And Yet...by XepherChaptersFluttershyScootalooSpikeTwilightLyraFluttershyThe weather had been unusually crisp that morning, and even though the running of the leaves was still several weeks away, the air smelled sharp, catching at the top of the nose and the back of the throat with a bite usually reserved for those days of first frost, despite the still-green leaves and grasses clearly on display. Fluttershy trotted out of her cottage, eager as ever to see to her charges in the bright dawn. She'd quickly darted between the various feeders, homes, and shelters for the animals with special needs or circumstances near her cottage. After those were assured, she moved further afield, following narrow paths in and through the woods to the secluded homes of the less needful creatures she none-the-less looked after. Rainbow Dash often teased that Fluttershy would hoof-feed every animal in the Everfree, given half the chance. The nominally-timid pegasus would blush and look away shyly, part of her of course wishing such a thing were truly possible. But when left to her own devices, she was much more practical. In reality, all the animals she directly tended lived within a few hundred yards of her home. It wasn't as if she sought out sick animals, but somehow, word seemed to spread among the wilderness, and any creature that was injured, sick, or in a family way often found itself residing within those precious few hundred yards of Fluttershy's cottage. Equally curious was how, once hale and hearty, they seemed to simply disappear back into the wild, making room for more in need. Few ponies ever noticed it, and to Fluttershy herself, it was simply the way things were. Everypony knew pegasus magic only influenced the weather, flight, and—some scholars debated—possibly gravity, but it certainly had nothing at all to do with animals or their behavior. It wasn't magic, and yet... Mrs. Robin's son had flown away as soon as his wing healed, and the cozy bird house just under the back eaves was hosting a very exhausted blue jay and her two eggs by the end of the same afternoon. ScootalooScootaloo banked to the left, angling for a thermal she suspected should be there. She felt her wings catch the updraft. There it was, pulling her higher into the sky. Ahead, Cloudsdale rested on the horizon, its billowing architecture a welcoming sight after the long flight. She always loved coming to the pegasus city. Part of it was just the beauty of the place. It was hard to look at the rainbows, pillars, and gentle spread of the place as it floated in the sunset and not smile. But more than that was the nostalgia. Here was where she'd first managed to fly, after very nearly throwing it all away. More importantly though, and for the first time in years, both Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle would be there at the same time. Actually, now that she thought about it, it may be the first time all three of them had returned since... since the "incident." Looking back, it was hard to think of herself as even being the same pony. Her teenage years had been rough—not that she was unique in that regard, but she'd been in her final year of school, and still a blank flank, still flightless. It was a one-two punch to an already fragile, teenage ego. Her friends had found their marks in years prior, and while they always tried to include her, Scootaloo found she couldn't help but feel alienated as they developed their talents and moved on with their lives. She felt broken, useless, and as time went by, with less and less crusading, she'd gone into a deep spiral of depression. Yes, she thought, hard to believe that she was even the same pony that had done all that. The "incident" had been in late spring. School was wrapping up, and all the ponies in class were talking about their plans for the future. Most had universities picked out, or at the very least, apprenticeships to make use of their special talents. She just couldn't take it any more. If the universe was determined to keep her down, then she decided she'd give it one last buck in the face on the way out. She'd left a note, telling anypony interested that she was going up to Cloudsdale by airship, and coming back down, one way or another, on her own. She'd bought a ticket and left the port by mid afternoon, trotting to a park on a thin overhang from the main cloudbank. There she'd sat for what felt like hours, though it was hard to keep track of time, her mind whirling as it was, trying to work up the nerve to go through with it. It felt so fitting at the time, the pegasus that couldn't fly, would die while doing so. Well, it wasn't exactly flying, but she figured it would feel the same for a least a moment. That's when Sweetie and Apple Bloom had shown up. The argument had been intense, of course, the other two immediately realizing what she was planning, and horrified at the thought. She knew they'd blamed themselves for letting their friendship slack, and for not realizing just how bad things had gotten for the pegasus. Everypony was crying, yelling, and in utter confusion when it happened. Sweetie's hastily cast cloudwalking spell faltered. One hoof went through first, leaving just enough time for the others to see the shocked look on her