Bored.

I can’t describe how bored I am. What am I doing? Why am I even doing it anymore?

I’ve thought about quitting for years. Yeah, I never got Yearling. Beat her to the buck once or twice. That’s good enough, isn’t it? I still want to kill her. I think. The idea just doesn’t excite me like it used to.

I thought working for the Archons would be shit. It’s actually been a pretty smooth deal. Haven’t had to kill anypony in over a year. I grew to like some of my ‘helpers’ too. Surprisingly nice bunch, for violent ruffians (not that I have room to talk). Celestia help me, sometimes I even thought of them as friends.

I’d forgotten.

Then I read the newspaper this morning. An entire city put to the torch. They say the nilgiri just started slaughtering one another. I’m not so easily fooled as the masses though, and I’ve spent enough time around the Archons to know when something’s up. They did that. Somehow.

An entire city.

Shit. I don’t want to do this anymore.

—Cruelles Caballeron, Book of Shadows XLVIII,

April 24, 998
Excerpt from personal diaries, translated from Palabras del Sur, June 16, 1007

A quiet, slow song played on the speakers above the bar. Caballeron didn’t understand a word of it, seeing as it was all in Germane. It sounded depressing though, which suited him just fine. He tapped the countertop, and within seconds the drab bartender was filling his mug with beer.

It was quiet in the bar. No surprise, considering it was a weekday and fairly early in the afternoon. Caballeron hadn’t wanted to be around anypony anyway. He nursed his mug, the third one so far, and wondered how many he’d be able to get in today before he collapsed. Maybe if he kept going he’d get alcohol poisoning and die. Might make things interesting for a change.

The front door opened. Caballeron didn’t look. Looking drew attention. He huddled on his barstool and stared at his mug, trying to convince himself to take another drink.

To his frustration, the newcomer chose the stool on his left. A lost soul seeking companionship, perhaps. Caballeron was in no mood to help in such things. He took a sip of his beer and said nothing. Neither did his new companion. The bartender wandered over, asked the guest what they wanted. No vocal reply. Must have gestured. Whatever the case, the bartender left.

Seconds turned to minutes. It seemed as if all Caballeron’s neighbor wanted to do was sit. If anything, that only made him fidget and wish he had Boomer with him. Who comes into a bar just to sit? This might be a problem, but Caballeron had plenty of experience dealing with problems. A one-on-one bar brawl would be a simple thing compared to what he'd dealt with before.

Then, the pony did something that startled him out of all pre-combat planning: they spoke. It wasn’t the act of speaking that caught him off guard. It was the voice; gentle and sweet like the most decadent candy, with just the slightest hint of a Grypha accent to compliment the classy tone.

“It appears you are going it alone today.”

And she spoke near-perfect Equestrian.

Slowly, Caballeron shifted his head to examine her with one eye. What he saw made his loins ache: a delicate white coat, a mane of silky pink, playful eyes of the softest violet, tall legs with fine musculature, and a sleek body the everyday runway model would sell her soul for. This wasn’t just a mare, this was a goddess of beauty. Even the devil in the back of his mind, usually gleeful at such a find, was stunned into silence.

Caballeron chugged his beer and didn’t look again.

“Whatever is the matter?” The mare giggled, a sound not unlike the tinkling of bells. “Never had a mare sit next to you in a bar?”

“Never one like you.” He absolutely refused to look her way. The mare couldn’t be real. This kind of encounter just didn’t happen. That meant she was here for a reason. He’d been in too many bars and picked up too many mares at those bars to buy this situation. And it couldn’t be something simple like a gold digger, no; this was a pony who knew him.

She gave a haughty ‘hmmph.’ “And here I thought the great Cruelles Caballeron was supposed to be a lady killer.”

Now he looked. Body tense, breath slow and steady, he spoke. “I don’t know you.”

She folded her forelegs on the bar and gave him a calm, blank look. It did nothing to detract from her beauty. When she replied, it was in perfect Palabras del Sur. “No, but we work for the same ponies.”

Once again, his train of thought derailed. “They employed somepony like you?”

“Meaning?”

He frowned, examining her from hoof to substantial horn. “I didn’t think they employed ponies based on attractiveness.”

