Swamp Ponies 2

>It is night.
>"Fwend weft behin'!"
>Dirt is not taking the loss of that member of your tiny herd well. She does not understand that almost no fluffy lasts very long once they've wandered into the swamp. It's largely luck anyone survived the monster attack, let alone her - she cries often when trouble happens. You can't remember the last time you cried, yourself. You don't spend the time.
>Branch is cuddling his special friend, giving huggies and trying to make her feel better. He understands the swamp's nature, but he cares for her a great deal. "Is okey, Diwt. Bahbehs okey."
>Dirt could not run very far after the snake-monster got Bark. She is too pregnant. Luckily there was a fallen-down tree not so far away with an empty place in it just big enough for you all.
>There are even some of the good grassies outside, which you can have in the morning. Inside is just soggy wood and a dead spider. It is very dark in here.
>You hear the grumble of a needy stomach."Wan' go ousside," Dirt complains, eventually having put the loss of a friend out of her mind for the one thing she cares about most. "Need gwassies fo' tummy. Bahbehs in tummy get hungwy."
>"No," you say, and you're firm. "Munsta mebbeh chase fwuffies. Fwuffies stay in lyin'-down twee."
>You should not need to explain to her that all the creatures of the swamp are out at night, looking for easy prey like fluffy ponies. But where the babies are concerned, Dirt will not listen to anyone's good sense. She rests on her swollen belly, but shakes her legs in distress. The tears are threatening to return. "Nooo! Bahbehs need nummies! Firsty fo miwky! Mummah sowwy, bahbehs!"
>"Shoosh," Branch is saying, being as comforting as he knows how. She can't be crying loudly or something may find you. "Sweepy now, wake up, gwassies come soonah."
>Unbelievably, this works on Dirt. She is exhausted enough by today's trials to pass into a deep sleep, which Branch joins her in after watching her for a while, apparently contenting himself with the sight of her.
>You don't understand this. You want Dirt to live, she is a caring friend - but caring is not what the swamp demands of you. And she should not be having babies. If she could only understand that fluffies could be hurt and never get better - sleep and never wake up - she might realize that foals should not be put in a place like the swamp.
>But she hasn't seen enough die yet to understand, and she'll probably die herself before that happens.
>You look briefly out of the log. You never go to sleep without a final check of your surroundings, no matter how tired you are.
>There are some buggies singing their click-chirp-click song, and others in the air, glowing while they fly. There are stars peeking through the tree-leaves, far brighter than they look in the city. When you first got lost in the swamp, it was night like this. You thought it was beautiful and you wanted to stay here forever.
>You got your wish, but all the friends you had with you then died. You do not care how anymore except for the lessons it taught you. It is, you tell yourself over and over, pointless to think about them and the others who have died.
>Upon hearing an owl hoot, you nervously back into the hollow log again. You will wake up Branch for his turn to be lookout later. The fewer fluffy ponies are in the group, the less any of you gets to sleep.
>When morning comes you toddle out of the log first, looking around. The grass still has its night-water on it, which makes it go down even better, and the air has lingering mist.
>Part of you likes mist, because it is easy to hide in and there is good water on all the grass, helping you not get thirsty. Another part knows that it can hide dangers, too.
>You did most of the nighttime watching. Branch often only wants to take short turns, so he can be closer to Dirt, and give her huggies if she has bad dreams. But he also doesn't ask for your help getting her out of the hole in the log, so you call it even.
>"Dis good gwassies?" she asks of you before even trying the morning's food. It could be that she is learning, albeit slowly.
>You only nod, and graze close to the log in case you need to run back in and hide soon.
>Once the patch of grassies has been fully consumed, you motion for the others to follow you. Dirt wants to stay in the empty log where it's safer, but you know better. Not only have you already exhausted the closest food supply, but a picked-clean location attracts other animals. They may be mean to you or eat you.
>Seeing as it's early and your stomach has at least been stopped from grumbling already, you say "We go fin' wawa."
>Branch and Dirt are cheered by this thought. They playfully rub against each other while they follow you, though they keep their eyes open - it's every fluffy's responsibility to watch out for the clean water, and also danger.
>You begin carefully walking downhill, always looking for the gentlest slopes, without thorny plants or viney trees on them you could get stuck in. One is steep enough that walking down it can make a fluffy go faster, and Dirt says "Weeee!" while she goes, in a too-loud way. "Go 'gain?!" she asks once Branch has joined her at the bottom, but he has to shake his head.
>While you look, you are thinking about what you will do after water. You don't know how to plan very far ahead, just how to alternate between each of your needs. Eat, sleep, hide, and so on. Which will you need to do?
