Fallout Equestria: Sola Gratia
Chapter 16: Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend
“I don’t mind trailblazing, long as we’ve got the ammo… and the whiskey.”

“There.” The zebra gestured towards the tapering conclusion of her valley’s southern border: a bed of low, steely mountains which were blanketed under the fresh mists that sank just ahead of us, and swirled all around us, as if we were perched within a cloud. “That’s where you’ll find them.” The buffalo.

Zalika’s short Mohawk bristled in a vivid rhythm with the wind. My father’s coat whipped around me, dancing to the same primordial beat. We stood on a ridge, one final rise and fall before the mountains beside us took control of the earth. Down, down where the valley met its end, down into the earth.

She was directing us to the mine, the diamond mark on her bitter comrade’s map. Giving me the excuse I needed to explore that bringer of war, the ancient conflict’s life-blood, its heart. It was a caricature at this distance, simplified by exaggerated elevation. Until we found a way down this cliff, we would not know it. However, rails cut through the blocky buildings, like a stitch at the range’s foot. Rails that lead back into the Middle Passage, back to Hell. We were standing at the brink of Zion, the brink of freedom.

Finding a course to our next objective had been easy, as easy as asking a question.
Zalika’s guilt was clear, but buried from full effect by military law and culture. She had forced Dakarai to yield the information, angering him greatly as his taunting arrogance gave way to a sweet humiliation. The roving Scout had known that the buffalo were there, and had jumped at the chance to wave the information just beyond our reach after we had asked Zalika for advice on finding them in the expansive Northern Plain. When she had ordered him to confess it, he had very nearly given himself to court-martial.

“This is where we’ll leave you, Zion ends below.” She bade. The dry river run had curved to meet its burbling little sister - less than innocent for the monsters it concealed - a fair ways west, and we had already put the rest of the cold valley behind us. “I trust that you won’t return.”

Caliber waved the regiment away, not in farewell but in a frustrated dismissal. All the mercies that Zalika could offer would not make up for the gross indignation that her command had driven between us.
The soldiers, reduced, in their silent conformity, to nothing but doused torches beside lifeless faces, turned about face and began to march at their first legionnaire’s signaled prompts.
Ghost-faces turning away for the last time.

“Thank you for the savages, Shepard.” The Zionist made one final attempt to make this a cordial parting. “I hope that you persevere over the Slaver’s Railway.”

I didn’t even care to listen. I was staring into infinity: An expansive stretch of earth that could almost compete with the calming void above. Its entirety seemed to bristle in the morning breeze, calling me in. Zalika may not have deserved acknowledgement, but, were I in a state of any less awe, I would likely have given it to her. For now, though, I barely even registered my friends, much less our zebra escort.

“Don’t you even start.” Caliber warned, to who I could only assume was the sallow scout Dakarai.
“Don’t you even fucking start.” I didn’t hear them leave. The ghosts of the north disappeared as silently as they had come, as discreetly as they would continue to exist in the solace of Zion. Separate and Safe.

Now I could focus, now I could take it all in.

The Northern Plain lay before me, on display as my vantage was raised by rock and soil.
I could see the death that had crept through mountain and valley to reach this great absence, the implications of a war that had never truly reached this place. The grass was gold, almost.

It was as if every color was unsaturated, every shade reduced to what it would appear as through a smoky window or ashy haze. The gold was pale, the gray was grayer, and everything else was gone.
The shallow grassland was like an ocean, with the occasional flaw or ruin jutting from its level surface. Frighteningly large rock forms jutted out of the golden tides at rare intervals, like the graying teeth of some ancient leviathan that had enclosed the world in its jaws. They were stooped, bent low almost parallel to the auricle hills beneath them, as if each was suffering under the burden of old age.

One long mountain range ended it to the South, the bed of my Stable, the mountains of the Alicorns.
A dull lake expanded the natural northern border of Equestria, taking over where Fern’s Wall and Celestia’s Landing had left off. The water shimmered beyond an extent, where light cloud gave way to lighter sky. It was alive, but settled into the same dead shade as everything else beneath the overcast.

In between was grass, but also dirt, stone, but mostly ruin, and curiosity, but predominantly death.
A city rose, most notably, in the solid ocean’s heart. Exactly as promised by Ash and my Pip-buck, Cabanne sat nestled and nested upon a tall bluff, the only anchor afforded apart from skeletal extrusions. I noticed that the teeth were orientated towards the vague city, or rather, Cabanne had been constructed at a point where all things had once led, a point that it seemed the very earth was directing you to.

Pines and antennae marked the borders of the open country, both stripped and metallic as they barely resisted the collapse of each wind-strewn temptation. The frames were for electricity, Ash explained, the chain-links of cable-suspending deliverance cut across the land. Some were for television or communication, and soon radio, assuming we could get the systems’ spearheading tower functional. That too was visible in the middle of the Plain’s heart, rising like a thin needle far along the highway on our left.

While rails made a stitch, the road made a scar, as if two wounds had been left for comparison, one treated, and the other abandoned to fester. They both extruded from the obscure Middle Passage, and cut across the land until disappearing into a narrow gap in the distant mountains.

Beyond that escarpment was Calvary: New Calvary and Old, The City of Gold, The City of Rats. My friends had given me many names, all meaningless, to choose for the ambiguous city beyond my sight. It was where the Rangers waited, the only bastion from the otherwise omnipresent threat of raiders and slavers. I hoped that the family from the toll had crossed those mountains safely, although it seemed the only passage through that great wall of rock was at the rail and road’s distant gateway.

“What could the Slavers be interested in here?” I asked, taking measure of every little extrusion, every possible point of interest for both myself and the Railway. Along the tracks there were a number of settlements, which could easily be occupied or abandoned, prosperous or burnt to a blackened frailty. We did not know if the Coltilde had left Hell, if the train had begun its harvest of the ponies across this Plain.

“The usual, but Damascus figures their real fascination is with New Calvary.” Caliber explained.

“No way is the Earth Mover getting over those mountains.” I discouraged, hoping that I had estimated its size relative to its one potential route of passage correctly.

“They’ll find a way through Littlehorn, then. Travelers have survived the Cloud before.”
“Where does it come from?” Ash asked. I wasn’t surprised at the mare’s curiosity; her beloved Pilgrimage had been deferred to their doom by the mythical obstacle, after all. And according to Caliber’s guess: even the Alicorns of their canonical undoing had suffered for it. I would have gotten a chance to see their boon for myself, had I not crashed one of the crippled abominations to unconsciousness.

