The desert air was still warm from the day's heat, and the first of the nocturnal animals were beginning to come out of their burrows. The cold-blooded lizards and snakes had retreated to their dens, leaving the rabbits and mice free to worry about their latest threat, owls and coyotes. All around him, the night air was coming alive with sounds, even more varied and rich than those of the day. And yet, he could not enjoy their music.

"Keep moving, cowpony."

The word was spat out as one might spit out a slur, but Braeburn couldn't entirely blame him - hadn't their peoples been fighting for some time now? Still, he didn't like the way the buffalo scowled at him, or the way his legs were hobbled together, preventing him from doing much more than shuffling. And with each stumbling step, the town of Appaloosa drifted further and further away, until the lights from the town weren't any larger than the stars in the sky.

No, this most certainly wasn't a good day to enjoy the music the desert had to share at nighttime.

"I'd move a lot more easily if you didn't -" And here Braeburn nearly stumbled, his words breaking off suddenly from a rough shove. "If you didn't hobble me, and didn't push me! T'ain't very neighborly!"

"It isn't very neighborly to steal our sacred land and fill it with apple trees, either." The buffalo growled, his voice low and resonant in his chest. And a mighty big chest it was, too. Why, if Braeburn hadn't gotten cut off at that pass, he would have escaped his ambush clean as a colt after bathin' day - he was much faster than any buffalo, even the renowned Chief Thunderhooves. Swift, but broad in the beam, too broad to catch up to a speedy little stallion like Brae! Unless, of course, he cheated.

"Well, t'ain't very neighborly t'hogtie somepony and drag him away from town, either!" Braeburn whuffed, ears flattening out under his hat. "You know as well as I that we've got a prisoner tradin' treaty! You catch one of ours, you bring 'em into town, we trade 'em for one'a your buffalos we've got captured!"

"I don't intend to trade you, cowpony," Growled the chief in that low voice of his, and for the first time, Braeburn looked around. He knew they were approaching the Buffalo encampment, but he hadn't really taken a good look at it. Rapidly, he realized that he was being led to the back of the tents, so that none of the other buffaloes would see them approach. For the first time, a note of fear thrilled through him.

"That don't - that ain't fair poker, Chief Thunderhooves." Braeburn muttered, his throat suddenly dry. As if reading his mind, the Chief gave him a little headbutt, sending him sprawling into the dirt below.

"You had best keep from making a ruckus, cowpony; no one but my brothers will hear you, and none of them care what methods I use to get you to talk." The Chief snarled, and lowered one mighty foreleg, lifting Braeburn onto his back as if he weighed no more than a calf.

The chief carried Braeburn around the edge of camp, and despite Braeburn's mighty struggles against his bonds, he was carried into the Chief's tent, and deposited roughly onto the woven mat in the center of the floor. These were savages, Braeburn remembered with a hiss of pain; they didn't have any modern technology like beds or running water. But, he realized with a thrill of horror, they did have fire - and what looked like branding irons.

Well, NOW what are you going to do, Brae?

Braeburn managed to pull himself onto his side to scowl up at Thunderhooves as he circled him, eyeing him like a particularly delicious clover patch. "So, what're you going to do with me?" Braeburn panted, suddenly finding himself short of breath.

"Whatever I want to do with you, cowpony." Chief Thunderhooves growled, eyes narrowed as he came to a halt beside an intricately-carved wooden chest. He stared down Braeburn for a few breathless moments, then pulled the chest open, glancing through its contents in a slow, almost bored fashion.

"You won't - you won't get away with this!" Braeburn gasped, his tail thrashing as he struggled against his bonds in vain. "They'll come looking for me! There's rules against this kind of torture!"

"You behave as if your pony rules mean anything to me." Chief Thunderhooves rumbled in amusement, slowly lifting a length of rope from the chest. He easily looped it around one of Braeburn's hind hooves, tying him to the pole in the center of the tent.

"You - you wouldn't dare!" Braeburn barked, his determined tone beginning to wobble uncertainly, eyes locked on the chest as the buffalo continued to dig through it.

"Wouldn't I, cowpony?" Thunderhooves smirked, lifting a mace from the chest, holding it between his teeth for a single, frightening moment.

"Oh - you - you ruffian!" Braeburn gasped, fairly writhing on the floor now, although his bonds held strong.

