Spitfire regarded the tray in front of her. Three glass plates held above one another by a metal bar through the middle, each smaller than the next, it held a collection of delicacies that would make any mouth water. Tea cakes, scones, those little swan-shaped pastries with the crême au beurre centre, it was temptation in bite-sized chunks.
But the mare in front of her had her eye on Spitfire’s prey, no doubt. Passiflora was a light green pegasus with a purple mane that had white streaks in it, with her tail matching. She kept her mane flat, preferring to let the hair fall down naturally rather than have it stick up as was the fashion. Her eyes were violet, her appearance always well-kept and her reputation spotless. Flora was a dietetic nurse, one of the few ponies who’d rediscovered and perfected the craft of treating ailments by food alone. Her skills ran the gamut of dietician, nurse, and cook, and her clientele comprised the elite. Spitfire herself had had to follow Flora’s instructions on a few occasions, either to speed her recovery after a burnout or crash, or to prepare for a particularly grueling season of races and training.
Needless to say, Spitfire’s choice of location was a bit of a prank at her expense. But Flora had asked for the meeting, and Spitfire got to choose the spot, so there they were in Ponyville’s Sugarcube Corner.
Missus Cake walked over while the staring contest between the two continued, slowly pouring their tea and leaving the kettle, as they’d asked. “There you are, just let me know if you need anything else.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Cake.” Spitfire smiled and nodded. One big advantage of being a Wonderbolt was that most ponies didn’t recognise her without the uniform. Only one or two ponies would know her in Ponyville, and only one of those was in Sugarcube Corner at the moment.
Spitfire resumed her staring at the pile of treats. Their eyes met, their gazes locked. The tension mounted to a searing climax.
“Dibs on the tea cakes.” Passiflora chuckled and deposited one of the chocolate domes on her tiny plate, leaving Spitfire to grab a scone. “So, how is that new recruit doing?”
Spitfire took a sip of her tea. Don’t wanna cut to the chase, huh? All right. “A lot better, now that she’s eating those buns you brought. What did you put in those things?”
Flora shrugged. “Not much, just cornmeal and ground hazelnuts. She’ll have to keep eating those, by the way, or she’ll start getting weaker again.”
Spitfire looked at her intently. “So it was her food that was responsible? Falling asleep in mid air, the stomach cramps, that was just her diet?”
Flora nodded carefully. “She can’t digest wheat, that’s all. Probably a gluten intolerance, or some imbalance in her magic messing with plant energy, you’ll have to ask an expert for that.”
Spitfire tilted her head, surprised. “What? She can’t take wheat, seriously? And she didn’t know, at her age? How does that happen, why isn’t it on her medical file?”
Passiflora shrugged and took another bite out of the tea cake, savouring its marshmallowy insides. She stared at Spitfire as she replied, hardening her voice. “Well, they don’t test you for that sort of thing, you only notice it when it becomes a problem. And it only became a problem at the Academy.”
Spitfire suppressed a groan at the explanation. Passiflora’s voice always got a bit of an edge when she talked about diagnoses, especially when it came to conditions that went unnoticed for so long. Spitfire didn’t need to question why anymore. “So how did you know that was it, then?”
“I read her file, of course. It said Midnight Strike is from Baltimare, that’s corn country. The only thing she’d ever really notice growing up is she gets sleepy after eating sweets. And since she’s aiming for the Wonderbolts, that wouldn’t come up too often as an adult. That is, until she got the food in your cafeteria. Just keep her on cornbread and she’ll be fine. If push comes to shove, they have a treatment for it now, anyway, if she can spare half a year.” Flora finished her tea cake and proceeded to lay waste to a swan cake, decapitating it with one eager bite.
Spitfire smiled and snacked along, before taking a long sip of her tea. “What about you? How are things in Bogsdown? Practice treating you okay?”
Flora smiled. “Oh, things are just dandy. The book has turned out to be an unexpected hit, the practice is doing fine. It’s just the usual crops of high flyers wanting an edge, supermodels who want the numbers of their diet crunched, and patients who need to watch what they eat for a while. No problem keeping up with consultations, no problem keeping up with all the orders. So don’t worry, if any of your colleagues or cadets need a new diet or special food, I’m still open for business.”
Spitfire nodded knowingly. If it’s not the patients, then that just leaves one thing. “And how’s the family?”
