Author's Notes:

Done reading this and Rocky's fight? Decide who wins right here!

Arcanum choked as the old wooden door swung wide and he was assaulted by a sickeningly sweet rush of warm, moist air. His eye adjusted quickly, as the space beyond was only slightly brighter than the interior of the castle, and the unicorn pulled his traveling cloak up over his muzzle to lessen the smell before stepping out into the open.

The terrain before him looked like some sort of jungle or swamp, with thick underbrush and medium-sized, closely-spaced trees whose upper branches grew together in such a way that they formed a nearly unbroken canopy. What light did filter through from above was refracted through a strange, viscous substance that dripped and oozed from literally every surface he could see, bathing the entire scene in a deceptively gentle amber glow. The ground, likewise covered in the semi-translucent substance, had a slight give when his hooves squelched into the moss-like surface.

Tree sap? Syrup, maybe? He used his magic to tuck the ends of his cloak around his barrel, noting that the shallow depressions his steps made quickly filled themselves in once his hooves had left; the spongy matter puffing back up as it soaked in the sticky fluid around it. It left almost no trace that it had been disturbed, and while it required a little more effort than normal to walk, it would not be overly tiring to do so for the short term.

Tracking anything in this place will be difficult, though, he thought as he lowered the cloak and noticed that beneath the sweet sugary odor lurked a pungent tinge of rot and decay. It was not overly hot, but Arcanum could already feel the sweat starting to dampen his coat from the oppressive humidity.

“Welcome, friends, to round one!” Arcanum flinched as Discord’s voice suddenly echoed from everywhere at once. “By now you’re probably wondering where your opponents are. Well, look around! Somewhere within the Arena your obstacle to victory is thinking the same thing. So keep on your guard! You never know where they might be or what they might be capable of.”

Arcanum heard the wooden door slam shut and was only partially surprised when he turned his head to see that the only thing behind him was more dripping foliage and sticky marshland.

“Oh, and by the way,” the draconequus added, almost as an afterthought, “once one of you has proven to be a clear victor, the exit will appear at the center of the battlefield. Good luck finding it! Ta!”

“Luck indeed,” Arcanum snorted. Aside from the swamp itself, there were no discernable landmarks or points of reference that he could see. Even if he assumed that he had been facing the center of this arena when he entered—which, given the nature of their host, was just as likely as not—it would still be difficult to locate.

His ears pricked up as a wet rustling off to his left captured his focus. He turned to face the distant sound, carefully backing between a pair of ooze-covered shrubs and crouching as the source drew closer. Whoever it was seemingly didn’t care about stealth, but Arcanum wasn’t about to argue the good fortune of getting the drop on his foe. His horn glowed and the air around him shimmered as he cast a minor illusion to make his hiding place appear to be just another part of the underbrush.

A moment later, a strange-looking stallion stumbled through the bushes, struggling against the sticky goo that now stretched between its mottled grey coat and the foliage. It ambled forward in a listless daze, swaying with each step. Arcanum narrowed his eye as the pony stalked closer. He remained perfectly still as it shambled past, and only when it was directly in front of him did he realize that its unblinking eyes had no irises; only tiny, dark pupils that stared straight ahead. He also couldn’t help but notice the lack of a cutie mark.

Not one of the other contestants, Arcanum thought as he waited for the increasingly un-pony-like thing to wander far enough away that he felt safe in dispelling his illusion. He watched the direction the…thing had gone, listening to it crash and squish clumsily through the underbrush for quite some distance. It was then that he realized there was almost no other sound, save for the semi-rhythmic splatter of syrup as it dripped from higher branches to the plants and ground below. There were no birds, no rustling leaves in the wind, nor any of the insect, frog or animal calls that one would normally associate with a swamp.

What he did hear in the distance was the faint echoes of somepony—or something—wailing in terror.

“What the heck were those things?” Rocky hissed as he crouched behind a tree, being careful not to lean against the sticky bark. The strange grey ponies he encountered didn’t appear to have pursued him, but the piercing, other-worldly wail they had unleashed when he had walked into their clearing was more than enough incentive for him to flee. Now that he had put some distance between them and himself they appeared to have stopped, and his ears had never been more thankful.

