Chapter Eighteen

Blood on the Sand

Spike awoke early the next morning to find little traces of exoskeleton on his chest. Apparently he had been warm enough during the night to facilitate the shedding of several scorpion’s skins, though from the looks of things they had long since vanished back into the rocky holes they resided in. Brushing the fragments off, he arose and stretched, seeing several others doing so in the middle of the gathered caravan. He was not the only one to get up early in the morning: perhaps it was a skill passed down to those who had to trek through places where an early start was the best start.

Soon enough the band was on the move again, everything from the night before all packed up. Still his wives refused to speak to him, besides Trixie, that was, and the dragon grew increasingly frustrated. It was the kind that did not show on the outside of one’s self: it was the kind that buried deep within, building and building like gas trapped in a volcano. All it needed was a trigger, and it would erupt with devastating force.

So it was like this for the rest of the day: nopony would talk to him and he kept second-guessing his decisions from whence he had left Canterlot. It was all he could do, as the journey was mind-numbingly dull and his wives seemed to not want to give him any attention.

“Should I have gotten on that exact train?” he wondered as the camel beneath him plodded on. “I would never have met Trixie and she would still be single. Not pregnant either, I imagine: kinda hard to do so if she wasn’t seeing anypony at that time.”

Then he thought to the trip across the Barnlantic. “A different ship and I’d have never met Meia,” he thought, grimacing slightly. “Then she might have died one of two ways on that ship: blunt-force trauma or drowning. For once, I am glad I actually made that decision.”

Then came Spreign. “Going there through Portucolt from Equineland was the perfect example of a detour becoming a disaster,” he muttered to himself as the sun moved across the sky. “I could have just crossed the Equinish Channel and made my way through northern Prance and into the Neightherlands, avoiding that blasted baron to the south. But then what of little Pierre? Without my doing, he’d likely still be in there, or worse...”

The truth was, Spike did not regret coming on this journey, nor did he regret meeting and marrying the four mares he had. He just felt so tired from all of the instances of sudden change that had happened so far: the baron in France, Trixie's pregnancy bomb, the sultan marrying him off to his daughter. It just all seemed so fast to him: nothing like earlier, where he at least got to know Meia and Maria for who they were, or so he thought. He still needed to learn more about Trixie, and if anything, meet her and Meia's parents.

The drake was tired, achy, and all sorts of frustrated when they stopped to make camp in a small sheltered valley. He immediately struck up a conversation with the caravn master, anything to keep his mind off of his own problems. Eventually, though, there was nothing to talk about with Al Abbas, and Spike soon lacked for company of a closer sort. The natural stone faces of their site were not as high as the night before, but it would have to do: an oasis was not something one could so easily pass up in a desert.

Spike rolled out several large blankets for his brides, receiving only a thank-you from Trixie when he did so. Maria hadn’t even looked him in the eye when she lay down, and Meia was off in her own little world. Asalah would just stare at him, whether or not she knew he was looking back. She was scrutinizing him, judging him silently.

He had had enough: it was time to talk this out. “Listen,” he said, sitting down on a large blanket so that he was facing all four of them. “I know several of you don’t want to talk to me. I can understand that. I also know one or two of you think me to be soft, or weak, or different from what you think is your “perfect mate” is,” he said, drawing curious glances from both Maria and Asalah. That was unexpected: what had brought about this chain of thought?

“The truth is,” Spike said, steeling himself so he wouldn’t lose it. “My nobility was only thrust upon me less than three months ago. Before that, I grew up alongside the Elements of Harmony, the six living representatives of the six parts of friendship. I was... well, I was raised both in royal audience with the princesses and out in a town called Ponyville. Trixie here,” he said, nodding in her direction “knows all about that place.”

He continued, though it didn’t seem like any of them were going to say anything. “I’m not the strongest dragon because I wasn’t born the strongest. I am not the weakest dragon simply because I’m not the strongest, either. I am me, and though you may not accept this at first, I cannot truly change who I am. I do not expect any of you to change so drastically that you become a stranger to yourselves, to your true nature.”

Meia shifted slightly at this, as if uncomfortable, but again she remained silent. The drake continued.

“As things stand, we cannot keep going on like this. I cannot stand this silence and these cold, hard stares. I need to know what you feel, and why you feel it, so I can at least try to make amends of some sort. Otherwise... I don’t know how this will turn out.”

At this sort of revelation, Spike expected some sort of apology, even some recognition.

