Zala the Zebra 2: Dreams of Equestria

https://youtu.be/L0RUBJQfufQ

>The road stretched onwards, and you just kept walking.
>The savannah spanned in all directions; at this point that no one could have ever guessed there was more to this world than the tall, swaying grass, and the muted flow of the nearby river.
>The sky is as blue as ever, and the sun beats down on this ocean of land at all hours.
>But you are accustomed to the heat; it washes over your striped body and causes only minimal irritation.
>You are Zala, and you have been alone for quite some time.
>Not that you are bothered by loneliness; after the months of harassment at the hooves of your many courters, a little peace and quiet is just what you needed.
>The first few days away from home were the most frightening. You spent those nights wide awake, and on more than one occasion, heard the hooftsteps and hushed voices of other zebras.
>It was not only the resident trackers of your village, either. The noble caravans often came equipped with hunters and warriors of their own, who were no doubt offered great bounties for your safe return.
>One time, you'd peeked out from your hiding place in the grass to see the scarred head of one of the warriors who'd propositioned your parents.
>Perhaps he thought that if he was your captor, then your parents would reconsider him as your betrothed.
>You were being hunted, and it strangely excited you.
>Yes, at first it was terrifying to know so many zebras were out to get you, but as the days stretched on, and you got further and further from home, it became something of a novelty to see a striped head poking up across the savannah.
>Though you'd never been a hunter or tracker yourself, you knew the basics of it - as every zebra did. If ever you found yourself alone in the fields without any adults, and a lion was about, you needed to know how to stay hidden.
>You wash regularly in the river and stay off the road as often as you can, only ever popping out of the grass to get your bearings.

>Having long since exhausted your food supply, you live off the grass and shrubs, but only those far off the road.
>When you need to go, you do it in the river - and if you cannot, then you... Bury it.
>Of course, there was more than your amateur hiding skills to take into account:
>You are in love, and even a simple filly like you knows that love is a powerful force. It pushes you forward. step by step, and you know that greater powers work in your favor.
>Mother and father never taught you which zebra owned love - the Day Zebra, Siku or the Night Zebra, Zusiku. You suppose it would be the day, because love seems like it would be something made of light.
>And yet... That night with Lance had been incredibly dark. And when you looked up at the stars with him, and saw Zusiku's great stripe above you, it was surely a moment epitomizing love.
>Eventually, enough time and enough miles had passed that you no longer feel the need to be quiet.
>You hum to yourself as you walk the road.
>This narrow dirt path has served for centuries as the trail for trade, hunting, and war. Only two zebras can trot abreast, but there was never a need for a larger path. Besides, such as it is, it still is barely in existence with the grass constantly threatening to overgrow it completely.
>There were small marker poles every now and then, keeping some semblance of a maintained trail. But other than that, it was not much better than being in the grass.
>You only bother with it because the river bends too much and you feel like the road would be the quickest route to the next settlement.
>The river veers off to the right, so you choose to stay mostly on the road. Almost a week has passed since your daring escape.

>You keep out the thoughts of your parents; one night, when you were tossing and turning, and still listening for your hunters, you made the mistake of reflecting on how they'd take your disappearance.
>It was surprising you were not caught that night, with how much sobbing you'd done.
>It's strange how little such a thought affected you on the first night out here, when your heart was still high with the thrill of running away. And yet now, just glancing down at the little golden ring on your right hoof turns your stomach.
>You will admit that the idea of turning back has popped up more than once. You had no idea how far you'd actually have to go to see the ponies again, and you are sick of eating dried old grass and prickly shrubs.
>Even though you'd been spoiled by the Equestrians' foods that one night, you would cut every braid off your head for some preserved nuts and berries.
>But you've worked out a method of expelling such thoughts from your head after so many nights out here: You take out your watch and just study it.
>You turn it over and over and over, and read aloud the big word under the mountain.
"Canterlot, Canterlot, Canterlot...."
>Overtime, your fantasies of waking up in your own bed again are counterbalanced by those of you waking up to Lance's strong legs around you.
>The only thing holding you back now were the other elements of this trek.
>Your hooves have never been so sore, and your legs ached something fierce as well.
>As a village zebra, you were no stranger to long days on your hooves, but this was something entirely different. Like tapping a spoon against your forehead for days, the menial task of walking forward wore you down with time.
>Shelter would be nice, too. Despite your natural protection from the heat and sun, you still feel it. You can cover your back with your blanket, and it also helps ease the friction of the basket on your back, but your head is naked.

