The Waning Dusk

An elderly pegasus was sitting outside his cottage, enjoying a book.

Willow was not sure quite what to make of this pegasus. It was absolutely astounding how quickly Willow had become used to him being around over the last two days, and now Willow was confused, but comfortable in the life Willow was enjoying. He had introduced himself as Galloway Whorlseley earlier, though Willow thought that was a rather long and silly name, and so preferred to think of him as Gerry.

And Gerry was being very annoying.

“Now that is rather distracting, Willow. I'm trying to enjoy a good book. While I appreciate you wanting to spend your time around me, there's simply no reason to stay nudged up against me like that. We had a splendid hug earlier, and that's all well and good, now do please give me some personal space now and again.”

Willow thought he was being quite selfish, hogging himself like that. But Willow had little right to complain, especially after he had been kind enough to give Willow such a nice name. It was very strange for Willow to adapt, since Willow had so long been used to 'It'.

It was made a little easier once he explained it was for the colour of Willow's coat, and because 'You rather act like one'.

Willow quite liked being thought of as a tree; trees were strong, sturdy things, that smelled nice.

Willow quickly smelled itself.

“You shouldn't go about smelling yourself like that, Willow, it makes you look like a dog. Quite unbecoming of a lady.”

Willow's nose wrinkled at the smell. It was very un-treelike.

Whorlseley sighed, “Oh Willow, what am I to do with you?” He set down the book, and stood up to stare at her.

“You won't speak to me, I don't know where you're from, or by whom you were being chased, and least of all do I know why you have such a singular physiology.”

He frowned.

“But I do know you need a bath.”

⁂

Luna lay in her bed, her hoofservent standing at the door, in case she was needed. Another day, the thick, soft sheets might have given her comfort, but today she found it hard to enjoy them.

The world around her was strange and different. She saw public schools where there were once temples in her and Celestia's honour, and standardized housing where the poor district used to swell with sties and hovels in lower Canterlot. Celestia had built public hospitals to aid the diseased and the injured, and absolutely everything seemed more cramped and tight, the city filled with more ponies then ever before. Even the houses of the aristocrats were now smaller and taller, the old mansions of the upper side long since retrofitted into public libraries.

'Public libraries!'

The very idea of public libraries shocked her immensely. That the government was actually paying to teach every single pony to read and write and paying to house and provide collections of information for them all seemed absurd.

She'd heard they were even hiring ponies to teach arithmetic. It was a ludicrous waste of funds.

At least it had been a thousand years ago.

Now she thought she knew almost nothing of what was right to do. It seemed in her absence her ponies had flourished.

“Hoofwright?”

“Yes, your grace?”

“Art we,” Luna held her words to her tongue. They felt very strange, and ungainly. “...A good mare?”

“...Of course, your grace.”

“Thou hesitateth,” she said, inquiringly.

“No, I,” the young mare stumbled, “I mean no disrespect, your grace, it was simply an unexpected question.”

Luna felt her heart drop. She spoke softly, “...Thou art afraid of us.”

“No!” the mare exclaimed. “I would never presume to be afraid of you,” she said, with a hastily added “Your grace.”

“One cannot presume an emotion, Hoofwright,” said Luna. “One can merely fear its presence. Regardless of thy true feelings, thou fearest the thought.”

Luna slumped into her bed, sulking. “'Tis more than enough, to be sure.”

Hoofwright stood rigidly. She didn't know how she was meant to respond to this.

“Leave me be, Hoofwright.”

Hoofwright nodded, though Luna couldn't see it, and left the room, the door closing with a quiet 'click' behind her.

Luna wished to mope and brood, but could not bring herself to. It would be simply too unfitting one of her status. Rather, she stood from her bed and decided to resume her cleaning from before; at least then she thought she might be progressing in some fashion.

She looked around the room. It was, largely, clean, save for the large box in the corner. Her eyes were drawn away from it, though, and to her bedside drawer.

The letter from before still laid there.

It taunted her with its ripped opening. She knew well that it would be a bad idea to read it; it had never been good to read those letters before, and she greatly doubted that would change now. It hurt so very much not to, though.

She picked it up in her magic, and brought it close.

It seemed so innocent trembling there in front of her.

'Perhaps,' she thought, 'Celestia would not mind were I not the one to read it?'

⁂

“Oh gosh, are you okay?”