The griffon risked a quick glance around the tree as he caught his breath, just to make sure he wasn’t followed. The air here was thick and heavy; a far cry from the cold, clear sky he was used to in his mountainous home, but his well-conditioned lungs were already getting used to it. Flying was out of the question below the canopy, as the closely-packed trees and sticky vines stretched between them would quickly ensnare him, but his toned, muscular frame was better suited to staying earthbound anyway. As an athlete he was also no stranger to sweat, making the heat a non-issue. All in all, he was fairly certain he could fight at full capacity under these conditions.

Assuming he ever actually found his opponent.

It doesn’t make any sense! If this Discord jerk wants to watch us fight, why make us waste time wandering around? Rocky puzzled. At this rate I’m gonna keel over from the diabetes that this sky-forsaken swamp is probably giving me before I find the other guy.

A sloppy splattering sound—louder and distinctly different from the swamp’s persistent dripping—swiveled Rocky’s head around. He crouched and crept in the direction it had come from, his talons sinking into the tacky ground like a knife through a syrup-soaked pancake. His sharp predator’s eyes saw that the area ahead was brighter than the rest of the jungle, and as he neared his ears picked up a slow, gurgling sound.

The last of the underbrush gave way to the sight of a river comprised of the same maple syrup that covered the rest of the forest. It flowed along sluggishly, the current no faster than a few feet per minute, but it was wide enough that the trees lining either side did not reach all the way across, revealing an open, greyish-blue sky. Rocky smiled and carefully spread his wings on the narrow riverbank. Finding his opponent from the air might be difficult due to the thick canopy, but it was still better than trudging along in the muck.

Another loud plop pulled his attention back down, and he could’ve sworn he saw something move beneath the viscous amber surface. A moment later, a single large bubble slowly worked its way up through the goo, bulging slightly before bursting. Again something moved beneath the slime; this time he was sure of it.

Did one of those weird grey ponies fall in? Rocky cocked his head to one side and leaned closer, trying to get a better view.

The surface of the river suddenly burst, splattering the sugary fluid across Rocky’s beak and plumage, but before he could pull back a glowing yellow collar clamped around his neck. The long chain connected to it snapped taught, and were it not for his reflexive grip on the ground it would have pulled him headfirst into the river.

Rocky went rigid as he fought against it, the pain in his neck swiftly becoming nothing beside the abrupt full-body strain of keeping himself from a sticky, suffocating fate. With an adrenaline-fueled surge of strength and a loud screech of defiance, the chain snapped with a hollow twang, sending the griffon tumbling back from the riverbank and into a shrub.

He scrambled free of the sticky plant, gasping as the collar and short length of chain still attached to it evaporated into nothingness. His eyes searched wildly, but the jungle had returned to its quiet, passive state. The subtle sounds of the maple river, the constant background dripping, and his own breathing were the only ones that graced his ears. His head swiveled, keen eyes searching for movement other than the occasional shaking leaf as it was struck by a falling dollop of syrup, but Rocky wasn’t fooled for a second. His opponent was out there somewhere, watching him.

And that pissed him off a little.

“Is that how we’re gonna play this?” Rocky shouted, voice piercing through the nearly silent swamp. “You’re just gonna hide and take potshots at me? You really that much of a wimp?” He turned, stalking back into the underbrush. “Let me guess… you’re that old unicorn, aren’t’cha? Figures; just my luck to get stuck with the natural born coward.” He paused, listening and watching his surroundings intently, but it became clear that no reply or retort was coming. He frowned slightly as he tried to recall some of the things he had heard more bigoted griffons say in the past.

“S’pose I can’t really blame you… I mean, this’s a fight after all. We all know there’s no way some pansy pony, let alone a unicorn could beat a griffon in a talon-to-hoof matchup,” he continued, weaving carefully through the underbrush in a rough semicircle around the spot he’d been attacked at the river. “Don’t get me wrong; it’s not your fault. Ponies just aren’t fighters like us griffons. You’re always going on and on about ‘friendship’ this and ‘harmony’ that. I don’t know what else to expect when you all sit around worshipping that namby-pamby Princess Celestia.”

“I do not worship that traitorous witch.”

Rocky nearly missed a step at the sudden, venomous reply. It hadn’t been the reaction he’d expected, but he still had to fight the urge to smile. His opponent was definitely nearby; now to seal the deal.

“Oh, do you like the other one then? The one who threw a temper tantrum because nopony liked her and got sent to the moon for a timeout? Talk about a headcase.”

