Gravel and mud rained down the side of the hill after him as he slid down from the peak. The soft patter of the light debris popping and chipping as they struck larger stones. The feel of the hillside against Rusted's back scraped like barbs against his backside. He felt the bumps of heavy stones race across his spin, the pricks and snags of buried sticks or twine of wire or barbed wire.

He couldn't do much after he tripped coming down. And he couldn't yell. He could only slide on his back, tail wrapped up around his hind legs as they struck out. Chunks of clay of muddy globs erupted up from the wet hillside as he tore down through, splashing him the face. It was in all an incredibly unpleasant experience as he grit his teeth and narrowed his eyes downwards to the bottom bank. Glistening in the murky gray sun lay a brown puddle of mud.

The rain of gravel came to a sudden jolt as he hit a hard lump buried in the hill side. In a breaking split of a second a sharp explosion of pain tore across his ass and tail bone as something struck into it. He bit down hard on his cheeks, with holding a scream of pain as blood dripped into his mouth as he spun into the air, a violent wet agony burning his entire lower half. He stared wide-eyed and shocked as he spun head first through the air.

With a hearty crunch he fell to the hard clay on the other side of the puddle. A resounding splash followed his face-plant into the ground. He stayed there, rooted as he groaned at the agony tearing his groin apart. His hind legs sprawled out, hung over behind his back at the crunching bowed position he had been forced to.

“Piece of shit.” he sneered behind clenched teeth. His muzzle buried in rain whetted clay, a centuries worth of rot and contamination set free from the rain water. The putrid rags of time draining up through his nose.

With a groan of surrender he turned on his head, falling limply onto his back. The thump he took laying flat out shot another exploding pop of sheering discomfort through his groin and he recoiled back. His hooves darting to between his legs as he curled up.

At least he still had them.

Cracking open an eye he looked up at the tilled path his tumbling body had left. The filly and his Brahmin were no where in sight, so they had taken his word and went into hiding.

Good girls.

And lower down on the hill, some three-quarters down a crater near the size the size of his head, already half-filled  with gravel. Lower in the puddle, directly in front of his pain-rocked sneer a bolder just that size.

“Fuck the wasteland.” he snickered angrily, rolling onto his side and fighting the force of gravity and noxious weakness that quaked through his every limb, “And fuck me. I'm too old for any of this.” he goaded himself. His limbs felt shaken and battered, and the three steps he took were as weak as noodles.

It wasn't far before he allowed himself to collapse again. His front legs folding under him. Kneeling as his chin planted back into the thick mud and dry twisted grass.

His entire coat had been slathered in brown, black, and gray mud. He was beyond what he was before, and even the jacket he still wore was packed thick with grime. So much so he hazarded it was more silt and muck than it was mis-matched fabrics and leather sewn together any more.

He lay there, rear in the air and hooves too planted in thick mud to spread any further. His body still shook and throbbed. Discontent he muttered, “If you're going to fuck me some more,” he growled, “then do so now.”

He closed his eyes to wait, truly beginning to wonder if he should give up. Surely the filly wouldn't be able to stop him if he turned around and got his stuff and left. There wasn't much between him and his Brahmin and the empty road. But with the cold wasteland air flowing across his haunches he imagined that something might as well happen if he did. Whether or not it was her turning into some freaky monster, or just straight karma.

He opened his eyes and spat into the mud. If he was going to be eaten alive by something it might as well by whatever was in the compound and not a filly.

He pulled himself up and limped ahead. A rusted-in fence bore a wide hole in it, not much bigger than a pony.

He reached around to his holster as he went, pulling out the battered and worn pistol there. Its cold firm grip weighed heavy in his mouth. The tight trigger reaffirming around his tongue. It also tasted like mud. With a sigh of discontent he lowered himself through the opening and slipped inside.

The twisted talons of the remaining chain link fence scratched along his back. He felt the twisted sheered metal tangle against his tail as he pulled himself in. But for what it amounted to, there wasn't an issue. Though now he crept into the lion's den.

A darkened building stood alongside him. Pressing himself against the wall he moved along. Laying low as to avoid the dust-coated windows. Crude graffiti had been sprayed against the old graying red-brick, adding the only traces of vibrant color left. Unfortunately, much of it was crude. “FUCK” ran the length of the outer offices in great bold letters in a rainbow of colors. Equally colorful depictions of violence and crude sex abounded. In the post-storm light that bathed the compound twinkling shards of glass lay scattered across the cement from where the windows were broken; all of them were. Green and brown shards of broken beer bottles littered in along the side of the walls with the shattered glass.

Rusted stayed glued to the wall as he rounded the corner. Clambering up atop a landing. He paused to look through the open door frame; the door itself lay in splinters on the ground alongside. But finding only dismal emptiness and deep shadows he moved along. It would have been helpful to know where the raiders had their stash.

He looked about, his ears turned searching for any telling sounds of noises that would tip him off to anyone else. But all was quiet in the Wasteland.

He jumped down from the porch and skirted along the open pavement to another outer building. Jumping to his hind hooves he craned his neck up and stretched as he planted his foor legs against the wall and looked into the broken out windows. He was barely able to peek over inside. But again there wasn't anything.

He bit his lip as his hooves clopped gently back to the ground. He shook his head as he stepped away. “This is a fool's game.” he said snidely, trotting off. He gave the central structure a passing look as he gave it a wide berth. Looking at it now, he couldn't help but feel as if someone was watching him from beyond its austere, bland walls. The wide gaping hole on its side gave it an eerie feeling. Like some giant ancient monster frozen in time.

“This is stupid.” he said again, stopping at another outer office. Pushing the door open he half walked inside and gave it a cursory look. Battered metal desks sat in undisturbed rows. To anyone's guess, a thick layer of moldy paper covered the floor, giving off a bitter mildew smell. It was offensive. He backed off as he clenched back on his breath to avoid a bitter, ill-fated sneeze.

As he turned away a hollow distant laugh screamed from the distance. He tightened. His sides firming as he shoot a look up. From somewhere, a mare was having some sort of fun. Knowing the crowd though, he didn't imagine it would be any good. His breath rattled tense in the back of his throat as he stepped down, shirking off back along the edge of the outer office, tracing along the edge of its wall as it turned back. He butted up against the warm brick of the structure itself. Still all too exposed in the open.

He listened again. There was another bout of laughter. And someone yelled back. The echo bending the words, muffling it. But it sounded teasing. Crude in its delivery.

If anything was anywhere, it would be from wherever someone was fondling someone. He sucked up his fear and his anxiety, and took a brisk trot for the ruinous central monolith. His hoof steps following him along as he took a quick clip for the ruins.