*****8*****
The fluffies in the den watched in shock as Shell and Elsie were dragged out of the den. They cowered as they listened to Elsie’s scream of agony, and they flinched when it was suddenly cut off.
“Nu wike scawy noisies!” moaned Nibbles. “Make scawy noisies go ‘way!”
“Nu wike poopies! Nu smeww pwetty!” added Cupid, waving her front hoof at the brown spume on the floor and wall of the den behind Nibbles. Her foals were either ambling about or sitting down and crying as she tried to restrain them. The other fluffies were sobbing and huddled against the den walls in twos or threes, breathing in the smells of terror and shit.
Rusty had been standing in the breach, trying not to shake with fear, and when the squealing and great human foot-treads had stopped echoing down the channel, he waited a long time before creeping up into the trench. He saw nothing but darkening sky, drag marks, and splatters of blood in the soil. The humans were gone, but he knew in his heart that they would return. He chugged around and back down into the den.
“Hoomans get Waggy an’ Sheww an’ Ewwsie an’ gif foweva sweepies. Hoomans nu… nu wike fwuffies. Hoomans come an’ huwt fwuffies an gif biggest owwies. Hoomans wiww come back, huwt aww fwuffies. Kiww aww fwuffies. Safe pwace nu safe nu moar.”
“Bwiget haf hooman daddeh. Daddeh dummy, say nu can haf babbehs. Bwiget wiww haf bestest babbehs evew!” bleated the pink mare.
Wendy was looking at her mate fearfully and seemed to understand what Rusty was saying. She looked at her two foals and then looked around at the walls of the den where she had been raised since she was a tiny foal. Big, sturdy Jumper looked back at his mate, who was still quelling her three little foals.
Rusty spoke louder. “Fwuffies nu can wive in safe pwace nu moar. Hoomans wiww gif owwies. Fwuffies haf go an’ find nuu safe pwace.”
Little Cricket’s teary eyes shot wide. “W-w-weave… weave safe pwace?” Nuuuu! Cwicket wuv safe pwace! Wuv safe pwace! Nu wan’ weave!”
Rusty looked sadly down at the small unicorn. “Hoomans wiww come an’ gif aww fwuffies wongest sweepies. Nu can hewp. Wusty fink since bwite time dat hoomans wiww fin’ fwuffies, huwt fwuffies. Now dey come an’ kiww aww fwuffies wha nu in safe pwace. Fwuffies nu can stay in safe pwace foweva. Haf go make poopies, get nummies. Wusty see hooman metaw fingy get fwuffies hu go outies. Hoomans see fwuffies wiv in safe pwace.”
“Nibbews nu wan’ weave! Nu wan scawwy outies!”
“Cwicket wuv Safe Pwace!” sobbed the despondent little filly.
“Jumpa wiww hewp,” said the brave stallion, looking levelly into Rusty’s eyes and puffing his cheeks out in the face of his fear and apprehension. “Jumpa nu wan’ fwuffies be kiww o’ haf huwties. Jumpa see dat hoomans fin’ safe pwace.” Hearing his trusty earthie friend say it, Rusty could hear that it was the truth, but he had no idea where his little herd could go.
The next morning, the fluffies woke up hungry, and finding that Bridget had devoured most of the stashed fodder, they tried to graze on the dry-edged leaves and tough grasses that grew around the old chicken coop. It was poor food for fluffies that had been accustomed to nightly deliveries of riches. After they ate, Rusty did his best to lead them off away from the garden center and the busy street, hoping against hope that he could help his friends against this catastrophe so great it had even destroyed The Rules. His special friend, Wendy, their two young, Jumper and Cupid with their trio of foals riding her back, pregnant Bridget, Nibbles and Cricket were all crying as they left their den for good.
Driven by Rusty’s conviction that houses and cars were dangerous and could disgorge a human at any time, the little tribe of biotoys wandered north in the breezy cold into a semi-rural neighborhood. By noon they had walked farther than any of them could remember having gone in a day, trying to hide from passing trucks and skittering aimlessly from hedge to hedge. Fences tore tufts of fluff from their coats and cold gravel scuffed their leathery hooves.
