The World Turned Upside Down

I don’t think I like silence anymore. It lets me think too much, and not in any good ways. Even as I pluck pebbles and splinters from the soles of my shoes, all I can think about is whether I’ve done, am doing, and will continue to do the right thing. And every time I assure myself, there’s a fog of doubt hanging over me — an incessant little whisper that won’t go away.

She would’ve done better.

Sighing for the umpteenth time today, I close my eyes and droop my head into a waiting palm. Comparisons won’t do me any good, but in this world, she’s my only other frame of reference, and I can’t deny that I feel some strange affinity for her. A certain respect — and she has been nothing if not respectable. Decent. Fair. Dare I say…

No. No, I can’t let appearances deceive me. A rose belies thorns, and I’ve yet to hear another perspective. Besides, someone who’s admitted to doing… that… can’t be completely good, can they?

Or is that too unforgiving? Plenty of on-screen heroes have done the same and I never thought less of them. Why can’t I use the same logic here?

…And there I go, assuming she’s in the right.

I drag my hand down my face and open my eyes, looking about. Nothing will have changed since last I checked, but I need a distraction, fast.

The wispy clouds I’d seen before have drifted into the sky above the valley, forming long, choppy streaks of white, like rolling waves on an ocean. A subtle breeze blows in the same direction, swaying clumps of tall, straw-like grass and a number of the smaller shrubs. In the distance, the lake is little more than splash of blue in a field of green; no bigger than a grape, so very far away, and considering I haven’t had a drink since this morning, just as enticing.

I turn my attention to the berries on the ground, or what remains of them, now dried up and wilting in the midday sun, attracting the odd fly or three. The point had been made clear enough, but it’s a tough pill to swallow, and I still can’t shake the feeling that there was something else behind that outburst. Something more than survival instincts. Besides, it’s hard to forget a line as iconic as ‘mead with juniper berries mixed in’ if you’ve listened to it a hundred times over.

Doubt. Everywhere, there is doubt. And, oh, how I’m sick of it.

With yet another sigh, I look to my right, then sit up straight when I see Amber emerging from the trees. Her gait is slow but steady; head bowed, ears low, eyes on the ground before her — no less glum, but far more composed. Maybe that’s a good sign, and maybe not, but at the very least, I can see her, and that alone takes a weight off my shoulders.

She continues walking, and the pots keep rattling, but in the end, they both stop when she comes far enough, standing just a few metres away.

Neither of us say anything for a good, long while. Testing the air, I suppose. But the silence gets the better of me — in a way, scares me — and I break the peace. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah.”

The quickness of the reply catches me off-guard, somewhat, but I don’t show it. I’d expected a pause, however brief, but this was straight and to the point; something she’s done before, but only when asking, for the most part, never answering. But at the same time, I can’t exactly blame her: that question could be seen a mile off. “…Would you like to about it?”

She looks up at me with a blank expression.

One that I feel I ought to shy away from, but don’t. I’ve nothing to be ashamed of.

She holds my gaze, sizing me up, perhaps, then blinks and turns her attention to the mountains behind me, and the valley to her right, giving each a very long, very impassive stare. “Maybe,” she says quietly, then returns to me with the same inexpressive face.

As the response sinks in, I have to remind myself to keep my brows from climbing. This was the answer I’d been seeking for two weeks, and I can’t let her see me act surprised about it. After all, if I couldn’t handle the opportunity, what right do I have in seizing it?

“Not now, though,” she continues, peering up at the pass. “We need to keep moving.”

I follow her gaze, finding that same rusted pole from before. The yellow tape is missing. Gone with the wind, I guess. “You don’t want to take a break?”

“I just did.”

“Fair point,” I say, wincing, then turn back to her. “You didn’t find anything else, did you?”

“No.”

I press my lips together and nod. “Alright, so… I guess we’re all set.”

“Yep.”

I watch her for a moment, quietly mulling over her neutral tone, and how it quite doesn’t fit such terse replies, then look away and reassess the situation.

She’s given me a chance. Not a guarantee, but a chance. It might not mean anything just yet, and there’s every possibility it could go as poorly as it has for the last fortnight, but it’s something. An opening. Finally, an opening.

I can excuse her behaviour for just a few more hours, right?

“Can we go now?”

I stare off into the distance a little while longer, then nod to myself and stand up, stretching my back. “Ready when you are.”

She, too, nods, then turns to her left so she faces the pass and begins walking again, this time with more purpose.

Slow to forgive, quick to forget; Amber Dart in a nutshell.

At the rusted pole, I stop and take a look back. The view is splendid, akin to the spectacle I saw on Day One. Picturesque. Simply beautiful. Especially the other end of the valley, and how it disappears around the corner. Soon, we’ll disappearing too, over the ridge and perhaps a few more, leaving this scene behind us, probably forever.

Fourteen days. It doesn’t sound that long, but it feels like a lifetime. Fourteen nerve-wracking days, and all I’ll have to show for it is a chipped tooth, poor company, faulty gadgets, and a few select memories that will, like everything, fade with time. I’ll forget details — nuanced, little things — until all that remains is an impression. A footprint. An echo. No more an image than a fossil is a dinosaur.

I suck at remembering things.

…I guess that’s why they invented cameras.

