The Web Untangled

Chapters

Minor Etiquette
Special Spider Time
Gift of the Silken Tongue
Breaking Barriers
The Hair-Splitter

Minor Etiquette

Fluttershy’s marker squeaked as it crossed another day off the calendar. When her gaze darted to the next day, she smiled around her bared teeth before spitting out the pen. This was better than raptor rodeo day. It didn’t involve claws or rope-induced whiplash, for a start.

The sofa was empty. The birdhouses were quiet. Throughout the den, the usual chatter and flashing colours of chickadees and chipmunks was gone. Fluttershy sighed. They must’ve seen the calendar last night.

She could still see, as though haunted for a moment, the screwed-up face of Twilight Sparkle from elevenses at the Friendship Castle’s throne room. The words “raptor?” and “rodeo?” and “really?” echoed back, but in the faintly puzzled way of one trying to suggest that maybe there was a point, and that maybe the interlocutor was simply missing it. Fluttershy still blushed. She hadn’t come up with a real answer at the time.

Under the blush, pride flexed its wings. In a way, Twilight’s surprise had been a compliment. No one else had thought that bald eagles liked hay-bale-throwing, even if the hay bales had to be the size of shoeboxes to fit.

Her watering can gripped between her front hooves, Fluttershy slipped through the front door and round to her rosebushes. For a moment, she hovered over the white and red blossoms. She glanced around.

You’re being silly, she thought. No one’s going to bother you. It’s Gold Market Day. I bet Applejack’s “special offer” stall will keep them coming back until sundown. I’d wait in the queue too if I could. I don’t know what Granny Smith does to those apple pies, but there must be magic involved somewhere.

Overhead, not a cumulus cloud could be seen. She kept her ears cocked for the slightest tremble of a leaf.

If only I could take them to the market. It wouldn’t have to be like last time, would it?

Even she didn’t believe that. Deep in her chest, the memory lurked. It was too primal to say anything, but then it didn’t need to. Merely being there was enough. Like a tiger lounging in the midst of a lamb flock.

Fluttershy checked the blue skies again before leaning down to the bush’s level. Thorns swelled in her sight. Every time she blinked, she fancied the splaying leaves quivered as though at the small puffs of air pushed aside.

“Hello?” she whispered. “Are you there?”

Yet speaking Equestrian yielded no response. Instead, she gingerly lowered the watering can to the grass – not daring to make so much as a metallic clunk – and stretched until the tip of her hoof wall kissed the nearest stem. Speaking in vibrations did not come naturally to her, but she quivered a kind of stop-start code down her leg, through the toe, and into the green strip as best she could. Occasionally, she mouthed the code while trying not to breathe out.

Inside her head, a smirking, narrow-eyed little Fluttershy said, Of course, you’re never going to the market because you’re still saving up for the new chicken coop. You know, the one that doesn’t have a chicken-sized hole on one side?

She didn’t bother arguing back. That chicken coop should’ve been replaced years ago, but somehow she’d never gotten around to it. More than once, she’d considered joining one of those weekly charity contests for the prize money, but The Foal Free Press never had anything about animals, and the idea of singing or modelling in front of a crowd still kept her up at nights. That pretty much exhausted all her options there.

Finally, she stopped and waited until the blur slowed to a thorny stem again. Her hoof pressed against it.

A few answering quivers came back. Fluttershy shut her eyes and concentrated.

Each slight quiver-gap-quiver combination morphed into a letter of the alphabet. Drops became a stream. All… clear… question… mark…

She tapped back: Yes. Only later did she realize she’d missed the punctuation mark at the end. They’d ignore it, of course, but she still fought the urge to slap her own forehead.

After a while, the quivering said: Good… exclamation… mark… coming… out… now… stop…

And it seemed to continue. The pitter-patter of pinpricks beat its way up her leg, like a paint brush sliding up the world, drawing the limb into existence behind it. An old foal’s instinct yelled out inside her with shock, but then quickly died away. Her smile trickled over her face. It’s OK. It’s OK.

When it passed her elbow, however, she bit down hard on her lower lip. They never seemed to learn where she was ticklish, no matter how many times she told them.

Soon, more pattering pins and needles danced up her forelimbs until she could’ve been slipping on a scratchy jumper, sleeves-first. They crept finger-like across her shoulders, and she didn’t dare let a muscle there twitch or flicker. Some rained down her back, occasionally prickling the dock of her tail like mobile feather dusters. One or two nestled in the nook between a beating wing and her torso, and she hoped, hoped, hoped they had the sense not to go anywhere they’d get crushed. They stroked her neck, clumped on locks of her mane, and squirmed and shuffled so far forwards that she braced herself in case one fell over her eyes and bounced off her muzzle.

After a few minutes, she could breathe without bursting into giggles. They’d settled down. Although the sensation was of itchy pyjamas, at least it wasn’t squirming over her skin anymore. After all, they were very good at keeping still.

One, evidently stumbling, flopped over her right eye, swinging from a stray lock.

Alarm rushed through her. They could probably feel her heart trying to beat its way out of her ribcage, and her skin pulse with the rushing of the veins and arteries.

No! she thought, but had she spoken it instead, it would’ve echoed off the distant mountains. I’m better than that. It’s not fair. I’m not being fair. Stop it right now.

All the same, her heartbeat burned her chest with the pressure. A few tiny legs scrabbled along her flanks where her hair was becoming slick.

“It’s OK,” she cooed, and the silhouette loomed in her eye.

This close, the spider was a blur she couldn’t focus on, but clear as a distilled nightmare were the eight splayed legs, black and hair-like fingers trying to grasp her eyeball…

No, she thought, swallowing.

…a little set of eyes staring out from a little head with a little mind and little feelings of its own. It wiggled helplessly on the locks. Its eyelash limbs quivered with frustration while it dangled on a silvery thread that gleamed against the sunlight.

He wants to get up. Oh, poor thing.

Fluttershy didn’t dare blink, but she braved a smile and raised a hoof until the spider could tap the yellow platform. At once, it swung its legs forwards, patting and trying to fix its grip. All four back legs stiffened. Her smile almost burst its banks. Perhaps spiders worry about losing their balance too.

Then its thread snapped away and the pupil-sized spider stood petrified on her frog.

Fluttershy stretched a limb up gently, hoping it was close enough for a jump without trapping any spiders against her forelocks. Everything past the pastern was black, shiny, and lumpy. Her mane’s hairs tugged. She counted to ten before lowering what she now saw was an empty hoof.

“Wonderful,” she breathed, and she reached down for the watering can. “OK, then. Who’s ready to enjoy Special Spider Time?”

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh!”

Scrolls, tomes, codices, and bookmarked folders piled themselves up on the map of Equestria, glowing and sparkling as they did so. Merely to peer up the slopes of the growing mountain was to make the eye water.

Around the thrones, maps and legal papers swirled in an orderly and law-abiding whirlwind. Once or twice, a sheet ducked out of its orbit and hovered before Twilight, who soon cast it back and resumed pacing.

Fluttershy took a deep breath. “If I can help at all, I’d be more than glad to do so.”

Spike nudged her in the ribs. “I think it’s best to let her get on with it. Princess Celestia asked her to do it, so I guess –”

“I have to make absolutely sure I know exactly what I’m doing,” piped up Twilight, skim-reading a treaty that unfurled down to the crystalline floor. “The Hair-Splitter Nation could quote regulation subsection paragraph line for sneezing without due care and attention! Can you imagine what would happen if I were to sneeze at the wrong moment?”

The letter lay on the edge of the table’s map, covering Griffonstone and surrounded by a growing tower block of books. Fluttershy could see the sun symbol stamped on the corner of the paper.

“But I’m sure Celestia wouldn’t have asked you if she thought you couldn’t handle it. It's not like she's asking you to meet up with…" Fluttershy gulped. “Dragons.”

She seemed to notice Spike for the first time.

“N-No offence,” she added hastily.

Spike grinned at her. “Ha! None taken. I am the exception that proves the rule.”

“Right. My point is that she must have chosen you for a reason.” All the same, Fluttershy felt the stabbing panic fighting against her insides. She half-expected Twilight to spin round and ask her for help. Her knees were already braced to flee.

Spike shrugged up at her, not entirely distracting from the worry lines of his brow. In any case, she could smell the acidic, burning stench of anxiety reeking off his shiny scales.

“Oh, OK. If it worries you so much,” she tried instead, “maybe you should send a polite letter back saying you’d rather not?”

The map flopped to the floor, and Twilight sighed after it.

“I know, I know,” she said. “Don’t go over the top, take a deep breath, think less emotionally. That’s all very well, but then who’ll go to the summit in my place? The Hair-Splitters might tear the treaty up on a technicality, and then it’ll be my fault for not being there when I could’ve seen that disaster coming. No, Princess Celestia chose me for a reason, and I intend to honour her request.”

Six different voices within Fluttershy’s head fought to be heard. All that came out was a prolonged gape while they wrestled for control of her jaw and tongue.

That’s what I said earlier, wasn’t it? she thought.

“Can I… help in any way?” she said, and then instantly regretted it.

No sooner had the echoes died away when Spike spun round and clasped his clawed hands. “Come with us! Princess Celestia wanted us to represent the best Equestria had to offer. She reckons if we can’t always impress them with our rules, we might impress them by showing how awesome and friendly we are. And we could invite Applejack and Rarity and Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash. They’re all so amazing that I bet the Hair-Splitters would get along with at least one of them!”

Fluttershy grasped at this life-belt. “Oh, if you think it’d help, I’d love to come and make new fr –”

“You’d have to learn all their rules and customs, though,” piped up Twilight.

The life-belt sank without trace.

Now the unicorn was stuffing a saddlebag. While Fluttershy watched, she could’ve sworn the funnelling mass of paperwork couldn’t possibly have fit into a bag the size of a pony head. Yet the flow never seemed to stop.

“Er…” She worked her jaw, hoping for a response to come out. “All of them?”

“It’s the only way to be sure.” Twilight summoned the letter from the table.

And it might take the burden off you, Fluttershy desperately tried to think, but most of the rest of her mental crew had worked out what a sixth of a mountain looked like, and were throwing themselves overboard.

“I don’t know…” Fluttershy’s brain spluttered and thrashed and tried to kick out at the encroaching chill. “I’d love to help you relax, but all those books, and all those strangers staring at me, waiting for me to make the teeniest tiniest little slip-up…” She shuddered at the ice slicing along her spine. “Oh no, I’m sorry. I don’t think I could do that.”

Spike slumped where he stood. The last of the books slipped into the bag, and the flap slapped over the top.

“That’s OK,” said Twilight, whose left eye was twitching. “If you don’t want to come, then I’ll respect your wishes. Take care of things in Ponyville while I’m gone, OK?”

Which made Fluttershy choke, and finally her brain gave up and drowned in the guilty deep, watching the sad bubbles drift away.

Stress, stress, stress, she thought, and hidden within her imagination, she sighed with relief.

Around the den, the spiders were making themselves comfortable. Orb-web spiders jostled for space: in the corners, from hanging lampshades and birdhouses, across mouse holes, and even below the arms of the sofa, until most of the place was invaded by grey tissue. House spiders and wolf spiders raced each other across the floorboards, while jumping spiders watched and tilted their fronts as though cocking their heads curiously.

Bolas spiders whirled their silk bolas and, on the potted plants she’d spread around earlier, crab spiders lurked among the flowers. Tarantulas stood all around the perimeter, pressed right up against the skirting board; she had the vague suspicion that they were acting as guards.

