Bon-Bon the Demon Slayer

Chapters

2. The Harsh Light of Day
3. Never Kill a Boy on the First Date
4. Nightmares
5. Lovers Walk
6. Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered
7. The I in Team
8. Out of Mind, Out of Sight
9. Prophecy Girl
10. Beauty and the Beasts
11. Selfless
12. Helpless
13. Consequences
1. Welcome to the Hellmouth
14. Bad Eggs

2. The Harsh Light of Day

I find myself disbelieving of this ‘printing press’ others so heartily endorse. It shall forever be my opinion that a quill and ink are all a scholar requires to commit his thoughts and wisdom to the ages. My ‘peers’ call this machine a sign of the future. I say it is folly and declare this to their faces, as I did also declare when they heralded as splendid some artist’s sketches of wings to render earth ponies’ flight. ‘Tis foolishness! Therein lies ruin and I shall never be dissuaded from this opinion. Equestria will never need machines more than magic. Should such a day ever arrive, methinks it will signal the end of the Age of Enlightenment and the dawning of a new Dark Ages.

Her Majesty furnished me with a new servant three days past. This one is a mere earth pony and scrawny at that. It is a rare induction, indeed, for a civilised scholar such as I to be saddled with one so lowborn as a domestic, yet I shall endure.

Her Majesty did suggest my servants past were many owing to some defect of mine! She did even go so far as to suggest my brusque manner as yielding none who wish to serve me from the ranks of those in service to the castle and those who live here. I informed her of the need for upper classes to instill in those born below them that there is great honour in serving a scholar of my magnitude, however she did respond with less than the belief I would expect of her. That one so regal would submit to me my flaws as phrased by servants – and by simple earth ponies! An earth pony has no business passing judgement on a unicorn, much less one such as I. Such an affront shall not be endured. Thus I am not unhappy that this new one avoids me and does not linger when I enter my chambers. I do not expect this one to last much longer than the others. In addition to their artless tongues, earth ponies are slow of wit and small of courage. My upcoming studies will no doubt render me in need of another soon enough.

Indeed, my studies do entrance me far more than Her Majesty’s words regarding servants. This latest line of enquiry vexes me greatly and yet it is enthralling. I do believe it shall yield some fascinating insights into the very nature of magic itself. It would be most fitting for a scholar such as I to be the pony who uncovers such mysteries that have thwarted those before me. None have come as far as I in the study of magic and none but I shall untangle its secrets and commit them to the ages.

And I shall NOT use any ridiculous ‘printing press’ to do it!

-- Extract from the journals of Starswirl the Bearded, 488 AS.

Bon-Bon arrived home with her cloak and belt in her tail. What had been good camouflage at night made her stand out like a broccoli floret in a box of chocolates during the day. At the edge of the forest she carefully wrapped the belt in the cloak and tucked the bundle amongst the layers of hair, clipping it into place with a few grips so it didn’t fall out as she walked. When she finally reached her front door she went in without looking around. Lyra would be at work already, so there was no chance of her popping seemingly out of nowhere to say hello, as she often did.

Once inside Bon-Bon leaned backwards against her door. She was still tired but her mind raced. Mistaking Zecora’s voice for Windwhistler’s had unsettled her. She knew that she would not be able to sleep if she went straight to bed.

One attribute of being Slayer was the ability to get by on minimal sleep; while other ponies needed a whole night, she could function on a handful of catnaps during daylight hours, leaving her ready to patrol the town after dark, when the demons were most active. If she had needed to hold down a full-time job things might have been tricky, however Princess Celestia had ensured she did not, so Bon-Bon was free to organise herself around her Slayer duties.

Levering herself up, Bon-Bon trotted into the kitchen. Slayers of the past had probably never kept their tools or clothing in the pantry but it made perfect sense to her. She spent most of her time downstairs so it would be pointless for her to keep it in her bedroom; and the kitchen was home to lots of other things that could be turned into weapons if necessary. She opened the pantry door, knelt down and pulled a huge old tin from under the shelves. The words ‘Madre Migliori Biscotti’ and a picture of a rearing pony emblazoned the front, though both were faded from their original glory. It was one of the few things Nonna Cioccolata had left her and Bon-Bon could think of no better place to store her things now.

It seemed fitting that Bon-Bon, this generation’s black sheep of the family, would feel closest to her grandmother. Nonna had been everything Bon-Bon’s mother hated. She had strived to keep Nonna’s ‘bad influence’ away from Bon-Bon as a filly and raise her to be a ‘true Manehattanite’ instead. However, Bon-Bon had revelled in visits to her grandmother’s little redbrick house, where the carpets didn’t quite fit the floors and everything smelled vaguely of mothballs and burned sugar. She often called in on her way home from school. Nonna had been full of stories about the ‘old country’ and what life there had been like before she and her husband moved to Equestria.

Of course, when Bon-Bon’s mother found out about the visits she had put a stop to them. Nevertheless, Bon-Bon loved her grandmother and had been devastated when she died. There wasn’t much inheritance – most of the contents of that little brick house went in the trash – but Bon-Bon had snatched back the tin, wreathed in memories of hot sweet tea, stories in the musty old sitting room and Nonna bringing out of it whatever cake or confection she had made.

“You never met your grandfather,” she would say over and over, “but this was his favourite.”

“What was he like, Nonna?” Bon-Bon would ask, which would set her off. Nonna looked misty-eyed into the past, which irked Bon-Bon’s mother incredibly. “Ah, my Marzapane. He looked so much like you, little one, except his mane was all blue, not pink. You get that from your mother, which she got from me. But your coat, your beautiful, beautiful coat; that is his.”

She would stroke Bon-Bon’s hair from her face with one arthritic hoof, the other waving as she talked of the sea voyage, the struggle to make ends meet, the shock of a big city after life in a country village, learning the Equestrian language and trying to make herself understood to ponies who had no concept of life beyond Equestria. She liked to talk of Bon-Bon’s mother in glowing terms, even though she was such an embarrassment to her daughter.

“Such a clever girl, my Candito, to make so much of herself from her humble beginnings,” Nonna would say reverently. “And she married so well! You live in such a nice place, Bambolina. I wonder why come around here so much when you have such a nice place to live in.”

The expensive apartment was indeed nice, yet it lacked heart. Bon-Bon rarely reminded Nonna that her mother had changed her name to Candy. It was too hurtful to keep bringing up how much her only foal had grown away from her.

“I like it here, Nonna,” Bon-Bon would say instead, every time, without fail. She meant it every time, too. “I like spending time with you.”

“Ach, you will grow out of it someday, when colts and make-up and all those things fill your head.”

Bon-Bon brushed at the old tin with the flat of her hoof. Nonna had brought this over from the old country, filled with trinkets and whatever she could fit in and carry onto the boat with her. It was a piece of history: her history, the one her mother had tried so hard to erase and forget. Bon-Bon was filled with a sudden grief, sharp-edged, like swallowing a piece of broken peanut brittle before you’d had time to chew it. Or maybe it was more like swallowing glass: cutting all the way down to her heart and bringing tears to her eyes as it went.

I miss you, Nonna, she thought. You were wrong. I never did get into colts and I never outgrew you.

She pulled the lid off the tin and placed the cloak and belt inside for her grandmother to look after. Nonna might have understood about the whole Slayer thing. She knew what it was like to no longer fit in and have to live your life pretending.

Scrubbing furiously at her eyes with the back of her hoof, Bon-Bon slid the tin back under the shelves and got up. As she did so, she caught sight of a jar on a higher shelf labelled in her own neat writing: ‘vanilla beans’. Next to it was a packet of sugar she hadn’t opened yet. She narrowed her eyes at them, thoughts turning over in her brain. There was one sure-fire way of calming her down when she was on edge.

She snatched up the jar and packet and carried them out into the kitchen. Thinking quickly, she retreated into the pantry and hunted out a block of bittersweet chocolate. She had three, plus some light corn syrup in a jar that would have proved difficult to open for anyone without Slayer strength. Carting these out to sit with the vanilla and sugar, she checked her refrigerator. On a typical day it had two sets of contents: her own and the decoys for Lyra, for whom the phrase “Did you want this?” was just a formality.

Even Lyra would not have wanted the pat of butter unless there was bread involved. Bon-Bon plonked it next to her growing collection of ingredients, along with a carton of whipping cream she had been saving. She clattered around in the cupboards around the kitchen, fired by a desire to be doing something instead of just sitting around with her thoughts. A baking pan, parchment paper, a saucepan, a wooden spoon and a pastry brush joined them. The sieve proved harder to find but eventually turned up in the freezer compartment.

“Lyra,” Bon-Bon muttered as she flipped the icy cold implement between her hooves. Slayer strength did not keep one from freezing one’s tootsies off. “Okay, I think I’m good to go.”

The sounds of tearing parchment paper and tuneless humming filled the air as she got to work. Bon-Bon greased the paper in the baking pan, set them to one side, plucked out a vanilla bean and scraped the seeds into the saucepan. Pouring the sugar on top, she placed the saucepan on the stove and spent a few minutes fighting with the hob to make it light. Ponyville was a quaint, pretty town, but not exactly flush with modern conveniences she was forced to revert to a match held into the pouring gas until it lit with a blue-flamed whoosh. She watched as the sugar melted and darkened, turning the consistency and colour of liquid amber. She loved the smells of cooking, but especially that of hot sugar paste. Scent is the most powerful time machine in the world, transporting us back to times and places we have thought long-forgotten. When Bon-Bon inhaled the smell of melting sugar she was a filly again, balanced on a chair to see over the counter as Nonna did this very task. When she stirred, it was with the same movements Nonna had taught her, holding her hoof over Bon-Bon’s tiny one as, together, they gripped the wooden spoon.

When Bon-Bon was satisfied she turned down the heat and stirred in the corn syrup and brought the whipping cream to a boil in a smaller saucepan on a neighbouring gas-ring. She reached for her over mitt without needing to look where it was and slowly poured the hot cream into the sugar saucepan. It sputtered and foamed, spitting tiny globules of scalding liquid up at her. She flinched but her hooves remained steady – a handy by-product of learning to fire a crossbow so it hit its mark every time. Once everything was mixed together and the bubbling had subsided she tossed the small saucepan into the sink and was about to leave it when Nonna’s voice chastised her from across the years.

“Clean up as you go along, little one, or you’ll have hours of work when you’re already tired at the end.”

She splashed water and washing up liquid into the small saucepan. When it had cooled a little she scrubbed at the cloying bits of cream that were left with a sponge. The combined smell made her nose wrinkle and she soon returned to the much more pleasant aroma around the stove, but not before taking with her a drinking glass filled with cold water. Using an old method Nonna had taught her, she stirred the mixture once and held the wooden spoon above the glass. A little dripped into the water, forming a ball that sank to the bottom. She fished it out and pressed it lightly between her hooves, satisfied when it didn’t squash easily.

“Good, little one, very good!”

Smiling at the happy memory, Bon-Bon removed the saucepan from the heat, added a tablespoon of butter and stirred vigorously – though not so vigorously that she broke the pan or the spoon. That had happened many times in the beginning, before she had a real handle on her increased strength. It would have been much easier, she reflected, for Slayers to be born strong so they learned how to cope with it before they were gawky teenagers already uncomfortable in their own bodies. Then again, that wasn’t how the magic worked: Starswirl’s spell explicitly stated that there could only ever be one Slayer at a time and that the death of one instigated the calling of another. Slayers were made, not born.

Now she just had to add …

“Salt!” she exclaimed. “Ponyfeathers, I forgot the salt!”

Hastily returning to the pantry, she had to jump to fetch down the container. The shelves wobbled precariously but didn’t fall. Bon-Bon went back to the stove, fetched a teaspoon from a drawer and shook it over the mixture, spreading around the granules and watching as they glistened like frost on the surface. It always amazed her how pretty each stage of cooking could be. Anyone could admire the finished product, but they always missed the beauty of what it took to get to that stage. Crystal ginger could be amber, chipped away and ready to be made into jewellery; honey was soft gold flowing into whatever shape the metalworker wanted; powdered sugar was the first snow of winter; the entire world could be found in a well-stocked kitchen and the hooves that knew how to turn it into art.

“Look at me, getting all philosophical,” she muttered to herself. Nevertheless, food had never just been food to her. Food was a warm hug after a bad day, a way of giving comfort when someone was grieving and you couldn’t stop their pain, a silent ‘I love you’ …

Bon-Bon hefted the saucepan and poured the mixtures into the prepared baking pan. She lifted that onto a cooling rack and sloshed cold water into the still steaming pan. Once that was clean and on the draining board, she glanced at the rapidly cooling mixture. She had enough time to put away all the ingredients she no longer needed before the last couple of stages.

Tempering chocolate was a delicate matter. She had begun boiling a pan of hot water while she tidied and placed a glass dish of broken chocolate pieces on top. They melted into thick, smooth brown goo that smelled divine. She removed it before it could burn, stirring in the last few solid triangles. Using a small square of greased paper, she smeared a little and placed it in the refrigerator for a couple of minutes. If it was streaky, she had to start again. Thankfully it was dry to the touch and evenly glossy.

“Is there anything prettier than chocolate this way?” Nonna used to say when she did this. “Of course there is. You are, little one!”

When it was cool enough, Bon-Bon turned the baking tray over onto a freshly cleaned work surface. It took a little pat, but the firm rectangle popped free and landed heavily. She peeled off the parchment paper, screwed it into a ball and tossed it over her shoulder. It landed in the trash with unnerving accuracy. That had bothered her mother a lot when she did it back home in Manehattan. All the crazy things that her daughter had started experiencing after she became Slayer (though she hadn’t known that was what it was at the time) and Bon-Bon’s ability to dunk garbage without looking was what had creeped her out.

Bon-Bon took out a new sheet of parchment and laid it flat. She sliced up the rectangle into squares and dipped each one in the warm chocolate, then placed them on the sheet in rows. Lyra probably would have haphazardly put them anywhere but Bon-Bon formed them into neat, orderly rows. When she was about halfway done she sprinkled a little salt over those she had already done, turning them from brown blobs into crystalline fragments, like part of a fallen star.

When she was finally finished she surveyed her work. All told, she had made around fifty little pieces of her grandmother’s Salty Caramels. She felt like she had achieved something, even though all she had done was make a few candies. She was also far more relaxed than she had been. Yes, the only sure-fire way of calming her down was making sweet treats.

She washed up that last of the cooking equipment and yawned a little. She needed to put the caramels into a container when they had completely set. In the corner of the room sat an old wooden rocking chair; not her grandmother’s, but so close it was almost identical. She had bought it here in Ponyville, though it was not a purchase she had expected to make. Bon-Bon sat in it, thinking she would wait there for the ten minutes it would take before she could touch the cooling chocolate. The frame creaked, taking her weight easily but letting her know how it felt to suddenly be filled with pony.

Though she had not expected it, Bon-Bon’s eyes closed and she finally drifted off the sleep.

….

The darkness is calling her.

No, it’s summoning her, like a faithful dog or a … a …

It doesn’t know her name. That will keep her safe. She clings to that. It can’t hurt her if it doesn’t know her name. It doesn’t know her. It can’t force her to come if it doesn’t know who she is.

Nameless. Anonymous. Unknown. Secret.

Keep it secret. Keep a secret. Keep the secret.

No feet to run away. No floor to run on. Nothing but the darkness; always calling; always lapping at the edges of her mind like an incoming tide. Can the tide have teeth? The darkness nibbles like thousands of tiny teeth. If she stays still the beach will move like bedclothes being shaken and she will be tossed right into the darkness; chewed up and … and ...

Keep it secret. Keep a secret. Keep the secret.

The darkness is calling her. There’s something there. There’s something IN it. It’s calling to her – or is it just calling her? Is there a difference? Calling her or calling to her? So faint, like a quiet voice far away. Has it been calling for long? Did she just not hear it before?

The bad thing lurks in the darkness. The tide with teeth is in the darkness … of the darkness … IS the darkness …

Keep IT secret. Keep A secret. Keep THE secret.

It keeps calling her. She doesn’t want to go to it but how do you run away when everywhere you go is just you – YOU – YOU?

The darkness laps closer, nibbles more, calls louder. The darkness is coming.

The darkness is coming for her.

The darkness is coming … coming … coming …

The darkness is here.

Bon-Bon jolted awake and flew out of her chair, hooves raised in a ready position. Not many ponies could fight on two legs as easily as four but she could switch between them with no trouble.

The kitchen was empty. She could neither hear nor sense anyone else in the house. She was alone.

She sank back into the rocking chair, pressing a hoof to her forehead. She was used to getting nightmares but that one had been a doozy. She felt shaky and unsettled even as her heart rate returned to normal and her breathing slowed. The images were already fading, as dreams always do, but she retained an unease that felt like static along her fur, crawling all the way up to her scalp and ears.

The after-effects were not helped by a sudden thump against her front door. She leaped to her hooves and cantered to see what it was, reminding her jumpy insides that demons couldn’t appear during the day. When she checked the peep hole her heart sheepishly left her throat and slid back into her ribcage. Bon-Bon opened the door with resignation.

“Oh!” Derpy Hooves looked up from trying to gather the spilled letters and parcels off the doorstep. “Morning, M-Miss Sweetie-Drops.” She gave a bright smile, not looking as she hastily reached like ponies on a fishing trawler gathering in a net of struggling fish.

“Here you go, Mommy.” On the other side of the pile, a small unicorn filly tried to her mother’s attention so she could unload the pile she had also gathered.

“What happened out here?” Bon-Bon enquired, though she thought she could guess.

Derpy self-consciously opened her satchel to receive her daughter’s offering. “I’m real sorry, M-Miss Sweetie-Drops. I was r-rushing and had a little a-accident.” She pointed to Bon-Bon’s door, which had a fresh indent in it. “I couldn’t s-stop in time, I g-guess. I was just trying to f-finish to I could g-get Dinky to school on time. I’m n-not allowed to break off from w-work before I finish my shift b-but there’s so m-much more mails than usual t-today.” Her speech impediment, proportional to her nervousness and stress levels, made it a little difficult to understand what she was saying but Bon-Bon successfully decoded the stuttered words.

“It’s show and tell day today,” Dinky announced proudly. “I’m gonna tell everypony in class about my new pet rabbit.”

Derpy shoved letters into her satchel. Her hat was hanging off the door handle. Bon-Bon retrieved it and Derpy received it gratefully.

“C-Can’t lose th-this.” She jammed it on over her ears. The Equestria Royal Mail insignia shone in the early morning sunshine. Derpy’s nose, by comparison, throbbed an angry red.

“Are you okay?” Bon-Bon asked anxiously.

“Oh, sure.” Derpy waved away her concern. “Happens all the t-time. I have a problem with s-stopping sometimes.”

“You could have a concussion.”

Derpy bumped the side of her head with a balled hoof. “Solid as a r-rock.”

Bon-Bon remained unconvinced. “I still think you should get checked out. The doctor’s office isn’t too far from here.”

“N-No!” Derpy was aghast. “I have to f-finish my round so I can t-take Dinky to school!”

“Miss Hooves, your health has to come first.”

Derpy shook her head so vigorously Bon-Bon was half-surprised when it didn’t twist all the way around. “I t-told you, Miss Sweetie-D-Drops, this happens to me all the t-time. I’m used to it. I didn’t even hit v-very hard today. If I hurry I c-can finish up and g-get Dinky to school before –”

“I’ll take her.”

Derpy blinked, nonplussed. “Excuse m-me?”

“I’ll take your daughter to school. That way you can finish your round and go to the doctor’s to get checked out.” Bon-Bon wondered where the words emerging from her mouth had come from. She didn’t mind kids but had limited experience looking after them even for short periods. Dinky looked more foal than filly, although maybe that was just because of her small size. She was old enough to go to school, after all. “It would really set my mind at rest if you did that.”

Derpy stared at her. Being stared at by Derpy Hooves was not something to be taken lightly. Bon-Bon shuffled her hooves uncomfortably, wondering whether she should meet that stare and, if she did, which eye to focus on. Derpy was not a naturally intimidating pony but politeness lent its own pressure.

“You’ll m-make sure she gets there on t-time?”

Bon-Bon nodded as vigorously as Derpy had shaken her head. “Absolutely.”

“All right then.” Derpy spoke as if she were the one doing Bon-Bon a favour, not the other way around. She turned and bent her forelegs so she was staring her daughter in the face. “You behave for Miss S-Sweetie-Drops, okay?”

Dinky bobbed her head, her tiny saddle-bags shaking from side to side. “Okay, Mommy, but you gotta do as she says and go see the doctor, okay?”

“Okay, muffin.” Derpy’s expression cleared and she scrubbed a hoof into Dinky’s mane. “Bossy little m-muffin.”

“Mommy!” Dinky protested, though she was giggling.

Bon-Bon watched the exchange with mixed emotions. There was something immensely endearing about the clear love between the two. They didn’t care about things like embarrassing each other in front of a stranger or even sustaining bodily injuries in the name of that love. You couldn’t help but want a piece of what they had – something Bon-Bon had never experienced with her own mother. Candy Drops was an aloof filly who grew into an even more aloof mare, more concerned with wearing the right brand names and going to the right parties than making sure her daughter got to school on time. That was what the hired help was for. Derpy and Dinky, however, obviously adored each other. Derpy would never forget Dinky’s birthday or treat her like a fashion accessory, while Dinky would never sit in her room drawing pictures of the family she would rather have.

“Behave yourself for M-Miss Sweetie-Drops,” Derpy cautioned as she flapped her wings and rose into the air. When she was almost a dozen feet up she paused and dived back towards them. Bon-Bon thought she was about to repeat her collision with the door. Derpy allayed this by pulling up and rummaging in her satchel. “Here you go, M-Miss Sweetie-Drops. The postmark says it’s all the way f-from Canterlot.”

