Remembrance

Chapters

Rise and Shine
An Arvo About Canterlot
Never Forget the Fallen
An End and a Beginning...

Rise and Shine

“One, two, three…”

The familiar twangy opening riff of “Sweet Home Appleloosa” began to echo through Hunter’s quarters as he woke up, his cheek damp from the faint pool of drool on his pillow.

“Bleh!” He sat up, covers falling off his tan-colored body as he ran his hooves across his face, spitting bits of his mane out of his mouth. “I really need to get that cut. Yuck.” He could still feel a few clinging stands sticking to his tongue, and he ran his hoof down his face again, shaking his head as the wet bits of hair pulled free of his mouth and stuck to his chest.

The sound of his hooves hitting the wooden floor rang through the room, momentarily overpowering the voices echoing from the phonograph in the corner. He gave his head one last quick shake, feeling the bones of his neck pop and settle into a more comfortable position, and then trotted across the room to turn the device off. As much as he liked the song, and even though it’d be stuck in his head for the next little while, there was no point in leaving it on while he went to the showers for a quick wash.

He coughed, clearing his throat a little as the phonograph wound down, and then began humming the same tune himself, pausing by the mirror to give his wings a good stretch and check for any out-of-place feathers. As always, there were a few that he’d slept on wrong, and he nudged them back into place, alternating the stretching of each wing. It felt good, the rush of blood right down to the wingtips; and there was always a little shiver in return, making its way back and then down his spine.

“Now just to take care of you,” he said, glancing at his disheveled mane in the mirror. The straw-colored mass was normally unruly—he’d always been able to pull off the stylishly wild look with ease—but now that it was capable of laying across his shoulders rather than just touching them, his morning bed-mane was looking a bit bodgy. Or as Nova had put it, like it was “trying to choke him in his sleep.”

By the time he’d managed to get his mane looking at least somewhat like it didn’t belong in the pages of a comic book, his eyes had finally adjusted enough for him to turn on the rest of the magilights in his room, allowing him to make his way across it without stumbling over any of the knicknacks he’d already filled the place with. The easy chair with its cloud-cushion had been an obvious purchase; especially given the basic, wooden chair he had to use in his office. He deserved to be able to sit in something comfortable once in a while.

The second chair, on the other hoof, not so much. Who was going to use it when the barracks had a common room right down the hall? The table and the shelves, at least, he could argue the purpose of. But the chair he’d already considered selling on more than one occasion when he’d smashed into it in the middle of the night.

But if I did sell it, where would I put the stuff on it? he thought as he stepped over to it. He glanced down at the guitar laid across the seat, the familiar brown stetson that had been tossed on top of it. The towel from the showers he’d left hanging across the back.

Plus, selling it would take time. He glanced up at the duty chart he’d hung on the wall. The massive calender was surrounded by framed pictures and newspaper clippings, highlights of his home life and time in the Equestrian Rangers, but the calendar was the clear focus. There were dozens of notes written across the days in his own sloppy writing, marking out various hours and periods when he was the officer on duty or the days when he was working with various members of the team practicing something or other. There was hardly any time left on the chart to keep his own skills in practice, especially with the recent blocks of Kitchen Patrol that had been filling up his weeks.

I earned that, though, he thought, chuckling as he grabbed the edge of his towel with his teeth and flipped it over his back. One side was still a little damp from the morning before thanks to how it had been pressed against the seat, but that was alright. He was just going to use it to wash up before the morning’s workouts. He glanced back at the calendar, his eyes lingering on the red circle he’d drawn around the date. Today would be his first day off since they’d taken care of that whole mess with the golems almost two months ago.

Been looking forward to this for a while, he thought as he turned and trotted out of the room, his hoofsteps ringing out against the wood. He’d made it absolutely clear to Steel that there was one day out of the year that—barring some sort of grave emergency—he wanted off. Especially after the last few weeks of KP. I don’t think I’ll feel like looking at a potato for quite some time. Or an onion.

The hallway was empty, which wasn’t too surprising. He usually was up a few minutes before the rest of the team. Except for Steel, who somehow always managed to be up and waiting for everypony in the training yard, ready to go.

Leads from the front, Hunter thought as he pushed the door to the showers open and stepped inside, his hooves ringing off the tile. A shiver rolled over his coat, and for a moment he wished that he was there to do more than just wash his face.

The cool in the air was nothing compared to the shock of the cold water as it poured over his muzzle. His eyes almost opened in surprise, and he wondered if he would find ice in his coat when he pulled away.

He continued humming the twangy guitar tune as he rubbed his hooves across his cheeks and forehead, sweeping away the sandy feel of sleep that had caked itself across his face. And the drool. Definitely the drool.

Going to be a pretty good day, he thought as he shut the water off, allowing himself one last shiver as he toweled his face off and then tossed the damp cloth into the laundry bin. Just have to do the morning exercises, and then I can go get my mane cut, pick up some flowers and…

The tune in his head faltered slightly, a faint, familiar gaping pang that something was missing making itself known in his chest.

And then that, he thought, his smile fading briefly. Then it was back as he shook his head.

No sense being sour for everypony else, he thought, humming the opening notes of “Appleloosa” once more as he headed for the doors. But the ache didn’t leave. He could feel it, resting just inside his chest.

It happens every year, Hunter, he told himself as he stepped out into the hall, switching his hum to a whistle and grinning as he passed Sabra in the hall. It’s nothing to be worried about.

He was just about to turn to head out of the barracks when the floor shook underfoot, a muffled bang echoing from the doors that lead to Sky Bolt’s workshop. Moments later one of the doors swung open, a thick, grey smoke spilling into the hallway along with a familiar grey pegasus.

“Something go wrong?” he asked as she shoved the door shut behind her, cutting off the flow of smoke.

“Huh?” she asked, putting a hoof to her ears. Her face was covered in soot, and her sky-blue mane was sticking backwards at odd angles. There were a few wisps of smoke coming off of it as well, wisps that probably weren’t just from the cloud of smoke that had spilled out the doors. “What was that?”

“A bit of a gutser?” he asked again, a bit more loudly, pointing one hoof at doorway. Sabra poked his head out of the showers, his eyes widening as he saw Sky Bolt sitting on the floor, her wings spread wide against the workshop entrance.

“What?” she said as the black-and-grey zebra darted out of the showers over towards her, water dripping off of his coat. “No, no, just something that didn’t quite work the way I’d wanted it too.” She turned her attention to Sabra as the zebra knelt next to her, still speaking a little more loudly than she likely intended to, but clearly appreciating the attention. “I’ll get it!” she called as he turned away.

See? he told himself as he headed for the front doors. That happens at least once a week, and there’s nothing out of the ordinary about that. Though it was tempting to wonder if Sabra’s attention after each minor explosion might be causing her to be just a bit less careful than normal.

He felt another twitch of emotion in his chest at the thought, and he gave his head a shake. No time to think about that now. He gave the pair one last look, Sabra helping the mare to her hooves, and then grinned as he stepped out the front doors.

* * *

Oh, now that feels good, Hunter thought as the shower started up. Steam billowed around him as the piping hot water poured over his shoulders and back, sweeping down his already darkened sides and drizzling to the floor alongside a slick of sweat. He let out a faint sigh of contentment as he ducked his head under the spigot, his ears lying flat on his head as the warm rush of water pressed down into his mane.

Would have been nice to have something like this out in the Everfree, he thought as he tugged at his mane with one hoof. I don’t mind a cold shower most of the time, but when it’s already cold out … An unconscious shiver ran through him as he thought back on those days. The Everfree Outpost had come equipped with a temperamental water heater, the kind that had only worked when it had wanted to and never held enough water for even a decently warm shower. As a pegasus, he was fairly resistant to extremes of cold, but showering in cold water when there was already ice on the deck?

Perks of the new job,he thought as he reached for the large jug of shampoo he’d set by the door to the shower stall. He ducked his head under the faucet again, sending a fresh wave of water cascading down his mane. And a welcome one. Autumn had come at last, with a shock and a fervor that had seen ponies all across Canterlot scrambling to get their winter clothing ready in the wake of the abrupt shift from warm, lingering days to sudden cold.

