A Light in Dark Placesby Lucky DreamsChaptersCaveOceanStarsCave Home was warm that evening, but Apple Bloom shivered in her bed; not in living memory had there been so blue and frostbitten a winter. Despite the fires, the radiators, and the comfort of her hot water bottle, the cold still skulked inside of Apple Bloom long after she had walked back from school. “A-Applejack,” she said to her sister through chattering teeth. “The sun couldn’t f-freeze, could it?” Having already wished Apple Bloom goodnight, sweet dreams, sleep tight, Applejack paused halfway out the doorframe, before turning back around to face her sister. Apple Bloom’s eyes were wide, and her hooves were jam-packed with trembling. “What makes you ask that, sugar cube?” Applejack said, raising an eyebrow. Apple Bloom gulped. “Well, it’s just… it’s just…” But the truth was frozen in her voice-box, so Applejack thawed it out by whispering, “Apple Bloom, you can tell me if something’s botherin’ you. You can tell me anything, even if you think it’s dumb. I promise I won’t make fun.” Apple Bloom bit her lip. A moment later, the truth burst free from its icy prison. “Well it’s just, in school today, Miss Cheerliee was talkin’ about before the first Hearth’s Warming when the sun and the moon never shone, and all them poor ponies were freezin’ and hungry. I was wonderin’ what it’d be like if I was freezin’ alongside ’em, in the dark, in the cold, and—” And enough, thought Applejack. Enough, enough, growled the thunder of an oncoming storm, a storm drawn to Apple Bloom’s terror as wolves are drawn to wounded prey. “Whoa there, filly,” Applejack said. She smiled at her sister, and contained within her smile was the warmth and cheer of a crackling fireplace on a December night. “That’s what’s got you in a tizzy? Now listen up: that there was thousands of years ago, and the sun and the moon ain’t going nowhere. You’re snug in bed and that’s what counts, you hear?” “But just say—” “Or you can sleep in with me, if you want. Just tonight, mind, sugar cube.” The offer came suddenly, much too suddenly for little Apple Bloom who had been casting her words for cuddles. Folding her forelegs, she sat up straight and said, “I was only askin’, Applejack. I ain’t a baby.” Yet it was all she could do not to jump when the wind wailed through the branches of dead trees, when regiments of hailstones attacked the house, and when the hail was followed by legions of sleet and rain which thrashed against the rooftop. Applejack hit the light off – “No, don’t,” squealed Apple Bloom – but the older pony left, saying, “Hold on a minute, li’l sis.” Apple Bloom held onto a minute. She gripped her blanket, shiver-shaking at a flash of lightning. Two flashes! She grasped tighter. On the third flash, thank the heavens, thank all that was warm and cosy, Applejack returned with a lantern full of fireflies, whose soft light sloshed around in the gloom of the bedroom. “A light for you, sugar cube,” Applejack said, placing the lamp upon the bedside desk. “A light for you in dark places.” Apple Bloom gulped a second time. “I told you Applejack. I ain’t scared.” Applejack wasn’t fooled: she understood the language of sisterhood, a language huddled in the spaces between Apple Bloom’s words, visible in the twinkling of her eyes, and present in the touch of the filly’s hoof against her fur. Out loud, Apple Bloom insisted that she wasn’t scared, she swore that she wasn’t frightened. Not her! No way! No way did she need a night-light! What Applejack heard, however, was Thank you, Thank you; then she kissed her little sister on the forehead, a kiss to say, I love you. I love you. Applejack left, shutting the door behind her. Apple Bloom was alone. Sister lost and sister shaken, Apple Bloom lost and quaking, Shaking! Apple Bloom lost and shaking! Sister, sister, don’t you see? Come back, Applejack. Come hold me! Hold me! “NO!” said Apple Bloom, and as she sat upon her bed, with branches rapping at the window pane, with the ratta-tat-tat of hailstones drumming in her ears, a sense of grim purpose came to her. She was eight years old. No: eight-and-three-quarters. No: eight-and-sixth-sevenths. Why, she was practically nine! A big filly, all grown-up, and big fillies did not sleep in with their older sisters. Big fillies weren’t afraid of storms or of the dark, or of the sun freezing over, or the moon eloping with the stars, never to shine again. So she said to herself – she commanded herself – “Don’t run to her. Fall fast asleep in your own bed, ’cause you ain’t a baby, Apple Bloom. Don’t let nothin’ scare you.” Sister brave, Bold, audacious, Courageous! Apple Bloom bold and courageous! Sister, sister, don’t you see? Search the land, then search the seas; You won’t find another half as brave as me! But the thunderstorm disagreed. “Apple Bloom,” it said, its growling voice enveloping the tiny filly and her bed – blanket, mattress, pillows and all. “Look at you, little filly in your little bed in your little house. You think you’re not scared? You consider yourself brave?” “I’m the bravest filly there ever was. Leave me alone.” “Apple Bloom, o sweet, delectable little Apple Bloom,” said the storm. “Hear me now and hear me clear: monsters are coming to get you, monstrosities with sharp teeth and crunching jaws. When we get you, the sun will freeze. The moon will break. Everything will be dark forever.” “Storms don’t speak,” Apple Bloom said, firmly, and she shook her head. “You’re just a voice inside my mind, so I don’t have to listen to you. Anyway, you’re lying. I know you’re lying. There ain’t no monsters in here, ’cause Applejack already checked beneath my bed.” “A liar, am I? Not real, are we? We will see. We’ll see how you cope with us in dark places.” The words held grim power over Apple Bloom. Convinced though she was that the voice dwelled within her imagination, she asked, from fear, from curiosity, “Why d’you keep saying ‘we’? Who... who are you?” The storm chuckled. “Your nightmares, of course! And if you think you can make it through tonight without being gulped down scrumptiously, swallowed up deliciously, then think again.” It was late enough now that Applejack had trotted off to bed. In her absence, every shadow was a darker shadow, every draft a gale, every raindrop a bullet, every thunder the crash of towering waves against the old, old house. Monsters were coming to get her… But she was brave! Monsters were drawing in… But she was bolder than bold, tougher than tough, stronger than strong. She refused to bend before the storm; she would not scream; she would prove to herself the strength of her own bravery. She would prove herself a big filly and not a cry-baby. Grabbing the lantern, she shut her eyes, dived under the covers and whispered, “I ain’t gonna go and wake Applejack. I can handle this.” When she opened her eyes again, it was to find herself trembling in a mighty cavern with space enough to swallow twenty, forty, sixty of her house. The floor wasn’t rock, but stitched from endless sheets and mattresses uncountable. The walls were blankets: hungry blankets, starving blankets, greedily devouring the roar of the storm. And so the bed-cave was silent save for Apple Bloom’s worried breathing, the pumping of blood through her ears, the pitter-pitter and patter-patter of fireflies against the sides of her lamp. Unsure of what to do, she lay and thought of ponies from over a thousand years ago huddled in the stomachs of night-drowned caves, praying for the sun and for the moon. Apple Bloom prayed. She prayed for Applejack. “I ain’t scared. I’m... I'm not afraid of bein’ alone.” “Is that so, filly?” Summoned by Apple Bloom’s fears like moths to a light, monsters had clawed their way into the stronghold of the bed-cave. A shock of cold sped through her as before her