Just Passing Through

by Caliaponia

First published 6th of October, 2012

Humans, sailplanes and cloud cities just don't mix very well.

Cloudsdale. Bastion of the Pegasi, linchpin of weather control, home to the Wonderbolts. A magnificent metropolis gracing the skies of Equestria. So what happens when an oblivious human starts stumbling around in a sailplane? As they say, hilarity ensues.

1 - A brief tour of Cloudsdale

The darkness lifted. There was no up or down as the horizon spun dizzyingly around him and the wind roared in his ears. Thought battled against vertigo. He was flying. He was falling. Spinning. Quickly. Too quickly.

Land and sky had become a blur and nausea threatened to overtake him as he struggled to grasp the situation. Focus. A flat spin, but the altimeter wasn't screaming. Yet. No, he couldn't afford to panic now. Just fly. He centered the controls and quickly hunched forward as far as he could. The nose dropped as he shifted the center of gravity, steepening the spin and improving airflow across the wings. Reaching over, he adjusted the controls to counter the rotation. After a long moment, he felt the airfoils began to bite and he breathed a sigh of relief as he settled back into stable flight. His head still spun, but he was back in control and began to scan quickly for damage.

His Swift was a beautiful little craft. A hybrid design, it could be foot launched like a hang-glider, but it's rigid wing allowed it to still achieve most of the performance of a pure sailplane. It also had recumbent seating and was controlled by a joystick using rudders, flaps and elevons, rather than by shifting the pilot's weight. Compared to a hang-glider, this combination was much more comfortable and took less effort to fly, increasing the pilot's endurance. The little craft seemed to have come through the dangerous maneuver well. Its controls were responsive and a glance upwards revealed no visible damage to the snow-white wings.

The day was still beautiful and clear, and it looked like he hadn't lost much altitude. As his stomach settled, he slowly relaxed, unclenching white knuckles from the joystick. He'd just gotten up here and didn't want to cut his flight short. He loved the exhilarating sense of freedom he got from flying. Especially with gliders, the dance of balancing speed and altitude, lift and drag was like nothing else. Be it skipping between thermals, riding wild gusts, exploring cloud cathedrals or simply soaring in an endless expanse of deep blue sky, up here he was one with the wind – at peace with the world.

Well, it might have been peaceful if he hadn't just woken up in a flat spin. The worst part is that I don't even remember getting into the spin, he thought, taking several deep breaths as the adrenaline rush faded. It was quickly replaced by a sense of growing unease as he looked around more closely. Something is seriously wrong here. Though the sky seemed the same, ahead of him lay an odd cloud formation that he couldn't recall. Not that he made a habit of memorizing clouds, but this one was noteworthy, as the billowing vapor had formed strangely regular shapes that gave it an odd, sculpted appearance. There were also a few unusually concentrated pockets of precipitation, and a rather out-of-place rainbow. Finally, there were a number of bright specks clustered around it – possibly large birds.

Unusual as the clouds were, his attention was soon riveted to the ground instead. Where am I? Geneva should be right ahead of me, or at least nearby, he thought, craning his head about in bafflement. I can't see it anywhere, though. I should at least be able to see Lake Geneva, or recognize some of these mountains. What the hell? Where are the roads and cities? This just looks like wilderness. He paled as he realized how completely lost he was.

Just how long was I unconscious for? That spin had to have been brief, or I would have crashed, so I should still be in more or less the same place. I've flown from the Salève dozens of times, though, and I can't think of anywhere I could've gone to that would be this different, he thought, brow furrowing as he continued spotting oddities. In the distance off to the side, he could see what looked like a castle plucked from a fairytale and perched implausibly on a mountainside. Stranger still, far behind him was what looked like a waterspout, but without a storm. Instead, a shimmering column of water snaked into the sky. Weird. It reminds me a bit of that liquid alien thing from “The Abyss.”

His speculation was dashed as the Swift lurched, seeming to stumble in midair, and he fought the controls to straighten it out. It felt like he'd run into a horizontal tornado, but the air calmed as soon as he penetrated the outer boundary of the vortex. He found himself carried along, rapidly gaining altitude and speed as he was pulled towards the clouds he had noticed earlier. As the distance shrank, he began to notice even more oddities about the small cluster of cumulus clouds. The shapes were too regular and well defined. Even stranger, they seemed to support buildings – he thought he could make out columns, pennants, and other architectural features.

The nearest structure was perhaps the most peculiar. It was surrounded by a swarm of small nimbus clouds, but was itself smooth and white. Its form was geometric and regular; a cylinder, round on one end and open on the other, with a large tapered funnel perched at the top. The overall shape reminded him uncomfortably of a sausage grinder. The birds around it were... odd as well. They're flying wrong and something seems off with their feet, but from here I still can't quite tell what's going on, he thought, straining his eyes to make out as much detail as he could.

His breath caught as a sense of motion made him look up, and he got a better look inside the funnel shaped cloud. The interior was a dark, swirling vapor, churning in a violent maelstrom that somehow left the exterior cloud surface unaffected. Okay, I don't know what that is, but I want nothing to do with it. It looks like this wind is carrying me right towards it, though – I've got to break off somehow, he thought, angling the Swift to bank away from the clouds. As soon as his wing encountered the side of the vortex, however, it was deflected gently back to the center. He tried again, this time diving, and his eyebrows shot up in alarm when the same resistance supported him. By now he had almost reached the structure, and could clearly make out the maelstrom awaiting him.

This might cause another spin, but I've got no choice, he thought, desperately rolling the Swift sharply, pitching it on edge, and then crossing the controls to slip down vertically. The sudden drop knifed through the bottom of the vortex and took him below the level of the intake, though at the expense of briefly rolling the craft. He recovered quickly, but he was already too close to the edifice. Unable to turn away in time, he braced for impact, or at least turbulence. Bursting into a huge factory hall came as a complete surprise.

Time seemed to slow as he tried to process what he saw. He was about halfway up the interior wall of what looked like some sort of factory. Machines of unknown purpose lined the walls, billowing vapor and filling the air with a loud industrial hum. The space was crowded with a riot of colorful flying... No, that can’t possibly be right. Don’t think about it. Focus. Cables, tubes, and ductwork hung in the air or snaked on the ground, creating a disorienting and hazardous environment. Just fly.

Passing over one such machine, a sudden burst of air threw him upwards, directly into the overhead tangle of machines and connections. Again there was no impact, though he felt the little glider shudder at encountering unseen forces as he cleared a wide swath along the ceiling. Behind him, he heard the sudden howl of wind and crackle of electric discharge.

The end of the room loomed and he blew through another wall. He found himself in an even larger room, but instead of the vapor-belching machines, there were a series of tiered pools of bright liquid color. It was crowded with workers, including a large cluster dead ahead.

He reflexively pulled up, intending to avoid a collision by escaping the room altogether. As he slid into the cloud, however, instead of piercing through as it had so far, the little craft shook and fell back as it encountered something unexpectedly dense. Dropping back down, he saw the wing was now coated in the bright liquid and leaving a rainbow trail.

He heard a roar behind him and risked looking back. The ceiling was dissolving, allowing a massive sheet of the rainbow liquid to pour in. Fortunately, though he hadn't been able to escape the room, he had gained enough altitude to miss the strange flyers, especially as the knot dissolved into panicked flight.

Another wall loomed, and the scene changed again. This time he was enveloped in winter, as the temperature dropped precipitously in a room piled high with mounds of snow. Fortunately, this room was barely inhabited and he didn't have to make any evasive maneuvers. He left chaos in his wake nonetheless, as the piles of snow flew into a swirling frenzy behind him.

One more wall, and then he finally burst into the open, trailed by a kaleidoscopic blizzard and a growing chorus of panicked yells and shrill alarms. He was still near the tops of these strange clouds, and he found he had exited above the edge of what looked like a large plaza. It was well populated, and he found himself the sudden center of attention with many now staring aghast at his surprise entrance.

The Swift rose further, trading velocity for altitude, and he briefly hung over the scene. Having made it through the high-stakes slalom, he relaxed his death grip on the controls and slumped back into his seat in relief. In this moment of respite, his brain finally caught up with events and he came to a sudden, terrible realization. I've had some sort of stroke or seizure, and am in a deluded state. I already blacked out once, and clearly can't trust my perceptions now. No matter how you look at it, I am not fit to fly. There is only one thing left to do now – I just should have done it sooner. Mechanically, he reached up and pulled a red handle mounted on the frame.

The rocket exploded upwards from the airframe with a brief hiss and his eyes traced the silken streamer it hauled behind it. Moments later came the soft but reassuring fwoomph, as the ballistic reserve parachute caught the air, its fabric billowing out into a large canopy. He grunted as he was flung into his restraints by the sudden deceleration. Any of the inhabitants who hadn't noticed him before now clearly had, and they scrambled out of his way as the glider ground to a stop and then began to descend slowly.

Rainbow fluid had begun to run down the sides of the canopy. Now that he was at rest, he swung the canopy up to clear his vision. He was finally able to get a real look at the creatures. It did not reassure him of his own faculties. Flying, yes. Birds, no. From up close they actually appeared to be winged horses. The pegasi of Greek legends, except the Greeks hadn't said anything about their incredible array of colors, smaller size, ability to stand on clouds, or talk. Silence fell at his appearance. What snatches of conversation he could still overhear were beautiful and lilting, but utterly unintelligible. This just keeps getting weirder and weirder. He wasn't sure if he should feel betrayed by the Greeks omitting so many important points, or worry over his own eroding sanity.

A few of the pegasi circled him curiously, though most seemed wary. Those standing nearest were backing away from his descent path. Pilot and pegasi stared at each other in mutual confusion, as the parachute billowed and the Swift descended slowly until it reached the clouds below. The pegasi may have been standing on them as if they were solid ground, but the cockpit passed through smoothly, and he felt only the slightest hesitation as the wing followed afterwards.

Just like everything else, the inside of the cloud was a bit off. Rather than entering into a mist and having visibility gradually taper off, the transition was abrupt, with well-defined boundaries. The movement of the vapor seemed to be constrained, despite being as insubstantial as ever. After a few seconds, the cloud ended as abruptly as it began, and he found himself in a room. Looking up, he could see the Swift had left a hole behind it; he estimated the layer of cloud to have been one to two meters thick.

The room he had dropped into was a different breed from the ones in the strange factory. For one, though the ceilings were high, it was much smaller. Its purpose was much more familiar as well. Rather than having inscrutable cloud machinery, it was a simple lobby that could have been taken from any hotel or fancy apartment – but for everything being made out of clouds. The walls were lined with artwork and shelves, and there were a number of little clusters of sofas and low tables scattered about the floor. On the far end of the room was a long front desk, presently empty.

How the hell can these clouds support normal things? he thought, watching in fascination as his wing came down on top of a table that held a lamp and magazine. There was a brief moment of resistance, and then with a sound halfway between a zap and a pop, all the items suddenly fell through. They continued falling as well, vanishing into the cloud below.

A moment later, there was another hesitation, and he looked up to see that the parachute was now entering the cloud. Despite the parachute's larger surface area and the extra cohesion these clouds seemed to have, it was not enough to check his descent.

As he continued to watch, he saw the cloud material trapped inside the parachute deform and even out as it settled. The parachute was clearly leaving a big hole in the floor, but within the parachute the hole his wings and cockpit had left quickly vanished.

He dropped in on another room, and found he had company. Two pairs of ears perked up, and bright eyes regarded him intently. Below him sat a pair of little pegasi, both about the size of a large cat. Foals? He wondered. Both had silver eyes, but while one had a dusty teal coat and lavender mane, the other's coat was ruddy orange with a red-streaked black mane.

The room was littered with toys, and it looked like they'd been bouncing off the walls – literally. He could see small hoofprints all the way up. No wonder there were no windows. Come to think of it, the other room had been windowless as well.

After a brief pause at his arrival, two tiny pairs of wings sprung open and began to buzz. Though he was still high off the floor, they lifted off the ground and quickly darted up to his level. There they circled him like hummingbirds around a flower, letting out a continuous stream of sing-song babble.

He tried to shoo them away, but they seemed more interested in exploring the giant colorful toy that had just dropped into their room. If anything, the gesticulating figure making funny noises was just a bonus. After circling a few times, they settled on the top of the wing and began running back and forth, splashing and creating colorful patterns on its still rainbow-wet surface.

Meanwhile, the Swift continued its inexorable descent, soon reaching the cloud floor. His unruly passengers shrieked in glee and bounced excitedly as they rode the wing down into the next room.

This cloud layer had a new oddity. So far, all the clouds had been a uniform white, diffusing the sunlight into a gentle, omnidirectional glow. Some change had been wrought in this cloud, however. Passing through cut off light like a heavy curtain, and the interior of the room was wreathed in shadow.

For a moment, he was plunged into darkness, and all he could hear was a sudden deep rumbling roar. Then the top of the wing cleared the ceiling, and light poured in through the room's brand new skylight.

Gold, bronze, and steel glistened and gleamed in the gentle half-light of the room. The walls seemed to be studded with stars, as points of light reflected from the various pieces of armor and weaponry displayed. A panicked mental calculation reassured him that the parachute was probably not going to be shredded by all the hardware adorning the walls, at least.

That still left a rather large problem sprawled gracelessly on its back atop a cloud bed near the center of the room, however. Said problem being pure white, blue maned, powerfully built, conspicuously male, and snoring like a freight train.

His sedate descent gave him plenty of time to fret at the abundance of pointy death and potential mayhem in the room. This was not something he was equipped to deal with. The foals did not share his concern in the slightest, however, running about and shrieking in complete abandon. Well, this may be it. He thought glumly to himself.

Two meters, then one. He was on the edge of his seat as the tip of the left wing just missed the stallion, instead encountering a pile of magazines spilling out from under the bed. Zwop zwop zwop – the magazines went tumbling down. Then he was past. The massive stallion barely twitched an ear.

The next room was thankfully empty. It looked like it might be some sort of living room; it was hard to tell, as the room was completely bare. An apartment between renters, perhaps. It was just as well the room was boring – he wasn't really paying attention, anyhow; his mind was preoccupied with the parachute above. Though he couldn’t see what was going on anymore, he was fairly sure the descending maw of the parachute was about to encounter the slumbering stallion.

The Swift swayed slightly as it descended, and he could feel the small vibrations of the foals’ little hooves as they chased each other rambunctiously. Then he felt a heavier resistance as the parachute caught on something large and solid. There was a snort as the snoring from above abruptly cut off; he held his breath nervously. Then he felt the resistance start to give way, and the chute resumed its downward journey. A few moments more and the snoring resumed as well, though much more softly now. He let out a quiet sigh of relief – reassured that he was not about to have an unpleasant encounter with his latest unwitting passenger.

The next room found a pair of orange eyes already fixed on the ceiling in irritation. This room was a bit smaller, and the steamy air thick with the scent of lavender. In the center, a pegasus lay blissfully in a raised pool of water. A cloud bathtub?

Its occupant was bright yellow, with a fiery orange blaze of mane. There were no dead giveaways like with the stallion, but also no hint of his blocky build. Though muscular, this pegasus had the lean physique of a dancer or athlete. It may have been the effect of the water, but despite its alien appearance, the sleek conditioning and refined lines imparted a distinctly feminine air. Indeed, he found himself actually rather impressed by the latent power and lithe grace she exuded.

The reverse did not appear to be true. Whatever nuisance she had been expecting, he and the foals did not appear to have been on the list. She slowly rose, dripping, from the water. With her coat plastered to her body, mane falling limp, and sodden wings raised threateningly, she was quite the sight. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to watch both him and the foals, clearly nonplussed by their behavior. He could almost see the gears in her head grind to a halt as irritation gave way to incomprehension and then alarm.

It didn't take long for her to regain her focus. She tensed up, assuming the taut readiness of a sprinter at the starting blocks. As he reached the cloud level, she dove for the foals, who mirthfully dodged aside. She quickly recovered and tried again, with the same result. Then he was below her and falling; he peered back up through the deepening hole. She had ended up on the edge to his right, and was glaring down from her perch by the tub. Unfortunately, she was a little too focused.

The glider gave a shudder as the descent briefly slowed again. He saw the ceiling bulge, before a disc of cloud detached and descended rapidly. He closed his eyes and looked away. The parachute lurched again, this time accompanied by an indignant yelp from above. There was the same brief hesitation, but this time the release was accompanied by a burst of lavender-scented rain and a series of vigorous exclamations. He had no doubt that his newest passenger was not amused by this latest turn of events. Well, look on the bright side. At least the water missed. He mused.

He finally looked around. This appeared to be some sort of kitchen, but the contents had barely registered before he was already passing through the floor.

Looking back up, he saw the mare's head break through the bottom of the cloud, just in time to meet the new layer of floor rushing up. She shot him a very dirty look before their line of sight was once again cut off.

Two more floors, both empty; another living room and then a bedroom. The third was occupied, but the occupant fled before the Swift had even fully left the ceiling.

This latest room was a little different. It looked like some sort of office, complete with desks loaded with what appeared to be paperwork. Some things never change. In the middle, on a raised dais was what appeared to be a map. Though the symbols were indecipherable, it reminded him of a weather forecast. More importantly, this room had windows! Down below, he could see the ground. Dare he hope?

The next cloud layer was a bit different. The mist was a bit thicker, darker, and went on for longer. Still, he was pleased it didn't immediately lead into another room. The moments in the enveloping gray stretched out, until...

Finally! He tasted open air as he fell away from the strange cloud construct. His parachute caught the wind, and he drifted off to the side. Looking up, he could see an open column of air that clearly marked his path of descent. On one edge perched the strange cloud edifice he had first encountered. His eyes widened as he saw flames coming from it. An ominous plume of multicolored smoke was beginning to snake up into the sky. How can clouds even burn? He wondered.

He noticed that a change had come over the cloud above in the parachute as well. No longer the fluffy white material he had been accumulating, it now looked darker, heavier. A few drops of rain began to sprinkle down. Where they struck the wing exploded into unexpected sparks of blazing color and arcing effervescent energy, eliciting little yipes from the foals. Now thoroughly splattered in the liquid rainbow, the foals whined and danced away from the raindrops, eventually taking flight and heading for the shelter beneath the glider's wings. Huh. Seems like they don't like the rain. They're flying a bit more slowly, too. I wonder if they're getting tired. I hope not – it's a long way down. Now they're looking over here agai–

That was when they suddenly made a beeline for the canopy and he found his hands full of darting young pegasi. Opening his mouth to protest, he immediately received a mouthful of wet feathers for his trouble. Time stopped as his taste buds short-circuited all higher mental functions. It was like licking a high voltage battery made of frozen wasabi. Rainbows were delicious. He mused a bit. They'd go better on some sushi than unaccompanied, though. Or maybe in a dip? Hmmm...

He wasn't sure exactly how long it took him to recover from his little culinary reverie, but when he returned to the present, he found the teal foal industriously trying to excavate his lunchbox from its pocket at his side. Moving to defend his lunch, he discovered one of his arms was pinned by the orange foal sprawling across his lap, sound asleep. It took some doing to extract it out from under the orange foal, correction, the orange colt, but he managed to do so without waking it.

With both hands free, he was able to fend off the little teal treasure hunter, and reclaim his lunch. It ah, no, she, settled back on his legs by her brother and looked at him forlornly. Now this was an arena in which he was outclassed. The wind ruffled her still rainbow-wet feathers a little as she just sat there, looking up at him with big innocent eyes. He sighed. He was a softie when it came to cats, little kids, and now apparently foals as well.

He knew he couldn't hold out, but there wasn't really any reason to, anyhow. He dug into the lunchbox, rummaging around a bit until he pulled out a cup of applesauce. The teal filly watched him intently, eyes going wide when he opened it and held it out towards her. She buzzed up and over, and squeaked brightly at him before burying her muzzle in the small plastic dish. He moved his other hand over to give her support as she eagerly inhaled the applesauce, and she settled down on his arm. When her little wings flicked closed, he was surprised to feel just how light she was.

Focused as he was on the teal filly, he barely registered that the rain had stopped before the yellow mare burst out of the clouds, looking ready to spit fire. She dropped like a stone a little ways before opening her wings with a sharp retort. She must have somehow dried off, because she flew powerfully, seeming completely unhindered. She looped over the glider once before settling into a steady circular orbit. As he tracked the mare's movements, he felt the teal filly relax into him, joining her sibling in slumber.

The mare did not appear to enjoy seeing him holding two limp foals, but he was ensconced in the Plexiglas cocoon of the cockpit, and she seemed unwilling to risk damaging the craft while they were inside of it. She settled for shadowing him aggressively and performing ominous charades.

He had to crane his head up to keep her in sight. As he did so, his attention was diverted by a streak of motion in the corner of his eye. He looked over to see the same column of liquid from the waterspout snake into the top of the cloud structure.

For a few moments, nothing happened; the smoke might have even started to taper off. Then, in a sudden flash of light, the clouds melted away as a prismatic shockwave tore out in all directions. Jagged rainbows jetted out, seemingly at random, while scintillating showers of energy rained down, slowly fading as they spread. He stared up aghast at the maelstrom – the structure at its heart had simply vanished, along with a substantial piece of the adjoined sky city. He heard the booming thunderclap a few moments later, before being buffeted by the force of the distant explosion.

The Swift danced around a bit, but all the lines held. The yellow mare was jostled as well, but she wasn't in a state to notice anything as trivial as turbulence. She had broken off her circling when the building erupted, just hovering as she stared up in shock and alarm. He could see her restraining her impulse to dash up and help. Abruptly, she fixed him with a fierce, accusatory gaze, as if he were the sole source of all her troubles. Well, to be fair, she may currently have a point, he thought, wryly rueful.

The ground was approaching quickly now. The altimeter decided it should wake up and inform him of his impending doom. At this point, he felt sufficiently well acquainted with impending doom, and shut it off. Up above, the great cloud city was tattered, with pegasi boiling out of it and darting off in all directions. Two little foals lay in his lap, twitching in their sleep, while the mare had resumed circling menacingly. The patch of cloud in the parachute slumbered on.

He couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of the situation, though his laugh was, perhaps, a little bit strained.

So, I wake up when I reach the ground, right? Right?!?

Author's Notes:

Special thanks to Kwakerjak, MaxVive and especially maskedferret in helping me realize this story in its present form. Their encouragement, feedback, first hand expertise and editing prowess were indispensable.

2 - Downhill both ways

The land seemed to float up sedately, but he knew his speed was deceptive. Still, from this vantage point, he could see the countryside spread out below him, rugged and beautiful.

Behind him, a broad, verdant plain stretched off into the distance. Ahead, the view was blocked by a range of snowcapped mountains that ran off to his right, where the plain gave way to forest. At the border between the two, he noticed a brief flash of light, and his breath caught as he saw a pair of parallel lines running arrow-straight in a cleared strip of land. Looking closely, he could see they continued towards him, past the edge of the wood. Is that a railroad? he thought. Maybe there are some familiar elements of civilization here. He followed it all the way past him and across to his left side, where it disappeared at the base of an imposing mountain spire that supported the fairy tale castle he had noted earlier.

The middle ground beneath him was covered by a patchwork of hills and fields that overflowed with a wide assortment of trees and differently colored plants. He could see some signs of cultivation, and he made out a small cluster of buildings by the railroad. He was currently above the far side of the fields, however, falling down to where the hills grew rough and forested as they built up into mountains. It looked like he was heading towards the top of one such hill, its grassy crown rising above the surrounding vegetation like a monk's tonsure.

He dropped further, and as the carpet of greenery below resolved into individual patches of trees and meadow, his perspective of the land crossed that unconscious line between looking down to looking out. With little time left, he quickly cleared the cabin, stowing his lunch and other loose items in the backpack at his feet. Secure in his flight harness, he braced for impact, gathering the foals in and holding them close to his chest. They squealed drowsily at this, squirming in his grasp. Another few seconds and he was below the treetops, the grassy clearing rushing up to meet him.

There was an instant of motion and noise as he was thrust against his seat – the foals lead weights atop him. The cockpit rocked briefly, and then was still. He glanced up to see where the parachute would fall, and was taken aback to see it still hanging above him. Without the weight of the glider, it continued to float serenely in the gentle breeze, like some giant nylon jellyfish.

Staring up at the scene, he felt like he'd been kicked in the gut, and it had nothing to do with the rough landing. Shouldn't that have woken me up? he thought, hands clammy as his heart pounded. His chest was sore where the foals lay, as well as where the harness had cut into him earlier. He could smell the wind. He could feel the warmth and the weight of the foals as they moved in his arms. This all feels so solid and real, but it can't be. Floating parachutes make no sense. These pegasi shouldn't be able to fly. Exploding rainbows are ludicrous. This whole thing is such a crazy mash-up of the familiar and the absurd.

He grunted in irritation. Sensical or not, whatever this... experience is, it's persistent. It's also proved it can be painful, so until I know what's going on, I should probably treat things seriously. Of course, that also means trying to make some sense out of this mess. Yeah. Good luck with that. He groused to himself.

There was a rustling thud to his right, and he looked over to see that the yellow mare had landed in the grass just beyond the shadow of the parachute. Noticing his gaze, she took a low stance, legs wide and pawing the ground aggressively, though she had an ear cocked quizzically at the parachute above.

She gestured pointedly with a forehoof, indicating first the foals and then the ground in front of her, while barking something curtly and flexing her wings for emphasis. He needed no translation to pick up that particular message.

He moved carefully, not wanting to provoke her, reaching over to bring the sleepily squirming foals out of the cockpit. Her eyes narrowed and her tail lashed as she watched them struggle, but she restrained herself with a visible effort.

Snick snick snick. They both jumped in surprise as a loose cluster of arrows sprouted from the ground between them. Thock. A polearm of some sort buried itself nearby. Another crash sounded somewhere behind him. He had only a moment to register an omnidirectional whistling before more impacts quickly drowned it out.

The mare’s eyes darted upwards and widened in alarm. She turned to run, but made it only about three paces before thwump thwump thwump thwump, she stumbled, crumpling to a boneless heap on the ground in mid-stride. A stove flattened a nearby bush at almost the same instant as a barbell sank deep into the ground. All around him, the implements of daily life plummeted down, the pock of flowerpots, crump of furniture and tinkle of cutlery merging into a single overwhelming cacophony as a perverse hailstorm threshed the land. The city is falling, he thought in horror.

The Swift was a small island of refuge at the center of a storm of chaos. Shielded by the parachute, from above came just the quiet blat of objects impacting cloud-padded nylon, followed by a soft fabric scree as they slid down the sides. A small ring built up around the edges of the parachute as deflected items accumulated. He hoped the sleeper was deep enough in the cloud to be safe from the surface impacts. The clouds themselves seemed to muffle the noise, as well, and it was somewhat odd to be assaulted by noise from all sides except for above.

Only a small handful of items penetrated the parachute – those sharp, fast or heavy enough to pierce the tough fabric and make it to the ground. He watched as a line of cutlery embedded themselves just to the side, and felt the frame rattle a couple of times from other unseen impacts. The Plexiglas cockpit added another layer of protection, though it did little to make the experience less nerve-wracking; he couldn’t see what was coming, let alone do anything about it. Fortunately, it wasn’t long before the initial rolling crash of heavier objects gave way to the scattered pops, plinks and tinks of glassware and wood, before eventually tapering off to the slithering of fabric and rustling of parchment.

He had pulled the foals back in at the first sign of trouble, holding them close once more. They had been quiet during the debris storm itself, eyes wide and ears darting about rapidly. Now they began squirming again with renewed vigor. Well, there has to have been a finite amount of furnishings up there, he rationalized. Still, he waited just a little bit longer; until only a few frilly unmentionables were left fluttering down, and he was certain it was safe.

The foals complained as he reached out again and finally set them down, but they both perked up as they keyed in on their surroundings. He unstrapped his harness and clambered out after them, before reaching back to retrieve his backpack. He didn’t keep much in it when flying, but among the few necessities was a small first-aid kit. Pack in hand, he made his way over to the mare's slumped form.

She hadn’t made it far, which was a good thing. It was definitely a disaster zone out here, and walking was treacherous. Just about anything he could imagine lay scattered on the ground with various degrees of damage. Here lay a dented metal urn. To the side a pile of broken shards he guessed used to be dishware. A little ways away, though still too close for comfort, lay the hulk of a shattered piano, some bales of hay, and an anvil, of all things. In between everything, broken bits of foodstuffs and tangled items of clothing were strewn about liberally. The smell reminded him a bit of a farmers market or a sidewalk sale – a potpourri of old furnishings and fresh produce.

Though the wreckage was extensive, it was not too dense. He was also thankful to see that the one thing the debris did not contain was any other pegasi. Approaching the yellow mare, he knelt down cautiously. She lay on her side, legs outstretched, wings askew and splattered with various bits of pulped fruit and kicked-up dirt. A doughy brownish mass covered her temple and spilled down the back of her head, matting the fiery strands of her mane.

Concerned, he leaned in – looking closely, but careful not to touch. The substance was finely textured, and glistened wetly in the sunlight; he couldn’t readily place it. He blinked, and looked again. Are those nuts? Turning his attention away from her, he spotted several similar blobs scattered in the grass nearby. He pulled a small piece from one of the other blobs, and compared it critically to the material on her head – it looked the same. Bringing the piece to his face, it smelled decidedly culinary, and he risked a quick lick.

The doughy mass was... dough. Apparently she'd been knocked out by some errant unbaked goods. She's going to feel that in the morning, he thought. Still, aside from that, she's breathing steadily, if shallowly, and I don't see any cuts or blood. I doubt my first aid skills can help any, which is probably just as well, considering how seldom I've had to use them.

He stood up and stretched. Taking a step back, he peered up, scanning for approaching fliers. He didn't see any, but was not left wondering why – the cloud city had changed dramatically since he last looked. Though the total mass of clouds was much the same, marked differences had emerged among them.

Those parts nearest the blast were completely unrecognizable. About a quarter of the city had vanished or been reduced to shreds, whipped around and deformed into twisted streamers of mist, drifting away on the wind. By contrast, the furthest third seemed to be intact. From this perspective, he could see cloud spires hanging down like inverted skyscrapers. This section was a hive of activity, with pegasi streaming in and out, though they followed no pattern he could discern.

In the middle was a zone where the mass of cloud remained, but those spires and other architectural forms he had noted were fast melting away. It was like watching a sand castle dissolve as the tide crept in, or a picture going slowly out of focus. It was hard to tell from here, but he could see pegasi darting in and around these clouds, engaged in a variety of activities. Some were just burrowing into the clouds directly, while others seemed to be shaping them or moving them around. What an amazing ability. I saw them touching clouds before, but this takes it to a whole new level. They remind me of some of the disaster programs I've seen – I hope they have good luck. I can't see how being stuck inside a melting cloud would be all that dangerous, though, compared to a collapsing building, but it's probably not all that pleasant, either.

