The Thicket was abuzz with excitement as shamans and warriors skirted along the edges of the densely packed, deep wood of what the ponies called the Everfree. Deer called it the Thicket, for it was the Thicket. It just was- the wood stretched past time immemorial as the drawings on the walls of the few fur lined long houses told of the past. Aspen breathed out, his extremely pointed horns telling each deer under him that he was the most attuned to the wood- magic came from the points in one's horns, and each year he was alive let the bone bloom in a twisted crown. Like his sire before him and the countless sires and does in his tangle of a family, they had been close to magic. Magic ran through all deer, unlike the ponies that split themselves off from the natural bleed of magic and splintered into factions and back biting groups, like his scouts told him, deer were strong in their resolve.

Aspen sighed as he finished whispering to the Celtii, the spirits of the long departed chiefs surrounding in their pillars of bone that made his hut. It was comforting to cradle the held of his own father, for example, in the temple to the chiefs- the smooth, whitened bone whispering to him its secrets and love for him.

He stretched calmly as he picked up the bag of herbs that he tied around his neck to hasten his entrance into the world of the Celtii, beyond the walls of sleep and death, everlasting in the glimmering twilight of the hunt. He lit the bundle, and the acrid smoke reached his nostrils, accustomed to the black tang of fire, he breathed in and entered gladly the world beyond.

He let the pungent smoke envelop his senses, the moments stretching into an eternity as his body connected with the other end of the Chieftain's Lodge. He never spoke his memories of this place to a soul, the first time he had entered as a buck still somewhere deep below his mask of lithe grace, his forty winters as King of the Forest nothing compared to the reality of the world. He breathed long and low as he felt the faint touch of hooves upon his back- not the full pounding of strong hooves on him in the lock and tumble of the mating dances and his spats with his brother. No, this was the comforting embrace of a long lost friend coming through the forest floor deep in a spar of two of brief acceptance. Deer passing by like manticores in the night. Silent, unbidden, and just the hintest touch of danger. Hooves cracking branches underhoof as each spoke wistfully about the past and ears akimbo as they took in each deer in stride- the smell of musk, the slope of back, the tender taps of hooves.

Aspen's eyes faintly gleamed blue as he conferred with the history of the wood itself.

Tempest walked primly through the Imperial Grounds, barely casting a glance at her little hedgehog companion who was barely keeping up with her long strides. She stared at the dark blue and black insignia and felt far better here than Equestria. It was calmer here, even with the torture chambers, than that place. She ran through her mental list of what the Storm King wanted to know about Equestria and wrote a short description of each place she could remember in her head- woefully that was years out of date with her fillyhood being tragically cut short- but it was better than going in completely blind. She disliked using the hedgehog as anything more than a bare boned attempt at a conversation, even if he was functionally little better than the lumbering beasts that wandered the halls of the palace, unblinking, barely there. She grit her teeth and didn't look back as she spoke, disdainfully, towards her associate.

"Grubber, do remind me of where I left off on my report?"

Grubber huffed an answer, barely able to string a sentence together as he was more focused on not being crushed by the large Storm Beasts and imprisoned dragons that littered the courtyard. "Let's see." He carefully ducked under a particularly large tail of a dragon, who tried to bat away the small mammal. "You were speaking about the seasonal differences of Equestria. . .though I don't know why that's even important. I mean-"

Tempest glowered, unwilling to even rebut that thought, but she soldiered on and answered it, full of scorn for such a stupid question. "The Changelings and Gryphons? Yes, well, I think of every single thing that could give us an advantage and I know from personal experience how. . .backward, traditional, and trusting they are. I also know how cruel they can be." Tempest's horn throbbed in pain as she opened the door to the palace and started to head up the imposing stairway to her cramped and sparse quarters. "The attack on Manehattan would never cripple them. It's more apt to say that we would cut off their best and most prosperous industrial center, but Celestia is far too cunning to get the nation out from her sole hooves."

Grubber looked up from the parchment and cocked his head for a brief moment. "I mean no disrespect, but, uh, can you like say that without all those words? Common tongue is hard."

Tempest rubbed her temple, wishing that the brandy she had stashed away in her quarters, no matter how small and insignificant it was in quantity, was still there. The sheer annoyance at parsing through three different tongues in thoughts was a pain- Grubber knew how to write competently enough- the other choice of writer was a small pony she had found on the wild end of the Storm Lands after she had been hunting for rebels and the last vestiges of the Abyssinian resistance- a lone filly surrounded by what Tempest assumed were the remains of her parents.

She wouldn't subject Cozy to be her writer, not since she was such a good mole in the jails. Unassuming, charming, and overall what constituted a perfect image of what a pony should be in theory, but somehow the wires had been crossed somewhere and the ten year old had a mind built for subterfuge, deception, and lies that Tempest would have killed for at her own age. It would have made her years of wandering slightly easier. And, anyway, Cozy was currently interrogating some of the more difficult prisoners.

