1
“How did we get so lost?”
>”Dust Devils, ma’am.”
“Dust Devils?”
>”I reckon. That sudden sandstorm, and now all the landmarks are jumbled up? I’d say a Dust Devil picked us up and dropped us way off course. Crafty buggers.”
>You are Sergeant Glacier, and you are melting.
>The desert sun burns overhead. The sand burns underhoof. Even the air burns at it presses up against you.
>Your Royal Guard armour feels like your own personal oven. And the oversized sword slung across your back doesn’t help at all.
>Trotting alongside you, Private Punch - your pegasus companion - seems to be faring a little better.
>Only a few flecks of foamy sweat are visible beneath her golden armour, contrasting sharply against her dark coat.
>Of course, you being a northern unicorn with a dense mane and lengthy fetlocks, most ponies handle heat better than you. You’re practically swimming in your own sweat.
>Seriously, what was the lieutenant thinking, sending you of all ponies out here?
>What were *you* thinking, trying to reach Tranquility Springs on hoof in the middle of the day?
>It hadn’t *seemed* that far when looking at the map in Appleloosa’s Royal Guard outpost...
>And now you’ve managed to get lost before even reaching your first assignment as sergeant.
>Great start, Glacier.
>With a sigh, you finally reach the top of the dune you’ve been struggling up.
>Squinting against the glare, you scan the horizon.
>Rocks. Hills. Rocky hills.
>Nope, still lost.
>That dark line way in the distance is *probably* the Macintosh ranges, but given the size of the range, it doesn’t really help narrow down your position.
>You consider your options.
>None are very appealing, but there is a clear first step.
“I’ve not heard of Dust Devils before, private. Tell me about them.”
>You hate to defer to a subordinate - your very *first* subordinate - when it comes to dangerous wildlife. That’s supposed to be *your* area of expertise.
>But you’d be a fool to risk your lives and your mission for the sake of your pride.
>”Well ma’am, I don’t know if there’s been any, y’know, proper study or anything. I’ve just heard folklore and campfire stories. But the ponies around these parts tell about sudden sandstorms which come outta nowhere and leave travelers disoriented, sometimes miles off course.”
>She turns to fully face you, and you see the corners of her mouth twitching.
>”The way the buffalo tell it, the sandstorms are whipped up by these *eeevil*, mischievous desert spirits - the Dust Devils - who lead travelers to their doom with mirages and illusions, feeding off the poor bastards’ desperation and despair.”
>Punch narrates that last part in an exaggerated “spooky” voice, waving her forehooves in the air for emphasis.
>For a desperate and/or despairing mare, she seems awfully chipper.
>Seriously, how does she have energy to prance around like that?
>Grinning at your deadpan stare, she returns to her normal voice.
>”I guess they’re sorta like the, uh, Hearths’ Warming spirits. Windigos? You have them up north, right boss?”
“There hasn’t been a confirmed Windigo sighting in centuries, but I get you.”
>You frown.
>This information is concerning if true.
>Windigos are an old bogeymare all throughout the north.
>If you’re dealing with creatures of that nature, your trusty sword isn’t gonna cut it.
>Heh. Sword puns.
>The heat must be getting to you. You’re sounding like your dad.
>You chuckle slightly. It comes out more as a cough.
>You try to swallow. With your parched throat, it feels like swallowing sandpaper.
>This leads to more coughing.
>Punch drops the goofy grin and kindly hoofs over her canteen.
>It’s still mostly full. Your own ran out half an hour ago.
>The dusky pegasus watches you closely, professional concern on her face. You want to tell her to stop gawking, but you suppose she’s just doing her job as a medic.
>Still, you’re not going to show weakness in front of your one and only subordinate. You force yourself to take only a single mouthful.
>The water’s uncomfortably warm, but your throat immediately feels better for it.
>Burying your feelings of relief (and desire to down the rest of the bottle), you quickly replace the cap and put on your professional sergeant face.
“Thank you, private.”
>You float the canteen back with your unicorn magic, giving Punch a grateful nod. She gives a grin and a mock salute in return.
“You’ve spent some time with the local buffalo then?”
>”Aye, ma’am. Just finished a two week exchange program with ‘em.”
“I see. So how do the buffalo deal with Dust Devils?”
>Her grin gets even wider, and she ruffles her wings.
>”Mostly they ask me to fly up and look for landmarks.”
“Is that so? Well, far be it from me to question the ancient wisdom of the majestic buffalo. Get your flank into the air and see what you can see, private.”
>With another salute, the pegasus launches herself into the sky, a blast of hot air and sand splashing against you.
>Squinting, you watch her lazily soar in slow circles overhead. A dark smudge, armour glinting in the sunlight, set against an impossibly deep blue sky.
>A few minutes pass.
>You wish you had some shade.
>Eventually Punch glides down to a rest beside you.
>”I reckon we’ve overshot Tranquility Springs, sarge. There’s a town northeast of us, on the other side of that low ridge. Maybe an hour away on hoof.”
>She waves lazily to a brownish plateau away in the distance.
>You think you can just make out rooftops peeking out beyond it.
“Very good, private. Let’s get going.”
>You start trekking down the sand dune, but Punch seems to hesitate.
>”If you like, I could fly ahead and get some help? Find a wagon, or maybe fetch some more water?”
>She’s looking at you with that concerned medic’s eye again.
>You’d kill for some cold water right now, but you’re not about to let yourself be coddled by a subordinate.
“Tempting as that sounds, private, I think we’d best stick together. I can manage another hour. And besides, if the Dust Devils strike again, where else will I find a Private Punch? The buffalo were quite specific about them.”
>Punch grins and falls in beside you.
>”Right you are, boss.”

2
>You are Private Fruit Punch, and you are melting.
“Ahhhh, this hot tub is *so good*.”
>You were a bit disappointed to find that Tranquility Springs doesn’t actually *have* any hot springs. But this is a pretty nice consolation prize.
>Seriously, after slogging through the desert in your armour all morning, this feels *amazing*.
>The tub is just a simple wooden barrel filled with hot water, but already you feel your muscles loosening and your eyelids getting heavy.
>The nice little stallion who runs the nice little hotel has been super accommodating. No doubt glad that the Royal Guard have finally arrived to deal with the town’s monster problem.
>Whatever that is.
>You should probably figure that out at some point.
“Hey, sarge?”
>”Hmm?”
>Lazily opening an eye, you spot your new crystal pony sergeant resting on a wooden bench on the other side of the washroom, methodically washing her bushy blue mane with her unicorn magic.
>She’d declined the offer of her own hot tub, opting instead to soak her hooves in a small pool of cold water.
>Odd mare, but whatever floats her boat.
“So, uh, what kind of monster are we hunting here, anyway?”
>She continues to focus on lathering and rinsing as she answers, her voice even and measured.
>”We’ve had reports of an unidentified creature scaring the locals. So far it hasn’t caused any real harm, so until we know more we won’t be hunting anything. No point unnecessarily antagonizing it. For now, our job is to observe and advise.”
“Aww, and I was hoping to see the big scary monster hunter use her big scary sword on a big scary monster.”
>The big scary monster hunter in question snorts in amusement, and begins drying her mane.
>With her armour and sword replaced by a fluffy pink towel, the turquoise unicorn looks a lot less intimidating than she did this morning.
>”Sorry to disappoint, but the Parks and Wilderness Guard aren’t the macho monster hunters rumour would have you believe. Most of the work we do is to *minimize* the chance of dangerous encounters.”
>Laame!
>Perfectly reasonable, but still lame!
>”In fact, should we encounter anything *truly* dangerous, standard procedure is to retreat, call for reinforcements, and engage with overwhelming numerical superiority. Seeing as we are the only Royal Guards for miles around, I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.”
>“Heheh. Damn. I wanted to see how you use that monster of a sword of yours.”
>Glacier’s weapon is almost as long as you are!
>Granted, your standard issue spear is longer, but couldn’t be more than a third of the sword’s weight.
>”Magic, mostly.”
>Well that just makes you more curious!
>Unfortunately, sarge doesn’t seem interested in volunteering more, and frankly you don’t have the energy to press for details. You’re enjoying this tub way too much.
>Oh well.
>You’ll bug her about it some other day. When you’re not half asleep.
>You sink further back, watching the wisps of steam curl up towards the wooden ceiling.
>The sounds of Glacier’s drying stops, and you hear her lay back and sigh contentedly.
>Hazily, you realize this is the first time she’s stopped working and relaxed all day.
>Even after arriving at Tranquility Springs, she went directly to speak with the mayor, the sheriff, and one or two other important ponies, before organizing your lodging.
>(In your opinion, a shower ought to have been your first stop.)
>You have to admit, she’s got impressive stamina for a unicorn.
>Not to be tribalist.
>You idly ponder if all sergeants are just naturally tough bastards? All yours have been.
>Still, you were starting to get a *liiittle* worried out in the desert. She didn’t let it show, but it must have been tartarus under that thick northerner coat.
>Tough bastard or not, dehydration and heatstroke cause more injuries per year than any monster.
>Seems odd to send a northerner to deal with a desert problem.
>Another question drifts lazily into focus.
>Eventually, you work up the effort to break the comfortable silence.
“So... Does the PWG normally send you guys out solo? One monster, one mare, that kind of deal?”
>You hear Glacier sigh before answering.
>”No, this is… not standard deployment. Typically investigations are performed by a whole squad of specially trained Parks and Wilderness Guard.”
>”We - my previous squad - were tasked with investigating the disturbance at Tranquility Springs. En route we received an urgent summons to deal with a sudden chimera problem.”
>Ooh, they deal with chimeras? That's pretty cool.
>”The detour was pretty far out of the way, so our CO decided to send me on alone to act as an interim advisor to the local guard.”
“Ha! Must have been quite the surprise to find there *was* no local guard.”
>”Pfff. No kidding.”
>You share a chuckle.
>Due to some sort of mixup, the entire regional guard detachment had been called off to Celestia knows where just days before Glacier was supposed to meet them in Appleloosa.
>Granted, the detachment is only like a dozen ponies or so. Deserts don’t normally need a lot of guarding.
>You were just finishing your cross-training with the Appaloosa buffalo, so it made sense you were called in as a temporary replacement.
>What’s ridiculous is that you’re apparently the *only* replacement they could find in time. And they couldn’t even give you a concrete answer on when to expect reinforcements.
>Your meeting with Sergeant Glacier at the train station would have been hilarious if it weren’t so awkward.
>Heh.
