Deep, cobalt blue, fading into the purest of teals. Such a beautiful sight. Studded with the soft beginnings of stars. The sky never ceased to amaze Dusk Breeze, always managed to steal her mind on flights of fancy and adventure. She uttered the shallowest of stalling sighs and let the warm summer wind tickle her mane.
Maybe one day, she thought. Maybe one day, I’ll be able to fly, too. The thought brought the smallest of smiles to her face and she closed her eyes. For a moment it was nice to forget and sit, to enjoy the world for what it was. She let her mind wander and her thoughts roam free, probing out and ever further to new, uncharted lands.
Dusk Breeze had always loved tales of adventure. Even as a small filly, still young, still naive, she had spent most of her time in the library, reading. And while others were out and about enjoying the company of each other, she was lost inside her mind, recounting tales of long past.
And yet, no matter how much she read, one thing always caught her interest above all else: the sky. To fly. To get up and away from the world on the ground, and ascend up, above the ceiling of clouds. To see the world from a different perspective. It had always been her biggest dream, that one day, she too could fly up above and be free.
A dragonfly alighted on the broken tip of her horn and slowly she opened her eyes, careful not to scare the small creature away.
“Hello,” she said softly, smiling her small smile. Oh how she envied the creatures of the small, the insects with their nimble, quick wings. She craned her eyes up as far as she could and watched the dragonfly at rest, saw and noted the intricate natural mechanism of its four powerful wings. Saw how, not unlike the machines she loved to build, this small animal followed the same basic mechanics: a central power source, intricate hydraulics to move piston powered limbs, and a simple computer to guide it all seamlessly.
All bundled so seamlessly into one tiny little insect.
It took her a second to stop the distracting torrent of thoughts and bring her mind to the present again, at which point the dragonfly had already departed, leaving her with a clear image in her mind of beating wings.
Maybe one day I can fly, too.
The endless expanse of ever darkening blues caught her interest again, and she spent the next ten minutes just looking, watching. Observing. Thinking the thoughts that never really stopped, seeing intricate clockwork patterns in the shapes of the clouds where others would see more natural, organic things.
And then it struck her, full force. A blinding bright light went on in the back of her head, and suddenly she knew. She understood all the unspoken, implicit details; the small insignificant things that would make her dream into a long sought after reality.
So she stood. Slowly, of course, for even though she was so full of newfound excitement she still treasured the small things in life. The feel of the grass underneath her hooves, that ever present warm breeze through her mane, the soft warmth of the setting sun on her back. The small things that made the big things that much more enjoyable.
Her saddlebags clinked pleasantly against her sides as she made her way up the worn path to her shed, shadowed by the ever reaching limbs of a large, spreading tree. As she passed into its shadow she looked up and felt the refreshing chill of the cold forest air wash over her. A dragonfly flew past and with a detached smile she gently pushed open the door.
She was home.
Filtered through the roof the light became soft golden brown, accentuated by swirling flecks of bright dusk. Without really thinking, Dusk Breeze trotted to the far side of the room and let her saddlebags fall to the ground, oblivious to a renegade cog and an escaped spring that rolled underneath a nearby table. She turned, and she looked, and she thought. And while she thought she began gathering materials.
A ratty old sketchbook with half a cover, scrawled all over with messy writing. A single feather quill. An inkpot long stained black from use.
She pushed aside a pile of books and set her sketchbook down with a thump, throwing up a cloud of acrid dust in the process and eliciting a sneeze. One day she’d have to clean the place, she thought. But she never really got around to it. It was always something new, something different that caught her attention. Cleaning was never a big priority. Plus, she kind of liked the smell of old oil and steel. Her shed would probably lose its charm anyway, if cleaned.
And then she took a moment to slow her thoughts, to order her ideas. For a moment, she was still. Standing, thinking. Eyes closed and breath slowed.
She opened her eyes and concentrated, tapped into her faulty magic again. She reached out with her mind and turned the pages of her sketchbook, smiling faintly at each of her past projects until she came to a blank page. Then she took hold of the quill, then the inkpot. And that’s where she felt the familiar drain, followed by a sputter and a spark. And the inkpot fell.
Black sloshed all over the desk, covering the fresh white page and staining the already stained wood. Dusk Breeze was surprised, then concerned, then calm.
“Silly thing,” she muttered softly. But she wasn’t upset, nor was sge annoyed. Such trivial things no longer caught her ire, and with a reserved sort of air she started the task of cleaning the mess. Her magic had always been faulty, ever since she had broken her horn so many years ago. It would sputter and fail when she least expected it. And it would cause accidents where a normal unicorn would have no trouble.
But the accident was minor, and the sketchbook perfectly salvageable. The ink had already settled into the cracks in the floor and made new patterns in the wood grain. There was really no point in cleaning what was already gone, so instead she found herself a pencil, worn down to just a nub, and started drawing on a new page.
