“RRAUGH!” “GRAAAH!”

Dahlia and Crimson sprint through the darkness, shoving through an indiscernible amount of humans that reach and claw at them. They shriek and yell as they attempt to detain the two invaders running through their cave.

“Ack!” Dahlia falls, getting dragged back a few feet. “Let! Go!” she kicks and squirms against the grubby hand that came from the darkness and caught her right hindleg.

Crimson suddenly stops in place at the sound of her distress, freezing completely.

...

"Embrace what you are, and what you stand for."

- "Shield, protect, survive."

-- "For their life, you give your own."

...

“Let go!” Dahlia calls again, flailing around blindly in an attempt to get free.

His head snaps to the sound of Dahlia’s voice like a sentry. His body starts moving, but his mind isn't thinking. Something usurps his senses like an overbearing tide flooding his soul.

His knees bend, and he springs himself up like a wound-up coil towards the direction of Dahlia’s voice. He tucks his head down and rears up his left shoulder, blindly crashing into the perpetrator that was detaining the mare. A right proper guess. The human that held Dahlia is propelled back, smashing into the cave wall with a loud whine. Crimson lands on both feet, and his body starts to feel terribly tense.

“Crimson?” Dahlia utters in the blackness.

“Run!” he shouts back. “Grh!” he feels something jump onto his back, sinking jagged and unkempt teeth into his right trapezius.

“C… Crimson?” Dahlia asks again, her voice coming from the same location.

“Run, Deedee, MOVE!” Crimson’s deep, scratchy voice vibrates through the inside of the cave, further angering the humans.

Dahlia lets out a gasp, scurrying to her hooves. Her late reaction causes her to be clutched again. Another hand reaches from the darkness and grabs her tail, but she quickly bucks with both hindlegs to kick something rather squishy. “AARAAAH!” the human shrieks in pain.

As Dahlia sprints through the cave, stepping over humans and uneven ground, she hears Crimson behind her, still fighting and shoving. Once outside, she fixes her gaze back to the inside of the cave. She stares at Crimson's silhouette in the darkness, admiring his glowing--

“RAUGH!”

“Ick!” Dahlia spreads her wings to take off, but she is too late, as a human jumps at her from behind a forest tree and grappled her. “Grrh, damn it! You—piece of—gick!” Dahlia’s eyes dilate as she screams out in pain. The human sinks its nails into her chest and bites down on her shirt collar.

Crimson’s head snaps to the outside of the cave. His rigid stare focuses on the mare being attacked. Humans take advantage of his stillness to grasp and scratch him. His blood begins to boil with an overwhelming urge to defend her. He thrashes around violently, tossing the human off his back and bashing other humans surrounding him as if they were weightless. His knees bend again, kicking him into a steam-train sprint. His eyes are dilating to pin pricks, the world melting around him save for one piece, Dahlia.

“Rrk! Rrrrh!” Crimson sounds through his teeth, trudging through humans that grasp and scratch at him as he runs. He completely disregards his own safety, pushing his body to march towards the struggling pony. He suddenly stops on a dime and bends his knees, springing forward with more force than before. “Mrk!” he grunts in pain, the leap he had taken overexerted his muscles to the point of shocking discomfort, but it accomplishes its directive. He soars out of the cave, gliding in the air. His jump was unnaturally powerful, enough to shoot him like a dart.

Time seems to slow down, his squinting eyes focus on the human attacking Dahlia. Everything moves at a fraction of regular speed. He soars slowly, extending his right hand out and opening his hand in a claw-like fashion... then, time resumes like normal, and his hand grasps the human biting Dahlia on his forehead. He collides into the human, using his arm as a piston to smash the human’s head into the same tree he pounced out of.

Dahlia falls onto the ground, panting. The human slumps over, more than likely unconscious. Or dead.

Crimson is quick to pick up Dahlia in both arms, darting away in a random direction. Dahlia’s wincing and discombobulated self looks at the man as he carries her. Her mind is stumped at what she is now feeling while being carried by him. He holds her firmly and comfortably, despite sprinting and leaping over shrubs. The act of being carried isn't what's causing her confusion, but it is the sudden sensation taking hold of her body like a warm blanket. She's strangely relaxed, she feels... safe.