Swinging the bag off my shoulder, I set it down and retrieve the device. Cap off, power on. Sit down for stability, eye through the viewport. Zoom in, zoom out. Focus the lens. Make sure I’m steady. Take the shot. Examine my work. Too washed-out — not enough colour. Reduce the shutter speed and try ready again.

“What’re you doing?”

I lower the camera and look over my shoulder.

Amber stares back, facing me side-on with a quizzical eyebrow raised.

Staying quiet for a short while, I choose my words carefully, then turn back and take the modified shot. “Documenting.”

Another silence descends as I inspect my second attempt. This one’s tense — for me, at least — but I don’t intend to break it.

“Documenting what, exactly?”

I pause. Curiosity, even in a frank, unemotional tone, wasn’t what I expected. What I did expect, I have no idea. Ridicule, maybe, since I’m holding us up, but that might just be a sign that I’ve grown too used to the attitude. “This,” I say, giving her the benefit of the doubt. “The journey we’re on. May as well make the most of it, if we’re not talking.”

“Why, though?”

“Because it gives me something to do. It distracts me.”

“But that’s not what we’re supposed to be doing, is it?”

“So?” I return to her. “If you can have a memento, why can’t I?”

She doesn’t reply, and her pause stretches into yet another silence.

I sigh. “Look, I’m not happy with the way things turned out. I sure as hell know you aren’t either. But that doesn’t mean I can’t… try to look on the bright side of life. It isn’t easy… but it works. So, can I?”

“…Be my guest.”

Again, the response surprises me, and it takes a little while for the go-ahead to sink in. It also confirms my suspicions — that I’ve taught myself to suspect any leeway. Strange how that works. But I’ve trusted her so far, and if she’s beginning to trust me, even in some small, meagre way, I can’t afford to betray that trust. Better to just take her at her word and be done with it.

So, I look to the scenery once more and stare. And search. And stare. But nothing seems to stick out anymore. It’s beautiful, certainly, like a desktop wallpaper, but that’s just it: it feels generic. Uninspired. Of course, this is for a diary, not professional photo album, so it’s not like I need to make everything look so glamorous, but I’m not in the mood for subpar.

There has to be something special about this shot, just like the one at the cottage. There has to be some kind of significance behind it. A meaning. A story.

“Well?”

…Our story…

“What’s the holdup?”

I hesitate, and with good reason. It’s too soon, too bold, too much of a demand… but it’s the only thing I can think of. So, with a tightness in my chest and an anxious wrinkle on my brows, I turn back to her yet again and ask her plainly and simply, “Do mind if we took our pictures?”

She blinks, but doesn’t seem completely shocked. “Why?”

“Because…” I begin, and quickly scramble for a reason that doesn’t sound like I’m trying to get all ‘touchy-feely’, as she put it. “Because I don’t want photos of the landscape all the time; that’s boring. There needs to be something else — something not… natural-natural. A human element.”

“A… what?”

I shake my head to myself. “Never mind. The point is, may I? Or, may we?”

This time, she hesitates, looking increasingly confounded by the proposition, but not aversely so. She takes a brief glance at the pass behind her, opens and shuts her mouth, frowns at the ground in thought, then peers at me from the corner of her eye.

“I’m not trying to get personal, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I half-lie, and instantly hate myself for it. “I just want some variation. Whether it means anything is up to you.”

Her hesitancy remains, still staring at me. But eventually, she lifts her head and shares a resigned expression. “Portrait or landscape?”

“Portrait,” I answer, opting not to question whether I expected anything else.

She slowly nods once, then walks toward me.

I stand up and offer her the camera.

She sits down and accepts, taking it from my grasp and holding it between her forehooves, inspecting the screen and buttons and dials.

“It’s the big silver one on the top right.”

“I know.”

“Oh.” I take a few steps back. “Well then, don’t mind me.”

She glances up impassively, then turns the camera sideways, closes one eye and peers through the viewport. “Full body or bust?”

“Bust.”

She twists the lens and zooms in.

I strike a modest pose, angling my head to the side with a simple smile. Showing teeth has always felt forced to me, as if I’m way too happy for my own good, like an advert or a stock photo. So, mine is closed-lipped.

A wing unfolds and wraps around to her front, stretching in a way that surprises me, like so many things before and no doubt countless more after. The last, largest and longest feather — a primary, if memories of high school biology serve me correctly — rests against the button like a finger. And, after giving me a moment to get over the fact that I had just seen her use a wing as a hand, she presses down, the shutters click, and she pulls away to examine her work.

I stroll back.

“Looks good,” she says, handing me the camera and walking past.

I watch her with a raised eyebrow as she goes. If she were anyone else, I wouldn’t hesitate to say her tone sounded nonchalant, or even amiable. If she were anyone else. As it stands, though, I can’t help my scepticism, and I’m not sure if it’s called for.

Dismissing the conundrum with a shake of the head, I take up position and, too, review the shot. Perfectly centred, perfect colour balance, and crisp, clear edges. “Not your first rodeo, I see.”

“I’ve had experience.”

I look up at her and raise another eyebrow.

She returns my gaze with a slight frown. “What?”

I blink. “Oh, nothing. It’s just a little surprising. Considering your background, I mean.”

“Background?”

“Your… technological isolation, pardon my French. You said it yourself: you’ve never even seen a phone before.”

She pauses, relaxing her expression. “Just because I’ve never seen a phone doesn’t mean I don’t know how to use a camera.”