“Some say Luna’s School for Gifted Unicorns, all from that first attack, but others figure it leaks outta the crystal caves under Canterlot. Capital’s still drowned in the stuff.” Caliber offered. “I met one crack-pot who thought that the Cloud was sentient, like some kind of conscious plague.”

“It doesn’t reach Calvary, does it?” It didn’t sound like the kind of affliction I would like the ‘safest settlement’ in the northern wasteland to have.

“Not even close.” That was a relief. “Rumors say it’s actually pretty narrow, enough for some to cross the whole damned thing, in one brakeless, haggard trip. But I wouldn’t take a shot at it, not based on rumors.”

“Would the Slavers?” I asked, to which the mare of strange, uncultivated education only shrugged.
The Coltilde would come, or would have come, through the Plains. Meaning that right now, it was what we needed to be worrying about. I would ask the buffalo if any towns had been besieged yet.
Buffalo-DJ-East on the Road to the Southern Plain, I recited the plan to myself.
No, it should be: Buffalo-Cabanne-DJ-Eastward along the Road, surely.
Although, it would be better to check up on at least one of the towns ourselves.
Buffalo-Cabanne-RailsideTown-DJ-Road.
Don’t forget to stop by at the concession stand.

“Alright, remember, we’re nice ponies, nice ponies looking for big-strong-buffalo to help us fight the Slavers.” I recited, wanting to make some actual allies rather than a bitter contractual agreement.

“And Guns.” Ash chimed, making me pine for Tri-Beam.

“And Food.” Caliber concluded, making me glad to be rid of at least one unnatural sin: wolf jerky.

We started down the ridge, staggering over loose rock and unstable surfaces all the while.
It was a gentle slope, if volatile, so it wasn’t as if a disregard for caution was going to kill anypony.
I told myself this to soothe my own panicking mind, trying to nip my fearful predictions of a fatal fall in the bud. I clearly hated heights, why couldn’t they have installed a staircase or something?

I began to slide, not by my own volition but by the combined cruelty of gravity and a tempted fate.
It didn’t last long, but by the time Caliber had bitten into my abbreviated tail, I had converted to/defected from several religions and made deals with every devil that I could imagine.

“You’re shaking like a… well, like a unicorn on a slightly slanted ridge, I guess.” Caliber mumbled from around her mouthful of intimately short tail.

“So it’s a normal reaction.” I resolved my purchase against a more solid set of rocks. “Good.”

“How about an earth pony at a garden party?” Ash offered, apparently dissatisfied with Caliber’s literal analogy. The mare was having just as much trouble as I had, and took guarded steps from one pre-approved stone to another, keeping her a distance behind us. If Caliber had taken the lead she so clearly could have, I would have been on my own, left to slide to my horrible death… or at least mild discomfort.
“What’s so scary about a garden party?” She waited for me to develop an undeniably permanent relationship with the earth, a marriage, before letting me loose. “If anything: I think we’re better at them.”

“Why?” Ash took a bold leap of faith, crossing at least a dozen inches of smooth ridge in a single bound. At this rate the buffalo would complete whatever task they had made camp to work on for the last couple of days - at a mine, oddly enough. I didn’t think they, of all wastelanders, would be interested in gems.

“Affinity with the earth? Remember?” the grounded mare cooed in her supremacy.

“Speak for yourself.” Ash retorted, scrambling across a pile of pebbles to prove her point or, more likely, just by clumsy accident. Of the two, Caliber certainly seemed earthier, but I didn’t say that. As far as compliments went, it was down in the questionable dregs with: ‘Nice Bandages.’

Finally I reached the base of the ridge, already becoming immersed in gently rolling hills and a pure palette of stony gray and bristling gold. The Plain was not as flat as it had appeared from above, and the ocean had broken into a stormy surge of soft waves. I couldn’t see what had seemed to be everything anymore, which was more a comfort than a truly great loss. The electrical pylons and network antennae seemed taller against the numerous horizons, joined in their skeletal intrusion by the rarer pines.

The most strikingly altered perspective, however, came when I turned to regard the deadly cliff-face.
A ridge met my exaggerating eyes, a foal’s slide, an angled plane, tilted just shy of 45 degrees.
The lion had become a kitten, making me realize my own embarrassing cowardice in a wave of shame.
Caliber had, of course, already reached my side, and was watching my realization with an amused smile.

“Ash!” I cried to the tremblingly slow mare. “Stop that! It’s a kitten!”

She froze in place; each limb stretched awkwardly to some reliable hold, and cried back. “What!?”

“You could just walk straight down!” I estimated, correctly. “It’s ridiculous!”

She reached out a quivering hoof, cautiously reaching for the stone just ‘below’ her. On its landing, she stood; bolt upright, as the same wave of realization washed over her. “You were right!” she called out, redundantly. I applauded the mare’s bravery as she descended the figurative molehill and joined us.

“I can’t say that it doesn’t have its charms.” Caliber giggled.

“What?”

“Babysitting.” She flicked her tail at us and hurried off towards the mountains’ nearby submerge.
We gave chase, jovially laughing as we pursued the condescendingly accurate bastard.

As travelling went, sprinting along in superficial pursuit was a welcome change from lying limp in a cart of junk or tripping just ahead of a torrent of fire and its amorous life-partner. Though those experienced had both been greatly improved by being high on sunshine and Dash respectively.

The southern range rose into a constant, a dominator of skyline and surroundings in its monolithic everywhere. Behind our pelting hooves, the dry grass was released in a billow of golden feathers, marking our trail of futile following. I couldn’t even hope to use my power of short-but-sweet speed, Caliber had too much of a lead for my lungs to handle in an overload, but sticking with my partner in insulted cheer was more important than revenge anyway. The quarry clarified ahead.

The long foreman’s office - a rusty-roofed, squat building with one long, scratched over window- blocked most potential surveillance of the site. Otherwise visible, was a tall, red loading crane, equally grayed and scarred by time and smoke, looming over the rails, which appeared suddenly from behind mountainous extrusions beyond. Carts, some loaded with broken rock and abandoned mining equipment, sat beside the transport-route, ready to be loaded or attached to passing trains. I doubted that the slavers would have much want for them, though they had recurrently come this way before, so I needn’t speculate.

What had made them more violent? I wondered, still dividing some focus to the absconding crimson flame of Caliber’s tail. The Slavers had run this route for years, according to Damascus, in what had turned from simple enslavement, to the repurposing of ancient technological giants and the decimation of towns. Whatever the case, I knew that they could not be allowed control of this railway any longer.

