Cloudy had spent three days hyping herself up for tonight, trying to remind herself that Rosewater’s ‘past’ interactions with them were, for all intents and purposes, lies. Save the times she was actually helpful or kept them safe.

And now here I am, with her eyes on me, and her desire for me. Cloudy shivered and tried—and failed—to keep her tail flat, her dock between her buttocks, but she winked at Rosewater, and felt a dollop of her excitement trail down her leg.

That she was a beautiful mare was beyond a doubt a reason why Cloudy was reacting to her this way. That she was also fiercely protective of Rosemary another, and shown herself to have more depth of character, and more depth of emotion than she’d previous thought Rosewater capable of.

And she’s attracted to me. The whys of that, she hoped to find out.

The shallow, dry ravine ran more or less directly towards the Crystal Forest, itself extending for hundreds of miles up to the base of the Crystal Mountains, unbroken wilderness and wildlands that swept from forest to plains in the blinks of an eye by a pegasi’s flight, and back again just as fast.

They were home to some bandit clans who waged a never-ending conflict against the deerkin that wanted them out of their woods. It was from that conflict that tales of the forest being haunted filtered out time and again after a bandit clan found themselves waking up outside the forest and never remembering leaving it.

Yet they kept going back because patrols from Canterlot and both Merrie and Damme kept throwing them into chaos again and again without someplace to hide.

It’s not haunted. Collar’s told me about the Deerkin and their pranks. Still, growing up as a little foal, she’d heard all about the ponies that entered the Crystal Forest and never came out, and how the spirits of the vengeful, lost Crystal Empire would come for them if they didn’t behave.

She swallowed.

“Carnation and I,” Rosewater said out of the blue, startling Cloudy into a yelp.

“Stars above!”

“Sorry!” Rosewater laughed, true merriment coloring her tone.

“Don’t startle me like that!” Cloudy skipped ahead a step, wings arched, then stopped when she realized she was making a threat display at the rutting trees, and forced herself to calm. It was deerkin. That’s all it was.

“I heard the same stories growing up,” Rosewater murmured beside her, the sound of her hooves warning of her approach this time. “The kelpie mares and the incubus stallions, coming around to gather up the naughty children of the cities.”

“You did?” Cloudy asked, shaking herself free of cobwebs in her thoughts. “Stars, I thought…”

“Well, Carnation taught me otherwise.” Rosewater teased her cheek with a kiss and started on, her hooves thudding dully in the dark, taking over the beating of Cloudy’s heart. “She even took me out as a foal to gift blankets and metal-worked goods to the deerkin on their migration.

“It was something Roseline apparently did for her when she was a foal. They gifted us each time with rare herbs that are hard to cultivate outside the magical aura of the Forest. Crystalwort, shineberry, and golden-waxed pine cones, for a start. There’s so many more that I could spend an evening going over them. But those three especially are used in Mother’s Kiss. It’s the aura of the forest that lends them to love magic.”

Listening to Rosewater talk about mundane, or at least relatively mundane, things helped her to hold onto calm and follow her. “Thank you. But it wasn’t just the stories.” She cast a raised-eyebrow look at Rosewater.

“The company,” Rosewater said in an even tone, her smile faltering briefly. “It’s understandable. We’ve hardly gotten to know each other.”

“It is. I mean… you’re attractive, and I could definitely have sex with you,” Cloudy said in the matter-of-fact way she’d nearly managed to train out of herself since her forcible move to Damme, “but loving you? Falling in love with you?”

“I feel the same,” Rosewater said, her lips turning down into a frown. “It’s… a risk I have to take, Cloudy. For my sake, for the sake of my… of Rosemary.” She cast a glance at the sky. “And for the sake of my ponies. My city.”

“My parents are still in Merrie,” Cloudy said softly. “I’ve… not heard from them since I left. I worry if I do this, and openly, that Roseate—”

“She may. But I’m not without my connections and my means. If you’re worried, if you want to have them granted asylum, ask Collar. I will do all I can to spirit them across the bridge. Your mother and father, and your two sisters and brother.”

“You’ve read my family book,” Cloudy said with a grunt. She wasn’t sure yet if she should be offended or upset, or merely curious why.

“I did. Almost two months ago, after Roseate asked—” Rosewater coughed. “—ordered me to capture you. Did Collar tell you I deliberately failed at it?”

“Nope. Figured that part out for myself, thanks. The note was a big rutting clue.” Cloudy snorted and glanced aside at her. “Plus your reputation.”

