‘Damage report: left bicep possibly damaged, in need of magical wraps, slight stiffening, healed in two days of constant bandaging; aches in lower back and right thigh should be treated with magical wraps, rest the right leg; pain in chest should be seen to, possible bruising, use magical wraps. Inspect armour for any unlikely faults.’

Both a benefit and a disadvantage of a magically enhanced adrenaline rush was that his body almost became numbed to pain and discomfort—he would become aware, feel a cold pressure of dull throbbing, but pain as a crippling sensation vanished. Alas, though he hasn’t tested it, mercifully through fate and usual careful planning, it would mean that if he had his fingers severed, he wouldn’t know until the end of the fight. Barring obvious visual clues, of course.

His body’s natural healing was quicker than a ponies but nothing on par with comic book heroes. His body went through the stage of clotting and sealing wounds, as well as repairing, twice as fast as ponies did, but again, lose a limb and it won’t grow back. He didn’t want to take his chances with a nicked artery either.

Aftercare was important for any knight, especially one who preferred to work alone. It was a shaman who taught him how to make magical wraps, before that he strengthened his skeleton the old fashioned way. With milk and brutality.

Another tip in his favour was that he was fortress of a being: years of harsh combat and vicious beasts had hardened him beneath the shell of his amour. And he was fairly tough to begin with. He’d fractured and broken bones enough that they were strengthened tenfold, another perk to being blindly tainted by magic, he supposed: incredible endurance.

‘Timber wolf chew toy certified. I can’t wait to tell Blue Blood about all the new forest friends I’m making.’ His mental remark was as stoic and dull as the mask that gazed forward. A charred gloved hand slid along the belt as he steadily marched on with a slight limp. The crunch of forest undergrowth was quieter beneath his right boot.

‘Equipment check… magical wraps, two vials of petrify, four blue goo capsules… and of course I left the rest behind. It was almost like I was moving house and wasn’t prepared for a dangerous voyage into the wilderness outside of town, whilst being led by an over enthusiastic filly.’

He heard a childish hiccup from above his head and his arms shifted to support the legs gripping his waist from behind.

‘Oh, and plus one busted oven lighter, A.K.A. Miss Belle.

The sky was darkening, the last orange hues of the day having been drowned by the creeping purple of night. Time was of the essence in order to avoid nocturnal predators, and to make matter worse, Sweetie Belle had begun to experience a stomach ache and burning in her throat. Both would pass as soon as she stopped coughing up smoke and the odd spark, until then, she found walking to be a tormenting chore. Hence the piggy back that seemed to soothe her.

Ser Vincent was running an estimation of how long before the magic and potion would cease to have an effect, and thanks to the guestimate of her weight gained by carrying her, he figured it was within the next hour or her next bathroom break.

“So tell me, what’s the weather like up there?” Ser Vincent began in faux jest without moving his head. She was resting her chin on the top of his hood, sending out the odd huff of smoke every now and then.

“It’s a bit cloudy but nice.” Hmm, he could appreciate a response like that. At least she sounded in fairly good health and mood. “Hey, is it always like that?” Her arms shifted from where they gripped around his neck for support as she leant to the side to try to look him in the face. “When you f-hic-ight monsters.”

He huffed in amusement.

“When things go spectacularly wrong? Yes. When I can follow through with a plan? They hardly know what hit them,” he said, his voice shifting from miserable to proud. True, his normal approach was taking the time to scope the surroundings of the animal in question, see where he could bait and trap it before delivering a knockout blow. Heck, with criminals it wasn't too different; in their caves and strongholds they effectively corner themselves. He wasn't a blood thirsty brute, just tactically mindful in when to strike devastating blows. “I normally have a full belt for my missions, but having moved house, I haven’t replenished in a while.”

“But you lo-hic-ooked like you could tackle that mega big tim-hic-ber wolf all by yourself,” she continued, jerking with every puff of a smoke ring. “Why do you use potions and stuff?”

Whilst he silently contemplated a response, Sweetie Belle recalled the awesome spectacle she could see as she bravely scaled the wall. He was as quick as lightning with her on his shoulder, as strong as a tornado, throwing the wolves around like they were out grown dresses! Then came the beta wolf that he threw over himself and broke apart with his bare (well, sort of) hands. And then came the big bad timer wolf that he managed to knock over onto its side!

’I can’t wait to tell the girls about this in school tomorrow!’ Her ears twitched and her tail wriggled along Ser Vincent’s lower back as she shook with glee, seemingly stirring the answer out of him.

“I like changing things, Miss Belle,” he summarised with a half-hearted shrug. “See, I like changing the battle when the bad guy thinks they can get away, when they believe they have bested me, and then I scare them when they think they’ve won.” He raised his head, walking with his posture fixed slightly. “Lead to gold, bone to stone, hair to metal wiring, all sorts of practical abilities are available through alchemy that I can make use of.”

