~Tangerine, present day~

This is the second day of my pilgrimage to the Von Spice Villa, the one place I can call home beyond the battlefield.

It’s a tragic thought, but as of late it’s occurred to me that, beyond losing my inherited position as a general, getting expunged from the Imperial Legion, by analysis, might just be the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. Aside from my children, of course.

There were many times during my long career as General Tangerine that I was conflicted between what mattered more to me; serving my military or being a mother. I only accepted my late husband’s armor and rank because I felt I could do more to protect my remaining family than just wait for another pony to take up arms. And while I was by all accounts successful, with the second battle of Trottingham being my shining moment, one for the history books, I’d warrant, slowly I began to realize I wasn’t happy.

I just wanted to be there when Nutmeg and Cinnamon needed me. Rosemary, well… she never needs me. That’s one of many reasons I was upset at her for running away and becoming a smith; aside from having responsibilities, she was striving for independence. That’s an innate fear any parent has for their child. She’s a good girl, nonetheless. I have no doubt she’ll bring my family happiness in the future. To say I never had a rebellious streak as an adolescent would be a dirty, dirty lie.

Of course, I’ve told Wolf River all of this already, and he’s hung onto every word, just like everything else I say. It figures that somepony with the blood of a dog would be eternally loyal to me, but never do I feel as if he’s condescending. After all, he does genuinely love me, not just for what I was but who I am.

In truth, for everything he’s done for me, I’m just on the cusp of saying the same thing.

“I…”

“M’lady? Are you feeling feverish?”

My conscience is carried back to the present by the sound of Wolf River’s strong yet gentle voice. As I recall, we were… dancing. Of all things we could be doing at this possible moment, we are dancing without music. I suppose we might have some tune playing in our heads.

“I… No, Wolf. I’m…” I swallow my memories, at least for the time being. I opt to focus on the present and snuggle into the nape of Wolf River’s neck.

It’s the late hours of the day, and the villa is only a few hours off. This downpour of rain demands that we wait a little longer in this cave, only serving to make my blood race with anticipation. After more than a decade of just being General Tangerine to my children, I can finally be what they deserve: their mother.

But then again, I suppose that means I can afford to wait another night, and if that night is spent with Wolf River, then it is more than bearable.

I put on another mental song and leave my thoughts behind. All I need is this dance.

Northern Equestria is a land less explored than most, making it a very quiet and serene home for beautiful landscapes unhindered by population. No matter how the civil war ends, this region will most likely remain untouched. I’ll be content with that.

Of course, it’s home to more than just wilderness; where ponies do not stay, wild animals tend to stray, and as such it’s no surprise to me when the howls of wild wolves pierce the silence of the woodside trail.

One steps out onto the trail in front of me and and Wolf River, another two entering the fray behind us. Grey and burly, they’re drooling and determined for the kill. Any other newborn adventurer would fear a moment like this, but I could tame twelve of these beasts while making dinner.

I draw my bronze greatsword and slam it to the ground for intimidation, but the gesture is unnecessary. Wolf River’s hoof urges me to step back, though I leave the sword out. I trust him beyond needing to ask why this is necessary.

He steps forward and snarls at the wolf ahead of us, making it whinge and stop its growling. Then, by all that is canine, he barks. It’s something that shouldn’t come out of a pony’s mouth, but then again, he’s not entirely a pony. There is another reason why I keep falling for him; he’s full of surprises.

The wolf has lost all desire to attack. Knowing very well who the true alpha is in these woods, it squeals and runs for its life, taking its fellow beasts with it.

“Huh. I think I’ve met that one,” Wolf River says, watching as they disappear into the trees. He notices my look of bewilderment and chuckles. “I have some degree for respect for my blood brethren.”

“Blood brethren?”

“I wouldn’t be what I am if it weren’t for the blood of wolves.”

I suppose I should have seen that coming. “It seems you’re more familiar with wolves than you are with ponykind.”

“In some ways. Wolves are simpler, and they all keep the same form of government; power dictates leadership, and leadership means having to fight the toughest battles.” He puts on a determined, hard grin. “Not at all like ponykind. Our leaders sit upon riches and order their underlings to fight for them. Try putting Platinum and Shokenda in the same room and let that decide who takes Equestria.”

This garners a cock-eyed stare from me. “It just doesn’t work like that these days, love.”

He sighs. “I know. I’m not one to want to change the way things are. But I do like to respect nature. For me, wolves in a pack are easier to understand than a squadron of ponies because, well, they’re just dogs. We’ve evolved past that. It’s just nature taking its course.”

“If it’s any consolation,” I say, gracing Wolf River’s chin and nuzzling the very tip of his snout, “you have the best of both.”

“You flatter…” Wolf River doesn’t finish his sentence as his expression changes from pleasantly mild to downright gaping. “Bloody hell, would you look at that!”

We’ve come to a break in the woods to a hillside, giving us a beautiful view of what the north has to offer. Beyond the grass and trees are clashing glacial formations. Ice has always been a part of the north. It’s perfectly normal for me to see ice cutting through the green, but there is a particular reason why so many artists seek this place.

I knew my stallion would love it. “Enchanting, isn’t it?”

He’s blinking and wiping his eyes, as if to ensure what he’s seeing is actually possible. “It’s like two paintings fused at the center!”

I step closer to him. While this is nothing new to me, it is a treat to enjoy such a sight with him by my side. With a sigh, I relax against him. “You’re wonderful,” I whisper. “Such heart in a strong body.”

For a short yet wondrous moment, we stand and admire the beauty of my homeland. I feel like a child again, looking only to the future instead of focusing on surviving another battle. I remember a similar time, shortly before I had Rosemary. My head was so chock full of visions...

“I understand it might be a sensitive topic, but I wish to ask you of Oregano,” says Wolf River. He says this quietly, just as he says everything else.

In all honesty, if he were to ask me to jump off a cliff with that voice, I’d probably think it a good idea. But I’m not afraid to speak of my late husband. There’s no weight on my heart as I say, “It’s been some time. Ask me whatever you wish.”

“I know your relationship was arranged, but you must have felt something for him.”

I recall many bruises and scrapes from contests of swords and skills. “Well,” I begin, chuckling with nostalgia, “he was the one to teach me the art of swordplay. In truth, I owe my continued survival to him. He taught me the basics, and then I developed my scorpion technique. After that…” I chuckle, “…victory was always in my favor in the ring. Oregano could never figure out how to dodge the stinger.” I wrap my tail around the hilt of my other greatsword, the ebony one, and give it a playful swing. Wolf River steps back. That might just be the first time I’ve surprised him.

“It’s like you’re channeling the insect’s spirit,” he says in awe.

“As you channel the wolf’s. But it is high time I do away with these swords and return to the peaceful life I deserve.” I sigh. “The one I should have chosen to begin with.”

“Do you wish to vent your sorrows, M’lady?” Wolf River asks.

“I wouldn’t mind…” I sigh, walking out to the edge of the grassy knoll. I don’t wish for Wolf River to see me upset. “Oregano died a warrior’s death, fighting for what he believed in, defiant to his enemies even as he gave his last breath. Nopony weeped for him; they were proud of what he did for the Legion.” I pause, catching my breath. “So was I. I was happy for his accomplishments, even if the battle of Ghastly Gorge ended in a stalemate.” I mimic the action of holding a paper in a single hoof. “I was called to Everfree upon hearing of his death. The queen herself asked me if I would be willing to take up his mantle, and become a general in his place.”

“And the rest is history,” says Wolf River. I feel him starting to wrap his foreleg around my neck, but I lightly push him away in frustration.

“Is it?” I mumble. “I had just given birth to Nutmeg and Cinnamon at the time, and yet I was so determined to live up to the stallion I married, it was far easier than it should have been to make my decision. In a heartbeat, I was leaving care of my new children to Rosemary and the help.” My skin crawls as I realize just how selfish that sounds. “...It’s no wonder she hates me so.” Shaking that notion off, I continue. “So I stepped up onto that podium and announced with nothing but bravery in my heart that I’d lead the Imperial Legion to victory, they all just stared at me. Do you know what they said behind my back?”

Wolf River shrugs, smiling warmly. “They said they’d follow you to the ends of the earth?”

“Naive.” Still, I can’t help but return the expression. “But… no. They just said I wasn’t Oregano. I was the general they needed, but not the one they wanted. And that is how it remained. I was just an ill shadow of Oregano to them, never minding my accomplishments.”

“I understand.”

I turn to Wolf River, scowling. “I don’t think you do.”

“No, sincerely.” He takes my hoof in his, almost forcefully. “You know I wasn’t half what I am now at a time. I was foolish, more a rabid animal than a horse before I found the Carrier Clan. And the mistakes I made on the way to becoming what I am—”

“Wolf...”

“—followed me more than the good I brought to those around me.”

I shake my head, but I still hold his hoof. “But it’s not my mistakes that remained, Wolf… To them, I was just Oregano’s shadow. His legacy overshadowed my own.” My muzzle crinkles as I feel the beginnings of tears in my eyes. With my former, dignified self at a loss, I’m not afraid to let a few fall. “So I poured more days into my training, becoming the general I thought I could be, at the cost of wasting what precious little time I may have had with my own children.” I release my hoof from Wolf River’s and hold it to my forehead. “Good Epona, it’s not wonder Rosemary hates me!”

Wolf makes an attempt to embrace me but I back away. “M’lady,” he says desperately.

I give him the most piercing stare I can, despite my misty eyes. “Don’t tell me it’s okay, Wolf. I’m the worst mother of the twilight age!” That is all I can say before my words become blubbering nonsense obscured by a foreleg.

“Clearly… many emotions are coming to a head for you.”

I nod as I wipe my cheeks.

“Maybe it would be best just to seek out the welcome of your children. Perhaps Rosemary won’t warm up to you immediately, but if your children have heard of your bravery, at the very least they’ll hold as much admiration as I do. These are your offspring we’re talking about.” He pauses, waiting for me to calm myself. It was a short burst of tears, and I quickly feel myself returning. As I do, he says, “We can only hope.”

“I’m sorry, love…” I wipe my face clean of tears. The thought of Wolf River seeing his heroine in such a state is unbearable. “I don’t know why I can’t keep control of myself lately…”

The rest of the trip, in light of my outburst, is kept in the embrace of silence, something welcome to us both. It befits this cavern, which is illuminated by pockets of sunlight. It creates the most beautiful reflections off the water. I watch the light dance across the ceiling. It’s a mesmerizing sight, one that holds me captivated as I prance across the path. Granted, the weight of my equipment makes prancing a difficult task, but I’m okay with that. I’ve worked for many years to earn this prancing. Dammit if I’m not going to prance! Prance right out of this cave and into the sunlight, I will!

