Title:           Goldilocks: A Tatzlpony Tale (Part 4)
Author:          AngryWino
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/KYgep88V
First Edit:      Saturday 16th of January 2016 11:30:21 PM CDT
Last Edit:       Last edit on: Monday 15th of February 2016 03:53:56 PM CDT

>You're awakened by a soft rumble of distant thunder.
>Through the leaves above you, you see a dingy gray sky, clouds being driven by a freshening breeze.
>As you sit up, the warm, furry mass beside you stirs, and her thick tail, draped across your midsection, curls around your rear, seeking to draw you closer.
>Goldilocks isn't quite so clingy since what you've come to refer to as 'the incident'.
>True to her word, she has let you have more space and privacy.
>You still sleep huddled close together for warmth, and occasionally you still awaken to find her tail draped over your chest, or coiled about your leg.
>You disengage yourself as gently as you can, trying not to wake her, then get quietly to your feet.
>Stepping out of the grove of trees for a better view of the sky, you survey the horizon.
>The clouds cover the entire sky, and away in one direction you see a more ominously dark line of them.
>As you watch, trying to determine what direction they're moving in, the landscape below the squall line is lit by a series of bright flashes.
>Several seconds later, the deep, basso rumble of thunder reaches your ears.
>You guess it's maybe five miles away, but you sure don't want to be in the open when it hits.
>Returning inside the grove of trees, you gently shake Goldilocks awake.
"Hey. Get up."
>She rolls over and opens her eyes, focusing on your face, and smiles beatifically.
"Get up. We're in trouble."
>Her smile falters at the tone of your voice, and a tentacle emerges from her mouth and presses itself to your temple.
**What's wrong?
"We need to get going. There's a thunderstorm coming, and we need to find better shelter."
>You feel a small thrill of fear from her link.
/Good, she knows what a thunderstorm is./
**I've been caught in them before.
 
>Goldilocks recovers her tentacle and rolls back, getting her hooves on the ground, then stretches out, yawning.
/My goodness, that is a big yawn./
>That aspect of her anatomy still trips you out, considering you've been inside it twice now.
"Come on, we need to stay ahead of the storm for as long as we can."
>She nods and follows you out of the grove of trees.
>You take a visual bearing on the squall line and set off in the opposite direction from it, away from the river.
>Goldilocks trots alongside, having picked up your sense of urgency.
>You move in silence for a while, trying to cover as much distance as possible.
>Every so often, an ominous rumble at your back reminds you of the urgency of your mission.
>Whether that's to find a cave, or a suitable place to construct a quick lean-to, or what, you don't know yet.
>Your only plan at this point is to keep away from the storm for long enough to find adequate shelter.
>Ahead you see a wood, tall trees casting dark shadows beneath their canopies in this gray cloudy light.
>Not really a good choice.
>But then you spot what looks like an old dirt track, now choked with weeds and clearly disused.
>That might lead to an old cabin or possibly a cave or something.
/Heh... Cabin in the Woods.../
/Okay brain, stop bringing up associations like that./
/These woods are creepy enough as it is./
>But it looks like your best bet, so you head for the path.
>The sky above you brightens momentarily, followed a few seconds later by a peal of thunder.
/The storm is getting closer. We need shelter now./
>You feel a tentacle wrap around your upper arm, and look to see Goldilocks staring at you.
>The tentacle tip touches your temple.
**Stay close to me, please.
>You do your best to radiate a confidence you don't really feel and give her a thumbs-up.
>The tentacle tip moves away from your face and grips your arm.
>Just as you reach the tree line, you feel a drop of water hit you on the nose.
/Here comes the rain./
 
>You move deeper into the darkened wood as the sound of rain striking the canopy of leaves above you intensifies.
>You constantly scan your surroundings, looking for anything that might shelter you from the storm.
>Lightning flares again, creating a disturbingly creepy play of light and shadow among the trees surrounding you.
>And barely two seconds later the sky crashes with thunder.
>You feel Goldilocks' grip on your arm tighten at the sound of the thunder, and she bumps up against your leg.
>Her muscular tail wraps around your leg, nearly causing you to trip.
"Hey, cut it out."
>She touches her tentacle to your face again.
**Sorry...
>Her fear is palpable, but she gets her tail under control.
>Lightning flashes again.
>The storm is almost on top of you now.
**Wait, I think I saw something...
>She breaks into a fast canter, and you break into a jog to keep up.
>Another flash of lightning and you see it too.
>There, just off the track, what looks like a box on wheels - no, a wagon.
>The sky thunders and the rain really starts to pour.
>You get closer and you see that it is a wagon with a curved roof, like one of those old gypsy caravans.
>The front wheels are mired in soft ground, almost all the way to the axle.
>The harness is empty.
>A shovel leans against one of the wheels, evidently some attempt to extricate the wheel had been underway.
>At the back of the caravan, a short wooden ladder leads up to a door.
>You run up and knock on the door.
>There is no answer.
>You try the door, it's not locked.
>Deciding it's easier to seek forgiveness than permission, you open the door and dart inside, followed quickly by Goldilocks.
>You close the door, muting the sounds of the wind and rain outside.
>Inside the caravan is dark, and musty-smelling.
>The floor is tilted at a crazy angle, but it seems stable enough.
>Goldilocks shakes, getting water everywhere.
"Really?"
 