And she drew even as the late of the day turned into dusk, and dusk into night, and the insects began their nocturnal chorus. And in the silence of the shed, the only sound was the rhythmic scratching of pencil on paper, a curious sort of rasp that made its own nighttime music. Until finally the scratching ceased, and she stood back, proud of herself.
“I will fly,” she whispered, almost hesitant to break the silence of the new night. For to her, it seemed such a travesty to interrupt something that had only just started.
Before her, gleaming in a shaft of filtered moonlight, an intricate blueprint detailing the ins and outs of pair of mechanical wings. Long and lithe, like those of a dragonfly. Powered by hydraulics and pistons and her own faulty unicorn magic.
She smiled, proud of herself, before closing the book and trotting to her room. She lay her head to rest, and she dreamed. She dreamed of abstract mathematical patterns in a sky powered by gears, and she saw herself flying through it, strong and free, on wings made of purest steel.
“I will fly,” she muttered in her sleep.
“I will fly…”
Dusk Breeze had never been a very strong pony. Nor had she been particularly sociable. But what she lacked in social skills she made up for in ingenuity. She knew how to put parts together in just such a way to get them to move, and she knew how the flow of electricity and the subtle machinery of life worked. She had been the first filly in the orphanage to receive her cutie mark, for even at a young age she knew exactly what she was meant to do, and everyone always envied her for that.
It was that mark now that dominated her dreams: three simple gears of different sizes, meshing together and turning on a background of the most diffuse gray. In her sleep, she smiled, for the sight of machinery always brought her such comfort. The machines didn’t shun her. They didn’t yell at her. And they were always there to listen. They were her best, and her only, friends, and she cherished each and every one.
But something new graced her dreams that night, and the small smile grew into an excited grin, an expression she hadn’t worn in many years. The wings, made of brightest steel. In her dream she could see every inch, every detail of the blueprint, and she watched as it brought itself to life and sprung forth from the stained paper it had begun its existence upon.
They flapped, they moved, and every tiny gear and piston and pulley granted them a curious sort of life that was indistinguishable from reality.
In her sleep, she laughed.
Her dream had become reality, and she was filled with happy excitement. In her dream she flew effortlessly, the wings a blur of steel and motion. Dusk Breeze hadn’t felt such simple content happiness in many years, and it took her sub conscious brain a moment to realize what she was feeling.
But the dream, the euphoria, was short lived, indeed. For she was awoken, quite rudely, not moments later by the most tremendous of cacophonies. The wings flittered silently away and the gears stopped turning, and the clockwork sky in the landscapes of her dreams fled in lieu of reality’s abrupt intrusion.
“Wha…” she muttered, groggy with sleep. Slowly she lifted her head and cast sleep filmed eyes across the expanse before her, taking in the rolling green hills and the forest her shack sat at the very edge of. Earlier she had curled up under a great spreading tree for a nap. The warm sun had been so inviting, and she had gotten so little sleep the night before, so it had been a special treat to take a nap in the late afternoon sun with the gentle buzzing of summer insects lulling her to sleep.
She was starting to regret that decision.
Though her shack had always been something of a mess, the gaping hole in the roof was something completely new and very unnerving. Hesitantly she scrambled to her feet and glanced around. Empty. The rolling hills and the worn cobblestone path and the copse of trees she liked the most were all empty. Frightened she lowered her head in a defensive fashion and slowly approached the shack.
“Who’s… There?” Dusk Breeze called softly, too afraid to raise her voice above a whisper. She approached the slightly ajar door only to recoil in fear at the thought that there may still be someone in there. Tenderly, oh so tenderly, she pushed the door open.
The interior of her shack seemed untouched. Or at least, the mess didn’t seem any messier. Frightened she stuck her head in and cast a worried glance around.
“…hello?” she said quietly. No answer, of course. “Hello?” she called again, this time gaining the tiniest bit of courage. Bravely she stepped into her shack and peered into the gloomy half-light, glancing frightened eyes into all the nooks and crannies she could see. For the moment, it seemed her home was empty, save for the brilliant line of late day sun shining down from the hole in the ceiling. Maybe it had been a shooting star, she surmised, starting to clean the loose papers and forgotten bits of debris from the floor.
Shooting stars didn’t groan, though.
And it was the pained groan that startled her so bad that her magic cut out and the papers and the bits of steel fell back to the ground with a disconcertingly loud jingle jangle. Dusk Breeze eeped once, a high pitched noise out of pure fear, and scrambled backwards, utterly terrified. In a moment of panic she reached out with her faulty magic and grabbed the closest thing she could find: a pile of old gears of varying shapes and sizes.
“Get out!” she cried, throwing them one by one into the gloom with her eyes squeezed shut. “Get out get out get out!”
“Hey there! Stop doing that-- OW!”