And that I do, out onto the cliffside. While there is a stone wall to the left, the right presents a closer view of the green below. And ahead, among the trees, past where the path meets the grass…

“That’s it…” Wolf River mutters, drawing a fresh smile.

The villa. From a distance, one could mistake for a town, but it’s hardly. From this height, I can see the smithery, cafe, stacked living quarters for the help, and of course, my very own plantation house. By all accounts, it belonged to Oregano, but it was decided that all he owned fell to me after he died. So, yes, it’s my plantation house. The plantation itself is what takes up most of the ground within the walls of the villa. I don’t care much for tending to it; I leave that to Rosemary and the help.

Wolf River seems to be fixated on one attraction only, which is atop the tallest hill. Plumes of steam rising from a humble collection of houses confirm his suspicion. I can predict what he’s going to say.

“You never mentioned a hot spring,” he says wistfully.

I thought so. “I thought I’d let it be a surprise.” As humorous as I find his entranced glare, I too find myself enamoured with the idea of soaking in perpetually warm, refreshing water. And it’s even more enticing knowing that Wolf River will be with me. “But don’t get too excited, love. We’ll visit the springhouse, but after…”

He completes my sentence for me. “After you’ve tended to your personal matters. This is obvious.”

“But that gives us all the more reason to get right to it, then. Come, it’s not far.”

“By your lead, M’lady,” he says as I descend the cliffside.

Ah, what a gentlecolt. So soft and huggable, and yet so mighty... I’m quite sure Nutmeg and Cinnamon will find an excellent fa… friend in him. Rosemary, probably not so much. I have my doubts that she will approve of any partner of mine that isn’t Oregano. I daresay she knew him better than I did. It was he who taught her swordplay, filled her head with visions of high adventure, rescuing damsels in distress and filling her pockets with treasure… I shouldn’t blame him for her running off, but I enforce the idea that a young child should remain where they are told, for their own safety, lest they all turn out as horny and mischievous as Tohro or as rage-prone as Caro. Great Epona’s mane, I remember the red in the whites of his eyes as he impaled Preacher… It’s hard to believe I even considered taking him up on the offer to join Dragonrein.

Shae is anything but indecent, though. She’s a good child. In a word, innocent. I can only hope whatever time she spent with Rosemary proved to be a positive influence. She could learn a thing or two about decency.

But I’m sure even my eldest daughter will find it in her heart to not hate me. Either way, I’ll be giving her a warm embrace. The past doesn’t matter anymore. I’m home.

The dirt road gives way to stone paving as the hill ascends, leading us to the outer wall. It’s not as large or boastful as Trottingham’s, merely a way to keep disagreeables from entering what should be private property. It seems that it’s been well tended to; there’s no vegetation seeping into the bricks. That is promising enough. What has my attention is the gate. “Huh. Normally, it’s kept open. We’ve never had a reason to keep it closed before.”

I notice a wooden watchtower right above the gate. That wasn’t there before. Neither was there ever a watcher.

“Excuse me?” I ask the mare atop the watchtower. “Lady Tangerine, owner of the villa speaking to you!”

The mare, turning and taking notice of me and Wolf River, retreats from her lax position rather quickly. “Oh! Mistress! You’ve… you’ve come back.”

“I’ve come home,” I clarify. “And I intend to stay a while, so it would be advisable for you to get somepony to raise the gate. I don’t rightly know why it’s closed to begin with.”

“Y-yes, Mistress! And, uh, it’s just an extra precaution. You know how we can’t afford to be careless in this day and age.” With that, she disappears over the wall. I can hear her shouting in her uncultured brogue. “Grotto! You wanka! Didja eva think to open the door for the mistress? You shoulda known she was coming!”

Another one of my servants speaks up from beyond the wall. I can make him out just barely. I can assume Wolf River can hear all of it with his canid ears. “’Ow could I ‘ave? I only jus’ got here.”

I hear the unmistakable sound of a slap. “Doesn’t matta! Jus’ bloody open it!” I somewhat feel bad for smiling. I shrug, silently asking ‘What?’ to Wolf River, who looks at me in bewilderment.

“It’s what I have to put up with regularly,” I remark. “It’s no issue. They’re good to me.” Although, silently, I have been wondering if they are only good to me because they have to be, rather than because they want to be. If so, I swear to be a better mistress.

After a few moments, the gate finally opens. I offer Wolf River my hoof, which he takes without hesitation, and we step through together.

How am I supposed to put such a feeling into words? Well, damn me, I’m going to try my best.

They say that you only know what you have once it’s gone, and I’m beginning to see the truth of that, only extended further; I only know what I have because I have it once more. The villa is a paradise away from the struggles of war and conflict. It is simple, it is contained, and it is all mine.

This stone road leads to a single marketplace where the smithery, apothecary, food stalls and clothing shops stand in a row. Some question the need for shops, but that was Oregano’s idea; there are others who live within the villa who can make a mint selling to the other tenants, and inversely, given how far we are from the rest of Equestria’s holds, where else would they obtain their necessities? Their only alternative is to brave the wilderness.

Any building that isn’t a shop is a home to the tenants. Those homes surround the marketplace. While they are not much of my concern, and they come and go as they please, they at least are aware that my family holds charge over this place. But I’m not about to be a dictator to them, not now or ever.

My eyes are, for the most part, fixated on my home. It is a monolith compared to the humble houses about the villa. Two floors of elegant architecture overseeing all that lies below, and an entire plantation accompanying it.

“Your home is lovely,” says Wolf River. “You must have a bedroom for every child.”

I point to the top floor. “Nutmeg and Cinnamon share a room. Rosemary has her own.”

“And you?”

“The master suite goes to the mistress, obviously. But, um,” I brush my hoof along the ground, “do not be surprised if you find separate beds.”

Being a stallion of few words, Wolf River merely tilts his eyebrow. I think he’s perfectly aware of how my marriage to Oregano worked.

“I can push them together.”

He smiles.

I’ve tried to keep it contained, or at the very least try to put a damper upon it, but I can resist no longer. It’s been years. I’ve waited for this for too long. There were times when I tried to pretend I had nothing to return to, hoping it would keep me focused. And yet that did nothing to do away with my desire to open the doors and greet my children, watch them gallop to me, and I’d meet them halfway to embrace them…

“I’m going to run,” I say to Wolf River, my voice high with anticipation. “Don’t stop me.”

I break into a sprint. Half the time my hooves don’t even touch the ground. I may trip, but that wouldn’t stop me for long. I vault up the exterior staircase, taking it four steps at a time and reaching the top in a second. I cross the red brick yard, leap over the rose bushes, then only slow down for fear of colliding with the front door. I reach for the handle, slip my hoof under, and open it.

“Nutmeg, Cinnamon! Rosemary! Mother has come home!”

The wall-bound mirror just across from the door shows my face, which is adorned with the largest grin I’ve ever worn. And it begins to descend into a frown as I take notice of the mirror itself. It’s ajar, hanging diagonally, and a wide crack cuts across my reflection. I step forward to the mirror and tilt it, ensuring it hangs properly.

“What in Equestria…” I mutter.

I look to my left, where the family room is. There’s nothing of significance there, for everything seems normal. There is a couch surrounded by padded chairs, all set over an oriental rug. The glass case by the wall is filled with Oregano’s many swords and trophies of war. Literally, they made trophies for him, and he kept them behind glass. Only, the case seems starker than I remember. And also more broken.

I walk to the case and notice that the end has been utterly shattered, littering the floor with shards. It’s a good thing I’m still clad in my armor. But one of Oregano’s swords is gone.

There is one mare in this house who has an affinity for swords, but given Rosemary idolizes her father, I wouldn’t imagine she’d steal one of his treasured weapons. Even she isn’t that stupid. Even so…

Then a sharp tingle rides up my neck. I turn around, expecting to see some sort of foe, but instead I see something much less dangerous yet indefinitely more annoying. My precious vase, one that has been passed down my family line since before Equestria was formed, lays nearly a full inch off of where it is supposed to be. Nutmeg and Cinnamon are smart enough to not dare touch it, but...

“Rosemary! You have a mess to clean up!”

There is no reply.

“Rosemary Von Spice! Your presence is demanded!”

Again, silence is the only response. But that does allow me to hear the sound of whistling wind in the next room over. The library.

Several books from the high and low shelves alike litter the floor. Most of these are Oregano’s journals, but there are other fictional and historical tomes there as well. Nopony would willingly leave such a mess, nor would anypony even read this many books in a row. This was an accident.

Hearing the whistle again, accompanying a draft that sends chills across my body, I turn to the window. Or a lack of a window. That too is shattered, but it’s a much more concerning sight when I see something on the sill.

Blood.

My eyes widen and my legs begin to quiver, but I still them quickly. I can’t afford to lose myself in a time that demands calm. I take a moment to still my breath, and then deliberate all of my thoughts to locating my children. Clearly something has gone wrong, and they’ll be terrified. Well, Rosemary might not be, but I know Nutmeg and Cinnamon will.

The stairs leading to the second floor are my priority. They’ll likely be hiding under their beds. I’m tempted to vault up these ones as well, but I’d rather not. There might be something unnatural waiting around the corner, or at the top of these steps. I thank Epona when I reach the top and look down the hall. I can see that I was dead wrong to think there’d be anything lying in wait, but at the same time, a part of me wishes there was.

My room is ahead, with Nutmeg and Cinnamon’s beside it. Rosemary’s is across from theirs. I’m against stepping into them, but I can get a glance as all three doors are open.

Nutmeg and Cinnamon’s room is completely and totally ransacked. The bed is without covers, which are thrown in the corner, and Cinnamon’s dresser is on the floor. I sigh of slight relief when I see no blood. But that doesn’t alleviate a much more grim realization.

There is nothing to imply that my children are even here.

Rosemary’s room is in an even worse condition. There’s blood here, staining the walls and floor. The bed is torn up as well, mixing in feathers with the blood. It’s like a slaughter in a chicken coop. My stomach churns at the thought of slaughter, especially at the sight of her window being broken as well.

The greatest amount of dread comes to me when I see that my room has been left completely untouched. Not an abnormality to be found. Regardless, I step inside and have a look. The two beds face two oil paintings, one for each. There is mine, in which I am younger, smiling like the child I was at the time. And the painting beside it, a perfect image of my late husband. His red mane and orange body are nothing new to me, but I’ve always looked at this painting as a reminder, always telling me I was never good enough to be Oregano. But now… I don’t even know what to think of it.

“What do you suppose happened?”

I jump back a little. “Oregano?”

“No, it’s me.”

My heartbeat slows when I turn and see Wolf River standing in the doorway. He looks distraught, and curiously, his muzzle is scrunched up.

