Cold Light

by Scramblers and Shadows

Battle

Chapter 15
Battle

After looking through the telescope, Gaius was silent for several seconds. When at last he spoke, his deep voice almost trembled: “I can not fucking believe this.” He glared at Blueberry. “And you think she hasn't got powers over that thing?”

She glanced out the window, where the sintering facility was just visible on the horizon. “What thing?”

Gaius grabbed her mane and dragged her towards the eyepiece of the telescope. The motion was so sudden it caught her off guard, and she nearly fell. Before she could get in a comment, he growled, “Look!”

She quashed half a dozen cutting remarks – soon, if all went well, she'd have her pony and be free of this loutish dullard – and looked.

In the distance: Something immense. Serpentine body. Three pairs of leathery wings. The aelewyrm – the creature that had got between Gaius and Sweetie Belle last time.

“That's why she ran!” said Gaius. “That mess with all the gliders. She was buying time to summon the snake … leading us into a trap.”

“Don't be foolish. It's a dumb animal. We've just run into some bad luck.” She peered out the windows at the horizon, trying to see if she could catch a glimpse of the aelewyrm in the distance. Still nothing. “And you know what? I make my own luck, so –“

“No,” he said. “I am not losing another ship to that creature. We're turning back now.” Then, to the bridge crew: “You heard me! Signal the others. We're pulling back!”

Moments later came the pull of deceleration. Blueberry pressed her lips together. She readied her thrall spell, and said to Gaius in a soft voice, “When I made a deal with you, it was because I believed griffons of your stripe were brave enough to do everything necessary to find that mare.”

He ground his break. “We're brave, not suicidal.”

“Oh, please. Can we get there before the aelewyrm? Can we, if we keep going now?”

Under the gentle push of the thrall, Gaius reluctantly answered. “Barely.”

“Then we have a chance of surviving! The only issue is that you think there's too much danger.”

“You're damned right I do.”

“What does it say,” she murmured, so quietly he'd have to strain to hear, “that a little unicorn mare is more willing to face danger than you are?”

He clicked his beak. She waited for him to speak again.

“It wouldn't be my life alone. If we go on, I'd risk the lives of everyone on board. Many of them will die even if we escape.”

“Let them.”

The look he gave her said she'd overstepped her bounds.

She responded with another push with the thrall spell, and went on: “They chose to be here, under your command.”

“Come with me,” he said.

“Pardon?”

Gaius raised his voice for the whole bridge: “We're going ahead in a scout, along with the gunships. This ship and the other scout will pull back and wait at a safe distance.” He turned to the griffon who, Blueberry supposed, was his second in command. “Send out the necessary instructions.” Then, back to her: “But we have to change ships now. Come with me.”

---

Standing on the loading platform beside the gunship, with the platoon of elementals flitting and crawling about nearby, Sweetie Belle tried to convince Scootaloo that the aelewyrm's appearance was in their favour:

“It'll be another distraction. Between the aelewyrm, my elementals, and my gunfire, they won't be able to stop you from getting a gunship! And it'll keep them busy while we leave.”

“Or it'll attack us while we try to leave.”

“Maybe, but probably not. Out of all the gunships, how likely is it to pick ours? Besides, Blueberry wants me alive – she'll try and protect me if she can.”

“We don't have a better plan, anyway, so I guess we'll just have to go ahead with it.”

The platform gave them a good view of the ships approaching from one direction and the aelewyrm from the other. It looked further away, but then it moved faster – Sweetie Belle couldn't tell who'd arrive first.

After a while, they saw two of the ships – the lead and one of the scouts – had stopped, leaving the other scout to go out alone. Soon after, the gunships began to fan out. “They'll try and come at us from all sides. Makes it easier for us,” Scootaloo said quietly. It was easy to count them now: Fourteen.

Sweetie Belle wondered if Tom and Lucille had escaped. She hoped so.

From behind came that bone-rattling roar. She looked back and saw the aelewyrm, still closer.