Loonsworth groaned. His legs were still sore from the healing; he doubted falling over so much helped them any. He glanced up at the bright pink horse in front of him.

“I should be alright. I would like some help getting up, though; my legs aren't working very well right now.”

“Oh right.” Pinkie gave him a hoof up, and he stood shakily. “Wow, you're new!”

“Thanks?”

“Your welcome,” she said. “I'm Pinkie Pie. What's your name?”

“Loonsworth.”

“Oh wow, that really doesn't roll of the tongue, does it?” She furrowed her brows and took on an expression of deep contemplation. “Loooonsworth, Loonswooorth. Loonster? Loonar. Loon-colt. Loooon... pants? Hmm...”

Loonsworth was confused. “I don't follow.”

“I'm trying to come up with a nickname 'cause your name is really, reeaally boring.”

Loonsworth was a little shocked at her bluntness. “Well, my friends call me Loonie.”

“Of course! I can tell we'll be the bestest of buddies in no time,” she said excitedly.

“Okay.”

“So Loonie, are you staying in town, or just visiting? We don't get visitors here too often. Oh! But the Fall Weather Fair is coming up soon; you must be in town for that, right?”

“No. I was teleported here by surprise,” he said. “That's why I was in the hospital.”

“Oh.” Pinkie Pie wilted in disappointment. “So you'll be leaving, then?”

Loonsworth paused. He hadn't given much thought yet to what he would try to do at this point. He had found it best so far to avoid thinking all together; it was certainly less stressful. “I don't think so. I don't think I have anywhere else to be, but I also have nowhere to stay.”

Pinkie bounced right back at that. “That's perfect! Sesame Brown has a room up for board at the farm. I'll show you the way there, if you want. It's the least a new friend can do.”

“That's very nice of you, thank you,” he said. He found himself pleasantly surprised by this horse.

“No problem, that's what friends are for. Just follow me,” she said, hopping her way out of the hospital.

Loonsworth followed slowly and carefully. He had a hard enough time keeping balance as it was, but the hurt from his injured legs made it very difficult for him to walk faster than a hobble.

At least Pinkie Pie didn't seem to mind the pace.

⁂

Luna entered the throne room in the early afternoon. Her sister was seated, speaking to a mare and a stallion dressed in lavish cloaks.

“Sister? Might we speak with thou a moment?” asked Luna.

Celestia looked down at Luna with concern. “I'm a little occupied discussing the Maretonian bridge project. Is it urgent, or could we speak later? Perhaps... 6:30, after the meet with the Farmer's Union? I should be able to spare ten or fifteen minutes then.”

Luna pursed her lips. “We were unaware we had to schedule a conversation with our sister.”

“I am sorry, Luna, I am very busy. The fiscal quarter is coming to a close today, and there is much to take care of to prepare,” said Celestia.

“Well,” said Luna, upset, “We art glad we art worth ten or fifteen minutes of thy time, Celestia.”

Celestia turned to the diplomats. “I'm terribly sorry, could you excuse us a moment?”

The diplomats frowned in displeasure, but nodded.

“Deepest apologies, consuls,” she said. She stepped off the throne and followed Luna into the hall outside, where she closed the door quietly and turned to face her sister.

“I'm sorry, sister. The day is very stressful. What is the matter?”

“Before we departed from Ponyville, after our return, the mayor extended an invitation to the Fall Weather Fair tomorrow.”

Celestia stood silent for a while.

Finally, she spoke. “...Yes?”

“We wish to attend.

Celestia stared at her sister in shock. “Luna, surely you did not interrupt my meeting to ask my permission to attend a fair.”

“They have a poetry reading planned.”

“Luna,” said Celestia, shaking her head, “Oh Luna, whatever is the matter? You are my sister, and you know better than to ask my permission for this. What is so important about this particular poetry reading?”

Luna inhaled deeply. “They have a unique tradition. The collection of poetry is supplied by thy student Twilight and is most impressive. But as well one may... request a piece to be read.”

Celestia stood silent for a moment, letting the information digest. Her eyes widened rapidly. “Luna! You know better than that. I'm now glad you brought this to my attention.” She looked down at her sister sternly. “You know well enough that you have never been rational about him. It is dangerous. It was... far beyond bad enough the last time.”

Celestia stared at her sister silently a moment, her face a stony gaze of disappointment and regret. She said softly, “It was much more than bad enough.”