… She stares into his eyes, the world around her is unfocused except for his face. Crimson is sprinting like a machine, panting, bruised and bleeding, but showing no signs of stopping. Behind them, humans are heard screeching and writhing, but they soon become distant.

‎

‎

Crimson finally stops, heaving and sweating. The two are a mess, but especially him. He falls to his knees, setting Dahlia down on the forest dirt. He slouches and hangs his head as he catches his breath.

The tan mare feels the relaxing sensation disperse instantly upon being let go, and the stress and weight of what just happened returns to her. She furrows her brows, giving the man an angry but insecure gawking. “… Y… You didn’t have to carry me like that, you know. I am fully capable of running and flying,” she says defensively, fixing her shirt collar.

Crimson doesn’t bother replying just yet, still taking deep breaths to restore much needed oxygen into his body. ... Dahlia analyzes his messy, exhausted state, and her angry facade fails to maintain itself. Worry takes her expression, and she moves a step closer to the man. As soon as she is about to open her mouth, he speaks up, “What the hell… was that... Dahlia?” he interrogates, lifting his head up to eye her sternly.

Dahlia's expression jumps, then she squints lividly, “What do you mean, ‘what the hell’?”

“You got grabbed. Twice. Why were you so clumsy? What happened to the seasoned escape artist back there?”

“Ah--! It--!" Her face becomes terribly flustered. "... YOU! You distracted me! It was YOUR fault!” she raises her voice enough to ring his ears uncomfortably.

“’N how in the hell did ‘I’ distract you?”

“YOU-- … You-- you did… something! With your eyes!” Dahlia stammers.

“My eyes?"

“Don’t act stupid! Your eyes did a—a-- … a glowy thing!”

Crimson looks at her like she’s absolutely mental.

“You know what I’m talking about! You should know! YOU did it!” Dahlia leans into Crimson’s face. His resting position leaves him at eye-level with the heated pony, and they bitterly eye one-another as their noses nearly press together.

“I seriously don’t fuckin’ know what you’re goin’ on about. Glowy thing?”

Dahlia sighs and backs away, letting out an exaggerated grunt of annoyance. “Your eyes! They did a glowy thing! They started glowing in the cave. Then when you saved me outside the cave. … And when you started running. They were glowing golden or something,” Dahlia grits, staring into Crimson’s normal, hazel eyes as they currently are. Her confusion becomes prominent when the man's tired globes stare back at her, failing to perform any action she is attempting to describe.

Crimson looks terribly confused and aggravated, but remains silent. Dahlia shakes her head, letting her ears fall. “… Whatever, keep your secrets. Not like you’re gonna be around for much longer anyway,” she mumbles, her voice lowering while looking away from his slouched form.

“I actually don’t know what yer talkin’ about, Deedee. I don’t know anything about ‘glowy eyes.' Maybe you were seein' things.”

“… Just drop it,” she sighs. Both of them look away from each other, unspeaking. The sounds of nature swallow the conversation. They remain to themselves in order to think, but fail to actually think of anything. They both stare at the ground, feeling awkward tension building.

Fortunately, it does not last long. Dahlia’s eyes suddenly beam and her ears stand straight. She reaches into her shirt pocket with a forming smile. “Hehe, at least we got this bad boy~” she says, staring at the orange orb she’s now holding in her hoof.

Crimson looks at it, still lacking any motivation to react.

“… Well, let’s start heading back. Sun’s gonna dip soon,” she notes while pocketing the relic again.

Crimson looks at the sky through the dense forest. It’s orange and amber, the beautiful painting that is the atmosphere. He rises to his feet once Dahlia starts to move. His bones pop and he grunts, feeling his body complain about the abuse it just took. They trek back to the lodge, uttering no words for the whole walk.

‎

‎

With Dahlia’s self-proclaimed star sense of direction, they trek through the forest and trip back to the front of the temple to retrieve Dahlia’s saddlebags, then head back to her lodge after.

