In any normal situation Rarity Belle of Vassal House Belle would be appalled by being tossed on the ground like some worthless thot, but she has not had a normal situation since she left Armonia all those weeks -possibly months- back. Really, all she had been expecting was Blueblood attending a meeting about the Everfree conflict and plans for a ceasefire and creation of separate nations in the name of peace. What she got instead was being tossed into a quest to save the world from the resurrected Nightmare, and after witnessing the death of her companions and the brutality of the Nightmare she is now bound and tossed into a patch of muddy grass, staining her already damaged white and purple tunic and the deer cloak. So far the only good she has seen from this predicament is that the Foalings Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo are still with her and unspoiled. Mostly. The burden of fear and fatigue has an obvious presence on their dirty faces. But at least they are not dead or maimed.

While the Lulamoon Sanctuary soldiers stagger about in the chilled air, making camp by chopping off branches of a nearby tree line and unrolling bed rolls, Rarity crawls to the two Foalings.

“Are you two all right?” asks Rarity.

“Could be better,” says Scootaloo.

“Where are they taking us?” asks Sweetie Belle.

“Take a guess,” sneers Scootaloo.

“Girls, relax, I'll get us out of here,” says Rarity.

Scootaloo frowns at her. “How?”

Rarity peers around the camp, carefully observing the worn soldiers moving into their own circles around glowing camp fires. As the soldiers talk among themselves, the wind rocks the forest, bringing out moans and groans that sound like the distress call of animals. Not too far from Rarity's Fellowship, a unicorn stallion of with a light green coat and dark green mane sits on a log, carving something from a piece of wood using his knife and using his horn as a light. The glow allows Rarity to see a ring of keys hanging from his belt, and after studying the ring for a minute she smiles and looks at the two Foalings.

“I have an idea. Stay still,” says Rarity.

The Foalings nod and Rarity pushes herself up and walks towards the unicorn. It takes him a moment to realize that she is there, but when he does, he stops carving and stares at her, clutching his knife tighter.

“Can I help you?” asks the unicorn, whom Rarity is guessing is the acting Commander.

“I was only curious as to what you were carving,” says Rarity. She takes a closer look at it, noting the flowers and vines etched in the wood that has been carved to the shape of a knot. “It looks beautiful.”

“Thank you,” says the Commander. “This is nothing compared to what I used to do, though.”

“Oh?”

Rarity sits next to him, purposefully pressing her chest against his shoulder and putting on a smile to hide the discomfort when she stretches her bound hands past the limit. Though, the Commander is too busy blushing from the feeling of a soft chest squishing against his arm to notice her antics.

“Are you a woodsmith?” asks Rarity.

“Was,” says the Commander. “I had a shop, but I had to sell it after I was drafted into the Lulamoon Sanctuary Army... I don't even know why I am telling you this.”

Rarity's wrists and fingers burn and pinch as they wrestle with the keyring, but she keeps her smile up, and adds a deeper snuggle and bats her lashes at him.

“You are just a bit lonely,” says Rarity. “I can see it in you. Self isolation, something to occupy your mind, a sadness in your eyes. Quite tragic since I think you are handsome, and you appear strong for a unicorn. I would ask to feel your arms, but seeing as how I am tied up and at your mercy...”

The keys pop loose and fall into Rarity's sweaty palm, and the Commander stares at her, tapping his knife against his knee.

“Seeing as how you are my prisoner this conversation is both amusing and inappropriate,” says the Commander.

“Well, if you can do me a favor and tell Trixie to go easy on us I would greatly appreciate it,” says Rarity.

“I can try, but Trixie probably won't listen. She hasn't been the same since her long trip. She was always egotistical and a bit on the snobbish side, but it was amusing for we all knew it was mostly an act, but ever since she returned she's... well, she's changed. I cannot make any promises, but I can wish you luck.”

“That'll work just fine for me.” Rarity stands up and pecks the Commander on the cheek, bringing a hot flash to his face. “Get some rest. You look tired.”

“You too,” says the Commander.

After he says that, he looks away with scrunched brows, mouthing what he just said, and Rarity quickly sits next to the Foalings, who are staring at her with confusion scrunching their faces.

“Did you do something, or just flirt?” asks Scootaloo.

Rarity turns her key, slips it into her cuff and in one quick twist it pops loose.

“Slide behind me,” says Rarity.

The two do as she says, and after some struggle between watching the soldiers and blindly slipping the key into the cuffs, she has the Foalings free.