Luna bit her lip. “We understand the ramifications of this decision, sister, it is just the once...”

“And then what? Once more? Twice more? No, Luna, we cannot lower ourselves to this kind of indulgence. We must be a common pony at heart. We can never be a common pony in body, Luna. All things pass, even us. But that will not be for a long, long time. You understand that, yes?” Celestia looked down at her sister softly.

Luna stared up. Her eyes were glistening with unshed tears, and her face was a twisted expression of bitterness. She lowered her gaze and breathed deeply.

“We were wrong to ask this of you sister. Thou art correct in all things. We shall not go.”

Celestia sighed. “Nopony is correct in all things, Luna. Thank you for keeping a cool head, I know it isn't easy.” She looked worriedly at her sister. “Are you alright now, Luna?”

Luna stamped a hoof, and rose herself straight, sniffing back her pride. “We shall be, Celestia. In time.”

“Good afternoon, Luna.”

“Good afternoon.”

The sisters turned away from eachother, one back into the court, the other standing with her back to the door.

“Tomorrow, then.”

⁂

As Pinkie and Loonsworth slowly made their way to Brown's farmhouse, Loonsworth examined his surroundings. The sky was bright and blue, and the air smelt fresh and clean. A soft breeze drifted over, and the sun beat warmth over him. He felt something deeply enjoyable about the way the breeze felt through his fur.

The path they were now walking up was a cart path through a massive field of barley that swayed and bent in the wind.

“This is a very nice day,” said Loonsworth.

“Oh yeah, Cerulean Skies really knows how to live up to his name. He did good.”

“Hm?”

“Here we are!” shouted Pinkie. They had arrived to a large, brown barn, next to a farmhouse.

Loonsworth was confused. “He's in his barn?”

“Oh yeah, he should be in there,” said Pinkie. “Go on, he's waiting.”

Loonsworth pushed open the door to the barn and stepped inside.

Several dozen horses jumped at him, shouting “Surprise!”

Loonsworth jumped in shock, and his felt his hooves slip under him.

Pinkie caught him as he fell back. “Oof! You're heavy, you know that?” He found his balance again as she pushed him up.

Staring into the barn, the whole place was filled with variously coloured horses, and although most did not, many of them had horns or wings. Music started playing, and several of the horses started moving to it. It looked a lot like strange dancing to him; he supposed it probably was. A few of the horses came up to him.

“Welcome to Ponyville. Right Wheels, at your service,” one of them said, grinning. He was a deep blue, and had a scraggled amber mane. “Call me Wheels.” He held a hoof out from his body, facing Loonsworth.

Loonsworth blinked.

“It's a hoof. You bump it,” he said cheekily. Loonsworth rose his hoof and slowly stretched it out to the other. Once they touched, Wheels dropped his. Loonsworth slowly lowered his too. Wheels grinned at him, “Yeah, Pinkie's parties can do that to a pony.”

It suddenly occurred to Loonsworth that these might not be horses at all. It never mattered to him before to bother knowing the difference between a horse and a pony, but he could appreciate a straight-forward definition. He didn't know quite how to ask without seeming rude, though.

“I'm Berry Punch,” another said. Loonsworth bumped his hoof against hers too.

“Bon Bon.”

“Crescent Moon.”

“So,” said Wheels, casually. “Care to tell us your name?”

“Loonsworth.”

“Ouch.”

“Wheels!” said Bon Bon, appalled.

“Sorry,” he said.

“My friends call me Loonie,” said Loonsworth.

Wheels blinked. “You know that's not really much better, right?”

“Ah invited ya into my house, Wheels, ya'd do best not to mock my guests.”

Wheels frowned. “Hello to you too, Brown.”

The pony that had stepped up was a light-green stallion, with a slick, clean-cut brown mane and thick mustache. He had a deep frown on his face, that looked as if it had been etched into his face from years of cynicism.

“Ah do hope mah guests aren't causing you any trouble, Mr. Loonsworth.” His words were slow and thick, like dull, snide molasses. Loonsworth noted he said the word 'guests' with particular venom

“I can see the weather, Brown,” said Wheels. “Enjoy the party, Loonie. Nice meeting you.” He left off to the tables with snacks set off to the side.

“Well. He usually ain't that civil,” said Brown, drearily. “It don't matter, really.”