>A single monster hunter, in a region she can barely survive, advising a lone guardsmare, who’s not even supposed to be here, on how to defend a town neither of them are familiar with, against a threat nopony knows.
>Yep, ridiculous is right.
>Still, Glace seems pretty sensible. If the two of you are just chasing up rumours around town until backup arrives, you’ll be perfectly fine.
>...
>Unless a big scary monster attacks.
>That might be pretty cool though.

3
>This is *so cool!*
>Two new Royal Guards in town, and they’re here to see *you?* This is so exciting you might just faint!
>...Maybe later. Too much fanfillying to do!
>These aren’t just *any* Royal Guards (not that normal Royal Guards aren’t exciting!): one’s a pegasus, and the other’s a *crystal unicorn!*
>You’ve never even *seen* a crystal pony before. The glittering blue guard looks so glamorous, so badass, so… so *cool!*
>Hmm, no, that’s not right. Definitely not cool.
>On closer inspection, she just looks really hot.
>Wait no.
>Warm!
>She just looks really *warm.*
>This *is* a desert, after all. Plenty of *warm* mares around here. Yep. Heheh.
>Not to say that she’s *not* attractive, or anything.
>If anything, the flushed cheeks, matted mane, and sweaty muscles beneath her gleaming armour are really doing it for y- No! Bad Sandy!
>Your eyes dart to her partner, a smaller purple pegasus giving you a cute smile.
>She seems to be handling the heat better than her partner, unfortunatel- Nope!
>”Ma’am?”
>You shake your head, trying to dispel any thoughts of hot mares in uniform.
>The glimmering unicorn is looking at you with a polite but slightly confused expression, while the pegasus’ smile has been replaced with a knowing smirk.
>Oh horsefeathers! You’ve been so busy staring at them you forgot to answer their question!
“Y-yup, that’s me! Sandy Miles. Best milliner in town! Also, only milliner in town! But still the best! Ah haha, ha, he…”
>You grin awkwardly at the two glamorous guardsmares standing at your doorstep.
>Gosh it’s hot out this morning!
>”I’m Sergeant Glacier, and this is Private Punch,” the crystal pony explains in a deep, level voice.
>”We’re here about the strange creature causing trouble in the area. Sheriff Prickly Pear said you’d had a run in with it a few days ago? We’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”
“Ohhh! Right. Yeah. Of course. Sure I saw it!”
>In your excitement that last part came out as “Saw I sure it!”
>Cringing, you quickly turn away and gesture the guards into your home.
“C-Come on it, I’ll fix ya some lemonade and tell ya all about it.”
>Leading the way into your living room, you wish you had time to prepare. Your house is a mess!
>Sure, it’s nice enough by Tranquility Springs’ standards, but these glamorous, sophisticated guardsmares are probably used to, like, fancy manors and castles and stuff.
>That’s where all the adventures and mysteries (and *romance*) occur, after all.
>You read all about it in Gallant Guard Magazine.
>Which, incidentally, is lying open on the coffee table.
>At the article about adjusting guard armour to accentuate the plot.
>Crabapples!
>You quickly whisk it out of sight, along with a few dirty magazines and dishes - er, dirty dishes and magazines - giving your best nonchalant smile as you turn to usher your guests in.
>Thankfully, they don’t seem to notice anything amiss. The cute, smiley one’s still cute and smiley, and the hot, serious one - *warm*, serious one - is still warm and serious.
>That reminds you, you should probably see to that lemonade.
>The poor unicorn looks more flushed than you are.
>Number one rule of being a good hostess is to never let your guests die of dehydration in the living room.
>Aunt Sunbeam taught you that.
>It always struck you as oddly specific.
>Still, it seems like good advice in this situation, and soon you and your guests are seated comfortably on your best pillows, cool drinks in hoof, while you relate your recent adventures in the desert:
“So Tumbleweed’s wagon was completely covered in tree sap at this point. After picking the last o’ the scorpions out o’ his mane, we decided we were better off without the kitchen sink anyway. So we just called it a day, set the tent on fire, and turned tail for home.”
>Sergeant Glacier and Private Punch are looking a bit dazed at this point in your story.
>From the heat, no doubt.
>You refill the unicorn’s ice for the third time - she seems to be enjoying it more than the lemonade.
“O’ course at this point we were pretty far from Tranquility Springs, and the afternoon was getting on. So Tumble said we outta head to Hoofrest and stay the night at his uncle’s place, then head on back home in the morning.”
>The crystal mare blinks and clears her throat.
>”Is Hoofrest another town? I don’t recall seeing it on the map...”
“Ehhh, sorta? It’s just like this one street and a bunch o’ houses out in the middle of nowhere, couple o’ hours southeast o’ here.”
“I think there was a mine or quarry or somethin’ ‘round there years ago? Dried up ‘fore I was born, whatever it was. Now it’s just folks that never got ‘round to moving elsewhere, I guess.”
>You shrug awkwardly, but your explanation seems to satisfy the unicorn. She swallows another mouthful of ice and nods for you to continue.
“Right, so Tumble and I was still a ways away from Hoofrest. We were climbing down these rocky hills, and the sun’s setting behind us.”
“We reach the bottom o’ one hill, and start up the next. We step out o’ the shade into the last rays o’ Celestia’s sun, when all of a sudden this great big shadow falls over us! We turn around and are shocked to see…!”
>Dramatic pause!
>All good adventure / mystery stories have dramatic pauses.
>You would know, you’ve read every issue of *Gallant Heart, Royal Investigator*. Even that one terrible, definitely-not-canon issue where Gallant Heart gets shipped with Sir Dashwood instead of her *obvious* true love, Captain Nightingale.
>Sergeant Glacier gently clears her throat.
>Ack! Horsefeathers!
>Dramatic pause over!
“Er, ahem, so, we turn around and see... this big dark shadowy critter rearing up on top of the hill we just came down! It, uhhh… it was right against the sun, y’see, so we couldn’t get a real good look at it...”
“But we heard it! It was panting with this deep, growly... growl, and we could hear it stomping down the slope after us! We knew we were in *terrible* danger!”
>The two guards are listening intently, excited yellow eyes and steady green ones locked onto your own.
>You’re such a good storyteller! Thanks, *Gallant Heart!*
“I thought maybe we were being chased by a blackjackal or mountain lion or somesuch, and I guess Tumbleweed thought the same, cause we both immediately turned tail and hoofed it.”
“Looking back, I could see it trotting down the slope after us, but it was in the shade now so we still couldn’t really make it out. It was big, whatever it was, but we seemed to be getting a lead on it.”
“I turned around to catch up with Tumble, when suddenly there’s a whoosh, and something crashes into the ground next to me! Wham! It was so close I could feel the pebbles pelting my coat!”
>Your heart starts pounding just thinking about it. It was really frightening!
“I thought the monster must have j-jumped at me! I sure wasn’t expecting that! But I was so startled I didn’t even think to look back and see what it was - just bolted faster than I knew I could.”
“W-we didn’t hear it chasing us after that, but you betcha we didn’t stop to look till we’d darn near keeled over, and whatever it was was long gone by then. It was getting super dark out by then and we weren’t too keen on sticking around to look for it, s-so as soon as we got our breath back we hurried to Hoofrest, raised the alarm, crashed at Tumble’s uncle’s place, a-and that’saboutit thanksforlistening.”
>You suck in a lungful of air. You kinda rushed through that last part without stopping to breathe.
>Once you’ve got your breathing under control, you reach out a shaky hoof and take a nice long draught of lemonade to steady yourself.
>Retelling your story was not as fun as you expected.
>You’re pretty sure getting chased by freaky jumping shadow monsters is, like, an instinctive racial fear or something? Nothing to be ashamed of running away from, right?
>Nothing to be ashamed of retelling with a shaking hoof, r-right?
>You hope your guests think so.
>Peeking up at them, you find the two guardsmares talking quietly between themselves.
>The glimmery sergeant notices and turns to face you.
>”Thank you, Miss Miles. You did the right thing by getting out of there as fast as you could. That’s the smartest thing to do when faced with an unfamiliar creature.”
>You can’t help but smile and blush a little at the praise, even if you were acting purely on instinct.
>Punch reaches over and sets a comforting hoof on yours. Your blush intensifies.
>”You can rest assured, ma’am, that the Guard will be investigating this creature further, and we’ll be doing absolutely everything we can to keep your community safe.”
>”You’ve already helped us a bunch, but if you can remember any more *specific* details about this critter it’ll help us make the town even safer.”
>You scrunch your nose in concentration.
>You want to help, but you’re still a little rattled.
”Umm… It, uhh… Details...”
>Sergeant Glacier interrupts in a practiced tone: “Things like the creature’s general size and shape, number of limbs, number of horns, scent, colouration, whether it had fur or scales, the way it moved, that sort of thing.”
>Huh. For some reason, you find it easier to answer these specific questions.
“Well, the sun was in our eyes the whole time, so it just looked like a big dark blob, but I’m pretty sure it was bigger than me. Bigger than Tumbleweeed even. Like, two or three times as tall, though not much wider.”
>You close your eyes, trying to picture the scene.
>Your heart starts pounding again, but you force yourself to stay focused.
“I-it definitely had four legs, and I don’t remember any horn nor wings. Don’t think I was close enough to catch its scent.”
“I do remember it rearing up on its hind legs both times I saw it, and thinking that was kinda weird. It’d be much faster on all fours, right? Oh, unless it was getting ready to jump, maybe?”
>Sergeant Glacier frowns.
>”You’re sure it was rearing? I can think of a few desert dwelling creatures about that size which are known to walk on two legs instead of four.”
>You cock your head.
“Uhh, maybe? I guess it didn’t look like rearing, exactly, but what kind of critters do you mean? Like, a... giant bird, or something?”
>That doesn’t seem right. The silhouette certainly didn’t look like any bird you’ve ever seen.
>Glacier shrugs. “Not unheard of. But a dragon might be more likely.”
“D-d-dragon?!”
>”Juvenile, maybe. They love hot, sunny places, and often walk on their hind legs.”
>You were being chased by a *dragon?!* How can she talk about this so calmly!
>”Not all dragons have wings, and now that I think about it, that impact you felt striking next to you could have been a fireball.”
>A *fireball?!?!*
>You feel your head start to spin.
>Looks like your body has decided to take you up on that offer of fainting.
>”Of course, this is all just guesswork; it was probably something much more-”
>THUD.
>”...mundane.”
>...
>”Uhh, I think you broke her, boss.”

4
>You are Sergeant Glacier and you are contemplating desertion.
