“I want sex and violence, without the sex. You know where I can get it?”

This marked the second night in a row in which I had not awakened in the manner that I should have. Just as my slumber the previous night was supposed to have been interrupted by Windfall seeking to be relieved from her watch, the same was supposed to have happened tonight as well. It didn’t immediately fill me with that initial sense of danger that I’d felt yesterday when the Pegasus wasn’t standing over me as my eyes opened. My thoughts went immediately to Foxglove, and how she had likely interceded once more and asked to take the second watch so that she wasn’t sleeping while I was awake. Even if that had been the case though, the unicorn should have at least been waking me up, right?

Unless she’d approached Cestus next. It was entirely possible that she felt safer with the relative stranger watching over her when compared with me. I had to admit, that thought hurt a little.

Of course, given the unicorn’s revelations last night where her thoughts were concerned regarding me; I suppose that it was a good sign that I was waking up at all. Not that I took it as being particularly fortunate that I woke up well rested. That suggested that I’d slept for a long time, given how exhausted I felt from the past couple of weeks. When was the last time I’d taken some serious time to relax anyway? Going at this breakneck pace where Wasteland excursions was concerned couldn’t be doing me any favors.

I glanced at the clock on my pipbuck. Just a couple hours before dawn, and it hadn’t been particularly late when I’d nodded off either. This was probably the most sleep I’d gotten in months. I’d feel better if I knew why this was the case though. Somepony should have woken me up to take a watch…

With a grunt, I rolled out of bed and started putting my barding on. My shoulder hardly hurt at all, though my eye still ached a little from where I’d been punched last night. Idly, I wondered how badly Cestus was hurting. I’d given at least as good as I’d gotten in that exchange. Not bad for some ‘old’ pony, eh?

Once I was dressed and armed up, I peered at my Eyes Forward Sparkle and did a quick scan of the area to get an idea of where everypony was. I felt a little ball of concern start to form deep in my gut. There was only a single yellow dot that showed up on my EFS. It wasn’t like there weren’t completely plausible explanations that could put those concerns at ease though. The exact range of the device still wasn’t something I’d measured out, and I hadn’t kept track of exactly how deep into the stable I’d wandered before settling down to sleep. Though I certainly hadn’t gone much further than I’d absolutely had to.

I’d reevaluate how worried and/or angry I needed to be once I’d seen who that single yellow blip was.

It took me a few minutes to track them down. All that the pipbuck did was give me a direction to my objective, not a distance or an elevation. There were a couple of wrong turns and dead ends before I finally discovered the door that the pony had to be behind. I tapped the button next to the steel portal and peered inside as the door slid gracefully upward.

Light from the corridor spilled into the dark room, and splashed partially across the bed that sat off to the side of the small room. It was enough for me to catch sight of a purple rump and chestnut tail mingled in with the sheets. Foxglove. The unicorn stirred slightly, but then she just murmured and pulled the sheets up over her head.

I frowned and looked from one side to the other, my eyes staring at the bar at the bottom of my field of vision. I’d come a considerable distance I had thought to get this far, yet I couldn’t see any additional blips to suggest where either Windfall or Cestus were. I could feel that tangled little knot of worry starting to get bigger.

For a moment, I thought about waking the unicorn in order to determine if she might know something about where the two of them were. I discarded the notion though. As tightly wound as she was around me, that might not go so well if she woke up to find me standing over her. Given what she’d been doing around me these last few nights, part of me wondered if the unicorn hadn’t gone further off the deep end than I was. She hated me enough to fantasize about killing me, but would strip me down and mount me.

I was crazy, but even I wasn’t quite that far gone…

A little bit more searching wouldn’t hurt anything. Windfall and Cestus had to be around here somewhere. Maybe having a bite to eat? The two of them might even be outside. The Pegasus was enough of a bleeding heart when she was of a mind that she may have even talked the younger stallion into helping her bury those stable ponies. That was a task that would take days to accomplish in its entirety, to be sure; but the flier might have at least wanted to take care of the younger foals.

So I took myself up to the stable’s atrium in an effort to wind my way to the kitchens and check for any sign that they’d at least been there recently. I didn’t make it quite that far though. The moment I set my first hoof into the stable’s premiere common area where the four of us had eaten last night, I came to a dead halt. The little bundle of worry and apprehension that my brain had been nursing all of this time rebounded in on itself as it collapsed beneath the weight of the sheer terror and grief that fell upon my thoughts.

I wasn’t prepared for this. How could I have been? While it was true that there had always been that tiny little part of my mind that had always known about the threats and the dangers that I could run into while I was out and about in the Wasteland; the infrequency with which they came up allowed those thoughts to be routinely overlooked. It was to the point that I rarely considered guarding against them specifically.

Wandering into a New Republic military patrol. I was a wanted pony where that nation was concerned, and they did send groups of soldiers out routinely to scout for signs of dangerous groups that were moving into the valley. They didn’t necessarily go out with the intent of exterminating those groups, as was evidenced by the gangs that still thrived in the ruined city just beyond their capital in the heart of Seaddle. However, they did still put feelers out for new threats, or to track the movements of their familiar enemies; like the Steel Rangers.

Because those sorts of ponies and ourselves were constantly crisscrossing through the Wasteland, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that we could run into each other. It was even possible that if we met with such a group that at least one of them would recognize us for who we were and engage us. Our merry little band was hardly ready to tangle with armed professional soldier types. If something like that were to happen, it could go badly for us, and I inherently knew that.

Yet I didn’t take any active measures to mitigate such an encounter; relying instead on the weight of probability to simply swing greatly in our favor. The Neighvada Valley was a big place, and those sorts of patrols were infrequent and needed to cover a vast area. The chances that our two groups might come within sight of each other was remote, at best.

Not that the New Lunar Republic was the only such group that might cause problems for us if that found me. The Finders were up there too, though they were far lower on that list of probable encounters; given how far away we were from anyplace even remotely related to Hoofington. Though, I suppose, in hindsight, I should have kept my mind open to the much greater likelihood of meeting others out here. It wasn’t like I hadn’t known that certain ponies were actively looking for me. I just never conceived that they’d find me out in the middle of nowhere like this.

Or that they’d come at me so indirectly.

White Hooves had been here, in this stable, last night. It was stupid of me, unforgivably so, to think that they wouldn’t have followed me here, to this place. A group of them had ambushed us out in the middle of fucking nowhere just last night! I had taken Windfall’s report of a clear Wasteland for granted. I should have known better! The Pegasus wasn’t experienced with their tactics and training; she wouldn’t have even known what to be looking for where a scout was concerned.

Now they’d found us, and left a calling card.

My eyes traced over every inch of the massive white mural that had been painted onto the floor of the atrium. Unlike some instances I had seen in the past, this depiction of the grinning white pony skull which was the symbol of the White Hooves had been created with great care. Somepony had taken their time to make certain that the image was evenly mirrored across its center, and its edges smooth. In its own little way, the neatness with which it had been created was part of the message that it was supposed to convey.

The rest of the message was the barding and weapons in the middle of mural. Windfall’s barding and weapons.

Oh, Celestia…please, no…

My hind legs gave out from beneath me as I gaped at the meticulously crafted tableau. Every part of it telling me about what had happened and what I was supposed to take away from this.

For it was not just the skull and horseshoes that had been very carefully laid out, the artist taking their time to make it. The barding and weapons too had been very neatly arranged. From where I was, I saw no sign that it had received any recent damage in a fight. It had either been removed consensually, or taken off of an unconscious pony that was incapable of resisting. The weapons as well had been stripped and laid out in pieces. A sign of somepony taking their time, with no sense that things needed to be rushed.

There was even a method to the arrangement of the pieces of the weapons and the barding that had been laid out over the painted image. They came together to spell out a single word and a letter: ‘come. W’.

Whiplash had Windfall, and she was using the pegasus as bait to draw me in to her. She’d tried doing this subtly in Seaddle, and more directly last night. Both attempts had failed, and now she was done trying to come after me directly. She was now trying to get me to come of my own accord.

It was going to work, too, wasn’t it? I was going to go…

Sounds like somepony’s getting sentimental in their old age, the Whiplash that lived in my head mused.

None of what happened was Windfall’s fault. Your problem is with me, and that’s how it should stay. You shouldn’t have involved her in this.

I had to get your attention somehow, the yellow earth pony mare shrugged, speaking as though the figment of my imagination had actual insight into the mental processes of the pony off of which my psychosis had based her likeness, you never call, you never write…How’s a mare supposed to know you care?

You know I’m going to come for you now, I seethed at the little yellow pony. I’m going to tear you down and burn everything you ever cared about to the ground. When I’m done, you’ll have nothing left.

I’m hearing a lot of lip flapping. I’m not seeing a lot of action.

Oh, don’t worry about that. You will.

It was time I went home and settled this little family matter, once and for all.

I was going to need help to do it. Foxglove wouldn’t be a whole lot of help in a direct confrontation, but a second set of eyes was never to be discounted. It would be a trick to talk Cestus into helping, probably. If he was a mercenary though, I might be able to buy his support.

If I could even find him.

Where had he even been while all of this was going down? Somepony had been here for hours last night painting this room and positioning Windfall’s gear. He wasn’t in any of the rooms, so he hadn’t been asleep anywhere in the stable. He’d still have been awake when Windfall returned; and while the Pegasus had suggested that they weren’t going to spend any time together in an intimate fashion that night, I saw no reason they wouldn’t have talked together for some time. They should both have been awake when the White Hooves arrived.

How could that pony have missed out on two White Hoof intrusions in as many nights? The chances of something like that were…

…too good to be a coincidence, I realized.

Cestus was involved, he had to be. It explained too much for it to be anything else. It was why he wasn’t around the other night when the White Hooves attacked. He’d been that sixth red bar that I’d seen in the opening minutes, even though only five ponies had ever shown themselves in the actual fight. When he’d seen that things weren’t going to work out, he’d shown up at the last moment to get in a final kill and keep his cover intact. Now he was nowhere to be found; and Windfall had been taken without a fight. Who better to get the drop on the flier than somepony she was having amorous feelings for?

No wonder he’d suddenly gotten so much more conversational with the pegasus! He’d been setting the stage for this as a backup plan!

I decided that I was going to hold off on thinking too much about exactly how likely it was that Scratch had known he was sending a White Hoof agent along with us. One betrayal at a time was more than enough; and there was plenty else to think about that was of a more immediate concern.

It was time to wake Foxglove up. We had a lot of work to do today.

For the second time that morning, I depressed the button that opened the door to the unicorn’s temporary quarters. This time, though, I was not so subtle about my intrusion. I reached around the wall and slapped the panel that would illuminate the room. The sound of my hoof hitting the buttons, and the sudden brightness that pierced through her eyelids caused the unicorn to shoot bolt upright in her bed in a tangle of sheets and limbs.

“Huh-bu-whu-?” she looked around frantically as her brain began to sift through the sudden onslaught of external stimuli. Then her eyes focused on me, “Jackboot?!”

My, wasn’t that a fascinating mixture of fear and surprise she was using to greet me this morning? I didn’t have time for her bipolar treatments though. I needed her focused and concerned with more pressing matters. So I ignored the eldritch lance that zipped to her side with its glowing tip, and merely said, “Whiplash has Windfall. Get your stuff.”

I turned and left the stunned mare blinking in bed as her mind tried frantically to digest that new information. To the unicorn’s credit, only a few seconds passed before I heard her hooves clattering across the floor as she burst out into the corridor. She’d even left her lance behind, “wait, what? What are you talking out?”

“Cestus was a White Hoof. He’s taken Windfall to my sister,” I wheeled on the mare, “so, bags: packed. Now,” the stallion could only have a lead of a few hours on us. The sooner we were on our way, the less time that Whiplash would have to prepare for our arrival. My sister was going to have plenty of advantages as it was without the benefit of time to cement them.

“Cestus…? I don’t understand,” Foxglove insisted, shaking her head, “how did this happen?”

“We can talk on the way,” I growled at the unicorn. We didn’t have time for this! I wasn’t about to spend hours laying everything out for the mare. We’d have plenty of time to lay everything out while we walked. If we left now and pushed ourselves, we could be in the heart of White Hoof territory by late afternoon. Maybe we’d even make up enough ground to all but catch up to Cestus and Windfall. He couldn’t be moving too fast with a burden like her weighing him down.

I was about to turn away again and head back to the atrium to gather up Windfall’s things when Foxglove began asking further questions, “but-”

Oh, for—there was no time! I wheeled on the mare and screamed at her, “shut up! Either get your fucking saddlebags packed right now, or let me know I’m doing this on my own. Which will it be?”

The unicorn backpedaled considerably at my outburst. It took her a moment to recover from her shock, but the mare did eventually nod. I presumed that meant that she was opting to come with me, so I turned away for the final time and returned to the atrium to gather together Windfall’s effects.

It was not an easy task, emotionally. There was a cold pit in my gut as I gathered up the flier’s barding and carefully began to stow it away in my bags. A lot of questions that I couldn’t hope to answer were floating through my head: was she alright? Did she know what was going on? Did she know that I was coming to get her? Because I was absolutely going to.

Though, getting there was going to be the easy part. I’d grown up in this valley. White Hoof territory had been my home. It wouldn’t take a lot of traveling before I started to come across landmarks that I recognized and found my way to the primary settlement that was the heart of my old tribe; and where Whiplash was undoubtedly going to be waiting for me. After that, finding Windfall shouldn’t be altogether difficult. My sister wouldn’t be hiding the Pegasus from the public. A pony like that was a rare prize, and word would get around the camp about where she was being held.

Getting Windfall out, along with the both of us…that was going to be no simple feat. Fighting our way out against hundreds of White hooves wasn’t going to be an option. Nopony was that good of a fighter, not even me. Sneaking out without being noticed wouldn’t be much easier. Whiplash would be keeping a close eye on the Pegasus. Even getting her free would cause at least a small ruckus.

Unless, of course, there was a much bigger ruckus that kept everypony’s eyes looking somewhere else.

Foxglove would make for a nice distraction, the Whiplash in my head mused, and the best part is that when she’s gone, you and Windfall can go back to the way things were. The good life.