He reached his mouth over to the nearby table, and pulled the cork off a bottle of wine. He picked the bottle off the table in his mouth, holding it diagonally. “Drink?” he asked through clenched teeth.

Loonsworth stared at the strange image of a pony holding a bottle of alcohol in its teeth. His legs were sore, his mind was exhausted and he had just gotten too tired to be shocked by anything going on around him. He really, really, really wanted a drink right about now.

He had absolutely no idea how he was supposed to actually drink one, though.

“No thank you.”

The pony shrugged, and poured the wine from the bottle into a glass. He set the bottle down, and picked up the glass with a hoof.

He sipped out of it.

Loonsworth stared at the hoof. It was a small impossibility, really, given all that had happened. A hoof holding a glass like it was stuck to it seemed minor compared to everything he'd gone through lately; it just all started to strain after a while. He started feeling nauseous and felt like he needed to lie down.

“So,” the pony continued with the same, drawling voice. “Ah hear you're an accountant. Ah've been needing a new one for a while now, since Numbers Game passed away; we don't get too many a' you around a place as small as Ponyville. Do ya happen ta be available?”

“That's quite nice of you to offer, thank you. I'm unemployed right now,” said Loonsworth. “Can I ask what the job is?”

Sesame Brown hmphed. Loonsworth thought it sounded almost pleased, but he wasn't really sure. This stallion seemed very dismal to him, for the most part.

“We need a resource and finance manager on the farm. We move a lot of supplies and product on a decent scale; it's important we keep track of our expenses and sales. It's not a huge place, as ya can see, but Ah can't do it myself.”

“My last job was as a bookkeeper. This should be very similar,” said Loonsworth. He hoped he was right.

“Good. Since ya don't have a place yet, Ah've heard, Ah can lease ya a room at the farmhouse while you're working here,” said Brown, in his dreary tone.

“That's very kind of you, Mr. Brown.”

“Formality means Ah do need to know where ya got yer degree, though. Canterlot, Manehattan, I just need something to put on the record books if we do keep ya around.”

Loonsworth blinked. “Canterlot,” he said.

Brown blinked. “Really? That's...” he frowned, “...impressive, Mr. Loonsworth. Ah suspect this might not be the sort'a thing yer used to. Ah don't rightly know if Ah can pay the kinds a' wages yer used to, so if yer just stopping by on yer way back ta bigger things, Ah'd rather know now before I make the mistake of hiring somepony Ah won't be able ta keep.”

“I'll be staying around a long while, I think,” said Loonsworth. “You can pay be the standard rate; I think I don't have many things I want to go back to right now.”

Brown stared at Loonsworth through squinted eyes, his scowling frown etched deep into his face. Loonsworth felt very uncomfortable under that gaze; something about it seemed to dig into his mind. It peeled back his mind.

“Hmph. Ya got a past, but we can keep it there. Ah'm not mah sister, but Ah know a thing or too about integrity, and ya got enough of it that Ah'll drop it there. Ya can go mingle if ya want; Ah'm not much for this kind of thing,” said Brown, frowning. “Ah'll be in the study if ya need me. That's in the farmhouse, the door at end of the stairs to the right. Afternoon, then.” Brown drank up his glass, and turned to leave.

“Just a moment,” said Loonsworth.

The pony looked back, raising an eyebrow, “What?”

“I'm feeling nauseous. Is there somewhere I can lie down?”

Brown squinted at him. “Ya know this is yer party, right? They're all waiting ta meet ya.”

Loonsworth blinked. He had nearly forgotten that. It seemed to him since he had begun his conversation with Brown that the ponies had just left him alone. He looked over the crowd, where the ponies were still chatting and dancing. Several of them occasionally looked towards him, but each time they stopped. Each time they would look over to Brown then look away; they seemed to give him a wide berth.

Loonsworth thought it was nothing he bothered to care about. His legs were still sore, his stomach was churning and he felt a great weight of stress.

“I do appreciate the party, Mr Brown, but I feel very poorly right now. If it's alright with you, I'd rather meet the town another time.”

Brown hmphed again. He seemed to do that quite a bit. “Don't go saying sorry to me, Pinkie insisted on the thing. Ah hate parties. Ah'll show ya to yer room now, though, if ya really want.”

“Thank you,” said Loonsworth. He began following Brown towards the barn doors.

“Have you tried the punch yet?” said Pinkie.