Her lips curled into a smirk. “They didn’t. I first got involved when I was ten.”

Caballeron stared at her, his mind trying to wrap around that claim. All he managed to get out was a dull “You’re joking.”

“I’m afraid not.” She reached over, took his mug, and drained the last of it in one long gulp. Setting it aside, she wiped her lips daintily before adding, “I was found and trained by the Mane Archon himself. Fleur de Lis. A pleasure, I’m sure.”

“I’m not.” He scooted a little away from her. He wasn’t sure if he could trust half the claims she was making, but he also knew better than to challenge them directly. “What do you want me to do?”

“As direct as they say.” She turned to face him properly, and though her smile was as pleasant as nectar Caballeron suspected it to be hiding venom. “My boss’s boss wants something. Something so important that she had special... 'accommodations' made. You are going to get this item for her, and I am going to go with you.”

Caballeron narrowed his eyes. “Why?” When she merely raised an eyebrow, he elaborated. “Why you? I’ve worked with a dozen of your ponies in the past. Ponies with all the skills I’ve ever needed. Why not give me the ponies I know instead of some stranger?”

Fleur shrugged. “If I know her as well as I believe I do, then it’s likely a test. For me. For you. For my boss. I don’t need to know. All that’s important is that she wants this item badly, and she wants you and me to work together to get it.”

He studied her for some time, trying to detect some kind of deceit. He found nothing but her pleasant smile. She had to have been a master at poker. He didn’t like the circumstances at all… but he wasn’t about to say no, not to an order from the Princess herself.

“What’s the item?”

Her smile broadened. “Ever heard of the Alicorn Amulet?”

Caballeron stared at the image in his hooves. It was a pencil drawing, all in greys and yellows, depicting something between a mansion and a fortress. It featured two towers at the corners of a wide wall, with a third tower just visible in the background. It was situated among dry rock with what appeared to be a cliff in the background. Caballeron had never seen this particular image, and that alone indicated its importance. The structure was familiar enough though, and his hooves shook at the understanding of the opportunity he was being given.

He looked across the dining table to Fleur de Lis, who ate her Seapetal Stew with delicate sips. The two of them were in a hotel suite, a far grander locale than any Caballeron had been able to stay at before. The place had three bedrooms, two baths and a stunning view of one of Furlin’s many lakes. The table was pristine, varnished rosewood, the magilights hidden in shimmering crystal chandeliers, and the molding on the walls might have been real silver.

None of it meant anything in comparison to the framed piece of paper in his hooves. “Giulgiul’s Shame. You’ve actually found it?”

Fleur took a moment to dab at her lips with a napkin. “Not quite. It was never lost.” She took in his furrowed brow with the regal, aloof manner she’d adopted since they’d left the bar. “We’ve always known where Giulgiul’s Shame was. It was decided by a higher power that it should remain hidden.”

“A higher power.” He snorted and set the image down on the corner of the table, albeit very gently. “I imagine that translates to the highest power?”

Fleur nodded. “The highest.”

Grumbling, Caballeron took a sip of the stew before him. He had to admit, it was very good. And an unpleasant reminder of home. No doubt Fleur knew Seapetal Stew was a specialty of Equestria’s southern coastline, and had probably meant for it to make him comfortable. Then again, maybe it was some form of psychological torture…

Despite his misgivings, he couldn’t resist the flavors. How he missed Estéril Pezuñas.

After a few spoonfulls, he looked upon his host. “Why would Celestia want to keep Giulgiul’s Shame hidden?”

Fleur studied her soup in contemplative silence before responding. “Celestia is harder to understand than most ponies know, but also easier than they realize. To be honest, I do not know the exact why. All I know is that she’s decided she wants the Alicorn Amulet for her own purposes, and we’ve been given the task of retrieving it.”

“Huh.” Caballeron took a look around at the tall ceilings, amazing view and perfectly groomed servant waiting by the door to the kitchen. “Maybe my eyes are deceiving me, but you do not exactly look like the type who goes gallivanting into jungles looking for ancient artifacts in dangerous tombs.”

