Darkness blanketed the land, but the silver light of the moon shone upon the world, coating it in eerie splendor. The ice cold wind shot through the desolate landscape; it traveled unhindered across plains and, picking up speed, hurtled through the valleys. The beasts of the snow watched as it traveled. Frostwolves howled, baying for blood; windigoes wailed, screeching for souls; wyrms hissed, intent on bone. But each beast would sleep hungry on that night.
Whipping around a mountain, it flew past a castle that was withered in pain. Snow blasted up against the side of the towers, buffeting the already worn stone. Leaving the tower wobbling dangerously in its wake, the wind continued on.
Traversing the final stretch, the wind sped towards a village that was little more than a huddled collection of small buildings. Reaching its destination, it sought out one house in particular. It caressed the small building made of mud—stroked it, fondled it, hammered it. It sought out each of the tiny cracks and flowed inward.
Inside the building, the freezing air searched for a target. Within seconds, it found a small bundle shivering in the corner of the room—only the small dirty face was visible. It wrapped itself in and around the form and squeezed, sending shivers through the blanket-covered object. . . .
The pony awoke with a start. She gasped, sending her misty breath into the chilled room. There was a single heat-giving light above her head, but ice still formed wherever there was moisture. Underneath her blankets, her dirty, hole-ridden overcoat did its best to provide what warmth it could, and her stiff grey wings were wrapped around her body. She opened her crooked eyes, her golden irises dimly reflecting the maroon light. Groaning, she slowly sat up, sending her blankets tumbling off her shoulder.
She squinted as she looked around for her payment. Spying it on the nightstand by her pillow, she picked it up and shook it gently. Five bits and a small stone poured out of the pouch and fell onto the bed. She smiled even as another shiver wracked her body. She’d had much worse. She carefully jumped out of her bed and landed on the hard-packed dirt. She grunted as a twinge of pain coursed through her hips; she was usually a bit sore after a stallion, but it would soon pass. He seemed nice, actually, and timid. Though that might have been because it was his first time. He had treated her more gently than the other stallions. He also didn’t cheat on her payment, something that other stallions did frequently.
Steadying herself, she trotted past cracked walls made from mud, empty shelves designed to house food, and a closet that would never be filled. She reached the coatrack by her door and plucked the wide-brimmed, insulated hat off one of the hooks. Placing it on her head with practiced ease, she slid each of her hooves into knee-high, wide-soled boots that were long past their prime. As she reached for the door handle, she remembered that she’d left her payment behind. She quickly turned around and returned to the bed. Sliding the bits into their bag, she placed it securely in her only pocket without a hole: her chest pocket with its demeaning patch. Anypony who bothered to give it a close look would know her chosen profession. Something about the rock caught her eye, so she flipped it over and read the words she found scraped into it.
My house. Moonset till moonrise. Will pay.
Several emotions flitted across her face, eventually resting on something akin to grim satisfaction, with a twinge of barely hidden disgust in her eyes. But then they were gone, leaving only resilience. She tucked the note in with her bits and walked back over to the door. Wrapping her scarf around her face and placing insulated goggles over her eyes, she once again readied her hoof on the metal door’s handle. Taking a deep breath, she grunted and pushed the door open.
The howling winds immediately stole the breath from her lungs, but she was used to it. They yowled and bit at her, but she stood strong. The moon cast its harsh glow on the snowy landscape, coating everything in a deceptively beautiful silver.
The mare lowered her eyes and trudged through the snow, her boots giving her enough surface area to stay on the crust of ice and preserve her strength. The wind whipped around her and began the process of chilling every bone in her body, blasting her with assault after vicious assault. Fortunately, her destination wasn’t far away. She grabbed hold of the safety cord that linked her house to the town square and held tightly as the wind battered her mercilessly.
The town square might not have been far away, but it felt like miles to her. Each step was a struggle, every inch a foot.
Minutes that could have been days later, she reached the center of town. Choosing the cord that led to her destination, she grabbed hold of it. The wind fought her every step, but she fought back harder.
Finally reaching the door she sought, she pulled it open and rushed inside. Slamming it firmly shut, she collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath. Hearing snippets of a motherly voice and much younger ones, she angled her ears toward the depths of the house and worked her way to her hooves. As stealthily as she could, she walked closer until the sounds became words, but still made sure that the wall hid her from view.
“. . . tell us a story before naptime?”
“Of course, little ones, which one would you like to hear?”
“Can you tell us the one about the perfect world?”
“That old story? I must have told that millions of times.” She chuckled, but if one listened closely, one would find no mirth in her laugh.
“Wanna hear it again! Wanna hear it again!” cheered a filly.
“All right, all right, let’s see here. . . . A long, long time ago, there was a beautiful princess with a heart of gold. Her mane blazed with kindness, and she was without fault; she loved each of her subjects and saw to their every need. Every day she raised the sun for all—”
“Momma, what’s the sun?”
“You already know what the sun is.”
“It makes the story better when you explain everything,” insisted a different foal.
“All right.” Her laugh was the same heartless one: the kind of laugh that comes from covering up the brokenness inside. “Every day she raised the moon. Except, her moon was a wondrous thing. Her moon was a sun. It burned with a fiery yellow color, shedding warmth to all.” Her voice took on a tone of hope and longing. “Imagine it, children. Just imagine being as warm as you possible could. Imagine it. . . . Now imagine that feeling outside. Now imagine it being warmer than that. Imagine no coats, no boots, no hats . . . no more cold. Imagine sleeping outside in the shadow of a tree. A true wonder of creation. Like giant green mushrooms, they dotted the landscape; it would be beautiful, looking up at the green, looking up at the bright sky. All around you would be nothing but green and life. And there would be a gentle breeze blowing on your face. A breeze is nothing like the wind. Our wind tries to break us, but their breeze comforted them. It would caress their cheeks like gentle kisses. . . .”
“Then what happened, Momma?”
“The evil princess rose up.” Her voice became one of spite, of hate. “She was jealous of the kind princess. With anger in her eyes, she struck down the kind, loving, perfect princess. Nopony knows what became of her. Then the evil princess proclaimed eternal night over all the land.”
“Then what happened, Momma?”
“I’m getting to that, my child.” Every emotion drained from her voice. “A darkness fell over the land: the sun never rose again. The evil princess killed the land. The plants couldn’t survive without the life-giving heat of the sun, but she wouldn’t return the sun to the desperate land. As time passed, it grew colder and colder. The plants withered and died, the animals froze and starved, and the ponies were forced to kill and destroy the land just to survive. They slaughtered the animals for their pelts, and they felled the dying trees for wood just to make it through the bitter, neverending night. Those who wouldn’t, froze. . . . It was hard for each pony, but it was hardest for the pegasi.”