Caliber slowed as she rounded the Foreman’s office, giving us the perfect window of opportunity.
Ash followed as I initiated a final sprint, a glorious closing of the distance between us and our target. She arched around the corner, only then looking behind her to check on our progress, the arrogant fool!

I tackled her, abandoning restraint in one final pounce of impassioned charade.
We rolled together, clouds of quarry-dirt rising at our bouncing loss of velocity, settling as I pinned her into submission. Ash hurried to our side, glad to have missed the obligatory physical contact that ended most chases. “Victory!” she said, with a mild triumph more akin to conquest in a chess match than a race.

“Alright.” Our insulter giggled, her voice breaking to the submissive laughter. “You have bested me.”
I clambered off of her strong body, knowing that she could have easily escaped from my meek capture.

“Now would children chase somepony who made fun of them down, just to throw them into the dirt for a demanded surrender that they were only using as an excuse to run around?” I asked.

“No, children would have talked about their feelings, come to some kind of mutual understanding and respect.” Ash answered, returning my hoof-bump as we watched our defeated friend climb to her hooves.

“They have so much to learn.” She agreed, not bothering to dust herself off, apart from a quick ruffling of tawny powder from her mane. Suddenly, I imagined that she would look good in a dark blue police-hat.

“In terms of survival...” Intruded a voice, one fit to serve as the drum that sounds off the end of the world. “So do you.” Its point was reinforced by the metallic sound of rifles shifting in battle-saddles. “It takes an impressive kind of foolhardiness to allow a buffalo to sneak up on you.” The hulking figures had appeared, quite impossibly, out of nowhere.

“Greetings, Chief.” Ash offered after a pregnant pause, speaking confidently but with her usual sweetness. It was almost unnatural to hear her initiating a concourse. “My name is Ash Ascella of Caeli’Vellum and I am a Pilgrim, not a Poacher.” This formal greeting sounded well rehearsed.

The Buffalo stood like mountains, their breath leasing billowing clouds of rapidly cooling warmth like mist from the reaches of towering crags and escarpments. They did not move in their heavy inhales, bodies completely still despite the clear procession of life, solid, statuesque, ancient.
There were four of them, though they easily occupied more space than the thirteen zebras of Zion’s first contact had. And not only physically, as their mere presence brought obligations of respectful reverence.
Feathers, a crown on the darkest known now as ‘Chief’, and pairs or singles on his compatriots, marked rank, though even without the hierarchical adornments, I would never have doubted Ash’s assumption.

“You're one of Cyrus’?” Ease had settled into their expressions, though their tank-like intimidation still persisted inadvertently. Their shotguns were small, ramshackle weaponry compared to the power abounding in their carriers. I was more afraid of being trampled than of being shot, but that fear was dissuading as I focused on the buffalo’s faces. Wrinkled with the deep set implications of their storied lives, almost kind, but capable of great anger, emotional and warm to the Ghost-faced cold of Zion.

“Yes, sir.” Ash bowed, still holding her membership proudly, despite the eradicated group it pertained to. Caliber was still staring with a look of wide-eyed wonder, eyes flickering across the aspects of the great warriors before us. I imagined that this is how I appeared when I looked at anything. It was the expression of naïve introduction, amazement and apprehension wrapped into one stunned bundle.

“Nice to see a friendly face,” An almost fatherly smile crossed his own scarred face. “Even if it is only inherited.” The buffalo’s daunting strength came with implications of internal might, a quality of character.
“Where is Cyrus?” His voice was a rumble, deeper, even, than Damascus’ epoch-spanning own.
There was genuine interest in his rolling words, a familiarity with the otherwise foreign name.

“Among the stars, I dearly hope.” Ash informed dolefully, though seemed to alleviate herself on sharing the news. “He passed away.”

“A shame,” The Chief nodded. His mild reaction was either an indication of a more distant relationship than I had first inferred, or a culturally imbued acceptance. “He was a strong fighter, a stronger soul.”

“Thank you.” She didn’t dare to explain the nature of Cyrus’ end, and so the abysmal discussion was thankfully avoided. “Your words are a kindness.”

“They are only words.” He dismissed. “Now, what business do you and your followers have here, little one? Though you are to be welcomed, as I suspect that we may be working towards the same goal.”

“Followers?” She looked to us, focusing on the superficial wording of the Chief’s invitation to work together, rather than the offer itself. “Oh Goddesses no, if anything I’m the follower.”

“I was unaware that such semantics still mattered to ponies.” He huffed approvingly. “It is good to see that some structure still exists. I tire of the usual disarray displayed by some of your kin.” Raiders and Slavers were probably the most prominent representatives of ponykind now, I bemoaned. “Though I am not wrong to have assumed you as such rabble, by the nature of your… entrance.”

Ash stepped up to speak once again as, despite our fading wonder, Caliber and I still hesitated to interact with the wise old Buffalo, perhaps for fear of disappointing him somehow. Why hello there, Daddy Issues, it’s good to see you at last. “We just left Zion and it was, needless to say, not on our own terms.” She gave the perfect explanation for our hurry, logical and concurrent, passing over the tackling and giggling.

He chuckled, and it was glorious. “Say no more, little dove. I grow fonder of you, if only for hearing than you’ve shared a similar animosity with those territorial Star-Cowards.”

“They were even afraid of her cutie-mark.” I chimed, taking the pristine opportunity as soon as it came. Ash turned to clearly display the falling star ordaining her flanks, so I smiled at her gratefully.

The resulting laugh came in boisterous enjoyment at the Zebra’s expense, a jovial expression in which even his kinsmen joined. I glowed with pride. “Hah! Is that not indication enough, warriors? I have always said that behind the smoke and mirrors, the painted faces and order, are a gaggle of frightened children!”

I love you, Chief! So much that I would even admit it to you, if I didn’t need your respect so much…
At least you laugh… unlike your namesake, that other motherfucker.
I berated myself for the sudden vulgarity, and tried to move on. “My name is G-“

“Shepard!” Caliber intruded, forced to make a much less dignified first impression, for which I swore I would apologize later. “Shepard and Caliber.” She giggled nervously.

“A shame.” He said, sending horrible shivers down our spines. “A name is not a thing to be hidden. If you are to be remembered, do you not want it to be for who you are, and not some liar’s mask that you wear?” We nodded obediently. “I am Uzmat Machk, the definitive bear. A name that is known, an honest name. But it is irrelevant to your kind, and so I’ve come to see your given concept of ‘Chief’… as acceptable.”

