Mother Dearest

by Corejo

Rating: teen
Tags: Thriller, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark
Length: 11501

A mare finds herself the object of a deranged stallion's interests while another struggles to hold together the pieces of her life.

We all have our demons. Some are great. Some are small. We repress them, bury them beneath layers of emotion and denial. But whether they’re real or imaginary, everypony must face them in the end.

Published 2015-10-03 04:50:01 UTC
Last updated 2016-01-18 14:34:23 UTC

I - Snowball

Principal Pursed Lip frowned at him over the large bifocals resting on her nose. It had been minutes since he walked into the lacquered room and made to sit in the hard, wooden chair—a lot harder than it needed to be. She hadn’t said a word since “come in.”

He stared back at her, defiant. He had done nothing wrong. She should have been here, not him. All he wanted was to go back to the quiet of his room and sleep.

“So, Shadow,” Pursed Lip said. “I was told you were fighting again today?” Shadow ignored the question, continued staring. Pursed Lip folded her hooves on her desk. “You know we don’t tolerate violence here at Nickerberg. That type of behavior is why you’re here in the first place.”

The statement held no sway over Shadow. His gaze was impassive, simmering.

The phone on Pursed Lip’s desk rang. She lit her horn and brought the phone to her ear. “Yes?” A nod, an “mmhmm,” and a “thank you, Red Cross” before hanging up. She leaned forward in her chair, resting her elbows on the desk, head on her hooves, staring at him.

“That was the nurse,” she said. “You broke poor Double Take’s nose, and—”

“Good,” he said.

She paused, as if surprised at the outburst, but continued. “And you bit her ear off.” Her voice changed to one of iron.

He gave her the same death glare he had given Double Take. The taste of copper still lingered on his tongue, and part of him wanted to spit it in the principal’s face. “Those were my carrots.”

She shook her head. “Shadow, how many times do I have to tell you? Violence is not the answer. I don’t care if she tried to steal your carrots.”

“They were my carrots!”

“Then you should tell her not to take them from you, not—”

“You tell her not to!”

“Shadow...” She stared at him as a mother would a bad foal. Her weary eyes, the tiredness in her voice said all he needed to know. “I can’t keep seeing you like this. You have to learn not to hurt other ponies.”

“Well she needs to learn not to take things from me!” He stood up in his chair.

“Sit down, Shadow.”

Her voice had always commanded authority at Nickerberg, but Shadow would have none of it this time. He remained standing, the fire in his eyes locked with the weariness in hers.

She sighed. His ears flattened instinctively. He knew what was coming next. It always came next.

She stood up from her desk and strode out front. As she passed him, she lit her horn, grabbing him about the neck, yanking him off the chair and then dragging him—hooves scraping against the floor—out into the hallway.

They passed the dingy, branching doors of classrooms, through the connecting hall, and beyond the dormitories. Little heads peeked out, silent as mice.

She turned a corner, where a large steel door shoved aside what little whitewashed concrete the hallway had for a dead end. It glowed blue and swung open on rusty hinges.

Shadow felt himself lift off the ground and tumble through the air. He landed face first on a hard, lumpy cushion. The door behind him provided the only light in the room, and he stared out at the silhouette of Principal Pursed Lip. The wedge of light narrowed, closing over her silhouette, until a slam of metal plunged the room into darkness.

He gazed into the nothingness around him, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Slowly, the white padded walls came into focus, and he noticed a figure sitting in the corner—not by seeing it, but rather by the cushion he couldn’t see behind it.

It stood—another colt—and walked toward him. Almost in hoof’s reach, he stopped, and he could see the slightest shimmer of light in his eyes.

“Hey, Inkling,” Shadow said.

“Hey, Brother,” Inkling replied. The darkness beneath the eyes grew lighter like the cushions behind him, as if Shadow were looking through a hole in Inkling’s face—a smile.

It had been a while since he had seen Inkling. Principal Pursed Lip must have forgotten he was already in here.

“Nothing to worry about, right?” Inkling said. The tone of his voice carried a cheerful attitude he couldn’t help but accept.

He smiled back. “Yeah.”

He looked around at the padded walls and ceiling, and then spun about, making himself comfortable as he lay down. Inkling lay next to him, the heat of his body staving off the room’s chill. Shadow felt him take a deep breath and settle in for a nap, and he did the same.

Here, it was silent, which, he supposed, was exactly what he wanted.

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

Hope couldn’t understand what was wrong with Snowball.

Roselily and Mom always said that cats did whatever they felt like whenever they felt like it, but Snowball would never just up and run away—not like this. Sure, he ran away when she forgot to leave food out during their family vacation last year, but he was resourceful enough to snatch all the fish out of Roselily’s aquarium before somehow breaking out of the house and terrorizing Mrs. Petal’s koi pond. She’d never be forgiven for that.

It was odd he hadn’t come around by now. Dinner was his favorite time of day. And woe upon her if it wasn’t ready by eight o’ clock on the dot.

“Mooooom, I still can’t find Snowball!” she said, pulling her head out from beneath the dining room table.

“Did you check the basement?” Mom called from upstairs.

Hope rolled her eyes. Of course she did. That was the first place she checked. ‘From the bottom up’ as she had always been taught. “Yeah!”

“Well, what about the Petals’—”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll go check!” She stomped across the living room for the front door, but Snowball wouldn’t be there, of course. They would have heard Mrs, Petal’s screams and the swish of her broom by now. She threw on her scarf, stepped out onto the screened-in porch, and sighed, watching her breath curl away in the frostbitten air. Where in Equestria could he have gone? He wasn’t on the porch, and the dead of winter was no time for a cat to be out on his own.

Half the chairs and tables on the porch were still overturned from her earlier search, leaving the place looking like it had been ransacked by masked criminals. Hope smirked as she opened the screen door. Maybe he had been catnapped. That’d be an interesting ransom to get in the mail. It’d be on thick paper with magazine letters glued to it. Leave 10 million bits beneath the Delamare Bridge by sunset or you’ll never see your precious Snowball again. She chuckled. Nah… they wouldn’t think he’d be worth that much, not the way she sometimes treated him.

She was a good caretaker. Well, sort of. He might have been better off feral, though. Forgetfulness (or was it laziness?) ran in the family, and his kingly schedule didn’t mesh well with that sort of thing. And yeah, that vacation oopsie-daisie probably wouldn’t be her last. She found herself at the front gate and shook away the daydream. She undid the latch, then looked out into the snowdrifts collecting along the street. Well, time to find him the hard way.

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

Delamare wasn’t the largest city in Equestria. Canterlot and Manehattan vied for that honor. But it was respectable when it came to a standard of living—best known for its many sprawling suburbs, East Germane among them. It couldn’t hold a candle to Upper Clydesburg, but Hope had called it home all her life. She would have killed herself had she grown up in a place as hoity-toity as Upper Clydesburg. The name alone made her gag. No, the more down-to-Equestria streets of East Germane and its snow-laden garden hedges and picket fences won out in the end. Home sweet home.

