Medicine & Mail, Chapter 3.5: Purpose

Author’s Notes:

This is the author’s intended version, unedited, of the companion story to Chapter Three in Medicine & Mail. If you have not read at least through chapter three in the main storyline, then this perspective will not make any sense.

Rating: Mature

Contains: Language; Explicit sexual content (clop, mare ejaculation).

Genres: Clop, Drama, Romance, Slice of Life

Chapter Three-point-Five

Purpose

“Nothing harder than seeing those you care about hurt,

But there’s often more reason to let them suffer than

To stick your nose into it. That’s just the Wasteland.”

I’m so sorry.

Willow held Bit Flip, and the pegasus just clenched against her. Tears rolled from Bit’s eyes and down her dark green cheeks, dripping onto the off-white sheets wrapped over her. Little darkened spots of her sadness dotted the bed, and the room itself was quiet but for a few sniffles and the far off echoes of activity in the town outside the clinic.

I was at once relieved to see that Bit Flip was conscious, and not thrashing or raging out against Willow or myself, but just as much, my chest was tense and my throat was dry from anxiety and guilt.

As the two held each other in near silence, memories of Bit in the church’s makeshift cell assaulted me, flashing pictures of her bloodied body cradled on Willow’s lap, of the distant stare in her eyes that rolled around the room, and of the time in the last days, where Bit screamed at me and raged against the restraints.

I saw myself, as though from the eyes of a sandbug on the wall of the cell, crying and fumbling with wraps and medicine with my clumsy hooves. The shaking white unicorn that was me in the middle of the small crowd, crouched down to Bit next to Willow and Ghost Ant, dropped a bottle and it rolled across the floor. I watched her reach for it and from her other hoof fell a roll of gauze. She struggled to pull away from the minotaur reaching down for her, and the shatter of the healing potion she dropped from her mouth crashed against my senses, like the simultaneous blinding flash of lightning and the ear-splitting roar of thunder from just beyond my nose. The memories shattered, breaking into pieces and falling away.

I blinked and a blurry scene of Bit and Willow came into view in front of me, the two in a worried but comforting embrace. Willow pulled herself from Bit and smiled, wiping against her tear-stained cheek.

Bit glanced around the room before her eyes met with mine. The moment our gazes met, I spoke up. “Bit Flip,” I started, forcing the words through, “It’s all my fault, I’m so—”

“Hush, sweetie,” Willow interrupted.

Bit kept her gaze on mine for a moment longer, then dropped it and drooped her ears along with her gaze to her lap.

Silence fell over the room once more.

“Aye, she’s in ’ere, but she specifically told me not to let anyone interrupt.” The minotaur’s voice was gentle, though the volume of it might give a separate impression. He stood against the door with the yellow painted mark that signified the Tinkerer's Wing, leading further in to the mechanic-guild’s lower levels. He tapped an oversized wrench against his tattooed shoulder as I tried to form an excuse to get in.

I gave up. “Alright.”

I turned from the grime-covered minotaur and made my way back along the rickety catwalk, beyond and over the corridors of gears, through tunnels surrounded by steel tubes and pipes and fastenings attached to strange minotaur machinery. The Guild ran under and through most of the town, feeding in precious chilled or heated water to most stores and the church along with electricity provided by massive underground generators that rumbled throughout the tunnels. Were it not for the bright spearheads painted along the overhangs at each intersection that pointed to landmarks in the town above, I’d have been hopelessly lost, like I had been the day before.

The steel door creaked open and swung out into the blinding desert light, and I stepped out, one eye closed and the other squinting as I adjusted to the sudden brightness. The air here was a different kind of heat than in the guild itself, where the air was thick and seemed to settle on me like I was laden with iron gears and sacks of bolts, but a line of sweat ran across my brow. It was still hot.

I wandered purposefully toward a spot of shade under the awning of some shop or building—my surroundings mattered little to me, my thoughts being swept up in a myriad of confusing emotion and rattled responsibility.

For the last two days, Bit Flip kept herself holed away in the mechanic’s guild, tinkering and working on projects unknown to any but some of the members there that swore to her privacy. But unlike the days before that, when she had retreated into the room at the far end of the church and drank herself nearly to ruin, the mechanics told me that no alcohol was present, nor any chems. Willow made sure that, wherever Bit found herself, everyone knew to keep anything of influence away. Just in case.

I plopped onto the wooden planks against the edge of the building. Everyone needs time, Willow had told me. But I hadn’t even managed to get an opportunity to talk to Bit. We spoke maybe ten words since the morning she was released from the clinic, and it was always in passing. Each of my attempts to make a time for a conversation were denied, and she would wander off, back to the guild or around to a shop somewhere in town.

But she kept herself busy, and that was a positive step forward. At least, that’s what Willow said.

Willow. My thoughts drifted to her, as they tended to since I first met her a week and a half ago. I was just as confused when I thought of her as with Bit Flip. I didn’t know what to make of the coral pony, of her comforting smile or her gentle touch. I wanted to run to her, and I wanted to just be in her presence, to talk to her, and listen to all the calming wisdoms she could impart to set my mind at ease. But I couldn’t.

After all, she was Bit’s friend. I barely knew the pegasus and managed to make a mess of her entire life. What right did I have to try to become a part of Willow’s when all I had done so far was mess up her friend’s?

I found myself sighing again, with my head pressed to the wood at my hooves. A gust of wind brought dust to my eyes and more stuck to my sweaty face.

As I rubbed at my eyes, I heard a voice, gently making its way through the murmuring of the townsfolk all about. “With so many benches around, you settle for the ground?” Willow teased.

I made to my hooves and nearly fell back to my haunches with a sneeze. The flurry of movement and build-up of heat over the last few hours left me light-headed, and I felt myself tipping. My body leaned against hers. It was warm, soft, and smelled faintly of a sweet cinnamon, calming and comforting as always.

As the fuzz in my head cleared, I shrank back from her. “Sorry,” I said. I remembered the sour thoughts I had just prior, and I felt genuine shame at allowing myself that momentary comfort.

“For what?”

“Well,” I started. I wanted to blurt out, because I messed up Bit’s life. Because you’re friends and I hurt her. I shook my head, deciding to avoid the painful conversation, “Nothing.”

But Willow was too much like Brightmane back in Desert’s Edge: She had a sense of knowing what you were hiding even if you tried not to show it. “Don’t worry,” she said, stepping in front of me, “Both Steel Braid and Rivet are keeping a close eye on her.”

She took a step forward again, and rolled her tail across my chest. “It’s not your fault, sweetie.”

Before I could voice my disagreement, she turned to me and lifted my chin with her hoof. She stared me quiet with those big sapphire eyes of hers and a warm smile.

I melted in her gaze. All of the worries and all the emotional moping that had kept my mind busy and spiraling downward in the last hours of the morning faded away. Suddenly the idea of forcing myself away from her seemed silly, irrational, and her presence filled me with a sad longing. She stood by my side, and I wished to stay there as long as possible.

