Political Blizzard Prequel
Razor Flake was a fairly strong flyer. Though not born in the clouds, as many pegasai are, he had lots of it to do back home, in the north. As such, the winter's storm borne wrath did not sway the colt much, but he had been flying for a while now.
"Dash!?", he called out.
The blizzard responded with wind, ice, snow, and more wind. It did not bother him. What worried him, rather, was his classmate, Rainbow Dash. She may have been the best flyer in the academy, but even she couldn't handle this much wind. Right?
Of course she can, you idiot! She's Dash!
The cyan foal and he had made fast friends. Dash possessing an inexplicable amount of speed, while Razor, not being quite as fast as Dash, though by no means a slow flyer, could fly through nearly anything thrown at him. Together, they made a flying dynamic duo, and as such, were quick to team up together against other students during training for the flight academy. She had commented on his deep icy blue eyes once, and how they made him look like a streak of ice along the sky. In turn, he had told her that her hair made her like a rainbow when she topped up on speed. Inevitably, all the time they spent together, usually racing, or training, but sometimes just hanging about as foals do, somehow looked like they were a couple to somepony. Then the rumors started, and every time it was brought up to one or both of them, they just laughed at the ridiculousness of the idea. They where the best of friends, and nothing more.
She had gone out on a whim with Fluttershy to teach her how to be a better flyer. The thing was, no blizzard had been scheduled for today. Razor had felt something wrong when they left, but now that the storm had come, there was something.... Artificial about the winter's wrath this time around. He had danced this dance with winter before, but this was wrong.
Trees that grow tall are far and few between in the Everfree, but they are there. Razor was reminded of this fact with a whack to the hoof, and a few splinters in the foreleg.
I guess my talent isn't paying attention..
He groaned in pain, and landed in a clearing. He knew not to stay in the Everfree for too long, but it just hurt so much...
Where's Flywheel when I need him?
He knew the colt's talent was in fine detail. Magic based mechanics is a delicate art, after all. The friend of the gray pegasus would tell him to be more careful, and fly more carefully. Then would actually ask him where the offending wood chips are.
I need to go bac-
He was cut short by the realization that he could not feel his wings. Fear set in, as he realized his wings were of a deeper gray, nearly a black, compared to the rest of his coat of grey.
"No. No no no no. No!"
He might lose some feathers, maybe not fly for a couple of weeks. But to much was covered in frost bite. That wretched thing is what took so many. The cold's scythe had come for him. He knew it all too well.
Author's Note
I want all the critique, criticism, and advice the community has to throw at me. First story, and all.
Political Blizzard Prequel
Razor Flake was going to die. He was sure. Or maybe worse, live with no wings. He was too young. It wasn't fair.
Flywheel's father, Brass Cog, and his sister, Clockwork, were having dinner. There was awful wind outside, and a whole lot of snow. Flywheel was imagining how much his grey winged friend would like to see this weather, when the colt in question's voice broke the wind's shrill cries for a moment.
"Mister Brass? Flywheel? Clocks? Hello?!"
Flywheel realized that something was wrong. Razor may love the cold, but he's never fly this far out. He loves the cold, but knows the danger of the weather, especially to pegasai.
Rushing to open the door, a shocking sight awaited the colt. His friend lay on the porch, his white mane and tail nearly frozen solid, his lips and ears splitting, but most of all, were his wings. Oh Celestia, his wings. They looked bruised! However, he soon put cold and injuries together. Eyes wide, he cried for his father and older sister to help his dear friend.
With a heavy heart, Brass Cog told the young, frost bitten pegasus the news...
"Listen, Razor, your wings, that are beyond repair. There is only one option for you to take. The wings need to go."
Razor Flake was at first, angry, then scared, but finally, he was calm. He knew what had to be done.
"OK, do it."
It was painless. Physically, any way. The frost bite had withered his nerves a while back. But he was broken. But then, he noticed.
"Razor, you got your cutie mark!", Exclaimed Flywheel.
"Hmm?"
"Look!"
He looked, and was greeted by a jagged snowflake. It looked like it was about to break, but at the same time, it looked to be fighting to stay together. He had a lighthouse amongst the blizzard outside.
Political Blizzard Prequel
Razor Flake was examining his cutie mark, when Flywheel was struck by inspiration. He could help.
"I can fix this. Stand still."
Razor Flake was caught off guard. He numbly obeyed. Then Flywheel's horn glowed. Not it's typical blue, but a deep cobalt. The brass, cogs, and other various materials suddenly rose, surrounded by the same aura. Then, they flew together. As the gold and gray blur intensified, it moved to Razor. Then, it surrounded him.
It hurt a lot, but pain was comfortable to the null void that is hypothermia. He realized where the pain emanated from soon, though. Then saw the colt had gained a lattice work of gears for a cutie mark. What was the tan colt doing?
"There!"
Razor Flake reflexively commanded his wings to raise him for a better look. And he flew. He did the thing which he had just thought that he had lost the ability to do. He could fly. The cripple could fly.
Adjusting to wings was, quite frankly, nearly nonexistent. The mechanically gifted colt was truly a master of magic, though maybe not refined. The wings could look better, and he would need to change them over time, but he could fly. He wondered if he could still fly at the academy.
