It was hard to miss how skittish Amanita was. She didn’t sit still. Her ears twitched constantly. She kept glancing at the door. And even with her magic, she kept fumbling her food.

Things probably would’ve gone more smoothly if she’d made conversation, but Polar had never been one for conversation. It was part of the reason she’d moved out here. What was there to talk about, particularly with a stranger? Inanities like, “How’s your day?” or “Wonderful weather we’re having.” They were pointless and didn’t say anything.

Well, there was one reasonable question, but it didn’t occur to Polar until late into the meal. “So what brings you out here?” Polar asked.

“Nothing,” said Amanita, too quickly.

“…You remember what I said about you being a terrible liar, right?”

“It’s nothing,” snapped Amanita, and crammed some roots into her mouth.

Polar sighed and leaned forward. “Nopony comes out here for nothing, Ammy-” (Muffled sounds of protest worked their way around the roots in Amanita’s mouth.) “-it’s too far away from…” She gestured vaguely around. “…it all. If you don’t wanna talk about it, for whatever reason, I get it. But that’s different than ‘nothing’.”

Amanita forcibly swallowed her food. “Fine. It’s personal and I don’t want to talk about it. That good?”

“You coulda said that first thing,” said Polar, squinting at Amanita. Amanita glowered at her, but otherwise didn’t respond. Polar chewed on some lichen, swallowed, and said, “This personal thing’s important, is it?”

Amanita suddenly grew incredibly interested in what little food was left.

“I heard you cussing up a storm. Don’t bother trying to deny it.”

Very interested.

“There ain’t another pass around here for miles and miles, so-”

Amanita twitched and the fork she was levitating went flying across the room. She didn’t notice. She kept staring at her food, but only because that was what she’d been looking at to begin with. Her breathing picked up.

Polar pretended to not notice. Personal. “So,” she blazed on, “I’ll be helping you down there. Got plenty of rope, you’ll do fine.”

“Oh, thank you.” Amanita heaved a huge sigh of relief and grinned at Polar. “I’m… I’m working on a time crunch. If I had to go around, I’d…” She swallowed. “It’d be bad.”

“I can imagine,” said Polar.

That was the extent of their conversation for the remainder of the meal, but Amanita had calmed down considerably. She was still and ate more leisurely. She seemed almost happy.

By the time they’d polished the food off, Polar was feeling quite full. She got to her hooves and stretched. “Aaaaaaaaaalright,” she said. “I’m heading to sleep. I made the bed and I’m old, so it’s mine. There’s some blankets in-”

“Whoa, wait, hang on,” said Amanita. Her eyes were a little wider than usual. “What about… What about the whole thing with the rope? And the cliff? Aren’t, aren’t you going to help me down?”

“Sure,” said Polar. “Tomorrow.” What was Amanita thinking? Polar guessed that the “time crunch” was some high society party Amanita wanted to go to, naturally with tales of the great outdoors. Polar loathed parties. Stuffy, forced things.

“T-tomorrow?” Amanita ran a hoof through her mane; Polar guessed she didn’t know she was doing it. “W-why tomorrow? Can’t we just- do it tonight and- get it over with? I, I told you, I don’t have much time, I- This’ll- It’ll save me a lot of- Please?”

“Not tonight, and not before sunrise,” said Polar solidly. “Look.” She walked to a window and threw the shutters open. The night outside was only a few shades away from pitch black. “It’s too dark. I just can’t see.”

“Not a problem!” said Amanita, and illuminated her horn. She was trying to sound casual, but her voice was too high-pitched for that. “See? Light! Now you can-”

“Ain’t gonna.” Polar lightly bopped Amanita on the tip of her horn, extinguishing the glow. “I don’t feel safe going out there this late, magelight or no.”

“W-well…” Amanita pawed at the ground and looked away. Definitely a newbie at this. And she couldn’t even argue convincingly. She wouldn’t last long out there, not without some kick in the rear to make things clear for her. At least Polar could be sure that the kick wouldn’t be slipping on a cliff face, breaking her bones in the fall, and slowly freezing to death while paralyzed on the bottom.

