Liberty for All

Two weeks later

…

Shelly never came back…

Every night, I lied awake and told myself that she was ok. That she had found Fin and hid somewhere, waiting for the chance to try and make it back to us. Things will somehow get better soon, I’d utter to myself as muffled cries seeped through the walls from the homes next door. Each time my head found the pillow, I cried myself to sleep.

My new home was a former closet, tucked-away in a hardly-lit basement. Two small cots were squeezed into the tiny space. Neither one was very comfortable, though Professor Walnut was gracious enough to give me sheets and pillows from his own room for me to use. They helped in making these past two weeks a little more survivable.

Professor Walnut’s basement was, at its core, a workshop; books, desks, cabinets, racks, and shelves took up most of the available space, brimming with tools and boxes and relics. It was the perfect kind of cave for an archaeologist with a lot of research to do. Or maybe, in this case, an overworked college professor.

After doing a series of stretches I learned in the royal guard to keep my limbs awake, I roamed around the basement as part of my current routine, skimming over old, dusty documents and fingering through files kept within neat, plastic coverings. A giant rock carved into the shape of a chair sat in the corner. A note on it said ‘do not sit’. It wasn’t the only piece of stone to have a warning sign on it.

Speaking of warnings, I took special care to stay away from the house’s boiler room. Professor Walnut informed me of a large metal drum stored across from the boiler, explaining that the drum contained an unrefined gas produced from notoriously dangerous dragon powder. The gas was apparently something archaeologists used to preserve artifacts marred by the elements of nature, though that was only the case for when the gas was refined. If the boiler room’s drum of gas was released, it would, and I quote; ‘Envelope and bathe the entire house in a searing cloud of toxic miasma that would melt our skin and choke our lungs. Slowly.’

Why in Equestria did Walnut have to give me all of that detail? It’s hard enough sleeping at night without knowing my new home could literally become my own slow and painful death.

As per the usual time, the Professor had gone outside. Once he had learned that it was safe for him to venture out, he started gathering supplies, assessing Canterlot’s state and recovering undamaged museum pieces when he could. Apparently, as a stallion, the invaders and traitors didn’t suspect him of harboring me. Though from what Walnut had told me, mares were being hunted.

Everything as we knew it was torn away from us. These caribou, and the stallions who helped them, were enslaving mares, declaring them to be sex objects and property. They proclaimed that males were the superior sex, and that the male and the male alone had the inherent right to rule over females in every aspect. I’d seen what these caribou had been doing from the day they arrived, but from what Walnut saw, it was much bigger. Equestria was being conquered, and this new rule was set on destroying our way of life and replacing it with something twisted.

I remember asking myself on the day it all happened where the Princesses and the Elements were. When were our selfless protectors going to save us? Why were our heroes not doing anything? I remember much more clearly the news Walnut had brought me only a few days after staying with him.

The leader of the caribou, a king they call Dainn, defeated Princess Celestia.

I’ve had feelings like this before, during the changeling attack on Canterlot. That was the moment every pony realized how fallible our Princesses could be. I had a hard time accepting it, and I had a hard time accepting it now too. Back then though, the Elements helped save us. They were Princess Celestia’s vital fail-safes; True heroes she groomed in case she, or her sister, could not shoulder the burden of protecting Equestria. The Elements and Princess Luna were also defeated and captured by the caribou, but that didn’t strike me as much as the other revelation Walnut gave me.

Fear had gripped me most when learning of all this. But that fear was nothing compared to the anger I felt when Walnut told me the true nature of Captain Shining Armor’s shield spell, cast on the day of the Fall. It was not protecting us. It was trapping us. Ponies desperately trying to escape the city were stopped by the immovable wall of magic he placed. He was one of the traitors, along with his own wife, Princess Cadence. They allowed all of this to happen. They saved us when Chrysalis attacked Canterlot, and now they betrayed us?! How… How could they?!

As much as I had never felt so much rage, expressing it was difficult. News had become a daily thorn to me, constantly jabbing me and ripping into me ever since I began my stay here with Professor Walnut. Even when I was closed off and buried beneath the happenings of the world, I still couldn’t find any solace.

At this point, my thoughts stopped. I heard an opening of the front door, followed by an irregular pattering of footsteps making their way down to the basement. It sounded like Professor Walnut was taking his time while carrying something cumbersome.

I didn’t expect that cumbersome thing to be an old friend.

“… Is that… Jet?”

“Help me bring her to the cot, would you, Chorus?”