“Largely fabricated,” Rosewater answered, shaking her head with a wan smile on her lips. “I’m your biggest boogiemare because I beat my own mother in a duel.”

“Not a small feat. And beat her twice more. Your reputation as a frightening mare to go up against is well earned, Rosewater.” A pang of panic and fear shot through her as soon as she said it. “I mean—”

“I know what you meant,” Rosewater said, her voice softer, a quavering quality to it that may or may not have been there. “I saw it in the faces of the ponies I passed on the way to and from the Prim Palace. And… you’re right. It is well earned. But not wanted.”

Silence fell between them the rest of the way to the forest. If there had been any watchers, or listeners, they made no moves and didn’t so much as cast a shadow across the stars. There was no reason for a watcher to think Cloudy going out apparently alone, late at night and nearly anonymous in the darkness, was anything to remark. She was a nominal part of the night watch when needed, and one of the many right hooves of Captain Pink.

Any reason may have sent her out alone.

Rosewater seemed to brood the entire way, her ears limp and her stride sloppier, even though her pace never wavered, even into the Forest and along the ancient highway of broken blocks of stone, towards an ancient tree, older than the fall of the Empire, so old that the Imperial builders had made a bench just for it extending all around, now tumbled blocks of crystal-laced white stone arranged in a rough circle around the swelling trunk of the once small tree.

“Here,” Cloudy said as she led Rosewater into the shadowy depression between two roots, a place where they could hide from the world for a little while. A safe place.

Something Rosewater had said to her and Collar on the bridge the first time she’d saved them both percolated up through Cloudy’s memories.

“Have you ever considered, Lord Collar, that my reputation disturbs me? Have you? I have one place that I can be free of it.”

“You have one more place you can be free of your reputation,” Cloudy whispered into the darkness under the edge of the forest. “With me, and here. I remember, Rosewater. How hurt you looked. I apologize for not thinking before speaking.”

The look she got nearly broke her heart, it was so grateful.

“I think I might be able to fall in love with you, Cloudy,” Rosewater said at last. “Here, tonight, treat me like Rosewater.”

The night sounds of the mid-fall forest faded away as Rosewater adjusted the intensity of the screening effect, leaving her truly alone with Cloudy.

When she was done, Rosewater sat and stared up at the boughs of the tree over her. She’d been careful to keep the misting only to around them, to blend with the surroundings and leave the top open so that the Mare could watch them.

Not that she could see much through the limbs of the giant wayfarer’s tree, its broad leaves offering protection from the rain, the wind of the north.

“Do you come here often?” Rosewater asked, half a serious question and half a teasing joke. The lamest pickup line she could think of from what she’d heard about Dammer taverns.

Cloudy rolled her eyes. “I do, actually. It’s a good place to stop for a meal on a long patrol. Usually during the day, and not… you know…” She waved a hoof around her at the misty walls. “When the stories are supposed to happen. You said Carnation told you stories and took you to meet the Deerkin?”

“Long ago. Continuing on, and I still keep to Carnation’s offers of gifts to the deerkin, but the first time was before Roseline passed.” She pushed aside the memories of the first time and closed her eyes against the upwelling of tears as images of the Rose Palace and a room in the Palace tried to intrude on her, tried to make her acknowledge them. “After I got my cutie mark,” she said finally, the words coming out strangled even to her ears.

Cloudy met her eyes briefly, looking down when the contact became too intense and the understanding flowing from soul to soul reached a point where it should have been telepathy.

“H-how much do you know about my past?” How much is recorded in your files? She should have just asked.

She needn’t have bothered, because Cloudy answered, “Just what we have on record. You were just six, Rosewater. I know that much. Younger than any Rosethorn on record. What happened?”

“What else? My mother happened.” Rosewater shook her head and moved to one of the broken blocks of stone still retaining the dream image of a bench seat and dusted some of the bracken off it before settling down and drawing off her scarf. “I came to talk about you and I, Cloudy. The past… it can stay in the past as long as it needs to.”

Cloudy mulled that over for a moment as she stood at the other end of the block, running her hoof over the pitted stone before she swept a wing over the stone and settled in place opposite Rosewater.

“That’s fine. Someday, though,” Cloudy said, sidling closer, “when we get closer, you’ll need to tell us. So…” She huffed and tossed her head, leveling a glower at Rosewater. “What do you see happening for us? For you and Collar?”

At least she’s direct. She’d been half-worried shutting down the line of questioning would shut down conversation. “For you and I… more of this. Talking. Maybe thrills like more chases, maybe...” She couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever if she went down the road of trying to marry Collar. “I can’t imagine how restrained you’ve had to act among Dammers all day and all night.”