Amanita kept looking away, and Polar soon stopped waiting for a response. “G’night,” she said gruffly. She turned for her bed.

“Wait!” said Amanita. “Just- give me the rope and I’ll go down myself! You don’t-”

Polar zipped to the door in an instant and held it shut. She might not like company all that much, but she had standards. “No,” said Polar. “You ain’t leaving this house tonight. I’ll stay up all night to keep you in if need be.”

“Don’t worry about me.” Amanita’s voice was breathless. “I can handle this.” She tried to push Polar aside, but she was a unicorn trying to push an earth pony; she had no chance. “Let me through, okay? Please? Pretty please?”

“Listen,” Polar said in a hard voice she hadn’t used in ages. “I know you’re in a hurry, but I ain’t letting you out there this late at night. Climbing in the dark’s murder, plain and simple. And-” She held up a hoof as Amanita opened her mouth. “-don’t go saying anything about lighting up your horn. You need to see the path you’re climbing beyond a few yards, else you’ll find yourself in a dead end on a sheer wall. I will not let you walk out there and kill yourself.”

“No, no, you don’t understand,” said Amanita, her voice even more strained. “I need to get down there tonight. If I don’t-” She cut herself off and stared at the wall.

“Then you shoulda planned your route better, you boneheaded greenhorn. What kinda idiot runs through these mountains full tilt on a time crunch without a map or a plan?”

“It’s-” Amanita’s ears twitched and she bit her lip. Polar could almost see the gears spinning in her head. “It was- The, the- thing that came up was urgent and I was the only one available!”

“And what ‘thing’ might that be? Where’re you headed?”

“I told you, that’s personal!” Polar could see tiny beds of sweat forming on Amanita’s forehead. Something was up with her. She was lying. “Please!”

Part of Polar was tired and wanted to just let the little idiot go out and get herself killed. One less problem in the world, right? But if that happened, she’d never rest. Assuming she got to sleep tonight, she’d probably wake up tomorrow to hear Amanita’s pained gasps rasping up from the bottom of the cliff where she’d be lying, broken and crippled. Polar figured there was a difference between out-and-out murder and letting somepony dance to their death, but at the moment, she considered them one and the same. She reared and spread her legs, blocking the door completely. “You ain’t leaving,” she said. “Period.”

Amanita’s mouth twitched. “Fine.” She suddenly lunged forward, her hooves aimed at Polar’s face. Polar instinctively brought her legs up, tucked her head down, and blocked the blows. She glanced up. Amanita had one leg back — the leg with the knife attached, point now facing outward. Before Polar could react, Amanita swung the knife and sliced her throat open.

Reflexively, painfully, Polar screamed. A weird rasping came from her mouth and a nauseating gurgling came from the hole in her throat. She tried to breathe; she coughed as her own blood trickled into her windpipe. She lashed out, kicking Amanita across the room and into some shelving. Polar fell back to all four hooves, collapsed onto her stomach and immediately put a hoof to her throat. The veritable waterfall of blood told her it was a vain attempt, but still she tried. Blood began pooling on the ground, warm and sticky.

Across the room, she dimly heard wood collapse as Amanita hauled herself out of the wreckage. Hoofsteps as Amanita walked over. “Gah! Son of a… That hurt, you know.” She crouched next to Polar, looked at the damage, and nodded. “Nice and clean. Don’t worry, you won’t be here long.”

Although Polar was breathing as deeply as she could, it constantly became more and more of a labor. What blood didn’t fall to the ground slipped into her throat. She coughed weakly. When she raised her head to look at Amanita, her eyes contained one question: Why?

“I need to leave,” Amanita said defensively, “and you were in the way. You… You did say…”

Polar stared weakly at Amanita. In spite of herself, she mustered enough energy to give what would have been a barking laugh under normal conditions. It sounded like a wet, two-toned wheeze. “I…” she gasped. “I… gave you…”

“If it’s any consolation,” Amanita whispered into her ear, “I’m sorry.”