eyes, a wolf emerged from the shadows: taller wider larger than a draft horse, with a body made from ice and midnight, and with the eyes of one who would never know the language of sisterhood. “Monsters are coming to get you,” snarled the wolf, and its breath was snow, its fangs were icicles. Apple Bloom screamed. Pausing only to grab the lantern she dashed, she galloped, she flew! Down passages built from pillows, through tunnels of fabric, shafts of stitching, a warren of warmth. A voice in her heart, the voice of her instincts, hissed at her that there was more to the lantern than brass and light. “Which way, which way?” she asked of the lamp. “This way! This way!” replied the fireflies, glowing bright to indicate the correct tunnels to choose. Fangs at her heels— Claws at her hooves— Light in the darkness— Out through the exit Apple Bloom charged, tumbling into an embrace of wooden floorboards and a bright pink rug. The walls here were a treasure trove of sisterhood: photos of herself and Applejack; old crayon pictures scribbled on July afternoons; birthday cards from when she had turned four and five; Hearth’s Warming Cards from when she had been six and seven; and paintings of apples, apples, apples. She was back in her bedroom! And when she looked over her shoulder, oh delight, oh thank the stars: the wolf was gone. The cave was gone. In their place slept her plain old bed. “Hah!” she said to the storm. “I told you that you couldn’t scare me. So leave me be! I ain’t scared of nothin’.” “So you keep saying,” chittered tiny, glitter-glinting voices. It was the fireflies in the lantern again. They said: You’re not scared: you’re brave, you’re fearless, But you of the light, take care, please heed us. Song of your heart, and song of your soul, With all of your heart, please, please hear us: Speak with a loved one, have a care, please whisper, “I’m scared, Applejack,” you must say to your sister. Apple Bloom, Apple Bloom, peerless, fearless, Take care, take care, please, please heed us. Apple Bloom gave the fireflies a sister-warm smile, though said to them, “That’s nice an’ all, but I’m a big filly, now, and I’ve gotta act like one. Tellin’ others that you’re a fraidy-cat? Why, that’s what babies do.” Picking up the lantern with her teeth, she placed it on the table – but frowned, for it was a table now littered with levers and buttons, with dials, with pedals, with brass fixings and copper pipes, and with a gearstick and a steering wheel. Monsters had transformed her bedroom into a submarine! Which meant that the bed-cave had been merely the first of their foul games; sure enough, out through the window Apple Bloom saw that the storm had swept away the rest of her house, and that an ocean surged in place of the farm, soaking peaks and sopping troughs. “No escape, Apple Bloom,” growled the storm. “There’s no seasoning quite like a child’s terror, so make no mistake: once we’re done scaring you, we’re going to eat you, good and proper.” OceanSilent fury blazed through Apple Bloom. How dare the storm taunt her so! Test her, tease her, torture her. “How dare you?” she said, she spat; but she covered her mouth, adamant that she wouldn’t let the storm win at this game… and she was prepared, was she not? Her sister’s lantern shone over the control panel, a light, a light for her in dark places… The ocean was simply water. Just water! Showers and bathtubs, puddles and splish-splashes. Why should she be afraid of it? “Not never, no never. I’m no more frightened than of the sun freezin’, or of lightning and thunder, or of the ice-wolf back in that there bed-cave.” “What of wolves in the water?” asked the storm. Apple Bloom ignored it. Gritting her teeth, she pushed on a lever, smacked some buttons, twirled a knob, raised the periscope, started the engines, dive, dive, dive! And with a lurch, her bedroom sank below the waves, deep into a vast nothingness ruled over by the Lord of Silence. The wailing of the storm dulled. Dimmed. Died. Apple Bloom sighed happily, certain that no storm with a heart of terror and voice of evil could follow her into the hug of the ocean. “I’m snug in the sea,” she said. “That’s what counts.” More than snug, it turned out. More than warm and peaceful. Before her eyes – here! Against the odds, at the very bottom of the sea! – the night sky dazzled. Constellations swarmed in the currents, faint stars and bright stars, and brittle stars, and starfish with glowing arms. There were a hundred of them, those twinkling little lights; then there were a thousand, then a million more, a million billion trillion more. More stars than she had ever seen, more, more than she had ever dreamed in her life, a flood, a torrent, a deluge of sparkles. Apple Bloom gaped at this twin of the night sky painted by the creatures of the sea. Peering close, she spied glowing jellyfish with long creeping tendrils, softly, softly blue. There were eels and shrimp, squid and octopuses, all decorated with gleaming dots. They swam about in pairs and in groups. They linked fins. They held tentacles. An astonished Apple Bloom gazed upon a dance of scales and stars. At once, she understood the meaning of it: every fish she saw was a girl-fish, and they were all sisters, each and every one. In their own mysterious ways, the creatures down here spoke the language of sisterhood. They swam the language of sisterhood. A tiny sea-pony sped in front of the submersible-bedroom. Apple Bloom pressed her snout to the window. Under her breath, she sang: Sweet little fish, Sleep Sleep Little fish. It’s bedtime under the sea. But before you sleep, little fish, I wish Wish Little fish, Would you please sing a story for me? A tale of sisters, one little, one big, And Little ran away from home. For there was a storm, And in the dark and cold, She was scared right down to her bones. Yet what of the ending? Tell Tell Little fish. Tell Little Sis what to say! She’s lost and alone, She needs to go home, Yet wants to endure until day, Little fish. She wants to endure until day. Sweet little fish, Night Night Little fish. Dream dreams specially for me. Dream in a bedroom under the sea. With a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth, Apple Bloom could only watch as the sea-pony was joined by its twin, and then the pair of them danced into the stars, those sunken shipwrecked stars shining deep beneath the waves. She was more confused than ever. Oh, what to do! What to say! What to say and what to do, “I wish, I wish that I knew,” she whispered, despairing on her chair behind the steering wheel. “What should I do?” she asked to the fireflies. “What you feel you have to, Apple Bloom,” was their response. What did she feel, though? Apple Bloom rubbed her forehead, thinking, thinking, thinking over whether she ought to prove her bravery and hold tight until dawn, or else sail back to Applejack: for lost in the ocean though she was, she was sure that finding her way back to her older sister would be easy. The way home shone in the pit of her heart. … NO! No no no! “I’m not gonna run to her. I ain’t a baby, I ain’t scared, I swear that I’m not.” “Are you sure, Apple Bloom? Are you certain?” Wolves in the ocean, jaws in the night. The voice was darker, deeper than the ice-wolf’s. Dark like the wilderness stretching past the reach of the most distant stars. Deep like packs of miserable shadows lurking near the bottom of ocean trenches, waiting to pounce on any unsuspecting lights unfortunate enough to find themselves lost in the gloom. Pressing her hooves against her ears made not a shred of difference: it was the loudest voice in the whole wide world, a voice fit for the ocean. Apple Bloom stared as the stars scattered into the blackness: fish swam for their lives before the owner of the dark voice. They swam, and then