She rubbed her eyes and groaned. "We win this, Grubber, and it weakens them. That's what counts."

Grubber bit the quill and sucked on the ink for a moment, then his eyes lit up as he got the message. "Oh, why didn't you start it there."

Tempest's eye slightly twitched as she looked down at her little companion. "What is the hedgehog word for idiot cause you are that thing- undoubtedly the worst example of a hedgehog I've ever seen in my life and unfit to be even associated with the Storm King."

Grubber hummed to himself, trying to figure out how best to respond. "But you've only met one hedgehog."

Tempest teleported. Uncaring about splinching or any undue effects of a broken horn, she flashed out of the room in a bang, her unstable magic showing her emotions far too much for her own liking. A whiff of smoke was left in her hurried wake, and as Grubber sniffed the air he was briefly reminded of pie. Sure, it was more an acrid and burnt smell than the things he had become accustomed to- but he still loved pie enough to eat even the failed attempts of fine dining and just enjoy a slice. He quietly sighed. While it was difficult to get past the rough exterior of Tempest, he could almost see a faint glimmer of something still there. Or maybe he was just tired ferreting all these reports she bade him to write over and over.

He lazily scampered off, parchment in tow. He would send the latest batch of intel that Tempest cobbled together in the tubes. The pneumatic system extended throughout the castle, metal trumping magic as it was important to be on schedule without a hint of delay. Something the Storm King hated. Grubber pulled out a ratty timepiece and, looking at the time, put it back and ran off down a hall towards the kitchens. It was close enough to the start of breakfast, he might be able to scrounge the barest hint of food from the Reptilian chefs.

Spike woke up in a cramped cell of indeterminate cleanliness, the broad wall sconces bringing only the dimmest of lights to see from, even with his enhanced sight, it was nearly pitch black. He tried to find something, anything to latch onto as memories of the last few weeks welled up in his memories. He blinked and could smell the sweet tang of blood on his mind as he tried to orient himself against the pain. His side itched fiercely, and as he rubbed that particular scratch, he could feel the divots of rent flesh knitting itself together. He took a few paced and was dragged back at the far side of the room, unable to touch the bars on the other side, to know that he wasn't dreaming something wrong and twisted as he fell outside the realms of Luna's domain.

He walked back and touched the wicked silver chain that kept him here. It's crafting had to be something special. He weakly tried to let out a gout of flame to break or melt it, but even when he did, it just ran around the metal like water on stones. It touched it but it did nothing.

He sighed and turned to the door again carefully trying to keep abreast of the distance between the chain and himself as he looked to see what greeted him in the darkness. With a tentative shout, he cried out a brief "Hello, anything there?"

A hum answered him in response.

He tried again. "Hello?"

He suddenly felt self conscious sitting there in the near dark, hoping for a sound. Twilight would probably laugh at him or something. She was always trying to be supportive of his more childish habits, the fear of the dark was not particularly one she was fond of- though it wasn't all of his fault. He just was not a big fan of it, and the few times he had went camping with the others, he had stayed up enough and acted brave enough to listen to ghost stories, the tales giving him nightmares and enough material to conjure up his own ghosts.

So seeing a lithe shadow coming near enough to him, that he could see the yellow of their eyes made him squeal in a decidedly undrakelike fashion. Thank Celestia that Ember wasn't there. Or he didn't think she was there. She would never let him live it down.

The voice laughed as it drew closer, barely being able to touch the bars, the paws curling around one bar in disdain as the cat thing stared at him. "How very peculiar, I thought you were some kind of Kirin, not a dragon, purebred through and through. How very interesting. I can smell your aura, tinges of dragon magic intertwined with a rather strong whiff of pony. How and why that is. . .that's slightly making my rather horrible confines slightly less like a torture." The cat rose and stretched herself down, her voice husky and deep with a knowing lilt of amusement as she watched Spike pace back and forth.

"Uh, thanks?" Spike shook his head. "But where are we. One moment I was in the dragon territories. I think I was running, and then I fell and things went dark and now I'm here."

The cat picked at her paw, a large ring stuck on her digit seemingly annoying her. "I've smelt you for quite a while, whelpling. It's been a few days since the Storm Beasts threw you and your rather imposing mate in here. Though time really drags on and on in the darkness. Could be a week or more. It doesn't truly matter." The feline grabbed out a paw and felt around, gripping a bundle of indeterminate things by her side. She tossed one in her mouth and bit down, the crunch unnerving Spike. "Where are my manners?" The cat cupped her paws and tossed the bundle to Spike, the package sailing through the bars and landing at his feet. "I think you might be hungry, I sure was when the Storm King gave me this blasted ring and stuck me. . .me, of all cats, down here." The cat shook her head, yellow eyes glinting with cool anger.

