Final Flight

“Well, shall we move our flanks or I order one more round?” I tip the third cider bottle into my empty glass. Nothing but a thin trickle of dregs comes out. I belch. “Sorry for that!”

“Don’t you think you’ve already drunk too much, sugar?”

“Come on! I bet I could knock a couple more back and still feel fine. Their cider is so wishy-washy.”

“I found it fine. And you know I—”

“Yeah, yeah! You’re an expert in cider. Just quit strutting your stuff all along. It gets my goat. Let’s move on.” I reach for my pouch, scrabble in it, draw out a note and some coins and throw them on the table. “Hey!” I call the waiter that slouches by the entrance of the inside room, and wave my hoof to signal him I left the bill on the table. He nods.

“Thanks! Good bye! Have fun!” he yells.

“See ya!”

We walk through the mostly deserted tables back to the stairs down to the snow. There’s barely the time to put our skis back on, and we take to our heels.

She was right. I had drunk too much, but I was too brash to own it up. I didn’t feel that buzzed. Maybe the thin, brisk air had numbed my senses. I don’t know.

Not that I want to know. What use would it be?

I fly above the beautiful island. I wish I had chosen that destination for our first holidays together, rather than the high peaks of Prance. But fate is fate, and even the two royal sisters must suffer its whims.

I reach the opposite shore. There’s a bonfire blazing on the beach. In the guttering light I see tiny dots dancing around it. Straining my ears I think I can faintly hear the shrill echoes of ukuleles. Far above, the sky has darkened into deep purple and the brightest stars poke out. However appealing, I am not bound here. I must fly farther on.

I am a legend on its way to meet another legend.

She stops by a wooden signpost and looks dubiously ahead at a nearly flat expanse of snow. “Your piste’s a drag at this point. A highway for yearlings,” she says when I join her.

“Yeah. I know. However, I’ve got something up my sleeve.” I point at a hairpin somewhat downslope. “See that switchback? If, instead of following it, we go straight ahead, we take a shortcut through that wood there and avoid all that boring stretch. What do you make of it?“

She seems to hesitate. “Isn’t that risky? I mean—”

“By Celestia you’re so chicken on skis. What can happen in a wood? Crash into a tree and find yourself buried under a heap of snow? Come on! Work up your guts! Let’s go.”

I don’t wait for her answer and start headlong for the first trees a hundred of metres below.

Why? Why had I to take this track that fateful day? Just to shunt half a mile of flat ground? Hooey. I knew of this shortcut, but I had never taken it before…

Darkness has fallen now, and the tropical night is studded with stars. I look above and try to make out some of the constellations I am familiar with. But… it’s weird. Some stars seem to be at the right place, but others are strangely wayward. It must be a sign. Maybe the legend is true, after all?

“What now?” she asks.

“Err… hold on. I need to get my bearings.” We are standing in the middle of a clearing. I scan the edge of the wood in search of an answer, but I must admit I’ve no clue where to go next. This or that way? They all look the same.

“We’re lost, eh? Explain this!“ she taunts me.

I feel self-conscious. “I’m sorry, I must have overlooked a fork somewhere. It’s been a while.” I know this is a flimsy excuse, and she won’t take it. But I cannot confess to her it is the first time I have actually been here, and that I have lied just to show off.

“No need to get stuck here forever. You know what? We should simply pick a random heading and follow it as best as we can. Move your rump. This time I lead the way.”

I can hardly utter an answer that she is already gone. She sashays ahead between the trees at a surprisingly fast pace, so that I have to pull out all stops to keep up behind her. After round about a quarter of an hour of this race, the trunks clear away somewhat. Five minutes later, we reach the edge of the wood. She stops a few yards farther, right on the border of a ledge, and I skid to a halt just next to her.

She gestures with her right foreleg towards downslope. “Any landmark you recognize, maybe?”

I peer into the distance, but it is difficult to make out any particular in this scenery. The snow reflects off almost all the brilliance of the Sun, and, even with my shades on, I have to squint to fend off the bright light and avoid being dazzled.

She waves at a small clump of chalets somewhere midway to the valley. “Isn’t that the piste down below amid the chalets over there?”

