On The Rocks, Part 13
>You are Leaves, Mare and Smarty Friend of your Herd. It’s been three days since you threatened to leave the Big-Big Herd, and after days of Eggs and Smoke trying to talk, bribe or threaten you into staying, you finally found a way for your Herd to escape the patrols of Toughies that the other Smarties had out, guarding the entrances to the Big-Big Herd’s sleeping place, tagging along with your Herd whenever you went out for Nummies or to find clean water.
>To guard against Munstas, they said. Phah, if that’s true, then you’re a Hoomin!
>Salvation came with the aid of a small Herd that had joined your own shortly after the Big-Big Herd began to fracture, led by an angry, embittered Dark-Yellow Pegasus called Scoop.
>Scoop had lost the majority of his Mares to a pair of opportunistic Raiders that used an attack by Monsters to sneak in and kidnap all but one of the Herd’s Fluffy Mummas and three mares, and thus was justifiably paranoid about losing his remaining Mares.
>Naturally, Scoop rejected joining Smoke’s Herd outright once he realised Smoke monopolized almost every mare in his own Herd, and Eggs and Smelly were too busy screaming obscenities at each other over after a group of mischevious Foals had snuck over to steal milk from another Herd’s Fluffy Mumma, so Scoop was presented with with a choice of three angry or treacherous Smarties, and you as the sole voice of reason and compromise.
>In a way, Smoke’s obsession with having every Mare that he can lay his hooves on as a part of his personal Harem is the only reason your Herd was able to escape the blockade of Toughies that Eggs and Smoke had set up.
>When five of Smoke’s Mares snuck out of the Harem to try and be with their Special Friends, the black-and-grey Unicorn threw such a fit that he ordered all of his Toughies to go searching for them, and Scoop ran right over to you to let you know that there was now a way out of the wide ‘valley’ where the Big-Big Herd made it’s home.
>He’s a good Toughie, even if he does slip back into calling himself ‘Smarty’ now and again, and as such you’ve made it one of your top priorities to ensure that Scoop’s intergration into your Herd goes smoothly. Good Toughies are worth their weight in nummies, especially in times like this.
>Scoop’s Toughies are also fairly decent Fluffies, but most are scaredy-Fluffies that run away, rather than fight or try to help the Mummas and Babies get away. At best, they can be attendants and gatherers and maybe Scouts, but they’re just not brave enough to earn the rank of Toughie.
>Still … at least you managed to get the majority of your Herd out safely. Those that wouldn’t leave, or were absent when you made the call to flee … will have to survive on their own.
>You just hope the other Smarties’ rage is not spent on your missing Herd-mates. That they can hide in the crowd of the many Herds that make up the Big-Big Herd and make their own escape before it’s too late.
>You had intended to take your Herd to the Soft Bed, to let the Mummas have their babies in a soft, safe, warm place, but the Herd led by Coal had taken it over several days before-hand, and had beaten up every scout and Friend-Speaker Fluffy you and the other Smarties sent his way, offering him a position as a leader of the Big-Big Herd.
>So, with no other real options left open, you take your Herd to a Secret Safe Place, a place where you hope the Fluffy Mummas can spend the next few days in peace.
>Coal is a Meanie Fluffie who makes his Herd do what he says by hurting them. He bullies the Foals so they grow up afraid of him, kicks the Stallions in the Naughty Places when they not do what he says so they’re in too much pain to fight back.
>He even has Special Hugs with Mares even if they do not want to, and you remember one Mare who managed to get away, joining the Big-Big Herd and sobbing about Coal stomping on her Babies because she wouldn’t stop singing to them when he was trying to sleep.
>The Soft Bed was good place, a place where all the Herds once took their Fluffy Mummas to be safe and warm, but it’s no longer a Safe Place with Coal and his Toughies in control of it.
>And trying to fight Coal would merely cost you good Fluffies for nothing, because sooner or later, the other Smarties will come looking for Safe Places for their own Fluffy Mummas, and the Soft Bed is known to almost every Herd in Stinky Waters.
>So you have to risk it, leading your herd to the Secret Safe Place, one only you know about, that’s far away from Stinky Waters and the angry, troublesome Smarty Friends that hold sway there.
>It’s where you crawled to when No-Lips abandoned you, taking the Herd back into the Underground, because you were too scared of the dark tunnels to go back down.
>Even though you assure the other Fluffies that the Secret Safe Place is not far from the temporary home you all made in an alleyway, your Herd is terribly afraid.
>You’re moving so far from Stinky Waters now, away from territory most of them have spent their entire lives in, towards the far-side of the Park where nobody knows where the food or water or hiding places are, and you’ve taken a twisting, turning path to throw any Scouts that Eggs, Smelly or Smoke might send after you into confusion, so you have taken a very long time to get to the Park, almost the entire night.
>The Sun will be coming up soon, but you drive the Fluffies on, forcing them to graze as they walk, the few Unicorns you have making Horn-Lights so that Fluffies can see where they are walking, so that the Fluffies behind the Mummas can make sure the Babies stay where they are supposed to and don’t get stepped on if they should fall off their mothers’ backs.
>Better the Horn-Lights than relying upon the flickering Light-Balls that line the Black Roads to let the Herd see where they are going.
>Horn-Lights can go out very quickly so the Fluffies can hide in the darkness, but the flickering Light-Balls stay bright no matter how many times you and the other Fluffies beg them to go dark.
>You try your very best to remember as much as you can about your Secret Safe Place, where the bushes grown thick and tangled, near a pair of rusting metal swings. Where the bushes are high and block out the sky, and the ground under the trees and bushes is covered in dry, dead leaves.
>You vaguely remember No-Lips always seemed on the verge of tears whenever his Herd came near that place. One-Eye and Gnaff too, always seemed upset, and would cry and sob about lost friends and evil Hoomin Munstas.
>You remember when the No-Lips Herd was racing to get away from a Dog-Munsta that had attacked it, and No-Lips made the entire Herd run a huge way around an old, pushed-over tree, his teeth clenched so tight you thought they would break.
>You never understood why. That tree would have made a perfect place for your Herd to stay safe, even during the bright time! But No-Lips was adamant that nobody was to go anywhere near that side of the Park, or ever speak of that fallen Tree.
>“Dat twee nothin’ buh heawt-owies an’ twoubwe.” He barked angrily after some Toughies challenged him on the matter, back inside Haven. “Wast Fwuffie Hewd dat wewe dere wost evwy’ting. Evwy Fwuffie got snatched up by de Two-Legged Munstas, evwy Mumma, evwy Toughie, evwy Baybeh. Is a baaaaad pwace whewe Fwuffies shouwd nevah gu!”
>When you finally find the small copse of bushes, you’re greeted by the familiar barrier of thick, woody branches, tangled into a spikey barrier too strong for the Monsters to break through, but still bearing broad leaves to keep out the cold winds that strive to make Fluffies cold and the fragile, delicate Foals have the Longest Sleep.
>You have to circle the bushes a few times to find the opening because of all the new growth on the bushes, and it’s hard to snap the branches out of the way, and pull them out.
>Even as ugly and tough as they are, still the bushes grow and try to live. You can respect that.
>Stupid Fluffies who are eager to sleep after a long, nerve-wracking night on the move try to make other holes into the dead, hollow space inside the bushes, but you yell at them, pull their ears and bop their noses to make them stop, ignoring their sulking and pouting.
>”Onwy one way in, Dummy Fwuffie!” You shout as a dumb Stallion tries to force his way in before you plant a hoof square in his face to reinforce your command. “Onwy one way in, dat way Munstas nu can fowwow! Eat, get gwasses fo’ Fwuffy Mummas, Hewd mus’ hide an’ wait fo’ Baybehs tu be big ‘nuff tu wawk on dere own! Den Hewd can try tu find bettah Safe Pwace!”
>A ragged cheer goes up, even from the bopped Fluffies. Everyone hates Stinky Waters, with it’s foul puddles of tainted water, swarms of small, biting bugs and filthy garbage as far as the eye can see, but it’s safe from the worst of the Munstas, who find it even more detestable than Fluffies do. Stinky Waters might make all Fluffies miserable, but at least there they can survive almost completely untouched.
>Everyone was worried about coming to the Park through the Night, with no real way to tell where they were going but your memories, and the pale pink light of the Sun creeping up behind them. The Hoomins will be running around soon, looking to bully the Fluffies, hurt them and kill them and make everyone sad.
