//------------------------------// // 7 - Beyond the Woods // Story: Death Valley // by Rambling Writer //------------------------------// Even under all her blankets, Bitterroot woke up to a familiar Northern chill, one that crept down her feathers and clawed its way beneath her skin. But it hadn’t reached her bones, so she was warmer than she’d expected to be. It was still dark, so she wiggled under her covers and prepared to sleep in. It took about ten minutes before she remembered where she was and that it’d be dark for quite a long time. Bitterroot briefly panicked, remembered what she was doing here, and reluctantly crawled out of bed. The cold of the room woke her up better than coffee could ever hope to and soon she was pulling on some furs. Nopony else was in bed, so Bitterroot headed downstairs. The creak of one of the steps was somehow calming, like it was something tangible in what might’ve been a dream. The common room was mostly empty; besides Amanita, Code, and Charcoal, there were only a few people down there, all eating something and clearly not interested in conversation. Except for Code, of all ponies, who was sitting at the bar (was it a bar this early in the day?) talking to Cabin. When Code spotted her, she waved Bitterroot over. “Morning,” Code said. “Sleep well?” “Yeah.” Taking a seat next to Code, Bitterroot spread her wings slightly; the stove in the center of the room was lit and the warm air felt wonderful when it slipped between her feathers. “The bed was nice and I’ve slept in hotel rooms in Manehattan that were colder than that.” Not much colder. But still. Code turned to Cabin. “Like we all said, it was good.” Cabin flicked an ear and grunted reluctantly. (Bitterroot wasn’t sure how she knew it was reluctant.) She pointed a hoof behind her. “Breakfastes,” she grunted. In some ways, the breakfast menu seemed more like an ingredient list than an actual menu. Before Bitterroot could mention this, Code said, “Cabin here treats you like family, so you need to make it yourself. I had pancakes, but I would recommend the eggs; they’re fresh.” Bitterroot’s wings twitched in surprise. “Fresh eggs? Here? At this time of year?” “Mmhmm.” “Huh. More ley line stuff?” “Probably not,” Amanita piped up from a nearby table. “It’s rarer for chickens to lay in this sort of environment, but hardly impossible. And if it’s already cold for them, then winter won’t make that much of a difference, will it?” Shrug. “I guess.” Bitterroot decided to just take Amanita’s word for it. She didn’t know chickens. She did know scrambling eggs, though, and was tucking into a good-sized plate in minutes. It was delicious; these eggs were definitely fresh. As she ate, Code said to her, “After sleeping on it, we’ve decided that Charcoal was right last night.” (At her table, Charcoal grinned to herself.) “We’ll make a quick incursion into Midwich to get a feel for it and come back. If something’s wrong out there, we’ll know, and we can send for help in clearing the forest.” “That’s a right glaiket notion,” muttered Cabin in a voice that made the meaning of that word clear. “It’s hardly ideal,” Code said. “But now’s the best time to do it, while the wolves are licking the wounds the militia gave them. And speaking of the militia, we’re hoping they’ll be able to provide some ” “Need me for anything?” Bitterroot said around a mouthful of egg. Code blinked. “I… Technically, no. But if you insist on working for no pay, you’re free to follow.” “Hey, I’m available if you need me. There’s a reason I became a bounty hunter.” “If you want to follow, eat fast. The three of us are leaving in five minutes.” Scrambled eggs were practically made for eating fast, so Bitterroot finished hers in less than one. In that time, Code had retrieved something from the storage room, something small enough to fit in a bag the size of a coinpurse. “Everybody set?” she asked. “Then let’s get going.” Bitterroot didn’t need to be told twice. She hopped off her stool and immediately was walking out the door. At the same time Whippletree was walking in the door. Almost on reflex, Bitterroot took a step back, memories of last night snapping back to the front of her mind. But Whippletree’s ears were down, his legs were close together, and he was hanging his head a little, like a scolded foal. He blinked at Bitterroot and opened his mouth; nothing came out. “Um.” Bitterroot cautiously waved. “Hello.” “Hidy!” Whippletree’s voice hadn’t changed in pitch, but somehow he still squeaked. “I… Eh… I jes’… want tae… apologize. Fer… las’ night.” He kept alternating between looking Bitterroot in the eyes and looking off to her side. “When I… assaulted. You. Yeh.” He licked his lips and grinned nervously. “I’m real sorry. I dinnae ken what came o’er me.” “I beg pardon?” It was amazing how much Code’s voice brought to mind a fuse about to be lit. “We had some differences last night and an unfriendly chat,” Bitterroot said quickly. