Mum's Diner

Chapters

Picking Through the Rubble
Brothers
Once upon a time . . .
Competing Interests
Possession
Campfire Stories
The Runaway
It'll Be Okay
Next Door Neighbors
The River's Edge
Haunted

Picking Through the Rubble

Life for the ponies of Mum's Diner was supported by trade in scrap collected from the surrounding area. As the years passed by, the scavenging team had to travel much further to find enough to sustain their small community. At the end of a long trek through the barren sands, they came at last to the remnants of an industrial complex. Tall, windowless buildings of rusted iron and fractured concrete flanked an open courtyard. In the center was the collapsed form of a once-imposing unicorn cast in bronze, whose sculpted visage now lay half-buried in the earth. It was next to this toppled monument that the scavenging team unhitched their wagons.

Jade climbed up on top of the fallen statue's pedestal to address her team. Her towering frame commanded their attention, and her wrinkled face secured their respect, owed to the many years of her experience and the success they'd had under her leadership. "We're all tired from the walk, I know. But we don't have the supplies to sit around burning daylight when we've got just as far to get back home with fully-loaded wagons on our backs. So get out there and start scouting. I don't want to see any of you back here before the sun goes down."

The team hailed "Yes, ma'am!" in unison and trotted their way into the ruins.

Off to the side, apart from the rest of the team was Starry Night. She had come to the diner several years ago, but had only joined the scavengers within the last few years. Starry had corralled the foals who had come along—their first time out—and while Jade had been directing the others, Starry was making sure the foals all knew what they were doing. "Who knows the first rule?" she asked.

"Always stay with your buddy!"

"That's right. Don't go anywhere that your buddy can't see you. Does everyone know who their buddy is?" Starry smiled as she watched them pair up. "Good! Now, who knows what 'recon' means?"

"It means just looking!"

"Very good! Don't take anything the first time you see it. Remember where you found it and keep looking. When we all meet back here for supper, tell everyone what you saw and then we'll all go get it together." Half a dozen excited young faces looked up at her and nodded. "And all together now: what do you do if your buddy gets hurt or stuck?"

"Get help!" They all shouted.

Starry waved her hoof and sent the next generation of scavengers out into the ruins in their parents' footsteps. Once they had left her, she sat down and heaved an anxious sigh.

"With any luck, half of them might grow up to be good riggers," said Jade as she came up alongside Starry, alluding to the difficult and often dangerous job of running pulleys to lift and move heavy objects out of the rubble. "You've got patience for the little brats, I'll give you that much."

"Thank you. My son, Chance, wasn't much older when I started bringing him with me in the city ruins around home." Starry cleared her throat and stood up. "I should go have a look around."

"Stay," Jade said. "Help me set up the camp. There's something I want to discuss with you."

After unpacking the tents and inventorying their supply of food and salvaging equipment, they started a campfire and sat together on one side, facing out over the ruins. Jade stared silently out over the skyline of abandoned industry. After a minute she spoke, "What was your job back home? You weren't just a scavenger; I can tell."

"All the ponies of Precinct One-Seven-Three do scavenging. We were in the middle of a large city ruin, so there was a lot of scrap around that needed clearing. The rest of the time, though, I was an officer." Starry Night reached into one of her pockets and pulled out a polished metal pin and showed it to Jade. It was in the shape of a shield with the words "Serve and Protect" stamped into it. "We liaised with the civilians to coordinate where to focus the scavenging, what to look for, and if there was any trouble, we were there to deal with it."

Jade turned the shield over in her hoof a few times and gave it back. "Tell me what sorts of trouble you dealt with."

"Not much, honestly," Starry said, idly scratching at the ground with her hoof. "Mostly civilians getting into drunken brawls over who found what or who got to sleep where." She looked up to see Jade staring at her, patiently waiting for Starry to finish answering. "Ah, well there was one time when a squad of us were sent to break up a gang that had formed in one area. They weren't letting the civilians in to scavenge so we were told to, um. Deal with them." She cleared her throat and looked down into the fire, silently watching it burn.

"That's what I thought," Jade said smugly. "I've been on the lookout for someone to replace me. I'm getting too old to keep doing this, and I won't be around forever. This lot needs someone like you who can keep them in line. Don't worry, I'm not throwing you to the wolves just yet. It'll take time to build up trust with the team, especially with Anchor and his haulers; they've got more muscle than sense, but as long as you can bring in enough trade stock for Chrys to keep them boozed up, he'll treat you right."

Starry remained quiet, continuing to stare into the fire until she looked up and saw the cross look on Jade's face—it wasn't something she was supposed to refuse. "Thank you," she said. Her hoof absently reached into her pocket for a flask that wasn't there.

Brothers

Lucky Day ran until he couldn't see the diner anymore. Out of breath, he collapsed to his knees then slumped over to his side on the cold, barren ground. Rake stood over him, cast in the red glow of his horn.

"You think you can just lay down and die?"

"Watch me." Day closed his eyes.

Rake laughed. "It's not so easy." He circled around slowly while Day tried to ignore him. "I've seen it happen. You have to be pretty far gone already to go that peacefully. That rock in your side has to be uncomfortable."

Day grunted. "It's fine." He shifted a bit then rolled over to kick the pebble aside and laid back down.

"How long do you think you'll have to wait? You're well-fed, so it'll take at least a week to starve to death." Rake looked up into the sky. "Unless it rains, you'll die of dehydration first. What's that? Three days? That's a long time to wait here. It's chilly out, so maybe you'll freeze or the sun will come up and bake you instead. You don't think some nasty beast is going to come along and finish you off, do you? More likely it'll be a bunch of little scavengers. They might speed things up for you if they're hungry. You really expect me to believe you wouldn't go kicking and screaming?"

Day sat up and growled, "What do you want?"

"Me?" Rake laughed again. "I'm dead. I don't want anything. What do you want?"

"I want you to leave me alone!"

"And why would you want that?"

"It's hard enough to fit in without you constantly looming around."

"Don't blame me if you can't fit in. You lock yourself away and never talk to anyone. You drink their water and eat their food and don't give anything back. What do you expect?"

"I expect to not have to think about hurting everyone around me. When I first met you, you told me it always comes down to you-or-me. You put these thoughts in my head. It's all I can think about sometimes, and you make me afraid of what I might do."

"I beg your pardon." Rake feigned indignation. "I never told you to hurt anyone. That's all on you."

"But I don't want to hurt anyone! So why? Why are you here? Why do you always have to remind me what I'm capable of?"

"That's not me. That's the world you live in. That's the world that killed me. And if you don't want to end up like me, you need to remember it. No, you didn't ask for it; nobody did. But you were born here in this place at this time. Somewhere else, some other time, maybe things would be different. Right now, though, you need to pick yourself up and get your head out of the sand. There's a whole world out there and it will kill you—no escape, no bargain, no way out. You know what you do get to decide, though."