>But you, Leaves, are the Smarty Friend, and you have told them they will be safe. They trust you … because if they don’t, then there is nothing they can trust, no hope they can hold deep inside and use as strength to carry on when everything becomes hopeless and bleak.
>It takes the better part of ten minutes for you to clear the opening in the bushes, but finally you push, pull, snap and chew enough old, dead branches and twigs out of the way to make a decent passage into the heart of the copse.
>Memories flood back as you wander around the dead patch inside the bushes. Of being cold and alone, of the hunger that gnawed at you in an endless torment when your fear kept you from going out, of when that Herd found you, and you thought you were saved.
>But it was not salvation that found you. A Bad Smarty Friend, and Bad Herd, who were delighted to have a new Toy. They hurt you simply because they could, gave you Bad Special Hugs until you bled from your No-No’s and could barely walk, they wouldn’t let you graze until after they had eaten all the best nummies and had their fill of their Bad Special Hugs, and worst of all was when they kept on kicking you in the tummy, kicking and kicking and kicking.
>”Nu nee’ baybehs, Dumb Mawes nu fun tu push ‘wound.” One of the Stallions had remarked when you had begged him to stop hurting you with his kicking. “Dumb Mawe gif Speshaw Huggies an’ Guud Feews tiww yuu nu muv, den Hewd fin’ new Dumb Mawe.”
>One morning, as the Bad Smarty and his Bad Stallions had started to fight over who was supposed to have Bad Special Hugs with you first, you ran. You ran and ran until you had crossed the Black Road and had reached the relative safety of the Alleyways before risking looking back over your shoulder to see what your captors were doing.
>The Stallions were too busy having Bad Special Hugs with smallest Stallions of their Herd by then.
>And by the time you had worked up the courage to escape, there were no other Mares left in the Bad Herd, they hadn’t been able to get up after their daily tummy-kickings and been left behind, or they had refused to eat and let themselves starve to death rather than endure this painful existence any further.
>You can only hope that the Bad Herd destroyed themselves through infighting. With all your Mares, you’d be a irresitable target for th … oh!
>Your Herd has followed you in while you were day-dreaming. Fluffy Mummas squeaking about Meanie Sticks poking them go silent in awe as they are rolled around the dead space inside the bushes.
>The floor is covered with dead leaves, and the bushes, while dead inside, still have a lush, green coat of leaves outside, so unless you were looking in from the ground level, it would just be one solid mass of green bushes.
>”Aww Fwuffy Mummas into Safe Pwace!” You bark, and the Stallions and Mares rush to obey, the Fluffy Mummas of your Herd being pushed in first while the other Fluffies wait impatiently for their turn to enter this new ‘Safe Place’. They know you are Smarty Friend that cares about them, that you are a Good Fluffy who looks after them.
>You hope it’s enough for them. You don’t think you could live with yourself if you led like Eggs, Smelly or Smoke did.
>You know you try so hard to be a Good Smarty Friend. You try to remember how No-Lips used to lead his Herd, and try to do the same. And you remember the Bad Smarty, and try to do the opposite of whatever he did too.
>Shortly, every Fluffy is crowded inside. It’s tighter than you thought, but then you have Scoop’s Herd, as well as more Fluffies that had left their Herds to join yours, but nobody minds too much.
>After the long, fretful trek across the City, being crowded together in a warm hug-pile in a new, hidden, clean Safe Place is heavenly.
>The Secret Safe Place smells nice, after all, of clean air and fresh dirt and grasses, so pleasant after the harsh, bitter-chemical stench of Stinky Waters and it’s rotting, fermenting, oil-stained muck and garbage.
>It’s not surprising that everyone starts to nod off, even you, and the Herd only wakes up when the sun is glaring over the top of the buildings, far too bright now for Fluffies to risk going out for more nummies now.
>”Nu Fwuffie is tu make poopies in Safe Pwace,” You begin, clopping your hooves together to draw wandering attentions back to you. “Onwy Fwuffy Mummas can, ‘cause dey nu can muv, it okay for dem. Evewy Fwuffies who can muv haf gu make dere poopies faw ‘way fwom Safe Pwace!”
>Complaints greet your proclamation. Whining and muttering and selfish grumbling. They don’t want to leave, its warm here, safe as well. If Fluffy Mummas don’t have to leave for poopies, why do they?
>”Leaves, why Fwuffies nu make poopies hewe?” A younger Mare whines, shuffling her hooves in the dirt. "Munstas ouw’side, nu wan’ gu ouw’side, wan’ stay hewe, be wamm, be safe."
>”Do yuu wan’ haf sweepies in poopies? Wan’ baybehs haf tu wiv in poopies?” You snap back, fixing the younger Mare with a annoyed look. “Yuu wan’ baybehs haf stinkies an’ cwy, 'cause dey haf to wawk in poopies ‘cause Wazy Fwuffies nu wan’ muv?”.
>The younger Mare squeaks in horror and rapidly shakes her head back and forth, as do several other Fluffies.
>”We at Safe Pwace fo’ Fwuffy Mummas! So baybehs nu haf Owies owr Scawies, su Baybehs knu who is dere Mumma, an’ can haf wotsa Miwk-Nummies wit’ nu Otha Baybehs fwom Otha Hewds twyin’ tu take dere Miwk!” You explain, gazing out over your Herd, noting with pride every single head is fixed on you. “When baybehs can wawk, when baybehs be Foals, den Hewd can twy tu fin’ bettah Safe Pwace. Park is nu Safe Pwace fo’ wong, buh for few days, is oh’tay.”
>”If Fwuffy Mummas make Poopies, Fwuffies mus’ push dem ‘way,” You continue, picking up a dead leaf in your mouth and pushing it along the ground, pushing the dirt up and towards the edge of the bushes. “Push ‘way fwom owr Fwuffy Mummas, so Fwuffy Mummas an’ Baybehs smeww pwetty, nu get ickies owr haf sickies.”
>You get the rest of the Herd practicing with the leaves. Most are just hopeless, but a handful seem to pick up on what they are supposed to be doing fairly quickly.
>By the time everyone knows what they are to do, the Sun is right overhead, and the Herd has pushed a lot of dirt up towards the sides of the bushes.
>Good. The low wall of dirt will help keep the Cold Winds out, and help hide the Fluffies if anything else comes sniffing around the Secret Safe Place.
>The Sun seems to take forever to climb back down to the other side of the sky, but the Bushes keep the worst of the sun off your Herd, so while everyone complains about being sweaty, nobody is so hot that they need water just yet.
>Hoomans walk past, their ugly, unfeeling hooves stomping on the ground just a few meters away, Metal Munstas roar past on the Black Paths, but the Hoomans do not come into Bushes, content to yell and push and talk about meaningless things, and the Metal Munstas and their Black Path are too far away from the bushes to be a threat to the Herd.
>Your Herd busies itself with making the Fluffy Mummas as comfortable as they can. Shallow holes are dug in the soft, loamy earth, and the Fluffy Mummas rolled into them on their sides, so that they can rest comfortably without all their weight being put onto just their bellies.
>Sticks and Twigs poking into the hollow space of the Safe Place are snapped off, and you direct the Herd to use them to help push dirt up around the edges of the Safe Place, to help block out the cold winds that comes at night, and will try to sneak in through the bases of the bushes.
>Some Fluffies complain that they are hungry again, but you and your Toughie Friends shush them and tell them to be quiet. Hoomans might hear their complaining, come and hurt the Fluffies.
>When Fluffies cry and try to run out the exit because their tummy-owies are too strong for them to bear anymore, bawling about wanting to have just one more mouthful of Grass, you have to hit them with your Hooves and hold their faces into the ground until they stop struggling, reminding them all the time that there are Munstas waiting outside, waiting for just one Fluffy to emerge, and then the whole Herd will be at their mercy.
>You’re scared too, but the Herd must stay here, and be quiet. When the Sun goes down, you can risk taking the Herd out to graze, and drink from the many ponds in the Park, but not until the Sun goes down and the Hoomins go away.
>Then one of the Fluffy Mummas starts to whimper and thrash her legs, kicking up little clods of dirt.
>”Hiii-Hiccups soww-wyyyy! Poopieeees! Biiiig Poopieeeeees!” She whines, squirming and thrashing in her shallow hole, and you shuffle over to see what all the fuss is about, stepping over sleeping Fluffies to reach Hiccups.
>But it’s not Poopies! She has bloody Wa-Wa’s dribbling out of her Naughty Place. And then … a small, black thing starts to push out of her Naughty Place!