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” “I’m a-worryin’ about it!” protested Whippletree. “That- That ain’t me! I dinnae care one lick about my spot in the Cave an’ I dinnae ken why I did las’ night.” Bitterroot got the acute feeling she was standing under a spotlight; her wings squirmed, in spite of her best efforts. “You were probably drunk.” “A, no I weren’t, and B, that ain’t no excuse.” “Rough day?” “Nay. Bitterroot, ma’am-” (Bitterroot flinched; Whippletree kept talking before she could protest.) “-somethin’ were wrong wi’ me. An’-” “If it doesn’t happen again, we don’t need to worry about it,” Bitterroot said. “Besides, do I look hurt to you?” She grinned; indeed, she felt no bruises except for the little one on her left shoulder. Whippletree opened his mouth, raised a hoof declaratively, closed his mouth, and lowered a hoof. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Apology accepted.” Swallow, weak half-grin. “W-well, then, I’ll-” “Excuse me,” said Code. “Whippletree. Sir. I was wondering if you and your militia would be willing to provide protection for an expedition into Midwich Forest.” (Bitterroot stepped to one side to let them talk.) It was like a jolt to Whippletree’s system, his demeanor changed so quickly. His ears snapped up and his hooves shifted slightly apart. “Intae Midwich?” he asked flatly. “The forest that kills ye. As you’uns saw yesterday.” “That’s the one,” Code said in the vein of someone proposing an afternoon stroll. “Unfortunately.” “Part o’ the… ley line job?” Code opened her mouth, only to get lightly muscled aside by Charcoal. “Look, look,” Charcoal said, “I know it doesn’t sound the greatest, but it’s probably necessary to bet- get a good look at the ley line-” “Ma’am-” protested Whippletree. “It won’t be that long. Something like an hour, tops. The wolves’ll be licking their wounds from yesterday.” “Ma’am-” “Just this once. Promise. Then you’ll never need to go in for us again. Pleeeaaase?” A pause, then Whippletree’s entire body heaved as he sighed. “If needs must,” he said. “But lissen.” He looked Code in the eye and stepped forward so he was practically looming over her. “If’n I’m a-tellin’ you’uns tae do somethin’, you’un do it. Midwich ain’t an evenin’ stroll. I dinnae want tae be responsible if ye die.” Code didn’t bat an eye. “Of course. Say the word and we’ll run back to Tratonmane like our tails were on fire.” Whippletree blinked, as if he hadn’t expected Code to agree so quickly. “Ah. …W-wait fer us by the forest’s edge. I need tae get the others.” He looked at Code, rustled his wings, and flew off. “That was painless,” said Code. She flicked her tail and strode off, the others following. “I was expecting to spend half an hour arguing back and forth with them.” “I guess Ramrod’s spoiled us, huh?” Amanita said, grinning. “After dealing with her, anything seems like smooth sailing.” Bitterroot knew she was missing some context, but her mind latched onto only one thing. “Ramrod,” she said in disbelief. “Her parents named her Ramrod?” “Dowsing Rod, actually, but she’s such a…” Making a light wasn’t hard. It was often among the first spells a young unicorn consciously cast, and by the time they reached adulthood, bordered on effortless, even thoughtless. At least, that was what Amanita had thought; keeping that light up was giving her a headache. The thought that she might have to keep it up was making her very sympathetic to Tratonmane. She crunched back and forth through the snow near the river, some distance away from the forest’s edge. Her last experience with dark snowy forests hadn’t been the greatest, and although she tried to say she wasn’t superstitious, she still got a nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach. Memories kept sliding unbidden through her head, tainting her perception of now. At least now she didn’t have a psychotic lich dogging her steps. Bitterroot was pacing restlessly near her while Code was fiddling with some tiny artifice. Charcoal, though, was sitting on her haunches, eyes closed, horn ringing. (Her magic sounded like low bells. Huh.) She irregularly swayed back and forth like a reed in the wind and made occasional “hmm” and “hah” noises. When Amanita extended her own magic, she could feel a haze around Charcoal, probing for any sort of magic or mana. Amanita couldn’t tell what it was finding, but based on Charcoal’s expression, she was satisfied. What the hay. Might as well learn something. Amanita sat down next to her. “What’re you doing?” “Getting a general compre- impression of the ley line,” Charcoal said, her voice unusually dreamy. “Its, y’know, vibes.” Amanita pretended she knew what that meant as she nodded. Charcoal blinked and refocused her eyes. “Ley lines are currents in the land, right? So when you get down to it, they’re just magic. And you can sense- Wait, can you sense magic? Kirins can, but I don’t know if… unicorns…” “We can sense it,” said Amanita, “although-” Several swinging lights from Tratonmane caught her eye. A quick glance sharpened them into lanterns, carried by Whippletree and several other militiaponies and misted up by their breath, and a unicorn’s