She shouldn't have. She really, really shouldn't have.
But she did.
Scootaloo breathes in a long breath, taking in the crisp, wintery-fresh air. A smile tugs at the corner of her lips, but she doesn't let it take hold. Not yet, at least.
At first, Scootaloo's parents were skeptical of these nightly walks of hers. You're too young, her father told her. It's dangerous out there. You could get hurt!
They do always have her best interests in mind. That doesn't mean they are always right, though.
So she argued with them. After belaboring her point for days on end, her parents conceded and compromised, allowing her to make the trek down to the bridge at the end of Elm and back. It was still a good thirty minute walk, and lamps lit the whole way, despite the summer sunset sky providing more than enough light to see.
And just like that—just like always—she got her way.
The initial decision to argue for her walks was a cloudy one. The idea simply just popped into her head one sleepless evening and she ran with it. Perhaps it was the prospect of freedom that made the idea so alluring, or perhaps it was just sheer boredom. Either way, it didn't matter; the cause wasn't nearly as important as the result.
And to be terribly honest, the first walk had been just as bad as writhing around underneath her bed's sweaty, itchy covers would have been. So bad, in fact, that she almost hadn't gone on a second one.
Almost.
Almost.
Suddenly, Scootaloo skids to a halt. A gust of frostbitten wind blows through the streets. Instinctively, she wraps her mother's silky, cashmere scarf more tightly around her neck.
She's already reached the bridge at the end of Elm street.
Without a second thought, she presses onward.
With a mother who works real estate and a father who runs one of the most successful weather-making corporations in all of Equestria, she would often find herself alone in a house far bigger than anyone could ever possibly need. Her parents would pepper her with trinkets and gizmos in apology of their absence—much like the mountains and mountains of Hearth's Warming gifts sitting in her living room back home—but they never helped any. A lonely filly with a lot of toys is still a lonely filly, after all.
Despite what they may think, money can't buy happiness or love.
That's why, when she came back home from her first walk to see her mother's worried, caring face awaiting her safe return, she vowed she would never stop taking these walks until the day she died.
But unfortunately, as time went on, her parents' concern faded, and her mother no longer sat awake at night until Scootaloo herself was in bed. Still, every day of the last six months without fail, Scootaloo would go for a walk, hoping against hope that they'd both be there when she got home, patiently waiting for her arrival.
They never were.
Abruptly, Scootaloo breaks a gallop, the rough edges of her father's old saddlebags chafing her sides. Still, she pushes herself harder and faster, digging deep into the snow with everything she has. Maybe... maybe if she goes fast enough, she can outrun the tears.
Fluttershy's cottage blurs by in her peripherals, followed the passage leading to Zecora's hut. All the while, she can hardly breathe—the feeling gives her more of a rush than she's had in all her life, chilling her to the bone.
For her entire life, she has either been her rich parents' daughter, or that funny pegasus mare who could barely fly, or the one filly obsessed with Rainbow Dash. Never once in her life had she been Scootaloo, plain and simple. And if she couldn't be Scootaloo here in Ponyville, then, well... she'd just have to be Scootaloo somewhere else.
Her legs slow and her gaze turns upward. She finds herself at the base of Butternut Hill, looking longingly up to the crest some five hundred feet up. Jaw clenched, she wipes the tears from her eyes. With a deep breath, she starts for the peak.
The class took a field trip up the hill yesterday for a picnic. On the far side of it, just beyond her current line of sight, is a cliff. Naturally, Cheerilee, hadn't let them anywhere near it, but she hadn't needed to. Scootaloo had already seen what she needed to see.
For yesterday, in the very moment saw the cliff, she stumbled across a terrifyingly enticing idea: an idea that she couldn't help but latch onto.
She shouldn't have. She really, really shouldn't have.
But she did.
Just thinking of it sends a shiver down her spine. No two ways around it—the enticing taste of freedom had already taken hold. There would be no turning back now.
The idea is simple. She would chase the sunset through the western sky, never stopping, never looking back. She would keep on like that, breathlessly, until she reached the end of the world. Her friends and family would miss her while she was gone—and she would miss them as well—but someday, they would understand why she needed to break free.
Someday, they would understand why she deserved the chance to fly.
A millennium later, she reaches the summit the enormous mound of dirt, stopping just shy of the edge. The radiant blues and purples and pinks and oranges of the sunset mingle with the frosty night, forming a sight so picturesque that had she not seen it herself, she wouldn't have believed it was real. For now, though, she doesn't have time to enjoy the sight; she needs to leave. But first...
The cold nips at her hooves, urging her to keep moving forward, but she doesn't. Instead, she shuffles her father's saddlebags off her back and places them delicately on the snow in front of her. Slowly, hesitantly, she pulls out an old, slightly discolored photograph. Her wings flitter at her sides as she drinks the picture in.
It depicts herself and her parents alongside her friends and their own families, all of them sitting beside a roaring fireplace, sipping mugs of cocoa and laughing. She looks at herself, Sweetie, and Apple Bloom tearing through their gifts on that Hearth's Warming morning all those years ago...
In them, she sees two happy, beaming faces, and beside them, a hollow, empty one.
The picture is hidden away again just like that, and the saddlebags haphazardly slung across her back. All at once, her eyes slam shut, her legs bend downward, and with a deep, sharp intake of breath, she leaps into the air and off the ledge, flapping her tiny wings madly.
The desire to smile tugs at the corner of her lips once more. This time, a small, shaky smile creeps across her face, somehow finding the strength to shine through the tears welling behind her eyes.
For the first time in her life, Scootaloo is truly flying.
