Teros

Forty miles north of the last train stop, Scootaloo buzzed through sloping fields of green. The air was noticeably cooler here. Even on an early June morning, a chilly wind drifted between the foothills, causing the grasses and flowers to sway and dance in the breeze. Scootaloo breathed deeply, smiling. Something about the coolness of the morning was refreshing, like swimming in a crystal clear lake on a hot day. Whether she owed this feeling to the altitude or the latitude, she could only guess.

She zipped along a thin dirt path that had been carved into the hillsides by years of hiking hooves. Her scooter barely fit between the grass, but even still she felt a jolt as she passed over a bump or veered too far to one side. Every once in a while, Scootaloo would come to sections so rocky that she had to walk, dragging her scooter along behind her.

Another gust of wind blew through her mane. She’d tied it up in a neat little ponytail, and could feel the hairs ever so slightly as the air pushed it around. Her saddlebag was draped across her back, but every so often she would reach back just to make sure it was still there.

As Scootaloo crested another hill, she found the dirt path descending into a field of bright yellow flowers. She squealed—much more girly than if somepony else were around—and dismounted her scooter. Leaving it on the path, she scampered off into the meadow, saddlebag in tow.

Though she would never admit it if asked, Scootaloo hadn’t prepared very well for her trip. Somehow the issue of food had completely been forgotten, and within two days she was hungry with nothing to eat. For the first night she’d managed with plain grass, but it was hardly the diet she’d grown accustomed to living in Ponyville. When living alongside families named the Apples and the Cakes, one rarely had to settle for anything so boring as grass.

But flowers would do just as well as fruits or sweets. Scootaloo stuffed her bag to the brim, filling each pocket with petals and stems. As she made her way further into the field, the yellow daisies were joined by a small blue flower she didn’t recognize. She leaned down and took a bite of one, and within several minutes she’d tosses many of the daisies from her bag and replaced them with the blue flowers. A grin was plastered to her face, and she walked with a skip as she made her way back to the path.

Another mile, and the dirt path grew wider and less curvy. Scootaloo slowed her pace, her wings humming rather than buzzing. Before her, the foothills stretched further into the sky, and fields of grass and flowers were replaced by tall, dark pines. Bushes that had seemed ankle high from a distance stretched well over her waist as she passed them. And far in the distance, two great stone giants rose from the earth, their faces coated by nothing but rock and ice.

As she rode, Scootaloo found herself staring half at the road and half at the sky. As tall as they were, the mountains and hills were dwarfed by the enormity of the white fluffy masses above them. While the clouds shared the sky with patches of blue, most everything above was covered by cumulus.

Scootaloo closed one eye, then opened it again. Try as she might, she was unable to judge just how large the clouds were. She remembered the time Rainbow Dash had told her that some storm clouds grew to be many times the size of Canterlot mountain, and even regular clouds could be almost as large. In her mind, she pictured snatching up one of the rocky peaks before her and dragging it up into the sky to hide within a cloud. Something about the image of a little orange pony tugging a mountain thousands of feet into the air made her laugh a little, then sigh.

The path she followed was now bordered by the pine forest on one side and shoulder-high brush on the other. Every so often, a branch from a tree or bush would stick out into the road, and she would either see it or hit it. Eventually, Scootaloo took to riding with her head down, and her mental game of clouds and mountains ended.

It was past noon by the time the path left the forest’s edge. Now a wide field of dandelions, white and feathery, stretched between Scootaloo and the pines. And far into the distance, the hills and grasses were overcome by colossal walls of granite and snow. The two mountains that had seemed so close that morning loomed in the distance still, despite half a day of riding. Her wings ached, her stomach growled and her mouth was dry, but she had to keep moving.

The brown dirt road gave way to a gravelly path the color of smoke. Tiny dark stones clicked and clacked together beneath her as she buzzed along. The details on the mountain faces were becoming clearer as well, with steep gray faces exposing gashes and divots. Snow and ice marked the slopes as well, in thin white lines that shimmered in the summer sun. Some parts of the rocks remained hidden in their own shadows, while others slept under blankets of pines. But it was the peaks of the mountains that Scootaloo stared at. The entirety of both summits were coated by ice so white that it seemed to blend in with the clouds. Only by squinting could she make out the line between snow and sky, and even then she wasn’t sure if the mountains pierced the bottoms of the clouds.

The gravel and grass seemed to stretch on forever. As the sun dipped behind the gray wall of the mountains, Scootaloo’s wings slowed. Her breaths came in slow and deep, and that cool mountain air that had so easily charmed her that morning only stung in her throat now. Eventually, the sound of wheels on gravel was silenced, and she stumbled off her scooter. She threw her saddlebag to the dandelion field with a thud, and flopped to the ground herself.

With a pillow of flowers and a bed of grass, Scootaloo was asleep before the stars were even out.