Graphite was fast asleep with his head in stuffed into the mattress. Sunny was awake and was already bounding for some breakfast. She had grabbed her leather jacket from the middle of the room and zipped it up nice and tight. Her bag was waiting for her near the middle of the room as well, her things didn’t seem fairly organized. She plopped the bag on the counter and reached inside, pulling out a few of the odd crunchy fruit she bought back at the market. Sunny set them out on the counter, just before a short breeze blew in through the open door at the front. She looked out from her spot, staring out the door before realized where the time had gone when she could see the sun rising outside.

Sunny peered over the counter to where Graphite was still sleeping. She stepped around and grabbed his shoulder, shaking it lightly while calling his name just loud enough to be heard.

“Graphite? Graphite, wake up,” Sunny beckoned while she nudged Graphite.

Graphite turned around and slowly opened his eyes, “ Oh, good morning, Sunny.”

“Good morning, sweetheart,” She kissed him on the cheek, making Graphite instantly remember all of yesterday’s events. He noticed that she was already dressed while he was still naked in bed. “Why are you already dressed?”

“Oh, we’re not too far from my home!” Sunny beamed.

“So you’re saying that the trip is almost over?”

“Ahuh. That’s why I got dressed and prepared the breakfast already,” She said in a cheery tone. “I can’t wait to see my brothers and sisters!”

“Alright, lets get to it then,” Graphite got up from the bed in a sitting-like position. He noticed a few of the crunchy fruit standing on the counter. They looked just like the ones that Deacon offered him that one day. He gave the strange fruit a disappointed look.

“I know this is not much, but don’t worry. I’ll make it up to you when we get to my home. I know some wonderful recipes!”

“No Sunny, it’s not that. You see, I’m a bit uncomfortable about eating stuff that has grown out here. I prefer the canned stuff - even if it does taste like cardboard.”

“Don’t worry Graphite. I’ve been eating stuff like this all my life and there’s nothing wrong with me.”

Graphite sighed, “But what if I’m allergic or-”

“-Graphite,” Sunny continued to pressure, “It’s fine - just like a normal apple!”

He grunted, “If I eat this, will you stop bothering me?”

“Perhaps,” She giggled back.

Sunny went silent, just smiling as sat down next to Graphite. Graphite turned and stared at the odd looking fruit for a moment before he finally took a bite out of it. It tasted just like any other juicy apple, even being a shade of that yellow apple cores should be on the inside. He chowed down into knowing how well it tasted, Sunny stayed by watching him eat.

Sunny knew she should probably eat with him, but she was enjoying the company of Graphite all too much. She nuzzled her cheek along his arm, getting comfortable next to him while she looked at his body. There were scrapes and scars under his fur, but dust or dirt had covered those nicely. She looked back up at the fruits sitting on the counter - just out of reach - and licked her lips. Graphite just caught sight of Sunny lapping at her chops, so he grabbed the other apple from the counter using his levitation to bring the apple right to her hooves.

She grasped the apple and smiled at Graphite as a sort of ‘thank you.’ Graphite simply smiled back, taking a pause to look at Sunny. He couldn’t help be astonished by her beauty; her soft orange mane that came down short, her big tangerine eyes that twinkled in the fluttering lights, her smile that was always so bright and happy. He was always amazed at the things that made Sunny pretty, but he never would think about those things for any longer than a moment when he realized that he might have feelings for Sunny. He used to deny the possibility of any feelings towards Sunny, but now that they shared the same feelings for each other, he didn’t need to worry about those thoughts - he could think about how great she looked with no dereliction.

Graphite finished off his blue apple and had tossed the remaining core away. He wiped some of the apple juice on his hoof against the side of his gray coat. When he looked to where he had wiped, he had noticed he was still naked and needed to get dressed before they could go anywhere. He grabbed the counter and pulled himself up to where he could stand, then made his way straight for the back room where his gear was still waiting.

Graphite stepped through the door, dawning his armour and his bag before he came back out to an awaiting Sunny. She had finished her breakfast and was standing with her saddlebag on facing Graphite with her smile that wouldn’t go away.

