Willow huddled close to the modest camp fire in front of him. The night had come faster than expected, and he was glad that he had the Stalker next to him. Not that Willow wasn’t able to take care of himself, if he had to, he’d fight until the last drop of blood, but he still dreaded the thought of spending a night alone in this goddess –forsaken city.

They had taken shelter in the remains of what had once probably been a school house, hidden deep within its walls. Searching the building had been a harrowing experience, and Willow expected to be attacked any second, ready for something to jump out at him at every corner. He was jumping at his own shadow, while the Stalker seemed completely unbothered by the situation.

Willow guessed that he’d gotten used to crawling through dank corridors, that checking at each and every door had become second nature.

After they decided the building was empty, Crescent had selected a class room at the end of a hallway at the third floor, where he instantly begun stacking the dusty old school benches in front of the window, to conceal their fire. One window remained clear, and from there they could see the playground and the street beyond it, as well as the entrance to the school itself.

For a while, Willow sat in the window and observed the dark world outside, hoping he’d see something, maybe a movement in the street. He felt guilty for loosing track of Anton, and hoped he was still alright. He wished for a miracle, to see the human stride down the street, maybe with Lilly in tow, or anypony that wasn’t out to kill him.

When no one showed up for a good long while, Willow had made his way back to the fire and sat down opposite of the Stalker.

He looked over at Crescent, who was busy trying to push more debris into the fire. Willow would’ve thought it impossible to start a fire in this place, a place filled with nothing but the ruins of a once glorious metropolitan city, but the Stalker still managed to surprise him by finding some old furniture and clothing, both of which were put to use in the fire.

Crescent was busy pulling off his saddle bags and cloak, which Willow jokingly thought looked more like a mare’s dress. As he watched the Stalker on the other side of the fire, he couldn’t help but wonder about the others, especially Lilly. He hoped she made it out alive and unharmed. The Pegasus couldn’t explain why, but the moment he saw that pale blue little unicorn, he’d taken a liking to her.

Something about her just hit him, and he hoped that they could remain friends when they made it out of this ordeal.

If they made it out.

But if Duskshine was in fact as dead as Crescent claimed, he worried how Lily would handle it. He enjoyed her company, but he still barely knew her and had no idea how she’d react to such a loss.

Still in his thoughts, Willow barely noticed Crescent’s gaze meeting his own.

“… Here.” The Stalker said, tossing the dress-like cloak over to Willow. “It’s not much, but it’s wool, so it should keep you a bit warmer.”

Willow was still deep in thought, and didn’t have enough mind to capture the thing. It just hit him straight in the face, and he instantly toppled over as a result, flinging his hooves about in defense. Willow heard the Stalker chuckle as he straightened himself back up again.

“Thanks…” The Pegasus whispered as he wrapped the dark green piece of cloth around him. When he looked back up, he saw Crescent rummaging through one of his bags until he apparently found what he was looking for, and pulled it out.

“What’s that?” Willow asked as the Stalker carefully held a small instrument in his hooves, one which Willow had never seen. He was used to a guitar, but this instrument was all but foreign to him. It looked like a small, golden bow shaped like a U, with several strings drawn through the middle.

“This-“ Crescent said before pulling his hoof across the strings, producing simple yet sweet notes. “Is a lyre. Or a harp, as some ponies would call it. You’ve never seen one before?”

“No.” Willow admitted. “I know how to play a guitar, or banjo, even violin and drums, but a… lyre? No.”

“Just as well.” Said the Stalker. “They were a rare sight back in the day. Even rarer now. Damn shame.” Crescent went quiet for a few seconds before he tossed another piece of wood on the fire. “I don’t even know how to play the damn thing…”

“Then why would you carry one with you?”

“It’s a long and boring story.” Crescent answered. “Probably not worth your time, boy.”

“We’ve got all night. I’m not going anywhere.”

Crescent sighed and shrugged in defeat. He held the musical instrument close to his chest when he spoke.

“Before… this. Before the snow, before this winter… it used to belong to somepony very close to me. Her parents gave it to her when she was a young filly, and she never stopped playing it. Every morning she would wake up and play together with the sunrise, and every evening she played when the sun went down. Saying she was a natural at it would be an understatement; I still believe no better musician ever lived in Equestria. How the hell she managed to play such beautiful music with just a few strings… is beyond me.”

“So… where is she now?”

The Stalker shook his head. “Don’t know. You know what Ponyville is, right? That’s where she lived. That’s where I lived, too. Isn’t it strange that Canterlot is our capital and not Ponyville? I mean, the second one sounds much better, much more fitting for a city of stature, don’t you think? At least it’s still standing, thankfully.”

“I never thought about that before.” Willow said slowly. “But I suppose that… might make sense. Now it’s some sort of… Stalker Headquarters, right?”

Crescent nodded in response. “Yeah, but most call it The Heart now. Anyway, back in the day when the snow had just begun to fall. Ponyville got hit bad. Just like the rest of Equestria, we weren’t prepared for something as silly as snow in the middle of summer. The wheatherponies did all they could, but those damned clouds refused to go away. When the snow built up, that’s when ponies started dying. Froze to death. Starved. It was hell, let me tell you. Yet it was nothing compared to what we have now.”

