Visibility was close to nothing. The temperature had dropped twenty degrees. Hearing anything was virtually impossible. And even standing up took effort in the wind.

The wrath of the Frozen North had descended upon Mystic.

Even with her goggles keeping the worst out, Catskill could barely see. She looked down the street again. She couldn’t see the ponies. She couldn’t see the bridge. She could barely see halfway to the bridge. “Amanita?” she asked. Her words were nearly whipped away by the storm.

Somepony patted her on the side. “Here!” yelled Amanita. Her voice wasn’t much clearer.

“Stay close to me,” said Catskill. “We need to take a detour to avoid the ponies at the end of the street, but I know where we’re going.”

Did she? Swathed in an atmosphere of flying snow, Mystic looked downright alien. Catskill had never been outside her house in a blizzard before. She could barely see any of the usual landmarks and found herself terribly disoriented. She didn’t know east from west and the storm had blotted out the sun.

Catskill scrunched her eyes shut and forced her mind to reset. She recalled the position of the bridge, of the mill, from their alley. Okay. She recalled the position of the valley exit. Okay. She knew where they were. She knew where they were heading. She opened her eyes. “Come on.” She pushed out into the street.

Walking through Mystic, she might as well have been blind and navigating the streets from memory during an earthquake. Visibility was much too poor and the wind was so strong, buffeting them this way and that, that keeping steady footing was a struggle. They couldn’t even escape it in the alleys; the storm whipped into every little crevice like it was hunting them. But they made progress, and any tracks they might have left in the snow were erased nigh-instantaneously. At least they couldn’t be followed.

Right?

In the middle of crossing a wide street, Catskill stopped walking. Maybe it was her own paranoia, maybe it was something tied to magic, but Catskill was sure they were being followed, and not through tracks; personally. They hadn’t seen where the pegasus had gone to earth, had they? She could be out there right now, following them, just out of sight.

Catskill spun in a complete circle. Nopony.

That she could see.

“Is something wrong?” asked Amanita.

“I think somepony’s following us,” Catskill replied. She pulled Amanita across the street and into another alley. “Don’t ask me why. Keep your eyes peeled.”

Amanita nodded and started looking around.

The more they walked, the more confident Catskill was that they were on the right route to the mill, but the more nervous she felt that something was stalking them. She kept glancing upwards, waiting for that time when she’d be confronted with a pegasus staring down at her. She never went into an intersection without looking every way. She picked up her pace more than necessary even as Amanita risked floundering in the deepening snow.

Another wide street. The second-to-last before the next bridge over the river. Catskill’s anxiety was buzzing like a beehive. She wiped down her goggles and looked around. Nothing. She pulled her blunderbuss into a firing position, just in case. She looked over Amanita’s shoulder. Still nothing. Yet paranoia wouldn’t let her rest. “Do you see somepony?” she asked Amanita.

“No,” Amanita said, turning to Catskill. “I don’t-” Her eyes suddenly widened and she pointed behind Catskill and up.

Before Amanita could say a word, Catskill whirled around, blunderbuss at the ready. A pony-shaped shadow froze on a rooftop, then leapt across the street with a flap.

BOOM.

Catskill had pulled the trigger bit almost reflexively and hadn’t properly prepared. She staggered back a few feet and blinked away the muzzle flash, blinding even in these conditions, even through goggles. She also hadn’t aimed. No scream of pain. No hit. The shadow vanished over the edge of another roof

Son of a…

“Keep moving, keep moving,” hissed Catskill, pushing at Amanita. “Almost there.”

Catskill would’ve thought that seeing the pony following them would make her less tense. No, it just made everything worse. Now she knew for certain somepony was on their tail, yet she couldn’t see that pony at all. Her legs started shaking, and not from the chill. The only thing that kept her from breaking into a gallop was the knowledge that she could lose Amanita.

Almost there. Almost there.

Last street. Left: nothing. Right: nothing. “Come on,” said Catskill, and headed right. They were so close; she could almost taste the warm, calm air now.

Paranoia made her stop and spin around. There, standing behind them, nothing more than an indistinct shadow, was the pegasus. The pegasus immediately slipped into an alley and Catskill lost sight of her. She could be anywhere: in one of the alleys, in the air, maybe she’d already flown behind them. But, as terrified as she was, Catskill had had enough of looking over her shoulder.