The duo cross the stone path over the steadily flowing river that lies just past the forestry, walking up the porch and finally entering the lodge. Dahlia huffs some stress and exhaustion out, letting her saddlebags fall onto the ground next to the door. She walks off immediately towards the restroom, and Crimson moves over to the stool where he ate breakfast, sitting on it backwards and resting his elbows on the counter top. Shortly after, Dahlia returns with a clean white cloth and an unlabeled bottle, and being that the man is familiar with this combination of articles, he already knows the next step… treat the wounds.

“C’mere,” Dahlia calls, looking at Crimson. He exhales, just now getting comfortable on the stool. He rises reluctantly and walks over to her. “Take your shirt off," she points to the brown torn-up rag that covers parts of his torso. "Was there anywhere else you got got?”

“Nah, just above the waist luckily,” he replies, tossing his ragged, bloody shirt on the ground. He crouches down, getting on one knee and letting his arms drop to his sides. Dahlia uncaps the bottle, using her wings to methodically tilt it against the cloth to get it soaked.

“Don’t cry now,” Dahlia grins, pressing the cloth against the many scratches that paint Crimson’s arms and neck.

“Try not to enjoy feelin' me up too much.”

Dahlia pretends to gag, slapping one of his scratches with the cloth as a sign of displeasure. Crimson grunts and closes his eyes, letting the pain run its course, feeling his wounds sizzle like eggs under a desert sun. Dahlia glances at his eyes, they remain closed as she tends to him. She keeps looking at them, hoping they pry open at some point to show her what she wants to see. ... She pouts slightly, continuing to clean his wounds.

Crimson puckers his lips when she cleans the gnarly bite on his right trapezius. The alcohol works itself deep into the damaged tissue, killing the bad bacteria, but unfortunately, eliminating the good ones too.

“There, that’s all of ‘em,” Dahlia announces, holding the bottle and cloth out for Crimson. "There were a lot more scratches on you than I expected. You're really bad at taking care of yourself."

"Says you."

"Here," Dahlia shakes the bottle and cloth, asserting again that she wants to give them to him.

He takes them into his hands, and Dahlia moves to take off her shirt. “… What’re you doin’?”

“What does it look like? I’m taking off my clothes so you can clean my wounds now. Talk about not getting the hint,” Dahlia rolls her eyes as she drops her blood-stained, dirty shirt on the wooden floor.

“But you ain’t got any wounds,” he states as he scans his eyes across her chest and neck.

“What? Are you blind? I got bit like right-- …” Dahlia looks down at her chest, puffing it out for display. Her muzzle scrunches from bewilderment, seeing her body undamaged where she was previously injured. “I… I got bit right here. I know I did. That human dug his nails into my neck and bit me.”

Crimson sees some scarred, yet already healing skin on Dahlia’s chest and neck where she was attacked. The fur from those spots is ruffled or gone and needs to grow back, so it is apparent she did get hurt. Crimson sets the bottle and cloth down, then reaches out towards Dahlia’s chest, touching the healing skin gently. No bleeding, no internally exposed flesh. Dahlia moves her eyes away from him, her ears rest flat when touched by his hand.

She feels it again, that same relaxation from before. That sense of ease. It returns when he makes physical contact with her, but it fades when he retracts his fingers. The soothing warmth escapes once again.

“Well this certainly means somethin’,” Crimson declares, holding his chin. “You were just makin’ excuses and didn’t actually get hurt at all in that exchange.”

“WHAT!?” Dahlia presses her muzzle against his nose, her bright magenta eyes burning with fury.

Crimson smiles and rears his head back a bit, "Woho, simmer down. Was just pressin' yer buttons." Dahlia huffs some air onto his face through her nose, still very upset at the sudden prodding. The man looks at her fading wounds again with a more serious air. “I know you aren’t lyin’ cuz yer shirt’s got blood on it, blood exactly where that bastard bit you.”

Dahlia visibly calms down and her eyes drop to the ground, down at her shirt. Her mind doesn't find a place to rest, it frantically jumps around the room with nothing to hold it down. “… This is all so weird,” she trails off, moving her eyes towards the relic that rolled out a few inches from her shirt pocket. She contemplates something in her head before letting it come out of her mouth, "... Y'know, you were pretty chill about everything that was happening back there."

"... Chill?" he tilts his head at the odd lingo.

"Yeah, y'know? Like, relaxed? Unfazed? Those humans were really ripping at you, and you didn't even care. You just came for me instead."