She flashed him a pearly smile, the kind of smile that would have made him weak in the knees ten years ago. “Your eyes do not deceive you. I am a city pony; I attend parties on the elbow of snobby nobles and spend my days trotting across fashion runways, and while the prince is freshening up thinking he’s about to get lucky, I’m slipping out the window with enough dirt in my hooves to destroy his entire family. Simply stuff, really.”

Caballeron scoffed. “Are you trying to scare me or impress me?”

“Neither.” She flicked her mane and returned to her stew. “I am merely acknowledging the fact that this kind of mission is not at all normal for me.”

“Then why would the Mane Archon assign you to do it?” He leaned forward to peer at her. “Why not send the guys I’m used to working with?”

“You’ve asked that once already.” Fleur sighed and dropped her spoon. She looked him in the eyes, and this time the cool, regal look was gone. In its place was thoughtful uncertainty. “On the surface, I’d say they thought you would appreciate working with a mare of my…” She smirked. “Caliber.” The frown returned and she shook her head. “But that makes no sense. You’ve never had a problem working with the others, and I would think the opportunity to ‘discover’ Giulgiul’s Shame alone would have been enough to get you onboard, pay or no pay.”

He smiled at the idea, already imagining the moment he set hoof inside the long lost ruin, said to be the former home of a mighty alicorn prince. For the first time in years, Caballeron felt genuinely excited about a job. “There’s no way I can argue that.”

Fleur continued, drawing him out of his momentary reverie. “As such, the only conclusion I can come to is that I’m being sent out of my comfort zone as part of a test.”

He leaned back and eyed the pearly ceiling. “A test. So what does that make me, the tester?”

Her tone became as serious as the grave. “Do you want my honest answer?”

When he looked down, it was to see her watching him with a heavy-lidded, hard expression. “Of course.”

She steepled her hooves, partially hiding her face behind them. She studied him for a time, seeming to think on her answer. “I’ve been through a lot, Cruelles. In the time I’ve been an Archon, I’ve come to understand a bit about how these things work. You and me? We were chosen for a very specific reason. I promise you, as sure as the sun will rise in the morning, that neither of us will like that reason.”

“I see.” Caballeron didn’t see, not really, but he had a good enough image to know that there was no point in pressing the matter. “So this team up is bad news for both of us, then.”

“Most likely.” She drank some wine and held her glass out; the servant hurried to refill it without looking hurried at all. “But I’ve learned to roll with it. These kinds of jobs come along once every year or so. The only question is who will be the target next.”

The casual way she spoke enticed his curiosity. “And have you been targeted before?”

She stared at him for a moment, expression blank. Her response came in a perfectly even tone. “Once. Maybe twice.” Another sip of her refilled wine. “I think it best we talk about the job now, don’t you?”

He grunted and shoved his bowl away. “Fine, if you’re so determined to dodge, but I’ll be bringing this up again.” He tapped the frame of the picture. “Giulgiul’s Shame. Where is it?”

“Ever heard of the Uvres Marshes?”

He frowned, trying to sort through the vast amounts of geography stored in his brain. “That’s in… Mongolia, right? Strange, that’s about a thousand miles off from where everypony thought it was.”

“Naturally.” Fleur waved a dismissive hoof. “Celestia had the Archons plant false evidence centuries ago.”

His back went straight and his ears perked. “What? There are archeologists who made entire careers hunting for that place. You mean Longue Étape’s entire life was one big lie?”

Fleur stood and walked towards the window. Her empty bowl was quickly taken by the servant. “She lived a long and fulfilling life, according to her memoirs. Yes, her studies were based on lies, but she never knew that.”

Stew sloshed from his bowl when he slammed his hoof on the table. “That doesn’t make it okay!”

“True.” Fleur gazed out at the moonlit lake, her face hidden from view. “But it is not our place to question.”

“No, you are all Celestia’s obedient little lapdogs, aren’t you?” Picking the picture back up, he scowled as he studied it. “What does this amulet do that it would scare her so much?”

Fluer cast him a one-eyed glance. “Scared? The princess is not scared of the Alicorn Amulet. She merely saw no reason to move it. It was safe and protected where it was, and she had no use for it.” She raised a hoof to her chin and returned to gazing out the window. “At least, that’s my theory.”