“It hit our farm as well.” Willow said. “I think it kinda made my dad a bit… crazy. All day he would thread back and forth ‘round the farm, trying to understand what was going on, while I was left to do most of the chores.”

“Didn’t your mother help you?” Crescent asked the Pegasus, who responded by shaking his head.

“I’ve never met her.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. You know, you traveled with my group for... what, a few months? Yet I still know nothing about you, it seems…”

Willow pursed his mouth and tilted his head to the side slightly in response. Crescent remained silent for a while, and then got up to grab another log for the fire.

“Anyway…” Crescent said, continuing his prior story. “You know those fanatics that tore through Equestria? Those beasts calling themselves The True Believers? When they came to Ponyville, naturally they tried to take control of it, but no matter what they did, they failed. You know why?”

Willow shrugged and shook his head.

“Because one single pony stood up to them and refused to give up. One little mare who didn’t want to see her hometown in flames. And when she did, others soon followed her, me included, and after many weeks of hard struggle, they gave up. We had outlasted them, but there was no celebration. Too many had died defending the town. Good ponies, mothers, fathers, sons and daughters. They all fought and bled and died together, all because of that one pony that stood her ground against evil. I already adored her before it all happened, but after it…”

Crescent slowly trailed off into silence, and Willow could see something within his eyes. A sense of longing, but also sadness.

“Did… Did you… love her?” Willow asked cautiously.

Crescent instantly light up a smile. “Of course I did. And then… sometime after the final siege, she… left. One morning she was just gone, no word, not even a good bye. All she left was a note addressed to me and me alone, saying she ‘was needed’ in the north-east.”

The Stalker threw a glance to the right, and Willow followed his gaze. First he saw nothing, but after a few seconds, he could make out the silhouette of the tower in the distance, the one adorned by the giant pony head in bronze.

“Said she was needed here. In Manehattan.” Crescent concluded as they both turned back to the fire.

“So… does that mean that she…?”

Crescent nodded. “She could still be here, yes. It’s only a matter of finding her.” He turned to Willow with a stern look on his face. “And I will find her. That’s why I carry her lyre, so that I will never, ever forget her. Without her, I wouldn’t even be here in the first place; I’d probably be dead alongside the thousands of other Unicorns slaughtered in The Fade.”

“Why?” Willow asked. “You’re not a Unicorn.” Crescent averted his eyes at his question, which Willow found odd, but he said nothing more about it.

“She’s the reason I became a Stalker. I wanted to help the ponies of Equestria and make a stand, just like her… But I’ve learned over the years that in order to fight evil, you sometimes have to become evil yourself. ”

“What will you do when you find her?” Willow asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

“Probably hug her.” Crescent said quietly. “Hug her and never let go of her again... What about you? Got somepony special?”

Willow couldn’t hold in a timid chuckle. “Heh, no. No, my life has been nothing but work and chores, no time for mares. Besides, me and dad lived so far out in the wild, there wasn’t a single pony than us for miles. I remember once when I was younger, you know, stupid teen, wanting to rebel and all that. Dad walked in on me one evening when I was… you know.”

Willow mimicked a stroking motion with his hoof, and Crescent chuckled at his display.

“Know what he did? He took a look at me and said that lingerie magazines are crap and that I needed me some Playcolt instead. And then he just left like nothing ever happened. And there I was, staring like a jackass with no idea what had just happened.”

Once he was done, Willow joined Crescent in his laughing, but soon a sombre feeling fell upon Willow’s shoulders.

Noticing this, Crescent asked: “You miss him, huh?”

Willow nodded in response, but said nothing. Crescent slowly nodded as well.

“Right. Try to get some sleep now; we’ve got a lot to do tomorrow. If we can find the others that’s great, but if not… then it’s best if I just get back to The Heart. You could come with me, I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”

“Good night, Crescent.” Willow said, on his side and wrapped as best as he could into the cloak.

“Yeah. Night.”

Crescent sat awake for a long while, keeping close watch of the sleeping Pegasus and keeping the fire alive and warm. He couldn’t sleep after he told the story about the lyre. As much as he appeared calm and collected to Willow, it was just a façade that he kept up. The memories of her were painful, and he felt like crying whenever he thought of her. He didn’t, he just kept it bottled up deep inside, somewhere in a shelf filled to the brim with jars of his tears.

That was something he read in a book, long ago. A technique of putting your fears or worries in containers, boxes, chests or cabinets. Containers that only existed within your own mind. You could lock everything away deep within your own mind, and only face it when you yourself decided to open that lock and let it out.

The name of the book eluded him, but he remembered some parts of it. It had been some thriller about a family of ponies stuck in a haunted hotel during the months of winter. The technique with the containers, or in Crescent’s case, jars, was something that one of the characters had said to the family’s little colt whenever he felt afraid of the ghosts in the hotel. As silly as it was, Crescent tried it, and found himself capable of storing his sorrow and tears in countless jars and bottles in an endless room filled with shelves, somewhere in his mind. He rarely entered that room these days. Only on nights like this one.