As he watched, the swarm of activity increased in pace. It looks like they're starting to make some progress, despite how bad it is. I have no idea how they are organized, but I don't see any heading out this way yet. I imagine it's just a matter of time, though.

He checked his phone – no signal. I wish I could say I was surprised. He sighed. What now? Kind of a crazy problem to have, but after that insane, hair-raising flight, I have no idea what to do next. Sure, it's a relief to be on the ground, even if I'm not so sure exactly where this ground is. Now that I'm down here, though, I can't really do all that much until I make contact with the local authorities, and they haven't put in an appearance yet, he thought, eyeing the mare. I hope.

So what can I do besides wait? he continued, closing his eyes and trying to calm himself down a bit. He could feel the sunlight, warm on his face in pleasant contrast to cool fingers of air as a breeze built. It tousled his hair and rustled the leaves in the trees, raising a soft susurration accompanied by birdcalls and the faint buzz of insects. He breathed deeply, taking in the pure air, fresh with the scent of trees and grass. It was peaceful and quiet. Too quiet.

His eyes snapped open, and he looked around frantically. Where are they? Among the varied pieces of debris, it took him a moment to spot the orange and teal figures as they darted across the clearing. The pair of intrepid explorers was almost at the treeline. They're just as bad as me and my brothers were.

"Wait, don't go in there! It could be dangerous!" He cried out, launching into pursuit. He might as well have tried to talk a boulder uphill; a turned ear was the only sign that they had even heard him.

Glass and other things crunched and popped underfoot as he tried to run, and he had to catch himself several times, as his feet repeatedly caught on or slipped in the varied debris. He had never been so grateful for his sturdy hiking boots, but even with them, he was far too slow. The foals had a big lead, and he was only halfway to the edge of the clearing when they disappeared into the forest gloom.

The two little pegasi had found a spot where the ground dipped down, creating a gap in the solid line of bushy undergrowth that ringed the grass. Reaching the treeline, he barreled on after them, trusting his tough flight jacket to ward off the branches.

The weak foliage offered no resistance. Several strides later, neither did the ground. His seeking foot found only air, and he cried out as he found himself falling forward, arms flailing wildly. A lucky grab found a low-hanging branch, and he hung on with desperate strength, while his feet scrambled for purchase as he fell.

His feet found sliding, crumbling support, but it dropped him further and further, until the branch let go with a dry crack. He stumbled forward, clutching the broken stick and trying to check his momentum on a steep slope of loose, shifting earth. Instead of slowing him, the disturbed ground began to move as well, flowing into what quickly developed into a steep gully. He managed perhaps half a dozen more precarious steps before finally losing his balance and falling back into the small river of earth.

It was dark, moving, loud and choking – a disorienting tempest of grit. He couldn't say how long or how far he rode atop the slide, but it seemed an eternity before it suddenly ceased. Ow. He lay there a moment as the last few stones rattled to a halt around him, before sitting up, coughing. A clean breeze blew from above, and he looked up to see the foals hovering overhead, giggling cherubically. Breathing as deeply as he could, he slowly counted to ten. They're just kids, they don't know any better, he repeated to himself.

As the air cleared, he could see how the slope had leveled out – robbing the slide of momentum, and leaving him sitting in a small fantail of gravel. He took a brief inventory, flexing experimentally. Okay, that definitely hurts, but it looks like it's just abrasions and bruises. I can be grateful I managed to avoid getting any cuts, breaks, or sprains. I'll have to do something about all the dirt I've got on my pockets and shoes, now, though. He let out an exasperated sigh as he gingerly levered himself to his feet.

First things first, he thought, as he stalked over to a large rock nearby, sat down, and proceeded to methodically rid his shoes and pockets of their brand-new dirt collection. The colt seemed to find this fascinating and hovered around inquisitively, poking at the various articles of clothing and sifting through the piles of dirt with his hooves.

He shrugged off the colt’s attention, focusing on his belongings instead. I'm lucky it looks like my smartphone is okay, and I didn't lose my keys or wallet. Next, he swung his backpack around and opened it carefully. First out was the first aid kit, then the lunchbox. As it emerged, the teal filly squeaked in interest and pushed in closer, laying her chin on his knee and looking up at him while her brother sat back, bemused.

Again? He huffed and put the box aside. Once is enough! Ears drooped, and big silver eyes looked up at him mournfully. Oh, that just isn't playing fair! … Fine. Diverted, he rummaged through his shrinking supply of food once more. He doubted they were after the water bottle, his applesauce was an empty husk, and the spare ribs were unthinkable. Celery sticks were his only option. He offered up his meager tribute, earning him another round of puppy dog eyes. “Sorry little miss,” he chuckled, “but that’s the best I can do.” She waited hopefully for just a little bit longer, and then daintily accepted when nothing else was forthcoming. Meanwhile, her brother had come up curiously, and seemed happy enough with his share.

The two pegasi happily chomping away, he put the lunch box aside and continued on to his original goal. A certain black plastic case was now in reach, and he relaxed incrementally when he pulled it out and saw the cover was scuffed but not damaged. Opening it, he saw the case had done its job – the screen was intact, and his tablet lit up at a touch. At least something’s gone right, he thought.

Since he was already half unpacked, he quickly ran through the other pockets to check what else he had to work with. His worldly possessions now consisted of a Swiss army knife, a wall-wart for the tablet, a nearly-new LED flashlight, a half-empty packet of tissues, some writing utensils and a tattered notepad.

The duo had almost demolished their snack, so he hastily replaced everything and got up, stepping back towards the hill as his mind raced.

It was such a simple plan. ‘Stay in one place’ should be pretty hard to screw up, right? If I had, it would have been straightforward to contact the local authorities when they showed up. Best not to think of it, he sighed. I am where I am, and dwelling on the past won't do anything to change the current predicament. And now that I've just effectively disappeared with the foals? Well, I know how that would play out back home. Whatever else I do, I have to make absolutely certain I return them safely.

Given that, how can I make contact now? They'll undoubtedly go investigate the glider, but that means I'll have to either get back up to it, or signal them from here. Assuming I'm stuck down here, what options do I have for signalling? Cell phones are out, and I don't have any of the traditional signaling gear like a flare guns, mirrors, rescue whistles or firestarters. My jacket is a bright red, but I'll have to get out from under this tree cover if I want to be seen.

Can I get back up to the glider? The hill in front of him was steep, and the bushes that blanketed the bottom slopes were tough and thorny. The sandy gully he had come down was clear, but the footing was loose and treacherous. After a few fruitless attempts, he decided to circle around the hill, in search of an easier route up.

Fortunately, here at the base of the hill the tree canopy was thick and the underbrush sparse, so he had little trouble forging a path. Plus, now that he was out exploring with them, the foals seemed to find him interesting enough to follow around. After the way they’d ran off before, though, he was now careful to always keep them in sight. Thus, the trek progressed smoothly, though with frustratingly little progress.

Frustrating didn’t necessarily equate to boring, however. Mere minutes after setting out, he ran across a few plates had somehow come down intact, and he inspected the artwork on them with some interest. The designs reminded him of classical Greece, though the main artistic themes seemed to be weather and plants. They're pretty enough, I suppose, but they won't help me any.

Further on, he came across a sword jutting out from the ground. It had an oddly shaped grip, but he was still able to pull it out easily enough. He turned it over in his hands. It was sharpened on one side and appeared to be made of good quality metal. The hilt was thin and flat, with a crescent of indentations. Did they grip with their mouths? That might work, but being able to focus on something while swinging one's head would be difficult. Huh. Interesting and possibly a useful thing to have, but I don't want to give the wrong impression,, he thought, returning the sword to the ground.

A bit further along and he spotted a magazine draped over a bush, with a familiar looking yellow mare on the cover. Looks like they have some mastery of photography and printing, he mused. The scene was at the seashore, with the mare lounging on a cloud of mist from the crashing surf. Odd. She's wearing a swimsuit in the picture. True, I ran into her in the bath, but I don't remember seeing any of the other pegasi wearing any clothing. He leafed through a few more pages, examining the writing closely as well. The symbols are unfamiliar, but there's a level of repetition that suggests it's an alphabet, and not pictograms. With enough time, I might be able to learn something, he thought. Conveniently, there were also many other pictures, though most were quite similar to the first.

An insistent tugging at his pant leg brought him back to the present. He looked down to see the orange foal looking back up at him, stamping his hoof and swishing his tail. The teal filly had already walked a little ways ahead. ”All right, all right, I’m coming!” He said, hurriedly. I might as well take this one along, he thought, tucking it into his backpack. Perhaps he could learn something from it later.

Looking back up, he noticed the forest ahead was a little bit lighter, and he pressed on to what turned out to be a gap in the trees. Here the forest opened onto to a large clearing, and he hastily ducked down when he spotted structures standing in it. Watching quietly, he had to bite back an exclamation as the foals raced past him and into the sunlight.

The field was a wide expanse of grass, dotted with stumps and saplings that surrounded a small bare patch next to the hill. This part of the hill was solid stone, with some sort of opening in it. The two structures he could see were in bad shape – even from here it was obvious the roof of one had caved in.

Emboldened, he rose out of concealment and strode into the clearing after the two. He felt terribly exposed in the open expanse, but that was kind of the point. Regardless, nothing stirred at their approach.

There were two buildings still standing, plus the rubble of a third. The nearest was the one with half a roof – a log cabin. The door was unlocked, but he still had to wrench it open against frozen hinges. The interior was a complete wreck; exposed by the open roof, the contents had long fallen to pieces.

The one thing that stood out was a bright piece of apparel hanging from the stub of a roof beam. Its vivid colors stood in stark contrast to the drab interior, and it sparkled in the late morning light. The simple form, padding, and straps looked oddly familiar, but even knowing the inhabitants here, it took him a moment to place it. I'm no equestrian, but that looks like a saddle. This is the first sign I've seen of any riders, though. Are there other humans here? It seems far too small, though, he thought. Adding to his confusion, on inspection he found it to be a frilly, delicate thing, made of satin and lace. Why make an obviously expensive saddle that couldn’t hold up to any sort of wear? Puzzled, he left it hanging there.

Moving on, the second building was a sturdy stone hut. It was basically intact, aside from the splintered door lying just inside the door frame. Other than that, however, the only thing of note was just how empty it was. Aside from the remnants of the door, the single room held only a few windblown leaves.

The clearing held little else; the fallen debris here were sparse, and the collapsed building had long decayed. He avoided the cave mouth completely – he had no desire to go spelunking, and didn’t want the foals getting any ideas. Returning to the center of the clearing, he mulled over everything he'd seen. There weren't any signs of recent habitation. In another decade or two, this place will probably have gone completely back to nature. Still, for now it's a good spot – I'll give it a shot.

He sat down cross-legged in front of the cabin, spreading his jacket out on the ground in front of him to catch attention. He was feeling a bit better than after the slide, but trail breaking was tiring and it was nice to rest. Here he faced the forest and could look up at the cloud city or watch the foals frolic. For being found, this was probably the next best option to still being at the Swift; he was visible from the air, and the structures should attract attention.

Of course that means I'll have to somehow stay in one place this time, he thought wryly, as he kept an eye on the antics of the two little pegasi. They had found a tall stump and were now dancing around it, stretching their wings and occasionally fluttering a little ways into the air.

Trying to restrain them would just be wrong, assuming I could even catch them. What about if I tired them out and hoped they fell asleep again? he thought, watching them tear around the stump a little longer. He chuckled. Yeah, it's pretty obvious who would be tiring out who if I tried that. What about a distraction, though? Bread and circuses worked for the Romans after all. Of course they've cleaned me out of bread, but we humans have brought circuses quite a long way in the last few hundred years, he thought, lips curling into a sly grin as he opened up his backpack and pulled out his tablet once more. With one eye on the tablet and the other the foals, he quickly darted through the screens, homing in on the shiniest, most distracting game he could think of.

Bright music filled the air as a sparkling array of colorful gems rained down, dancing to his touch and bursting into fanciful explosions of light and sound. All hail Bejeweled, destroyer of transit rides and conqueror of waiting rooms. He cranked the volume up and made a big show of focusing all his attention on it, while watching circumspectly as the foals' ears perked up. It wasn't long before they bounced over to investigate, eyes bright and tails flagged. He had a hard time keeping a straight face; it was clear they had never seen a device like this before. They took up positions next to him, leaning so far forward he thought they might fall over. He raised his elbow and they piled onto his lap.

At first they kept looking back and forth between the front and rear of the device, babbling to each other rapidly and gesturing animatedly. They weren’t too careful in their enthusiasm, and he had to lean back a bit after the first few wings to the face. The mystery of the screen soon faded, however, and they settled down and focused in on the game itself. For a time, they were entranced just watching him play, but it wasn't long before the orange one was nudging his arm meaningfully. He grinned, obligingly moving his hand aside while continuing to hold the tablet out for them.

The colt tried first. All hooves, wings and unbound eagerness, he quickly dove into the device. The little pegasus’s efforts immediately ran into trouble, however, as tapping hooves and brushing feathers failed to elicit a response. Soon the colt was whining in frustration, but he was nothing if not persistent. Looking back and forth between fingers, hooves and wings, he finally used his head – and it turns out the touch screen did respond to muzzles. Of course trying to control a touchpad via nose was hardly ideal. Oh, this is priceless, he thought, struggling to contain his laughter as the little colt practically went cross-eyed trying to use the device, and made many indignant little noises of frustration as it continually misinterpreted his inputs.

I have to give the little guy credit, though – despite everything, he's making slow but definite progress. Impressive ability, really, but the interface is definiately a barrier to the fingerless. They do seem to have come tricks around that, though, he thought, remembering all the various items that had fallen from the city. The sword in particular gave him a sudden idea, and moments later he was digging back into the pack, fishing around until he found a stylus he had mixed in with the pens. The foal’s eyes lit up as he presented it with a flourish, and from there the games began in earnest.

Though not quite as funny as nose-control, watching the foals go at it was entertaining. He found it fairly insightful as well. The two were very alert, and picked up the basic interactions quickly, keying in on what actions resulted in the most exciting sounds and animations. They also had a strong innate spatial sense, and were soon able to hone in on inconspicuous moves that cleared large areas of the field. Fortunately for his high score, neither of them were very good at planning ahead. They invariably went for the best move currently available, rather than making a few smaller moves to set up something big. What struck him more than their abilities, however, were their attitudes.

Squished next to each other in his lap, there was little of the squabbling he would have expected from human kids. Even more telling was how readily they traded off, and that after they both had a turn, they stared up at him until he made a move to play again. He didn't know how old they were, but in his experience, this sort of behavior didn't come readily to most kids. For that matter, more than a few adults still seem to struggle with the concept. These two, however, seemed to cooperate without any thought or hesitation. When he did take his turn, they watched closely, and he soon saw his tricks repeated. Before long, his engrossment was no pretense. Unfortunately, it also meant that the first sign of trouble was when his world exploded into pain-filled blackness.

Author's Notes:

Thanks to Kwakerjack for feedback and advice, JonOfEquestria for proofreading, and maskedferret for editing support and putting up with my glacial writing pace (thanks to all of you for putting up with that as well!).

3 - Pit stop

Consciousness returned with a pounding insistence. The reunion was not pleasant. He was draped over a hard surface, and his head felt two sizes too large as it dangled down like an overripe fruit, bouncing to an unknown gait and fit to burst. The motion swung him back and forth, bringing his face repeatedly up against a coarse, furry pelt. His nose wrinkled – whatever was carrying him could have used a bath.

Between the smell, the motion, and his orientation, he felt his gorge begin to rise, and he had to struggle to keep his last meal down. Trying to distract himself from further cataloguing the unpleasant sensations assailing him, he carefully turned his head to the side, observing his surroundings through slitted eyes. He was descending a rough stone passage, dimly lit by glowing crystals set into the walls at irregular intervals.

Ok. So, plan 'stay in one place' appears to have found an exciting new way to go terribly awry. Just what exactly is going on now?

Whatever had him appeared to be strong, furry, tall, presumably intelligent, and not too fond of bathing. His current position gave him an unpleasantly close view of a short, clubbed tail that whipped back and forth with each stride. If it was structured like a human, than he would be draped over its shoulder, and he could feel his waist encircled by a firm arm. The other arm swung freely, and he was surprised to see just how long and heavily muscled it was. Like a gorilla, the creature sometimes used it to walk, and it had paws that strongly resembled hands, but for the small, sharp claws that adorned each fingertip. He could see pantless, furred legs as well, but the joints were arranged differently, and compared to its arms, well, I can cross Bigfoot off the list of possibilities, at least. So, tiny legs that bend like a horse, but a non-equine tail, plus it has crazy strong arms and I'm slung front-to-back. The pieces didn't add up. Great, just what I need – something new in the mix.

Though his head was encountering fur, his torso rested on something cold and hard that clanked softly with each step. Aside from that, however, he could hear only its low breathing as it padded softly down the shadowy corridor. An angry squalling broke out on his other side, and he covertly turned his head around to see what it was.

A second, much shorter creature walked alongside the one carrying him, this one with long, black fur, as opposed to the short, muddy brown coat of the one carrying him. The short one wore just a simple grey vest, but it held his jacket in one paw, while the other gripped a vociferously struggling net slung on its back. Said net was bouncing rather more than the biped's gait could account for, the motion making the creature stagger as if it were drunk. He could see a few patches of fur poking through, and the occasional feather drifted down from the net as it thrashed, but with the net's many folds and small holes, he couldn’t make out any detail. Still, from the sound of it, the foals were more angry than anything else. Their captors seemed indifferent to the ruckus, though, starting to converse overtop the complaints. Their speech sounded vaguely similar to the few other bits of language he’d heard so far, though these creatures’ voices were raspy and grating.

Yeah, if this is the rescue squad, they're doing a piss-poor job, he observed acerbically.

Aside from the occasional glowing crystal, the passage soon lost any vestige of civilization, the irregular walls splitting and merging like a maze, long past the point where he had lost all sense of direction. They continued their descent for a distressingly long time, during which he ran through and discarded numerous escape scenarios – most of them quickly running aground on the sharp-taloned thews wrapped securely around his waist, and a pragmatic self-assessment of his navigational and athletic capabilities. The one constant he made out of the travel was the continued downward trend, which continued until the tunnel finally disgorged them into a large, echoing space.

As they entered, the tall creature shifted its posture, giving him only an instant of warning before he was hoisted and set down. He continued to feign unconsciousness, carefully taking in the room from where he lay on the ground.

It was large – the part he could see could have held a baseball game. As it was, it accommodated a small campfire, which cast long, flickering shadows that danced on the nearby walls and blended into the dark reaches. The cavern had clearly been worked – the fire had been built in the middle of a large, unnaturally level area of cave floor, and a low stone building covered the length of the left wall. Beyond the fire, a rusty cart track snaked across from the far end of the building, splitting into a miniature rail yard and running further to his right until the tracks were swallowed up in the inky depths of the cavern. Looking out past the tracks in front of him, he could make out the plain rock wall of the cavern, while stalactites hung like disembodied teeth from above. Upon entering, the creatures had barely glanced around at any of this, instead making a beeline to the fire.

Piled near the fire was an assortment of rusty picks, shovels and other digging tools that lay in heaps and spilled out of a cluster of crates. The taller of the two quickly picked out a large crate and upended it – dumping out an assortment of hammers with an echoing clatter, and holding the empty box ready over a flat patch of rock. In a frenzied burst, the short one quickly set the net down and scuttled back as the tall one swooped in to firmly plant the upside-down box. It sat there for a moment, before the wood shook and the box began scooting jerkily across the floor. Both canids hurriedly started piling hammers atop the crate until it stopped dancing about.

The assembly of the makeshift cage finally gave him an opportunity to get a good look at his captors. Huh. Those muzzles and ears actually make them look kind of dog-like. Even though they walk upright, though, it looks like they're built more like a chimpanzee – they're a lot top heavier than I thought. I'll bet their upper body strength is phenomenal. Add in the huge paws and those sharp claws they have... Yeah, probably better not to get in a fight with one. Of course, relations have not exactly started out on a good foot, he thought darkly.

On the plus side, they wear clothes talk, though that hasn't been enough to keep humans doing unpleasant things to each other. Also, one of those sets of clothes being a suit of armor doesn't do much to help the ‘clothing is a good sign’ argument, either, he thought with a wince. It all would have been enough to give him a headache, had he not already had one. So, flying equines that are legitimately quite upset with me, or warlike dog-types that have abducted me to their lair for reasons unknown? I suppose there are worse things than being eaten, but put that way, I'll stick with the guaranteed herbivores.

When the dogs had satisfied themselves that the crate was secure, the large one returned for him. It picked him up once more, carrying him into the stone building he'd noticed before. The door entered onto a large room that he got only a short glimpse of before being carried a short ways down a twisting hallway that branched off into a side passage. While most of the building was mortared stone built up against the cave wall, this side passage had been carved directly into the rock without using any of the typical wooden beams or supports. The tunnel wasn’t very long, the creature stopping almost immediately at a door. It grabbed something from the wall and passed through, and upon entering he had the brief impression of a small chamber surrounded by bars and shadowed voids.

He closed his eyes and continued to act unconscious as he felt himself carried just a little ways further, until he was finally dropped off again. Rough paws quickly emptied his pockets and stripped off his backpack. Then there was a breath of wind above him and a creak of metal that ended with a distressingly solid clang. Listening intently, he waited until he heard the outer door close, the footsteps outside fade away, and then just a little bit longer for good measure.

He lay on his back on a cold floor of rough-hewn stone, and drew a deep breath. The pungent stench of mildew emanated from the wet dungeon walls, tickling his throat. Coughing, he opened his eyes and sat up to see that he was in a small alcove that had been carved out of the rock, and then blocked off by thick metal bars. The room was just barely tall enough for him to stand up in, and he walked over to the bars carefully. From there the cell opened onto a small, circular room, illuminated by a dimly glowing crystal set into the ceiling and flanked by additional cells on both sides. Fortunately, the room and other cells were all empty, and the door blocked off visibility from the hallway.

The bars before him were widely spaced and had no crossbars, but the gaps between them were still a bit too narrow for his frame. He tried to bend or shift them, to no avail. They were too thick, and so well-seated that they seemed to be almost part of the rock. The other sides of the cell were solid rock, entirely lacking in convenient drains or air vents. There were hardly any furnishings to speak of, just an empty wooden crate, small pile of blankets, and a bucket he preferred not to think about.

He turned his attention to the door. It was as solidly built as the bars, but the hinges were just simple spikes seated in loops of metal. He took a careful grip and heaved. !!! Holy crap, that thing is way heavier than it looks! I don't know if I even shifted it. Without a lever or a shot of pure adrenaline, it isn't going anywhere. He put the thought of lifting it aside for now, and continued his examination.

The door lock proved more promising. A square piece of metal set into the door, it was just as solid and crude as the bars, but in this case, that translated into a massive block that seemed just a bit loose at the seams. He could almost fit his fingers into the keyhole, which hopefully meant the tumblers would be large and simple as well. Of course, I've never picked a lock before, let alone from behind. Still, it's not as if I have anything better to do, he thought, liberating the wire handle of the bucket and getting to work.

The moments passed fitfully, though without his phone he had no real way of knowing how many. The steady drip of the walls cut through the silence, but he made no pretense of counting. Rather, the regular tinks and plinks served only to remind him of his fleeting opportunity as quicksilver seconds slipped away.

So here I am, stuck behind a dumb lock in some crazy situation by a bunch of creatures I don’t understand. At least it happened on the weekend, but what’s going on back home? How many hours has it been already? I was supposed to meet Claire for dinner tonight – she’s going to be pissed. At least I’ll have a good excuse for my absence, or I would if it made a bit of sense. Arrgh, this is maddening. I need to get out of here.

Muffled voices echoed from the hall, interrupting his thoughts. He hurriedly hid his efforts, but the noise soon faded away again, leaving him once more in the company of the iron puzzle and his own musings.

Why me? I'm nobody special. I'm an accountant, for crying out loud. This is a situation for some fancy secret agent, über commando, or Indiana Jones type. I don’t have any magic powers or dark family secrets that I know of. What could I possibly have done to trigger something like this?

He racked his memory. He had obviously been flying, and he vaguely remembered taking off from the Salève, but after that, things got fuzzy.

I don't think I crashed, and this is no sort of afterlife I ever heard of. Besides, if I were dead, why would the glider still be here? For that matter, even if I’m not dead, what significance does the Swift have? Sure, it's about as good of a sailplane as you can get, but ultimately, it's just some metal and plastic. No mad science, fancy electronics, or reality warping engines here. Hell, no engines period, and the most sophisticated piece of gear I have is the tablet.

I suppose I could be crazy. Some of the stuff I’ve seen would make a physicist curl up and cry. I don't see why I would be hallucinating something like this, though. I mean I like flying, but the horses are out of left field, and the dogs aren’t even in the ballpark. Having stuff like this in a crazy hallucination just doesn’t make any sen– … Right. So that logic pretty much fails horribly. He rubbed his temples in frustration. Still, logical or not, I just can’t shake the feeling that this is all just too real and consistent to simply brush off as something I’m imagining. Plus, I shouldn't be doubting myself. At least not quite yet.

So assuming my intuition is right, and this is the result of some external force, then that brings me right back to the original question: why me? he sighed. This isn't getting me anywhere. I need to focus on the lock.

The steady drip faded from his awareness as he threw himself into trying to grasp the feel of the machine. It was an alien experience, threading a metal sliver into a tangle of moving parts and trying to manipulate them correctly. He had never been mechanically inclined – the closest he'd gotten had been managing all the cables on the Swift. Still, he had read a little bit about the basics of locks, oh so long ago. What was that book called again? I mostly remember it had all those funny illustrations of wooly mammoths, but I guess it had a practical side after all.

It hadn't said anything about how to handle lock picking when reaching around from the rear of the lock, though, and his crude lockpick did nothing to help. As time passed, the omnipresent cold and dampness sapped his strength, and he could feel his fingers slowly lose dexterity. After the first few attempts, he started taking frequent breaks to rest, warming his hands or stretching his arms as best he could. Sometimes he would pace the short length of his cell, throw his weight against the door, or fruitlessly search the walls once again. Frustration and fatigue slowly took their toll, and he had altogether too much time to stew over his predicament.

It was aggravating how the lock seemed to hover just on the edge of his abilities. Maybe the lock was some sort of metaphor? A trial, or some sort of struggle he had to overcome? Wait, no, knock it off – I've already followed that line of thought, and it doesn't lead anywhere useful. The lock is just a stubborn hunk of metal.

Gradually, oh so painstakingly, he began to get a feel for how the tumblers moved, and at what points they behaved differently. Then he had to work out how to apply pressure to pin them in place. Eventually, he pulled a few large wooden splinters from the crate, inserting them through the various gaps in the lock and using them to hold the mechanism steady. He was grateful it was a simple lock, with only three big tumblers – as it was, it was arduous, meticulous work.

What seemed like hours later, he finally got it. Success came not as a satisfying click, but as a loose wiggle that kept on giving as he laboriously retracted the bolt. The door swung open with a squeal of metal, and at long last, he stepped free of the cell. He quickly made sure that the other two cells really were empty, and then removed his makeshift lock picks. Having covered his tracks, he went up and listened at the wooden door. All was quiet, and fortunately, this door had no lock.

Peeking out, he saw the key hanging from a hook on the wall immediately outside, and to his great relief he saw his backpack on a bench beneath it. Seeing the hallway clear, he darted out and checked his bag. It had been rifled through, but nothing seemed to be missing. He also took the opportunity to swipe the key from the wall – might as well keep muddying the waters as to how I escaped.

Before him now was a short corridor that opened onto the larger hallway. Right was the way he had originally came from, left was still unknown. He checked out the left branch first. It was fairly short, with perhaps half a dozen rooms jutting off it. Most of the doors here had a split, two-level design, as you'd see in a stable. They had clearly seen better days, however; the wood was often warped, allowing him to easily peek between the two sections.

Investigating these particular doors proved to be fruitless, however; peering in revealed only blackness, and he was not about to risk entering a room to find it inhabited. The hallway itself ended in yet another door, however looking through this gap, he could see the main cavern again. He could make out the track running by just a short distance away, the bulk of the building shadowing it from the fire. An exit, he thought. I'll have to remember this. I'm not out of the woods yet, though – I can't just escape by myself. Ignoring how wrong it'd be to just leave the foals like this, if the pegasi later catch me without them safe and accounted for, well, I doubt they're going to assume anything good.

He turned back around, and retraced his steps, continuing on past the cell. This stretch of the hallway had more rooms, some of which were lit. He saw a bathroom and a couple of storage rooms, but most were dark and uninviting.

Past those, the hallway ended at the room he had been carried in through. This one was much larger than the others, and looked like it may have once been used for cooking or dining. From the door, he could still see a table, plus a few cabinets on the walls. Now it was some sort of living area, with a number of sleeping pads spread out over the floor, and piles of gear haphazardly clustered around each one. There were at least half a dozen spots. So there are more of them about. The overall effect was halfway between a campground and a garbage dump.

Scanning the room, he didn't see any occupants, and carefully let himself in. The first thing that hit him was the smell. He hadn't really registered it when he'd been carried through earlier, but now it assaulted his nostrils like a plague of Vikings. It was as if a locker room had been crossed with a pound and left to marinate at the back of a fridge. Wrinkling his nose, he pressed on regardless. Now he could see that in addition to the furniture he had noticed before, there was a small basin of water flowing in the corner, more shelves and a rusty stove. Comparing the precise stonemasonry and tidy cabinetry of the building to the messy heaps on the floor, he was pretty sure these dogs were not the original builders.

Interesting as it was, it didn't get him any closer to rescuing the foals or returning to the surface. Fortunately, the door to the main cavern was a split door as well, so he was able to spy on the activity within.

Two dogs stood by the fire, seemingly deep in discussion. One was familiar – the short, hairy one who had carried the foals in. The other one was equally short, but gave off a very different impression. This one moved stiffly but precisely and was wiry beneath patchy fur. Wearing neither armor nor vest, it had instead some kind of harness that was festooned with so many mismatched bags and pouches that it had less visible fur than even the armored dogs. One paw held a gnarled staff, while the other gestured broadly as the creature spoke. Good thing there’s no such thing as curses, he mused. The way that critter is decked out, I’m almost surprised it doesn’t have a skull on the staff and an odd-colored brew bubbling away atop the fire.

The long haired one was equally animated, the two continuing their vigorous exchange until with a final yap and a brusque wave, the odd dog began walking straight towards his door. He frantically backpedalled, barely managing to throw himself through a side door before the canid entered.

He hadn't had a chance to check this room, and he found himself standing in pitch darkness after swiftly closing the door. Unnerved by the narrow escape, it took him a few moments of fumbling in the dark before he was able to extract his flashlight from his pack. A quick sweep of the beam revealed a jumble of furnishings, but no occupants. Breathing a sigh of relief, he turned around and peered back into the room he had just left.