Curled up on the sofa, Fluttershy felt her eyelids aching to close, and she couldn’t fight against the yawn. Normally, half of the spiders would have tried eating the other half, but here a kind of truce held for twenty four hours. She knew: she’d insisted on it herself. Special Spider Time had to be gentle. Most of the tarantulas had gotten the message, and the rest fell into line on the basis that a tarantula with official backing was not to be trifled with.

Perhaps it is OK for a nap. It has been a busy week, after all.

Several money spiders slipped over her folded forelimbs. It was only the sight of the scuttling dots that alerted her; their bodies were little bigger than commas and had no weight. She didn’t dare move. Not only were they too small to track, but they moved in sudden darting spurts that could easily end under her chin if she rested it a fraction of a second too early or too late.

Long ago, she’d once tried to impose a schedule on them. Spider-skating on a little water bowl for the morning, web-building contests for lunch, maybe an Araneae’s Fable to help them settle down in the afternoon: that had been the plan. Hidden away upstairs, the scrunched-up ball under her bed had once been a full timetable, decorated – because this was Fluttershy – with drawings of daisies and robins. But the spiders had kept inches away from the bowl, the web-builders had already set up and didn’t want to shift, and there had been no way to pick up the book of fables without forcing a resting daddy-long-legs spider off.

Instead, Fluttershy glanced around at the tarantulas. The door was kept open, but the blinds were drawn. After that, she let them get on with it.

A huddle of jumping spiders stared up at her from the armrest. Tiny pincers wiggled. A few tilted themselves, catching the glow of the blinds, which shone in eyes like marbles embedded in woolly pom-poms.

“What are you thinking, little spiders?” she whispered. Even under the meagre puffs of air this created, the huddle twitched and was soon a few millimetres away.

I suppose it’s a spidery thing. After all, they don’t have to eat for months or even years. A day to them might be like a few minutes to us. If only I could enjoy standing still and doing nothing like that. Oh, but I’m such a fidget. I’ll have to get a drink soon. My mouth’s so dry.

She wondered what it would be like to have eight legs. A strain, possibly, with all the rights and lefts they’d have to remember. Her parents had to label her hooves before she’d gone to Flight Camp. Not that it mattered when she kept smashing into flagpoles.

Or maybe it just came naturally to them. Maybe these ones staring up at her were wondering what it would be like to have four legs. They’d be thinking: Way too confusing! Wouldn’t she have to stop to check each time she wanted to walk? How clumsy and awkward!

Fluttershy closed her eyes and tried to feel the pattering of thousands of feet through her legs, pressed up against the sofa weighing down on the floorboards which were connected to the walls and ceiling. Vibration was a language all of its own.

As if I’ll ever master it. But it has to be worth a try, or else I’ll never understand their spidery little secrets.

In the end she gave up, opened her eyes, and spent hours watching the scuttling ones, the still ones, and the creeping and twitching ones. She sighed for a million mysteries hidden behind tiny eyes.

No mystery was hidden in Pinkie Pie’s mind. It was set to party, party, party.

At least, that was what Fluttershy kept thinking over and over while the beatbox throbbed onwards and she bumped into the hundredth pony. It was the only explanation for why she hadn’t managed the guest list more stringently.

Overhead, the domed ceiling of Town Hall had been painted: a large pink star, orbited by five smaller ones, all on a midnight blue backdrop. Below it, the glittery banner read “GOOD LUCK TO PRINCESS TWILIGHT SPAR”. Confetti rained down from the pegasi hovering below the ceiling. Over the heads of the crowd, a disco ball arced over and over in a bizarre game of volleyball. It was that kind of party.

Most of the ponies on her own level were Ponyville residents, but a few camera-toting tourists had wandered in. She hadn’t seen any of the other girls for over an hour.

Beside her, the curving buffet table around the outside of the room creaked with plates of cakes, pies, and little Cheddar chunks on sticks. Her own empty plate and drained glass lay enticingly on the corner. After the rumbling in her stomach, she was starting to regret her seventh helping of chocolate ice cream.

Fluttershy winced and ran a critical gaze over her lime dress, from the puffed sleeves to the hem flowing down to the coronets of her rear hooves. At least I don’t have to worry about the dress itching, she thought, and she uttered a silent thanks to Rarity’s skill.

Before she’d raised a leg for the plate, she saw Pinkie Pie leap out of the wall of flanks and faces.

“There you are!” Pinkie grinned from ear to ear. “I’ve been looking top and bottom, up and down, back to front for you. Where have you been?”

“I got lost,” she said. I remember when parties were smaller.

“Ah well, here you are, and here I am. OK, so Twilight’s gonna be here any second now. What I wanted you to do is –”

The music exploded. Wincing at the new – louder – track being played, Fluttershy watched in horror as the mouth moved and the occasional squeaky pitch met her ears, but no words cut through the thick air or her thick ear.

“What!?” Fluttershy raised her voice. “What did you say!?”

“I SAID!” Pinkie grabbed her around the head, and every shout that broke through scraped across her brain. “ISN’T IT SUPER-DUPER EXCITING THAT TWILIGHT’S GOING AWAY THIS WEEKEND? BET SHE’S REALLY LOOKING FORWARD TO IT!”

“I think she’s a bit nervous!” Fluttershy tried shouting back.

“WHAT?”

“I said, she’s nervous!”

“WHAT? OH, HOLD THAT THOUGHT! I WANT YOU TO MEET SOME NEW FRIENDS! THEY CAME OVER JUST FOR TWILY!”

“Pinkie!” Fluttershy yelped as she was dragged and bounced off the writhing mass of dancers. “Why is everything so LOUD!?”

“YES! THE CAKES REALLY OUTDID THEMSELVES, DIDN’T THEY!?”

She bounced off two more shoulders before hours of stares and of missing out on cake finally got to her. “WHY IS IT SO LOUD!?”

“WHY IS IT SO WHAT?”

“LOOOOUUUUUD!”

“IS IT? YOU THINK SO? I DIDN’T NOTICE!”

Fluttershy stared at Pinkie’s face and only saw the guileless smile and bright eyes. Suddenly, she wanted, really wanted to slip out of the hall. Pinkie was a handful at the best of times.

“CAN YOU PLEASE TURN IT DOWN?” she screamed.

“THAT’S HOW THE DJ SPINS HER DISC! HOLD ON! I’LL TALK TO HER IN A SEC!” Pinkie thrust her forwards.

And then Fluttershy found herself face-to-face with a dinner suit, a flashing camera, and a chapeau of the lacy, chrysanthemum-bearing persuasion. Barely had she taken in the three new ponies when the suit beamed at her and hid a chuckle behind his hoof. He said something, but it wasn’t until the music stopped exploding that she could hear a word of it.

“I’m sorry?” she said.

“I say,” he drawled. “I thought I recognized you. Weren’t you a model for Photo Finish once?”

“Er…” Her ears burned and she glanced around for a Pinkie Pie she knew was no longer there. “NNNNNooooo… You must have mistaken me for someone else.”

“Oh no, I follow her work most devotedly. Your era was a particular highlight. In fact, I’m quite surprised you didn’t continue it. You still have the lithe figure and, if you don’t mind my saying so, the most enchantingly demure eyes.” He extended his hoof and bowed his head. “Artiste Aficionado, at your service.”

He’s just being nice, she thought while parts of her trembled with the effort. He’s just seen an old photo. Nothing wrong with that. Nothing unless he’d said the exact opposite after looking at you on a printed page. Nothing wrong whatsoever. It won’t come back to haunt you again. Will it?

Gingerly, she shook his hoof, stiffening herself up in case he found her demure again.

The chapeau frowned. “Well really, Aficionado! You mean you know this barbarian? Philistine! She was at the Canterlot Garden Party, bringing in those” – she curled her lip – “birds, those flying pests to a party. I ask you!”

Brakes in her head screeched while she tried to switch track. “Garden Party? Oh, you mean the one Rarity –”

“But then I should not be surprised. I recall you acting disgracefully at the Grand Galloping Gala, bringing in more – urgh! – uncouth savages to such a genteel event.” She eyed up the ceiling as though expecting to spot the uncouth savages there and then.

“Er…” Fluttershy said, horribly aware of the way the tourist pony with the camera was peering into her face.

“Now that you mention it,” he said, “I remember asking directions from you once.”

Sighing with relief, Fluttershy summoned a smile. “Oh yes? Fancy us meeting up again at a party, huh?”

“Yes. Didn’t you throw me into the clock tower at one point?”

There was no escape: pinned down by three stares, surrounded by a wall of bumping flanks, half-confused by the echoes of the music smashing up the inside of her head. She was almost relieved when Pinkie shouted, “TWILIGHT TIME!”

All faces turned around and converged on Princess Twilight Sparkle, who’d just mounted the stage with a wad of papers.

“The speech!” cried out the chapeau. “Oh, about time!”

The tourist pony raised his camera. “I’m gonna get some pictures! The kids at home won’t believe this.”

Evidently, he wasn’t the only one. While flashes burst out across the hall, Pinkie grinned and almost seized Twilight in a one-limbed headlock. She was shouting some kind of announcement. Unfortunately, the DJ didn’t seem to have noticed. Half of the words vanished behind the booming track.

Quietly, Fluttershy slipped through the unresisting crowd back to the buffet table. She knew where she was with Cheddar chunks on sticks.

Special Spider Time

It wasn’t Pinkie’s fault, she thought. It simply wasn’t one of her best parties. Everyone’s allowed a dud once in a while. Besides, it felt like most of Equestria showed up just to see the Princess off. It’s hardly surprising if Pinkie just happens to know those exact ponies who’d seen you at your… let’s say “least presentable”, yes?

Nevertheless, she flinched at the mere memory of those faces. From her shoulders, the money spiders scuttled away.

Whether through stiffness or through a pegasine hunger for wide open skies, Fluttershy finally left the sofa – checking as she rose that no spiders were crawling over her extremities – and swept out of the door and spiralled up towards the umbrella of cloud.

Stretched over the cottage, the beginnings of a cloud dome loomed from the edge of the Everfree forest to the row of trees bordering her stream. Dark as it was, nothing overhead was going to rain. She’d asked Rainbow Dash specially.

All the same… Fluttershy patted the edge of a cloud back into shape. If Rainbow had a fault, it was a regrettable tendency to smash clouds together any old how.

Now, someone like Rarity with a keen eye for detail would’ve patched up that hole there and zipped up the gap here and maybe thickened out the cloud cover around the edge so it was an equal spread. While she fussed over the layout, she peered down at the round shadow draining her cottage and hill of colour.

“Nice and cool and dark,” she said to herself. Only the stream sparkled, catching a crescent of white while the angled sunlight battered against her cloud umbrella overhead.

A thought struck her. She zipped down towards the stream and hovered over the bank.

“I’m coming down now,” she cooed.

As one, the spiders hiding under the grass darted from blade to blade. Once the last of the scuttling legs had fanned out, she eased her hooves onto the bank and stopped flapping.

Along the bridge, a row of spitting spiders fired jets of glue at the water, each trying to aim higher and further than its fellows. Tiny white flecks dipped into the surface with barely a ripple, and then floated about as bleached threads. Fluttershy shook her head, but at least it was an improvement. Last year, they’d tried hitting random minnows passing by underneath, and only the sternest of lectures had gotten them to stop.

Fluttershy sat down and watched the stream trickling by. Some spiders crawled right to the edge and peered into the water.

“I have had quite a week,” she said, though she wasn’t sure they were listening. “First Applejack, then Rarity, then Pinkie Pie, and last night Twilight. So much going on! Isn’t it relaxing just to watch the world go by for once?”