hornlight. Five ponies in total: Whippletree (a pegasus), a unicorn, and three earth ponies. The same ones from yesterday, with the same well-worn (perhaps overly-worn) armor and a few weapons between them. None of them seemed particularly happy and Amanita couldn’t help feeling a little guilty. Code glanced up at their approach. Her expression didn’t change, but her nostrils flared. “Is this everyone?” “They’re some o’ the best blamed ponies in Equestria an’ I willnae hear ye say elseways,” Whippletree said firmly. “I’m wishin’ you’uns the best in yer business, but…” He paused and cringed, like he really didn’t want to say what came next. “You think we’re off our rockers,” said Code. Whippletree opened his mouth, closed it again, nodded. With a sigh, he said, “We ain’t about tae satisfy each other. Let’s get it done.” “Actually, before we do…” Code held up something like a set of strange, thick wires, halfway between headphones and earrings. “It would be best if we don’t split up, but if that proves to be unavoidable-” “We ain’t splittin’ up,” Whippletree said flatly. Code was unperturbed. “-we can still remain in contact. These are audio transmitters that can be used by distant parties to talk to one another. Canterlot was hoping we could give them a field test.” Bitterroot had grown steadily more interested as Code talked and quickly turned to Whippletree. “How safe are the skies?” “In Midwich? They… ain’t bad, I reckon.” Whippletree seemed surprised that anything to do with Midwich Forest might not be dangerous. “Safe enough. Why?” “I can help test those,” Bitterroot said to Code. “Just let me fly above. I’ll see your lights through the trees and can be down in a flash if you need help.” “You really should’ve agreed on payment before coming here,” Code said. She passed one of the earring things over. “Just fit this around your ear and speak. The magic will do the rest.” “My payment is a set of these once they’re completed,” Bitterroot said. “If they work, they’ll really come in handy when I’m on the hunt.” She grinned, flared her wings, and rocketed into the too-bright sky. Whippletree looked up after her. “She can weed ’er own road, right?” he asked. “Take care o’ herself?” Amanita recalled the time Bitterroot had fought off a furious lich and her thralls in the middle of a thicket set aflame. “Yeah. She can.” “Hmm.” Whippletree continued looking up for another second. “Ye can lead the way when ye’re ready. I dinnae ken where’n all ye want tae go.” “Alright.” Code rolled her shoulders and turned her attention towards Amanita and Charcoal. “We’ll follow the river. It’ll be easier to keep track of where we’ve been. If they tell you to do something-” She nodded to the militia. “-you do it. Don’t stay too close to the trees for too long. And if it all goes to Tartarus, run south like a madmare.” Heh. Great. Amanita swallowed as she followed Code into the forest. Midwich Valley had looked strange from the ground. It bordered on surreal from the sky. As she climbed towards the clouds, Bitterroot kept her eyes towards the ground. The forest, well, it was a dark spooky forest. She’d seen them more than a few times, usually chasing perps through them. The trees were gnarled and clawed for the sky, as usual. They clumped close enough that the ground resembled a bed of nails that you’d have to fight your way through to reach the forest floor. Not something she’d want to stay in, but it didn’t look as threatening as it was supposed to be. But the valley itself… The moment she was above the rim, the world seemed to zipper shut around it. That place was narrow, surprisingly easy to miss if you flew over it, even filled in with all that shadow. Canterlot was easily too wide to fit inside. Maybe even Canterlot Castle. And the valley’s straightness was accentuated this high up. There was straight, and then there was straightedge straight. It looked more like some lazy cartographer half-assing a border than anything natural, but the scale of it, the sheer size of something that straight, made something stir in Bitterroot’s gut. But it was just the ley line, right? The energies in the ground. They didn’t need to flow “around” anything. They could just go straight, right? Uh-huh. Sure. Bitterroot ended her existential crisis by looking down. The branches were filtering the group’s light, but it was still clearly visible and easy to follow. Even if they weren’t, she could pick out the winding of the river they were following. Perfect. She swooped down a little so the mountains blocked the sun again — it seemed right — and tapped her not-earring. “Uh, hey, Code. You there?” Forests in the dark were uncanny. Beyond the lanterns and hornlight, the gloom rippled and twisted with the barely-there silhouettes of trees in parallax. Distance meant little with no details to give perspective; trees always seemed to be closer or further away than they looked. And that was when the land behaved. Frequently, treading across uneven ground meant focusing on your hooves more than what you were seeing, and once you