He chuckled as he dumped a dollop of shampoo across one hoof and smeared in his mane. And then there was Sabra. The stallion had already started wearing a scarf to the morning exercises even before the chill of fall had hit in earnest. Now that the crisp autumn air was starting to leave icy sheens across pond surfaces, the poor zebra looked like all he wanted to do was curl up in a blanket somewhere and wait out winter.

Acclimation from where he’s from must take a while, he thought. Come to think of it, hadn’t the diplomat from the Plainslands been heavily bundled the last time he’d seen her? And it’s only going to get colder. He wasn’t too worried, though. Sabra had survived a winter in the mountains before he’d joined the team. He might not be fond of it, but he’d soldier on.

The door to the stallions showers opened, and Hunter glanced over the wall of his stall, peering out with one soapy eye as a large, familiar, olive-green mass of muscle moved into the stall next to him. “Morning, Lieutenant.” It was Steel Song, Captain of the Dusk Guard.

“Morning, boss,” he replied, closing his eye again and rubbing his mane with both hooves. The sound of his shower jumped in pitch, water pressure lowering slightly as the captain turned on his own shower. “What’s the word this morning?”

There was a thump as the large stallion shifted in his stall. “Nothing much. Team looks like it’s doing well with the weather change. Even Sabra.”

Hunter let out a chuckle as he leaned his head forward into the shower spray, soap running down the sides of his head and chest. “Yeah, I was just thinking about him. He looks pretty cold, even with that scarf. Are you thinking of asking him to wear more gear?”

“Close,” Steel said. There was another thump from his side of the stall and Hunter pulled his head back from his own spray, glancing over to see Steel busily pulling a brush down one foreleg. “Dawn’s expressed a little concern about it, too. Her suggestion was that we start easing up on the workouts a little, focus a little on acclimatization exercises to get him to adjust. What do you think?”

Hunter paused, his own hoof halfway toward his brush. “Do we want to do that? Cut the workouts short, I mean.”

Steel shrugged, water cascading off of his shoulders in a sheet and hitting the floor with a wet smack. “As long as the team doesn’t drop its trim, I think we could at least afford to reduce the load a little, at least for the winter. She made a strong case for it.”

“We could double up on armor-training exercises to compensate,” Hunter said, dabbing his brush in the tray of soap he’d put in the corner and then running it down his side. He could feel the hot muscles relaxing as the brush moved over them. “Not as much of a temperature problem, keeps the team in a good nick.”

Steel nodded. “Good idea. We could use some more practice with the armor anyway. Both for the mods and the changes Sky Bolt’s made.”

“The mark-two plating?”

Steel nodded. “Yeah. I’d barely gotten used to the first model, and she’s already changing it.”

“I saw that first model, boss,” Hunter said, switching sides with his brush. “You might not have been used to it, but you got plenty of use out of it.”

“Yeah,” Steel said, nodding but not expounding further. Hunter shifted, turning in his stall and letting the spray wash over his back legs.

“So, double up on armor training, cut the workout time in half,” Steel said at last, nodding. “I’ll talk with Dawn about it later today. Check it out with her. She might have objections or suggestions as well.”

“Well, I’ll ask about it when I get back tonight,” Hunter said, grinning. “You can fill me in then.”

The captain nodded. “Right, speaking of which, where are you planning to be most of the day? In case we need to contact you for another emergency.”

“Like that hydra attack in the warehouse district a week ago?” Hunter asked with a glance at Steel. The solidly built stallion didn’t even flinch. The captain still hadn’t given a satisfactory answer about what exactly had gone down that day, at least not to him. Something about a magical accident and a broad writ of silence from Princess Celestia, and an assurance that it wasn’t going to happen again.

“Not quite,” Steel said, ducking his head under his own shower spray, his short-cropped silver mane ruffling under the water flow. “But close enough. Both the Princesses have been asking after the team lately. I think whatever this mysterious mission they’ve got for us, it’s getting close.”

“And they still won’t tell you what it is?” Hunter asked, nodding. It looked like he wasn’t the only one who was being kept in the dark on a few things.

“Only that it’ll be somewhere in the northern reaches of Equestria,” the captain said, shaking his head. “So cold, dangerous, and possibly long.”

Hunter nodded. The Crystal Mountains then. Home to any number of dangerous wildlife and natural hazards, and uninhabited unless you counted the more eastern reaches near Manehatten. But what would the Princesses be deploying them there for?

“Right,” he said, running his head over his plans for the day. “Well, I don’t have a spot on plan for the day, but I’ve got a few highlights. Gonna go get this cut, for one.” He gave his mane a small shake, the end whipping back and forth across his shoulders. “Swing by the local Ranger building and see if anyone I know is there. Not much past that, mostly just killing time until this evening.” That was what the day was all about, after all. It wasn’t just a day off to do as he pleased, though he’d be doing a bit of that. “I’ll probably just end up flying around until then. Just stretch my wings for a few hours.”

“No trip to Ponyville?”

He shook his head. “No, Derpy’s busy this week.” Although she hadn’t been happy about that, and had even asked him if he’d wanted her to take the day off to come see him. He’d told her no; he knew how tight things were for her and Dinky. She was needed in Ponyville, not in Canterlot visiting him. “And Thistle’s out of town on another long-distance delivery.” He let out a small chuckle. “Crikey, if I get bored enough, I might just come back early, run some armor drills with those mods or something.” He set the brush down and shifted again, the hot spray rolling over his sides and shoulders, soap running down his legs and across the tile in large, pillowy masses. He sometimes wondered if soap piles felt to him the same way clouds felt to a non-pegasus.

“But not before you—”

“Yeah, not before that,” he said, interrupting Steel before he could finish his sentence. The captain closed his mouth, nodding. Hunter glanced at the empty shower stalls around them, looking for something to change the subject with.

“Where are Sabra and Nova?”

“Sabra’s doing his usual post-morning-workout workout down by the training fields,” Steel said. “And Nova’s talking with Dawn before she has her meet with Sky Bolt and then leaves for her day off. Something about some possible alternative exercises to get his magic potential to stay at peak.”

“Right,” Hunter said, setting down his brush and ducking his head under the shower spigot for one final, toasty warm rinse. I forgot Dawn was taking the day as well, he thought as the warm water rolled down his back. No wonder he wants me to keep in touch, with a third of his team off for the day.

“Lieutenant,” Steel said, and Hunter felt his shoulders stiffen.

“Yeah?”

“Dawn asked me to remind you—”

She would, Hunter thought.

“—that if you want to talk to anypony about it, she’s willing to listen, regardless of what day it is. And for that matter, so am I.” Steel was giving him a somber look now.

He nodded, but didn’t say anything. Let him say it.

“I know what it’s like to lose someone you care about,” Steel said, glancing down at the tile beneath his hooves before looking back up at Hunter. “ I’ve seen a lot of friends over the years not make it back. I might not have had the same experience you did, or been as close, but I know a bit of what it’s like. If you want to talk to someone or just reminisce, I’ll make the time.”

“I understand, Captain,” he said, nodding. “And thanks for the offer, but I don’t want to make a big beat up about it.” The small hole inside his chest began to smolder slightly, as if someone had blown across a pile of smoldering embers and brought them back to a burning glow. “I’ll be alright, I think.”

“Your call,” Steel said, nodding. “I just wanted to let you know that the offer’s there.”

“I appreciate it. I really do,” he said. “I’ll keep it in mind, but I think I’ll be alright.” The shower handle let out a faint squeak as he closed it off, the soft rushing sound the water had made dying off as the flow trickled to a halt. “And I’ll keep my head up. Anything crazy happens, I’ll head back here.” He ran his hooves down his sides, water welling up out of his coat in front of each hoof, leaving a marginally dryer patch behind. “But it’s been a few years. I’ll be fine.”

Steel nodded. “Well, the offer stands. I know how it feels sometimes. Dawn too.”

“I know,” Hunter said, opening the stall door as the embers in his chest cooled once more. “But I think I’ll be alright.” He grabbed his towel and tossed it over his back, running it across his shoulders and beneath his wings. Still need to get those taken care of … Or I could just let the barbershop take care of it. They could deal with a little bit of the stubble that was threatening to poke out of his muzzle too.