Lucky Day stared at Rake silently. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I get to decide how it kills me." He opened his eyes and Rake was gone. He turned around and started his walk back toward the diner.

Once upon a time . . .

Author's Note

With apologies to Hans Christian Andersen.

Once upon a time . . .

". . . there was a mother duck on a farm who was tending to her brood. One by one, all of her eggs hatched into pretty little ducklings except for one. It was larger than the rest and when it finally hatched, what came out was very ugly for a duckling.

"He was teased and picked on by the other ducklings and farm animals. Eventually he was unable to bear it any longer, and he ran away and lived alone in hiding as the seasons passed. So ashamed he was of his ugliness, he never looked upon himself reflected in the water.

"One day, a flock of beautiful swans happened upon him. They remarked to him how beautiful he was, and for the first time he looked at his reflection and saw that he looked just like them—that he had grown into a swan.

"But he soon learned that the other swans were all jerks to other animals, and he returned to the farm where everyone was stunned by his beauty. And he was nothing but kind and generous to them, not wanting to be like those other swans."

Chrysanthemum smiled down at the young boy she had taken in. He was resting comfortably on the booth seat next to her. Though wrapped in blankets, he was still shivering slightly, but he was awake and stared up at Chrysanthemum with eyes wide and curious.

"That's not how I remember that story ending," said Lucky Day, having entered the diner just as Chrysanthemum was finishing her story.

She shrugged. "I like my version. Are you feeling better?"

"I think so." He noticed the boy for the first time. "I thought all the kids went with Starry on the salvage team."

"They did. I found this one collapsed in the road when you ran off. I suppose it's lucky that you woke up or he might have been out there all night." Chrysanthemum stepped out of the booth. "Will you stay with him for few minutes while I fix something to eat?" She sensed Day's hesitation. "He likes listening to stories."

Lucky Day sat down on the opposite side of the table. "I'm not much of a storyteller."

"Then just talk to him. See if you can get him to tell you his name or where he's from. I won't be long." And with that, Chrysanthemum slipped behind the counter and into the back which doubled as both the stock room and her bedroom."

Lucky Day sat silently for a moment. His ears swiveled around, expecting to hear Rake's whispers, but there was nothing.

"Chrysanthemum is nice. You can trust her," he said finally, not looking directly at the boy. "I came here with nowhere else to go and she helped me. She helps everyone." After a quiet pause he brought himself to look at the boy's face; he was a small earth pony colt whose coat was stained in mud with only a few tufts of gray peeking through the caked-on grime. "Um. My name's Day. What's yours? How did you get here?"

The boy said nothing.

"I came from a big underground shelter. There were a lot of ponies living there. We had all the food and water we needed, and an entire mountain on top of us to keep the rest of the world out. Or . . . was it to keep us in?" Day shook his head to knock the stray thought loose. "I did something bad and I had to leave. Or . . . did I do something bad because I left?" Again he shook his head. "It was a long time ago. But after a while, I realized how terrible life there was. Not just for me but for everyone. It was all we ever knew so we were used to it." There was a spark in the boy's eyes. It was there for less than a second, but Day saw it. He knew that spark because he had seen it before in Rake's eyes. Day sat up straight. "You . . . you know what I'm talking about. Oh. I'm so sorry. Look, whatever you've been through . . ." He clenched his teeth. "I can't promise that life here is any easier. In a lot of ways, it's harder—for me it is anyway. But considering most of the other places I could be right now, I'm glad I'm here."

No longer shivering, the boy sat up straight. His forehooves reached out over the table and made some kind of gesture. Seeing the confused look on Lucky Day's face, he repeated the gesture. After a third attempt, the boy slammed his hooves on the table, slumped back into his blankets and started to cry silently.

Chrysanthemum returned from the back room to see this, and she hurried over to the table. "What happened?" she asked while comforting the boy with a hoof on his shoulders and a gentle shush.

"I don't know," said Lucky Day as he extracted himself from the booth. "I think he was trying to say something, but—" His eyes widened in realization. "He's mute. I remember something I read in the stable once; sometimes ponies are born who never learn to speak." He ducked behind the counter and rummaged through the supply of scrap materials until he came out with a piece of chalk. Day made a mark on the table in front of the boy. He set down the chalk and asked, "Can you draw a picture?"

The boy looked up at ponies who had taken him in then down at the chalk. He picked it up and hesitated for a moment, staring at the canvas in front of him. He began to draw.

Competing Interests

Trowel tossed restlessly on his mattress. It was lumpy, and he hadn't had a proper night's sleep in two days because of it. The bumping and rocking of his carriage wasn't helping either. He ground his teeth at the thought of suffering through an entire week of living in this squalor. Finally, he sat up and furiously stomped his hooves into his pillow before throwing it and his blanket against the wall.

There was a knock from the driver at the front of the carriage. Trowel banged his horn on the roof of the carriage as he stood. Muttering under his breath and idly rubbing his horn, he climbed up and poked his head through the curtain. "You're interrupting my sleep. This has better be important," he said.

The driver, an old and wrinkled earth pony pointed ahead of their convoy. After two days in the rolling dunes of the wastes, they had at last found what they were looking for; tall, angular and jagged structures broke through the horizon. It was like the stalk of a carrot ripe for picking. Trowel breathed a sigh of relief. He won't go home empty-handed and soon he'll be back in his own bed.

Even more than that, the whole reason for taking this arduous journey was because of what he'd heard from the last trader caravan that came by the plantation: There's a city by the coast, the merchant pony told him while buying up every last potato and cabbage from the harvest. They're hungry and not just for food but machines. Big machines from the old empire lost in the industrial ruins were worth as much as a shipment of crops twice their weight. With all his wagons loaded up from this scrapyard, Trowel would command the attention of Precinct 173.

Trowel snatched the reins away from the driver and repeatedly snapped them at the lead ponies pulling his carriage. "Pick up the pace!" he shouted.

Starry Night was flying above industrial ruins that she and the other ponies from Mum's Diner had set up camp in.

They had all risen with the sun and were making their way through the ruined complex. Based on the previous night's reconnaissance, and with Starry's areal view, she knew just where to lead them: there was a workshop on the north side of the ruins. When Jade had heard about the heavy machines inside, she immediately decided that they would focus all their efforts there; weigh the carts down with a couple of those and go home--they were worth more than their weight in water and could be loaded up in a single day's work.

Starry watched over her team as they wound their way through the ruins. It was a familiar duty, though one she hadn't practiced for several years before joining Jade and the others from the diner. It was all second nature to Starry; it was her special talent after all. Her cutie mark was a constellation in the shape of a compass rose. "I'm good at finding things," she told people. That was the easiest way she could describe it, and nobody ever asked for more detail.

