The Mare

Chapters

A bridge of moonlight can only carry one.
The night has only just begun.
"I can't remember her smell anymore."
"I have failed him."
Splinters belong to dreams.
Let me be your wings.
The night never ended.
"Whores know no love."
For no reason at all.
Words become criminal.
He is not alone.
Some stories were never meant to be.
Epilogue

A bridge of moonlight can only carry one.

The Mare

By Stanku

Proofreaders/Editors: nucnik, kalash93, Kain187

On a cream white paper, a pen writes:

A velvet covers the sky, an enormous fabric spotted with tiny lights like holes in the canvas. Holes made of light, immobile, docile, eternal. A change in a constellation means countless lifetimes for a pony, and yet their particles, the stars, symbolize change for them, for us. An old star, a new beginning. Anypony can recognise the logical misstep in that wisdom. Another new lie disguised as ageless truth.

A mare leans against her window frame while the starlight caresses her naked figure with a cold touch. The moon is out there, too, but not on her window, not tonight. Only the distant stars witness her writing her diary, the pen held firmly between her clean white teeth. The mare’s mane, a mixed dream of auburn and golden yellow, rests in her way as she writes another line of her thoughts. She flips it away by jerking her neck, and the curls fall like autumn leaves.

She hears singing, and her frail and tiny ears turn towards the noise that comes from beneath her, from the streets. The noise gets louder by the minute and soon she can see a pair of stallions appear under one of the street lights. Their top hats give away their class like the stripes give away a tiger. The mare follows the pair with her gaze, stopping her writing as the two noisy individuals pass under her window, moving from one circle of light into another. Drunk as a skunk, she thinks as the singing becomes almost unbearable, and not only because of the volume.

A sleepy growl carries from the large bed behind the mare, and she senses somepony moving in the darkness. For a few seconds, she holds her breath. Then the noise stops, both on the street and on the bed, as the two drunken socialites turn a corner. Soon, a soft snoring descends again to offer a familiar vocal context for the mare. She sighs in relief, and continues her writing undisturbed.

A few pages later she closes the small blue book and sets the pen on a nightstand next to her. She glances at the sleeping stallion on the bed, listening to his faint snoring as his tail makes an idle swing in the air every now and then. She watches him like she watched the two stallions under her window—with contempt. It’s quite a different look from the one she gives their kind, to the elite of Canterlot, during daytime. She’s not wearing her mask now.

The mare turns her head from the sleeping figure and stares at the fabric of night. She knows almost all the constellations by name and appearance now, but still her eyes shine as if they were witnessing the beauty above for the first time. Her gaze travels a million miles in a second as she goes through the blinking lights one by one, and she greets them by their name. The Silvery Spear. Little Apple. The Maiden. She blinks when her eyes meets the last one, and her mouth twists into a mocking grin. It’s a wonder she can keep the blush away, considering the view I have offered her tonight, she thinks as she studies the constellation. I guess she must have gotten used to it by now.

A cold breeze travels through the window and pulls another displeased groan from the figure on the bed. The mare freezes for a moment, but not from the cold. Luckily, the stallion is fast asleep and only digs deeper into the blankets. She is quite comfortable with the chilly weather, which is one of the few reasons she has for liking the New Year’s Eve that looms ahead, under the horizon of tomorrow. She moves her diary off the windowsill, closes the window quietly, and locks it up with a hook. And yet she lingers by the window, now sitting on the thick carpet that covers the floor.

A neutral, almost sad expression masks her narrow and delicate face, as she looks at the stars as if some force was drawing her towards them. She places a hoof against the window panel, and feels the cold surface under her soft and gentle hooves, hooves that can do wonders if she so pleases. She can make flesh melt under her touch, she can make a stallion beg for more with a simple brush, and yet, right now, she finds the cool, lifeless glass more appealing than the steaming skin and blood.

The mare lets go of the diaphanous panel, but only when her hoof starts to freeze. She picks up her diary and pen and puts them in a drawer, which she then locks, using her mouth again. She does have such a nimble mouth and tongue, just like she has nimble hooves. She looks at the stallion on her bed again with the key in her mouth, and decides to hide the thing in her left boot for the night instead of its usual hiding place.

The window is closed, the diary and the key are hidden, and yet the mare hesitates to return to the bed. Its warmth doesn’t attract her at all; instead, it makes her feel unclean, sweaty, humid. The presence of another breathing, snoring, and moving body does little to incentivize her. In the dim light she can see the clock striking two, ever so slowly. There are still plenty of hours left in the night, and the mare still hasn’t found pleasure yet, not from the stallion on her bed, anyway. He is handsome enough in his grey coat and thin black beard that covers his jaw, and he is not in that bad of a shape, either. His age betrays not his looks but his capability.

The mare turns her head from side to side for a moment, undecided, and then a faint flicker crosses her eyes as she remembers. Perhaps it’s not too late. Perhaps I can yet have my pleasure pure and fierce. She heads for the door without bothering to dress warmly or seductively. In the state they’re in, I might as well shave my head and they would still have me. The thick wooden door closes behind her without a sound, just like its well oiled hinges were meant to.

The street is quiet and cold, illuminated by the lamps that stand on both sides of the road. Not every part of Canterlot has them spread around so precisely; this neighbourhood is an exception, and not just in that respect. However, the pale yellow light is not the only illuminating facet around—the stars are still above the city, and they follow the mare as she gallops in the direction where the two drunken stallions had gone some time ago.

Same old houses, same old streets. Even the cobblestones are the same. No matter what they say, this place never changes. It’s too proud for that. It’s too proud to die. The mare keeps a comparatively fast pace, she is almost running as her ears move from side to side, trying to catch that jolly laughter again. The decorated and luxurious buildings loom over her, but she pays them no mind. Only the moon manages to catch her attention as it greets her behind a corner, floating in the sky as the supreme light source. The mare grins as she looks at the silvery orb. Mark my words; I will make you turn your face tonight. I will make you look silly in your proud eternity. The moon looks as indifferent as before, and the mare quickly turns her eyes from it. But the moon doesn’t turn her gaze from the mare.

Minutes go by as her search goes on, but there is no sign of the two stallions. Annoyance begins to shade her face along with impatience. Have they crawled into their homes already? Did I underestimate their speed? Did they go the other way? Questions peck at the back of her head, and for a moment she considers turning back. It’s then that she hears noises around the corner. With a faint smile she walks along the wall and peeks into an alley.

“I could’ve sworn that there was a street here once…”

“Blah! You have a memory of a goldfish! I told you we should have turned left first, then right.”

“Don’t you mock me… I have an excellent memory; I can memorize all the ancient alphabets of the ancient Kelth– I mean, Gelthi– I mean…”

“You can’t even recall the name of the language!”

The mare’s smile grows as she listens to the slurred speech of the two stallions, both of whom seem to be young and well-built unicorns. Students. Most likely in the Canterlot School of History. Well, that makes things so much easier. Without a moment of hesitation, the mare walks around the corner and makes it towards the two arguing stallions with slow, pondering, and rhythmical steps.

“I say, you never even passed that course! And still you claim to know the better of it?”

“You know I only failed because Professor Axiom hates me more than he loves to torture us with his linguistic puns…”

“Oh? Is that’s so, then tell me why–”

“Hello, gentlecolts. I do hope I’m not interrupting anything important?”

The two students fall silent at once and turn their heads towards the voice. They see a young, stunning mare walking towards them with the moon shining behind her. The light creates an almost divine aura that follows the figure as it approaches them with firm, secure steps. Their jaws would have dropped from less.

“Uhm… Who are you?” begins one of the stallions, the one with a styled letter “A” as his cutie mark. His coat is chestnut brown, which creates a stylish contrast to his dark and short mane and while he is the smaller of the two, firm muscles cover his back and legs.

The mare licks her lips quickly. “A lady doesn’t introduce herself to a stranger, does she?” she says with a shy smile.

“But you–” says the same stallion, but the other, clearly the brighter of the two, interrupts him before he can ruin the moment. “Forgive my friend’s manners, for he was spared when they were distributed. My name’s Willow Fall and this creature here is called–”

“–Syllable. They call me Reg Syllable, and I’m quite comfortable doing my own introductions, thank you very much.” Syllable glares at his friend for a moment, even though his eyes have trouble keeping focus.

Competitive. Oh my. This might turn fun. The mare stops a few steps from the couple and flicks her mane from her forehead with a sharp movement of her neck, all the while smiling softly. The move doesn’t fail to steal the words from their mouths.

“I, uhm… How could we be of assistance to you, lady…?” says the one called Willow Fall. He is the taller of the two, and his wide and powerful shoulders line perfectly with his back and hindquarters that are covered with a blue-grey coat. He, too, seems to prefer keeping his mane short. As the mare tilts her head a bit, she can make out a feather quill and an ink pot on his left flank.

“Sugar Blossom,” she says without blinking an eye. “I seem to have lost my way on these streets—I’m not from around here, you see.”

The two stallions give each other a quick look that speaks volumes. They’re interested, but still hesitant. Marefriends at home, mayhaps? A bit more encouragement might be in order... She takes another step closer. “I venture that you know these corners quite well,” she says with her sweetest tone.

Willow Fall takes the initiative, and the mare makes a mental note of that.“Yes, we study at the Canterlot School of History and Linguistics. It’s just around the corner. There is a party taking place there now, and there ought to be a few carriages left that will take you wherever you need to go.”

“Or,” begins Syllable, “we could escort you straight to your accommodations. Are they close by?”

The mare notices how Fall cringes at his friend’s simple directness. A bold one, and a sensitive one. This scene begins to resemble some play or a novel.

“History students, you say? Oh my. I wouldn’t have guessed…” The mare’s tail, coloured like her mane, brushes the ground idly, and she smiles as she catches both of the males following its swinging. They turn their heads quickly away.

Syllable is the first to recover. “History and linguistics, yes. We’re specializing in dead languages. But what do you mean, ‘couldn’t have guessed’?”

The mare’s smile becomes more intimate, and she takes yet another step closer. She could almost stretch and touch both of them with her front hooves now. “Why, nothing. I only imagined that such ponies would be more… Oh, forgive me, I’m beginning to ramble.”
“No no no,” say the unicorns in unison. They throw annoyed glares at each other, but Fall manages to continue first. “I mean, you’re not rambling at the slightest. Please, we’re curious to know what you first thought of us.”

Bingo. “Well… It may be a bit inappropriate for me to say such things… but both of you seemed quite less nerdy than what I would’ve expected an average history nerd to look like.”

Willow Fall chuckles, but Syllable seems less amused by the remark. “Well, not all scholars of history and linguistics like to spend all their time in the library,” he says with a cool tone. “And not all of them fancy being called nerds.”

Willow Fall looks just about like he’d want to give his honest friend a good shove to the flank. The mare pretends to be totally unaware of this, and turns her face to Syllable’s slightly sour expression. “I beg your pardon. My intention was not to offend, you see.” The mare lets her eyes travel slowly over Syllable’s shoulders, neck, and hindquarters, all of which show a set of tense muscles underneath the chestnut coat. She manages to spot a few bruises in the moonlight, too. “I take that you’ve done something else than library-time, haven’t you?” she says as her gaze returns straight to his eyes.
Syllable swallows as the deep red eyes meet his own. “Eh, yes, as a matter of fact. We’re both in the School’s pony-boxing team. A jolly good way to keep oneself in shape.” The mare’s eyes seem to flicker, and the stallion finds himself unable to draw away from their depths. They are the most unnerving eyes he has ever seen, and yet there is also something very intimate about them. It’s almost as if he was staring at a naked flame.

The mare cuts the eye contact as easily as she makes another with Willow Fall, who quickly snaps his own eyes away from the mare’s round rump. To her joy she notices that he is sweating a bit despite the cool autumn air that surrounds them. “Two history nerds who fancy boxing,” she states. Why, can a mare get any luckier?

Willow Fall has trouble finding the words, as he is also enchanted by the cool fire he finds in the mare’s stare. “So… It’s getting somewhat late. Mayhaps we should be on our way to the School?” He doesn’t make a move to show that he’d actually want to leave the scene.

“A good point, old chap. We do have the actual New Year’s party ahead of us, after all.” Syllable, on the other hoof, is still somewhat ignorant of the game he’s become a part of. As he turns to leave, Willow Fall closes his eyes and swears that he’s going to knock the teeth out of him during the next boxing session. But when he opens his eyelids, he finds that the strangest thing has happened. The mare is standing on her hind legs and has captured his friend against the wall, with both of her front legs on either side of his head. Syllable is also only on two legs, with his shoulders nailed to the bricks behind him and his eyes lost deep into the pools of fire that stare at his very soul.

“We’re not in that great of a hurry, are we now, Syllable?” whispers the mare. Her breathing washes over the stallion’s left ear, and suddenly he forgets how cold the air actually is.

“I… I suppose not… Who are—”

And suddenly all Reg Syllable can think of is the sweetest, nimblest, and hungriest tongue he has ever tasted that has found its way into his mouth. The mare’s kiss, long and deep, takes him by complete surprise, and all he can do is answer it with instinct. He closes his eyes like the mare has done, and wraps his hooves around her shoulders. They are the softest and most tender shoulders he has ever touched, and feeling them move under his hooves makes his heart beat like a jackhammer. The top hat falls to the ground without anypony giving a damn.

Tastes like apple cider. Juicy. Succulent. Not that bad a kisser, either. The mare studies the inside of Syllable’s mouth with her tongue without hurry, enjoying the soft warmth and the taste of alcohol. Her right hoof moves to caress his ear, which stirs a quiet moan from the stallion. She devours the sound as she devours him: With devoted mindfulness.

Suddenly, a familiar scent breaks through the smell of sweet cider and Syllable's perfume. A musky scent which can only mark one thing in the entire world. The mare pays a small glance beneath, and blinks as she sees the stallion’s member fully erect, almost touching her thigh. Without a second thought, she moves her leg and lets the hot flesh brush against her skin just long enough so that she can steal another moan from him. Syllable’s lungs draw air as if he is about to suffocate, and his body is heating up like a forge. Easier than I thought. Easy enough to get bored. Thank Celestia there are two of them.

A final lick to the lips closes the long kiss and leaves a strand of saliva lingering on Syllable’s lips, connecting with the mare’s. She smiles as he slowly opens his eyes, which only have one word, one thought, inscribed in their hazy depths: More. The fire in the mare’s eyes burns through him like a candle through wax, and it says: Soon. The mare turns her head and sees Willow Fall standing like a statue where she had left him. “Care to join in?” she asks casually.

Fall blinks, as if he only now realized that he is watching a live scene and not some fantasy born in dreams. He hesitates to speak, but only for a moment. “I know who you are,” he says, unexpectedly, calmly. “I saw your cutie mark.”

The flame doesn’t flicker in the breeze that swoops in the alley. The mare studies Fall with curiosity, smiling all the while. “...So? There’s no need to get shy because of it.”

Fall cringes. “It’s... not that. I—we cannot afford your... services.”

The mare keeps her eye on Willow Fall, the flame blinking in the darkness. Why, somepony seems to need more attention. And perhaps a bit of reassurement. She detaches from Syllable, whose attempt to pull her back falls in vain. She steps slowly to Fall, who stands like a soldier in attention, every muscle tense. His arousal lingers in the air, too, the mare can practically taste the scent of it. She walks close enough to feel his heavy breathing on her cheeks.

She leans her head close to his ear and whispers: “If you promise to forget me and remember Sugar Blossom, I’ll ensure that you and your friend will remember this night for the rest of your lives. No bargaining, no regrets. Tonight knows only pleasure. But only if you play along like a good gentlecolt.”

The combination of mare’s soft voice and the promising warmth of her body almost makes Willow Fall tremble with lust. Yet he stands still, even as he feels her nibbling his ear in the most sensual fashion. “I… I have a marefriend…” he manages to say as the pleasure fights against duty both on his face and in his heart.

The mare keeps working on his ear. “Trust me, it’s not the first time I’ve heard that. She will never know, and I can make you stop caring.” She slides her hoof across his neck, and feels those wiry muscles push against her as his body begins to betray his honour. “Besides,” she continues, “New Year’s Eve is almost upon us. It’s a time of experiments, of adventure. A time for new beginnings.” She ends her line by giving the inside of his ear a long, ponderous lick. It’s the strike that breaks the wall, and Fall groans as the small, agile tongue that drives him over the point of no return.

“What are you two talking about?” Syllable has found his tongue again, and steps closer to the now kissing ponies.

Fall breaks the kiss and looks over his friend, slightly panting. “Syllable. For this one time, stop asking questions and go with the flow.” The mare puts her hoof around Fall’s neck and pulls him into another kiss. The sight is hypnotic and unbelievably erotic; the way how Fall strokes the mare’s neck and back, how she reaches slowly under his legs and begins to playfully caress his stallionhood with soft brushes—the combination is overwhelming. Syllable can barely control himself as the mare’s perfectly round rump moves from side to side right in front of him. He feels the blood rushing from his head like never before, feels the pressure in his loins. But he forces himself to act in a controlled fashion: This is a moment he doesn’t want to ruin with hasty actions.

He takes a step closer, and then it hits him. The scent of the mare’s excitement travels through his nostrils, brain, and mind; it electrifies his already burning body with vigour that even the alcohol in his veins fails to milden. With closed eyes he breathes deep the intoxicating smell and almost drowns in it.

He notices that the mare and Fall are no longer kissing, or rather, that she is now kissing his neck, his chest… and moves lower with each contact. Fall is trembling under the caress of her full lips, and as she bends her back down, he begins to put more weight on his hind legs. Soon he is practically standing on two legs as the mare coats his belly and lower chest with saliva. He finds that it’s kind of difficult to hold balance like that, especially when you’re getting mad with lust.

“Why won’t you ask your friend to offer a hoof?” says the mare with a casual tone between the kisses and licks. Fall glances at his friend, who looks like he’s about to explode, the way he is staring at the rump of the mare. “Hey, Syll’?” Fall says, and nods at his friend. “You heard the lady. Come give me a hoof.” A faint flicker pays a visit to Syllable's starving eyes.

Like in a trance, he gets over the couple and aligns himself right behind the mare’s rump, which has remained in upward position even as her front half dives ever deeper into Fall’s nether parts. Her scent is unbelievably strong. She is practically begging to get fucked right then and there, the round and soft flesh of her rump pressing against Syllable’s hips and his cock soon finds itself in between two lovely dark orange cheeks. He is panting already in anticipation of the pleasure to come. It’s almost better to wait for it, to let his cock rub against her ass while the cold air blows on it. Put when the mare starts to shake her rump gently, he loses it and surrenders for the drive.

Fall can’t balance himself on two legs anymore, and even the thought of lowering his weight on that lean and slender back is out of the question, so he settles his forelegs on top of his friend’s shoulders. Syllable doesn't even notice, for his tip is about to enter into the wetness under him, and all he can think of is the pure pleasure every moment is now pulsing with. He moves over the mare’s back, lowering his own forelegs on her sides and lets his friend support himself on his shoulderplates. Using all the willpower he has, Syllable sinks himself slowly into the mare, working himself inside with care and tenderness. He is rewarded for his mindfulness with a soft sigh and a moan from the mare.

The mare seizes her own play for a while and enjoys the feeling of a hard cock filling her inch by inch. With her eyes shut she waits for the stallion to go as far as he can, and when he stops, she pushes her rump against him. Syllable gasps and the mare smiles at that, but quickly begins to moan herself when the stallion behind her begins to rhythmically pump into her, slowly but steadily increasing in speed. She almost loses herself to the sheer pleasure of it all then and there, but as the other stallion aligns himself better on top of her, she is reminded of the member just inches from her mouth. She opens her eyes and gives the tip of the cock a playful lick.

Fall is observing his friend penetrating her under his hooves when his eyes go wide and he almost bites through his own lip. The tongue playing with his rod is now delivering everything it has promised ever since it began its journey from his lips. And the first lick is always the sweetest. He has to press his hind legs into the ground so that he wouldn’t give in to the urge to push with his hips. The temptation to shove his stallionhood into that hot, wet, and willing mouth is almost irresistible. But he lets the mare go about it her way, and resolves to channel all his mental energy to keeping still as that nimble tongue rolls over him, under him, around him. He can feel pure bliss knocking at the doors, and it’s only a matter of moments before he is allowed to rip the thing off its hinges and plunge in with no regrets or restraints. But until that, he remains as still as he can, and enjoys every moment of it.

Syllable is panting hard by now, and concentrates all his energy not to succumb to mindless fucking, not yet at the very least. Enjoyment like this is too rare a treat to be wasted in mere minutes. He silently curses his drunken state that denies him some of his enjoyment, but the thought is only a side note in the orchestra of carnal pleasure that plays his body from hoof to head. Every thrust feels better than the last, every moan of pleasure that escapes from the mare sounds sweeter. He slows down and changes his angle a bit so he can reach ever deeper into the female flesh under him.

The mare lets Syllable choose his own pace, although she can’t help herself from responding to his pounding with pushes of her own every now and then. His cock does feel better than the last one she had inside her, and the one in front of her isn't that bad either. She is still only playing with it though, sliding her lips over it in a ponderous manner and giving the head a few random licks. Fall is keeping his composure quite well, she must admit—someponies would have tried to take the matters in their own hooves by now. Same virtue of self-control applies for Syllable, too. Perhaps studying history and dead languages does teach patience. The mare is grateful for that, for she certainly intends on extracting every ounce of enjoyment from the two. Still, Fall has arguably deserved a treat for his obedience.

With one smooth motion, the mare takes Fall’s throbbing member halfway to her mouth, up to the entrance of her throat. She hears him gasp for air and feels him shaking atop her, and his hips instinctively push forward. She lets him dive deeper in, stifling her gagging reflex as the tip of his cock pokes at her esophagus. But right when she expects to receive all of the male meat into her throat, he pulls back voluntarily and settles for keeping half of his length inside. Truly, a well-trained nerd, this one. She rewards him again by bobbing her head rhythmically over him, all the while rubbing her tongue against the underside of the throbbing member.

Fall has a hard time keeping his head from spinning as the wet warmth of the mare’s mouth envelopes him. He has had his fair share of blowjobs before, but never before like this—it’s as if her mouth was built to pleasure the needs of his flesh. He tries his best to keep quiet, just in case somepony might hear them, but the treatment he is facing makes the gesture rather futile. His heavy breathing is filled with muffled moans of pleasure, with the random sentence fragments like “Oh my Celestia” appearing at steady intervals. Under his hooves, his friend is expressing his feelings with very similar noises. Fall has never seen his friend having sex, indeed he has never witnessed another male penetrating a female (except in those comics he keeps under his mattress), and the sight stirs his own felicity even more. For his life he can’t say why that is, and neither does he care to know.

For the mare, the experience is better than she dared to hope. Practice has enabled her to relax her throat at will, which leaves her free to focus on her own enjoyment, which is growing by the minute. She loves the feeling of fullness that lives both in her marehood and mouth, the feeling of fulfillment that the situation gives birth to. Her rump is responding to Syllable's motions even more now, timing itself perfectly with his thrusts. Waves of bliss travel through her whole body, making her hooves scrape the ground and her shoulders tense, only to relax again as he pulls back. Her tongue is beginning to lose its practiced rhythm and instead of planned motions, she is now succumbing to just sucking the succulent flesh with all the vigour she has in her. Fall lets his reaction be known as his hips, too, begin to push ever deeper into her.

Syllable has finally lost whatever was left of his self-control, and only the need to shove himself deeper into the bliss remains, unguarded. His thrusts are losing their rhythm and pacing, and it’s getting hard to tell whether the mare is bounding herself into him or vice versa. The pressure is building inside his balls, but the fireworks in his mind won’t let him regret the fact. Instead, he raises his right front hoof and wraps it tightly around the mare’s slender body, locking himself against her. His face lies amidst her auburn curls, and for a moment he is assured that it’s all a dream, a wonderful drunken dreamy haze from which he’ll wake any minute.

Fall’s eyes stare down as his friend’s panting and bounding, see how he loses all restraint and becomes one with his lust, turns into the lust and nothing more. Fall’s eyes see all that, but his mind doesn’t have the time to consider what the sight has to offer for it. His heart is pounding like it’s the tenth round in the boxing ring, but instead of feeling exhausted, he could run ten miles straight with his hooves tied together. And just when he thought that the pleasure couldn’t get any deeper, his spine almost snaps from the way he jerks his hips forwards. He can feel the tight throat of the mare squeezing his cock, and not just the tip of it. Willow Fall is not what most mares would call average sized, and still the one under him has managed to take him deeper than anypony ever. His moaning reaches another level as her tongue begins to fondle his balls, with his entire length inside her.

The mare’s eyes are closed, her ears pressed down, and her tail lies squeezed between her own and Syllable’s thighs. Syllable’s cock has almost reached the entrance of her womb, and she has definitely reached Fall’s limits. It has been a while since she felt this stuffed, this submitted, this good. She holds her breath with the rod of flesh in her mouth, and coats his balls with saliva as she plays with them. And before she begins to pull back, she gives him the gentlest bite she can. Immediately she feels the cock in her throat twitch and the stallion whine in pleasure above her. The smile on her lips is not hindered in the slightest by the cock that sticks from her mouth. But when she feels Syllable bite her neck, her eyes go wide and she almost gags on the member on her mouth, for the sensation sends shivers of unparalleled contentment through her every cell. The uncontrolled and unplanned moan that escapes her mouth is partly muffled by Fall’s cock, but still it reaches Syllable’s ears and spreads a wide grin on his face. His teeth close again on that succulent skin, and the mare rewards him by quivering her rump while another groan of ecstasy departs her stuffed mouth.

The final chapter of the triangular play of carnal bliss endures for a few more moments, and then it shatters as Fall is the first to cross over the line. His whole body writhes and spasms as the orgasm hits him in waves. His moaning and panting almost turns into screaming as his member makes its final twitch, and explodes its thick and hot content into the mare’s mouth. She felt his orgasm coming as he himself did, and had had more than enough time to ready herself for it. Jet after jet of the creamy liquid fills her and she swallows all of it, her sucking reaching its peak as she closes her lips around the mid length of the shaft. A series of gulping noises replaces her moaning for a while, but only for a while, for she can feel her own peak of pleasure reaching a point of convergence with Syllable’s.

The chestnut-coated stallion is so close to the ultimate satisfaction that it almost makes him scared to step over the line. He can sense that the mare is also near, and makes an intuitive oath to last long enough to serve as her vessel of bliss to the end. His teeth clench tight and his chest presses against the mare’s backside while his hips begin to pump faster and deeper than they have ever before. Under him, he feels the mare first wrap herself into a tight package, as if she was trying to curl into a ball, then open up like a flower in full blossom as her orgasm electrifies her slender figure and sends it flying through the clouds. It’s only when Syllable hears her thin voice, still muffled by his friend’s member, breaking an octave, that he allows himself to embrace that same feeling.
Syllable’s right hoof detaches from the mare’s flank and slams into the ground as his whole front half becomes the mere extension of his hips that sink his cock against the limits of her marehood. His whole frame pulses in rhythm of the loads that surge inside her. Some of it spills out from her pussy and mixes with her own juices, the flow trickling along her thigh to the ground. Despite his orgasm, the vigour and heat haven’t left him, but keep on urging him to push. He obeys the drive, for he is the drive and the drive is him, nothing else exists but their symmetry and synthesis. His hips slam against hers and she abides, ramming her rump against him again and again as she rides from one orgasm into another without the slightest crack occurring in between the waves, all the while whipping her tongue against the still hard member in her mouth.

The voices of pleasure emitted by the three ponies fill the alley with the scent of their intercourse. They create a forge that heats the cool air around them, that pulses with life, pleasure, and warmth amidst a desolation of temperature. The moon stands as their only witness, as a silent, calm, and utterly indifferent spectator. Or at least it would stand, were it only the silvery stone that shone upon them that night. A pair of eyes study the salacious scene that takes place in that alley, a pair of eyes that hide themselves in the moonlight itself. And quite contrary to what the mare had earlier that night wished, those eyes never turned their dark side, never once blinked as they witnessed the carnival of flesh that the three ponies created. Rather, they made sure to memorize every single detail of it.

Finally, after all the waves of bliss have settled and the surface of the pond only quivers in the memory of the storm that had just raged on it, the three ponies detach from each other and thus break the unio mystica. The two stallions collapse against the walls of the alley, the tenseness in their bodies now replaced with utter relaxation. The mare lies on her back in between them, a faint blush colouring her orange cheeks as she studies the stars above. Only one constellation can be seen from her position, and as she recognizes it, a shadow travels through her eyes. A shadow that she can’t escape.

“That. Was. Something.” Syllable’s lips barely find the strength to form those three simple words that by no means do justice to what he actually feels at that moment.

“Syllable. Just. Shut up.” Fall’s voice sounds as if he had to mason the words to create a sentence. Neither of them bothers to glare at each other anymore. They do, however, turn their heads when the mare abruptly stands up on all fours.

“It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, gentlecolts. I wish you both good night.” With that, the mare begins to walk away from the alley with the same ponderous, casual steps that marked her entrance in the first place.

Syllable springs on his legs. “Uhm, wait!”

The mare stops as if she was expecting the stallion to move. Her eyes tell the same tale as she turns them towards him, waiting for him to continue.

“I mean, ah, miss Blossom—it is Miss, right?—could you, uhm, perhaps give us an address where we can reach you later?” The look on Syllable’s face tries to hide the desperation in his voice, and fails miserably. The mare looks at him as if they had met for the first time, smiling courteously.

“There is no need for such a gesture, for we will never meet again. Don’t take that as an offense, nor as a criticism of your stallionhood, which, I swear, is quite admirable.” The mare’s eyes and smile soften a bit. “Someday, you will make some mare very happy. I will not be that mare.” She lets him search for an opening in her eyes for a moment, and blinks only after his head falls down along with his ears. After that, the mare turns to the other stallion, who hasn’t made any attempt to rise. Even his eyes remain closed. The notion makes the mare frown a bit, and she walks over to Fall.

She leans to his ear and whispers: “Are you a good gentlecolt, Willow Fall? Can you keep a promise?”

Very slowly, Fall opens his eyes, and meets the mare’s intense gaze without even thinking of flinching. He leans closer himself, and whispers in return: “Sugar Blossom. Your name is Sugar Blossom. It’s a name I can remember for the rest of my life.”

The mare nods, turns, and leaves without anypony stopping her. Syllable looks at her while she walks into the moonlight along with his heart, and yet he doesn’t move a muscle to stop her. He knows that the bridge of silver she walks on can only carry one. The flick of her auburn tail is the last glimpse he sees of her, and the sight strikes him on the face like a whip. He turns to face his friend with ears drooped down.

“Whatever just happened?” he asks. “Did we share an intoxicated dream or were we touched by the divine itself?”
Fall picks up his top hat that had fallen off his head at some point, wiping the dust off while smiling faintly. “I sincerely hope that it wasn’t a dream that we shared, for the mouth that tended me certainly was real. And I myself am too stiff to reach my own nether parts…” Fall grins wickedly as his words sink into his friend’s consciousness.

Syllable cringes and sniffs loudly. “I say, you better wish that the mare we shared was real indeed, for I certainly didn't fuck myself just a minute ago.”

Fall chuckles as he puts the top hat on his head again. “In conclusion, it is best for the sake of both of us to say that we did indeed have a real and pleasant encounter with an extremely real and pleasant mare. Or perhaps we just fucked each other in our drunken haze.”

Syllable blushes and his eyes go wide. “Shut it, or I swear we’re going to have a rematch of this year’s championship, gloves or not.”

Fall stands up, but not in anticipation of a fight. Instead, he picks Syllable’s top hat with his magic and hands it over to him. “You’ll get your chance to reclaim your honour next year, I’ll wager. This night is too perfect to be wasted on petty brawling.”

Syllable eyes his smiling friend for a moment, but soon a friendly grin spreads on his face. He accepts the hat with a nod and puts it on with one smooth motion. “More like I will make sure that the next year’s match will not be judged by Professor Axiom.”

“Oh, come on, the professor hates everypony in equal measure and you know that!”

“Quite. Anyhow, I can’t shake the feeling that you had a somewhat better sense of the nature of the encounter we just experienced.” Syllable narrows his eyes and gives his friend a theatrically suspicious look. “Tell me true. Did you set this up?”

Fall’s laughter echoes off the walls. “A set-up? That’s your suspicion? Tell me, dear friend, would I really share a treat like that mare with you? You really imagine I think that highly of you?”

Even Syllable chuckles at that. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. Still, you did exchange a few words in private with her. Care to explain that?”

Fall keeps on smiling happily as he looks his friend from eye to eye. Reg is such a good friend for him, a good sport and a saviour during the exam seasons. And yet, a promise is a promise, and the mare certainly held her end of the bargain. Perhaps Fall is, after all, a good gentlecolt.

“She must’ve known that dirty talk is more of my thing than yours. Would you care to know what she said to me?” Fall licks her lips like the mare did.

A shudder travels through Syllable's figure. “Seriously, sometimes I get this nasty idea that you joined the boxing team only as a pretense to get into the male’s locker room. Keep your fantasies well away from me.”

Fall smiles, and changes the subject. “Forget the mare, Reg. She was one of those once-in-a-lifetime experiences that one finds mostly in special comics. Forget the mare and remember the night: That is what I intend on doing.”

Syllable looks after the bridge of moonlight with longing, yet finally shakes his head and puts his hoof around his friend’s shoulder. “You always give the best pieces of advice, Fall. That mare makes a better dream than a wife. Come, let’s get to bed.”

Fall smiles, and puts his hoof likewise around his friend, after which they walk along the moonlight. “You don’t know how right you are about that, friend.”

The two stallions help themselves off the alley and towards their apartment, bursting into awful singing after turning a corner. In the shadows, a pair of red eyes watch them go about their way, disappearing from the world as they disappear from the street. The mare steps into the moonlight only after she is sure that they aren’t trying to follow her, and wipes the tear from her eye with a hoof. Her other hoof scrapes the cobblestones and her eyes wander the empty street, looking for somepony, anypony. But the city is quiet, and only the moon shines as her companion, the indifferent, beautiful celestial object that sees everything the night has to offer. The mare stares at the orb with eyes stained in bitter tears.

A brightly blinking configuration of stars draws her attention from the silvery moon; the same constellation she saw while lying in the alley. The Mother. Why is it always you who ruins my nights? Why is it always you who haunts my pleasure? Why… A silvery tear hits the stones on the street. The mare turns her eyes from the perfection above, the perfection she has no right to, the perfection she hates more than she can describe with words. She doesn’t look up during the way back to her apartment.

She picks the key under the doormat and turns it in the lock, which opens with a quiet click. The clock is almost half past three as she closes the door and locks it again. The snoring in the room never stopped, it seems, and that at least is something the mare can be grateful for. She sneaks into the other room of her apartment, where she keeps a tub of soapy water exactly for these kind of situations. With the communicating door closed, she begins to wash her thighs and nether parts; her mouth, too. The water is cold, freezing even, but the mare doesn’t so much as cringe as the liquid washes the foreign smells and fluids from her coat. The cleaning is made swift by routine, and soon the mare smells fresh and clean again. The water she pours quietly into the sewer drain she has had built just for this purpose.
As her final act before going to bed, the mare draws heavy curtains over the window. Darkness descends in seconds. She knows the room by heart, though, and sneaks into the bed as if it was daytime, pulling a blanket over her. The grey stallion by her side doesn’t so much as grumble when cool air seeps into the bed. It’s quiet. It’s dark. It’s lonely.

It’s as if they were on the moon.

***

Morning rises at the death of night as it always does, but the heavy curtains keep the light off the small room where the two ponies sleep. The grey stallion grunts, shifts inside the blanket and slowly opens an eye to the darkness. It’s too dim to say whether the sun has actually risen or not, but his eyes are still keen enough to make out the form of a clock on the nightstand, even the hands of it. He stares at them for three full seconds before he blinks, and curses under his breath. As he gets off the bed, the blanket is pulled away from the mare, too. She still feigns to sleep, though, waiting for her client to wake her up properly. Most of her male customers prefer to wake her up with kisses, and she is willing to abide this time, too.

The mare concentrates on her breathing, feigning sleeping like she was born to do it. Minutes go by, and she hears the curtains being drawn aside, hears him loudly walking around the room. That’s weird. He usually does his best not to wake me up like this. Another few moments pass as the stallion apparently opens the wardrobe, pulls something out and curses. She cracks her eyelid, and can barely make out the figure standing by her closet, apparently with a shirt stuck on his head. She can see the faint glow of his horn as a grey aura surrounds the piece of cloth and pulls it over his head, after which he snaps his top hat from the rack by the door. Is he… trying to sneak out on me?

With a theatrically noisy yawn, the mare makes her awakening known. She even curls her body slightly, giving the impression that she is cold and needs a warm hug. But the stallion simply keeps on dressing as if he was alone in the room. The look in the mare’s eyes drills into his back, yet her voice is soft and sweet as a dream: “Hmm… darling? Did you wake up already? Please, come back to bed, I’m feeling cold…”

The stallion turns his head as a monocle find its place over his left eye. “I recommend you get dressed, then. I have no time to cuddle with you.”

The mare blinks, and the knives in her stare have disappeared as she opens them again. “Oh my… but I don’t have anything proper to wear... Would you have me dress in the maid’s uniform?”

“It’s not my business to decide your clothing. I’m leaving in five minutes. The bits you shall receive from the usual place.”

“Did I… did I offend you, my sweetling?”

“I told you to leave the curtains open so that the sun would awaken me. It’s because of your neglect that I must explain my absence to Princess Celestia herself.”

The mare bites her lip, and weaves a hurt and apologizing expression on her face as she sits on the bed. “I apologize to you, Professor Axiom. It was not my intention to shame you in the eyes of Princess Celestia. I just…” For this one time, her hesitation is not acted. “I just… couldn’t find sleep during the night. The stars bothered me too much.”

Professor Axiom looks at the mare through his monocle with indifference, and sniffs. “I recommend you familiarize yourself with them soon. You will be seeing quite a lot of them at the New Year Eve’s gala tonight.”

She doesn’t have to fake surprise. “I beg your pardon? You’re referring to the Grand Gala?”

“Quite so. I am inviting you as my companion to attend it. Will you come?”

The mare stares at the Professor as if he had just told her that he is actually a changeling. “You would… actually invite your whore to the New Year Eve’s Grand Gala? Have you become demented overnight?”

Axiom flinches. “I would advise you to stop calling yourself that, my dear. You are not—”

“—I know what I am and so should you. What on earth gave you the notion that we would make a suitable pair at the Gala?”

The stallion shifts his legs uneasily, and turns his gaze away from the fiery eyes on the bed. He is quiet for a moment, and when he speaks, his voice lacks its usual edge and formality. Now it is almost what one might call soft. “I know the idea may seem a bit far-fetched, and it certainly might raise some eyebrows in the Royal Court. I might even get fired, actually. But you see, I realized something during the night. I had this dream—”

“—A dream?! Is that it? You fantasized having sex with me in the Royal Court and thought it’d be okay to actualize that fantasy?!”

“Do not jump to hasty conclusions, please.” He smiles, or at least tries to. “It was not that kind of a dream. It felt… more like waking up than sleeping, actually. It made me see things in a new light.”

“Things? What things?” says the mare, with annoyance shining through every syllable.

His smile widens. “I will tell you… but only if you accompany me to the Gala.”

Her eyes narrow. “What kind of a game are you playing with me now?”

“No, games, sweetheart. Not this time.”

Her eyes gleam in the morning light that cascades past the open curtains. Axiom stands still and takes on her gaze without flinching. For a moment longer, the flame tries to consume the stone, but finally it cools down and blinks. “Fine,” she says. “I will fulfill your request… but only from the urge to see you regret it later. Don’t bother crawling into my bed once you roam the streets unemployed.”

Axiom smiles, quite truthfully this time. “Capital! I shall see you at the School, say… six o'clock? Meet me in the hall, and we shall depart along with the other staff.”

The mare rolls her eyes. “Your indulgence knows no limits, I find. You do realize that you have to pay extra for this?”

The smile quivers, but does not fail. “Why, of course… I will see that you shall be rewarded appropriately.” He quiets down, and for a moment his eyes seem to find the floor the most interesting thing in the whole wide world. Then he tenses all at once. “My goodness! I really must be going now, or the Princess will think I have slept in!” He rushes for the door with his jacket flying behind him, but after he is out already, his head bobs into the room for one more time. “Six o'clock, correct?”

The mare nods with an emphatic smile on her lips. The door closes like some great stone on a tomb. The mare looks at it for a long while, unable to decide whether she is still dreaming or not.
He invited me to the Gala. Why, I have to remember that trick I tried on him last night, for it seems to incite a most positive response… She turns her eyes from the tomb door into her wardrobe. None of its contents are meant to be worn in public. She rubs her temple, trying to remember if one of her other apartments includes a suitable outfit for a Grand Gala. Her rubbing becomes more fervent, but all it succeeds is to cause her a mild headache. She simply doesn’t have the outfit for the occasion to come. None except… the one dress… The memory makes her stop her rubbing, and breathing, too. It makes her feel sick. I’ll be damned if I ever wear that dress again. The moths can have it, for all I care. I just need to buy a new one today.

The mare stands up, stretches her long limbs and neck, and goes for her boots. The small key is still safe in the bowels of the rubbery footwear, which some males love to see her wear in the bedroom. It’s a wonder how shoes that weren’t made for walking can cost such a fortune. She picks the key with her teeth, goes for the nightstand and opens it. Inside, a bag of bits jingles as she reaches for it, picking two coins for the housekeeper that will come later in the day. After having locked the nightstand and the bits within again, she leaves the apartment without bothering to close the door, with the key hanging on a rope around her neck.

***

In a small room, two ponies slumber, or at least give a strong impression of this. The one laying on a mattress on the floor breathes in a calm, controlled fashion, paying every lungful careful attention. His friend on the couch simply snores heavily. At some point, Reg Syllable mutters something sleepily.

“What?” asks Fall.

“I said, keep quiet. I can’t hear my own breathing.”

Fall smiles against the pillows that have buried his head. “Is that essential for the success of your method?”

“Quite so, I’m afraid.”

Silence steps in again, only to leave as Syllable’s lungs empty themselves again. Fall continues to speak after a while, his voice muffled by the pillows: “I thought about trying that spell Longroot invented last week. I heard it’s quite effective at disposing of excess alcohol.”

“So I heard, too. Too bad it also disposes of the body that holds that alcohol.” Another breath in, another one out. “Apparently the barrel of apple cider they tried that spell on melted like a candle in an oven.”

“Yeah, but that was only the first version…”

“True. In the second attempt, they managed to explode the thing.”

“Oh? That’s not what Longroot told me.”

“Perhaps that was because of the third experiment.”

Fall’s head rises from among the sea of pillows. “What third experiment? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Oh, few have. But I happened to be behind Professor Axiom’s door when he had a little talk with Longroot about that.”

Fall blinks, for even the faint light that spills through the drawn curtains hurts her eyes. He rubs them with his hoof while he talks. “And what were you doing behind Axiom’s door, I wonder?”

“That’s another story. Anyway, the professor had heard about the two previous experiments and had decided that the spell’s development had reached a point where it could be applied to ponies. He also made known his eagerness to assist Longroot in his endeavors, and offered to cast the spell on him right then and there.”

“No way… Even Axiom doesn't hate students that much.”

A faint smile creeps on Syllable’s lips. “Well, Longroot sure wasn’t ready to find out. He dropped his little project immediately. Although it seems that he is keen to see somepony get into the same trouble with him because of it.”

Fall blinks his eyes, and sits on his bed. The room is dim, small, and stuffy, and thus an ideal example of an average student apartment in Canterlot. Still, it’s the closest thing to a home he has ever known. “Could you tell me more about that breathing technique again?” he says.

“Why, I’d be honoured to. Take that as a payment for the night I got to spend here. I couldn’t have made it back to my own quarters, not if my place on the boxing team depended on it.”

“Don’t mention it. You want some breakfast?”

“Yes, thank you very much.”

“Then go make some.” With that, Fall falls back to his bed. Syllable empties his lungs for one last time, and manages to get up without dropping his head. He goes for the cramped closet that Fall calls his kitchen.

As he searches for a kettle and ingredients, his thoughts try to wander idly. Somehow they can’t, though. A strong gravity pulls them towards a point of convergence, towards a memory of a certain mare walking along the moonlight. The sight troubled him in his sleep, and to his anguish it haunts him in the awakened life, too. He makes a fire with his horn and fills the kettle with water from a great cowl, and while he watches the wood ignite, he can see a pair of eyes staring at him. A pair of red eyes reaching for his very soul.

Fall’s shout from the other room snaps him out of the illusion. “Don’t forget to get the vegetables from the cellar!”

Syllable sighs, and closes the stove’s lid. The sight evaporates the moment the fire leaves his field of vision, but he can feel the heat burning inside him. He shakes his head, and heads for the door and downstairs, where the access to the cellar is. The building includes several smaller apartments mostly meant for students that have come to Canterlot to study, and is the largest such building in the city. It’s also the oldest, and the stairwells testify to that as they creak noisily under Syllable's hooves. The cellar door that stores the food of the inhabitants is worn by constant use, and its hinges scream in agony as Syllable opens it with his magic. Inside he lights his horn, goes for the shelf that has the label “Apartment 17” stuck on top and starts to pick some cabbages, carrots, and other vegetables with his horn.

As he climbs up again, he almost stumbles on a Pegasus stallion who is heading for the stairwells, too. “I’m terribly sorry,” says the Pegasus clad in a blue uniform of the Postal Service, and flies upwards. The unicorn soon follows behind, and dodges against the wall as the same Pegasus soon flies past him, shouting something that sounds like “Sorry again!” as he leaves the building. Syllable mutters under his breath and makes for Fall’s apartment.

When he opens the door, a white envelope stares at him from the porch. It has his name on it, inscribed in golden letters. He stares back at the thing for a whole minute, his wits slowly coming into a conclusion that it really is a letter, and it really is meant for him. A halo envelopes the letter and lifts it at level with his face, turns it around, and finally opens it. Inside he finds a piece of paper, no larger than his hoof. His tired eyes read it once, twice, thrice. They read the three lines on it four times, and still they fail to convince his mind that the reading is correct.

Congratulations. You have been invited to the New Year Eve’s Grand Gala, held at the Royal Court of Canterlot on the last evening of the year 1004. Inside this envelope you shall find the full instructions that address the proper procedures and details concerning the event.

Invited. Royal Court. Proper procedures. Random words and fragments try to organize themselves into a coherent message inside Syllable’s still intoxicated mind, but the big picture eludes him even as he reads the letter for the fifth time. He doesn’t notice Fall who emerges from the apartment into the corridor.

“Why are you standing here? And why are the cabbages rolling on the floor?”

Syllable rips his eyes from the letter, and looks at his friend’s sour face. With a calm clarity he says: “I have been invited to the Grand Gala at the Royal Court of Canterlot.”

Fall’s attention is limited to the greens spread on the planks. “Look at them, now! All dusty and dirty… Don’t you have any respect for vegetables?” He begins to lift them one by one with his horn, mumbling as does.

“I have been invited to the Grand Gala at the Royal Court of Canterlot,” repeats Syllable, with calm clarity giving room for dim panic in his voice.

“No respect for the common cabbage… Hmm, what’d you say?”

Syllable is shaking a bit as he hands the small piece of paper to his friend, who snatches it quickly with his magic. A moment goes by as he reads it, muttering some of the words aloud. The cabbages Fall has picked up fall again as the magic that held them finds better things to do. Then he looks at his friend. “You have been invited to the Grand Gala at the Royal Court of Canterlot.”

“Wh—what is this? What have I done?!” shouts Syllable, his shaking spreading from his legs all over his body. Terror stains his eyes like ink.

“Indeed, what have you done!” shouts Fall excitedly and stomps the floor with his hoof, sending a cabbage flying down the stairs. “This is great! No, this is incredible!” He begins to dance right then and there, but a door opens on the opposite side of the hallway and mare’s voice shouts. “Quiet down, you fools! Your racket is driving me insane!”

Fall stops his hopping, and blushes a bit. “Eh, I beg your pardon, good neighbour! We may have gotten a little bit excited here—you see, my friend is going to the—”

Fall’s sentence becomes muffled as Syllable stuffs a carrot in his mouth with his horn. “No need to fret, dear lady,” he says as he pushes Fall back into his apartment. “We’ll be getting off your nerves this very instant.” Before he slams the door shut, Syllable quickly grabs all the vegetables he sees and throws them inside, where Fall catches them before they can spread all over his apartment. “Whoah, there!” he says. “Don’t take it out on the greens, pal.”

Syllable strains himself to stop the shaking by taking deep breaths and leaning up against a wall. Fresh blood veins have broken in his eyes during the past few minutes. “This week is beginning to turn very strange, indeed,” he says between the breaths.

“Strangely wonderful, you mean to say?” Fall settles the random vegetables into the kitchen, where the water is boiling hot and fierce. He goes for the cupboard and begins to search for something.

“I wouldn’t vouch for that. Can you truly imagine me in the Royal Court? Me! I’d make a terrific fool of myself there, but a guest? No way in the hay.”

Fall finds the strongest tea he has in storage for occasions just like these. Calmly he crumbles the leaves into a powder, and filters it into two cups full of purple liquid, offering the other for his vexed friend. “Come now, Reg. Every party needs a fool—especially the royal ones do. You’ll fit right in there.”
A hysterical laugh escapes Syllable’s mouth as he accepts the steaming cup. “Quite. I’ll be the spirit of the party!” He takes a sip, and his face turns the same color as the tea.

“Hmm, perhaps a bit too strong?” Asks Fall as tears well up in his friend’s eyes. He swallows the sip nonetheless, taking deep breaths afterwards.

“Who needs spells or breathing exercises when one has tea like this!” says Syllable, coughing hard as Fall beats him on the shoulders.

“I save this only for special occasions, you know. And this event is worthy of the name ‘special’, I find.”

Syllable dries his tears, coughs one last time, and looks at his friend with tormented eyes. “You honestly think I should go?” Fall simply nods, and takes a sip of his tea without even flinching.

“I guess it can’t be avoided, then,” sighs Syllable. “Even though it makes very little sense to me. How did they even know that I’d be here in your apartment?”

Fall shrugs, and takes another sip. “Could be the other Princess saw us coming here last night. The dark one, I mean—I hear she sees everything the moon does.”

“E—everything?” The red eyes flash again in Syllable’s memory.

Fall only smiles. “I bet she has better things to do than watch a few students fuck in some alley. Still, with princesses, who can tell?”

A slightly hurt glimmer burns in Syllable’s eyes. “Is that all it was? A fuck?”

Fall studies his friend over the cup’s rim as he raises it to his lips. “For a potential outside observer? Definitely. For us? No. Not by a long shot. I’ve had sex before, and what we experienced yesternight was something else, even though it mayhaps did look a lot like sex.”

“So… You miss her, too?”

“I don’t know what I miss, and that’s the problem. That mare is a mystery, Reg, a riddle, and you know your mythology better than most. Riddles mean danger.”

Syllable looks at his friend, whose face shows the calm understanding he has come to cherish over the years they have known each other. His own eyes fall quite short of that peace. He looks at his cup which floats in the air, and carefully takes another sip. Somehow, it tastes better now... softer. “I also know that riddles were meant to be solved.”

Fall sighs, and walks to the window. The curtains give way for daylight, which blinds both ponies for a moment. “Do as you will, Reg. It’s your life you’re living. But I wouldn’t put all my hopes in basket that walks off on you, no matter how fine a basket it was.”

Syllable looks at his cup that the sunlight illuminates. In the bright light the purple tea almost looks red. “This is really good tea, Fall.”

“My mother gathered the leaves.” The sun burns Fall’s eyes, but he remains still, and forces his eyes to embrace the morning.

“...I didn’t know…”

“It makes no matter, Reg. Tea is tea. It’s made to be drunk someday. Might as well be this one.” He takes another sip, ever slowly sucking in that exotic aroma.

Syllable sighs. “I still don’t understand… Why invite me? I’m not in any way a special student, so it can’t be because of the School. You think I’m in some kind of trouble?”

Fall turns, and dries his eyes with his hoof. “Were all in trouble one way or another. Some of us only have the luxury to be unaware of the fact.” He walks to the kitchen, and begins to prepare a stew from the vegetables lying around the room. “It could be they picked one of us in a lottery. You know, just for the kicks or because of equality or something like that.”

“Don’t get philosophic on me, now.” Syllable smiles as he says that. “I guess that could be true. At least it makes sense, on some level.” He ponders something for a moment as another gulp of the tea falls down his throat. He is beginning to like the stuff by now. “What was it that you said to me yesternight? Right when you were kissing that mare?”

“Stop asking questions and go with the flow. Or something like that,” Fall says as he chops a carrot.

“I suppose that rule fits for all kinds of situations, don’t you think?”

“That’s why it’s such a popular saying in my village, I’d say.” Another carrot gets under the knife.