“Ah. Yeah, sorry, should’ve figured.” I nod to myself, then plop down and bring the viewport to my eye. “Bust as well?”

“Sure.”

I frame her from the shoulders up, catching some of the sky above her head. With the sun high and the clouds softening the light, I don’t have to worry about tiptoeing around any shadows, and that’s a welcome relief. Don’t want this taking longer than it needs to. Doesn’t hurt that her colours are easy on the eyes, either. “And smile,” I say automatically, and give myself a mental slap on the wrist for not watching my language.

To my absolute shock, however, she does. Slowly, slightly, subtly, her lips curl upwards into a small, subdued, yet altogether sincere grin. Without a hint of hesitation or an inkling of reservation, and no glint of some hidden emotion in those large, blue, almost luminous eyes.

It’s as if…

“What’s wrong?”

Blinking myself out of my thoughts, I realise I’ve let the camera slip and was now gawking instead of aiming. “Nothing, nothing,” I quickly reply, shaking my head and setting up the shot again. “It’s just… the first time you’ve done that.”

“Smiling?”

“Yeah.”

She blinks too, expression contorting into a similar sense of shock. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

With a wary frown, she glances left and right, then shares that frown with me. “…Should I not?”

I pause, lips parted for an answer that’s so simple and easy, but tries its best to elude me. “…Nah,” I mumble, finally catching up to it. “No, go ahead.”

She looks me up and down, still unsure, but eventually allows herself to relax once more, and the faint, genuine, perhaps even warm or friendly smile returns.

I focus the lens and take the shot.

…Something’s not right…

Clambering over the rounded surface of a large, sunken boulder, I keep the weight off my bad foot as I hop down and continue walking. The path before us continues to rise, though not as sharply as the initial climb, and quite a few more shrubs now sprout from the steep wall of rock on our right. The air is chilly, but bearable; I don’t see any snow on any of these mountains, so I think I’ll survive, especially if it only takes a day to cross.

“How long have we been at this?” I call to the figure ahead.

Her ears perk up, and she turns her head slightly. Not enough that I can tell what her expression is, but enough that she can look at me out of the corner and keep hiking without much of a problem. “This journey?” she queries, without a hint of hostility.

“Yeah.”

“Since when?”

“Since this morning.”

“Ah.” She nods to herself, barely noticeable with the natural bob of her gait. “Well, if dawn’s at six, and we left at… seven?”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re asking me?”

She angles her head a little further and raises one of her own. “You mean you don’t know?”

I blink. “No. Of course not. You’re the one with the crazy internal clock — why would you think I know what the time is?”

She lingers on me for a long moment, then returns to the path ahead. “I just thought you’d have gotten used to it by now.”

I laugh once, breathily, breaking into a bemused smile. “Me? In fourteen, fifteen days? When you’ve had, what, a lifetime of experience?”

She pauses. Why, I’m not sure. Maybe waiting for a certain mood to pass. In which case, at long last, she’s finally learning. “Five hours,” she answers tamely. “Give or take.”

“So, it’s midday now?”

“Thereabouts.”

I nod to myself, then scan the landscape and, as expected, find nothing of interest. We’re about halfway through the pass between the two peaks, which still tower above us in an almost fantastic sense. We’ve already left the source of the river behind us, vanishing up a waterfall on the southern height, and are now traversing the rocky badlands from here to the next valley, and however many more after that.

There’s no wildlife here, except for a lone hawk circling high in the air to the southeast, watching, waiting, biding its time. It makes me worry for the birds at the lake, before I promptly remember that the birds I’m thinking of aren’t there; they’re all the way back on my Earth, and have probably moved on by now. Their kids will have had kids, and I’ll just be a footnote in the long, proud history of their clan; a story the elders tell the younglings, of a giant who brought gifts of bread and crackers.

…My mind wanders to some really weird places, sometimes.

But now that I’ve snapped back to reality, I realise that I’m staring at the lake again, and another thought strikes me as I resume the trek. Risky, definitely, and more than a little demanding, but she seems different now — more open. I need to test the waters. “You know, I’m still waiting for a thank you.”

“What for?”

“The bath.”

Her ear twitches, and she turns her head to the same angle. “What about it?”

“…Well, the…” I drift off, already lost for words, with the shameful weight of a broken taboo slowing me to a halt. I sigh heavily and look away, shaking my head. “Never mind, never mind. I’m just being selfish.”

She stops and faces me side-on. “How?”

“I said never mind.”

“And I said how,” she states candidly, borderline reassuringly. “If you have something to say, say it.”

Did I expect her to let it go? No, of course not. But to… encourage, instead of ridicule or reject or outright lambast me?

I’m… torn. It’s a good thing, but it doesn’t feel completely… right, somehow. Change is supposed to happen gradually, not like this. People don’t behave differently just because the going gets tough — she’s proven that time and again.

…And yet I know from experience that that’s not always the case.

I should stop being so jumpy, shouldn’t I? Start trusting her more; cut her some slack and just roll with the punches again, even if they aren’t exactly aimed at anyone.

“…Look, I know I don’t deserve any forgiveness for putting you through this, Amber,” I murmur, shrugging, both weary and wary, “but I want to make it up to you, somehow. And if I don’t hear any kind of acknowledgement… how am I supposed to know if I did any good at all?”

She lowers her eyes for a moment, thinking, tapping a forehoof against the earth. “Then what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Just a thank you, I guess.”

