Title:           The Way Part 7
Author:          ElephantInTheRoom
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/fYTYRYrD
First Edit:      Tuesday 19th of January 2016 06:15:43 PM CDT
Last Edit:       Last edit on: Sunday 31st of January 2016 06:34:33 PM CDT

>The sun has long since set and the moon shines bright and full. As you get farther and farther out, away from the buildings, the stars begin appear. They shine brilliantly against the black backdrop of the sky.
>The parking lot is unlit and the man carrying you, your new owner, fumbles through his jacket pockets, producing a small flashlight.
 >You're approaching a dark gray SUV. It's old and beginning to show signs of wear, but it seems very well maintained.
>Its headlights blink twice and you hear the distinctive clicking of car locks.
>He sets you down on the ground, opening one of the back doors and pushing down the rear seats, making room for your carrier before setting you down inside.
>You're still laying on your side, sniffling to yourself. Your bridle is digging uncomfortably into your cheeks and your bit is making it difficult to swallow, a mixture of drool and tears seeping into the towel below you.
>The driver side door opens and he gets in, quickly turning the ignition.
>He turns back toward you and you wince in surprise.
>His face is long and angular, his jaw square, chiseled, and clean shaven. His hair is short, a light brown, parted almost playfully in the middle and buzzed on the sides. His cheekbones are pronounced, framing a small, sharp nose between a pair of animated steel blue eyes.
>His gaze is penetrating, like he's looking straight into you, you're almost a little frightened.
>”If I open your door to take that off of you, are you going to cause me any trouble?”
>He has a much deeper voice than you'd expected from his body. It's rough and husky, like you'd heard earlier, though now you can just make out the hint of a nearly indiscernible accent.
>You shake your head shyly.
>Rough, calloused hands reach out, unlocking and opening the door.
>He beckons you forward and you hesitantly comply, advancing a few inches out of your crate.
>He's surprisingly gentle, loosening then carefully removing your blinders and your bridle, easing the bit from your mouth.
 
>”There, I suspect that's a bit better.”
>You shrink. Somehow his voice is driving home the reality of your circumstances.
>He just purchased you as some kind of pet and you're about to be, well, driven home.
>Still, it was a kind gesture, you know he didn't need to do that.
“T-thank you...”
>You catch yourself and hold back a shudder, you were about to try addressing him and the only thing that came to mind was 'sir'.
>He's noticed your hesitation.
>”Mr. Nowak will do just fine miss...
>His hand runs along your ear to your tag.
>”...N-112, not very catchy is it? We'll need to find a name for you, won't we?”
>He's reaching around his waist, pulling something out. You catch the sight of a small folding knife.
>”Just hold still a minute, I promise this won't hurt.”
>You're understandably tense, but he pauses, as if waiting for you approval.
>You nod, lowering your head and closing your eyes timidly.
>You feel his hand on your ear, the knife sliding carefully into the plug holding the tag in place.
>There's pressure but no pain as the plug finally gives way with a pop. The tag falls from your ear to the floor.
>”Much better. Now, we've got a long drive ahead of us and I'll need to focus on the road. I'd appreciate it if you could keep to yourself.”
>He's looking at you expectantly.
>You nod.
>He's still giving you the same stare.
>You realize that he wants you back in your crate. Your ears droop and you look downward, dejected, before slowly backing yourself in.
>He closes and locks the door before turning forward and shuffling through a collection of CDs.
>”I hope you like 90's rock, radio doesn't play much music these days.”
>Seemingly satisfied with his selection he pops the CD into the player.
>You feel the car pulling forward, the gentle hum of the engine softly rattling your door.
 
>You yawn. It's late and the towel beneath you is soft. You're worried, more than a little scared even, but there's something about Mr. Nowak that makes you feel oddly at ease.
>He's calm, yet he radiates an aura of certainty, of self-assurance, of strength.
>He could have left that thing on your face, he could have left you gagged and miserable.
>But he didn't, at the risk of having to listen to you yap and cry, he removed it.
>You may still just be an animal to him, but at least there seems to be some sympathy there.
>You're well on your way. The car's headlights illuminating the roadway.
>Rocky slopes lined with trees to one side, an open, brushy field to the other.
>Your ears are popping. You must be changing elevation, though for the life of you you can't tell if you're going up or down.
>Your eyes are heavy and your body craves sleep but your mind is alight with activity. You're desperately scanning the landscape, searching for something, anything familiar.
>You're either very far from your old home or you simply can't remember what it had looked like.
>The car's stereo continues to drone on. The sounds, the music, you know you've heard it before. You find yourself mouthing the lyrics before they play but the names and even the words themselves escape you.
>'...stuttering'
>'cold and damp'
>'steal the warm wind tired friend'
>'times are gone for honest men'
>'sometimes far too long for snakes...'
>Your eyes fall on the dashboard clock, it's just past one in the morning.
>You're traveling through a rocky pass now, a light sheet of snow covering the cliffsides and boulders.
>Covering like a fluffy blanket.
>The heat is on and the car is filled with a comfortable warmth.
>You didn't expect the sultry air to feel so pleasant on your coat.
>The thought had bothered you earlier, but now you were cautiously willing to admit it. You felt safe, cozy even.
>Your eyelids droop. You catch yourself nodding off once, then twice, before sleep finally claims you.
 
