Zenith Part 4: Humane Treatment

You awake slowly, snuggling the thick blankets and soft pillows around you. You feel like you had the oddest dream last night, but can't quite remember it... Oh well.

 

It’s so nice to wake up comfortable and warm... you stretch slightly, somewhat sore muscles complaining, then freeze as the signals from your extremities were not what you expected.

 

Keeping your eyes screwed shut you move your arms a bit, just to be sure, and your mind races to make sense of the sensations. Uhh, Arms? You aren't supposed to move like that. Your elbow is sitting almost all the way back against your torso, the palm of your hand feels far longer than it should (and not very palm-like at all), and you're sure that you're not supposed to feel so fuzzy! Arms didn't seem to be very happy with the situation either, aching with resentment at the motion.

 

Maybe Legs were doing better... Nope, nope nope nope. That is -not- better, that's the opposite of better! Legs, why in hell are you so short, and why do Feet feel so damned long? Feet, did you cannibalize Legs while I wasn't looking? Bad Feet! Wait, Feet, what's up with Toes; why can't I wiggle them? Did you have a run at them too?! Oh no, wait, where's Fingers!?!

 

Finally opening your eyes reveals soft light glowing through the lightweight white sheets covering you, and some rather fuzzy orange forelegs. Tips of blue mane laze around the edges of your vision, and a short muzzle occupies the bottom of your view.

 

Looking down a quiet "Oh, right," escapes your lips.

 

Okay, yep, that's what the dream was about, and it apparently wasn't really much of a dream at all. Your breathing picks up pace.

 

Your body is now that of a p0ny. Voice is a bit off too, huh. Well that's all quite alright; Brain seems to have come up with an excellent plan for you to follow, which you hope is a sight better than the ‘Let's go on Holiday and hope it fixes itself' plan from yesterday. He promises some quite brilliant methods to cope with any and all conceivable complications arising from this sudden deviation from the norm.

 

Shame he didn't really get much past 'Step One: Scream and Panic' before Adrenaline Glands jumped the gun and decided that they liked the plan so far, and that any following steps were superfluous and didn't really deserve to be heard.

 

You fling your limbs around frantically, screaming nonsensical obscenities, trying to free yourself from the light sheets, but accomplishing nothing besides tangling yourself up further. Over your own yelling you think you hear another sound, somewhat shrill, emanating from somewhere outside your linen straitjacket. Heh, a straitjacket would probably be appropriate, this is probably just a fever-induced delirium, you're probably just at camp yelling an-

 

*Whumph!* “Ahh!” Something large and soft, but very heavy, smacks into you from above, shoving you down forcefully into the blankets and snapping you out of your hopeful dreaming.

 

“Wha-ahh!”  *Whumph!* You yell some more and attempt to wriggle forward, but are pushed flat again.

 

“Who-whahh!”  *Whumph!* And again,

 

“Oww! Geddah-attway!”  *Whumph!* And again,

 

“Ow, Stoppit!” *Whumph!* And again. This time you lay still, panting, and the whumping relents.

 

“Did you say something?” The voice is female, but with a sharp edge of suspicion. After a beat of silence on your part she replies to herself, “No, never mind, I've been over this already.”

 

You lay quiet, frightened. You were trapped in an alien body, and pretty much at her mercy, and she doesn't sound like she wants to mess around. At least whatever you were being hit with wasn't really doing any damage. The silence stretches for a few moments, the pitter-pat of rain against the roof filling the air.

 

There's a small click, then she speaks again, still just as serious, but without the emotion; a very professional tone, “10:23 - Subject has awoken in a state of what I can only surmise is panic; he tangled his limbs in his bedding, and was thrashing wildly, but too little effect. The fabric appears unharmed, even from the subject's horn, which seems to suggest it is not meant as a natural weapon. Perhaps it is decorative, and used to attract a mate?”

 

Attract a mate! Well how do you like that... even so, a horn! You can feel the fabric pressing against it. Your OC was a unicorn, so it makes sense, but still...

 

“His vocalizations are unnervingly human sounding. I was forced to subdue the subject with a down pillow... approximately 750 fill, 5 pounds. Repeated strikes appear to have stunned him. Breathing was rapid, but appears to be slowing towards resting state.” Another click, then she adds in a kinder tone, “Sorry about whacking you like that, but you scared me pretty good.”

 

Oh well, if she's sorry then that makes everything better, pfff-. But sure enough, you have calmed slightly as you laid there listening to her rattle on about you like some lab animal. Wait, why were you calm about that? Was that where you were? In a lab somewhere, being studied?! But labs don't employ down pillows as sedatives do they? No, no, think... think... Oh! The cabin! The slight crackle of fire nearby and warm smells of cooking corroborate your theory. Ok, so it's probably not a lab, but you're still a p0ny, and still might be in hot water!

 

You hear footsteps, then the creaking of old hinges. Fresh air and the sound of rain washes into the room, along with the smell of wet grass fields. The footfalls move back across the room, putting you between them and the door. Never did they get closer than ten feet from you. You marvel at how your ears seem to pivot and aim on their own; tracking the sounds, and at your increased sense of smell. Nothing really seemed different, there was just... more detail to it, and it just added to the surrealism of the whole situation.

