The journey south along the base of the mountains was more clandestine this time. Before, my group with Lance was running against time looking for the other thestrals. This group of felines was looking to avoid detection, so we took our time in measured stride. We moved during the night at a steady pace, not too fast so as to conserve energy since our trek was going to go well past where my earlier venture turned east into the jungle. We passed that point and continued a few more hours before stopping just shy of dawn breaking to set up our sleeping arrangements.

In order to not be spotted from an overflying dragon, I moved behind a large boulder and started to unroll my sleeping bag, only to hear several of the cats chuckling at me. When I poked my head around to see what they were preparing to sleep in, I was amazed to see they were setting up very peculiar tents. The slender staves I understood to be the framework to hold up the fabric, but it was the fabric itself that caught my attention. It was a very filmy thin gossamer material, woven in such a way as to appear textured like the surrounding rock and dirt. As I stepped closer to examine one completed structure that was just higher than eye level, the material took on a darker tone, almost black. Part of the dark area on the tent even had a light blue splotch to mirror my appearance, only diffused by the fabric's texturing.

Hangnail walked up next to me as he was chewing a piece of jerky. I was partial to fish, yet my nose told me it wasn't going to be an aquatic animal that jerky was made from. "Never seen shimmer thread?" I shook my head no. As I moved, the dark coloration moved as well.

I reached out and touched it with my hoof and felt it give as though it were the thinnest silk made. "This is incredible. Is it magical?"

The older cat chuffed and ran a paw over it as well, his fur coloration mimicked in the material, "Hardly. It is harvested from a plant in the Badlands called glass thistle. Normally the plant and its thread shatter like glass when you touch it, but with just the right liquid doused on it, the stuff becomes permanently pliable. It can be woven into very strong rope, fabric, thread. Our healers use it to sew up our wounds when we are injured."

I wrinkled my nose and waved a hoof, "Not interested in that stuff." Hangnail blinked at me and glanced at my cutie-mark. I sighed and explained, "I know, I use a dagger. I have stabbed a dragon and been bled on. It's not the same thing." I sat back on my haunches and raised a foreleg. "I have been cut on the leg, no problem. Knocked on the head, nothing. I have seen my father horribly burned and I have been doused in dragon blood. The blood itself does not make me feel queasy. It is when I, or somepony else is getting stuck with a needle, or watching stitches get put in or taken out, or I imagine a bandage being peeled off a cut that is not healed yet..." I had to stop and shudder from just thinking about it.

Hangnail's visage took on a more introspective look. He asked, "Which makes you more uncomfortable, watching another get a needle, or you getting a needle?" I was about to answer the obvious 'myself' when I hesitated and gave it honest thought.

"When another does. That's odd, I never thought about it until now."

He chuckled and waved me to follow, replying, "An empathic warrior. That will make you really good at what you do, or really dead." I stopped in surprise. Still smiling, he lifted a flap that was nearly impossible to see and slipped in, saying, "These work better when you are inside them."

I gathered my belongings and followed after him. I found myself in a dimly lit, pleasantly cool domed tent. Velvet was just setting up his sleeping pallet. The rest of the cats must have been split up in the other tents as we were the only three in this one. The inside fabric appeared to be a mix of colors reflecting the three of us and the ground, along with our packs and bedding. I extolled, "These tents are something. The dragons see them as rocks from above?" Both cats nodded. As if reminded of the dragon threat, Velvet began inspecting his bow and quiver, checking that the feathers were not split and the string in its small pouch was properly waxed. "How does it reflect the surroundings and let so little light through if it's like glass?"

The older cat paused from setting up his bedroll and said, "I know that when woven as a fabric, each side works separately. There is some kind of crystalline refraction based on the lattice structure...our shaman can explain it better. I just keep the rabble in check."

"Us rabble can still hear you!" The voice was muffled coming from one of the two other tents outside.

Hangnail looked up and yelled, "And such loyal rabble you are!" Several short laughs were returned.

Once I was settled in, I asked him, "Are you a pack leader or chief?" He shook his head and pointed to Velvet.