Within, the odd dog was heading straight towards one of the jumbled piles of items. This one was among the largest, and it was definitely the messiest. He couldn't see any sort of logic to the sprawling mound of jars, bags and other containers, but the wiry canid seemed to know exactly where to look, as it immediately retrieved a large yellow pouch from the jumbled mess. The canid then grabbed a low bowl from a cupboard, filled it from the basin of water and took both items to the table. There it took the pouch and poured a small amount of powder into the water, before stirring it in with a single long claw. Replacing the pouch in its pile, it then carefully carried the bowl back out into the main cavern.

Turning away from the door, he shone his light around the small room again, and spotted a shuttered window. Walking over to the opening, he doused his flashlight and cracked open the shutter. He peered out just in time to see the canid briefly lift one edge of the crate and slide the bowl in with the foals.

After that, the dogs resumed talking, but with less vehemence than before, and ignoring the crate entirely. It wasn't long before he lost interest as well and shifted his attention to the small side room he was in. Closing the shutter, he turned his flashlight back on and looked around.

He hadn't really appreciated it before, but this room had a different air to it; it wasn't just lacking in offensive odors – the atmosphere here had a sense of time to it. The room looked like it had been rifled through, and there were a few pieces of broken furniture piled just inside the doorway, but despite the surface chaos, it still exuded a sense of age and decorum that was quite at odds with the outer room.

A large wooden desk dominated the center of the room, with papers spilling out of drawers that hung from the desk like lolling tongues. Before the desk sat a low, padded bench, powdered stuffing drifting down from the corners. What really caught his attention, however, was a portrait hanging above the desk. His eyes widened in surprise as he shone his light up on it, and saw three ponies gazing back, their painted eyes still bright on the canvas after who knows how long.

Though innocuous enough, the painting nevertheless set his mind abuzz. I didn't think it was the dogs, but ponies dig mines too? What's more these aren't pegasi – none of them have any wings. They could pass for the ponies back home, except for the differences in their colors and proportions.

Curiosity piqued, he examined the portrait with some interest. The picture was set in a nondescript room, and depicted a trio of ponies, two larger ponies in the rear flanking a smaller pony, with all three posed in such a way that their hindquarters were clearly visible. They all seem to have quite intricate brands, he observed. The left rear pony was tall and solidly built, with a white coat, a green mane, and sporting the image of a pick on its rump. On the right was a shorter pony, also sturdy, but not as much as the other was. This one had a tan coat and a pale blue mane, and a rump marking that depicted a basket of gems. Finally, in front of and between the two was a third, smaller than the other two, but lanky. A juvenile? he wondered. It also had a tan coat, but its mane was a deep violet, and its posterior depicted what looked like a minecart.

He leaned back, bemused. Huh. The images are all different, but still relate to mining. Cattle brands would all be identical, plus they can’t hold color. Tattoos could have this sort of variety, and have color, but a tattoo shouldn't be visible through the coat. Maybe they’re painted on, or dyed? This is a portrait, so it could be their equivalent of formalwear, considering they don’t wear any clothes. Wait a minute, though – didn’t that pegasus in the magazine have something similar? he pulled out the magazine and checked it, sure enough, the mare had what looked like a blaze of fire on her rump. I thought that seemed familiar! This magazine doesn’t really seem to be showing a formal type of occasion, though. Yet another oddity.

Anyhow, from the overall composition of the picture, it looks like a family portrait, if anything. Probably depicting the mine owners. So, non-pegasi ponies mine? I suppose that could be useful to remember, he thought, filing the information away. Then at some point these dogs took over, though there is no sign of them in the portrait. I wonder what happened – did they abandon the place, or were they driven off?

Turning away from the picture, he looked down at the desk, curiously shuffling through the papers. The writing appeared similar to the script in the magazine – it was certainly equally incomprehensible. The form of the entries made him think they could be records of some sort, which would probably have been great, had he actually been able to read them. He found that the paper was also quite brittle, and he had to be careful not to tear the sheets. One sheaf caught his eye, however, as the paper was larger and of heavier stock than the others. Examining this pile, he was excited to see drawings and diagrams. Some appeared to depict machinery, which was interesting enough, but others appeared to be maps.

One in particular looked like it depicted an overhead view, and near the middle he saw a shape that looked familiar. Let's see, if I orient the map to align with the direction I was looking at from the entryway, then the passage to the surface would be at the bottom. In that case, this building matches up with these squares in the middle of the map, and the line with perpendicular hash marks would be the mine cart tracks. Away from the building, beyond the switchyard, the far right side of the cavern branches out into dozens of galleries and short, dead-end tunnels. Mineshafts?

He paused briefly, remembering the rails in the flickering light of the fire, and imagining them snaking onward, down into the bowels of the mountain. So that dark area the tracks disappeared into probably didn't lead anywhere I wanted to go. His fingers drummed absentmindedly on the table as his gaze returned to the center of the map. Follow the track the other way, though, and it goes left past the building and into a tunnel that runs all the way to the edge of the paper. Hmm. Next to the end were a few words and an arrow pointing away, but that was it.

It took him a good bit of leafing through the diagrams before he made any headway, but his patience was rewarded when he finally matched up the words at the edge of the map with part of the title of another diagram. This was an engineering drawing of some sort of machine at the edge of a pit, but he wasn't concerned with the technical details. What mattered was a photo attached to the bottom of the sheet showing the actual machine and, more importantly, a cluster of houses standing in the background. So the rails in the mine lead to at least one other exit, and one that comes out near a small town, to boot. Considering that the tracks don’t even come up to the surface here, it’s probably safe to say that the exit in the photo is more important. Granted, I could still be wrong, but it seems logical enough. And if these pieces all come together the way I think they do, well, knowing this place has a back door is definitely valuable.

He returned to the map, tapping it experimentally. Unfortunately, even its thicker paper was alarmingly brittle in his hand – there was no way it would survive any sort of hike through the caverns. He jotted down a rough facsimile of the relevant bits in his notebook before turning away from the papers, and checking out some of the other items in the room.

He was glancing over a pile of old cleaning supplies when he heard an angry commotion echoing from the main cavern. Peeking out the shutter again, he saw half a dozen more of the biped canines had appeared, and were now standing around the fire arguing. There was a large variety among them, including many variations of hair length and color. Most were similar to the tall one that had carried him – large, powerfully built, and wearing armor. Despite their apparent strength, however, they acted more like laborers or guards, as they deferred to the other obvious group.

This second group had even more variety than the first – in addition to fur variations, there were other body types as well, with smaller and weaker dogs in the mix. The one constant was that they all wore vests, and despite their less powerful physiques, they did most of the talking. Most of the new dogs were grunts, but three of the newcomers were of the vest class. Two wore grey vests, one short and light tan, the other even burlier than the guards and with a bluish coat. The final dog had grey fur and was also fairly tall, but the bright red vest it wore set it apart.

The new arrivals were heavily laden with all sorts of miscellaneous goods. These were mostly furnishings, with a few personal items, and a smattering of armor and weaponry. Many of the items were dented or bent, but the dogs seemed to have favored items made of precious metals, or encrusted with jewels, so he doubted the damage mattered so much. Most of the dogs were bedecked with an assortment of tiaras and bracelets and various glittering chains. A pair hefted shining metal urns, while several others maneuvered large bolts of cloth. One of the dogs clung to a set of golden armor, a golden helmet with a blue crest set atop its own. Another was trying to contain an unruly armload of gem-encrusted goblets without dropping a pawful of cutlery. Considering the variety, condition, and timing of all these items, he was pretty sure they could have only come from the fallen city. As the dogs settled in, most of the items accumulated in piles on the ground, though a few dogs hung onto them absentmindedly.

The crate had been removed, leaving the foals lying together on the floor. That had better have been some sort of sleeping powder, he thought darkly. The dogs were not paying them the slightest bit of attention, however, as they were all focused on one of the new dogs as it berated the two dogs that had captured him and the foals. This was the one wearing the red vest, and he was guessing it was the alpha, given how the others cringed as it shouted and waved its arms about. Gesturing wildly, it frequently pointed down at the foals, and occasionally up at the surface. Several times the shorter of the pair tried to present his tablet, while the tall one held out his flight jacket hopefully, but the alpha was on a roll and cut them off with a curt wave of the paw every time they tried to speak up.

Finally, the alpha's diatribe seemed to reach a conclusion. Addressing the tall guard dog that had carried him, the leader gestured sharply, indicating first the sleeping foals, and then pointing off along the tracks towards the building. The harried hound hurriedly nodded its assent, simply dropping his jacket in its haste to bolt for the building door.

He tracked the dog, moving to the inside door to keep watching it. The dog quickly headed over to its pile of stuff and retrieved a pack, setting it out on a table. It then grabbed a few bundles, before dumping out its water skin and refilling it from the water basin. Finally, it grabbed a basket and a few small pieces of bedding and carried these back out to the main room. Returning to the window, he saw the big dog had started bundling up the foals under the irate supervision of the alpha, while the smaller dog slumped off to the side, looking like it wanted to disappear.

Mind racing, he stepped back from the door. They're taking the foals through the mines? Could they be heading for the town in the photo? Have the dogs taken it over as well? Given all the armor and weapons they’re sporting, it seems plausible. I didn’t spend much time on the surface – they could easily control the entire area, and I wouldn’t know it. That doesn’t really change my situation, though. Whatever plan those dogs have for the foals, I can’t let it succeed – I’m going to return those foals to safety myself! And them moving the foals could prove to be my best chance to strike, though I still don't know if I can fight the big one directly. Perhaps there is another way. Glancing around the room, his eye fell on the dog's gear, laid out on the table. It's preparing some gear for the trip, at least. With sudden inspiration, he left the side room and went over to the odd dog's heap of items. Though not as quickly as the dog, he soon spotted the yellow pouch of powder that it had used on the foals. Moving swiftly, he dumped a generous portion into the water skin, shook it vigorously, put the powder back, and then hightailed it back to the side room.

The dog soon returned with the foals bundled up in the basket – he could see only their manes and tails peeking out of the cloth. Seeing them swaddled like that gave him another idea. When their manes fall the right way, you can't really see the foals at all. If I had the right materials, I could switch them out, and no one would be the wiser. All I really need is an appropriately sized object and some hair.

As he was considering this, the dog grabbed the gear it had laid out, and departed down the side hallway. Hmm. It's definitely not heading for the tunnel we came in through, which reinforces the case for another exit. And the map showed only one tunnel in that direction, so as far as I know, it’s heading for the town. I just hope it doesn’t stop by the cell, though there’s not much I can do about that chance, and sitting here fretting about it isn’t helping anything. Still, I need to be quick about putting this together – I can’t afford to let it get too much of a head start.

He briefly darted into the common room again, hunting around until he found another basket and some pieces of cloth similar to what the dog had used.

Returning to the side room, he hastily turned it upside down for useful material. Someone had clearly searched the room ages ago, but they weren't looking to make foal dummies. In short order, he found a couple of vases around the right size and shape and filled them with cloth until they had enough heft. For hair, he denuded a tasselled jacket he found hanging by the door, though he wasn't happy with the effect. It'd be better if I found some real hair to use, but what are the odds of running across nice hair down here? Especially for a color like purple.

In a few minutes, he had the bundles mostly constructed when he heard more commotion from the main cavern. Oh no! Have they discovered my escape? he fretted. Gingerly, he went over to the window and peered out.

A new dog had arrived, another of the grey vest wearers. It wrung its large paws together, shifting its weight back and forth between its feet as it spoke, gesturing emphatically back towards the main entrance. Its ears lay nearly flat against its head, and its tail was drooping as it babbled rapidly, continually pointing back up toward the surface.

After a few moments of this, the alpha held up a paw, waving the new dog to silence. It asked a question which the new arrival considered for a few moments before raising six fingers in response. The leader snorted, then asked something else – indicating the guard dog nearby who still precariously wore the blue-crested golden helmet atop its own. A few dogs nearby sniggered as the guard belatedly doffed the headgear, but the new dog responded to the question by shaking its head in negation.

The alpha let out its own derisive bark of laughter, before beginning a long, growling speech. Gesturing along with its words, the alpha pointed out beyond the entrance, extended one finger and traced it sinuously through the air, inscribing a circuitous, looping path that ended up back where it began. The new dog cocked its head briefly, before shaking it in vigorous disagreement. As it replied, it also stabbed a finger towards the entrance, but then drew it swiftly down and across in a straight line that came to rest pointing at the ground between its feet.

Seeing this, the alpha drew itself up, eyes narrowing and tail standing out as it raised its voice in reply and gestured repeatedly up at the surface, paws flapping as if it was waving it away. The scout backed away slightly, tail drooping, but still tenaciously answering and repeating its own point, even under the alpha’s increasingly withering responses. This exchange continued for a few minutes before trailing off, the two seemingly at an impasse.

Huh, that new dog seems to have seen something the leader doesn’t like. A case of shooting the messenger? he wondered.

In the silence, the alpha stared intently at the scout dog as it hunched down, thinking. As the seconds ticked by, the leader began tapping its foot impatiently. The scout's ears began to droop, as it again wrung its paws and glanced about nervously. Then its wandering gaze locked onto the heap of crates, and its eyes lit up.

Springing erect, it ran over to a crate that sat a little ways apart from the others. Briefly rummaging inside, it came back up holding some items that sparkled even in the gloom of the cave. He felt his jaw drop as he beheld three large round gemstones, two blue and one yellow. The scout dog arranged them into a blue-yellow-blue arc, before presenting them proudly to the alpha.

The leader merely shrugged, causing the new dog to deflate slightly. Set back but not defeated, it returned to the crate. Upon its return it displayed three large diamond-shaped blue gems, arranged in a rough triangular pattern. This time it was as if a cat had just leapt into a flock of songbirds, as the pack instantly dissolved into pandemonium.

The large dog with the grey vest jumped headfirst into a crate piled high with tools, with only his feet left sticking out. Its short, tan companion curled up on the ground, with its paws over its ears. Two armor-clad dogs ran around in circles yelping until they collided and fell over with a clatter, while a third ran off howling into the dark reaches of the cave. The odd medicine-dog ran back into the building, where he could hear it rummaging through items frantically.

It was hard not to laugh at their antics, but his situation was precarious enough already, and the dogs’ nervousness was infectious. Wow, those gems must really be bad news if they can scare these guys, he thought, concerned.

A few of the dogs did not react, merely standing there and watching their packmates uncertainly. Among them was the one who had delivered the news, the remaining one of the pair that had grabbed him, and a couple of the armored ones. They simply stood there in confusion and growing agitation as the rest of the pack melted down around them.

The leader was clearly in the worried camp, tugging at its ears and waving its paws in the air as it walked in circles, talking loudly to no one in particular. It abruptly whirled and directed a question to the tan crouching dog, who responded in a high-pitched falsetto that set his teeth on edge and sent a wave of wincing across the canids in the room. The alpha facepawed, gesturing for the other to stop. By now, even the uncomprehending dogs were starting to show signs of worry.

Finally, the leader stopped pacing and shook itself, as if it had just emerged from a cold bath. Its eyes narrowed, and it barked something out sharply, the room quieting as all the others looked at it expectantly. The alpha addressed the remaining member of the pair of dogs that had abducted him, pointing it in the same direction the first had gone in, and then talking at some length.

They're sending it after the first one? His stomach suddenly knotted. If the two join up, I won’t be able to handle them. Now the leader had shifted and began issuing orders to the rest of the pack, who had all returned to cluster around it. He wasn’t really still paying attention to the others, though, as he focused on his former captor who seemed desperately eager to follow the instructions it had just been given.

Fortunately, like the large dog, the first thing it did was go to the room to grab supplies. Without any foals to deal with, it barely broke stride as it grabbed a few bundles and a spear from one of the further piles. The spear gave him momentary pause but he realized it didn't fundamentally change the equation. These creatures are already stronger than I am – if I get into the sort of stand-up fight where a spear would come into play, then I’ve already lost.

He looked around hurriedly, spotting a broken-off chair leg lying among the wrecked furniture just inside the door. Clutching it in sweaty hands, his heart pounded as he watched the dog return, waiting for just the right moment. It approached steadily, until just before it reached his door, it turned away towards the hallway on the opposite side. The moment it started to turn, he saw his chance and launched himself from the side room.

The dog looked back at the sound of his sudden entry. He saw its eyes go wide, but it barely had time for a strangled yelp before he was on top of it. It had just began pivoting to bring the spear to bear when the first wild swing of his makeshift cudgel clipped the side of its head, jerking it to the side and dropping the dog like a sack of flour. Surprised, he stepped back and waited for the dog to get back up, but it just lay there, breathing slowly. Elation flooded him as his success sank in, but the sense of victory was quickly tempered as he considered what to do with the unconscious dog. Luckily, if the others just sent it off somewhere, they won't be expecting it back very soon. I just need somewhere to keep it out of the way for a while. He grinned, as the perfect solution came to him. Turnabout is fair play, after all.

He was glad this one was relatively small and wore no armor; had it been the large one that had originally carried him, he wasn't sure he would have been able to shift it. As things were, manhandling the unwieldy form was not easy, but adrenaline lent him strength, and he hastily drug it down the corridor and into the cell.

Once there, he rifled through its pockets to make sure it wouldn’t be able to escape too easily. He didn’t find any cell keys, but he was thrilled to find that it still had his phone, keys and wallet. It had a few other things as well, a pouch, a small ball of twine, and a few metal spikes. He pocketed them all for later examination. Looking at the dog’s long, black fur gave him another idea, as well. Acting quickly on it, he brought out the scissors from his knife and snipped off a generous portion of its longest tail fur. He stowed it in the basket, to incorporate into the dummies later. The dog was beginning to stir, so he closed and locked the door.

He briefly returned to the large room, retrieving the spear the dog had dropped and hiding the other bags in the side room where they wouldn’t be noticed. While there, he peeked in on the main chamber one last time. The alpha still stood in the middle barking orders, but some changes were already apparent. The crates had been moved back from the fire and covered with some sort of fabric. One dog had climbed the wall and was hanging ribbons, while another set out goblets, and a third had just appeared with an armload of cushions.

The sight derailed his thoughts once more. What? After kidnapping the foals, now they’re hosting some sort of party? What could they be celebrating? Maybe it might make sense if it was for the capture, but that doesn't match up with the foals being sent away, and how they reacted then. Now the dogs are putting together a fancy reception for the grim reaper because of some crystals, and it makes less sense than ever. The logic here is like a train wreck where they just keep sending more trains. I’m not even sure I want it to make sense anymore – that would probably be the surest sign that I’ve finally lost it.

He took a couple deep breaths to steady himself. Okay, I hate to leave loose ends that can come back and bite me in the ass, but I just do not have the time to deal with this anymore. He turned away from the door decisively and hefted his pack. Hoping he had everything he needed to deal with a situation that threatened to spin further and further out of control, he quietly headed down the hall and took his leave through the door at the end.

Author's Notes:

Once again, I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Kwakerjack, JonOfEquestria, and maskedferret. They've been incredibly patient with this chapter's long development, while not being afraid to tell me when I'm doing something stupid. I tackled a rather more complicated plot this chapter, and it would have been a confusing muddle without them pushing me in the right direction.

4 - Racing Shadows

The door closed with a soft thud, and he stood before the tracks he had seen earlier; rust flaked off the loose rails and crumbling ties that had once carried the mine’s lifeblood. Well, at least there’s one kind of train wreck I don’t have to worry about – I can scratch ’minecart escapades’ off today's agenda, he thought wryly. Still, though the track itself is trashed, it points the way to the exit, so the dog should’ve gone this way as well.

The rails ran along the building for only a short distance before they reached the edge of the cavern and disappeared into a small side tunnel. Looking around, he didn't see any other exits, which agreed with his recollection of the map.

He followed the track onwards into an offshoot of the natural cavern, where the walls soon narrowed and the ceiling pressed close. Soon, it was nothing but a cramped passageway, with tool marks making it clear how it had been made passable for the minecarts. Even with the excavation the tight quarters barely fit his frame, and he found himself having to hunch over slightly with the decoy basket held awkwardly before him and the butt of his spear trailing in the ground behind. Good thing I'm not claustrophobic, though I do wish I had a helmet.

Up ahead, the rough-cut tunnel ended in a square of blackness that swallowed up the beam from his flashlight. Reaching it, he found the tunnel had broken through into a large natural cavern, about the size of a football field. Here the walls formed a semicircle, with the tunnel emerging at one end. From there, the track ran atop a ledge that hugged the curving left wall, while the wall to the right was a flat plane that dropped into a dark pit that dominated the center of the room. The ceiling was a rough dome of raw rock, riddled with cracks and bare of any stalactites or stalagmites. Fallen stone fragments lay everywhere, ranging from small pebbles to boulders the size of a phone booth.

He set out, moving briskly along the trackbed around the pit and stepping carefully to avoid slipping on the loose rock littering its surface. The going was treacherous, but manageable, and he made good progress.

He had made it perhaps two thirds of the way around the edge when he felt the ledge shift beneath his weight. The rails groaned as the ground moved under them and he froze, swaying slightly as he tried to maintain his balance. His pulse pounded and his heavy breathing was loud against the fading echoes of twisting metal and dislodged stones clattering down into the dark void.

Holy crap, that was too close! I could've died! Ice ran through his veins and he broke into a sweat as the last echoes faded away. He didn't want to move, but staying on the ledge wasn’t safe either, and every heartbeat spent waiting put the foals further away. His gut was a keening void as he resumed his advance, gingerly testing his footing at each step. Driven by a growing sense of urgency, he slowly increased his pace, his stomach gradually unknotting as he picked his way down the rubble-strewn tracks.

At the far end, the curving wall re-encountered the flat plane, and the track turned sharply to run alongside it before disappearing into a vertical fissure in the rock. He was only a few strides from the fissure, when he heard voices echoing behind him.

Abandoning caution, he quickly scurried ahead to the exit, the basket banging against his legs as he ran. Darting through the opening, he flattened himself against the wall before carefully peering back out. From here, the illuminated entryway of the tunnel was easy to make out. Not one, but six equine figures spilled out into the gloomy cavern. Pink, yellow, white, blue, orange, and purple were represented, with even more variations in their hair color. Only two appeared to have wings, but though one was yellow, it had different hair from the mare he'd encountered previously. Most are just ‘normal’ type ponies, then – hopefully they will be inclined to reason, he speculated.

Their gear was as varied as the ponies themselves; the white and purple ones were the only members of the group who wore headlamps, though for some reason the lights were colored – magenta and light blue, respectively. Despite the coloration, he found spots dancing in front of his eyes as he squinted against the glare. Those headlamps throw a lot of light, but the way they just shine it in all directions wastes an awful lot of energy. And if it keeps me from seeing much about those two, I imagine it must be pretty annoying for them as well. Whoever designed those things really called it in. Struggling to make out any detail, he could tell that the white one was wearing a scarf, while the orange one wore a cowboy hat, of all things. The four non-pegasi had saddlebags, and all of them except the purple one appeared to be wearing necklaces of some sort.

They paused there at the entrance for a moment, clustered together, their voices carrying clearly in the underground hush. Not that he understood any of it, but it sounded like there was some sort of disagreement. The blue one was hovering in midair – how do they do that!? – while pointing down the track and gesturing emphatically, to which the violet and orange ones had their voices raised in reply. To the side, the white and yellow ones were examining something, but he couldn't see what until the yellow one flew up with it in its hooves. My jacket! They must have taken it from the dogs. Meanwhile, the pink one was... staring straight at him.

It could have been just looking at the exit, but he had the uncanny feeling that those eyes were locked onto his own. Unnerved, he stepped back behind the reassuring bulk of the rock entryway. Perhaps I've lingered long enough. He began to move rapidly down the tunnel, trying to keep his footfalls light.

Behind him, the voices cut off – replaced by rapid hoofbeats. Did they hear me? Crapcrapcrap this is way too soon! I can't meet them yet – I don't have the foals. How can I explain all of this? He swore under his breath and increased his pace. Here the tunnel ran mostly straight and slightly downhill. There wasn't much fallen rock, but running atop the disintegrating track was inherently hazardous. He had to watch his step while trying to put on speed, the spear and basket making it even more awkward. He hadn't run seriously since high school, and even then he'd been terrible. Now he had just started running, and he was already breathing like a bellows.

It gave him pause. Trying to sprint down an underground mine shaft. What am I, an idiot? That dog must have a huge lead with the foals. Can I really expect to outrun a bunch of ponies? Running is what ponies do – excepting the ones that fly, of course. His pace faltered as he grimaced. I waited too long.

Slowing, he glanced back and saw that he'd only made it a few dozen meters. The hoofbeats echoed louder and louder, and the light brightened, but they hadn't entered the passage yet. Then the he staggered as the floor suddenly lurched and the hoofbeats were swallowed up in the thunderous crash of stone.

He whipped his head forward again as he tried to stop. The ground heaved again, harder, with an earsplitting crack and a sudden gust of wind that caught him from behind, hurling him from his already unstable feet. His flashlight skittered away as he fell, arms curling up protectively above his head.

The terrible crashing ended mercifully quickly, and there were no more gusts like the first, but the unnerving shaking continued a while longer, each shiver making his heart skip a beat. I should not be down here, he thought darkly.

Finally, the tremors began to ebb, and he uncovered his head and opened his eyes. Blessed light! His flashlight had come to rest a body-length away, the beam playing against the side of a rusty rail and diffusing into the dust swirling all around him. Visibility was practically nil, but he hardly cared. His light was still working and hadn't rolled too far – right now that was all that mattered. He crawled over, picking the flashlight up in shaking hands and clutching it tightly. Swaying slightly, he stood up and shone it about. The dusty air picked the beam out in sharp relief, but the tunnel he could see seemed the same otherwise.

As the panic passed, his mind slowly settled and he considered the situation once more. I’ve lost yet more time – that much can’t be helped. But what happened? He stared speculatively back the way he’d come. Did the ledge give way? Is that group in trouble? The pegasi should be fine, but what about the others? Perhaps I can demonstrate my good intentions by helping. He turned, picked up the basket, and began retracing his steps.

He had not gone far before his half-formed plans were dashed. A portion of the passage ceiling near the entrance had collapsed, almost completely filling it. He could still see a small sliver of blackness at the top, and he thought he might've heard voices, but nothing bigger than a cat would be getting through that barrier now.

He eyed the shattered stone critically. The pile looks loose, and none of the pieces I can see are all that big, but there are an awful lot of them, and I’m not sure how stable this tunnel is anymore. On Earth, this would have taken a work crew hours to clear, not to mention hazard pay. Solo? By the time I got through, it'd be over one way or the other. Pointless. He sighed. Well, at least now my course of action is clear – it's up to me to rescue those foals. Plus, I don't have to worry about any more complications – if clearing all those rocks is impractical for me, it'd be downright impossible with just hooves and wings.

Decision made, he turned around and pressed forward with redoubled urgency.

The passage continued to follow the line of the fissure, mostly straight, but gradually descending. The slight grade was welcome as he pushed himself to keep up the pace. It worked for a time, but trying to maintain speed on a treacherous surface in poor lighting was both physically and mentally draining. Despite his determination, he soon found a stitch developing in his side and his momentum faltered once more.

Desk work has not exactly prepared me well for underground footraces, he thought irritably as he leaned up against a fallen chunk of rock, breathing heavily and reaching into his backpack for the water bottle. As his labored breathing eased, another sound gradually became apparent – rushing water.

He looked ahead more closely and noticed that the black void ahead was not as completely black as he had thought; a small patch ahead seemed persistently lighter. Turning off his light confirmed it. Have I reached the exit already? he wondered. It doesn’t really make sense, if I’m as far down as I think I am. Maybe I overlooked a narrow gorge from above? Regardless, he set out again, his steps quickening in anticipation as he forged ahead, the light growing as he neared it.

Minutes later, he stepped from the end of the passage into another world, but he wasn't outside like he had thought he would be. Rather, the tunnel had broken into another, significantly larger passage, one big enough to hold a double-tracked railroad, and running further than he could tell. He stood at the outside of a bend, with the curving tunnel cutting off his sight in both directions. Instead of a sky, the light poured in from veins of crystal that ran along the walls or thrust from the ceiling.

At the bottom a small river busily carved the chamber still deeper; narrow and swift, the torrent leapt and churned in exuberant waves. Above the river, the fantastical crystalline illumination brought to life an unreal landscape. Instead of the raw, broken rock of the previous chamber, this cavern had an array of stone forms where it had flowed and solidified over uncounted millennia. Those below had been scoured and molded to suit the whims of the river, but above clung stalactites, as well as stranger features he had no names for. He'd seen pictures of this sort of thing, but they had hardly prepared him for the real thing.

Amidst the welcome change in scenery were a few discordant notes. Some of the formations had fallen – perhaps recently, if the cleanness of the breaks was any indication. Pieces of the resultant rubble looked to have fallen into the river as well, whipping this stretch into even more of a frenzy than he imagined it usually was. As well, though the trackbed crossed the river before turning to run downstream alongside the water, the actual track stopped at his feet, leaving just a gravel pathway stretching out before him.

This absence of the tracks was odd, but manageable. More troubling was the absence of the bridge the tracks had used to cross the river. A few stumps of timber jutted from each bank, but that was it, and given the state of this stretch of the river... Too far to jump, too deep to ford, and too rough to swim. But in that case, where did the dog go? His stomach sank at the thought he might have been chasing an assumption, and he worriedly scanned the ground for some sort of clue. To his immense relief, he soon picked out a rough path leading away from the trackbed. It branched off to the right of the track, heading upstream.

It wasn't really much of a path, more of a collection of paw prints with delusions of grandeur, but one set of those prints was sharp and well defined. He had never done any tracking before, but he was pretty sure that was a good sign.

The path snaked a fairly easy route among the obstacles of the tunnel floor as it paralleled the river. The cavern meandered as well, slowly gaining elevation. He hadn't gone far, though, before he noticed a change in the atmosphere. Though the path was no closer to the stream, the roar of water grew steadily louder as he progressed. Rounding the inside of a corner, his breath caught as he beheld the reason.

A rippling curtain of water plunged down from above, the centerpiece of a spectacular room. The cascade itself was a liquid sculpture, dynamically shifting in an endless dance. More than twice his height, the thundering torrent issued from an upper cavern, from where it spilled through a smoothly worn groove in an outthrust ledge, and curved down in a graceful arc until it met the waters below in a roiling froth that wreathed the pool in mist. Evanescent patterns of light shimmered from its dancing surface as it plunged, while smaller flows on the sides splashed from the jutting rocks, adding to the glittering spray.