A few nearby specimens bobbed their fronts up and down in agreement. Most were still peering into the water.

I wonder if you’re still afraid of me, she thought grimly.

Ever since she was a filly, bunnies and duckies had never made her blush in her attempts to talk to them, but anything smaller than her hoof and with more legs than her was a poser. Rabbits at least were furry creatures like ponies, and birds were always around pony towns and villages, singing and flying until everyone got used to them. They were… well, more like her, if she was honest. Even fish had a lot in common with her, though it had taken hundreds of attempts not to drown herself before she’d mastered underwater talking.

She looked across at the spiders. It was unfair, of course. They had just as much right to enjoy a special day as the blue jays and the dogs and the walking catfish that had somehow ended up in her stream a few months back. But she sensed her butterfly cutie mark didn’t extend far into the realm of creepy-crawlies. Not the less pretty ones, anyway.

Along the branches of the nearest bush, an outburst of monarch butterflies exploded, fell back in, and then settled down to watch. No amount of lectures had ever encouraged the insects to come and visit. Not on this day.

Even the butterflies, her favourite insects, largely sat around and waited until the spiders had gone. Some didn’t even make it that far. She sighed as one of the monarchs lost its nerve, drifted towards the path, and flitted hither and thither, winding its way out of sight.

Surrounded by the scattered fabrics of the pastel workroom of Carousel Boutique, Fluttershy focused instead on the mirror. Not that she wasn’t used to Rarity’s hidden workshop, but compared with the aisles and spirals of the clothes downstairs, this place had been savaged and thrown about. It didn’t look right.

Measuring tapes snapped here and there about her. Rarity knew her measurements, but the dress only looked a little like one of her older models. The sleeves and the sash around her waist met the tape most often.

“Bear with me a moment.” Rarity focused her energy, and the sleeves tightened around Fluttershy’s front legs. “There. Go ahead: take the darling for a walk. This dress absolutely must be comfortable as well as classy.”

Fluttershy turned her head, one eye focusing on the puffed velvet around her shoulders, the other taking in the crinkled folds bulging around her haunches. It did have a green princess look, but she found her gaze drawn to the comparative featurelessness of her mane and face. Trotting, she drew back from the mirror and then came towards it, not entirely trusting the face of her reflection to stay blank.

“It… seems OK,” she said.

Rarity groaned. “‘OK’? ‘OK’? Is that all? I can’t afford it to be ‘OK’. You need ‘magnificent’! ‘Graceful’! And above all: ‘breathable’!”

“No, no. I love it. It’s pretty. I like the sash. And I can breathe fine in it.”

“Excellent! Ha! Those Hair-Splitters may have a critical eye for manners and customs, but just you let them gain a gander of my artisanship.”

Fluttershy frowned. “But isn’t Twilight the one going to see them? What about her dress?”

“Naturellement,” said Rarity, summoning ruler and compass to her design board, “yet the secret to a spectacular seamstress’s pièce de résistance is to work through a succession of major pieces. The appetizer whets the creative spirit, the wholesome main course serves as the ambitious centrepiece, and finally we reach our creative crescendo in the sweet temptations and delights of the dessert. That’s why I’m saving Twilight’s dress for last.”

Oh, so I’m an appetizer now? thought Fluttershy.

However, she shook the thought out of her head. There was no future in questioning the workings of Rarity’s mind, even though she occasionally came up with strange ways to, as she said, appease her muse. Once, Fluttershy had walked in on her hanging upside-down from a raised bar, apparently to encourage blood flow to the brain but more apparently turning her face bright red.

Besides, the dress was classy.

“Try it with this,” said Rarity.

The rose, trimmed of its thorny stem, zipped across and placed itself with the ceremony of a medal, hovering before her chest and then pinning itself to the lapels of her dress.

Squealing with delight, Rarity clapped her hooves together. “Inspired! A revelation of beauty! I thought we were going for an emerald elegance, but no! There it is, the botanical style, manifested most modestly in haute couture. I knew it!”

How can you not know what you were going for? Fluttershy tilted her head.

“Come, come! You see it? Oh, do tell! What do you think?” said Rarity breathlessly. Her eyes were wide and bloodshot.

“It’s…” A frown flitted across her face. It was a nice rose. It was pinned to her nice dress. Somewhere between the two, there was supposed to be a burst of magic, but nothing dawned. What’s got Rarity so excited? “It’s nice. I like it.”

Rarity’s lip curled for a moment. “Nice? Oh, don’t you see it at all?”

Another look. Another lack of fireworks. “See what? Is it meant to be an accent?”

“An accent!?”

“I mean it’s a red accessory against mostly green. That stands out, but I’m not sure it’s supposed to, is it?”

“Look, let me take it off.” The rose vanished behind a flash. “There. You see what was there now it’s gone?”

What? No. No, I don’t see it. Of course I don’t see it! Because it’s gone! “I think so?”

“Now I’ll put it back. See it yet?”

Fluttershy shrugged helplessly. The green dress with a rose, the green dress without a rose… what did one bit of red matter? Not that she didn’t understand what Rarity was getting at; dresses with the small details tweaked could be more than the sum of their parts, and all that. But this one barely went past basic arithmetic in the mathematics of style.

“You can leave it in, if you think it’ll help,” she said.

Rarity shook her head sadly. “I suppose.”

“This looks nice, though.”

Although she’d just caught it out of the corner of her eye, Fluttershy rounded on the white cloth at once. Perhaps some kind of mane accessory was what she needed. She placed it on her head, throwing back the tissue-like fabric until it draped along her curling pink hairs. That white band looks lovely. Look at all those embroidered flower designs! Now that’s a dash of colour!

“Really, Fluttershy?” Rarity raised an eyebrow.

“I think it tops the ensemble wonderfully.” Fluttershy batted her eyelashes. No, too dainty. Try sassy. Twitching, her one eyelid lowered and she accompanied it with a half-smile. Now that’s a knowing sassy look.

“Fluttershy,” said Rarity in the tones of one talking to a filly, “it is a bridal veil.”

“I like it.” Fluttershy fought against the sizzling on her cheeks, and saw the pink blushes in the mirror. “It reminds me of a garland.”

“You are not wearing a bridal veil out in public as a mere common accessory. The idea of it! Besides, the fabric’s from Hair-Splitter territory. Do you know how much this material’s worth at the moment? I’m sorry, but I can’t just give it away. Sassy Saddles says the Canterlot line is selling like hotcakes.”

“But the veil’s lovely. Can’t I get it on credit? I’ll pay you back over the next month.”

Rarity sighed and levitated it off her. “I’m afraid I must put my hoof down. Please trust my judgement on this one, please? I’d be doing you an incalculable favour. A faux pas of that magnitude would sink your reputation like lead in a fountain.”

“Oh, all right.” Yet as the drawer of the dresser gaped, Fluttershy watched the veil’s descent with hungry eyes.

“Splendid. Oh, I am looking forward to seeing you show it off at Pinkie Pie's party tomorrow! Such an occasion it shall be! Let me just make a few more modifications.”

After several dull hours of standing still for a dozen more stitch-sized adjustments, Fluttershy’s smiles and admiring glances at her reflection drained to dead lips and glazed stares. Every now and again, she wondered whether the Hair-Splitters were worth all the effort. Even the tempting drawer was losing its charm, despite her gaze occasionally drifting towards it.

Later, Rarity relented enough to give her a white ribbon, but it just wasn’t the same.

Plops of water broke her reverie apart. Looking down, she saw the silver abdomens drifting like mercury drops under the trickle, each with waving lines of legs rowing it across the pebbles.

Diving bell spiders. As she peered closer, it was possible to make out the tiny coat of bubbles under their body hairs. Any one spider twitched and jerked at random, but taken as a whole, they suggested a complex swirling dance. She’d seen shapes like those before, watching flocks of starlings undulate as a cloud against a sunset sky.

“Maybe I should go,” she murmured, more to herself than to the spiders. “I mean, it’s a lot of books, but I don’t have to let Twilight read them all. And even if I can’t help her that way, I could go along and give her some everyday moral support. But still… those Hair-Splitters could be mean. Or worse, dangerous! Even if Twilight holds her own against them, it could be a disaster. I don’t know whether going along would ever help with that.” She turned to the leftmost spots along the bank. “What do you think?”

A chattering of tiny fangs broke out around her. She glanced up at the ridge opposite the bank, where the trees shaded the path winding its way to her cottage. White blurs rolled down the slope.

“Ah,” she said with a sigh, but a smile sneaked along her muzzle. “They’re always so late.”

The blurs snapped their legs taut, and the desert spiders tumbled and landed on all eights with barely a bend in their joints. As one, they scuttled over to the bank opposite, waving their front pedipalps. She waved back, as did a few spiders around her.

“My goodness,” she said. “Where have you been?” Suspicion narrowed her eyes. “Not getting into trouble again, I hope?”

Unlike the other spiders, the desert ones clicked and waved in a complex imitation of semaphore. Fluttershy beamed at their efforts. Desert species always had the most patience for her lessons; in a vast sandy range with nothing to do, they learned to occupy themselves fast.

“Yes, I know you’ve come a very long way.” She nodded, still smiling. “And I’m always grateful that you take the time out to come see me. I didn’t mean anything nasty by it. It’s just that we’re not so ‘wild west’ this far north, if you see what I mean.”

For one thing, we don’t try and kick the rabbits out of their burrows. However, she listened politely while they clicked on, and watched their pedipalps as new swipes and jerky angles snapped to attention.

Her brow furrowed. “New friends? Well, of course, but whatever do you mean?”

The three nearest desert spiders turned and scuttled back up to the ridge. All the spiders on her side of the bank glanced up at her, waiting for the next hint. She herself chewed her lip.

It’s Special Spider Time, she thought. I’ve checked, and they’re all here that should be. Who else could possibly want to join them? Even the birds get scared by all the tarantulas.

Three surprises scuttled down the ridge, followed by the three desert spiders who were acting as escorts. A line of pincers jutted straight forwards. Long segments were stiff over fumbling legs, and occasionally they paused as though doubtful. Tails curled over backs, poised with bulbous-based stings. One was orange, two were black, but all of them, she realized as her heart rose and her smile widened, were scorpions.

“Aw,” she cooed. “How sweet of you! I never thought about inviting your distant cousins. That’s very considerate of you.”

Spiders drew back from the stream. Even the diving bell spiders clustered under the wavering shade of her hooves hanging over the water. On the opposite bank, more creatures scuttled down the ridge to join the scorpions. Despite most of them looking like burnt scrap metal on legs, they all drew gracious nods and wide smiles.

“And you brought the whip spiders! Nice to meet you. Oh, is that – are you a harvestman? My, my, your legs are very long, aren’t they? And” – she gasped, flapped up and over the stream, and held one of the newcomers aloft – “a vinegaroon! I think I’ve only ever seen your picture. It’s so amazing to meet you in real life!”

The stocky-pincered, whip-tailed monstrosity reared its front half as though sticking its nose up into the air. One front limb patted her on the frog in a haughty, slightly patronizing manner.

“I never even thought about asking you all. Oh my, how rude of me. Where can I put my face?” Gently, she stretched her forelimbs down to the opposite bank, allowing the vinegaroon to scuttle off and join the massing ranks. “Still, you’re all here now. Welcome to my humble cottage. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Behind her, the spiders clumped together, shivering in a ball of legs and shiny black eyes. She glanced over her shoulder at them.

“Oh, don’t be scared,” she said. “You’ll find our new friends and you spiders have much in common. They could be friendly if you just get to know them. Watch.”