>The crackle of snapping twigs catches your attention.
>You're moving, trotting along an overgrown trail.
>Dense brush surrounds you on both sides. You hop over fallen logs, duck below hanging branches.
>You come to a brook, crystal clear water flowing around gentle bends.
>You trace its path upstream, spotting a clearing ahead.
>You squeeze your wings tight against your back, vaulting through a scraggly bush and out into the open.
>The field extends as far as the eye can see, the brook quickly disappearing behind the tall green grass.
>There's a commotion above you and you turn your head skyward.
>The day is bright but overcast. Against the backdrop of clouds you spot a crow.
>He's spiraling haphazardly, his black feathers horribly disheveled.
>You catch sight of a second bird, a soft white dove in flight beside him.
>The crow is diving, arcing through the air as he descends.
>He lashes and strikes out at the dove.
>The dove gracefully evades every blow, landing softly as the crow crashes to the earth.
>You approach cautiously, each blade of grass gently tickling your nose as you brush it aside.
>There's a break in the grass and you spot them, the crow lying motionless on his back and the dove standing above, staring down curiously.
>Thunder rumbles in the distance, the smell of the ocean filling the air as the sky darkens.
>You watch as the dove begins to peck at the crow, tearing at his feathers, her beak becoming bloodied.
>Horrified you turn away, finding the stream just beside you.
>You look down, gazing at the still surface.
>A pair of beady black eyes bolted to a white, feathered face stare back at you.
>There's a bright flash and a harsh crack, the world bleaching bright and then fading into darkness.
 
>Your head is heavy as you stir from slumber.
>Everything around you is so soft and warm, your body feels exquisite.
>You don't want to move, you feel as if you've been resting snugly beneath a thick fur blanket on a cold winter's day.
>Slowly you open your eyes, finding yourself curled up in a round bed.
>You're on your side, your legs bent in towards your body.
>The surface is plush, a white-creme color. Your head is resting on the outer lip.
>You're sleeping in a dog bed.
>But it is so, so comfortable.
>Moving is the last thing you would ever want to do.
>So you don't.
>For the first time since you first awoke you feel like you're getting the chance to unwind.
>It feels like all the tension and stress that had been building over the past several days is slowly flowing out of your body.
>You're drifting in and out of a pleasant, dreamless sleep.
>There's a bright light in your face, sunlight  flooding through a high window.
>You don't know how long you've been like this but judging by the height of the sun it's already well past noon.
>You lift yourself up, taking a few cautious steps out of your bed and onto the wooden floor.
>You appear to be in a living room. The space feels entirely open and tastefully sparse.
>A handful of potted plants line the walls, accompanied by a large couch, a recliner, a television, and a table in the center.
>Your bed is sitting at the foot of the couch, slightly off center.
>Everything is clean, elegantly arranged..
>The ceiling is high, a stairway behind the couch leading up to an open second-story hallway.
>You spy a refrigerator against the far wall, a breakfast bar delineating the start of the kitchen.
>Your stomach groans loudly.
>Kitchens mean food, good food.
>People food.
>Anything but that disgusting oatmeal paste.
>You trot forward eagerly...
>...only to stop short, the front of your body reeling upward as you're held back by your neck.
 
>There's a line of sky blue leather tied around one of the legs of the couch.
>It leads straight to you.
>You turn, giving a tentative tug.
>A firm, heavy pressure around your neck stops you, holding you where you stand.
>Raising a hoof to your throat you discover the culprit, a thick leather collar securely fastened in place.
>You do the best you can, fruitlessly fiddling with it, but it's hopeless.
>You're obviously a bit lacking in the manual dexterity department.
>But when finesse fails there's always brute force.
>You take a few steps back, then burst forward with all your might.
>You're in the air one moment, on your back in pain the next. The couch jerks forward a few inches, scraping along the ground.
>”I'd appreciate it if you didn't scratch my floor dear.”
>You let out a timid yip in surprise, scrambling to your hooves.
>He's looming over you. He may be shorter than Jim, but he stands with a presence that is simply imposing, intimidating even.
>His tone didn't even carry the hint of anger, yet here you are shaking like a cowering dog.
“I-I'm sorry, I d-didn't mean to...”
>He cuts you off in a kind, yet firm tone.
>”No harm done. Just realize that in the future if I put you somewhere, that's where you're going to stay.”
>You silently thank the floor for preventing you from sinking into the center of the earth.
>Your stomach isn't so silent though.
>He notices, a small frown appearing on his face.
>”It's been a while since you've eaten, hasn't it? They mentioned what you'd done, I can't imagine they'd have fed you well after that.”
>So he does know, about your escape attempt. Does that mean he also knows about the rest? About what happened with blue eyes?
>You shudder briefly, the memory flashing through your mind.
>And just what happened to blue eyes? She had been sold, led off stage.
>You hadn't gotten to say goodbye.
 