“Oh, stars. Don’t get me started. You have no idea how hard it’s been just to find a few lovers in the Dammeguard who’ll let me give a lick and a kiss without expecting a marriage proposal first.” Cloudy snorted, then relaxed and gave Rosewater a sheepish smile. “But it’s not been all bad. What they lack in openness, they make up for in passion. And… yes. I’d like more of this. Though, maybe not, hum. Not…”

“In the hills?” Rosewater asked, grinning. “It was a bit of a slog going up and down, up and down. And that last climb. Whoosh. Stars, I thought I wasn’t going to make it.”

“Yeah,” Cloudy said, sighing. “I keep thinking that I can just ask you out to dinner, but—” She tipped her head to the southwest.

“Roseate would explode,” Rosewater said, quirking a grin at her, or trying to.

“Well, yeah. And so would Primfeather Wing. And Whitelock Primmane. And… stars, who wouldn’t go nuts if we were seen dating? I’d probably get tossed into a hotbox to sweat out my ‘lure’ and then sent to recovery for a month. Involuntary, of course. Standard treatment for being lured.”

“Barbarism,” Rosewater hissed, shaking her head. “Stars above, please tell me you tried to tell them that doesn’t work half so well as treating with scents.”

“Tried, got stared at until I slunk out of the room to talk to Collar. He listened, but couldn’t do much. It was the family demanding it.” Cloudy let her head sink to rest on the edge of the scarf, breathing slowly, brows raising slowly. “I had to watch a friend of mine go through withdrawal, and just be there to do what I could for him…” She trailed off, her brows raising as her nostrils flared and took another breath. “Is… is that…”

Rosewater smiled and let her explore the scarf with nose and hoof, stirring up the bits and pieces of Damme she’d trapped in its cloth. There, she’d put sourdough, and that patch was onion dill. Then wood, wood oil, and the unique smell of hot metal on wood that lingered for hours after a mill was shut down.

She’d gotten the fresh smell of the sea flowing in, less any of the stink of rotten seaweed and other, less savory smells of the cove’s sandy beaches. There, too, was the faintest smell of lemon from the bottle, and another of peach, just starting to seep out past the cork seals.

“It’s… you did this for me?”

“For you,” Rosewater confirmed, smiling and bending to nuzzle Cloudy’s ear, then rest beside her on the scarf. “I wanted to show you that I understood your love of the city. I’ve been there often enough to find my own love of the mundanity of fragrance. It can be so tiring in Merrie sometimes, smelling everything all the time everywhere.”

Cloudy spent another moment exploring the scarf, her eyes closed and ears back before she looked up. There were tears in her eyes. “Thank you. I’d almost forgotten what good, benign scent magic could do. I’ve been fighting against it for a year, Rosewater. Do you know what it’s like to fight yourself?”

“Shh.” Rosewater raised her head to kiss her lightly on the nose, then the forehead. “You don’t have to when you’re with me.”

“I don’t want to, ever.” Cloudy pressed her forehead under Rosewater’s muzzle, seeking comfort. “I miss the little scents. The hearth warming fires with cinnamon and woolly betony especially right now, and the drinks of apple and spice, fragrances of home, you know?”

“I know,” Rosewater murmured, making a soft shushing noise. “It’s okay to want fragrances, Cloudy. And, you know, I can see about bringing some simple ones. Hearth warming spices and cider are getting more common now, and I’d be happy to provide a sachet or two. Provided I can sneak them into the palace.”

“You could get into trouble.”

“More than I already am?” Rosewater snorted. “They’re not ‘attack’ scents. The worst that can happen is a lecture from Firelight about respecting cultural boundaries. But I’m quite good at hiding things. And I might bribe him with some nice fragrances, too. Sitting by the river all day tends to make the place smell like mildew. I know. I have to fight it constantly at home.”

“What can I do for you in return, though?”

“Keep Rosemary happy. I didn’t have a chance to ask her if this was what she wanted, to be used as a piece in our game, and I don’t want her to feel used, or lonely. Or stuffed in.” Rosewater shook her head. “Do that for me, and we’ll be even on the scent delivery.”

“I’d do that anyway,” Cloudy said with a grunt. “That’s not equivalent. What can I do for you, Rosewater? You’re doing something for me, a kindness I’ve wished for.”

“You’ll have to hide it. It’s magic. Not inert like the shampoos Rosetide delivered.”