“Snowball!” she called into the open air. “Snowbaaall!”

A pair of colts on bicycles passed by, staring. Further down the street, one whispered something behind a hoof to the other, and he shot a glance over his shoulder at her. She stared back, brow raised. Since when was looking for a lost pet so weird?

She looked at her side. Oh, right. One wing. She rolled her eyes, then frowned at the colts.

So what if she only had one wing? Big whoop. A stupid reason to stare. She raised a leg to chase after them, give them a piece of her mind.

No. Snowball. Snowball first. She shook her head, looking around. The crunch of the colts’ bikes turned and disappeared down Malton, leaving her with no other answer to her call. No surprise there. Snowball had never been very vocal, especially when mad at her. The little guy was probably following, waiting for her to get frustrated before popping out all cool and suave-like. He was a vengeful little kitten.

“Can’t say I’ve seen any pets wandering around here, Miss,” said an elderly stallion sweeping the afternoon’s snowfall from his sidewalk.

Hope smiled at him, though strained. “Thanks.”

Helpful but unfortunate information. Though it was already dark out, which would undoubtedly make spotting a white cat in the snow next to impossible, nopony could miss the tinkling of Snowball’s bell. Maybe he had gone south on Barleyton instead. She chuckled. Like a cat would stop to look at the street signs to see which direction he was running away to. With little to go on, she shrugged and followed her gut.

Barleyton was a hub street. Many of the other roads in the suburb crossed paths or at least in some way ended up leading to it, making it a prime stop for anypony in need of groceries or any sort of odd or end. For all his cunning, Snowball had probably found his way to Watercress, the fishmonger, at the far end—a rougher stallion who wasn’t afraid to deal with the winged and clawed inhabitants of Little Gryphaly across the river.

The Water’s Crest was infamous for those hot, summer days when the weather decided it was his turn to be upwind of all of Barleyton. Only Watercress and the gryphons he dealt with seemed immune to the stench. He must have been something else to shrug off that kind of nasty. He’d probably even add Snowball to the list of today’s deals if he caught him, for all she knew. She started walking a little faster.

Barleyton bustled with more ponies than usual for a weekday evening. (It was still evening no matter what anypony said. Eight o’ clock was not nighttime, no matter how dark.) Often, the busier hours came in the mid-afternoon, when everypony left work, before the sun set and took its warmth with it. But cheer hung thick in the air. The streetlamps flickered overhead, and the shops lining the street glowed with their own warm lights so as to beckon in shivering customers. Garlands and wreaths hung from the lampposts, and foalish laughter bounced overhead.

It always got this way around Hearth’s Warming, but the lack of wind seemed to have coaxed the holiday shoppers out early. Couldn't blame them. The temperature often fell well below freezing this time of year, and Old Mare Winter so loved her biting winds.

Cinnamon and wintergreen dominated the scents wafting through the street. Hope breathed it in to the bottoms of her lungs, letting her eyes flutter shut for a moment and envision hot cocoa and oatmeal cookies. Little Bite’s Bakery was packed to the brim as she passed its well-worn brick and mortar. No way Snowball would be in there, as much as she wished. It would be nice to get out of the cold, find him, and grab a treat as a reward all in one swoop. But life never fell that neatly into place. Snowball hated crowds.

Just past the Saddle Street intersection, where the nice, rustic brick turned to pavement, Hope kept her eyes peeled. There were fewer ponies about, meaning Snowball might be hiding in a nearby alleyway.

“Snowball!” she cried. Some of the closer ponies ducked or were otherwise startled.

“Don’t you be throwing any of those around here, young lady.” An elderly mare in a plaid winter coat glared at her. Hope frowned back. Like she was the sort to start that kind of mischief. She strutted past the mare with as little holiday cheer as she could muster.

The Water’s Crest, a little further down, didn’t have its display outside like he usually did. Some weird gryphon culture thing, bringing everything in at sunset, apparently. Normally, Watercress braved the weather—hot or cold—for the sake of his clients, to bargain in the open air of the street. But as the stars shone above, he had taken his business indoors, where he shifted between customers on the other side of the large store window. They were all, as expected, gryphons.

She stopped outside the door, looking in, unable to enter. Warm air drifted out to kiss her frost-nipped nose, inviting, despite the powerful stench of fish and feathers. Another stench pervaded the air. Dingy, heavy, it landed somewhere between sweat and something else. The fishmonger’s piercing eyes seemingly glared at every one of his customers at once, his grossly long handlebar moustache poised to leap off his face and throttle any would-be thieves. She labeled the smell distrust and left it at that. The vibe he gave off chilled to the bone more than the winter weather on her back. Nah, Snowball wouldn’t have gone in there with that madpony.

Hope turned on her heels to head back the other way. Though she didn’t expect to run smack into somepony else.

“I’m so sorry,” she heard herself say instinctively, a hoof raised to the bump on her forehead. She had conked it pretty good. It would swell big time without ice. She looked up to see the other pony.

He didn’t seem much fazed by the collision. Tall. Dark brown. Scraggly. His cheekbones sat hollow beneath sunken eyes, the ridge of his muzzle far thinner than any stallion’s she had met before. He swayed with a slow wind that had picked up, as if he had neither the weight nor the strength to brave it. How he hadn’t already frozen to death wearing such a ragged coat was beyond her. It looked like a strip of cloth two stray dogs had fought over.

She bit her lip, stepping back. His eyes took her in, their icy color running up and down her figure, briefly stopping where wing should have started. It lasted no more than a second before they shifted back and forth about him. His head drooped, and he didn’t say a word.

“Um…” She shrank away, giving him a half-smile in hopes that he might soften up. He hardly noticed, his eyes still darting every which way. He had a pair of saddlebags, one of them full. Practically bulging. His eyes again landed on her momentarily, and he shifted to hide the bag from view.

“Excuse me,” he said, almost inaudibly.

“No, it was my fault,” Hope said, stressing her etiquette, her wing half spreading for effect. Celestia knew, he was probably one of those creepers from Neighton, at the west end of Delamare. Mom only ever had one thing to say about those ponies: keep an eye on them, and never get on their bad side. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

She tried giving him another smile, but realized he was staring her in the eyes. The air fell still, but a chill rushed across her body.

The stallion continued to stare unblinking in the silence that had taken hold, as if there wasn’t another living being within a hundred miles. Hope took another step back, feeling that he was somehow advancing on her, though he hadn’t taken a step. His presence seemed to surround her, the shadows of the darkened street enveloping and trapping her in his gaze.

He stepped forward, slow, observational—like he was afraid she might try and attack him at any moment. He took another timid step before darting off down the street.

It wasn’t until he had turned the corner that she allowed herself a breath, a hoof up to her chest. Never come down to this end of Barleyton again. Noted. Got it. Thanks, mom. She allowed herself a sigh and a re-settling of her feathers before heading home.

“Snowball!” she cried.