Passiflora turned away and looked out the window, pensive. “Oh, same as ever. Breeze still does his rounds every morning, clearing the skies, and Whimper, well…” She returned her attention to the swan cake, finishing the small head and getting into the cream, if only to stop talking.
Silence hung over them for a moment. Spitfire suppressed a groan. Oh, Flora. It’s always your kid that gets the short end of the stick, huh?
Spitfire had never met the boy in pony, but she’d seen him in passing when Passiflora brought him to one of the derbies. He had his father’s sky blue fur and a spiky mane that Flora insisted wasn’t styled after Spitfire’s but obviously was, save for the one spike up front that he kept low whereas Spitfire’s mane was all upright. He seemed like a nice kid, from what Flora had told her over the years, and from what little glances she’d caught she had no reason to think Flora ever exaggerated about him.
A quiet boy who kept to himself and who wasn’t prone to tantrums or whining, that’s as much as Spitfire knew of him. And the few times she’d seen him, he looked healthy, as would be expected from a nurse’s son. But then she’d never seen him run. She’d heard about it, though. “No change?”
Passiflora shook her head. “No change. He still gets itchy when he’s scared, he still gets wheezy when he tries to run, and he still collapses when they make him run.”
Spitfire nodded. “And the medication makes him too weak to do anything, I take it?”
Flora chuckled mirthlessly. “Yup. He can barely breathe when he gets an attack, he can barely walk straight once he gets a sniff of that oil, or salve, it doesn’t matter. I don’t know what to do anymore, Spitfire. Just think, out of all the diseases he could get, my boy had to wind up with one you can’t treat, even with magic. He couldn’t just get allergies or anemia or anything they can treat… anything I know how to treat. It just had to be that. Funny how that goes, huh?” She stopped herself from slamming into the table in anger. She bit her lip. “Look at me, getting all riled up over nothing. It’s just driving me nuts, not being able to do anything about it.”
“Look, Flora, you know I’d help if I could. I mean, I can’t even count the number of times you’ve helped me or one of my team mates out of a jam -”
“Please don’t start that, Fire. All I ever do is check the numbers, mix the powders, and bake. I’m not a doctor and you know it, anypony could do it.” Passiflora sighed, idly nibbling the rest of her swan cake.
“But nopony else does. You shouldn’t sell yourself short like that, Flora, you’re great at what you do, probably the best. I can think of a dozen ponies who’d tell you the same thing if they heard you talking like that. Somepony’s gotta make sure all the athletes and whatnot are eating right. Whether you think so or not, you help ponies feel better, you help them get stronger and healthier when they need to. That counts for something. That counts for a lot.”
Passiflora snorted softly. “Maybe. Still doesn’t make me a doctor, though.”
“Maybe not, but you make ponies feel better, and you help them healthy, and that includes your son. Plus, the medicine they get from you is a lot tastier than most of the stuff they get from the pharmacy. Oh, which reminds me, Fleetfoot wanted the recipe for those pies you gave her when she had that infection, if you still remember.”
Flora shrugged and lowered her voice. “Sure I remember. Urinary infection? Cranberries. High blood pressure? Make something with banana. Anxiety or heart arrhythmia?” She looked down at her flank to inspect the passion fruit flower that adorned it. “That’s just making it too easy.”
Spitfire winced at Flora’s tone. She sounded sad, even resentful. “It’s gotten worse, huh? Your son, I mean.”
Flora shook her head, forcing a smile out. “Not really, no. He hasn’t gotten worse. I had him tested again, they made him run on the treadmill like before, and like before he nearly passed out by the end of it. They took a note of it, they told me what medicine to keep in my cupboard, and neither of those things helps his pain go away. They just… took note of it, that’s all. Can’t do anything with a note except keep reading it.”
“But that’s good, isn’t it? If he’s not getting worse, he’ll grow out of it eventually. What’s the problem, then?”
“The same problem it’s always been.” Flora gobbled up the rest of the small cake before laying waste to a block of marshmallow. “That thrice-damned gym teacher keeps making him run, when he knows full well that’s hurting him. Whimper gets graded based on something he cannot do with his condition. He keeps coming home with just one ‘F’, just one, and that’s all it takes to bring him down. And all those other kids, they… the things they get away with, Spitfire, you would not believe. It’s like the only thing that counts at that school is their accursed trophy cabinet. As long as they bring in the gold for their school, anything goes.”
“Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad. At that age?”
Passiflora shook her head. “You have no idea. I swear, one of these days something’s going to go horribly wrong, and I don’t know who’ll be getting the short end of it.”
Spitfire smiled in sympathy. “Really, Flora? You’re letting a bunch of kids get to you like that? If it’s really that bad, why not change school? You could send him to Ponyville, he’d fit right in here. Ponyville doesn’t play in any junior leagues, except bowling, and you don’t have to run for that. No trophies for the bullies to hide behind.”
Passiflora raised an eyebrow, then looked out the window, Spitfire following suit. An ominous buzzing hung in the air, Doppler-shifting towards them before an orange streak rushed past, leaving a dust cloud in its wake. Passiflora shook her head. “Believe me, if I thought it would help, I would. But I can’t just send him here, it’s too dangerous. This town is a stone’s throw away from the Everfree, you never know what might pop out of there. I read the papers, this town just isn’t safe.”
Spitfire looked around Sugarcube Corner. “The locals don’t seem to care.”
“Of course they don’t. You could have timberwolves attacking, dragons, giant spiders, none of the locals would get hurt. The Weather Patrol would just swoop in and take care of it before it got out of hoof. And anypony not taking care of the problem has the same way of staying safe.”
Spitfire’s ears flattened against her head. “Right. Everypony runs. And your boy can’t.”
“I’d love for him to go to school here, I really would. There’s no competition here, not like in Bogsdown. Back home, every kid I see is on some court shouting about how they’re gonna beat the rest. Here, I wouldn’t even know what school they’re from, let alone what schools they compete with. But I just can’t risk it. I’d never forgive myself if some big monster caught him just because I wouldn’t stand for the little monsters.”
Spitfire heaved a deep sigh. “I know, I get that, but err… Flora? It sounds like you already know what you can and can’t do about it. What did you want to talk to me for, then? You know I can’t just pull some strings and make it so your son can skip gym class, it doesn’t work that way.”
Flora hastily grabbed another treat, while Spitfire did the same, if only to keep things even between them. Passiflora’s breath quickened, and she shifted her eyes back and forth as she thought. Eventually, she relented under Spitfire’s gaze. “I know, and thanks for hearing me out. I know I’m not the easiest pony to listen to.”
Spitfire grinned. “Nah, I get worse from the other Wonderbolts. A little venting never hurt anypony.”
Flora’s eyes kept darting all over, avoiding Spitfire’s as she gathered her courage. “Still, I appreciate it, but the reason I wanted to talk to you is… I, umm… I need your advice.”
Spitfire perked her ears at that. “Wait, what? You need advice from me?”
Flora bit her lip and nodded.
Spitfire gestured for her to continue. “Um, okay. But what would you want from me that you don’t already know?”
Flora reached down in her saddlebag. “You remember that filly I told you about?”
“Peachy Pie, the crazy one? Don’t tell me your son’s gotten in trouble over a girl?”
“Not yet, he hasn’t.” She fetched out a flyer and placed it on the table. “Whimper came home with this a few days ago. Peachy gave it to him.”
Spitfire took the flyer and inspected it. In the center stood a stylised figure of a huge stallion flexing his bulging forelegs. The whole thing looked bright and sure to catch anyone’s eye, with big letters and bright reds mixed with yellow in the background. “Test your might at the annual Applecross Games in Poppy Fields. Competition, workshops and seminars all day. Pre-order tickets for Iron Will seminar now. I don’t get it. He wants to go see that minotaur guy? Sounds like a good idea to me. Three and a half months away, you should be all right getting tickets to it.”
Passiflora shook her head and pointed to the lower part of the flyer. “Look at what it says on the bottom.”
Spitfire took a look at the lower text. “Three strength classes, no restrictions. All weight classes welcome.” She looked up in confusion. “I still don’t get it.”
“It says there are three strength classes, and all weight classes are welcome. I’ve been to those games before, it’s true. You have to hit this bell at the entrance, and your score determines what events you can participate in. No limit on the weight class, anyone can try. Even Whimper.”
Spitfire looked up in surprise. “What? He wants to try out for this thing? Just like that?”
“No, he wants to spend the next three months preparing for it, then try out for this thing. He just walked up to me with that piece of paper in his mouth and asked if he could try. And I… I panicked. I said I’d think about it, and I don’t know what to say now.”
