The lands across the border were supposed to signify freedom, but the overcast skies spoke of less tangible oppressors.

The rain was light and scattered, so faint that it was easy to forget it was raining until a drop hit somewhere uncomfortable. In most cases, the eye would qualify, but not here, and not today.

A gray earth pony wiped his eyes, oblivious to the natural addition to his tears. Although he was what most ponies would consider young by age, his features were old and worn, jagged around the edges like a sheet of paper that had been tossed aside and forgotten. He wore nothing aside from a large stuffed backpack the same black color of his mane and tail.

In front of him was a rectangular mound of freshly disturbed soil, a jarring brown gash along the grassy forest floor. At the head of the gash stood two wooden rods arranged in an ‘X’ shape, tied together by metallic twine. Affixed to this twine was a flat diamond-shaped gemstone. Under the gaze of the clouds it had lost its luster, having no sunlight to reflect in a brilliant spark of life.

It was a sick joke.

He turned around, leaving the grave behind. He had done far more than he’d needed to do; there was no reason to stay any longer. Even if there wasn’t any more danger out here in the wilds, he still needed to keep moving. This was no place for someone like him to spend more time.

He had already spent far more than was necessary.

The going was slow, at first. Not because the terrain was difficult, for the forest was surprisingly cooperative and sparse, but because he simply couldn’t bring himself to move quickly. Every step was another one he took alone.

However, with time, his instincts took over. What had scarcely been more than a crawl became a walk; a walk a trot; a trot a gallop. As he sped through the wilds, the already sparse forest thinned even further, matching the clouds above as they allowed evening sunlight through their wispy swirls. The vibrant greens of the vegetation became apparent to him for the first time, brimming with a life unlike any he had ever seen.

When the trees finally ended, he came to a skidding stop, upturning a few clods of dirt and grass with his hooves. He allowed his eyes to open wide in wonder.

The sun was at his back, casting long shadows with the trees that appeared to him as arrows, demanding he gaze forward upon the hills rolling hills that rippled with crisscrossing rushes of wind, forming what looked not like a sea but rather a verdant fabric of swirls and intricate lines so fine he couldn’t fully picture them.

Further in the distance, he saw a pristine lake that showed no signs of intricate winds like the grass, seeming to defy the elements with its calmness. A clear orb levitated above the lake without any visible supports, as if held by a ghost. Through this orb he could see the purple shape of Endesque rising into the sky. Not only was the sphere looking to be full tonight, but its great swirl was also easily visible. Perhaps this was a good omen.

It was a cruel trick of fate that he had to experience all this alone.

He took a deep breath, calming himself. He took off into the grassland at a brisk pace – nothing so wild and uncontrollable as a gallop, but still fast enough to make progress. The grass danced around him as the wind changed direction at a rapid pace, tickling at his knees. Not a hint of joy crossed his features – or any reaction at all.

The sun was completing the daily act of setting behind him, turning the greens partially yellow in the process. He did not worry – the purple glow of Endesque would be more than enough to light up the night – but it was still a sign that he needed to find shelter. With a twist of his head he examined the hills, looking for any outcropping he could use as suitable accommodations for the night.

Within ten seconds he had located a rocky outcropping not even a trile away, hardly a distance worth mentioning. He adjusted his heading by a slight amount and sped up his canter.

As the sun fell below the horizon the warm light of the day was slowly drained from the landscape, allowing the enchanting light of Endesque to take over, filling the night. The stars slowly faded into existence far above, twinkling as they always did, no matter where anyone chose to rest their head.

His arrival at the outcropping was met with surprise. He found an old wooden cabin nested into a cleft in the exposed granite, nested within the niche so well it would have been difficult to see from any significant distance. The cabin was so ancient most of its massive logs had moss growing on it, and a few of the supports had given way.

The stallion was amazed that there was a pony construction this far into the wilds. There were certainly enough trees in the nearby forest to make the cabin, certainly, but the windows? The chimney? There were metals there. Who would have had the time or the resources to come out this far and build a cabin?