“Pretend to be cuffed, and when I give the signal, we run,” says Rarity.

“Run where?” asks Sweetie Belle. “There's just field and forest.”

“The forest. Plenty of places to hide in there.”

“Huh, you aren't so bad, after all,” says Scootaloo.

Rarity rolls her eyes. “Glad to have your seal of approval.”

“That wound is infected!” says one of the soldiers at a nearby campfire, an earth pony with an amber coat and a brown mane tied to a wolf-tail.

Rarity's Fellowship looks at the group and sees the wolf-tail soldier kneeling next to the soldier with the compounded arm, his bandage brown and black with blotches of red. The wounded soldier is also pale and sweaty, and the wolf-tail soldier glares at Rarity.

“Its her fault!” he says.

The Commander stops carving and warily looks at the wolf-tail soldier -as well as the resting crowd- as said soldier stands up to survey the crowd.

“This was supposed to be an easy mission, but we got slaughtered and for what? The wrong unicorn and a couple of Foalings! Her company killed our friends, our brothers, and we get nothing out of this! Am I the only one that is livid about this?” says the wolf-tail soldier.

The soldiers begin murmuring, some nodding and others shaking their heads, and the Commander stands up, sheathing his knife and approaching the distraught soldier.

“Wielder, I know you're upset, but we knew the risk and we have to accept that,” says the Commander.

“Really?” says the soldier, Wielder. “Easy to say for a loner who has no love for anypony besides his stupid wood. You're only up top because Crimson liked you for reasons not even Faust knows. And guess what? Crimson is dead, too. Aren't you mad about that?”

The Commander puts his hand on the hilt of his blade, speaking with an even tone. “Crimson knew the risks.”

“Well, we didn't! We were told it was an easy mission to grab a purple unicorn mare and a bunch of Foalings, but we grabbed the wrong mare!” Wielder points at Rarity. “We bled and died and got infected over the wrong mare!”

The Sanctuary soldiers start standing, cluster by cluster, nodding and voices getting louder in agreement or disagreement, and the Commander narrows his eyes and tightens his hold on his sword while Rarity's Fellowship eyes the crowd with a growing dread poisoning their thoughts.

“This is not good,”' says Sweetie Belle.

“Girls, get ready to run,” says Rarity.

Wielder throws his hands up and looks at the crowd for approval.

“How many of us died for nothing? How many of us got hurt for nothing? Got infected for nothing? Crisp will lose an arm for nothing! We need compensation!” yells Wielder.

The soldiers roar and shake their fists in agreement, and Wielder turns to the Commander.

“Do you agree that this was in vain and in need of compensation, Commander Woods, or do your eyes see nothing but unconditional loyalty?” says Wielder.

The Commander exhales. “We couldn't leave with nothing, you know that.”

“And you know that Trixie is not going to be happy with what we brought. Some humiliation of the Unicornian is in order. It will do us some good and will be much deserved punishment for what she and her company did to Crisp.”

Wielder steps forward and the Commander draws his sword and aims it at him, horn glowing and sword covered in a shimmer. This freezes Wielder's advancement, but it jolts many to his side while an equal sized group joins the Commander.

“You are out of line, Wielder!” says the Commander.

“Am I? Then what do you have to say about you and her flirting together? Did you have intentions to bed her? Or release her into the Wild?” says Wielder.

“Sit down.”

“Answer the question.”

“I will not tell you again. Sit or-”

The Commander suddenly jerks to the ground with a spear lodged in his ribs, and in that brief moment of the resulting confusion the ground shakes with thunder and horse riders masked by the darkness rush in like a storm of swords. Battle cries clash with desperate screams and barking orders, and the Sanctuary soldiers are ruthlessly cut down by blades, spears and arrows, or trampled by shrouded riders.

Blood flies and bodies crash, and Rarity throws off her cuffs, yelping and ducking to her hands and knees as a horse rider gallops past her to slash a head off a retreating Sanctuary soldier. She scrambles to her feet, heart and breathing racing to near suffocation, and she ushers the Foalings up, who have huddled together and are petrified.

“Run, girls!” orders Rarity.

The two stiffly get up and Rarity's Fellowship bolts to the line of thick, warped trees, all three weaving and ducking between the rampaging horse riders and the Sanctuary soldiers vainly defending themselves.