“You will not speak ill of Princess Luna,” the voice growled.

C’mon, just one more. “I’m sorry, could you say that again? Her name is Looney? That’s kinda fitting.”

“Silence!”

Rocky turned in the direction the shout had come from, a wide grin breaking across his beak.

“Whatever you say!” He sprang forward, leaping over a row of sticky shrubs and forcing his way past several others. His powerful hind legs propelled him through the underbrush with ease, though he felt sharp stings as a few smaller feathers were left behind on the syrupy foliage. After just a few bounding strides he spotted the unicorn, partially crouched behind a tree. He dug his talons into the ground for added traction and leaped, his prey’s one good eye going wide as he descended.

The unicorn reared up on his hind legs as Rocky slammed into him, his talons grasping the pony by the shoulders and pushing him over onto his back easily. He struggled for a moment beneath the griffon’s superior weight, but all four limbs had been quickly and expertly pinned to the ground.

Rocky leaned in close to his foe’s terrified face with a victorious sneer. “I think the time for talk is pretty much over anyway, don’t you?”

The pony beneath him suddenly unleashed a familiar wail of horrified despair that sent spikes of pain shooting through his ears and head. Rocky squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his beak, instinctively leaping back to get away from the source of the terrifying sound. The screaming stopped, but before he could fully recover he felt the crushing pain of a pair of jaws clamping onto his left foreleg just above the wrist.

Rocky growled, striking the unicorn in the side of the head with his free fist hard enough to dislodge and send him sprawling away. As the pony scrambled to his feet Rocky’s eyes widened. What had been the old unicorn stallion was now a grey, feral pony just like the ones he’d run away from earlier. It snarled, its nearly lifeless eyes staring at him for a moment longer, but then turned abruptly and scampered off into the jungle. Rocky did not follow, glancing down at his foreleg. He could clearly make out teeth marks and was certain that they’d leave a vicious bruise, but thanks to the tough leathery skin of his eagle-like limb there hadn’t been any serious damage.

“What the feather is going on here?” Rocky wondered aloud.

“I must admit, I’m impressed,” his opponent’s voice said from a short distance behind him. Rocky spun around in time to see a small syrup-soaked shrub—one he had run right past a moment ago—shimmer and dissipate into nothingness, replaced by the sight of his calm and collected opponent. “You broke that chain quite easily, and I didn’t expect you to locate my decoy for at least another few minutes. You are quite skilled.”

Rocky ground his beak. Even this guy’s compliments sound condescending! He resisted the urge to simply leap at the pony, unsure if this was the real deal or just another trick. He chose to circle him instead, taking a few cautious steps with his injured leg just to see if he could still put all his weight onto it. The unicorn responded in kind, keeping his distance from Rocky and preventing himself from being flanked.

“Staying to my left to try and take advantage of my blind spot,” the unicorn appraised. “A wise strategy. Of course, if I am just another illusion, as you suspect, then it doesn’t really matter does it?”

“Who are you?” Rocky asked impatiently. “You’re not like any pony I’ve dealt with before.”

“Oh?” the unicorn raised a brow. “Am I not the—how did you put it—natural born coward you were expecting?”

Rocky shook his head. “Sorry, I don’t normally talk smack during a game, but getting you riled up was the best way to figure out where you were hiding. Don’t take it personal.”

“Not at all,” the pony said with a slight bow. “It was a sound strategy.”

Rocky nodded back, sizing up his foe as they continued to circle one another. “I’ve played a lot of sports where you’ve gotta learn how to read your opponent. I’ve competed against ponies that had just as much guts as any griffon, but you… you’re something I haven’t seen before. You’re... cold inside.”

The unicorn made a pensive face and bobbed his head. “I suppose that’s an acceptable description. To answer your question, my name is Arcanum. And yours?”

“Rocky,” he replied. “Nice to meet ya; nicer to beat ya.”

“I’m sure,” Arcanum deadpanned. “Shall we continue?”

Rocky’s response was another pounce, his talons lunging this time for Arcanum’s throat, but the unicorn ducked in the nick of time. Rocky landed behind his foe with a squelch and spun around to find that he had vanished again. The griffon narrowed his eyes. Another illusion, or…?