The whole scene was gently lit by massive, glowing crystal veins that burst into the cavern, just a little further down the wall from where he stood. The wall on the far side of the river was covered in crystal as well, but instead of shining spires, these were large, flat plates that did not glow, but instead acted as mirrors and reflected the scene manyfold. The overall effect was breathtaking, and though the chamber was only a little wider than the tunnel leading up to it, it felt much bigger.

Away from the waterfall, the plunge pool calmed to where he could see through the pure water to the stones lining the bottom of the pool. Here too, fragments of crystal intermingled with base rock, creating a coruscating effect with the shifting waves that reminded him of looking into a night sky filled with twinkling stars. The pool was framed by solid rock, except for the far side, where a narrow fringe of sand clung to the shore. In the middle of this sparse beach was a spit of sand, with yet another strange creature partially beached atop it.

Oh no, not something else weird, he thought despairingly as he staggered to a halt. This one was basically serpentine, with a vibrant purple body that trailed away into the depths of the pool. The portion above the water was also purple, though he could see bright orange tufts peeking around from the far side. Great. Another complication, he groused. Fortunately, it hadn't shown any signs of noticing him so far, and its little patch of sand was conveniently isolated.

Focusing on the task at hand, he saw that although the cavern continued above the cascade, the trail took a different route. It crossed the river by diving down to the pool and passing directly behind the waterfall, before climbing up the bank and winding downstream. From here, the route looked both spectacular and perilous.

Much as he wanted to linger and take in the spectacle from his current, comfortably safe vantage point, the clock was still ticking. I never saw the dog headed downstream on the far bank, and since the path curves back on itself, that means it must have already made it to the waterfall and back before I arrived at the river. I still have a lot of ground to make up, he thought in concern as he set out once more.

He followed the path down to the water, gingerly lowering himself over the slippery rocks, and edging his way beneath the ledge of rock that thrust out from upstream.

Here at the water’s edge, the roar of the falls enveloped him, and the wet, slippery rocks made the path treacherous. Focused as he was on his footing, the tip of the spear swung out just a little too far, and a sharp tug caught him off guard as the rushing water clutched at it greedily. Suddenly unbalanced, he reflexively let go of the shaft before it could take him with it. In an instant, the weapon had tumbled away and vanished into the churning pool.

He staggered back, reaching a hand out to steady himself against the wall, legs shaking after this latest close call. Breathing heavily, he looked up and realized how far behind the cascade he had already gone. The gentle play of light shone through the fluttering sheet of water as it hung, suspended in space, contrasting sharply with the shadowed thunder at its base. Despite his predicament, the sight took his breath away and, for a moment, he wished he had time to appreciate the view. Instead, he riveted his attention back to the ground and pressed on; here behind the falls, the path demanded nothing less. Around him, the crashing rumble beat into his skull and the rocks themselves seemed to vibrate as the air seethed with mist in the dappled half-light. At times the vapor was thick enough to pool around his legs, shrouding the path, and making him feel like he was falling through the clouds once more as he slowly crept forwards.

It seemed to take ages, but he finally made it out from under the ledge, the path widening and mist thinning until he was walking confidently down the narrow beach. Up ahead he could clearly see the figure on the sand, and from this angle, it was more perplexing than ever. The slender purple body still looked basically serpentine, but from here it was obvious that the bright orange tufts he’d seen before were merely the tips of a full head of hair.

Said head was pointed away from the pool, making it hard to see from the far bank, and aligning it with one of the larger crystal mirrors. Though it had a strong leonine cast, the face was surprisingly expressive, possibly due to the human-like hair. Large curling locks adorned the top of its head and end of its snout, reminding him of nothing so much as a dapper English gentleman, except that the last third of the facial hair on one side seemed to be... Purple hair! How incredibly fortunate!

The creature lay bonelessly on the sand, eyes shut and breathing slowly. He would have said it was impossible to hear anything over the roar of the waterfall, except he thought he could hear a bass rumble in time with its breath. Is it snoring?

Movement in the pool caught his eye, and he looked down to see the spear bobbing as the waves slowly washed it up against the sand next to the creature. He found himself torn. It's got purple hair – exactly what I need to copy the filly, and much better than these tassels. With this, the dummies would be just about perfect. Plus, I might be able to retrieve the spear. Either one of those could be critical later on.

Of course, they both also rely on catching up to the dog, which in turn depends on not being eaten by an enraged sea serpent with half a mustache. He sighed heavily. I can't believe I'm seriously contemplating doing this, but no risk, no reward. The worst part is that this isn't even the craziest thing that has happened to me so far – just the most hazardous thing I've had any sort of choice in. Still, at the rate things are going, I'm sure I'll have to do something equally hare-brained. His hands clenched and unclenched reflexively as he stared at the ceiling absently. Fine, so this is an incredibly stupid idea, but if I pull it off, it will be invaluable. I'll try it, but the instant things start to go wrong, I'm out of here.

Resolved, he carefully crept down the beach to the little spit of sand, the rushing water swallowing up his footsteps. He set down the basket so it wouldn't encumber him, and turned to regard the creature.

The face was larger than his torso, but it was utterly relaxed, the eyes closed and ears hanging limp. At this distance, he could clearly make out the delicate pattern of scales, and the supple way they moved with each breath it took. It still showed no sign of being aware of his presence, breathing deeply, and twitching occasionally as it slept. Just pretend it's your brother and the shaving cream again, he thought, stepping forwards.

All too soon, he had crossed the narrow beach and reached the head. It exhaled deeply, and he froze and blinked in surprise as the warm air washed over him. Minty breath? Just what does this creature eat? Or do they make dragon-size breath mints? He shifted his weight forward once more, two hesitant steps taking him close enough to touch. From there he turned and sidled nervously alongside its jaw, the water deepening quickly and forcing him to toe the precarious edge. The open strip of sand narrowed quickly, and wavelets were licking at his heels as he finally reached his goal.

The shaft of the spear still bobbed just to the side, tantalizingly close. He carefully bent over to retrieve it, breathing an inaudible sigh of relief as he picked it up without incident. He quickly repurposed it as a support, and two careful steps later, he had reached the hair.

Unfortunately, the mustache was long enough that the purple section he actually needed was sitting over deeper water, out of reach. I’ll have to cut further down, he realized. It's a waste, but there's no helping it. Supporting the length of hair in one hand, he took out the scissors on his Swiss army knife and began snipping near the midpoint. The hair had an odd, metallic quality, but was still quite fine, and cut easily. In short order, the last strand parted, and he was holding the purple and orange plume of hair.

He froze as the creature stirred, but after a couple incoherent murmurs, it subsided. Carefully, he relaxed and began to creep away. With any luck, maybe it won't notice, he thought forlornly. Seeing the reflection in the nearest crystal plate, however, well... The word lopsided seems inadequate. Yeah, I'm not feeling so lucky today, he thought, hurrying his steps while listening intently for any hint of motion behind him. Reaching the bank, he hastily scooped up the basket, scrambled away from the pool, and hustled downstream along the path as quickly as he dared. Only after he had rounded several curves in the tunnel did he feel safe enough to pause and take stock of the situation.

The purple hair was a bit darker than he remembered the filly's hair being, but it was close – much better than the tassels, or trying to use the black fur from the dog on both dummies. This purple hair was also silky and incredibly fine, which contrasted oddly with the coarse, almost wiry texture of the orange section, despite the almost seamless transition between the two. It was a pity he could only use a few, thin strands of the orange to approximate the colt’s red streaks; though it was a nice bonus to improve that dummy as well, he had no real use for most of it.

Since he had already stopped, he set about redoing the dummies with the new hair. It had been a big risk, but the results might just be worth it – as the cloth bundles were basically featureless, the hair had an outsized impact, and the dummies had much more verisimilitude now.

The break also gave him a good opportunity to finally look at the pouch he had taken from the dog when he locked it up. It was made of a rough, sturdy fabric, and small enough to fit in his hands, but it was still noticeably heavy and quite lumpy. Opening the drawstring, he gasped at the contents sparkling in the dim light. Holy crap, these gems must be worth a small fortune! I'm no jeweler, but several look like they would be perfect for an engagement ring, too. It's just too bad there aren't any of the blue ones the dogs seem to be so afraid of...

A smile played on his face as he stood up, squared his shoulders, and looked ahead down the trackbed. Okay, I’m making progress, but it's too early to celebrate – there's still a dog to catch.

He set out once more, soon encountering the empty bridge location and rejoining the track. Just like the other bank, the rails on this side were missing, though the bed was mostly intact, and the occasional tie remained.

The babble of the river gradually soothed his worries, especially compared to the earlier oppressive silence. He wouldn't be able to hear the dog up ahead, but hopefully it wouldn't be able to hear him either. He followed the trackbed at a fast walk, keeping a sharp eye out ahead for any sign of the dog.

He hadn't made it far when he felt that something was off. It took him a moment to place the change; a strange howling coming from behind him, followed by a building rumble. He looked back to see a frothing mass of water surging down the river, raising the level abruptly. Alarmed, he scrambled off the track and sprinted away from the river, climbing up the sloping tunnel wall as far as he could. From there he watched the water nervously, but after a few tense moments, the flood seemed to stabilize just below the level of the track, and showed no signs of rising further.

I'm lucky I crossed when I did, he thought as he eyed the now-raging torrent. With this much water, that path behind the waterfall must be completely awash. I hope that creature is okay. It looked at home in the water, though and I'm sure the raging water woke it up. It's probably fine, even if it did get washed downstream. Hmm. I might want to keep an eye out for it, though, just in case it does get washed past me. With that thought in mind, he warily watched both river and path as he resumed his trek. He seemed to have gotten his second wind, and he made good time along the trackbed.

As he had noticed earlier, this tunnel seemed to stretch on and on, meandering only slightly. The river wove back and forth as well, but it generally hugged the far wall, leaving a broad bank on the right hand side. There were occasional patches of light, and more of the exotic rock formations, but the tunnel was mostly a study of rock, water, and mud. At least the route was generally easy going; the gravel was even and the track sloped gently downhill. It ran on for perhaps half a kilometer like this before he noticed a change up ahead.

Here the walls fell away as the passage opened up into a large space, perhaps the size of two or three gymnasiums, dimly lit by a few more crystal veins. The river ran steadily along on his left, while the floor to the right dropped much more quickly, until it reached a flat dirt plain. In the middle, the track path stayed level, atop an earthen embankment that soon began to feel a bit like a dike.

Motion next to the path caught his eye – he froze, dousing his light. The movement came again, and this time he made out a shower of earth thrown up from the right of the embankment, just a little ways ahead of him.

Something was digging into the bank beneath the path. Listening carefully above the rush of the stream and his own quiet approach, he could hear a familiar guttural voice muttering in the hole below. It’s the dog! But if the dog is down in the hole, where are the foals?

He stopped and scanned the chamber more carefully; it ended a little ways ahead, the river disappearing into a much smaller tunnel, barely wide enough to accommodate the current flow. Just before the chamber wall, however, the track path curved to the left and re-crossed the river. The bridge here was also missing, with a section of rapids marking the spot where it should have been.

It was there, at the base of the crossing, that he finally saw the basket. Oh, so the river blocked the dog as well? What luck! It might not have drunk from the canteen, but that doesn’t matter anymore – this is my chance!

Channeling his inner ninja, he crept down the path, across where the creature labored below. He could barely hear its whuffing exertions, but the grumbling came through clearly and he fancied he could feel the dirt tremble slightly beneath his feet, though that could have easily have been the energy of the river.

Barely daring to hope, he snuck away from the dig site, and came up to the basket. Looking back, he saw dirt still streaming from the side of the berm and risked briefly using the flashlight. The sudden flood of relief almost turned his knees to jelly as he saw two little bundles lying in a basket, small tufts of hair poking out and the fabric gently rising and falling with each breath. Shoot, I can’t make the dummies do that. I hope the dog isn't so observant. Asleep and wrapped up like this, they seemed so much smaller than the energetic bundles of mayhem he was accustomed to.

He’d planned to quickly exchange his prepared basket for the dog’s, but he realized that the baskets didn’t match as closely as he'd hoped, so he had to swap their contents instead. He moved as quickly as he could, but it still took a few moments to get the blankets right and the dummies' hair to fall correctly. His heart was pounding harder than during his run, but he forced himself not to hurry. After a couple long minutes he finally stood, satisfied with his handiwork. It’s not perfect, but it’s solid – enough to pass a casual inspection, I hope. Time to make good my escape.

He scanned the cave, considering his options. Ahead, the river seethed and roiled, with great standing waves and churning waters. That’s where I want to go, but there's no crossing with it like that. Behind was the embankment, where the dog still dug furiously. I could head upstream, but I hate to backtrack, plus I don’t want to risk disturbing the dog by walking over it. Better to keep my distance if I can.

Looking around for an alternative, he spotted a large cluster of stalagmites a little ways down the slope that seemed to offer enough concealment. Picking his way down the slope to them, he found himself on the edge of a large, flat plain. It was an odd purplish dirt, crusty, and with clearly defined edges. The surface was largely free of stone, though various pieces of wood lay scattered atop it. Conveniently, a wooden crate lay among the debris nearest the stalagmite. The bottom was embedded a few inches into the ground, but it was easy to shift and proved just big enough to serve as an impromptu seat for him and the basket.

He wasn't happy with the basket. The dog had managed the one it had, and he'd put up with his own so far as well, but it kept banging against his leg, and he didn't trust the handle. Time for some judicious repacking. Emptying out the main compartment of his backpack left just enough room for the foals. They barely stirred at the shift to the backpack, which told him a bit of just how out of it they were. With the backpack full, the magazine, first aid kit, and lunchbox were bumped over to the basket.

As he was finishing up, he noticed that the tone of the river had changed again. He looked up the slope warily, peeking around the edge of the stalagmite. He couldn't hear anything above the sound of the river, but motion atop the embankment caught his eye. The canid was walking along it, striding until it was standing nearly above him. He held his breath as the dog halted, then exhaled slowly in relief as it merely picked up the basket and continued along until it disappeared out of view.

After a few minutes, he hadn't seen any further sign of the dog, and his curiosity got the better of him. He strapped on his backpack, grabbed the spear, and stealthily scaled the bank. He kept a low profile, worming his way up the last few feet, until he had his head level with the trackway and was peering across. He spotted a figure moving on the opposite riverbank – the canid had somehow made it, and was quickly climbing up. As he watched, it deftly scaled the rubble and vanished into the gloom.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Thank goodness, it finally left. He grinned broadly. I got away with it! I almost can't believe it! Now I just need to make it out of here with the foals.

Climbing all the way up, he got his first real look at the river crossing. The river still raged violently, but it was running lower now, exposing a series of pilings that jutted from the frothing water like jagged teeth. The dog must have been working to lower the level of the river, he thought, as he eyed the stones with some trepidation. That's still not an easy crossing to make.

So that digging changed the water level? he speculated. I should probably check it out – Now that I have the foals, there’s no reason to rush. To the contrary, if I move too fast, I might catch up to the dog again. He walked back upstream along the embankment, and soon got his answer. A sizable volume of water was pouring through a new hole in the embankment, enough to draw down the level of the river on the other side. So that was its plan, he mused. That's an impressive bit of digging – I don't think I'll be able to improve on it. It might grow larger on its own, though. It’s a good thing I didn't choose to hide upstream; I wouldn't want to cross that section now, the way it's being undermined.

Then, as he watched, the river suddenly quieted, the volume of water dropping off as it mysteriously reverted to the rowdy brook he had originally seen. The flow of the diversion died away as well – the reduced river level no longer even enough to reach the inlet of the dog's tunnel.

He scratched his head, puzzled. That's seriously strange. Did something else happen upstream? he wondered. Still, there's no sense in waiting for it to come back. I may not be comfortable with it, but I'm not going to look a gift horse in the– No, just no. That idiom has been forever ruined for me now.

Setting his thoughts aside, he hurried back along the path and down the embankment to where he’d left the basket, but he only made it halfway down before he stopped in his tracks, swearing softly. It figures something had to go wrong. I should've considered where all that water would end up.

Ahead of him, the dirt plain had been transformed, and was now almost half a meter higher than he remembered. Disconcertingly, even at its new, higher level, the substance had a crusty surface that made it appear dry and solid. As he watched closely, though, he could see the surface shift, with various bits of wood and other light debris swirling and drifting about in a way that showed that it was still quite fluid underneath. Unfortunately, among those swirling, drifting debris was the crate with the basket, which had come loose and now floated several meters away from the shore.

Still, the inflow of water had halted, and as he watched, he noted that the level did not rise any further. Unfortunately, it didn’t fall, either, and though the swirling slowed, it did not altogether cease. Instead, the lingering motion gave rise to a new disquiet, setting off senses honed by numerous late-night horror movies and sporadic fridge-cleaning.

Could he get his stuff back? He toed the edge of the muck dubiously, pulling back as his boot immediately sank into the purplish gunk. Slippery, sticky, and disturbingly gelatinous mud. He hefted the spear and reached out with it, probing the hidden depths of the pit. About half a meter from the edge, the bottom dropped off almost out of reach. He tried from a couple other angles, quickly finding the same result. He stood back on the edge, massaging his temples absentmindedly.

Dammit, I just don't see how I can get the basket back with what I have. I’m not about to wade in there, there’s nothing to float with, building a causeway would take too much time, and I'd need a longer staff or a rope to fish it out. So much for all my gear. Frustrated, he kicked a rock onto the mud, though watching it quickly sink away didn’t help his mood any. He sighed. I got the foals, and that's what counts. At least I'm not in a race anymore.

Defeated by the mud, he climbed back up the berm and surveyed the river crossing once more. The water was still low and placid, revealing several more stepping stones than before. He carefully picked his way down to the river and stepped out across the rushing water. The rocks were slippery, but the crossing was a breeze compared to the waterfall, and after a few careful minutes he was scaling the far bank. Cresting the top cautiously, he broke into a smile as his careful scan didn't find any sign of the dog. Of course, he couldn’t see much of anything else, either – just a boring slope of gravel and rock, with the path running up and away from the river before disappearing into shadow.

Despite the gloom around him, he found his spirits lifting. Well, that's one set of hurdles cleared. I got the foals, lost the dog and crossed the river. Now I just need to keep the two of them safe while getting out of here and figuring out how to meet the locals on reasonable terms. Piece of cake. Of course this latest bit of running around has doubtlessly put the nail in the coffin of the 'stay in one place' approach. Ah well, no point in dwelling on bygones. Yeah, there's still a lot to overcome, but I've come a long ways already.

He stood poised for a moment longer, eyes focused somewhere beyond the enveloping darkness.

I just need to keep forging ahead.

Author's Notes:

As always, I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Kwakerjak, midnightshadow, JonOfEquestria, and maskedferret. They've taken time out of their busy schedules to pore over my erratic pony writing, and I'm incredibly thankful for their patience. Speaking of such, sorry for leaving you all hanging so long, hopefully this is will be bearable, while I put together the next.

5 - Light at the end of the tunnel

Resolved, he set out once more, following the trackbed as it led away from the river and climbed the rocky slope. He had only walked a short distance before rusty rails reappeared on the track; a few meters further and the edge of the cavern materialized out of the gloom. Upon reaching the edge, the tracks turned and began running alongside it, climbing a ledge carved into the wall until they reached a small side-cavern perched high above the main cave floor.

The light from the crystal veins pooled at the entrance to the side-cavern, leaving the depths a black void. He brought out his flashlight once more and immediately gasped as the light unveiled the mysteries within. Safely above the scouring wash of the river, this cavern was more otherworldly than any of the ones he had seen before. It didn't have the spectacle of the waterfall, true, but the sheer number of formations was overwhelming, and the natural sculptures here had an ephemeral elegance that he hadn't seen before. Delicate shapes crowded the room, with even the long-vanished miners respecting the spectacle enough to route the track around the most impressive sights.

It almost felt like a scenic stroll as he wound his way through the cavern. The track crossed a stone bridge above a ringed circular pool, swerved around a wavy stone curtain and, for one particularly massive stalagmite cluster, even dove into another artificial side-tunnel. Unfortunately, when he tried to follow the path past the stalagmites, he found that the tunnel entrance had collapsed.

Looking around for an alternate route, he spotted a nearby trail of footprints leading away from the track, including the set he’d noticed earlier that looked newer than the rest. Well, it's nice to know that I'm not headed towards a dead end, but I'd be happier if my path had a little less overlap with this particular critter. Beggars can't be choosers, though, he thought, hesitantly stepping down into the otherworldly stone jungle that sprouted at the verge of the tracks.

He followed the prints closely – this wasn't an easy walk on the tracks anymore. The natural cave floor was treacherously uneven, and he was focused on avoiding pitfalls, rather than appreciating the scenery.

The trail traversed a muddy slope, before climbing a small rise and arriving at the forest of columns that sprouted from the crest. Stone pressed close on all sides as he wove his way among the clammy gray pillars, slipping between the narrow gaps and stepping carefully on the lumpy rocks below. The rock was wet and slick to the touch, while the air lay cold and heavy around him. The innumerable stone surfaces caught every echoing drip of water, scrape of boot, and labored breath, accentuating and distorting the noises into a haunting soundscape.

As if on cue, a low moaning rose around him, and he felt a chill breath of air on his neck. He looked around nervously, as shivers ran down his spine and his grip unconsciously tightened on the spear. The shadows danced as his searching flashlight gave life to the twisted stone forms, but the room betrayed no hint of movement.

Okay, it's only the wind. Just air and rocks. Nothing to worry about, no matter how much it may be creeping me out, he thought, hurrying his steps as he finally escaped the field of stalagmites.

The prints wove back and forth around a couple of other obstacles before finally running off to the side and rejoining the tracks. He set foot on the gravel ballast with a smile of relief and set out at a fast clip once more. After only a few minutes, the cave gradually began to narrow, until the track filled it entirely. A tunnel once more, it rounded a bend and disappeared beneath an old wooden door.

The wood was rotten, but the door still held together. An arc of splintered wood on the ground suggested that it had been opened recently. With no other options, he pressed forward and gave the rusty iron handle a tug. His eyebrows raised when the door belied its decrepit appearance and obstinately refused to budge. He set his feet and, with a grunt of effort and a low whoosh of air, wrenched it open. The wind rose up from behind him, picking at his clothes as it eagerly rushed through the gap. He found it a struggle to balance the heavy door against it as he slipped through himself.

The door slammed shut with a heavy thud as soon as he stopped holding it back, cutting off the breeze and letting the ambiance of the chamber quickly envelop him. Immediately, his nose wrinkled and his eyes began to water from the pungent smell of a million incontinent hamsters. He made it only a couple of steps before the stench proved too much; he turned and hastily shoved the door open once more, drinking in the dank cavern air that poured in like it was heavenly nectar. As soon as he started to relax, though, the door tried to push itself closed again. He frowned at it thoughtfully, as he considered his options. His inventory was becoming sparse, but he did still have those metal spikes he'd found on the dog along with the gems.

Forcing the door open as wide as it would go, he quickly planted the spikes to wedge it against the breeze. When he was satisfied that the spikes were holding firm, he stepped back and savored the cool breeze one last time. Although the fresher air was welcome, along with it came a familiar low moan – louder now, and rising and falling in response to subtle fluctuations in the wind.

His hands clenched the spear reflexively as the sound gave him a fresh set of jitters. Okay, stronger wind equals louder sound. Perfectly logical. I still want to get the hell out of here, though, even with this lovely new cave as the alternative, he thought with a grimace, as he put the wind at his back, and ventured into the noxious cavern. He hadn't gone far before he noticed his footsteps no longer echoed off the stone, and he looked down to see that the rock had been overtaken by a thin layer of loose brown grit that was now being sculpted by the wind. I don’t even want to think about what that is.

The stuff grew deeper the farther he went, piled in heaps and mounds like drifts of foul snow. Soon the track vanished completely, leaving only faint shapes to suggest the underlying structures. Inevitably, he stumbled into an unseen hole, the resultant stagger kicking the light grit up into an acrid dust, the smell instantly redoubling until it was almost overpowering. His stomach did a little flip, and his nonexistent lunch did its best to escape, as he hunched over, gagging.

He immediately regretted his reflex, as the air was even worse down low, and he knew that if he started to lose it now, there was no telling when he'd stop. Wait... is– is the floor moving? What is– oh, bugs? Ugh. I don’t even want to think about it. Somehow, he managed to keep himself together, only to be rewarded by a light dribble of liquid on the back of his head as he stood up. I suppose there is no point in even trying to pretend that might be rain, he thought resignedly. Looks like the inhabitants are still around.

At least I've got these boots, he thought, as he resumed trudging ahead. I can’t even imagine what it'd be like to walk through here with crappy footgear – as is, the piles are almost deep enough to overtop them. Huh. If the guano is this thick on the ground, then just what does it look like above me? Curiosity got the better of him, and he flashed the beam upwards.

As far as he could see, a carpet of bats covered the ceiling, the living tide rippling and flowing in agitation as the light played over them. He swore, causing the churning ceiling to flash into a boiling cauldron of wings. He crouched down, reflexively covering his head as a hurricane of small forms swirled around him. The choking smell rose up once more, enveloping him in a little pocket of misery.

So… no light or noise. That would have been nice to know earlier, he thought grumpily as he quickly doused the light and held as still as he could. At least the smell isn't quite as bad. Either that or I'm just getting used to it.

He nevertheless buried his nose into his shirt as an impromptu mask, and did his best to ignore the sound of the bats all around him. While not as spooky as the howling of the wind, the noise was still disconcerting.

The bats' high pitched chitters and rustling wings reverberated from the walls, melding together into an uncanny cacophony that veered between sounding like the skittering of some many-legged insectile horror, high-pitched shrieks, and even faint laughter. He just tried to put it all out of his mind, and focus on something, anything, else. Right, just don't think of the elephant. Think of fresh air. A gentle breeze on a sunny day. The bright sky with a few puffy clouds and a playful rainbow. A rainbow that suddenly erupted into a massive explosion. Crap. Uh... Beer. Cold, frosty beer. Perfectly chilled in an endless field of snow. Snow swirling in from a howling blizzard. A mighty storm raged, pouring sleet and rain. Or a slow, steady drizzle that... wasn't rain. Dammit. This is going to be a long wait.

He was afraid to check the time, but the bats eventually calmed and he chanced moving again. The noise had dropped off as well, though the ghostly giggling portion seemed more pronounced. Okay, it could be called an improvement, but I've still had more than enough of this, he thought darkly.

Eager to escape but not wanting to risk upsetting the bats again, he slowly crept forward, relying only on the dim glow from his phone to pick out his path. As the seconds ticked by, he became increasingly certain he'd entered some kind of time warp, but if the phone was to be believed, it took only about three minutes to reach the end of the fetid chamber. Here was another door, but at some point this one had come unhinged, and it now lay half-buried on the cavern floor.

Beyond it was yet another artificial tunnel. The ceiling here was uncomfortably low, and he had to hunch down to make his way through. On the plus side, it was apparently too low for the bats also, as the floor here was thankfully clean. That was less useful than it might have been, though, as the breeze was now bringing the full funk of the amassed guano along with him. The olfactory assault was encouragement enough to hurry his steps, but rounding a bend he broke into a run like the first person into a store on black Friday. Ahead, a small square of light beckoned him forth like the Holy Grail.

It may not have been the wisest choice, but he was beyond caring as he dashed recklessly down the last few meters of the low, rocky tunnel. Bursting out onto a large circular patch of gravel, he briefly recoiled at the painful brilliance of the pure white light around him. After a few moments of squinting, his eyes had adjusted enough for him to realize he was standing at the bottom of a large stone shaft – one wide enough that he suspected it could’ve swallowed his entire garage. Daylight poured in the open top, illuminating the far side, but not quite reaching the bottom. From the angle of the light, he guessed it was now late afternoon. The shaft itself appeared to be a natural formation, but the ponies had clearly been hard at work here, too. Spidery metal framework rose along one side, supporting what looked like an old, broken conveyor system and a rusted-out lift. Looking at the state of disrepair, he wasn't about to trust any of it.

Fortunately, next to the lift was a series of steps carved directly into the wall. There were a few sections where the stone had crumbled, but nothing insurmountable. “Woohoo!” he whooped, a huge smile breaking out on his face as his wild cheer echoed up the stone walls. I’m finally getting out of here! He hurried over to the stairs and began to climb determinedly.

There were a couple of difficult sections, but he made good time up the first stretch. Past the third switchback, however, his legs were starting to feel a bit rubbery. He was glad to see that the shaft widened a few meters up, creating a broad rock ledge. Almost there. Just a little bit further, and I ca–

"Hey, wanna hear the most annoying sound in the world?" Aww crap, my alarm. He hastily fumbled for the phone before it could... “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”

Several very long seconds later, blessed silence fell as he glared at the obnoxious device in his hand. Why did I ever think that was a good audio clip to use? He sighed. Yeah, time to wake up from my nap indeed. No lying on the couch hitting snooze today. I certainly wouldn’t mind waking up from all of this, though. His sigh morphed into a dark chuckle as another thought occurred to him. The alarm on my tablet is synchronized with my phone – I wonder what those dogs are making of it right now? Or do the ponies have it? Either way, I'm sure they're having fun trying to turn it off.

The all-too-familiar rustle of leathery wings intruded on his musing, and he reflexively ducked before looking over to see a dark stream of bats boiling out of the tunnel and passing overhead. Huh. Those bats just won't calm down. I wonder what set them off this time?

As the last few stragglers departed, he climbed the last steps to the ledge he'd noticed earlier. He was still drained from running; now his legs were shaking from the climb as well, giving a few nearby stones an almost magnetic attraction. He tottered over to them unsteadily and collapsed with a groan. Stripping off the backpack was a relief as well, but not as much as turning it around to see the foals still bundled up within, safe and sound – if a bit more fragrant. They were still breathing steadily, but showed no signs of waking. Whatever those dogs gave them must’ve been pretty potent.

For a moment, he could ignore the remaining flights of stairs and the knotty task of trying to salvage his relations with the locals. Now, it was enough to simply sit back, take some weight off his aching feet, and feel the cool breeze as it set dust motes adance in the afternoon sunlight pouring down the shaft.

His mind drifted, idly cataloging the pleasant sensations while gradually circling in on weightier issues. Even with the evidence right in front of him, it was hard to believe everything he'd done in the last few hours – on more levels than one. He wasn't sure which was crazier, the fantastical events, or his own preposterous reactions. Stealing a lock of hair from a mythical monster? He chuckled briefly at himself. If I do wake up in the funny bin, the doctors there will have their work cut out for them.

His reverie was cut short as he heard hoof-falls and snatches of conversation echoing up from below. After a brief battle, curiosity overcame fatigue, and he walked over to the edge to peer down. Below, six colorful forms milled around in front of the exit to the tunnel – the same six ponies he'd seen earlier. How did they get past the rockfall? he wondered.

It was easier to make out detail in the light, though the two ponies with headlamps had left them on, illuminating the bottom of the shaft, but still making it hard to look at them directly. Man, I just don’t get why they’d put up with such a lousy design, he thought crabbily.