Syllable feels a strange calmness descending on him, and not only because his drink is´having an effect on him. He sits down on the mattress, and relaxes his back against the wall, enjoying the homey sounds his friend is making behind it. He admires the way how the dust particles dance in the cascading light, how their chaotic movement creates forms and configurations in the thin air. With a little help of imagination, of course.

It’s almost as if he was watching a constellation.

The night has only just begun.

The clock strikes half past five just as the mare finishes combing her mane. The great mirror in front of her shows a stunning young mare in a dark blue and white dress that fits her figure perfectly. Someponies would think it impossible to find a fit that good in the space of a few hours, but calling in a few old favours can do wonders. Perhaps it’s worth to attend this little party just to get an excuse to wear this beauty in public. If one invites a whore at Gala, one ought to anticipate that she will not go unnoticed by anypony. That is a lesson you will learn by the hard way, Professor Axiom. The mare turns her flank, and makes sure that her cutie mark is absolutely visible. The tailor almost lost his mind making a cut like that possible on such short notice, but he did it for her anyway.

There is not a single pony in that castle who wouldn’t know me by the time they see my cutie mark. I can see them sneering already in their noble glory, all the cream of Canterlot. It’s about time I reminded them of my presence. Let them know that I’m not afraid of them. The mare gives a final look to her whole appearance, trying to spot any flaws that might ruin her composition. But she is perfect, even in her own eyes.

The apartment she is in now is larger than the one where she spent the previous night, but she still finds it cramped. She likes to have space around her, at least when she is alone. The clock on the wall reminds her that she should be on her way, and even if it would be sweet to let Professor Axiom wait for her, that is not a way for a proper lady to behave. She leaves the mirror, and heads for the door, and beyond into the stairwell. The cool autumn air fills her lungs and mind, and its caress makes her smile.

The evening is on its way, but it’s still unusually bright. That is because, on this day, the sun and the moon cross the sky in unison like a pair of lovers with hoof against hoof. The sight is quite magnificent, to say the least. The mare stops walking just to wonder at the two orbs that balance each other’s power and color the sky a purplish-grey haze with countless tones and shades playing in between the two extremes. Scores of other ponies, commoners and nobles, have gathered on the streets to witness the divine play above them. With necks strained and eyes pointing upwards, they lower their voices as they talk under their gods. The mare looks at them, and suddenly realizes that she is one of them.The thought makes her hasten her steps as she heads for the Canterlot School of History and Linguistics.

The School is illuminated both by the mixed light above and by thousands of candles that have been sprinkled all over the mighty building. The arches shine with warm gold and icy silver as the candlelight wages a war with the celestial shining. The mare gazes at the wonder of it all, and almost trips on her own hooves as she walks past one of the vaults. She feels her heart pounding faster than it should be, since she wasn’t walking very fast. Am I… scared? Or merely excited? Of what? It’s just a building, filled with old professors and nerds. Nerds… The last word reminds the mare of something. She arrives at the School’s main entrance just when the clock above it hits five to six. A crowd of sorts is waiting there, with stallions smoking pipes and mares wearing lipstick. Seems like most of the School’s faculty is invited to the Gala.

No sign of any students, though. The notion calms the mare somewhat, although she still feels a tad tense. She steps through the open main doors, and enters into an entry hall of sorts, where a young earth pony stallion in a black tie smiles at her.

“Good evening. May I inquire your name?”

Immediately, a dozen fake names cross the mare’s mind, and for a moment she almost gives him one of them by instinct. Why bother, though? The point is to be recognized, yes? Might as well start right away. “Chillburn.” Her voice is like honey.
The stallion stares at her for a moment with a blank face. “Uhm… Chillburn, you said? I do not think you are invited to attend…”

Her eyes shine like a pair of coals as she looks the stallion straight into the eyes. “Do you have a list?” The honey has frozen, and all the bees have died.

The stallion quickly shuffles through a leaflet that rests on a podium on his right side, all the while keeping his eyes well away from hers. After a few seconds, he begins to cough awkwardly. “It would seem that you truly are on the list. I humbly apologize for the mishap. Please, do enter.”

“Thank you,” says Chillburn, and makes sure to flip her tail at the stallions face as she passes him.

The entry hall connects to an even wider space that is filled with well dressed ponies, most of them aged. The roof, arched like a bowl, stretches to what must be ten meters high at its centre and over twenty in diameter. The inside, too, is illuminated with countless candles, some of which float mid air. As she enters the hall, a few ponies glance at her and then return to their own circles, although a few of the younger stallions keep on staring at her from the cover of their drinks that float by their faces. It’s then that Chillburn realizes she is perhaps the only earth pony in the hall—at least the one who is not working at the moment. Indeed, some earth ponies, mostly stallions dressed in black ties, travel through the crowd, offering drinks and receiving empty glasses in return. One of them even comes to her, but she refuses the crystal glass.

“Is it a star that has blessed us with her presence?” says a familiar voice behind Chillburn. “Or was that last drink too much for my old soul?”

Chillburn turns slowly towards the voice, the smile on her lips as natural as a bee in honey. “Professor Axiom. You commit a foul crime, calling yourself old like that. Why, you are in the best shape of your life!”

“And no small thanks for that goes to you, my dear.” Axiom’s smile is drawn on his lips, but his voice is soft enough to be mistaken pleasant. “I do hope my sudden departure in the morning did not cause irreversible damage.”

What is he doing, talking like that in company like this? Does he really wish to lose his chair? From the corner of her eye, the mare can see a few interested ponies eyeing their talk. “Don’t you trouble yourself with that,” she says quickly. “How did you fare with Princess Celestia?”

“Well, I did end up being a bit late, but she was very understanding about it. She most often is.”

The eyes turn away slowly, and the mare sighs under her breath. But why do I feel so relieved? Why can’t I stop caring? “Did you discuss topics concerning the School?” she asks, not a hint of nervousness in her voice.

“A bit, yes, although most of our time was spent talking about my upcoming book, ‘The Short History of Canterlot’. The Princess was a most helpful and generous source of information for me.”

“How fascinating.”

“Isn't it? In any case, it seems that we ought to be on our way to the Castle now.”

Chillburn looks around her, and sees that most of the guests are moving towards the exit. “Does the whole faculty walk there together?” she asks.

“Indeed we do. It’s a tradition old as the School itself.” Axiom leaves his empty glass to a bypassing waiter, and nods towards the great doors where the crowd is flowing to. “Adventure awaits us, miss Chillburn. Will you seize the day?”

Her answer lingers on her lips half a second longer than it should. “More like I will seize the night, although it’s hard to tell the difference right now, don’t you think?” She starts to walk along the professor’s side, and the two become one with the crowd’s flow.

“A sharp mind, yours is,” says the stallion, and in his mind he adds: We’ll see how it cuts through the net that’s about to fall on it.

***

Syllable stands nervously at the back of the great hall, glancing at a small piece of paper hidden in the sleeve of his suit every now and then. It was Fall’s idea to take the most crucial parts of the “proper procedure’s list” with him, “just to make sure you’d know which rules you must definitely break”, as Fall had put it. The slightly sweating stallion reads for the tenth time the first line of the paper, which names the order to greeting the officers of the Royal Guard as they are introduced at the Castle. First the Captain, then the First Lieutenant, but only if the Leader of Inner Guard is not present, but not if he is wearing a blue uniform, and break the eye contact only when they have moved to greet the next guest… the army loves it’s rules, and the Royal Army is practically nothing but rules, it seems. It makes Syllable’s head spin to even guess at what their own ceremonies must look like.

The crowd in front of him has begun to stir, and Syllable guesses that it’s time to leave the School. As a colt he often watched the faculty make its New Year’s Walk, and wondered at the silent dignity and finesse of it all. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought to participate in the cavalcade one day. The same thought seems to have stuck on some others, too, he realizes as a couple elderly Professors turn their cold eyes away from him. It can’t be the suite’s fault, at least. It cost me half a month's rent to borrow this. He gulps quietly, and takes his place in the line that is forming in the hall, settling himself along with the younger teachers and teacher-candidates, all of whom surpass him by at least ten years. Still, he keeps his chin up as the line leaves the hall, and enters the day-night that reigns outside.

The sight above doesn’t fail to take his breath away, no matter how many times he sees it. The serene beauty of it eases his nervousness with the sheer force of reverence it inspires. The two celestial orbs have long ago reached their zenith, and are now closing in the western horizon in unison. But they still have some hours to show off their glory before the culmination of the event can take place and give birth to the Synthesis. It’s the final hour of the day, when the sun and moon interlace each other on the clear sky, as if embracing one another. It’s said that is the moment when everything is possible, when nothing is denied, when the future touches the past and creates the present. Or so they say.

Slowly but surely the cavalcade progresses, and soon the walls of the Canterlot Castle begin to loom ahead of them. Syllable sees as the little fillies and colts that have followed them from the shadows stop on the outer gates of the Castle’s premises, climbing atop each other to better see the funnily dressed folk. At least I hope they are laughing at all of us, and not just to me. But who could blame them? Anypony could see with a glimpse that I don’t belong here. I shouldn’t have come, I shouldn’t have come… Creeping panic finally grows strong enough to replace the feelings of respect stirred by the celestial show in the West. It makes his hooves feel heavy and clumsy as leaden bars, and the thought of tripping during the welcoming greetings makes him pale.

But it’s too late to turn back, he has already made it past the gates, and turning back now would shame him in the eyes of the whole School faculty. Some of them probably have bets for my flight, I’m sure of it. I won’t give them the satisfaction, I won't! The chestnut coated stallion takes a deep breath, and then blows the air out in such a force that the mare in front of him gives him the most chilling look he has ever experienced. He smiles sheepishly in response, and thanks his luck as the elderly mare has to turn to greet the Captain of the Royal Guard, who has come outside along with the leading officers to welcome all the guests. The mare courtesies to the tall unicorn stallion, and he responds with a nod and a few words.

And then his eyes turn to Syllable. For a fraction of a second he freezes under his stern gaze, but manages to make the few steps necessary to come in touch with the Captain. The two look each other in the eye, nod, and the Captain shifts his gaze onto the next pony in line while Syllable takes a few steps to meet the First Lieutenant. It’s only after he’s gone through all five of the highest ranking officers that he dares to breathe again. Well, it wasn’t that bad, considering I just met the Captain of the Royal Guard himself, in the flesh. The line of guests breaks after the officers have been greeted, and Syllable finds himself free to either roam the courtyard or wander inside to the main keep.Suddenly, he feels his shoulders relax, and his breathing becomes steadier.

I’m a guest at the Royal Court, spending the New Year’s Eve with the cream of Canterlot’s social life. I actually made it here. He looks around, but not a single glare dodges his gaze. He is just one of the guests, perhaps the youngest one of them all, but still their equal in every sense of the word. At least tonight he is. A faint smile creeps wide on his lips, and he accepts a drink from a waiter. He takes a long sip of the liquid that spoils his taste as soon as it drenches his mouth. The beautiful glass is lowered empty, and a flint strikes in Syllable's eyes. The sun and moon seem to smile at him as he turns his head towards them.

It’s your evening, Syllable. Show these folks that you can do more than just spell.

***

“...to which she answered that she’d rather have her tea without milk!” finishes Professor Axiom. The small group gathered around him and Chillburn laughs heartily, joining in as if she’d actually enjoyed the jape. I wonder whether that’s the same joke he tells at every party, or if he does indeed have another one stored for a bad day. She stops her giggling, and looks at a tall Pegasus stallion who begins to recount some incident that the joke has stirred in his memory. From the corner of his eye she sees that Axiom is looking at her as he empties another glass of that sweet wine. It’s not the first time she has noticed him eyeing her like that tonight.

“Speaking of which,” begins a middle-aged mare whose name Chillburn can’t recall no matter how many times she hears it, “I heard that Princess Cadence has blessed us with her presence tonight. I hear she arrived today straight from the Crystal Kingdom.”

“And without her husband, I hear…” says a tall dark-green stallion.

A small, wrinkled mare joins the conversation. The heavy scent of her perfume almost makes Chillburn gag. “I said it at the day those two got married, It shan’t last a year.”

“And since it has already been two since they were wed, I’d say that foretelling denounces itself,” says the middle aged mare. “Still, I cannot help but wonder why the Princess would abandon her husband like that.”

“Might be that somepony wants to say something without actually saying it,” comments the dark-green stallion, who apparently is married with the middle-aged mare. Chillburn ponders idly in her mind whether his member tastes like grass or cabbage. At least his tone has a taste of both in them.

“Or that something has already been said,” continues the old mare, “and it’s too late to take it back.” She looks Chillburn into the eyes. “What do you think, child?”

Whether you got your perfume from a cemetery or from a barn, hag. What she actually says is. “I do not bother myself with the love affairs of other ponies that often.” Silence descents into the circle, but the overall noise of the Crystal Hall keeps the awkwardness at bay. Chillburn notices how Axiom waves for a waitress for another drink.

“Perhaps that is because you find so much work in your own?” says the middle aged mare while she sips from her glass. Chillburn almost slaps the thing from her hooves.

Instead, a nasty grin spreads on her lips. “It’s funny that you mention that. Your husband truly has caused me some aching during our recent dates.” Her eyes gleam as the mare chokes on her drink, and the dark-green stallion grows pale in seconds. She hears Axiom chuckle by her side.

“I think I saw our Headmaster over there, and I promised to introduce you to him,” says the professor to Chillburn as the stallion pats his wife on the back. “Will you permit me the pleasure to take you to him?” Axiom’s eyes are like granite, but the mare only grins at him.

“My, what could I ever deny from you?” The two quickly leave the other three ponies behind and disappear into the sea of guests. They walk for a while without a word.

“There was a grain of truth in my wish, you know,” he says in a voice that just barely carries over the background mumble. “There is somepony whom I would love you to meet.” He emptied his glass as if it was filled with clear water.

Chillburn keeps her eyes in front of her as they sail through the crowd. “You still haven’t properly explained why I had to come here in the first place. Why should I believe another word that leaves your mouth?”

“Have I ever lied to you? What reason do you have to doubt my words?”

“Lying by omission still counts as lying in my books, Axiom. You’re hiding something from me, and I’m starting to lose my patience.” And my nerves, too. Why has he acted so merrily all evening? It’s not like him at all.

Another glass of the red liquid is seized by Axiom’s magic. This time he only takes half of it with a single gulp. “In wine, the wisdom. Why won’t you have a sip, dear? Your nerves seem to be a bit on the edgy side, I find.” He offers her the glass, but she shakes her head.

“I’m serious. All night I have been listening to you telling the only joke you know to ponies that sneer every time they glance at my flank.” It was fun to make them drown in their drinks for the first twenty times it happened, but enough is enough. This place is getting too poisonous for me.

The grey stallion wobbles a bit as a retinue walking past them brings their progress to a temporary halt. His eyes stand in their sockets, and the smell of alcohol is strong around him. “You think I enjoy this place any more than you do?” he says, his voice harsh and cold. “I only come to these events because the wine is good, just like I only come to you because you're good. In your special, naughty way.” He gives her a look she doesn’t like one bit.

He is more drunk that I thought. I need to get out of here. Now. “Why don’t we pay a visit outside before meeting this mystery friend of yours? The air here is nothing short of suffocating.” She tries to sneak past the ponies moving in front of them.

But she can’t. She can’t move. Her eyes blink a few times as she tries desperately to move her legs, her head, her anything, but nothing happens. It’s as if she was dressed in a very tight costume that only lets her eyes move. And they certainly are bouncing in her head as blind panic begins to course through her mind.

She feels a breath washing over her right ear. “No,” whispers Axiom with a tone that would make a shudder move through her spine, were it not for her paralysis. “You come with me.” With her eyes going wild, Chillburn’s right leg takes a step without her will having anything to do with it. As the crowd disperses again, her body begins to walk alongside Axiom’s, and there is nothing she can do about it.

She tries crying for help, but even her tongue is affected by whatever force holds her as a prisoner in her own body. Did he cast a curse on me? But how, I didn’t notice a thing! What the hell is happening to me?! Her mind screams the questions her mouth can’t, but the effect is not quite the same. She feels herself walking as if she did the deed herself, or perhaps a bit more clumsily. She tries to look at Axiom on her right side, but he is walking a few steps behind her now, as if he is guiding her. But when she stumbles at a waitress, he enters her field of vision.

She sees that the old top hat he is wearing covers his horn. But under the rim, she can just make out a faint grey glow. You bastard! You pig! You will not get away with this, you will not! Her mind burns with rage, but all she can do is watch as he curses at the poor waitress and sends her away with tears in her eyes, to the confusion of the bystanders. She tries to alert them by straining all her energy to scream, to jump, to wiggle her nose, but her attempts fall in vain. A shadow of desperation flickers in her eyes as she begins to walk again, even faster now.

They quickly leave the Crystal Hall and head deeper into the keep, and soon leave the noise of the crowd behind them, along with most of the guests. No one tries to stop them as they enter into halls that haven’t even been lit for the celebration. Most of the guards must be outside, or in their own parties. Where is he taking me? What is he going to do to me? The rage has had time to cool down, and now its practically freezing the mare as she realizes that she is at complete mercy of the stallion. They cross another corridor, and enter into a dark room lacking windows.

She stands still in the dim, feeling more helpless than she has ever before. Somewhere behind her, she hears Axiom move, and soon has to blink her eyes a moment later as candles light up all over the room. As she gets used to the light, she sees a couple of sofas and chairs surrounding a table. A heavy rug covers the floor that seems more homely than she would have expected to see in a Royal Castle. What is this? Are we in the private parts of the Castle? How dare he come here? Has he completely lost his mind? She senses him walking behind her, slowly, so very slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. It’s then that her heart stops from the thought that strikes her. He is going to rape me here. He has been planning this all day, perhaps longer. The shrill cry that fights the paralysis almost rips her tongue apart.

She feels him standing right behind her, his breathing washing the back of her neck. Her muscles are tense enough to snap, the way she uses every ounce of her concentration to force her body to move, to resist, to flee, to do anything else than to stand still as his hoof touches her mane. The stench of alcohol stains the air, and the mare feels dizzy. She tries to hold her breath in a desperate attempt to lose her consciousness, but her lungs betray her and they refuse to hold air. Her eyes stare right in front of her; they are nailed to the opposite wall.

“Have I ever told you how good you look in candlelight?” his voice is like gravel. She closes her eyes and actually wishes he would do it already, get it over with, and not torment her like this. “I sincerely hope this experience will teach you something about life. I sincerely do.”

She breathes as if every intake was her last, and waits for the pain to hit her. Every second that goes by makes the next feel longer, and if the mare could scream, she would do so until her lungs failed or her heart stopped. But nothing happens, not even when the seconds turn to minutes. Her breathing steadies, but only a bit, and she suddenly can’t feel his presence anymore. Her eyes open in a flash and try to look over her shoulder, too see what he is doing, but she is still as stiff as a plank. Minutes pile on top of each other like leaves during autumn, like snow in winter. She can feel their weight in her heart, and begs that something, anything, would happen.

“Good evening, Chillburn,” says a calm female voice somewhere behind her. Instinctively, Chillburn tries to turn her head, and to her great surprise, succeeds in doing just that. She almost collapses as she finds her body back under her own control. The tears that can finally well up in her eyes and fall along her cheeks feel better than any kiss she has ever received.

“Is everything alright with you?”

Chillburn stands up, shaking slightly, and looks at the speaker. Her heart skips a beat as she recognizes her. “What is this,” Chillburn asks, incredulous.

Princess Luna smiles her friendliest smile to the terrified young mare in front of her. “I thought you might be a bit stressed about meeting me, but I certainly didn’t expect you to get that nervous.” She smiles as if she’d find the situation amusing.

“A bit stressed…” Chillburn looks at the Princess of Night as if she was pointing a crossbow at her face. Then her terror ignites into rage. “A bit stressed! A BIT STRESSED!”

Luna’s smile vanishes. “I also didn’t expect you to be so very oblivious of good manners.” She tilts her head a bit, and offers her a more careful smile. “Did the good old Axiom scare you a bit when he brought you here?”

She has no idea what happened between us. She doesn’t know. By using every bit of reason and planning she has left in the wildfire of her mind, Chillburn hides the inferno she was about to unleash into the corners of her heart, where it continues to pulse like a forge. But it no longer distorts her face nor her words. “I… I beg your pardon, Princess. He might have said something that unnerved me, yes. But I overreacted, for my eternal shame. My emotions got the better of me.” I will not show my distress to her. Axiom will be mine to deal with.

“Would like to sit down?” Luna asks kindly. “The couch there is a bliss for a weary pony.”

Her instinct almost makes her refuse the offer, but her legs do feel a bit shaky still, and she would loath to wobble in front of a princess. “Yes, perhaps that is for the best. Thank you.” She walks carefully to the purple sofa, and feels the satin caressing her skin. Luna follows her example, and settles herself on an opposite armchair. A moment goes by in silence.

“Why am I here?” Chillburn asks, tiredly eyeing the dark-blue alicorn in front of her. It is the first time she has seen a princess this close, and even though she seems friendly, there is a sense of mystery that surrounds her. And Chillburn has never been fond of mysteries.

Luna puts a hoof around the back of the armchair, and relaxes. “That is the question, is it not? Why is anypony here, in this world, in the first place? Someponies spend the better part of their waking hours pondering that.”

“Is it philosophy that your highness seeks to discuss with me?”

“Please, call me Luna. Everypony does, nowadays. Would you fancy a drink?”

Is she trying to lower my defenses with these casual gestures? What for? “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Are you certain? This wine is a treat to the tongue, I assure you,” Luna says and pulls a bottle and a few glasses from a rack along the wall. They fly in between them and before Chillburn can say a word, she finds a glass full of dark liquid offered to her.

“Well, if your highness insists…” she accepts the drink, but keeps it well away from her lips.

“Please. Luna will do fine.” The princess, on the other hoof, doesn’t hesitate to dip into the liquid courage. Her eyes never leave Chillburn, though.

Chillburn hesitates a moment. “As you will… Luna.” She dares to take a sip, and the sweet aroma immediately flows into her muscles, taking some of her tension away. “Oh my. Where does one get wine like this?”

“From the past. Nothing tastes like the past.”

“That depends on the subject of the past in question, I’d say.” Chillburn takes another sip, and another wave of serenity pulses through her, sinking into every cell. Shel feels calmer already, as unlikely as that seemed a few minutes ago.

Luna studies the young mare with what seems to be casual interest. “I dare to disagree. Every moment in history carries something valuable in itself, something worth cherishing. Something worth enjoying.”

“What are we talking about, exactly?”

“Is it not obvious? We are talking about you, Chillburn.” Luna’s eyes shine like the moon behind clouds, and they illuminate as much as they conceal.

“I’m confused. Why would a princess wish to discuss about a lowly whore? Why would anypony?”

Luna’s gorgeous mane dances in slow rhythm around her neck. “Is that the final truth about you, Chillburn? A lowly whore who each night sacrifices herself for the pleasure of some stranger?”

“I mostly work during daylight, you know. And it’s not like I wouldn’t get pleasure from it myself. But yes, that pretty much sums it up.” She takes another sip, and smiles. “Is this the reason you have summoned me here? To discuss about my depraved way of living? To accuse me of it?”

“No. That is not why I have summoned you here tonight. But let us not get ahead of ourselves.” Luna shifts in her chair, and leans forward a bit, the glass floating by her head. “Would you like to know how exactly you ended up drinking a century-old wine with the Princess of Night?”

“Funny that you brought that up. I did wonder a bit about that, actually.”

A gentle smile visits Luna’s lips. “As you may or may not know, my sight is not limited only into my eyes, and especially not during the dark of night. Thus I often times witness events that someponies think go unnoticed.” The clouds begin to unveil the depth of her eyes. “Yesternight was no exception to this.”

Chillburn shrugs, the wine sloshing in her glass. “So you saw me having a bit of fun with some guys. Oh my. I bet you must witness scenes like that every night.” A wicked grin spoils her face. “Benefits of the position, right?”

Luna only chuckles. “Oh, it was an okay show, although you are gravely mistaken if you think that kind of play would make me turn my dark side. I’m no stranger to carnal pleasures myself, not as a witness nor as a participant, and it troubles me not to admit that. Nonetheless, it was by chance that I happened to stumble into your little threesome.”

Her casual tone makes an ill fit for those eyes. But it doesn’t look like I came here to be scolded. “It seems neither of us mind living a life of vice. How about we cut to the chase, then, like one whore to another. Why. Am I. Here?”

“Patience, Chillburn, patience. Even a life of vice needs an occasional taste of virtue, for a spice if nothing more.” Luna pours her glass full again, and for a moment the sound of falling liquid fills the silence. “By chance I found you that night, but by fate I stayed with you the rest of it. I want to help you, Chillburn, because that is my duty, my noblesse oblige, my job.”

“I go to medical checks every other week already, thank you very much.”

“Your remarks and japes make for a stern shield, do they not? But it is not your body that suffers for the pleasure that you make it go through, but your soul.”

“You claim you can see into my soul with your… moonsight?”

“That nopony can do. But one does not need to look in order to see. Bragging is not one of my favourite vices, but I do have a way of knowing when ponies need help for wounds that are invisible to the plain eye. And your cuts bleed every day and every night, and they have bled for a while, I find.”

The two mares stare each other over the table. Flame against the moon, fire against silver, and neither is willing to give up. They blink at the exact same time, and the moment is lost. “Tell me then. What is it that bleeds in me? What it is that you seek to cure?” Chillburn rolls her her hoof against the edge of her glass, and an eerie singing fills the air.

Luna waits for the noise to die, and in the silence she whispers: “You are barren.”

The shards of glass cut into the mare’s skin as she crushes it with her hoof. Blood trickles on the satin couch, and mixes with the wine that spreads on the fine fabric. “You have no right… no right to talk to me about that…” the rage in her tone almost suffocates her words, almost suffocates herself, and finally it collapses on itself as her voice breaks. “You have no right.”

“Will you let me tend your wound?” Luna’s voice is like velvet, like moonshine wrapped in velvet.

“Who… told you that? Was it doctor Splint? I demand to know who told you that!” The mare’s voice shakes along with her front hooves, and the right one is still bleeding to the couch and floor. Her eyes pierce Luna like flaming swords.

She takes the blades right into her heart, and her eyes flicker as sorrow bleeds inside her. “Empathy,” Luna whispers again. “It was empathy that told me your tale, that knitted it together from the countless hints that you yourself gave to me.”

Chillburn looks at her, and the confusion eats away some of the suffocating rage. “What… what do you mean, ‘empathy’ told you?”

“Why do you think alicorns are made and not born?”

The fire meets again with the silvery stone, but not in war this time. Instead, the encounter almost manages to connect the two beings together in perfect display of sympathy. But the sea of emotion welling inside Chillburn cancels the event in a blink of an eye. “So what if you can’t have offspring either? That doesn’t mean you can just slice up my soul and see what makes it tick.”

“That option has indeed been denied from my kind. Alicorns are sterile by purpose; it is to make sure that our love and duty do not clash, as our duty is to love all, and not just a few. Our people are our children, our offspring, our family.” Unexpectedly, a smile lights up Luna’s solemn expression. “But your state is not determined by fate, but by mere coincidence and ill fortune. It’s determined by your past, not by your future. As such, it can be cured.”

Chillburns eyes go wide, and her lips quiver faintly. “Wh—what are you saying? No, it can’t be… I have been to every doctor in Canterlot, I have tracked every ruin of a rumour that may have relieved me from this… curse… but they all said the same thing. My state is final.”

“And that is why you find such cruelty in your cutie mark, and in the stars above. Because they gave you the flower of pleasure, but not the seed to grow from it.” Luna’s eyes wander down Chillburn’s right flank, as do hers. Inscribed on her delicate skin, a picture of a burning red rose lies. The flames are blue as ice.

A tear stains the image, and the mare swallows a bitter mouthful. “Your eyes truly see more than most, Luna.”

“They see because they must.”

“What is this cure you speak of?”

Luna sighs, and looks at the mare’s eyes again. She doesn't try to fight them anymore. “First things first. Let me treat that wound on your hoof.”

The mare looks at her right hoof, and seems surprised to find that she is trickling blood all over the furniture. “I’m terribly sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

“Never mind that. Just let me see to it.” Chillburn offers her hoof, and Luna inspects it carefully. “You have a few shards under your skin. I can remove them, but it will hurt a bit.”

“Do it.” The mare closes her eyes and bites her lip.

Luna’s horn glows as she separates the glass from the flesh, and the mare endures through the process while holding her tongue. After all the bits are out, she wipes the blood off with her magic. “I don’t have bandages at ready, but it seems that the bleeding has stopped for now. Would you like me to summon somepony to finish this up for you?”

“No. I want to know more about this cure.” She breathes heavily, but doesn’t cringe even as her hoof throbs from the pain.

“Very well. But after that I will see that you will be treated appropriately.” Luna sits again on the chair, and takes a sip from her glass. “There is a spell that can restore fertility to land, animal, and pony alike. It’s strong magic, and old. And it only works during one special day of the year.”

“The New Year’s Eve?”

Luna nods. “Correct. This is a time when anything can happen, when everything is possible. When something new can emerge into the world.” Luna sets the empty glass on the table. “This is why I have been so straightforward with you. The magic only works for this one day and night. You have to make up your mind now.”

Chillburn’s eyes blink, and she shifts nervously on her seat. “Uhm, what do you mean? If you can heal me, then do it already!”

“It is not quite that simple. The spell can only make you fertile for an hour, and that is the timespan you have available to make it count.”

“You mean that I have to conceive tonight if I want to conceive at all? But that’s impossible! I don’t know anypony who would like to have a child with me!” The mare leans on her damaged hoof, and cringes as the pain travels through her limb. “Can I not wait a year and make my choice then?”

Luna looks at the mare’s vexed expression, and a flicker travels past her eyes. “You could wait… but that would mean another year of void, another year of unfulfilled anguish for you. And the cracks have almost shattered you already. Do you think you could spend such a long time only pondering this one thing? It might very well cost you your sanity.”

Something in the princess's eyes makes Chillburn shiver. It’s as if a shadow covered her now, an oppressive feeling that she needs to make a choice and she needs to make it soon. She glances at the clock that rest over a fireplace. It’s almost ten already. “But… where on Earth can I find a suitable stallion in two hours? Everypony here knows what I am, and none of them would willingly risk their status by laying with me tonight.”

Luna smiles like a sphinx. “There might very well be a suitable candidate for you in this very castle. I expect that you still remember the name Reg Syllable?”

The mare’s eyes remain blank for a fraction of a second, and then a memory fills them with light of understanding. “Are you serious? Him? But we don’t know each other at all!”

“And still he is the closest male to your heart in vicinity. Or would you rather prefer Professor Axiom? I recall seeing him enter one of your apartments on many occasions.”

The simple mentioning of Axiom’s name makes the mare shudder deep inside. “No. Not him.”

“Syllable has strong feelings towards you, if I may say so. He dreamed about nothing else during the night you met. And not just in that special way young stallions dream about young mares…”

Chillburn raises an eyebrow to that. “Apparently you treat privacy with a very light touch.” Luna only smiles to that. “Is he really present in here?” continues Chillburn. “I never thought he could get invited to a party like this…” A shadow of doubt crosses her face. “This situation starts to resemble a set-up of some sort.”

Luna’s eyes reveal nothing. “It is an opportunity that is offered only to few. Still, it is your choice.”

Chillburn averts her gaze and looks at her cutie mark. Even after all these years, it still seems to mock her. “I want to meet him. Alone.”

“It can be arranged. Shall I invite him here? Somepony could finish up with your hoof in the meantime.”

“...why are you doing all this? What do you want?”

“All I want,” says Luna as the clock above the fireplace strikes ten, “is to make you happy.”

***

Reg Syllable is drunk, and not just because of the alcohol in his veins. He is drunk of the evening itself, of the company, of the music, of the dancing, all of it. He is drunk in a way in which one of the waitresses smiles at him while he takes a drink from her tray. “...and like I was saying,” he continues as the mare winks at him and disappears into the crowd, “that incident proves how timber wolves can’t be negotiated with.” Everypony around laughs, and the sound makes blessed music for his ears. “Nonetheless, they can be quite efficiently piled, if one knows the right spell.” More laughter, more music.

“You’re a treasure, Reg,” says a unicorn mare with green eyes. Like most of the group present, she is one the School’s younger teachers. “I haven’t had this much fun since last year’s Nightmare Night.”

Another unicorn mare continues: “Oh, you mean the time when Professor Axiom entrenched inside his office because of the enchanted rubber spiders that somepony had made to plague him? That was absolutely priceless!”

Yes, and it definitely was worth the time I had to spent learning that spell, thinks Syllable as he takes a gulp of cider. He is about the reveal the secret behind that story, too, but the look he sees on the green-eyed mare’s face stops him. It’s a look of awkward surprise.

“Uhm, hello to you too, Professor Axiom!” she says, and stares behind Syllable, whose smile sinks with his heart.

The grey stallion grunts as he pushes his way into the circle. “I swear to you, if I ever catch that hooligan who unleashed those creatures on me, I shall have him chained in the School’s dungeons.” His tone kills all thoughts of interpreting the idea as a joke, but that doesn’t stop him from smiling at the notion. His expression changes dramatically when he sees Syllable standing next to him, though. “What in the heavens are you doing here?” His breath stenches of alcohol.

“Uhm… enjoy the small talk?” ventures Syllable. A few laughs escape from the younger teachers, but Axiom freezes them with his glare.

“This pony is nothing but a shame for the School! Who invited him to attend this event? Was it one of you who brought him here?” The stallion’s eyes gleam as he sweeps the circle, and the other teachers cover in front of his drunken accusations.

“I understand he was invited just as we all were, Axiom,” says the mare with green eyes. Her stare doesn’t flinch under his irritated look. “Weren’t you, Reg?”

Syllable feels Axiom’s eyes drilling into his temple, and a shudder travels along her spine. He manages to keep his voice steady, though, as he turns to face him from eye to eye. “Indeed I was. Would you like to see my invitation, Professor?”

The grey stallion sniffs angrily. “I don’t care to know from who you stole it, or how you forged it.” His eyes narrow down dangerously. “Get out of here this instant!”

“Professor, that is quite uncalled for,” says the mare. Her mane really suits her eyes, thinks Syllable in the middle of the tension that has seized his relaxed mind and body.

“Shut up, Elaine! I’m the head of the history faculty, and I’m responsible for my department’s honour! The presence of this joke of a student here is nothing but an insult towards that honour. I want him out!”

“Perhaps I should get some fresh air…” says Syllable, and begins to leave the circle. He is stopped by a strong hoof that seizes his shoulder from behind. His boxer’s instinct makes him turn instantly, but instead of facing a drunken professor, he finds himself staring into the stern eyes of the Second Lieutenant of the Royal Guard.

“Reg Syllable?” asks the deep and commanding voice.

“Y—yes?”

“Please come with me. It is a matter of great importance.”

Syllable blinks a few times, and hears himself saying: “Okay.” Before he has time to realize it, he is walking behind the tall stallion and away from the company of his faculty, who watch him disappear into the crowd. As he glances behind, Syllable can see a malicious grin on Axiom’s face. What kind of trouble has that mummy arranged for me this time? He shows his tongue to the grey unicorn, and smiles as rage colours his face red.

As they depart from the crowd and make it to more quiet corridors, Syllable dares to speak to the Lieutenant. “Am I in some kind of a trouble?”

“I was only instructed to fetch you, lad.” The soldier doesn’t even bother glancing at him.

A dozen other questions spring to Syllable’s mind, but the tone and behaviour of his escort makes the idea of presenting them seem futile. So he holds his tongue and prepares to face whatever is coming at him. Perhaps this is why I was invited here to begin with. Well, they can’t have anything worse in store for me than what Axiom did. The two walk deeper into the keep, and after a while, the officer stops behind a beautifully carved wooden door. “You’re supposed to go in,” he says, and his voice hints that choice doesn't have much to do with the issue. Syllable takes a deep breath, only to empty his lungs in one go afterwards. He walks to the door, pushes it open with his hoof, and shuts it behind himself with his horn.

The first thing he sees is the pony, apparently a mare, who sits on a couch, facing the other way. She is drooping her head slightly, but when the door closes, she raises it. Her ears turn towards the noise. It’s then that bells begin to ring in Syllable’s confused mind. That mane… It can’t be... There is no way... it can be her? But when she turns her head, all doubts disappear along with the strength of his legs. He almost stumbles where he stands as he sees those red eyes looking at him.

“Good evening, Syllable”, she says. Her voice sounds different than the night before. It’s thinner, and less secure.

Still, it manages to fill his head with emotions, thoughts, and bliss. “Is it… really you?”

The mare smiles, and nods him to come closer. “We need to talk. Would you come to sit?”

Syllable obeys without even thinking about it, and settles himself on the other end of the satin couch. He doesn’t even notice the dark stain between them, for his eyes are nailed to the mare of his dreams. He does notice her bandage, though. “Are you hurt?” he asks.

“It’s nothing. Look, I can only imagine the stuff that is going on in your head right now, and trust me, it’s not all that easy for me either to keep my thoughts together at the moment.” She glances at the clock, which is half past ten. “But time is not our ally tonight. That is why I beg you to hear everything I have to say, and not to interrupt me.” The mare blinks her eyes quickly for few times. “Could you do that for me?”

“Absolutely.”

The mare sighs. “Okay, then…” She starts to recount the events of the past few days, but even as she tries to keep her story simple and understandable, it grows and breaks out of control. She soon finds herself recounting her whole life’s story for a stallion she only knows by name. Whether it is the wine or the encounter with Luna that has made her this open, she can’t say, not for her life. She feels the words flowing not from her mind, but from her heart, and for a time longer than she can remember, she is being completely honest.

Syllable keeps to his word, even though it becomes harder by the minute. All other thoughts leave him as he concentrates on the mare’s story, and more importantly, on the implications of it. The same spell that makes the mare open her heart for him has captured him, too, and he feels detached from the room, from the night, from himself. When she finally finishes, a strange sensation has filled him, and it’s as if he had not spent mere minutes on that couch, but his whole life.

“...that is when the Princess left me here, and told me that you would be coming,” finishes the mare. Her eyes are tired, and anxious. The flame that lived in them seems to have been quenched. She looks at Syllable, who finds himself yet again imprisoned by those pools of vermilion.

“I feel I’m in some kind of a fable, and that the storyteller just decided to see how much pressure I can take at once.” He tries to smile a bit, but the gesture doesn’t relieve his tension one bit. “This is the most perplexing moment of my life.”

The mare smiles, too, and it’s her light that gives strength to Syllable’s nerves. “I know it’s quite a hefty shock… It was for me, anyway…” She absentmindedly swirls her own curls with a hoof.

Syllable coughs faintly. “So… You really want to have a child?”

“Yes! I mean, I think I do… The thought has haunted me ever since I got to know that I was infertile. I have tried everything in my power to get pregnant with scores of different ponies, and at some point I just lost hope. But I continued to hook up with stallions, seducing them, going through them like books.” The mare’s curls spin around her hoof in thick layers now. “At some point, all I wanted was another affair, another body lying next to me. And I thought: If this is what my life has come down to, then I might as well get paid for it. It didn’t take long after that for the rumours to spread and voilá: I had become the most famous whore in Canterlot.”

“...all the while only trying to have a family,” whispers Syllable. His eyes blink as he tries to imagine the despair the mare in front of her has gone through, and he can’t. “That… is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

A short smile crosses the mare’s lips. “It would make a terrific novel, I bet.” Tears begin to glisten in her eyes.

Syllable wants to hug her, embrace her, tell her that it will all be okay, that she is the most beautiful and bravest pony he has ever met. He wants to tell her that he loves her, that he’d want nothing more than to spend the rest of his live with her. He wants to be part of the fable, not as a villain or a coward, but as the hero. But it’s his life that is at stake here, and he has just been asked to have a child with a mare he has known barely for a day.

“Look,” he says, “I can’t emphasize enough how much I adore your beauty and courage, but you must understand the difficulty of the situation I’m in here.” He cringes as she turns her face away. “But you said that the spell will work next year, too? I’m sure that by then you will find somepony who you know you can love, and who you can start a family with. I can barely maintain my own life as it is, and I don’t only mean the financial side of it.”

“Money is not a problem for me,” whispers the mare from the cover of her mane. “I have loads of it. Pleasuring the cream of Canterlot is a profitable business, even though it has cost me the respect of most of them.”

“Oh. I see. But still, there must be a more suitable father for your child out there than me. Why can’t you wait one more year to get to know him?”

“That is a very reasonable and wise point you make. It shows that my original estimation of you was not incorrect.” The mare looks again at Syllable, her eyes shimmering. “I have waited for enough years already. This is what I want, and I want to have it either with you, or without you. I can raise my child alone, Syllable. That is how my mother raised me. But for this one night, I need you with me. Or in me, to be more precise.” She smiles shyly after the last sentence.

Her words make him shift in his seat. “I honestly don’t know if I can give you even that. Not that I wouldn’t want to… but how could I live and know that we have a child together? How could I forget that?”

The mare wipes her tears, and when her hoof lowers, a promise of pleasure masks her face. “You don’t need to forget anything. I could either move away from Canterlot, or you could pay us a visit anytime you wanted. We would have the rest of our lives left to figure it out.” She puts a hoof on his thigh. “It’s the present that really matters.”

He feels his heart beat faster as that delicate skin meets his own once more. Her touch is full of promise, full of kindness and tenderness. The look in her eyes tells the same tale, and it’s luring him to jump into an unknown story full of wonders. He wants to have her so very badly. “Sugar Blossom… I…”

“Please. My name is Chillburn.” With that, she leans over him, and plants the gentlest of kisses on his lips that respond to hers like the Sun responds to the Moon as the two meet above the Castle of Canterlot, as the clock strikes eleven. The two ponies lock themselves into each other’s embrace, and a large mirror, leaning lazily against a corner of the room, shimmers for a second, and then quiets down.

In the room next doors, two alicorns stand in front of a similar mirror that shimmer’s momentarily like its twin did, and the sight of two ponies kissing on a couch evaporates within it. Now it only shows two immortal beings, who instinctively glance at each other in the mirror’s surface.

“I suppose that means he agreed,” says Princess Cadence, smiling cheerily. “I shall cast the spell at once.”

“Do that,” responds Luna, smiling likewise in the mirror. “I hope it does not interrupt their little moment, though?”

“Oh, they won’t notice a thing, I assure you. I know how to be discreet.” Cadence's horn glows and her eyes close as a spell as old as fertility itself focuses within her. Her whole figure glows for a moment, and then settles down. “Done!”

Luna raises an eyebrow. “That’s it? A bit… too discreet, if you ask me. Will it surely work?”

Cadance only chuckles. “What, were you expecting fireworks? Or trembling of the whole castle? Why, you of all ponies should know that ‘the thoughts that change the world come on doe’s feet’.” Cadence turns away from the mirror, and goes for the door with Luna stepping behind her.

“Is that a quote from the philosopher Haydegger?” asks the darker alicorn.

“It’s Neighzsche, actually. Quite a clever fellow, that one.”

“Until he lost his mind, of course,” corrects Luna. The two come to a dimly lit corridor, and meet the Second Lieutenant who stands by the other door. The alicorns nod to him as he salutes them.

“Make sure that the two ponies in there are not be disturbed, not for the next hour or so at least,” says Luna to him.

“Yes, my Princess.” They leave him standing in attention, and head back to the Crystal Hall.

“You think Chillburn will actually marry that student, or will she leave him to bite the dust right after she has had her way with him?” asks Luna.

“I hope they will stay together; such a cute pair they make. But does it matter?”

“No, not at all. She will no longer plague the nobles of the city with her services, and that is what matters.” Luna rolls her eyes theatrically. “You wouldn't believe how fervently some of them pressured me and my sister to solve this little problem of theirs.”

“The ponies of this city can be so conservative. In the Crystal Kingdom we have no such problems with ponies who take it as their destiny to please other ponies in the bedroom.”

“I would not mind it either, but Celestia thought it best not to agitate the elite too much. Mark my words, though: She herself never tried to defend Chillburn, either.”

“That’s just how elder sisters are, I guess.”

The two stop behind the doors that muffle the noise of the parties within, and Luna turns towards the pink alicorn. “I must thank you again for coming on such a short notice. I myself am somewhat rusty when it comes to fertility spells.”

“Oh, don’t mention it. I was happy to assist both you two and Miss Chillburn. She seems to be a mare one could grow very fond of.”

“If one fancies to play with fire, that is.” The two smile at that.

“I must ask you, though,” continues Cadence, “how did you get her to come here? Some of the guests are sneering even at me!”

“Well… I happened to get somewhat lucky in that matter. And I may have used this one professor for my advantage…”

“Oh, do tell more.”

Luna sighs. “In a dream I told the professor, who was spending a night with Chillburn, that I intended to punish the mare for her wicked ways, and humiliate her in front of the court. I asked him to invite her to the Gala, and to set her up with me.”

“Couldn’t you have just told him the truth?”

“Not to this one, no. He is not so keen on helping other ponies, you see. Still, I wanted to get this affair over with, so I had to bend the rules a bit and lie to him.”

“What a dreadful pony he must be,” says Cadence as a shudder travels through her.

“You do not know the half of it. He even goes around claiming how he regularly meets with Celestia, who is supposedly helping him with some book or something. Tells that to anypony who bothers to listen, and complains how busy he is all the time. We put up with him because he is going to retire this year, anyway.”

“Makes me all the more glad that I live in the Crystal Kingdom now…”

“Oh, do stop bragging about that already!” says Luna playfully as they open the doors and step into the Hall, chatting about this and that as ponies all over bow before them. The crowd is already starting to move outside, as the culmination of the night is at hoof; the moment when the sun and the moon cross each other’s paths in the clear sky above the magical city.

The night has only just begun.

"I can't remember her smell anymore."

Author's Note

No clop in this one; sorry folks! But don't be alarmed, for the issue shall be addressed in the future.

"I can't remember her smell anymore."

In a room, there stands a wooden cradle painted light-green. The paintwork is cracked and faded at several places, but the oaken structure remains strong and protective. The familiar smell of it makes Syllable’s memory bloom with recollections of his own foalhood. He tells that to the dark-orange coated mare that stands by him.

“You don’t expect me to believe that you remember being a baby?” answers the mare with a smirk. “Or did your parents keep you in this untill you could talk?”

Syllable smiles faintly, and gently rocks the cradle with his front hoof. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you? Do I really seem like a little mommy’s colt to you?”

She plants a light kiss on his cheek. “You’re this mom's favourite colt, that’s for sure.” The two rub their necks against each other, ever so slowly. Syllable feels light as a feather, warm as a boiling kettle, and happy as a unicorn colt that learned his first spell. The mare’s coat is so soft, it’s caress so perfect that it almost makes him tremble right then and there.

He closes his eyes, and lets the moment carry on by itself for a while. “I used to play with this once I was a bit older, you know,” he says, referring to the cradle. “That paint didn’t wear out by itself.”

The mare only hums absentmindedly, almost purring like a cat. Her eyes remain shut as she plants another kiss, a more intimate one this time, on her lover’s neck. Syllable shivers slightly.

“A castle tower, a sled, a boat, a coffin… there was no end for the uses I found for a common cradle,” continues Syllable, his voice growing slightly thinner as Chillburn’s lips pay homage to his coat. “It’s fortunate that the thing is made of oak.”

“A cradle makes a cumbersome sled, I’d say,” whispers Chillburn as she nibbles his ear, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine.

“A-ah… Magic might have had something to do with it…”

“I bet it did.” Her tongue licks his auricle.

Syllable gasps, and stops the rocking as he turns to kiss the mare on the lips. She accepts his mouth eagerly, running her tongue over his teeth. Together they lock into a passionate kiss, and almost succumb to just devouring one another right there and then. But the sharp whining that carries from underneath them breaks the moment before they lose control of it. Chillburn detaches from him softly but firmly, and a strand of gleaming saliva lingers between their lips, swaying in the cross-draught of their heavy breaths. It snaps abruptly when she turns her head.

“I think she wants to sleep now,” she says, her eyes resting on the baby filly that looks back at her with big, black, sleepy eyes. Syllable’s mind instinctively imprints the sight into the deepest depths of his memory, where it finds a warm corner and makes itself at home. The happiness he feels makes even smiling difficult.

“Chillburn… I… I have no words… I lo–”

She muffles him with a hoof. “Shh, don’t say it. Not yet. The night has only just begun.” Her eyes narrow down, and her smile turns from soft to simply irresistibly seducing. His heart adds a beat or two into its rhythm just from that look alone, he nods in response.

A flicker travels past her eyes. “I shall have a wash now, and so shall you. After that, daddy gets to kiss mommy, and he will kiss her as if it was their first time. And after that…”

“After that…?” says Syllable, his voice muffled by the hoof. She moves it away and wraps herself around his neck, leaning over his ear.

“After that, I’ll show you the stuff your dreams are made of.” Her breath tickles his ear. “But before that,” she continues while pulling back, “you shall finish rocking the baby asleep.”

“Okay…” he says dreamily.

As Chillburn leaves the room, Syllable steals a glimpse of her lean rump that sways along with her auburn tail. Another shiver seizes him, but he controls himself and turns to face the cradle, wherein the baby makes a tiny yawn. The sight makes another kind of warmth envelope the stallion from head to hoof. My two favourite mares in the whole world. The two halves of my heart. I love you both so much it makes the world itself seem ridiculous in all of its inadequacy.

He begins to rock the wooden frame again, but just when his hoof is about to touch the splintered surface, the baby looks at him straight into the eyes, and opens her mouth as if she was about to speak. And then, for the horror of every cell in Syllable's body, she says with a hoarse, deep voice:

“Get up, you bum! Get up before I flip this couch on you!”

The room, the cradle, and the baby disappear instantaneously around Reg Syllable as if some vacuum sucked the whole scene into oblivion. For a moment he remains in the void, but just as the hoarse voice begins to speak again, he opens his eyes. Blinding light fills his vision, and he can’t help but to close them again, for the searing pain ignites his mind. To his despair, he finds that the thumbing agony doesn’t stop even after he curls back into the blackness of his eyelids, but continues to burn his nerves.

The unfriendly voice speaks once more. “I know you’re awake, bum! Now get up before I call the guards!”

Battle rages inside the unicorn’s mind, a fierce fight between reality that tries to wake him up and the dream world into which he blindly craves to return. It takes him a few moments to gather his thoughts amidst the throbbing pain, but when he does, a sense of clarity begins to unfold. Very slowly, he sits up on the couch and cracks his eyelids, shadowing them with his front hoof. He sees a foggy figure standing in front of him, and as he blinks and rubs his eyes, he realises that it’s an earth pony stallion, and apparently he’s holding a broom.

“Wh–,” begins Syllable, but the dryness of his throat makes speaking a challenge. He coughs the rest of the sentence on the stallion’s face.

“Oi, cut it out! You’re spitting all over me!”

Syllable tries to speak again, but his tongue has allied with his throat against him, and together the two put up a decent fight. He wheezes and coughs for a few more times, but finally looks around in search of something to drink. Despite the stinging pain the light is causing his eyes, he manages to spot a bottle on a table not far away. After pulling it closer with his horn, he detaches the cork and takes a long sip of the red liquid.

The stallion with the broom watches him with horror in his eyes. “You… you drank Princess Luna’s private wine!”

Syllable lowers the bottle with a contented sigh, and looks at the horror-struck stallion straight into the eyes. The few broken blood vessels give his gaze a slightly feral look. “Where is she?” His voice sounds like gravel trying to speak.

The stallion eyes Syllable wearily. “Is who? Look, you really should be going now, I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to be here.”

Syllable blinks slowly. The hangover isn’t the worst one he has experienced in his life, but it’s still mature enough to severely hinder his thought process. “I’m a guest at the Gala… Now, tell me: Did you see anypony else when you came to this room? A mare?”

“Uhm… no, you were alone here. I hate to tell you this, pal, but the Gala is over. Been for about nine hours.”

Syllable’s blank stare stays a moment longer on the stallion’s face, then travels over the fireplace, where a clock is ticking. It’s almost twelve.

“Uhh… you okay, pal?”

The bottle that floats in the air finds it’s way to Syllable’s lips again, and he empties the rest of it with a one gulp. The other stallion cringes as the empty glass container falls on the floor.

“You have to explain that to the Princess yourself, pal,” he says. “She is not going to be pleased about this, not one bit.”

Syllable turns his eyes on him, and without exactly knowing why, the earth pony flinches when he sees those broken eyes drilling into his skull. “Quite,” says Reg slowly. “Although she is not the only one in need of an explanation.”

***

Even among the personal guards of the two Princesses, there was not an agreement on the question whether alicorns slept or not. Most of the Day Guard where of the opinion that everypony needed sleep, even alicorns, and reminded their fellows in Night Guard that the newest Princess, Twilight Sparkle, certainly slept through her nights whenever she visited the castle. Her snoring, albeit faint, was a proof of that. “Besides,” they would say, “why is the castle filled with beds, if not for sleeping?”

