Vino shivered as he crept through the depression in which he was told to lie in wait, alongside several other hunters from the camp. His job, easy as it appeared to be, was an apparently vital one. The Minotaurs around him were just come into their growth, having passed the age of calves but not yet proper bulls and cows, and they wriggled alongside him, having more difficulty lying low than he, clutching their stones and short throwing spears in their clutches.

It was theoretically a simple job, though it required a great deal of coordination in advance. Scouts from the camp had indeed reported that the large herd of caribou was nearby, a mere splinter of the group that had come by last week, numbering in the thousands. There were perhaps a hundred here, but a hundred spooked caribou would trample a pony or a Minotaur just as dead as thousands would.

The appointed leader for the day, a cow by the name of Britha, held up one clenched fist, and the group stopped. Gradually, through signs and quick, low arm movements, she dispatched her orders. Four of the hunters were to go to the left, and wait by the rocks. Six were to go to the right, and wait on her signal before they charged. The rest, Vino included, were to wait with her.

Vino did as he was silently bade, and shuffled nervously in his furs, which reeked of sweat even though they had been given to him fresh a day ago. It had been nearly a week by his reckoning since they had arrived here, a week of strange new ways and suspicious glances by the other guards whom he had come to know only by their distinguishing features, a strange black horn or a missing eye, and while the Minotaur had been courteous enough in their way, he and Cobblestone were unused to many things that were considered necessary for survival in this barren land.

One of those things was the activity he was currently engaged in. He and Cobblestone were both vegetarians, and the idea of meat eating made his stomach at least turn faintly nauseous. He’d managed to choke down some dry jerky a few days past, but his ration of herbs, lichen, and fungus had gone to Cobblestone, whenever she was conscious enough to eat. He hadn’t seen much of her.

His stomach growled, and Britha glanced at him fiercely. It was her first time leading a hunt, and she’d been less than thrilled with the idea of taking a pony along as part of her band. She spoke little Eqquish, and he spoke no Taurish, so he hadn’t been able to convince her of his usefulness, but he felt that his actions would speak louder than his words.

There was a low bugling from the herd just over the hill, and Vino found himself holding his breath as he listened for movement. The world suddenly sounded very silent, like it was waiting on an action to start its next moment. That action came in the form of a quick clacking sound, two rocks banged together in a pattern, twice, once, twice. The rightmost band had reached their position, and the left should have long ago reached the rocks. In fact, Vino could turn his head and just make them out.

Britha’s signal, while not exactly subtle, certainly did its job. She leapt from her hiding place, the rest of the young Minotaurs following suit, and bellowed ferociously. Vino, now able to properly see the herd, could count every individual eye looking at him from this distance, and something in his gut told him that there were exactly one hundred caribou, and that what happened next wasn’t going to go as planned.

The right band burst from concealment, charging the caribou, and while most nearby did react by running to Vino’s left, there were quite a few bull caribou charging directly forward, Britha’s call being taken as a challenge. With a grunt, he sped past Britha, his bladeband, recently returned, springing from his foreleg to hover in front of him in a silvery-red ribbon.He heard the rest of the band follow him, but paid them little mind, as he was fixated upon a particularly large bull caribou who was charging directly at him.

If the caribou stampeded into the band, they were dead. They were huge creatures, and ornery, and very protective of the dozen or so young Vino could see in the middle of the herd. Vino hated what he had to do next, but it was a matter of survival. The herd needed to be turned. A fresh body would turn them.

He grimaced as he drew near to the bull, and swung fiercely at its unprotected neck, rolling out of the way of its questing antlers and pounding hooves. He felt a twinge of pain, and a spray of hot arterial blood. There was a cut along his haunch, no more than a graze, but the caribou was in much worse shape. He regained his hooves, noting several rearing caribou turning to flee the way they were supposed to go, and the massive bull near him, which hit the ground with a limp thud.

Its eyes, wide and frightened, met his own, and Vino felt a tugging at his core as he watched that look turn away from him, up towards the blank blue sky, the eyes going from wide to glassy, and the blood spurting from its neck slowing as its heart stopped beating, leaving a red and congealing puddle in the snow. Vino felt slightly sick.

A brawny hand hauled him to his hooves, and he turned to see Britha grinning widely at him with pointed teeth. She slapped him on the back, said something in Taurish, and pointed into the distance. Vino followed her gesture, and saw that the caribou had indeed been chased by the first and second band past the rocks, where a few rocks and whoops had kept them going strong. Vino watched as, in a single motion, the far side of the depression where the caribou had come to graze was suddenly covered in adult hunters, each with proper spears and nets and bows to bring down as many caribou as they could.