>Did she even care? She had seemed so absolutely enraptured when she had heard the news she'd been sold.
>Should you care? After what she did?
>You feel a pang of guilt.
>You look up, finding that Mr. Nowak has wandered off to the kitchen.
>There's the sound of dishes rattling around, a faucet running.
>He's on his way back, carrying a plate. You can smell something.
>Fresh, tangy, even a little sweet.
>Whatever it is it smells absolutely delicious.
>You're standing at the end of your leash in anticipation.
>You can even feel your tail wagging.
>It's just, well, it seems to be doing it's own thing back there.
>You realize this would bother you considerably more if you weren't so hungry, but dammit do you just want whatever is on that plate.
>He's staring down at you with a knowing smirk.
>He points down toward the ground with his free hand.
>No no, please don't do that.
>You know what he wants.
>But if you don't do it you just know he's going to say it.
>What's worse? Obeying him now, silently, or doing it when he gives you a verbal command?
>Your brain stalls, you're clearly not quite firing on all cylinders.
>Your hesitation makes your decision for you.
>”Sit.”
>Your body complies without a single thought.
>”Good girl.”
>Fuck.
>That felt good. Why oh why did that feel so good?
>He sets the plate down in front of you.
>Two brilliantly orange carrots laying softly on a bed of lettuce.
>That's it? That's the smell that whipped you into a frenzy?
>But this is just...
>Your nose catches another whiff.
>...the most delectable salad you've ever smelled.
>Your eyes trace upward, he's looking down at you with subtle curiosity.
>You're beyond the point of no return here, you might as well just have at it.
>You raise a hoof towards the plate, uselessly nudging at the meal.
>You didn't really think this through, did you?
>You try your other hoof.
>Your body falls forward and you clumsily catch yourself before you face plant on the floor.
 
>In your bungling you've managed to knock one of the carrots off the plate, it's lying on the ground.
>You hear a snort.
>He's laughing at you.
>Blood rushes to your face.
>You're embarrassed, more than a little angry and...
>Your rear twitches, your tail raising ever so slightly.
>No, that's just sick, you're shelving that thought.
>The carrot rests on the floor as if silently judging you.
>Fuck you carrot.
>You lean in timidly, lifting it up first with your lips, then your teeth.
>Positioning your self over the plate you bite down on the end. It snaps off with a crunch, the remainder falling back to the plate.
>It's moist, sugary, and absolutely chock-full of flavor.
>The most carroty carrot you could possibly imagine.
>This is magical, this man must be some kind of carrot farming genius.
>You chew and swallow before reaching in and sampling the lettuce.
>It's tastefully bitter, perfectly contrasting the sweetness of the carrot.
>You've never eaten food this wonderful before.
>Your eyes close in ecstasy.
>”I've heard about this, never seen it first hand though.”
>His gruff voice brings you out of your trance.
>He's smiling with a look of satisfaction. There's a brief pause before his smile slowly fades.
>”Now then, I have some work to do so I'll need you to take care of yourself for a little while. I'll give you a choice. You can promise me, right now, to behave and to follow any rule I set. If you do I'll let you off that leash and let you get acquainted with the house.”
>He swallows, his lips curling down slightly into a subtle grimace.
>”Or don't, and you get to spend the next few hours stuck to that couch. It's your decision.”
>He's really willing to leave you alone to your own devices? All that you need to do is a give him your word?
>There's a faint voice in your head, deep deep down, calling to you.
>It's just your word, tell him whatever he wants to hear.
>The voice fades, replaced with something louder, firmer.
>No, just be good.
 