“Whatever the reason is, I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to like it.” Fleur turned to give him a solemn look, her regal mask back on her face. “You just have to do it.” With that, she moved for the door. “I have some reports to write. Feel free to stay the night in one of the guest rooms. Tomorrow we can plan our trip. Good evening, Mr. Caballeron.”

He watched her go. When the door closed, he cast his eye on the servant. “What are you waiting for, an invitation? Get out of here.”

The servant raised his muzzle with a derogatory sniff before walking over. He reached for Caballeron’s bowl of stew.

“I’m not done with that.”

The servant’s eye twitched. He stepped back, gave what may have been the smallest bow an equine body could physically produce, and left. Caballeron waited until the door closed before taking another look at the picture.

Giulgiul’s Shame. Just the question of who Guilguil was could keep linguists and archeologists busy for their entire lives. War hero, villain, traitor, philanthropist, archmage, necromancer, all had been accredited to him by one pony or another. Caballeron knew that he’d never be able to go back into legitimate archeology, but it didn’t matter. Guilguil’s shame was one of those mystifying pipe dreams that all archeologists dreamed of finding, even the ones who didn’t believe it existed. It was like… like…

Pawtlopotl. It was like Pawtlpotl.

Caballeron’s heart jumped into his throat. His hooves shook, his breath came in gasps. Gradually, he put the picture down. Could he do this? Risk such disappointment, such shame? If Silty were here, she’d…

The little demon in the back of his head, having long settled in, threw a tantrum at the thought of the one pony that might dare threaten its domain. Caballeron was tempted to smash the picture, and everything else in this damnable hotel room. He might go in there and show that ignorant filly just how much of a ‘lady killer’ he could be! They would do this to him again, drag him into the misery and pain and foolishness just like that? Just like that?

He was halfway to the door when he slowed to a stop. He thought of Fleur, how young she was. How… pretty. She looked as if she might have been Silty’s age when…

Shaking his head, Caballeron stomped for the window. The thought had been a dumb one. Fleur looked nothing like Silty! Where did that even come from?

But still, as he stared at his reflection in the glass, he felt his anger smothering. He reached for it, tried to hug it close, but the melted away in a flood of misery. Groaning, he pressed his forehead to the cool pane. “Silty… This isn’t like the others. I’ve been to so many little tombs and temples, but they were minor things. Common. Known. This… This is like what we should have had. Why does it have to be that pretty prancing unicorn flower instead of you? You could appreciate this for what it is.”

His reflection offered no answer. So he just stood there, letting the pane of glass warm up.

He almost swore he saw familiar pink eyes watching over his shoulder.

There were few places that Caballeron could say he’d never been to before. The Mongolian Plateau was one of them. It stretched out before him, green plains with low hills of varied degrees of steepness. There were no trees that he could see, but grass was abundant, and the tribe Fleur and he had spent the night at had converted the area into farmland. For the most part, the landscape was flat, almost to the point of being dreadfully dull.

The natives weren’t much better. They were true horses, like the Gallopeans, but possessed shorter and broader statures. Really, Caballeron had seen a pony or two of similar size. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have accused them of being ponies with inferiority complexes, but since they were all of a similar size – disturbingly so – he had to assume they really were a specific breed.

And their color. So drab. Dull browns, slate greys, the occasional chalky white, and most dabbled with spots of blacks, browns and oranges. They certainly didn’t appeal to Caballeron’s senses. Heck, he had trouble distinguishing the mares from the stallions!

He stood outside their rented hut. What was the local term for these things? Gers? Not a bad structure, assuming one was fine sharing a single room. Fleur certainly didn’t have a problem with it. He wouldn’t dare touch the apprentice to the Mane Archon, not like that. Unfortunately, Fleur knew this and seemed to find teasing him a great source of entertainment. There was a time when he wouldn’t have hesitated, but now her constant toying with him only left him bitter.

Which was why he was sitting outside their ger so early in the morning. Fleur had been honest about the city pony thing, and was currently going through the frustrating, time-consuming process of ‘readying herself,’ as she liked to call it. Stay in there and the blasted mare might ask him to brush her tail for her, or perhaps groom the coat hairs on her back. She’d done both at different times on this trip. Goddess, but that playful tone she took on grated on his nerves.

