Hunting Hope 1 (original one-shot)

>Hope woke up with a scream to the sound of trumpets directly outside her window.
>The music blared intensely with a brassy, cheery tune, but so much adrenaline running through her mismatched body made it impossible to enjoy.
>It was so loud that the shutters rattled as if in a howling wind, threatening to break loose.
>Hope tip-hooved towards the window warily, trying to get a look outside with hands clamped firmly over her already flattened fuzzy ears.
>With a sudden blast of sound, the wooden shutters shattered into splinters, as a brilliant pink blur crashed through.
>"FOUNND YOUUU" the singsong voice cried out cheerily.
>Acting reflexively, Hope spun away from the pink missile and dropped to her hands, bucking with all her might, and sending the pink mass cannonballing away.
>As her heart slowed to a normal pace, Hope sighed and started to pick up the shards of glass and wood.
The entire wall would need to be repaired and it seemed the storm shutters, hurricane proof as they were, would not be able to keep out the pink one.
But at least it had given her time to react.




They had been hunting her ever since her 18th birthday.
>Hope shuddered. There wasn't time to think back on those days.
She had to disappear, and quickly, before any ponies came to investigate the noise.
>Pulling on her single leather tunic and slinging her father's old pipes around her neck, Hope took one last look around the room, then clattered downstairs.
>The house, once grand and imposing, was now merely a moulding shell of its former self.
Of course it had been risky to hide in her old home.
But with the wings, magic, and impossibly good luck of the six sent to capture her, Hope had run out of good hiding places, fast.
The house, however bad a hiding place it seemed at first, had kept her hidden and safe for three whole weeks. A record.
>"It had been built by the only human ever seen in equestria," tour guides loved to mention as they passed the grand oaken double doors.
>"Just goes to show," one particular guide had appended wistfully, merely weeks ago, "even the most evil of monsters can have the greatest of gifts."
>The unicorn who had lead that particular tour, Oaken Woody, had been a friend to Anon and an uncle to little Hope Anonsdaughter before the banishment.
>Despite its grandeur, Anon's previous home was left unpurchased and left by ponykind.
Perhaps the "humanic" designs terrified them. Had they truly forgotten the many years of peace and goodwill?
But no more time for memories. Even now Hope could hear the cantering of hooves, so similar to her own, outside the great doors.
>Hope flexed her massive leg muscles and clenched her fists.
It was time to make a decision. Run, hide, or fight?

Well? What's the verdict?