Spike cautiously toed the bundle and slowly opened it. He shivered as he looked down to see a slowly decaying rat, staring up at him, eye unblinking. He felt bile crawl up his throat as the smell hit him, sweet, slightly spicy, scent of decay hitting his senses. He stared at the cat in a mix of horror and worry. "Thanks, but I'll pass."

The cat shrugged. "Offer stands. It isn't like I'm hurting for food here. Rats crawl all over this place. Probably eat the dead prisoners, the forgotten things that old Stormy tosses down here." The cat grinned, her teeth shimmering white against her lips. "Sometimes I wonder what their spirits feel when the rats pick out their eyes. Probably makes any kind of hell they go too feel like the most forgiving heaven." The cat leaned back and scratched her ear. "Tell me, drake, do you believe in an afterlife?"

Spike sat down, the chain clinking in protest. "Maybe? I mean Equestria has Tartarus and by how Twilight speaks of it, it seems like some kind of prison, afterlife? Maybe it isn't. I don't know."

The cat smiled. "I don't know either, though I hope so. Else my brother and his wife will be rotting away to nothing- like that rat there- having their eyes being eaten in some unkind way while I sit here without my magic and witchweed potions, my family scattered on the four winds- all because some tyrant wanted powers beyond his knowledge."

Spike shivered. "I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't have said anything."

The cat smiled, her golden eyes glinting in the light. "I am angry at things beyond you, little one, not you exactly. My anger is focused on being unable to stop what I could see forming in my homeland. My anger is of the imprisoned. And anyway, you remind me of my own dragon. . ."

Spike perked up at that, unaccustomed to hearing of other dragons in the world. "Really. What is he like?"

She quieted at that. "He was rather a good one."

Spike wanted to reach out and comfort the cat, but the chain prevented him from doing so, the burnished chain choking him slightly as he did so. So he just leaned back, hearing the chain clank on the floor and put his claws in his lap. He waited to see what the feline would do and finally broke the near silence with his voice. "I'd like to hear about it. If you want to. And, if you don't want to say anything about it, I can try and pass the time with a story of my own."

The cat's ear twitched. Her voice, quiet and on the verge of breaking with emotion, was still powerful enough to be heard.
"He always did like telling stories. He said dragons were the best at stories. Mainly because they lived so long."

Spike shrugged. "Stories help pass the time." He cocked his head for a moment, trying to recall something simple. He didn't have Twilight's memory for stories, he rather liked listening to them. The tales of knights and superheroes were things he remembered well enough, though he thought that the cat he was stuck with might be a little too old for those kinds of stories- or at least not in the mood. Those had kings and queens, brave heroes, things that might remind her of her imprisonment in some way. He sighed and came up with the best thing he could do- it would still be adjacent to those kinds of stories, but at least it was drawing from real life events.

"Before I start, what is your name anyway, mine is Spike. I mean I can totally start a story without knowing a name, but it helps with the telling of it. Or at least one of my friends says so." He could almost hear Applejack's drawl as he said that, her words sticking in his mind like that particular day- quiet, relaxed, and comforting in the current situation.

The feline smiled and did a small bow with her head. "Your friend sounds rather like some of our Howlers, the speakers of the old ways, traditions, and riddles. They speak of the wonder of words, the strength of syllables, the roundness of rhymes. I personally don't jive with their belief system, but it sounds similar enough." The cat smiled weakly, "My name is Catrina."

Spike thought that name sounded familiar, but put it away for later. "Well Catrina, my story starts in the land of Equestria. Once upon a time, there was a pony called Twilight Sparkle. . ."

Tempest clopped through the halls, carefully trying to get her composure back as she looked at the lists of prisoners- most were relegated within certain circles of influence: kings, queens, royal members and the like, dignitaries, even a few that were trying to build republics out in the hinterlands of the new territories gobbled up by the expansionary policies of the Kingdom itself. Cute political back and forth, in her opinion. It really didn't matter to her who ran the world as long as she got what she wanted out of it.

She followed the paths in the castle up towards her least favorite place, the tangles of machinery, stairs, and bridges keeping her focused on the here and now. She was far too busy navigating the labyrinthine path than feeling the hints of memories in her mind. She put those down as she entered the torture chambers, inwardly remembering the pain the machines here had caused to her when she had first arrived there. She felt each whip mark and now healed bone in the center of her being. She could still feel the pain of her flesh being torn and blood running down her back and pooling around her hooves, making the ground sticky with red. . .and then she was back here. In the present.

Tempest steeled herself as she heard two voices chatting, one female voice, slightly deep and resonant with a sense of new power, still unbowed and unbroken. And the other a small filly, both sweet and calculating, her voice rising and falling with intent as she spoke.

Tempest turned into the furthest pit of torture, the heat of the steam engines that powered the place washing over her and giving her coat a sticky moistness that she still had never gotten used to. She blinked as the steam cleared and saw that right in the center of the room sat two chairs, one tiny and one large- housing Cozy Glow and the new dragon. Cozy had leashed the dragon to the table, the golden chain denoting true importance in rank and the piece that wrapped around her neck was full of anti magic items- rings, hexes, arrays.