>”Baybeh Wa-Wa’s! Hiccups, yuu is gon’ be a Mumma vewy soon!” You whisper, staring at the tiny little creature that is slowly being pushed out of Hiccups’s Naughty Place.
>Small, wet, slimy, blind … your heart surges with love and a bitter-sweet longing as the newborn plops heavily onto the ground, struggling feebly within the thin, squishy sack.
>You lick it clean, the sack breaking easily under your tongue’s caress, then gently grab it by the scruff of it’s damp neck and place it at Hiccup’s head so the New Mumma can properly greet her child, and as you shuffle back to Hiccup’s other ends, your eyes stray to her teats.
>Her teats are nice and fat and plump, twice the size of her hooves now, warm to the touch and smelling sweet, just like the milk inside them.
>You’ve always made sure that all the Fluffy Mummas in your Herd got first pick of any food the Herd found, because they had babies inside them that needed so much food or else the Fluffy Mummas and their Babies had the Longest Sleep.
>A lot of Fluffies grumbled, especially the younger Fluffies who didn’t understand how dangerous it was to be a Mumma, how easy it was to take the Longest Sleep because you couldn’t stop making milk for your babies, but even as the Smarty Friend, you also didn’t eat when the Herd ran short of food, and that made most Fluffies share their food as well, although you know a few were greedy.
>Other Fluffies are coming over as well. Hiccup’s Special Friend, Wick, is nuzzling Hiccup’s face as she whimpers and starts to strain again.
>An older Mare called Mink has joined you, staring at Hiccup’s naughty place with a worried expression. She reminds you of All-Mumma in a way, so you’re quite happy to have her come and help you with Hiccup’s babies.
>You’re still quite worried, however. Hiccup is a small Fluffy, she was only a month old, but had Special Huggies as soon as she started making the Special Smell.
>Wicks got such a smacking for that … but little Hiccups is so fat, so bloated with her babies… so many babies inside her. Maybe too many for such a little Fluffy.
>The next baby is squeezed out after much groaning and straining, and gives a healthy cry, and you feel hope that you are only worrying too much.
>Wicks insists on taking the second baby, and showing it to Hiccups, who cuddles it to her chest and tells the baby it’s the most precious thing in the world, before Mink impatiently tells Hiccups that the baby must have milk, and the new parents blush and apologise.
>Then the third foal comes, and Hiccups screams in pain as it squeezes out of her … and something is wrong.
>Too many lumps. Too many lumps on the baby, all of them moving. No, not lumps …
>Mink whimpers in shock, her face going deathly pale under her fluff, and you feel like you’re going to faint.
>Two heads thrash and open their tiny mouths, but no sounds come out. Too many legs flex and shudder, trying to hug the slick, bloodied fluff around their mother’s No-No’s, but the legs keep getting tangled on each other instead.
>”Ba-Baybeh?” Hiccup asks weakly, and Wicks starts to trot around to see, his face beaming with pride and excitement.
>”N-n-nu baybeh, is poopies dis time.” The Older Mare grunts loudly, moving to block Wicks, checking his approach with her whole body, her face a tight, expressionless mask. “Smarty Friend push poopies ‘way?”
>You find yourself doing just what the older Mare asks, you heart frozen inside you, your mind blank and numb with horror and sorrow.
>The strange little baby is squirming and struggling, the heads and legs thrashing, but it’s still not making any noises.
>Your leaf covers the tiny, misshapen little thing, a mercy that stops anyone else in the Herd seeing it, but thankfully most of the Herd is more interested in seeing the babies than seeing you push ‘poop’ out of the Safe Place.
>Feeling numb as you try to push the monster-baby out of the Safe Place, you keep going out of the opening that leads into the Safe Place, and further still, until you’re clear of the bushes.
>When the warmth of the sun starts to work it’s way through your fluff, however, you blink and shake as if waking up, looking around yourself in horror. Hoomins are everywhere, eating, playing, yelling, arguing … thankfully, none of them appear to have seen you yet.
>You went too far, too busy thinking about the twisted Baby, and how you’re going to explain it to Hiccup and Wicks. You put your entire Herd at risk, and you call yourself a Smarty Friend?!
>Why does the Baby have two heads? How can it have so many legs? Why did this happen to a good Fluffy like Hiccup?
>You back away as quickly as you can, leaving the leaf covering the squirming, misshapen foal, and shuffle back to the Safe Place, feeling very cold and small. It’s not right to abandon a baby, but … it can’t possibly be left with your Herd. Just thinking about the baby makes you feel sick to your stomach.
>If you had any nummies left in you, you think you’d have mouth-sickies right now.
>It’s not a Fluffy Pony or even a baby … it’s a Monster that was hiding inside of Hiccup, that must be it. It was different from the rest of the Herd, far, far too different to be a Fluffy …
>Wicks would never be able to understand that it’s not Hiccup’s fault that she couldn’t tell that the Monster Baby was inside her, nor would Hiccup be able to cope with having carried such a terrible creature inside her, next to her Babies.
>They must never know what happened. They’d never be able to cope with the knowledge, and the Herd itself might turn them out in fear that one or both of them might actually be a monster in disguise.
>Hiccups is in labour again when you re-enter the Safe Place, groaning in pain as Wicks licks her face and tells her she is the Best Fluffy. There are five damp little babies now, suckling eagerly from her teats and making happy little noises even as their mother shudders and moans with birthing pains.
>You feel sick, deep inside, like when you ate rotting food, but far, far worse, like you have a cold sickness in your belly.
>Mink is cooing, telling Hiccups she is almost done, that her belly has shrunk so much, that her Babies are all wonderful.
>As you watch, another baby is slowly pushed out of the groaning Mare, the muscular contractions of birth pushing out first the head, then the body in two-three-four convulsions.
>Whole.
>Normal.
>It gives a small wail of protest at the light and the cold before the Older Mare starts to clean it, and Wicks takes his cleaned baby away to introduce it to its Mumma.
>You sigh in relief and lean against the dead inner branches of the bushes, heedless of the pain as small twigs poke through your fluff and scratch you.
>When the Messy Boo-Boo’s come out of Hiccup’s No-No’s, you manage to gather your courage, push your way forwards to grab it, yelling at your Herd’s Mares that it is time for ‘Speshaw Mawe Nummies’ and drag the after-birth around to Hiccup’s head, who looks at the blood-slick mess with confusion before you explain to her this is a special Mumma Nummies that she must eat so she can make a lot of milk.
>You, as well as many Mares, know from bitter experience that Mares who do not eat the Messy Boo-Boo’s often have problems, most often not making enough milk in the first two or three days, or they have … other problems. They become listless and don’t want to do anything at all, or they cry all the time and believe they are the worst Fluffy Mummas ever, or they get angry at everything for no reason at all, sometimes all at once!
>A very confused Wick is gently but firmly pushed away by the other Mares who, in turn, make all the other Stallions look away or block their view of Hiccups with their own bodies.
>Back at Stinky Waters, all the Stallions would be far away at this stage, congratulating Wicks on becoming a Fatha and playing with the Big-Big Herd’s toys, but the Herd doesn’t have the luxury of that much space anymore.
>Some Stallions just never seem to be the same after watching their Special Friend gobble down the Messy Boo-Boo Nummies … one thought it was a Foal, just still yikky and messy, and never forgave his mate for eating their ‘baby’, and nothing you or the other Mares could say could convince him otherwise.
>Hiccups sniffs the bloody mess, confused and not a little bit upset as to why she has to eat the ‘boo-boo nummies’, but after a few licks, her eyes go wide in surprise and she gobbles up the soft, wet mass.
>You and Mink share a smile as Hiccups mumbles around her mouthfuls about the ‘messy boo-boo nummies’ tasting yikky and good all at once, but she couldn’t stop eating them!
>It doesn’t take long to lick her face clean, and then the Mares all shuffle away so everyone has a chance to hug Hiccups and tell her that her babies are beautiful.
>Most of the Herd is crowding around Hiccups and Wicks, asking to see the babies, praising Hiccups on being such a Good Mumma, congratulating Wicks on becoming a Fatha.
>As the Herd rejoices over the six new babies, Mink shuffles over to you, looking very, very tired.
>”Why … why? Why dis happen?” You whisper as she leans her head against your shoulder, shuddering as the older Mare finally allows herself to cry. “Why baybeh haf … haf su many weggies, haf two heads?”
