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My Little Pony: Where Griffons Go to Die

Chapter 1: Sunlight

The lion was before her.

There was plenty of room to hide in the grass if you knew how to use it. As in, use it apart from eating it, of which zebras often did when other food was not available. She had never been taught how to use it like this, but then again, none of her people seemed intent on teaching her anything she felt actually mattered. She was a zebra of the Quagga Tribe. Expected to be a healer. Expected to grow to be wise, be old and pass down what she'd learnt to the next generation. It was the way of the Quagga. The way of many zebra tribes of Borensisia, under the gaze of Awambi, the Sun Goddess. Like she was now. As too was the lion. A lion who was about to get a face full of staff.

Such was the mind of Oromo. "Little child," as she was called by way of the literal meaning of her name. The one who would not grow up. The one who would show Awambi that she was meant for this. That when she received her sun mark, it would show her a destiny that was outside what her tribe had meant for her. And if she had to, that would include showing this lion that zebras did not always run from their foes.

Manticores might be another story, the zebra reflected, thinking of the legends of the lands to the north-lands her father insisted did not exist any more than lands to the south. There was only east and west, and here between them, wedged between where Awambi rose and set. But this was a lion. Something that distinctly existed. And sliding out her staff and strapping it through her right wrist guard, she prepared to show that the Quagga could be predators to.

Come on, Oromo thought, watching the hairy beast saunter across the scrubland. Let me take that crown off your head…

Oromo told herself she was ready. Staves were hard to make and even harder to use, what with having hooves instead of the fingers of the great apes. It involved standing up on one's hind hooves, maintaining balance as well as manoeuvrability, and due to the need to strap it between one's wrists, if you fell, it could be quite hard to get up. Hence why zebras ran rather than fought. Like the antelope, but without the horns to fend off predators.

Come on…

It was now or never. Soon the lion would pass by. Soon her window of opportunity would pass. So in light of this, and under Awambi's light from the sky above, she strapped the staff into her second wrist guard, getting her hind legs ready.

"Keyaahhh!"

She sprung.

The lion turned and casually swatted her out of the air.

Oromo fell into the grass. The lion drew near.

No!

Desperately, Oromo raised her staff. With ease, the lion extended a claw and cut the bark that bound her hooves. And with just as much ease, he swatted the staff aside. He looked down at her. His eyes cold. His mane shaggy. His breath like death…or was it meat? Oromo had never eaten meat. She-

"You're not a lion."

…kept staring at him.

"You were downwind," the lion continued. "Your weapon's pathetic. Your stance needs work. And since you're a female, I assume the Quagga are running out of warriors…"

Oromo's ears stood up. They tended to do that when she was angry.

"Or you're a fool."

And the ears went back down.

"So run away," the lion said, bearing his teeth in what Oromo supposed was meant to be reassuring, but instead looked terrifying. "Because that's what zebras do, isn't it?"

And with that, the lion turned away, flicking her face with his tail as he did so.

"I'm not done!" Oromo called out. "Come back and face me you-"

"Prey on herbs, stripy. It's all you can do."

And the lion walked away. King of the scrubland. Herself…right now she felt lower than a slave. Not that the Quagga practiced such a technique, but…

Oromo got to her hooves. No other tribe would accept her as a slave anyway. Not when she was so useless.

Hot tears blurred her vision as she went to retrieve her staff, the weapon promptly being slung across her back. She glanced at the sun, Awambi's rays burning her eyes. There was no mercy from the goddess today. There was no escaping fate. She was born to be a medicine woman. She would live as a medicine woman. Without proof she could be something different, she'd be fated to take her lessons from Sangoma, and be told off by her father…at best.

This is what I'm meant for, isn't it? Oromo thought, shielding her eyes from Awambi's glow. You've decided my fate, haven't you?

Awambi didn't answer. She kept shining. Even as Oromo turned away and looked at her flank. Her one beacon of hope. The thing that kept her going even in the midst of this failure.

Then where is my sun mark?

Before trotting off back to her village, Oromo gave one last glance at the sun, hoping for an answer.

Awambi remained silent.

"You're late."

Firm and hard. That was how the words sounded. Just like Selous himself. Warrior. Protector. A zebra where every other stripe was marred by a scar or covered with some ornamentation. And also a zebra who was Oromo's father.

"Well?" her father asked, clearly not impressed by her silence. "Where have you been? Awambi has reached her highest point."

Didn't he have something better to do, Oromo wondered? Some gathering party to protect? Some other tribe to negotiate with over who had access to what? Did he really have time to stand at the village entrance, waiting for his erstwhile daughter?

"Fine," Selous said, in light of his daughter's silence. "Don't answer."

And did he even care? Or did he want to remind her that he was her father, and once she'd learnt the ways of herbs and medicine, he'd always lord over her? Either way, he began heading into the tribe's camp, and dutiful daughter as she was, Oromo followed.