Part of him longed to take advantage of the situation. With how often she put on the charm, he couldn’t help wondering if she really would let him go all the way for the fun of it. She was an Archon, after all; why would he expect ponies with no moral compasses to be prudish? Then again, he might try it and end up on his back… and not in the pleasant way. He wouldn’t put it past her to offer little more than a cruel bait-and-switch.

Did he even want to? A whole week of travel with the mare, and he still couldn’t help wondering how he would feel afterwards. Probably like he had after every other mare. There’d been so many other mares…

The flap over the door of the ger opened, and Fleur stepped out. She was as radiant as ever, to his consternation. “Good morning, Cruelles!” She gave him a cheerful smile as she pranced out into the grass. “You’re so cold, refusing to help a lady when she needs it. Do you know how hard it is to get the tail combed just right without a mirror?” She waggled her hips, her tail swaying tantalizingly.

He snorted. “You ready to go, princess?”

With a pout, she flicked her mane and trotted further into the small village. “After I get some fresh breakfast. After all, this will be our last opportunity before we reach our destination.”

He couldn’t argue her point, and so followed along. She always seemed so happy in public. Even now, though she didn’t understand a word these horses spoke, she always smiled and greeted the Mongolians as she passed. And they smiled back every time, charmed by her bubbly personality, pretty voice and lithe figure. Caballeron suspected the mare could charm a hoard from a dragon if she wanted to.

It was all a ruse. There were moments, few and fleeting, when she’d slow down. Like when they’d met in the bar, or how she acted when they first discussed the mission over dinner in her hotel suite. Out in view of the general public, however, she seemed to take on a singular persona: naïve, happy and bouncy. Not necessarily in that order. Back when he worked for Chasing, he’d wear mares like that as an accessory and for exercise. To think, a mare who looked and acted like that was capable of slicing his throat in his sleep.

Deep down, the idea terrified him.

While he’d been lost in his thoughts, Fleur had found their translator. He’d been shocked she’d needed one, having already heard her speak fluent Equestrian, Germane, Gryphan and Palabras del Sur, and he was pretty sure he’d heard her murmuring in Fancy once. He supposed even an Archon couldn’t do everything though. The translator, also the guide who brought them to the village, was always enamored with the pretty pony, and he was more than happy to help them purchase some buuz, which they’d learned last night was a sort of dumpling. Fleur bought enough from the local vendor to feed them for several days, and Caballeron wasn’t about to complain; the things were vastly superior to the travel packets they’d brought with them, at least in taste.

Once they’d each packed an equal number of the dumblings, they asked their guide about the Uvres Marshes. As before, he turned pallid and adamantly refused to say anything about it. He was talking in rapid Gryphan, so Caballeron had to take him at face value.

Whatever he was saying as he stormed away, it gave Fleur pause. She watched the horse go with an uncertain frown.

“What?” Caballeron looked from her to the retreating Mongolian. “What did he say?”

She cocked her head to the side, ears flicking. “He said he was tired of mares asking about the marshes.”

Caballeron’s blood ran cold. There had been nothing concrete, but there didn’t need to be: he knew. His voice felt like gravel in his throat. “Which way?”

“Cruelles—”

“Which way do we go?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “North by northwest.”

Pivoting on his hind legs, he headed in the identified direction at a quick trot. He seethed at the audacity of fate, putting him in this position. His first chance in thirteen years, and that bitch was set to rob him of a glorious moment again. What were the odds that she would be looking for the same thing, have arrived at roughly the same time? By Nightmare Moon’s purple ass, the bitch could already be there, putting her dirty hooves all over his ruins!

“Cruelles!” Fleur was at his side, waving a hoof in his face. “What’s gotten into you? Why the rush?”

He ground his teeth and glared straight ahead, not slowing in his relentless march out of the village. “It’s Yearling. She’s here. I’m not letting her win. Not this time. This time, she dies.”