the stars were no more. Darkness. Apple Bloom pushed pulled wound wheeled yanked cranked bashed mashed at the control panel, but it was hopeless. The bedroom was too slow to escape. Too clumsy. Too cumbersome. And now through the window she saw… A body larger than hills, mountains, islands, continents. Fangs too many, each one as long as a tree and as thick as their trunks. Scales, scales, scales, some of which glowed the colour of blood, so that decorating the monster’s body were twirling swirling galaxies – galaxies formed from nothing but red stars. “Apple Bloom,” said the star-beast, causing Apple Bloom’s stomach to turn inside-out then outside-in. “You cannot escape your nightmares. We’re going to get you. We’re going to EAT you. Swallow you whole, Gulp you down, Crunch your bones, Spit you out. So many ways to eat your food. So many ways: which do I choose? Noshing and gnashing? Splitter and splatting? Munching or mashing? Chomping or champing? Sleep little girl in your bed in the sea, Sweet little girl, so perfect for tea! Tell me, girl, are you much of a swimmer? If not I shall eat you for dinner! Tender dreamer especially for me, Tasty sweet girl under the sea.” The monster lunged at the bedroom, and no time to run, no time to steer out of the way! Apple Bloom shrieked, “APPLEJACK! HELP!” “Applejack! Help!” cried the fireflies. “Applejack! Help!” sounded strange voices in the corners of Apple Bloom’s mind – or perhaps, she wondered later, they weren’t so strange at all, but the voices of her loved ones watching over her. Not that it mattered, of course, in a place where Applejack could no more hear her than hold her or hug her or kiss her. Yet… The language of sisterhood is spoken not with words, but with hearts and magic… The language of sisterhood knows no boundaries, and sleeping and waking are of little concern… Far away, far, far away, to wherever the storm had blown the rest of the house, Applejack dreamt. She dreamt of sailing in a boat carved from an apple; by her side, in the sunlight of that mysterious sea, sat her little sister at the rudder. But Apple Bloom’s smile fell. It fell, though the sun shone brighter than ever, and its warmth was purest joy. On the control panel, the lantern of fireflies flickered— “Applejack,” said the Apple Bloom in Applejack’s dream. “Help!” The lantern glimmered— Understanding passed over Applejack’s face. She held her dream-sister close, and said, softly, “You’re in trouble, ain’t you. I don’t know how, I don’t know where, and I know now that I’m simply dreamin’. But wherever you are, sugar cube, whatever scrape you’re in, know that I love you. You’re safe, ’cause I’m watchin’ over you. I’m sending you all my love, and I love you with all my heart and more; I love you the whole world, and the sun and the moon, and all the planets and all them stars twinklin’ up there in the night sky. “I love you. “I love you. “I love you…” And the lantern SHONE. The fireflies burned with the fury of Applejack’s love – love felt from across the sea and over a hundred miles away – and it was a light stronger than all the stars in the ocean combined. Apple Bloom shielded her eyes. The monster got the full blast of it through the window – the worst pain imaginable for such a creature of darkness. It thrashed about, blinded, screaming, agony, pain, sore, hurt, ache, torture. Then a moment of stillness, a hint of a moment, a whisper of a moment; it was enough. Apple Bloom seized the lantern, rushed to her bed, and hissed to herself, “Hurry, hurry!” (“Scurry, scurry,” the fireflies chimed in.) Unscrewing one of the bed-knobs, she revealed a tiny wishing star no bigger than a hoof and long ago plucked from the night sky. A curious object. It had been placed there by Applejack in case of emergency, on the day of Apple Bloom’s birth, in fact. A gift. A blessing. A way to forever tell her, I love you, I love you. “I ain’t scared, I swear it,” whispered Apple Bloom to the little wishing star. “I’m a big filly, and I can take care of myself. But get me outta here. Please!” The star-beast roared, and the deep quivered and the darkness quaked. Yet it wasn’t the roar that caused Apple Bloom’s heart to pump slush and ice throughout her little body, but that the star did nothing. No wish is freely given. Wishes require sacrifice. They need the wish-granter to give something up, or else they have no power; right then, with seconds to spare, all Apple Bloom had to part with was the truth, the truth, and nothing but the truth. And the truth was this: “Okay, I’ll admit it,” Apple Bloom whimpered to the star, and she said it with a shake and a sniffle, a sob and a snivel. “I am scared, I’m so, so scared… but not of that there monster, or of the storm, or even of the sun freezin’. I don’t know what I’m scared of. But it’s rightly weighing on my mind, whatever it is...” There was a pause filled with fangs and roars and a hundred thousand red glowing scales. Apple Bloom held her breath. Was the truth enough? Was it enough to save her? At last – “Oh thank you,” cried Apple Bloom, “thank you, thank you!” – the star twinkled to show that it had accepted the payment, then sank into the woodwork. Soon, the whole bed was enchanted with its magic. The blanket, the pillows, and the mattress became silver-white. The frame was golden. Then the bed rose into the air and smashed through the ceiling, carrying them up, up through the water. Seconds later, too blinded to have noticed Apple Bloom’s escape, the monster swallowed the bedroom in a single gulp, before vanishing to the dark pit from whence it came. Apple Bloom didn’t see this. She didn’t look back, but fixed her eyes upon the roof of the ocean. The bed shot through the roof and soared high, high, high above the storm clouds, beyond waking and dreaming, and past the place where the sky bleeds into space. StarsA minute later the bed flew so high, so very, impossibly high, that when Apple Bloom peered down, the world was a blue marble resting amongst a million stars, which themselves slept upon sheets and blankets of glowing nebulas: spreads of rosy red, brilliant blue and startling green, all draped over the darkness. Apple Bloom had always supposed that should she have ever found herself standing, by chance, in the vault of the night sky, then it would have been black and empty but for the moon and the stars. Now she was here, there were more lights and colours than she had ever dreamed possible. Only one light mattered to her. Only one light had travelled with her through the whole journey, from the deep of the cave to the depths of the sea and past the peak of the sky. Cradling Applejack’s lantern in her hooves, she sighed and said, “It’s kinda quiet here. I can’t see no monsters. I can’t hear the storm.” And she couldn’t, not even when she strained her ears, not even when she looked sideways, upways, downways, forwardways, backways. Though when she did look back, something much more welcome awaited: it was the moon, round and white, and taking up nearly the whole of her vision. Apple Bloom sat in silence for a moment. The moon was silent. (“You’re not scared, you’re brave, you’re fearless,” whispered the fireflies in their glistening voices). Then Apple Bloom cleared her throat and spoke with the moon. “M-mind if I ask a question?” she said. “Ask away,” the moon replied. Apple Bloom paused, choosing her words as carefully as her older sister picking only the best and ripest apples from the family orchard. “You and the sun are sisters, right? You love each other, and tell each other everything?” “We speak the language of sisterhood. This is true.” “Then tell me: could the sun ever freeze over?” It was the moon’s turn to mull over her words. She mulled and she mulled until Apple Bloom bit her hoof to keep from crying. Although the