He opened his eyes and screamed.

He stood back up, then fell on his belly and smooched the floor, praising the ancients for his hard chitin. Still, his head felt one size too large, his hearing was muffled, and his vision swam and wobbled sickeningly. What’s more, his once pristine jacket and vest were dirt stained.

He looked down at his body, his brow furrowing slightly. No, no. This form just won’t do. He closed his eyes, concentrated and allowed emerald flames to consume him. When he reopened his eyes, he once again was a plain charcoal-coated unicorn with a short white mane. His magic didn’t work on clothes, a shame, but he would have to make due.

He scanned his surroundings; the most pressing subject was where he had landed. Judging by the deep foliage, twisted trees, and stench of decay, it had to be either the Hayseed Swamps or the depths of the Everfree. Miles away from civilization, either way.

“Well, could be worse. Could’ve landed in the badlands.” A pause as he contemplated that possibility. “Yeah. Much worse. Oh well, better get moving if I want to be back home for dinner.”

He looked skyward, at what little sunlight he could see, and waited just long enough to see the shadows cast on the forest floor move. With that, he got an answer as to which way was east and west. He knew Canterlot was to the northwest of the Everfree. The town of Ponyville was also in the same direction.

This’ll be easy, he thought, his grin growing wider. He was no stranger to traveling.

After four hours later, he had to sit to catch his breath. “Okay. Not that easy.” He rubbed his hind hooves and sighed in relief. I’m sure the exit can’t be that far. The grin from hours prior returned. He felt a rumble in his stomach. And not a minute too late either. I can’t wait to try some pastries from the local bakery. He stood back up and continued his journey, already tasting the frosting and sweet wheat.

Just as the imagined sweetness reached its pinnacle, a sound echoed through the forest, startling him. He pivoted his head in all directions seeking the source, but his ears could only catch deafening silence.

He allowed himself to relax once again. Perhaps it had all been in his imagination. Then another sound rang through the forest, this time clearer, louder. Some kind of guttural growling accompanied by the sound of something eerily similar to a voice. He whipped his head in the direction of the commotion.

The sound soon became a clear voice. “Somepony, help us!”

The tone spoke of a very young colt or mare. Their footfalls were accompanied by a small cacophony of haphazard galloping. Whoever they were, they weren’t alone.

He set himself into a gallop. Be it headstrong bravado, or just plain idiocy, he was not going to sit idly by. Hard as it was to believe for a changeling, he was raised to be wild and free—not just another drone that sat on his flank.

He heard something else not far away. It didn’t sound like the clippety-clop of equine footfalls. They were too soft and too elegant—something one would expect from a creature that relied more on stealth and speed than power.

Then it hit him. The sound had to be made by paw pads. He was familiar with it from his youth growing up in the wilds. Yet the Everfree wasn’t home to wolves.

It is home to timberwolves, though!

He picked up the pace, now galloping at full speed despite the dull pain eroding at him. He made a turn by some bushes just as another scream rang out. He jumped through some foliage, a few small branches ripping at his already damaged coat. He appeared just beside the ones crying for aid.

The four ponies—two young fillies, a teenage colt, and another colt on the verge of adulthood—were trapped against a tree by a pack of six timberwolves, all growling and salivating at a meal to come, their breath visible and reeking of vile putrefaction.

Without any hesitation, he jumped at the pack of wooden lycans, kicking and punching with practiced fury.

“Hey guys,” he said through clenched teeth. “Now’s your chance to run!” He shot the group a confident beam. “I got this!”

His every move was carried out without trepidation, and within the span of a minute, he had beaten back at least three of the six plantimals. Everything seemed to be going better than fine, but then he felt a sharp pain erupt from one of his hind legs. He turned and beheld the head of a previously vanquished timberwolf gnawing at his appendage. Seconds later, two of the lycans were upon him, their wood fangs unable to bite through his disguised chitin, but clamping onto him fiercely. The largest of the beasts reared itself up, and with one mighty swipe, struck him right across the head.

The shock was too much, and his disguise evaporated. Still, he hung onto consciousness, once more setting his eyes on the four ponies, now cowering away not only from the fierce plantimal predators but also from the changeling before their eyes.

“What are ya waiting for? Run!” he shouted, just as another of the wolves pounced on him with such ferocity, he was sent flying into a nearby tree, where he impacted head first.