Bon-Bon glanced at it and saw that it had indeed come from the capital. She had received packages just like it before and knew that it was from Princess Celestia. The princess took care of all Bon-Bon’s bills in Ponyville in exchange for her guarding Twilight. Bon-Bon had not asked her to – being the Slayer was a calling, not a career choice – but Princess Celestia had reasoned that not needing to find or hold down a job would free up her time for training and patrolling, plus it would release her from having to explain to her boss why she could never work after it started to get dark. She had set everything up before Bon-Bon even got to Ponyville, as well as bank accounts and other things. Once in a while she would also send a parcel of something she or her aides had found that she thought might be useful in the fight against demons. Last time it had been a book for Zecora. This time, who knew? There was no time to unwrap it now, so Bon-Bon leaned inside her house to place it on the table inside her hallway.

“Thanks.”

Derpy gave a salute like an overeager cadet. “Just doing my j-job. Thank you again M-Miss Sweetie-Drops.”

Bon-Bon waved Derpy off once more. Dinky used both forehooves, her whole body juddering with the force of each wave. If she was nervous at being left in the care of somepony else, she didn’t show it. She just turned to Bon-Bon, thrust out a little hoof and re-introduced herself.

“Hi. I’m Dinky.”

“I know,” Bon-Bon replied, gingerly taking the hoof. “We’ve met before when your mom was taking you to school.” On days with less mail Dinky had been known to hitch a ride in the mail bag. There were some advantages to be so small.

Dinky nodded and clicked her hooves together. “So, are we going?”

“Huh? Oh, right. Uh, just let me … uh …” Bon-Bon glanced behind her. “Come in for a second. How long do we have until you have to be there?”

“About half an hour,” Dinky said knowledgeably. “School starts at half past eight. Your clock reads seven fifty-seven, which means there’s only three more minutes until it’s exactly half an hour.” She beamed. “I can tell time better than any colt or filly in my class.”

“It’s really that late?” Bon-Bon frowned. She had slept for over an hour. It wasn’t refreshing sleep, although it had recharged her enough to function without being a danger to herself or others. She wouldn’t want to fight a twelve-foot tall Raptorian demon but she could probably manage an imp or two.

“Late?” Dinky tilted her head to one side. “It’s early in the morning.”

“Depends which side you’re looking at it from.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Come on in for a second while I pack some things.”

“You don’t need to pack anything,” Dinky remarked as she stepped inside. “You’re not the one going to school.”

“No, but after I take you I need to make a stop at Sugarcube Corner.” Bon-Bon led her through to the kitchen.

Dinky raised her nose and inhaled deeply. “What’s that smell?”

“I was making something earlier. I guess it still stinks a bit in here.”

“It smells really good! Not stinky at all!” Dinky turned her face this way and that, trying to locate the source of the gorgeous scent. “Like when I accidentally left a candy bar too close to the fire and it melted on the rug.” She winced at the memory. “I tried to wash the rug before Mommy found out; only I’m not so good at that kind of thing. I accidentally flooded our kitchen when I put it in the sink. Then the mop was so big it was hard for me to hold, so I kept slipping over, so I got a really big bruise on my butt. It hurt really, really bad! And when Mommy came back from the store I tried to run and hide in my room, only I couldn’t because I’d made the floor all wet and shiny, so I was just running in place and Mommy thought that was so funny she totally wasn’t made about the water or the candy bar and –”

“Would you like to take some of these to school?” Bon-Bon asked to interrupt the flow of words. She presented a few of the caramels and allowed Dinky to inspect them.

“Ooh!” Dinky leaned forward but then pulled back sharply. “Mommy says I’m not supposed to accept candy from strangers.”

“I’m not a stranger. Your Mommy wouldn’t have left you with me if she didn’t trust me.”

Dinky didn’t look convinced, though her expression wavered. “You’re kind of a stranger. I don’t even know your proper name. Mommy calls everyone their ‘formal name’ on account of she doesn’t want anypony to say she’s being ‘improper’ again. One time, somepony said that to her boss and she got in trouble for it, so now she says ‘Mrs’ and ‘Mr’ and ‘Miss’ to everyone instead.”

“Well I don’t mind if she uses my, um, proper name. It’s Bon-Bon. I never liked being called Miss Sweetie-Drops anyhow.”

The double-barrelled surname was a leftover of her mother’s eternal quest for acceptance in the classes above her own. If she could learn from and be accepted by with the Manehattan elite, she had theorised for all Bon-Bon’s foalhood, she would someday know enough to make it in Canterlot too. Many Manehattanite couples kept both surnames when they married, so she had adopted the same practise and foisted it on her daughter too; giving Bon-Bon a name so sugary it could cause spontaneous cavities to appear in whatever mouth said it.

“Bon-Bon?” Dinky giggled. “Your name sounds like Mommy does when she gets nervous.”

Bon-Bon couldn’t help smiling. Dinky’s giggles were infectious. Something about having the filly in her kitchen made the place come alive in ways it didn’t even when it was filled with bubbling pans and cooking paraphernalia. Bon-Bon was not the motherly type, though she didn’t dislike kids; she simply never factored them as a possibility in her own life, thus they were not something she thought of very much. She had limited interactions with them, too, which left her awkwardly struggling to think what to say when she was put into positions like this one.

“Should I start calling you Dinky-Dinky?” she suggested.

Dinky giggled even harder. “That sounds weird!”

“Dinky-Dinky,” Bon-Bon said hesitantly, wondering how far you could push a silly joke with kids compared with adults.

Dinky just about collapsed on the floor in a fit of mirth. “You’re silly.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Bon-Bon smiled as she fetched a small polythene bag, put four sweets inside and deftly twisted it shut. “Here you go. They’re called Salty Caramels.”

“You put salt in them?” Dinky picked herself and accepted the bag, wrinkling her nose a little. “Did you make a mistake when you were reaching for the sugar? Mommy does that sometimes when she’s making my breakfast. She can’t see so good, so I never say anything, but salty cornflakes sure taste yucky.”

“No, I did it on purpose. It’s so that the sweet and the salt combine in your mouth to make a whole new flavour.”

“Really?” Dinky eyes the caramels dubiously. “Have you tried them yourself?”

“Lots of times. My grandmother used to make them for me when I was around your age.”

“Oh.” Dinky looked at them for a few seconds longer, shrugged and put them in her saddlebag. “Thank you, Bon-Bon.” She sniggered as she said the name, not quite over how silly it sounded.

“You’re welcome, Dinky-Dinky.”

Dinky’s laughter echoed through the house as Bon-Bon packed up the rest of the caramels, driving away the last vestiges of any shadows lurking there.

Dinky skipped ahead of Bon-Bon towards the schoolhouse. The clasp on one of her saddlebags flapped free and she danced in place as Bon-Bon tried to refasten it.

“I’ve never known anypony so eager to get to school!” Bon-Bon exclaimed.

“I like school,” Dinky enthused. “Next year in in Miss Cheerilee’s class but this year I’m with Miss Porcelain. She’s really, really, really, really, REALLY nice. She hardly ever yells and even when she does it’s only because the batteries on her hearing aid have run out. One of the colts in my class says she’s going to retire soon but I don’t think so. I think she’ll be a teacher forever and ever and ever and ever and ever …” The words turned into a mantra as they set off again, Dinky matching her hoofsteps to the cadence of her own voice.

When they reached the schoolhouse door Miss Cheerilee was outside on playground duty, watching over the little colts and fillies play before the bell rang to summon them inside. She smiled when she saw Dinky. It wavered a little when she saw Bon-Bon behind her.

“Oh dear; is your mother sick, Dinky?”

“No, she just had a lot of mail to deliver this morning and she hit her head, so Bon-Bon is bringing me to school while Mommy visits the doctor.”

“Oh dear.” Cheerilee’s gaze shifted to Bon-Bon, so it wasn’t clear whom she was addressing with her next question. “Is she all right?”

“Of course she is!” Dinky giggled. “Mommy bumps her head all the time and she’s always fine.”

“She seemed okay,” Bon-Bon elaborated. “But I feel better knowing any potential concussion is being taken care of.”

Cheerilee nodded.

“Sillies,” said Dinky. She knocked against the side of her head with a balled up hoof in a move reminiscent of her mother less than an hour ago. “Mommy says her head is solid as a rock.”

“You run along and play now, sweetheart.” Cheerilee bent to nose Dinky gently towards the other students. “You still have a few minutes before school starts.”

“Okay, Miss Cheerilee!” Dinky waved furiously as she cantered off. “Bye Bon-Bon! Thank you for walking me to school!”

“Look where you’re going!” Bon-Bon called back with a surprising jolt of terror. Was clumsiness an inheritable trait? There were a lot of things a little filly could crash into in a schoolyard when she wasn’t paying attention.

Cheerilee gave an eloquent smile. “She’ll be fine. When she finally gets her cutie mark and starts learning magic, maybe we’ll have to keep a closer watch on her than the other unicorn fillies, but Dinky’s a smart little cookie.” She sighed. “Thank you for what you did.”

Bon-Bon was hit without another flavour of surprise. “Excuse me?”

“Derpy is the most attentive and loving parent anypony could ask for but …” Cheerilee paused as if wondering how best to put it. “She’s rather, ah, accident-prone and has a habit of always putting Dinky’s needs before her own.”

“Isn’t that what mothers are supposed to do?” Bon-Bon asked, trying to keep the hint of acid from her voice. Her own mother could take lessons from Derpy.

“Up to a point, yes. I just worry sometimes that Derpy sees that point someplace else than the rest of us do.” Cheerilee shook her head. “It was nice of you to make her take care of herself for a change. You’re a good friend.”

“Oh, I’m not … I mean, Derpy and I aren’t … she’s just my mailmare,” Bon-Bon stammered.

“Then you’re a very kind pony to do that for someone who isn’t a friend,” Cheerilee replied without missing a beat. “Kindness is something the world can always use more of.” The bell went off with a mood-shattering ring. “I’d better go before there’s a stampede. Have a nice day, Bon-Bon.”

“Uh, yeah,” Bon-Bon said uncomfortably. “You too.”

….

Sugarcube Corner had a tinkling bell above the door that served as both fitting herald and eternal irritant to those who passed under it. Bon-Bon was barely inside before the thing alerted the pony behind the counter and she was accosted by a large mass of bubble-gum pink hair with some pony attached.

“Ack!” she cried.

“Is that a new way of saying ‘good morning’?” asked the hair-mass. “If so, then ‘ack’ to you too, Bon-Bon!”

“Pinkie!” Mrs Cake hurried from behind the counter, though this time she didn’t have to pull her assistant off. “We’ve talked about this. You can’t jump all over ponies who come in here, no matter how happy you are to see them.”

“But it’s Bon-Bon!” Pinkie Pie protested. “I can’t just greet her with a simple hello! A simple hello is for regular customers. She isn’t a regular customer. Are you, Bon-Bon?” A pair of large, persuasive blue eyes fixed on her with the kind of gleam usually reserved for very sharp knives and freshly polished mirrors. Pinkie was an overwhelming force of personality on a bad day. On a good day she was practically a force of nature; something that could not and should not be argued with.

“Um …” Bon-Bon had faced down demons the size of buffalo but something inside her quailed now. Pinkie was the nicest pony in Equestria, always ready to lend a hoof and be a friend, but things like ‘boundaries’ and ‘personal space’ were just words to her.

“Pinkie, why don’t you go see if your cupcakes are ready to be iced?” Mrs Cake came to Bon-Bon’s rescue. “We have to have the display case full by nine o’clock and it’s still half empty.”

“Oh my gosh, you’re right!” Pinkie exclaimed. She leaped up and rushed through the door into the back kitchen. A burst of baking scent wafted out as the door shut behind her. Another burst escaped when Pinkie stuck her head back through to yell, “Whatever you brought today, Bon-Bon, I’ll swap you my best cupcake for it!” Then she disappeared again.

“Sorry about that,” Mrs Cake apologised. “What can I do for you today, sweetheart?”

“Don’t worry about it and I, uh, actually came in to give you these.” Bon-Bon presented her with a plastic container of her morning’s efforts. “They’re just Salty Caramels but I figured you could use them more than I can.”

“Oh, how wonderful!” Mrs Cake accepted the container and pulled the lid off, inhaling deeply. “Mmmm. I’ll never understand why you make so many lovely things and then just give them to us for free. It’s very kind of you, sweetheart, but I always feel bad that you won’t take any payment for them. The ingredients alone must cost you a fortune!”

Bon-Bon shrugged. “I can afford it. It’s not eating them that’s important to me. I just like making them. I’d much rather they went to somepony who can use them. I thought maybe you could serve them with your coffee orders around lunchtime – just not too close to the mugs,” she added with a self-deprecating smile. Mrs Cake never actually sold what she brought it, adhering to her own moral code by giving them away to customers during their busiest time of day. Bon-Bon was fine with that. It felt good to use her regular talents, not her Slayer abilities, to make someone else happy. There was probably something deeper to be read into that but Bon-Bon no longer cared to examine her own motivations too deeply.

Mrs Cake’s mouth twisted. “Wait here,” she said abruptly. She turned and hurried through the same door Pinkie Pie had used. What seemed like only seconds later she re-emerged with a box made from pale pink card, emblazoned on the side with the name of the café. It was a standard takeout box that she presented with forelegs outstretched. “Here you are.”

“No, really, you don’t need to give me anything,” Bon-Bon protested. “You’re doing me a favour by taking the caramels off my hooves –”

“I insist.” Mrs Cake was emphatic. It was the kind of voice Bon-Bon imagined she used on her foals when they were acting up and had gone one step too far. Mrs Cake may have looked sweet and harmless but she had a core of motherly steel. “Consider it a thank you gift.”

“Uh, okay.” Bon-Bon peered into the box. Inside was a large gingerbread pony with fresh swirls of pink and blue icing on its mane and tail. The icing was still wet. Mrs Cake had decorated it in record time but the perfection of each swirl was absolute. “Wow, Mrs Cake. You’re entering the National Dessert Competition again this year, right? It’d be a crime if you didn’t.”

Mrs Cake’s cheeks darkened in a blush. She ducked her head coyly. “Well now, that’s a real compliment coming from you, sweetheart. We are indeed entering again this year and, um …” She trailed off, eyes flicking to the kitchen door. Her voice dropped to a hushed whisper. “This year we’ll be escorting our entry to Canterlot ourselves.”

The story of how Pinkie Pie had tried (and failed) to safeguard the Cakes’ cake last year was the stuff of legend. Come to think of it, lots of things Pinkie did were the stuff of legend, from helping defeat Nightmare Moon to flooding Ponyville with hyperactive copies of herself, but her turn as a wannabe detective was memorable for how earnestly she had been in every stage of her promise to her employers. No-one could ever accuse Pinkie Pie of doing things by halves.

“We might even just take the ingredients and go a day early so we can make it while we’re there,” Mrs Cake confessed. “It’s not that we don’t trust, um, anypony else to look after our entry but, uh …”

She was saved from having to complete the thought by the kitchen door flying open and crashing against the wall so hard Bon-Bon was surprised it didn’t crack the plaster.

“Wait!” Pinkie shouted. She held aloft a beautiful cupcake wreathed in the same pink and blue icing as the gingerbread pony. “Oh good, you aren’t gone yet. Here!” She thrust the cupcake under Bon-Bon’s nose. “I’ve been experimenting for ages but I think I got the shade of blue just right without making it too bitter. Every time I try to make dark colours, the icing turns out totally bitter and yuck!” She stuck out her tongue to demonstrate. “But this time I think I got it right, see?” She twitched a lock of Bon-Bon’s mane to hold it alongside the icing swirl. “A perfect match!”

“Thank you, Pinkie,” said Bon-Bon, though she wasn’t sure whether she was saying it because of the icing or the cake itself. Pinkie placed it in the box to nestle alongside the gingerbread pony. “That’s really nice of you, although you shouldn’t have.”

“Nonsense!” Pinkie closed her eyes and waved her hoof like she was Mayor Mare giving a speech. She even mimicked the mayor’s inflections and facial expression. “It would be remiss of me not to show my gratitude.” Unable to maintain the primness, a giggle bubbled up her throat. She cracked open one eye. “Can I have one of the caramels?”

“Sure.” Bon-Bon shrugged. “It’s fine by me.”

“Yay!” Pinkie clapped her hooves together in delight and rushed back into the kitchen.

“How does she have so much energy first thing in the morning?” Mrs Cake wondered aloud. “She doesn’t even drink coffee. It makes me tired just watching her.”

“She’s just enjoying life, I guess,” Bon-Bon observed as she closed the cardboard box. “We should probably take notes.”

“Speak for yourself. I have two foals at home. I don’t have the energy to be that happy.”

3. Never Kill a Boy on the First Date

Bon-Bon dumped her suitcase down and surveyed the little house. The interior was okay. It was no high-rise Manehattan apartment but it had modern conveniences at which the thatched exterior did not hint. She was marginally less dissatisfied with her new living quarters, though no more pleased to be in Ponyville in the first place.

Princess Celestia knew what she was doing. Bon-Bon had to convince herself of that. This Twilight Sparkle pony must be really, really special to warrant the princess sending the Slayer ahead to protect her. From what Bon-Bon could gather, Twilight did not yet know she was coming to Ponyville either. Apparently springing sudden changes in location on ponies was a thing Celestia liked to do.

The city was calling Bon-Bon like a phantom limb. She hadn’t felt like that when she left Manehattan but Canterlot had taken hold of her in ways her birthplace had not. The memories in both cities, however, were tainted in different ways. It was probably a good thing she had been packed off to the countryside.

Yeah, right.

She sighed and turned to fetch the rest of her bags inside – and came nose to nose with another pony. There was no warning, she was just there. Bon-Bon leaped backwards in a ready position before she remembered that ponies tended to react badly to a punch to the face as a greeting.

“Whoa, hey, didn’t mean to startle you.” The other pony spoke in a breathy alto, her words accompanied by what could only be called a ‘cheesy grin’. “Hi there. I saw the moving cart and thought I’d come over to say hi.” She pointed vaguely to her left. “I live next door. This house has been empty for ages and ages and AGES, so when I saw somepony moving I was all, like, hey! Wow! Somepony’s moving in! I’d better go over and say hi. So … hi!” She waved a hoof enthusiastically.

“Um, hi.” Bon-Bon’s response was less effusive.

“Do you need help bringing all your bags inside?”

“No, thanks. I don’t have much.”

“Really?” Her new neighbour looked disappointed but brightened again a moment later. “Then let me show you around the town. You’ll love it here in Ponyville. Everyone always does. It’s a heck of a town.”

“I’ll bet it is,” Bon-Bon said dryly. “Thanks but no thanks. I’d rather just get to unpacking.”

She wasn’t here to make friends. In fact, making friends was the last thing she should do. She was here to do a job and nothing should distract her from that, especially other ponies. Her track record for keeping friends safe was one of her biggest regrets and she had no intention of repeating her mistakes here, too. It was better for the Slayer to remain apart from other ponies even if she lived amongst them.

Her new neighbour blew a large raspberry. “No way. That’s totally boring. Ooh, I know! I’ll take you to Sugarcube Corner for lunch! They do the best banana cake with cream cheese frosting. It’s amazing! A-M-A-Z-I-N-G!” She spelled out the word like an overeager cheerleader. “C’mon, it’ll be my treat.”

“No thanks.” Bon-Bon was polite but firm.

“Aw, please!”

“I’m fine, really.”

“That’s as may be, but are you hungry?”

“Excuse me?” Bon-Bon processed those words a few seconds slower than she should have.

“Are you hungry?” her new neighbour repeated, taking a few steps closer and staring intently like a cat stalking a frozen mouse. “Hungry? You? Want to eat?” She raised herself into her hind legs and rubbed her stomach with one hoof. “Om-nom-nom?”

Bon-Bon blinked at her. “I’m not an idiot. I do understand what hungry means.”

“Oh, good.” The other mare dropped back to all fours. She did not come across as either patronising or unkind. Bon-Bon got the feeling she had genuinely just been trying to make herself understood. “So do you like cake? What am I saying?” she laughed. “With a cutie mark like that, I’ll bet you’re really into sweet things.”

Bon-Bon frowned. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m really not interested in going out for lunch. I just want to unpack my things in peace.” She emphasised the last two words, hopping the other pony got the message.

She didn’t. “Nonsense. Just get the bags inside now and unpack them later. They’ll still be here when you get back. Oh, unless there’s somepony else moving in here with you who could unpack them?”

“No.” Bon-Bon was terse. “There’s only me.” And this new Watcher who lived in the woods, but she hadn’t met that pony yet. The old resentment and grief bubbled in her stomach at the mere idea of a new Watcher. She didn’t want a new one; she wanted her old Watcher back. That, however, was never going to happen and it was all her fault.

“That’s perfect!” her new neighbour declared blithely. “Nopony to tell you of if you sneak out for lunch and a guided tour of the town with me.” She nodded as if it was all decided. “I’ll even help you.”

“No, it’s all right –” Bon-Bon didn’t finish. The other pony’s horn glowed with golden magical aura. Outside, her remaining luggage also glowed gold and dragged itself across the threshold. The other pony’s face pinched a moment with the strain of picking up several heavy bags at once but she deposited them against the wall before allowing the gold magic to dissipate.

“Wow, what have you got in those things?” she panted. “Bricks?”

One was filled with training equipment, including a punching bag and several weights Windwhistler used to make her strap around her ankles before jogging around Canterlot. A Slayer’s strength was legendary but moving quickly while encumbered was something she had been keen for Bon-Bon to learn in case she ever had to fight while carrying an injured victim. All Windwhistler’s regimen had been rooted in the logical, with application in the field clearly mapped out every time she introduced a new exercise. Canterlot ponies never batted an eyelid at somepony running around wearing weights in the park. They reasoning she was just trying to tone up to better fit in with the waiflike fashion models that frequented the city’s swishier districts. Bon-Bon wondered what the residents of Ponyville would think if she put the weights on and jogged down their quaint cobbled streets.