It was a bloodbath. The Minotaurs knew their trade, and knew it well. A dozen caribou were felled with the first volley, ten with the next. A few were brought down by the Minotaur bulls in their prime using only their hands, leaping atop the creatures and wringing their necks until they broke. The young caribou and some of their mothers were allowed to escape back to the larger herd, but by and large most of the beasts were killed, as quickly and efficiently as possible.

The stench of blood and offal reached Vino’s nostrils, and he fought down a retch, instead turning away and reminding himself that he was only doing what was necessary for survival. It was awful and cruel, but this was an awful and cruel place. His eyes fell back onto the caribou he’d killed. Maybe there had been another way? Maybe he could have kicked up some snow, or taken off an antler? It might have turned aside and escaped back to its herd, or…

His reverie was interrupted by the rush of wings, and Vino felt his heart sink as a familiar tattooed Pegasus, light blue with a braided mane of white landed in front of him, her face set in what appeared to be a perpetual scowl. Vino returned the bladeband to his hoof, and waited for whatever it was she was about to say.

“The calves tell me you charged out ahead and killed a caribou,” she said. Her eyes fell to the steaming corpse beside him. “I had to come see for myself.”

“They aren’t calves, Arctia,” Vino replied warily. “And yes, I killed the caribou. It was leading a charge that would have killed us.”

“Killed you, maybe,” Arctia replied haughtily. “Britha’s able to care for herself, and so were the rest. Personally, I’d hoped you’d die. It’d save me the trouble of having to kill you myself one day. But seeing as you’ve made your first kill…”

She grunted something in Taurish, and Britha nodded solemnly, striding to the caribou and drawing a knife from her belt, opening its belly in a businesslike fashion. Vino watched in sickened fascination as she rummaged around inside of the chest cavity, finally emerging with something that resembled a heart. Without ceremony, Britha cut a sliver from the organ, offering it to him.

“Every calf hopes to make a kill on its first hunt,” Arctia explained as she sauntered forward, pressing close to Vino and nudging him roughly towards the caribou. “Few do. When a calf does make a kill, it is ceremonial to eat from its heart, as a sign of strength and manhood. Or womanhood, as the case might be.”

Vino’s nose wrinkled. “That’s disgusting,” he said. “I’ve got no need to prove myself as an adult, or a warrior.”

Arctia’s face grew even more serious as she looked him in the eye. Vino noticed her eyes were the piercing blue of permafrost, and just as hard and cold. “I wasn’t offering you a choice,” she said. “You are an outlander, strange to our ways. To refuse what is offered is a grave insult. Britha would be forever shamed by your refusal, and you would prove yourself no better than a child. She would then likely challenge you to holm-gang for the insult.”

“Holm-gang?”

“Combat, usually to the death,” Arctia replied. “So unless you want to kill or be killed, prove your strength’s worth, outlander.”

Vino looked from her, to Britha, who regarded him seriously, and then to the slice of heart still resting on her knife’s blade. He grimaced, stepped forward, and before he could think about it, accepted the slice of still-warm heartflesh into his mouth. He chewed frantically, noting that it was tough and rubbery and tasted foully of copper and salt, and before he could spit it out, he swallowed it. His chest heaved once, he drew in a shuddering breath, and then opened his eyes without realizing he had closed them.

Britha looked at him in amazement before she turned to Arctia, saying something in Taurish. Arctia replied with a much longer phrase, and before Vino could ask what it was she had said, Britha barked a quick laugh and slung the caribou over her broad shoulders, carrying it back towards where the other Minotaurs were gathering the bodies.

“What did she say?” Vino asked, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

Arctia’s scowl softened. “She asked why you had done something as foolish as eating a caribou heart,” she said. “I told her I thought it would be funny, because you have more honor than sense.”

With that, she flashed him a fierce grin, before her wings extended with a snap and she propelled herself in the air, leaving Vino as the butt of a joke and with the taste of blood in his mouth.

Cobblestone could tell when she woke up that the fever had broken.

It had been a rough few days for her. The injuries from the ice, as well as those she had sustained in the thane’s tent, had finally caught up with her, and while the strange Gryphon, who went by the name of Rota, had been tending her for the past week or so, it hadn’t been a pleasant experience.