>There are only three of you, so at least you won't need to find as big patches of grass or clean puddles right now. There was another in your group yesterday, and you remember generally what he looked like and certainly how he died. Big snake got him. But even though he was looking right at you while he stopped living, you can't think of his eye color. Or his name. Not important. But more eyes would help you locate a puddle or a stream.
>You are just thinking this when you hear a sound and immediately duck next to the nearest plant. The other fluffies follow your lead - it only hides you from one side, but it's better than nothing. The sound is far off and seems to fade in and out with the breeze, but you will try to identify what is making it.
>"Yay... an' wawa... new fwend! Get... no firsty!"
>Even though you know that the voice must belong to a fluffy pony, you don't immediately stand up. It is being so noisy that it could even now be drawing trouble.
>This means you have to move quietly. All three of you begin stalking slowly towards the cause of the racket - you have to skirt around a particularly thick bush that could be concealing anything. Once you get by, and are standing in some yellow grassies, you can make out your new acquaintances.
>On the other side of a pool that's a runoff from some Big Water - the kind of place you usually try to avoid - two fluffies are standing about.
>One is a stone-gray pegasus with red mane fluff. He sits on his haunches in some grass, looking at the ground - he's sad. There is a lot of dirt on his fur. You suspect it's dried mud.
>Next to him, casting her gaze about cheerfully, is an unusual fluffy. You have not seen one like her in a long time, and certainly never in such a place.
>She is an earth fluffy with a beige-colored coat and mane that is just slightly lighter, both very clean, with no tangles. Her smile is big and bright and she is tromping around in circles, full of energy. Around her neck is a circle with something shiny hanging on it.
>She is a people-fluffy.
>"C'mon, fwend!" she is encouraging her cohort, "Pway! We tag, daddeh teach me game. Fwend be 'it!'" She is continuously going around and around him trying to make him have fun, and that is how she spots the three of you. "New fwuffies!" she enthuses. "Hi, new fwuffies!"
>You flatten yourself onto the ground as much as possible again, not responding. People-fluffies have owners. Hooman owners. In your experience, hoomans are at generally indifferent - but you've seen other fluffy ponies who have come off much the worst for encountering them. They have owwies that never go away, or can't understand things that they need to to stay alive.
>If this one's mama or daddy makes a sudden appearance, you do not want to be noticed.
>Behind you, Branch is also not responding to the other fluffies. Dirt starts to make a move towards them, clearly interested in making new friends - but he blocks her, and she does not try to push past him, lying down as well.
>"New fwiends pway hide-an'-see!" the people-fluffy informs the other. She sets off to circle around the pool of water post-haste and meet you, and after a moment he begins trudging along behind her.
>"We make new fwends?" Branch asks, not as quietly as you would have hoped.
>You don't want to have to make this decision - you've never had to deal with the prospect of a fluffy who looks like its owner might actually be nearby it here, in the swamp.
>On the other hoof, the swamp is the worst place you know. Not even hoomans want to live here - could it be that following her hooman could get you out? Get you food?
>"New fwends," you grumble. "But weady wun if twouble."
>It takes the new fluffy ponies a long time to reach you. They keep stopping for the people-fluffy to comment on every new thing she observes, like the reeds in the water and a bird-nest. "Biwdy haf house in twee! Siwwy birdy, twee na good house!" Her companion says nothing, just putters after her. He doesn't meet your eyes even when they've drawn close.
>"Hi fwuffies!" she says. "Wan' be fwends?"
>Looking closer, you can now see that the thing hanging from the brown loop around her neck is brilliantly golden. It has lines on it, though you're not sure what the lines mean. "Wat dat?" you ask before you can stop yourself.
>She explains that it is her 'collar.' It is so people know she belongs to her daddy and lives in his house. Her tummy puffs up with pride while she says it.
>"Fwend haf daddeh?" Dirt asks from behind you, astonished. "Hooman daddeh?"
>You're not sure where Dirt came from exactly, but you know that even though there were hoomans there, none of them took very good care of her, and none was her daddy.
>"Yep!" the well-groomed mare announces. "Daddy wuv an' gif huggies!"
>"Cowwah," you begin, deciding 'Collar' is a name she will respond to, "Whew yo' daddeh nao?"
>"Name nuu Cowwah," she corrects you. "Name Cowwah!"
>You've met ponies who already had names before, so that you didn't have to give them any. But you don't hear the difference in what she's saying. "Wat?"
>"Cowwah! Cowwah!" She jumps up and down happily, as though you're playing a fun guessing game with her. "Cowwah is name!"
>Car... la?
>You shake your head. It doesn't matter what she calls herself, as long as she understands when you're speaking to her. "Wheah come fwum?"