“Helloooo.” Her new neighbour waved a hoof in front of her nose. “Anyone in there?”

Bon-Bon reared back. “Do you mind?”

“Whoops. Sorry.” The other mare gave a rueful smile. “We should go. That banana cake is really popular so if we don’t hurry we won’t get any.”

“I’m not going to –”

“Come on.” She reached for Bon-Bon’s foreleg to pull her out of the house. Bon-Bon knocked aside her hoof without a second thought. The other mare looked shocked, her ears flicking back in dismay. “Sorry,” she said in a much more subdued voice. She rubbed at her leg, leading Bon-Bon to wonder whether she had used too much of that legendary strength. “I was just trying to be friendly.”

“Yes, well …”

Bon-Bon was about to say that she didn’t need anypony to be friendly to her but something in the mare’s expression stopped her. The honest hurt in her eyes was more cutting than any dagger blade. In an instant, her entire posture had gone from open and excited to sad and disappointed. This pony did not do subtle. She wore every emotion like a target just waiting for someone else to fling darts at. Or maybe the ponies of Ponyville weren’t like that. Maybe they were all ridiculously accepting and kind and that was how somepony could become this unprotected with her feelings around a total stranger. Whatever the reason, her expression made bon-Bon feel like a heel for rejecting the hoof of friendship she had offered.

Which was ridiculous. She had worked everything out on the train from Canterlot. Her time in Ponyville was to be spent alone, concentrating on her mission and acclimating herself to her new Watcher. The way she was feeling about a replacement for Windwhistler, all the time she wasn’t on patrol would be taken up with not hating whoever Celestia had picked.

“Yes … well …” Bon-Bon tried again.

“Well what?” her new neighbour said in a small voice.

Bon-Bon stared at her for a long moment. Then she sighed harshly. “I … have a thing about personal space.”

“You do?” The other mare’s ears flicked forward again.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry. I didn’t mean to, like, invade yours or anything.”

“I know. It’s … it’s okay. You didn’t know.” She paused, wrestling with herself a moment longer. “So this banana cake. It’s really that good?”

The other mare’s whole demeanour lifted like clouds rolling away from the sun. “It sure is!”

“Then we’d better get going. Or we’ll miss it. And that’d be bad. Yeah.” Bon-Bon tried to sound motivated, she really did, but even to her own ears it sounded hollow.

“You won’t regret it!” Her new neighbour clapped her hooves together excitedly. “And afterwards I’ll show you all the cool things to see in Ponyville!”

“Yeah, sure.” That wouldn’t take long. How many interesting things could there be in a sleepy little rural town like this?

“Cool!” The other pony trotted to door, skidded to a halt and whirled around. “Oh my gosh, I totally forgot. What’s your name?”

“It’s Bon-Bon.”

“Duh!” She knocked a hoof against the side of her head and stuck out her tongue. “Should’ve guessed.” She turned and wiggled her flank, which bore some kind of stringed instrument Bon-Bon didn’t recognise. “I’m Lyra. Nice to meet you, Bon-Bon.”

Bon-Bon killed time walking around Ponyville before finally admitting to herself what she really wanted to do. Nevertheless, it took a further forty-five minutes to amble her way over to the far side of town, plus fifteen minutes after that to sidle up to the small building with ‘Music Makers’ painted on its swinging sign.

The sign creaked like crazy and in high winds they had to risk life and limb on a stepladder to take it down in case it flew off and hurt somepony, yet no-one ever considered switching to a static one. The front of the building sported only musical notes and swirls of colour with no words whatsoever to indicate what went on inside. Once a year everything had to be repainted, which meant ponies with various music-themed cutie marks singing at the tops of their lungs as they went about their tasks while their co-workers and students accompanied them on a variety of instruments. Bon-Bon paused to study the front of the building. Repainting Day couldn’t be far off from the looks of things. The swirls were peeling in places and one of the treble clefs had lost a curve.

Bon-Bon hesitated. Part of her loudly stated that she should just walk away. This was getting ridiculous, it chastised. She knew the score. She knew why this was stupid. She was acutely aware of just how stupid she was being – how ridiculous she had been from the very start. The moment she arrived in Ponyville she should have been standoffish with everypony and cultivated a reputation as someone unapproachable and distant. That would have made her whole life much easier – although it would have made getting rid of her catharsis confections more complicated. Sugarcube Corner would have received mysterious packages on its doorstep every time she was stressed or had a bad dream.

Slayers were notoriously short-lived. Bon-Bon had survived far longer than generations of her predecessors. The reason for that made her scowl and duck her head even though there was nopony around to see it, nor anyone who would have understood if they had. She carried her guilt and grief like a carefully wrapped chunk of glass that cut her every time she got it out to look at it. When it was fresh she had unwrapped it constantly and compulsively, holding it to her because she couldn’t bear to let it go even though it hurt. Letting go felt like a betrayal but hanging on had been killing her in a different way – inside and slowly, piece by piece, until Celestia stepped in before Bon-Bon was nothing more than a hollow shell patrolling Canterlot each night.

“It is dangerous for you to operate alone. I am sorry; I know your grief still feels fresh, but you know I speak the truth. You need a Watcher.”

The short life of a Slayer made forming connections with anypony outside that world fraught with difficulty. Mares who were chosen were barely out of fillyhood, some not lasting long enough to get a first crush, much less start a relationship. Bon-Bon knew from experience what it was like to be the one left behind. She never wanted to put anypony through that; to bury a chunk of glass in somepony else’s heart the way one had been driven through hers. On any given night she might die. She didn’t want to, had no plans to and fought with every fibre of her being not to, but she wasn’t a fool. Slayers died. It was an integral part of the magic that made them and bound them. Demons killed Slayers and Slayers banished demons; an endless cycle that had gone on for hundreds of years.

And yet …

And yet.

Bon-Bon hung her head. And yet she had not been standoffish or cultivated a reputation as someone unapproachable and distant. And yet she had allowed herself to make friends. And yet she had made the mistakes she had sworn she would not make: she had allowed herself to care about others and let them care about her.

“Lose something?”

She looked up to see a heavyset blue stallion watching her with a quizzical expression. His cutie mark of two sets of backwards facing quavers delineated him as an employee of Music Makers. The name-badge strung around his neck helped, too.

“You’re staring pretty hard at that patch of ground.” His tone carried a hint of humour. “Or are you pondering the secrets of the universe?”

“Just wondering whether I left the oven on,” she replied.

“Cute. It’s Bon-Bon, isn’t it? Are you here for Lyra?”

“Uh …”

“Did she forget her lunch again? You were here last week, what, three times with sandwiches for her?”

“Only twice,” Bon-Bon replied, not managing to keep the sullenness out of her tone.

The stallion chuckled. “I wish I had someone to bring me my lunch when I forget it. If I’m absent-minded I just go hungry.” He gestured with his nose at the doorway, which suddenly seemed bigger and more imposing than a simple shop door should. “I think she’s on the front desk this morning. She has a class this afternoon and some one-on-one tuition with students after that.”

Music Makers was a combination one-stop-shop for buying and repairing instruments, purchasing sheet music and finding lessons in everything under the sun. Woodwind, strings, brass, percussion, voice; if it could eke out a tune, somepony there would teach you how to use it properly (or at least help out your neighbours by teaching you how to sound less like a squalling cat fighting a seagull). Bon-Bon freely admitted she had less musical talent than a frying pan being used as a gong so she had never booked herself in for anything.

“Um…” she said articulately.

The stallion raised an eyebrow. “You’re not here for Lyra?”

“Uh … yes, I am, but uh …”

“You forgot her sandwiches too?”

“No. I mean yes. I mean … I didn’t bring her any sandwiches.”

“Ouch. I guess it’s grumpy times in the tummy department for her.”

Bon-Bon was temporarily stymied by the oddness of his wording. When he raised his eyebrow yet further at her, she impetuously reached into her saddlebag and pulled out the pink Sugarcube Corner box, hoping it would convince him she was here for a legitimate reason and not just because being within twenty feet of her next door neighbour gave her fluttery insides.

He whistled appreciatively. “Ponyfeathers, you sure spoil her.”

Bon-Bon shrugged. She was doing a lot of that lately. Maybe that should have been her response to Lyra’s first ‘hello’ when she moved in. It would have saved an awful lot of bother, not to mention oxygen. Think of all those inane conversations about nothing at all that had eaten up so many hours between them –

“Are you coming?” The stallion was holding open the door for her. From inside her sharp ears could pick out the sound of a quivery soprano singing off-key and somepony else correcting her.

Bon-Bon walked forward, only slightly stiff-legged. “Thanks …”

“Noteworthy,” he supplied.

“Thanks, Noteworthy.”

“No problem. Just think of me the next time you stop by with food, okay?”

Lyra was sprawled across the reception desk, face towards the ceiling, trying to balance a pencil on her nose. Noteworthy coughed meaningfully and she turned over in the manner of a cat being forced to move out of a sunbeam. Her expression shifted from boredom to utter delight when she spotted Bon-Bon and she all but leaped the counter to greet her.

“This is so unexpected!” Lyra exclaimed. She paused, expression shifting with breakneck speed to doubt. “I’m pretty sure I remembered my lunch today.”

“Why does everyone think I only drop by to bring you food?”

“Because you do,” Lyra laughed. “Tell me you don’t have something tasty in your saddlebag right this second.”

Bon-Bon was forced to concede that she did, especially since Noteworthy was watching. She brought out the pink box, which sent Lyra into paroxysms of glee. She clapped her hooves like a little filly.

“I’d hug you, but my boss is standing right there and he’ll see me leave my post.”

Noteworthy chuckled. Bon-Bon was surprised; in all the months she had visited Music Makers she had never thought to ask which pony was in charge. Noteworthy didn’t exactly exude leadership vibes, though there was an assessing quality to his gaze as he looked at her. He kept looking at her even though he was clearly speaking in Lyra.

“And you wouldn’t want to tick off your boss, would you?”

“No sir. The way I hear it, he’s a real meanie. He makes us pay for the candy bars out of the chocolate machine ourselves and everything.”

“Wow, what a tyrant.” Noteworthy check the clock on the wall. “It’s too early for your lunch, Lyra, but you can take a break if you like, since you won’t have time for one this afternoon. I’ll watch the desk.”

“Half an hour?” Lyra said hopefully.

“Ten minutes.”

“Twenty.”

“Fifteen.”

“I’ll take it!” Lyra bounded from behind the desk and grabbed Bon-Bon, dragging her backwards out the door and onto the street again. “You’re the best, boss-pony!”

“Don’t call me boss-pony!” Noteworthy called after them. “And you’re welcome!”

They settled at the fountain, perched on the low stone wall around the base. The morning was bustling with ponies rushing to and fro. On the far side of the square the market was already in full swing. Lily stood by her flower cart looking uncomfortable but pleased whenever anypony stopped to buy something. Golden Harvest was unloading a wagon of carrots, potatoes, leeks and other vegetables onto her own stall, while Mr Zippy hobbled along checking the contents of his mailbag. The elderly stallion was so preoccupied with squinting at the letters that he didn’t see the sack of potatoes on the ground. Golden Harvest snatched them up, preventing an accident and displaying a surprising amount of strength for a mare her size.

Seeing the old mailpony reminded Bon-Bon of Derpy. She hoped Derpy had honoured her word and gone to the doctor. Despite the chaos she tended to cause, none of it was malicious and Derpy was an honourable pony, so Bon-Bon turned her thoughts back to the present moment.

“So, what have you got for me?” Lyra asked eagerly.

“Who said it was for you?”

“You wouldn’t bring food and not share it with me! That’s too, too cruel.”

Bon-Bon pointed her nose in the air. “Maybe this time I did.”

Lyra jutted out her bottom lip. “Too, too cruel, Bon-Bon,” she repeated. “Too, too cruel.”

Bon-Bon glanced at her and quickly scrunched up her eyes. “Not the face! Don’t do the face!” She unscrunched one eye. “You’re doing the face.”

Lyra’s bottom lip began to wobble. Her amber eyes grew large and pleading. As the final touch, she gave an affected sniff. Sighing, Bon-Bon unpacked the pink box. Lyra’s face changed like quicksilver, all evidence of upset wiped clean, to be replaced by impatient anticipation.

“One day you’ll do that once too often and then it’ll be like the colt who cried timberwolf,” Bon-Bon cautioned. “No-one will believe you when you really are upset.”

Lyra shrugged. “Meh. Ooh, gingerbread! Hey, it looks like you. And the cupcake is the same colour as your mane and tail, too!”

Bon-Bon said nothing as she also brought out the polythene bag of Salty Caramels and untied it. She placed the four candies she had saved on the stone and waited for Lyra to choose something. She didn’t much care what, just that something was eaten to justify her even being here.

Lyra considered the food carefully, picked up the cupcake and put it down. She studied the gingerbread pony but shook her head. “I couldn’t. It’d be like biting your head off.”

Bon-Bon swiftly snapped the thing in two and offered Lyra the non-head section.

“You expect me to eat your butt instead?” Lyra sniggered. “Kidding, kidding, although it does feel weird. Uh, that the pony looks like you, not the gingerbread itself. I mean, I’m not saying the gingerbread actually feels like your butt … I’m totally going to shut up now.” She licked at the icing in determined silence. She never ate any cookie, cake or confection until she had rid it of all traces of icing. Sandwich cookies, in particular, held a particular fascination. She would peel them apart, trying to make every scrap of icing stick to one side in some ritual Bon-Bon didn’t understand, and then dunk the dry cookie halves in milk until they were so soggy pieces floated to the bottom of the glass. Bon-Bon thought that was disgusted but saying so only made Lyra do it more.

Bon-Bon watched for a moment before nibbling her own half. “I hear you have classes this afternoon.”

“I know, isn’t it cool?” Lyra grinned. She had only recently advanced to teaching other ponies after rigorous on-the-job-work training and was loving every second of it. She was the most junior tutor in Music Makers and determined to prove she was worth just as much as anypony else, even if they did have years more experience than her. “I’m giving Crafty-Crate singing lessons.”

Bon-Bon nearly choked. A piece of gingerbread caught in her throat. “Crafty-Crate?” she hacked.

“Uh-huh. Isn’t it cool?”

Bon-Bon banged her own chest with a hoof. “Which … one?” she wheezed. Even though she was an outsider she had heard of the long feud between the Crafty and Crate families, which had lasted so many generations nopony could even remember why they didn’t like each other. Eventually their differences had been settled, not because they reached a mutual conclusion of love and tolerance, but because the favourite daughter of the Crafty family ran away with the favourite son of the Crate family and they produced their own herd of hulking offspring who kept all the rest of their relatives in line. Bon-Bon wasn’t sure how many Crafty-Crate brothers there were – she had counted at least three – but even the little she did know of them did not compute.

“Was it the one who took over Crate Construction when Mr Crate Sr. died?” she asked between wheezes.

Lyra tapped her chin in thoughts. “Y’know, I don’t think it was. I’m pretty sure that one’s a pegasus and called Cory. Or maybe Cherry. No, wait, Cherry’s the one who runs the fruit stall in the market on Saturdays. The one I’m teaching is an earth pony named Caleb. He wants to learn opera.”

An image of the burly brown stallions, with their permanent five o’clock shadow and soup-plate hooves, crept into Bon-Bon’s mind. None of that image coordinated with the word ‘opera’. “Really?”

“Uh-huh. He’s on his second lesson. He’s actually really good; but he made me promise I wouldn’t tell his brothers what he’s up to. He wants to sing some old song for his mom’s birthday and it’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“That’s … actually kind of sweet,” Bon-Bon was forced to admit.

“Music is the best gift,” Lyra agreed. “And food. Music and food are the best gifts. Ooh, or musical food! That’d be awesome.”

“You can be so odd sometimes.”

Lyra grinned. “But you love me for it.”

Bon-Bon’s entire ribcage attempted to fold in on itself, like a tiny black hole had opened up in her chest and was sucking away her internal organs. “I wish I’d brought a drink,” she said as a distraction, swallowing the gingerbread she had choked on. Her throat felt suddenly dry and scratchy.

Lyra leaped to her hooves. “Leave it to me!” she declared before cantering off. “I’ll be back in a jiffy!”

“Uh…” Bon-Bon could do nothing but let her go. “Okay?”

She kicked her hind hooves against the fountain, looked around aimlessly and tried not to appear too grateful when Lyra returned carrying a pair of large plastic cups with detachable lids moulded with a sealable straw through the middle, of the kind marathon runners wore so they didn’t dehydrate on hot days.

“Aren’t they cool?” Lyra raved. “I saw them when we passed the store earlier. Here.” She passed one to Bon-Bon and sucked at her own. “Oh, that’s good apple juice.”

Bon-Bon was more circumspect. When she tasted the liquid, however, her mouth tingled. “Strawberry fizz?” she asked in surprise.

“Isn’t that your favourite?” Lyra frowned. “Did I get it wrong?”

“No, no, it is my favourite; I just didn’t know you knew it.”

Lyra rolled her eyes. ”Well duh, Bon-Bon. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t know something like that? I can also tell you your favourite flavour of ice-cream. It’s mint chocolate chip, right?”

“Uh, right.”

Lyra took a mock bow. “Boo-yah. Watch me know stuff. And you say I have a bad memory? Tch, as if.”

“Your memory is only bad with things like paying your electricity bill on time and remembering to get to work with your lunch in your saddlebag.”

“Picky-picky. I remember the stuff that matters.”

The conversation flowed easily. A little too easily. Bon-Bon’s head jerked up when the clock tower chimed the hour and Lyra bolted upright.

“Oh my gosh, I’m totally going to be late back to work! Noteworthy will kill me! He’ll skin me with a violin bow! He’ll slice me up by pushing me through harp strings! He’ll lock me in the piano and play The Song That Never Ends! He’ll –”

“Lyra!” Bon-Bon interrupted.

“What? Oh, yeah.” Lyra scuttled away, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll see you tonight if you’re around, okay? Have a great day, Bon-Bon! And thanks for the food! I totally owe you. Again.”

“Don’t worry about it!” Bon-Bon called back with a less than enthusiastic wave. “Take care…” She trailed off. Lyra could no longer hear her.

Bon-Bon let her hooves fall into her lap and watched until her friend turned a corner and passed from view. Then she methodically tidied away the now empty pink box, sliding the flattened card into her saddlebag to post into a recycling receptacle on the way home. Rather than get up and leave, she spent a further minute or so sweeping crumbs onto the floor and watching as pigeons fluttered down to gobble them. She didn’t need to watch. She didn’t even want to watch. She just couldn’t help herself. The alternative was getting up and going home to wait for her training session with Zecora. While the glow from her time with Lyra remained, that just seemed intolerable.

As with all good things, however, the glow eventually faded and she levered herself upright. The pigeons scattered as she walked through their midst and made her way back to the little thatched house she called home.

One thing about living alone was that things were always exactly as you left them. Nothing and no-one disturbed the pattern you had set down, which was both a good and bad thing. You never had to ask where the scissors or soap were but you could never step through the door with a greeting on your lips.

The air inside Bon-Bon’s house felt lifeless. Even the dust motes seemed to just hang in the light of a sunbeam through the window.

“Perhaps I should get a pet,” she said, if only to break the oppressive silence. “A cat or a dog.” She imagined a slobbery hound bounding up to say hello, or a little terrier turning happy circles, or a falsely disinterested feline gaze from the top of a cupboard. The idea was not unappealing.

As she removed her saddlebags and kicked the door shut with one hind hoof, she caught sight of the mail she had dumped on the sideboard this morning. Picking it up, she leafed idly through the adverts for a new Saddle-Arabian themed café, pizza delivery and a call to support her local branch of Friends of the Everfree.

“Because forging relations with the denizens of the forest and learning to understand their ways is the first step to a more utopian way of living,” she read aloud, a chuckle invading her voice.

She wondered how many Friends of the Everfree had actually been into it. True, there were areas that were less dangerous than others, but ponies who thought the only problem was understanding the creatures that lived there were fools. Ponies had long held sway over many aspects of nature in their world, from weather and seasonal change to the rising and setting of the sun and moon, but that didn’t mean there weren’t parts of Equestria where nature itself was still allowed to run free. The name ‘Everfree’ was only a small indication that the forest did not welcome the touch of creatures who had tamed the land all around it. It would fight to protect itself from invaders. Those who wandered in soon became aware that anypony, invader or not, was treated the same way and would be lucky to re-emerge in one piece. Ponies were not wanted or needed in the Everfree Forest and no amount of prettily worded leaflets would change that.

The package from Canterlot held most of Bon-Bon’s attention. She turned it over, carefully squeezing to see if she could guess what was inside. The contents were lumpy but unidentifiable until she tore off the brown paper and removed the bubble-wrap. Inside was a book, its pages crackly and yellowed with age, which she assumed was for Zecora. Living in the Everfree was a dangerous business Zecora could not have accomplished without all the protective wards around her house and her own formidable skills. It was impressive; but not impressive enough for Equestrian Royal Mail to make trips out there. Thus, anything Celestia wanted Zecora to have, she sent to Bon-Bon.

“The Collected Papers of Sea Storm Pinkshell,” Bon-Bon read. “Yep, sure looks like something for Zecora.” Idly she flipped it open and tried to read the first line, however the style of writing was so flowery she could barely make out the words. She squinted, decoding ‘Watcher’, ‘record’ and ‘Slayer’ with some effort. “Another Watcher diary? How many dos she have now? There can’t be many more for Celestia to send. The Canterlot archive will be empty before Zecora’s finished.”

It was as she was placing the book back in its bubble-wrap that she noticed the other letter. It had been tucked inside the brown paper like a lollipop in a game of Pass the Parcel. Bon-Bon picked it up but could see no address, only her name: Bon-Bon Sweetie-Drops. The writing was doggedly neat and had the look of a unicorn about it. The ability to use a quill using magic made it a lot easier to have elegant penmanship than those forced to use their own hooves. When Bon-Bon slid the letter from inside, however, she quickly amended that assumption.