"What punishment do you deserve, cowpony?" Chief Thunderhooves growled, lifting a long, wooden switch from the chest, long and whippy.

"Ohh - are you going to spank me?" Braeburn gasped, eyes widening as he fairly froze on the rug.

"I don't - I don't think spankings are traditionally a - "

"Spank me."

"Cowpony, you -"

"Spankmespankmespaaaaankmeeeeee!" Braeburn keened, lying on his belly, waggling his butt in the air - in a decidedly unfrightened gesture, Chief Thunderhooves thought.

"BRAEBURN!"

"C'mooon, this is the part where the wicked buffalo chief has his way with the helpless cowpony!" Braeburn gasped, continuing to writhe, tail flip-flopping back and forth over his back. "C'moooon!"

"I don't think cowponies begged to be spanked, Braeburn." Chief Thunderhooves frowned, lifting one of his hobbles in his hoof. "And you've completely wriggled out of your hobbles - again!"

"It's hard to keep them on! They keep slipping down!" Braeburn huffed over his shoulder, attempting to talk around his own butt, which blocked his vision. "Spank. Me."

"I'm not going to spank you! You look like you'd happily hop into a stewpot, if I told you to." Chief Thunderhooves pouted, planting himself on his hindquarters, folding his forelegs in a huff. "That's not what roleplaying is about."

"C'mon, it turns sexy eventually anyway, what's wrong with the cowpony getting eager a little earlier than planned?" Braeburn cooed, slipping his other hobble off with a slinky little kick, sidling up to Thunderhooves' broad side.

"You did this the last three times! I'd like to get at least halfway through a spa - whipping, thank you - without the victim squealing in delight!" The chief huffed, pouting at his shorter, paler boyfriend. "It's not historically accurate!"

"I can't help it - you know I have sensitive hindquarters." Braeburn purred, rubbing himself up against Thunderhooves' side, catlike. "I can't take it when you get all rough like that." He gasped, his voice going all breathy and soft, like he knew the buffalo liked.

"Well, then you shouldn't agree to whippings if you can't stay in character!" Thunderhooves frowned, downright pouty now, although Braeburn could see the way the chief's cheeks flamed.

"Well, then - howabout I be the whipper?" And like that, Braeburn had snatched the switch out of Chief Thunderhooves' grasp, lashing him twice before dancing out of range. "Take that, you nasty savage!"

"Nasty -! Give that back, you brat!" The chief roared, galloping after him - an impressive feat, indeed, in such an enclosed space. But Braeburn continued to dart out of range, only pausing long enough to give him a few good swats before galloping away again, his laughter muffled by the switch clamped between his teeth.

By the time Chief Thunderhooves caught Braeburn, both were laughing fit to burst, and Braeburn offered no resistance as he was abruptly bent over the Chief's knee. "You are very! bad!" Chief Thunderhooves barked, struggling to sound serious as he spanked Braeburn in earnest.

"Noooo! noooo owwww!" Braeburn squealed, kicking his back legs in delight, nearly wriggling out of his vest as he squirmed. "Owww!"

"A very bad cowpony!" The chief bellowed, lifting his foreleg again to bring down another sharp crack! of the switch on bare pony flesh - when he caught sight of a worried visage peeking in through the tent flap.

"Is - is everything okay, Chief?" One of his fellow buffaloes asked nervously, eyes darting between Braeburn and Chief Thunderhooves worriedly.

"Don't worry, Mommy and Daddy aren't fighting for real." Braeburn teased, squealing with laughter as Chief Thunderhooves gave him a mighty noogie.

"You hush! Everything is fine, go back to your tent." Chief Thunderhooves reassured the young bison, waiting until the young warrior had shut the tent flap before resuming his "punishment" of the uppity cowpony - much to Braeburn's noisy approval, of course.

"You know, I'm starting to wonder something." The young buffalo warrior asked his friend, trotting alongside him as they headed back towards Appaloosa.

"What's that, Running Hoof?"

"I'm starting to wonder if there's a particular reason why Braeburn and Chief Thunderhooves never come to the monthly Friendship Feast. They're the ones who founded it."

"Yeah, that is pretty weird," his friend agreed, frowning thoughtfully as the sounds of a noisy cowpony faded into the background. "Seems weird that they wouldn't get to enjoy the fruits of their labors."