I aided Walnut in guiding Jet to the spare cot in my closet-turned-sleeping quarters. We gently sat her down, joining her on the edge of the cot.

The mare before me was Jet in appearance. Same light charcoal coat, reminiscent of the gem she’s named after. Same grey mane, same grey eyes. But the mare that made her who she was didn’t seem to be there. Her breathing was heavy and slow. Her arms jittered occasionally as she held herself.

I was so fixated on the empty, horrified stare in Jet’s eyes that I failed to notice the clearest signs of her ordeal. A black collar sat firmly around her neck. I had seen those before, but this is was the first time I had seen what the caribou do to pegasi. In place of her wings, Jet sported two box-like sheathes. The material was similar to that of the collar, with etched runes marking the surface as well.

“… What did they do to you, Jet?” I whispered.

Jet’s breathing calmed. Her head turned slightly towards me.

“… P-plucked…”

I almost echoed her words in disbelief. I turned to the Professor just as he stood up to walk to the center of the basement. Glancing at Jet to make sure she wasn’t in any further distress, I lifted myself to my feet and followed him.

Walnut forced out a chilling sigh. His eyes met the floor, his hand wiping the lingering sweat on his brow. Only now did I realize he was panting.

“I discovered her at an… an auction. Her husband was selling her.”

“Her husband…? C-Clay sold her?” I uttered the name with venom. He was with these traitors all along. “How did you manage to buy her?”

“W-well, I… Bits are nearly useless now. The caribou use gold stags, of which I had a few from my ventures this week. I carried enough to offer for the purchase, along with adding the pretense that I had yet to find a sla-… a slave.”

Walnut brought his eyes up to mine. He tried to form words for another thought, but stopped short. His hand found its way onto my shoulder, resting there for a few seconds before pulling away. “… I’ll go get some things for Jet.”

I nodded as Walnut vanished back up the stairs.

Now there were three of us.

I returned to Jet’s side. She still sat on the cot, though she was more responsive than before. I nearly jumped when she mumbled my name.

“… Chorus.”

She sounded like a husk of her former self. Far from the once jolly stone mason I used to see on patrol.

“… Tell your friend… t-that I’m glad he saved me. Is… Is it just you?”

I took a seat next to her. “I will. And… yeah. It’s just me.”

Jet trailed off once more. She didn’t ask any more questions. I couldn’t tell if it was simply her recessing into shock, or she had a feeling that asking me if Shelly or Fin had made it would have been hurtful.

The only thing I could muster to myself was a tiny spark of happiness. Jet was anything but ok… But she had managed to make it here, to safety with us. Maybe the same would happen to others dwelling in my thoughts.

Two months in hiding

I lifted a quill to the torn sheet of paper pinned just above the writing desk and checked off today’s box. It was a tracing of the calendar Walnut kept upstairs. At this point, we’d made it routine for me to stay in the basement as much as possible. Wasn’t long before it became harder to keep track of the days as they slowly crawled by, unless I peeked out of the tiny basement window. Considering our decision, it wasn’t worth the risk.

Creaks from the basement stairs signaled Jet’s arrival. She gripped the railing as she wobbled down the steps. Everything about her was haggard and worn. All that covered her was a bed sheet she held against her chest. The sheaths choking her wings prevented her from wearing most regular clothes. We managed to cut the backs off a few oversized shirts Walnut gave up, but it wasn’t much.

Jet tossed aside a ball gag clutched in her fist. She sat herself down on her cot and fished for one of her modified shirts from the box underneath.

I chose not to say anything. Jet always looked to be in too much pain after having to entertain guests which forced themselves into Walnut’s home. If he had a choice, Walnut wouldn’t put Jet through any of it. But they came to the necessary agreement of working together to keep up the guise of accepting the new regime’s laws. Even if it took its toll on Jet every day and night.

Somewhere deep down I ordered myself to offer to take Jet’s place. She had been through everything unimaginable. Her husband tortured her and then sold her. She shouldn’t have had to go through this too. But my own conscience put down my urge. I remember once already pleading with Walnut to let Jet rest and have me take her place. He wouldn’t allow it, noting that if the caribou or stallion ‘inspectors’ knew of me, they’d wonder where I’d come from. It was too much of a risk.

That’s what almost everything was nowadays. A risk.

I wasn’t ashamed for asking. Though I felt ashamed for the part of me which was thankful to be hidden away. I loathed myself for being given the cursed fortune of being spared from all these horrors while those around me had no such luck.

