The moon shone brightly over Canterlot, a perfect night for the lovers and dreamers of the land to be out amongst Luna’s grace. Despite that the streets looked all but abandoned, save for one young man. He ran through the moonlight, his legs carrying him as fast as he could to the station. There was always a single train that left around eleven, and if he was fast enough he would be able to catch it just before it headed east for Baltimare.

Swinging through an alleyway, he hopped over a small stack of boxes, sticking the landing. Panting as he continued down the alley, he silently thanked everything holy that he was more active than when he was a kid. Turning down the familiar main street Spike gave a startled twist past an abandoned cart laying limply in the road, before tearing across the street once more like a man possessed.

He came to the commoner’s station at ten-fifty and briefly squatted down, gasping for air. Rising, he gave a small hop over to the conductor and wrote a check out for a ticket. If the matter wasn’t so urgent, he would have complained about the price, but now wasn’t the time for that. He wearily shuffled to the train and made his way to the back, where he slumped down into his seat. He’d have to cross over to a different train once it reached Baltimare, and then he’d be on his way to… well, his destiny sounded ominous. But, what other would could describe it, really? This was a do-or-die. No other way to cut it.

With that in mind he shut his eyes and at least tried to rest. Sleep was far away from him, but it was still worth a shot, at least.

A loud hiss echoed through the train, signaling that his journey was about to begin. The sudden rocking the train made as it began to move really made that fact hit home. Instinctively he looked over to the side, expecting to see Applejack, Twilight or anyone to be there, but all he saw was empty seats and a windows with moving lights just beyond the glass.

Glancing around the empty compartment, he reached up, grabbing the pendent.

“Are you there, Twilight?” he asked in a small whisper.

“Yeah, I’m here,” she replied reassuringly, “second thoughts already?”

“No,” he instantly said. “Just making sure it works. And, uh, that you were around, I guess.”

“Well, it works, and I’ll always be there if you need me, just remember what I said.”

“I know.” He shut his eyes, briefly imagining her sitting next to him. “And thanks.”

“Anything for you Spike,” Twilight replied. He could almost feel her arms pull him to her, could almost feel her heartbeat. “Anything.”

With a nod he knew she couldn’t see, he let go of the amulet and stared out the window, silently wishing he had the same sort of guts heros in storybooks did. Even now, he was scared. That didn’t mean in the slightest he was giving up, though. He meant it when he said to Twilight she was getting saved or he wasn’t going on.

With a groan, the train lurched forward and Spike swallowed as they began slowly picking up speed. He turned his head and watched Canterlot shrink to the size of his hand, then, a while later, disappear from view entirely as they rounded a mountain.

Hours past and soon even the mountain Canterlot stood on became a fixture on the horizon. The whole time Spike tried to get some sleep, but his nerves prevented him from getting any, instead he continued to stare out the window, watching the scenery roll on by. A normal man would have probably found it relaxing, but all it seemed to do was test Spike’s nerve even more. For with every tree, every field, and every small town the train passed it meant that he was that much closer to Saddle Arabia, and the bloody conflit that was being waged there.

He quickly reached for the amulet around his chest, but just as soon as he did he put his hand back to his side. Though it was true Twilight said that she would be there whenever she needed him, he didn’t want to take her away from the sleep she was probably trying to enjoy at the moment. A lot of pressure was on her, being given only three days to come up with a better battleplan than the one that came out of Luna’s strategically brilliant mind and she needed as much rest as the world could afford her.

A part of him realized he should have packed a weapon. It was stupid not to have one, it wasn’t like he was going to talk someone to death, but…

He didn’t want to hurt anyone if he could help it. Even Hakem. Thinking he might have to do something like…

Spike exhaled, leaning forward and resting his brow in his hands. He couldn’t think about what might happen. Wouldn’t think about what might happen. All he could do was take this one step at a time and hope against hope things turned out alright.

The sun’s rays suddenly began to warm Spike’s skin, looking out the window he saw it rising above the treeline.

Morning already? He thought to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. It seemed as if only a few minutes ago he’d hopped on board, but by all accounts it appeared that his trip was already nearing the halfway point. By this time tomorrow he’d be on the next train to Rideah. That is, if they were still able to do such a thing.