“Go for the bridge,” Catskill said to Amanita. “It’s not far, straight. Once you’re over it, turn right, and you’ll reach the mill in no time. I’ll hold her off.” For how long? What would she lose in doing so?

“But… But you-”

“Go.”

Amanita froze, then nodded and ran off.

“And remember what I said!” Catskill yelled. “Storm ends and I’m not there, follow the river!” Amanita didn’t respond, but the sounds of her hooves vanished into the storm.

Catskill jammed another shell into the blunderbuss. She hoped it wouldn’t come to a fight. But maybe she could bluff the pegasus into hiding. “I know you’re there!” she screamed, barely keeping the quaver from her voice. “Come out and fight!”

No response. In spite of the wind, Catskill thought she could hear somepony pattering across a nearby rooftop.

“H-hiding, are you?” screamed Catskill. “Well, guess what?” She pointed the blunderbuss straight up. BOOM. “I’m coming for you!”

She wasn’t, of course. Nopony would be that stupid, to run into a blizzard to attack somepony. But if she was lucky, it’d make the pegasus keep her head down. Catskill turned and bolted for the bridge, the wind whipping at her heels.

She never knew how she heard the flap of wings over the din of the storm, but she heard them. She attempted to stop, but thanks to the snow, she slipped and tripped. The pegasus missed her by a narrow margin, only to turn on a bit and come around again. Catskill had only managed to stand up when the pegasus pounced.

They rolled through the snow, locked together, Catskill caught in a headlock. She threw out a leg and arrested their roll, managing to end up lying on top of the pegasus. The pegasus thrashed and bucked beneath her like some giant fish. All the while, she tightened her grip around Catskill’s throat and grabbed at her head. Catskill awkwardly punched to her side and hit the pegasus in the stomach. The pegasus grunted and released her.

Catskill immediately rolled onto her hooves. In spite of being winded, the pegasus was almost as fast, spinning over with a flick of her wings. Catskill blindly lashed out; the pegasus ducked under the awkward swing easily. Swing, dodge, swing, dodge.

“What are you doing?” asked the pegasus darkly. “Why are you protecting her?”

“Why do you think?” yelled Catskill. Desperate for a hit, hoping to take the pegasus by surprise, she screamed and dove. No good; the pegasus merely hopskipped back a step and Catskill missed by a mile. Before she could get up, the pegasus pounced again. This time, she went straight for the choke, leveraging her body against Catskill’s to pin her to the ground. Tears sprang to her eyes. Catskill beat at the snow, but fruitlessly; without something to push against-

And suddenly she could breathe again. After a few quick breaths, she looked up to see a dark shape escaping down an alley. Somehow, the scent of burnt fur lingered in the storm. And standing over her was Amanita, her horn still glowing.

“Hey!” said Amanita brightly. “I couldn’t forget you. Plus, I, uh, I reached the bridge and realized I don’t know where the mill is. You do.”

Catskill nodded. “Right.” She rubbed at her throat. Strangulation hurt.

“And-” Light sprang from the tip of Amanita’s horn. Although it illuminated every single snowflake swirling around them, it also drove away some of the darkness. It was also easy to see from a distance. “So we don’t get separated again,” she said.

“Good thinking.” Catskill hauled herself out of the snow. It clung to her furs, but she barely noticed the chill.

Amanita was already galloping back the way she’d come. Had she reached the bridge? Even once she’d passed out of sight, her light kept bobbing up and down in the haze. Catskill trotted after her. “It should be on your right!” she bellowed. “Your right! And wait up!”

“Got it!” Amanita’s voice was barely audible. The light came to a halt.

Amanita had found the bridge, as Catskill learned once she reached it. It was much like she’d remembered it: narrow, with only room for three or four ponies side by side, and not much in the way of railings. Partly due to ruin, partly due to this particular bridge not being a large one to begin with. Catskill slowed her pace as she ascended the low arch; the stones were beginning to ice over.

“Hey! Hey, come on! I can see the mill!” yelled Amanita. She sounded barely out of visible range. “We’re almost there! It’s right over-”

BANG.