covered that craggy three feet and looked back up, the entire landscape around you seemed to have changed. Trees were trees and were rarely unique enough to provide landmarks for orientation. There was a reason forests always seemed to be haunted. The group tread northward, staying close to the river. No shortcuts; when it turned left then right, they turned left then right with it. Better to spend the time not losing track of it. The water’s pace was fairly sedate, but the chill it undoubtedly had meant you still wouldn’t want to fall in. Even with that danger, though, Amanita felt somewhat secure next to the river. It gave her something tangible next to the gray haze of the forest. The three Canterlotians led the way through the snow. Actually, Charcoal led the way, her eyes lidded and her horn glowing, murmuring vague nothings. Code wasn’t far behind, talking to Bitterroot through their enchanted earrings, leaving behind footprints that purred with magic, occasionally eating more clods of dirt. And then there was Amanita, just sort of following them and hoping for the best. Was she supposed to be looking for something? Casting some spell? She hadn’t been told anything. She half-trotted to get closer to Code, only to fall back. Code was busy and she’d’ve said if Amanita needed to do something. Right? (Second-guessing herself. What a necromancer she was.) As she walked, the unicorn guard moved closer to the trio. He was big for a unicorn, built like a boulder and likely harder to budge, although it was hard to make out his coloring in the dark. “Stay close to me,” he muttered. “It’s easier for me to protect you than any-” “Ay, stub yerself up, Varnish!” one of the other guards suddenly snapped. Her voice was sharp enough to make Amanita jump. “They dinnae need tae hear ye talkin’ yer tribalist jularkey!” “I’m merely stating the facts,” the unicorn — Varnish — said loudly, swinging around to glare at the other guard. “Unless you can project a shield, you can’t protect them the way I can.” “That dinnae keep the wolves away good an’ always. I can buck ’em clean o’er the horizon!” “Ah, yes,” Varnish snorted derisively. “Physical strength. For as we all know, the most dangerous thing in the world is an earth pony with a hammer.” “It’s a right sight more-” “Ay!” Whippletree blurred between the ponies, giving them both solid thwacks across the head with a spear. “Dinnae fuss in Midwich!” he nearly roared. “We’ve got ponies that need shieldin’, and I will not have you’uns turned frae it on account o’ somethin’ as foolish as this! Varnish, yer a grand soldier, but dinnae spend yer view here. Poplar, curb yer temper.” Both Varnish and Poplar made irate noises like the beginnings of an argument, but they both fell silent when Whippletree banged his spear on the ground. “Dinnae. Fuss. In. Midwich.” With each word, Whippletree looked either Varnish or Poplar in the eye. “Both o’ ye, let it drop. Now.” There was only the briefest of pauses before Varnish and Poplar looked at each other, nodded in silence, and returned to looking forward. Whippletree’s smile was slightly less forced than a square peg’s transit through a round hole. “We got our… disagreements,” he said. Code hadn’t reacted at all to the argument, but now she shrugged. “It happens,” she said. “At least you don’t let it get in the way of your work. …No, I’m not talking to you, Bitterroot, it’s- We’re having a little disagreement…” To the militia’s credit, the silence that followed wasn’t tense and brittle, just there. Two ponies working together and simply not speaking to each other because they had nothing to say. But the quiet nagged at her, if only because the sound of talking suddenly going away made the sound of everything else seem much louder. The creaking of trees, the wind, the ripple of water, the crunch of dirt… No animals. Even though forests always had animals. Amanita coughed and said, “S-so, uh, the wolves just… attack? That’s about all I’ve heard.” A brief pause as everyone tried to work out who she was talking to before Whippletree volunteered, “That’s all that we ken. They come out o’ the woods an’ do their plumb best tae eat us.” “And you’ve never-” Amanita figured she knew the answer but found herself asking the question anyway. “-never… come out here to find-” The militiaponies all made some degree of snort. Whippletree managed to keep his suppressed, but Amanita could still see him twitch. “Beg yer pardon, but ye’re daft. Midwich ain’t welcomin’. Ye saw what it were like at Tratonmane? ’Tis worser out ’ere.” He flared his wings in a sweeping gesture. “Get too far out an’ it’s like the forest’s got a mind o’ its own. And hates us.” He glanced upwards, at the sky inching towards blue as the sun rose outside the gorge. “We’re a-leavin’ at noon.” “Noted,” Code said, “although we ought to be out by then. …No, Bitterroot, I’m not talking to you. …Yes, they last for a long time…” Downriver. Amanita decided to try extending her magic and feel the ley line. It wasn’t hard to find, of course, being as packed with magic