face. Then the unicorn dropped through the thin layer of cloud at the edge of the city with a scream. Apple Bloom and Scootaloo shared a brief look of horror, then Scootaloo jumped. This hadn't been at all what she'd planned, though even in her panic, her mind made a bitter note that it did feel a bit like flying, at least until she tried to exert any sort of control. No, it was just falling. Scootaloo managed to dive a little faster, trying to catch her friend, but unsure what to do after that. She gained some speed, but trying to get close was no use, she couldn't maneuver well enough. Then she'd felt a tug, and Sweetie's familiar aura, pulling them closer together as they fell. It was a long ways down from Cloudsdale, and as the two ponies drew near, Scootaloo shouted her apologies; how sorry she was that she'd caused this, how awful she was as a pony for getting her friends involved. The rush of wind lessened as the two collided and grabbed onto one another in a high velocity hug. "I'm so sorry," Scootaloo had said, crying. "If only I knew how to fly!" "It's okay," Sweetie had said, her face more peaceful and resolute than Scootaloo could have imagined. As the two fell, Sweetie squeezed her friend in a tighter hug, and then looked her in the eye. "Scootaloo, no matter what happens, it'll be okay. I don't blame you. I believe in you!" There was nothing that special in the words, no spell behind them, no poetry to their form. She'd been told similar things by dozens of ponies for years and years. But right then, in that moment, it was something profound. It wasn't magic, and yet... she'd opened her wings and flown them both to safety. SpikeSpike stood outside the amphitheater, leaning his massive head over the bowl of rising seats to see the proceedings. Far below, watched by thousands of ponies, the coveted theater awards were being announced and dispensed. Among those behind the stage, Rarity, preeminent unicorn of fashion, stood waiting. It was... well, it was known that she'd be winning the prize for costume design. Not only was her show, Canterlot Abby, the most popular drama of the year, but it also involved some of the most accurately constructed period costumes seen in the theater circuit. As the prize for costume was announced, Spike watched with subdued glee, his massive tear ducts threatening to drown the upper boxes if he wasn't careful. Rarity stepped forward, noble as ever, despite her many years and aged state. She put on the most humble of acts as she walked on stage to accept the statuette, thanking all the others involved in the show as one should. As she wrapped up her speech though, and the orchestra began to play her off, she looked up toward the sky, and thanked her "biggest fan," winking at him on the double meaning. In the decades since he'd first laid eyes on the unicorn, Spike had gone through many phases. The infatuation of the early years still made him blush when he recalled how much he'd literally swooned when Rarity came near. As he grew older though, he eventually moved past that, but his friendship with Rarity only grew closer because of it. When he hit the first of his major growth spurts, and started taking on a fully draconic form, Rarity was there to help him through it as the new feelings he had... the greed, the harshness, the anger and the rage... all the instincts of dragon-kind had welled up within him. This, he knew, was what drove his kind to be so distant and removed from ponies and the other races. Yet for him... Rarity was there, and her firm-yet-kind demeanor had worked in ways that Twilight's books and research never could. Rarity didn't flinch as other ponies did when he'd lose his temper and roar in frustration. She didn't back down when reminding him he couldn't take what wasn't his. She helped him through those awful years of growth and confusion, and unlike the others of his kind, Spike had remained living with ponies even into his adulthood. He found it much easier to control himself these days. The simple habits Rarity had instilled in him were formative, and let him keep his temper in check. The end result was something ponies had thought impossible, indeed, which had never happened in recorded history. Rarity's generosity and patience had seen him through. It wasn't magic, and yet... He was a fully grown, yet fully civilized dragon. TwilightTwilight Sparkle stared up at the newly grown crystal... tree? castle? She wasn't quite sure what to call her new home. The tree-like form of it certainly echoed her prior residence of the Golden Oaks library, but it, this new thing, was a castle as well. The library had been strong and stout, but this was... well, "imposing" was the best word she could come up with. She didn't mind... not really anyway. The old tree was, in a way, a touchstone, and had been close to her heart as such things often are, but when all was said and done, it was just a place. What really mattered—her friends, her family, Spike and Owlowiscious—they'd all escaped the brunt of Tirek's wrath, and that's what really mattered. The keepsakes she'd lost... well, it was sad, but she'd make new memories and have new things to remember them with eventually. The books could be replaced as well, maybe not exactly, but close