As tempting as that thought might have been, it wasn’t going to be nearly that simple. Whatever we used as a distraction had to be something that was going to draw Whiplash’s eye and keep her attention. However, I could think of few things that my half-sister would focus on so intently that she let other concerns fall by the wayside. In fact, there was really only the one thing that came to mind.

Was that really how I wanted to do this?

Not that there were really many other options. Whiplash was a problem that wasn’t just going to go away; and I’d resolved that I wasn’t going to just pack up and run when things got a little rough. Not that this was a situation that could be called a ‘little rough’ with a straight face, I guess. I needed to start dealing with obstacles so that they didn’t just come back to bite me in the ass later; or the ass of the pony I cared about. If I left Whiplash alive, it would only be a matter of time before something like this happened again.

She had to die, and I had to be the one to kill her.

You act like this is personal.

It was always personal. I just kept putting it off. No more.

I finished packing away Windfall’s things, and then I set my saddlebags aside. Just one more thing to take care of before I got down to business.

I brought up my pipbuck and started tapping at the screen.

Foxglove probably didn’t know what to make of me when she finally arrived in the stable’s atrium. She’d never seen me like this before. Well, I guess I had perhaps come close to this sort of state a couple months ago when that pair of White Hooves had stumbled upon us. Some fast talking and a working knowledge had saved us then; but I think that had been the start of Foxglove’s feelings of growing animosity towards me. I had gone from being some generic asshole whose abrasive personality was just a product of the rough and tumble Wasteland life to a member of a feared tribe with a long list of atrocities tucked under his saddle.

She was likely being reminded of that all over again right now.

A laypony who didn’t know any better might look at the markings on a White Hoof and conclude that they were haphazardly slathered on in a fashion that made the warrior look ‘fierce’ or because that warrior though the designs looked ‘cool’. This couldn’t be further from the truth. Painting our bodies was a ritual borne of centuries of tradition dating back to those first decades after the world ended.

Back then, when ponies were just starting to get the hang of learning to survive in that new world born of balefire and megaspells, it was hard to know the capable ponies from those who had just managed to luck their way through life without really picking up any skills. So, some groups of ponies had taken to illustrating their accomplishments as they wandered the valley. Monsters they'd beaten, years they’d survived, raiders they’d killed; that sort of thing. When they arrived in a settlement, they were wearing their resume right there on their coat. Ponies interested in a suitable mate, or folk looking to hire on a reliable worker could tell what they were getting into.

Eventually, this had evolved into the body painting that defined the White Hooves today. Little things had changed over the years, and a lot of standardization had taken place with regards to the nature and placement of specific glyphs. It might indeed look random to somepony who wasn’t ‘in the know’; but that was the point. It was a code that allowed White Hooves to know instantly if a warrior they met was the genuine article, or just some poser tribal trying to fake their way into the White Hooves. Just like what Foxglove and I were about to do.

Of course, I did know the code; and so my body paint looked like the genuine article. Which was because it was the genuine article. The glyphs I painted onto my sides and face and legs were the ones that I had earned during my tenure with my old tribe, with a few additions that I had rightfully earned since leaving. Hardly any of my rust-colored coat remained once I’d finished doing myself up. Ponies were going to notice me when I arrived.

Which was basically the whole point.

I looked over at the unicorn, who had stopped in the doorway leading into the atrium and was now just staring at me. I waved the mare closer and peered into the bucket of white paint that I’d been using. The same bucket that Cestus must have used to paint the White Hoof emblem on the floor of the room, given that it had been sitting nearby. I should have enough left to give Foxglove some fitting glyphs of her own.

The violet mare stepped all the way into the room, her eyes darting from myself to the large white mural painted on the floor near where I was sitting, “it’s true, isn’t it?” she asked, clearly not having really believed what I had told her until just this moment, “they took her?”

“It was Cestus,” I informed the unicorn, “he was a White Hoof the whole time,” at the mare’s slightly dubious expression, I added, “how long had he been gone for that ‘piss’ before we were attacked last night?”

“Well, I mean,” the unicorn began, but her voice trailed off, and then, “shit! But why take Windfall?”

“Because he and Whiplash think I’ll come for her.”

“And we are, right?” the mare prompted, “that’s why you’re doing all of…this?” she gestured at the paint slathered over my body.

I nodded, “and now it’s your turn. Strip.”

“What?”

“Your barding. Off,” I motioned at the mare’s garb, “we need to look like White Hooves, and ain’t no White Hoof ever worn anything like that. We don’t have a need for all those tools. So take it off and I’ll paint you up.”

Foxglove frowned slightly, but she did remove her harness full of pouches and pockets. I motioned for her to stand up erect and I got out the paint brush. I stared at the mare for a few long moments as I thought about what I was going to do for her. I couldn’t just smear on a litany of accomplishments and call it ‘good’. A White Hoof’s markings told a story. So what was hers going to be?

The unicorn started to fidget uncomfortably under my scrutiny. It probably didn’t help that I was spending a lot of time focusing on the drooping flower that emblazoned her flank. A cutie mark was the natural sign of budding maturity in a pony. As a result, it was from here that all of a White Hoof’s glyphs emanated. Her story too was going to start from here. It also had to be a believable story. If I painted the mare as a bold and fierce warrior, she’d be spotted for a phony not long after the tribals noticed her timidity and flinching.

A little orange earth pony with green eyes and a blond mane whispered into my ear and reminded me that the most believable lies were those which were also the truth.

I dabbed the brush into the can of paint, “you worked on weapons in your stable, right?” I mumbled around the handle.

“What?” Foxglove quirked a questioning brow in my direction. Then replied, "um, yeah, sometimes. Why?”

With a smile, I began tracing out the first of her glyphs, “weaponsmith,” I said around the handle, and then smiled a little more broadly, “mastersmith. You do good work, after all.”

“Thanks…?” the unicorn said a little uncertainly. She was probably a lot more concerned with trying not to move too much and smear the job that I was doing.

“Seduced your mentor and secured his position,” I went on as I traced out the next rune.

“What?! I-it wasn’t like…I did not sleep with him for the job,” she protested.

“Relax,” I assured the mare, “it’s not all about fighting and killing with us. We can appreciate some conniving too.

“You said you hooked up with your Overmare?” I started on the next symbol, “favored by your warchief.”

“We did not ‘hook up’, and what are you doing anyway?” she looked around at my work.

“I’m putting together your cover story,” I informed the unicorn, “hold still,” Foxglove had started to flinch away a good bit once I started painting around her belly. It didn’t seem like it was because she was the ticklish type either.

“Can’t you draw someplace else?” the mare asked nervously.

“These glyphs aren’t where they are by accident,” I told her as I waited for her to settle down so that I could finish up, “certain glyphs have to be certain places. Feats of combat go on your legs, professional accomplishments near your cutie mark, and relationships go near where you would think they do.”

“Why does it matter who I was with? Just skip it,” Foxglove insisted.

I sat back and looked flatly at the unicorn, “you’re an attractive unicorn who’s about to walk into a camp full of horny warriors on the prowl for any mare he can get his hooves on to bear his foals. They’ll keep their distance if they think somepony with a lot of pull already called dibs on you.

“Unless you’re in the market for a special somepony…”

“Fine!” the mare said through gritted teeth, “just…watch yourself down there,” I rolled my eyes and went back to work, “I should have figured all the stallions in your tribe were rapists,” she said under her breath.

“Oh, it’s not just the stallions,” I assured her. At her surprised look, I added, “our mare warriors like to know they’re at the top of the pecking order too. We have stallion slaves, and not all of them are looking to take on a White Hoof wife.”

“So it’s your whole society that’s fucked up. Great.”

“I’m not much of an advocate for my old tribe these days,” I said as I finished up the third glyph and allowed Foxglove to relax a little bit as I moved to her withers, “but it’s a way of life that’s let the White Hooves thrive for two hundred years.”

“There are other ways to live.”

“I’m not saying there aren’t,” I shrugged as I thought of the next act in Foxglove’s life, “joined with a band against a rival warchief,” I started painting.

“What? Oh, right, the mutiny,” her ears drooped, “are you going to add that I got exiled too?”

“I don’t have to say how it went,” I assured her, “it’s enough to know that you’re willing to try and take power when it’s within your grasp. Shows determination and a thirst for more from life. White Hooves respect that.”

Next I moved down to her forelegs, “let’s not forget taking vengeance against somepony that wronged you,” I added as I painted a glyphs that would tell of her dealings with Tommyknocker, “and then there’s that hell hound, numerous raiders, those black bug ponies at McMaren,” I stood back from Foxglove when I’d finished with her legs and admired my work.

Then I looked up at her face, “I know this isn’t what you want to hear: but you’re actually coming across as a pretty impressive White Hoof,” I flashed her a brief grin, “it’s not too late, I can still rub out that whole ‘favored’ bit. With glyphs like these, stallions wouldn’t just be after you for your looks. They might even try to genuinely woo you instead of risking being killed when they tried to take you by force…”

“I’m good. Thank you,” the mare deadpanned with an unamused expression on her face.

“Are you sure? I’ll bet they’ll give you some really nice things.”

“Are we done?”

I allowed myself a little chuckle as I dabbed the brush into the can of paint one more time, “almost. Close your eyes,” the mare frowned but complied. I then set about putting the finishing touches around her muzzle and brow. Intelligence and loyalty. I wasn't shy about admitting that she was the smartest pony that I'd ever met, and while she probably wouldn't piss on me if I was on fire, she was ready to march into the middle of a camp full of White Hooves for Windfall, “alright. That’ll do it.”

“Am I a pretty pony yet?”

“Close,” I fished my black jacket out of my saddlebags. I then took my knife and made a few deft slices that removed its sleeves. It hurt to have to nearly destroy this jacket, but sacrifices needed to be made. When my alterations were complete, I tossed it at the mare, “put this on so nopony sees that you don’t have a brand,”

The mare picked up the clothing with her magic, sniffed at it and wrinkled her nose, “laundry much?”

I rolled my eyes, “just put it on,” when she did, I took a step back and admired my work, “there, now you’re passable,” though the truth of the matter was that the unicorn did make for a very distinguished White Hoof now; and I’d hardly needed to twist the truth of her life at all. Every glyph was genuine. Or, at least, as genuine as I could make it using paint. Real White Hooves didn’t actually use paint to color themselves. It was traditionally a paste that was made from the oils of several plants and ground up bones. Some went so far as to use the bones of their enemies, but any bone was perfectly fine. I had neither the time nor the resources to do that though, so paint it was.

That was the end of the frivolity that I was going to allow myself though. We’d wasted enough time making preparations. It was time now to get moving before we lost any more ground on Cestus, “you should sling your lance and the rifle,” I affixed my knife sheath and the holster for my new 10mm. Full Stop was going to stay with my bags. We couldn’t show up unarmed—that wasn’t a very White Hoof thing to do—but I wasn’t going to go in completely prepared for a fight either. If it came down to that…well, we would be dead anyway.

I still needed to get my pipbuck off though. I'd tried to remove it earlier, but I guess I wasn't smart enough to outwit the fetlock mounted contraption. Admittedly, I hadn't ever really considered how I would take it off, since it had proven so advantageous. I had just sort of assumed that there was a latch or something that I could manipulate. It turned out that wasn't the case. Hopefully though, Foxglove knew something about this.

“How do I get this off?” I held up my left leg for the unicorn.

Foxglove glanced at the pipbuck, “you need a specialized tool,” she replied. Then it must have occurred to her why I'd asked the question, “I take it that there aren't a lot of White Hooves with pipbucks?” I shook my head in confirmation. The violet mare bit her lower lip and she turned her attention to her barding full of tools, “this...will be interesting.”

I frowned at the mare, “can't you just improvise?”

“Technically?” her tone suggested that she wasn't entirely convinced of this, “I mean, I could just use my lance to chop it into pieces, but I assume that you want to be able to use that pipbuck again, right?” I did in fact want to leave the device in one piece, “it's just...the latch can be tricky,” her horn started glowing and several tools floated into the air.

She looked at me, “hold still, this might end up hurting.”

I instantly retracted my hoof, “what?”

“The process involves a direct interface with the electrical system, but I don't have a way to do that properly,” I noticed a spark battery floating into the air as well, “so I'm going to try to mimic what needs to happen so that the pipbuck thinks it's being properly removed and opens up.”

I took a deep breath and held my leg once more, “fine,” I did avert my gaze though. Something told me that my stress level was only going to increase the more I watched what the unicorn was going to be doing. None of the tools that she'd taken out yet looked like they were the sorts of implements to be applied gently.

Indeed, I very soon felt my leg jerking in time with several loud metallic sounds. I winced in anticipation a few times as I expected to feel some rather severe discomfort should the unicorn miss. To her technical credit, the mare didn't. Then there was a period of silence that lasted for several seconds. However, I still felt the pipbuck clamped snugly around my fetlock, so I knew that she couldn't be done. Had something gone wrong and the mare had decided that she couldn't take the pipbuck off after all? That would be a rather serious problem if that was the case.

Just as I turned my head back to the operation in progress, my eyes went wide as I saw the second of two wires being connected between a spark battery and my leg. There wasn't any time to react of course. So all I could do was look on in horror as a brilliant tendril of white magical energy arced into the pipbuck. My hoof felt instantly warmed to the point of near discomfort, and all of the hairs on my body were standing on end.

Instinct finally won out and I reacted to the sight, drawing my leg away as quickly as I could. I gathered the limb protectively against my chest as I glared at the mare, “are you crazy?!”

Foxglove smirked at me, “it worked, didn't it?” the next second, I saw the open pipbuck floating next to her. The unicorn examined the device, “it should still work,” she frowned as she looked closely at a scorch mark and started rubbing at it with her hoof, “these things are pretty tough.”

I rubbed my fetlock and felt my heart starting to slow to a more respectable rate, “right. Anyway...” I turned my thoughts back to the preparations.

