“What did the kid know? Jack shit, that’s what. Coulda sold him radiated water for eighty bits when he came out out of that hole in the ground. He couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn from the inside. Shoulda died, but he didn’t. Why? I think it was luck. In fact, I know it was luck. Damn that kid was lucky. But I also think it might have had a little bit to do with who he met.”

I’d never been to Southmarket before, and wasn’t sure what to expect. Merchants, I guessed. Maybe some two-headed brahmin from down south, they always ran in the caravans. What I hadn’t expected was a wall constructed of scrap metal and a surly looking mare on top of it pointing yet another gun at me.

“State your business!” She shrieked for the third time. “Your real business! I know your type! You look like all the rest. We don’t have any quarrel with you hole-dwellers but I’m not letting you in spies. We have enough problems.”

“It seems you’ve already determined my business,” I said, blinking. This was stupid. It was so incredibly stupid that I couldn’t make myself feel threatened at all. “Look. I’m tired. I would like to find a place to trade bullets for water, is that alright? I’m not here to spy on you. I don’t even know who I would be spying for.”

She glared at me.

“I’m not leaving my armor with you,” I said flatly. “But I can surrender my gun if you’ll promise to take care of it, alright?” I glanced over at it, and bit my lip. “Will that be acceptable?”

She squinted. I stared back.

“Fine,” said the surly mare, and I started to detach the gun from my back when a third interrupted us.

“Are you harassing ponies again?”

Up on the battlements, I saw another earth pony walk to the angry one and fix her in a glare. The guard’s ears drooped, and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her for a fleeting moment. “Bushel, we can’t be too careful… you heard what happened to Mondale yesterday. That colt showed up yelling all about it.”

“Mondale is gone,” I said, and they both looked down at me. “I saw it on the way here. I’m surprised news has gotten out already.”

The first guard shrugged. The newcomer sighed and turned around. “Open up, would you? Thanks.” She looked back at me. “Weapon comes off if it can, and if any of the guards even hear what sounds like you loading that thing…”

“I understand,” I said, and tried smiling disarmingly. She didn’t seem impressed, but didn’t really glare either. I kept my smile wide and friendly as I walked into the most motley settlement I’d ever seen. Also only the fourth I’d ever seen.

How to describe Southmarket? Well…

Southmarket is a dump. That’s verbatim how the locals describe it. Also popular are “burnpile that time forgot” and “slagheap” and other such names. While these convey the feeling of the place after the first five minutes, they didn’t quite capture what Southmarket really was.

The first thing a visitor coming by the east gate sees is the market itself, which is a nicer thing to say then “menagerie” but not quite as accurate. Stalls lined the single street on both sides, and ponies crowded in between. Everypony was trying to talk all at once in a long, loud bedlam of noise and chaos.

I wasn’t just overwhelmed. I was something more akin to shellshocked. Crowds I could handle--Mosaic held eighty seven souls. Well, eighty now. But Mosaic was a quiet place, a peaceful one. Southmarket was all movement all the time. I stood before the milling crowd and licked my lips.

And then somepony noticed me.

He looked me over, seemed to recognize something, and then pulled away. A few others did too. But most just seemed to be watching me. I could tell. I could hear them as I slowly walked through the parting sea. “Look, you see the flanks?” “Chyort, you think…?”

I sped up and scrambled away from the crowd.

The rest of the settlement was a lot more empty. It was just a neighborhood where the streets had been barricaded off to form a little township, really, and outside of the market street the rest was mostly empty. I wondered how many ponies actually lived here permanently.

It only took a few minutes to find an alleyway to slip into as I slowly detached the gun apparatus from the barding and took stock of what I had.

A hundred more of these longer, pointed bullets. I was out of those rather impressive grenades. Were they grenades? I hadn’t the foggiest idea. They exploded well. Spectacularly well. Had I more caps or, well, any caps I might see if I could find some more. I refused to sell the assault rifle, as it was a part of the Sword, and I supposed that went for the launcher.

So it was bullets then. They were the only medium of exchange available. Wonderful. I just hoped these kind were valuable. I needed water and food immediately. The rest I could work on. Just had to put this contraption back on my back, carry the ammo box from the saddle…

It took a little bit of work. Most everything does, when you’re an earth pony. It would be harder to resent that if I were possessed of the customary size or strength of my tribe. As it was, I envied the late great Gilead Balm his magic.

But I made do. I always did--that was what you did when you had only your hooves to rely on. You found a way.

One of the merchants locked eyes with me and I decided the rather intimidating rocket launcher behind him was a good enough sign that he was the one I needed. I approached and he grinned at me.

“Welcome, welcome!” His voice was thick with that thick Stalliongrad accent. It wasn’t that surprising. Nopony else bothered to make the trek north. “I can help you, yes? What would you like? Can give you bigger guns, better guns, guns that shoot lasers! You like lasers, da?”

I pursed my lips. “Nyet, drug. Podozhdite, pozhaluysta…” I carefully pushed the ammo box onto the table in front of him. I would be the first to admit that my Northern was rusty at best, but I figured it couldn’t hurt. “I’m trying to sell some munitions, if you don’t mind. Half of these.”

He squinted. “You know the mother tongue?”

I sighed. “Nyet. Not well enough to converse at length,” I said. “It’s fallen far out of favor in the metro.”

“Bah, holes in ground. Still…” He sized me up. “Just five-five-six?”

I blinked at him.

“I have no idea,” I said.

He blinked back at me.

“Ah. In that case, will give you a cap for 3, how is that sound?”

It sounded awful, frankly. “Two for one?” I asked, hopeful.

He made a great show of sighing over this. “Two for one, for the colt who knows my mother’s tongue, da, I will do this. Though it is a great sacrifice.”

We exchanged caps for bullets, and I looked down at the growing pile of Sparkle-cola caps as he counted them out. It ended up being thirty caps, actually. I’d underestimated my own stock.

Thirty caps. Enough for… I had no idea.

It was at this moment that I began to truly understand my predicament. I had a total of thirty caps to my name, guns that I couldn’t use effectively, and no food or water. I had nowhere to call home. I wasn’t even sure they would let me sleep in the alley. Did ponies on the surface care about things like that? I had no idea! I’d never been out of the metro for more than a few hours at a time.

I started walking, then, back towards the center of the walled-off neighborhood. My mind raced around in circles, getting nothing done. It all came back to thirty caps and nothing.

Away from the market street, there wasn’t much to find but old apartment buildings and a bar near the center of the town. I heard the soft strains of music, and stopped in the middle of the street to listen. I thought I recognized the voice, but… who cared? DJ PON3 had been playing the same four dozen or so songs for years. The last time he got his hooves on something new was years ago. There was no doubt I’d heard that same voice before. I just couldn’t afford to care about it.

I kept walking, trying to put together a plan. Or really just any sort of goals would be nice. I sent a silent and slightly bitter thanks to Watcher for being thoroughly useless in all respects. Make friends? Delightful. Just delightful.

I just… needed to clear my head.

The water was slightly misty and tasted vaguely alkaline. I could not drink it without a grimace. But it was water, and I couldn’t afford to be choosy. The snack cakes were not filling, but yet again, I had little choice. My caps were spent and once again I was penniless and directionless.

So I took to walking. And that was how I found her.

She was immediately strange--not in the least because she was a pegasus, and I had seen only one other in my short life. Her mane was cut strangely, all shaved on one side with the rest flowing like a waterfall down the left side of her face. Her ears were pierced--in and of itself? Not that strange, but I cringed at the sheer volume of piercings, running all the way along her ear. A small ring through a mouth that never seemed to stop smiling. She was the color of the foamy seas in the books they kept in Central Station.

And she accosted me in the middle of the street just as evening began.

“Where did you get that, eh?” She asked, stopping my progress with a hoof on my chest. I blinked, startled out of a reverie, and noticed her face first. She smiled, yes, but I wasn’t sure how much of that smile was mirth and how much of it was reflex. Her eyes did not seem to share in the humor, and it was hard to miss the long rifle slung on her back.

