In near-silence, Dim made a surreptitious effort to endure his post-battle jitters. While he did his best to appear okay, he was far, far from it. Why, the very fact that something like what he had battled still existed in the world had left him shaken to his very core. How could a nation function with monsters like that running around rampant, devouring hapless citizens? The long and the short of it was, it didn’t; Fancy was decaying from within, its rotten bones finally giving way.

Gratin was a source of comfort for the frightened, grieving filly, and the two of them were talking to one another, though Dim could not understand what they had to say. He toked away on his his clove and cannabis joint, trying to hold back a dreadful case of the jitters that demanded to be let out. What he needed was comfort, but Blackbird seemed preoccupied, disturbed by what she had witnessed. Bombay joined the conversation with Gratin and the filly, and with her paw, she began stroking the filly’s neck. The act of kindness caused Dim to feel weird and it took him a moment to realise that he was jealous. He too, was in need of comfort, though he would never, ever, under any circumstances, admit to it.

Closing his eyes, Dim listened to the chatter though he didn’t understand a word. He was glad that his friends had showed up. A part of him was thankful that he hadn’t faced this alone. Some part of him delighted in the fact that it been a team effort to subdue the creature, and surely, it was subdued. Much to his dismay though, telling himself that did nothing to alleviate his fears.

“Her father watered down the whitewash,” Bombay said, shaking her head from side to side. “She called him stupid and said many awful things to him. Her last words to him were angry ones.”

Upon hearing this, Dim sighed.

“They were poor and had been forced out of their home,” Bombay continued. “The river was rerouted to drain a marsh and some old mine of some sort. Many of the farmers in the area got displaced from—”

A mine? Dim’s head turned to look at the filly. “Ask her more about this mine.”

“Dim?” Bombay’s head cocked off to one side, confused. “Ask her what, exactly?”

“Do it.”

Still stroking the filly’s neck, Bombay obeyed Dim’s terse command. As for Dim himself, he puffed away on his joint while thinking about mines and what could be hidden inside of them. Whole armies could be made to disappear, secreted away belowground. If a mine was abandoned and then allowed to flood, it had to be tapped out—worthless. To go through the trouble of rerouting the river and draining said mine—said worthless mine—was a tremendous cost.

“Bombay, does she know who gave the order to reroute the river and open the mine?”

“Be patient, Dim,” Motte said with a mouthful of leftover stew.

But there was no patience to be had. Dim had done the right thing, foolish as it was, and now it felt as though the universe was rewarding him; these serendipitous circumstances could not be mere coincidence. He had saved one life—just one—but now the universe was doing its utmost to restore his notion that one life mattered.

It was Gratin who translated two words: “Duc Truffe.”

When Dim nodded, he was not alone, both Motte and Bailey joined him.

“Duc Truffe promised that with the mine reopened, there would be many jobs,” Gratin said, his words heavy, a weary rumble. “But there were no jobs to be had and he posted soldiers around the mine to deal with angry protests. Everything was lost.”

The teary eyed filly—almost a mare—climbed into Bombay’s embrace and collapsed against the Abyssinian, sobbing. Dim could see the understanding upon the faces of his companions as he met each eye in turn. How did one hide an army from any skyward eye? Where did all of those recruits from the bandit fortress go? Why, underground of course.

“When she feels better, ask her if she can point out the location of this mine on a map.” Dim’s words came out as rich blue smoke that curled into question marks. “As tourists, I think we should pay this place a visit. It sounds spectacular.”

“Indeed,” Bailey agreed, her brows beetled. “You know, if we can trap most of the army while they are still secreted away underground—”

“Yes?” Bailey suddenly had Dim’s full attention and he turned his sneering gaze upon her.

“Motte and I could fill the mine with gas. We’d need some kind of gas though, but there are alchemical stills around here. For some reason Dim, I don’t think you’re the type to object to the torturous slaughter of thousands.”

“Nein. Klingt effizient. Gaskrieg.”

Blackbird shivered and almost dropped her tin cup full of water.

“So… mercenaries, bandits, and those seeking easy coin show up at the bandit fort and then get moved to the mine which is probably an underground barracks now. Any pegasus ponies or airships or griffons flying overhead would only see a mine. It’s pretty clever, if this is indeed what it is. And let’s be honest, this is probably exactly what it looks like.”

“So they have an army and we have Motte, Bailey, and Dim.” Munro went to work preparing tea now that the water had boiled. “Well, Blackbird too, and myself, and Gratin, and Bombay, but, uh, let’s be honest. Three of us are clearly okay with this plan, while the rest of us have some, uh—”

“Hesitation?” Blackbird finished while she cast a glance at Gratin.

The minotaur scowled, his cheeks crinkling and his eyes becoming downcast. “Yeah. The rest of us have surviving consciences. At least for now.”

“Wenn wir einen Krieg führen, tun wir, was notwendig ist.”

Munro blinked. “That sounds dire.”

“Was moralisch ist, ist das erste Opfer.”

It was comforting not to think about the monstrous regenerating beast that was kept at bay with a thin coat of alchemical whitewash. Dim’s cigarette neared its end. He suspected that they would find their remaining Ascendancy alicorns there at the mine, too. All of this at the cost of doing a good deed—doing that which was right. He cast his gaze upon the spring green filly that Bombay held in a tender embrace. She wasn’t quite a filly, nor was she a mare, but given her circumstances and having lost everything, the end of innocence was at hoof. She would have to grow up in a hurry; with the coming dawn, so too came her independence and she would have to find her way in the world.

Dim found that he pitied her. As an earth pony, she would have to somehow survive in this unkind world that was indifferent to her needs. No doubt, she would have to make do, because there were only but a few ways for a young mare in her position to survive. The unfairness of everything caused Dim to forget his post-battle jitters and for a few seconds, he entertained the idea of taking her with them—surely a better life could be had in Istanbull.