moon had no eyes, no mouth, no face, something in its infinite blankness made the little filly unbearably… Sad? Lonely? No. Not lonely. Not sad. These weren’t the right words, because truthfully, she didn’t know how to describe exactly how she felt – the only thing she was sure of was that the only cure for this feeling was the moon’s answer. Yet more than that: she wanted her sister to hold her, she wanted Applejack to kiss her and cuddle her, she wanted Applejack to never let go, she wanted Applejack until it hurt. Just as Apple Bloom opened her mouth to demand a response, finally, the moon said, “Could your sister’s heart ever stop shining?” They spoke no more after that, but Apple Bloom gazed at the stars, her heart beating wildly. All was quiet again. It was silence so enormous that all of outer space was needed to house it; and from her bed, she stared down at the world searching for her little house in her little town, before remembering that the storm had swept it away. “Could Applejack’s heart stop shining?” she said to herself. “Could she stop lovin’ me? Could it be true? Could it? Could it?” Like a shooting star, the answer came to her at once. What a question! What a daft, ridiculous, ludicrous, writhing little worm of a question! Oh, she wanted to stamp on it, squish the question from existence. But it was worse than a worm: mud-sludge, grunge-pus, stink-slush, muck-mire. The thought of her older sister not loving her disgusted Apple Bloom to her bones, making her feel ill in ways she had never thought possible – ice under her skin, yet hot coals in her stomach. The longer she pictured a world without the light of Applejack’s love, the darker her vision seemed, the colder she felt, the more violent her shivers, the more frozen her tears. What would it matter if the sun turned dark? Why would she care if the moon shattered into a thousand pieces? Apple Bloom knew now that there was another light in her life. In brightness, it outshone all the others. Its warmth would last past the end of the world. She smiled weakly, for she knew at last what truly scared her. Wiping her eyes, she swivelled back around to answer the moon’s question – yet the moon was nowhere to be found, having sailed away upon rivers of night-time. Apple Bloom talked to the lantern instead. “Okay, so I’ve been a little bit scared tonight. A teeny-tinsey bit.” When the fireflies didn’t answer, Apple Bloom spoke a storm. “Alright, alright already, I’m really scared, I’m super scared, I’m super-duper-zuper scared! But not of the sun goin’ out. That’s not the light I’m scared of losing.” No answer, no answer! Apple Bloom delved ever deeper into her heart to uncover the whole of the truth, and what she found was this: “Maybe,” she whispered, “maybe sometimes it’s okay. to say you’re scared and speak to someone who loves you. Just ’cause it’s night and it’s scary, it doesn’t mean it has to be dark…” Finally, oh finally, a response. The fireflies spoke with the language of sisters – the secret language shared between Apple Bloom and Applejack, but which only now did the smaller sister come to appreciate. Hold us close, and hold us tight, Hold us both in dark and light. Shine in the gloom, glow in the night, Your sister’s love: it sings, it’s bright. Light of your own in your heart has grown, Where love, pure love was sown. So home again Back home Go home! Back to your sister, Never Alone. Apple Bloom beamed. Unbidden, but not unwelcome, tears came to her eyes and gushed down her face. It was the same feeling she had experienced when speaking with the moon, yet deeper, so much deeper than before. It was a longing. A yearning. There existed a golden thread tying herself and Applejack together, but her adventures had made the thread damaged and frayed and stretched: it ached to be mended. Raising a hoof, she pointed at the world, and yelled, “Dive, dive!” A last glimpse of the stars; a final nod to the empty space where the moon had been. Then the bed plummeted towards Equestria, forcing Apple Bloom to clutch onto the lamp to stop it tumbling from the sheets. Faster Closer Quick Quick Quicker! Haste, Must rush, Must race. Speed up, Hurry up, Apple Bloom, Apple Zoom, Hurry up, Swift Swift Swifter! The bed blazed red. A trail of fire followed in its wake as it punched through the sky, and for a shimmering moment, it became a shooting star seen all over Equestria – for a moment, all ponies over Equestria knew the magic of sisterhood. It shot through the storm clouds blanketing Ponyville, down below, down, down into the deep dark. There was the farm! There was the barn and the orchard, the fields, the stables, the treehouse, the farmhouse; the flood had receded, and the storm had washed everything back into place. The monster in the ocean had spat up her bedroom, which rested beside the front door, waiting for mares and stallions to fix it back into place. No time to look, however. Applejack’s bedroom was coming up fast. Apple Bloom shut her eyes to brace for impact. CRUNCH. CRASH. SHATTER. SMASH. A roar of thunder shook the house. “Apple Bloom,” the storm spat, panic infecting its voice. When the storm had come to town, Apple Bloom had been small and trembling and easy to scare, a most perfect target for hideous monsters. Upon her return, the filly seemed taller: not in height, but in ways undefinable, yet undeniably real. “What are you doing, Apple Bloom? Surely you don’t think that your sister’s love can save you from your fears?” But Apple Bloom stood a little straighter, held herself a little prouder, and bellowed, “SHUT IT! You and the others: y’all are just nightmares, and nightmares live in the dark. Well, I’ve got somethin’ stronger than darkness. I’ve got my sister.” The storm knew then that it was beaten, and Apple Bloom never heard its evil voice ever again. All the same, her adventures had left her hurt. Her legs ached. Her chest was bruised from where she had crashed through the wall of Applejack’s bedroom, and, sobbing, she held the firefly lantern between her hooves. Sisterhood is stronger than hurt, tougher than fear. Sisterhood heals. Applejack stirred, then cast a weary glance around the wreckage of her bedroom. Half the wall lay strewn over the floor. In the middle of the chaos stood a quavering Apple Bloom, her own bed smashed into a hundred pieces upon the rug. “That’s kind of a mess you’ve made there, sugar cube,” Applejack said. But she said it with a smile, and with a yawn full of the language of sisters. You don’t need to explain anything, the yawn said. Just climb on up here and shut your eyes. Even so, Apple Bloom stood by the bed and explained it anyway. She felt that she needed to. It felt important. “I lied, Applejack. I am scared. I’m scared of so many things, and I should’ve said so right from the start when you tucked me into bed. I’m nothin’ more than a big baby.” She sniffled as cold winds invaded the bedroom, as armies of raindrops pounded against the floor. Lightning flashed. The might and fury of the storm poured in through the gaping hole in the wall. Yet the storm couldn’t startle the smile from Apple Bloom’s face as her older sister placed a hoof on her back, and said, “Now listen up. You ain’t a baby, Apple Bloom, but the bravest filly I know, and it’s okay. to say when you’re scared… and hay. Wanna know a secret?” She leaned in close and whispered in Apple Bloom’s ear. “Sometimes I get scared too.” Never mind the lashing cold, the lightning, the thunder. Climbing into bed, Apple Bloom buried herself against Applejack’s chest and basked in the heaven of her warmth. She closed her eyes. Applejack shut her own. Together, they fell fast asleep in a hug so close that each could feel the other’s heartbeat, feel it like it was their own. In the lantern, the fireflies shone brighter than ever. They shone like the sun.