"F'course. You were in danger."

"Don't give me that. You were too."

"I couldn't stand there 'n let you get mauled."

Dahlia's brows furrow as she lifts her gaze to meet his. "You literally just met me. You fucking jump on me and scare the shit out of me, then you go and save my life?"

He nods, raising his left brow to indicate her lack of a substantial argument.

Dahlia huffs out in frustration, "How are you so calm about this? How are you such an ass yet so kind? I mean, who meets someone and nearly kills themselves trying to help them?" She squints dubiously at him. "... What's your agenda?"

"You want me to answer yer questions honestly or where they rhetorical?"

"..." Dahlia doesn't respond to his counter-question, opting to look away from him instead.

Seeing as she doesn't come up with an answer, he does it for her. "I've spent my entire life just tryin' to survive. You say calm? I say engaged. I don't let things that would bother other people bother me anymore, especially in a fight. I certainly wouldn't be here today if I did. ... As for your second question, I'm an ass when required. Reckon you've learned right quick about that. I wouldn't call helping someone who's in life-threatening danger an act of kindness, I would call it savin' someone's life, somethin' that should be done regardless of care for that person. Whether the act was done kindly is another debate entirely. For yer third question, me. That's who. ... And what's with the last question? What're you even gettin' at? 'What's my agenda'?"

"Self-explanatory," Dahlia remarks harshly.

"If it was as black 'n white as you're makin' it out to be, I wouldn't have felt the need to ask you for clarification."

"Huugh," she exaggerates a groan. "Do I really need to spell it out for you?"

"Be great if you did."

"... I know your kind," Dahlia turns herself a bit, giving him her left side.

"Care to elaborate?"

"I would care. Your kind is the kind I hate the most. The nice guys. The ones that try too hard to please just to get something out of you. The ones that make it seem like they're on your side so they can turn around, pull you down, and push themselves up when it matters most. Just like when you jumped at me. You're nice enough to save me, but shitty enough to kill me when it's good for you."

Crimson leans forward, "... You're accusin' me of being this type of person on what basis?"

"I'm not stupid. You've ended a lot of lives. I'm sure you lived a dirty life. No one goes through a situation like you just did and walks away from it without a second thought, unless they've lived a dirty life. And judging by your attitude, you fit the bill. At least lions make it abundantly clear they wanna eat you before they do."

"I knew someone just like yer describin'. Trust me when I say, I'll never be like him. ... I can explain everythin' in full detail if that's what it'll take to convince you I'm not what you assume I am."

"Like explaining everything would make a difference. You'd probably lie, just like they all do."

"Deedee, I don't have an agenda. I saved you back there because you were in danger, because you saved me from dyin' like a stray animal yesterday, and because you're willin' to take a gamble on me by lettin' me tag around. You could have just let me wander off, letting me do god-knows-what until I got completely lost. But you didn't, you decided to help me out. I may have just met you, I may have snapped at you, but that don't mean I can't care fer you. I know you're real pissed off about me jumpin' you, but you need to understand I ain't the type of man to take disrespect like you done. You won't ever need to bare somethin' like that again as long as you respect me. The same respect I have fer you."

Dahlia remains hardened, finding something interesting to look out outside of the window instead.

"... My dad 'n my brother died when I was young, 'n my mother died just before my eighteenth birthday. Once you're able to get over somethin' like that, other shit just comes across as trivial. Maybe I am a little too 'chill' on certain matters, but that's just how it goes. I don't mean it to bother you none. I killed people because of a gang my family had ties to. I never joined them, and their vendetta against my family provoked me to kill my first man. I don't take pride in having ended peoples' lives, even if the people I killed were scum."

The tan mare continues to keep her mouth closed, but Crimson can tell she's actively listening.

"... Deedee." Her magenta orbs move to meet his, but then move away shortly after. "You seem oddly familiar with 'my type.' The conniving, back-stabbin' type. I've got a sneakin' suspicion that you weren't always the way you are now, just like me. Maybe yer past was rough, just like mine. We've gotten on each other's nerves to the nth extent since we've met, but I reckon there's a reason for it. ... If there's anythin' you want to talk about, I'm more than willing to listen. ... I know too well how another set of ears to listen to your problems can do wonders for the soul."