“That one,” said Scootaloo. She gestured towards the leftmost gunship. “If you can keep the four or five next to him busy, that should be enough. I guess you know how far these elementals can reach, but don't start shooting until they're about twice as close as they are now.”

“Alright.”

Scootaloo sighed softly. “I don't want to do this.”

“Me neither. I –”

“I mean I don't want to leave you here while everyone's attacking.”

Sweetie Belle looked over at her. “It's okay. I know you'll come back.”

“Yeah,” said Scootaloo. “I hope so.”

Silently, Sweetie Belle checked with Saffron to see if it would be okay to send the elementals out. Saffron returned with a yes, so she pulled aside three sylphs and three salamanders. Best to see how they fared alone – the hybrids could wait until things got worse.

“Those six ships,” she told them. “Take one each. Salamanders on those three; sylphs on the other. Damage the engines. Try not to kill the pilots.” She glanced over at Scootaloo, then back again. “Go.”

A moment later the elementals were gone, zipping away. Now, very faintly, she could hear the rumbling of the engines. It was overtaken by another roar from the aelewyrm.

“They're fast,” said Scootaloo with a tone of approval. “I guess it's time for me to go then.” She briefly nuzzled Sweetie Belle. “Take care of yourself.” She extended her wings to their full width, glittering in the sun and quietly humming with power, and then she was in the air and heading toward her target.

That was it, then. Suddenly Sweetie Belle felt very alone. She climbed into the gunship and activated its guns like Scootaloo had shown her. The incoming ships were still too far away to shoot, but being here, aiming at them and knowing that couldn't fire back even if they were in range, gave her a sense of power that swept away the loneliness.

She felt rather than saw the elementals attack. Three momentary white-hot needles of pain through her chest, coming within a few seconds of each other. The salamanders. When she looked up, three of the attackers were careening and billowing smoke. The pilots ejected; one ship exploded, the other two tumbled towards the desert leaving helical grey-white trails. Then another jab – this she recognised as a collapsing sylph. On top of the others, it made her double over and left an ache through her muscles. When she managed to look up again, she saw another gunship was going down.

They'd only just started, and four ships were gone. Even with the sudden tiredness, she couldn't hold in an elated shriek. “Hah! Fuck yeah!”

“It's not over yet,” cautioned Saffron as a voice in her head.

The other two sylphs seemed to be having less luck, but still looked like they were occupying their chosen ships. Scootaloo's target to the far left was isolated; easy prey.

They were close enough now; she aimed the guns, listened to them spin up and fired.

Noise came like a punch to the eardrums. It seemed to take over everything. The clatter startled her so much that she stopped firing and cowered away from the console. Pathetic She steadied herself, aimed again, and fired.

The roar blanketed everything, but she could feel the gunship rattling on the platform as the guns continued to fire. She stopped after a couple of seconds, her ears ringing. None of the attacking ships had gone down. They were in range now, surely? They were almost on top of the facility.

She fired again, in a longer burst. Then again. And again. Nothing. It was harder than she'd thought to keep the gun aimed while firing. At least none of them were shooting back. Just as she was about the pull the trigger again, another jolt of pain lanced through her. A second sylph gone. In a fit of frustration, she held the trigger down and waved the guns back and forth across the attacking ships.

There – one of them dropped. She'd got it! Had she got it? It pulled back up. Without letting go of the trigger, she focused her fire on the bastard. The only thing she could hear above the gunfire was another roar from the aelewyrm.

Then the noise stopped. The gun barrels kept rolling, vomiting clouds of smoke, but not shooting. Out of bullets. She swore and kicked the control panel. Another pain; another sylph dead – at least this one took down another gunship, which fell off to the side as its pilot bailed.

“Here she is,” said Saffron.

The leftmost gunship, its occupant a familiar shade of orange, bore down on the second platform.