She collapsed into a puddle of her own blood, and with one last gasp, Polar Sun died.

Bitterroot had no opinion on the cold, and she had that lack of opinion very thoroughly. She didn’t mind it, she didn’t like it. It was there and although it tugged at her feathers, there was no use complaining about it. Nothing grated on her more than whinging about the weather. So she was very thankful that Artemis’s and Trace’s comments on the weather were limited to things like “No snow in hours. The tracks should still be good.” or “Might be fog t’night.” Practical concerns, thank Celestia.

They’d been following Amanita’s trail through the forest for half an hour, walking a little faster than normal, but not quite a trot. In Bitterroot’s opinion, a good speed. There wasn’t much light left, particularly with trees on all sides, but it was still enough to see by. Her supplies bumped on one flank, her weapons on the other. She hoped she wouldn’t need the latter. Artemis had said Gale, her pegasus partner could carry the former, but Bitterroot had taken one look at the overloaded Gale and declined. She could carry her own stuff, even though Gale hadn’t objected. Hadn’t said anything, really. She responded with nods and gestures and managed to convey that she was okay carrying Bitterroot’s stuff but stayed silent and expressionless the whole time.

Meanwhile, Trace was proving herself not just a good tracker, but a superb one. She never stopped walking or even slowed down much, and her muzzle stayed glued to the ground. She didn’t even use any spells (that Bitterroot could see). There were several moments where Bitterroot had wondered what, exactly, Trace was even following, but it wouldn’t be long before she could find telltale signs of passage again. The skill made Bitterroot envious.

Since Bitterroot didn’t have much pride to swallow, she solved that problem by trotting up just behind Trace and saying, “Any chance you could teach me some tracking when we’re done?”

Trace didn’t look up from the tracks, very visible at the moment. “Maybe,” she said with a shrug. “I’ve never instructed anypony before, but I can give it a shot.”

“Good enough.” Bitterroot started to fall back to give Trace her space.

“To start, would you like to know a secret? A lot of it’s the land,” said Trace. “You saw the mountains in the light of day, right?”

Bitterroot picked up her pace again with a few flaps of her wings. “Yeah.” How could she not? Here, the mountains were practically a wall. Going the long, if safe, way around to go between Ironforge and Equestria took just over a week. The only thing breaking the wall up was a natural cleft that looked inviting but was terrible for ground travel (it had some weird Yakan name).

“See, methinks this pony doesn’t know the land, because she saw that massive blockade, picked out the easiest-looking route, and now she’s heading straight for Khuuramch Pass.” (That was the name.) “Right now, following her’s not just a piece of cake, but the whole cake. And she leaves a pretty clear trail, so once we’re through that notch, we shouldn’t have a problem.”

“Good.” Bitterroot slowed down again, falling into line next to Artemis.

“She doin’ fine?” Artemis asked.

“Yeah,” said Bitterroot. “She says the trail’s clear and there’s only one place she can go at the moment: Cool Ranch Pass.”

“Khuuramch Pass,” Artemis said with a scowl.

“Mine’s easier to remember.”

Artemis grunted.

Bitterroot looked over her shoulder at Gale, a few yards behind them. “Did you hear that?”

Gale simply nodded, adjusted her bags slightly, and tightened her scarf around her neck; it’d started to come loose in the wind.

Her curiosity finally boiled over. Bitterroot lowered her voice and leaned close to Artemis. “I… I don’t wanna sound offensive,” she whispered, “but… is she… all there? She hasn’t said a word this whole time.”

“She ain’t all there,” Artemis said in her normal voice. “She don’t talk ’t all. Got a wing par’lyzed. Don’t seem like much, but…” She grinned crookedly. “She’s a peg’sus. She’s s’pposed to be in the clouds, not down ’ere. Went stir-crazy in weeks o’ bein’ groundbound. Stopped flyin’ years ago, stopped talkin’ months ago, went insomn’ac and stopped sleepin’ weeks ago. ’S only a matter o’ time ’fore she stops eatin’ an’ breathin’.”

