Fiddlesticks ran, she ran as fast as her hooves could carry her. She dashed over molding wood and deeper into the Everfree forest, the insessant chirping of delirious birds echoed around her in a horrible clashing cacophony that pounded against her ears. The sounds of barking played a hellish accompaniment that slashed against the discordant song of the warbling avians. Amidst the noise the lone hoofbeats of the pony were lost, and she feared that soon her voice would join them, doomed to fade from memories until it was nothing more than a ghostly echo left on the wind.

Though her mind begged against it, she glanced over her shoulder. The frantic wolves were closing in, closing the distance that the mare had cherished throughout the chase. Snapping her head forward, Fiddlesticks put her focus into running as fast as she could. In the back of her head she knew it wasn’t fast enough, but she tried anyway. Her fiddle bumped against her side as she ran, a demented heartbeat to match the rest of the chaos that filled the air around her. Adrenaline and blood pumped fiercely as the fiddler’s body fought to keep the life it currently held, but the muscles screamed in protest.

In her exhausted delirium, her hoof crashed against a mischievous root. She was sent tumbling down a steep ravine, her body was brusied and cut as she slid down the wild dirt that grasped and grabbed at her, sending shocks of pain through her tired mind until she came to a stop at the bottom. The near limitless supply of strength that the apple family was known for had come to an end, she had run for five hours and she couldn’t do it anymore. Still, she drew from the well until she managed to roll onto her back.

She gazed up into the darkness above her. Green eyes stared back. The angry wolves began to shuffle about, searching for a safer way down then the slide that their prey had taken. Realizing the game was up, Fiddlesticks tried to lean back, but a pain shot through her back as something jabbed into it. Moving a little to get around she found the offending object and lifted it in front of her body.

She smiled. Her fiddle. The one thing that had always been there for her and here it was again. She had spent countless hours with it, ignoring her family as they pressured her towards finding a husband. Husbands who tried to tell her when and when not to play her instrument. Her half sister Octavia was the only thing that kept her from completely giving up on life, the crazy canterlot musician that was in love with another mare had set an example for Fiddlesticks. Never let anyone tell you what to love.

So, she never had. With a cracked smile Fiddlesticks pulled the instrument in front of herself. She examined it in the half light of the ravine, her memory filling in every curve and bend of the instrument before she ever felt them. With a burst of an exhale, that resulted from the pain that ran through her throbbing joints, she rested the bow on the strings and pulled it. It hummed in response, like an old friend who knew the song you had in mind. The sudden notes caused the wolves to pause for a breath in puzzlement before they continued their slow movement down the ravine towards her.

Muscle memory forced the exhaustion out of her and before too long Fiddlesticks was playing a quick paced melody that rose into the air, tearing through the chaos and replacing it with her music. In utter elysium the mare played, her tune calming her mind as her body moved to keep up the song. A smile broke across the mare’s face and tears began to trickle around her muzzle. ‘I guess that was my last family reunion, sorry everyone.’ She thought, letting her music numb the emotional pain that was ripping into her soul.

The wolves were at the bottom of the ravine now, approaching the prey that was announcing it’s location to them so loudly. Snarls escaped their wooden lips as slivers of sound creaked from their joints. But still, the mare played on. She thought about all her family that she would miss. Applejack and Big Mac, the strongest workers in the entire family without a doubt. Then there was Braeburn, the always excitable stallion who would help you with anything in a heartbeat. And Applebloom, Fiddlesticks cursed the fact that she would never be able to see the filly get her cutie mark.

The wolves pounced and Fiddlesticks ended her song with a flourish. It was instantly replaced with the sound of crows, far more crows than should exist in one place. They dashed through the air. But the cries of the murder were different then the other wildlife, they seemed directed, like instruments in a symphony. Each knew it’s part and did it with skill, Fiddlesticks tried to look past the blurs of black that obscured her view, but she was unable to.

Eventually the birds separated and disappeared. Fiddlesticks felt the fear coursing through her body as she wondered how she was still alive. Cracking an eye open, she spotted the scattered wood that marked the corpses of her attackers. The sound of creaking wood still permeated the air, however, and so Fiddlesticks turned to find it’s source. Her eyes dilated from the scare and the mare found her body unable to move at the mere sight of her savior.

A scarecrow, not unlike the costume she had donned for Nightmare Night, loomed over her. A single crow sat upon it’s shoulder, which rang oddly with the mare as the purpose of scarecrows was not to serve as a perch. It clenched a deadly scythe in it’s grip and the blade of the weapon dripped with sap. The cut in the bag of it’s face widened, then a surprisingly high pitched voice filled the air.

“Hello Summoner, what is your bidding?”