I look in the direction she is pointing. She is right. “Bullseye! This is Deret hamlet, the piste runs straight across it. Gosh, you’re a miracle on hooves!”

She winks at me. “Dunno, but at least I’m better than you at finding bearings! Come along! Unless you want me to call you a winged snail?” And she scoots off.

She has a fine time teasing me: I have made a fool of myself. My eyes follow her as she gracefully rounds the shoulder of the ledge and comes back towards me, twenty yards below or so.

I don’t like to lose, and lose face less than anything else. Somehow I must get even with her. I must.

I have an idea. A stupid idea.

I watch her approach. When she is almost below me, I plunge downwards and jump over the ledge. Using my wings for steering, I alight right in front of her. ‘Woo!’ I shout, as if to frighten her.

Curious that hollow sound the snow makes as my skis touch down on to it. I know about that sound. Somepony has told me about it. What—

Something rustles ominously just above me. I jerk my head sideways, just in time to witness a wide crack opening in the snow. Paralysed, I watch it widen, slither above her, continue its course crosswise the slope. Slowly, but inexorably, the layer of snow above us starts to slide down.

‘Apple—’ I cry out, but my voice is lost in the uproar. Transfixed, I am unable to move as the marching snow reaches me. I don’t even think about taking off. It’s too late anyway. I totter, stumble, fall as the ground gives way under me. Swept away by the avalanche, I roll, tumble madly down, faster and faster amid a deafening rumble of thunder. There is no sky anymore, just whiteness, soft, powdery, fluffy, pushing me ruthlessly down. It lasts for a slice of eternity, until I crash against something hard, everything stops and a pall falls upon me.

I wish I had died this day. It would have been so much simplier. No pain. No guilt. Nothing. All would have ended, and maybe we would have met somewhere else, in another world, a world of eternal summer, a world of wonder and love, free of cold, free of snow. Just the two of us, united for eternity.

In the offing, something shimmers, like a soft glow. The sea is luminescent. So the legend is true, after all. Who could tell? Come on my wings, don’t fail me! It’s a matter of minutes now…

When I open my eyes I see only whiteness. Not the same whiteness though. It is remote, as if observed through… My head aches. I try to move my legs, but they are firmly held… Held? By what? Despite the pain, I crane my neck out. My body is swaddled in white bandages. Three of my legs are immobilised in casts. I am bedded in a hospital room. I let my head plop back on to the pillow.

“Hello, Rainbow,” says a familiar voice next to me.

I start, turn my head. Twilight sits by the bedside. Her face betrays a subtle mix of relief and sorrow.

“Twilight? What am I doing here? What happened?” It’s a pointless question. I already know the answer.

“You were caught in an avalanche. You and Applejack. You were badly injured, but the doctors say you should recover quickly.”

Applejack. Applejack. “Applejack, where’s she? How’s she?”

I must sound panicked. Twilight looks at me gravely. She does not answer. Instead, she lowers her gaze.

“What?!” I blurt. “No. NO! NO! Please don’t tell me…” I can’t say more. I have a giant lump in my throat, the words are stuck in it. My view blurs. I am reeling. A dark pit opens below me. I close my eyes.

Far away, the voice of Twilight, sombre. I don’t want to hear it, but the words still manage to crawl into my brain. “I’m sorry Rainbow. We couldn’t find her. We’ve scoured everywhere. It’s too late now. She—” The blackness engulfs me, and, thanks Celestia, I hear no more.

I have finally reached the end of my voyage. Above me, the darkness of the sky. Below, wide patches of light dance on the surface of the ocean, describing intricate whorls and strange arabesques. Is this some sort of signal sent to an alien, formidable intelligence? Maybe I am about to find out, like so many who have vanished here before.

All of a sudden, a radiant shaft springs from the water and blinds me. I feel pulled down, seized by a formidable force I can’t resist. I don’t even try to anyway. I flare my wings, empty my mind, take a last deep breath of marine air. I taste the brackish spray on my lips. I close my eyes for the last time. In peace at last, I glide down, effortlessly, towards a mighty sun.