There had never been a time when I had wanted a cooler name more than I did now.
It may have fudged up her first impression, but Caliber had given me a slight improvement over ‘Grace.’
I usually quite liked my name, not the Brisby or Marie parts, but right now I needed a warrior’s name.
“Reputations can get you killed.” She excused our deception.

He chuckled. “So can the lack of one.” I had to admit, I wouldn’t want to mess with ‘the definitive bear’. “Now tell me Shepard… I’ve assumed you’re in charge.” He didn’t pause for correction. “Tell me what happened in Zion. There are no coincidences, and that you would come charging out of that untraveled place just two days behind a beacon and the stench of fire and death, is what might be mistaken as one.”

The Buffalos had congregated with mild interest at our arrival, a more relaxed formation than Zalika’s regiment had crowded her with, but now stood at ardent attention, awaiting an explanation.
“We…ah, well I’ll admit, we were helping the Zebras with a little… really, a very big problem that they were having.” I stumbled. “Savages, a Stable’s worth. My companions drew the warriors out with the beacon you mentioned, and I… well, I set their Stable on fire, which explains… the stench.”

“Stroke ‘a genius, Chief.” Caliber piped, always eager to elaborate on my summations. “Vented gas through the whole place and then lit it up, killing every one of those degenerates! Except the warriors, of course, which me and Ash took care of on the monument.” I was glad that she had added their credit.

“It was a pity, to have all those corpses on the monument, but the distraction paid off.” Ash added.

“Paid off for the Zebras.” One of the buffalo warriors – all of whom were male as far as I could tell - pointed out, bristling along with the others.

“Who were nonetheless perfectly happy to ‘reclaim Zion’s gifts’ and kick us out.” I assured, trying to restore our disposition by mutual dislike for the territorial Ghosts of the North. “Although I should have expected it, seeing as they initially got me to go along with their plan by threatening my companions.”

“You wrought genocide in defense of these two?” The Chief asked. Good-humored regard had returned to their distinct, if similarly expressive, faces. “More than a mercenary band, then?”

“Yes,” We certainly were, I thought, smiling warmly at my confirmed friends. “We’re on a rallying mission. The Slavers are getting bold, making moves: burning towns and meeting with raiders. And it’s pretty much universally agreed that they need to have their Railway shut down.” My words seemed to peak the buffalos’ collective interest once again. “We made an alliance with the Zebras-“

“Wouldn’t call it that,” Caliber interjected, both correcting and warning. The misinterpretation that we had come to bond with the justifiably unpopular Zebras, was not one that we wanted to provide any basis for. “They agreed to provide aid in the fight against the Slavers… granted we help them liberate Zion first. There was no alliance; it was more like a contractual obligation between us… conditional coordination.”

“And their obligation, what was promised in the way of aid?”

“Hitting Power.” She shrugged.

He harrumphed. “If you wanted Hitting Power.” The Buffalo swelled proudly, adding to their already noble grandiose. “Going to the weak-hearted shrouds of Zion should have been your last resort.”

I laughed in agreement; we had certainly taken up a lot of our time in the valley. The Coltilde could have already wriggled its way out of the Plains, leaving us to wait for some learning opportunity in its next cycle. “Our director,” ‘Employer’ only added to our being misconstrued as mercenaries. “Damascus, will surely bargain with their promised courier to make the whole ordeal worth our time.”

“Damascus.” He chuckled haughtily, as if remembering an ancient, defining adventure. “That old evangelist is still alive? I can’t imagine he’s too happy with that.” In retrospect, that comment actually held a lot of truth. “It is good to see that he is still, as ever: an influential anchor to this chaotic waste.”

“Goddesses, am I the only one who doesn’t know this buck?” Ash smiled, comfortable in the buffalo’s increasingly warming presence. It seemed like the Chief had no qualms with making pony acquaintances.

“Surprising, considering that you seem to be the third herald in their spiritual Passover.” He mused, picking up on her reference to her divine dignitaries. “Damascus preached, and shared his Faith with Cyrus, who no doubt begat it to you. Meaningful, that I should never come to meet any one of you with another.” Ash would be the fourth bearer, I noted, if you considered the Prophet in the orbs.

“Caeli…” she murmured to herself, aghast in revelation for the true smallness of this new world.

“I will gladly aid in your conquest of the Rails.” He nodded, drawing an excitable fire to his people’s deep-set, molten eyes. “It will undoubtedly be a challenging fight, one that I would begin immediately, were it not for an issue we must… attend to first.” They bowed, somehow performing the feat with subtlety but distinction. “Find us near Cabanne, after a few days perhaps, and you can promise us to Damascus.”

“…” they began to walk back into the quarry yard. “Chief!?” I called out, befuddled.

“We can talk more in the Plain’s heart, if you wish.” He dissuaded.

Caliber joined in over my blank confusion. “You said we may be working towards the same goal?”
Yes, let’s do that. Straight away.

“I can assure you, there are no Slavers in this mine.” The buffalo tilted indicatively towards the low cut mountain-mouth. “Herein will be settled a clan issue, then we can join our focus together on the Rails.”
I shook off the stark expression of bemused disorientation. “Let us help you!” I ushered our little patter to catch up with the massive warriors, moving monoliths that shook the dusty earth on their traverse.

“I can see why you’d need our aid.” He bemused. “But how do you expect that you’ll to help us?”

Caliber analyzed the environment, glimmering eyes darting from factor to hypothetical factor. Simpler tracks ran into a shadowy alcove under the mountain face, palettes and tools lay scattered around the dark descent, making it clear that this site had been rapidly abandoned. There were tents, one collapsed, that, judging from the disarray of frames and mattresses within, had served as make-shift living quarters. They were fresh, in that it seemed their abandon was more recent than the gear and yield besides.

She smiled, figuring it out while I assessed the bedding. “This is a Stake-Out?” I offered, using the only word that I could apply with any kind of understanding. It seemed that the buffalos had been positioned here for several days, but they clearly couldn’t have been the ones using the beds. Hadn’t we waited idly at the toll for proof? Buffalo didn’t seem like the types who had much cause for evidence.

I waited for the more weathered mare to correct my terminology. “A Blockade.”

“You can’t get in!” Ash almost laughed, making Caliber and I shiver intrinsically once again. We didn’t harbor a fear for the Chief, just a desperate need to have him hold us in high esteem. “You’re too big!”