These questions were quickly pushed aside as unimportant. He dutifully walked up to the door and placed his hoof in the doorring, pulling. The dulled metal implement snapped right off the door, leaving him with no acceptable means of gaining entry. Luckily for him, he didn’t care all that much about doing things the proper way, so he just bashed the door in.

The inside was a tremendous mess that clearly hadn’t seen an occupant for over a decade. Cobwebs lined every piece of furniture and dust covered every surface. Clouds of particles were kicked up by the wind coming in the bashed-in door, prompting the stallion to cough from the irritation.

The walls were covered in plants, all the furniture save for a plain rocking chair was moldy, and there was a curious lack of personal items in the room. No photos, no trophies, not even an ornate desk. It seemed… bare.

Whoever had lived here had probably cleaned out when they left.

He slung his pack off his back and made his way to the rocking chair – the only thing in this cabin that seemed to be held together well. It stood in the center of the room, before a stone fireplace. With a creak both in his bones and the chair itself, he sat within it. Despite its hard wood, it felt comfortable, supporting his tired body well.

There was ancient, unused firewood in the fireplace. With a shrug, he decided there was no reason not to give it a try. He slung a hoof through one of his backpack’s loops, bringing it forward. Hanging around the outside was a metallic band with a hook at the end, easily accessible so he could slide it around his front right hoof. The tool had many purposes, but for now he used it to rummage around his pack's contents. Eventually, the sought item was removed: a small tool made of two rocks held together by a metal bar and a screw. Leaning in as close to the fireplace as he dared, he shook the hook and clacked the stones together. Sparks flew, and after a few tries one of them landed true, igniting the wood.

With the first contented sigh he had made in a while, the stallion sat back in the chair. The warmth from the fire slowly reached into him, easing his muscles. He sat, allowing himself to unwind.

This was not what he had wanted. But it was something at least. He was alive.

He closed his eyes and put his head back, allowing the rocking motion of the chair to lull him into a relaxed state. As the brightness of the flames grew, the closer he felt to sleep. Strange how the less like night it was the more he was ready to drift into the realm of dreams…

Just as he was on the cusp of being completely overtaken, he heard a loud thunk at the front door. He woke up in an instant, standing up so quickly he threw the chair back. He stood, ready to fight for his life if need be.

A pony stood in the doorway – a mare with a bright pink coat, cotton-candy mane, and piercing blue eyes. She had innumerable scrapes and bruises across her body, including a serious gash across her forehead. One of her back legs was held close to her body, suggesting that it was strained or broken.

She looked at him with pleading eyes and a soft smile. She opened her mouth to say something – but her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes rolled into the back of her skull and she flopped onto the floor of the cabin, unmoving.

Cautiously, he walked up to her, glancing outside the cabin’s broken door to see if there were any other ponies in the night. He was met with nothing but the serene appearance of Endesque in the sky. He saw no sign of any animals, much less ponies.

Once he was satisfied there wasn’t a trap outside, he allowed himself to check on the mare. Her pulse told him that she was alive, but weak. She didn’t appear to have life-threatening injuries, but with her level of exhaustion they could easily turn into something more serious.

He stared at her unconscious face for a few potent seconds. He closed his eyes and nodded to himself ever so slightly. Gently, he placed his hooves around her and dragged her toward the fire – setting her up in the chair. It was hard to position an unconscious mare in a way that looked comfortable and didn’t put pressure on her injured leg, but he managed.

He moved to get some first aid supplies out of his pack – but he noticed something that gave him pause. The blood from her head wound had gotten on his hooves. This in and of itself wasn’t unusual, but the blood itself was.

It was a bright, almost neon red. Not a natural blood color for any creature the stallion had ever seen.

He turned to the mare, expression unreadable.

Who was this mare?

Author's Notes:

What is this story? If you want to know, you can find out at this blog post.

However, a big part of this story is the mystery element and the challenge of figuring out. Going to that blog post will not reveal any of the major mysteries, but it might remove some of the fun.

-GM, master of Songs.