“Can we do something?” I asked, hoping to avoid having to see her leave. “Just the two of us?”

Willow dropped her hoof and her eyes lit up. “Oh? Tired of being so sour?” She shifted her weight, lifting her front hooves slightly with each little movement, moving rhythmically to a melody in her mind. “Certainly,” she beamed, “Let’s do that!”

“I can’t pay for this,” I objected.

Willow responded by pressing her hoof to my lips and shaking her head slightly. “It’s not often I get to spoil others,” she explained.

I nodded, and pulled the cloth from the table Willow had set it on to look at it once more. I shifted my gaze to her then the cloth, and a light flush fell across my features. She seemed to sense it. “Oh, dear,” Willow sighed, breaking up the lingering silence, then continued in a sing-song voice, “I’ve already seen all of you. No sense in hiding now.”

Her words forced a heavy blush from me. Somehow, this situation still felt different than our emotional times prior, and the act of taking off my grimy yellow overcoat and have nothing but my own modesty in plain sight of her made my stomach twist uncomfortably.

Willow sighed, voiced her understanding, and walked out from the corner of the store, around the divider that provided me a moderate privacy.

I turned from where she disappeared from and took to sliding  my overcoat from my shoulders. It was long sleeved, and even a little oversized for me, but that had actually served me well that morning, keeping my white coat free from the grime and dirt of the Crags and under, in the Guild. My mane was a mess, though, and speckles of dirt dotted my face.

I slipped the last of the pieces of the pricy outfit on, and pulled a lace strap tight. I pulled on another near the front, trying to form a bow, when I felt a sudden bite on the inside of my flank. I squeaked, and spun around, coming face to face with a beaming Willow.

She looked me over frantically, and used her magic to finish pulling the laces tight and straps together. “Oh very yes,” she glowed.

I spun around in place in front of the dingy mirror, running my eyes along the white fabric. Pink lines curved along the side of the tight corset and framed my skinny body down to the lace around my thin waist. From there it rolled out into a pink skirt with white trim that was barely long enough to cover the thin, frilly panties beneath. Willow floated a billed pink hat to my head that was large and puffy enough to match the height of the tips of my ears.

“There,” she squealed. She stepped up to me and stood by my side, looking into the mirror at the two of us. The pink on the outfit matched her coat, which blended in as she leaned against me.

“Do you like it?”

Of course I did. I would have been elated with any of the outfits she picked out throughout the day, but she insisted on finding the perfect one, and took me with her to every shop in town. Even as cute as this one was, it was her reaction—that glint in her eyes when she knew she found the one—which made this feel special. “Yes,” was all I could manage.

She frowned slightly. “That doesn’t sound very enthusiastic.”

“No, no, it’s great,” I rushed. I ran my hoof along the frills and traced its intricate design down. “It’s really cute.” It absolutely was.

Willow grinned. “Only because who’s wearing it,” she teased.

My ears warmed with a light flush, but even though I was pleased with them, her words left me feeling somewhat distressed. She was kind to everyone that I saw, even me—especially me, I thought, considering how little it was deserved. I had figured it was just the way she is, so somehow the words rang sadly empty.

I liked her. I really did, which frightened me. I knew her position as Matron didn’t allow for extended side romances, or even anything serious, and besides, I wasn’t certain she felt anything beyond a slight affection for me. I was afraid to tell the gorgeous mare my feelings, sure she’d have just the right words to soothe me and let me down gently. I chose to remain in the bliss of ignorance, hoping never to hear the words of my rejection.

And there was another feeling that pulled on me, beyond the guilt of Bit’s situation, that kept me from truly giving in to my feelings for her. Silver Sheen. The reason I left Desert’s Edge and ventured out into the Marejave. The reason I gave up a comfortable, normal life free of slavery, free of all the pain and hate I had experienced since leaving. The metal suppressor on my horn ached, and the pins that pierced from it into my bone pulsed with a light pain.

But Silver was just a distant nudge now. Not since the first night Willow and I shared together had I thought about Silver for more than brief moments. But the tug pulled at me from the back of my mind, reminding me that there were questions I had not answered yet. I had to face that and see it through before I would allow myself to open up to the mare I was quickly falling for.

Even if those affections weren’t returned.

“Not even a reaction?” Willow sighed.

I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her in close. I might not have been willing to admit my feelings to her, but it was almost futile of me to try and hold myself back when she was holding me.

I turned and gently kissed her. Then the wall holding back my emotions broke, and I pressed against her deeply.

She never broke from our kiss, but twisted and pinned me against the table. Her black dress’ folds mixed in with the white of mine as she maneuvered. She ran her tongue across mine in eager, greedy movements, and kept her body tight in constant contact with me as we slid up onto the table. Dresses and clothes scattered across its surface and fell to the floor of the public shop.

I gave in to the surge of emotions, allowing them to completely smother every doubt and hint of guilt. I was filled with an overwhelming need for her. I tugged at the knots and ribbons that held Willow’s dress to her, and she began undoing the lace on mine with her magic.

The pink and white outfit slipped from me and she shoved it away, as if upset by the brief moment she pulled her lips from mine. As she raised back, she wrapped her field of magic around the last strip of thin cloth that kept her decent, and flung the pieces aside.

She brought her face down against my belly, nipping at me along her hasty journey down, moving quickly to the side ties that held the damp white panties to my thighs, and with her teeth pulling the last string away—a bump against the divider and a squeak beside us signaled the presence of someone else.

Willow spun around immediately, taking the panties from me in her teeth in the same move, and looked at the yellow mare staring at the scene of the two naked, aroused mares before her. Willow laughed, floating the cloth back to me, and hopped off the table, skipping up to the wide-eyed mare.

Not missing a beat, she beamed. “We’ll take these,” she told the mare, floating the hurriedly-stripped dress and hat to the associate.

The little yellow store-mare kept making quick glances between us, eyeing us two naked mares caught in a heated moment in the barely-private space of the store, and the blush she had spread to her ears and covered her entire face. I thought she would begin to steam if she blushed any harder, but she backed away, uttering rapid apologies, and galloped her way back through the store.

Willow turned to me. “Well that was unfortunate timing.”

I slunk off the table and sheepishly tried to pull myself into the yellow and pink overcoat I had brought in with me.

“Guess we better find somewhere more suitable before we continue,” Willow teased.

We nearly raced through the lounge into the hall of the private quarters under the church, and blindly shoved through the door to her room. By the time Willow had shut it with her magic, I was on her, pressing my lips against hers and dancing my tongue across hers.

We fell back onto her bedding and rolled, grasping for just the slightest inch more of each other. Our breathing became heavy as our heat built rapidly, and our clothing became stifling. She pulled at mine with her telekinesis and I clumsily, hurriedly stripped her of hers.

Pulling the last thin cloth from her legs, I caught the scent of her arousal, and felt the warm wetness of mine deep within me. I tossed the panties aside and took to the inside of her leg, running my tongue down to her sensitive flesh, brushing along it as I made a pass over her other leg.