It was a small miracle any of her projectiles managed to hit, but hit one did, and with a rather annoyed look on her face, a pegasus stepped from the dark. She rubbed her head where the gear had collided, her wings held bedraggled to the side and her yellow coat dusty. At the sight of her Dusk Breeze dropped the gears and backed up as far as she possibly could.
“…my shack” she muttered, suddenly very shy. She hadn’t been in the company of another pony in a very long time and it was making her nervous. Her eyes darted around the building, taking in the state of the mess before centering on the hole in the roof. Her ears flattened against her skull and she sunk back even more.
“My… My shack…”
The yellow pegasus looked around too, confused and feeling quite guilty.
“Yeah sorry about that,” she said, her slight southern twang bouncing playfully around the room. Tenderly she took a step forward, careful not to crush any of the delicate bits of machinery underhoof. “I was flying and I guess I lost control…”
“My shack…”
This was far too much for Dusk Breeze to take in all at once and her poor brain felt everywhere at once. While she was concerned about her shack, she was also scared that her blueprints had been damaged, and she didn’t even want to think about the state of her sketchbook yet. Everything was everywhere and she didn’t know what to do about it. The strange pegasus of blue and yellow shook some dust from her mane and took another step towards the frightened unicorn, a warm smile on her face.
“My name is Blitz Bolt,” she explained calmly. Maybe if she used a soft tone, she thought, this unicorn wouldn’t be so scared. “What’s your name?”
Dusk Breeze cringed as the pegasus came closer. Not because she was scared, and she was scared, but because she didn’t know how to react. Should she speak back? At least acknowledge the words spoken to her? Ask questions? Or just sit here and remain quiet? It had been so long since she had socialized with anyone that she just didn’t know what to do.
“…my shack,” was all she could say, for she didn’t know what else to do.
“Is that all you can say?” asked Blitz Bolt quietly, concerned.
“You…” Dusk started, averting her eyes to the ground. She was finding it very hard to look this other pony in the eyes. “You broke my roof…”
Blitz Bolt did nothing but stare for a moment. The unicorn with the broken horn seemed so familiar, in a vague, fuzzy sort of way. Where had she seen that soft blue coat before, that white mane and tail? Curious she cocked her head to the side and tried her best to remember. That confused shyness and timid nature was so reminiscent of an old, old friend, but she was having trouble retrieving the elusive memory.
“…dusk breeze…”
“What was that?” inquired Blitz Bolt. Her voice had been so soft it had sounded like a whisper, a small breeze in a quiet clearing. Gathering her courage the unicorn raised her head and spoke again.
“My name… It’s Dusk Breeze…”
“Dusk Breeze?”
A small nod, eyes averted just as quickly as they locked for the quickest of moments. Without realizing it, Blitz Bolt’s smile grew into a large grin. She knew this pony, she knew it! From way back when, when they were both still the youngest of fillies. Without any hesitation, for she had always been of boisterous personality and had no sense of personal space, she wrapped Dusk Breeze in the largest of hugs and laughed joyfully. Dusk Breeze was, for lack of a better term, mortified.
“I.. Who-- What,” she stuttered. The pegasus did nothing but laugh.
“We were friends in the orphanage, remember?”
“…friends?”
The word sounded so foreign to her.
“Yeah! Bestest of best!”
“Friends…”
It was hard for her to believe what she was hearing. Friends? She couldn’t really remember a time when there had been someone she had liked enough to deem friend. But then a lot of time had elapsed since her life in the orphanage, and her memory was notorious when it came to the long term.
“Friends,” Blitz Bolt confirmed with a smile. She withdrew from the hug and glanced around the shack one last time. “I have to go quick,” she said, as though it saddened her to admit it. “But I’ll be back! And I’ll help you fix your roof, too.”
And without another sound she was gone, out and off into the wide blue expanse of the sky. Dusk Breeze watched her leave, a curious sort of expression on her face, before turning back and quickly locating her tattered old sketchbook. The old tree she had been sleeping under moments earlier found her curled up against its roots again, drawing absently while the sun played through the leaves.
Friends.
It was such a strange word. It conjured fantastic colours and images of a wide open sky that seemed less vast than it usually did. The word made her feel warm inside, and it made the loneliness she always felt seem much less intense.
For the time being her latest project lay forgotten, cast aside in favour of something else, something new. With the insects chirping and the birds singing, she drew not a schematic, but something entirely different. She drew another pony, with a yellow coat and blue mane. She drew her wings wide open in front of a stormy sky, radiating an aura of adventure and exploration.
Dusk Breeze smiled and lay down the pencil, for she now remembered the only friend she ever had, and it made her feel so happy.
“You’re my friend,” she said softly, closing the book. It thrilled her to find herself actually saying such a thing and she closed her eyes, living in the moment. And the moment truly was beautiful.
“You’re my friend.”