“They’re gone,” I say.

Despite his concerned expression, his voice remains quiet as ever. “I know.” He approaches me. “Are you well?”

"Yes," I answer disconcertingly. My lip quivers as I bow my head. "No."

“I’ll say…” he responds. On the edge of his words, I hear a hint of a quiver. “This is… unfortunate.”

My mind is amiss despite my best efforts to keep it in check. It’s as if my heart is a vase, falling from the peak of a cabinet, only it hasn’t quite hit the ground just yet. I’ll do everything in my power to ensure that vase does not shatter. If it does… I… I don’t know what will happen to me.

Wolf River coughs and speaks up again. “I… spoke to the help. Only one has an inkling towards what happened.” He gestures his head behind him and steps aside, making room for a lanky mare to step in. I recognize this one well. Her name is Duster.

“H-Hello, Mistress…” she says in a hushed tone. She’s so nervous she nearly forgets to take a bow. It wouldn’t matter either way.

She has the nerve to wait there, looking around in a subdued panic. So she has a hint of understanding as to what I’m going through. But she doesn’t speak beyond greeting me. So I ask her, quietly, “Where... are... they?”

She must be a dullard. She can’t even answer such a simple question. All she does is bloody stand, teeth snapped together, pulling on her collar, sweat running down her cheek…

The vase hasn’t broken, but it sure as hell has cracked. I fire off into a gallop and reach for Duster, lifting her up by the collar and pinning her to the interior of the doorway. “WHERE ARE MY BABIES?!”

She shakes her head so fast she creates a blur. “I-I-I d-d-don’t know, M-M-M-Mistress!”

“THEN WHAT GOOD ARE YOU?!” I shove her against the lacquer and let her fall. She holds her head with both of her forelegs. I must have bruised her.

“M-M-M-Mistress… I-I saw s-s-something… I d-d-don’t know where N-Nutm-meg and C-C-Cinnamon a-are… B-but… I s-s-s-saw... R-Rosemary…”

My hoof hits the wood floor with enough force to create a split. “WHERE?!”

Duster cowers behind her forelegs and whimpers. “S-she t-t-took s-some sup-p-pplies from the b-blacksmith s-shop and ran…”

I bite my lip with so much anger that I taste blood. “FUCK!” I bring my hoof into the door hinge, splintering the wood.

This is exactly as I feared… Rosemary constantly threatens to abandon this villa and her heritage, not because she hates her father, hell, she bloody worships him… It’s because she worships him, and all things adventurous, that she tries so hard to leave… But it was only a matter of time before doing such a thing would bring disaster to this household. If anything happens to Nutmeg and Cinnamon, I will hold her responsible. “She will have bruises.”

Duster’s cowering lessens, just a little bit, as she stands. She waves Wolf River off as he offers her a hoof, though she still holds her head. “S-Sh-She didn’t ab-b-ba-bandon them. S-She went a-a-after them…”

The rage that kept me from doing anything but lash out has disappeared, for I’ve regressed back into the creeping dread I felt earlier. It’s like tendrils are wrapped around my heart, ready to squeeze the life out of it when the worst possible thing happens. “Then… what…”

“They were taken! Nutmeg and Cinnamon were kidnapped!” Duster screams.

I want to scream too.

My steps are slow and minimal. The creaking wood is muted, as are Wolf Rivers pleas for me. He’s asking if I’m well again, but it’s in desperation. He knows I am not well. Not that I have any desire to respond. I can’t. Whatever will I have to speak cannot be found, my ears will not allow me to hear, but my eyes remain open, unable to blink. All I can smell and taste is the blood on my lips.

I’ve ended up across the room, looking at my bedside table. There isn’t much overly significant there; a few necklaces, which I always kept around in case of sudden company. But there is one thing. I’ve found my family portrait.

To the day, I don’t recall how Oregano and I managed to have Rosemary, Nutmeg and Cinnamon sit still long enough for a painting, but there we are. This is the most recent portrait of us… and the last. I hired a mage to make copies after Oregano died. I suppose he did hold a spot in my heart at the time. I shouldn’t act like he meant nothing to me. After all, he was a critical part of my life. He may not have been the stallion of my dreams, the one I loved more than life itself, but he was still my husband, dammit. And when he died, that was a part of my whole life severed. Rosemary began to despise me, she ran off… multiple times... and now, the last part of my family tree is gone.

I hear Duster speaking up, but I have to tap myself on the side of my head to come back into focus. “...What was it you said?”

She sounds choked up. “W-we did everything we could… We looked for weeks…”

I snap in her direction. “Weeks?”

She nods quickly. “We s-sent letters to the Imp-p-p-perial Legion… You didn’t receive them?”

Of course… As far as everypony in the villa is concerned, I’m still known as General Tangerine. The name is so far gone that it sounds foreign to me. “No. My position in the Legion is compromised.”

“Compro—”

“I was fired for losing a colt wanted for a crime he didn’t commit. It’s a long story, and who the fuck cares?! My children are gone!” My hoof lands on Duster’s chest, forcing her back against the wall. Seeing her fear in her eyes, I restrain myself. “I’m not going to hurt you again. That was out of line.” My hoof goes to her shoulder. I try to be as gentle as equinely possible. The last thing on my mind is making my own servants fear me. I’d be no better than Shokenda. “Can you…” I pause to calm myself further. “Can you at least tell me who took them?”

“N-no.”

I refused to hurt her again, so I won’t. But I can settle for stepping away and bucking the wall. But as my adrenaline has left me, I can only weakly grunt. I don’t leave so much as a dent. My mouth drops open as I begin to pant. I can’t let myself cry here. Not in front of Wolf River. I’m not weak.

His gentle touch assures me of that much, bringing a trace of my strength back. “M’lady,” he says. I notice again that his nose is scrunched up. I can hear him sniffing. He points his head upwards, then wafts the air towards him with a hoof. “Hmm…” He nods. “I think I have a trace.”

My eyes widen even further. “You can smell them out?!”

Wolf River moves his muzzle in the direction of the door. “If it’s been weeks…”

“T-two months, at least,” Duster adds.

He grunts in response. “Then I won’t be able to locate Nutmeg or Cinnamon, but I may be able to sniff out what happened here, and that will bring us one step closer to knowing where they are.”

I follow Wolf River out into the hallway, well aware of what he’ll need. I motion for Duster to stay put, and she obeys, but not without a bout of confusion. “W-what are you…”

As I leave my room, I see Wolf River has already stepped out of Rosemary’s, clutching one of her many brimmed hats. He holds it up to his snout and inhales. “This would seem unconventional in any other situation, but…” He inhales again. “Hm, her scent is certainly definable.” He tosses the hat back into the room. There are better times to be tidy. “Now, if I could have anything of Nutmeg or Cinnamon’s…”

“Oh, I get it,” I say, quickly ducking into their mess of a room. I approach the toppled dresser, which thankfully has landed on its back, allowing me access to the drawers. I find Nutmeg’s favorite dress and one of Cinnamon’s sleeves. That’ll have to do. With all haste I return to Wolf River and hoof the items over to him.

“Okay…” He takes in the scent of both articles of clothing. His pupils shrink rapidly as he drops them both. “I have them.”

We are one league closer to finding them than we were a few moments ago. As such, I give a cautious jump for joy. “You do?!”

“I smell something strong in the dining area,” he says.

I replicate his action, smelling the air, but I pick up nothing except the chilled, draftiness of my house. There is nothing out of the ordinary. “I… don’t.”

Wolf River has already set out on his way, beginning down the stairs. “Well, you don’t quite have the nose of a wolf.”

I hear Duster behind me. “Wolf?”

I hold out my hoof and she shuts right up. “Don’t.”

“But wh—”

“Just don’t. There are many things happening in my life that you wouldn’t understand.” I follow Wolf River’s path, but I pause at the first step of the stairs. “Hmm. Come to think of it, I don’t rightly understand some of it myself.” I laugh, but it’s a jaded and nervous laugh. My faux smile fades the instant my trip down the stairs ends.

I step into the entrance hall with the broken mirror, then turn away from the family room to enter the kitchen. There, I see Wolf River opening up indiscriminate cupboards and drawers, inhaling their scent as expected.

“They were all here at one point…” he says, looking over the cutting table. He traces his hoof over a set aside knife, then the dents it must have left in the wood. “That was a while ago, though. I smell bread and vegetables… Their scent is weakest here.” He trots out of the kitchen and past me. “Wait…”

“Try there.” I point to the dining table. “I can’t think of a time we didn’t take our meals there.”

The big lug is unforgivably adorable when he’s embarrassed. He moves over to the table quickly, as if to make up for lost time. “Huh. Should have considered that.”

I usher him over. “Quickly now. We haven’t a second to lose.”

He traces along the edge of the dining table, then smells the individual chairs. “Hm… Uh…” He steps back, surveys over the area, then turns to me. “Sorry, M’lady. There’s nothing here regarding what could have happened to Nutmeg and Cinnamon.”

I sigh, though I haven’t lost all hope just yet. “Okay, we’ll search elsewhere, then.”

“Okay. The most I can take away from this is the last meal they ate before…” He sees my face of distraught, and cleverly retracts whatever it is he was going to say. He clears his throat and points ahead. “Onward?”

“What were they eating?” A silly question to ask, but at the very least it may help. Any knowledge is useful knowledge.

“Best I can tell, they were enjoying a meal of—”

~Vision End~

~Two and a half months ago~

“—sandwiches! That’s what they’re called. I’m not sure what sort of skooma that zebra was on, but he is a bloody genius for inventin' this. Our days of gnawin' on bread are over, my darlin's!”

Rosemary takes the grip of the knife in her mouth, then brings down the blade on the loaf of bread. A portion of it comes off in a slice, which Rosemary scoops up. She drops the knife on the cutting table and lays the slice of bread over another, which is adorned with lettuce, tomatoes, provolone and cheddar jack cheese. She sets the completed sandwich onto a plate, then scoops the plate onto her muzzle.

The plate proves difficult to balance as she calls out to Nutmeg and Cinnamon. “Oi, dinner is served! Get yer rumps in yer seats.”

“Not until this codger Blackwing admits defeat in the name of the Empire!” Rosemary hears Cinnamon yell. The mare sighs, sets the plate down carefully, then sternly trots out of the kitchen towards the family room.

She’s greeted with more yelling as her young siblings leap from couch to couch, swinging their wooden weapons at each other.

Cinnamon, a red maned pinto foal and an earthwalker like everypony else in the Spice clan, crouches at the height of a couch with a wooden sword between his teeth. He leaps and makes a diving vertical slash at his sister.

Nutmeg, who boasts a dark crimson mane and a cream colored coat, rolls sideways, dodging the attack. She bucks at Cinnamon, making him stumble back against the couch. He returns with a swing, tripping the filly and making her drop her stick.