I pulled myself up along her body, sliding into her curves with mine, keeping one hoof between her legs, where I worked in slow, heavy movements up and down her marehood. I kissed her, and rocked gently, allowing the slight sway to guide the rhythm of my hoof against her delicate slit.

I pressed in circles and moved my hoof quicker, pressing into her harder, deeper, quickening the pace as her breathing accelerated. She took frequent pauses from the kiss to breathe rapid breaths or gasp quietly before coming back in. Though I thoroughly enjoyed the increasing pleasure I felt between my own legs, seeing Willow’s flushed face and hearing her soft coos and moans filled me with a sense of satisfaction I had not experienced before. I just wanted to make her feel as best I could.

Her body began to squirm and she pulled against my shoulders and scraped down my back, pushing her shaking sex against my hoof fiercely. She called out loudly and her whole body shuddered as she came. I rested my head against her neck and rode out the rest of her orgasm, savoring the cries of delight and pleasure she made. The scent of her climax filled the room with the sweet scent that I yearned for, and it pushed me close to the edge of my own peak.

She panted for a moment, then pulled my hoof to her lips with hers, and licked her wetness from them, smiling through her bright blue eyes and heavily flushed face. In one quick move, she twisted me into her lap and cradled my face.

She pressed her tongue to the dull rounded tip of my horn, and pushed down, bringing another new sensation to me. The arousing tingle spread from my horn across my face and down to the building pleasure deep within my marehood.

“Oh, what—” I tried.

“Never had your horn licked before? Hmm,” she smiled, making another twirl along the tip, “Most unicorns have. It’s quite delightful.”

Each pass of her tongue over the shaft pushed me ever closer to my release. She took the horn in her mouth and pulled her lips and tongue from it slowly, then again moved down its length.

Just a little more, I thought, allowing my eyes to close and arching my body in rhythm to the light pulses of arousal she brought from my horn. Then she stopped.

“Oh, Vitia,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry. I forgot.”

I didn’t want her to stop—I’m so close!—and quickly rubbed at her, trying to motion for her to continue. “Don’t stop, Willow, don’t—”

She kissed me, and pulled back a moment later with a pained expression. “I can’t. With that suppressor, you’d never be able to get off.”

“What? You were doing a fine job of it! I’m so close—”

She shook her head. “You’d never have gotten any closer than you are. Without your magical conduit, the feeling would never go over the edge, and you’d stay right there, so close, yet never there.”

“Oh,” I sighed. The climax I sought still tugged at me, but the feeling was rapidly diminishing. Then I had an idea, and rolled her as gently as I could, until our positions were switched.

I kissed her, then pecked her and nibbled her ear. I moved my lips to her horn. Without hesitation, I ran my tongue slowly along the shaft, from base to tip. I felt the slight ridges underneath the thin skin, and like she had with me, I stroked the length in full with my lips and my tongue. “Oh,” she gasped, then a moment later, “Oh, yes, that.”

I wrapped my tongue around the tip, where I had felt the most pleasure during the brief moments she had done the same to me, and took her soft, rounded tip into my mouth. I pushed and pulled my lips to the first ridge, all the while pressing my tongue against it and wrapping around its slim girth.

Willow gasped slightly and a tingle hit my tongue from her horn in my mouth. I slid more of its length into my mouth and peered one eye open. A thin aura of the dark opal shade that was Willow’s color had surrounded her horn. I wrapped my lips and tongue to the shaft as tight as I could and slid off of it slowly, sucking lightly, and with each inch I moved, the glow became stronger. Small specks of her magic popped and fizzled around the edge of her aura. Each that touched me sent a surge of pleasure through me, settling once more between my legs.

I twisted my head and slid my tongue down the entire length and back up. She gasped loudly, grabbing at me loosely with her hooves, and another shiver of her magic-fueled pleasure went through me. As with the rest of the magical touches, the spark nestled between my legs and drew me ever closer to my climax. I shifted as I worked her horn, and I felt wetness run from me.

With one last run with my tongue, her horn flared brightly, and she shook in my arms, crying out.

Streams of magic shot from the aura of her horn, and when I pressed my tongue to it, I was flooded with intense pleasure. It rolled over me in waves, so familiar yet somehow different. My body shook and tensed with each shiver of Willow’s climax as the sensations flooded through me, as if I was experiencing her pleasure. The feelings pushed me over the edge, and I cried out as my own sex squirmed in a sudden, amazing ecstasy. Willow pressed her hoof against my shaking marehood and her expert movements caused me to shudder uncontrollably.

As my pleasure flowed from me, running a hot stream down the inside of my legs, I stammered out the few words that my confused mind could focus on, “What—This…Ahhn!” Mostly they were gasps and moans of the orgasms I felt in my body and my mind in tune with the wetness that was released from me.

We both collapsed moments later, shivering and panting heavily. “What was that?” I finally asked between breaths.

She responded slowly, “Didn’t I tell you it was delightful? The horn’s an amazing erogenous zone for us lucky unicorns. Like pegasi, just along the sensitive ridge of the inside of their wings. Anyway, it’s not as intense as from our other bits, but sometimes that happens.”

“I felt like I could feel you.”

“You were.”

“It was amazing, Willow.”

“Well,” she giggled, “Usually the one doing the work isn’t so sensitive as to come from it herself!”

I giggled along with her and pecked her with light kisses.

“But here I was,” Willow teased, “Starting to think you didn’t fancy me anymore.”

A desire, almost overwhelming in its simple strength, yelled at me to let loose my emotions and tell her how wrong that was, and how much it pained me to have had to force myself away from her company from the day of my purchase to this morning. I wanted to tell her how hard it was to stay from her touch and presence that I longed for. I restrained myself at the last moment, and spoke only part of the truth. “That’s not true at all.”

I squeezed my arms, pulling her closer against me in a tight embrace. A cool breeze sifted through the window and brushed over our coats, slick with sweat. Our hot breath melted away with the wind as it floated over our entangled bodies, sprawled out over Willow’s bedding.

Willow hummed a note. She probably knew, with that perception of hers that saw through me, that bared me open more naked than as I lay there that moment. After a moment, she ran her hoof down my mane and stroked gently. “You’ve been avoiding me for so long. Since the caravan left, and that was a week and a half ago.”

“It’s not like that,” I argued. I rolled my face against her chest. “I just wasn’t sure.”

“About?”

The night had settled, and all the activity of Rusted Crags, even distant, had died out. The only sound I heard was the quiet breathing of Willow.

“I thought you would be angry at me.”

She stopped stroking my mane, and brushed some strands from my brow. Looking down at me, her face was contorted in a sad concern. “I’ve told you, what happened was her choice. Bit decided on her actions, not you.”

Part of me knew she was right, but most of me wanted to fight back. But if she never met me, I’d begin. Bit Flip’s words that night came back to me, and I heard them ring and echo through my mind. I’d still have my life!

“Bit and I,” she began, snapping me from my downward spiral, “We’re friends, so yes, it was incredibly painful to see her like that, to see what she did to herself.”