enough. That was the entire point of libraries after all: to share knowledge. They were a bulwark against the darkness of ignorance, for nothing shared was ever truly lost. It was one of the few things that ran counter to universal entropy. While energy, matter, and the rest were reduced by time, and lessened the further they spread, knowledge gained and grew instead. It was a lot like friendship in that regard. It wasn't magic, and yet... it was! Author's Note As noted in the description, I originally wrote this for a writeoff contest in September of 2014. That's nearly two years ago now. Why I never published it, I'm not quite sure. I read it again for the first time in at least a year and realized, while far from my best work, it still captures something I haven't been able to put my finger on anywhere else, and figured it deserved to see some daylight. The cover image is a photo I took myself, of the Seattle skyline, which I routinely fly to/from for work, and inspired the Lyra segment of the story. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it! LyraLyra pressed her nose against the window, staring out at the multitude of city lights as the ground dropped away and the plane rose above the coast. For the most part, the passengers seemed completely nonplussed by her presence, but she'd caught a few odd looks here and there as she'd boarded the flight. She could hardly blame them however. Despite her many years among them, even her own mind sometimes reverted and couldn't help but think of these alien creatures as strange and oh-so-weird. Yet what really stuck out in her mind was that none of them, not even those that seemed most surprised to find a unicorn flying coach, gave even a glimmer of thought to the miracle of the plane itself. It'd been nearly a decade since the Veil had torn, since this other Earth—the one where talking monkeys had evolved in place of equines—had come to overlay the edges of Equestria. Those monkeys, those... humans... had seemed so strange, and so very, very alien at first. But of all ponies, Lyra was one who believed, at least far more than most, in the old axiom that a stranger is just a friend you're meeting for the first time. She'd quickly found herself enraptured by the new humans, and their world. She'd gone on a pilgrimage of sorts, taking in as many of the sights this new world offered as she could, returning home occasionally to tell friends and family of the wonders she'd seen. It had been some of the best years of her life, and still she felt like she'd barely scratched the surface. Every takeoff was the start of a new adventure, and she'd sworn long ago to never forget the sheer joy of it. The green unicorn turned in the not-quite-pony-sized seat, leaning against the headrest while continuing to stare out the window, a faint smile crossing her muzzle as the millions of tiny lights all moved beneath her, a human city full of life and industry. As it faded beneath the clouds, she marveled at this weird species that bent metal, fire, and even the air itself to its will, harnessing whirling demons of fire beneath wings of composite aluminum to soar among the clouds. It wasn't magic, and yet... they'd even walked on the face of the moon!
FluttershyThe weather had been unusually crisp that morning, and even though the running of the leaves was still several weeks away, the air smelled sharp, catching at the top of the nose and the back of the throat with a bite usually reserved for those days of first frost, despite the still-green leaves and grasses clearly on display. Fluttershy trotted out of her cottage, eager as ever to see to her charges in the bright dawn. She'd quickly darted between the various feeders, homes, and shelters for the animals with special needs or circumstances near her cottage. After those were assured, she moved further afield, following narrow paths in and through the woods to the secluded homes of the less needful creatures she none-the-less looked after. Rainbow Dash often teased that Fluttershy would hoof-feed every animal in the Everfree, given half the chance. The nominally-timid pegasus would blush and look away shyly, part of her of course wishing such a thing were truly possible. But when left to her own devices, she was much more practical. In reality, all the animals she directly tended lived within a few hundred yards of her home. It wasn't as if she sought out sick animals, but somehow, word seemed to spread among the wilderness, and any creature that was injured, sick, or in a family way often found itself residing within those precious few hundred yards of Fluttershy's cottage. Equally curious was how, once hale and hearty, they seemed to simply disappear back into the wild, making room for more in need. Few ponies ever noticed it, and to Fluttershy herself, it was simply the way things were. Everypony knew pegasus magic only influenced the weather, flight, and—some scholars debated—possibly gravity, but it certainly had nothing at all to do with animals or their behavior. It wasn't magic, and yet... Mrs. Robin's son had flown away as soon as his wing healed, and the cozy bird house just under the back eaves was hosting a very exhausted blue jay and her two eggs by the end of the same afternoon.