“Nuuuuu,” moaned Bridget for the fiftieth time as Jumper butted her hindquarters with his head in an effort to shove her up the side of a ditch by a gravel lane. “Bwiget wan’ haf westies an’ nummies! Bwiget nu wan’ moar walkies!” Lazy and full of complaints at the best of times, the pregnant unicorn was tired and hungry, and her stubby legs were half-subsumed by her gravid belly. She would break down every thirty yards to cry, complain and scold the other fluffies. “WAN’ BWANKIE! WAN’ HAF WESTIES AN’ SWEEPIES AN’ NU MOAR WAWKIES! BUUU HUUU HUUU!”
Her mood was contagious, and the little squadron of fluffies made less and less progress between crying jags and tantrums. After they wandered to the end of the next fenced lot they were confronted with a broad, brown field with a small copse of fir trees in the middle of it. Nibbles’ rump plopped down into the gravel and he rubbed his front hooves in his eyes. “Haf tiewdies! Nu wike walkies! Wan’ nuu s-s-safe pwace! Hoofies huwties! Huwties!” bawled the white fluffy. Cupid’s eyes began to fill with tears as she looked at him.
“Kewpid haf tiewdies tuu. Kewpid babbehs nee’ miwkies, pwease nu moar wawkies.” she begged, turning her weeping eyes to Rusty.
Rusty sighed. “Otay, fwuffies go tu twees… fwuffies wiww haf westies undew twees.” he nodded in the direction of the little copse of firs. The fluffies trudged their way there, the rough ground and scattered, dead scrub making this last 100 yards of their journey cruelly difficult. The bright little creatures filed into the needle-bedded space between the three trunks and flopped down in various states of fatigue.
Rusty sat down between the boughs and looked doubtfully out into the field. Behind him, the fluffies settled in: Bridget was exhausted and angry, and would squabble at any other fluffy who came too close. Cupid, still sniffling, rolled onto her side and held her rear leg up so two of her foals could nurse. She held the third between her stubby front hooves and cooed to it while it fussed. Her mate, Jumper, was gamely trying to rally the fluffies.
“Cowt an’ fiwwy wan’ hewp? Hewp wook fo’ nummies!” he said to Rusty’s two offspring. The young fluffies seemed excited and a little scared, but were trying to put a brave face on.
“Mummah come wif fo wook nummies?” said Feather, reaching out with a timid hoof to prod Rusty’s mate, Wendy. Wendy stirred and got to her feet.
“Otay, babbeh, Mummah hewp.” she said, beaming down at her little filly.
The four fluffies bumbled out from under the green needles, and saw Cricket sitting a few yards away, hunched over and crying gently. Seeing her in distress, the two young fluffies jogged over and embraced her.
“Wha wong, Cwicket?” asked Jumper
“Poopies awe meanies! Poopies huwt poopie pwace!” The young mare had unwisely eaten a share of dry grass, and the sharp blades of cellulose were making their presence known. Once evacuated, she turned around and glared down at the two dry wads she had produced. “Nu huwt fwuffy! Nu be meanies! Yu nu smeww pwetty!” she scolded them, puffing her cheeks out threateningly.
Jumper tried to distract the tempermental young mare. “We wan’ fin’ num nums! Yu hewp?” Cricket agreed and waddled after the little team. They spread out to browse for anything edible. After a few minutes, the little colt called out.
“Mummah! Mummah! Winky find nummies! Bewwies aw gud nummies!” said Winky with his mouth full. He was prancing cheerfully around a small, woody bush laden with tough little red berries, which he was plucking off one by one and chomping happily. The rest of the fluffies ambled over, chattering to each other.
Wendy stripped a handful of berries off the plant and chewed them cheerfully, the red juice staining the fluff around her mouth. “Gud cowt babbeh! Mummah happy fo babbeh fin’ nummies! Mummah wuv babbeh an’ gif huggies! Babbeh? Babbeh?” Her expression slowly changed from joy to concern as she saw her male offspring start to shake a little.