Cinnamon laughs like a triumphant, conquering hero, as if he had actually decimated an entire army. “Shouldn’t have brought a stick to a swordfight, Blackwing! Surrender now!”

“Sod off!” shouts Nutmeg in defiance.

“Oi!” Rosemary stomps the floor with both of her forelegs. “That’s enough, there! Put away the weapons and getcha’ arses to dinner.”

“I don’t have to listen to you, Blackwing scum!” Cinnamon turns around and takes his sword in his hoof. “For the Empire!” He throws it at Rosemary, but she doesn’t even have to dodge. It flies past her and lands harmlessly on the ground.

Rosemary sighs with indifference. “Are you going to come eat quietly?”

“Never!” Cinnamon has the largest devil-may-care smirk on his muzzle. Unfortunately for him, which he quickly takes notice of, so does Rosemary. He watches as his big sister swaggers over to the windowsill and picks up a vase. It’s imprinted with archaic symbols and abstract patterns.

“Mum has told you many times of how priceless this ancient artifact is, as it is one of the few remnants the Great Plains before the onslaught of the windigos.” She smirks and raises it above her head. “She may have also mentioned it is very fragile.”

Cinnamon takes notice of this quickly and immediately lets his sword “Rosey!”

Nutmeg looks just as shocked as Cinnamon. “Why do you have to gain?”

Rosemary puts of a faux surprised expression. “You don’t want to be responsible for this, do you?”

“But I—”

The yellow mare sets the vase down carefully, then points the kitchen and says in complete deadpan, “Who’ll Mum believe? Move along.”

“You always do that…”

With their roughhousing brought to a screeching halt, the siblings leave their weapons and somberly follow Rosemary’s orders. She doesn’t ignore their disappointment, however. “Sorry, there.” She looks at the broken mirror, wondering how she can keep them in high spirits. She smiles when an idea clicks in her mind. “Of course, it’s not as if strong soldiers like yourselves can go on fightin' without a good meal, eh?”

Appealing to their inner fantasy cheers the children right up. They make their way to the kitchen with haste. Rosemary chuckles at their antics. When she arrives back in the kitchen, they’ve already taken their seats next to each other. Rosemary moves to the head of the table and hoofs them both their sandwiches, which they look upon with bewilderment.

Nutmeg turns the sandwich over in her hooves, trying for the life of her to comprehend it. “Of course zebras would come up with something this ridiculous. How are you supposed to eat it?” She looks over to Cinnamon, who is already chowing down greedily, leaving many a crumb on the table. “Oh.”

“Don’t mock those zebra folk, kid. We could learn much from them… And we have.” Rosemary takes a much cleaner bite, albeit a bigger one.

“Hrr, Rrmnm,” Cinnamon says, mouthful of food. He swallows and continues again, “Hey, Rosey. You never finished your story the other day. What happened after you left the zebra caravan?”

Rosemary sets her sandwich down, smiling broadly as she recalls her first taste of adventure. It was so sweet for her, she recalls it nearly brought her to tears. “The town they dropped me off at was the main tradin’ hub of Equestria, Trottingham. It’s a nice village; humble, a little cold, but still welcomin’ enough. The guards are bumblin’ idiots, though. Shouldn’t expect anything more from a place that’s neutral. Well, it used to be neutral. Word is, they want the Empire on their side.”

“Boooring!” Nutmeg whines. She leans over the table in anticipation. “Get to the part with the dragon!”

“I’m workin’ up to it.” Waving her off, Rosemary thinks back to where her arrival at Trottingham took her. “Well, I mostly slept at the inn, but that ate away at what little money I took with me, so I got a job. Evidently, makin’ weapons and armor is my forte, so a kind ol' smith named Glasswork took me under as an apprentice and let me sleep at the smithery. And Mum says the world is full of cruelty… Heh. I got along just fine. Until a certain stallion and his mate came along.”

This captures Cinnamon’s interest. “Cato and Todo?”

“Caro and Tohro, dear. And they are certainly a vitriolic pair a’ stallions. Nice fellas, though. And they made me much richer. Then, a day or so later, who should they be bringin’ back from Beak Falls Barrow but the worst and best possible things?”

“Oooh, that’s when Mum found you?” Nutmeg asks.

“Yes, but before she forced that Carrier Clan bloke to drag me all the way back here…” Rosemary’s cheeks grow nearly as red as her mane. She rests her head on her hooves, having lost all anger at the thought of somepony special. “That’s when I met her.”

At the exact same time, the younger siblings raise their hooves and wave them. “Big sister is in looo-oooove!” they chant in sing-songy voices.

“Oi, you speak to Shae for longer than a minute and tell me she isn’t a mare worth knowing!” She won’t let anypony speak ill of the young unicorn and let them get away with it. She promised herself that much when she first ranted about Shae Sparkle for two hours, much to Nutmeg and Cinnamon’s simultaneous amusement and chagrin.

“Here she goes…” says the latter.

“I’ll never lie, I am enamoured with her. She’s smart, resourceful, kind…”

Nutmeg snorts. “Everything you’re not?”

Much to her expectations, Rosemary hasn’t stopped to listen. “...and she saved both our skins with this beautiful shield spell. We were nearly crushed by a dragon’s corpse but she pulled through. That’s when I knew…” She trails off, lost in her own starstruck memories.

A beat of silence passes over the dinner table, with Rosemary tracing hearts in the wood and Nutmeg and Cinnamon finishing their sandwiches. Their smiles grow larger, partially because Rosemary’s absentminded behavior is most amusing to them, but also because they find that the meal was quite good.

“If it’s any consolation, sister,” says Cinnamon to the lovesick mare, “Shae sounds like she’d make a fine mate over Baron.”

That snaps her out of her stupor. “I’m sorry, who?”

“That rich dullard from further up north? The one you’ll be marrying?”

Rosemary groans, slowly rising from her seat and pushing her plate aside. Just the thought of her betrothal makes her lose her appetite. “Uphold the family honor… Keep the bloodline within the earthwalker tribe…” She keeps her head low as she steps past Cinnamon. “I wish Shae were here right now. She might know of the right thing to say.”

When she raises her head, she finds herself staring into the wide eyes and freckles of her sister. “I think I know what she’d say.”

She decides to humor the little one, forcing herself to put away her glum expression. “What’s that, Nutmeg?”

Rosemary tilts her head in curiosity when Nutmeg turns and shows off a large tome laid across her back. “I think she’d tell you to read us a story.” She wears an innocent grin. “It’s been a long time since Cinnamon and I have heard one of your epic tales.” She takes the book in her forelegs. She struggles underneath its weight, prompting Rosemary to take it from her just as she stumbles over.

“Hm. Very well, why not?” Making her way out of the kitchen and into the family room, Rosemary flips through the pages, the nostalgia gradually filling within her. There’s at least a hundred stories across a thousand pages in this collection, which is so cleverly titled Tales of Equestria and Beyond. “Heh, I used to read to you two every night. You know, I could blame my desire for adventure on this accursed book.”

She sees Cinnamon prance around her, laughing as he approaches the largest couch. He leaps up to take a seat beside Nutmeg. “Then you’d think Mum would have gotten rid of it by now.”

Rosemary joins her younger siblings on the couch and opens the book to an indiscriminate page; even after years of reading these tomes aloud, she still hasn’t covered every single story. By her luck, the page she lands on is the opening chapter of an epic she has been long looking forward to experiencing.

She clears her throat and speaks in the most dramatic voice she can muster. “Let us begin, young ones. This is the epic adventure of Stormbringer the Valiant and his beloved Prince Notch.”

~Tangerine, present day~

There is an open book on the family room couch that I didn’t notice upon my first glance. Tales of Equestria and Beyond. Of course. I put blame on it for filling Rosemary’s head with delusions of adventure and grandeur. In truth, I don’t know where it came from. It was just always there. I don’t know if Oregano bought it or it just came with the house. Either way...

“I should have gotten rid of this book long ago. I might have saved myself so much trouble…”

Wolf River is still sticking his muzzle in every nook and cranny for some hint of what may have transpired here. In truth, while we are further along now than we were recently, I can’t quite see the use in tracing every single room and surface.

As he steps over to the chaotic pile of books, I sigh in frustration and call out to him. “Wolf, if your sense of smell is so adept, why don’t we just follow the scent outside?”

He’s grown more driven. His goal to pick up the scent has become more than an idea; it’s become a mission to him. So he is understandably a little short with my question. He turns to me, orange eyes fierce with ambition. “We cannot afford to miss anything. If there is any scrap, any small sliver, any near invisible particle of evidence here that contributes to finding them and the kidnappers, I will not pass it up.”

He acts as though Nutmeg and Cinnamon are his own children. Frightening and endearing in equal measure. But it is also disconcerting, and I fear that he might push himself too far. “Wolf… They are the fruit of my garden. They are not your responsibility, they are mine. Your help is beyond praisable but don’t become obsessed.”

Wolf River looks out the broken window and rests his hooves where there aren’t any shards of glass. “Do you remember who I am, Lady Tangerine?”

Of course I know the question to that. “A stallion who is larger than life?” I walk towards him, forcing a smile despite the grim and fear surrounding us. “Honorable despite recklessness? Kind despite a ferocious form?”

“More than that, I’m…” He growls and slams his hoof on the windowsill. He bares his teeth, which shine in what little light there is in this darkened house. “I’m an Epona-damned Carrier! Do you not get it?” His hoof rams into the sill in tandem with his words. “Your problems are my problems! I have nothing else!”

So he can lose his temper elsewhere than the battlefield. But by his face of remorse, I can tell he isn’t fond of such an action. He immediately regains his composure, visually at least. I have my doubts that he’ll remain calm on the inside.

He looks down, likely out of shame, but his regretful expression becomes one of curiousity. He purses his lips and lowers his head to the windowsill. He sniffs at a splotch of blood.

“Of course…” He steps away from the window. “I need to see their rooms again.”

I nod and move towards the stairs, albeit reluctantly. “Uh, very well, but why?”

He’s already taking the stairs two steps at a time. “I don’t know where they are, but I think I know who took them.”

“It couldn’t possibly be the Silver Horseshoe?” I ask as Wolf River turns the corner.

“That’d be a blessing, if my hunch is correct.”

I dread knowing what fiend has taken Nutmeg and Cinnamon away, but no matter how horrid, it is something I must know.

I take one more glance at that book. In an odd moment of thought, I wonder what story Rosemary was on before all this. It feels strange when I say this, but in all sincerity, I do hope she finished the story...