>Collar (which you will continue to think of her as, it makes no difference) immediately does an about-face and simply points with her hoof.
>You have seen this before; fluffies not used to going from place to place of their own choosing can't be asked where they came from. They will simply point directly behind them, since it is where they were just walking from.
>Collar won't remember how she got to the pool. She won't know a way out. You shuffle your leggies irritably, and decide to try another tack. "Wat do heah?"
>Collar wiggles around a bit, seeming like she'd rather be playing than discussing life-and-death matters. "Cowwah pway hide-an'-see wif daddeh!"
>She explains that she was in a vroom-vroom box last night, sleeping while daddy drove. In the morning, daddy got out to check on the vroom-vroom box's head because it was making ugly noises... but he left his door open. Collar at first thought she should go help him fix the box, but once she jumped out of the vehicle, she saw that she was in an unfamilar place. There were lots of trees by the road and funny plants, but so much room to play.
>"Cowwah decide pway hide-an-'see. An' daddeh can' fin' Cowwah!" she proclaims. She is very proud.
>"Teww daddeh pway game?" you ask.
>She giggles. "Nuu! Daddeh find fas' if teww!"
>You leave that alone. Half of you thinks she's better off hiding from a human, as all fluffies should - the other half knows that she is almost doomed in the swamp. You indicate the other fluffy with your leggie, the pegasus, though he is cowering and still not meeting your gaze. "Who udda fwuffie?"
>"Dis Cannobaww!" Collar hugs him. "I fin' him by twees! Fwend!"
>Two fluffies with their own names? Odd. Cannonball doesn't seem scared of her, but he is only glancing at your party. "... new fwends?" he finally says.
>"We new fwends," Branch offers, and you don't contradict him. Your herd is so small, you could use the help. "Swamp scawy, fwuffies need hewp udda fwuffies."
>"Swamp?" Cannonball asks in some confusion.
>"Dis pwace," you clarify solemnly.
>Collar is laughing. "Dis pwace junga! See in daddeh piccha book!"
>You shrug your head. You don't care what it's called, it is simply the place where you are. "Come wif hewd, fin' wawa."
>Collar points a hoof at the algae-encrusted pond. "Wawa!" She seems to think she just won at something.
>"No dwink," Dirt warns her. "Bad wawa... gif tummy owies."
>Collar stops looking so peppy, as if she has never heard of such a thing. Food and drink, to her, is likely just the opposite of owies, and always has been. The very idea confounds her. So she simply stops thinking about it. "How pway fin' wawa game?"
>"We fin' good wawa, wif' hewp," you assure her gently. "Den foodies."
>"Nuuu!" Cannonball cries, surprising you. He is casting his eyes about fearfully. "Nuu mo' foodies! Mummeh angwy, huwt Cannobaww!"
>Dirt mutters "Cannobaww... no wike eat?"
>The pegasus fluffy is rolling in place on the grass, looking nervous and now, actually, pained. "Cannowbaww can' eat nummies, gif poopies... no wittabox! Poopies onwy fo' wittabox!"
>You don't know that word, but Collar seems to. She laughs at Cannonball, then says "Cannobaww poopies ou'side! Is okey!"
>He stops writhing and looks up at her, though he still shakes. "... no poopie in wittabox?"
>"Cowwah daddeh haf Cowwah make poopies ou'side! Is okey!"
>She seems to think her daddy doing something makes it the perfect behavior. Cannonball is biting his own lip, but he's run out of options. There's no telling how long he's been holding it in. Finally he glances around, as though he doesn't want to be seen making his poopies - what does it matter? - and drops them.
>They're very big and hard, and have no grassies in them, but they come out fast. He makes owwie noises, and when he's done he limps slightly until his poopie place stops hurting. Collar gives him a congratulatory hug, although he is still looking around like he's about to be ambushed. "No wan' sowwy stick..."
>These fluffies are strange. You cast a glance behind you. There's risk involved, but you're going to have to go by the Big Water to drink with this many fluffies, at least for today. There's not enough for the five of you if you just find a small puddle. "'Dis way," you say, making a point of not getting too close to the shore before you have to. Fall in, and if the water is deep, you'll never come back out.
>Your four followers come along, although even after introductions Branch and Dirt are having difficulty explaining to the newcomers that they shouldn't make too much loud conversation unless they're in a safe place - which there are pretty much none of here.
>"Whewe fwuffies daddehs?" Collar asks at a high volume, clearly not getting it.
>"No haf' daddehs," Dirt says, though there isn't any sadness in her voice. She can't miss what she's never had. "Onwy fwends. An' bahbehs!" She indicates her own belly with her muzzle.