“You’re awake,” Rota said. “Good. How do you feel?”

Cobblestone hiccuped, feeling her mouth stick as she did. “Like crap,” she said. “But much better than I did yesterday, or whenever it was I was up last.”

“Two days ago,” Rota corrected her. “Your fever broke sometime yesterday evening. Welcome back to the land of the living. Get dressed.”

A pile of clothes and furs hit her in the face. Cobblestone groped blindly for them. “That could take a while,” she said. “And I’m starving, too.”

Rota sniffed. “About time you ate something,” she said. “You’ve puked up everything else I gave you in the past week, and blood besides. Wait here.”

“Do I have a choice?” Cobblestone asked dryly. There was no answer save for the rustle of a tent flap, and with a sigh, she settled back into the fold of her cot to wait for Rota to return. While she waited, she contemplated what to do about the predicament that she, Serale, and Vino found themselves in. It wasn’t going to be easy, but they had to find a way back home. But Vino was under watch, she was blind, and Serale…

“Hey, Serale?” she called hopefully. “You awake yet?”

There was no answer, and she felt her heart sink. Serale had been unconscious ever since they had cast the spell, and Cobblestone was beginning to think that she wouldn’t wake up. She could hear her breathing, and every now and then she even shifted slightly in her bed, so she wasn’t in a coma, but she was definitely asleep, and Cobblestone had no idea how to wake her back up. Or if it was even possible to.

The tent flap rustled again, and Cobblestone could smell the pungent scent of garlic and something richer, in addition to hearing the slosh of a water skin. There was a clatter as Rota set whatever it was that she was carrying down and approached her.

“Open your mouth,” she said, in a tone that brooked no nonsense. “You need food to regain your strength.”

Cobblestone did as she was told, and was surprised when Rota shoved something into her mouth that was certainly not a food she was familiar with. Immediately, she tried to spit the morsel out, but Rota’s claw latched onto her mouth, holding it shut.

“Chew and swallow,” she commanded. “I’ll not have you waste more food.”

Cobblestone chewed the rubbery...thing...and swallowed, noting the taste of salt that lingered in her mouth. She coughed as Rota took her claw away. “What was that?” she demanded. “It was awful.”

“Caribou and fungus,” Rota said, as she popped another spoonful of the stuff into her mouth. “Not what you’re used to, but what you need right now.”

Cobblestone’s eyes widened. Meat. She was eating the meat of another creature. Once again, she attempted to spit out the food in her mouth, but like a mother disciplining her child, Rota simply held her mouth closed once again, until Cobblestone could bear it no more, and swallowed her meal. Rota’s claw fell away from her mouth, and Cobblestone sensed that she was preparing another spoonful.

“That’s it,” she said. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

Rota paused. “If you do not eat,” she said, “You will not heal. I know that ponies do not care for or eat flesh, but understand that it will help you recover more swiftly if you do eat it.”

“I can eat the fungus,” Cobblestone said. “Caribou’s crossing the line.”

“Up here, a pony cannot survive on lichen and fungus alone,” Rota said. “And root vegetables, rare as they are, are kept for foals who cannot yet eat much meat. This land is not meant for you, little pony. If you wish to live, do what you must in order to survive.”

Cobblestone could feel her stomach churning uneasily, and though she wasn’t retching, she certainly wasn’t enjoying her food. She opened her mouth, and a small hiccup came out, unbidden. She snapped it closed again, took a deep breath, and nodded. She kept her mouth open as another spoonful of stew was pushed into her mouth, and after she swallowed that, another.

It wasn’t long before she heard the scraping of the spoon on the bottom of the bowl. She breathed a sigh of relief as Kara set the bowl to one side, and she heard the familiar swishing sound of water in a skin.

She took the waterskin gingerly, and even though it tasted slightly musty, to Cobblestone it might have been the best water she’d ever had. She finished the skin off eagerly, and feeling something in her belly for the first time in days, she almost wanted to drift off to sleep again. But she’d had enough of that in the past days.

“How do you feel?” Rota asked. “Your appetite is back.”

Cobblestone nodded. “Much better,” she replied, meaning it. She could actually feel strength returning to her limbs, and the malaise that had hung over her in her sickness was all but gone now.She stretched, feeling the tautness of her skin underneath the blankets. “You wanted me to get dressed? Am I going somewhere?”

Rota was quiet for a moment. “Possibly,” she said. “Tell me, how is your horn feeling? Can you use your magic?”