Nothing: a big fat load of nothing. Trixie was knitting again, probably to keep her mind off of what he had just said. Meia looked at her hooves, unwilling to meet his eyes. But Asalah and Maria: they merely rolled over and looked the other way, as if his confession and quest for closure were unimportant.

Suitably, this made him mad. No, scratch that: it made him furious. They had become impossible to communicate with: they were driving a wedge between themselves and him and he couldn’t seem to do anything to stop it! Why were they doing it? Was it to spite him? Did they want to make him mad? Without saying another word, he got up and walked off, needing some more time alone. He disappeared from sight soon after, the light of the lamps giving the area an ethereal glow as the evening encroached on the land.

“I think he means it,” Trixie said quietly, looking up from her handiwork to make sure he was really gone. “I think he truly means it, with all his heart.”

“I am sure he does, just like he meant sorry when he married for a fourth time,” Maria said, not looking at the others as her unspecified accusation was sent in Asalah's direction. Her voice was as cold as it had been before, though there was a tone of hurt that had not been there before. Spike’s words rang true, and they did indeed sting.

“I did not ask for any of this,” Asalah said, rolling to face the others, her features still covered by her robes. Seriously, she never took them off: did she have something to hide? “I was content in my home, with what remained of my family.”

“But were you happy?” Meia asked, looking over at the zebra. She appeared to have been wholly unaffected by Spike's plea for forgiveness and the resulting fracturing of his emotions. “Were you truly happy, Asalah?”

“... truthfully, I do not know,” she replied, looking down at the sand in front of her. Lazily she began to draw some odd symbols into the sand with one of her fingers. “I loved my father: I still do. Only... I cannot understand my husband.”

“Honey, neither sex can understand the other,” Trixie said. “We are as confusing to them as they are to us. It’s all part of the great circle of life or something along those lines.”

“But that is it: I cannot understand why he acts the way he does,” Asalah said. “He is a dragon, a creature of legend in many parts of the world. Yet he does not command respect from anyone, least of all us. Father would have had his wives beaten for such impudence.” There she was, bringing up dear old dad again.

“He was raised differently than you, Asalah,” Trixie said. “Back in Equestria, stallions and mares have the same rights, the same basic roles in society. There is no clear division of who does what: Spike was raised to not be ruled by petty emotions and a sense of obligatory honor.” That was perhaps a stinging jab at Asalah’s culture, but the zebra did not say anything in return: she was thinking on it. Trixie looked over at Maria. “What about you, Maria?”

Maria let out a snort. “I’ll believe him when we need rescuing again and he proves to me that he can control his emotional outbursts,” the Spreigninsh noble said. “That dragon is too dangerous to be just let around on the loose whenever he gets like that. If we cannot at least convince him to be stronger for us, then we must at least try to make him see the error of his ways.”

“And what errors would those be?” Meia asked, a little heat entering her voice.

“He did not consult with us what we are going to be doing, for one,” the Spreignish unicron replied, even though she knew the argument was a weak one. “We are his wives, and I thought he would treat us as such. I believe he has a penchant, whether intentional or not, for saying exactly what we want to hear to get our compliance. He needs to learn self-control, and also to avoid wine, for starters.”

“I don’t think we’ll have to worry about his emotions running rampant,” Meia replied, hoping to not have the conversation devolve into accusations and shouting. “We’re safer now than we were back in southern Prance: much safer.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” a calm voice said. All four mares turned to see a masked figure covered in sand-colored robes standing in front of them.

“Who... who are you?” Trixie asked, backing up into the side of the canyon wall with the others.

“The stallion who’s going to fetch a hefty sum from selling you four,” he replied. “Don’t even bother screaming: your guards are all unconscious.” He pulled a wicked-looking blade from within his robes and brandished it, the sight of the gleaming metal paralyzing the vocal chords of the four mares.

Not five minutes earlier, Spike found himself near the edge of the oasis, his mind swirling with anger and frustration. He was giving them all he could, baring his soul to them, and yet... they remained distant, aloof even! It was enough to make him want to pull his spines out of his back and toss them into the vast expanse of sand around them. He turned his head this way and that, as if trying to shake the anger building up inside of him. All of his emotions were tied together, as was the unfortunate way of his people. Luna had informed of such: a dragon’s well-being was intricately tied to its emotional state. That was why he had grown large when he got greedy: the bigger he had gotten, the more likely he could protect his treasure from those who wanted to stop him. That was why he had grown so fierce when his wives had been in trouble in Prance: it was so he could protect them better than he could in his natural state. Every single emotion of his had a different release, a different trigger.