Dear Miss Sweetie-Drops,

I would appreciate an audience with you at your earliest convenience. I understand that you have duties in Ponyville but my sister assures me your attendance at Canterlot Castle will not interfere with these. Twilight Sparkle will be returning to Canterlot for a meeting with my sister upon May Day. Please take the same train and also come to the castle. Tell the guards that you are applying for a job as a lady’s maid. They will understand. There are things I wish to know that only you can furnish me with.

Yours,

Princess Luna.

Bon-Bon stared at the letter for several minutes. The words did not change; not even when she turned it over to see if it was some kind of trick. There was a small red wax blob at the bottom which had been pressed with Princess Luna’s personal seal. It even smelled vaguely like the letters she sometimes got from Celestia, though a little spicier.

“Wow,” Bon-Bon mouthed. “What the hay could Princess Luna, of all ponies, want to ask me?”

“Perhaps she wants to talk to you because she feels it’s overdue,” Zecora suggested.

“She’s been back in Equestria for over a year,” Bon-Bon pointed out, ducking. “There’s overdue and then there’s OVERDUE. Just ask Twilight about overdue library books.”

Zecora considered this. “Perhaps she calls you now to go because before she did not know. You and I are both aware that Slayers do not secrets share.”

“Watchers either.” Bon-Bon grunted as she easily dodged a wooden hoof and brought her own down on it. The enchanted practise dummy danced away, avoiding her blow just as easily. “Why did you want those old diaries? And who is Sea Storm Pinkshell, anyhow?”

“Pinkshell lived at the seashore. As I have explained before, Watchers write down what they’ve learned; information they have earned. Pinkshell’s writings are not lots and his style ties brains in knots. Even so, I feel I should see for myself if they are good.” Zecora patted the book. “Never underestimate a diary’s true hidden weight.”

“Not lots, huh?” Bon-Bon knew what that meant; the Slayer whom Sea Storm Pinkshell had been set to train had not lasted long. Bon-Bon didn’t like learning the names of Slayers of the past. It made them seem too real and hammered home the thought that receiving this power had shortened the number of days she had as well. When she first found out about that she had not reacted well and had no desire to do so again. “Hey, Zecora, can’t you up the ante with this dummy?”

“You find this challenge not enough? You used to find it very tough.”

“I guess the increased demon activity lately has made me sharper than usual.”

Bon-Bon balanced her weight on her front hooves and kicked out at the dummy. Its left foreleg flew off so hard it buried itself in the trunk of one of the trees surrounding their secret training area. Zecora had enchanted the place with a sound-muffling spell and some sort of ward that caused unwanted attention to become easily distracted if anypony happened across them. Since they were deep in the trees beyond Zecora’s hut, however, it was unlikely anypony would just happen by. The dummy’s leg juddered but, separated from the rest of it, did not move again.

Zecora stepped towards the chalk ring she had drawn on the ground. The purpose of the exercise was to practise fighting in restricted spaces; something Bon-Bon needed to be good at in Ponyville. It was much better to take on a demon in an alleyway than banish it in the middle of the marketplace. In restricted spaces, however, demons often had the advantage of size. Bon-Bon had to rely on manoeuvrability and speed. Pointing at the dummy, which was twice the size of her, Zecora muttered an incantation. Her hoof glowed for a moment and the dummy’s hollow eyes pulsed with the same light.

“For me it would be remiss if I missed out: ‘you asked for this’.”

The dummy snarled. The noise momentarily startled Bon-Bon. That was new. Moments later she had other things to think about as it lurched towards her, remaining foreleg outstretched. It walked on two legs as easily as four and swiped at her, its heavy wooden tail swinging behind it. She backed up but stopped at the edge of the circle. She could step outside it but that would end the spell and she would have failed.

The dummy roared and came at her again. It was faster than it had been and whirled in a jump that shook the ground as she tried to get around it. Bon-Bon calculated the risk and threw herself forward, sliding between its hind feet. She was halfway up its back before it reached behind and knocked her off. She hit the ground in a roll that took most of the impact and came up in a ready position. She barely had enough time to stand before it was on her again and she caught the brunt of its foreleg in her shoulder. When Zecora upped the ante, she really upped the ante.

“Use the tools you have been given or you will surely be driven right over this line of chalk. Concentrate and do not talk!”

Who’s talking? Bon-Bon wondered. Her shoulder ached. She should have been able to avoid that strike. Well, like Zecora said; she had asked for this.

The dummy lunged at her. Bon-Bon ducked, balled one hoof and punched upward. A blast of wood-chips sprayed from the dummy’s disintegrated shoulder. It looked at the shattered stump with bewilderment, which gave Bon-Bon the chance to jump onto its back. Few other ponies would have been able to make such a jump from a standing start. She hooked her hooves into the uneven wooden grooves along its body until she reached its head. The dummy, maybe realising what she was up to, threw itself onto the ground in an attempt to crush her. Bon-Bon struggled to hold on and clambered over it like somepony rolling a felled tree down a river. The dummy got up again with surprising speed, considering it was missing both forelegs, and snapped its mouth at her. The mouth was hinged, a row of sharp wooden teeth on either jaw. Rare was the demon that didn’t have razor fangs, even though they ate auras and magic, not flesh. Bon-Bon arched her spine so that her body formed a backwards C, drew back her right foreleg and punched straight through the top of the dummy’s head. It shuddered once and toppled over. She leaped free before it landed, whipped out the vial of salt crystals she used in lieu of actual banishing powder during training, and dashed around the fallen ‘demon’ in a circle only slightly smaller than the chalk one.

Zecora clapped her hooves together. “You have achieved victory against this deadly enemy.”

Breathing hard, Bon-Bon took a mock bow. It was not something she would usually do; more something Lyra might do if this was her task. Lyra always made light of everything. “You sure don’t mess around, do you?”

“Weaponless and all closed in, I know you’d still surely win. This much sets my mind at ease – even if you’re fighting trees.”

Bon-Bon blinked at her. “Um … okay.”

“As Watcher I watch over you. I care about the things you do. You did not request this calling.” Zecora’s eyebrows twitched into a frown. “Oh, so many fillies falling. Through the ages they’ve been fighting each and every demon sighting. Only one and one alone, forced to fight them on her own. Warring nightly for us all; lonely in that final fall. This does not seem right to me. I refuse to let it be. Bon-Bon, I am not a Slayer but I am still a key player. I make sure your skills are keen, oldest who has ever been.”

“What?”

“I will do all that I can, as I have done since I began.”

“No, no, what was that about oldest? You mean … oldest Slayer?”

Zecora nodded. “In my research I have found that you’re the oldest one around. Watchers who have written prior prove that I am not a liar. This shows you are very good and shows you have understood what it takes just to survive; but also what it takes to thrive. Slayers past would only kill. You’ve made a life in Ponyville.”

Bon-Bon bit back a laugh. Made a life? Yeah, sure; one that could be al turned around at any moment if Twilight Sparkle ever left, or if a demon ever finished what so many others had started. A life in which she was forever a part of the scenery, part of the background who couldn’t make too many lasting connections in case her death caused too much of a rift. Past Slayers had been prevented from having even as much as she did for the simple reason that when they died – not if, but when – questions would be raised that had no easy answers. Making a life in Ponyville had been accidental at every step and filled with regrets.

“A Slayer’s lot is not just giving, it is also about LIVING,” Zecora insisted.

Bon-Bon she did not respond with the scathing retort hovering at the back of her throat. She instead glanced at the sky and the position of the sun. Zecora noted this as did likewise.

“Dark won’t come for hours yet. See how much sleep you can get.”

“You always seem to be feeding me or sending me to bed,” Bon-Bon said tightly. “I’d say you’re being motherly, but the whole ‘trying to beat the crud out of me with giant puppets’ thing gets in the way.” She set her jaw. “Did you find anything about why the demons might be appearing more often but NOT heading for the most magical aura in the area?”

“Bon-Bon–”

“Zecora.” Bon-Bon struggled to find the right words. “Just don’t, okay? This is not a conversation we’re going to have right now.”

“Before I do, in my defence, I did not mean to cause offence. Your happiness means much to me, as well, of course, as your safety.”

“Yeah.” Bon-Bon turned her face away. “Thanks. So did you find anything?” She kept her face turned and could only hear Zecora’s response, which seemed more reserved than usual.

“Many things are possible. Only some are plausible. Solids answers I have few; only what I learned from you. I’ll continue with my reading, though some signs may be quite misleading.”

“Misleading?”

“If one has an allergy; many culprits it could be. Some symptoms seem like each other, the only thing to do is smother one thing, then the next, and so on, until you have more to go on. Thus it is with demons too. Discount causes to find what’s true. Though a list I can compile, it may take me quit a while.”

“Well that’s helpful.” Bon-Bon might not have been so acerbic if Zecora had just stuck to things like this, instead of trying to give life advice outside of her role as the Slayer’s Watcher. The adrenaline from the fight had leeched away, leaving Bon-Bon grumpy and filled with swirling frustration that had been inside her for a while, but which Zecora’s words had allowed to fling themselves to the forefront of her mind. “I’ll go home and see if I can get some sleep before it’s time to patrol.”

“Bon-Bon –”

“See you later, Zecora.”

She left without looking back.

“Hey! Hey, Bon-Bon! Hey, wait up!”

Bon-Bon was so lost in thought she didn’t register the voice at first. She stopped and turned to see a familiar blue stallion cantering towards her.

“Noteworthy?”

“Yup,” he huffed, drawing up next to her. “Boy, you were really moving. I thought I’d never catch up with you.”

“I was just trotting.”

“Yeah, but if I admit that running to catch up with you when you were only trotting made me this out of breath, my machismo will never recover.” He sucked in air, raised his head and gave her a toothy smile. “Where are you headed?”

“Uh, home.”

“Do you have time for a coffee?”

She glanced at the sky. Slayers could function on very little sleep but she wouldn’t be a hundred percent unless she got in a nap before patrol.

Noteworthy looked at the sky too. “The pegasi have rain schedule for tomorrow. Or was it tomorrow night? Either way, it’ll stay clear today. We could sit out and, I don’t know, have some cake or something. Do you like Sugarcube Corner?”

“What pony in town doesn’t?” she asked absently. What time was sunset today? Sunlight made demons sluggish and burned their hides, so the more sunlight there was, the more it burned them and the harder it was for them to escape it. No demon would even think of rising until past seven o’ clock this evening. It was four now, which gave her a good few hours to rest up and –

“Bon-Bon?”

“Hmm?” She blinked out of her reverie. “Excuse me?”

“Wow, you must be thinking about something really important.” Noteworthy tilted his head to one side. “Also, you have leaves in your hair.” Before she could stop him, he reached out and plucked part of a twig from behind her ear. Her Slayer reflexes strained to lash out at the unbidden contact but she held them back with some effort. “There you go. Been collecting firewood?”

“Uh, yes.” She nodded. Her cover story was helped enormously by the logs and twigs in her saddlebags, which were closed but lumpy. Nopony would question someone re-entering town from the direction of the Everfree if she was carrying something as innocuous as firewood.

“Then you really should relax and have some cake and coffee with me.” Noteworthy spoke as if he had planned for her to collect firewood just so he could make the offer. “What do you say?”

Bon-Bon stared at him. “Uh…”

“I won’t take no for an answer, by the way. Hard work deserves a reward.”

“I really should be –”

“Please?” His smile wavered a smidgen; not enough for a regular pony to tell, but for someone with Slayer senses it was obvious. Likewise the way his eyes flickered a little, as if he wanted to know how many witnesses there were to the sight of him about to be shot down. “I hear Mr Cake baked his famous banana cake with cream cheese frosting today.”

Bon-Bon sighed. “Who could say no to that?”

Pinkie Pie served them, giggling the whole time. Since Pinkie spent the majority of her life in perpetual giggles, this didn’t mean anything. The way she dashed through to see Mrs Cake with a squeal was more telling.

“Ohmygosh! Ohmygosh! Ohmygosh! Ohmygosh! MrsCake! MrsCake! You’llneverguesswhojustcameinheretogether!”

“Shall we sit outside?” Noteworthy suggested, glancing back over his shoulder. The inside of Sugarcube Corner wasn’t busy but Pinkie’s voice cut through the chatter like a hot knife through butter. It was impossible not to hear her.

“Yes please.”

Bon-Bon wanted to hold the tray but he carried it through the door without asking and placed it on a table of wrought metal filigree. A massive sun umbrella poked through the centre of the table, weighted down by a concrete block in the shape of a slice of cake. It even had a concrete cherry on top. Years ago, when the newlywed Cakes opened their as yet unnamed café, they had promised theirs would be an establishment that did not skimp on details or quality. They had never gone back on their word, which accounted for why Sugarcube Corner had outlasted all the other cafés that had been operating at the time.

“Is this an okay spot?” Noteworthy asked belatedly. “We could move if you don’t like it.”

“Here’s fine.” Bon-Bon sat down and turned the tiny pot of tea so she could hold the lid shut as she poured. While Noteworthy had stuck with his original suggestion of coffee, she had opted for something less caffeinated if she planned to get any sleep when they were done.

“We were lucky to get the last two slices,” Noteworthy observed as he passed her one of the plates. The ceramic chinked as he placed a dessert fork next to the slightly battered slice of banana cake. The slice he kept for himself had completely disintegrated on one side while hers at least retained its triangular shape. He was making small-talk in the face of her troubled silence.

“Yeah, we were.” Bon-Bon poured milk, tore open a sachet of sweetener and stirred it in.

“Sweetener?” Noteworthy said in surprise. “Not real sugar? I would have pegged you as a triple-cube girl for sure.”

She shrugged. “I’m sweet enough already.” Though she adored making confectionary, ponies always made the mistake of assuming she loved eating it too. There were only so many sugary things a pony could consume before she became tired of them.

“Me, I like my coffee black.” Noteworthy pulled the sugar bowl towards him and picked up four cubes at once in the tiny tongs. He brandished them dramatically. “With lots and LOTS of sugar.” Since the tongs were never designed to hold so many at once, the middle two cubes slid free before he was ready, plopping into his brimming mug and splashing him. “Ow! Ow! Ow!” He brushed at his chest, voice rising to an almost feminine pitch. “Hot! Hot! Hot!”

“Here.” Bon-Bon grabbed a serviette and whipped around the table almost faster than the eye could see. She sponged the coffee off before it could scald him any further. When it was gone she looked up, realising too late how close his face was to hers in that position. His breath blew onto her cheek. She took a hasty step back and retreated to her seat, where she stirred her tea so hard a little whirlpool appeared in the light brown liquid.

“Thanks.” Noteworthy cleared his throat. “Well that was embarrassing. I should write a book: How to Humiliate Yourself in Front of a Pretty Girl in Five Easy Steps.”

Bon-Bon’s head jerked up. Did he just say ‘pretty’? Oh no, did he think this was a … had she missed him saying this was a … had she stupidly agreed to a … date? She shook her head. No, no, she would have remembered the word. It leapt out of the conversation like a Catherine Wheel amongst sparklers. Still, he had looked at her strangely just now when she got so close to him. She hoped he hadn’t misinterpreted her actions to mean more than they did.

Noteworthy sighed. “Sorry, I’m really bad at this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she replied in a slightly strangled voice.

“I don’t usually get much time off from the shop. For a long time I was the only vocal coach. Now Lyra and Minuette are taking some of the workload I have more free time than I know what to do with. A guy can only do so much admin in his office before he starts to go stir crazy, right? So I’ve ventured back into the world of ponies who aren’t chained to their workplace and I … have apparently forgotten even the basic manners I knew before I started the place. I’m sorry.” He winced. “I am really, REALLY bad at this.”

Despite her automatic impulse to flee the scene, Bon-Bon couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. It wasn’t his fault he had picked the worst possible mare in all of Ponyville to ask out. He was trying, even if his attempts at social niceties were clearly unpractised. “Don’t worry about it,” she repeated. Reaching for something to throw into the conversation, she asked, “So, um, how long have you owned Music Makers?”

“Three years.”

“And was it something you always wanted to do?”

“Celestia, no. I wanted to be a singer. I used to daydream about crooning blues numbers into a microphone in all the nightclubs in Canterlot. Then I grew up and realised singers are a bit a dozen but singing teachers are pretty thin on the ground.”

“So you opened Music Makers.”

“Nope. First I moved the Canterlot and busked while I applied everywhere I could think of for work as a performer. Then I swept floors in a club called Swingmeisters, hoping I’d get my big break on open mic night. Then I woke up to myself and moved back to Ponyville after six months of living in a grotty shared apartment with three other stallions who never discovered deodorant. THEN I started Music Makers.” Noteworthy seemed much more comfortable talking about the shop. His posture visibly relaxed. Even his ramrod ears lost some of their tension. “At first there was no shop, just me travelling from house to house around town giving music lessons. The only reason I put down roots was because one of my customers repaired violins for a living and wanted somepony to take on his store after him.”

“You know how to repair violins?”

“Nope, but I put an ad in the paper to find somepony who did. There are a lot of starving musicians in the world, let me tell you. I called the place ‘Violins and Voices’ until we were successful enough to take on other ponies to offer instrument lessons, and they knew ponies who could repair instruments other than violins, and they knew ponies who knew ponies who knew other ponies…” He shrugged. “The whole thing kind of snowballed. I never expected to end up where I am today but I wouldn’t change it for the world. Paperwork is a nightmare but the rest is golden. I couldn’t ask for a better job.”

“Not even crooning blues numbers in Canterlot clubs?”

He laughed. “Not even. My employees smell daisy fresh every day.”

Bon-Bon tapped her teaspoon on the side of her cup and lifted it to her mouth, blowing off the steam. “It must be nice to have a job you love.”

“What about you?” Noteworthy leaned forward, genuinely interested. “What do you do for a living?”

Bon-Bon cursed herself. She had walked right into that one. “Oh, this and that.” She spotted the familiar shapes of her own Salty Caramels, which Pinkie Pie had put on a complimentary plate along with their order. The salt glistened like actual crystals. “I’m a confectioner.”

“What does that mean?”

“I make candies.” She nudged the plate. “These, for example.”

“You made these?” He swiftly picked one up and popped it into his mouth whole. His expression as he chewed was comical. He tried his best to look like he had expected the mixture of flavours and liked them. “Um, they’re not … quite as sweet as I was expecting.”

“They’re Salty Caramels,” she informed him. “Bittersweet candies.” Kind of like her: looked sweet but with a bitter zing inside. “They aren’t for everyone.”

“No, no, they’re, uh, really good.” Noteworthy swallowed and made a valiant attempt to swig coffee without looking like he was washing an unpleasant taste from his mouth. “So you work here?”

“No.”

“Then how come –”

“I bring in excess produce sometimes. The Cakes can find a better use for large quantities of candy than I can.”

“Oh.” Noteworthy frowned in confusion. “So where do you work? Do you have a market stall?”

“No.” Bon-Bon sighed. “I don’t work, as such. My family owns a couple of candy factories in Manehattan and Fillydelphia. I moved here to get away from all that.” Lies danced off her tongue, the threads of truth running through each not enough to make her feel better for saying them. Her family really did own candy factories but she had no access to the fortune she would have someday inherited. Nevertheless, she couldn’t exactly admit that her expenses were being covered by one of the rulers of all Equestria without provoking questions she was not permitted to answer.

“Oh.” Noteworthy nodded.

“My family and I don’t get on,” Bon-Bon explained. “We have … different ways of looking at the world.” That much was true, at least. “And now I’ve made you uncomfortable. You think I’m one of those kept mares who wouldn’t know hard work if it hit her in the face with a bag of sugared almonds.”

“No, I don’t … sugared almonds?”

She shrugged. “It sounded better in my head.”

“I know that feeling.” Noteworthy sipped his coffee hesitantly, as if the rest might leap out and scald him too. “That explains why you’re available to keep bringing Lyra her lunch when she forgets.”

Bon-Bon drank her tea and didn’t respond.

“I despair at her sometimes,” he went on. “She can be so scatter-brained it makes me want to tear my mane out but she’s also one of the best teachers I’ve ever seen; and talk about a performer! When she plays her lyre everypony stops to listen. And if she’s singing as well? Boom! Everything and everyone grinds to a halt.”

“I know,” Bon-Bon said quietly.

Not picking up on her emotion, Noteworthy chuckled. “That’s nothing compared with when Minuette joins in, though. When those two sing a Capella … well, let’s just I had to get them to stop doing it during working hours or nopony was getting anything done.”

“I can believe that.”

“Really?” he quirked an eyebrow. “Most ponies would be at least a little sceptical – even if it is one hundred percent true.”

“If Minuette is even half as good as Lyra, I can believe you.” Bon-Bon pensively sipped her tea. She tried to think of something else to say but drew a blank. Awkward silence descended like a damp blanket, muffling both sound and mood.

“So …” Noteworthy was also struggling to find a topic for conversation. He put down his mug, picked up a fork and scooped banana cake into his mouth. “Wow, it really is as good as everypony says. You should try it.”

Bon-Bon dutifully did so. She agreed that the cake was lovely but even she didn’t buy the fake enthusiasm in her voice. Tiredness had blossomed behind her eyes and all she wanted to do right now was go to sleep and forget, however briefly, all the things churning in her head. She was being rude and she knew it. She didn’t want to be but this entire situation was making her uncomfortable.

Finally Noteworthy put down his half eaten slice and jabbed the fork upright in it. “I get the feeling you’d rather be anywhere but here right now.”

“Hmm? No, of course not. I was just –”

“Just staring into space. It’s okay.” He gave her a smile that made her stomach twist, though out of pity and regret rather than desire. “Sometimes there’s a spark between two ponies and sometimes there isn’t. You were good enough to agree to have coffee with me and I appreciate that. When I asked Lyra and she told me you weren’t dating anyone, I just thought I’d try my luck.” He lifted one muscular shoulder and let it drop. “Though for the record, I didn’t say you were pretty just because I’m attracted to you.”

