This had to be a joke.

Some cruel, sick joke.

Belove’s eyes widened as he studied his surroundings.

The wall of hedges. The trickle of moonlight seeping through the holes in the canopy of leaves. The wildflowers. And, as if to clarify his worst fears just in case he refused to believe it, a large crater in the middle of the fresh green grass, tiny particles of soil still dislodging from the makeshift miniature cliffside and bouncing along the rim of the Manticore-sized hole in the ground.

Instead of making progress, he’d walked right back to where they were the previous night, where they had the less than welcoming encounter with the beastly Manticore.

“No, no, no, no, no,” He muttered to himself, repeating the word as if it were to somehow change the situation, perhaps teleporting him to the other side of the forest or, even better, his house in Ponyville. He’d had just about enough of adventuring, of forests, villains and friends. Right now, he’d like nothing better than to wake up, safe and sound, curled up in bed with the early morning sun smiling down at him in all its glory. “No, no, no, no, NO, NO!” He threw himself to the ground and slammed his hooves down in pure rage. “THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE! THE HOOF-PRINTS LED RIGHT TO HERE!”

The hoof prints, echoes of the recent past embedded in the swaying grass, stared back at him, almost mocking his efforts. They simply ended in the middle of the clearing, like their creators vanished without a trace.

The Earth Pony couldn’t believe it. He WOULDN’T believe it. There was no way, no possible way, that those hoof-prints had led him in a full circle. Belove took a deep breath, held it, and casually rose to his hooves. Upon opening his eyes, he would be exactly where he wanted to be. Where that was, he had no idea, but it certainly was not here.

As much as Belove believed in his own abilities, it came as no major surprise to him when this recent idea failed to actually work. The guard did what any reasonable, level headed, grown stallion would do in such a predicament and launched himself into an almighty bout of screaming and swearing and gnashing his teeth in a most unprofessional manner. Venting his anger and frustration, he lashed out at everything he could get his stubby little hooves on. He kicked the flowers and trampled the grass, clopped at the soil and bucked the trees until the leaves dislodged themselves, still shaking in fear.

However, as he continued to stomp as storm and shout every colourful word under the moon, he sorely neglected to follow the first rule of training: when in a hostile environment, it is ill advised to stomp and storm and shout every colourful word under the moon and leave yourself vulnerable to attack from those who wished to separate you from your life. A paraphrase, of course, but still a vital peace of knowledge to keep in mind if one values one’s life, and whilst Belove valued his life to the point of self worship, he was unfortunately an idiot. He didn’t hear the soft rustling of the heavy, untrimmed bushes. He didn’t hear the silent snap of brittle twigs. He didn’t hear the crunch of hooves on the leaf litter. But he most certainly felt the warm, dry breath blow across the back of his neck, and it was just enough to make him stop and freeze. His slur of swears trailed off at once.

As much as he wanted to believe that it was the wind, he wasn’t stupid enough to fall for such a false comfort. He wasn’t alone, he was sure of it.

And yet he couldn’t bring himself to move. There he stood, a metaphorical sitting duck in the middle of the clearing, mentally cursing himself for being such a fool. How could he have been so reckless, drawing so much attention to himself like that? That was just asking for trouble.

Well, there was no point in complaining now. As much as he wanted to kick himself up the backside, it was more likely that his anonymous visitor would fulfil that wish. And he would prefer his backside to remain undefiled by strangers, all the same.

Rigid with terror, the Earth Pony found some hidden power and managed to force himself to turn around. Slowly and cautiously, likely for fear of what he may find staring back at him, he craned his neck around, almost creaking in the quietness of the place. With a sharp inhale, he opened his eyes and came face to face with...

...nothing.

Nothing as in no ravenous monster, that is. The trees were still there, as were the flowers, and the bushes and constant flow of shimmering moonlight through the cracks in the leaves. The clearing was quiet. Too quiet. And it was this lack of activity which unsettled Belove greatly.

‘It wasn’t the wind,’ He told himself as his sceptical eyes scanned over the empty space. ‘That sure as heck wasn’t...’

He paused as he saw it move out of the corner of his eye. A fleeting shadow, there, then gone. Blacker than black, he couldn’t make out quite what the blur of darkness was, but he knew straight away that it wanted to cause him harm. Heart in mouth, his eyes traced the hostile’s path, ending at a still quivering bush.

Another shadow darted past him, closer now. This time, he felt the rush of air as it swooped past him in less than a millisecond, disappearing into the treetops above. At least he knew that he wasn’t imagining things; that it couldn’t be merely so easily explained as a ‘trick of the eyes’ or ‘a trick of the light’. There was something here, something watching him...

He span around as a third shadow zipped over the grass behind him. How many of them were there? One, two, three? More?

The fourth had the audacity to blaze right past him in a trail of wispy shadows. It momentarily vanished as it passed through the thick, creamy moonlight peeking through the canopy clearing, then blasted through the other side and into a nearby bush. He only caught a brief glimpse of the creature, still shrouded in shadows, but it was enough to rule of the possibility of it being a rather peeved Manticore returning to the scene of his last battle for a rematch. As much as he detested admitting it, he knew that he didn’t stand a chance against the Manticore alone. The almost spectre-like figure was far too small to be his old half lion half scorpion pal.

Timberwolves? It wasn’t unlikely, especially in these parts. If that was the case, he was in great danger. Timberwolves hunt in packs, are extremely vicious, and darned near indestructible. Without fire, he was as good as wolf meat. Maybe it was ironic, poetic in a way, that nature should conjure such abominations from sticks and wood and set them loose upon those who defiled the forests. But now was not the time to be thinking of irony, or poetry, or justification. He needed to get out of there, and it needed to be yesterday.

Bending down, he scooped up a small, jagged rock with a shaking hoof and called out, “Whatever you are, you’d better stay back if you know what’s good for you!”

Another rattle of the bushes. A few discarded leaves descended from the heavens, one brushing the fur on his shoulder.

His head snapped up instantly. “I’m not joking around!” He screeched, hurling the rock into the tree canopy above. A few barren twigs cracked, unwillingly freeing themselves from the trunk of their host, and fell to the earth. The Earth Pony jumped as they plopped to the ground.

A flash of black. Then another.

Another.

Another.

Encircling him.

Surrounding him.

Trapping him.

His wide and terrified eyes dashed from one blur of shadow to the next. They were getting closer. He continued to back away. He hurled another rock. “St-stay back!” He cried in desperation, voice cracking. “Stay back, you hear me?”

And then backed right into one. He heard the excited breathing. He felt a warm, living body bump against his coat, tickling the fibres of his fur.

These are no Timberwolves.

He didn’t have time to turn and face his aggressor.

The thud came with such haste and force he didn’t have time to react. Just a quick, sharp crack on the back of his scalp, and then black.