The princess had always told him to remain calm as much as he could, since it took years for a dragon to master the impulse to hoard, to breed, or to fight, among other things. Spike had not had any dragons to teach him such control, and right now he really wished he had one to talk to him about it all. It was just... maddening, that he couldn’t connect with his wives. He knew marriage would never be an easy thing, but four marriages was beginning to feel too much for him to handle.

As he turned once more to try and clear his head, his vision was greeted by a large club swinging into view. Thankfully, it did not hit him in the face: instead, it crashed right into his chest, sending him sprawling. He wheezed slightly, the air trying to return to his lungs.

“I told you to knock him out! If he’s dead now, we’ll have to loot him and leave the body for the vultures!” a voice hissed. “A dead prisoner is worth nothing!” Blinking up through suddenly orange-tinted eyes, Spike saw the two robed stallions standing over him: bandits. Oh, Tartarus no: they did not just sneak up on him and try to knock him out.

“Don’t think of calling for help: the rest of your caravan’s guards are unconscious,” the one said. “They’re more valuable alive than dead.”

Spike opened his mouth, his teeth feeling longer for some reason. Something inside him had snapped.

“I said do not speak!” the one with the club hissed, swinging the wooden tool down towards Spike. Quick as a flash, Spike caught it in one hand: with a yank, he pulled it out of the surprised bandit’s hands. With a thrust of his wings through his robes, Spike rose from the ground and was on his feet within a split second. The startled bandits jumped back, going for weapons in their robes.

Spike glanced at the large wooden club in his hand, an obviously old weapon kept dry and hard by the desert heat and low humidity. It had likely been used for such a long time that it was as hard as a bronze war club, or perhaps even a steel hammer.

With one clench of his hand, it shattered into powder and splinters. The two bandits gasped as his now fiery-orange eyes looked into theirs.

“Big mistake,” he said, his voice descending into a growl. The two didn’t even have time to scream before he was upon them, his hands closing around their jugulars like steel traps.

There were two quick snaps and the bandits ceased to struggle. Dropping them like garbage, Spike moved back into the camp with a purpose in his stride and fire in his eyes. Not again: nopony was going to be taken prisoner again on his watch.

Four pairs of eyes looked at the bandit as more and more of his associates filtered into the camp, until there were so many gathered around it was hard to tell who was who. All around them they had brought the other members of the caravan, trussed up and gagged.

“That should about do it,” the apparent ringleader said, eyeing the four mares with disinterest. “I wonder what we will do with you four?” He didn’t sound nasty: it was the genuinely intrigued tone of somepony who hadn’t made a decision yet.

A bandit rushed up to his side: he whispered for a short while, the bandit’s expression changing from disinterest to outrage and confusion.

“Snapped necks?” he repeated. “But who-?”

He never got the chance to finish his sentence as a scream erupted from the far side of the group. Watching in horror, one of the bandits rushed past the others, ablaze as he burned. His robes had caught fire somehow, and yet it was an unnatural fire: it glowed a greenish hue. He fell over and thrashed some more until the smell of burning hair and flesh pervaded the area. The fellow then ceased to move: he was clearly dead, his burned features twisted into a cooked mask of pain.

Another scream and another burning bandit ran past, making it to the wall farther down the canyon before falling over, smoldering like a campfire. All around the camp more and more of the bandits started to move, looking for whatever was causing this.

“Oh no,” three of the mares said at once. Asalah, on the other hand, looked around confused and rather scared.

“What is it? What is going on?” she whispered.

“It’s Spike,” Maria hissed. “He’s transformed again!” Trixie nodded: she knew dragon fire when she saw it.

“No, this is something different,” Meia said, looking around as another scream spilled into the night air. “If he had changed again, don’t you think he’d have just wandered into their midst and starting beating them all senseless? You know, like he did in Prance?”

“So then what are you saying?” Maria hissed back. “Has he gone full-blown monster or something? He’s rarely ever used fire except for sending messages and starting campfires!”

“What are you four going on about?” the bandit leader said, suddenly remembering they were there. “What is going on?”
“Uh,” Meia began, only to have a shape fall down at their hooves. They shrieked and pressed themselves further into the rock, trying to get as far away from the...

