“I’M A MARE!” Cananor spluttered out in a strangely high pitched, feminine voice. He didn’t seem to notice, his pale unblinking eyes wide eyed and staring at the pool of water, and the carbon copy reflection returned the stare. Cananor was, indeed, somehow a member of the opposite sex, with puffy pampered cheeks, slender hips, long, unfurling eyelashes, the whole works.

Starfire wasn’t in much of a better state. He remained frozen in a stunned silence, swaying dangerously close to the water’s edge, frantically rubbing his hoof along the top of his head, swatting at where his horn used to be. “H-how...” he mumbled, unable to actually formulate a proper sentence.

Cananor grabbed him gruffly by the shoulders and spun him around to face her, yet the layer’s hooves were soft and tender, and felt velvety to the touch. “I’M. A. MARE.” She spoke slowly and deliberately, shaking his comrade back and forth, but his squeaky voice just made him sound comical. Not that Starfire was laughing.

The student teacher tumbled backwards with an ‘oof.’ He stared, wide eyed, at the former stallion. “At least...” he wheezed, still dazed, “You still have your horn.”

The mare guffawed at this, throwing back her head and letting out a most unladylike, maniacal laugh. “My horn? My horn? What good is my horn when I’ve lost all of my dignity? Lost my dignity, and.... and something...” She blushed, her cheeks reddening. “Something else as well, if you know what I mean.”

Starfire scrambled to his hooves, and the world seemed to dance and sway around him as though he was intoxicated. The trees in the distance stretched to unnatural proportions and the swamp water seemed to droop downwards, and the dark sky bent into a dome like curve. He staggered, holding out a violently quivering hoof to steady himself, and his shot nerves. “No,” he whispered, his words catching in his throat. “I don’t know what you mean. But we...”

“I MEAN MY BEAUTIFUL MANE!” The mare bellowed, interrupting her friend. “LOOK!” She screeched, her voice cracking under the strain of the scream. “LOOK AT THIS ABONINATION!” She wrapped a hoof around the long aqua green stands of hair which hung lazily over her eyes, and drifted silently across her face in an unfashionable bouffant. “HOW CAN I PROVE TO MY DAD THAT I’M A TRUE STALLION IF I LOOK LIKE THIS! HOW CAN I PROVE I’M A STALLION IF I’M NOT A STALLION!?”

“I don’t KNOW ALREADY!” Snapped Starfire, suddenly finding his voice and angrily shoving his companion aside. “But my horn is gone. So shut the heck up for once and help me find my GOSH DARNED HORN!” With that, he span around, stumbling over muck as he did so, and began to paw frantically at the mound of debris that he had crawled from like a newborn babe not minutes earlier.

Cananor frowned at this, her pretty little feminine features contorted in hate. “YOU STUPID IDIOT,” She yelled, spittle slathering her fur. “YOU DIDN’T BREAK YOUR HORN OFF IN A FALL, AND I DIDN’T CHANGE GENDER IN NO FALL EITHER! SO QUIT BEING A MORON. AND I HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO YELL, SO DON’T YOU DARE TELL ME TO SHUT UP!”

Starfire lashed out so quickly that Cananor had very little time to react, and the next minute she was sprawled on his back, and Starfire was on top of her. “JUST BE QUIET!” The former unicorn snarled as they tumbled over the muddy landscape, dirt and grime clinging to their fur like insects. Despite the attack taking the beige coated mare by surprise, she managed to hold her own against the stallion, their hooves locked in a deadly wrestle. The lawyer managed to grab a clump of Starfire’s scraggly mane as they tumbled and turned, and began to tug at it violently. The hornless one screeched and fell away, and then Cananor was on top of him, delivering blow after blow to the soft flesh of his stomach.

“This is all your fault!” Cananor hissed, venom seeping through her tight lipped frown. “We’re doomed and it’s all your fault!”

“My fault?” The studious stallion spat as they bounced off of a boulder, locked in union. “How is this my fault? You’re the one that got us into this mess in the first place!” They lay by the waterside now, and unbeknownst to them, something was stirring within.

Despite her sleeker physique, Cananor still sat atop the overpowered stallion, repeatedly dunking his head under the grimy green-blue lake.

“S-stop!” Starfire managed to splutter in-between dunks. “Stop it!”

Cananor shook her victim’s head about harder. “No! Make me!”

It wasn’t Starfire that made the mare cease her relentless counter attack. They heard it at once, the same rumbling that sounded just before the cliff collapsed. They both instinctively looked up, almost anticipating a section of the cliff to come crumbling down and smother them both in a stony tomb of debris and dirt. However, it did not.

The rumbling seemed to be coming from beneath their hooves, from under the very ground itself. They both lay there, one on top of the other, mystified as the murky swamp water began to bubble, dirty brown bubbles shimmering on the surface and then bursting with an almighty pop. When the bubbles burst, they sent a thick, gooey, rust coloured gloop shot out in all directions; it splattered the grass and splashed across the vines and, to their dismay, splotched over the two onlookers themselves.

“Eugh!” Cried Cananor disgustedly, slime dripping from her hair. Starfire wiped the goo from his eyes and watched the boiling hot steam rise from the pool, and then the water shook and shuddered like a thing alive. The smell that the erupting bubbles released was vile, like rotten eggs mixed with decay and filth. It floated over the duo, cloaking them in a haunting, odorous cloak of green stench, so thick and heavy that it stole the air away and blotted out the moon and stars.

Starfire tried to clamber to his hooves, choking on the thick green aura, but found he couldn’t move, Cananor still sitting atop his torso and preventing further movement. The attorney herself was gasping for air and making unnatural gagging sounds, doing her best to force down the vomit which was working its way up her throat. Starfire hoped dearly that she would: he did not wish to leave this world with his face dripping with Cananor’s stomach contents.

Through teary eyes, Cananor saw the water begin to shift and part. Then, through the sickening mist, an island rose up through the lake, water dripping from the edges and dark green lily-pads decorating the light brown dirt. Then another island rose, and another, and another, all beside each other, tearing up from the riverbed with a shuddering quake.

The onlookers watched with a mystified dismay as the islands rose up from the water, higher and higher and higher, each one supported by a thick, trunk-like stalk, grimy light brown and shimmering with thousands of slimy, snake-like scales. And then each one opened their eyes, sickly, poisonous green ovals amongst the crumbling dirt. A thin line tore through the embankments, parting the living soil, and opened wide, revealing four wildly flopping forked, serpent-like tongues, and four equally deadly rows of malicious teeth. It was clear that these were no islands.