Sweetie Belle called another two salamanders and a sylph carrying a pygmy, and sent them to attack Scootaloo's pursuers. With the rest of her elementals in tow, she galloped across the loading bay to the free platform.

Scootaloo's gunship flew in towards her, slowed. Two hundred metres. One. Fifty metres – it angled its rotors upright, came in at a hover which to Sweetie Belle felt glacially slow.

Clattering gunfire. The ship's right rotor shattered.

Shrapnel embedded itself in the platform a few metres away from Sweetie Belle. As the gunship began to tumble, Scootaloo burst out through the cockpit and flew into the cover of the loading bay. The gunship fell out of sight below the platform – and a moment later there came a deep, loud bang which made the metal plating beneath her hooves shake. It must've hit one of the facility's legs, Sweetie Belle realised as she galloped into the loading bay.

Scootaloo was unhurt, taking cover behind a thick pillar. “Fucking fucking fucking fuck!”she screamed. Yeah, that about summed up it, thought Sweetie Belle as she joined her.

She glanced round the pillar to see what was going on. The gunships were nearly upon them now. Just nine left. The scout was a little way away yet. Where were her elementals?

The answer came as four jolts of pain, one after another. She cried out; her knees buckled, and she found herself lying on on the ground with Scootaloo standing over her. A gluey ache saturated her muscles. She tried to curse, found herself too exhausted to even finish the word.

As Scootaloo helped her up, the gunships reached them and – flew past towards the aelewyrm. “What now?” she managed to get out. The pain was receding a little.

“We try again,” muttered Scootaloo. She put a hoof on Sweetie Belle's shoulder. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I'll … I'll be fine.”

Gunfire again, from multiple sources, but sounding shrill and pathetic by the side of the immense rumble-roar that came immediately after. The gunships were attacking the aelewyrm – swarming about it like mosquitos.

Scootaloo watched the scene, brow furrowed, then gestured at the elementals. “Leave them here.”

“But –”

“Do it!” She took off.

“She's right,” said Saffron. “You've lost too many already.”

The aelewyrm had slowed and turned towards the front of the facility. It twisted back and forth, looking almost uncertain what to attack first. Its body twitched, and its tail curled round, narrowly missing one of the gunships. It passed out of sight, and a moment later there came a great scream of shearing metal and shattering glass, making the whole facility shake. Something hurtled into sight – the control room, torn from the front of the facility – and crashed into one of the gunships.

Sweetie Belle was so caught up in this she didn't see the griffon until he landed on her. They fell to the ground, his forelegs wrapped around her barrel. Of course, she realised – the pilots who had escaped their gunships. She struggled uselessly before realising her elementals were still waiting.

Get him off me! she called to the sylph-pygmy hybrid. Then added as quickly as she could: But don't kill him!

The elemental came in as a miniature sandstorm, smacking into both of them. The griffon didn't let go, but his grip did weaken. She wriggled around until she could get aim, then kicked him hard in the belly just before the elementals came in for another hit.

This time he did let go. She scrabbled free and glanced around at the loading bay. The scout had arrived – griffons were flying out from it, carrying chevaloids, it looked like.

Why chevaloids? Then she remembered: Last time Blueberry had tried to get her, back at the station, one had tried to help her.

And there was Blueberry herself, also being carried. She looked ridiculous, Sweetie Belle thought, and smirked to herself. But it was time to retreat. Scootaloo would know … hopefully. Sweetie Belle turned and galloped towards the main floor.

She stopped, crouching between a rivet-lined vat and a conveyor belt carrying a stream of half-melted sand still crackling with heat. She was about to send out another elemental to attack the scout, when she saw the hybrid, still fighting the griffon. They'd moved further back, close to the landing pad, close to where Blueberry was now standing.

A bolt of light flicked between Blueberry's horn and the hybrid.

Another – another – lance of pain through her chest. Sweetie Belle shivered, but managed to stay standing. That was it, then. Blueberry was killing her elementals. Idiot, she thought. Of course Blueberry would be prepared this time.

