Bolt From The Blue 01-03

>One needs many advantages to bag skittish prey.
>Patience.
>Focus.
>Attentiveness.
>Inner calm.
>Altitude.
>Presently, you have them all
>Below you, your father sits in a tree.
>Anon’s not even doing anything. He looks like he’s meant to be there, just part of the scenery.
>It’s a skill you’ll learn eventually, he says. How to seem non-threatening, how to carry yourself so nature flows around you instead of noticing you.
>He says you’ll be better at it than him, someday.
>You’re not sure. Your coat’s the color of sky, you belong in the air. Drifting over nature, not letting it surround you.
>So here you are.
>You bring your bow to a ready position in front of you. It’s fastened to your forehooves, one on each side of the arrow rest. The ‘gloves’ that keep the bow there include leather sheathing on the top, so the bowstring doesn’t snap your legs on release.
>It isn’t your dad’s bow, that thing’s huge and has a draw twice as heavy as your body weight, but it’s sufficient for attacking targets from above.
>Craning your head to the left, you pull an arrow from the quiver hanging at your left side using your teeth.
>Placing the shaft on the arrow rest, you let go, balancing the nocking point against your upper lip as you get your mouth around the leather sleeves on the string at either side of the nocking point, careful that your elongated canines clear it.
>With your decidedly non-equine incisors around the nock again, you pull it back against the string, guiding it to the nocking point with your tongue.
>Pegasi have better eyes than most ponies. You have better eyes than most pegasi, thanks to your unique nature.
>There’s no way beneath the heavens that rabbit can stay hidden from you.
>You push against the bow with your hooves to draw, turning slowly in the air to track your target below you.
>Hovering is still difficult, but you’re getting better. You have tricks to get around the hardship. Bow Echo taught you her secrets, before her flight left your parents behind.
>You put more force into your wings’ downbeats, turning the hover into a bobbing motion, allowing you more time between strokes. There’s too many muscles involved with keeping yourself aloft to aim well from a static hover.
>As you track your target, you let your breathing match your wingbeats.
>Aim on the ascent, but not directly at the target. Ascending is when all those muscles are working.
>Aim so that on the descent, your aim passes over it, in that moment you’re falling.
>Downbeat, rise, aim.
>Upbeat, fall, align…
>Release.
>As soon as you open your mouth, the string snaps forward, just barely skirting over the top of your hoofguards.
>The stariron-tipped arrow leaps free of the bow, plummeting towards your target on the slightest of arcs.
>Anon’s watching it fall, his head tracking it as it passes the tops of trees, through the sparse canopy, towards the poor critter you’d drawn a bead on.
>You can almost hear his grunt of approval when the arrow spears through one of its flanks.
>You let yourself fall through the air, the feeling of weightlessness mixing with your thrill of a successful strike. You spread your wings to catch you just before you pass by your dad. You’d fallen fast enough, maybe you could sneak-
>His arm snaps out just before you pass him, pulling back towards his body as you reach his level. He sweeps you up right into his chest.
>You squirm, pinned, before sagging and giving up.
“I can never sneak up on you.”
>His only response is a laugh as he unstraps your bow from your forelegs.
>His arm around you shifts, passing you into a hand curled under your side.
>Then that arm’s extending out again, behind him.
>You extend and angle your wings in anticipation
>Then you’re suddenly hurtling forward as his arm arcs around, sending you flying towards your prey.
>Anon can’t fly himself, so he couldn’t drop you from height to teach you to fly in the traditional manner of pegasi foals who’ve found their wings. His arms and hands let him do something even better; you’d learned to fly via ballistic trajectories. He still does it time to time, just to keep you alert.
>The rabbit’s  easy enough to find. Your arrow’s pinned it to the ground, fletching still thrust defiantly skyward despite your prey’s prior struggle.
>It’s still now.
>The scent of blood’s filling the area hits you when you land in a gallop, causing a tinge of skittishness to infect your exhilaration as you slow to a stop.
>Your stupid hybrid instincts are always confused about stuff like this.
>You don’t run from your food.