Then again, how much do they have in common? She shot over the grass and up the hill to the side of the cottage. It would be interesting to find out.

A sack of orange grains lay slumped against the hedges. On its front was printed a symbol of a generic spider the size of a pony head. Five tarantulas were already helping themselves via the slit in the top.

“Pardon me,” she said, scooping up a hoofful. “I hope you’re sharing that stuff fairly.”

All five tarantulas saluted, then they hefted thimbles full of grains onto their backs and marched down the sloping sack. Making sure they took the flattened grass to the front door, she scooped another hoofful of grains and flapped past.

On the opposite bank, some of the diving bell spiders were reaching out of the water, tentatively tapping the legs of the whip spiders. A few on both sides drew back when she shadowed them.

“You must be hungry after your long trip. Here you go.” She offered both hooffuls. “I made this myself for the other spiders. It’s nutritionally balanced for all your arachnid dietary needs, and I flavoured it with a little fly pheromone.”

One scorpion tapped the grains, and then drew back its pincer. None of the other newcomers came closer. By contrast, the desert spiders leaped on the two hooves and started pressing their heads against the grains, munching vigorously.

“I know it’s not the same as what you’re used to at home,” she said, and now she added a stern edge to her voice, “but things are different near Ponyville, and I have lots of animal friends I need to think about too. At least try it. I’ve done what I can to make it tasty, at least.”

Two whip spiders unfolded their long pedipalps. Toothed spoons curled out over the offerings, and their fangs rubbed together and nibbled the scooped grains. Soon, a vinegaroon ploughed over the pair and shoved its front half into the pile. Five scorpions nudged the desert spiders, who drew back to let them have a turn. Within a minute, every arachnid piled on in a squeaking, shining, writhing scrum.

“See?” she said brightly. “I knew you’d like it. So where did you all come from?”

The desert spiders chattered. Fluttershy’s face hardened.

“Oh, really! The Manehattan Zoo? Again? Look, you know you’re not supposed to help them break out of their homes just to see me. You could cause a panic. Not every pony thinks you’re harmless.”

Yet they slumped so pathetically under her words that she softened her eyes at least.

“All right, they can stay for now,” she said.

One of the scorpions tried to hug her leg, but the pincers jabbed her skin so sharply she twitched and grimaced, and it backed off at once.

“Ow! OK! OK!” Fluttershy watched while the scorpion rubbed her pastern until it stopped stinging. “Thank you. But I’ll have to take you back and explain what you did to the zookeeper, you understand? And you” – the desert spiders quivered with guilt – “have to say sorry to them. Agreed?”

A click of fangs. Spiders, scorpions, and relatives carried off the last grains and flowed as one chitinous mass over to the bridge. Below her, the diving bell spiders flipped over and swam to the bank again.

From her fringe, a jumping spider dangled down on a thread. She watched it waving its pedipalps and legs patiently. Of course, jumping spiders tended to be the ones that tried their luck the most, but she still had to hold her breath from blowing the blurred dot about until it had finished.

“It’s that time already?” She flicked her gaze to the lowering sun overhead. “My gosh, you’re right. I think it’s time to get inside. Lessons are about to start, aren’t they?”

The blur vibrated before rising out of sight. Only then did Fluttershy sigh. Lessons were always embarrassing, and not just because they were the spiders’ one concession to any kind of formal planning. Further ahead of her rising form, the new arachnids curled around the cottage towards the bag of treats. Tarantulas ahead of them raised their legs warningly.

“They’re for sharing!” she shouted, and the curling blob drew back and waited next to the trail while the caravan of tarantulas marched in and out.

Lessons, lessons, lessons. Hopefully, it’ll stick this time, she thought, and once more she glanced up at the umbrella of grey towering over her home.

Gift of the Silken Tongue

Fluttershy hovered over her sun-topped reflection and tried not to strangle anyone.

On one side of her, Applejack stood belly-deep in the water with a lone straw jutting from her skewed lips. On the other side, the four beavers folded their forelimbs and beat their tails impatiently on the log dam.

In the privacy of her mind, Fluttershy groaned. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the day had perfect relaxation-on-the-lawn-with-classical-music weather, and she knew, just knew, that she was going to be stuck here for the next few hours instead.

“I don’t suppose,” she said, using the coaxing tones of one who knows she’s going to get a flat refusal but who is sticking to the script anyway, “you could allow them a little leeway this side of the south fields?”

“Nope,” said Applejack.

Fluttershy’s ears drooped. “That’s fine. So long as I understand your position. Uh… so your position is not going to change the teeniest tiniest itty bit at all?”

“Eeyup,” said Applejack.

So much for that side of the divide. Fluttershy turned to the beavers, who at once broke out into high-pitched chatter, fist-thumping at some points and beating their tails against the logs at others.

“But don’t you see?” she said pleadingly. “This is important land for Applejack. She needs all the fruit she can sell to look after herself and her family. Waterlogged trees die. Just because the Apples aren’t going to eat the produce themselves, doesn’t mean they can ignore all this.”

The papa beaver stuck his tongue out at her, an impressive feat considering the buck teeth in the way.

Fluttershy gasped. “Mister McGnasher! There are children here! May you be forgiven!”

Both the beaver son and the beaver daughter stuck their tongues out at her too. She threw up her hooves in despair, and then instantly wished she hadn’t.

“Fluttershy,” said Applejack, a little more kindly than before. “Ah know you’re thinking of what’s best for both of us, an’ Ah really do appreciate it. But we have this same talk over an’ over an’ over. You know they’re just doing it to annoy me now. Ah keep telling ‘em there’s some good estuaries over Everfree way, but do they listen?”

The mama beaver patted her partner on the shoulder until he leaned back, and then chattered away for a solid minute. Fluttershy could hear the level tone in her voice, and nodded at every other beaver word. Anything to encourage calmer voices.

“I understand you want what’s best for your young ones,” she said. “This is good green land, and I know there are lots of scary creatures near the Everfree forest that you don’t want your kids to run into. They deserve a safe home with plenty of food. But you have to understand Applejack’s not a bully, and she doesn’t have a grudge against you.”

“Yet,” muttered Applejack. The mama beaver narrowed her eyes.

A wavering groan rose up from the bottom of the dam. Fluttershy breathed again. Good old Grandpa Sawbones.

“Why don’t you go see what he wants,” she said, “and we’ll continue this when you get back?”

While the other beavers filed down the slope of timber, Mister McGnasher pointed at his eyes, and then pointed at Applejack. She glowered and returned the gesture, prompting from him a much less respectful gesture back. He hopped out of sight.

They always want to be enemies, Fluttershy thought sadly. If only those two knew how many things they really have in common. Stubborn pride, for a start.

“They’re not out to get you, you know,” she said once the pattering feet had died away.

“Oh, Ah see. Tryin’ to soften me up until they come back, huh?”

Fluttershy waved her forelimbs frantically. “No! Not at all! I wouldn’t do anything as sneaky as that, and you know it!”

“All right, all right. Ah’m sorry. It’s just…” Applejack looked across at the apple trees around them, all rising from the waters like swamp mangroves. “It gets so frustrating after the umpteenth time. But you gotta get ‘em off my land before you go. Just as well Ah’m staying to watch ‘em. Can you imagine what would happen if we both left with Twilight? Those pests would be scurrying back to my orchard quicker than a pig to a trough on truffle day.”

They do the same thing here they always do elsewhere, and suddenly they’re just pests!? Flickering heat bloomed behind her ribs.

Thankful for any stray rope out of this conversational rockslide, however, Fluttershy said, “Oh, you’re not going with Twilight, then? That’s interesting.”

Applejack shrugged. From one side of her mouth to the other, the straw waggled. “Not really. Ah’ve heard of what those Hair-Splitters were like from Granny Smith. She met ‘em once when she was travelling around Equestria. Creepy bunch, she said. They were so grey and dead-looking, an’ they had a weird way of staring all the time. Tweren’t natural, she said. An’ after seeing them pictures Twilight showed me” – she shuddered, gritting her teeth – “no thanks. Ah think Ah’m happier sitting this one out.”

“But they’re just normal ponies, same as the rest of us.” Embers sparked inside her chest. “That’s really unfair of you, Applejack. Just because they look a bit different.”

“Ah don’t say you’re wrong. It’s just… well, Ah can’t help it. Ah look at them pictures alone, and, well… ugh!” Another shudder, another round of gritted teeth. “Gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

Despite the flames starting to build up within her heart, Fluttershy felt a countervailing wind of sense push its way through. She’d seen the pictures herself, held up in Spike’s claws after he’d belched them out of his dragon fire. Since Twilight had never met a Hair-Splitter, the pictures were meant to give her an idea of what to expect.

Even in inky prints, the pupil-less stares had made her squirm a little. Almost as much as she’d squirmed seeing the two-thousand-page tome they called a book of etiquette. At least the book could be closed and ignored; presumably, the real ponies would object to such behaviour.

Still, ponies are ponies, no matter how creepy.

“You’re always willing to help ponies out, come rain or shine,” she said, stoking up the fires. “I’ve never seen anything stop you from doing what you thought was right by your friends.”

“Don’t you try an’ shame me into doing it! Ah said no, an’ Ah mean no!” Applejack bit her tongue, yelped, and more calmly continued, “You’re right, you’re right. Ah know it makes no sense. You’re not wrong, exactly. It jus’ ain’t something sensible, that’s all. It’s down to feelings. Ah jus’ don’t wanna do it.”

“I wasn’t trying to shame you into doing anything,” said Fluttershy, but she folded her forelimbs and pressed them against her barrel as though to hold back the heat. “I just wish Twilight and Spike weren’t going by themselves. No one seems keen to join them.”

“Ain’t you joining ‘em, then? Sounds like your mug of cider, if you ask me.”

“Er…” The words smothered her little fire altogether. “Well… I, uh… I don’t know… I mean, if I thought I could help in any way…”

“Well, it is a negotiation.” Applejack gave her a knowing smirk. “Thought you’d be all for that, soft-heart that you are.”

Fluttershy frowned at the dam. “Point taken, but there’s no need to rub it in.”

“Sorry. Well, Ah won’t hold nothing against you. You don’t wanna do it, that’s fair. Ah understand.”

I do wanna do it.

Fluttershy shushed the treacherous thought, but then saw its expression and gave in.

I’m just not sure I can, though. All those books are too much, and then I’d have to make sure I could remember every little thing, or else they’d tear me apart. Well, not literally, but the other way’s no fun either. At least, I hope it’s not literally. It isn’t literally, is it?

“How did the Hair-Splitters last this long anyway?” she murmured to herself. “They’re so picky. Someone would’ve angered them by now, right?”

Shouldn’t I at least try? The others must be worrying about Twilight and Spike too. Twilight must be worrying about Spike. Spike’s definitely worrying about her. What if she breaks under all the pressure? She explodes whenever she gets a test like this. What if she implodes instead this one time? Spike can’t look after her alone. He smells of fear too. Who’s going to look after him?

She realized Applejack had stopped talking. “I’m sorry?”

“Ah said: from what Ah heard, all the political types in Equestria take turns appeasing ‘em. Stops us ponies cracking under the nitpicky pressure. That’s what Spike told me, anyway. Ah guess Twilight drew the short straw this time. Anyway, the Hair-Splitters just find all the little mistakes funny in a smug way, Ah guess. Even the best negotiators can’t be perfect.”

Behind Fluttershy, the patter of feet faded into being, accompanied by beavery sniggers and snide comments that burned her ears. Once more, Applejack’s jaw stiffened.