“Hair to metal?” Sweetie asked incredulously, her face scrunching as he gently nodded.

“Makes for a vast supply of electrical wiring… or lock picks, or even a makeshift key if I pull out enough.”

Sweetie leaned over more, looking to his right hand that stiffly gripped her hoof. Flakes of solid rock fell from the still petrified wrist. She could see his finger hardly moving, stirring like sleepy snakes in a bag. The closer she looked the more obvious is became that there were two of his human fingers in one of those pony glove fingers. It was easy to forget he wasn’t a pony. She just needed help him realise that, but not right now.

“So do hic you really turn your bones to stone?” She was very curious about this; did his entire hand turn to rock or did his clothes?

“Yep, an incredibly tough stone coating that seeps into the bone, solidifying tissue in two separate densities—like how steel reinforces concrete so does my, um, bones reinforced the rest of the stone.” He counted a few passing smoke rings as he glanced around. Seemed the forest was thinning but not entirely gone.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” She shifted with discomfort, more at the thought than at the cramp in her gut.

“I often relate it to pins and needles, you know, the bad case of cold fizzing when you’ve slept on your hand or arm. Somepony’s also gripping your hand really tightly too.” He carefully stepped over a large ditch, “I assure you, it’s perfectly safe, I’ve got this brand of alchemy down to a science.” He probably shouldn’t go into detail in how blood still flows through and back into his arm, he didn’t want to upset her stomach further with how everything but circulation is magical petrified and preserved.

“Ugh, I hate that feeling.” Sweetie groaned, becoming aware of how tightly she clung to the knight. She removed an arm and shook it. “So is that your spe-hic-cial talent?” Her ears twitched as she heard an amused huff. “Like, changing yourself?” A barrage of ideas flooded her mind, spilling out in excited chatter.

“If you can ma-hic-ake me breathe fire, can you ma-hic-ake me breathe ice?”

“That was the next potion I learnt after dragon’s breath: winter’s kiss.”

“Can you make a potion to help you climb up walls?”

“Most use a gel that they rub their hands with. I do have an improved formula that lasts hours longer between applications.”

“Can you…turn fur in-hic-to crystal?” she asked as the crystal empire popped into her head. “I’d love to see what I’d look like as a crystal pony!”

“I… suppose, but I don’t see how that helps me.” A novel experiment, true, and he was slightly curious himself as to how to go about it. He began clicking his tongue as he thought of various methods of experimentation: it would have to be a shampoo base, of course, but from there where to go? ‘Perhaps I could use the ‘keratin-to-iron’ potion as a template?’

“Awww, but why not? Aren’t diamonds the toughest things around?” she argued with a frown. “It would look amazing! Me and the crusaders all glittery and shiny, with our gemstone fur coats…” She sighed dreamily.

Ser Vincent merely smiled to himself, knowing it was happening for once. He looked ahead and found a reason to grin like a Cheshire cat, or so his parent’s expression went.

“Say, um, Ser Vincent…” There was a hesitance in Sweetie Belle’s voice that made him pause, his mood dropping like a rock down the well. “Can you make ponies, um, more animal like?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Like, can you make a pony more dog-like or bat-like or dragon-like?” Sweetie had an idea pop into her head, but she wasn’t too sure how to broach it. Her big sister was better at that sort of thing. She figured that she could try to ease into it. She gripped him tighter. “Like, can you give a pony wings or cl-hic-aws?”

For a time, Ser Vincent was as silent as the mountains but moved like a gentle stream. Quiet, unwavering, unresponsive, and seemingly cold and distant.

“Is this permanent or for a period of time?” It was all he asked, no warmth to his voice.

“E-E-either.”

“Are you unhappy about something, Miss Belle?”

“What? Oh, no no no!” As soon as she caught onto his meaning, she leant back and shook her head vigorously—he didn’t see the act, more felt her vigorous denial. “It’s just, you can change things, right?”

“Correct. And in case you’re wondering, yes, I can and know it’s possible to mimic features of other animals… I have a potion that forms gills on your neck and beside your ribs.” He craned his head to the side, and if not for the hood, she assume he was trying to stare at her from the corner of his masked eye. “It’s a very, very delicate practice, Miss Belle. And some formula are forbidden and other potions considered down right impossible to actually produce. There are a lot of dangers to body modifying potions, because unlike spells, they can’t be dispelled—you have to let the potion run its course before trying something else.”

The practitioner could die through malformed cells and weakly woven magic unravelling, making the additions to one’s body a lethal hindrance. There were some true body horror stories in the field transmogrification alchemy, and non-surprisingly, there weren’t for little fillies.

“But you must be good at those potions if you turned your hand into a rock,” she rebutted, feeling the knight raise his head.

