Hunting Hope 19

>Hope finally reached the grand doors to the ancient castle and pushed her way inside.

>Or tried to, as she ended up groaning with effort with absolutely nothing to show for it.

>The doors simply wouldn't budge, even withstanding an angry kick from her spectacularly muscled legs.

This place was solid.

>Hope looked around to either side of the enormous metal-framed wooden doors, peering through the fog that eddied and swirled as if mocking her lack of strength.

"Get out of it!" Hope snapped at the lumpy tendrils of fog irascibly, before groaning out loud at the inconvenience of it.

>It would be getting dark soon, and she was stuck outside in the foulest of weather.

Oh, well. At least it isn't-

>Hope hadn't even finished the thought when a cloud appeared overhead, blotting out the sun with it's mass and dumping sheets of icy rain onto her head.

-raining, Hope wryly finished. Oh, well.

>Hope shivered as she circled around the castle's outer wall, looking for a gap or hole that would allow her inside and out of the stinging, pouring, icy storm.

>There was one hole, a massive portion of wall smashed out from the castle tower as if it had been blown out by a magical explosion... but that was far away, both within the castle's outer walls and far too high to reach from outside.

>Somehow, even though the stone structure had been abandoned for what appeared to be at least a thousand years, its defences were intact and strong.

Things really were built to last back then, Hope mused to herself, thinking back on the tales of wild beasts and magical beings that had terrorised Equestria in the early decades of Celestia's rule.

>She had read the story in the oldest book she had ever laid eyes upon... well, not read exactly.

The tales of heroism and horror, knights and monsters, cruel tyrants and oppressed ponies fighting for equality; their historical elements embellished and made impossibly interesting, were told to her every night of her childhood.

>Even now, her mind fell back on anon's slow, deep voice as he told the historical account of the Siege of Harmony at this very castle.

>Hope had loved the story, and when she grew older had searched the libraries and book-stores around town and even the great library of Canterlot to find the wizened tome, but it was nowhere to be found.

>Even the stories told in it were unable to be found, and the closest thing she could appropriate was a dusty early copy of "Hearths Warming Eve", a mythological child's version of the thrilling tale.

How sad that such a vibrant history could simply be forgotten, replaced by simplistic heroic tales with none of the urgency or immediacy of true accounts.

>A gust of wind tore through Hope's hair, carrying with it what felt like gallons of water to splash into her face.

>Hope jogged harder, eyes sweeping desperately as she circled the massive castle for a way in, but the cold was beginning to get to her.

This wasn't working.

>Hope made a snap decision and sprinted back towards the main entrance.

There was no way she would be able to get in easily, but she needed shelter from the rain or else risk catching pneumonia.

>Luckily, with the angle of the rain and the overhanging stone arch covering the spectacular doors, a sliver of dry land still existed.

>Hope pushed herself against the worn wood, leaning up against the corner where the door and wall met, and sat, shaking from the cold.

>Above, the sky darkened even more, as the sun began to set, hidden far behind the monstrous clouds.

>Hope looked out at the pouring rain from her small patch of safety, marvelling at its intensity and shivering from its power.

It was going to be a long night, but at least she was out of the rain.

>Curling up into a soaked ball, the mint-green satyr pulled out her soggy pipes to play a warming tune, but fell asleep after playing a single, melancholy note.

 

>Hope awoke some time later, warm and dry under a rough blanket.

Ugh. Why was it that every time she fell asleep outside somebody had to save and capture her?

>Hope blinked her eyes open warily.

Perhaps this time her captor wouldn't be so understanding.

If the guards...

>But clearly she had not been saved or caught by the Equestrian Royal Guard, as her surroundings hazily came into focus.

>Hope was lying on a small straw mattress, clearly intended for ponies as her head and legs hung off the edges by a good foot or so each.

>The mat was resting upon a smoothly dry dirt floor, and the walls were what looked like living wood, slightly green and lit oddly by a dozen or so candles placed around the one-room hut.

>The entire area was also very colorful, but slightly unsettling.

>Bright masks glared at Hope from the walls and floor, and multi-hued bottles hung from the ceiling around a massive bubbling, glowing, cauldron.

>And yet, despite all these potentially alarming details, Hope felt comfortable and at home.

>Despite it's tribal nature, the hut was warm and inviting, and the light and vivid colors further cemented this feeling of safety.

>However, no matter how fine a home it was, there was still the potentially distressing situation of having been rescued, yet again, by a complete stranger.

I've got to be more careful.

>Truly, these past few days had proven to Hope how lucky it was that she hadn't been caught yet, and more specifically how very little her simple abilities of "run and hide and play pipes" were good for in a crisis.

>The only unexplained phenomenon was her teleportation.

>Hope had spent much of the night following her arrival at the mystical clearing, playing her songs again, composing new ones, even playing random notes; but nothing of the same ilk had even shown inklings of occurring.

>Perhaps it was somehow tied to the desert, or being trapped in a magical shell... or it had merely been a burst of wild magic, such as the one that had brought anon to Equestria all those years ago.

>Whatever it was, there was no time presently to figure it out.

>She was on the run, and if she didn't get up and leave the hut soon...

*thud*

Oh. That was the door.

*clip* *clop*

>The sound of hooves echoed from around the corner of the small alcove Hope was lying in.

>Hope steeled herself to meet the pony who had rescued her, praying silently to the gods of chaos and luck, whichever ones they were, for a friendly face.

>Suddenly, a striped head popped out horizontally from behind the small wall, black-and-white mohawk hanging sideways and gold chains around the neck.

>"Boo!" cried a musical, deep female voice, as the head's, not quite that of a pony but similar, eyes widened.

>Hope cried out in surprise, leaping backwards and banging her head on the wall behind her.

>She blinked and rubbed the back of her head, cognisant of a faint chuckle from the zebra in front of her.

>The zebra walked closer to the half-pony creature, now concerned as Hope moaned faintly in pain "Sorry. Did I frighten you?"

Rhyming a sentence with onomatopoeia. Nice.

>Hope cursed silently to herself, regaining her composure.

"Who are you?" she finally mustered, eyes wary of her mysterious host.

>"I know that ponykind can be cruel. To those who are different, even the poor mule."

>"Fear not of capture, when within these walls. I am a friend to all who, in need, calls."

>Hope cleared her throat, and the zebra stopped her soliloquy.

"I'm sorry. I meant what is your name?"

>"Oh, of course! I humbly apologize. My name is Zecora, a zebra who tries..."

>Zecora paused, gesturing grandly around her at the small hut, "to create cures for the ails which befall my allies."

>"And to aid those in need like yourself... Apple fries?" She finished, proffering a plate full of steaming golden-baked apple slices.

>Hope smiled at the silliness of the last rhyme, finally laughing out loud with the small zebra as they both sat on the edge of the bed and ate the fries.

>Outside the tree house, the storm beat fruitlessly on the windows and wood of the warm home.

>Inside, Hope was safe, happy, and enjoying the pleasant company of a friend for the first time in far too long.

 

 

Hmm, this is the second time I've pulled the "and then she passed out from physical exertion/sickness and awoke somewhere safe" trope. Perhaps it's a bit lazy, I'll try not to do it a third time. I think it worked pretty well this time, though.

At any rate, I hope you liked it! I did.

 

Stay frosty, satyrfriends!