In Precinct 173, she had earned promotion to an officer due to her knack for leading her team to where they needed to be. Together they had recovered a wealth of scrap materials from the city ruins around her home.

That was another lifetime. Starry shook her head to clear away a stray thought while she scanned around the ruins — a routine part of her job as the eye in the sky.

There was a railroad that ran through the ruins. It stretched beyond both the north and south horizons. The barren sands stretched out for miles in all directions, but something in the northeast caught Starry's attention; a cloud of dust kicked up by a convoy of wagons was moving in their direction.

Starry spilled air from under her wings and circled lower, waving to catch Jade's attention. She set down away from the team and waited as Jade ran over to meet her.

"We have company," Starry said. "Northeast. Too far out to get a good count, but it looked like at least five wagons, so I'd guess three or four dozen."

Jade frowned. "We'd be outnumbered if they decide to pick a fight. Do you think they saw you?"

Starry shrugged. Certainly, she had been flying low enough to be in their field of view. "Probably. What should we do?"

Jade glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the machine shop and then toward their camp at the southern side of the ruins. "This is further out than we've been before, and I never met a scavenger team that big, so they probably don't know who we are. That can work in our favor as much as against us. Let's assume they saw you and know someone is here. What's the worst way this can play out?"

"If we do nothing?" Starry thought for a moment. The entire team in one place was a giant glowing sign that pointed directly at the best loot. "They find where we're working and take it for themselves." Why spend time looking around for yourself when you can let someone else do the recon for you? "We should pull back and find lighter scrap close to camp until we can establish contact and negotiate salvage rights."

"You're used to thinking like you have other teams you can call for backup. If they're as big as you say, there won't be rights to negotiate for." Jade shook her head. "No way are we giving up those machines. One good haul from here and we can keep the diner stocked for months." She paced slowly as she considered her options and weighed the risks. Time was short, so she settled on a plan quickly. "Gather the kids and send them to the east side. Tell them to pick up whatever they can carry and make a lot of noise doing it. You and Anchor meet me at the northeast corner. We'll have a chat with our new neighbors and buy time to get one or two machines loaded up."

"Yes ma'am." Starry nodded to Jade and the two parted ways.

Jade made her way across the cracked and rubble-strewn pavement to the edge of the ruins. She had expected something like this to happen; traders made their living by spreading tips about what was in demand after all. But with Starry's maps and insight, she'd thought they'd have more time. She looked out across the barren earth at the swirling dust cloud kicked up by dozens of sets of hooves on their rapid approach. Jade had thought Starry's estimate impossible until she saw it with her own eyes.

Possession

Starry and Anchor had joined Jade at the northern corner of the ruins. Their competition's caravan was rapidly approaching with a billowing cloud of dust trailing behind them, kicked up by the thunderous gallop of dozens of sets of hooves. The three of them stood out in the open, their heads held high as they waited. "As far as they know, we match them in numbers," Jade said. The disorganized clatter and clamor the foal team echoed through the ruins behind them. "Don't let them think otherwise."

Anchor was a large earth pony with a shaggy coat the color of rust. He carried a sledge hammer across his back that matched the hammer emblazoned on his flank—a talent for throwing his weight around as he described it. "What's the play, boss?" he asked.

"I do the talking. You stand there and look ready to crack some skulls. If they're fixing for a fight or call our bluff, you and me fall back to the machine shop. Starry, you'll round up the foals and get them back to the diner. Understood? Good." Jade watched the caravan drawing closer, and corner of her lips drew back in a smirk as she realized that what she lacked in numbers, she made up for in experience. "Starry, do you see what they're doing wrong?"

Starry squinted, unsure what Jade could possibly see from here. They were still too far out to even make out the individual ponies pulling the wagons, which she found almost surprising given how much ground they had already covered since she spotted them.

"Whoever's running the show out there is driving them too hard," Jade said. "In this heat their wagon teams are going to be falling over by the time they get here." Old as she was, Jade's mind was as sharp as ever and was already turning through plans to put this insight to use. True to the spirit of her tipped scales cutie mark, she always sought ways to shift the balance in her favor. "We'll play this one aggressive. This is our turf and they need to step off."

"Can we really pull that off with just the three of us?" Starry asked. "Surely some of them will be riding those carts and will be in fighting condition when they get here."

"Nopony wants to get into a scrap if they don't have to. If we show even the slightest sign of weakness, they'll kick us out immediately. But if we stand our ground and act like we can take them on, they might just think we're stronger than we look and back down." Jade looked over at Starry. "Officers in Precinct are used to having the upper hoof, are they?"

"We never went into a fight we didn't know we would win. But I see your point: If we give them doubt that they can win, we can at least delay a fight." Starry put a hoof over her pocket, feeling over the outline of her badge within while she considered something. She had mentioned her past in Precinct One-Seven-Three to Jade a few times over the years, but it was only since they had come to these ruins that Jade had shown any interest in it.

The approaching caravan became a roar of hooves, now having drawn close enough to make out individual ponies. They continued galloping at full speed as though intent to trample anyone in their path. Anchor pulled the hammer off his back and reared up on his hind legs, ready to swing, and the lead wagon team flinched. They dug their hooves in and skidded to a stop before they came too close. The two wagons behind had little time to react and turned away to either side, but too sharply. One wagon tipped over on its side, throwing a dozen ponies onto the ground while the other snapped an axle and ground to a halt. The remaining wagons in the rear had just enough time to brake steadily and rolled up alongside the lead carriage.

Anchor came back down onto all four hooves and set the heavy head of his hammer on the ground. Pleased with himself, he grinned triumphantly.

Dust swirled up around the caravan, blanketing the chaos of shouting that followed in the wreckage of their sudden stop. One voice rose above them all, accompanied by the orange glow of unicorn magic that shined through the cloud and the loud crack of the whip carried in his aura. All the other shouts fell silent, leaving only the muffled coughs of dozens of ponies scrambling their way out into the open air.

Rising above the cloud, Trowel stood atop the roof of his carriage. He looked down over the three ponies standing their ground between him and his prize. He cracked the whip and snarled. "You're in my way! Move!" His gaze turned to the team hitched to his caravan, now becoming visible as the dust settled. They were slumped down and doubled over gasping for breath. Again he snapped the whip, aimed just above their heads. The exhausted earth ponies recoiled from the loud boom in their ears. "On your feet!" Trowel barked.

"We're not going anywhere," Jade shouted. "This is our—"

Trowel stamped his hooves on the roof his carriage. "Be quiet, nag! I'll have you moved." He looked over his shoulder and whistled. "Get up front! There's a pile of trash blocking the road!"

Six earth ponies, each rivaling Anchor in size and muscular bulk, climbed out of the rear wagons and obediently strode toward Jade's line. Anchor hefted his hammer once more and locked eyes with the closest one.