"He leads raiding parties into hostile lands. In matters of diplomacy and relations between tribes, I lead. I also direct the internal day to day duties required to maintain order in the tribe. Others are specialists and assume leadership when their skill is most important. All of our tribe may choose to follow or not. The young freely roam when their parents do not have chores for them, but they are quick to learn it is wise to follow those who may know more than them."

Velvet yawned and reclined back on his bedding. He glanced at us and said, "Oh Wise One, it is wise to sleep after your lectures." Hangnail flicked a pebble at Velvet, who caught it out of the air and placed it on his forehead, closed his eyes and steadied his breathing.

I quirked my brow at the older cat, who was also lying down. He responded to my look, "It is a game he plays. If the pebble falls without any cat touching him, he loses." I asked about the penalty for losing. Hangnail shrugged, saying, "To lose is enough. Though back in the day the loser was stripped of all status, property, females, and made to live outside the tribe." My look of horror caused him to laugh. Wait, females as in plural?

Velvet answered up while keeping still, "To lose is enough. That other stuff is nonsense, made up to scare kittens into going to bed."

The other cat stopped laughing and mused, "It worked on you, didn't it?" Velvet grunted and went back to breathing slowly. Hangnail watched Velvet for a time, then rolled over.

I sat there and looked at both the cats, listening to their breathing as they started to synchronize. Finally I exclaimed, "You raised him, didn't you?"

The older cat grinned sleepily and nodded as Velvet growled, "Do ponies always ask so many questions?" I took that as my cue to get some sleep.

As I drifted off, I whispered to Hangnail, "Before we get to your land, you need to tell me if Velvet got his name because of his fur...or his prowess." I heard the pebble hit the ground followed by a series of swearing. Hangnail never laughed so hard since I met him. I smiled and fell asleep.

When the sun was low on the horizon we broke camp and traveled on. The lush green of the lower slopes started to give way to a drier environment, indicating we were approaching the Badlands. The normal green bushes became more like scrub brush. Cactus plants began to appear, and the absence of grasses made for a landscape of light browns, tans and reds. At one point in the trek, we deviated due west, moving directly into the Badlands.

As we traveled, the other cats would occasionally throw pebbles at Velvet, who seemed to ignore them. The throws were not particularly hard and he could have easily dodged them. I inquired about it to Hangnail and his only response was 'To lose is enough'. There was a culture of status at work that I was just now becoming aware of. Since I had caused this little change in Velvet's situation, I asked Hangnail about Velvet's name. Velvet growled and quickened his pace to catch up to the other cats, who then had an easier time pelting him with pebbles.

"They have been waiting to do that for a long time. I won't speculate where your river with him will end up, but I daresay it will have its rapids and culdesacs along the way."

I blinked at his term usage and asked, "You can speak our ancient language?"

He shook his head and pointed north, "Just bits of it. We used to live further north, closer to your caves. At least that is what our shaman tells us. Many eons ago we shared your language. Some of us even spoke to griffons and dragons in their native tongue. A few could speak to the stars, if you believe everything the shaman says. Over time a more common tongue swept through the different lands and all the sentience races started to speak as one. I believe they began to lose their identities by supplanting their own languages, but that's just me. Words can be very powerful." We continued walking for a time before he spoke again, "Velvet's name. Yes, well it does have to do with his fur AND his prowess." I stumbled and my cheeks heated up.

Velvet had stopped completely until we were caught up and began walking with us. "Tell it correctly, old cat, or do not tell it." Hangnail blew off the idle threat by waving his paw, briefly rolling a pebble between his digits. Velvet growled, but kept walking with us.

Hangnail continued, "The average strapping young ridge cat, also known as a kitten, is not named when they are born. Nor do they have a destiny-seeking patch of butt to follow in life." I caught myself glancing at my flank before forcing myself to look straight ahead. "They are generically called 'kittens' from the time they are born until they show their spots. Not actual spots, mind you. In this case, it is a matter of words and actions that define who they are, as it is in all things."

The younger cat groaned and said, "You are going to drag this out, aren't you?" Hangnail chuckled and spread his paws out in abject innocence.