“Huuuu… huuuu… nu feaw gud. Nu feaw gud.” said the little red colt. He hung his head and tail, and wavered a little on his legs until he flopped over on his side. “Haf tummeh owwies. Tummeh owwies.” He started chirping in distress.
Wendy waddled over and bent down to sniff at her foal. Feather curled up into a ball and started crying while Jumper and Cricket stood nearby, confused and alarmed. The stricken little foal chirped and mewled, and then suddenly puked up a hefty portion of reddish goo with tiny black seeds floating in it and wiggled his little hooves in the air. He followed up that performance by spewing a similar amount of diarrhea from his hindquarters.
“Nuuu! Babbeh haf sickies! Nu be sickies, babbeh! Mummah gif huggies fo make babbeh nu haf sickies!” bleated the grey earth pony, sitting on her haunches to wrap both her forelegs around her foal. It was then that she started to look queasy. “Wendy nu feaw gud nao. Tummeh haf buwnies! Nu wike tummeh buwnies!” She rolled away from her ill colt and wrapped her legs around her midsection. “Pwease nu gif owwies, tummeh! Pwease nu huwt fwuffy! Fwuffy nee’ gif huggies to sickies babbeh!” she begged.
Jumper was staring hard at the crimson jelly that the foal had coughed up. “Jumpa fink bewwies make sickies. Jumpa fink bewwies nu gud fo’ fwuffies.” he said seriously. Cricket looked up at him, and then looked at the berries with a fearful expression. She didn’t want to get sick!
Despite being given frantic hugs by his mother, Winky didn’t seem to be recovering quickly, so the little gang of fluffies called an early end to the foraging expedition to get him to safety. They burst into the pine-scented space between the evergreens with the ill foal on his mother’s broad back. The mare had recovered a bit but still had a worried, haunted expression on her face.
*****9*****
To Rusty, it was as if his family had left one second and returned the next in dire straits. Jumper, Cricket and his special friend burst into the clear space under the trees with his filly trailing afterwards, all sqawking and chattering urgently. His drooling, huffing mate fell to her knees and tried to ease Winky off her back, but he had long since outgrown riding his mother and simply slid off onto the bed of pine needles.
“Buu huu huuu! Nu be sickies, babbeh! Mummah gif huggies and wuv su yu nu be sickies!” moaned Wendy, flinging herself down and wrapping her forelimbs around the patient once again.
“Wha happen?” asked Rusty, utterly baffled.
“B-b-babbeh num bewwies… b-b-babbeh num an’ den nu feaw good an’ make sickies and poopies! Huuuu, huuuuuu, nu be sickies babbeh, babbeh!” cried the distraught mare. The little foal was still limp and breathing in short gasps.
“Jumpa fink dat bewwies aww nu gud fo’ fwuffies. Babbeh num wots of bewwies befo’ Jumpa see.” reported the sturdy earthie.
“Bewwies? Bwiget wan’ bewwy num nums! Bwiget wike num bewwy nummies!” observed the pregnant pink mare, coming alert for the first time since she plopped down. Rusty turned and looked at her thoughtfully for a few seconds, then shook his head and turned back to sick little Winky.
“Speshul fwiend, yu stay an’ gif huggies and wuv to babbeh. Otha fwuffies wiww go wook fo’ nummies.” He turned his head away from his sobbing mate and offspring. Jumper wordlessly nuzzled his mate, Cupid, as she lay on the ground with their three foals, and then walked over to Rusty with a serious look on his muzzle. “Nibbews, yu come wiff Wusty an’ wook fo nummies.”
The pale pegasus slowly rose to his feet and shuffled over. “Nibbews haf tiwedies… nu wan’ go wook fo’ nummies. Nu wan’ outies.” he whined.
“Cwicket wiww,” squeaked the young mare. “Cwicket wan’ hewp.”
So the little team of four fluffies left their sick, nursing and pregnant compatriots behind and ranged out into the field to look for anything edible. They fearfully avoided the berry bush, but there was not much else that was still green in the late season. They pulled up what remaining green grasses and still-florid leaves they could and tucked them into their cheek pouches. The sun set, and the night air was just cold enough for them to see their breath when they scuttled back to the little copse.