“Alright then,” Steel said with a nod. “Then enjoy your day off, Lieutenant.” He gave a quick, precise salute.

“Thanks, boss,” Steel said, grinning as he returned the salute. “I think I will.” He turned and began walking out of the showers.

“And get that mane cut!” Steel called after him with a laugh as he walked into the hall. “Or I’ll have Dawn hold you down and shave it!”

An Arvo About Canterlot

A bell above the door let out a sharp ring as Hunter pushed it open, a cheery, almost gleeful jingle that brought a smile to his face. Ahead of him, a row of almost a dozen carefully designed wooden chairs lined one wall of the barbershop, each in front of a large set of mirrors that allowed patrons to examine themselves while their manes were cut. A small, striped barbershop’s pole, a smaller twin to the one outside the shop’s entrance, sat just to his right, near a series of empty chairs set aside for those ponies or sapients who were waiting for a cut or a style, though at the moment only two of them were occupied.

Not waiting for a cut, he guessed, his eyes picking out the three empty seats on the row of barbers chairs. He ran his eyes over the assorted patrons, trying to match the pair loitering in the waiting area with whoever they’d come in with. He paused, waiting as both of them looked up at him, and then their eyes darted in the direction of whoever they were waiting on. The first stallion, a beige unicorn with a puffy, warm coat thrown over his shoulders, glanced in the direction of a unicorn mare who appeared to be getting her coat enchanted. Probably for a party or some other social function.

The second however, a light blue earth pony mare, surprised him by glancing at a lone griffon who was having his talons sharpened. For a moment Hunter was curious, but then he caught the small crest of the Equestrian Diplomatic Corp on her saddlebags, and he made a mental nod. Of course. She was probably his attache.

“Welcome to Canterlot Cuts, can I help you?” a cheerful voice asked from behind the front desk. A brightly colored wing waved, and Hunter stepped forward.

“Yes, I’d like—whoa.”

The young pegasus colt grinned proudly, puffing out his chest. “You like it?”

“It’s … unique,” Hunter said, cocking his head to one side. “That’s not a natural look, is it?” The colt’s mane was a bright, almost tropical green, two-toned with a vivid purple spike that cut right down one side. It was clashing violently—no, he corrected himself—waging active war against the colt’s bright orange coat, a war that promised to blind everyone nearby. Worse yet, the colt’s undersized wings were multicolored, a spread of shades of orange that started light near his body and then changed as the color traveled out towards the tips, becoming a truly noxious shade of orange by the final feathers.

The colt laughed and shook his head. “Nope, thankfully not. It’s a glamour.” He tapped his hoof against the side of his head. “Here, watch. Hey Flare, can I get a purple mane?”

A unicorn stallion tending to the mare that was getting her coat enchanted looked up, his horn flashing a bright blue. The colt’s mane lit up in time, the strands changing from the almost noxious green to a darker purple.

“See?” the colt asked, tilting his head from one side to the other to show off the finished product. “It only lasts a few hours, and doesn’t mix well with other spells, but if you’re looking for a quick, easy coat or mane change, it’s only a dozen bits.”

“No thanks,” Hunter said with a quick shake of his head. “Not my thing.” Plus, I’d rather not have everypony glancing at me like I’m starkers. “Just a basic cut for me. I need a few inches taken off of my mane and my tail needs a trim. Oh, and a shave.”

“Wings too?” the colt asked, grabbing a pencil and making a series of quick notations. Hunter eyed the colt’s cutie mark, a small amplifier with a music note coming out of it.

“Yeah, wings too,” he said, wondering what the mark stood for. Something musical, clearly, but past that there wasn’t anything about the colt that could give him any clues.

“Cool,” came the response. There was a buzz as the colt’s wings fluttered, and then he was standing on the floor, the paper he’d jotted down held in his teeth. “This way.”

“Right,” Hunter said, following the colt down the line of chairs toward the end. He could have just pointed and told me, he thought. But I guess when you’re looking to get to your hooves ... He glanced at the griffon as they passed, his eyes checking the coloration of the plumage. The feathers were a spotted mix of grey and golden brown, and the attendant unicorn working on the plumage seemed to be doing her best to bring out the golden sheen in the feathers—though not entirely naturally, if the damp preening brush she was using was any indication.

I wonder if Blade used to come here, he thought as the colt stopped by the furthest back chair, motioning for Hunter to sit. If they serviced griffons regularly—which they likely did, judging from the manedresser’s skill and speed—than there was a chance she had.

Come to think of it, I wonder what she’s doing now? he thought as he took the seat, settling his chest against the well-polished wood and welcoming the distraction to his thoughts. There had been her initial disappearance, then his subsequent chewing out from Princess Luna and Steel when he’d told them what he’d done, which had only compounded when there had been that whole fiasco with the train to Northgait. Reports past the border were hard to come by, but what little he’d been able to pick up from the Guard stationed at the edge said that the already unstable Ocean had taken a swift turn for the worse in the last few weeks.

I’d bet my next two month’s paychecks she’s involved in it somehow, he thought. Hopefully she comes out on top. He’d never been to the Ocean of Endless Ice, but Steel had, and the stories he’d painted of the place had been a stark contrast to the more romanticized tales that tended to fill dime novels or circulate among the popular crowd.

There’s nothing I can do but wait until she contacts—

“Hunter?” A loud voice interrupted his thoughts and he turned in surprise.

Is that—it is! “Clipper?” he said, his eyes widening. “I’ll be gobsmacked!”

“Tartarus, boy, that is you!” The dark-blue unicorn said in his loud, boisterous tone, stepping forward and clapping one hoof on Hunter’s shoulder as he gave him a hoofshake with the other. “I’d know that ridiculous accent anywhere!”

“You’re one to talk, you old blue,” Hunter said. “You still trying to convince everyone that that beat up of an accent of yours is how everyone talks out in Horseshoe Bay?”

“It is how everyone talks out there, and don’t ye’ forget it!” the old unicorn said, tossing his dark red mane. “Anypony who says otherwise ‘s just trying to be polite.” He let out a loud laugh that echoed through the shop. “You can go now, lad,” he said, looking down at the pegasus colt. “Hunter ‘n I are old friends. I’ll keep him out of trouble.”

“Any place that’d give you access to razors isn’t worried much about trouble,” Hunter said, grinning. “But a barber? You?”

“Aye,” the unicorn said, tapping his chest with one hoof as his horn lit up with a dark, old-growth green. “I’m forty-two now, so I had no choice. Forced retirement. Too old for you young whelps in the Rangers. That’s your game now.”

“Actually, it isn’t,” Hunter said, pulling his stetson off and shaking his head as he passed it to Clipper. The unicorn hung it nearby and then picked up a pair of scissors and a comb with his magic. “I quit a few months ago.”

“You did?” The various cutting implements that Clipper had been picking up came to a sudden stop. “Tartarus, lad. I’d have thought you’d ended a forced retiree like myself. What happened?” He twisted, his eyes going to Hunter’s wings and then his legs. “Accident?”

“No, no, no,” Hunter said, shaking his head. “I got a better offer.”

Clipper’s eyes narrowed. “A better offer? What kind of offer?”

“You heard of the Dusk Guard?”

There was a pause as the unicorn fixed him with one piercing eye. “By Celestia’s beard,” he said after a moment, his rough, gravelly voice lifting in pitch for a moment. “You joined the Guard?”

“Special division,” Hunter said, grinning a little. “I’d tell you more, but some of it’s on the low-and-low, you know?”

“Well, if that doesn’t beat all,” Clipper said with a shake of his head. “By the way, how short do you want this cut?”

“Just take a few inches off,” Hunter said. Then he nodded at Clipper’s flank and the stylized falcon sitting on it. “You still falconing?”

“Of course!” Clipper said, grinning and then motioning for Hunter to look forward. “Of course, it’s a bit different now. Not as much of a focus on using her to look for missing ponies or track migrations. More just for fun and sport now, and maybe the odd bit of private work.”

“Private work?”