Ranks of chevaloids and griffons were advancing between the conveyer belts. Maybe ten of each – already too many to handle.

She cantered further forward, keeping her head down to avoid being seen. The sound of the engines and moving machinery here almost drowned out the gunfire from outside – but not the aelewyrm roars. She still had her elementals in tow – but the moment she let them out, they'd get zapped. She had no sylphs left.

“We're not having much luck here, are we?” she said to Saffron.

“We do seem to be pretty fucked, yes.”

“Any ideas?”

Silence.

“Really, Saffron. This would a great time to talk. Lecture me, even. Just do something!”

“Here.”

Sweetie Belle felt a new spell appear in her head. By now it was an entirely familiar feeling.

“Try hitting one of the chevaloids with it.”

She peered round the arm of a crane. There! Two chevaloids trotting abreast. She hit the left one. It froze, whirring, then leapt on its companion, chewing at the spine with its metal jaws.

“That's an attack-everything command,” said Saffron. “Best I could do under the circumstances. Don't get too close.”

Enthused, Sweetie Belle bounded over the nearest conveyer, came up against another chevaloid, this time accompanying a griffon, and shot it.

“She's here!” shouted the griffon, just before the chevaloid leapt on him. They scuffled briefly – then he leapt into the air and threw it into one of the furnace beams. Immediately he was bearing down on her.

Several others were too. More griffons. A lone chevaloid. She zapped it, then turned and galloped.

The griffons took to the air, following her, and –

With an ear-splitting crash, a ragged chunk of metal broke through the wall of the main floor. A ruined gunship. It flew between her and her pursuers, glanced off a pillar, scattering shrapnel everywhere, then skated across the floor, tearing up all the equipment in its path and destroying a couple of chevaloids until it came to rest against the far wall and began to burn. Broken pipes spat great clouds of steam and boiling water; opened conveyer belts dumped sand on the floor; the pillar, now with half its width sheared off, groaned. Her pursuers were, for the moment, blocked by the steam.

She stared at the wreckage, heart in her throat. “Please don't be …” she murmured.

“Keep going,” said Saffron. “She can pick you up at the front, but only if you don't get captured.”

Right. Yeah. Scootaloo wouldn't let herself get caught out like that.

She turned and began to gallop again.

Another crash came from behind. She turned to look – this time, two immense spikes had pierced the wall the gunship had come through. They dragged towards her, opening rents in the metal and snapping structural members, then finally pulled away. The facility creaked again, and the floor shifted beneath her hooves.

Keep going – get the the front!

Griffons flying over the mess behind her. No way she could outpace them. Se sent out another salamander to occupy them.

The facility shuddered as something else crashed into it. She didn't try to figure out what it was. The floor lurched under her hooves, twice in quick succession. Something behind her snapped, then to her left, with a drawn-out groan, the entire wall began to buckle. A cracking sound from above, and a huge shard of glass – a piece of a roof lens – fell. She saw it in time to throw herself to the floor, in the shadow of a conveyer, as the lens-shard shattered and sent missiles of glass across the main floor. A scream from behind her – one of the griffons hadn't been so lucky.

Nearly there – past the engine room, towards the foot of the stairs. Her legs felt like they would give out at any moment. Another crash behind her. And another. She put up a shield to block the fragments of glass. Another needle in her chest told her the salamander hadn't escaped. That left two salamanders and three pygmies.

At the foot of the stairs, she glanced back to see if the griffons were following her. She couldn't see any. The main floor of the facility was more wreckage than machinery; the roof lenses were almost gone, and gouts of smoke and steam blocked the view to the loading bay.

The floor lurched again. Now the facility was leaning backwards at a noticeable angle. She climbed the stairs as fast as she could.

At the top, there was almost nothing – a bit of floor, a rear wall, and a gaping hole where the cabin had been. The dry desert winds stroked her coat, carrying the faint smell of smoke.

