Applebaum freezes at the grisly sight. An overwhelming sense of fear overtakes her, locking her limbs in place, a lack of places to flee keeping her from bolting. Her eyes slowly widen as her head pulls away, as though the few inches might make any sort of difference, until if she went any further she’d be standing upright, if not toppled over entirely. Only Tempest Shadow stands firm, unwavering, perhaps the only other thing preventing Applebaum and the rest from fleeing - after all, they wouldn’t abandon their friend.

The five creatures, who must be the Arimaspi, effortlessly glide out of the jungle canopy, parting the twisting and gnarled branches as easily as she dives into the family pond. They stand like her sire, two-legged, but hunched over and with a loping stride that makes heavy use of their long gray arms. Their thick limbs, corded with wiry muscle, look strong enough to rip leg from barrel all on their own; their short spears, decorated with small, brightly colored feathers, and wicked bone knives seem entirely superfluous. Loose-fitting leather garments serve more as decoration than armor, adorned with tufts of fur of all colors, feathers too wide to be from a pegasus, and an eclectic mix of tusks, fangs, and horns. The two on the edge wield compound bows, arrows already nocked but not yet drawn, their single yellow eyes warily watching for any sort of aggressive movement.

One wears a brightly colored kirin’s head as a sort of macabre cowl, the leader. The Arimaspi’s ram-like horns curl out from behind the gruesome visage. If meant to intimidate, it certainly does its job. Yet her menacing advance is checked by an unflinching display from Tempest Shadow, a hard scowl and calm scrutiny at those who dare approach her.

At first, nothing happens. The Arimaspi seem content to stand in the ponies’ way, inviting them to make the first move. The second on the right idly tosses her knife in the air, feathers whirling as the sharp bone twists before being caught by a three-clawed hand. One of the archers scratches at his side with an iron-tipped arrowhead before going back to a ready position, the action then mirrored by the spear-wielder on the left.

Tempest Shadow seems perfectly willing to continue their stalemate as well, daring the Arimaspi to attempt anything. She projects an aura of confidence that she can take whatever they hurl at her. And her plan is working, allowing Radiant Hope, Applebaum, and Totem to overcome their initial terror at the unexpected sight and rally at her flanks, a V-shaped formation with both youngsters on the left.

A grim scenario plays out in Applebaum’s mind: the leader of the Arimaspi rends the silence with some blood-curdling cry, charging forward as the two archers release their arrows. A burst of magic from Radiant Hope would block one, while Tempest’s twisting dodge and seamless kick sends a rock hurtling toward the leader, smashing in her skull and sending her toppling to the ground with a spray of sand and an equally violent spray of blood. As soon as Tempest recovers her balance she charges the knife-wielder, suffering a gash along her flank in exchange for a sweeping trip and follow-up buck that buries the Arimaspi into the beach. Totem finishes off the leader, the blood coating his forelegs up to his knees impossible to make out from his coat, but the camouflage wouldn’t help when the spear-wielder sticks her iron point into his belly. All because Applebaum is rooted to the spot, unable to act as the violence plays out around her.

What if she rushes forward? She parries the first blow, but the followup slash cuts her from sternum to flank. Radiant Hope hurries to her side, but it’s too late, her healing magic cut off when a barbed arrow sprouts from her neck.

Applebaum scowls, but not at the Arimaspi. None of these scenarios would work, not that she has any real faith in her ability to accurately predict her own actions, much less of the carrion-clad creatures in front of her. No, she would need to do something else, and fast, should they have any hope of escaping this confrontation unscathed.

She breaks formation, drawing a slight twist of the head from Tempest Shadow as her support withdraws back to the boat. Sparks spray from the broken horn, covering the retreat and keeping the Arimaspi from getting any ideas, as the young mare leaps into the beached boat.

“Applebaum,” Tempest Shadow commands in a harsh, fast whisper. She grits her teeth as Applebaum ignores her to rummage around. “What are you doing?!”

Applebaum comes back just as quickly, her thick saddlebags hanging loosely from her sides, and surprises everycreature by stepping past Tempest Shadow, her shaking limbs having trouble staying steady, and not just because of the sand.

“Howdy, y’all,” Applebaum greets, barely able to keep the tremor from her high-pitched voice. She glances up at the sky, the sun peeking out from behind the jungle canopy, and hopes her smile isn’t too forced. “Sure is a nice day for a meal between new friends, ain’t it?”

The archer on the left lifts her bow, pulls the arrow all the way back, and aims directly at Applebaum’s heart.

The young brown mare notes this with a mote of disappointment. “Now, y’all could do that, but Ah promise ya it won’t taste as good if ya don’t get the spices right.”

A tense second passes before the leader raises a hand. The archer grunts unhappily but complies, lowering her bow and gradually releasing the tension in the string. They watch, growing more curious, as Applebaum pulls out a thin frying pan, flint, and one of the sacks of flour.

“Now,” Applebaum explains as she pulls out an empty bag, adding pinches of various spices she briefly exposes before slipping them back in her saddlebags, “Ah personally prefer a bit’of’a kick to mah meals, but ya can’t make anythin’ so hot that Tempest here won’t touch it.”

It takes Tempest Shadow a moment to catch on. “Diplomacy through cooking,” the fearless unicorn quips to herself, though everycreature can hear. “The earth pony way. How can we serve?” She steps forward, then crouches down next to Applebaum, tensed and ready to leap in an instant, but complying.

The Arimaspi leader snorts, a low pitched, guttural laugh, a challenge that seems to say ‘anything you can eat, so can I’. They advance as a unit, cautiously, their spears and knives lowering but ready to raise at a moment’s notice.