As he found out from the conductor when the train finally came to a stop in the busy station of Baltimare, there wasn’t a train traveling to Rideah in the strictest sense. There were no passenger trains, at least. Rather, there was a meager supply line traveling there in an hour.

Spike was thankful for once in his life about being so small as he quickly snuck across the tracks and climbed aboard the train. He tossed open the train’s caboose door and dove inside, hiding behind a small collection of boxes. It was a far cry from the comfort of a padded seat, but he sank down to the dusty steel floor and did his best to relax. There was a sound as a few hands, presumably, shuffled some supplies around and gave them a check-over, but Spike managed to move behind a large pallet as they looked over his improvised home. When they left, he moved back to his claimed spot and sat down once more, finally breathing easy when he head the train’s caboose door shut.

With the more nerve wracking moments out of the way, Spike decided to take a look around, just to see what kind of cargo hold he’d managed to sneak into. The light from the outside was dim, but it was just enough to make out the word aid in bold red letters. He took a guess and figured it was probably food rations. Reaching into his shirt he pulled out Amira’s pendant and gave it a firm squeeze.

“Twilight?” he whispered out hesitantly.

There was a few seconds of silence, but soon the voice Spike wanted to hear most returned his call. “Yes, Spike?” Twilight replied, sounding rather stressed, “what happened?”

“I’m fine. I’m on a train heading to Rideah now. Are you alright?”

“Just trying to think of something that Luna won’t automatically shoot down.” She sighed, Spike could all but see the disappointment on her face as she spoke. “It doesn’t help that her significant other also seems to be rather adept with military strategy, Celestia and I keep presenting plans and they both just tear them apart.” She paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, “at least he’s a lot nicer when he goes about it.”

“You’re smarter than both of them combined. I believe in you.”

“Thanks Spike, it’s good to know that you’re still doing fine.”

“You too. I’ll get back in touch with you as soon as I can.”

“Alright, just… wait,” Twilight paused, reanalyzing what Spike had said a moment ago, “what kind of train are you on? Celestia issued a cease in transport to Saddle Arabia the moment she heard about Hoofof.”

“A supply train, I guess. A lot of boxes around.”

“A supply train?!” Twilight exclaimed, sending a shockwave through Spike’s ears, “do you even know what kind of things go on those in a time of war?!”

“I don’t know, what?” Spike asked crossly, the uncomfortable atmosphere and lack of sleep finally getting the better of him.

“For all you know you could be sitting on a tram filled with explosives!” Twilight answered, the panic in her voice evident, “if one of Hakem’s goons got close enough with a lighter you’d—”

“And someone could of found me on the train earlier. And someone could just shoot me later. I don’t want to think about the possibilities right now, Twilight.”

There was a long silence on the other end, followed by a deep sigh. “You’re right Spike,” Twilight admitted, “this is something you have to do and I should know by now you’re willing to risk anything to get Amira out of Hoofof before Luna arrives… I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Twilight. It’s just something I got to do.”

“I know,” Twilight reaffirmed, “and I’m probably sounding like a broken record right now but… please, just be careful.”

“I’m gonna try to do just that,” he answered, doing his best to reassure her.

“Okay,” Twilight replied, “but I’ve got to go now, we’re about to see if the sixth time’s the charm.”

“Good luck. Just buy as much time as you can.”

“I’m trying Spike,” Twilight answered, “heaven knows I’m trying…”

He nodded once more and let go of the gem. After a long moment, he finally felt the wheels underneath him begin to turn. And like life itself, he blindly rode the path before him, hoping his destination was reachable.

H had no idea how much time had passed since he had gotten on the train, but the dissipating sunlight and the smell of salt in the air told him that it was evening on the Equestrian shores. He had half a mind to open the boxcar door and watch the sunset as he had when he was on the train to and from Saddle Arabia, but the risk of falling out and dying in a rather uncharted region of the country was unsettling to him. Instead he opted to close his eyes and try to sleep, it had been nearly two days since he had last as it was.

Looking over the cargo, he settled on a few heavy boxes and moved them, creating a rough chair, which he sat in and leaned his head back. He tried to drown his thoughts away, push them to the side, and it was a struggle, but his fatigue won and he drifted off to an uncomfortable, dreamless sleep.