The Night Guard knew the answer for that last question well enough, although they rarely talked about it in presence of their more “pure and innocent brethren,” as the dark ones sometimes called the Day Guard. They also knew that a common pony, with the help of practice and a bit of magic, could easily stay awake for weeks and even months at one go. There was no telling what an alicorn could do. And what came to that upstart Twilight Sparkle… The mare had been an alicorn barely a few months. “Give her a few millennia and see how that affects her need for dreams.”

Despite arguing about the issue every now and then, neither party really cared to find out the truth. It was not up to them to know what their betters did behind closed doors. Asking them about it was certainly out of the question. Questions like these were more like a game that the two Guards practiced during the dusk and the dawn, on the few hours of the day and night that they got to spend with each other.

Luna, like Celestia, knew about these little games the guards loved to play, and usually she paid them no mind. However, every once in awhile, when the Night Court was more quiet than usual, and the dreams of the Equestrians were calm, she would actually spend time with her Night Guard. To the members of the Day Guard though this was something of a scandal, or at least it disturbed and vexed them whenever the issue came up. The thought that they could simply spend time with their sovereign, as equal friends, was alien to them; they neither craved it nor detested it. It was just something that didn’t happen.

Tonight might turn into one of those “alien nights”, thinks Luna as she lays on her luxurious bed of dark velvet and ebony. Equestria is living awfully peaceful times now. No more foul crimes to be condemned in the dead of night, no more secret pacts to be made between gryphons and ponies. The Night Court has turned into a very dull business. The dark alicorn idly stretches her wings while laying on her stomach, and slowly stands up. The heavy curtains fall aside as she gets off the bed and heads for the doors. Perhaps I shall pay a visit to the training yard again. The boys do tend to make an effort when I’m present. The doors open with a thud, and the Princess of the Night enters into a large living room, where two guards and a clerk bow to her. She acknowledges their devotion absentmindedly.

The clerk is the first to straighten up. “Princess Luna, the Night Court awaits your presence.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure the Halls are packed with ponies. Let us go through with the formalities so that I may entertain myself with other issues.”

The clerk coughs awkwardly. “Well, Your Highness might be surprised, but there is actually a pony expecting your presence in the Hall of Secrets.”

“Oh my. Another senior citizen, I presume? Do they ever learn that despite my appearance, I cannot communicate with the dead.”

“No, not this time, Your Highness. He is quite young, actually.”

Luna raises an eyebrow. “And he has not arrived in hopes of necromancy?”

The clerk smiled faintly, and fixes his glasses with a hoof. “No, Your Highness. He has come to ‘ask some questions,’ as he so bluntly put it. I might add that he seemed a bit intoxicated.”

Seems like the boys at the training yard will have to wait for a while. “Well, we should at least give him a chance to clarify his intentions before judging him.” Without hesitation, Luna strides to the door on the other side of the room, with the clerk and two guards following in her wake. “Can you tell me anything more about this individual?” she asks the clerk.
The clerk has slight trouble keeping up with Luna’s long steps while he leafs through his notebook that floats in front of him. “An unicorn, and apparently a student in the Canterlot School of History and Linguistics. I had him fill the usual forms concerning personal information, which he did, albeit reluctantly. I must say that he was very anxious to see you, just as he was eager to meet Princess Celestia during the day.”

“You say he was present in the Day Court, too?”

“Quite so. Waited for full eight hours for an audience, I hear. Didn't go that well, though.”

“What happened?”

The Clerk dodges a pillar while they turn another corner. “That’s the funny thing – nothing. After he had presented his case, in a rather discreet fashion, Princess Celestia declared that the issue belonged to the jurisdiction of the Night Court and would be appropriately handled there.”

A smile creeps on Luna’s lips. “It has been quite a while since my sister dumped a case on my shoulders like that.” My my, the night may have something else than private fencing lessons to offer, after all.

“Would your Highness wish to hear about the account that he gave in the Day Court? My colleague wrote it down, although I must say that its discretion somewhat hinders its clarity.”

They enter into a corridor where the windows show to the West, and Luna’s mane shimmers in the light of the setting sun that cascades through them. “No need for that. What is his name?”

“Reg Syllable.”

Luna’s eyes stay blank for a few seconds as he processes the name properly, and suddenly a flicker travels past them. Oh, him. No wonder Celestia sent this one to me; I only wish I had been there to hear when he presented his case. Perhaps I’ll read the Day Clerk’s account afterwards.

The four ponies walk among the growing shadows for a few minutes, after which they begin their descent into the halls underneath the castle. On the second level they stop and enter a room twice the size of Luna’s bedroom, which makes for a comparatively sizable underground space. Large torches keep the darkness at bay. On the other side lie four heavy wooden doors with iron hinges.

“Was it really necessary to bring him here?” asks Luna to the clerk. “The poor thing must be sweating profusely by now.”

The clerk corrects his glasses. “I’m afraid the rules of the Night Court have not been updated since your… absence. And they say that all issues requiring discretion and secrecy are to be dealt with in the Hall of Secrets.”

Luna sighs. “I suppose that is something I need to address one of these nights. Until then, we might as well follow the procedure.” Luna goes for the door, and the clerk follows by her side while the guards stay back. “You can stay back too, Inkeye,” Luna says to the clerk. “This matter is private enough, it does not need to be recorded.”

“But the rules–”

“–I wrote the rules of the Night Court, Inkeye, and even though they bind me, they only do because I will so. You shall wait here.”

The clerk stops and bows his head. “Of course, Your Highness. He’s in room number–”

“–Two,” finishes Luna, to the confusion of the clerk. “How do I know? Because that room is meant for ‘dealings with carnal pleasure and obscenity’”. She smiles at the clerk’s expression, and enters into the room that has the symbol “II” inscribed into its door. As she closes it, a weary face turns to look at her. It’s a face she recognizes without much difficulty.

“Hello, Reg.” Her voice is soft, and it sinks into the cramped walls and ceiling. Syllable is sitting in a chair by a large table that fills the narrow room from one end to the other. Besides those, and the few torches, no other furniture exists.

Reg Syllable stands up, and bows in front of the regal lady. “Your Highness. I’m honoured to make your acquaintance.”

Not as blunt as I was led to believe, but there clearly is an edge to his tone. But how sharp of one? “Please, call me Luna. Everypony does nowadays.”

“As you will, Princess Luna.” He is still bowing, and a bit deeper than would be necessary.

Luna smiles while she set herself not quite opposite to him, but a few chairs to his left. “There really is no reason to be formal now, Reg. It is just you, me, and Red Peak who are present.”

A confused look breaks Syllable’s blank expression. “Red Peak? The griffon warlord?”

“A colonel, more like, but the same creature. You study history, correct? Did you not know that his ghost still haunts the Hall of Secrets, for it was here that his demise fell upon him. Or rather, where that demise was stabbed through his heart in the form of a horn.” The dark alicorn smiles pleasantly.

“Is Your Highness trying to frighten me with ghost stories?”

Luna chuckles shortly. “Oh, stories would hold last place on my list, it was not my intention to frighten you”

Silence fills the room, and the faint current makes the torch flames flicker, sending shadows dancing on the walls. Luna studies the young stallion over the table, resting her head on her left front hoof. “Why did you come here, Reg?”

The stallion’s eyes remain fixed to the alicorn, and his breathing carries over quite audibly. “I already gave an account of my case to the Day Clerk.”

“I wish to hear it from you.”

Syllable shifts in his seat, but doesn’t break the eye contact with Luna. “If I may say so, Princess Luna, I think you know full well why I’m here.”

The flames make Luna’s deep eyes flicker as she moves her head. “Quite frankly, Reg… I really do not know why you are here.”

“Your Highness invited me to the Gala.”

Luna knocks on the table rhythmically with her hoof a few times. “Yes, that is true, as are the other things that Chillburn told you last night. I am saying that just to save time.”

“How did you… Did you spy on us?”

Sharp it is, the edge. And it just cut out the formalities, it seems. “Of course I did. How else would I know whether you two would have sex or not?”

Reg stands up so quickly that his chair falls down with a bang, which is immediately followed by another loud noise as he slams his front hooves on the table. “You can’t do that! You can’t just play with ponies lives as you please!”

One, two, three, four… counts Luna in her mind. After four and a half seconds the door slams open and the two guards push through, their horns glowing dark. “It’s okay, boys!” Says Luna before anything else has time to happen. “Situation under control, but since you blessed us with your presence, how about you go to the kitchens and fetch some food for mister Syllable here. I would say he looks quite famished.”

The guards look at Syllable, who is still halfway on climbing on the table, then at Luna, who is smiling calmly, and finally they look at each other. “We shall obey, Princess Luna,” one of them says. After that, they disappear and close the door behind them.

Syllable sighs heavily, and his hooves shake a bit as he clearly tries to decide what on Earth is happening to him. Finally he sets himself down again, although he keeps his eyes on the table this time. “How did you know I’m hungry?”

Luna sighs. “It is obvious, Reg. First of all, one does not usually eat that much when they spend their whole day waiting to get an audience with my sister, especially if they did not bring their own lunch along. Second, you just slammed you hooves on the table in the presence of this realm’s other sovereign. Heartbreaks or no, that is still an act one does not commit with a full stomach.”

Syllable glances at the alicorn, and an unexpected blush raises to his cheeks. “My sincerest apologies… Luna.”

Progressing, are we now. Or is the blade only better hidden this time? “It is quite alright. My guards haven’t had this much excitement in their shifts for a few months now – and last time it was a hoofful of falling snow that electrified them.” Her smile is sincere, as are her words, and together they help Syllable relax himself a bit. He is still tense as a bow, though. “So,” continues Luna, “what is it that you came to seek from me?”

Another silence, another veil, descents between the two ponies, although this time it’s somewhat less oppressing. Syllable breathes deeply a few times, and finally raises his eyes to meet Lunas. “I need to find her.”

“No. You want to find her.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

Luna rolls her dark eyes. “Do not fool yourself into believing that you cannot make the difference already. Why is it that you want her?”

“Because I love her.”

Then you’re a fool to believe so. She almost says it, but something, be it the flicker in Syllable's eyes or the mad moment of compassion, stops her. Her mane floats around her as she changes the hoof to rest her head on. “But is the feeling mutual?”

Syllable’s head turns down, and his shoulders almost collapse.

That’s what I thought. “Reg… she never wished for a husband. All she ever wanted was to start over again, alone. It was written all over her, but you could not see it because she would not allow you to see it. You were her means for an end, and dreaming of other truths will only make you suffer more.”

“But it was not only she who used me…” Syllable’s clenched jaw gives a crimson colour to his words. “You offered me to her. You invited me to the Gala for her to use. You used me like she did.”

And there is nothing you can do about it, so why don’t you just eat my food, have another bottle of my wine, and go home? “Nopony forced you to come to the Gala. Nopony forced you to succumb to her lust, not in the alley nor in the living room above us. You did that yourself; you allowed yourself to be used all the while knowing that would be the case.”

Syllable sniffs angrily, but says nothing for a while. “So that means you won’t be telling me where she is?”

“I would not help you with that even if I could. She left the Gala during the night, and by now she has most likely left the city, too.”

“With my child in her,” he says quietly, so very quietly.

That is one dangerous thought to foster, Reg. “What makes you think that it is love that drives you to her?”

Syllable rubs his temple with a hoof, as if trying to pull thoughts out of there. “I can’t get her out of my head… At night, I dreamed of a life with her, with our child… It may sound insane, but it feels that we were meant to be together.”

Luna’s eyes reveal nothing but the reflection of a sad, exhausted pony who stands in the brink of a mental breakdown. This was not an outcome I anticipated. “Obsession and fixation sometimes go by the name of love, and for one who is trapped in between the triangle, it is often impossible to tell the difference.”

“I know that well enough,” says Reg with annoyance in his voice. “I’ve read my E.A Poeny like you have. No need to quote him on me.”

Luna taps the hard table a few times. “You are not a completely dim individual, Reg. Do you happen to know why the Night Court assembles underground, in the Five Halls below the castle?”

“What has that got to do with anything?”

Luna ignores the question. “Day Court is meant for the symbolic unity of Equestria; it’s a public arena where civil cases are dealt with, along with grand politics between nations. But the Night Court… “ Luna pauses, and waves her front hoof in a wide arc. “...is where the real power lies.”

Reg’s frustration shines from his face, even in the dim of the Hall. “Yes yes, it was meant for wartime meetings, criminal cases, and other such issues that couldn’t be dealt in public. I know my country’s history.” A gloating smile spreads on his lips. “I also know that the Night Court practically died during your exile. Princess Celestia changed her policy into complete openness.”

Luna’s smile, on the other hoof, remains as pleasant and casual as ever before. “That was something you read from a history book approved by my sister, is it not?”

Syllable's grin evaporates. “What are you hinting at?”

Luna stretches her limbs and wings as if all the hurry had just died from the world. “Tell me… if the Night Court was truly terminated after my exile, why does the Canterlot Castle include the Five Halls? The city and the Castle were built only after my little incident.”

Reg’s lips remain sealed.
“What I meant to tell you with this little story,” continues Luna, “was that strife is unavoidable in life. Even my sister could not deny it. She merely hid it and hoped that one day, she wouldn’t even remember it anymore.” Her eyes gleam as she sinks them into Syllable, who flinches instinctively. “I suggest that you follow her example,” she says.

After recovering from the intense stare, Reg coughs. “Is that what you would do?”

“It was something I once did not do. And what did my rashness win me? A one way ticket to the moon.”

Reg moves his head from side to side, avoiding her gaze as well as he can. “So you say I should just… forget her?”

It is that, or either you embrace the lunacy as I did. “You never even knew her; forgetting her should practically come by instinct.”

Reg’s figure collapses on the chair, and his head droops as if all the power had fled from him in one go. The sight almost makes Luna feel bad for him.

Her voice turns a tad softer. “You’re not the first pony who has faced hardships in love, nor will you be the last one. That is strife right there, the engine of life itself.” Her words seem to have no effect on the unicorn. “A young and handsome stallion like you will find other mares to couple with. And with the lessons you have learned from this experience, you will mix the mortar to glue together the life you really want to live, the one you really need.”

“What lessons have I learned?” Reg’s voice has a hollow tone to it. His head is still drooped down. “What mortar can I mix from the shards of my dreams?”

Desperation. “Endurance,” says Luna. Bitterness. “Willpower,” she continues. Hate. “Rationality,” she finishes. “All that, and much more.” She stands up, and heads for the door. “The food will come shortly, I’m sure. You can eat here. Good bye, Reg Syllable.” She waits by the door for a few seconds, waiting for an answer that doesn’t come. She is about to leave when a faint whisper carries from the stallion’s direction.

“Thank you.”

Luna looks at him for a few seconds without smiling. “You are welcome.” She leaves him without another word. Syllable stays on his seat, slumping. After a while, a waitress pony comes through the open door, holding a tray filled with different dishes and a bottle of cider. She leaves them in front of him and leaves as quickly as she came. Reg stares at the food for a long while. He has eaten nothing for the whole day, and his stomach is about to cave in on itself. He is starving so bad he could eat the chair he is sitting in, and the smell of the meal makes his mouth water.

He leaves without touching one bite of it.

***

Two stallions, an earth pony and an unicorn, circle each other with their gazes in a gridlock. Around them, a crowd of couple hundred is cheering, yelling, and stomping their hooves or beating them against the benches. The noise and mood in the sizable hall is fervent, almost primal, but the two ponies keep their calm, calculating every move with an instinctual finesse that’s near perfection. Suddenly, the earth pony lunges at the unicorn, and aims a front hoof kick at his head. The unicorn raises his own hooves to block, but his assailant doesn’t finish his first attack. Instead, he starts another one, aiming his kick at his chest. The blow makes a clean contact, and for a fraction of a second, Syllable loses his composure. That is all what the earth pony needs him to do.

A series of blows hit home, and even though his hooves are covered with stuffed gloves, the beating is fierce. The crowd lives for every strike, but it’s only Syllable who feels them. He tries to back away while throwing a few blind jabs at his opponent, but the earth pony is dictating the rhythm now and simply blocks or dodges the random blows. He counters with a new combo of brutal accuracy and efficiency. Mad rage is beginning to build up in Syllable, but he fights to keep his emotions at bay. However, when the earth pony manages to knock a good hit on his muzzle, his vision turns red.

Syllable stop backing away, and pushes himself forward in a sudden lunge. The move surprises the other stallion, and Reg manages to land a blow or four into his torso and neck, although he has no idea how he did it. He is just attacking, striving to maim the other pony, craving for his blood on his gloves. It’s at that moment when he loses the match. The earth pony, with delicate precision, smashes his right hook on Syllable's temple. The blow not only knocks Syllable clean out of his consciousness, but also incites a collective “Ouch!” from the crowd. The judge blows the whistle, and the match is over. Everypony cheers and claps their hooves or beats the benches. Everypony except Willow Fall, who buries his head into his hooves in the coach's seat.

After Syllable is carried away from the ring and into the recovery room, Fall throws a bucketful of cold water on his face. The effect pulls Syllable back into reality like an electric shock.

“Hey, that’s to clean his wounds, not to give him a heart attack!” says a nearby nurse who looks disapprovingly at Fall. He turns an indifferent glance in her direction.

“Rest assured, after my treatment, a heart attack will be a blessing for him. Could we have a moment in private?”

The nurse narrows her eyes, and looks at the trembling Syllable, whose numerous bruises are already turning a healthy blue. She then looks at Fall’s forced smile, and sighs. “Fine. But don’t you dare to be too rough on him. I suspect he might have a mild concussion.”

“That is what I suspect too, although the match had nothing to do with it.”

The mare raises an eyebrow, but Fall’s smile is immobile. She sighs again, and closes the door after her. For a moment, the two stallions wait in silence, with Syllable laying on the mattress while Fall towers over him. The blue-grey stallion glares down at his friend.

“Reg. What. The. Hay?”

Cold shivers criss-cross on Syllable’s coat, and his front hooves are locked around his torso. One of his eyes is welling up quickly. When he speaks, it sounds as if a few of his teeth were trying to break out of his mouth. “The new guy has a pretty good right hook, I’ll give him that.”

A frustrated snort makes Fall’s nostrils widen momentarily. “I saw it coming a mile away, as you should’ve, too. And what was that last attack all about? I mean, what were you thinking?! Throwing yourself like that on his hooves, you might as well have tied your limbs together!”

Reg slowly licks his broken lip, and cringes as a fresh trail of blood trickles down his jaw. “Who cares, anyway? It was only one match.”

Fall’s eyes go wide. “One match. One match? One match!? It’s the friggin second qualification round! One more loss and you’re out of the whole season!”

Fall’s last words sink into the walls of the recovery room. Above them, the crowd is cheering again, and the noise carries through the ceiling like a rumbling of some great beast. Reg only stares above, his open eye glinting in the light of the oil lamp. He remains silent, although Fall is clearly waiting for him to say something, anything. After a while, Fall simply lays down on the other mattress next to him.

“Don’t tell me it’s about her again,” says Fall, his tone much more neutral now. “Just… don’t say it’s about that. Tell me you lost your house at gambling or something merry like that.”

A drop of blood falls on Syllable's chest from his jaw, and continues its trail all the way onto the soaked mattress. His lips barely move when he speaks. “I can’t remember her scent anymore.”

“Fuck,” says Fall, stretching the letter “F”. “How long has it been since she left you? Six months? Seven?”

“192 days.”

“Shit.” This time, it’s the “S” that gets cared for during the enunciation. “That is about the unhealthiest thing I’ve heard in my life.”

A ruined smile spreads on Regs lips. “How about the time you boasted you could empty a barrel of ‘Old Faithful’ in one go…?”

Fall turns on his side to look at his friend. “I’m serious, Reg. You’re scaring me, and you know I don’t like admitting that. Ever since the New Year’s party you’ve been living on half the power you used to. This match was only the tip of the iceberg. You can’t carry on like this.”

Syllable’s smile turns into a cringe as he supports himself into a sitting position. “You’re right on that, friend.” With some difficulty, he stands on all fours and goes for the great cowl of water that stands in the corner of the room.

Fall stands up behind him. “That’s what you said a month ago. I’m serious about this. You need to see a doctor or something.”

Reg sinks his head on the cowl and shakes it underwater, after which he dries himself on a towel that he pulls from a rack nearby. On a table to his left there are bandages, salve, and some pain dulling herbs. He grabs the greens and stuffs a bunch of them into his mouth while unrolling the bandage with his horn. “Doctors can’t help me. Only I can help me.”

Fall studies his friend as he spreads the white fabric around his head to cover a nasty tear on the right temple. “That is just what a sick person would say. Come on, do it for me; I can come along.”

“The doctors would only repeat what Princess Luna already told me. I know their cure to be a false one now.”

Fall shifts his legs uneasily. “Well… what did you have in mind, then?”

Reg finishes tying his head wound, and begins to spread some of the lotion into his damaged brow, wincing as the cool stuff meets his sore coat. He waits when he is done before answering.

“I’m going to find her.”

The two stare at each other. The roaring above is reaching a climax of sorts, but neither of them pays the noise any attention.

“Don’t do it, Reg.”

“Then I might as well hang myself, for those are the only options I have of finding peace with myself.”

Falls makes a sudden move towards his friend, and after crossing the few steps that separate them, he pins him against the wall in such a force that the bottles on the nearby table shake. Syllable doesn’t make a move to resist him.

“You ever say anything like that again, I’ll beat the livin hell out of you, I swear that on my mother’s grave.” Fall’s eyes are two embers inside a furnace, and for a moment, Syllable hesitates. But then he pushes his friend back.

“I didn’t believe you would understand me, and neither do I need you to. You can’t talk me out of this one, Fall.”

Fall’s gaze keeps on searing Syllable. “I’ll write your parents, tell them what you’re going to do.”

“That would only save me the trouble.”

“I’ll tell Axiom! I swear I will! You know he has been burning to find an excuse to fire you from the School ever since the New Year’s Eve! This will give him just the right opportunity.”

Reg’s eyes remain unyielding. “I’m actually going to pay the good old Axiom a visit myself. There are some issues I wish to discuss with him.”

A questioning look masks Fall’s face. “Issues? What issues you could have with that old demon?”

“I heard a rumour that he was one of Chillburn’s clients. He might know where she lived in the city, perhaps even where she went.”

A mocking, short laugh escapes from Willow Fall. “And you think he suddenly turns into a little colt scout and points you to the right direction, all the while granting you leave from the School! You really are something!”

“I’m going to ask him real nicely, you know…. Who knows, maybe he even sings a little song for me while I resign myself.” A nasty grin spreads on Reg’s lips, and Fall’s smile dies instantaneously.

“You wouldn't,” he says. Syllable only keeps on grinning like a lunatic.

Fall takes a deep breath, and says: “If you leave this School… and me… in search of that mare… you might as well return the keys to my place, because we won’t be seeing each other after that.” His eyes have lost their fire, and the flames stand frozen.

It’s Syllable’s turn to look confused. “Do you… really mean that? I can’t tell. I seriously can’t tell.”

The glacier of Fall’s stare leaves no room for a doubt to grow. “I’m not going to watch you ruin your life because of this, not in a million years.”

Reg swallows slowly. “Well… if that’s how it’s going to be… then I guess I shall drop the key to your apartment tomorrow.”

The ice in Fall’s eyes cracks ever so lightly. He turns his head away, shaking it slowly. “Damn you, Reg… You really leave a pony no choice, do you?” He turns away, and heads for the door. “Don’t bother coming over. You can send it in the mail.” He doesn’t slam the door, but closes it in a precise and discreet fashion. Reg is left alone in the room, the noise of the crowd above quieting down as a break takes place. The nurse enters the room after a while, carefully walking to Syllable, who is staring at nothing.

“Uhm… Is everything okay?” she asks. “I met your friend in the corridor and he seemed… a bit more grim than usual. A lot more.”

Reg suckles his broken lip, which is still bleeding a bit, his eyes trailing aimlessly. “He wasn’t… very pleased with my choice.”

The mare sniffs. “You bet I wasn’t, either. You could’ve easily got under that earth pony’s guard if you’d have gone for a longer match. You have a good stamina, Reg. Why not wear him out?”

Reg glances at the mare, whose bright eyes light up her cute face. A sudden recollection invades his mind; the mare’s name is Tender Heart. He remembers chatting with her a few times, perhaps exchanging a meaningful look or two. She is beautiful, kind, and has similar interests as him. She is everything a stallion could hope from in a mare. But her eyes… her eyes are cyan.

And he finds himself hoping that they were carmine.

"I have failed him."

***

Evening arrives quietly over Canterlot, settling into every nook and cranny of the city. The artificial lights hold on to their own, creating islands of light amidst the growing sea of shadows. The Canterlot School of History and Linguistics also brings its formidable arsenal into the fray, illuminating the premises and even some of the surrounding alleys. Most of the windows are already dark, so the work is left for the magical lamps that have been arranged all over the arches, roof, and walls of the building. Only one window still has life in it, the one office located near the Eastern end of the School. In the shadows below, a figure stares at it intently, and after the light finally dies, he disappears into the young night.

On one of the School’s side entrances, a door opens and closes as Professor Axiom makes his way off the building. His black top hat and suit make him a natural inclusion to the surrounding dimness. He manages to take full four steps before a low voice stops him.

“Hello, Professor.”

Axiom freezes for an instant, but then turns quickly around to locate the source of the voice. All he can see is blackness, passive, indifferent blackness. Until it comes alive, that is.

“Who goes there!” shouts the old stallion as he sees a figure detaching from the shadows. His breathing quickens and he drops his suitcase that floated alongside him, for a new spell is gathering in his horn. “I warn you, I’m a skilful magic user!”

The figure clad in shadows comes closer, and speaks. “No need to panic, Professor. We’re all friends here.” Syllable light’s his horn and repels the darkness around.

Professor squints at the sudden burst of light, but he doesn't need to see the stranger to recognize his voice. “Reg Syllable. By the mane of Celestia, what are you doing here?”

Reg walks idly closer, and stops a few steps from the professor. “My light isn’t too bright, I hope? Would you have me fade it a bit?”

“Answer the bloody question!” snaps Axiom, still squinting.

“I take that as a ‘no’. What comes to your question… We need to exchange a few words.”

“And you couldn't think of a better time then after the closing of the School?! What on Earth is the matter with you, boy?!”

I wanted to make you feel a bit less secure, and that is exactly what you are without your dear tomb of an office around you. “The issue is a private one, you see, so there is no need to bother you with it during your time in office.”

“What nonsense… I don’t even care to know what you want from me! Mark my words, I shall bring this up in the next meeting of the Board. Now, get out of my way.” The professor tries to walk past Syllable, but he steps in his way, dimming his light at the same time. It’s only then that Axiom sees his bruised face. The gruesome sight makes him flinch.

“Come now, Professor… The night has only just begun.” Syllable’s disfigured smile makes a shudder travel over Axiom’s spine. His horn begins to glow faintly.

Syllable notices that. “You try to cast that immobility spell on me, I knock your teeth out. My hoof outruns you aged mind thrice over, but mark my words, it will have the exact same effect as your favourite spell.” He ends his sentence with another smile.

Axiom’s eyes widen. “You… you just threatened my person…” The shock alone makes his horn dim again.

“Trust me, at this point, I’m ready for much more. But I didn’t come here to beat you up, and if you don’t give me a reason to, I won’t have to resort to beating old ponies.” Syllable’s smile dies away slowly. “Although, given that you just called yourself a skilful magic user, my conscience wouldn’t be too bothered if the need to defend myself were to arise.”

The rage building up inside Axiom is so huge that Reg can easily see it filling his whole body. He is practically a barrel of black powder that has somehow grown hands and tried to juggle a flaming torch. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he can formulate a sentence.

“You… despicable piece of… rotten corpse filled with… What do you want?”

Well, that was easier than I thought. “I wish to resign from the School,” says Syllable with a casual tone.

Axiom’s jaw drops.

“I have one condition, though. First I need you to give me some information about a certain mare. A mare called Chillburn.”

Syllable can practically see from Axiom’s eyes how the contradicting drives and instincts clash with differing thoughts and impressions in his mind. “How do you… I have never heard of any such person!” he finally manages to shout.

“And yet you visited her on several occasions during the last year. I heard this from a reliable source, but if you really want to prolong this encounter by arguing over facts like this, we’re really going to have a long session ahead of us.” For the sake of both of us, suck up your pride, you mummy.

A mighty fine blush rises on Axiom’s cheeks. He glares at Syllable for a moment before speaking. “If I indeed were to know something about this ‘Chillburn’... and I were to tell you this something… what guarantees do I have that you will hold on to your end of the bargain?” His voice is thinned by pure rage.

“I have a signed form right here,” says Syllable and pulls a piece of paper from his saddlebag for Axiom to see. “If you have something worth knowing, you can have this right now.”

The professor reads the paper quickly, and grumbles something. “I could have you suspended, at the very least, for the this encounter alone already. Threatening a senior professor is a serious offense.”

Reg only chuckles at that, and puts the paper away. “And who would believe you? It’s no secret that you hate me, and I can easily have a friend or two testify that I spent the whole evening in some bar or whatever. Can you boast the same, Professor?”

Axiom’s look is a literal proof of the fact that an idiom certainly can’t kill anypony, for if it could, would Syllable just about explode right now. Still, the glare manages to make him flinch. Another moment goes by in silence.

“I swear to you, after this evening, if I ever see you again, in the School or otherwise, I shall have your head.” Axiom spits on the ground. “What do you want to know about that whore?”

Syllable’s jaw clenches. “I’ll let that last word slip this one time... but if you call her that again, our deal is over.”

A wicked grin stains Axiom’s face. “Oh… is that the name of the game you’re playing. How intriguing…”

“Just spit it out already,” says Reg. The old stallion’s eyes study Syllable with a renewed interest, and Reg doesn’t like the feeling one bit. “Start by telling me where she is,” he says.

“Oh, I will, if that’s what it takes to get you the hell out my School. Unfortunately I don’t know the current location of that… prostitute…”

“But you know where she used to live?”

Axiom smiles. “Conveniently, I do. You can have all her addresses I know. If you’re aim is to find her, though, they will do you no good.” Syllable tenses for a moment as the professor’s horn begins to glow, but he only produces a piece of paper and a pen from his suitcase, and begins to write down street names and numbers.

“How can you tell?” asks Reg. “Do you know for certain that she has left the city?”

Axiom finishes writing rest of the lines before answering. “I checked all of them during the first month of the year; they’re all empty or sold to new owners.” His grin is the most disgusting thing Syllable has ever seen. He takes the paper and tucks it into his saddleback without breaking eye contact with him.

“There are a few ways you can locate her though,” says the professor.

“Well…?”

“Hold on a minute… Why exactly do you want to find her? I know she has attributes that make her company most… alluring... but in the end, a mare is a mare, and once you’ve been inside one, you’ve pretty much covered them all.”

Keep on trying your luck, you ruin of a pony. Go on, see how much I can take. “My interest in her is not your concern.”

“Do you actually believe that you love her? Or that she might love you?” Axiom’s laugh is dry and filled with malice. “She knows no love! She never will! She can only corrupt, not foster, and she eats fools like you for breakfast.”

“It should be in your interest then to guide me to her as fast as possible, don’t you think?” Says Syllable with a chilly tone.

“Absolutely. Were I you, although I thank the Sun daily that I’m not, I’d start asking from the ponies who currently own the apartments.”

“What can they tell me?”

“Nothing. But they can lead you to the pony who can. From what I’ve been hearing, the mare left Canterlot in quite a hurry, for whatever reason. Anyhow, she couldn’t have sold the apartments without the help of some middlepony, and that middlepony might know where he is getting his instructions from.”

Reg makes a mental note and labels it as: “The Middlepony.” “Fine. What about the other way?”

“That one requires a bit more work but, seeing how you have been kicked out school now, I trust that you can find the time. A mare like Chillburn would never simply walk out of a city. She would have somepony transport her to whatever hellhole she has moved herself into. Find the coach driver, find the mare.”

Another mental note gets scratched inside Syllable's skull. “You have anything else to tell me?”

“Yes. You will fail. Whatever you do, whether you find her or not, you will fail. It’s in your nature, I can sense it, I have always sensed it. You will fail.” His smile dribbles bile.

Reg counters with cool contempt. “In any case, you yourself are already past the point of even getting to try.” After throwing his resignation at Axiom’s feet, he begins to back away, but doesn’t turn his back before he can disappear into the shadows. In the darkness, the professor stands alone, the chill of the night creeping inside his clothes and coat. He picks up the piece of paper, blows the dust of it, and neatly folds it into his suitcase.

He leaves the scene humming a happy tune.
***

The numerous beeswax candles fill the small apartment with soft light and sweet scent, not to mention the homely warmth. Despite the summer, nights can be cool for the inhabitants of Canterlot, who reside in the side of a mountain. But it’s not the candles alone that bring their heat into the household. On a mattress in the middle of the living room, two ponies radiate as if they were aflame themselves. A mare lies on her back as a stallion buries his head between her thighs. She moans every time his rough tongue slides inside her.

She cracks her eyes slightly to watch him sink his muzzle into her. Her lean body writhes and twists under the treatment, as if he could control her movements merely with his tongue. The mare opens her mouth as another deep moan travels through her throat, and arches her back so that she can push better with her hips. He lets her rub herself against his face, and draws in her scent in deep breaths. As he gives another quick lick to her clit, she screams in lust.

“Come here, love, come,” she says and smooths his short mane with her front hoof. “I want you deeper in me. Now.”

He opens his eyes while pulling back his tongue, sending another shiver down her spine. His muzzle is covered with her juices, and some of it dribbles on the carpet as he moves over to her. The mare realigns her hips better, and locks her hind legs around him as his tip brushes against her inner lips. They both move without hurry, calmly, enjoying of every second, of every ounce of pleasure that they can strip from each other. They are face to face now, with eyes closed, mouths devouring one another. Their hips push in unison, once, twice. Three times they manage to stay in chorus of swinging, but then their rhythm breaks as overriding pleasure replaces whatever was left of their consideration. From the collapse of the two bodies, a singularity of pure bliss emerges, one in flow and in feeling.

The mare sinks her teeth first into his shoulder, then into his neck, and finally she reaches for his right ear. Her tongue travels over his auricle, and past that deeper into him. The stallion moans and rams himself again and again into her, reaching deeper with every thrust until his balls become wet, too.

“I… I can’t hold much longer…” he says between the moans and panting. The squelching sounds are becoming more fervent.

“Take it easier, love… there’s no hurry…” her voice tries to sound soothing, but her own pleasure makes the effort difficult.

“I… I can’t... I’m gonna–” He loses it. Simultaneously his whole body tenses from hind legs to his neck, and his cock twitches inside her one last time before unloading a spray of seed, one after another, into her. The mare’s eyes tear open and for a moment, a disappointed scorn fills them. But as his limp body collapses on her, the sour look hides beneath her eyelids. For a while, the two bodies lay still on the mattress. A thick trickle of mixed fluids dribbels along her inner thigh.

“Lakey…” says the stallion quietly, his head resting against her mane. “I… I’m sor–”

“Don’t apologize,” says the mare. “At least not when you're still inside me.” Her voice strains to cover her annoyance, but Willow Fall notices it nonetheless, although he is not sure if he is supposed to. “Could you still… go on for a bit?” she whispers to his ear.

Fall swallows. “I could take some those herbs… I still have some left.”

The mare cringes. “Ugh, that plant makes your breath smell weird… And we don’t have anymore mint left to cover it up…” She sighs. “Never mind, then… Could you get off me?”

The disappointment in her voice makes his heart sink. He pulls free of her, and rolls onto his side while she stands up and goes to the bathroom. Fall lays on his side and watches her go, and punches himself mentally into the groin because he failed to pleasure her. He almost opens his mouth and offers his tongue to her again, but the magic is gone and anyhow, he knows that she only likes that as foreplay. His mood only grows darker when he hears her washing herself in the bathroom. She only does that right after sex when she wants to forget it.

After a while, the sounds in the other room stop and the mare walks back into the living room, where Fall is still laying. The candles throw shadows over both their faces. She sits down on a couch next to him. “Fall… I’m the one who should be sorry. I’m acting like a filly in her teens.” She lets her hoof caress his strong chest that heaves in rhythm of his breathing.

Fall stares at the ceiling. The dim light makes it appear to be farther away than is true. “No… I’d be mad too if you’d pull away from me before I was finished,” he says.

“Would you?” asks the mare, raising an eyebrow.

Fall shrugs on his back. “I don’t know, really. You’ve never failed to please me. I guess I could be a bit hurt.” He smiles faintly.

She lets a smile caress her lips, too. “It’s not that big of a deal, honestly. These things happen to all couples.” The mare’s brow furrows. “And if I recall correctly, this is the first time it happened to us.”

Fall keeps on staring at the ceiling.

“...is there something you’d like to share with me?” asks the mare after a while.

He sighs deep. “There is. But I don’t really know if you want to hear about it.”

Her hoof travels to his neck, and stops there. She can feel his strong muscles moving beneath the blue-grey coat. “It’s not about the School, then. You never refuse to complain about your assignments.”

“Not if they’re Axiom’s hoofwork, no.”

“You can tell me anything that bothers you, Fall. But I’m not forcing you.”

Celestia knows you could. Fall closes his eyes, and enjoys her gentle touch on his ear. “It’s about Reg.”

“Syllable? Did you have a fight with him?”

“In a way, yes. To be frank, we split.”

The mare blinks a few times. “Seriously? I thought you were the best of friends?”

Fall opens his eyes, and lifts himself up a bit, relaxing himself against the couch so that his head rests on her lap. “We have known each other for six years, but it feels more like twenty. He is like another brother to me.”

“When did you last see him?”

“About a week ago,” says Fall with a hollow voice.

She cringes, an empathetic look covering her face. “Ouch. That bad, is it? What happened?”

Fall quiets down for a while, and his eyes avoid hers. He is idly drawing circles on the floor with the tip of his hoof. “This might be a bit hard to explain… but there is this mare involved… but not in the way you might think.” At least I hope it’s not like you must think.

“Ah-h…”

Fall swallows, and tells her the whole story, starting from the Pre New Year Eve’s party at the School. He leaves out the bit where he himself gets involved with the mare, telling her that he separated from Reg before that, and tells the story as if he heard it from his friend afterwards. He tells her about the Gala and what Reg had told him happened there, and about the torment of the last six months that Syllable has faced. He tells her about the boxing match that took place a week ago, and how he hasn’t seen Reg since, not even on the courses they share together. She listens without interrupting, seizing her petting for the duration of the story. After he has finished, she says:

“How could you turn your back on him? In the state he’s in?”

Fall bites his lip, his eyes still averting her gaze. “It just happened, and later, the key dropped into my mailbox. That had been my last hope, I couldn’t believe he'd actually call my bluff.”

“You bluffed about splitting with your friend?!” The mare’s voice turns almost shrill.

Abruptly, Fall springs on all fours and turns towards the mare. “I had no idea what else to do! His eyes, you didn’t see his eyes! They were like cursed or something. Fevered. Famished.” His voice settles down slowly. “They weren’t his eyes. I had to go for a rabbit bunch.”

“A what?” asks the mare, raising an eyebrow.

Fall rolls his eyes. “It’s a boxing term. I had to fight dirty, I meant to say. I know it sounds horrible, but I panicked.”

The mare’s eyes go wide. “You? Panicked? I thought you didn’t even know the word!”

His head droops down. “But I do. He was talking of suicide, Lake. About hanging himself. And I couldn’t tell if he was joking. So I panicked.” His voice gets so quiet it almost disappears. “And now I lost my best friend.”

Honey Lake watches the stallion in front of her shriveling, almost withering away. It’s the first time she has seen him acting like this; it’s like watching a mountain topple.

“Look, Fall, maybe… maybe everything is not yet lost.” She feels like she should get closer to him, but somehow the sight of her trusted coltfriend crumbling just like that fills her with dread. It’s as if pure panic tried to invade her mind, and it's at that moment when she knows what Fall must have felt.

“But it is.” Falls voice is thinner than hair. “I visited his house the day after I got the letter. Empty, all empty. I asked the landlord but he knew nothing. I would ask his parents if they know where he is but they live far away, and I don’t know the address, even though I told Reg I did.” With a heavy thud, Fall falls on the mattress. “I have failed him.”

Lake opens her mouth, but can’t make out a single word. The desperation of Fall is so severe it’s starting to affect her, too. But there has to be a way, she thinks. There has to. There always is. She rubs her temple fervently, trying to kick some action to those lazy brain cells, but the shadow of hopelessness spreads like a weed. Her rubbing only succeeds in planting a seed of a headache into her.

Then a flicker of hope emerges from the mist. “Wait,” she says. “What did you say about that Professor? Axiom, was his name?”

“What?” mumbles Fall on the mattress.

“The Professor!” yells Lake. “You said that Reg would pay him a visit before you separated!”

“...to see if the old bugger knew where Chillburn went…” says Fall slowly as he raises his head. Suddenly, the light fill his eyes, too. But only for a second. “He would rather die than tell me anything.”

“And that is what marefriends like me are for,” says Lake. She answers Fall’s questioning look with a devious smile. “Let’s pay the good Professor a visit in the morning, shall we?”

***

It’s morning, and the Canterlot School of History and Linguistics is buzzing with ponies. Summer break ended a week ago, and corridors are now filled with freshcolts and fillies, ponies who have just made it through the School’s taxing entry exams. Like most new students in all planes and universes, they too seek comfort and security in large numbers, and although their behaviour is nothing short of natural, they still very aptly manage to block every corridor and hall in the building. Staff and senior students either try to guide them to the right rooms or simply fend them off like a flock of pigeons. Nonetheless, despite the occasional annoyance that they are causing for everypony, they are tolerated and helped to fit into their new and exciting environment by their betters. However, not all ponies think alike, as Professor Axiom so keenly demonstrates for the new ponies.

“Out of my way, you imbeciles!” he shouts and pushes through a group of five newcomers. One of them, a colt with yellow coat and blue eyes, in a showcase of simultaneously admirable courage and sincerity, apologies to the older stallion.

“Name! yells Axiom straight to the colt’s face. “Give me your name!”

“Ch-chirp T-tune, Pro-professor…” says the colt, his eyes wide and wild. The other four newcomers follow the scene with woeful confusion in their eyes.

“Tune… What a bloody stupid name…” The older stallion glares at the youth. “If you ever speak to me without my leave again, Tune, you’ll fly from this School faster than sound. Is that clear?”

Tune dares only to nod quickly in response. Axiom snorts at him and leaves the scene, banging shut his office door as he enters in. The four newcomers quickly gather around their friend, and leave the scene without even so much as whispering to each other before they’re absolutely out of earshot. They walk past Fall and Lake, who witnessed the whole scene around a corner.

Lake shudders. “Jeez… I thought your stories of him were mostly faked, but it seems to me now that you’ve been quite conservative. That professor is nuts!”

Fall looks at the fleeing newcomers, and just before they disappear into a staircase, a familiar recollection fills his mind; a picture of younger him and Reg fleeing from the mad professor’s wrath. A sad smile appears on his lips. “To be honest, I haven’t seen him that worked up for a while, either. He practically traumatized that lad just there.” Fall’s eyes return to Lakes. “I don’t think you should do this, Lakey. Not right now, at least.”

Lake purses her lips as she turns her eyes from Fall to the door around the corner. The dark wood is scratched and worn out on several places, most likely because of all the writings that have been wiped away from it during its existence. Another shudder travels through her. “I’m not going to lie; the plan seems a lot more susceptible now than it did yesternight.”

“Then let’s delay it. I swear, he is not that bad all the time. Mostly yes, but not everyday. One might even call him happy on the first day of every moon.”

Lake turns a questioning look on her coltfriend. “What happens on every first day of a moon?”

An uncharacteristically ironic smile stains Fall’s face. “Grades are announced.”

Lake cringes. “Oh my Celestia… How can they keep him here if he is actually like that?”

Fall shrugs. “It’s notoriously difficult to fire a member of the School’s staff, especially a senior member. Everypony loathes him, but as long as he doesn’t break the really important rules, like uses magic against other ponies, he is tucked safe behind the bureaucracy.” A warmer smile lights up his face. “Still, I hear he is going to retire at the end of the year, so there is that.”

Lake furrows her brow, and quiets down for a while. Finally she sighs. “I’m going to do it.”

Fall’s expression is a mixture of pride and anxiety. “I knew you would. You’re crazy and kind like that.” He kisses her lightly on the cheek. “Go on, then. And remember, if he gets too nasty, just leave. There is nothing he can do to stop you.”

Lake smiles bravely, and kisses him back on the lips. Her tongue gives a playful lick to his. “Don’t worry; I knew how to handle my dad and brothers when I was a little filly. I can handle one professor just as easily.” She smiles for one last time, and walks over the sinister door. Fall looks at her knocking it, and when a sharp voice inside orders her to come in, she disappears inside the lair of the beast. His eyes bury into the aged wood. Axiom. By Celestia, Luna, and Equestria I swear: If she comes out crying, I’m going to break that door and give your resign process a kickstart. He knows that he wouldn’t, not really, but the thought helps him cope with his restlessness.

***

Inside the office of Professor Axiom, Honey Lakey is crying helplessly. “...and that is why *sniff* I need to find Reg Syllable.”

Axiom studies the weeping mare over his table with a curious look. “So that you could have your vengeance upon him?”

“Yes!” shouts Lake, and the tears disappear as she angrily stomps her front hoof on the carpet. “He just ran off on me without even saying goodbye! That creep must pay for leaving me like that!” She clenches her jaw to look more angry.

Axiom smiles sympathetically at her show, resting his hooves on the great wooden table. Does he see through my act? thinks the mare suddenly. Did I overdo it? She keeps her stare nailed upon him, hoping that he is the first to flinch.

And he is. Axiom blinks a few times and leans over his table. “I am most sorry for your loss, dear miss Flower, although I must say that I’m by no means surprised to hear about your misfortune. I happen to be somewhat of an expert on Reg Syllable, having observed his life for six years now, and I can safely say that there never was a more hopeless case dropped onto my desk than him.”

You haven’t peeked at the mirror lately, then. “Please, you must help me set things right – that excuse of a coltfriend can’t be allowed get away with this.”

Axiom’s eyes narrow down. “I beg your pardon, miss Flower, but I ‘must’ do nothing.” A cold breeze travels in between the two ponies. “Besides,” continues the Professor, “you need not to bother yourself with a payback, I’m sure. Trust my word. Reg Syllable is going to get what he deserves, one way or another.” A nasty smile creeps on his lips.

Lake hesitates a bit. “Uhm, I wonder what you mean by that, Professor?”

Axiom ignores the question. “How did you get the idea that I, of all Syllables teachers, might know something about his current whereabouts?” He keeps on drilling his gaze into her mind, it feels to her.

“I already asked from a few others, and one of them told me that you knew where Reg is even when he himself doesn’t.” She shows her a sincere smile. “I thought that meant he was very close to you.”

The old stallion gives a short, dry laugh, and leans back in his chair. “A bit too close sometimes, I might add.” His eyes travel to a large cabinet that rests onto his left. She glances at the same direction and sees some papers spread on top of it. Axiom notices that, and his eyes jump back to her. “I think I have seen you before, miss Flower.”

Lake jumps a bit at the statement. “Oh? Really? Where would that be?”

“In the Angry Griffon. I eat there sometimes. You work there as a waitress, correct?”

“I… uhm… Yes, I do.” Lake tries desperately to remember if she has seen the Professor before, but she can’t recall his presence in the Griffon. That’s what you get for having the worst facial memory.

Axiom rests his chin on his hooves, apparently pondering something. “I must regrettably tell you that our dear friend Reg Syllable has… how should I put it… ran off for the greener fields?” The mare’s confused look incites another creepy smile from him. “He has another lover, miss Flower.”

Lake weaves a broken expression on her face. “No! It can’t be! He wouldn’t…” Tears begin to well up in her eyes again.

“I’m afraid it’s true. He told me himself, when we encountered a few days ago.”

A faint flicker travels past her eyes when she hears that. “Oh? You met him? Did… did he say where he was going?” Lake puts all the skill she has into her words, blinking at the same time with her big, wet eyes.

Axiom clears his throat. “He didn’t know that himself, which surely comes as no surprise to you. He ambushed me on the outskirts of the School, and told me he would resign.”

“He what?!” After seeing the professor’s questioning look, Lake quickly corrects herself: “I mean, that sounds so unlike him… The School is his life.”

“It’s not anymore,” says Axiom as he pulls a piece of paper from his drawer with his horn. “Here is the proof.” He floats the paper for the mare to read. She gasps when she sees the signature.

“So it’s true…” she says.

“And official, too,” says Axiom with a happy tone. Then he notices the mare’s raised eyebrow and coughs a few times. “It’s a loss for the School, no doubt. The colt did have some gifts, after all.”

Lake bites her lip as she tries to think another way to get the Professor to talk. He is acting way too nice for me. Either he tries to hit me or he is hiding something... perhaps both. “So, uhm… Do you know anything about this mare Reg was going after? Where she might live or something like that? If they ran off together…”

For a fraction of a second, Axiom’s eyes travel again to the cabinet and on the papers there, and Lake notices the slight anxiety in his eyes. “No, I have no knowledge whatsoever of her. I tried to ask about her when I met Syllable, as I was trying to convince him to stay. But his will was indomitable. There was nothing I could do to stop him.” A sad look covers his eyes as he puts Syllable's resignation form back into his drawer.

It seems that I’m not the only in here with a gift for acting. “So… there is no hope, then?” asks the mare. “No justice?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” says Axiom, his voice cheerful again. “The world has a way of straightening itself out in the end, after all.”

And you’re the living proof of that, right? “We can only hope.” Lake dries another faked tear of her cheek, and looks around the room with a minor interest shining in her eyes. “Do all the School’s professors have offices like this?”

Axiom follows the mare’s gaze as it travels around the room mostly covered with bookshelves. Only the cabinet and the great, heavy-built table seem to have something else than paper and books in them, but their insides are a mystery to the mare. The floor is covered by a thick rug made of wool, and on the right wall there is an oil painting of an old stallion unicorn who has similar looks to Axiom. The stallion is wearing a military uniform of some sort, and his stern eyes seem to follow Lake wherever she turns her head. Despite the painting, no personal items are visible, just pens, paper, an ink pot, and a few unlit candles. The curtains are open and the room is filled with sunlight, but still there is no dust to be seen anywhere, not even on the curtains.

“Most of the others are smaller, and few have as many books as I do,” answers Axiom, with a tiny bit of pride in his voice. “I’m the head of the History faculty, you see.”

The mare turns to study the painting better, making sure that he gets a good view of her rump. “Is that your father?” she asks after a while.

Axiom flinches and blinks his eyes off the mare’s hindquarters. “No, but my great grandfather, Gilded Mail.”

“He worked in the post office?”

Axiom smiles faintly. “Wrong again, although he did serve for a while as an communication officer. His last names refers to a type of armor, as is the custom with military personnel.”

“Ah-ha,” says the mare with a fascinated tone. “Was he a part of the Royal Guard?”

“In a way… but why is this of interest to you?”

“I'm just trying to get a grasp of you, Professor.” She smiles kindly, and winks at him. “You’re a mystical stallion, I find.”

Axiom seems a bit baffled by the notion. “Well I… have seen the world a bit, I can confess that. Perhaps some of that mystery has rubbed off on me.”

The mare takes a few steps closer to his desk, swaying her tail from side to side. Her smile turns a tad more playful as she bites her lip. “I may sound a bit demanding when I say this, but… don’t the School’s archives have a file on every student who has studied here?”

He tears his eyes off her tail and shakes his head a bit. “No, not exactly… the information is destroyed after five years of a student’s graduation… why you ask?”

“Well… Reg’s file might have information of where his parent’s live, right? I tried to get to see it earlier today, but the clerk said that I’m not authorized to see the files. So I thought… could you perhaps get that file for me?” She gives him her most pleading smile.

His face blushes slightly. “I, uhm… I suppose I could see to that… but of what interest do you have in his parents?”

The mare looks at him deep into the eyes. “He might’ve told them where he was fleeing with that slut. If there’s a chance that they know where Reg is, I’m going to check it.”

“You really do wish to make him pay, don’t you?” says Axiom, smirking. She nods slowly in response. He sighs theatrically. “Who am I to deny a lady of her vengeance? You shall have the necessary information at once. Would you like to come with me?”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s wise. I might’ve caused a bit of a scene with the clerk.”

“I can only imagine. You can wait here.” With that, he stands on all fours and exits the office. She can hear him humming something through the door. Stallions… they’re all the same. Wiggle your tail for them a bit and they’re on cloud nine. The mare walks over the cabinet, and begins to study the papers there.