“Welp,” she said, “hope you’re ready for round two. Those fuzzballs ain’t gonna give an’ inch if you coddle ‘em.”

Fluttershy forced a smile onto her face, but in her mind’s eye she was banging their heads together with a scream. Another deep breath. Relax. You can do this…

“I don’t suppose…” she began.

“Nope,” said Applejack, frown scarring her face with slashes of dark shadow.

“All right.” She turned to the beaver family’s glares instead, and suppressed a weary sigh. “Let’s try this one more time…”

The centre of the cottage’s den was clear. Around the skirting board, across the sofa, atop the tables and chairs, and on the ceiling, spiders encircled the impromptu arena. All eyes focused on the space. Occasionally, a pair of fangs munched on spider treats.

Scorpions, whip spiders, vinegaroons, and other unusual creatures gathered with the desert spiders on the windowsill. In spite of their stingers, pincers, and strange claw-like pedipalps, they managed to blend in with the eight-legged menagerie anyway. Fluttershy glanced across, but struggled to pick them out.

She stood within one half of the circle, legs stiff, fighting the prickle of embarrassment down her spine.

Tarantulas guarded the front row. When a neighbouring nurse spider adjusted the yellow egg sac on her abdomen, one tarantula rounded on her until she stopped fidgeting. Fluttershy wished they didn’t. It was all very well keeping things civilized, but they looked too much like big bullies at times.

Overhead, the ceiling was one sagging cobweb, looking less like a normal spider’s web and more like a scraggly grey tent. The vague outline of the lamp pressed down on the middle. Red social spiders ushered a few stragglers into the spider equivalent of seats, accepting grains in return.

Sometimes they learn a bit too much from ponies, she thought grimly. Social spiders always did things like that. She guessed it was civilization-envy.

“Do you all have to watch?” she whispered. “It’s… really nothing interesting.”

Not a leg twitched in the place. Her few hopes fell apart under all the stares.

“Forget I said anything,” she mumbled.

The lone jumping spider stood within the other half of the circle, back to the open doors of the front of the cottage. Its legs were also stiff. With little hope, Fluttershy wondered if this one was getting stage fright too. At least she was only being judged by thousands if not millions of tiny, thinking, silent minds that would remember her smallest gaffes for days and days and days –

She shook her head, almost smacking her muzzle with her pink locks, and held her breath.

The jumping spider raised his pedipalps. Even the slight crunching of grains stopped for a moment.

Fluttershy raised her wings. After a few seconds, she curled them forwards in a better imitation of her little tutor.

Please don’t be too hard, please don’t be too hard, please don’t be too hard. Dozens of possibilities switched back and forth in her mind. Her pectoral wing muscles twitched like a jumpy racer before the flag.

The jumping spider began.

Where the pedipalps had been raised, now there was a dark blur. Narrowing her eyes, Fluttershy could focus on the shaking appendages, the way their shaking kept within a tight range while the whole thing eased down and then eased up, ebbing and flowing as floats on an invisible wave. Flicking her focus to the front four legs, she noticed a slight tapping, a punctuation code marking the bars of the arachnid’s silent melody.

After a few seconds, it stopped. Both pedipalps remained poised. With the barest of shuffling, all eyes were turned towards her.

OK, OK… She chewed her lip. So the first part was “Hello, I have tasty treats, please don’t eat my face.” Well, that’s straightforward Spider. Which means the correct response is… uh… Oh yes, of course.

A few breaths were all she needed. It didn’t help she was a weak flyer anyway, but her heart was going to be in for a rough ride.

Her first few flaps shook the webbing overhead, and she stopped at once. The second time, she barely twitched the tip of each alula. Afterwards, she closed her eyes and forced each front to shiver.

That’s it. A grin stretched itself across her face, but she finally pushed it down. She remembered just in time to stare back at the little tutor watching her. Eye contact was key.

Fluttershy’s quivering wings burned at once. Gritting her teeth, she found the right amount of shake and then, once sure they weren’t going to flap or stiffen, she eased them up and down, bobbing one moment, jerking back and forth the next. Both shoulders scraped and stung. Her legs and neck were stiff with concentration. Only in time did she remember to raise and lower her forelegs, and then she felt her wings stop when the messages got tangled on the way to her muscles.

Seconds squeezed her withers and wings until she thought her heartbeat was about to explode, sweat clung to her legs, and she groaned and finally flexed the last punctuation mark and let herself flop where she stood.

Hopefully, she’d just said, “Treat is nice, I am not going to eat your face, please be friends.”

How… do they… do it? she wondered between the panting. Cramp squeezed down to her wing bones. Can I even fly again after this?

Why is he still staring at me? I didn’t get it wrong, did I? Wait, did I say “be friends” or “is friend”? Oh, dear.

To her relief, the jumping spider spread his forelimbs wide and lowered his front. A spider nod.

All together, the spiders around the room drummed their forelegs and clicked their mandibles in what she inferred was polite applause. In turn, she spread her forelimbs and bowed her front to the left side, and then again to the right side.

“You’re very sweet,” she said, smiling. “It’s a bit exhausting, but I’ll get there.”

From the front door onwards, the circle flowed and collapsed. Spiders streamed away and piled up behind her. On the floor, the jumping spider spun around and twitched its fangs.

A silhouette stood in the doorway. Its eight legs gleamed dark blue.

Crab spiders dived into flowerheads and closed the petals after themselves. As one, the spitting spiders on the table did something that, one year ago, she’d very patiently if wearily taught them not to do. Even the tarantulas burst out of their skins and scuttled away, leaving scraps flapping in the wake of running legs.

“You!” Fluttershy gaped at it.

The funnel-web spider glowed with the sunlight framing its glossy back, but the dark patches beneath darkened further to create an even stronger contrast. Hairy legs eased into a comfortable position. Unlike the scissor-shaped mandibles of the other spiders, this one’s flexed and curled up and down, curved fangs slicing as claws.

One drop of black liquid ran along the tip.

Fluttershy’s ears sagged. Unfortunately, she was aware of the huddle of spiders shivering behind her. All eyes were on her. Feeling a million stares burning the skin, her ears erected themselves in a futile attempt at looking stiff and unwavering. If only they didn’t shiver so much.

“I told you last time,” she said warningly. “No! You don’t behave nicely like the others. I want you to leave us alone now.”

The funnel-web did not move.

“You heard me! This is supposed to be Special Spider Time. You get along in my house or you’re not allowed in.”

In defiance, the funnel-web took a few steps forwards.

Frantically, she tried to memorize the insides of her store cupboard. What if it bites someone? Did I remember to buy the anti-venom this year? I know I’ve still got last year’s, but I don’t remember the expiration date. And what if it doesn’t leave this time?

“Well…” she said. “I suppose…”

Suppose what? I made it very clear that he couldn’t come back. What if I go back on my promise? No one would take me seriously again. And then they could come back at any other time.

Dark, terrifying fascination drew her gaze to the drop still quivering on its fang.

The jumping spider alone hadn’t moved. Now it zipped forwards, waving its pedipalps barely inches in front of the newcomer. Fluttershy noticed three scorpions scuttle past, with stingers raised, to support it.

At once, the funnel-web reared up. Four legs poised to crash back down. Fangs waited to strike. The scorpions froze in mid-scuttle, and the jumping spider hopped out of reach before the eight dark blue legs leaped forwards and the poison splattered around the wood.

“NO YOU DON’T!”

It backed off. Fluttershy stood above the jumping spider, all four legs caging it in. Both dots in the wood sizzled slightly, but she kept her glare up and focused on the eight dark blue legs braced inches before her nose.

“How dare you try anything so mean-spirited! You think you can come right into my house, bold as anything, showing off and bullying my guests, just because you can kill a pony with one bite? I am so sick and tired of bullies like you intimidating good and friendly creatures who only want a chance to be themselves in peace. Now I don’t care if you think you’re bigger than them or are better than them or could bite my nose right now and try and poison me. You have no right whatsoever to act so disgracefully!”

Up close, she could count the hairs on its abdomen. They always said in her books that funnel-webs were among the most primitive spiders, but then she remembered the tarantulas carrying food, and even the distant scorpions rushing forwards, and she, if anything, pressed her glare closer to the raised fangs.

“Now you can go home right now,” she spat. “And you just think about what you’ve done. There’s no excuse for what you just tried, and you know you shouldn’t have even thought it.”

Finally, after a staring match that made her eyes water and made the water evaporate in the crossfire, the funnel-web lowered its front. Dark blue legs curled up. She recognized the spider’s body language.

“Yes, you should be ashamed of yourself,” she continued, but now she softened her tone to a whisper. “Now, maybe one day you’ll learn good manners and proper respect, and maybe if you’re good and make it up to my friends, we’ll let you join in. Until then, I want you to take your punishment like a mature little spider and leave now. It’s always good to understand right and wrong, and how you can do better next time. Is that OK?”

Feebly, two dark blue pedipalps waved.

“Good. Now will you please leave?”

Dragging its front half along the floorboards, the funnel-web stretched its rear legs back and pulled. The scraping stopped, but it refused to take its eyes off her glare. Only once it had inched past the welcome mat did it turn tail and scuttle away.

She didn’t dare relax until the silhouette vanished down the path and out of sight. Behind her, another round of arachnid applause broke out. Wiping the sweat off her brow, she flapped up and hovered over the jumping spider, which waved its thanks.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” she said, “but it needed saying. It’s species like that funnel-web that give spiders a bad name.”

Slowly, the tarantulas ventured outside, and a few minutes later the swarms were munching and crunching again. Fluttershy watched as a pile of treats were gently lowered onto the floor, beneath her dangling tail, as an offering. If only they understood, she thought.

“Sorry,” she said. “Ponies don’t eat that. It’s special food, and all for you. Ponies eat special pony food instead. But you’re welcome to share it with my new guests today before they go back to the zoo. Everyone has their own needs and wants. The important thing is that you get yours.”

While the pile disintegrated and the grains spread out among the carpet of scurrying legs, Fluttershy found her gaze drawn to the open door. Beyond the trickling stream and the winding path amid the greenery, the sky dimmed under a jade tinge.

Perhaps one more try couldn’t hurt, she thought. There’s still time.

Breaking Barriers

There’s still time, she thought, though less confidently now.

Overhead, the sunset sky blazed quietly, whereas the last of the cumulus clouds deepened to royal purple in protest. Musky scents of spicy pollen sparked as embers inside her nose. Even the land radiated warmth and comfort onto her underbelly, standing though she was.

Hidden among the pink hairs, the jumping spider nibbled the back of Fluttershy’s ear. All the other spiders had long since scuttled away, but her tutor insisted on staying. She just hoped he didn’t get stuck in her lobe again. That had been a bad day at the doctor’s.

It hadn’t been much fun for me either, she thought.

Now she looked out beyond the forest and was casting her shadow over the lip of Ghastly Gorge. The whistling winds in the distance tickled her ears, but otherwise she was submerged in total silence. After a few seconds, jaws growled and snapped, but those were merely the Quarray Eels snapping somewhere up ahead. They snapped at the slightest provocation. She’d considered having a word with them about that. It didn’t seem like a healthy use of their teeth.

Beside her, the mouldy old log sagged with damp. She reached across and lifted it up by the edge. Anything to delay the inevitable.

Tiny woodlice scuttled about the damp bark. Slugs, millipedes, and other small segmented creatures too strange for her to name: they all trickled like oil away from the sudden light and towards the shadows. Somewhere calm, she noted. Somewhere quiet, and steady, and familiar.