“Ready to go?” Sunny asked.

“Yep,” Graphite replied and adjusted the rifle on his shoulder.

They both headed out into the wasteland again. The only sound which was there, was the sound of wind blowing through the abandoned ruins and the sounds of their hooves clopping against the hard pavement. Graphite had imagined a mild droning of ponies talking back and forth and carts being pulled up and down the streets when he got to the downtown portion of Buckago, but he was almost disappointed to find the entire city dead silent.

Graphite tried to spark up a conversation in the quietness, turning to the only recipient to start it with, “How far does your family live?”

“Oh, just a couple of blocks southeast of here.”

“Isn’t your family afraid of living in a place like this by themselves?”

“We’re a big family, Graphite, and we’re not living there alone. There are other families living there too. We live in a settlement. It may not be as big as Rossmore, but still we have stores, a clinic, and all other sorts of stuff.”

“Can you tell me about your settlement?”

Sunny giggled, “Well, it’s cal-”

The mare was stopped in half sentence when a loud noise hit the air like a cannonball, bouncing against the walls of every building down the street. Graphite stopped on point, turning straight to Sunny when he heard the bang of a gun fire through the barren streets. She was thrown to the floor by a force stronger than either of the duo, hitting the rough street as a red dye stained through her jacket. She reached to her chest, gripping it tightly while she gasped and coughed for air.

Graphite’s focus went from the sound to Sunny in an instant, his heart stopping as he thought Sunny’s had too. He reached down, grasping hold of Sunny’s jacket as he tried to grab hold of her bod to drag her away from the open.

He grunted and groaned, sliding her body against the battered pavement and into the sidewalk. Another shot flew into the street, dodging passed Graphite by just a hair. Graphite jumped back, quickly springing back to his hooves and grabbing Sunny once more. He stopped when they reached the corner of an alleyway, Sunny’s blood had trailed from the streets to where she was sitting leaned against a building.

Graphite was in a frenzy, trying to keep his head as he watched the blood drip through the hole in Sunny’s jacket. He pressed his hooves to the wound to stop the flow, panicking for a some bandages, some potions, or anything that could help. His mind finally came to a memory in his panic - the pack of first aid syringes still tucked in his duster. Sunny was starting to hack up blood, grabbing for Graphite’s hooves against her crimson tarnished chest.

Graphite was muttering things to his love; “You’ll be okay!” or “Don’t leave me, okay?!” He finally found the first aid kit in his duster as he continued to spite words of encouragement to the faining Sunny, fumbling with the small syringe in his telekinesis spell. He pulled the cap off the one he had out and then tore Sunny’s jacket open to reach the wounded spot. The blood was still spewing; Graphite was almost paused in awe, but he snapped back into it when Sunny coughed up another mouthful of blood.

He brought the needle back just before he jabbed it her chest, letting the magical potions in the vile course through her body to regenerate the bullet wound. She choked on her blood one last time before the hole in her chest began to close. The blood stopped pouring out and the tissues reattached themselves as the healing agents in the syringe spread about Sunny’s body.

Graphite dropped the empty needle, taking notice in his first aid kit that he had one last needle in his case. He closed the cap and slid it into his duster one again, letting Sunny have her time to heal. Graphite moved out from the old alleyway, taking cover behind a small debris pile on the sidewalk as he brought his rifle out.

Graphite wedged his rifle in the rubble, bringing his view down the scope of his gun and over to the surrounding hotels, apartments, stores, and other assorted buildings. He scanned the windows and the lower doors, he went back and forth through all the openings and all the open space on the roofs, but no pony was in sight - not even through his scope.

Another bullet hit the ground near Graphite, ricocheting and bouncing off somewhere close-by his stack of debris. He recoiled against the building, hugging it close while he waited for what might be another shot to ring out from the rifle’s barrel. After a time of sitting in the dust, he rolled back over and scoped into his rifle. A few light shots fired into the air, something like a sub-machine gun firing. Graphite ducked his head, but no bullets came near his position, just the sounds of small arms shooting off rounds somewhere in the distance.