“Why’s that, Momma?” whispered one of the foals, exhaustion filling her voice.
“You see, dear, the unicorns had magic to help them cope. They were able to learn spells to keep themselves warm. And the earth ponies? They were the toughest of the races. Their natural strength and ability to grow the new crops that were created with the help of the unicorns gave them a fighting chance. But the poor, poor pegasi. The change was hardest on them. Their natural habitat, the sky, was turned against them. They didn’t have much to live for. With no more trees to block the buffeting winds, and below-freezing temperatures, most of them just gave up. You can still find the odd pegasus around, doing the odd job, but they are becoming more and more scarce.”
“You mean like Aunty Ditzy?” asked one of the foals through a yawn. “She’s a pegasus, right?”
“Yes,” replied the mother. “She’s the last one in town, I’m afraid.”
One of the foals murmered unintelligibly.
“Well, I’ll tell you. The story ends when the kind, loving princess returns in a halo of light, spreading warmth and life across the land. Her wings will beat back the winds, her kindness will melt the snow, and she will restore the world to its rightful glory. Everypony will rejoice and walk out of their houses, and nopony will need an overcoat. Her horn will shine, and life will return to this frozen, dead earth. She will return to the palace and banish the evil princess, and the world will be perfect once more.”
“Momma, is that story true?” asked the foal slowly, ending with a yawn. “Will the nice princess come back to save the land and make everything better?”
“We can only hope, my children,” answered the mother. “We can only hope. . . .”
Sounds of blankets being rustled emanated from the room, and Ditzy heard the mare kiss each of the foals. Seconds later, the earth pony limped into view; she was old and frail, but held her head high, as if defying the horrors that surrounded her. Her mane was a silver-grey, and it spoke of countless, tiring days weathered. Her coat was completely concealed by her worn overcoat; nopony knew what her cutie mark was. Her face was wrinkled and hard, her eyes, bright and kind and blue—and broken, but only if one looked hard enough.
“Ditzy?” Tender said, eying the shivering mare.
Ditzy nodded and smiled, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “May warmth be on you this night, Tender Care.”
“And you as well, my dear Ditzy. Do come in.” Tender motioned into the house.
Ditzy smiled and brushed past the mare. “I hope I’m not intruding,” she whispered, seeing five foals lying on the only bed in the small room. They were covered in blankets up to their muzzles and wearing overcoats under that—nopony took of their overcoat.
“You know you’re always welcome here. This house is as much mine as it is yours.” Tender smiled. “And the foals absolutely adore you.”
“I still like to ask,” Ditzy trailed off.
“Now, Ditzy,” said Tender, “I won’t be having any of that. You’re welcome here. You’re always welcome here.”
“Thank you,” Ditzy sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I came back to ask if you needed anything besides food. I made a few more bits. Do you have any to add?”
“No and no,” Tender sighed, shaking her head. “But I wish you wouldn’t do this to yourself. We could make it work somehow.”
“Tender, look at me.” Tender looked up into Ditzy’s piercing gaze—she only had the ability to focus her eyes on a fixed point for a few seconds at a time, but her gaze was nothing less than imposing. “How?”
“We could.” She drifted off into silence. “Why must you be right?” Tender groaned.
“It’s the truth. We do what we must.”
“You have another appointment with Midnight,” Tender stated, frowning.
Ditzy didn’t reply for a long moment. “I’m sorry.”
Tender walked forward and embraced Ditzy. “It’s all right, my dear. But please, listen to me and eat something; you’re getting skinnier every day.”
“I’m not hungry,” Ditzy mumbled.
Tender released her and held her at forelegs’ length. “Horse apples.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small brown oval, about an inch and a half in diameter: it was a jhonza, one of the foods developed by the unicorns not long after the beginning of eternal night. “Eat this, and no arguing, young mare. I still outrank you.”
“Yes, Tender,” said Ditzy, her muscles weakly tugging at the corners of her mouth. She bit into the hard jhonza. It almost cracked her teeth. It smelled like something dead. It was dryer than a pound of dust. It tasted like dirt—Ditzy would know.
It was pure bliss.
She smiled as she took another bite, finishing her meal.
Then the two mares embraced each other once more. “Be safe, my child,” whispered Tender.
“I will, Momma.” Releasing Tender, she turned on her heels and trotted towards the door. “I’ll see you soon,” she called, looking over her shoulder.
“At least take my overcoat,” pleaded Tender. “It’s warmer than what you have on.”
Ditzy shook her head and shoved her way into the howling winds. If anything, they were even fiercer than before. She ground her teeth together and fought, ignoring the wind that went right through her used jacket. Flecks of snow pelted her, but she struggled to the town square. Selecting a different cord, she clawed her way to the next destination.
Bursting her way into the tavern, she shut the door behind her and pulled her scarf to below her chin. A few stallions and a mare were scattered throughout the building. One of the stallions gave her a wink and a wave, his brown eyes twinkling as she angled her way towards him.
Sitting down across from him, she nodded in greeting. “May warmth be on you this night, Clay.”
Shrugging, he grinned. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”
“Did you need something?” she asked.
Clay nodded. “I need you in bed tonight. Been getting a bit lonely lately.”
Ditzy frowned. “And what about last time’s pay? Or the time before that?”
He smile faltered. “What do you mean?”
Ditzy raised an eyebrow as she crossed her forelegs on the tabletop.
“Look, I’ll get you the money, I swear,” he pleaded. “I just need loosen up a bit—you know?—relax. I’ll pay you for all three after tonight?”
“I want the bits you owe me before I agree to anything.” She got up from the table and nodded again. “When you have the bits, we’ll talk.”
“Probably can’t even count them properly anyways,” he muttered. “Screwy eyes and all.”
She walked up to the owner of the tavern and smiled her hollow smile. “May warmth be on you this night, Fire Starter.”
The unicorn looked up with a start, his red eyes widening. “And you as well, Ditzy.” He chuckled blandly. “You’re the only pony I know of who says that anymore. Most ponies have just giv—” He shook his head quickly. “What can I do for you?”
“Any news?”
“Nothing new, really,” he muttered. “Midnight was here a bit earlier after his patrol, and he said he found signs of frostwolves in the area, but that they’re days old. That stallion thinks he’s king, doesn’t he?”
She nodded. “You can’t deny his importance to the town.”
“No, and I won’t. But when he starts demanding free food, it’s getting ridiculous.” He shook his head. “It’s like he thinks he has power over us or s . . .”
As he continued talking, Ditzy nodded silently, eyes staring off into nothing.
“. . . nd—are you even listening?”
She shook her head, blinking away things she wished would stay buried. “No, sorry. What were you saying?”
“Nothing important, I was just rambling. Need anything else?”
She nodded. “I have five bits, and I need some soup for Tender’s house.”