“Pardon?” I asked, bewildered.

“Barding. Not yours,” she added, still smiling.

I grit my teeth. Great. The last thing I needed was for somepony to start prying. “My mother,” I said, trying to glare down a pony who was a head taller than I was.

Her grin grew wider. “You are my lily’s colt?” She cooed. Cooed was the only way the sound could be described. Before I could react, I found myself wrapped in an iron hug as the pegasus--clearly without much in the way of sanity--did her absolute best to murder me by asphyxation. “Oh, you have her ears! Coming with me, da, I must know the news of your livings. Come, come!”

She dragged me off through the streets, chattering on about “her lily” and my stupid ears and how she’d known--

“You knew my mother?” I managed as soon as her grip loosened.

“Tradewinds knows all the ponies,” she said, practically glowing with pride.

“Right.”

She hauled me down to the street of merchants and I found myself firmly but cheerfully herded inside of one of the run-down buildings.

The inside was cozy, smoky, and filled with ponies drinking at tables. The bar I had seen earlier was lighter and far more inviting, but after the immediate entry, this new one was not so sinister. Just not quite as open. If it were a pony, I imagined that pony would be a gruff sort, but not a bad one.

I wasn’t sure what to make of her yet, but as soon as she blithely chatted with the barkeep--an earth pony with a frown more firmly entrenched than the Last Legion on the west bank--there was talk of food. My stomach growled, and suddenly this crazy mare sounded like a wonderful friend.

We ended up in a little booth in the corner, and while she she was distracted at the bar ordering drinks, I took a closer look at my surroundings. This place must have been some kind of diner, before the war. It was amazing, really, how sometimes life just continued. Megaspells blew it all up, and then we crawled out of the muck to rebuild it all the same. We built diners and bars and shops and walls just as we always had. Yes, caps over bits these days, but was there much diference between today and ancient history in this dingy little place? Aside from the chairs and tables, which had seen better days. Literally.

The mare returned and deposited a little glass before me. She laid a pickle atop it, giggling as she cautiously balanced it along the top. And then, finally, she placed a bottle of clear liquid in the center of the table.

I stared, once again feeling as if I had missed all but the tail-end of a conversation.

“What?”

“Is drink, then bite. Well. Not yet. Second time. After that,” she said, as if this explained everything.

“Is this…” I turned the bottle around. “Seriously? I… I haven’t--”

“Is late enough,” she said, waving a hoof as she settled down in the seat. “And you and I have things to talk about.”

“We… do?”

“Da. Several, I am thinking. Foremost…” She sighed. “You will be telling me of your parents, yes?”

“Mom and… ah. Well…” I eyed the bottle, unsure. “Um, should I… like, should we pour this already? I’ve not really… I mean, I’m not sure I really have the constitution for this.”

“Your mother, she also did not, but could last longer after I taught her,” Tradewinds said with a little smile. “Here, pour glass for us both, and you will tell me how my precious lily’s seedling comes to visit the lands of daylight.”

I poured the alcohol carefully. The packaging said vodka, but it was all the same to me. I’d had wine… once. Well, twice, if one were to be technical about it. The first time didn’t exactly count, in my opinion, as it had really been more of a sip taken when my father hadn’t been looking.

She clasped the glass between her hooves gleefully, winked at me, and then raised her little glass up. “I knew your mother for many years before she met her strange unicorn, and I see her in your eyes. Once, when we were younger, my softest lily and I met scavengers that come from the south looking for treasure. When she sees them hungry, she gave them half of her food. I ask why, and she says--do you not always drink to health? What more than could I do when I see these nuzhdayushchiysya, lost little ones. So, zemlya pukhom.”

And she tipped the little glass back. I did the same, and almost instantly gagged.

Tradewinds chuckled. “Is good.”

I wheezed. “Oh goddesses, that was awful.” When she simply giggled, I glared at her. She sobered a bit and smiled at me sadly.

“My little lily said the same,” she said with a shrug. “Pour a second, and then eat your pickle, and then you will be telling me stories.”

I did it--Luna and Celestia, if they were actually Goddesses, would have saved me from this--and then bit into the pickle. I was surprised to find that it took the bite of the vodka away.

I sighed, still tasting the bitterness of alcohol on my tongue as I began to recount my tale. My father had moved us to Mosaic when my mother had died, and we’d lived there until he took ill a few months ago. He’d died over the course of two months, wasting away. He tried to understand his own illness but came up short. It was rather ironic, all things considered, and I said so with a bit of a chuckle born mostly of anger. He had won the eternal gratitude and love of our neighbors by successfully curing the Black Cough years ago, that old recurring plague of the station towns.

“Physician, heal thyself,” I groused. Tradewinds clicked her tongue and poured me a shot. I eyed it dubiously. “Isn’t this a bit much?”

She shrugged. “Is normal night,” she said, but then sighed. “Is also, I think, to be bad night for you. Best to have a friend, yes?”

I thought of Watcher. “I suppose.”

She gestured for me to continue, and then raised her glass. Another toast--I actually recognized this one as being something akin to “To good company!”--and I continued.

Parents dead, I’d been alone for some time. I worked my shifts gathering, had my one and only friend, and generally drifted. I told her about the raiders, and she nodded seriously. Mondale’s fall had spooked the settlement, she told me. Southmarket, Mondale, and even Mosaic were right on the border of real raider territory, but rarely did the lunatics cross over. Usually they were too busy fighting the tribes downtown or harassing the farmerponies in Sunnydale. I’d never heard of the place, but it sounded pleasant. Apart from the raider threat.

She looked… well, a bit crazy when I told her about the Authority showing up. I hesitated to continue, but she insisted. I told her about how they didn’t run the raiders off to avoid having to actually fight them, and then eventually I got to my own suicidal stupidity. I expected to be told that I was an idiot.

I did not expect her to lay a hoof on my shoulder and shake me. “Your mother, she would be proud of you, my little friend. Very proud. Would be what she would be doing!”

I flushed. “I… well. I’m not like her,” I said. “I had no idea what I was doing. I barely know how to fight. Hell, I don’t know.”

“Fighting is learning and going crazy,” she said, settling back. “You learn. Have good ears, mother’s eyes and spirit, father’s brains. You will learn.”

“Honestly, I would rather not,” I said. “I… well. I killed ponies. I know I did. I can’t… I can’t remember actually k-killing them.”

Saying it aloud was hard. I hadn’t had much time or space to reflect on it all, really, but now that I tried I found the memories sore to the touch and fragmentary. I remembered the heat of the explosives… the rattling of the Sword. I remembered the awful smell in Mondale and running. Lots of running.

I swallowed. “I… I’m going to have to live with that,” I said, quietly. “And right now it’s easy, because I’m sort of running on autopilot. But I know it will catch up with me presently. I’m not prepared for that. I don’t want to remember that better. I would rather be done with killing for good. Being a dismal shot is a blessing.”

Tradewinds looked at me strangely, as if trying to parse what I was. I shrunk before those eyes, and then dropped my gaze to the empty glass. I had had three.

She gently took it, and poured another before I could insist that three was enough, thank you, and when I tried to shake my head, she pursed her lips. “Drink, and then I will speak.”

I sighed. “I can’t really afford to be… not sober,” I said, struggling a bit to find a suitable word.

She’d ordered something earlier, and now it arrived. A unicorn mare came by and smiled at me, and I smiled back like an absolute idiot. She was rather pretty, I noticed. She had said hello, but before I could answer, Tradewinds had chatted her up in the Northern tongue and made her blush not once but thrice before she scurried off with an even bigger grin.

She set a spread before us, and smiled at me again. “Is it true?” She asked me.

“Is… um, is what true?” I said, with utmost poise. Because I did not feel in any way compromised or fuzzy.

“Your mother was Daylily?” asked the mare. My stupid smile, plastered on my face, wilted.