>After congratulations are offered, Collar notes, "Cowwah can' have no bahbehs... daddeh say so. But Diwt haf good bahbehs, Cowwah suwe!"
>Dirt beams with pride. "Diwt gon' be good mummah!"
>Cannonball trudges along, still glancing back to where he made his outside-the-litterbox feces. As though to distract himself, he says, "Fwuffies made spesha hugs wif Diwt?"
>"Bwanch did!" Branch informs him. "An' weadew fwuffy. Diwt nice fwuffy mawe. Wuv Diwt."
>Cannonball still won't meet anyone's eyes, but he gets a confused look. "No sowwy-stick fow makin' spesha hugs?"
>"Wat's spesha hugs?" Collar asks, only half-interested. She has seen a butterfly going by and already forgets her question, saying, "Buggie haf pwetty wingies!"
>"No sowwy-stick heah," Dirt tells him. You don't know what either of them mean by sorry-stick, but it's nothing you have experience of, and if it's not in the swamp you don't have to know about it. Cannonball looks more at ease, anyway.
>When you come to the Big Water, much time is spent finding a good spot where there's soft, non-treacherous sand and you can see the ground through the water's edge. That way you know it's shallow and clean - although another indication is that there's a log lying some ways out into the pond, and a long-legged bird standing up by it. It can't be drowning-deep.
>But when you approach to take your first drink, Collar exclaims "Wach out, fwends! Wawa no in bottew!" Cannonball is cowering behind her as well, as though the very thought of so much water is dangerous.
>"No haff bottows in swamp," Dirt says by way of explanation. "Dwink fwom gwound."
>It takes some cajoling - are these two going to be more trouble than they're worth? - but ultimately they come closer and take experimental licks at the surface of the water. Collar is distracted by the long-legged bird out in the Big Water spreading its wings momentarily. "Wow! Biwdie haf big wingies!"
>The surface of the water next to the bird breaks into splashes. What you took to be a log rises up, surges forward and opens a long mouth of pointed teeth.
>The alligator bites down on the bird's body before it can take off, then pulls it down. It thrashes its legs, and then it has submerged itself in deeper water, the still-struggling bird being taken down to drown. The tip of its tail leaves a ripple spreading over the water before it goes under, one that reaches out all the way to you.
>No noises happen for a stunned moment, and then Collar is screaming. She is a louder screamer than any fluffy you have ever heard. "DWAGON! DWAGON MUNSTAH TAKE BIWDIE!!"
>She is soiling herself immediately, then turning around and trying to run. But it's uphill and she's slow, so you help by pushing her along with your head. It probably is a good idea to move on, even if the wet monster has already eaten.
>Dirt, Cannonball and Branch come up alongside you both, running as well. They are not as panicked, though all of you are still hurrying at least a little. "Was' dwagon munstah?" Dirt probes, concern all over her face.
>"Dwagon munstah fwom stowybook!" Collar is screaming. "Eat mummies an' daddies an gif buwnies!"
>Cannonball begins running faster and flaps his wings in time with the movements of his leggies, as if he can scoot his whole body forward this way. You tell Branch to make sure he knows to hide behind something instead of running out in the open, where anything might see him.
>Once you've finished going uphill, all of you take shelter under a bush with wilty leaves. It's not a thorny one or too thick, but at least it's something. It is, however, covered in dully red and green berries. Collar immediately attempts to reach up to one with her mouth. "Scawy make hungwy. Wan' nummies!" You check her with your hoof, startling her and making her fall onto her side. She is dejected. "Why owwies, new fwend?"
>"Bad nummies," you say, shaking your head. "Nuu eat. Make fwuffies not bweathe. Sweep fowevah."
>She appears stunned. Cannonball curls up and resumes shaking, and Branch and Dirt try to comfort him.
>"Can' eat nummies...?" Collar says, standing up and then looking at them closely, then back to you. Something is dawning on her, and she casts around quickly, searching. "Don' wike junga... wan' go home, wan' daddeh."
>Branch supplies the question for you. You didn't want to ask it because you already figured out the answer. "Cowwah know how fin' hooman daddeh house?"
>She thinks hard. Then her bright eyes widen at you. She doesn't know how she got here, and she doesn't know the way back. She can't drink from a bottle, and there are nummies and water that can hurt her.
>Collar sits down, looking at the ground and finally beginning to become agitated. "Wan' daddeh..." she quietly repeats, a tear forming in one eye.
>The others give her huggies - even Cannonball manages to do it, and he receives some from her too. But they can't change the sad truth. Collar isn't a people-fluffy anymore.
>"Cowwah good fwuffy..." she is sobbing. "Wan' daddeh-hugs..."
>But she belongs to the swamp.