Spitfire rolled her eyes at the thought. “Well, you gotta admire his ambition, at least. What’s Summer Breeze got to say about it?”
“Oh, you know my darling husband, always ready to back everypony up. He says I should let Whimper do what he wants, and do the same thing I do for my patients.”
Spitfire shrugged. “What do you need me for, then? You know more about training schedules and diets than anypony I know. What’s the problem?”
“The problem? The problem is it’s not safe for a child to be doing weightlifting. He shouldn’t be thinking about working his muscles, and he should certainly not be thinking about going up against stallions twice his size. He’s only a child, Spitfire, I can’t put my own son through that sort of hardship.”
Spitfire held up a hoof. “Now hold on there. Your son’s what, ten?”
“Nine. He’ll be ten next summer.”
“Why wouldn’t it be safe? If he sticks to a schedule that’s right for him, he can get nice and beefy if he wants. Back in the old days, he’d be old enough to be a shield mate, and those kids never had any problems growing up.”
“Yes, but those kids got pushed into it, that was back when every pegasus pony was born a warrior. If I agree to this, how am I supposed to make sure he doesn’t give up or get hurt? How would you do it? You must have had kids walk up to you and ask how they could be like you. What do you say to them?”
“Me? I tell’em to keep trying, to chase their dreams, and to have fun. That’s what I tell the kids. The recruits, I usually tell to drop and give me twenty.” Spitfire grinned.
“And what if they can’t? What if a kid walks up to you and they’re wheezing, or they have such small wings they can’t fly?”
The buzzing sound returned, along with the orange streak across the street. It was coming from an orange pegasus filly on a scooter. Spitfire nodded towards the kid. “You mean like that one? I’d tell her the same thing. Keep going, keep trying, if she feels like it, and have fun. You can’t pretend it’s not normal for a kid to be dedicated to sports, Flora.”
“How so?”
“For one thing, Whimper’s classmates are mostly jocks. Unless you were exaggerating.” Spitfire grinned triumphantly.
Reluctantly, Flora nodded. “Good point. But what if I let him do it, and he hurts himself? What if he gives up halfway? If he starts and he can’t manage, I don’t think he’s ever going to want to try anything on his own again.”
Spitfire mulled over it, snatching a tea cake while Flora was distracted. “Guess it depends. Is it just some silly kid’s thing he’s asking, or is he serious?”
Flora sighed. “I think he’s dead serious. He never tries sports, Fire, ever, not since he found out about the Eagle’s Grasp. This is the first time he’s actually asked if he could do anything that involved getting stronger or faster. He looked happy when he gave me that piece of paper, but I don’t think he realises what he’s getting himself into.”
Spitfire crossed her forelegs across her chest. “Then I reckon you’d better tell him what he’s in for. You said so yourself, he’s only a child. You know how kids can get. If he really wants to do this, he will try it behind your back.”
Flora’s eyes went wide. “What? No, he’d never… would he? No, he couldn’t.”
Spitfire leaned back as the facts dawned on her. “Oh, now I get it. You don’t think he’s got the heart to go through with it. You think he’s aiming too high, and if he fails he’ll think he’s a runt for the rest of his life.”
“Don’t use that word.” Flora gritted her teeth.
Spitfire shrugged. “Why not? Isn’t that what they call kids like him? Or is that just what he calls himself?”
Flora snorted in defeat, before refilling her tea. “Sometimes. I keep telling his teachers to do something about it. I even called the principal, she said it was just kids being kids. Fat load of good that does.”
Spitfire sighed and stared at her intently. “You’re being way too protective here. It’s okay to let kids try new things, you know that. I can understand Ponyville being too unsafe to bring your son here, but just strength training? I’m surprised you even have to hesitate to agree. Do you want to keep him sheltered all his life?”
“Of course not. And if I knew he could run, or at least keep up with the emergency drills, I’d send him here in a heartbeat. But he keeps lagging behind when they do that in gym class, his teacher has warned me that he’d be a sitting duck in a real emergency. I’m not being over-protective, I’m being sensible here.”
Spitfire kept up her glare. “Then what’s really bugging you, Flora? Why not let him get stronger, help him put up a fight if it ever comes to that? What’s the real reason you wouldn’t just agree? Has he set up a workout schedule yet?”