Cobblestone frowned. “Maybe? I haven’t tried.”

“Do so,” Rota said. “I have had an idea.”

Cobblestone wasn’t sure of what to do for a moment, and then, with nothing else coming to mind, she seized control of the blankets covering her with her magic, and, with a significant effort, removed them from the cot. She grunted as she felt the colder air of the tent hit her coat, and replaced the blankets as soon as she could.

“Good,” Rota said. “Good. So it isn’t a complete loss. Have you tried to see magic yet? It may help regain your sight.”

Cobblestone felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. “Who told you I could see using magic?”

“I was told by the gods that you can see magic,” Rota replied calmly. “But you were much too sick to try. Now you are somewhat better. So you should try.”

“Celestia and Luna told you I could see magic?” Cobblestone asked, confused. “How did they do that?”

Rota chuckled, a low and gravelly sound. “There are more gods in this world than your own, child,” she said. “The god of the Mountain told me. And the god of the Pool, but that’s beside the point. You have a gift that very few do. Use it.”

“I’m not sure if I can,” Cobblestone said. “It was hard even when I was at my best.”

“Which is why I put herbs to help you in your food and water,” Rota said. “Now try.”

Cobblestone initially balked at the revelation, but realized that she’d probably been fed all sorts of drugs and herbs during her sickness, and if Rota wanted her dead, she would be long before now.

She reached for magic, firstly from within herself, and then from those around her. Gradually, she lowered the barriers around her mind, finding that it did indeed come much easier than it should have. There was a sharp twinge of pain from her horn, but she ignored it, she had moved past pain and into the fire inside of herself. She visualized it clearly, blazing a proud blue, able to almost see it in her mind’s eye.

And then she could see it, using sightless eyes. She was a being of fire, as she had been before, and all around her was darkness. But there were other beings as well. A fierce golden pulsing figure that she knew without doubt was Rota, and there, on the other side of the tent, was a flicker of greenish flame that was undoubtedly Serale. She looked Rota in the eyes, which came into focus very gradually. “I can see,” she said. “Just you and Serale, but I can see.”

Rota nodded. “Imagine your magic as a wave,” she said. “Send out a bit of yourself as a pulse. Only a bit, and not as force, just...you.”

Cobblestone’s brow furrowed, her breath came heavily. “Like a bat?” she asked. “I might be able to manage that. It’d be tricky.”

“Yes,” Rota said. “A good analogy. Try. Do not worry, I’ll be able to help if something goes wrong.”

There was a pause as Cobblestone grabbed a bit of her magic, and let it wash out of her horn in a wide wave. She blinked her sightless eyes. The world has existed again, even if it was all tinged blue and only visible for a moment. She adjusted and tried again, this time sending out a shorter band. She noticed it was far less draining on her magical reserves. The next bands were shorter and shorter, but came out in a pattern that she could adjust with some frequency.

She grinned. “I’m doing it,” she said. “Can you tell?”

“Only by looking at your horn,” Rota replied, her voice intrigued. “Fascinating. The thane will be pleased, at least. Tell me, what can you see?”

Cobblestone leaned back onto her haunches, short of breath. “The world is kind of flickering,” she said. “And everything’s blue, like my magic. Also, this is really damn tiring. I think if my horn were in better shape, it’d be easier. I could probably keep this up for fifteen minutes, maybe a bit more, but it’s hard.”

Rota nodded, Cobblestone was pleased to see, and lifted a claw to her chin in thought. “Perhaps I can find a way to make it easier for you,” she said. “Wait here. I am going to gather the necessary herbs.

Cobblestone watched her leave the tent, the gold contained within her bluish outline fading quickly in the cold gust outside of its meagre walls. Fascinated by the new world surrounding her, she tentatively got out of her cot, exploring the tent for the first time.

It was utilitarian by most standards, but Cobblestone realized that for the hard-living Minotaurs, this was probably a very well-appointed space. Cushions were scattered around the floor, which was made of wood instead of simple dirt, and a large brazier dominated the center of the tent, its coals smoldering readily in case fuel was added. It worried Cobblestone a tad that she had somehow become accustomed to the smell of burning dung in the span of a week, but at least it kept her warm.

She moved slowly, avoiding the empty bowl on the floor and a staff topped with what she sensed might have been a dragon skull. She stumbled only once, on the edge of a rug, but eventually, she made her way to the other side of the tent, where Serale lay asleep. Tentatively, she reached out for her friend, checking her pulse, feeling for damage around her head, knowing that it was probably fruitless.