 

“10:25 - Subject has remained still since being subdued. I am now going to attempt to remove the sheets from the subject. As a precaution I have opened the cabin door to keep it from feeling cornered, and prepped both my tranq pen and 12-gauge Remington 1100 firearm.”

 

She slowly approaches where you lay on the floor, making soft sounds she probably thought were reassuring. They probably would have been a bit more comforting if she didn't just mention having a freaking shotgun! At least it hadn't been her first choice of weapon; the pillow seemed quite attractive now by comparison.

 

“There, there, it's okay, I'm just gonna get you out of these sheets, nice and easy now...”

 

You feel her hand against the fabric near your legs, and tense up. She sounds like she means well, but that could just be good acting, and the whole situation has you feeling extremely vulnerable. She seems to sense it, and hesitates before continuing, slower than before.

 

“Don't worry, it'll be okay, I'm not gonna hurt you...”

 

Slowly she pulls the tangled sheets from around your limbs, and you tumble softly onto your back atop the blanket bedding, forelegs folded to your chest, and rear legs sticking upward awkwardly with your tail tucked between them. You're on a rug in front of an old-fashioned wood burning stove. Looks like your cabin assessment was right on the money.

 

Her frazzled red-brown hair is pulled up into a ponytail, and she stares down at you with light hazel eyes, looking about as puzzled as you felt. What you thought last night hadn't been wrong; she -was- kinda of cute, but you realize you're lying in front of her completely naked, save for your fur. For a few moments you two just stare at each other, but your embarrassment soon forces your eyes to be anywhere but hers, and your eyes bug out a little when you notice the shotgun hanging at her side. The shoulder strap is pulled taut under its weight; that thing was probably as big as you! Your eyes dart nervously to the gun and back, only for an instant, but she notices.

 

She sets down the sheets next to you, straightens upright slowly, and takes a few steps back, a slight frown across her features. She shifts the gun farther behind her back, out of your view. You roll onto your stomach, struggling to get your legs folded under you comfortably, and trying to not break eye contact. Your limbs don't move like they should, so you don't quite succeed on either account, but when you're done she hasn't moved an inch; she's still just standing there and watching. You consider saying something to her, but things are odd enough as they are, and you'd rather not spook her with that gun still slung over her shoulder.

 

Not breaking eye your contact she reaches into one of the many pockets of the white apron she's wearing over her long sleeved plaid shirt, and takes out a small silver object. Clicking a button on the side lights a small red LED on top, and she speaks into it in the same professional manner as earlier.

 

“Subject did not panic when I removed the sheets as I had feared, but has instead remained very still. He didn't move a muscle until I backed away, and has stared at me continuously. As I stated in earlier entries: the subjects eyes are quite large in proportion to his body, but now that he is conscious, I also note that they appear very expressive. The entire head is only equine in basic form, with a much more rounded shape, and shorted muzzle. The overall effect is a rather... human look; very intelligent... for lack of a better term.” She frowns at her lack of more appropriate wording, and clicks the button again as the recording light goes dark.

 

Oh good, you might be a p0ny, but at least you've got a pretty face! You roll your eyes slightly as you turn to look back at yourself.

 

Whoa, your neck allows you a much wider range of movement than it used to; you almost swung all the way past your back to your other side! Your orange fur is grass stained, matted, and progressively dirtier towards your tail. Mud reaches almost all the way up both flanks, leaving only a small strip along your back with even a semblance of cleanliness. Yech, a bath is definitely sounding good. Your tail itself is tangled and clumped, and filled with more than just mud; hitchhiking leaves, twigs, and grasses all stick out of it at odd angles. What you can see of your mane hasn't fared much better, but does have a bit less mud, leaving the light blue streaks more or less visible. This whole p0ny thing was going to take getting used to.

 

The fluttery feeling of panic rises in your gut, but you squash it down, this is no time to panic! What are you thinking!? This is the perfect time to panic!! You're a p0ny stuck in the mountains, audio log chick over there is probably going to sell you to the government, and it's all that stupid plushies' fault! Well, maybe if you had never made an OC in the first place- No! If he hadn't shown up, in that stupid little wooden crate of his, and taken away -everything- that was important to you, you could be relaxing by a lake, sipping margaritas! Now look at you! You aren't even a proper animal, you're from a children's show! You are a child's -plaything-! What were you gonna do now, where could you go?

 

You huff rapidly; the air in here's too hot! The walls are too close! You gotta go somewhere, anywhere but here! You see the open door, the wide green fields awash with rain, memories of sunlight and chirping birds, and a feeling of a mirror in your mind, trying to wall off everything that makes this wrong.

 

Suddenly the need to flee leaves is replaced by icy fear, nothing could be worse than being reduced to that again. The raw animalistic nature of your emotions, the loss of all the memories that made you human, it was too horrible to even consider. Even the memories of it were hard to want to pull up. Except seeing the cabin lights in the distance, that had been divine. Almost as good as the taste of those flowers... No! Eating plants like that was for animals, and you... you were still human on the inside at least, even if you -were- a mud-plastered p0ny on the outside!

 

When did you get so muddy anyway? You remember running in the dark rainstorm... and splashing through lots of mud in the stream, that -would- do it... But why had you been running in the first place? Something had been chasing you hadn't it? Something loud and noisy, and it could fly... and it was red... and it had "RESCUE" painte- Oh duh, the search and rescue chopper. You had spent the latter half of the day running from people who wanted to save your life, just brilliant. Although what would have awaited you if they had brought you back?