as it was. And it was definitely flowing. But beyond that? She didn’t know how it was supposed to feel or if it was even bad here. …Assume it was. Why? How? …Yeah, she wasn’t managing that. She kept her mind extended anyway, hoping to have some brainwave. She had to start somewhere. Ahead, the river turned sharply eastward, more sharply than it had before. Amanita was ready following, but Charcoal abruptly came to a halt, saying, “Wait a minute, wait​a​minute.” Sitting on the bank, frowning, she pointed at the river. “This, this isn’t fright. Right. The river shouldn’t curve like this, I don’t think.” She started leaning back and forth, making angles with her legs in some mental calculation. “Yeah, this is not right.” The group stopped. As Charcoal rubbed her chin, Code sat down, took another bite of dirt, and closed her eyes. Amanita felt a small but deep power from both of them, a magnet on a bar that took more strength to move than it looked. She tentatively continued her probe; the overall flow of the line continued straight down Midwich Valley, with no difference that she could see. Yet somehow, she still felt like something was off. Not overall; just right here. The guards remained silent, slouching on their weapons or looking off into the trees. Varnish, however, had his jaw set as he watched them. Eventually, he said, “So what’s wrong with the river, here? It looks okay to me.” “It turns way too sharply,” Charcoal said. “When a ley line is this powerful, rivers don’t do turpen- serpentines like they might in other places. This is wrong whether the line’s okay or not.” “And which way ought it be going?” Varnish’s ears were trembling. Charcoal pointed off into the dark, along the same general line of the river before the turn. “That way, look-” With a grunt, the light from her horn swelled. “You can see the dip in the shores where it used to be.” Indeed, although it was hard to make out, Amanita could just barely glimpse the shadows of a broad ditch winding below the trees, with the trees themselves spread out to let it pass. After she’d been following the magical signature of the ley line, even for just a minute, that ditch felt… It felt right. Why did it feel right? Why did Amanita immediately know that Charcoal was correct? Varnish shrugged. “You’re probably seeing things. The stream’s always taken this route.” “How often do you come back here to know?” asked Amanita. “I’ll bet you don’t think about the river down here all that much.” “I’ve lived here,” bristled Varnish, “for longer than-” “No, you haven’t,” said Amanita. “You’ve lived in Tratonmane. Not here.” “And if the stream’s always taken this route,” said Charcoal, “then that just raises the question of why. Because no matter which way you dice it, it shouldn’t turn like this.” Whatever Varnish was going to say next, it was cut off by Whippletree preemptively landing in front of him. Whippletree violently pointed away and roughly tugged Varnish in that direction, where they started talking in hushed tones. Amanita couldn’t help angling an ear towards them, although she couldn’t make anything out. One of the other guards cleared her throat and spoke up. “I’m a-thinkin’ yer right,” she said tentatively. “The… turn o’ the land ain’t good ’ere.” “Aye,” said Poplar. “Aryone else got their bones set intae tremblin’?” “I feel more like it’s grating or grinding,” Code said, “but everypony feels it differently…” Charcoal didn’t seem to notice the growing conversation. She was sitting down, still looking at the stream. “Follow the streambed, follow the stream,” she muttered. “Follow the streambed, follow the stream…” Amanita glanced at Whippletree and Varnish again. Their gestures were quick, jabby, and angry. She could barely hear their voices, and when she did, they kept talking over each other, their words blurring into angry incoherence. “We need to keep following the stream,” Charcoal said, to no one in particular. “The old streambed won’t show any-” She froze, blinked, and scurried away, shooting a weak bolt at the snow. “The ground’s moving!” she squeaked. “No, just the roots,” Code said casually. “Don’t stay in one place for too long.” She took a bite of dirt. Amanita quickly brushed some of the snow at her hooves away. She wasn’t sure the root near her hadn’t been there when she stopped walking, but she wasn’t sure it had, either. She scooched closer to the river, away from the trees. (“Flipping night trees,” growled Charcoal.) “And I agree,” Code said. “There’s nothing to study that way.” Another meal of dirt. “Or not in these circumstances. Maybe if- Oh, for Celestia’s sake, Bitterroot, get down here. …I know you can see us, you’ve been hovering right over us this whole time. …I can hit you with a rock from here. I’m an earth pony, I have good aim.” Within seconds, a dark shape dropped through the trees, landing right next to Amanita and making her jump. Bitterroot looked none the worse for wear as she pulled out her earpiece and passed it back to Code. “Like I said. Really nifty.” “If a bit intrusive at times,” said Code, a touch surlier than usual. “We’ll need to find a way to turn them off.” “We’re not going further in,” Varnish said. He was suddenly on the edges of their group, like he’d just teleported there. “Perhaps the river did change course. But it’s much too dangerous to go-” “C’mon, we won’t need to go far,” wheedled Charcoal. “Just a view- few more minutes. We haven’t even seen anything dangerous yet!” Although she glanced down at her hooves. “We will if we keep going further in. This is not something we can take lightly. What would you know, you can’t even speak properly!” “Listen,” Code said, stepping forward.