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As night closed in, we approached a farm that seemed largely intact – no animals in the fields, but smoke curled up from the smokestack and there was a welcoming glow in several of the windows, as well as light seeping through the cracks around the silo doors. It was just the three of us again, Watcher having vanished with a pop, replaced by tinny, patriotic music and an oblivious sprite-bot. Calamity had kept a wary eye on the bot until it had wandered out of sight.
A raven fluttered down, perching on the first of what looked like a row of three planks sticking out of the ground near the edge of a barren pasture. The last plank was smaller and crooked. The last fellows standing of a fence, I presumed.
Quickly but carefully, we trotted down the rocky hillside and through the stone-strewn fields to reach the house. We needed a place to sleep, food to eat and, if possible, medical supplies. The house seemed like it was sent from Celestia Herself… assuming the ponies inside didn’t shoot us for trespassing. Hanging hope on the hospitality of strangers was unwise in the Equestrian Wasteland.
A creaky windmill with two thirds of its blades missing squeaked rustily as we passed.
“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” I began. Just because there was no awful graffiti did not mean that the place wasn’t full of raiders.
Velvet Remedy marched past me. “Really, Littlepip, you shouldn’t sound so jaded…”
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Fo:E — Chapter Nine: The Moral of the Story
A raven fluttered down, perching on the first of what looked like a row of three planks sticking out of the ground near the edge of a barren pasture. The last plank was smaller and crooked. The last fellows standing of a fence, I presumed.
Quickly but carefully, we trotted down the rocky hillside and through the stone-strewn fields to reach the house. We needed a place to sleep, food to eat and, if possible, medical supplies. The house seemed like it was sent from Celestia Herself… assuming the ponies inside didn’t shoot us for trespassing. Hanging hope on the hospitality of strangers was unwise in the Equestrian Wasteland.
A creaky windmill with two thirds of its blades missing squeaked rustily as we passed.
“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” I began. Just because there was no awful graffiti did not mean that the place wasn’t full of raiders.
Velvet Remedy marched past me. “Really, Littlepip, you shouldn’t sound so jaded…”
- — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — -
Fo:E — Chapter Nine: The Moral of the Story
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