It was a bandit all right, his face twisted into a scream of pain through his turban. However, something was missing, something rather vital in determining how he could have died.

His lower half was gone: it looked like it had been torn completely off.

The bandit leader almost puked at the sight of the blood leaking out into the sand. “Find whatever is doing this and kill it! I want its hide!” he shouted. More and more screams began to light up as whatever it was kept striking, fading away before it could be found again. It moved like a ghost among them, the lamps flickering as it ran past.

A bandit screamed as he was dragged behind a tent, his scream ending with a horrible crunching noise. By the time others got to him, his head had been crushed flat and the creature- no, the ghost, was nowhere to be seen. It was like the darkness of the night had spawned a creature with an other-worldly sense of destruction.

“What in the name of Tartarus is it?!” the head bandit shouted, just as another piece of a bandit flew through the air. It was a leg, and it smacked the head bandit in the groin, causing him to retch and howl in anger. More screams erupted from the camp as lone bandits were picked off one by one, until the remaining few stood by their leader.

A growl emerged from behind one of the tents, causing all of the bandits who had gathered around their leader to look over in fear. Lions could not do this: manticores would not. Just what was thing terrible creature they had stumbled upon?.

Stepping out from behind the tent, his clothes soaked in blood and covered in what could only be entrails, stood Spike. And yet, it was not Spike. Spike did not have blazing orange eyes or a maw sporting large fangs. He also decidedly did not have talon-like claws that would make a prehistoric dinosaur green with envy.

“Get him!” the bandit shouted, causing several of his fellow bandits to rush towards the dragon. Perhaps they hoped to be able to overwhelm the dragon with brute force.

The monstrous drake didn’t make a sound as he too moved. The first one to reach him didn’t even have time to swing his sword as Spike grabbed him by the throat and leg. In one swift motion, he lifted him high over his head and brought him down, moving a knee up at the same time. A sickening crack echoed throughout the area: Spike threw the paralyzed bandit down on the ground. The next bandit was grabbed by the throat and the sickening crunch that followed meant his neck had been snapped like a twig: he too was tossed aside.

The dragon hadn’t even broken his stride. Three more bandits rushed him, only to be met with a wall- no, a geyser of flame erupting from Spike’s snarling mouth. They fell to the sands, clawing at their clothes, trying to get them off. Spike merely stepped over their charring bodies as their struggles ceased.

The bandit leader had only a few left beside shim, and most fled, only to be shot in the back by fireballs erupting from the angry dragon’s mouth like heat-seeking missiles. They fell, burning in the sand like wax dripping from a candle.

“Get him!” the bandit leader said to his final compatriot, who had a wild and crazy look in his eyes. He rushed the blood-drenched dragon and swung his sword, only to slice through air. Looking in confusion, he turned to see Spike’s jaws close in around his lower arm. He screamed as the dragon’s immense bite force penetrated past the bone and cut the arm off completely, leaving a profusely bleeding stump. The bandit ran off, his blood squirting through the air as he ran: he didn’t go far before he collapsed.

The dragon turned to the last bandit, the former leader of the slain bandits strewn all over the camp. Some had had their backs snapped like twigs: others, their necks. Many had been burned alive, their clothes highly flammable and serving almost like wicks in the candle of their flesh. The rest had been torn to pieces, often being bitten to death.

“Come n-near me, and I-I’ll kill them!” the bandit leader shouted, rushing towards the four mares in hopes to ward off the demon. In the blink of an eye Spike was between him and his own wives, his body a blur as he moved. Reaching up, he grabbed the bandit by the shoulders and pushed together, effectively locking his arms at his sides. He squirmed and kicked, but the desert thief could do nothing as the dragon pulled him closer to his face.

“No,” the dragon grumbled simply, his eyes ablaze and his voice filled with a savagery that not even the fiercest manticore could hope to emulate. Opening his toothy maw, he clamped his jaws down on the throat of the bandit, who’s scream was cut off by a gurgling noise. With a great wrenching motion, Spike tore his clamped jaws away from the bandits, gore and flecks of flesh caught between his teeth as he did so. The bandit died quickly, gurgling as he did so.

Spike licked his blood-encrusted teeth and threw the bandit to the ground, his head turning to see several of the unconscious caravan members coming around. He turned to his wives and saw the fear in their faces, the sheer abject terror of being in the presence of a creature born from the nightmares of nightmares.