The aelewyrm was some distance away, thrashing about, being harassed by four gunships. Were they the only ones left?

Come on, Scoots. Where are you? You know I can't be at the back. Come on.

Come on!

The facility lurched again.

She glanced at elementals. Well – what was there to lose? She pulled out a salamander/pygmy hybrid. “Go to the scout,” she told it. “Get into the engines, do some damage. But go under the facility, and stay out of sight!” If it managed to stay out of Blueberry's way, maybe it would last long enough the kill the engines. Then at least Blueberry would be trapped here too.

Another gunship flew into view, coming from behind, and hovered. There, in the cabin – it was Scootaloo! Sweetie Belle sent a little pulse of green magic into the air. Just enough to catch her attention.

The gunship turned back and forth. Had she seen?

The facility trembled. From far behind came the deep, tortured cry of stressed metal.

The gunship turned towards her and flew forwards. Closer, closer, until it was in front of her, and all she could hear was the pounding of its engines. Scootaloo waved at her from the cockpit. The air was rich with the sickly smell of kerosene fumes.

Pain, again; the elementals she'd sent to attack the airship had been destroyed.

Scootaloo pulled the ship a bit closer and opened the cockpit. She couldn't approach further, Sweetie Belle realised, not without having the propellers hit the edges of the facility. There was no place to land.

Maybe enough space for her to jump?

She stepped back until she was at the lip of the stairs.

Scootaloo leaned forwards out the cabin.

And with a great groan, everything tiled backwards.

Sweetie Belle, caught off guard, fell backwards, down the stairs. Over the side of the stairs. In blind panic she reached out and hooked her pastern over the banister. The staircase itself bent as the facility's superstructure crumpled, but it slowed her descent. She managed to land on her side.

A savage, searing pain ignited down her flank. But there was no time to dwell on that – she was sliding to the rear of the facility, and the remains of the staircase, with other bits of wreckage, was too. Faster than her – it would hit her any second.

Somehow she managed to scrabble to her hooves and stay there. Legs uninjured, then – thank Celestia. Staircase still sliding at her, on top of what was left of the big conveyer belt. She tried to move to the side, but they were already in the narrow passage between the engines.

Engines! She looked back in time to see a blade of steam spraying at head height from a tear in the pipe. She let herself fall down again, and felt the burning heat as she passed beneath.

The staircase hit the narrowest part of the passage and stopped, wedged between the walls and the conveyer belt.

She got up again as she reached the main floor, and came to a halt bracing herself on the branching conveyer belt.

Everything else, all the free bits of wreckage and broken chevaloids, was sliding backwards. Far behind, the back of the loading bay was sitting directly against the desert floor. She couldn't see Blueberry, but the scout was visible through the shattered ceiling.

The facility's back legs must have broken – and then it had tipped up, with its middle legs as a pivot.

Sweetie Belle looked the way she'd come. What now? Would Scootaloo wait for her there?

She glanced back to where the wreckage was accumulating on the desert with a cacophonic clatter. and caught a flash of violet aura. Blueberry's colour, she was sure of it. What was she doing?

Bits of wreckage moved about sideways, clung to each other, collected other bits.

She'd seen this before, she was certain.

Like a timberwolf forming.

But not a timberwolf. Its limbs were twisted girders and broken pipes; its claws were shards of glass and metal sheet; part of its torso was made a broken chevaloid; a crumpled gunship body made up most of its upper jaw. All held together by a violet aura.

A scrapwolf?

The last pieces of wreckage clung to its legs. It stood with the squeal and creak of twisting metal and looked at her.

Scootaloo still nowhere to be seen.

The scrapwolf took a step, paw bracing against the foundations of sheared-off equipment in the floor.

“Saffron? Can I disrupt it?”

“A golem? Not unless you want to pass out again.”

“But she can kill my elementals? That's not fair.”

Aha, elementals! Where were they? She called to them. How many left?

The scrapwolf had already covered half the distance towards her.