Images of Bit’s cracked face and shattered hooves flashed through my vision.

Willow continued, “But you didn’t force her to drink herself unconscious for days and shut herself off from all of us that care for her. She made that choice. I was mad at her for it, and I still am, but it’s not your fault.”

Her warm tones and gentle words soothed my racing heart. I needed to hear more. When she spoke, I could just breathe in the spicy scent of her and listen to that soft voice, and I’d have no need of anything else. All my concerns could be pushed aside, and I needed that just then. “Talk to me,” I begged her.

“What about?”

It didn’t really matter to me. She could have talked about how brown the dirt was or how hot the desert was, and I’d still be entranced. But one thing did come to mind. “Tell me about Bit Flip. And you.”

She giggled, “Haven’t you already asked me that before?”

I leaned up and pulled my face to hers. I looked into those shimmering eyes, then kissed her. I couldn’t help that. “I want to know.”

“That’s a very delicate question.”

“You won’t tell me?”

I could feel Willow tense slightly under my body, but her voice was even and comforting as always. “I can say a few things. Not much, but a little. It’s not my place to say much about her past, and I think you should hear it from her instead.”

I nodded. I’d soak up anything she said, and even one word was more of her than I knew before.

“Well, where to start,” she said, shifting around and sitting up. “Let’s see, I was about the age she is now, so it’s been a long while,” she giggled. “Her caravan stopped through occasionally, and with her penchant for gambling and drinking, naturally we came to know each other.”

She stood up from the bedding and made her way to the window, tipping it shut. “One stop saw things turn romantic, and for a short time, things were exciting, wonderful.” She glanced back at me, as if looking to see what my reaction was, but this wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard already by Bit in passing, and expected, in a way. “Well, she left with her caravan, as you can imagine, and didn’t return for a few months. Of course, I was in the church then.”

She paused in her story and stood uncomfortably, looking at me for a long while. Her words held a weight that I barely recognized, but I couldn’t piece together the meaning she was struggling to tell me. Finally, she spoke up. “A Daughter will always continue her work.”

Part of her story became clear to me and an unfortunate understanding came to mind. “You were with a client?”

She nodded slowly. “She saw me. She was hurt, astonished. It was young love, or something close to it, and I guess she thought I betrayed her. She did mean something to me, and it hurt me seeing her reaction, but,” she paused, sitting on a pillow at the corner of the bedding, staying unusually distant, “My duty has always been to the church where I belong. I couldn’t stop being a Daughter then, and—I can’t stop being Matron because of my personal fancies now.”

Oh.

Suddenly I understood the unusual hesitation in her voice and the distance she put between us as she spoke. She couldn’t have a normal relationship. She would take clients, and had to. A wave of nausea came over me along with the realization that she had probably taken clients in the time between our caresses.

The answer to that question I wanted to ask, the uncertainty that I felt compelled to learn, to know what her feelings for me were, was between the lines of the words she struggled to say, and I nearly cried.

“Most can’t handle it very well,” she said absently, “But she and I, we’re still friends. She means just as much to me now, if not more, than she did those years ago. Just in a different way.”

Friends? We’d only ever be friends? We shared a few intimate moments and toyed at and made love but ultimately, it seemed I wouldn’t ever be for her what I felt she was quickly becoming for me. Then, what was I? To Bit Flip, I was just baggage, just business, just the damnable pony that ruined her life. To Willow, I was—what? A distraction? A maretoy?

My cheeks were warm with the tears that started to flow down them, but I sniffled, and forced myself to choke back the swelling sadness. I asked her—I tried to force myself into her life, and now that the obvious truth comes out, I’m acting like a foal!

I scrubbed my cheeks and forced a grin, telling every muscle in my body to believe it. Willow was obviously hesitant to tell me, probably expecting me to react poorly, like I had, but I wouldn’t hurt her more than I already had. Be confident.

“Well, thanks,” I forced out, “For telling me, even though you didn’t have to.”

She shuffled from the cushion to me and wrapped me in a light hug. “I’m sor—”

“No, no,” I interrupted, shaking my head against her chest. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” But my mind wouldn’t stop thinking over it, and the waves of negative emotions crashed loudly.

When Silver fled into the night back at Desert’s Edge, I was just confused, and a little angry. I didn’t know why she was acting the way she did then, and it had made me start to question the rest of our relationship. But other than what became an incessant need to know why, I couldn’t recall then if I had ever felt genuinely sad. But here, in Willow’s embrace, I sobbed loudly in almost unbearable pain.

I rolled with her onto the bed and tried to stifle the sobs. Things are only as bad as I let them be, I reminded myself, the phrase that Brightmane had hammered into me for years fading pointlessly in the tsunami of emotions.

“It hurts,” I whimpered.

“The simplest rule to remember,” the red-haired little mare explained in her excited and overly-sugary tones, “Is that you just need to be whatever they think you are, which basically means, whatever they want you to be. They want someone timid? You be that mare. They want someone to tickle at their gaming habits? That’s when you put your knowledge to good use, and give them a good game—push them, but don’t beat them, unless you really need to.”

Sugar Cane, the Eldest Sister in the group, had chimed in with a fair share of her own experiences and nodded to much of what Spice told me throughout the day. Sugar Cane showed signs of being a good decade-plus Willow’s senior, and her words spoke to the many years of the service and knowledge she’d accrued as the warm, responsible Eldest. “There’s something even simpler than that, Spice.”

“Huh? No way. What?”

“‘Be whoever you need to be.’ I don’t mean simply watch your target and gauge his or her reactions to the subtle nuances in your behavior, before you decide which role he or she desires—sure, that’s very useful and the core of what we do, but even more than that, you need to believe you are what you want to show.”

Her words reminded me of Willow’s in that first night we met. “Convince yourself, then you can convince others.”

“Yep, that’s exactly it. But back it up with knowledge and practice. Still, the simplest rule is just that.”

I had sought Sugar Cane early that morning because I wanted to know about the church, and about what it meant for Willow to be a Matron. It was such a big part of her life, I felt compelled to understand at least some of it. Sugar Cane reasoned the best way was to be given an introduction and all the training like a new Sister. I'd probably learn a lot of useful things, she had told me.

I agreed to that, but that was it. I wasn’t going to become a Sister. Somehow that felt like it’d make the relationship I sought with Willow even more complicated.

Sugar Cane had then pointed me to Spice, and the rest of the day became a rush of adventure as the excited little filly-mare ushered me through the church. The excitement of her young age, riding close to the line into adulthood but still exuding a bright and energetic youth, was prominent through all of her bouncy actions and frank words.

She introduced me to all of the church’s heads, starting with Prickly Pine, Willow’s male equivalent in the church, and the Father to all the Sons. She reintroduced me to Ghost Ant, the leader of the Monks, and to Steel Braid, Ghost’s right-hand minotaur. She brought me to the last leader, Bush Whacker, the head of the bar and lounge staff, then acquainted me with many of her Sisters: Plum, Honey Dew, Candy Apple, Glaze, and many others whose names I would be lucky to recall later from to the rush of the red-maned Sister’s excitement.