She couldn’t resist beaming at them. Ugly, slimy, alien though they were, she saw for a moment herself, ambling or flying back into the cottage she called home. Perhaps they sensed her presence too. Perhaps they wondered, between their hunt for food and their desire not to end up as food, what the pony did. What it liked. How it fit into their little world.

A rainbow streak rose from the far end of the gorge, a firework of colour straining not to explode. Fluttershy gently lowered the log and turned to gasp.

Not that her friend would do anything but laugh or grimace if told so, but Fluttershy gasped at her not merely because of the “awesome” stunts. She gasped because of the play of light and spirals, because of the weightless force slicing easily through the sky despite the frantic blur of the wings, and because of the way she blended the butterfly’s lazy grace with the killer bee’s stinging, buzzing toil.

The streak hissed through the air, and then roared on its approach. Fluttershy didn’t see her slowing down. She took a step back –

A whoomph. One colourful comet faded into a hovering body. Although the twigs and dust rippled outwards under the turbulence, the wings were invisible with speed and the hooves were weightless a foot over the ground. Then, gently, Rainbow Dash stopped flapping and landed with a thump on all fours.

“Wahoo,” said Fluttershy. “That was amazing.”

Behind her ear, the spider knocked a few hairs and ducked out of sight.

“Eh, I’ve done better.” Rainbow shrugged. “I swear I used to clear that gorge in less than two minutes. Darn, I must be getting slow in my old age, huh?”

“Don't be silly. Maybe it was just a bad run. If you try it again, I’m sure you’ll beat your record this time.” Another distant snap broke through. “You shouldn’t tease those eels so much, though.”

“Ha! For real? Come on. That’s the best part. They’ve never caught me yet, but those lamebrains keep trying. Besides, they probably enjoy a good snap.”

“They’re defending their nests. They don’t know you’re playing a game.”

“They’ll pick up on it sooner or later.” Seeing Fluttershy’s glare, she rolled her eyes. “All right, all right. I promise not to bother them again. That’s a real wrench, you know that?”

Fluttershy bowed her head. “I appreciate the gesture.”

While Rainbow Dash sat back and began stretching her triceps, Fluttershy chewed over her words. Of course, watching Rainbow Dash practise her art was a perk, but when cool-down exercises began, that meant the paint and canvas was no longer shielding her.

How do I even begin asking? It’s such a strange thing to open with, and I know I should ask about going with Twilight and Spike. Those two need help, but am I the right pony to give it? I know Rainbow Dash is going, but I thought she didn’t even like… those things. Oh, but did I really think she wouldn’t? She’s always there when you need her.

“Something bugging you, Fluttershy?”

Blindsided by the question, Fluttershy blinked back into reality. “Hm?”

“Wakey-wakey. Not bedtime yet.” Rainbow arched her back. She counted under her breath, and after a while raised her voice. “Seven… eight… nine… Come on. I’ve known you for years. I can practically hear you thinking.”

Fluttershy shrugged helplessly. “Just thinking, I guess.”

“If you say so. And ten.” Rainbow relaxed. No sooner had she lowered her back when she stretched out a rear leg and held it mid-kick. “Wanna do some stretches? Might help you, uh, think better.”

As if feeling my muscles burn ever made me think better, she thought, but then a much more energetic voice added, Why not? It wouldn’t hurt to try it. Maybe it would help me limber up, in mind and in body.

For a few seconds, she patiently took in Rainbow’s next stance, and then flared her wings as far as they would go. Compared to her friend’s albatross-like span, it was barely a pigeon’s stretch, but enough heat and enough tightened tendons warned her to keep the wings where they were.

“Not bad,” said Rainbow, now stretching the wings bolt upright. “You’re holding back, though.”

It’s that obvious? Oh, fine. Let’s get this over with then. “I was wondering about going to the Hair-Splitter’s Nation. Do you think I should go, or should I stay here instead?”

“I meant your wings.”

Fluttershy groaned and forced them to stretch a bit further. “Oh. I see. Of course.”

“And well, I dunno. That’s up to you.” Rainbow folded her wings again, and now stretched the other rear leg right behind her. “It’s a little late to ask, though. The train leaves tomorrow morning.”

“I know, I know. But I’m still not sure. I really want to help, but I’m not sure I can. And no one else wants to get close to the Hair-Splitters if they can help it.” Stretching out her own leg, she skewed her jaw thoughtfully. “How come you’re going, anyway?”

“Because look who you’re talking to.” The grin barely nudged her cheeks into her half-asleep, relaxed eyes. She even bobbed her head slightly. “Oh, Applejack might have a case of turning chicken, but I’m made of tougher stuff. Those Hair-Splitters don’t scare me at all.”

All the same, she was giving Fluttershy a sidelong frown, almost daring her to disagree.

Aha, thought Fluttershy. So the bluster’s only skin deep. I think I know how to handle that.

“Good to know,” she said sweetly. Both of them synchronized their next stretch, sitting back and raising one foreleg up and over, sticking their elbows up into the air, and touching whatever spot along their napes they could reach. Staring slightly past each other, they could have been re-coloured reflections. “So I guess that means you’re not scared of things like spiders anymore either.”

She caught the defiant glare, but trumped it with her own cool, honest gaze. I’m wise to your tricks, Rainbow.

“Sure,” said Rainbow, trying to sound calm. “I mean, spiders. Ha. They’re only another kind of insect.”

“Technically, they’re arachnids.”

“And what do you mean, ‘not scared anymore’? When have I ever been scared of them?”

“Well, I remember you used to scream back in Flight Camp if one of the baby ones floated onto your mane. You didn’t like the silk threads getting caught in your eyes.”

“That was –” Rainbow shifted to the other leg. As she did so, she wiped her glare out in favour of a more blasé gaze to match hers. “That doesn’t count. Fillies are always scared of things like that. I grew out of it.”

Fluttershy also shifted legs. Unspoken were the words, Except for me. They never scared me. Not when I was a filly, at least.

Behind her ear, the little jumping spider tapped a code onto her skin: Feeling… hot… come… out… question… mark. “Then you won’t mind if my friend comes out of hiding?”

Triumphantly, she spotted the flash of panic before Rainbow’s face calmed down. “Mind? Me? Hahaha… Wh-Why would I mind? Any f-friend of yours is a fr-friend of mine, right? It’s not like I’m scared. Because I’m not.”

Fluttershy listened to the taps on her ear lobe. For a moment, she thought she’d misunderstood. The taps came more urgently, however, leaving no doubt.

“OK,” she whispered. “If you say so.” A little more loudly, she said to Rainbow, “But… since I’m feeling like a little exercise, I suppose we could make things a bit more interesting?”

Suspicious eyes narrowed. “Interesting how?”

Honestly, Rainbow. Do I need to spell it out? For someone so supersonic-speedy, you can be shockingly slow-witted. Frowning at herself, Fluttershy shook her head to dislodge the rude thoughts.

“I mean we give each other a challenge. You challenge me. I challenge you. It’s a kind of game.” And because even confident Fluttershy had her limits, she added, “But nothing too challenging. Or dangerous. Or scary.”

She didn’t like the grin she was getting. Against the fiery sunset, Rainbow’s ragged mane and broad teeth gave her a vaguely demonic look. Even her ears pointed a bit too stiffly.

“Nothing scary, huh?” She winked. “I like this new attitude, Flutters. You been talking to someone?”

“Maybe,” said Fluttershy. Shouting would be more like it. I’ve got to find that poor funnel-web later on and apologize.

“All right.” Rainbow stopped her stretches. Spitting into her hoof and extending it, she said, “You got yourself a deal.”

“I was thinking maybe we could just do it now.” Fluttershy drew her cringing face away from the steady dripping.

Grunting, Rainbow lowered her hoof. “No biggie. OK. Challenge… challenge… let’s see… Aha. I got it. You see that rock over there?”

Fluttershy followed her gaze, but she barely needed to. She’d always avoided looking at that particular rock formation, especially when the sunlight hit it exactly as it did now. Far over the Ghastly Gorge, standing as sentinel to the mountains on the horizon, the bulging, spiky-necked, curled form of Dragon’s Rock breathed under the shifting crepuscular rays of sunset.

Baby dragons like Spike gave her no problem. Everyone had talked about the one time when she’d shouted down a smoking dragon near Ponyville. And when she wasn’t being dragged to the door to watch hundreds of them fly overhead on migration, she used to sip her tea and occasionally wonder if normal dragons were, in their own scaly, fire-breathing, oversized, cranky, hungry, monstrously terrifying ways, a bit like ponies.

She felt her knees shake with the urge to gallop. Which is stupid, said the thoughtless voice inside her. That’s clearly nothing more than a heap of sandstone. No one ever ran away from a pile of rocks. In fact, if you tilt your head and squint, the neck spines are really just the pits in the mountain slope behind it. That old story about it being a dragon turned to stone is only a story. Nothing worse than that.

Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.

“I dare you…” Rainbow rubbed the pasterns of her front legs together with glee. “I dare you to fly there, touch the Dragon’s Rock, and then come back. Bring a pebble or something to prove it. I know that rock, so I’ll know it’s the real deal.”

Fluttershy tried to smile, but a rictus broke out before she could pull it back down again. Heat flared up around her, though she was sure the actual evening had gotten cooler.

“OK,” she said. “OK.”

She squared her shoulders, unfurled her wings, gave one glance to Rainbow Dash in case she miraculously changed her mind, and threw herself forwards.

To her delight, the cool wind snatched up the knot twisting inside her chest. Heavy feelings broke apart under the ice. She could imagine the fragments drifting away in the slipstream. Below her, Ghastly Gorge ran alongside as a granite river, deafening her with its endless whistling. Behind her ear, the jumping spider bit into her skin. She barely felt a twinge, though she did slow down, from streaking past the plains to letting them cruise past instead.

Despite herself, a giggle escaped her lips. The world rolled along. Meadow larks broke cover. She saw quails and pheasants hop away from her shadow.

Then she looked up. Dragon’s Rock loomed.

Every one of the crags and jagged ridges was too close. As soon as the wind died down, the heavy feelings clumped together. She felt herself drifting downwards ever so slightly. The mere head, tucked under its sloping tail, stared at her with a shadow of an eye.

Frantically, she forced her wings to splay out. Eddies battered her pinions.

The jumping spider bit hard enough to sting.

I know. I know. It’s only a rock, she thought, and riding on the thought came a new sight. The head was just a pile of boulders. The tail was just a flattened hill set against the distant crags. Even the shadow eye was clearly a crevice between two sandstone chunks.

Sand grains filled her new sight. Beating her wings to hover, she plucked a single stone right from the flank.

Rainbow Dash nodded as soon as she touched down again. “Cool! To be honest, I thought you were gonna chicken out for a second there. Sweet work, Fluttershy.”

“Don’t make me do that again.” But she felt her heart flip in her chest when she tossed the stone at Rainbow’s hooves.

“Just a stupid rock after all. You see? Nothing to it when you get your mind in the game.”

So much talking. I wonder if you’ve got your mind in the game? “Uh, thanks. And I can see why you fly so much. That was such a pleasant journey, especially the way the sunset made everything look so golden.”

“Golden. Yeah. Pretty. That’s just what I was thinking.”

A few snipping sounds carried from behind Fluttershy’s ear. The rude part of her mind poked its head through her face; she gave her friend a withering smile.

“So how about you step up to hear my challenge now? If I can touch a silly dragon rock, then Rainbow Dash shouldn’t have any problems whatsoever.”