“Hydra!” Bellowed Cananor as she threw herself off of Starfire’s chest, stumbling over her hooves like a newborn, and then she was off in the distance.

Starfire tried to move but found that he couldn’t, simply frozen, paralysed with fear as the four-headed monstrosity towered over him, the remnants of the swamp water rushing off of its gnarled, hateful features. Three of the creature’s heads watched, narrow slits for eyes, as Cananor galloped away, her shrill screams trailing behind her. The fourth however, completely identical in appearance to its snarling brethren, peered down and saw, to its delight, a more stationary meal. Its cruel lips stretched into a sly grin as it nudged the others and they too looked down, and smiled at their shivering prey, licking their lips with evil intent.

Lying on his back, Starfire willed himself to move, but found he couldn’t move a muscle but for his eyes. They were drawn to the four pairs staring back at him, eight glimmering emeralds, hungrily devouring him in their minds. That was, if such a creature had separate minds.

‘Get up,’ Starfire barked the order to his brain, which was less than co-operative. ‘Get up, darn you!’

Four hideous faces edged closer, slowly and delicately, taking their time with their immobile prey. He felt a rush of hot, rancid air wash over him from the flaring nostrils, and their heavy, excited breathing made him gag. Yellowed fangs nipped at the air above him, closing in, encircling him like twisting snakes. They wanted to tease him, toy with him; make him suffer in his last living seconds.

Finally, after what seemed like painful hours, one of the Hyrda’s hissing heads, a little longer in face than the others, grew tired of taunting his prey and straightened upwards, rising to impossible heights with a terrible roar which shook the scraggly, decaying teeth in its gums, and delivered the killing blow.

Starfire was running down the slippery terrain at record speed. He couldn’t recall mustering up the energy to move. He’d simply seen the quadruple pairs of frightening fangs barrelling towards him, ready to rip him to shreds, and then he was on his hooves and running. Starfire silently thanked Celestia that his survival instinct, the very raw, primal, animalistic desire to survive that dwelled in every equine had awoken and urged him forward, else he’d likely be doing little else than digesting in four separate stomachs.

He heard a booming cry of anguish and anger behind him, and then the mud and the dirt and the distant trees shook like in an earthquake, and the scholar knew that the Hydra wasn’t going to be giving up on its dinner that easily. He dared not look back, but neither did he need to. The Hydra was raising up from the water like the creature from the brown lagoon, rising and twisting and slithering upwards, taking one shuddering step onto dry land, and then another, and each step violently shook the world and all those who inhabited it.

Panting as he squelched through the thickening gloop, Starfire felt the vibrations of every lumbering step send a shudder up his hooves, and churned his stomach. Between the worsening stench and his shuddering organs, the pale faced stallion barely managed to keep his rising sick down.

The footsteps quickened, their owners finding their balance once more after years of underwater dormancy. The beast travelled a great distance with every step it took, and quickly closed the gap between it and its prey. Starfire could feel the eerie green eyes burn into the back of his skull as the Hydra approached, and hoped that he wouldn’t be crushed by those gigantic, clawed feet.

Whilst the Hydra’s pace was quickening, Starfire’s was slowing down drastically. The wet, glistening mud was becoming thicker by the second, and the stallion found himself slowing to a literal crawl, taking huge, exaggerated, trudging steps, accompanied by a sickening plop. His hooves were encrusted with slick, sloppy mush.

Desperately trying to escape his pursuer, Starfire managed to skid to a grindingly sticky stop and throw himself in the opposite direction, stumbling through the monster’s towering legs , catching his hunter off guard. The four heads swivelled around at an unnatural angle, ducking under its fat, quivering torso, watching their upside down prey slither away. One of the heads, the gaunt faced fellow, pulled a comically bewildered face, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue, but the others screeched in rage.

Despite his literal sticky situation, Starfire smiled as he plodded off. Big and powerful they may be, but agile, Hydras were not.

However, the student forgot to take into consideration the beast’s flexibility. His smug simper contorted with fear when he turned and saw the four scaly heads, still wrapped underneath its slimy stomach, shoot through the gap under its legs in one final, desperate attempt to eat.

The quadruplet snake heads lashed out at a surprising speed, screaming out some twisted, wordless war cry. The manoeuvre caught Starfire off guard and down he went, tumbling over his own shattered confidence, with a gurgling gasp.

The muck poured up his nose and sloshed into his ears, and smothered his body like silicone cast. As he wiped the vision obscuring mud from his eyes and struggled to free himself of the thick, debilitating goo that embraced his body in a cradle of death, he saw Cananor in the distance, standing at the edge of the woods watching the whole horrific scene play out with a vacant stare.

“Help!” Starfire gurgled as the sickening brown paste invaded his mouth. He thrashed frantically with his forelegs, doing all he could to keep above the surface, but the mud was pulling him down like quicksand. He desperately waved to his companion. “Cananor! Hel...” He coughed up another thick glob of muck. “Help me!”

He could tell by the expression that Cananor wore that she didn’t exactly know what to do. She started forward, taking one step back towards the swamp and out from between the trees she stood at, then another, but stopped when she heard the approaching hiss of the hungry Hydra. After hopping from one hoof to the other, weighing out her options, she gave Starfire a sad, apologetic frown that said, ‘Don’t hate me,’ shrugged her shoulders, and melded back into the forest, hiding in the darkness between the tree trunks. Starfire was on his own.

It wasn’t sadness that the gesture provoked, nor was it regret that the stallion felt as the quicksand-like substance pulled him further downwards. No, what Starfire felt rising from the pit of his gut like a fiery inferno was pure, unbridled fury. It burnt through him at an alarming rate, enflaming every fibre of his being as he sank further and further under the stinking, bubbling mud.

Even from where she was standing, Cananor felt Starfire’s eyes peel back the darkness that concealed her, and as he looked right into her ice-blue eyes, she saw that they were aflame with hatred and detest. And, despite the distance between them, she trembled in fear, and turned away. Although she couldn’t help, she had no desire to witness her once-friend meet such a sticky demise. She had to think of something. Anything. And fast.

Starfire managed to sputter out one last string of garbled nonsense before his head went completely under, and all was still.