"Fall back!" called Jade. Her bluff hadn't been called so much as it had been completely ignored. She was already turning over a new strategy in her head as the three of them turned and ran.

They were nearly to the point where Starry was supposed to break off to go evacuate the foals when she glanced over at Jade and saw the determination etched in her wrinkled face. Suddenly the larger picture came into focus for her: why the sudden interest in her past at Precinct, why the priority focus on such heavy, cumbersome machines, why the fierce competition. Precinct was buying the machines. "Go on ahead," she said. "I can negotiate a deal."

Before Jade could say anything, Starry took off into the air and circled back toward the caravan, leaving her and Anchor skidding to a stop.

"I'll back her up," Anchor said.

Jade stopped him. "Dammit. No." Her head whipped around rapidly, looking back toward Starry and in the directions of the foals and the machine shop, reevaluating her risk assessments. "You get the foals back to camp. If the rest of us don't show up soon, leave without us." Anchor hesitated while she started off after Starry. She glanced back and shouted, "Go!"

He didn't always understand Jade's orders; he was her best fighter, so he should be the one charging back in. But he did understand that her orders always had a way of working out, so he shouldered his hammer and went looking for the foals.

Back at the caravan, Trowel impatiently tapped his hoof on the roof of his carriage while his earth pony workers hastily tried to get the wagons moving again. A shadow passed over him and he glanced up to see a pegasus mare gliding down in a circle toward him. The polished metal badge pinned to her vest glinted in the sunlight and briefly blinded him.

Starry hovered just over him with the sun at her back. "Your name, civilian," she said.

Trowel squinted as he looked up at her. "Who are—"

"I am Captain Starry Night, Precinct One-Seven-Three Expeditionary Force. Your name, civilian," she repeated.

Trowels eyes widened. "Captain. It's an honor." He brushed a hoof through his mane and stood up straight. "Please excuse my disarray, I—"

"I want your name for my report."

"Your report?"

"You have interfered with Precinct salvage operations being conducted with local civilians. I'm still waiting for your name."

"Wait! Wait! Captain, please. This is all a misunderstanding." He caught the officer's indignant stare. "Trowel. My name is Trowel. My apologies. I didn't know Precinct was operating directly this far inland. And well, you know the riffraff around here are nothing but brutish thugs; the only way to deal with them is with an iron hoof. If you could possibly overlook this small incident, this minor mistake. It's insignificant, really. No harm was done. Surely you can see that I bring with me so many workers. Huge amounts of ponypower, ready and able to move anything you need. Let's work together here."

"Be quiet," Starry said. She needed to get him to stay out of the way and quickly. She looked around at his so-called workers: those six enforcers aside, the rest were clearly malnourished and bore a myriad of bruises and scars evident of slavery. "It looks like your . . . workers are in need of rest. You've lost equipment in the dirt and you have a broken wagon."

"It's nothing. We're ready to—"

"Make camp here and wait. I will return this evening after I've finished my work for today, and we'll settle terms for your employment. Then maybe I'll reconsider how I will describe you in my report." Starry waited only long enough to get an affirmative out of Trowel and took off before he could start babbling again.

She found Jade not far away, observing from behind cover. Starry set down close-by and heaved a sigh of relief. "We have the rest of the day to load up what we can. Why didn't you tell me it's Precinct buying this stuff? I could have saved us the trouble."

Jade scowled. "Because you're not really from Precinct anymore and I didn't want to risk drawing their attention if I didn't have to. But it's done now. We have work to do. Go find Anchor and tell him to get back to the shop. You stay at camp on baby-sitting duty and don't run off with a plan of your own without running it past me again."

Starry pulled the badge off her vest and tucked it back into her pocket. "Yes, ma'am."

Campfire Stories

In the end, the salvage team from Mum's Diner was able to haul away one of the large machines and several smaller tools. They broke away from the ruins immediately and made for the hills in the south, traveling at a careful pace to not kick up too much dust and give away their escape. Nobody spoke at all until it was well into the night and Jade said to make camp.

All at once that deadly silence gave way to a quiet murmur as everyone set to work. Starry Night stayed by Jade's side while the old mare took a slow stroll around the dusty, dry-packed earth where they'd stopped. Occasionally she would kick aside a small pebble.

"Anchor." He had been hanging back from Jade a short distance away and she already had his attention when she called for it. "I drove your team hard today. Take what's left of the moonshine in my bag and do with it what you will. You did good. Thank you."

The towering earth pony's eyes lit up and he ran off with a joyous spring in his step. The sight reminded Starry of a young child being let out to play with his friends and she made a quiet chuckle. Her laugh was cut short with a single glance from Jade. It was not her turn to say anything.

"Hoist." Jade called and the rigging team leader quickly showed up at her side. She was a petite unicorn with a blonde coat and a grease-smudged pink mane. "How heavy is that machine? Was there any damage from the lift?"

"We used the five ton winch to lift it and it wasn't scary, but I am worried the cart will break before we get home, so I'd put it at two tons. Lift was clean."

"Is the cart going to break tonight?"

"We're cribbing it now to keep weight off the axles. Tonight will be safe."

"Good work. Thank you. We're gathering around the fire when you're finished securing it."

"Starry. Come sit next to me at the fire."

The two sat in silence while the camp went up around them in a matter of minutes. Jade turned her head slowly as she listened. She could hear a group of three foals taking turns chasing each other behind the lead wagon. Anchor's team was already drunk and trying to roughhouse quietly, and were doing a surprisingly good job at it. The campfire crackled.

Anchor was boasting to his team about the showdown he'd had that day.

"There was thirty of them. All running straight at me," he told them.

"Were they big like you?"

"These ones? Nah." He snorted. "They were puny. I gave them one look and half of them just fell over on top of the other half. But then there was this other half that showed up. They were big. Big as that back-breaker Hoist saddled me with."

"You're welcome!" piped the small mare. "Can you even fight that many at once by yourself?"

"I'd love to find out." He shrugged. "Boss said fall back."

"Children, gather around the fire," Jade called out. It was the first time anyone had spoken above a whisper since they'd stopped to make camp. All the foals came running and pressed in around the circle near their friends and parents. Everyone was quiet and waiting for Jade.

"Today was a success. You all did your jobs and we're all still here. Thank you. And thanks to Starry Night, we were able to dodge a fight." At that, everyone shifted their attention to her. "Starry Night. Your quick assessment of the situation bought us time to finish the salvage, but you acted recklessly with your own life and identifying yourself as an officer of Precinct One-Seven-Three may cause us other problems in the future. I can't be too hard on you, because I might have agreed to your plan anyway, but we'll never know because you didn't ask me first."

"Take out your badge," Jade said. "Pass it around the circle so everypony can see it."