Oh, to be a cloud. What a dream that would be. So carefree, so relaxed, just silently sailing across the sky, looking down with half superior smugness, half wholehearted compassion at the scurrying little worker ants below, living out their mundane existences under your laid back, wispy form. You might stop for a few moments and study them further, and on a good day, they might take five minutes from their busy schedule to gaze upon your pure white beauty and create you anew. One day you might be a prancing sheep, woollen coat of a young foal’s excited laughter, the next you might be a fearsome Ursa Major, drifting over their awestruck heads with a silent roar, or a lovestruck couple might look up and imagine you a wonderful white stork, carefully ferrying a young bundle of joy in your gentle, willowing beak. And you would be these things to these creatures below you, and you’d smile down at their creativity, and perhaps believe them too. Sometimes, you might even cry, not in sadness but in pity that they’ll never experience the freedom that is your entire life. And even in pity is an act of kindness, for they’ll relish your gift from the heavens and their crops will grow big and bountiful, whilst others will peer cautiously from their tear speckled windows and wish for you to stop. So you will, for one never wallows in pity forever. You’d simply move on, overseas, to distant lands. But you’d never be alone. Occasionally, you’d feel the soft, feathered embrace of one of those winged ants, now magnified to your size as they sleep on your soft body like an oversized pillow, letting you carry them far and wide. Perhaps one day you’d find your way to that great city built in the sky, on the wispy torsos of other clouds, your mute brethren, where you might be recycled in some fiery furnace and churned out of a smoky pillar, born anew and saturated with fresh sympathy. Or maybe you’d simply float off in some obscure, directionless path, mocking the order of the four star compass, and eventually you might fade away like a voice in the wind, cease to exist and be remembered by few; Not as an individual, but as a happy memory from a better time. And you wouldn’t regret a thing.

Of course, this was figuratively speaking. Clouds are not sentient beings, after all. They have no brain capable of formulating thoughts, or feelings, or whatever else makes a living creature alive. They’re just big fluffy balls of moisture. Still, Weatherstorm’s mind ventured to strange places when he was tired. This was amplified by his ongoing headache, fuelled by a nonsensical Derky, and his own worsening paranoia. Through this holy trinity, the journalist’s mind was slowly turning to utter demented mush, and the cryptic thoughts were becoming all the more frequent. But anything was better than listening to Derky babble on about Cockatrices and pony eating plants and surprisingly grilled cheese sandwiches, which was admittedly a new one but still not a relevant topic of discussion, and therefore was frowned upon. Besides, it was making the blue coated one hungry. And when he was hungry, he got cranky.

His rumbling stomach drowned out Derky’s idle chat. Such a shame, too, for the conversation about the time he accidently glued his removal company cap to the top of his scalp with a discarded yet potently sticky blob of bubblegum sounded nothing short of riveting.

Weatherstorm missed food dearly. His stomach missed food dearly. Unlike Weatherstorm, however, his stomach was a brute and kept making its voice heard, demanding substances which were not readily available every few steps he took.

Here I go with the crazy talk again...

The point of the matter was, whoever had stolen their rations the previous night had certainly known what they were doing and had a profound effect. Whether the loss of moral as a direct repercussion of this was intentional or not was no longer a concern to the two Pegasi. Weatherstorm wanted, nay, NEEDED food, and should they fail to either find some miraculously laying there for them on a plate in the middle of the weed infested path or dangling from the branch of a tree, he was seriously contemplating eating Derky. Sure, he’d probably taste a bit funny and likely kick up a bit of fuss going down the old oesophagus, but beggars cannot be choosers in the wilderness.

“You alright, ‘Stormy?” Derky eyed his staggering companion with cautious suspicion and genuine concern.

Weatherstorm stopped his incisors from clamping down on the outstretched hoof with very little room to spare. Perhaps, nestled back in the furthest fathoms of his consciousness, he was telling himself not to eat his best and longest friend on the grounds that such an action was highly immoral, illegal and wrong, but in actuality he was more concerned with the terrible indigestion his makeshift meal would bring.

If only I had brought along my indigestion pills...

“I’m fine.” Weatherstorm gasped, drooling. That was something else that he missed: water. Cold, refreshing water. “Just a little... tired... hungry...”

Derky smacked his lips. “Hey Weatherstorm, remember the food at the Summer Sun Celebration?”

“Yes, I do. And that didn’t help.”

“You know, this reminds me of the time...”

That was Weatherstorm’s cue to simply tune out again. He wondered if it was possible for heads to explode, merely through consistent talking? With the intensity of his migraine, which grew worse with every word that his blank flanked friend uttered, it wasn’t all that unlikely. Perhaps even twice. Could a pony do that? Explode twice? Just thinking about it made his head throb.

“...So that’s when my doctor told me...”

Weatherstorm half smiled, half grimaced and tried his best to look as though he was at least half listening to whatever Derky was saying. But his attention was needed elsewhere. Neck craned skyward, he studied the canopy and looked for any openings, beacons of light piercing the leafy heavens. Alas, there were none. In fact, the canopy was growing ever thicker the further they ventured.

“Uh, you might want to watch out...”

Weatherstorm nodded. “Uh huh.” He continued to stare up at the ceiling of foliage, willing for some thin veil of light, even but an anemic trickle to beckon him near, and be his gateway to the clear, night sky above them, ushering him to his final goal, Miss Rarity of the Carousel Boutique. Oh, and saving the world wasn’t all that bad, either.

“No, you really should...”

“That’s nice.” The blue Pegasus sighed dreamily. He had it all planned out; Nightmare Moon would be no match for his charmingly brilliant wit, and after she had been defeated, he’d gallantly gallop up to his white beauty and sweep her off her hooves. She would stare deep into his eyes and he into hers, lovestruck and in bliss. Rarity would thank him from the bottom of her heart, and call him her hero. He would star back, eyes sparkling, and tell her that it was no trouble at all for one as magnificent as she was, and call her ‘My lady.’ He would express his undying love for her and after they would kiss passionately, lovingly, together at long last. And then...

“Seriously, I’d watch out if...”

“Derky!” Weatherstorm cried, a little louder than he had meant to. He swivelled around to face his companion.”I would ask that you don’t interrupt me when I am thinking, thank you.”

Derky smiled sweetly in response to the outburst. He shuffled on his hooves, uncomfortably. “That’s alright, then.” He said, rubbing the back of his head with his hoof. “I just thought that you might want to watch out for that big hole.”

“Wha...” The stallion instinctively looked down at his hooves and saw, to his horror, that he was teetering on the edge of nothing but absolute blackness. It was as though the forest had been cleaved in twain by some divine sword, the grass and rock violently split and forming a steep, thin gorge. “How...” Weatherstorm didn’t have the luxury of finishing his sentence, for at that moment he stumbled on an errant and murderous loose stone, its sly smooth surface slipping free from Weatherstorm’s footing. Then the Pegasus felt himself teetering, tumbling backwards, off the side of the cliff altogether and into the jaws of the dark, bottomless chasm. A long, bloodcurdling scream followed his descent as the Earth swallowed its victim whole.

“Oh dear!”

“Through here. Hurry.”

Cananor yelped as another sharp branch scratched across his cheek. Now he knew why he rarely went on camping trips: the wilderness hurts. Instinctively, the unicorn’s hoof went to the wound, half hesitant to see if the scratch was bleeding. Fortunately, it wasn’t. It had grazed his fur, nothing more. The lawyer sighed, relieved, but at this rate he was going to end up looking as roughed up as Daring Do did at the end of her perilous adventures. He wondered how the mare did it: she must be as tough as nails, or a fictional character in a make believe story. Likely the latter.

The lawyer cursed and slapped the thorny branch away from him. “Stupid branch...” he mumbled under his breath. Of course, the branch took offense and swung back with force, back-hoofing him across the unsuspecting jaw with such force that Cananor fell to the floor, mildly dazed. He rubbed his muzzle, twitching nose rapidly turning from a healthy beige and black fusion to a rich, bruised claret. The branch, proudly jutting from a jambled mess of leaves, shuddered in the light breeze, laughing mockingly at his defeated form. Smoke billowing from his blushing ears, Cananor ripped the assailant free from the bush, which shook and rustled in retaliation as though reacting to the pain. Tearing apart the severed limb into several tiny, broken twigs, he sneered down at their twisted forms and hissed, “I’m going to turn you into kindling.” Then he cantered off, gloating over his recent victory over nature. That was, until another low lying branch of a tree poked him up his flaring nostril.