Most of the rest of the morning was spent dressing me in all of the different outfits of the church, and heaving upon me reason after reason to go with this color over that, and general tips, such as how to fake interest or even when to stand a certain way when in the company of a certain type of client. She’d catch herself every now and then when she referred to me as ‘Sister,’ but pushed on after a quick correction.

After having me try on numerous showier dresses, and settling on one with numerous layers of white, a light olive, and a bright yellow, Spice asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to be a Sister? You’d do great here. Everyone’s well taken care of, and as you know, Willow’s really kind to everyone.”

I thanked her, but had to decline once again. She nodded but kept her head low in disappointment.

The three of us walked through the living quarters’ hall in the late evening, and Sugar Cane stopped us at Willow’s door. “She told me to bring you by before we got ready for tonight’s service, so we’ll let you go here.”

While Sugar Cane walked off to her own room, Spice gave me a light squeeze, and said, in her sugary voice, “As soon as the service starts, come meet me. I want to show you what everything I said looks like in action. It’ll be fun!” Then she trotted off, a little skip in her step.

I knocked gently on the door, and it was tugged open with a light magic from inside. Willow stood in the room, swaying slightly to some unknown tune. She was standing just beside a large mirror that reached nearly to the ceiling of the room, and wide enough that we both could stand in its reflection with room to spare. So that’s what was under the sheet.

“Perfect timing, sweetie,” she said. “Come over here, I’d like a little help.”

A stool was set beside her, and on it was a tray filled with thin brushes and tubes of a thick paint. She used this paint every week to cover herself in tribal designs, in intricate patterns that held some meaning I didn’t understand to the great minotaur spirit Laitis. Once each week, she’d become a half-purple, half-pink pony that would dance and drink with little of her usual reserve.

She tightened up the last of the lace on her black corset, and floated up a pair of brushes, thick with the pungent purple paint. “It’s so hard to see back there,” she motioned toward her delicate side, flitting her tail about, “So if you could.” She had a devious grin.

I hesitated for a moment, but before I could reach for the brush, she turned and placed them on the tray. Ever the sensitive, perceptive mare, she seemed to guess at the cause of the pause, and cut straight through the mask I tried to hide my emotions behind. “Are you still upset with me?”

I shook my head. Of course I wasn’t upset with her. Never was. I was upset with myself. I still hurt from the understanding that came from our caress days before.

I had latched onto her when I knew nothing about her, just because she was gentle, had listened to me and said the right words. But I didn’t understand her, and had forced myself into her life, desiring a relationship I wasn’t sure I could have. Or that I deserved, for that matter.

“It’s not that. I…”

I let my voice trail off, stopping myself from blurting out words that I knew would come back and hurt me, just as the realization that my affections toward her could never be returned the way I wanted had, two days prior when I sobbed in her arms.

“Vitia,” she said, stepping toward me. “I’m sorry—”

“No, don’t apologize,” I interrupted.

She shook her head. “I have to say this. Please.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Vitia, sweetie. If you want a relationship with me, then that means it’s all of me. And a big part of me is the church. It’s the place I belong.”

I wanted to clasp my ears shut and pretend I wasn’t hearing what she was saying, but I forced myself to nod and listen. I didn’t know what soft words she would use, but I knew this was the conversation I had dreaded hearing.

“You’re a special filly to me. You mean well, and want to do good. You have a good heart. I believe in you, for what you want to do, and how much you try to help.” She paused for a moment, and took another deep breath, which filled me with dread. “I don’t want you to go through what Bit did and suffer because of me. Even if that means I have to put to words the thoughts you’ve been trying to avoid for days. Even if it hurts you now, it’ll be less painful than if you harbored a belief for something that can never exist.”

“Never exist?” Her last words stung sharply. I was certain I heard her wrong. I had to have. Because if not, then what were we? What was I even doing in the room? The steel pins piercing my horn ached.

“I sound selfish, I know. I’m sorry. But the church is also part of who I am. I’m the Matron, and I have my Daughters to look after, and the church’s services to run. I’ll have to start taking clients again. Soon.

“I’ve been putting it off,” she continued, her voice becoming strained, “Since I didn’t want to hurt you, but I can’t do that forever. So please, know that I do care for you. I hope that you can see that, and understand that I don’t mean to hurt you.”

I stood there in dumb silence as she cautiously walked up to me, genuine sadness in her wet eyes, and hugged me. I fought back a sniffle and tears, but hugged her in return.

It was just as I had thought: I didn’t truly understand Willow. Her sentiment, I did, but her, I did not. That had been the primary reason I asked Sugar Cane to help me, to see what the church was, why it meant so much to Willow, and to, in a way, be a part of something that meant everything to her. I pressed her tightly, and nodded. “I do understand.”

“And,” I said, fighting myself to not blurt the three words out, managing to cover them with a separate thought, “I’ll have to learn how to handle it. I can’t, not now. It hurts too much. You mean so much to me, Willow, but I’m selfish. I’m just a scared, snot nosed filly.” I was breaking down and the struggle to maintain composure was pushing the limits of my willpower. “I don’t want to see or think of you with anyone else.”

I pinned my ears back and forced a long, deep breath, trying to steady my thoughts before continuing. “But I understand.”

She pulled away from the embrace after a few long minutes of silence, and smiled her warming, gentle smile. “You don’t have to force yourself.”

I shook my head. I had decided in that silence, that although I knew I wasn’t emotionally prepared to admit the depths of my feelings for her, and that the mere thought of her with another pony filled me with a crushing pain, I was going to learn to overcome those. I would work to understand her, which meant those things which held a special place for her: Bit Flip, the church, and her Daughters.

And so long as I didn’t let it bother me, and didn’t think of her with anypony else, I could enjoy the moment, and find my bliss in her presence. I kissed her cheek, then wiped my tears and reached for the brush. “Guess we better get busy.”

She nodded, with a wide grin. “I tried to pencil in a rough guideline for you. So don’t worry, just paint away.”

She shifted her flank toward me after a brief hesitation, but I stood, staring at the intricate shape of her cutie mark. It was a vine that circled around itself, branching out into three smaller circles at the top, left, and right. Much like the paint she was applying to her face, it was abstract and dark.

I shifted the brush in my lips and pressed my hoof to it gently. “How’d you get your cutie mark?”

She never stopped painting, but flicked her tail playfully across my neck. I placed the brush against the light grey of the pencil outline she’d roughly drawn on, and she spoke up, “I got it when I was really young.

“My brother had a crush on some filly. You know, young love,” she giggled, “But he was too clumsy with words to tell her how he felt. For a long time he was bothered by that, but he wouldn’t let me, his little filly-sister, do anything. Well, I talked to her anyway, and set up a meeting for them.”

I ran the brush along another line, drawing the shape that curved around to the inside of her flank and spiraled down to her hoof, and she continued, “Somehow it worked out. She kissed him, and I got my cutie mark. They married later on.”