ScootalooScootaloo banked to the left, angling for a thermal she suspected should be there. She felt her wings catch the updraft. There it was, pulling her higher into the sky. Ahead, Cloudsdale rested on the horizon, its billowing architecture a welcoming sight after the long flight. She always loved coming to the pegasus city. Part of it was just the beauty of the place. It was hard to look at the rainbows, pillars, and gentle spread of the place as it floated in the sunset and not smile. But more than that was the nostalgia. Here was where she'd first managed to fly, after very nearly throwing it all away. More importantly though, and for the first time in years, both Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle would be there at the same time. Actually, now that she thought about it, it may be the first time all three of them had returned since... since the "incident." Looking back, it was hard to think of herself as even being the same pony. Her teenage years had been rough—not that she was unique in that regard, but she'd been in her final year of school, and still a blank flank, still flightless. It was a one-two punch to an already fragile, teenage ego. Her friends had found their marks in years prior, and while they always tried to include her, Scootaloo found she couldn't help but feel alienated as they developed their talents and moved on with their lives. She felt broken, useless, and as time went by, with less and less crusading, she'd gone into a deep spiral of depression. Yes, she thought, hard to believe that she was even the same pony that had done all that. The "incident" had been in late spring. School was wrapping up, and all the ponies in class were talking about their plans for the future. Most had universities picked out, or at the very least, apprenticeships to make use of their special talents. She just couldn't take it any more. If the universe was determined to keep her down, then she decided she'd give it one last buck in the face on the way out. She'd left a note, telling anypony interested that she was going up to Cloudsdale by airship, and coming back down, one way or another, on her own. She'd bought a ticket and left the port by mid afternoon, trotting to a park on a thin overhang from the main cloudbank. There she'd sat for what felt like hours, though it was hard to keep track of time, her mind whirling as it was, trying to work up the nerve to go through with it. It felt so fitting at the time, the pegasus that couldn't fly, would die while doing so. Well, it wasn't exactly flying, but she figured it would feel the same for a least a moment. That's when Sweetie and Apple Bloom had shown up. The argument had been intense, of course, the other two immediately realizing what she was planning, and horrified at the thought. She knew they'd blamed themselves for letting their friendship slack, and for not realizing just how bad things had gotten for the pegasus. Everypony was crying, yelling, and in utter confusion when it happened. Sweetie's hastily cast cloudwalking spell faltered. One hoof went through first, leaving just enough time for the others to see the shocked look on her face. Then the unicorn dropped through the thin layer of cloud at the edge of the city with a scream. Apple Bloom and Scootaloo shared a brief look of horror, then Scootaloo jumped. This hadn't been at all what she'd planned, though even in her panic, her mind made a bitter note that it did feel a bit like flying, at least until she tried to exert any sort of control. No, it was just falling. Scootaloo managed to dive a little faster, trying to catch her friend, but unsure what to do after that. She gained some speed, but trying to get close was no use, she couldn't maneuver well enough. Then she'd felt a tug, and Sweetie's familiar aura, pulling them closer together as they fell. It was a long ways down from Cloudsdale, and as the two ponies drew near, Scootaloo shouted her apologies; how sorry she was that she'd caused this, how awful she was as a pony for getting her friends involved. The rush of wind lessened as the two collided and grabbed onto one another in a high velocity hug. "I'm so sorry," Scootaloo had said, crying. "If only I knew how to fly!" "It's okay," Sweetie had said, her face more peaceful and resolute than Scootaloo could have imagined. As the two fell, Sweetie squeezed her friend in a tighter hug, and then looked her in the eye. "Scootaloo, no matter what happens, it'll be okay. I don't blame you. I believe in you!" There was nothing that special in the words, no spell behind them, no poetry to their form. She'd been told similar things by dozens of ponies for years and years. But right then, in that moment, it was something profound. It wasn't magic, and yet... she'd opened her wings and flown them both to safety.
