The fluff-pile stirred as one of the pregnant mares shuffled her way out, nudging and prodding her way past the other fluffies blocking her way.
“Muh… mobe…” She muttered, stil half-asleep. “Soon-mummah nee’ make poopies…”
She waddled from the fluff-pile over to the poopie-place and unceremoniously emptied her guts into it. A few minutes later she was ready to return to the fluff-pile… until she herd something very faint.
“Huh… hep… hewp…” A tiny voice whispered.
“Who dat?!” She asked suddenly.
“SSH!” The fluff-pile hissed. “Smawty wan sweepy! Shaddup dummeh!”
The mama lowered her head, cowering from Smarty’s fury, and waddled in the direction of the sound, making her way towards the large gap in the foliage that opened onto the river.
“Hewwo?” She called quietly.
“Hewp… hewp fwuh… fwuffeh… hep… hewp…” The tiny voice continued to call, whimpering and mewling with every whispered word.
“Who dat?” She whispered, stepping through the gap and perching (nervously) by the river’s edge.
“Hewp… pwease… nee’… hep… munst… munstuhh… muns…”
Mama couldn’t understand what he was saying. She was about to call out again, when suddenly something swooped down from above and grabbed her, slapping something sticky over her mouth. She flailed and struggled but to no avail, as she felt herself carried away from the safety of the herd and the fluff-pile.
Buck crept back across the river, carrying his prize under his arm. Not just any fluffy, but a pregnant one. That was like bonus points! He stepped back into his and Ted’s camp, grinning with pride. Their plan had worked perfectly.
Ted had grabbed their captive fluffy and, rather than peel the tape off completely, they had simply cut a line through it where the fluffy’s lips were, allowing it to mewl out it’s exhausted, miserable cries for help. Ted had kept a firm grip of it while Buck waded over to the other side of the river and waited for another victim to get a little too curious. As luck would have it, it was a pregnant one, and fortunately not the Smarty.
Their captive hadn’t needed any prompting, as soon as it realised it could make noise through the tape again, it began crying as hard as it could for help… but it’s tiny, starving, exhausted body could only produce the smallest of whimpers, which were only audible to the mama thanks to the wind carrying the sound across the river.
“We did it!” Buck announced, sitting down and beginning to tape up the mama’s legs and butthole just like he’d down with the first one.
“That worked great, Buck!”
“I know, it was perfect! Here, shut up that one, will you?” He said, passing Ted the roll of tape. Ted quickly tore off a length and slapped it across the starving fluffy’s face, not bothering to look where it had landed, just so long as the fluffy was quiet again.
“So, all in all that’s three down.” Buck whispered, putting the pregnant fluffy next to the starving one. “Three fluffies gone, that leaves at least fifteen, give or take. We’ll see how they react in the morning, then we’ll-”
Buck suddenly stopped. Both he and Ted heard something. A tiny wailing shriek that was carried all the way across the river to their camp.
“HEWP!” It cried. “HEWP MUMMAH! BIGGEST POOPIES! HEWP! HEWP!!!”
Buck and Ted grabbed their binoculars and bolted back over to the bank, crashing down on the ground without a care in the world. Fortunately the feral herd was completely distracted and didn’t see or hear them at all. It was still dark, and they were completely focused on something else.
One of the pregnant mamas was giving birth.
“MOBE, DUMMEHS!” Smarty shouted, kicking and hoofing various fluffies to get them to break up the fluff-pile. “SOON-MUMMAH BECOMING NAO-MUMMAH! GE’ BACK! GIB SPACIES!”
The herd obeyed, backing up and clearing a large space around the screaming, wheezing mare. Her bright yellow coat made her perfectly visible in the pale moonlight of the night, as did the Smarty’s violent red fluff. Buck and Ted watched as he paced back and forth, huffing and snorting and 'harrumph’ing while the mama squeaked and gasped her way through giving birth.
Despite the dim light, every disgusting detail was visible. Ted had been told by Randy Rogers in his class that babies came out of girl’s butts, and he hadn’t believed it at first… but now, seeing the mama squeeze a foal out of what looked like her butt… he was starting to wonder if Randy Rogers had been right all along.
One after another, the foals were squeezed out of mama’s rear, glistening with fluids and chirping, only seconds after being born and already wanting food and hugs. By the end there was a total of six foals, a huge litter and one that left the mama near exhaustion.
