Swift Wanderings

As usual, I rose before the sun did. “Odd. It hasn’t rained in a while.” I muttered. Oh well, nothing I can do, I mean, it’s not like I’m a pegasus, right?

I packed all my things, made sure my campsite was free of any trash, and trotted off. I could eat breakfast on the road. In fact, maybe the lack of rain was for the best. No creature seemed worried about it, and it was the perfect weather for traveling.

But, of course, the universe decided to hate me once again.

It was late afternoon when the first raindrops fell.

Horseapples.

I hated rain with the burning fury of a thousand suns. I was particularly susceptible to thrush, a fungal disease. It was brought upon by standing for to long in wet or filthy conditions. For most, that just meant keep your hooves clean, idiot. For me, since I was outside in wet conditions so often, I had to wear special boots.

I hated those boots. They were rubber, and slippery, and uncomfortable. I never wore them unless I absolutely had to. With the Smokey Mountain Settlement still about two weeks away, give or take a few days, I had to wear them.

I rooted around in my saddlebag, grumbling. I pulled out a large poncho, and four black rubber boots. The rain was picking up steadily, promising a downpour. I put the poncho first, pulling it over my saddlebags, hat, and cloak. Next, with my face twisting in distaste, I pulled on the rainboots.

They slipped on easily, but that was normal. Getting them off, on the other hoof, was going to take me at least half an hour. With that in mind, I got up, and galloped.

It has been far too long since I’ve done this.

I was crazy strong. Despite my small size, I could pull about twice as much as your average stallion, and jump crazy far. Gathering my legs underneath myself, I sprang up into the air. Branches rushed past, twigs scraping at my poncho. I peaked just above the treetops, that feeling of weightlessness, sending a thrill through my stomach. As rain streamed down around me, and the skies cracked with lightning, I was one with the storm.

For all of a second. I fell to the ground again, but I was laughing like a madmare. That feeling, that split-second of no gravity, was what I lived for. The feeling of complete freedom electrified me. I jumped again. And again.

As evening gave way to night, I leapt for one final time, and made camp. I was a mess, my nose runny, and my boots covered in mud, but I felt so good.

I was still laughing as I pitched camp, eating a cold dinner of dried fruits. This was the life I wanted. After I had pitched the tent, rolled out my sleeping bag, and gotten my boots off, I rooted through my saddlebag through my hairbrush. I took it out, and without looking, began to brush the mud from my coat.

I went to clean it off, but stopped short. Instead of an unremarkable grey, it was a bright, cheery blue. Oh, right.Not my hairbrush. Heh. Now it’s all muddy.

I stared at it for a good long while before I broke down and started scrubbing it with my bare hooves. Bits of mud still clung to it, and I almost threw it at the ground in frustration before simply crying. I put it back in my right saddlebag, promising myself I’d clean it properly as soon as possible.

There was nothing left to do, so I rolled over and went to sleep. The picture remained in my saddlebags, forgotten.

***

For the next week, I fell into the traveling cycle. Wake up, break camp, eat breakfast on the road, canter for hours, make camp, sleep. There were a few rain showers, but not as many as there should’ve been. Strange.

The next part of my journey would be the hardest. Instead of cantering along a well-worn path, I would be scaling a mountain. The Smokey Mountain Settlement was a small village strung out around the mountains. It would take me another eight days to reach it, due to the varying terrain of the hillsides. If it was flat, with just one steep climb at the end, I could reach the village in about two days, but that was not the case. There were several small mountains in between, so I had to individually climb each of those.

I sighed, and continued to canter.

***

The sun was shining brightly, not a cloud in the sky. I’d begun my ascent up the main mountain not three hours ago. There was a cliffside up ahead that I knew I could camp on about four hours’ climb away.
I grunted as my hooves slid down the steep cliffside. It was a hard climb to make, the nearly vertical surface of the mountain having few hoofholds. I leapt for the next pair I saw, and after scrabbling desperately for a moment, I managed to grab them.

My climb continued like this, until I reached the cliff. My limbs shaking from the strain, I pulled myself onto it and collapsed. I breathed deeply, feeling the cool air reinvigorate my lungs. With a snort, I stood up and shook my fur off. It was evening now, so it was begging to cool down.

I made a small fire, feeling the warmth on my face as evening gave way to night. Instead of going to bed, like I usually did, I stargazed. I had always loved the stars, but in the years since Princess Luna’s return, they had become more vibrant. Each star felt like it was alive, and twinkled with passion. Usually I had to retrain myself, though. Little sleep meant little travel, afterall. Still, I couldn’t help myself that night.

Especially here on the mountain, with no trees blocking my view, and no light pollution. It was incredible, I could see millions and millions of them. I took out my mane brush, and began to untangle my long locks.

As I watched, a shooting star fell across the night sky. I smiled. “Make a wish, Joy.”

***

Far away, in Manehattan, along the city streets, an artist began to close her shop. She glanced at the night sky, the light of a shooting star reflecting off her glasses. “Are you thinking of me, Swift? Because I’m thinking of you.”

The artist went inside, and made herself a cup of hot chocolate. More shooting stars reflected as she looked out the window, a meteor shower going on in full force.

“I’m thinking of you.”