 

A loud rumbling from your stomach derails your train of thought, or rather, puts it on another set of rails altogether. You hadn't realized just how hungry you were, and the smell of fresh pancakes is wafting enticingly past your sensitive nose.

 

You breathe in the warm scent, following it with your head past the nearby sofa, until your gaze lands on the wooden table where the woman is now seated. She watches you inquisitively as she eats fork-fulls of syrup covered pancake from her plate. You stretch your neck upwards, and are rewarded with the sight of another plate stacked with a steaming golden tower of pancakes in the middle of the table. Your stomach grumbles loudly again.

 

She sets down her fork, and says in a jovial manner, "Hungry, are you? Well, I don't know your diet, but I doubt pancakes are a normal part of it. Maybe you'd like some of the oats I brought?”

 

Aww, oats? But you really -like- pancakes! And these ones smelled sooo good... And you just gotta eat something! You shift your weight forward with your neck and head, and try to get your mud crusted hind legs under yourself. Their new lengths made it difficult to position them correctly; it was kinda like standing on your toes, but with really long feet and really short legs. And no actual toes.

 

The sound of scraping wood draws your attention back to the woman, who has pushed out her chair and is standing to get a better view, silver recorder in hand, and curious eyes on you.

 

"10: ..." she checks her watch, "39 - Subject is attempting to stand for the first time since his collapse last night. Apparent motivation is hunger. I regret not getting any of this on film, but I have been unable to locate my PAI since arriving here." There was that tone of voice again, what happened to offering you food? And how the heck would a pie help her record anything? Not that you'd argue to a nice warm pie right now...

 

Man, no kidding hunger was your motivation! You could feel the effects of the exertion from yesterday really taking their toll, but the lack of food just made it that much worse! How had you managed to sprint across mud covered rocks in the dark, when now you could barely keep your balance?

 

"Subject started by rising on his hind legs first, which is odd for an equine. He also seems unstable, perhaps weak from exhaustion or malnutrition, although both seem unlikely from what I've observed of his condition."

 

Odd for an equine? Did horses stand up with their front legs first? How would she even know that? Was she a vet, or did she own horses? That would be handy, if your p0ny biology was anything like that of a normal horse. But that is neither here nor there, and at the moment you focus on getting you forelegs straight. Now you think you see why a horse would stand up the other way, it was pretty hard to stay balanced while leaning so far forward like this, plus you felt a bit silly looking with your ass in the air. You tuck your tail down self-consciously and refocus on standing.

 

Finally managing to stand you stare up at the woman, and more importantly, her breakfast. She just eyes you in return, recorder sill in hand.

 

Okay, one step, then another, a bit shaky, but you're making progress. Remember to move the back legs too, left, then right. You're starting to feel like you've gotten the hang of it when a loose fold of cloth catches one of your back hooves, and you stumble forward, doing a chin plant into the rug as your legs go out from under you. Sure is a nice looking rug, but Oww... it's too bad it isn't more soft for how thick it is.

 

“Ouch, you alright little guy?” she moves around the table, crouching next to you. She clicks her recorder, “Subject appears to have difficulty keeping balanced while walking... No apparent favoring of any one limb due to injury...” She clicks the recorder off and angles her head around you, but keeps some distance, you try to regain some dignity by pulling your legs back into line, front ones first this time.

 

“Come on, you can do it!” God this feels demeaning, first you can't even walk, and now you're getting coddled by... by... what was she, a researcher? A school teacher? [spoiler]A dictionary?[/spoiler] She seemed to click between the encouraging soccer mom and the aloof scientist as easily as the recorder clicked on and off. And if she was going to be so nice and helpful sounding why in hell couldn't she just bring you some dang food?!

 

You regain your footing (or was it hoofing?) and make it all the way off the end of the carpeting with trembling legs before you slip up again, this time coming down hard on the wooden floor. In pain you draw in a sharp breath between clenched teeth, maybe the rug was softer than you gave it credit for.

 

“Ohh ouch, again. Why're you having such trouble walking, huh?”

 

Let's see you try it lady, it's harder than it looks, that's for sure! Maybe you can get her to make good on that offer of oats, since it seems like the pancakes are out of reach for now. You peek back at her over your mud stained tail from your position on the floor, and put on the best big-eyed puppy dog face you can manage, complete with a touch of pouting lip. Would adding some tremble to that lip be overdoing it? Stomach decides to pitch in and rumbles right on cue. Nice timing Stomach. Demeaning or not you were freaking -starving-, and she could help.

 

As you fix her with the pity inducing look you see her almost visibly start to melt; her brows knit together above softening eyes, and a smile pulling its way across her cheeks. You can just about see the next word from her mouth forming on her face.

 

“D'awwww, okay, okay, I'll go get you something to eat, you just stay right there.”

 

Score! She gets up and swings the front door shut before walking to the small open kitchenette in the corner of the room, where she starts going through cupboards with one hand, recorder in the other.

 

*Click* “10:54 - Subject appears incapable of walking with any speed or dexterity for the time being, but is obviously very hungry. His intelligence appears to be higher than most equines, at least more on the level of some of the primate families, as he has -already- associated me with the ability to procure nourishment, or perhaps he is domesticated and familiar with being fed? Either way not knowing his diet poses a problem with what to give him, but I'm going to offer him some untreated organic oats I have, and see if he eats them. I hope that he'll know what's good for him by instinct, and avoid any foods that will give him trouble. The fiber and vitamins contained in oats are suitable for most equine dietary...” You stop paying attention as she goes off into heavier scientific mumbo jumbo.