“Private camping retreats, things like that,” Clipper said with a laugh. “The ponies around here’ll pay a good pile of bits to see a falcon dive out of the sky and grab an apple out of somepony’s hoof.” There was a pause, followed by a tug at Hunter’s mane. “So, you quit a few months ago. Were you still part of team Fox?”

“Fox?” Hunter said, ruffling his feathers. “Crikey, it has been a while since I’ve seen you. I split ways with Fox almost eight years ago. Transferred over to the Foal Mountain branch near Hollow Shades.”

“Ah. Team Bear,” Clipper said, nodding.

“Yeah, flew with them for a year or two, but started being a free agent after a while, hopping all over, working with whoever needed me. And then …” He paused. Again the day had brought that up.

“Then the accident,” Clipper said, the steady rhythm of his scissors slowing. “I was out in San Palomino at the time, but I heard about that.”

“Yeah.” He let the word hang in the air, hoping Clipper would catch the hint. His throat swelled a little as his chest began to heat up.

“So what about after that?” the unicorn asked, the rhythm of the scissors picking up once more. “You said you quit a few months ago, but there’s a big gap in there. Tartarus, I retired a little over a year after that happened.”

“Not much, actually,” Hunter admitted. “I transferred to one of the small outposts. Everfree.” Clipper nodded but didn’t say anything. “I just wanted to get away from things for a while.”

“Did it work?”

Hunter started to reply but then reconsidered. “It did … to a certain extent.” If not for one determined, kind-hearted mailmare, it would have. “It wasn’t boring all the time, true dinkum. Sometimes it was downright starkers.” His wings flared out slightly as he thought about it, and Clipper stepped to one side.

“I’ve heard that town draws crazy like a seapony draws sailors,” Clipper said.

“Well, it’s true. If it isn’t Nightmare Moon herself messing with the forest—”

There was a brief but noticeable pause in the clipping scissors.

“—it’s two kids cracking a fruity and waking up an Ursa Minor or the local vet rolling a cart of tasty-looking frogs past a hibernating hydra. I tell you, Clipper, it had its perks, but when that town decides to go nutty it doesn’t go halfway.” He let out an exasperated sigh. “That job was equal parts calm relaxation and nightmarish terror.”

“What, and working for the Guard isn’t?”

“Fair point,” he admitted as another lock of his mane bounced off of his shoulder and landed on the floor. “But at least there I’m with a team again.” And facing down a rampaging golem is pretty different from a rampaging chimera. “Plus, I got a pay raise.”

“Not bad. Seen anyone from the old team since you jumped ship?”

“No, not since then. I swung by the HQ here earlier this morning, but it was full of newbies and a few old administrators I never talked much with anyway. Everfree’s actually pretty much a bush job. You’ve probably got a better idea than I have.”

“There, all done,” Clipper said, nodding and giving the chair a gentle push with his magic so that Hunter could get a better look at the new cut. His mane was dangling just a few inches above his shoulders, but still covering the back of his neck, and Clipper had even kept the same, ragged, uneven look to the ends. “Are any of them stationed nearby?”

“Looks good,” Hunter said, giving his head a quick shake and watching as the mane settled in an even more natural position. “And no, none of them are. I think a few members from Bear transferred to Ferret. They’re south of Cloudsdale this time of year.”

“Aye, keeping all the wrong varmints out o’ the fields,” Clipper said, pushing the chair the rest of the way around and going to work on Hunter’s tail.

“Yeah, and I really don’t feel like flying all the way out there just to say ‘hi,’” Hunter said, nodding as he looked over the barbershop once more. A few of the patrons had changed, and the griffon was up by the counter, busily counting out bits with the help of his aide.

Actually, no, Hunter thought as he took a closer look at the way the pair was standing, the mare leaning ever so slightly into the griffon’s shoulder, the warm grateful smile the griffon gave her in return as she helped him count out the proper change, and the way he thanked her as the colt behind the desk took his payment.

Huh, he thought as the pair moved towards the door, the griffon giving her a playful bump with his shoulder, one she returned with a laugh as they walked out. I wonder if she met him in the Empire or if he met her over here? Griffon and pony relationships were rare, though more common than they would have been centuries ago when the two nations were staring at one another over crossed blades. Still, the sight of a hippogriff—a pony and griffon mixture—was so rare he’d only ever seen one in his entire life.

He realized that Clipper had asked him a question, and he scrambled to catch up. “Um, yeah,” he said, nodding as he glanced back at the dark-blue stallion. “In case of emergency or something. I can’t go too far.”

“So when do you have to be back on duty?”

“Around seven tonight,” he said. “It’s actually eight, but I’ve got some things I need to take care of first, so I’m just going to bite the bit and get it done.”

“What about plans for before then?”

Hunter shrugged. “Lunch, an errand or two. Maybe some flying, just to stretch my wings a little. And then a visit before I go back to the station.” His throat tightened up a little more as he thought about it.

“A visit to … the memorial?” Clipper said, haltingly as he guessed what he’d meant.

“Yeah,” Hunter said, his chest feeling hot and hollow. “The memorial.”

“To see—”

“Yeah.”

“How long’s it been?”

“Four years ago today,” Hunter said, nodding.

“Oh,” Clipper said, pausing. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s …” He swallowed, forcing the lump in his throat down. “It’s fine.” The scissors started up again.

“Still,” Clipper said, “It wasn’t fair, Hunter. I know it wasn’t anypony’s fault, but it wasn’t fair.”

“I’d—” Hunter’s voice caught and he swallowed. His chest was burning now, hot and hollow, the void growing inside of him, but he could feel a faint ocean waiting just past it, waiting to rush in. Not here, not now. “If—” He coughed, clearing his throat. “If you don’t mind, let’s talk about something else.”He pushed the void back, closed his eyes for a moment and forced it to hold itself back inside. “Like how your team’s been since you retired. Last I saw you, you were still stationed out near Horseshoe. Team Crab, right? Why’d you switch?”

“That’s fine,” Clipper said quickly. “And yeah, I think I switched away from Crab when I decided I wanted to take advantage o’ the fact that I could travel a lot more as a Ranger.” Hunter nodded. It was one of the reasons a lot of ponies in the service switched, to get the experience of moving from place to place.

“After fifteen years o’ living in the bay, I figured I’d try something different for a change.”

Hunter nodded, the burning sensation in his chest fading. “Can’t get much different than going from the Bay to San Palomino.”

“No,” Clipper said with a chuckle, tugging at Hunter’s tail. “You can’t.”

“How’d Pierce like it?” Hunter asked. “That was your falcon’s name, right? Pierce?”

“Loved it,” came the response. “Took a few days for her to adjust, but she loved it in the end, right to the end. Aye,” he said, nodding, “I think it was one of the best choices I made for her when she was getting on in years. Lots of warm air, easy for her to fly in, plenty to hunt.”

“You meet anypony from our old group out there?” Hunter asked, moving his mind over to happier things and feeling the lump lessen with each passing moment. “I thought Dust Storm went down there.”

“She did!” Clipper said, his voice picking up. “Still lives there too.”

“Lives there?” Hunter asked, glancing back. “Did she quit?”

“Ha! As if!” Clipper said with a laugh. “That mare got married. Hooked up with one of the native colts and took over team administration.”

“She still got that temper?” Hunter asked, grinning as he remembered the red mare’s fiery personality.

“Hah!” Clipper said. “She’s only tempered with age. She’s calm enough as long as everypony does what she says, but you put one hoof out of line and she’ll live up to her name quick enough.”

Hunter laughed along with him as he settled his body into the seat, already digging up other names from twenty years of shared Ranger experience. He still had the shave and the wing-treatment to go through, and it was his day off.

He could reminisce. He’d earned it.

* * *

“Right now, be sure to swing by again, you hear?”

Hunter flexed his wings as he stepped out the door, glancing back one last time at the old unicorn. “Don’t worry, I will.”

“And next time, I want to hear a bit more about what you’re up to, woodspony,” Clipper said. “After all the talking I did this time.”

“We’ll see,” Hunter said, chuckling as the bell gave one one final ring, cut off half-way by the closing door. He gave his head one last shake, the freshly-cut mane hanging just short of his shoulders. “Well, now what?”