>You bite down on the dead rabbit’s ears, near where they meet its head, and lift it into the air.
>It’s sizable; there might be two meals’ worth for you here.
>A short yank pulls the pinning arrow free of the ground, and a toss of your head slings the rabbit onto your back, where your wings are half spread to provide a surface for it to lay on.
>Anon’s already out of his tree, on his way towards you. You trot over to meet him, wings moving to keep your prize on your back.
>”I knew it was a good shot.”
“Mine, or your throw?”
>He grins down at you as he comes to a stop. “Both.”
>You share a laugh, then tilt your wings so the rabbit ends up at his feet.
“Definitely enough.”
>”For you.”
“You don’t have something already?”
>Your dad shrugs. “Mom went back to town ahead of us. Her dogs won’t listen to me, even if they were still around, and I haven’t had much luck running across anything big this afternoon. I’ll make do with the cured stuff I still have.”
>You look down at the rabbit, then back up at him.
>Your father is huge.
>But you have more than enough.
“Have some of mine, Dad. I won’t eat it all.”
>He looks back down at you, in silence.
“Seriously!”
>He sighs and picks the dead rabbit up by the ears, extending his free arm down to you.
>You clamber up and turn to slump over his shoulder.
>Then have to scrabble a bit to stay there.
>The necessity of it hurts your heart. Without his weapons or backpack, there’s not much to hold you in place. You’re getting too big to do this, as he’d said this morning. Can’t do it forever.
>That just means you’ll have to enjoy it all the more every time you still can.
>”What would your mother say if she knew you were hunting for me, too?”
“Probably something about how I’m becoming an ideal mare, providing for the male of the element!”
>”Heh, you got a long way to go, kiddo.”
>He turns towards where he left his gear, and the town beyond.

* * *

>Astra jumps off your shoulder, gliding deeper into the town’s longhouse-like greathall.
>She’s the picture of aerial skill, as long as you don’t ask her to stay in one place, or go fast.
>Your heart swells with pride. She’s getting so big, so sure.
>You don’t follow her. The main room is used for communal meals, at this time. You don’t eat their food, not much of it. Your pride is followed by a pang of sadness, the particular variety that comes with being left out.
>It’s been like this for almost two decades, since you’ve come to this strange world. You’re used to it.
>You’ve dealt with worse than this.
>Instead, you turn for one of the smaller additions on one side of the entrace.
>Earth ponies called it The Post. You’d learned this name is because its function used to be handled by an actual post, a particularly broad support pillar in the entrance area of a hall, but you remembered the name because it reminded you of mail. It handled all the outside messaging for a town. Or the herd. For earth ponies, these were identical.
>Entering the little side room presented you with a bunch of cubbyholes, one for each of the bands making up the town-herd, then walls to either side with papers and parchments tacked or nailed to them.
>Also, a large white earth pony with a hammer on her flank.
>She’s got an ear on you as you walk in, but doesn’t greet you in any way.
“Fancy meeting you here, Snow.”
>That gets her full attention. Snow Sledge turns to face you, the four stariron ‘boots’ hanging alongside her saddlebags clanking together with the rapid motion. “Anon! I thought I saw Parhelia around here. Took down anything interesting lately?”
“Nah, we were visiting an old stomping ground of mine. Most action we’ve seen in the past couple days was Astra shooting a rabbit.”
>Snow’s jolly disposition doesn’t waver with the oblique reference to dietary needs. “I haven’t had much luck myself. Doesn’t look like they’ve any work for us here, either.”
“Guess we won’t be staying the night then.”
>”You know my door’s always open to you three.”
“And you know Parhelia wouldn’t like it.”
>That does manage to crack her demeanor. “Well, offer’s open, anyway.”
“Know of any towns with unicorns around?”
>”Why would you need one? Don’t tell me you broke your spear.”
“You kidding me? I’m not sure I’d be able to afford having it fixed.”
>A pocket full of stariron can let you buy a great deal of things, but you’re not giving up your secret. Lets not talk about how much your shield is worth; even Snow’s boots cost her a small fortune. You know; you’d helped her on some of the bigger hunts that secured her necessary funds.