***

Fall keeps on checking behind the corridor every 30 seconds or so, his movements nervous and erratic. It was fifteen minutes ago when he left his office. What the hay is Lake doing in there? Did he tie her up or something? Why does he seemed so happy? The questions bounce in his mind only incite more questions. After ten more minutes, he sees Axiom returning, but this time he is not humming. The professor opens the office door and disappears inside. Minutes keep on piling on top of each other as Fall stares at the aged door, but no matter how hard he tries, he just can’t see through it. He shortly considers eavesdropping, but he knows from experience that the door is too thick for that.

After another five minutes, the door opens and Lake steps out with Axiom behind her. They’re both smiling. After exchanging a few words, Lake giggles girlishly and whispers something to his ear. The Professor blushes a bit. It’s then that Fall notices how painfully he himself is biting his lip. Finally, Lake leaves the Professor, who disappears behind his door. The mare walks casually to Fall, but before she can get behind the corner, Fall blurts: “How did it go?”

Lake frowns at him. “I’ll tell you in a minute. I just want to get as far from that office as possible. And get me a pen and paper from somewhere.”

Fall opens his mouth, but seizes his automatic question before it can make an idiot out of him. Instead, he stops a passing young mare and asks her for the items that Lake mentioned. “Sure thing,” says the mare happily, and reaches for her saddlebag. Soon Fall receives a pencil and a page of a notebook, which he hooves over to Lake.

She shakes her head. “You keep them and write down what I say.” Lake turns over the other mare. “Can we the pen, please? It’s important and we’re in kind of a hurry.”

“No problemo; I got plenty of those,” says the mare.

“Great, thanks!” says Lake to her. “Now let’s get going,” she continues, and starts to walk away with Fall behind her. They make it to the staircase before Lake speaks again.

“Okay, here it goes: Smith’s Road 31 A, Blueberry Street 4, Celestia’s Square 8.”

Fall scribbles the street addresses down as the paper floats in front of his face. After those, Lake names a list of company names, some of which Fall recognizes as transport firms. It’s not that easy to walk down stairs while writing, but Fall manages the task respectfully, although once he bumps into an elderly mare. “I’m terribly sorry,” he says to her as they get of the marble stairs. The old mare only shakes her head and continues on her way. “Will you now tell me what’s going on?” he asks Lake as they get into another corridor.

Lake tells him in detail what happened inside Axiom’s office, how she sent him away so that she could study the papers that clearly had something to do with Chillburn. “He had plenty of notes about her; photos, addresses, and some dates that I couldn’t say what they meant. It seems that she was more to him than just some company in the bed.”

A disbelieved expression masks Fall’s face. “Really? That’s… Wow.”

“What is it?”

Fall rolls his eyes. “I just find it surprising that the old demon could actually love somepony.”

A worried expression spreads on Lake’s face. “I didn’t say anything about love; I think he has stalked her. The pictures looked like they had been taken secretly, and he had these weird, random remarks spread all over his notes about her.”

“Do I want to know what they said?”

Lake shakes her head, and Fall can see a tiny speck of fear and disgust in those bright eyes. That’s what I thought, he thinks. Axiom, you’re one damned pony, that’s for sure. “So now that we have Chillburn’s addresses, what do we do with them? Reg told me that she had most likely left the city a while ago.”

“They’re the best lead we got. If we go check them out, perhaps we’ll get another.”

Or perhaps we’ll only end up chasing our own tails. “And why are these companies important?”

They’re almost in the lobby now, but a brake begun a few minutes ago and the corridors are filled with ponies, which slows down their progress. Lake settles herself behind Fall so that he can make way for both of them. “Axiom had headed them as ‘what CB might’ve used to travel’. That seemed a reason enough to memorize them.”

Fall pushes gently but insistently through the mass of bodies. “You really did make yourself useful back there.” Fall glances behind himself. “Are you sure that he didn’t suspect anything?”

Lake smiles confidently. “It was easy. It turns out I don’t need a stage to act convincingly. And a bit of tail swinging did no harm, either…”

Fall’s brow furrows. “I’m not sure that was completely necessary…”

“Well I think it was, and it’s done now so that’s that,” says Lake, her voice a bit hurt by Fall’s expression.

He sighs. “Look, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m grateful that you did this for me, Lake, I really am. Because of you I now have a chance to find Reg, however slim that is.”

As they walk side by side again, Lake moves next to him and plants a kiss on his neck. “You’re welcome, love. I’d do it all over again for you.”

Fall nuzzles his muzzle on her mane, and together they walk through the main doors. “There’s this one thing that bothers me slightly,” he says as sunshine greets them outside.

“Oh? What is it?”

“It’s nothing, really. Perhaps Axiom just forgot. He is old, after all.” Fall smiles at Lake’s questioning expression. “The School’s archives don’t have knowledge of our past; it’s an egalitarian thing. That past also includes our parents’ addresses, and Axiom should’ve know that.”

Lake ponders on that for half a second, and then ignores her doubts. “Yeah, he probably forgot that. Anyway, do you want to know what he keeps on his wall?”

“That painting? I’ve seen it plenty of times, believe me. There are theories about it, but nopony really knows who–”

“–It’s his great grandfather,” says Lake with a smile. Fall’s eyes go wide.

“How the hay did you–” he begins as the two disappear into the city. Professor Axiom, peeking behind the main doors, watches them go as long as he can, his eyes gleaming in the shadows. Finally, he closes the door with a thud.

After he has made it back to his office, he sits on his armchair and turns it so that he can see through the window. The sun shines straight to his face, but doesn’t feel it’s warmth. The birdsong coming from his windowsill reaches his ears, but he doesn’t hear the beauty of it. All that fits into his mind now is a recollection of a face, a laughing face. It’s laughing at him.

And he thinks: For my life, I will not let that happen to me again.

Never again.

His horn pulls a paper from his desk drawer. So much like Fall to send his whore to do his dirty work. Syllable at least had the balls to come face me himself. He studies the paper against the sun, and its shadow covers his face. It’s fortunate that I had the results of my little searching hid behind lock and key. Otherwise I would’ve had to blow that whore’s cover and ruin the game. But now we all get to play a bit; Fall, Syllable, Chillburn, and me. It’s too bad that our playfield shall be such an insignificant little village, but at least we can have a little more privacy that way. The paper, titled as ‘possible destination of CB’, has eleven village names written on it. Ten of those Axiom has already scratched over. His shadowed eyes drill into the last name with such an unnatural glee that the word becomes imprinted on the back of his skull.

The word is Ponyville.

Splinters belong to dreams.

In the absence of sunlight, Chillburn’s eyes shine like a pair of embers. The pegasus stallion with dark grey coat and blue-silver mane steals a long glimpse of those eyes as he raises his jug of cider to his lips. The amber eyes don’t break the contact even while the sweet and sour liquid fills his throat. It’s only after the stallion has emptied half of his drink, and wiped the spills off his mouth with the tip of his wing, that he answers the mare’s question.

“As amazing a story as it would without a doubt make, I must give you the night’s first ‘no’,” he says. ”Try again.”

Chillburn smirks at him. A funny little bird, this one. Not many a male has said ‘no’ to me, let alone so openly hinted at repeating his mistake. “Well… even if you didn’t get your name by an accidental thunderbolt, which would conveniently explain your protruding mane, I still wager that lightning has some connection to you.” She weaves an overly naive expression on her face. “Could it be because you’re so fast?”

The stallion rolls his amber eyes. “That goes without saying, now. But it’s not the whole truth; strike number two.”

Chillburn frowns a bit, and takes a sip of her own cider. “Hmph, fine. Perhaps I shall try a different route. ‘Lane’ might refer to… the way you fly?” she finishes, raising an eyebrow.

Thunderlane chuckles and leans back on his chair, balancing himself with his lean and wiry wings. “I know how to fly straight, if that was your point. It’s not the reason of my renowned name, though. Strike th–”

“–I know how to count, thank you very much,” she interrupts.

Thunderlane only smiles his easy smile, and despite the slight annoyance that it’s causing her, Chillburn can’t deny how attractively he wears his grin. “I’d say it’s my turn to show off my deductive capabilities,” he says. “Just give me a sec to kick my brain around a bit.”

“Don’t bruise it too badly – I’m sure there is some use for it,” she says with another smirk. He flashes another smile before turning his eyes into the evening above. As he concentrates on guessing the origin of her name, Chillburn uses the opportunity to observe the other guests of the little cafe in which they’ve spent the last half an hour.

Most are young, perhaps just over their twenties, full of joy and life. They’re also all divided into couples of males and females. I guess it wasn’t by pure coincidence that he chose this cafe for our first date. The place practically oozes romanticism. Even the napkins have little hearts stamped on them.

“Okay, here it goes,” says Thunderlane abruptly as he stomps his chair on all fours again. “You had severe temperature changes as a filly. First you might be cold as ice, the next you’d get fever that burned your mane out.” His eyes look intently at her.

“Is that really the best you could come up with?”

The pegasus blinks a few times while her stare stays steady. His eyes look like honey. Or gold. Or honey poured over gold, she thinks idly.

“Just warming up, you know… how about…” Suddenly, his eyes flicker. It’s like watching the sun flare. “Your name is a mix of your parents! he says confidently. “One was Burn, the other Chill. Right?” He leans slightly over the table.

She only shakes her head, extremely ponderously, letting her autumn curls slide on and off her lean shoulders. The shine in his eyes dims a bit, but doesn’t die out. “Guessing the origin of your name is harder than I thought,” he says after a while.

Chillburn sips her cider again. The cool glass feels good on her lips. “Names tell who you are. They’re as easy to read as the pony carrying them.”

Thunderlane raises an eyebrow. “Now where did that come from?”

“Neighzsche. Have you read his works?”

The stallion shakes his head. “Nope, never heard of the fellow. I mostly read magazines. And Daring Do’s novels, of course.”

An honest one, although mayhaps a bit less on the cultured side. But I’m on the countryside now, so in the practical sense I shouldn’t count it as a minus. “What magazines, if I may enquire?” she asks.

Thunderlane shrugs. “Pretty much all of them that have something to do with flying. The Aerial Tidings, The Weather Report, Cloudsdale Daily… You name it, I read it.”

“I see.” A silence descents between the two ponies. From the corner of her eye, Chillburn can see an earth pony mare raising on the outdoor stage, carrying a cello. I didn’t know that the village had a cellist. It’s a wonder how such a small town can hide secrets like that, even after all these months. The grey mare settles herself comfortably with her instrument, takes a quick look at her audience, flicks her raven mane out of the way and begins to play.

The tune is fierce. No, it’s softer than a dream, a wish, a prayer. Now it boils again, sears the melody with an agonizing beauty, whips the flesh out of harmony only to let it grow once again like a rose trapped in a blizzard. The growth is slow, painful, and utterly fantastical. It fills the air, it becomes the air, it flows into Chillburn’s mind as if it was born there, as if it was meant to live there. Its touch is the dream inescapable, the simulacrum of life eternal.

“Uhm, Chillburn?” asks Thunderlane. “You okay?”

The mare’s glazed eyes blink as if awakened from tranze, and with a hazy certainty she becomes aware of the fact that her mouth is wide open. She closes it quickly and turns from the stage back to Thunderlane, whose questioning look makes a faint blush arise on her cheeks.

“I… I just got lost into that mare’s music. She… she plays really well.” She is Beethoofen reborn. The music keeps on lulling her mind to drown, but she blocks the alluring notes for now.

“Yeah, Octavia’s alright. I like the old Scratchy better, tho.”

Chillburn’s eyes go wide. “You mean that there is somepony in this village who plays even better than she?”

Thunderlane’s wings stiffen suddenly as he tries to sign something that Chillburn can’t make sense of even if her life depended on it. “What's got into you?” she asks, stunned.

“Don’t say that out loud here,” he whispers, apparently trying to talk without moving his lips. Seeing her look, he sighs and bends over the table to whisper to her: “They’re kind of competing all the time and are really sensitive about it, so… it’s not that good of an idea to compare them like that in public.”

“But you just said yourself that you prefer this Scratchy over her…?”

Thunderlane winces painfully. “Well, uhm… It’s different, you know? I didn’t say Vinyl Scratch is better, not as such, I just… said I like her more.” He thinks for a while, and then adds: “Sometimes.”

Chillburn looks at him for a while. “I kind of understand your point. Anyhow, could you perhaps bring me to hear this Vinyl Scratch sometime, so that I could compare these two masters of music?”

Thunderlane's eyes lighten up instantaneously. “Of course! That’d be awesome!” He furrows his brows deeply and rubs his chin with a hoof. “I think… that Scratchy plays at this club in a few days. Have to check that out for sure!”

Chillburn smiles at his eagerness.“Come pick me up the same time as today, then.”

“Sure. Until that… I still have one guess left, in what comes to the story behind your name.” The pegasus grabs his cider, and prepares to swallow the rest of it.

Chillburn’s eyes show the tiniest flicker. “How about we cut the games and I’ll tell you that at breakfast?”

Thunderlane almost drowns in his drink; Chillburn has to stand up and slam him on the back a few times before he can breathe properly again. The event attracts a few amused glances, but soon enough they’re both sitting again, although it’s now his turn to blush.

“Sorry about that,” he says and flashes an awkward smile.

She only smiles back. “It’s quite alright. Am I to understand your reaction as consent, then?”

He coughs one more time before answering. “There is this pancake recipe my mother taught me when I was a little colt. They say that a few things in Ponyville come as close to perfection as the Apple family cider and my pancakes.” His wings stiffen again, although this time in a more delicate fashion. “There’s no way I could deny that taste from you.”

She can’t help but giggle at that. “How sweet. I do hope your pancakes aren’t the only thing worth tasting that you have to offer, though.” She practically feels how his wings harden. I wonder if it’s true what they say about pegasi and their wings, how they can cum just from stroking them alone. A prospect worthy of exploring, I’d say. But not yet. “I have to say, this cider certainly comes darn close to the perfection you talk of.” She slowly takes another sip, making sure he can see how the liquid makes her coat quiver as it travels down her delicate throat.

It takes him a few seconds to realize it was his cue. “Uhm… right! Yeah, Applejack said that this year’s harvest was especially juicy.” He notices her questioning look, and continues: “She is one of the Apples.”

“Do you know the family well?”

Thunderlane shrugs. “I dunno, I guess? I know everypony in Ponyville just the same. Everypony here does.”

“Not everypony,” she says a bit more quietly.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that! Ponyville is an easy town to make friends in. Besides, you’ve been here only for, what, three months?”

“Closer to four, really,” she answers. “It’s quite strange. In Canterlot I always knew how to approach other ponies, I always knew how to make friends. It came by instinct. But out here…” Why am I telling this to him? I never talked like this to my clients. She sighs, and tries to take a sip of her drink, only to find the jug empty.

Thunderlane notices that. “Right, it’s my turn to buy a round. Hey, Rime! Bring us another two big ciders!” He waves at the waiter, and the white stallion nods back at him. “It just takes time to settle in, I’m sure,” he says, turning his attention back to her. “You said you were a waiter in the Big C? Serving to all those high brows must’ve required some reservedness, right? We’re all more laid back here, so it’s no wonder you still feel a bit strange.”

Well, I certainly did my share of serving, although not in the sense I made you believe. In any case, I don’t think my supposed reservedness is the problem. Or is it? “You’re probably right,” she says and thanks the waiter who brings them their drinks. “How about you? Have you ever felt like leaving Ponyville?” she asks Thunderlane.

The pegasus chuckles. “Never. This is my home now, simple as that. Although every now and then RD makes me less happy about the fact. Her constant weather control drills… They can be something completely different.”

“RD?”

“Oh, right, not everypony has heard of Rainbow Dash yet. I sometimes forget that.” He chuckles again at her confusion. “It’s hard to understand if you haven't met her in person.”

Chillburn thinks a moment, and sips her cider. “Are you referring to that azure pegasus that keeps on bouncing on the sky all day long?” Her mouth twists a bit at his nod. “Perhaps it’s better that I keep my distance from her for now; my head gets dizzy just from watching her go.”

“Yeah… She tends to have that effect on ponies. One way or the other.”

The two quiet down once more. Octavia’s playing keeps on trying to occupy Chillburn’s mind with pure harmony, and for a moment she lets herself dip a hoof into it. The experience is more than stimulating... it’s overwhelming.

“Let’s dance,” she says. His smile drops when he sees the glow in her eyes. “Okay,” he answers, suddenly a bit insecurely. “What, uhm… You want to hold hooves or something?”

She stands on all fours and comes close enough to him to rest her front hoof on his neck. The touch makes Thunderlane’s heart beat with vigour. She leans over his ear, and whispers, “I’ll lead.” Her lips brush his auricle. “You follow,” she continues, heedles to his light gasp. “And tomorrow morning, both the perfection of your pancakes and the Apple family cider shall feel like a distant joke.” She pulls him onto his hooves.

“The night has only just begun.”

***

The night grows old with the rise and fall of the full moon. Underneath the great orb, the ponies of Ponyville close their doors, draw their curtains, and go to bed. Not all of them intend to sleep, though, and a few haven’t even made it to the insides yet; two figures are still walking along the main street without a hurry in the world. The conversation of the two ponies echoes in the empty street, spiced with the occasional giggling and chuckling. The air isn’t as cool as it used to be in Canterlot, but Chillburn doesn’t mind the change so much anymore. The warmth is more bearable when it can be shared.

They leave the small centre of the village, and after crossing a narrow stream they arrive at a house that lies just a few minutes walk from the market place. Thunderlane pretends to admire the building bathed in moonlight while Chillburn gets the key under the doormat.

“Uhm… I have to say; I’m kind of awestruck that you managed to rent this place from old Timber Weave,” says the pegasus. “I thought it was his policy to keep it in reserve for him and his wife, whenever she would return from her ‘extended vacation’.” He harrumphs. “I mean, everypony knows that she has left him for good, but I guess nopony has the heart to say that to his face.”

Nopony except me. And to be precise, I bought the house, but you’d only ask how I earned the money for that with a waitress's wage. “I managed to convince him that any house would go to ruin if nopony lived there for a while,” says Chillburn as she turns the key in the lock. “I think that deep inside, he knew that his wife wouldn't be coming back.”

“Figures. Well, the place is more useful with you inside, anyway.”

The door opens quietly, and reveals a dim hall. The two ponies step in and head to the living room. Thunderlane, during the few weeks he has known Chillburn, has learned to appreciate her taste of interior design. The moonlight that cascades through the open curtains gives just enough light to notice the simplicity of the apartment; a few sofas, a table, and a soft rug are the only artefacts covering the bareness of the comparatively large room. Not even paintings decorate the walls which, save a few candelabrums, are left blank. He asked the rationale behind her asceticism the first time he visited the house, but she explained the modesty with a similarly economical answer: “I just prefer it that way.”

“Should I light up some of those?” He asks, referring to the candles.

The shadows partly cover her grin. “No need for that. Not for my sake, anyway. I can manage in the moonlight.”

“Uhm, okay…?”

Chillburn leaves his question hanging in the air, and sits on one of the couches, leaning against the cushions. Her eyes study the stallion with keen interest; they seem to nail him on the spot. Thunderlane smiles a bit, although he is not sure if he is supposed to.
“Well…?” she says, her voice quiet as the dim around them. “Won’t you come sit with me?” She pats the back of the couch with a hoof.

He obeys without a hint of doubt, and settles himself on the other half of the piece of furniture. Somehow, the fabric seems more comfortable than before. His wings have hard time staying in shape. He expects her to speak, to say something, anything. But she only looks at him with those carmine eyes, keeps on sweeping his body with her gaze. The feeling is both disturbing and, in some very peculiar way, extremely arousing.

“So, uhm…” he begins, trying to think of something clever to say. “You prefer cold and dark over light and warmth. Is that a common trait in Canterlotians?”

She looks at him for a moment longer, and then lets her curls cut the eye contact as she turns her head. “The city is built on the side of a mountain. Cold is something everypony there has to get along with. And the dark… is a thing a pony can easily lose herself in.”

“Another phrase from that Neighzsche fellow?”

“No. It’s all mine.” She flicks her mane, and amidst the autumn colours, a pair of rubies shine at him again. “I’m not originally from Canterlot, though.”

He blinks, and shifts on the couch to better accommodate his moderately stiff wings. “Oh? I don’t want to call you out or anything, but didn’t you once say that you were born there?”

Chillburn licks her lips quickly. “I did. I lied to you about it.”

He raises an eyebrow, yet says nothing.

“It came by instinct, actually,” she continues, her voice still as the night. “I’ve lied so much in my life that I can hardly tell myself which part of it is true anymore.”

“...you’re not trying to pull my hoof now, are you?” says the stallion, a careful smile on his lips. “You seem like the most honest pony I’ve met.”

She looks at him straight into the eyes. What am I doing? Is it the cider talking now? Or have I become stuck in those honeyful eyes? Or am I… just doing what feels right? Without noticing it herself, she begins to circle her belly with a hoof as she leans her back against the couch.

Thunderlane swallows, and rubs his neck. “I haven’t actually been that honest with you either… I’m kind of pulling off my own feathers here, but I don’t actually read all the magazines there are on flying. More like I leaf through some of them. Sometimes.” His eyes rest on the carpet.

She can’t help but smile kindly at that. “I guess we’re all liars in some respects.”
Thunderlane raises his eyes off the floor and back to her “Yeah… I guess there’s some truth to that.” For a moment, his eyes seem to get lost in hers. “Look, Chillburn… I don’t really give a hay about where you come from.” The meaning of his words dawns on him a second after he says them. “I mean, I don’t mean that in a bad way! I care about you, not where you’re from, you see?” Again, he needs to actually say the words before he understands them. “I mean, uhh, I care about you like, uhh, you’re all cool and awesome and… uhh…” His gaze avoids hers as best as he can.

“Thunderlane…” she whispers.

He winces as if in pain. “...yeah?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

A switch turns on in Thunderlane’s mind. Or perhaps it gets switched off; perhaps both things happen at the same time. Whatever happens in between his temples, it has little relevance to his body, which seems to move on its own now. He moves himself closer to her, aligning his stiffening wings better against the sofa. Her front hoof slips under his armpit as the two bodies lock into an embrace, as their lips meet each other, hungry and starving. The first kiss is gentle, almost a brush, no more than a tiny sample. During the second they both close their eyes. It’s the third one that brings the tongues along – not as the centre of attention, not yet, but as a mild spice.

Chillburn wraps her other front hoof around his neck and pulls him deeper into the embrace. She can feel his rod getting harder by the second as it presses against her thigh, she can practically sense the blood surging into his member. But instead of allowing it to grow to its full length, she ties herself tighter against him, tangling her hind legs with his so that his meat can only squeeze in between their pulsing bodies. Instinctively he tries to fight for more room, but she only tightens her grip. Despite the slight discomfort the situation is causing him, Thunderlane abides, and submits himself to her way. His displeasure shrivels when she travels her tongue across his teeth.

Finally, after a series of lengthy kisses, she detaches her mouth from his just long enough to say: “Wait. I want to do it upstairs.”

His panting makes her curls sway slightly. The hunger in those amber eyes is declaring its discontent, but nonetheless he nods at her. Still, she has to push him a bit before he gets off her. As Thunderlane gets on all fours, his stallionhood finally finds enough space to bring about possibly the most formidable hard-on he has ever known. Chillburn tilts her head a bit to see better into his loins, and a girlish giggle escapes from her.

“How nice to see that all that talk of pegasi having smaller cocks than other races was utter rubbish. Or perhaps you’re a lucky exception?” She smiles mischievously.

He licks his lips, and raises his chin a bit. “What, you haven’t had the chance to check that out before?”

She shakes her head, her smile only growing more intense. “You’re the first bird I’m going to fuck.”

“A bird?” he asks, a slight annoyance shining though his voice.

“Aww, don’t get mad, little birdie. I can call you whatever you want me to, and likewise.” She stands up, and with one delicate motion, gives a slow lick to his right ear. The move makes his knees wobble. “Now, my little bird, be nice and fly to the bedroom. I have a little surprise waiting for you there.” She emphasizes her words by giving another lick to the corner of his mouth.

“Yes,” he whispers, the lust seeping through his voice is like honey. He spreads his wings to their full length, and with a couple quick beats, he disappears into the bedroom above. She can hear him crash on the bed there.

Chillburn takes a moment to breathe deep before heading to the stairs that begin next to the entrance of the hall. But her progress is stopped when she notices something white sticking out from under the front door. She squints at the door’s direction for a moment, but the moonlight isn’t bright enough for her to say what the thing is. A fleeting moment of curiosity makes her turn from the steps ahead and walk over to the front door, where she finds out that the mystical white object is nothing but a common envelope.

She stares at the letter for a moment. How strange. I should’ve noticed that when we came in. But it must’ve arrived after I left the house this morning; nopony delivers mail this late. Finally she picks the thing up with her teeth and brings it to the living room whereto the moon shines clearer. After putting the letter on the table, she notices that it has nothing but her name written on it. She doesn’t recognize the hoofwriting. It’s not from mother, then, nor from my middlepony in Canterlot. But nopony else knows that I live here. How odd, how very odd indeed. She keeps on studying the letter, but somehow she can’t bring herself to open it.

She looks at the white envelope one more time, and then grabs it with her teeth. She looks around for a moment, and tucks the thing into an open drawer which she closes quietly. After that, she crosses the stairs and enters the bedroom, where Thunderlane awaits, all laid out on her large bed. He makes no attempt to hide his stallionhood.

“I hope you didn't get any second thoughts?” he says with a grin. “Or do you think this ‘bird’ is a little too much for you to take?” His cock twitches noticeably.

The last traces of doubt leave Chillburn’s expression as she giggles at his remark. “Oh my… It seems that my little birdie has a sharp beak. We must do something about that.” She walks over to her nightstand, and pulls a black scarf from one of the drawers. The thing is tied to a knot. “Would you mind wearing this?” she asks, rolling the scarf around her front hoof.

A speck of uncertainty travels across his eyes. “A blindfold? I dunno about that… I haven’t tried anything like it before.”

“Rest assured; I’ll make it worth your while.” She tosses the piece of fabric at him. “First time for everything, right?” Her mouth opens a bit, and her tongue lolls on her lips. “Please?”

Thunderlane stares how her tongue covers those red lips with saliva, and a quiet gasp escapes his mouth. “Uhh… I guess I could give it a shot…”

“You won't regret it. And if at any point you feel like taking it off, just do it.” She tilts her head, and flashes a cute smile. “You need a hoof with that?”

“Nah, I’m good.” With a surprising nimbleness, Thunderlane uses his protruding wings to pull the scarf over his eyes. The fabric bends and accommodates to his head, and when he speaks, Chillburn takes a few steps to her right, to see if his head follows her.

“Do you always treat stallions like this on the first date?” he asks from the bedroom wall.

A content smile spreads on her lips. “No. This treat I save for the ones I find worthy of the experience.” Very carefully, she gets onto the bed. The strong strings underneath the mattress make it so that the thing barely shakes when another body gets onto it. “In where I come from, the blindfold is a very old tradition used on a first date.” With a skill brought by years of practice, she closes in on him without making a sound.

“In the place where you really come from?” he asks, turning towards her voice.

Silent as a cat, she circles into another direction. “The blindfold is usually worn by the pony who asked the other for the date. It symbolizes the way how we never truly see the other, especially not when we think we do.”

His head turns again, a bit more sharply now. His ears have tensed, she notices, and they move independently of his head, trying to locate her on the massive bed. But she remains invisible to him. “The symbolizing part is very concrete in your tradition, I’d say.” His voice is quieter, too.

“There’s another reason we wear it, too… When the eyes are blinded, other senses react more strongly. The smells, the touches, the voices – they all become keener. Sharper. Tenser.” The pegasus lies in the middle of the bed, visibly more alert now than when she came into the room. His wings, his ears, his limbs; they’re all more on the edge. Even his breathing is thinner than before.

“Ah-ha…” he says, very quietly. “I think I understand your tradition now.”

“Yes, you do,” she whispers behind him, and with one smooth motion, runs her hoof along the inside of his left wing. The feathers react immediately, first withdrawing under her touch, and then tensing again as she caresses them. Thunderlane lets out a mixed sound of a sigh and a grunt; his whole body flinches.

“So it is true what they say about pegasi wings,” Chillburn says with a normal voice, still calmly stroking his left wing. “How exquisite they must be. You make me jealous, Thunderlane.” Another stroke, another twitch from him, another moan of pleasure.

“You certain you haven’t done this before?” he says, voice thick with enjoyment.

“Never before. Canterlot has a limited supply of pegasi, and my home village has none. Your kind has always intrigued me, though.” This time, she plants a deep kiss onto his neck. The muscles under his clean coat pulse as her lips adore them.

“Oh my Celestia… ah… hmm…” His purring incites her to travel along his spine, planting kisses all the way down to the base of his wings. It’s there that she, for the first time in her life, lets her lips caress the wings of a pegasus. Their taste is… strange. They’re soft, but not like his coat is, or his lips, or his mane. Rather, they remind her of ice; licking them is like suckling an icicle, expect it’s not cold. Still, the association invades her mind, and she almost loses herself to slurping his wings then and there.

“Aaahh! Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gooosh! By Celestia’s– A-aaah…” His voice fades into blubbering nonsense as she devours her wings feather by feather. Trickles of gleaming saliva spread on their surface and connects the aerial appendages to her lips, only to be abruptly cut when her mouth moves along their whole length. And what an impressive length that is; as she works on them, Thunderlane’s wings unfold into their full glory, and she can hardly keep up with them. She brings her hooves for the work, too, stroking, petting, worshipping his wiry wings with her whole body. She is moaning now, too, and breathing heavily against his dark grey feathers.

For Thunderlane, it’s bliss. He feels like some ancient god that embraces the dedicated worshipping and absolute devotion of his subject. It’s as if he was flying on a sky clear as paper, reaching for the heights, only to plummet back in astounding speed. Random bursts of words, entangled in moans, flee his mouth. Suddenly, he can’t take it anymore. His back arches inwards and his wings explode into their utmost length; they reach a wingspan of over two meters. The wild motion almost makes Chillburn fall on her back, but she manages to stay atop her hind legs. When her eyes open, a famished gleam shines through. She spreads her own front hooves over his wings and sinks her lips onto the side of his neck, moving from there to the base of his ear as he bends back his head, submitting himself to her.

“Stay like that for a while,” she says, and detaches from him, moving on his front side. Inside his blindfold, Thunderlane cracks his eyelids, but the fabric blocks all the faint light that filters through the bedroom window. His whole body writhes and trembles, his every nerve is tensed to the extreme. But he can’t see a thing, nor can he hear anything but his own, heavy breathing. He feels his cock oozing precum, and an unusually thick trickle of the grey-white liquid wells on top of his member. As it twitches, a few drops fall on the blankets. A fire burns inside him, a primal urge to rip the scarf off his face, to seek out the mare, and fuck her until he faints. Despite the drive, the pegasus stays on a sitting position, his wings spread as wide as they get, and with his front hooves digging into the sheets.

It’s about when the drive inside him is a mere thought away of driving him insane that Chillburn, with a slow lick, travels her tongue over the length of his member. The mare now lies on her stomach, and rests her front legs underneath herself.

“Ah! A-a-aaahh…” he moans, and pushes with his hips. She doesn’t back off, but lets him sink himself into her warm and moist mouth. He reaches up to half of his length before the limits of his upward position stop him. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t get any deeper into her, not without risking losing balance and tumbling over. Nonetheless, he obeys her order, and keeps his stance, humping with his hips as best as he can.

“Good birdie,” she mumbles with his cock in her mouth. With one smooth motion, she takes in his whole length from tip to base.

“Aaaa, a-aaahhh, hmmhhm…” Her mouth worships his cock just like it worshipped his wings. The only difference is that it feels about a thousand times better. He is not flying anymore; he is floating. And the pure pleasure is the air that carries him. He lets her do her work, to lap his tongue against the underside of his cock and balls. All he concentrates on is staying still like a statue, like a statue of a god. She keeps on bobbing her head on his cock, deepthroating him with every stroke, never once scraping him with teeth. He might as well cry, for fervent moaning and grunting serve as a poor vehicle for expressing his delight.

For Chillburn, the experience stirs up welcomed memories. His taste is decent, although I still prefer his wings over his meat. He seems healthy enough, but appearance can be deceiving. I’m better off taking him into me before he becomes too worked up. I’ll wager we’ll have plenty of time to test his limits some other time. With an audible pop, Chillburn lets his cock fall out of her lips and poke at her cheek. She continues by nibbling the side of it and fondling his ball with a hoof, all the while keeping her eyes on his blindfold. I bet you’d like to tear that thing right off by now, to get a good view of me suckling your dick. Go on. Do it. But he only cringes in pleasure.

“There’s something I want you to do for me, Birdie,” she says with a playful tone.

“Ahhh… anything, just anything… hmmmmhhaaah….”

“Fuck me until one of us faints.” She gives one more lick to his tip. Thunderlane’s front hooves tremble as they press into the sheets, and a mixed expression of wild lust and satisfaction masks his half-covered face. “Yes,” he says with hoarse voice. “Oh dear Celestia, yes.”

Chillburn leaves his cock for now and turns on her back, pulling him closer with her hind legs. The stallion fumbles a bit as he moves himself over her, landing his front hooves on either side of her lean form. But before he can do anything else, the mare pushes the top of his head with her front hoof. “Not yet, birdie. Use your tongue first.” The stallion obeys silently, starting by planting a few light kisses on her chest, then on her belly, and finally on her outer lips. He lies on his stomach now, front hooves intertwined with her hind legs and his muzzle resting in between her thighs. Chillburn pulls a few large pillows to support her back and neck so that she may watch him sink his tongue into her.

Her scent fills his nostrils stronger than ever before; its allure makes his cock twitch against the sheets. It’s the first time he goes down on a mare with eyes blinded, and for a moment he is afraid that he is going to blow the moment. But his tongue knows the drill better than his eyes do. He starts by giving a few slow licks to her labia, circling her lips with smooth strokes. Bit by bit he moves closer to her clit, not yet increasing his speed nor pressure. He feels her hind legs trembling around his head, bending over his neck and back, digging into his coat. Her slight moaning and gasping fill his ears. The lack of visual aspects and data leaves so much more room for the stallion’s other senses to grow; it brings the experience into a totally another level for him. It’s an immersion of imagination devoid of colours – it’s up to his nose, his ears, and his coat to paint the picture with something else.

“Hmmmhh… Aaah! A-a-ahh…” The mare moans, entangling her front hooves in the blankets and sheets. Her eyes are open, and the glowing blush of her cheeks highlights the heat in them. She wants him to go faster, to stop his teasing. An urge to stuff his muzzle into her bangs the confines of her head, but she ignores it. He is better than I thought… Not the best I’ve had, but comes very close… His tongue makes a sudden twisting motion over her bud, at the same increasing pressure just perfectly. “Aaahmmmaaha…” Scratch that. He is the best so far. The mare closes her eyes, and lets the waves of pleasure wash over her.

Thunderlane’s lips crack a short smile at her reaction, and he repeats the motion. This time she screams as if ravaged by pure bliss. Hearing her cry out like that makes his shaft spurt a fresh trickle of precum; the sheets under his hips already have a formidable stain on them from the way he has been humping them. I might come just from fucking this fucking bed, he thinks, and almost chuckles at the idea. Instead, he covers her whole pussy with one long, hard lick of his whole tongue.

“Haa, aaahh!” She says in high-pitched voice, and tightens the grip of her hind legs.

Thunderlane’s muzzle presses deeper into her moistness, and somewhere in his mind a quiet voice whispers that breathing is becoming slightly taxing now, but he doesn’t care. His tongue laps at her pussy, slithering in between her lips and travelling across her jewel every now and then. Her lean and nimble body tenses all around him, closes around his head as if forced by some invisible power. He can feel the tension building inside her like a volcano, and automatically he doubles his efforts.

“Aaah, mhhm ahahha ah-h-h-ahhaamh,” she blubbers, her voice shrill, and suddenly, her whole body unfolds in a wild rapture of screaming pleasure. The orgasm is more powerful than she dreamed to hope, it makes her back arch inwards in symmetry of her neck. The few of pillows piled behind her collapse, and she falls through the ruins of satin construction, shaking like a flame in whirlwind.

After several minutes, her hind legs relax so that Thunderlane’s brain gets enough oxygen to realize how badly he really needed that oxygen. He is gasping as heavily as she is, his head resting against her thigh. Sticky juices cover his whole muzzle, his lips, his nose; but he is only distantly aware of the fact. “You…” he begins, but has to swallow a mouthful of that thick liquid before he can finish. “D’you need a… a break or somet–”

“–Thunderlane. Get over here. Now.” Her voice is dreamy, but it still hides the cutting edge that characterizes it so. “I want you. I want you I want you want you so much right now.”

Behind the scarf, Thunderlane’s eyes ignite. He uses his wings to get up faster, although he has to stop when he feels the mare moving underneath him. For a second he gets confused, but when her wet rump presses against his pulsing member, a smile dawns on his mouth. I should've known she’d prefer to do it old school. He uses his front hooves to guide himself onto her entrance, and then, he simply leans forward and sinks in half of his length in one go. They’re both soaking wet, so the motion is smooth as a dream.

“Aghmmmhh,” she moans, and pushes with her hips against him, urging him to go deeper. Thunderlane had promised himself that he’d start slowly, that he’d peel every ounce of pleasure from her this night, but it all becomes meaningless when she drives herself into him. Wrapping his front hooves around his shoulders for better supports, the pegasus backs away his hips, almost slipping completely out of her, and then rams his meat back in. Their screams intertwine in the air, and just like that, they start rutting like it was the only thing they were born to do. Faster with every thrust, the two bang against each other, sweating and groaning.

Thunderlane tries so hard to keep himself going, tries so very deeply to slow down, to detach just slightly from the euphoria. He might as well try to put out a flaming house by throwing snowballs at it. She is not the tightest mare he has fucked, but she squeezes him just right, as if she knew when to contract her muscles for him. His muzzle invades her curls, finds the delicate neck underneath, and without thinking about it he bites her.

“Ah!” she cries out with a shrill voice. His teeth close on her coat again, a bit harder this time. “Yes! Yes yes yes yesahhahahmmh…”

Her fervent moaning is too much for him to bear; it’s the final drop that breaks the dam. Thunderlane feels the orgasm hitting a second before his cock twitches one last time and unloads its contents deep inside her. He keeps on ramming against her for a whole minute before the flood finally subsides, and at that point his cum flows all over her thighs and his hips. The bedclothes are a mess and so are the two ponies that collapse on each other, side by side. He remains inside her, twitching every now and then as even more of his seed trickles out. For a moment, they can only pant.

“OhmigoshCelestia…” says Thunderlane, his words climbing atop each other as they strive to leave his dry throat. “Oh my gooooosshhh…”

Chillburn feels his breathing washing over the back of her neck, and a tired smile spreads on her lips. “What was that, birdie?”

A violent shudder travels over the pegasus. “That wasn’t real. Sex doesn’t get that good.”

The mare chuckles. “You don’t know the half of it, Thunderlane. But with time, you might.” With a faint grimace, she detaches from him and turns around. The blindfold is still firmly on, she notices. “There are such depths I could take you to.”

An exhausted grin reveals the stallions clean white teeth, but the content expression is soon blown off. “Uh, I can go at it again tonight, you know? I just need a while, a little break. I mean, you were so good, so utterly, amazingly, absolutely awesomely–”

She silences him with a hoof. “Hush now, little birdie. There’s no hurry, no hurry at all. Let the silence do its work.”

His ears raise up again, and his head relaxes against a pillow. When her hoof leaves his mouth, a sticky string of her own juices follows it. She wipes it off on the sheets, and gets closer to him, snuggling over his extended front hoof. He lets her settle herself comfortably, and then extends another hoof over her hip. The scent of sex fills his nostrils, and her soft coat feels incredible to the touch. The pegasus’s wings are laying idly on the blankets, and as the quiet fills his ears, every muscle in his body relaxes one after the other. However did I get this lucky? he thinks as a warm afterglow envelopes him. However did I deserve this?

Outside the bedroom, in the night, only the full moon stands witness as the two ponies lose themselves into each other’s closeness. The silvery celestial body floats above the dosing village as the lone sovereign, guarding the dreams of the sleeping. However, one of the ponies doesn’t submit under it’s gaze, doesn’t unfold the secrets of his subconscious to its deceiving beauty. Underneath the divine instrument, a stallion stays still, his eyes nailed to the glowing orb. I wonder if you’re looking at me right now, Princess Luna, he ponders. I wonder if you see what I do, or as I do, whether you even care to know what my eyes reveal. His eyes stare at the moon, unflinching, unyielding. But the sky remains quiet. That’s what I thought.He blinks, and turns to look at the house wherein he knows two ponies to linger. This time, his gaze narrows down, almost disappears beneath the eyelids. His right eye shows signs of a fresh bruise, but the swelling has relieved quite a bit during the few days. From the shadows, he looks at the front door of the house. A picture rich with splinters fills his mind, and for one feverish moment, it almost turns into reality. But it never does.

“Splinters belong to dreams,” he whispers, and disappears into the night.

Let me be your wings.

The dark brown stallion studies Willow Fall, the rim of his straw hat shadowing his green eyes in the dim of the bar. “I might’ve heard the name, indeed I might’ve. The question is, what’s the mare to you?” The old stallion’s voice is rough, and somehow it reminds Fall of worn-out leather.

“I told you already; I’m looking for her so that I may find my friend, Reg Syllable.” Fall’s voice remains calm, but under the reasonableness roams a beast of frustration. You’ve already drunk four big ones for my loss, old-timer. It’s time I get some bloody answers.

“Funny thing. The fellow who came to me about a week ago told me the same story. Was looking for a friend, he was, not the mare, not as such.” The grey stallion’s eyes shine like jade, hard and cold. “I told the bugger nothing. Why should I treat you any different?” He takes a long sip of his beer, never once taking those emerald eyes off Fall.

Fall blinks a couple of times, just to make his companion believe that he is getting the better of him. “Let me guess: The bugger you talk of was grey like ash and acted like he’d swallowed a bucketfull of the stuff? And his cutie mark was a broken chalk?”

The brown stallion grunts, and a coarse grin spreads on his face. “You’ve met the fellow, then. Ai, he tried acting all high ‘n’ mighty on me, telling how he’s all big professor and whatnot. A typical unicorn, I might say.” The grin melts away into the crinkles of his face. “I told him to go buck himself.”

I only wish I’d been there to witness that. “Don’t mistake one horn for another. I haven’t acted arrogantly towards you, have I?”

“Nope, you haven’t. Makes you a bit proud, doesn’t it?” A mocking smile rises from the gorges of the old stallion’s face.

A slight blush of embarrassment, spiced with anger, colors Fall’s expression. “You’re the one who is mocking me, not the other way round!”

The stallion chuckles, and the voice sounds like he had gravel in his lungs. “Hehheeh, yep, might be I am toying with you a bit. Whatcha gonna do about it, though?”

This is a trap, isn’t it? He is testing me for some reason, trying to agitate me. But why? Fall smiles a forcedly. “How about I buy you another drink and wish that you drown in it?”

More gravelly chuckling. “Nah, the next round’s on me. Oi, Feathers! Bring us a couple more, will ya?” The grey stallion knocks the table with a hoof and looks at the pegasus mare behind the bar, who answers: “Sure thing, Jade!”

Fall furrows his brows. “Jade? Your actual name is Jade?”

“Blah! Just a stupid nickname these youngins like to call me,” answers Jade. “Ya gotta problem with that?”

Fall rolls his eyes. “Stop trying to pick a fight with me; it’s starting to get annoying.”

Jade empties the rest of his drink, and when the glass hits the table, something has changed in his eyes. It’s as if a layer had peeled off them, revealing a speck of sympathy behind. “I’m sorry about that, buddy. I just had to know how easy ya are.”

Fall raises an eyebrow. “Easy? I’m not sure you really know what you mean with th–”

“–easy to ignite, ya fool!” Jade coughs as a few surprised glances turn towards their table. “You have to be careful, you know?” he continues with a calmer voice. “Play it smart and so on.”

The pegasus bartender flies over their table and sets two fresh pints between them. Jade goes for the frosty drink at the moment it hits the wood, but Fall only keeps on frowning at him.

“Can I get anything else for you guys?” asks the mare cheerily. Her wing beats make the beer in Fall’s glass ripple.

“We’re fine thank you,” he says, without taking his eyes of Jade. He continues only after the pegasus has flown on her way. “What do you mean, ‘play it smart’?”

Jade lets out a contented sigh as the cold glass departs his lips. His eyes seem indeed softer now. “How about we begin fresh, lad? Ya seem like an upright colt to me – for an unicorn – so me thinks it’s okay for me to lend you have hoof.” He bends over the table, and lowers his voice. “I’ve met that Chillburn mare alright. Gave her a lift around New Year’s Eve.”

Fall’s gaze lights up instantaneously. “Where did you drive her?”

“Trainstation.”

In one hopeless moment, Fall’s shoulders collapse with his whole form as he almost melts into the floor, only barely staying on his chair. “Oh,” he whispers, the desperation evident in his tone.

Jade chews his lip for a moment, and his eyes study Fall in a new light. “Now, either you're a rising star of the Canterlot Main Theatre or you really want to find that mare. The last time I saw a colt that downstruck was when my nephew got his favourite kite lost in a river. Was a sad day for him, it was.”

Fall’s head looks like it might fall off at any minute. “It’s not the mare I’ve lost, but my best friend. I told you this already.” The noises of the bar fill the silence that settles between the two stallions.

Finally, Jade speaks. “I happen to know where she was heading, ya know.”

Very slowly, Fall’s head rises from the depths of despair. “What?” he whispers.

“I said she mentioned where she was heading. Well, more like I figure that out by myself, but still, I’d pawn my old coach for that hunch.” A smug grin surrounds Jade’s smile.

“Why in the hay didn’t tell me this in the first place!” shouts Fall, spilling some of his beer as his figure is electrified. His behaviour attracts a few more disapproving glances.

“Calm down, lad. I told ya already, I needed to be sure that you’re on honest business with that mare.”

A fine red begins to spread on Falls face along his throat and neck. “I said it a thousand times, It’s not about the mare, it’s about my friend…”

“Ai, that’s what ya keep on telling me. The problem is, I’d be betraying my oath if that was all it took for me to crack my lips.”

“What do you mean?” asks Fall in baffled voice. “What the hay are you on about?”

Jade sighs deeply. “I guess you've passed enough tests. Ya see, this Chillburn was kind of on edge when I met her, about a half a year ago. I reckon she was more than that, even. Frightened to the bone she was, although she kept giggling a bit, too.”

“And?”

Jade stretches back on his chair, apparently entering into a story-telling mode of some sort. “Well, it kind of struck strange to me, that restlessness in her. It was early morning and a New Year’s Day no less, and usually customers are all laid back then. But no, not her; that mare was about to jump out of her coat!”

“So we ended up talking a bit, ya know, about stuff. I did my best to take that edge off her, but no, she’d only sink deeper into the pit when I asked what was the matter with her. Mentioned something about some stallion, she did. Anyway, I took her to the station like she wanted, and dropped her off there. By then she’d calmed down a bit, enough so that she remembered to pay without me having to mention about the fact.”

“I know what you're thinking now. ‘How can I know where she went if that’s all she told me?’ Well, the thing is, just as she was about to go, she made this remark, this kind of weird remark, in my mind. Ya want to hear that remark?” Jade’s grin spreads to his ears.

Fall breathes deeply in and out. “Yes.”

“The last words I heard from those pretty lips was, ‘May the Mother watch over you,’ and then she left.”

For a while, Fall says nothing, but only stares at the those dim emerald eyes. “That doesn’t really mean much to me, but I suppose you’re more than eager to enlighten me.”

“Nah, I just thought to explain. ‘May the Mother watch over you’. A funny thing to say to a stranger, isn’t it? Or it would be, were it not for the fact that it’s a common way to say goodbye in Haytown, where I come from.”

“Haytown?” asks Fall, puzzled. “Where the hay is that?”

Jade’s eyes narrow down. “It’s where it’s always been: About 200 miles East of here, near Baltimare.” Jade takes another sip of his beer, and continues: “I moved from there as a wee little colt, but the lingo never left me. Most like she recognized that and decided to stirr up her own roots, too. I might also mention, she had her native tongue mighty well in check.” He takes another sip to care for his throat.

Fall’s drink, on the other hoof, remains untouched. “I’d hate to doubt your honesty… but to me it seems kind of strange that you would remember one night so vividly after over six months.” He leans closer to Jade, nailing his eyes on him. “Moreover, what does it matter where the mare was from? I need to know where she was going, and more importantly, where she is.”

Jade takes in his starring and doubts like they were nothing to him. “Ain’t ya a clever one, now. True, it might be that she isn’t in Haytown anymore. Frankly I’d be surprised if she was, there ain’t that much to stay for anymore.” Jade’s eyes flicker suddenly. “But mark my words, lad, Haytown was where she was going. How can I know? Because the train she stepped onto was heading East. There ain’t much reason to travel East nowadays except to visit home or get to the seas. And she didn’t seem like a seapony to me.” A mischievous grin that looked weird as hell on his face suddenly lights up. “And how can a relic like me remember all this? Because the mare wasn’t that hard on the eye, and a relic like me cherishes all memories like that. That’s why I followed her until she got into the train.”

Fall looks at him for a moment longer, and then rubs his forehead with a hoof. “Is that all you can tell me, then?”

Jade shrugs. “Just about. My turn to ask questions. Is that mare in trouble?”

Fall looks at his glass, looks at how the beer foams quietly, tempting him to quench his thirst with it. “I don’t know, Jade,” he says with a tired voice. “And neither do I care. Thank you for your time and answers. You can have my beer, too.” Fall begins to stand up, but Jade’s voice stops him.

“Because I reckon she is,” continues the old stallion as if Fall had said nothing, “and I reckon that it’s some stallion who's to blame, and seeing how you’re the second male who has come asking me about her, I’d wager that I’m right.” The two stare into each others eyes, Fall with indifference, Jade with determination of granite. “I told you this much because you passed my tests. But let me tell you. Had I smelled something funny with you, you might’ve as well tried asking questions from my coach. Haytowners stick together, everytime, everywhere.” Jade ends his words with another long sip of his beer.

Fall blinks, and tries to think something clever to say, but can’t find the words. When he steps out of the door, a hail of fierce rain pulls him into it’s embrace, soaking him in seconds. For a moment, he considers casting a rainproof spell to protect himself from the malicious weather, but the thought drowns in the din of the storm. He lets the water drench himself completely from mane to tail, lets it beat his face as he walks out on the open and gazes at the raging sky. The street is empty, although Fall can’t see it, just as he can’t see more than ten feet in front of himself. He stands there still as a stone for good ten minutes.

And after that, he leaves the scene without a hint of haste.

***

Two short knocks on the door wake Honey Lake from her book, which she leaves on the bed as she walks over to the hall. As she unlocks the door, a smell of wet coat fills her nostrils.

“Fall… Did you drop into a gutter or something?” she asks from the drenched unicorn, whose short and soaked mane covers one of his eyes. He is dripping all over the staircase platform.

“I needed a shower,” he answered bluntly, and tries to enter into the apartment.

“Oh no you don’t!” says the mare as she blocks his path. “I’ll get you a few towels. Or a bunch. Wait here,” and she disappears back inside, but shouts after a moment. “And don’t even think of shaking yourself in the staircase!”

Fall waits patiently as his marefriend scours the cupboards. The sound of dripping water mixes with the deep sound of pouring rain that carries behind the nearby window. After a few minutes, Lake returns with a pile of colorful towels, which she hooves over to him without making a sound. A faint grey glow captures the pile and spreads the cloths of varying sizes and colours all over Fall. It doesn’t take him long to get most of the dampness off.

“I’ll hang these to dry,” he says quietly, and walks into the apartment. Lake raises an eyebrow behind him, but says nothing before closing the door. “It didn’t go that well, did it?”

“Nope,” says Fall before he disappears into the bathroom. “Please tell me you at least have good new.”

Lake bites her lip, and lets the silence answer for her.

“I see…” Says the voice from the other room. When he comes to the livingroom, where Lake is now sitting on the couch, a placid expression on his face. The sight makes Lake’s heart sink.

“I found the middlepony that had sold Chillburn’s apartments, but he told me that he had no idea where she might be,” she says. “He did seem awfully tense, though…”

Fall crashes on the same couch, the only one in the room, and turns to look at her. “You think he was hiding something?”

Lake rubs her front hooves together, avoiding his gaze. “I don’t know… Maybe. It seemed that he was scared, very much so. When I mentioned the name ‘Chillburn’, he practically jumped.” Her brow furrows slightly when she raises her eyes to meet Falls. “You think Chillburn might’ve threatened him not to tell where she is?”