The blue dragon glowered at her, red eyes fully on the pony as Cozy poured both of them a cup of tea. Tempest had entered in the midst of a discussion, so the sound that had been muffled by the hum and hiss of machinery now hit her ears.

"-fuck you."

Cozy smiled. "Ember, for a Dragon Lord, you seem to have a mouth on you. Especially since I'm in the room. Now when Tempest gets here you can say all the mean, horrible words you want since she has quite a mouth on her. You'd probably get along swimmingly." The pink filly smiled and drank a sip of the tea.

"I've told you all I want to. Now get me out of here or else I'll get really fucking angry."

Cozy put down her cup and crossed her hooves, gingerly swishing her tail, blue strands swaying in excitement. "And what you do to me. Because, to me, you have no magic, you're chained to a desk, and I don't see any lawyers or attorneys here to take your case. So tell me again. What. Exactly. Are. You. Going. To. Do. To. Me?" Cozy's final sentence was punctuated by her lazily tapping the table with a hoof.

Ember spat out her response, face flushed purple with rage. "I'd first rip your wings off and feed them to you and then I'd bleed you out very slowly and you'd die in agony as I would flay the skin from your bones and you'd die so slowly that you'd watch as I plucked out your heart and ate it."

Cozy didn't break a sweat. "How barbaric. And here I thought you'd say give me a hug and a kiss. I mean I'm a filly and you are a big, strong, scary dragon." The filly turned and saw Tempest. "Oh, Tempy, I didn't know you were going to be back so soon. I thought I would have to listen to all the ways she was going to kill me before that. Though I did pick up most of the swear words. I do have to say some of the terms would be useless since I can't do the bad things with my parents." Cozy leaned back in her chair. "Finally, the investigation is in order."

Ember looked at the filly. "I thought I was been questioned."

Cozy giggled. "That's just silly. You'd think I'd bring tea to an interrogation? That's just so very unsanitary. I mean what with how some of my interrogations go, I'd think the chance of blood contamination is vastly higher than normal. And I don't want to worry about any of those horrible diseases. I heard swamp fever is particularly terrible." The filly stretched her limbs and winked at her prisoner.

Ember stared at the filly, her jaw clenched in pure, livid anger. "I've been here for nearly a day hearing you speak and you are telling me that you are just starting now?"

Cozy sighed. "Well, yeah. I can't do my Good Interrogator, Bad Interrogator technique without another pony. You'd think I'd do it with these functionally dead Storm Beasts? That's preposterous." Cozy stepped out of her chair and pulled off a tiny hammer from the wall, black metal faintly shimmering in the red lights of the torture chamber, and set it down in front of her. "Tempy, what exactly does Chryssy want to know about Ember exactly?"

She bristled at the pet names that the little filly gave each of her acquaintances- not friends. It was almost demeaning hearing her name in that way- Cozy had no real like for decorum or rank, making the sheer fact that she called the Changeling Queen that name more an odd quirk of her character than anything else- though particularly she never spoke the name towards her face. She at least had a brain on her, even if it was sickeningly sweet. Tempest racked her brain, faintly remembering a few calls from the bug monarch and trying to get the most important information. "Probably the safe word for Manehattan, any pertinent background info if guards ask, ways to blend Changeling armor into the correct shades of dragon scales, vocal tone and timber. The normal things she talks about in infiltration missions."

Cozy smiled. "Well then. Question one: what exact measures are in place for a dragon migration? Are there any ways to tell guards that the way is safe, any measures agreed upon in an attack, and any ways into Manehattan's Dragon Sanctum without alerting a million souls?"

Ember huffed. "Ain't telling you."

Cozy picked up the hammer. "Would you do the honors, Tempy? I would, but by cruel fate I can't just use unicorn magic."

Tempest flared her horn up, feeling another hint of a migraine coming on. With a start, her aura enveloped Ember's claws, carefully forcing them apart and laying them fully flat on the table. With effort, Tempest could feel the female dragon pull against her bonds trying to struggle as the reality of what was going to happen next set in.

Cozy lifted the small hammer and swung it down with enough force so the sound of a large snap in protest rang out. Ember screamed in pain as she saw the finger's bone jut out of her hand in an unnatural angle, bones gleaming pinkish white with the blood that began to pool within Tempest's aura, the blood turning her bluish aura purple.

Cozy patted Ember on the hand. "You know, dragons are rather interesting creatures. I'm told by our archmages and mage techs that they are innately magical, attuned to the slightest change of mana. Supposedly, there's some studies on breeding habits and magic density. Not really my thing, mostly Tempest's area here-" Cozy tapped the chain and collar around Ember's neck. "-but what's really important is finding ways to weaken dragon magic. Not enough to kill. That isn't fun. But enough to hurt, and that little contraption there, makes you feel things that you shouldn't feel. Like breaking claws. So I'll ask again, what do you know about Manehattan? We can literally do this all day. . .what with Tempy here, she can heal your claws up and we do this over and over and over again until you tell me what I, and the Storm King, want to know.