~Vision End~

~Two and a half months ago~

“Prince Notch held out his hoof to the ash stricken air and shouted for his beloved, only to hear no reply. Within his heart, he expected nothing more, for his knight in shining armor, Stormbringer, was well and trapped beneath the corpse of the dragon. Notch bowed his head, accepting the loss of the one he loved.”

Rosemary pauses her reading for effect as Nutmeg and Cinnamon cower against her. They hold tight to her forelegs, which in turn hold the pages of the book. “Oh no, that’s awful,” Nutmeg moans. “He can’t die there! He still has to collect the fire salts!”

Cinnamon presses Rosemary’s shoulder, causing her discomfort as he pouted. “And return the minotaur’s bow!” He grunts. “Talk about an anticlimax.”

Rosemary smirks and licks her lips as she slowly turns the page. Nutmeg and Cinnamon’s eyes flutter to the book as they see a whole new chapter before them.

“Oh, you tease!” Cinnamon yells. “Go on, read, read, read!”

The eldest sister obliges, much to his and Nutmeg’s happiness. They nestle in closer, eagerly anticipating what is to come.

“A single hoof emerged from underneath the dragon’s carcass. Notch, who had begun to turn away, looked back in awe and disbelief. He galloped forth and took the hoof of Stormbringer. 'I do wish this was the first time this has happened,' said the pegasus. With only a hint of a struggle, he emerged from the crushing weight of the dragon and stood.”

Cinnamon sighs. “Oh, thank Epona.”

“Notch looked into the eyes of his beloved. 'Oh, Stormbringer, I was ever so worried for your safety. I had feared the worst.'

"'It was nothing, old friend,' said Stormbringer. 'I did not mean to bring you fright.'

"Notch had so much he wished to say, but with the peasants all freed from the rampaging dragon, a crowd was beginning to draw, making his time to speak short. 'Storm, I—' His words were cut short when several civilians took Stormbringer up in their grip and threw him up in the air, praising his heroics in song.”

Nutmeg punches a pillow. “Curses. Notch was so close to saying he loved him. Will those two ever become a couple? I’ve been waiting twenty chapters for them to kiss already!”

You think that’s bad? Rosemary thinks, too distracted by her own thoughts to quell her upset sister. Notch has it easy. I’ve been waitin’ weeks. She decides that, after that revelation, it’s high time to do away with the book. Her thoughts continue as she tosses it aside haphazardly, where it lands next to Cinnamon on the couch. At least Notch doesn’t have to worry about ever seein' Stormbringer again. They live in the same bloody castle. She eases herself off her back and onto her hooves. “Story time’s over, kittens.”

“Aaaw,” both the young siblings cry.

Cinnamon follows closely behind her like a shadow. He’s frowning, but in a playful way. “Rosey, you are a cruel mistress.”

“Yes, but I’m your cruel mistress.” She approaches the window. Internally, she chastises herself for showing an action so meaningless in the long run, yet her heart keeps moving her legs forward.

The outside world is visible behind the glass. At least, some of it. Most of what Rosemary sees are the rooftops within the walls of the villa. Her mother has always told her it’s a peaceful utopia from a fierce world. Bloody liar. It’s a prison and nothing more! It’s my personal hell!

By all that is possible, there is nothing stopping her from stepping out the door and walking for the exit, then galloping as fast as equinely possible to Trottingham, or Everfree, or wherever in the almighty name of Hephaestus the beautiful young mage Shae might be and pouring her heart out, but even she knows such a fantasy is childish. You only knew her two days, Rosey… Don’t be selfish. She looks to her little siblings. Mum be damned, I do want to be here for them…

And yet she can’t help but look to her father’s glass case of weapons. She longingly looks at her three favorite swords of the lot; a steel broadsword with a leather wrapped hilt, with the blade inscribed with an etching of a chimera. A gryphonic katana, decorated with a ceremonial talon at the end of the grip and a hilt shaped like a beak. And her personal favorite, as it was also her father’s, an ebony falchion. Nothing remarkable about it whatsoever, except that it was the sword he had clutched in his mouth when he died at the hooves of the Blackwings.

“You’re doing it again,” says Cinnamon, breaking Rosemary out of her trance.

She looks down at him and forces a smile. "Doin' what, ya grub?"

"I'm not a dunce, Rosey. Every time we read, you become this wide-eyed silent wanderer. And then you proceed to droll over Papa's swords."

Rosemary has little response beyond a quiet grunt as she focuses on the swords once again, making Cinnamon's notion all the more credible for Nutmeg. "I'm not drooling, Cinnamon. I'm... remembering. Thinking." Dreaming, she thinks wistfully. When will I get to see you again, my love? She mentally winces. Wow. Perhaps that’s a little strong.

“Oh, let her fantasize,” Nutmeg scoffs, now sitting at the highest point of the couch. “Or, well, in this case, reminisce. Either way, the longer she thinks of adventure and swords,” she pauses and looks to the ceiling, “and Shae,” she pauses again, smiling at Rosemary’s sighing, “the longer we don’t have to go to bed.”

Rosemary shakes herself and then growls playfully. "Alright, I'll chase ya to bed if I have ta!"

“Oh, bugger!” Nutmeg reels back and falls off the couch onto her side. She gallops around the back to dodge her older sister’s pounce, only to accidentally broadside the unsuspecting Cinnamon. They end up a messy ball of childish innocence up against the wall.

“That’s bloody right, little ducks. Do not tread on…” Rosemary trails off from her triumphant disposition as she notices a certain vase leaning over the edge of the windowsill. She immediately leaps over her siblings and pushes the vase right where she is sure it’s supposed to be. She lets out another sigh, this one of relief. She puts on a weak smile and turns to the shocked expressions of Nutmeg and Cinnamon. “Bed? Now?”

The two meekly lower their heads. "Okay..." In unison, they proceed towards the stairs.

Rosemary shouts up after them as they go out of sight. “I’ll be up to tuck you both in. Just need to…” She turns and ensures the vase is right where it belongs, then considers whether or not she actually has anything to complete her words. “Need to…” She stares the vase down, almost convinced she can see the disapproving eyes of her mother. “Damn you, it’s always about what you want.” She follows the path of her siblings. As she takes the first step, she curses the vase under her breath. “What about what I want?”

She takes her steps upstairs in silence, only then realizing how tired she is by how she drags her hooves, and how heavy her eyelids have become. She’s beginning to lose her grip on the world of the waken. “What… happened…” she asks nopony in particular. She drags a hoof across her face, tapping herself to try and keep awake, but it serves no good.

It’s beyond tiredness; she feels defeated. She thinks to the disappointed stares of her mother; not one in particular, rather, all of them. “My whole life has been a war against you… I’m wrong and… and… you’re always right… That’s just how it works, isn’t it?” She tries to support herself against the wall, but it proves to be a wasted effort. Her hoof scrapes the plaster as she hits the ground barrel first, and rests her head against the carpet.

Time passes, but it’s only a few minutes before Nutmeg and Cinnamon poke their heads out of their room. They see their older sister well on her way to sleep right on the floor, clad in her vest and all. Rosemary tilts her head towards them and says, “I guess you two wore me out…” She lets out a pathetic breath. “Or I’m just not as strong as I thought I was. Hardly Stormbringer...”

Rosemary is nudged by the muzzle of Nutmeg, and brushed by the hoof of Cinnamon. The two younger siblings, in tangent, take ahold of each of Rosemary’s forelegs and lift her.

“I suppose we’ll tuck you in for once,” says Nutmeg derisively, albeit without any loss of affection.

“Up you get,” Cinnamon commands. “On your hooves, soldier.”

“S-soldier?”

Cinnamon chuckles at Rosemary’s cluelessness, shown in her exhausted expression. Her mouth hangs slightly open, with her eyes unfocused. “Like it or not, Rosey, you’re a soldier. Don’t you remember? Mom used to call you that all the time.”

She stares at him in disbelief. “Mum said that?”

“Wow. You’re so wrapped up in despising her, you don’t remember she used to call you her good little soldier.”

Rosemary’s eyes flutter, both from her debility and her surprise that she’d forget such an honorable title. “Her good little soldier...”

“But even soldiers need to rest,” says Nutmeg. “Come along, off to bed.”

Slowly, by barely a step at a time, the three siblings make their way through the doorway into Rosemary’s bedroom. The bed stands comfortably near to the open window, where the pleasantly cold yet comforting evening wind comes lightly.

“One more story for yeh, kittens…” Rosemary mutters, just loudly enough to be heard by her siblings. “Once upon a time there was a little soldier who had everything she ever wanted… And she foolishly threw it all away in the name of independence...”

She tries once to touch her bed, but fails. She pushes forward with both of her forelegs out, relinquished by her siblings, and finally makes contact. She slowly and gradually eases her way up, finally splaying out on her back. She looks up at nothing in particular, welcoming the warm and comforting sensation of sinking into the feather stuffed mattress.

The words of Cinnamon only sooth her further. “We never hated you for pursuing your dream, Rosey. Well, Nutmeg did, but I sure didn’t.”

“I admitted I was jealous!” Nutmeg stomps her hoof. “Besides, I didn’t even get a goodbye hug.”

Rosemary reaches out to her. “I suppose I can make up for lost time. Not as if I’m goin’ anywhere for a while.” She eagerly beckons to Cinnamon as well, watching as he and Nutmeg leap onto the bed (Nutmeg has some difficulty, dangling by her front and having to pull herself up). The two siblings hop down next to Rosemary and embrace her like family would, and she wraps her forelegs around each of them to return the favor. “Then again… That doesn’t have to be such a bad thing.”

“When we can fix our own suppers, you have our permission to run off again,” says Nutmeg. She turns and sees Cinnamon break the embrace, grab the covers and throw them over Rosemary, covering her in the process. She squirms out of their grip and stands next to Cinnamon. “We won’t tell Mom, of course.”

Silently, Rosemary gives her brother and sister one more smile before she pulls the covers over her head and closes her eyes. She falls into a deep sleep within seconds, though the only conscious part of her hopes she will at least be able to witness Shae’s young beauty within the world of dreams.

~Tangerine, present day~

“Duster.”

The twitching mare quickly steps away from Rosemary’s dresser, one of the many things stained red with the blood of somepony unknown. Duster seems more frightened of me than anything that has transpired within this place. Truly, I can’t blame her. A slight loosening of my mental restraints would send me into a fury worse than the wrath of any lycan. I assume she can hear that tension in my voice.

“M-M-Ma’am. I me-mean, Lady T-T-T—”

I raise my hoof, and she shuts up immediately. “For once in my life, I am quite thankful that the idea to cleanse this house slipped your mind."

"It w-wasn't... Everypony w-was t-t-too sc-scared to..." As if she couldn’t possibly become any more pathetic, she hides her face and begins to whimper.