"A good story needs a good beginning. In Velvet's case, the beginning was very arduous. Many of the other kittens had shown their personalities early on in how they played and spoke, thus they were named. Velvet here, he was very quiet, which invited many of the older and younger kittens to pick on him. We nearly named him Pillow for all the abuse he got." Velvet snorted sarcastically, muttering about bald face lies. It occurred to me that Velvet never mentioned or pointed out the fact that I was a wingless thestral, even though he had to know it was an abnormality if he was familiar with my community. Sensing he had gone through similar growing pains, there was no wonder I felt a kinship with him.

As Hangnail spoke, the other cats slowed until we were a single group, avidly listening to the orator. "Even the most patient of us can take that kind of punishment for only so long. He began to fight back, with fists and feet. The odd thing was, his claws never came out. He didn't always win, either. A fair number of times he got several cuts from the other kittens who did use claws. Not Velvet. His moves became quicker, craftier and stronger. Imagine being pummeled by furry rocks from every direction but the front. Velvet covered rocks." Hangnail moved over and playfully grappled with Velvet, who halfheartedly tried to twist out of it. To underscore the story, Velvet even batted at Hangnail with clawless paws. Hangnail let up and chuckled, adding, "Thus we named him Velvet. That really angered him, to the point that he tried to fight every cat in the tribe whether they challenged him or not. It wasn't long before a much older, much nastier cat challenged him to prove who was top cat and who was just a spoiled brat because he thought he could fight the world without a single claw. The older cat went all out trying to kill Velvet here." Hangnail pulled out a long knife and swung his arm at Velvet's chest. Velvet stopped the attack by catching the blade with the claws of a single paw, slowly twisting it until Hangnail relaxed and sheathed the knife. "That day the claws came out. The name still stuck, but few challenged him after that. And Velvet stopped getting angry at his name."

Despite Velvet's earlier annoyance, he showed a modicum of respect for Hangnail's rendition of his life story. Velvet said quietly, "I also had to spend a few weeks nursing you back to health after the shaman sewed up your wounds. 'Punishment for nearly killing my adopted father,' he said." I looked at the two in bewilderment as Hangnail chuckled and lovingly patted Velvet's shoulder.

"Wait a minute. You tried to kill your son....and then he gets punished for defending himself? That's insane!" The other cats agreed, and with equal insanity their opinions were Hangnail should have had to suffer alone for picking the fight in the first place. I shook my head in dismay. "Why fight at all?"

This time it was Velvet who spoke as if from a mantra, "First, to defend yourself. Second, to defend others. Third, to define yourself."

Hangnail said quietly, "And finally, to discover you cannot defeat everyone. Sooner or later, you will lose. A good fighter can wage the battle in his mind and know the outcome long before the first attack is made. A great fighter never fights the fight he just lost in his mind." While the other cats nodded, Velvet wrinkled his small nose, whiskers twitching. Hangnail added, "Since that day, I have never fought him again physically, yet we wage war every day to try and teach him. Endless fights, countless encounters...."

Velvet groaned and retorted, "Endless droning. Countless lectures. Rest assured, Great One, I will avoid the fight I cannot fight." One of the other cats flicked a pebble at him, which he caught in midair and put on the top of his head, then jogged ahead while keeping his upper body steady. The cats refrained from throwing more pebbles, but followed after him to make sure the pebble stayed put.

I glanced at Hangnail and said, "Again with the pebble thing?"

He grinned and nodded, replying, "To lose is enough. Oh how he hates to lose." I shook my head and agreed silently.