He swept his right talons across at chest level, slashing through the empty space. He was rewarded with a barely audible gasp and a slight tug as his talons ripped into something soft. He spotted as well as heard the telltale hoofalls that formed on the ground, scampering away from him. He coiled his hind legs, intending to tackle the invisible Arcanum before he could retreat to the cover of the underbrush, but just as he was about to leap a pair of glowing manacles sprang from the shrubs on either side of him and made beelines for his neck.

He shifted, jumping straight up into the air instead. The magical chains impacted one another and shattered into glowing shards as Rocky landed back down. Unfortunately the distraction had done just what it had been intended to do. Arcanum was gone, and the tracks he left in his escape had already been subsumed by the swampy earth.

“Rats,” Rocky spat under his breath as he scraped one talon against the slimy ground to remove the small scrap of brown cloth that dangled from it. His eyes and ears went back into full observation mode as he tried to watch every direction at once.

“Now where’d you go?”

Arcanum panted as quietly as he could manage, his invisibility spell fading away as he crouched behind the trunk of a particularly thick tree. He spared a glance down at his chest and the tear that now ran through the front of his cloak. If that attack had been just a little closer…

He shook his head, banishing such thoughts. I can’t afford to be so careless. He took one last steadying breath—silently cursing his aging body for already being winded—and lit up his horn.

The rustling underbrush was all the warning Rocky had before another set of manacles shot toward him from behind, but he was ready. He leaped again, letting them pass below, and only near the apex of his jump did he spot the second pair of glowing chains heading straight for him from the left.

He twisted in midair, using his wings to aid him, and let both slip by on either side. He landed atop the chains of the first two manacles, his paws pinning them to the ground even as he reached up and caught the others in his talons. He tugged them sharply and to his surprise was rewarded with a pseudo-metallic snapping sound as they went limp in his grip. They vanished, along with the ones beneath his paws, just as another rustling sound came from behind him.

Rocky turned with a grin. “This is getting really predictable, gramps!” His smile vanished when he realized that instead of a set of magical chains there was a small, uprooted bush, its leaves still dripping with sticky syrup, flying his way surrounded by an amber glow. Rocky backpedaled and was forced to leap and use his wings for added elevation to avoid being covered with binding goo.

No sooner had he landed than another bush ripped from the ground and hurled itself at him, followed closely by yet another set of chains. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, he turned and ran, keeping low and sprinting through the underbrush as fast as his legs could carry him. He ducked and weaved, zig-zagging back and forth through the dense foliage, often doubling back on a moment’s notice. More manacles and goopy shrubs tried to throw themselves in his path, but his eyes and reflexes were more than up to the task of avoiding them.

Still, Rocky knew that running and dodging wasn’t going to help him win. Arcanum was trying to tire him out, and while a contest of stamina was something he’d be willing to try against an athletic opponent, he had no idea if unicorns could even run out of magic the way he could run out of energy.

He glanced back and forth, searching for some indication of where Arcanum was hiding. Bushes and trees flashed past, and he was becoming acutely aware of how much syrup was starting to stick to his feathers and coat. He could hear something moving through the underbrush not too far away, but he didn’t dare stop for a moment to listen. As if reading his mind, another magic manacle whizzed past his feathered head and a shrub toppled neatly into his path.

Rocky leaped over the latter, spotting the low-hanging branch just a little too late to fully avoid it. His wing clipped the tree limb as he passed beneath it, knocking him off balance and resulting in a less-than-graceful landing as the side of his face met the sticky ground. He swiftly regained his footing and surged forward, much more aware of just how desperate a situation he was in. Dammit, where the feather is he?!

Rocky’s eyes widened, his pace slowing for a mere instant as he stared at a particular bush to his right. He turned and sped away with his head down. He kept up the pace for another few moments, making sure he wasn’t doubling back, and continued to dodge the chains that attempted to ensnare him. There! His eyes focused on another shrub as he approached it. He took two more strides before abruptly turning, using a single flap of his powerful wings to give him a boost, and streaked directly into the shrub. He balled his right talon into a fist and struck out, grinning with satisfaction as he connected not with sticky branches, but with the fleshy muzzle of a pony.