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

He watched her go. Behind the alleyway dumpster he had waited, listened to her calling out for her ‘snowball.’ When she passed, he crept out, eyes transfixed. Graceful, elegant, captivating like a cherished memory. The way her seafoam-green tail danced in the wind brought a smile to his face. How such a pretty mare could still be so in such a world. She must have been younger than she looked.

He shook away the thought. He had to get home, and the crowds were sure to be scrying.

The coat about his shoulders did little to stave off the chill that cut through to the bone, but the numbness was merely an old friend. He stole down a side street, for the bridge leading to Neighton.

The lamplight became sparse on the other side—neglect, not scarcity. Figures stood beneath the blown-out lamps, their eyes glimmering with distant lights, lips dancing with words not meant for outsider ears. Their eyes crawled across his back. They all stared—they always did—but they stayed away. Only their eyes bothered him. Itches he couldn’t scratch. They couldn’t see what he carried in the darkness.

It was long past twilight when he made it to Turin Street. The chill of the drifting snow had numbed his ankles, but he would be in from it soon. Shadow to shadow, head down, eyes up. The snow crunched louder than gravel and broken glass. Two ponies walked the far side of the street. One small. One big. They weren’t looking.

The light post was out in front of his house. He smiled briefly as he stole up to his stoop. Key. Lock. A long creak—open, shut. Silence.

He pressed his ear against the door. The wind howled outside, slow and solemn. His muscles relaxed, and the rough wood against his face as he slid to the floor. Safe at last.

A moment’s rest. He could afford no more. He headed for the back room, heartbeat rising. Their prying eyes couldn’t reach him here, but the eyes to come—that he wanted watching—held power greater than he ever wished to feel.

He slipped through the door, and off came his saddlebags. The single bulging pouch began to jerk and twitch, its contents pushing out against the ragged canvas, hissing like a lit fuse. He paid it no mind, instead focused on drawing the curtains. The thick material blocked out the light of the full moon and its mare, leaving the fireplace to plunge the room into orange and yellow.

He turned to the fussing bag, eyes now fixed upon it. A swift motion undid the button, and he plunged his hoof inside. He winced momentarily as he fished about, feeling the claws and fangs digging deep into his hoof.

Its vengeful hisses meant nothing to him as he drew it out, raising it high. The cat hissed louder, its paws a flurry of white, intent on tearing to ribbons any bit of flesh it could reach. Still he ignored the pain, transfixed for a moment in time on the being he held in his hoof, how it struggled and raged. A blink, and he remembered his place.

He shoved the cat to the ground, pinning it with his body weight. Its cries became shrieks as he slowly crushed the life from its lungs.

Out came the blade, risen high above his head, and down it fell, without hesitation or remorse.

Again. Again. The knife rose and fell, and with it the life he sought. It poured over his hoof, spackled his face, filled the air with a metallic tang. He didn’t stop until long after the movement ceased.

He sat there in his room, his breaths ragged and heavy. It was done. Come dawn, she would know. And that’s all that mattered.

The stallion reclined his head, leaning back on his haunches for a deep sigh, the wet warmth on his face turning cold. It would be a while before she asked again. That alone made him smile.

He gazed down at the mess beneath him, and he noticed a shimmer around its neck. He reached for it, and as he touched it heard the jingle of a bell.

The sound took him by surprise. He regarded the little silver bell, turning it over in his hoof before cutting away the collar. He lifted it up to watch the flames dance upon its surface, but noticed a round, polished medallion beside it. There it gleamed in the firelight, as if the glow came from within, and he couldn’t help but admire its simple beauty. He turned it over, and his smile faded to curiosity.

Etched in black: SNOWBALL

The stallion turned it over in his hoof again, his gaze unfocusing. He whispered, “Snowball…”

Slowly, his eyes drifted from the medallion and into the living room, where they came to rest upon his front door and the one-winged mare somewhere beyond it.

Author's Note

Special Thanks to Belligerent Sock, xgfhj18, and Binuclear Dragon for proofreading.

Onward and Downward.

II - Lonely Nights

Morning Glory smiled down at her empty wine glass on the table. She had tried to stifle a laugh with a hoof, but found the act too difficult given how horribly inappropriate Flue’s comment had been. Her face was far redder than decency allowed. That went doubly so in a restaurant as fancy as Burntwood.

She glanced at him, and he grinned back, barely able to suppress it. Something in her head told her to look over again, and she couldn’t help herself.

The… well-rounded mare, as Flue had restrained himself enough to describe her, at the table across the aisle still hadn’t realized the stain on her gown’s chest. Or the grossly large splotch of lasagna on her cheek.

“I can’t believe you just said that,” Morning Glory said, looking back to Flue.

He let out a small chuckle. “Well, I can’t believe those jowls are still shakin’,” he whispered. “Look at em!” He shook his head, jaw loose, making motorboat sounds.

Morning Glory started laughing again, but choked, doubling over the table in a coughing fit. “You’re terrible,” she managed to say between coughs.

He answered only with a mischievous grin. The way his crystal-blue eyes seemed to twinkle in the candlelight and how his hair curled just enough to be played with made it hard to think less of him for the comment.

A final cough into her napkin set her straight, and she looked down at the plate of lettuce fragments and excess olive oil to compose herself. A sigh escaped her, finishing the task. “You clean up nice,” Morning Glory said, looking back up, hoping to change the subject to something more appropriate.

“You say that all the time,” Flue said as he idly twirled his fork on his plate.

“Yeah, but I thought I should say it again.”

His eyes met hers, brow raised. “Why, ‘cause I cleaned behind my ears this time?”

Morning Glory giggled. “And the tip of your nose.”

He rubbed his nose, smirking proudly. “It squeaks with the best of them.”

Morning Glory laughed, looking down at her wine glass. The tiniest bit of her moscato sat in the bottom, giving the glass’s stem the finest hint of red. It was the best she had ever tasted, and it made her feel warm inside. “Do you remember when we first started dating?”

“Where’s this coming from?” He set his fork down and leaned forward, elbows on the table, resting his chin on his hooves.

Morning Glory smirked. “What do you mean? I asked you a question.”

He shrugged. “I was just curious. But yeah, do you mean before you tried to kill me or after?”

The laugh leapt from Morning Glory’s chest before she could stop it. She leaned forward, hooves set defensively on the table, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips. “I didn’t mean to. My landlord didn’t tell me we’d be having a chimney sweep come through.”

Flue stared wide-eyed into the distance, his mouth drawn in a small ‘o’ to complete his “stupid look,” as she called it. “Oh, well I guess it’s okay then.” He broke into a laugh. “You know, if Low Rent would have warned me that some crazy pony in a bathrobe was going to try and break my legs, I would have probably asked her out before she scared me off the roof—save myself the hospital visit.” He toasted at her with an invisible glass.

She half-pouted, half-smiled at him, though her voice came out as a full pout. “I was sorry and you know it.”

Flue chuckled and then sighed, looking down into his leftover carrot shavings. “But yeah, that was the greatest day of my life.” He smiled up at her in that way that always melted her like butter. It worked, and Morning Glory couldn’t resist returning the smile. She had to look away after a moment, though, or else she might get too many jitters.