Here they were – two salamanders carrying a pygmy each. And sitting in the corner, a third lone pygmy, crawling to her.

“Go, attack! Pull it apart!” she told them.

The glowing hybrids set off through the air, and the lone pygmy became a pile of sand sliding down towards the scrapwolf's paw.

“Don't you dare,” she whispered, looking up at the scout, where she guessed Blueberry had retreated.

As the hybrids reached it, the scrapwolf snapped at them, its steel neck creaking. No contest – the elementals swooped past those hulking jaws and headed for the shoulders. She heard a hissing and crackling as the white-hot sand made contact. The scrapwolf stopped its climb and writhed, trying to get them off as they extended like glowing worms around its forelimbs. Amid the rhythmic thumping of expanding metal, their bodies twisted, tightened, and gradually pinched through all the wreckage.

The scrapwolf started to climb again, but it was too late. On the second step its forelegs came off, leaving cherry-red glowing stumps. It fell.

Sweetie Belle ducked behind the conveyer belt as its head smashed against the ground. Four pulses in her chest – dead elementals. She wasn't sure if she could stand again. When she managed to peer over the conveyer's edge, the scrapwolf was was sliding back, belly scraping and screaming against the floor. The impact had shattered its head, and the aura holding the remains of its body together trembled, stuttered, and vanished. It fell apart with a clatter, and piled up on the desert as an amorphous mass of wreckage.

Sweetie Belle looked behind her. This was the time for Scootaloo to come in and rescue her, wasn't it? Where had she gone?

There was something else, she realised. Something conspicuous by its absence. No more aelewyrm calls.

A clang came from the far end of the facility. Pieces of wreckage slide over each other. A violet aura.

“Oh, come on!” she gasped. “How can you keep going?”

Slowly, slowly, another scrapwolf began to emerge. A different one – same parts in a different order.

Before it was done there came a great shriek of tearing metal, this time from the middle of the facility. The walls and ceiling cracked open, the floor buckled, and everything began to drop. The front end had been up in the air all this time, and the walls weren't strong enough the hold it. Her weight vanished. The slope of the floor vanished. The front wheelbase hit the desert with a vicious thump. More bits of lens roof came away and fell to the floor. Sweetie Belle was thrown down again – her side felt like it was on fire.

She shakily stood, wincing from the pain. The floor was now sloping the other way, but more gently. The loading bay was almost out of sight, hidden behind the facility's broken back, but she could see the top of the scrapwolf's head moving.

And above it – griffons. Just five of them, looking rather worse for wear, but still flying and heading right for her.

Something came from behind her, barreled into the lead griffon, and kicked him into the one to his right. Scootaloo! She darted over to the lead griffon, and just before he landed, pushed him out of the path of the advancing scrapwolf. He fell out of sight, and didn't come back.

Scootaloo swung back and flew over to Sweetie Belle. She flicked her head back. “The hell is that?”

“Scrapwolf,” panted Sweetie Belle.

“This isn't fair.”

“That's what I –” Sweetie Belle didn't get to finish; three of the griffons were nearly upon them, and Scotaloo grabbed her and pulled her forwards.

They half-flew, half-ran, between the engines, over the twisted remains of the stairs. Behind came the clanging steps of the scrapwolf. Just before they reached the entrance of the conveyer buckets, something thumped into them from above, throwing Sweetie Belle onto the floor. She started to slide backwards as Scootaloo extended a wing and smacked the griffon back. “Last gunship's hidden under the buckets conveyers,” she said hurriedly. “Get in.”

“But –” said Sweetie Belle.

Scootaloo leapt up and headbutted another griffon. The third grabbed her from behind, and they fell to the ground. Sweetie Belle tried to run up to them, but found she didn't have the energy.

“Go, now! Fly to Ilmarinen! I can catch up.” She flicked a wing out in demonstration, then used it to smack aside a griffon.

Sweetie Belle stared at her. “They'll kill you.”

“They'll try.”