“No, Peachy did. She read a few magazines and she made a list. It’s simple lifts, crunches, and pushups, standard rep-based program with a final limit-pushing set on every exercise, he wouldn’t even need weights to do it. It doesn’t look too bad, I think he could do it if he tried.”
“But?”
Flora bit her lip and sighed in defeat. “But he’d be doing it while he’s still going to school, Fire, that’s what worries me. If he just gets some sore muscles or if he just gets tired, fine. Anypony can push past that. But if he hits a rough spot doing this and somepony manages to get under his skin, like they always do, I think it might just break his heart. If he starts doing something just for himself and they get it into his head it’s all for nothing, I don’t know how to fix that. I don’t want my son to get heartbroken just because somepony made him stop trying. He’s barely got the motivation to go to school as it is, how is he supposed to stay motivated to stick to something that long on top of all that?”
Spitfire sighed. “Same way the Wonderbolts stay motivated, Flora. Same way anypony stays motivated for anything.”
“What do you mean?”
Passiflora sighed as she stood in front of the tree, her hoof raised to the doorknob. Her ears perked in a reflex towards the beehive that hung from one of the branches to her left, then to the bird’s nest on her right.
Deep breaths, Flora. Just take deep breaths, and don’t let him get that puppy dog look on you.
She flapped her wings once to steady herself, furled them back on her sides, then walked into her home. The same design as Ponyville’s library, the interior greeted her with the smell of clean wood and just a hint of the banana cream pie she’d left to cool in the kitchen.
Whimper sat in the middle of the room, waiting patiently, and staring at her with his golden puppy dog eyes.
Drat.
Passiflora looked at the ground to stop the barrage on her heart. “All right, sweetie, I had a little talk about what you asked with somepony who knows about this sort of thing.”
He gulped, before speaking in his half-whisper voice. “And?”
She walked over into the living room, then patted a spot on the couch for him to sit next to her. “Sit down.”
Keeping his head low, Whimper joined his mom on the couch. His wings bunched up against his sides.
Flora got out the flyer he’d brought in. “Are you sure you want to do this? Follow a dedicated program for three months, join the Applecross Games? You’d be competing with stallions twice your size.”
He nodded. “More than anything in the world.”
“But do you understand what it is you’re asking? You’re going to have to do the work on your own, no cheating. You’ll have to do all the exercises, including the ones you’re not that good at. You’re going to feel pain, for a long time, and your muscles will start twitching.”
Again, he nodded. “I know.”
“And doing this isn’t going to get you out of gym class. You’re still going to have to go to school, you’ll still have to run, and that’s going to hurt even more. And gym class is still going to leave an ‘F’ on your report card, you’re not going to get cured if you just get stronger. All the other kids are still going to be around.”
He winced. “I know, mom. But I really want this. Please?”
“This is going to be something you do every day, Whimper, not just the days you do crunches or lifts. The days you’re not working your strength, I’ll expect you to do your stretches. And if you start, I’m going to have to put you on a diet. No sweets, no chocolate, more protein, you’re going to have to start eating things you might not like. Are you absolutely sure that’s what you want?”
“I understand. I think I can handle it.”
Flora sighed. “How do you know, sweetie?”
“Well… I kind of, sort of, tried to do some crunches the night Peachy gave me that schedule. I wanted to see how many I could do and… I did twelve before I kinda felt it burn.”
She rubbed his mane. He was smiling brighter than she could remember.
“But, mom? I tried again two days after, and I could do fourteen before I felt the same thing. It was just two more, but it felt good, really good. I want to do that some more.”
Passiflora smiled down at him, before pulling him into a hug. You were right, Spitfire. “Okay. If that's really how you feel, I am going to get you a calendar, and I’ll make sure you’re not doing anything dangerous. You just write down how far you get and how much you can do, and any time you think about giving up, you’ll just have to give that paper a look, how does that sound?”
Whimper hugged her tight. “That sounds perfect.”
“Okay. Then starting tomorrow, I’m putting you on a diet. Starting next Monday, you’re going to start training, and you’re going to stick with it.” She tightened her grip around him as well. “Just one more thing, sweetie.”
He looked up, fearful.
She bit her lip, carefully weighing her words. “There’s a chance that at the end of line you’re not strong enough to join the Applecross Games. Are you all right with that?”
He nodded. “Yes. I just wanna try, mom.”
She curled her wings around him, and felt him do the same. “Then you’ll get to try. You’ll get to try your best.”
The End.