 

You notice she no longer has the gun over her shoulder, and find it hanging over the back of the chair where she was seated, which was a relief. Not that guns normally bothered you, living in a country town would do that, but knowing that the gun hanging just over there was meant specifically for you was not a pleasant feeling. It was like no matter where it was pointed, you were always in the sights.

 

You sit on your haunches with your forelegs straight and start looking around the rest of the room for the first time. It appeared that this was the main room of the cabin; housing the living, cooking, and dining portions of the house. The plain wooden paneled wall with the front door, and the matching ones to either side, house simplistic windows; allowing the light from the wet grey skies to mingle with the warm glow of the small electric lamps between them, their lampshades decorated with leafy patterns. The door itself is still wide open, and the light draft chills your bare form, especially now that you're farther away from the wood burning stove sitting in the corner to the doors left.

 

In front of the stove is the big rug, and your nest of blankets and sheets. Hey, was that a tea kettle on the stove? Some tea would go over really well right now... But anyway, also facing the stove is the small sofa, which looks like it's make of a rather tough material, but whose cushions bulge with implied comfort. Nearly opposite you from the sofa is the table, and beyond it, another door leading back to what was probably the bedroom.

 

Leaning against one of the tables legs is a small canvas messenger bag, and on the flap the name “Astrid” is embroidered in black scripted letters. It was probably safe to assume that this belonged to your host, since she was the only one here.

 

To the left of the rear door is the kitchenette, where Astrid's pouring oats into a metal bowl. Looks like she finally finished her log entry too. Beside the kitchen is a book shelf filled with old looking tomes, and what you think are probably some worn, but modern, reference guides on plants and wildlife. Next to the shelves is a large bureau crafted from a dark wood and covered in floral carvings.

 

Alongside the windows hang paintings of mountain landscapes, which seem kinda redundant up here, not that anyone asked you, and a few mounted animal heads. You always felt those were kinda creepy, but given your current situation they leave you more than a little unsettled. The mountain lion is mid roar, but worse are the couple of big horned bucks, who have the most doleful look to their eyes.

 

A shiver runs down your spine, causing your tail to flick, and drawing your attention back down to your new body. Jeez, not only are you naked, you're also filthy. Chips of dried mud from your hooves line your path back towards the pile of blankets, with extra patches of it wherever your face met the ground. You lift a hoof for inspection and try to ignore the dirt. Your heart sinks as you imagine how you'll manage without hands. It looked more or less like a horse's would you guess, since you weren't much of an animal type, maybe a bit less angled, but certainly not any better at picking up keys or turning knobs. You press it experimentally into the floor, tip first. Huh, you can feel more through it than you expected, and it has more flex to it as well. You shift more weight into your haunches, wavering slightly as you balance, and lift the other hoof off the floor as well, pressing them together in front of you.

 

It's uncanny how much detail you got just out of the locations and angles of pressure you applied. It also occurred to you that a normal horse probably wouldn't be able to move their front limbs with this wide of a degree of freedom. You place one hoof back down for support, and lift the other out to your side, then above your head, then touch it to your muzzle, and stretch it behind your head. Crazy. When you were walking your wrist joint was about halfway down the limb, and bent back like a knee, but now you could rotate it to behave like an elbow. Overall it was a fair approximation for the human arm, with the exception of what sat at the end.

 

As you sat there staring at your hoof, rotating it around, you notice Astrid standing nearby, very, very, still. She's holding two steel bowls, and her face is a mix between surprise and enraptured interest as she watches you experiment with your leg. You freeze and gape up at her with your mouth slightly ajar, not sure how to act. Your face quickly starts to burn under her analyzing gaze. Animals don't normally need to find their range of movement, so do you play dumb, or is this when you should try and talk to her? As you two each go for the esteemed title of staring contest champion, Stomach decides to take the initiative, and complains loudly about its emptiness. You smile weakly, and subconsciously lift a hoof to your grumbling belly.

 

She blinks incredulously a few times, and sets the bowls down before you. One contains the dry oats you saw earlier, the other holds clear water. Man, what a luxurious meal, this was the royal treatment right here, hope you remember to use the right fork! Ohhh... using forks... snarky sarcasm was supposed to make you feel better by distracting you from your problems, not -remind- you of them!

 

You look at your hoof, then at the bowl, and begrudgingly lean down and try to grab a mouthful of oats. Unfortunately you forgot about some new anatomy, and your horn clanks loudly against the bowls rim, twanging painfully into your skull and almost spilling the oats. Ffff- dang that hurt! Stupid horn. You better watch that from now on. You re-approach with more head tilt and get a clean bite. You used drink soup and stuff from the bowl all the time, so doing this doesn't make you any less of a person, right? It sure doesn't feel that way, but you're just too hungry to care much at the moment.

 

Plain dry oats were normally bland as hell, which is why you usually pack cinnamon sugar or died apple slices when backpacking with them, but these weren't bad. In fact, maybe it was just the old saying ‘Hunger always makes the best spice,' but these were actually some of the best oats you could remember! Definitely still dry though, good thinking on the water here Ms. Note-taker. The cool liquid tasted fresh and clean, so you drink from it deeply; sucking in large mouthfuls between bites of oats.