>Thankfully, the only thing out here aside from the birds and other zebras has been you.
>Harrowing tales of lions, hyenas, cheetahs, and other unsavoury types were all you ever heard around the fire at night. But they seem to be less common than the legends let on.
>Maybe the ponies scared them all away. You could definitely imagine Lance diving down and roaring at a pride of lions, sending them scampering off into the horizon.
>You see the wings of birds and their faint calls just as much as you did back home, though. There is no variety whatsoever in this country.
>It's all just one big void of grass and gnarled trees. And the only thing that makes you tell you're going one way and not the other is the road and the river.
>The river widens and narrows, leaves your side and returns just as often, but it's always nothing more than a dip in the landscape.
>That's good for you because you can easily walk over and drink from it, or fill your water bladder, but it bores you as well.
>You never want to hear another river again, once you leave this one.
>Up in the distance, you see another marker pole rising over the grass.
>As you approach, you gasp as you notice the thing perched at the top of it.
>A bleached white skull sits at the top of the wooden pole. Its lower jaw rests on the ground at the base, where it must have fallen so long ago. The forehead has a large 'X' on it, with a dot inside each angle.
>Some kind of tribal symbol you don't recognize. Your own tribe has an obsession with arrows and spirals, and the tribal banners you saw among the nobles were far too many to memorize.
>Death is not a subject you haven't heard of, but to see the remains of some poor zebra... Or even pony, was something entirely new.
>You stay there for a moment, taking in the grisly sight, before you swallow and continue on.
>How long has that been there for?
>Where is the rest of it?
>Do ponies eat meat? You should have asked Lance about that.

>You never saw any meat at the festival, though maybe they were just being polite by not including it.
>Unless... That cherry pie was....
"Uuugh..."
>Cancel that thought. Ponies don't eat anything bad.
>If anything, they eat better than your kind do.
>Bugs are apparently good for you when there's nothing else to eat, and the old shaman used to praise the taste of lizards and spiders.
>Sometime later, and you have a nother strange find.
>A wooden wheel rises out of the grass a few yards off the trail, attached to some overturned cart.
>Your tummy flutters, remembering the skull you saw back down the way. Could this be where its body will be?
>You don't really WANT to go over there, nor do you have to... But a sick curiosity compels you to as well.
>You take a quick look around, making certain there's no one else on the road, before heading over to investigate.
>Pushing through the grass, you find that the cart is in a small clearing, and is part of a larger camp.
>Or at least it was a camp at some point.
>You feel your legs shake at the sight of it all, and not out of weariness.
>What was once a large covered wagon has since been overturned and draped in cloth. Various other bolts of cloth lay all around, alongside some old, broken pottery, and a pile of chopped wood.
>But what frightens you is what is plastered all over the wagon, and the ground.
>Large 'X's cover everything, each with four dots, and all drawn in blood red.
>You silently creep closer, feeling as if the grass around you is suddenly filled with eyes.
>Everything looks like it's not been disturbed for quite some time. The broad side of the wagon has a large sheet of fabric covering the inside, with several large rocks placed on it to keep the cloth pinned tightly to the ground.
>Something is scrawled onto the cloth resembling that Equestrian symbol-writing, but a huge 'X' cuts right over it.

