutely grateful for the time he spent reading this dreck. And of course, thanks to both my editors for their hard work in making this readable, and thanks to all of you guys for reading!