Description:
He tucked his muzzle deeper into his scarf, wincing against the sharp autumn air. It was not that cold yet --the leaves had just exploded into their bright yellows and reds a few weeks ago-- but the wind always bit extra at his scars. He glanced up at the heavy clouds, and was a bit worried that he hadn’t thought to bring his cloak as well. No doubt about it, it would start to rain again before he made it back home tonight.
The road was old, well worn, but diligently maintained. After all, the entire village had a stake in ensuring that this particular path was traversable. Still, there were many mud puddles he had to step around from last night’s rain. He frowned a bit to himself as he accidentally splashed some on his fetlocks --considering how much they’d paid those traveling bird-things, you’d think they’d at least try to keep the rain to the fields and away from the settlement and roads.
He shook the thoughts away as he rounded the last corner. Today was supposed to be about happy memories and blessings --he shouldn’t start it with anger.
His goal came into view and...
He stopped. Reached up with a shaking hoof, and pulled his scarf down as if it would help him see better. Blinked a few times, but no. He was not seeing things.
There, now turned to face him, was a pony.
His first impression was their appearance of dirt and general unwellness. He suspected the coat was supposed to be either white or light grey, but it was now covered in filth; caked mud in the fetlocks, dust and grime smeared on the short coat --the face had brighter colored tracks under the eyes where tears had clearly washed the filth away. Their mane was a greasy tangle of dirty brown strands, which contained a myriad of sticks and leaves. Their ribs and spine were clearly visible, and their cheeks were a bit sunken in. Their eyes were blood-shot and their coat flecked and patchy, betraying either parasites or some serious lack of nutrition. A faint smell of unwashed fur reached his nostrils.
The second was the fact that they probably weren’t a pony. They were taller than him, and had a yellow Mark he couldn’t make out from the angle it was facing --but the proportions of their legs, head and eyes gave him the distinct impression they weren’t fully grown yet. Their muzzle was long and elegant, but placed in a face with a clear stop, as opposed to a horse's traditional sloped muzzle. Their hooves were big and covered in feathering, but their coat was short. Their ears were placed high on their skull, but round and fluffy. Their entire appearance was a mashup of non-compliant features, placed on a body that appeared much younger than their size would indicate.
And lastly... At their sides, large wings were partially spread and trembling, and a long horn extended from their forehead.
Their mouth opened in a silent gasp, the tip of the horn waving as their body started to shake slightly.
For a few seconds, everything was frozen. He stared at the impossible creature, who looked back at him, their face mirroring his own shock.
Then the moment broke, and the creature took a step towards him. Their mouth forming words he couldn’t hear over the pounding in his ears.
Instinctively, he took a step back in return. Then another. Then-
He jerked himself around, and broke out into a gallop. Trying to get back to the safety of the village before... whatever that was, caught up to him.
He heard the creature shout something behind him, and felt its hooves impact the ground as it went after.
He slid around the corner, and continued down the road, having to scramble to not slip and fall several times in the mud. The creature kept shouting something, but he knew better than to stop and listen.
Then, when he reached the next bend, the road finally got the better of him. His bad leg slipped and twisted under him, and he collapsed face first into the mud. He felt a sharp pain just above his fetlock, as a rock hidden somewhere beneath the brown muck sliced into it.
Gasping and spitting, he tried to get up again. Only to fall as he whinnied out in pain when he put his weight on his hoof.
The creature had since caught up with him, and he closed his eyes against what would happen.
“Please, don’t--” He pleaded, his voice breathless.
But it just stopped behind him, and he could hear it take deep, wobbly, breaths.
“Please” he gasped out again.
For a few breaths, it didn’t do anything. Then, he felt something warm wrap around his barrel. He whinnied out in fear at the unfamiliar sensation of magic taking hold of his body --but all it did was raise him up and put his three good legs under him. Then the magic disappeared, and he could almost feel it hesitate... until he heard it turn around and walk away. He strained his ears, not able to do anything but listen and shake. It slowly faded, as it walked too far away for him to pick up the stumbling hoofsteps any longer.