Amanita screamed. Her light went out.

Splash. Barely audible.

Wind.

Catskill jolted herself from her fugue and ran to where she thought Amanita had been, nearly slipping over the edge and falling into the river. “Amanita? Amanita?”

No response.

“AMANITA!”

Nothing.

Catskill felt short of breath. In spite of the situation, her legs gave out beneath her and she collapsed onto the bridge. No. It couldn’t be. Not now. Not now. They’d come so far, and for her to go out through a stupid shot in the dark… It wasn’t fair. It was not fair. Catskill almost jumped into the river to look for Amanita, but she knew it was no good. It was too fast. Amanita’s body would be long gone.

She pulled up the edge of her balaclava and forced the subzero air into her lungs. The chill jarred her back to her senses. There was a chance — a slim one, admittedly, but it existed — that Amanita wasn’t dead. It could’ve been a shoulder shot and she just fell into the river. Granted, suffering from hypothermia thanks to the cold water wasn’t much better, but it was still better. Maybe she could find a space to crawl out downriver. And there was a chance she knew spells to help with her body temperature or keeping fires going. She was a unicorn, after all.

Catskill knew it was an uncomfortably large amount of maybes. But right then, she’d rather take all the “maybe so”s in the world rather than a single “definitely not”. If nothing else, she was going to follow the river anyway.

But she couldn’t yet, not while the blizzard still raged, even if it meant dooming Amanita. She could die just as easily or completely pass over Amanita (or her body) while trying to search. She had to get get up, keep moving, and get to the mill. It was only fifty feet away.

Catskill wasn’t aware of her trip to the mill, but suddenly she was pushing its door shut in a mercifully calm room. Snow wasn’t obscuring everything and she could hear normally.

She collapsed against the door, breathing heavily, and pulled off her goggles and balaclava. She wiped down her forehead, but it was hard to tell if it was wet from melted snow or sweat. How long would the blizzard run? She couldn’t say. Might only be a few more minutes, might be for days. Screw the Frozen North and its weather. But she knew one thing: the second the blizzard was done, she was running out along the river and finding Amanita. She couldn’t desert her like that, not as a ranger, nor as a… semi-friend. Or maybe just an acquaintance.

She stepped away from the door and the wind immediately blew it open. The locking mechanism had long since been destroyed. Grunting, Catskill grabbed a half-rotten board and shoved it under the crossbeam to hold it shut. She walked into the center of the room and sprawled on the millstone, her legs numb. This wasn’t different from any other time she’d waited out a blizzard in Mystic, right? Why did it feel this empty?

The waiting was always the hardest part of a blizzard, and Catskill stopped paying attention to how long she lay there. The mill was a bit drafty and the millstone was cold. There was a fireplace on one wall. Catskill picked her way through the debris, not really looking at it, but grabbing particularly intact bits of wood. She needed something warm. She needed-

Thud.

Catskill froze.

Thud.

That hadn’t been the blizzard.

Thud.

Somepony was pounding at the door.

Bitterroot did not like storms.

One of her first teenage jobs had been a weather wrangler, hauling in unruly weather and clouds so they could be better controlled. She’d almost quit when it became clearer and clearer that she’d have to tussle with particularly bad storms and she couldn’t handle the loss of control. (The foremare had been nice enough to give her tedious but low-risk jobs to ensure she still had some income.) It was part of the reason she didn’t love flying. If you screwed up while walking, you tripped, looked silly for a moment, got up, and kept walking. You risked death every single time you screwed up while flying, and storms gave you a lot of opportunities to screw up while flying.

So the instant the blizzard engulfed her, Bitterroot’s heart leapt into her throat and threatened to escape her ears. She put a hoof on her chest and forced deep breaths. In and out, in and out…

Okay. She could do this. All she had to do was track down a necromancer and her probable thrall in an unfamiliar ruin in the middle of a blizzard. No pressure.

No pressure.

At the very least, Bitterroot had an idea of which direction they were going. Even the sudden fear of having a blizzard dropped on her head couldn’t screw up her internal compass. And a little hopping from roof to roof couldn’t be that bad.