I’d made the decision to just leave my bags behind. There was too much in there that suggested I was anything other than a White Hoof. I had the unicorn go through her own bags as well and fish out anything we shouldn’t bring with us. Provisions and medicine could stay, along with some of the relevant ammunition and a couple grenades. We shouldn’t need them for fighting, but as far as ‘distracting’ things went, few events could beat out a well-timed explosion. When everything was sorted and those things that weren’t going to be making the trip with us securely stored away in a locker in the stable, we set out.

“Is there anything I should know about how to act like a White Hoof?” Foxglove asked of me as we left the stable behind.

“If somepony talks down to you, don’t take any of their shit,” I informed the mare, “unless they have as much paint on as I do. Then say something that makes it sound like you respect their opinion, but that you’re not going to be their bitch either.”

“Not bad advice, for an old ass like you,” the unicorn quipped.

A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth, “close; but hold back on the insults. Push back,” I stressed, but then amended, “but push too hard and you’ll be in a fight.

“If you do end up in a fight; it’s not to the death. If you have to take a dive, fine. It’s not like they’ll ever see you again tomorrow,” then I nodded at her markings, “but keep in mind that you look like you’ve been in some big fights before. Give up too easily, and they’ll think those are all fakes. The last thing we want if for them to think you’re a poser.”

“I am a poser,” the unicorn pointed out.

“You probably shouldn’t tell them that,” I frowned at the mare.

“Also,” I went on by way of filling her in on more of the customs of my people, “feel free to ignore anypony who tries to talk to you. You’ve got enough paint that it should put you above most of the warriors there.”

“And if it’s a pony that has more paint than me?”

“Short answers. Don’t agree to anything though. If they tell you to do anything, say you’ll go and clear it with your warchief and leave quickly like you’re going to do just that. There’s a chain of command in White Hoof society, and eveypony respects it.

“If anypony asks who your warchief is,” I added, “point at me if I’m within sight. If I’m not,” I thought for a moment, “tell them it’s Patu, from North Village,” the name and the place were real, which would help with the story. It was unlikely that the pony I’d named was still alive though, as he had been my great uncle and ancient even when I was a young colt. All that mattered was that it sounded like somepony who could be a warchief somewhere.

“Patu? Alright,” then the mare asked, “is there any specific reason why we wouldn’t always be together?”

I glanced at the mare for a brief moment before looking forward again. What I said was, “we’ll need to find Windfall, and we’ll cover more ground if we split up,” what I didn’t say was that at some point one of us was going to be keeping everypony occupied while the other made their escape with the pegasus. The less she knew about my plan, the less she’d be able to reveal to Windfall. Which meant there was less of a chance that the flier could do something stupid and reckless that would fuck it all up.

“What’s the plan when we do find her?”

“Sneak her out while nopony’s looking,” I replied, still not meeting the unicorn’s gaze.

“Wow. So intricate and detailed,” the mare said, frowning.

“The fewer moving parts, the less there is that can go wrong,” I pointed out, “a figured a pony like you could appreciate that.”

“Most things need at least some moving parts,” the mare countered, “like wagons…and viable plans.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“Isn’t your sister expecting us, though? What if this is a trap?”

“It’s certainly a trap; that’s why they took Windfall as bait,” that didn’t seem to make the unicorn feel any better, “but it’s been decades since I left. Very few ponies would ever recognize me after all this time. They’ll just see the paint and not give either of us a second look,” I’d be surprised if Whiplash even recognized me.

“If you say so,” Foxglove didn’t sound convinced, but she didn’t have to be. This was the plan that we were going with, “how long will it be before be we’re in White Hoof territory?”

I glanced off to our right, “oh, not long,” I nodded my head, drawing the violet mare to follow the line of my gaze.

The two of us were looking up the side of a mountain as we walked along a trail that skirted its base. About two thirds of the way up the slope was a small stone construction that was almost invisible against the rocky slope. If you knew what you were looking for though, you could spot the lookout posts with relative ease. It also helped if you knew exactly where they were located anyway. These posts marked the outer boundaries of what the White Hooves considered their ‘home territory’. While the painted ponies tended to regard any part of the Wasteland that couldn’t resist their warriors as being ‘theirs’ by right of conquest, those places were never really regarded as being ‘home’.

At the end of the day, the White Hooves always clung to their little corner of the valley that had been theirs since the day that the balefire had burned the world. This was the region we now found ourselves in after a few hours of walking from the stable. Our arrival had not gone unnoticed either. Somepony was coming down the side of the mountain at a leisurely pace. The lookout on duty at the little observation post on their way to greet a couple of returning follow warriors.

And to vet us, of course; and make sure we weren’t impostors looking to spy for the NLR or some rival tribe.

I nodded for Foxglove to stop, just as I had, “remember what I told you: give as good as you get, and think of yourself as somepony of note. You’ll have more paint on you than they will,” well regarded warriors weren’t the sorts that drew duties on the farthest reaches of the tribe’s lands.

As the White Hoof approaching us grew near, I saw that it was a spear-armed unicorn mare sporting a coat of the darkest gray that it could probably be before being considered straight jet. Her mane was a fiery orange and red mixture of strands that fell over the left side of her face. Red eyes twinkled as she drew nearer to us, “howdy! Didn’t know a patrol was due in today…”

There was a brief flash of light from the cinderblock wall of the observation post up the mountain. Daylight reflecting off of the scope of a rifle. A shooter waiting for a signal from this mare that we weren’t who we seemed to be.

Foxglove fidgeted ever so subtly. I was close enough to notice, but hopefully the other painted unicorn hadn’t. If Foxglove got the two of us killed before we even get there…I sighed inwardly. Outwardly, I glowered at the approaching unicorn, “if there is, we ain’t it,” I said to the mare, not hiding my irritation. After all, I was a highly decorated warrior many years her elder. Talking to her long enough to just say ‘hello’ represented a colossal waste of my time, “just going home.”

“Oh?” the mare came to a stop a few yards away from us and sat down. Far enough back from us that she didn’t run the risk of getting in the way of the shot from her companion further up the slope, “where’re you coming from?”

I narrowed my eyes at the mare, “east, you stupid bitch. Didn’t your worthless piece-of-shit father ever teach you basic directions?”

The mare flushed at the retort, and returned a reproachful glare of her own. I saw her eyes tracing out the artwork that I’d painted over my face and legs. Though the unicorn tried to hide it, I could tell that she was a little impressed with my record. She clearly recognized the work as being genuine at least.

While her own record hardly compared to mine, it was notable enough given her far fewer years. Just over a dozen kills in one-on-one combat, several deep range patrols into enemy territory, she’d even taken a lover or two by force. No foals yet, but she’d probably been taking measures to avoid that given how driven she seemed to be to carve out a name for herself with that sort of record. She was bucking to make warchief, and taking a year or two off to raise some foals would push her timetable back a good bit.

My eyes narrowed at the glyphs painted onto her sides and flank. Something was familiar about them…and her red eyes. Oh, horseapples. This…might not actually be a bad thing after all. It would certainly speed things up where our validation was concerned. Foxglove might be a problem, but I could work around her if I needed to.

“Had a tussle or two since we met near Seaddle, eh?” I gestured towards her legs, “there’s at least one new mark on there. I guess you might be useful for more than choking on a cock after all.”

The mare’s eyes went wide at the abrasive comment, and then they narrowed as she leaned in closer to get a good look at me. Recognition dawned on her face a few seconds later, “grandpa!”

“That’s Patu to you, cock-sheath,” I growled at the unicorn, making her flush once more. The mare mumbled something that might have been an apology and then her spear bobbed in the air a couple times. There was another brief glimmer from up the mountain as the rifle was taken off of us.

The dark gray unicorn was a fair bit more differential than she had been back in the ruined little town where we’d first met several months ago. Back then I’d been just some pony that she’d come across in the Wasteland that claimed to be a White Hoof and engaged in a little verbal sparring. Now I was done up as a proper White Hoof warrior, wearing my accomplishments and my standing for all to see. I was her superior and deserving of her respect unless I gave her leave to verbally jab at me as an equal.

Which, as much as I had enjoyed the exchange back then, was something I might be amenable to doing. If nothing else, it would help to cement me into the right state of mind before I set hoof in a settlement where I wouldn’t necessarily be the most decorated warrior there and would be expected to talk a decent game.

In fact, there were a few advantages to having this mare with us beyond this point. She’d be able to vouch for me. Even though everything I’d told her about myself during our first encounter had been a lie, this unicorn was still a pony that would be willing to testify to my identity as a true White Hoof to anypony we met that was dubious despite my paint and my brand. An advocate was something that might come in handy.

“That’s more like it,” I nodded at the unicorn, “now do you have a name? Or are you going to let me keep calling you ‘cock-sheath’ all day?”

The mare looked up at me, and I saw a glimmer of delight in her ruby eyes. Bothering to ask her name was a sign that I respected her even a little. High praise coming from a warrior of my level, “Sica.”

“And who did you piss off to get stuck out here staring at dirt all day, Sica?”

“Actually,” the mare’s smile broadened, “I am just returning from a patrol. I was just chatting up the sentries while I took a rest. If you need somepony to help you get your old joints all the way back to the main camp, I could be persuaded to come along…”

I snorted at the mare, though I was genuinely amused at her testing of the verbal waters. I’d asked for her name, which was a significant first step in accepting her as a warrior. Would I let her jab at me too? This was the unicorn’s lucky day. I craned my head around, making as though I were trying to get a look at her hind quarters. Then I smiled, “it ain’t much, but I think I could stand to stare at that for a few hours,” I said with a shrug, “so sure. Get your crap, and hurry. I don’t want to turn to dust waiting for some whelp to overpack her saddlebags.”

The unicorn grinned, her eyes twinkling, “sure thing; wouldn’t want to let some senile old fart get lost out in the Wasteland on his first day back!” she spun around and just about bounded up the mountain.

Once she was out of earshot, Foxglove leaned in close, “are you crazy?!” she hissed rather loudly such that it basically didn’t qualify as a whisper anymore; even though that seemed to be how she intended it, “why would you want to bring a real White Hoof along?!”

I glanced over at the mare, “I’m a real White Hoof,” I pointed out drolly.

“You know what I mean! She could figure us out.”

“Relax,” I assured the panicking mare, “she knows I’m the real deal. Besides,” I added with a wry smile, “she’s hardly going to rat me out before she’s had the chance to fuck me.”

Foxglove’s expression blanked, “I beg your pardon.”

“She’s been flirting with me since we met,” at the violet mare’s mild look of disgust, I grimaced and rolled my eyes, “believe it or not, I’m a pretty good catch where White Hoof mares are concerned.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“You’ll be able to take her word for it soon enough,” I mused as I noticed that the gray unicorn was already making her way down the side of the mountain back towards us. She wasn’t wasting any time, that was for sure.

“Have you forgotten that Windfall’s life is on the line?” Foxglove hissed, keeping her eyes on the approaching mare as well.

That sobered me up, “no, I haven’t. This will help us get closer to where Whiplash is keeping her though, trust me,” if I was going to learn anything about what was going on in the settlement, I needed connections; and I didn’t have any that I could use. The moment anypony found out I was Jackboot, the jig was up and we were fucked. I’d have to use this mare’s contacts if I was going to hear about anything that was going on. At least I already had the established story—so far as Sica was concerned anyway—of having been in deep cover in the Republic for several years. She’d tell me whatever I wanted to know, even if it sounded like something I should be aware of, without thinking twice about it.

“I don’t trust you as far as I can buck you,” Foxglove said under her breath, “but Windfall did. You better remember that.”

“She’ll be fine, and so will you,” I assured the mare just as quietly. If there was anything more that the violet unicorn wanted to say, she had run out of time though. Sica had returned, dressed in her bags and barding. Her spear was slung across her back in a simple carrier.

The dark mare flashed a grin at me, “we’re wasting daylight, Patty.”

I cocked a smile in her direction and rose up onto my hooves, “I don’t start walking until I have something worth walking towards. So gut that rump of yours where I can see it,” I jerked my head in the direction we needed to travel.

Sica complied and trotted out ahead. She looked back over her shoulder and winked, “I’ll keep close; I know how you horny old stallions tend to lose your sight,” she then resumed facing forward and kept up a gingerly pace that put a very enticing spring into her step. All joking aside, I was rather enjoying the view. Foxglove was far less amused by the whole affair.

“You couldn’t have chosen a better time to come back,” Sica announced over her shoulder as we walked, “Whiplash has been a complete bitch for months; but not anymore!”

“Oh?” any news I could get about my sister was something that I was very eager to hear, “what had her tail in a twist?”

“I don’t know all the details,” the gray mare admitted, “but I guess somepony that really pissed her off came back into the valley. Ponies that were there when she found out about it told me she completely flipped her shit. She called a whole bunch of her older warchiefs into her tent and killed all of them right then and there.

“She’s always been crazy,” Sica said with a mild shiver, “but this is something new.

“Anyway, so her son just came through, like, a few hours ago with some pegasus bitch. Said she was close to this pony Whiplash wants, and that he’ll come for her.

“Even if that pony doesn’t show up—and I don’t think he will, honestly,” the unicorn added as an aside, “I bet Whiplash’ll be happy enough to throw that mare into the pit even if she just thinks it’d fuck with this guy.”

“Her son?” Whiplash had had a foal? Then the rest of what Sica had said caught up with me, “Cestus…”

“Um, yeah?” the mare confirmed with an amused look, “you couldn’t have been away that long.”

“You’d be surprised,” I mumbled under my breath. More loudly, I said, “you think him getting that pegasus was a waste of time?”

“Totally. The way I figure it, if he was close enough to ‘em to nab the chicken, then why not whack the pony Whiplash wants dead and bring back his head? These games are a waste of time.”

“Sounds like Whiplash wants to kill him herself,” I cracked a wry smile even as I mentally beat myself. Not only had Cestus been a White Hoof agent, he’d been my sister’s son! I could only imagine who the father had been…

“That psycho would think like that,” our guide acknowledged.

“You have an awfully low opinion of your Chief,” I noticed, “and you’re not doing a lot to hide it. I take it a lot of ponies think about her that way?”