Arcanum gasped and fell backwards, stars dancing across his vision even with his eye squeezed shut. Fire radiated from the tip of his nose all the way to the back of his head, and he was only partially aware of the sensation of landing on his side, despite it knocking the wind out of him. He shook his head to try and clear the disorientation, but before he could fully recover he felt more pain explode across his barrel as a follow-up kick impacted his ribcage. Arcanum slid and tumbled across the ground, crashing awkwardly against the base of a pair of trees where he resumed gasping for breath through clenched teeth.

“You need to change up these illusions you keep using to hide,” Rocky chided. “If I hadn’t noticed that I was seeing the same bush over and over again in different places I might never have found ya.”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind,” Arcanum said as he pushed himself up onto his hooves. He was barely halfway there when another balled fist slammed into the side of his head, putting him back on the ground.

“Might wanna stay down this time.” Rocky said as he stepped over Arcanum, placing one foreleg on the side of his barrel and drawing a pained gasp from the unicorn. He flexed the talons of his other foreleg in front of his foe’s face menacingly. “I see that horn glow even a little and these babies will open you up.”

Arcanum glared up at him with pure malice. “Well then? What are you waiting for?”

“Give up,” Rocky replied.

“No.”

“Are you crazy, gramps?” Rocky shouted. “I’m giving you a chance to walk away from this with your life. I’m a griffon for crying out loud! We’re predators, and ponies aren’t that far from being just another form of prey. Give up before I change my mind.”

“I’ve come too far and sacrificed too much to waste the opportunity this tournament provides,” Arcanum said, matching the griffon’s stare without hesitation. “This is the best chance I will ever have to accomplish my goals. I’d rather die than let it slip away.”

Rocky growled and shook his foe slightly. “You idiot, it’s already over! I’ve won!”

A sinister smile crept onto Arcanum’s face. “Have you now?”

Before Rocky could react, Arcanum clamped his teeth around the collar of his cloak and pulled. He lost his balance as his paws, stuck to the trailing edge of the cloak by gobs of syrup, were abruptly pulled from under him. He tumbled back in a roll, coming up facing Arcanum only to see the unicorn’s horn glowing brightly. He braced for another magical onslaught, but as the glowing chains faded into existence around him, they began snaking up the trunks of several nearby trees instead.

The sound of snapping wood sent Rocky’s eyes wide, and with a primal snarl of exertion and a bright surge of magic, Arcanum brought the trees crashing down in a splintery, sticky implosion. The sound reverberated throughout the still air of the mire for miles, echoing past slime-soaked flora and startling a number of the wandering grey ponies that meandered through the swamp.

As the sound faded, another could be heard; that of Rocky’s sharp talons as he climbed up the fallen trunk of one of the trees, his feathers and coat now thoroughly plastered with syrup. He spat out some of the offending substance as he reached the topside of the trunk and scanned the area. Sure enough, Arcanum was gone once again.

“Dammit, this is really starting to piss me off!” he shouted. He tried to spread his wings, but the clumpy slime coating them made it incredibly difficult, dashing any hopes he had of searching for his foe by air.

From his slightly elevated vantage, a brief movement caught his eye in the underbrush a fair distance away. At first he thought it was another of the grey ponies running from the sound of the fallen trees, but his eyesight was just as keen as ever, and the telltale pattern of bluish-purple and brown told him he had found his prey.

Arcanum limped through the jungle as swiftly as his exhausted legs could carry him. His breath burned in his lungs, and each heave of his chest was accompanied by a sharp pain in his side. Cracked ribs, if not broken. Pulling down those trees had taken a huge amount of magical force, and just the thought of casting any elaborate illusions, let alone his trademark magical chains made his horn ache. He had to find someplace to rest; to hide and catch his breath. If the griffon caught him in the open now there would be no miraculous escape.

He rounded a small copse of trees and came upon a curious sight. The forest ahead of him was not the slimy, sticky mess that he had expected. Here the ground was still the golden color of syrup, but solid like stone, and the trees were without leaves and covered with a hardened, translucent coating. Arcanum could only assume it was dried syrup, though it looked much more like the traditional amber one would expect from petrified tree sap. The ground itself was mostly clear of underbrush, but featured a number of jagged, stalagmite-like protrusions made of the same solidified syrup.

At the center of the area was a tree that dwarfed the others, its trunk easily fifty or sixty hoofspans at the base. The sight of the massive tree drew Arcanum closer. Decades of experience with magic made it easy to recognize the potency of this seemingly dead tree, and he knew without a doubt that this was the center of the arena that Discord had instructed them to find.