“Now you know,” he said quietly, taking off his blood-soaked outer clothes.

“K-know what?” Trixie asked, her mouth barely working.

Spike looked down at the ground, nudging the dead bandit with his foot. “Now you know why I cannot always be the biggest, strongest dragon out there. If I were to go down that road and permanently become what you had wanted, it would destroy not only me, but you as well. Such ferocity, like what you have seen here, is nothing new to my race, my wives. It is something within all dragons, just waiting to be let out. I let it out tonight to save you, once again, and to show you the price I pay to be kind, to be compassionate. If I were to do this on a regular basis, to gorge on the flesh of my enemies and to bathe in their blood, I would grow to crave it, to need it.”

He took a turn to look each in the eyes. “Nopony would be safe. I would have to be hunted down, slain by an army of enchanted knights, as have other dragons needed to be in history, or so I have been told. Do you understand now the price I truly have to pay? Do you understand now why I try to stay as happy as I can be?”

They said nothing, but not out of coldness of anger: they were silent out of pure fear. He knew this and did not expect them to respond.

“Help untie the others: I need to go wash this off,” he said, walking over to the wall. Spike looked back in curiosity. "Why didn't the three of you use any magic?" he said, referring to his three unicorn wives. They said nothing: obviously they had not thought to do so and were likely terrified beyond the coherent realm of concentration to do so at the time. Digging his fingers into the wall and shaking his head, Spike climbed up and over, the bloody clothing still binding his wings against his back scales. He disappeared over the top and was gone.

It was then that three of the mares vomited on the spot, both from the smell of the burning bandit fur and the scene they had just witnessed. And nerves: definitely nerves, as what Spike had said seemed to have touched a core deep within them all. Meia apparently remained wholly unaffected, though inside she felt she would faint if she took another step. All that power, that ferocity... to a changeling, it was like an concentrated aphrodisiac.

“I... What have I gotten myself into?” Asalah asked as she wiped her mouth with a sleeve.

“You got what you wanted,” Meia said, looking from Asalah to Maria. “Both of you did: a big, demanding, controlled monster who won’t be taking shit from anypony anymore.”

“But... but how can you remain so calm?” Trixie asked even as the other two looked at Meia. “He’s... he’s such a beast!”

“Dragons are indeed powerful creatures, but at the basic level they function the same way any creature might. They have basic needs and wants, and right now, Spike wants our forgiveness,” Meia said. “Right now, he’s likely burning his clothes and crying out in the sands.”

“But... but why would he be crying?” Maria asked, her breath slowly returning to her.

“Because in his heart, Spike is not a monster,” Meia replied, glad her disguise dulled her need to feed of off love. Right now, if she could feed off of anguish, she would black out from the amount pouring out of Spike. “However, something just as bad resides in his mind: he thinks he is a monster. Whether or not he believes this is irrelevant: he is afraid of just what he is capable of. He controls himself, or tries to, anyway, at all times, so this “monster” doesn’t emerge. He’s afraid he’ll hurt somepony close to him, or worse, if his emotions get out of hand. Haven’t you noticed how calm he tries to remain? Especially after Prance? He never raised his voice to any of us once!”

“Well, I d-did notice a bit,” Maria said, sniffling slightly as she realized just how wrong she had judged her husband. Judging from Asalah’s frantic movements of wiping her eyes, she was having the same thoughts too. “But... he still needs to confide in us...”

“He’ll confide in us when we have confidence in him,” Meia said. “As of now, he feels like he’s lost our trust, and in his male dragon’s mind, we’ll never bear his foals because of it. I know it sounds simplistic, but deep down, I believe that is what he wants the most.”

“To breed us?” Trixie asked incredulously. That did sound rather ridiculous...

“No: well, yes,” Meia replied, sighing. “I meant the part about foals: I’m not sure if you noticed or not, Trixie, but he’s been very careful around you. You are carrying his foal inside of you, after all. I can’t even imagine what he would do if some pony threatened you, of all of us.”

“I...” Trixie began before something clicked in her head. “We need to make it up to him.” Well, that was a quick segue.

“But... but how?” Asalah asked. “I... I think I understand where he is coming from now, but... what can we do?” Inside she actually felt rather bad. She had this dragon pegged all wrong: he showed compassion because his fierce and commanding side was too powerful and dangerous to wave around like a normal pony’s. To compare him to a stallion was not only borderline cruel, it had been downright ridiculous. Spike was a dragon: she should have known he’d act different from ponies. Now she wanted to make it up to him in some way, any way, really...

