The Leaders and the Lead III: End

>The foals are helpless, even by newborn fluffy pony standards.
>Even when their stunted brains understand how to meet their basic biological needs like food and warmth, their slack muscles and rubbery bones can't support their weight.
>The pink unicorn is consumed with taking care of them.
>In a few hours he's learned how to listen for foals that are whimpering for milk and carry them painstakingly to the dam's teats.
>He and the dam are always cuddling the other foals gingerly, imparting their body heat.
>The other fluffies try to help at first.
>But you're there in the pink unicorn's ear.
>Reminding him that he and the dam are the only ones who know how gently the foals have to be treated.
>He shoos them away, announcing, "Behbies soft! Fwuffy no gentwe! Go 'way!"
>They retreat to the corners again, mumbling about "meenie fwiend".

>After he's driven off the other fluffies, you excuse yourself and step out.
>An hour or so later, you return with your construction.
>A small box with an electric hot water bottle in the bottom, layered under several blankets.
>Having heated it up already, you display it for the ponies.
>"Okay," you say. "The babies have to sleep in here now."
>The pink unicorn addresses you. "Behbies sweep wif mumma! Need wawm!"
>"No," you respond, "they sleep in here. They can't sleep with the adults, or you might roll on them or step on them. Again."
>To emphasize your point, you point down at the crippled blue unicorn, and the pink pony shudders.
>"Besides," you continue, "this box will keep them warm for you."
>Saying this, you grab the pink unicorn's forehoof and put it in the box so he can feel the heat through the blankets.
>"Wawm..." he confirms.
>"Right. And I'll set it down away from you guys so no accidents happen."

>You put the whimpering foals in it and set it down across the floor from the adults' boxes, plugging it in.
>"Now, you need to make sure to be alert and listen for them, so you'll know when you need to go get one and bring it to drink."
>With your back turned to the ponies and covering your actions, you quietly twist the ear of one of the foals, causing it to cry.
>You walk back over to the adult sleeping area.
>You can barely hear the shrieking pony from this distance.
>So far so good.
>You lay a hand on the distracted pink unicorn to get his attention.
>"Listen!" you say. "Do you hear that? One of the babies is crying."
>The unicorn cocks his ears in the direction of the foals and listens. "Fwuffy... heaw behbie. No cwy, behbie!"
>"That's the noise you need to listen for. That baby needs your help. Go get him."
>"Fwuffy comin' behbie! No cwy!" he calls as he trots off.

>He returns with the foal and sets it at the dam's teats again.
>Naturally, since its cries were from pain and not hunger, it doesn't drink.
>The pink unicorn starts to get mad when the foal refuses to latch onto the nipple.
>"Behbie be good fwuffy! Dwink!"
>He moves to push it but you grab his hoof.
>"You can't be rough with the baby! Remember how soft they are! Maybe it doesn't need a drink right now."
>The pink unicorn looks downwards contritely and mutters, "Fwuffy sowwy..."
>"It's not the baby's fault if it can't tell you exactly what it wants," you continue, belaboring the point. "You just have to forgive it. It can't speak yet."
>And it probably never will...
>"Behbie no dwink now?" he asks. "How fwuffy know?"
>"You will just have to listen for it and bring it over and see. Be sure to take it back to its bed if it doesn't."
>Having established that, you head over to the adult area.
>"I'm going to get rid of your box and set the bed on the floor so you can go over to the babies whenever you need to, ok? And the mother's too."
>You take out the scant bedding and the dump the waste in the rear, then produce a boxcutter and slice off the high sides of the fluffy boxes.
>With the conversion into shallow beds complete, you set the bedding back inside and put them on the floor.
>"Make sure to only poop in the back of the box like before, ok? If you track poopies over to the babies, they might get sick. And then they'll have boo-boos."
>The pink unicorn nods soberly.
>Having condemned him to be ferrying foals back and forth across the floor at all hours with wearisome care, you step out of the room.

>You maintain the dam's tainted diet while the foals are still nursing.
>The lead permeates her milk; you can even see a hint of grey in it.
>Three of the foals seem to be in the grips of advanced renal failure already.
>Two hardly pee, and when they do it's dark and thick.
>Their kidneys are failing to filter the blood properly.
>The other pees all the time, and its skin is shriveled and dry.
>With all the extra milk it takes to slake its thirst and stave off dehydration, it keeps the unicorn on the jump.
>You catch him carrying it back and forth a lot.
>You give him encouragement when you see him dropping the foal off at a teat. "You're doing well! What a great daddy!"
>A glimmer of pride creeps into his tired face as he sleepily mumbles, "Gweat... daddy..."
>However, all the extra milk accelerates the poisoning in the foal.
>It's the first to go.