“But really, why’d you ask?”

Morning Glory smiled like a little filly talking to her schoolyard crush. She really hadn’t expected him to pursue his question and didn’t know how to answer it. In truth, she wanted to tell him how much she loved him and loved all the time they had spent together. But she also knew how frivolous he saw words to be; she had said those words before, and ‘being met in the middle’ would have been a generous description of his reply. To him, actions spoke louder than words. Just the way he worked.

“I’ve… It’s just been a wonderful evening,” she said.

“Only ‘cause you’re here,” Flue said.

Morning Glory couldn’t help but blush. She glanced back up at him, and he still wore that same winning smile. Within his eyes she saw happiness, playfulness—a certain spirit of youth missing from the stallion she had last dated. Or any of the ones before that.

To think it had been two months since they met. Time flew so fast.

“So how’d you like your asparagus cakes?” he asked, his eyes flicking to her plate before returning to her.

Morning Glory nodded. “Delicious. Never had any better.”

“I told you you’d like this place.”

“Yeah,” she said, glancing aside. She continued, worried, in a half whisper. “But it’s so expensive. You didn’t need to take me here.”

Flue waved a hoof. “It’s your special day. Why shouldn’t I? Tryin’ to tell me you’re not worth it?” He flashed his smile again.

“Hey, don’t go putting words in my mouth,” she said.

“Oh, so you are worth it? Or are you too worth it and you’re trying to tell me this place wasn’t nice enough?” He had leaned forward, a twinkle in his eye.

Morning Glory flustered. “Wha-hey! That’s n—” She gave a small huff, trying and failing to suppress a smile, knowing full well she would have only been walking into a trap. He loved teasing her, and the empty bottle of wine between them wasn’t helping much.

Flue laughed at seeing her catch on, and Morning Glory rolled her eyes, sighing it away. Their eyes met again, and Flue reached a hoof across the table. She was about to take it in hers, but the waiter strode up, a pitcher of water and a bill presenter in his silver aura. He glanced briefly between them, smiled, and set the presenter on Flue’s end of the table without a word.

“Thank you,” Flue said. The waiter gave a small bow and headed for the other end of the room.

Flue took the presenter, opened it, and immediately clutched his hoof to his chest, eyes bulging out, tongue lolling. Morning Glory blinked, hardly able to process what had happened before he chuckled and opened it in genuine.

“Wh...what?”

“I’m kidding,” Flue said. “You know, it’s a thing I do sometimes.”

“Oh, shut up.” Morning Glory looked absently out into the restaurant, grinning. She couldn’t take him anywhere.

Business card inserted—for mailing of the real bill and gratuity, as the handling of bits was considered ‘unclean’ in fancy establishments for some reason—Flue stood the presenter upright on the table, then leaned his head on a hoof, gazing at her. Morning Glory moved her hoof forward to make up for the earlier interrupted moment. His met hers, and her stomach filled with butterflies.

“I love you,” he said.

Morning Glory’s heart skipped a beat. Warmth rushed to her cheeks, and the ‘I love you, too’ she meant to speak stuck in her throat. She only managed an “Uhh...”

Flue blinked, emotion draining away to mild surprise. “Well that’s not what I expected, but okay,” he said, point blank.

Morning Glory shook her head, blushing furiously. “Er, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“Uh huh.” Flue kept his eyes on her, part of him still cheerful, but the brightness of his smile never returned.

“I’m serious. It’s just—”

Morning Glory averted her eyes as the waiter swept past, grabbing the bill. “Thank you, and you two have a pleasant evening,” he said.

“You too, sir,” Flue said. He sighed and then made a show of folding his napkin, flopping it on the table. A glance up to her. “Should we get going?”

“Flue,” Morning Glory said. “You know I didn’t mean that. I-I just wasn’t expecting it.” She looked down at her hooves bunched on the edge of the table. She could feel him staring at her, knew how he got when disappointed: smile and defer. Why did she have to go and ruin such a wonderful evening?

“Come on,” Flue half whispered. “Let’s get going.” He stood, thanked the waiter again, and came around the table to help her out of her seat. Morning Glory let him pull her chair out, to allow him his pout if nothing else, and she followed him to the door, head bent, ears limp, in silence.

The greeter thanked them for coming. Flue returned the gesture, but Morning Glory could only muster a half-hearted smile. They left Burntwood and made their way down the snow-dusted street.

It was a chilly night in Baltimare. The snow fell from a windless sky in flakes large enough to cover a whole bit. It crunched underhoof, neither too deep nor too heavy. It was the kind of snowfall that would have made her snuggle up beside Flue during the walk, but she didn’t feel confident in that sort of gesture after her slip-up.

Morning Glory chanced a glance at him. He walked almost absently, his eyes bouncing around the glowing lights and steaming marehole covers, all clammed up the way he got when annoyed.

Her heart weighed heavy thinking of how perfectly the night had gone. The trip to Horseshoe Bay, the boat ride, and then their absolutely wonderful dinner at Burntwood along the port, overlooking the water. Every bit of it had sparked a flame in her heart that no other night in her life had. And she had thrown it down the drain with one little stutter.

A subtle wind whipped up a puff of snow, and Morning Glory took the opportunity to fake a shiver, hoping he might notice.

Immediately he pressed his shoulder against hers and wrapped his scarf over her neck, its thick wool quick to stave off the cold. A genuine gesture, but over so soon—a minimal effort. Yet another way he had found of pushing her buttons, whether he meant it or not. She huffed, but made no other attempt to get him to open up.

Nearly ten agonizing minutes of silence stretched from that point until they reached her apartment. Outwardly cordial, Flue walked her up the stoop and waited for her to unlock the door. Just going through the motions.

Though she focused on getting her key into the lock, she knew the blank stare he was no doubt giving her. Why one little thing could make him willing to ruin the rest of the night just to prove some point that didn’t exist. She kept her irritation to herself in hopes he might come to his senses.

The lock opened, and a wave of heat rolled out from the apartment. Morning Glory gave Flue a half-hearted smile. He returned it, though he didn’t meet her eyes.

“Well…” Morning Glory said. “I had a wonderful night.”

“Yeah, me too.” Flue glanced up at her, but quickly averted his eyes again.

Still? Morning Glory huffed. “Seriously?”

That got his attention. He stared back, wary.

“We have the best night of our lives, go out and see the town, and when I make one stupid, little mistake you clam up, and it’s like we shouldn’t have even bothered.” Heat rose to her cheeks, but it hadn’t come from the wine. He stared back with those sad eyes, like he had something to say but not the balls to say it. “Come on. Use your words.”

Flue rolled his eyes. She knew the phrase irritated him to no end. Good. Maybe he’d learn not to act so childishly.

“I just,” he said. “I don’t get why I can open up to you like that and then you don’t even say it back. You’re all about saying it to me all day long, but the one time I’m really expecting to hear it...”