“Five bits? I’ll see what I can do.” Biting his lip, he turned around and peered into his cauldron. Ladling it into a much smaller one, he muttered to himself. A glowing band of red magic appeared, picked up the lid, and secured it to the cauldron.
He turned around and levitated the cauldron onto Ditzy’s back. Using an old rope to tie it in place, he smiled. “There you go. And stay safe, you hear? I don’t want to think about what would happen to those foals if you didn’t make it back.”
“I will.” She slowly turned around and walked out of the door. The wind immediately buffeted her, giving her chills that always came and—somehow—always surprised her.
The cauldron pressing into her back threatened to drive her to her knees. Yet, it was too light. She doubted that the soup would fill every belly in the house tonight.
She fought her way to Tender’s house and let herself in. She was greeted with quiet cheering. As her vision cleared, she saw that five foals were standing in front of her. She was dimly aware of Tender taking the cauldron off of her back while the foals chuckled evilly—as evil as adorable could be, that is. As one, they leaped on her and swept her off her hooves. She landed on her back as the foals swarmed over her, showering her with kisses, hugs, and thanks. “Aunty” Ditzy smiled and laughed once: it was real.
“I think she’s had enough,” ordered Tender, smiling.
“Yes, Momma.” Each of the foals carefully extracted themselves from the pile of tangled limbs and stood by Tender.
“Sorry about that, Ditzy. The foals insisted on thanking you themselves; they wouldn’t even take their nap because they wanted to surprise you.”
Ditzy smiled, giving the smallest foal a kiss on the cheek. “No need to apologize.” She set the filly on the ground, and she scampered to join the other foals.
“M-Momma? I’m c-cold,” whispered a voice from the bed.
Tender’s head snapped up to look at the bed. “Children, go and warm up your new friend.” She placed the cauldron on the weary, magic-fueled stove and coaxed it to life.
“Yes, Momma,” the foals chorused. They each jumped back into the bed and curled up under the covers, giggling to themselves.
“Who’s the sixth?” Ditzy glanced over at the cauldron. It looked even smaller now.
“Newcomer. No other hoofprints, so she made it here by herself,” said Tender quietly. “She barely even has an overcoat. It’s even more worn than yours.” Ditzy quickly glanced at Tender, who shook her head. “Poor little thing. I know everyone who’s left in this town, and I can tell you it’s not from around here.”
“Then how did she survive?” Ditzy asked slowly.
“I don’t know. . . . Fate? Destiny? Cruelty? Who can say?” Tender shook her head. “I would guess her parents died on the trip here. Their village must have been wiped out. Frostwolves, most likely.”
“Does she have a name?”
“I don’t know. She hasn’t said much.”
Ditzy shrugged. “I’ll go check on your garden before I leave.”
Tender smiled. “Thank you, my dear.”
Ditzy pulled her scarf over her face once more and ventured out into the night.
But something was different.
There was no wind.
Ditzy gasped.
It was beautiful. The moon and the stars made the snow sparkle with the brilliance of diamonds; it almost hurt to look at, yet she couldn’t look away. The low village didn’t look like mud igloos covered in ice. She could imagine that the houses were just dunes of snow, waiting for a happy filly to jump into. She jumped onto the house and looked around. She could see for miles over the plains and to the very tops of the mountains. Everything was perfect. Everything was silent.
Lifting her head up to the sky, she closed her eyes and smiled; she was warm. She flared her wings under her overcoat.
Reality came back with the howling wind. It blasted her off of the roof, sending her tumbling into the air. Her vision was cut off as flakes of snow were whipped up into their mocking dance of blindness, and the neverending chill returned. Hitting the snow, she sunk in until half her body was buried.
Wearily shaking her head, she slowly climbed out and faced the house. Ditzy picked up the shovel she found there and began digging. Jhonzi thrived in the cold and grew in the snow, but were a fickle and slow-growing plant. Only one out of every eight seeds reached the point of edibility—though, it was rumored that all of them grew in the early days. Digging profusely, she uncovered two jhonzi and frowned under her scarf. There were forty-eight dead seeds still in the snow.
Covering the remaining seeds, she hoped that—by some miracle—the rest of the seeds would grow.
Instead of immediately returning to the house, she chose a different cord. She limped along, her foreleg sending waves of gentle pain through her; she must have landed on it wrong. Arriving at the door at the end of her cord, she quickly let herself in. Nopony locked their doors. A pony could be dead by the time it took to hear the knocking.
“Who’s there?” yelled a gruff voice; the stallion’s back was to the door.
“It’s Ditzy. May warmth be on you this night, Frozen Harvest.” She walked into the main room.
“And you as well.” He turned around and smiled, but his smile looked like more of a grimace of pain than an expression of joy. “What brings ye here, lassie?” His thick voice washed over her, and his blue eyes glinted in the light of the magical lanterns. Most ponies had trouble understanding him, but she understood his accent better than most.
“We lost most of the crop: each time we yield less and less.” She sighed. “I was wondering if you had any more seeds.”
“Not many, I’m ‘fraid.” He shook his head. “They don’t make ‘um like they used ta. Even I canna get them to grow well anymore. The source trees must be getting old.”
“I can’t pay, but I’ll offer my services,” Ditzy sighed tiredly, quietly.
He looked at her for a short moment, countless emotions flickering across his eyes. “Naw,” he grunted.
She frowned. “I don’t want your charity.”
“It’s not for ye, it’s for me. Ma poor wife—may her soul rest in peace—would niver let me sleep again, taking advantage o’ ye like that, lassie. And don’t even think about arguing. Ye know how well that works.”
“Fine.” She rolled her eyes, the corner of her mouth curling upwards.
“Wait there.” He turned around and looked around the bench. “I know they’re ‘round here somewhere,” he muttered, opening and closing drawers. “Here they are!” Walking over to her, he placed a small pouch in her hoof and smiled. “Give these to the foals, aye, lassie?”
“Of course.” Her face returned the motions of a smile of its own accord. “Stay warm, Harvest,” she droned, placing her hoof on the handle. “And thank you.”
“You too, lassie.”
Placing the seeds in her pocket, she pushed on the door, but it was stuck. She kicked it with her hoof until it opened and winced as the full force of the gale ripped into her. She stepped out and looked up at the moon. It was almost time.
She placed her hoof on the cord and struggled forward. The wind tore at her overcoat and threatened to peel it from her skin.
Returning to the garden, she used the shovel to dig new holes for the fresh seeds. The wind kept blowing snow into each hole as she dug, and yet she persisted, quickly shoving the seeds into the snow before her work was erased.
Twenty fresh jhonzi seeds were now in the snow. She finished covering each of the seeds and placed the shovel back against the house. She closed her eyes and lowered her head until it touched the wall.
She breathed in.
She breathed out.
She slowly breathed in.