>Sure, you’d be throwing away your career, likely spending time behind bars, and definitely disappointing your parents.
>But on the other hoof, you wouldn’t have to go back out into that desert sun.
>So, yeah.
>Tough call.
>The flimsy wooden chair creaks as you lean back, gazing over the rundown little eatery you’ve taken shelter in.
>Simple wooden walls. Bright, rustic furniture. Homemade knick knacks covering every surface.
>Kinda reminds you of home.
>Of course, the taverns back home would have a roaring fire and thick rugs along the walls. Even then you’d still see your breath condensing in front of you half the time.
>Far better than sweating a puddle into your seat, in your opinion.
>You shift your weight, trying to expose more of your matted fur to the breeze of the ceiling fan.
>At least this place is cooler than the inferno outside.
>You and Fruit Punch had left Tranquility Springs early this morning, while it was still dark and cool. But by the time you’d reached Hoofrest just a few hours later you were already foamy with sweat and eager to be out of the sun.
>Punch, with her shorter coat and mane, fared better. Upon arriving at the little community’s only cafe, she immediately started chatting it up with the other patrons.
>You’d have reprimanded her, but frankly you couldn’t muster the energy.
>Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve had to remind her of proper Guard etiquette and discipline. While it’s never been a serious issue, you don’t want to encourage her habit of gossiping on duty.
>Perhaps her time studying with the Appleloosan buffalo, away from real guards and protocol, has left her out of practice?
>You can sympathize if so.
>It’s been challenging maintaining a professional relationship when it’s just the two of you for days on end.
>She clearly misses having squadmates to socialize with.
>(And so do you, if you’re being honest).
>But you’re in charge of her and this mission; it’s important to keep things professional.
>Your strategy thus far has been to keep the both of you busy and focused on work. Yourself with research and planning, Punch with standing guard, checking equipment, running errands, or whatever else you can think of.
>Hence why you eventually sent her off to order both your lunches.
>Ok, that one wasn’t strictly necessary for squad discipline. But hey, rank has its privileges.
>She’s been over by the counter for a while now. Seems to be having an in-depth discussion with the proprietor.
>You’re not really sure what there is to discuss. There’s only four items on the menu.
>Oh well. It’ll only be a few more days until reinforcements arrive. Either your sisters from Parks and Wilderness Guard, the long lost Appleloosan Guard, or both.
>That should give Punch some other guards to chat with, and hopefully they’ll set a good example for her.
>And, with any luck, somepony more senior will arrive and take over as leader of this operation.
>You’ve never minded taking charge temporarily when the situation called for it, or when your specialist skills were required. 
>But you’re finding that being the leader full time is… exhausting.
>And kinda lonely.
>Punch seems like a nice mare and decent enough guard. It’s a shame to have to keep distance between you.
>*Sigh*.
>You lean back and rest your eyes.
>The gentle breeze from the fan tickles your chest.
>Life was simpler when you just focused on being the best P&W guard you could be.
>Leading ponies isn’t something you’ve ever put much thought into. You just kinda ended up as sergeant without really planning for it.
>Maybe it’s not the right job for you…
>The clip clop of approaching metal hoofguards pulls you out of your reverie.
>”Okay, so we’ve got toasted sandwiches with frijoles, salsa, pickles, and a side of hay fries. *Plus* I managed to scrounge a couple of ice waters. Here you go, boss!”
>Your ears shoot up at the mention of ice water.
>Sitting up and opening your eyes, you see Fruit Punch has finally returned, a tray of food balanced easily on each wing.
>You have no idea what half these ingredients are, but ice water sounds like just the tonic you need.
>She slides your tray onto the table in front of you. You offer a grateful nod as you levitate your perspiring glass towards you.
>Leaning back, you bring the wonderfully cool glass to your lips. In a display that would have made your old squadmates proud, you down the whole drink in one go.
>The icy liquid rushes down your throat, burning with cold, before settling in your stomach like a lump of snow.
“Ahhh…”
>Immediately you feel cool to your very core.
>Bliss.
>”Haha, yeah I thought you might like that.”
>Punch is openly smirking as she sits down opposite you and digs into her sandwich. You let it slide. The chilly taste of home has put you in a good mood.
“Mmm, thanks, Punch. I needed that.”
>”No prob, chief.”
>You lean forward to attend to your food, a small smile making its way to your lips.
>It’s decided, then. No desertion for you.
>You’ll just have to finish your first assignment as sergeant, do a good job of it, and *then* decide if it’s right for you.
>But for now, you’re just going to enjoy lunch with your considerate partner.
>”So, excited to get out into the field and do some real monster hunting?”
“Apart from the unbearable heat? Sure. I always enjoy fieldwork.”
>You levitate a couple of fries into your mouth, slightly wary of the sandwich.
>They taste exactly like hay fries you’d find anywhere else in Equestria. Promising start.
“How about you? Excited?”
>Fruit wiggles her ears.
>”Apart from the unbearable heat? You bet! I’ve met a few dragons before, y’know, so it’ll be interesting to see how they compare with our desert troublemaker.”
“Oh? Ah, that’s right. You’re said you’re with the Harmony Corps, correct?”
>”Bingo. Meeting guards from all different species and cultures, swapping guard techniques and history; all that good stuff.”
>The Harmony Corps is a mixed species branch of the Guard, recently established by Princess Twilight.
>Word is they’re more focused on diplomacy and the *magic of friendship* than actual guarding.
>From what you’ve seen of Punch, that seems pretty spot on.
>You quickly take a bite of sandwich to hide your grin.
>The flavour’s… interesting, but you’ve certainly had worse from the commissary.
”Mmm. Well, I’m sorry to say our troublemaker’s probably not a dragon, though that’s good news as far as I’m concerned.”
>”Huh? Didn’t you say yesterday Miss Miles got chased by a juvenile dragon?”
>You shrug.
“That was just speculation. I took a look through the town’s records last night. Not a single dragon spotted in this area in the town’s entire history.”
>Fruit pouts at this. The effect is somewhat undermined by half a sandwich she’s crammed into her mouth. She looks like a grumpy chipmunk.
>You take a (smaller) bite of your own sandwich. Texture’s a little weird, but the flavour’s growing on you.
“They do have Sand Wyrms, though. They’re dragon-ish, but probably not our troublemaker.”
>”Fo wha *oo* oo fink ih iff,” Fruit asks around her food.
>You quirk an eyebrow.
“Swallow, Punch.”
>She swallows and grins sheepishly.
>”So what *do* you think it is? Our troublemaker?”
>That’s the million bit question.
>After interviewing Miss Miles yesterday - then making sure you hadn’t broken her - then reassuring her that Tranquility Springs was unlikely to be invaded by dragons - you eventually tracked down a few other potential witnesses.
>On the one hoof, there was no more fainting.
>On the other hoof, there wasn’t much concrete information, either.
>Some folk claimed to have glimpsed a strange shadowy creature, usually from afar or at night. Their descriptions were vague at best, contradictory at worst.
>Not surprising, really. You know how these small towns are.
>Somepony says they saw a windigo or a bunyip or a vampony, and suddenly that’s all the town talks about for weeks. Soon enough, folks are seeing the monster in every shadow, hearing it in every gust of wind, and generally scaring themselves silly.
>While the lack of reliable witnesses can be frustrating, it’s probably for the best. Better the townsfolk be too scared than not scared enough. The last thing you want is a gang of curious teenagers playing at being monster investigators.
>Still, you needed some more concrete information about your quarry. Hence your trip to the town archives and library later that evening.
“Well, according to the records, there are quite a few large predators native to the region. Mountain Lions, Sand Wyrms, Sand Sharks, Sandipedes, Sandy Claws-”
>”Seriously? Do they just call every animal they find “Sand” something?”
“Right? Do I need to get them a thesaurus?”
>Fruit bursts into snorting giggles, and you can’t help but chuckle along.
“Heh heh. Anyway, these very sandy predators are usually found much further out in the badlands, but now and again one will wander closer to pony settlements.”
>You levitate a hay fry, waving it for emphasis.
“Problem is, none of them particularly match Miss Mile’s description. So either her imagination got the better of her-”
>Punch grins.
>”I think she was doing a lot of *imagining* yesterday…”
“-or the creature isn’t native to the area. Wait, what?”
>”Nothing,” Punch beams innocently, her tail swishing side to side.
>You eye her suspiciously, before popping the fry in your mouth.
>While your search through the archives hadn’t turned up any leads, it wasn’t a complete waste of time either.
>Studying exotic creatures and planning how best to deal with them is a comfortably familiar routine. You were able to power through all the material the library had on them in a single night.
>Armed with this new knowledge, you felt it was time to visit the scene of the crime, as it were: the rocky wastes south of Hoofrest, where Sandy had her close encounter.
>You’ll be heading out that way soon as you’re done with lunch and refilled your canteens.
>The Parks and Wilderness Guard might frown upon you venturing out into potentially dangerous wilderness with only a single guard as backup. But you figure that between your tracking skills, and Punch acting as aerial scout, you’ll be able to spot any potential threats long before there’s any danger.
>Not that you’re expecting to run into anything dangerous, or even find the exact location of Miss Miles’ encounter. But there’s always a chance of finding tracks, droppings, or other clues which only an experienced PWG like you would pick up on.
>The prospect of some good old fashioned fieldwork almost makes you eager to head back out into the heat.
>Almost.

5
>”Don’t move.” Glacier growls as she advances towards you, sword drawn.
>It’s noon.
>You are Fruit Punch.
>After an hour of trekking, you and the boss have taken shelter from the oppressive sun beneath a rocky overhang.
>You *thought* you’d finally gotten on Glace’s good side. But given that she’s currently waving a sword in your face...
“N-now, Sarge, I’m sure whatever this is about we can talk it over.”
>You give your best disarming smile as you back away from the larger, clearly insane mare.
>She just rolls her eyes.
>”You’ve got something crawling up your back, featherbrain. Now don’t. Move.”
>A jolt of panic shoots through you.
>You’re suddenly keenly aware of dozens of tiny pinpricks tickling your flank. Is that perspiration trickling down your back, or something worse?
>It takes all your willpower not to buck wildly and launch yourself into the sky.
>The sergeant advances slowly, her oversized sword hovering beside her.
>”Now what have we here…?”
>You continue to stand stock still, rear hoof frozen mid-step, rictus grin etched in place, as Glacier disappears out of your line of sight.
>Her sword clinks gently against your armour.
>Your ears swivel involuntarily.
>”Cooome on. Here- no, not that way.”
“Not *what* way?!”
>You squeak out of the corner of your mouth, not daring to move further.