The small silver shield sparkled in the light of the campfire. A bright beacon that slowly wandered around in the darkness where Starry could see it but not reach it.

"Tell everypony what an officer of Precinct One-Seven-Three is."

"Precinct is where I came from. In Precinct there are two types of ponies: officers and civilians. Officers are elite squads whose job is stamped into that shield: 'Serve And Protect'. We—" Starry halted. What she was saying didn't sound right. She knew the words. She'd said them dozens of times.

Jade leaned close and whispered, "Continue the story."

"They round up rebellious gangs who don't want to share salvage rights with them. And they buy most of the food and best salvage from from every trader in the region."

"And who are the civilians?"

"Everypony else."

The wandering flicker of Starry's badge completed its way around the circle and into Jade's hoof. She tucked the badge into her own pocket. "Starry Night, are you an officer of Precinct One-Seven-Three?"

"No."

Jade looked out over the circle of ponies gathered around the fire with her and she smiled. "Enjoy dinner and get a good night's sleep. We still have a long drive home with a wagon that may not make it that far. And Anchor: I counted six. If you ever find out how many bruisers you can fight at once, let me know." A hushed laughter rippled around the circle followed by quiet conversations, their attentions now released from Jade.

She and Starry stayed up, waiting for everyone else to get up from the campfire and go to bed. The fire was down to mostly glowing coals by the time Anchor drunkenly staggered his way over to say goodnight. He mentioned to Starry that he had fun being on the other side of the circle before Jade shooed him away.

"What was all that?" Starry asked.

"When I call the children to gather around the fire, it's because we have a story to tell. Stories are how we understand each other and ourselves. As their leader, I have to listen to their stories. To make them a good team, I have to help shape their stories so they're all telling the same one. I have to show you how to do this before you can take over."

Starry quietly stared into the fading embers while her hoof reached into her pocket for a flask that wasn't there.

"I've listened to a lot of stories in my life," said Jade. "One story everypony loves to tell is their cutie mark story, but I've never heard you tell yours."

Starry forced a laugh. "It's not that I don't like telling that story, it's just that I don't like having to explain my special talent after I tell it."

"Then don't explain it. Tell the story."

Starry closed her eyes and took a deep breath while she turned her face toward the night sky. "I wasn't originally from Precinct. My family was a small tribe, and we spent most of our time traveling. I learned to navigate by the stars from them. One day we heard about a city ruin along the coast where somepony had gotten an old desalination plant running. With that much fresh water, we could build a real home. But one night on the way there, we were caught in a thunderstorm and got lost. There was lightning and hail and the best shelter we had was to huddle together against a steep hillside. We tried to ride it out, but the storm was only getting stronger. So I made a break for it. I flew up into the freezing rain and somehow didn't get blown away by the wind." She opened her eyes and smiled. "When I broke through the top of the clouds it was unbelievable. Everything was suddenly so calm. It was like I was floating along with all the stars in the sky. I found my bearings and when I got back down to the surface, I was able to guide everypony to an abandoned settlement I knew was nearby where we were able to find proper shelter."

There was a quiet pause after Starry thought she had finished.

"Continue the story," Jade said. "What happened after that?"

"After? Well, we made it to the city and—"

"You can stop," Jade interrupted. She leaned closer and spoke quietly. "Before I can teach you how to shape everypony else's stories, you have to understand your own. Earning your cutie mark isn't a magical moment that happens around you. It's a moment of clarity that happens inside you. It's how you tell that story that makes it magical. Forget how you got there and where you were going. In that moment there above the clouds, as you stared into the dark sky, what did you see?"

Starry hesitated. "I saw . . . I saw every path I ever took—could ever take. It was all there written in a million tiny specks of light. I knew where I was, and I saw myself. I was so small and so insignificant, floating through the sky, just watching everything unfold."

Jade hummed. "We'll work on it. But that's your story now. The next time you tell it, build on what you saw and the path you take after that."

The Runaway

The boy who had found his way to Mum's Diner, unable to speak but encouraged to tell his story, scribbled across the tabletop with chalk. He drew a small house, filled and surrounded by several stick figure ponies, and a large house with only a couple stick figures in it. Unfortunately, who any of them were, where this was, or what any of it meant was lost on the ponies who had taken him in. They asked questions and made guesses, but the longer it went on, the more chaotic and incomprehensible the chalk lines became as he tried to answer.

To Chrysanthemum's changeling senses, the boy's frustration had the flavor of raw pepper seeds growing hotter by the second. She reached out a hoof an gently pat the boy on his shoulder to interrupt him, and he looked up at her, his eyes already welling with tears. "It's okay," she said as she pushed a plate of cornmeal biscuits toward the boy. "We'll figure something out."

The boy took a few deep breaths then started to eat. He took curious nibbles at first; the biscuits were dry and bland, but he was starving and quickly set to devouring them.

Chrys let out a small sigh in relief as her senses cleared. She glanced over at Day. His head was tilted and his eyes darted around the table; he was still trying to piece together the boy's story. Everything was a puzzle to him, but this one was difficult to even begin without something to anchor it—a "corner piece" as he would describe it to her.

"What if we start with something simple?" Chrys proposed. Day and the boy looked up at her while her horn lit up and she grasped hold of the chalk in her chartreuse aura. She cleared a small area on the table and drew a circle with a few lines radiating out from it.

The boy looked at the drawing and after a moment held up his hoof.

Chrys mirrored the boy's gesture. "The sun?" she asked. After he nodded she drew a crescent shape, and he turned his hoof to the side. Day followed along and asked, "The moon?" Again the boy nodded. He was smiling, and for the first time in a while, Chrys sensed the sweet flavor of joy. She passed the chalk back to the boy. He thought quietly for a moment, then drew a small stick figure and tapped his hoof to his chest. This is me, he told them. He drew a larger stick figure next to himself and brought his hoof under his chin with a small looping motion. Chrys and Day repeated the sign, and after a pause Day guessed, "Is that your mother?" Again the boy nodded. This is my mother.

They continued this way, slowly building a vocabulary of hoof signs. Chrys was able to keep up with the simple words and some short phrases, but Day quickly outpaced her as he and the boy started building sentences and moving too fast for her to catch the individual signs. All the same, she was happy to see the two of them communicating and even more so that her empathic senses, for the first time in a long while, tasted only calm coming from Day.

Eventually, Chrysanthemum excused herself. Tired, she signed. "I need to go back to bed." She paused as she got up from the table, though. "What about your name?" she asked.

The boy blinked and chewed his lip, seemingly unsure how to answer.

Lucky Day tapped his hoof to his chest. "I'm Day."

The boy made the sign for "sun" and moved it in an arc. Day.

"And I'm Chrysanthemum, or just Chrys for short." She could tell from the boy's bewildered expression that he had no sign for that. She chuckled. "It's a type of flower."