I saw the unicorn stiffed slightly at my remarks. She glanced back at me, studying my features for a few moments before she responded, “I mean, I wouldn’t say that stuff anywhere she could hear it, you know? And I’m not saying I wouldn’t follow her orders,” she assured me, now seeming to rethink exactly how open she’d been with what could easily be considered very treasonous statements, “but you have to admit that she’s a little…touchy, at times.

“I mean, you’ve heard about the stuff she does with the slaves, right?”

“Enlighten me. It’s been a while.”

“How she picks out a stallion and brings him back to her tent and makes him fuck her; and then slits his throat just after he finishes?” Sica shivered slightly at the thought, “she’s laughing the whole time too. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

Alright, I had to admit that, yes, that was more than a little bit disturbing. I wasn’t sure how it really made me feel to learn that my dear sibling was at least as far off her mental rocker as I was, if not a good deal more. The idea that our insanity might have been an inherited trait wasn’t much of a comfort, that was for sure.

I did like that idea that there were at least some White Hooves that might not be as fiercely loyal to Whiplash as I had feared they’d be. Considering how fanatically devoted to our father most of the warriors had been, this suggested that there could be some political turmoil that could be exploited somehow. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I was likely to find genuine allies within the camp, but if some of those embers of resentment could be flamed into outright flames of revolt…

It would be very easy to get Windfall out of there if everypony was too busy fighting for control over the tribe.

Let’s test the waters on that notion, “Whiplash is a pale shadow of her father,” I nodded at our escort, “things would be better with one of the other warchiefs in charge.”

Sica glanced back at me and held my gaze for a few seconds, her ruby eyes glimmering. She flashed me a warm smile, “you sound like my father. He went on for years how the tribe was going downhill ever since Steel Bit and Jackboot died. He’d always say, ‘that stupid bitch should have slit her own throat’,” the mare dropped into a surly imitation of an older stallion as she quoted her parent.

I felt Foxglove’s eyes looking at me, but I didn’t meet them. Frankly, I was just grateful that the violet unicorn had been keeping herself out of the conversation and walking behind us so that she wouldn’t be noticed. It had taken Sica at least a little bit of prompting to get her to recognize me. The last thing I wanted with for our guide to match the violet warrior with me to the demure little slave mare that I’d suggested she was back during our first encounter with Sica.

“So why hasn’t somepony done something about it?” if things were really that bad, surely the warchiefs would have rallied and taken her down.

“Because she keeps the right ponies buttered up,” Sica responded dourly, “as long as the warchiefs keep getting a fresh supply of brood mares and stallions, they don’t care what else she does. They’re the ones you need to watch what you say around, because they want Whiplash to stay in control of things.

“Who knows how long that’s gonna last though,” she added as an afterthought.

“Hmm?”

“It’s getting harder to get slaves these days,” Sica explained, “the NLR has been getting a lot bolder since the Rangers showed up,” she rolled her eyes, “and then there’s the Steel Rangers themselves. We don’t fuck with them much, but they’ll shoot at our raiding parties if they get too close. Makes it hard to operate too far east,” she frowned, “and all of the closer settlements are packing up and leaving.”

“Leaving?”

Sica shrugged, “I guess so. They’re not there anymore. A lot of the places that used to pay us tribute around here stopped. When we sent warriors to find out why, there just wasn’t anypony there.”

That was a little disturbing; considering those same hamlets had endured for decades or more, even under our rule. That they’d just pack up and leave now…and where were they going to go, anyway?

“In any case,” the gray mare went on, “that means fewer slaves, which means no ponies for Whiplash to give to her warchiefs; and that’s going to make them irritable.

“Maybe then something can be done about her,” then there was a sudden shift in Sica’s tone as she grinned back in my direction, “until then, we just have to be her happy little warriors! Like I said, though, she should calm down for a little while now. Maybe there’ll even be a party or something tonight. Food, whiskey, a little…entertainment,” she winked at me and gave a little swish of her tail.

“Oh, brother,” I heard Foxglove mumble under her breath.

It seemed that Sica had heard the other unicorn’s comment as well. She turned her scarlet eyes to the violet mare, and then looked between the two of us, “I’m not stepping on any hooves, am I? I see you and somepony are close…” the unicorn’s eyes traced over Foxglove’s markings; and while the words themselves suggested that she might be respectful of any existing relationship that Foxglove and I might have; her tone was another matter. Sica appeared rather keen on the notion of ‘seducing me away’ from her unicorn rival.

I decided that it was best to beat Foxglove to the punch on this one and started laughing, “ha! Foxfire here’s my niece,” I gave the violet mare a playful little pat on the head, “she just think’s I’m too old to be fooling around with a filly like you.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m no filly,” Sica insisted. Then she looked at Foxglove, “have you ever tried out an older stallion?”

“She has actually,” I answered for the unicorn, earning me a glare that could have been easily been described as 'murderous'. I grinned at her, relishing the deathly stare. Little did she know that I was helping to build her credibility, “why don’t you tell Sica about your mentor when you were just starting out as a smith?”

“Ooh, a smith, huh?” The gray mare was keenly interested now, “I love a stallion with a strong back,” she purred, “they just go on forever…”

Foxglove flushed and looked away. Figuring now that perhaps the unicorn had learned to keep her comments to herself unless she wanted to be drawn into more of these little exchanges, I took control of the conversation back, “so what else have I missed while I’ve been away? Do we at least have the two scorpions in that pit?”

“Just got a third one last year,” Sica informed me, delighting in the prospect of sharing more stories, “you should have been there to see the struggle trying to wrangle that bastard. It’s the biggest one we’ve ever had!”

This…felt nice. I hadn’t really figured myself for the type that would get roped into feelings of nostalgia, but here we were. For the next few hours, I was caught up on nearly every major even that had happened within the White Hooves since about the time that I had left he valley. Sica was full of details of most of the happenings of the last few years; but I received only vague details about older events. Hard to fault the mare for that, since she’d only been a filly then.

Finding out that this unicorn was easily young enough to be my daughter earned me some additional glares from Foxglove as I continued to flirt with her. Given what I knew about the violet unicorn’s past though, she didn’t have a hoof to stand on; so it was easy to shrug off.

We reached sight of the capital settlement of the White Hooves before darkness even started to creep into the sky. For Foxglove, the looming sprawl of tents and thin-walled shacks instilled within her a growing sense of unease. It was clear that she was beginning to rethink this whole notion of mine. We were about to walk into a place where she was going to be surrounded by a caliber of pony that wouldn’t think twice about doing very unspeakable things to her if anypony got a look beneath the leather jacket she wore and saw that there was no brand there.

Seeing this from the outside was…odd. Normally, I was the one that maintained a perpetual state of dread while walking around; and for very much the same reason. I was always a wardrobe malfunction away from a great deal of heartache. A fear that had even come to pass that one time. Perhaps this would garner me at least a mote of sympathy from the violet unicorn. What she was feeling right now? That was how I felt all the time, every day I set hoof near other ponies in this valley.

It probably didn’t help the mare’s anxiety level to know that her recent would-be rapist was the only pony that she could trust here; and that I was ultimately going to be the only one that could keep her safe. If Foxglove thought she was uncomfortable now, then she couldn’t imagine how thankful she should be about the glyph I’d painted on her that announced her attachment to somepony else. It was doubtful she’d do well rejecting suitors in a place like this.

“Is there somepony you need to report to?” Sica asked as we approached the front gate of the settlement. Several of the warriors on duty noticed our approach and straightened up as though they had been taken their assignments seriously for the entirety of their shifts. Their postures straightened even more so as we grew near enough for them to get a good look at the volume of paint that graced my coat.

“Nope,” I informed the mare, “but I could do with a meal,” I eyed the unicorn, “anything you’d like to recommend?”

The mare’s eyes twinkled, “I know sompony that makes some mean fried leeks.”

“Sounds good to me. Lead on.”

We reached the guard post and paused as Sica made our introductions. I shared an ‘I told you so’ look with Foxglove as the White Hoof unicorn’s presence made the cursory interrogation a pleasantly painless affair. It looked like Sica was a regular enough sight that these ponies recognized her on sight. She immediately vouched for Foxglove and I. My apparent station, combined with the unicorn’s endorsement, allowed us to be waved on through without a single question about who I was or what I was doing here.

As Sica had predicted, it did seem that the ponies here were preparing for a celebration. Slaves were setting out tables and benches in open spaces that had recently been cleared for them. The air was filled with various aromas as ponies cooked up dishes to be set out for the enjoyment of the tribe. Painted ponies were gathered everywhere, carousing and laughing with one another.

I noticed that Foxglove was looking around at everything with a rather surprised expression on her face. It was as though she couldn’t comprehend of how…normal everypony here was behaving. There were a few sights here and there that one probably would see in the more ‘civilized’ valley settlements—like the slaves and the giant radscorpion pit in the center of the camp—but otherwise it came off as a pretty standard gathering of ponies looking to have a good time.

“You should see this place during the Summer Celebration,” I leaned in and murmured to the violet mare.

“Summer-what?”

“It’s a festival we hold every year,” I informed the unicorn, “some ancient celebration that Old Equestrians had every year. Our ancestors kept the tradition alive. It’s a pretty big deal. Lot’s a fun,” I left out the culmination of that particular observance; which was typically a recently captured pony being set alight in a giant bonfire. The elders of the tribe said it was supposed to be an offering meant to bring back the sun. Given that nopony alive had ever seen the sun, I doubted anypony thought that it was something that was ever actually going to work. They still did it though.

“Great. Does that help us find Windfall somehow?” the unicorn hissed.

“It might,” I countered, “if this is supposed to be because Whiplash thinks I’m on my way, she’s going to want to show off her ‘prize’. Windfall’ll make an appearance at some point.”

“And is that when we’re going to grab her?”

I shook my head, “too many ponies around. We’ll wait until tomorrow morning.”

“What?!” It was clear that Foxglove did not much care for that notion. At least she kept her outburst relatively quiet. Fortunately, Sica was too busy chatting up some passing pony to notice much of our exchange.

“Look at what’s about to happen,” I gestured around at the ponies, “we’d never pull off a rescue tonight without being caught; but in the morning when everypony is sleeping off their hangovers…” I let the idea sink in, and received a very reluctant eye roll from Foxglove as she acknowledged the plan, “all we’ll need to do tonight is watch for where they take Windfall after Whiplash reveals her.”

I would also need to think about how I was going to get myself close to my sister. Of everything I’d yet done to get this far, that would be the hardest trick to pull off. If there was anypony in this place who’d know who I was beneath all of the long years and the white paint, it would be the mare who wanted me dead. More than that, I needed to consider exactly what I would do when I did get close.

My scheming was interrupted by Sica’s return, “three orders of fried leeks,” she announced. Hovering in a scarlet telekinetic field in front of the unicorn was a trio of clay plates, each one heaped high with browned bulbs. Foxglove’s horn started to glow and her own emerald aura crept in around one of the servings.

I left the one that was obviously meant for me in the gray unicorn’s magical grasp and looked around, “let’s grab us a few good seats,” I nodded my head towards an out of the way location that would provide us with a decent view of the center of the camp without making ourselves part of the center of attention.

We wandered over to the table and bench that had been set up but not yet claimed by anypony and sat down. I encouraged Foxglove and Sica to lounge and spread themselves out as much as possible on the seats so that nopony else tried to join us and disturb our small measure of privacy. The gray unicorn mare positively relished the idea and made herself quite comfortable indeed as she leaned up against me. Foxglove took the bench opposite us, but kept most of her attention outward so she didn’t have to watch us flirt. The violet mare certainly found enough to keep her attention occupied as she continually scanned the crowd for signs of Windfall.

If Foxglove thought that my apparent preoccupation with the alluring White Hoof unicorn was a sign that I cared little for the fate of the Pegasus, she’d be very wrong. Windfall was never very far from my thoughts. I was taking a large risk just coming here myself. While the great length of time that had passed since my leaving meant that nopony under the age of thirty could possibly be expected to recognize me; there were plenty of older mares and stallions around that just might if they picked up on enough clues. After all, I had been in the process of consolidating my own power base when my sister had undercut me. That meant that I’d needed to make myself familiar with most of the warriors of the tribe who held any power or clout. Many of those ponies yet lived today; and would be making an appearance at this little get-together.

That looming danger of being recognized was why I was taking pains not to draw attention to myself. Nopony was going to pay too much attention to me while I was lounging around with a pair of young mares as a horny old stallion was want to do. My glyphs would keep younger stallions who might otherwise try to poach one or both mares at a respectful distance. An old decorated warrior like myself would have connections that could cause problems for somepony if they crossed me, after all.

It wasn’t like we were the only such group. From where we were sitting, I could see at least a half dozen other similar cliques coming together. Clusters of ponies consisting of an older mare or stallion surrounding themselves with slaves or younger lovers as they waited for the main attractions to get underway.

In between playful bits of innuendo and alluring promises of pleasures to come, I was keeping an eye out as well. Unlike Foxglove, who knew little about the layout of the camp and so was looking about in just about every direction she could manage, my own attentions went intermittently towards the cluster of large canvas structures where the White Hoof leadership took residence. That was where Whiplash would be living, and the likely place where Cestus would have taken his Pegasus captive.

At some point Sica got her hooves—or more likely her magic—on a bottle of whiskey and was passing it between the two of us. She’d been gracious enough to offer a sip or two to Foxglove as well, but the violet mare had declined. After that, it seemed as though the fiery maned unicorn was content to let it become exclusive to the two of us. I took a sip every time it was offered. Sometimes I even swallowed that sip rather than simply letting the backwash flow right back into the bottle before returning it to the unicorn. Sica didn’t look like she was inclined to hold back tonight.

As the sky grew dark and the festivities began to kick up into high gear, I was starting to wonder just how much formal organization had gone into this thing. I knew that it couldn’t have been much, as Whiplash wouldn’t have known about Windfall’s capture until mere hours before Foxglove and I had arrived. It looked like the ponies here didn’t really care what the reason was, so long as they had an excuse to get as liquored up as possible without getting hassled by their warchiefs for it. I certainly didn’t detect any sort of feeling from the gathering throng of ponies that suggested they were awaiting anything in particular.

