Chapter 2

Anon's release from his quarantine came not from Twilight or even a pony at all, but a careless little dragon. His name was Spike, and besides a young ward for Twilight, he was many other things: Indentured servant, little brother, and a firebreathing, gem eating beast. But he was a tiny little thing, no bigger than a toddler. One day, his sister of sorts was running some odd errands, up to and including ingredients for alchemical potions from a talking zebra, and due to his penchant for trouble, she made sure to keep him very busy when she was out. To that end, she gave him the same task she gave him when she was in Canterlot; Restack and reorganize every book alphabetically.

This was made a mammoth task by Equestria's godawful system for organizing books, far removed from our "Dewey Decimal System", failing to take genre and subject into account. Spike slogged on best as he could, but he was still a rebellious lad, and he couldn't miss an opportunity to make some passive-aggressive mischief. Now was a better time than ever with the little secret down in her basement where her little lab was kept.

Spike hadn't been given a single clue as to what was kept down there, and he had barely seen faint glimpses of the metal box with the eery red glow. The glass porthole was fogged from the inside, obscuring whatever was in there, but heavy, growling breaths could be heard from inside. He was a little scared, but the opportunity to see what was inside would never come again, much less that chance to experience it without any sort of screen of bars to block them. The latch was heavy, but not too much for little Spike, so with bravado and not a shred of foresight, he opened the box.

A cold, heavy fog rolled out as the lid swung open with a low creak and Anon tumbled to the ground, gasping for breath like a beached fish. He was nude from head to toe and covered in what appeared to be sweat, but was actually melting frost, matting his long hair and his modest beard, making him look like a caveman. Given his current mental state, he practically was a caveman. With an inquisitive grunt he picked up Spike by the back of his neck as though he were some sort of puppy.

Spike kicked and struggled as Anon examined him, and bits of cognition began to flicker into his head. He had just enough mental capacity to say, "Thanks, kid" to Spike before running away on all four of his spindly legs, hopping and creeping like a perverse frog. His stay in the icebox had an interesting effect on him; the higher mental functions of his brain, things such as abstract thought and reasoning, has shut down due to disuse, and would not fully boot in for hours after his release. He was no more than an animal that could occasionally spit out words now. It was night now, and none but a few children out after their curfew saw him running into the forest.

This was not just any forest, but a magical forest; All manner of fantastic things dwelt there, most of which could not speak. Beast such as hydras and manticores lived in these woods, and the children were warned never to enter by their parents. Now and again, more often "now" then before, a few brave souls would venture in, but a lone witch doctor, a talking zebra named Zecora, (a word which means "Zebra" making her name redundant), carved out a living gathering strange herbs for sustenance, potions brewing and occasional trade with the townsfolk. Twilight in particular was a close friend of hers, and a fan of her tea. Her scent left a trail to Zecora's hut, a scent which Anon recognized but did not fully comprehend. The smell was pleasant, like grapes and lavender potpourri, but in the back of his mind he knew he had an animosity with the source of it. Like a deranged chimpanzee, he took to the trees in search of Twilight.

Soon he found Zecora's hut, and could see her and Twilight inside. He crept through the branches and over the roof, ready to lunge on down. Arboreal apes rarely ever hunted, and they were certainly not patient hunters. With a loud scream, he swung in through the window, pummeling Twilight and pulling her main. Zecora reared up her hind legs and kicked him in the back, knocking him off of Twilight and onto the hard dirt floor. He scowled and panted before screeching again and charging at the zebra. She didn't bat an eyelid as he leaped forward, for Twilight had immobilized him; like other member of her particular subspecies, she was capable of magic, and even those that were not knowledgeable of it could produce a telekinetic force from their horns. She had done both to Anon, the latter to grab him and the former to ensure he would not get up.

They spoke, but the words merely bounced off of his eardrums, though he could pick a rhythm in the zebra's speech. Despite his paralysis he still tried to struggle futilely, his efforts producing nothing but pained grunts. The last thing he remembered before being dragged through the underbrush was Twilight giving him a kick to the face.