Only then did he dare turn around.
He breathed in relief, as the creature was nowhere to be seen.
Still, it had been there --large hoofprints were left in the mud.
He felt cold drops start to hit his face. The rain started as a fine mist, before growing stronger and stronger, until he stood in a shower of icy water, washing away the mud from his coat and scarf --and washing away the only proof of its existance he had.
When the world was nothing but rain and the road was clean of any traces of what had happened, he slowly turned around, and hobbled back towards the village.
-----
Two weeks later, he laid shivering beneath the covers of his bed. Outside the wind howled, but the inside of the cottage was warm and pleasant as a fire crackled in the fireplace. The walls were sturdy and thick, easily keeping the cold autumn out. He was covered in blankets, and a warm-water bottle still radiated some heat on his chest. Still he shivered. He knew his fever was going up --but that wasn’t actually the main reason for his tremors. He poked his foreleg out from under the covers and just looked at it, as his shakes grew stronger and his breaths started to come in short gasps.
The fetlock was wrapped in bandages, but the area around it was swollen and red, clearly visible as the lower part of the leg had been shaved. He knew that if he were to remove the wrappings, he’d be met with a gruesome sight of puss, blood and dark reddish purple skin. And--
He closed his eyes as tears welled up.
--from the area, angry dark red lines were beginning to spread up his leg.
He wasn’t a healer, but ...he’d seen this before. And he knew what it most likely was.
Blood poisoning.
Only treatments are either: get a skilled enough healer burning the poison away --of which his village had none, nor were there any close enough in the neighbouring villages to get to him in time-- or..
Well, at least it was almost winter. He tried to feel some kind of relief over the fact that most of his work was done during the three other seasons. By the time spring arrived, he might have healed and grown accustomed enough that he could go back to it. Despite... despite the fact that he would only have three....
He buried his face in the pillow, as more tears escaped.
On top of it, the creature was still out there. He’d warned the others, but after three weeks of no-one else seeing it, he knew some of them thought he’d just had a break with reality. Honestly, he was starting to wonder the same himself.
Still, he worried and feared. Once they’d both seen the dark lines, his husband had immediately gone to fetch the village healer. She may not be able to burn away the poison, but she could confirm it and... do... th-the necessary... next step.
He took a shaky breath, that mostly came out as a sob.
And now, his husband was out there in the darkness, heading towards the village --alone, except for whatever that thing had been.
The shutters rattled as the wind grew stronger.
He hoped the healer had enough common sense to keep the two of them there if the winds turned into a storm. Because stars know his partner didn’t.
-
Time passed. His fever grew ever hotter, the wind grew ever stronger, and the fire started to wane.
He managed to stumble out of bed, to put more logs on. Trembling on three legs, he’d just made his way over to the small indoor stack, when the door knocked.
He paused what he was doing in surprise. His husband would have just entered, and he couldn’t think of who would dare brave this weather to visit him. Maybe the healer had decided to go alone? Though, she’d never been one to not barge in when she felt it was necessary.
Fear gripped his heart. Maybe something had happened to his partner on the way to the village center.
“It’s open!” he shouted, and quickly started to shuffle towards the entrance.
Before he made it over, the door slowly opened, and--
The creature was standing there. Just as sickly-looking and dirty as he remembered --still the odd sparkle of the white coat shone through the grime in the firelight.
He looked up into its eyes, which stared back at him in fear.
His tremors increased, and breathing grew rapid. He wanted to run, or slam the door closed again, but he was just frozen in place.
As he tried to not hyperventilate, he watched as the creature’s eyes trailed down to stare at his wrapped fetlock. He couldn’t quite read its expression --was it worried? Scared?
Either way, it quickly morphed into a grim determination. It lifted its head again, stared into his eyes, and the long horn lit up.