The Hydra’s heads came to a skidding stop by the mud puddle, which had just consumed their food whole. Three of the heads, after watching the last strands of the blond mane slip below the slimy brown-black mixture, frowned and bared their dark gummed snarls, but did nothing, for there was nothing left to do. Even they wouldn’t dare delve below the depths of the sticky, mucus like muck, for they knew that such a substance was near impossible for any living creature to return from. With a collective weary sigh, they began to float back to their single stationary body, defeated and hungry. The second, however, did not give up on its prey so easily. Longer in face and fewer in brains than its brethren, it gave the murky slime a confused yet distantly vacant cross eyed glare, tongue flapping wildly below its gaping jaw, sending droplets of spittle plopping into the dark substance below. Its food was down there, waiting for it. All it had to do was find it.

The others stopped when they heard the soft splurge. They didn’t have to turn to piece together what had happened. This wasn’t the first time head number two had done something particularly dim-witted, and it sure wasn’t going to be the last. They rolled their oval eyes in unison, and turned back to help their undoubtedly incapacitated friend.

Sure enough, the second head was well and truly stuck under the bubbling mud, its long, scaly neck wiggling to and fro blindly. The others sighed. This looked like a group effort. And so, with a shared strained grunt, they began to heave, commanding their legs to pull, skidding wildly over the knee ankle deep water below.

What they didn’t expect, however, was for the pony they had presumed lost to the swamp to come exploding from its earthly tomb with a scream so terrifying that it froze their blood in their veins, and they were already cold blooded. Thick, black soil clung to its form like a cape, and dripped in vigorous chunks from his mane, and spewed from his open mouth, twisted with both anger and determination. Quick as a flash, the stallion bolted up the thrashing neck, scaling the slithering green snake with surprising speed. Digging his hooves in-between the flaky scales like the crevices in a rock face, he hoisted himself agilely out of the mud, where their comrades’ head was still well and truly cemented.

Head number four was first to react. Enraged both at the stallion’s lack of giving up and its brother’s lack of common sense, it gave a hiss of a cry and charged forward with incredible speed, flashing its razor pointed fangs. However, the attack just didn’t come fast enough and Starfire, little more than a dark blue blur, dodged the assault with a gazelle-like leap, blonde hair sweeping elegantly past his stern features. When the fanged lunge landed, Starfire was no longer present and the vicious incisors dug deep into the trapped head’s thick neck, piercing the rock hard scales and slimy skin.

Landing on solid ground once more with an audible grunt, Starfire leapt off without pause, only briefly hearing the almost metallic prang as teeth collided with scale, and then the desperate mumbled strain as the assaulter tried to pull his fangs free, to no avail. ‘Glad you found something to sink your teeth into.’ The stallion’s blank expression did not fade. ‘Have fun getting out of THAT,’ he thought coldly.

Head number three’s face contorted with anger. Its dark cheeks blushed as he watched its two brothers struggle uselessly, making fools of themselves as usual. The beast was, admittedly, fairly hot headed, perhaps even more so than head number four, and watching its significant others flail around in the mud like idiots irked it to no end. With a guttural roar, it gave pursuit, and head number one reluctantly followed with a weary sigh. Frothing at the lips, the third head grunted as it struggled to keep up with the galloping equine’s surprising speed and agility, a stallion which was clearing obstructions with nary a thought and gliding over the stinking mud puddles like a spectre. It had been many years since a pony had wandered into their abode, but never before had its prey been so tiresome to catch. It was time to end this little charade, once and for all.

Shuttling along at a speed that nearly matched that of the stallion’s, the head dipped and skimmed along the thinning pools of dull brown water. Flashing its deadly teeth it dived forward and snapped its powerful jaw shut, just narrowly missing the pony’s bouncing tail by centimetres. It took another moment to calculate the next attack; this time, it wouldn’t miss, of that much it was sure. The stallion was now approaching a large, fallen tree trunk, lying on one battered side, growing at an odd, curved angle from the lilly-pad adorned waters. Moss and webs clung to the bark like parasites. Head number three gave an evil, toothy smile. Being over three times the pony’s size, there was no way that it could clear the obstruction with a single bound, and both clambering up and over, or bypassing the obstruction through the surrounding deeper waters, would cause the stallion to slow almost to a halt. And then, dinner would be served.

It should have thought before it acted, but unfortunately, overconfidence blinded it and made it its own fool. The pony did in fact not slow down, rather it, by some strange supernatural ability, sped up. Then, just before the stallion’s muzzle connected with the gruff, flaky wood, it dropped to its belly and slid under the low-lying trunk, slipping through the gap with the ease, grace and elegance of a dancer. And then it was up and running on the other side, making a beeline for the thick growth of trees beyond. The Hydra’s head, however, was less successful. Not wanting to take its bulging eyes off of its meals-on-hooves, it too dove under the collapsed trunk, which was a rather poor move on its part. At least it had plenty of time to reflect on its poor decision making whilst stuck, neck fat wedged in-between the cracks in the bark. It watched, with a face as sour as curdled milk, as its prey sprinted off into the distance.

Head number one floated hastily past its immobile other, and gave a sigh. It defiantly saw a trend emerging here, and wanted no part in it. Managing to close the gap left by its less-than-able companion, head number one gave one quick glance backwards and opened its mouth in a loud screech, almost as though telling head number three, ‘I’m going to get this guy.’ However, unlike head number three, it should not have taken its eyes off of the equine and, as it turned back to where it was going, it found that the line of trees signifying the rim of the Everfree Forest had crept up on it somewhat. The next thing it knew, wood splinters were jabbing into the soft flesh under its chin and all around was the sound of cracking and exploding, and suddenly it was on the other side of the tree trunk, having just blasted through it with the full frontal force of its face. It saw the stallion grow fainter and fainter into the distance, and didn’t even bother trying to follow, for it knew too well that it was well and truly stuck through the trunk of a tree, as was popular around these parts. Somewhere behind it, came the defeated call of head number three, and it returned the call.

Starfire waited until the mournful cries faded away into nothingness before he slowed to a stop.

Leaning against a tree and panting heavily, he spat out a long glob of shivering saliva. The spittle drooped like a raindrop, speckled white bubbles popping as it began its descent to the ground. It hit the soft, green grass with a sizzling squelch.

Starfire casually wiped his mouth with the back of his hoof, and snorted. He saw the rustling in the bush; he wasn’t blind, nor was he stupid, but he simply needed a moment to catch his breath.

The activity in the bush subsided, and Starfire considered his breath caught. With a grunt, he lashed out, throwing himself through the hedge and sprawling into none other than Cananor Acapella. The mare choked out a scream as Starfire’s hooves clasped around her throat.

“C-careful!” Cananor barely spluttered out, gasping for air. “I’m surprisingly delicate!”

Starfire shook the mare by her slender shoulders. “What in the hay is wrong with you?” He hissed into her cringing features.