Bon-Bon’s cheeks grew warm. She tried to hide behind her raised teacup, which she held between both forehooves like a shield.

“No, really.” Noteworthy tried to peer under her hooves to meet her eye. “You’re a very attractive mare, Bon-Bon. Whichever stallion you pick to date is sure going to be one lucky guy. Whoa!” The legs of his chair squeaked as he shoved involuntarily backwards away from the table.

Bon-Bon looked at the pieces of broken cup in her hooves. Hot tea dribbled down her forelegs and dripped onto the floor. It wasn’t scalding anymore so she didn’t leap up or even cry out. She had experienced far worse pain than that during her patrols.

“Bon-Bon, are you okay? You’re bleeding!”

“No I’m not.” She turned her hooves over but they were fine.

“Not there; your cheek.”

Noteworthy picked up a paper serviette and leaned across the table to dab at her face. The serviette came away red, though only a little. The cut was shallow from a piece of ceramic that had flown off at an angle when she crushed the teacup. It had been an accident but she cursed herself anyway. She was usually so careful about keeping her abilities hidden. The frustration and overtiredness of the day must have gotten to her more than she had thought.

She stood abruptly. “I have to pay for the damage.”

“What?” Noteworthy stared at her. “No, you have to get that cut cleaned and checked out. It might need stitches. At the very least it needs sterilising –”

“It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.” She compelled herself to stop acting like an idiot, slow down and deal with this rationally. “There must have been a hairline crack in the cup. You can never see those things until it’s too late and you’re wearing the remains of your drink.” She rolled her eyes as if to say ‘what can you do, huh? Ha-ha-ha, nothing to worry about, everything’s perfectly normal here.’ “I’ll go and tell Pinkie Pie what happened. Then I really do need to go home. Thank you for buying this for me, Noteworthy, and for being so understanding.”

“Uh, it’s fine,” Noteworthy replied uncertainly. “Really. But you really should get that cut –”

“It’ll be fine. I have some salve at home that I bought from that zebra in the Everfree. It’s supposed to aid healing.”

“You’d trust some potion from a zebra over a trained doctor?” Noteworthy sounded incredulous. She hoped he wasn’t prejudiced against zebras the way a lot of Ponyvillians still were. It would be such a glaring flaw in an otherwise decent, genuinely nice personality.

“Thanks again,” Bon-Bon replied, choosing to treat the question like it was rhetorical. She hurried inside Sugarcube Corner, holding a fresh serviette to her cheek. “I’ll bring some candies for you the next time Lyra forgets her lunch.”

Bon-Bon lay in bed staring at the ceiling. She had drawn the curtains but sunlight still filtered around the edges and birdsong was clear through the closed window. That wasn’t the problem, however. She had long since adapted to a vaguely nocturnal schedule and her circadian rhythm was more of a spontaneous jazz solo most of the time.

No, what was keeping Bon-Bon awake was a combination of an overworked brain, a heavy heart and the suspicion that if she fell asleep those two were going to spark another nightmare. She knew resting up was the sensible thing to do but no matter how she tossed or turned she couldn’t nod off.

“This is ridiculous,” she told the ceiling. Needless to say, it did not reply.

She thought about Princess Luna’s letter. May Day was two days away. She would have to buy a train ticket, provided Twilight Sparkle really was going to Canterlot too. Bon-Bon had no reason to distrust the moon princess’s word but she answered to Celestia and had to make sure the note and its contents were authentic before abandoned the mare she was here to watch over.

Watch over. Watcher. Zecora. Bon-Bon’s traitorous brain twisted like a basket of overturned snakes. Zecora. Their disagreement. Making a life in Ponyville. Living. Being the longest surviving Slayer. Being the Slayer at all. Lyra. One thought led to another until Bon-Bon pulled the pillow over her head and yelled into it.

“This! Is! Ridiculous!”

She rolled onto her side, still clutching the pillow. She didn’t know how long she lay that way, warming her own face with her breath. It was long enough for her cheeks to become damp with condensation. She closed her eyes and willed sleep to come and wipe her mind for a while. It didn’t. Finally she pulled herself into a sitting position and sighed.

“Ridiculous,” she muttered. “This is …” She paused before covering her face with both hooves. She felt like she was running headfirst at a brick wall through a field of broken glass and no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t stop because her heart kept telling her it wouldn’t really hurt when she got where she was going. “I’m ridiculous.”

She swung her legs out of bed and trundled down to the kitchen. She hadn’t finished her tea at Sugarcube Corner. Perhaps some warm milk would have a soporific effect. She fetched a bottle from the fridge, poured it into a milk-pan and leaned heavily against the counter as she tried, once again, to convince herself that she was better off alone.

A sharp knock at the front door grabbed her attention. Well, it wasn’t the middle of the night; it was understandable that ponies might knock her door in the afternoon. The only problem with that was that she had no idea who might knock at any time of the day or night. Ponies did not just drop by her house. They knew she wasn’t the kind of mare you just called on unannounced.

She hurried to see who it was. Zecora? No. While Zecora had fewer qualms about coming into town these days she still wouldn’t risk knocking Bon-Bon’s door in broad daylight. Nopony was aware that they even knew each other; to them Zecora was the mysterious magical zebra in the woods and Bon-Bon was the most mundane of mundane earth ponies. Lyra? Since when had Lyra ever bothered knocking? If the door was locked she just yelled until Bon-Bon unlocked it.

When Bon-Bon opened the door she got such a shock she was rendered momentarily speechless. Noteworthy looked ruefully back at her, his strong back not even bowing a little under Lyra’s weight. She was sprawled on her belly, head lolling, a bead of drool ready to drip from her open mouth. As Bon-Bon and Noteworthy stared at each other with varying levels of embarrassment, Lyra let out a little snore.

“Sorry,” he apologised. “I tried my best but I couldn’t wake her. She was asleep in the practise room after her last student.” He shifted Lyra’s weight. She rocked from side to side but her eyelids didn’t flicker. “I thought I’d take her home but when I got here her door was locked. I knew you lived next door because she mentioned it so I thought maybe you’d have a key?”

“Uh, sure I do.” Bon-Bon stepped over to the key rack on the wall. It was a stylised musical note Lyra had given her when presenting her with the spare several months ago. Bon-Bon had used it several times to make sure her friend was up and breakfasted in time for work, though she hadn’t returned the gesture. She couldn’t afford to have other ponies just letting themselves into her house; not even Lyra. “Here.” She offered the key to Noteworthy, realising too late that he couldn’t accept it without tipping Lyra onto the floor. “I’ll, uh, let you in, shall I?”

“Thanks.” He followed her as she pulled her own door shut and trotted down the path, around the picket fence and up to Lyra’s porch. “I appreciate this, Bon-Bon.”

“Don’t mention it. It’s Lyra who’ll be thanking you when she realises what you did for her. That, or she’ll curl up in a ball of shame that her boss saw her drooling.”

“She’s drooling?”

“Uh, go right in.” Bon-Bon unlocked the door and stood aside to let him enter.

Noteworthy took only a few steps inside before looking around uncertainly. “Where should I put her?” The same rule applied now as had when Bon-Bon offered the key: if he tried to go upstairs Lyra would likely slip off his back. “I’ve never been here before.”

“This way.” Bon-Bon ushered him through to the living room. “The couch will have to do for now. Here, let me help you unload her.”

“I think this is the moment when I’m supposed to say she’s not a sack of grain, but quite frankly I’m not sure. She weighs a ton!” Noteworthy breathed out as Bon-Bon lifted Lyra off him. “Phew, that’s better. Uh, don’t ever tell her I said that, okay?”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Bon-Bon cradled Lyra momentarily, feeling the warm weight of her sleeping body, before depositing her on the couch. She levered Lyra’s head up and shoved a cushion under it. “There. I think there’s a blanket in the cupboard under the stairs.” She trotted away to find it.

“You’re really strong,” said Noteworthy. “You lifted her like she was light as a feather.”

“Here it is.” Bon-Bon ignored the observation, instead flourishing a tartan blanket Lyra once used on a picnic they had taken. She unfolded it and covered Lyra, tucking it under her chin and only just resisting the urge to smooth her mane off her face because Noteworthy was watching. “Wow, she really is zonked.”

“Zonked?” Noteworthy echoed. “I’ve never heard that word before.”

“I think it might be Manehattan slang. I’ve never heard it outside the city.”

“Oh.” He scuffed a hoof on the carpet, pointedly not looking at the clutter scattered throughout Lyra’s house. Plates with used forks, empty food containers and wrappers sat on the table and floor. Hats, scarves, socks and other clothes hung off chair and, in the case of one sock, dangling from the end of the curtain rail. “I guess I’ll go then. Thanks for your help, Bon-Bon.”

“It’s fine,” she said awkwardly. Getting to her hooves, she turned to face him. “Listen, Noteworthy, about before; I didn’t mean to –”

“It’s okay.” He held up a hoof to stop her. “Really, it’s okay. I understand.”

“You do?”

He nodded. “You were embarrassed that you broke the cup. That’s understandable. I’ve broken more than my fair share of delicate things over the years. When I was a colt I had a growth spurt before any of my classmates and I was the gawkiest, clumsiest thing you’ve ever seen. My mom actually had to start using paper plates and ban me from doing the washing up because of the number of the things I accidentally dropped and broke.”

“Embarrassed. Yes.” Not a total lie, though not what she had been going to say. She wasn’t sure what she had been about to say, actually, but that hadn’t been it.

“So it’s fine. I’m just sorry I made you uncomfortable by asking you out in the first place.”

“No, it was … it was very nice of you.”

He gave her a disbelieving smile. Celestia, he was such a nice guy. So many mares would kill to have a nice guy like him show interest in them. Bon-Bon, on the other hand, continued to wish the floor would split open and swallow her, then spit her back out when he was gone.

“I’d better go,” he said. Bon-Bon didn’t move as he trotted past her. At the door he stopped and added over his shoulder, “That salve you got from the zebra must really work. Your cheek’s all healed already.”

Bon-Bon whirled but he had already left through the open front door. She advanced to see him trotting down the garden path, not hurrying away but not lingering either. She watched until he had travelled all the way down the street and passed out of sight before finally shutting the door.

Lyra had curled into the blanket’s warmth. She lay facing the back of the sofa, her spine a long curve of tartan with mint green tail hanging out the end. She was snoring in earnest now, a testament to how exhausted she must be.

“I’m not surprised,” Bon-Bon murmured. “What have I told you about pulling all-nighters? You can’t burn the candle at both ends, Lyra.” She sighed, tucking the blanket more firmly around her. Lyra snuggled deeper and gave the biggest snore Bon-Bon had ever heard come out of a pony. “Excuse you.”

Bon-Bon rose to leave but stopped. She watched Lyra sleep, revelling in the simple comfort of the moment. It was stupid. She always harped on at Lyra to clean her house or at least tidy the mess a little. Yet being here in that same mess brought Bon-Bon a sense of peace that her own neat, orderly house had not. There was a strange kind of cosiness in the disarray of Lyra’s home.

Hesitantly, her feet dragging as if they expected at any moment for her to come to her senses, Bon-Bon crossed the room and eased herself into one of the wingchairs. She drew all four legs up and tucked them under herself, resting her chin on one of the wings. It gave her exactly the right position to watch the ride and fall of Lyra’s blanket in time with her snores. A woolly vest, totally inappropriate for the warm weather, sat next to Bon-Bon’s head. It had probably been there since Winter Wrap Up. Usually she would have felt compelled to fold it and put it away. Now, however, she left it exactly where it was.

When darkness fell, she would wake. She always did. She would rise, leave this comfortably messy house and its sleeping occupant, don her cloak and belt and go back out on patrol. If she found any demons she would fight them. If she won she would banish them back to whatever plane of existence they came from, just as hundreds, if not thousands of mares had done before her. She would do it because she was the Slayer and that was what the Slayer did; but also because she needed to keep the world safe so ponies like Lyra could sleep after a hard day at work without the forces of darkness threatening their safety. Afterwards she would come home and check to make sure Lyra was all right, because deep in her core Bon-Bon could not countenance a world in which Lyra Heartstrings was not happy and safe – even if keeping it that way meant she risked the darkness someday taking her the way it had taken all the other Slayers. Even if it meant keeping her own feelings for her secret, so that the pain of her inevitable disappearance, whatever the reason for it, would not leave Lyra crying into her pillow the way a little filly in Manehattan had when her grandmother died.

“Ridiculous,” she murmured drowsily. “I’m … so … ridiculoussss …”

At last, Bon-Bon was able to sleep.

4. Nightmares

Princess Celestia informs me that I must use the new servant’s name. My response was less than fulsome, for which I have been remonstrated. Forsooth, I do fail to see why one such as I must lower himself to addressing such a common pony as if she were my equal. Yet when I voiced this to Her Majesty she did look upon me with much scorn and I was forced to say that I will do this distasteful thing.

As I left Her Majesty’s chambers I did encounter Silvertongue the Gifted, of whom of I written before. He is a vainglorious youth whose magic does not exceed my own, though to hear him speak one would not guess this. He looks upon the world with the arrogance of the young and has yet to discover that there is always somepony better. Even I, with all my years of learning, study and discovery, must admit that my power pales in comparison to that of Her Majesty.

When he realised my ignoble exit from Her chambers, Silvertongue did smile in a most vexing way and enquire as to whether I was quite well. His meaning was clear even to one such as I, who has no time for the subtleties of courtly conversation. The way those lords and ladies snipe at each other does fair make my blood boil whenever I am wrenched from my work long enough to endure it. Have they no better use for their time than making allies and enemies of each other? They do wage wars of rumour and sharp tongues, striking down those whom, only last week, they declared friends. If this is friendship then it is an insincere, transient thing and I have no need of it. Nor have I any need of Silvertongue and his unsubtle desire to know whether I am out of favour with Her Majesty. He seeks to take my place as High Magician and is not secret about his goal.

The wagging tongues at court do wonder whether Princess Celestia will exchange my age for his youth; my bent back for his handsomeness; my experience for his thirst for knowledge. His thirst does not exceed my own! Yet nopony concedes to this in their gossip. The mares are aflutter at his blue eyes and shining mane while the stallions seek to prove their own mettle against his in endless duels.

There was a time when everypony in Canterlot sought to prove themselves against my might. Once I could not walk these halls without encountering some uppity spellcaster, nor leave the castle unmolested by rivals who saw me as their ultimate challenge on the path to greatness. Now my rival seeks to best me, not by might, but by undermining and replacing me within Her Majesty’s heart.

I cannot allow this. I will not allow it. My back may be bent but my mind is sharp. He shall not unseat me this way.

I did put Silvertongue in his place and returned to my chambers with my head held high. Upon entering them, however, I did find the servant wench and Her Majesty’s vexing words returned unto me. I enquired after the lowborn pony’s name and was further vexed by her shivering and shaking, as if I had reprimanded her for some misdoing. I charged her once more to furnish me with her name, whereupon she stuttered that it is Peaseblossom. At this I did wonder whether I had heard correctly, as I have always believed Peaseblossom to be a colt’s name. Her reply only proves what I have long held about earth ponies and intelligence. Her father (for her mother is no more, she told me, as if I had asked) thought the name too pretty for a son and so bestowed it on a daughter, not thinking that she would have to progress through life being laughed at. When I asked whether he had thought this upon naming her she responded that he had not and did put forth his nature as an honest, hardworking pony to me with a request for me not to speak ill of him! Her discourtesy in speaking thus to a unicorn such as I was intolerable! Therefore I have renamed her Cankerblossom and shall continue to use this name for however long she serves me.

Young ponies of today, whether noble or lowborn, magical or not, seem insistent on vexing me into my dotage!

-- Extract from the journals of Starswirl the Bearded, 488 AS.

The morning of May Day dawned with a nip in the air. Bon-Bon landed on her roof while Ponyville was still pulling the covers over its head and hitting blindly at the alarm clock. As the sky streaked from purple to cobalt, she slipped in through an upstairs window and shed her cloak. She spent a few minutes inspecting each of the pouches on her belt before taking it off.

“I’m running low on banishing powder,” she muttered to nopony in particular. “I’ll have to ask Zecora to cook up another batch.” Realising what she was doing, she looked around at the empty attic and sighed. “I seriously need to get a cat or something.”

She had not spoken to Zecora since the disastrous training session three days ago. She supposed she should have visited her, for no other reason than to say goodbye before going to Canterlot, but her stomach roiled at the thought. Time and reflection had created a knot of guilt in her gut about the whole thing. Zecora had only been trying to tell her what others had previously: that she should not devote herself so wholly to being the Slayer that she had nothing else in her life. The problem was that, though she could acknowledge that with her head, her heart and the rest of her gut resisted the idea. How could she embed herself in the lives of others so completely that she left a gap when she was gone? It was selfish and cruel. And how could she put herself through the same thing if she ever had to leave Ponyville? The thought of leaving already made her twinge with regret. If she allowed herself to care too much about the ponies here as more than just potential victims the Slayer must safeguard, it would be far worse when she had to tear herself away from them. No, it was better to have only tenuous connections that could be cast off easily and with minimal pain.

In the corner of the attic was an unassuming hessian sack in which she kept her back-up supply of banishing powder. Since she wasn’t going to have the chance to visit Zecora before her train, she extracting the little bottles and tucked a few into each of her empty pouches. There were three left in the sack when she was done, which made her wince. No matter how she felt about it, when she returned from Canterlot she had to swallow her pride and visit her Watcher.

She rolled the belt into the cloak, as was her habit. The attic door was a simple hinged square of wood in the floor, which she flipped back, revealing the much better furnished second floor below. She unfurled the wooden stepladder hooked onto one side and dropped it down. She could have jumped without injuring herself, but the house was older than she was and she could not guarantee the floorboards would tolerate several kilos of pony landing on them. Instead, she skittered down the ladder and grabbed the long wooden pole with a hook on the end that lived parallel to the upstairs bannister. A previous homeowner had fashioned it from a fallen tree branch to lift the ladder back into the attic and slide into a groove on the door to pull it shut. It was a simple but ingenious device that made her wonder about the ponies who had lived here before her. How many generations of Ponyvillians and grown up within these walls? Or maybe out-of-towners like herself had stayed here, stamping their identities into the place before moving on.

That would certainly account for the mishmash of decors. None of the rooms matched and there was a thrown together quality to the place that indicated several ponies’ tastes, from a relaxing ocean theme in the living room, to red and orange friezes across the ceiling in her bedroom, to a half-finished mural that took up most of one wall in the upstairs spare room. Bon-Bon couldn’t be sure, but she thought somepony had been trying to paint the view of the Everfree Forest that could be seen from that room’s window, but they had divided the wall into four quarters, with each quarter showing what the forest looked like in a different season. Whoever the artist was had got as far as Autumn and Spring and had made a start on Summer, yet the project had been abandoned before its completion. If Bon-Bon had possessed any artistic skill she might have continued it herself, if only to keep her from wandering aimlessly around town (and eventually to Music Makers) in her downtime, but even stick figures were beyond her, so she was forced to accept the wall as it was and wonder about what had made the original painter stop partway through.

Bon-Bon’s saddlebags were ready with the things she figured she would need for her trip. Twilight Sparkle had been entertaining guests late into the night when Bon-Bon crouched under her window during patrol. She had mentioned staying in Canterlot for three days. Bon-Bon wasn’t sure whether she would be expected to stay that long too and so had packed some toiletries just in case. Her train ticket sat on the kitchen counter, weighted down by a wind-up egg timer in the shape of a human in a tutu – a housewarming gift from Lyra in the days before Bon-Bon knew just what the choice meant.

“I guess that about does it,” she mused, wondering whether she could get a little shut-eye before she needed to head out. Her train wasn’t until nine. Rather than crawl into bed, she curled up on the couch and stared at the clock on the mantelpiece, willing sleep to come.

It didn’t.

“Celestia’s shiny white horn, not again!” she cursed, using one of Lyra’s favourite oaths. Lyra was irreverent to the point of mockery and loved making up new curses to use when she was mad.

Slumber had not been Bon-Bon’s friend lately. When it wasn’t refusing to come close, leaving her wakeful and crabby, it was dousing her with nightmares of darkness and the dark things hidden in it. Bon-Bon turned over so she couldn’t see the clock but it made little difference.

Time was fluid when you wished you were doing something else. A few minutes could telescope into hours and hours could shrink into minutes. Bon-Bon was considering asphyxiation through burying her head down the back of the couch as a means of reaching unconsciousness when someone knocked the front door. She sat up, eyes going immediately to the clock. Over an hour had passed without an ounce of sleep, despite her tiredness.

“Ponyfeathers! Who could that be?”

On her doorstep a small figure waited. Dinky was wearing a long patchwork skirt and a wonky crown on her head, which glittered with sequins and metallic stars glued haphazardly all over. Bon-Bon blinked at her, nonplussed. Had she fallen asleep and not realised it? Dinky continued to smile back in a rather surreal way, as if this was all perfectly normal. In her left hoof was a wand topped with sparkly pink cotton wool fluff.

“Hi, Bon-Bon! I’m a fairy princess. See my wings?” She turned to display the cardboard wings stuck to her back. They had been painted to resemble butterfly wings, though neither side matched and some of the patterns were blotchy, as though someone had spilled the water used to clean the brushes over it. “Mommy made them for me for Book Day.”

“Uh, Book Day?” Bon-Bon echoed, completely mystified. “Where IS your mother, Dinky?”

“Here,” said a voice from above them. With a clatter and a skidding noise, Derpy leaned down from the roof of Bon-Bon’s porch, a pair of filly-sized saddlebags in her mouth. “Solly, Niss Seeti-Dops,” she said, her words inhibited by the strap. “I dun mean ta ask dis –”

Bon-Bon held out her front legs. “Drop.”

Derpy dropped the saddlebags.

Bon-Bon caught them easily. “Now talk.”

