Rusty cursed his bad luck as he limped through the underbrush, one hind leg dragging uselessly behind him, the ligament torn and bleeding, rendering it useless for walking. The Earth pony had made sure that the timberwolves hadn't found him an easy target, but it had cost him dearly. He was covered in small nips and scratches, and his hooves were cracked from the force of his blows, which had shattered wood and sent wolves flying. The wound that troubled him most was his leg, however. It was mangled badly, the product of one wolf who had been just a bit more foolish or brave than its brethren, and it had paid off. It had torn into the limb, ripping and tearing, and trying to bring him down. He had killed it for that, using his other leg to buck it hard enough that its wooden skull had caved in, the amber flame that had spat from its eyes turning inward, consuming the beast in a flash of fire. It had been at this point that the wolves had fled.

He had looked around for the members of his squad. River had fled, along with Applewood and Quick Trick shortly afterward. He had stayed to guard the Captain, and had been surprised when the majority of the pack had pursued his comrades into the darkness, leaving him to fight the ones who had been responsible for the death of his leader.

He supposed that he shouldn't blame River for panicking. She was the youngest and newest of the group, hardly grown enough to join. He had a sister almost her age at home in Hoofington, and as such he felt a need to protect her, even though he knew she could handle herself adequately in a fight. So, after his own fight was done, he had set off in the direction he thought she might have gone, leaving a little trail of blood behind him. Onwards through the woods he had limped, further and further away from the edge, though he didn't know it. An owl shrieked in the darkness above him, and he cast his gaze towards the treetops, to see if he could find it. There was no such luck, of course, but he did notice the moon overhead, which was turning more towards gold and less towards white. He dragged himself through a clearing, occupied only by an unusual tree, bare of leaves and smelling faintly of sweetness and death. He looked to the trunk, noticing that some unfortunate thing had died near the spring flowing by its roots. He did want a drink, but he knew full well that whatever the dead thing had leaked was likely in the water, making it unfit for consumption. And so, onward he went.

The woods on the other side began a downward slope, taking him away from high ground. Rusty frowned, realizing he was lost. He checked the moon again, trying to get an idea of where he was. It was almost as if the damn thing was changing its direction in the sky. He could have sworn that he was near the edge of the woods, but it seemed to him now that he was heading deeper inside. He debated turning around briefly, and then realized that there was really no point, at least not until he found River. And he would find her, of that he was certain.

The downward slope continued, and the trees gave way to loose sand and shale as he fought to keep his footing. He nearly fell once or twice, and several times a rock or stone he had previously thought solid gave way below his hooves, tumbling into the gully below him with a rumble and crash. He found his progress slowing as he tried to avoid falling into the darkness below, and he made the decision to climb back up out of the valley, hoping to circle around it somehow.

"Help!" a high pitched voice called, echoing through the darkness. "Somepony help! Please!"

Rusty's head whipped around. That voice wasn't familiar, but he knew very well what kind of voice it was. A young filly or colt was trapped down in the valley. There was a high pitched scream, and he knew then that it was a filly.

The voice screamed again. "Ouch! Somepony help, please!"

He didn't even have to think about it. Immediately, he began the climb back down into the valley, aiming for the spot where he had heard the filly's voice coming from. "Hold tight, I'm coming!" he called, crawling down carefully, wincing as his wounded leg fought to support itself.

There was a pause, and then the voice replied. "Please, help! Help! It hurts, help!"

Rusty moved even faster, rocks and debris raining down behind him as he crawled down the side of the slope. He was sure that he was right on top of wherever the filly was, or at least very close by. He could see the bottom of the canyon below, and a dark cluster of rocks. "Are you alright?" he shouted, skittering down the last hundred yards or so. His voice bounced of the walls of the canyon, echoing back and forth confusingly.

"Help! It hurts, help! Is anypony there? Help!" the voice shouted.

Rusty looked around wildly. He could see no place for a filly to be hiding save the cluster of rocks ahead. Down the length of the canyon he limped, past a few scraggly pines and the pockmarked face of a cliff before reaching his destination. He looked around the pile, unable to find a thing. The precariously balanced boulders shifted ominously as he searched for the filly. "Are you in there?" he called, trying to find the source of the voice. So preoccupied was he with the search that he failed to notice the topmost boulder shifting position. This would go badly for him. With a mighty rumble, the boulder, as big as he was, fell from the top of the pile. Rusty's eyes widened as he tried to escape, and he threw himself to one side, hitting the ground. He wasn't fast enough, and with a sickening *crunch*, the boulder landed on Rusty's wounded back leg, pinning him in place.

He screamed then, a scream of pain that echoed far and wide across the canyon as he wildly struggled to free himself from underneath the heavy stone to no avail, his frenzied thrashing only worsening the situation, as the boulder sank into the soft earth of the canyon, crushing his leg further as he continued to scream in agony. Finally, he forced himself to stop moving, groaning as he collected himself. Collecting his thoughts, and trying to ignore the pain in his leg, he spoke. "You okay, filly? Don't worry, I'll get you out of there, I promise."