Despite the glare, he was still noticing things he hadn't before. Most striking was the blue pegasus; not only were her sky-blue coat and rainbow mane even more vivid in the light, he noticed her entire lower half, wings, and tail were caked in a familiar dirty-purplish muck.

Even with the mud, though, he realized that the blue pegasus reminded him strongly of the yellow pegasus with the fiery mane he had first encountered – just as lithe, and if anything, even more vivacious. So, another she? With that thought in mind, he took a more critical look at the others as well. They’re not as athletic as the blue one, but otherwise, they all share the same sleek, underlying build. Again, nothing like the stallion. So these are all mares, then? he speculated.

Their actions didn't give him much in the way of clues. Blue was vigorously flapping her wings, which raised a cloud of dust, but failed to get her off the ground. The orange one with the cowboy hat walked up to her and asked what sounded like a question, to which blue responded sharply, assuming he was correct in reading how Orange laid her ears back. Orange moved away and over to converse with the purple one, while Blue started irritably trying to preen the mud from her wings. The glare from Purple's headlamp kept him from making out much about her, but the way she had gravitated to the center and how Orange and the others kept walking over to talk with her… Maybe she's the leader?

Near her was the yellow pegasus, walking carefully with her wings outstretched and a few bats circling around her. This didn't seem to faze her in the slightest, though it seemed to unnerve some of the others a bit.

After finishing her conversation with Purple, Orange had moved away, and was now the one closest to him; she seemed to be examining the stairs intently, and not liking what she saw. Yeah, there were a couple of tricky bits on the way up – and that's coming from the fellow with hands, he thought, amused.

The white pony with the blue headlamp was last out of the tunnel, mincing gingerly, as if she were trying to distance herself from her own hooves. Even from here, streaks of dirt stood out against her alabaster coat, and something about her tail seemed off. It’s the only one bobbed short among the six, he realized in surprise. Wasn’t it longer when I first saw them? Did something happen?

Bouncing around them all, seemingly at random, was the bright pink pony that had stared at him earlier. Now, her constant movement made it hard to make out anything, but once again, she seemed to somehow sense his attention, pausing and glancing around quizzically.

Well, the only way to go is up, some of them can fly, and there’s basically no cover up here anyhow. I’ve got the foals, so it looks like it’s finally time to meet the locals. I just have to introduce myself, show the backpack, and– what the heck is she doing?

The pink one had abruptly shifted, looking comically backwards to where her crazily poofy tail had just started to vibrate like an unbalanced washing machine. She yelled something out loudly, causing the ponies to all instantly huddle together and start looking up and around worriedly. The orange one spotted him almost immediately, pointing him out with a startled exclamation.

I guess this is my cue, he thought, rising to his feet as all the ponies turned to stare. But even as he stood, he heard a scritch scritch scritch -snick- to his left and felt the rock beneath him give a disconcerting lurch. Jumping back quickly, he watched in horror as a large chunk of the rocky ledge gave way from where he'd just been a moment ago.

A chorus of screams echoed up from below, and then... nothing. No crash? he thought, confused. Hesitantly, he dropped to his hands and knees and crawled across the still-trembling rock to where he could peer over the new edge. His jaw dropped as he saw a boulder the size of a delivery van hanging in midair, encased in a bright magenta glow. A resonant humming filled the air, and as he watched, the glowing field pulsed and the boulder snapped in two with a sharp crack. Another pulse and the halves split again, then again and again and again, the sound like a hail of gunfire until the boulder was reduced to nothing but a dusty cloud of floating gravel. A brittle quiet settled over the shaft as he stared down in terrified awe.

Heartbeats later, the glowing cloud parted in the middle, revealing the lavender pony once more. He could make out more now, as the blinding illumination was gone, replaced by a subtler glowing aura that danced and shimmered around the top of the mare’s head like a living flame. Though still bright, he could now clearly see her head and make out a jeweled tiara and horn atop it. Waitaminute– a horn? Those ponies weren't wearing headlamps – that's a unicorn!

Said unicorn stared back up at him, and even at this distance, he quailed under her piercing gaze. Oh hell, if she can do that to a huge boulder, clearing that rockfall earlier would've been nothing – they must have been nipping at my heels the whole time. I am so screwed, he thought, hastily scuttling back from the edge.

Okay, I can't panic yet – I just need to return the foals, and we can still sort things out. Backing up to the rock he had sat on earlier, he stopped and reached over for the backpack, his flailing hand frantically grasping at empty air. Whirling around, his eyes took in the bare rock, before tracing the brand new cliff edge, narrowing as he spied the freshly dug tunnel the edge bisected, and finally widening in horror as he spotted the canid figure standing next to it holding his backpack.

Icy dread crawled up his spine. “You son of a bitch!” he swore in shocked disbelief. This can't be happening! Not now. Not after I've come so far. Frustration and despair transmuted into anger, as he reached over to the other side of the rock and felt the smooth, reassuring shaft of the spear. Abruptly snatching it up, he charged the dog, yelling incoherently.

It backpedalled in surprise, and he grinned ferally as his rush put him between the digger and its tunnel, cornering it at the end of the ledge. He pressed forward, jabbing with the spear experimentally. The dog rose onto its hind legs, guarding with one paw as it held the backpack in the other. “Yeah, that’s right, back off,” he said. It may have armor, but it's still cautious, he observed.

He stepped forward again, this time thrusting seriously, but the dog melted to the side, forcing him to follow. He found he had no trouble staying ahead of it, though. It can't move well with those tiny legs when its arms are full, he realized, cutting off its line of motion. It retreated briefly, before settling into a guard stance and growling something at him.

“Sorry, I don’t speak dog,” he groused. “I don’t suppose you speak English?” It gave no reply. “Parlez-vous Français?” … Merde. “Tu hablas Español?” Nada. Frustrated, he finally threw in the towel and just made a ‘give me’ motion at the backpack. The dog’s bared fangs were reply enough, and he matched it glare for glare as he waited for it to make the next move.

Its ears twitched, and it looked away to the side, but he wasn't about to fall for the old ‘hey look over there’ trick, and stepped forward with a low stab. As he leaned into the thrust, the canid’s empty paw struck like a snake, and he was suddenly fighting to maintain his grip on the spear. Splinters and purple muck flew as the two contested the weapon until he finally twisted it loose from the dog's powerful, but awkward, grasp.

He staggered back a step, palms burning and legs trembling despite the adrenaline surging through his veins. He stood there for a moment, trying to look tough and nonchalant, as opposed to desperately catching his breath. It seemed content to wait, though it didn’t look particularly distressed; he hoped that it was merely a better actor. As the burn receded, he sprang into motion once more, this time mindful of the canid’s grasp, but the dog was ready, too. Its free paw always seemed in just the right place to intercept any thrust he made, and found he couldn’t press too hard for fear of losing control of the weapon again.

Crap. This isn't working, he thought in concern. As if sensing his hesitation, the dog leaned in aggressively and began to advance. “Bloody hell,” he exclaimed, backing up a few steps in alarm. The dog kept pace with his retreat, thwarting his attempts to harry it with his agility, and ignoring his feeble feints as it continued to take ground.

He hastily changed tactics, trying a slash instead, but the dog was already moving to counter. As his swing went wide, the dog charged him like a bull, batting the spear point away contemptuously, and lashing out with a taloned paw. He cried out in desperation as he threw himself aside, feeling the wind from its swipe on his face, even as he thrust the butt of the spear into its legs. He heard a meaty thock and a strangled yelp just as the back of his head erupted in pain.

He lay stunned for a few long moments, the world spinning above him, before he recalled his situation and levered himself up with a grimace. His gaze passed over the large rock he'd landed against, blurring in and out, as he turned to glare at the prone canid.

The dog was still sprawled on its stomach a spear length away, with the backpack lying just behind it, thrown clear of the fall. The flap hung open and some of the wrappings had fallen askew, but the foals were still cradled reassuringly within and looked fine. The canid started to rise, but hissed in pain and fell back down as soon as it tried to put weight on its right leg. The dog glared at him from where it lay on the ground, but he didn’t notice – his gaze had locked onto the backpack. He lurched towards the fallen bag, but not quickly enough. Realizing his intent, the dog rose to its three good limbs and pulled itself over to the backpack first, where it crouched down, growling.

“Dammit!” he swore, voice tight with pain. I don't have time for this! Gritting his teeth in frustration, he leapt at the dog, but even as the spear shot forward, a shimmering field sprang up around the canid, and the weapon glanced off the barrier as if it had struck solid steel. The dog seemed almost as surprised as he was, and its eyes went wide as it whipped its head around to the side.

This time he followed its gaze to where the rickety old elevator was rocketing up, encased in an all-too-familiar magenta glow, and arriving at the platform in a spray of rust and a shriek of tortured metal. Even before it stopped, the six mares were leaping off – eyes narrowed, and bodies tense like overwound springs. The dog cried out something in that strange tongue, holding up the backpack and pointing a shaking paw at him accusingly as the mares ran past, forming ranks against him.

His heart sank at the sight, stealing away his last dregs of strength. It's all falling apart, he despaired, but I can't just give up yet. He grimaced involuntarily as his vision swam, white knuckles gripping the spear for support. I've got to keep it together somehow; this isn’t the time to appear weak.

The ponies certainly looked strong enough; the purple unicorn in the lead had a wild look in her eyes, and her multi-hued mane was dirty and frazzled about the edges. The others were similarly disheveled and looked just as determined, except, did that pink one just wink at me? … No, that’s surely a serious look on her face. The blue pegasus, in particular, was clearly all business – she glared at his purple-coated spear point like it had personally offended her. The only kind look was from the yellow pegasus, but she was directing it at the backpack. When she looked up, he found himself caught by two bottomless teal pools that were as gentle as the spring breeze, but hard as diamond.

A deep sense of guilt overcame him; he could vaguely hear the ponies speaking, but his thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind, leaving him standing there dumbly clutching the spear. Tension sang in the air – thick, heavy, and warm like a hazy summer afternoon, but with a building potency that was making his hair stand on end. The light seemed to take on a different hue, the colors shifting – bright and almost painfully oversaturated to the point where the ponies' eyes and the gems they wore even appeared to glow.

His mind was heavy and sluggish; the very idea of either fight or flight impossibly tiring, and there was no place left for him to run to, anyhow. He should just lie down and rest. No! I can’t! he struggled instinctively. He opened his mouth to say something, anything.

"Hey, wanna hear the most annoying sound in the world?" asked the purple unicorn’s saddlebags brightly. A thought floated up from the void. Oh. They found the snooze button. "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!" The oppressive tension spiked as a handful of panicked bats dropped out from beneath the yellow pegasus' outstretched wings, causing her to gasp and look down in concern.

His thoughts snapped free of their lethargy and he realized that his struggle was lost. But even as the spear fell from his nerveless fingers, the purple unicorn had already narrowed her eyes and was stamping her hoof. There was a sense of sudden release, and energy poured forth in a coruscating rainbow torrent.

All went white.

Author's Notes:

It's been a bit of a long haul, so thanks for sticking with the story so far. Special thanks to maskedferret and Kwakerjak for helping from day one, A-hardie, Akouma and midnightshadow for sharing their thoughts on the latest chapter, and Luna-tic Scientist and JDRIZZLE for donning their shiny grammar police hats and corralling my innumerable wayward commas.

No, this is not the end of the story, though once upon a time it was. If you're curious about the gory details, I'll post them up in a blog entry, otherwise please continue on your merry way.

Sincerely,

-Cal

6 - Inscape

Sound blossomed in a place that was not a place. His mind ran among the timbre and flow of the noise, chasing syllables and intonation like a cat in pursuit of an elusive red dot on a freshly waxed floor. The aural thread was devious, meaning dancing on the tether of articulation and tone. More strands sprouted, warp and weft to the fabric of cognizance.

"What in tarnation?"

"Yeah, where are we? ... My wings!"

"eeep."

"Now calm down, dears, I'm sure there is a perfectly fine explanation for all of this."

"There had better be."

"Well, the spell was just supposed to allow the Princesses to go fishing for information, but if the creature had any energy from the Elements lingering in it, it's possible that the casting could have resonated with us as well. Ooooh, I really wish I could refer to Starswirl's Spellbinding Sympathetics, but in theory that could have drawn us along."

Babble erupted, threads bunching–

"If'n that's the case–"

"Twilight, you mean to say–"

"Then where the hay are–"

–severed, as the intangible firmament shook to a thunderous roar.

"WE APOLOGIZE FOR THIS INCONVENIENCE.” A pause. The throat cleared, continued. “Sorry. We have not performed this spell in such a manner for quite some time and we are a bit, how doth one say, 'rusty'."

“Princess Luna! Of course, none of us would dream of blaming you, Princess, we are just trying to understand why we are here, and why we look like… This?"

"I don't know, I kind of like it. Watch this! Wheeee…"

"Pinkie!"

"What? It's fun!"

"Verily, we are grateful for thy levity, but we ask that thou moderate thy exuberance. While no ill should befall us, 'tis better to avert trouble and not draw undue notice."

"What?"

Warm tones added new silken strands, weaving a fragile alignment.

"My sister means to say that we should act calmly to avoid stirring up problems."

“Oh, Princess Celestia! We’re so glad to see you here, too.”

“Indeed, this is a pleasant surprise; I didn't expect to speak to you all until later.”

“We're just as surprised to be here, Princess. Since we are, though, did the two of you learn what you had hoped to from the foals?”

“Indeed we did, Twilight, and I’m afraid that it has made the situation more complicated than ever. From our visit to their memories, it seems that events did not play out as we had believed. The creature did not abduct them by force, and they were the ones that led it away from the crash site. This is in addition to eyewitness accounts stating that the craft appeared to be caught in the weather factory's intake flow, and may not have been aiming for it.”

“Wait. So if they weren't abducted and it didn't hit the factory intentionally…”

“Indeed. Spitfire acted nobly under the circumstances, but she could only act based on what she saw, and her report and our interpretation of its actions may not have been correct.”

A snarl of discordant impulses frayed the growing weave, even as they set it in motion.

“What? So hitting the weather factory, wiping out Cloudsdale, foalnapping, knocking out Spitfire, fleeing the crash site… You're saying that all of these were just mistakes? What about the gigantic explosion!? I know firsthoof that weather magic doesn’t just blow up that easily.”

“Yeah, what about all them traps it set for us?”

“And the way it scared all those poor little bats?”

“Not to mention such wanton destruction of a fabulous coiffure.”

The silken tones spliced and rewove once more in a graceful counterpoise that delicately restored the tenuous order.

“Calm yourselves, my little ponies. It is true that we still have many unanswered questions, perhaps more than before. However, it is precisely because this creature is such an enigma, that we must be so careful assembling what information we find. Our understanding of it needs to be based on unbiased facts, or we will lead ourselves astray by giving it inapplicable attributes and motivations. If we are to avoid further missteps, we need to proceed carefully with an open mind, learn as much as we can, and avoid making hasty assumptions."

“Well, I reckon we can manage that.”

“I suppose it would be only proper for us to give it the benefit of the doubt.”

“See, it might not be such a meanie-pants after all! Maybe we could throw it a–” A sudden gasp. “Knee pinch, elbow itch, finger flick! Oooh. I wonder what it means!"

The weave twisted and knotted, tugging. Tension built, drew taut. A pattern emerged.

"We believe something is about to happen."

Happen? he thought, fuzzily, drifting lazily as the sounds slowly coalesced into form and meaning. This pillow was lumpy and uncomfortable, and he stirred fitfully. Who is that?

“Together, quickly. We need to plan.”

Plan? Loud, confusing. Pinkie! Crash, foals? Yes, plan. Plan about a, wait, what was it? Bats? No, it was a, a… Ele-what? There had been something… He had had it just now. A moment ago. Some talking of, about a… thing, teasingly familiar and important, but now it was all coming apart, drifting away like gossamer in the breeze as his eyes opened reluctantly.

Raised tiles swam into view, foreshortened and arranged in a regular array that ran off a short distance. Beyond them lay a flat brown expanse, against a backdrop of plain gray walls. The small squares ran towards and beneath him as well, to where he could feel them digging into his cheek.

Oh crap, I fell asleep at my keyboard? Sudden panic had him bolt upright and looking around frantically, the vestiges of sleep instantly flushed away, only to find that he was alone in his small office.

His head swam briefly, and his limbs felt leaden, but it was odd. I feel strangely good, he realized, energized and healthy. But wait, why would that be strange? It feels like I just had some kind of really weird dream. The niggling unease teased at him from the back of his mind, but the last shreds of recollection were gradually pushed away by the familiar confines of his office.

Stark fluorescent lights shone down on tile carpet, flimsy metal filing cabinets, and an old PC with a remarkably uncomfortable keyboard. Despite his best attempts at decorating with houseplants, personal photographs, and his favorite brand of swimsuit calendar, it was still a rather plain office. It does have one saving grace, though, he thought, smiling as he glanced out the window and took in the panoramic view of Geneva, the Alps rising majestically in the background. It looks really nice out there today; I wish I could go flying. Still, I’ve got work to do, despite whatever it was that upset my system, he thought with a mental sigh as he turned back to his PC.

The computer was annoyingly sluggish, and he ended up watching like a hawk for it to perform even the simplest tasks. Frigging cheap hardware, he groused, IT always seems to give us the worst of the lot. It's like they don't appreciate our work at all. Humph. Maybe I should pull up their file.

He entertained the thought for a few moments, before setting it aside with a sigh. No, I'm supposed to be looking at the utilities group. He browsed over to the fileserver and his brow furrowed when the data failed to load. 'Connection not found', it said, stubbornly presenting him with an empty folder. That's odd, he thought, before checking a few other files. The last couple of projects loaded just as he remembered them, but the same error inexplicably came up whenever he tried to access any new data.

The system is really acting up today, he thought, drumming his fingers on the desktop in frustration. I wonder if anyone else is having problems.

He picked up the phone and buzzed the secretary, waiting several rings until he finally heard the receiver pick up.

"Hello?" he called, when there was no immediate response. "Christina, are you there? It's me, Brian."

"Yes, Brian, thou art addressing Christina," she finally replied.

That’s… an odd way to answer, he thought, staring at the phone bemusedly for a few moments. "Umm, Christina? Are you okay? You sound a bit off."

"We thank thee for thy consideration, but there is no cause for concern. We are merely a little hoarse today," she replied, flatly. He could have sworn he heard a choked-off snigger in the background at her statement.

"That... wasn't quite what I meant. Did you pull another all-nighter playing WoW again? Not that it's really any of my business, but the boss kind of flipped out last time, and you're getting a bit too in character."

There was another brief pause before she came back. "We are grateful for thy advice, and shall be mindful of expressing our amazed exuberance henceforth."

Oookay, I knew she played on a RP server, but she's really getting into it. It's actually kind of impressive; if I didn't know better, I might actually fall for this 'medieval warrior' shtick. Of course, she still has to do her actual job...

"Riiight. How are you even getting online in the first place? The network seems to be on the fritz, and I was going to have you call IT."

"Have no concern, for our netting uses only the highest quality of line, and we were able to avoid such pitfalls. Be assured that we shall convey your request, but prior to that, a matter has come to our attention that you might address."

"A matter. Dare I inquire what manner of 'matter' this might be?" he asked. Am I to seek the grail?

"Indeed thou mayest. There is a group of visitors arriving shortly who desire a tour. We ask that you accommodate them."

"What?"

"Thou art to guide them amongst the various facilities here and explain their various functions, as well as thine own role. Do not be concerned or hold back in what thou showest them; they are quite trustworthy."

"No, I understood you the first time," he grumbled, "and it's not a matter of integrity – it just doesn't make any sense. They want a tour of CERN?"

"That is correct."

"And it's fallen to me to give it to them?" he stared at the phone in disbelief.

"Thou art the most logical choice."

"You're kidding, right? Isn't it PR's whole job to handle stuff like this?"

"Normally, yes, but they insisted, and, ah ‘PR’ approved it."

"They did?” he cocked his head, perplexed. Okay, so someone has enough pull to arrange a special tour, but for whatever reason they want to visit accounting? “That's still an odd choice. Do they want an explanation of grant writing or international funding or something?”

"We believe this may have been one of their interests, yes."

"Why not ask Fredrick? Grants are his area of expertise."

"He's celebrating his Grandsire’s birthday."

"Really?” He said, scratching his head as his confusion deepened. “Huh. I thought his folks had already died. What about Claire, then?"

"An urgent trip came up."

"James?"

"Pony pox."

… Okay, that’s it. Pony pox? Really? This has got to be some kind of elaborate prank that the guys are pulling. They even got Christina in on it, and she swore she’d never sink down to our level. I'd best play along with it until I figure out their game.

"Fine. I guess I can handle it. I assume they're in the lobby?"

"Indeed, they should be arriving forthwith. Simply meet them there, show them the premises, and answer any questions they may have to the best of thy knowledge."

"... Right."

He hung up the phone, leaned back in his chair and stared vacantly at the ceiling. That has to be one of the weirdest conversations I've had, and I have the sinking feeling that things aren't going to get any better. Unfortunately, I don't think waiting is going to help. He levered himself up with a sigh, and tromped down the hall.

Reaching Christina's desk, he was surprised to see that she had dyed her hair a sparkling midnight blue. Not that the color didn't suit her – the effect was actually appealingly exotic – rather, she had never shown the inclination to be so flashy before. She was presently looking away from him, which gave him an opportunity to take in the rest of the scene. The office pool seemed normal enough, albeit untidy; her desk had fashion magazines strewn all over it, but she was presently ignoring them to focus intently on her CD rack. He cleared his throat self-consciously, causing her to look up, startled.

"Christina, could you please hand me the forms and the visitor passes?" he asked, gesturing towards the appropriate drawer.

"Right! Of course they would need such a thing to tour a secure facility." She moved a little hesitantly at first, but opened the drawer and handed him the items in short order.

"Thanks, Christina. Anything else I should know about these visitors of ours?" he said, giving her his best nonchalant grin.

"No, they are a perfectly ordinary group of traveling scholars – nothing to be concerned about at all." she said, smiling in reply.

"Alright, that's... very reassuring." About as reassuring as leeches and holy water in a first-aid kit.

The lobby was a tribute to institutional mundania everywhere, with beige carpets, recessed lighting, and an overabundance of cheap tables and overstuffed chairs huddled together into aspiring 'conversation clusters'. Owing to CERN’s scientific role, it also had various models and educational displays scattered about. It was still unoccupied, so he wandered over to stare at one of the models.

A few minutes later, the double doors cracked open, and seven striking women entered. In the lead was a tall, regal lady with alabaster skin and warm, violet eyes that seemed to look right through him. A chaste, white sundress clung to her statuesque figure, swirling around her legs with each stride. Most unusual of all was her hair, an unearthly wash of pink, blue, and green that nevertheless managed to look perfectly natural as it fell down her back in long cascades. The six girls that trailed her were just as eye-catching, though all in different ways. They seemed a bit younger as well, perhaps college students, but the way they stared wide-eyed around the lobby reminded him more of a grade-school field trip than anything else.

None of them exemplified this trait more than the girl bobbing immediately in the wake of the leader like a duckling, all the while looking about her with naked curiosity in her wide, lavender eyes. She was pretty, in a bookish sort of way, with a plain white blouse and a long skirt that matched her eyes, both of which were set off by her midnight blue hair and the pinkish accents running through it. Wow, they really go for colored contacts and hair dye, he thought.

The girl walking next to her had certainly availed herself of it. Baby blue eyes regarded him mischievously, framed by exuberantly curly hair that was a downright blinding shade of neon pink. Her clothes were almost as pink, a whimsically frilly outfit that still let her move freely. She was certainly using it – always moving with an irrepressible bounce in her step and a grin that threatened to break free at any moment, though for now she held her peace.

Following along just behind the bundle of energy was a counterpoint of cool sophistication. The rich purple of her lustrous curls of hair may have been subdued compared to the others, but set against her flawless porcelain skin and deep blue eyes, she was breathtaking. The colors were further set off by the turquoise evening gown she wore, its satiny fabric clinging to her figure and accentuating her hips, before falling in long pleats to brush the floor. A sash at her waist glittered with gems, their deep purple echoing her hair and catching his eye as they sparkled with her every move. Wait, are those gemstones real? That’s one hell of an outfit to just stroll around in. At any rate, she certainly knows how to make an impression.

Hovering behind her was another pink-haired girl, but where the first was exuberant, this one was timid. Even her pink hair was understated, insomuch as pink hair could ever be called quiet, its pale pastel a shadow of her companion’s neon explosion. But though its color may have been subtler, its length was noteworthy; the gently curling locks nearly reached her waist, their elegant flow lending her a certain quiet grace. Her movements were more restrained as well, and he noticed she kept carefully to the others, her gaze dancing around the room furtively as if it might hide some fearsome surprise. When she glanced his way, he caught a brief glimpse of deep, teal eyes that tugged at his memory before she quickly looked away. The demure, pale yellow dress she wore furthered her meek impression, which made him wonder even more about her choice of hair color. She acts incredibly shy, but hair like that is always going to draw attention, and its color just can’t be natural. Is it a wig? Did she lose a bet? Or maybe dyed hair is a requirement to be in the group?

As if the universe was out to destroy any theory he tried to construct, the next one looked basically normal, if you discounted her outlandish getup. First came an evening dress, and now cowboy hats? Has Disneyland developed a sudden fascination for particle physics? He eyed the tall, well-built blonde speculatively. Freckles dusted her cheeks, complementing lively green eyes that regarded him levelly from beneath the brim of her hat. This would have implied western gear, but he was starting to think that consistency was too much to hope for. Instead she wore a mid-length green skirt, galoshes, and a very revealing top – just a loosely draped denim vest, really. Sturdy enough fabric, he thought, but, oh geez, if she moves the wrong way, everyone is going to get an eyeful. I may not be expert on Disney Princesses, but I’m pretty sure that’s not in the dress code. Cheeks beginning to heat, he hastily looked to the back of the line.

The last of the girls was also regarding him closely, but there was more than a hint of challenge in her gaze. He instinctively stiffened, standing up straight and forcing her to look up slightly. Doing so underscored her shorter stature, which was easy to overlook, though having to look up at him seemed to annoy her immensely for some reason.

Her bright, rainbow-colored hair was unmistakable, and ringing some deep-seated alarm bells, but that train of thought suffered catastrophic existence failure mere moments after departing the station.

She wore a long t-shirt with a lightning-bolt design, and beneath that– She's wearing something, right? Of course she is– she has to be… No matter what it looks like – if I was looking, which of course I am not, he thought furiously, face heating as he quickly turned away. Besides, since when does anyone forget to put on pants? Or skirts. Or shorts. Or short skirts. Or short, short, short shorts. Or– Snap out of it! Clothes are basic; surely her friends would have said something if she wasn't decent. And it wasn't as if I was trying to look.

He paused for a moment. What the hell kind of prank is this, anyways? Are they trying to get me fired? Or is this some sort of insane sexual harassment test? His mind spun in circles, until a polite cough brought him back to the present. Looking up, he noticed the purple-haired one was regarding him speculatively, until she glanced back at her rainbow companion, and her eyes widened in sudden concern.

He hastily turned to address the leader, clearing his throat self-consciously. Well, now I’m in for it. Okay, gotta keep it together. Can’t fall apart now. "Right, ah, sorry. Sorry, about… That is, we– don't, we don't get many visitors, and I'm not very good at this," he stammered, mentally groping his way back into familiar greeting territory. "Ummm, my name is Brian Markey, but please just call me Brian. Also, I should probably apologize in advance, as I'm pretty terrible at remembering names, but I'll do my best. Welcome to CERN," he said, plastering a nervous grin on his face. Oh god, please don't be too angry.

He was somewhat reassured when the tall, regal woman met his eyes and returned his smile as she greeted him warmly.

"Hello, Brian, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Elvis."

Wha?

"Elvis." He repeated, his voice wavering despite his best efforts, "nice to meet you."

"I'm Floyd!" chirped the pink-haired one enthusiastically. "Floyd Morisette."

Must not make joke, must not make joke. "Not Pink Floyd?" Dammit!

"Nooooo," she pouted, "though I tried."

"And this is Alanis Pumpkins," Elvis hastily continued, indicating the bookish one.

"Pleased to meet you as well," he replied, automatically.

"Yes, and thank you for agreeing to show us around," she said with a nervous smile.

"Indeed, we are most grateful for your generosity," chimed in the purple-haired one. "I'm Jewel Daft; it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," she continued, urbanely.

"Ah, it's quite alright, Ms. Daft, I'm always happy to help lovely ladies, such as yourselves," he answered, not quite sure if he believed it. Her name seems oddly appropriate though.

"Please, darling, just Jewel will do," she said with a smile as she stepped back gracefully.

Elvis then gestured to the freckled blond standing nearby. "This is Bob Enya."

"Uh, yeah, howdy," Bob stated, fidgeting uncomfortably and looking away. "Pleased ‘ta meet 'cha."

"Likewise," he said, having his own trouble meeting her gaze.

"And behind Bob is Ozzy," continued Elvis, serenely.

"Nice to meet you as well," he said, with a hesitant smile to the other pink-haired girl, who was still half hiding behind her friend.

"hello," she replied, eyes glued firmly to the ground.

Okay, definitely not as bold as I’d have guessed from her hair.

They both jumped at a surprised yelp behind him, and he turned to see the rainbow-haired one staring indignantly at Jewel, who was now standing right behind her. Noticing his attention, Jewel backpedalled hastily, while the rainbow one shifted her glare to him.

"What're you looking at, bub?" she challenged.

"Nothing! I wasn't looking at anything! And I absolutelydidn'tseeanything." He said, hands clammy and beads of sweat pricking at his forehead in the sudden quiet.

Someone cleared her throat behind him, and they all looked over to see Elvis' serene countenance regarding them guilelessly. The rainbow one visibly deflated at the attention, turning to him and flatly stating, "Smashing Yanni."

Don'tlook–don'tlook– "Yellow!" he blurted. Crap. "Uh, I mean, hello!" How could I have missed spotting those bright canary shorts? And why would I have ever thought she wasn't wearing something? Bad brain! This is when I need to stay focused! Don't think, just fly– err, guide.

"Ah, it's a pleasure to meet you all.” Assuming you are who you say you are, which I kind of doubt. Still, I can’t fault the amount of effort that’s gone into the setup. “You seem to be a very interesting group. Christina said you were students?"

Heads nodded.

"What are you studying?"

"Agriculture."

"Fashion."

"Flying."

Bob, Jewel, and Smashing looked at each other in consternation.

"Aeronautics."

"Farming."

"Design."

"It’s a Flying. Agriculture. Design. Party!" chimed in Floyd, the pink-haired girl bouncing up and down excitedly.