>There’s a pause. 
>Followed by some scraping.
>”No, no, bad little- stop that!”
>Your tail lashes with nervous tension.
>More scraping.
>”Yeah, theeeere you go. That’s better.”
>To your relief, sarge backs into your field of view.
>”Well, aren’t you a cutie?”
>Her sword floats after her, wrapped in her cyan aura. Something small and dark with far too many legs darts along its surface.
>You spring back, muscles suddenly unfrozen, scrambling to put distance between you and the blade.
>The loose stones underhoof offer little purchase, and you end up on your backside in a tangle of limbs.
“Ow.”
>Glacier raises an eyebrow in your direction.
>”Alright there, Fruit?”
“Yeah, juuust peachy.”
>You decide the floor’s a great place to rest a moment and catch your breath. Nice and far away from the sword.
>That is, until you feel something tickling your flank.
“Eeeeep!”
>You shoot into the air, swatting wildly at your rump.
>Get it off GET IT O- Oh.
>It was just your tail.
>You sheepishly lower yourself back down.
>On second thought, maybe the floor’s not a great place after all. 
>Hovering sounds like a good idea right now.
>”Not a fan of bugs, I take it,” Glacier asks. She doesn’t quite smile, but you can see the amusement in her eyes.
“Not bugs the size of my hoof, no ma’am.”
>You cautiously flap over to peer at the critter still skittering about Glacier’s sword. It looks like some kind of shiny brown worm with hundreds of black legs.
>”Mmm, quite an impressive friend you’ve made.”
>Glace absently straightens your helmet and dusts you off, keeping one eye on her weapon.
>”Baby sandipede, I’d say. The adults get a lot bigger.”
“Not super reassuring there, boss.”
>The sandipede pauses a moment, feeling along an edge of the blade with tiny antennae. You notice its angry red pincers and tail.
“Uhhh, it’s not poisonous, is it?”
>You may not be some veteran Parks and Wilderness Guard, but your medical training at least covered that bites from poisonous critters = bad.
>”It’s venomous, yes. Poisonous means you shouldn’t eat it.”
>Ahem. Bites from *venomous* critters = bad.
>”But this little fella probably isn’t too dangerous yet. Not till she grows up.”
>You feel only marginally safer.
>Glacier has apparently finished cooing over her little monster, and gently floats her sword up against the rock wall. The sandipede quickly scuttles away, disappearing between the cracks.
>Glace then turns to peer at you, sword casually returning to its sheath. She doesn’t seem at all fazed leaving a potentially deadly enemy behind her.
>”You weren’t stung, were you?”
“I- I dunno. How do I tell?”
>You twist around, trying to spot any bite marks along your back. Of course, that’s physically impossible thanks to biology, and you end up flying in a circle.
>A hoof catches you in midair.
>”If you’re not sure, then you weren’t stung,” she explains, gently lowering you to the ground.
>”Come on, let’s get going. The sooner we finish investigating, the sooner we get out of this heat. And away from sandipedes.”
>She turns and starts to trot out of the shade.
>You sigh.
“Yes, boss.”
>It *is* getting uncomfortably hot.
>Your fifteen minutes’ rest in the shade has been undone by a few moments of panicking and flying.
>Stupid bug. How did it even get on you in the first place? You wouldn’t have even noticed it if Glacier hadn’t… mentioned… it.
>A sudden thought sends a shiver down your spine. Despite the heat.
”M-m-ma’am? Permission to check my armour for any *other* creepy crawlies?”
>Glacier pauses at the edge of the shade, then shrugs and turns back.
>”Alright, go ahead private. Just… hoof the pieces to me when you’re done. If you sit them on the ground then you’ll just get all paranoid again afterwards.”
“Cheers, boss.”
>You quickly begin shedding layers of barding. You give each piece a thorough shake and once over before hoofing it to Glacier.
>After a few minutes of this, the majority of your armour is hovering beside her. Helmet, peytral, gambeson; a lumpy satellite of cloth and metal.
>She chuckles as you shake out your last hoofguard and begin the slow process of putting everything back on.
“Hey come on, it’s not that funny. I don’t know about you, but I don't want to get poisoned - or *venomed* - out in the middle of nowhere.”
>You pout, but she just waves a hoof dismissively, hint of a grin on her muzzle.
>”I’ve got an antidote potion, so I wouldn’t worry too much.”
>Well that’s good to know. Makes sense the PWG carry stuff like that. Kinda wish she’d mentioned it sooner, though.
>”But that’s not what I was laughing about.”
“Oh?”
>”What was it you said the other day? Something about wanting to see the big scary monster hunter use her big scary sword on a big scary monster?”
>She helpfully floats over your next hoofguard, grin barely contained.
>”Guess you got your wish, huh?”
”Pffff that- that’s not- that doesn’t count! That was *not* a big scary monster!”
>”Big enough to scare you!”
>You sputter out a few more incoherent protests, while sarge chuckles and helps you with your barding.
>You pout a few more moments, but her smile proves infectious. Soon you're sliding the last piece of armour into place, chuckling together.
>Eventually you catch your breaths and turn to leave.
>You’re still hot and sweaty, but at least your break gave you something to smile about.
>The two of you step out into the fierce afternoon sun.
>Oof, it’s… yeah, this is a proper desert.
>You’re in a small rocky gully. One of many, near the base of the Macintosh ranges.
>Loose sand and dust underhoof. Bare stone walls around you. Hours away from civilization.
>You’re not sure how anything survives out here, but Glacier’s been pointing out little signs of life as you travel. Patterns in the sand. Droppings. Bits of eggshell.
>Amazing what you can find if you know what to look for.
>She’s quiet at the moment, as the two of you plod along. Conserving energy, maybe.
>Her eyes are still alert, no doubt picking up all sorts of things you’d never notice.
>That’s ok, though. We all have our special talents.
>Right now, yours are picking up on Glacier’s folded back ears, steadily sagging tail, and early signs of a frown.
>It’s the hottest part of the day, after all. Going back into the sun must be Tartarus for the poor northerner.
>Well, there’s no other ponies around, so it’s up to you to keep her spirits up. Or at least keep her mind off the heat
>As usual, conversation is your greatest weapon.
“So boss, what *is* the biggest monster you’ve fought?”
>”Hmm. Hydra. Juvenile. Still near five ponies tall.”
>Her sentences are short, punctuated by huffing and panting.
“Yikes. How’d you deal with something like that?”
>”Generally try to lure it away. Or scare it away. Barricades, sometimes. We don’t want them dead. Just away from ponies.”
>She frowns.
>”That particular one was rowdy. Young male, aggressive. Wouldn’t take the hint. Had to get rough.”
“Did you… kill it?”
>”Nah. Gave it a few scars. Sent it packing. Hide’s too thick for normal weapons. Even this,” she nods to her greatsword, “so we had to get creative.”
>She shakes her head, an encouraging gleam in her eyes.
>”This crazy pegasus, Pollen, jumps onto its back. She can’t do any damage up there, but hydras are dumb. Instinct takes over. It rolls over, nearly crushing her.”
>”Hide’s thick, but the underside’s vulnerable. While it’s thrashing about, we get a few good blows in. Nothing lethal. But enough to convince it that we ponies mean business.”
“Haha, wow. Sounds crazy. Didn’t you say you’re *not* all daredevil macho monster hunters?”
>She rolls her eyes, but you’ve learned to spot the hint of a smile she allows herself to wear.
>”There are exceptions. Most of our work is more like this,” she gestures to the desert around you. “Or just teaching ponies how... to...”
>She trails off.
>You notice her ears have perked up and she’s staring intently at something over your shoulder.
>You turn around, but nothing stands out to you. Rocky hills. Hazy mountains. Blue skies.
>”You see that, Punch? Four hundred meters, near the tip of that sandbank we climbed down.”
>You squint. There's… *something* there. A dark smudge against the motley orange backdrop.
”Is… that a pony? It’s sorta the right outline.”
>”Not sure. Wasn’t there a minute ago.”
>She’s glaring at the distant spot, all signs of weariness vanished.
>”Private, fly up and take a closer look. Don’t get too close unless you’re sure it’s safe.”
“Got it, sarge."
>You launch yourself to the sky, cautiously making your way forward. You recall Sandy's tale of leaping shadow monsters, and resolve to stay well out of reach.
>The figure is just as hard to make out from the air. It looks like it’s moving a little, but that could just be distortion from the hot air around it. It's impossible to be sure of its shape, beyond “kinda sorta pony-ish”.
>You glide in long, slow arcs around and toward it, giving you both plenty of time to observe each other.
>Your eyes must be playing tricks on you. The closer you get, the less sure you are that it’s a creature at all. From here it just seems like a dark smear on the landscape.
>You drop to hover a few hooves above the ground. Then carefully touch down.
>You scoop up a hooffull of sand.
>The topmost layer is a dark, almost silvery black.
>The discolouration only extends a few hooves in each direction, and less than half a hoof down. Everywhere else, as far as the eye can see, pale-orange sand continues uninterrupted.
>Huh.
>You turn and shrug at the distant figure of Glacier.
>You can just make her out in the distance, obscured by the haze and dust.
>It’s hard to tell, but is she… galloping?
“Hey boss! There’s nothing here!”
>You call out, but it’s a struggle to make yourself heard over the wind.
>Wait, wind?
>Your pegasus instincts tell you you’re in a dead calm…
>...because this isn’t any natural wind, you realise with a start.
>You leap into the air, and are immediately thrown back by a blast of whirling sand.
>The Dust Devil forms in front of you with frightening speed, a bellowing tornado of dark sand.
>Glacier is immediately swallowed up and disappears from view. *Everything* disappears from view.
>You’re pelted by a rain of sand and stone, clanging against your armour and stinging any exposed flesh.
>You try to take off again, but the winds nearly rip your wings off.
>You tumble and flail through the air, blind, deaf, and hopelessly disoriented.
>Pain lances out from your shoulder as you're dashed against a rock wall.
>It’s all you can do to close your eyes, hunker down, and weather the storm.
>As quickly as they began, the false winds slow.
>And stop.
>The only sound in the dead calm is your panicked breathing.
>You cautiously raise your head, sand pouring down your neck.
>The landscape looks unchanged. Rocky hills. Hazy mountains. Blue skies.
>There’s no sign the Dust Devil was ever here.
>There’s no sign Glacier was ever here.
“Boss…?”

6
>You screwed up.
>You knew it as soon as Punch was airborne.
>You shift slightly, dislodging the sand piled on your back.