>”Mink nu knu, Mink thought dat Smawty Fwiend might knu.” She whimpers softly into your fluff. She’s shaking as well, crying in fear and confusion. “Mink haf baybeh once, be’fowe join Leaves Hewd, baybeh was aww wong tuu. Mink twy tu be Guud Mumma, gif miwk, hugs, wuv baybeh even when Hewd say it Munsta, but Baybeh aw’ways haf owies, weggies nevah wisten tu Baybeh … Baybeh cwy an’ cwy, buh nu couwd du nuthin’, Mi-Mink had tu gif Baybeh the Wongest Sweepies, aww Mink couwd do tu hewp Baybeh …”
>”Mink is a Guud Fwuffie, nu guud fo’ Baybehs tu haf Owies, if dere be nu otha way, den it betta fo’ Baybeh tu haf Wongest Sweepies.” You assure her, nuzzling the older Mare as she continues to lean into your fluff for comfort. “We nu teww Hiccup an’ Wick. Nu wan dem be saddies. Dey nu unna’stan’ dat Munsta-Baybeh nu dere fauwt.”
>”Leaves is guud Smawty Fwiend,” Mink whispers, her shaking slowly going away. “But Mink … Mink is scawed, Smawty Fwiend. Nu see Ug’wee Baybehs ti Mink gu tu wiv wit’ Hewds in Stinky Wawas. Stinky Wawas bad fo’ Fwuffy Mummas … Hewd nu can gu back dere.”
>She might be right. Stinky Waters is full of bad things for Fluffies, but those bad things are also the only things that keep the Monsters away.
>Watching your Herd crowd around Hiccup, Wicks and their six beautiful children, cooing and giggling as the babies suckle eagerly on their mother’s teats, you find the sick feeling inside of you giving way to a cold, harsh determination.
>Haven. No-Lips. You must have Haven for your own Herd. No-Lips must die, as well as his Toughies, and you will take all his Mares, his Colts, his Fillies and the Babies into your own Herd.
>Haven is scary because of all the Rat-Munstas that live in the surrounding tunnels, but it’s cleaner than Stinky Waters could ever be, it has it’s own water that is cold and sweet and clear, and there were other caves down there, you remember, caves where the grass grew even in the dark, short, bitter grass, but grass that your Herd could eat during the times when it was too dangerous to go out to forage for food.
>Once all the Fluffy Mummas have given birth, and the Babies become Foals, you’ll have enter the Underground and find Haven … and kill No-Lips and his Toughies, take over his Herd and Haven.
>There is no other alternative. You can’t let your Herd become like that twisted, horrible thing that must be slowly dying under it’s leaf. Fluffies aren’t meant to have two heads, or so many legs.
>Fluffies weren’t meant to be monsters.
>Be No-Name, holding one of the Herd’s rock-balls between your hooves and waiting for the Babies to stop hugging each other.
>Today is the very first day that the Babies are able to walk on their own, talk on their own, and were able to meet each other without their Mummas being there. They’ve never actually hugged another Fluffy before that wasn’t you, Bwun or each other.
>Bwun and Pink are quite relieved to have somebody else handle the babies for a while, while Clover and the other Mares groom them and make them feel pretty again.
>You never realised that being a parent was such hard work! There’s so little time to play or sleep nowadays, the babies are always doing something, either together or on their own, and never at the same time.
>Poor Clover’s making a very nice smell right now, and giving you sideways glances that make you feel all hot and fluttery inside, but you’re so tired you think your hooves are going to fall off …
>And Bluehorn’s two Ex-Special Mumma Friends had their babies as well! Lots of Earth Fluffy Babies, all so pretty and healthy too! The Mares were sad, their old Special Friends were both Unicorns like them, but No-Lips said that the babies were all wonderful, even if they weren’t Unicorns like their Fathas, and that the Herd would cherish them and their Mummas.
>You don’t know why, but Bluehorn had a screaming fit when he saw that all the babies were Earthies.
>He’s certainly never going to be the Special Friend of those Mares, not after all the terrible things he said about them and their Earthy Babies!
>He’s one strange Unicorn Fluffy. And getting stranger by the day.
>All-Mumma was right about the milk-places, however. Even with all the nummies you, Brick and the Herd have gathered, the Mares teats still aren’t as full as they were when the babies first came, and the current Fluffy Mummas stopped being so big and round.
>And the babies don’t understand the difference between ‘now’ and ‘later’. It’s all one continuous ‘now’ for them, they have to be reminded all the time that they can’t keep going down to their mothers’ teats for milk whenever they feel like it.
>They know their Mummas love them, they know they can have milk from their Mummas, but they don’t understand that the milk can run out. That they have to wait till later to have more milk.
>Pink in particular is frantic because her teats are almost limp these days, despite poor Brick working himself to the brink of exhaustion trying to get her as much nummies as he can during the morning raids and then dragging back almost an entire bag of moss-nummies during the day.
>She’s so desperate to put more milk into her teats she’s eating anything and everything that is given to her, even rotten nummies. She sobs and cries that she hates the taste of the rotten nummies, but she looks at her babies, and then forces those terribly icky nummies down and holds her hooves over her mouth so the icky nummies can’t escape like they did the first few times.
>Your babies have finished hugging Pink’s babies, the Lucky Baby towering over everyone else and hugging three of Pink’s babies, and now all twelve of them are staring at the rock-ball in wonder as you hold it up over your head.
>“Baybehs, dis is ‘Wock-Baww’. Is a toy, an’ bewongs tu Hewd, su yuu pwease be gentwe wit’ it.” You say loudly, gently putting the marble down on Haven’s cold stone floor and bumping it towards the cluster of babies with your muzzle. “Yuu woww Wock-Baww tu each otha, is fun!”
>Your babies cheer and rush out, trying to hug the ‘grandfather’-sized Marble, but it just ends up being five Foals all piled up against the giant marble, giggling and peeping.
>You picked this Rock-Ball out of the dozen the Herd has managed to collect because not only is it the biggest Rock-Ball the Herd has, it’s also clear, so the babies can see through it and still see you, but somehow, inside the Rock-Ball are more bright, sparkly dots than you can count, all glittering in the sunlight that filters down into Haven.
>It’s a wonderful toy, and the babies are utterly entranced by how pretty it is, bumping their muzzles against the hard surface to try and play with the sparkly dots, or trying to hug the giant Marble, without much success.
>Pink’s babies, on the other hand, all slowly trudge forwards, cheering as well, but they don’t look very energetic. Or very plump for that matter, not like Bwun’s babies.
>They’re … kinda smelly as well. All-Mumma is worried about the fact that Pink’s not making as much milk as she should, even with Brick and the Herd bringing her back piles of clover and grass for nummies.
>You’d love to bring Pink some more nummies yourself, but you’ve got your hooves full keeping Bwun’s appetite satisfied. She’s not mean, or being greedy, she’s just … impossibly hungry all the time, and it scares and confuses her just how hungry she’s become.
>Being a Fatha isn’t easy, and being a Mumma looks even harder.
>You wish that … that it was easier, but it’s not. Clover has to deal with two little Colts who have just figured out the difference between Mares and Stallions, as well as dealing with Little Filly who is utterly blind to the clumsy ruse cooked up by her two ‘brothers’ and the real objective of their ‘new game’, and you have nobody else who can be spared to help out.
>You only have two Special Friends, and that’s all you need or want.
>Red tried to bully Bwun into leaving you, caused your babies to cry, and then, stinking of Sorry Poopies and with Bwun crying behind you, she started to tell you how you should be with her only, how the other Mares weren’t pretty like her …
>How only she had your true babies inside her. How you were a fool for pretending to be the Fatha to Bwun’s dummy babies.
>That … hurt, more than any words should.
>You know that Wed has babies that you put inside of her. But they are not any more or less important than Bwun’s babies.
>No-Lips said he would deal with your babies inside Wed when the time was right, but you had to be patient, and above all else, say nothing to Wed that might cause her to try to hurt the babies that were hiding inside of her.
>The very thought of them getting hurt makes your blood run cold, so it’s not hard to remember what No-Lips said to you.
>And since nothing you have tried to make Wed be friends with Clover, Bwun and the Herd has worked … you say nothing to her at all anymore.
>You walk around her when she tries to stand in your way so you have to talk to her, stand still as a rock when she forces her hugs on you, look straight through her when she tries to rub her muzzle against yours.
>Hurting Wed like this makes you feel so low you feel like crying, but the thought of the babies sleeping inside her being hurt by their mean, selfish mother fills you with such loathing for Wed that you find you can keep the charade up.