That wasn’t to say that some form of main event hadn’t been planned though. This was evidenced by the sudden sounding of a pair of loud horns just as the last tendrils of light died away from the overcast sky. Everypony paused their conversations instantly and all eyes were focused in a singular direction, to include our own. Even Sica was sitting up a little straighter, and wore a semi-serious expression.

It had been the better part of three decades since I’d seen my sister. A fascinating conflict of emotions broiled up within me as she came into view now though. The anger and loathing that I felt for the mare who murdered my father and cast me out of my home tangled themselves in among the shame and regret that I bore for the sibling I’d failed to protect from our sire. I got a hold of those feelings as quickly as I could and packed them away into the deepest part of my mind. None of those things mattered one way or the other right now. Whiplash wasn’t why I was here.

The chained and bound alabaster mare being dragged along behind her was.

I was thankful that Foxglove managed to squelch her aggrieved gasp as Windfall came into view. I felt the same way. Heavy chains had been wrapped around most of the young flier's body, and a black band of fabric was covering her eyes. The pegasus was being dragged along the hard scrabble none too gently. It was clear that the young mare was trying not to give her captors the satisfaction of seeing how uncomfartable she was, but the rough treatment still drew a few barely contained grunts of pain.

Seeing at the young pegasus like this was very hard for me. I didn’t seem to be doing as good a job at hiding it as I thought either. I felt Sica stir at my side as she pulled back and looked at me.

“You alright? You’re very tense…”

I looked at the mare and forced a smile. A couple of deep breaths and I could feel the tightened muscles that had alerted the unicorn begin to relax once again, “sorry,” I said, “I knew her father is all.”

Comprehension dawned in the younger mare’s crimson eyes and she nodded. She snuggled in closer and rested her head up against my neck, “I get it,” she assured me, “I guess that’s why you spend so much time away?”

“Something like that,” I felt the whiskey bottle pressing itself to my lips once more. I took a real sip this time, and then made it a double.

My eyes shifted to Cestus next. He was out of his barding and painted up now. The brown stallion stood beside his prize as though it were some fierce beast that he’d managed to wrestle into submission. The coward. He’d probably ambushed the Pegasus from behind while she was on watch. What a proud warrior he was, to have taken out a filly who’d trusted him.

Whatever I ended up doing to deal with Whiplash, I made a note to dish it out in kind to that bastard too.

A hush went over the crowd as Whiplash came to a halt in their midst. The piss-yellow coat that I’d seared into my memory was as vibrant and lustrous as ever. The lines of the white glyphs traced out on her body were crisp and brilliant. I was rather surprised at how numerous they were too. While it was very common for those in leadership positions within the White Hooves to possess markings that did justice to their stations, I did find it curious that Whiplash should be decorated in such a fashion. Unlike myself, she had not received the training in combat that I had, nor been given the opportunities to prove herself. When I had left, her glyphs related little more than her birth station. Yet, here, she was done up as quite the accomplished leader.

“She’s been busy,” I murmured in Sica’s ear.

The unicorn glanced from me to my sister, and then smirked, “the paint? Funny thing how the Chief gets to decide what is and is not a ‘paintable’ accomplishment,” she scoffed.

I understood now. ‘Gimmie Glyphs’. That explained a few things.

Cestus wore an appropriate density of decorations for a pony his age and position. The chances were decent that everything that he wore had been legitimately earned. A theory that was further evidenced by his position at the head of a quartet of other extensively painted ponies. Whiplash’s personal guard, of which it seemed she had made her son the head.

Her piercing red eyes looked out over the crowd, “my noble warriors,” her crystal clear voice boomed out over the crowd. To my ears, she sounded a good bit younger than I knew her to be. The years had certainly been a lot kinder to my sister than they had to me. Funny how that worked out when I was relegated to trudging through the Wasteland while she remained here in the luxuries that could be afforded to a mare in her position, “today I find myself bringing a mixture of bitter and glad tidings.

“Recently, some of you may have noticed that there was a restructuring of our upper ranks,” I glanced at Sica, and noticed her grimace. Whiplash was likely referring to the slaughter of some of her warchiefs that the unicorn had mentioned earlier, “this was because I learned that they had been deceiving your glorious chief for decades,” this revelation propagated a soft wave of murmuring that washed over the crowd. Whiplash paused and allowed the mumbling to pass before she continued, “they had sworn to me that my brother was dead at their hooves. I learned that this was a falsehood.”

Her crimson eyes flashed over the crowd, “I will not tolerate liars in my tribe. We are White Hooves. We our honest with our actions and our displays of power,” I heard the softest of derisive snorts from Sica. Presumably, there were other ponies in the crowd that felt the same way as the gray unicorn snuggled up against me; though I also noticed a lot of assenting nods and more than a few cheers of agreement; especially from the younger warriors. Likely those who knew nothing of how Whiplash had acquired and maintained her position, “posers lie and bluster. We are not posers.

“So now I learn that my brother yet lives; and may well seek to steal away my right from me,” my sibling continued, “I realize that there are…elements in the White Hooves who might even support him in this,” another fierce glare at the gathered ponies, “they would put at the head of our noble tribe a pony who has been but a common vagrant all these years. A pony no better than the prospector filth that we force to toil for us in the ruins.

“A wretch such as that cannot be a leader of ponies.”

I felt my eye twitch at her statement. While dominion over these ponies wasn’t something I desired any longer, I was not particularly fond of having my capacities questioned like that. Especially not by somepony like Whiplash.

You could always just stand up right here and now and challenge her, the tiny version of my sister that lived in my head suggested, now that you know she doesn’t have as much support as she thinks, maybe you can take over…

That wasn’t what I wanted. Besides, it’s not like Whiplash was the type of pony that would ever honor a direct challenge. She’d go through the motions of accepting and announce a fight to be held first thing in the morning. The trouble with that was that I knew there was no way I would ever live to see that morning. She’d have me killed, probably with poison, and then dispose of my body. When morning came, I would be nowhere to be seen, and she could claim I was a coward who was all words and ran at the first sign of trouble.

“He wouldn’t even come here to face me in honorable combat,” my sister went on. I felt a sudden temptation to stand up right then and there and call her out, despite the danger. If I could undermine her authority enough, maybe I’d have enough support…

“So I was forced to abduct one of his companions to goad that cowardly brother of mine into facing me,” that temptation died a quiet death. Damn her. She wanted me to challenge her, but only on her terms. Whiplash stepped aside and gestured for the Pegasus behind her to be brought up into sight. Cestus kicked Windfall forward before roughly shoving the young mare to the ground and delivering a kick to her side, prompting a pained groan from the flier, and a sneer from me, “look at this pathetic little bird that my brother associates with,” Whiplash spat, “probably some Enclaver trash that even they didn’t want anymore.

“To think there were ponies that thought Jackboot was cut out to run this tribe. He can’t even look after one lost little chicken, let alone the greatest warriors this valley has ever known.”

These statements earned a lot more cheers than her previous ones. Looking around, even those ponies that had seemed to perk up at the news that I yet lived were even starting to nod their heads in agreement. Whatever support I might have had was waning fast. Whiplash was not an idiot. She knew that there was a vein of resentment and insurrection in the White Hooves directed at her, and she was using Windfall to quash it. If I stood up and challenged her now, it would look like I really had just come here for the Pegasus. Which, to be perfectly fair, was why I was here. That didn’t change the fact that I would be without support from even those ponies that hated my sister. Even if I won, I’d still probably be killed by her guards or warchiefs as somepony too weak to really lead.

To say that having both myself and Whiplash dead would leave a little bit of a political mess in our wake was an understatement. Without proper time to make their alliances and consolidate power, the warchiefs would be forced to make open and hasty bids for the leadership of the White Hooves before the tribe simply fractured. It’d be a civil war the likes of which we’d not seen for over a century when the tribe was finally unified. Even in a best-case scenario, it would take years of recovery before the White Hooves could make any outwardly visible show of force to remind the rest of the valley that we still existed.

“Chances are that he won’t even show up for her, being the coward that he is,” Whiplash went on, “and if he does not, then we will simply have to content ourselves with what little entertainment this little bird will provide in the Pit,” that earned a fair number of cheers and a good deal of amused laughs from the audience. My sister bent down and roughly plucked away one of Windfall’s pinions from the flier’s wing, prompting a yelp from the pegasus, “though perhaps we should pluck her first. I’ve always wanted a feathered headdress,” Whiplash purred as she ran the brilliant white pinion across her cheek.

Then her expression abruptly changed as she glared at the quivering Pegasus, “what did you say to me?!”

My ear twitched and I sat up a little straighter as I strained to hear what was being said. I was just able to make it out, “you’re…wrong,” Windfall managed to say in a pain tone, her words coming out in gasps. It seemed that Cestus' kick had done a number on her, “he’ll come for me,” the pegasus glared in what was nearly Whiplash's direction, “and when he does, you’ll all die!”

Whiplash did not seem to care for that prediction very much. She reached down and brought the flier’s head up by her mane, earning another groan from the younger white mare, “he’s a coward,” she hissed at the pegasus, “and he will leave you to die. You’ll know this to be true when my pets are cutting you up into itty-bitty pieces tomorrow morning,” her rebuttal delivered, Whiplash threw the flier back to the ground and commanded Cestus to drag her away. Then she turned back to the crowd.

“When my brother doesn’t show up, I’ll be wanting volunteers to go out and track him down,” she announced, her eyes focusing on the younger warriors, “any who succeed will be well rewarded. See my son in the morning for a description of your target and his known havens.

“In the meantime,” her tone changed rather suddenly to one that was more charming and a broad grin spread across her face, “feast, and be merry! Don’t feed the radscorpions though,” she added, “we’ll need them nice and hungry for tomorrow’s entertainment!”

The crowd was cheering and laughing once more. Conversations started back up as the gathered ponies turned their attention back to their comrades and the exchanged that they’d been enjoying before Whiplash had made her announcements. Some of the tones of the conversations contained a perceivable change though, as the topics shifted to the recent news of my return to the valley. Those few snippets confirmed my fears that whatever support I might have been able to gather together had I shown up months, weeks, or maybe even days earlier, was now all but gone. If the only thing that could get me back here was some Pegasus mare, then I obviously didn’t care to be in charge of the White Hooves anyway.

“Well, at least tomorrow won’t be a total loss,” Sica murmured as she made herself more comfortable against my side, “nothing like a good radscorpion feeding to brighten the mood,” she peered up at me, “want to place a wager on how long she’ll scream?”

I forced myself to smile at the unicorn, “What stakes did you have in mind? I didn’t bring a lot of caps with me.”

The mare’s smile grew, “we can always wager sexual favors,” she suggested playfully, “if I win, you have to fuck me for as long as I want.”

That certainly got my attention, and a disgusted grunt from Foxglove that Sica didn’t seem to notice, “and if I win?”

“You get to fuck me for as long as you want,” the unicorn offered, and then her smile broadened, “assuming you can even get it up anymore.”

I quirked a wry smirk at the mare, “I’m getting kind of tired of all your impotence jokes.”

The mare shrugged, “I guess you’ll just have to put up so I’ll shut up,” her eyes twinkled playfully at me.

“I can think of a few ways to shut you up right here and now, but I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of your friends,” I nodded my head in the direction of the other chatting White Hooves, “I wouldn’t want them to know you can’t handle a real stallion.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but her smile remained, “I can handle whatever you’ve got, grandpa,” her gaze shifted to the other ponies momentarily, “but it doesn’t hurt to play it safe, I guess. I might know somewhere private we can go…” she was getting up now and beckoning me to follow.

Foxglove was gaping at us. I could also detect a hint of fear in her eyes. If I left her alone in this place, and she said or did something wrong…

She wanted me to stay, and turn down the proffer of sex from this White Hoof mare. As much as she despised me, the violet mare did not want me to be far from her side tonight.

Unfortunately for her, that was what was going to need to happen. We still needed to know exactly where Windfall was being held, and I couldn’t risk getting that close to Whiplash. If anypony was going to recognize me in this place, it was going to be her. Foxglove, meanwhile, should be relatively fine as long as she kept to the cover that I’d created for her.

“Grab another bottle for us,” I told Sica, “I’ve got to have a word with Foxfire,” the unicorn pouted at the prospect of a delay in our dalliance, but she nodded and stepped away to fetch us some more whiskey. When we were alone, I leaned in close to the violet mare, “find where they’re holding Windfall. I’ll meet you back here.”

“So, what, I have to risk my life while you fuck around?” she growled, obviously not happy with the arrangement.

“Fine,” I snapped right back in a hushed tone, “I’ll look for Windfall while you fuck her!” that earned a reproachful look, but I pushed right past it, “how else do you want me to get rid of her without causing a scene, hm? I go with her, give her a good rut, tell her I need to use the little colt’s room, and then I meet you back here so we can figure out what to do without her around to overhear us.”

“Like you’re not going to enjoy it,” Foxglove said with a disgusted sneer.

“You’re damn right I’m going to enjoy it,” I shot back under my breath, “a whole lot more than that little dick teasing you gave me last night,” wow, could that mare flush a deep shade of red. She nearly went even more purple than usual when I brought that up, “doesn’t change the fact that this is what needs to happen after all that flirting I did in order to get her to vouch for us. Reneging now is just going to make her suspicious.

“So, yeah, I going with her and I’m leaving you alone. You’re a big filly, you can handle it. So make a ‘see you in thirty seconds’ joke and find our pegasus so we can figure out how to get her out of this place before it’s too late.”

Foxglove frowned at me, and looked like she was about voice another round of objections until I felt somepony brush up against my side and lean heavily into me. Sica had returned, a full bottle of Wild Pegasus floating up in front of my face, “you two done with your pillow talk?”

“Yup,” I affirmed before the violet unicorn could say anything, fixing her with a stern glare. Then my expression softened and I glanced down at the grey mare, “lead on.”

The red-eyes unicorn grinned and immediately started trotting through the crowd. I shot Foxglove a final parting look and strode after Sica. She forged a winding path through the throngs of chatting and laughing White Hooves until we made it into the less crowded outer regions of the settlement. We didn’t go much further before she brought us to a decent sized canvas tent.