She slowly breathed out.
The wind howled.
The cold bit.
The moon shone.
Eyes flaring open, she suddenly stood up and gasped, guzzling much-needed air. Violently shaking her head, she quickly walked to the door and let herself in. Inside the house, she sat down on the floor and brought a hoof up to her temple. She massaged her head and sighed, prompting Tender to look up from tending to a foal.
“Are you all right, my dear?” Tender trotted over to her freezing friend. “I was beginning to worry.”
“Fine.” She was lying.
“Just making sure.” She knew.
Ditzy pulled the jhonzi out of her coat pocket and handed them to Tender. “That’s all we have, but I got some more seeds from Frozen Harvest.”
“Only two out of fifty?” Tender shook her head. “I was hoping for more.”
“Me too.” Ditzy let out a drawling yawn. “But I have to go now. It’s almost moonset.”
Tender sighed and smiled softly, planting a kiss on Ditzy’s forehead. “Stay safe, stay warm.”
Ditzy nodded and turned around, shoving her way into the cold once more. Looking up at the sky, she saw that the moon was indeed setting. Lowering her head, she crooned softly to herself as she walked to her final destination of the night. She hummed a song as she walked—nopony knew how old it was, nopony knew the words. Rumors said that the song originated from the kind princess. Other rumors said that the song was even older, but most ponies called it the Princess’ Song. It always seemed to calm her and give her hope. She sang it nearly every day now.
Wind ripping around her and tearing at her lungs, she looked up and saw the stallion’s house. She let herself in the building. It was like all the others: just a simple, single room and a short hallway to provide some shielding from the wind when the door was open.
He looked up from where he sat and smiled. “You came.”
She nodded.
“Please, come in.”
He stood and walked over to her, his bright blue eyes glinting in the light of his soft pink lanterns. “Are you ready?” he asked, his eyes boring into hers.
Ditzy nodded. “When will we discuss my fee?” she asked, cocking her head to the side slightly.
“In the morning,” he said, “after your time is up. Is that all right?”
She paused, a barely noticeable hitch in her voice, then continued, “That sounds reasonable.”
He motioned to her and trotted towards his bed.
After a second of hesitation, she followed. He leaped onto his bed and flared his horn, prompting a few lights to slowly come to life. Jumping on his bed after him, she felt something—something that wasn’t cold. She looked carefully at the several lights that were pointed at the bed from various angles. She felt waves of heat. And it felt warm.
“Do you like it?” he asked, seeing her glance around in childlike wonder. “I tired out my horn, and I doubt I’ll be able to do much of anything magical for a couple of days, ‘specially if I keep making these, but it was worth it. I’m testing out a new type of heating lamp that may be enough to keep us going for years to come. We—”
“What’s your name?” she asked. “Bright Lights, right?”
“Bright Lights,” he affirmed.
“It’s lovely, Bright. . . .” She smiled and closed her eyes, letting the glorious heat wash over her.
“I’m glad you like it . . . ?” he started.
“Ditzy,” she supplied.
“I’m glad you like it, Ditzy.” She heard the sound of cloth and fur, but ignored it in favor of the miracle shining on her face.
“Come here, please,” he asked; she knew that voice. The night had started. Her smile slowly left her face, and she turned to face Bright. She blinked and quietly gasped. Bright stood before her, but he wasn’t wearing his overcoat. His coat was dirty and light red—almost, but not quite, pink—and his cutie mark was a single flame.
He took a step forward and pressed his lips into hers; she offered no resistance and melted into him—just like she knew he wanted. Stallions wanted her to be completely submissive to their will, she knew. He moved away from her mouth and began kissing her cheek as his hooves worked at her overcoat. Placing her hoof on his, she silently asked him to stop. “It’s okay, you’ll be fine. I promise,” he soothed, stroking her. He returned to her mouth and kissed her gently—almost . . . kindly—almost . . . passionately—almost . . . lovingly. He placed his hooves on her overcoat again and paused, unspokenly asking her if it was all right to continue. She didn’t stop him. Her overcoat peeled away as he kissed down her neck and over her chest, sending shivers through her spine and causing her wings to flare open.
He reached the final snap at her hips and stopped. She stepped out of her overcoat and shivered; the unfamiliar sensation of warmth on her coat made her pause. He gave her a moment to herself. She felt exposed, bare, vulnerable, and weak. She felt free, herself, right, and happy. She smiled.
He cleared his throat softly, and she opened her eyes. Moving in slowly, he kissed her lips once more, his hoof gently caressing her cheek. Surrendering to him, she moaned into his mouth as he fondled her extending wings.
But she didn’t kiss him back; she had never kissed a stallion.
Warmth flooded every portion of her body. She was warm—warmer than she had ever been. Curled up underneath the blankets, she felt soft, strong forelegs around her and his stomach against her back. Drifting in and out of her slumber, she smiled as Bright tightened his grip, locking her in his embrace. She felt an intimacy and a closeness that she had never felt before; it just wasn’t the same when clothed.
She slowly opened her eyes and looked around at the heat lamps. They didn’t look any dimmer than before, but only time would tell.
Last night had felt different from most other stallions. Even different than the previous time. Almost like he wanted her to enjoy it as much as he did. He tried to be gentle. He had kissed her and stroked her as he moved. It almost seemed as though he tried to seduce her—make her happy.
And it worked, too. She had enjoyed it.
But just like the pain, she would keep that to herself.
“You’re beautiful when you sleep,” commented Bright, gently nibbling on her ear.
Peering through her mane and flicking her ear out of the way, she looked over her shoulder at him and met his eyes. “What did you call me?” she asked slowly.
“Beautiful. Do you have a problem with that?” he asked curiously. “You look so happy and calm when you sleep.”
“No . . . Yes . . . Maybe. Just, please don’t call me that,” she asked, gently pulling away from him.
He smiled and nodded, but said nothing.
Ditzy jumped out of the covers; they were suddenly constricting and binding. “About my pay,” she asked, climbing into her overcoat.
He nodded. “You know where Cloth Mender lives, right?” Bright asked.
“Yes, I’ve been to almost every house in the village for one reason or another,” she replied, fumbling with the snaps. For some reason, she couldn’t manage to connect them together.
“Go and tell him that I sent you. Remind him of ‘frostbite’ and he’ll know what I mean. Ask him to patch up your overcoat,” Bright said. “He still owes me a favor or two.”
Ditzy nodded. “Thank you.” Her clumsy hooves only managed to connect together the wrong snaps. Groaning slightly, she pulled them apart and tried again.
“Here, let me help you with those,” he said, watching her struggle. Climbing out of the covers, he walked over until he stood in front of her. He paused until she nodded. Leaning down, he methodically connected each snap from her hips to her neck.