>You just hope that No-Lips really can do something about your babies that are sleeping inside of Wed. You don’t want to leave them in her care a moment more than you have to, for their sakes.
>Be Bluehorn, the only real Smarty in Haven.
>Your stupid foolish ex-Special Friends gave birth to all dummy Earth Fluffies! ALL OF THE BABIES ARE DUMMIES!
>All that work and all that risk, getting the Fluffy Mummas back to Haven, putting up with their bitching and moaning, being humiliated by being publicly rejected, and it’s all been for nothing! Not one single baby that is a Unicorn, a Smarty Fluffy like you!
>And the Not-Snake you recovered from the Underground Lake is in the Bad Fluffy Pit, beyond your reach, and also worthless!
>When All-Mumma led the Moss-Raiders to the Underground Lake, she took the bag with her to gather more nummies, and when the Moss was distributed to the Fluffy Mummas, the snake was discovered … and All-Mumma just grabbed it, dragged the fading rubber snake to the Bad Fluffy pit and threw it in like it was nothing!
>The Herd just thought it was a stick! A stick! For the love of Fluff …
>All of your plans have turned to Poop! Nothing is working, you have no friends to help you, thanks to your verbal slip-up a few days ago, you’ve even been demoted from Toughie-status down to just a gatherer.
>A Unicorn, JUST A GATHERER?!? Inconcievable!
>Peach has had the ‘funny feel’ with half the un-mated Stallions’ in the Herd, Wed is in absolute disgrace and spends most of her days in the far corner of Haven with her belly dragging on the ground, bawling about how her beloved Special Friend is such an idiot while the other half of the Herd’s un-mated Stallions mount her, and you’re barely spoke to except for barked commands from … well, everyone.
>You are half tempted to challenge No-Lips to a fight to be the Smarty Friend, damn the consequences, but only a Toughie can issue that challenge … and you’re likely never going to become a Toughie again. Dammit!
>All you can do now is endure and hope that Peach, Wed and the other Fluffy Mummas have lots of Unicorn Fluffy Babies, Smarty Babies, like you.
>They’ll be Smarty like you, you can train them to listen to you like Smart Fluffies should, then you can leave, take them with you once they’re old enough not to have to need their Dummy Mumma’s milk!
>Leave! Leave! How you hate this place! Haven itself seems to conspire against you! The Green Wall! The Poop Maze! The Old Fluffy Corner! The Bad Fluffy Pit! They’re all out to get you, to stop you from assuming your rightful place as the Smarty Friend!
>Before you were beaten by No-Lips, your Herd assimilated into his own, you had everything! Mares to have Special Huggies with whenever the desire arose within you, a Toughie who obeyed your every wish, Smarty Unicorn Babies that adored you!
>Since he came into your life, everything has turned to Poopies! Your Mares left you to be Special Friends with the Toughies of No-Lip’s Herd without giving you a second glance, your Babies all grew up and forgot about how wonderful you were, your Toughie ate some of the Glowing Mushrooms and became a Mushroom Mumma …
>It’s not fair. It’s not right! You are the Smarty Friend! YOU ARE THE SMARTIEST SMARTY FRIEND IN THE WHOLE FLUFFING WORLD!
>Yet now you’re reduced to carrying grass for the Herd to snack on during the day, pushing the poop to the Poop-Maze at the entrance to Haven and scraping the Papers clean of the messes that the Babies leave!
>How your stupid ugly Ex-Special Friends smirk when they order you to clean the papers that their dummy Earthy Babies messed up!
>RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!
>It’s almost enough to make you want to start lashing out at everyone, just to try and make them submit to you like Dummy Fluffies should do to their Smarty Friend, but every Stallion is set against you, every Mare thinks you’re a dummy, every baby is being raised to think you’re a meanie, and that fluffin’ old poopy-head No-Lips just won’t die!
>So all you can do … is not have a plan! It’s brilliant! If everything is conspiring against you, plotting to derail your carefully laid-out plans, then it’s simple! Don’t have a plan, just be ready to move whenever the chance comes!
>So simple, yet so brilliant! You are a genius!
>“Dere some’tin’ wong wit’ dat Fwuffy.” Mangle murmurs as he helps you to cuddle and soothe the babies that weren’t able to play as long as they wanted to with the Rock-Ball before you had to give it back to the Colts and Fillies for their own games. “Wat his pwob’wem?”
>“Dat jus’ Bluehorn. He’s cwazy.” You, No-Name, reply with a sigh as the blue Unicorn, sitting at the Green Wall and nursing his bruises, suddenly breaks into hysterical laughter, making everyone flinch and glare at him, before going back to whatever it was they were doing.
>Eating, hugging, sleeping, playi … oop.
>“Sowwy …” Gold baby peeps unhappily, as you feel a familiar wet warmth trickle down your belly. “Sowwy! Wuv fatha! Sowwy!”
>Again with the pee-pee in your fluff … looks like the Gold Baby has a problem with holding it in when he gets scared or startled.
>Well, everyone has that problem every now and again, but with the Gold Baby, it’s a constant struggle for him to not make Bad Pee-Pee’s.
>“Fwiend make bad pee-pee’s …” Mangle murmurs, staring at the Gold Baby but with an affectionate smile across his face. “Why Fwiend du dat?”
>“Uh, baybeh nu su guud at howdin’ in pee if get scawed.” You reply, a little confused before all your attention goes back to soothing the Gold Baby, who is mortified to have peed on you again and keeps hugging your chest fluff, babbling how sorry he is.
>Mangle doesn’t call babies ‘Baybehs’ like everyone else in the Herd, he calls them ‘Fwiends’. It’s not a bad thing, just … a little awkward. They aren’t ready to be ‘Fwiends’ just yet.
>It’s not that babies can’t be friends with the adult Fluffies, but it’s … too soon for them to be called that. They aren’t nearly big enough and independant enough to warrant being ‘Friends’, with all the responsibilities that term entails, so right now they need to stay as ‘Babies’ so the Herd can protect them.
>All-Mumma said Mangle was a little bit broken in the head, but that losing everything like he did could make any Fluffy broken inside.
>No-Lips the Smarty Friend said that different Herds had different ways of saying things. Maybe Mangle’s old Herd tried to make their babies happy by calling them ‘Friends’, so they knew they were loved even as babies?
>“Mangwe gif huggies tu fwiend, make fwiend happeh whiwe No-Name gu wash bewwy fwuff.” Mangle offers happily, bending down to put the babies he is cuddling down on the ground, then sitting up and reaching for the Gold baby still squirming in your arms.
>“Eh … nu. Tank yuu, Mangwe, buh is time fo’ Baybehs tu haf sweepies soon. Wook at dem, dey aww su tiwed now.” You smile back at him, and on cue, half the babies start to yawn loudly.
>They did roll the heavy ‘giant’ marble around for the better part of an hour, after all. Your babies are a little bit tired, but Brick and Pink’s babies are exhausted …
>Still, Mangle looks upset, but nods.
>“Is guud. Nu wan’ fwiends get tiwed. If Speshaw Fwiend wouwd haf had sweepies when towd tu, den she nu be tuu tiwed tu get 'way fwom Sky Wa-Wa’s.” The pale-green Unicorn mumbles sadly, shuffling away to the Poop-Maze at the entrance of Haven.
>…Poor Mangle. It seems like everything reminds him of his Special Friend and their babies, and the day they drowned because of the storm a few days ago.
>Now that you think about it, Gold looks a lot like the Yellow Baby that had gotten caught on the rocks and drowned …
>He must have wanted to cuddle … the …
>“Yuu wiww unna’stan’ dose ‘Wowst Fwuffies’ someday, No-Name. When yuu wose a baybeh, yuu wiww unna’stan’ …” All-Mumma’s sad, wrinkled face flashes through your mind’s eye as you remember her chiding you about your comments on Fluffies who would steal babies from their rightful parents.
>To have lost everything, and then to be surrounded by things that reminded you of that loss, all the time …
>“Wai’! Mangwe!” You yell to the shuffling backside of the other Stallion. “Yuu can haf sweepies wit’ baybehs tuu!”
>And Mangle’s smile as he looks over his shoulder at you is brilliant.
>It looks like, for the first time in days, you’ve done something right for a change!
>Your heart … hurts, even though your body is having the Good Feels.
>Be Wed, and you feel like you’re breaking apart inside.
>For three days now, ever since you tried to make Bwun stop being such a Meanie and leave your Special Friend alone, everything has gone horribly wrong.