Cozy's sweet smile lengthened into a wide grin.

Aspen breathed out and felt himself in the Halvyr, the wood of woods, as his hooves touched down on the brown leaves that covered the ground, his hooves felt wet as he walked through the first grove of trees, white aspens- the trees that his own father named him after, beckoned him further through the gate beyond. He could the ghosts of the Cernii on the periphery of his vision as he walked, a white deer through a not yet dead wood. Things in Halvyr were both dead and not, able to interact with the living world through the powers of deer like him and the bonesingers, ghosts reaching out and teaching the world the old ways. Things that were long forgotten, stories of the past. And that was what Aspen was here for. If he was going to attempt to avenge the loss of what ponies called Irondeer, he had to know the reality of that time. The smells of the blood, the heat that washed over the plains as the Sunbringer unleashed her power, the anguish of the troops that met their own worst nightmares. He had to know, because his father had only spoke of those times while in a bit of drink, his eyes bleary with half memory, half story, as he told of things that Aspen was too young to fully comprehend.

"Aspen, the things I know because of the old magic, it haunts me."

The King of the Forest never forgot that. Even when his father died of an unforeseen accident, his eyes were sunken and hollow from years of things being too hard to handle. Things that burdened the chief weren't normally worn on the face so readily. Weakness of character was not a desired trait and being the son of a failed leader was hard. Aspen breathed through his nose, the sweet smell of death was welcoming and yet foreign to him- maybe the look in his father's eyes at the end was resignation. Resigned to die before his time and not live out his life in Helvyr, forced to wander the world as a creature between life and death- timberwolves were just a taste of some of the more creative ways the forest reused living matter and wandering spirits in wooden glens was an old deer story. The father who meets their son years later in the wood, eyes of stone staring at blue orbs. Aspen wondered if his father was out there in the wood.

He shook his head and went on. Staying too long in Helvyr was a death sentence.

He looked up and saw the black sun of morning and soldiered through his thoughts. He took a look down and saw his destination, inky black pools and white trees telling him where the chieftains of old lay. The songs spoke of a land between ghost trees and rivers of deep black. He hadn't actually gone this far since the way Helvyr worked was like the rings on a tree, each longhouse of bones held a few leaders of the past and the further you went, the older they got.

He glided down the hill, his strides carrying him far and true through some of the inky pools, hooves gliding over the abyssal waters as he used his magic to guide him through. He had to speak with the first chiefs, those who fought the alicorns for dominance and failed, the Elders of the Woods and he picked out their longhouse. It was a short, squat hovel of a building, built more of rocks and mud than some of the more pompous jeweled ones. Either they knew the materials that held up best in the land of the dead or they just knew their worth better than their descendants, he did not know. Aspen lit down on the muddy track that was the entrance and gingerly knocked upon the brass door that was the only metal thing in the whole building. He waited for a minute and saw the door creak open an a skeletal head pop out, its eyesockets staring at him darkly and its exposed skull grinning messily at him. Aspen could see each chipped and broken tooth in the mouth as it stared unblinking.

The skeleton beckoned him in with a nod.

Tempest sighed as she stared down at the broken claws of the dragon, the digits mangled beyond recognition and she cringed as she reset them. The dragon moaned in agony as bones and muscle slid against each other. Tempest always knew her healing spells were extra painful since she had little control on her spells- the broken horn of hers had lost all sense of control years ago.

That was something she had had to adjust to. She wiped her brow as the spell finished. "Done."

Cozy smiled like a cherub at Tempest's work. "Amazing. The idea that horns still retain magic while broken sounds super interesting. Unlike wings, which if you cut them off, are just inert lumps of flesh. Horns are the only things that retain magic." She pressed a button and heard the Storm Beasts walk in. "I checked. The experiment was messy, but the prisoners aren't complaining now." Cozy stretched her wings and preened herself, clearing herself of some of the more egregious bloody stains that marred her pink coat and blue, curly mane. "You want lunch cause I'm starving. You have no idea how tiring thirteen hours messing with a prisoner can be. They are just so mouthy. All about 'let me go' and 'ponies are nice.' and, my favorite, 'how old are you?" Cozy spat out a bit of blood. "Yeah, tell that to my parents. Tell that to all the ponies I saw selling slaves near Mount Aris. You and I get what ponies are. Friendship sounds nice as a weapon. Think about it. You can control anything you want if you just give them what they think they need." Cozy wiped down her mane and stretched. "Give dragons gold and they love you. Give Diamond Dogs gems and they become loyal. Gryphons want land. Anything else can be bargained with, cajoled, or tortured." Cozy's eyes narrowed as she patted the limp body of her prisoner. "Like her."