>There’s a dull ache all down your left side, and your skull feels two sizes too small.
>Your own damn fault.
>Shouldn’t have separated. Shouldn’t have sent an amateur off on her own. Shouldn’t have even been out in this Celestia forsaken desert.
>You are Sergeant Glacier, and you screwed up.
>With a groan, you lift yourself to your hooves. Sand pours from you like water. Still more sticks to your matted fur. You’re more orange than blue.
>Your armour’s all gunked up. Head feels the same way.
>The sun pounds down. Blinding. Smothering.
>Your throat is dry. Lips coated with grit. Painfully thirsty.
>Your hooves fumble for your canteen, too dazed to use magic.
>The first mouthful is nothing but wet sand. You spit it out.
>The second soothes your parched lips. The third clears your throat.
>By the fourth, your head’s starting to clear a little.
>You take a deep breath.
>Ok.
>You screwed up.
>Deal with it.
>You’re the leader of this expedition. Mare up and take responsibility.
>First things first: find Fruit Punch. Make sure she’s ok.
>You shake the worst of the sand from your coat, and take stock of your surroundings.
>You’re at the base of a sand dune. Not much visibility from here. Just rolling walls of sand in every direction, radiant heat pooling between them. Stifling. Suffocating.
>No sign of Punch. Not surprising; she wasn't with you when the Dust Devil hit. She's probably back near Hoofrest, instead of… wherever you are.
>You couldn’t make out what happened between her and the mystery creature - it disappeared from view while she was approaching - but you did see her land voluntarily. That means she thought it was safe, right?
>You wince, feeling a pang of guilt.
>Punch is a complete amateur when it comes to wildlife - how’s she supposed to know what’s safe? You were so focused on finally having a lead that you’d slipped back into old habits, issuing orders as though you were working with a PWG veteran.
>You kick at the sand in frustration.
>You’ve put her at risk - put *both* of you at risk - because you got all worked up over your first assignment. Couldn’t wait for backup, couldn’t play it safe, nooo, you just *had* to prove you could handle it on your own. Stars above, you’re no better than a rookie yourself! She's probably better off without you there to mess things up any-
>WHAP!
>Your telekinetic slap knocks a cloud of sand from your muzzle, leaving a sharp sting.
>Enough of this self pitying crap, sergeant!
>For all you know, Punch is in danger. Screwup or not, you may be the only pony who can help. So quit mewling, and focus on what you need to do.
>Blinking away a few tears (from the pain in your muzzle, you tell yourself) you take another look around. You can barely see anything surrounded by dunes like this. Need to get to a better vantage point if you’re going to find Punch.
>You quickly start trotting uphill. It doesn’t look far to the top, but the seemingly gentle slope is deceptively hard to climb. The damned sand refuses to provide a firm grip, shifting and sliding away underhoof, dragging you back downhill.
>It takes five exhausting minutes to reach the top. Sweet Celestia, you hate this place.
>At least there’s a faint breeze up here, and you can see a good deal further. The Macintosh mountain range, a looming wall of jagged brown, is still fairly near at hoof. Hopefully that means you’ve not been taken too far. A smaller range is visible to the east, hazy with distance. You don’t remember that from the maps.
>The sand dunes continue west and south for a mile or two before abruptly transitioning to a dry, dusty plane, random plateaus and ravines scattered throughout.
>But no matter which way you look, no matter how hard you squint against the glare, there’s no hint of purple pegasus plumage. No dark smudge circling the skies. No gleam of armour on the horizon. Just browns and reds and brilliant blues.
>Not a good sign.
>If Punch isn’t visible overhead, then either you’re in a completely different part of the desert, or…
>Something clenches painfully inside you.
>...Or she’s in no condition to fly.
>You sit, or collapse, strength leaving your hind legs.
>Your vision goes blurry once more.
>You feel ill. Stifled. Hard to breathe.
>You float off your helmet, dropping it unceremoniously. Clumps of tangled blue mane tumble down your shoulders. You feel messy and gross.
>You cough out a few heaving breaths.
>Fanning yourself with a hoof, you allow yourself another mouthful of precious water.
>Not much left in your canteen. You’ve an overwhelming urge to just pour it down your head and neck, washing away the sweat and stench and horrible clinging sand.
>Your only concession is to splash a small hooffull around your face, carefully catching any spilled droplets with your magic.
>The gentle wind tickles at the damp fur, beautifully cool against your skin. Like a fresh spring breeze from the mountains back home.
>The slight chill seems to cut through the haze, helping clear your thoughts.
>You start to feel a little better. Start to feel yourself again.
>With sudden clarity, you realize you’re probably experiencing heat stroke. Nausea, dizziness, weakness: all common side effects.
>You’ve spent too long in the sun, gotten too worked up. You don’t know if you’re actually suffering from heat stroke just yet, or if these are just early warning symptoms, but you know it can’t be far off. You *need* to find shade.
>You take a long draught from your canteen, and splash a few more drops around your neck and ears for good measure. It’s imperative that you keep cool and stay hydrated. No point saving the water until later - you’ll be too weak to move later.
>You wipe the blurriness from your eyes, and scan the desert once more. The dunes offer no respite. The mountains are still a few hours away. But the plain isn’t too far. It’s littered with cliffs and canyons, jagged patches of black shadow stark against the brown. You’ll be cooler in the shade. Especially if you can get below ground. Find a ravine, or cave. Maybe even a stream.
>You take a step downhill. Pause, Royal Guard instincts reminding you to look after your gear. Your helmet floats after you, trailing sand, and the two of you begin your journey.
>Somehow you feel a little better.
>Hooves lighter. Trot quicker.
>Maybe it’s the cool water on your fur, or the prospect of shade at your destination.
>Maybe it’s the resignation that you can’t do anything for Fruit just yet, and that you’re in at least as much danger as her.
>Maybe it’s the familiar, perversely intoxicating fear growing inside you. The rush of pitting yourself against nature, your wits and skills and luck the only things between you and an unmarked grave. Terrifying and exhilarating and *highly* motivating. The first time you felt this way, as a young foal lost deep in the mountains, you ended up earning your Cutie Mark. Maybe it’s your Cutie Mark driving you now, whispering defiance to the hateful desert.
>Or maybe it’s just delirium from the heat.
>Your perception of time certainly seems to be faulty. You could have sworn you’ve climbed this same dune a hundred times already. And the sun seems to be moving backwards in the sky.
>But slowly, slooowly, dune by dune, step by step, huff by puff, the distant plain inches closer, until suddenly the sand is gone and you find yourself on wonderfully firm cracked earth.
>You blink a few times in surprise, waking from a dream of walking and thirsting. You’re a sodden mess of a mare, coated in foamy sweat, hooves caked in sand, ears and nose scorched raw, but you feel a sense of accomplishment. You take a celebratory swig from your canteen.
>The last swig.
>You should feel panic, but all you feel is exhaustion.
>There’s a shallow depression only a few hundred meters away, leading to a narrow gully. You can even see a few rugged looking plants around the entrance. Plants are good. Plants mean water.
>You stumble the last hundred meters, the downhill trail mercifully easier underhoof. To your frustration, the gully’s sides remain sloped instead of sheer, offering no shade. Even worse, the air down here is trapped and stifling, feeling even hotter than on the plain.
>You continue down the slope, and slowly the path grows narrower and steeper. The rocky walls on either side eventually rise high enough to cast the passage into shadow. The drop in temperature is immediate. After the desert sun, it’s like walking into a freezer.
>You slump against the cool stone, pressing your neck and cheek against the smooth surface, panting laboriously. Clumsily you remove your still-hot armour, tossing it down the slope with a resounding racket.
>Your helmet tumbles away downhill, disappearing around a corner. You pay it no mind as it bounces and clatters in the distance, until it stops with a sudden and unmistakable *splash*.
>You hesitate only a moment, ears twitching in disbelief, before bounding after it. No rational thought, just a desperate, overwhelming thirst. You practically fall down the steep, uneven slope, and before you know it you’re ankle deep in painfully, blissfully cold water.
>At this point you do fall over, too hot and exhausted and relieved to care about anything other than immersing yourself in its icy embrace. You crash down, sinking up to your neck. The freezing water seeps into your coat, drawing out the desert heat like poison from a wound.
>Your skin burns from the contrast in temperatures. It feels *amazing*.
>You let your head fall below the surface, feeling the sand and sweat and stress wash away. Luna, this is just like swimming in the frozen lakes back home.
>You start greedily drawing a mouthful of water, only to abruptly stop and jerk your head away. The one part of your mind not exulting in the cold, the part that spent years training as a Parks and Wilderness Guard, shouts a warning not to drink the water. Not yet.
>You sputter and wheeze a few times, spitting out as much as you can. You manage to drag your waterlogged (but oh so wonderfully cool) hide back out of the pool.
>Sitting at the water’s edge, you take in the space properly for the first time. Floodwaters have carved a smooth channel out of the rock, producing a wide, sinuous passage. Sunlight bounces down through the narrow gap high overhead, providing ample light but not much heat. A few steep fissures, like the one you tumbled down, lead up and out from the main waterway. Some small, prickly bushes eke out a living in patches of dust.
>The pool itself fills up little more than a third of the uneven floor, only three or four pony lengths at its widest. It runs the length of the ravine before disappearing around a narrow bend a dozen meters away. Apart from a few dwindling ripples courtesy of your undignified exit, the pool is still. No current. No trickle of running water.
>Stagnant.
>It looks clear, but you know better than to trust stagnant water. You still remember that time Heather filled her canteen from a beautiful clear pond. Didn’t spot the mouldering rabbit among the reeds until it was too late. The poor ditz was sick for days.
>Even desperately thirsty as you are, you know to purify the water first. Boiling it is the traditional way, but you don’t have the fuel or patience.
>You float over your armour and start digging through the saddle bags. Out comes a small pouch containing several hundred bits worth of enchanted gemstones. Part of the PWG standard kit. The spells are nothing too impressive, but potentially life saving in the right circumstances. 
>You fill your canteen with water from the pool, then drop in a small blue gem. It starts glowing gently, and you feel the faint thrum of magic. You replace the cap, and count to twenty.
>The delay is frustrating. Now that you’ve cooled off in the water, your throat feels blistered and burned by comparison. Nevertheless, you dutifully wait for the spell to complete, then thoroughly rinse your mouth of any remaining pool water. Then finally, *finally* take a deep, deep drink.
>And another.
>And a third.
>Aaahhh...
>You spit out the expended water purifier, now nothing more than an inert rock, and lie back against the cold stone, sated.
