Prologue

Skyhoof rubbed his eyes blearily, forcefully shaking his head back and forth to keep himself awake in the dim candlelight. The etches and arcane runes littered across the parchment before him glinted dully in the pitiful light that barely sustained itself, and the candle sputtered as it began to die. What little light was left barely let him see his desk, let alone half of the already cramped little thatch roofed hut that he lived in.

He was so close, he could almost taste it.

For months, Skyhoof had procured every scrap of knowledge he could for this one project; of course, his job as Halter’s one and only alchemist didn’t provide nearly as many bits as he needed, forcing him to extend his work longer and longer until he could acquire the proper books. Spell crafting was fine and dandy, but it just didn't make much money. Thankfully, the inhabitants of Halter never seemed to quite catch on about his 'love potions' which they were always so eager to buy. Fanciful bottles filled with grass and water, and Skyhoof occasionally had difficulty keeping a serious face actually selling them. Bits and pieces of information from the few sages that he could find were things he was always on the lookout for, other unicorns like himself that worked on developing spells – each one clamoring to delve deeper into the root of magic just as he did, every one of them desperately searching for knowledge that lay beyond even some of the most powerful unicorns.

Skyhoof shoved a scraggly lock of brown mane from his face, glaring angrily at the candle beside him and forcing a magical spark into it. The candle sputtered and choked, but grew a little brighter and lit up the hut once more, making his grey coat shine a little.

He grunted satisfactorily, levitating his quill and scribbling out another long formula. Obviously, the inflammatory extension spell didn’t even last as long as a normal one – meaning that even though he had wasted a good portion of the spell components required to create the candles, at least he had a decently sized ration of short-lived candles.

Skyhoof wrinkled his nose with a hint of disappointment as he tiredly shuffled his work together as he let the magical candle die out, jamming it all into his desk before stumbling the few feet toward his hay bed.

No sooner had Skyhoof dropped onto his bed than a loud, heavy beating came slamming on the door of his hut.

Skyhoof would have liked to have said that he immediately leapt out of bed, promptly guessing that anypony desperate enough to run to the edge of Halter just to bang on his door probably needed him badly. However, Skyhoof did no such thing, and took a great deal of time making the obnoxious visitor wait as he meandered over to the door after dragging himself wistfully from his bed.

“Calm your teats, for Titan’s sake,” the unicorn grumbled as he pried open the door to his hut, revealing an out of breath tan unicorn. “I’m not sel- what in the name of Night happened to you?”

“Timberwolves!” Iron Wing gasped breathily, bleeding somewhat heavily from a cut just above his left eyebrow. The frightened pegasus nearly collapsed on his doorstep, motioning him toward the lights of Halter; which, now that Skyhoof listened, he could hear the faint sound of howling.

“Again?” he yelped, hastily snatching his black traveling cloak and throwing it over his back. “This is the third time this month, what happened to the barriers?”

“Gone!” the battered pegasus sped along beside the running unicorn, flapping his wings for greater momentum. “All three missin’ from their posts, nopony’s seen hide nor hair of ‘em!”

Skyhoof swore violently under his breath, straining to pick up speed as the sounds of fearful screams and the dreaded sound of barking timberwolves drew nearer the closer they drew to Halter. Smoke billowed against the clear night sky, urging them onward like a distress flare.

One of the thatched roofs of a house they sped past was already on fire, and Skyhoof quickly hurtled a dampening spell at the flames to bat them out – however, the moment he tried to do so, he felt a slight pressure on his right side of his flank.

Said slight pressure was very, very swiftly followed by an extremely painful and powerful swat from a timberwolf, which was strong enough to send him careening directly into one of the stone walls of somepony’s home thanks to the bulky timberwolf. If he had time, he might have noticed that it was easily three times the size of even a large pony, but Skyhoof was slightly more preoccupied with being in pain. Skyhoof grunted in agony, his vision blurring as Iron Wing slammed into the wooden construct of hunger, magic and wood, snapping one of the legs cleanly in half.

It was a short-lived victory, as the enormous creature merely jerked its leg back together in a stiff position, the wood and bark that it was constructed of merging perfectly back together.

“… Well, dammit,” Iron Wing frowned, and was promptly snatched up in the timberwolf’s jaws.

“Hold on, lad!” Skyhoof pried himself weakly from the wall, desperation clawing at his chest as he sought a way to save the pegasus – if he was even still alive by this point, as the behemoth was viciously whipping its head back and forth like a puppy would a chewing toy.