Not every filly in trouble had a noble knight—or vizard—to save them. She said something, her words muffled, and Dim could see that Bombay was listening. Was the Abyssinian missing the Bard? She had to be. Dim thought about how Bombay had clung to him and how she now held the grieving earth pony that had just watched her whole family get slaughtered. Turning his head, Dim looked in Blackbird’s direction and amended his previous thoughts; not every filly needed a knight or a vizard to save them; some of them saved themselves.

“No one came out to help,” Munro said while he began passing out tin cups filled with hot, steaming, fragrant tea. “Not a door opened, except our own, and we had to fight and argue about it before we did something. Blackbird threatened to throttle us all.”

“I did.” The big hippogriff offered her companions an apologetic nod.

“It was Motte and Bailey who made the decision,” Munro continued while passing Dim some tea, which was accepted with a thankful nod. “Things got real crazy in here. I can’t imagine what it must have been like outside. I guess it was as bad as the last fight. Maybe worse.”

Squaring his withers, Motte’s jaw firmed and his scarred ears stood at attention. “It was a fight, just like any other.”

This gave Dim pause and he took a moment to consider if all fights were the same.

Dawn came, grey and blustery; with it came a profound curiousity. After suffering from anxiousness for all of the night, Dim had to know—he had to find out. His body was stiff, uncooperative, and quite unwilling to move. Thick frost covered everything and this autumn appeared to be a bitter one; no dog days of summer to be had here. A crowd of rubberneckers was behind him, all of them gawking at the ruined hovel while the soldiers dealt with the dead.

Dim was not alone. While the others slept, Munro followed. The young minotaur calf was tired, his bloodshot eyes had trouble staying open, but he was persistent and determined. Scorched earth and blackened trees made the morning bleak, along with the oppressive fog that seemed to be rolling in. Rain was coming, with the fog as its herald, its harbinger.

“Did you… did you do all of this?” Munro’s stammered question revealed his fear.

“I did,” Dim replied while he took a moment to survey the devastation he had wrought, but only a moment. His curiousity demanded to be satisfied.

“Some of the soil has… it’s… it has—”

“Melted?” Dim turned to face his valet. “Turned to glass?”

Trembling, the minotaur calf nodded, his eyes wide as saucers.

“Come, Munro. Not much further.”

The stone was still hot enough that it wasn’t solid and it glowed with a dull light. The surface was rippled, lumpy, like thick porridge stirred but not smoothed over. Something had come out of it and had crawled away, leaving behind a trail of disturbed, smeared earth. It seemed impossible and Dim had trouble believing his own eyes.

He coughed, the tickle in his lungs plaguing him, and took a moment to study the trail that lead off into the woods. For a second, he thought about following it, but then asked of himself, to what end? Confront the beast in its lair? No… no, there was nothing else that could be done here but to admit defeat and accept loss.

“You seem disturbed,” Munro said in a soft whisper.

Dim nodded. “I am.” He paused, then started over. “I am fire-aligned. Fire is my nature. It governs my actions, my every thought, and it is the author of my instincts. To those attuned to fire, there is nothing worse than regenerating creatures. We hate them. Despise them, and they loathe us in return. It galls me that I could not kill this… this… thing.”

“I’m sorry, Dim.” The young minotaur folded his hands behind his back. “You did what you could though, and that’s what matters.”

“How trite.” Scowling, Dim turned away from the searing hot mess of earth and started in the direction of the hamlet. “Come, Munro. Let us get out of the cold. Come away with me.”

Sitting in the wagon, Dim watched as it was being loaded. Some of the residents of the hamlet had come to gawk, but they kept a considerable distance. Gratin was speaking to the soldiers and Bombay spoke to the rescued earth pony. There was a creak from the metal hinges as the canopy over the wagon was raised to keep the rain out.

Turning his head and his body about, Dim stared out of the front of the wagon at the ruined hovel. The bodies had been cleaned up, but the wreckage hadn’t. No doubt, it would be repaired and some other unfortunate family herd would live there. All of this death and devastation over watered-down whitewash. The alchemical repellent just wasn’t strong enough and the beast—the terrible, brutal beast—was able to overcome whatever was in the whitewash that kept him away.

Daylight, thankfully, was a deterrent, though Dim wondered about dark, overcast days.

“Dim.”

He turned his head at the sound of Blackbird’s voice saying his name.

“Even though what you did was monumentally stupid…”

“Yes?” He waited, uncertain of what Blackbird might say.

“I’m really proud of you for doing it. The Bard… he told me a few things that helped me to understand you. I was raised to do right and even in troubled times, I stick to that. You though… you were raised to do wrong. Your entire upbringing was all about teaching you how to be wicked. The Bard knew because he knew Eerie so well. He told me to praise you when you do good, he said it would mean something coming from me. I’m still trying to understand everything he told me.”

Whole seconds passed and Dim swallowed a few times because his mouth went dry. Munro was looking at him, his beefy hands resting on a metal strut for the canopy. At long last, Dim found his tongue. “It does mean something, Blackbird. Thank you.”

“One life matters, Dim. You couldn’t save the rest, but you did save the one. Even if you did put the rest of us at risk. As soon as we have eggs again, I owe you a meal.”

Was he sick? Did he have a fever? His cheeks and ears were hot, an unpleasant sensation. He thought of the Bard and felt a curious mixture of joy and sorrow. The growing heat radiating from his face left him lightheaded and the blackened, shriveled lump of gristle that was his heart thumped against his frail ribs, causing a dull ache.

The first of the raindrops fell and Munro hurried to finish raising the canopy.

Author's Notes:

Things are developing. So... who can see the bigger picture? Or what you think is the bigger picture?