Within the car we were free of the guises Sombra had wrought. We tended to stay away from each other which was suiting since not too much happened in terms of excitement during the first week in the cargo car. This wasn’t to say we had nothing to do. Sombra alternated between many activities. He spent time re-sorting his gear in a suspicious manner.

Who did he think would steal it, me?!

Other things he did were less interesting.  Such as pacing the car on the other side of the boxes and lurking in corners. He seemed to this quite a bit so I assumed he was sleeping. He also did things like spying on the crew in disguise. Occasionally he would curtly update me on their activities.  For example: three had a cold, up one from the previous couple of days.

  Talking and communications of any kind tended to be strained, most likely out of shared suspicion. Sombra further retreated into solitary behaviors primarily stealing the cargo (fresh fruits and cotton cloth). While he did all this I performed less interesting feats.

Namely, I read my book:

  It is here that our tale picks up. As the council took place in the great hall of Farreach; the leader of this clan, Fredrick Ironhoof was listening to an offer that the caravan had proposed. The offer was perfect in mind of Farreachers. Fredrick would have his precious only daughter Finola, lively dryad of a young mare, be sent to the rich land of Gildentundra to marry the wealthy Lord Silvedas. It seemed like a fantasy because the fey tale of Farreach was only a deceptive notion.

At this moment the train lurched and I looked up from Lore of Yore. One of the train's car doors had been opened revealing a star-spangled Western Equestrian sky. A small breeze swept over and chilled me.

Why was the door open? It was freezing!

I bookmarked my page and walked across the car, gripping it in magic so I could slide it closed.

“Don't close it,” mumbled a voice.

Where did that voice come from? Was somepony else here? Was that the wind?

Nervously, I lit my horn and shined it through the dark car. The werelight’s  gleam revealed Sombra sitting mostly obscured by his cloak with a windblown mane.

“How long have you been there?”

The wistful look that was there a moment before faded from his eyes.

“…About eight solar hours and two lunar hours…probably more.”

This was another one of his pony-from-the-past quirks. Calling the twelve hours of daylight solar hours and the twelve hours of night lunar hours.

  “That’s over ten hours…why?”

  Who would spend that much time looking at the heavens? For a moment he looked embarrassed then he shook his head so now, his mane obscured his eyes even more.

“It’s…um…nostalgic in a sense, I guess.”

I cocked my head to the side. Was it me or might he have been acting a bit ‘off’ there?

“Alright then…I'm going to go back to reading, or maybe sleeping.”

He didn’t respond. As I walked back over to my corner, around the load of cargo stacked in the middle, I sat down and picked up the book once more. One glance at the sky blue cover and I felt my eyes began to falter, lids lowering. The pale gold bindings twinkled like fireflies.

‘Sleeeep…..’ They seemed to say.

I left Sombra to his stargazing as the conscious party member. My eyes shut obeying the silent will of a storybook.

Eight more days.

  A sharp eyed pony may have noticed that none of the folk of Farreach appeared to be over their thirty-fifth winter. Ah, but Life here was far from eternal youth, for the fore-stated assumption was true: nopony did live past their thirty-fifth winter. That was tragedy of this paradise. Every mother and father wised that a chance might cometh to send their foals into a hope beyond the endless blizzards and snows of the Niji Toriniku Mountain Range. It was only now that the chance emerged for Fredrick Ironhoof and Lila Cloverheart.

  I wondered as I was reading that morning if, perhaps Sombra was alive then and maybe he knew these ponies, assuming it was history not prose.

Where was he anyway?

  Looking up from my corner, I felt my eyes drift between the loads of cargo towards the corner diagonal of me. A figure covered in burlap sacks and the stupid cloak was curled up there. Based on the breathing he was asleep. I was not foolish enough to try and wake him. What was I going to do, poke him with a stick?

Not happening.

  I resumed reading, awaiting the fairy tale ending or a joyous climax. The book went on to tell how Finola was sent to Gildentundra. She had a tearful farewell and six of her cousins, whose ages ranged from seven through fourteen, were sent to be her respective maids of honor. Then, apparently on the trip four of her cute little cousins froze to death (I admit this part made my eyes tear up a little, sometimes fairy tale characters die but it is normally not the children that do). At least not in almost all Equestrian fairy tales.

  When she arrived at the mansion she was immediately wedded to the unicorn pony, Silvedas. It was described how she had difficulty adjusting to new customs and was slandered for her ‘nymph-like antics’. Later, gold was reported to be stolen. The greedy ponies of the manor blamed Finola’s maids-her two remaining cousins-and had them executed.

Tears flowed down my muzzle. How could a fairy tale be this mean-spirited? Where was Finola being valiant, or an ally coming to her defense?

No more reading for now.  

  I closed the book and walked over to the opposite side of the car. As I peered around the cargo I spotted Mr. Creepy Magic himself staring indifferently at the evening clouds through the open side door. Despite the daylight his hood was drawn, masking his features.

He didn’t turn but I could tell he sensed my approach.

“Ah…hello…’hi’?”

I was quiet. Was he trying out less formal modern greetings?

He cleared his throat. “Princess Amore? I think we are going to be…approaching the Empire soon.” To show this he gestured outside at the landscape: vast marshes not unlike those that surrounded the outskirts of Vanhoover greeted us.

  I blinked in surprise. This was good! “My results must have been off then; we will approach the Empire in four days, not seven.”

Sombra just grunted in reply and I gazed out the train car.

Soon I will be home and Shiny and I will be able to ready the Empire's troops and defeat this foe…but what about Sombra? What will happen to him?

“Princess Amore…?”

I jolted back, shaking my uncurled and slightly bedraggled mane (and tail). “Yes Sombra?”

What could he possibly want right now?

I could hear gulping under his hood.

“Have you ever wondered…if life is just a shoddily made bridge and that one…thing…we want most is at the other end; and we have no magic or wings, or help to get us there?”

“What?!” I stared at him, mouth agape. A bridge? Was he implying travel? Or Celestia forbid, re-conquest? He claimed he would help me!

I stood firm. “No! I will NOT help you re-enslave the empire! You said so yourself, and I hold you to your word, which was that you wouldn’t even try! You also claimed you would HELP ME!”

He stared at me blankly, then a look of what I almost believed was hurt, emerged on his face.

“No…that’s not what…ugh…nevermind. I thought that you of all ponies would understand.”

He left in the form of a teleportation spell.

I stood there standing as the sun set wondering…what could he possibly have that I would understand?

But just as important: Was the real evil in Lore of Yore and might Sombra actually trying to tell me things that are important?

I gazed up at the clouds as the last light of Celestia's sun touched them, their fluffy white appearance no masked by rumbly gray.

Almost black if somepony looked close enough.

Maybe if I had looked close enough Sombra wouldn’t have been so upset. But, once again: how could he possibly have a problem I could solve?

The marshes glared back at me almost in a taunting manner.

I let the coming rain hit me, just as I let my tears hit the floor.

Shivering I wondered who they were for. Me? The Empire? Shiny? The Fairy Tale?

Did it really matter though?

I shuddered slightly both from the sobs that racked me and distant rumbles I felt in the ground, causing the train to whimper with me. Next Chapter: Chapter 9: Into the Arctic Estimated time remaining: 32 Minutes