Cave Home was warm that evening, but Apple Bloom shivered in her bed; not in living memory had there been so blue and frostbitten a winter. Despite the fires, the radiators, and the comfort of her hot water bottle, the cold still skulked inside of Apple Bloom long after she had walked back from school. “A-Applejack,” she said to her sister through chattering teeth. “The sun couldn’t f-freeze, could it?” Having already wished Apple Bloom goodnight, sweet dreams, sleep tight, Applejack paused halfway out the doorframe, before turning back around to face her sister. Apple Bloom’s eyes were wide, and her hooves were jam-packed with trembling. “What makes you ask that, sugar cube?” Applejack said, raising an eyebrow. Apple Bloom gulped. “Well, it’s just… it’s just…” But the truth was frozen in her voice-box, so Applejack thawed it out by whispering, “Apple Bloom, you can tell me if something’s botherin’ you. You can tell me anything, even if you think it’s dumb. I promise I won’t make fun.” Apple Bloom bit her lip. A moment later, the truth burst free from its icy prison. “Well it’s just, in school today, Miss Cheerliee was talkin’ about before the first Hearth’s Warming when the sun and the moon never shone, and all them poor ponies were freezin’ and hungry. I was wonderin’ what it’d be like if I was freezin’ alongside ’em, in the dark, in the cold, and—” And enough, thought Applejack. Enough, enough, growled the thunder of an oncoming storm, a storm drawn to Apple Bloom’s terror as wolves are drawn to wounded prey. “Whoa there, filly,” Applejack said. She smiled at her sister, and contained within her smile was the warmth and cheer of a crackling fireplace on a December night. “That’s what’s got you in a tizzy? Now listen up: that there was thousands of years ago, and the sun and the moon ain’t going nowhere. You’re snug in bed and that’s what counts, you hear?” “But just say—” “Or you can sleep in with me, if you want. Just tonight, mind, sugar cube.” The offer came suddenly, much too suddenly for little Apple Bloom who had been casting her words for cuddles. Folding her forelegs, she sat up straight and said, “I was only askin’, Applejack. I ain’t a baby.” Yet it was all she could do not to jump when the wind wailed through the branches of dead trees, when regiments of hailstones attacked the house, and when the hail was followed by legions of sleet and rain which thrashed against the rooftop. Applejack hit the light off – “No, don’t,” squealed Apple Bloom – but the older pony left, saying, “Hold on a minute, li’l sis.” Apple Bloom held onto a minute. She gripped her blanket, shiver-shaking at a flash of lightning. Two flashes! She grasped tighter. On the third flash, thank the heavens, thank all that was warm and cosy, Applejack returned with a lantern full of fireflies, whose soft light sloshed around in the gloom of the bedroom. “A light for you, sugar cube,” Applejack said, placing the lamp upon the bedside desk. “A light for you in dark places.” Apple Bloom gulped a second time. “I told you Applejack. I ain’t scared.” Applejack wasn’t fooled: she understood the language of sisterhood, a language huddled in the spaces between Apple Bloom’s words, visible in the twinkling of her eyes, and present in the touch of the filly’s hoof against her fur. Out loud, Apple Bloom insisted that she wasn’t scared, she swore that she wasn’t frightened. Not her! No way! No way did she need a night-light! What Applejack heard, however, was Thank you, Thank you; then she kissed her little sister on the forehead, a kiss to say, I love you. I love you. Applejack left, shutting the door behind her. Apple Bloom was alone. Sister lost and sister shaken, Apple Bloom lost and quaking, Shaking! Apple Bloom lost and shaking! Sister, sister, don’t you see? Come back, Applejack. Come hold me! Hold me! “NO!” said Apple Bloom, and as she sat upon her bed, with branches rapping at the window pane, with the ratta-tat-tat of hailstones drumming in her ears, a sense of grim purpose came to her. She was eight years old. No: eight-and-three-quarters. No: eight-and-sixth-sevenths. Why, she was practically nine! A big filly, all grown-up, and big fillies did not sleep in with their older sisters. Big fillies weren’t afraid of storms or of the dark, or of the sun freezing over, or the moon eloping with the stars, never to shine again. So she said to herself – she commanded herself – “Don’t run to her. Fall fast asleep in your own bed, ’cause you ain’t a baby, Apple Bloom. Don’t let nothin’ scare you.” Sister brave, Bold, audacious, Courageous! Apple Bloom bold and courageous! Sister, sister, don’t you see? Search the land, then search the seas; You won’t find another half as brave as me! But the thunderstorm disagreed. “Apple Bloom,” it said, its growling voice enveloping the tiny filly and her bed – blanket, mattress, pillows and all. “Look at you, little filly in your little bed in your little house. You think you’re not scared? You consider yourself brave?” “I’m the bravest filly there ever was. Leave me alone.” “Apple Bloom, o sweet, delectable little Apple Bloom,” said the storm. “Hear me now and hear me clear: monsters are coming to get you, monstrosities with sharp teeth and crunching jaws. When we get you, the sun will freeze. The moon will break. Everything will be dark forever.” “Storms don’t speak,” Apple Bloom said, firmly, and she shook her head. “You’re just a voice inside my mind, so I don’t have to listen to you. Anyway, you’re lying. I know you’re lying. There ain’t no monsters in here, ’cause Applejack already checked beneath my bed.” “A liar, am I? Not real, are we? We will see. We’ll see how you cope with us in dark places.” The words held grim power over Apple Bloom. Convinced though she was that the voice dwelled within her imagination, she asked, from fear, from curiosity, “Why d’you keep saying ‘we’? Who... who are you?” The storm chuckled. “Your nightmares, of course! And if you think you can make it through tonight without being gulped down scrumptiously, swallowed up deliciously, then think again.” It was late enough now that Applejack had trotted off to bed. In her absence, every shadow was a darker shadow, every draft a gale, every raindrop a bullet, every thunder the crash of towering waves against the old, old house. Monsters were coming to get her… But she was brave! Monsters were drawing in… But she was bolder than bold, tougher than tough, stronger than strong. She refused to bend before the storm; she would not scream; she would prove to herself the strength of her own bravery. She would prove herself a big filly and not a cry-baby. Grabbing the lantern, she shut her eyes, dived under the covers and whispered, “I ain’t gonna go and wake Applejack. I can handle this.” When she opened her eyes again, it was to find herself trembling in a mighty cavern with space enough to swallow twenty, forty, sixty of her house. The floor wasn’t rock, but stitched from endless sheets and mattresses uncountable. The walls were blankets: hungry blankets, starving blankets, greedily devouring the roar of the storm. And so the bed-cave was silent save for Apple Bloom’s worried breathing, the pumping of blood through her ears, the pitter-pitter and patter-patter of fireflies against the sides of her lamp. Unsure of what to do, she lay and thought of ponies from over a thousand years ago huddled in the stomachs of night-drowned caves, praying for the sun and for the moon. Apple Bloom prayed. She prayed for Applejack. “I ain’t scared. I’m... I'm not afraid of bein’ alone.” “Is that so, filly?” Summoned by Apple Bloom’s fears like moths to a light, monsters had clawed their way into the stronghold of the bed-cave. A shock of cold sped through her as before her eyes, a wolf emerged from the