“I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m not used to—” He silenced her with a kiss, but she gently pushed him away. “Time’s up,” she said, pointing at the clock.
“Reschedule for later today, then? Same time?” he asked, looking into her eyes.
“Are you willing to pay?” she asked, wrapping her scarf around her face and placing her goggles on her eyes. He nodded. “I’ll be here,” she affirmed through her scarf.
“See you then, beautiful,” he said, not looking at her as he stepped into his own overcoat. Ignoring his last words, she told herself that the slight heat in her cheeks was just the lingering warmth from the night. She turned around and walked into the hallway area. She placed her hoof on the handle. Taking a deep breath, she forced her way outside.
The wind greeted her like it always did. But it punished her for being warm.
It ripped at her and tore into her as she trudged to Mender’s house. Within minutes, all of the heat had been drained from her—everything but a little spark in her chest. Though, it was so small that she told herself that she was imagining things.
She finally reached Mender’s house and let herself in.
Entering the room, she gasped.
Part of the roof had collapsed on him, and she could see a splattering of red leaking out from around him. His head, neck, and a single foreleg were the only things visible in the small mound of snow and heavy mud. The house must have crushed him. The wind and snow raged outside through the hole and blasted into the house every few seconds.
“Are you okay?” Ditzy took a few hesitant steps towards him.
“No . . .” he gasped. “I think . . . the weight crushed my . . . ribs . . . punctured my lungs . . . Getting harder and . . . harder to breathe. . . .”
“What do you want me to do?” she asked; they both knew that the town healer had died long ago.
“Please . . . just . . . kill me,” he wheezed, locking his brown eyes on her golden ones.
“Fix my coat first.” She stepped closer to him and sat down. “Bright Lights said you would if I reminded you about ‘frostbite.’ He said you owed him a favor, and I’m calling it in.”
“‘Frostbite,’ eh?” He let out a gasping gurgle. “I’ll do it . . . but you must promise to kill me.” He coughed, spitting out blood.
She nodded.
His horn glowed and shimmered weakly, but didn’t go out. Ditzy watched the fibers of her coat grow and stretch; they spanned the holes and twined themselves together. Each of the small holes sealed closed, even under the patches.
Panting heavily, he collapsed to the ground.
“Any last words or requests?” she grunted, lifting a large muddy boulder that had once been part of the wall.
He shook his head and closed his eyes.
She quietly, gently set the rock down in front of his eyes. He had always demanded painful things of her during “sessions,” and it was time to return the favor.
She turned around and began rifling through his shelves. Anything of worth was placed in her newly mended pockets. From food to scarves to lights, she looted his house.
“Hey . . .” he wheezed, “what’s . . . taking you?” He groaned, struggling to peer around the boulder.
She left without a word and shut the door firmly behind her.
Fighting the wind and cold with each step, she soon returned to Tender’s house. Lanterns swinging from her mouth, she walked into the single room and smiled awkwardly. “I’m back.”
“Ditzy dear, how are you?” asked Tender, looking up from a game with the foals. She stood up and walked over, her eyes locked on Ditzy’s.
“I’m fine,” she said.
Tender raised her withered eyebrow.
“He didn’t—” she peered at the foals on the floor “—he was nice.”
Tender eyed her coat appreciatively and said, “I see you visited Cloth Mender.”
“Yes, but he’s dead now.” She was loud enough for the foals to hear her, but they didn’t so much as flinch. “The roof of his house caved in on him.”
Lowering her head, Tender slowly sat down. “I don’t know if we’ll ever find another unicorn with his skill,” she muttered.
“Momma! Frost’s cheating! She can’t move three spaces and roll the die!”
Smiling her warmest smile, Tender turned around to face the foals.
Ditzy’s eyelids began drooping of their own accord, so she stumbled toward the single bed. She climbed into the covers and softly sighed. It was much warmer in this house as compared to her’s. She blinked her eyes once, twice, three times, then remembered no more. The gentle voice of Tender and the happy voices of the foals lulled her into a sense of security and a deep, peaceful sleep.
Consciousness returning, Ditzy slowly smiled. She was warm and wrapped in Bright’s embrace. She didn’t remember getting there, but that didn’t matter now. It was warm. It was soft.
He nuzzled her ear and softly blew on it, causing it to twitch. Softly giggling, she gently pushed him away.
She felt something small and warm lay over top of her face and a wetness pooling on her cheek. Her eyes snapped open and she stared into the face of a foal. The filly had her muzzle pressed into Ditzy’s cheek, and drool was dripping from her mouth onto Ditzy.
She tried to groan in exasperation, she really did, but all that came out was a smile as she gently stroked the filly’s mane with her foreleg. Carefully looking around without disturbing her, Ditzy saw the rest of the foals sprawled across her body under the covers.
She looked at the barely readable clock—a present from the magically gifted eldest foal—and groaned. As carefully as she could, she slid out of the covers. None of the foals so much as twitched. Each foal simply rolled off of her and reached for the next. Lethargically desiring the warmth that had been taken from them, they formed a little pile of cuddling under the covers.
Donning her hat, goggles, and scarf, she smiled as she watched them. Tender was sleeping on the corner of the bed, uncovered, once again sacrificing her own comfort for that of her foals. Turning around, Ditzy ventured out into the night. The wind was as relentless as ever.
Ditzy made her way to the center of town, struggling to Bright’s house. The snow whipped around her and threatened to bring her down.
Finally reaching his door, she let herself in and sighed with relief. Looking around, she discovered that all of last night’s lights had dimmed to a gentle red; it was noticeably colder in the room.
She removed her accessories and set them by the door. Bright was fast asleep in his bed, tongue lolling out of his open mouth. Standing still, she looked between him and his door and back again. Shaking her head slightly, she shrugged her shoulders and walked over to the bed. “Bright?” she called quietly, tapping on his blanket-covered body. “Bright?”
He moaned, but didn’t wake up.
She leaned down and spoke into his ear. “Bright?”
Slowly cracking his eyes open, he looked up and yawned. Motioning her onto the bed, he climbed out from under the covers and closed his eyes, blinking sleepily.
She nodded and stepped onto the bed, facing him.
He pointed to the head of the bed and placed a forehoof on the bridge of his muzzle. “On the pillow,” he murmured.
She sighed. She knew last night was an oddity, but she was hoping for that oddity again. Reaching down in between her legs, she undid the snaps covering her and turned around. Locking her hind legs straight, she laid her head against the pillow and arched her back. “Ready,” she said, peering around her legs at Bright. “Just please warn me if you are going—”
“Huh? What?” he yawned. “Put that away. Been workin’ all day. Tired. Sleep. . . .” He collapsed into the bed next to her and started sliding the covers over them both. They got caught on her legs, so he motioned to her. “Down.” She lowered her hips so the covers would flow over her and watched as he drew the covers up to their necks. Sliding his foreleg under her, he placed his left foreleg over her and pulled her back into his chest. He was already asleep.