After reaching a small clearing that is free of the clashing forces, Rarity smiles and gets a new burst of energy in her legs that put her feet at barely touching the ground. Then something impacts her back and everything becomes a blur as she goes into a free fall and crashes to the ground.

Her head throbs, her ears ring, and she groans and tries to stand up, but her legs do not stand on their own, for a strong arm wraps around her neck and jerks her upright, choking the air out of her. Rarity gags and out of reflex she stomps her foot on the foot of her attacker and then elbow him in the ribs, bringing him to yelp and loosen his grip. Rarity manages to twist her way out from his grip, but can only catch a glimpse of him before he pounces on her again. This time she lands on her back with her view of the night sky blocked by Wielder's enraged face.

Rarity screams and pushes her hands and knee against him with all of her might, but he roughly swats her hands aside and grabs her collar, tearing the damaged fabric. She twists away from his face as he tugs, causing a band of her collar to tear off and buttons to fall, exposing part of her chest. Rarity's hands frantically dig into the grass, her face wet from her sobbing and throat sore from begging while she tries to crawl away from Wielder. It is no luck, though, for he is quick to change his grip to where he has a hold of her cloak's hood and drags her on her back across the grass, despite her screaming and kicking.

“You're coming with me, wench!” sneers Wielder.

Then a rock sails overhead and hits Wielder right in the jaw, sending teeth flying and him to the ground, holding his muzzle and screaming in pain. As he writhes on the ground with blood gushing past his hands, Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo rush to help Rarity on her feet. After Rarity stands the three once again run, but it does not take long for Sweeite Belle to scream from being tugged to the ground by an arrow impaling her cloak. Rarity skids to a stop, but before she can make another step Scootaloo is already unclipping the small unicorn's cloak and dragging her back to her feet.

“Come on, slowpoke!” says Scootaloo.

With Sweetie Belle by Scootaloo's side, the two are grabbed by Rarity and rushed into the forest without further trouble, save for having to dodge flying arrows and spears. Inside the forest, the white beams of the moon are broken, and the trees sway and creak, their noise muffling the slaughter outside.

“Keep going! Don't stop for anything!” says Rarity, barely able to speak from her panting.

That is when she hears wood snapping, and she turns around and sees Wielder running towards them, muzzle covered in blood and his sword drawn.

“Girls, hide!” orders Rarity.

The Foalings disappear into the trees after Rarity says this, and she grabs a log by a pile of wood and leafs and holds it like a club, shaking and whimpering as the crazed earth pony rushes her.

“I'm gonna kill your brats!” screams Wielder. He spits out a glob of blood and continues towards Rarity. “Then I'm gonna cut off your horn off and sell you to a whore-house!”

When Wielder is close enough Rarity swings her log at him, but he dodges it and punches her in the gut, expelling all the air out of her. She drops to her knees, coughing and wheezing for air, and out of the darkness Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo both shout a battle cry and try to tackle him.

Wielder stumbles and curses with the little bodies assaulting him, but he manages to pry off Scootaloo and throw her to the ground. Wielder then grabs Sweetie Bell by her neck and hoists her up. The small unicorn gags and tries to pull his fingers off her throat, but freezes with terrified tears reflecting in her eyes when he aims his sword at her gut.

Before Wielder can impale Sweetie Belle, Rarity leaps on his back and claws at his face, causing him to drop Sweetie Belle, and with a painful growl the soldier pushes himself into the pile of wood. The pile scratches and rips Rarity's cloak, and when he pulls away her hands release him and she falls to the ground, seething in pain. The pile stirs and Wielder turns back, face red with anger and blood, and with psychotic eyes being illuminated by the moon's reflected light he raises his sword.

“Actually, I'll just keep you and have others pay to use you, like the filthy giglot you are!” says Wielder.

He then swings his sword, and Rarity shrieks and dives out of way, causing the soldier to hit the bundle of timber. With the thwak of wood on metal comes a pair of bright glowing green eyes that suddenly open in the pile, accompanied by a very angry growl.

Wielder's eyes widen, and he steps back, pale and shaking as the pile of sticks and leafs unfold to form limbs with sharp roots curving into claws, the leafs stretching to eye brows and fluffing up like fur on its ribbed and sharp spined form and strands of vines wrapping around each other to form a tail. With the beast standing at its full height -and Wielder's sword still on its snout- it towers above the ponies and reveals its sharp, sap dripping fangs. It then pushes the sword out of its snout and lunges at Wielder.