The pebble stayed atop his head, all throughout the night until he purposefully bowed to drop the pebble before entering the tent the next time we had set up camp. The other cats made their lighthearted jeers but left him alone, a few dropping pawfuls of pebbles in disappointment. Hangnail would still toss one to Velvet every night. I finally figured out that in the simplest way he was challenging Velvet, who by some strict sense of honor had to accept. In the following nights of travel I found out from one of the other cats that while it was a kittenhood game to play for fun, it was practiced by the adults as a means to teach self-humility, honor and skill of emotional and bodily control. While most chafed at the humility part of it, the game as a whole was meant to be a reflection of one's life. Ringtail, one of the female cats that, not surprisingly, had a single white ringed stripe on the tip of her auburn tail, explained the meaning in detail. She stated solemnly, "It is similar across the clan. From tribe to tribe the method may differ; placing a twig or a drop of water on the head. That sets the difficulty, but the rest is the same. Balance of the physical can only be achieved as one balances the mind. The mind is buoyed by the spirit, and the spirit is given existence and anchored by the soul. While all things are connected, and a single thing can cause it all to collapse." She had a pleasant way about her, aloof like the other cats, though when she spoke she became serious. When she mentioned water, I had forgotten how thirsty I was and took a long swig from my canteen. It was nearly empty.

"I don't suppose we are near a water source?" If their society was all about challenges and contests, I was going to lose before I ever reached it if I didn't stay hydrated. Velvet sidled up next to me and handed me his water bag. Embarrassed, I took it and poured some into mine, then handed it back. "Thankyou."

He nodded and replied, "We are not far now. Past a few hills we will see the river, then north an hour to where it starts to turn. That is the settlement." Ringtail eyed him seriously and chittered. Velvet flicked an ear and moved on ahead.

I watched him depart and asked, "What was that between you?"

Ringtail's mouth quirked and she absentmindedly brushed off some dust from her leather skirt. When she finally spoke, she was hesitant. "He shared water with you. Normally he is very stingy about sharing anything, especially water. Like most of us growing up, he had to fight for his food and water. While we are supposed to learn to be communal with our spoils as we grow up, he...retained his kittenhood ways. It makes him a great raid leader in the outlying territories when trying to surive, just not a good neighbor at home." She looked after him wistfully before walking on. I hurried after her.

"Don't expect me to fight you over him. He's a bit stuck up on his honor for my tastes."

The female cat laughed and replied, "Honor is a great thing among my tribe. Besides, it is not me you would fight." She left it at that and I refused to ask who I would have to fight. Not interested. I watched Velvet as he loped along ahead of our group, a deadly grace about him tugging at my natural instincts to keep an eye on him. Ringtail noticed me watching him and nodded. I mentally kicked myself and attempted to look for the river instead.

True to his word, we crested no more than three hills before we saw the river. It was like a dark snake winding its way through the Badlands. On either side of the river grasses and foliage grew, as though this land were fertile and waiting to spring to life if only water was available. We turned north and made for the large bend we could see in the distance. It wasn't far into the evening when the group of cats slowed and began taking off their packs and weapons. There were several small hills between us and the river. I asked Hangnail why we were making camp again so early when the sun would not be up for a few more hours.

He held up a paw to the hills and announced, "We have arrived. Sirscha, jewel of the Low Steppes clan, home of our tribe." My bewilderment caused him to wave me on. "You will see. Come, the shaman is most likely gnawing through his lotus root supply waiting to see you." I followed them to the hills. As we approached, my eyes started to play tricks on me. It appeared the land itself was moving slightly in the breeze. It also appeared the hills were propped up on poles. Before long it dawned on me that what was in front of me were not hills. They were massive tents made to look like hills, housing a town-sized collection of huts and small buildings made of earth. Much of the settlement was set up like a bazaar, offering foods, wares and other services specific to the region. I looked up in wonderment as I stepped inside the first massive tent. The poles curved up and toward the center, supporting the same gossamer fabric our camping tents were made of. Wisps of smoke drifted up from several cooking fires and a forge, only to coalesce and dissipate through the fabric at the top. If I had not witnessed it from outside, I would not have believed all of this could be so well hidden.

The rest of our group moved on ahead. Velvet and Hangnail lingered, waiting for me. I remembered to close my mouth and followed them. While the other cats dispersed to different areas of the settlement, we moved directly to the center where a small nondescript hut was built out of scrub brush and mud. Given some of the more sophisticated structures, this was more like a hovel. The two cats stopped at the entrance and Hangnail intoned, "Watcher of the Skies, Scryer of the Why's, we have returned from the ancestral thestral home." I cringed at the word play.