“So? I’ll have it, and it’s something of my culture I can share with Collar. Something I can’t get in Damme because of the prohibitions.” Cloudy sighed and sank deeper into her slump on the stone.

Rosewater tossed the edge of the cloth over Cloudy’s muzzle, and when the pegasus only blinked and stared at her, brows arched, she stuck her tongue out. “I really don’t have anything right now that I need that I can’t get.”

“And I don’t need scents. I’ve lived for a year without more than what I can get in the gardens. They’re not necessary for life.” Cloudy stayed under the scarf, though, her ears flat back. “I just…” She took a deep breath through the warm fabric. “I’ve missed this.”

The silly impulse faded. It hadn’t been silly to Cloudy, it had meant more to her to be encouraged to partake in their cultural heritage, the refinement and capturing of the fragrances of life.

She sat, watching and thinking about what it must have meant to go without indulging in anything, from the deliberately fragrant food, to the fragrant wines and meads, to even simply walking through the city and being bathed by the bouquet of life in all its multifaceted glory. Lush and pungent, musky and sweet.

Damme had its own landscape for the nose, but it was far less varied and far more practical, only being those scents that came naturally from living in a city.

Finally, she pulled the scarf down and lowered herself to Cloudy’s level, nose to nose, and kissed her gently on the lips.

“I would like these little sweets that Carnation used to buy me at the faires in Damme. They came in… paper wrappers, and it was such a struggle to open them at that age, but when I did, they were so tasty, even if they didn’t smell like much. Strawberry was my favorite.”

“Candies?” Cloudy raised a brow at her, and didn’t move away. After a moment she returned the kiss more hesitantly, then again with surety, letting it linger. “I didn’t think you couldn’t find candies in Merrie.”

“Not these. It’s more for the memory, really.” Rosewater’s cheeks flushed and she tried to duck away, but a quick, gentle hoof to the cheek kept her in place. “It’s been years since I’ve even found them in Damme, and not at all in Merrie. They were made, I think, by a specialist candy maker that made unscented candies. Nopony in Merrie would stock them.”

“I’ll ask around,” Cloudy said, and kissed her once more, a light peck, before pushing herself up, but not away. “I feel better knowing I have something I can do for you.”

Cloudy stayed still, her eyes darting across Rosewater’s body, from her eyes to the point of her hip to the slight raise of her tail telling Cloudy that if she asked, she might still be open for a night as the victor of the chase.

This mare was nothing like the tales she’d heard, or the fearsome mage she’d seen six years ago. She was gentle, but of course she would be, Rosemary was gentle and kind and loving. Where else would she get that from than one who’d raised her? She could also be fierce, of course, and she could see that side in the way the mare had chased, but also playful.

All things Cloudy had assumed existed only in the younger Rosethorn. But why does she hide them and guard them so carefully?

A hint lay in the history she knew about in the recent histories, the breakup of mother and daughter, adoption by the aunt.

“What are you staring at?” Rosewater asked after a long wait, her eyes drifting from Cloudy’s to her forelegs and up again, a faint blush tinging her cheeks.

“You. Wondering how so many incongruities and contradictions can fit into even your outsize frame.”

“Did you just call me fat?” Rosewater demanded, her eyes dancing as she pushed herself up.

“Mmm.” Cloudy bit her tongue and stifled a giggle. “Maaybe? What if I did?”

“Then I would very carefully consider whether or not to try harder next time. Maybe cheat a little.” Rosewater pushed herself up further and slipped off the bench, towering over Cloudy and forcing her to crane her neck to keep her eyes locked with Rosewater’s.

It was a myth, and a widely held belief in Damme, that every Rose had the same shade of eyes. This was a patent untruth. Even among so closely related ponies as Rosewater and Rosemary, there was a world of difference. Rosewater’s eyes had striations of gold in them, a subtler shade than the vibrant, darker shades of pink that served to lighten her eyes, whereas Rosemary had eyes accented with silver flecks, making her similarly dark shade of pink lighter still.

This close, this intimate, she could get lost in the difference.

“You have beautiful eyes,” Rosewater murmured, raising a foreleg to stroke her cheek. “I don’t believe I’ve noticed the green in them before. Little stars and specks around the iris.”

Cloudy swallowed, her throat dry, beginning to ache. “And yours… gold?”

“A gift from my father. Just as Rosemary’s were a gift from hers.” Rosewater bent to lick slowly along Cloudy’s jaw, culminating in a slow kiss that deepened, their lips parting, tongues meeting in the middle, then parting again.