shadows: taller wider larger than a draft horse, with a body made from ice and midnight, and with the eyes of one who would never know the language of sisterhood. “Monsters are coming to get you,” snarled the wolf, and its breath was snow, its fangs were icicles. Apple Bloom screamed. Pausing only to grab the lantern she dashed, she galloped, she flew! Down passages built from pillows, through tunnels of fabric, shafts of stitching, a warren of warmth. A voice in her heart, the voice of her instincts, hissed at her that there was more to the lantern than brass and light. “Which way, which way?” she asked of the lamp. “This way! This way!” replied the fireflies, glowing bright to indicate the correct tunnels to choose. Fangs at her heels— Claws at her hooves— Light in the darkness— Out through the exit Apple Bloom charged, tumbling into an embrace of wooden floorboards and a bright pink rug. The walls here were a treasure trove of sisterhood: photos of herself and Applejack; old crayon pictures scribbled on July afternoons; birthday cards from when she had turned four and five; Hearth’s Warming Cards from when she had been six and seven; and paintings of apples, apples, apples. She was back in her bedroom! And when she looked over her shoulder, oh delight, oh thank the stars: the wolf was gone. The cave was gone. In their place slept her plain old bed. “Hah!” she said to the storm. “I told you that you couldn’t scare me. So leave me be! I ain’t scared of nothin’.” “So you keep saying,” chittered tiny, glitter-glinting voices. It was the fireflies in the lantern again. They said: You’re not scared: you’re brave, you’re fearless, But you of the light, take care, please heed us. Song of your heart, and song of your soul, With all of your heart, please, please hear us: Speak with a loved one, have a care, please whisper, “I’m scared, Applejack,” you must say to your sister. Apple Bloom, Apple Bloom, peerless, fearless, Take care, take care, please, please heed us. Apple Bloom gave the fireflies a sister-warm smile, though said to them, “That’s nice an’ all, but I’m a big filly, now, and I’ve gotta act like one. Tellin’ others that you’re a fraidy-cat? Why, that’s what babies do.” Picking up the lantern with her teeth, she placed it on the table – but frowned, for it was a table now littered with levers and buttons, with dials, with pedals, with brass fixings and copper pipes, and with a gearstick and a steering wheel. Monsters had transformed her bedroom into a submarine! Which meant that the bed-cave had been merely the first of their foul games; sure enough, out through the window Apple Bloom saw that the storm had swept away the rest of her house, and that an ocean surged in place of the farm, soaking peaks and sopping troughs. “No escape, Apple Bloom,” growled the storm. “There’s no seasoning quite like a child’s terror, so make no mistake: once we’re done scaring you, we’re going to eat you, good and proper.”
OceanSilent fury blazed through Apple Bloom. How dare the storm taunt her so! Test her, tease her, torture her. “How dare you?” she said, she spat; but she covered her mouth, adamant that she wouldn’t let the storm win at this game… and she was prepared, was she not? Her sister’s lantern shone over the control panel, a light, a light for her in dark places… The ocean was simply water. Just water! Showers and bathtubs, puddles and splish-splashes. Why should she be afraid of it? “Not never, no never. I’m no more frightened than of the sun freezin’, or of lightning and thunder, or of the ice-wolf back in that there bed-cave.” “What of wolves in the water?” asked the storm. Apple Bloom ignored it. Gritting her teeth, she pushed on a lever, smacked some buttons, twirled a knob, raised the periscope, started the engines, dive, dive, dive! And with a lurch, her bedroom sank below the waves, deep into a vast nothingness ruled over by the Lord of Silence. The wailing of the storm dulled. Dimmed. Died. Apple Bloom sighed happily, certain that no storm with a heart of terror and voice of evil could follow her into the hug of the ocean. “I’m snug in the sea,” she said. “That’s what counts.” More than snug, it turned out. More than warm and peaceful. Before her eyes – here! Against the odds, at the very bottom of the sea! – the night sky dazzled. Constellations swarmed in the currents, faint stars and bright stars, and brittle stars, and starfish with glowing arms. There were a hundred of them, those twinkling little lights; then there were a thousand, then a million more, a million billion trillion more. More stars than she had ever seen, more, more than she had ever dreamed in her life, a flood, a torrent, a deluge of sparkles. Apple Bloom gaped at this twin of the night sky painted by the creatures of the sea. Peering close, she spied glowing jellyfish with long creeping tendrils, softly, softly blue. There were eels and shrimp, squid and octopuses, all decorated with gleaming dots. They swam about in pairs and in groups. They linked fins. They held tentacles. An astonished Apple Bloom gazed upon a dance of scales and stars. At once, she understood the meaning of it: every fish she saw was a girl-fish, and they were all sisters, each and every one. In their own mysterious ways, the creatures down here spoke the language of sisterhood. They swam the language of sisterhood. A tiny sea-pony sped in front of the submersible-bedroom. Apple Bloom pressed her snout to the window. Under her breath, she sang: Sweet little fish, Sleep Sleep Little fish. It’s bedtime under the sea. But before you sleep, little fish, I wish Wish Little fish, Would you please sing a story for me? A tale of sisters, one little, one big, And Little ran away from home. For there was a storm, And in the dark and cold, She was scared right down to her bones. Yet what of the ending? Tell Tell Little fish. Tell Little Sis what to say! She’s lost and alone, She needs to go home, Yet wants to endure until day, Little fish. She wants to endure until day. Sweet little fish, Night Night Little fish. Dream dreams specially for me. Dream in a bedroom under the sea. With a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth, Apple Bloom could only watch as the sea-pony was joined by its twin, and then the pair of them danced into the stars, those sunken shipwrecked stars shining deep beneath the waves. She was more confused than ever. Oh, what to do! What to say! What to say and what to do, “I wish, I wish that I knew,” she whispered, despairing on her chair behind the steering wheel. “What should I do?” she asked to the fireflies. “What you feel you have to, Apple Bloom,” was their response. What did she feel, though? Apple Bloom rubbed her forehead, thinking, thinking, thinking over whether she ought to prove her bravery and hold tight until dawn, or else sail back to Applejack: for lost in the ocean though she was, she was sure that finding her way back to her older sister would be easy. The way home shone in the pit of her heart. … NO! No no no! “I’m not gonna run to her. I ain’t a baby, I ain’t scared, I swear that I’m not.” “Are you sure, Apple Bloom? Are you certain?” Wolves in the ocean, jaws in the night. The voice was darker, deeper than the ice-wolf’s. Dark like the wilderness stretching past the reach of the most distant stars. Deep like packs of miserable shadows lurking near the bottom of ocean trenches, waiting to pounce on any unsuspecting lights unfortunate enough to find themselves lost in the gloom. Pressing her hooves against her ears made not a shred of difference: it was the loudest voice in the whole wide world, a voice fit for the ocean. Apple Bloom stared as the stars scattered into the blackness: fish swam for their lives before the owner of the dark voice. They swam, and then the stars were no more. Darkness. Apple