>Hunters on Equestria have to stick together, after all. You’re a rare breed, so a certain degree of professional respect applies, even despite the prejudice.
>”Alright tall guy, if not your spear, then why?”
“Eh, family matter. Something of a mystery to solve.”
>Snow Sledge sits on the dirt floor, grinning. “A mystery? Why would you keep that from me? Do our years of friendship mean so little?”
“Just not sure you could help. It’s ah, it’s about Astra’s- well she got her cutie mark a couple weeks back.”
>The mare’s face lights up. “Oh, that’s wonderful! What is it?”
“That’s… that’s what we’re trying to figure out.”
>Her elation is replaced by confusion. “Huh. I can see why you’d be driven, then. Why unicorns?”
“It’s full of stars.”
>”Strange. Well, what did you expect from her name?”
“I expected something closer to… well it has a couple different meanings, back home. It’s hard to explain, I’m not about to go into the mythology of it.”
>”One of these days you should take me to your homeland. I want one of those magic bracelets.”
>You look down at your dive watch, your token of a past life and a reminder of a profession centuries too new for this world. It’s still ticking – literally – but definitely getting on in years.
“It’s… very far away. Don’t count on getting an opportunity.”
>”You’ve told me. Doesn’t stop me from wishing.”
“Trust me, if I could, I would have by now.”
>Snow’s staring at it, like she usually does.
>If you don’t make an exit she’ll try to keep you here all night.
>Parhelia doesn’t need that kind of worry. You care too much about her to give ammo to even a passing thought about impropriety, and you know how she feels about Snow.
“You never answered my question, about towns with a unicorn.”
>”Ah! I think there’s one northward, two or three days off depending on your speed.”
“Thanks. If we run into anything interesting on the way, I’ll tell you all about it next time our paths cross.”
>Snow gives you a warm smile. “I hope that to be sooner rather than later.”
>You wave as you back out of the Post, turning your attention back to the main room of the hall.
>You take a couple steps inside, stopping once you’re clear of the entrance to lean against the wall.
>Parhelia’s sitting at one end of a long table, eating with several townsponies, eating and socializing.
>You’re glad she could get time like this with others of her kind, even if different tribes. Ponies like their groups, but your element leads a lonely life.
>Astra’s sitting with the other minors. She doesn’t have a lot on her plate. She needs parts of pony and human diets both, and unlike her mom, that tends to make moments like this awkward.
>She notices you fairly quickly, then says something to the table and departs.
“Get your fill?”
>”Enough.”
“I’ll save you the embarrassment of picking you up. Come on, lets grab something else to eat.”
>She looks up at you. There’s that moment of hesitation. It’s always there.
>You know how she feels about this, and what she thinks about how she feels.
>But every time, she smiles and nods. “Yeah.”
>The two of you walk back out of the building, and you grab and shoulder your pack as you go. Out towards the edge of town, where you can cook your meat and eat together, without bothering the townsponies.

* * *

>It hurts every time you see it, every time you hear it.
>Anon can’t. Human eyesight is better than yours, but human hearing is worse. He may catch the glances, but he never hears the comments other fillies throw at Astra whenever she leaves with him. ‘Daddy’s girl’ and similar, if they know little. If they know more it gets worse, with insults like ‘butcher’. They think she’s colty, can’t leave her dad’s side, too dependent on her fairer parent. That she’ll never amount to a proper mare.
>If only they knew the truth.
>You’re given a lot of respect, as a hunter. The field represents the pinnacle of marely activities. No matter where your element went, you always have a place at any table, are always treated courteously at the minimum, sometimes even as a hero. Your ‘war stories’ as Anon would call them are sure to bring any table either to rapt attention or raucous cheering, depending on the crowd.
>If only they knew the truth.
>Your daughter is already more of a mare than you. She actually hunts at Anon’s side, while you just handle logistics and supporting functions. Sure your special talent is a huge help, but that isn’t you doing gruntwork, just calling companions to stand in your place. Your element was kicked out of Bow Echo’s flight. Sure, they say they didn’t remove you, they just left Anon behind. But Anon was your stallion, so there was no difference in the final verdict. You couldn’t even keep a proper family together for your stallion and filly.