“Then thank you.”

I blink, having expected more of a fight, but quickly dismiss the thought. Trust is key, and she can trust me to trust her. She can also trust me to do my best to defuse any given situation. “You sure you don’t want to jazz it up a little?”

“Should I?”

“Well, I mean… you could if you wanted.”

She looks to her right with a light snort, tapping her hoof again. “Well then, thanks,” she says, returning to me. “For everything. Maybe I’m not the best travelling companion, but… you’ve made it tolerable, so far.”

“Since we met each other, you’ve knocked me out and chipped a tooth, and I’ve made you cry twice. I’m not sure I’d call that tolerable.”

She pauses, then shrugs, then turns around and continues walking. “Take it or leave it, Adam; that’s the thanks you’re getting.”

I blink again, staying in place. “What, that’s it? No snark, no… parting shot?”

She stops and looks over her shoulder. “Is that what you want?”

“…Well… no…”

“Then quit being so on edge,” she says coolly. “You said it yourself: always look on the bright side of life. So, that’s what I’m doing. What happened, happened. I can’t change it, and I’m not proud of it, but I can learn from it. Right now, that means being a little nicer.”

I stare at her, stunned. Gobsmacked, rather. Her voice is the same, her eyes are the same, mouth, snout, ears, mane, tail, wings — everything — and yet it’s like a whole new person standing in front of me. Since when has Amber ever been… motivational? Heck, she’s never been this forthright outside a fit of rage.

Was that breakdown really so severe that she pulled an about-face? That she reached some kind of epiphany and saw the error of her ways? Threw all caution to the wind? Stranger things have happened, I suppose, maybe, but this looks, sounds, and most importantly feels too good to be true. And I can’t tell if I’m being reasonable or just overly cynical. I hope the latter, but…

Something’s not right here. One way or another, something’s not right.

“So, can we get going again? Please?”

I continue staring, trying to keep my face neutral, reminding myself that we’re a team. Doubt has its place in the world at large — not between us. I know where she stands, she knows where I stand, and that’s what matters.

So, I force myself onwards, and our long and arduous journey resumes.

And I am doubtful.

The terrain has flattened somewhat and become more or less one solid surface of stone — still between the two peaks, of course. There’s no dirt here, only thin cracks and weeds. Boulder of various sizes sit in the open, rooted in place by their own weight and years, decades, centuries of erosion. On the right, a large, deep pit with sheer, craggy sides offers its water to the sky above, and any would-be traveller with a dry mouth. A nearby sign, bleached and weathered as it may be, warns against it.

My eyes linger on it as I pass by, taking in the details: the faded words and minimalist images of ponies forbidden to drink or dive; the flecks of rust on the very edges and beneath the flaking paint; the silvery blemishes of the screws binding it to the pole. Why it catches my eye, I don’t know. Perhaps I’ve gained some newfound appreciation for any sign of civilisation — pun not intended. Sure, it’s old, and it’s not the same as a phone booth or anything like that, but still, it’s something.

Good in the bad. Good in the bad.

Speaking of which…

“So,” I begin, looking to the figure ahead of me, “what’s the deal with you and Selene?”

She freezes, hindleg midstride, ears perking up once more.

I slow my pace, then come to a halt as well.

She turns her head to that same ambiguous angle, letting her hoof gradually fall to the ground. “Excuse me?”

“Do you two know each other?”

She blinks, then faces me side-on yet again with a stupefied look and an eyebrow raised. “The princess?”

“Yeah.” I frown slightly. “Who else?”

She stares at me a little while longer, expression morphing from surprise to suspicion. “What makes you say that?”

I pause, then shrug. “Well, she certainly seems to know more about you than I do, and the way you two were talking last night… it sounded like you’ve met before.”

Her eyes take on a familiar hardness.

“You have, haven’t you?”

“What does it matter?”

“Because…” I glance away and sigh, in case I’d sounded a little too snappish. “Because I want to set the record straight. I’m tired of being in the dark all the time, with you and with her. And if there’s going to be some kind of breakthrough anytime soon… I’d rather it happen with the person I’ll be travelling with most.”

She doesn’t reply, glaring at me resolutely, ears angled back, head bowed slightly, as if ready to pounce. But then she lowers her eyes, and her expression softens somewhat. The scowl remains, but it’s thoughtful as well as irate.

“I know we have rules, Amber, but… I just can’t do this anymore. I want to get to know you; to understand you — the real you — because I know you’re a good person, deep down. And I know we can do better.”

Her scowl fades to little more than a slight tension in the brows.

“So? Can we… move on, at all?”

She closes her eyes, letting out a long, quiet breath through her nose. “We have… history,” she mutters, looking up at me with her head angled low. “A lot of people do.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What kind of history?”

“The sore kind.” She looks away again. “The kind you can’t forgive.”

I nod slowly and understandingly, though my teeth clench from being given the run-around yet again. “Like what? A family dispute?”

“…Something like that.”

I blink in surprise. “So, you two are related?”

“No,” she sharply states, snapping back to me with a warning frown. “We are nothing alike.”

“Then… what do you mean?”

She pauses, then lifts herself to a more relaxed posture. Her face relaxes, but her eyes remain steadfast. “If you can talk, you can walk,” she says matter-of-factly, turning around and striding off. “Walk, and maybe we’ll talk.”