“So what’s it mean?” I dipped the brush in the splotch of oily paint, and moved to her other side, applying paint to the tender flesh I wanted to nip so badly.

“I’d say the closest word to it is ‘connection.’ I have a way of bringing out the best in ponies, and people, whether it’s bringing them together, nudging them along a path, or nurturing their growth.”

The marks were complete, and Willow had once again adopted the tribal patterns that she wore that first night I met her, two weeks prior. The dark purple around her eyes made the strong blue shade of her large eyes stand out. Lines painted across her face and down her neck, leading to the frills along the black and white dress she wore.

“Well,” she huffed, “Just in time.”

Willow said her prayers, asking Laitis and the Matron Mother for protection. To each of her Daughters as they exited from the hall into the lounge, she prayed for their safety in the bliss of the evening.

Spice was last to leave, and winked to me as she received her prayer and stepped through the door.

“Let’s just enjoy ourselves tonight. Go mingle this time. Take it easy.” Willow pressed her nose against mine briefly, then turned to the door. “I’ll be at the bar tonight if you need anything.”

When I stepped through, Spice skipped up to me and eagerly took my leg in hers. “Lots to learn tonight, Little Sister! Err, sorry. You know what I mean.”

The next hour was spent dancing from one conversation to the next throughout the lounge, repeating pleasantries and introducing ourselves to the stallions and mares from around town. Thank you for coming by for such an important night. Thank you for your continued support. Spice repeated the words and nudged me to follow suit with our curtsies to each group in turn.

“Now that that’s taken care of,” she huffed. “Let’s loosen up a little.” She trotted up from the curved bench we had taken to, and returned a few minutes later, carefully holding two martini glasses with a bright green drink in them. “Proper Ladies, they’re called.”

It was very fruity, and there was no hint of alcohol in the taste at all, which I found disappointing. Why drink if you can’t enjoy its flavor?

Spice adjusted her corset and frills, slipping it forward, sliding her thin panties down slightly. I could just barely catch a hint of her beneath the frills and ribbons. She smiled at me, “No touching. Yet.”

Spice waltzed into the crowd at one point, and returned moments later, hoof-in-hoof with a distinguished stallion in a clean suit. She introduced him as Midas, a traveler all the way from Tenpony, come to the far west in search of the delicacies of the most special fruits. She sat him between us and leaned in close to him, allowing the slightest of brushes against her bare shoulders.

She deftly handled the conversation, using a few subtle words between his sentences, driving the stallion to increasing excitement as he regaled us of his travels and of the home he had waiting for him that he insisted we must visit someday.

I forced myself to ignore the discomfort of the occasional leer, and told myself not to shrink away from him when he wrapped us around him in his arms. I had to be confident. If I ran away, I’d be running from what I sought from Spice in the first place, and in a way, I’d be running from Willow.

Spice herself had become tipsy as the hours passed, but the glasses of the mixed drink she ordered on his tab for us were more fruit and cactus pod than alcohol, which let the two of us remain mostly coherent compared to the stallion that teetered on complete inebriation. Spice’s skillful play of the conversation became more crude as the hours passed, and the overt sexuality of the situation had long become her driving action. She had wrapped one arm around me and slid the other under my skirt, brushing occasionally along the warmth between my legs.

She flirted with him using words and sensual movements of her cheeks and hoof, and ran her tail along my side, quietly motioning for me to follow suit, to which I complied, reluctantly at first. I playfully flirted with her delicate flesh and used my tail and muzzle to nudge the stallion equally, guided by the smooth movements of Spice. Crudely, but Midas was too drunk to notice my hesitations, or perhaps too aroused to care.

She whispered something in his ear, and he shot up, nodding, rushing to the bar. She pulled her cheek from mine and she grinned widely. “See, Little Sister,” she beamed, not bothering to correct herself this time, “That’s basically all there is. Say a few things, make him want to talk about himself, and let him get himself excited. Move the right way, and it’s just a few words at the end,” she trailed off, gulping down the last of her fruity drink. “I think you might have a gift for it, too.”

I nodded, fanning myself with the small red fan I had slipped from the straps of Spice's panties earlier, trying to push away the heat that had built from hours of pressing against Spice or Midas. But it could do nothing for the intense heat between my legs.

“But you know,” she cooed, sliding her lips along my cheek up to my ear, causing me to blush. Her face was flushed and a light sweat from staying in the heat of the crowded lounge for the last several hours developed around her brow and cheeks. The shining lights framed her light-cream coat, and she looked particularly tempting in our shared arousal. “I bet I have even more to teach you on what goes on after this,” she teased, playing her breath lightly across my face, “And you’re more than welcome to come along.”

She brushed her way past me and had moved off of the bench before I could even attempt to explain that this was already farther than I intended to go. I simply got caught up in everything, I wanted to explain. But she was swaying her way into the private quarters, hoof-in-hoof once again with Midas. She glanced back at me as they exited, and winked.

I downed the small martini glass of the rest of my drink and quickly made my way to the bar itself, grateful that the last of her words were only a tease. I had been far too tempted.

Behind the bar, Willow was floating bottles from high shelves and pouring mixes in midair in rapid, showy movements without ever a drop spilled. She smiled and bounced along the space behind the bar as she delivered the drinks.

I found an empty stool and leaned onto the waxed surface. Lights bounced from overhead, creating shimmers against the drops of alcohol spilled by the patrons in the reverie of the late night. A tall glass of a dark red drink slid up to me.

“Did you enjoy yourself with my overeager Daughter?” Willow was nearly panting from the constant activity she enjoyed, and sweat glistened on her. The dark purple designs she and I painted on her earlier that evening shone in the light, and her pink coat was tinted in the cacophony of colors that played throughout the church. Every light in the lounge seemed to point at her, and she glowed.

I shied away a little in embarrassment at getting so caught up in Spice’s rhythm and finding myself brazenly aroused by Willow. “She gave me a lot to think about.” I reached for the double-shot of Red Rivulet, but a dark turquoise aura wrapped around it, and Willow floated it to my lips. Now this is a real drink, I thought to myself, savoring the thick pine flavor, allowing it to take me from the noise and bustle of the lounge briefly.

Willow smiled as the glass was tugged from my lips. She leaned over the bar and puckered her lips, and we met for a long kiss in the midst of the screaming, cheering crowd. She pulled back, nodding happily, humming to the bassy tune that blasted through the heavy speakers around the room. “It takes time to get used to it all,” she said. “But I believe in you. You’ll get it.”

All of the heat and excitement rushed to my head. I excused myself for a breather, eager to cool myself down before being overcome by my desire for the tribal-painted Matron once again.

Outside, the night had settled hours prior. The moon was bright along the horizon, over little tufts of clouds, and the thinner, cooler air of the wide space felt refreshing.

Convince yourself, then you can convince others, I repeated in my mind. Be confident in yourself and others will believe anything you say. Watch them, see their reactions. Experiment carefully. Be who they want. Be confident.

I thought the mantra to myself over and over.

Willow believed in me, and she cared for me. The relationship that would come with being together with her was something I couldn’t handle, emotionally, I knew, but I repeated the mantra again. One day.

