Leaves and twigs crunched beneath Vincent’s boots, releasing an earthly scent into the air, strong enough to be detected through the mask. Gnarled and twisted pillars of bark supported a thick canopy of emerald leaves, brushing up against a bleak evening sky. Orange filtered through, he noted, his gaze falling from the obscured heaven and to activities of the forest.

A few insect buzzed by, a birdsong ending after a fierce, hawkish screech; the Everfree evidently was not a welcoming place. Cruel fallen branches reached out from the ground like avenging woodland spirits, a few more animals scurried along, selfish and inattentive to the two had been wandering by.

The Everfree was part of a strange group known as ‘Untouched Land’: self-governing, self-sustaining, disharmony ridden, and generally scorned pieces of land seemingly disconnected from the rest of the world. Areas covered sizes from street length to jungle-sized horizons of spaces where there was no authority nor magical guidance present.

For every single living organism to flourish here it was simply survival at all cost under the whims of the Fates.

Ser Vincent was probably one of the few that never felt the supposed disconnection that most would shiver and complain about. If anything he felt connected to these places better than in any civilised land. You had to be strong here, in mind, spirit, and body, so Vincent felt right at home. His parents explained how their entire world was just this: everlasting battle on an instinctual level to see the next day. And from where they hail from, his grand-motherland, as it were, humans were the apex predator.

Whenever Ser Vincent was in these lands, he made sure to live up to that when necessary.

“Almost there,” Sweetie Belle said from where she balanced upon a log. She walked along it with her arms out just before him, Vincent wary of the fact the fallen trunk was knee high to him.

“You’re the guide, Miss Belle, so I have to believe you,” Vincent remarked, glancing to the way they came. The long, curvy, turned-back-on-itself, way they came. ‘It’s not the first time I’ve had a guide that’s been almost there for forty minutes or so.’

“I’m sure it’s this way.” She looked back to him with a confident grin, a sight betrayed by her twitching tail and flattened ears. “I remember walking along this log with the girls before.”

‘You’ve been walking on every log we’ve passed.’

“If you say so.” Vincent looked deeper into the forest, though at this point, looking anywhere only revealed a dense collection of thin trees. All he knew about the forest was that the locals didn’t venture into here out of fear, and that a shaman could make a living with potions crafted from the flora around these parts.

“Ouch! Woah!”

Her squeak of surprise startled him. Ser Vincent snapped his attention to the little filly, finding her with arms flailing. The ground was hard here and the roots like stone. A brief flare of gold flashed in his eyes as he nimbly dashed over in a single stride, arms out. She fell into his open embrace, squinting up to her saviour.

“Are you okay?” he inquired, a residual wisp of golden mana drifting out the eyes of the mask.

“The tree poked me in my eye!” she grumbled as he set her onto her hooves, a small pout forming. She reached for her wound, wincing on contact. “You should arrest it!”

“Did you do anything to antagonise it?” he asked with mirth in his tone and a tilt of the head.

“No!” Her fierce defence was emphasised by the cute stomp of her hoof.

“You wouldn’t happen to have been disturbing its sleeping brother, would you?” A gesture to the log revealed a grouchy looking pattern in its bark, the face one makes when being forced awake early on the weekend.

“On second thought I’d like to drop the charges.” Sweetie quickly stated, able to open both eyes. Seemed fine. “Thanks for catching me, Ser Knight.”

“Careful, or I’ll have to escort you home if you keep disturbing the peace.” His warning was in jest and he was sure she picked up on it. More importantly, she got the message: stop trying to balance on the logs. The two continued their walk, Vincent noting how Sweetie kept looking back to him. “Is something the matter, Miss Belle?”

“I was just wondering why don’t wear a helmet?” The little unicorn continued speaking, looking around as she continued forward, hiding her uncertainty from the knight behind her.

“Didn’t get one in my size until after I got all this together,” Vincent remarked, tugging on his hood before tidying his sleeves.

“So what’s wrong with it then?” Okay, she knows that she’s seen that thorn bush before. As in today before.

“It wasn’t as effective as the mask and hood.” He replied as he came to her side, his gaze honing towards the center of the forest.

“Well, I was thinking, if you start looking more like a knight around here, then Ponyville’s gonna get used to you!” She explained, beaming up to him and awaiting his reaction. He seemed to quicken the pace and start walking particularly close to her, his attention focused onto the forest. Sniffing could be heard, his metal muzzle rising and falling.

“The visor reveals that I’m not a pony, the gauntlets almost peel my skin off whenever I grab my spear, and, frankly, it has a few modifications I am yet to have my knight commander permit.” He soon took the lead, turning on his heel and walking back. “Now, if you would be so kind as to keep your voice low and follow me.”