Bridget, Cupid and Wendy had huddled together for warmth against the biggest trunk.
“Gif nummies? Bwiget wan’ nummies!” bleated the pregnant pink unicorn as she humped and waddled forwards to confront the foraging team. She angled towards little Cricket, hooking one of her hooves over the smaller fluffy’s back to hold her still while scarfing the food from her back. The little unicorn cried in protest.
“Nuuu! Fwuffies haf’ tu shawe nummies! Nu huwt fwuffy!” but the pregnant mare paid no mind and simply kept eating while shoving any other fluffy that approached. Cupid stood up and approached the nummies pile with her three foals trailing after her, chirping and squalling about the unaccustomed cold. After eating his meager pinch, Nibbles was upset to find burrs in his coat, and feebly tried to pull them out before giving up.
“Buuu, huu huuu… haf owwies in fwuff… haf huwties when way down… pwease gif huggies an’ make huwties go ‘way!”
While Jumper tried to strip the burrs out of the crying stallion’s coat, Rusty made sure his family got a portion of food. Wendy was loath to leave the stricken colt alone for too long, and Feather was beside herself with grief at her brother’s condition. The little earth pony colt was weak and feverish, and gritty liquid would drool from his anus periodically, vanishing into the bed of cold pine needles. He lifted his head and tried to eat a little, but it was clear he had no appetite. Rusty’s insides seemed to churn when he gazed down at his worried, huddled family.
“Babbeh haf sickies, buu huu huu… Wendy am bad Mummah.” said Wendy in a low voice. Rusty told her she was a good mother and tried to comfort her. However, his heart sank when his poisoned little colt turned his head up and croaked.
“Wan’… wa-wa… pwea’..” it said in a voice that was mostly breath.
Rusty looked down in pity and horror. He hadn’t seen any water the whole time he had been foraging. He looked at Wendy, who read the fear and confusion playing on her mate’s face and started sobbing.
“Wha’ du? How get wawas fo’ babbeh? Babbeh nee’ wawas.”
“Wusty… Wusty nu know.” They stood in silence until they realized that the colt had fallen asleep, or at least passed out. The pegasus stallion turned to the rest of the fluffies who were already piling up together against the creeping cold. “Fwuffies nu can stay hewe. Nu nummies o’ wawas. Haf to weave in bwite time an’ go fin’ nuu safe pwace. Time fow sweepies.”
The members of his little herd were too tired to complain or protest. They piled up together and went fitfully to sleep, the ones on the outside shivering in the unaccustomed chill breeze.
*****10*****
Rusty started awake. Some fluffy was nudging him in the pre-dawn gloom. He blinked and rose up into a sitting position, but the other fluffy was too close for him to resolve them easily in the blurry light.
“Wha..?”
“Hu-hu-huh, b-b-b-babbeh… babbeh take wongest sweepies, bu hu huuu.”
Rusty realized that it was Wendy, and that her face was wet with tears. She was shuddering.
“Speshul fwiend?” he murmured
“Winky nu bweafe, nu move, buu huu huu, babbeh dead…” blathered the distraught earth pony mare. Rusty finally caught up to what she was saying. He felt as though he had swallowed a cold rock, and all he could think to do was put his front legs around his crying mate and comfort her as she shook and sobbed. The dim light seemed sour and hateful to his eyes as he wept into his partner’s grey fluff.
“Babbeh foweva sweepies… babbeh dead… am wowst mummah evew… babbeh dead…” she mumbled into his chest.
Once she had calmed down a little, he rose to his feet and walked around the fluffpile to where his colt’s corpse lay. Wendy joined him, still sobbing softly and puffing out clouds of warm breath.
“Nu wan’ fiwwy to see cowt make wongest sweepies,” he murmured, “fiwwy be sad, nu undewstan’ wongest sweepies. Wike when Wendy was haf babbehs an’ one babbeh nu wake up.”