Before we stepped inside the mare smiled at me sheepishly and said, “um…let me just clear out a couple of things to make room, okay?” I frowned and nodded at the mare. It wasn’t as though I was really going to mind a little mess, but whatever. The unicorn ducked inside, and I heard the sound of shuffling hooves. Then there was the sound of somepony else talking.

“Huh-wha?” it sounded like another stallion, “Sica, not tonight, alright? I’m tire-whoa, hey! What gives?!”

“Outoutout!” the unicorn was barking as the sound of a brief scuffle ensued, “you’re not sleeping here tonight, Bo! I’ve got company.”

“Company? What do you mean—”

I suddenly found myself face to face with a young unicorn stallion who looked quite familiar. The name rang a recognizable bell as well. This was the other pony that Foxglove and I had encountered when Sica had found us. He blinked when he saw me, realization dawning on him after a few seconds. His expression fell and he looked back over his shoulder at the unicorn mare than was pushing him out, “aww, Sica, come on! Not another one!”

The mare flushed slightly as I craned my head around and gave her a look. ‘Another one’? Exactly how often was she bringing stallions around here? Maybe she would know what she was doing after all. I was okay with that.

“Good bye, Bo,” the gray unicorn mare insisted through gritted teeth, “you can come back tomorrow night, er, no, wait…the bet. A couple nights from now,” she looked up at me, questioningly, “how long can you stay in camp?” she didn’t wait for an answer, “Nevermind. Bo, I’ll let you know when you can come back,” she gave the younger unicorn stallion another little shove further out of the tent. Then she paused to consider something and looked expectantly at me, “unless…do you want to see if I can handle both of you?” Judging from Bo’s grimace, he wasn’t a fan of that notion.

I flashed the mare a wry smile, and then looked at the stallion, “I’ll try not to break her,” I assured him, and then gave the dejected unicorn a pat on the shoulder before stepping past him. To Sica, I said, “suggesting I’d need help doing you right? Your mouth just doesn’t quit, does it?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

I nudged her into the tent with my head and closed the flap behind us. Bo was still sitting there when it came down, “your coltfriend didn’t look too happy,” I noted.

Sica frowned, “he’s not my coltfriend,” she insisted, and then rolled her eyes, “I mean, we’re not exclusive,” another pause, “well, he is. I’m not. Doesn’t stop him from trying to convince everypony else we are though,” she sighed and shook her head, “it’s not that he’s a bad guy, it’s just…”

I closed the distance with the unicorn, wrapping a hoof around the back of her head and yanking on her mane so that her chin was tilted upward. Her surprised yelp was cut off as I placed my lips over hers and took her up in a firm embrace. Sica’s surprise was very quickly replaced by delight as she leaned into the kiss and reciprocated. We held it for a good long while before I finally pulled back. The unicorn tried to lean forward in an effort to extend its duration, but I kept my grip on her mane.

“I thought so,” I murmured. At the mare’s questioning look, I explained, “you’re a lot more attractive when you’re not talking,” she smirked at the comment, “so let’s shut you up, shall we?” I pushed her head downward, noting that I was meeting no resistance at all. As she went to work, I released her mane and squared up my stance over the mare.

She was no amateur, that was for sure; and I was grateful for that. Her rhythm was impeccable, as was the angling of her head as she folded her legs to rest on her belly, thus keeping her horn from doing more than tickle the underside of my stomach. She wasn’t holding back on the tongue either, which was nice of her.

If I wanted to make sure that Foxglove had enough time to carry out her own part of the mission, I was going to have to keep myself mentally occupied or this was going to be over a lot more quickly than I would like. After all of that talking myself up, it would really be a blow to my pride if I couldn’t hold out for longer than some adolescent colt.

I certainly had a lot to think about though, didn’t I?

Windfall, for example. The sight of the tormented Pegasus had hit me pretty hard. She couldn’t have been here for more than a few hours, and yet she’d looked as though she’d been tortured for days. It was probably a miracle that Whiplash hadn’t managed to kill the poor mare. The flier had managed to keep her spirit from breaking at least. Even as scared as she genuinely had to have been, Windfall had found the strength and the will to cut at my sister.

Now it was up to me to make good on the promise that Windfall had made on my behalf.

There were a few options available to me in that regard. Some of them were a bit more desirable than others; but it was the less appealing options that actually offered the greatest chance of survival for Windfall and Foxglove. Trying to do things quietly, without anypony ever being the wiser that we were here was possible. Hard, but possible. The trouble with that course of action was that it was just a stopgap in the end. Whiplash would notice that Windfall was gone, and immediately realize who had to have been behind it. Then we would all be right back where we were, with the White Hooves coming after all of us until one of them finally got lucky.

We had enough to worry about dealing with just the inherent dangers that Wasteland provided without nurturing some of our own making.

My train of thought was broken as I felt Sica pull away. The unicorn was gasping heavily in an effort to catch her breath and wiping at the corners of her mouth to clear away the spittle that had been gathering there. She leaned her head off to the side and looked up at me out of the corner of her eye, “putting up a fight, are we? I usually have a stallion going by now.”

I smiled at the unicorn and reached down with one of my hooves, “maybe you’ve had colts like Bo going,” I jabbed at the mare. I guided her head back beneath me, “I’m just waiting for you to stop acting like a blank-flanked filly that's never seen a cock before and finally do something down there,” with a sense of determination and renewed vigor, Sica once again occupied herself while I resumed my examination of my options where Windfall was concerned.

The only hope for an outcome where Windfall and Foxglove would remain relatively safe from White Hoof reprisals was a scenario where Whiplash died. An accident or assassination would take resources that we couldn’t count on having access to, as well as time to orchestrate; time that the Pegasus did not have. A suicide end run on the White Hoof Chief couldn’t be guaranteed a high enough chance of success to work either; since the guards that protected her were there to thwart exactly that sort of attack.

It was looking like I was going to have to face her openly, and in a proper challenge bout. The problem with that option was that I had to also do it in such a way that Whiplash would feel compelled to accept my challenge, and do it right then and there. A week ago, that would have been easy. I could have worked things in such a way that it looked I’d heard about how she’d been grossly mismanaging the White Hooves and I was returning to set things right and rekindle our glory days. From what Sica had suggested, a lot of ponies in the tribe, including those in higher positions, would have thrown their support behind me.

Unfortunately, after my sister’s little display tonight, those same ponies would keep their mouths shut if I challenged her on those grounds now. Nothing I could say would convince enough ponies that I was here for any reason other than to save Windfall, short of me actually slitting the flier’s throat and then issuing the challenge. That certainly wasn’t a viable option though, now was it?

So the real question was figuring out what it would take to make Whiplash face me in a fight. If I could manage that, there was little doubt that I would win. Of course, my sister had to know that just as well as I did; which was why she wouldn’t accept such a challenge unless she felt there was no other option. She’d have to feel that refusing me would lead to something just as bad or perhaps even worse than death. Which certainly left a rather short list.

What could possibly get Whiplash to risk her life? What did she have that she would be willing to die in order to keep? Or, at least, would feel as though losing could mean her death anyway?

I chuckled to myself. For most White Hooves, that would probably be their image. I mean, we wore our whole lives on our hides for everypony to see because we wanted everypony around us to know how powerful we were. If we thought that there was a chance that all of that could be lost, we would absolutely be willing to risk our lives to keep it. Without that image, we were just plain old ponies, weren’t we? Not that Whiplash really ascribed to that sort of thing. The fact that she was wearing ‘fake’ glyphs proved that. She could care less what everypony else thought about her.

…but everypony else would care though. If she-

“You’re a tough one,” Sica gasped as she pulled back once again and derailed my train of thought. The unicorn wiped at her mouth, “I’m going to need rest up a bit, my jaw’s starting to lock up,” while it was true that she wasn’t sucking me off anymore, I noticed that I did still feel a rather pleasurable manipulation continuing. The glow of her horn testified to the source.

I wasn’t quite done thinking yet though. Which meant that Sica wasn’t allowed to be done either, “I thought you said you were a real mare,” I sighed in frustration. The unicorn was about to protest, but I didn’t give her the chance, “s’alright, I’ll take it from here while you rest.”

The gray mare frowned and opened up her mouth to respond. However, before she could say anything, I took hold of her mane and started to pull her roughly to the side, forcing the mare to roll onto her back lest the strands start ripping out. She yelped in protest, “you just lie there and relax,” I said with a note of sarcasm once she was on her back, “while I do all the work.”

For the third time, Sica made an attempt to say something. This time, when she opened her mouth, I interrupted her words with a deft penetration. The unicorn mare gagged a little bit at first, but was very quick to realize what was going on and tilted her head to take the pressure off the back of her throat. While she kept her head still, I began to thrust at a modest pace that I felt I could maintain for a good while, “I knew you weren’t up to this,” I chided the mare, who was unable to issue a rebuke of any sort anymore.

At least she was keeping her tongue working through all of this.

Anyway, back to the problem at hoof.

It ultimately didn’t matter what Whiplash was willing to die for. She was the public face of the whole White Hoof tribe; the physical embodiment of their ideals and traditions. If they thought that she should be willing to die for something, then backing down would undermine all of her power and authority. She’d look weak. Even if the tribe wouldn’t accept me if I won the challenge, they wouldn’t tolerate her anymore if she didn’t rise to it. All I had to do was appeal, not to her sense of image and pride, but to the tribe’s.

I was her greatest adversary. I was her brother. I was a very direct and personal threat to her power base and an affront to her personal authority over the tribe. All I needed to do was to express that and point out that any true White Hoof would deal with somepony like me themselves. Then, to keep it from being a straight up execution, it would best serve me if I cast doubt on her abilities as a warrior as well.

She’d billed me just now as a Wasteland vagabond who wasn’t fit to lead the White Hooves. In her own words, I was little more than a simple and weak little poser. A smile spread over my face.

Even a blank flanked White Hoof foal could kill a ‘poser’ in single combat, right?

If all of that was made clear in front of everypony, all eyes would be on Whiplash at that point. Turning me down after that would be a deathblow to her standing within the tribe. Nothing would happen immediately, probably; but the scheming would start. Whiplash knew that it would. Within weeks a faction would rise up, being lead by one of the stronger warchiefs, to challenge her. At that point, it would all be over for her. At that point, if the warchief was a mare, she’d probably be killed to prevent an attempt to reclaim her power; if it was a stallion, she’d be made into one of his concubines to add further legitimacy to the coup.

I wouldn’t be alive to see any of this of course, and neither would Windfall or even Foxglove for that matter. That wasn’t the point though. The point was that Whiplash wouldn’t want that to happen. I dare say, it might even be that she’d rather risk dying than let that happen. She’d want to take that slim chance that she might managed to beat me in a fight to the death.

So, that was it. I had my plan. I knew how I was going to get Whiplash to confront me in a public display that was bound to capture every set of eyes in the whole camp. Once the fight was underway, Foxglove would be able to smuggle Windfall out to safety. The Pegasus wasn’t going to like it very much, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that she would survive the day, and that was all that mattered to me.

Now I just needed to let Foxglove in on the plan. Which meant finishing things up here.

Sica was still belly-up, keeping her head properly aligned to accommodate my thrusting. With my mind no longer distracted by thoughts of Windfall’s peril and my own probable death, it didn’t take long for me to really get into what I was doing to the mare. It had been a long time since I’d had a tasty little piece like her in this sort of position.

“Now,” I grunted, “let’s see if you really can handle a stallion…” I changed up the rhythm of my thrusts, and focused my thoughts on how good it felt to be inside an accommodating mare who wasn’t throwing all sorts of signals all over the damn place like Foxglove was. I felt the unicorn beneath me stiffen as I spent longer down her throat than she’d been used to. Her hooves curled as she found herself needing to breathe. I pulled back slightly, and delighted as she gasped for breath as best she could. I craned my head down and saw that her eyes were watering slightly. She wasn’t making any efforts to resist though.

I moved deeper again. Sica was better prepared this time, and it was nearly twenty seconds before she started to twitch and squirm. Again, I pulled back just enough to allow the mare to catch the barest gasps of breath, “good girl,” I cooed at the unicorn, “now for the finale that you really didn’t earn. But I’m a forgiving sort.”

Sica grunted something that could have been a comeback of some sort; but it was completely unintelligible at this point. I gave a quick thrust of my hips and released what had been taking just about every ounce of willpower I’d had at my disposal to hold back. The unicorn convulsed and I could feel a warm sensation starting to seep back up around me as she attempted to resist what was happening.

“If you want to prove you’re a real mare,” I growled with satisfaction, “now’s the time to do it!”

I felt the mare stubbornly clamp her lips down around me, and then I sighed with pleasure as she began to take care of things. It was hard going at first as she worked to make up for the volume she’d allowed to accumulate. After several swallows though she had things under control and found herself able to breathe once again. I remained inside her and made no effort to pull back as a subtle hint that I was going to wait for her to do a thorough job before I considered her participation in this encounter complete.

Sica gasped several times when I finally removed herself. She also very quickly extracted herself from beneath me and wiped at her mouth, “somepony was a little pent up,” she remarked.

“I've been away for a while,” I pointed out, “and I'll be away for a couple minutes right now,” I turned a headed for the exit.

“Calling it quits after just one round?” Sica chided, “I thought you were a gentlecolt. When do I get mine?”

“After I'm back from the pisser,” I informed the mare before glancing in her direction with a wry smirk, “unless you're into that sort of thing?”

She wrinkled her nose and waved me away, “I'll pass,” then she thought for a moment and scrunched up her face like she'd tasted something foul, “maybe wash up a little before you come back...”

“Right,” I rolled my eyes and slipped out.

Outside, it looked as though the party was in full swing. The chatter and laughter had reached a peak in its ever climbing crescendo, making it hard to make out any particular conversation unless you were standing in the middle of the group having it. There was music and singing too. Some of it provided by a quasi-organized group that clearly played together frequently, while some was sourced from drunkards who only ever thought that they could carry a tune after half a bottle of liquor. Oh, to be young again, and full of frivolity. Some of us, though, had serious matters on our minds.