It was always the same, Oromo reflected. The Quagga would move with the sun and the rain, as all zebras did. But the camps they set up all followed the same style. Dwellings of mud and bark, a wooden wall with a single entrance, the smell of herbs and the laughter of foals and fillies…it was home. Supposedly. Yet glancing at the walls as she trotted after her father, Oromo felt it was more like a prison. She sometimes suspected it was a feeling that had led to her mother slipping out that fateful day, which led to…what came afterwards.

I'll escape one day though, she told herself, trying to banish the unpleasant memories. One day…if Awambi lets me…if my father lets me…

Her father wasn't a deity, but he still exerted more control over her than the sun goddess. As they made their way through the village, she glanced at his sun mark, that of a spear extending into a stone. The spear of the warrior that he was, the stone representing his personality. Cold, uncompromising, and one who did not bleed. Indeed, "Selous" literally meant "stone" in some zebra languages. That was how names worked among the Quagga. All had a birth name, and upon receiving their sun mark, they could pick another. A sign of maturity, and the ability to choose your own path in this world.

"Here," Selous said. "Where you should have been when Awambi was lower."

Oromo snorted. She shouldn't be here. And the whole sun mark thing was ridiculous. If you chose your own path across the savannah, why did Awambi need to dictate it for you? Why-

"Are you listening?"

Selous had turned to face her. Oromo faced him in turn.

"Well?"

"Yes, father," she said. "I'm listening."

"Good. Then listen to your teacher."

"I'll do that," Oromo murmured. "But that doesn't mean I like what she has to say."

Selous sighed. "Do your duty, my daughter. Awambi will show you the way soon."

"I'm sure," Oromo said, watching her father turn and head to wherever he was meant to be. "I'm sure she will…"

She wasn't. But her father was convinced. She'd be a good member of the Quagga. Stay in the village, learn the art of healing. No doubt find a handsome zebra some day and bring new children into the world, to receive Awambi's love. She-

"Ah, Oromo. You're here."

The zebra snapped out of her reverie, facing her teacher.

"And late," the elderly zebra added. "Been chasing the antelope again?"

Oromo grimaced. She'd chased the antelope in the old days. It was after receiving a black(er) eye from one of them kicking her that had landed her in front of Crawshay in the first place. It was what had landed her as an apprentice healer, and what had inspired her to go after lions. Because if she was going to escape her fate, she needed something bigger. Something better. Something more than simply learning various potions and broths to treat the zebras who needed them.

"Well, come in then," Crawshay said. "Awambi has begun setting, but we can still make up for lost time."

The zebra entered her dwelling. Letting out a snort, Oromo followed.

Crawshay. Literally "wise woman" in the Quagga language. Looking at the crone, Oromo suspected that "Agshay" (old woman) would have been a better choice. Her stripes were long, her ears were ever downwards, her sun mark depicted some dry bushes, and she had more neck rings than there were stars in the sky. Oromo had five such rings on her neck and left forelimb, not to mention a gold earring in each of her ears, and felt that was enough.

"Will this last long?" the young zebra asked as she watched her teacher move around to the other side of the clay pot that lay in the centre of the room. "I have…things to do."

"It will take as long as necessary," Crawshay said. "As all such work does."

"My patients may disagree."

"Those you treat may do so. But you have the final say as a healer, my student. Do not forget this."

Oromo snorted. Final say indeed. She was a Quagga, a zebra, and a female. It meant that she would ever be at the mercy of males, and every other creature that roamed under Awambi's light. Lions, giraffes, even hippos. Zebras bore the colours of black and white, but the world was in shades of grey. Each creature competing along the same grass.

And yet the zebras were Awambi's chosen, the shamans often said. Why was it that they and no other creature received sun marks?

"Well, come on then," the herbalist said. "Today, I indeed to teach you about seeds of truth."

Oromo rolled her eyes. Seeds of truth. She knew all about them. They-

"The seeds of truth,' Crawshay continued, "sprout only in light of a truthful confession. A meaningful one, mind you. They…"

Oromo let Crawshay ramble on. She knew about seeds of truth. She knew about every herb there was in all this blasted scrub. She knew what every other herbalist among the Quagga knew. If she was fated to become a healer, she wanted to be in a situation where such skills could make a difference.

"…when combined with the petals of truth…"

But they didn't. And so far, she had about as much chance of changing her fate as she had of telling her father what she really did out in the scrubland and keeping her independence, let alone her staff.

"So then," Crawshay said. "Let's see you make this remedy, eh?"

Scowling, Oromo did.

It was going to be a long lesson. Awambi would be low in the sky by the time she was done.

But maybe it was just as well.

If her sun mark indeed represented her fate, she had no desire to receive one anytime soon.

Update (18/06/14): Made some writing corrections.