“Aheheheh…” Rainbow tried a smirk, but her pinprick pupils wanted nothing to do with it. “Of course not. So, uh, you wanted me to say hi to a friend, you said?”

“Uh huh.”

“A little friend, is it?”

“Tiny.”

“Right. And how many legs does this friend have?”

“Eight. Are we doing this or not?”

“Just asking. Just asking. Say the word. I’m good to go.”

Fluttershy nodded. She could see the bead of sweat running down Rainbow’s forehead, and another, much more familiar part of her mind smoothed her own face down.

“Don't worry. It'll be easy-peasy.”

“Sure! Never said it wasn't.” One eye twitched.

“OK, then. You can come out now,” she whispered.

Little legs tickled her lobe. She fought not to giggle as the pitter-patter of feet crossed her temple. Rainbow’s straining eyes tracked the spider’s progress, especially when Fluttershy reached up and let it settle on her hoof.

Oh, you silly spider, she thought.

What she held up was a ball of pink fuzz.

Now Rainbow’s face broke. Her eyelids shielded her gaze. She bit down hard, but strange squeaks poked through. Hastily, she put a hoof over her mouth.

The pink-wrapped jumping spider waved a pompom pedipalp up at her. So many of Fluttershy’s hairs had been spun into those waving things that the whole spider looked like the world’s smallest cheerleader.

Finally, Rainbow burst out laughing. Fluttershy’s wings flopped. Thank goodness.

“His name is Squeaky Clean,” she said.

“Hahahaaaaa! I’ll say!” Rainbow wiped an imaginary tear from her eye. “So, so is he supposed to look like that?”

“Sure.”

She leaned forwards, sniffing cautiously. “Are those… your hairs?”

“Rainbow Dash, I present to you the rarest species of spider in the world. The pink orang-utan spider.”

“Huh.” When Squeaky waved up at her again, she waved back. Her cheeks blushed. “I see where he got the name from. Um… does he bite?”

Fluttershy rolled her eyes. “Only when he’s eating. Here. Would you like to hold him?”

At first, Rainbow ducked backwards from her thrusting hoof. They held steady for a few seconds, however, and soon she was rising back up. Slowly, shaking slightly, her hoof edged towards the pink mess.

“Now, go easy,” said Fluttershy warningly. “It’s her first time.”

The first of the stars twinkled overhead. The whistling died to a dull murmuring. Hidden crickets chirped and hidden owls hooted and screeched. When the last spidery leg left Fluttershy’s hoof and patted Rainbow’s, Fluttershy lowered her limb. She beamed at Rainbow’s disbelieving chuckles.

“You know,” said Rainbow Dash, stiff-limbed though she clearly was, “they’re not so bad, really.”

“I think I know what I’m doing tomorrow,” said Fluttershy, but she might as well have been talking to herself. In the dying light, the gleams of the hairs stood out while the pink threads faded away.

Oh yes. I understand now. And I think I've got this all figured out.

The Hair-Splitter

The rising sun cast its beams on the sign of the Ponyville train station, down the timber supports, and over the planks of the platform. Hardly any ponies came out this early, so for now the air was free for the dawn chorus of a thousand chirping songbirds. Daisies waved among the grassy fields beyond.

Rainbow Dash and Spike stared beyond the platform, barely taking all this in. Regular as clockwork, Twilight passed them one way, and then passed them another way. They listened to her pacing hooves clopping on the wood.

“Relax, Twilight,” said Spike, holding back the groan. “It’ll go off without a hitch. You just wait.”

“Why are you getting so worked up about it now, anyway?” Rainbow stopped staring and followed her progress back and forth. “We’ve got hours before the train even reaches this nation thing.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” said Twilight in a strained voice; her mane stuck up in certain places and her eyes were bloodshot. “But they never wait that long. The Hair-Splitter’s ambassador always comes to the diplomat’s hometown personally to check the candidate for themselves. They’ll be here the instant that train arrives. And I know I haven’t memorized all those etiquette books. I’m going to make a huge mistake, and I don’t know what it is yet! How could I have been so thoughtless?”

Rainbow raised an eyebrow at Spike, who shrugged back with a pleading look. Rattling noises came from Twilight’s bulging saddlebags, but neither of them had brought so much as a purse.

“I shouldn’t have accepted this… I should have told Celestia…”

“You’ll do fine, Twilight,” said Rainbow Dash. “Sometimes, the best thing you can do is grit your teeth and tackle things head-on.”

“Yeah! And besides,” said Spike, “lots of normal ponies manage OK for a little while. Someone like you should have no problem.”

Twilight stopped pacing to give them a nod. She’d barely started smoothing down her mane, however, when alarm shocked through her face.

“What do you know about Hair-Splitter customs?” she said to Rainbow Dash.

“Take a wild guess.”

“But you must have read those books, at least?”

“Twilight,” said Rainbow Dash with strained patience, “I’m here for support. That’s all I got. Those books you tossed me had writing you could barely see. And I didn’t get it even when I could see it.”

“Spike,” Twilight said at once. “Maybe you can help. Did you read all those books I gave you?”

Spike stood to attention. “Er… yes?”

She narrowed her eyes. “How many of those books did you read?”

“Including the contents pages… nine.”

“Nine? Nine? That’s nowhere near enough.” Then her eyes narrowed to slits. “What do you mean, ‘including the contents pages’?”

“Well, I had a bit of trouble. Some of those books are huge. Just getting through the subsections took the best part of a day.”

“How many without the contents pages, then?”

Spike cringed when he answered: “One. And that was because I read the index too.”

“It’s a shame the others couldn’t come out,” said Rainbow, ignoring the smack of hoof against face. “I wouldn’t mind a bit of cheering before we go.”

None of them answered. There were plenty of reasons why the others couldn’t come, of course. Pinkie Pie and Rarity needed a lie-in after a busy week. Applejack only woke up at cock’s crow to do her morning chores. The unsociable hours were chosen because of the Hair-Splitters’ scheduling demands, not the ponies’. Lastly, Spike had promised to send daily letters, detailing every blow and every twist and turn, so they could keep in touch.

There were plenty of reasons. Therefore, the unspoken one could easily creep among them and blend in as though it wasn’t there.

“At least Fluttershy’s coming with us,” said Twilight. She lowered her hoof from the red mark on her forehead. “Where is she, anyway? That train will be here any second.”

Rainbow shrugged. “Probably taking care of some animal stuff. Who knows?”

A brave smile ventured onto Twilight’s muzzle. “Of course. I’m glad she changed her mind. And I really am grateful, Rainbow Dash. I could do with some support.”

“I’m sure the others wish you good luck too,” said Spike. “I’ll tell them so much in our letters, it’ll feel like we’re all in the same place anyway.”

“Yeah, Twi. We got your back.”

Relief swept over Twilight’s face… before the shrill whistle blew it away again. All three of them turned to stare up the track.

To begin with, only a pink dot was visible. Its buffer was a haze even under this cool morning air. However, the longer they watched, the more details poured into their consciousness. The staring eye of its front, the steaming funnel on top, the sliding dance of its wheels: soon, the shaking tracks were chugging under the weight of all that metal and pink. Slits behind it became flattened windows, which became full carriages. Beating like a gigantic heart, the chug-chug chug-chug chug-chug drowned out the birdsong.

Wordlessly, Spike and Twilight sidestepped closer to each other.

A final whistle shrieked at them, and the train screeched and groaned its way to a slower pace. Steam hissed from its sides. Carriage after carriage blurred past.

Rainbow Dash took off and hovered a foot above the platform. Her face solidified.

The last carriage stopped before them, every single one of its blinds drawn down. When the doors opened, a dozen ponies got stuck in the frame. Limbs struggled. Voices shouted. Finally, they popped out and stampeded past them. Their clattering hooves died away.

Twilight and Rainbow glanced at each other. Twilight tried to ignore her own beads of sweat. Rainbow swallowed as quietly as she dared.

“Here it comes,” they murmured.

Thuds came from inside the darkened carriage. Two orbs glowed red in the shadows. There were no pupils or irises.

The first thing it stuck out was its head. That at least was mostly the head of a pony, if a little grey. Holes suggested a mane half-decayed.

Six smaller red orbs opened around the two large ones. All eight eyes blinked. Spike chewed his claws.

Eight hooves thudded across the planks. Tucked beneath the head almost modestly, two hoof-like pedipalps twitched. A hairy mass emerged after it; looming over the dead head was a sun-eclipsing abdomen, large enough for six cramped ponies to squeeze inside.

The Hair-Splitter stopped before them. Eight red orbs stared.

Twilight’s horn flickered. The urge sparked along its length. She checked the other two, but they were rapidly turning pale and would soon have no colour left whatsoever.

Coughing nervously, she kneeled on one leg and lowered her head to bow. Low enough to touch the floor. Just like the book said.

When she glanced up, the Hair-Splitter was still staring. It didn’t seem to have moved.

“Erm,” she said, wincing as she did so, “good morning. Welcome to Ponyville. I am Princess Twilight Sparkle.” After a lot more staring, she remembered the next step and added, “Daughter of Night Light and Twilight Velvet, former protégé of Princess Celestia, and current political ambassador on behalf of Equestria.”

Although the orbs didn’t seem to flicker, nevertheless she wondered if the other two were being watched.

“Guys,” she hissed out of the corner of her mouth, “you’re supposed to bow.”

“Hm? Wha?” Spike broke out of his wide-eyed trance. At once, he threw himself down beside her, nose kissing the ground, claws in front of his face: exactly the wrong posture.

On the other side, Rainbow Dash tilted herself in midair. Without landing, though, the gesture made no difference. The Hair-Splitter raised its head to watch her beating wings. All eight eyes narrowed.

“Uh…” Twilight shook herself down. She wiped the next wave of sweat off her forehead and reached forwards, foreleg extended. “A pleasure to meet you, Ambassador…? A pleasure to meet you.”

The instant she took a step, the head locked onto her. Four of its front limbs rose up. It hissed.

Twilight almost tripped over Spike in her haste to back off. No pony had fangs like those. Each one flicked forwards like a viper’s venomous teeth, as curved and thick as steak knives. Black ooze dripped from each point.

“Oh no,” groaned Spike. Shushing noises rasped along the creature’s throat.

“It’s OK,” she whispered back. “I just startled it. They don’t like creatures getting too close. Oh, but I should’ve seen this coming.”

“What do you mean?” he said behind cupped claws.

“I knew I memorized that rule. Why didn’t I see this coming? I thought I could handle the basics, I saw the picture, but actually seeing one…”

“Psst! I hope you’ve got a backup plan, Twi,” hissed Rainbow above her.

The Hair-Splitter kept shushing them, never lowering its legs or retracting its fangs. Then, at some unspoken signal, it drew back as though nothing had happened. One held breath later, both ponies and Spike heard a singsong voice echo across the platform.

“Ah-ah-ah aah-aaah. Ah-ah-ah aaaah-aaaaaah.”

Fluttershy flapped past the ticket booth, mane tied back with a white ribbon, rose petals blooming on her chest, and the hem of her green dress sweeping the ground. Following her, five beavers squeaked and hummed along to her notes. Watching the procession, Rainbow Dash uttered a heartfelt “phew”.

“Er,” said Twilight.

“What’s she got there?” Spike craned his neck over her to see.

On the platform, Fluttershy stopped singing and the beavers huddled about her. Cupped in her hooves, the funnel-web spider gleamed along its dark blue armour.

“Now you all know the agreement,” said Fluttershy. “You leave Applejack’s farm alone, and in return…?”

One of the beavers chattered and squealed. The elderly grey one at the back let his head fall down and started snoring.