An old scratchy voice replied, "Did you kill anything this time?" Hangnail wrinkled his nose and replied in the negative. "Good! Perhaps there is hope for you yet. Wars disrupt the natural order." Hangnail rolled his eyes and walked away, muttering about where the shaman could go stick his natural order. Velvet, who had wisely kept silent, finally laughed and followed Hangnail. I moved after them as well until the shaman called out, "Not you, Dirt Seeker. I wish to speak to you. Come inside." I sighed and stepped through the dark doorway.

The inside of the hut was decorated as I expected with herbs hanging from the ceiling beams, along with various furry bits of other things I really did not wish to recognize. Other than the collection of odd items about the place, it was kept rather clean. A small wooden table was covered with various glass bottles, tubes, a crucible and a burning candle. The shaman himself was a black and white thin cat in a simple leather loin cloth. He had some ear piercings of metal rings, a few more rings on his digits and a single small bone through the bridge of his nose. He seemed to have very little status with how he was dressed, and given the hut's appearance, he could pass for a simple villager.

He watched me take in his appearance and smiled. "Expecting an elaborate headdress, a grotesque mask or a staff of power to complete my venerable ensemble?" I shrugged and dropped my stare. He chuckled and moved about the hut, poking at different plants hanging from the ceiling. "It is enough to know what you know and do what you need to do. Let the world decide what it sees, Dirt Seeker."

I scowled. "Why do you keep calling me Dirt Seeker? I'm here to get better at fighting dragons."

He smiled knowingly and moved to the table, picking up a coconut. I thought it was peculiar for a coconut to be here in this blasted land, unless they had good trade relations with some of the other tropical nations. "You are not what you are. Not yet. For now you read the signs in the dirt at their face value. Better than others, I have been told, but your sight is still short." He placed the coconut next to me and moved alongside my side to look at my flank. I started to feel uncomfortable. He glanced at me and said, "You may improve your ability to fight dragons while you are here, but you are not here for that." He gestured to my flank, "Your blue wings signify freedom and justice, at odds with your knife symbol of death. Death is the ultimate foe to life as it takes it away, shackles the living to the afterlife. Some believe being released to death is freedom. I pity their ignorance. One cannot escape oblivion. Life is the true wellspring of free will and freedom."

He stepped behind me and placed a paw on my rump! I wound up my hind leg to kick him when he used a claw to acupuncture a specific nerve, freezing me where i stood. I could only move my chest to breathe. He continued, "You are incomplete as you are. I can see the pieces to a promising picture. Here," he poked the wings and then the dagger, "and here, yet they are disconnected." His digits started to trace a wavy line over the dagger's blade from the hilt to the tip. I couldn't help thinking this is all an excuse to rub my hind end without getting kicked. He spoke to himself, "I wonder...were they meant to stay disconnected, as two sides of a juvenile argument? Or are they interwoven, the complexities of our very existence to tie them together like so many threads of knowledge. The implications of the future are as sinuous as serpents, no?" He used one foot to slide the coconut near my rear hoof and stepped to the side, pulling his claw out of my muscle. My leg resumed its motion, kicking the coconut and splitting it. My legs shuddered, suddenly giving out and I collapsed. The shaman retrieved the pieces of coconut and started mixing things on his table. He hopped back over and shoved a small piece of coconut into my mouth and told me to chew.

"The fates have brought you here, so I shall teach you according to your needs." As i chewed, whatever he dashed onto the piece gave me a jolt of energy so I could get back up. He nodded and continued with his alchemy. "The warriors can teach you their styles and weapon use, how to condition the body for endurance. I will work with the mush you call your head. I have studied many species and their biology. I will instruct you on where to locate organs, arteries, muscles, bones. Understanding the body will help you to understand yourself and your enemy. Who knows, you might grow to love your enemy if you know him well enough, inside and out."