Perplexed but intrigued, the little unicorn followed him, growing worried at the way he kept looking back.

“Why? Do you know the way to Zecora’s.” Sweetie gave a confused frown, skipping along to catch up to him. Immediately he crouched down, grabbing her shoulder with one gloved hand and bringing a finger to his muzzle to shush her.

“We’re being followed, can’t you smell it?” He turned her around, pointing over her shoulder and towards the densest parts of the woods, amidst a collection of fallen, thick oaks and down canopies.

Unsure what to do, she tried getting a scent of forest air, finding it to be just that; crushed leaves and woodland wind, the aroma of a slightly damp ground, something fragrant and flowery, and something else foul altogether. It was faint until she noticed, the stench of a hundred decaying trees and swamp water originating from where they came.

“There’s something smelly, maybe?” She turned back to him, although was met with half his metal muzzle protruding over her shoulder, the knight’s sights focused on the path they had walked. “We’re in the Everfree, so it could be any… thing.”

Anything, the small child remembered, in the Everfree entailed a large collection of deadly beasts and hungry monsters. She tried to think of one that wasn’t able to gobble up small adorable children and she couldn’t think of one! Was it a manticore? A cockatrice? It was a cockatrice again wasn’t it? A small whimper escaped her as something moved, no, slinked and leaped by the fallen oak’s wolfish complexion, amber eyes peaking here and there. Ser Vincent gave her a gentle squeeze on her shoulder, pulling her back.

“Sweetie Belle, listen close: we’re going to hide in the warren nearby, under the tree behind us.” His calm voice was warm, her ear twitching as it soothed her nerves a little. He brought an arm around her and turned her around, his stare locked upon the stirring mound of oaks in the distance.

Contrary to popular belief, he could smell fairly well through the mask, not as well as without it, true, but he could smell a timber wolf when it was close enough. That was his first clue, the scent, his second being the trees the beast made itself out off—there were no oaks in this neck of the woods, so a fallen pile was suspicious enough.

The wolves were coming, barked bodies layered with moss, patches of bush and undergrowth. It was hard to see them but with the flicker of adrenaline gained from Miss Belle falling, startling him, he could distinguish the forest hounds not through sight but through their creeping movements.

“You see it?” He asked her, his long coat nearly enveloping her in its own protective embrace. “Not dead ahead, but under the tree leaning in?”

She could see it. Another thin tree with a large anchoring of roots had been shunned to the side, the bark depicting an angry outcry as the branches reached out. But under its footing was a large space, big enough for the both of them to slip under.

“Yes,” she managed, tail twitching and shoulder shrunk.

“Okay, I want you to run ahead,” he said. “Keep your head low.”

“What about you?” she asked, stopping to look up to him. Vincent still had his hand on her shoulder as he stood back up. He gave her a reassuring squeeze.

“I’ll make sure they don’t run right away, the fact that they’re not charging us means they haven’t found us yet. I don’t think they can tell me apart from the trees yet, but you? A little white pony wondering around in a green forest?” Her ears wilted but her gave her a pat on the head. “I’ll open my coat a bit, block their view, and you scamper into the warren where I’ll join you soon enough. We’ll hide them out.”

“What if they find us?” she asked, taking a reluctant step forward and away.

“They won’t.” he replied, warmly. He turned back to face the unknown number of wolves.

“But how-“

“They won’t.” His voice turned curt and cold, absolute like stone. He glance back to her, opening his coat wide. “Hurry.”

She took off, head down and her tail trailing into the ground. Her hooves pounded the dirt, embedding her presence. She gained a light pant, her breath accompanying the sound of leaves and grass crinkling as she quickly slipped into the dirty warren. Rarity isn’t going to like this. Then she waited. She heard naught but her childish breathes, an overhanging blade of long crass swaying in its path as she listened intensely. Bird song and wind.

A wild, blood curdling howl of a timber wolf shattered the serenity, heavy steps soon pounding their way towards her. She heard the earth be kicked up as the sky darkened, the light of the entrance disappearing as another joined her. Ser Vincent wasted no time in configuring space, exposing his forest green back to the world as he shielded the little filly. It made things rather cramped though.

She was smushed up against his chest, the plates sold against her cheek and the scent of spice tickling her olfactory sense. Also there was a root caught in her ear, driving her wild in agitation.

“My apologies for the lack of comfort, Sweetie Belle,” he whispered calmly and casually.

“Ipsfine.” She managed with half her maw pressed against his armoured chest. His arm thankfully prevent any more roots from digging into her back, though it wasn’t exactly a body pillow to be pushed against.