“This isn’t. I know how the peaceful can turn dangerous in-” “Do you? Because it seems-” “You do not interrupt me,” Code said, jabbing Varnish in the chest. She hadn’t raised her voice and her ears were still up, yet she felt a lot less small. “We are not tourists. We are not adventurers. We are not thrillseekers. We are specialists. We have a job to do. We are here to help you. We are not taking your job lightly, so you should not take our job lightly. And if you think we’re not worth it…” She pointed south, upriver. “Tratonmane’s that way.” Varnish opened his mouth as if a retort would automatically spring from it. Nothing did. Whippletree looked ready to pull rank before Varnish stepped away, scowling and making sure to flick his tail in Code’s face. Charcoal immediately said, “So anyway since we’re still going let’s keep going and we can fish up and get back out as soon as possible okay great.” Her turn downriver was stuffed full of very chalant nonchalance; Code followed her without a word, while Amanita and Bitterroot briefly exchanged looks. This time, the silence of the militia behind them was tense and brittle. Still, they were off again, into the same darkness as before. But they didn’t have long to go before they found the bear. Bitterroot hadn’t seen a dead animal this big in person before. (Well, okay, she’d seen a dead bear once. But it’d been trying to kill her, so she didn’t think that counted.) It was at least three times her size: big enough to feel big, not big enough to turn bigness over and stop feeling like a real thing, not like dragons. It was big and furry and far too still. The unicorns’ hornlights were throwing weird shadows through the fur. At first, Bitterroot didn’t know what had killed it. Then she walked around a little and flinched at the ripped-open throat and pooling blood. “Bad omen,” muttered Varnish. “We shouldn’t be here.” He was ignored. “Dear land,” breathed another guard. She walked forward, just out of poking range. “What coulda done this?” Amanita immediately scurried to the bear’s neck and peered at its wound. After a moment, she said, “Timberwolves, I’ll bet. These wounds weren’t made by regular claws or teeth.” She ran a hoof along the bear’s fur. “They’re too ragged, more like they were torn than sliced. And…” She plucked something from the neck, holding it up for all to see: the ragged tip of a branch. “This was lodged in too deeply. Timberwolves. …You, uh, do have timberwolves up here, right?” “Aye,” said Whippletree. He rustled his wings and pawed at the ground. “I dinnae ken the number, bein’ they’re timberwolves-” One of the guards groaned and planted her face in her hoof. “Three cords, Whipple,” she said. “Midwich has three cords o’ wolves.” “Three cords?” asked Charcoal. “Oh, that’s not bad at all! As long as the line hasn’t done anything to them.” “Hang on,” said Bitterroot, raising a hoof. “Cords? Of wolves?” “It’s hard to count timberwolves as individuals,” said Charcoal. She was looking as closely at the bear as she could while still being six feet away. “They can split apart and recombine, you know, with two smaller ones turning into one big one or vise versa. The general rule is that if each wolf is the size of a wolf, one cord is three or four wolves.” “Aye,” said the guard. “They dinnae cause nae trouble fer Tratonmane. Ne’er seen ary closer’n a mile tae the town.” Charcoal’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? But that would mean the ley line doesn’t have anything to do with the wolves. The, the regular wolves, I mean.” Her voice dropped into audible thoughts and she started pacing back and forth. “Timberwolves are technically plants, ley lines affect them faster… But wolves don’t keep coming back like that… Unless-” “Whoa, hold up,” said Amanita. She was peering at the bear’s wound more intently than Bitterroot would’ve felt comfortable doing and dragging a hoof along the edges. Blood still stuck to it when she pulled away, and whatever she saw made her very interested. “Hey, uh, does…” She extended the stained hoof behind her. “Does anyone have a knife?” “Here.” Code pulled a knife from her bags and passed it over. “Thanks.” Crouching down, Amanita began shaving the bear’s fur from its body. Bitterroot found herself hovering (not literally) just behind her, curious. She’d worked with certain bounty hunters to know what Amanita was looking for: livor mortis. And as the fur came away, more and