That little dalliance with Sica had been a nice distraction. It had at least somewhat allowed me to think about things other than Windfall’s predicament. Chances were that after I heard whatever details that Foxglove had managed to glean, I was going to need another round of such distractions. At least it would let me work off my frustrations, and maybe even allow me to clear my head again so that I could approach our next task calmly. We were in too deep to risk setting things in motion at the wrong moment due to a loss of control of our emotions.

Letting sentiment get the better of us would surely get us killed.

Well…more of us killed than were already likely to be, at any rate.

Eventually, I made it back to the table that the three of us had originally been seated at, only to find that it had been usurped by another group of White Hooves who were carousing loudly with one another. An annoyed frown tugged at my lips as I looked around for somewhere else to linger where Foxglove would be able to find me, and yet remain far enough removed from the gathered ponies so that nopony saw me standing idly around by my—oh, there she was, actually.

The violet unicorn had already returned to find out place occupied. Or, more likely, had seated herself at the then empty table and been later joined by the other White Hooves. I hadn’t noticed her at first, mostly because I hadn’t thought that the mare would have allowed herself to become engaged like that, given how nervous our surroundings made her. Yet, the violet unicorn was clearly putting on a good face for this sort of crowd. It doubtlessly helped that her companions were well lubricated with alcohol, as Foxglove continued to pass them bottles of Wild Pegasus and Applejack Daniel’s.

Her eyes found me, and I could instantly recognize that everything else about her expression and demeanor were fabrications. While she wore and broad grin, and let loose a raucous laugh every few seconds in response to something that one of the other ponies with her said; even going so far as to place an affectionate hoof on their face or shoulder from time to time. Yet, her emerald eyes betrayed the true animosity and disgust that she felt for them. Her newfound acquaintances were simply too drunk to either notice or care.

After making eye contact with me, she very apologetically made her departure from the table, loudly announcing to the table, “looks, like the party’s over for me, everypony. My warchief needs to have a word,” she gestured in my direction, and a few of the ponies looked over and took notice. Most of them nodded them sympathy, and a few even encouraged her to return as quickly as she could, “you fuckers better save me a bottle,” she threatened by way of a good bye, and then extracted herself from the table.

They bade Foxglove a hasty return, with promises that a bottle would be waiting for her…in their respective tents later that evening. The unicorn was all smiles and laughs as she sauntered up to me. Up until the moment she was well out of earshot, and then she glowered at me and said in a low voice, “get me the fuck away from those assholes.”

We set our course for the outskirts of the crowd and found ourselves a cozy little gap between two tents, which I hastily checked to make certain weren’t occupied. Once our secrecy was assured, Foxglove let the rest of her act fall away and became the rather irate unicorn that I had come to know over the last few weeks.

“You’re quite the actor,” I noted.

“When you have to ‘play nice’ with a pony like Toomyknocker and his friends for as long as I did, you learn how to fake a lot of things,” the mare said, dourly. Then she glared in my direction, “it fucking took you long enough. What, did you two cuddle afterwards?”

I grimaced, “do you really want details, or do you want to tell me where Windfall is?”

The unicorn grunted, “whatever. Yeah, I found her. They have her in that big tent over there,” she pointed in the direction that Whiplash and her entourage had come from, “I think it's your sister's tent. They have her chained up in the middle. Getting through those won't be a problem,” she nodded at the lance on her back, “but there are two guards outside, and your sister's inside, so...”

I grimaced at the news. I had hoped that the pegasus would be kept somewhere slightly more isolated. Certainly getting in there tonight wasn't going to be an option, which worked out well considering my plan was to challenge Whiplash in the morning anyway. The guards might still be a problem though. Foxglove would just have to deal with them when she got that far in the rescue. At least my sister wouldn't be a problem at that point.

“We’re going to wait for morning.”

The violet mare gaped at me in consternation, “morning?! Are you crazy? Didn’t you hear what your sister said? They’re going to kill her in the morning!”

“Not first thing,” I pointed out to her, which prompted a moment of consideration from the mare, though she didn’t look very happy all the same, “and most of these ponies will be hung over. I’ll create a distraction that will get everypony’s attention, including Whiplash's, and then you’ll free Windfall and get her away from here.”

Now Foxglove was looking dubious again, “what sort of distraction?”

I shrugged, “a fire, rampaging radscorpion, something like that. The point is, they’ll all be too busy with it to care about what you’re doing with Windfall,” of course, I actually did have a pretty specific idea for what the nature of the distraction was going to be. Foxglove didn’t need to know what it was though, and I didn’t need to mare arguing with me in an effort to talk me out of it. This was the best way to take Whiplash out of the equation, for good.

“So what are we supposed to do until then?” Foxglove didn’t sound as incredulous as she could have been, but the mare was clearly not pleased with the prospect of delaying our departure more than she had thought we might have.

“You can either keep ‘playing nice’,” that earn a sneer from the unicorn, “or you can find someplace to hide out until morning,” she didn’t seem to appreciate that notion much more than the former.

“And what are you going to do?”

“Take a piss,” it turned out I really did need one, “and then go cuddle with Sica,” after doing other things with her.

That provoked a powerful response from the mare. From her expression, it was probably a miracle that Foxglove hadn’t screamed at me at the top of her lungs; relegating her admonition instead to an outraged hiss, “are you fucking kidding me?! That’s why you want to wait? So you can rut that White Hoof slut!”

“That is not why I-”

“Windfall’s life is on the line, you fucking bastard! I thought you cared about that?” she snorted in disgust, “but, of course; you’re already back to lying again and scheming sex out of ponies. Big fucking surprise!”

“I do care about-”

“I can’t believe I was stupid enough to trust you again,” Foxglove was seething now, “what the fuck was I thinking? You know what, fuck you! I’m breaking Windfall out on my own right now! You go right ahead and screw that unicorn all you want. Screw your sister too while you’re at it,” the unicorn turned to leave and started walking away, “maybe she’ll take you back if you make her squeal like your father did…”

I charged out in front of the mare and blocked her path, “Foxglove, stop!”

“Get out of my way, you piece of shit!” she tried to push me aside.

This was exactly the sort of emotional flare-up that I knew we needed to avoid let drive our actions. Foxglove could very well get the both of us killed and, by extension, Windfall. I couldn’t let that happen. She had to be stopped.

I grabbed the hoof that Foxglove was trying to use to shove me aside, and very quickly pinned it around her back. The mare gasped in surprise, and probably a little bit of pain, but I didn’t give her time to react. This could escalate even further than it already had and get messy fast if I didn’t take care of it quickly. I charged in and vaulted on top of the mare, taking advantage of her unbalanced state and dropping her to the ground. With Foxglove pinned beneath me, I slipped my other foreleg around behind her head and kept her face pressed up against the ground to keep her from screaming out too loudly. Maintaining control of her head like this would also help to keep her from thrashing about too much, as enough pressure in the proper direction should cause sufficient pain to bring her back in line.

There was a fair amount of panic and fright building up in the violet mare. I’d been in a fairly similar position over her not long ago, and I had possessed very unkind intentions back then. It was a given that she suspected I still harbored such desires even now. At least that placement of my body would keep her eldritch lance secured in its carrier if she tried to get at it with her magic. For the moment, though, she seemed to be panicking too much to use her telekinesis.

I leaned down close to her head, “listen to me!” I hissed in the mare’s ear. Foxglove glanced back at me with her terrified eyes even as I felt her continuing to squirm beneath me in an effort to get away, “we have to wait until morning, because,” I was forced to bite off the rest of my explanation as the unicorn gave a powerful buck in an effort to dislodge me. In response, I twisted the mare’s foreleg even further and wrenched her head roughly to the side. Half of her face was now being grinded into the hard scrabble beneath us. Foxglove whimpered.

“…because I need to kill Whiplash!” I said a lot more loudly that I had intended. My head went up, and I hastily scanned the surrounding area for any signs that somepony had noticed what was going on here or taken notice of what we were talking about. The coast looked to still be clear for now.

Foxglove had even ceased her struggling, though she was still very tense as she lay beneath me. The unicorn’s previously frantic breathing slowed to a calmer level as she regarded me with wary eyes, Then she asked, “you’re going to kill her?”

I nodded, “I have to. Otherwise she’ll just come after us again. That’s why we need to wait until morning: I need to be able to pick the right time to take her out. When that happens, that’s when everypony will be too distracted to see you and Windfall escaping.”

“…and what about you?”

“I’ll make my own way out. Don’t worry about that,” I insisted, “you just focus on Windfall.”

Foxglove was silent for a moment as she continued to regard me, as though searching my eyes for what I wasn’t telling her. If she found it, she didn’t say anything. Instead, “alright. I’ll wait.

“Now get off me!”

I smiled wryly at the mare and promptly removed myself from her back. The unicorn stood up and stretched out her aching neck and shoulder from where I’d had her pinned, “you alright?”

“I’ll live,” she said dryly.

“Alright,” I sighed and shifted a little uncomfortably on my hooves, “look, if we don’t get a chance to talk again tomorrow, tell Windfall…something,” I wasn’t very good at this sentimentally crap.

“You can always just tell her yourself when you catch up to us after we all get away.”

“Right,” I nodded. It was hard to tell if the mare was trying to give me a way out of this conversation that I’d awkwardly started, or if she was just being uncharacteristically obtuse about my chances of killing Whiplash and surviving the experience. I might not have outright speculated on my chances of survival, but Foxglove was intelligent enough to realize that they couldn’t be all that high, “stay safe tonight,” I said, “and good luck tomorrow.”

“You too.”

I nodded and stepped away, through the surrounding tents as I made my way back towards Sica’s home.

During the trip, and my quick detour to utilize a latrine, I couldn’t help but ponder some of the details about my plan thus far. Broad strokes were all that I really had at this point. Whiplash was going to organize some big thing tomorrow, with Windfall at the center of it all. I’d have to make my move before that could happen, or Foxglove wasn’t going to have a chance to break the Pegasus out unseen. I couldn’t just walk up to her tent though and kick off a confrontation there. I needed this to be open and public so that she just couldn’t have one of her guards take me out without raising a ruckus.

What I’d probably need to do was step out in the middle of the crowd that was likely to just end up sleeping in the camp’s center and make a big announcement regarding my return there. If I got everypony riled up the right way, Whiplash shouldn’t be able to just have me shot from a distance. I’d be able to call her out, and goad her into having to accept my challenge in front of everypony. As long as Foxglove recognized that as her cue to make her move on Windfall, everything should go relatively smoothly.

As far as the actual escape was concerned, at least.

The fight though…that would be another matter. The thought of it weighed heavily on my mind the whole way back to Sica’s tent. It turned out that it was not quite so simple a thing as it might appear.

My thoughts were briefly drawn away from that prospect as the slate-colored unicorn mare with the blond mane noticed my return. Her face brightened almost instantly, “you took so long, I thought you’d fallen in,” she chuckled as she approached and began to nuzzle my neck. I was grateful that she had at least seen fit to clean herself off this time before trying it, “so, where were we?”

The mare began to nibble up along my neck as she drew herself in close to me. Her scent was everywhere and as pleasant as it was, my mind would not let go of the thought of having to kill the first pony that I could remember genuinely caring about in order to protect the mare that I cared about now. It was hardly fair, was it? Yeah, Whiplash was a complete bitch, and she had tried to have me killed on several occasions that I very distinctly recalled.

That didn’t mean that I didn’t still see the traumatized little filly weeping in a corner whenever I thought about her. That was the pony I was going to be facing in battle tomorrow. That was who I was going to need to kill. My little sister. It was not a thought that sat well with me right now.

A growl began the bubble up deep from within my throat. Sica mistook it for a sign of my pleasure and craned her head up higher to begin chewing on my ear. Her actions and her scent mingled with my frustration to forge a very interesting mixture of desires. Whiplash wasn’t here, but Sica was. Deserving or not, she was about to find herself playing the role of a surrogate for those feelings.

With a snarl, I whipped my head away from her tender little bites and clamped down with my own jaws on the mare’s shoulder. The unicorn immediately cried out in pain and shock. It wasn’t that I was setting out to cause Sica any serious injury; it was more of a way to keep myself some screaming aloud to vent my own aggravations.
The mare tried to flinch and pull away, but I kept my teeth firmly locked around a chunk of her flesh and applied a copious amount of downward force. Between my weight and the application of the pressure point, Sica was forced to the ground as I wheeled around and straddled her.

It was only then that the unicorn started to grasp what I trying to accomplish and she bit back her pained yelps into a barely contained hiss. What I was doing was still causing her pain, but she was no longer making anything more than a reflexive effort to escape from it. When I was over top of the mare, I briefly released her shoulder and growled near her ear, “I thought you were supposed to be a White Hoof warrior? What’s the matter, can’t handle a little pain?”

“As if a frail old stallion like you could ever hurt me,” she shot back defiantly through jaws that were clamped together as she fought back the urge to audibly reveal how much what I had done had hurt. In fairness, even I would have been groaning after a takedown like that.

But I was an ‘old’ stallion, of course, “you don’t think I can make a little filly like you scream?”

The mare let out a short laugh, though it was colored with a pained gasp as she did so, “I’d like to see you tryyYYY!”

My teeth clamped down tightly on the nape of her neck and pulled her head back sharply, eliciting a cry that the unicorn mare managed to squelch into a loud series of gasps surprisingly quickly. Through the hold I had on her neck and mane, I mumbled to the mare, “move your tail,” even as Sica continued to moan softly with her features twisted in discomfort, I felt her long tail flex upward and can off to the side, “now we’ll find out if you’re really a White Hoof, or just a brood mare beneath some white paint!”

I used my grip on the mare as leverage for my initial thrust, and then I threw my weight forward and forced her head to the ground. That was when I released my grip on her, though I kept my muzzle pressed up against the side of her face, lightly pinning her in place against the floor of her tent. If she put any effort into trying to move away, she could have, “if you can’t take it, just let me know,” I growled into the mare’s ear, “I could do with a new brood mare…”

Sica opened up her eyes and glared at me, even as she was panting, “take what…?” she gasped, “are you…even…in yet?”