The brisk pace catches me off-guard and I break into a jog to keep up, then match her speed when I’m a comfortable distance from her side. “Was that really necessary?”

“We need to get to Vanhoover, don’t we?”

“Well, sure, but—”

“Then we’re doing this my way.”

My brows crease, then I glance away and roll my eyes. At least we’re back in familiar territory. “Okay, so… what happened?”

She doesn’t reply. Not immediately, at least; the air around her feels tense, but pensive, choosing her words carefully, gaze fixed on the horizon. “It’s hard to say.”

“…What, like, you don’t really know, or—”

“I know what happened. It’s just… hard to put into words. The right words.”

I nod, once more, slowly and understandingly, giving the next question a little more thought. “Alright then, what’s Selene like?”

She winces. “What’s she like?”

“Yeah. What’s her… moral character, shall we say?”

She gives me a long, sceptical look, inspecting me carefully, before returning to the way ahead with a troubled frown. “The princess is… problematic.”

“How so?”

“…She is… strong. And competent. But she claims to be an advocate of peace and harmony, when she’s done nothing but burn the world around her.”

“Again, how so?”

Her pace slows and her head sags, sighing. “Do I need to get specific?”

“It helps.”

She looks at me again, more jaded than frustrated, and then back to the horizon once more. “I had a family, once.”

I freeze. My insides sink. My eyes widen, my jaw hangs open and I stare at her as she presses on.

I’m shocked. And not just at this new piece of information — this bombshell —I mean that she’d be so willing to simply come outright and say it. Mumbled and reluctant, sure, but still… And on top of that, the pieces from last night are coming together; why she seemed so… disturbed after I’d rambled on about Mum and Dad and…

No. No, I need to focus on the here and now, and that means catching up to her and talking it out. So, that’s what I do. “You… had?”

She nods idly, focussed on the road onward. “Where I used to live… there was a disagreement — a divide. The princess was heading down a path that many of us weren’t comfortable with — that Equestria wasn’t comfortable with.”

“And what path was that?”

“Fear. Paranoia. She couldn’t trust anyone.”

“…But why?”

“Because that’s who she is,” she snaps, glancing at me. “Fearful, manipulative, deceitful, power-hungry, despotic. She doesn’t care for the good of the kingdom — never has — she’s only in it for herself. Anything outside of her control is a threat. She once sank an entire city for daring to question her.”

“Sank?”

“Yes. Crashed them into the Appleachians, just west of Baltimare, and banished them from setting foot on Equestrian soil ever again.”

“…A literal city?”

Her frown turns on me. “She raises the moon every night; it’s not that hard to believe.”

I shut my mouth and look away, a familiar tightness in my chest taking hold, and the weights on my shoulders return. “Is she… sorry, at all?”

“Of course not. The Great Destroyer knows no shame.”

“…She seemed pretty humble last night.”

“Lies, all of it. A ruse to get you on her side — to play the victim.”

The tightness grows tighter, and the weights weightier. I need to change the conversation; it’s shifting towards me when it should be on her. Moral dilemmas come later. “Okay, so… all this was happening… and the people where you lived weren’t happy about it. There was some kind of vote, I take it?”

She lingers on me, then looks ahead again, neck slumping, ears flattening. “As a matter of fact, there was. We’d either stay with her or resist her. I voted we resist, and so did a lot of others — a few thousand, maybe. My family and the rest of the kingdom, however…”

“…I see…”

“Yeah. That’s what generations of relative peace does to you; it makes you weak. Spineless. Doesn’t help that there was this cult of pacifism ever since The Reformation.”

“Reform…” I blink and shake my head. “History lesson aside, what happened? You just up and left, because you didn’t see eye to eye with your mum?”

“…I didn’t make that choice lightly,” she says after a lengthy pause, glancing at me with a subdued, gloomy expression. “And you don’t need to make it sound so petty. But yes, that’s the long and short of it.”

“You couldn’t have talked it out?”

“There was nothing to discuss. We fought, I left. I’ve made something of myself since then.”

I raise an eyebrow. “By living alone for two years?”

She yanks herself to a halt.

I stop just in front and face her.

Her eyes are wide and pointed at the ground, purposely avoiding me, and her ears are angled back and tense. “I…” she begins and fails, then closes her mouth, gulps, and peers up at me with a determined, but unmistakably panicked face. “I’m making my own fate. I won’t let her or anyone else take that away from me.”

“I’m not saying you should.”

“Then what are you saying?”

I shy away from her gaze with a heavy sigh and creased brows, and notice that our path ahead leads to a cliff; a sheer drop straight down, easily a mile high, if the other side of the upcoming canyon is anything to go by. Two trails branch off to the north and south, both comfortably wide as they follow the gorge’s edge, but only the northern one has the next marker.

“I don’t know.” I shrug and facing her again. “Suggesting more dialogue, maybe.”

Determination and panic slowly fade to blankness. Not surprise or shock or a vacant expression, just an unreadable one. In a certain light, almost pitying. “You sound like one of the heroes of old,” she says quietly, bleakly, but otherwise unemotionally. “Idealists, the lot of them.”

“And it sounds to me like you’ve given up too easily.”

She continues to stare, gazing into me, as if searching for something worth saving. But then she blinks and lowers her eyes, and softly shakes her head as she walks by. “It’s too late for me, Adam. The age of heroes is over — there’s no room for them. We’re all that’s left.”