Bloom pushed pulled wound wheeled yanked cranked bashed mashed at the control panel, but it was hopeless. The bedroom was too slow to escape. Too clumsy. Too cumbersome. And now through the window she saw… A body larger than hills, mountains, islands, continents. Fangs too many, each one as long as a tree and as thick as their trunks. Scales, scales, scales, some of which glowed the colour of blood, so that decorating the monster’s body were twirling swirling galaxies – galaxies formed from nothing but red stars. “Apple Bloom,” said the star-beast, causing Apple Bloom’s stomach to turn inside-out then outside-in. “You cannot escape your nightmares. We’re going to get you. We’re going to EAT you. Swallow you whole, Gulp you down, Crunch your bones, Spit you out. So many ways to eat your food. So many ways: which do I choose? Noshing and gnashing? Splitter and splatting? Munching or mashing? Chomping or champing? Sleep little girl in your bed in the sea, Sweet little girl, so perfect for tea! Tell me, girl, are you much of a swimmer? If not I shall eat you for dinner! Tender dreamer especially for me, Tasty sweet girl under the sea.” The monster lunged at the bedroom, and no time to run, no time to steer out of the way! Apple Bloom shrieked, “APPLEJACK! HELP!” “Applejack! Help!” cried the fireflies. “Applejack! Help!” sounded strange voices in the corners of Apple Bloom’s mind – or perhaps, she wondered later, they weren’t so strange at all, but the voices of her loved ones watching over her. Not that it mattered, of course, in a place where Applejack could no more hear her than hold her or hug her or kiss her. Yet… The language of sisterhood is spoken not with words, but with hearts and magic… The language of sisterhood knows no boundaries, and sleeping and waking are of little concern… Far away, far, far away, to wherever the storm had blown the rest of the house, Applejack dreamt. She dreamt of sailing in a boat carved from an apple; by her side, in the sunlight of that mysterious sea, sat her little sister at the rudder. But Apple Bloom’s smile fell. It fell, though the sun shone brighter than ever, and its warmth was purest joy. On the control panel, the lantern of fireflies flickered— “Applejack,” said the Apple Bloom in Applejack’s dream. “Help!” The lantern glimmered— Understanding passed over Applejack’s face. She held her dream-sister close, and said, softly, “You’re in trouble, ain’t you. I don’t know how, I don’t know where, and I know now that I’m simply dreamin’. But wherever you are, sugar cube, whatever scrape you’re in, know that I love you. You’re safe, ’cause I’m watchin’ over you. I’m sending you all my love, and I love you with all my heart and more; I love you the whole world, and the sun and the moon, and all the planets and all them stars twinklin’ up there in the night sky. “I love you. “I love you. “I love you…” And the lantern SHONE. The fireflies burned with the fury of Applejack’s love – love felt from across the sea and over a hundred miles away – and it was a light stronger than all the stars in the ocean combined. Apple Bloom shielded her eyes. The monster got the full blast of it through the window – the worst pain imaginable for such a creature of darkness. It thrashed about, blinded, screaming, agony, pain, sore, hurt, ache, torture. Then a moment of stillness, a hint of a moment, a whisper of a moment; it was enough. Apple Bloom seized the lantern, rushed to her bed, and hissed to herself, “Hurry, hurry!” (“Scurry, scurry,” the fireflies chimed in.) Unscrewing one of the bed-knobs, she revealed a tiny wishing star no bigger than a hoof and long ago plucked from the night sky. A curious object. It had been placed there by Applejack in case of emergency, on the day of Apple Bloom’s birth, in fact. A gift. A blessing. A way to forever tell her, I love you, I love you. “I ain’t scared, I swear it,” whispered Apple Bloom to the little wishing star. “I’m a big filly, and I can take care of myself. But get me outta here. Please!” The star-beast roared, and the deep quivered and the darkness quaked. Yet it wasn’t the roar that caused Apple Bloom’s heart to pump slush and ice throughout her little body, but that the star did nothing. No wish is freely given. Wishes require sacrifice. They need the wish-granter to give something up, or else they have no power; right then, with seconds to spare, all Apple Bloom had to part with was the truth, the truth, and nothing but the truth. And the truth was this: “Okay, I’ll admit it,” Apple Bloom whimpered to the star, and she said it with a shake and a sniffle, a sob and a snivel. “I am scared, I’m so, so scared… but not of that there monster, or of the storm, or even of the sun freezin’. I don’t know what I’m scared of. But it’s rightly weighing on my mind, whatever it is...” There was a pause filled with fangs and roars and a hundred thousand red glowing scales. Apple Bloom held her breath. Was the truth enough? Was it enough to save her? At last – “Oh thank you,” cried Apple Bloom, “thank you, thank you!” – the star twinkled to show that it had accepted the payment, then sank into the woodwork. Soon, the whole bed was enchanted with its magic. The blanket, the pillows, and the mattress became silver-white. The frame was golden. Then the bed rose into the air and smashed through the ceiling, carrying them up, up through the water. Seconds later, too blinded to have noticed Apple Bloom’s escape, the monster swallowed the bedroom in a single gulp, before vanishing to the dark pit from whence it came. Apple Bloom didn’t see this. She didn’t look back, but fixed her eyes upon the roof of the ocean. The bed shot through the roof and soared high, high, high above the storm clouds, beyond waking and dreaming, and past the place where the sky bleeds into space.
StarsA minute later the bed flew so high, so very, impossibly high, that when Apple Bloom peered down, the world was a blue marble resting amongst a million stars, which themselves slept upon sheets and blankets of glowing nebulas: spreads of rosy red, brilliant blue and startling green, all draped over the darkness. Apple Bloom had always supposed that should she have ever found herself standing, by chance, in the vault of the night sky, then it would have been black and empty but for the moon and the stars. Now she was here, there were more lights and colours than she had ever dreamed possible. Only one light mattered to her. Only one light had travelled with her through the whole journey, from the deep of the cave to the depths of the sea and past the peak of the sky. Cradling Applejack’s lantern in her hooves, she sighed and said, “It’s kinda quiet here. I can’t see no monsters. I can’t hear the storm.” And she couldn’t, not even when she strained her ears, not even when she looked sideways, upways, downways, forwardways, backways. Though when she did look back, something much more welcome awaited: it was the moon, round and white, and taking up nearly the whole of her vision. Apple Bloom sat in silence for a moment. The moon was silent. (“You’re not scared, you’re brave, you’re fearless,” whispered the fireflies in their glistening voices). Then Apple Bloom cleared her throat and spoke with the moon. “M-mind if I ask a question?” she said. “Ask away,” the moon replied. Apple Bloom paused, choosing her words as carefully as her older sister picking only the best and ripest apples from the family orchard. “You and the sun are sisters, right? You love each other, and tell each other everything?” “We speak the language of sisterhood. This is true.” “Then tell me: could the sun ever freeze over?” It was the moon’s turn to mull over her words. She mulled and she mulled until Apple Bloom bit her hoof to keep from crying. Although the moon had no eyes, no mouth, no