Seething with rage, he grumbled, “How much farther, Starfire? It feels like we’ve been walking through these bushes for a day now.”

“By my calculations,” He heard the distant scholar reply, “We have. And I think you meant ‘night’. Now keep up.”

Cananor groaned. They’d been walking for a whole day? The unicorn cringed. Who knows how much longer they would still have to walk through these devilish plants? His hooves were getting sore and blistery and his stomach yeaned for nourishment. And yet he still dragged himself forward, pushing himself to the limit for Starfire: a pony who, as much as he hated to admit, may have been telling a few little white lies. As much as he wanted to believe him, he doubted he actually could ‘trace Nightmare Moon’s magic’. Starfire had said so himself: the spell was complex and he had never dared attempt it before, and an untrained unicorn cannot simply attempt a difficult spell and achieve success on their first attempt. Still, he couldn’t fault the student if he was stretching the truth a little: he himself was guilty of giving the odd little fib, in court no less, if it meant he could prevent an unsavoury situation from developing, so was he really in a position to judge? All he knew was that he had faith in Starfire, even if Starfire didn’t have as much faith in himself.

Struggling to keep up with the dimming white light which floated off further and further into the distance, Cananor called out, “This whole sightseeing experience is great and all, but do we really have to go THROUGH the shrubbery like this? I mean, isn’t there a path or something?”

Starfire’s voice was faint and distant, and growing quieter by the second. “This way is quicker, trust me.” His next few words were muffled, then Cananor barely made out, “...Not... far now.”

The lawyer wrestled with a wiry jungle creeper, tearing free from its strangling grasp with a sharp tug of effort. He threw the discarded leafy snake at his hooves. “What did you say?” He yelled in the general direction that he assumed Starfire had hurried off in. “I didn’t hear the last part; I was a bit tied up.” He waited for a moment, before adding, “That was a pun, because I got tangled in a creeper.” There was no reply, and no sign of his illuminated friend. “Starfire?”

Great. I’m lost.

Trotting over sodden, crumbling, parched dirt, the unicorn felt the eyes of the forest glaring down at him from the treetops and through the holes in the bushes. Dark, mysterious, disembodied ovals, pupiless pools of shadowy intrigue which followed his every move. He didn’t always see them, but they were there, he could feel it. He tried to ignore them and kept moving forwards. Their silent stares were making him uneasy.

“Ack!” A wispy spider’s web gently brushed against his mane, as though stroking him. Cursing the infernal forest and every living thing in it through spite, he desperately shook his head and out plopped a rather peeved spider, strangely resembling the cave dwelling arachnid whose home Belove’s stupid oversized head had obliterated earlier. It certainly shared the same, quick tempered mannerisms, spitting out foreign obscenities with high pitched hate, before zipping off into the dark and brooding undergrowth.

The silent, disembodied onlookers narrowed their already narrowed eyes, floating in the darkness, judging him and his actions. Whatever they were, they'd been following him from a distance for quite some time, enshrouded in shadow. Cananor brushed himself off, picked a thread of cobweb from his slick mane and mumbled, “Don’t you lot look at me like that. I’ve had it up to here with this place.”

In a blind temper he turned, a little too hastily, and walked right into another branch, his muzzle connecting with a powerful wallop. Such was the force of nature's latest knockout blow that the lawyer was lifted off of his hooves and sent crashing to the ground in an almighty thump. Dazed and shaken, he lifted an angry hoof and spluttered to his natural nemesis, “I hate this stupid forest! I'm gonna get half a dozen lumberjacks in here, you wait and see.”

This didn’t go down well with whatever creatures were stalking him. The eyes narrowed until they could narrow no further, mere slender slits of disapproval, and then they began to glow a radiant yellow, flumes of wispy golden smoke wafting out from the bushes and trees and wherever else they dwelled, accompanied by several low, droning growls, and the unicorn feared his last remark may have upset them somewhat.

His hooves shot up defensively. “I didn’t mean it like THAT...”

He took the second warning growl as his cue to leave, with great haste. And as he ran, he saw a gap in the thick forest undergrowth appear; a moderately sized hole in an indiscreet bush, where a glorious and holy light shone throne like the sun itself from the other side. It could only be Starfire. Fuelled by cocky over-confidence and a youthful sense of invulnerability, Cananor span around to face his silent escorts and yelled, cupping his hooves, “Jokes on you, I meant every word of it!” He ended his taunt with a disrespectful cackle.

Cananor was the sort who instantly regretted things. More than once he had blurted out some idiotic obscenity in court and had to publically apologise to all present, which in itself was rather embarrassing, but at least they didn’t wish to separate him from his existence as his new friends did. They weren’t at all happy with his tone, and wished to teach him the error of his ways through the use of extreme violence. He gulped as the growling intensified, and then found himself running for his life.

Diving like through the narrow, illuminated hole in the shrubbery like some crazed action hero, the lawyer burst from the bush, unnatural roars and yellow mists snapping at his hooves. His eyes widened as he saw, to his utter dismay, that wildly and blindly diving through a bush in an unfamiliar area without extensive knowledge of what lay beyond said bush was not a particularly good idea. The land beneath him just stopped, simply giving way to a cliff’s jagged edge which the airborne unicorn suddenly found himself sailing off of like an equine torpedo, hooves outstretched and screaming. Well, this looked like it was it: the end, falling to his sticky demise. If only he had been born a Pegasus, then perhaps he could live another day. He blamed his father for this disability. Oh well. He’d lived a good life. Not a particularly long life, nor an outstandingly interesting life, but a life nonetheless. Of course, now that he thought about it, he had always lived in relative luxury but never felt satisfied by it: like he was purposeless, drifting from one day to the next like a feather carried in the wind. Had he such a good life after all? It was certainly something to ponder in his last seconds of life.

And now that he thought about it, he was thinking quite a lot at that present moment, and doing considerably less falling to his death. It wasn’t a complaint, merely an observation. It was also when he noticed the blue aura that engulfed his entire form, holding him in place and preventing him from falling to a less then pleasant end. Again, it most certainly wasn’t a complaint, just an observation.

He had never levitated before in his life, and were it not for the fact that Starfire could lose his concentration at any moment and he would suddenly find himself getting rather well acquainted with the cold, hard ground at high speed niggling away at the back of his mind, he could even have found himself enjoying the experience, as strange as it was. It felt like he was a feather; a literal feather this time, not some mentally conjured metaphor to summarize the purposelessness of his adolescent life. A small smile crept up on his face as he dipped and rose, slowly and gently, caressed in the soothing embrace of magical energies like a contented foal rocking in its mother’s calming hooves.

He hit the ground face first, snapping him back from his relaxing daydream. With a wince of pain, he yelped, “Careful!” He might have sounded a little ungrateful towards his saviour, but he was just happy to still be alive and breathing, albeit at an unnaturally fast pace.

Starfire, his horn still glinting with mystical white power, frowned down at the tangled mess of a unicorn below him, hanging half on and half off the cliff edge, clinging on for his life. He was aided to his hooves. “Perhaps YOU should be more careful. You did just dive out of a bush and off a cliff after all.” Keeping the complex magic tracing spell stable, as well as levitating the unicorn who, admittedly, wasn’t as heavy as a grand piano but still had a good weight behind him, left Starfire weak at the knees.

Cananor’s eyes shot up. “Are they gone?”

Starfire seemed puzzled. He voiced his confusion, cautiously checking behind him in case some monster had tip toed past his lowered defences. “Who?”