“Flue…” Part of her heart sank as if into the icy waters of Horseshoe Bay. There it was, that feeling again. The one where her inner demons crawl into her head, spinning their little webs of how he was going to leave her. How her efforts to bring them closer were only pushing him away, the foot of space between them a canyon.

“You know I say it to you,” she said, taking the tiniest of steps forward, over that unfathomable edge. “Always. Because I mean it. I do love you.” Finally she caught his eye.

“I love you,” she reaffirmed, steadfast. “You just said it so suddenly and—yeah, it was my fault. I screwed up, but you know me. We both make mistakes.”

Her words seemed to find effect in him. The roughness of his frown softened, and a light flickered back into his eyes. He looked down at her hooves, sullen.

“Look,” Morning Glory said. “Can we just try this again? Please?” He looked back up with those beautiful blue eyes, hesitant, almost expectant. She took the initiative: “I love you.”

Flue’s gaze darted away, ears back, but just as quickly returned. “I love you, too.”

Hearing him say it again made Morning Glory melt from head to toe. The warmth of the living room fought against the chill about them, beckoning her in for a well-deserved night’s rest. She gave the warm interior a sweeping glance.

Flue stepped forward. A gentle hoof brushed her mane aside. He kissed her, and fireworks went off inside her chest He held her there for what she wished would have been eternity. But wishes never came so easily, and they parted all too soon. He leaned his forehead against hers, a hoof stroking her mane.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” he whispered. Confidence had returned to his voice, the youthful energy she loved. She nodded, feeling his breath against her face, smelling the sweet, fruity wine.

She would see him tomorrow. Flue always kept his word. But it also meant she wouldn’t see him again until then. And there were too many hours between.

She yearned for the day they would be together, when he would stay beside her and she would never have to say goodbye. The nights were terribly lonely, and she tossed and turned as the midnight emptiness screamed ever louder, that she had nopony’s warmth to feel when winter’s breath snuck in through the windows.

They stood before the doorway, heads pressed together, sharing the frost of their breath in the cold stillness. And still, persistent, the heat spilled out from the living room, calling her inside.

Maybe she wouldn’t have to be alone.

She raised her hoof to Flue’s cheek and reunited with him in a kiss. She held fast against his gentle pull away, and he gave no further resistance. His hoof brushed toward the back of her head as he leaned into the kiss, and, slowly, she stepped backward, drawing him across the threshold.

Author's Note

Onward and Downward.

III - Housewarming

Shadow sat beneath the train station awning, watching the clouds roll across the distant sky. They flashed with lightning, their swollen underbellies ready to burst. It would be another rainy walk home for him. Them.

He looked down the stretch of tracks that reached beyond the horizon. There the train would peek just above the flattened landscape, its smoke pluming white to join the clouds in the sky.

An old stallion sat on the bench across the station’s entranceway. He clicked his tongue to some song that was probably as old as him. He was really wrinkly, too, like Mother’s dresses when they fell off the line. He even smiled the way she used to. So carefree, and Shadow wished Mother would smile like that again soon. He would find a way.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the clouds drew Shadow’s gaze back across the tracks. They were heading straight for him. Hopefully it wouldn’t rain so hard this time. If only it would clear up and let a bright blue sky welcome Mother home. It had rained a lot lately, and she didn’t deserve to come home to a mud pit. Though, that might make their walk home all the more fun.

As if rising to fight it, a distant whistle pierced through the thunder’s unceasing growl. Shadow glanced down the track, and off in the distance, just beneath the sunset-yellow sky, rose the dark shape of a train. He rose with anticipation, but forced himself to sit back down.

The train rolled closer. Another long whistle, high and mighty between rolls of thunder. The chug of the engine grew to drown out even the thunder, and quickly the screech of brakes drowned out the world. A hiss of steam, then silence. It was a small train, only two cars this time.

The pitter patter of rain on the corrugated iron roof started slow, and built to a drizzle as the car door opened and out stepped the conductor. Behind him filed out the passengers, those with luggage shielding their heads from the rain. The sight brought a smirk to Shadow’s lips. These ponies had no idea what an actual rainstorm was like.

He waited where he sat, patient. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. He counted the ponies, watched the train car jostle with those still on board no doubt rummaging for their belongings. Eighteen. Nineteen.

The conductor nodded thanks to each and every passenger as they passed him by, he alone seemingly unaffected by the rain, which had drenched him to the bone. When the stream of ponies ended, he hopped up to check the car. Back onto the platform, “All aboard for Trottingham!”

More as a formality, really. All the ponies on the platform were either waiting for another train or leaving.

Shadow sighed, then shook his head. She had missed the train again. Mother was so forgetful sometimes. Without reason to remain, he turned for the exit and followed everypony out.

The rain on the rooftop played like a snare drum by the time he stepped out onto the street. The few ponies that hadn’t caught a cab scattered like bugs from beneath an upturned rock, dashing from shelter to shelter.

Shadow didn’t mind the rain. He and Inkling often snuck out during rainstorms to play in the puddles. Mother never approved, but it was one of the few things worth getting in trouble for. The way the rain soaked him from head to hoof, when he looked at his hooves and felt the water run down his face, weigh down his shoulders, chill the warmth from his body. It made him feel alive.

He followed the path home slowly, enjoying the silence in his head. Inkling stayed home to keep the door unlocked for him and Mother, and make sure their surprise was ready. It had taken all the bits left in their piggy bank, but they had just enough to get their hooves on a spool of twine.

Mother grew tomatoes in the backyard and sometimes had trouble keeping the vines around the pickets. It wasn’t much, but it was the thought that counted—something she always said. Mother was really smart.

Shadow opened the door to their house, and out poked Inkling’s head from around the kitchen counter. His large eyes practically shone in the darkness.

“Did Mother make the train?” His voice came across hollow, but hopeful, like he already knew the answer but had to hear it nonetheless.

“No, not this time,” Shadow said. He shook himself from head to hoof, spraying rainwater all over the kitchen. Inkling shielded his face, laughing. “Brother, you’re getting everything wet!”

Shadow smiled, looking around at the pots and pans and cabinets. The first thought that came to mind was that Mother would clean it, and his smile slowly faded. It had been nearly a week since the kitchen had been cleaned.

“We should clean the house for Mother,” Shadow said as he walked over to the towel drawer. Wobbly on two legs, he reached up to pull out a towel. “She’ll love it if she walks in and sees everything sparkling.”

“That’s a great idea,” Inkling said. He ran to the pantry. “I’ll get the soap!”

Shadow draped the towel over his shoulder and ran to the bar table, using the chairs to climb onto the table and head for the sink, which he was yet too small to reach. Mother disapproved of him walking on the counter, but he could always clean off his hoofprints when they finished. She would never know.

He turned the knob to hot, and looked over the edge of the counter at Inkling. “Ready?”

Inkling had the large bottle of soap out. “Ready!” He wetted the towel and tossed it down to Inkling, who went straight to work on the floor.

They would make the house shine. Mother would be so proud of them.