***************************************

>You take another glance around, not yet shaking the feeling that you're being watched, before you set down your basket and move the first stone.
>The rocks are heavy - especially for a filly who's been trekking across the savannah for several days, but you roll enough away so that you can stick your head inside.
>As you lift the fabric aside, light pours into the wagon's carriage for the first time in who knows how long. The inside is noticeably cooler than outside, and the grass is all long dead.
>There's not much under it, aside from some scurrying bugs, a bundle of ragged old blankets, and an ornate bottle of some kind, hanging by a leather strap from a nail on the makeshift ceiling.
>The blankets have little embroidered patterns of squares and triangles in various colours. They must really have been nice before being left in the wild....
>You frown at such a waste of cloth. Your village was always struggling to find enough materials for everyone to live comfortably. Perhaps this wagon was a trader on his way there, until whatever fate had befallen them.
>You wriggle your torso through the small hole you'd cleared and pass inside.
>The blankets actually have another item next to them - a tiny doll.
>The doll is made of wood, and even still have the remnants of a brushable mane and tail.
>Its little stripes and standing hair obviously make it a zebra doll, though you'd never seen one so finely carved.
>You used to have a doll way back in your fillyhood. It was hairless and crudely striped, but your father swelled with pride when he presented you with it, having worked on the thing in secret for some days.
>Eventually, it just broke. The skinny legs snapped off, and the head followed soon after.
>You turn your attention to the bottle hanging down, and when you see the green tinge of it in the light, you feel the slightest hint of nostalgia.
>You had not seen such a bottle since that night with Lance....

>A long vessel with a thin neck and fat bottom, green colouring, with a leather strap fastened to its woven exterior.
>The side of the bottle had a patch sewn into its basket-like covering with a vibrant image of strange purple fruits in a green field.
>It's a nice picture, but you're just happy to see a colour other than yellow, green, or red.
>You slowly lower the bottle from its hanging spot and place it around your neck.
>But when you turn to head out, you freeze.
>There are voices....
>Two males at least, and judging by their accents, zebras.
>You scramble to the opening and start pushing your way out, only to see the tip of a large straight mane rising above the grass as they approach.
>So instead of leaving, you grab hold of your basket of possessions and drag them inside, pulling the cloth covering tight against the entry.
>Of all the places to be caught... It had to be inside a wagon!
>You huddle up next to your basket and try to steady your breathing. The sound of hooves treading through the same grass you'd gone through comes closer, and their voices come into range.
>"...There it is. I told you I saw an old wagon out here."
>Another voice cuts in sarastically.
>"Oh yes, I'm sure there's plenty of treasure in it, too. I bet whoever set up this camp didn't take any of this stuff already."
>They both sound young, probably older teens.
>There's no ay they're from your village if they're out this far....
>But that causes a new tremor of fear to run through you.
>These zebras are strangers, maybe even from the tribe that painted all over this camp.
>If they catch you, who knows what they'll do.
>Will they put your head up on a pole? Or will you be "lucky" and just be dragged off to slavery?
>Both alternatives make you shudder. Dying after coming this far would be a real shame....

>But you think being a slave would be far worse... Your village had none, but other parts of your tribe are known to use slaves for farming. And every noble you'd ever met had at least a few mares or colt servants waiting on them at all times.
>That would be the cruellest fate of all - to reach the edges of Zebrica, just to spend the rest of your life in some other town with a collar around your neck and a brand on your flank.
>The zebras can be heard rummaging through the debris of the abandoned camp, nagging back and forth over their lack of a find.
>"You know, I'm really glad to have trotted all the way out here, just to look at more junk...."
>"Oh, shut up, Ekza. The raiders always miss something. We haven't even looked under there yet."
>You hear them come closer, standing just on the other side of your barrier.
>"You've been studying the Equestrian scratch-words, Foz, what does that say?"
>The other zebra, known as Foz, hums, apparently studying the symbols written outside on the cloth.
>"I think it says... 'Tr-trai-traiters… Let... Me-no, my... lik-litt-little...'"
>The other one, known as Ekza, moans aloud.
>"Ugh, will you hurry up? I thought you knew their words!"
>"Shut up! I do! Gimme a chance, here... It says... 'Traitors... Let my little... girl sleep.'"
>They both stand in silence for a moment.
>"What is that supposed to mean?"
>"What do you think it means, dummy? They were traders, and he wants his daughter to sleep."
>The other one laughs.
>"You think his daughter is still in there?"
>"If she is, I'm claiming her."
>"Not if I get her first!"
>Your eyes widen, and you hear pushing and shoving outside.
>You look desperately around your small enclosure. There's no other way out, and nothing in here aside from those blankets and the doll.
>Without any other options, you elect to hide under the blankets; hopefully they will show as little interest in them as you did.