Cananor’s eyes studied the bush which, moments earlier he had dived through followed by vengeful goodness-knows-what, was now barren and empty, and devoid of any signs of vengeful goodness-knows-what. He breathed a sigh of relief. “Nothing.” He muttered, inwardly grinning from ear to ear. “Nothing at all.” Feeling safe and secure that he had escaped their terrible wrath, he turned his attention back to Starfire, and joined him at the cliff edge, where the student seemed to be hypnotised by the sight.

And what a sight it was, especially to Starfire. The countryside never ceased to amaze him with divine views that were simply unheard of in the big smoggy city of Fillydelphia. The expanses of the Everfree Forest lay to their left, shimmering under the heavenly, glowing pebble in the sky. Their altitude above the forest masked the long, slender trunks, obscured by leaves. How big was this forest? Seemingly endless, thought Cananor. To their far right, nestled away in the North-East corner of the land where the trees gave way to rock and stone, was a stunning range of snow-topped mountains that stretched for what seemed like miles, out of their view and likely to the North-Eastern coast of Equestria. Starfire recognised the towering slopes instantly; they were the very same mountains he had seen rising up through the clouds like spires on the cover of several Equestrian Geographic magazines from his childhood. They had been collectively referred to as ‘Dragon’s Keep’ due to their dominant involvement during the dragon migrations, an event that is so rare that it happens roughly but once in a generation. The scholar’s eyes sparkled with glee as he managed to make out the huge, fearsome beasts themselves, the mighty dragons, reduced to barely recognisable specks in the distance, circling the mountain range like vicious vultures circling a nest.

As nice as the view was, however, it still left the duo with a problem. “I don’t understand it,” Starfire tore himself away from the majestic, moonlit sight. “It... it led me to...” He sighed and tapped his glowing horn like a faulty appliance. “It looks like we’re going to find a way down from this cliff and into that patch of forest.” Starfire pointed off to his left, where below them the trees were thickest. “We need to find another route, or a path leading down, or...”

“Oh no,” Cananor cut him off, waving both hooves vigorously. “No way. We’ve literally just dragged ourselves through the beaten track to get here. I got scratched on the face, poked up the nose and nearly eaten by what I can only assume were ravenous squirrels. We are not turning back now.”

Starfire decided to ignore the last part. “What do you suggest? We climb down a steep rock face?”

“Well...”

“No!” Starfire spat out, shocked by Cananor’s willingness to fall to a sticky end, especially after he’d saved him moments earlier from doing just that. Perhaps he could have done Cananor a favour and dropped him down in the first place. “You can’t be serious!”

Cananor shrugged and shuffled closer to the edge of the cliff. “Maybe if we can find a hoof-hold, or something...” Pieces of dirt crumbling at his hooves, he gingerly peered over the side and looked down.

Starfire took a few hesitant steps forward, joining Cananor on the very edge of the cliff overhang. “What can you see?”

The lawyer inhaled sharply, strained his eyes and perched his lips. “Uh... it doesn’t look good, I’m afrai...”

The rumbling took them both by surprise, almost freezing them in their tracks. It took them several more seconds to realise that it was coming from underneath them, the cliff edge crumbling away into clumps of soil as it shuddered and shook. Cananor stood like a statue of fear and confusion, Starfire backing slowly, carefully away as the ground under his feet began to fall away. “Cananor,” he spoke calmly but directly, and a little panic was evident behind his cool act. “You need to walk back VERY SLOWLY.”

Cananor turned, teeth gritted tightly, and whispered, “What the hay is that?”

Starfire held out his hoof and edged forward, trying to put as little weight as he could on decaying cliff overhang, least it collapse completely. “Just walk towards my hoof, as slowly and as lightly as you can.”

Over the noise of his beating heart Cananor obeyed, stretching out his hoof gingerly and with utmost caution. Slowly, carefully, he started forward, trying his hardest to apply as little of his weight as possible with every step. He grimaced as he heard more soil and rubble tear free from the cliff edge, tumbling away to the ground quite a distance below.

“I know this is a really bad time,” whispered Cananor, a smirk lifting the corners of his mouth, “But I just thought of a funny joke about being the fall guy...”

As though responding to his newest joke with a sick and deadly sense of humour, the cliffside suddenly collapsed out from underneath him, soil and dirt pouring down the side of the hill like an avalanche of earth. Cananor’s smile faded instantly and he hung there comically for a few seconds, standing on nothing but blank and empty air.

And then he fell.

In less than a second the unicorn was gone, and Starfire could barely process what had actually occurred. His disembodied scream grew fainter and fainter until it was virtually non-existent.

“No, NO!” The student teacher cried out in utter horror, mind spinning. He was in such a blind panic that he couldn’t feel himself moving until it was too late. The grass shuddered and shook, flowers violently jiggling to and fro in a dance of death, and then the ground gave way and crumbled under his hooves. With a scream of effort, Starfire tried desperately to dive backwards to the bushes but it was too little, too late.

Eyes obscured by falling soil and rubble, he felt himself getting thrown around like an old sack ragdoll, crashing against rock and stray roots which jabbed cruelly at his body as the overhang completely broke away from the rest of the ground.

He felt himself falling, tumbling, crashing to his doom.

Derky felt the powerfully sharp wind slice painfully across his hooves and face like a dagger, pushing against the pony shaped object as it descended the very depths of Tartarus itself, deeper and deeper into the gorge. Air cutting at his eyes, the ginger maned Pegasus shrilly yelped, tightly sealing his eyes shut and turning his head to the left, but didn’t dare slow down for fear that he may be too late.

“WEATHERSTORM!” He cried desperately, panicked and breathing erratically as he thrust his hooves out directly in front of himself, stretching himself into a sort of streamlined bullet shape to limit the air resistance that was currently tearing his body to shreds. At least, that’s what it felt like. But he gritted his teeth and blocked out the pain; Weatherstorm needed his help, and he wasn’t willing to let his oldest friend down. Not today.

The further downwards Derky flew, the more and more he thought that he was well and truly tunnelling into the very core of the world. Seemingly endless, he continued to pick up speed as he blazed through the narrow rocky passage. What little light there was at the surface disappeared completely, sealing his transition into the bowels of the unknown, and he was plunged into complete darkness.

Without slowing his rapid descent, the Pegasus screamed his companion’s name into the darkness once more, his voice echoing off of the towering black walls and bouncing back to him. Voice cracking with a chilling fear, he called out again. “WEATHE... OOF!”

Derky didn’t see what had attacked him through the darkness, but he sure as heck felt it. It was like a pointed spear, long and slender and painfully sharp, invisible head glinting black in the thick and blinding darkness. Although the jab wasn’t enough to break the skin, it was enough to throw the rapidly accelerating stallion off guard. With a shriek of what was more sheer surprise than agonising pain, Derky span around mid flight, hit one of the two chasm walls with a resounding thump and then landed on his back on what appeared to be the floor with a splash of water. Bottomless, indeed.

Dazed but otherwise unharmed, Derky lay there with his hooves resting on his steadily rising and falling chest. Perhaps it was a miracle that he had just been caught off guard like that; had he continued at the speed and angle that he was flying at, he wouldn’t have hit the bottom of the pit with his back but with his face. Sure, both his lower abdomen and his spine ached like he’d just been trampled by a herd of buffalo, but he assumed being having a broken neck was worse.

“A...ahhhhh...” The strained sigh escaped through a tiny gap in his sealed lips like a gas leak. Arching his back, he slid a hoof underneath and whimpered, “That... that hurt.”

“Tell me about it.” The voice floated out from somewhere in the darkness. “I hit the same blooming branch on my way down. Nearly took my eye out.”

“Weatherstorm!” Cried Derky, bolting from the ground and throwing his hooves around his friend. He hugged him tightly in still trembling arms. “I... I thought...”

“Derky, I’m over here. You’re hugging a boulder.”