Loonsworth blinked. “No,” he said. He hadn't noticed her come up, and now she walked beside him.

“You aren't leaving without trying the punch, are you?” she said. Something in her voice seemed a little less like doubt and a little more like concern to Loonsworth.

“I'm feeling sick. I think I'm going to go lie down,” he said.

She seemed to wither a little at that. “Oh. That's a shame. I won't make you stay if you are; sometimes that's just what happens.”

“I'm sorry I made you go through so much work,” he said. “Thank you for the party.”

“No no, don't thank me, just enjoy yourself. That's enough for me. And sometimes that means being left alone for a while. It's just a shame you aren't well enough to meet everypony at the moment.” She smiled. “I hope you feel better in the morning.”

“I hope so too.”

She stopped, and the other two ponies left the barn. The other ponies in the barn began to talk amongst themselves in confusion.

“I'm sorry, everypony, Loonsworth is still sick from the hospital,” said Pinkie. “The party was a bit much. He'll be staying here at the farm, though, and you'll all have lots of chances to meet him soon.”

⁂

Loonsworth laid in bed. It was very quiet around him, and it gave him space to clear his thoughts. He felt clean. He felt tired.

He felt... afraid.

He was lying on a clean mattress that felt no different from what he was used to. The room around him was neat and orderly, with a window to the back and a door to the front. The walls were beige. The pillow was soft and fluffed.

Everything was quite comfortable. It struck a chord in him of familiarity that scared him greatly. He didn't understand why he was here, or what he was meant to do, or why God had chosen him to be here at this time.

He missed his daughter greatly, but he felt he did not deserve her anymore.

'Maybe that's it. I have failed. I am being punished.'

No, he thought, that didn't make sense. It was common knowledge that when God punished people he was a little more showy about it than that. Floods, meteors, lightning, that sort of thing. At least a beheading or two.

'I am here because God wants to get rid of me.'

Absurd. He had much easier ways to do that. Killing him, for example.

'I have been sent here to prove myself. I have been given redemption. He has given me my job back to prove I can put my talents to use. He has given me neighbours I can be kind to. He has given me a home I can appreciate and learn to thank Him for.'

Loonsworth paused, and he recalled the eyes he had seen before. He recalled the brutal anger they had. God was punishing him for his sins, by taking away his daughter, but in His eternal forgiveness, he was giving him a second chance.

Loonsworth's mother had always told him, “God has such gladness every time he sees from heaven that a sinner is praying to Him with all his heart, as a mother has when she sees the first smile on her baby's face". He always thought she was being sardonic, since he couldn't remember many times when she had smiled at him. Certainly not many when she was acting very 'Christian', as she put it. But it seemed now to make such sense.

Yes, he would not stray from his duties. He would not let God down.

God had given him a new life.

That had to be it.

⁂

Whorlseley considered the pony before him. She was very strange, certainly, and not just because of the way she acted or the way she looked. She seemed to be ignorant of some things any pony at all should have understood. Over the past few days she had shown no understanding of how to use cutlery, how to , or even how to read. A lot of the time she just looked at things. With very wide eyes.

Rather like she was right then. It was a little unnerving, to say the least; especially while she was being given a bath.

Whorlseley had stopped Lt. Fuddlesworth off at a nearby lake for it; he at least seemed content enough to chew on a nearby tree. Willow was being rather less cooperative.

It wasn't that she resisted taking a bath, persay, more that she simply was not bathing herself.

She was just sitting there, a few feet into the water, examining her surroundings.

“You know dear, I can appreciate the beauty of the great outdoors as much as the next pony, but perhaps you could do so at another time?” he grunted, scrubbing a cloth over her fur. She didn't answer, content to keep glancing about at the nearby trees and rocks.

He grumbled and kept scrubbing.

He was finding himself rather disgusted at the amount of grime that was soaking out of her fur in the water. It was astounding; he doubted he had ever seen a coat so stained with muck in his life. It had been so ground into her fur that he had originally thought it was part of it. Now that the muck was coming out it was clear that the mottles of grey were just muddy dirt, and her coat was a dark green all through. As it washed away, on her strange, humped hide he could make out her cutie mark.

A pure black circle.

Outside of its mysterious meaning, it seemed particularly unusual in its exact symmetry and perfect roundness. So much of the mare, from her silence and expressionless face to her lumpy, malformed body seemed almost broken somehow, but here this circle was unbroken and unbent.