What sort of mistress am I to let her cower? There is enough to fear in this world without dreading the presence of one's own superior. I lend her a comforting hoof, which quickly turns into a quiver silencing embrace.

“None of this had anything to do with you and there was nothing you could have done to prevent it.” I’ve never hugged anypony of the help before. If the way Duster falls completely still for the first time in the whole time I’ve known her is any indication, I should have done so more often. But I’m in just as much need of this as her. “I should have been kinder to you and the other tenants. Whatever I endure shouldn’t fall on your shoulders. We’re all suffering.”

Well, except for Wolf River. Now having calmed himself entirely from his little spat, he has regained complete and entire focus on the situation at hoof, and I have decided to stay entirely out of his way. He sniffs long and meticulously at any available bloodstained object.

Of course, concern still has the best of me. I let go of Duster and leave her to her own. She deserves to have a moment of relaxation while I look into this further. “Have you found aught?” I ask Wolf River.

His search comes to an end at Rosemary’s bed as he runs his muzzle over the last remaining puddle of blood. “I've found enough to confirm my worst suspicions.” He gestures to the carved remains of Rosemary’s bed. “Pray, take a closer look at that.”

I do as he requests. I hadn’t thought to look beyond the flood of feathers and blood before, but it is plain as day, as seen by the holes and gashes laden across the mattress, that there was a struggle in here. “A struggle of swords. But mind, this is Rosemary we’re speaking of. I should have assumed.”

“Assumption is all we can do. But with these many scents, I’ve formed a conclusion on what transpired here.” He stands and faces me, the whites of his eyes the most visible thing against the fast darkening room.

“Tell me honestly, Wolf. I don’t want to be spared any pain.” I tap my chest as if I were clad in my old armored uniform; it’s nothing but ore at this point, but I can imagine. “What happened?”

He has that deep and blunt expression that tells me there is no good side to this, but then again, I never expected a good side to begin with. “Blackwings were here.”

...I had expected bandits. They’d be hard to find, but easy to slay. Slavers would be more unpleasant, but they’re easily traceable, with some choice words and coin purses… But the Blackwings. “That’s…” Wolf River found a weakness in my armor. “They are servants of a warmare. What possible interest could they ever have with my children?” My vision is blurring at the edges. “What do they have to gain?!” I scream at my beloved, puncturing his stoic disposition and making him step back. But I’m ignorant of that. I am far from done. “I have no part in this war anymore! I have done nothing to deserve this!”

“I know,” he whispers grimly. “It’s not your fault.”

I’m about to continue with my verbal onslaught but the way he said that has struck me dumb. He can’t possibly mean… “Wolf…” If what he implies is true, I can’t let him believe that. But the proper way to convince him otherwise does not surface from my lips.

Without a word, Wolf River steps around the bed and past me. He enters the hallway, and I hear the sound of his armored hoofsteps on the stairs. Then I hear the door slam shut.

What I wanted to say comes too late. “You shouldn’t blame yourself.”

How naive of me. It was my assumption that stepping away from my life in the Imperial Legion would grant me peace; that everypony I had made an enemy of would lay down their arms for me and me alone. But how could I expect that? Me and my family… We’re all enemies of the Blackwings, like it or not. And they haven’t forgotten.

But upon greater thinking, it doesn’t matter who intruded upon my property and my life. As I gaze upon the remains of the struggle yet again, I realize Rosemary was easily able to slaughter those cretins easily. Being the daughter of Oregano and me, two earthwalkers to wear the rank of General, she couldn’t have been stopped here. Duster has already assured me of that.

Rosemary fought with all her heart to stop the Blackwings. I just know it. And despite my watering eyes and being caught off guard, I’m sure that I can finish her work and save Nutmeg and Cinnamon. I just need a certain somepony’s help.

Wolf… I was dead wrong to assume he isn’t suffering.

~Vision End~

~Two and a half months ago~

Rosemary turns over, resting her head onto one side of the bed, then turns again to lay it down on the other, like she has for most of her night’s sleep. Her consistent thrashing has caused the covers to become a mess of cloth wrapped around her figure, defiant to the shape of the bed. With all of her chaotic movement, she ends up involuntarily running her skull into the wooden head. She grunts as she’s pulled out of her less than peaceful rest.

With all sight of the room around her left unseen, as she forgoes removing the covers from her head, she curls up close to her own hind legs in an attempt to get warm again. “Damn Weather Guild…” she mutters, pulling the sheets back over her. She rests her head, though not on her pillow. “Damn everything…” Knowing that any attempt to sleep will prove fruitless, she does her best to reminisce on the dreams she most recently had.

Unsurprisingly to her, she dreamed of exploring an open world of infinite plains and an eternal blue sky. It was a sight well familiar to her. It was everything she desired beyond a comfortable life with her little siblings, and yet… “Argh, I know what I want! If only because I can’t have it for my own…”

She raises her brow as her inhibitions fall away from her thoughts. Instead, a rather cryptic conclusion to her recent series of dreams comes to mind. “Night sky… A full moon… Some mountainside covered with snow… That’d be bloody romantic. But…” She racks her deepest memories for anything that would provide an answer to her question. “Who was that filly? Never met a blue filly that’d I’d…” She trails off into murmurs that even she can’t entirely understand, dwelling only on the mystery child.

Coming to a loose conclusion that the dream was of a magical sort, she begins to wonder how Shae would interpret it. But that is short lived. She hears creaking, and she can tell it’s just outside her door. She sighs. One of the tykes must need a midnight snack… Very well.

She raises her hoof to remove the sheets and the covers in one swoop. She smacks her lips, turns around…

Her eyes widen and she rolls over to dodge the thrusting of a levitated knife.

It plunges into the bed, ripping out feathers as it makes another lunge at her. She hops up onto her hooves for another dodge. It nicks her leg, making her grunt. She continues to sidestep it and leap away, avoiding and taking hits in equal measure, until the floating knife turns around and strikes her between the eyes, obscuring her vision and knocking her off the bed. The world is a blur for only a moment as she shakes herself back into the act. The knife comes at her again.

By her own shock, she manages to clasp the knife by the blade between her hooves. But it struggles to free itself, aimed directly at her face. She tightens her grip for dear life.

Rosemary, now more aware of her surroundings, takes notice of a dark figure in the corner of her room, garbed in a magus cloak and leather armor. His horn is alight with the same blue aura that coats the knife. “You…” Rosemary growls. “What do you want?!”

He remains silent, leaning his head forward and intensifying the knife’s struggle.

Having run out of options, Rosemary decides to take a risk. She releases the knife as she rolls over, and sans a cry of pain as she feels a deep gash inflicted across her cheek, she stands successful. The knife is implanted in the wall, unresponsive to the unicorn’s spell.

Rosemary smirks. “Fine. Let’s play.”

She leaps onto her now torn and feather littered bed, using it as a spring as she launches herself at her foe. The unicorn summons an ethereal blade, though it’s a thin and frail seeming one. Rosemary ducks its swing, then effortlessly bucks at its hilt, shattering it into wisps and making the unicorn’s aura blink out of sight.

The mare channels her father’s expertise in unarmed combat and runs one hoof into the unicorn’s jaw, then the other into his muzzle. She grins at the echoing crack. “Oops. Did I break somethin’?”

The unicorn falls onto his haunches, holding his face as he groans. “Yrr ffrrkin’ whrrr…” he chokes out.

“I didn’t catch that, love. Perhaps you should have thought better than to take on the daugher of a former general.”

Her weak foe seems keen to respond, but whatever he means to say is lost to a bout of bloody vomit.

“My mum ain’t gonna be happy ‘bout that,” Rosemary says, stepping away from the mess.

The unicorn wipes the remaining blood from his mouth, staring defensively at her. “Are you going to kill me, daughter of Oregano?” he asks. “I doubt a commoner like yourself could bring yourself to—”

“I’ve killed before,” Rosemary interrupts. “I was travelin’ with a zebra caravan and a group of violent sods decided to jump us. Three of ‘em ran, and another tried to stay and fight. I ran him through with a zebracean longsword.” She smiles, proud of herself. “I’m not deranged. I am simply my father’s daughter. I did what I had to. I helped my friends.”

“Your father’s daughter indeed, thinking yourself so noble and heroic,” says the unicorn. “But this battle is not won for you. There are more of us.”

Having not anticipated that, Rosemary’s glee for victory fades away in an instant, as does her smile. Almost as if on queue, two shadows make themselves known in the hallway. She turns to look at whomever casts the shadows, crouching down at the ready for another battle. But she freezes when she sees the other robed, leather clad figures pass by.

Clutched in their combined magical grip are Nutmeg and Cinnamon, who hang limp in midair, barely breathing, their eyes tightly shut.

“NO!” Rosemary makes a break for them, but she feels herself slow to a crawl when the wounded unicorn’s blue aura wraps around the collar of her vest and holds her back. Despite her best efforts to claw away from his grasp, she cannot get away. Tears in her eyes, she calls out to her siblings, “NUTMEG! CINNA—” The aura travels up to her mouth and holds it shut.

The cold hiss of the unicorn’s voice against her ear makes her blood freeze. “You will hold your tongue, lest we cut it from your mouth. Besides, they can’t hear you. Simple sleeping spell. Shame it didn’t work on you.”

Rosemary strains her mouth until it’s sore, but she manages to break the aura’s hold. “FUCK OFF! LET ME GO!”

The unicorn’s armored hoof wraps around her neck. “Hm, so that’s how it is. Very well. We had hoped to save the trouble and kill you outright, but it would be crueler to silence you and force you into service of the Blackwings, with no means to protest. That should more than make up for the hell your father put us through.”

“Blackwings…” It’s only now that Rosemary notices the signature blue hue of her captor’s robes and armor.

Her blood goes from frozen to boiling in a manner of seconds. In any other situation, she’d be terrified, certain that this would be the end. But as she looks ahead at the wall-embedded knife, which has become once again wreathed in the unicorn’s aura, she figures out an escape.

The knife comes out of the wall and points towards Rosemary, hovering her way. She waits until it is mere inches from her face.

The unicorn’s voice passes her ear again. “Open your mouth or I will force you to do so.”

“I said, FUCK OFF!” Gritting her teeth, Rosemary slams the back of her head against the unicorn’s face. She hears him scream as he clutches his already wounded jaw and muzzle. Before the knife hits the ground she grabs ahold of it, then turns around and thrusts it into the unicorn’s neck. He sputters incoherent words before he chokes, motionless with even more blood dripping from his mouth.

Rosemary gazes upon her latest kill for only a split second before she stands back up and hits the ground sprinting. She kicks off the door frame out into the hallway, then leaps off the top of the stairs.

Blind to everything but the task at hoof, she reaches for the door.