I watch her go and raise another eyebrow. “We?”

She stops again.

“…What happened to ‘us’ not being a thing?”

A long moment passes. “Priorities change,” she says impassively, then resumes her course.

…I’m lost for words. Partly because this feels out of character for her, but mostly because, somehow… it feels right. Deserved, in a way. To hear those words come from her mouth, at long last, after two weeks and a bit of constant stonewalling, belittling, and flagrant disregard for a modicum of civility…

No. No, that’s unfair; she’s been getting better, slowly but surely, and this is just another step up that ladder. I need to be patient. I need to try harder.

And then I notice where she’s heading. “Uh… the next marker’s that way, Amber.”

“We’re taking a shortcut,” she replies, maintaining her southern course.

“…Why?”

She stops once more and turns to face me, pointing to her left. “You see that chasm?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s a highway; airships pass through it all the time. If we’re lucky, we can flag one down and catch a ride to Vanhoover, but only if we head south from here on out.”

“…But Selene said—”

“Forget her.” She stomps the outstretched hoof. “She doesn’t know this place; I do. And what good’s her word when she turns on her own people at the drop of a hat?”

Here comes the doubt again. That horrible, dreadful, oppressive fog of doubt. Whether it’s between me and her, or Selene, or even myself, I don’t know; I just want to see things clearly. I want to know who my allies are. And, most importantly… who of them are really, truly good at heart.

“This way’s just as safe, Adam. Trust me.”

I snap out of my thoughts and focus on her again, and see the look in her eyes; resolute, but somehow vulnerable.

We’re in the same boat. Neither of us like each other very much, but we’re all we have, and I’d much rather brave this storm with company than without. And if Selene’s as treacherous as she says — which I’m honestly having a hard time believing — then siding with my counterpart is probably for the best.

…Strange how that works. First, I’m looking for any reason to doubt her, and now I’m trying to defend her. What a splendidly confusing web to unravel.

“I trust you, Amber,” I answer, hoping that saying it aloud would convince me too, then readjust my bag and walk towards her. “I just don’t agree with you.”

The airship highway is nothing short of astounding, made more so by the fact that it doesn’t appear to be artificial, which would be a marvel in and of itself. It feels completely unreal, like I’m a miniature in one of those giant models they build for fantasy movies, and enhancing the effect is the mountains to the north — the ones I saw while searching for water. With the chasm carving a relatively straight path through the range, I can see them on the horizon again at long last, and they have not lost their majesty.

Down in the canyon below, a long, healthy strip of foliage runs parallel to a wide, fast-flowing river, rapids poking through every few hundred metres. Shrubs find purchase wherever they can on the steep cliff faces, adding spots of green and brown to an otherwise grey canvas. The scent and feeling of moisture in the air is a welcome change from the afternoon sun, and the ambient shade of the southern peak helps.

These are the distractions I find while trying not to think about how unnervingly narrow our path has become. There aren’t many loose rocks, thank goodness, so I’m at no risk of tripping, provided my laces stay tied, but what comfort’s that when there’s nothing keeping me from a sheer drop no more than two strides away?

“Where are those airships you promised?”

“I didn’t promise anything; I said ‘if we’re lucky’.”

Figures my luck would run out today. “Well then, how much further along here?”

“At this rate, two hours.”

I laugh uneasily. “Funny, funny. That’s… that’s very funny.”

The pony in front of me looks over her shoulder. “You’re afraid of heights?”

“No.” I glance at the edge. “I’m afraid of falling.”

“Same thing.”

“Not really. Believe me, I know; Dad had acrophobia.”

She lingers on me, and then returns to the way ahead. “Just try not to think about it.”

“I am. But talking about it doesn’t help either.”

She sighs. “Alright then… what’s your favourite colour?”

I raise my brows. “Sorry?”

“You wanted to change the subject, didn’t you? Well then, there’s your subject: what’s your favourite colour?”

I hesitate. Were the Rules done away with? Yes, probably. But for her to ask the questions, however trivial? “Red,” I lie, though I can’t rightly say why.

“Well, how about that? We both like the same colour.”

“…Yeah. Neat.”

Her ear twitches and she looks at me again. “Something up?”

I blink and shake my head. “No, nothing. I’m just… still a bit nervous, I guess.”

She nods once, then halts before she rounds a corner. “Well then, you’re not going to like this part.”

I stop by her side, and I instantly feel hollow. “Oh, for pity’s sake…”

A gap. A freaking gap. Three to four metres of thin air with nary a ledge to shimmy across, and only two strides’ worth of a runup.

“I thought you said this way was just as safe.”

“I did and it was. This must’ve happened since the last time I came though here.”

“…Well, that was a waste.” I sigh. “North it is, then.”

“Who said we’re heading back?”

I raise an eyebrow and find her sitting on her haunches, unbuckling the bag. “You brought climbing gear?”

“No.” She shrugs it off her back and turns around, making sure everything is nice and secure. “We’re jumping.”

My mouth drops, and my single bewildered laugh feels more like a gasp. “…Excuse me?”

“We’re jumping,” she repeats, looking at me calmly.

“Oh, I got that, but… why? I mean, did you forget what I literally just said about falling? Why can’t we turn back, or build a bridge or something?”

“Because we’re halfway there, and if we turn back now, we’ll be stumbling through the dark for a place to camp. If I were you, I wouldn’t be too keen on taking my chances.”