>No-Name misunderstood, thought you were bullying the stupid not-his-babies Babies that Bwun had forced on him, and turned away from you when that evil, old Smarty Friend declared you were now a Special Huggies Mare.
>Your beautiful Fluff has become matted and full of burrs, because nobody will groom you now. And that’s because there’s still a whiff of the Sorry Poopies around you.
>Because they all think No-Name belongs to Bwun and Clover now, not you, and they are being Meanies about it!
>You want to rub your belly and tell your babies it will be alright, No-Name will understand soon, but you have to brace yourself with all four legs.
>Tricks is clinging to your back, thrusting away wildly, going “Eeenf eeenf eeenf!” at the top of his lungs, while behind him three more Stallions all wait for their turn.
>Peach is just a few feet away, making encouraging noises as other Stallions have Special Huggies with her … both she and All-Mumma said that your Babies aren’t at risk of drowning in Special Huggies Juices, not until the eigth or ninth day of you being a Fluffy Mumma. And the babies won’t be ready to stop hiding in your belly for more Bright Times after that!
>And you’ve only been a Fluffy Mumma for four days now … you’ve got so long to go.
>Such a long time to go, but you’ve got to try and get No-Name to notice you again, to remember he loves you bestest of a-aaaaaagh!
>“Nuuuu, dat wong pwace! DAT NU PEE-PEE PWACE!” You shriek as one of the Earth Fluffies waiting for his turn finally cannot wait anymore, pushing the wildly thrusting Tricks off your backside and mounting you … but he’s so much bigger, his pokey thing goes too high, and pokes your poopie place!
>“Shu’ up! Stuuuupid Meanie Mawe!” The Earthy grunts, shoving his way in even as you shriek at the top of your lungs in panic and pain. “Yuu twy tu huwt yuu fwiend’s baybehs, yuu is a Bad Fwuffie, yuu is a Meanie!”
>IT HURTS IT HUUURTS IT HUUUUURTS IT HUUUUUUUUUUURTS!!!
>By some small mercy, the Earthy Stallion is a quit shot, and within twenty seconds, it’s all over, but you lie crumpled on the floor, sobbing with your poopie place an angry, throbbing agony that dominates your attention.
>Why … you’re a good Fluffy … you gave your bestest special huggies to No-Name … you gathered grass like the dummy, meanie Old-Fluffy Smarty Friend demanded … you poop where you’re told to …
>All this, just because you want No-Name to love you like he should? It’s all you ask for, for your Special Friend to love you, and play with you, and be with you, but he’s always having to be a Scout, or playing with Bwun’s babies, or cuddling with Clover …
>“Hey. Hey! Ge’ up! Wan’ mah Speshaw Huggies!” Another Stallion is barking at you, poking your side with his hoof as you lay on your belly on the ground, trying to make sense of it all.
>“Weave Wed be. Yuu wan’ haf Speshaw Huggies, haf wit’ Peach. Wed nu vewy guud at dis jus’ yet.” Peach grunts as her current Stallion finishes, rolling off her back to lie limp and panting on the ground. “She onwy jus’ become Speshaw Huggies Mawe, haf baybehs inside hew … nu gif hew Poopie Huggies next time, Bowl! Dummeh Bowl, yuu suu stuuupid!”
>“Buh been waitin’ fo’ so wooooong!” The Stallion whines, looking from you to Peach, who now has every other Stallion looking for a Special Hug lined up behind her.
>“Nu! Bowl gif Bad Huggies tu Wed, Wed’s poopie pwace haf boo-boo juices naow!” Peach snaps, glaring at the Stallion in question, but Bowl just sticks his tongue out at her as he waddles away. “Nu wan’ hew haf scawedies! Nu can haf New Mumma go ‘poof’ an’ weave baybehs behind!”
>“Fin’ … buh gon’ teww One-Eye an’ No-Lips dat Wed nu gif Speshaw Huggies, wike Speshaw Huggies Mawe shouwd!” The Stallion whines, giving you one last shove before joining the end of the que behind Peach, grumbling the whole time.
>It’s just … not fair. You can’t make No-Name understand when you’re trapped like this, when your fluff is all matted, when you stink of Sorry Poopies and Special Huggies from other Stallions!
>How can you make him understand … that he must be your Special Friend alone, that only you have his real bab …
>Through your tears, you see two familiar forms shuffling away from the Herd at the far end of Haven.
>No-Lips and Clover, waddling side by side, giggling to each other as they move towards the outside of the Papers, where there’s some space.
>They are nuzzling each other, giggling and rubbing against each other …
>Oh no, Clover was making the Special Smell! She’s trying to seduce No-Name! If she has his babies too, he’ll never understand that the babies you are carrying are the best of his babies!
>As the outrage fills you, driving away even the pain from your backside, No-Name whispers something to Clover, who giggles, and then he starts to stroke his muzzle down her back and side, working his way down to her tail …
>No! He’s completely entranced, they’re going to have Special Huggies! Clover’s going to try and take No-Name away from you forever!
>You struggle to your hooves, desperate to stop this travesty, when you’re mounted again!
>“Speshaw Huggies Mawe is weady ‘gain? Huw’way, nu haf saddies nu moaw, yuu is weady fo’ moaw Speshaw Huggies!” A dirty-blue Pegasus with only one wing cheers happily, hugging your back for a brief moment before he starts to give you Special Huggies, and then there’s a babble of voices as the Stallions argue over who should be next.
>Unable to move with the Stallion holding you, all you can do is stand there and glare at Clover, who is stealing your Special Friend away right before your eyes.
>Stand there and dream of seeing Clover … and Bwun, sitting where you are, crying and begging for you to forgive them, while you and No-Name play with your babies, and those two stupid, ugly, selfish Mares are forced to let all the other Stallions give them Special Huggies!
>No-Lips will be yours alone! Or nobody will have him!
>The next Nummies-Raid occurs next morning, well before the sun rises, as the No-Lips Herd starts to sort themselves into groups in readiness for the start of their day.
>Most of the Stallions and half the Mares who are without Foals, Colts or Fillies gather by the entrance to Haven, standing as close to each other as they can while they shiver from the cold.
>Those who stay behind, either to be attendants to the Fluffy Mummas, or in the case of the Stallions, those who have pulled up lame over the long trip to the Trough or are otherwise unfit for the long journey, form a tightly-packed wall of warm bodies by the Fluffy Mummas at the very back of the Papers, trying desperately to impart their own warmth to the newborn Foals and younger Fluffies, who lack the adults’ longer, thicker coats of dense fluff.
>The Herd has to get up earlier, because the Trough is further away from their home, Haven, than the Park that they normally graze at.
>Also … there are other Herds there, Herds that do not even obey the loose Rules that the Alleyway and Park Herds hold to.
>“Weady? Wemembah, nu stawp fo’ otha Fwuffies if nu pawt of owr Hewd! De Twough Fwuffies awe bad fwuffies, angwy fwuffies, wiww gif yuu huwties jus’ cause dey can!” No-Lips barks at the Herd finished their final goodbyes.
>No-Lips hugs Bwun, then all of her Babies, promising them many nummies for their Mother, then hugs Clover, pausing to rub a hoof softly over her belly, the two of them sharing a quiet moment with their foreheads pressed against each other as they both stare down at Clover’s belly.
>She’s pregnant now, their last coupling having the desired effect, for them at least. It’s a touch soon for Clover to have Foals again, immediately after her previous two Foals were weaned, but it was what she wanted.
>Wed, on the other hand, almost screamed herself hoarse when Clover excitedly claimed she’d had the ‘funneh feew’ right after her Special Hugs.
>Wed’s now got two of the older Mares who were rendered sterile by the poisoned spaghetti watching over her all the time now, with orders from the Smarty Friend and All-Mumma to break her legs if she so much as speaks about trying to hurt her babies again.
>Last night, Wed’s tantrum ended in her demanding that her babies come out right now and show No-Lips that she was his Bestest Special Friend by bouncing up and down on her belly, trying to force them to come out.
>On the other side of the smaller group of Fluffy Mummas and Mares with new offspring, Brick and Pink hug each other tightly, silently shaking with grief as their remaining babies peep and hug the entwined fluff of their parents, oblivious to their parents’ distress.
>Last night, one of Pink’s babies went missing in the evening Hug-Pile. Nobody could find it, nobody had the baby snuggled into their fluff, it was just … gone. Pink was distraught, and Brick almost got into a fight with several Mares who tried to console Pink with idea that the loss of one baby now meant she had lots of milk for her remaining ones.