In the blink of an eye, she loses her sense of sight as a throbbing pain in the back of her head makes itself known. She stumbles back and forth, trying with all her willpower to make it for the door. All commands for her hoof to open it go unheard. She groans, and with a distorted call for her siblings, she drunkenly stumbles over, crashing her head into the mirror. She hits the ground, shards sprinkling her mane.

The last thing she sees before her vision fades in its entirety is a Blackwing earthwalker towering over her, a large mace slung over his shoulder. Two more rebels approach from the kitchen. Rosemary loses grip of all senses just as she feels her limbs being seized…

~Tangerine, present day~

Anger, sorrow, and hatred for the Blackwings. Never before have I let such emotions do more than graze my surface. Even after my expulsion from the Imperial Legion, and in a moment of complicated morality sided with Tohro Blackwing for our mutual benefit, I made my hatred for his kind known without it taking control of me.

I have taken my anger out on Duster and hurt her in the process. My apologies are out, but I doubt I will regain her willingness to relax around me any time soon. I deserve that much. I should have dedicated my anger to the wall a tad more.

And my sorrow… It’s odd. After falling from the edge of a cliff, eventually one acclimatizes to the velocity, and manages to make do within the confines of gravity. The same can be said with my grief over losing my children. Yes, it is a grim tragedy, no doubt the cruelest to occur within mine or Oregano’s bloodline. There is no denying that I am absolutely rank with distress. But it’s despite the distress that I keep smiling, because I know I have to be strong through this tragedy. For my sake, for my children, and for Wolf River.

My slow trot to the peak of this hill leads me to an arranged circular rock formation. Within, I’ll find the villa’s renowned hot spring.

I’m not entirely sure if Wolf River will be there; I’ve already asked the tenants and the rest of the help where he might be (“Come now. He towers over two average stallions and he smells of a canid. How could you not notice him?”). My only reason for assuming he’s at the hot spring is because of his expressed interest earlier.

And by Epona’s mane, my suspicions are true. I see his armor set aside, tucked in a corner, along with his war axe. So he must be bathing. I’m sure he’ll see no offense if I step in on him. He always listens to what I have to say.

I step past the wooden half-wall, entering a haze of warm and refreshing steam. The hot spring is illuminated by lanterns bound to the surrounding stones, meaning I can see Wolf River standing - not sitting, standing within the water. His head is bowed and his normally long and spiked mane is laid across his muzzle.

It’s not a surprise when he takes notice of me before I have a chance to speak. “Come to scold me, m’lady?” He laughs, meekly and pathetically. “I daresay I welcome it. Come, let it all out.”

“Huh? Let what out? You know I’m not angry anymore.”

He taps his ear, which flicks a few times. “You’re trembling. I can tell.”

“Oh?” I touch one of my forelegs with the other, realizing that I can’t hold still. It’s slight, but very apparent. “Your heightened sense is incredible.”

He remains silent.

“I mean that.” As I speak, I remove my cape. “Without you, we wouldn’t know who Nutmeg and Cinnamon were taken by, nor would we have any inkling that they are still alive. For that, I couldn’t be any more grateful to you.”

I would expect anypony to regain at least some of their composure upon hearing those words, but Wolf River’s grief seems to go much deeper. He still wears the same tormented frown. “You thank me for a minor solution to a problem I induced.”

“Induced? You had absolutely nothing to do with this,” I reassure him, removing the straps of a gauntlet. There’s a clink of metal as it falls to the earth. I pause before I finish undoing the other one. “There is something you see that I don’t, that much is certain.”

He nods.

“In that case, by all means, I wish to hear it. I don’t wish for there to be any unspoken truths between us.” My remaining gauntlet falls free. I then slip my hind legs out of their boots.

I can't imagine Wolf River crying, but if I can't sway his disposition, this may very well be the first time I witness it. "You can say it's not anypony's fault as much as you wish but that is merely wishful thinking, m'lady. There is somepony at fault for what transpired here, and it is me." He wades through the water, deliberately avoiding looking me in the eye. "Who was the one who occupied you with confessions of love and childhood fantasies? Who forced you into quests and nearly watched you die many a time? Who begged you to stay and join the Carrier Clan, a group you never even expressed desire in joining until that certain somepony dragged you into its affairs?" He grits his fanged teeth. He mumbles something incoherent, lost to blubbering. "You... You could have been there for Nutmeg and Cinnamon, but I stole you away from them. And thus they were stolen from you. It's my fault, no matter what you say."

In the whole time he’s poured his soul out to me, I’ve managed to remove my breastplate. I’m now down to my basic tunic. That’ll have to do. I quietly wade into the hot spring, too fixated on the sobbing Wolf River to enjoy the warmth and comfort it presents, even as it soaks my tunic.

“You have to hate me…”

“No, Wolf…” I reach out, lending him the gentle touch of my unarmored hoof. I bring it around his neck, then bring my other foreleg out of the water to wrap myself around him in a full embrace. I feel his heart beating far slower than it should. “Wolf, you don’t understand, I love you.”

I’ve finally let it out, the one thing my heart was begging me to say throughout the whole pilgrimage. And I couldn’t have picked a worse moment. Wolf River’s sunset eyes widen and he lightly yet crudely pushes me away. “You can’t say that. Not here.”

“I mean that.” His gestures aren’t enough to stop me. I resume my embrace of him, ignorant of how tense he grows. I hold him, our breaths the only thing to be heard against the quiet night, and wait. A minute passes, then another, before he finally lets his foreleg breach the water and pull me in tighter. “That’s it…” I say. “I will never blame you for what happened. You came here with me, and you helped me solve this tragedy. Without you, odds are I would either be drunk, ignorant of a life outside of military code and honor, or dead in the brush. You and the Carriers saved me. I will never throw you away.”

He nods slowly.

I break the embrace, keeping my hooves on Wolf River’s chest and looking him dead-on. He’s grown less remorseful, now sharing the same expression as me; sad, rank of loss, yet hopeful.

“Now, we know what’s transpired,” I say. “All that is left is to make the Blackwings reap what they’ve sown. All of their hostages always end up in their base of operation.”

“Fillydelphia.”

“Yes. It’s quite simple, really. No military tactics, no army to preserve, no code of honor to follow. We will go to Fillydelphia and save Nutmeg and Cinnamon. That’s it.”

“M-M’lady, that’s…” Wolf River stammers, obviously surprised by such a bold statement. I expected as much from him. “That is insane. The other Carriers will want nothing of it.”

I smile wryly. “I don’t recall suggesting that we even bring them along.”

“Just you and me, Lady Tangerine? Against an entire Blackwing stronghold? You’ve grown desperate.” He wears concern in his voice, clear as day. “Even with a lycan by your side, that is a task barely fit for the Dragonborn, let alone a plain earthwalker...”

Knowing that he’d say such a thing, I had prepared a response in advance. This idea has appeared to me within dreams as well as errant thoughts brought on by hours of silence and walks through open fields. Every day, it seems more appealing, but only now does the idea prove necessary.

My smile intensifies, becoming almost wolflike in appearance. “How about two lycans?”

~Vision End~

~Rosemary, two and a half months ago~

My senses remain dampered. All sights, smells, sounds, and even the taste of blood upon my lips all seem muted. It is as if I’m not of the world, yet I’m witnessing it through the eyes of another. It’s hard to comprehend if it’s even real. But I know it is. And how I wish it weren’t, as I lay against the wall, slathered in blood, sweat and other fluids.

Despite the muteness, I can still make out what the three figures before me are saying amongst themselves. They speak ill of me, my mother and my father, and the rest of my bloodline. Worst of all, they call me and my siblings utter trash. They say that if we truly were children of Oregano and Tangerine, then we’d have been able to fight back, not that it would have made a difference in the long run…

One of them expresses concern that I may overhear them, but the other two care little, saying that there is nothing I can do to stop what has already begun. They say that my siblings will be… improved. I don’t wish to know what that may mean.

But I know I have to stop it.

My hoof trembles, not wanting to obey me, but I summon what little willpower I have left to raise it. I may as well be lifting the world. But I’ve already lost the world, my world, and I will get it back. My hoof listens to me now.

I reach to the glass container beside me. The Blackwings before me are too occupied with themselves to notice my actions. I raise my hoof up higher and force it against the glass. No good. I try again, with much of the same results. And again.

The noise finally gets their attention. The smallest of the Blackwings turns to leave. He tells the two others to dispose of me, as there’s nothing more they can do with me.

I won’t let them have the chance.

As they approach me, one with a giant mace and the other levitating a spear, I bring my hoof against the glass again. By all miracles, it breaks. I care little for the cuts the shards leave in my foreleg. All that matters to me is getting ahold of my dad’s falchion.

I murmur something towards the approaching Blackwings. The spear wielding one holds the point to my neck.

“What did you say there, bitch?” he snaps at me.

I stare back at him with the ferocity of a thousand infernos, utter hatred burning in my skin. I growl at him in an inequine voice that shouldn’t belong to any mortal. “I’m going to kill you.”

As I draw the falchion from the case I shove the spear aside. It nicks at my neck but I can’t feel any hint of pain. What do I care if I take a small cut? These bastards have already crushed my heart. And now I will obliterate theirs.

In his moment of confusion, I manage to land a solid swipe against the spear wielding one’s armor, leaving a dent and knocking him back. This makes him drop his spear. I land two more strikes before he rolls out of the way and picks up his spear in his mouth. Evidently, this one isn’t too magically adept. Shae would be disappointed.

He turns his head and swipes at me, cutting my cheek. He then scoops it up with his magic and thrusts quickly. I leap over the attack and land on the length of the spear, wedging its blade into the floor.

The stallion with the giant mace has been waiting for an opportune moment to strike. He brings his gargantuan weapon around, aiming for my head. I duck and leap back from the spear wielder. Humorously, he’s making attempts at yanking his spear out of the floor.

The mace wielder is much more agile than he looks, leaping over his cohort and swinging at me again. The confines of the family room make for little options in which to dodge, but I make do, turning around and galloping up the wall, leaping off to dodge another swing and planting my hoof into the brute’s head. I then take my sword and go for his shoulder. I leave a nasty gash and give my sword a new wash of red paint. Sorry, Daddy.

“Insolent whore…” curses the mace wielder as he grimaces. My response is a kick to his barrel, which stumbles him. I go in for another slice but he defends with his mace, and then bucks at my sword hoof. I’m left disarmed with my weapon next to the now recovered spear wielder.

It is a shame for them both that I know how to fight just as well without metal.

With a manic grin, the brute brings the mace down. I sidestep that, then turn my head to see the spear wielder coming at me wild. And they call themselves soldiers… They have no coordination.