Again, Skyhoof directed his magic at the steadily spreading flame on the roofing above him; but this time, he shot as much of the burning roofing as he could in a telekinetic wave at the timberwolf’s eyes. It yapped in surprise and pain from the intense heat, dropping the limp pegasus to the ground and nearly trampling him beneath its massive paws. Leaving no time to recover, Skyhoof snatched the pegasus by one hoof and began dragging him away, flinging spark after magical spark at the monster to distract it.

Which, unfortunately, only served to set more houses on fire with his every missed shot.

Why did the damned thing’s weakness have to set the village on fire in the process?

Skyhoof dragged the limp pegasus around a corner and into an alley, huffing and shakily feeling for any kind of pulse with the back of his hoof. He shook Iron Wing exhaustedly, the panic in his system still filling his ears with the sound of his own pumping blood.

The pegasus did not wake up.

Swearing even more than he had before, Skyhoof propped the poor pegasus against a wall and darted toward more screaming, the ash and smoke beginning to painfully sting his eyes and throat. Although the sound of retreating timberwolves and howling began to fade as the great galloping beasts fled the fires, the weeping and shouting of many of the townsponies only grew louder. For hours they toiled, stopping what flames they could in vain attempts to save many a ruined home.

Skyhoof was on his way to help put out the last of the fires when he nearly tripped over the wailing foal.

Weeping Willow

To describe Willow was not a necessarily complicated request.

The filly was normal in nearly every aspect, and plain in both appearance and personality. The little grey unicorn was in no way special, she was not particularly strong or intelligent. Willow was the same as any other filly her age, with nothing that made her stand out. She had a short and well kempt mane the same color as her dull grey coat, which matched her eyes evenly.

There were times when Willow heard whispers that her mentor, Skyhoof, was secretly her father – however, these were silly rumors, and Willow dismissed them all as such. The aging unicorn had been as a father to her, though, since the death of her parents so long ago that she couldn’t even remember; and at times, Willow could almost pretend that the grumpy old Skyhoof really was her parent.

Other times, though, she thought of much ruder things about him.

Willow puffed and grunted as she dragged the umpteenth log over to the woodpile, casting a weary glance at the work ahead of her. To be honest, Willow truly and honestly hated the amount of work required of her if she wished to continue receiving her spellmaster’s lessons. However, she failed in every single aspect of even the simplest of spells; Willow hadn’t even gotten her Cutie Mark yet, like most of the other colts and fillies of Halter.

But she was determined, though.

Or at least, she would try to convince herself that she was, and she continued to do as such as she struggled to heave the heavy lumber atop the pile beside the one-room hut.

Willow toiled for what felt like hours, dragging firewood back to the cramped little hut that they resided in. Perhaps Skyhoof would teach her a wood-chopping spell, or something equally effective – but she was likely to botch that, as well.

Willow quickly shook such thoughts from her head, turning instead to her work to finish as fast as possible and return to her lessons.

“Sky?” Willow stuck her head in through the doorway, wiping sweat from her face with the crook of her elbow. “Sky, I have the wood!”

“How much?” the elderly unicorn peered up from behind his reading glasses, throwing her a weary look from his writing desk where his spellbook lay open before him. “Enough for the whole winter?”

“Um…”

“That’s what I thought,” Skyhoof snorted, scribbling a bit on some parchment on the stool beside him. “I foolishly presumed that you would have finished by now.”

Willow hung her head miserably, tipping one hoof and pawing the dirt floor in front of her.

“I-I’m sorry, Skyhoof,” the filly looked between her hooves. “I stacked it as high as I could, but-but it just kept falling on me…”

“By the Titans, you’re useless,” the crotchety unicorn grumbled, and Willow sniffled quietly. He sighed eventually, beckoning her forward. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I’ll get the rest of it myself.”

“Lesson time?” Willow bounded across what little distance there was between them eagerly, her unhappiness utterly forgotten. “Is it a new magic lesson? Star charts? Alchemy instructions? Did you make any new spells?”

“No!” Skyhoof barked crankily, rearing away from the enthusiastic filly as her face came far too close to his own. “No, no, and yes.”

“Can I see?” Willow asked excitedly, peering over his desk to spot anything interesting.

“No,” he grumped, slamming his worn spellbook shut. “How many times do I have to tell you, dolt?”

Willow lurched backward in embarrassment, her cheeks pink.

“The spellbook is a sacred object,” she recited dutifully, if a bit monotonously. “Knowledge is power, and to intrude upon another’s knowledge without their own is a violation of both privacy and soul.”

“You’re damned right,” Skyhoof frowned, and breathed heavily through his nostrils. “Now, if you’ll be patient for once, maybe we can get to a lesson instead of a lecture.”

Willow bit her tongue, and bowed her head.