>No-Lips was furious about the ‘theft’, and made all the Mares line up, and checked them all for signs that they might have stolen the baby and tried to feed it, but none of them had any boo-boo juice on them, or traces of the baby’s fluff on them.
>Everyone is nervous, it’s obviously not a Munsta at work, because if that were the case, nobody would have woken up, but for a baby, and one of Pink’s lethargic, skinny babies at that, to just up and disappear? They could barely muster the energy to play, let alone walk across the entire Hug-Pile without needing to stop and rest and going back to sleep in somebody else’s fluff…
>So it must be someone within Haven. One of their own has resorted to stealing babies, and worst of all, has disposed of the baby before their crime could be discovered.
>It’s a nagging feeling at the back of everyone’s mind as the Raiders move out towards the Trough, that they might have left one of the worst of their kind back at Haven, with their precious children.
>Be No-Lips, the ancient Smart Friend of the Herd that bears your name.
>Your attention is divided, and you know that’s not safe, but you’re torn between trying to keep a lookout for monsters, trying to keep the route from the Trough to Haven clear in your mind, and running through the likely suspects within your Herd who might kill a Foal rather than risk punishment for stealing it.
>It’s one of the more vile things you’ve seen your kind do to each other, and you’ve seen so much madness and evil over your six years …
>You didn’t say anything, didn’t want the Herd to crowd around it, but you sent Gnaff to check on the Bad Fluffy Pit, just in case the Bad Fluffy in question had thrown the baby in there to escape punishment.
>But Gnaff saw no tufts of fluff or floating bodies in the Bad Fluffy Pit, or any sign of the Dragon, but that means nothing, the Dragon can disappear for days at a time into the Deep Tunnels, doing unknowable Dragon-things that, quite frankly, terrify you just to think about.
>Besides, unless the Baby had been given the Longest Sleepies by the Bad Fluffy, then the whole Herd would have woken to the Baby’s desperate peep-ing the instant it left the warmth of the Hug-Pile.
>So that means the Baby must have trusted whoever took it … not that it’s hard to earn a Baby’s trust in the first place, but it must have been somebody the baby knew, to not make it peep at all when taken from it’s Mumma’s fluff in the middle of the night …
>So that leaves the Attendant Mares, Crunchy or Pink … none of those choices feels right, however. Pink’s not likely to hurt her Foals, not with how she’s throwing herself into being a Mumma, and Crunchy is all but killing himself working to keep Pink fed so she can make Milk for the babies.
>The Attendants … maybe. But they are all seasoned Mares with many pregnancies to their names, chosen by All-Mumma herself to help Pink because of her problem with her milk-places not working right.
>Could it be the Green Unicorn, Mangles? He’s a new-comer, and he’s … strange. But he’s not ‘familiar’ to the babies yet, and he’s too loud and clumsy to sneak into the middle of the Hug-Pule at night.
>Wed and Peach are under guard all the time, and even then, Wed’s getting too heavy with her babies to be able to walk ontop of the evening Hug-Pile without somebody noticing her, and Peach has absolutely no interest in babies, not even her own.
>Bluehorn is an obvious choice for who would be cruel enough, but he’s exiled to the far edges of the evening Hug-Pile as well. And nobody trusts Bluehorn these days, not enough to let him walk over them, literally, to get to the Fluffy Mummas.
>Bwun, Clover and No-Name also sleep at the middle of the Hug-Pile, because of Bwun’s babies, but none of them would have motives to kill one of Pink’s babies, and knowing them as you do, you can’t imagine any of them being that vicious and cruel.
>It’s a mystery, but one you have to solve, or else the cracks of fear that are spreading through the Herd will cause divisions, they’ll stop trusting each other and start to squabble, splintering into factions and miniature Herds with the Fluffies they trust …
>The tunnels get narrower down here, and the ceiling comes down so low that the Herd could touch it if they stood on their hind-legs, but soon the air starts to get fresher, and the smell of the City seems more and more distant even though the first pink hints of sunlight are starting to filter over the towering sky-scrapers of the City.
>The Trough. At first glance, it’s a paradise, as your Herd slows to a creep just before the final corner and you see the ground smothered with a thick, lush crop of grass, clover and weeds atop a muddy, mucky ground, a veritable feast that could feed your Herd for … for many, many Bright Times.
>Many of your Fluffies are drooling as they take in this smorgasbord, but you and the Toughies all bop them on the nose and remind them of the threat here.
>Slowly, watching the skies and the tops of the ‘valley’, your Herd creeps out of the drain and over the grass, with a little bit of whining from some Fluffies that you aren’t letting them graze, when you emerge from the small ‘valley’ of the drain, and the first of the Trough’s treasures is right there in front of you.
>It’s always infuriated you that the Two-Legged Munstas, the Hoomins, are so vicious and cruel to your kind, yet they have so many nummies that they can throw them away when they go bad. There is no reason for them to be so mean and hateful, not with so much food available! What could possibly drive them to such acts of cruelty when they have so much …
>Truly, the Hoomins are Munstas.
>Here at the ‘Trough’, or the Green Waste depo, there are piles of fruit and vegetables thrown away from chain-store supermarkets, lawn-cuttings and garden clippings and more, all piled high and left to rot by beaucracy and laziness on behalf of the Humans involved.
>For the Fluffies, the slowly decomposing piles are a bountiful source of food, at least for the first few days, bedding and even shelter itself once all food-value has been lost, and the gently sloping dirt walls that rise to meet the chain-link fence that keeps the bulk of the waste in the Depo out of sight form a welcome hiding place from the casual glance of the Humans who might be nearby.
>Unfortunately, the abundance of food and shelter also brings a large number of Fluffies to the Depo, and their constant fighting over space and the solitary source of water in the Trough has rendered them into savage, warring family-groups.
>The first ‘Mountain’ is a pile of lawn-clippings, starting to curl and turn yellow and brittle as they dry out, but the Herd bypasses them, even though a few Mares mumble that the drying grass would make excellent padding material for their nests.
>That grass wouldn’t make good fodder at all. It might fill the bellies for now, but the stomach-aches it would cause later could cause the Fluffy Mumma’s to sour their own milk, or worse still, stop making milk altogether.
>The fact that the Trough Herds haven’t dismantled the pile to take back to their own territories is also a clue that there might be something wrong with the grass-mountain.
>Another hidden treachery within the Trough. Sometimes there are pesticides, or worse, sprayed onto the refuse before or after it is brought to the Green Waste Depo, and what looks like a gift from the Gods could very well be the source of a slow and agonizing death for the unlucky eaters.
>Beyond the first mountain are bigger and bigger piles of dry or decaying green-waste that the Herd slowly creeps around, staying tightly packed, always watching the tops of the mounds, of these ‘mountains’, for sentries posted by the Trough Fluffies.
>The first sign of these feral, savage kin-fluffies is on a mountain of branches and lawn-clippings that the Herd keeps their distance from, while scores of Fluffies covered in scars and bald-patches glare down at them from shallow ‘caves’ made in the ‘mountain’s’ sides by tangles of branches where the dead, drying grass has fallen through have been painstakingly expanded by the natives.
>The next threat the Herd encounters is a long, shallow ‘slope’ of rotting fruit and vegetables that is the site of a vicious brawl between almost a fifty Fluffies, howling, wretched, battered and hunger-maddened Fluffies who slip and sink and scramble across the decaying morass in their efforts to claim the least-rotted fruit for themselves, leaving the weak and the injuried to be mired in the sticky-sweet corruption left behind by the fighting, slowly sinking into the morass.
>Flinching with every scream, with every cry for help, the Herd shuffles onwards to the ‘Treasure’ they found the second day they came to the Trough.
>Several more mountains of leathery fruits, mold-spotted vegetables and garden-clippings later, they come to it, a small ‘mountain’ of carrots, celery and beans, dumped by a super-market a week ago.
>Baked under the sun and then drenched by the rain before being baked again, most of the produce is browned and leathery, covered in a soft layer of white mould, fodder for only the most desperate, but the Herd pulls off the top layers, grimacing at the gruesomely bitter taste, to reveal the fresher produce, kept moist and relatively fresh by the layer above and the humidity of the decomposition below, and start to load up the Mares with their finds.
>Long and slender, most of the carrots and beans can be safely threaded into the fluff, held in place by a friend licking a particularly large clump of fluff over the prize, where the spit will dry and the fluff will stick to whatever it touches.
>The celery takes the longest to collect, but it’s also the best of the prizes, even if the leaves are somewhat wilted, because it’s green like nummies should be.