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

Morning Glory stared at the swatch of paint taped to the wall. Sky blue or peach yellow? The foals’ room needed tackling immediately if she were to ever get the house ready in time, and Saturday seemed the best day, since Flue didn’t have to head out until four.

Which meant he could do all the heavy lifting.

She gave him a smile across the room, where he was packing boxes to move into the hallway and from there to any of the other rooms that could temporarily store all the things that awaited unpacking. Her doctor had said nothing over five pounds ever since her belly started resembling the world’s largest watermelon. And she aimed to do whatever it took to keep her little ones healthy. She turned a smirk back to the paint swatches.

Sky blue elicited thoughts of summer days and the outdoors. It was a fresh color, nice enough to enjoy herself yet coltish enough for when they got to the age they started caring. Flue had voted for blue, but that was only because it was his favorite color. What if the colts didn’t like blue?

Peach yellow, on the other hoof, said energy. Brighter, certainly, and it would flow so wonderfully with the goldenrod enamel in the hallway. It would also give her an excuse to hang up the beach-side sunset picture Flue’s mother had gifted them. Sky blue wouldn’t go with a sunset. Sky blue meant a bright morning!

One of her little ones kicked in the womb. It startled her from thought, and she smiled down at them. The one on the left had been really frisky this last week. He made up for the other one, who had been rather shy lately.

“You’re definitely feeling better today,” Flue said as he lifted a box onto his back. He added an “excuse me” as he stepped past her for the door.

“Much,” Morning Glory said. “No flu’s going to keep me down with the house like this.” She gestured nonspecifically into the room, referring more to everything on the other side of the left-hoof wall. Their sitting room had been more of a standing-room-only room ever since they moved in a month ago.

“Unless it’s me,” Flue said, sidling up beside her and planting a kiss on her cheek before ducking out the door.

Morning Glory shooed him away, smiling. “Oh, stop it.”

“Can’t stop, won’t stop!” Flue shouted from the hallway.

Morning Glory shook her head. Best not try and figure out what he meant by that. No time to waste. Peach yellow, or Sky blue? “Flue?”

There was a thud of cardboard on carpet in the hallway. “Yeah?”

“I like the peach yellow.”

Flue stuck his head in the door. He wore a blank, serious look. “You know they’re gonna be colts, right?”

“I know that… I was there for the ultrasound,” she added with enough zest to hopefully imply an ‘obviously.’ She raised her eyebrow at him just in case.

“Clearly,” he said. “But I still like the blue.”

“It’s not about what you want.” Morning Glory shifted her weight, curling a frown at the swatches. “It’s about what the foals will want.”

In the blandest of voices, Flue said, “A-K-A: what you want.”

Morning Glory huffed and gave him a stare. He returned it with a chuckle. “What the foals will want,” she reaffirmed.

“If you want the yellow, go with the yellow. We can always paint it again later.” He crossed behind her for another box.

She idly tapped a hoof. “I just think the yellow makes it pop. You know?”

“Sure.”

Morning Glory gave him a sidelong frown. “You’re not even listening, are you?”

“Yeah, I’m listening,” Flue said, shuffling behind her again, head over his shoulder to steady the box with his nose. “I just don’t care as much as you do.”

Morning Glory turned toward him in earnest. “What do you mean you don’t care?”

“What, that’s—” He staggered, managing his hold of the box before setting it down outside the door. “That’s not what I meant. I meant I won’t be bothered as much by whatever color we decide as you will.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but bit her tongue. He always spoke like that. He didn’t mean to come across as callous. She had to remind herself of that ever since she started carrying the twins. Pregnancy had worked hell on her patience. She worked a smile to her lips.

“If you like blue, we can do blue,” she said.

He gave a disarming smile and a half laugh. “Well, we don’t have to go with blue. Yellow would look nicer.”

“You’re just saying that because I said so.” She cocked her head, awaiting the inevitable smartass comment.

Flue stepped back in. “Well, yeah. It’s what I’m supposed to do, right?” The snarkiest grin swept his smile aside, and all of today’s ‘points’ with it. “But seriously,” he added before she could react. “Yellow’s fine. Was my grandma’s favorite color.” He smiled past her for a moment, then set it upon her.

Damn those blue eyes. Okay, fine, he could have his points back.

Flue trotted over for the final box in the room. “You think you’re gonna do one of those border things like you did in the dining room?” He hefted the box onto his back.

Morning Glory ‘hmm’d. “You mean the chair rail?”

“Uh, sure?” Flue made his final trip into the hallway. He set the box down with a thud and sighed relief.

She certainly could. Peach yellow on top, white chair rail, and use the rest of the goldenrod they had somewhere in the basement on the bottom. Or maybe swap the colors. A waist-high chair rail would leave more space in the top half than the bottom. But then that might make the room feel too samey with the hallway.

Oh, heavens, no. What was she thinking? Not nearly enough contrast between the two colors. She scrunched her face, looking aside. As hard as it would be to admit, she could only do a chair rail if she went with the blue. But then she would have to admit the blue would look better.

No chair rail it was, then.

Flue wrapped his hooves around her head, covering her eyes. In her ear, he whispered, “Guess who?”

Morning Glory smiled. So he was going to be like this today. “Umm… Is it Money Bags, come to sweep me off to his mansion and feed me grapes as I recline on a million-bit sofa?”

“Ahh,” Flue said, soft, coy. “You and I both know Money Bags is much too surly for that sort of romance. Guess again.”

“Is iiit Love Affair, finally here to woo me like all the other hopelessly romantic mares with his flashing smile and long, flowing locks?”

Still in his airy, playful voice: “The last thing Mr. Affair needs is yet another beautiful, young mare with a disturbingly vivid memory of his physique chasing after him. But warmer.”

“Hmm…” Morning Glory smirked. Three was always the magic number. “Is it that handsome stallion I met just over a year ago? The chimney sweep I almost killed on accident?” She could feel Flue sidle closer, the side of his face brush against the back of her neck, his warm breath tickling her just below the ear.

“Whether or not it was an accident is still a hot topic for debate, I’d assume this most certainly good-looking stallion you’re thinking of would claim. But more important than his devilish good looks and unparalleled sense of humor, what is his name?”

Stay coy. Keep him waiting. “Oh, I don’t know. I can see his face but can’t think of his name.”

“I believe it starts with an ‘F’, my fair maiden.”

“An ‘F’? What a silly letter to have at the beginning of a name.”

“No sillier than an ‘M’ or a ‘G,’ I’m sure he’d say.”

Morning Glory giggled. “If my handsome captor says so. So, an ‘F,’ huh? Fer, feh fee foh… Fuh” —an unknown pain lanced through her stomach— “uuuck.”

A small chuckle behind her ear. “While that’s always something I’m game for, we might want to move to a room with something we can lay down on.”

“No—Celestia! It’s… ngh!” The shooting pains came quickly, and she grit her teeth, doubling over.

He stared at her, brows furrowed in confusion, until his eyes found themselves gravitating to her belly. Realization loosened his jaw. “Oh… Ooh! Um, crap. Uh, come here.” He motioned her out of the room. “Come here come here come here.”