>Your eyelids flutter closed of their own accord. The PWG part of you mumbles something, but it’s hazy and distant. Every other part of you says to ignore it, at least for a few minutes...
>...
>...
>Crabapples.
>You fell asleep didn’t you?
>It doesn’t seem like any time has passed at all, but you’re suddenly stiff and cold and hungry, and alarm bells are ringing clearly in your head.
>Your eyes snap open and you peer out into the gloom. The ravine is noticeably darker, but nothing seems out of place. Your gear is still where you left it. The water’s completely still.
>Your ears swivel back and forth, straining against the silence.
>You take a deep breath, and that’s when you realize what's wrong: the smell.
>There’s an organic musk in the air that doesn’t belong. You might have put it down to your sweaty gambeson stinking up the place, but there’s something else too.
>A wisp of ash. A hint of flowers. The tang of blood, and a layer of rot.
>You were too preoccupied to notice when you first stumbled down here, but it’s clear to you now:
>There’s something living down here.

7
“Oh come on, this is *not* fair!”
>You kick a stupid rock out of the way as you hurry down yet another slope.
“They said Dust Devils attack desperate and despairing ponies! We were *not* desperate and despairing! We were super positive! There was bonding and everything! YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG!”
>You are Fruit Punch, and your accusations go unanswered.
“And getting hit twice in three days? What’s up with that? Harmony’s sake, you’re supposed to be *folklore*, not every-bloody-day occurrences!”
>You scramble up a stony bank, huffing with indignation and exertion. No sign of Glacier here either.
“And - *huff* - waiting for the *one* moment - *puff* - the one moment *aaall* day - *huff* - when I leave her side for like TWO FLAPPIN’ MINUTES!”
>Your throat is sore. You ignore it.
>Your legs are tired. You push on.
“That’s just…”
>Your eyes are moist. You wipe them with a forehoof.
“...just low.”
>A patch of loose gravel shifts beneath you.
>With only three shaky legs on the ground, you’re unable to catch yourself in time, and tumble down the slope.
>Your armour makes an awful racket as it grinds against the rough stone. But it does its job, sparing you the worst of the damage.
“Ow ow owww! Flapping ow!”
>But *only* the worst.
>When you come to rest, your muzzle feels like one big bruise, and there’s the taste of blood on your lips.
>Scraped your knee something fierce, too. It stings like the dickens.
“Stupid rocks! Stupid sand!”
>You don’t have the energy to get up, so you just lay there a while, cursing.
“Stupid desert! Stupid Dust Devils! Stupid Fruit Punch! Stupid, stupid...”
>Eventually, cursing gives way to quiet sobbing.
>You’ve been shouting and calling and complaining this entire time, ignoring the protests of your parched throat. But you can’t keep it up.
>You lie there, feeling completely drained, as the silence closes in about you.
>You hate the silence.
>Ever since the roar of the Dust Devil faded away, taking your sergeant with it, the desert has seemed unnaturally still.
>No movement.
>No sound.
>No sign of anycreature else.
>Just you.
>You’re an outgoing pegasus who grew up in a big family. When you joined the Royal Guard you gained an even bigger family. Working with the Harmony Corps only strengthened your sense of community. You’ve been surrounded by other ponies your entire life.
>And then, just like that, you were alone.
>Utterly, overwhelming alone.
>Your first instinct was to take to the skies. Hopefully spot Glacier from the air, but more importantly (you felt a pang of guilt at the thought) put some distance between you and the unnervingly empty landscape.
>As soon as you flexed your wings, however, a spasm of pain shot down your right side.
>Inspecting your own wings is never easy, but after a few anxious minutes of gingerly flexing and methodically testing, you were reasonably certain you hadn’t broken anything. A nasty sprain most likely, from when the Dust Devil slammed you against the rock.
>Thank Harmony you were wearing your helmet, or you could have gotten much worse than just a sprain. A concussion out here could be fatal.
>As a pegasus and trained medic, you knew you really should keep off your wing for a few days to let it heal properly. Putting stress on it now would not only hurt, but risk exacerbating the injury. Worst case scenario you might even cause permanent damage.
>But as Glacier’s friend, you couldn’t bear to stay groundbound when she might need your help.
>Bracing your wing with bandages from your first aid kit, you attempted a few test flutters. You winced with every flap, but gliding seemed ok, and you could sort of compensate for your right wing by working your left harder.
>You wouldn’t be quick or agile, but you figured a short flight would be manageable.
>Since you were ignoring (your own) medical advice, you decided you might as well break some Royal Guard regulations while you’re at it. Off went the heavy golden armour, piece by piece, for the second time today. Nocreature would see you out of uniform out here in the middle of nowhere, and it would make flying a little easier.
>A slow, painful ascent later, and the desert was a distant patchwork of orange and brown below you. Mountains to the south, Hoofrest to the north. You could just make out Canterlot Spire rising in the distance.
>You started to feel a little better.
>The climb was exhausting, but the wind on your feathers was cool and refreshing. After the stifling heat and limited visibility of the desert floor, you felt alive and free.
>And seeing evidence of other ponies, however distant, helped alleviate the sense of loneliness. Even if you couldn’t see them from the ground, you had friends not too far away.
>But…
“Boss! Sergeant Glacier! Where are youuu?”
>...There was still no sign of this *one particular* friend.
>Gliding in long, slow arcs to minimize flapping, you swept back and forth over the area the Dust Devil hit.
>When that produced no results, you went further afield, flapping faster, climbing higher, pushing your aching wing until the muscles seized up and you were forced to land gracelessly.
>Then you just kept going, legs carrying you where your wings had failed, wandering at random, all the while shouting yourself hoarse.
>It was reckless. It was irresponsible. It was only a matter of time till you hurt yourself.
>Honestly, you’re lucky it wasn’t worse.
>With a groan, you sit up.
>So now here you are, bruised, bleeding, dizzy with exhaustion and worry, and still no sergeant to show for it.
>You’ve been stubbornly refusing to acknowledge it all this time, but you can’t deny it anymore:
“Fine. I’m... I'm alone. I’m not gonna randomly stumble across Glacier like this. I need to stop running about and… make a plan or something. Think things through.”
>You wince as you say it out loud, but you know true.
>You can’t help Glacier if you’re galloping blindly in circles across the desert, letting your emotions get the better of you.
>And before you can help her, you have to help yourself.
>You’ve been out in the sun for hours, flying and running and shouting.
>You’re feeling weak, sick, sore, and disoriented.
>Your medical training asserts itself: first things first, hydrate yourself and cool off.
>You hobble over to a nearby ledge. The afternoon sun is angled just enough for it to cast some shade to lie in. You give it a few swishes with your tail to clear out any lurking sandipedes or other creepy crawlies, then gently lower yourself down.
>Water comes next. Slow, measured mouthfuls. Too much at once and your body won't absorb it all. It can even cause damage.
>Then it's time to clean and bandage your wounds. They're nothing serious, a few scrapes and bruises, all superficial. The pain has already subsided to a mere background ache.
>Then more water. You’ve been sweating horrendously all afternoon, so it’s important you re-hydrate.
>You dig out a bruised apple from the depths of your saddlebags. You didn’t think you’d be out in the desert so long, so this is the only snack you brought. But it's still a pleasant treat, and it's important to keep up your energy.
>You’re feeling much better by the time you finish it.
“Alrighty then.”
>No more tantrums or needless risks.
>You’re a Royal Guard, and a fellow Guard is in danger.
>You’ll do what you have to do, no matter how unpleasant.
“So, I guess my options are: do I keep looking by myself, or do I go back to town and get help?”
>Both are quite tempting. You hate the idea of leaving Glacier out here alone, but you also trust the power of teamwork and friendship. With more ponies searching, you’d be sure to find her sooner, right?
“Buuut… how long will that take? It’s like an hour or two to Hoofrest, maybe half that if I fly a bit. But there’s probably not enough ponies there for a search party... So another couple of hours to Tranquility Springs…”
>You look up at the sun. It’s still early afternoon, but the shadows are starting to grow.
“...Even if I flew all the way - which I probably can’t, and *definitely* shouldn’t - there’s no way I could round up a search party and make it back before nightfall.”
>You’re no expert but you’re pretty sure it’ll be much harder to find Glacier at night.
>Not only that, but there’s still the shadow monster out here, and the Dust Devils.
>A picture of a dark, roaring wall of sand flashes to mind. Your wings ruffle instinctively at the memory.
>Is it even safe to bring a search party out here? You’d be putting even more ponies in danger.
“On the other hoof, I suppose that applies to me, too. Staying out here with no backup is risky. Shadow monsters, sandipedes, dehydration, rocks… And I guess if something happens to me, there’ll be nopony to help Glacier. Buuut, on the *other* other hoof, if it’s so risky can I really just leave her by herself for so long? Heat stroke can set in in just a few hours... Aauugh, why is this so hard?!”
>Why couldn’t the Dust Devil have grabbed you instead?
>You’re just a private. A grunt.
>You’re not supposed to make decisions.
>Normally when you get stuck with a really hard problem, you rely on your friends or coworkers. But that’s not an option this time.
>Or… maybe it is?
>You recall the speech given by Princess Twilight at your class’s graduation.
>You might not be able to speak to your friends right now…
“But... I can have faith in them.”
>You slowly rise to your hooves, determination building within.
“I… I can’t help you right now, Glacier, but I can trust you. You’re tough, you’re smart, you’re a big scary monster hunter! You’ll be ok until I get back, I’m sure of it!”
>You have faith, too, that your friends the good ponies of Hoofrest and Tranquility Springs will be there for you. That together you can find Glacier without putting any other ponies at risk.
>It's decided, then.
>The Magic of Friendship always steers you right.
>Confidently, with a small smile on your face, you start marching north up the hill.
>You feel reinvigorated (if still a little sore and stiff).
>At the summit you pause. Glance over your shoulder.
>The desert continues south, rows of hills piling up higher and higher until they reach the mountains. The nearest hill just a few hundred hooves away.
>You can't stop the thought creeping into your mind: “What if she’s just over that next hill? If you don’t check now, she could be dead by the time you return.”
>Without any conscious thought you’ve turned around, taken a half step back the way you came.
“No.”
>You screw your eyes shut, pressing your wings tightly against your sides.
“Stop it, Private Punch. That kind of thinking’s just gonna drive you crazy. Or get you killed. Or drive you crazy *then* get you killed. Just… complete your mission. It’s the best chance Glacier’s got.”
>The thought steadies you, but only a little. The temptation to stop and check just one more hill continues its siren song in the back of your mind.