It wasn’t, once she actually got to trying it. All she had to do was keep her wings tightly shut while in the air and she wouldn’t get blown-off course. Soon, Bitterroot found herself running along broken rooftops and jumping alleys towards where she had last seen the pair of ponies. The unfamiliar territory and lack of landmarks played havoc with her internal map, but she kept moving. Maybe she’d get lucky and the storm had fallen on them before they could get far. At the very least, if she reached the river, she’d know she’d gone too far.

The roofs were flat, but not by design. Heavy snow and decaying supports meant they’d collapsed years ago. To Bitterroot, that just meant she could run across them easily. As another stroke of luck, in spite the abysmal visibility, she could still see to the other side of the roads she was jumping over, so she wasn’t taking leaps of faith all the time.

Bitterroot hit a main street at a soft angle. After a bit of thought, she turned to the right. She must’ve misjudged the angle to the old location a little.

Then, against all odds, she saw them.

She was lucky; they had the two-dimensional thinking of non-pegasi and weren’t looking up, while they were still close enough to be visible. But she could see them: a unicorn and an earth pony. Amanita and the ranger. The ranger was in the lead and still had her blunderbuss, Bitterroot noted. They were disappearing across the other side of the street, but not fast enough. Bitterroot flapped over the street to follow.

Some of Bitterroot’s anxiety slipped away. This was easy. She was just tailing a few perps. She’d done it dozens of times before. Granted, never through a ruined ghost town in the middle of a blizzard, but still. It amazing how little ponies looked up. She didn’t need to keep them in view at all times, thankfully; wherever the ranger was taking them, she was going dead straight. Bitterroot stayed some distance “sideways” from them, occasionally moving closer to check up on them. They never noticed her.

They reached a wide street. Bitterroot moved a few yards laterally to put some space between her and them. The two ponies started walking across the street when the ranger suddenly stopped. It looked like she was looking around at something, but she was far enough away to be at the edge of visibility, so it was hard to tell. Bitterroot tiptoed to the edge of the roof and leaned out for a better look. Why was she tiptoeing? She couldn’t be heard-

The ranger, prompted by some sixth sense, spun around and pointed the blunderbuss at her. Overbalanced, Bitterroot hastily flapped her wings and jumped across the street-

BOOM.

-and collapsed on the next roof, biting back a scream. Several pellets had gone through her furs and ripped through her flanks. It was unlikely to be serious, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt like Tartarus, even through the adrenaline.

She hadn’t seen much, but she’d seen enough. In the glare of the blunderbuss, the ranger’s eyes had clearly been glowing white. She’d been enthralled.

But Bitterroot couldn’t worry about that. If anything, it lifted a weight off her shoulders. Thralls were mindless, so she wouldn’t really be hurting anypony. There wasn’t anypony left to hurt.

She walked to the edge of the building, flinching every time her wounded leg hit the ground. Could she jump? She flapped across an alley, landed, and almost screamed. She could technically jump, but technically wasn’t good enough. She slid down to the ground and ran. It was painful, but she could run.

Praying the pair kept to their arrow-straight path, Bitterroot simply grit her teeth and sprinted in the same direction. Where were they headed? The ranger must’ve known the town. She’d gone for that house for her blunderbuss. So they had a goal, and weren’t just blundering into a storm hoping for shelter.

She reached another wide street and looked up it. There they were, indistinct shadows not thirty feet from her and walking away. They definitely had some destination. But every step Bitterroot took into the street was loaded with trepidation. They knew she was following them. At any moment-

One of them spun around and looked straight at her.

Panicking, Bitterroot bolted down an alley. She pinned herself against the wall, breathing deeply yet not getting any air. Who was that pony? How did she know where Bitterroot was all the time? Was she leading her into a trap? There had to be something more going on, and Bitterroot didn’t like it one bit. No tailing job had ever been anything like this. But should she expect anything less when chasing a necromancer?

She picked up a faint voice over the roaring storm. Something about a river. Following it? She almost looked out into the street, but-

“I know you’re there!” somepony bellowed. “Come out and fight!”

Bitterroot didn’t respond. In spite of the wind, she thought she could hear the snow crunching underhoof as somepony advanced on her.