more livor mortis revealed itself: a mottled gray broken up by reddish and brownish bruising from the blood settling as arteries and veins relaxed. Nothing unusual. “Uh-huh,” muttered Amanita. She nudged one of the bear’s legs; it flexed, with some effort. “Which means we’re on the downslope of rigor mortis…” She looked over her shoulder at the rest of the group. “This bear was killed around the same time as the wolf attack yesterday. Within an hour or so.” Silence. Code said, “Does that mean anything?” “No idea,” Amanita said, turning back to the bear. She sniffed at the neck wound. “But something’s up here.” After a moment’s thought, she stabbed into the bear’s stomach and carefully sliced it open. Bitterroot grimaced and waved a hoof in front of her nose to ward off- Then Amanita plunged her leg into the gash, all the way up to her withers, and the smell was instantly forgotten. She rummaged through it like it was just an overfull knapsack and not a corpse. Blood and other fluids trickled from the gash and onto the ground. Bitterroot swallowed. “A-Amanita?” she asked. “Yeah?” Amanita didn’t look at her. The bear lurched. So did Bitteroot’s stomach. “…Never mind, it’s, it’s nothing.” Amanita grunted. “Sun blast it,” she murmured. “Where is…” She pulled open the gash and crawled inside past her withers. Whippletree looked at Code with a supreme blend of disgust and confusion, Code was regretting something but only slightly, Charcoal seemed to be in genuine medical shock, Varnish was too surprised to have much of a reaction at all besides wide-eyed, slightly-slack-jawed gawking, and the other guards were very resolutely trying to look away from Amanita yet failing. The body jiggled from side to side as Amanita rooted around. Somehow, Bitterroot’s revulsion was occasionally looping back around into fascination. Occasionally. When Amanita pulled back out, her head was dripping with blood and don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t think about it. Sitting on one hoof was holy Celestia that was a HEART. Wiping her face down like she was just flicking off water, keeping her eyes on the heart, Amanita said, “It’s weird, its insides are kinda hard… Not like they’re frozen, either, more like they’re… syrup or something… I mean, look at this-” She squeezed the heart oh sisters oh sisters a few times and several large globules of blood dribbled out. “-that really isn’t the viscosity of blood… It smells funny, too-” “What in the nation are ye doin’?” screamed Whippletree. “Hmm?” Amanita looked up. She didn’t make the slightest indication that everyone was flinging looks her way like she was a castle and they were siege engines. “What’s it look like? I’m doing an animal autopsy.” “Yer- covered in-” Whippletree gestured up and down as he took a step back. “It’s just blood! Everyone’s got it!” Amanita snorted and tossed the heart over her shoulder. “Sheesh…” She plucked the knife from the ground, wiped the blade down on the chest of her coat, and held it out to Code. Code hesitated for a fraction of a second before grabbing and sheathing it. Still dripping bodily fluids, Amanita looked down at the bear and murmured, “What killed you?” “Could, could, could you please wipe yourself down?” whispered Charcoal. “I know it’s just blood and I know everyone’s got it but it’s supposed to be on the inside I mean that’s why it’s called your insides and now​it’s​on​your​outside​and​call​me​crazy​but​I​don’t​think​you​get​a​free​pass​just​because​you’re​a​nec-” Bitterroot and Code both snapped to look at her, but Charcoal had cut herself off before the full syllable could come out, although she looked like she’d just been sentenced to death. Fortunately, no one else seemed to notice, not even Amanita; she’d just pulled some bandages from their pack and was dabbing herself down while the guards were putting all of their attention into not leaving the area immediately. “Strange,” said Amanita. She forced the bear’s mouth open and sniffed the inside. “Very strange.” “Can you… tell me the next time you’re going to be strange?” asked Bitterroot. “I’d like to be ready.” Amanita didn’t respond, but she did smirk. “D’ye- need- tae do- arythin’ else?” Whippletree asked. You could almost hear his stomach attempting to squirm its way up his throat. “I’d rather not- stay here long.” “Just one thing,” Amanita said. “I’m going to take a look at its death.” Amanita didn’t know why she’d suggested it. Curiosity had gotten the better of her, evidently. It hadn’t even crept up on her, it’d just jumped out, seized her, and run off like a bandit, leading to the words coming out before she realized what she was saying. For maybe a second, she locked up. She’d said the wrong thing. She’d be found out immediately. The second day, not even a full twenty-four hours, and she’d already screwed up. Maybe Code could save this. She was a colonel, the High Ritualist; she had to have experience with saving dire situations, right? Right? Maybe she could- And as those thoughts stampeded their way through Amanita’s conscious