>You take a deep breath, turn around, and continue marching down the hill.
>Keep your mind on what you have to do next.
>Get to Tranquility Springs. Talk to the sheriff, round up a search party. Send a distress message to the nearest Royal Guard outpost. Maybe one to Canterlot too, in case Appleloosa’s detachment is still MIA. 
>Stop at Hoofrest on the way. Will need to rest and resupply, and let the locals know what happened.
>And hey, maybe Glacier will find her way back on her own, in which case Hoofrest is the first place she’d look for you. She may even be there now!
>You know you shouldn’t push your aching body any more, but you can’t resist one last flight. A final look around the desert, and the promise of arriving at Hoofrest that much sooner; it's gotta be worth the discomfort.
>Slowly, stiffly, favouring your left wing as much as you can, you flap your way up out of the dust bowl.
>There’s a deep seated, pulsing ache at the base of your right wing, and your left is starting to cramp up from overuse.
>But you’re up here now, and can hopefully glide from thermal to thermal with relative ease.
>Ahead of you lies a small, irregular jumble of tiny squares: Hoofrest.
>You angle towards it, and cast an eye over the desert one last time.
>No Dust Devils.
>No mysterious figure.
>No Glacier.
“Just hang on, Glace. I’ll be right back. With friends.”

8
>The dark tunnel flashes cyan as you float the last hoofguard into place.
>If you’re going to go poking about in an unknown creature’s den, you’re going to do it properly.
>First thing to do is suit up.
>You want to be protected as soon as possible, in case anything dangerous comes wandering while you’re still getting ready.
>You made sure to shake out each piece of armour before putting it on, mindful of Punch’s earlier adventure with the Sandipede.
>You also gave your gambeson a quick dip in the pool to wash out the sweat and stench.
>It feels a lot heavier, but it’s pleasantly cool against your fur.
>Next up is weapon check.
>Your greatsword floats over and emerges easily from its scabbard. Good, good.
>Hasn’t been damaged by the day’s adventures, nor jammed in place by crusty sand.
>Last thing you want is to try to draw your sword in an emergency only for it to get stuck.
>You resheath the blade and strap it across you back.
>Most Royal Guards have little need of weapons in their day to day duties, and so keep their swords concealed beneath their armour.
>Helps maintain the friendly public image.
>Your own sword is much too long for that, but that’s ok.
>Parks and Wilderness Guard interact with civilians less than most. And when you do, it’s often helpful to put on a bit of a show of force.
>Show them that the - how did Punch put it? - “big scary monster hunters” are here to save the day.
>Hence why a lot of PWGs have oversized weapons.
>Of course, there's a practical side too:
>When dealing with some of Equestria's nastier inhabitants (a certain hydra springs to mind), you generally want your weapons to provide as much reach and power as possible.
>Still, you do keep a smaller blade in your armour’s weapon compartment: a utility knife.
>Endlessly useful for outdoors work and, with a stick and bit of rope, can be turned into an impromptu spear.
>A lightweight, versatile backup weapon.
>You draw it with a hoof and hold it up for inspection.
>In your opinion, too many Guard unicorns rely exclusively on magic.
>While it may be acceptable in some posts, at the PWG you train to use your hooves and mouths too.
>The job can get pretty physical sometimes, stomping around through the dense bush or wrangling ornery jackalopes.
>You wouldn’t want to be rendered completely useless by something as minor as a bump to the horn.
>Satisfied with the knife’s condition, you resheath it manually and turn to the rest of your gear.
>Which is currently strewn all about the floor.
>The aftermath of your desperate rummaging for a water purifier earlier.
>You quickly and efficiently pack it up, taking stock as you go.
>One small spool of rope, thin but strong enough to hold your weight.
>(If you ever go marching through the desert with Punch again, you might just tie the two of you together so you don’t lose her again.)
>One waterproof envelope. Inside are a map of southern Equestria (not detailed enough for your liking), a notebook (with your meager notes on the investigation), a compass, and a pencil.
>One medical kit, including a few potion flasks. All still intact.
>You’d hope so, too, considering how much they cost.
>Specially built to be more compact and rugged than your typical alchemists’ flasks.
>Four bars of long life rations. Basically trail mix, but stamped into shape and somehow devoid of flavour.
>Your stomach noisily informs you it doesn’t care about flavour, and that you haven’t eaten since brunch.
>Obligingly, you unwrap a bar and start to munch on it while continuing to pack.
“Blech.”
>You scrunch your nose at the morsel. Compared to the rich flavours of this morning’s toasted sandwich, it’s like eating gravel.
>But food is food, and you need to keep your energy up.
>Especially with night approaching.
>Deserts get cold; you’ll need the calories.
>Maybe later you’ll try some of the wild plants you passed on your way down here.
>Bland and not terribly filling as a rule, but you don’t know how long you’ll be stuck out here.
>Better to live off the land where you can, and try to ration your rations.
“Heheh. Ration your rations.”
>Clearly you should have been a comedian. Significantly lower chance of being abducted by sand demons.
>Your smirk turns into a grimace as you absentmindedly take another bite.
"Bleargh."
>Significantly lower chance of having to eat rations, too.
>Alright, back to inventory.
>Next up is your gem pouch.
>You still have one remaining aquamarine (enchanted with a water purification spell), one fire ruby (instant campfire), one sunstone (illumination), and two thunder quartzes (signal flares) - all in separate, magically isolated compartments.
>Wait-
“I forgot the damn flares!”
>You slap a hoof to your forehead.
>You should have sent up a flare immediately after the Dust Devil attack!
>You start to pace about the room, tail twitching.
>You’ve seen thunder quartz flares in action before. A reverse gravity enchantment sends the stone flying when activated. A few seconds later, some sort of pegasus magic causes it to vapourize into an artificial cloud, illuminated from within by flashes of rainbow lightning.
>You’re not much of a spellcaster, but you’re assured it’s all simple, low power magic. Makes them very reliable and long lasting. In calm weather the distinctive shimmering cloud can last for days, though the light show fades out after only a few minutes.
>If only you’d thought to use one!
>Even in the middle of the bright desert, it would have been visible for miles.
>Fruit would have seen it and come flying!
>You could have been rescued by now!
>You draw in a deep breath, ready to shout in frustration!
>Your hoof brushes against a small stone.
>It clatters away into the darkness, the tiny noise echoing loudly.
>You pause, lungs still full.
>...This isn't the time or place for shouting, a small part of you insists.
>You'd alert any nearby creatures, putting yourself in needless danger. You should be better than that.
>You've already made enough mistakes for one day.
>Slowly you deflate.
>You sigh, and step over to the pool.
>Leaning downing, you scoop up some of the cool water, splashing across your head and neck.
>It helps.
>As your frustration drains away, reason starts to reassert itself.
>Getting all worked up again isn’t going to help. What’s done is done.
>Besides, if you were so addled by the heat that you forgot your own equipment, then you probably couldn’t have stayed out there much longer anyway.
>While you *may* have been rescued, waiting would have been a dangerous gamble.
>Especially since there was no sign of Punch anyway, who ought to have been visible for miles herself.
>Odds are nopony would have seen the flare, and by the time you’d given up on waiting you’d have been too overheated to make it to shelter.
>You shake your head, water spraying from your muzzle.
“Never mind. Just… focus on the task at hoof.”
>You stuff the gem pouch into your saddlebag, vowing to remember it next time.
>You’ll see about sending up a signal flare soon, but first you have to find somewhere safe to wait.
>The faint odour of blood and decay are an ever present reminder of just how little you know about this place.
>It’s quiet down here, but you’ve barely explored the main tunnel, let alone any of the side passages. Who knows how many creatures use this pool as their watering hole?
>Speaking of which, the last item to pack is your canteen.
>Normally you’d have a cloak or poncho too, but you figured you wouldn’t need one for day trips in the desert.
>You might end up regretting that decision real soon.
>Hefting your canteen with a hoof, it feels about half full.
“Hmm...”
>Is it worth using your remaining purifier to top it up?
>If there *is* something dangerous living down here, you might have to leave in a hurry.
>Then who knows when you’ll next find water?
>But it is your *last* purifier. Once that’s gone, you’ll either have to find running water, or boil it.
>You finish off your ration bar as you deliberate. (Resigned to the blandness at this point.)
>It’s risky either way, but you decide to save the purifier for the time being.
>It might be egotistical of you, but you *think* you can handle most wildlife you’re likely to run into.
>And if not, well, you’ve already found water once; hopefully it wasn’t just a fluke.
>(Something vaguely bothers you about that thought, but you can’t quite put your hoof on it.)
>Shaking your head, you drape the canteen over your neck and take a quick sip to wash away the last of the ration taste.
>And with that, you’re ready for adventure!
>Well, not quite.
>After guzzling all that water earlier, nature is calling.
>Insistently.
>Plus, you need to make sure you have a line of retreat. You more or less stumbled down here in a haze, after all.
>You should memorize the way out, in case you need to make a hasty exit.
>The opening you originally entered from is just a few hooves away. You trot over and inspect it.
>It’s a dusty slope about one pony length wide. It doesn't really have a floor to speak of, the walls simply narrowing until they meet up, but in a few places the rock has broken away, forming irregular steps.
>It’s pretty steep, but you’re a mountain mare.
>You leap up easily, agile as any goat.
>The passage curves and widens as it rises, the temperature rising along with it.
>A few broken rocks and loose pebbles litter the path, but it’s otherwise quite smooth.
>This whole place is likely a funnel for floodwaters.
>The pool below would be the remains of the last flood, however many months ago it swept through.
>You continue climbing, the air quickly heating up as you near the surface.
>You’re glad for the still-wet gambeson keeping you cool.
>Soon the high walls part, and you emerge into a familiar shallow ravine, painted red by a magnificent sunset.
>Directly ahead of you the horizon is a blinding band of brilliant orange - the molten heart of a furnace, poured over the dark mountaintops.
>From there, the vast expanse overhead fades from vivid scarlet to violet to darkest blue.
>A few distant clouds catch the last rays of the sun, glowing a shocking pink.
>Even in a place as inhospitable as this, Equestria never ceases to be breathtaking.
>Despite the obvious differences, you’re reminded of home. Of the harsh beauty of the frozen north.
>If you underestimate them, the mountains will kill you just as surely as any desert.
>Yet they’re also the home of some of the most spectacular sights you’ve ever seen.
>You see that same contrast here:
>Beauty and danger.
>Serenity and awe.
>You find yourself starting to appreciate the desert.