That would explain why the pony was so cold and round, then.

Derkington threw his hooves out in the darkness where he had heard Weatherstorm’s voice emanate form and, just by chance, they found their mark, wrapping tightly around the journalist’s neck. One Pegasus leaned in close to the other, embraced in a strong, brotherly hug, and whispered, “I thought you had... you know...”

The other laughed. “Derky, I’ve got wings, do you remember? Don’t worry, I’m fine. More importantly, are you alright? You hit that errant branch with quite a force. Even I winced when I heard the thud.”

“I’m fine.” Derky squeezed the blue-coated stallion tighter, making his cheeks just a little more blue.

Weatherstorm, wheezing, pushed away from his comrade as gently and politely as he could. “Th... Thank you, Derky. That’s quite alright. Pl- Please let go. I’m afraid I can’t breathe, see.”

Derky released his tight grip, brushing back his unkempt ginger mane with a single swipe of his hoof. “I’m sorry. I got over excited, that’s all.”

Eyes struggling through the blanket of black, Weatherstorm squinted back up from where he had taken an unfortunate tumble. The gorge was huge, stretching upwards for what seemed like miles with several holes and crevices decorating the stone and rock formations which made up the dark, cliff walls. At the very top, barely even visible to Derky who had perfect eyesight and non-existant to the squinting un-bespectacled journalist, was a minuscule shaft of light, just about penetrating the canopy far, far above them like a pinprick.

Weatherstorm stumbled blindly in the darkness of the great barren chasm, accidently stubbing his hoof on a malicious boulder nestled away on the muddy gorge floor. He swore under his breath in a most ungentlecoltly manner, gingerly lifted his muck-coated hoof which throbbed with pain, and wiped it on the wall, trailing it along the rock face with a squeaky groan, like a chalk being dragged across a blackboard. The sound echoed off of the immense chasm’s dull walls. “Eck.” He stuck out his tongue in disgust. “Truly revolting. Tell me, how far down are we?”

Derky hesitated for a moment, neck still craned skyward, and replied, “Pretty far down.”

“Well then,” Weatherstorm sighed, “I guess that we had better get to it.” With that, he took off at a steady pace, struggling upwards through the darkness, Derky beside him.

Although he couldn’t see him, Weatherstorm heard Derky shudder quietly. It was barely noticeable to the average pony, but Weatherstorm was no average pony. He was an average pony with keen senses and an eye for the finer details, just not when it came to large holes in the ground. “Anything the matter?” He queried, glancing quizzically off into Derky’s vague direction.

“I’m fine,” The other said, staring off to the distant chasm opening above them. “It’s weird but I just had a sudden urge to make a rubbish pun about being the fall guy.”

Both ponies were silent for a few seconds. And then they began to laugh.

They laughed, not because of how hilariously funny the spontaneous quip so obviously was, but just because of... well, they truthfully did not know why they fell about into hysterical fits of laughter. They just couldn’t help it. Perhaps it was a sweet sense of relief of still being alive, despite all the odds stacked against them. Perhaps it was the metaphorical calm after the storm; they had both barely eluded death’s skeletal grasp and yet they still had the utter audacity to shrug it off and casually crack a corny pun. Or perhaps they had simply gone mad, Derky’s already fragile mind lost to jungle fever and Weatherstorm’s brain having pounded and thumped so hard that it just fell out the side of his head and bounced merrily away into the distance. Whatever the case, the two stallions laughed. They chuckled and chortled and exchanged a high-hoof, their happy laughter echoing throughout the deathly silent gorge, wiping away jolly tears without a care in the world.

That was, until the rumbling started.

It distant at first, barely audible under the laughter and ceaseless chirps of the crickets. But alas, it grew louder and louder, closer and closer until the merriness slowly droned out and the crickets abruptly stopped, as though holding their breaths in anticipation and in fear. Weatherstorm cringed as the rumbling drew closer, faster, more intense. “What,” he hissed, practically mute under the grinding thumping which seemed to resound around the gorge, “In the wide world of Equestria do you suppose that dreadful noise is?”

“WHAT?”

“I said,” Weatherstorm repeated himself as the rumbling intensified, “What do you think that noise is exactly?”

“WHAT?”

Weatherstorm sighed. There was usually difficulty communicating with Derky at the best of times, and now, with the aid of loud and echoing rumbles, there was a complete communications breakdown. And it certainly wasn’t helping his throbbing headache one bit. “I SAID... Oh, look at that. It stopped.”

The rumbling had indeed stopped, simply fading away as quickly and abruptly as it came. But the laughter did not return, nor did the sing-song chirps of the crickets. All was silent now. A hot, heavy blanket of unnatural quietness fell across the canyon, and draped over those who dwelled there.

“What do you think that was, anyway?” Derky quizzically asked, placing a hoof under his chin.

Weatherstorm decided to instead place his hoof directly to his face. “I just asked you the same thing, Derky.” He mumbled, rubbing his tired eyes.

“Then perhaps you should have spoken up a little, Weatherstorm. Simple, really.”

The journalist smiled, and wondered that if he fell from his current altitude, would it be enough to knock himself unconscious? He would welcome the peace and quiet. “If I were to hazard a guess, and I shall,” The Pegasus boasted, “The noise was likely caused by collapsing rock or crumbling cliff rim. You see, sometimes small tremors, often too small for the average pony to register, can dislodge some of the miniscule rocks that bind together the soil or chip away at the stone over the years. All it takes is one final shudder to dislodge the larger boulders, and this in turn can set off a chain reaction.”

Derky scoffed. “What are you, a geographicalist?”

“Geologist,” Weatherstorm corrected him, “And no, I’m a journalist. Now, that rumbling sounded quite close, but considering the fact that we saw no falling debris and heard no debris hitting the gorge floor...”

“Not to question your geomagrahpy skills,” Derky stumbled over the word, “But we didn’t see any falling rocks because we can’t see anything. Look. I’m waving my hoof about. Wheeeeee! Bet you can’t see that, huh?”

“No, no I can’t. Thank goodness.” Weatherstorm added with a sly grin. “But it sounded far too distant all the same. Large, enclosed chasms like these often carry sound for miles, echoed and rebounded off of the surrounding rock and stone. Fear not, my dearest Derky, for I assure you that we, where we are, are in no immediate dange...”

Weatherstorm quite literally ate his words, swallowing the final word before last syllable could escape his lips as the rumbling started once more, far louder and far closer than before. Several small rocks shuddered and broke free from the cliffside, whizzing past the two bewildered colts in the darkness. If Weatherstorm didn’t know any better, (and he DID know better) it sounded as though the intense, grinding, rhythmic rumbling was coming from within the rock walls themselves.

“Are you sure? That sounds pretty close.”

Weatherstorm frowned. “I...” He rubbed the back of his head with a shaking hoof. “I think that leaving might be a wise decision. Just... to be on the safe side.”

Both Pegasi took off again, this time at greater haste to reach the top, impatient to be out of the suffocating black depths of the earth and back to the suffocating black depths of the forest. In the Everfree forest, they need not fear being crushed by some falling boulder, squishing them into a sticky raspberry jam like paste. No, their only concern was the ever present likelyhood of being eaten by a Timberwolves, torn apart by a Manticore or turned to stone by a cockatrice. They were all equally as unpleasant as being crushed by a boulder, mind, but that was future Weatherstorm’s problem, not his.

“That rumbling,” Derky yelled over the noise, something the quiet colt had yet to master, “IT’S GETTING CLOSER!”

A boulder narrowly missed the blue-coated one’s head, swishing past his perfectly spiked mane. This was getting far too dangerous, and they needed to get out of there. Now, if possible. “I NOTICED!” He cried back, moving to full speed. “JUST KEEP FLYING UPWARDS!”