Rarity turns and shields the Foalings and squeezes her eyes shut, all three whimpering and shaking as snarls and screams of fear and pain mesh with ripping flesh. The screaming quickly dies down after there is a thud, leaving just the noise of the ending slaughter outside, and several seconds later, a rumbling growl approaches them.

With her body shaking and freezing from sweat, Rarity peeks over her shoulder and sees the wolf-like creature staring at them, blood covering its claws and muzzles, and Wielder's destroyed body in a heap behind it.

“Nice doggy,” says Rarity, her hand slowly extending as she turns to face it, putting her back to the Foalings. “Nice... cute... leafy doggy.”

“What the heck is that?” asks Scootaloo.

“What are you doing in my forest?” asks the wolf harshly.

Rarity's mind breaks to a whole new level of panic that leaves her speechless and really wishing that she had the keys to the horn cuffs. The Foalings, she knows, holds the same sentiment if their gasps and tightening hands on her attire are any indication.

“Speak or remain silent in the dirt!” say the wolf.

“The tree's alive... Rarity, the tree's alive!” says Sweetie Belle.

“I am no tree. I am Yew, a timber-wolf of the forest!”

“A timber-wolf?” asks Scootaloo.

Rarity sucks in air, her voice suddenly returning. “Oh my. You're a tree shepherd. And here we are trespassing on your wonderful forest. I guess we will be going now. Sorry for bothering you. Come along girls.”

Rarity and the Foalings attempt to move towards the tree line, but Yew slides in front of them, growling and prowling closer, his green eyes glowing like balls of fire. With each heavy step he takes, Rarity's Fellowship takes a shaky step back, and the farther they go, the thinner the exit becomes for them.

“And where do you think you are going?” says Yew.

Rarity swallows. “Home.”

“After you came in here and attacked me and my friends you expect to return home?”

“We didn't attack you or any of your friends!” says Sweetie Belle. “...Did we?”

“I didn't see any tree mutts,” says Scootaloo.

Yew's throat rumbles and Rarity snaps to Scootaloo, hissing at her to be quiet, and then she smiles pleasantly at the timber-wolf.

“I can assure you we are very nice ponies who ran into some trouble, but you helped us and we are grateful and we will be leaving your beautiful forest. Have a good night,” says Rarity.

She grabs the Foalings shoulders and proceeds to escort them away from Yew, but the timber-wolf moves in front of them, leafs bristling and sharp, sappy fangs glowing with his eyes as he growls and prowls closer to them, forcing them back.

“There are no nice flesh beings,” says Yew. “Ponies, drakes, griffons, all of you come in here with your axes, your torches, your saws, slicing, smashing, chopping, cutting, burning, breaking, killing without remorse! I should rip your throats out and feed you to the forest! They can use a good dinner.”

“Oh, no no no, you don't have to do that!” says Rarity, squishing the Foalings into her with a protective embrace as the two smaller ponies smile nervously at Yew. “We are nice ponies, honest! I actually have a lovely tree at my abode.”

“What kind of tree?”

“... Green?”

Yew snarls. “Name?”

“What?”

“You didn't name your tree?”

“Oh my tree's name. Silly me. Its... Kieth.”

Yew lunges forward, causing all three mares to scream and stumble backwards to where they fall on their butts. Then they crawl backwards as Yew towers over them, his sappy, bloody slobber dripping to the ground and the trees groaning and creaking like a cheering audience.

“You know nothing of your tree!” snarls Yew. “It is trapped in whatever prison you set for it, not letting its roots, its strength grow, keeping it isolated like the cruel mistress you are! There is only one fate appropriate for slave masters!”

He then opens his mouth and moves in, and Rarity closes her eyes and turns her body to shield the Foalings from death, but rather than fangs ripping into her, a bright flash of light burns through her lids.

When the light subsides, she cracks an eye open, then her eyes open all the way and her ears perk, as do the Foalings, for in front of them is a mist with a peaceful glow that shifts into a featureless figure. The appearance brings Yew to back away, but leaves Rarity's Fellowship to gawk at the sight. Moments later, the featureless figure steps forward with the mist expanding to wings and with an extended hand and soothing voice that sounds all to familiar to Rarity, the mist speaks.

“That is enough, Yew. They are not your enemies.”

Yew takes another step back, growling quietly, and the misty figure turns to Rarity's Fellowship and waves.

“Hi, Rarity! Hi, girls! It's good to see you again!”

Rarity faints.