The Buffalo’s shame at the realization translated into a defensive huff. They were suddenly very disinterested in us, pride turning bashfulness into disregard. But the honorable warriors stood at attention once again, as the Chief laughed haughtily, an almost guilty sheen dancing in his blackened red eyes.
“Well seen, little ones! You’ve discovered the Buffalo’s greatest hindrance in a world built of small things for small beings. And you are due respect for your brash delivery, pilgrim.” Ash blushed.

Caliber and I felt synonymous pangs of sub-conscious jealousy, if the Chief could’ve done so physically, he might have ruffled Ash’s mane. “Just tell us what you need retrieved, and we’ll bring it out.” I offered.

“If this is a Blockade,” Caliber explained. “Then they’ve got a score to settle with somebody hiding in that mine, somebody who was going to be on the re-ceiving end of a lot of buckshot, I’m guessing.”

“The Poachers?” Ash offered. We were technically poachers, I thought to myself, after what we had done to Zion’s wolves. I might’ve felt guilty if the Zebra’s hadn’t taken my Tri-Beam as punishment.

“Seems excessive to set up a clog like this over some wildlife.” Caliber queried, following my own misconstrued understanding. “They turn your spirit-animal into a coat, or what?” Ash eeped in a knowing panic. Uzmat Machk frowned, a subtle anger that was nonetheless the most intimidating I had ever seen.

“Brashness has limits,” He grinned, fully aware that he was scaring the figurative pants off of us. “You have a Mercenary’s Tongue, but that can be forgiven. I would ask you to use your similarly earned knowledge, for which you are obviously less ignorant, in our aid.”

“Yes Chief.” She nodded enthusiastically, apologizing. “Just tell us how we can help.”
Hey… I’m supposed to say that part, I thought enviously to myself.

“The Poachers, as they have come to be called by your kind, are simply Murderers to us.” It dawned on me. “We have no interest in how they justify their cowardly slaughter. Whether it is for their own survival or even just for profit, matters not, when our kin are the ones who die for it.”

Ash gave us a remorseful look, wishing that Caliber had just waited for this explanation. “That’s terrible.”

“Yes,” he didn’t care for our condolences. “We tracked them down, a difficult task given their aptitude for silently picking us off on stampedes or pathetically targeting the female’s peaceful camp, and the entirety of their surviving industry now hides below.” The Chief’s face clearly expressed his vivid disgust for the hunters. “Too afraid, even, to face an enemy that they outnumber two to one.”

“Eight?” Caliber calculated. “We can handle eight, no problem, Chief.”

“That is not what I’d have you do.” He shook his head, but seemed pleased at the mare’s bloodlust. “There is no honor in getting another to do your dirty work. As I said: this is a clan issue.”

“You want us to draw them out.” She nodded knowingly, seeing the thirst for a direct application of punishment in the Buffalos’ bristled stances and burning eyes. “Let you crush the bastards yourselves.”

“One mare in particular,” he yielded. “I will understand if you have to kill a few to get the others to react, and though it would be best to settle this in the fairest fight possible, casualties are acceptable. If nothing else you must ensure the survival of a mare they named Cody on their panicked retreat into the mine.”

“How aggressive are they?” I pried, already trying to formulate a plan.

“We’ve known nothing but violence in their harassment.” He fumed. “But they are traders, after all, and I imagine their disposition to potential customers is saccharine at worst.” There was a hint there.

“So we march in there, like nothing’s wrong, and start bargaining?” I pondered. “Make them think that you’ve left… then draw them out.”

“We’ll deceive them.” Ash agreed, “Maybe get them feeling safe enough to come out after us, but not insofar that they feel we are leading them into a trap.” But how? “But How?” Right.

“I don’t like the sound of this.” Caliber muttered. “I say we go in, shoot one, and then start running.”

“No, they’ll know we’re with the buffalo then.” I dissuaded. “We have to make them think we’re driven by opportunity… not violence.” First we needed to make them think that we were oblivious, even needy.
“Come on; let’s go see if they have any job openings, hopefully this Cody mare deals with recruits.”

It was Caliber’s turn to harrumph, but she followed begrudgingly as I headed for the dip.
“Here,” Ash unlatched herself from the mare’s battle saddle and tossed the rifle into the dust before the Chief. “Better we stick to more concealed weapons.” The gun’s owner balked at the rough treatment, but nodded in agreement. I floated over the 9 millimeter, sliding it into the unarmed mare’s saddlebags.

“We’ll conceal ourselves in case they send a scout to verify your word.” The Chief assured, picking up the prized gun in his horns, performing a brief stoop from grandeur. “Bring us Cody, or all this is pointless.”

I nodded and resumed my trot deeper into the quarry. The land sloped, seemingly into the mountain itself, and we were quickly swallowed by the shadow of the great ancient. The meager tracks, frail when compared to the nearby indestructible railway, stretched down beside us, arching into the darkness. A taught cable stretched along it, strained at the weight of some unknown cargo below.

A frame of rotting timber and rough plating marked the shaft, the official beginning of the underground. Collapse seemed inevitable at every rustic suspension, the pillars of splintering old wood and bent nail were not the greatest consolation. Two doorways appeared ahead, barely visible in the subsiding gray light of the surface. I ignited my horn, emanating a guarded dim glow to keep us from tumbling into some sudden chasm or rift. One door received the tracks and cable, so it was just wide enough to allow one of the rusted cars passage. The other was even smaller, meant for miners and their scrupulous foremen.

It was no wonder that the Buffalo were so sure they weren’t getting in here. A less invested pursuer would have collapsed the narrow tunnel, trapping the Poachers under the ultimate Blockade, but these scorned hunted were out for their hunter’s blood, even if it was painstakingly drawn from a single mare.

Rock jutted at uncomfortably unpredictable angles, reaching out from the claustrophobically proximate walls to threaten our soft, squinting faces. The floor, thankfully, was smooth, as if thoroughly worked over with sandpaper. Eventually, there came to be artificial light sources, allowing me to lease the responsibility of visibility to scrappily wired fluorescents and floodlights.

In the beginning, I imagined that the Poachers would have stationed a guard, a sentry to keep an eye on the enemies above, but the Blockade had aged considerably, and so the effort was long abandoned.

The tunnel broke off on occasion, stretching into byways and branches that were often no longer than the length of a buck’s toiling body. There was something warming in the walls, a pulse in the blackened rock. It rose and fell as we walked the passageway, ebbing and disappearing in a strangely soothing rhythm. Every surge made me want to start scratching at the stone, digging into the earth. I craved the warm embrace promised beyond layers of forgotten mineral and marl. But…

I didn’t falter, as we were clearly on the main course, and even the longer extrusions dwindled into a devoid darkness. Following the light seemed like the logical procession, not the indulgent one.