He escorted her down the hallway to the living room, where he helped her onto the couch. Panic ran more rampant upon his face than his eyes about the room, his hooves unable to stay still. “What do I do what do I do? Uh… wait here. Don’t move. I’ll go get the doc!”

Well no shit she wasn’t going anywhere. “Get Candy Stripe next door before you go!” she gasped.

“Right right.” He dashed for the door. “I’ll be right back!” He left the door wide open, and she collapsed backward, clenching her eyes to weather the wracking spasms.

Author's Note

Sorry for the long delay between chapters here. Should get a more consistent schedule going shortly!

Onward and Downward!

IV - The Best of Bonds

That mare. The pretty one with the seafoam mane and the single wing. The one that feared him, thought him a creep. The way she looked at him. The way she looked at him!

How had he not noticed sooner?

Stupid. Good for nothing. He slammed his hoof against a chest of drawers. They buckled against the blow, the crack echoing off the walls. A distinct pain rocketed up his foreleg, and he slowly pulled it free of the splintered wood. He stared at it as one might an ant crawling along his hoof.

The pain ceased as quickly as it came, a calm washing over him as true and warm as the blood running down his foreleg. Ears low, mouth slanted, he looked away, then to the hole in the dresser. Then to the frame atop it.

There sat a framed crayon stickfigure drawing of him and Mother. A third pony had long since been scratched out with charcoal. The two ponies smiled beneath a shining sun, red as his hoof. He blinked to, pulling away from the drawing. A bloody hoofprint smudged the glass.

How long had he been staring?

It was dark in his bedroom. The candle atop the vanity table in the other corner flickered its last in a dented brass bobeche. It incensed the otherwise stale room with the smell of smoke.

Beside it, a halo of light around the blackout curtains called to him. Peach, on its slow drain to yellow. He had to go.

He slipped down the stairs, their creaks and moans but whispers to those he buried deeper between his ears. Across the hallway, the kitchen awaited him, dust motes idly floating in the thin beams of light the windows couldn’t fully keep out.

The utensil drawer groaned as he opened it, and tarnished silver clanged to a rest. Their warped and watermarked surfaces stared back at him, waiting, expecting.

They knew what he wanted. Rather, what he didn’t.

He saw in his reflection an emptiness, a hollow hunger not his own. Not his own, but accepted.

Love, as he had grown up knowing, was the greatest gift, worth any price. He grabbed the carving knife and shut the drawer.

Blind motion sheathed it between skin and saddlebag, and he spun back for the hallway. Something flickered in the corner of his eye. A dark figure to the left, in the dining room. A fuller glance saw nothing but the dining room table and the dark-blue curtains hiding away the porch window. He shook his head, heading for the half-flight of stairs leading to the side door. He grabbed his cloak from the hook in the stairwell and swept it about him before throwing open the door.

Vile. Thieving. Treacherous, little bitch. Those golden eyes. They were not hers.

She had taken Mother’s eyes. And he was going to take them back.

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

“Rose! You ready for school yet?” Hope shouted up the stairs.

“Almost!” Roselily’s voice sounded back, muffled. Probably still in the bathroom. Hope sighed, shaking her head. Only four and she already took forever getting ready. Hope wondered how long it would take once she started dating.

Hope continued her circuit into the front room. She idly glanced at anything that could hold her interest, trying her best to keep herself from pulling her mane out. Patience wasn’t a virtue of hers. There was the coffee table in the middle of the room, with Business Casual’s work magazines. The front window lording over the front porch swing, and all the unread newspapers piled high between its pillows. Oh yeah, she still had to straighten up the porch from her search for Snowball. She added that to her mental checklist for the evening.

Into the living room, the stone fireplace drew her eyes, and the pictures on its mantle held them there. She couldn’t help the smile that ran across her face at the sight of Roselily’s newborn pictures. If anything pressed her buttons, calling her small took home the gold. Today might have to be one of those days if she kept up her antics.

“Coming!” Roselily’s hooves plodded down the staircase carpet, and its little platform that spilled into the hallway creaked a final ‘I’m here!’ before she clomped her way toward the kitchen. Hope came full circle on her route and met her there.

Most foals hated school. The last day of classes before Hearth’s Warming break paled only to that of summer, the looks on all their little faces every year next to priceless. Anguish was the only word for it. She could see them straining their wishing muscles: don’t make us go! Please let us leave early!

But Roselily was one of those weird fillies. She enjoyed school just as much as her time away from it. The smile on her face—a spitting image of Mom’s—as she stepped into the kitchen that morning, that little red ribbon braided through her shoulder-draped ponytail, could have made Hope gag had she strong enough feelings on school. There was a stupid thing called work she wished never existed. Hard to sympathize with the little ones ever since “break” became nothing more than the fifteen minutes she got to herself halfway through her shift.

“Let’s go!” Roselily raised a hind and forehoof in the air before skipping for the kitchen’s back door.

“Now you’re ready? That only took you forever and a day.” Hope smirked as she brushed a stray lock of light-brown mane behind Roselily’s ear the way Mom did (and the way Rose hated). She earned at least one button push for all that waiting.

Roselily wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, well I wouldn’t have to take so long if you’d stop leaving your whole mane in the shower.”

Hope shrugged, an easy smile on her lips. “Hey, I have a long mane and I shed like a cancer patient. Deal with it. Nopony told you you had to clean every last hair out of the drain.”

“Yeah, but that’s gross!” She stomped her hoof, and the gold of her eyes illustrated her scowl as more of a pouty face. Hope’s easy smile turned a little less easy and a lot more wrestled under control. She eyed Roselily’s saddlebags in hopes of changing the subject and to keep from bursting out laughing. She had only earned one button, after all.

“Yeah, whatever you say. You have all your school stuff? You’re ready for your last day of the quarter, right?” She added a grin to smooth over their squabble.

It seemed to work, Roselily suddenly beaming at the mention of school. “Uh huh. I got my math book, my science notebook, Fritzy’s pencil I forgot to give back yesterday after the spelling contest, my—”

There was a rip in the side of Roselily’s right bag. She saw it as she opened the door. The bottoms looked pretty beaten up, too, its nice, deep red more a weathered pink. Probably from recess before school, being thrown rather than placed on the blacktop before she raced off to play, like she herself used to do as a filly.

That made Hearth’s Warming shopping easy.

Roselily was still naming off things in her saddlebags when they stepped into the morning chill. Last night’s snow crunched under their hooves, a most beloved sound of winter. Reminiscent of past Hearth’s Warming seasons and the fun of watching the ever-growing pile of presents beneath the tree. The suburban cheer and snowball fights made the memories all the warmer, despite how frozen she often was in them.

They took the usual shortcut: through the backyard, past Mrs. Petal’s koi pond, and up the alleyway. It only cut off about two minutes, but it often afforded Hope that extra moment of solitude in the breakroom before clocking in.