Tempest quickly cantered away as soon as she could. While she liked talking to the pegasus, there was just something off about the filly. Something was broken inside the pegasus. She acted far older than her ten years of age, the cool eyes staring deep past anything as they sized things up and down. She often wondered if she was the same. Unicorns with broken horns usually were outcasts or became beggars without good magical control. She had heard the stories of lame unicorns just throwing themselves off cliffs just to die with dignity. And yet she was still here. Promoted into an army that didn't care about her disability, just results.

Tempest shivered at the thought of the little pegasus and opened the doors to the call center. She waded through the guards, spears at the ready, with a quick nod of her head and the machines around her checked her aura and markings to make sure it wasn't some illusionary tactic. She waded into the blue pool of faintly electrified magic and whispered gently to herself her mantra over and over, the "I am a rock" line echoing faintly in the cavelike atmosphere of the room. Tempest fired up her magic and attuned the liquid to the Manhattan troops.

She blinked to see a rather stunning look out at the sea, the rocky shore of Eastern Equestria being viewed from above. She winced a little at the thought, weakness for sure. "Hello?"

A blue gryphon woke up, and looked back into the magic on his end. "Oh, uh, hello, uh, let's see. . .mother said you were the General, so. . .Good morning, Tempest."

Tempest narrowed her eyes. Gallant sending one of her flock, her own brood to deal with the most important mission in the first battle of the war was disheartening. She had thought the old bird was more gung ho about winning. . ." Tempest shook her head. She tried remembering the sheer amount of G names that gryphons were used to- the language itself was focused more on getting the point across and lessening the amount of work speaking with beaks caused. That caused a lot of mess trying to remember similar sounding names. Tempest cracked a false smile. "Gallus, was it? How is your mother?"

Gallus put a claw through his feathers. "Good, though she says she won't leave Griffonstone for a time. Death of grandpa and all." He looked pensive for a moment and went on. "Anyway. . .if you are calling you must have something important to say."

Tempest inwardly rolled her blue eyes. "Yes. Well, the Changelings wanted information about the dragons and I got it. Though it did take some. . .light cooperation with the prisoner."

Gallus silently nodded, knowing full well what that might mean. "So what is it?"

Tempest smiled.

Aspen was in the center of the dead longhouse and he smelled the faint rot of the tobacco and flesh that tinged the bones. He laid one living hoof on the construction, feeling the bones pulse back with life at his touch. He turned and stared at the collection of chiefs and warriors in the longhouse, their black holes boring into his soul, a few of those who still had rotting tongues sang quietly of things which would come, did come, and would never be, and it was a mad deer who tried to disentangle the tangled web of knowledge. He shivered as he passed by, his gleaming white coat not fitting in the crowd of limber skeletons, bones white and yellowed with age.

The First Chief stared at him, his rainbow feathered headdress resplendent in the mottled browns and blacks, whites and yellows, gray and red of the crowd. He locked his eternal view on his descendant and began to speak in raspy, otherworldly tones, his voice oddly resonant without lungs and skin to house it, his croaking rasp entering Aspen as he was part of the old magic, words forming his mind and the experience of the First Chief, nameless as he became, entered into his mind.

Aspen, Chief of the Deer, King of the Forest, current of his name, we have felt the destruction of what you living call Irondeer, the name you forgot translating ever so roughly to "Rivers of Gems, First Breath, though the tongue loses its meaning in speaking it. The ghosts of my longhouse felt the explosion of it and we cried out in shared torment, the loss of thousands of years of history in one moment, a pain in Helvyr. We have long memories, us dead, and what happened long ago is like a moment away. We are but dust to the Gods of the ponies, their ways long and deceptive. So while this pain is new and fresh, it is just a repeating drumbeat of war to them."

Aspen breathed as he saw uncountable masses of deer stare back at him, their pelts a mass of color as they stared unblinking. He blinked first and saw them in a funeral pyre, their flesh melting on their bones as the ponies' white horse stared at them, her colorful mane swaying in the nonexistent breeze, its pastel pinks and greens and blues flickering on her like the sun's tail of light that trailed it, her body adorned in golden armor. He breathed in the smell of blood and steel, he could see the earth magic of the wilderness be tamed by ponies, their magic orderly and controlled to deer magic. He felt sick as he could hear the earth scream as they tilled its bounty, the machinery and knowledge of ponies bleeding the earth dry. He blinked again and he could see Irondeer as it had been, a last gasp of deer sovereignty in a land washed over with the outlanders, their colors unsuited to the forests, their pelts standing out like a rainbow serpent, its fangs sunk deep in the jugular vein of the deer.

"Daybreaker and Moonshadow, their combined might too much for most of our bands. They corral the natural order of the world and bend it to their will, Aspen. Not live in harmony and reuse its bounty as needed. I, First Chief, entreated them to leave in peace and they conferred with their broods. A great rending of hair and gnashing of teeth like beasts did happen. The parties came back and disagreed."

