Author's Note

Fluttershy is dying, and she's not afraid. She just wants to get home and go out peacefully.

Don't Worry, I'll Be Fine: It's just a scratch.

Not much farther, now. Home isn't much farther, and there, I can rest.

I felt so heavy, and all of my insides hurt, but I could have made no other choice. It was alright. Just a short walk through a few scattered trees, and across a short expanse of open grass, and I would be home. I wanted to fly - don't we pegasi always? - but I was just too weak. I repeated my silent mantra, and kept putting one leaden hoof forward after another.

Then a small bird darted in front of my face, making me stop. I smiled at the body held up by the hovering, almost-buzzing wings. At least, I think I smiled. It wasn't easy, but I was happy to make the effort for a friend.

"Hello, Hummingway," I said, too quietly. He flew closer, and I could tell he was concerned. A hummingbird's features have no room for emotion, but the raw feelings were plain to me, and had been ever since I fell from Cloudsdale. He knew something was wrong, and that I hurt, but I couldn't bear the thought of sharing the burden - I would only feel his pain in carrying it. Summoning what energy I could, I made a show of clearing my throat to speak up. Relatively, at least. I was never a very loud pony.

"If you don't mind, I'm just going to go straight home. I've had a very tiring walk." I must not have been very convincing; maybe it was the sun's height indicating it wasn't even mid-day yet. Hummingway flew around to my right side, pointing his long beak accusingly at a thin red line that cut through my fur and sliced one of the butterflies on my flank neatly in two. I smiled at him again, though it took more effort this time, a sign of my waning energy. I couldn't afford to stand there talking.

"I'm sure it's not as bad as it looks." What little strength my voice had wavered as I spoke, exposing me even before the words had finished tumbling from my mouth, but I had to make the attempt. I didn't like to... deviate from the truth, but it was so often the kinder thing to do. Over and over I would feel the relief of a suffering creature, or even see my friends relax and change the subject, and know I did the right thing. The little bird was no less worried, but he flew off again, at least. He would likely bury his head in a flower somewhere, and forget me for a moment of sweet nectar; I was free to continue my plodding journey in peace.