SpikeSpike stood outside the amphitheater, leaning his massive head over the bowl of rising seats to see the proceedings. Far below, watched by thousands of ponies, the coveted theater awards were being announced and dispensed. Among those behind the stage, Rarity, preeminent unicorn of fashion, stood waiting. It was... well, it was known that she'd be winning the prize for costume design. Not only was her show, Canterlot Abby, the most popular drama of the year, but it also involved some of the most accurately constructed period costumes seen in the theater circuit. As the prize for costume was announced, Spike watched with subdued glee, his massive tear ducts threatening to drown the upper boxes if he wasn't careful. Rarity stepped forward, noble as ever, despite her many years and aged state. She put on the most humble of acts as she walked on stage to accept the statuette, thanking all the others involved in the show as one should. As she wrapped up her speech though, and the orchestra began to play her off, she looked up toward the sky, and thanked her "biggest fan," winking at him on the double meaning. In the decades since he'd first laid eyes on the unicorn, Spike had gone through many phases. The infatuation of the early years still made him blush when he recalled how much he'd literally swooned when Rarity came near. As he grew older though, he eventually moved past that, but his friendship with Rarity only grew closer because of it. When he hit the first of his major growth spurts, and started taking on a fully draconic form, Rarity was there to help him through it as the new feelings he had... the greed, the harshness, the anger and the rage... all the instincts of dragon-kind had welled up within him. This, he knew, was what drove his kind to be so distant and removed from ponies and the other races. Yet for him... Rarity was there, and her firm-yet-kind demeanor had worked in ways that Twilight's books and research never could. Rarity didn't flinch as other ponies did when he'd lose his temper and roar in frustration. She didn't back down when reminding him he couldn't take what wasn't his. She helped him through those awful years of growth and confusion, and unlike the others of his kind, Spike had remained living with ponies even into his adulthood. He found it much easier to control himself these days. The simple habits Rarity had instilled in him were formative, and let him keep his temper in check. The end result was something ponies had thought impossible, indeed, which had never happened in recorded history. Rarity's generosity and patience had seen him through. It wasn't magic, and yet... He was a fully grown, yet fully civilized dragon.
TwilightTwilight Sparkle stared up at the newly grown crystal... tree? castle? She wasn't quite sure what to call her new home. The tree-like form of it certainly echoed her prior residence of the Golden Oaks library, but it, this new thing, was a castle as well. The library had been strong and stout, but this was... well, "imposing" was the best word she could come up with. She didn't mind... not really anyway. The old tree was, in a way, a touchstone, and had been close to her heart as such things often are, but when all was said and done, it was just a place. What really mattered—her friends, her family, Spike and Owlowiscious—they'd all escaped the brunt of Tirek's wrath, and that's what really mattered. The keepsakes she'd lost... well, it was sad, but she'd make new memories and have new things to remember them with eventually. The books could be replaced as well, maybe not exactly, but close enough. That was the entire point of libraries after all: to share knowledge. They were a bulwark against the darkness of ignorance, for nothing shared was ever truly lost. It was one of the few things that ran counter to universal entropy. While energy, matter, and the rest were reduced by time, and lessened the further they spread, knowledge gained and grew instead. It was a lot like friendship in that regard. It wasn't magic, and yet... it was! Author's Note As noted in the description, I originally wrote this for a writeoff contest in September of 2014. That's nearly two years ago now. Why I never published it, I'm not quite sure. I read it again for the first time in at least a year and realized, while far from my best work, it still captures something I haven't been able to put my finger on anywhere else, and figured it deserved to see some daylight. The cover image is a photo I took myself, of the Seattle skyline, which I routinely fly to/from for work, and inspired the Lyra segment of the story. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it!
LyraLyra pressed her nose against the window, staring out at the multitude of city lights as the ground dropped away and the plane rose above the coast. For the most part, the passengers seemed completely nonplussed by her presence, but she'd caught a few odd looks here and there as she'd boarded the flight. She could hardly blame them however. Despite her many years among them, even her own mind sometimes reverted and couldn't help but think of these alien creatures as strange and oh-so-weird. Yet what really stuck out in her mind was that none of them, not even those that seemed most surprised to find a unicorn flying coach, gave even a glimmer of thought to the miracle of the plane itself. It'd been nearly a decade since the Veil had torn, since this other Earth—the one where talking monkeys had evolved in place of equines—had come to overlay the edges of Equestria. Those monkeys, those... humans... had seemed so strange, and so very, very alien at first. But of all ponies, Lyra was one who believed, at least far more than most, in the old axiom that a stranger is just a friend you're meeting for the first time. She'd quickly found herself enraptured by the new humans, and their world. She'd gone on a pilgrimage of sorts, taking in as many of the sights this new world offered as she could, returning home occasionally to tell friends and family of the wonders she'd seen. It had been some of the best years of her life, and still she felt like she'd barely scratched the surface. Every takeoff was the start of a new adventure, and she'd sworn long ago to never forget the sheer joy of it. The green unicorn turned in the not-quite-pony-sized seat, leaning against the headrest while continuing to stare out the window, a faint smile crossing her muzzle as the millions of tiny lights all moved beneath her, a human city full of life and industry. As it faded beneath the clouds, she marveled at this weird species that bent metal, fire, and even the air itself to its will, harnessing whirling demons of fire beneath wings of composite aluminum to soar among the clouds. It wasn't magic, and yet... they'd even walked on the face of the moon!