She kept silent the first few minutes, letting Roselily practice her ‘special’ talent: the gift of gab. Roselily often babbled on about something or other to do with school or her friends, things that would grate the patience of even the most humble ponies. But Roselily apparently had genuine plans this Hearth’s Warming, it seemed.

“—And Snow Shoe and Fritzy Beat are coming over before we go see the fireworks,” Roselily said.

“Did you ask mom yet?” Hope smiled. The answer would be no, of course, but smart to ask anyway. She had to do her part in teaching Roselily some sort of responsibility, being the big sister and all.

“No, but I think she’ll let me go.” She hopped up onto the stone wall that ran the length of the Whinnyson’s front yard. “She let me walk all the way to Caramel Cream’s house last week for our sleepover.”

Oh yeah. That. Hope looked up and away, biting back a giggle. Roselily looked like a giant suitcase that had grown legs walking down the road that night. Of course, Hope had offered to walk her there, but Roselily had snapped into ‘big filly mode’ and demanded she walk all by her big filly self. Luckily with all her sleepover supplies piled high, she didn’t notice Hope trailing from a distance.

“Well,” Hope said. “Just make sure you tell her right when you get home, not when your friends show up.”

“I will,” she chimed in her usual ‘of course I will; I’m a big filly’ voice. Hope looked away to hide her smirk. She would never admit it, but she loved how adorable her sister could be at times. It reminded her of herself back then. Except for the not getting in trouble bits. Somehow their parents always found a way to pin blame on her instead of Roselily whenever something happened. Big sister and all for sure.

They turned onto Barleyton to jog down toward Oatley Road, which was a straight shot to Andalusian Elementary. At least, as straight as the roads in East Germane aspired to be. The civil engineers were either drunk when they built them or had some blueprint hoofed down from Celestia herself that dictated the roads should be curvier than the covermares of Cosmarepolitan. (Not that she would ever be caught dead reading that garbage.) Hope never considered herself obsessive, but roads, at least, should be straight. The little hills and sprawling front yards made the walk rather scenic, though, if only to scrounge for a silver lining. And rimmed in the frost of last night’s snowfall, that silver lining shimmered bright.

“What’re you doing when you get home from work today, Sis?” Roselily asked.

Good question. She rolled it around in her head like a marble on a plate. “Probably just go to bed. I’m always so tired after work. Especially if Old Stiffy makes me load the carts again.” A half lie. Stiff Lip, or Old Stiffy as she called him when he wasn’t around, often made her and Free Load stack the carts whenever he caught them milling about the storefront. It certainly tired her out, transferring crate after crate of milk from the barges to the waiting carts—not to mention Stiffy’s attitude about ‘good-for-nothing kids not making him any money.’ It wasn’t her fault they had jack-all to do when the storefront’s morning rush died down. But the fib hinged on what she would do, not how she would feel.

First and foremost, she needed to finish her seasonal shopping: a new saddlebag for Roselily and a pair of pink rhinestone sunglasses for Flower Bonnet, to replace the ones she lost on their spring break trip to Mount Rushmare.

She blanked, ears falling back. Oh, ponyfeathers... The Seams and Shades coupon was still laying on the coffee table. She’d have to go back and get it after dropping Roselily off. She sighed. That was the Hope her parents and all her friends knew, forgetting anything and everything remotely important. Business Casual would have her hide if she bought anything over a dozen bits without some sort of coupon.

Speaking of, she needed to stop by Little Bite’s Bakery after work to get the treats he wanted for his seminar tomorrow evening. Why he couldn’t do it himself was anypony’s guess. Had his hooves too full at work or some other excuse. She rolled her eyes. Like always. Typical father crap.

She would get off at seven today, a nice break from the usual ten o'clock. Just enough time to sort everything out before too late. Then she could crash on the couch with a bag of potato chips or some other junk food. It would no doubt kill all the hard work of her pilates classes. She’d hate herself for it later, but sometimes she just had those cravings. And there was no better time to do it than her day off from any and all exercise. Except walking Roselily to school. There was always room for Roselily in her busy schedule.

“Where are you going, Sis?”

Hope blinked, realizing Roselily’s voice came from over her shoulder. She had strolled past Oatley Road without even realizing it. “Sorry,” she said, turning around at a trotting pace. “Just thinking.”

“You do that a lot,” Roselily said, concern furrowing her brow.

Hope shrugged. “Better than not enough.” She let her gaze wander to a couple walking the far side of the street. They were all smiles, sharing an ice cream cone—cotton candy swirl from the looks of it. That sounded like a good treat after dropping Roselily off. She smiled at her sister, who was preoccupied with humming a tune they heard last night on the radio. Ever the little pop diva of the family. She swore Roselily was going to grow up and become Equestria’s next Sapphire Shores. Seeeen-sa-tion-al!

She chuckled, keeping the thought to herself. Roselily made the best pouty faces whenever she mentioned it, but their walks to school were moments to share, not poke fun at each other. And since Roselily continued humming the tune, Hope decided to just enjoy the friendly snow-blanketed world until they arrived at Andalusian.

They made great time today, fifteen minutes before the nine-o'clock bell. She still might have time for a coffee before her shift, if she hurried.

The shouts and screams of playing foals crowded out distant birdsong. One of the fillies on the blacktop spotted them and waved, a tan-colored earth filly with brown eyes. Roselily waved back.

“That’s Caramel Cream,” she said. She took off at a run, leaving Hope to watch from the perimeter of the schoolyard. “I’ll see you tonight, Sis!” she cried over her shoulder.

“Have fun!” Hope yelled back. Sure as sunshine, the saddlebags came flying off to thud on the blacktop before Roselily joined in on a game of tag. She shook her head, turning back for Barleyton. Foals had it so easy.

She stared at the trail of hoofprints they had made. Two pairs: one big, one small. They would be the same size one day. And it wouldn’t be very long, either. Roselily was growing up so fast.

Hope let out a sigh, then laughed at her own sentimentality. That sounded like mom. It would only be a matter of time before she started wearing bonnets and knitting Hearth’s Warming doilies for fun. A shudder ran down her spine.

Well, back to home for the coupon, then to work.

An evergreen hedge along the sidewalk shook as she approached, sending its snow to the ground in a fine powder. She stopped to raise an eyebrow at it. The rustle had been rather large, like a cat or a dog had run smack into the other side.

She stepped closer, head cocked. “That’s not you, is it, Snowball?” It seemed a slim chance given he had run away three days ago, but she gave him the benefit of the doubt. He was a smart kitty.

No answer came from the hedge, nor did it rustle again. It was too large to peer through to the other side, its branches so thick that it looked like nighttime within.

Hope filtered out the schoolyard noise, strained her ears at the surrounding silence. Still nothing. She hummed, wondering just what it could have been, then shrugged. Probably just a feisty squirrel or chipmunk. Maybe even some of the schoolfillies up to no good. Not her place to worry. She continued down the street, letting the crunch beneath her hooves again draw her into fantasies of the coming Hearth’s Warming.

With all the plans she had for her family, this year’s would undoubtedly be the best.

Author's Note

Onward and Downward.