“Okay, now we have to be very quiet.” His timing could not have been any better; as if summoned, both heavy and light steps could be heard outside, in a great number too. Scratching and scuffling, growls and barks, at one point the tree shuddered, roots shedding their layer of dirt upon the hiding duo.

Then came the stench. A horrid, fetid odour of rot, decay, and festering meals caught between rows of splintering canines. Sweetie almost lost her lunch at the polluting aroma as it pooled in the small space, drowning both her and the knight in the foul of dead forest.

Vincent wasn’t faring much better but he could control his gags, and it was a good thing he had his mask—ever since becoming aware of how honest his expressions were beneath it, he had been newly accustomed to feeling his face twist and mould to reflect his feelings without his consent. He doubted Miss Belle would like to see him disgusted right now.

Large intakes of air were heard behind him. A large paw must have rest against the tree, the roots once again straining as the tree bent. It was sniffing for his scent or maybe it was Miss Belle’s? She smelt of raspberry and vanilla so maybe that’s what they had traced from her hoof prints he saw in the ground. The timber wolf’s sniffs were like someone breathing into a microphone and Vincent was next to the speaker… yep, this one was a very large, and likely the beast composed of all those fallen oaks he had saw.

He felt Sweetie Belle cling to him, her head resting under his masked chin, her horn slipping under the collar of his coat. She shivered in terror, her tail tucking under his cover as well. Neither dared speak but he wished he could offer her some reassuring words.

He wasn’t worried though and for good reason. His coat, alongside being fire retardant, helped throw off his scent to most animals. Though most ponies would still smell a faint spice. He was effectively blocking her fragrance from exposing them to the wolves. Another howl and the beasts were gone, thunderous strides nimbly carrying them off and away in less than a minute. A final cry of the timber wolf revealed they were some distance away, a safe enough distance for now.

With some difficulty they pair succeeded in evicting themselves from the warren, Sweetie Belle soon dusting herself from the thick layer of dirt.

“I do believe we should postpone today’s meeting,” he said, arms folded. There were no ways about it, they had to abandon their original plans.

“Maybe you’re right,” Sweetie admitted as she pulled a twig out of her mane. She looked disheartened, yet, relieved all the same. “I don’t get why Zecora wants to live here.” She turned to face the way they came, stopping with wide eyes at the massive paw print before her. She could lie in it and still not touch the edges. “Woah, how big do timber wolves even get?”

“They never grow bigger than the tallest tree in the forest,” he answered, looking deeper into the woods. “How long has Miss Zecora lived here?”

“I don’t really know,” she replied, a saddened look overriding the shadow of fear that once took her, “I really hopped you’d get along. You could talk about all the magical plants, like poison joke and heart’s desire, and other stuff.”

‘Those are some fairly expensive plants—one often pays extra for the convenience charges too.’ Hard to acquire and hard to find, you can’t buy these in bulk from Canterlot and if you wished to gain vast quantities of either species, then one traveled themselves to harvest them. Having such rare plants nearby was certainly a boon. ‘Maybe finding Zecora would also help eliminate any unwanted confrontations, but this should wait for another day.

“We can try again another day, when you’re certain you know the way,” he said, kneeling down to pick a ground bit of leaf of her shoulder. She smiled a little as he looked to her. “You do know the way, right?”

She couldn’t meet him in the eye, and when she did, another sheepish smile broke out.

“Um, no.”

‘I thought so.’ He kept the remark to himself and stood up, beckoning her to follow deeper within the forest. “Let’s go, it’s still not safe.”

“Further into the forest?” she asked with an arched brow.

“Timber wolves are a little different than most pack hunters: they have a rear pack, led by the beta wolf.” He started to explain, “They pick up stragglers the alpha miss, as well as hunt on their own. We need to hurry.” Ser Vincent turned back to her, “We should probably--“

--And saw another pack of wolves prowling towards them, freezing as the knight’s eyes met theirs. The beta was as big as an elephant. The sight alone was enough to make his heart jump.

“Run.”

He then grabbed Miss Belle and swung her over his shoulder much to her surprise. He launched forward and she unleashed a startled shriek, stopping when a loud howl echoed through the forest once again. Though having difficulty getting a good view, what with being carried over the shoulder of someone sprinting at phenomenal speeds, she managed to spot the pack bounding after her.

And then promptly screamed louder.

“Faster!” she wailed.

With his unnatural magic accompanying his adrenaline rush Ser Vincent was managing to maintain some distance between himself and the wolves. His heart raced, wisps of gold poured out of the eyes sockets of the mask, trailing alongside the dust and dirt he kicked up. He side stepped trees and avoided low hanging branches, though able to burst through them like rice paper, he didn’t wish to harm his passenger.