"That's quite a diversity of subjects for one university,” he replied, staring at them bemusedly. "What school is it?"

There was another long pause, then Bob started to blurt out "University of Eque–" before Jewel cut her off mid-word.

"University of Ecuador?" he surmised. Oh, and sticking your hand in someone's mouth to shut them up? Weird. Also, Ew.

Jewel relaxed her hold on Bob fractionally, smiling somewhat nervously. "I suppose one could say so."

"Huh. You don't look how I imagined someone from Ec– err, umm meaning no offense of course. Uh, I know Ecuador isn’t always on perfect terms with other countries, but a few political hiccups aren’t something I’d ever hold against an individual," he said with his best apologetic smile.

"Ahahahah," she tittered, sapphire eyes sparkling, "No, It's quite alright, darling, and I'm relieved to hear that you have no reservations about us. As to our situation, I'm afraid it's a little bit…” she tapped her chin musingly, “complicated."

"Indeed," Elvis cut in with a smile, "And we'd love to tell you about it, but before we get bogged down in our own recounting, I know we are all very interested in hearing your story. Perhaps you could tell us a bit of it?"

"Oh, of course, the tour; how rude of me. What did you want to hear about? I heard you were interested in our department specifically, but I'd like to make sure I understand your focus. Is there a particular item you are interested in?" He looked at them expectantly.

"Why don't we start with the sort of things you, yourself do?" Elvis suggested after a moment, batting her eyelashes coquettishly. "We'd love to hear about what sort of duties you have, what sort of training you do, or maybe a bit about your latest mission?"

Mission? You mean like auditing food services? "Err right, um, well, first of all I'm a CPA."

Blank looks all around.

Ha! 'Requested our department' indeed. If they were really so keen on accounting, then you’d think they’d know what a Certified Public Accountant is. Well, if they want to play dumb, then I suppose I can oblige them.

“Well, for starters, I maintain CERN’s accounts; I keep the books around here."

Alanis' eyes lit up at this, which Elvis noticed as well. "Oh really? Alanis is an outstanding student, and looks after quite a few books herself," Elvis stated cheerfully.

The indigo-haired girl nodded, with a big smile. "Yes, I find it quite fascinating, though not everyone can appreciate it," she said, shooting a dirty look at Smashing. The feisty, rainbow-haired girl grinned back at her unrepentantly.

Brian shrugged. "Well, it's an important job, but it's not for everyone."

Alanis sighed, "That's certainly true. What's it like for you, then? I'd like to compare notes."

"Well, I'm usually not too busy, though things tend to pick up at the end of the quarter, when I have to close the books. And of course, it's a problem if they ever don't balance."

"Wow. That sounds very... Thorough. And I thought I was organized.” Alanis paused for a few moments, deep in thought. "Is the balancing very difficult?"

"Well, it's pretty routine, so it's usually not too much trouble. Like I said, though – if things don't balance, then it can start to get messy. Fortunately, the folks here are pretty upright, so you generally don't have to worry about anyone cooking the books."

"Cooking the books?” she gasped. "That's terrible! Why would anyone do such a thing?"

"Well…” he thought for a moment, “Some folks are just plain greedy, but they might also be trying to cover up red ink."

"Red ink?" she asked, tone rising as her brow furrowed. "Granted, it could be a bit unsettling, but still... Isn't that a bit extreme?"

"Oh, I agree,” he said with a nod, “but some folks are under a lot of pressure to make the numbers look good, and sometimes they resort to crooked measures to do so."

"So... To get rid of red ink, they cook the books," she said slowly. "And then the only way to find that out is by balancing them."

"More or less, though it doesn't always hide things completely, so much as reduce the severity or cast things in a better light. And balancing is useful to find other sorts of errors as well, like if someone made a wrong entry."

Alanis’ mouth moved, but no sound came out, and he was reminded of a stranded fish for a few moments, before she started to reply.

"That's, That's..."

"That's very interesting Brian, thank you." Elvis said, interrupting Alanis with a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Perhaps you can elaborate more on the subject later. Surely your duties don't revolve entirely around books, however." She looked at him with a somewhat bemused smile.

"Well, it's mostly routine bookwork, but they do sometimes call on us to perform inventory checks, or maybe an in-person audit."

As Elvis mulled over his reply, he was just able to make out another conversation that had flared up on the side.

"It doesn't make any sense!" Alanis hissed quietly.

"Ah know, sugarcube, it did sound a mite bit strange to me too,” Bob replied, fiddling with her hat. “Especially that bit about balancin'."

"Actually, that has at least some logic, given how many times mine have ended up on the floor. As well, it would be natural for someone with just two legs and no tail to be preoccupied with falling over. What doesn't fit in is the color bias. Why does the color matter so much? Even if the inks had differing masses, how wo–”

"Hey, Brian, what's this?"

He looked over to the window, where his eavesdropping had been interrupted by the rainbow-haired one, uh, S–something? Shoot. "Umm, what was that again, Samantha?” he asked, hopefully.

"Yeah," she replied, still giving him a shooty look. "What does this bent piece of metal do, and why is it in this case?"

Floyd suddenly poked her head in from the side, curly pink hair almost tickling his nose. "Wait, I thought her name was supposed to be Smashing!"

"Pinkie!" cried the others.

"Pinkie?" he said, confused. "I thought you said your name was Floyd."

"It's a nickname," she said, grinning.

"Oh, I suppose that makes sense."

Smashing cleared her throat and gestured again, and he looked to where the rainbow haired girl was pointing on the wall. There a large, glass case was mounted, with a crowbar resting inside, and a simple message emblazoned on the front: 'in case of inter-dimensional invasion, break glass.'

The grin sprouted on his face, unbidden, and he chuckled, confusion momentarily set aside. "Right, you were wondering about this crowbar?" he asked, indicating the case. "There's actually a bit of a funny story about it."

"Oh yeah? What's so funny about it?" Smashing asked him quizzically.

"Yes, I'd like to know as well," chimed in Alanis.

"Indeed – do tell," added Jewel, absently twirling one of her luxurious purple locks.

"All right. I take it none of you have ever played Half-Life."

"Hmm. I think I've heard the term somewhere," replied Alanis, "but not in the context of any sort of game."

The others just shook their heads.

"Well in a nutshell, the story is that Earth is invaded by aliens from another dimension," he continued, losing himself in one of his favorite anecdotes. "You play as the hero, Gordon Freeman, a scientist working at a huge, top secret laboratory researching strange, advanced materials. To be fair, the invasion is partially their fault, as one of the experiments goes awry, causing a 'resonance cascade'. Anyway, all these aliens started to appear, and he had to fight his way back to one of the other labs, where he could go to the other world, defeat the aliens' leader, and stop the invasion. The significance of the crowbar is that it's one of the first weapons he gets, and it kind of ends up as his symbol. Personally, I though the gravity gun was cooler, but they didn't introduce it until the sequel, and I'll admit that that the crowbar is a little more photogenic."

“Anyhow, when CERN was first starting up the LHC there was a lot of silly talk about how we were going to 'destroy the world'. Some folks genuinely thought we'd make a micro black hole or something that would devour the earth; I think there may have even been a lawsuit. Most folks were better grounded, though, and some saw the humor in the situation. Of those, a handful took the joke further and sent us an actual crowbar, plus a copy of Half-Life as a 'training simulator' in case we accidentally triggered an invasion of our own."

It was then that the silence of his audience registered. He turned, and was surprised to see the range of expressions they wore. Floyd had a huge grin, but most of the others regarded him with shock, worry, and even outright hostility. Alanis in particular now stood stiffly between him and Elvis, her violet eyes flashing, though Elvis’ serene demeanor hadn’t faltered. I didn’t think I botched the delivery that badly. Maybe they have something against video games?

"A tool like that stopping an inter-dimensional invasion? What special properties does it have?" demanded the indigo haired girl.

"Well, he didn't just use a crowbar, but that's beside the point. Like I said – it was just a game; that sort of thing doesn't actually happen in real life. The most this crowbar can do is open boxes."

"Hmm,” she replied, deflating somewhat. “That makes more sense than trying to tackle an inter-dimensional invasion with an ordinary piece of metal; even in a story, that'd be pretty farfetched. That sort of problem calls for the strongest magical artifacts, and even then, the results don't alwa– ouch!” she said, hopping on one foot. "What did you do that for?" she said, glaring at Jewel.

"Do what, darling?" Jewel replied, sapphire eyes widening innocently, even as she gave just the barest nod in his direction.

"... Sorry. It just would have been strange for a mundane object like that to be so powerful,” Alanis muttered, defensively.

"Unlike magic artifacts right?" he asked, rhetorically. "I take it you prefer fantasy, then."

"Yes. Fantasy," she replied, flatly, looking back over at him.

"Riiiiight. Well. You clearly know your inter-dimensional invasions better than I do," he said, awkwardly. Okay, so that story didn't exactly go over as well as I'd hoped. "How about we do a bit of the actual tour? I can take you to the visitor center, if you’d like."

"That is a very good idea, Brian," Elvis stated. "Let's do that – I would like to see more of this 'CERN' and learn of all these dimensional-related abilities."

"They're not dimensionally related," Brian protested, as he led them out of the lobby. "Dimension hopping is purely theoretical, and even then it requires a wormhole, or other materials so exotic that we're not sure if they can even exist. You really should have a proper guide, but from what I understand, this research is more about fundamental physics – recreating the conditions at the beginning of the universe, so we can learn more about the particles that existed, and improve our basic models."

"Waitaminute – recreate the beginning of the universe? You're trying to go back in time?!" Smashing exclaimed, her magenta eyes growing wide.

"No no no, time travel is just as impossible as dimensional travel. Particle accelerators just take two groups of ions, get them going nearly the speed of light, and then steer them together to see what happens. No time or dimension travel funny business. Since the LHC is the biggest accelerator, it can achieve the most energetic collisions, so the stuff it produces can come a bit closer to what existed right after the big bang, when the universe was only a few milliseconds old."

Alanis had a troubled look on her face as she looked over at Elvis, who maintained her serene smile.

"The big bang? I don't recall that coming up before," Alanis stated, somewhat pointedly.

"The actual mechanics of creation tend to have little bearing on the living of a worthwhile life." Elvis replied, before shifting her focus back to Brian. "You would understand the birth of a cosmos. Why does such knowledge warrant this level of effort? To what end do you seek it?"

Brian’s stride faltered at her sudden intensity. "Well, first of all, on a national level, this isn't actually all that much effort. Sure, it cost seven and a half billion euros, but contrary to popular belief, that's not really a significant amount for any of the funding countries. They spend way more on defense, health care, heck, probably even keeping the lights on. Though large in absolute terms, it's only a small slice of the overall pie."

"As for why," he continued, "I guess it’s innate curiosity, really. Scientists are never satisfied until they can take something apart and explain it, and governments still support it because the pursuit of knowledge is a noble endeavor."

"So, knowledge for its own sake? You do not intend to use it, then?" she said, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"Oh, of course we'd use it; big science projects have a history of spinning off useful byproducts. But without knowing what we might learn, though, there's no way to say exactly how we'd use it. There is no question, however, that our modern, technological lifestyle ultimately owes a lot to basic research like this." He paused briefly, as they reached another large set of double doors, which he held for them to pass through.

"Anyhow, this is the visitor center. If you look around, you can see the various models and exhibits detailing the machine, its major components, and how they all work together. For example, here by the door we have a cutaway of one of the accelerating rings, with the rest of the wall explaining other technical aspects of the accelerator. The back wall covers the various detector experiments, while the far side has a brief history of the facility, and finally, the table in the center has a big model of the entire CERN complex.”

Elvis walked over, and began to study the main model he had indicated. Brian joined her, gesturing to the current focus of her attention. "Ah yes, right now we're here, in the administration building. Just behind us, and several stories underground, is the acceleration ring, as well as ATLAS, one of the main experiments. The wall back there describes them more fully, but each detector has a different array of instrumentation, so they can detect different aspects of the particle collisions."

"The main accelerator ring is about nine kilometers across, and you can see how the tunnel crosses between France and Switzerland along the way. Fortunately, since the Schengen treaty, they don't check passports at the border anymore, or there'd be no way for the electrons to achieve near-luminal speeds." He paused expectantly with a smile.

...

...

Dammit. Tough crowd.

"Uhh, anyhow, these blocks represent the beam dumps, where they dispose of beams once they become too depleted of ions to produce very many collisions. Over here are the pre-accelerator loops – they actually used to be the old main accelerators – and these points around the circumference are the cooling stations. The superconducting magnets have to be cooled to near absolute zero, which takes a lot of power and leads to even more waste heat. They can make for some pretty good updrafts, if the conditions are right."

Smashing nodded appreciatively, her rainbow hair making the gesture rather eye catching. "Oh? What kind of lift are you talking about?" she asked, casually.

"Hmm? Oh, they can get up to three meters-per-second or so, if the accelerator is running at full power – enough to reach the cloud base in around ten minutes, if you ride them all the way up ... uhh, hypothetically speaking, of course. Not that I would have any actual experience with that!" he grinned nervously.

Fortunately, Smashing didn't seem concerned about calling him on his familiarity with the subject. She pursed her lips as she considered, "that's a pretty strong updraft. You say all that heat comes from cooling?"

"Ah, well, It's not all just from cooling; the beam itself is quite energy intensive, too. I've heard that at full draw, CERN uses about a quarter of Geneva's electricity, and at maximum power the beams themselves contain as much kinetic energy as a high speed train."

The looks he was getting told him that his description had missed the mark, so he decided to elaborate a bit. "Imagine a passenger train going full throttle – and I'm talking about a TGV or ICE, so a couple hundred kilometers an hour at least. Then take all of that train's kinetic energy, and pack it into a group of ions that weigh less than the tiniest speck of dust. So instead of moving tons and tons of mass at a pretty respectable clip, you're moving an infinitesimal mass at –literally– an astronomical speed. Now do it again, except traveling in the opposite direction, steer the two together, and watch what happens."

He tried not to grin as glazed eyes gradually gave way to dropped jaws; by the end, even Elvis looked a bit taken aback, though the expression was fleeting. "That is indeed a substantial amount of energy – CERN must be widely respected. I imagine your foes dare not attack you for fear of it."

"Attack us?" he eyed her, puzzled. "The scientists will attack each other's findings, sure, but that doesn't sound like what you were talking about."

She merely raised an eyebrow in reply.

"Right. Well, first of all, CERN is a research institution formed by an international consortium. Ignoring the fact that we're founded on international cooperation in the first place, we don't have a political agenda; we're just after the science."

"Furthermore, the accelerator couldn't be used as a weapon even if we wanted to. Sure, you'd get fried if you somehow stood in front of the beam, but the whole point of all these magnets and it being underground is to contain the energy. Not to mention that the whole apparatus is immobile and there is no way to aim the beam more than a few centimeters in any direction."

"I see. Still, that is a considerable amount of effort for 'only research', and they must think of you highly to make you one of its keepers. I'm not quite sure how all of this teaches you about the beginning of the universe, though. The collisions you describe are powerful on a small scale, but they are hardly what I would consider cosmic."

"Well, to be honest, I'm not all that sure of the details. As I understand it, when the particles collide, they fragment into other, smaller particles that we don't normally get to see. By measuring those results against the results our models predict, we can test the models' accuracy, to narrow down which are the most useful and how they need to be refined. Apparently it's also important for theories reconstructing what happened in the first few instants after the big bang, when the universe was so small that quantum mechanics was still a dominant force."

"Quantum mechanics?" asked Alanis quizzically.

"Um, right. Even though I work here, keep in mind that I'm no physicist. As best I understand it, it's basically the set of natural laws that describe how matter and energy and stuff behave, except really, really small. Small to the point where the normal rules of atomic theory break down and things are so tiny and evanescent that the very act of observing them changes the outcome." He stared absently at the ceiling as he tried to piece together a parade of pop-sci articles, and his half-remembered chats with the occasional grad student. "For example, I remember them saying you can measure either the position or the velocity of a particle, but not both, and particles can teleport, affect each other at a distance, or even appear or disappear out of nothing."

He refocused on the group to see almost all of them looking at Floyd for some reason, including Floyd. The sole exception was Elvis, who regarded him speculatively. "Observation changes the observed," she mused, "an interesting concept."

"Yeah, things get pretty weird at the quantum level; I don't pretend to really understand it. I'm pretty sure it only applies once you start talking about sub-atomic scale stuff, though – remember, I'm talking many thousands of times smaller than a grain of sand, here. A table or a person isn't going to be measurably influenced by something like the observation effect."

"Perhaps the furniture will not react, but individuals certainly do." Elvis replied, with the hint of a smile. "The fundamental idea has a certain elegance. Sometimes, the only way to learn something's true nature is to give it a certain freedom to act."

"I guess I can see your point, though that's more a matter of philosophy than physics."

"The two may be closer than you think. Sometimes even the fall of a single leaf can be enough to alter fate in ways no one could foresee. Who are we to say with such confidence what does or does not matter? You may be busy figuring out how the world works, but have you ever really stopped to consider why?"

He paused a moment, struck by the unexpected turn in conversation. "Well, if you put it that way, then I guess no, I never really have," he said, somewhat sheepishly. "There are certainly philosophers asking that sort of question, but I'm afraid I've never really sat down with their books or gone to any classes pondering the 'why' type questions. Heck, I'm not even one of the clever folks around here trying to unravel the 'how' – I'm just the 'how much' guy."

"How very civilized," Elvis stated, drolly.

"Well, I don't know how you handle things in Ecuador, and I'm not trying to claim that our system is perfect," he said a little defensively, "but pretty much everything else we've tried so far has been worse, so..." he trailed off with a half-hearted shrug,

"Hmm. It's true your points were not entirely without merit," she replied musingly, before lapsing into a contemplative silence.

After a moment, she spoke again, with a certain newfound air of purpose. "Girls, if you would excuse me for a moment?" before shifting her gaze to Brian and continuing, "Could you direct me to the nearest restroom?"

He quickly pointed out the requested facilities, and it was only after she had left that he registered the change in the atmosphere, as the girls looked around at each other, suddenly rudderless. Alanis in particular appeared to have come unmoored, and Bob was muttering quietly to herself.

"Now that's mighty sudden, and it don't make a lick of sense."

"Yeah," Smashing responded, "I'm not sure if I've ever heard of her even going to the–" she began, before being cut off by an accidental elbow to the stomach as Jewel developed a sudden coughing fit.

"Don't be silly, Smashing. Of course Princesses don't..." Alanis began, before trailing off herself, as her confusion shifted gears and an oddly speculative look crossed her face.

"Are you okay there, sugarcube?" Bob asked Jewel.

"Ah yes, darling, just a momentary spell. More importantly, is now really the time to go into this?" replied Jewel, who was looking meaningfully at Alanis.

"Huh?” The indigo haired girl snapped out of her trance. “Oh, I suppose not," she conceded, a bit sheepishly.

An awkward quiet descended on the room. Shoot, what to talk about now? Crap, I really would prefer another subject, but… He sighed quietly. “Okay, so keep in mind that history isn’t really my strong sui–”

His speech was torpedoed before it even began, as a hollow thumping sounded from the far wall, echoing oddly in the carpeted display room and causing everyone to look around nervously.

"It wasn't me!" Smashing cried from a defensive crouch before the noise had even died away.

He would have loved to ask the rainbow haired girl what had prompted that particular reflex, but he was already moving to try and find the source of the noise. A brief search found nothing out of place, though, and he was about to write it off, when the lights flickered briefly.

Brian froze mid-step, tilting his head up slowly, and regarding the misbehaving light fixtures as one might a venomous snake. Uh, that's odd. They're extremely sensitive about the power supply here. "Don't worry; it's probably just this room," he reassured the others. Either that or someone is going to catch hell.

That was before everything decided to... Twitch? Shiver? Chills ran up his spine, as the universe itself seemed to blink, and for a moment, he had the strangest vision of a swirling void with six beams of light, and then everything was back, as if nothing had happened.

"Um. I'm sure that was nothing to worry about, either," he lied, looking around a little wildly. "Ah, still, perhaps one of you ladies could go check up on Elvis, and–"

A loud series of cracks behind him cut him off, and he winced involuntarily. He really didn't want to look over, but Ozzy's quiet gasp pulled his head around like a magnet as the timid girl ducked behind a table, leaving only her pink hair still visible.

This time it was impossible to miss the source of trouble, as the superconducting magnet diorama had tilted drunkenly to one side and now began to rock ominously.

Floyd and Bob had just started towards it when there was another loud crack, this time clearly coming from the diorama, as it was accompanied by two small forms tumbling out of a newly revealed panel into a heap on the floor.

Wings and hooves stuck out from a tangle of feathers and fur. Two pairs of silver eyes blinked open, and took only the briefest glance around the room before lighting up as they locked onto him. The pair quickly untangled themselves, and he had a sudden sense of déjà vu as their wings snapped open and began to buzz as they leaped into the air.

"Yaaaay!"

"Oh no, what are they doing here?" cried Alanis as she lost her remaining shreds of composure. "Lunaaa!!! What's happening?"

Christina replied after a moment, her voice seemingly coming from everywhere.

"Oh dear. We know not how they came to be here."

The lights flickered once more and he had a brief feeling that the floor lurched, though none of the furniture seemed to have been affected.

The two foals were unfazed as well, judging by how easily they evaded the others' belated attempts to intercept them as they flew to him.

"Play!" exclaimed the little colt, flying circles around his legs.

The filly hovered an arms-length away, looking at him soulfully. "Sweet?"

A roaring rose in his ears as reality seemed to hiccup once more. His limbs suddenly felt leaden, despite the adrenaline now pumping through his veins.

"Prithee evict them posthaste!" Christina's disembodied voice cried. "'Twas hard enough to guide the pieces together in the first place! Any more of this, and he is going to wa–"

Author's Notes:

As always, thank you for your patience, sorry it took so long, and I'd love to say that the next one will be done sooner, but... yeah. If it's not one thing it's another. Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies.

One thing that I am quite sure about, though, is my gratitude to the awesome individuals that have helped with editing and pre-reading this chapter. In particular, Maskedferret and Kwakerjak reprised their roles as editors par excellence, JDRIZZLE retained his superlative grammar sleuthing skills, and Luna-tic Scientist lived up to his name in looking over all the numerous morsels of scienc-y goodness. If you dig that sort of science stuff, and want a thoroughly unique perspective on the origin of Equestria, you should consider taking a look at his story, Days of Wasp and Spider.

Also, some of you have also doubtless noticed I stole the chapter title from Kwakerjak's story of the same name, which I doubt needs any introduction, but you should read it if you haven't (well, actually you should read Petriculture first, seeing as Inscape is the sequel, but I digress).

Uh, yeah, enough rambling from me. Thanks for reading, and please share your thoughts in the comments!

7 - Second chances

Laughter, shouting, crashing. A TV turned to all channels at once, the images blurred into an indescribable technicolor cacophony, before gently fading away like the morning mist. Warmth played across his face, while a sharp, dusty tang filled his nostrils. His leaden limbs were curled uncomfortably beneath him, and he became aware of something pointy digging into his side.

The warmth reminded him of something. Something important. For just a moment, he had an image of ageless violet eyes and an alabaster face haloed by hair like the first rays of dawn, but then that, too, melted away. He opened his eyes to see a blue sky far above, framed by sheer rock walls. In a moment, it all came crashing back to him – the fall, the run, the fight. He sat up with a gasp, tensing for pain that never came. What? he thought, flexing his muscles gingerly and looking down at himself. His jaw dropped as the sight registered. What did that thing do to me? The scrapes and strains of his ordeal had simply vanished, as if they had never even happened. The mud and grime had disappeared as well – even his boots looked like they had just come back from the cleaners. Wow, I feel great. Whatever those ponies used to knock me out must not have been a weapon. Maybe they aren't as angry as I thought they’d be. But if that's the case, where are they?

The whispering breeze gave him no answers, so he pulled his attention away from his condition and looked around. He was still on the rocky ledge from the fight; scuffs and scrapes gave mute testament to the struggle, but otherwise, it seemed undisturbed. His eyes lit on his backpack lying a short distance away, but even from where he sat, he could tell that it was missing its most important contents. Still, he rose to his feet and went over to check it more closely.

The foals and the spear were gone, but everything else was still there. It would've been nice to get my tablet and jacket back, he thought a bit sourly. Still, I suppose it could've been worse. At least it's not too cold out.

Hefting the pack to his back, he looked up at the top of the shaft; the rocks still clung to the afternoon warmth, but the shadows were climbing high up the pit wall, and the sunlight had taken on a golden hue.

He chuckled involuntarily as he gave his impromptu bed a wry glance. Great. I finally stayed in one place. Fat lot of good it did me. At least I seem to have gotten the foals returned to their folks. Well, I hope that's what happened. A sudden surge of apprehension shivered down his spine. That assumes the ponies are all on the same side, which I can't really be sure of. I should keep my guard up, just in case. He sighed. Well, I can’t do anything about it right now. I'll worry about it after I've climbed out of here.

Even during his brief pause, the shadows had crept a bit farther up the walls as afternoon gave way to evening. Definitely time to get moving, he thought, striding to the stairs once more.

Without the adrenaline of the previous climb, the spring in his step lasted about halfway up the first flight of stairs. Crap, I’m getting old. I really need to work out more, he thought, huffing as the steps continued to zigzag their way upward. These things just seem to go on forever. It’s great that I’m healed and cleaned and everything, but I guess it’s still no substitute for a real rest.

The setting sun was crowning the distant hills in a halo of fire when he reached the rim of the pit. The colors washed gently across the grand sweep of the nearly cloudless sky, a bright glow highlighting the one exception that still floated nearby. His brow furrowed as he peered intently up at the cloud city. It's further away than I would have guessed – either it's drifting away, or I've traveled further than I thought. Looks like it's deteriorated, too, he thought, frowning. It's barely half the volume I remember, and what’s left hardly looks like a city anymore. I can still see an awful lot of pegasi up there, though.

The thought had him glancing up and around nervously. Well, I don't see any fliers nearby, but I should probably make myself less conspicuous if I want to keep it that way. Shifting his focus from the sky, he quickly surveyed the surroundings, noting a small cluster of buildings nearby. Best not to try my luck there just yet, he thought. The surrounding ground was mostly rolling hills, with a mix of fields and forests. The fields are too open, but the woods should offer good cover.

Suiting deed to thought, he kicked his recalcitrant legs into motion once more, heading to the closest patch of trees. It didn't take long before the woods loomed before him, dark and foreboding in the waning light. He repressed a shudder as he seemed to cross an invisible threshold into the unknown.

The shadows enveloped him, but the thin beam of his flashlight lanced out to carve the darkness away as he advanced cautiously beneath the trees. The ground was rocky and uneven, and the sparse underbrush caught at his clothes unexpectedly as he fought his way forward. Every snag pulled away a little bit more of his already flagging energy, but he forced himself to keep going, even as his steps faltered. Just a little bit further. Just gotta find somewhere safe and I can rest.

He practically stumbled across a game trail, but even with the going a little easier, the woods provided no solid cover. His burning legs entreated him to rest. Maybe if I found a really big tree, and put my back up against the trunk, it'd be safe enough, he thought, playing his light across a gap in the trees. Wait – what's that? It looks artificial.

As he came closer, he could make out a small clearing, with a badly deteriorated wooden structure standing in its center. From his angle, he could see one wall where there should have been two, and the roof was suspiciously absent. He approached the ruin cautiously, though he couldn't imagine anyone living there. Still, the remaining walls might provide some protection. It’d be nice to get a fire going, but that would make me way too visible. I’m lucky it's warm enough to do without one.

Stepping inside the foundation, he picked up a stout piece of wood and surveyed the remains of the structure. It looked like a fire had gutted the building at some point, and now only two walls still stood. He crossed the ash-strewn stone floor, and began clearing debris from the one remaining corner. Shifting the fallen roofing caused the wall to creak alarmingly, and he eyed the wood suspiciously. Well, that's less than encouraging, but at least I don't have to worry about the roof caving in.

The corner somewhat cleaned up, he leaned gingerly against the wood, turned off his flashlight, and did his best to relax. The sounds of the forest soon resumed, a gentle murmur of crickets, birdcalls and rustling leaves that gradually quieted as the night deepened.

The trees sat far enough back from the structure to leave a small gap in the canopy, through which he peered up into the heavens. The sky wasn't black as he expected, rather the numerous stars twinkled against a velvety purple backdrop. He watched as a bright moon rose and bathed the small clearing in a silvery glow. He didn't know enough astronomy to even try to recognize any of the stellar features, but he found the similarity of its presence strangely comforting.

He eventually fell into a fitful doze, and though his rest was repeatedly punctured by the varied cries of the night forest, the hours gradually passed.

He awoke with a yelp, as his world lurched backwards amidst the creaking and crackling of tortured wood. The confused moment ended with a jolt and him flat on his back among the splintered remains of the wall, as its final, resounding thump rippled out through the startled silence of the forest.

The world spun dizzily for several seconds as he lay stunned, staring up at the sky with adrenaline chasing away his lingering drowsiness. The trees blocked his view of the horizon, but the moon had vanished, and he could perceive a gradual lightening as the first rays of dawn began to touch the sky.

A pang from his stomach reminded him just how long it had been since he last ate, as well as the sad fate of his lunch. I'd better see about finding something edible soon. This forest doesn't seem particularly hostile, but it hasn't exactly rolled out the welcome mat, either.

He picked himself up out of the splintered wall and stood carefully. The sun was still hidden, but the sky was turning into a glorious wash of gently shifting hues, broken only where the light caught a couple of small puffs of cloud floating nearby.

He decided to head back towards the village he'd emerged near, but when he looked around the clearing, he couldn't tell which trail he'd come in on. Undeterred, he peered up at the sky again, and tried to fix the position of the sun in relation to how he remembered walking on the prior evening. After a bit of mental estimation, he headed off towards his best guess of north and tried to keep his direction constant.

The forest made for much more pleasant travel during the day, and he found his spirits rising as the air warmed. The birds were now in full song, and the gentle glow of the sun through the leaves lent the woods a peaceful air. His rumbling stomach made for a discordant note, but he couldn't spot any of the handful of edible plants he knew. At least a few of the plants did look familiar, but this reassurance was undercut by the many that did not. I may not be a botanist, but I’ve spent a lot of time in the woods, and I’m pretty sure some of these would have stuck in my mind. Still, the forest seems so peaceful and normal; it’s weird to think of it as alien. The juxtaposition was unsettling, so instead he tried to focus on the practicalities of navigation, and push his unease and hunger aside.

For the most part, his progress was uneventful, though he had to switch trails a few times, when they started to wander off in the wrong direction. Eventually the underbrush parted, and he found himself staring at a road.