“Yearling?” It took a moment, but comprehension finally dawned on her face. She gave him a dull frown, her ears folding back. “You’re basing that off of a single comment? Cruelles, there’s no way to—”

Whipping his head around, he snarled in her face. “Did you know? Is this some fucked up Archon plot? If you knew about this, I swear to Celestia—”

She hissed in his ear with a startling amount of force given her earlier demeanor. “Get a hold of yourself. No, I didn’t know and don't even think you're right. But if you are, why are you complaining? Hasn’t it been your goal for the last decade to kill her? Here you go. Here’s another shot. Stop whining and take it.”

He bit his tongue to keep his retort in check. His mental demon was clawing the walls in a desperate bid to escape and do some damage, but steadily, Caballeron reined it in. He met Fleur’s glare and considered her words. “You really didn’t know?”

She huffed. “You don’t even know that stallion was talking about Daring Do in the first place, but for the sake of argument let’s assume he was. No, I didn’t know. However…” She glanced away, and her scowl faded to a brooding but thoughtful frown. “I wouldn’t put it past my superiors to have made… ‘arrangements’.”

“And what does that mean?”

“It means somepony in the Archons might have known.” She glanced at him and sighed. “Would you slow down? You’re going to exhaust us both long before nightfall at this pace.”

He didn’t. At least, not at first. A few minutes passed as they trotted, her mumbling and sulking as he glared straight ahead. Yet, in time, logic and experience won out, and he eased his pace… albeit only so much as he deemed necessary. The very idea of Yearling exploring his ruins had the demon inside sharpening its claws.

They had to get to Giulgiul’s Shame as quickly as they could.

“Why are you so upset?”

Caballeron raised his eyes from the small fire. Fleur, nestled deep in her sleeping bag, watched him over the flames. Perhaps he should have been upset by the query, but all he felt was a dull annoyance. Even his inner devil couldn’t bother to take interest. “Don’t you already know?”

Shaking her head, she replied, “I know what happened between the two of you. That doesn’t explain your worries now. Why would you think she’s ‘stealing’ your find?”

He stared at her for a time, then turned his attention back to the flames.

Fleur sighed. “Come on, Cruelles. Talk to me! We’ve been stuck together for a week now, and we’ve got more than that to go. Aren’t you the least bit interested in getting acquainted?”

“Not with Archons.”

She raised her head, ears flicking against the cool wind that blew over the already chilly plateau. “That’s not what Clammy said in his report.”

He grunted and said no more.

Rather than dissuade her, the act seemed only to make her more interested. Fleur tapped her chin, eyes set upon the stars, and spoke in a playfully thoughtful tone. “How did it read? Ah, yes: ‘A hard exterior marred by a secret desire to know companionship, which leads to him inevitably warming up to those he works around over time.’ There was more, if you’d like me to go on.”

Goddess, but she could be annoying when she wanted to be! “I’m not interested in making friends with you, alright?”

“And why not?” She leaned forward to study him with what appeared to be genuine interest. “Because I don’t know as much about archeology as the other Archons you’ve worked with?”

“No.”

“Because my rank intimidates you?”

“No.”

“Because you have to share the find of Giulgiul’s Shame with me?”

“No!”

“Because you’re too grumpy for your own good?”

“I don’t need another Silty in my life!”

He had jumped to his hooves. Steam billowed from his nostrils as he glared at her startled face and his shoulders were tensed for a pounce. For a moment, he thought about going through with the attack. His little demon would be grateful for the distraction.

But then he realized just what he was doing, and the anger bled out like steam from a valve. He slumped to his barrel and sighed. “Just… leave me alone.”

For a time, it seemed as though she’d honor that request. But then, to his frustration, she spoke quietly over the crackle of the flames. “I apologize. All this time I’d been teasing you. You had a reputation as a tail chaser, so I never thought you’d look at it in such a way.”

“That’s not—” He found her staring at her hooves. Was that remorse real, or just another one of her acts? She was capable of so many masks, there could be no telling. But if she was faking it… well, she’s was doing an amazing job.

He exhaled a long breath and shook his head. “Look, I don’t know what you’re expecting from me. All I know is that I can’t grow attached to another mare, even in a platonic way. I’ve had my fill of loss.”

A perfect eyebrow rose. “Are you suggesting that I would die to just any old threat?”

“It doesn’t matter how the loss occurs,” he replied distantly. “A loss is a loss.”