Cananor turned her head and opened her mouth in a silent cry for help. Starfire saw the yelp rising in his friend’s throat and clamped her mouth closed. He leaned in close to her face. “Would you shut it?” He whispered, not aggressively, but assertively. “Need I remind you that there are horrible, horrible things out there? Things that are attracted by loud sounds, and would like nothing better than to remove our limbs from our bodies, one by one?”

Cananor swallowed her cry, and Starfire released his tight grip. Cananor clambered to her hooves, and brushed off the errant leaves from her fur. Her eyes were locked to the forest floor.

Starfire, his lips still twitching with rage, grabbed the unicorn gruffly by the reddening cheeks, and forced her head upwards. “What is wrong with you?” He demanded an answer. “Were you just going to let me get eaten, or...?”

His voice trailed off when he saw the tears welling up in the mare’s ice-blue eyes. Wet and warm, they flowed freely down her sniffling nose, and landed at Starfire’s hooves. For the longest time, nopony moved, nopony spoke, and the forest was quieter than either of them had ever heard before.

Cananor pulled herself away from Starfire, his hoof leaving a quickly darkening impression on her face. She turned, pride hurt, and began to canter off into the deeper depths of the forest, not entirely sure which direction she was heading and not entirely caring.

Starfire was amazed, and stood in silence. Cananor didn’t strike him as the sort of stallion, or mare rather, who cried often. He, or rather she, seemed far too boisterous, too carefree, too... HAPPY to let emotions get the better of them. But what Starfire was now dealing with was, in effect, a female, and it took him longer than it should have to realise that. The stallion, short of breath, looked down at his trembling forelegs, and suddenly, he felt guilt rush over him. He would never have dared treat a lady, or anypony for that matter, in such a manner, and yet he had. The anger drained from his body instantaneously, and the fire in his eyes extinguished at once. He felt dizzy, and tired, and sore, and at that moment he wanted to be back at home in Fillydelphia with his parents.

“Cananor,” He called meekly after her, nearly toppling as he stretched out his hoof. His voice shook, but he failed to notice. “I’m...” Words eluded him. In the situations when he needed them most, they always did. “Cananor, I’m sorry.”

The unicorn didn’t turn, but she stopped dead. “You have no idea,” she spoke softly, barely above a whisper. “What it’s like to be me. My father, my friends...”

Starfire took a few hesitant steps towards her. He struggled to find the correct words. “I know.” He placed a hoof gently on her shuddering shoulder.

Cananor would have laughed at the clichéd-ness of the situation. But she was in no mood for jokes. “No,” she slapped the gesture away, choking on her own self pity. “You don’t. I can’t keep pretending I’m something I’m not. I’m no comedian, no lawyer, no hero, and I’m sure as heck no stallion. You ask what’s wrong with me? Why I didn’t stop to help?” Fresh tears welling, she span around on the spot. “Because I was SCARED, Starfire. I was going to TRY, Starfire, something, anything, but I’m just... I’m scared. Of everything, I guess. Of this place, and myself...” She swallowed, hard, and gaze him a distantly worried gaze. “And you. You lashed out at me. You’re violent. A PSYCHO. You expect me to risk my life for somepony like that?” Her tone was harsh, and her words cut to the bone. Starfire winced. “And I doubt you’d sacrifice your life to save ME.”

“Uh... I...”

“Forget it,” snapped the mare. “Let’s just go. The sooner we leave, the sooner you can go back to Fillydelphia and we’ll all be a lot happier.”

Cananor drifted through the shrubbery, and Starfire felt lonelier than he’d ever felt before.

“I’ll go gather some firewood.” Starfire announced, sounding not nearly as optimistically cheery as he might have hoped. He stood amongst the surrounding trees at the edge of the miniature clearing, looking back at their makeshift campsite. He hesitated for a moment, before adding, “Want to come with?”

“No.” Cananor responded, sharply. Her brow was furrowed over her dark, brooding face. She sat on a solitary log, long and hollowed, with both her forelegs and hind legs folded tightly and bundled against her body.

Starfire was silent for a moment, before finally turning away from the camp and the silent spectator. “Shout if you run into any bother. I won’t be far.”

The mare mumbled some incoherent response. She didn’t look up, eyes glued to the forest floor, at the decaying leaf litter and miniscule insect life that inhabited it. She waited until she heard the sigh, and the hoof steps crunch off in the opposite direction before looking up, straggly mane of hair willowing across her darting, bloodshot eyes. Alas, she was alone.

With a small, dissatisfied grunt, she lay down flat upon the fallen trunk and stretched across the surface, peering up at the shifting canopy concealing the shiftless sky. Of course, alone time was something of a rarity for Cananor as of late, and it wasn’t long before the familiar voice floated into her subconscious.

“YOU SHOULD APOLOGISE, YOU KNOW!”

The sudden appearance didn’t surprise Cananor. She casually turned her head to the right and found the Griffon of Justice in all his imaginary glory, copying her lounged stance in the trees above. The ace attorney was crunching noisily into a rosy red apple, plucked from some unknown tree, showering the mare below with saliva and strips of apple skin.

Cananor rolled her ice blue eyes and swished her aqua blue mane. “Where in all of Equestria have you been?”

Phoenix Flight noisily licked his lips with a flick of his tongue. “OH, I WAS THERE ALL ALONG!” He grinned, specs of red dotting his perfect teeth. “YOU JUST DIDN’T NEED ME!”

With a strained groan, Cananor sat up, leaning against one of the spiralling, broken branches for support. The griffon certainly was cryptic at the best of times. “And who says I need you now?”

Phoenix laughed wholeheartedly. “YOU DO, IDIOT!”

“Really?” Cananor scoffed. “And why would that be, pray tell?”

“BECAUSE YOU SHOULD APOLOGISE TO STARFIRE!”

“So you’ve said,” The mare replied dryly. “But that’s where you’re wrong. You see, I’ve nothing to apologise for.”

“IS THAT SO?” The griffon narrowed his eagle eyes and tightened his beak, letting the apple core fall loosely from his clawed grip. As fast as lightning, he swooped down low and landed perfectly by the unicorn’s side.

Taking in the full form of the griffon with a gentle bat of her curled eyelashes, Cananor nodded. “Yep.”

Her defiance was met with hostility. As she cradled her bruised, reddening cheek, she scowled and rose her head, wiping away the lose strands of mane that clung to her forehead. “You jerk.” She spat. “You just slapped a lady. Have you no honour?”