>He's been reasonable so far, he's treated you like a person.
>Well, maybe not quite like a person, but at least there's been some semblance of respect.
>Your voice wavers as you speak.
“I... promise I'll behave...”
>He's tapping his foot.
>”...and I promise I'll follow your rules.”
>You frown, your eyes on the floor in defeat.
>His hand is on your head, his fingers gently digging through your coat and rubbing your scalp.
>It barely last a moment but it was already the best massage you'd ever felt.
>”Good, good. Now then, rule number one. You will obey me. When I give you an order you will follow it immediately and without question.”
>That's... well it's basically what you expected. He wants obedience from you, like anyone would want from their pet.
>So you're okay with that then? Being his pet?
>Your face is being tilted to face him, his hand guiding your chin.
>”I need to hear it.”
>His eyes are piercing, little blue spears passing straight through you.
“Okay, I promise.”
>He's still holding your head in place. Your eyes occasionally meet his but you can only manage it in brief spurts.
>”I need to hear the whole thing.”
>Now you're starting to get it.
>He doesn't just want a promise, he wants you to own what you're saying.
>You're taking an oath.
“I promise... I promise I will obey you. I will follow your orders immediately, without question.”
>You manage to hold eye contact just long enough to finish your sentence.
>”Rule two, this is your home now. You will not try to leave on your own, you will not entertain any thoughts of escape.”
>That's a big one, you can feel it settling in your stomach.
>You're lowering yourself to the floor. All of you except your head, still resting on his hand.
“This is m-my home now, I won't try to leave, I won't think about running away.”
>You seize up.
>That hit you a bit harder than you'd been expecting.
>You're quivering, a stream of tears beginning to run down your face.
 
>He releases your chin and you quickly bury your head in your forehooves.
>”That's it, it's okay. You're being very good, don't worry...”
>He's scratching behind your ear, occasionally running a hand through your mane.
>It feels lovely, calming, relaxing.
>But it's wrong. You know it's wrong. You shouldn't be agreeing to this, you shouldn't be letting him comfort you.
>Each stroke of his hand pushes those thoughts farther and farther away.
>There's a click.
>His hand had slid beneath your chin again without you noticing, the leash was gone.
>He's back to running his hand down your head, down your neck, along your back.
>Your tears are no longer filled with despair, they're simply cathartic.
>And you're already starting to feel better.
>”Come here, I want you to see something.”
>His hand leaves your back as he gets to his feet, beckoning you to follow.
>You get up, scampering across the floor and following closely behind him while letting out the occasional sniffle.
>You're traveling past the kitchen then turning down a hallway.
>There's a mirror at the end.
>As the little pink pegasus in the reflections walks closer and closer you find yourself diverting your gaze.
>Mr. Nowak stops about halfway down and you come to an abrupt halt behind him.
>You feel a growing sense of unease and apprehension in your chest.
>You can't bring yourself to take a good look into the mirror.
>You'd gotten a few glances at yourself before but you'd yet to really come to terms with your new form.
>Thinking back you just can't bring up an image of what you had looked like before all this.
>The mirror stands solemnly, as if ready to plant the last nail in the coffin, threatening to erase that last little bit of your old self you've been holding on to.
>You find yourself cowering behind Mr. Nowak's legs as if some terrible monster were lurking behind the it, ready to pounce if you got too close.
>”Go on then girl, it'll be okay.”
 
>His words are reassuring, but you know they carry the hidden weight of a command.
>You had just finished swearing that you would obey him.
>And he had said it would be okay.
>You're his now, right? That means that whatever happens to you, as long as you're true to him, he'll take care of you.
>He'll keep you safe, he'll protect you.
>You emerge from behind the safety of his towering form, cautiously stepping forward.
>One hoof in front of the other, your eyes stay fixed to the floor.
>The mirror is less than a foot in front of you, there's no more putting this off.
>You look up.
>The mare in the mirror greets you.
>Her coat is lighter than you'd pictured before, an almost snowy pink.
>Her tail and mane are both long, full, and filled with waves and gentle curls as if blown by a wild and untamed wind. They're a deep calming purple, a rich hue putting you at ease.
>You stare into her eyes. They're a little puffy, swollen from tears, but there's a fire behind them and they blaze a fierce yellow.
>Adorning her neck is a simple leather collar, the same sky blue as the leash that had secured you to the couch moments ago.
>On that collar hangs a little golden tag, a single word etched onto it.
>Polaris.
>That mare's name is Polaris.
>That mare in the mirror is you.
>You aren't just a number anymore, you have a name.
>Touching a hoof to your tag, you lift it forward to get a better view.
>You had a name before, but then you lost it.
>You had a body too, but it was taken from you.
>And now they're both gone, they've passed, faded from memory.
>This is you, the you that you are now.
>The real you.
>And you are smiling.
>Scratch that, you've got a grin from ear to ear. You've even started giggling.
>Your laughter is intoxicating, almost manic.
>The sound of your name being called brings you back down to earth.
>”Polaris, there's just one more rule I need you to follow.”
>You stare quizzically at him through the mirror.
>”Stay off the furniture.”