“That’s right,” said Fluttershy. “You’ll be able to live safely in the Everfree Estuary that way. No nasty monsters would dare bother you. Those waters are fine places, too. I asked my animal friends to come visit so you won’t feel left out.”

Her audience cheering and slamming their tails, she turned to the funnel-web. “As for you, I hope you realize this is your chance to prove yourself, don’t you? If you can’t be a good house guest, you can at least be a good security guard. Perhaps now you’ll put your ways to good use.”

Feebly, two pedipalps twitched in the spidery equivalent of a shrug.

“Oh, really? I’ll be checking when I come back. Now, I know you’re new to this whole business, so I won’t judge you too harshly if you make an innocent mistake, and my friends know where the antivenom is kept. But if I hear you’ve bitten this lovely family, or any of my friends, or any monster who didn’t deserve it, and if you do anything you know you shouldn’t do… well, you know what the consequences will be.”

She pressed her nose up against its quivering eyes.

“Don’t you?”

The funnel-web slumped on its eight legs. Eventually, a foreleg tapped her on the frog. As if by magic, Fluttershy was all smiles again.

“Good boy. Now you’ll play nice, won’t you?”

She lowered the spider to the planks. It didn’t even wait before hopping off. Both beaver children surged forwards.

“No!” she snapped. They backed off at once. “He doesn’t like being touched. I know he’s small and not your idea of an animal friend, but let him have his space. I’m sure his better nature will come out if treated gently and with understanding.”

The beaver parents nodded and waved down at the little spider. It waved a pedipalp back.

“Amazing,” said Twilight.

Rainbow Dash whistled. “You’re full of surprises. Hey, how come you’re wearing your dress now?”

“I thought we were supposed to,” said Fluttershy as she drew level with them. “Rarity put so much effort into it. I didn’t want to let it go to waste. Why, did you get one?”

“Sure. Twilight’s got it. With any luck, I won’t even have a chance to get it warm.”

“Er. Guys?” said Spike.

He jabbed his thumb at the Hair-Splitter. Eight gleaming eyes stared on. It turned its head towards Fluttershy, lips flexing while fangs shuffled underneath. They drew back from its low, thoughtful hiss.

Then Twilight stepped between it and Fluttershy. Once more, she tried the bow. No response.

Out of the corner of her mouth, she said, “I think the dress was a bad idea.”

“I hope not.” Fluttershy inspected her sheer greenness, from puffy sleeves to trailing hem. “Too floral, you think?”

“Possible. According to my books, Hair-Splitters take a keen interest in vibrant greenery. You’re wearing the colours of its natural habitat.”

Fluttershy stared at the Hair-Splitter. It stared back. When Rainbow looked from one to the other, she then shook her head and stared at a spot just behind Fluttershy’s ear. A few hairs moved. She grinned.

“Excuse me,” said Fluttershy; her gaze wandered upwards as though listening to a voice they couldn’t hear. “I think I know how to deal with this. One moment. I will be right back.”

“Where’s she going?” Twilight straightened up, and at once the Hair-Splitter jerked its whole body forwards. She yelped and skipped back, a few feet out of reach.

They froze, one in mid-escape, one in mid-grab. Both pedipalps hung like the limp-wristed arms of a zombie. The holes in its mane swept across its grey neck.

“What did I do!?” she said. Her voice was starting to crack.

“Nothing.” Spike ducked behind her and peered over her haunches. “Maybe it’s just cranky? I get like that in the mornings too.”

“It did it when you moved,” said Rainbow. “You must’ve spooked it.”

“Ah! I can’t tell a thing.” Twilight levitated her saddlebags off. “The books must have something. It could’ve been a slight tremor in my voice.”

The three of them huddled together, Rainbow hovering behind Twilight’s and Spike’s heads. Along the platform, the beavers squealed, apart from Grandpa Sawbones, who was still snoring.

Behind them, a crowd of ponies thundered past the booth. Cameras and hooves rose up. The funnel-web took one look at them and reared up, fangs dripping.

“Hey,” said Spike. “Aren’t they the ponies from the party?”

“What are they doing here?” said Twilight. “They shouldn’t just blunder in like this.”

“Look!” shouted one of the stallions. “I knew we’d find her here! Princess Twilight Sparkle, with her famous baby dragon! And that must be Rainbow Dash of the Wonderbolts.”

Rainbow Dash preened her mane, but at Twilight’s look quickly lowered her hoof again.

“I’m sorry,” said Twilight. “But I must ask you all to leave. This is a delicate diplomatic operation.”

“Well, really, Aficionado,” snapped the mare with the chapeau. “Where else would she be on a diplomatic operation scheduled so tightly? And ugh! What is that!?”

All eight of the red orbs narrowed.

“Now that’s horrific! I gotta get a picture!” One of the tourist ponies brought his camera to his eye. “Wait until I show everyone back home! An actual spider-pony!”

Too late, Twilight reared up, forelimbs outstretched. “No, wait! Don’t take any pictures! They don't like –”

The first flash cut across all eight blinking eyes. Screeching, the Hair-Splitter shot forwards. Both fangs slid out with an ominous shhhhhhck! The flashes stopped at once. The crowd yelped. Rainbow and Spike stood their ground and cringed. Twilight could feel the hot breath burning over her face –

A sack thudded onto the planks between them.

Orange grains poured out of the slit on top while the sack bent under the sheer weight. Printed on its front, the giant spider symbol creased under the shifting pile.

Fluttershy landed gently beside the sack, and she wiped the grains off her tight emerald sleeves. The Hair-Splitter didn’t move.

She bowed low. Twilight, Spike, and Rainbow blinked and bowed too, following her example, or at least Rainbow did when she got a backwards glare.

As soon as they relaxed again, Fluttershy prodded the sack and stared at the two biggest orbs. Her face was carefully blank. Yet the Hair-Splitter merely cocked its head at her.

Sighing, she scooped up a hoofful of the grains. They touched her lips. She muttered “munch-munch” under her breath, and with her other hoof rubbed her stomach.

It didn’t move. Whispers slipped out among the watching crowd, but Twilight’s over-the-shoulder “shush!” cut them off.

Finally, the hoof-like, gigantic pedipalps reached over the lip. It brought the sticky coating of grains to its eyes for inspection. The pony nostrils twitched.

Fluttershy nodded encouragingly as the Hair-Splitter opened its mouth and wiped the grains off with smacking lips. A black tongue flicked over them, slurping up any leftovers.

A spark of delight flashed in the redness. More scoops smashed into the grains. As though afraid they would evaporate, the Hair-Splitter shovelled as many grains as it could into its maw. However, both of its large eyes locked onto hers.

She took four steps forwards. It stopped eating. Spike’s claws gripped her on the shoulder, but she patted them until they let go. In the shadow of her ear, the hairs twitched again.

Fluttershy raised both wings over her back, curving them forwards immediately. She frowned at the whispering behind her.

Soon, they were a blur. Her legs tensed and tapped the planks occasionally. Puzzled murmurs met her ears, but she ignored them. This had nothing to do with them. This was just between her and the spider.

Her breath became ragged. One wing stiffened with a sudden cramp, but she winced and forced it onwards. Sweat patches bloomed almost everywhere on her dress. Not once did she let her stare wander.

The Hair-Splitter blinked.

Panting, she collapsed onto the ground. She didn’t even resist when Twilight’s telekinetic spell heaved her back up.

“What did you just do?” said Twilight.

“I… just… said…” Fluttershy shook with an almighty gasp. “I just told her… we have tasty treats… and please don’t eat my face.”

“Oh. Really?” Twilight cast about for something to add. “Um. Good.”

Grains scattered under the Hair-Splitter. At once, its pedipalps jabbed and swiped at the air, vibrating into a wing-shaped blur even as the whole eased through a clear routine.

“It’s talking back.”

“She’s talking back,” corrected Fluttershy.

“Yes, but do you know how extraordinary this is? Nothing in any of my books mentioned a pony communicating by pedipalp before. I must take some notes! Spike, did you pack my notebook?”

“Shh. She’s almost done.”

Not a second later, the Hair-Splitter snapped back to attention. Fluttershy blushed under the stare.

Spike held out notebook and ballpoint. “What did it – What did she say?”

Fluttershy glanced at Rainbow Dash still hovering overhead. She glanced at the funnel-web cowering behind the beaver family, and then at the crowd of ponies peeking cautiously around the corner. Then she smiled at Spike.

“She said ‘Treat is nice, I’m not going to eat your face yet, maybe we can be friends, also your posture needs work.’”

Spike laughed and slapped his knee. “Hahaha! That is so awesome! Can you teach me to do that?”

Fluttershy pushed a few stray locks out of her face. “It’s a lot harder than it looks. Especially in this dress.”

More hairs shivered behind her ear. She bowed low again.

Heaving its massive bulk around, the Hair-Splitter snatched up the sack, trailing grains as it went. It snorted and clambered, all eight feet thudding on the planks, towards the dark carriage. One tourist pony raised a camera, but a growl from the beavers made it drop out of sight again. The carriage rocked slightly. Eight red glows flickered out. Once more, the darkness was absolute.

As one, Twilight, Rainbow Dash, Spike, and Fluttershy breathed the relief out of their lungs.

“Well, this is going to be one interesting trip,” said Rainbow Dash. “How did you know to do all that?”

“I didn’t know,” said Fluttershy. “I thought I’d try it and see.”

“There must be more to it than that.” Twilight scribbled on her notebook. “I can’t believe how you managed to invent a whole new form of communication. Ponies through the ages have struggled just to come up with the etiquette system we do have.”

“Pony etiquette that works?” said Fluttershy.

“Well, yes. Naturally.”

“Maybe that was the problem all along.” Fluttershy patted Spike on the head, and he waved her off. “It’s like with Spike and the other dragons. We don’t just give them pony food. They like gems too, even though we can’t eat them.”

“So,” said Spike, stroking his chin, “you got spider food for a spider-pony?”

“I figured if ponies have had to work so hard talking to them, then it’s because they’ve been thinking in pony too long. Please don’t make too much of it. This was only a guess. It could easily have failed.”

Twilight smoothed down her stray locks. Without a second’s hesitation, she rammed into the startled Fluttershy and squeezed her round the neck.

“The important thing is that you gave it some thought! I’m so glad you’re coming along!” she said. They broke off, Fluttershy rubbing her neck slightly. “Thanks for the help. I can see this going a lot more smoothly now. With my etiquette knowledge and your understanding, I think we have a real chance! Come on, Spike. Let's get on the train. Maybe we'll get some more clues about its habits from its preferred indoor environs.”

Unseen by the others, Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy exchanged winks.

Fluttershy was the last to clamber onto the carriage, and before she shut the door behind her, she waved at the beaver family, at the funnel-web spider, and even – if reluctantly – at the few faces of the crowd peeking past the booth. The door slammed as it slid into place.

“All right!” said Rainbow Dash. “Here we go!”

“Did they have to make it so dark?” muttered Spike. One of the blinds swung up. Something hissed. He hastily leaped up and closed it again.

Behind her ear, Squeaky Clean tapped a code onto her skin. She closed her eyes, the better to focus. A lot of emphatic jabbing was coming through.

“Oh yes,” she whispered. “Yes indeed. This is definitely better than raptor rodeo day.”

“Er,” said Twilight, “who are you talking to?”

Even through the darkness, Fluttershy's blush shone brightly. “N-No one,” she said. “Just… thinking out loud. That's all.”

And somewhere in the shadows, Rainbow Dash and the Hair-Splitter burst out laughing.