Bitterroot looked at Gale, who shrugged and scowled. If she was being honest with herself, Bitterroot had a hard time sympathizing. Oh, she tried — she was a pegasus, too — but flying just wasn’t all that important to her. Missing flying would a bummer, but not much else. She couldn’t even imagine going that mad if she went blind. Still, everypony was different, and at least Gale wasn’t slowing them down.

Ahead of them, a ball of light swelled from Trace’s horn. “Hey!” she yelled back. “From the pace, it seems as if our quarry was trying to reach Khuuramch Pass before sundown! I haven’t the faintest idea if she made it, but do you want to keep following the trail until we reach the cliff? Maybe she got caught on the top and we can grab her tonight!”

Artemis glanced at Bitterroot, who nodded. “Sounds good!” hollered Artemis. “We need t’ git back some los’ time, anyway!”

“Ought to be there in half an hour, then!” And Trace kept walking.

Books and plays always portrayed bounty hunting as some kind of awesome profession, with every hunter as some kind of one-mare-army super-mercenary. In Bitterroot’s mind, it was basically being a cop without the infrastructure. (Not that she knew, having never been a cop — or a royal guard, for that matter.) Following a target’s trail — physical trails, paper trails, contact trails, whatever — made up about ninety percent of her work. Not that Bitterroot minded, but there were long stretches where nothing happened. At least now she had some company.

The forest continued to darken. After a few more minutes of walking, Bitterroot asked, “So what did Amanita do? You never told us.”

“Tomorrow mornin’,” Artemis said promptly. “You hear it now, you ain’t sleepin’ tonight.” She looked Bitterroot in the eye. “Trust me.”

Something in her voice, something in those eyes sent shivers down Bitterroot’s spine. She’d seen the handiwork of certain criminals, things that still woke her up in a cold sweat years later. And whatever opinion she had of Artemis, her reaction wasn’t something you could fake. This could wait.

They kept walking. The light kept dimming. Artemis gave Bitterroot some light gems so they had something to see by besides Trace’s horn. Bitterroot thought of what she knew about necromancers. Very little; she hadn’t met a single one in her time as a bounty, something for which she was grateful. They weren’t immortal, were they? Not by default, no. Only if they removed their soul to a phylactery and became a lich. And if happened, well, they were screwed. At least it’d explain the colossal bounty. But assuming Amanita wasn’t a lich… Had the poster said “Dead or Alive”? If it had, they’d kill her. Dead was always better when it came to bounties like that.

Trace’s light came to a halt. “Heads up!” she said. “We just came up on the cliff, so watch your step!”

Bitterroot slowed her pace. Ahead, the forest just sort of… stopped. Beyond it was only blackness, unlit even by Trace’s light. She edged forward a little more, and it was like the world dropped away. There was a sheer wall below her, then nothing. She risked a look down. Black. Vertigo combined with nyctophobia wasn’t a nice combination; BItterroot stepped away before her world began spinning.

“Could you stay away from here for the moment?” Trace asked, waving Bitterroot away. She was still looking at the ground. “She paced a lot here. I don’t think she went down, so I’m trying to figure out which way she went and I can’t do that if you trample the tracks.”

Bitterroot nodded and stepped back. Artemis was hanging back, but her ears were turned toward them. As Trace talked, Artemis started smirking.

“Huh,” Trace said eventually.

“Good ‘huh’ or bad ‘huh’?” asked Artemis.

“I’m not sure,” said Trace. “There’s another set of hooves here, see.” She pointed to a trail coming towards them along the ridge. “Observe the bulbs, they’re much closer together. And that little dip right there, in the sole? This new mare’s got herself a pretty set of calluses. A mountain climber, I presume.” Bitterroot could, with some difficulty, see the features Trace was talking about, but only once they were pointed out. Trace’s light grew a bit brighter and she paced around the few feet of cliff. “No signs of a struggle, but I doubt this was a scheduled meeting… Do you know of any allies Amanita had? Any friends in the area?”