“Well, there is always the tried and true method,” Meia said, looking from Maria to Asalah and back.

“Yes? What would that be?” Maria asked. Her own thoughts coincided with Asalah’s: Spike could not always be the biggest or the strongest. If he was, then he simply wouldn’t be Spike anymore. He’d be a stranger, not the dragon she had fallen head-over-hooves for back in her home. Why did her pride have to be so difficult to control sometimes? SHe should have comforted him, consoled him when things had gotten out of hand back in Agrabah. But all she done had become cold and uncaring, two things she hadn't even known she was capable of. Right now, with a horrible feeling of guilt pervading her mind, she wanted to make it up to him: all of it.

“Think back to southern Germareny,” Meia said simply as the rest of the caravan freed itself. It seems they had not needed help getting out of their bonds.

Maria’s eyes went wide. “Oh,” she said quietly. “Oh, I see.”

Asalah looked between the two unicorns. “What do you mean?” she asked.

Meia looked her right in the eyes. “Asalah, get ready: tomorrow night is going to be like none before,” she said.

Meanwhile, off in the sands a ways from the camp, Spike kneeled in the coarse material, his mind and eyes returning to normal. He felt... sick. He had never felt such unbridled rage and anger before. What scared him the most was not that he had become a creature once again: what was the scariest part was that... he found it enjoyable. Spike had never before tasted the flesh of another creature and right now, he felt like would throw up. Those bandits... sure, they had been no good, but what he had done to him, the manner in which he doled out punishment...

It was scary, beyond any fear he had ever experienced before. All over him their blood and entrails draped across his clothes. He needed to be rid of them: now. With a great puff, flames washed over his body, hot enough to completely consume the evidence of his unbridled ferocity. Ash fell to that sands as he sat there, his wings flexing in the loght of the stars. He needed time to think, and hopefully his wives wouldn't abandon him out of sheer fright when they saw him again.

So he lay there, kneeling in silence as the night drew on. He didn't even hear the hoofsteps behind him until a robe was lain over his shoulders.

"I know you weren't your true self back there, Spike Dragul," Al Abbas said, sitting next to the dragon.

"How can you say that, after seeing what I've done?" Spike asked quietly, looking over at the scarred earth pony.

"The desert is a harsh place, sir. I doubt any of us would be going to sleep this night with our companions if those bandits had had their way," he replied, looking up at the stars. "From what I heard, they were going to sell us off as slaves: a most ignoble destiny, my dragon friend."

Spike was silent for a few more minutes. "How are the others doing? My wives, that is?"

"They await your return," Al Abbas said simply.

Spike was surprised at this: surely they wouldn't want to be anywhere near him. "Truly? After all they saw me do?"

"Truly," the earth pony said, rising to his hooves. "It would seem you have renewed their faith in you." He waved his hand when Spike opened his mouth to question him. "I overheard your conversation earlier, as well as theirs right before the bandits struck. Two of them seemed to be unable to accept that you can't be that... beast, all the time. I think now they realize why."

"Thank you, Al Abbas," Spike said, looking up at the moon in a silent thank-you. "I'll... be there in a bit."

"Do not tally too long, my friend. Four lovely wives won't wait forever, you know." With that, the caravan master left the dragon in the moonlit sands.

Spike rose to his feet a short time later, curling the robe tight around him. Walking back the same way Al Abbas had, he found the caravan asleep. Judging from the light of the lamps, he had been gone for quite some time.

Working his way over to his own area, he found all four of his wives fast asleep. in silence, he quietly kissed each on their forehead, earning soft murmurs from each. Walking over to his own secluded spot, he lay down and closed his tired eyes. The revelation of his wives' forgiveness did wonders for his troubled mind: he slept peacefully that night.

Author's Notes:

Well, it was about time I started living up to that gore tag. In the name of Celestia, why won't ponies learn it is never wise to piss of a dragon? Or worse, leave him to stir in his own confused feelings?

Also, much thanks to those who leave behind in-depth, thoughtful reviews. These help me right the following chapters better!

P.S. As many of you may have noticed, all previous chapters are slightly longer than they used to be. I've added things here and there, just to improve flow and such: thank God for that edit function.

P.P.S. This chapter was partly inspired by the amazing movie "The Ghost and the Darkness".