“Ha! Hiding, are you?” roared the pony. “Well, guess what?” BOOM. The report of the blunderbuss rattled Bitterroot’s bones and made her clench her teeth. “I’m coming for you!”

Crap crap crap. If she stayed here, she was dead. She had to move, take the fight to the pony. Somehow. Over the roof? That was her best option. Clenching her jaw against the inevitable pain, Bitterroot flapped up to the roof and pulled herself over the edge. She jumped over a few alleys and peeked into the street.

She could only see one pony in the haze, running away from her. It was hard to tell whether it was Amanita or the ranger. Bitterroot double-checked, just to be sure it wasn’t some trick. Nopony else was immediately visible. Deep breath. Bitterroot hurled herself at the pony in a tackle.

Somehow, the pony heard her and ducked. Bitterroot was past her before she knew what was happening. She skipped through the snow, flaring her wings to slow her movement, then snapped one shut to turn herself around. The pony had already managed to get up. Desperate to keep the upper hoof, Bitterroot hastily threw herself forward. Her bad leg betrayed her, twinged he hit too high; rather than driving the pony to the ground, the two of them rolled through drifts. Bitterroot’s front legs got wrapped around the pony’s neck.

The rolling suddenly stopped, Bitterroot on the bottom, the pony pinning her to the ground. Bitterroot beat her wings to try for some leverage, to no effect. She pulled on the pony’s neck with one leg in a desperate attempt to throw her off, but the pony was too heavy. Bitterroot was desperate for breath. With her free hoof, she scrabbled at the pony’s goggles and smooth head, trying to-

Bitterroot froze as her thoughts intruded at exactly the wrong time. Smooth head: this was the ranger. But she was wearing goggles? Her eyes had been-

The ranger drove her hoof into Bitterroot’s stomach with the force of a piledriver. The last bits of air left Bitterroot’s lungs in a gasp and she let go of the ranger’s neck. The ranger rolled off of her. Sucking in air, Bitterroot slapped the ground with a wing to roll over. The ranger was already up; Bitterroot could easily see her snow goggles, now, but no glowing eyes. She wasn’t enthralled. Her protecting Amanita was voluntary.

Suddenly, the ranger punched out at Bitterroot. Panicking, Bitterroot flared her wings in just the right way to push herself down; the punch missed her by mere inches. Bitterroot started backing up, hoping for some distance, but the ranger swung twice more in a one-two. It was only through luck and some quick reflexes that Bitterroot wasn’t knocked out cold.

She couldn’t go on like this. She would lose to the ranger. But the ranger had to know who Amanita was. Maybe- “What are you doing?!” asked Bitterroot desperately. “Why are you protecting her?”

“Why do you think?” snarled the ranger. She roared aggressively and dove. Taken by surprise, Bitterroot had to shuffle backwards through the snow and nearly tripped. In a stroke of luck, the ranger went sliding through the snow, facedown. In a stroke of inspiration, Bitterroot went for the pin and choke. She could knock the ranger out; she was just a victim. The ranger pushed at the ground and almost threw her off. But Bitterroot had a good-

Something hit her side like a firebrand. Bitterroot knew magic when she felt it. The necromancer had found her. Terrified, she sprang away, scrambling for cover, any cover. She couldn’t let Amanita get her.

She sprinted down the first alley she found and dove into a doorway, ignoring the rotten boards that collapsed onto her. Her heart kept wanting to get away. She needed to move, her instincts said. But she was still winded and her bad leg wouldn’t let run any more. This was the best she could do. She slouched out on the floor and waited.

And waited.

The necromancer didn’t come. Bitterroot wondered if Amanita had seen where she’d run to. Maybe she could-

BANG.

Bitterroot flinched, only to realize it wasn’t the blunderbuss. Even in the storm, it was too weak, too sharp. Gale? It must’ve been.

Somepony screamed not too far away. The ranger? Why would she care? After a few moments of silence, Bitterroot hauled herself to her hooves and tried to make herself small as she returned to the main street. As she walked in the direction of the scream, she kept her eyes peeled, waiting for somepony to come barrelling out of the blizzard, ready to kill her. Nopony came. Suddenly, she found herself on the shores of the river, standing at the base of a bridge. Still nopony came, and she couldn’t see anypony standing on the bridge.