She squints, her expression mixes oddly between being bothered and being solemn. Her mouth opens to say something, but it re-closes without uttering a word.

"... How was it like growin' up fer you, Deedee? What was your family like?"

She stays quiet for a moment, leaving both of them to brew in a heavy silence. “... I don't want to talk about it.”

"... If you ever do, I'm here to listen, Deedee."

"I won't. Just forget about it, okay?" she fixes her bitter eyes onto his. "... And if all of that was just a long-winded apology for jumping me, then fine. I accept your apology. Now can we stop with the soft shit?"

"If that's what you want."

"Good, because we're going to need to be focused. We've got a big day tomorrow," the tone of her voice actively becomes more lively and usual.

“Game plan already made?”

“Yup. We’re heading to fancy-land Canterlot tomorrow, home of the snobs and asses, and I'm not talking about the donkeys. We’re going there to get some info and hopefully find a buyer for the relic. An egghead there will probably take it off my hooves, they're suckers for these types of things.”

Crimson nods in acknowledgement, simply taking her lead. Dahlia spreads her wings and flaps them, giving them a little stretch before explaining further. He looks at her wings as they splay out to their full length. They're perfectly preened and oddly beautiful. The fact that these feathered appendages are attached to a pony is wild, but it feels like they fit her perfectly.

“We’ll be up just before sunrise to head to the upper junction. The train station is there, and that train only makes two trips down here every day. We aren’t waiting till the evening to catch the train. Got it?”

“Sure,” Crimson replies, getting up onto his feet. “So, eh, any place I can get a shower’r somethin’?”

“Don't got one in here. Just take a dip in that river for a bit. T’s what I do,” she shrugs casually.

“Mm, so that's why you smell so weird,” Crimson rubs his brow.

Dahlia hits his thigh with a bit of force behind it as she passes by him to head towards the restroom, getting a smirk from her verbal oppressor. Crimson makes his own path towards the front door, stepping out and stripping down for his nature-bath.

‎

---

‎

Crimson returns inside after air-drying for half an hour, getting his shorts and flip-flops on as he stammers up the porch, guided by the shine of moonlight.

Dahlia had joined him briefly in the river bath, but announced she was too tired to stay in for very long. She didn't speak much when she was there, and she had retreated to the lodge much before him.

He opens the door, finger-combing his hair back to add some semblance of appearance to his form. He sees the little tan mare, her mane and tail a scraggly mess, asleep on the big couch. She lies down, her body forming a half-moon as her chin rests just before the cushion’s edge. An actual, normal horse position for once... well, at least one he's familiar with.

Seeing as the only resting place fit enough for him has been taken, and he doesn't want to invade her bed, he walks over to the small coffee table that’s propped in the middle of the living room, getting down and lying next to it. He can’t see Dahlia from this position, so the next best thing is the ceiling. He stares at it, as he himself is splayed out on the wooden floor. His eyes slowly close, feeling heavier and heavier every passing second. He probably won't get very good sleep, but at least he can try.

…

"... I miss you so much..."

...

‎

---

‎

Dahlia’s eyes slowly flutter open. She sits up, rubbing her eyes with her hoof and letting out a yawn.

“Sleep well?”

“Nh?” Dahlia looks towards the voice. Crimson sits on the single-cushion couch, barely fitting in it. “Nh,” she lets out a yawn. "You’re up early. ..." Her brows raise in mild surprise. "Huh. Or by the looks of it, you didn’t even sleep at all.”

Crimson blinks slowly, “It’s that obvious?”

“Very. I sure hope you don’t pass out on me while we’re on the move. Last thing I need is to drag you around for several more miles. No thank you,” she shakes her head, swinging her hoof with it. Once she returns her gaze to him, a more sympathetic energy takes her expression, "You look awful, Crim. Seriously. Are you okay?"

“Don’t worry about me,” he assures, standing up and stretching his back. He throws his hand over his mouth as it falls agape for a big yawn, "Ah be fahn.”

Dahlia hops off the couch, throwing her flank into the air and flicking her tail as she too stretches her back. With some bones popping, she wiggles her body and stands up straight, exhaling deeply through her nose. Her eyes glance quickly to the man, who has his orbs plastered on her stretching figure. “… Staring is rude, you know.”