>"Get off me!"
>One of them shouts and a striped hoof bursts through the cloth, scratching around for purchase.
>You scramble into the pile of blankets and push yourself into them, but you feel something dry and hard scrape against you as you struggle further inside.
>You close your eyes and ball up under the covers, and you feel a hoof patting against the blanket.
>"Hey, there IS something in here!"
>Both the teenage zebras go silent, and the hoof tugs on the blanket.
>"There's a blanket in here... And a basket of some kind...."
>The blanket begins to drag away. Your body shakes, and you clench your teeth hard to keep them from chattering.
>"WHOA!"
>You hear the zebra scuffling away.
>He saw you, didn't he?
>Of course he did! What else could it be?
>"What is it?"
>"Just look...."
>The other zebra pushes his head inside and rifles through the blanket.
>"What? There's something under here?"
>The other one responds with a shaky voice.
>"Yes... It's the girl."
>Your heart stops.
>They know you're here.
>And there's only one way out: Right past them.
>You open your eyes and look to where the voices are coming from.
>The blanket is lifted and you're only veiled by the faint darkness of the wagon.
>But they're not looking at you. Instead, they're both looking at something ELSE under the cover.
>You look to where their eyes lead, to the object laying right in front of you.
>A small, round skull lays flat on the dirt ground. Its skinless face bears a cruel smile, and detached tufts of old hair are scattered around it.
>You feel a jolt of fear go down your spine as you turn your head downward, to whatever it was you had been scraping against.
>A pile of bones, some still with ancient skin stretched over them, bearing faint stripes, are lying all around you.
>Forgetting yourself, you yelp in shock and spring up from the nest of bones.
>Both the zebras lock eyes on you and gasp.
>Your movement upsets the old carcass and sends bones rolling out from around you.

>"Wigo!"
>"WIGO!"
"AAAAH!"
>"AAAAAGH!"
>One of the zebras bolts immediately, while his friend shoots straight up and wacks his head hard against the top of the wagon.
>Stunned, he slumps back down on the dirt.
>Still screaming, you snatch your basket of goods and wriggle out past the prone body and dash into the tall grass.
>You run for some time. The grass behind you is left flattened and you sprint away with no clear direction, and it only gets thicker the further in you go, making running harder and harder.
>Eventually, your lungs catch up with you and you collapse in a heap. The sound of wind blowing and birds chirping fills the land, but nothing else - aside from your heavy panting.
>You fish out your water bladder and roll onto your back. Still keeping an ear out, you pop open the plug with your teeth and chug down the warm river water greedily.
>After some time, when your breathing has slowed, you still lay there. Your legs ached fiercely already, and that run did you no favours. It was a good thing they did not give chase, or you'd have been caught for sure.
>One of them said something about 'claiming'....
>Would they drag you out and take you back to your village, or would they force you to marry one of them?
>You never got a very good look at either, but you doubt they'd be any betetr a match than the stallions bidding for you at home. Just a couple of dumb boys, probably out hunting or just messing around in general.
>You're quite far out in the wild, so that must mean there's another settlement close by.
>You gulp. Maybe they'll be back with reinforcements... You look at the path of bent grass you left in your wake.
>Guess that means you will have to cover your tracks, and be more careful in the future.
>With a lot of groaning, you roll yourself over and stand upright. Best to get going now, before anymore unwanted guests creep up on you.