“Yes,” I said. “She was.”

Her look turned sympathetic. “I knew her when I was a foal. She was a wonderful mare. And you look very much like her, even without her armor. That… that is it, right?”

I nodded. “Yes ma’am,” I said.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not that much older than you, silly pony. What’s your name?”

“Swift Balm,” I said, and she smiled again.

“A good name,” she assured me. Then Tradewinds broke in with her native tongue and I only caught every other word. I caught enough that both the waitress and I were mortified by her forwardness. Or, well, I was mortified. She had a gleeful glint in her eye as she sauntered off.

“She is good friend. We play this game every time I am coming here,” Tradewinds said with a laugh.

“I forgot to ask her name,” I said, frowning.

“Helping Hoof,” she said, and chuckled. “Now, I will speak, for is my turn. You have been forced from your home.”

“Yes,” I said, frowning.

“You have killed,” she said, and despite not being surprised by it, her bluntness still felt like a kick in my side. “Several ponies, bad ones all and full of madness. Your beautiful family is dead, may memory preserve them. Mosaic is closed to you.”

“Apparently,” I murmured, feeling warm. My mouth also felt dry. Also it tasted kind of terrible and bitter. I swallowed.

“It is sounding like you must start over,” she said, and before I could speak she held up a hoof. “Nyet, listen more. You must be starting over, and this is not a bad thing. It may be, but does not have to be. Do you understand?”

Looking down at the little shotglass, I sighed. “Yes, I know what you’re saying.”

It was about that time that I looked up and happened to glance out the doorway as somepony entered. The sun was sinking. Night was coming.

A little bit of panic wormed its way into my heart. I tried to grab the bottle shakily, remembering something about it being liquid courage, but I could feel the bile of anxiety. Not here! Not so close to…. Night. Not so close to them. I couldn’t afford to panic even a little. Sparkler wasn’t here to--

Tradewinds laid a hoof over one of mine and eased the bottle down to the table. I stared at her leg. She leaned in and spoke very, very low. “You are alright?” She asked, and I shook my head. “Breathe, little friend. Breathe. Shh.” She stroked my leg, prying me from the bottle. “If you wish, I will pour you some, but first you will stop your move and shakes. What is wrong?”

Why the fuck was I trusting her? I could hear my heart beating even faster, right in my ears, even as she spoke in her strange and musical voice. She “knew my mother” but how did I know? I couldn’t remember if she’d ever mentioned a Tradewinds! I…

“You are not a bad pony for defending your home,” she told me. “Come, let us go, I can find you a better place than this. You must be--”

“Do you have lights?” I asked, trying my best to at least appear in control of my own heartbeat. My voice was almost a hiss. She paused, confused for a moment, and then nodded.

“Da, little friend, we do. Southmarket scrounged or built floodlights that keep everything bright and save in the night,” she said. “And the lights are even guarded from the demons, by spikes and barbed wires and ponies with guns. The raiders do not dare to attack us in the dark, for they cannot see traps.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Really? Lights--you’re sure?”

“Very. Very, little Balm. They will be turning them on soon. Silly earth ponies, never looking up,” she added, and I couldn’t help but choke out some approximation of a laugh.

“I just… I hadn’t thought about it,” I said. “I was so tired, and then... “

“It is alright. When the lights come, we shall go. Will you stay with me tonight?”

“I don’t have anywhere else.”

She smiled at me when I opened my eyes again. “Yes, you have said. Tradewinds has a few ideas.”

Lunangrad was strange to strangers, or so I’ve been told. But I grew up within its bowels, and so for me it is simply home.

Darkness was always something that made ponies at least a little uneasy. Even those who enjoyed the nighttime and stars shared in this feeling. Beneath all of their wonder, there was a baseline fear of the unknown and the unknowable. What was in the dark? Most didn’t know. Thestrals, batponies, whatever you wanted to call them--they knew, but how much? Not as much as I thought, my mother’s singing voice explained in endless music. They saw but not as I thought they did, and they heard but hearing everything is not always a blessing.

My mother was beautiful. I remember that, even if I’ve lost so much of the rest of her. I remember being a foal still, when we lived in Central Station, where there were always lights and everything was safe. She was home alone with me, working on something mechanical.

I was in the dark, in my own little room. Even in the safety of my own bed, the darkness worried me. Normally, I could bear it. But that night I woke from a terrible dream, and even as the details faded the feeling remained, and I cried in fear.

She was barrelling through the door in a heartbeat, wings flared to give battle. But she found only me. She cooed at me, which she knew usually I hated but in that moment it worked. I didn’t care about how I appeared. I cared only for her embrace and for light. I asked her to turn the lights on. She held me, and turned to do so, but then stopped.

“Balm?”

I nuzzled into her soft chest coat and mewled a little affirmative. Beneath me, she took a deep breath, and I noticed her shiny necklace was gone. Suddenly, she stopped moving towards the lightswitch and squeezed me tight, nuzzling me fiercely. I squirmed.

“You hear, don’t you? Without… you hear me.”

My mother hummed, and at last I noticed that her voice sounded different. I knew it was still her: it smelled like my mother and she nuzzled like my mother. But her voice was different. I liked this voice. It was strange but beautiful. Why didn’t she always sound like this? And why would she ask if I heard her?

She carried me to bed and sat down on her haunches so that I rested in the hollow of her body’s natural curve, my head just touching her chin. She hummed, and I listened. “Do you hear that?” She would ask sometimes, and I would nod. She would nuzzle my head each time. “What does it sound like?” Was the question sometimes, or “do I sound different, Balm?”

At last, I asked her why she hadn’t turned the lights on, and she told me that the darkness wasn’t bad. I said it was scary, and she chuckled musically and said that yes, it could be. It could be very scary. I was never to be without a light. But the darkness could also be wonderful.

“But you can’t see anything. What if you trip?” I asked her, trying to look up. But her head rested firmly on top of mine, so that her voice came spilling out all around, as if she were everywhere.

Her wings made a strange leathery canopy and I saw their suggestive shadows. And yet, for once, I was not afraid. I knew what was there. I did not have to see to know my mother loved me.

“I can see for you,” she said. “I see everything that moves in the dark, my sweet colt. When you are afraid, I will always be there to show you that you need not fear the night. How does that sound?”

“I like it.”

“Good.” She kissed the top of my head. “And perhaps, one day, you too shall be able to walk in the sunless places.” Her voice was so low that I only barely heard it. “And sing the old songs.”

I didn’t ask what sort of songs. I was sleepy. Mom was soft and she hummed and everything felt--

I woke up with a massive headache in Southmarket.

Yesterday came back to me in stages. After Watcher, I came here. The street market. Tradewinds. Drinking and storytelling. Panicking. She had dragged me to the building she’d claimed farther away from the gate and against my increasingly sleepier protests proceeded to strip me of my barding and force me to bed.

The embarrassment from that took a few minutes to come to grip with.

But eventually, I smelled something cooking--actually cooking--and my stomach growled at me in a way that almost sounded accusatory. No amount of humiliation would keep it from its reward below. If… If any of it was for me. That brought me up short as I was halfway escaped from the surprisingly-comfy bed. I didn’t know Tradewinds well. For all I knew, she would expect me out the back door before she was done with breakfast. I’d never really known… well. Anything, really. Not about the surface or the ponies there.

But she’d been nice. Nice in a rather demanding, forceful, and perhaps slightly unbalanced way. But still nice. I knew little of the surface, and less of the wasteland beyond it. But I knew that kindness was precious, and I knew generosity was rare. She had both.

So I walked out of the room and slowly made my way downstairs. The upstairs was really more like a long hall of doors. I supposed the rest were other bedrooms and bathrooms. I wondered idly if any of them had working water. The Authority’s inner ring did. Mosaic hadn’t, but Mosaic valued a luddite existence. Except for lights. Lights were different.