 

You eat and drink voraciously, completely emptying both bowls with only another couple painful horn-to-metal interactions. With a satisfied sigh you lay down on your stomach and look around to find Astrid... actually taking notes. She's seated at the table, and her pencil flies across the page of a small notebook. She glances up at you every second or two, but doesn't stop writing. What happened to the audio log; what's with the sudden shift to paper?

 

Your thoughts on the somewhat bi-polar nature of your hostess are interrupted by a soft series of chimes. Your ears swivel towards the sound, and you spot a small, previously unnoticed, wall clock hanging near the kitchen. It finishes playing a gentle rendition of the Westminster chimes, then tolls out eleven low notes, matching the time on its face. As the clock goes back to quietly ticking you notice that the scratching of pencil on paper has fallen silent, and that Astrid is considering you carefully. One hand holds her chin, the other holds her pencil to her mouth in thought.

 

You shift uncomfortably beneath her gaze, not really sure what's on her mind.

 

“You know, you are -completely- covered in mud.”

 

You blink in surprise. It was true of course, but it wasn't what you had expected to hear.

 

“I think you need a bath.”

 

Also true, and a very welcome notion, but the logistics were daunting. You blink again.

 

*Click* When did she-? “11:01 - I am about to attempt to move the subject to the bathroom, and remove as much of the mud caked to him as possible, before my clean floors suffer any further.” *Click*

 

With a smile she walks over to you and kneels down to your level. “Okay, so we're not going to have any problems about this are we?” Her tone is light and cheery, but the weight of the shotgun hanging on the chair behind her makes up for it. You lean away from her ever so slightly and blink again, since it seems to have been working out for you thus far.

 

She smiles at you just long enough for you to think she's waiting for a reply, but then just stands up suddenly and walks behind you. You swivel your head sharply to follow her, body tense.

 

“Alright, up we go! Come on, upsy daisy!” She motions for you to stand, and you haltingly comply, taken aback by her new-found forwardness.

 

Your front legs were the easy ones, so now you balance forward with the neck, and plant the hind legs... okay, good so far, now the tricky bit: Front right, back left, front left, back right, repeat. Your steps are slow and wavering, but you manage to stay mostly balanced.

 

“There we go, nicely done, keep going...” Man, it's like she's talking to a freakin' kid or something. Although considering you are essentially learning how to walk all over again, you guess it fits... Still demeaning as hell though.

 

You wobble your way forward, herded by her arms near your sides as she follows after you. The rear doorway appears to be the target, and hangs open by a few inches. As you get close she gives it a push, revealing a small hallway with a window at the end. It looks out up the slope of the mountain, so that even from your low vantage point you can make out one of the two peaks. There are two doors near your end of the hall, one on each side, and another at the end on the left, which is apparently your destination, because you're ushered right past the first two. About halfway down the hall Astrid steps back and opens the one behind you and on the left. You turn to see her pull some towels from the open closet, but you misjudge how the movement will affect your balance, and stumble into the wall on your right, barely managing to keep your hooves under you.

 

“Careful there,” she says, reaching down to steady you by your sides, towels tucked under her arms, “Not much farther now.”

 

With a small shock you realize this is the first time that she's actually touched you, her hands gently pushing you upright through matted fur. Somehow the contact, however brief, made you realize just how much everything had changed... and how much had been lost. You stand lock-kneed in the hall, eyes fixed on the wall ahead, trying to hold it together.

 

“Hey... you okay?” She pauses, and you take a deep, slightly wavering, breath.

 

Front right, back left, front left, back right, front right... You repeat the mantra in your head as you move stiffly down the hall with shoulders set, trying to shut out your emotions with the rhythmic sound of your hooves on the old wooden floor.

 

When you reach the end of the hall you turn and sit heavily on your haunches, trying to bore a hole through the door with the determination of your stare. After a moment of inactivity from the woman you switch your gaze to her, trying to keep your face blank and eyes free of tears. You're not sure if you succeeded.

 

She's standing where she was when she helped you, a conflicted expression on her face as she returns your stare. Her hand wavers the recorder to and from her mouth, and her jaw works silently, as if she's trying to decide what to say to it, but in the end she just sighs and pockets it, walking over to open the door.

 

This door seemed newer than the rest, and looked like it sealed against its frame almost better than even the weather-proofed front door. As soon as it was open you could see why it looked nicer; the spacious bathroom was wall-to-wall natural stone tiles, and the fixtures were brushed stainless steel. You step slowly step forward into the surprisingly warm and damp air as you take it all in. The sink and its counter-top were granite, and hung supported over the floor by decoratively wrought iron, leaving the steel plumbing bare. The toilet was black ceramic and was suspended from the wall in the corner, and the tub was- whoa... something else.

 

Astrid moves into the room behind you and starts fiddling with something on the wall near the door, but you're too absorbed to notice. You're not even really sure you can call this a bathtub; it was more like a hot spring! It was a rough oval sunk into the floor across from the sink, and took up about a full third of the floor space! A set of steps led down into the steamy water that formed a mirrored surface just below the rim, and your reflection stared back up at you as you examine the stone bottom. Geez, even your horn was mud smeared. The other end looked deep enough to be over your head, and an overflow swept across the rim there, about the width of the mosaic set into the wall just above it. Its multicolored glass depicted the view down a green valley, a view much like the one leading up to the nearby lake in fact.

