Detective Pony When I Feel Like It

1 month ago

OH THE HORRORTERROR!!!

This user is literally a Horrorterror.

@inspectorEquine[IE]

Chapter 9 Three Ideas [“So what now?” Jeanne Betancourt asked. She was sitting on a flat, wide rock next to Minos while Acorn stood nearby. All three were gazing at the imposing river that flowed in front of them. Its water was clear, impossibly clear. Almost painfully clear. Almost invisible. In fact, if not for the sound of rushing water, they might not have known that there was a river there at all. On the river’s other bank, there hung a silvery mist, obscuring everything, but occasionally thinning in patches, offering a tantalizing glimpse of— and then it was gone. But the bank where the three exiles of hell sat was sunny and warm, grassy, speckled with wildflowers, obscenely pastoral and picturesque. Menacingly peaceful. Neither Minos nor Acorn answered Jeanne’s question. All three of them needed this moment of rest after Acorn’s frantic gallop away from Dirk, through the forest of hell (book still held in Acorn’s teeth), plunging deeper into it, until they were enveloped in a darkness beyond darkness, not just an absence of light, but a thing in and of itself, Darkness with a capital D, that stretched on, in a way that defied time, space, direction… and then out of it again, bursting through, being reborn, emerging on a seashore, coming out of the ocean, but not wet, unbaptized, onto the beach, the sand turning to molten glass beneath each strike of Acorn’s hooves, still hurtling forward, unstoppable, galloping, flying over the beach, reaching a mountain, steep and rocky, unclimbable — but Acorn climbed it, finding hidden paths, or else moving the rocks out of his way by willpower alone, or else the mountain itself shifting of its own will to allow the pony to climb it, respecting his motion, forever forward, and now up, up, towards an unseen peak, shrouded in clouds, up, forward, the cat and the woman clinging to this monster, this machine, up, forward, monstrous machine, through the clouds, now seeing the sun for the first time, into a forest, but how could a forest be this high up, they thought — through the forest, still climbing, but not a forest like that bleached, skeletal mockery of hell, but a forest of green and brown, still silent, but a silence of anticipation, not of death, still forward, still up, the grass scorching as Acorn ran over it, but flowers springing out of the ground behind the pony once he had passed, a trail in inverse, a testament to his journey, until the whole forest was blooming, sprouting, growing around them, the sound of wood creaking and straining as Acorn swept past it, bringing a sudden burst of Time to this timeless place, giving it that modifying spark that it had so long needed, but Acorn didn’t stop, couldn’t stop to appreciate the consequences of his own being, because he was still moving, forward, up, until the trees began to thin, until he reached a bright meadow, sunny and warm, getting nearer, or so it seemed; only Acorn knew; further up, always up, the light of the sun above him not a thing in and of itself, but an absence of darkness, and what a merciful absence it was, the field stretching on, Acorn galloping forward, until he saw a river, and then— Acorn stopped. They had escaped. Minos immediately jumped off Acorn’s back, landing lightly on the ground, and began] #DetectivePony