A violent jolt startled Spike awake several hours later, nearly causing him to fall off his makeshift chair and land face first on the metal flooring. Fortunately, the cosmos didn’t have such a plan prepared for him at this moment, giving him a few crucial seconds to wake up.

His eyes traveled around the car nothing had really changed, other than a few boxes shuffled around due to the rather bumpy ride and the orange light of the sun was replaced with the pale glow of the moonlight. If anything that made it harder to see as he shuffled around the car, the fact made clear by his little toe slamming into the corner of one of the larger metal crates.

Hissing, a swear just on the tip of his tongue, he gave a small gesture and breathed, letting a makeshift flame come from his mouth as he looked around the cart, trying to figure out what could of made everything fly that hard. Running out of breath, he stopped the flame, sucked in another gasp of air, gestured, and let the light come out again.

As he continued to carefully examine his surroundings his stomach began to growl. It dawned on him that he hadn’t eaten in days, his mind was so preoccupied with other affairs. It wasn’t much, but he felt along for his knapsack and downed one of the small jars of water he had, silently wishing that he had actually packed food for the trip instead of just water. Twisting the top back on the empty flask, the realization that he was surrounded by aid crates hit him like a ton of bricks.

He felt like rotten thief, tearing into one and pulling out a packaged army ration, but he needed to eat to be at peak capacity and he wolfed down a shitty-tasting salisbury steak meal, already feeling a little better from having something in his belly.

Grabbing as much trash as he could and placing it in knapsack so the evidence of his presence in the boxcar was minimized, he heard something just outside of the train, something that wasn’t the engine.

Narrowing his brow, he took a few slow, cautious steps towards the noise, creeping along step by cautious step towards the train’s cargo door. With each step the sound became clearer and clearer. He didn’t want to believe what he was hearing, but as his hand grasped the boxcar door there was no doubt in his mind what the noise was coming from, or more accurately, who. With a reluctant clench of his teeth, he turned the heavy door handle and threw it aside to see if he was right.

Sure enough, as the door slid open, Spike saw a man on horseback, the beast’s reigns in one hand and revolver in the other. The boy froze in fear, hoping that the man wouldn’t see him standing in plain sight as the moon shone directly on him. That hope soon faded as the man made direct eye contact with Spike, seemingly just as surprised as he was at the sight. Seconds later though, surprise faded into a more murderous emotion. Everything moved in slow motion as the man’s barrel of the man’s gun tilted and turned towards Spike.

Spike went into flight mode, diving behind the relative safety of the freight. He landed with a gunt on the hard steel floor, his shoulder swearing painful words at him as he scrambled to his feet.

“Ok,” he said to himself, running a hand through his hair in a blind panic. “Ok,” Spike repeated, looking around frantically for something, anything he could do to stop this.

The sound of a gunshot ringing through the boxcar followed by the ricochets brought Spike into panic once again. “For King HAKEM!” a loud voice roared, followed by several more gunshots, “death to the enemies of the true king!”

A more suave man might of had a witty comeback, a clever line to quip before launching a surprise counterattack against the man on horseback.

Spike was not a suave or clever man. Instead, he kept his head down low and scurried in a panic through the freight, keeping as much distance as he could between him and the gunman. He came to the front of the cabin and tried the handle. Locked.

“Who locks these damn things?!” he exclaimed to himself, bringing up a foot to kick at the handle. Though his blows struck true, the door seemed reluctant to open. He frantically searched once more before freezing. Up top. There was a latch and a small opening. The boy scrambled for it, climbing up a box of freight and trying it. It squealed and whined in protest, before finally turning and popping open with a loud clang. Squinting ahead, he stared at the train’s engine. If he could somehow cross the carts and warn the driver, they might be able to get a faster speed than they were going now. It was a crapshoot, but he had no other choice. He climbed up to the roof, deafened by the rush of wind against his ears and crawled forward against the wind, knowing one slip up would probably kill him instantly. He cleared five feet, ten, then a bullet whizzed by his head, so close he was surprised it didn’t draw blood.

Looking back in shock to the direction of the bullet, Spike saw another two dozen riders appear, each wielding various rifles and pistols, and all of them aimed directly at him. “Oh fuck my life…” he sighed to himself, letting his shoulders drop.