He spoke with pride. “I dare say, if I were among the minds of the Royal Alchemy Society, then I’d be one of the greats.” He then lowered his head, “Alas, I am but a humble knight, and it is not befitting to make such claims. ‘Besides, I’ve earned more respect as a knight and as an external consultant than a mere potion researcher.’

“Can you change… um…” This was it, the big question. However, should she ask? She was trying to tell him he would be okay not being a pony, that Ponyville was a nice and friendly place regardless of what he was. But asking this seemed… rude? Counter-productive? Insensitive? Yeah, that was it. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, he did save her after all.

“Can I what, Miss Sweetie Belle?” He feigned sincerity in his words.

“Can you turn…”

Maybe he should help her out. “Miss Belle, let me simplify it for you, as a honourary member of the Royal Alchemy Society. Nopony has the formula to completely and safely transform from one species into another, permanently.” He may have been a bit blunt in spelling it out, but at least he had.

“I thought so, that’d be weird,” Sweetie added with a scrunch of her muzzle. “Would be kind of cool to see what it’s like to be a pegasus for a day. Just a day though.”

Ser Vincent stepped onto what he realised a moment ago was a trail, a strip of woodland floor marked out by ponies wondering to and fro, a path back to civilisation. ‘Look at that, one evening away and I already miss Ponyville. Maybe I’m mistaken after all.’

“Hey, I know this path,” chimed Sweetie Belle, pressing her hand past the side of the knight’s face and pointing deeper into the forest, “Zecora’s is that way!”

“Is it?” Ser Vincent’s shoulder slumped with exasperation, almost making the little filly slip off his back.

“I’m sure!”

“Great, I’ll keep it in mind.” Ser Vincent then promptly turned in the opposite direction, and marched-slash- speed-limped along the path.

“Hey, Zecora’s is the other way.” Sweetie’s protest wasn’t ignored for too long, just until she start leaning back. She strained as she wobbled, flailed, and begged, angry bursts of smoke puffing into existence before the knight. “Nnnnnnngh! How do I steer this thing?”

“I’m in no mood to traverse more of this forest at this time, Miss Belle,” Ser Vincent started with a stern voice. “I’ll assume this way leads back to town, then? I’m taking you home, and please, watch the hood.”

“But-“

“No ‘buts’, Sweetie Belle. This forest is a dangerous place and not suitable for little fillies to venture into alone.” He pushed her higher up his back, wincing at the bolt of pain in his right leg. “Though I can protect you, that doesn’t mean I should have to because a night in the Everfree takes to your fancy. You’re going home and that’s final.” He was curt and blunt, his pronunciation fatherly irate in order to drive the message home. Beneath the mask he was simply tired but didn’t want it to be heard.

She was quiet for a time and he didn’t like it one bit. He was right, of course he was; he had no obligation to prolong this failed visit and jeopardise the safety of this compassionate little unicorn, nor did Vincent wish her parents to worry and panic over the whereabouts of their precious daughter. Did they even know what she was doing? Joy… he felt he should anticipate backlash from this small escapade.

“Apple Bloom walks through here on her own…” Sweetie Belle muttered those words as all defeated children did when felt they were facing unequal treatment. She pouted and moped, resting her chin on top of his head.

“Well, Little Miss Apple Bloom isn’t here right now, is she?” Maybe he should hold back the snark. He was forgetting that she was only trying to help and that the outing had spiralled out of control.

“Yes I am.” Lo and behold, before him along the path stood Little Miss Apple Bloom. Her buttery fur coat was caked with mud around her hooves, her hand a touch green from where she had been picking plants. A smile sprouted as she started waving with one hand, her pretty pink bow and the basket in her other arm shaking. “Hey, Mr Ser Vincent! What are you doing here?”

‘Ah, the uncommon Argumentative Inconvenience, such a rare creature, such cunning in its well-timed strikes.’ This of course was his second thought, his first being why in Equestria she was here in all places.

“Little Miss, I must say it’s a surprise to see you here, alone, venturing into the woods…”

“I was jus’ about to ask you the same thing!” she said as she cantered over, tail whipping, amber eyes alight with glee. “Hey Sweetie Belle, what you doing here in the Everfree Forest?”

“Hey Apple Bl-hic-oom, we were just trying to find Zecora’s.” Sweetie offered both a wave and a small smoke ring, an act that quirked a brow from the mini-farmer.

“Uh, well the way’s you’s wanna go is that way,” Apple Bloom said pointing behind Ser Vincent. At hearing this, Sweetie Belle developed the smuggest look she could muster and leant forward as far as she could. Until she was certain the knight could see her. She knew he did when he mechanically turned his hooded mask to face her.

“Are you okay, Sweetie? You’re, um, kind of blowing out smoke every now and then.”

“I’m fine. I just burnt down a barn-sized timber wolf.”

These were not normal sentences he expected to hear from little fillies.