I duck the spear, which sails right over my head, then buck at the wielder’s exposed face. He loses the spear, and I catch it with both of my forelegs. Before the dumb bastard before me recovers from my hit, I swing the spear upwards and slice through his neck and chin, spilling blood and flesh. I spin around and cut across the mace wielder’s face in the same swing, then bring the spear back around to slice through his eyes. His screams and bellows are music to my ears. I see why Caro enjoys hearing it from the mouths of dragons.

The one who isn’t bleeding from his eyelids makes a desperate grab for me, punching and wailing on my neck and shoulders. Those don’t even warrant a grunt from me. I shove him off and wheel around to get a good look at him.

He’s sputtering blood from his mouth and his neck. He can’t last much longer. Yet he still insists on this pointless struggle. He lunges at me, and I counter with a buck to his chest. He soars into the bookshelves and knocks several tomes onto the floor. Even as he lays weak and dying, I feel my work still isn’t done.

I approach him with his spear slung over my back. I say nothing, but he still sees fit to speak to me. “You dense… fucking…” he chokes out. “You’re too late any…way… They’re long gone to you…”

I take the spear and point it between his eyes, making his obnoxious grin fade.

“Okay… I get it… Not that it’ll do you any good… If you have a…. death wish… go… to Fillydelphia…” He cackles, despite being on his last leg. “Not that… it’ll do ya… any good… Eheh… eheheheh…”

I press the spear further into his fur, just barely breaking the skin.

“Oh, come off it, daughter of Oregano… Can you truly kill m—“

I shove the spear through the back of his neck. Then, with difficulty, I lift him up by my forelegs and toss him, shattering the window and staining the sill with his blood. Now I know for sure he’s gone.

Now I step over shards of glass back into the family room, and I’m immediately drawn to the growling, bleeding mess of a stallion that once held a mace. His weapon lays abandoned next to my sword.

The stallion is so pathetic it’s hard to believe he was a threat to me mere seconds ago. Blinded by my hoof, he cowers in the corner, letting his eyes and face bleed all over the floor. I may as well put him out of what miserable wreck he could call his life; I’ll be doing us both a favor.

He doesn’t even get a last sight as I take my sword in my teeth, approach him, and slash his throat. He dies unsung and quietly. Much a contrast to what he used to be.

As much as I would like to put an end to the one who ran off with my father’s favorite weapon, it seems time has been ill to it. Only a few cuts and it’s already bent and distorted. It won’t survive another kill. Regardless, I must keep it for the sake of my father; had he not died in war, he would have wanted me to have it.

I undo the buckles of the dead stallion's belt and equip it on myself, then slide the old sword into the bag of holding. Much less a burden now, but I’m still without a proper weapon. At least until I take notice of the mace again. It proves difficult to lift but my anger and grief gives me strength. The effort it takes to carry it upon my back means nothing to me, and even with it, I keep walking, breaking into a sprint as I gallop for the door.

The door flies open from a single kick, and I keep on galloping through the rain of the night. I ignore the stairs leading away from the plantation house, opting to jump it instead. The mace wears greatly on my back as I land, yet I still ignore it and look ahead. The one who left is briskly yet quietly walking along the street. His head is wrapped in a scarf but I recognize his armor.

I don’t speak, rather, I scream with the same demonic darkness as before, the world violently shaking around me as I charge at him. He turns around, first with curiosity on his face, which is quickly replaced with trepidity. He has no time to prepare for my onslaught as I leap for him, take the mace in my forelegs and use my whole body to pitch the mace across him. He flies like a pegasus until he hits the masonry wall of the apothecary, splattered blood and teeth in his wake. His face is little more than a dented, flat, mess.

With all of my strength exhausted, I finally pay heed to the pouring rain and fall along with it, dropping the mace and myself to the cobblestone. I hear voices that don’t belong to the Blackwings. It’s merely the help, come too late to do anything useful.

Duster, my favorite maid and the one who takes care… took care of my siblings when I could not, approaches me, lip quivering worse than average. She lends me a supporting hoof, but I do not rise from my collapsed state. “L-L-Lad-dy R-Rosem-m-mary? A-Are you qu-quite well?” She doesn’t receive a response from me, rather, she turns and notice the bloodied corpse before me. “O-Oh, m-my… D-Did you… Did… D-Di-Did…”

Her stuttering is lost on me. Instead, I rise, slowly, and without anypony’s help. My mane, coated in rain and glass, falls across my vision. I ignore Duster’s pleas as I turn back to the Plantation house. “Nutmeg… Nutmeg… Ci… Cinnamon… Cin… Nut… Nu…”

“Rosem-mary?” Duster keeps calling for me with great concern and terror in her voice. “T-Tell me, wh-what hap-p-pened?”

“Cinnamon… Cinna… ...meg… Nutmeg…”

“Rosemary!”

The rest of my senses all amount to haze accompanied by the sound of my own blood thundering through my body. I only move by instinct as I trudge back to the plantation house, muttering incoherence even I cannot hear.

I lift the bodies of my latest kills onto my back. One by one, I take them away, down to the river. I take their armor, along with whatever metal I can find, and throw the corpses into the water, staining the river red until it passes on. There is no reason for them to bloody my home with their filth anymore.

“...This is easy, Rosemary…”

Now I go to my room, open my closet, and take from the top shelf my coat, vest and scarf, though I do not put them on. Rather, still in a nearly blind haze, having not blinked once in what should be hours, I make my way to the smithery. Whether or not it’s even open for business doesn’t make a difference.

“You can fix this… This is fixable…”

I rest the gauntlets and boots I looted over the forge and take a hammer to them. I form a perfect fit for me. These will offer protection enough. Then I search through the cabinets until I find a whole box of chain links. How I manage it is a mystery to me, but a few hours and hooves full of blisters later, I have myself a respectable chain mail shirt.

“Just go and rescue them… Then be back home in time for supper…”

All that’s left is to form a sword that will last me longer than my father’s relics, but the owner of the smithery finds me. He doesn’t yell, rather expresses confusion as to why I’m here in the dead of night with my eyes glazed over. I pay no heed to him and run away, with my new set of protection in tow.

“Mommy doesn’t have to know… She doesn’t have to know a thing…”

I equip my new gauntlets and boots, then throw my coat on over my vest and mail.

“You can fix this… You can save them... because you’re a soldier…”

I wrap my scarf around my neck and put on my hat, then take a good look at myself in the shattered mirror. I look in desperate need of sleep, but I can’t. Sleep is for the weak. Instead, I put on a smile. It’s a broken smile, one that a manic pony just short of losing their wits would wear, but I’m smiling, so that’s all that matters, right?

“That’s right… I’m a soldier. I'm a good soldier.” I make a high-pitched chuckle. “I’m Mommy’s good little soldier…”

“Rosey.”

I think I hear someone calling for me.

“Rosey.”

Leave me alone... I can't...

"Rosey!"

"Tohro?"

The present hits me like a blast of frigid wind, bringing along with it a flurry of snow. I wipe my face clean of the white, then take off my hat to flap the powder off. I pull my scarf tighter, not to the point of strangling myself but enough to keep warm. I only wish I had something to cover my face, like Tohro does.

“Are you well, love?” he asks. He wears a cowl over his head and a mask over his muzzle, making his eyes the only part of his face visible.

A few moments pass before I answer. “Yes, I’m well.”

“Are you quite sure?” he asks, gracing my shoulder. He shows as much concern as he can with only his eyes. “You locked up for a little while there.”

“Did I?”

He keeps his eyes on me as I keep trekking ahead. If I must be honest, his advances to check on me are more annoying than helpful. I hold no hesitation to continue this quest, even if there’s a very high probability that I’m going to die. But, as my father always said, everything good in this world is worth risking life and limb for, and what I seek is something very good. Somepony, in this case.

And yet, Tohro sees fit ensure my safety, following me close. “Are you sure you don’t want to sit this one out? I won’t hold it against you if you do.”

“Stop that now, lad.” I lightly push him aside by his chest. “I ain’t comin’ this far just to turn around like a coward. Who do you think I am?”

“Okay, okay. Mind, I’m just as worried as you are for Shae’s safety… I don’t want any senseless sacrifices. If we die…”

I can’t bear the thought of what might happen to her. But that only drives me forward. “That’s not going to happen, Tohro. I’m not about to let myself freeze in the eye of the storm, especially when the young lass is on the line.” I affectionately gaze upon my black falchion, knowing it wouldn’t be half as well-crafted if it weren’t for Shae’s grace. How fitting that a weapon that carries a bit of her with it will also be the one to save her from the clutches of this Sacred Rite bitch.

“I should’ve known from the start that Sacred Rite had somethin’ to do with this,” I say. “Shae told me about her threats towards unicorns… Evidently she has the force to back up her voice.”

“When did Shae tell you about her?” Tohro asks.

“I visited her a few months ago. She was takin’ care of Celina. Unfortunately, I couldn’t stay long…” I recall how painful it was to leave her alone, seeing her sorrowful expression as I left the Rainbow Palace. “I didn’t want to get in the way of her mission. She’s closer to the princess than I could ever be, and I wasn’t about to jeopardize her bringing the sun back to Everfree.”

Caro enters the fray, clad in his fur cloak. It’s almost hilarious to see him wear clothes. “The place is a grey, clouded mess of what it used to be,” he says.

We all share a moment of silence for the city and the loss of its radiance, and in doing so, we also have a silent prayer for Celina. I’m sure none of us wish to imagine what she looks like now, being without any tie to happiness.

“This is as much for Shae as it is for the princess,” I say. That’s a drive for me to keep moving, much to Caro and Tohro’s mild surprise. “Get a bloody move on! We’re burning precious minutes!”

“You are compelled beyond belief, Rosey,” says Tohro, following from the air. He looks off into the distance, to Caro, and then back to me. “You love her, don’t you?”

He says that as if it isn’t obvious.

As we come over the hill, our destination shows its ugly face. A large spire, sticking out of the ground like a bodily blemish. It’s tall enough to mutate the clouds surrounding it into a circle formation. I’d dread climbing it if it weren’t for the reason why we’re even going there. “Awfully steep, isn’t it?” I remark.

“Well, it is a mountain… of sorts,” says Caro. “Every merchant, traveler and adventurer we’ve passed has made it clear that this is where Sacred Rite’s followers convene, and they also made note of a lavender unicorn coming this way.” He pauses. “Come to think of it, they never mentioned her being brought here against her will.”

“That means she was kidnapped after she arrived. But what reason would she have for coming here?” Tohro asks. He then shrugs it off. “Eh. We could spend all day with rhetoric. Shall we?”

As we approach the base of this spire, I keep my thoughts turned to rescuing Shae, and that alone. Nothing else matters for the time being. I will save her. I won’t lose another one.

I’m a good soldier.