Down below, I found a store and blinked. Shelves lined with a little of everything: healing potions, radaway, packaged old world foods, barding. This place had something for just about everypony, and some of the old world living room feel had survived. It all felt comfortable and welcoming.

I wandered through the store, confused. Here I found a whole display case of weapons, and ogled shamelessly. One of them looked a lot like the assault rifle attached to the Sword. Was it the barding or the gun that was called the Sword? If it was both, when separated was there no Sword or did… it didn’t matter. Also I didn’t know. I shook my head. I knew enough to recognize that the magic laser weapons here were good ones and in good condition. I studied them through the glass.

But I moved on eventually. The smell of something--and I still did not know what--cooking drew me towards the back of the store.

In the far back, I found a kitchen with an open door leading out to somewhere. Tradewinds was outside. I could hear her singing softly to herself, and by singing I mean that I could hear her attempting to sing. I poked my head out the door.

“Hello?” I called.

She was next to a little firepit, stirring a pot of… something. I blinked at it.

Tradewinds turned and smiled at me. “You awake, sleepy one! How is the morning?”

“My head smarts a tad,” I said with something like a grin. “But aside from that, I seem to be doing well. I didn’t notice the merchandise last night. You run a store?”

She glowered at me. “Store? You think Tradewinds runs tiny store? Ya, ebal--I am running Emporium! Tradewinds Petrhoofan Emporium!” Her glare turned into a sort of giddy dance on the dusty almost-lawn behind the townhouse. “What do we not sell? Bullets and noodles and chems! We sell you the useful and the useless, the good and the bad and also of the ugly! What could you not be having? I sell the one thing everypony needs. Civilization.”

My stomach growled again. “Well… I was hoping I might persuade you to part with some breakfast,” I said with a sheepish little smile. “Also, water, if you have some.”

She chuckled and checked her concoction one more time. “Yes, yes, breakfast for you. Am having bread from Sunnydale that will do you well, and can save the rest.”

I cocked my head. “What is that, then?” I asked, pointing to the pot.

She simply grinned. “Is… important,” she said, and went back to singing. This, of course, drove me back inside to the kitchen, where I found a small table and waited.

As I looked over Tradewinds’ little kitchen, I began to realize a few things. Primarily, I had underestimated both her competence and her madness. Outside, the rest of the ground floor was an immaculate, if cluttered, storefront. I knew little of bits and shops beyond how to find food… but even I could tell that Tradewinds had a deep inventory. And yet, this kitchen was an absolute mess. It wasn’t dirty in the sense of not being given a good wash. No, if I were honest with myself, I imagined now that she kept the place free of contamination. Her kitchen was cluttered to the point that I began to worry for the structural integrity of her carefully placed assemblages of pots and pans and beakers and strange devices. There was a door at the other end of the kitchen, but I wasn’t sure where it led. Unless, of course, this wasn’t the kitchen at all. Which honestly I wondered about.

Tradewinds had a shop, and what I suspected was a makeshift labratory. No doubt she had a workshop somewhere as well. She had a life here, and I think she had a secure one. A home.

There was a sudden lump in my throat that I tried to ignore. All at once, I wanted to stay. I hadn’t the foggiest what “staying” would look like, but I wished for it rather fervently. I would do anything to have a place to call home. I wanted to convince her.

But at the same time… I couldn’t be a burden. What need did she have of somepony who was useless? I could fiddle with computers, yes, but not well. Given a few moments to figure it out, I could take some tech apart and put it back together again. I could read and write. I was good with sums. But there was nothing I had that I’m sure she didn’t already possess in spades.

Tradewinds chose that moment to return, still singing in Northern. I wasn’t up to find much humor in the poor quality of it, but I did say a soft “good morning” that was met with a grin as she danced between her various works. She loomed over the table with something like a feral grin, but merrier.

“Soon, soon, soon, my young Balm! We shall be making our own balms!” She giggled. “All is good that goes good. Now! Foods. For you and for me, a fine breakfast.” She paused then, wearing a puzzled look. “Why are you in here?”

Ah. So I’d been right. “I’m assuming this isn’t the kitchen, then?” I asked.

“Nyet, is little lab. Big lab below, next to forge,” she said in a conversational tone.

“Forge? Like, hammer and anvil, you mean?”

She hummed and then nodded. “Yes. Also machines. Come! Is time for breakfast.”

I followed her through the little door and through a short narrow hallway. The real kitchen was smaller, but far less cluttered. I sat down at the table and Tradewinds hummed while she collected food.

My mind was filled with questions, pushing my earlier concerns aside. A forge, or foundery of some kind? Labs? What was she working on? Furthermore, where had she found the equipment and the time to assemble it? A forge or workshop of some sort I understood. A shopkeeper selling guns and ammunition would want to be able to offer repair work or even commissions, perhaps for barding.

My reverie was broken by Tradewinds. “Are you liking eggs? Bah, of course you are liking eggs. My lily enjoyed eggs, especially scrambled. Always scrambled.”

I looked up to find her humming next to a little gas stove. I was stunned. Gas is precious in the underground. She was just… just using it freely? For eggs. “Hm… no, how about…”

I swallowed. I couldn’t pay for this. I couldn’t just be a parasite here, not to someone who had been kind to me already. “Miss… Miss Tradewinds, it’s really alright…”

“Hm, it is,” she said, not looking back. “Ah, I have good idea,” she said, returning to her tuneless little song. “You are not wanting me to help,” she noted.

I swallowed. Her tone hadn’t changed, but suddenly I was worried. “It’s… I just don’t want to be a burden,” I said.

“Is a good thought, perhaps,” she answered. A few more seconds of silence while she worked and I wondered what she was making. “But is also good to accept the kindness of friends. Will live longer, be healthier, maybe have one more gun on your side of the table.” She looked over her shoulder and flared her wings slightly with a little smile.

“I suppose. I’m sorry if I sounded ungrateful,” I said.

“Not at all. Your father was always being so…” She hummed again, as if searching for a word in the tune.

“Recalcitrant?” I supplied.

“That will work,” she said with a grunt. “Yes. Anyway, if you are my lily’s child you might as well be mine!” She laughed, but then the sound faded. “Was to meet you, but…”

“Why didn’t you?”

She sighed, but kept working. I heard the gas burning and marvelled still at it. The silence between us stretched on, and I worried that I’d offended her. The wasteland is dangerous. Lunangrad doubly so. I didn’t blame her for not visiting.

“It is a long story,” she said at last. “One day, maybe, I will tell you. It is not a happy story.”

I winced. “I’m sorry.”

She waved a hoof at me over her shoulder. “Do not be apologizing. It is not your fault, little Balm, and I have come to be at peace.”

I looked down at the table as she continued working.

I didn’t know a lot about my parents. Hard to believe, but the ponies whose choices had shaped my entire life were just… a mystery to me in so many ways. Mom died when I was small, and I remembered so little of my life from when we still lived in Central. Just flashes. Sometimes, I worry I don’t remember because I’m trying not to uncover something. But mostly, I know that it’s just being a foal that’s caused it. Foalhood memories fade. The strangest things, one remembers forever, while the rest go strange or vanish.

I knew their professions--guard and warrior, doctor and scientist. I knew the sounds of their voices, even if that too would fade away completely. I knew that they’d made enemies. I’d seen some of that enmity myself, up close.

But what did I really know beyond the obvious? I knew my father loved me, and that he was determined to teach me as much as he could. I learned everything he knew. I was learning bits and pieces of medicine and computer science and physics and chemistry when colts my age were usually playing pick up games of hoofball in the commons. I missed out on a lot, but I gained other things. If he hadn’t died, perhaps I’d be more useful out here on my own. If he hadn’t died, I probably wouldn’t be out on my own.