>Meanwhile, all the marely activities you get credit for are performed by your stallion. You’d met in that inauspicious way of a stallion saving your life, and the lives of your flight. That set a tone. He’s always standing in front of you, not the other way around. You can’t even perform that most basic function of protecting your own.
>What good are you?
>You stand from your table during a lull in conversation. You’d finished eating already, and enough time has passed that the peculiar dietary necessities of the rest of your element have been taken care of.
>Outside, you see a too-familiar sled, loaded with the gear of your profession and traveling supplies. A similarly familiar white mare is hitching herself to it.
>To your chagrin, she notices you. “Hey, Parhelia! Anon and Astra are just beyond the edge of town.” She points a foreleg in the appropriate direction, the metal boot over her hoof glinting in the rising moonlight.
“Ah, thanks. I better join them, no time to chat.”
>She gives you a cheery wave, but you could see a bit of that conflict lying behind her smile.
>You head off towards the offered direction, insecurity gnawing at your guts.
>Snow Sledge represents everything you’re not.
>It’s fine. Your filly – YOUR filly, and you’re the proudest mother in this nascent nation of Equestria – is growing up to be the mareliest mare to ever live, no matter what strange quirks she suffers for it. All the indignity is worth it, for her.
>You can bear it.
>Can’t you?
>You can see their campfire almost immediately, and pick up your pace.
>As you canter, you spread your wings to sample the air with some of that magic unique to pegasi. Minimal contaminants, this far from the town and campfire. Good humidity, decent ice content. Not ideal, but definitely suitable for certain weather ritual work. Your sister might be calling some dogs of her own if the clouds were right. Paraselene was always more reluctant in their use – more eager to do things herself, like a proper mare – but you know she has her fun.
>The fire’s near, now. Your snout wrinkles with distaste when you catch lingering smells of their recent activity.
>You can bear it.
>”Mom!”
>The little cry blunts the edge of your disquiet, and your answering smile is genuine.
>”Hey, sunny. Was wondering when you’d join us.”
“I was only giving you two enough time to eat.”
>You walk over to Anon’s side.
>He hooks a gangly forelimb around your barrel, pulling you towards him.
>So warm and pleasant, especially with all the clothing he wears, despite his impressive cold tolerance for a creature with minimal coat.
>You can already feel yourself melting into him, all your worries and fears going with it.
>Anon had a way of making everything just right, as long as he was around.
>Your little arrow’s across the fire from you, but she scampers over to you quickly enough.
>You unfold a wing to pull her into the side of your body, using it to cover her like a blanket as she nuzzles you.
>You pass the gesture along to Anon’s thigh, and he gets his other hand in on the action, rubbing the side of your face and neck with those wonderful comforting fingers.
>”Too late to start out now,” Anon says, “but there’s a town we might get info from a few days north.”
“I know the one. North-northeast, to be precise. Two and a half days with our usual pace, and we should have the supplies for it provided we find one larger animal for you two.”
>”Anything interesting around there for us?”
“Nothing challenging, but there’s been sightings of some creatures half a day’s journey west of that town. We could get lucky.”
>”Good enough for me. The stuff I scooped should give us enough money to travel awhile.”
“That town has a blacksmith as well, they might be willing to buy it themselves.”
>”That’ll make things simpler.”
>You’ve a head like a map, each mark on it fit to be its own book of annotation. One of the many ways you helped the love of your life do what he does best. One of the ways you’re able to teach your pride and joy what she needs to know to make her way in a world she’ll surely take by storm.
>You climb into the nook between Anon’s half-folded legs and his body, and he scoops Astra up to place under your wing between the two of you. You nudge your daughter closer to you, curling around her, as Anon wraps himself around you.
>Ponies may be social animals, and your element is effectively voluntarily exiled from pony life.
>You can bear it.
>Even if your only company is the two of them, even if you’re always on the road, it’s enough.
>They’re all you ever need.