Wendy didn’t respond but just stood there shivering and weeping silently. Rusty stooped over and picked up the dead colt by the scruff of his neck, feeling its utter flaccidity, and carried him out into the field with his mate shuffling after him. They were two particolor blobs floating against a dead grey and brown landscape. Once they had trudged a reasonable distance from the little copse, Rusty tried to scrape out a shallow depression in the cold soil. It was rough going, and he had to lay his dead colt’s body down and switch off from front to back hooves to keep scraping. His mate lay down and nuzzled the stiffening corpse, breathing in the fading scent of their offspring.
“Pwease haf wakies, widdle babbeh… pwease nu be foweva sweepies..” she begged, but she knew it was hopeless. Sobbing, she pushed the burgundy body into the tiny trench. Her tears plinked down onto the soil that Rusty was scraping back into place. The fluffies stood and cried together, but suddenly Rusty heard a noise - heavy crunches, jingling sounds and the rumble of distant voices. Out of the dim light, he saw three shapes move into the field - to judge from the nearby plants, two of the shapes were twice as tall as a fluffy pony, but the third was a towering, bipedal figure.
“Hoomans!” he hissed to Wendy. “Hoomans come! Wun to Safe Pwace!” Still obeying The Rules, he and his special friend scampered as quietly as they could back to the little stand of fir trees, back to the pile of their sleeping herdmates. The memory of the old den lay heavy on their frightened minds - there, they could disappear underground and be protected by the timbers and wire of the old chicken coop. Here, all they could do was peep out under the pine boughs or between the trunks and watch the human and the two other creatures - dogs, Rusty now realized - make a slow circuit of the field.
Once well clear of the gravel lane, the human released the dogs from their leashes with a snapping motion. They bounded free, cavorting in circles and whuffing out great clouds of steamy breath. Rusty and Wendy watched them fearfully around the tree trunk, with Rusty making anxious little murmuring noises as he considered what he could do if they came too close. Just by watching them, he could tell that they were faster than any fluffy, and his herd was almost all still asleep.
Suddenly, one of the dogs paused, nose down and obscured by a twiggy, dry bush. His tail wagged, then stopped, then wagged again as he stood erect again, and in his mouth was a little reddish package. It was the just-buried corpse of the colt. The dog pranced about holding it high, as if it were a toy.
“Nuuu! babbeh! babbeh! Munsta nu huwt!!” squealed Wendy, and lumbered to her feet, but she didn’t make it a step before Rusty leapt onto her and pinned her to the ground.
“Nu!” he barked into her ear, “Hoomans get yu! Hoomans an’ munstas kiww you!” She struggled a little, and he dropped his voice and spoke urgently. “babbeh make wongest sweepies! Nu can hewp babbeh! Babbeh dead!”
Rusty listened to his mate sob and moan, and felt her squirm as he held her down, and he kept watching as the two dogs began to sport and play with his offspring’s limp, dirty body. In a flash, the dogs had both siezed one end of the little cadaver and yanked on it a few times before ripping it asunder. It made a horrific midair mess followed by a sizzling splatter. Bellowing and waving his arms, the human scolded the dogs and with some difficulty rounded them up and leashed them, cursing and cursing. He made a grumbling noise of disgust and kicked at the dirt where the dogs had dropped the dead Winky.
“B-b-babbeh..” moaned Wendy, and turned away to bury her face against Jumper’s side in the fluffpile and sob. Rusty watched the human depart with his beasts and joined her, his heart heavy and cold in his chest.
*****11*****
The fluffies rose after the sun had warmed the ground up to a fair degree, but it was a colder, harder morning. They rose with emptier bellies, and were more fearful when they scavenged for their breakfasts in the strange, dry field, and the take was even less satisfying than as before - each fluffy pony got less than a mouthful.
“Weggies huwt,” whined Nibbles, “hoofies haf owwies! Gif huggies, pwease?” Cricket trotted up to embrace him, but broke it off when he shifted position and started sniffing at her hindquarters.
“Whewe bwudda?” peeped little Feather, scampering around the bed of pine needles and looking behind and under every other fluffy.