I didn’t know why we’d really left Central. I’d always assumed that we were trying to get away from the memory of my mother, and I understood that. I remember having nightmares a lot soon after she died, even if I don’t remember what those nightmares were of--anytime the lights went off, I would shake. I took her death hard, and who could blame me? The late great Gilead refused to talk about how she’d died, or really about much of anything from before we’d come to Mosaic. The few tidbits I had been able to get out of him in quiet moments had been vague at best. Just cryptic comments about how he’d not been loved by everypony, and how my mother had been too good for the lot of “them”. Whoever them was.

Perhaps everypony. He got more bitter with age, really. It was… sad.

Tradewinds returned. Breakfast consisted of syrniki--fried cottage cheese pancakes--garnished with honey. She told me sheepishly that the brahmin hadn’t been back in some time and she was low on sour cream, but I didn’t really care. I was just glad to have warm food.

We ate in silence, but it seemed to be a pleasant one. The water Tradewinds had on hand seemed clear--she probably had her own purification system, at this point. If she could cobble together a lab and a workshop, why not?

When we were done, she washed the dished despite my protests. There was a radio on the counter, and she turned it on.

“Standin' on my doorstep, waitin' for a package
Hopin' for that blissful moment when
That blonde-haired angel falls out of the heavens
With a bag full of bills again.”

Tradewinds sang along with the radio, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t the music, because I enjoyed the stallion’s voice and the guitar. The song was a nice one, about a crush on the mailmare--I knew what those were from my days in Central, but I wondered if there were mailponies in the wasteland. Could you get from one city to another on your own? It seemed crazy to think about lone couriers with their saddlebags brimming with letters flying off into the darkness outside Lunangrad.

When the dishes were put away, Tradewinds sat back down and looked me over. I wilted a bit in her sight.

“So,” she said.

“So.”

“What will you be doing?” She asked me. “You did not mention a trade before.”

I winced. “I don’t really have one. I have skills, but my job was mostly learning whatever my dad had for me to learn.”

She hummed. She did that a lot. “And you mentioned that you left your things behind.”

“Yeah.” I sighed, and looked away from her. “All my caps, except what I got from selling ammunition. Apparently the Sword’s bullets aren’t worth much.”

She snorted. “Five-five-six? Not worth much? Surely you--no. Who were you selling to?”
I thought back. “I don’t remember if I ever caught his name. He had a strong accent--Stalliongrad, perhaps? I spoke to him a bit in Northern, but my grasp of the language is a tad weak.” I was about to continue, but trailed off as I caught her expression. She looked… furious. I swallowed. “He offered three for a cap, but let me have it at two a cap--”

“Cyka blyad, I will…” She stopped, and rubbed her temples with her hooves. Her wings had flared out and I watched them, a little worried but fascinated despite myself. “No, no Tradewinds, is rude to incapacitate neighbors. He did not give you good price. That gelding knows five-six is valuable, you see? Is very valuable, and ponies use it like water and they piss it all. He cheated you.”

I blinked back, horrified. “But… but…”

“There is no rule against it,” she continued, her voice flat. “Probably could get that other places, but other places do not have Demons or the tribes or the Legion. More assault rifles, more bullets, use them faster too. It is hard to explain. Let us keep moving. You do not have many caps.”

“No,” I said, suddenly miserable. Idiot. I was an idiot. The fact that I couldn’t even begin to see how far out of my league I was...

“What about your father? Gilead was always having caps,” she said. “Surely you had some.”

“I did,” I admitted. “But it’s all back in Mosaic, and I can’t get to it.”

She looked at me. And then she started to grin. When I furrowed my brow at her, she laughed. “I am thinking of a plan, Balm. Listen: you cannot go, but I can go. But I need you--I could not enter your home without being thief, and you mentioned that you are good at hiding. You do not think you could play the clever infiltrator?”

“Yeah, I could sneak around if I could get in,” I said, with a sad little wave of my hoof. “But I would need a way into the station. Dad paid the Godspeaker for our room for years in advance on the first day, got the lock brought in, bought things from Authority merchants, and we still had a small mountain of caps. But… won’t the Authority have taken it? I don’t think Mosaic ponies would steal it, unless they thought I was dead. If they thought I was dead, the Godspeakers might put it in the community’s common pot.”

She pursed her lips. “Ah, yes. Well…”

But I wasn’t finished. “No! No, I mean… if the Authority didn’t do it, the ponies of Mosaic would never have gotten in. None of them know the passcode and none of them are any good with computers. I doubt that Authority thugs would have anypony with them with the requisite skills. The mechanical aspects of my father’s door are hard enough, but an attempt to use the computer would be laughable. He had a friend built it based on a pattern from…” I blanked. I thought for a moment, and shrugged. “I can’t remember. But I doubt any of them could enter.”

Her face brightened again. “Then you would be wanting to try?”

“If it were possible, yes.”

“Then it is possible,” she declared. “You see, the Emporium has not done any business with Mosaic because of personal matters, but no more personal matters shall restrict the movings of Tradewinds, mare of Petrahoof! You and I shall go. I shall pull cart, and you shall ride cart. And by ride cart…”

By “ride” the cart, Tradewinds had meant that she was going to stuff me into a crate of water bottles.

It was beyond uncomfortable. Cramped, dark, and every few seconds the whole assemblage would rattle, and my crate and I would rattle along with it. The walk from Southmarket to Mosaic wasn’t a terribly long one, but it was a little surprising how much longer it took with a cart. It made sense--I could clamber over rubble, but wheels couldn’t. Tradewinds had adamantly refused to fly the thing. I was subjected to a length lecture on the nature of natural pegasus magic delivered only mostly in the common Equestrian tongue as I helped her load various trade goods into the back of her cart. Apparently, winged ponies couldn’t just make anything fly. In my defense, there weren’t a lot of them on the ground.

The Authority had a few, sure. But only a few. They had some of almost every race left in the Wasteland, from pegasi to crystal ponies. But it wasn’t as if you saw many of either of those around all the time. Token minorities were just that.

And, to be honest, I didn’t remember a lot of my time in Central. I was a foal, after all. They forget things.

Tradewinds had a rather simple plan. She had not visited Mosaic in all the time we’d lived there, and so she would need to make nice and go through formalities with the Godspeaker and the community before she could set up shop. New merchants had to barter for preference and space, and sometimes it could take almost an hour. She suspected that with what she had brought, it wouldn’t take nearly that, but she would delay as much as she could for my sake. “Also, would be nice to have not to pay even pittance for space,” she’d said with what could only be called a cheeky smile.

I’d seen enough merchants come through to fill in the rest. I’d described the inside and drawn a crude map of it for her. She couldn’t bring it in--somepony saw that so soon after the raiders and there would be a lot of awkward questions. But she could memorize it, and she could also find a safe darkish place to unhook herself from the cart. After a moment hesitating over her wares, she would shrug and leave… after having opened my box just slightly.

If anypony peeked in, which was possible, they would open the box from the top and see only water. They wouldn’t see the secret compartment that took up half the space. Hopefully. Nor would anypony in Mosaic be clever enough to see through the hidden entrance on the side. Hopefully.

Regardless, once I was out, I could use the vents. I didn’t know them well, but I wouldn’t need to. Time wasn’t the issue once we were in. Tradewinds planned to be there all day. She’d even given me a key for when I got home. I’d stared at it with awe, suddenly shy at her trust, but my new friend had just laughed and told me cheerfully that everything important was boobytrapped anyhow.

I’m mostly sure that she wasn’t joking.

The journey gave me a lot of time to think. I knew the basics of the plan. I knew what I needed. Caps and memorabilia. I wanted the pictures and the money, and then I was gone. I wasn’t sure there was anything else I could take without being caught. I had to be able to fit in the vents. Sometimes being small is helpful.

But… the problem of what came after still loomed. Even if I succeeded in absconding with my father’s fortune, I would still be without goal. I had a potential home, if I could offer Tradewinds something in rent. Once I had the caps in hoof, then I would ask. Maybe I could find some work with her? Or somepony else in Southmarket.

Would it be so bad to live there? It hadn’t seemed like such a terrible place to live, not that I’d been there long. They had some basic water purification, a market, trade with the farmers out on the plains and with the other settlements. They had light and generators.