He was so focused on the tree that he did not notice the amber-colored sandpit that he stepped into, his front hooves sinking almost up to his elbows before he managed to scramble back to solid ground. He stared down at the substance, realizing it encircled the central tree like a sort of protective moat, save for one thin patch of solid ground that served as a nearly invisible bridge off to his left.

A crashing sound from the underbrush back the way he’d come snapped Arcanum from his focused state. The griffon was catching up. He took another look at the giant tree and the sandy pit around it, an idea forming in his mind as a smile managed to curl his lips.

It was time to end this fight.

“Well that’s weird,” Rocky said as the giant, dead tree came into view. He strode into the hardened and decidedly less-sticky area of the mire and had to crane his neck to take in the topmost branches.

A soft whimper pulled his attention down to the bottom of the tree, where one of the odd grey ponies lay curled into a ball, its expressionless eyes somewhat at odds with its body language and quivering lower jaw. He took a few steps forward only for the pony to spasm in panic and attempt to cover its face with its hooves. Rocky stopped, glancing over the rest of the area and finding no sign of his prey. His eyes narrowed and slid back over to the cowering pony.

“Nice try,” Rocky said. The pony suddenly stopped shivering and stood up, albeit a little shakily, with a grim expression on its face. The air around it shimmered as Arcanum appeared in its place, breathing heavily and cradling his ribs with one hoof.

“It was worth a shot,” the unicorn spat, but Rocky just shook his head.

“You’ve been hiding behind stupid tricks this whole time; why would I still be falling for them at this point?”

“Are you going to keep talking or put an end to this?”

Rocky dropped into a crouch. “Just so you know this isn’t normally my style, but I’m here to prove I’m the best and I can’t let anypony stand in my way. If you’re determined to die rather than surrender, that’s just the way it's gonna be.”

“You’re still talking.”

A growl escaped Rocky’s throat, and he pounced. Arcanum made no move to avoid him as he sailed through the air, his talons outstretched for the kill.

He didn’t expect to fall straight through his prey, and then through the ground, and then find himself half-buried up to his midsection in a soaking, sticky pit of dark sand.

“What the-?!” Rocky attempted to clamber out of the mess, only to find that the more he struggled the faster he sank. With the illusion dispelled, Rocky realized that he was smack in the middle of a wide pit; too far from any edge to pull himself out. He tried to open his wings, but the mess of congealed syrup and matted feathers had no hope of being able to lift him free.

“You were saying something about not falling for stupid tricks?”

Rocky looked up as Arcanum emerged from behind the giant tree, his face impassive as he looked out on the struggling griffon.

“So what now?”

“Part of me wants to extend the same courtesy you tried to afford me earlier,” the unicorn said. “Like you, I take no pleasure in killing… However, I am—how did you put it? ‘Cold inside’?” His horn lit as a trio of golden chains sprang from the sandy pit and lashed themselves around Rocky’s torso and neck, slowly dragging him down.

“Wait! WAIT! I give, I give!” Rocky shouted, the words tasting foul even as they left his tongue. Arcanum stopped, turning to regard the tree behind him.

“It appears our illustrious host feels that surrender is not enough.”

“What? What’re you talking about?”

Arcanum gestured to the tree. “This is the center of the arena. The chaos magic radiating from it is palpable to one who is trained to recognize it. One can never be certain when it comes to chaos magic, but I believe it is enchanted to become the portal back to Discord’s castle when a victor is decided…and it seems that there is only one acceptable condition for victory.”

Rocky’s eyes widened. He fought against the chains and the pit with renewed vigor. “Dammit! It can’t end this way! I’m not going to let—!” His head slipped beneath the sand, silencing further protests. A few seconds later the surface stopped moving altogether, and Arcanum took a deep breath as the glow around his horn faded.

He felt the magic of the tree pulse and turned to see that a door-shaped section of the tree’s trunk had changed into a flowing, oozing mass of fresh syrup through which shone a glimmering light.

“Really?” Arcanum questioned the empty air. He shook his head and stepped through the portal, the sticky slime running over his mane and back as he passed through. As soon as the tip of his tail was inside it solidified once more, leaving no evidence behind that the maple mire had ever been the site of a battle, save for a few broken trees and the forgotten anguish of a fallen competitor.