Somepony like him couldn’t be seen crying. He was of high rank and status, the commander of his own group, he couldn’t be seen in tears, it would make him look weak in front of his Stalkers. And he couldn’t cry in front of Willow either. Maybe he wasn’t a Stalker and they hardly knew each other, but right now, Crescent was all that the young Pegasus had. Without him, Willow wouldn’t make it a day alone. Crescent had to remain strong, had to remain a rock and a pillar of support.

He rarely talked about her. Not even his own group knew about her, just Sawblade. Crescent often thought that a leader shouldn’t have any secrets to his followers, but then he always told himself that they all probably had more secrets themselves, and that his didn’t matter anyway. They were his friends, but some things should just be left alone. She was one of them. The island that still haunted his dreams was another.

Unlike his tears, he wasn’t able to shut away neither her, nor that island. Goddess knows he’d tried, over and over.

“Mind if I join?”

Crescent’s eyes shot open and his ears peaked as a raspy voice registered in his head. Out of instinct, he rolled around tin the snow without making a sound, and stood up to face whoever had just spoken to him. His years of training at The Heart had not been wasted time.

Before him stood a second pony partially hidden by the shadows on the outskirts of the fire. It looked to be a big stallion, but his face had been concealed by the hood of what looked to be a grey parka, and a big sort of duffle bag rested in his back. Although Crescent couldn’t see his eyes, he felt them pinned on him.

“Who are you?” Crescent hissed between his teeth, trying to not wake Willow. “Show your face.”

“Oh, come on…” The other pony said with a sigh and pulled the hood of his face, revealing a face without mane and a pair of deep, blue eyes. He only had one ear, with a nasty scar where the other should’ve been.

“Sawblade, you-!” Crescent fought the urge to push the other Stalker to the ground, but at the same time, he was relieved to see him.

“Made you shit yourself, did I?”

Sawblade tossed the bag down next to Crescent before plopping down by the fire.

“Found this supermarket.” He said. “Managed to scramble together some canned food and a couple more coats and blankets. Thought they might come in handy.”

“How did you survive?” Crescent asked cautiously, his eyes pinned on the other Stalker. “The explosion, I mean. Me and Willow got lucky, I guess, but I don’t know about the others…”

“I wasn’t actually that close.” Sawblade responded. “Phantom told me to wait outside, guard the entrance just in case. Said he was going to handle everything. A few moments later the wall cracks and buries me under rubble. I guess it knocked me out, because when I came to, everything was quiet as a grave. I got out and ran into the room, and there where bodies, blood, ashes and soot everywhere. What did he do anyway?”

“He used his magic to ignite a generator, blew the entire place sky high.”

“Oh, fuck.” Sawblade muttered under his breath.” Did he make it out? I didn’t see his body, so maybe he did. Unless Phantom was that dead Changeling, he might’ve made it out alive.”

“That was Duskshine.” Crescent said.

Sawblade went quiet as he watched the flames dance in front of him. Crescent did the same, and as the two friends sat together in the comforting light of the fire, things didn’t feel as hopeless anymore.

After a while, Sawblade turned and grabbed the bag he’d brought and zipped it open while Crescent watched with curious eyes. He reached his hooves inside and pulled out a second jacket and tossed it to Crescent.

It looked almost exactly like the one Sawblade already wore, except that it was grey, rather than dark blue, and seemed to have a slightly larger hood. Crescent pulled it on slowly, glad that it had sleeves which warmed his fore legs. Together with his cloak and saddle bags, he’d remain nice and warm.

Sawblade pulled a third jacket from the bag, this one brown and much longer than the other ones, more like a trench coat, with thick fur lining. Crescent looked over at the sleeping Willow, and estimated that with his size, the coat would probably cover most of his tail and hind legs. Good way of keeping him warm as well.

“Do you think he’ll be alright?” Sawblade asked, also observing the Pegasus.

Crescent hesitated a while before he answered. “I don’t know. Sure, he’s got the will to fight and survive, but… I don’t think willpower is going to save his life.”

“Well, that’s why we’re here, right?” Sawblade said back to him. “To help and protect others. We should take him with us to The Heart.”

“I told him I would, but I… I don’t think he has what it takes to be a Stalker. But I forced myself to tell him otherwise. I don’t like to tell lies, Sawblade.”

“I don’t like rum, but I still drink the damn thing.” Sawblade responded. “And don’t give me that look. Fine, bad example, but you get my point. Some things we just have to do.”

“Yeah, I know. Anyway, my mind is too thick with worry right now. Doubt I’ll get any sleep. You get some shut eye if you can, and I’ll take watch for as long as I can.”

Sawblade did as he was told without arguing. Once Crescent reminded him of sleep, he instantly felt drowsiness wash over him. He’d been pushing it away for too long, only focusing on taking the next step. Now that he let his guard down, surrounded by friends, he finally let his mind wander off into sleep.

Unbeknownst to both Stalkers, Willow had been wide awake and heard every word they said. What he had heard made him feel hurt, and betrayed by somepony who was supposed to support him.

The Pegasus didn’t get any more sleep for the rest of the night.