His eyes lit up and held up one foreleg straight with his other hoof on top of it. Flower.

"And how about you?"

He chewed his lip again, then looked to Day and made a series of gestures: looped under his chin, drew his hoof out in a line from his lips, tapped his chest, and raised his hoof straight up.

"He says his mother calls him . . . Sunrise?" Day said, making a guess at the last sign. The boy nodded enthusiastically.

Chrys smiled and gave him a gentle pat on his shoulder. "Welcome to Mum's Diner, Sunrise. When you get tired, Day can set you up with a place to sleep, and I'll help you get settled in the morning. Okay?"

Good night. Thank you, Sunrise signed.

It'll Be Okay

Lucky Day stayed up through the night, learning Sunrise's sign language. He spoke aloud only to ask for a sign or to confirm its meaning. Bit by bit, he was able to start holding a conversation with the young colt who in turn was able to tell his story more freely now that someone could understand him.

Mother says my voice got trapped in the moon, so she taught me to use my hooves to talk to her. She says I'm lucky—that staying quiet means I won't catch the masters' attention or make them mad by mistake.

Who are the masters?

They tell us what to do. Mostly 'grow more food' and 'grow it faster'. Sunrise pointed at a few of the ponies he had drawn on the table and waved his hoof around the large house. He then put a hoof to his forehead and raised it up.

Day mirrored the sign. "They're Unicorns? Like Chrys?"

Sunrise's eyes widened, and he sat up straight, shaking his head vehemently. They're not like Chrysanthemum at all! He tapped his hooves together hesitantly. The masters are mad all the time. They hit us when they don't like the work we do. Sometimes for no reason.

Did they hit you?

He gave a slight nod. Sometimes.

I got hit a lot in the stable. I'm sorry.

It's okay. Mother's right: I'm lucky. Master Spade hits the hardest because he likes to hear us in pain, but he left me alone because I stay quiet.

Day sat still in stunned silence. His head felt like a freshly opened box of puzzle pieces—a thousand tiny fragments of thoughts, images, and questions, all half-formed and many too gruesome to bear. He closed his eyes and took a breath while he told himself to focus, find a corner to anchor himself. How far away from here?

Sunrise shook his head slightly as he tried to think. A long way. I keep moving day after day after day . . . He shrugged. Everything before he woke up at the diner wrapped in a blanket and with Chrysanthemum watching over him was all blurred together. It had felt like an unending dream. The dull ache that still lingered in his muscles was the only thing that told him it had been real.

Did anyone else come with you?

No. I couldn't tell anyone.

How did you get away?

There was a big rain. It made the ground soft and I dug under the wall during the night.

What made you leave? Lucky Day asked.

Sunrise made the sign for "mother" then held out booth hooves, one facing up, the other down, and then he flipped them over.

What is . . . Day asked, repeating the new sign.

Sunrise stared at him blankly, caught off-guard by the question. He wasn't sure how to explain it right away. He looked down at the chalk drawing of his mother and, after a long pause, he rubbed his hoof over it, erasing her. My mother died. Tears welled up in his eyes. He gestured around the drawing of the farm then made the sign for "bad." He sniffled and repeated the sign, his hooves trembling, and again, this time so emphatic that his hoof slammed the table. That place is terrible!

"But it was all you ever knew . . ." Day whispered. He felt a chill along the back of his neck. He started to reach out across the table, but stopped himself, grimacing. "My mother died too," he said.

Sunrise slipped under the table and climbed up into the seat next to Day, throwing his forelegs around him tightly while quietly sobbing into his shoulder.

Lucky Day tensed up at the touch. His mind raced as he tried to figure out what to do.

"Tell him it'll be okay," said Rake. He was sitting across the table with his back against the wall and a strange look on his face; Rake was always smiling, but not now. "I know you hate hearing that sort of thing from others, but that's a you-problem. There's no puzzle to solve here. He just needs to know someone cares about him." Rake turned his head to look Day in the eye, and there was that spark again.

Lucky Day blinked, and the ghost vanished, and so did the tension in his chest. He took a deep breath and wrapped his wing around Sunrise. "It'll be okay," he said. No sooner had it said it than he felt a rush. "It'll be okay." He kept repeating it, as if a great reservoir had suddenly burst its dam and those words were flooding out of him.

Next Door Neighbors

Within the forest nearby Mum's Diner there lived a village of zebras. Well ahead of dawn, while the rest of the tribe still slept soundly, Kijiba took advantage of the early morning privacy. In the peaceful solitude under the dim moonlight that filtered down through the tall trees, he walked to the clearing by the river's edge to exercise until the songbirds began heralding the coming of the sun.

Kijiba washed away the sweat of his workout in the river, dried off and covered himself from withers to hooves under his hempen cloak. He gathered two buckets of water from the river and carried them on a yoke across his shoulders to a massive elder willow tree with a large hollow into which his home was built. There, he was able to conduct his studies out of sight from his tribemates.

He lit a small fire within the hearth and set a clay pot over it to boil water for his morning tea. This particular brew required a special ingredient that Kijiba kept inside a dedicated cabinet. Though his current supply was more than enough to last him several months, he took a moment to inspect the recent harvest which was still in the process of drying. They were flowers with broad, deep blue petals. Though these flowers were notorious for causing a wide range of unpleasant effects, it was only their pollen that was responsible for this. By carefully removing their stamens and rinsing them, Kijiba had rendered them safe to handle.

After collecting a few of the dry petals, Kijiba set them into a small clay cup. Once the water was boiling, he poured it over the petals and left them to steep for a few minutes while he opened the heavy tome on his table. On the page before him was an incomplete charcoal rendering of a long and wickedly curved horn. From the drawer under the table, Kijiba retrieved the horn itself to resume his work. He was just about to press his stylus to the page when there came a knock at his door.

Kijiba opened the door. "Chrysanthemum!" he said, quickly embracing the unicorn. "Day," he continued with a nod to the pegasus. "What a joyous surprise to see you both again. It's been too long. And who is this with you?" he asked, noticing the wide-eyed earth pony foal they had with them.

The boy made a series of hoof gestures.

"His name is Sunrise, and he says your garden is very beautiful; he's never seen so many different flowers," Day said, interpreting. "He can't speak, but he's been teaching me the sign language his mother taught him."

"Thank you, I take special care to include as many varieties as I can find. And how wonderful to see someone so young passing on knowledge. Please, come inside," Kijiba said, ushering them into his home and closing the door. He knelt down to eye-level with Sunrise and smiled. "Hello, Sunrise. My name is Kijiba."

Sunrise flicked his hoof under his chin.

"That's the sign he's using for your name," said Day. "On the way here, I suggested he use the sign for 'answer' because it's the closest word I could think of that shares a root with your name."