“Necromancers don’t got friends, ’specially not out ’ere,” said Artemis. “Amanita was cold and cruel, through an’ through. ’Ooever this poor mare was, she’s dead.”

“Probably,” admitted Trace. “But the two of them went that way.” She led the group along the ridge. Bitterroot wondered if Trace ever got neck pains from keeping her nose glued to the ground.

Eventually, a hovel loomed out of the dark. A pole had been stuck in the ground near the door; a rope had been tied to it and was hanging over the cliff. Bitterroot’s heartbeat picked up, especially once Trace said, “Two sets of hoofprints in… one set out. Whoever came out went down the cliff.” Trace finally lifted her head up and her horn started flashing. After a few seconds, she said, “No magical traps from what I can tell. The remains of some spells, perhaps, but nothing we need to be worried about.” She shifted from hoof to hoof and looked nervously at the door. “Should we…?”

“Aye,” grunted Artemis. “We should. I’ll go first. Earth pony.” Without waiting for a response, she shoved the door open and walked inside. A pause, a muffled curse, and she yelled, “It’s safe. Ain’t good, though…”

Trace glanced at Bitterroot, swallowed, and entered the hovel. “Oh, Celestia,” she muttered.

“Save your breath,” said Artemis. “There ain’t no princ’sses out ’ere.”

At first, Bitterroot agreed with Artemis. But when she peeked around the pair of them into the house, she agreed with Trace.

An earth pony mare was sprawled on the floor in the middle of the room. Her throat had been sliced so deeply it looked like her head was poised to come off entirely. Blood glistened red in the lamplight, contrasting starkly with her slate gray coat and long, cold blue mane as it pooled around her body on the packed-in earth. Orange eyes stared blankly at the wall. The pony’s mouth was slightly open, as if in surprise. Her body, so strongly built, looked oddly taut from rigor mortis. One of her hooves was still bound in bloodstained climbing wrappings. Bloody hoofprints were tracked around the room.

Bitterroot wondered if it said anything about her that she didn’t have much of a reaction. She’d seen worse. She’d seen much, much worse. She’d stopped worse from happening. There was only a single pony here, after all. Yet: “only” a pony? That shouldn’t make it any less horrible. If she kept saying it was “only” a pony, she might start thinking chasing down her quarry wasn’t worth it. That happened to some jaded bounty hunters. But if she let herself feel fully, let her rage boil over, she wouldn’t be able to think rationally and her target would get away. It was a fine line to balance between pushing your emotions aside entirely and letting them rule you.

Artemis crouched down, peering at the dead pony’s eyes. “Hmm. No tache noire. She couldn’ta been ’ere more’n a few hours ago.” She hesitated, then pushed them shut, one at a time.

Bitterroot blinked a few times and looked around the room. It was surprisingly orderly, all things considered. Sure, there were some broken shelves on one wall, food was spilled around a cabinet, a chest of traveling supplies was sitting open, but all things considered, it didn’t look like the place had been ransacked much. Almost like Amanita — a necromancer and a murderer — had only wanted a few things rather than just taking everything. Bitterroot crouched next to the mare and stared at her face, trying to think.

Trace breathed out loudly. “Okay. It’s late and it’s dark and I don’t want to climb right now. I say we make camp up here for the night and rappel down the cliff first thing tomorrow. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” said Artemis.

“Sure,” Bitterroot said distantly.

“I’ll take first watch,” continued Trace, “since-”

“Nah, Gale’s got it,” said Artemis. “She can’t sleep much. Don’t seem to ’urt ’er.”

“…If you’re sure.” Trace looked at Bitterroot. “Something up?”

“What did Amanita do to her?” Bitterroot whispered, half to herself.

“What’s it look like?” snorted Artemis. “Killed ’er.”

“Amanita’s a necromancer,” said Bitterroot. “Kinda hard to believe that she only killed her.”

“Anything more would likely take too much time,” said Trace. She swallowed again. “She knows she’s being followed — by Artemis and Gale, if not you and me.”

“Hrrng.” Bitterroot looked at the mare one last time, then stood up. “Let’s set up camp. Long day tomorrow.”