Derpy worked her jaws, making Bon-Bon wonder whether she had carried Dinky’s bags for a while. There was certainly no room for them over the wings of the fairy costume. “Thanks. Um, I d-don’t mean to ask this, b-but could you drop Dinky off at s-school again today?”

Bon-Bon was flummoxed. “Me? Is your mailbag overfull again?”

“No, b-but I’m a little busy straight after m-my shift this m-morning, so I was wondering whether you’d, uh, t-take her in my place.”

“It’s Book Day!” Dinky joyfully declared again. “I’m the fairy princess from ‘Filly Pepper Finds the Fairy Princess’.”

“They had to all d-dress up as their f-favourite character from a book,” Derpy explained.

“Filly Pepper is my most favouritist ever!” Dinky enthused. “Mommy reads one to me every night, don’t you, Mommy?”

“Would you m-mind?” Derpy fixed one eye on Bon-Bon, the other wandering to her left. “Only Dinky k-kept talking about how much she l-liked walking with you last t-time.” She pursed her lips as if making a concerted effort not to stutter. It looked very odd upside down and half silhouetted against the pale morning sky. “You were a b-big hit.”

Bon-Bon was taken aback. She had not expected to be asked again, much less hear this. That couldn’t be right. She was awful with foals. “Uh, sure, but –”

“Oh my gosh, thanks!” Derpy interrupted with too much fervour. Her gratitude far outstripped the favour being asked. “I’ll m-make it up to you whenever I c-can, Miss Sweetie-Drops.”

“Derpy, wait.” Bon-Bon stepped out from under her porch roof to better see the departing pegasus. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine!” Derpy called back. Her mailbag swung against her hind legs, causing her to wobble and veer off course. She brushed past the branches of a nearby tree, performed a wonky barrel roll and straightened up to hover in place. “Everything’s f-fine. Thank you, Miss S-Sweetie-Drops,” she added, waving as she flew away in reverse.

“Look out for those!”

Derpy yelped, accompanied by the startle quack of the ducks she had flown into. There was a flurry of brown, green and grey feathers before pony and duck disentangled themselves and Derpy flew off in a meandering line.

Bon-Bon watched until she was out of sight. Only then did she drop her eyes to the smiling filly still looking up at her from under the brim of her crown.

“Uh, do you want some breakfast?” she offered awkwardly.

“Do you have some more candy like last time?” Dinky asked. “Those were scrummy-yummy-in-my-tummy!”

“I don’t think candy for breakfast would be a good idea.” Bon-Bon didn’t know much about kids but she was fairly sure this was true. “I can make toast, if you like. Or I have cereal.”

“I already had a bowl of Crunchy Wonderbolt Stars at my house,” Dinky declared proudly, as if this was an exceptionally wonderful thing to be able to say. She looked around and cupped a hoof around her mouth. “But I only like the yellow marshmallows shaped like Spitfire so I picked out the rest before I put the milk on.”

“Oh.” Bon-Bon’s reserves of small talk, never very liquid, dried up completely. “Well, uh, you’d better in then. You caught me a little earlier than last time so it’s not time to walk you to school yet.” In a flash of inspiration she added, “Why don’t you tell me about Filly Pepper?”

“You’ve never read Filly Pepper?” Dinky gasped.

Bon-Bon shook her head. “Nope. Is she a good writer?”

“She doesn’t write the books, silly! She’s the star! That’s why I’m dressed up as her from when she found the fairy princess, who the big, evil, nasty troll king had stolen away and locked in a dungeon. Filly Pepper rescued her and so the fairy princess said Filly Pepper could be a princess for a day, too, as a reward for pushing the troll king into the Well That Goes On Forever.”

“Oh.”

“The writer is a pony called Ms. Pandora Peachbottom.”

“Oh. Again. Um …”

Dinky drew in a breath and started speaking, the cadence of her words suggesting she was reciting from memory. “Filly Pepper is an ordinary pony, just like you and me. The only difference is that Filly Pepper has a magic pepper-pot that takes her to wonderful, faraway places whenever she shakes it. Where do you think Filly Pepper’s pepper-pot will take her today?” Dinky grinned. “The first page is always the same. Mommy and I say that part together and then Mommy reads me the rest. I have seventeen different Filly Pepper books in my room at home and I’m asking for another for my birthday.”

“Wow, that’s a lot of books. You must really like this Filly Pepper.”

“She’s amaaaazing!” Dinky jumped onto her hind legs and spun in a circle, waving her makeshift wand. Some of the cotton wool fell off but she didn’t seem to notice. “I wish I had a magic pepper-pot. Mommy says that someday, when I’m older, I’ll be able to do magic of my own, on account of I’ve got a unicorn horn!” She stopped, staggering dizzily. “Ooh …”

“Careful!” Bon-Bon reached to catch her before she fell. Dinky sagged into her grasp, giggling. She tipped her head back to meet Bon-Bon’s eyes.

“You’re upside down.”

Bon-Bon marvelled at how light she was. Limited interaction with foals had left her inexperienced with not only how to talk to them, but also how delicate they were. Dinky’s poofy dress and cardboard wings did not mask the fragility of her tiny body.

“Bon-Bon?” Dinky’s brows pulled together. She twisted around to look Bon-Bon in the face right-side-up. “You stopped smiling. Are you okay?”

“I was smiling?” Bon-Bon asked in surprise.

“Not anymore. You look all funny. Is something the matter?”

Bon-Bon set her on her feet and stepped back. “No, nothing’s the matter. I was just thinking.”

“Oh.” Dinky’s frown deepened. “That’s what Mommy said when I asked why she was acting all weird, too. She said nothing’s the matter and that she was just thinking and that I should go and play with my dollies. Only I didn’t want to play with my dollies because Mommy was sad and that made me sad as well.” She brightened. “But then Mommy came and put me to bed and read me Filly Pepper and the Sea Ponies, so I was happy again.”

“Sea Ponies?” Bon-Bon echoed.

“Yeah! They live in an underwater city called Aquastria and it’s real pretty and sparkly and nice!”

Bon-Bon shook her head. “Aquastria? That Ms. Pandora Peachbottom sure has a good imagination.”

The station bustled with ponies despite the early hour. Bon-Bon climbed aboard her train and found a seat in the furthest carriage, hoping nopony else would travel that far and she would have it to herself. Sure enough, when they pulled away she was still the only occupant. She stuffed her saddlebags into the luggage rack, stretched out in her seat and resigned herself to watching the Equestrian countryside pass by outside the window.

There was no doubt about it; the land around Ponyville was beautiful. As a city girl, Bon-Bon had been surprised at how much she liked being surrounded by greenery. In a place like this it was easy to fool yourself into only seeing the surface and ignoring the dark things that lurked underneath. There was something to be said for that kind of wilful obliviousness.

The rhythm of the train and her own tiredness combined to produce a yawn. Thanks to Dinky’s presence, she had not achieved the nap she usually relied on each morning. No way was Bon-Bon going to leave a filly unattended just so she could catch forty winks. Dinky was the nicest little filly, inasmuch as Bon-Bon knew what fillies in general were like outside her own experiences of being one, but making confectionary necessitated the kind kitchen equipment that could do real damage to curious hooves.

Being with Dinky was draining. Bon-Bon was constantly on her guard against doing something wrong that would end up in choking, bleeding, broken bones, tears or some other disaster. She could handle patrolling the town and fighting demons. Childcare was a whole other story. She had a newfound respect for Derpy and a pressing desire to sleep off her own brief encounter with parenthood.

Bon-Bon closed her weary eyes and was asleep a few seconds later.

The darkness is calling. She can hear its voice like a wind across moorland. The words are indistinct but there ARE words, calling her … summoning her …

Keep it secret. Keep a secret. Keep the secret.

She wants to run away but she has no hooves. She wants to get as far away from the encroaching darkness as she can but it just comes calling, calling, calling. She wants to cry out but she has no voice. She wants to scream for help but there isn’t anyone here except her and the darkness. Always the darkness. Always, always, always the darkness.

Keep it secret. Keep a secret. Keep the secret.

It’s getting nearer. She can feel it. Soon it will be close enough to touch her. Terror quickens her mind, sharpens her soul, and sends her spirit into the physical through sheer force of will. She CANNOT let the darkness reach her. She knows this with the certainty of a thousand lifetimes: she and the darkness can never meet.

Now she can run! Hooves thud a ground that isn’t there. Legs extend in a furious gallop. Her body leeches into being, inch by painful inch, muscle by necessary muscle. For a few seconds she is a running torso until her tail flaps behind her and her neck lengthens into ears, mane, forehead, jaw, nose and, finally, useless eyes that can see nothing ahead but emptiness.

Keep IT secret. Keep A secret. Keep THE secret.

The darkness keeps calling her, louder than before even as she puts distance between them. Where can she go to escape it? Where can she hide that it won’t find her? Everything is flat and black and grey and EMPTY. She has to find colour. She has to find shape! She can hide behind shapes and blend into colours. The darkness can’t.

The velvet voice seeps into her ears, wrapping around her even as she bucks at nothing like a mindless animal. The words are still indistinct but the message is clear.

The darkness is coming.

The darkness is coming for her.

The darkness is coming … coming … coming …

The darkness is … here.

Bon-Bon woke with a start. She had fallen off her seat into the aisle. She lay for a moment, groaning and holding her head. Apparently she had struck it on the way down and now her temple throbbed in tandem with her pounding heartbeat.

She got up slowly, clambering back to sit at the table and shaking her head to loosen the crumbs of sleep still clinging to her mind. Another nightmare. Already the specifics were fading but a sense of familiarity remained, as though she’d had it before. She pressed a hoof to her temple and wondered what time it was.

“Are you all right, cherie?” asked a voice.

“Hmm?” she looked up at the stallion who had entered the carriage while she was busy making a fool of herself. “Oh! I’m fine.”

“You looked as if you had bumped your head.” He frowned. “And you are to be holding it very much.” He spoke with a pronounced accent that put him north of the border, as far as she was aware of accents in that direction. How far north wasn’t as clear.

“Really, I’m fine,” she insisted. “Thank you anyway.” She shot him a really-it’s-okay-you-don’t-have-to-stare smile and willed him to go away.

He didn’t. Looking doubtful, he instead went to sit on the other side of the aisle in the seat across from hers. Watching him, Bon-Bon realised that the scenery outside the train was no longer moving. They had pulled into a station, one of the many stops between Ponyville and Canterlot. The stallion must have boarded the train here. She wondered whether he had come to this carriage hoping for privacy just like her, only to find a mare lolling about on the floor like an idiot.

Her cheeks hot, she averted her gaze and stared fixedly on the station name visible from her window: Coltchester.

She felt eyes on the back of her neck. When she turned back, she caught the strange stallion averting his gaze to look out of his window, presenting his variegated blue mane to her instead. The gold watch on a chain that he was holding snapped shut and he replaced it in his vest pocket.

She slowly returned her own gaze to outside but felt too uncomfortable to have her back to him. Standing up, she grubbed in her bag for the book she had brought along and pretended to read while watching him from the corner of her eye. He reached for his vest pocket once or twice but always refrained before taking the watch out again.

The uneasy silence held until the train pulled away. They were fifteen minutes out of Coltchester when Bon-Bon sighed, put her book facedown on the table and swivelled to face him.

“Can I help you?”

“Oh! Uh, non. I mean no. No, I do not …”

“You keep staring at me.”

“I am sorry, I just thought that I … I am knowing you.” He squinted at her, as if trying to read her face for something. She kept her expression pleasant but blank. “Are you from Ponyville?”

She lifted her chin to mask her surprise. “Yes, I am.”

“Have you ever been to the Café Magnifique?”

“That posh place in the centre of town?”

“Oui!” He seemed delighted that she knew it. “I have worked there for many years. I thought maybe I have been seeing you inside before.”

“Sorry, but I’ve never eaten in there.” She preferred the informal family atmosphere of Sugarcube Corner, though she didn’t tell him that.

“Oh, then maybe I have only been seeing you walk by. I am feeling sure I would be remembering a pretty mare like yourself. Mon Dieu, how strange to find you in Coltchester!”

“I wasn’t in Coltchester.” Bon-Bon’s words came out harder than she intended. She really did NOT take compliments well, it seemed. Echoes of her coffee with Noteworthy sounded like a distant bell in her mind.

“You were not? Ah, then you are coming from Ponyville herself. Are you to be going all the way to Canterlot?” He pronounced the city’s name strangely, dividing the three syllables up like he had chopped them apart with a carving knife and then sharpened all the consonants: Can! Terrr! Lot!

Bon-Bon nodded.

“I am also! What a strange coincidence, non?”

“Not really. Coltchester is on the train route from Ponyville to Canterlot.”

“Ah, but I meant that we, two ponies from the same small town, should be meeting inopinément – that is, uh, unexpectedly – in an otherwise abandoned carriage.” There was that strange pronunciation again: Carr-ahj! Listening to him talk was distracting, insofar as she was listening to the way he sounded out what had previously been boring, ordinary words rather than what he was actually saying. “It seems like something out of a storybook?”

Was he stating that or asking it? “I guess so.”

“Although I would guess from your accent that you, also, are not originally from Ponyville?”

“You’d guess right.”

He nodded sagely. “I, myself, am not a native.”

Really? Her inner voice sounded far too like Lyra for its own good. You’d never be able to tell.

“Though I do love the petit town dearly, my true home is Quebuck. And you? I think I am recognising … Manehattan?”

“Uh, yes, actually. Although I haven’t lived there in a few years.”

“Ah, but we never truly forget where we are from.” The stallion patted his chest with a serious hoof. “It is where we leave our hearts and our loyalty, oui?”

Bon-Bon didn’t know if she agreed with that. Thinking about Manehatten did not inspire the warm, fuzzy glow of home. She had only left there a few years ago but it felt like a lifetime. She had certainly had a lifetime’s worth of experiences since she walked out of her parents’ apartment and didn’t look back. Not even the regret zinged through her anymore. All she felt when she thought of Manehattan was a vague yearning for her grandmother’s house and the memories locked into the old bricks there.

When she thought of Ponyville, however, she was shocked at the swell of warmth that suffused her. Where the hay had that come from?

“Cherie?” The stallion waved to get her attention.

“Hmm? What?”

“I asked your name, cherie. I am Horte Cuisine, attendant at the Café Magnifique.”

Attendant? That meant he was a waiter who didn’t want to admit he was a waiter, right? “I’m Bon-Bon.”

“An excellent name!” He smiled. “Well, Bon-Bon, what is to be taking you to Canterlot today?”

“I’m visiting friends.” Did the royal sisters count as friends? Even if Celestia did in some loose way count as a friend, Bon-Bon had never actually spoken to Luna before. During her two visits to Ponyville she had been entirely taken up with suddenly not being Nightmare Moon and then experiencing her first Nightmare Night with Twilight and her friends. Until her letter, Bon-Bon had not thought Luna even knew she existed. The lie slipped out easily, however, and seemed to satisfy Horte Cuisine.

“I am attending a job interview,” he confessed. “Though I do love Ponyville, it would be advantageous for me to be working in a busy city like Canterlot. There are many, many ponies there who could help me in my, ah, career?”

“You mean like restaurant owners and ponies like that?”

“Oui!” He fastened on the suggestion. “Ponies like that.”

“Do you hope to own your own restaurant someday?”

He considered this for a second. “Perhaps. Certainly, the enjoyment of eating is a grand pursuit of mine. I seek to be making sure that all those around me are well-fed and satisfied. Hunger is the enemy of a true attendant.” The passion in his words was almost palpable.

“I guess it’s good to have a goal,” she conceded. “Well, good luck in your interview. I hope you get what you want.”

“Oh, certainement, Bon-Bon! In a great city like Canterlot, where dreams are always to be coming true, how could it be different?”

Bon-Bon had been into Canterlot Castle before but today it felt extra intimidating. She could reason and rationalise until she was blue in the face; she could listen to all the arguments that Luna had changed, that she was a different pony now, that her tenuous friendship with Twilight Sparkle and exile to the moon had improved her attitude and outlook on life. However, it always came back to one simple fact: she was going to see the pony who had once been Nightmare Moon. Since Bon-Bon was more aware than most of what evil could do, the prospect made her even more nervous.

She cleared her throat and informed the guard at the serving entrance who she was and that she was applying for a job as a lady’s maid, just as Luna’s letter had stipulated. The guard was a burly white pegasus whose hooves looked like they could split a watermelon with one stamp. His expression flickered for a moment as he assessed her.

“Wait here,” he said shortly, disappearing inside.

Bon-Bon waited a full ten minutes before he returned.

“All right. Follow me.”

He led her down several corridors to a small anteroom that, despite not being decorated as luxuriously as the upper levels, still retained the elegant architecture that characterised the castle. Equestrian history books told the story of how, over six hundred years ago, Celestia had built the castle on the side of the mountain and the city had gradually grown up around it. The original stones now made up only one wing of the current building and were in constant need of repair, yet Celestia refused to knock them down and rebuild that part in a more modern style.

“Wait here,” the guard said, turning to Bon-Bon and giving her the beadiest stare he could muster. If it was possible to communicate dirt-on-my-horseshoe with a stare, he was close to making it a reality. “Her Highness will attend you shortly.”

“Okay.”

He snorted at the response as if it irked him. “You are to address her properly and only speak when spoken to.”

“Okay.”

“You will not look her in the eye, chew gum, use slang or foul language in her presence, and you most certainly will not act above your station.”

A flicker of irritation made Bon-Bon’s mouth tighten. “I wasn’t going to, but okay.”

The guard raised his chin. “And above all, you will understand that I am her Highness’s protector and there are many more only a heartbeat away, all of whom will coming running the moment they sense anything amiss.”

“Gallant?”

A ripple went through his entire body, as if he had received an electric shock. He whirled around and bowed at the same time, one foreleg outstretched on the floor, the other tucked under him. “Princess.” He turned his head, hissing at Bon-Bon, “Kneel for her Majesty!”

“That will not be necessary.” Princess Luna strode into the room. She wasn’t as tall as her sister but carried herself with the same effortless grace. When she stood over the guard she looked at him for a long moment. “Neither is your genuflection, Gallant.”

“But your Highness, it would be improper for me not to!”

“Then I give you permission to be improper.” She met Bon-Bon’s eye over his prostrate body. “Leave us, Gallant. This mare and I have things to discuss.”

The guard left, with many a backwards glance. He clearly knew Bon-Bon was not there for any job. Bon-Bon was not an expert on royal affairs but could guess neither Celestia nor Luna conducted those interviews themselves. It was equally clear that he didn’t know the real reason why someone like her would merit a private audience with the Moon Princess. For all he knew, Bon-Bon was a secret assassin here to put an end to the former tyrant, or some salespony here to con her out of millions to re-outfit the castle with dodgy double-glazing. Luna had been banished for a thousand years, after all, and had only been reacclimatising herself to life in Equestria for a short time. There were bound to be things in modern life of which she still had no knowledge, ways which she was more innocent than any of her subjects and ponies willing to take advantage of that naïveté. No wonder he was suspicious. Bon-Bon’s respect for him increased in tandem with her irritation at being treated like a criminal.

“I learned a phrase from the pony called Rainbow Dash the last time I spoke with her,” Luna said in a much more conversational tone than she had just used. “While it is rather vulgar, I believe it fits this situation quite well. Now how did it go?” She raised a hoof to her mouth as if thinking deeply. “Ah, yes: what bug crawled up his butt and died?”

If Bon-Bon had been drinking, she would have performed the most tremendous spit-take of her life.

Luna smiled. There was a fiercely mischievous element to it that was totally absent from Celestia’s smile. Luna’s smile seemed almost … defiant. “Shall we go to my parlour to talk? This room is rather drab. And you can speak before you are spoken to. I do not hold with that rule outside formal audiences.”

“Drab?” Bon-Bon looked around. This room was ‘drab’ the same way Discord was ‘a little naughty’. “If you say so, Highness.”

The parlour was even more lavish. Thought it was light outside the curtains had been drawn so that the room was lit by dozens upon dozens of small lights. Bon-Bon paused to take in the multitude of lanterns strung across the ceiling and hanging off curved stands like luminescent birdcages. There was a menagerie somewhere in the castle in which Celestia famously kept a host of exotic birds from all over the world. Foreign dignitaries who had heard of her love of birdlife often brought her new species as gifts. Bon-Bon wondered if the menagerie was where Luna had got these stands. Perhaps they had been a sign of goodwill from her sister when she first came home. Gauzy fabric also hung everywhere in a riot of colour: bright pink, sunflower yellow, sunset orange and the kind of ocean blue that painters often tried and failed to copy in their work.

“You admire the ornamentation?” Luna asked. “I decorated this room myself.”

“It’s certainly … busy, Highness.”

“Mmm, yes, I suppose it is. Celestia loathes clutter. She is more practised at simply letting things go but after so long in exile without them, I find myself reluctant to give up THINGS.” She put such emphasis on the word it made Bon-Bon jump. “In particular I have always had a proclivity for pretty ornaments. I like having them around me and do not care whether there are too many.” Despite her conversation tone, she still sounded oddly formal, as if she was still learning how to talk like her subjects. “Although I must admit, perhaps the colours do clash a little. Most ponies who come in here are surprised that I have not outfitted my rooms in colours of the night. Are you surprised? Please be honest.”

“Um, maybe a little?” Bon-Bon admitted.

Luna gave a knowing nod. “My love of the night is the most famous thing about me, so it is understandable that ponies would think that. As you can see, that is no longer the case. Though I still love my beautiful night, I am not the pony I once was.” She faced Bon-Bon squarely. “This is something I always say plainly when meeting somepony new. I am no longer Nightmare Moon, nor am I the insecure filly who preceded her.”

“I didn’t say you were, your Highness.”

“You did not need to. I am fully aware of my reputation and how long it is going to take to remedy the damage my past actions have done to it. Ponies look at me and still, no matter my efforts, they see HER.” She hissed the word like it burned her tongue. “But I am not her and I require you to understand that if we are to continue this meeting.”