>By the time the Herd has finished ‘securing’ their prizes, the pile is down a full foot in height, there’s not a spare tuft of fluff not put to good use on the Mares’ backs and dawn is well underway, the pink, tentive light from before giving way to the harsh yellows and oranges of full day-break, and the Mares, clustered safely within the ranks of the Stallions, make a break for the drain, with No-Lips in the lead, looking to the sides and peaks of every ‘mountain’ for possible threats.
>So it is with great surprise that he sees a small, bedraggled Mare with both ears chewed to ragged stumps shivering on the ground in front of his Herd, with a small, squeaking lump on her back that he can only assume is a small, newborn baby, the Mare staring at him with wide, shocked eyes.
>The Herd manges, with a few bumps and muttered complaints about being squashed, to stop their clumsy charge before they trample the young Mare, and for a brief moment there is silence, the whole Herd staring fearfully at this lone Mare, who in turn cowers at their numbers, mumbling under her breath.
>It is the young Mare who breaks the tense silence first, reaching out a hoof to No-Lips.
>“Yu-yuu nu fwom hewe … y-y-yuu is … a ‘Hewd’?” She stammers, still crouched on the ground, but a look of hope starts to fill her eyes. “Yuu … come tu Twough tu take ova?”
>No-Lips shares a glance with his Toughies, then shakes his head.
>“Nu, we jus’ come tu get nummies, den weave. Dis pwace is bad fo’ Fwuffies, Fwuffies fite aww de time, nu hewp each otha, spoiw aww de nummies …” He explains quietly, and the young Mare shakes, sobbing quietly.
>“D-den nu Fwuffy gon’ be safe hewe … mah baybeh … he gon’ haf biggest owies … owr he gon’ be wike Bwudda, an’ be a Meanie …” The Mare whimpers, collapsing onto the muddy grass and shaking with her tears. “Nevah gon’ get outta hewe. Nevah …”
>“Am sowwy, buh nu can twust yuu. Twough Fwuffies awe dange’wous.” No-Lips sighs, and looks around, noting the Herd is staring at him nevously as they pass by. His own words about not trusting the Trough Fluffies have come back to haunt him. “Yuu can twy tu ‘scape fwom hewe. Haf nummies, wun’, twy tu find otha Hewd who nu know 'bout Twough.”
>One of the Mares squeaks in alarm as she feels a small, wrinkly carrot fall out of her fluff, but the press of the Herd forces her on, the carrot being trodden into the dirt under the hooves of the Herd.
>“… Eeheee heee heee …” The Mare shakes, giggling in a high-pitched voice, eyes closed tightly. “Nu Fwuffy evah gets ouwt … nevah … nevah … NEVAH! NEVAH! NEVAH! NEVAH!” and as she shakes, the oily bundle falls off her back, squeaking and squirming, revealing itself to be a small mouse that scuttles away, back up the sides of the nearest ‘Mountain’.
>“Ev’wy Fwuffie, fo’awds!” No-Lips barks, the Herd abandoning all attempts at stealth as they rush forwards towards the drain, the Trough echoing with the mad laughter of the Mare.
>Behind them, from a ‘mountain’ of decaying lawn-cuttings and dead brances, a pack of Fluffies descends to where the Herd encountered the mad Mare, sniffing the ground and howling in rage.
>“Stwangews! Dis ouw pwace, yuu gon’ get Biggest Owies fo’ comin’ hewe!”
>“Dey haf Mawes! Suuuu many Mawes, make dem shawe!”
>And then the dreaded phrase …
>“Dey haf fwesh Nummies!” One Stallion roars in outrage as he roughly pushes the “NEVAH!” shouting Mare aside and snuffles around the week-old carrot smushed into the dirt, prompting howls of fury or delighted cheers from every Trough Fluffy within range, who in turn pass the call on and on through-out the Trough.
>“Nu stawp fo’ nuthin’! If Nummies dwop, weave dem, can aw’ways get moaw Nummies, nu can get new Hewd-Fwiends!” No-Lips pants as the Herd rushes around the base of another mountain, the echoing cries of the Trough Fluffies waking up the Pack above them, who shout out challenges or demands for the Herd to give them the nummies, but the size of the No-Lips Herd gives the smaller Pack of the Trough Fluffies pause, granting the Herd a chance to get past before the Pack comes tumbling down their mountain, howling abuse at the Herd, and then the other Packs who have come rushing to investigate the outcry.
>The Herd pants with their exertions, they have spent all morning getting to the Trough, then digging through the discarded produce to find the freshest morsels, and now they are running for their lives in unfamiliar territory.
>The Packs, on the other hand, have spent the morning either sleeping or in the case of the smaller or more desperate Herds, sneaking out to steal food or fight for territory.
>They have fresh legs and a furious disposition to begin with, and it is only their natural distrust of anyone outside their family groups that prevents the Packs from joining together and overwhelming the Herd.
>“Gif fwesh nummies!” “Dis my wand! Yuu gif Mawes tu come onto my wand!” “Gif yuu owies, take yuu nummies!” and more threats spurr on the No-Lips Herd, but they are tired after a long journey, and loaded down with food, and the gap between the Herd and the squabbling, shoving Packs diminishes even as the Herd closes in on the drain that will take them back to the sewers.
>“Qui-quick’wy! Stawwions, spwead out, gif sowwy poopies, buh nu stawp wunnin’!” Bandit suddenly yells, running to the side and lifting his tail, slowing for a brief moment as his face strains, and then he releases a torrent of semi-liquid shit behind him that splatters over the mud and grass, causing the Packs to howl and shove each other to try and avoid running over the top of the disgusting pile.
>The rest of the Stallions, and the Mares closest to the back of the Herd, all try to do the same, some having more success than others, but the sudden ‘barrier’ of Sorry Poopies stalls the Pack for tens of precious seconds as they push and shove each other futiley to try and avoid being pushed by the reckless charges of those behind them into the stinking messes left by the No-Lips Herd.
>Packs fall to blows as they are pressed into the ugly messes left behind by the No-Lips Herd, turning and savaging the Fluffies behind them who pushed the front-ranks into the sorry poopies, and the gap widens as more and more Packs have to divert around the brawls to try and catch up to the Herd.
>For every small, wrinkled carrot or flaccid stalk of celery that the Herd drops in it’s haste, the Packs descend ravenously upon the ‘fresh’ produce, punching and kicking and biting for the chance to eat the choice morsels themselves even as their hooves grind the prizes into the dirt with their struggles, the scent of the broken vegetables driving the Trough Fluffies wild with hunger and jealousy, causing more and more to pile into the brawl, seeking this ‘treasure’ for themselves.
>Desperately, the Herd runs into the ‘valley’ that leads to the opening of the drain, and curiously, the Trough Fluffies that still chase them start to scream in horror and try to break off the chase.
>“Munsta pwace!” “NUUUUUU!” “Nu, nu Munstas, NU MUNSTAS!” “Come bawk, Munstas eat de nummies an’ de Fwuffies!”
>But the No-Lips Herd does not stop, and the Trough Packs mill nervously several meters from the drain, arguing over whose fault it was that the ‘Big Pack’ got away with all the nummies, only to be eaten by the Monsters that live underground, along with all their Mares.
>Then some bright spark decides that now is the best time to take over the territory of the other Packs, while they are absent.
>Unfortunately, he does so while thinking out loud.
>Now it’s a frantic race back to the front of the Green-Waste Depo by the Packs, squabbling and snapping at each others’ ears and tails as they do so, leaving a few weakened straggers behind to either catch their breath or try to get back up on broken legs.
>One of which is the young Mare that No-Lips would not take into his Herd, staring nervously at the entrance as she hears her Brothers and Cousins shouting obscenities at each other and the other Packs.
>But above all else, No-Lips’s words ring in her ears. She sits and paws at the grass, fixated on the entrance until she is alone on the muddy, churned grass, when a familiar tugging makes her squeak in alarm and look down.
>Her only friend in the world, a small mouse, is clinging to her belly fluff, nose twitching, it’s eyes staring up at her searchingly. If not for her Friend pretending to be a baby, her Brothers would likely have forced their Special Hugs on her again and again …
>“Come on, Mou’fee. Gon’ fin’ a … a Hewd, jus’ fo’ us.” She whispers, getting onto her hooves and smiling as her friend Mouse clambers through her fluff to ride on her back, like a Baby should, and shakily makes her way into the terrifying maze of her people’s legends.