 

You jump as water starts flowing from over a stone in the wall, falling to the pool below just like a small stream. The shower head on the hose next to it must be for more traditional bathing. The overflow lets excess the water out, and a light flicks on behind the glass sky of the mosaic, lighting the artwork like the sun. A ceiling fan starts to quietly circulate the air like a low breeze, and the sounds of birds chirp from hidden speakers. You stand there slack jawed at the work that must have gone into this single room, and marvel at the fact that it was sitting in the back of a small shack halfway up a mountain!

 

“There we go. I'm so glad I had this room re-done; I can live with cooking on a wood stove, but a good bathroom really is a must,” she remarks to no one in particular. Who the heck was she, and how did she afford all this?! You get the distinct impression that you're missing the larger half of a pretty big picture here, but she doesn't give you time to ponder it.

 

“Okay, bath time, let's get you clean!”

 

She bends down and ushers you towards the water with little shooing motions. Lady, haven't you heard the expression “You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink.”? Well, luckily you don't need to be forced, and it wasn't drinking you had in mind anyway. You pick your way gingerly down the steps, careful to keep your balance. Man oh man, the water was just the right temperature; you could practically feel yourself relaxing as the mud caked to your legs softened.

 

Step by step you descend lower into the warm water, and soon you're standing submerged up to your back in the calming spa. You breathe out a long sigh of relief, letting the water carry away the tension along with the mud. Standing was much easier now that you could almost float, and you walk around the pool in small circles, enjoying the freedom, and making a widening cloud of mud-brown water around you.

 

A stifled giggle comes from above you, and you see Astrid has her hand over her mouth in an attempt to withhold her mirth. “Oh I can't help it,” she laughs openly to your unamused look and subconscious tail-flick, “You're just so happy looking!” While you didn't much like being laughed at, you had to admit that you felt so much better now than you had all day that you'd be damned if you let some harmless fun ruin it, so instead you just walk over to where the warm water flowed out from the wall, and stick your head under it.

 

Aaahhhhhh... It just doesn't get better than this; the warm flow coursing around your horn and down your neck... yeah... you could get used to this. Your ears fold themselves down to keep from being flooded as the water pulls gently on your mane and rolls over your closed eyes. Listening to the rush of water over your head in peaceful darkness almost lets you forget about all of life's troubles, and for the first time since you woke up like- this... you feel truly at peace.

 

Of course all good things must end, and you're pulled from your restful sanctuary by a gentle brushing feeling along your back. You pull your head from the small water fall and look back, your forelock falling wetly across your vision. You flick your head to the side to move it, and fling water all over Astrid, who shields her face with a small brush she had gotten from somewhere.

 

“Ah, stop that!” she says scolds playfully, lying on her stomach at the side of the pool. “You're not gonna get properly clean just standing under the water like that, and I'm not gonna help if you splash me!”

 

You smile and shake your head again, this time a bit more vigorously, sending small drops of water flying all over her. Feigning shock she grins at you mischievously.

 

“Two can play at this game!” She scoops her hands into the tub and sends a small wave of water your direction.

 

It catches you head on, and you blow uselessly at your forelock as it once again plasters itself to your face. In revenge you rear up and come down hard with your front legs and torso, grinning like a maniac, practically soaking her with the splash.

 

“Alright,” she warns, dripping as she stands and takes the shower head from the wall, “you asked for this!” She turns a knob on the handle and a jet of warm water shoots out straight into your face. You sputter and turn, trying to get out from under the spray, but she just tracks you, blasting the dirt from your mane and back with the force of the stream.

 

Laughing, you tromp around in the water, playfully attempting to avoid her, and even having some actual fun! Maybe she was right, this -was- better than just standing there! Unfortunately, the frolicking leaves you quite distracted, and you're caught completely off guard when your next leap sends you straight into the deep end, plunging you into water about a foot past your head.

 

Oh-shit-oh-shit-oh-shit-, you momentarily panic as your hooves flail about, uselessly churning the bubbles around you, but then some sliver of instinct kicks in and you start treading water. Huh, apparently the doggy-paddle works for ponies too... would that make this the p0ny-paddle? You seem to be oddly calm about the situation all of a sudden.

 

When your head breaks surface the sound of the shower has been replaced by a panicked voice, and you feel hands guiding you back to where you can stand once again. You shake some water from your ears and hair from your eyes. Her face looms close, looking concerned as she checks you over, voice still muddled.

 

You take a step back and finish clearing your ears; it was way worse to have water logged ears as a p0ny than you remember it being as a human, maybe because you had so much more ear to work with?

 

She seemed to be trying to talk to you, but since you didn't intend to answer anyway you tuned it out; you had an idea. The motions you went through paddling were pretty close to the walking (if you could call it that) you had been trying at all day, so if you could get the hang of swimming...

 

You take a deep breath to make yourself more buoyant, and lift your legs from the bottom, paddling to keep afloat. You sink down farther than you'd have liked, but soon you're doing laps of the pool and keeping your head up quite easily, buck yeah! It was so much easier to just feel what to do than to try and move each leg manually, no wonder you were having such trouble earlier!