Graphite heard a loud bang, this one from a large calibre rifle. He heard the bullet slice the wind and then, suddenly, slice his shoulder. The bullet hit him like a punch from a strong stallion, making him fall back from his pile of rubble. He fell back on the ground with a cringe with the gunshot ringing around in his ears.

Graphite shook his head, wiping off some mud that had gotten in his eye after laying his head on his dirty sleeves. His foxhole was sitting in the flank of Hill 187, just off the hill’s crest and somewhere deeper into the remaining woods. There was still light vegetation, but some trees could be seen nearing the ends of the island that were in the direction away from the hill. Graphite’s foxhole was lined with a few more foxholes along the perimeter, facing the thin woods.

The sun was heading down into the hillside, the rays shining over the ridge and into the woods. It was a light orange, just the tip of the evening, so there was still a bit of blue in the sky to dilute the orange sunset. Graphite’s foxhole wasn’t as muddy as the hill, but there was still dry mud that stuck to clothes and didn’t want to come off.

Graphite had a dry package of rations sitting in his lap with a cigarette lit and burning, held midair by his magic. His dinner rations consisted of freeze-dried hay out of a small tin can and a single apple bar that came in the bag as well. The cigarette was there because it had to be, seeing as it was just that time of the day to start smoking. He was chewing his food, resting easy in his foxhole as he looked over the woods he knew were teaming with zebras waiting to brawl.

“Bonsoir, Graphite,” a voice behind him called in an accent.

The voice sounded like that of Commandant Cognac, coming down the hill with his uniform stained and wrinkled as he climbed down the ridge. It appeared to have some sort of camouflage pattern all over it. Around the uniform was an elastic harness, something to strap his ammunition unto. Graphite turned his head with a bite of hay in his mouth; it was so, Cognac was sliding down the hill and was coming towards Graphite. He jumped into his foxhole, kicking up a bit of the dried mud and making Graphite drop his cigarette in the bottom of his pit, “Mind if I join you, Corporal?” He asked with a raised brow.

“No, sir,” Graphite responded, taking the question also as an order.

“Merci, Graphite,” The Commandant replied back, fixing the way he sat in the hole before continuing, “Yes- well, I am here to check on the defences and the soldiers. The intelligence reports show that zebra activity has increased over the past couple of days - they are preparing for something big. One of our guesses is they are preparing an attack on this hill here,” Cognac informed, using his hoof to point over to the hillside.

“Do you want for me to go and find out what they’re going to do?” Graphite asked as he tossed away his fizzled cigarette.

“Non, non, you are more useful staying here defending the hill, and I wanted for you and the other soldiers to prepare to defend yourselves.”

“Understood, Commandant.”

“Also, this conversation is just between you and me - you can call me Cognac,” He mentioned with a smile.

“Um, sure... Cognac,” Graphite was a bit confused, a high commanding officer has never dropped by just to talk with him. There wasn’t ever a time to drop down for just a chat when you were an officer, Graphite would imagine they were back and forth between radio messages from HQ, filing through inventory, and counting heads before the end of the day. But, here he was, sitting in a hole with Graphite about to discuss whatever it was he wanted to discuss about.

Cognac shifted sitting positions again and moved on, “Well, this is all official business right now, but I had never got a chance to sit down and speak with another pony without all this, ‘Oh, Commandant, how many soldiers do we have left today,’ or ‘Oh, Commandant, did you resend that message to headquarters yet?’ It is a lot of stress to put on pony, if you know what I mean, Graphite,” Cognac began to chuckle a bit nervelessly, the giggle slowly turning into a sigh. He slid his green beret from his head before running his hoof over the mess of short hair on his head.

Graphite thought for what to say before he came out, “I wouldn’t know, Cognac, I’m usually down in a foxhole alone; sitting alone for hours until someone decides to take shots at me. There’s stress too, but it’s of a different kind.”