But at long last, it was done. There was a pile of six chirping, sticky foals heaped at mama’s rear.
“Whuh… wha… whewe babbehs…?” Mama wheezed, her voice hoarse from shrieking and squealing so much during labour.
Smarty was silently glaring at the foals.
“Babbehs hewe.” He muttered at last, poking one with his hoof. “Wook at babbehs.” He commanded.
Mama shifted as best she could, her trembling legs barely able to support her exhausted body, but she managed to eventually turn herself roughly 180 degrees, spurred on by the cries of her newborn children.
Soon she was looking at them, her pile of six foals, all crying and soaked with fluids. She was so happy, she could cry!
But something was wrong.
“Smawty, why nu happeh?!” She asked. “Wook! BABBEHS! Ouw babbehs!”
Smarty was looking alright. He was looking down at the foals with an expression like he was going to vomit.
He jabbed one foal with his hoof, knocking it off of the pile and sending it tumbling onto the grass below, as it squeaked in fear.
“Wha dis?” He asked.
“Dat… dat a babbeh!” Mama replied brightly.
“Nu. Wha. Dis?” He asked again.
“Dat… babbeh…” Mama replied again, growing uneasy.
“NU!” Smarty yelled, hoofing her in the face suddenly, jabbing her right in the eye. "WHA DIS?! WHA DIS, DUMMEH MAWE?! WHA DIS?!"
He jabbed at the foal again and again as he asked, causing it to cry louder and louder.
Buck and Ted peered as hard as they could through the field-glasses. It was hard to see, due to the distance, the size of the foals and the dim lighting… but they were starting to see the problem.
At least, Buck was.
“Oh shit.” He whispered. “It’s a poopie-baby.”
“A what?” Ted asked.
“A poopie-baby. It’s a baby that’s born with ugly colors, like brown or vomit green.”
“What?”
“Yeah, fluffies hate other fluffies with those colors. They think they’re wrong, or bad, or something. Look.”
As he spoke, Smarty was still jabbing the foal with his hoof as it cried in pain.
“WHA DIS?! WHA DIS?! WHA DIS?!” He shouted repeatedly at the mama, still exhausted after giving birth, barely even able to keep her eyes open.
“A babbeh… is a babbeh…” She whispered, too tired to even process what he was saying.
“WWONG, DUMMEH MAWE!” He snapped, hoofing her in the face again. “DIS A POOPEH BABBEH! DIS A BAD BABBEH! DUMMEH MAWE NU KNU DAT?! DUMMEH STOOPID DUMMEH MAWE! NU GUD FOW NUFFIN!”
“Jus a babbeh… aww babbehs awe gud ba-”
“SHADDUP!” Smarty yelled, hoofing her in the face again, this time busting her nose. “SHADDUP MAWE! SHADDUP SHADDUP SHADDUP! YOO A YEWWOW FWUFFEH! SMAWTY WED FWUFFEH! WE MAKE YEWWOW-WED BABBEHS! NU POOPIES! AN’ WOOK! WOOK AT WHA YOO DO TO SMAWTY’S BABBEHS!!!”
He jabbed the foal with a hoof again. It had stopped chirping and had begun wailing, sounding similar to a tea-kettle whistling.
“DUMMEH MAWE MAKE BAD BABBEHS! SMAWTY NU WAN BAD BABBEHS, BUH DUMMEH MAWE NU WISTEN TO SMAWTY, NUUUU, DUMMEH MAWE FINK SHE KNU BETTAH DAN SMAWTY! N’ DUMMEH MAWE MAKE BAD BABBEHS INSTEAD!!!”
“Pwease Smawty…” Mama begged. “Pwease, nu huwt babbehs, nu huwt mama… just wub babbehs… babbehs fow wub, babbehs nee’ wub…”
“GUD BABBEHS NEE’ WUB!” He screamed at her face, spittle flying from his lips. "DIS BAD BABBEH! POOPIE BABIES IS BAD BABBEHS! GET BIGGEST OWIES!"
And with that, he raised a hoof, before bringing it slamming down on the baby’s head.
The tea-kettle whistling stopped suddenly.
“Holy fuckin Jesus of Nazareth…” Buck whispered. He’d known fluffy ponies were bad, he knew they hated ‘poopie’ babies, but he’d never seen anything like this before. Ted, on the other had, was completely silent.