Crimson removes his eyes off her, his direction finding something interesting on the wall. “My eyes just-so-happened to be restin' on you.”

“Ch, yeah right. Typical humans,” Dahlia shakes her head and she struts towards the kitchen, getting her saddlebags when she passes by the front door.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re a smart guy right? Figure it out,” she smirks, packing some things into the bags from the preserving bin.

The man shrugs and blows her prodding off. Upon getting her items situated, she tosses her saddlebags onto her back and trots to the front door. She’s got her shirt back on, cleaned from blood and dirt. She takes the collar left on the floor into her mouth and stands before Crimson. She hops onto her hindlegs, with her forelegs planted on his abdomen. It appears she's comfortable doing it this way again.

“Should I get my shirt back on first?” Crimson asks, looking down at his bare chest.

Dahlia doesn’t answer immediately. She straps the collar on and sets it firmly. “No time. Shorts and flip-flops. All you need. Besides, you look better without it on anyway,” Dahlia comments as she hops off him and opens the door, walking out quickly so she doesn't have to deal with any potential replies from the man.

“… Was that a compliment?”

The two make their trek to Dodge through the forest path. It’s still quite dark out as the sun barely peeks its head over the east horizon. Once they make it out of the forest, Dahlia leads Crimson along the unfinished railroad track north a-ways. He sees a small train station out in the distance. Once they make it to the station, the sun has poked itself over the horizon. Dahlia walks with the leash in her hoof, standing before the ticketpony who’s half asleep inside the kiosk. She reaches into her shirt pocket and slides what seems to be four gold coins into the kiosk slot.

“One adult and one pet,” she says firmly.

The ticket pony looks towards Crimson, raising an eyebrow in an uninterested manner. His look changes to one of skepticism and surprise upon getting a better look at him.

“… Ahem?” Dahlia sounds impatiently.

The ticket pony’s eyes widen in realization, removing his awestruck eyes from the towering human. He reaches down, taking two tickets from under and passing them through the same slot. Dahlia takes them with a smile, walking with Crimson towards the edge of the platform.

“Right on schedule,” Dahlia whispers.

Crimson looks off to his left to see an oddly shaped train bouncing up and down ridiculously, approaching at a high speed. Once it nears the station, it slows down until it comes to a halt, stopping with a loud steam-exhausting whine. The doors open, and a well-dressed unicorn mare, quite attractive in appearance, stands at the entrance. Dahlia walks in, giving her the two tickets. The mare takes them with her magic, ripping them both in half and pocketing them. She nods, signaling entrance to Dahlia and whatever pet she has. The mare couldn’t see what the leash held from where she was standing, so once Dahlia enters and Crimson looms in from behind, the attendant’s eyes shoot open, taking some steps back.

Crimson stands there, looking at her in silence with his mute face.

“… E-Ehehehe. G-… G-Good human?” the mare's quivering voice fits her trembling body perfectly.

Crimson simply stands there, gawking like a mindless animal. He moves when the collar is tugged lightly, turning left and walking along with Dahlia.

“Can you not do that?" she whispers scoldingly.

He blinks slowly in response.

"I don’t care how much fun it is, don’t be doing that." Dahlia moves to the very front of the train cart. There appears to be no pony else around except an ancient looking stallion who's asleep, or even dead, right next to the boarding door. Probably not dead. But everything else is up for grabs. Dahlia points for Crimson to sit down first. He does so, taking the window seat and looking out to the odd desert and forest combination just outside. Dahlia moves in and sits next to him, taking the outer seat. Their sides press against each other, Crimson being too big just for his side of the seat.

A moment of silence passes, and the train whistle choos off. The train slowly starts to move again, taking a wide U-turn in the tracks ahead to turn around and head towards the north of Equestria.

Crimson’s eyes feel heavy again. Hardly being able to sleep last night, he takes this as a perfect opportunity to catch up on it. He rests his head against the window, closing his eyes. He assumes Dahlia will just wake him up if anything happens...

Next Chapter: Chapter 2: Royal Toil Estimated time remaining: 28 Hours, 40 Minutes