“It is not something that I usually say, but...” Cognac took a breath, “I’m tired of war, Graphite. I’ve been here for longer that I should have.”

“How long have you been in service, Cognac?”

“Before all of this stuff started - almost fifteen years.”

“Wow, I thought that me being stuck here for five years was a long time.”

Graphite and Cognac then sat in the foxhole for a few minutes in silence. Each of them was tending to their own thoughts, until Graphite broke the silence.

“How was it up there, in the north?”

“Oh, It was tough. Over there Zebras did not throw themselves at you like they do now,” Cognac grinned. “Lis and I took out dozens of zebras out there.”

“Lis?”

“Oui, it’s my rifle,” With that, he pulled over a long rifle from the shoulder strap and presented it to Graphite. It was a long rifle, two sturdy pieces of wood made up the hoof-guard and stock; the rest of the body was a cheap metal. It had a charging handle attached on the left side, odd to Graphite’s knowledge of weapons. Sitting right under the handle was the magazine, a large block of metal carrying large calibres of bullet. The last thing he saw from the gun was the age, fifteen years of piling through dirt, rocks, grass, and rubble really tore details into the gun.

Graphite turned back to Cognac, who brought his gun around his shoulder again when he noticed Graphite had stopped observing, “Well, that’s Lis,” The Commandant chortled shortly. “She is a bit older than the new weapons being given out, but I still care for her.”

“It’s a nice gun -- I’d show you mine, but I left it at the camp,” Graphite pointed to the campsite at the top of the hill with his head.

“Why are you here without a weapon?”

“My friend Spotty left me his rifle before he got shipped home,” Graphite said and picked up his friend’s ‘Black Rifle’ from the side of the foxhole where it was resting. “Since they keep coming at us in waves, I was thinking that a little bit of automatic fire would help.”

“Graphite, you are a sharpshooter. You need to have your own rifle with you at all times,” Cognac grabbed his beret and brought it about his head again. “I will let you off the hook this time, but if I catch you without your rifle again, there will be consequences.”

“Understood. Thank you, Commandant.”

“Tres bien,” Cognac smiled, stepping up as if he was about to leave the foxhole, but Graphite stopped him with a question.

“Why’d you name your rifle ‘Lis,’ Cognac?”

Cognac stopped on the edge of the foxhole, kneeling down again to meet up at a better eye level with Graphite, “Well, I suppose it is because that is the name of my wife.”

“You have a family, Commandant?”

“Oui, oui, but things been difficult ever since the war started. The wife back home never made it through childbirth - I am left to care for the filly. Right now, she is somewhere in a daycare, waiting for me to write her again...” Cognac put on his green beret again, looking up somewhere in the sky above. He looked back to land, looking to Graphite once more and asking, “Do you have a family, Graphite?”

“Yes, I have a ma’ and pa’ in Buckago.”

“When was the last time you let them know of yourself?”

“Uhh...” Graphite scratched his head, “I don’t really remember. Things have been very complicated since I went to my training and-”

“-Why don’t you write them a message when you get some free time? I bet they are worried about you,” The commandant interrupted him.

“Yes, sir. I’ll get right to it!” Graphite smiled and saluted.

“It is good to see some enthusiasm around here,” Cognac beamed, then suddenly his ears perked up and his view went off in the direction of the jungle, “Merde - get down!” He blared.

Suddenly, a loud screeching noise marked the air in it’s ear scraping sound. Graphite held his head and ducking down deep into his foxhole, knowing the doom that fell once the sound fell to the ground. The artillery shell hit the hillside hard, shaking the ground under Graphite’s hooves and rattling the trees around him. They hit closer and closer, blowing gravel into the air with every one of its loud explosions. The hill was pummeled with shell after shell until the a round hit nearby Graphite’s foxhole. The force blew him down, Graphite was left trembling in the bottom of his foxhole, too afraid to make a single movement in any direction. He was petrified in his hole until the artillery shells finally let up only minutes later. Graphite was still trapped in a dizzying paralysis long after the artillery had ended, keeping him huddled in his foxhole through the end of the evening and into the night.