face, something in its infinite blankness made the little filly unbearably… Sad? Lonely? No. Not lonely. Not sad. These weren’t the right words, because truthfully, she didn’t know how to describe exactly how she felt – the only thing she was sure of was that the only cure for this feeling was the moon’s answer. Yet more than that: she wanted her sister to hold her, she wanted Applejack to kiss her and cuddle her, she wanted Applejack to never let go, she wanted Applejack until it hurt. Just as Apple Bloom opened her mouth to demand a response, finally, the moon said, “Could your sister’s heart ever stop shining?” They spoke no more after that, but Apple Bloom gazed at the stars, her heart beating wildly. All was quiet again. It was silence so enormous that all of outer space was needed to house it; and from her bed, she stared down at the world searching for her little house in her little town, before remembering that the storm had swept it away. “Could Applejack’s heart stop shining?” she said to herself. “Could she stop lovin’ me? Could it be true? Could it? Could it?” Like a shooting star, the answer came to her at once. What a question! What a daft, ridiculous, ludicrous, writhing little worm of a question! Oh, she wanted to stamp on it, squish the question from existence. But it was worse than a worm: mud-sludge, grunge-pus, stink-slush, muck-mire. The thought of her older sister not loving her disgusted Apple Bloom to her bones, making her feel ill in ways she had never thought possible – ice under her skin, yet hot coals in her stomach. The longer she pictured a world without the light of Applejack’s love, the darker her vision seemed, the colder she felt, the more violent her shivers, the more frozen her tears. What would it matter if the sun turned dark? Why would she care if the moon shattered into a thousand pieces? Apple Bloom knew now that there was another light in her life. In brightness, it outshone all the others. Its warmth would last past the end of the world. She smiled weakly, for she knew at last what truly scared her. Wiping her eyes, she swivelled back around to answer the moon’s question – yet the moon was nowhere to be found, having sailed away upon rivers of night-time. Apple Bloom talked to the lantern instead. “Okay, so I’ve been a little bit scared tonight. A teeny-tinsey bit.” When the fireflies didn’t answer, Apple Bloom spoke a storm. “Alright, alright already, I’m really scared, I’m super scared, I’m super-duper-zuper scared! But not of the sun goin’ out. That’s not the light I’m scared of losing.” No answer, no answer! Apple Bloom delved ever deeper into her heart to uncover the whole of the truth, and what she found was this: “Maybe,” she whispered, “maybe sometimes it’s okay. to say you’re scared and speak to someone who loves you. Just ’cause it’s night and it’s scary, it doesn’t mean it has to be dark…” Finally, oh finally, a response. The fireflies spoke with the language of sisters – the secret language shared between Apple Bloom and Applejack, but which only now did the smaller sister come to appreciate. Hold us close, and hold us tight, Hold us both in dark and light. Shine in the gloom, glow in the night, Your sister’s love: it sings, it’s bright. Light of your own in your heart has grown, Where love, pure love was sown. So home again Back home Go home! Back to your sister, Never Alone. Apple Bloom beamed. Unbidden, but not unwelcome, tears came to her eyes and gushed down her face. It was the same feeling she had experienced when speaking with the moon, yet deeper, so much deeper than before. It was a longing. A yearning. There existed a golden thread tying herself and Applejack together, but her adventures had made the thread damaged and frayed and stretched: it ached to be mended. Raising a hoof, she pointed at the world, and yelled, “Dive, dive!” A last glimpse of the stars; a final nod to the empty space where the moon had been. Then the bed plummeted towards Equestria, forcing Apple Bloom to clutch onto the lamp to stop it tumbling from the sheets. Faster Closer Quick Quick Quicker! Haste, Must rush, Must race. Speed up, Hurry up, Apple Bloom, Apple Zoom, Hurry up, Swift Swift Swifter! The bed blazed red. A trail of fire followed in its wake as it punched through the sky, and for a shimmering moment, it became a shooting star seen all over Equestria – for a moment, all ponies over Equestria knew the magic of sisterhood. It shot through the storm clouds blanketing Ponyville, down below, down, down into the deep dark. There was the farm! There was the barn and the orchard, the fields, the stables, the treehouse, the farmhouse; the flood had receded, and the storm had washed everything back into place. The monster in the ocean had spat up her bedroom, which rested beside the front door, waiting for mares and stallions to fix it back into place. No time to look, however. Applejack’s bedroom was coming up fast. Apple Bloom shut her eyes to brace for impact. CRUNCH. CRASH. SHATTER. SMASH. A roar of thunder shook the house. “Apple Bloom,” the storm spat, panic infecting its voice. When the storm had come to town, Apple Bloom had been small and trembling and easy to scare, a most perfect target for hideous monsters. Upon her return, the filly seemed taller: not in height, but in ways undefinable, yet undeniably real. “What are you doing, Apple Bloom? Surely you don’t think that your sister’s love can save you from your fears?” But Apple Bloom stood a little straighter, held herself a little prouder, and bellowed, “SHUT IT! You and the others: y’all are just nightmares, and nightmares live in the dark. Well, I’ve got somethin’ stronger than darkness. I’ve got my sister.” The storm knew then that it was beaten, and Apple Bloom never heard its evil voice ever again. All the same, her adventures had left her hurt. Her legs ached. Her chest was bruised from where she had crashed through the wall of Applejack’s bedroom, and, sobbing, she held the firefly lantern between her hooves. Sisterhood is stronger than hurt, tougher than fear. Sisterhood heals. Applejack stirred, then cast a weary glance around the wreckage of her bedroom. Half the wall lay strewn over the floor. In the middle of the chaos stood a quavering Apple Bloom, her own bed smashed into a hundred pieces upon the rug. “That’s kind of a mess you’ve made there, sugar cube,” Applejack said. But she said it with a smile, and with a yawn full of the language of sisters. You don’t need to explain anything, the yawn said. Just climb on up here and shut your eyes. Even so, Apple Bloom stood by the bed and explained it anyway. She felt that she needed to. It felt important. “I lied, Applejack. I am scared. I’m scared of so many things, and I should’ve said so right from the start when you tucked me into bed. I’m nothin’ more than a big baby.” She sniffled as cold winds invaded the bedroom, as armies of raindrops pounded against the floor. Lightning flashed. The might and fury of the storm poured in through the gaping hole in the wall. Yet the storm couldn’t startle the smile from Apple Bloom’s face as her older sister placed a hoof on her back, and said, “Now listen up. You ain’t a baby, Apple Bloom, but the bravest filly I know, and it’s okay. to say when you’re scared… and hay. Wanna know a secret?” She leaned in close and whispered in Apple Bloom’s ear. “Sometimes I get scared too.” Never mind the lashing cold, the lightning, the thunder. Climbing into bed, Apple Bloom buried herself against Applejack’s chest and basked in the heaven of her warmth. She closed her eyes. Applejack shut her own. Together, they fell fast asleep in a hug so close that each could feel the other’s heartbeat, feel it like it was their own. In the lantern, the fireflies shone brighter than ever. They shone like the sun.