>One day, while nursing, it begins peeing uncontrollably.
>The dam whines as the warm liquid soaks her groin. "Behbie make bad pee! No pee on mumma!"
>The unicorn pulls it away from the teat, it continues to urinate.
>The unchecked flow continues for minutes as the foal cries.
>Over the next few hours the foal retches continually and, after each drinking session, produces several minute piles of watery vomit.
>During one of the routine trips to the teat, it goes limp.
>The pink unicorn sets it down on the floor next to the dam.
>"Behbie sweepin'?" asks the unicorn, nudging it with his nose.
>Rendered unconscious by dehydration and heatstroke, it passes away in a near-comatose state.
>Several minutes later, the unicorn's cries bring you to the room.
>"Behbie cowd! Wake up!" it whines.
>You pick up the foal and inspect it; it is indeed cold, and the vitals are gone.
>"I'm sorry," you inform the assembled ponies, "it won't wake up ever. The baby is dead."
>The ponies begin to cry. "Behbie come back!" "Wuv behbie!"
>You kneel down and pet the ponies, and they cling to you, sobbing.
>"I know, I know. But you still have the other babies. Maybe, if you take better care of them, they won't die."
>The pink unicorn shivers.

>No such luck.
>The other two succumb to their damaged kidneys within three days.
>They had begun to cry all the time.
>Angry red swelling was visible at the joints of their hooves and face, and what you could see of their skin was sallow.
>Eventually they stopped peeing entirely.
>The unicorn was kept on the move the entire time, ferrying the babies over to their dam at every cry.
>Only to have to carry them back when they refused milk more often than not.
>You discover him sitting in a corner by himself one day.
>"Why behbies cwyin'? No booboo, no wan' dwink..." he moans, sobbing.
>The first passes away from septic shock less than 8 hours later, screaming in pain at its inflammations.
>The other follows close to dawn.
>Summoned by the crying of the ponies in the morning, you pick up the foals and, after a quick examination, declare them dead.
>The unicorn, his face well-lined by the frequent tears and lack of sleep, absorbs this news wordlessly.

>Later that day, the unicorn collapses into a deep sleep after being deprived of rest for so long.
>You quietly enter the room and remove the boxes of the two other healthy adults, taking care to hold their mouths closed.
>Outside, you cut their throats and hang them upside down to drain out the blood.
>You skin them and pack the meat into paper wrappers, then freeze most of it.
>Then you sneak back into the room with a bottle of store-bought pony formula.
>The foals are squeaking weakly with prolonged hunger pangs from the long period where the unicorn was focused on their siblings.
>The dam is limply pawing the side of her shallow bed, too weak with lead poisoning to go over to them or even focus her eyes.
>You pick up the quadriplegic blue unicorn and feed it as much as it can drink, then go to bed.

>The pink unicorn sleeps for almost 16 hours straight.
>You feed the crippled pony again when you wake up in the morning.
>Cometface is eating lunch lazily in the corner and you're in the middle of fixing your own when a wail from the pony room draws your attention.
>Sounds like he's up.
>You finish making your fluffy pony cutlet sandwich, make a bowl of pony food, and take both with you.
>You set the bowl down on the floor and then examine the foals.
>The blue one is alive and the other dead... likely the hunger was the straw that broke the camel's back.
>"What happened?" you ask, turning to the pink unicorn.
>You take a bite of your sandwich as you listen to him ramble.
>"Fwuffy behbie no wake up! Whewe fwiends? Fwiends gone! Fwuffy need hewp!" and so on.
>You swallow your mouthful of sandwich.
>Jesus, this meat is tender; it's almost like veal.
>You think about what it'd be like if you'd given the standing box treatment to foals from birth instead of tough feral fluffies, as the unicorn's panic dwindles into mumbling.