“… Oh, stop moping!” he rolled his eyes. “You’re making me feel guilty. I wanted you to perform the Wind Hoof.”

“Why?” Willow blinked, clamping her jaws shut immediately afterwards. She was too late, though.

“Why else, fool?” Skyhoof barked at her, and Willow cringed. “We can’t move on with your lessons tomorrow if you don’t at least master this one.”

Willow’s stomach dropped, and she bit her lip.

It was the same spell that Skyhoof had first insisted on teaching her.

Ever.

And she still hadn’t mastered it.

“Right-right now?” Willow shuffled uneasily, knowing that she was only bound to fail again. She was admittedly a little surprised at the old stallion’s apparent change of heart, especially after her last spectacular failure. He had sworn nearly a month ago that he would never teach her anything again, and she had been utterly devastated by his words.

It also did not take long for Skyhoof to begin teaching her again, under the strict rule of no practicing magic without supervision, lest he lose another bed.

“No,” Skyhoof replied dryly, scratching the balding spot behind his ear. “Go ahead and take your time, I was thinking maybe sometime next week of course right now, nimrod!” he shouted, and Willow backpedalled swiftly as she simultaneously reached for the magic.

In theory, the Wind Hoof was similar to basic telekinesis, which nearly every unicorn could intrinsically practice. It was comprised of a weak magical grasp on the forces of wind, using elemental grip to act as a separate hoof instead of telekinesis. Willow, unfortunately, could not control basic telekinesis, or even a simple light spell without something going wrong.

Nonetheless, Willow stuck her tongue between her teeth and forced up as much magic as she could muster into her horn. She closed her eyes tightly shut, squeezing them hard for good measure, as if the act in itself could help her attain greater magical control.

Willow held the spell in her mind before allowing it to travel into her horn tip, desperate to forge the windy hoof with sheer willpower. She struggled against the barrier in her mind as the immense strain of the spell began to take its toll, and Willow began to sweat profusely as she peered beneath her eyelids at what she was sure would be dead air.

Much to her surprise, a thin, whispery hoof had slowly begun to form from whirling wind just in front of her, and Willow squealed in pleasure and surprise.

“I did i-!”

And that was all Willow managed to say before the windy hoof promptly exploded in a violent gust of wind, blasting her cleanly out the doorway.

Willow tiredly stacked the last of the tattered pages back into what she sincerely hoped was the right book, sticking them all back into the furious stallion’s desk.

‘Never again’ seemed to be a recurring theme for Willow, and it was one that she didn’t necessarily care for.

“Left drawer,” Skyhoof mumbled, dropping a stack of short candles into a box that the miniature tornado had blown around. “Second one up.”

“Are you still mad at me?” Willow asked quietly, rubbing her forehoof anxiously as the aged unicorn sighed heavily.

“Yes,” he nodded, making her flinch. “Yes, I am very, very mad. However.”

Willow’s head snapped up, eyes wide.

“However,” he drawled dryly, “I am a little pleased that you managed to make a tiny, minute, nearly insignificant modicum of progress.”

“Was that a compliment?” Willow asked, unable to keep the beaming smile from her face any longer.

“It’s going to be a slap upside the head if you keep it up,” Skyhoof grunted as he jammed another slightly torn book into his desk, knowing full well that he would do no such thing.

“Does that mean I get to learn more tomorrow?” she bounced cheerfully, and Skyhoof had to hide a small grin of his own at her youthful energy.

“Maybe…” he said slowly.

“YES!”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Skyhoof shuffled toward his bed tiredly, his hooves dragging against the floor. “And perhaps this time you’ll learn a bit of control. Now, go to bed.”

“Do I have to?” Willow whined, wishing that she had more time to practice.

“No,” the elderly stallion rumbled as he clambered into his shoddy bed. “You can always go chop wood.”

By the time he had finished his sentence, however, Willow was already snoring in her own bed.

Loudly.

“That’s what I thought.”

Willow was having a rather strange dream that night.

All night long she tossed and turned on her small bed by the door, dreaming terrible dreams of being choked by the Wind Hoof. It chased her through her dreams, clawing and pawing to steal her breath from her, and no matter how fast she ran away or how she tried and failed to scream for help, the same invisible hoof snatched her away and stomped her…

Willow awoke in a cold sweat, the morning sunlight stinging her eyes as she tumbled out of bed.

She lay on the floor breathing heavily for a few seconds, the upside down world making her slightly dizzy as the blood rushed to her head. Willow rolled over and dragged herself to a standing position, shaking her head wildly and rubbing her eyes. It wasn’t often that Skyhoof let her sleep in so late in the morning, unless it was her birthday.