She cocked her head and pursed her lips in thought. “You never had such reservations with the other Archons who have worked with you in the past. Mares included, so I know it’s not that.”

“They weren’t…” Words eluded him. He couldn’t be sure what he wanted to say, much less what he was supposed to. If only this conversation would end.

She leaned forward once more, even as her ears folded back. “Do I remind you of her? Silt Eyes?”

He would have scoffed were he not feeling so miserable. Settling for a snort, he replied, “You’re white… mostly. And a unicorn. And tall. Other than that, you don’t look anything like her. She had a much larger build. A brown mane.” He closed his eyes, and suddenly she was there, smiling at him. “Silty was a rugged pony. Strong, and smarter than she believed. Tenacious. Excitable.”

The corners of his lips curled up as he spoke, and he could feel a certain floating sensation in his chest. How clearly she appeared in his mind's eye, as if she'd been standing before him all this time. “She wasn’t the most attractive pony. I knew some stallions who thought I was an idiot for wasting time with her. But it wasn’t a waste. Not a single minute was a waste.”

Even the devil, in an uncharacteristic showing of respect, refused to lash out against his musings. “She loved the life. Loved the job. She was never so happy, so… so brilliant than when she was in the dirt, sweating in the desert sun over a single piece of pottery most ponies would think of as junk. When she got into her element, my Big Girl shined brighter than the full moon.”

His words drifted into the night, and his mind’s eye lingered on Silty’s smiling face. He’d not seen her so well in years, and she was perfect. More perfect than he recalled. In that moment, he couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, she’d have forgiven him everything. That he could have walked up to her and held her, and she’d laugh and threaten to kick his flank for getting too grabby.

And then she’d hold him too, and tell him everything was okay. Pawtlpotl didn’t bother her. The mares that he’d toyed with didn’t bother her. The lives he’d taken didn’t bother her. If he’d just give up this stupid journey for revenge, that would be all she’d need. And he would…

He would…

The high faded. He was back in his sleeping bag, on the cold plateau of Mongolia, lying by a campfire. Despite the heat of the flames, a chill entered his bones. He curled the sleeping bag a little more tightly around his withers and sighed.

Then he remembered that he wasn’t alone. Fleur watched him with a soft smile, the firelight shifting in her eyes. “You loved her very much, didn’t you?”

“And I lost her.” He snorted and looked away, out into the endless plateau. “That’s it. That’s all there is.”

She was quiet for a time. “I think I get it.”

“Good for you.” Adamantly refusing to look at her, he nonetheless had to ask. “Get what?”

“The frustration. The mares you leave behind after one night stands. Why you avoided talking to me.” A pause. “Why you’re so afraid.”

His gut clenched, and he almost rejected her last statement. Somehow, he managed to stop himself. But he couldn’t keep the bite out of his voice. “So, Dr. Sickmend Faust, what’s the prognosis?”

She turned her gaze to the fire. “I think you chase the pretty mares because you long for the closeness you lost, and leave them behind because you think if you get too close you’ll get hurt all over again.”

He closed his eyes, only to see Silty there. That same wonderful, adorable smile on her comforting face. His chest ached at the sight, even as he recalled so many mares. Or… the ‘presence’ of them. Could he remember a single face?

“You’re wrong,” he whispered. “They didn’t mean anything to me. Not a one of them.”

“But they could have. And that’s what scares you, I believe.”

He took a few long, calming breaths. He felt as though he should be angry at her. He wanted to be angry. But the fire wouldn’t come. His inner demon, as if cowed by some unseen force, skulked in the back of his mind and ignored his halfhearted prodding. Perhaps it was because of how much his heart burned at the moment. He looked to that image of Silty. The way her ears were folded back, and how her eyes shined like stars, and how sad her little smile was. He silently begged her to come closer, to tell him Fleur was wrong, to make him better.

But she did none of those things. She was little more than a ghost, a figment of his fractured mind. No help would come, but not for a lack of want.

Fighting the tears in his eyes, Caballeron curled into his sleeping bag, back to Fleur. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

Author's Notes:

Before anyone jumps me for using Mongolian (too late for that, I'm sure), take a look at this: Mongolian Horse.