Zecora's Interlude

Zecora finished pouring out a circle of glimmering, gray dust. She put the gourd back into her saddlebags and trotted quickly around her hut, checking the integrity of the line. It was perfect, just as she'd thought, but with matters like this, you quickly learned not to trust your first impression. The scars on her neck, hidden by the golden neck-rings she habitually wore, were an ever-present reminder that she was lucky to have gotten a second chance.

There were three circles, all made with powders of different color and composition, around her hut, with carefully made fetiches placed at precise intervals between them. The barrier would not stop the Kraken, but it would turn away anything lesser that it might bring along, clinging to the Ancient One like splinter-ticks to the hide of a timber wolf.

Finishing her examination of her defenses, Zecora cast a concerned look over her shoulder, towards Ponyville. She'd been busy with her own preparations ever since her bone chimes had alerted her to the danger, but now she wished she could have spared the time to visit the town to warn them. Perhaps she could have helped them...

She sighed and shook her head. She had barely enough of the powders to protect herself; trying to stretch them to cover even a part of the town would have been a dangerous folly. Besides, the pony Princesses were ancient of days themselves, with great power and much knowledge that their subjects had no idea of. They would know of the danger, and alert their chosen herald, Twilight Sparkle, no doubt giving her some means of defense.

Still, there was no excuse for not giving the unicorn all the help she could. From her saddlebags, Zecora took the pouch containing the last of her Powder of Ibn-Gazelle and placed it on the large, flat stone serving as her porch. She hung the sign she'd prepared on her door, closing and barring it behind her. It made no true difference, but it made her feel better, and that was important enough. Then, she began to make tea.

By the time it was ready, she no longer needed he chimes to detect the kraken's approach; the unearthly chill of its wingbeats made her tail twitch and mane bristle. She poured herself a bowl of tea and carefully added three drops of black elixir from a small, onyx bottle whose ivory stopper was carved in the shape of a grinning zebra skull. As they dissolved in the hot tea, the drops turned it a dark, bloody red.

Steeling herself, Zecora lifted the bowl to her muzzle and began to drink. It tasted bitter and burned in her mouth and throat, but she drank it all down. Her vision was already starting to fade when she licked away the last drops. Feeling stiff and heavy, she hurried over to her cot and lay clumsily down. Satisfied that she had done everything she could, the zebra succumbed to the effects of the black lotus, her body turning stiff and cold as she sank down into dreamless darkness.

Whoever is reading, do not dread;
Zecora is sleeping, I am not dead.