But I won…

“Promise me something,” Cloudy managed.

“As the victor…” Rosewater purred, drawing the scarf up between them and wrapping it around Cloudy’s neck. A rosy glow surrounded the scarf, warming it and warming Cloudy’s heart with the fragrance of her new home, stronger than before. “Your request is my promise.”

“Don’t be alone tomorrow, Rosewater. Don’t go home and brood.” Don’t let this side of yourself fall into disquiet and disuse again. Cloudy tried to say the words, but her throat stuck closed. This was a part of Rosewater she’d never seen. Both dominant and submissive, and playful throughout.

Something seemed to drain out of her as she finished, and she almost seemed to understand what Cloudy was really asking. Don’t hide away and protect your vulnerable self just to let it wither and see the light for a few hours a week.

“Who…” Rosewater began to ask, then stopped herself with a sucked in breath. “But—”

“But you’ll go and you’ll hide and you’ll brood and miss Rosemary with every miserable minute you’re in that big estate. I’d hope you’d miss me, too now, but I don’t want you to miss me. I want you to think about me and cherish tonight until our next.”

“But—”

“Stop it.” Cloudy rose and backed off enough to rear up and cup Rosewater’s cheeks in her hooves. “I don’t care why or about buts. I won, Rosewater, and this is what I want.”

“And if I win next time?” Rosewater asked, a spark of defiance entering her voice.

“Oh?” Cloudy chuckled softly and bent to kiss her again. “Getting mighty ahead of yourself, Rosewater. Just do this for me. Please.”

For another moment, defiance stood out in the larger mare’s eyes, then faded as she turned her gaze down and sighed. “I won’t be alone. I…” She drew a breath and let it out. “Know someplace I can go that will be safe. I think.”

“Good.” Cloudy held her pose for a few seconds longer, then let go and dropped her hooves to the bench between them. “I’m glad for tonight. For you opening up to us. I think… I might be able to fall in love with you.”

It was the most open she’d been with another pony since Collar about love. Even Sergeant Sunrise, who’d begun crushing on her hard, she’d kept at a distance with ‘proper’ Dammer platitudes and vagueness.

To be able to be open again with another mare, even just another pony about how she felt, and actually feel like it wouldn’t be turned away with a flush and a stammer, was more important than she’d thought it would be.

“And I think I might feel the same,” Rosewater answered her, giving her a gentle kiss before stepping back. “I’ll keep my promise. And please, be honest about me with Lord Collar.”

“I will. Be well, Rosewater, and tell me about your days next time we meet.”

Rosewater stopped on a hill outside the city of Damme, just within sight of the walls, but far enough away that she would appear as nothing more than a dim, white shape in the gloom. Perhaps a slab of limestone, or a limestone fencepost.

Far above, Cloudy’s dark form blocked out stars in a rapid sequence, marking a line from the forest to Damme.

Her route had to be more circumspect, crossing the river farther upstream from Merrie’s chaotic, broken walls that mixed in with the cliffs and bluffs that bordered the eastern portion of the city.

She waited until Cloudy began her descent towards Prim Palace’s distant constellation of torches and braziers before she began her own journey away, waiting until the last safe moment before veiling. There might be sleepy tales of a ghost mare wandering the southernmost alluvial hills come morning, but that would be the rare farmer indeed that lived in the hills and tended to the sparse, stepped terrace fields of rice and berries.

“I won’t be alone tomorrow, Cloudy,” she whispered to the naked wind. “I promise.”

Author's Notes:

And end of chapter one. What a ride. The first Chase between the two, and hopefully not the last. It's certainly not the last of many heart-to-heart talks.

Some background:

The "Chase" is a translation and holdover from wilder days, when herds of primitive ponies roamed a wilder land where magic and spirits abounded and thrived in competition and cooperation with each other.

It's more tame version in Damme is formalities and teasings between two ponies. In Merrie lives the closest to the wild days of nomadic tribes. The Naked Chase is an evening of the playing field, an agreement between the chasers to not use their natural advantages of magic or wings and stand on the same ground as their earth pony lovers.

It's what Roseling and Rosewater had that one night more than a year ago. Earth pony and unicorn chasing each other through the loess hills and forests south of Merrie, ending their chase in a copse of mulberry trees and making love under the light and gaze of the Mare in the Moon.

Also a question:
Is breaking up these longer chapters into more digestible chunks easier for you all to read? I'm still somewhat figuring out how to do web serials, and I'm trying to make chapters as "bite size" as possible without breaking up the story into individual scenes per chapter.