Before I could snap myself back, I heard Jet’s bare footsteps stop beside me.

“Hello…”

“Hey, Jet. Uhh… Uhm… Are you…?”

“… Fine…” Jet said, her tone dull, “Are you writing something?”

I noticed the quill was still in my hand. “Nah, I was just checking off the calendar. Did I sleep in?”

“Yeah… Its past noon. Though it’s cloudy, so you wouldn’t be able to tell much, even if you looked past the curtains…” Jet noted, glancing at the carefully covered basement window.

“Shoot. I gotta catch up with my exercises.” I mumbled.

Jet skulked back to the closet space, sitting back down on her cot. I followed her in and sat on my cot across from her.

This was when I first noticed the book in Jet’s lap.

“Is that a new book? Did Walnut give it to you?” I asked.

Jet nodded slowly and lifted up the face of the book. The Catacombs; Canterlot’s Ancient Foundations.

I tilted my head. “The Canterlot Catacombs? That sounds up your alley.”

“Yeah,” Jet bobbed her head, “I’ve been… in them before.”

My ears shot up in interest at Jet’s words. The catacombs buried beneath Canterlot were a labyrinth as old as the founding of Equestria itself. The underground ruins were considered by architects to be what anchored Canterlot on its mountain-side perch. Rumors ran across pages of history books and speculative writers that the complex structure was used to quarantine forbidden forms of magic, from ancient, power-hungry amulets to outlawed spells and practices which warped nature through the study of abhorrent techniques, such as blood magic or necromancy. Those rumors had only been mildly successful in driving up intrigue, enough to convince some to buy a useless book.

Only the Princesses really knew if the catacombs held such dangers, but even they knew little about it. All knowledge of the catacombs had been lost to time, the only stories surviving being casted into myth. One thing was for certain; the catacombs carried a strange magic which protected it. Expeditions into it in the past had proven that the maze had adverse effects on the mind, confusing a pony’s sense of direction and even effecting their memories. Less than a handful of explorers who dared to map the labyrinth ever came back out.

“Y-you’ve been in the catacombs? When? How? You couldn’t… That’s illegal, you know! Not even guard commanders are allowed down there!” I exclaimed. The rule of law regarding the catacombs was drilled into our heads upon being stationed in the city. No pony was allowed down there under any circumstances. That was one of the reasons why the royal guard made their headquarters as part of the castle grounds. The crystal caverns beneath the castle had the largest and most easily-accessible entrance to the catacombs.

Jet paused, though kept flipping through the book’s pages. It didn’t seem like she was actually reading any of it.

“Sorry… I knew it was illegal. I thought that, knowing some architecture, I could try to… navigate it. I did… Somehow… Found myself in passageways which led to the base of the mountain, and away from the city…”

If it was a regular conversation, I would have felt pure amazement at the mere thought. Jet was the first pony to have gone into the catacombs and found her way through them. But this wasn’t a regular conversation. I picked up on Jet’s subtle hints.

“… Jet, are you thinking about using the catacombs to escape?”

I studied Jet closely as I waited for any kind of response. Her posture and exhausted expression remained the same, even as she lifted her head from the book towards me. She didn’t need to say a word. I could see her answer in the way she looked at me.

“J-Jet, listen, I… I want to escape too, I want all of us to escape as much as you do…” I struggled to find the words I wanted, “B-but… we’re safe. It’s too dangerous to make any rash attempts now. We have to wait, until we know we can make it to the catacombs or whichever point safely. There’s… too much to risk if we try too quickly.”

Jet stared at me, then glanced back to her book. She silently closed it. “… I understand.”

Her words scraped against my ears like sandpaper. They only brought hopelessness and misery in meaning. It made me feel like I had just crushed her entire idea of possibly leaving this torturous existence. I felt like a coward.

“I didn’t- didn’t mean to upset you, Jet, I’m sorry. We’ll find a way, I promise.”

I switched over to Jet’s cot and sat beside her. Two months was a long time to be in hiding with someone, in cramped quarters with hardly any privacy. Even with so much time, Jet was still reluctant to any form of comforting. I quickly stopped myself from instinctively trying to place my hand on her shoulder.

Jet seemed to appreciate my best efforts. She sighed and stood up.

“I’m, ah… Going to find something to eat.” Jet said.

As I watched Jet leave the cots and search for food in the basement pantry, I couldn’t take my mind off of how I reacted to the hope of escape. Escaping Canterlot should be our primary plan for the future. We can’t stay in hiding forever…

But I was afraid, even if I didn’t realize it. Nearly every pony I cared for was lost in the rapid and torrential Fall. The one who I cared for most braved that storm to find her family, only to become lost in it.