“Now, wait a ‘tic,” Applebaum reprimands, if lightly, taking a page from her dam’s book. The Arimaspi draw short with a mix of furious bleats and confusion. She motions to the ingredients in front of her with a pair of hooves busy molding flour, oil, baking powder, and water into small balls. “We’re guests on your land, Ah get that, but surely there’s somethin’ ya can bring to the table.” At their guarded gaze she continues, “The driftwood out here ain’t good, not unless y’all wanna get salted somethin’ fierce, and mah cookin’ ain’t so bad that y’all need’ta ta choke it down.”

It takes a moment for the leader to process the last line, the others perplexed. With a few grunts and gestures she directs three of them back to the jungle, remaining with the taller but thinner male archer. She stabs her spear into the sand, rummages around behind her back and pulls out a thick slab of red meat wrapped in a thin brown cloth. She holds it out as she strides forward, a challenge of her own, and expertly tosses it directly into one of Applebaum’s pan. It lands with a wet slap, splattering droplets of blood.

“S-still fresh,” Applebaum states, shuddering at the bits that got on her coat. It takes effort to not brush them off. “That’s good. Very good! Totem, Ah’m gonna need two more pans, if we got’em.”

“R-really?” Radiant Hope asks, gulping as she joins at Tempest Shadow’s side, eyeing the meat with a suspicion she wouldn’t cast on the Arimaspi. Totem hops back to the boat, quickly returning with one more large pan, all they have.

“Sure!” Applebaum’s enthusiasm gets the others to relax, if minutely. “Mah sire cooked up this rhoa, he called it, R. H. O. A. Not many ponies cared for it, ‘cept Rainbow Dash and me. Showed me how, called it ‘cajun style’.” She grins at the Arimaspi leader. “Ah’ll need strips, thin as ya can cut ‘em.”

The leader takes the offered meat and sets aside the bone knife as long as Applebaum’s foreleg for a smaller one made of steel that looks no less sharp. She doesn’t watch herself cut, instead focusing on Applebaum with half an eye and the other half on Tempest Shadow. Soon enough and her three compatriots return bearing bundles of small sticks, a few larger branches, and kindling.

Applebaum takes a brief break from flattening her tortilla shells to light the fires, a gleam in her eye as she does so. She sets the meat in one, and soon a happy sizzling fills the air, a far more satisfying sound than the groans of injured creatures. The tortillas she places in the other, swishing both pans around as a bit of a show. After a minute she adds a slew of vegetables to the meat, much to the consternation and objection to all involved, though she gamely ignores their protests. After all, it wouldn’t do to make one meal for themselves and one for the Arimaspi; that would just highlight that they are different.

A morbid part of her mind realizes that Tempest Shadow could slink around and slit the captivated creature’s throats. She puts that thought out as fast as she can, focusing on flipping the pans and making sure everything is well seasoned with her earlier mix of spices.

On the side, Radiant Hope approaches the female archer. “Do they hurt?” she asks when the archer scratches at her side. A frown and uncomprehending stare is all the response she gets. Hope’s horn lights around the Arimaspi’s arm, drawing an arrow and accompanying scowl, but a raise of a hoof is enough to set her at ease. The light blue aura pulls away with a small wriggling speck of black.

The Arimaspi snatches the flea from Hope’s aura with deft claws and pops it in her mouth, exaggerating a show of crunching it down.

“Oh, I would hate to deprive you of your… snack,” Hope states, not disturbed by the display. “But, surely you would feel better if they weren’t biting you at all?”

The frown intensifies, worrying Radiant Hope for a moment, until she gets a curious cock of the head. The guttural voice rings out, drawing the attention of the others. “How?”

Radiant Hope motions to one of the twisted, multicolored strands of mane wrapped around the archer’s upper arm. “May I?” At her nod a blue aura surrounds the band, then fades. “There! That will keep lice, fleas, ticks, and mites off of you for about a month.”

The other Arimaspi stare at the archer, warily watching for any sign. Then, she starts wriggling, backing far away from the table. It seems her coarse hair is alive, or blowing in a wind that doesn’t affect anypony else, until small specks of black leap from outstretched limbs in a mad attempt to flee.

All of a sudden Radiant Hope finds herself mobbed by three Arimaspi, each holding out bands of their own. Overwhelmed, she backs up, ears folding back fearfully, until the leader clears her throat. The three, disappointed and angry, pull away.

“Not pony trick?” the leader asks, her unblinking stare particularly unnerving.

“No trick,” Radiant Hope reassures, slowly regaining her courage. “Magic. I’m a healer. I can find what ails you: injury, infection, or infestation, and then alleviate it. Heal it.”

For a long time she just stares. “You come with us. Back to village.”

“Sorry,” Radiant Hope apologizes, gentle yet firm. “But we’re looking for another.” She doesn’t look up at the leader’s cowl. “The Kirin.”

“Kirin.” The leader mulls over this before removing the largest four griffon feathers from her jacket. “I am-” she lets out a set of guttural clicks “-Gurh T’k F’t. Means Taker of Trophies. You take these.” She makes a motion of tucking them in a mane. “Keep visible. No-” more clicks “-bother you.”

“Thank you,” Radiant Hope says, graciously accepting the feather. Her horn lights, imbuing a dozen of the bands the Arimaspi hold out to her.

“Soup’s on, everypony!” Applebaum calls out of habit, there being a dearth of soup. She divides up the sizzling strips of what tastes like chicken (and is probably griffon) so everypony gets a small portion of meat and three times as much vegetables, while the reverse is true for the Arimaspi. They don’t have plates, or utensils, but make do with the tortillas, everycreature happily digging in.

Next Chapter: Ch. 103 - Rolling Flames, Part One Estimated time remaining: 15 Hours, 43 Minutes