He squeaked, and finally was able to get his legs to move when he felt the golden magic wrap around his body. But by that point, all he was doing was running in midair, as the creature held him aloft. It moved him further in, stepped inside itself, and closed the door behind it.
It hesitated.
And then the latch lit up with the same golden glow as the one holding him, and the door was locked. If he could get down, he could still open it and run outside --though, how he’d be able to outrun the thing with only three functional legs he wasn’t sure-- but no one was getting in unless they broke down the door.
He slowly shifted his head, to stare at the creature in fear. It didn’t meet his gaze.
“I’m sorry. I’m not gonna hurt you” Its voice sounded like a teenager’s and distinctly feminine, reminding him again of just how strangely young the creature looked. He just whimpered in response and cringed away as much as the magic would allow him.
It carried him closer to the waning fire, and he saw several logs light up and move into the dancing flames. In response, the fire roared and lit up the room with its warm glow.
The covers he’d been tucked under earlier came floating over. His three good legs folded up under him without him wishing them to, and the blankets wrapped themselves around his body, swaddling him completely. Only his injured leg stuck out awkwardly.
If he’d been in a better state, he might have been able to rip himself out of the glow and cocoon, but the fever held his mind and body too weak to do anything but shiver.
From the table on the other side of the room, the rest of the bandages came floating over, as well as two bowls and a rag. One of the bowls the creature filled with water from the indoor trough, and, much to his amazement, it was suddenly boiling. It wasn’t anywhere near the fire, yet he saw the water bubbling as it, and the other items, were carefully placed on the stone paving in front of the hearth. He shivered a bit more and couldn’t help but try to burrow himself deeper into the blankets.
The creature paused, and looked at him, as his tremors grew stronger and stronger. It looked around, took a step towards the bed, tunred around again --after some more back and forth it finally pulled over an old rag-rug in front of the flames and laid down on it. It lifted its wing, and, carefully, placed him next to its barrel.
The horn winked out, casting the shadows in the corners deeper into darkness. He immediately tried to shimmy out of the blankets, but a large brownish-white wing folded up around him. He could feel the muscles in the unnatural joint beside him shift, as it held him firmly in place.
He watched, unable to do much else, as the large white head shifted so it could transfix him with one pink eye. It then looked down at his leg again, seemingly studying it.
“I’m sorry.” It repeated its earlier sentiment. “But I really am not going to hurt you. I... I should’a done this differently, but this is dangerous an' you were scared. So I’mma help you... alright?”
The way it spoke was haltering and unsteady, slurring its speech just a little bit. But he noticed, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it was speaking the same dialect as he did. This fact would quickly be forgotten in the haze of fever, but for now it involuntarily put him just a smidge more at ease. At least, to the extent that was possible.
Just then, he felt heat start to seep in through the blankets. It radiated from the white body next to him, much hotter than it really had any right to. He half felt that, if the blankets weren’t there, it would almost be hot enough to burn.
The creature was seemingly done with speaking, and its horn lit up again. The magic took hold of the bandages, and gently unwrapped them. He hissed in pain as the air hit the injury. It paused, and gave him a concerend look at the sound --but quickly shifted to focus on the injury again, giving the cut a glare. Its horn winked out, and he was only left with the firelight again to try and see what it was doing.
For a second he almost thought it would just try to stare his wound into submission, when suddently and almost angrily, it leaned its head down towards the leg in front of it. He held his breath and winced at the jolt of pain which shot up it, as the long muzzle pressed against the wound, supringly gentle for the abruptness of the action. Blood smeared on the dirty white fur, and its eyes closed.
Nothing else happened. He could feel the creature’s barrel move with each deep breath it took, heard his own wildly beating heart and shaky breathing, and felt the heat of the fire on his face and the heat from the creature on his side. It didn’t move from its position, and its horn remained unlit.