A white cat with black stripes emerges from nowhere and jumps on Lake’s lap, eager for some attention. Fall watches as she begins to absentmindedly stroke its fur. “Anything is possible,” he says. “I wouldn't be that surprised to find that to be the case. From what I’ve heard from Reg, there is no telling what that mare might do to get what she wants.” But what she might be willing to do to get rid of the things she doesn’t want? “I’ll visit that middlepony myself tomorrow. Exchange a few words, see if he’d be in a more talkative mood.”

The cat purrs happily as she pets it behind the ear. “You’re not going to do anything stupid to him, are you?” she asks, smiling a bit, only a bit.

Fall says nothing, but looks deep into the cat’s blood red eyes.

“Fall?” she asks, a tad more sharper than she intended.

“Hmm?”

“You’re not going to do anything stupid to the middlepony, are you?”

“Of course not,” he says shortly after. “I’m just going to talk with him. That’s all.” Only the cat meows for a while after that.

“So, what went wrong with the coach drivers?” asks Lake finally. “Had none of them seen Chillburn?”

“One had, actually. He even told me where she might've headed.”

Suddenly, the mare forgets the cat in her lap. “Uhm, what?”

Fall explains the details of his encounter with Jade, the last name on the list that they had copied from Axiom’s office.

“I’m sorry, but how is that not good news?” asks Lake after he finished. “I mean, if that’s not a lead then what is?”

The unicorn sighs deeply. “It’s certainly something, but I’d be a fool to believe that I’ll find Chillburn, or Reg, with that tip alone. Even if Jade was right and Chillburn was heading to Haytown, there is no telling how I’m going to find her there. Neither can I say if Reg has indeed found her, or that neither of them is in the town anymore. There are a lot of ‘ifs’ there.”

The cat rubs its back against Lake’s chest, but she ignores the feline’s pleas. “So… You’re not going to travel to Haytown?”

Fall snorts. “Of course I will. If there is but a sliver of a chance that I find Reg there, I’ll jump to the first train that leaves tomorrow. But I’m not going to lull myself into believing that I have the odds on my side.” A shadow unfamiliar to Lake momentarily dims his eyes. “I know too well where that road leads,” he finishes.

Now the cat is scratching at her, but she only pushes it off her lap. The animal meows angrily and disappears into the kitchen. “I’ll come with you,” Lake says.

He looks at her into the eyes, looks at her as if it was just now that he saw her. A faint smile lights up his face when he sees the determination in those sincere eyes orange as peach. “I excepted that you would,” he says, his voice lighter now. “But I don’t think that you should.”

“Why not? I’ve got some holidays from work to spare, and it’s kind of quiet in the theatre at the moment. And it’s not like you yourself don’t have studies or anything.”

From the kitchen, a sound of newspapers getting ripped to shreds echoes. Neither of the two pays noise any attention. “I’ve almost graduated, so it’s easy for me to get a few days off school,” responds Fall. “And what ever happened to the Twelfth Neigh from which you’ve tried to get the lead role for months now? Aren’t the trials in next week?”

The mare cringes, and averts his gaze. “Oh, you remembered… First time for everything, I guess.” Her lower lip begins to quiver as if she suddenly felt very cold. “It’s… it’s just one play. There'll… be more…”

With gentle calmness, Fall wraps his front hooves around her, and just like that, they break into an unbreakable embrace. The sofa, the room, and the beating rain are left outside of the equation that only has room for two figures. She burrows deeply in between his hooves, into his chest, and he lets his muzzle be drowned by her ever so smooth mane. They linger in the following silence as long as they can.

“We don’t need to decide this now, sweetheart,” says Fall quietly. “Who knows, maybe the middlepony has found his courage by the time I meet him.” The scent of her mane drives a lance of euphoria through his being.

“Yeah…” she whispers, digging her front hooves into his tough coat. “That sounds good…”

The cat returns from the kitchen, a piece of newspaper stuck between its claws. The feline slits wonder at the sight of the two ponies entwined around each other’s bodies, the red eyes reflecting the scene like a coloured mirror. The crimson pools of predatory intellect witness as the embracement intensifies step by step, they see as she plants the first kiss on the middle of his throat, then another under his strong jaw bone. The mare’s lips, hungry but delicate, adore his coat with promises, with hints, with tenderness brought by years of coexistence. The stallion’s breathing grows slowly heavier, more controlled – it turns from a function into an invigorating experience as such. Her mane falls on her face as his lips search the coat underneath the curls.

In one elegant motion, the mare draws him into a passionate kiss that quickly turns into a flurry of famished tongues, grasping hooves, and moaning voices. They continue for several minutes before the mare whispers something into his ear, after which they detach from one another. The stallion gets onto his back on the couch, resting his head on the armchair, his erect cock already glistening with precum. She, on the other hoof, turns around, and settles herself atop him in the opposite way. It takes her awhile to align her hind legs comfortably around his head, but when she’s ready, the stallion does something with his muzzle, inciting a loud gasp from her. A series of wet squelching sounds follows, and the mare almost screams. The throbbing cock oozes more of the creamy liquid, and a flicker travels past her eyes as she notices it. Her mouth cracks slightly open, and begins to lower down onto his formidable member; her lips almost touch his tip…

…and then the cat loses interest.

***

Later in the evening, after they’ve shared a shower and a small supper, Lake rests her head on Fall’s lap as they lie on her bed. The bedroom window is half open so that the cool evening air can wash some of the heat away from the small apartment.

“I love you, Fall,” she says with her eyes closed. “I love you more than I have ever loved anypony else.”

Fall’s gaze, dreamy and soft, studies her neck and the way how her breathing makes her figure sway in the dim of the room. With a faraway voice, he recites:

“Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my soul within the house;
Write loyal cantons of contemned love
And sing them loud even in the dead of night.”

She purrs at his words. “Hmmm… You sure know how to spoil a mare…” She rubs her right cheek on his belly. A chilly breeze from the window blows in and makes the quiet of the room ripple.

“By the way…” begins the mare abruptly. “Did you ask from the drivers if Reg had come to ask advice from them before you?”

The dream in Fall’s eyes stirs a bit. “I did… None had seen anypony like him. Although…” His voice loses some of its softness. “Some of them mentioned having seen Axiom.”

“Wait, what?” Lake turns around in his lap, a worried expression on her face. “You mean that he has been looking for Chillburn, too?”

Fall nods slowly. “There was no doubt it was him.”

“Why on Earth… What does he want from her?”

I could make an educated guess, but it would only make you lose your happy dreams. “Beats me,” says Fall, and soothes her mane with a hoof. “I don’t care to know, really.”

Their glances meet shortly, and both blink at the same time. “Yeah…” she says. “I can agree with that.” Suddenly, a loud meowing carries from the hall. “Looks like the kitty wants his nightly round in the neighbourhood,” she comments and gets off the bed.

“I suppose it’s about time I leave, too…” Fall is about to follow her example, but she stops him with a loving smile.

“Just say the word, and my bed is yours tonight,” says Lake. Her features are partly covered by the shadows of the room.

“Please?” says Fall.

“That’s my stallion.” She plants a light kiss on his forehead, and leaves the bedroom, swaying her tail as she goes. Fall relaxes back against the wall, and crosses his front hooves behind his neck. Another breeze travels through the window, but he doesn’t mind the loss of warmth, he barely even notices it. As she returns, an almost sad expression shadows her eyes. She gets back on the bed and lies down on his broad chest.

“Fall… D’you think cats ever get lost, or will they always come back?”

He ponders for a moment, and then answers, “I think… that they'll always find company.”

Soon after, they fall asleep in one another’s lap.

***

On the far side of Equestria, roughly at the same time, a unicorn with sunglasses big enough to cover half of her face beats the air with her hooves, and shouts at the microphone floating in front of her mouth. “Ponyville! Ponyville! By Celestia almighty, I declare this party officially staaaaarteeed!” Her voice almost cracks during the final word. All around the stage on which she keeps on flailing and jumping like a madpony, ponies drenched with sweat stop their fervent dancing, and shout back at her. Their sore throats unite in a cacophony of primal glee, and Vinyl Scratch drinks the noise like it was wine to her. “Now let’s make friggin absolutely positively blatantly clear that Her Majesty herself, in the frigging Canterlot, hears us honour her frigging regime!” The chorus of unshackled frenzy that follows her words suffocates into the wildfire of dubstep that follows in their wake, only to unite with it in a melody of ear shattering electronic melody.

Chillburn tries desperately to cover her ears from the raging noise, but the music – if such a word even applies in this context – invades not only her head, but her whole body. She might as well fight against a hurricane with an umbrella.

“Awww, yeeaahhh!” shouts Thunderlane next to her. The dance floor is filled with moving bodies, with a sea of flesh, tails, and manes that pulse in the rhythm of absoluteness around them, inside them. “Deeee Jeeee Poneeh!” he keeps on shouting at the stage, imitating the movements of the marble-white mare there. “Vii-nyl, Vii-nyl, Vii-nyl!”

Chillburn glares at him while still trying to protect what’s left of her eardrums. She can’t hear a word he shouts, although she gets the message. “But the party has been going on for over an hour already!” She yells at him, referring to Vinyl Scratches latest announcement.

“Whaat?!” shouts Thunderlane back, his eyes wide and filled with music.

“I said, the show started an hour ago!” A swirling pink mare hops beside her, and accidentally bumps into Chillburn in the cramped space, saying something that she can’t make sense of.

“No no no no: That was just a warm-up!” yells Thunderlane. His wings vibrate as the air does, moved by the sheer volume of the sound. “Didn’t you hear Vinyl?! The party just got staaarteed!”

A shudder travels through Chillburn as another body stumbles into her, from behind this time. “I didn’t sign up for this! You said we would be going to a gig, not to get our frigging ears demolished!” She makes sure to form the words clearly with her lips.

Thunderlane only grins, and keeps on swaying along with the beat. “With Vinyl, first time might get a bit harsh! I told you to take earplugs along!”

“They keep on dropping off, and I already lost one!” As she speaks, a particularly violent wave, apparently caused by a falling bass, hits them and sends Chillburn’s already ringing ears over the edge, along with her one remaining earplug that disappears to the floor.

“Come again?” shouts the pegasus as Chilburn tries to stop her head from splitting.

“I said… Never mind!” Suddenly, she turns away from him, and starts to shoulder her way out of the dance floor. Thunderlane cringes a bit at that, and for a moment he loses his rhythm as a stinging feeling pokes his heart. But then Vinyl makes the record scream, and he loses the control of his body.

Chillburn makes slow progress through the current of ponies, but finally manages to push herself out of the mass and outside of the barn where the party is being held. The noise is awful also in the immediate surroundings of the large wooden building, so she quickly gallops several hundred feet away from it, to the orchards where the din is somewhat bearable. She breathes deeply in the fresh night air, and turns to look at the barn from afar.

The bright red building with gabled roof belongs to the Apple family, Thunderlane told her; apparently it fits for both the purposes of storing hay and eccentric music of gigantic volume. The flashing disco lights that have been set up all over the barn illuminate the night like an artificial constellation, like an inferno of electrical fire. It’s a wonder that such a simple structure can contain such forces, wonders Chillburn idly as the ringing in her ears lowers to an acceptable level. Heard from this distance, I might almost enjoy this particular song. Almost.

As she concentrates on the music, the mare fails to note the hoofsteps that approach her on the grass still wet from rain. It takes her subconscious a moment before she realizes that there’s somepony standing right behind her. With a sudden twist, she turns around, and shrieks.

“Hello to you too, Chillburn.” Reg Syllable’s voice is steady, oh so very elaborately steady. The apple tree that towers over them shivers gently in the wind.

“Syllable… what… how… what happened to your face?”

Not a muscle twitches on the stallion’s beat up expression. “Is it really the condition of my face that makes you tremble?”

Chillburn blinks, and realizes that she is indeed trembling from knees to neck. A sudden rush of panic fills her mind. “What do you want from me?!”

Steady as a tree, Reg stares at her without uttering a word for a while. “What do I… want from you?” The question seems to puzzle him greatly.

“You… you shouldn’t be here…” continues Chillburn. “I’m here with somepony. A stallion. He might come back at any minute now.” Thunderlane… somehow, anyhow, get over here right now.

An opaque look invades his face again. “You mean that pegasus with the ridiculous mane? I wouldn’t worry about him that much; he seemed quite busy getting his ears bleeding, the last time I saw him.”

“What… How long have you stalked us?!” Without any kind of warning, her words and frame stop shaking, frozen by anger.

“Only a few days,” he answers calmly. “And I didn’t peek through your bedroom last night, although it would’ve been very easy for me.”

“You… what… How dare you!” her voice is suddenly very shrill.

Reg begins to laugh. A dry, dead, joyless voice echoes around the orchard, mixing with the faint wind and music that carries over from the barn. I could run for it, tells the instincts in Chillburn’s mind. The barn is only some hundreds of feets away, and I’d get a surprise start. He wouldn't dare to use magic to stop me. He wouldn't. She stays still as if her hooves had grown roots.

“You seriously ask me that?” asks Reg sharply, the freezing laugh evaporating in an instant. “After what you did to me?” He takes a step closer to her. “After what you made me go through?”

After its short absence, the trembling has returned to Chillburn, although now it reaches her heart, too. “I… I’m sorry, Reg… It wasn’t easy for me, either!”

“Really? I couldn’t have guessed.” Another step closer. He is standing about ten feet from her now. “Why did you leave me, then? Why did you throw me away like a used tissue?” His eyes lose some of their steadiness, and begin to shimmer in the dim.

Because I was afraid. Because I wanted away. Because I don’t love you. “I was confused, Reg… I don’t know what I was thinking… It seemed reasonable back then, but I understand my error now.”

“I’m sure you do.” Seven feet now.

“Reg… Why are you here?”

“Why anypony is anywhere? Why do the Sun and the Moon rise? Because so is willed.” Six feet. A breeze makes the leaves above them shrivel. Her legs have stopped trembling; now they’re stiff as blanks. “I came for you, Chillburn. Why can’t you see it?” Five feet.

Run, Chillburn, run. Flee, sprint, gallop, escape, do anything but stand still like a damn tree. “That train has gone, Reg. Surely you must see that?”

He stops like a wall had risen in between them. He looks at her as if she was a complete stranger to him. Then his eyes travel to her stomach. “Does he know that you’re carrying?”

Chillburn’s confusement shines on her face. “Who?”

“That pegasus!” snaps Reg. Chillburn flinches and takes a step away from him. “Does he know that you carry my child?” he continues, his voice resembling a blade.

“N-no… I haven’t told him yet…” she says, and with a darker tone, continues: “Although that is none of your business.”

His eyes flare like a burning tree, but as he opens his mouth, something makes him strangle his answer before it can leave his tongue. His neck tilts upwards, and Chillburn follows his gaze. With a very quiet thump, a shadow build of wiry muscle and lean feathers lands in between them.

“Found you!” blurts Thunderlane to Chillburn, his easy smile decorating his lips. “Took me awhile to spot you in the dark.” He turns to look at Reg, whose expression is a mix of forced smile and fixated eyes. “I don’t think we’ve met before,” says Thunderlane to Reg, ignoring his slightly feral look and bruised face. “Name’s Thunderlane.”

“Reg. Syllable,” says Reg, his jaw clenched.

Thunderlane only smirks. “Are you a friend of Chillburn here? I say, she never told me that you’d be coming to Pinkie Pie’s Love-Your-Lizard party. But now that you’re here, how about we head back to the barn so that I can buy us all a round?” He flashes a wide smile and raises a questioning eyebrow. “I’d love to get to know you, Reg.”

Chillburn first looks at Thunderlane, then at Reg, and for a moment she is assured that the unicorn is going to do something irreversible, something inexcusable. With a terrified revelation, she finds herself holding her breath.

Then Reg’s posture releases some of its tension. “I’d hate to disappoint you, but… I myself promised to attend another party in my dreams. I’m quite tired, you see.” He smiles at Thunderlane, and then directs his eyes at Chillburn behind him. The shining in them makes her flinch. “I’ll see you around, Chillburn.” He gives one more look to the pegasus, who takes in his eyes without a hint of hesitation, and then Reg simply turns and leaves. The creeping night swallows him up faster than Chillburn could’ve believed.

Thunderlane looks at him go as long as his amber eyes can follow, and then he turns back to Chillburn, his smile gone. “You okay?” he asks.

The mare blinks, and before she can say anything, her legs fail her. It’s half thanks to luck that the pegasus manages to catch her before she hits the ground. His wings are the first to support her from the flank, and soon after his hooves follow, wrapping around her gently but firmly. Immediately she tries to straighten herself up again, but the move only makes her head spin more.

“Whoah there, take it easy,” says the stallion soothingly, taking some of her weight on his wings.

“I’m fine, birdie, just fine.” Since when did my voice sound so… frail?

“No you’re not, and don’t you argue with me now. Here, let me carry you.” He moves his left front hoof around her neck, expecting her to lean on it.

His unexpected act of chivalry makes a short laugh escape her. “Uhm… you sure that’s necessary?” she asks, now smiling a bit. She doesn’t resist his hoof that envelopes her neck, yet she doesn’t submit to it either.

“Trust me; I know a mare in distress when I see one. Wouldn't be the first time I carried a beauty, either.”

A curious look lights up her face. “Oh? That must be quite the story…”

His steady expression feels a tiny crack. “Uuh… Yeah, it’s a story alright. Not exactly what you might think, though.” His smile returns as if it had never left him. “C'mon. Let me be your wings.”
In the dim, the amber meets the carmine, and for the very first time, Chillburn sees something else than reckless joyfulness in those golden eyes spiced with honey. Without a word, she lets her figure fall on his hooves, her gaze trapped in his. “I’ve never flown, you know,” she whispers.

The amber twinkles upon hearing that. “How does it feel like, then?”

“Well, you might consider getting us into the air first before ask–” A leaf brushes against her cheek, and cuts short her sentence. She looks right, and sees a thick growth of leaves just in front of her face. Her body literally locks around him as she realizes that they are already ten feet off the ground. A surprised gasp flees her lips.

“Yep, a common reaction from an earth pony,” says the pegasus, his eyes still lost in hers. “You might want to ease your squeezing a bit, tho. I won't let you go.”

“Sorry, sorry!” Her wide eyes stare down at the ground that keeps on growing more distant. Still, her grasp loosens up a bit, turning from crushing into clingy.

“Thanks. Now, how high you want to go?”

Her head snaps back at him. “I thought you were going to carry me back home?”

His smile turns from easy to mischevious. “No I didn’t. But if you want to, I can get you there in no time.”

Her brow wrinkles, and she glances down again. They’ve already way past the treetops, and the view is starting to dawn on her in all it’s serene beauty. The barn bathing in electrical light, the more quiet lights of Ponyville on the distant right, the waking stars and moon above them… they all seem to smile at her, enticing her to lose herself into their caress in the nightly sky. The music emanating from the barn has changed into a somewhat slower tempo, and the notes whisper their secrets on the mare’s ears. But despite the disco lights, and the village, and the music, even against the stars and moon above, the most intoxicating shining she sees are the amber flares that glow only for her. And then he whispers:

“The night has only just begun, Chillburn.”

The seven simple words, in all the innocence with which he says them, cast aside all the massing feelings of doubt, hesitation, and fright in her, they make a play of them, a comedy with a recurrent punchline that she can’t quite get. And that is exactly what formulates the beauty of it.

“Thunderlane,” she says, their gazes intertwined. “Make me ashamed of walking.”

His smile is the most ecstatic revelation Chillburn has ever seen. The beats of his wings double in intensivity, they lift them into heights unimaginable, and into the night unleashed of its earthly bounds. They fly as if the heavens belonged to them alone.

In the ground, a pair of bitterful eyes follows them disappear into the velvety fabric of reality. Syllable cancels the concealment spell, and leans heavily against an apple tree. The rough bark scratches his coat, but he makes no attempt to realign his position. The orchard echoes with the tunes that carry from the barn, but otherwise only the moon and the trees keep him company in the growing darkness. His eyes sweep the ground, and spot an apple that has been missed by the harvesters. The lone red orb, partly rotten already, seems out of place in the surrounding greenness. With a flick of his horn, Reg makes the fruit float in front of him, studying it against the rising moon. In the pale light, one could almost mistake the ripe red color as dark orange. Very purposefully, very ponderously, the unicorn increases the thickness of the grey aura that surrounds the apple.

And within one moment, crushes it into a pulp.

***

Author's Note

The lines that Fall recite to Lake are from Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. I don't know a good pony equivalent for Shakespeare yet, but if you wan't to help me out with that, I'd be overjoyed.

The night never ended.

It’s the second series of knocks on the door that assure Pencil Case of the fact that somepony is indeed expecting him to open it, yet the slim-built pony doesn’t move a muscle to stand up from his desk. It’s only when a female’s voice, accompanied by a third set of knocks, reaches his ears, that he dares to breath again. “Mr Case?” says the pleasant voice, slightly muffled by the heavy door. “I have your lunch here, if you’d be so kind as to open the door for me.”

Pencil Case stands up from his creaking chair, and walks over to the door. His movements stir the stale air just enough to make the dust particles dance in the sunlight that shines through the opened curtains. After opening all the four locks of the door, he finally sees a corner of a bright purple eye blinking through the tiny crack between the door and the frame. “Mr Case?” asks the mare.

“Yes. That is me.”

“Could you perhaps open the door a little bit more? You didn’t order pizza today.”

“Are you alone?” asks Case sharply, his frail voice shaking a bit.

A heavy sigh carries over from the other side. “Yes I am, mr Case. No, I can’t prove it. Please let me in.”

A moment goes by in silence, and then the door finally opens completely, revealing a navy blue pegasus mare behind, holding a box covered by a cloth. “Your lunch, mr Case,” says the mare meaningfully, and hooves the package over to him. “That’ll make four bits, thank you very much.”

Pencil accepts the package apprehensively while pulling some coins from the pocket of his brown jacket with his horn. He smiles a shy smile at her as the bits fall into a pouch on her belt. “Uhm… sorry about the precautions. They are part of the job.”

“It’s alright, mr Case,” says the mare, and smiles back at him. “Thank you for using Midday Meal’s services! See you again at lunchtime tomorrow.” The mare turns and flies away along the corridor, the pouch clinging happily as she goes. Case looks at her as long as he can, fixing his crescent glasses with a hoof, and then returns to his office. He makes sure that all the locks are secured before beginning to open the package that floats in front of him. It almost drops when his door shudders under a series of bangs. The beating is accompanied by a deep voice:

“Open the door, Pencil! I know you’re in there; dead ponies don’t accept their lunch!”

“Go away!” shouts Case instinctively. “I have no time for unscheduled meetings today!”

The following silence is perhaps even more sinister than the preceding noise. “Case…” continues the voice again, somewhat more calmly this time. “I don’t know why you’re avoiding me like this. I don’t care to know. I only ask a few minutes of your time. Please.”

Case breathes as if the slightest disturbance might make the heavily bolted door explode. He takes a few careful steps away from it. “I have no legal obligations to open that door to you, no matter who you are. I have no time right now; go away.” Another pause ensues.

“Pencil… One way or another, I’m going to enter that room.” The stranger’s voice is calmer than a meditating tortoise.

“If you break that door, I’ll have Princess Celestia herself know about it!”

“I wasn’t talking about breaking anything…” says the meditating tortoise behind the bolts. “If you don’t open it for me in ten seconds, I’m going to teleport myself there.”

A victorious grin spreads on Case’s lips. “Hahhaha! A blatant pluff! Nopony would ever do anything as stupid as to teleport themselves blindly! And I don’t even know if you’re an unic–”

The package Case had been levitating next to him explodes in a shower of smashed carrots and turnips, spreading warm goo all over the room and Pencil, who shrieks and tries to cover his face with his front hooves. A rock the size of an onion, stained in vegetable mush, rolls on the floor, and his wide eyes follow it stop at his hooves. In a very slow fashion, he raises his eyes again at the door.

“Did you… just move that thing here… without seeing where you were aiming?” His voice almost disappears into the void of sublime terror during the last four words.

“Did I hit anything?” answers the calm voice. “Sounds like I did. And hearing that you’re not screaming in agony, I’d deduce that it wasn’t you.”

Pencil backs away from the door as if it was aflame. He hits his table and almost manages to climb over it. “You’re insane!” he screams.

“Will you let me in? Or shall I start counting?”

The accountant’s lower lip quivers and he begins to hyperventilate. “Y-you w-wouldn’t d-dare do that to yourself! That’d be s-suicidal!”

The tranquility of the stranger’s voice is like from another world. “No doubt it is. Nine seconds.”

Case’s front hooves sweep the desk’s surface, spreading papers all over the floor. As he climbs backwards over the table, his eyes remain nailed to the door. He covers behind the heavy desk, and peeks over it, sweat trickling down his brow.

“Eight,” says the voice of serenity. “Seven. Six. Five.”
Case starts to pray for the first time in his life; he prays for the Sun, for the Moon, for his mother. But the numbers, which he has spent most of his adult life with, continue to rain blows upon his mind.

“Four. Three. I hope you have a mop there, ‘cause this might get messy. Two.”

Case opens his mouth, but no words leave his dry throat.

“One.”

“Stop!” he screams with a shrill, broken voice. “For the love of Celestia, stop!”

“Okay.”

With extremely careful steps, Case leaves the protection of his desk, and sneaks for the door. The locks open one by one, and each tiny click sends a tingling feeling through his nerves. When the final bolt releases its grip, he can’t take the stress anymore and simply throws the door ajar, eyes closed. “Don’t hurt me! I tell you everything, just don’t hurt me!”

Willow Fall looks at the feeble unicorn kneeling in front of him, looks at him as if he was some exotic lizard. “Uhm… sure. I won’t hurt you. Promise.”

Case cracks his eyelids, and gasps as he sees a heavy-built unicorn stallion studying him with a raised eyebrow. For a moment he can only blink confusedly. “You… you don’t look insane…”

Fall rolls his eyes. “I’m glad to hear that. Look, I had to scare you a bit there, but rest assured that I wouldn’t have actually teleported into your office blindly. Truth be told, I don’t even know how to teleport myself. High level time-space manipulations aren’t part of my studies.” He gives him an apologising look. “I’m sorry.”

“B-but you moved that rock like it was nothing…?” says Case, standing up.

“Weeell… Not quite. It was a prank from my colthood; I persuaded that delivery pegasus to hide the rock, onto which I had planted a simple spell, into your package. I told her we are friends and that you’d understand.” Fall smiles awkwardly. “Naturally, I’ll buy you another lunch after we’ve exchanged a few words.”

Case looks at Fall in a way one might look at a flying cow. Without taking his eyes off him, the accountant produces a hoofkerchief from his pocket and begins to wipe the remains of his lunch off himself. “You think it’s funny, scaring ponies like that? For a moment I actually thought you would…” A shudder travels through him. “I really don’t know if I want to talk with you after all.”

The smile melts off Fall’s face. “You gave me little choice but to trick you. When I came earlier today, you didn’t even bother telling me ‘no’. You didn’t even answer my knocks and calls.”

Case purses his lips, and drops the gooey hoofkerchief into a nearby trashcan. Spots of colorful vegetable smush still inhabit his coat and jacket at places. “I did have the legal right for ignoring you, indeed I did. Although… perhaps you are correct… I may have abused the letter of the law then…” His eyes sweep the floor at Fall’s hooves. “Fine. We can talk. Please come in.”

“Thank you,” answers Fall as the door shuts behind him; this time its left unlocked. “My issue is with this mare called–”

“–Chillburn, yes yes, I remember you mentioning that name the first time you came here,” says Case as he walks over his desk and chair. “It seems that she is the most interesting client I have ever had. Ironically enough, she is the client I wish I had never met.”

“So other ponies have also come asking after her?” Fall settles himself on a chair opposite Case, and the aged woodwork complains under his weight. “Who were they, if I may ask?”

Case, while ordaining the fallen papers with his magic, glances at him disapprovingly. “I’m not supposed to tell you that… but since this particular case seems to break every article there is…” He sighs deeply, and pulls another hoofkerchief from a box on the table. “First I was visited by this Professor of some sorts, from one of the Canterlot’s Schools. This happened some months ago. It was from him that all the trouble started, really.” He begins to clean away the rest of the vegetable pie.

Axiom has a gift for that, thinks Fall grimly. “Did you tell him where Chillburn is?”

Case grimaces, but says nothing immediately. “Yes. Yes I did. Please don’t tell anypony about that; nopony hires an accountant who can’t keep their client's secrets.” His pleading eyes make Fall feel sick.

“My lips are sealed,” he answers. “Did the Professor threaten you physically?”

Case shifts in his chair uneasily, and delivers the hoofkerchief into the trashcan. “Uhm…no, not as such. He was very aggressive, yet he never laid a hoof on me, nor a horn. Instead, he said that if I wouldn't obey him, he’d let out a rumour inside the Canterlot’s elite that I work for Chillburn.”

A puzzled look masks Fall for a while, but the confusion fades after a quick social psychological calculation. “Because she is a prostitute,” he states laconically. “And the cream can get very sour about such things.”

Case nods shortly. “I mean, I don’t personally care what my client’s do for living… and she always pays on time…but if the word got out, I might as well bury my chances of ever working in the Castle.” He sees Fall blink, and shyly adds: “A little dream of mine.”

“And the second visitor…?” asks Fall. He can practically sense how Case’s body becomes electrified for an instant.

“Oh. Him. A young fellow, light-brown coat, wiry, a gothic ‘A’ as a cutie mark. Came here the week before last. Told me that he’d break my nose if I didn’t tell him where Chillburn is.” The sun reflecting from his crescent glasses hides his eyes for a moment. “It’s because of him that I’ve been a bit on edge lately. For a second I even mistook you for him.”

Fall’s eyes go wide. “What? That can’t be right; Reg would never say such a thing.”

In his chair, Case leans a bit farther away from Fall. “A friend of yours, is he? I hope that it’s not true what they say about wolves and howling, then…”

“You don’t understand…” continues Fall, shaking his head. “You must’ve mistaken. He wouldn’t actually beat anypony outside the ring.”

“Well, he certainly fooled me,” says Case dryly. “Seems like the habit is becoming popular.”

Fall looks at the smaller pony deep into the eyes. You’re not lying, I don’t think. But you can’t be telling the truth, either. You can’t be. I refuse to believe it.

“There was this one mare, too, who came to me yesterday…” begins Case. “She was very insistent, but for once I managed to hold onto my accountant’s oath and refused to tell her anything of my clients.”

“Never mind her,” says Fall. “What exactly did you tell to the two other ponies that visited you before her?”

“I told them the truth; that Chillburn lives in Ponyville now. Or at least it’s from there that I’ve been receiving my payments for the last four months.”

The stale air ripples with silence that cuts reality like a knife, separating the moments into clean brackets filled with anticipation. Fall feels them moving by him, through him, but somehow he can’t grasp any of them. “So she is in Ponyville? She really is there?”

Case shrugs his thin shoulders. “I’d hate to get metaphysical now, but yes, I would say that she ‘really’ is there. Stamps don’t lie.” His eyes narrow down suddenly. “Are we done now? I do have some other clients whose property I need to tend to.”

Fall doesn’t make a move to leave. “I heard from a different source that she might reside in Haytown. Do you know anything about that?”

The accountant taps the desk with a hoof a couple of times. “I do. For a few months after the last New Year’s Eve, she did indeed send my payments by mail from there. Then on one day, the bits started falling from Ponyville instead. That is all I know.” He crosses his front hooves around his chest.

Fall’s eyes look at nothing for a few seconds, and then the stallion stands up. “Thank you
for your time, Case. Sorry again about all the fuss; here is some compensation for the trouble.” A hoofful of bits travels from Fall’s small saddleback onto Case’s desk. The slim pony looks at them with slight disdain.

“I can’t even begin to imagine why all this happened to me,” he says when Fall is already on the door. “It’s not at all what an accountant’s life should be about.” His grey eyes keep on looking at the bits laying on his desk. “I never asked any of this.”

Fall pays one more glance at the slumping figure, and despite his best efforts, he can’t hide the shade of pity in his voice. “None of us did, Pencil. Things just happened.” He steps out of the door and into the corridor. Behind him, he hears four locks clicking quietly.

***

Chillburn’s curtains are drawn, but the sun is not to be done away with such a simple deed. The rays persist to shed eerie light to the room, enough for Thunderlane to see where the bed ends and the floor begins. The pegasus stretches his wings sleepily, yawns, and sneaks of the enormous bed without making a sound. He manages to get to the door before the mare’s soft voice seizes him from under the blankets and the pillows.

“Could you bake some those pancakes again, birdie? And while you’re at it, make some coffee, too.”

Thunderlane bites his lip, but doesn’t turn around. “You read my thoughts, Chilly. Sorry for waking you up, though.”

“You didn’t. But your mindfulness has been noted.”

The pegasus smiles to himself, and slips through the door and to the downstairs. It’s after he has prepared a comparatively rich breakfast, with pancakes and coffee to crown the meal, that Chillburn makes her descent. As she enters the kitchen, a short chuckle escapes him.

She glares at him playfully. “Do share the joke, birdie.”

“Your mane…” says the stallion, smirking at her. “I could just about make a nest there. Or three.”

Her eyes make a theatrical roll as she sits by the set kitchen table, where a pile of hot pancakes awaits. “That still gets you, doesn’t it? A mane such as mine won’t care for itself, you know.” She grabs a healthy dose of wheaty goods on her plate. “But how come your mane never gets flat?”

He pours some maple syrup over her plate with a wing, and slowly smooths his protruding mane with a hoof. “It’s all in the blood, baby. My mother’s mane wouldn’t get down even when she drenched it.”

“Really?” she asks. “It must’ve been quite a sight.”

“Coffee?”

She nods, and extends her cup. His wingtips do all the work again as hot, black liquid falls out of the metallic pan. As she raises the steaming drink to her lips, he pulls the chair back and settles himself opposite to her. He keeps on smiling as pancakes fill his plate, but there is this sense of tensess in his actions that she hasn’t noticed before. Nonetheless, neither of them says nothing for a few minutes.

“Uhh… Chillburn?” he asks finally, looking at her from under his brow. “There is something I’d like to ask. But if you’re not cool with, just forget about it.”

Well, I guess it needed to come up at some point. “I know, ‘Lane. It’s okay. Go ahead, ask your question.” She keeps on eating her pancakes.

He has stopped his own feast, and rubs his neck with a hoof. “I didn’t bring this up yesternight, with you being a bit jumpy and all, but now that you’re normal again…” He breathes deeply before continuing. “What was the thing with that Reg guy?”

She swallows her mouthful, and raises her calm eyes to meet his. “How much of our chat did you hear?” Her voice is casual. Neutral, ordinary, and somewhat distant.

“Not much, to say it frankly… It was more his stare that got my bells ringing.” A sliver of worry visits the amber pools. “And they’re chiming still.”

You’re not the only one who hears them. “Reg can be a bit brutish at times. He is a boxer, so that’s only to be expected.” She takes a sip of her coffee, and averts his gaze. “I wouldn’t worry about him too much.”

He bites his lip again, and the tips of his feathers shiver gently. “Was that what you thought yesterday? Or is it something you want me to think now.”

Clever bird. And bold, too. “Reg is my problem, Thunderlane. I shall deal with him on my own way.”

“And what way is that? What’s the big deal with you two, anyway?”

She studies the pegasus without smiling, the steam of her coffee veiling the air between them. “One might regard those questions as very private in nature.”

A sudden confusion makes the amber shimmer. “What? No, I just want to help you! I didn’t mean to… prod your privacy or anything…” He shifts again in his chair. “I’m sorry.”

“When I need help, I ask for it.”

“Sure, sure. I don’t know, perhaps I was a bit too blunt…” His eyes keep on looking everywhere except at her. “I guess I’ve become too used to sharing all my worries with everypony else. Ponyville is communal like that.”

“I’m sure it is.” Chillburn’s look loses some of it’s formality, and her tone gets more homely again. “I didn’t mean to offend you, birdie. I come from Canterlot, remember? Secrets and gossip are currency there, not charity.” A cute smile from her part incites a smirk out of him, too.

“Yeah… I guess,” he says, and starts munching a pancake. Having finished that, he continues: “So uhm… Vinyl is having another gig tomorrow…”

“She is more than welcome to do that,” says the mare over her cup. “My ears beg me to keep my distance from her, though.” And my taste would gladly have me forget her altogether.

“Oh… okay…”

His ears do look cute when he droops them like that. “It’s not your fault that I’m a bit picky when it comes to music. Also… I was kind of hoping that we might spend some time in a more… private environment.” She winks at him.

The amber eyes warm up quicker than a match. “Sure! Did you have something special in mind?”

She clicks her tongue twice. “Perhaps… Does the concept of a picnic intrigue you?”

“Only if the menu is…rich enough…” His eyes narrow down meaningfully.

Clever and sharp, but not that apt with words, decides Chillburn as she studies his grinning expression. “Fantastic,” she says. “Now, give me some more of that syrup.”

The rest of the breakfast goes by with a few more innuendos of varying quality. Finally, Thunderlane leaves to prepare for the weather drill that has been scheduled for the afternoon. The stallion practically flies off after having been blessed by her intimate kiss. For a whole fifteen minutes she gets to linger in her mood of casual happiness and warmth, for a whole quarter of an hour she manages to keep the thoughts of yesternight off her mind. Like a spider the memory creeps into her consciousness as she is about to start washing the dishes. And then she remembers the letter.

It takes her five minutes before she takes it out off the drawer where she had forgotten it, another ten before she opens it with her teeth. On the reading, she only spends two seconds.

“The night never ended. We need to talk.”

-RS

The eight words, all laid out on the kitchen table, seem to warp the space around them. The mare sits in the chair next to the paper, leaning on her front hooves, reading the words, letter by letter, over and over again; she reads them until she forgets what they mean. He must have thought I had read this letter before yesternight. That’s why he came to me so boldly, because he thought I was prepared. He wanted me to be prepared… Very slowly, her eyes leave the letter. Very carefully, she picks up the black words on the white paper, and very determinately, bins them. Never before has a kitchen drawer been closed more conclusively.

As she settles on the living room couch, Chillburn notices for the first time how very quiet her new home actually is. The space oozes of silence. I could hear a pony breathing in the next room. For a moment, she stops her lungs. Whole ten seconds go by before she blows out again, and as she does, a short, nervous laugh flees along with the air. The noise sinks into the walls in a moment, leaving nothing but a memory behind. Without moving anything else, the mare brings her left front hoof onto her lower belly, and begins to press down gently. She looks at her tummy, her ever so slender tummy that nevertheless is beginning to turn not so slender. The changes are invisible for anypony who hasn’t know her for years, but nonetheless, they exist.

Silence keeps on ringing in her ears. Somehow, it hurts her more than the storm of dubstep yesterday ever did.

She leaves the house without even combing her mane.

***

On a stage filled with props imitating a glorious palace, a mare flings herself on a stallion’s feet, crying helplessly. Both ponies are dressed in fine costumes decorated with silk and jewelry; he is wearing a three-cornered hat while heavy golden rings surround her ankles and tie her tail. The desperation in her voice cuts like glass.

“Say not he has passed away!” she pleads from the stallion. “Let not my poor heart shatter again!”

A cool contempt chills the air around the stallion’s face. “Do not attempt to make me a thrall of thine lies. My heart grieves not for the pain thy fake.”

Her eyes, wet and broken, flinch as if he had slapped her in the face. “Cruel they said thee are, Kolho, yet the word feels inadequate to me.” She crawls closer to him, her hooves almost touching his. “Please. One word I crave from thee. Dead. Or alive?”

His lips melt into a grimace as they witness her torment. “Wait not on thy balcony tonight. The night bodes cold.“ He closes his eyes. “The cold of a grave.”

The mare’s wail, shrill and sharp, slices the air in a way of a claw.

“Cut!” shouts a mare from the audience, raising a front hoof into the air. The two ponies on the stage turn to look at her, the mare’s face suddenly filled with anticipation. The unicorn in the audience writes a few lines in her notebook before speaking again. “Very good, miss Lake. Touching, yet not imposing.” She raises her eyes off the notebook, smiling pleasantly. “And your scream would make a banshee blush. Good work.”

Honey Lake’s tear-stained face swells with relief and joy, with the pride hiding somewhere in her eyes. “Thank you, miss Catharsis.” A shadow of worry visit her smile, yet fails to break it. “I think I pronounced Kolho’s name wrong again, though…” Honey Lake swipes some of the tears of her eyes as she speaks, and when she glances at the audience again, she notices that miss Catharsis isn’t actually alone there. In the back of the theatre, a figure sits in the shadows. For a second she thinks it’s Fall who seems to be staring right back at her. But it can’t be… he took the train to Ponyville just this morning.

“...Miss Lake?” asks Catharsis, her eyebrow raised.

“Uh, sorry?” says Lake, tearing her eyes off the stranger and back to the director.

The mare coughs into her hoof before speaking. “I said that I agreed with your point about “Kolho”, but at the same breath I noted that it’s an easy thing to fix. Just say it a few hundred times and you shall know it in your dreams.”

“Oh, okay! Thanks for the tip…” says Lake, her eyes travelling to the back of the theater again. It stands all empty now. She flinches a bit as the stallion nudges her from the side.

“You should go now, Lake,” he whispers to Lake. “The other candidates are waiting.”

Lake blinks, and looks behind her into the side of the stage, where a line of mares, similarly dressed as she, wait anxiously for their turn. She cracks an apologizing smile and hurries off the stage, heading straight into the dressing rooms. Behind her, she can hear another mare starting the scene from the beginning. She winces as she hears her pronounce “Kolho” perfectly.

As she descends the stairs down to the dressing rooms, Lake hears a conversation echoing through the door. Behind, two of her rivals are comparing their performances.

“Not that I want to be difficult, but the air in the theatre really was too sultry,” says a green mare with cream-white mane. “I sweated like a pig, really.”

“Honestly?” answers a dark, almost black, mare with a golden hair. “I found the air too cold. I kept on shaking before my turn…” She turns to look at Lake. “How about you? Was the air okay up there?”

It was common tension that caused all of our symptoms. “Yeah, I guess they could’ve paid more attention to that,” says Lake. “By the way… did neither of you see anypony else in the audience? Besides miss Catharsis?”

“I thought the theatre was closed?” says the mare green as summer grass. “I would’ve wanted my CF to come watch me…”

“I did see somepony,” continues the dark one. “On the last row. A stallion unicorn, I think, but I didn’t get a good look at him. I was too busy concentrating on my act.”

“Oh, could it have been a headhunter?” asks the green mare excitedly.

“Maybe,” says Lake. But somehow I don’t believe that. It was as if I had seen him in somewhere before… but I can't put my hoof on it. Although it felt as if he had know me… “How about we go for a drink?” says Lake suddenly. “Celebrate a bit that the trials are finally over?”

Neither of the two seems to warm up at the idea. “Sorry, Lake, but I got work early tomorrow…” says the almost black mare.

“I’m not in the mood now,” explains the green one. “I feel like I botched my show.”

“Oh. I see,” says Lake. “I guess I go to home then, too.” I’m just being silly. There is no need to hide in company. It was just some culture fanatic trying to get a sneak peek at the new show. And perhaps he was just as impressed of my scream as Catharsis was.

After having undressed, and when her make-up has been flushed down the sink, Honey Lake heads back upstairs. In the corridor, she meets the mare who was next in line after her, and the two exchange a friendly smile. In her mind, Lake only sneers. I bet it’s easy to memorize foreign names when your daddy pays all the bills for you.She pushes the theater's back-door open more forcefully than would be necessary, and the bang of the metall echoes in the surrounding alleyways. It’s quite dark, and the moon is covered by clouds. Lake peers into the shadows for a minute, trying to spot movements there, but the streets and houses remain immobile. It’s as if the night was expecting her to trust itself. For a second, she ponders whether she should wait for another pony to come along. But then she shakes her head, and begins to gallop towards her house.

Her pace is rapid, but not faster than usual. Beside a few late night walkers, the streets of Canterlot are empty even in the centre of the city. A few restaurants and bars remain open, and their lights illuminate Lake’s way along with the street lamps. Light and blackness paint her way as she gradually leaves the central area and enters to the more ordinary districts, where street lamps are a rearer treat. By the time she gets home, they are almost nonexistent. Standing on the main stairs of her tenement, she glances behind her for the first time during her trip, gazes into the moonless night. Nothing stirs in the scene before him, nothing at all. Why then do I feel like something is staring right back at me? She fumbles a bit with the key before she manages to open the door to the stairwell.

“Good evening, Honey Lake,” rasps a voice behind her.

She spins around, dropping the key that rings faintly as it hits the cobblestones. A gasp escapes her as she, despite the dark that masks him, recognizes the pony before her. “Axiom?”

“Professor… Axiom,” he says, his shadowed face expressionless. “If I may indulge, a few moments of your time would be all I ask for.”

“Why… why did you follow me to my house?” she asks carefully. Her right hind leg has almost crosses the threshold.

“A gentlecolt does not simply seize a mare on the street. He lays out his questions indoors.”

Questions? “You could’ve talked to me in the theatre,” says Lake, her voice a bit sharper now. “I saw you in the back row. And how did you even know that I’d be there?”

The moon decides absentmindedly to show itself, and the silvery shining reveals Axiom’s face. His smile is paler than the light that illuminates it. “Your employer kindly gave me a hint. I say, I was surprised to see that you are into classical plays.”

You went to the Angry Griffon, too? “Well, Professor, you really should’ve got to me earlier. Now I’m too tired for any sort of ‘questioning’, whatever that means. Goodnight.” She turns quickly around, and tries to slip inside. His voice binds her like a rope.

“Does Fall already know where Chillburn lives?”

Despite her instincts, she can’t help but face him again. “How do you know that he–”

“Answer the question, and I shall leave you post-haste.”

“No. That’s not your business.”

A grim look finally breaks his fading smile. “Then I shall ask him personally. He is hiding in your apartment, is he not?”

“Goodnight, Professor.” Lake turns around, and this time she ignores his angry shout that follows her inside. She has harder time sidestepping the aura that surrounds the front door as she tries to close it. “What the–,” she begins. Then the door flies ajar, and Axiom steps inside the hallway.

“Help!” she shouts, backing away. “Help, somepony, I need some hel–.” Suddenly, she feels her tongue stifling inside her mouth, feels her whole body freezing in time. In a flash, she can’t move anything but her wide, wild eyes.

Axiom’s horn glows in the dim of the hallway, and for a moment he listens. A minute goes by, then another, but nothing happens. It’s then that a faint smile crosses his lips. “Celestia bless soundproof doors and walls. Now, which apartment is yours?” He throws a questioning look at her face, where her eyes stop their erratic bouncing and nail at him. Her mouth remains open, the call for help trapped on her lips. “Oh, silly me,” says Axiom to himself. “Where did you drop that key? Ah, there it is…” The unicorn picks up the bronze-coloured object, and studies it closely. “Apartment number nine. Shortly we shall see if Fall regrets his choice of ignoring the studies practical magic. I have a feeling that he will.”

To her horror, Lake finds that her legs are moving regardless of her own will. As the mare turns around and starts to climb the stairs, a million thoughts run through her mind, clog up her cognitive process that now has nothing better to do than sit back and watch as her own body imprisons her. After an eternity, they arrive at a door with the number nine decorating it. The lock clicks quietly as the key slips in and turns. Inside, calm silence greets them. Honey Lake steps in, with Axiom behind her. Her heart sends blood rushing in her veins and into her head. Her eyelids resemble a pair butterflies, the way how frequently they blink. She hears the door closing behind, after which Axiom’s rough voice calls out into the darkness of the small apartment.

“Fall! Come out, you coward!”

The darkness swallows up his words as they leave his mouth. He waits for a minute, tries again, yet fails to incite the response he seeks. Lake hears him sigh deeply.

“Fine,” he says. “I suppose there are only two of us here. Makes no matter.”

Lake’s mind flinches as her body makes a sudden move towards a coach, where she sits down neatly and quietly. Her eyes follow Axiom as he settles down in a chair opposite to her. His eyes seem to gleam in the dim.

“There are two ways we can do this,” he says after a while. “You act according to my script, and the night shall end in applauds.” He claps his hooves a together a couple of times. “Or you fail. And trust me, you do not want to fail this trial. Blink twice if you understood.”

She blinks twice.

“Bravo. Now I’m going to release the spell binding you. The first thing you are going to do: Wipe your chin. The drool there makes me sick.” His horn loses its radiance.

Lake’s body twitches as she curls on the couch, her breathing reaching the point of hyperventilation in seconds. She presses her back against the couch, eyes shimmering, hooves frantically grasping the fabric. Yet, despite all her basic instincts, she raises her shaking hoof and wipes the trickle of saliva off her chin and lips, never once breaking the eye contact with him. The unicorn’s indifferent gaze makes a violent shudder travel along her spine.

“Bravissimo,” he states dryly. “But how about the lines? Let’s begin from the simple ones. Where is Fall?”

“Axiom… please… I haven't done anything to y–.” Her shaking voice breaks as a stinging pain lances through her left front hoof. She gasps and looks at the limb that is being twisted into an unnatural angle by the grey halo that surrounds it.

“Wrong lines. Boo.” His horn glimmers more strongly.

Her hoof feels like it’s aflame, the pain tearing through tissue like a razorblade. “Stop!” she screams, eyes closed and mouth twisted into a grimace. To her relief, the agony subsides immediately. The terror does not.

“The audience is waiting,” he states, his voice like ash.

“He is in Ponyville,” says Lake with a sobbing voice. “He left there today…”

“If you lie to me, I will break your leg.”

Her neck snaps to attention. “No. No. You couldn’t. No.” She sounds like a filly trying to deny the existence of death.

If death, as a person, did indeed exist, it might sound something like Axiom right now. “Ponies fall down stairs all the time, breaking limbs. Necks. Most tragic.”

He is bluffing. He is bluffing. He is bluffing. “I’m not lying! Go to his house, he isn’t there!”

“I visited the place already today,” says the unicorn. “Second question: He went to Ponyville in order to talk Reg out of his plans, correct?”

“Y-yes,” whines the mare without hesitating a second.

Axiom furrows his brows, his eyes travelling off the mare. “So I am too late…” he whispers to himself. “I should have moved earlier.”

“W-what are you talking about?” asks the mare carefully. The stallion pays an irritated glance at her.

“Stay in the script, Lake. It would be ashame if you could not attend the Twelfth Neigh because of a broken limb.”

The mare cowers on the couch, pulling her hooves closer to her torso. “I told you what you wanted. Please, leave me alone…”

He gives her a long look which she can’t read even if her life depended on it. Is he… pondering about… silencing me for good? Her trembling becomes a tad more fervent.

“You must think of me as a monster,” he says finally, the voice behind that unreadable face appearing more gentle now. “A monster, a mummy, the old bugger… I have indeed collected myself a reasonable assembly of nicknames during the years. ‘Chalk Tongue’ is one of my favorites.” His eyes look at the closed curtains with detached interest. “Recently I have wondered… if there really is something fundamentally wrong with me.”

The academic tone with which he says that almost makes her laugh madly. It’s a combination of fear and hate than keep her tongue in check.

“I do not expect you to understand,” he continues. “There really is nothing to understand.” His eyes turn to Lake again. “I have one more question for you, and then I shall leave you alone for the rest of your life.” He leans closer to her in his chair. “Do you love Willow Fall?”

The confusion shines from her eyes. “Y-yes…? I love him.”

“Were I you, then, I would consider keeping this little of talk of ours in between us. If you go to the School or to the Castle, I shall know about it. And then…” The grey halo surrounds Lake’s throat, and for one insane moment she is assured that he is going to snap her neck. “...He will suffer,” finishes the unicorn, and releases his grip of her. Him standing up makes her cover even deeper under her hooves and to close her eyes. “Good bye, Honey Lake. Good luck with the trials.” His steps echo in the room for a while, and they disappear as the door opens and closes.

Very slowly, Lake opens her eyes and unfolds her hooves around herself. Her shaking legs can barely carry her to the window where she peeks through the curtains. Underneath, she sees a figure disappearing into the shadows. It’s only then that she allows herself to collapse on the floor, the tears staining her face in seconds.

In a few alleys away from Lake’s home, Professor Axiom stops his walk and leans heavily against a nearby brick wall. Sweat gleams on his wrinkled brow, and his aged heart is doing a double shift in the confines of his chest. His knees wobble slightly as his horn lits up and pulls an old photograph from the pocket of his suite. It’s black and white, worn at the corners, scratched, and most noticeably of all, it has been ripped apart and taped together from the other side. Despite the photo’s ruined condition, Axiom treats it with a very delicate touch, using the faintest layer of magic to keep it floating in front of him. The mare inside the picture smiles, and although the tear travels right through her lips, her beauty is evident. Axiom looks at her for a long while, his panting slowly dying down.

Finally, a faint sound of tearing echoes in the quiet night, along with hooves clattering against the cobblestones.

***

"Whores know no love."

Author's Note

Note: The first scene happens before the one with Axiom and Honey Lake in the previous chapter, right after Chillburn left her house.

"Whores know no love."