My Pip-buck indicated a mass of white bars ahead.

The tunnel widened, daring to stretch from its guarded coil into a veritable hallway. Beyond was light, warmer than the flickering white preceding it, more lively. The sounds of merry abandon echoed out to us, bounding at us from the golden glow ahead. It sounded like the Stable cafeteria at mealtime: a rowdy cheer of concourse and courses. Not what I would have expected under conditions of Buffalo Blockade.

Finally, the tunnel disappeared completely, breaching into an ovum in the belly of the mine. The ceiling was high, bound by shackles of reinforced steel over solid rock, teasing the ponies below with the constant, if unlikely, threat of collapse. It served as omen, or promise. There was something up there, something breathing. I could feel it, if only as a craving, I could feel the life-blood of Equestria.

The walls were wide, each diverging into more tunnels, every one labeled with an indiscernible sign, in distinction or warning. On the opposite end of the ‘room’ sat an unlikely house, or at least, a squat, windowed building. It shared the rotted appearance of every old wormwood in this place, but was suspended a short stairway’s length off the ground by a metal frame.

The room itself was like a compact, subsurface restaurant, a ridiculously themed delicatessen. It was lined with a quartet of benches and tables; they seated a total of eight appetite appeasing merrymakers.
One, a prairie-colored mare with a short mane of hard, stony gray beneath a rawhide hat, was Cody.
She wore a leather, likely buffalo hide, outfit and similarly morbid coat of patchy stitching. Her boisterous presence and glimmering pale eyes marked her immediately as our target, the Poacher’s ringleader.

We could’ve gunned them down then and there, even without Caliber’s overkill baby, Ash’s drowned conductor or my Stable-born, Zion-bound Tri-beam. But, fortunately for the merrily oblivious hunters, our pistols remained concealed. The Buffalos wanted these greedy entrepreneurs to have a few short, satisfyingly trampled final moments. For now, we had nothing but our services to offer.

“Look sharp, boys!” Cody hollered as soon as she made us out in the candle-lit haze. “Ponies!”
They actually began to cheer, some applauding in drunken discord, others simple yelling indiscernible words of warm welcome or slurred compliment. They were mostly bucks.

We traipsed over to the prairie-dog’s table, and she cordially waved her party away at our approach. “C’mon, git! We’ve got prospective customers.” Her accent was Caliber’s with a bellyful of whiskey and tar. “Ladies! Settle down; get your caps ready in the meantime, this exposition’s going to captivate you!” She didn’t even care to ask about the Buffalo. The Blockade may have kept the Poachers hungry, but they clearly had something to drink. They ragged band staggered and stank, all blissfully oblivious.

The buck and mare who had occupied our bench scampered off into the darkness, followed by most of the other staggering boozehounds. “So! What brings you to the Le Claire Deposit? Business? Tell me it’s business, for Celestia’s sake! Poor girl would be distraught to know her favorite children haven’t had a single measly cap pass their way in days!” The earth-pony spoke in a constant uncertainty of volume, seeming to make up every word with a series of vastly disproportioned syllables.

“We’d very much like to join your crew.” I said, in my already preposterously unfitting accent. Only Caliber had the easy voice to pass for a prospective country-mare, beating my Stable prim and Ash’s Slavic coo.

“Aw, for…” She slumped, her charming showmare persona leaving her little by little. “Fellas! Leave it be!” I had no idea whether that been a wise thing to say, but in any case she was acting as if nothing was amiss apart from a financial dry-spell. “Well, I can’t rightly say that’s a complete disappointment.” A chipper grin replaced the cheap over-zeal. “We’re always looking to expand.”

“We’re always looking for work.” Truth. “It’s much harder to get by with those Slavers around.” Truth.

“Not for us!” she announced proudly. “Railway can’t get enough of that buffalo de-light! They’re our biggest buyer, ‘s why we settled down near the tracks.” I wanted to ask if they had passed by yet.

“Well, they’re certainly making a dent in the rest of the clientele pool.” I said, knowingly.

“You’re damn right they are!” She took a swig at her tankard of sloppy swill, tilting her head dramatically to lap up the last frothy remnants. “But a bigger dent out of the competition… Sorry, I ‘spose that might have been you…” My eyes widened, as I had no idea what she was implying.

“Indirectly, yes.” Ash chirped. “Caravans don’t dare to go through Littlerock for fear of getting bottlenecked in the path of the Coltilde.” She was dropping names, saving me from my own foreign ignorance.

“Caravan Guards?” Ash nodded. “… Where are y’all from, anyhow? Y’sound… well you certainly sound diverse.” She gestured at Caliber with her new, hijacked tankard. “Exceptin’ you, who don’t sound at all.”
“Mercenary.” Caliber grumbled, with assuredly genuine contempt. “Not paid to talk.”
She could only have peeled off her face to make her Charon impression any more convincing.

“Obedient… good!” She toasted her. “Name’s Cody, and Ah’m starting to think we can help each other.” My first job interview was going remarkably well. “Let’s see what you’re working with.” She swept the table clear in a violent swing, loosing her own drink in the process.

Caliber yanked the 45 (which Cody stared at with an almost erotic wanting.) from her satchel, and then tossed it onto the empty surface. Ash and I followed her example with the 9 millimeter and Laser pistol respectively. “Not much, I know. We ran into some trouble on our way out of Zion.” I explained, assuming that it would be otherwise unusual to travel with such a paltry arsenal.

“Zion?” an eager, appraising glimmer entered her silver dollar eyes. “And a unicorn too… Darlin’ if you don’t mind me saying…” she purred. “You could be a picture star… that voice, that mane… that pretty face.” Her hoof was brushing against my skin, soft but unwanted. “Isn’t she just a vision of the old-world?!” Her voice rose to a call, summoning the other Poachers to regard me. “Do I repulse you?” She whispered, drawing closer to me. Cody’s breath smelt like barley and old, salty meat.

I could only smile queasily as her silver eyes stared into gold. “You’re not used to being dirty, are you?”
She swept the guns from the table in a sudden repeat of that same fluid disregard. Her compatriots crowded around as she climbed up onto the wood, bringing her sickly mouth to nuzzle at my ear. My eyes were buried in her greasy mane, drowning in the stony swirl. I sought the refuge of the earth’s pulse, focusing on the call of the dark roof above; the whispering treasures… the three, immaculate diamonds.