He startled as he felt a new heat start to spread. His injured leg had already been feeling hot, as his body was doing its best to combat the illness resting there, but now, it was growing even hotter.
Its intensity grew and grew, and he was just starting to worry when it stopped and kept the same heat --just on the verge of burning him.
It was almost painful. Just barely below the threshold of pain.
...
He... he knew this feeling. He stared at the leg. He’d experienced this before, in his other front leg and on part of his face, back right after... It hadn’t healed up, and illness had taken hold then too. But back then, Healer Searing had been close enough to get to them and help in time.
If this was that... could it...?
So he watched silently, his gaze feverish with both illness and hope.
His breath hitched. The dark lines were retreating, withdrawing back towards the cut. Slowly, slowly, they disappeared, the skin turning the normal red of inflammation. It was-- it was...!
So transfixed was he by the newfound hope, that he startled enough to make the creature grip him with it's wing again as its white head suddenly lifted. It shot him a glance as the horn lit up, and the rag and bowl floated closer. He was confused for a second, before looking at the actual injury and not the area above it --and tried to rear back at the mess. Once he saw it, he realised the smell that was starting to waft from it. He supposed it made sense --the illness had to go somewhere, and the village healer always said puss was the body pushing it out.
Still, he looked away and dry heaved a bit, as he felt the area being, painfully, cleaned and rinsed.
After a few agonizing moments had passed, he saw the horn’s glow darken again out of the corner of his eye. He looked back, and saw the muzzle press against the wound again.
Once again, the sickness retreated some, and the redness and swelling went down just a smidge. Then the horn lit up, and the area cleaned.
This loop repeated over and over. He wasn't sure how many times, couldn't really keep track of it through the fever --but it continued, at a steady pace until all that was left was his normal healthy skin and a clean cut. The creature gave the now clean cut a critical look and a nod, and started to wrap the leg in bandages again.
He could feel his eyes drooping --healing was always tiring, and with his fever on top of that, it wasn’t too surprising that he was about ready to pass out. Still, he managed to hold himself awake a few moments longer.
“That was our magic” He managed to rasp out through the haze in his head.
It didn’t react.
“S’not... I’ve felt it b’fore. Was like our healers. Earth magic”
“I... am of the earth”
He stared at it and gave sleepy but pointed looks towards the lit horn and wing still covering him.
“I was, at leas’,” it amended. “Now, I’m... also other I guess.”
The bandages were secured, and he felt the magic wrap around his whole body again. It rose up, seeming tired from the way it stumbled a bit and hung its head.
As it floated him over to the bed, the blankets unwrapped and gently spread over him instead as he was placed on the now cold mattress.
“...I am sorry I scared you. An’ moved you without you wantin’ me to. I’m...I’mma leave you alone now alright? Just wanted to... you were in danger. I couldn't let you--” It stopped speaking and just shook its head in mute pain.
It carefully smoothed the blankets around him, and he felt himself starting to be pulled further down into unconsciousness.
The last thing he saw that night was the tail of the strange mare, as she closed the door after her, leaving the warm cottage behind.
-
When his husband and the healer arrived the next day, they woke him up with their sounds of confusion. His fever had broken sometime during the night, and his wound had stopped bleeding. The blood poisoning was gone, the swelling was down and it showed no sign of the infection. His partner switched between utter confusion, happiness, and trying to keep his tears from not dripping too close to the wound.
The healer was extremely perplexed, and spent the entire forenoon performing tests to try and find out what had happened. Eventually she decided that they must have been mistaken about the blood poisoning, and that his body somehow must have fought the infection off on its own.
Once the healer finally left, he did tell his partner about what actually had happened --but he wasn’t sure if he believed him, or if he just thought it’d been a fever dream.
He later spent some time looking for the strange mare --but he didn't see her at all again that autumn and winter. When spring arrived he was starting to think that, maybe, she really had been just a sickness induced hallucination.
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