She felt a pang of sadness. What had they done wrong? Serale had been so sure everything was going to work out as planned. Cobblestone might not have been as smart when it came to magical theory as Serale was, but she hadn’t been able to find anything wrong with that plan. It was just going to give Vino a little boost of energy, enough to get him moving a bit faster or hit just a tad harder than his opponent. There was no reason the spell should have gone so badly wrong.

“What happened to you, Serale?” she murmured. She reached out, nervous at first, but then with a bit more confidence, she gently moved Serale’s mane, something she had been so proud of, out of her eyes, though it would make no difference. She almost wanted to try and leave with her now. She could see, even if it was only a little. But she had her magic back. If she put her all into it, she might be able to get them away.

She realized that she had been running her hoof through Serale’s mane, and pulled back, her face flushing faintly. The gesture felt too familiar, almost. Too close. But what else could she do? Surely she was capable of bringing Serale back, or else what had all her talent and training been for?

An idea occurred to her. Maybe it was...no it was definitely a bad idea. But it might be her only shot. If Serale was awake, then she might be able to talk their way back home. Or, failing that, she could come up with an escape plan, or slip her necklace off and use the ley lines to send them back home. Cobblestone was all but useless right now, but if she had Serale with her, then things would get a lot better.

At the very least, she and Vino wouldn’t be quite as alone.

She sat up from her position by the bed, and gently removed the necklace from around Serale’s throat. She let the pulses of magic around her fade, along with her awareness of the world. Once again she was a being of fire, and Serale’s flickering green was visible clear as day. Carefully, in case she lost control of her magic, she forced out a small tendril of her own spirit, and watched as it made contact with Serale’s own soul.

There was a rush of air, and Cobblestone’s eyes widened as she made contact with Serale for the first time since she had gone missing nearly a month ago. The sensation was nearly overwhelming, and she could feel something else besides her and her friend, something that was entirely different from the scattered souls outside or the tenuous thrum, barely felt but never seen, of the ley lines around her.

The mountain that they were camped by was a colossus of roiling flame. It burned in indescribable colors, strange mixes of purples and greens and yellows and reds and a hundred other colors besides. Souls streaked from it in streams, like the flickering of an aurora but more closely resembling a wild torrent of multicolored and flaming glory.

The mountain outside was not comprised of souls. It had its own massive presence, a spirit all its own. It was more than mortal by far. It was a god, and Cobblestone could understand what Rota had spoken of earlier. She felt a profound sense of awe, and realized for the first time just what it was that she could see, that she could do.

But it was also causing the spell to behave strangely. Cobblestone felt inexorably drawn towards the mountain, and a chill ran through her, one that caused her flame to flicker like a candle guttering in the breeze. There was a shuddering sensation, and a sharp twinge, and there was a sudden roar of spring-green flame.

Cobblestone was flung backward by the force of the blow, nearly hitting the brazier. Her vision went completely dark, and she pushed her magic out again just in time to see Rota rushing through the tent flap, flinging a satchel to one side as she did so. The scene was an odd one. Serale was either falling back onto her bed, or had just finished floating in midair, and the bruising along Cobblestone’s back told her that she had probably been in the air at some point as well.

“What have you done?” Rota asked urgently. “And what in the gods’ name was that awful windy sound?”

Cobblestone gasped, getting her wind back. “Woke...her…” she managed to croak. She drew in a shuddering breath. “I woke her up. Or tried to, at least.” She peered at Serale, whose flame was burning much more brightly, a healthy green. “She should be up.”

Rota frowned. “You should not…” she got out, and then Serale shot bolt upright and started screaming.

Cobblestone leapt forward, almost tackling her as she did so. “Serale!” She shouted. “Serale, it’s me, Cobblestone. You’re safe, you’re okay. You can calm down now!”

Serale went slack all at once, then with a twitch, she stirred, as if waking from a very deep sleep. Her eyes opened. “R...Rarity?” She asked. “Is that you?”

Cobblestone looked at her, confused. “Rarity?” She asked. “Who’s Rarity?”

Serale looked at her, eyes wide. “Who are you?”

“I’m Cobblestone, you ditz,” Cobblestone said. And then she was hit by a revelation with all the force of a thunderbolt. “Who are you?”

Serale looked around the tent, thoroughly shocked. “My name...my name is Sweetie Belle,” she said. “Where am I?”