*******************************

>First thing you do is locate the road to get your bearings. Apparently in your confusion, you ran quite a ways in the wrong direction.
>But can the road be trusted? Probably not.
>So instead, you dive into the grass on the other side and head for the river.
>A good day's trot over here will surely throw off any would-be followers, right?
>...Right.
>Probably.
>Anyway, it'll at least help to dampen your scent. Your parents always stressed the powerful noses of the savannah's many predators, but a dip in the river washes that away temporarily, making you safe.
>Unless the predators are at the river having a drink.
>You stop in your tracks. The river has been safe so far, but then again, all of the savannah has been surprisingly safe. Maybe now is the time for it to become as dangerous as it was in all the stories.
>You've never even seen a lion before. Sure, hunters would bring in pelts and traders sometimes had artistic depictions of the terrible beasts for sale. But a live one was only the stuff of legend.
>Elders told stories of earlier times, when Zebrica was truly a land without law or structure. An entire nation of tiny settlements with little to no contact with one another, where the lions were the true kings.
>Before the establishment of the noble houses, and the rise of the king of kings as the dominating position... To be outside at night was to offer yourself up to Death.
>… Well, better to be eaten by a lion than be taken as a slave, forced to wear a collar and do chores everyday for the rest of your life.
>Or even worse, get married off to one of those nasty old stallions back home.
>You grumble to yourself, remembering the blurry faces of all those so-called 'nobles' who bribed your parents for a kiss.
>Yep, death is definitely the better option. So you keep on trotting.
>....
>The river provides a comforting ambience, both to ease your mind and cover your own noises.

>Thankfully, no lions so far. Those ponies really must have scared them all off.
>And no unwanted zebras, either.
>But you still tense up at every sudden noise. You haven't gone THAT far, yet. And they could fall upon you at any moment.
>So stay alert.
>It's been some time since the incident, so you're sure you've passed the wagon again by now. So long as the river does not take too many unexpected turns, you should stay on the right track to Equestria!
>The sun is beginning its descent behind you, and the oppressive heat is once again turning to a comfortable warmth. The pure blue sky now dazzles with hues of orange and purple.
>Every now and then, you head back up to the road, just to make sure you haven't accidently lost track of it while following the river, and it's always more or less in the same place.
>Those zebras had called you 'Wigo'.
>Specter.
>They must have thought when they'd seen you rising out of those bones, screaming your head off, that you were the spirit of that poor girl returned.
>Some sick gratitude resides in you for that dead little zebra who'd been sleeping undisturbed for who knows how long.
>'Let my little girl sleep.'
>You know nothing about death, or what awaits everyone on the other side, but you hope she did sleep through it all as she passed.
>It sounded like someone was there with her at least, someone that loved her.
>Maybe that skeleton was always meant to be your one defense from those two, who may have found you if you'd kept on going down the road.
>Or maybe something even better awaits you somewhere along this river?
>That's what you tell yourself, anyway. It takes the sting off seeing such a sight. Why is it that she died, while you've been almost completely undisturbed for your journey?
>A wagon must have made them easier to spot out here, but they also weren't running from their parents, like you.
>That dumb zebra said they were traders. It doesn't make sense to hurt them.

>Those tribal markings all over their campsite are an ill omen, as well. Your own tribe would lay markings on rocks and trees to mark the borders of their territory, but you'd never heard of attacking poor zebras who were just passing through.
>...Maybe that tribe is struggling. Maybe they gave a lot in the war, and now make horrible decisions to keep their children fed?
>Well, you don't know if that justification makes you feel any better, but it at least gives you the barest hope, that if they spot you, they won't kill you on sight.
>The sun is almost entirely gone, and you find the river turning to the left, heading closer to the road. Your legs are insanely sore, so now you're looking for somewhere safe to tuck in for the night.
>Eventually, the river crosses right through the road, and you see a bridge overhead.
>It's like nothing you've ever seen. Zebras tend to make use of nature in its intended form, but this bridge is constructed of thick, chopped logs. They are tightly packed together, though no rope or bindings of any kind are visible. In fact, the only rope on it are the simple rope barriers on both sides of the structure.
>You don't know how it all stays together, but it looks like it could stand for a thousand years. All the buildings you've seen have been made of mud, or grown using specialized tree seeds.
>This must be the work of Equestrians!
>Zala is HOT ON THE TRAIL!
>Forgetting your soreness for a moment, you dash up to the bridge, eager to stand on it yourself.
>As you step onto it, your hooves make a satisfying 'clunk' on its wooden floor. Setting hoof on something other than dirt or grass is a luxury you didn't know you missed until this very moment.
>You walk slowly across the bridge and stop in the center. Though you're barely any higher than on land, you find yourself interested in the sights from here.