“WELL, I’M YOUR CONSCIENCE, SO I CAN SLAP YOU WHENEVER I DARNED WELL PLEASE, REGARDLESS OF GENDER!” Howled the suited griffon. “BUT YOU GOT ONE THING WRONG: YOU’RE NOT A LADY, YOU'RE A COWARD!”

Cananor said nothing, but her jaw hung open like a barn door.

Phoenix read her body language like Cananor read the comics which spawned him. “I DON’T JUST MEAN ON THE OUTSIDE,” Said the illustrated hero, “BUT ON THE INSIDE!” He pointed to his own chest.

The mare smirked at how clichéd that sounded. She lay back down upon the log and closed her eyes, turning to one side. “Yeah, yeah.”

Mr Flight frowned at the lack of attention he was getting. With a swift flourish of movement, he scooped a wing under her body and flipped her onto her back once more.

Sighing, Cananor peered at the attorney with one open eye. She knew that he would not rest until he’d had his say. “Why do you keep bothering me?”

Shrugging, Phoenix replied, “BECAUSE YOU KEEP IMAGINING ME!”

Cananor sat upright and gestured with her hoof. “Well, go on then. Say what you want to say and then leave me be. I want to be alone.”

“I SWEAR, IT’S HARD TO HELP A PONY THAT REFUSES TO HELP HIMSELF! YOU NEED TO STOP FEELING SO SORRY FOR YOURSELF AND BE A MAN!”

The student to this lecturer observed quietly, only half listening.

“JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE A MARE, DOESN’T MAKE YOU ANY LESS A STALLION! BUT I SAW NO STALLION, NOR A MARE, WHEN YOU RAN TO SAVE YOURSELF, AND LEFT YOUR FRIEND BEHIND! THERE WAS NO JUSTICE THERE! NO SENSE OF RIGHT AND WRONG! I SAW NOT A PONY, BUT A COWARD!”

The unicorn sighed. “He isn’t my friend. Not anymore. He lashed out at me, Phoenix. He pretends that he acts with the wellbeing of Equestria in his heart, but all he cares for is himself.” Her eyes drifted away from the half lion, half eagle. “And I actually fell for it.”

When her eyes finally found Phoenix once more, both his claws were outstretched threateningly. The mare squealed and cringed, awaiting the double blow which would likely smash across both her battered cheeks and send her spiralling from her perch. However, quite the opposite happened.

Surprisingly, Phoenix threw his arms not at her, but around her, drawing her into a powerful hug. His body felt frighteningly real, for a figment of her imagination. Phoenix’s hard features softened, and a hint of warmth flowed from his cold, beady eyes. As the mare melted into the hug, he leaned close to her ear and whispered, actually whispered for the first time,

“Even the manliest of stallions need to be shown a little affection every now and again.” Then he pulled away and smiled down at her in all his radiant glory.

It took Cananor literal minutes before she found her voice once more. “T-thank you.”

“It’s okay to feel afraid, Cananor.” Cooed the bird. “Everypony gets scared, and anypony who says that they don’t is a liar and a fool. Even I was scared when I had to tackle my first case. You remember, don’t you? I believe issue #1 is still your favourite, after all.”

Cananor nodded.

“But I mustered up my courage and faced my fears. We all have to face our fears sooner or later, Cananor. Right now, your biggest fear is your broken relationship with Starfire. I know you too well. You know you too well."

Cananor found herself blushing. She tried to hide behind her thick, loosely hanging mane. “I don’t like fighting with friends, man.”

Phoenix nodded. He glided over to the edge of the clearing, turned and, just before he left, said, “Starfire hurt you, and was wrong to do so. Now it’s time for you to mend the situation like an adult. Be the bigger stallion and apologise.”

“I’ll try.”

The griffon left without another word.

When Starfire returned, Cananor helped the exhausted stallion stack the firewood. She then lit a small fire and watched the twirling flame keep the darkness at bay for several hours, until she retired to bed in silence.

The student teacher tried to stand up, but to no avail. He felt himself being held down by some invisible force, as the black abyss closed in.

“Starfire...” whispered the gravelly voice, getting louder, more aggressive. “Starfire...”

“No,” he whimpered, covering his eyes with shaking hooves. “Leave me alone.”

He felt himself falling, falling, falling into the deep, black darkness, an empty space, a dark void lost in time.

Clawed fingers scratched at his fur. “Starfire...”

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” He cried.

“Starfire!”

“STARFIRE!”

The voice was like sandpaper to his ears, and he yelped in agony as the fingernails raked at his body, leaving long, trailing marks. The darkness seeped into his every pore, and clung to him like a thick, ravenous goo, holding him down, his stomach flat to the ground. The more he tossed and turned, the more he felt his body pin itself to the forest floor, strewn with blackened, decaying leaves.

The stallion, squirming frantically like a fly ensnared in a devilish web of shifting shadows, rolled his eyes upwards and stared into his pursuer’s face. The red, glowing eyes seemed to drain every ounce of energy from him, thick tentacles waving to and fro wildly, excitedly, like a young puppy’s tail. White fangs flashed through the dark, writhing mass of a featureless face, like a lick of lightning. It leaned in closer and closer, it’s face touching his, and Starfire felt himself being sucked into it, pulled forwards by the sticky, gloopy monster, his body being slowly consumed.

How he managed to pull himself to his hooves, Starfire would never know. He felt the dark tendrils clinging to his body like a tumour, but he pushed forwards, literally through the belly of the beast. The tentacle thing screeched animalistically as the stallion tore through its body, wisps of black ripping free and floating into the sky like streamers. Starfire burst through the other side of the beast with a guttural grunt, panting heavily, chunky blackness slithering down his fur and fading to nothing before it hit the ground. He wasted no time in bolting, still coughing and wheezing as the strange black fibres invaded his lungs. He looked back to see the writhing mess of vile nightmares turn, spindly tendrils acting as spidery legs, the gaping hole in its chest from whence the stallion burst closing up in an instant with a hiss of smoke. It turned to him, spread its gruesome, invisible lips, like thick black caterpillars lost in its horrific face, and gave him another violent, maniacal grin.

And so Starfire ran like a newborn babe, tearing through the nightmarish forest as the darkness closed in, light from the full moon diminishing at an astonishing rate. The trees on either side of the narrow dirt path began to slide towards him like living creatures, unearthed roots slithering disgustingly like the tentacles of a squid. The monster, hot on his tail, began to cry out his name, and as it did so, fires erupted through the trees and the shrubs. The crackling of the flames filled the air, and the very sky itself seemed to be alight, the moon and the stars a vibrant, burning orange. The heat was unbearable, and the stallion felt himself chocking on the ash of the wood of the tree trunks, alight like kindling. The entire Everfree Forest was ablaze now, and the little woodland critters were scampering for their very lives as the flames wrapped around the tall trees and reduced them to nothing but embers in mere seconds.