"Is anypony there? Please help! Ouch! Help, please! No, it hurts! Stop!" There was another scream. "Ouch! Help! Mommy! Help, somepony!"

Rusty frowned. "I'm right here! Don't worry, I'll get you out! Where are you?"

There was a scrabbling from behind the massive Earth pony. He craned his head wildly, trying to see where the noise was coming from. At last, he was able to see what was causing the commotion behind him, as it scampered over one of his shoulders stopping right in front of him. A squirrel, or rodent of some description, was looking at him curiously, its coat the dark brownish red of rust or old wood. It regarded him with an air of detached amusement, as if taking pleasure in his plight. Suddenly, the Earth pony realized that something was very off about the situation. It raised one paw, which was tipped with a gleaming claw, and quickly, almost clinically, opened up a small cut across his face, which ran crimson with blood. Rusty flinched, grunting in pain. He shoved the animal away with one of his good hooves.

It looked back at him, and then opened its mouth, revealing razor sharp teeth, needle thin and stained with something brown. It inhaled briefly, and then shrieked. "Help, somepony help! Help, somepony help!"

Another one, the same color, joined its brother. "Ouch! Ouch! Help! Ouch!"

Rusty thought furiously. They were carnivorous, obviously. They were mimics, that much was clear. But they were small, and few. So long as he kept them at bay, he should be fine. They'd think him difficult prey to be sure. They probably ate other, smaller animals, not ponies. A thought occurred to him. Where had they heard the sound of a filly screaming in pain? His gaze was drawn to the squirrels once more. There were five now. One opened its mouth and screamed again.

"Mommy! Mommy! Ah! No, please! Mommy!"

"It hurts! It hurts! Ouch!"

"Please, no more, no more..."

One made a peculiar choking sound, as if the filly was choking on some unidentified liquid. "My wings! Get off my wings! No! No!"

As Rusty watched, more and more of the rodents arrived. Ten, twenty, thirty and more, perched on top of whatever was handy, all watching him calmly. One crept closer, and he swung a wild hoof at it. It retreated cautiously. He noticed that while he was distracted, several more had moved closer, exposing needle teeth, moonlight gleaming off of their coats which now more closely resembled the color of dried blood. Another attempted to reach him, flanked by two of its brethren. Rusty swung another hoof. "Go on, get! Go!"

The rodent looked at him. "Go on, get!" it said, mimicking his voice perfectly.

The entire pack inched closer to him. Several moved to the sides. Rusty struggled to get to his hooves, to fight or to run he wasn't sure. His leg was well and truly stuck, and now he could smell blood leaking from beneath the the stone. The rodents could smell it too, he could tell. Their eyes glittered unpleasantly as they inched closer, and closer still, waiting for an opening. He felt the weight of one on his back, and shifted desperately to dislodge it, which was all the incentive the pack needed to begin.

Unable to kill him directly, the pack swarmed him, as the stallion screamed and fought, swiping wildly at his face, his neck, his sides, knocking several off, killing one or two. But the creatures were resourceful, and fought well together. Rusty bellowed as one tore an eye from its socket, scampering away with its prize. Another set to work burrowing inside of him, finding the soft spot between the spokes of his ribs. He fought harder than ever, but to no avail, as blood ran in rivulets down his sides, pooling beneath him. With no other option available, he began to beat himself wildly against the ground, begging and pleading for the creatures to stop.

He could feel the one who had been chewing at his ribs slip inside of him, followed by others. Desperately, he fought to stay conscious despite the massive blood loss he was experiencing, but this was one battle he was doomed to lose. His struggles weakened as more and more of him was consumed, and the stallion, a true warrior, lay still on the ground, well beyond pain, well beyond madness, simply numb and dying. By some cruel twist of fate, though, he was not dead. The animals burst from his chest cavity, spilling blood and viscera behind them as the stallion's head twisted to see his guts laying on the cold ground. Though he was blind, another rodent having taken his other eye, he could still sense what had been done. The violated stallion knew then that it was done, and as he laid his head down for the final time, he felt the pain go away, replaced by warmth, and light. Through the terrible darkness, he swore he could see River waiting for him, a sad smile on her face, as well as a brilliant being, horn and wings gleaming in the light rising from her in gentle waves. The stallion felt his soul slip from his mortal shell as he left the world behind, gazing back at the writhing mass that was once his body.

The creatures finished their feast, and stepped aside. Young ones, squeaking in high pitched tones, were allowed to approach once the kill was sure to present no threat. Eagerly, the half-starved things tore into the first real food they had eaten in days. There was a quiet murmur of assent among the animals. They would need to leave the valley soon. The river had dried up, taking with it the only real reason for birds or smaller animals to enter the valley, and depriving the mimics of their prey. It had been nearly a year since the last meal of any substance had entered the valley, the swarm of rodents attacking her out of desperation and hunger. There was no other option. The young were grown enough to travel. The pack would move to better ground soon. They had no other choice, were they to live.

The moon watched appreciatively as the pack disappeared to the trees, deepening from gold to orange.