>The grass is long and golden on both sides of the river, the water is no slower or faster, nor louder or quieter than usual, but you've never seen it like this before.
>From the bridge, you can see all possible routes. The road continues on in both directions, and the river flows onwards on its own.
>Ever since that time Lance took you up into the sky, you've had an affinity for new perspectives. The world seems much more alive when you look at it from multiple angles.
>You lay down under the hanging rope barrier and lower your left hoof into the water.

https://youtu.be/ISy5WPqUWs4

>The water splits in the wake of your tiny hoof, leaving two separate trails. Despite the peacefulness of the evening, you suddenly are struck with thoughts of your family.
>What would become of them now? Their only child far and away... What would they do now?
>When you have hard nights, where all you think about is running home to safety, you drag out the memory of how they treated you that night one year ago. But even that seems so insignificant, now.
>In all honesty, hating them for so long was tiring. And it did not help that they were so patient and supportive of you throughout the courting process.
>Your heart aches. Would they be forced to return all the goods those nobles had given them? At the very least, you would hope the despair over their daughter would be padded with the riches heaped on them by so many stallions.
>A drop of water drips into the water near your hoof. You raise your other hoof and feel the wetness on your muzzle.
>Crying again... Just remember what you always remember in these situations.
"Canterlot...."
>You whisper to yourself shakily.
"Canterlot, Canterlot, Canterlot...."
>You sit up and search through your basket for the watch.
>As you pull the cool metal object out, your spirits are immediately lightened, ableit slightly.
>You stare hard at the bright blue cover, and the circling ponies on its front.

>Are they supposed to be stallions or mares? You cannot really tell, though they seem much thinner than the ponies you've seen.
>You take a moment to lift out the heavy bottle from inside your basket. This must also have come from Equestria.
>You examine its picture again, taking in the vibrant colours and strange fruits of that unseen land.
"Canterlot, Canterlot, Canterlot…."
>There's still plenty of liquid inside the bottle, though you don't want to think about how long it's been there for.
>Ehh, might as well give it a try.
>You try to pull the cork out with your hoof, but it proves too strong for you. Then you reluctantly grip it in your teeth and tug on it.
>...Still nothing.
>Sighing, you glance around. Still no one on either side of the bridge.
>You roll onto your back and hold the base of the bottle with your thighs, then you tug with your mouth again.
>Grunting with each attempt, you pull, and pull, and pull, and-
"Ack!"
>The cork flies off, and rich red water pours onto your chest and belly.
>You quickly right the bottle and shake yourself off. But the red stuff has already set into you and cannot be so easily undone.
>Spitting out the cork, you sniff the opening of the bottle.
>And you instantly rear back and gag. Unlike that potion you'd drank with Lance, this one smells nothing of smoke or berries or wood.
>It smells sour, acidic, and offensive.
>Though there is still a hint of berries.
>You scowl at the bottle. All that work just smell bad! Luckily there's a river right near you to wash this stink off later.
>Then again, maybe it's supposed to smell like that?
>When you had the stuff Lance gave you, it smelled quite acceptable. But when you tasted it, it was not so great.
>So maybe this stuff smells bad and tastes good.
>An excellent theory, Zala. Nevermind that you know exactly what rotten food smells like, and this is it.
>You circle around it, eyeing it up like a foe.