"Close enough." Kijiba nodded. "Are you feeling well, Sunrise? May I have a look at you?" After a brief examination, Kijiba stood up and turned to Day and Chrys. "I see no sign of injury or deformity that would preven—" He stopped abruptly as his voice cracked, shifting upward in pitch.

Kijiba cleared his throat and sat down at the table, quickly drinking his tea. He took a deep breath and put on a disarming smile. "Excuse me," he said, his voice now returned to its normal tenor. "He has been chronically malnourished, but appears to be in good health otherwise. I'm afraid I don't know why. . ." He noticed a strange look from Chrysanthemum.

"Is that what I think it is?" she asked, pointing to the changeling queen's horn on the table.

"Oh. Yes." Kijiba quickly stowed it back in its drawer and closed his book. "I'm sorry. Have I disturbed you?"

Chrys shook her head. "It's fine. I just wasn't expecting to see that. They haven't returned have they?"

"I remain vigilant, but the tribe has shown no sign of their influence, and the local fauna populations have been recovering. I believe you were correct: without their queen, the drones have abandoned this place."

Chrys muttered under her breath—a vain hope that they had all starved. "Good." She smiled. "Thank you for checking over Sunrise, but there's actually another reason we brought him here: Day was able to learn that he escaped from slavery, and I'm worried that somepony might be tracking him. Everypony else from the diner is away on salvage, and they aren't due back for another week, so I thought it might be safer for us to hide out here until they return. Is that alright?"

Kijiba leaned back in his seat and heaved a deep sigh. "Were it up to me, absolutely. But what you ask. . . I cannot speak for my tribe. Such a decision belongs to our chief." Hesitantly, he added, "I will bring this matter to him."

"That's great. Lead the way."

"I'm sorry, but the chief is very suspicious of outsiders. Ever since the changelings were unmasked, he has kept himself isolated from all but his trusted family. It is difficult even for me to meet with him."

Chrys balked, "But you're the shaman. And we're—"

Kijiba took hold of Chrysanthemum's hoof. "I know. I will help you no matter what. But the chief will not see you. While I speak to him, why don't you go down to the river? Just follow the path over the hill to the clearing. Sunrise can get cleaned up there, and I will meet with you as soon as I'm finished."

Chrys sighed, nodding. "Thank you."

Chief Kudumu Asili was an elderly zebra whose black stripes were mottled with gray and his left pupil was clouded, nearly white from cataracts. He wore a heavy gold torque around his neck and sat atop the throne of the first chief of all zebras (or so it was said to be), carved from ebony with intricate, though tarnished, silver filigree inlays. The throne was atop a small raised dias overlooking the long, dust-covered banquet table inside the village's lodge.

Upon the chief's head was an elaborate headdress of phoenix feathers worn by every chief since the founding of his village. Many of the feathers had since fallen out, leaving a noticeable gap on the right side, and Kudumu had to frequently adjust it to sit level across his forehead.

Kijiba had once found reference to the headdress in the book written by the tribe's first shaman; it described the construction using red dye and chicken feathers. He kept this to himself.

"Chief Kudumu Asili, thank you for agreeing to—"

"Who is this before me? Has my beloved Swali returned to me?" Chief Kudumu leaned forward, squinting. "I see no child of mine, only a crude imitation. Perhaps you are a changeling usurper here to entrance me."

"There is no Swali. I am Kijiba. Please, I am your shaman and I bring an important matter. You must hear—"

"Already you presume to tell me what I must do," the chief scoffed. He slouched into his seat, resting his cheek on his hoof. "Speak, shaman. What ill portent have you seen in your latest augury?"

"Ponies of Mum's Diner have come to me seeking—"

"Send them away." Kudumu waived his hoof dismissively.

"They bring a child—"

"We have enough children of our own to care for."

"He has escaped from captivity, and they fear they will be unable to protect him while their kin—"

"So you would surround them with the lives of my own kin?" Kudumu banged on the arm of his throne. "I should send you away with them for even considering such a foul notion!"

"These are the same ponies who helped to free us from the vile changelings. We owe—"

"We owe nothing to no pony!"

"Father—"

"You have no father!" he yelled, leaping from his seat and raising a hoof as if to strike.

Kijiba remained still as the two of them locked eyes.

Kudumu turned away, his arthritic joints creaking as he stiffly climbed back onto his throne. "Go. Return to your perverse magicks and do not let me hear any more of ponies within my home."

Kijiba walked slowly out of the hall. As he reached the threshold, he glanced back over his shoulder. "You will know where to find me." Once outside, he raised the hood of his cloak and kept his eyes low, avoiding contact with any of his tribemates along the way back to his home on the village outskirts. There, he collected a number of his things and loaded them onto a small cart, pulling it behind him as he went to find his friends by the river.

The River's Edge

Sunrise frolicked and splashed in the cool, crystal-clear river. The mud that had caked into his mane and fur had washed away to reveal a bright yellow coat and a shining silver mane and tail.

Chrysanthemum and Lucky Day sat at the edge, dipping their hooves in while they watched him.

"Was I like him when I first arrived at the diner?" Day asked.

"Like him how?" Chrys smiled coyly.

"Cold, dirty, and starving? Running away from something awful?"

Chrys hummed quietly. "I think most of us were like that when we arrived. You have more in common with everypony else than I think you like to believe." She lifted a small stone in her chartreuse aura and skipped it across the river. "Why do you ask?"

Lucky Day picked up a similar stone in his hoof and tossed it. The stone landed halfway across and sank straight down. "Look at him: I've never been that happy in my life. A warm blanket, a meal, a bath, and a safe place to sleep, and he's like a brand new pony after one night. Five years and I still feel like I just walked out of the stable." He sighed.

Chrys closed her eyes and focused on her changeling senses. Day's moods were frequently volatile, but she tasted only calm now as she had the night before. She put a hoof on his back and gently soothed between his shoulders; she could feel the tension in his muscles fade under her gentle touch.

He chuckled softly.

"What's funny?"

"Just remembering something somepony told me on my first night outside. I told him about the stable, and he said, 'What a perfect name for a civilized society: Stable. Everything's static, always stays the same, never falls apart, and every day is exactly the same as what came before.' He was right: Nothing and nobody ever changed in there. Everyone was just a replaceable part. When someone died, there was someone else to take their place and everything went on staying the same. And here I am, cog without a machine. I'll never get better because I can't change. I don't know how."

"I think you're better today than you were yesterday."

"What about tomorrow? Or in another year? Or a decade? What if something happens to you or Starry or. . ." He gestured toward Sunrise.

"What if something happens to you?" Chrys countered. "The reason I found Sunrise before the cold got him was because of you. The reason we're here right now is because you could understand him. You've already changed the course of his life just by being out here. You're not replaceable. You can change." She leaned in close and whispered, "I know a thing or two about that, remember?"