The sun is slowly starting its descent from the zenith, and Ponyville’s marketplace bustles with life. Frolicking colts and fillies crisscross in the hooves of their elders; cheery shouts and courteous nods fill the air as the ponies of the small village engage in their social activities. Everypony knows each other, nopony is left alone. Nopony except a dark-orange mare with autumn curls. Chillburn walks among the small crowd, striving to blend in only to find herself separating again when the flow of the tide shifts. Every now and again, a few smiles from strangers make her respond likewise, but otherwise she keeps her eyes vigilant, her ears alert. Come on. Show yourself. I know you’re watching me. Her gaze darts towards a glimpse of a light-brown coat, but the face doesn't fit the image in her mind. Or are you afraid to confront me in public? Suddenly, Chillburn slips into an alleyway, moving away from the whirlpool of social reality.

The first alley changes into a second, the second into a third. Soon the mare find herself almost in the outskirts of the village where the tumult is much less severe. There is practically nopony else around. The mare studies her surroundings with her back against a house wall, her ears turning sharply from side to side. I’m ready, you wretch. Face me, face me now. I’m ready for anything you can throw at m–

“Surprise!” shouts a shrill voice above Chillburn.

She lets out a short, piercing scream. She looks up quickly. It’s right about when her own voice reached her ears that she can see an upside down, grinning face staring straight back at her. The sight makes her spring away from the wall as if it was in the process of collapsing over her. “Hey, wait!” shouts the voice, a bit less shrill now.

Chillburn does indeed halt her short sprint, but only because the thought of exposing her back to the creature behind inspires primal terror in her. As she whirls around, she sees a pink mare with a slightly darker pink mane hanging upside down by her tail from the roof of the house against which Chillburn was just leaning. The orange pony’s mouth drops open. “What the hay…are you?” she manages after a while.

The pink mare grins again, and her tail lets go of the roof. For a fraction of a second it looks like she is about to fall on her nose, but at the last moment she gets her hooves under her, landing neatly in a puff of dust. Chillburn instinctively takes another step away from the figure. “Oh, don’t go!” whines the pink one, her eyebrows melting together in an expression of genuine sincerity. “I didn’t mean to scare you!”

Chillburn can't help but blink at the sight. “Right… I’m going to go now, okay? Please don’t try to follow me, or I have to scream louder this time.” She takes yet another step away from the strange creature.

“Okay okay I confess! I maybe kinda tried to scare you a bit, okay?” The pink one scrapes the ground awkwardly with her front hooves. “It was my special Scare-you-when-you-expect-to-be-scared –scare…”

In the way of gravity, the sheer weight of nonsense emanating from the mare seizes Chillburn. “What?” she says.

The pink pony rolls her eyes. “Well, the name kind of gives away the joke, but what the S.Y.W.Y.E.T.B.S. –scare is really about, is the–”

“Okay, shut up,” interrupts Chillburn, her terror fading in the face of sudden annoyance. “Just shut the hay up. Who are you?”

“Oh, right, we haven’t even been introduced yet! I’m Pinkie Pie!” Pinkie’s smile stretches the limits of reality. “What’s your name?”

Chillburn ignores her questioning look. “Why did you scare me like that? What do you want from me?”

“To make you laugh, silly! That’s what I do around here! You looked so serious back there, in the marketplace.” A ponderous thought captures her expression. “Oh, and I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” repeats Chillburn. “What for? And why would you like to make a complete stranger laugh?”

Light dies from the world. Abyss follows, a pit so dark it resembles more of a hole into nothingness than a mere shadow. And from the abyss, from the depths of the brightest void, Pinkie Pie’s face, now a mask of inverted revelation of bliss, stares back at Chillburn. The pink pony’s voice echoes the hollowness of her expression. “That is the strangest question I have ever heard.” And just like that, the wild shining bursts through the black frost, lighting Pinkie’s face with its usual glee. “And I’m sorry ‘cause I bumped into you in the party yesterday. I figured you didn’t get my apology back then.”

A hazy glint of recollection travels past Chillburn’s carmine eyes. Oh, right… Now I remember you. “It’s…quite alright, really. You shouldn't have bothered coming to me over that.” Now how the hay am I going to forget you?

“Oh, it’s easy; I forget myself all the time,” says Pinkie, smiling like the sun above.

Chillburn’s eyes flinch, her mouth moving as if a sentence tried to be born there. “The buck was that?!” She blurts quickly, her tone rising an octave.

“What was what?” asks Pinkie cheerily, tilting her head a healthy 90 degrees.

I have a feeling I don’t want to know, after all… “O-kay,” says Chillburn slowly. “I got your apology. It was nice to meet you, Pinkie, but you see, I’m looking for somepony, and I think he is looking for me, so…I think I’ll go look for him now.” She flashes a short smile at Pinkie. “Good bye.” Chillburn turns around, praying that she won't find the pink creature right in front of her. She doesn’t.

Instead, she finds herself face to face with Reg Syllable. His eyes drill into hers, forcing a gasp of surprise past her lips.

“Um, looks like you found him!” cheers Pinkie somewhere behind Chillburn, who is only faintly aware of the noise, who is only faintly aware of anything except the stallion in front of her. The seconds drag on like hours for a while.

“I see that you’ve already starting to settle in this town,” says Reg, the levelness of his voice immune to interpretations. Like severing a chain made of steel, he tears his eyes off Chillburn and glances at the smiling pink pony behind her. “New friends just keep on piling on top you.”

“And old ones dig their way up from the rubble, I find,” remarks the mare, her gaze fixed on him. “I’ve been looking for you the whole morning.”

He looks back at her. The stallion has about four inches to her, so at this distance, his gaze travels downhill. “I know. I needed to…prepare myself first.” He blinks his hazel eyes.

“Could I get you guys anything?!” calls Pinkie Pie again. “A drink? A cupcake? A rail on a big iron boat’s bow so that you can hold her front hooves when standing on your hind legs behind her, just before the iceberg crashes into you?”

“I know this cafe we can talk in,” says Chillburn after having stifled an urge to scream at the mare behind her. “Let’s go. Now.”

The tiniest of smiles graces his lips. “Should we invite your new friend along? Seems like she knows how to keep her spirits up.”

Joking, are we now? Some balls you have… “You presume that I want to feel cheery. Also, don’t underestimate my sense of humor.”

The ghost of a smile cracks and fades like smoke. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I know your idea of a joke well enough.”

The clash of their eyes is almost accompanied by sparks. Simultaneously, they avert their gazes and begin walking back towards the village center, never once glancing at each other. Pinkie Pie watches them go and disappear into an alleyway, her smile never failing. It’s only when she is alone that her figure relaxes a bit, that her smile turns into a mere habit. “I’m going to have my hooves full with those two, I just know it,” she mumbles to herself. “And they didn’t even tell me their names.”

She pulls herself up with her tail, and disappears among the rooftops.

***

After Chillburn and Reg settle themselves on a quiet table indoors and they ordered something to send the waiter away, Chillburn dares finally lay her eyes on him properly. Without hurry, shame, nor regret, she examines the face that, despite the fading bruises, still reminds her of one special night sixt months past. He says not a word, but likewise, lets his eyes rest on her. Neither smiles, although Reg thanks the waiter quietly as she brings them their steaming cups of honeyed silver tea.

“Is there a symbolical meaning hidden in here somewhere?” he asks finally. “Or is the tea here really that good that you bring all your coltfriends into this cafe?”

It was Thunderlane who picked the place. “So you admit having followed us that night?” she snaps.

“I thought it was obvious…” He averts his eyes, sweeping the small and empty cafe with an indifferent look. “At least it’s quiet here at this time of the day.”

“An audience is something this mess doesn’t need,” she says, keeping her tone chilly. “I have no interest in playing games with you.”

“And still I feel that I’m the loser in this affair,” he says calmly.

Hate the game, not the player. “What do you want from me, then? A rematch? Compensation? What, reg?” She leans over the table, and whispers the final sentence. “Choose your words very carefully.”

He lowers the cup steadily, drawing the steam into his lungs. He taps the table twice with a hoof, and just when it’s about to hit the wood the third time, he freezes the motion, and bends closer to her. “This tea actually is very good,” he says with the most serious tone he can muster.

She throws her own drink at his face.

The move takes Reg by complete surprise, and sends him tumbling off his chair, his face twisted into a grimace as the scalding liquid burns his nose and closed eyes. Chillburn only sneers at him, her eyes glinting with mild satisfaction. “A bit hot for me,” she says, spitting the words at him.

As Reg manages to wipe the rest of the tea off his face, his eyes open slowly, filled with tacit rage. He fends away the waitress who rushes at his aid, muttering something about his own clumsiness as an explanation. The waitress, an earth pony mare with wheat yellow coat and mane, looks at him suspiciously, but says nothing. Chillburn only smiles back at her when the waiter turns to look at the dark-orange mare.

“Would you like to order some more tea?” asks the waiter, keeping her voice level as she looks alternately at the two clients of the cafe.

“Something cold would be welcomed,” says Reg, glaring at Chillburn.

“Two apple ciders?” continues the yellow mare. “The cellar keeps them cool enough.”

“I won’t be needing anything, thank you,” says Chillburn, taking in his eyes without a flinch. “I don’t think I'll be staying for long.”

“One cider it is,” says the waiter, and leaves.

Reg picks a napkin from a nearby tray and wipes the rest of the silvery drink off his brow, chin, and eyelids. “Was there a point you wanted to make with that little show?” he asks.

“No. I just felt like hurting you.”

He squishes the wet napkin into a ball with his horn. “You seem to fancy that,” he answers. The damp tissue, spotted with little hearts, drops on the table between them. “You want to know what I want from you?” continues Reg, the annoyance polishing the edge in his voice. “Join the club. For six months I fought with myself, with my instincts, my memories… I did everything I could to forget you. I even tried a homemade amnesia spell; while I lost my own name, yours was something I couldn’t tear from my mind.” His eyes stare at the ruin of a napkin. “For a day, I even pondered suicide.”

Her mocking smirk has gone, yet the phantom of it still haunts her face. Why can’t I tell if he is being serious or not? He can’t be… It’s another trick, another desperate attempt to stir my sympathies. “And here you are, harassing me for all that’s worth,” she says. “We can’t go on like this.”

The hazel eyes rise from the napkin. “Why don’t you love me?” he asks quietly. “Why didn’t you even try?”

She blinks under his gaze, and looks through the window at the street beyond. From the reflection, she can see his profile. “ I don’t know, Reg…it just...didn’t feel right.”

“You can lie better than that, I’m sure,” he says.

Her eyes dart back to him. “And I would if I wanted to. I told you already; I don’t want to play games with you.” Chillburn’s eyes soften a bit. “You can’t imagine what I was feeling that night… you have no idea how much I had wanted that one thing, that one simple thing that most mares take for granted. And just like that, it was granted for me on a plate. All I needed to do was extend my hoof and take it.” Yet again she has to bow before his eyes. “It just happened that you were the plate…and nothing more.”

Reg closes his eyes for a minute. When they open again, a pair of tears glistens on them. His hoof hurries to wipe them off, but one manages to escape and drop next to the crushed napkin, leaving the tiniest stain to mark its grave. “That’s…” He tries to say, but the words fall into oblivion like the tear did. He bends over the table, burying his head on his hooves.

The sight wakes up a mixed expression of confusion and disgust in Chillburn, who can’t take her eyes off of his sobbing form for the life of her. If I leave now, will he try to stop me? If I touch him, will he explode? “Reg…for Celestia’s sake, get a grip.” Did I just say that?

To her horror, he begins to chuckle. Step by step, the noise gets fierces, louder, wilder; soon the unicorn is cackling like a lunatic. His shoulders twitch a bit as he raises from the table. “Hahhahh… In a way, I should thank you,” he manages to say after a while. “For all the pain you've caused me, for all the sleepless nights you gave me… I now know that Axiom was right.” Through the red and moist eyes, past the lips twisted in loathing grin, Reg Syllable looks at the mare in front of him as if he saw her for the last time. “Whores know no love.”

But I know failure, adds Reg in his mind as he stands up, and leaves the cafe without another word. Through the window, Chillburn watches him disappear into the town. She jumps a bit when somepony taps her on the shoulder.

“You want to have this?” asks the waiter, offering her a green glass bottle with an ornamental apple on the side.

Chillburn watches the thing for a few seconds, her face blank. The cold glass caresses her hoof when she finally accepts it, raises it to her lips, and empties half a bottle in one go.

The waiter cringes a bit at the sight. “This really isn’t that kind of a cafe, miss…” she says. “And even if it were, the cider isn’t really that strong to get drunk quickly.”

The bottle hits the table with a thud. Chillburn stifles a burp, and wipes the spills from her lips. The look she gives at the waiter is more dreamy than her voice. “I know that. But the gesture felt appropriate nonetheless.” She smiles an intricate smile. “Where I come from, the animal called victory needs to be put down with a drink.”

***

At the same time, in a half empty railroad car, Willow Fall reads a tiny leaflet with detached interest. The rattle of the train and the quiet talk, which had composed the background tune for his travel ever since they left Canterlot, had already become part of his consciousness. In a way, the medley was calming. A couple of playing fillies on the back of the wagon disrupt the harmony of the din with a sudden shriek, pulling Fall’s eyes upon them. The two quiet down immediately when they see him watching them. When the stallion’s gaze returns to the small, green-white leaflet again, they start whispering to each other. He pays them no more attention, but continues reading from where he stopped.

…and as of recently, Ponyville has been blessed with the presence of none other than Princess Twilight Sparkle herself. The talented, gracious, yet modest former personal student of Princess Celestia still lives in the Ponyville library, helping book hungry ponies to their daily dose literature whenever she isn’t saving Equestria.

Fall keeps on reading the article for a few more pages, yet finally can’t help himself and checks how many pages there are left. Dear Celestia… Is this new Princess everything Ponyville can boast having, in addition to the “particularly excellent” apple cider? Fall notices that almost half of the booklet called “Ponyville in a nutshell” revolves around its honorary citizen. And the pictures are almost all about her, too. It’s a miracle she isn’t holding a bottle of cider in half of them. The unicorn abruptly skips the article he was reading, and finds a stylised map of Ponyville appearing before him. He studies it carefully for a while.

Where would Chillburn settle in such a simple environment? Closer to the river, or to the centre? A big, quiet house near the fields, or a comfy flat just next to the marketplace? His brow furrows as he tries to imagine the dark-orange mare in his mind, buying carrots, doing dishes, swaying her tail. He quickly shakes his head to smoke the last picture out of there. A gradual sigh escapes him after he studies the map for a few more minutes. I don’t know enough about you to say where you’d prefer living. I must hope that the Town Hall archives have records of recently rented or bought estates and apartments. And that I’m allowed to see them. And that she hasn’t used another fake name to sign the papers. He grinds his teeth, his imagination piling up a problem after another for him. I may need to search the town house by house, pony by pony. Even in a village of this seize, the task would take days; days of which might not take me any closer to finding Chillburn. He blinks his eyes as a nasty feeling crosses his thoughts. No. I’m searching for Reg. Chillburn is only the way for that end. I’m searching for Reg.

The stallion looks at the clock above the wagon door; it’s nearing two. A few more hours. If the luck is with me, I can make it to the Town Hall before it closes. And if I’m really lucky, it won’t rain tonight. He turns the page of the booklet, and reads the rest of it just in case the contents might prove to be useful. Alas, in addition to a few more pictures of awkwardly smiling Princess Twilight Sparkle, the pages only tell about the grand and small events of the summer and autumn to come, some tips about finding friends in a new town, and finally, on the very last page, a few choice words from the new Princess herself:

Ponyville is not merely a few buildings on a countryside, nor a name on a map. It is a community, an experience, a state of mind. Most important of all, it is my home (but let me be clear about this; by that statement I don’t mean it’s my home as Princess Twilight Sparkle, but as just Twilight Sparkle). For those of you who are planning a visit here: Be welcomed! For those of you already on a train, or on a wagon, or in the air: Be welcomed again!

–Princess Twilight Sparkle

Fall eyes the words for a few minutes, and then sets the leaflet back onto the rack with the rest of its kind. With a slow yawn, he leans against the window, closing his eyes and letting the vibration of the train gently spread into his jawbone. He closes his eyes, and the lets darkness envelope him. From within, he can see a pair of carmine eyes winking at him, can hear a soft voice whispering:

No bargaining, no regrets. Tonight knows only pleasure. But only if you play along like a good gentlecolt.

***

A cloud explodes and evaporates into the thin air, leaving nought but few wisps of white steam lingering on the sky. A dark-grey pegasus smiles, and attacks against another member of the cumulus race, annihilating this one with the stark beats of his wings. Three more lambs of the blue meet their demise in his capable hooves before Thunderlane returns to the small group of pegasi waiting on the ground. His smirk touches the worse side arrogance, yet the other ponies cheer for him nonetheless; a cyan mare with a rainbow mane is the first one to express her awe.

“Not half bad, ‘Lane!” she says, raising her navy blue cap for him. She turns for the other pegasi, her expression changing from genuine excitement into stoic discipline in an instant. “You all could take a page or two out of Thunderlane’s book here! Today’s drill was good, but while I’m around, that’s only half a compliment!“ Her magenta eyes sweep the faces before her. “So…who’s up for an extra round?”

A series of approving shouts, accompanied by a mixed composition of raised hooves and wings, make a wide grin appear on the cyan mare’s lips. “Now that’s what I’m talking about! A break of ten and we’re on air!” She turns her gaze to a grey mare with short, light-yellow mane and mismatched eyes. “Derpy!” says the rainbow pegasus. “Your turn to gather some clouds for us; chop chop!”

The grey mare salutes with her left hoof, smiles, and flies away before Rainbow Dash has time to point out the error in her gesture. Dash sighs, and looks at the rest of the small group with whom she has been practicing ever since the morning. Many enjoy the break by laying on the grass while others chat with one another. A few are sipping water from the nearby pond. Then her eyes notice Thunderlane, who has gone stretching his wings and limbs a bit farther away from the rest. With a few beats of her wings, Dash makes it to the dark-grey pegasus.

“Not into idling around, eh?” she asks while floating just above him.

The stallion glances at her, and cracks a confident smile. “You know me, Dash; always in it to win it.”

The cyan mare chuckles, and circles him in the air. “I do know that…I could even say I taught you that…but there’s something more to it this time, isn’t there?” Her eyes, sharp and dexterous, keep on burning him from different directions. “I’ve never seen you fly that good before.”

Thunderlane doesn’t stop his exercising, but keeps his eyes at the mare. “Well…I did start eating those energy bars you’ve been pushing for us the past month.”

Her eyes only narrow down more. “What you said you were late for, again?” she asks pointedly.

“Uhm, slept late?”

“Nopony sleeps late on a cloud, ‘Lane. No curtains, dummy.” With a thud, Dash lands right in front of him. “Spit it out!”

He stops his stretching, throwing a slightly annoyed look at her. “Hey, give me some slack, Dash. Private is private.”

“Oh, come on; I’m your coach! You can tell me anything.” Suddenly, she sniffs her tiny nose. “Wait a minute…are you using perfume?”

Thunderlane blinks a few times, and averts her gaze for a second. His wings tense just slightly. “Uuh…I was in Pinkie’s party the other night. Must’ve stuck from there.”

She looks at him meaningfully under her brows. “And you’re saying you haven’t showered after that?”

He is beginning to sweat under her mischievously gleaming eyes.

“Lane… do you have a marefriend I don’t know about?”

“I-I don’t need to tell you about that stuff!”

“Oh we’ll see ‘bout that!” says Dash playfully, raising a few feet into the air again. “You just wait the next team’s night out, coltanova! I say, you’re going to tell us everything then…” She accidentally looks at the watch on her wrist, and yelps. “Ten minutes and forty seconds! Hay no, not on my watch!” Using the tip of her wing, Dash pulls the whistle hanging on her neck to her mouth and lets out a long, shrill noise. “Everypony, up up up!” She speeds to the other pegasi, shouting orders as she goes. Thunderlane is about to follow her when a rough voice from behind addresses him.

“Thunderlane… How does one come by a name like that? Did you get hit by a lightning bolt when you were young?”

Thunderlane turns his head, and sees a light-brown unicorn smirking at him some ten feet away. Where the hay did you come from? he thinks. “Uhh, hello… Reg, was it?”

“Call me whatever you want, ‘Lane’. Is that what she calls you, too?”

The pegasus raises an eyebrow. “Yeah…she does that. Too many syllables in a name can be a real pain, you know.” He grins at the unicorn.

Reg laughs shortly, almost barks. “You’re a clever one, aren’t you? For a bird, that is.”

Thunderlane’s smile dies away, and he turns completely towards the other stallion. “What did you call me?”

Reg’s smirk only gets wider. “What’s the matter, bird? You don’t seem to mind the name in her mouth, do you?”

Thunderlane’s eyes narrow down, and he paws the ground with a hoof. “How do you know that? Did you meet Chillburn today?”

A disturbance, like an echo of an agony, makes Reg’s expression ripple, stir, and crack. “You think she might love you, don’t you? No doubt you’re in love with her, or at least you’re stupid enough to believe that to be the case.” He chuckles dryly. “After playing with you a bit, she’ll throw you away like an old rug.”

The pegasus snorts. “I don’t know what’s up with you and Chillburn, but don’t take it out on me. Nor on her, for that matter.” He spreads his wings, readying himself for a liftoff. “I’m going to go now. Bye.”

Pure malice breaks Reg’s mocking expression. “She used to be a whore. I loath gossiping, but I figure it’s only fair to let you know where you’re sticking your cock into.”

The pegasus lunges at the unicorn, soaring through the air with a few fervent beats of his powerful wings. Reg, despite his fast instincts, has just barely time to block the blow that would’ve otherwise hit him straight to the muzzle. The momentum of the pegasus brings them both to the ground, tangling them into a mix of flailing hooves and wings. They struggle for a few seconds, but then Reg manages to get his hind legs under his chest and violently kick the pegasus off himself. Thunderlane grunts as the air flees his lungs, but before he has time to recoup, Reg is on him. A sharp blow from the side sends the pegasus’s ears ringing, and he collapses on two knees.

Reg kicks again, this time aiming for his ribs. His hoof misses as the pegasus manages to move a bit, so the hit lands on the base of his right wing instead, inciting a painful cry from the pegasus. His eyes ignite as he lunges at the unicorn again, trying to bring him down. Reg takes his charge head on, digging his hind hooves into the grass. He is about to drill into the stem of his wing again, but the headbut of the pegasus lands nicely in the middle of his eyes, and stars greet the unicorn as he staggers backwards, shaking his head. Thunderlane tries to press on with his attack, but flaring agony blooms from his right wing, making him stagger.

Reg blinks a few times, trying to stop his vision from shaking, but a trickle of blood stains his eyelids and he has no choice but to close them as he wipes the gore off with a hoof. When he can see again, he notices that the panting pegasus has trouble moving. Reg’s eyes glint in the sunlight, and for one moment, he forgets the pain, the rules, the blood dripping along his face.

The unicorn’s horn starts to shimmer.

But before anything else has time to happen, a sky-blue mare with the most colourful mane Reg has ever seen lands in between him and Thunderlane, her face a mask of flaming rage. “Don’t you bucking even think about it, you scum!” she shouts, her voice almost breaking before her fury. “Back off! Back the hay off this instant!”

The unicorn blinks, but his horn dims only when the other pegasi arrive at the scene, aligning themselves on the cyan mare’s side or by Thunderlane, who still has trouble standing. Reg glares at him for a second, trying to make an eye contact, but the dark-grey pegasus doesn’t seem to acknowledge his presence anymore.

“Look at me, you bucker.” The mare’s voice practically boils. “You got two seconds time to explain this.”

Reg looks at the mare indifferently, the blood gleaming on his brow and jaw. Then he simply turns and begins to walk away. Two whole seconds later, he finds the cyan mare floating in front of him, blocking his path. From the corner of his eye, Reg can see a couple more pegasi, mostly stallions, closing in behind him.

“Time’s up,” states the cyan mare, her voice drilling into him like an icicle. “Better start singing now. Or a hundred feet off the ground. Your choice.”

Reg spits a thick lump of blood and saliva on the spot below the mare, never once turning his eyes from her. He can hear the pegasi behind growling at him. “You birds don’t have anything better to do than flocking around me?” he asks dryly. The angry noises around him double both in count and in intensity in seconds.

The mare flapping before him only glares at him with contempt. “I see you’re not from around here. That’s cool. Gives us a chance of showing off some famous Ponyville hospitality.” A scornful smile spreads on her lips. “It’s in the tourist brochure and all.”

“You’re all welcome to try, pigeons. We’ll see how many of you it takes to–”

“Hey Biceps!” calls out the mare, aiming her words somewhere behind Reg. “Mind escorting our guest to the Town Hall? The Mayor can decide how we deal with him there.”

Reg starts laughing hysterically. “Biceps? Really? Oh, don’t say; he must be a pelican or something…” The unicorn turns around slowly, cackling as he does. Behind him, the small crowd has moved to give room for a snow white pegasus who looks like the dictionary definition of “muscle”.

Oh, buck, thinks Reg as he sees Biceps grinning at him.

***

Even though the afternoon is slowly transitioning into evening, the Ponyville marketplace still has a few more stands open, with a few more clients hunting for a late bargain. In the middle of the town square, the round two-storeyed building that makes Fall think of a circus tent, stands above the other rooftops with all the authority of a town hall. The unicorn eyes the drawn curtains and growing shadows that creep alongside the base of the building that reach a bit higher with every passing minute. To his surprise, the door creaks open when he tries to knock on it.

“Hello?” he calls as he enters into a hall of sorts. Old fashioned oils lamps decorate the yellow tapestry, unlit. Beside a few chairs and a rack full of tourist leaflets, the large desk standing on side of the room is the only thing that gives the impression that this really is an official building and not somepony’s living room.

A speckled head peeks behind the wooden desk at Fall. “Oh, hello,” it says with a friendly voice. “I was just packing it in for the day. How may I help you?” A pair of shoulders emerge to accompany the head.

Are crescent glasses the latest fashion in the clerk business nowadays or what? thinks Fall idly as he walks over to the desk. “I’m sorry that I come in such a late hour, but I just arrived to the town,” he says. “I was wondering if you have archives of recently made deals, concerning the exchange of estate ownership or rental contract in the town’s jurisdiction?”

The clerk, an earth pony stallion with short light-grey mane and teal eyes, looks at Fall as if he had just asked if the village owned a spaceship. “Uhm…no, we don’t have such records. We only have the usual tax register here, and then a bunch of some less official lists…”
Countryside bureaucracy…I should’ve guessed. Fall sighs, and continues: “Do you have the addresses of the taxpayers registered in this village?”

The clerk smiles with half a mouth. “Weeell… The thing is, quite some time ago we found out that we don’t really need to keep records of that. If we need to know somepony’s address around here, we just ask it from them, or from somepony who knows them. Saves a lot of paperwork, that does.” Without warning, the clerks eyes go wide and his asymmetrical smile expires. “Wait, are you an inspector?That wasn’t an official statement I just gave you!”

“I’m not here for that,” hurries Reg to say. “I’m looking for a certain mare that moved here some months ago. Goes by the name ‘Chillburn’. Or Sugar Blossom. Mean anything to you?”

The clerk relaxes a bit, but not completely. He purses his thin lips as he ponders for a while. “Nope, sorry. Could you describe her for me?”

“An earth pony. A dark-orange coat, auburn mane and tail, carmine eyes. A red rose, burning blue, as her cutie mark.”

Before the clerk can answer, the front door opens and a pegasus stallion peeks in. “Good, you’re still here,” he says to the clerk. “Just thought to mention that we locked the troublemaker into the old mill and put some guards on him.”

The clerk leans a bit to his left to looks at the pegasus behind Fall. “Okay, sounds good. I’ll tell the Mayor about the situation tomorrow when she returns from her trip.”

The pegasus nods at him, and the door closes with a thud behind him.

Fall, who followed the little scene without saying a word, looks questioningly at the clerk. “You often lock criminals into old mills here?”

The earth pony shrugs. “We don’t often lock anypony anywhere. But it’s not important. Now that you depicted the mare to me… Yes, I think I’ve seen her around the town a couple of times.”

Fall leans closer to the other stallion. “Do you know where she lives?”

The clerk blinks under his gaze. “Well, uhh…no. And I don’t think I should be telling you if I did know, anyway.” His eyes narrow down a bit. “If you’re not an inspector, what exactly is your business in Ponyville?”

Fall leans back again, his eyes looking nowhere. “I’m searching for a friend, and that mare is my only lead to find him. Unless…” He looks sharply at the clerk again. ”Does the name Reg Syllable mean anything to you? An unicorn, a gothic ‘A’ cutie mark, light-brown coat? Relatively fresh bruises on his face?” In a second, Fall can see the affirmative reaction on the clerk’s face.

“Sounds like an exact description of the aforementioned troublemaker. His bruises were quite new, though.”

“Take me to him,” says Fall immediately. “Take me to him now.”

The earth pony looks at him suspiciously, letting a few heartbeats pass in silence. “Why? He is supposed to be under lock and key until the Mayor comes back from her visit to the neighboring village tomorrow afternoon.”

Fall snorts, and glares at the other stallion. “I have no intention of freeing him; a talk with him is all I ask for.” His expression softens a bit. “Please. We have known each other for years. I must see him.”

The two stare at each other, neither willing to avert their gaze. But Fall’s dark eyes finally take their toll on the clerk. “As you will, then. I can lead you to the mill so that you can exchange a few words.”

“That’s all I need. Thank you.”

The clerk ordains some papers into a saddleback which he puts on, and steps out behind the desk. Fall follows him to the door, the reality of the situation finally landing on him.

Reg…what the hay have you done?

***

In Canterlot, in the School of History and Linguistics, in his solitary office, Professor Axiom studies the train schedules for tomorrow. With academic care, he picks a pencil from his table and circles the number 07.25, the earliest train that leaves for Ponyville. A pale smiles describes his feelings as accurately as a photograph of an orchestra might describe the song its playing. The sun looks over his shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of what his shadowed expression hides behind itself, but the celestial light can do little to illuminate a face that has long since turned away from its glow.

Axiom flinches as he feels a familiar stare looking at him again. He looks to his left, and sees the stern look of his great-grandfather drilling into him through the painting. As if talking to another pony, Axiom strives to explain himself.

“I know I crossed the line with Honey Lake, no need to remind me of that! It was necessity that forced my hoof – well, my horn to be more exact – but the principle stands; I had to rough her up a bit!”

The bright green eyes, hard as emeralds, do not sway.

“It was not like that! I asked nicely first, I certainly did…nopony can say I didn’t try the polite way first…” Axiom’s hind leg taps the carpet steadily. “She’ll be fine…the young will always be fine…”

A cloud covers the sun, and the dim paints the canvas with sinister shades.

Axiom shudders, and looks down at his desk. “Have it your way, then…although you said nothing when I pushed Chillburn around a bit…”

The shadows don’t stir.

Axiom’s pays a sideway glance at the picture of his ancestor. “Oh, who’s being rough now? A whore’s a whore, but that kind of talk is unnecessary, I would say…”

Silence ensues; the heavy door muffles both the voice trying to get in and trying to get out of the office.

“We shall see if Reg’s gone over the line when I get there,” continues the stallion grey as ash. “I suppose he has. Would be just like him, that… Sometimes it feels that I know him better than I know myself.”

The painting gives him a meaningful look.

“Hah! In your dreams, colonel!” He leans back on his chair, the wooden front legs rising from the floor with a creak. “Mark my words, though: He is going to learn it the hard way. The young always learn through the hard way…”

The painting’s remark stirs a short laugh out of the Professor.

“Indeed. Nopony knows that better than the old.” The chair lands abruptly on all fours. “I swear, after I retire, I will write that letter to her. Enough years have passed, and with all the leisure time I shall have I can finally put enough work on my words.” He looks the painting hopefully into the eyes. “Right?”

The paint remains mute.

“You’re wrong. She couldn’t have found another one. Whores never settle down. How I’m going to find her? Just like I found Chillburn; with willpower and logic. What? No, she can’t be dead, somepony would’ve told me… Besides, it’s only been, what, 30 years?” Carefree chuckling fills the room.

It never stops, but rather, shrivels into nothingness.

Reg… I will show you… I will make you see… whores know no love…

Not for their life.

For no reason at all.

Three knocks on the front door echo in the dim house, sinking into the walls in seconds. After a short pause, four more carry in and break the quiet; this time, they incite movement on the living room’s couch. A figure stirs in the darkness, fumbling with its limbs as it stands up and looks at the door’s direction. Chillburn’s head sways slightly as a third set of knocks, the most demanding thus far, reaches her ears. The mare walks to the door, her steps, even in their uncertainty, making not a sound. “Yes?” she asks with a sleepy voice as she gets close enough. “Who's there?”

“Thunderlane,” answers the voice beyond. “Can I come in?”

She blinks in the dark, and a moment of indecision imprisons her for a second. As she returns to the living room to get the key from the table, she hits her knee against the hardwood. She curses, and returns to the door. When the metal finally meets its home and turns with a click, Chillburn sees the familiar form of the pegasus greeting her on the doorstep. The moonlight reveals a bandage wrapped around the base of his right wing, yet fails to illuminate his face.

“Does the bird need some honey for his hurt wing?” asks the mare sweetly, the roughness in her voice now less noticeable.

The pegasus’s sniffs the air around her, and pulls his face away a bit. “Are you...drunk?”

“I might be,” continues Chillburn with a heavy, dreamy voice. “The real question is, how’re ya gonna exploit that…” She takes a wavering step back, bending her back as she does. “That’s what you came for, right?”

The amber eyes remain clad in shadows. “I’m not in the mood right now, really. I’d just like to talk.”

She stops bending her back before him, a confused look intruding her bedroom eyes. “Why not? Don’t ya like me anymore?”

“It’s not that,” sighs the stallion. “Look, maybe it’s better that I come back tomorrow when you’re sober. We can talk at the picnic.” He turns to leave.

A rush of panic fills her face. “No, don’t go!” She hurries outside and circles around him. “I can be sober rig–what the hay happened to yar face?”

A few bruises and a bandaid decorate Thunderlane’s body in the silvery light of the rising moon. “We can talk about it tomorrow,” he says, avoiding her gaze.” I’m kind of tired now, too; I shouldn't have come…”

“I’m not tired!” continues Chillburn with a voice leaning towards whining. “Please, talk to me…I can’t sleep if ya leave me like this, now.”

A shade of annoyance covers the amber eyes as he studies the mare in the dim light. “Fine. Let’s talk.” He turns and walks for the open door.

Chillburn hurries after him. After closing the door, she blurts: “Did Reg do that to you?”

“He did,” answers the pegasus as he walks to the living room. “Can we get some light here? I can’t see a th–” His sentence ends in a mix of a curse and a grunt as the table makes its acquaintance with his knee.

“Hold on, I’ll light the lamps…as soon as I get some oil for them at the shop…”

“Just forget it,” mutters the pegasus. “I can manage.”

Chillburn chews her lip and watches as Thunderlane’s figure settles on the couch with some difficulty. “No you can’t,” she says. “Besides, I want to see you properly.” She heads to the bedroom, the stairs creaking under her hooves. Soon she returns with a faintly glowing oil lamp in her teeth, the light revealing her blushed cheeks. She sets the lamp on the table, turning the flame brighter. “I keep this one filled in the bedroom, just in case,” she explains proudly. Her pleased expression vanishes when she looks upon his face again.

“He came to the weather drill today,” said the stallion quietly after a while. “I don’t know how he found me…but it was pretty clear why he had come. He might've as well cut the small talk and moved straight to the punching.”

“Oh, sweetheart…I’m so sorry.” She moves closer to him on the couch, caressing his neck and back. “How badly does it hurt?”

He glances at his right wing. “Won’t be flying for at least a week, the doctor said. You mentioned Reg is a boxer? He must be a devil in the ring…” His gaze travels back to the bright flame. “Funny, though…what reason you have to be sorry for what your ex has been up to?”

The mare keeps on smoothing his neck, gently touching his mane every now and then. “Did he…say that we’ve been together?”

He snorts, still staring at the flame. “He didn’t need to; it’s obvious that you two have a history, and I’m not talking about some little foal’s play here. He is mad for you, and that’s why he attacked me today; because I’m in his way to you.”

Since when did his shoulders get this tense?“You have nothing to worry about, hun. Reg and I do share a history...and nothing more. I’ll never leave you for him.” She leans closer to him ear, her lips chasing his ear.

He moves away from her, shaking off her hoof. “If that was all I cared about, I wouldn’t have come tonight. I didn’t come because Reg attacked me today…but because I attacked him.” He turns his eyes off the light, into the umbra of shame.

“Wh-what? But you said–”

“He came to me with words, asking for a fight, but it was I who crossed the line. And that’s all that matters.” He looks into her eyes, the honey aflame amidst the dark-grey face. “And the thing that bothers me the most...scares me more than anything else...is that I don’t feel as bad about it as I know I should.”

The confusion makes her eyes flicker like the fire inside the glass prison. “What do you mean?”

Their hooves touch on the couch, his moving over hers. “Reg said some things about you. Bad things. I couldn’t let it pass, not even when I knew I should’ve done just that.” A smile of sorts creeps on his lips. “I love you, Chillburn. And it scares the hay out of me.”

Her head sways slightly farther away from him. “Why would you say th–”

“–Because I’ve known you barely for a month!” bursts the pegasus, his smile burning. He searches her eyes for understanding, but all he finds is more confusion dressed in fear. “I’m not playing a love sick colt here; I’ve dated mares before…but you…you don’t get just under my coat. You are my coat.” The stallion’s smile dies twitching slightly. “Without you, I feel bare.”

She pulls her hoof away from him. Not quickly, not slowly, but with care hastened by instinct. He looks down on her limb, the flickering flame shading his perplexion. She glances at him, and then focuses not on the lamp on the table, but on the circle of light where it stands sovereign. The silence is deafening.

“I’m pregnant with Reg’s child,” she whispers.

“What?”

She turns her sad, shimmering eyes at him. “I should’ve told you earlier. I don’t know, the last few days have been so vexing…” She wraps her hooves around his neck, and buries her head between his neck and shoulder. “I should’ve told you…” Her voice breaks while her shoulders shake uncontrollably with sobs.

Without thinking about it, the stallion accepts her embrace, his hooves moving on their own to comfort her. In his eyes, Thunderlane is less sure about himself. “It’s okay… I’m not mad at you. I’m just… I don’t understand.” His muzzle sinks into her mane, breathing in her scent. “Why you’re telling this to me now? Why not before?”

“Because it wasn’t supposed to matter,” she says amidst the tears that flow down his coat. “This is my child, not anypony elses. I wasn’t trying to fool you to become my husband, I swear! I just…I…want to be a mother…” She digs deeper into him, right to the point where it starts to hurt.

“Okay, okay…” hears Thunderlane himself saying, speaking into her gorgeous mane. “I’m not sure I follow. How about you start from the beginning.”

Chillburn detaches from him hesitantly, and dries the tears with a hoof. “I’m sorry about this…must be the alcohol that’s affecting me. I don’t drink that often, not this much at least.”

The stallion smiles tensely, as if half of the feelings that he has ever known tried simultaneously to squeeze into the same family portrait. “It might not be the best idea to say this now, but aren’t you supposed not to be drinking at all while carrying?”

Her blank expression lasted for four seconds before being washed away with one of dread so vivid it was contagious. “I’ve ruined my baby!” she wails, burying her face into her hooves. “I’m the worst mother there is!”

He hastens to extinguish her anguish. “Wait, I didn’t mean that! I’m sure a few drinks won’t matter, I’m sure! Please stop crying!”

With ardent efforts, Thunderlane manages to calm Chillburn down enough so that she can start her story, beginning from the night she first met Reg Syllable. As the words pour from her mouth, some more easily than others, her frantic sobbing gradually ceases. In its stead, a sense of tranquility descends. He lets her open herself to him, listening without interrupting. In the end, she ends up telling him not only about the events six months past, but her whole life starting from the day she heard that she wouldn’t be able to carry a child inside her, ever.

It’s only when she gets to the part where she sneaked out on Reg in the Canterlot Castle that Thunderlane interrupts her monologue. “You just left him like that? No wonder the guy went nuts.”

“So you think I shouldn’t have?” she asks quietly, looking at the flame that has almost run out of fuel by now.

“I’d rather stop flying than tell what you should’ve done. What you did, you did, and there’s nothing anypony can do about it now. I only meant that I can understand Reg a bit better after knowing what he has gone through.” His hoof caresses idly her curls. “I still don’t feel bad for what I did to him, though. He shouldn't have called you a…” his voice dies down before the word.

She looks at him with a glint of curiosity. “I’ve always wondered…why do you stallions think ‘a whore’ is the worst name you can call us?”

He cringes at the name. “Uhm, isn't it just that? It’s disrespectful, degrading, dirty–”

“–okay, okay, I get the idea,” interrupts the mare, her voice regaining some of it’s characterizing sharpness. “But I asked why you thinks it’s so? I don’t get it, really.”

“You don’t?” he asks, amazed.

She shakes her head. “Certainly some mares must think the word as obnoxious as you, but it never got to me like that. It’s just a word; a profession, to be exact. And to be honest, even in my wildest days as a whore, I never felt that bad for myself. Not for the name, at least.”

He gives her a long look. “Ahem. I see. Well, I guess there are worse names for a mare than a...whore.”

But you don’t really believe there are, do you? Males; always so stiff when it comes to sex. “I’m glad that you agree,” she says. “Mind if I carry on?”

He yawns widely, and nods afterwards. “I’d love that, Chillburn. I can catch some sleep during the day before the afternoon’s proceeding.”

“Proceeding?”

“Oh right, I didn’t mention it yet. When the Mayor gets back from her trip tomorrow, we’re going to go over the fight with Reg with her.”

The mare raises an eyebrow. “You mean, there is going to be a trial?”

“No, nothing that serious. We’re just going to talk it over, settle and bury the thing for good. That’s the Ponyville way of handling this sort of stuff.”

The mare sighs in relief. “Oh, good…for a moment, I thought that this affair was going to get public…”

He lets out a short, awkward chuckle. “Oh, I didn’t exactly say that there wouldn't be an audience. Did I once mention that Ponyville is very communal? Well, there are two sides to all coins, and often these kinds of cases attract some outside viewers around here.”

“Some?” she asks pointedly.

He rubs the back of his neck, pondering. “Most of the weather team will come for sure, and then there’s usually a few scores of outsiders who might get the rumour in time. Unless Pinkie Pie throws one of her reconciling parties; then we’d be talking of about a hundred tails.”

“Oh dear Celestia,” moans Chillburn, sinking into the couch. “Terrific. Soon the whole village will know what’s going on between me and Reg.”

He looks at her empathetically. “It will never come to that, I swear. Not by my mouth, at least; I’ll talk with the Mayor tomorrow and tell her that I’d like to keep this in the inner circle. I’m sure she'll understand.”

“But Reg might–”

“I’ll handle Reg,” interrupts Thunderlane calmly. “He is officially my problem now, too.”

She looks at him doubtfully. “What are you going to say him?”

An easy smile, one more familiar to him, lights up the pegasus's face. “I’ll figure out something before tomorrow. I may not have a degree in psychotherapy, but I’ve experienced a heartbreak or two in my life. We’ll come to an agreement, mark my words.” Or maybe we just end up crashing the Mayor’s office. Either way, I’ll be damned before I let him hurt you anymore. He extends a hoof on her neck, brushing the delicate coat there. “Trust me.”

The conspicuous distrust on her face lingers a second longer, but then it fades and disappears, replaced by one of her warmer smiles. “I will. In fact, I trust you well enough that I won’t even bother coming to the Town Hall tomorrow.”

“You don’t think seeing Reg could be helpful to both of you?”

“Depends; considering the state of my mind, I’d call it the opposite of helpful. And I think that goes for Reg, too.”

The stallion flicks her curls with a hoof, letting them fall on his ankle. “Okay. You still want to finish that story of yours?”

Chillburn blinks. “Right, that. I can’t recall where I stopped…”

“To the night when you left Reg and jumped into the train to…”

“Haytown,” finishes the mare. “I went to Haytown for a couple of months. My mother lives there, along with the ones who’ll rather die than move away. I felt the need to...tell her what had happened and then move on. For whatever reason, I stayed with her longer than the planned few days.” She leans against his hoof, closing her eyes. “I almost settled there for good. But in the end, I couldn’t. If you don’t mind, I’d save that story for another time.”

“Of course. Was that when you moved to Ponyville?”

“And met you.” She draws him closer, digging tenderly into his lap. “That was a good day.”

“Yeah,” says the stallion as he puts his other hoof over her chest. “It was.”

The flame goes out without a sound.

***

The windmill almost looks sinister, the way the setting sun paints the stony structure with eerie red and yellow. Willow Fall eyes the thing as they approach it with the clerk, almost galloping as they cross the field. “My name is Tin Key, by the way,” says the clerk in a friendly tone. “Most call me just Tin, though.”

“Willow Fall,” says Fall without taking his eyes off the mill. “I’m not seeing the guards of whom you spoke.”

“They must be inside, then.”

“Does the mill have storage rooms or something?”

“A large cellar, I’ve been told,” says Tin Key. “I’d wager that your friend is safely shut there.”

Safely for whom, I wonder. “What exactly happened with him today?”

Tin Key shrugs while walking. “I don’t know much about the details, sorry. Apparently he exchanged some blows with one pegasus in today’s weather drill.”

“You have any clue what caused that?”

He shakes his head. “He hasn’t talked much since we locked him up. Nothing worth remembering, at least.”

They arrive at the mill’s shadow, and step in through the small door. Inside, a pegasus and a unicorn stallion sitting by a table interrupt their board game and look at them. The dim light of an oil lamp hanging above gives them a somewhat grim appearance.

“Hello, guys!” says Tin Key cheerily. “Everything okay here?”

“Who’re you?” asks the pegasus sharply from Fall, ignoring Tin Key.

Fall stops a few feet away from the table. “Name’s Willow Fall. I came to see the prisoner.”

The guards glance at each other, then at Tin Key. “What’s this, Tin?” asks the pegasus.

The clerk gives a short, tense laugh. “Heh, nothing special. Fall here is a friend of our little troublemaker, and they’d just like to share a word or two. No harm in that, right?”

The pegasus narrows down his eyes, and looks at Fall again. “Kind of late to come for a talk, isn’t it?”

“I just arrived to the town,” explains Fall politely. “This is very important for me. Please, I won’t cause any trouble.”

The small, dark room holds its breath for a few seconds.

“RD didn’t say that we couldn’t let in guests,” says the unicorn guard at the other one.

“That’s because nopony was expecting any,” says the pegasus without taking his eyes off Fall. “Very convenient for you to arrive to the town just as your ‘friend’ gets into trouble.” His wings stir gently.

“Come on, Dart,” says Tin Key pleasantly. “We’re only talking about a few minutes here. I can stay until then, okay?”

The pegasus gives him a condescending look. “You won’t be much of a use if two unicorns start rumbling around.” When his eyes return to Fall, the mistrust in them is strong enough to be mistaken as aggression. “It’d be two horns against one. Can’t take that risk.”

By Celestia…what on Earth did Reg do to get these guys so jumpy? “Look, I’m a scholar, not a member of the Royal Guard,” says Fall and points at his cutie mark; a roll of aged parchment.

“And Archy here is an architect,” says Dart dryly, nodding at the other guard who only shrugs as affirmation. “None of us are destined to this,” continues the pegasus. “That’s why numbers are the only thing that counts.”

“You know, even if it would come to that, there’s still three of us and two of them,” says Tin Key carefully.

Dart snorts at him. “There could be five of us and it still wouldn’t matter. Horn beats hoof and wing nine times out of ten; we all know it, there’s no point in pretending otherwise.” He sneers quickly at Fall. “Who’s to say you didn’t come here to bust your pal out?”

Now that you mention it, the idea is starting to somewhat tempt me. “There must be a way we can make this work,” says Fall calmly. “Can’t you get more unicorns here? Or chain me?” Fall weaves his most persuasive expression on his face. “I’ll submit to anything as long as I get to have a few words with Reg.”

“Listen to him, Dart,” says the other unicorn, nudging the pegasus with a hoof. “The guy is desperate. RD would understand if she was here.”

Fall searches intently for any signs of giving up from the pegasus’s face, but he might as well be studying solid rock. Then all of a sudden, the one called Dart throws his hooves into the air. “Fine! You can talk for ten minutes. After that, you leave.” He glances at Tin Key and the other guard. “And if anything funky happens, I’m not the one who tells Dash about it.”

“Agreed,” says Fall relievedly. “Now, where is he?”

The guards stand up from the table, and the unicorn floats the furniture away with his horn, revealing a small hatch underneath. “In you go,” says Dart as he opens it with a creak, revealing a staircase leading into darkness.

Fall’s horn illuminates the earth walls as he makes the descent. Solid earth greets him as he finishes the short trip to the bottom; around him, shelves packed with sacks and some tools hide, more tightly packed earth behind. At first it seems that the small room is empty.

Then a faint voice carries from behind him. “Turn down the light. You’re burning my eyes.”

Fall dims his horn a bit, and turns slowly around to see a bruised, dirty ruin of a light-brown unicorn slumping against bare wall, his mane hanging sadly over his eyes. A low whistle escapes from Fall. “Reg…what the hay are you doing here?”

“The same that every other living thing is doing everywhere. Dying.” His voice crawls along the floor, low and quiet. “I heard most of your talk above. Did you really come to bust me out?”

The bigger unicorn settles down onto his stomach opposite to his friend, trying to get a glimpse of his eyes that shun the light. “Is that what you want? To cause more trouble?”

“What if I do?” A chilly laugh echoes in the cramped storage. “Maybe all the years I spent fighting with Axiom have turned me into a walking machine problematique. Maybe troubles are all I’m good for anymore.”

This is even worse than I feared. “I suppose Chillburn hadn’t prepared tea and biscuits for you, then?”

More laughing emerges from some depths unknown to reason. “Oh, she offered me tea alright. Practically more than I could handle.”

“What else did you expect? Leaving you six months past should’ve been clear enough of a hint, don’t you think?”

Reg sways his head aimlessly, and licks his dry, broken lips. “That’s what you all have been telling me… Princess Luna, Chillburn, Axiom…that stupid clerk in Canterlot…’what did you expect?’” His right front hoof raises dreamily from the ground. “‘You can’t succeed’, they said. ‘Let it go’, you urged.” He grabs Fall by the neck, and pulls his face inches from his own. “It never was about getting what I want,” Reg whispers. “But about getting what I’m not allowed to want.” He lets go of the other stallion, returning to his apathy.

Fall, a bit shaken by his companions sudden motion, narrows his eyes. “Are you now blaming others for your degradation? Do you have any idea how pathetic that sounds?”

Reg sweeps the air aimlessly with a front hoof. “Was preaching all you came here to do? If so, could I get the summary and be done with this?”

“I came here because we’re friends!” snaps Fall in sudden burst of anger. “You think you’re the only one who’s affected by this farce?” He pauses, expecting an answer, but when none appears, he continues: “How can I help you if you won’t let me? There is a way out of this mess, and let me tell you, it doesn’t lie at the bottom. I’m offering you my hoof, but it’s you who needs to grasp it.” He puts a hoof on Reg’s limp shoulder. “Please. Stand up.”

Reg rises his eyes gradually from the stony floor, looking at the hoof touching him. “Deep down, ever since I woke alone in the Castle, I knew that I had lost Chillburn forever. I didn’t need anypony telling me that.” The hazel eyes travel over to Falls, shimmering. “It was the absolute certainty that I had been abandoned that made me fight against it. Had I been blessed with the tiniest speck of hope, with just the most insignificant amount of doubt…I could have lived by that. But I couldn't live in pure certainty.”

Fall gives him a long look. “Now there’s Reg the scholar that I used to know,” he says without the slightest hint of a joke. “I know you wouldn't sink so easily.”

A short, uncontrolled laugh burst through Reg’s tears. “I guess self-reflection makes for a darn good raft.” He puts his own hoof on top of Falls, and stands up along with him. “Thank you, friend.” The two embrace each other tightly in the cellar, almost losing balance in the clutch they share. “I’d kill to buy you a round right now…but I don’t think I can leave yet,” says Reg after a moment. “There are only so many holes that self-reflection can get you out off.”

“Indeed,” says Fall. “Also, I have a feeling that the visiting time is almost over by now, so…” They let go of the hug, suddenly a bit awkward. “...I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” finishes Fall.”

“Come to the Town Hall in the afternoon; there is going to be a trial there.”

“A trial?” Fall asks doubtfully. “What did you exactly do to deserve that?”

Reg scrapes the stony floor with a hoof, his eyes cast down. “I’d rather not talk about it right now, really. I crossed the line, the line I thought I would never see.” He sits down against the wall again, although this time his back remains somewhat straighter. “The ring got the better of me, I think.”