>Lowering your pony sandwich, you break into his thoughts.
>"It looks like a baby died. Probably because you didn't wake up and feed it."
>"Fwuffy sowwy! So tiwed!" he expostulates. "Fwiends no wake fwuffy! Fwiends gone!"
>"Fluffy, what friends are you talking about? It's always been just you and the momma and me, you never had any other friends."
>He stops babbling and stares at you with his good eye. "No? But... fwuffy wemember fwiends..."
>"Fluffy, you're remembering your babies. The ones that died."
>"Behbies... died?" he stammers.
>Then it comes back to him as he shakes violently and breaks down into tears again.
>You pat him on the head, then hold his face toward you.
>"You need to focus on the one that is still alive. That baby over there still needs you. Remember to eat well so you can take care of it."
>He masters himself with an effort and grimly sets off to check the last, crippled foal.
>God damn, this sandwich is good.

>The dam passes away that night.
>You come into the pony room in the morning to a scene of the blue foal crying weakly at her dry teat and the unicorn sobbing with his head in his hooves.
>"Mumma no wake up!" he wails.
>"Uh-oh," you remark. "Looks like you'll have to take care of the baby on your own, fluffy."
>"Fwuffy no have miwk! Behbie hung'y!" he protests.
>"It's ok," you say, disappearing back into the kitchen.
>You return with the bottle.
>"Here, feed the baby with this," you instruct, demonstrating how to push the nipple into the foal's mouth.
>He watches attentively as the foal begins to suck. "Miwk in fingy? Behbie dwink?"
>"Yep," you answer, popping the nipple out of the foal's mouth.
>It begins to cry at the interrupted feeding as you set it down; you put the bottle down next to it.
>"Now you do it."

>The unicorn fumbles the bottle with his hooves, knocking it over.
>He tries to nudge it into place at the foal's mouth, but the round design and the crippled foal do him no favors; eventually the bottle rolls away from him.
>"Fingy meanie! Fwuffy no can use! Sowwy behbie!"
>"You have to use it. The momma can't help you anymore so you'll have to feed the baby with it."
>"Behbie no wuv fwuffy! Behbie awways sit an' no hewp!" he counters, indignantly.
>"The baby can't help it! Remember, YOU were the one who hurt it and now it can't walk."
>The unicorn quivers in shame at the unwanted reminder as you fetch the bottle.
>"Remember, this baby is dependent on you now, and only you. You have to take care of it at all times," you say heavily, setting the bottle down.
>He fumbles with it some more as you gather up the dam and the dead foal from yesterday.
>As you exit the room, you hear a quiet skitter as the bottle rolls across the floor again, followed by the unicorn sobbing.

>The rest of the day and night are punctuated with wailing and moaning as the fluffy tries and fails to get used to the bottle.
>Late in the evening they stop; you figure this is a good time to observe events in the room.
>The pink unicorn is slumped and whimpering next to his offspring, who is crying weakly but constantly; the bottle has rolled up against a far wall.
>"Fwuffy sowwy! Pwease stop cwyin!" he says.
>The baby doesn't understand a word and continues to cry.
>Looking around blearily, the unicorn leans down to the baby.
>"Fwuffy sowwy," he whispers. "Fwuffy aww awone... fwuffy no can hewp."
>He gives it a hug, and then gingerly lifts a hoof.
>Shaking, he lowers it down on the foal's mouth and holds it there, muffling the cries.
>"Fwuffy sowwy... fwuffy sowwy, behbie..." he repeats, over and over, as he presses down.
>Slowly, the cries get weaker and eventually stop.
>Pulling his hoof away from the still foal, the unicorn starts to sob and shake.

>You step into the room.
>"What's going on?"
>The unicorn starts, guiltily.
>"Sowwy... no can be gweat daddy..." The unicorn looks at you sheepishly. "Sowwy, fwiend."
>"Friend?"
>"Fwiend! Wast fwiend weft..." the unicorn affirms, then begins to waddle over to you for the accustomed pat.
>You freeze him with a glare and say, "I let you stay because you said you wanted to take care of your babies."
>The unicorn looks up at you, white with fear.
>"If you're not going to take care of your baby, if you're just going to give up and kill it, you don't belong in my house!"
>"Sowwy! Sowwy!" the unicorn yelps, hiding his face. "Fwuffy twy, fwiend!"
>You grab him by the scruff of his neck and carry him outside, setting him on the front sidewalk.
>"Don't call yourself my friend. You lied to me. Leave and never come back."
>The unicorn is crying continuously and loudly as you close the door.
>At the end of the week, you find him dead, exactly where you set him down.
>Deep depressions line his face where the copious tears matted down the fur.
>You take the body inside.
>The muscles will be lean from all that walking and the dehydration.
>More fluffy jerky, then.