“Your Highness, I don’t think Nightmare Moon would ever have made that comment about your guard and, uh, bugs.”

Another fierce little smile curved Luna’s lips. “Quite so.” She gestured with one wing in that curious way only pegasi usually did. “Please, take a seat. I have ordered refreshments to be brought up to us.”

“Thank you, your Highness.”

She grimaced. “And please do not call me Highness or Majesty. I am trying to distance myself from the pomp of royalty, since it led to such a bad situation last time. I grew drunk on what I thought were my given rights as royalty and lost sight of what was truly important.”

“Uh, should I just call you Princess instead?”

“I would prefer Luna but I understand that is a little too informal for some. Princess or Princess Luna will be fine. And you are Bon-Bon Sweetie-Drops, formally of the Sweetie-Drops family of Manehattan, owners of the Candy Counter Confectionary brand. Am I correct?”

“Yes, High- … Princess Luna. That’s right.”

“And you are also,” Luna said with emphasis, “the Slayer.”

“That’s me.”

Luna tilted her head to one side. “I confess, I did not know of your existence until recently. Slayers appeared after my time and my sister did not wish to overwhelm me with all things that have happened during my absence. I have been learning piecemeal what has happened to Equestria in my absence and I ran across a reference to …” Luna’s horn glowed and a scroll levitated to her from across the room. It unfurled and she read: “From every generation there is chosen she who will stand against the demons and the forces of darkness. The power will choose her and make her that which the forces of darkness hate most. She will defeat them and protect this realm from their evil. She will know them and they will know her and fear her. She is the Slayer.” Luna looked up. “One must admit, that is an intriguing introduction.”

“Is that why you wanted to speak to me?”

“Partly. If all I had wanted was bare information, I could have asked my sister. She has known of the Slayers since the first and initiated the scheme for finding and training suitable ponies as Watchers, correct?”

“Yes, Princess.” Bon-Bon thought back to her initiation into the Slayer heritage. She had been full of resentment and grief at the time but Windwhistler had soldiered on regardless. She had known that this new, resistant, angry Chosen One needed to understand what had happened to her and what it meant for her future. “It was something Starswirl the Bearded wanted her to do; to make sure future Slayers always had somepony to guide them. He knew she was too busy to do it herself, being Princess and all, so Watchers were invented to fill the gap.”

“’Fill the gap’,” Luna mused. “An interesting way of putting it. I have heard much of this Starswirl the Bearded since my return. He was quite the magician, from what I gather; an expert in dozens of forms of magic and inventor of many of the spells still used today. He discovered how to teleport – something I have been trying to learn myself. It would make getting around this huge castle so much easier.”

“I’m sure it would, Princess.”

“But, like all mortals, he died and left behind many legacies. The Slayers intrigue me greatly because I do not fully understand how or why they came to be. Demons were not a problem a thousand years ago when I ruled the land with my sister. I did not see even one in all the time we reigned. When did they become such a burden that Starswirl created the Slayers?”

“Nopony’s exactly sure,” Bon-Bon explained. “Maybe they were always around but didn’t do much so nopony realised what they were. There may have been demons when you reigned the first time but they didn’t put enough of a dent into the population for you to notice. My first Watcher told me that somewhere around five hundred years ago the demon population exploded and we’ve been banishing them back to their realm ever since.”

“Their realm? Ah, so they are indeed creatures from another world. But what is to stop them from coming back to this one after you have banished them?”

“Well, you see, there’s a reason I’m called, uh, Slayer. Not Banisher.” Bon-Bon willed the princess to understand her meaning without her having to spell it out further. “I tend to send back bodies so nopony in Equestria ever sees a demon corpse.”

“Why?” Luna was genuinely curious. “Why not make the existence of demons public knowledge, as the changelings became public knowledge after their attack on Canterlot.”

“Well, because demons aren’t interested in taking over anything. They just want to gorge themselves on ponies’ magic. They’re hard to root out unless you’re, well, me. I can sense demons but nopony else can. It’s … it’s difficult to explain. I think Starswirl created the spell that made Slayers and kept it secret so there wasn’t a widespread panic. He didn’t want ponies to become paranoid or start turning on each other – the way a lot of them did when the news about changelings came out.”

When Queen Chrysalis and her changeling army invaded Canterlot, they were defeated by Twilight Sparkle and Princess Cadence, but the long-term effect of their discovery did not make itself felt until later. Newspapers reported outbreaks of banishment and violence perpetrated by ponies against ponies, as some Equestrian citizens began to suspect each other of being changelings in disguise. Authorities and police were inundated with complaints from those convinced that their neighbours, friends or families weren’t who they said they were. In one particularly tragic incident, a father set fire to his house with his wife and three sons inside, reasoning that if they were changelings, they would revert back to their winged state and fly away, and if they were really his family he would simply run back inside and save them. All five burned to death when the roof collapsed. In another case, an old mare who lived alone on the edge of a village was driven out as the rest of the populace suspected her of being a front for many changelings because she had lived for so long even though she was just an earth pony. The whole business had the air of a witch-hunt and showed how, no matter how rational most could be, if you introduced an unknown threat to the general public some ponies went crazy and did terrible things in the name of self-preservation. Sometimes ignorance really was bliss.

If demons were commonly known, it was possible nothing about life in Equestria would change. It just wasn’t likely, or so Starswirl and, ultimately, Celestia had thought when they decided the Slayer and everything about the demons should be kept secret. If ordinary ponies knew en masse about demons and what they did, panic would only be the start of it. Bon-Bon imagined gangs of untrained, frightened ponies stalking the streets in search of demons to slay. There would be deaths, and lots of them. Not even Bon-Bon knew all the types of demons out there, yet those she did know made her shudder to think of ordinary ponies going up against them: demons that spat or bled acid; demons with extending barbed tongues that could rip off a face at fifty paces; chameleon demons that caught their prey unawares; demons with siren screams that could incapacitate you while making your ears bleed; demons who could perfectly mimic any voice they heard and con their way into the homes of victims. The potential for bloodshed was immense, as was the potential for the kind of paralysing fear that would make Equestria as active as a graveyard after dark.

Bon-Bon took a breath. “Demons are from another realm, yes: the Demon Dominion. My first Watcher explained to me that some ponies have these theories that there are lots and lots of realities other than this one and that all together they’re called the ‘multiverse’. Most of the time different realms don’t even know each other exist. Yet sometimes, for some reason, the fabric of space and time between realms gets thin and holes appear so that the two start to bleed into each other.”

Luna’s eyes grew wide. “And that is what is happening here?” she breathed.

Bon-Bon shook her head. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. Every realm have has thin spots where it rubs up against other realms. Generally that’s as far as it gets unless someone or something actively tries to break down the barriers between worlds. To do that, they have to know the other realm is there in the first place, where the thin spot is, and on top of that they have to know the right magic to cut through. It’s complicated sorcery that Celestia banned anypony from researching hundreds of years ago.”

“Was that because of the demons?”

“I suppose it could have been a contributing factor, although I think she just realised what meddling with the fabric of reality could lead to and put a stop to it. The problem is, there are a few spots where our realm butts up against the Demon Dominion where holes exist. They’re only tiny little pinpricks really, but they can’t be sealed and sometimes small demons get through.” Bon-Bon pulled a face. “Well, I say small, but what I really mean is they don’t have much magic. Our realm repels any really powerful magic from entering it. The kind of demons that make it in, though? They eat magic to increase their own; specifically they eat auras, which is the core magic every living thing carries with it to stay alive.”

“I am aware of what auras are,” said Luna.

Bon-Bon blushed scarlet. “Of … of course you are. I didn’t … I wasn’t implying …”

“Do not worry. I am not offended. Continue with what you were saying.”

Embarrassed that she had been so patronising about magic to an alicorn, it took Bon-Bon a moment to recover. “Well … you see … uh, demons seem to especially like the aura of sentient creatures. The more magic in an aura, the more appetising it is, so ponies rate above all other living creatures because they’re one of the few species to master using magic. That’s why demons like unicorns best of all, following by pegasi and then earth ponies. An earth pony would be only a mini snack for a demon but a unicorn with lots of magic?” She shook her head. “That’s a five course meal with a cheese board and coffee for afters.”

“Which would make my sister and I,” Luna said softly, “a veritable banquet.”

Bon-Bon held up her hooves in protest. “Oh, no, no, no; don’t worry about that, princess. You see, it’s a catch twenty-two.”

“A what?” Luna frowned.

“A catch … I mean, it’s a self-sabotaging thing.”

Luna raised an eyebrow.

“Um … how can I put this?” Bon-Bon thought for a moment. “It’s like … they’re self-defeating. The demons that can break into our realm only get in because they’re magically weak. They need to eat auras to get strong; the more powerful the better. However, the really powerful (and so most desirable) auras belong to creatures that can defend themselves and would barbeque them the moment they tried to attack. Most demons are pretty mindless when it comes to feeding and they never work together so they would just sort of throw themselves at ponies from the shadows and get … well, squished for their trouble. So instead they’re attracted to powerful auras, like moths to flames, but skulk around eating the less powerful auras of weaker ponies, maybe someday building up their strength enough to take on better prey. That’s where I come in. The Slayer is always an earth pony because we have the least magic of all the pony races and the spell that chooses the Slayer masks her aura even more. The Slayer barely shows up to the demons’ senses but can sense them better than anypony else. She is uniquely designed to fight, defeat and banish demons back to their own realm. She is–” Bon-Bon stopped, realising she was parroting Windwhistler’s words exactly. She hadn’t even known she remembered that first lecture so well. All those speeches, which she had found longwinded and tedious at the time, were locked in a box at the very back of her mind where it didn’t hurt to hear them, yet here one was, pouring from her mouth unbidden.

“Yet there have been many Slayers,” Luna observed, drawing her back to the present. “And you are the only one left.”

“Oh, there’s only ever one Slayer at a time,” Bon-Bon said, a hint of bitterness creeping into her tone. Things would be so much easier if Starswirl had cast the spell so that multiple Slayers could exist at once. Then perhaps the fatalities amongst their ranks would be less. You’d be less likely to die in the field if you had somepony watching your back who could do all the things you could. “Nopony knows why. Starswirl’s spell just decided it should be this way. There’s a lot about the original spell that nopony knows because he never left any written records of it or explained how it worked to anypony.”

Like why it chose random ponies who had no training; like why it always went for those who had only recently received their cutie marks but always picked those with the least appropriate for the task of fighting; or like why it chose fillies instead of colts. If Bon-Bon could have ever met Starswirl the Bearded, she would have fed that famous beard through a mangle for all the torment his magic had brought into the lives of past Slayers.

The parlour door creaked open and a head poked in. Luna rose to her feet, gesturing with her wing for the pony to enter. A green mare slipped hesitantly inside, her aquamarine mane and tail restrained into two tight braids that swung heavily as she moved. She carried a covered silver tray on her upturned hoof.

“Just set it down there, Pixie,” said Luna, pointing at a low table.

The mare did so and backed away again, head low. “Will there be anything else, ma’am?”

“No thank you, Pixie.”

“Very good, ma’am.” She backed all the way out of the room and back out into the corridor without stopping. Bon-Bon’s sharp hearing heard her pace increase even more once she was out of sight and could go forward again.

Luna stared after her. “It is … a long process, overcoming a past that has such longevity,” she said tiredly. “The legend of Nightmare Moon is not an easy one to surmount. She is a nursery monster ponies have frightened foals with for centuries. That is why I value ponies such as Twilight Sparkle, who are able to see past the HER shadow to the pony who replaced her.” She sat back down but instead of attending to the tray looked hard at Bon-Bon. “My sister sent you to guard Twilight Sparkle.”

“Yes.”

“Is this usual for a Slayer?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? I’ve never heard of it before, but then again, Princess Celestia never took a student like Twilight before.”

“Hmm.” Luna was pensive for a long moment. “The Slayer is usually itinerant, yes?”

“You mean I move around? Yes. There are lots of potential Watchers scattered throughout Equestria. When they hear of something that sounds like demonic activity, they send word to the current Watcher and Slayer, who come and check it out.”

“That sounds like a practical system.”

“It’s worked for hundreds of years.”

“So why would Celestia set you to stay in one place in favour of one particular pony?” Luna frowned. “It would not be like my sister to leave the rest of the populace unguarded through your absence. Who is fulfilling the Slayer’s duties while you are in Ponyville?”

“The potential Watchers and other ponies Celestia picked out; royal guards who were given the option of a ‘special mission’, I think,” Bon-Bon replied. “They go around in groups to compensate for them not having Slayer abilities.”

“That sounds like a reasonable solution.”

“Maybe. I suppose so. I just … I hate the idea of other ponies putting themselves in harm’s way for a job that’s not theirs. The whole point of a Slayer is that she fights the demons because she’s best at it.”

“And do you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you still fight demons in Ponyville?”

“Well … yes.”

“Then it seems you are indeed still fulfilling your duties. Celestia has just given you … what is the phrase? Back-up?”

“I … I guess so.”

Bon-Bon had never really thought about it that way before, yet it made sense. Perhaps, after centuries of a single Slayer taking on the forces of darkness, Celestia had finally found a way to portion out the workload a bit more. Except that the whole point of the Slayer was so that nopony else had to die fighting the demons. The Slayer knew the score. Bon-Bon knew the score.

“Shall we have tea?” Luna’s horn glowed and the lid lifted off the silver tray. “I think this might be a good time to pause for refreshments.”

The tray was filled with different kinds of fruit. Bon-Bon recognised grapes, apple slices, orange segments and chunks of peeled banana but the rest was a mystery. Luna levitated a bowl filled with one of the unknown things to her mouth. She paused at Bon-Bon’s expression.

“Do you like stewed pears?”

“Is that what that is? I thought it was new-born foal mush,” Bon-Bon blurted. Her face flamed at the remark. Apparently low blood sugar was, for her, synonymous with insulting royalty.

Luna examined the bowl. “Yes, I suppose it does. Actually, it is pears boiled in their own juice and syrup. I have something of a sweet tooth, so no matter how health the rest of the platter, the kitchen always add something sugary for me. Would you like to try some?” She levitated a spoon off the tray, scooped up a little and held it out to Bon-Bon.

Bon-Bon didn’t know whether to accept or not. She was willing to bet no help guide included a section on what to do if a royal alicorn offered to feed you like a foal. If she refused, would Luna play the here-comes-the-Wonderbolt-so-open-the-hangar game?

“Uh …”

“Open the hatch,” Luna said mischievously, that fierce smile making another reappearance.

Bon-Bon dutifully opened her mouth. The bit of stewed pear had the consistency of foal mush, too. Her teeth clacked together as they tried to chew something that needed no chewing. The taste was also nothing to write home about. It had a vague sweetness but when Bon-Bon swallowed the aftertaste was bitter and her mouth felt unpleasantly slimy.

“You do not like it.”

“I’m sorry, Princess, it’s just not the kind of thing I’m used to eating when I crave sweet things.”

“Oh? And what does satisfy your craving?”

“Well, uh, candy.” Bon-Bon wondered whether Luna had missed her cutie mark. “I make it in my spare time. In fact, I have some … here … somewhere …” She drew her saddlebags towards her from where she had put them when she sat down, grubbing through first one and then the other. “Ah, here we are. I made this fudge yesterday.”

Luna blinked at her. “Fudge?”

Bon-Bon blinked back, equally nonplussed. “You’ve … never heard of fudge?” How was that possible if she had been back in Equestria for so many months?

“I have heard of it,” Luna replied. “I simply have not eaten it.”

“Didn’t you come to our Nightmare Night celebration last year?” There was always a ridiculous amount of candy around on Nightmare Night. Everypony was expected to eat some.

“I did but I gave my candy back to the foals who attended the event. They seemed so happy and it was theirs by right anyway.”

“Oh. Well … here.” Bon-Bon held out a piece of soft brown buttery fudge, cut into a square by her own hooves. “Would you like to try some?”

Luna accepted the piece and nibbled at it. Her eyes rounded and for a second her mane and tail flared, the stars embedded in them shining a little brighter than usual. “This fudge is … wonderful! So sweet and soft and … wonderful!”

“I’m glad you like it. You can have the rest, if you like.” Bon-Bon offered the lot, belatedly realising how ridiculous a figure she cut, mixing commonplace items like a polythene baggie with the extraordinariness of a millennia-old alicorn. The two did not go together. At all. Luna’s hooves were built to mould constellations, not hold unevenly cut fudge pieces.

“Thank you very much!” Luna’s magic surrounded the bag, bringing it to her eager hooves. “If all your family make confectionary this delicious, it is no wonder they are such successful business-ponies.”

Bon-Bon’s pleasure evaporated. “Yeah. I don’t … really speak to them anymore. There was some bad blood between us … and an argument … or sixty … and then I was chosen to be Slayer … and I left to travel doing Slayer duties and they kind of … got on with their lives without me.” She stumbled her way through the explanation, thinking how lame it must sound to a pony who was once banished to the moon by her only sister.

Luna stopped chewing. She managed to nod sagely despite her full mouth. She did, however, swallow before speaking. “I understand about falling out with family, Bon-Bon.”

Bon-Bon dropped her head. “I don’t think my situation really compares with yours, Princess.”

“Arguing with family is not limited by station, class or wealth. A pauper is just as likely to feud with her mother as a noblepony; and the pain of knowing even one family member can exist without you is a heartache that equalises the lowest born with the highest.”

Luna poured two cups of tea, which smelled odd and turned out to be some herbal blend Bon-Bon couldn’t distinguish by flavour alone. It left her mouth tingly and the back of her throat slightly sour. They sipped in silence for several minutes, each taken up with her own thoughts.

“You did not ask to become the Slayer,” Luna said abruptly.

“No-one asks to be the Slayer, the spell just chooses a new pony when the old Slayer dies and the power passes from one to the other.”

“You have rarely referred to yourself as the Slayer during our talk,” Luna observed. “You have mostly referred to ‘her’ as if the Slayer is someone else.”

“I have?” Bon-Bon cast her mind back. “I guess I have. Huh.” She couldn’t think what to say to that. Was there anything to say to that?

“Do you not wish to be the Slayer?”

What a question! “It’d be moot for me to say so now. I am what I am. The only way for me not to be the Slayer is for me to be dead. That’s how Starswirl’s spell works.”

Luna frowned. “We are what we are born to be,” she said distractedly. Bon-Bon got the feeling the words weren’t fully directed at her. “And we grow into what we need to be. It is neither a smooth transition nor a pleasant one, but it is something every living thing must go through.”

“That’s pretty profound.”

“They are the words my sister said to me in her chariot when she brought me to Canterlot for the first time. I had ceased to be Nightmare Moon only a few hours earlier and was still too dazed to understand what she meant.” Luna’s midnight eyes shifted to focus on Bon-Bon. “Have you finished your tea? There is something I wish to show you.”

“Sure.” Bon-Bon set the teacup down and rose from the gigantic fringed cushion that served as a seat.

“It is not in this parlour,” Luna told her as she also got up. “Come. Follow me.”

The corridors of Canterlot Castle were straight but long. Standing at one end, it was often possible not to be able to see the door at the other. For that reason, Equestrian ministers had spent many years trying to find ways to fill the imposing amount of wall space. As the castle had expanded to accommodate the needs of a larger city, ministers had expanded their pool of ponies brought in to decorate. When walking down these corridors, you could chart the artistic evolution of Equestria based on the relative age of the castle area you were in.

As Luna led her along, Bon-Bon identified impressionist paintings of thirty years ago. The distinctive style of art was characterised by ponies throwing paint at canvases and then smearing them into pictures with their bare hooves. One image of Celestia made her look like an albino giraffe with the measles. Another depicted her as a ribbon of pastel colours with tiny hooves at either end and overlarge purple eyes. The important thing in this style was not realism, but that the artist got to transmit their feelings about the subject through their work. One could not help but think, therefore, that these artists thought of the beautiful princess as a work in progress.

Further on were artworks from a time in which it was fashionable to paint only in monochrome, which made the pretty Equestrian countryside look like some nightmarish world. In the corridor off from that were pencil sketches of everyday ponies from across Equestria going about their daily lives. Bon-Bon didn’t want to even guess how long it had taken the artist to sketch the twelve-foot by twelve-foot image of Canterlot market.

They turned down a corridor littered with sculptures, which were all beautiful but slightly off-putting in the way they looked like dozens of ponies had been decapitated and their heads dipped in plaster to place on plinths. The fact that most of the faces had no expressions, only cold dead eyes, only added to the effect.

In another corridor was Augustan art, named after the famous painter August Sunlight, who created outrageously detailed paintings of dramatic scenes from Equestrian history. His paintings ‘Defeat of the Windigos’, ‘Storming of the Everfree Fortress’ and ‘The Rise of Nightmare Moon’ were even famous outside Equestria and all three originals were here in the castle.

Luna paused in front of ‘The Rise of Nightmare Moon’. In it, August Sunlight had painted a shadowy figure swathed in a mane and tail of dark smoke that obscured most of its face and body. The effect was like that of a cloud that had come to life as was just in the process of turning into a pony. The clearest part was a pair of luminous turquoise eyes with vertical slits contracted like a cat’s in bright light. These shone out of the darkness, staring straight at the artist. It was said that no matter where you walked in a room, those eyes followed you. Seeing them now, Bon-Bon could believe it.

“My sister tried to take this down,” Luna broke the silence that had fallen between them. “She attempted to remove all art concerning Nightmare Moon from the castle. I stopped her. As much as I hate it, Nightmare Moon is a part of Equestrian history. It is not right to erase a part of our culture simply to appease me. The same can be applied to Nightmare Night and all the other ways Nightmare Moon has seeped into the nation’s mind-set. A thousand years is a long time for a story to take root. Having this around also reminds me why I should never allow my selfish desires to cloud my judgement and turn me into a monster again.” She indicated the cowering figures clustered at the bottom of the frame. Nightmare Moon was such an arresting figure, it was easy to miss them. Although she dominated the painting, the terrified expressions of the ponies witnessing her birth were equally detailed.