The midday sun was strong as always, with no clouds to break up the almost overbearing intensity. No wind blew that day, and the Rusted Crags’ normally-thin smell of oiled machinery and heated metal was thick in the air. Still, people moved about, carrying goods and parts from one guild to another, needing the extra space of the wide roads over the cramped tunnels that criss-crossed through the town beneath the surface.

I was taking a break from Spice’s energetic, very hooves-on teaching, having told her I needed to step out for some lunch and a few errands for Willow. Though not necessarily untrue—I was dreadfully hungry—it was more an excuse to get some time to think over all she told me and take it in. The sheer amount of information she presented me with was almost overwhelming. It seemed like she was so enamored with the idea of not being the Littlest Sister, even though I had to constantly remind her that I was not joining Willow’s brothel services, had filled her with unending energy, and she was trying to cover years of knowledge and teachings in the short span of a few days.

Willow and I had eaten lunch the previous day at Crisp Cut’s, so I had found myself making my way through the town toward it. I nodded to ponies and minotaurs I recognized, and realized that in the last two weeks and a few days that I’d been in the town, it was becoming more comfortable to me, and I no longer needed to traverse the entire layout to find any shop or building I was looking for.

I turned the corner that led toward the quiet tavern, and nearly bumped into Bit Flip.

I had tried, in the first days after she was released from the clinic, to talk to her, but each opportunity was stifled with my own inability to put into words the myriad of emotions I had, and she in turn simply mumbled a few words and skittered off before I could manage a proper sentence. But now, nearly a week since our last encounter, I felt more sure, and intended to voice my emotions. “Bit Flip.”

She glanced at me then turned her head slightly.

“I need to talk to you,” I told her. I wanted to stop her before she tried to make her way from me, but had to remind myself, be confident.

“What’s there to talk about?” She nearly spit the words. “We both know what happened—”

“That’s what we need to talk about. Yes, things happened. Horrible things.” I hoped not to come off as angry or bitter, but I felt the need to be assertive. I’d have her listen. “But I don’t blame you. It’s not your fault, Bit. It’s mine.”

She glanced up at me with a confused look, then furrowed her brows and walked past me.

I turned and matched her brisk pace. “Bit, please, wait.”

She never stopped and never looked at me, but spoke, “It’s fine, Vitia. I don’t want you thinkin’ yer my property, or like y’have to owe me somethin’.” At that, she stopped, but her voice remained stern. “Things are a little uncertain right now, but,” she paused, rubbing her nose with her hoof, “Well, don’t worry about it. I didn’t do it for you.”

She looked at me with a steely gaze that forced me a step back, “I did it for me,” she said flatly, then walked off. I didn’t follow.

The next day, the room under the Guild that Bit Flip had practically taken residence in was open, and empty. Some shotgun shell casings littered the floor, along with empty bottles of wonderglue and tools, but Bit was nowhere to be found.

I made my way through the underground maze, coming to the residential section. The heavy vault door to the lobby was open, suspended from the inside of the room by a massive hydraulic arm. Several ponies and minotaurs, all draped in grimy blue overalls and wearing heavy utility belts filled with tools, gears, bolts, and sprockets, stood around chatting.

I pushed through to the next room, moving along the dusky but geometrically clean lines of the steel and concrete interior, and along the grey back wall leaned Rivet. He had unstrapped his blue overall’s top portion, and let the denim material flop about his waist. His toned chest glistened with sweat and streaks of soot and oil ran over the ridges of his muscles. He scratched at the gear-shaped tattoo on his shoulder with a hand as big as my head as I approached.

“Where’s Bit Flip today?” I inquired.

He looked at me for a long moment, then snorted and shrugged. “’Aven’t seen ’er ’round in a while. Maybe sh’ finally got picked up by the Monks fer smashin’ a few o’ ’em in a while back.”

I thanked the minotaur and made my way back through the guildworks, stepping up a metal catwalk that led to the surface. I walked through the dense morning heat toward the church.

I entered into the bar area on the upstairs portion of the lounge, and looked at each of the Monks in the room. They nudged drunken, sleeping people from whatever uncomfortable spot they had collapsed on the night before, and ran mops and rags over the spills of the previous night’s services.

I didn’t recognize any of them, except Strong Horn. I decided against asking him for Bit’s whereabouts, remembering the last encounter he had with the pegasus was the night of her chem-cocktail, when she was so amped up and unruly that she cracked off one of the horns he was so proud of.

Making my way back upstairs, I saw Bush Whacker enter into the lounge through the door that led to the non-brothel quarters. It was the first time I saw him not in the stiff black attire he seemed to wear all the time. I stepped up to him and nodded, which he returned.

“Have you seen Bit Flip today?”

He shook his head. “Actually, haven’t seen her since the night she got tossed in the drunktank.”

“Alright, thanks,” I said, turning to make my way toward the Monk’s quarters, before a question of curiosity came to mind. I stopped and asked him as delicately as I could, “Mind if I ask you a personal question?”

He raised one eyebrow, then laughed. “Sure, go ahead.”

“Why’s your—I mean, ‘Bush Whacker’ is very unique. What’s it mean?”

He laughed loudly, then nodded and patted my head lightly. “What you really mean is, ‘Why do you and your brother Weed Killer have such weird names,’ right?”

I blushed a little. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” he laughed again. “Well, short of it is, our mother was a drunk. She named me after her favorite drink, is what Pappy told me. And my brother, well, apparently his birth was a right bitch, so she named him after what she said was ‘the worst drink in the Wasteland. Only good for killing weeds. May as well drink motor oil and bleach!’ So there you have it.”

I stifled a laugh. Or at least most of one, and I snorted a little. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh at that. That’s sad.”

“But it is damn funny, ain’t it? Don’t worry about it, filly.”

I nodded and apologized again as I walked into the hallway, and after a healthy laugh, wiped my eyes and made my way to the end, to the Monks’ quarters.

Ghost Ant stood in the center of the room, running his black Monk robe through steaming water. He nodded as I entered. “Hello, honored little one.”

“‘Honored?’” I had never heard anyone call me that before.

He nodded again. “It’s nothing official, but it’s for what you mean to Willow. She’s a very important pony here. Not just because she’s the Matron, but because of how much she does for the community, and how much everyone in town loves and respects her. And, whether she’s said this to you, or if you noticed it or not, she’s been brighter since Bit brought you here. To me, that’s something.”

“Oh,” I blushed. It caught me completely off guard, and it took me several long moments to recover. I stood there dumbly, watching the squat, but heavily-muscled minotaur press a heated iron to the cloth, causing a hissing steam to rise from the robe. “Uh, sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt.”

“Not a problem, little one. What did you need?”

“Was wondering if you’ve seen Bit Flip. She’s not at the Guild where she was for a while and I can’t find her anywhere else. Someone said maybe you or maybe Steel Braid or someone else may have taken her in for, um, recompense for the night she…made a scene.”