“I’M NOT GOING TO FLY DOWNWARDS, YOU SILLY GOOSE!”

The rumbling intensified further, almost to the point where the whole canyon seemed to screech and cry in agony as it cracked and crumbled and disintegrated, tearing itself apart under the relentless grinding coming from within its walls, it very skin, as though something was burrowing out of its stony skin...

“THIS...” Weatherstorm panted as another boulder ripped free from its home and barrelled past his ears in a blur of blackness, accompanied by what sounded like a bloodcurdling screech. “THIS IS NO EARTHQUAKE!”

They were about halfway to their destination when evil reared its ugly head, literally. They didn’t see their arrival, but they sure as heck heard it. Another screech, high pitched and otherworldly and chilling to the core, ripped through the ceaseless rumbling and crumbling and smashing of rock. Despite their obvious peril, the duo froze, their blood running cold as ice, like a touch of death. In the everlasting darkness all around them came screeches and screams and eerie unnatural shrieks, which peeled the walls and rock away to the bare skeletal foundations, hardy stone boulders falling to the ultimate might of nature’s ancient, unrelenting thu’um.

As parts of the cragged cliffside fell away, crumbling into dust which floated like spectres in the ghastly, ghostly gorge, Weatherstorm thought he saw something moving in the very bowels of the canyon walls. Something dark and slender, coiled like a snake.

“WHAT IS IT?” Derky cried out over the onslaught of noise, covering his ears to drown out as much of the grinding and animalistic screaming as he could. “WHAT DO YOU SEE?”

Through a mixture of their dark surroundings, falling boulders, and his lack of much needed spectacles, Weatherstorm could not get a good, clear look at what lurked in the darkest fathoms of the cracked canyon walls, but he saw the eyes; Twin pale, orange balls, hovering in the blackness. They turned to him, grew wide, and then he heard the rumbling once more as whatever it was moved off, away from view, obscured by cracked rock. The ground shuddered violently as it moved off, dragging itself away.

Seriously shaken, and not just by the quaking canyon, the journalist edged his way backwards and blindly bumped into his quiet companion. They exchanged an invisible glance, and had they seen each other’s faces, they would have seen faces locked in terror.

Despite the apocalyptic noise droning out any possibility of being heard, Derky’s voice dropped to a frightened whimper. “What do you think that is?”

Weatherstorm didn’t hear him, of course, but he still spoke, even if it was to himself. “That thing...” He found himself lost for words. “It was like a snake or... or SOMETHING.”

And then once more, the rumbling stopped and an unnatural, restless quiet resumed, and sucked the trembling equines into a vacuum of doubt and darkness.

“Let’s go, Weatherstorm,” Derky pleaded, tugging at what he thought was Weatherstorm’s hoof but was actually his mane. The journalist squealed out loud, more in squeamish shock than in actual pain.

“Would you kindly watch it?” He swiped at the thick and heavy air until his hoof brushed that of his companion’s to one side. “But I have to agree. Whatever lurks in these walls are hostile to our presence. They do not want us here, and I’m only too happy to oblige. Let us leave this place with haste.”

Derky wasn’t going to argue with that, and certainly not here. Upwards they flew, jumping at every noise that interrupted the still, awkward silence, from theplink of crumbling pebbles to the faded roars in the distance. To their surprise, however, they continued their ascent from darkness undisturbed, untouched, and with all of their limbs attached. When the thin veil of light grew ever closer, it peeled back some of the darkness and they saw the canyon rim rush to them, ushering their escape from this place. They saw the canopy once more, and most importantly, they could actually make out their own hooves in front of their faces. And, armed with the knowledge and security of their imminent, unscathed escape, they felt their mouths contort into dual celebrative grins.

Almost laughing, Derky paved the way forwards with his white, toothy smile which cut through the thinning darkness like a spotlight. “You know, I’m pretty surprised.”

The comment struck the other as slightly odd. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Well,” Derky explained, “I’m just surprised that it was so easy. I guess I expected to be attacked by some ravenase monster. It would have been more dramatic if we had to flee for our lives.”

Weatherstorm playfully nudged his pal. “Don’t say that!” He warned him. “You may just jinx us, and we most certainly do not want that!”

Just then they were attacked by a 'ravenase' monster. It burst from the rock with deafening force, obliterating the cliffside with its horrific features. It was unlike any other living creature Weatherstorm had seen, but even with his fleeting glance, he knew what his advisory was. Its face was all mouth, rows of sharp and gleaming teeth which hung like jagged icicles in its frosty cave. Its thin, Mohawk-like tuft of hair was tattered and matted, and its snout resembled that of a dragon’s, long and slender, with several spiked scales protruding from its jaw and waxy, jelly like skin stretched tight over its oddly proportioned skull.

Shrieking in surprise and in terror, the two stallions threw themselves against the back wall out of instinct, narrowly avoiding both the outwardly exploding debris and the monster’s foul mouth, from which came overwhelmingly vile fumes, like mouldy meat and rotting eggs. As the thing clamped shut around empty air, long and thin trails of shimmering saliva slathered down its slimy chin, other strands shooting off through gaps in the tightened fangs and hitting the surroundings with a wet slap.

The thing, eyes shut tight in satisfaction, slid its slick tongue across the back of its clamped-together teeth and along the roof of its grimy gums. Teeth, long and sharp and caked with filth, made the most horrible, almost metallic, sounds as they grinded together, jaw sliding effortlessly in wide, gruesome circles. But then the chomping slowed, and the monster realised that there was no ripping and rending of flesh and fur, and no cracking and crunching of chalky white bones, and that he was, in fact, chomping down on nothing but empty air and false victories. Startled by its lack of meal, the strange, slender being peeled its orange, bulbous eyes back open and saw, to what must have been dismay (that is, if such monstrosities are capable of feelings other than that of the need to feed) that its four legged prey were not in his mouth, but huddled against the back wall, wide eyed and unable to move, and still rather undigested. And this insolence made the beast furious.

The high pitched squeal which ripped the thing’s mouth back open into a fearsome snarl was enough to shake the colts to their senses. As they saw the large, snake like creature barrel towards them, teeth bared to clamp down on their flimsy furred bodies, they exchanged a quick, open mouthed stare and daftly dodged the train of teeth by millimetres. They wasted no time, flying as far and as fast as they could and didn’t look back least they see a long, winding, pillar of death behind them. Although they didn’t see it, they heard the beast crash into the side of the chasm where, moments earlier, they had been. The loud and thunderous crack was either the sound of the rock splitting or the sound of the creature’s teeth being violently torn from its blackened gums on impact, and for a moment, Derky almost felt sorry for the creature. That was, before he heard the terrifyingly murderous scream of rage which was so loud it felt as though the very planet shuddered in response. It was obvious that the creature was slightly miffed at missing his meal for a second time.

Wind streaming over their battered bodies as they made their escape through the gorge, Weatherstorm spoke up. “Do...” He panted after the near death experience, “Do you happen to know what that was? It was a...”

“...Quarray eel!” Derky finished his sentence for him. “I think! They live in deep, dark places, like cave networks or in the walls of gorges, with Ghastly Gorge being the largest known settlement. I guess that's where we are, now. They form colonies and are aggressive to anypony that come near their nests, but their diet just consists of...”

Even though they were fleeing for their lives, Weatherstorm was taken aback by Derky’s extensive knowledge of the Quarray eels. Everything he said was true, and this made the journalist wonder: how did his featherbrained companion know so much? The only reason that he himself knew anything about the species at all was because he once had to write an article about the rapidly multiplying numbers of the eels, and that was the first that he, like so many others living in Ponyville, had even heard of them. What was Derky’s excuse? He most certainly did not read the paper. “How...” The dumbfounded Pegasus stuttered, drifting over a falling boulder. “How the hay do you know such things?”