Aspen saw the banners of the armies of the Sun and Moon resplendent, the glint of metal in the lines showed in their battalions as small bands of deer walked out of the forest, their faces painted red and black in war paint coloration. The braves and shamans of the King of the Deer sat in front, their antlers shining in the sun with ancient magic holding the outlanders at bay, the feathered headdresses and bones, the only colors that separated themselves. Reindeer fought alongside mule deer, white tailed with black. The clans of the field were a united bunch before the battle. He could hear the chants of a thousand bands sing on the field, their songs unknown to the ponies. Aspen thought the sound was close to what he had read in one of the ponies' books once- like the souls in Tartarus danced upon the fields- and he smiled at the thought. He had but a brief talk with the reindeer and much of the mule and black deer had been slaughtered in raids after this battle. Treaties signed were easily broken. The Thicket now was the last bastion of the deer and that had only been hiding so deep, so far below in places ponies dared not to go, that the old ways survived.

First Chief sighed. "I know not what caused Daybreaker to send the sun upon us, but it was but a moment after our braves returned to talk to the rest of us that the world became rife with light and fire."

Aspen stared up at the sky and watched as the clouds evaporated into steam, their wisps boiling away as light filtered down. The Sun Resplendent, staring down at the hordes of deer, their eyes fixed up to her in wonder and fear at their impending death, watching as brothers and fathers turned to dust, the beam of death leaving a trail of glass in its wake as it cut a swath through the enemy lines. The Shamans of the Herd were weaving their songs and screaming at the tops of their lungs as their barriers broke and shattered under the onslaught of heat, some of them starting to boil from the inside out as the heat drew closer. Aspen could see their eyeballs pop and run down their burning flesh in gooey rivulets. He turned towards the sun and saw the horde of ponies descend on the massively weakened Herd and, using lances and axes, hacked the remaining braves to pieces, tinting the grass red.

First Chief sighed and let memory fall. "The past is both unchangeable and, yet, revered. The loss of our original homeland needs to be revenged in some way- a message to not think deer are gone from the world." First Chief gripped his wooden staff, and getting to his hooves, touched Aspen on the shoulder. Aspen could feel the rot and death that permeated the living skeleton here in Helvyr, the old chief the last remnant of a forgotten age, the last one who was of the line of Cerununnos. "There are two unicorns you need to kill to bring our tribe to justice. One black as pitch, red eyes blazing with hate, and the other pink and with the blackest heart of all. Now, grandbuck, go to the living and tell them our message."

Aspen felt the vision of Helvyr lessen and, his soul was forced back into his body.

Aspen breathed in the air of the Thicket, the living smells of the place making him sure that he wasn't stuck in Helvyr. He sat up and got to his hooves, his white coat gleaming as the sun lightly began to rise, the colors of the day starting to permeate the deepest layers of the wood itself. He could feel a connection to every living thing here, from the rabbits that scurried through the undergrowith, to the timberwolves and eyespiders that were the remnants of the dead. He strode out of the longhouse and stared at his herd, shamans chanting the war songs of eons past, their rhythms comforting and yet worrying in turn because of the danger of calling the ancestors. Once called, they demanded a price or war to be held. Yet the bonesingers and fatetellers all said something was coming- storm in the east, a very bad portent to be sure. He strode through the glade, his bells gently ringing as he moved his head and ducked into the halls of the dead, the cold and clammy depths close to the heart of the forest. He ran a hoof against the earth and felt the pulse from the crystal tree, it's clarion call foreign yet close. The heart of the forest had moved towards the pony settlement, but the roots were deep and spread throughout the forest. The tree was the heart of his deer. An ancestor had helped Starswirl tend the shoot and so he felt a protectiveness towards the tree as he thought about it.

"Brother, the funerary rites are completed. Though, I still don't get why you want to give the body back." Blackthorn stared at Aspen, his dark coat and suit of bone armor hugging his muscled frame. His tail swished in slight annoyance. Father always said the two of them were sides of the same tree. His brother the bark, tough, wiry and warlike- Aspen was the thinker, the chief in name and aspect, magical. His brother's practicality oozed out as he kept speaking. "I'd burn it and be done with it."

Aspen grinned imperceptibly at his brother's bristling attitude. "Did the wolf take the offered tongue?"

Blackthorn led him into the halls of death and pointed at the body, the limp form of this pony hastily stitched up by the tenders of the dead, their stitching of the broken bones and flesh a real art to behold in motion, their antlers gleaming white as the death songs all were sung over each dead body. Aspen carefully touched the stitching of the breastbone and ran his hooves over the coat. He hummed lightly to himself as he ran his hooves upward to the face, the red mane falling down in plaits and tied in a ceremonial death shroud of flowers, their yellows and purples bringing the barest hint of life in the dead form. He saw the sunken form of the mouth as he nudged at it, feeling the empty cavity were the tongue had been before the wolf had taken it.