He shook his head. “My Monks and I are upset with her, because of her actions that spit in the face of her normally-esteemed character, but we would not retaliate for what she did. We trust in her to come forward when she feels able, and under the mercy of Laitis and his Sister, we shall all atone for it evenly. But, to answer your question, no, I have not seen her. If she did plan to do anything, I would certainly believe she would consult with Willow first. Perhaps you should check with her.”

“Right, thanks. And, for what it’s worth, which might not be anything considering I’m nothing here,” I shook my head and continued quickly, “I think she feels bad for what she did. Um, well, if she remembers any of it.”

“I believe so as well,” he replied.

I turned back down the hall and began to look for Willow. I had wanted to not pester her while she was with her Daughters and tried to keep some distance to not smother her with my presence, but I was becoming worried with Bit’s sudden disappearance.

Even if it had been a week since she was released, she was still under loose surveillance by her concerned friends, and I found it difficult to believe that she was suddenly no longer anywhere to be found.

The room leading to the brothel’s showers was filled with Willow and her Daughters. All had gathered that morning to recount the last few days and as a time for counseling or simply to chat. Willow sat in the center of the group and listened carefully to each of her Daughters in turn, and the overall mood was warm, and content.

I had stepped in, then decided it was not my place and turned to leave, but stopped as Spice called out my name excitedly.

She pulled me in to the crowd and all the mares and heifers that fell under Willow’s care looked to me. Willow asked for a quiet moment with me in private, and the two of us walked down the hall a short distance before she turned to me. “What is it, dear?”

“I’m actually kind of worried about Bit.”

She was surprised. “Why? What happened now?”

“That’s just it: I don’t know. I can’t find her.”

Willow glanced off to the side then nodded. “I’m sure she’s around. She has a lot to work out, and she’s always been the kind of pony to figure it out eventually. Give her time and space, and just watch; she’ll come back, happy as you’ve ever seen her.”

I sighed, knowing Willow was likely spot-on. In the brief time I knew Bit Flip, I got the distinct impression that she kept a lot of her thoughts and feelings bottled up. She’d deal with them in her own way. Eventually, like Willow said.

I hugged her. “You’re probably right. Sorry to disturb you.”

“Oh not at all, dear.”

I strapped the saddle filled with supplies onto my newly-cleaned medical overcoat, and rested my pink and white hat on my head. I walked from the showers down the hall of the private quarters. I stopped in front of Willow’s door. Be confident, I told myself, then knocked against the thick wooden frame.

She opened it, and stepped back, surprised. “What’s wrong, Vitia?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I assured her, wearing a genuine smile.

She ushered me inside and looked at me with concern. “Then why all the gear?”

I reminded myself that I had just practiced this speech in the shower and over and over again to the white unicorn in the mirror after, just in case the last few days of its repetition didn’t stick. Be confident, I reminded myself. You can do this, Vitia.

“I…” and with just the first syllable, my confidence was nearly shattered. My stomach twisted, and nervousness had my body shaking. I took a deep breath and forced myself to push on. “Willow, I love you.”

I let the words hang in the air for a moment, and stared at the floor at my hooves, trying to collect myself. My heart pounded and for some reason, I felt tears well up in my eyes. “But how I am right now, I can’t be the mare I need to be, for you.”

I looked up at her, afraid to see what expression she might have. I had, in the dozens or hundreds of rehearsals over the last few days, tried to imagine every reaction I could from her. I had seen her in my mind’s eye with a gaze of sadness, with words that told me it could never happen; I imagined a disappointed Willow, shaking her head, telling me I was foalish; I pictured her with anger in those bright eyes, and a scream to leave. But instead, her eyes were wet, and she was still.

Words caught in my throat, but I forced myself on. “In these last several days, since Bit left, I’ve been thinking. Where am I? What am I doing here? What do I mean to everyone around me? To you? I couldn’t admit to myself my feelings for you because I didn’t know the answer to those questions. I still don’t.

“And I was afraid. You’ve been hurt like this before, so I didn’t want to have that happen again. But I can’t, not now, love you for everything you are. I don’t understand you the way I need to. The way I want to.”

“But,” and the crack in my voice returned, “You remember, that first night, when you held me on the balcony, and I cried, and cried, and told you about Silver Sheen? I left my entire life to chase after her. I thought I loved her.” I shook my head. “I didn’t. Now that I’ve felt it with you, I know I didn’t. But it still nags at me. Why did she leave? What wasn’t she telling me? She left the safety of Desert’s Edge and me for…what? I need to know.

“And,” I continued, rubbing drying tears from my cheeks, “I need to apologize to Bit Flip. She told me not to be concerned, but I am, because I can’t imagine the pain she’s suffering alone. I have to tell her I’m sorry, and I have to make it up to her. I owe her. She’s saved my life. Twice. And she brought me to you.”

Willow crossed to me quickly, and stopped me in the middle of my speech with a hug. She just held me, like she did the first night we met. And like then, I cried.

My legs collapsed, and we fell to the floor. Willow kept me in her embrace, and sat in silence as I released the emotions I had bottled up. They overflowed and dripped from my cheeks, soaking into her coat, and spilled in sobs and choked syllables.

All of the times I practiced the speech, and the bravado I had tried to fill myself with shattered and broke away, leaving me a sobbing, shaking mess. I just kept repeating the words, “I love you,” into her warm chest.

I took another step forward in Junction 144, moving through the square of the intersection that the town had built itself around, surrounded by hundreds of ponies, some minotaurs, and griffins, that I did not know. They mulled about their daily business, paying no mind to the white unicorn in the medical overcoat with the magic suppressor affixed to her horn.

My first stop would be Buffalo Ridge. It was only a short distance from 144, and from the memory banks of the terminal in Old Fort Celestia during my brief, almost-accidental foray into the military hospital nearly a month prior, I knew the general location of the residence that her family had called home many decades before.

After going there, and making my peace with Silver, the little mare that I had once considered to be the most important thing to me, I would return to 144 and continue south, to Cancy.

Willow had, after the long embrace, finally broke the silence after my confession with just a simple admission: “Bit picked up a job with the Quills. She might be near the badlands, or Paint. Please be careful, dear.”

Thanks to a kind few words from the Matron, Steel Arm and a pair of earth ponies, all part of the Gate-Guardians Guild, escorted me from Rusted Crags to Junction 144. The sheer size of the brutish minotaur, coupled with the massive bulk of the steel machinery that covered one side of his scar-torn body, and the heavy weaponry of the trio afforded us a wide birth as other travelers pulled off the torn highway completely. A few run-ins with starved and fevered wildlife, all of which were dispatched quickly, were the most exciting events throughout the short trip.

“This is as far as we go, little one,” Steel Arm had said, wishing me a safe journey before turning back toward the Crags and fading from my view out of the Junction. I would have to find my own protection from this point on, but he did tell me how I get to the places closest to the Quills.

Talk to Silver, I reminded myself, Then to Cancy, and west to Paint, and west still if she’s not there. I had my plan, and set one hoof in front of the other, forcing myself to push on.