Rusty saw Wendy’s face sag with grief. “Bwudda go… bwudda go faww away tu wook fo’ num-nums, widdle fiwwy.” she said, her voice cracking a little. “Bwudda be back aftew time, aftew bwite time.”
“Otay,” The little filly seemed to accept this explanation, but she kept tossing her head about as if her sibling would suddenly appear from behind a bush.
The fluffy ponies gave up foraging in the dead field. They were unaccustomed to it anyway, and the field was full of burrs and brambles. Jumper blundered into some standing water in a ditch across the gravel lane, and the fluffies all lined up to slake their thirst on the frigid, muddy puddle that was lined with a thin frame of ice. None of the fluffies except Rusty knew why Wendy burst out crying at the sight. Bridget drank and drank from the puddle, stopping periodically to spit out grit.
“Dummeh wa-was! Nu haff nu-pwetty diwties! Nu wike! Wan’ gud wawas! Hate yu!” she snarled, and then ducked and lapped again, and then smacked at the water with one of her pudgy hooves.
Progress was slower this day: The fluffies were sore and their hooves were scuffed and chapped, and they were further from their last full, rich meal. Their meandering path led generally northward until a screen of trees filled the horizon, which Rusty headed towards. He knew a little about trees: They could provide shelter and concealment, and the humans’ homes and cars would not be found where they were thickest. To him, the standing array of red, gold and brown giants might provide his little herd a place to live. He hurried the little tribe along over their protests, but he was utterly baffled when he reached the wood and found that it marked the path of a little river.
The fluffies stared at the cold, clear water in consternation. There was no chance they could cross - it was plainly deeper than any fluffy could manage and seemed to radiate a deadly chill. The little strip of forest was only about thirty yards deep, and was fairly empty of undergrowth except at the riverbed. It was less exposed than the fields they had been marching through, but he saw nowhere his family and friends could be safe. Worse, the fluffies had been holding up fairly well while on the move, but once he stopped and ceased to lead them forward, they quickly became distracted.
“Babbehs… Babbehs nee’ miwkies… nee’ haf westies…” croaked Cupid. She had been struggling. The foals riding her hips and back were big enough to walk around by themselves, but couldn’t hope to keep pace with the troop of adults. However, they were a serious load for a dam who was exceeding the distance she had ever traveled in a day ten times over. Jumper would try to bear a foal or two while on the move, but it made the little creatures anxious to be away from their mother’s scent, and they would witlessly wiggle and squirm, frequently slipping off.
The earth pony stallion was dependable and brave, but could not ignore the demands of his family. They chirped and squeaked for nourishment as he pulled them off his mate’s back and set them down between her splayed legs. They latched onto her teats and began to rhythmically squish their tiny hooves and suckle. Cupid clutched the third one to her chest and cooed at it in an attempt to get it to stop crying for milk and feebly shoving at her hooves.
“Buu huu huu… hoofies haf huwties..” moaned Nibbles. He walked directly over to Cricket and plopped down on his rump, extending his forelegs towards her for a hug. Somewhat awkwardly, she complied.
“Feew betta, Nibbews,” she said “Nu moar huwties. Huggies make owwies gu ‘way.”
“Cwicket gif gud huggies,” he observed, sliding down her torso a little. “Cwicket am pwetty mawe.” He swung his head to the side and sniffed at the ground where the little purple mare was sitting. “Yu wan’ be speshul fwiend fo’ Nibbews?”
“Nuuu,” said the young mare, pushing at Nibbles’ chest to break the embrace. She trotted deliberately off, putting Cupid’s reclining bulk between her and the despondent white stallion. He hung his head down and sniffled a little.
Wendy slumped down and called her remaining foal over. The big mare wrapped her hoof around the filly and held her tight, sniffling a little herself, while Feather squirmed, still anxious to go search for her wayward brother. At least, thought Rusty, Bridget was too tired to cause trouble. The pregnant pink mare was slumped next to a tree, nodding with fatigue. It seemed like she was more swollen every time he looked at her. Rusty stared into the swift-moving water, wondering which way he should lead his little herd next. Where was their next den? Where would they be safe from the humans, the dogs, the frigid cold?