The last bit was the most important part.

I supposed I would have one last look for anything else my father had left behind. His message… I hadn’t thought about it all.

I sighed. What was there to think about? It hadn’t made me feel any better. It hadn’t filled some sort of hole in me. My parents were dead. My home was off-limits. It had been nice to hear his voice, but he had sounded so tired and so… hopeless. I didn’t know any zebras, and certainly not one named… Xylon? Or whatever the fellow’s name had been. I supposed I could see if they had couriers in Southmarket and try to send him a missive, but otherwise…

Well. We’d seen how good I was at surviving. If I almost died that many times just trying to make it nine or ten blocks, how was I going to survive going into downtown? I wouldn’t even make it that far before I was shot. Or blown to pieces, maybe. Eaten by ghouls if I were unlucky. Lunangrad had a lot of them.

Ghouls were something of a local specialty, in fact.

We slowed. I could feel the bumps grow bigger and the progress of the cart grind to a halt. I was silent. It occurred to me then, as I waited for her or someone else to speak or make some sort of move, that if I panicked in here it would likely be the end of me and her both. I took a deep breath and held it. No, no I felt fine. I felt fine. I couldn’t do that to Tradewinds, not after how she had taken me in and listened to me and fed me. Why hadn’t I mentioned anything?

Oh, right, because then I would have to explain how I was a failure.

But the waves of fear that drove me over that cliff didn’t come. There weren’t any voices. All I could hear in the box was my own breathing growing steadier and steadier.

I actually saw rather well in the dark, and so to be in total darkness was… strange. Unnerving, even. It was like being blind to not be able to make out anything at all. Sparkler had told me that she couldn’t see much of anything when the lights got too low, and I’d wondered what it would be like to be that way. It seemed frightening.

The cart began to move again. Soon, I could feel it start to tilt, but before I could begin fretting I held my head in my hooves and repeated fervently in my mind: that’s the ramp, that’s the ramp, that’s the ramp. The box slid a little, but not much. I’d been tied in place.

I imagined what it must look like out there. Tradewinds talking her way through the entrance, throwing out salutations and waving to bemused Mosaic ponies, loud and boisterous in all of the ways they never were. I could see the Godspeakers coming up, or maybe only one of them with a serene face. They would greet each other, and then Tradewinds would ask to park her merchandise for a moment so that she might converse more freely…

Yes, she was backing up now. I could feel it, or convince myself that I could tell that was what she was doing. Either way, it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t be long now.

I tried counting, but after trailing off in the high forties more than once, I gave up. Where was she? What was she do--

The false facing creaked. I jumped, startled by the sudden sound.

Not much light came through, but I heard Tradewinds voice in the crack. “Will be buying time. Mayor is very strange, you know this? Mosaic has strange ponies. Am going to offer reasonable twenty cap price for having upper level to myself. Will try to talk about nothings and nonsense. There is vent in front of you, on wall. Hope it is good enough. Good luck, little shadow.”

And then she was gone. I counted to ten, and then pushed the false facing off a little more.

Mosaic was how I had left it, and yet it felt like a foreign country. The upper levels were poorly lit, as they were before, with the station town’s resources better spent keeping the lights strong where there were ponies to protect. I heard rather than saw Tradewinds as she talked somewhere in the gloom. She’d left me facing the half-destroyed ticket counter. Perfect.

I snaked out of the box, replacing the false front as I lay flat on my belly amongst the crates. Great. Silent as a shadow. Now to just… there it was. I saw the grating on the wall. Not all of the vents would be useful. I knew several of them were clogged up, and I knew some of them were too small, even for me. But I had to try. The tiny saddlebags Tradewinds had given me had a lockpicking tool and a screwdriver with a little enchantment. If I could slot it into the groove, it would do the rest. Nice to have, and impressive to watch. Also a subtle reminder of how terribly lame not having magic or wings was, but for this once I didn’t mind.

I set the screwdriver to each screw keeping the grating in place and watched it turn each screw, catching the handle again before it fell to the ground. By the Princesses, but it was satisfying. For just a moment I felt like I actually had magic at my call. I imagined it was but the smallest taste of what it felt like to be Sparkler.

I squeezed through the gap left behind by the removed grating and found myself in luck. It was a tight fit, but I could still worm my way down. I’d just have to try and keep my bearings, and I had good vision to do it with.

It took forever.

Vents are inherently unpleasant things. They are, in fact, the sordid realities of the old world which had allowed everything else to be so much more pleasant. They were what delivered cool, refreshing air. They kept the cold of winter at bay. They controlled the flow of the internal atmosphere of the pre-war temples to industry and empire.

When one was small and lived in a community where everyone had a part to play, squeezing into small spaces to explore them and search for anything of value. It was amazing what a pony could find in tight crawlspaces. When I was nine, my father had grudgingly let me help Salt Lick by climbing into a partially collapsed maintenance tunnel to collect spark batteries. It was a fond memory--the look on Salt’s face when I returned with a saddlebag full of… spare electronics…

I didn’t want to think about him in here.

Finding my way blind was difficult. What little vent-climbing and crawlspace exploring I had done was mostly below, in the warrens, and so I had only my memories of home to guide me. It did help to find the occasional grating and get my bearings, but it still took an hour to find the way down towards the living quarters.

The slow beat of the great fans was my only companion. The closer I got to the living areas, the louder they became. They weren’t pre-war at all. Salt Lick’s grandfather had made them himself with metal taken from the trains not long after ponies had begun to branch out into the furthest station towns. Central might not think of the ponies of Mosaic as being equal to “true” Authority, but once all of these ponies had been part of the only group that mattered: survivors.

My progress took on the character of a fever dream. Conversations would drift up from below me, in voices I could almost recognize. What sound reached me seemed hollow, echoed. It blended with the thump of the fans into gibberish. Only the occasional word made it through.

Sometimes, I stopped and waited for ponies to leave before I crawled carefully over a grate. I would watch them talking or laughing. Life had gone on without me.

I was close. I knew that my father’s room had a ventilation grate in it. If I could just find it, then I wouldn’t have to worry about the door at all.

It was as I was searching that I found her.

I’d found a vent that paralleled the hall in front of my old door, and had been working my way up towards our room when I looked down and saw Sparkler and her… marefriend. Sitting in front of my door. Rail leaned against it, practically slouching. Her forelegs were folded. It was hard to read her expression. I couldn’t see Sparkler’s face.

Time stopped for me, just for a moment. I wanted her to turn. I so desperately wanted her to turn and look up and find me. Just to see her face.

I’d left her here. I’d never said goodbye, and vanished. The fact that I’d not once said a proper goodbye to anyone hadn’t fazed me until that singular moment when I realized everyone included Sparkler. Sparkler, my only friend.

I couldn’t hear them well enough. I almost kicked the grating out and tumbled down into the hall just to hear her voice again. Rail seemed troubled. She shook her head, and sighed. She spoke, but it was muffled. The fans! Damn them. Damn them for taking this from me.

Rail looked at my door and then back to Sparkler.

Of course I wouldn’t hear their conversation. Intimate, between lovers, wasn’t it? Of course I was on the outside. I wanted to snarl.

And then Sparkler hung her head, turned, and walked off. But Rail remained. I took a deep breath, frozen still in the same moment in time… and then she looked right at me with a baleful stare. She walked until she was underneath the grate, and I didn’t breathe. I couldn’t keep it up, but there was no way she’d seen me. It was impossible. The lighting wasn’t good enough, not even--

She mouthed something. I see you.

I shook my head.

She snarled, and then looked away. When next she met my eyes, her expression was more neutral. I see you, she seemed to mouth again.

I… didn’t know what to do. At all. So I shrugged. Shrugging helps. I expected some sort of normal response, but instead she just stared at me for another few beats and then looked in both directions. And then her horn lit up.