“. . . Bright?” she asked over her shoulder.
He answered her with a snore.
Had her shoulders been free, she would have shrugged. Instead, she opted for a blank stare at nothing in particular.
Deciding that it was too good of an opportunity to waste, she closed her eyes and waited until he was ready.
She slowly opened her eyes, but her vision was filled with Bright’s coat. She had been up for hours, but had eventually fallen asleep and, at some point during the night, rolled over. Now her muzzle was pushed into the crook of his neck, and her body was being gently, but firmly, held against his. A vibrating feeling ran through her body from where she was pressed against his chest. He was still snoring.
Wiggling in place, she groaned softly. She was stuck.
She softly smiled; it wasn’t all bad. At least she was warm, and she had to admit to herself that it felt kind of nice to be held. Closing her eyes, she sighed—she wouldn’t call it a happy sigh, but it was somewhere in between content and resigned.
Shifting slightly, she moved into a more comfortable position and felt him place the bottom if his chin on top of her head. He softly nuzzled her.
Then, she felt something.
Something big.
It was coming.
She couldn’t stop it.
Bright’s overcoat tickled her nose.
She let out a thunderous sneeze.
“Wha? Huh? Where?” mumbled Bright, looking around wildly. “It’s not my fault, Mom! I have no idea why she’s in my bed! Honest!”
Ditzy giggled quietly. “You’re paying me, remember?”
Quickly looking down, he stared at her for a few seconds, recognition showing in his face. Rubbing his eyes, he grinned awkwardly. “Right.”
She glanced at the clock. “You still have me for another hour,” she said, “if you wanted to do something.”
“I’m good,” he said.
“You’re good,” she stated, frowning. “Tell that to whatever is poking me through your overcoat.”
He paused for a second, then slowly smiled. Quickly rolling her over onto her back, he stared down at her from his position atop her chest. “I have no idea what you are talking about . . . but if you insist.” He placed each of his hooves on hers, holding them down; it was firm pressure, but not overly painful.
He leaned down, his lip barely brushing hers. They taunted her and enticed her; they wanted her to close the distance, but she wouldn’t. As she lay there, letting his lips dance over hers, she noticed him slowing.
He leaned back and frowned slightly—not quite disapproving, but not quite playful. “Why didn’t you kiss me? Now that I think of it . . . out of all the times I kissed you, you haven’t once kissed me back.”
“Don’t take it personally,” said Ditzy, “but I don’t kiss my clients.”
“Really? Why’s that?” He tilted his head to the side.
“Well, it’s kinda silly,” she muttered, drifting off into silence.
“I won’t laugh.” His eyes looked sincere and his voice sounded sure.
“Just . . . just forget about it. I don’t want to talk about it.”
He leaned in closer and closer until his muzzle connected with hers, and his eyes stared into hers with an unreadable expression. “You won’t tell me.” It was more of a statement than a question.
“No,” she replied, futilely attempting to move her legs; she was too spread out to get any sort of leverage.
He smiled wickedly. “Then I’ll just have to make you talk.” Leaning down, he alternated between blowing on her ears and nuzzled under her chin.
“Stop it,” she giggled, squirming in place. “Stop it!”
“No,” he replied, nuzzling all over her face.
“No . . . stop!” she laughed as he gently nibbled on the side of her neck. “Please! Can you—” she let out a squeal “—get off now?” she gasped.
He smiled and licked her nose. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” he asked happily, stepping off of her. “That’s what I was waiting for.”
Suddenly, she remembered. “I have to go!” she yelled, rolling to her hooves.
“Go where?” he asked. “I thought we still had some time together.”
Throwing on her gear, she replied, “I have to go visit Midnight Shield.”
Bright’s mouth curled into a disapproving sneer, but Ditzy was already out the door. She ran through the snow, neglecting to periodically check that she was still next to the safety cord. Blinding snow all around, she charged forward. She burst through the door and ran into the room.
He had been waiting for her. “You’re late,” the grey unicorn stated; his voice cut through her with the honed sharpness of anger.
“I’m sorry, Mister Shield. It won’t happen—”
“Damn right it won’t!” he roared, stomping his hoof on the ground; he towered over her crouching form, blazing orange eyes boring into her. “Don’t you know who I am? Don’t you know what I could do to you? Or have you forgotten already?”
“Yes, I reme—”
“Shut your mouth!” he screamed, smacking her across the face. She fell at his hooves, blood leaking from her split lip. “I won’t have any attitude from you!”
“I’m sorry,” she pleaded. “I got here—”
He raised his hoof over her head and growled menacingly; she stopped. “You are an hour late.” Every emotion had drained out of his voice; his voice was even and low, and it felt like a deadly poison flowing through her. “Do you remember what I taught you the last time you were late?” he hissed.
She nodded, hoping that it was the right answer.
He smiled, showing too many teeth. “I was hoping the whip was a good teacher”—her back tingled uncomfortably, remembering the lashing, burning pain—“and I hope you aren’t lying. Please, recite.”
She swallowed and closed her eyes, carefully remembering each word that had been permanently seared into her mind.
“Now.”
She took a deep breath and began. He leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the words wash over him. “I am sorry, Master, for not pleasing you. Even though that is my sole purpose in life, I can’t even do that right. I’m so worthless that I appreciate you taking the time out of your day to rut me until I can’t walk; it’s a privilege when you hurt me. I want you to hurt me. I want to scream for you. You are so kind when you, out of the goodness of your heart, decide to let my ugly face live another day. And you are even kinder when you give me your extra bits out of pity. As the only Royal Guard in our town, you have the power to chain me to a wall and slowly cut me until my blood runs cold then throw my carcass into the abyss. Nopony would be any the wiser. But you don’t because you take pity on me: a useless whore with crooked eyes. I thank you and ask that you take extra care to be rough. I want to remember that what I did was wrong for days to come.” Keeping her eyes low, she held her breath after she finished, hoping that she didn’t miss a word.
He slowly smiled and nodded, but there was a predatory gleam in his eye. He reached forward and brushed his hoof along her jawline; she held still, barely breathing. “I think that could be arranged,” he cooed, angling her face to point at the single jail cell. It was simply a cage of metal with a set of three stone stocks placed in the center.
She swallowed carefully, doing her best to not let the iron hoof that held her chin feel it. “Yes, Master.” Her chin held high, she climbed to her hooves and walked to the stocks, Midnight following close behind. She could still see the small red stains on the floor from her last visit to the cell; he had given her lashes, one for each minute she was late. She had lost count. And his punishments for misspeaking the pledge were vile and creative.