Or he had a hangover.

Surprisingly, the old stallion lay peacefully in his bed, a sliver of the morning sun beaming down just over his head like a golden halo and complementing a rare little smile. Willow almost snorted at the thought of the old coot possessing angelic qualities, as she had certainly never seen many.

“I know today isn’t your birthday,” Willow sang quietly, creeping up on him. “If you don’t wake up, I’m going to poke you in the e~eye…!”

She jumped beside his bed, clapping her hooves loudly together to surprise him and make him jolt, probably snarling something about someday giving him a heart attack.

“BLARGH I’M A CLAPPY-MONSTER!” Willow screeched, slamming her little hooves together as hard as she could.

Skyhoof didn’t move.

“Come on, you old geezer,” she nickered. “If you don’t get up, I’m not making any bre~akfast.”

Willow stared at him for a bare moment, a horrible feeling beginning to worm through her chest as it slowly dawned on her that he wasn’t breathing.

And from the feel of him, he hadn’t been for quite a while.

“… Wake up,” Willow shook his cold hoof, the lump in her throat growing so that it was difficult for her to speak. Her firm disbelief battled the facts in front of her, and Willow only shook him more desperately. “Wake-wake up. Skyhoof? Sky? I-I’m sorry – I’m sorry, Sky, I-I didn’t mean it, Sky. Skyhoof?”

It slowly began to sink in, regardless of how hard she fought it; eventually, Willow was left standing in stunned silence beside the bed of her mentor, and all she could bring herself to do was quietly sob.

The funeral of Skyhoof was a short and uneventful one.

Willow spent much of her time quietly watching some of the volunteers from Halter wordlessly burying the old unicorn, only one of whom she knew by name. Iron Wing, the scarred old pegasus with a missing eye and captain of the town’s small defense militia, seemed to be the only one aside from Willow to be depressed about burying Skyhoof. The others weren’t quite disinterested, although Willow would have felt just as horrible if they were.

No, all who attended the small funeral by the hut seemed to be oddly… skittish.

They all left her wordlessly, and Iron Wing was kind enough to lay a single hoof on her shoulder before trotting off with the others. Willow spent the entire rest of the day in a dull haze, simply sitting at Skyhoof’s writing desk.

Nopony but her had shed a single tear for him.

Nopony.

She stared down at the blank wood, her stomach churning as she wondered if she would be sick again. Willow simply couldn’t understand what was wrong with them all, why nopony seemed to care that her only friend in the world was gone. Or even why they all seemed so downright disturbed, so eager to get away.

Skyhoof had been one of the stallions that was on constant watch of the village’s borders, keeping an eye out for everypony whenever he could. He even sometimes volunteered for position as a guard for those times when the moon was full and timberwolves lurked about, working just as hard as others to ensure that a magical barrier was erected around the entire town until safety was assured.

Why didn’t anypony but her miss him?

Why couldn’t they understand how much it hurt, how much she needed somepony to be with instead of sitting all alone in the cold cabin?

Willow rapidly rubbed her hooves over her face, finding that she had begun crying again. That wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all, and she could almost hear Skyhoof reprimanding her. She was a big mare, she wasn’t a little filly anymore. Grown up mares didn’t cry.

He wouldn’t have wanted her to cry.

Mysteriously, this only made her want to start crying again.

Instead, Willow forcefully shoved back the lump in her throat, and began rifling swiftly through Skyhoof’s desk. Although she supposed that it was her own, now. He hadn’t even left her a will.

Determined to keep her head on straight, Willow instead decided to search for Skyhoof’s spellbook. The worn grimoire doubtlessly had some of his best spells in it, that he probably would have taught her if it weren’t for-

She cut the thought off at the head, and shook her own violently. No, she would not start that again. Willow would take out the tattered old book and read the whole thing until she fell asleep on his – or rather, her – bed.

And when Willow thought back to that moment, she sincerely wished that she had managed to take a few other of Skyhoof’s precious belongings as well. Some of his strange vials filled with glowing liquid, maybe a couple more scraps of paper. Even just one little bit or bobble that reminded her of him, she wished she had taken anything aside from that accursed book when she first smelled the smoke.

Willow darted out of the hut in alarm, the book still tucked firmly under one hoof as she sought the source of the fire. She nearly ran into a startled pony holding nails and a hammer, as if he were intending to nail the door shut before it was violently thrown into his face. And, much to her shock and terror, found that the fire was being delivered to the thatched roofing of the cabin by none other than old Iron Wing himself. He was accompanied by a couple of other torch wielding pegasi, all of whom didn’t even have time to say much more than her name before she bolted in fear.