>Lance didn't whine when he drank that whole glass of red stuff. He even said you'd be dreaming of it in time.
>Come on, you big baby... Just give it one swig.
>You sit in front of it and place your hooves around the neck of the bottle.
>One breath, two, three....
>And you raise the bottle up to your lips. With a slight tip, the liquid comes rushing into your lips and over your tongue.
>You slam the bottle back down and stagger away, coughing and gasping.
>GROSS, GROSS GROSS!
>It does NOT taste good, not at all!
>Your taste buds feel like they're going to jump off your tongue, as the taste of death refuses to leave your mouth.
>You dry heave over the side of the bridge, and spit every ounce of saliva you can into the water below.
>So that was the second most disgusting thing you've ever done....
>Surpassed only by that time you were kissed by the skeletal noble.
"Uuugh…."
>Maybe you should just toss the whole thing in the river....
>Looking back at the bottle, you can see there's only a quarter left that wasn't spilt on you or in you.
>...Well.
>It's from Equestria. It has to be. And therefore, it is good. Just tough it out.
>You furrow your brow and step back towards it.
>This is stupid....
>You pick up your watch again and flip it open.
>The hands still move, for all the good it does you.
"Canterlot, Canterlot..."
>You stare intently at the bottle.
>Do it for Lance.
>If he saw you right now, he'd be so proud.
"Canterlot, Canterlot, Canterlot..."
>Do it.
>DO IT!
"LANCE!"
>You lunge at the bottle and wrap your mouth around it. Then you lift the whole thing upside down.
>Tears form in your eyes as the putrid potion fills your cheeks.
"Mmmmnrgh!"
>You force a swallow, before feeling bile rising back up the hole it went down.
>CANTERLOT! JUST THINK ABOUT CANTERLOT!
>You force another swallow, and your vision blurs for a second.
>Lance...
>*chug*
>Is...
>*chug*
>So...
>*chug*
>Great!
>You chug again, but nothing comes.

>The bottle drops from your hooves and you are left panting.
>Your stomach feels like it's flipping itself around, but a wave of pride comes over you.
>You did it! You KNEW you could do it!
>Zala: drinker of Equestrian drinks!
>You're basically an expert at this point!
>You whip your head around to check on both ends of the bridge again, and the coast is still clear. For some reason, your head feels heavier than usual, and moving it so fast almost throws you off balance.
>Then you throw your hooves in the air and give yourself a silent cheer, more a hiss than a shout.
"...wooohooo!"
>It feels like an egg is suddenly rising out of your belly and you press your hooves against your lips.
>But it won't be stopped, the egg rises, and rises, and....
*BUUURP!*
>Oh, Zusiku, that felt good... You chuckle and pat your poor belly.
"I'm sorry, tummy. No more pony drinks for tonight, promise...."
>You sit next to the bottle for a while, collecting yourself, before you decide it's time to move on.
>A bridge is a poor spot to camp out, after all.
>If those two zebras are still out here....
>Well, they probably would have heard you by now anyway, right?
>You don't regret this waste of time, anyway. This is by far the most entertainment you've had in a while.
>As long as you don't count being chased or nearly caught entertainment.
>You put your watch back in your basket and start to head off. But then you turn back and look at the bottle, now lying by itself on the bridge.
>...It is a nice bottle.
>Sighing, you toss it into your basket as well and walk off.
>That's enough diversions for one day, now you'll need to be alert and searching for a safe place to sleep.
>The blackness of true night is already around you, and the sun is but a whisper of purplish clouds behind you now.
>Another night alone, but you are closer than ever to your destination.
>And that feels great.

*************************************

>It is sometime later, and you are fine.
>Jusht fine.
*Hicc*!
>Your hiccup sends you stumbling into the tall grass alongside the road.
>Now on your back on the ground, you can't help but giggle at your sudden loss of motor skills.
>But you can't stop yet! You must find Equestria!
"Uuuurgh…."
>Struggling immensely, you manage to roll over and lift back up to your hooves.
>One hoofsie in front of the other, Zala.
>Zalalalalaaaa~
"....Lalalalalaaa~..."
>Your name is a song.
>You are so talented.
>Left hoof, right hoof....
>Left back hoof, right back hoof....
>You continue to inch your way further down the road.