Smarty raised his hoof, which was slick with the foal’s blood and chunks of it’s brain. He turned to the pile of still chirping newborns and jabbed another one, knocking it out of the pile too.
It was also brown.
“Wha dis?” He asked the mama.
“Nu… pwease nu… pwease Smawty… nu mowe…”
“WHA DIS?!” He screamed in her face again.
“A… a bad babbeh…” Mama whimpered, tears pouring from her eyes.
“A BAD BABBEH!” Smarty echoed. “A DUMMEH BABBEH! A POOPIE BABBEH! A STOOPID DUMMEH NUFFIN BABBEH!!!”
Another stomp. Another dead foal.
Smarty jabbed another from the pile, number 3 of 6. Another brown foal.
“Wha dis?” He asked again.
“A buh… bah… bad babbeh…” Mama sobbed, her eyes clamped shut. She didn’t even bother to look and check, it was pointless. The entire litter was ‘poopie’ foals. An astronomical rarity in terms of mathematics, but one that had happened regardless.
Again, another stomp, another dead foal.
Buck and Ted watched the process repeat until all six foals lay dead on the ground, each one having it’s skull crushed and it’s brain pulped by Smarty’s hoof. Mama sobbed and wailed the entire time. The rest of the herd simply stood by and watched.
None of them dared cross Smarty. They had all, at least once, been given a hoof to the face (or for the really unlucky ones, to their no-nos) for disobeying or disappointing Smarty. The only problem is, nothing they ever did seemed to do anything else. However hard they tried, they were always disappointing Smarty, and they were given a firm kick to remind them not to do it again… but, inevitably, they did.
And so the entire herd stood back, watching as Smarty killed baby after baby after baby, screaming in the face of his special-friend and kicking her all the same, smudging smears of foal blood all over her face as he did so.
Buck and Ted slid back down the bank as the herd nervously returned to their fluff-pile, leaving the mama behind, sobbing as she gazed at her six lifeless foals left mashed into the dirt by Smarty’s furious hoof.
The two brothers didn’t say anything for a while. They just got up and returned to their camp. Then, after a few minutes, Buck dashed behind a tree and vomited, doing his best to keep quiet about it.
Ted wanted to do the same, but didn’t. Something compelled him not to.
Ted had always been a gentle type. Buck was smart but kept to himself, but he wasn’t afraid to throw a fist if he had to. People mistook Buck’s quietness for shyness, when in reality it was just a lack of interest in other people. People then saw Buck’s quietness for an opportunity to beat him to the ground and steal his lunch-money… an opportunity they never got to take advantage of, because Buck had a mean right hook that once knocked a tooth out of a 13 year old when Buck himself was only 9.
Buck was the strong one. Buck was the tough one. Buck was the big one who stayed resilient when times were hard. Comparatively, Ted was the ‘crybaby’. When he got picked on, he ran to tell on them. When he got hurt, he cried about it. When Buck did something to upset him, Ted wouldn’t fight back, he’d go find Ma.
For a while, Pa had been worried about Ted, worried that he might be too soft for something like going hunting. Even Buck had worried about it too. If Ted was too scared to push another kid back after he’d been pushed first, how the hell was he ever going to handle a rifle?
But now something had changed.
Now something was different.
Buck came back a few minutes later, wiping his mouth on his jacket sleeve. He took a mouthful of water from his cateen, sloshed it around his mouth and spat it out, then took deep drink and then sat down next to Ted, who was as pale as the full moon above them.
“Do you wanna go home?” Buck asked at last. Ted shook his head. He did… but there was something that needed to be done first.
“No. I wanna kill that Smarty.” He said, his body trembling all over.
Buck nodded.
“Me too.”
He passed the canteen to Ted who sipped from it.
“When?” Ted asked.
Buck thought it over.
“Morning. We’ll do it in the morning. No point waiting any longer.”
He got up to unroll his sleeping bag, only to catch sight of their two captive fluffies. The pregnant one was staring in horror at the starving one… which was no longer moving at all, it’s unblinking eyes staring dryly at the sky.
Ted had accidentally put the tape over it’s mouth and nose. It had suffocated at some point while they were watching the mama give birth. He glanced at Ted and saw he had noticed it too… but while he had expected Ted to be upset about his mistake, he wasn’t.
They both had the same look on their faces, and the same feeling in their hearts.
Good. They thought. Just what it deserved.