A suspicious look crosses Fall’s eyes. “Well, there is not much anypony can do about that. I’m going to go now.” He enters the stairs, but before he gets out of the cellar, Reg’s voice carries from the darkness beyond his light.

“Have you seen her yet?”

The question, although casually presented, still sends a shrivel down the unicorn’s spine. “You mean Chillburn? Why would I do that?” he asks.

“For no reason at all,” calls the answer from the dark.

Fall steps out of the cellar without another word. In the room above, after the hatch has been closed behind him, Dart steps in front of him with a regretful look on his face. “We couldn’t help but to overhear most your conversation,” he says quietly. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for doubting your motives.” He glances quickly at Fall. “If you want to, you can talk as much as you like with him.”

Fall studies the pegasus, and then the two other ponies behind him, all of whom are having hard time meeting his eyes. “I appreciate the gesture, but that won’t be necessary,” he answers, keeping his voice down. “There’s not much for me to do here now, and I’d like to have a moment with my thoughts. Do you know any place I could spent the night in?”

“You should try the Apple family farm,” says the pegasus with a hint of relief in his voice. “It’s not far away and they’re very hospitable. Head to the South and you should find them in no time.”

Fall nods to him. “Thank you all for your help, and sorry about all this mess.”

“Oh, we’re used to little inconveniences in Ponyville,” says Tin Key when Fall’s already at the door. “After chocolate milk rain, ‘mess’ receives a whole new meaning.”

There not much else that Fall can do but smile carefully at that. Outside, he watches the sun gradually set on the horizon.

In the carmine glow, he can faintly hear a deep, soft voice whispering to him.

In the breeze, one could almost mistake it for a call.

***

Words become criminal.

Author's Note

Hey, the story is finally coming to a closure of sorts. Should be just a few chapters away now.

Words become criminal.

A shrill and abrupt scream cleaves through the air, ringing all over the courtyard. Another shriek follows soon after, this one even more fervent. Inside a nearby barn, laying on a stack of hay, a stallion tries to dig deeper into the depths of the blankets. When that doesn’t work, he desperately buries his head into the hay, hoping that it might ease the pain brought by hellish noise. It doesn’t. After the third scream of the rooster, Willow Fall rises his sleepy head, blinking in the dim of the morning. A wide yawn escapes him. He collapses back into the stack, stretching his limbs and licking his dry lips. After a few minutes of cognitive recalibration, he stands up, just as an orange mare trots into the barn.

“Howdy, Fall!” she says, smiling cheerily. “There’s still some breakfast in the kitchen for ya, if you’d fancy some of tat.”

Fall gives her a dizzy and suspicious look. “You… ate breakfast already? Before the rooster started to crow?”

“Sure we did!” she answers, brisk as the morning itself. “That roosters old and tends to sleep late nowadays.” She notices the bags under his eyes. “Although ah reckon you wouldn’t have minded an extra hour or two?”

“Four, more like,” Fall responds, yawning again. “I’d be glad to accept your offer, though.”

Applejack nods and collects the blankets from among the hay. “I’d come for compania, but the chores don’t wait,” she says as they walk outside. “Apple Bloom's there helping Granny Smith with them discesé, though. I’m sure they’re keep you homely enough.”

The sun has barely made it past the horizon, but its rays still make Fall squint. “If we don’t meet again, then I’d like to express my gratitude one more time,” he says as they trot across the yard. “My night would have been quite different without your hospitality.” Water splashes in a puddle as his hoof stomps on it.

“Don’t mention it. We got a reputation to take care of, ya see.” She winks at him. “Now, I gotta take these to the wash and head to the orchards.”

“Goodbye,” he says.

“See ya around.”

He watches her walk behind the house. Well, she proved that not everypony in this village is full of suspicions. He turns towards the front door; it’s open as he expected it to be. “Hello?” he calls inside.

“Come in, dear,” calls and elderly voice from one of the rooms. “Don’t be afraid.”

Fall walks in and closes the door behind him. Right as it thuds softly, a little filly with a bright red mane and tail swoops around the corner in front of him, smiling with all her teeth.

“Howdy!” she says. “You slept in the barn last night, right?”

“Yes,” he says with a smile. “Your name’s Apple Bloom, I presume?”

“Yeah, and Granny Smith’s in the kitchen,” she explains. “Come, there’s carrotta-apple pie I made!” She turns and runs excitedly around the corner.

Fall follows her and finds himself in a large kitchen. In the middle of the room there’s a table laid with a few pies, lettuce, and what seems like a glass of apple cider. An old, green-light mare by the sink turns her wrinkled face at him. “Good day, visitor. Take a séat and dig in, don’t mind me.”

“With pleasure,” he says and sits on the table. He has barely cut himself a slice of pie when Apple Bloom's head bounces from under the table.

“So, why did ya sleep in our barn? Did your marefriend kick ya out?”

“Applebloom!” snaps Granny Smith, glaring at the filly. “Mind yer tongue! It ain’t proper asking about a pony’s marrefriend like that.”

“Sorry…” Apple Bloom mutters, rubbing the table cloth between her front hooves. But the glint in her eyes returns soon enough. “So, are ya a hobo?”

Fall can practically feel the sigh that Granny Smith lets out. “I don’t mind a little chat,” he says, smiling at the elderly mare. She shrugs and turns back to the dishes. Fall takes a thick slice of the pie onto his plate and glances at Apple Bloom, who seems to be holding her breath. “The answer to both of your questions is a no, although I can say that my story includes a certain mare.”

“Your story?” she asks, her ears perking up.

He picks a hoofful of pie with his horn and stuffs it into his mouth. He chews for a moment and says: “A delicious gourmet. I’d say you might have a shot at becoming a baker someday.”

Apple Bloom beams with pride.

“My story, or at least the one that lead me to your barn, also happens to be quite the brew,” he continues. He sips his drink, which indeed proves to be apple cider, the best he has ever tasted. “It’s a long one, though. Longer than a breakfast, I’d say.”

Apple Bloom fidgets in place. “Is it exciting?”

“I’m afraid so,” he says, helping himself to more pie.

“Full of adventure?”

“No… It’s more of an adult story.”

She arches an eyebrow. “An adult? Like, scary?”

“Romantic.” He adds quietly: “And a bit tragic, too.”

“Oh…”

He eyes her from the corner of his eye. “But I’m sure it will have a happy ending.”

“When are you gonna know that?”

“Today, if everything runs smoothly.” He gives her an enigmatic smirk. “But with stories, who can say when they really end?”

“You got that right,” says Granny by the dishes.

Applebloom glances at the mare, then at Fall. “So… You’re not gonna tell the story?” she asks from under her eyebrows. Fall guesses that this is the face Applejack has to deal with on a weekly basis.

“It’s not that exciting, really,” he says after gulping down another mouthful of pie. “Also, it’s not all about me, and I’m not that big on gossip.”

“Apple Bloom, come here and dry these plates,” Granny says. “The gentlecolt has a breakfast to finish.”

“Okay…” says Apple Bloom with a hint of disappointment. She climbs on a stool and starts drying the plates as Granny hooves them over to her.

Fall watches them work for a moment and then turns his eyes to the window while finishing his pie, lettuce, and cider. Despite the nightly rain, the day seems to be turning out beautifully. Reg… What are you thinking right now? Did you really come to your senses last night? He chews ponderously, admiring how the young light plays with the shadows in the yard. This farce has gone on long enough. One way or another, I will make sure that we both leave this town before nightfall. Even if it means tying him up and shoving into a sack. He drinks the rest of the cider with one long gulp and stands up. “Thank you for all your hospitality,” he says. “I don’t know how to pay you back for all this.”

Granny Smith turns a casual smile at him. “Hoof me that plate and glass and we’re square.”

He floats the dishes to her, says thanks one more time, and then heads for the door. Outside, he hears a familiar voice calling out from behind him.

“You really think I’ll be a baker someday?” Apple Bloom asks by the door.

“It’d be a loss for the whole Equestria if you wouldn’t be,” he answers. The filly’s excitement incites a short laugh out of him. He winks at her and trots on his way, never once turning to look back. The trial is in the afternoon, which means I have plenty of hours to kill. He walks by the road that travels past the orchards; each tree seems about to bend over from the weight of all the apples they harbour, although some of them have already been harvested. The dense foliage appear naked without the deep red decorations. Can I ever again look at the color red and not think about her? Is this how it started with Reg, too? With slight reluctance, he turns his eyes straight ahead. No. I will not let that happen. Not again.

***

In Canterlot, in a flat near the School of History and Linguistics, a frail voice whispers: “Pep…” An eye opens, an eye grey as dust. Dim coats the room where the word still lingers, floating among the dust particles like a ghost. “Pep?” he asks, afraid that somepony might answer, terrified that nopony will. Silence ensues. The pony gets up, not bothering to pick up the pillow that found its way on the floor during the night. Lights appear with a flick of a horn, fire sparks as he puts the kettle boiling. In the bathroom, a spectre stares at him from the mirror. He stares at it back without flinching. The kettle whistles, toast gets buttered, a few carrots get chewed. The routine is impeccable all the way to the moment of dressing, but past that, the tiniest anomaly seeps into the performance that has endured over three decades. He stands in the hallway, key in the lock, a faint gray glow surrounding it. He gives it a long look. And leaves it there.

His way to the School wears out five and a half minutes faster than usual. Instead of using the small door on the eastern side, he walks straight through the main doors, past the hall and via the shortest route into the Principal’s office. As he turns a corner, he sees a young stallion and an even younger mare kissing intimately in a small alcove; an act strictly forbidden by the School’s general regulations. The stallion cracks open his eye and yelps as he recognizes him. “P-professor Axiom!” he blurts, desperately trying to straighten his tie while staring at him. “I–”

Axiom trots past him without giving him a second glance.

The stallion stands frozen as he disappears around another corner. The mare, a faint blush on her face, gives her companion a questioning look.

“What got into you?”

“That was Professor Axiom,” he says, still staring at the corner. “And he just walked past us.”

The mare tilts her head. “So? He was just being discreet about what he saw.” She takes a step closer to him, licking her lips. “Come now… It’s not courteous, making a girl wait…”

He gives him a look. “You don’t understand. Axiom wouldn’t find the word ‘discreet’ from a dictionary. He is–”

“–not here,” she finishes, wrapping her hooves around his neck. Her tongue whips the doubts out of his mind.

In the Principal’s office a few corridors farther, an elderly mare says: “You resign?”

“At once,” says Axiom, staring straight at the mare. “Here are the necessary papers. You’ll find that they have been filled accordingly.”

She doesn’t even glimpse at the few sheets of paper that float in front of her on the table. “After all these years… and just two months before your retirement… What is this, Axiom?”

The corners of his mouth twitch. It takes her a second to realize that he is smiling. “Despite the arguments that we have had over the years, I would like you to know that from all the ponies of this facility, you were always the one I hated the least,” he says.

She arches an eyebrow.

“I know this may come quite suddenly, and that you’ll most likely face insurmountable problems finding substitute teachers for all the courses I will be abandoning, but I am sure you believe me when I say that I won’t be staying another hour inside these walls.” His mouth twitches some more. “Goodbye.” He turns around.

“Axiom…”

“Yes, Agathea?”

“Don’t ever show your face in my School again.”

He leaves without a response. As he gets into his office, he closes the door and starts collecting some papers from his desk drawers. Most he leaves where they are. Next one to disappear into the black suitcase is his array of quills that stands on the desk in a small rack, after that four books from the shelves, the ones with his name on them. Lastly, he turns to look at the painting about the stallion dressed in a uniform. It’s a big one; over a meter wide and one and a half tall. The jade eyes stare back at him as if they knew what he was thinking.

Axiom coughs. “I’m sorry about this… but I have to cut you loose for a moment.”

The painting doesn’t smile.

“I know it’s not very dignifying. But would you rather get carried around the streets like a billboard?”

The painting doesn’t smile.

“I thought so,” says Axiom. A faint glow envelopes the painting, pulling it off the wall. A pale rectangular shape leaves behind. He breaks apart the frames and bins them, after which he rolls up the painting and pushes it into a specially made container which hangs from his neck. He barely breathes during the whole procedure but when it’s done, he sighs heavily. “There you go; it wasn’t that bad, was it?”

The container remains mute.

“Suit yourself.” He picks up the suitcase and leaves the office, leaving the door open behind him. Sunshine greets him as he trots through the School’s main doors, and he greets the rays with another corpse of a smile. Heading towards the railroad station, he starts to whistle a happy tune. Ponyville… Ponyville… I wonder if anypony has even thought about setting up a decent hotel there. It simply won’t do to leave the Colonel in some repository locker for Celestia knows how long. And I must prepare myself for the possibility that Chillburn knows that I’m coming. That accountant might have told of my visit to him… or that Fall’s whore. Maybe Reg and she herself are suspecting something. They are a cunning lot, all of them.

He gets to the station eight minutes before the train’s scheduled departure. Before getting into his carriage, he checks that his ticket is safely tucked inside his suit’s pocket. Inside, he lifts the suitcase on the shelf above while keeping the container in his lap. Opposite to him, there sits a young mare with a little colt. As the mare searches her bag for something, the colt’s eyes happen to meet Axiom’s. The foal shuns his gaze immediately and soon whispers something to the mare. She glances at him. They leave shortly after.

Axiom watches them go, stretching his legs in the now empty compartment. A steam whistle blows, and the train budges forward. He looks at the ponies on the platform; some are waving while others hug each other. A young couple argues about something. They all disappear as the train increases its speed gradually. After fifteen minutes, the conductors appears on the aisle behind the compartments window. A young earth pony stallion, just over his twenties if Axiom is any judge.

“Tickets, please!” he says, stepping in. As Axiom offers him the ticket, the conductor asks cheerily: “Ponyville, eh? We have a brochure about it, if you’re interested. It has everything you need to know about the place in twenty pages.”

Axiom shows him his teeth. “Oh, I can do better than that. My plans for this visit can be summed up in just one line.”

The conductor gives him a curious look. “Oh? And what might that be, if I may ask?” He offers him back the marked ticket.

Axioms accept it and folds it into his pocket. “You may not. Goodbye.”

***

In the dim, a pony pants quickly. Wet, squelching sounds fill the bedroom, its air thick of sweat, musk, and lust. It sounds as if somepony was slurping an icicle, except that instead of drinking sweet juice of a fruit or a berry, they would be licking flesh and nerves. Instead of engaging in the solitary pleasure of their selves, they would be sharing it by giving it. An excited, thick wail cuts the air. “Aaah! Hmmmhhmmhaah… That’s good, keep on doing that…” It’s a female voice, light as a feather, heavy as a promise. Precious as a ruby. “Ahhamm!”

Thunderlane raises his head from between her legs. Transparent goo drips from his chin on the white sheets, some of it barely missing her thigh. “You mean… this?” He swirls his tongue over her folds, scarcely missing her love button.

“Ah! Ahhah!”

“...or this?” he continues with a husky voice. In one smooth motion, he slides inside her.

“Hmmhahah…” She opens her eyes, two pools of carmine wherein bliss dwells. “You’ve deserved your cookies tonight, birdie.” Her hind leg rubs against his back, reaching for his protruding wings.

“I think I’ve had my fair share already,” he says. His tongue travels ponderously over her labia.

“Aww, really? I was hoping for one more flight…” Her hind leg touches his extended wing, gently rubbing against it. “Do you have any idea how good your wings look like when you’re horny?”

“They still lose to your eyes,” he whispers, kissing her marehood.

Just for a moment, the blush blooms a tad deeper on her cheeks. But then the playful voice dances away with it. “Oh, shut it, Coltanova.” She stretches her front legs on the bed, her whole body swaying in rhythm of her hips. “Come now, just a quick trip over the moon.”

He laughs shortly, resting his cheek against her thigh. “I don’t even know if I can make it past the treetops now…”

“Would some more lip from my part positively provoke you?” she asks matter-factly.

A burst of laugh. A glint in the golden eyes. “It might…”

Her right front leg moves idly towards his head, straining to smooth his magnificent mane. No matter how much she presses, it never stays down. “Seriously: what do you put into this?” she asks.

“Just love and respect. And some glue.” A dreamy smiles decorates his lips as he submits to her touch.

The carmine gaze studies him in the dim light that invades through the closed curtains. They both breathe as if every lungful was a reward, a price, a fleeting moment of fulfilment in an eternal chain leading to heavens. Without any haste, she pulls her hind legs from him, sitting up. His head falls on the sheets, completely relaxed. She bends over, crawling on her stomach past his extended front leg, over his gently heaving back… and by his pelvis. Not that relaxed after all, she sees. With a gentle motion, she guides him onto his back. Seeing him stretched out like that, his smile glistening and cock growing slightly with every twitch, a thought crosses her mind.

“Perhaps we’ve flown far enough tonight.” She moves on top of him, facing the opposite direction. “Time to float home.” Her lips brush against his tip, from there slide downwards towards his midring.

His eyes open in a flash. The first thing they see is her marehood right in front of his face, wet and lovely as an exotic flower. Without taking his eyes off the sight, he pulls a nearby pillow to support his neck. He draws her just a bit closer so that he can reach her without any effort at all. The first lick, or the hundredth, carries the same musky, indescribably intoxicating taste that all the others did. The honeyd gaze disappears behind dark eyelids. A shell of desire encloses on him, coats him in the sweet nectar and scented taste of the female flesh. He feels her lips caressing his length, but at this point it takes more than that to pull him out of the depths.

Chillburn breathes a bit heavier now, the blush glowing on her cheeks. She can taste herself on his surface, on the ebony meat that oozes carnal fragrance. Her tongue lolls past her lips, washing widely over his underside. The move stirs a faint shudder from him, only a faint. She can’t quite reach his balls, so instead she pulls back, drawing an intricate pattern across his rod on the way. The softness her tongue feels tells her that he is not yet fully erect. A sensitive girl might take that as a slight. But I suppose a fourth time in a night is a stretch for any stallion. A moan escapes her as his tongue ups its rhythm. A proud girl might take that as a challenge.

He gasps into her folds as the familiar feeling of warmth and moistness envelopes his dick. Despite the numbness, the sensation sends fresh blood surging through his veins and craving lust running along the shell of his desire immersed in her’s. But the spectre of bliss can’t get through yet; it can only tease him from the other side of the bubble. His hips push, begging to make her dive in deeper. She does. Her tongue gives way for the cock that drives into her throat, that fills her mouth almost completely. The bubble ripples, wavers, cracks. From the opening, a hoof emerges, a hoof made of light. He stares at it in the confines of his eyelids and without hesitation, lunges for it.

She lets him have his way, resolving to stay as still as possible while he humps her mouth. His pace is steady and easy, almost leisurely. An occasional soft nibble from her part makes dents to that. Gradually, the gagging sounds grow louder, more intense, less planned. In the same vein, she starts rubbing herself against his muzzle. The eternal chain of their breathing is long gone, replaced by the imminence of the moment, of the second link in the chain that is the only one there is. Their moaning is muffled by their genitals that they both consume tirelessly. She bobs her head in rhythm with his hips, he wraps his front legs around her rump and squeezes, locking her ass against his face. Their tongues whip each other hungrily, mercilessly, lovingly.

For Thunderlane, the bubble is gone, evaporated, punctured. A golden mare holds him in a tight embrace, a mare with no features except those of pleasure itself. He pants, trying to shove his cock harder inside her, but the angle isn’t optimal. Without thinking, he pushes with his hind legs and wings, tipping them to their flanks. They roll smoothly like a ball. His hind leg moves again; it rests against her neck now. He pushes, this time from two directions, and drives himself fully inside her. “Ahahhammah!” he moans into her pussy, his back arching like a bridge.

Can’t get off the ground, you said? So modest… She relaxes her throat completely, letting him have his way as he pleases. Whenever he plunges inside her, she suckles him earnestly, engorging herself into the male meat. His efforts to please her have severely diminished by now, but she hardly notices that. His humping eventually loses all traces of planning, of restraint, of mindfulness. He ruts her mouth as if there was nothing else in the world. Before the insatiable drive, Chillburn suddenly finds the limits of her comfortability way behind her. She tries pulling back, to slow him down, but his leg doesn’t sway. She can only breathe in small gasps now, her jaw aches irritatingly and the hard meat pokes painfully the back of her throat. Suddenly, she becomes aware of how slowly time is going. Can’t he just blow already? Is he prolonging this on purpose?

After a few more minutes, Thunderlane’s body finally reaches a peak as the golden mare melts into him. He moans loudly, practically wails, and shoves one more time with his hips. A violent trembling follows, crumbling his tension. He falls limp, panting and sweating. Chillburn spits his cock out of her mouth, coughing and gasping. Heavy strings of saliva cover most of her face under her nose. She rolls onto her back, trying to realign her jaw bones.

“I think we got to the moon, after all…” he says, exhausted.

She glances at him from under her eyebrows. “Too bad you dropped me halfway.”

He remains silent for a moment. “Yeah… Sorry about that. Uhm… I guess I got carried away there.”

“You hurt me.” She doesn’t say it unkindly.

He sits up. “Badly?”

She doesn’t hurry her answer. “Enough to make me mention it. Too little to make it worth remembering.” She turns onto her flank, resting her temple on a front leg. “Come here.”

He lays down next to her, eyeing her meekly. She guides him atop her extended front leg, gently pressing his head between her throat and chest. Tenseness fades away, their breathings synthesize once more, striving to match one another's rhythm. The scent of sex lingers heavily in the air in all it’s musky, intoxicating abundance. Words become criminal. Drowse is the sovereign law in the land, and it abides no infringements, not even those of the sun that stubbornly tries to sneak past the curtains.

“I don’t want to get up,” she whispers.

“Then why did you say that?” he asks from beneath his eyelids.

She steals a peek at him. “What do you mean?”

“If you don’t feel like getting up, why say it? There’s nopony saying you should get up in the first place.” His hoof travels on the mounds of her figure, carefully studying every hill and hollow. “Nopony except you.”

She opens another eye. “So when I say that I don’t want to get up, I mean that I need to get up?”

“Do you?”

“It depends…”

“...on what?”

“Is there going to be pancakes?” she finishes. In the amber that is unveiled from the dark, a glint of dream resides.

“As much as you can eat.”

An hour later, the kitchen downstairs fills with the delicious smell of freshly baked pancakes, spiced with cinnamon and served with honey. Chillburn sits by the table, munching the luscious food and watching intently as Thunderlane wields the frying pan like a great artist would a paintbrush, the hissing, liquid dough his canvas. Beyond the window, the sun has already started its descent from the zenith of the midday, yet it’s bright and hot as ever after a rainy night.

“You just have to bring these to the picnic,” she says, bits of pancake falling past her lips.

“Sure thing. They don’t taste that good cold, though.” He flips the half-raw dough in the air. “What did you thought to bring?”

She swallows. “A secret.”

He glimpses at her over his shoulder. “Ah-ha…”

She smiles inconspicuously and chomps another pancake. “I thought we could push the event, let the grass dry properly. I hate laying on wet grass.”

Thunderlane turns around and graces her plate with another steaming, golden-black treat. “I know the place where the sunset became famous. It should be dry by the evening. It also happens to be an awesome site to share secrets.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“You’ve had enough now?” he asks, rolling the pan in his hooves.

She looks at her plate. The pile surpasses the honey pot that stands next to it. “I’ll go with a ‘yes’.”

He grins and puts the hissing pan into the sink before sitting opposite to her. As he starts taxing the mountain of pancakes, he says: “By the way, you’re out of flour. And eggs. And milk.”

“I figured. But what about the secret place? Why it’s good for sharing them?”

He glances at her meaningfully. “We’ll see that in the evening, I’m sure.”

She emits a deep growl, although the effect isn’t quite the same with her mouth full of pancakes.

He chuckles and pours honey on a rolled pancake. As he starts eating it, he notices the clock on the wall. “Can I use the shower first? I don’t think I have time to visit home.”

“I thought Wednesdays were off days for the weather team?”

He blinks twice. “They are. There’s some other… business I need to take care of before three o’clock.”

The chewing noises fill the kitchen for one sovereign moment.

“Rainbow Dash suggested we should meet before the trial,” he confesses eventually. “She thought it best to make sure that everypony has the story right.”

“Story?” she asks casually. “What about the truth?”

“I’ll make sure it’s there somewhere.” He shovels more pancakes into his face. “No matter what Dash says, it was me who started the fight.”

She gives him a long look. “Did you, really?”

He stops chewing. “Uhm… yeah, I’m positive about that. Not happy, but positive.”

She follows the movement of her saucer while pushing it back and forth with a hoof. A faint dragging sound screeches in the kitchen. “This Rainbow Dash… Would she lie for you if you asked her to?”

Thunderlane swallows. “What are you exactly saying? That I should let Reg get all the blame for what happened?”

“That would work in our favour, if he happened to come stalking either one of us again.” The carmine eyes rise from the plate, looking expectantly at him.

Thunderlane opens his mouth. Before he can answer, the front door gets knocked twice. They both turn to look at the hall’s direction. “Were you expecting somepony?” he asks.

“Not that I know of.” She gets up and walks for the front door. As she opens it, a surprised gasp flees her. “You!”

“Me,” says Willow Fall, unsmiling. “We need to have a word.”

“What do you want?” she blurts.

What do I want? thinks Willow Fall. “It’s about Reg.”

“Of course it is,” she says, brows furrowing. “But why would that concern me?”

Fall sighs. “Chillburn… could I come in?”

“Why? What do you want? You still haven’t said what you want.”

“I want to help Reg,” he says calmly. “And to do that, I need your help.”

She eyes him like she would eye a singing mailbox. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“You seriously don’t want to let me in, do you?”

“No.”

Fall looks at her like he might look at a mailbox which he wanted to hear singing. “I know that I promised to forget you awhile ago. Trust me: I did just that. But like we both know, Reg had other plans.” He shifts his weight between his legs. “I’m here only because of him. Please. Just hear me out.”

She bites her lip, staying quiet for a moment. “I have a guest inside. If you want to talk, come back in an hour.”

“Thank you,” he says, his shoulders visibly relaxing. He turns around, but before trotting away, he says: “I’m sorry about all this. I really am.”

She closes the front door. Fall gives the dark red wood one more look and leaves.

Inside, Chillburn presses her ear against the door, listening. It’s only when she can’t hear anything from the other side that she returns to the kitchen.

“Who was that?” Thunderlane asks while rolling another pancake.

“Some foals asking for donations on some camp trip,” she says, trotting straight to the sink. The sound of rushing water fills the kitchen.

“You’re finished?” he asks, turning around on his chair. “There’s still plenty of good left.”
“I’ll take them along to the picnic,” she says, collecting dirty bowls and dishes into the sink filling up with steaming water. “Saves you the trouble of making more.”

He studies her back, slowly chewing a pancake. “So… Can I use that shower now?”

“Of course you can,” she says with her back turned. “And don’t worry about wasting all the hot water. I could use some refreshment now.” She starts dishing.

He finishes the pancake with a few chomps, stands up, and walks to her. The dark, strong hooves rest on her thin shoulders while his muzzle caresses her neck. “Is everything alright?” he whispers.

She stops her work, staring into the water filled with metal, wood, and remains of dough. “Everything is never alright. There is always something missing, something wrong. Something to complain about.” She rests her head back, closing her eyes. “But right now, things are more right for me than they have been in more years than I care to remember.”

He kisses her ear gently. “That is all I wanted to hear.”

She opens her eyes and turns around. “I know. Off you go now.” She pecks him on the cheek.

He responds likewise, smiles, and flies upstairs. Chillburn turns around. Below her, the dishwater, colored deep grey by the various metallic items at the bottom, whirls faintly. She stares at it for a moment, hooves raised to the table, ready to start working. But just before they do, the surface shatters abruptly. A circle appears in the middle of it, fading away even before the waves reach the walls. She wipes the corner of her eye, blinking. And then, she starts washing.

***

In a quiet cafe, on a lonely corner, in a table of one, Willow Fall stirs his coffee with a spoon. The dark liquid sucks in his gaze, imprisons it into a whirlpool of bitter blackness. I don’t even like coffee. Why did I order coffee? He lets the spoon fall idle and leans back in his chair, still staring at the clinically white cup. Gradually his eyes move up and to the wooden clock that ticks on the opposite wall. Exactly three and a half minutes have passed since he last gazed upon it. A heavy, stretched sigh rolls past his lips.

“You sure you don’t want some milk or sugar with that?” asks a pleasant female voice. Fall looks to the counter where a kindly smiling earth pony mare sits.

An automatic smile spreads on his lips. “If it’s not too late for that.”

“Of course not,” she says, picking up a tray with a silvery jug and a pot of sugar. “Almost nopony I know drinks their coffee black,” she continues as she gets by his table, setting the tray there. “Not this coffee, at least.”

Fall picks up the jug with his horn, pouring some milk into the cup. The blackness swirls some more, blends into a shade of deep brown. The two bits of sugar that drop in next spill some of it into the tablecloth. Fall hurries to wipe it off with a nearby napkin, noticing how they have little hearts printed on them. “This must be the most adorable napkin I have ever seen,” he says abruptly.

She takes the used napkin, stuffing it into a pocket of her apron. “Tell me about it. I’ve always thought them to be too much, but the owner insists on using them. He is all about details like that.”

Fall smiles and sips his coffee. “Details do matter. But only when they remain unnoticed.”

She tilts her head slightly. “I thought the point was just the opposite?”

“Well, yes and no,” he says, adding more sugar and milk into the coffee. “A good detail makes the scenery, but a bad one makes it stand out. And that’s what the setting should never do. It should remain invisible, unquestionable.” As he tries the coffee again, he notices how she is looking at him. “But those are just my two cents,” he adds quickly.

“Are you a designer or something?” she asks.

“A historian.” He smiles, but this time not purely mechanically. “Name’s Willow Fall.”

“Tinder Song. Most call me Tinder.” She sits down on the floor next to him. “So, what does a historian from Canterlot do in Ponyville?”

He raises an eyebrow. “How did you know I’m from Canterlot?”

“The way you talk. And sit. And sigh.”

“Sigh?”

“Well, maybe not that,” she confesses. Her smile is one of the prettier ones that Fall has ever seen.
“Let’s just say that I’m here because of a lot of reasons,” he says. “I’d loath to steal your work time with long stories, after all.”

“Does it look like I’m really working?” she asks, waving at the empty room. “Nopony comes into the Heartmend Cafe this early. Nopony except historians from Canterlot, anyway.”

He looks at her from past his cup that floats between them. “I’m here for a friend. A friend that got into trouble.”

“Big trouble?”

“About the size of a heart,” he says, sipping the drink.

Tinder Song winces. “Those are the nasty ones.”

“They are,” agrees Fall quietly.

“Are you gonna meet him here soon?” Tinder Song asks after a while.

“No; I’m waiting to go meet another pony.” He glances at the clock. “And I see that I must be on my way soon.” He finishes his coffee with a final sip. “You were right. The milk and sugar do make a difference.”

She flashes another cute smile. “You’re welcome.”

Fall enjoys one more glance at that smile, after which he stands up. “Thank you for the coffee, Tinder.” He produces a bit and hooves it to her.

“Just one cup? Consider it on the house,” she says.

“Then you can consider this as a tip,” he continues, still offering the bit. She rolls her eyes and accepts it. The bell on the doorframe chimes happily as Fall opens it, but before he can step outside, he hears her voice.

“See you around, Fall!”

The bell chimes behind him, drowning the last syllable of his name. Outside, the sun blazes in its sovereign glory, promising more warmth and light for all of ponykind. Fall heads onwards, making easy progress through the town and to the house that lies on its edge; a house with a dull red door. He knocks it twice, almost thrice. Birds keep on chirping in the nearby trees. The flow of river carries to his ears. Nothing else happens. And then, the door cracks open, revealing a curl of an auburn mane behind.

“Get in and close the door,” says Chillburn quietly. Fall abides, soon finding himself in a living room that, despite its size, has a rather poor assortment of furniture. Only one couch stands in the middle of it, harboring Chillburn. Her gaze tells Fall that it’s the one place in the house that he is not allowed to sit on. So he settles for the carpet.

“Thank you for letting me in,” he says stiffly.

“Get to the point,” she says, eyes nailed at him.

They are brighter than I remembered. “I need you to make peace with Reg.”

Her hoof, stretched over the back of the couch, taps it twice. “I’d rather steer as far away from him as possible. That is a sort of a peace, right?”

“No, it isn’t,” he says calmly. “In fact, that approach seems to be the very cause that has lead us all into this.”

“You’re blaming me?”

“I’m not blaming anypony. Believe me, I want this farce to end as much as you do, if not even more so.”

She snorts. “Then why did you come here? Why won’t you just grab your friend and leave me alone?”

“Because we need to end this affair, not deny it,” he says. “And that can only be done if you two split up as friends.”

“That will never happen. Not after what he has done.”

“Pretension shouldn’t come too hard for you,” says Fall coldly.

The carmine blazes. “You have some nerve, coming to my house accusing me!”

“For Celestia’s sake, forget yourself just for a minute!” he snaps. “Can’t you see what caused all this?! Your impatience! Your fear! If you had–”

“–shut up!” she shouts, eyes wide shut, front hooves pressed into her ears. “Shut up, shut up!”

“–if you had turned Reg down properly, with words and not with silence, he would’ve settled for that,” continues Fall, heedless to her reaction. “He needs a closure, an end that really is an end. It doesn't have to be a happy one, but it needs to be there.” He draws a deep breath. “I know him. This is how it must play out.”
Her hooves fall down, but the tension in her shoulders remains intact. “He beat up a pony, you know? He beat him up because I was seeing him.” The carmine eyes narrow down, sparking. “You think I can just forget something like that?”

Fall blinks, opens his mouth, and says nothing. His head droops down. “So that’s what happened…”

Chillburn taps the back of the couch again. “How did you even find me? How did he?”

Fall, his focus still on the carpet, says with a faraway voice: “Your middlepony in Canterlot. He told to Reg, after that to me, that you live in Ponyville. He didn’t give your address, but I asked around a bit.” Very slowly, he looks at her again. “Despite what you may think… Reg regrets his actions. Had you seen him yesterday, you wouldn't doubt my words. He was crushed, simply devastated.”

Her eyes flicker. “I hope I had been there to see that. I really do.”

Fall winces in disgust, yet he holds his tongue. “If you truly wish to end this… you will meet Reg today, before or after the trial, and make peace with him. Or fake to make one, I don’t care.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” she says quietly. “Do you have any more orders for me? Perhaps some different tune?”

He stands up, eyeing her sadly. “Only one. Live a happy life.” He turns and heads for the front door.

“Do tell my best regards to your marefriend, whoever she is!” She shouts just as the door is about to close. The thud that follows exiles all the other voices, plunging the room into absolute quiet. Chillburn’s eyes wander slowly to the lamp that died out last night. It stands on the table, almost looking sad. Pleading. Accusing. She picks it up… and throws with all her might against the front door.

He is not alone.

In a cellar, amidst the thin slivers of light that push through the planks above, a pony listens to his own breathing. Every now and then, a creak of a chair or some quiet line of speech descents into his solitary gloom, but their echoes are more of a reminder of his current state than a real crack in it. The state in question is not called loneliness, not quite, for that would mean there is nowhere to reach to. But Reg Syllable has plenty of directions to extend his hoof – a whole cellar, in fact. He is not alone.

What am I, then? he thinks to himself. A dry, soulless chuckle escapes him. A cliche, that’s what I am. In more ways than one. And it’s such a cliche to know that. His horn lights up faintly, and a plump, orange carrot floats in front of him from the tray that was pushed to him some hours ago, perhaps. He munches it lazily, eyes wondering at the particles of dust that dance in the sparse light.

Axiom, the old bugger, was right after all. I am a failure… He eats the rest of the carrot, and reaches for another one. The taste of dust is almost unnoticeable. I failed at the moment when I kissed her in the Castle’s couch. I should’ve known better; I should've and I did. But still I’m stuck in this cellar, waiting scolding from a bunch of self-righteous hickeys. And the worst part is that I’m no better than them.

He throws the stump away and slumps some more against the earth wall, practically slipping on his back to the floor. Maybe they’ll settle for seeing me shake hooves with that pegasus and grin on top. They probably will. He waits for a moment, feeling how the thought fits. It doesn’t. But why did they then lock me up for the whole night? Wouldn’t make much sense if the point was just to talk the thing away. Buck… He glances at the tray next to him. There is still plenty of food left, but the concept of eating has lost its taste for him. Maybe they make me do community service or something…

But that means he should be punished too, right? To be exact, he dealt the first blow. But did they stuff him in some hole for the whole night? He snorts. Not likely. The last time I saw him, he had two gorgeous mares tending for his poor, little, hurt wings. For a moment, his jaw clenches. It relaxed again when he sighs heavily. Maybe it’s the wings that draw mares… although Fall never had any problems regardless. Fall… There’s a friend if anypony ever needed one. A really amiable stallion. Makes you feel like a little brother. He spits on the floor.

Will she be there, in the trial? No… She’ll be waiting for him to come back. To tell all about it. And I’ll be in a train, Fall promising to set up a date with one of Lake’s friends from the theatre. “Make it a double-date, just like last time, har har”. A joke to wash it down. The scene is vivid enough to make him think it has happened already. A reasonable ending for an unreasonable story. A lesson learned, a chapter closed. Something to teach to my son-to-come, an exemplary episode of youth’s follies. Real enough to go for reality.

From above, a sound of door opening carries. Somepony trots in, talks with the guards. Reg gets the impression that something is agreed upon. The hatch opens, and the slivers of light melt into one large one. A mare’s head, blue as the sky and blessed with a rainbow mane, peeks from the opening. She is not smiling.

“Time’s up. Dart and Archy here say that you’ve been acting decent enough. Whaddaya say we keep the score clean all the way to the town hall?”

Reg eyes her like she was some modern piece of artwork, the message of which he could not quite figure out. He stands up and climbs up the stairs. In the room above, the guards watch him carefully along with the rainbow mare. As if I was some great criminal to them. Haven’t these ponies ever seen a brawl before?

“You sure you don’t want to put me in chains, just to be sure?” he asks from the room in general.

“If you’d fancy that,” says the mare. She narrows her eyes. “But really we should do something to your horn. Seems like you didn’t read the manual that came with it.”

This gives Reg a pause, but soon he grins and says: “Could be that I skimmed through the small print.”

The air itself seems to grow still as the three other ponies tense in the small room.

Jeez, don’t they teach irony in countryside schools? “A joke. Can we just go now?”

The mare eyes him for a moment longer. “I’d keep that humour in check, were I you.” She glances at the two guards standing behind Reg. “You guys mind coming along? Just for company?”

“Sure, Rainbow,” says the other pegasus, the one Reg vaguely thinks is called Dart. He looks meaningfully at his friend.

“Of course,” says Archie. “I think we should go.”

Rainbow nods to him and looks again at Reg. He half expects her to say something about the chains, but she only shakes her head and rises to her wings. “It’s a walk of twenty. Let’s keep it that way.” She flies outside.

Guess that’s the only way out, thinks Reg as he sees the two stallions looking expectantly at him. He sighs and walks into the sunshine, squinting. It looks to be a beautiful afternoon. Just like from a book. It all practically begs me to see the light and get on with my life. He looks up the sun, shading his vision with a hoof. Maybe Celestia herself will come to guide me. Her sister did, after all. He follows the pegasus as she flies low towards the town. Perhaps it’s a time for the night to end. Perhaps.

***

Sitting in the lobby of the town hall, Fall stares at the clock on the opposite wall ticking away as if there was some great mystery hidden among the numbers and pointers. Every now and then he notices Tin Key glancing at him beyond his desk and papers, and the look the young clerk gives him resembles very much the one Fall views the clock with. The observation makes him grimace mentally. For the love of Celestia… I’m way deeper in this mess than I even know. I should be writing my thesis now, or practicing for the School’s Winter Cup… or kissing Honey’s neck while she tells me how she rocked the auditions. He notices how Tin Key glimpses at him again. This time, Fall looks back at him and smiles. The clerk couldn’t cover his face in papers any faster.

And who’s to blame him? They’re all acting friendly enough, but that Dart fellow was only saying what they’re all thinking. Reg is a troublemaker, and I’m his pal. Surely there must be something wrong with me, too? Fall leans against the wall behind him, forgetting to stare at the clock for a moment. Instead, he looks at the door that supposedly leads upstairs, to the Mayor’s office. She went there already an hour ago. Shouldn’t something be happening already? A nasty thought crosses his mind. Did Reg leg it? Oh buck, he did, didn’t he? And right now he’s banging Chillburn’s door, and her coltfriend is about to arrive, and–

The main door opens. First to fly in is the most feminine stallion Fall has ever seen, although it doesn’t take him long to realize that actually, the exact reverse is true. Next, Reg trots in, accompanied by Dart and Archie. Fall and Reg make a brief eye contact, but it breaks as they both hurriedly look away.

The tomboy mare gives a short look at Fall while flying straight for the counter. “Hi, Tin. Is everything set?”

Tin Key nods courtly at her. A bit too courtly, if Fall is any judge. “Y-yes, Rainbow. Well, Thunderlane hasn’t come yet, but–”

“What?” blurts Rainbow, landing on all fours. “You sure?”

The clerk nods. Fall could swear he saw a hint of a blush creeping from under his collar. “Ah, well, he did drop by for a moment about half an hour ago. Said that he’d arrive a bit late.”

Fall can’t see the mare’s face, but he wages that it would be worth a glimpse. At least Tin Key’s expression is.

“‘A bit late?’” repeats the mare with her peculiarly hoarse voice. “What, he thinks everypony has all day waiting for him? He should be the first one here, for sky’s sake!” She shakes her head, sighing. “Did he say where he’d be?”

“N-no… I’m sorry, Rainbow.”

It certainly looks like you are, thinks Fall as he follows the small scene. And you sure fancy repeating her name. Suddenly, Fall realizes that Rainbow is now looking at him with the brightest red eyes Fall has ever seen. A bit like Chillburn’s… but with more life.

“And you are?” she asks.

Fall stands up from the bench and moves a bit closer to her in the large room. It’s not courteous, shouting to a pony from the other side of a room. “Willow Fall’s the name,” he says, smiling in a friendly way. “And I’m here for the same general reason we all are.” He pays careful attention not to look at Reg.

Rainbow, whose gaze turned a tad more suspicious as he walked closer to her, scowls. “And the reason would be what, exactly?”

Fall nods at Reg’s general direction with his neck, firmly keeping his eyes on her’s. “I have the dubious pleasure to be his friend.”

Rainbow’s gaze travels from Fall to Reg, sharp as the wind. “Is that so?” Reg glances quickly at Fall’s back and then shrugs in a quasi-affirmative way. Rainbow’s doubts only dig deeper into her eyes. “And you came here to do what?” she says, looking at Fall again.

The question makes him arch an eyebrow. “Well… To be a friend.”

The answer seems to take the mare aback. At least it makes her pause for a moment. “Oh… I guess that’s… fine?” she says. For a moment, the atmosphere in the room is dangerously close to getting awkward. But then the door upstairs opens.

The mayor comes in, dressed in her ornate white collar, with her grey-white mane practically flowing around her head. She gives the room at large a quick glance over her crescent glasses. “Is everypony concerned with the case present now? I hope this is everypony, for my office space is a limited resource.”

Tin Key shakes the fine traits of blush off his face and says: “Dart and Archie are not really involved. However, we are expecting Thunderlane to arrive.”

“Should we be expecting for long?” asks the mayor. “I swear, I just survived the roughest week of my term. The concept of ‘efficiency’ simply escapes the good government of Haytown…”
“I’m afraid he wasn’t very specific,” says Tin Key.

“You can trust that I will be, whenever he gets back,” says Rainbow to the mayor.

The older mare gives her a kind smile. “I’m certain he had his reasons. In the meanwhile, perhaps we can go ahead and begin by hearing one of the parties involved…” The navy-blue eyes wander to Reg. “That would be you, wouldn’t it?”

Reg nods faintly.

The mayor smiles some more. “Good. Now, would you and Rainbow come to my office?” She steps aside, showing way with a hoof.

Fall is about so say something, but Rainbow gets her mouth open first. “Should Archie come along, too?”

The mayor looks first at Rainbow, then at Reg, and finally at the unicorn Archie. “Do the two of you think that will be necessary?” she asks from Reg and Archie.

“No,” says Reg.

Archie hesitates for a moment. Fall notices how he tries to get some hints from Dart and Rainbow, but both of them are looking elsewhere. “Well… My wife is probably expecting me home by now,” he says slowly.

“I’m sure she does,” says the mayor.

“Could I attend, too?” blurts Fall. He blinks as all the eyes in the room turn to him. “I’m… My name’s Willow Fall,” he explains, mostly to the mayor. “I’m Reg’s friend.”

The mayor studies him for a moment, her crescent glasses gleaming faintly in the soft light of the room. “Of course, Willow Fall.” She looks at Tin Key. “Would you be a dear and put the kettle on? I trust some refreshment could do wonders for us. It would for me, at least.” She shows the way into the second floor again.

Rainbow flies in first, disappearing quickly up the stairs. Reg, without looking at anypony, follows suite, with Fall right behind him. He tries getting a read on his face, but whatever Reg is thinking at the moment hides beneath the healing bruises and a solemn face. You better play this by the book, or I swear I'll leave with the first train. Behind him, he hears the door close. The mayor seems reasonable enough… but the sparky one might mean trouble. What does she got to do with this, anyway?

They enter into the mayor’s office, which lacks a door. A large, green carpet covers the round room that to Fall’s eyes appears more like somepony’s home than an office. Beside the compulsory large desk, there are some casually arrayed sofas, a low table with fruits and magazines, and some flowers. The sweet fragrance of them lingers heavily all over the air. Curtains of all the large windows are half-drawn, so the room doesn’t quite flood in the afternoon light.

“Do sit wherever you like,” says the mayor while trotting to her desk, by which she sits.

Fall follows Reg’s example and sits on a nearby couch that stands on the side of the desk. Rainbow keeps on floating in the air, her hooves crossed over her chest.

“I’m fine up here,” she says, eyeing Reg and Fall.

This doesn’t bode well, thinks Fall. Nonetheless, he tries to relax against the soft fabric. Whatever you do, don’t look guilty. I’m not the one being judged here. He gives a sideway glance at Reg. His face is blank as fresh snow.

The mayor breathes in, then out. “Okay. Since the day is almost out, along with myself, I suggest we go straight to the heart of the matter.” The blue eyes move to Reg. “Would you mind to begin by recounting your version of the event?”

Fall resist the urge to close his eyes. Don’t screw this up, don't screw this up, don't’ screw this up…

Reg clears his throat. “How far should I start?”

“As far as you need to,” says the mayor.

Reg gives that a thought. “In that case, I might as well start from the first time I kissed a mare. But I won’t. Instead, I’ll tell you what happened yesterday, and why it happened. Beyond that, even I have doubts.” He sighs and begins his tale.

At first, Fall guards against every word he hears, but gradually his shields come down as he realizes that Reg’s laconic tone carries not the slightest slight, offense, or irony. This is the Reg that Fall first met in a boxing ring years and years back, whom he later came to call a friend. A shy, slightly awkward, and definitely somepony you would call “dry” after a ten minute talk with him about his favourite subject, language and history. He tells the room everything from yesterday, from the way he met with Chillburn to the exact taunts he used to draw Thunderlane into a brawl. Without having seen none of it, Fall believes the story to the word.

“The cool cellar was actually just what I needed,” says Reg at the end of his uninterrupted speech. “In a way, I’m glad that was where I ended up.” For the first time since entering the room, he looks Rainbow in the eyes. “Thank you.”

Fall looks at her, too. He gets the impression that the magenta is smoldering in her eyes. Something’s wrong. Why is she still like that? Doesn’t she believe that he truly repents?

“Thank you, Reg,” says the mayor, who had not once taken her eyes off Reg during his account. Next, the same disturbingly calm gaze travels over to Rainbow. “Since Thunderlane hasn’t arrived yet, I trust that you can continue by telling an outsider viewer’s version of what happened?”

Rainbow, without taking her eyes off Reg, opens her mouth.

At the same time, steps echo from the stairs. Soon Tin Key emerges, carrying a trayful of steaming cups.

“Ah, a splendid timing,” says the mayor. The cups get distributed among participants, Tin Key himself excluded. “Do carry on, Rainbow,” says the mayor over her cup.

Rainbow, who put her own drink at the nearby table, says: “I know nada about your little love adventures, and really I like it that way. You had no business going after Thunderlane like that.”

Reg, his cup floating by his head, blinks. “I know. I crossed the line, and I regret it deeply.”

“He is telling the truth,” says Fall suddenly, putting down his own drink. “I know my word may not mean much to you… but I’d wager my horn for his word.”

The mayor raises an eyebrow. “Even though you weren’t present? Or were you?”

“I wasn’t,” confesses Fall. “But I know Reg.” he looks at his friend, who hasn’t touched his drink. “Last night I saw him, he was the most miserable I’ve ever seen him be. He does repent.”

“But for what?” says Rainbow sharply. “That he didn’t get to finish the job?”

Fall looks at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Rainbow’s eyes spark. “As far as I can tell, he summed up the fight correctly… with one little detail missing.” She pauses for a moment, her gaze travelling to Reg in unbroken silence. “When Thunderlane was down, and you were on your feet… I saw your horn lit up.”

Fall’s eyes widen. Reg’s whole body grows stiff. The mayor doesn’t move a muscle.

“He was going to use magic against another pony,” says Rainbow, her voice frost with an edge. “And if I hadn’t stopped it, he would have done just that.”

Fall looks at Reg. His face is paling quickly. Oh buck… Reg, what the hay did you do?

The mayor’s eyes turn once again to Reg. “Is this true?” she asks quietly.

Reg’s mouth cracks open, and his eyes blink, seemingly unable to focus on the mayor. “I… It…”

“She asked you a question!” snaps Rainbow. The mayor waves a hoof at her direction.

“It was…” begins Reg, the color almost gone from his face. “I wasn’t going to do anything!” he manages.

You’re lying, thinks Fall. Oh dear Celestia, you’re lying.

“But you did have some spell in your mind at the moment?” says the mayor, the deep blue unyielding behind the glasses.

“Uhh… Maybe, I can’t remember… Maybe I did…” Almost immediately, his pupils shrink in fear. “But nothing too extreme!”

“Too extreme…?” repeats the mayor, her voice no more than a whisper.

Reg swallows. “You must understand, I was… out of my mind! Literally, he had just knocked my forehead in! But never in my life would I–”

“Scum,” says Rainbow, the word barely able to squeeze through his clenched jaw. “Nothing but scum.”

Fall hears her alright, though. “Hey, would you mind taking it easier?” he says.

Rainbow’s head snaps at him. “Or what? You’ll poke me?”

“Quiet down, both of you,” says the mayor, her gentle tone swept away. She eyes carefully first Rainbow, then Fall, and finally Reg, who is staring at the carpet like it was staring back at him. She sighs heavily. “Okay… I’m glad that you at least recognize the gravity of the accusation laid on your door. However, I’m afraid a simple apology and a show of goodwill will not suffice here.”

Reg’s front hooves dig into the couch.

“I will have to inform the Ministry of Magic about this,” she says after a moment, her voice having regained some of it’s softness. “They will most likely wish to have a complete hearing about this case.”

Fall, sitting by Reg, chokes the urge to blurt “Is that really necessary?”. That line is past, way behind us. Ministry of Magic? A complete hearing? Dear Tartarus… He looks at Reg, who is visibly shaking by now. In the worst case, they will drain his horn. As if from beyond the curtain of reality, he hears a humph.

“That’s it?” says Rainbow. “The unicorns always get it easy…”

Fall’s head turns slowly to her. He stands up.

One of the windows crashes in. The thing that flies in manages to wrap itself into a curtain and tear it off, right before it slams to the carpet in the middle of the ponies. Two dark-grey wings protrude from the mess of wildly flailing colored fabric, and after a brief but violent struggle, a stallion’s head appears. Bleeding scratches litter his face, though his front hooves seemed to get the worst of it.

“Chillburn’s been taken!” exclaims Thunderlane. Panting, he fights himself completely free and practically rams himself against the mayor’s desk. Tiny drops of blood spill everywhere as his hooves hit the wood. “He took her away!” He collapses on the table. “Help…”

A second goes by, trying to disguise as a minute. The trick seems to work, for everypony in the room has frozen in time, staring at the battered pegasus. It’s only then that Fall gets a better look of his left wing. It shouldn’t be… bent like that?

“Thunderlane!” cries Rainbow, surging for him. She notices his wing too, and gasps in horror and disgust. She touches his neck with the side of his hoof, all the while scanning his cuts. “Help me get him on the couch!” she barks finally, pulling his front leg over her shoulder.

Fall and Reg stare at them like they were watching a terrifying movie, the events of which they could in no way touch or affect.

“Now!” screams Rainbow at them.