… Maybe I just couldn’t stand the thought of losing myself, too.

The basement air felt heavy and thick. What was just a dusty basement had now become a fully lived-in space, complete with a collective stench of everything imaginable. From our own sweat-soaked and sweat-dried fur and hair, to the only working toilet down here losing all of its water. The cleaning chemicals Walnut offered to use only made it worse. The only way I could shrug off the malodors was to pick up my staff and keep myself busy.

I went in and out of my practice motions, trying my best to give weight to the staff as if I was holding my double bladed sword. Behind my closed eyes the basement that was my refuge faded away and transformed into the spacious and brightly lit training room at the castle ground barracks. The large walls that would echo my all-too childish fighting noises surrounded me, light seeping through their windows. The only thing missing was my instructions book for my exotic weapon. If only I had managed to save my notes.

Warm memories like those were comforting to replay in my thoughts, but I made sure to keep myself grounded. I wasn’t in the barracks anymore. And sound was a delicate thing that needed to be kept just as muted as our own existence beneath this house.

I kept my breaths and huffs as hushed as I could as Jet lied fast asleep on her cot. She had spent the majority of yesterday upstairs with Walnut. Her time up there had been almost constant ever since the beginning of the week. Walnut’s persistent visitors apparently took a liking to seeing him. Maybe there were advantages with that kind of friendliness to our conquerors, but Walnut was never happy about it. I suppose it was better than being a recluse though. The closer we were to the enemy, the farther we were from being noticed. That was a quote from some pony, I think.

Just as I decided I was done exercising for the day, the gentle click of the basement door gave way to Professor Walnut. He tip-toed down the creaking steps with a pile of books and papers in his arms.

“How is Jet?” He whispered to me. He slid his belongings onto the writing desk by the curtained window.

“Sleeping well,” I replied just as quietly, “She’s exhausted.”

Walnut couldn’t hold back a sigh. “I… I’m aware of the desperation of times like these, however… I can’t stop loathing myself for all of the crimes I’ve committed against her. I’m considering pleading with Jet to transition to a red collar.”

“You want her to transition? What’s the difference?” I asked, concerned.

“The caribou utilize a class-like system for their slaves, based on colors. Black, what Jet possesses now, is given to unwilling and resistant slaves. They are treated the most harshly. Red collars signify willingness, and are favored and treated somewhat better. Less pain, less trauma. More prized, if you will. Jet could ask for a red collar if she proclaims to be willing of her enslavement. It would help alleviate her exhaustion and torment…”

At this point in time, I had grown to trust Walnut with my life. The same self-loathing he just spoke of stuck to every word he uttered, especially with regards to Jet. He was truly looking for the best way to make things easier for her.

Walnut decided to shrug off the subject before I could try to console him. “So, it seems as though you are making good use of that old staff, yes? I’m glad it suits your needs.”

The staff I used as my proxy weapon was found by Walnut while he was scavenging for literature to save from the book burnings. He gave it to me as a present, something to ‘soothe my spirit’, as he put it. It does help, from time to time.

“Thanks, Professor. It’s been a great help when it comes to taking my mind off things.”

“I’m beyond pleased to hear that.”

Walnut turned his attention to the desk, sorting out the items he had brought down; studies, graphs and maps. As with most of his recent recoveries, these documents and literary works all had one subject in common; The Crystal Empire. I never asked exactly why he was gathering things about the Empire. What other reason does a scholar like him need to rescue pieces of history than for the sake of preserving it?

The Professor snapped me from my thoughts.

“I have a proposition for you, Chorus. A petition for your help with a project of mine…”

“A project?” I asked. Scholarly research wasn’t my field of expertise. Was he going to ask me to go out to salvage with him? No, he wouldn’t. That’d be suicide.

As I expected him to continue, Walnut abruptly turned away, walking to the far end of the basement to dig through shelves of boxes used for mailing and shipping items. It wasn’t long before he returned with something.

A rectangular box rested in Professor Walnut’s hands. Though it shared the same look as every other ancient thing down here, this box was unique. Its design spoke towards an older era, like a work of art created to stand out among everything else that history would create. It had no visible lock or pin to open it.

The Professor stopped. He froze like a statue and sighed deeply. As if he was about to cross a potential line that would have an unknown consequence. Or, perhaps, he was about to do something he had been planning to do for a long time.