More mysteries. He sighed. 'Well, at least she's clean now.'

He started wading back towards the giant crab in the center of the lake. “Come on, now, we've got to make good time. We're leaving for Ponyville; that's a good couple months south from here. Best get an early start.” He didn't need to tell her to follow him, she would have done it anyways, but it made him feel better to say it out loud.

“I've got an old friend to visit about that symbol you're sporting there. Something about it seems familiar, but I can't place what. She always was a lot better at the whole encyclopedia thing.”

⁂

Luna teleported into Golden Oak Library at the beginning of the afternoon. She felt she had to minimize the time spent away from Canterlot. The room around her was a warm, wooden scene, with books covering the walls, a few in short stacks on the floor, and one or two piles of paper next to a desk to the side. She had never been to Golden Oak before, but it seemed quite homely.

She saw Twilight walking down the stairs, reading her new copy of Thaumaturgical Equestrian.

“Good afternoon, Twilight Sparkle.”

Twilight suddenly dropped the magazine. She rushed down the stairs and immediately began levitating the scattered books and papers onto the desk and shelves. “Princess Luna! I had no idea you were going to visit us,” she said nervously.

Luna brushed her off, “Oh, 'tis nothing important. We have merely arrived for the Fall Weather Fair. We hear thou hast quite the poetry reading planned.”

“Oh!” said Twilight, relieved. She spoke bashfully, “I can't really take the credit. I did organize it and donate most of the collection, but it was actually the mayor who suggested it.”

“Really?” said Luna. “Well, 'tis right of her to do so. Poetry is a wondrous art indeed.”

“Oh, absolutely, it's fascinating. I was just having a conversation the other day with Professor Wordsworth about his ancestor, the famous poet Wordsmith. Did you know he apparently had a sectoral heterochromia? His left eye was part yellow, and part blue-green.”

Luna cleared her throat. “Yes, well, as fascinating as the colouring of his eyes may have been, we are perhaps more interested in his poetry; and if we are not to depart soon, we may miss the reading of it scheduled for 12:30.”

“You're absolutely right,” said Twilight. “I didn't realize how quickly the time went by.”

“Thou must excuse us,” said Luna. She prepared her spell, and a wave of blue swept down her body, leaving behind much shorter, dark blue pegasus. “We shall be donning the guise of an ordinary pegasus, so as not to draw attention. We do not wish to detract from the poetry by being an unnecessary  diversion.”

“That very thoughtful of you,” said Twilight. “Er... do you plan on changing your speech?”

“We already have,” said Luna. “As thou can hear, our voice has been altered so as to disguise our true selves. 'Tis noticeably higher in pitch, and softer in tone.”

“Uh... well yes, yes it is...”

“Excellent,” said Luna. “Then we shalt proceed with the poetry.” She left the library, heading west of the market square, where a small group was gathering around an outdoor stage. It was a small, red thing, with a slapdash podium nailed to the middle. It was hardly a great feat of construction, but it seemed to do the job.

An older, beige unicorn was standing at the podium. He was currently come to the end of reciting a classic piece by the poet Silvertongue.

“...He took a seat, that he might ease,

His weary feet, that now he thought,

So chilled upon the evening breeze,

His clothes, he felt, would warm him not;

And though his soul felt ever broken,

Still inside he felt content,

Discomfort was an honest token,

Grief was due his earned lament.”

The end was met with the polite stamping of hooves. As the reader warmed up for another, Luna suddenly felt a nervousness creep over her.

She felt wrong to do this. Her sister was a kind, and fair pony; she knew this now more than ever, and she had done so much for her since her return.

Perhaps it was improper to demand this kind of indulgence. Perhaps it was best to just let it go.

But most of all, she found that she was afraid of actually hearing what she came for. Celestia was right; it was dangerous, so very, very dangerous.

“Do we have any requests? We have quite the collection. Maybe something somepony wrote themselves?”

'We should not be here,' she thought.

With a very, very heavy sigh, Luna turned to leave.

“We are sorry Twilight, but we must cut our trip short.”

Twilight looked back, surprised. “Are you sure? But the reading just started.”

“Yes, we'll have to join you some other...”

Her words were interrupted when a voice called out from the crowd,

“A Starlit Moon, by Wordsmith.”

“Ah. A classic.”

Luna froze.