mind, muscle memory led to her putting a hoof on the body and muttering, “Meminerim mortem.” She’d already decided she’d do it, after all. She left physicality behind, skating away on the structure of Tempus Mortis. Within an idea, she found herself in the bear’s death. Animal roars, snarls, and whimpers hung in the sensation around her. And before her, the bear. It was falling to the ground, a single timberwolf clinging to its neck, digging in, tearing. Amanita moved closer, expecting something more. Was there something special about this timberwolf? Was it infected with magic in some way? Did it have some special signature? There had to be something to explain the bear’s changes, right? But if there was, she couldn’t find it, not through Tempus Mortis. Just the wolf. There weren’t any strange symbols on its branches or smoke coming from it. It wasn’t glowing, didn’t seem to be changing. It was just a timberwolf. She turned her attention around the area, the same clearing she had just left; nothing. Not even any other timberwolves. The region Tempus Mortis was drawing up was oddly small, like it was the only spot that mattered in the bear’s death. Even though something was going on with the bear’s insides that this glimpse couldn’t explain. After a quick mental note to expand the senses Tempus Mortis allowed, Amanita let the spell collapse. She stepped away from the bear, trying to remember the memory-projection spell. “That ain’t gonna take long, is it?” Whippletree asked. “Already done,” Amanita said, closing her eyes. “Gimme a sec.” “A- Already done?” asked Whippletree. “Ye didnae do arything!” “Yes I did,” said Amanita through gritted teeth. The projection spell was being a pain again. “Keep quiet.” “What do you even mean by ‘take a look at its death’?” demanded Varnish. “You can hardly-” Difficulty slipped and Amanita’s memories sprang from her horn. The image of the timberwolf attacking the bear was woven into the air before everyone. Amanita briefly spared herself a grin before she said, “There. The bear’s death. Let me know if you spot anything.” And she dropped onto her haunches. The guards were all dumbstruck at what they were seeing, unless they were whispering to each other. Amanita couldn’t blame them; Tempus Mortis had been surprising enough in Canterlot, where ponies invented new spells every Tuesday. Bitterroot and Code were both considerably less impressed, having already seen it or (in Code’s case) worked on it, and set to examining it. Yet Charcoal, who had never seen it before, simply frowned, squinting at the wolf and the bear. “Huh.” Amanita followed her gaze. Whatever she was looking at was lost in the forest. “Huh what?” “Aspens.” Charcoal blinked and shook her head. “The timberwolf, it’s, it’s aspen. Usually they’re something like moat- like oak or ash or maybe pine. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an aspen timberwolf before.” She leaned forward, stroking her chin. “Sometimes, timberwolves, they take qualities of whatever timber they’re a wolf of. Stronger, faster, more agile, larger, that sort of thing. And you know what’s special about aspens?” She whipped around, grinning at the group. “Clonal colonies! A lot of nearby aspens, they often grew from the same loot syst- the same root system and they’re technically the same plant. It’s not a grove of aspenssss, it’s a grove of an aspen, as in one.” “What’s that mean fer timberwolves?” asked Whippletree. He was still gawking at the image. “I have no idea!” Charcoal said cheerily. “Maybe they all share a mind and it’s just one wolf with many bodies. That’s actually not too far from-” “How on Equus did you do that?” Varnish asked. “You just… looked at its death. With one spell! What sort of magic is that?” Everypony looked at Amanita. Which, luckily, meant nopony was watching Bitterroot (who raised her head too much to look at ease and tightened her wings), Code (who set her jaw and kneaded the ground), or Charcoal (who widened her eyes and folded her ears back). Amanita managed to keep her tail still and waved a hoof vaguely. “Oh, it’s. Y’know. New type of spell. Experimental magic. I developed it. We’re still working on it, but I think it’s coming along nicely, don’t you?” Varnish mouthed, You… He rattled his head like he was shaking off water and said ponderously, “Intriguing.” Amanita managed not to fidget beneath his gaze, although the image of the bear’s death vanished. “I guess.” “Is it-” The howl of a wolf cut through the forest. Everybody snapped their heads to look in its direction as it echoed down the valley from further north. Charcoal nickered quietly and pawed at the ground. “That’s pretty far away,” she said, failing to be reassuring even to herself. “In a place like this, hearing it at all means it’s too close,” Code said, placing a hoof on her sword. “Aye,” said Whippletree grimly. “We’re a-gettin’ back tae Tratonmane.” “Y’know, that’s fine, I learned everything I could out here, anyway,” Charcoal said. The group galloped upstream, taking with them more questions than answers.