>As your eyes grow accustomed to the darkness, you see a table with what looks like it might be an oil lamp on it.
>Lightning flashes, and you see what could be a box of matches next to it.
>This wagon is the first sign of civilization you've seen since you came to this world, so you've learned not to make assumptions.
>Thunder bellows outside, and Goldilocks again presses into your side for comfort, wrapping her tail around your waist.
>You can still reach the lamp, so you decide to try an experiment.
>The matchbox is full of matches, so you open the globe.
>You strike a match.
>Goldilocks gasps at the sudden tiny flame.
>You carefully apply the match to the wick of the lamp.
>It flares up with satisfying speed, illuminating the inside of the caravan.
>You close the globe and trim the wick.
**What was that, magic?
**Are you a wizard, Anon?
"No, I'm not. It's just science."
>Goldilocks looks at you in awe.
>You have a look around the caravan.
>On a peg near the door, a simple cloak hangs.
>There is a simple table and a workbench.
>There is only one chair and a row of shelves.
>On pegs above the workbench hang broad copper discs, gleaming in the lamplight, with holes punched in them.
>To one side is an elaborately ornamental cabinet, whose purpose is not immediately clear.
>A ladder leads up to a loft above the workbench.
>You guess this belonged to some sort of traveling tradesman.
>Maybe he couldn't get the wagon unstuck, so he abandoned it, but why abandon all his wares as well?
**What is all this?
>Apparently Goldilocks has never seen something like this before.
>Going to the workbench, you pick up a jeweled, golden box.
>There is a winding key on the bottom.
>Experimentally, you turn it, and are rewarded with a rapid clicking sound.
>You give it a few more turns, then set the box down on the workbench.
>You open it, and immediately a cheery, plinking tune begins to play.
>Goldilocks is at your side in an instant, her eyes shining with curiosity.
 
>Goldie tightens her grip on your arm, pressing the tip of her tentacle to your face again.
**What... what is that?
>You pat her head.
"It's a music box."
**What is that sound?
/Huh?/
"You've seriously never heard music before?"
>She is absolutely mesmerized, her fear of the storm melting before this simple, musical tune.
**I have never heard anything like this in my life!
**Well, birdsong maybe, but this is just...
>Words fail her.
>Inspiration strikes, and you turn to the ornate cabinet next to the workbench.
>You open the lid, and look inside, a round gleam of copper greeting your eyes.
>You feel along the side and find a crank, which you turn gently, being very careful not to over-tighten the spring.
>Reaching over to the workbench, you close the lid of the small music box.
>Goldilocks looks at you in disappointment.
"If you think that was good, get a load of this..."
>Reaching inside the cabinet, you flick the brass operating lever.
>Goldilocks jumps as the warm, rich sounds of the big music box fill the inside of the caravan.
(https://youtu.be/-YFMZJKtUw4)
>She practically climbs over you to get a better view of the mechanism.
/Heh - music hath charms to soothe the savage beast.../
>Goldilocks turns to you, her eyes bright with tears.
**It's... so beautiful! So beautiful...
>She closes her eyes and leans against you.
>Outside, the storm continues to rage.
>But here, in this quiet space, you have to admit that you have discovered real beauty.
>The feelings flowing into your mind from her link are made of color and rhythm, and a tremendous sense of wonder.
>You give her mane a few strokes and she sighs with contentment, nuzzling into your side.
>The song comes to an end, and the brass lever, triggered by some mechanism, flicks to the stop position on its own.
**Oh, there has to be more!
"There is more..."
>You gesture to the discs on their pegs.
>A giddy sense of delight replaces the wonderment she was feeling.
**Can you make it work?
"I'll try..."
 