“Starfire!” The nightmare creature called to him over the popping of the flames, and the frantic cries of the native animals. “STARFIRE!”

The pony tried all he could to block out the voice, but it seemed to be coming from inside his head. He saw it all now; all of Equestria in flames. From the grand city of Canterlot to the furthest reaches of the land, there was nothing but fire and brimstone. Ponyville lay in ruin, little more than a smouldering wreck of burning thatch and blackened rubble. The town hall was but a smoking crater and the homely buildings that surrounded it were piles of soot, obliterated by whatever dark power had invaded the quiet, sleepy town. Beyond the town were the former expanses of Sweet Apple Acres, now a sickly brown wasteland. Worst of all was the schoolhouse, which looked like a husk of its former self. The cheery paint was scorched and peeling, the windows shattered and barren. The bell tower had collapsed in on itself, leaving a gaping hole in the roof.

Starfire recoiled in horror, nearly tripping over a twisted root which crossed his path. Sweating uncontrollably, legs tangling, he told himself that it was only a bad dream. A nightmare. Nothing but a nightmare. He willed himself to wake up, but couldn’t, as though he were locked in this apocalyptic plane of existence. Trapped, like a prisoner in a maze of terrifying hallucinations. Shaking himself to move before the unfathomable being behind him managed to catch up and devour him with one bite, the student galloped furiously as the path curved to the left, and another vision flashed briefly before his eyes. The image took his breath away: it was his father’s store, back in Fillydelphia, being torn asunder by those mysterious green meteorites that had levelled Canterlot. The door hung off of its hinges and fire was all that was visible through the mangled frames of the cafe’s windows. His home, being ripped apart before his eyes. He cried out when he saw his parents, huddled together in the street, calling out for him. He reached out to them, but they were so far away... the image faded as the growing flames closed in on the couple.

Starfire gritted his teeth and blinked away the tears from his eyes. It was only a dream, after all. None of this was happening. His parents were fine. None of this was real. He told himself over and over.

But then why did it FEEL so real?

As he turned the corner, he saw, peering out at from behind the burning blackness, the faces of his friends. Or rather, former friends. Not the faces of his Fillydelphian acquaintances, but of those he had met and befriended in Ponyville. He spotted Derky’s face floating amongst the trees, silently following his every move, and the face of Weatherstorm judging him from behind his trademark glasses. Belove’s face shifted through the leaves, and Cananor’s watched from the deep holes in the trunks. They all frowned at him, sneered at him, cut through him with their terrible, solemn expressions. They didn’t make him feel threatened, or scared, or even uncomfortable; they made him feel a deep emptiness inside of himself, like he were the only pony in all of Equestria, the way he used to feel. He realised he had nopony now: he’d lost them all. Even Cananor, the faithful, who stuck with him through thick and thin when all the others abandoned him, who believed in him more than he believed in himself, hated his guts, and he couldn’t help but feel as though it were all his doing.

He was so hypnotised by the faces that he didn’t notice until it was too late. The fires encircled him, the smouldering red hot flames singeing the fibres of his fur. Through the flames he saw his friends continue to pierce through him with their terrible gazes, now joined by others; his parents, his neighbours, Miss Cheerilee, even Celestia. They all narrowed their slits of eyes as they danced, disembodied through the flames. The shuddering of the ground signified the monster’s approach, and Starfire knew he had little time to spend gawping back at them. As far as he knew, he had only two options: stay here and be consumed, or take a gamble.

He gambled, and, feeling the sour, musty breath on the back of his neck, he leapt through the fire and flames. He wasn’t sure what happened next, but when he opened his eyes, the fire was gone. He found himself in a large, open room, still as death itself. Fresh moonlight, unspoiled, poured in, unhindered from a roof which did not exist, likely lost long ago. The walls had decayed through years of neglect, cracked and broken well beyond any sort of repair. Moss clung to what little of the stonework remained intact, and thorny vines crept silently through the cracks in the once-magnificent pillars, holding up air. Grand windows lay empty, devoid of glass, now framing the many spiderwebs which hung like ghostly echoes of the past. What captured Starfire’s eye the most, however, was the only intact feature of this coliseum of desolation.

They sat around the alter, nestled atop five outstretched handles. Despite their bland, granite appearances, there was something special about the spherical stone balls. Something mysterious, and otherworldly. He cautiously trotted closer to the orb-like objects, the moon catching them in such a way that they sparkled and shone hypnotically.

“The elements of harmony.” He whispered under his breath. He examined them closer, each one wearing a different design, all of them fascinating. “There are only five.” He was no expert on the subject, far from it, but he was sure that the book he had read stated six elements existed. If so, where was it?

The doors burst open so violently that it was a wonder the aged wood didn’t splinter on impact. The student teacher spun at once, the sound of the explosion still ringing freshly, sharply in his flattened ears. His tail hung low in suspense, giving surprised shudders as a familiar mist seeped into the crumbling ruin. A familiar, dark, cosmic mist, spotted with the bright, starry embers of despise. The fog obscured her formation, but it took less than a millisecond, and then she was there in the flesh.

If darkness had a smell, it clung to her vividly. Like a sickening perfume, not unpleasant, but deceptively bittersweet. She flapped her wings regally, head held as high as the first time they had encountered one another, and looked down at him with the sort of expression of contempt that only a royal could bestow upon the common folk. Her deep, fearsome smile, edging on insanity, caused his body to lock up. He tried to speak, but his speech formed a lump in his throat.

Nightmare Moon had little to offer in the way of conversation; she merely laughed, throwing back her mane in that ear piercing cackle that Starfire had heard twice now, which was two times too many. Her eyes, pretty and deadly, rolled upwards as she laughed, and she stared straight up, ignoring Starfire’s presence now, to the sky, as a dark shadow rolled over the ruin and blotted out the moon indefinitely.

Starfire’s eyes followed and he stifled a scream at what he saw. Strings ran from the Alicorn’s wings, hundreds of them, slackening and stiffening as she danced and twitched in an erratic pattern of unnatural spasms.

Nightmare Moon was a puppet. Nothing but an oversized marionette puppet, controlled from a higher place by a higher being, dancing to the tune of her master’s will. For beyond every puppet lies a puppeteer, and the sight that blessed Starfire’s vision nearly made him vomit on the spot.