This was what I needed. It wasn’t even about the sex anymore. I’d been sucked off by this mare not half an hour ago—and rather thoroughly, too—so that sort of tension was gone. That wasn’t to say that this didn’t feel better in all of the right ways, but I didn’t find myself having that same drive that I’d had when I’d continued flirting with her.

No, what I needed was to feel pissed off at somepony; preferably a mare. I needed to force that mental picture of Whiplash as a frightened little filly out of my head, so that when I faced her in the morning, I could treat her like the murderous psychopath that I knew she was and put the crazy bitch down for good!

“It’s hard to tell” I said to the mare as I allowed myself to be spurred on by her jab and redoubled my efforts, “you’re so loose back here; I could be between your legs for all I know!

“I’m actually surprised a slut like you doesn’t know how suck decent cock,” I bit down on her ear briefly, giving it a sharp tug to get her to wince before letting go, “then again, it doesn’t look like anypony’s ever taught you how to fuck, either. Just lying here like a dead Brahmin. You’re going to make me do everything again, aren’t you?

“Maybe you’re worth less than a brood mare,” I whispered in her ear, “at least they know how to fuck!”

Sica seemed to take exception to that, “oh, is that…what…you’re trying…to do…fuck me? I thought this…was just…a back rub. You…should have…said something…”

I felt the mare spurred into action though, and she began to flex her hips in an effort to meet me halfway in this exercise. The difference in the intensity of the sensation was immediately obvious. The unicorn took notice as well, and I could hear her starting to add soft little chirps to her gasps. I couldn’t have her feeling too good though, I needed Sica to keep deriding my efforts if I was going to become sufficiently irritated.

So, in an effort to disrupt the mood, I stopped unexpectedly and pulled out of the mare. The action caught Sica so off her guard that he was still reciprocating with her hips for a couple seconds before she realized something was wrong. Before she could finally react though, I was once more dragging her around by her ear. The mare got off a brief yelp before managing to clamp her lips down to stifle it. I sat back on my haunches and then released her, smirking at the irritated scowl that she flashed my way as she rubbed her aching ear.

“What gives?!”

I threw an arm around the back of her head and brought her in close to me, “that dried up little slit of yours is making me chafe. Fix it.”

There was a brief look of confusion, and then Sica felt me beginning to apply pressure in an effort to encourage her head downward. She smirked at me as realization dawned on her face, “well, maybe if you were worth getting wet over…”

I applied a bit more force and the unicorn finally allowed herself to be bent all of the way down. My hoof remained on the back of her head as the mare went to work, as I occasionally used it to control or even interrupt her rhythm; or even prompt a momentary gag as I forced her to go further than she had intended to. That earned me an annoyed grunt the time or two that I did it, but I just smiled as Sica took the mistreatment in stride and continued.

After a couple of minutes, I restrained the mare from coming back up all of the way. Sica felt the resistance, and compliantly ceased moving, keeping her head exactly where I had stopped it. I idly stroked the unicorn’s mane as she remained where I’d placed her, “you told me last time how you needed breaks for this sort of thing. Just go ahead and relax right there for a while. Actually,” I eased her head downward a bit more, “there’s better.

“I’m thirsty. Where’s that whiskey at? Float it over here.”

Sica issued an annoyed grunt, and then I saw her horn begin to glow crimson. The bottle of alcohol that she had acquired on our way here initially drifted into sight and stopped in front of me. I took it from her magical grasp and tore away the stopper before taking a deep, long, sip of the amber fluid. I let out a contented sigh as I felt the liquor burn down my throat.

I placed a little more pressure on the back of the unicorn’s head, “a little further,” I cooed. The mare complied. I thought for a moment, “more…more,” my hoof continued to guide her further down until I felt myself brush up against the inside of Sica’s mouth. The mare convulsed briefly as she angled herself to accommodate me, “there we go.”

Another long pull from the tinted bottle in my hoof, “let me know when you think you can give me a smooth ride. Otherwise I think I’m just going to keep you parked right here for the night,” I took a third sip.

“hm-hmhm-hmm, hmhm hmm?” I felt the mare try to say through her closed lips.

Intrigued, I allowed her to come up just far enough to get out coherent words. I still kept my hoof firmly on the back of her head though, “what was that?”

Sica let out a gasp and licked her lips clear of the saliva that was dribbling out of her mouth. I’d need to remember to make her clean that up when I was finished with her, “I said: it’s because you’re gay, isn’t it? That’s why you can’t perform without somepony’s mouth on your prick,” she brushed my hoof aside and sat all the way up, “no wonder you don’t know how to satisfy a mare…”

My eyes narrowed at the unicorn’s satisfied smirk. In a flash, my hoof was back, but this time I used it to wrestle the startled mare to the ground on her backside, pinning her down across her neck as I climbed on top of her. I glared into the unicorn’s wide ruby eyes, “what mare? You’ve been acting like a pathetic little filly this whole damn time!” I thrust myself up between her legs and bore down on the mare’s throat. Sica gasped and writhed beneath me, but I retained the arm bar across her wind pipe. Not enough to completely choke her out, as I needed her conscious for this; but it was enough so that she couldn’t catch her full breath.

Though she was in clear discomfort, I could still feel the gray unicorn working with me as I continued to thrust. Her head squirmed from side to side as she struggled to get full breaths, but every time she positioned herself, I adjusted my foreleg to maintain the restriction. I could see Sica’s eyes start to tear up as she went on gulping down the little breaths that she was managing to get. Her own hooves started to push at me as though to get me off of her. Gently at first, in what was either a reflexive response, or an attempt to get me to relieve just a marginal amount of the weight that I was bringing to bear. I ignored these efforts and even swatted a few of them aside with my other hoof.

In my head, even I as had sex with this mare, I was seeing myself on top of Whiplash. Not in terms of any sort of passionate physical encounter; but rather as that moment during our fight tomorrow when I intended to be choking the life out of that bitch! I could have dealt with her equicidal crap if it was just me. Ponies have been trying to kill me for nearly my entire life. It was practically part of my daily routine: wake up, eat breakfast, avoid ponies with grudges, profit. That was just how things were in the Wasteland, and I was fine with that.

Now, however, it seemed that Whiplash wasn’t satisfied with shitting all over my life. She’d gone ahead and brought Windfall into it. That made this extra personal somehow. If my sister had had some sort of private grudge with the flier, that would have been one thing. It wasn’t like Windfall wasn’t finding her own way to make enemies out here. She was a groan mare, and could therefore solve her own problems.

The trouble was that this wasn’t one of Windfall’s problems. This had been my—our problem; Whiplash and I. The Pegasus wasn’t part of the history that we had together. For fuck’s sake, she barely even knew what that history was! Yet, my sister had sought to involve her anyway. That pissed me off to a level I had not thought I was capable of reaching.

I had cared about you once, Whiplash. You’d been the first pony in this whole world that I’d ever loved in the sense that most ponies meant the word. I could have fought you, and probably even killed you back when you first seized power. You may have had allies in it, but I still had friends of my own in the tribe that I could have rallied.

I could have resisted, and killed you, and taken my rightful place. I just took a different option and ran, because it would have meant taking your life. I didn’t want that then.

Now, though? Oh, I wanted it! I wanted that yellow mare to pay. I wanted her on her back, struggling to breathe as I strangled the life out of her worthless little body. I wanted her dead, at my hooves, and out of mine and Windfall’s lives forever. Then this whole fucking ordeal would all be over and Windfall could get on with her life and deal with her own problems without having to worry about getting bogged down by mine!

Sica’s protests were getting more genuinely desperate now. Where, before, her hooves had been applying pressure to my chest that fell along the spectrum from ‘playful’ reaching only as far as ‘cautionary’, I could now feel the unicorn mare trying to remove me from on top of her with a sense of urgency; perhaps even rising panic. She was barely even getting in restricted breaths anymore, and her mouth opened and closed in frantic swallows as she sought out any air that she could find. Her ruby eyes were wide and watery, staring at me with genuine fear.

That was exactly what I wanted to see in Whiplash’s eyes. I wanted to see that fear before she died. I needed to see her realize the full majesty of the mistake that she had made when she sought to get to me through Windfall; through my daughter!

I swatted aside the unicorn’s efforts to dislodge me and leaned in close to the mare, glaring down into her eyes, “you wanted this, didn’t you?” I snarled at her, relishing the growing fear and confusion, “you wanted to prove you could handle me,” I wasn’t even sure who I was talking to at this point. Their faces were blurring together around those crimson orbs filled with terror. Sica tried to gasp for breath, and I could feel her limbs starting to desperately beat against me as she tried to renege on what she’d agreed to. She’d waited too long though, and her oxygen starved limbs were too weak to offer more than a token resistance. Her mind was too panicked for her magic to do more than flicker as she futilely tried to cast a spell of some sort.

“Oh, no you don’t,” I hissed in the unicorn’s face, shifting the timing and intensity of my thrusts as I felt my emotions reaching their peak; both the amorous and the murderous. It was now a race to see which one won out, “this doesn’t end,” Sica continued to struggle, but her motions were getting much weaker. Even her efforts to breath were becoming far more token in nature, “until I’ve finished,” I readied myself for a last heave, “with you…”

I released, and felt several different varieties of relief wash over me. My whole body relaxed like a massive wave of stress and anxiety flowed out of me. The crossed leg over Sica’s throat slid off and planted itself on the ground so that I didn’t just simply slump down on top of her as the last vestiges of my feelings ebbed away.

There was an instantaneous and very animated fit of coughing and choking from the unicorn as she finally felt herself able to take in full breaths. Once more she was placing her hooves on my chest and applying enough force to suggest that she wanted me to roll off of her. Presumably, she would have preferred to actually use enough strength to force me off, but the mare was not yet quite that recovered. In either case, I was not yet ready to remove myself. I still felt quite comfortable where I was.

I bent my head down and took a deep breath from near the hacking mare’s neck. She had recovered substantially already, but there were still a few mild fits of coughing that wracked her body, “looks like you can take it after all,” I cooed, and then began to gently kiss up the mare’s neck.

Sica seemed rather taken aback by this sudden change of approach at first. As the last of her choking abated, so too did her efforts to push me away. She didn’t immediately become affectionate in return though, which was understandable, “that was just a bit rougher that I was expecting,” the unicorn admitted. Finally sensing that things had settled down for good, she allowed herself to begin kissing and nibbling at the parts of me that she could reach as well, “I’ll be ready for it next time.”

I paused and quirked a smile, “next time, huh? How long do you plan on keeping that coltfirend of yours out in the cold?”

“He’s not my coltfriend,” Sica repeated in a sour tone, “he’s just some pony I keep around for a good time,” her words instantly became a lot warmer, “but now I have a real stallion.

“He can fuck himself from now on.”

I chuckled despite myself. I was very doubtful that this mare would feel quite the same about keeping me in mind as a prospect for a partner after the events of tomorrow. Still, it was a pleasant thought nonetheless.

The unicorn sighed, “is there any of that whiskey left? Or did it all spill on the floor…”

I glanced around and quickly located the errant tinted bottle of amber fluid. Reaching over to pick it up with my hoof, I heard some fluid still yet sloshing around inside. Sica heard it as well and her horn lit up as she tried to wrest the container from my grasp. I jerked it away playfully and broke her hold on it. The mare frowned at me, “you’re not going to keep that all to yourself, are you?”

“Probably not,” I smiled, “but you’ll have to earn it.”

“How did I not ‘earn’ it after all that?” she asked, rubbing idly at her throat as a clear indication to me of what she had just gone through.

“Well, the way I figure, we’re not quite done yet,” the mare arched a brow at me. I got my legs fully beneath myself and finally pulled away from the supine unicorn. With a slight groan that I was rather embarrassed to admit had been borne of age, I rolled over onto the tent’s lone sleeping mat—which we had somehow not made it to this whole time—and reclined into a relaxed position. “well, you’re not done yet, anyway,” I grinned at the unicorn, “you’ve got a mess to clean up.

“So, either get to work, or I’m claiming the rest of the booze.”

Sica rolled her eyes and favored me with a wry smile. After a couple seconds of hesitation though, she was finally spurred into action as I shrugged and tilted the bottle to my lips, “alright!” she protested as she came over and knelt down nearby, “I forgot you old stallions can’t do anything for yourselves…”

“The more you talk, the more I drink,” I warned the mare. She flicked another cocked smile my way and then bent her head to the indicated task. As she tended to me, I allowed myself to lean back on the bedroll and make myself comfortable.

As diligent as the unicorn was, it didn’t stop my mind from continuing to wander to tomorrow. Sica thought there was a future here for us. Even as tempting as it was to keep a mare like her in my life, I knew that it wasn’t something that would be in my future. The morning was going to bring with it a confrontation with my long estranged sibling. It would be the last time the two of us ever met.

A more sobering realization was that, one way or the other, the last time I had spoken with Windfall was when I’d been shooing Cestus away from her. Not exactly the most emotional of ‘goodbyes’, was it? I idly wondered if the Pegasus was going to think that too. Well, hopefully she’d be at least a little satisfied with what I’d left her back in the stable.

Heh…in fact, I guess the pony that was getting the fondest farewell in our group was me, somehow. Sica might not realize that that was exactly what this felt like for me, but that didn’t change things.

That’s what this is, Celestia, isn’t it? You know what’s going to happen tomorrow, and you let me have this, is that right? One last ‘hurrah’ for an old stallion finally doing what he should have done decades ago. I’m no idiot, but I guess I’m not the brightest glow in the Wasteland either.

My eyes looked once more to the gray unicorn nestled between my legs. Well, if that was what this was going to be, I was going to make the most of it. A smile tugged at my cheeks once more as Sica’s head popped up in surprise at the reaction my new train of thought had prompted. She glanced over at me and cocked a smirk of her own.

I passed her the bottle, which she took in her magical grasp and finished off, “this round’s on me,” I informed the mare and immediately arranged myself more comfortably on my back, “and you better be too.

“I’ve done enough of the work for tonight.”

Footnote:...

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