Cody hit me, hard. Her hoof came to the crescendo of its drunken swinging, colliding with the unscarred side of my face. I tumbled off of the bench, distracting my companions just long enough for them to miss our pistol’s disappearance amidst the Poachers. “Boys, we’ve got ourselves a genu-ine Stable pony!”

I was still reeling as zebras’ bane constellated together in a halo around my head. My horn was glowing, supporting me in the solidity of buried majesty, of crystal-blue beauty. Caliber and Ash appeared at my side, but I didn’t accept their attempts to get me on my hooves, to help me avoid the impending shackling. I was so close, so close to being one with the divine gems, ambrosial, mythical… war.

The Poachers were fully armed, weapons ordaining battle-saddles in an entrapment of fire lines, with us caught in the middle. Somewhere, surprisingly early in our conversation, the muddy-minded Cody had figured out my origin. One of the bucks gripped a single set of manacles uncomfortably between his teeth.

“You can kill the others; we’ll be rolling in it once we tell the Slavers that the Zion Stable is open for business…” I pulled myself to my hooves… and beyond. It was as if I was harnessed to the mountain’s core, hoisted by an arcane bond that broke barriers of time and gravity. I was levitating.

“Goddesses…” Ash whispered, in an echoed sentiment shared in a whisper with some of the Poachers. I was blind, I was deaf, I only had a body for the mountain, feeling for its ancient stones. Nothing else mattered, not Cody or the Buffalo… not Equestria: Only its sacrosanct heart… and my friends.

The Poachers stared on, agape and silent. Even their perceptive ring-leader sat, teetering on the table, in a reverent amazement for what, they thought, was an act of God. There were no unicorns in the North; there were no magicians or arcane illusionists, no showmares or students, no tricksters or Twilights.
To them, magic was a divines imagining, held by Celestia and Luna, their Goddesses, and now… me.

I had become a God.

But they didn’t run until the ceiling started to collapse.
Steel reinforcements were wrest asunder, bringing a tumble of boulder and dust, around me.
The diamonds were pulling themselves from the mountain, pulling themselves to me.
I had no part in it, but for an unparalleled affection for the glittering shards, a requited love.
When they approached, the full extent of their velocity unleashed by newfound freedom, I steered them to my heart. On their impact, at the moment they were freed from the stone in fact, I had started falling.
The ceiling was coming with me, cracks developing far and wide from the gems’ burrowed cavities.

The magic had diffused, the glow in my horn and in my soul replaced with the blood warming my chest. Hoisted, suddenly and without consent, I began to leave.
Though I wouldn’t complain, I had my three pieces of Equestrian heart; there was nothing for me here.
A gargantuan rock splintered the roof of the underground quarters, sending rotted wood out in an implosion, which joined with the shattering tables and benches to obscure the room in dirt and sawdust.
We pelted up the tunnel, voices hollering and yelping around us, panting Poachers escaping ahead and dying behind the diamonds… no, behind Caliber and I.

The dour mercenary had very likely saved my life, saved me from a foolhardy suicide… for now.
Blood Diamonds extruded from my chest, their flawless blue clarity ruined by the tarnish of crimson.
They rose like a city, skyscrapers towering out from around my fortunately whole-feeling clavicle.
What I could feel, was the blood, and a dull pain. My heart beat fearfully, but it beat nonetheless.

The collapse was chasing us, perhaps for an arcane shift of every gem in the mine’s walls, a massive displacement. We quickly reached familiar framework, marking our impending escape.
I jolted and jumped in my tremulous ride on Caliber’s back, attached by only a saddlebag harness swung over one of my arms. If I had fallen from her, at least I would still have been dragged along to safety.

Dust and darkness made an impending crush of mountain stone look like a volcanic ash cloud, raging behind us in a billowing plume, racing ahead of the collapse that caused it. It swallowed us, blinding us in the smokescreen, but the tunnel was tapering, and Caliber had a compass for a cutie-mark, after all.

We burst from the earth; black smoke abounding around us, like a subterranean missile being launched from a military facility that no one even knew was there. Cold, morning air signaled our survival, assured me that I had been successfully saved from my own demolition. But by wasteland law, our escape from the frying pan, only brought us into the fire.

Luckily, the buffalo were not the type for a coordinated firing squad ambush, and so we were now bounding through a stampede, rather than a warzone. The Poachers, having survived being crushed beneath rock and earth, were now being crushed under furious hooves, trampled to a pulped death. The law of the wasteland seemed to apply to a much more exaggerated extent with them, at least.

Caliber rounded on the dust-strewn quarry, and paused, allowing for me to dismount.
I slumped to the ground, coming to rest very nearly in the same spot I had pinned her earlier.
The Foreman’s office stood strong beside me, a ghost in its similar design to the collapsed structure beneath the mountain. The mare took my face in her hooves and peered into my unfocused mind.

“Tell me you didn’t just do that! Tell me you couldn’t’ve!” The blood seeped beneath my thick, improbably leather vest. She could not see it. “Shit…” she cussed in exasperation. “I’ve got to go find Ash, alright?” This was good, as I hadn’t spotted the waylaid pilgrim in our own pony stampede out of the mine. I nodded dismissively and Caliber was off, racing back into the fray.

Amidst the sandy dust cloud, the four hulking figures were clearly visible, stomping and rearing, occasionally buckling for the kickback of a shotgun’s barrage. What kind of ungodly weapon made a buffalo brace himself? The kind of weapon that created a spray of blood and gore that was more discernible than the pony it came from, I answered. An improvised, deadly, rodeo was occurring on some of the warriors. Dusted silhouettes would latch on, making a daring bound onto the monoliths first, then were quickly sent to shatter against the earth, either laying still or recovering for another attempt.

It was clear that you couldn’t kill a buffalo. The living monuments took bullet after bullet, as it was also true that you couldn’t miss a buffalo, without even flinching. When they had brought a Poacher down, they would lift off of the ground, tilting almost unnaturally, then came descending in a pounding resolve, pulverizing the pony and then its corpse. I wept for the malleable steel weapons adorning the pulp.

It was easy to forget the diamonds, as there was only a mild pain, and a single wave of blood. What presided was their cool relief against my chest, and an odd implication of a well shattered exoskeleton. I pawed at my father’s coat, pulling the wrapped material away from the impossibly mild wound. The triplicate of sharp, almost faultless treasures were set into my thick vest, but barely held purchase into my body. The obsidian shield that bore the brunt of their invited assault on my heart, now crumbled away.
The wounds beneath were not even worthy of stitches or salve, I closed them with my guilty magic.
The blood stained my chest in three tear tracks, thin and tapering. The warmth had been the feeling of a bruise developing, a bruise shaped like the shard of a serpent’s scale.