They both hurry to her aid, lifting the now limp Thunderlane off the desk. Shards of glass cover the carpet, so it takes them a moment to move him onto the couch. “Watch the wing, watch the wing,” repeats Rainbow, her voice balancing itself on an edge of a knife. In a rare moment of clarity, Fall flings the random pillows and cushions out of the way, creating more room on the sofa. Finally, they manage to set the pegasus to his side, minding his damaged wing as best as they can. After that, the time seems to freeze again.

“He needs a doctor,” says Rainbow, her voice trembling. Fall glances at her, noticing how she can’t tear her eyes off the mangled wing. “I’ll go get one.” She is about to fly to the staircase, but then shakes her head, looks at the broken window, and glides through it. She returns a few seconds later. “You take care of him!” she shouts abruptly, directing her words at nopony in particular, although she is mostly eyeing Fall and Reg. “You just… take care of him?”

It takes Fall a moment to catch onto his cue. “Of course! Just go already!”

That seems to pull a lever in her mind. She zaps into the sky, disappearing immediately.

Yet again, a sort of a suspension descents into the room. Fall looks at Thunderlane, whose chest heaves gently. His numerous cuts stain the couch in dark red spots, and the thought of binding them crosses Fall’s mind. But with that? And how? I don’t even know CPR properly. How the hay am I going to take care of him? Suddenly, he notices that Reg moved closer to the pegasus. Somehow, that gets the bells chiming in his mind.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

Reg remains mute, bending over the unconscious pegasus. “Can you hear me?” he says to his ear. Thunderlane doesn’t respond. Reg gives him a light slap to the cheek.

“Reg!” cries Fall, stepping over his friend and pulling him back. “What the hay?!”

“Didn’t you hear what he said?” says Reg. “‘Chillburn’s been taken’. I need to know what he meant.”

He isn’t shaking anymore, realizes Fall as he looks in Reg’s eyes. “He is out cold, can’t you see?!”

“That’s why I need him to wake up,” explains Reg, his voice calmer than it should by all rights be, at least in Fall’s mind.

His answer makes Fall stumble in his thoughts and words for a moment. “Look, the guy is barely alive! You can’t just start questioning him in that state!”

“Fall,” says Reg. “Look at his wing.”

“I know!” cries Fall desperately. “That’s exactly what I’m ta–”

“No, look at it,” repeats Reg, pulling Fall closer to the couch.

Fall, his tongue already formulating another objection, glances at the maimed feathery appendage. At first, he only sees its destruction. But… there’s more… it’s…

“The fracture is too clean,” says Reg. He points at the broken bone that sticks from among the feathers. “It didn’t simply broke when he barged in. It was already broken.”

The implications of the notion make Fall cringe. “You’re saying he flew here with a broken wing?”

Reg nods slowly, his face grim. “I think that tells us something about what happened to Chillburn.” He glances at Thunderlane. “We need to go to her place. Now.”

“But can we leave him like this?” says Fall, nodding at Thunderlane.

Reg looks at the mayor behind them. She is blinking at them, mouth cracked slightly open. Reg walks quickly over to her, waving a hoof in front of her face. She blinks again, focusing dizzily on Reg, who notices the tiny splatters of blood on her face.

“What happened?” she asks.

Reg lowers his hoof. “We are going to Chillburn’s house: it’s the big one by the river after the dentist but before the bridge. In the meantime, take care of him. Did you get that?”

“Is that… Thunderlane?” she asks, eyes trailing to the sofa.

Reg snorts and turns around. “We don’t have time for this. Let’s send that clerk here to keep things alive.”

Fall looks at him, then at the mayor behind him, and finally at Thunderlane. A million thoughts clog up his mind, but the loudest ones are: He is breathing, and not bleeding too much. She is in shock, but otherwise fine. Chillburn may be alone with whoever broke this guy’s wing like it was a twig. The fourth one climbs up his throat before the rest of the voices can drag it back. “Okay.”

As they get downstairs, Tin Key, along with a couple of other ponies that had come from somewhere, snap their heads at them.

“What was that crash?” asks Tin Key worriedly.

“Thunderlane arrived,” says Reg without stopping. “The mayor asked you there immediately. And I’d advise taking some bandaid with you.”

The clerk looks confusedly at him, then at Fall.

“Do as he says,” he says before disappearing out of the front doors. Outside, he notices how a small crowd has gathered around the town hall. Some of them are wondering at the broken window while others turn their eyes suspiciously at him. I guess Thunderlane’s flight didn’t go unseen. Why the hay did he even fly here? With that wing… I can’t even imagine the pain. His eyes search for Reg, whom he finally sees galloping well ahead. Fall curses and runs after him. From the broken window, he can hear a scream carrying; a scream that recognisably belongs to Tin Key.

***

About half an hour earlier, near a large house by the river, after the dentist but before the bridge…

Am I doing this right? thinks Thunderlane while flying towards Chillburn’s house. By now it’s right under him, but still he lingers in the air, eyeing the gabled roof with unease. He beats the back of his neck a couple of times with a hoof. Stupid, stupid, stupid… I shouldn’t have said anything in the morning, not about the trial. I should’ve just went there, told the truth and be done with it. But now… the truth might not be enough… He gives himself one more beat, the hardest one so far. He flies closer, landing in front of the door. Maybe she has changed her mind, maybe. But I need to be sure. He raises his front leg, preparing to knock. This evening has to be just perfect. Plain perfect. He knocks on the door. It opens silently inwards.

That’s weird… Usually she keeps it locked all the time. After a brief consideration, Thunderlane steps in. As usual, the hall and the living room beyond are wrapped in gloom.

“Hello?” he says, trotting into the living room. “Chillburn?”

No response. It’s dead quiet. I guess she is away. Typical. He turns around, but then his ears prick up, catching a faint noise from upstairs. It’s as if something was moving by the floor. He looks up and sees as a lone beeswax candle rolls the stairs down. He follows it stop on the opposite wall.

“Chillburn?” he asks, louder this time. No response.

Another game? What, is she going to jump on me from a closet or something? The idea sends a pleasant vibration though his body. “I’m coming up,” he says, taking the first step. As he gets to the bedroom door, he finds it partly open. Inside, the heavy curtains block almost all light, but still he can glimpse a form moving on the large bed. It appears to be wriggling. Thunderlane walks carefully closer, drawn in by the leash of curiosity knotted with excitement. Standing next to the bed, he starts chuckling uncertainly.

“Uhh… Okay… Bondage isn’t really my thing, but it seems to be yours,” he says, his eyes drinking the sight before him. Blindfolded, gagged, and tied all over, Chillburn appears as if she had jumped from the September edition of the Playcolt magazine. Her head turns to him, and it seems as if she was trying very hard to say something. “How did you even manage that by yourself?” asks Thunderlane.

“I lent her a hoof. Or a horn, to be more precise,” says an unfamiliar male voice from behind Thunderlane. The pegasus spins around, startled beyond belief.

“What the–”

A sudden light blinds him, forcing him to shield his eyes with his hoof and wings. In the brilliant glow, he can barely make out a form of a unicorn stallion standing by the door. “Who the hay are you?!” cries Thunderlane. Behind him, he can sense Chillburn’s thrashing growing more fervent.

“I might ask the same question from you, seeing that you definitely are not Reg Syllable.” The stranger's voice is steady, and has this academic undertone to it that wouldn’t come of with a white hot iron. “I can only presume that you are one of her other customers.”

“Customers?” repeats Thunderlane automatically. “What? Who are you? And turn that bucking horn off, will you?”

The light remains bright for a moment longer, but then dies away as suddenly as it appeared. In the gloom that follows, Thunderlane is as blind as before, even if not more so. Beyond the sawtooth patterns, he tries to get a better idea of the stranger. With some disbelief, he realizes that he is wearing a suite.

“Are you a butler or something?” asks Thunderlane.

The unicorn is silent for a moment. “Yes. Yes I am. I’m here to assist miss Chillburn with her… audiences.”

Thunderlane can practically taste the innuendo in that last word. It doesn’t please him at all.

“It appears that you came at an inconvenient time,” continues the unicorn. “She is at the moment expecting a special guest, as you can surely see.”

Thunderlane blinks, but this time not from the excess light. “Hey, I’ve no idea what you think you're doing here, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got the wrong address. I suggest you move on before this gets any more awkward.” Although I don’t think that’s possible.

This seems to give a pause to the unicorn, whose face is still mostly hidden by shadows. “You… did not come here to rut her for payment?”

Thunderlane snorts angrily. “Okay, that’s it. Get lost. Now.”

The unicorn doesn’t budge. Instead, he starts muttering to himself. “Perhaps she was keeping low profile here… saving herself for the local elite…”

Thunderlane takes a step forward. “You deaf? I said: get the hay out of here.”

The muttering stranger looks abruptly at him. “Ah. Yes. I think you have a point there. Somepony else might wander here before Reg. Things might get unnecessarily messy then.”

This guy… Where did he drop from? The moon? “Excellent thinking, sir,” says the pegasus. “Now, the door’s there, so…”

The unicorn glances behind him, then at Thunderlane. “Indeed. I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience.” His horn lights up.

At first, Thunderlane thinks he was going to illuminate the room again. His jaw drops when instead he sees the mindlessly struggling Chillburn floating by him, wrapped in a faint grey aura. He charges at the unicorn.

“Oh no you wo‒”

Beside him, Chillburn drops on the floor with a thud. Almost immediately, Thunderlane feels the control of his own muscles escaping beyond him. He freezes in mid motion, helpless as a newborn foal. Only his eyes can move, and they are nailed at the unicorn. In the sparse glow of his horn, he can finally get a look of his face. The sight makes him freeze internally, too.

“Oh, yes I will,” says the unicorn, fine sweat trickling on his brow. He ponders something for a moment. After an excruciating long wait, a resolution of sorts seems to occur behind those glazed, grey eyes.

“The pegasus anatomy is most interesting, especially what comes to the aerial appendages. I’ve studied the subject a bit. Well, written a very influential essay on it actually.”

Thunderlane’s gaze snaps to Chillburn on the floor. She is trembling all over.

“To be frank, I probably know more about your body than you do,” continues the unicorn with some manic amusement. “Did you for example know that by removing a few select feathers from a wing, a pegasus loses all ability to control the altitude of their flight? Or that they are at their most sensitive at the base? Well, of course you would know that…”

He is insane, thinks Thunderlane. And that’s a mild description. One by one, he tries every muscle in his body. They all are on a break.

The unicorn goes on as if he was holding a lecture on his favourite topic. “However, what has always struck to me as the most admirable aspect of them is their undeniable endurance, their ability to function even after what one might call massive damage. Supposing, of course, that the will behind the body has an unusually high tolerance for pain.” He tilts his head. “A simple example: the radius, while extremely important in what comes to controlling the direction of flight, is not that necessary when it comes to flying as such.” His horn begins to glow a more sinister shade of grey. “Also, fractures in it heal respectably well.”

Despite his inability to move, Thunderlane can still feel just fine. The bone that snaps in his left wing is a marvelous proof of that. He would scream until his lungs collapsed, but his tongue doesn’t belong to him.

The unicorn studies the broken wing with some interest. “A clean fracture, not lethal by any means. Grit your teeth and you will be able to fly reasonably well, although I’d advise not to climb very high.” He walks closer to Thunderlane, leaning over his ear. “Find Reg Syllable. If you don’t know him, find somepony who does. There is a message I would like to pass to him.”

The pain blooms rich all over the pegasus’s body, burning him like a hot iron. He registers the words, but not necessarily in the right order.

“I have reserved an appointment with him and Chillburn, with me as the chaperon. It is about time that some issues are laid bare between us. Oh, and tell him that if he does not come alone, she will die.”

At that point, the flaming pain inside Thunderlane loses to the inferno that surges from his heart, that makes his very soul boil. For a moment, his body twitches in the air. The unicorn flinches, taking a few hurried steps back, and tightens his hold of the pegasus.

“I knew you were a fighter!” says the unicorn, grinning madly. “Still, were I you, I’d save some of that glee for the trip ahead. You are going to need it.” The horn dims. Thunderlane falls on the floor. His cry of agony pierces the walls and the ponies inside, only to break before a desperate wail and the tears that swell in his eyes squeezed shut. Next to him, Chillburn’s blindfold becomes wet at the edge.

The unicorn, with no haste at all, picks her up like an old rug. “I will of course withhold the location of the meeting from you. It will be found from a note downstairs. Do not bother reading it: it is code that only Reg, at least in this village, can understand. And, as I already mentioned, disobedience will have consequences.” He trots to the door, dragging the now all limp Chillburn in his ethereal hold. Before he can disappear completely, a tortured voice speaks from the floor. It sounds as if the teeth in the speaker’s mouth might break at any moment.

“If you hurt her… I swear…”

“Yes, yes, I know,” says the unicorn dismissively. “You’ll kill me. I’m shocked, I really am.”

Thunderlane, summoning all his strength, manages to raise to his front legs. “No… That’s what you’ll beg me to do…”

In between Thunderlane’s painful panting and the eerie humming of the grey aura, silence chimes supreme.

“Reg will have one hour. That hour starts now.”

With that, he is gone.

Some stories were never meant to be.

Some stories were never meant to be, usually for several reasons. The most usual of these is that nopony wants to hear about them, for a story without an audience is not a story, but a ghost, a forgotten spectre that haunts equinity as one of its phantom limbs, as another “if”, or a “perhaps”. Eventually they become food for other, more popular stories, thus entering again into the collective circulatory system of the pony race, conveying nourishment to be consumed around campfires, before bedtime, and with particularly strong apple cider. Such is the life of the Unheard Stories.

This is not one of them, obviously.

But at the moment when Reg barged into Chillburn’s house, to hit the wall of silence that reigned there, he wished from the bottom of his heart that it would be.

“Chillburn!” he shouted, running into the kitchen, then upstairs. “Chillburn!”

Fall arrived soon after, panting slightly as he walked into the living room. Everything seemed to be like it had been a few hours ago. Everything except a familiar looking brochure that lay on the table and which clearly had something written on the back. In some other context Fall’s brain would’ve identified it as a shopping list, but in the living present a bloody head wouldn’t have stood out better to him. He approached it carefully and picked it up with his horn. It was the same brochure they had had in the train, the one including “everything you need to know about Ponyville”. On the back, there was something even more interesting.

Right about then, Reg emerged from the bedroom, his face a yearbook of bad omens. “The window here has been broken. There isn’t any shards on the floor, so I guess Thunderlane didn’t bother with the front door when he left. Either that or whoever took Chillburn also has wings.”

Fall didn’t seem to hear him. His lips were moving slightly as he read the note again, or tried to.

“What is that?” asked Reg, climbing down the stairs hurriedly.

“You think Chillburn might have some enemies over Saddle-Arabia?” said Fall, not taking his eyes of the note. “Perhaps some who have been dead for twelve centuries?”

“What?”

“Take a look,” said Fall, floating the paper to Reg, who caught it in the air so violently that it almost ripped in half. He stared at it for fifteen seconds.

“This is ancient Arabic,” he stated, as if that was the worst punchline in existence.

“What does it say?” asked Fall.

Reg looked at him dumbfoundedly. “How should I know?”

“You study the bucking language!”

“It has been dead for over a millenium!” bursted Reg. “I only got interested in it last year! I’ve never seen even half of these signs! Ancient Arabic is an immensely complex tongue, there are maybe three ponies in Equestria who could–”

He saw the light lit in Fall’s eyes at the same moment he felt it burning at the back of his own skull.

“Axiom,” they said in unison.

“But it’s impossible,” continued Fall immediately. “It makes no sense: how could he… and why?”

“I don’t know…” said Reg, studying the note fervently again. “...but it must be him. I just know it. Look, doesn’t this resemble his hoofwriting?”

Fall glanced at the writing that now flailed in front of him, and chose to ignore it. He couldn’t even say where one letter started and another began, or if there were any alphabets in the first place.

“That’s insane,” he said.

“Exactly!” exclaimed Reg. “Who else could do something like this?”

Fall had no answer to that, but accepting the alternative simply didn't do at the moment. “Okay, it might be him, although it isn’t. What do we do now?”

Reg looked at the note again. His eyes drilled into the eloquent lines of ink, demanding them to unravel before his growing anxiety. He could recognize some words, a syllable here and there, even an exclamation mark. The problem was that ancient arabic was a very contextual language: a word might have a dozen meanings, and ultimately its definition depended on every other word in the text. For a pony who loved crossword puzzles, the note would have been an intriguing challenge, and in other circumstances Reg would have put the kettle on and dedicated his rump to the confines of an armchair for the next four hours or so. Right now, his brain fought to squeeze those hours into minutes.

“It… might be about where he took her,” he managed after a while. His temples were already starting to ache magnificently, and his brow would probably be frozen in an eternal frown.

“They,” said Fall. “Where they took her. It might be a she.”

Reg gave him a look, but he had no brain cells to spare for arguing. Instead, he returned back to the message.

Fall, like a pony who can do nothing but really feels he should at least pretend to, started walking around the house. Who knew, maybe there were more notes somewhere? You were supposed to be searching for clues in these situations, right? That’s what Sherlock Hooves always did, anyway. In the kitchen, the first thing he noticed was the basket on the table. Fruits, pancakes and other food lay scattered around it, obviously waiting to be put inside with the apple cider and the napkins. So she was going somewhere, and nopony packs that much food for themselves alone. Didn’t she mention some guest when I visited her earlier? Does that have anything to do with this? And why Thunderlane was here in the first place? Is any of this relevant?

It probably wasn’t, but Fall’s mental gears either had to process something or tear themselves apart in idling. The sight of the pegasus’s broken wing still haunted him vividly. Who could do something like that? Axiom? No way… He’s a nasty piece of work alright, but this is something else. He would have needed to use magic anyway. That would be unthinkable. Although… He is the professor of Oriental Cultures and Language. Among other things… He got back to the living room where Reg’s ears were steaming, metaphorically for now. Fall saw it best not to disturb him, so he headed upstairs. The bathroom was as unexciting as it could be, and beside the broken window, the bedroom didn’t have anything much to offer, either. He almost gave up when a noise carried past the flailing curtains and shards of glass.

He peeked outside and saw a crowd of ponies nearing the house. Even from afar, he could make out the figures of the rainbow mare and, to his amazement, of Thunderlane. Two other stallions were carrying him and a third, looking like a doctor, was engaged in a one-sided argument with him. Thunderlane seemed to be unaware of his presence. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re as crazy as Reg. He pulled discreetly from the window and trotted downstairs, where Reg was mumbling to himself.

“There’s a crowd coming this way, that Rainbow chick and Thunderlane included,” he said.

Reg’s eyes, wide and wild, snapped to him. “What?!”

Fall stopped in the stairs, baffled. “Uh, I said there’s ponies coming here.”

Reg’s pupils shrunk. “Oh no no no no nononono!” he muttered while galloping to the hall, the note flying by his side.

“Hey, where are you going?!” blurted Fall, running after him.

“How far were they?” asked Reg as he got to the door,which he cracked open carefully. “They mustn't see where we are going.”

Fall trotted behind him, face blank. “What? Why?”

“I translated the last sentence,” said Reg as he peeked outside. “It was the easiest one. Do you know why? Because ancient Arabic has words that can mean snow, heat, or cows, depending on the context, but they had this one word that was dedicated completely to death.” He glanced at Fall, eyes aflame. “The last sentence reads: ‘Death… if others invite the chicken.”

“The chicken?”

Reg shook his head. “I’m not sure about that one. But ‘Death if others’ sounds pretty clear, yes? Now, do you know how to cast a simple concealment spell?”

Fall stared at his face that balanced somewhere between pure panic and unyielding conviction. The absurdity of the situation was stunning.

“Reg, this is crazy!” he hissed. “We can’t just steal evidence like this!”

“What would they do with it that I can’t?” said Reg, looking outside again. The sounds of the crowd were drawing nearer by the second. When he looked at Fall again, there was desperation in his eyes that would have won the Golden Hind award any day of the week, save for the fact that it was real. “They’d only get Chillburn killed and you know it. But we two have a chance. Please.”

This is one of those moments, isn’t it? thought Fall, surprisingly calmly. Either I say yes or hope that I can hold him down long enough for the others to arrive. Either I try to save what’s left of this friendship or I do the right thing. The choice balanced itself on an edge of a knife, but not in the present, for the decision had been made years before. It was about time for it to land.

“We better head for the woods ASAP,” said Fall. “I can’t keep the spell up for longer than a few minutes.”

Reg smiled, for the longest time Fall cared to remember. It was the last thing of him he saw before the light from his horn covered him in a shroud of shimmering air, practically making him invisible to an unobservant eye.

“Thank you,” said the spectre before Fall.

***

It was surprising how quickly one could lose the sense of time with a blindfold on. Or with one’s heart beating like a drum. Or when the agonizing screams of one’s lover kept on ringing in the beehive of one’s mind, over and over again. In those moments, it was more than expected for an internal watch of anypony to stop caring. Chillburn, for example, was certain that she had been laying on this floor, which probably was made of ice, the way how cold it felt, for at least a week. The trip here might have taken another two. However, the silence that rang in her ears clearly had never even started, but arched over time itself. She would have screamed it away, but the gag hardly let her breath.

During the last hour, or day, or whatever, she had gone through every shade of rage, terror, lunacy, panic, grief and pretty much every other emotion she had in store. The record had of course started all over again after finishing. At the moment she was in the middle of the track called “Grief That Makes You Wish You Had No Heart,” which wasn’t as comical as it sounds. The tears still kept on coming, which felt impossible. The edges of the blindfold were already drenched and stiff with salt.

Distant steps boomed in her ears. Small part of her mind noticed how well it echoed here, wherever that was, and that the sounds seemed to come from underground. Her shivering intensified along with their approaching, but the ropes wouldn't let her even wriggle properly. She could only listen for the steps to grow louder, then fainter, then even louder and, finally, terrifyingly, stop. They stopped for a long while.

“It’s a shame I don’t have a camera with me,” said a voice like ash, like chalk, like death. “I’m sure the editor of the Playcolt would shave her mane for the sight you at the moment.”

Amidst terror, rage kindled. The sparks spread around, and the fear smoldered.

“Mind you, some other stallion might get such filthy thoughts, watching you right now. Indecent thoughts. Unthinkable thoughts.”

The panic burned before a wildfire of fury. She was still shaking, not like a leaf, but like a barrel of gunpowder travelling in a cargo hall of a speeding, flaming train.

“Of course you don’t have to fear such things from my part,” continued the voice, with some pride. “My intentions concerning you are nothing short of platonic.”

The bright red rubber ball in Chillburn’s mouth came dangerously close to being split in half. She was hardly moving anymore, but a sane person wouldn’t have touched her with a stick. It was a shame that none were around. Her heart practically stopped when he smoothed her mane with a casual hoof. The touch had this eerie sense of serenity to it that inflamed her hate so greatly that it almost burned out.

“I never told you this… but there is a certain similarity of looks between you and… somepony I used to know.” The hoof travelled down, past the neck and via her right shoulder to her chest. “Perhaps that is why I fell for you in the first place: for the sake of a mirage. A ghost. A dream.” The hoof stopped at her pelvis.

With deep confusion and relief, Chillburn felt the straps of the gag let loose on her neck. The ball, stained in a thick layer of saliva, dropped on the floor with a wet smack. She coughed a few times and gasped, but after a moment a breath of air washed over her ear, and she knew that he was right above her. As a distant echo of her own heartbeat, she could hear his. The whisper that followed washed even that into nothingness.

“Could you recite me a certain poem? For the one last time?”

With baited breath, Chillburn slowly lifted her neck towards his face. Her nose hit his cheek, her lips found an ear, leaned closer… for her teeth to bite down as hard as they could. A scream followed, bouncing off the walls like a ball lightning, and when he finally managed to pull free, she could feel something warm splatter all over her face. There was a piece of flesh trapped between her teeth. It tasted sweet.

“Bitch!” he wailed, staggering backwards. “Damned bitch, bitch, bitch bitchbitchbitch–aaarraragha!!!” He fell to his knees, shaking all over while trying to stem the bleeding with a hoof. The other half of his face and suit were already covered in blood, and a small pool of it was forming under him. He ground his teeth together, panting and muttering painfully.

Chillburn spat the piece of ear from her mouth and smiled. “Did I get the accent right? Perhaps I should give it another go? Or wasn't that platonic enough for you?” Somewhere deep inside, she knew she was supposed to be terrified to her very bones. But the words kept on coming, like foam from a boiling kettle with a lid on. “Maybe you should try to take advantage of me, yes? A helpless mare like myself, all at your mercy! Try giving me your cock next, we’ll see how that works out for y–”

She stopped breathing. An unknown force squeezed her throat like a vise, the grip turning ever tighter by the second. Even through her blindfold, she could see a glimpse of a grey halo in her rapidly dimming vision. With a violent tug she was yanked into the air, where she hang like a wet towel, futilely kicking with her tied limbs. The sounds that left her lips were not from a pony. Nothing but white, blind panic filled her mind that screamed for oxygen, craved it even more than it feared that her neck might break from the way she was thrashing in the air. Every kick had slightly less energy to it, every choking gasp a little bit less volume, until suddenly there was none. She floated in the air, only her hind legs twitching faintly. It was only then that Axiom let her go.

She crashed on the floor, but the first breath came only a few seconds after. It was simultaneously the most precious and painful thing in existence. Her throat was a crushed origami, barely holding together from the force of the pitiful wheezes that travelled through it. Her tongue lolled over her lips, which still had the taste blood on them. That was the final push that made her retch.

Axiom stared at her, panting and holding the ruins of his ear with a hoof. The bleeding had somewhat subsided, but still a steady trickle of blood flowed from the torn auricle that would never look the same again. The pain was just about bearable now, yet all it took was one wrong move and it bloomed rich all over again. His blood-soaked grimace deepend a tad more as he stood up.

“A fiery one up until the bitter end, I see. I should’ve known, of course. A regrettable folly from my part.” His horn lit again, picking up the gag. “It won’t happen again.”

Just enough clarity had returned to Chillburn’s mind so that she could comprehend the meaning of the straps aligning behind her neck. “Axiom…” she wheezed and coughed. “I’m pregn–mhhmhmmhh!!!”

The gag muffled whatever little could be comprehended from her sentence in the first place. Still she tried, for she wasn’t fighting just for her own life.

“Save your breath,” he said tiredly, trotting away. “Nopony can hear you here. And even if they could, they’d just think it was some ghost, and would run away. This place is cursed.” A petal of the bloody flower by his temple shivered, and so did he along with it. “I would know… My Architecture of the Ancients had a most comprehensive chapter on the Old Castle…” He vanished in one of the stairs leading in the cellars. With any luck, there might be something there he could use to tie his wound with.

Chillburn fought to the point where she almost choked herself in order to draw his attention, but the steps faded inevitably. She was alone yet again, except that she wasn’t, and that made everything worse. That made everything as bad as it could get, like ultimate stakes always do. I should’ve screamed it at his face the moment he removed the gag. That would’ve got him to his senses. But no, I just had to bite him, hurt him, taunt him. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid… I have to survive, I have to get alive from here, no matter the cost. No matter the cost. No matter the cost…

***

Reg couldn’t figure it out. For his life, he couldn’t make sense of the curly, black lines, the meaning of which spanned over centuries. A millennium of tradition stood before him, and all he had to show was an unfinished master’s thesis and year’s worth of studies on the topic under a pony who thought pedagogy was some sort of an animal. This was all put to work by a lot of stress, which wasn’t completely new to him as such, except that it was, for this was about Chillburn. He mentally scratched another useless translation of a random line. “You have long for one, starting when this” just didn’t cut it, although he just knew that he was onto something there.

“They are gathering in the yard,” observed Fall, who was following the events in Chillburn’s house from behind some bushes, on the edge of earshot. “The rainbow mare is talking about something with Thunderlane.”

“Ah-ha…” muttered Reg. All he had caught form that was the word “something”.

Fall squinted and pricked up his ears, trying to get a better idea of what was happening on the other side of the river, but all the voices blurred into one mass of murmur on the way, and he had no idea if there were any officials present or if everypony had just come for the show. There was about thirty of them now, and more seemed to be coming as the word spread around. Even now Fall could see a group of five more joining in, although this time the rainbow mare flew to them as soon as she noticed them. Thunderlane followed suite, supported by two stallions. An intense discussion seemed to stem between the seven of them.

“I think they’ll start searching soon,” said Fall, looking at Reg, who was laying on his stomach on the grass. “And judging by the looks of it, they’re not going to be short on volunteers.”

“Great, great,” said Reg. Pearls of sweat glimmered on his brow.

Fall bit his lip. He had made his choice, but how many times he had to repeat it before the end? “I think we should join them,” he said.

“Sure, sure… Wait, what?” Reg blinked and looked at him. “No! Why?”

“Because we’re hindering a criminal investigation by withholding that note, for starters. Second, it might help them to know who they should be looking for: I’m not saying Axiom is behind this, but giving out his description wouldn’t be unhelpful, right? Thirdly–”

“They’d only lock us into some cellar again!” snapped Reg, standing up. “Think about it: they judged me guilty once, what stops them from dumping this one on me, too? With you as my accomplice?”

Fall reared his head in disbelief. “Why’d they do that? We were in the Mayor’s office when this happened.”

“They’d still think we have something to do with all this,” continued Reg. “We can’t afford to be pushed aside now. Who else around here knows ancient Arabic? Who?”

“There are other ways to find Chillburn,” said Fall patiently. “For all we know, that note might be a false lead. And discounting your little brawl, what reason have we given them to think we have anything to do with Chillburn’s disappearing?”

Reg shifted his weight between his legs. “There was… another incident, before you came. In the local orchards. I may have… given out a rather sinister image of myself.” He averted Fall’s gaze and added: “I can’t take that risk.”

Fall studied him quietly for a moment. “My third point was that we’re not getting anywhere alone.”

Reg slumped and and sat down. “I’ve failed her,” he whispered. “I was given one chance to help her, to make up for my mistakes, and everything I know ends up being useless. I’m useless.” He fell to his side, his muzzle barely missing the note on the grass.

“Hey, don’t you play dead on me!” snapped Fall, nudging him sharply with a front leg. “The only reason I didn’t knock you over in the house a minute ago, or in Canterlot last week, or half a year back, was that you’re Reg Syllable! You don’t play dead, not in the ring, not in Axiom’s surprise tests, not ever! You get up and get on with it!” He kicked him again, a bit stronger this time. “Tell me what you’ve got so far. Let it all pour out, every translation, every hunch and gut feeling you got!”

The engine called Reg sagged, coughed, and began listing words like strings of Hearth's Warming Eve decorations. At this point, the topography of the message was more or less a part of him.

“There’s the death thing, that’s the only thing I’m sure of, and that I need to go there alone, or at least somepony needs to. Before that, it’s about settling into new lands, finding bargains, closing circles. A rock is lifted from something, but it might be a cow, or a metaphor for the raising of the taxes. End and beginning repeat a few times, but I don’t know in which order. The evening star finds its place beneath/above the fall/rise of the eclipse, a unit of of time is mentioned, I think, and it leads to somewhere… bad.”

Remarkable nonsense, thought Fall, but honesty wasn’t the key to victory here. “Okay, there’s a lot of words that I recognize. That’s a start, definitely.” He breathed in, then out, and closed his eyes. “Suppose it is Axiom who left that message in the hopes that we’d be able to read it. Like you said, it’d make sense for him to reveal the place where he took Chillburn. If the message isn’t meant to misguide us, it can’t be about ransoms or anything: usually kidnappers want to get that part clear enough.” He opened his eyes. “So the real question is, where he might’ve taken Chillburn around here, even hypothetically?”

“It can’t be just a random spot in the forest, or some barn or something,” whispered Reg with a faraway voice. “That’d be impossible to find with these directions, that’s for sure.”

“So it must be a special place, like where two ponies met for the first time or something like that,” said Fall. “And if the message was meant for you, you should know that place!”

Reg stood up. “It can’t be very far away, and it must be somewhere quiet.” His glazed eyes glinted. “The orchards?”

“Why is that place special?”

“There was the…” began Reg, but then he shook his head. “No, that doesn’t make sense. There was nopony else around, anyway. I think.” He rubbed his temple, frowning deeply. “The Cafe? No. The pegasus training yard? Maybe… but that’s very close to the town…” He growled in frustration. “I don’t think there’s any such place nearby that would be special for me.”

“Then it must be something else,” said Fall. “Some other well-known location. Something grand: Axiom loves theatricality. If it’s him,” he added quickly.

“But there is nothing but fields, orchards and forest around here!” wailed Reg. “Nothing but plain countryside for miles and miles around…”

“Wait…” said Fall. “What did the note say about the evening star?”

Reg sighed. “That it finds its place beneath/above the fall/rise of the eclipse, or something like that. That’s the version that makes some kind of sense.”

“Eclipse… The evening star… Fall…” repeated Fall, as if in a trance. “Isn’t the Old Castle of the Royal Sisters nearby?”

Reg’s face fell blank. “It is. Right in the middle of the forest, if the stories are true. And its other name is–”

“–The Evening Star!” burst Fall. “The one celestial object that the Sisters share! The one that dimmed after their downfall, only to lit again when Princess Twilight was crowned!”

“Yes yes it’s all very symbolic and neat,” said Reg urgently. “How do we get there?”

The excited smile vanished from Fall’s lips. “I don’t know.” He turned towards the Everfree forest. There was still sunlight to spare, but even now the pathways were littered with shadows cast by the thick foliage that hadn’t given up to the nearing Autumn yet. In a few hours, they’d be left to do with their horns. “There should be a path leading there, right?”

“Sure there is,” said Reg grimly. “The place has only been abandoned for a millennium. I’m sure the locals visit it all the time.”

Reg looked at him over his shoulder. “They’d probably know the way, at least.”

“In fact, they do,” said Reg, smiling strangely. “And they’re going to lead us right there.” Before Fall’s questioning face, he picked up the brochure and opened it in the middle half, revealing an elaborate yet surprisingly accurate map of Ponyville and its surroundings. The location of the Old Castle, “where guided tourist travels have been planned in the future,” stood out like a sore spot in the flank.

“I’d say that whoever wants us to find Chillburn made sure that we do just that,” said Reg.

“And that’s exactly why we are not going there alone,” said Fall sternly.

The brochure dropped to the ground. A quite followed, resembling one during which storms gather strength.

“I thought we went over this already,” said Reg, very calmly. “It’s Chillburn’s life we’re talking about here.” And my foal’s, he added in the deepest confines of his mind.

“I know the stakes as well as you do,” said Fall, just as calmly. “Just as you have to know that it’s a trap. This is not about money or anything like that. I’m not talking about some ‘bad feeling’ – if suspicious smelled of anything, this would reek of it.”

Reg stared at him over an ever-widening pit, where all their shared years were sinking at increasing velocity. “I’m not risking her life. Not for anything. You can come, but only because you know when to back away. Don’t you?”

Fall shook his head in disbelief. “You’re not this stupid, Reg. You’ve done some stupid things, but this is serious.” He took a tad steadier pose. “We’re not going alone and that’s final. And that comes from the best friend you have.”

The pit was now deep enough for Reg to hear the howling gales of reason diving into it, screaming as they disappeared into the adamant abyss. He stared at him for four heartbeats longer, closed his eyes, and sighed. “You’re right. That’s what a friend would say. And they’d be right.” He turned around, looking at the crowd on the other side of the river. Some lavendel pony, apparently a unicorn, was talking to them all. The searching would start soon.

Fall trotted carefully to his side. “Sometimes, nothing’s harder than doing the right thing.” He put a hoof on his shoulder. “We should go. There might not be much time left.”

Reg stared ahead, his gaze forlorn. He started walking, with Fall following a few steps behind.

“Oh, wait, the brochure,” said Reg absent-mindedly, turning quickly around and walking past Fall. “Almost forgot it…”

The moment he passed him, a jolt travelled through Fall. He knew its meaning only a few seconds after. It was a familiar feeling, one he had experienced many times before, but never outside the ring. It was etched in the way Reg’s movements changed, to the subtle ways he breathed differently, how his muscles tensed. In a different context, Fall would have reacted immediately. As it was, the blow hit him like a mallet. An experienced boxer like him could take a beating twice as bad and still know what day it was, but only when he was ready for it. Coming from the blue, it knocked him out like a rookie.

Reg watched him fall on the grass with a handsome bruise already forming on his temple. A sucker punch like that was an abomination, but some things went beyond the gentlecolt’s code and, apparently, beyond friendship. With a final glance at his stunned friend, Reg picked up the brochure and wandered into the Everfree forest.

***

The thing about the Unheard Stories, as we already know, is that they were never meant to be. This phrasing is not completely accurate. Rather, they were never meant to be after they were not meant to be, which may sound paradoxical if one stubbornly wishes to cling to conventional theories of time. But the Unheard Stories do not follow the same rules physical objects do, mostly because they are not physical but also because they are not objects. To the contrary, as stories, they enable the conception of time so familiar to some forms of life, like ponies, who naturally tend to conceive time through some geometrical analogy, be it a cycle or a straight line. Here is where stories become so convenient, for they are essentially a way to structure things.
Naturally, they can also be a way to demolish things. That’s what the Unheard Stories are for: to demolish and be demolished in turn, so that the cycle of stories can go on unhindered.
Sometimes things don’t work out this way.

Sometimes, very rarely, an Unheard Story escapes the cycle.

Once escaped, an Unheard Story is Lost. It’s neither living nor dead, less than a shadow or a ghost. It doesn’t belong. There is no name for it. According to many influential philosophical theories, it doesn’t even exist.

But it does. That’s why it escaped.

To Exist.

***

Professor Axiom stared at an empty wall. He had lately become very good at it. Hours could just fly by when he sat down to stare. There were moments when he prided himself on the fact that a lesser pony would’ve gone insane probably years ago, trying to achieve the same adamant patience that by now was a second nature to him.

The colonel was talking to him again, which Axiom found strange, for he was supposed to be safely tucked under the bed in that horrible Inn in that backward village. Still, Axiom could hear his voice clearly inside his head.

Is there brandy in the vicinity, by any chance?

Axiom blinked and looked around in the dim winecellar. Whatever was left of the wooden racks harbored a few rat’s nests and dirt, not to forget some green glass shards. “I’m afraid not,” he said. The grey eyes returned back to the wall.

Blimey.

There was an eerie silence. A rat entered the room, noticed the grey pony, and chose to keep its distance.

What if he doesn’t come? said the voice.

“He will,” said Axiom. “The instructions were simple enough. Even a disaster like Reg could follow them.”

That is not what I meant.

Axiom frowned. “Why would he not come? I was very clear what would happen if he didn’t. I even broke that pegasus’s wing like you told me to. He will come.” Another pause ensued.

If he doesn’t come, the Story will be left unfinished. Again.

Axiom ground his teeth.

That Must Not happen.

“I know,” said Axiom through gritted teeth. “No need to remind me about that. Reg will come. It is meant to be so.

Good.

Axiom was left alone with the wall once more. With enough concentration, he could see these little patterns running all over its moldy surface. There was a great likelihood that they were trying to tell him something, he felt.

You will kill her if he doesn’t come, right?

Axiom muttered something.

What was that?

He swallowed. “Are you sure that is necessary?”

The Story Must Not be left unfinished.

Axiom flinched. The colonel was right. Still… it would be such a mean thing to do. Quite unlike him, really. He hesitated.

“What do you think?” he asked from the wall.

You’re asking from a wall?

There was a silence.

“...No?” said Axiom finally. “A slip of the tongue.”

How shall it be, then?

Axiom sighed. “Fine. If Reg doesn’t arrive in” – he consulted his wrist watch – “twenty minutes, we’ll resort to the precautions. But not before.”

Very well. Only one thing, though.

“Yes?”

Who are “we”?

***

The castle loomed in the centre of the clearing like a sleeping giant, slumping in the fading light. It occurred to Reg that it looked very different in reality than in all the pictures that he had seen of it in books. For one thing, it looked old. Very old. It was amazing that it was still standing, kind of, that’s how old it looked. It was bound to be filled with unsteady stairs, rotten roofs, loose stones and all kinds of other natural traps. Of course it would also be filled with unnatural traps, some of which were sure to be still operational, there was no other way it could be. And Axiom knows every inch of the place. A convenient coincidence? No way in hay.

He jumped at every shadow that crossed his way as he galloped across the clearing. The front doors were wide open, so he circled around the place to look for another entry. There were plenty of those, or at least there had been, a thousand years ago. The kitchen entrance was buried underground. The other two portcullis had collapsed. At several places the outer wall had crumbled to the ground level, but the stouter inner wall was mostly intact, and the doors there were all rusted shut. Or barred from the other side. In either case, if I break them, I might as well light some fireworks to announce my presence. In the end, he closed his eyes and teleported himself blindly through one of the windows. Surprise moves were a powerful strategic tool, after all. Unfortunately there was no floor in the room he appeared in.

Well, at least I didn’t materialize in the middle of a table or a chandelier, he thought while his body recovered from the fall. A bush of roses had softened the impact at the low cost of driving a few dozen spikes sticking from his coat. He picked off the most painful ones and sneaked deeper into the castle, his horn glowing with the thinnest layer of magic. Reg had read somewhere that in ancient times, noble unicorns fancied settling their disagreements in magical duels. Speed had been the key factor then and so it would be now, he thought while peering around a corner. The first spell would win five times out of six, it had been said. That had widely been regarded as the optimal outcome from everypony’s perspective, and not least from the audience’s. The duels of the earth ponies of old might have been hours long, even days if the opponents were equal enough, and certainly only a few things could match in beauty the elegance the aerial clashes of the pegasi long past. But while there was no denying the fact that the unicorns always had the shortest fights, they were also the fiercest, most intense, and most violent. From all the gifts the ponykind had been blessed with, magic was the strongest one, no matter how one chose to look at it.

One wrong move and it’s all over, thought Reg as he peered around another corner. The corridors seemed endless and they were all miles long. The silence was vast as an ocean, filling every nook and granny along with Reg’s ears. Wherever he went he felt like being watched. What is his game? What does he want? Did I hit Fall too hard? The questions rained upon him from every side in an everflowing tide, craving to pull him along, but he held tight to the bridge of reason, built between hate and fear. Thinking of metaphors helped him from not thinking what would happen if Axiom happened to see him first. First he’ll break my horn, just so I can’t–

A scream. Chillburn’s voice. Drenched in pain.

He ran. Another scream, or perhaps a dying echo of the first one, bounced along the corridors and halls, through the broken ceiling and into the red sky. He ran. He didn’t need to worry about traps, for he knew he was running head on into one. That mattered none. Only running mattered, and his only regret was being so slow, sluggish, heavy; he practically crawled even though his lungs were on fire, even though he could hardly see where he was going, even though–

He was there. So was Axiom, and Chillburn, too. They saw him a second later he saw them, which was enough for Axiom to stop the burst of energy aimed at his heart. A dull grey dome flashed as the magical currents met and negated one another instantaneously. The next clash was even brighter, blinding all the ponies momentarily. When he could see again, Reg found himself pressed against the wall around the corner of the corridor where from he had burst in. He was panting and shaking.

“Is that a way to greet a Professor?” shouted Axiom jollily from the room beyond. Reg hadn’t got but a glimpse of it, but it looked large, like a hall, perhaps even like the throne room.

“It’s over, Axiom!” responded Reg, trying to listen if he was moving. “The whole village is coming in in a few minutes. They’ve probably surrounded the castle already.”

“No they haven’t,” called the merry voice. “I know that because you know that I always keep my promises.”

There was the faint tingling sound of magic being used, followed by Chillburn’s painful gasp. There should’ve been no way Reg’s muscled could’ve gone any tenser, but they did.

“There’s nothing you can win by hurting her,” he said, his voice balancing on the same bridge he himself did. Planks were falling into the abyss in their scores under his feet. “You have to admit it, Axiom: even on your scale, this is insane. Pointless. Do you even know yourself what you’re striving to achieve here?” Keep him talking, keep him busy… There’s got to be a way to get him farther from Chillburn…

Axiom’s laugh told a tale of a pony who wouldn’t have been happier anywhere else. Somehow, it was immensely more horrible than the manic cackle Reg had been expecting.

“As always, you miss the crucial factor of perspective, Reg my lad. History ought to have taught you that much.” Hoofsteps echoed in the room, and Reg was dying to get a peek of what was happening there. The trouble was that it would be the certain outcome of such a reckless move. “I know exactly what I want,” continued Axiom. “The question is, do you?”

He has finally lost it, thought Reg. There’s no telling what he might do next. I have to–

“Answer the question, Reg.”

“What do you think I’m doing here?” he cried, unable to help himself. “Did you already forget who left that note? A criminal mastermind such as yourself?”

“Is that why you came? Because I asked you to?” After a moment of silence, he continued: “You are right, though: this is pointless. There is no dog that would answer to a whistle more obediently than you do to her squeals.”

Behind the corner, Reg had stopped shaking, from moving altogether. He had become a statue, a painting the eyes of which would follow you only if you followed them.

“Do I have to provide proof for my theory?” asked the scholarly voice. “Nothing would be easier, you know.” The faint tingling started again. Chillburn gasped in anticipation of pain.

Reg stepped around the corner, his horn was dim like his eyes were. In the centre the room, which indeed appeared to be the remains of the throne chamber, Axiom smiled at him, holding the tied, gagged and blindfolded Chillburn in the air like an old rag. Her ears pricked to his direction, and she cringed.

“Let go of her,” said Reg with a colorless voice.

Axiom shrugged. “As you wish.” His horn dimmed, and Chillburn collapsed to the floor. She curled immediately to as tight of a ball as her ties would allow.

To protect her foal, said Reg’s brain. My foal, added his heart. “I’ll kill you,” finished his mouth.

Axiom kept on smiling. “Prepare to queue, then. In the meantime, could I tempt you to settle down and relax?” Following his own advice, he sat calmly down next to the trembling Chillburn. A light grey halo lingered around his horn.

Reg stared. “What do you want?” he managed. “What could you possibly want from me or her?”

“Nothing,” said Axiom. “It’s the story that is in control here. Not me, not you, not she, but the story.” He tilted his head slightly. “I had thought you would’ve figure that out by now.”

Reg bit his tongue to quell the instinct to rage in the face of madness. No future lay in that direction. I need to get down to his level to solve this. Somewhere under all that lunacy is the grumpy Axiom I know. Pull the right lever and he’ll jump out like a jack in the box.

“Just to make sure we’re all on the same page…” said Reg carefully. “What story are we talking about?”

Axiom rolled his eyes. “Dear Celestia… You really are a thick one, aren’t you?” He chuckled heartily and laid his hoof absentmindedly on Chillburn’s shoulder. She stopped trembling immediately. “Not that I’d expect anything less from a pony who can’t separate Arabic writing from an ink stain.”

Reg forced himself to smile. “Heh. True that.”

“All this has happened before, you see,” said Axiom, smoothing Chillburn’s coat. “There’s nothing new here. A beautiful mare playing with a young fool’s heart like it was ball of yarn. How could you not see the end of it a thousand miles ahead?” He snorted. “Well, we all know the answer to that one, don’t we …”

With baited breath, Reg took a step closer to him. “Seems like you know the script well enough.”

“You have no idea,” said Axiom quietly. His eyes were lost on Chillburn’s blindfolded face.

Reg took another step. Aside from briefly wondering why Axiom had some rotten cloth wrapped over his ear, he was meticulously trying to solve an equation including his right hoof, Axiom’s glowing horn and the twelve feet that separated the two. As of yet, the result was negative. “We both fell for her. No shame in that, all things considered.” Ten feet. “Still, kind of harsh to tie her up for that.” His leg rose to meet the ninth feet. “I mean, she’s pregnant and all.”

Axiom’s hoof stopped its caressing. His eyes rose slowly to Reg. “What?”

Reg blinked. “You didn’t know?”

On the floor, Chillburn made a noise that might have signified great relief or ultimate frustration. Axiom looked down, and for a moment his horn dimmed.

Reg’s hoof landed, only to rise immediately: six feet. He reared up mid-motion, aiming at Axiom’s jaw: three feet, two, one…

A flash of light. A clean hit. Reg heard the sound of cracking bone snap like a whip. He had packed enough force to his blow to bring down a seizable brick wall. Axiom staggered backwards, his legs colliding with one another, the whites of his eyes turned up. The sight of his jaw would’ve made anypony’s stomach turn. There was a short, whining sound, and then he collapsed.

Reg panted, and sweat dribbled down his brow. He felt light as a feather, but his legs wouldn’t move properly. Also, there was this warm sensation spreading on his chest. It didn’t matter though: he had won. He had won. He bent over Chillburn to free her, but for some reason his horn wouldn’t work, and even his hooves had trouble obeying, the way how they were shaking. It took him a minute to get the blindfold off her.

She looked at him in the eyes, and the air shimmered between them. Then she looked down. And she looked. And she looked. Dreamily, Reg followed her gaze.

There was blood. Lots of blood, pulsing from the gash in his chest. The edges of the wound had charred black. The warmth was seeping away, giving room for numb cold. Reg sat down, blinking.

And then he died.

Author's Note

Yep, that's one way to end a story.

Epilogue

In a swing basking in the sunlight, an old stallion sits. The air smells of grass and roses. In the trees beyond a high stone fence, which surrounds the small yard completely, scores of birds sing. He nods absentmindedly in their rhythm, even lets out a short whistle or two of his own. Everything is alright, he feels. And soon it will be time to eat.

“Hello,” says a soft voice by his side. He looks at the speaker: a young mare, beautiful like the day. He knows her.

“Ah, you finally came,” he says, flashing a toothless smile. “I say, you did take your sweet time.”

The mare looks confused. “You were expecting me?”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course I was, Pep. For bloody thirty years.” He smiles again. “My word, you haven’t aged a day.”

She studies him with bright green eyes. “May I sit with you for a while?”

He moves aside on the swing, patting the empty spot invitingly. “For all day, if you please.”

She sits down. The birds keep on singing, the grass growing. Behind them, a male nurse talks with another one, never once letting the two ponies out of sight. She keeps on glancing the top of his head.

He notices that. “It’s a blessing, really,” he says. “It can be so awkward at times, poking everything and so on. And you never notice how heavy it is until you get old.” He touches the stump of his horn. “I still would’ve liked to keep it in a drawer or something. It’s a shame that they didn’t let me.”

She looks again at his clean-cut stump, and then touches her own horn. A faint shudder travels over her.

“Do you… know why you are here?” she asks.

He gives her a confused look. “You mean, in this world…?”

“No: in this place. In the Everdream Hospital?”

He gives this a thought. “Where else should I be?”

She has no answer to that. They wait in silence, but for what, neither can tell.

“Are you happy?” she finally asks.

“I like to think so,” he says, watching the wall intently, as if reading it. The grey eyes turn to her. “It helps that you finally came back. Although… I’m not sure anymore why you left in the first place…” The idea seems to disturb him greatly. “My memory just isn’t what it used to be, lately…”

She swallows, and turns her face away. She stands up. “It was nice to meet you, Professor. Have a nice day.” She turns away.

He looks confused. “You’re not staying for dinner? It’s Wednesday. That means daisy pie for dessert.” He smiles again. “I remember that much, at least.”

She doesn’t stop. He looks at her go all the way to the door, where she exchanges a few words with the nurses. They close the door immediately after she is gone.

He feels alone.

And then he hears singing again.

***

Outside the hospital, the mare walks away without looking back. By the road to Ponyville, Thunderlane watches her come closer. The years have taxed his magnificent mane, and brought an array of wrinkles on his face, but otherwise you’d know him instantly.

“Got what you wanted?” he asks when she gets close enough.

She looks at the hospital.

“I think they should let him out,” she says.

He cringes. “I think not.”

“Why?” she says, frowning. “He is harmless. You can’t say that he isn’t, if you have seen him.”

“It’s not that,” he says, shaking his head slowly. “If Chillburn ever got to know that he was set free… It doesn’t bare thinking about what she might do.”

Sadness fills her eyes. “You think she still hates him so much?”

He gives her a look. “Didn’t you know that the only reason Axiom is still alive in the first place is that Reg never got to untie Chillburn. When Twilight and the others found her, she was biting pieces off his leg. It was his luck that it was the only part of him she could reach.”

She looks at him in disbelief. “She never mentioned that part…”

He sighs. “She wouldn’t, would she? Come, let me walk you back home. It’ll be dark before we get there.”

They start walking along the empty road. It seems to stretch beyond eternity.

“Thanks for coming with me,” she says after a while. “You know that you didn’t need to, right?”

He keeps his eyes on the road. “I’d still appreciate it if you didn’t tell your mother. I try not to agitate her more than necessary.”

“He called me ´Pep´,” she says abruptly. “Does that mean anything to you?”

He glances at her from the corner of his eye. “No. Why?”

She shrugs. “Nothing. It’s a nice name.”

“Nicer than Regina?”

Regina smirks. “What do you mean by that?”

He returns the smirk, and says: “Nothing.”

And that was the end of that.