I caught on to what she was doing just a second to slow to stop it. I had been leaning on the grate, hoping to hear anything of their conversation, and as I tried to pull away it fell out from under me.

Only by luck did I not scream. Rail had already cushioned my fall enough to avoid injury. But it hurt like hell. I lay flat on the ground, my body aching and my heart drumming furiously in my ear. I wasn’t sure if I was grateful or not that Tradewinds had insisted I leave the barding behind. More weight when I fell, or extra padding for when I hit the ground? I suspected that it wouldn’t have mattered at all.

To her credit, my rival in love didn’t badger me as I recovered. I sat up, and met her eyes. Sea-green, I thought faintly. Just like her coat. Her short, unkempt mane was white. I don’t know why I took the time to notice these things, but I did.

It was a strange moment. Neither of us said anything. She looked at me. I looked at her.

“You’re really fuckin’ stupid,” she said at last.

I blinked. “Yes. Yes, I do believe I am,” I croaked. “How was it you, ah, located me?”

“Caught my eye. Accident, really. Also…” she stepped closer and grabbed onto my little saddlebag. I made to protest, but she’d finished before I could and showed me the screwdriver. “Felt this. I’m good with catching onto the subtle kind of passive magics.” She paused, looking it over. “ ‘S kinda neat, actually. Good for you.” She returned my tool.

“Why did you pull me down?” I asked.

She stared at me like I’d grown a horn--if only. “Wow. Wow. Seriously?”

I took a deep breath. “Can we cut to the point where you communicate like a normal pony?” I asked, trying to keep calm. Somepony could walk around that corner at any moment. I didn’t have time to be mocked. “Yes, I am an idiot. You’ve established this. In fact, you have done so in both of our meetings. Can you explain why you say so this time, and then perhaps I can be on my way?”

She snarled and I felt her magic grab my and push me into the wall. I cried out, but then she covered my mouth with a hoof. Before I could start to break free, she was looking down the hall and then back at me.

“Shut the fuck up! You want somepony to hear you? You’re bein’ secretive for a reason, ain’tcha? Where are you going?”

She moved her hoof and I whispered back fiercely. “I’m not taking you and I’m not telling you.”

“Gonna do both, kid.”

Kid. Colt. Foal. “If I’m a colt, then you’re a child yourself,” I said, acidly.

“Does it really matter? We need to talk, you an’ me, and we’re gonna.”

I didn’t have time for this. She knew that. I bit back a curse. “I’m getting into my old room. How do I know you won’t call anypony?”

“Two reasons. First, if I was gonna, I would have already.”

“And the second?” I asked as she released her magical hold on me. I rubbed my shoulders, still aching from my fall.

“Sparkler,” she said simply. I winced.

I didn’t say anything. I walked back to the door and she followed behind me. It took a few seconds to enter the code, and then another to get both of us inside. A few more seconds of silence between as I fumbled for the lights, and she banged her legs against my table. A few muffled curses.

Then the lights came on.

Everything was how I had left it. The broken glass on the floor. The pilfered shrine to my mother’s valor. The destroyed computer. My father’s open door. My radio would be in my room, also gone, never to tell me again of the Stable Dweller’s fall from grace or sing me to sleep.

It was almost too much. The reality came rushing back to meet me all at once--this was my home. This was where I had spent so many years, just my last bit of family and myself, and now it was going to be taken away from me forever. I could never come back here. If any of the Mosaic ponies saw me, I would be reported and the Authority would hunt me down. They were cowards and what was I to them? A loose end. Somepony that wasn’t inside of the circle. The whole world was just a damnable series of circles and I was always outside of them, looking in. They were going to take it all away.

I moved over to the wall with determination in my breast. Or anger. Or… or something. I didn’t know what it was. I just knew that it hurt and it was hot to the touch and I was going to tear this place apart to keep it from being used against me even passively. I would take it all back if I could. Every last important thing. They couldn’t take home from me.

Rail started talking when I took the pictures down. “You’re not going to see her, are you?”

I didn’t stop. I didn’t even slow down. “Sparkler?” I asked, knowing the answer. “Of course I’m not.”

“Why the hell not? What the hell, even?”

“Think about it for a bit, and you’ll figure it out,” I said, sparing her a glance over my shoulder. “If you’re such a smart pony. Remember, I’m the idiot.”

“She’s your friend, dammit! What is wrong with you?”

“Lots of things,” I said softly. I found my father’s old saddlebags hanging in his closet. They would work nicely. And yes, there were the bits. I started to collect them from the safe. Sparkler stood in the doorway. I could almost feel her presence hovering over me.

“No, I want a damn answer,” she continued. Perhaps she hadn’t heard. It didn’t matter unless she was going to give me away.

“Why should I tell you anything?” I asked flatly. “Really, why? I’m honestly curious what I would ever owe you, and what would make you think I would ever tell you a thing about myself or about my reasons.”

“You’re hurting her.”

That did it. I stopped. I stood up, letting the saddlebag fall and stared ahead. “Get out.”

“No. I’m not going anywhere. You are hurting her. She was terrified you’d gotten yourself killed, you idiot. And then--”

“Get out.”

“And then the black an’ tans told her you weredead and she cried the whole day because she thought you’d done it because of her. And you know what? I was sorry too, but now I’m sure as hell not. Because I think you did. Stallions are all the same. Gotta go prove how macho you are. Bullshit. You don’t care about her. If you cared about her, you’d--”

“Why are you doing this?” I asked. I tried to turn but lost my balance and slumped against the wall. “Why? Why would you tell me any of that?”

“Because even trash like you should get to say goodbye. I was just unimpressed before, but you were really going to leave without saying goodbye? No explanation? Just let her think you were dead? Did you ever care about her at all?”

“Yes,” I said, hollowly.

“Yeah, well, ain’t doin’ a good job of showing me.”

“I was afraid,” I said. “Okay? I killed several ponies and I’m not even sure how long ago it was. I was exiled from my home, had my hopes dashed in literally every way imaginable to me before, and now I have nothing. So yes, I’m an idiot. Yes, maybe I wanted to go prove myself. Do you think I know? Does it make you happy or satisfied to think that maybe, just maybe, I thought I could just go out and be a hero and she would love me? Of course I thought that. You would have to. It’s got nothing to do with what’s twixt my legs,” I added.

She sat. We looked at each other.

“You have to talk to her.”

“I can’t,” I said. “I can’t.”

“Then I’m right, and you’re trash and she’s better off thinking you got shot and raiders ate your eyes for fun.”

I laughed and it tasted like bile. “You’re right. She probably is better off thinking it. There’s a chance it’ll be true.”

She rolled her eyes at me. “Seriously? You’re gonna try and guilt me?”

I sighed. “You’re right. I’m trash. I’m a failure who hyperventilates himself into blacking out at least once a week and who can’t even go home without ponies he doesn’t know cornering him in his parent’s sepulchre to tell him just how miserably pathetic it is. You won. You win everything. You have everything. You have home, you have safety, you have friends, and you have Sparkler. I have none of those things. We’ve established your dominance, can--”

She growled. “This isn’t about me. You know what? It ain’t about you either. It’s about her. You dyin’ is tearin’ her up inside. I don’t care if you don’t like me or not, on account of I figure you were always bound to dislike me and I think you’re a bitter little cuss. But if there’s any part of you worth having ever been her friend…” she didn’t finish. I looked over and she shrugged.

I was quiet. She was quiet.

“I’m afraid,” I said, not knowing why I said it. “I killed ponies. They were bad ponies but I killed them. It hasn’t… it hasn’t caught up to me yet, I think. But it will. I feel it creeping up on me, stalking, waiting, and then when I’m at my lowest it will pounce and I’ll really feel just how much of a murderer I am now. I’m afraid that if I see her again, that’s what she’ll see. That I killed ponies.”

“Raiders,” she said, but she didn’t sound confident about it.