Walking up to the middle stock, she placed her neck in the middle hole and her forelegs in the side ones. He waited for a long time before he even walked in the room. She knew she could run, but it would only make things worse when he caught her. It might not even be today, but he would catch her eventually. He waited until she could feel her sweat dripping down the stone, until she could feel her teeth chattering against her will, until her entire body shook with the force it took to keep still.
Midnight finally walked around her and grabbed the huge stone jaw. Slowly, ever so slowly, he closed the stock. He was taunting her; she knew she could move, and he knew she could move. They locked eyes as he yawned, the stone jaws held motionless. He continued his agonizing pace until the edges met. He smiled at her and locked it; the stone was a cold collar around her neck and wrists. Walking behind her, he placed a set of hoofcuffs, attached together with a bar, in between her knees. They were wide enough to spread her legs, and the cuffs were wide enough that the top was above her knee and the bottom was below it. Effectively, she couldn’t move or bend her legs a fraction of an inch.
Trotting in front of her, he leaned down and looked into her eyes; the stock held her low to the ground, so she barely came up to his chest. “How’s that?” he whispered, dragging his short whip along her cheek with his magic. “Now, even after your legs give out, we can still have fun together. Isn’t that great?”
She nodded dully.
He leaned in and whispered in her ear, his breath tickling her face. “Scream for me. You know how I enjoy it when you do.”
She nodded again, bile rising in her throat.
He sauntered behind her, a self-satisfied expression on his face. She felt him undoing the snaps from her waist to in between her legs. He pulled her overcoat up and set it on her hips, giving him a clear view. Feeling the cold air of the room gently flow around her, she heard him unsnapping his overcoat as well.
“Ready?” he asked; she could imagine him staring at her lustfully, trying to determine which one to use first.
“Yes,” she whimpered; she was lying.
He didn’t care.
She screamed.
She crawled home in a red haze of pain and agony. Every limping step hurt. Her shoulders were bruised from the repeated bashing into the stock, her hips felt broken, her back burned from the sting of the whip, her muzzle felt bent from when he had decided to use her mouth, and she felt ruined inside; he had been merciless.
In the light of the setting moon, she stumbled to her knees and fumbled with her scarf. Heaving weakly, she spilled the meager contents of her stomach on the hard-packed snow.
Once wasn’t enough for him. He had left her locked in place for the entire day and used her whenever he saw fit. She tried to scoop some snow into her mouth to quench the burning thirst.
She collapsed to her side and laid her cheek against the snow. It was so cold it burned. She lay there gasping, crying. Tears matted the fur around her eyes. It was so cold. Letting out a high-pitched wail, she curled up into a ball and hugged her knees to her chest.
She could lie here and sleep.
Nopony would know.
The blizzard would sing the song of her passing.
The beasts would feast on her.
And the snow would be her grave.
And most importantly, she wouldn’t be cold anymore.
“Ditzy! Is that you? I’m so glad I found you! I was getting worried,” a voice shouted. She looked around wildly, tears blurring her vision. She saw a figure standing over her. The pony didn’t wait for a reply; he bent down and gently lifted her to her hooves. Wrapping Ditzy’s foreleg over his shoulder, he supported her weight and began leading towards somewhere unknown. She stumbled along, too hurt to care, too tired to not.
He led her to a house—she knew not whose.
He led her to the bed and gently laid her out on her side; Ditzy recognized the inside of her house. “Where does it hurt?” asked the now recognizably female voice, as she carefully removed Ditzy’s scarf and goggles.
“Everywhere,” sobbed Ditzy, tears pouring down her face.
“You poor thing,” cooed Tender, removing her own scarf. “Let’s get you back to my house so you can get warm.” She gently stroked Ditzy’s cheek, but there was no malice in her touch.
“No!” choked Ditzy, latching onto her foreleg with a painfully strong grip. “I don’t want the foals to see me like this. I’ll . . . I’ll be fine.”
Tender stared at her and replied, “No, no you won’t.”
“Please, Tender? It’s not like you can do anything for me,” she sobbed, pleaded. “I j-just want to sleep.” Whimpering softly, Ditzy tried to pull the blankets over her, but failed; they slipped out of her grasp.
Shaking her head, Tender lovingly placed a foreleg on her chest and pushed her back into a prone position. Grabbing the blankets in her teeth, she drew them up to Ditzy’s chest. She tucked the blankets around her, forming a cocoon of warmth, and kissed her forehead, eliciting a quiet groan. “Fine,” she cooed, “I’ll let you stay here, but I’ll be back every hour to check on you.”
Ditzy nodded and closed her eyes.
Tender began murmuring the Princess’ Song. She way she hummed the melody was different from any other way that Ditzy had heard it. It was the same song, but the amount of care behind the notes was different. The song was a calming, nurturing melody, and Ditzy let the notes flow over her. Tender went on and on, stroking Ditzy’s face with her forehoof. Ditzy’s eyelids became heavier and heavier, eventually closing; her head rolled to the side, and her breathing deepened.
“. . . si?”
“. . . tzy?”
“Ditzy?”
Ditzy slowly opened her eyes; the room was exactly the same, except for the addition of Bright Lights and a missing Tender. He smiled. “I was expecting you to come over last night. What kept you?”
Quickly glancing down to make sure the blankets were covering her, she replied slowly, “I was with Midnight.”
“Yes, I remember, but you left early yesterday. I figured that you would have finished in time to come back over.” He walked over to her bed and stood by her head.
“I . . . forgot,” she said, staring up at the ceiling.
His ears wilted, his smile falling slightly.
“I didn’t mean to,” she said, looking over at him.
“It’s fine,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his head, his eyes downcast.
Ditzy bit her lower lip and brushed her mane out of her eyes. “But I’ll be over in a couple of days if you want me to.”
“Why not now?” he asked.
“Well, I’m kinda tired—”
“I can pay,” he insisted.
“Not right—”
“Please?” he asked, contorting his face into a somehow endearing pout.
“No. I’m not feeling up to it. But I promise I’ll be over when I’m feeling better.”
“Fine,” he grunted; she couldn’t tell if he was upset or not. He turned around and wrapped his scarf around his face. He left without another word, shutting the door firmly behind him.
“I’m sorry . . .” Ditzy whispered into the empty room, closing her eyes. She carefully laid her head back against the pillow and sighed. Bringing a foreleg up to her face, she massaged her temple and sighed once more. She rolled from her back to her side and let out a pathetic whimper as pain flared throughout her body. She blinked away tears and drifted off into a painful, restless sleep.
“Wake up, darling.” A gentle hoof tapped Ditzy’s foreleg. “How are you feeling?”
Her eyes still closed, Ditzy groaned. “Not much better.”
“Do you think you can walk?” Tender soothingly brushed Ditzy’s mane out of her face.
“Maybe. Why?” Ditzy rubbed her eyes with her foreleg.