Walnut pressed a tiny button on the side of the box. The top flipped open.

There was a collection of small objects inside. An old wooden smoking pipe, a rusted and dull medal of some kind, and a tiny shard of a red crystal, like something found in the Crystal Empire. But those were not what caught my eye as the Professor placed the box on the desk.

Walnut laid his hands into the box and carefully pulled out one of the strangest objects I had ever seen.

It was a cylinder, slightly bigger than a regular thermos. Its surface was a silver chrome, still glistening as though it was recently painted. Small indents marked the cylinder in a pattern which looked completely alien. I had never seen anything like it.

I found myself staring at the cylinder for quite some time, before the Professor caught my attention.

“… I feel as though I should continue my story.”

“Huh?”

“Do you recall when we first met? Fin had introduced me to you and… Shelly. And you had inquired to me about the Prodigy’s Cane. Fin might have told you that I enjoy telling that story often, however… I have never told it truthfully to some pony before. But now, I wish to tell you…

“… I had discovered the Prodigy’s Cane in a place called the Remnant Fell, a location with punishing terrain and dangerous weather in the southern Griffin Kingdoms. I do not know why, but I was gripped by an urge to explore this place on my own. I did so, and delved into an ancient complex of circular ruins which I decreed as the ‘Corona’. At its very center stood an enormous tower… At its base, I found the Cane. A series of… events, which followed, led me to realize that the Cane was a powerful artifact as old as the Corona ruins themselves. It was not made by the mage Meadowbrook, but by someone far older. Its abilities are untold, and now I fear it to be lost in the mayhem of the Fall…”

A memory flashed in my head of the day it happened. We were running out of the museum as caribou were destroying everything.

“I remember seeing a caribou take the Cane from its case in the museum. Are you saying we need to find it?”

Walnut shook his head. “No. It could be anywhere by now. There would be no possibility of us finding it.”

I nodded. “So then what’s the cylinder?”

“I cannot say.”

“You can’t say? Like you don’t know what it is?”

“No. I know exactly what it is. I cannot tell you.”

My ears twitched as I tried to comprehend him. “But I thought you had just said you were going to tell your story truthfully for the first time?”

“I did, indeed, say that. And the truth is that I cannot tell you. At the very most I can disclose, this object is very, very special. It was… given to me, so that I may give it to its proper owner. It is of great importance that it remains safe with me until then.”

“Professor Walnut, why are you telling me this? And why aren’t you telling Jet?”

Walnut’s eyes dropped to the floor. “As a… precaution. I do not know what might happen to us. I want to make sure at least you are aware of something that has taken up a great deal of importance in my life. As for Jet… It is not her fault, but… Jet has been in a state which I do not believe to be reliable for keeping secrets. Please, do not mistake my words as hurtful. She has been through much. But I’d rather speak to you than her.”

In the time I was listening to Walnut, I tried to fill in the blanks of his life’s story involving these artifacts. Did Princess Celestia give them to him to safe-keep in case anything happened, and the ruins were just a front to hide their origin? Or was Walnut some sort of agent for a group which new the truths of the past and the possible causes of the Fall? Ok, maybe I’m dipping too much into wild guesses. Was he an eccentric, boisterous and probably crazy stallion? Yes. But a liar? I don’t think so.

Walnut had already started speaking again. I quickly tuned back in to him.

“… been digressing somewhat this entire time. My initial proposition to you was to ask for your help in my research on the Crystal Empire. You see… due to my experiences and knowledge of such ancient artifacts as the Cane and the Cylinder, I have a suspicion as to why the Fall was so successful. I’m aware that you are no true scholar, but the amount of material I have here is quite a lot for one pony to go through. If I could have your help with this, Chorus, it would help me, and hopefully those in the future, understand just what led us to become so vulnerable.”

There was something about Walnut’s words which struck me as unusually bright. He had been speaking as though he had some kind of clue to the outcome of everything. That he had knowledge he didn’t fully understand, but knew that it meant there was hope for the future. I’d ask him about it, but he’d probably say he couldn’t tell me, for whatever reason. Thinking of it only made me anxious.

“Alright, Professor. I’ll help you with your research.”

A satisfied grin quickly appeared on Walnut’s mustached muzzle.

“Thank you. I’m truly grateful to be able to trust you with this, Chorus. In these times… trust is something that does not exist out there.”

Walnut left the cylinder’s box open as he ascended the stairs and disappeared behind the basement door.