Derky shrugged but refused to take his eyes off the path ahead. “I like weird animals. I took a night class once.”

This surprised Weatherstorm. He’d known the ginger-maned stallion for as long as he could remember, and yet he began to wonder if he had really ever known him at all. He had always thought Derky a silly, carefree sort of fellow who took little notice to anything and had limited knowledge on the ways of life, and yet this wasn’t the case. For whilst Weatherstorm could attribute his lack of knowledge on the real Derky to the colt’s quiet temperament and general inwardness, he realised that he was just as much to blame. He’d never actually asked him anything about himself, he’d never pressed him for information, and Derky was the sort that withheld information until asked. No, instead of trying to learn more about his dearest friend through their childhood, all Weatherstorm was concerned about was trying to make his way through school, and it was then that the journalist realised how self centered he really was. He’d never asked him about his hobbies, his wants and needs, strengths and weaknesses, his future desires, fears or emotions. Perhaps he had just kept them all bottled up inside him to the point where he’d grown to keep his own company. And Weatherstorm felt guilt wash over him as he knew, back in the darkest fathoms of his self-orientated mind, that he had helped mould Derkington into what he was today; a shy and blissfully troubled soul.

“We’re almost to the top.” Derky Bell’s voice aided Weatherstorm’s mind back on the right track. He was right: the canyon was widening and the thin rays of light were drawing closer, like heavenly beacons guiding them to their destinations. They knew that their pursuer wasn’t directly behind them but somewhere in the walls, slithering over the hollowed stone, waiting for the chance to strike again and finish them. And so they flew and flew, upwards and upwards, fuelled with the primal desire to survive.

The second attack came quickly, but wasn’t unexpected. The huge, toothy mouth came hurtling from a dark, endless hole on in the left wall, jaws snapping perilously close to Derky’s tail. But it was avoided, and did little to slow the duo’s pace, and so the beast quietly shuffled backwards to into its pitch black abode.

They didn’t have time to celebrate as two more Quarray eels came sliding out of their holes, dripping with slime and sweaty, shimmering juices, teeth gnashing at the air. Again, these two adversaries were dodged but only just, Weatherstorm very nearly flying into the second eel’s agape mouth. As suspected, there was more than one of the monsters, and they seemed to have a high enough IQ to realise that attacking as a unit was more effective than, ‘Every eel for itself.’

And yet the Pegasi remained unfazed. They were so close to the top, so close to freedom they could smell it, and taste it, and touch it, and an electric tingle of adrenaline hung heavy in the shiftless air. Weatherstorm smiled as he heard roars of defeat behind him: despite their best group efforts, the eels had lost. They were most certainly going without dinner tonight, because these two little ponies were...

The last desperate attack was undeniably the most effective. They weren’t howling in defeat, they were howling orders like a group of organised Timberwolves. Launching itself from its hiding place within a narrow crevice in the rock wall, the first Quarray eel caught the blue-coated stallion by the wing, jagged knives for teeth ripping several of his feathers completely from his body with a victorious screech. The journalist’s smile faded at once and warped into a cry of pain as his ascent abruptly ended and he found himself veering off to the right against his will. This involuntary action cost him dearly, for a second Quarray eel, screeching like some wicked devil, lashed out and headbutted the shrieking Pegasus as he passed, sending him sprawling backwards to the back wall where yet another eel lay in wait. Catching its prey by the tail, the predator drank in the glistening fear from the pony’s blue eyes before it violently shook it to and fro like a cat with a mouse, enjoying every panicked scream that erupted from the journalist’s mouth. And when it had its fill of entertainment, it simply let go mid shake, and slammed the poor equine against the cold, hard rock. A burning pain shot up Weatherstorm’s side and along his mangled wing, but other than that, he felt nothing. Just a brief, fiery sensation, a loss of breath, and then complete numbness. He tried to fly, but his wings disobeyed him, and he found himself falling for the second time, and was powerless to prevent it. He thought he heard his friend yell something in the distance, but he suddenly felt rather... disinterested in the whole thing.

He hadn’t even the energy to scream.

He simply let gravity take him, falling to his doom as permanent darkness crept in around him.

Starfire didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious. It could have been only a few minutes, or half a day. To him, it seemed like he’d been out cold for less than a second. Lying on his back and staring up directly at the sky, he saw it was still night.

Obviously. The sun wasn’t going to be arriving any time soon.

It was strange, but the night sky was pitch black. No stars, no moon, nothing but utter, debilitating darkness. The unicorn coughed. How hard had he hit his head? He gingerly sat up and applied a shaking hoof to his forehead. All was well. No cuts, no bruises, no fractures. He let out a sigh of relief. He’d been lucky. Such a fall could have had serious consequences

And yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was... wrong. Different. Off. He felt around the back of his head. Again, he felt fine. He wasn’t bleeding and, as far as he was aware, there were no bruises or lumps.

Starfire tried to stand up, but found that he couldn’t move his hind legs. He tried again, harder this time, forcing his hind legs upwards, but stopped when a sharp stabbing pain, like a needle piercing his skin, tore along his hooves.

This troubled Starfire. His first thought was that he’d broken both of them, but he quickly ruled that theory out. After all, he wasn’t in severe pain but nor were his legs completely numb, and he could move them around a little. Rather, it was that they felt trapped under something, constricted, ensnared. Groaning in discomfort, the unicorn tried to sit completely upright, shuffling and shifting as much as he could, and managed to push himself into a semi upright position. Looking down at his hind legs, he saw that they had simply disappeared altogether, cutting off at the thigh, engulfed by the same shiftless darkness that surrounded him.

The stallion had a theory, and whilst he hoped that this was not the case, he decided he had no choice but to test it out.

Almost unwillingly, involuntarily, and with growing unease, he slowly rose an unsteady hoof above his head, reaching out to grab the still, night sky.

And to his dismay, he did. His hoof rubbed along the jagged, crumbling skyline, and he saw clumps of dark dirt and cracked stone fall to his touch. Starfire swallowed a scream as he realised the situation he was in: that wasn’t the night sky above him; he’d been buried alive.

As though he were rejecting the cold, hard truth, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and sat there in the silence, alone. Being a rational, level headed sort of fellow, he knew that panicking would get him nowhere. He’d panicked earlier and it took a quick slap across the chops by Cananor to get him thinking like a sane pony once more. Of course, Cananor and his magic hoof was not here to keep him in check and so he would have collect himself and think of a way out logically. Not too difficult for a stallion of his calibre, surely. He counted off his options.

Firstly, his legs were pinned and what appeared to be a jagged boulder edge was digging into his thigh. It wasn’t sharp enough to draw blood, but it did cause some pain when he tried to move his legs. And even if he could move his legs, he was still trapped under the debris of what was once the crumbling cliffside, buried under several tonnes of rock and dirt and boulders and who knows what else. He tried once more to push the blockage to one side but, to little surprise, it failed to budge even an inch. It looked like he was out of options: his only hope of freedom was levitating the obstructions away, starting with the debris on top of him and then freeing his hind legs, which felt strangely light and tingly with a either a lack of movement or a lack of blood circulation. Either way, the sooner he was free, the better.