“Midnight received a message from the princess yesterday. Apparently, she lost contact with an adjacent village some distance away. She wants us to move. She thinks that a pack of frostwolves destroyed it. Probably what the new foal and her family were running from.”
Foreleg freezing in mid-rub, Ditzy’s eyes widened and she looked over at Tender. “Move? . . . How? . . . Where?”
“Away from here, by princess’ command. It’s as simple as that.”
“You told me stories of that last time she ordered the village to move. You said that the village barely survived.”
“And staying in the path of the frostwolves is even worse. I know that. You know that. Even the princess knows that.” She smiled tiredly. “If it wasn’t an order, I would have suggested it.”
“Even knowing what you know?”
“What’s worse, Ditzy?” There was a hard look in her eyes. “A violent, painful death by ravenous teeth, or a slow, peaceful death that comes through giving up and embracing the snow? I watched many ponies welcome the cold; I saw them give their clothes to loved ones and lie down. And do you know what? They smiled.”
Tears welling, Ditzy closed her eyes and rested her hooves on her forehead. “But what if it doesn’t matter? What if the foals don’t make it? What if you don’t make it? What if I don’t make it? What if . . . What if—”
“Shhhhh . . .” Tender stroked her mane. “You need to get some rest and pack your things. A few ponies are spreading the word, and we’ll all leave together at moonrise.”
“Yes, Tender,” sighed Ditzy.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Tender slowly turned around and walked out.
“Tomorrow . . .” Ditzy echoed. “Tomorrow . . .”
Ditzy’s eyes snapped open, her heart hammering inside her chest. She knew what had woken her: the chilling sound of ethereal howling tore through her skull, coming from everywhere. Ditzy pulled the covers over her head and started silently crying. The sound of screams came from all around her; the dying screams even drowned out the wind.
It fell quiet as each of the screams was cut off.
She carefully slid her blankets below her chin. A few bits of dirt fell from the ceiling onto her face, and she heard a soft scraping. She shook her head and looked up. A small hole opened up above her head. A wide blood-red eye surrounded by jagged ice crystals stared back at her; the frostwolf wanted her, so it would have her. With sounds of scraping, the digging resumed, and within seconds, the hole widened enough to where she could see its entire face.
Freezing air spewed from its mouth, and liquid ice dripped from its jagged teeth onto her face, hardening upon hitting her. As it stared at her, it seemed to grin.
A howl echoed, and the wolf paused, ears twitching. It ignored the call and resumed its digging with new vigor. The howl echoed again: louder, more insistent. But the wolf still ignored it. Ditzy reached over and grabbed one of her lamps.
The hole finally wide enough, the wolf reared its head back and howled. It came down with a terrible speed, seeming to want to impale rather than bite, but Ditzy thrust the lamp upwards at the same time.
The wolf’s open mouth and the lamp met. The lamp and the first four inches of Ditzy’s hoof sunk deep into the wolf’s throat, causing its eyes to widen. It whimpered pitifully and leaned away, pawing at its muzzle. Throat convulsing, it fell out of sight, but she could still hear it thrashing around, desperately trying to inhale.
After a few moments, there was only the wind.
The adrenaline caught up with her, and she shook uncontrollably. She curled into a ball under the covers and wrapped her legs around herself. She suddenly surged to her hooves. “Tender!” she shouted. Ignoring her intense pain, she jumped off of the bed and ran for the door. Her hat, scarf, and goggles went on in record time, and she sprinted out the door. Not even caring if any more wolves were still in the area, she made her way through the blinding wind.
The house appeared out of the white haze—or at least, what was left of it. It could hardly even be called a house anymore: the roof was caved in, the walls were knocked over, and red snow littered the ground.
There wasn’t even a body to mourn.
But that didn’t stop her from crying.
She wailed.
She screamed.
She yelled.
She cursed.
But mostly, she cried.
She stumbled around like a lost foal, calling out to a mother that wasn’t coming. She sifted through the rubble, her tear-blurred vision finding nothing. But she didn’t give up. She ran to each house in turn, but discovered more of the same.
Everyone was gone. . . . All of them . . . gone. . . .
Sobbing, she mourned for each pony in turn. Even Midnight.
She returned to Tender’s house and fell to the ground, lifeless. She wished that she hadn’t survived. What was there for her now? A slow death by starvation and hypothermia? She couldn’t grow things like Harvest could; she couldn’t repair her house.
Why did she deserve to live longer than the others?
She curling up into a ball and closed her eyes. She couldn’t get up even if she wanted to. There was nothing for her; she was empty inside. The weight crushed her into the snow, crushed her into nothing. She pressed her cheek against the snow and felt the cold burn into her, but still she lay motionless.
The wind whipped around her, entombing her in snow, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t give anything that she hadn’t already. Icy fingers gripped her and anchored her to the ground.
Hours passed, and her core temperature dropped. Her teeth stopped chattering, but she never stopped crying. She couldn’t feel her hooves, couldn’t feel her ears, couldn’t feel her cheeks, couldn’t feel her frozen tears, couldn’t feel.
She felt warm. She struggled with the snaps of her coat until the constricting garment fell off her body. She cast it away, and the wind carried it off.
She cried her last tear; she willed it all away, begged for release, but her body persisted. It fought on, struggling to keep her shallow breaths from ceasing.
She dimly watched a light appear; it was time. Her way out. Her freedom.
She didn’t see the sliver of hope for what it was. It penetrated the swirling snow and smiled upon the land. The sun was returning, pushing the moon away, and it quickly rose to the highest point in the sky.
Hearing a noise similar to a thunderclap, Ditzy slowly glanced upward. Something was descending from the heavens. The object floated down to the ground and landed not far away from her, emitting a brilliant, blinding light. An angel had come to take her home.
The winds began to die down, quelled by the angel’s light. Eventually, it grew silent. She heard the delicate hoofsteps and saw the white form as the angel drifted closer. “Poor thing,” murmured the angel, placing a foreleg on Ditzy’s cheek. “There is nothing we can do for thee.”
Ditzy tried to speak, but she couldn’t force her mouth to form words.
“Shhhhh, do not attempt to speak,” cooed the angel. “You will have release within moments.” She began humming the ancient Princess’ Song. But then, she started singing.
The words flowed over Ditzy, and they were beyond describing. The angel weaved together a tale of wonder and joy, a tale of life and love, a tale of beauty and warmth. The angel painted a picture for Ditzy, each word giving her tormented soul a little bit of the peace it craved. As the gates of death closed, Ditzy dreamed: she dreamed of flowers waving in the breeze, sunlight shining on the trees, sleeping under the sky in the forelegs of a beloved, and the laughter of foals.
Celestia draped her wing over the dying mare and stayed with her until the end, her horn lighting the way.