>You hold the lamp over the music box, trying to work out how to change the discs.
>Goldilocks for her part, recovers her tentacle and has decided to explore the rest of the caravan.
>She pulls open cabinets and drawers and looks inside, sometimes pausing to examine things.
/Ah, there's the latch./
>You flick it and the cylinder swings out of the way, freeing the disc.
>Goldilocks climbs up the ladder to see what's in the loft.
/Wha... how do you climb a ladder with hooves?/
>Outside, lightning flashes...
>And Goldilocks screams.
>You're startled, you've never heard her scream before, and she so rarely makes any vocal sound.
>Goldilocks falls off the ladder.
>You lunge and catch her before she gets hurt.
>Her tail immediately wraps tightly around you.
"What's wrong?"
>Her lips quivering, she points up at the loft.
>You try to put her down so you can investigate, but she grabs your neck with her forehooves and wraps her tail all the tighter.
"Let go, Goldie!"
>She looks into your eyes pleadingly.
"It's just for a moment! I promise, I won't let anything hurt you."
>Gradually her muscles release their death-grip on you, and you put her down.
"I'll be right back, okay?"
She nods.
>Taking the lamp, you carefully ascend the ladder to see what frightened her so.
>The loft turns out to be a simple bunk.
>A small shelf holds a selection of books, and there is a hook for a lamp.
>A colorful, home-spun blanket is spread carefully over the bunk...
>...atop a collection of mummified remains, the skull resting silently on a pillow.
>You swallow and move the blanket.
>There’s not much left; no flies or anything like that either, so you surmise that this thing died a long time ago.
>It wasn't human, that's for sure.
>The skull is avian in appearance, and there are what look like wings and feathers, but also four legs.
>Oddly, the hind legs look much more feline than avian.
>You carefully return the blanket to its original position, and descend to the floor.
 
>You set the lamp on the table and sit in the chair.
>After a deep breath, you hold your arms out to Goldilocks, who is only too happy to accept your embrace, trembling.
>You cradle her head against your chest, letting her listen to your heartbeat, because you know she likes to.
>Goldie's tail curls around your leg, gripping you tightly.
>You stroke her mane a few times and the trembling gradually subsides.
"It's alright. Nothing's going to hurt you."
>A tentacle gradually emerges from her mouth and slowly drapes itself about your neck, finally pressing its tip to your temple.
>The emotion from the contact is shocking.
**I was so scared!
"I know."
**What was it?
"I don't know, but it's dead. It can't hurt you"
>Your mind races, working like an episode of CSI, reconstructing what probably happened.
>The caravan had gotten stuck, so the driver unharnessed whatever was drawing it and set about trying to dig the wheels free with a shovel.
>But he'd over-exerted himself, so he'd gone back into his caravan to lie down and have a rest.
/And he never woke up again./
>You look around the workshop and its fantastic music boxes...
/A memorial now to the craftsman that had made them, then died a lonely death out here in these woods./
/So long ago.../
**So sad...
"Sh-sh-sh, it's okay. We'll just stay here and wait out the storm, then we'll get going again, okay?"
>Her tail squeezes you in response.
>Outside the storm slackens; the squall line moving on as the day gradually gives way to night.
 
>The next day begins with ground fog, as the sun begins to evaporate the water left by the previous day’s rains.
>The earth gives off that characteristic damp smell as you turn over spade-full after spade-full of it.
>You were up early.
>Goldilocks sat under a tree and watched with interest as you dug a largish hole, not far from the old caravan.
>Judging it deep enough, you carefully climb out and brush yourself off.
>Goldilocks continues to watch silently as you enter the caravan.
>A moment later, she watches you carry a bundle in a colorful homespun blanket to the freshly-dug grave, and place it inside as carefully as you can.
>A moment's respectful silence, and then you shovel the dirt back into the hole.
>Far be it from you to be a ghoul, but the contents of the caravan aren't exactly doing their owner any good anymore.
>So you rummage around to see what useful things you can find.
>All the food had long since perished, of course, but there were a couple of waterskins to be had.
>And a careworn, but cared-for leather satchel filled with hand tools.
/Jackpot./
>They were a bit small for your hands, but you imagine that there's a lot you would be able to do with them when you reach civilization.
>You also carefully wrap a few of the small music boxes in cloth and place them in the satchel.
>They might be useful to trade, as if there were any currency, it was well-hidden.
>You didn't want to spend the whole day here.
>Goldilocks' mood has been subdued all morning.
>She's never far from you, but she keeps very much to herself otherwise.
>Sadly, there's no way to bring the big music box, it's just too cumbersome.
>Maybe you can return for it later.
>You close the door and descend the steps, and begin to walk.
>Goldilocks falls in beside you.
>The uncharacteristic silence finally gets on your nerves.
"So, do you want to talk about something?"
>She looks at you uncertainly, then tentatively extends a tentacle to you.
 