The unicorn took a moment to mentally prepare himself. Without proper knowledge of how much debris of varying weight was piled on top of him, there was a chance that he could run the risk of accidently dropping the load on his back onto his head, which would certainly not be a recommended action on his own wellbeing. That was, if he even managed to lift whatever was piled on top of him like a stack of bricks in the first place: although his magical ability was stronger than that of most unicorns, he was still only one pony. Even moving the debris an inch would likely require all of his willpower, and very little of his willpower remained after the casting of his last spell. Still, he had to try. He knew the odds were stacked against him, but he was out of options and would soon be out of time. He had to act.

Levitating spells were not the hardest spells to master, but they required considerable concentration, even when levitating something as small as a pebble. Of course, Starfire was to lift more than a mere pebble, and so he would be required to devote his remaining willpower, and then some.

Sighing, the unicorn realised he was stalling for time. Perhaps he was just delaying the inevitable. Perhaps he would simply...

He realised he was stalling again. He took one last deep breath to mentally prepare himself and then began.

Or at least, he tried to.

For there was no tingling in his horn, nor was there a light and wispy feeling in the pit of his stomach, and there was certainly no flash of blue magical aura. In fact, nothing happened at all.

At first, Starfire wasn’t sure what to think or how to feel, for he felt nothing. And this is what struck him as strange. He tried again. And again. Again and again and again but alas, there was no change.

He began to panic, just a little. A cold sweat fell over his body like a blanket. Never in his life had he experienced such phenomenon. A chilling shiver washed over him. Something was dreadfully wrong here. Something was dreadfully, dreadfully wrong.

Almost unable to control his wildly quivering forelegs, his hoof brushed across his scraggly mane of hair and to where his horn resided, proudly jutting above the golden locks like a mage’s tower.

Where his horn should have resided, that is. When his hoof brushed over empty air, Starfire’s expression turned from sceptical satisfaction to outright fear. He felt for his hoof again, and once more, his search revealed nothing.

The student felt all the colour drain from his face as a million thoughts flooded his mind at once. Had his fall been worse than he had imagined? Had he broken it? Had it snapped off altogether? The very thought made him feel physically sick.

Maybe he was hallucinating. It was a long fall, after all. Maybe he was still asleep. Sweating profusely, he gave himself a sharp, quick slap across the cheek. The pain confirmed his worst nightmares: he was very much awake, and his horn was very much gone. Face twisted in horror and confusion, he did the only thing he could do in such a situation.

He screamed.

He screamed until his chest ached and his eyes bulged and his lungs turned as blue as his face, which was very, very blue indeed. And yet, as he screamed and cried, he heard movement. At first it was faint and distant, but even over the ear splitting, echoing cries of horror, he heard it. Hooves, squelching along what sounded like muck, each step creating a disgusting, gloopy sucking plop. At that moment, Starfire didn’t care whether what lay beyond his prison was friend or foe. He needed to get out before he screamed, or suffocated, to death in darkness.

“H-HELLO?” He yelled at the top of his voice, throat raw and croaking. “IS THERE... IS THERE SOMEPONY THERE?”

He waited a few seconds for a response. When it came, it was muffled and distorted, but he still managed to make out both the words and their purveyor. “Hello? Who’s there?”

“C-CANANOR?” He stumbled through the name. “IS THAT YOU?”

The response was quicker this time, and sounded far closer than before. “Starfire?” Then he heard a throaty, hacking cough, before he spoke again. “Are you there, Starfire?”

“YES!” The ensnared unicorn screamed, wincing as his voice echoed in the enclosed environment and rebounded into his ears. He toned his voice down before continuing. “I’m here!”

Silence for a moment, then, “Where?”

The student wasn’t so sure himself. All he could see was black and more black, with some added black on black just to spice things up. “I’m... well, I’m here. Just follow my voice! Some rubble fell on top of me!”

“Alright,” came the reply, “You’re probably under that big pile of rubble over there then.” Hoofsteps grew louder and louder until they stopped, right beside him.

“That would be likely, yes.” Starfire shifted uncomfortably as he heard a few rocks above him plink to the ground. Then he blurted, “How are you oky?”

The clinking and the clanking of rubble stopped, and all was quiet. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

But then a loud, fatigued groan ripped his apology apart, then came a thud as what was likely a heavy stone slab was dropped to the ground, and Cananor replied, “Because I’m made of tough stuff, that’s why. Well, that, and I landed in the water by some miracle.”

“Water?” The other unicorn inquired. He couldn’t exactly see any water, but this could be attributed to the fact he could see literally nothing. “Where did you say we were again?”

“From the looks of it, that former cliff was overlooking Froggy Bottom Bog.” There was another pause as another grunt of effort escaped Cananor’s fictitious lips, cutting along the stone with an invisible sabre. The thud which followed shook the ground like an earthquake. “This is heavy lifting. Can you give me a hoof, here?”

“How?” Called back the scholar. “There isn’t much I can do in my current position.”

“Use some of that fancy magic of yours.”

“I, uh...” Starfire stammered, “I think I broke my horn or something.”

He didn’t see Cananor’s face, but he could tell he was wincing. “Just push up or something.” He spoke softly but directly.

Starfire did and, with a group effort, another large chunk of crumbling debris was lifted, and a tiny shaft of beautiful silky moonlight came pouring down onto Starfire’s eager face. Dripping with its milky goodness, Starfire gulped it down, taking in huge mouthfuls of the pungent air until his cheeks bulged. Gasping with glee, he spluttered, “It’s good to be able to breathe, even if my ribs are being crushed and the air has a rotten odour.”

He heard a light, willowy chuckle float through the crack in the debris. “That’s Froggy Bottom Bog, all right,” Cananor said, coughing once more to clear whatever it was that made his voice sound a few octaves lighter than it should have. “It stinks. Always has. I used to hike here before the forest overgrew the place, back when it was safe. My dad and I...” He stopped abruptly. “It’s dangerous here now, maybe even more so than the forest itself. The sooner we get you out of here...” He coughed again.

He continued his work in silence, carefully removing each rock and clump of hardened soil at a time. Starfire was unsure of what to say. The lawyer certainly didn’t want to talk about his father, but he’d been so subconsciously open about their past relations not a few hours ago. Clearly, it was a touchy subject, and one he would choose to only reminisce on when it suited him.

After what seemed like decades of constant, strenuous work, Starfire felt the immense weight being lifted from his body and he could move his hooves once more. Then the rocky roof peeled away, sliding away into oblivion and Starfire saw the night sky once more, the stars above welcoming his return to their domain. However, the reunion with the cosmos could wait, for an urgent question needed answering post-haste.

The figure of Cananor, concealed in the shadows of the great spire from whence they fell, took a step back and wiped his dripping brow. Removing all that rubble had seriously taken every ounce of his energy, and then some.

Bolting upright, Starfire asked, “How...”

The question was to be, when properly asked, “How badly mangled is my horn?” However, nothing could have prepared him for what he saw when Cananor took another step back and was caught in the full, revealing glow of the radiant moon.

“Guh... uh...” Stammered Starfire, pointing one shivering hoof towards Cananor.

“Uh... guh...” Stuttered Cananor, stretching one quaking foreleg towards Starfire.

“You...”

“Your...”

“I...”

“Um...”

They exchanged startled glances for quite a length of time, their dilated pupils trying to take in the bizarre images that stood before them.

Then they ran.

Starfire reached the water first, throwing himself down at the edge of the pool, thick blackish mud splashing across his body and matting his chest fur with a sickening squelch. Nearly toppling headfirst into the greenish, murky depths of the shimmering pond he saw, through all the grime and dirt, his own terrified reflection staring back at him.

“My... MY HORN!” Is all he could muster.

“Never mind your horn!” Cananor threw himself down beside his not-so-unicorn comrade. He squealed so intensely when he saw his own reflection that the very earth cringed.

“I’M A MARE!”