The world dimmed in colour, the edges defining to pronounce how close things were in relation to him. That’s how he was able to sprint at such incredible speeds and not hit anything, and when another animal hopped into his view, the fur of their coat sparked to life, brightening against the dreary landscape he was now seeing. He bound between trees, leapt over small streams, and skipped along fallen trees in his attempts to flee his pursuers.

“They’re catching up!” Sweetie Belle squawked from over his shoulder.

A separate set of howls echoed from his far right… the first pack had returned.

“No... not now.” Through his panting he muttered a curse, looking ahead at large stone wall, a small cliff opposite a small clearing. He leapt into the open space and with heightened mental functionality at his disposal he made us of it with every stride.

‘Too many wolves. Open space. Surrounded, eastward wolves picking up speed, overtaking imminent.’ He looked to the wall ahead, studying it broad form and incredible height. ‘Leap up approximately half way, cling on with both hands, impossible with filly in grasp.’ He was about halfway into the clearing, his steps avoiding scattered carcasses and rock deposits. ‘Wait. There!’

A narrow crevice splitting the face of stone, too narrow for a timber wolf to fit through, perfect for pony and a human to slip into though. With a goal insight and his mind sharp, the knight bound for the small sanctuary with fervour, only stopping to skid to a halt.

“Quick, Sweetie Belle, get in!” She wasted no time scampering inside, having to side step to fit in. Not that she was in the mood to complain: it was either the tight space between rock walls or a tight space between wolf jaws. At least didn’t smell as bad. She reached as far as she could, looking back to see Ser Vincent quickly joining her.

She heard the wolves skitter and slide, their barks and howls scaring her once again. She looked up to see open sky, trapped between the high edges of the cliff walls. Ser Vincent joined her minor scan of the surroundings, his gold eyes scanning every root and detail. The wolves were gnashing at the entrance, too broad to enter and their legs too short to paw at them. The pair panted, Vincent keeping the magic alive for as long as possible as he stared timber death in the eye.

“What do we do now?” Sweetie yelled, teary eyed as she looked up to the sky. “We’re trapped.”

He looked to her, seeing her try to console herself with her hands on her face. Rocks poked at her, the jagged surface she pressed herself to obviously hurting her. Just the look of her made the world stop in whole different way: she was trapped, she was terrified, and she looked to almost be in tears.

“I think this is enough,” Ser Vincent said to himself with conviction and a growl. He reached out to her, startling her on touch. The knight held her hand and spoke softly, “You know a knight’s weakness, don’t you, Miss Belle?”

“W-w-what?” she said through a stutter.

“A lady’s tears.” He gave her hand a little squeeze. “I can’t help if you start crying.”

She sniffled, a reflexive smile quickly vanishing as quickly as it came. Though trapped between a rock and a hard place, coincidently another rock wall, she managed to wipe her eyes.

“Why not? That just sounds silly.” She said, her voice still tinged with gloom. The wolves were still relentlessly digging at them, so her mood could hardly improve.

“Well,” he said with his head bouncing side to side, “if you start crying, then I’ll start crying, then you’ll cry harder, then I’ll cry harder, maybe a wolf would start crying, and then it will just be one big mess.” Though his voice was warm, his words laced with jest, his gut was both furious and terrified simultaneously, his mood dark rather than whimsical. Still, manipulating his voice like that had earned a little giggle. “Though seriously, it would hurt me if you started crying. The wolves can’t reach us.”

“But what do we do?”

He glanced back to the entrance, his heart sinking as a large amber eye, as big as a carriage wheel, peered through the gap. A beast of an alpha timber wolf awaited, his body soon disappearing as it slinked away, allowing those under its rule another chance to claw at them both.

He needed something to unnerve them, break the pack up, then he could try and dismantle them or even outright escape with Sweetie Belle in tow. But what could scare off an alpha that big? Its head must be the size of a carriage. Lightning would work, but looking to the sunset sky revealed not one cloud. He’d consider climbing up if he could fit through the narrow gap; Miss Belle could make it, but even if he distracted the wolves, she was as lost as he was right now.

‘Wait, what does lightning cause?’ He reached into his potion belt, finding a flask he had pocketed no too long ago. He knew he smirked beneath the mask as he glance to the little filly.

“Miss Belle, I have an idea and a question.”

She looked to him, a glimmer of hope and eagerness on her face.

“How good are you at burning things?” he asked, raising the dragon’s breath flask before her. It was time to prove his place on the food chain.