"I think it works a little different for you."

"In practice, maybe, but I bet I can adapt the theory for you. Lesson one: What do you want?"

Day thought quietly for a long moment. At length, he shrugged and said, "I want to be happy."

"Okay. Lesson two: do something about it." Chrys stood up and waded a few steps out into the river. She turned around and extended her hoof to Day. He reached out and, hoof-in-hoof with her, waded out to meet Sunrise. "Sunrise, how do you sign 'splash?'" Chrys asked.

The colt grinned deviously as he brought his hoof near the side of his face then swept it down in an arc, sweeping under the water as he did so, and kicking up a spray of water as his hoof came back up in a rapid flourish. Splash!

Chrys turned to Day and repeated the gesture, dousing him in the process.

Day brushed his mane out of his eyes while water streamed down his face. Shaking his head, he sighed. "Okay. But this was your idea." His wings unfurled and curled over, sweeping under the water, they scooped out a wave that came crashing down over Chrys. Her raucous laughter was infectious, and he soon joined her, though in a more subdued chuckle.

After trading splashes a few more times, all three ponies made their way back onto the river bank. Chrys did her best to wring the water out of her long mane, but she knew she'd have to properly brush and style it back into her usual bouncy curls. "Well? Did you feel a change?" she asked.

Day let out a relaxed sigh. "Maybe. I guess your theory is sound, but I'll have to work on the practical application myself."

Sunrise jumped up and started waving. Kijiba is back!

Their zebra friend came trotting into the clearing, towing a small cart behind him. "I have bad news, I'm afraid," he said. "The chief wants you out of the village. But I promised to help you, so I will come with you. We should leave immediately." Chrys was initially reluctant to let Kijiba take the risk alone for them, but ultimately accepted, and the four of them set off through the woods back to Mum's Diner.

Haunted

I can't see the way forward.

Smoke fills the hallway. It stings my eyes, and I choke on every breath. The heat of the fire on my back is all I have to keep me going in the right direction—I can only hope it's the right direction.

I'm in corridor Fifteen West. As long as I follow the left wall, I'll reach the atrium.

Something trips me and I fall on top of another pony. He's unconscious, overcome by the smoke.

I can't help him.

My lungs burn inside me even as I haul myself upright and press onward through the smoke and stumble my way face-first into a dead-end. This can't be right. How did I get turned around? I have to go back.

The hazy yellow glow ahead of me is getting brighter, hotter.

I'm not going to make it.

My legs give out and I collapse onto the floor. As my vision begins to narrow and darkness creeps in around the edges, I see a dark figure looming over me. A pair of green glowing eyes hover amidst the smoke.

She leans in over me and whispers, "I told you I'd be watching, little bird."

My eyes snap open. I'm not in the stable. I'm at Mum's Diner. I'm in bed. In the dark.

I'm not alone. Rake stands over me, staring straight at me. Blood drips down from the wound in his neck.

It was the middle of the night, and Lucky Day sat straight up in bed, his mouth wide as if to scream, but no breath came out. His sheets are soaked in cold sweat and tangled up around his legs. He crashed to the floor as he scrambled out of bed. Wrestling himself free, he hurried over to the light switch on the wall and flipped it up and down several times until he remembered that the generator had given out again. He still hadn't been able to fix it. Fumbling around in the dark, he unlocked his door and made his way down into the diner.

Moonlight streamed in through the cracks in the boarded-up windows, surrounding the tables and chairs, the bar and the stools in a pale aura. Lucky Day went behind the counter and started rummaging through the various bins along the shelves. So focused on his search, he didn't hear Chrysanthemum approaching. Only when her chartreuse aura took the box from his grasp did he look up and see her.

They stared silently at each other. She had seen him like this before—shaking, dripping wet, and with a far-off stare after a loud thump in the middle of the night—and she could taste the fear with her changeling senses; it's pungent and sour. She put the box back in its place on the shelf and reached for another one from higher up, setting it down on the counter. Inside were dried tobacco leaves, courtesy of their zebra friends in the woods.

Chrysanthemum crumpled up several of the leaves and wrapped them in another leaf, fashioning two cigarettes and brought both to her lips, lighting them together with a single match. She passed one to Lucky Day, and he took a long drag off of it. After a few more puffs, his shaking settled and he slumped down to the floor. His face contorted and eyes wrenched shut as he held back a coughing fit.

She knew better than to ask him if he's okay. He hadn't been okay for as long as she'd known him. So she sat in silence, smoking a cigarette with him. She wanted to reach over to comfort him, but the last time she tried he nearly threw her across the room. The further he retreated into himself, the more fiercely he defended against attempts to draw him back out. All she could do was wait.

Lucky Day finished his cigarette and stifled another cough. At length, he took a deep breath and looked up from the floor, though his eyes wouldn't meet hers. "Thank you," he said hoarsely.

"Your dreams get worse while Starry's away."

"I know."

"She won't be back for at least another week."

"I know."

"She's not the only one who cares about you."

"I'm sorry."

"Day, I don't know what else to do."

"Neither do I." Lucky Day slumped down to the floor and sighed.

No longer tasting his anxiety in the air, Chrysanthemum slowly reached out a hoof and stroked across the top of his head. She watched his eyes close and gave him a few moments to relax before she spoke up again. "Maybe you should think about going out with the scavenging team. It could be good for you to be around others more."

Lucky Day cringed at the suggestion. He sat up and turned away from her. "I don't think I can. I—" He hesitated, struggling for an excuse. "Jade doesn't like me."

Chrysanthemum gave a small laugh. "Jade doesn't like anyone. Don't let that worry you. If she's rough, it's only because she wants to make sure everyone knows what they're doing."

"And I don't!" Day snapped back. "I don't know. I don't have a clue what to do. I can't even keep the lights on around here." He wrenched his eyes shut and pressed his hooves over his ears, trying to block out Rake's whisper: "You can try to fight it—I did at first. But the wasteland won't nurture you. We're more alike than you want to admit."

Growing concerned about her friend, Chrysanthemum ushered him toward the front door, hoping that some fresh air on the cold night would help him calm down. By the time she got him outside, he was hyperventilating and grinding his teeth. Chrysanthemum could taste anger but there was something else too; it was faint and desperate, but it wasn't coming from Lucky Day. She looked around and there in the middle of the road was the crumpled form of an earth pony foal, barely visible except by the light of the moon. "Day! Look!" she gasped.

Day stumbled away from her, shaking his head and grunted through gritted teeth. "Leave me alone!" He took off into a sprint, and Chrysanthemum let him go—he always came back. She hurried over to the foal—a weak, shivering colt whose coat and mane were caked in mud. She had never seen him before; he had wandered in alone from the empty wastes. She lifted him carefully in her chartreuse aura and carried him inside to warm him up.

Another lost soul drawn to her home.