 

“...is suddenly demonstrating a remarkable confidence in water, so perhaps my previous assessment was incorrect. I once again regret not filming this, and will search my bags for my PAI at the earliest opportunity.” There she goes about pie again, but you're pretty sure she doesn't mean the pastry. She pockets the recorder with a click and looks down at you, face unreadable.

 

You decide that fun as it is, you're starting to get tired of swimming in tiny circles, and set down near the steps. All the big clumps of mud are gone, probably knocked off during your impromptu swimming lesson, but debris still clings to your tail, and your coat is still a very dirty shade of brown. You sit down on one of the steps and try to scrub at a foreleg with your hoof, which works, but not very well. Stupid p0ny hooves, stupid lack of fingers! You stare at the offending limb in frustration.

 

She smiles at your attempts, “So you're finally ready to get clean then?” She reaches for the small hand brush, now floating against the overflow, but it was beyond her grasp. “Oh dang it, wouldn't you just know it...” Hah hah! Not so high and mighty now Ms. I-can-use-the-shower-head!

 

But okay, fine, one last lap. You swim over and nose the brush back towards her hand, then touch back down in the shallows.

 

“Wow, thanks. You just earned another entry, but it can wait.”

 

You roll your eyes a little at Astrid's remark; you just can't keep a good scientist down, can you? Well it doesn't matter so long as you can get out soon, the water was nice and all but you couldn't shake the mental image of Rarity's pruned up hoof... you quickly check yours just to make sure.

 

“Now this time no splashing, got it?"

 

Temping as it was to mess with her again you really just wanted to finish up and get out, so you sit still and let her work. She puts a small amount of light citrus scented shampoo on the brush and works its soft bristles over your coat, freeing the last of the dirt, and returning your coat to its previous tangerine shine. Being brushed might be the most practical way to get rid of the grime, but it was so degrading to have to sit through it; the mellow scrubbing across your back felt so dehumanizing, the light scratching along your neck and behind your ears felt so belittling, the easy pull on your mane with each stroke felt so... so... so fucking good! Your mind is blanking in the sheer bliss of the moment; every nerve singing happily as the brush worked its way over your coat.

 

It was like scratching an itch you didn't even know you had, but like, a million times better! It was no wonder cats liked getting stroked; you're pretty sure that you'd be purring right now if you could; as it is it's hard to even keep balanced for how relaxed you are. You teeter, eyes lidded and jaw slack, your head drooping threateningly towards the water.

 

“Hey now, no nodding off yet,” she says, jabbing you with a finger to keep you awake.

 

Awake, right, sure... just keep brushing...

 

A quick stream of water from the shower head washes the suds from your now clean upper body. “Wow, who knew there was such a nice orange coat under all that mud?” She sets it aside and pulls you to your hooves, “Stand up, I still need to get the rest of you.”

 

Huh? Oh yeah, your tail and what not, okay, whatever... brushy brushy brushy...

 

You stand at the base of the steps, belly deep in the water as she continues scrubbing. She works her way down your back and along your sides, but pauses once she reaches your flanks. She scrubs harder at a spot there, then pauses again. You crane your neck back to see what's interrupted your brushing.

 

“You've got quite the stain here...” she says to herself, giving the area of her attention another good scrub.

 

Ouch, not so rough! You curl your leg and flinch away from the abrasive motion. What stain was she talking about? All the other grass stains came out fine...

 

She washes the soap from the area and gasps; what she had mistaken for a stain was in fact a glyph of a small pair of snowcapped mountains with a path leading into the distance between them. Your cutie mark.

 

“Whoa, the coloration is part of the fur...” she breaths as she runs her fingers over it. Well duh, what you've never seen a cutie mark before? Well she probably hadn't in person, but still. Although from her reaction it was evident that the entire concept was lost on her.

 

*click* “11:41 - I have discovered a strange marking on the subjects right flank, just above the back leg. It's only a few inches across, and appears to be depicting two mountain peaks and a trail. I can only imagine it was dyed into the coat, which would make it a brand of some sort, supporting my theory of domestication, but the level of detail is astounding for dyes. The intricacies could certainly be achieved with a tattoo,” she musses with your coat, “but the skin beneath appears bare, and that shouldn't affect the fur anyway. And once again, I wish I could take a picture. Ultimately this just adds more questions to my already quite lengthily list.” She looks more than a little frustrated as she stops the recording and glares at your flank.

 

Okay, so... she really had never heard of a cutie mark? You suppose it was -possible- she hadn't heard of MLP, or had forgotten the cutie mark thing, but it was in the media so much these days you just hadn't expected it. Go figure, the person who saw you first was probably the one girl who -didn't- grow up wanting a p0ny for Christmas!

 

And here she was, staring at your ass. While you were in tub. Naked. After she had been giving you a brush-bath. Which you had enjoyed far more than you were comfortable with. Well, guess it's a good thing that you're suddenly very very uncomfortable with this situation. The wave of feels felt like it was towering over you, and you were shaking as you felt yourself start to slip back into panic mode.

 

“Oh, sorry, you must be getting cold standing here like this, lets finish up and get you dry.”

 

Your head hurt and you could feel bile rising in your throat, your vision was starting to narrow; going dark around the edges, but you were locked in place, unable to do anything but shake.