Somewhere in the distance, a sputtering light soared into the air. It exploded, almost blinding Bitterroot by illuminating the snow. Amanita couldn’t’ve been stupid enough to do that; it must’ve been Trace. Bitterroot flexed her bad leg to get it ready and ran across the bridge. There were no bodies. Once she reached the other side, she did her best to memorize her route from there. Another improvised firework went off.

She found the rest of her team huddled in the shelter of a general store a short ways into the town, Trace’s horn still glowing. She waved Bitterroot over. Her teeth were chattering, and she didn’t look happy. “We might’ve gotten her,” Trace said, glum in spite of the words. “We were crossing one of the bridges when Artemis spotted some unicorn light downriver. Gale shot at it and the light went out and it didn’t come back.” She took a shuddering breath. “And we don’t know where the body is.” She glared at Gale. “‘Let her go’, I said, ‘we won’t see if you actually hit her’, I said, ‘we can’t get to her quickly’, I said. And now, because of some trigger-happy lunatic — an actual, in-need-of-psychiatric-help lunatic, mind you — we might just be out six hundred grand!”

Gale, naturally, didn’t say anything, but she folded her ears back and looked away. Artemis was glaring at a spot on the opposite wall and muttering expletives. “Sunblasted Celestia’s cavernous, cobwebbed, dusty old…”

“I crossed the bridge Amanita was on,” said Bitterroot, thankful she could give some semblance of good news, “and I didn’t see the body there.” Trace and Artemis groaned, so Bitterroot raised her voice. “So there’s three options. One: you missed and Amanita’s light went out from shock and she ran. She’s still alive, probably somewhere in town, and we’re not out of this yet. Two: you hit Amanita and knocked her into the river, but she’s still alive. Three: you killed Amanita and knocked her into the river. If she’s still alive, she’ll leave an obvious trail once she crawls out of the water, assuming she doesn’t die from exposure. If she’s dead, she’ll wash up downriver. Everypony agree on that?”

Trace tilted her head in thought and started nodding. Artemis grinned animalistically. “Oh, yeah,” said Artemis. She rubbed her hooves together. “We can still get ’er.”

“We could still look for tracks at the bridge,” said Trace. “Mmmmmaybe. Anypony else want to try?”

They all did, so back into the worst of the blizzard they went. To Bitterroot’s surprise, her own tracks were still fairly visible, if maybe not so distinct. Following them back to the bridge was easy, and they hadn’t even gotten to the bridge when-

“Hey, hey!” screamed Trace excitedly. “Look! Hoofprints!” The single indistinct set she was pointing at wasn’t Bitterroot’s. Trace put her nose to the ground, as usual, and followed them. They didn’t need to go far, and in less than a minute, they were standing outside a large, solidly-built mill.

“Good cover,” said Trace. “And you see this dip, here, near the door? Snow was piled up against it, but somepony opened it. I certainly hope-”

In trying to open it, Trace faceplanted against the door with a thud. She frowned. “What in the…?” She put her weight into it. Thud. The door didn’t budge.

“It’s blocked?” Bitterroot asked, more voicing her thoughts than asking a question.

Thud. “Yeah. Perhaps by Amanita.”

“Oh, for-” growled Artemis. “Move over. Earth pony.”

Trace rolled her eyes but backed away. Artemis planted her shoulder and shoved at the door. It budged, but only slightly. Artemis frowned. “Huh.”

“Let’s go find someplace else,” said Bitterroot. She clamped her wings tight to her body. “There’s plenty of other buildings here.”

“They ain’t as strong as this’n,” said Artemis. “Colder. Draftier. All-’round worse.” She shoved again, harder. Another tiny budge. “And they ain’t got Amanita in ’em.”

Bitterroot and Trace exchanged glances. It was inaudible in the storm, but Bitterroot could see Trace clear her throat. “I, ah, beg your pardon,” said Trace, “but perhaps I can-”

“I got this!” yelled Artemis. She took a few steps back and charged at the door. Whatever had been holding it shut was demolished; the door swung open and Artemis continued on into the mill beyond.

The pony sitting on the millstone inside put up her hooves. “I surrender,” she said, staring at the ground.