The disgustingly hideous black, writhing creature floated above them both like a bulbous, malevolent raincloud, suspended in the windless air. It blotted out the moon and cosmos with its sickening form, and the universe fell dark and empty and lifeless. Somewhere in that gigantic, pitch black form was a mouth, and it was smiling below the red, deathly balls that acted as the thing’s eyes. Each string was wrapped tightly around one of its slithering tendrils, and the more they twisted and churned the more Nightmare Moon was thrown to and fro like a ragdoll, her hooves comically clopping on the hard, barren stone as she performed her warped, eerie dance. Her movements were unnaturally stiff, and yet she danced and danced and danced to the rhythm of her hooves echoing off the forgotten walls. Her wooden mouth opened wide, hanging loosely, feasting off of the look of absolute terror stretched across Starfire’s face, and from deep within the marionette came a screeching laugh. Not her usual, refined cackle, but an utter deranged scream of delight, and she was joined by her unholy master who let out a low, creepy, demented chuckle, that grew louder and louder like a mad-pony’s laugh until the crescendo could reach no further, and all that Starfire could hear was there horrific laughter, mocking and jeering his efforts.

The stallion, panicked and trembling, stumbled backwards over an errant brick, the stone crumbling to dust the moment his hoof made contact with it. Down he went, onto his back with a heavy grunt, as the supernatural figures edged closer. He scrambled away, unable to climb to his hooves, paralysed by their jerky, spider like movements. He crawled along the dusty old floor until he met wall, his escape denied, and he found himself trapped as the figures staggered closer, the fake smiles etched into their faces never fading, and their horrible laughter failing to cease.

Starfire closed his eyes, covered his ears, and screamed louder than he ever had before.

Cananor couldn’t get to sleep, unlike her companion. She tossed and turned from side to side, a million thoughts flooding through her mind at once. Should she apologise to Starfire? The guy had acted like a complete mule, and thus wasn’t deserving of her apologies. Then again, she’d acted like an idiot as well. Maybe Phoenix was right. Maybe he was wrong. Cananor sighed. The whole situation troubled her greatly. Her cutie mark was a set of scales, after all. She liked balance. And lately, everything had been thrown distinctly off balance, and she found herself outside her comfort zone.

She lay on her side for the longest time, squinting through the darkness at the vague, blurred outline of Starfire at the opposite side of the camp. The pony was asleep, but was getting about just as much rest as what Cananor was. He tossed and turned, and mumbled quietly under his breath, waving away his imaginary assailants. Whatever he was dreaming of, it was adherently clear that it was anything but pleasant. The poor guy seemed to be having quite the nightmare.

The mare snorted. ‘Let him have his nightmare,’ She thought, almost surprised by her own harshness. ‘He’s an idiot, anyway.’

She wasn’t entirely sure if she meant that. Sure, he’d wronged her, but she’d wronged him. They’d both wronged each other. There was no such thing as the perfect pony. After all, they were only equine.

“Uuugh!” Cananor gave a muffled, uncomfortable grunt and turned to lie on her back, her mane draped over the hollowed log that her head rested on. It was all very confused, and it was then that she really wished that Phoenix Flight was there to guide her, but he never came. Perhaps he was trying to make her more independent, and start sorting out her own dilemmas by herself. Or maybe, he’d stopped caring. There was the distinct possibility that the griffon didn’t actually exist; that he was a mere figment of her over-active imagination, a piece of her shattered consciousness that she conjured to aid her in her time of emotional turmoil and need, taking the form of a fictitious character that she spent her childhood with, and thus looked up to as a role model, the father that was always there for her. She knew the case was the latter, yet as hard as she tried, she couldn’t will him to appear, and it seemed as though Mr. Flight had abandoned her too.

Letting out a discontented and heavy, heartfelt sigh, Cananor turned to the sky. The moon was especially big tonight, and the stars twice as bright. She’d never paid them much mind or interest before, the moon and the stars. Very few ponies did. She had an inkling that maybe, just maybe, if they had, this whole unfortunate incident might have been avoided. Still though, that was in the past, and there was nothing anypony could do about it now. From now on, they’d likely be having a lot more time to appreciate the majesty of Luna’s night, the peace and silence and solitude that it ushered over the land. She was sure that, even with no sun and no daylight, life in Equestria would go on. Sure, things would be hectic for quite a while, and ponies would bring about a state of panic (herself included) but eventually things would settle down, and they would adapt. They would adjust. They would survive whatever their new, dictatorial queen would throw at them.

The very fact that the thoughts were crossing the lawyer’s mind were proof that she had no confidence in their quest. They’d fought hard for a noble cause and Celestia knows they had tried their best, but she had a sinking feeling that their best just wasn’t good enough. The longer that she thought about it, the more she considered just quitting before something unfortunate happened. The expedition had cost them all dearly; their possessions, their friendships and, if they foolishly continued onward, their lives.

It only dawned on her that the fire was out when the low growls began to become audible enough to reach her. She froze solid at once, like a statue, and lay perfectly still against the hard, wooden log. She cursed her foolishness; how had she not noticed? How could she be so caught up in her own personal turmoil to become so blind to that which was happening around her? She had a sinking feeling that this time, their lack of fire was going to cost them a little more than some rucksacks and foodstuffs.

The glowing yellow eyes peeped out from the gaps in the trees at the edge of the encampment, and she was sure that they were locked on both Starfire and herself. Timberwolves were extremely territorial creatures, and Cananor had a distraught feeling that they’d accidently pitched tent in their favourite hunting grounds. The disembodied growls bounced back and forth between pack members, whispering low, merciless orders in a language foreign to ponykind. Cananor tried to disguise his trembling, and prayed that the predators would think her deceased. They were, after all, hunters and not scavengers.

Cananor’s leg was shaking uncontrollably and he could be darned sure that they had seen the movement. Timberwolves have eyes like hawks and miss little. Slowly, cringing all the while, she lowered her left hoof and pressed it tightly against the shuddering limb. The shaking ceased, and the leg’s owner breathed a barely audible sigh of relief.

She saw one of the Timberwolves, likely the pack leader, edge forward into the clearing, shake the shadows from its back, and twitch its twiggy nose, sniffing hungrily at the silent air. It paused for a moment, and pulled a fairly humorously perplexed look, which was quite a feat for an entity made entirely of sticks to pull any sort of facial expression at all. Finally, it let out a low, dissatisfied grumble, and turned, fading back into the gloom. Then it, and its posse was gone.