If he was willing to help me seek my revenge, I was not about to argue. I definitely needed help if I was to take on the large red dragon. Even with good knowledge of the dragon's anatomy, I needed something else to give me an advantage. Eyeing the table of concoctions, I inquired about his ability to mix chemicals and use plants to create poisons. He looked at me askance, the hair on his back started to stand. "Despite what you bear on your backside, there is a darkness in you that threatens to eclipse your heart. You did not conceive it, yet even now you voluntarily nurture it. I will not teach you my medicine until you have defeated yourself and are an empty cup to be filled. For now I will teach you only what i said earlier." He saw my disappointment and walked over to me, giving me a small orange flower. "There are far greater concerns in the world than your revenge with the flying reptiles. For instance, this is the last blossom I have in my supply. Desert shade, it is called. it will give you horrible cramps if not boiled properly, but can be a very soothing tea when mixed with Crimson Stems. The last grove I came across was two miles up the river. Mind fetching me some?"

I groaned inwardly, already knowing where this was going. To make matters worse, he retrieved a stack of old books from a trunk and handed them to me. Really? I had nearly completed my grade schooling when I had left my home. Now I was being forced to do more studying. I cracked open one book, just to show him I wasn't going to quit. Inside were pictures of an assortment of plants, most of them desert varieties. He added, "Come to think of it, nearly all my supplies are empty. There are some I will ask for specifically. The tribe requests various elixirs, potions...poisons. At times I forget which plants can do what, old age being what it is these days." I stared at him, a dreadful feeling settling in. I knew a make-work task when I heard one and this was a mountain of one. I was about to drop the books when he raised a paw, "I can remember anatomy very well, for some reason. With each new plant you find and can tell me what it does, Dirt Seeker, I shall impart my knowledge of a new topic regarding your ability to stick your dagger into something living. In this exchange, I refill my stock and you learn how to respect life and the plants you have been stepping on since birth." The seemingly simple old cat went back to humming to himself and picking at bits of plants from the ceiling, tossing them into the crucible to grind up. There was no doubt in my mind he knew exactly what every plant in the world could do. I respected what he was attempting to do, to educate me in things other than killing. I didn't have the time for it though.

As if he could read my mind he looked up and said, "While Hangnail can poke fun at my abilities, he is right in that I do watch the skies. If the world is quiet enough, you can even hear the stars. They tell me she will be released soon." He went back to crushing the items in front of him and I stared for a time before moving out of the hut. How could he know about my connection?

Velvet was waiting outside. Despite having recovered from my collapse, I still had a slight limp in my hind quarter. Velvet raised an eyebrow and asked, "Did he do the claw in the muscle trick on you?" I nodded glumly and started putting the books in my backpack. The cat shook his head, "When I was a kitten he would give me frequent health inspections. After a few times of his claw, I stopped trying to bite him."

After putting away the books I straightened up and said, "He thinks when you die, there is only 'oblivion' that awaits us. I refuse to believe we simply go into nothingness." For some reason those statements from the shaman had really hit a nerve. I thought it might have to do with Lance and did not want to think there was nothing of him left, just memories.

Velvet gently pulled me along toward the living accomodations of the settlement. "He says that all the time to stress the importance of what we do while we are alive. I suspect he knows better. Even he cannot divine what is beyond this life, yet to look forward to death spits upon all our accomplishments in life. Besides, the shaman is getting old. He has to be thinking about the beyond by now.

Despite being a good distance away from the hut, the shaman's voice rang out, "Us shaman can still hear you!" Velvet laughed.

We wound our way through the streets until we came to a two-story building. Velvet showed me inside. It appeared to be a house of sorts. Hangnail was in the kitchen preparing dinner. I put my backpack down and asked, "This is where you live?" Hangnail looked around as if seeing it for the first time.

"Yes, at least this is where we sleep when not raiding."

Velvet brushed past him and set his bow and quiver against the far wall. "You make it sound like I roam the countryside raiding hapless villages and townships." He turned to me and added, "Most of our time is spent procuring water sources away from the river." Hangnail grinned ruefully and went back to cooking.