 

A wash of warm water courses over your back as Astrid starts to brush out the rest of the dirt. You could feel tension starting to be released under her touch; you could feel that happy calm starting to seep back over you.

 

No, wait! The panic was good, wasn't it? Shouldn't someone be panicked in a situation like this?! This was a healthy feeling; you weren't a p0ny, you were a person! Yeah, -were- a person. No, shut up subconscious, you're not helping!

 

But no matter how hard you fight, you feel the relaxation spreading from each stroke along your back, each slight pull on your tail, each pass of warm water over your fur. Its gentle caress was quieting the fearful thoughts, and easing the cold grip of fear on your heart. You scream weakly into your own mind as you feel the need to be fight it fade away; you didn't want to be okay with this, you wanted your old uncomfortableness back! You wanted your fear, your panic, your humanity! But even as you think it, you can feel the falseness of the wish, and give in to the helplessness of your condition. Feeling happy and content had never been so depressing.

 

After a while more of her scrubbing she stands and declares “There we go, all clean!” Astrid's chipper tone makes you want smile and cry and the same time, and all you manage is to deadpan at the wall. After a moment you start to slowly plod your way up the stairs and out of the pool. That had been far more bath then you had bargained for. It was impossible to be angry or upset when you were this calm, but you could be tired; that had been exhausting, and not just physically.

 

Your thoughts weigh heavily on your mind as Astrid towels you dry and you both walk back to the main room of the cabin. It isn't until you're sitting by the warm fire and she jogs back into the rear area, saying something about looking for something, that you realize you walked all the way out here with zero difficulty. You suppose that should make you happy, but given your recent thoughts you're not sure how you feel about being -more- accustomed to this body.

 

You look past the table to where she disappeared, the sounds of luggage opening and cursing could be heard through the door. The corner of her notebook catches your eye as it sticks out over the table's edge.

 

“I wonder...” The sound of your own voice catches you by surprise; you hadn't meant to say it out loud... guess you were more distracted than you thought.

 

You walk softly to the table, trying not to let the sounds of your hooves reach the next room. Eyeing the shotgun on the chair-back nervously, you place both front hooves gingerly upon the seat of the chair and lift yourself to the point where you can see over the table, and inspect the open notebook. It looks like she was composing a letter...

 

>Dear Farther,

>I have found a truly extraordinary specimen during my trip to the mountains; for I can describe it as nothing short of a small orange and blue Unicorn! I'm sure you will think me daft, believe me, I've thought it too, but once I find my PAI I'll take some visuals and send those as well. As I'm sure it would make an excellent addition to your collection I request appropriate transport be dispatched immediately. Once it arrives I will sedate the specimen for travel, and accompany it to the holding cells. I would like to be charged with its care until one of the habitat cells has been prepared. For a further description of his physical attributes and actions to date please refer to my included audio logs.

 

>Your ever-loving daughter,

>Astrid

 

“Fuck! OhcrapOhcrapOhcrapOh-Shit!” You mind reeled, she had planned to sell you out! Some private zoo was marginally better than a government research lab, but all the same, Fuck that!

 

“Ah HA!” The rear door bursts open, revealing a triumphant looking Astrid. “I knew you were smarter than you were letting on!” she says rapidly, leveling an accusatory finger at you, “You can speak english, and you read my note! I wasn't going crazy last night, you spoke then too!” If she wasn't going crazy then, than she definitely looked it now; her ponytail had come undone and her grin was threatening to split her face in two.

 

You decide to exercise the oldest and noblest of pirate traditions, and run like hell!

“Nope! NopeNopeNopeNopeNopeNopeNopeNope!”

You push off hard from the chair and try for a spin back towards the door. It almost works, the chair starts tipping from your shove, and you land unbalanced, but hooves under you and door in your sights. As you start to run the deafening crack of a shotgun splits the air behind you. Your ears ring loudly as you stumble in shock around the sofa and across the room.

 

The door towers above you, barring your path. You jump up and press the thumb latch with your hoof, but you have to way to pull it open while leaning against it like this! You hear yelling through the slowly fading ringing in your ears, and look over your shoulder. Astrid is getting to her feet, waving and yelling, but you can't make it out. It looks like the shotgun missed you both, as a hole in the floor beside it attests.

 

The door idea wasn't working, you could probably get it open eventually, but you didn't have that long. You back up and look to the left. There, by the stove, a window! That drizzling grey sky never looked so inviting! You square up with it and start off at a gallop. Astrid is running towards you, still waving and shouting, something big and white in her hand.

 

Okay legs, don't fail me now, because it looks like we're gonna have to Juuuuump! You leap forward through the air, careening towards the glass, eyes shut tight. When you make contact it doesn't feel at all like shattering glass; your muzzle is embedded deep into a soft fluffy material, and you suddenly seem to be flying sideways.

 

You and Astrid tumble hard towards the hot stove, down pillow between you. Her back hits it and you both fall back toward the rug, the smell of burnt cloth in the air. The impact sends the tea kettle flying from the stove top, landing right next to your head, and burning the carpet under it.

 

Astrid is yelling, her voice sounding panicked through the ringing. She grabs the kettle with her bare hands, yelling in pain as she tosses it away from your head and off the carpet. You struggle to stand, but she throws her weight into you. The last thing you remember is wrestling with her, then a sharp jabbing pain in your side as it all goes dark.