He ran over his mental checklist, a faint tremor rolling through his chest despite the light-hearted feeling he was currently holding. Right, only one other stop to make, and then…

As he moved down the street, his hooves ringing off of the paved stones, he glanced up at the sun, trying to make a rough gauge of the time and decide whether or not he should just fly to his next stop. I spent longer getting my mane cut than I thought. The sun was well past the noon position, almost deep into the afternoon. Much later, he thought, glancing up and down the street to make sure no one was nearby and then spreading his wings.

A few wingbeats later and he was up in the sky, climbing past the rooftops and rising over the section of the city he was in. His stomach let out a low growl as he swung past a purple and gold tower, a faint reminder that he hadn’t had a lunch yet.

Should I get lunch now? he thought, glancing in the direction of one of the cities many restaurant districts. His stomach let out another little growl and he slowed his forward momentum, tilting his wings slightly. It’s a little late to be lunch, but definitely early to be dinner.

On the other hoof, if I get everything done now, I can get in before the dinner rush and maybe get some nice grub. Not that the food in the Guard cafeteria was bad, but even so…

Why not do both? He almost stopped in the air, shocked. It wouldn’t be so bad. In fact, that’s a pretty good idea. He’d probably save a little composure that way anyway. So then who nearby does takeout? He’d picked out the right store for his gift, now he just needed—

“Hello, Hunter,”

He let out a yelp as he spun around in the air, snapping his wings backward to put some distance between him and the unexpected voice.

“Wow,” Thistle said, her pink eyes wide as she came to a stop in the air. “Sorry, I thought I’d surprise you, but … Are you all right?”

“I, uh—yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “I am, I was just a little distracted, and you surprised me.”

“I guess I did,” she said, moving a little closer with a quick tip of her wings. “What were you doing?”

“Just … Just running over my schedule in my head and trying to figure a few things out,” he said. “I spent a little too long getting my mane cut, and now I’m behind schedule.”

“I thought you had a day off?” she said, drifting a little to one side.

“I do,” he said. “I’m just trying to figure out where to stick everything in before I have to go back on duty. Weren’t you working today?”

“I called in a favor, got somepony else to take it,” she said, smiling. “I figured I’d see what you were up to. Someone at the barracks said you were downtown, so I figured if I ran into you …” she let the words trail off, a faint smile on her lips. “Maybe I could help out with whatever it is you’re doing?”

“I …” He paused. Crikey, this is a mess. Now what do I tell her? I don’t want to push her away, but this is something … this is something I need to be alone for. Plus, she looks so much like her...

“I’m sorry,” he said, feeling a little more of the joyous feeling he’d had leaking away. “But I’m already late and—” Her face turned downward a little, the quick beat in her wings slowing. “I’m sorry, Thistle, but I’ve already got these plans laid out and …” It was a shonky excuse.

“Okay,” she said, her periwinkle coat seeming to almost dim as she drooped a little in the air. “That’s all right, I’ve got other things I can do.”

“I’m really sorry,” he said. Come on, think, think! Give her a better explanation than that! “It’s just, I have an appointment set up, and—”

“It’s fine,” she said, nodding, although he could see the disappointment in her face. “You’re on duty later tonight, right?”

He nodded.

“Well, since I’m in town, maybe I’ll stop by and say ‘hi’ then. But I won’t keep you.”

“Again, I’m really sorry—” he began. She cut him off with a wave of her hoof.

“No, it’s my fault really,” she said with a shrug. “That’s what I get for dropping on you all unexpected. And I can tell I was!” She grinned, and he couldn’t help but give her a smile back. “And before I let you go, I really do like the new mane cut. It looks good on you.”

“Really?” he said, changing his angle slightly in the air.

“True dinkum,” she said in a passable imitation of his own accent. She winked at him as he let out a genuine laugh of surprise. “See you later!” Then the periwinkle mare was gone, her sea-green mane whipping through the air as her broad wings carried her across the city skyline.

For a moment he watched her go, just long enough that he was sure she saw him looking when she glanced back, and then he turned and started south, cutting over the buildings as he headed for a shop a few blocks over. Part of him had wanted to ask her to come, but logic had won out. This was for him, and him alone.

He spotted a food cart that occupied the same street as the shop he was looking for and he banked towards it, searching for the clearest part of the street to land in. It wasn’t exactly a hard search, the street was mostly clear, but he didn’t want to ruffle anypony’s feathers by landing too close.

A minute later he was trotting down the street with a large, hot meal packed carefully into his saddlebags—a much larger portion than he’d planned on getting when he’d walked up. But the smell had been so appealing, and the salesmare so upbeat, that he’d found himself ordering enough for several ponies in addition to himself.

Or maybe it’s just the appeal of hot soup on a cold autumn day,he thought as he pushed the boutique door open and stepped in, the scent of the warm meal on his back getting swept away by the plethora of smells inside the shop. His stomach let out an even hungrier growl.

“Hey now,” a cream-colored unicorn mare cautioned from behind the counter with a chuckle. “My wares will taste good, but these are for showing, then eating. If you’re looking for a full meal, you’d get more bang for your buck at a salad bar.” She grinned as he stepped past the colorful rows of carefully positioned floral arrangements and up to the counter. “Although I think that might be some of Yung’s soup,” she said with a quick sniff. “Unless I’m mistaken.”

“The soup cart up the street?” Hunter asked. The mare nodded. “Yeah, it’s from there. It smells good.”

“Tastes good, too,” the mare said, smiling and flicking her auburn mane back. “I know, I sell him some of the petals he uses to bring the flavor out in his egg soup. So, what can I get for you?”

“Name’s Hunter,” he said, tipping his hat slightly. “I placed an order by messenger a day or so ago.”

The mare tilted her head back for a moment, thinking, and then clapped one hoof down on the counter. “Right, Hunter!” She dropped down slightly from whatever she was sitting on and stepped around the edge of the counter. “That was a big order. Must be for somepony really special.”

Hunter nodded. “She is.”

She must have caught the slight catch in his tone because she nodded. “I see. That kind of situation, huh? Well hold on.” She trotted down one of the aisles, her horn lighting up a bright, cheery green as she began to pick up flower after flower. “I’ve got a few extras here I don’t need that might spice up what you ordered. This’ll be one of the best bouquets you could give her.”

“Well, actually—”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said as she trotted back past him, a dozen or so flowers caught in her telekinetic grip. “I won’t charge you any extra. I was going to have to throw these out tonight anyway, probably. Just take them, and I hope she likes them.”

“Thanks,” he said, nodding as she stepped through a doorway into what was probably some kind of workshop. No sense trying to square the circle and talk her out of a little generosity. She walked out of the back a moment later, a massive, orange bouquet held in her magic. The flowers she’d plucked from the store shelves darted around it like hummingbirds, finding their way into small patches of green.

“Well, here you are,” she said, smiling at him as she set the bouquet on the counter. “Orange roses, carnations, daisies and lilies. With a few extra. Very seasonal. I’m sure she’ll like it.”

Hunter looked at the lush, orange shades, his throat feeling thick once again. “Her favorite color.”

“Then it’s a win,” the mare said, tapping the register with one hoof. “That’ll be sixty-seven bits, please.”

Hunter smiled as he pulled his bit bag out of his saddlebag and handed over a hundred-bit bar. The mare let out a whistle as she took the bar and passed back his change. “Big spender.”

“Not really,” Hunter said, shrugging as the register closed with a happy ring. “Just enough, actually.” He’d only left with a hundred and fifty bits that morning. Then again, he’d been planning on splurging on the bouquet. He eyed the colorful wash of orange, smiled, and then carefully slid it onto his back.

“Well, either way, I’m sure she’ll love it,” the salesmare said, giving him a wave as he left the shop. “Good luck.”

The door closed behind him and he trotted off down the street, not wanting to risk wind damage to the parcel on his back. She will, he thought as he picked up speed, the heavy feeling in his throat growing. Just like every year.

He was so caught up in his thoughts didn’t notice the faint, shadowy figure watching him from across the street, a concerned look on her face.