>Contact is usually accompanied by an intense surge of whatever she's feeling, so you are surprised to get a sense of emptiness.
**Anon, why do things have to die?
/Whoa, heavy talk alert./
"Well, lots of reasons, I suppose."
"They get sick, or they get injured, or they've just lived so long that they wear out."
**Does everything have to die?
>You sigh.
"Yes. Everything ends eventually."
>A wave of sadness washes over you from the link.
/Does she actually feel sorry for the music box maker?/
**And when someone dies, you never see them again?
>You wish that there were a comforting answer to that question, but there isn't.
>Not for you, anyhow.
"That's what death means, Goldilocks."
>Another wave of sadness washes down the link.
>Suddenly you feel tentacles coil about your chest, and Goldilocks pulls you off-balance.
>She rears up and wraps her forehooves around your neck, fiercely pulling you close.
**Anon, promise me you won't ever die!
**I've been on my own for so long, I just don't know what I would do if you ever...
>Her tentacles tighten their grip on you.
>Her tail wraps around your waist.
>She rubs her cheek, damp with hot tears, against yours.
>You don't know how to respond to that.
>So you make the only response you can.
>You wrap your arms around her and stroke her gently.
"Sure Goldie, as long as it is within my power..."
>You swallow. This is new territory for you.
"I won't leave you. I promise."
>There is nothing more to say.
>You just hold her as she cries it out.
/What am I getting myself in to?/
>It's a while before you're able to resume your journey.
 
>The old track you found the caravan alongside continues through the woods.
>It may once have been a busy trade route for all you know, but that was clearly a long time ago.
>The rutted road is overgrown with brush and scrub.
>Goldilocks has gotten clingy again.
>She trots alongside you, one tentacle wrapped firmly around your upper arm.
>Every so often, the tip brushes your face, as if to reassure herself that you're still there.
>She must have abandonment issues, or something.
>Natural enough, you suppose, for someone who has spent most of their life alone.
>But to your mind, it begs more questions about her past.
>Why has she been alone for so long?
>Where did she even come from?
>For that matter, what is she?
>You'd certainly never heard of anything like her before you came here.
>She's intelligent, certainly.
>If she wore sleeves, she would wear her heart on them.
>She swallows other animals whole to learn from them, and spits them up again.
>Even large animals, like yourself.
>She's a powerful, efficient predator that prefers to subsist on fruits and nuts.
>And she has a playful streak miles wide.
>Passionate? Oh, she certainly is that.
>Scarily so, at times.
>But there are so many unanswered questions.
**What are you thinking about?
>Uh-oh.
>No idea how long she's been in contact.
"If you must know, I was thinking about you."
>Well, it is the truth.
>She smiles and blushes a bit, and bumps up against your leg.
>The tentacle on your arm gives you a squeeze.
**I think about you a lot, too.
/Sheesh, it's like we're teenagers or something./
**What's a teenager?
"Er, it's kinda like being - say, what's that?"
**Oh come on, don't change the subject!
"No seriously, Goldilocks, look!"
>Her eyesight is better than yours, but for once you’ve spotted something first.
>In the distance, a glint of sunlight on metal.
>You break into a run.
**What is it?
>It's two ribbons of metal, laid atop pieces of wood.
"It's a railroad!"
 
>The tops of the tracks are shiny, and the wooden cross-ties are in good repair.
>Trees and other growth have been cleared back.
>That means this line is still in service!
>Goldilocks can't understand why you're so excited.
**What's a railroad?
/Seriously? She's never seen a train either?/
**What's a train?
"It's a kind of transportation, but more importantly, this leads somewhere!"
**So?
"So?! So no more aimless wandering! All we have to do is follow these tracks, and we're guaranteed to find a settlement of some kind!"
>NOW she gets it.
**You mean, other people like you and me?
"Yes! Well, maybe not like you and me, but other people, certainly!"
"It means we have an actual destination!"
>She picks up your excitement, but seems uncertain what to do with it.
**So which way do we go?
"Well, er..."
>You look in one direction, but you can't see any signals or other infrastructure.
>Ditto the other direction.
"Hmmm."
"Eenie, meenie, minie, moe?"
>She laughs, to your chagrin.
"We go this way."
>You set off along the tracks, Goldilocks following closely.
>It probably doesn't matter, you're likely to find civilization in either direction.
>You just hope you've chosen the shorter stretch.
>Seriously, enough walking is enough.
**So what's a teenager?
>You were hoping she'd forgotten, but it looks as though you're going to have to explain this after all...
 
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