He rose to a half crouch, moving desperately forward and hoping their bullets wouldn’t find purchase in his spine. He came to the end of the box and swore, leaping across and landing awkwardly, nearly slipping. Digging into his grit, he managed to balance and press forward, going to the front of that cart too.

Bullets sped by him, slamming into the steel just inches away from him. Several sparks even managed to land on his skin, his bloodline the only thing stopping him from flinching from the burns. He continued to crawl across the top of the train, his sheer will to survive being the only thing driving him to press on while the bullets continued to fly overhead.

Inch after inch, second after painfully long second he moved forward, not bothering to look back at the riders, given he already had a decent idea of what they were attempting to do anyway. He was almost to the next car when out of the corner of his eye he saw four of them come to his side; he expected his end to come moments later, but when he noticed he was still breathing he looked to them with a renewed, be it morbid curiosity.

The riders paid no mind to him, they instead sped forward, pushing their horses beyond their limits. He watched them pass him towards the boxcar several cars ahead, he wondered why until he remembered what Twilight had said earlier that day. A tram filled with explosives echoed in his head as he came to the realization that he’d not just chosen any supply train to Saddle Arabia, but a military supply train. He should’ve known earlier after eating the army ration, but he was far too out of it to realize that fact until now. With his end right before his eyes.

“Shit,” he said eloquently. There was absolutely nothing he could do. Even if he made it to the front now… that wouldn’t save the train. That wouldn’t save him.

As he watched helplessly as one of the riders jumped onto the Boxcar, forcing the latch open after several well aimed shots at the deadbolt with his revolver. Spike froze atop the train. Death by a bomb was waiting for him ahead. Death by guns was the option behind him. The only real other option was…

He swallowed.

Jumping.

It was the only thing even giving him a slight chance, the sand might just cushion his fall, if he landed right at least. If he landed wrong, the horsemen were the least of his problems. He could be stuck, lost in the desert with a broken leg, with nothing to look forward to but a slow, agonizing death from dehydration, an infected wound, or one of the countries many scavenger animals.

But even then, it was better than no chance at all here. So he sucked in a breath, ignored his buckling legs, and lept off the train.

The ground came up hard and fast and Spike landed with a pained grunt, tumbling head over heels down the angled sands until he finally came to a stop, face down and half buried under the sands, every part of his body burning in agony before quickly settling down to a numbness that was alarming to the boy.

He expected to be dead within seconds, left to rot in the sand with a bullet in his back, but a sudden explosion rocked his entire body. He looked behind him to see a massive plume of fire and smoke erupt. The riders had blown the train. Turning onto his back, his ribs screamed at him, but he stared up, drunkenly looking for the riders that had been upon him moments ago.

All that remained of them were the tracks of their horses and the sounds of their gunshots firing off in the distance. It seemed that they’d left Spike for dead, and by all accounts he may as well have been. He was in the middle of the desert, his body was rocked in pain and worst of all he’d left his knapsack with the only water he packed on the train.

He took in a breath, then another, trying to get some sort of sense jolted back into him. After a long, agonizing wait, he rose, letting out a gasp of surprise when he tumbled down again onto his face. Swearing under his breath, he rose yet again, and this time kept to his feet, every joint on his body on fire as he hobbled unsurely towards the train, still sweeping his gaze around drunkenly for any bandits nearby.

He finally reached the remains of the train, still smoking and smoldering in the aftermath of the attack. Limping to one of the boxcars he crawled inside, gritting his teeth in pain, until he had sapped everything he had in him. His body fell limp and landed on the grating, half in and half out of the train. He let out a weak laugh, despite the pain it caused him.

After a long moment of trying to calm down and failing, he felt his fatigue crash into him, his adrenaline vanishing into dust. Still, even then, he tried to rise, only to find he didn’t have the strength to move a hand, let alone stand. His head ached, a distant part of him warned that he might have a concussion, but he only barely acknowledged the possibility, the thought of sleep too soothing and calming to him. Instead, he let his body simply relax, already feeling the pull of his dreams calling to him. His thoughts warned him desperately one more time, but he felt like he was floating away, and the warnings were mere background noise.

Spike shut his eyes and slept.