Never Forget the Fallen

The arch over the entrance was just the same as he’d always remembered it being; a weathered piece of stone with no gaps or seams, carved from a single titanic rock centuries earlier. Ancient, weathered stone vines wound their way across its facade, all definition and detail long since lost to time. Still the words remained across the peak of the arch, etched so deep in the rock they would be there long after all else failed, written in ancient Romane: Nunquam Obliviscaris Lapsis.

Never Forget the Fallen.

Most ponies didn’t come the Royal Cemetery that often. Most didn’t have a reason to. The final resting place reserved for the nation’s Guard didn’t have much occasion for visitors—or even for use. Few was the pony that died in the line of duty in the modern age, fewer still those that were buried here.

He walked down the marble path, his eyes on the monuments around him. For the most part, they were simple—flat, basic stones with a few words etched across them. Here and there an obelisk, a carved relief, or some other form of more formal remembrance stood out, marking the grave of one who’d lost their life not just serving in the Guard, but in the line of duty as well.

The grass around the path was trimmed to a razor’s edge, not a single blade crossing the aged marble walkway. It was the same scene around each of the gravestones as well: The grass cut to absolute precision, not a single speck of green marring the colored surfaces. The markers had been there for centuries, and would be for centuries more, but the Guard responsible for maintaining the sanctity of the place would be there each day of those years, both day and night, two trimming back any wayward growth, and two guarding the mausoleum in the center of the cemetery. They would switch with the rising and fall of the sun, always four Night Guard and always four Royal Guard, ever watchful of both the graves of those who were known, and the tomb of those who were not.

He angled to his right as the path split, following the gradual curve of the stone as it twisted towards the far side of the area. The cemetery was set apart from the city, northwest of Canterlot itself and elevated slightly above it, nestled almost right up against the mountain itself. It was said that Princess Celestia herself had chosen the plot of land when the city had been founded, having picked the spot because of all the places on the mountainside, this was one of the few that would have the light of the moon and sun upon it from the moment they rose to the time that they set. A fitting memorial of remembrance and respect.

And she can probably name every pony in here, Hunter thought. Each and every one. He’d heard rumors that from time to the time, the Diarchs could be found browsing the stones, lost in the memories of ponies long since past. He’d never dared ask them about it; either of the pair. Such things were personal.

Like my own visit. The soup he’d purchased had long since gone cool against his flanks, though he could still feel some heat through the cloth bags, and he could feel a faint nip in the air that told him there would be a frost tonight. The bouquet was going to be withered by the next morning.

The sound of his hooves ringing against the stone seemed to echo across the expanse, a steady, memorial drum beat for those in attendance. The path he was on wound towards the north edge of the cemetery, past empty plots and fields of bare grass reserved, ever waiting, for those members of the Guard who had not been born yet.

Maybe one day they’ll put me in one of those, he thought as the pathway beneath his hooves shifted again, still circling around the mausoleum at the center of the park. It was a slightly grim thought, a reminder of how close he’d come already. Probably best not to think about it.

Up ahead the stone path began to twist, turning as it approached the weathered, stone wall at the northern end of the cemetery. The wall was a more recent addition, scarcely a few centuries old, although the weathering was natural. As were the vines the grew lazily over the stones, their leaves still holding a tinge of green to themselves, as if summer was just out for a bite, to return with its warmth soon.

The space beyond the wall was almost the complete opposite of the cemetery he’d passed through so far, though still part of the same grounds. Where the grounds tended to on one side of the barrier were clear and open, with finely trimmed grass following crisp, military lines, what lay past the wall was wild, almost untamed. Large trees with wide-spread canopies towered into the sky, their colorful autumn plumage extending right up to the wall itself, shielding what lay beneath them from the elements. A simple, wooden gate marked the only opening in the wall, its bare, dusty surface carved with a single, singular phrase.

Until we meet again in the wilds, Hunter read as he came to a stop a hoofsbreadth from the entrance. This was it: The final resting place of those souls who had lost their lives in the service of the Equestrian Rangers. Those who’d dedicated their lives to the safety of the citizens of Equestria in a fashion no less dangerous than that of any Guard.

He reached out with one hoof, running it over the wooden gate and feeling the sun-dried texture. We’ll need a new wallhere soon, he thought as his hoof ran over a wrinkled leaf, creating a faint crackle that echoed across the Guard area of the cemetery. He wasn’t at all surprised by how quickly the sound was swallowed up by the space across the gate, however. The small forest that the Rangers had covered their own memorial in was just as vast and encompassing as any other, swallowing up all sounds in its depths and trading them for its own, natural whispers. A faint breeze stirred, rustling through the leaves of the trees, a soft, cascading sound that made his ears swivel as it traveled through the woods.

This is it, Hunter thought, taking a deep breath. Only a little further now.

The gate creaked loudly as he eased it open, its aged hinges protesting the movement, but still turning with enough ease that it was clear he’d not been the only visitor that week. The hinges were well-used, the rustic squeak as much a part of the purposeful design of the place as the billowing orange and red canopies overhead. He stepped past the entrance, wings stiff against his sides. A quick glance back told him that the bouquet, its soft orange blooms matching the leaves above him, was still with him, and he took another deep breath. Here we go.

The trunks around him were evenly spaced, though not in straight rows. Many of them were large; ancient, smooth-worn things that had been planted long ago, perhaps when the first graves had been laid. There was no longer stone beneath his hooves, but a smooth-worn dirt trail that wove back and forth between the trunks. Occasionally he would have to step over a root that had snaked its way across the path. Each bore marks of other hooves, from where less-alert ponies had simply brushed their hooves across the top or even used the roots as a step.

The memorials here were more extravagant, more personal, than the ones that were used by the Guard. Carved stone reliefs of the pony in question, nestled at the foot of a tree, or tall monuments depicting their accomplishments. The Rangers had always been a little less formal than their brethren, and it showed even here. Hunter glanced over at a smaller, more conventional tombstone that had a perch carved along the top for any birds that might want to rest on it. Another marker was little more than an ornate flowerbox filled with dozens of rare flowers from across Equestria, though it appeared that one type in particular seemed to be winning the battle for the space.

The cemetery was tamed, certainly, and cared for, but part of it was still wild. There was nothing about it that was bodgy or hinted that its caretakers were shonky about their duties. He could see the most recent set of hoofprints left in the dirt by whoever was tasked with caring for the area, fresh from that morning. He followed the tracks with his eyes, watching as they crisscrossed from one side of the trail to another, pausing here and there and shuffling in a jumble as the pony took care of something or other, to make sure that the respectful wild of the place was maintained.

Unicorn? Hunter thought as he followed the tracks to yet another jumbled of steps. No, definitely an earth pony. There were too many prints for a unicorn, who could have used their magic to tend to that area. And the gap in the prints could have been a mark of wings, but there were a few scuff marks on the bark of the nearby tree, leading up to a recently pruned limb, which meant that the pony had climbed rather than flown. And the space where the hoofprints had resumed, they were too deep to come from a pony who would naturally want to slow their descent with wings. Male, too, most likely, from the stance of the legs and the deepness of the impact.

His ears twitched, swiveling back against the sides of his hat as a faint squeak slid through the trees. Somepony else had come to pay their respects as well. Or maybe just to wander through and look. It wasn’t uncommon with the Ranger’s cemetery. There was an untamed roughness to it that was hard to find anywhere else in Canterlot.

Still, I’d better pick up the pace, he thought, moving on and heading for the far end of the cemetery. I’d rather not bump into somepony.

Up ahead the trees began to thin, his path bringing him near the cliffs that marked the cemetery’s end. His steps slowed, a faint feeling of dread weighing his legs down as he neared his destination. It wasn’t far away at all now, just another few turns and he’d be there.

It’s the first time I’ve ever done this without talking to Derpy beforehoof, he thought. He swallowed, his throat feeling harder than it had felt all day. The ache in his chest was back, a dull, burning emptiness that smoldered deep inside. Come on, he told himself. Don’t be stroppy. You can do this.

Then he rounded the final bend, and there it was.