It didn't seem to be a major thoroughfare – just a clear strip of packed dirt running through the forest. It was still far more substantial than any of the forest trails, though; the vegetation on the edges had been purposefully cleared, and more importantly, it had seen traffic. He squatted down to eye the tracks more closely and was able to make out several hoofprints, as well as parallel ruts that spoke of wheeled traffic. Well, whoever made these must have had a destination – might as well follow them.

He turned and walked along the road, following what looked like the freshest set of prints. The going was much easier now, and he set off on a jaunty pace.

The terrain gradually grew hilly, and the path dipped and wound its way around the uneven landscape. The forest pressed in closely on all sides, the clear blue sky only occasionally able to peek through its heavy canopy.

At the bottom of one particularly steep slope, the road made a sharp right as it reached level ground. He jogged down easily and was about to follow it, when he hesitated – something seemed off. It took him a few moments to realize what was bothering him – one set of wagon tracks ignored the turn and continued straight off the edge of the road, passing right through a tattered bush.

The tracks looked fresh, as did the damage to the bush. Looking closer, a piece of purple fabric tangled in the branches caught his eye. Fishing it out, he discovered it was a hat – albeit one that was pointed and embellished with stars to the point that he half-expected to find 'Wizzard' embroidered upon it in big, important letters.

No such text turned up, of course, but as he stood there examining the errant headgear, a faint rustling caught his ear. Looking up, he realized that the noise was coming from somewhere off in the trees – in the same direction as the tracks. Intrigued, he stepped around the battered bush and followed the sound away into the forest.

Rough tread cut into the leafy loam as he descended a shallow slope into a copse of massive oaks interspersed with patches of low brush. The tracks were easy to follow here; parallel lines running between the trees, they curved only slightly as they passed over a landscape undulating with massive clumps of roots.

He raised an eyebrow as he noticed how the tracks would disappear at the crest of a rise, just to reappear at the base. Just how fast was this thing going? And the way the driver managed to avoid hitting any of the trees without hardly turning... That must've taken incredible skill.

Then, beyond one particularly sharp rise, the marks finally ended at an upturned wagon. Parts lay strewn about the frame, which had dug into the loose soil – only a single, solitary wheel was left reaching for the sky. Looking just past the wagon, he spotted the three missing wheels where they adorned a sturdy bush that thrashed vigorously while unleashing a vociferous monologue that was frequently punctuated by quacking.

He approached the spectacle cautiously, quickly noting the light blue pony who was lodged upside-down within the bush, and contributing most of the commotion. The balance of the racket was provided by a blue-spotted mallard that was improbably perched atop the pony's belly.

He stopped in his tracks as he tried to make sense of the spectacle, but about all he could make out was a light blue coat, whitish hair, and a great deal of displeasure. Fortunately, it wasn't long before the pony stopped thrashing, and simply lay there panting, allowing him to ascertain that it was she, with pale blue stripes in her hair, and a mark on her rear depicting a wand casting a field of magic blue dots. A glance at her head revealed her to be another unicorn, which might explain why the ground around the bush was churned up and blackened with scattered blue patches.

Two of her legs were tangled up in wheels, with her horn poking between the spokes of the third, and the whole thing was tied together with a length of star-embroidered purple fabric that matched the hat he'd found earlier. The bush's branches had become entwined as well, catching hold of her mane and tail in the process. The whole thing was topped off by the duck, and he couldn't even begin to imagine how it had also managed to get its head caught in one of the wheels without breaking its neck.

For a duck with its head stuck through a wheel, it seemed surprisingly content to sit on her stomach – at least until she tried to move. As soon as she shifted position, though, the mallard erupted into a fury of beating wings and frenzied quacking.

He was still trying to puzzle out the tangled, bushy mess when the light suddenly dimmed. He looked up to find that one of those small patches of cloud, just a bit bigger than a car, had drifted overhead. The breeze also carried the faint smell of ozone, but he didn't see any of that rainbow stuff, and it was far too small to generate any electrical activity. Maybe it's because of all that magic the unicorn cast? He frowned up at the inconvenient shade. I’ll worry about the weird weather here later, he thought, turning back to the more pressing issue.

The question is, what should I do now? This isn’t like with the foals, where they needed help and quite literally fell into my lap. This is a full-grown unicorn, and they are seriously dangerous.... Then again, why hasn't she helped herself? I don't know what's gone wrong here, but that situation can't possibly be intentional.... Can it? He wrung his hands absently. It's foolhardy and reckless to get involved. But it just doesn't feel right to stand by and do nothing. And this could be my chance to show that I’m trying to help. Of course, it could also be a trap. But if she really is in trouble... If something happened that I could’ve prevented, could I really live with having done nothing? A wry smile ghosted his lips as his decision crystallized. I guess if they're willing to put this much effort into a trap, they deserve to catch their quarry. Butterflies in his stomach, he cleared his throat loudly.

The blue mare looked up at the sound, and her eyes bugged out at his appearance. Her horn sprang to life with a bright pink glow, and a shower of multicolored sparks shot towards him. He flinched back, but the sparks fell short, dying as they reached the ground.

Heart pounding, he took several slow paces back, holding his arms out placatingly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he said in the most soothing tones he could muster.

The mare had winced as well, and now she glared at him, ears flat as she spat out a series of short, unintelligible phrases. The words were as incomprehensible as ever, but the way her horn continued to glow and her tail flicked violently back and forth gave him some pretty strong guesses. Unfortunately, this also set off the duck again, who responded with a renewed bout of beating wings, causing the unicorn to squeal indignantly as she began to squirm herself.

He took another step back and sat down, keeping his hands open and palms up. After a few moments, the fracas subsided and the mare let the glow from her horn die away as she did her best to regard him again.

Sweat beaded his forehead, and his hands felt shaky, but he did his best to keep his voice calm and friendly. "I have no idea what you're saying, but I mean you no harm," he said, trying to put on a friendly smile. "Tu hablas espanol? Parlez-vous francais? Uhh, pivo, prosím? Ein Bier bitte? … Pizza? Vodka? Sake? Kebab?” He winced. “Ah, wait, forget that last one."

Her ears tracked him closely as he spoke, and her tail lashed briefly, before drooping. None of the phrases elicited any special reaction, however.

She said something in reply, in what he hoped was a questioning tone. It doesn't sound quite so hostile, at least; I might actually be able to help... Assuming I can get her to let me. Still seated, he pointed at the wheels, and slowly mimed taking one off of her.

She stiffened at this, which set off yet another round of quacking, and a few drifting feathers. The mare gritted her teeth, ears flat against her head as she waited for the ill-tempered waterfowl to settle down.

When it finally subsided, he gestured again towards the wheel and cocked his head, waiting. Her response was more muted this time, and she hesitated a few long minutes before giving a sharp nod and looking away.

This is worse than that time I had to give a speech in front of the entire organization, he thought, trying to will his hands to stop trembling. He rose carefully and approached her, making sure she could see that his hands were empty, and keeping his movements as calm and deliberate as he could. His own breathing felt loud to his ears, as the forest seemed to fall silent around him, the crack of branches beneath his feet standing out starkly in the preternatural quiet. The hair on the back of his neck started to rise, as the mare flinched at his every footstep, and the tang of ozone lay heavy on the air once more.

When he was just an arms length away, her eyes flew open and her horn lit up, the sudden, bright glow painting everything a vivid pink. He froze like a deer caught in the headlights, as her eyes seemed to bore into his. His heart skipped a beat, and he took an involuntary step back. Another step back, and as he started to pivot, he saw her eyes widen, and the light from her horn winked out like a snuffed candle. He hesitated, and in the pause she said something, but so softly that he might not have caught it, even had he known the language.

The moment stretched on, and in the sudden, precarious quiet, he could clearly hear her own fast, shallow breathing. She swallowed, and then spoke again, louder, and it was then that he noticed the suspiciously watery eyes that the dim forest light had concealed.

Okay, sorry, I guess this isn't easy for either of us, he thought, taking several deep breaths to steady himself. When it finally felt like his heart wasn’t about to burst out of his chest, he tried gingerly stepping forwards once more. This time the unicorn kept her eyes open, and her magic at bay as he crossed the last few steps to reach her side. He could see her tense up as he carefully stretched his hand out to her leg, but she was able to maintain her composure.

Her coat was unexpectedly soft, and he could feel her pulse racing when his fingertips finally met her skin, but she gave no outward reaction to the contact. Shifting down, his fingers found the smooth wood of the wheel and curled around the spokes. Reaching with his other hand, he was able to lift and pivot the wheel enough to unbind her leg. From there he managed to unwind the cape and carefully lift the wheel off of her hoof and away from the branches.

She let out a sigh of relief as the wheel thudded down onto the forest floor, and he could see her leg go limp as she was able to relax it.

The second wheel was a bit more complicated, mainly because the duck went completely insane as soon as he touched "its" wheel. Feathers flew as it erupted into into a frenzy of beating wings and raucous quacking, and he had to watch his fingers as it craned its head around to snap at them. Holy crap, you'd think I was robbing its nest or something, he thought, as he shielded his face from its flailing wings as best he could, while still carefully angling the wheel so it would clear the mare’s leg.

She flinched several times, gritting her teeth but stoic against the feathered assault as he finally lifted the wheel away from her leg. A careful twist and he was able to slip it off of the duck as well, leaving the troublesome bird standing on her belly as he backed quickly away. The duck looked around confusedly for a moment before following him, quacking loudly.

He dropped the wheel atop the first with a clatter, and then immediately had to fend off the ill-tempered fowl as it lunged at him. He had to kick at it threateningly a couple of times before the persistent bird finally got the message and flew away.

With two wheels removed, he could now unwind the purple fabric, which had tangled in the bush and the one remaining wheel. I could cut it free... but no, a knife might give her the wrong impression. Instead, he took a closer look and soon realized the piece of fabric was a cape. That prompted him to look for the clasp, which he found had been twisted around to the far side of her neck.

She whinnied sharply as he reached for it, but the sound died in surprise as the clasp popped loose. Free of the entangling fabric, she gave a vigorous full-body shake, and was able to roll out of the bushes with a thump. There she pawed the final wheel off from where it had caught on her horn.

Standing up with a wince, she looked him up and down for a few moments, and he saw her eyes widen as she got her first proper look at him. He tried to imagine how he must have appeared to her. One hundred seventy five centimeters, brown hair, brown eyes, and an average build... Okay, maybe a little bit of paunch. Anyhow, I've never really stood out. It's a different story here, though, he thought, looking down at the unicorn. He towered over her – the tip of her horn reached only up to the middle of his chest, and she had to crane her head up a bit to meet his gaze. When she did, she stiffened, shifting back involuntarily as his scrutiny registered. I guess my stature would be a bit intimidating, he thought, hunkering down until he was closer to her level. At least I don't have claws or anything.

I do wear clothes, though, which seem to be a bit of a rarity. The dogs had them, but this unicorn is the first equine I’ve seen wearing any apparel. Her stuff is actually pretty well made, too; the silky fabric in the hat and cape seems much nicer than my t-shirt and jeans, though it seems a bit out of place in the forest. I didn’t see much of the dogs’ clothes, but those seemed pretty crude – not to mention filthy, he thought, sniffing at himself self-consciously. Still, there are some things that I’m not going to change to fit in.

At least he didn’t feel too dirty, thanks to that rainbow whatever-it-was thing of theirs, but he needed to shave, and his clothes had gotten a bit dusty from his walking and the travails with the house during the night. Well, not the best circumstances, and I don't know if they've dealt with humans before, but I hope I come across as more civilized than those dog things, at least. Come to think of it, that would make me first contact, wouldn't it? He winced. I sure hope not. I’m pretty sure the prime directive’s been shot to hell by now.

At any rate, she's not really in a position to object to me being dirty. Indeed, the unicorn wasn’t looking too great herself: her coat was smeared with dirt and her mane was running wild and thoroughly tangled with sticks and leaves.

Despite her condition, she seemed to be bouncing back quickly from her ordeal, relaxing by degrees as he continued to act friendly. Her eyes brightened noticeably as she saw him lean down to pick up the hat he had found earlier, and turn to offer it to her, though she held up a hoof and did not accept it immediately. Instead, she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and then gave him a long speech and a short bow, before settling back on her haunches to look up at him expectantly

Well, I guess that's my cue, he thought, setting the hat aside. Not that this will go anywhere, but I might as well give it a shot. It never hurts to be polite.

“Hello, my name is Brian Markey,” he said, facing her squarely and giving her a shallow bow in return. “I doubt you can understand any of this, but I'm glad I was able to help. I seem to be lost, so if you can help me in return, I'd really appreciate it."

She looked at him attentively throughout the exchange, but he still couldn't spot any signs of comprehension. Still, she nodded when he finished, then smiled broadly, as if she’d accomplished some great feat.

Her good mood was infectious, and he found himself grinning as well. And why not? Granted, there were a few hairy moments, but all in all, that didn’t go so badly. What now, though?

Lacking a better idea, he once more tried to return her clothes, but she again held up a hoof, shaking her head and saying something. Puzzled, he just stood there holding her stuff and watching as she looked up and around.

Her eyes brightened when she spotted the cloud still floating nearby, and her horn lit up with a pink glow as she strode towards it. As soon as she stood beneath it, she aimed her horn straight up and unleashed a bolt of magic that turned the cloud a bright green with blue dots that reminded him of the ones on her hindquarters. This result was apparently not to her liking; her eyes narrowed when she looked up at it, and she started casting again. This time the cloud unleashed a small bolt of lightning and a thunderclap that sounded oddly like a yelp. Apparently this wasn’t what she had in mind either, as her look darkened to a frown as she charged her horn a third time.

Just before the blast of pink magic went off, though, the cloud gave a shudder and started to rain. The mare cocked her head quizzically for a moment, before giving a relieved sigh, letting her magic dissipate, and relaxing as the water ran over her. He found himself smiling crookedly. I think I can sympathize with having a rough day. Seeing him watching her, she gestured for him to join her, but he shook his head no.

The downpour lasted for only a couple of minutes before the rain tapered off and the garish cloud scudded away. The unicorn gave a quick shake, but her hair was still sodden, so he hung her hat and cape on some nearby branches instead of offering them back immediately. She nodded before turning to examine the upturned remains of her cart.

He followed along, watching as her horn glowed brightly, and magic enveloped the cart. He raised an eyebrow as she pawed the ground in agitation when the cart broke out in another rash of blue dots. Huh. I guess that wasn’t what she wanted. You'd think she'd like them, though, given that she got a tattoo or brand or whatever of them.

Another couple of magic attempts produced similar blue-speckled results. It wasn’t until the mare made a sad little noise and started pushing at the top part of the cart that Brian realized what she was trying to do. He lent a hand, bracing himself to lift while the mare continued to push, and between the two of them, they managed to get the cart upright again.

The cart body was not as damaged as he had feared; it looked like the wheels and cargo had borne the brunt of the impact. The mare spent some time looking through the pile of goods, and he followed, his curiosity piqued. He was able to make out a few twisted metal fragments, some splintered wood, and numerous shards of shattered glass and broken crockery. It appeared she'd been carrying quite a variety of items; he peered curiously at the labels, trying to figure out what they could have been.

One battered crate had an assortment of strange glassware; though the container itself was the worse for wear, its padding had served its purpose in protecting most of the contents. At least he assumed so; though some reminded him of chemistry class, and most were unbroken, he was at a loss as to what many were supposed to be used for. Why would you ever need a glass tube in the shape of a knot? Or a heart-shaped flask? Is it a liquor decanter? But then why would that be mixed in with beakers and vials?

There was also a crate holding fireworks, or at least colorful tubes that were pointed on one end and fused at the other. I’ll just assume they’re trouble and be glad none of them went off, he thought, quickly moving on.

Beside it lay one of the few unbroken bottles, which he picked up and examined curiously. It was short, round, and still over half full of a shimmering blue liquid, which reminded him of a magic potion, except those never had labels. By contrast, this one had a faded piece of paper depicting an odd blue plant bracketed by a pair of unicorns, whose horns looked like they were erupting with power. The design would have been more impressive, however, were it not for the incongruous boater hats both unicorns wore, as well as the handlebar mustache one sported. Heh. This thing reminds me of something straight out of Diablo, except for the two on the front that look like half a barbershop quartet. Curious, but I can’t say I find unknown magic unicorn potions particularly tempting. An eyebrow rose as he turned the bottle around – the back of the label appeared to be absolutely covered with fine print. Okay, technically I don’t have any reason to think this is fishy, but at home this couldn’t be more suspicious if it literally had a picture of a snake with oil pouring out of its mouth.

He set the bottle back down carefully, and looked around a bit more. A little ways away was another glass container, this one more of a jar than a bottle. It had cracked, but not shattered, and inside was a metal clip holding a lock of strange translucent blue strands that refracted the light like fiber optic cables. The effect was mesmerizing, but raised yet more questions. Despite the optical effect, the strands were short, and didn’t have the uniformity of the fiber optics he was familiar with. It didn’t seem like it would work very well to transmit light long distances – the ends actually seem to taper a bit. I’d actually say they look more… organic, than anything else. Like fur, maybe. But what kind of creature would have fur like that? Is it to capture light like a polar bear? Part of a mating display? Or maybe some sort of camouflage? He thought, glancing around nervously, as he moved on.

Odd… Really odd… This assortment of wares seems a bit too random for her to be a merchant. Her magic seems a bit dodgy, but maybe the wizard hat isn’t just for show. Gandalf did pose as a fireworks seller, after all. Come to think of it, these ponies would be about the right size for a hobbit. He snorted. Okay, so I’m probably reading way too much into a few coincidences. I think I’ll still avoid putting on any rings I come across, though, just to be on the safe side.

There were a few other interesting bits of debris, but he soon found his attention riveted on one particular sack. The rough cloth had split, letting a glorious array of golden spheres spill out onto the ground, and his mouth immediately began to water. Oranges? They certainly looked like it. His fingers twitched with the urge to simply reach out and grab one, but he stomped firmly on the impulse. I'm trying to prove my good nature, here. Petty larceny isn't going to help my cause. After a moment’s thought, he rummaged in his pouch then gestured towards one of the fruits, while offering the blue mare one of the smaller gems in return. Not exactly a fair trade, but beggars can’t be choosers. She cocked her head and regarded him for a moment, before smiling and nudging one of the oranges towards him – politely but firmly warding away his offered gem with an upturned hoof.

He practically snatched up the proffered fruit, and she smiled at the sight, as she magically grabbed her own orange, though her expression morphed into a frown when the touch of her magic caused the fruit to develop yet more blue dots, plus a set of small legs that burst into frenetic motion. She let out what could've been a whimper as the leggy citrus made a break for the undergrowth as soon as she released it.

Amusing as the scene was, he was only half-paying attention, due to the almost indecent haste with which he was peeling his own orange. Soon enough, the rest of the world faded away completely as he contemplated the tender wedges in his hand. He reverently popped one into his mouth, savoring the sweet, juicy burst of flavor. It might be the hunger talking, but this could be the best piece of fruit I’ve ever had. What is it with the flavors here? First the rainbow, and now this. Though, come to think of it, the two might go well together. Hmm... In a few short seconds, several more slices had vanished before his taste buds finally let him go enough to resume processing the rest of the world. He noticed that the blue unicorn seemed relieved to see him eating the orange with such gusto, though her expression seemed a little wistful as well. After a brief mental struggle, he offered half of his remaining orange slices to her, which she took after her own moment of consideration.

After they both demolished their morsels, the mare nosed another orange towards him, and he quickly repeated the procedure. It wasn't really very much, but it took the edge off, and he found his spirits lifting immediately.

Hunger abated, he was now able to concentrate on trying to help repair the cart. The axles had splintered where they connected to the wheels, and he had no idea what to do to fix that sort of damage, but after some charades, he caught on that she just wanted him to hold the pieces together in their proper places. When he did so, she used her magic to make the actual fix, though the results were... Inconsistent. At least I assume that turning them square wasn't intentional, and she did eventually turn them back.

Despite a few setbacks, they were eventually able to reattach the wheels, though he was dubious about the blue-speckled ropes that were now keeping them attached to the axle. The unicorn didn't seem too happy either; he noticed her frequently glaring at the wheels and once even surreptitiously giving one a vindictive kick.

Job done, he retrieved her garments from the tree branch and helped load the cart. Though it was in one piece again, he had little faith in the repairs. Still, they didn't have many alternatives, and with the two of them pushing, they were eventually able to get the cart back up to the road.

The unicorn stepped into the harness and they set off, heading in the same direction he'd arbitrarily chosen earlier. Their progress was slow and laborious, with the wheels wobbling and creaking ominously at even the smallest bump. He soon found himself on edge, flinching at the slightest noise.

After only a few minutes, his nerves were frayed to a thread, and he was in the middle of debating the merits of calling a pre-emptive repair break when he realized that the latest odd thumping sound wasn't actually coming from the cart. He looked back towards the source of the hoofbeats and saw two travelers striding around the bend where the cart had originally crashed. The first was a white unicorn with a two-toned blue mane, while beside it walked a blue spotted bright green pegasus. The unexpected arrivals set his heart pounding, as his palms went clammy, but he forced himself to remain calm.

As the two of them caught up, his unicorn companion stopped the cart, and he stepped discreetly off to the side of the road. His actions did not go unnoticed, though, with the spotted pegasus turning to watch him intently, while the white unicorn moved to address the mare. He noticed that they both had heavier, more muscular builds than the unicorn mare, as well as close-cut hair, all of which reminded him of the stallion he’d seen earlier, and made him suspect that these two were male as well. They each wore saddlebags, and from this distance he could also see that, like the other adult equines he’d encountered, they had distinctive markings on their hindquarters. The unicorn’s displayed a shield emblazoned with a large magenta star and three smaller stars above it, while the pegasus sported what looked like a spyglass.

The pegasus looked tense as it gazed at him warily, though he didn’t sense outright hostility. They don't act particularly dangerous, but looks can be deceiving. I already know those unicorns are incredibly powerful, and the pegasus… He winced. I wonder if he knows I was involved with the cloud city incident? he thought, again fighting the urge to run. I don't know how they’re organized, but from what I’ve seen, the ponies, pegasi and unicorns are cooperating with each other, which could make things get ugly in a hurry. I hope the blue mare is willing to vouch for me, at least.

Said mare may or may not have been helping to establish his bona-fides, but at least the conversation seemed to be going well enough. The attention certainly didn't seem to bother her; indeed, she soon started gesturing extravagantly with her muzzle in the air in a way that he would have pegged as snooty in a human. Fortunately, whatever it was that she was saying seemed to mollify the two travelers somewhat; he saw their tension ease a bit as the conversation progressed, though the green pegasus never let up its wary surveillance of him.

Unfortunately, his reassurance didn’t last for very long. Watching the white unicorn, Brian caught brief flashes of what could have been irritation, as the blue mare responded to some of the stallion’s comments with an airy wave of the hoof. He guessed that the way the green pegasus's ears were laying down might also be a bad sign.

Nevertheless, the white unicorn smiled at the mare winningly and began a long, animated speech during which Brian noticed that at one point, he indicated himself and the pegasus with one hoof, the mare on the other, and brought the two together. Uh-oh, do they want to join us? I helped out the mare, so she has some reason to put up with me, but those two make me nervous. That thought alone would have been disquieting enough, but it felt like his heart froze when the unicorn continued on and started to gesture back towards the sky in the direction they'd come from. Crap. So they do know about what happened at the cloud city. If that’s the case, I might have to cut and run. Maybe if I can somehow make it into the forest, I can lose them in the trees, he thought, trying to gauge whether or not he'd be able to retrieve his pack from the cart. He glanced over the scene casually; the two unicorns seemed involved in their discussion, but the pegasus was still watching him closely, and when it caught Brian’s gaze, its muzzle curled into a wolfish grin, as if it was just waiting for him to try something. He smiled back halfheartedly. Shit. This just keeps getting worse and worse.

His attention was pulled back to the unicorns by a sudden exclamation, and he was completely unprepared for the change in the blue unicorn mare's demeanor. Her voice had gone up several octaves, and she had a trembling hoof pointed at the mark on the white unicorn's rump in an accusatory fashion.

Uh, okay, he thought, not quite sure what to make of the new development. The white unicorn seemed equally surprised at the situation, having taking several steps back from the mare’s sudden tirade. She didn’t let up, continuing her verbal assault as she gestured towards her cart. Something in that speech must have really hit a nerve, he thought, watching as the white unicorn backed up another pace, replying in a placating tone of voice until the blue unicorn finally paused to catch her breath.

The white unicorn's eyes were still wide from the exchange, but his glance had automatically followed her gesture, and he did an amusing double take when the appearance of the cart registered. The mare hesitated as she saw his attention shift, and her ears briefly drooped as he then walked over to the cart, where he crouched down and examined its battered undercarriage. He raised a hoof to his chin in a thoughtful looking gesture, before standing to speak as he pointed back down the road, his gesture tracing the route the wagon ruts had charted when they careened off the road.

He looked at her expectantly, and Brian noticed her indignation falter under the weight of the white unicorn’s gaze, but she quickly rallied. With a whinny, she turned her back on the wagon tracks, tossing her head dismissively as another wave of her hoof swept away the inconvenient details.

The white unicorn raised an eyebrow and then changed tactics, indicating the mark on the mare’s hindquarters, before pointing at the garishly colored pegasus and making some sort of statement. Suddenly the center of attention, the pegasus shifted his focus long enough to nod and add a few words to the conversation, before going back to unnerving Brian. The mare’s eyes widened and she pawed the ground, shifting her weight uneasily as he spoke. Encouraged, he continued on and, as he did, Brian noticed the mare replied less frequently and her attitude seemed more and more defensive, until she was avoiding looking at both of the other equines, and had started to hold her tail further forwards, obscuring her mark from view.

Finally, the white unicorn stopped with one last inquiry, but despite her chastened demeanor, the mare still shook her head no. At this, the white unicorn sighed, looking thoughtful for a few moments before his face lit up. His saddlebags glowed with magic, and out floated a small oblong object that glinted metallically. It landed in his hoof, where he held it out to the blue mare and then gestured towards the cart, beginning to talk animatedly once more as he indicated both items.

The mare cocked her head uncertainly before examining the metal object closely and following up with several statements, to which the white unicorn responded at length. After thinking a bit more, she finally sighed and nodded her head.

The white unicorn smiled triumphantly, before turning to the cart and lighting up his horn. A magenta glow reached out and enveloped the jury-rigged contraption, briefly levitating it from the ground and bathing it in incandescence. There was a loud hum, until Brian could feel a tingle as energy suffused the air, but it quickly peaked and the light died away as the cart settled back to the ground.

The white unicorn walked over and crouched to inspect his handiwork, before looking back up with a grin after just a few moments. Apparently satisfied, he said a few words to the unicorn mare, before waiting expectantly. Looking like she'd just bitten into a lemon, she grudgingly held out her hoof, to which the white unicorn floated the item over, producing a small band from his saddlebags and attaching it like a bracelet around her outstretched foreleg. He then nodded to his pegasus companion, and the two resumed their journey.

Brian let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding as they finally left, wanting to slump into a puddle on the ground as the tension drained out of him.

The blue unicorn still stood stiffly on the road, watching as the two stallions departed, her tail flicking jerkily back and forth. She doesn’t seem all that happy, though, considering they just fixed her cart and gave her something. Must be something bad, like a bill, or some sort of device to ensure that she pays for the repairs. At least they didn’t join us, though.

Soon the pair was out of sight, and with a harrumph and a flick of her head, she turned away from the road. He walked back up to join her; she flicked an ear towards his approach, but otherwise ignored him to paw at the bangle. Despite her efforts, it didn’t budge from its spot on her leg. Her horn lit up and the bracelet glowed pink, but her efforts resulted only in adorning it with yet more blue dots. The unicorn mare glared daggers at the stubborn accessory for a few moments, before planting the hoof on the ground and pointedly looking elsewhere.

When she turned to him, she had a confident smile on her muzzle, but her ears were still flat with displeasure. Three guesses why, and two don’t count, he thought, crouching down and reaching out his hand to indicate the bracelet. After a moment’s hesitation, she held it out to him, but as his hand was just about to touch it, there was a bright flash and a small retort, and he fell back with a yelp.

His finger itched, and pins and needles crawled up his arm as he frantically looked it over for damage. Okay, that was dumb. Should’ve seen it coming, he thought, heart pounding as he flexed the limb gingerly. Fortunately, his fingers all responded normally, and after a few, nervous seconds, the sensations began to ebb. At least everything seems intact. A small sound made him look up to see the mare staring at him, eyes wide in concern. She made as if to move to him, but hesitated, holding the leg with the bracelet carefully to the side. He waved her off; the bracelet’s reaction had startled him, but he wasn’t sure what she could do to help, and his arm already seemed to have returned to normal – the only remaining damage that inflicted to his rear end and pride. Rising to his feet, he moved over to take a look at the cart instead, curious as to what all that magic had accomplished.

Up close, he saw that the ropes had vanished, replaced with what looked like fused wood. He stood up and stepped back, impressed. Well, at least he seems to have kept his end of the bargain, whatever it was, he thought, turning back to the mare. She was already settling into the harness, and soon the wagon creaked into motion as he trailed alongside. The brakes on the cart were still pretty bad, but they managed to keep much better control of the cart now that its wheels were solidly attached.

With kilometers of road ahead and little else to do, they soon started chipping away at the language barrier. He’d noticed it a bit earlier, but though some of their sounds were horse-like, when speaking, they used a very similar vocal range to humans. After a little prompting, the mare seemed quite happy to speak, and now that he could finally focus on just listening to the words, he found that their language flowed quite rhythmically. It also sounded like the mare used a lot of intonation, though, which had him a bit worried. I really hope it’s not a tonal language. I couldn’t even begin to get a handle on Mandarin the one time I visited China. At least she hasn't made any unpronounceable sounds yet.

After a bit of listening, he spoke for a bit as well, and then they started trying to teach each other words. Initially, they reiterated the names from their initial introduction, and he gathered that the word she’d been using for him was something that sounded vaguely like 'yahoo' to him. Sharing their actual, proper names was a little bit trickier.

“Brrrrrian?”

“Ah, close. Brian.”

“Brrian.”

“Yeah... you’re getting better,” Crap, why does she have to have such a complicated name? “Zgramf… something something turksey,” he said, mumbling the middle bits.

“Shummti shummti?” she parroted, cocking her head curiously, as she pointed to herself. “Trrk’sii.”

“Ehmm,” he stalled. Uh, no. How do I ask her to repeat that middle bit again?

She didn’t give him the time. “Shuumti shuumti Trrk’sii,” she said triumphantly, before pointing to him. “Ya’huu Brrrian.”

… Drat. This is going to be a long day.

Eventually, she took pity on him – having him just use the last ‘Trrk’sii’ bit, and even tolerating his further mangling it into 'Trixie' which he found easier to remember. He did enjoy seeing her perk up whenever he managed to get through her full name, though, so he made an effort to use it where he could.