>Just a little.
>Grudgingly.
>At this point your bladder interrupts, stating that for the record it doesn’t appreciate the view, and it *definitely* doesn’t appreciate the delay.
>You quickly scoot behind some bushes a little ways off to the side.
>After taking care of business, you return to the main path and look east again, admiring the sunset.
>Wait, east?
>The sun sets in the *west.*
>The Macintosh mountain range looms just a few miles south of you. This other smaller range is on their left, and thus definitely to the east.
>Despite the fact that the sun just set behind it.
>And it’s definitely setting, not rising. Air’s still hot from the heat of the day, and you’re pretty sure it’s gotten darker since you stepped out here.
“What in Celestia’s name…?”
>Ok, remember your equipment this time. Your sense of direction is usually fine, but you *do* have an actual compass.
>You quickly float the containing envelope out from the depths of your saddlebags, and bring the compass up to bear.
>The needle spins, wobbles, and eventually settles.
>The sun *is* in the west, right where it should be. Good, good.
>Villains haven’t hijacked the sun while you were gone.
>(Again.)
>But... the Macintosh range is to the north??
>It’s supposed to be to the south!
>When did the mountains move!?
“What is going o- Oh. *Ohhh.*”
>You sit down, feeling faint as realisation dawns.
>The mountains didn’t move.
>*You* did.
>The damn Dust Devil moved you to *the other side of the mountains.*
>Huh.
“Huh.”
>You’re officially outside of Equestria.
>With shaky hooves, you take a large gulp from your canteen.
>You wish you had something harder to drink.
>The water doesn’t quite go down right.
>You splutter and cough, dribbling a bit down your chest.
>A few seconds of painful hacking and wheezing do a great job of snapping you out of your shock.
“Ok. *cough* Ok.”
>You wipe your mouth on the back of a hoof and pull out your map.
>The area south of the Macintosh range is mainly restricted to the margins.
>A large, empty place, drawn in even less detail than the rest of the already vague map.
>A single ominous label fills most of the space:
“‘Badlands.’ Well, I suppose that’s accurate. Not particularly helpful though.”
>You’ve heard of the Badlands, of course.
>Not technically part of Equestria, but a variety of dangerous creatures are known to live within.
>Since they tend to creep into Equestria from time to time, you’ve read about them as part of your PWG training.
>You look up from your map and face the dark, narrow crevice leading back down into the ravine.
>You gulp instinctively.
>Suddenly you’re a little less confident in your ability to handle any wildlife you run into.
>Alright, time for some serious reevaluation.
>You take a seat and set aside your helmet, giving your thick, bushy mane room to breathe.
>(Amazing that it can still be so hot out here at this time of day.)
>So: you’re south of the Macintosh ranges.
>On the plus side, this explains why you couldn’t find Punch earlier.
>She’s probably fine; there just happens to be a kilometers wide rock wall between you.
>On the minus side, you’re not lost hours from civilization.
>You’re lost *days* from civilization.
>The map shows a route back to Equestria if you travel east far enough, where the Macintosh range finally ends.
>But without more detailed information, for all you know that's a week of travel through nonstop desert.
>You’d also be traveling *away* from any potential rescue efforts.
>Not a great option, all things considered.
>Lowering the map, your gaze turns northward.
>The Macintosh mountains glower back.
>A massive, jagged wall, black and menacing red in the sunset. Standing between you and civilization.
>But you’re a mountain mare.
>The looming slopes don’t intimidate you.
>Even without equipment, crossing them is not completely out of the question.
>That said, you know better than most:
>If you underestimate them, mountains will kill you just as surely as any desert.
>So, also not a great option. Let’s call that Plan B.
>But what’s Plan A?
>Thunder quartz flares are good, but not visible-over-a-mountain good.
>You could wait here for rescue, but it could be days or weeks before anypony thinks to look this far south.
>(If they ever do at all.)
>And you still don’t know if you *can* wait here. Mysterious, possibly predatory wildlife, and all that.
>Brings you back full circle, you suppose.
>Before you can make any long term plans, you really need to know if this place is safe. To stay the night, at the very least.
>It’s been a long day, and the prospect of exploring dark caves is not terribly appealing.
>But trying to find another shelter, in this vast wasteland, at night? Even less so.
>There’s still a number of concerns on your mind, but the last of the daylight is fading fast.
>Better to ponder them *after* you’ve established a base of operations.
“Alright, Glace. Enough dilly-dallying. Let’s get this over with.”
>You replace your helmet and return the map to your bag.
>Your knife levitates out in its place, your sword being too large for the confined spaces below.
>Quietly as you can, you begin creeping down the dark passage.
>The walls close in on either side. The narrowing slit of sky provides little illumination.
>With a thought, you force more magic through your horn.
>The tunnel lights up a murky green. Every bump and crack and pore is cast into sharp relief, minute shadows shifting with each step.
>Despite your best efforts, the sounds of your descent echo ahead of you: metallic clanks and scrapes against the cold stone.
>You glumly accept that, between the light and the noise, you’re not likely to take anycreature by surprise.
>After a few minutes you reach the pool chamber.
>It’s just as empty as you left it. 
>Glancing both ways, you decide to head right, leaving the water behind and following the main passage as it climbs uphill.
>You figure it should just lead back to the surface, so it’ll be an easy path to check off.
>It’s also another potential escape route, and so worth scouting.
>Soon enough you’re proven right: after a few turns, the passage widens into a small valley.
>Some spindly, sweet smelling silhouettes resolve into bushes and even a few short trees.
>Good find.
>There might be enough food here to last a week or two.
>Wild plants tends to make even ration bars seem tasty by comparison, but beggars can’t be choosers.
>As you return to the pool chamber the fresh scent of plants fades behind you, replaced by that faint reek of rot.
>You follow it, pausing to sniff this way and that as you slowly advance.
>The watercourse winds along gently, the dark pool sometimes widening, sometimes narrowing, but steadily rising.
>Soon water fills the entire passage, and you have to cling to the sloped sides to avoid it.
>Now and again you pass an opening or small side passage, mostly climbing up and out.
>At each you stop, smell the air, listen, and move on.
>Until you reach a split where the odour is noticeably stronger:
>Rot, and ash, and musk.
>You wait a moment at the entrance, ears perked.
>The opening is quite small; no more than a ragged fissure in the wall, widened and smoothed by years of flooding but still uncomfortably narrow.
>It’s just as silent as the others.
>With a grunt, you lift yourself in.
>The tunnel climbs steeply, but it’s mercifully short. You can see the evening sky opening up just a few hooves above you.
>After some not-so-stealthy clambering, you emerge into a dusty bowl five or six pony lengths across.
>The rock walls overhang slightly, rising a few meters before pulling away to reveal the reddish-purple sky. A gravelly slope to the right leads up and out of sight.
>The source of the burning smell is immediately apparent:
>In the center of the bowl is a ring of blackened rocks surrounding a mound of ash.
>A campfire!
>It’s long dead, but the sight is reassuring - it’s the first trace of civilization you’ve seen since entering the Badlands.
>And if somecreature else can survive here, that’s a good sign you might be able to, too.
>Still, you proceed with caution.
>There can’t be too many other ponies lost in the Badlands, but you have heard stories of griffon bandits and changeling rebels calling the place home.
>They’re unlikely to be particularly welcoming towards a Royal Guard.
>Scanning the rest of the area, you see a crude bed of leaves and grass tucked beneath an overhang. An odd, musky smell emanates from it.
>On the opposite side of the bowl, in a shallow pit, lies a small pile of bones and gore - a midden.
>In the twilight you can more clearly smell it than see it. The source of the rotting stench.
>A small cloud of flies disperses as you approach. Your tail flicks automatically, driving away any insects which fly too close.
>A few other small mounds, covered over with sand, indicate previous middens. The inhabitant has been here a while, then.
>You begin to telekinetically shift through the muck, professional curiosity having long since replaced revulsion for such grisly tasks.
>Charred bones. None quite as large as pony bones, encouragingly.
>Intestines, scraps of meat, and other offal. Not the most diligent eater. Possible evidence that the creature is primarily a predator, rather than a scavenger. Weaker digestive system can’t take advantage of all the odds and ends.
>Scales, but little fur. Not too surprising - you imagine reptiles would be more common than mammals around here.
>Fruit rinds? Ok, an omnivore, then. Or facultative carnivore. Prey is probably quite scarce, so even a predator might supplement its diet with plants.
>You set the foul mess back down and step away, still thinking.
>Off the top of your head, dragons or griffons might fit the bill. Intelligent, independent predators.
>Though surely a dragon wouldn’t bother with a campfire?
>And you’re no expert, but it doesn’t really *smell* very griffon-y down here. No loose feathers, either.
>A diamond dog, maybe? You can’t see any claw marks or signs of digging...
>Quite the mystery.
>You'd like to stay and investigate further, but you really should check the perimeter first.
>Make sure nothing’s sneaking up on you while you poke around.
>Now that you’re outside again with enough light to see by (if just barely), you shift your knife to your mouth and extinguish your horn.
>No point making yourself more visible than necessary.
>The path to the right passes beneath a narrow stone arch before climbing up and widening into a jagged, uneven slope, dotted with boulders and a few small shrubs.
>The top of the slope is still some distance away. By your reckoning, from there you’d be out of the valley in which the water passage runs through, and would have a pretty good view of the whole area.
>Quietly and cautiously, you sneak your way uphill, the rough terrain posing little challenge for you.
>A few loose rocks are dislodged by your passage, but it can’t be helped - lighting your horn to see better would be even more of a giveaway.
>You’re halfway up the hill when another clatter nearby gives you pause.
>You didn’t *feel* anything shift underhoof that time.
>You wait, ears straining.
>There!
>A soft crunch, then another.
>Not too near, but not too far either.
>Instinct screams at you to flee, but curiosity and training overrule it.
>Quietly as you can, you duck into the shadow of a nearby overhang - not much defense against a predator’s sense of smell, but it’ll give you a clear view of whatever’s coming.
>You’re better off knowing what you’re dealing with, than running away blindly without a plan.
>Or so you hope.
>The faint noises - hoofsteps, perhaps - continue steadily, sounding heavier and heavier.
>Your hoof inches towards your greatsword.
>Craning your neck, you can just make out the top of the slope without exposing yourself.
>A silhouette slowly rises into view, not thirty meters from you.
>As it crests the hill, the last light of the sunset falls on it, illuminating it.
>It takes you a moment to register what you’re seeing.
“Oh buck me, is that what I think it is?”

9
Work In Progress