“Ponies,” I said again. “Ponies with horns like you and… and nothing like myself, I suppose. Ponies who had problems, or were so hopped up on chems that they didn’t know any better, or maybe even simply evil ones… and I feel like it’s natural to be okay with it in some way but I know I shouldn’t. I’m not making any sense,” I said. “I just… I just hoped I couldn’t ruin what was left of me for her even more, and now you’re telling me there’s no way to avoid that. Really think, for a bit. Wouldn’t you be afraid, if you were me? With how everypony in Mosaic is about violence? Bet you the milita had to be in ritual isolation, didn’t they? I’m already… I’m already an outsider. Just think about it. Wouldn’t you be afraid?”

She didn’t answer, which was as good as confirmation. I looked at her.

“I can’t go wondering,” I said. “If you can bring her here, I’ll… I’ll be here.”

She looked at me, her ears flat against her head. “Shouldna called you trash,” she said.

“Don’t apologize for the truth, or you’ll never say it,” I replied with a snort, and went back to gathering.

She left.

I gathered up the caps. I gathered my photos of mom and dad, of myself, of anything I could find. I stuffed some clothes in my saddlebags, but didn’t have enough room in the old ones. I’d be able to sneak out through the top entrance tonight, if I waited. The lights would be dimmer, and I wasn’t brightly colored, was I? Being gray was boring, yes, but it could be surprisingly useful.

When Sparkler arrived, I was waiting in my living room.

I heard three knocks, then a pause, and then another three knocks. It occurred to me only now that we’d worked out no signal, but before I could call out to see who it was, the door was open.

The door was barely open before she’d bowled me right over, babbling. Sparkler squeezed me tight, evacuating the air from my lungs so that I could only flail beneath her on the floor.

“You’re alive! You’re alive, I can’t believe you’re alive! I thought you’d run off and got yourself shot or blown up or burned alive or eaten by demons or…”

I squirmed and pushed her off so that I could breathe again. Air! Beautiful air.

“Yes! Alive, please, would like to stay that way,” I said, and she moved back a pace. I caught my breath and tried to smile, and she grinned back at me. “I’m sorry I was gone for so long. I’m… I’m also sorry I scared you, and for not saying goodbye, and for--”

“It’s okay,” she said.

I looked at her then, really looked at her. She had been a flash of color before, movement and sound, but she was a pony. She was a creamy white color, with a mane the color of coffee, eyes bluer than any sky I’d seen. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, threatening to escape at any moment. There was a part of me that wanted to reach out and try to banish them, and perhaps if I had been less shocked, I might have. She had been afraid. I saw it in her eyes--wide, like a foal who thought she’d seen a ghost.

If I wanted to reach out and reassure her, I thought she might wish to reach out and make sure that I was real.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” I said again, because I had nothing else to say.

“Don’t be,” she said. “You came back, didn’t you?” And she hugged me again. And then I heard the faintest thrum of her magic as her horn lit up, and then I found a moderately displeased Rail joining us. “You’re back. I know you can’t stay, but now I know that you’re alive, Balm.”

She let us both go and we stood awkwardly beside each other. Rail was lucky. I would give just about anything to be her.

“I’m living in Southmarket for now,” I said. “The merchant who showed up today is… I guess she’s sort of my crazy aunt. Maybe? She knew my mom, and they seem to have been rather close.” Close. Ignoring her uncomfortable insinuations that they had been lovers, close was as, ah, close as I could get.

“You have a place to live? What will you do?” Sparkler asked me.

“I…” I shrugged. “I haven’t a clue. I might help Tradewinds in her store, perhaps. Find a new case for the Sword, rebuild.”

Rail was nodding slowly, but Sparkler had a strange light in her eye. “That’s all?”

I blinked. “What else could I do? I’m useless, Sparks,” I said. “I shouldn’t have done any of this, but I…” And just like that, my throat closed up. I attempted to speak, but only a sad, little wheezing sound came at first. I took a deep breath and tried again. “I made my bed. I’m due to lie in it.”

It was hard to manage even that. I couldn’t read the look on her face. Suddenly, as if it were fresh, I realized that I truly had made my own bed, and I would definitely have to lay in it. Last time here. Maybe… maybe if somepony came out to me, but Mosaic ponies almost never leave.

And I knew then why I didn’t want to see her. Because I would leave, but she knew where I was now. I was so close, but I was much too far over the surface for the liking of a Mosaic-born pony. She wouldn’t come to me, and I could not go to her. I didn’t want to see her now, and I hadn’t then, because I would have this moment of realization: even the only friend I had was going to choose to have nothing to do with me. It wouldn’t be because she had no choice. It would be because she chose not to risk the surface.

I already blamed her. But I couldn’t.

“Why did you leave in the first place?”

Her voice snapped me out of my reverie. Rail had stepped forward and stood beside her. She didn’t nuzzle Sparkler or go out of her way to make any affectionate gesture… and yet their bond was obvious. How had I not noticed before? But I thought she did it for me and for her, to make this conversation easy. “Curious about that myself,” Rail commented.

“The mosaic outside,” I said.

“I thought you didn’t really believe in the goddesses…” Sparkler began, but I cut her off.

“I’m not sure I do.” I sniffed and let out a hissing breath through my teeth. “It’s just… well, it’s my home,” I said, and had to fight to keep my voice steady. “Or it was. Everypony here loved it, and it meant something to them I knew it would not mean for me, but it was a part of our town. But I think what really set me off was my mom.”

“Your mom?” Rail prompted, tilting her head at me.

“Yes. My mother had a special barding with a built-in saddle called the Sword. It’s what I wore when I charged out there. Balanced, perfected. If my father is to believed, it is probably the greatest of its kind, short of power armor. But mom wanted it to be beautiful. She’s the one who put the motifs on it. Celestia and Luna.”

“Just like the wall.”

“Yes. And I lost her, and my father and I moved here. I suspect he did so because that mosaic reminded him of her, and now…”

“I understand,” Rail said. Her rough, gravelly voice seemed even rougher. Her ears were flat against her skull, her whole posture aggressive. “Fuckin’...”

Sparkler put a hoof against her withers, and that seemed to calm her marefriend down. She looked at me and nodded. “I think it was brave. I think you can be a very dumb pony, Balm, but it was a brave thing to do. You knew the Authority wouldn’t risk themselves for us.”

I shook my head. “For anypony who wasn’t in their central stations, really.”

“I think I would be happy just settling down in Southmarket. But you?” She shook her head. “Balm, I don’t think you’ll be happy with that. You weren’t happy here. You weren’t made for a quiet life.. And that’s okay.”

Sparkler strode forward and hugged me again. I hugged her back.

“I’m sorry I overreacted,” I said, feeling stupid and wonderful at once.

“I’m sorry you found out that way,” she said and squeezed me tighter, and then let go. We stood face to face again. She smiled, but it was a sad smile.

“You can do great things, Balm. The wasteland… up there in the city, it is so bad. Maybe it needs somepony like you, who is smart. Somepony who hasn’t lived his whole life learning how to be awful. Your parents were good ponies, Balm. You could be a good pony. I know you can be… even if it’s hard. Will you do that? The commander told us you won’t be coming back, and I know he was lying about you being dead, but--”

“--and I might wanna make sure he weren’t bullshitting you,” Rail grumbled underneath her.

“But I know you can be a good pony. Don’t just hide again, like you did here. Don’t sit around in some little room and do nothing. The goddesses made you to do good works. Go do them, and I know that one day they’ll let you come back home. And we’ll be here, waiting for you.”

Quickly, she turned to Rail and wrapped her up in a hug. She smiled back at me as she held the two of them cheek to cheek.

“And if you die and make her sad, I’ll kick your ass,” Rail grumbled.

I laughed, even though my throat was tight. The idea of leaving home forever fell away. Wherever she was, that was home, and nopony could take that away. I had a bed in Southmarket and a mission. I had my mother’s barding and my father’s mind.

I could face what the city had for me up above.

Author's Note

End of Mosaic Arc
Next Arc: Minefield

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