It was picturesque, perfect even. Swift’s memorial was set just at the end of the tree line, set beneath the boughs of a willow tree, just like she’d asked. Just a dozen feet past that, the world opened up, the ground dropping away into one of the Canter Mountain’s many cliffsides, giving him a perfect view of the Equestrian plains and the clear, crisp, blue sky.

There was a wreath at the foot of her memorial, a fresh one, and he could see the hoofprints in the ground. Somepony had been there already. Probably another friend of her’s.

He walked up to the foot of the memorial, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground as he passed through the dangling willow branches. He paused a few feet from the base, his throat hot, swelling against his neck like it was going to burst, his eyes still turned downward. It wasn’t hard to sit, his rear legs felt like they were going to drop out from beneath him anyway, and he flicked his tail to one side as he dropped back on his haunches. He swallowed a final time and picked the bouquet off of his back. Then, he tilted his hat back and looked up.

Swift’s smiling face looked down at him, her soft grin captured in stone for all to see. She was in a triumphant pose, her wings spread wide, one foreleg up as if she was about to take flight, her chest swelling with pride. The artist that had been hired to capture her had done such an amazing job that he could almost picture the grey stone taking on color, Swift flapping her wings as she leapt from the pedestal and soared into the clear sky; a living, breathing pony once more.

But instead, for all its cunning likeness, it was nothing more than grey stone. Only one bit of color stood out against the rock: A dull, sun-faded blue baseball cap perched on top of her mane. A hat enchanted with the same spells his own hat had been. She’d loved that cap. He could still make out the faint colors of the team’s name, hear her laughter at his complete boredom with the niche sport. He’d taken her to every game anyway. It wasn’t the game that was important.

His eyes began to water as he turned them downward once more, and he dropped the bouquet into his hooves, letting out a cough as he cleared his throat.

“Hey—” He cleared his throat again, the heavy mass in it making it hard to speak. “Hey, Swift. Another year, and I’m here again. I—” His voice faltered, as he glanced up at the smiling stone face. The hollow in his chest was burning, an ocean of loss pressing against him, beating against his ribs as it tried to escape. “I brought you some of your favorites,” he said, setting the bouquet down along the statue’s base next to the wreath. “Even got a few extras in there from the shopkeeper. She said you’d probably like them, and I think she’s right.”

“It’s been a ripper of a year, Swift,” he said, turning his eyes upward once again, blinking back tears. “I got a new job, left the Rangers, signed on with a new Guard division. No beat up there. I’m a Guard now. First Lieutenant Hunter of the Dusk Guard.” He let out a weak laugh. “You should see some of the stuff we’ve got, toys like you wouldn’t believe. There’s just six of us, but we get all the best stuff. There’s a pegasus mare on the team you’d have liked. Sky Bolt, our engineer. Practically starkers she’s so smart, but the stuff she’s built … You should see the armor she built for us, I’ll have to wear it next time I come by.”

He closed his eyes, letting out a long, shaky breath as his front legs grew weak. “Sorry I’m a little stuffed today, it’s just …” He shook his head and looked back up. “This is the first time I’ve done this completely alone, you know? Derpy, I’ve told you about her, she’s still back in Ponyville, working hard, and I didn’t want to pull her away from her job. She tries hard, you know? She’s already got so much on her plate, I didn’t want to add any more to it.”

“Hey,” he said, his voice shaking but still coming. “You remember Dawn? Dawn Triage? The crazy unicorn medic mare who got shoved into retirement kicking and screaming? She’s on the Dusk Guard with me too. Just as happy as ever to stick needles into somepony and claim it’s for their own—” His voice faltered, and he shook his head, shutting his eyes tight and feeling hot tears stain his muzzle. “I’m sorry, I’m just—”

“Hunter?”

He froze, not even daring to breath. That voice, had it—No. There wasn’t any way it could have been, but it sounded so familiar, so similar, it—

He didn’t want to open his eyes, didn’t want that brief moment of fleeting hope to fade, to see the statue of Swift in front of him and know that she was still gone. Maybe he was losing it, cracking a fruity out of sheer grief. He’d heard of it before, ponies going starkers from loss. Maybe it’d just finally been enough—

“Hunter?” But no, this voice, it was real. He wasn’t imagining things. And it wasn’t Swift’s, either. It was close, but no, this wasn’t her. He opened his eyes, wiped a hoof across them, pulling away the wet tears that made the world blur together and turned to look.

Thistle stood at the edge of the break in the trees, looking at him with a nervous look in her eyes that said she wasn’t sure if she’d just done the right thing or not, but there was no backing down. He blinked again, still worried that he was seeing things. “Thistle?”

She nodded, her sea-green mane bobbing up and down as she took a cautious step forward. “I’m sorry,” she said, her words starting slow but then coming out in a rush. “I followed you. You didn’t feel like yourself, and I wanted to know what you were up to, and then I saw the bouquet—” Her words trailed off and she gave him a fearful look.

“I …” Part of him wanted to be angry at her, but he knew it wasn’t the right way to feel about it. She’d followed him because she cared, not because she’d wanted to spy on his grief. “I’m sorry,” he said, pivoting slightly in the dirt so he could look at her. “You should know.”

“This is her, isn’t it?” Thistle said, looking up at the statue. “Swift Wind?”

Hunter nodded, his throat swelling again now that his momentary panic had faded. “It is.”

“Can I?” Thistle asked, moving one leg forward.

He nodded. She cares, Hunter, he told himself as she stepped forward. And she deserves to know if you’re going to call yourself a dinkum friend. The periwinkle pegasus came forward slowly, her wings held tightly at her sides.

“Thistle,” he said as she sat down next to him. “Swift Wind.” He nodded his head towards the statue, fighting the burning feeling in his chest. For a moment the memorial was silent, save for the pulse of his heavy breaths in his ears and the heavy pounding of his heart in his ears.

“What was she like?” Thistle asked looking up at the statue’s smiling face.

“She was … a lot like you,” Hunter answered, nodding. “A little louder, more in-your-face with new ponies, but bright, cheery, happy. She was always trying to make everypony around her have the best day possible. Brilliant smile that could stop my heart at a hundred meters. She loved being out in nature, soaring above the clouds and riding the currents.” He glanced over at Thistle. “You two would have gotten along really well, I think.”

Thistle nodded but didn’t say anything, her pink eyes still fixed on the statue. Then she glanced at him, a sad look in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He nodded. “Me too.”

“No, I mean, I’m sorry I followed you,” she said, her voice quiet. “I shouldn’t have done it. It was wrong of me to intrude.” She started to rise.

“Don’t go,” he said. She looked at him with surprise that mirrored his own. “Please,” he said again. “Stay.” She lowered herself to the ground carefully, her eyes still fixed on him. “You can if you want to, but right now, I …” His voice caught in his throat as he looked away, the burning embers in his chest spreading, the void filling every limb.

“I’ll stay,” she said, nodding, her eyes still fixed on him with a faintly surprised look.

“Thank you,” he said, watching as his front legs trembled. “Usually I talk to Derpy before I come here, but she’s so busy—”

“She asked me to keep an eye on you,” Thistle said, her voice soft, like a faint breeze. “She didn’t tell me why.”

He chuckled. He couldn’t help it. “I owe her another one, I guess.”

“How did it happen?”

He looked over at her in surprise, his throat burning. She opened her mouth again.

“How did it happen?”

“I …” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “It was an accident. It was nopony’s fault. I can’t even blame myself, though I feel like I should.”

“What happened?”

“We were in the Crystal Mountains,” he said, closing his eyes. “On the eastern side. There’s a small ski-resort there, and it had just opened for the winter after a series of deep snows. Swift and I, we … we worked together at that point. As freelancers, in the Rangers. We’d move from place to place, helping out however needed us. Dealing with diamond dogs and manticores in once place, chimeras and cragadiles in another.” His legs were shaking now, trembling as the burning void in his chest moved out to each limb.

“We’d just come off of a vacation in Neighagra Falls a few weeks earlier. We’d taken it in celebration of our engagement. It had been nothing but light work since we’d been back.”

He could remember the day, clear as anything in his mind. The crisp, cold air. The bite of the mountain breezes, the pearlescence of swirling snow. “Anyway, we got asked to go help chase off the yeti’s near the resort, make sure they didn’t set up any avalanches that could hurt anypony. While we were there, a blizzard hit, one the local weather patrol couldn’t deal with, and we got put on search and rescue for a missing ski party.”