“And this isn’t?!”

“I’ll catch you if you fall.”

“How?!”

She cocks her head and narrows her eyes, lips parting in an all too familiar expression of incredulity. Then she shakes her head, grabs the top of the bag, and drags it to the edge of the outcrop.

“Amber…” I take a step closer. “Amber, what’re you doing?”

She jumps off.

In the split moment I have to react, my eyes widen and my heart leaps to my throat, and I dash forward in a single bound, reaching out to grab and pull her back. But by the time I get there, she’s already cleared the ledge, and I plant my feet and wave my arms about, struggling to keep myself from plummeting after her.

But she doesn’t plummet; she soars. And when I find my balance after stumbling back a couple of steps, I realise that she’s not falling, but floating — flapping her wings, taking her rucksack to the other side.

“You can fly?” I wonder aloud, still a little out of breath.

“Of course I can. You’re not a pegasus if you can’t.” She sets the bag down, leaning against a boulder, then turns back to me. Her body is angled upwards as she hovers, hindlegs drooping, forelegs folded to her chest, eyebrow raised curiously. “You mean you’ve never seen me fly before?”

I pause for a long while, staring at her, realising what peculiar thought that was. “No,” I say, keeping a frown from sneaking through. “Not once.”

“Hmm. Strange.”

“…Yeah. Strange.”

A silence descends.

“Is there something you want to tell me, Adam?”

I blink, then shake my head. “No, no. I’m just… wondering what the plan is.”

She nods. “Well, I was thinking of something along the lines of kitesurfing; you run up, I carry you, and then we both plop down on the other side. Quick and easy.”

“That… doesn’t sound easy.”

“It is. Just leap before you look.”

I shut my mouth and voice my concern with creased brows.

She hovers closer and offers her hooves. “You’ll be fine, Adam.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I can and I am. Trust me.”

My frown deeps. Not into a scowl, but just that little bit more. Even as I slowly, reluctantly reach up and grip her forelegs just below the elbows, I keep my eyes locked with hers and continue to frown.

She wraps her ankles around my forearms in a similar fashion as I back up, but as soon as they’re both in place, a frown of her own appears on her face and she glances between them in surprise.

“Magic-resistant, remember?”

She looks up at me, clearly confused, then quickly, vigorously nods. “Yeah, yeah, right. Just… hold on extra tight, okay?”

“…Sure.”

She nods again. “On three. One.”

I focus on the way ahead slow my breathing.

“Two.”

I bob up and down on my knees, ensuring my feet are positioned correctly and tensing my fingers and toes. This is it; the moment of truth. All or nothing. In it to win it, and all that motivational garbage. Funny thing is, it doesn’t feel all that different from any of my high school’s athletics competitions.

Does that say something about me? About how much I value myself?

…I hope not…

“Three.”

A tug in my hands tells that I’ve almost missed my cue, and I take one, two bounding strides, look down to make sure my foot’s in the right place, catch a glimpse of the chasm below, feel the shock, then leap as far and as high as I possibly can. My ‘kite’ picks up the slack, pulling me up and away, gritting her teeth. But try as she might, it won’t be enough; I’d faltered.

Already, I can feel myself losing momentum. Up becomes stillness, forward becomes down. Instead of being pulled, I begin to pull, and I barely have time to register the fact before I start falling, dragging her with me.

She gives one final heave as I kick my legs out, trying desperately to keep us moving in the right direction, but with time short, there’s only so much either of us can do.

I should let go.

And then a solid wall of rock slams into my abdomen.

I lose my grip and bend over with the impact, winded, gasping; stomach, chest and arms on the ledge and legs dangling over the edge. And I’m slipping. My feet scramble for a foothold on the rockface, and find nothing, and my efforts on the top are no luckier. “Help!”

My companion lands a little further up, skidding on her hooves across pebbles, and quickly darts back, eyes wide, reaching for my hands. All she does, though, is pat them.

“Bag! Get the bag!”

She glances at me, panicked, then leans closer and extends her wings, looping her primaries through the handle atop my backpack, and pulls as hard as she can.

The straps tug at my armpits and I stop sliding, and I waste no time; I set a palm on the ledge, pushing down, lifting myself with a long, strained groan. I swing my good leg once, twice, finally hook my knee over the lip, and as soon as I can, keel over and roll onto my back, wheezing.

With that final haul, my rescuer jerks back and falls on her rear. “What did I just tell you?!” she pants. “Look before you leap!”

“I know, I know!” I cry breathlessly, squeezing my eyes shut and nodding weakly, gulping down as much air as I can. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

A long pause as we both try to calm ourselves. Our lungs, our hearts, our minds. Return things to normalcy. Get over the fact that we had nearly… or that I had nearly…

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Happens to the best of us.”

After another, shorter pause, my brows crease and I look at her from the corner of my eye. “You’re… forgiving me? Just like that?”

She blinks in surprise. “Well, yeah. We’re still alive, aren’t we?”

“…But…”

“I said don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal — I’m sure you’d have done the same for me. I’m sorry for blowing up at you like that.”

…Something’s not right. I think I’ve known it for a while, but that word right there takes the cake. She may admit defeat from time to time, even if she won’t say it aloud, but she would never, ever, not in a million years, ever say sorry. She wouldn’t be so open about her past either, come to think of it, or say a genuine thank you, or even smile for a picture, especially if I ask; that’s not who she is. Amber Dart is stout and defiant, not…

My frown becomes a scowl. “Say your name.”