I ran my fingers along the edges of the ancient box, once more gazing at the ominous cylinder which sat within it. It was only now when I noticed what was on the inside of the box’s lid; a small, folded note, like something found tagged onto a birthday gift.

Curiosity compelled me to read it.

For the mare with two minds.

This is the key.

- W.

One year in hiding

I never realized you could lose track of losing track of time. A few months of hiding away and I couldn’t tell what day of the week it was. Now, after a whole year… I don’t even remember it being a year. More like an eternity.

This was the usual rhetoric of creeping insanity that I’d murmur to myself from time to time. Though helping Walnut’s research on the Crystal Empire and spending time with Jet helped, the best cure for this was the writing desk by the curtained window. This is where I wrote whatever was on my mind to once again take myself away from the world. I scribbled thoughts and little stories of adventure and discovery onto whatever free paper was available, telling tales of brave explorers searching through the caverns of a dormant volcano, uncovering a citadel on the Moon, and finding artifacts of a long-forgotten civilization. It didn’t help that Walnut’s mysterious Cylinder was stuck in my mind, now that I was technically the co-guardian of it, or something.

In between the amateur epics and paper monologues, I’d find space to write letters. I’d written dozens upon dozens to my friends back home, to my parents, to Shelly… Every time I put the quill to the lines and wrote out their names, I thought it would bring me some kind of comfort. It never really did…

I stared emptily at the blank page in front of me, ready with quill in hand to pour my thoughts out.

… tap tap… tap…

My ears swiveled. That sound...

… tap… tap.

It was coming from the window.

I pushed back my chair and peeked past the window’s curtain. There, curiously peering back at me, was a pigeon. It might have been looking for seeds which could have rolled towards the window. I dismissed it for a moment, only to swing back to the bird as I noticed the emblazoned crest it carried around its neck.

“You’re a carrier pigeon!”

Carefully pushing open the window, I invited the pigeon with an open hand to come inside. It cooed softly and hopped onto my hand as I let the window fall back into place. The tiny crest resting around its neck had the symbol of the royal guard’s messengers. Pigeon’s like this one were often used to ferry letters quickly, usually from one city to another if the distance was short enough.

I gently stroked the bird’s chest as its claws gripped onto my finger. Sometimes I envied ponies who could understand what animals were saying. It must’ve been like opening a whole new world and the knowledge which came with it. Luckily, I didn’t need to understand this pigeon. Animals serving alongside the royal guard were trained to recognize its members. Somehow this pigeon found me here, even after an entire year…

I slipped a finger down the other side of the chiseled crest, searching for the tiny slot that would hold the bird’s assigned message. The slot was empty.

“No messages then. If you found me down here though, then maybe…”

An idea clicked in my mind. Whether it was a good one or a bad one, I didn’t care.

Placing the pigeon onto the desk, I scooped up my quill and tore out a small sheet of paper from the notepad. I wrote quickly on the scrap of paper and folded it into the tiniest square I could.

The pigeon trilled at me. It seemed interested in the note as I tucked it behind its crest, making sure it was secure.

“Alright, uhh… Do you have a name?”

The pigeon cooed once.

“Ah, right. Can’t understand you. Well, I hope you don’t mind if I call you something. How about… Hope?”

Another coo, though this one was peppier.

“I’ll take that as a yes!” I grinned.

With Hope in my hand, I stood up and pushed open the basement window. I lifted Hope up to the edge.

“Hope… I need you to go out and find a mare named Shelly. She’s a royal guard, like me. Aqua colored coat, teal mane and eyes. Well… You know, I don’t even know if you can see in color or not. Well, please, just try to find her and deliver that message. And if you can’t find her, look for any other ponies who could help us out and give the message to them. Can you do that?”

Hope’s head cocked and uttered what I decided was an understanding tweet.

“Thank you. Be safe, little guy. Er, girl. Whichever you are.”

With a flutter, Hope darted out of the window and zoomed out in sight. I shut the window and drew the curtain over it.

“You’re my only hope, Hope… I really should've picked a better name.” I mumbled as I returned to my seat at the desk. I fiddled with the quill and rested my head on my hand.

I couldn’t get my mind off of what I’d just done. I literally just tried to use a bird as a way to find help. I had never even spent time with any of the guard’s animal messengers here in Canterlot. Was this how desperation looked like? Somehow I could only smile at the concept of actually being crazy.

No. I made the right decision. I took an opportunity to let others know where I am. More importantly, there was a chance that I might reunite with the one pony who I wished every night that I could see again.

Hope’s teal feathers reminded me of Shelly.