The void was rushing in his ears, now. “We found them. They were alright, but there were signs of yeti nearby, and Swift decided to do a quick circuit, make sure the valley we were in wasn’t in danger. She left and … and …” He took a deep breath. “It was the last time I saw her alive, telling me she’d be right back.”

“What happened?”

“There was a yeti nearby, a territorial male. She was skimming over the top of the snow, looking for tracks, and … he brought a bluff down on top of her. By the time we found her … It was too late.”

He fell forward, his chest aching as tears rushed from his eyes. “It wasn’t anypony’s fault. I didn’t—I mean, there was nothing I could have done, it was just bodgy luck but …” He opened his eyes, looking up at the statue. “I miss her, Thistle. Still, all these years later. I think about her and—”

Her wings wrapped around him and he stopped in surprise before the dam broke, every bit of his sadness sweeping out of him as she pulled him close. “I know,” she said quietly as she put a foreleg around him. Her wings—her beautiful, wide wings—held him tightly against her. “You just miss her, even though you know it’s not the end. You want to tell her things, wish that things had turned out differently.” He didn’t say anything, the fire in his chest finally fading, calming slightly and leaving him feeling worn and tired.

He pulled away at last, unsure of how long he’d been sitting there. “I do,” he said, taking a breath that seemed to hang slightly behind his heart. “Most of the time, it’s just fine. I don’t lie to Dawn when she asks me how I feel. But when today comes, and I’m here, it just—” She nodded as his voice broke off. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she asked, and he almost pulled back at her tone. “For caring, Hunter? For loving somepony? For being honest about it with yourself that you miss her?” She shook her head. “Don’t Hunter. I know you don’t blame yourself, but don’t feel bad about yourself just because you don’t, just because you care.” She shook her head. “You have nothing to apologize for,” she said, her tone softening again. “If anything, you should feel proud of yourself for missing her so much. You cared about her a lot; anypony can tell that. She was honored to have a fiancé as caring as you were.” Then she nodded, her expression understanding. “Even if it does hurt.”

“I …” She was right. “Yeah,” he said nodding. “It does hurt, but because it should.”

“Loss hurts, Hunter,” she said, her eyes taking on a faraway look. “Sometimes we just have to accept it and take our time healing for it.” The corner of her lip turned up slightly. “It helps to know that it isn’t forever.”

“No,” he said, nodding. “Just a very, very long time.”

“No pain lasts forever, Hunter,” she said, wrapping one wing around him once more. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned here in Canterlot, it’s that we sometimes have to remember that it’s not permanent. We just have to remember what’s coming and hope.”

“And what is coming?” he asked, pushing himself up on his front legs. He did feel a bit better, a bit more alive. The embers were still there, but the sadness was mostly gone. She was right.

“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “All I know is that we hope for the best, and we can know that in the end, things will turn out all right. Even for those we’ve lost.”

“Death is only the beginning,” Hunter said, nodding. “The old saying.”

“Some sayings are old for a reason,” Thistle remarked cryptically, pulling her wing away as she looked back up at the statue of Swift. “Don’t worry, wherever she is, she’s waiting for you with that new beginning.” She sniffed. “Is that soup I smell?”

“Crikey, it is,” Hunter said, shaking his head. “I almost forgot. I was going to eat lunch while I told Swift what I’d been up to.”

“It’s a little late for lunch,”

“Early dinner then,” he said, shaking his head. “I ended up with a lot. Are you hungry?” He pulled a hoof across his cheeks, wiping away the last of his tears.

“Yeah, I think so,” she said, smiling at him. His heart lifted a little. “Got any stories you can share while you eat, in honor of … well, you know.” She looked towards the memorial.

“Yeah,” Hunter said, smiling as he looked up at the statue. “I think I do.”

An End and a Beginning...

Hunter nodded at the Guard outside the palace gate as he walked past, feeling better than he had in days. All the dread and anticipation, the feeling of loss … It had all just, evaporated while he was talking with Thistle. It wasn’t gone, really. He still felt a faint ache when he thought of Swift, but that was alright. He probably always would, because he loved her, and he missed her. There was nothing he could do about that.

But for whatever reason, talking with Thistle had just made it seem alright, like everything was spot on. It was like she knew what he was thinking, knew what to say to help him feel a little bit better, even more so than Derpy had. Which was a bit worrisome, he realized with a frown as he made his way towards the barracks. He’d never been able to get much out of her about her past except that she didn’t like to talk about it and it was painful, but she was good friends with Derpy.

Maybe she lost somepony in her life like Derpy and I did, he thought as he crossed into the training grounds. Somepony she really cared for. That would explain how she knew what I was feeling. But who did she lose? Should I just ask?

Still, he had to admit that made the most sense. The simplest explanation, he thought with a slight grin. Heh, she and Swift really would have gotten along. Maybe one day they would.

The lights outside the Dusk Guard barracks were lit, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. That’s odd, he thought, glancing up at the sky. The sun was starting to descend, yes, but not even the earliest of Canterlot’s streetlights had been lit. Why were the lights above the door to the barracks lit?

“Somepony forget to turn them out or something?” he wondered, glancing at the other Guard’s barracks as he came closer. Neither of them looked out of place. “Huh.”

He was only a few dozen feet from the doors when they burst open, a private from the Royal Guard rushing out at a dead run. The marks on his chest-plate marked him as a courier.

“Hey, private!” Hunter called, and the unicorn’s eyes widened as he saw him. “What’s going—”

“Lieutenant Hunter!” the private called, snapping a quick salute. “I was just looking for you.”

“What is it?” Hunter asked, his eyes narrowing as he returned the salute.

“I don’t know,” the private stammered, apparently mistaking the expression as one of displeasure. “The Captain just sent me to find you in the city, he needs you to report in ASAP—” If there was anything else to the colt’s message, Hunter missed it as he darted past him, snapping his wings back to propel himself forward through the barracks doors.

“Boss!” he called as he swept into the common room in a rush. Steel looked up with a scowl, stamping his front hooves across a spread of papers on the table. Two more courier privates, one a unicorn and the other an earth pony, looked up in surprise.

“Reporting as requested,” Hunter said, snapping a quick salute.

“Good,” Steel said, returning the salute and then turning to the two couriers. “You have your orders, hop to it!” The last bit came out as a bark, and the two couriers gave him rapid-quick salutes before vanishing into the hall, their hooves ringing against the wood.

Hunter gaped at Steel as the Captain turned back towards him. He was wearing his armor, all of it but the helmet, the dark-green crystal shining in the room’s bright light, and he could see from some of the small changes that it was the new stuff that Sky Bolt had been working on. Well, some of it at least.

“We’re mobilizing,” Steel said, sliding a folder across the table at him. “The Princesses have a mission for us. We leave as soon as we’re capable of it, in The Hummingbird.”

“Where to?” Hunter asked, glancing down at the mission file Steel had slid towards him. “The Ocean?” There hadn’t been much news since Northgait had shut but—

“No,” Steel said. “Not the Ocean. That’s not our fight. But close.” His hoof came down with a heavy thump, striking the map he’d laid out beneath everything else on the table. “Here,” he said, tapping a series of jagged marks on the map.

Hunter nodded as he looked down at the range, already mentally cataloguing everything he’d need to make sure the team had. “Crikey. I’ll get on it immediately,” he said, tucking the file Steel had given him under his wing. “I’ll make sure we’re in a good nick to go.”

“Good,” Steel said, saluting. “Everything I need you to do beforehoof is there. Get to it, Lieutenant, we’ve got a mission to complete.”

Hunter turned and ran down the hall, already heading for the armory. It was time at last, their first, real mission. They’d need all their winter gear and all the winter training they’d undertaken. Maybe more beyond that. He’d seen where they’d be going. Only the coldest place in Equestria. The Crystal mountains.

He crashed into the armory, sliding to a stop in front of his locker and pulling it open. He had to move fast, had to gear up. He needed to make sure they were ready.

The mountains were waiting.