Sometimes in life, there are incidents that occur at just the wrong time. It’s often unavoidable, or at least Cananor liked to think so, for such occurrences were frequent to her. She remembered vividly the day she had accidently set fire to his aunt’s mane, because she HAPPENED to open his bedroom door at the wrong time. Combusting Phoenixes are not to be trifled with, and she learnt the hard way, her hair scorched a permanent, radiant pink from the intense blast of energy. Grey mane and tail colouring was in constant supply, but what wasn’t was his pet, which his parents were less than hesitant to take from him. He still missed his pet Phoenix, even to this day.

Anyway, this was one of those sorts of situations. Starfire could have subconsciously chosen any moment to wake up screaming, in a cold sweat and eyes darting, but he just so happened, by either blind luck or cruel fate, to perform the aforementioned action, at the worst possible moment. To give the stallion credit where it is clearly due, his timing was truly impeccable. No sooner had the Timberwolves left, sorrowed and hungry, no sooner had Cananor allowed herself a somewhat small victory smile, happy to be alive, than Starfire bolted upright, face twisted in horror as though he’d just witnessed the most unimaginable of nightmarish fantasies. His mouth, quivering, opened wider than the mare had ever seen a pony’s mouth open before and he screamed. The ear splitting screech was panicked and animalistic and strangely unnaturally unequine, still caught in the limbo between dream and reality, and he seemed to be trying to form words, likely a cry for help, but his begs for aid tangled in his throat and all that came out was a dry, shrill yelp.

Whatever the student was trying to say, he didn’t get very far. Cananor was over as quick as greased lightning, hoof clamped over the still-screeching former unicorn’s mouth tightly, cringing all the while. Slowly, the screams died down as Starfire adjusted to the reality of their situation. Cananor didn’t say a single word. She didn’t need to. Her eyes said a thousand words, and painted a thousand pictures, all unpleasant. The mare slowly lifted her hoof, mouthed some intangible, obscure warning, and told him to hush. Starfire understood at once.

They lay there, huddled together, rudimentarily shielded from the horrible nasties that lay in the surrounding darkness. Neither spoke, for fear that their next words could be their last.

Cananor exhaled slowly, letting out but a little stale, tangy breath of skittish air at a snail’s pace. She knew that the wolves were surrounding them, forming a slowly closing circle of death around the campsite. She couldn’t see them, but golly, they were most defiantly there. She also knew that although they’d faced some fairly impossible odds in the sort something-or-other nights they’d been in the forest (the hours seemed to blend seamlessly into one big turgid mess and by now the lawyer had long since lost count) they’d limped away not too worse for the wear. But those close encounters could be chalked down to either strength in numbers, the impudence and stupidity of the creatures they had faced, or mere luck. And right now their merry band of adventurers had been reduced to a measly two, Timberwolves were anything but impudent or stupid, and she wasn’t feeling particularly lucky. As it played on her mind, she realised that this might be the last chance she had of actually taking Phoenix Flight’s advice, being the bigger stallion, apologising and setting things straight before her case was permanently closed.

She barely croaked out the first syllable before the first Timberwolf, tired of waiting, leapt from the shadows like a crazed demon and devoured Starfire in one swift movement.

At least, that’s what it looked like to Cananor, for the stallion disappeared in an instant as the two bodies met. But devoured ponies tend not to scream, and screaming was something Starfire was doing quite a lot of underneath the Timberwolf’s branchy torso. The sound of scraping wood filled the clearing as splintery jaws stretched wide, and Starfire could do nothing but stare up into the pointed, teeth like wooden stakes that were to rend and tear into his defenceless body.

Cananor ran forward.

Then the Timberwolf was nought but scattered sticks.

Content, Cananor was sure of three things; one, Starfire was untouched. Two, that Timberwolf was literally a pile of smouldering kindling, and three: she'd never destroyed something with a 'party popper' before, that is, if you didn't count those banners at her mark-mitzvah.

The teacher bolted to his hooves, looking as stunned as Cananor looked dazed. “Decent magic.” The student remarked dryly as he dusted himself off.

Cananor took that as a compliment, coming from an adapt magic user like Starfire. He managed small smile. “Thanks.”

The other Timberwolves, drawn out of the shadows by the foreign smell of burning wood, looked past them at their fallen comrade, and then back to the ones responsible. Each member of the pack let out a low, vengeful growl, eyes flashing lemon-yellow, and sap dribbling down their chins.

“Think you might have it in you to shoot off another one of those flashbangs?”

The attorney found that laughable. “Call those 'party poppers.' For special occasions. Birthdays, cute-ceaneras. Ramp the party up to 11 but I'm the first to have to take 5. I end up popper pooped.” The mere thought of mustering up another spell made her feel weak at the knees. She had no idea how Starfire did it, or at least, back when the fellow actually had a horn.

Starfire spat a twig from his mouth and bit his lip. “Looks like we’ll have to get our hooves dirty, then.”

Cananor nodded, but wasn’t in the mood for false comforts. The beasts closed in, and the discarded, scattered corpse of the formerly dead Timerwolf began to shake and levitate and pull itself together, and then it stood on four legs once more and shook itself awake, lightly singed but otherwise in perfect chomping order. She’d forgotten they could do that. “You do know we probably won’t get out of this one as well as our other fights, don’t you?”

Starfire sighed, and squinted. “I know. But I was thinking that we...”

“...May as well go out in style.” Cananor finished for him. It was true what they say: great minds think alike.

There were Timberwolves all over now. They communicated with in a series of sharp, hushed barks, likely running through some last minute details of their battle plan. They edged towards their prey in union, one paw forward, then another, and another.

As she watched her immanent doom approach, Cananor decided there was no time like the present. She took her crystal clear, ice blue eyes off of the Timberwolves and turned her attention to Starfire. “Listen, Starfire, before we... you know, I just wanted to say...”

“I’m sorry.” Starfire coolly interrupted.

Cananor was a little taken aback. There she was, about to make a heartfelt and sincere apology, but Starfire beat her to it by just a millisecond.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you, Cananor. And hurting you. For yelling I guess, too.” The stallion continued. “I didn’t mean anything I said earlier. You saved my life in the end, and for what it’s worth, you’ve proven yourself a better stallion than me, eyeliner and all.”

Blushing, Cananor smirked, suddenly oblivious to her advancing death. “I’m sorry too, for not being there when you needed me, and for saying all those nasty things to you. I was a little over-emotional, I think. It happens. Girl's gotta let it all out, sometimes, ya'know?”

Both ponies had made their peace with each other, and were happier for it. If they were to go, then they’d go as friends once again.

A flurry of tooth and claw dived at them from all directions.