The scrapwolf was bounding towards them, over the facility's broken middle.

Sweetie Belle stared at her as she wrestled another griffon to the ground.

“Now! Go. For fuck's sake, go!”

Sweetie Belle swallowed, and climbed out the portal into the vicious sunlight. The two bucket conveyers, no longer moving but mostly intact, gave her a path to the sand where the gunship sat with its propellers idling. At least the sky was clear. No aelewyrm – the only evidence of the battle was the wreckage of another gunship lying in the sand.

She started climbing down the conveyer, hooking her pastern round rust-scabbed girders and hanging onto the inner edge. Every movement made her side complain, but she kept going. Halfway down she looked back up to the front of the facility. Crashing came from within.

At the bottom, she dropped to the sand. It was nearly hot enough to burn, but that was nothing compared to everything else that hurt.

Another ear-splitting crash – she was getting far too used to that – caught her attention. The scrapwolf poked its head through a new hole in the front of the facility. It looked at her and began to pull itself through the hole.

She galloped over the sand, opened the cockpit and climbed in. The scrapwolf roared, then pulled its head back. She thought she caught a glimpse of silvery-iridescent wing through the hole as another crash followed.

“Flick those three switches there,” began Saffron.

“I'm not leaving her! Not now, not after –”

Over the remains of the facility, the envelope of the scoutship slowly came into view. They were coming after her.

“Either you go now and let her catch up,” said Saffron, “or you lose everything we've been fighting for.”

She was right, of course. If Scootaloo could get out by herself, she'd have no problem following. If she couldn't, Sweetie Belle could do nothing to help her, and would just get captured if she stayed.

Flicking the switches, pressing buttons, propellers speeding up, ground falling away, angle forward gently, scoutship receding behind. Everything passed as a sort of dream. She didn't even realise she was crying until she had to check the dials and saw nothing but a blur.

They flew onwards, oriented by the Scar towards Ilmarinen. Nothing followed.

“There's something else,” said Saffron.

Sweetie Belle waited for her to continue.

“You took a lot of punishment back there. I had to mess with your hormones after the last elementals died, just so you were strong enough to stay awake. But I'm going to have to pull back on that now, so you don't have a heart attack or something. Just be ready to feel quite strange.”

“Alright.”

“And don't worry about crashing …”

“Alright. Just do it.”

No reply came. No immediate sensation. Just a growing drowsiness without calm. Everything ached. Every movement beyond the essential felt impossibly difficult. So did thinking.

She waited for Scootaloo to arrive.

Time passed. How much? Hard to tell. The sun was still out, but closer to the horizon now. Shadows beginning to stretch.

She still waited for Scootaloo to arrive.

Had she slept? She didn't know.

Something was emerging from the reddening atmospheric haze ahead.

Ilmarinen.

She'd flown all the way to Ilmarinen, and Scootaloo was still gone.

Comments

[Vitae]

This reminds me of "John Carter", "Star Wars", and "Dune" and scraps of other things all put together

[HiddenMaster]

That was certainly exciting.

Oh, and yes. That scrapwolf was certainly unfair. In fact, Blueberry is doing quite a bit of stuff that's unfair to you.

Frankly, though? I was strongly expecting the aelewyrm to go directly after Blueberry. She seems so nonchalant about it, but it would have been so ironic for her to lean that, animal or not, you don't fuck with it.

[Scramblers and Shadows]

7710544
Thanks! (I think? That actually does sound like a pretty cool combination, after all.)

7717394
Hm. Kinda wish I'd thought of that, now. Oh well.

Still, it's easy to be nonchalant when it's someone else's life you're putting at the most risk. At, it is if you're the villain.

[Flynt Coal]

This is pretty good, I'm surprised it doesn't have more views. The one thing I will say is it needs editing, as there are a lot of typos throughout.

[RoyalBardofCanterlot]

Great action scene. The ending was heartbreaking. I hope Scoots reunites with Sweetie Belle soon.