"As long as you remember the important things." Velvet sat down with a bowl of rose water and began cleaning his paws, then the rest of himself. Distractedly watching him perform his odd cleaning behavior, I wandered over to the fire stove and glanced in the pot Hangnail was working over. It appeared to be some kind of stew. I asked what was for dinner. "As you are our guest, it is our obligation to provide a meal worthy of your approval. Fish Surprise." While it smelled good, I was hesitant to ask what the surprise was.

A chuff from the table drew my attention. Velvet was finishing up cleaning himself and said, "The surprise is he can actually cook. And catch the fish, too." Hangnail chuckled, but didn't challenge the accusation. I glanced around at the decor and noticed there was something missing.

"Is your mother upstairs?" That statement caused them both to stop what they were doing and look at each other. Velvet put away the bowl and went outside. Hangnail continued stirring. I got the hint and apologized. Hangnail shook his head.

"Not your fault. It rarely comes up and he finds it better to avoid talking about it. He was one of only a few survivors of a neighboring tribe that was completely wiped out by something that fell from the heavens. It would be easy for him to blame someone like Princess Celestia, but the shaman was able to convince him of a grander design. 'Parts moving beyond our sight, yet so intimately in touch with us that we would be nothing without them.' That old cat could make a mushroom seem mystical."

"Just don't eat the magic ones or you will become a true believer." The voice came from the shaman who stepped in through the front door, with Velvet following him. Hangnail turned and grinned, nodding his head.

"Back for more Fish Surprise?"

The shaman nodded and said, "I am surprised you did not burn it this time, from the smell." Hangnail gave an exasperated sigh and went back to stirring the pot. The shaman chuckled and sat down at the table. "Ah, Dirt Seeker, have you learned anything yet?"

I stared at him and responded, "I just got here. When was I supposed to read about flowers?" That got Velvet's attention.

"Why would you read about flowers?" I shrugged and pulled out a book from my backpack. It was titled 'Flowers.' How appropriate. I slid it over to Velvet and he looked at it. He muttered, "Cute."

I grumbled, "We made a deal. He teaches me how to kill better and I go looking for flowers and plants so he can make his drugs." I wouldn't have minded learning how to make some of them. It was the time consuming work involved that put me off.

The shaman nodded. "Velvet frequents the neighboring lands often enough. Use those opportunities to follow him in his raids, learn our ways, and collect my plants. And who knows, one day we might get to eat this Fish Surprise before some of us shrivel up into the beyond."

Hangnail filled four bowls and moved them to the table. "I got it, you are hungry, you old codger. Need me to blow on it for you?" The shaman gave him such a look that it cooled the room, stew included. "I suppose not. Enjoy." The shaman smiled and began to eat. I tried it and it turned out to be very good. The meal was mostly quiet after that.

The shaman later thanked Hangnail for the meal without a lick of sarcasm and left. I asked Hangnail if he came over often. "Not really. I think he was more interested in watching you hold that bowl with your hooves." I must have had an odd look on my face. He patted my shoulder and said, "He is a bit odd. Age does that to a cat." He cleaned up the table and began washing out the bowls in the sink. "There is a room upstairs if you wish, with an extra bed." I thought about how this would be my home for the foreseeable future. Living downstairs or in a basement would make me think about my cave home and I wanted to avoid nostalgia. The higher from the ground, the better. I asked if there was an attic. He answered, "Yes, actually. We haven't had to move in a long time so we recently put one up there to begin storing our long term food supplies. You are welcome up there if you really want it." I nodded and put the flower book back in my backpack.

As I made my way upstairs I thought about Nightmare Moon. It had been a while since I had seen her. Some of the last lessons I had with here were months ago and she had been acting erratic, talking to herself. She must have sensed her impending release and was becoming impatient. I still didn't know exactly when that was to occur. I made it a point to ask the next time I saw her. I also needed to quickly learn what I needed to out here in the Badlands if I was to be ready when she returned. If whole nations of day and night were at odds, things could get very bloody. And raiding the desert for narcotic ingredients was not my idea of a good time.

Author's Notes:

Sorry this took a while. Very busy work schedule and home life. A few chapters left to finish the story.