A Pegasus Too Far

Thunderlane walked down the mane street from the central square with no particular regard for the chill creeping up the alleys. The first stars were already up, shards of icy light farther up than he could conceive. He wished he could fly to them.

Step by aerial step, or by whatever insignificant length one can deduct from infinity, his wish became closer to fulfilment. Soon the rooftops were left below him, anchored in the landscape stretching beyond the curve of the globe. Had there been clouds that night, he would have crossed them next. Still he kept going. Now the air started to sting in his lungs. Higher he flew, seized by serenity both inner and external. There was no wind, no bird, no obstruction of any kind up here. Only the stars and the moon greeted him, but from a distance equally vast as before. No matter how high he’d climb, their immeasurable beauty would always remain outside his reach. What point there was in continuing chasing it then?

As if relinquishing a dream, Thunderlane let go. For a turn of breath the momentum propelled him onwards, hung him in perfect balance, and finally handed him over to gravity.

Through his accelerating fall he kept looking at the stars. Funnily enough he didn’t feel like departing them.

In fact it felt he’d soon be finally embracing them.

Then he happened to look down.

Pure instinct took control. The shock portrayed by the nearing ground made his wings flex and turn his dead drop into a glide. It almost succeeded. He pulled desperately up, barely dodging a lamp-post before landing on the same road he had arisen from. The speed was too much for his legs to handle: his brief gallop collapsed into a violent tumble that ended against a front door with a bang.

By the time all the swear words he knew had rumbled off of his cracked lips, the door opened. Light spilled outside, casting Thunderlane in the limelight with all his bruises and dusty scratches.

“What in Celestia’s name?” he heard a voice say past the ringing of pain in his ears. The physical aspect of his suffering dissipated as he recognized the speaker.

“Well?” Helia demanded. “Are you going to explain yourself? Did you try to break in or just scare the life out of me with that racket?”

Gathering the pieces of his dignity, Thunderlane got up. Ignoring the many red signals his body kept transmitting into his brain went without saying for now. He swallowed, mindful to at least try and face the mare’s gaze, and said:

“I’m so sorry. Tripped a bit there. Didn’t mean any offense. Goodbye.”

He added that last bit half-turned, eager to bury himself in self-loath. He couldn’t even make it off the doormat when she said, with a touch less sharpness:

“Expecting me to believe that? Whatever happened to you, Thunderlane? You look like a herd of cattle ran over you. Look, you’re even limping!”

“It’s nothing, nothing. Gonna fix it home, no problem…”

Helplessly Helia watched the stallion stagger into the night. “I have some cold bandages inside,” she heard herself say.

Thunderlane stopped. Glancing at the doorway again, he noticed Helia was wearing kneesocks. They were a comforting shade of blue. Each had little silvery stars in the knitwork. Unlike the ones above, these looked neither distant nor cold, yet not any less beautiful for that.

“Are you… sure?” he asked.

“You’re a member of the team, hurt, it’s the middle of the night and I got nothing better to do than watch the fire go out,” said Helia firmly. “Yes, I’m sure. Now come on in already before you catch a cold on top of everything else.”

Wordlessly Thunderlane limped inside the house. To say it felt strange would’ve been nowhere near the truth. The cup of hot chocolate she offered him while tending to his bruises did nothing to melt the awkward sense of misplacedness swelling inside him. But it didn’t feel right to complain about any of it, either. So he let her fuss over him in peace, answered her questions as best as he dared to, and little by little started feeling like himself again.

“Thank you,” he said for the hundredth time. “All this, it’s so kind of you. All too kind.”

Helia rolled her eyes. “Yes, I think we’ve settled that already. A dozen times at least in fact, but who’s counting anyway. You just be glad you didn’t hurt your wings – Dash would bust a vein if one of her best fliers incapacitated themselves during the busiest season.”

Thunderlane took a long, long sip from his cup, then said:

“I like your socks. Go well with your fur.”

“Thanks,” replied Helia, her eyebrow raised. She filled the ensuing silence by packing all the bandages and medicine in their right places rather leisurely. When no other distraction presented itself she sat on the opposite side of the couch Thunderlane occupied, gaze keenly set on the last dying embers twinkling in the ashes.

“Well well, I think it’s getting late,” she said when she couldn’t bear the quiet anymore. “Duty calls tomorrow too, heh.”

“Actually I think I’ll be going away for a while,” Thunderlane grunted while getting up. Seeing her questioning look he added: “Visit Cloudsdale maybe. Or Canterlot. You know, a little holiday.”

“A holiday? During late fall? Are you out of your mind?”

“Am I not always?” he quipped, but without much spirit. On the door he said: “Thank you again. And sorry for the all the trouble I’ve caused. If there’s ever anything you need help with… Well, perhaps I won’t be able to make things that much worse, heh. Good night.”

He stepped out. The door started closing. Helia bit her lip. The moment slipped like an eel on skates.

“You could stay for a little while longer. Could you?”

The door remained narrowly open with no guarantee in sight there was anypony behind it anymore. Nonetheless she continued:

“I mean, if you really intend skipping town like that, you could at least spend the last night in good company, hmm? I still got a few ciders left. Who’ll help me finish them if not you?”

Frosty air seeped in, killing the last of the cinders. Helia listened, barely breathing. But there was nothing to listen to.

There was a sigh she did not know she had in her, a click of the lock that had never rang so loud, a living room at its darkest; a tenuous rap on the wood that made her jolt around and swing it open so hastily Thunderlane almost fell forward.

“Sorry,” they said simultaneously. Both chuckled shortly; checked each other’s eyes for signs only they could read and saw them aplenty.

“I would like that,” said Thunderlane. “Very much.”

And so, for that night and many more after, he did.