Author's Note

I had a lot of ideas for this story. This was one of them. Consider it a deleted scene / left on the cutting room floor kind of deal. If Scootaloo ever found her mother, this is what would happen. I felt it was worth including.

Into the Dark

The warden closed the door behind her, and Scootaloo was dropped into a dark pond. For a moment she could see anything, and only Boomie squeezing her hoof reminded her that he hadn't left her. She stood rooted to the ground, her legs refuse to carry her into the darkness, where she no longer even knew if there would be a floor to support her. She closed her eyes, and it made no difference to what she could see. But she could hear now, her own heartbeat, the sound of Boomie's deep breathing beside her, and a third sound, of air being filtered through something in irregular intervals, a coarse heaving of a creature's labored breaths.
Her eyes were adjusting. She could make out faint outlines now, between the floor and the wall, between the wall and the metal bed that she had glimpsed just before the room had fallen into darkness. And she saw movement from the bundle at the foot of the bed.

"Mom?"

The pony stirred, and the sound of metal sliding against stone rang sharply. It raised its head and looked back at her, the scant light that remained somehow reflecting off its eyes with corneas larger than Scootaloo had ever seen, with no trace of white.

"Mom? Is that you?" The pony didn't respond, but its breathing became more controlled. Its eyes were wide, perhaps from fear, and Scootaloo could hear her metal restraints jingling against the floor. Did she not recognize her? "Mom, it's me, Scootaloo. Please say something." Why was she being so quiet. Scootaloo didn't know if her mother was going to rebuke her, or hate her, but the silence was worse than anything she could have said. She felt terrified now, that the wrongness she was feeling right now meant that there was something wrong with her. This was a mistake. She shouldn't have come. Her courage was draining fast. "Please Mom, talk to me. I came all this way... I didn't even know if you were alive and I had to see you. I don't care if you don't love me or care about me, just tell me, please!" Her words were catching in her throat as she struggled to hold back tears. She felt Boomie squeeze her hoof again, but it didn't do anything.

She heard more grinding as her mother crawled toward her, but she was stopped before she made it several feet, held back by chains. Her eyes never left Scootaloo, those watery eyes that seemed impossibly large, as if Scootaloo might lean too far forward and fall into them. And she felt herself falling, her hoof slipping from Boomie's as her legs carried her forward, until she was kneeling on the floor in front of her mother. And now she could see why her mother hadn't said anything: a leather muzzle kept her mouth shut. And then Scootaloo started crying. All she had wanted was a chance to talk, to ask her who the other mares in the book were, ask about her father, and what had happened to his other wives, to ask whether Scootaloo had any siblings, and if her mother had loved them. And now here she was, together with the mare who had given her life, who could give her the answers that she felt unwhole without, but still they were apart.

The cold leather of the muzzle pressed against her face, and she realized that her mother was nuzzling her. She wrapped her arms around her mother's neck, squeezing her as tight as she could, sobbing onto her shoulder. "I came so far to see you," she whispered. "I tried so hard. I wanted to see you so bad."