After names, they began to work on simple, common nouns, like 'tree,' 'road,' 'water,' and 'sun'. Next came a handful of everyday verbs, such as 'walk' and 'talk'. The unicorn proved to be a quick study, and seemed to have little difficulty in keeping pace with his small collection of words. Her pronunciation was also surprisingly good, aside from a tendency to trill her Rs, which made it challenging for her to say “Brian” correctly. He’d stopped trying to correct her, though, considering how tolerant she was of his own linguistic butchery.

Trying to actually assemble these bits of basic vocabulary into more structured expressions proved to be a trickier task; they had barely started when his stomach began to remind him of its presence. Looking up, he saw that the sun was high overhead, only leaving small pools of shade to cling to the roots of the trees. The blue mare glanced up at the sky as well, and soon pulled off beneath a large, spreading oak at the side of the road. She then rummaged into one of the bags, coming out with some dried puckish objects, and handing him two. Nibbling on one, he discovered that they were oatcakes; bland, but filling. Feeling rather more content, he went over to the cart and pulled out his pack. The mare looked over curiously, as he looked through his remaining possessions, looking especially puzzled as he handled his phone. Well, I suppose she’s probably never seen anything like this, he thought, smiling as he switched the device on. I’ll give her a little show.

He was inexplicably drawn to the dulcet tones of the King, and as the melancholy mood of “Heartbreak Hotel” echoed out into the forest, he found his own spirits lifting. Trixie seemed to enjoy the music as well, and small smile crept across her muzzle as her ears perked up in interest.

Encouraged, he played a second, more upbeat song, getting a similarly enthusiastic response, before shutting the device off, ignoring her look of disappointment. I'd love to sit here and play music all day, but I don't want to burn through the entire battery in one go, he thought. There's no telling when, or if, I'll be able to recharge. Instead, he put the phone away and gestured meaningfully at the cart. She nodded, and soon they were back on the road and trading words, as the kilometers gradually melted away in the afternoon sunlight.

The light was at a much lower angle when Trixie finally seemed satisfied with their progress. Their continued language studies had been fruitful, but his brain seemed to have exhausted its language acquisition capacity a few hours earlier; now it felt like it was buzzing with so many words that they were slipping out the cracks, and he’d been happy to plod along in relative silence for a while. Still, the forest scenery wasn’t all that exciting, and he was more than ready when she called a halt and they pulled off into a small clearing at the side of the road.

When her magic again proved better suited to branch decoration than fuel collection he headed out to get some firewood. It was still light out, so he didn’t have much trouble finding appropriate deadwood. When he got back, he saw she had gotten out several more oranges, what looked like a loaf of bread, and a couple of large pieces of fabric.

He swiftly laid the fire, and then paused, frowning as he tried to think of anything he had that could be used to light it. Trixie appeared to notice his hesitation, and waved him back with a smile as her horn started to glow. He quickly complied, and she seemed inordinately pleased when her spell set the pile ablaze on the second try, though he studiously avoided paying any notice to the little spherical puffs of blue smoke that it occasionally produced.

The loaf did turn out to be bread, and, as the sun set, they resumed their halting conversation while eating bread and more oranges by the fire; it was a bit surreal, to say the least. If I'd ever told myself that I'd someday be eating oranges at a campfire while trying to make conversation with a bright blue unicorn that makes polka-dots, well... he chuckled, I don't know if I would have even believed myself with a story like that. I just hope it's headed for the right sort of ending. Pity I have no clue which direction to try to aim for, and almost as little of an idea in how to change course.

His melancholy turn of thought was interrupted when the unicorn's ears suddenly perked up, and she glanced over to his stuff. He followed her gaze to his backpack. Heh, maybe she wants another song?

He fished out the phone, and almost dropped it in shock as the words '4 new text messages' registered.

Hey honey, how's voiding gong? What did you want to do for dinner? See you soon!

OMG, sorry, gilding dong

GLIDING GOING

Stupid autocorrect

Trixie looked at Brian like he was crazy as he suddenly burst out laughing, partly from the message, but mostly in release, as a sense of profound relief washed over him. I’m not alone! They’re still out there, and we’re still connected somehow! I just need to reply! He leapt into action, but his enthusiasm caught up short as he examined the phone more closely.

No signal. Damn. Of course, it couldn’t be that easy. Hmm. Looking over the texts again, he frowned as he saw they had come less than a minute earlier.

Okay, so I must’ve somehow had coverage just moments ago, but now it’s gone. That doesn’t make sense – we've been stopped at this particular spot for at least an hour. How could we have gained or lost coverage? Was it from something temporary? Plus, those texts seemed old; like she sent them when I was still flying – so why am I getting them just now? I think the system can hold onto them for a little while, but I've been here for over a day. I’d have figured they would have timed out, or she would have followed them up with something else by now.

What the hell is going on here? I really want to find out what's going on back in Geneva, but it's impossible without a connection. His hands shook, and he looked down in surprise as he realized just how tightly he was gripping the phone. Okay, deep breaths, he thought, forcing himself to relax. I'll just have to keep checking back until the signal comes back. Pity there's no sort of notification for that.

At any rate, no more music. I'm going to have to conserve the battery until I can find some way to recharge it, he thought, switching it to maximum power saving mode and watching the display dim as it changed to grayscale. Only about two thirds left, but hopefully it’s not exaggerating too much when it says it’ll last for a week.

He composed a brief message describing his situation, and asking for information and assistance. He made sure to save a copy, and then tried to send it, in the hopes that the signal indicator was being unduly pessimistic. Sadly, that was not the case, causing Brian to spend the next ten minutes watching the phone like a hawk for any sign of a connection, before finally putting it down in frustration. Damn. I’ll just have to check back occasionally, and wait for another message to come through. Hopefully the connection will last a little longer next time.

He looked up to see Trixie regarding him, bemused. He gave her a crooked smile and a shrug, at a loss to explain his actions. She snorted, and looked back over to the fire. He noticed it had died down a bit and was in the middle of tossing on more branches, when he broke into a massive yawn. The blue unicorn was soon echoing him, and though she looked at him a bit sheepishly, he could see her ears drooping, and he realized just how tired he was as well.

I guess that's probably enough excitement for one day, he thought, taking a couple of springy boughs and arranging the fabric atop them into a makeshift bedroll. The unicorn made a similar arrangement, and in short order they were both settled in. He was starting to become a bit fragrant, dustier than ever, and his stubble was only going to get worse. Right now, though, none of that mattered.

After all the crap I’ve been through, it’s nice to finally be making some headway. Finding someone I can actually interact with – right now that’s something I wouldn’t trade for the fanciest hotel room in the world. He closed his eyes and his lips curled into a smile as the day’s tension left his body. His breathing slowed to a gentle rhythm, as once more the sounds of the night moved in, and sleep crept forth on silent feet to steal thought away.

Author's Notes:

Here we go again! Thanks again to the usual suspects - Themaskedferret, Kwakerjak, Luna-tic Scientist and JDRIZZLE for their invaluable contributions and putting up with my interminable writing pace. Thanks to you, the reader, as well, for your patience. I hope you enjoy the chapter, and hope to hear your thoughts on it.

8 - Tricks of the trail

Wind whistled by the canopy as Brian dipped the Swift into a shallow dive. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, relishing the crisp, cool morning air. The sun was bright overhead, illuminating the fluffy white cloud tops that dotted the sky below him.

He looked out over the scene and smiled. Man, what a great day to fly. Not too windy, but not too quiet, either, and it looks like there will be some strong thermals soon. Great visibility, too, with just enough clouds to keep things interesting. Yeah, this is what it's all about. No politics. No meetings. No unreasonable, conflicting demands. Just me and the wind. Jeb had it right – flying really is the ultimate freedom. A simple, pure function of gravity and aerodynamics. Move the controls – get results. Action and reaction. Play it right, and I can go to the ends of the earth. His eyes glinted mischievously. Or dance with clouds.

With a deft shift of the controls, the Swift pirouetted in the air, heading towards the tall, cylindrical column of fog that had caught his eye. He could've been a cat at an aquarium, watching as his shadow darted up the side until he was racing just behind it across the wide, pillowy top. Nearing the edge, he banked and dipped the nose, guiding the Swift into a gentle corkscrew down and around the side, just barely dipping his inner wingtip into the misty wall, smile never faltering as he watched it carve off swirling little curls of cloud.

Near the bottom he broke off from his orbit, heading to a nearby patch of small clouds, where he darted between the fluffy puffs like a skier in a slalom; he twisted between, over, around, and under, in a convoluted path that soon had him laughing giddily. Rounding one last cloud, he finally ran out of little targets and was confronted instead with another hulking white mass.

With a whoop, he took the cloud head on, plunging into a murky grey nothingness that streaked his canopy with moisture. The light outside flickered as indistinct billows scudded by, but he held his course steady until he finally burst out into the bright sunshine once more.

Now the clouds were mostly above him, and the ground was starting to approach. He frowned at its inconsiderateness, reluctantly turning back towards that first, tall cumulus, hunting for the thermal that fed it.

Gliding beneath the cloud's sunlit edge, he regained a bit of his cheer as he felt the thermal's first telltale signs; the Swift's left wing buoyed up as it found the rising air. He banked into the thermal, tightening his turn as lift surged beneath his wings.

"'Tis true then. Thou dost indeed pilot the craft, and quite skillfully, too."

Surprised, Brian looked over to see Christina casually perched up in front of him on the right wing, legs dangling lazily as she sat looking over at him. Her back was to the rushing air, but she ignored it to smile at him, her midnight hair briefly mesmerizing him as the wind carried it over her shoulder where it danced before her in the breeze like an astral banner.

"Christina! What a pleasant surprise. I didn't know you liked flying as well."

“Oh, we find the open air quite refreshing, though we have not had the opportunity to enjoy it as often as we might like.”

“That’s too bad – there's nothing else like it.”

"Indeed," she said, a little wistfully. "Thou shouldst see it at night."

"I can imagine it'd be beautiful, but I can't go flying at night – it's too dangerous."

"Dangerous?" A refined midnight eyebrow rose. "Thou fearest monsters of the night sky?"

"Uhh, not exactly. More a lack of thermals once the sun goes down, plus not being able to see the terrain, which is kind of important for landing. I'm not instrument certified, and the Swift doesn't have them anyhow."

"Instruments?” she cocked her head, perplexed. “Thou art saying that thy craft of such sophistication hath no mechanisms?"

"Well, it has a few of the basics – altimeter, vertical speed indicator and a compass, but nothing fancy."

"What of this device, then?" she said, holding up a tablet.

"A tablet? Well, I do have one, and you can display maps on it, but it's not really meant for flying."

"Ah, so thou art familiar with its usage, then."

"Uhh, maybe. I can’t be certain, but it looks like the same model I have, and they’re all pretty similar, anyhow."

"Splendid! We are having some problems with it."

He stifled a groan. Ugh. Tech support – what a nightmare. “Well, I might be able to help you with it, but no guarantees. What's it doing?"

“Nothing!” she continued. “Which is the problem. 'Twas behaving in a most fascinating manner, but it ceased to respond not long after we, ah, received it yesterday.”

"I see. What were you doing before it stopped working? Did you drop it?”

She looked scandalized. "No, of course not! We treated it most delicately."

“Right. Well then, what were you doing with it before it crashed? Any particular apps you were running, or unusual behavior beforehand?”

“We were not doing anything unusual. We were, ah, browsing the pictures within when it ceased to function – we were even wielding the proscribed inkless quill.”

"...okay. So when was the last time you charged it?"

"...charge?"

"Yeah, you know, electricity? Did you see any messages pop up with the red battery indicator?”

"Hmm," she said, turning away for a moment before coming back holding an image depicting an entirely too familiar low battery screen. “Like this?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah, exactly. That message pretty much tells you everything you need. Just plug it in to the wall for a while, and you should be good to go."

"Splendid! We shall do so henceforth," she said, brightly. "Sadly, our time is running short, so we must take our leave. Enjoy the rest of thy flight." With that, she leaned forwards and dropped away from the wing with a cheerful wave.

Brian waved back, watching her go with mixed feelings. Well, for tech support, that could've been worse. But simply running out of battery? I thought she was a bit savvier than that. Still, I guess it was kind of nice to have a little bit of company up here.

He was awoken by the warmth of the rising sun on his face and the cheerful chirping of birds, though the sound of the forest coming to life around him soon reminded him of where he was. Ugh. Must’ve had some pretty weird dreams – maybe it’s just as well I can never seem to remember them. It’d be nice to know what was messing up my sleep, though – it’s too damn early to wake up, he thought sourly, keeping his eyes tightly shut. Especially since I'm still here. Maybe this is all the weird dream, and it'll go away if I go back to sleep. ... shoot.

Despite his intent, it seemed his body was keen on waking up. I guess morning ambiance and pointy branches in my bed are more than enough to make up for turning all the alarms off, he thought, still stubbornly clenching his eyes closed to keep the evil light at bay. I would have preferred coffee.

An inarticulate groan came from his side, finally prompting him to pry his eyes open and glance over, his annoyance quickly forgotten as he stared in amazement at the sight of the blue unicorn just starting to rouse. Trixie! She's still here – she didn't run away! The unicorn mare winced as she moved, uttering some noises that, in a human, he would have called ‘not very ladylike.’ And from the sound of it, running isn't really her thing right now, he thought, watching as she slowly rose to her hooves and gingerly stretched.

He could see that she still favored a few spots, but overall he was more reminded of a cat than anything else. Makes sense, given the situation I found her in. These creatures may look equine, but they don’t seem to play by the same rules. Magic, flying, and sapience aside, they seem incredibly flexible – any horse I know of that ended up in that situation would probably have broken a leg or two. I wonder if the duck had anything similar going on. Still, it’s obvious that she didn't get out of it unscathed.

The thought prompted numerous muscles and joints to inform him that they, too, were not particularly pleased with his actions yesterday. Nevertheless, Brian had an incredulous smile on his face as he followed her lead and gingerly sat up. Despite his aches and pains, all the troubles and trials he had overcame and the invisible barriers of misunderstanding and suspicion that still remained, he wasn't alone. It was still a fragile thing, but the warmth of simple companionship was nevertheless quite real.

Trixie’s ears swiveled his way as the branches crackled beneath him, returning his smile when she saw him grinning, though her own expression was still a little nervous. I just hope she'll let me keep traveling with her, he thought, more somberly as his elation gradually faded. She's the first one I've had anything like a normal interaction with, and she didn't act like she was going to kick me out. Maybe if I can stay with her for a bit, I'll finally be able to learn enough about this crazy place to get some clue of what's going on.

Oblivious to his inner monologue, she greeted him with a hesitant, ~Good morning, Brian.~

~Good morning, Trixie,~ he responded, preoccupied.

There was a brief pause as they both registered what he'd just said, then Trixie gave a sharp intake of breath, followed by a rapid-fire verbal barrage. "T'kaa Brrrian frratee valourii ash."

Aww crap. ~Slow,~ he said, latching on to one of the Equish words he remembered discussing the day before, and then repeating, “speak more slowly” in English for good measure.

This seemed to get the point across, as, after a moment, Trixie repeated herself, speaking more slowly and enunciating carefully. “T’kaaa Brrriian frra-tee ~speak~ ashi.”

He nodded thoughtfully, pausing before repeating, ~speak,~ the one Equish word he’d understood, back to her from her speech. She looked surprised, which set him wondering.

Did we cover that yesterday? I'm not sure. I don’t see how else I could know it, though. He went over the phrase again in his head carefully, trying to pick out the words. That last one seems familiar too, somehow.

“Ashi?” he inquired, which prompted Trixie to reply quite verbosely. So much talking, hmm... “Ashi,” he repeated again, this time miming talking. Trixie nodded at his display. Yeah, could be their word for language.

So, something ‘Brian’ something something ‘speak language’. Right. It might have been something like ‘How did I learn to speak Equish,’ I suppose. There’s no way to be sure, though, and those are pretty abstract concepts – hard to get across. For now, it’d be better to focus on the concrete ones, he thought. Still, he said the Equish parts of the phrase he understood, before repeating them in English.

Trixie's ears lay back as she haltingly repeated the English words he'd just rattled off, a note of uncertainty in her voice, despite him nodding approvingly.

This is weird. It usually takes me a while to start picking things up. The only reason I've ever really made progress is sheer stubbornness. She sounds like she's getting pretty frustrated, though – maybe I should try to change the subject.

~No talk,~ he said. ~Food?~

The unicorn pawed the ground unhappily, but nodded. "Yes," she replied, followed by some more incomprehensible muttering, though now fortunately directed towards the food stores.

Breakfast was oranges again, at least for him. Her rummaging had also produced a plate piled high with hay, but fortunately, ‘I can't eat that’ wasn't too hard to convey without sparking another round of linguistic awkwardness. Breakfast did result in another blue-spotted orange running away into the undergrowth, however, which did nothing to improve Trixie’s mood. Still, it was easy enough for Brian to handle orange serving duty, though he was a little dismayed to see how quickly the pile in the bag was dwindling. I’m going to have to find some way to live off the land a bit more, he thought. This isn't sustainable.

After eating, Brian checked his phone again. No signal, of course, but at least the battery seems to be holding up, he thought, before looking over the text message he'd written the night before, and wincing. Okay, so it was late and I was tired. I'll have to do some revising. I should be ready to send some more convincing evidence, too. I wish I'd had the presence of mind to take a few pictures earlier – that floating city, or the cavern with the sea serpent would've been spectacular. Still, there's no time like the present. I hope she doesn't mind.

He waved at the unicorn, beckoning her over when he had her attention. Her ears perked up with interest when she saw him using the phone, and she trotted over quickly. As she arrived, he took a quick picture of the cart and another one of the campfire. She looked a bit askance at the camera clicks, but her eyes widened in surprise when he showed her the images on the screen. He then pointed the camera towards her and mimed taking another picture. ~Yes?~ he asked.

In answer, she danced back, quickly put on her hat and started… is she posing? That's the best description I can think of, at least, he thought. He took her impatient look as she held the posture as consent, snapping several pictures before putting the camera down, despite her look of disappointment. She cheered up quite a bit when she came back over and saw her image, though.

Powering the phone down and standing up, he felt nature calling, and he was reflexively moving towards the campfire to put it out in the traditional manner, when he recalled he had company. Blushing, he made a quick about face, and slunk off to some trees a little ways away. Not exactly glamping, but I can’t really complain, all things considered. I wouldn't mind a shower, though. Or rain shower, as the case may be, he thought, recalling Trixie’s performance the day before.

He came back to see her looking forlornly at a bush. He was guessing this had something to do with the blue dots that now adorned it. It left him a little puzzled, though. The legs on oranges thing I can understand, but if she doesn't like the dots why would she have them as her symbol? Are they involuntary, like brands? Or could she be having image issues? Hmm. Maybe it’d help cheer her up if I did something to show her that I think they’re nice.

With that in mind, Brian stepped over to the bush and broke off a blue-dotted sprig, tucking it over his ear, to where the leaves poked out in front of his face. Trixie froze, her eyes following his movements as she simply stared at him for a couple of moments, before her muzzle started to scrunch up. Uh oh. I hope I didn't inadvertently offend her.

“Snrk.”

He cocked an eyebrow at the sound in confusion, which was enough to set her off.

“Ehehehehe,” she snickered, falling to her rump as she covered her muzzle with a hoof.

Okay, so I guess I do probably look pretty funny, he thought, grinning back.

The mood lifted, and they started seriously breaking camp. Brian helped with the food supplies, before looking forlornly at his own small pile of possessions. Not so much to pack anymore, after my lunch box and first aid kit got stuck in that stupid purple mud in the cave. I didn't need the basket, but I wouldn't mind still having that magazine, either. At least I still have the rest of my stuff. I can only hope I find some more tissues before I run out, though. With a sigh, he bundled his own stuff up and tossed his pack in the cart, then gave Trixie a hand with their makeshift bedrolls.

In short order, the cart was loaded, hooked up, and they hit the trail once more. The path still wound deep in the embrace of the forest, but shafts of bright sunlight lanced through the canopy, and what slices of sky he could see showed the sort of deep blue that heralded another gloriously clear day. That made it even odder when he spotted a couple of those small, low clouds lurking about again. Strange – I wonder if it's more weirdness of the local weather patterns here. There was that cloud city, after all.

He cleared his throat and pointed up at the odd puffs. Trixie looked at them and then back at him, before cocking her head with a puzzled look and thinking for several seconds. “Water?” she finally asked, making falling motions with her hooves as her horn started to glow.

Hmm? Oh. That would've been nice earlier, but no, I wasn't asking about another rain shower. ~No, no,~ he said, waving her away. “It’s not important.”

Trixie looked at him in brief confusion, before shrugging, her horn winking out as she turned away, uninterested. Meanwhile, the clouds seemed to have caught a sudden gust of wind, as they quickly scudded off to the side and away from the road.

Huh. Well, I guess if she doesn't see anything odd, those clouds probably aren't too dangerous. Still pretty weird, though.

They soon resumed their language practice, starting from where they had left off at breakfast. While Trixie’s grasp of vocabulary remained sharp, Brian’s unusual linguistic competence had also persisted; indeed, he became even more befuddled trying to remember where he had picked up some of the words. Seriously, flying? When did we discuss that?

Eventually they both got a bit fatigued, though, and lapsed into silence. Brian found his mind wandering back to the text messages and his phone. I really need to find some way to get it recharged, and soon. I hate to leave range of whatever signal I seem to be getting, but signal does me no good if the battery is dead. Good thing I've got a universal charger – so long as I can somehow get an appropriate input voltage, I should be okay. I haven’t really seen anything electrical so far, but everything I've encountered so far has been either fresh from plummeting out of the sky or abandoned for decades, so that’s not much to go by. Hopefully, if they do have some electrical know-how, they’ll also have enough equipment for me to somehow figure out how to generate the correct voltage to charge it. Oh well. There’s not much I can do about it for now, he thought, pushing the matter to the back of his mind and refocusing on the trail.

It wasn't all that hard; the forest was a living presence around him, its warm air filled with the hum of insects and rustle of leaves. Birds flitted among the trees, and he caught the occasional glimpse of small woodland creatures darting through the undergrowth. I don’t know if I've ever seen anywhere so vibrant. These plants are all incredibly lush, and there are animals out and about everywhere. It’d be a picture perfect summer day, if it wasn't for some of the out-of-place critters or those crazy little clouds reminding me of how alien it all is. Do their seasons even work the same way? If they can push around clouds, what else can they do? At any rate, with the way the sun is beating down, it feels like today’ll be a scorcher.

The two of them ignored the building heat as they conversed off and on, slowly but surely building vocabulary and the occasional bit of grammar. During the lulls, he found the creak of the wagon and clip-clop of his companion’s hooves strangely comforting, and he had a brief sense of odd nostalgia. It’s as if I was in a bygone era. It may take a lot longer to get somewhere, but somehow the experience seems a bit more authentic than rushing through in a car. If I didn't have this recharge thing hanging over me, I could almost enjoy the pace.

The road continued onward until it joined another, this one graveled and slightly wider. They broke for lunch at the crossroads, and Brian luxuriated in the cool shade under the trees. The meal consisted of another round of oatcakes and some water, but he found it still quite satisfying, and all too soon it was time to head out again.

Trixie led them onto the right hand branch of the new trail, which Brian examined as they stepped out on it. It’s definitely more heavily traveled, he observed. Judging by the sun, it looks like this heads generally southwest. Other than that, though, there wasn't much of interest, and he soon fell into the same routine of walking and chatting with Trixie as during the morning.

All was peaceful for a few hours, until he spotted motion on the road coming towards them – three figures plus a cart. As they approached, he was able to make out a little more detail. The three were all normal-type ponies, the leader a light blue, with a heavy build and keen eyes that regarded the two of them levelly. Right behind it walked a yellow one, not quite as stocky, but still strong enough to pull the wagon without any sign of strain. Said wagon was a large, wooden, four-wheeled affair with tall sides, a tarp pulled over the top, and flanked by the third pony, a slightly more petite teal-coated individual. Looking further, he realized that there was actually a fourth pony bringing up the rear – this one a dark grey unicorn. The pony pulling the wagon and the one alongside both had a brands that showed farm tools, but he couldn't make out the others, as they were obscured by bulky saddle bags.

The road wasn’t quite wide enough for both wagons to pass, but fortunately the shoulder was firm earth, so Brian and Trixie were able to pull off to the side once more as the travelers neared.

Trixie kept her head up and exchanged greetings with the newcomers, though they seemed somewhat nervous and barely broke stride as they responded.

As the wagon passed by, he saw the cloth move and two small heads poked out from beneath folds in the cloth, eyes wide as saucers. As soon as they saw they'd been spotted, though, they ducked back down inside with a squeak.

Their reaction was like a stab to the gut, but any impulse to try and ease their fears was quickly squashed as the pony walking between him and the cart reacted as well – glancing at the cart, before flattening its ears as it looked back at him. The other three tensed up also, and he thought he saw a subtle glow edging the unicorn's horn.

Okay, okay, I get the hint, he thought, looking away and edging a little further away before he upset the travelers any further. I’ll just make myself scarce. This isn't exactly such a wide road, though.

Fortunately, the group was already most of the way past, and they relaxed as soon as they had put a little bit of distance between them. Brian sighed as he watched the canvas top sprout the pair of little heads once more as the group disappeared down the trail. Well, that encounter sucked. I hope it's the exception, and not the rule. At least nothing blew up.

A sound beside him made him look up, and he saw Trixie regarding him sympathetically.
He plastered on a fake smile, and her eyebrow quirked knowingly, before she nodded and led him out on the road once more.

As the afternoon wore on, the road seemed endless as it shimmered in the unrelenting sun. He was a little jealous of Trixie’s hat – the sweat beading his head didn't make it any easier to focus on their linguistic studies. There was little else to do, though, and Trixie didn't seem to be in a particular hurry to get to wherever their destination was.

At least she’s calling frequent stops, even if it’s slowing us down. I wonder if it’s for my sake? She always seems to cast magic whenever we stop, though. I wonder if something really is wrong? She never seems to be happy with it. He regarded the latest blue-spotted specimen, snorting softly. If someone was trying to follow us, they'd have an easy time of it. All they'd have to do is follow the trail of blue-spotted foliage.

They ended up stopping early for the day, when the road ran up next to a stream in the late afternoon. Brian’s eyes lit up at the sight; the prospect of cool water exerted an almost physical attraction after the day’s hot slog. Camp went up quickly, with both wood and boughs for bedding readily available.

Trixie started putting out supplies, indicating some bread and asking, “food?" Brian thought for a moment, before nodding and pointing at the sun, then shifting his arm to indicate a slightly lower point along and saying, “time.” Trixie thought for a few seconds, before nodding in return. “Time,” she echoed, smiling, before saying, ~Time.~

~Time,~ he repeated after her, once more feeling a little stunned. What the heck?! That word seems familiar too! … Whatever. Nice, cool stream first, worrying about words later, he thought, emptying his pockets of stuff and turning to go pick his way down the tumbled rocks to the waters swirling below. The stream was small, maybe only two meters across, and looked fairly shallow. The water was clear, but not too swift, and the banks were lined with vegetation.

He saw a few small fish leaping in the deeper part of the stream, and the sight gave him pause. I wonder if I could catch one? I don't have anything suitable in my gear, but I might be able to improvise something out of the stuff in the cart. Of course, Trixie might not like that – I doubt meat is part of their diet, so using her stuff to kill something might be... The thought made him wince; he didn't want to risk offending his only friend among the ponies. It's not like I can't go without protein for a while. Better to keep my eyes open for a while first, and if I do find somewhere that sells fishing gear, then that probably means that eating fish isn't taboo.

No fish for tonight, though, he thought, reluctantly tearing his eyes off the leaping forms and moving to strip off his grubby clothes. He waded into the stream carefully – the water was deeper than it looked, but still only came up to his stomach. He got his clothes one by one, taking a few minutes to scrub each one against the gravel and rinse them thoroughly in the current, before putting them on a large, flat rock on the bank to dry.

After finishing up, he sat back and lounged in the current, but it was only a few minutes before he heard a noise and looked up to see Trixie picking her way down the bank. She looked a little hesitant, but relaxed when Brian waved at her cheerfully.

“Come on in, the water’s fine!”

Her ears perked up and she trotted down to the water, barely breaking her stride when she entered the creek with a splash. She paddled around for a bit, before finding her own little backwater to lounge in. Brian relaxed once more, content to lay back and listen to the birds, watching as the wind rustled the leaves and pushed another of those little clouds by. Finally he’d had enough, but now he faced a bit of a dilemma. Trixie may have simply trotted into the water, but she hadn't been wearing her hat or cape.

I guess it's simpler to go swimming when you never have to worry about clothes. I don't have that luxury, though, and if I wait too much longer, I won't have enough sun to dry quickly, he thought, wincing as he imagined the charades to try and convey the concept of body shyness. That'd be more embarrassing than anything else. And it's not as if I'm as uptight about it as I was before I moved to Europe. The way the Germans run around sometimes... Anyhow, considering the general lack of clothes around here, it'd be weird if they got upset about accidentally catching an eyeful.

He had a feeling that Trixie was giving him an odd look as he awkwardly shuffled out of the water, but he couldn't be certain, as he made sure he was facing away from her the whole time. His shirt made for a makeshift towel, leaving him a bit damp, but still feeling much better than before.

He gave his shirt another rinse and set it out to dry, before looking around the area a bit. After a moment, one of the plants in the stream registered, and he grinned. Sweet! Watercress! I’m in luck today. He hunted around some more and soon spotted a few wild onions as well. By the time he finally made his way back to camp, Trixie had already returned, and was laying out her own set of ingredients.

Trixie offered him a jar, and Brian happily accepted a daub of what turned out to be hot sauce, but politely declined some of the flowers she was putting it on. In return, he shared some of the watercress and onions, though she was only interested in the watercress.

After that, they talked a bit more as the light gradually faded. Trixie was happy to light the fire again, and Brian sat back to watch another full moon climb above the treetops. Soon enough, their conversation had ebbed as the fire had died down to embers, and the call of the bedrolls became irresistible. As he lay down, a quiet voice rose above the murmur of the resting forest.

~Good night, Brian.~

Only the moon saw him smile as he replied. ~Good night, Trixie.~

Author's Notes:

MS Word's spell checker was as much hindrance as help this chapter. Also, in case it wasn't clear from context, regardless of speaker, the use of ~ ~ denotes words spoken in Equish that Brian understands, as opposed to the use of " " for English and the actual sounds Brian hears when he doesn't understand something.

As in past chapters, I'd like to recognize the awesome folks that have helped the chapter to reach its potential, so thanks to Themaskedferret, Kwakerjak, Luna-tic Scientist and JDRIZZLE for their unwavering support! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and appreciate you sharing your thoughts on it.