Everything was in order.

"I presume you have been training our braves well, dear brother." Aspen moved his head up to stare into the dark brown eyes of his war leader and smiled. "While I think running a death march through the wood for one such as this." The word went unsaid, but each knew that he meant the outsider. The pony. "We have a talk with the two alicorns in Ponyville. With both Moonshadow and Daybreaker there, we will be able to renegotiate any. . .slight that was done to us. With the Fall Equinoxal in effect, the old ways of deferring to the alicorn of that time is in play."

Blackthorn laughed, the corners of his eyes creasing in joy. "You think I'm lazy? I've killed Ursa Majors, I've worn the bones of my enemies as my armor. . .I am the most active brave around here."

Aspen smiled demurely. "Good, that's what we need. A diplomacy session with all the hooting and hollering that that requires."

Starsea was a bustling town on the Lunar Sea. Built during the heyday of the diarchy in the beginning of the alicorn sisters reigns, it had kept its odd nomenclature even after Luna's banishment, an oddity in Celestia's attempted wipe of history. It currently was one of the few ports that suffered the trips to Klugetown and the Badlands and some of the Zebrican Coast, and, Sour Sweet mused, the last stronghold of ponykind after Klugetown's capture.

She headed down a side street and walked past shops of ill repute, the normal seller of partially magical items- some not so magical- a brothel, and an alehouse that served the docks. Really, the only two businesses that did well in port towns were bars and whorehouses, or at least that was what her father once said when she had accidentally led her family down a wrong turn and walked into the Canterlot red light district. Candles and torches were the main light at this time of night, the dawn still a good hour away. She was still sour and in pain from marching her way here. Yet she was glad for the pain because that told her she was still alive. Sour Sweet carefully walked over the beggars and opened the doors to the bar. As she did, a wafting stench of hops and vodka hit her nose which made her draw back like she had been slapped from the reek of vomit and a faint smell of urine. She gagged a little as she hadn't touched the stuff in a while and had forgot the smells of some of the dirtier establishments. She slid up to the bar in a huff. "Barkeep, you know any good ships coming into Equestria? Any fast ones?"

The barkeep, a small, squat earth pony stared at her. "Info costs a drink."

Sour Sweet grumbled and pulled out her last few bits, scrounged up from the remnants of her saddlebags- Capper had forced them to give up most of their possessions in order to "play the part" and she had obliged the feline, smearing blood over the bag to make the fucking lizard who melted her friend's eyes get the picture. She still didn't trust the cat a lick, but he hadn't knifed them in the back as they had turned away which had counted for something. A slight sense of honor, perhaps. The pegasus chuckled quietly. Probably just had liked stretching his limbs for once.

She clanked down the few bits and grimaced, her cuts no longer bleeding, but the movement making her overworked muscles sore. "Talk."

The barkeep slid the money over, and grabbing one coin, bit into the gold. After a moment, and presumably passing the real bit test, he opened his eyes to stare at her. "Let's see, the Parroteer is in dock, but that's going to the Storm Lands, loaded with perishable cargo. Celaeno doesn't really turn her ship around for anything. It'd take a real coffer of gold to get her to-"

Sour Sweet shook her head. Too noticeable, too expensive. "Anything else?"

The earth pony shrugged. "Depends. There's a lack of ships this kind of year. Northern trips are difficult in the winter. Something about the gusts. Personally, I just think the captains are lazybones. But there's possibly a few ships, smaller ones, more compact." He pulled out a bit of paper and glanced at it, the ratted edges old and crumbling. "Hmm, let's see. . ." He lighted on the list of ships and scanned them. "The Dasher's in port. Family venture, I'm told, or at least I suspect. Not many married couples out here in the Outlands. 'Specially middle age ones. Small, and depending on where you want to go, could get to Equestria in a few hours. Something about pegasus magic versus gryphon wingpower. Or that's what the boaster of the bunch says when he gets into his cups."

Sour Sweet sighed. She had stashed Sugarcoat in a nearby inn at extreme cost to their remaining pocketbook, and she had to get back to her as soon as she could. While she liked how talkative some barkeeps were, it was a rather important mission. "Fine. Tell me who to talk to and where they are."

"Dock seven, ask for Windy Whistles or Bow Hothoof. Either run the ship and you won't miss them. The mare's loud in speaking, the stallion's loud in color. Honestly, she wears the socks in the relationship."

Sour Sweet sighed and thanked the barkeep, carefully walking out the door as she didn't want to be jumped for the last bits on her and walked briskly to the Harried Mare, the inn she stashed Sugarcoat. Hopefully the blind mare would be okay, though if she had to chose a pony who'd be fine without sight, it was her second in command. The mare could stare down any kind of magical creature and live. And with the loss of her sight, she could make a cockatrice turn to stone.

"It'll be a cold day in Tartarus when I break my promises. And I said I'd take you home, Sugarcoat."