She blinks again. “…Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” I roll over again and stumble to my feet, then simply stand and glare. “Say your name.”

“…Amber Dart.”

“Your real name.”

“…I’m… not sure what you’re talking about—”

“Don’t give me that. We started on the wrong foot because of it and you’ve been making a damn fine point about avoiding it. So, if it’s so special to, say it now; say your real name.”

She stares at me confusedly for a good, long while. Much, much too long.

“Where is she?”

For a little while longer, she maintains the charade, but it soon dawns on her that I’ve officially called her bluff, and her face morphs from confusion to a calm, cool, collected expression.

“Where is she?”

The imposter says nothing, standing up instead and walking to Amber’s rucksack.

“Answer me, damn it.”

“Safe,” she replies, unphased as she sits down, buckles up and heaves herself to her hooves again. Then she looks at me, almost threateningly.

“Who are you?”

Her gaze is firm and unwavering, but not completely hostile.

“What are you?”

Her lips remain sealed. And then she turns and strolls for a crevice. “Come.”

My shins, knees, and elbows are sore, grazed from struggle at the cliff’s edge and the pressure of bone on stone, and the haphazard nature of this narrow, twisting path isn’t helping me in the slightest. Much less the walls on either side. I can still see the sky, though, and stretch my arms comfortably, so there’s that.

But at the same time, I’m travelling in the footsteps of a creature who looks and sounds like, but isn’t actually the person I’ve come to know and trust over these past fifteen days. Maybe I don’t know or trust her as well as I’d like to, but the fact remains, and I’d take her at her worst in a heartbeat if it meant knowing she’s okay. This imitation can promise her safety all she likes, but where’s the obligation to keep it when the cards are in her favour?

Could I resist? Buck the rules and fight my way out of here? Possibly. But I could also lose, get myself beaten up, put myself and Amber — the real Amber — in even more danger, if we aren’t in enough already. Besides, it isn’t easy to think about hitting her when she’s… like that; in her form.

“Why’re you doing this?”

The imposter’s ear twitches, but she doesn’t miss a step, hopping into the air, flapping her wings and landing atop a steep ridge blocking our path. “We have questions,” she says simply, turning back to me and offering a foreleg. “You will answer.”

As much as it hurts my pride — what little sense of pride I have — I grab hold and climb up with her help, then lean down and wipe the sand and dirt from my hands on my shorts. “And who are ‘we’, exactly?”

She doesn’t reply, turning away and walking off.

I roll my eyes and follow. “Can I at least have your name?”

Still nothing.

“Is anything you’ve said true? All that stuff about your past and Selene and—”

She stops and snaps to me with a warning frown and ears pinned back. A face I know all too well.

I stop alongside her and cock an eyebrow. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

She slowly shakes her head. “Don’t you ever, ever say that name around me.”

I fold my arms and lift my chin expectantly.

She continues to stare, drilling that warning in, then blinks and trundles on. “It’s my job to lie, Adam,” she says, glancing back to make sure I’m following. “The entire point of my kind is to turn others against each other. You’re not the only person I’ve done this to. But if there’s one thing you can trust me on, it’s this: it takes one to know one, and the Great Destroyer is anything but honest.”

“You called her that before.”

“Because it’s true. Her Equestria is built on the ashes of the old — a world her forebears poured hearts and souls into. And she tore it all down. She…”

The catch in her voice catches my attention, as if she’s choking on her own words. As if what she ought to say shouldn’t be said.

“…She did something unforgiveable — something no good person should ever forgive.” She peers up at me, more upset than angry. “That is who your princess is. If that isn’t reason enough to oppose her, I don’t know what is.”

I look down, frowning in thought at the ground in front of me, only to have my thoughts interrupted when I realise we’re not walking on rock, but grass.

A small grove; a sort of clearing in a forest of stone, bordered on all sides by crags and overhangs. It dips a little on the right, ending in a tiny pond and a stunted, twisted, gnarled tree. Four crows sit perched on its barren branches.

I stare at them.

They stare back.

“Chitin.”

I return to the imitation.

“My name’s Chitin. I’m a changeling.” She comes to a halt and faces me front-on, though she doesn’t look me in the eye. “You deserve that much.”

I halt too, but don’t react. Not outwardly. “Thanks.”

She pauses, taking a deep breath in, then out, and then meeting my gaze. “I tend to value people based on their intuition. It’s not often you get someone who can see through a disguise, so for what it’s worth… I’m sorry this had to happen to you.”

My frown deepens. Something about an apology from a self-confessed liar doesn’t sit well with me, and I open my mouth to object. But as soon as I do, I feel something dig into the back of my neck; something long, thin and sharp. And when I reach around and yank it out, I discover that it’s a tiny, wooden dart, with a dash of red staining its tip.

I look to Chitin again with wide eyes.

Her somewhat troubled expression hasn’t changed. “Do yourself a favour, though,” she says, a bright green glow sparking at her hooves and moving up her legs, burning away the fur to reveal some kind of… blackish…blueish… chitinous surface. Ponylike in shape, insectlike in appearance. And as she transforms right before my eyes, much to my shock and awe, her voice does too, from female to male, and from clear to… distorted. “When you wake up, don’t say her name around the dogs. They can be very… aggressive.”