I got to my hooves, already feeling the relief of anti-climax clearing my mind.
I had three ideally cut memorial diamonds, beautiful and impossible to behold with any kind of resistance. The buffalos were clearly winning this fight.
Ash and Caliber were sitting together at the mouth of the mine, watching the Poachers get pummeled.
Cody lay sprawled, her labored breathing visible from here, besides the Chief, who had no vested interest in grinding corpses to a liquid mush. My E.F.S had only white bars, though I was unsure if the Poachers had ever been downgraded to the hostile red. After all, they hadn’t been hostile to me for very long.

Uzmat Machk had not even bothered to disarm the undoubtedly crippled prairie-mare, and she had been clumsily clasped in a very appealing looking rifle by way of a very rapidly dressed battle-saddle.
Our pistols were gone, so-

I sprinted over to the Poacher’s preserved ringleader, a tense fear seizing me from my growing calm.
The dust was settling, and the buffalos were beginning to realize that they had left very little left of their enemies. Their frustrated, vengeful anger, had been thoroughly vented, except on the helm of its source.

“Tell me you have it!” I ordered Cody, drawing the Chief’s attention away from his huffing warriors.
“Tell me you have my pistol!” My Father’s pistol.

It was there! In her holster!

I almost hugged the moaning mare, wanting to swing her up in a genuinely grateful embrace.
“Greed is good!” I cheered; levitating the automatic from the thief’s twitching body.

“It’s a-“she spat blood. “It’s a damn fine piece of Equestrian weaponry.” Cody chuckled, somehow still regarding me with that same friendly sparkle in her eyes. “Like this one.” The wooden-braced rifle at her side glinted in a sleek polish. “Lever action… peep sight for a ‘corn.” Her words were strained, as she winced with every exaggerated syllable. The charismatic drunk had changed astoundingly little despite her battered, twisted body. “Eight shh-shots per clip… 45-70 Government rounds in here.” She tapped vaguely at her saddlebags. “Take it darlin’… my gift to the old-world.”

I levitated the ammunition, several boxes, and detached the rifle from her side.
She grinned as I rotated it in the air. “I would have loved to be a unicorn… travelling magician” she laughed. The gun had a mahogany body, rusty silver barrel and ivory magazine. A web of patterns, a dream catcher, was cut and striped onto the stock, suspending a small mobile of beads and feathers.

“It would have been better for all of us, if you’d picked up a deck of cards instead of that rifle.” The Chief grunted. I packed away the 45 and strapped the buffalo-killer to my side. A father’s sins…
“Good work, Shepard.” I beamed at the great warrior, and then waved my friends over.

The Chief redirected Caliber to the nearby collapsed tent, where her own rifle awaited in hiding.
She smiled just to see the thing, and then reattached her entire battle-saddle rig. Now all we needed to do was find a salvageable shotgun for Ash amidst the half-dozen corpses.

Only one Poacher had died in the mine’s collapse, who, I liked to imagine, was the buck who had been ready with the manacles. Cody’s brigands had been in deeper with the Slavers than just buffalo trade.

“What were you doing, Cody?” I asked, almost sympathetically. The Prairie’s daughter was surprisingly difficult to hate, her constant smile and shining eyes detracting from every slurred order and grim crime.

“A girl’s got to eat.” She tried to shrug, and whimpered in pain. “And when that gets too easy, well, that’s when greed comes a-knockin’.” She tipped her hat as if to acknowledge some omnipotent authority.

“Your easy meals, and my innocent people, are one and the same.” The Chief growled, his fury for the showmare easily breaking apart her usually effectual charisma. “You’ll come to realize that.”

“I’m guessin’ that I don’t have much time left.” She smirked. “You three, Caravan Guards, right?”
Had it not been for Cody’s realization that I was a Stable pony, the mine’s collapse would likely have happened for a whole lot of no good reason. It had been necessary, though… I had to save Caliber and Ash, after all. But… that couldn’t truly be what had spurred me to sudden, fleeting magical prowess, could it? “If you ever meet somebody working for the Pony Express -group of couriers down… well, everywhere really- tell ‘em that Cody finally got her comeuppance. Tell ‘em that I died a dishonorable death.”

“So quick to make assumptions.” The Chief grinned, a cruel knowing dancing across his usually warm –by the heat of either anger or affection- face. “You might not die for a couple of miles, at least.”

“Wooh Boy!” She cackled, blood spraying with her rank breath. “This is gonna hurt! You certainly know how to make a girl want to say sorry.” The buffalo tied Cody’s hock to the Chief’s immense battle saddle with a length of rope. I almost wanted to stop them. “Suppose it’s too late for apologies, anyway.”

“You’ll find us near Cabanne.” The Chief addressed us, his cruelty sating to gratitude and anticipation for the coming application of punishment. “I’ll leave it to your initiative, but know that you will always be welcome. Whatever you did in there… well, you’ll wish that you had gone by your real name.”

“Oh you bet, I’ll be hollering about your crazy magic all the way to Cabanne!” She shot me one last charming smile. “Wanted t’have seen that kind of thing before I got dragged to death. Thanks, Shepard.” It was as if she had accepted this fate long ago. Maybe she hadn’t cared to ask about the buffalo because her doom had been so obvious to her; and the hazy binge was her way to say goodbye to the wasteland.

“Enjoy the ride, poacher.” The paternal buffalo rounded on his followers, and already I could see the earth eroding at Cody’s limp body. Gravel and dust scraped at her, forcing her twisted bones further into their offset positions, and finally getting a grimace from the happy-go-lucky prairie dog.

Cody wriggled her rawhide hat into her teeth and forced the pained scowl into another winking grin around it. “Don’t avert your eyes, Ladies.” The Chief began to run. “Let my show go on!”
The mare didn’t scream, not even as the skin of her exposed hide scuffed away to raw flesh below.
Moving mountains dragged her away in near silence, leaving behind a rising cloud of quarry dust, and sparse traces of the dying, laughing poacher.

“Ash?” I asked, as we watched her shrink from both perspective and existence, cackling and crying.
“Where does your sect of the Faith say a mare like her ends up… afterwards?”

“The same place that your Stable claims to have sent you.”

Footnote: Level Up!
Perk Added: Old-World Glory: Your magic has an affinity towards references and reminders of a better time. You’ve found that it is strengthened by the values that Equestria held closest to its heart, those that you hope to see resurrected within it once again…
One in particular has saved you more than once, and surely will again… Friendship.
Remember the Six.

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