Bon-Bon wondered what it must be like to live with a past like Princess Luna’s. She must be aware every day of what she had done and how much she had to make up for. She had paid her penance by losing a millennia and returning to find the world had moved on without her. Not only that, but in her absence it had turned her into such a reviled creature, her story had passed into legend because ponies weren’t able to deal with how close they had come to total destruction at her hooves. Luna was still paying now she had become herself again. Equestria would never forget Nightmare Moon, nor what she had done to them. It was possible many ponies would never truly forgive her, no matter how much she apologised or tried to show them she was a changed pony. It was enough to drive anypony into depression, or madness, or both, and yet here Luna was, functioning with such apparent normalcy Bon-Bon had to keep looking between her and the painting to remind herself the two ponies were actually one. Or rather, they had been, once upon a time.

“Come,” Luna said abruptly, striding away from the painting. “What I wish to show you is not far now.”

Bon-Bon moved off but glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, Nightmare Moon’s slitted eyes seemed fixed on her retreating back.

Luna brought her to a door unlike the rest they had passed. It was heavyset and studded with metal rivets of steel and brass. This contrasted the elegant gold and silver versions in the rest of the castle. In the centre, where the edges of the double doors met, was a small stylised crescent moon. Luna touched her horn to this and a complicated locking mechanism whirred. They creaked open, the noise indicating they didn’t do it very often and could use some oil on their hinges. Beyond was a spiral staircase. The doors closed once Luna and Bon-Bon had gone through, plunging everything into complete darkness. Luna ignited her horn to light their way and descended the stairs. Bon-Bon stuck close until, what seemed like an age later, they reached flat ground again.

“Are we underneath the castle?” Bon-Bon asked. This passageway was unadorned and smelled damp. During her travels Bon-Bon had been forced to shelter in a few caves and they had smelled very similar.

“Yes,” Luna replied. “My sister tells me this was originally a shelter for her ministers during the conflict with Gryphona several hundred years ago. If we were to go further than I am planning to take you, we would find large chambers that housed the then-much-smaller population of Canterlot when the griffins burned half of the infant city to ashes in their attempts to kill my sister.”

Bon-Bon had read about the conflict in her history textbooks at school. It had seemed like just another boring part of lessons at the time, since relations with griffins had been good for hundreds of years. Equestria had a thriving population of griffins, many of whom had not lived in Gryphona for many generations. Why did they need to bother learning about dull stuff when it was sunny and everyone, including the teacher, would much rather have been playing outside? Now, however, she began to understand how different Equestria might be today if that conflict had gone differently. Equestrians needed to remember their past so they didn’t repeat the same mistakes in the future – just as Luna had said of herself and the Nightmare Moon artwork.

They reached another doorway with a crescent moon lock. Luna opened it and they passed through into a small area with different corridors branching off. With unerring certainty, Luna picked the narrowest. She had to bend her neck as the ceiling grew lower, though Bon-Bon had no problem. This was not a corridor built for tall royal alicorns. It emptied out into a tiny chamber. At its centre was a wooden chest that looked like it belonged in a pirate story.

“Is this what you wanted to show me, Princess?”

“It is. My sister hid this here centuries ago, after the conflict with Gryphona, although it has been hidden in many different places during the last thousand years. Nightmare Moon … I had what is inside made when I challenged my sister and started a civil war. The first and only civil war Equestria has ever known.” She closed her eyes in something too long to be a blink, then opened them again and continued. “The chest was built in this chamber, so it cannot fit through the passage to the exit and none but I or my sister can unlock it. The spell she cast renders the chest around the lock unbreakable, too.”

“That’s a lot of trouble to keep something hidden.”

“Its contents are worth the effort. For you see, in preparation for when I refused to lower the moon, I constructed a weapon. I knew my sister would be forced to fight me. I even looked forward to it. If I could control the sun as well, I could truly ensure my beautiful night lasted forever.” Luna’s mouth twisted bitterly. “It was an ill-conceived, selfish aspiration, born from the mind of a spoiled foal with too much power. Without sunlight, the land and all in it would have perished. Forever would have been a matter of months, if not weeks. Yet I was blinded by my own selfishness and the single-minded egotism that created Nightmare Moon. Therefore I sought to either coerce my sister into obeying my whims or destroy her and take control of the daylight.”

Luna put her horn to the lock on the chest, just as she had done with the doors. Something in her touch was recognised by the magic coating the chest and it burst open willingly. The lid thwacked so loudly in the enclosed space that Bon-Bon jumped. Or maybe that was because of the rush of power that swept through her as the chest’s contents were exposed.

“This,” Luna said grimly, “is the Lunar Sword.”

The scabbard inside didn’t justify her tone, nor the level of protection surrounding its location. Edged in silvery metal, stylised moons and stars decorated the dark blue surface. The pommel of a sword jutted out, gleaming dully. If it had not been for the sheer power radiating off it, Bon-Bon would have assumed it was nothing more than a glorified knife in a fancy sheath.

“It was forged in dragon’s fire from skyiron, the metal of a star that fell the day I became Nightmare Moon. I thought the fallen star was an omen of my victory, so I flew out to the far mountains where it had crashed and used my magic to bring the skyiron to Fire Song, an ancient dragon who owed me a life-debt after I saved his family from being Discord’s playthings. Between his fire and my magic, we fashioned a blade that I planned to plunge into my sister’s heart. I enchanted it and even added my own blood to the molten metal so it would be unbreakable and would obey me and me alone. If it had not been meant for such an evil purpose, it would have been the greatest sword ever forged.”

Bon-Bon stared at the unassuming scabbard. The primal urge to back away from it tugged at her legs like a tired foal who wanted to go home already. A sense of foreboding entered the little chamber, scraping against the walls and rolling unpleasantly over her.

“Because of this sword, my sister was forced to do what I had thought impossible: she used the Elements of Harmony on her own and so was able to defeat me. If I had not forged it, she would not have taken such a risk. By their very nature, the Elements are not meant to be used by one pony alone – not even an alicorn. My sister risked her own death to stop me from killing the land and the ponies who inhabited it. I was banished to the moon and the Lunar Sword refused to unsheathe for anypony but me. My sister could not destroy it and she would not try to use it, so instead she hid it away.”

Bon-Bon felt eyes on her and looked up to meet Princess Luna’s gaze.

“When Twilight Sparkle and her friends brought me back, I knew I could never use this sword again. It was created with an evil purpose. However, the sword itself is not evil, it is simply a tool. As with any tool, it is the wielder who chooses how it is used. I brought you here today, Bon-Bon Sweetie-Drops, because I wished to determine your character as well as learn more of the Slayer’s purpose. My sister has great plans for Twilight Sparkle – more than anypony in Equestria can truly understand. Therefore I can see why she sent you to watch over her. To that end, I also wish to help you.” The scabbard levitated out of the chest and across to hover in front of Bon-Bon. “Slayer, I wish for you to have the Lunar Sword.”

Bon-Bon’s mouth dropped open. “Princess Luna, no! I … I couldn’t!” It only occurred to her afterwards that saying ‘no’ to royalty was, in itself, a no-no.

Luna, however, was not angered at her reply. Instead, she seemed honestly confused. “Why not? It is a gift. It is to help you. It is also one of the many things I want to do to atone for my past. As Nightmare Moon, I made this sword to do evil. What better way to atone for that than to give it to somepony whose only purpose is to do good?”

“You barely know me!” Bon-Bon protested. “You can’t give me something this powerful when you’ve only known me a few hours!”

“My sister trusts you to watch over her precious student,” Luna said softly. “She would not choose just anypony for that task. Twilight Sparkle is as close to a daughter as my sister has ever had. Certainly, she loves her like Twilight is her own. To ask you to guard Twilight’s safety is an exceptional compliment. If my sister would trust you this much, I can do no less.”

Bon-Bon stared at her. “B-But …”

“Do you not see?” Luna urged. “The Lunar Sword is literally a part of me. My blood bonds it to the night. It gains power when the sun disappears below the horizon. It is the perfect weapon to use against demons who cannot come out until night-time.”

“But that’s exactly why I can’t accept it, Princess. If this sword really is a part of you, I can’t possibly use it. It’s … it’s too much.” Bon-Bon winced. Being near the sword was like being too close to a bonfire. She half felt like checking to make sure her eyebrows hadn’t been singed off.

Luna’s eyes lowered to the floor. “My sister bestows many gifts on her chosen champions. They always accept what she offers them.”

Wait a minute. Wait one apple-bucking, spell-casting, brand new shiny minute! Was this all part of some elaborate competitiveness between Luna and Celestia? Royal alicorns they may be, but both had proven on more than one occasion that they were not immortal and were prey to the same jealousies, irritations, sadness and joy as regular ponies. Celestia had given six ponies the Elements of Harmony, the most powerful magical artefacts Equestria had ever known. It was entirely possible that Luna had selected Bon-Bon as a suitable recipient the Lunar Sword so she could feel like she was at least playing on the same field as her big sister. After the bashing Luna’s ego had taken over the last year, it was possible she was trying to claw back some sense of self-worth through generosity.

Bon-Bon could play along with that but … there was still the sword. It pulsed. She avoided looking at it, as if she might find it looking back. There was something alive about it even though it was silent and unmoving, just like any old sword.

“Do you reject my gift because you do not want it or because of its origin?” Luna asked.

“I … it’s just … Princess, I may be the Slayer, but that doesn’t mean I’m all that comfortable wielding magic. I do it because I have to, not because I like it. You already know that I’m probably the least magical pony in all Equestria because I’m the Slayer. This sword … your sword … it’s frightening.”

“You do fear it,” Luna said, as if Bon-Bon had just confirmed a terrible suspicion. Weary resignation laced her voice.

“Well, yes, but I’m more scared of what it would mean for a pony like me to have it.”

“I do not understand.”

“I’m not magical. I’m not used to using magic beyond the demon banishing powder and that’s pretty passive since I don’t make it myself. The Lunar Sword IS magical. What if I can’t cope with it? Princess, I’m having trouble just standing here right now – and it’s still sheathed! The power it’s giving off is intense. If anyone was to unsheathe it, I don’t know what I’d do; but if I was the one to unsheathe it? I could cause a lot of damage.” Not to mention my insides might embarrass me in terror. Peeing yourself in front of royalty; not a sure-fire way to impress them.

“It feels abnormal to you?” Luna queried.

“I’ve felt magical energy before. Twilight Sparkle uses a lot of it all the time, not to mention ponies like The Great and Powerful Trixie, who seems to have a thing about torturing Ponyville, and Discord when he was around. I know what it feels like when someone unleashes so much magic it’s a smell in the air.” Twilight’s magic smelled like burnt ozone, Trixie’s like sulphur and Discord’s, as antithetical as he was, like candyfloss mixed with tar. The Lunar Sword made Bon-Bon’s nose sting so much she couldn’t even register a scent. “Your sword feels … wrong to me.”

“I fear that is because of the blood inside it,” Luna said sadly. “I had hoped that it would only carry my magic. However, if that is what you sense, it may be that Nightmare Moon’s presence lingers in it too.”

That was what it reminded Bon-Bon of! That overwhelming sense of power was just like when Nightmare Moon had appeared at the Summer Sun Celebration. “So do you see, Princess, why I can’t accept it?”

“I do understand but …” Luna frowned thoughtfully. “There is a way to remedy it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nightmare Moon’s blood was used to forge the Lunar Sword. Nightmare Moon was me so it recognises me as its master. Therefore I alone have the power to make somepony else its master instead.” Her eyes slid to Bon-Bon.

“Wait, no, you can’t!” Bon-Bon took an involuntary step backwards.

Luna’s mane and tail flared briefly, as if she had been struck by a sudden wash of temper. Bon-Bon was reminded of Nightmare Night in Ponyville, when Luna would fly into rages over perceived snubs and insults by the townsfolk. True, Luna had been civil to Bon-Bon since she arrived but had not stopped being that mare. “I would not do anything without your permission, Slayer. Do not look so alarmed.”

Bon-Bon stopped. “I’m sorry, Princess. I didn’t mean to imply … I know you wouldn’t force me into anything.”

Luna’s mane and tail shrank a little. “Thank you,” she said tightly. They shrank further as she regarded the scabbard. “Yet the fact remains, I could transfigure the Lunar Sword to answer to your aura. It would unsheathe only for you and would do only what you wish of it. You could not lose control of it; it would act as any ordinary sword would unless you wished for it to be more. And it would defend itself if any other attempted to use it, if that is what you wished of it, just as it refused to open for Celestia a thousand years ago.”

Bon-Bon bit her lip. “I … I’m not sure what to say.”

“You are frightened.”

She nodded. “And not much frightens me.” Mostly just not being good enough; or able to get there in time to save others from the demons; or leaving Lyra behind when she had to move on from Ponyville. Oh, and dying. That was a biggie, too.

The Lunar Sword. If it worked the way Luna said, it could help prevent at least some of those. It couldn’t do anything about leaving Lyra if Celestia released her from guard duty and set her back on the more traditional Slayer path. It wouldn’t be able to save her from dying if she was mortally wounded, either, but it might be able to stop that wound from being administered in the first place. It might make her better able to render the night safe to go out in.

Despite her protests, a small corner of Bon-Bon’s mind needled the rest: Imagine what you could do with that sword. Imagine how much easier it would be to take care of the ponies you care about. If you had a sword like that, you could stop demons from ever hurting another pony on your watch. You could keep Ponyville and Twilight Sparkle safer than they’ve ever been before. If you’d had a sword like that, Windwhistler would never have –

Bon-Bon shook her head to dispel that thought before it could harden into an actual memory.

“Slayer?” Luna was gazing at her curiously. “Are you well?”

Bon-Bon looked at her; then at the sword. She had an obligation as the Slayer to fight the demons using any tools necessary. More than that, however, she had a burning need to keep her loved ones safe no matter what it cost her personally. “What would … I have to do?”

Luna’s eyes lit up like shooting stars. “It would not take much,” she said quickly. “A few drops of your blood to cement the bond between you, just as my blood cemented its bond with me.”

“Blood?” She had to bleed? Bleeding was amongst her top ten things NOT to do. Not an auspicious beginning.

Did Celestia know about this? Surely she would have been alerted by her own wards breaking when Luna opened the chest, if not the doors to get down here. Bon-Bon held herself in check; Luna had done a lot to repent for her time as Nightmare Moon. She wasn’t the same pony. It was an easy sentence to say but a much harder one to live with – and act on. Even so, Twilight had done exactly that when she followed an enraged Luna into the woods on Nightmare Night. She had emerged unharmed and Luna had demonstrated nothing but good intentions in the months since.

Bon-Bon breathed out. “Tell me what I have to do.”

“Hold out your hoof.” Luna glanced at the sword. “And try not to hold your breath.”

Before Bon-Bon could ask why, her telekinesis undid the clasp keeping the sword in the sheath. The hilt vibrated and a sliver of metal showed beneath it. The moment even this much touched air, magic erupted into the chamber. Bon-Bon’s lungs contracted in a gasp. Every hair on her body stood on end and the roots of her mane and tail hurt with the sudden rush of power. As Luna drew the sword from its sheathe with her magic, more and more power flowed from it. It wasn’t visible but even the least gifted pony in Equestria would have felt its presence unleashed.

What have I agreed to? Bon-Bon thought.

The Lunar Sword was the colour of moonlight on dark water. Luna held it flat between them.

“Lunar Sword, I bequeath thee and all thy power to this pony, Starswirl’s newest champion, the Chosen One, the Demon Slayer, she who stands against the forces of evil.” She listed off titles like a herald announcing at a party.

Bon-Bon’s ears rang. She was barely aware of the moment Luna made a shallow cut in her leg with her horn. A thin line of blood ran off the end of her hoof and dripped onto the sword’s impossibly shiny surface. Surely something so ancient should not be gleaming so brilliantly?

“Thou art ours to give!” Luna said more forcefully, as if engaging in an argument that Bon-Bon could only hear one side of. A stiff breeze had picked up around them, even though they were deep underground. As it increased, Luna fell back more into the cadence she had used before adopting modern Equestrian speaking patterns. “We are Luna, Moon Princess, Monarch of the Night! We did make thee from our blood and our magic. Now we do transfer thee, our blood –” Luna sliced her own knee, splattering more blood than Bon-Bon’s onto the blade in her haste. “– to hers! Our magic to hers! Thou shalt do her bidding, aid her in her battles and serve her faithfully! Lunar Sword, thou art now the property of Bon-Bon, the Demon Slayer!”

The Lunar Sword flared like it had been struck by lightning. For a moment Bon-Bon’s world whited out. There was no up, no down, no left, no right, nothing at all to centre her. She floundered, stomach lurching. Something touch her mind right before her flailing hoof met something solid. When the world faded back into being around her, she found she had pinned down the scabbard.

Yet it was not the same scabbard Luna had taken from the chest. It was shorter and the night-time motif had been replaced by two hearts – one right side up at the tip, the other an upside down version nestled against the hilt. Apart from that, it was plain now. The hilt looked much the same, if also a bit shorter. Yet it was the feel of it that had changed the most. No longer could Bon-Bon feel the pulsing, incredibly powerful wrongness of an item out of time. Now the sword felt like it was in exactly the right place and time. It felt responsive. It felt … like it was hers.

“Un … sheathe … it,” Luna panted. She held up her cut leg but her eyes were fixed on Bon-Bon. “It is … yours … now …”

Gulping, Bon-Bon picked up the scabbard between both hooves, hesitated one last time, and undid the clasp.

Oh please, oh please, oh please, oh please, oh please …

The wash of power did not come. She breathed a sigh of relief as she pulled the blade free. She had practised with swords before and so knew how to unsheathe one using her mouth without cutting her own throat. What came free, however, was not the long blade Luna had brandished, but a short thing only barely bigger than a dagger. She raised her eyes to Luna questioningly.

“Apparently … this was the form … it decided on … for you …” Luna shrugged. Of course she did. This had never been done before. How could she have predicted what the Lunar Sword would do?

Even so, I was hoping it would stay an actual SWORD.

As if listening to her thoughts, the blade glowed and a ghostly double of itself flipped out like a flick-knife. The translucent double attached itself to the end and then repeated the process, straightening out into the sword’s original size. Magical glow swept up its length and the joins flowed together until the sword was whole once more. The tip extended so far it dug into the wall, loosening a shower of dirt.

Surprised by the speed this had happened, Bon-Bon jumped back. Yet even as she did so, she felt something settle into place in the back of her mind. It was as if she had spent her entire life with a hollow there, which she had never realised before because she had never had cause to look at it. Now something had come along and slotted exactly into that hollow and she felt complete in a way that she could not have predicted. Her connection with the Lunar Sword pulsed gently as it, too, felt out the bond that now existed between them. It turned and turned, like a cat pricking experimentally at a cushion.

Could you … change so I can put you back in the scabbard?

The Lunar Sword glowed again and shrank to the size that would perfectly fit the new sheathe – which, in turn, was just long enough for a much shorter pony than Luna to carry. The connection flumped down on its cushion and purred.

“It has accepted you,” Luna said, breathing a little easier after her exertions. “I was not sure it would.”

Bon-Bon put the sword away and stared at it. She couldn’t quite believe what had happened. It was too surreal. This was a weapon from ancient times, made by Nightmare Moon herself, and it was hers now? Bon-Bon Sweetie-Drops. Remembering how Luna had shouted her name in that booming voice made hot embarrassment flood her. Bon-Bon was not an impressive name for the bearer of such an impressive sword.

“Thank you.”

Her head jerked up. “I think I’m the one who should be thanking you, Princess. This is … this is huge.”

“Actually, I think it shrank to fit you,” Luna smiled wanly.

“No, I didn’t mean … oh, never mind. Thank YOU, Princess Luna.”

“Come now.” Rather than accept the gratitude, Luna limped towards the exit. “Let us return to the surface. I assume you wish to get home to Ponyville before it gets dark.”

5. Lovers Walk

Bon-Bon regarded the tree. And it was definitely a tree, not a house, even though the information Celestia’s aides had gathered for her said it was. Windows and a door had been fitted into front recesses, presumably leading to a hollowed out inside. Bottles made from glass, clay and other materials dangled from the branches on twisted vines and pieces of string. The whole place had an organic feel, as if it had grown there along with the tree, or maybe the tree had grown around the home and absorbed the inorganic parts into itself. This was in spite of the huge ugly masks thrust into the ground in an approximation of a path. Another hung above the door, empty eyelets staring down at Bon-Bon as she knocked.

The door opened within a second, as if the creature on the other side had been only three inches away. Bon-Bon’s hoof was still raised and she nearly knocked the zebra’s nose.

Wait a second; a zebra? Celestia had not mentioned any zebra. Come to think of it, apart from a name and location, she had not given Bon-Bon much information at all.

“Are you Zecora?” she asked warily.

“I am indeed. That is my name. Now for me will you do the same?”

“I’m Bon-Bon.”

Zecora’s eyes lit up, though her mouth only smiled a little. “You are the Slayer? Really? You? How wonderful! You made it through.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“A dangerous place, this forest can be. Have you not heard of Everfree?”

“Of course. Everypony knows about the Everfree Forest.” And every zebra too, apparently. Bon-Bon was still processing that one.

She had heard of zebras but never met one before. Her knowledge of them as a race was limited too. one thing she knew for certain was that they weren’t native to Equestria, so they weren’t ruled by Celestia, which made her wonder how this one had come to be not only on speaking terms with the princess, but respected enough to be selected as the Slayer’s adviser – and all without Bon-Bon having ever heard of her. She had met a lot of potentials on her travels and the name ‘Zecora’ had not been mentioned once. Progressing from potential Watcher to actual Watcher was an accolade among them, so how had someone who wasn’t even from Equestria leapfrogged the queue?

“Come, come inside and have some tea. I’ve waited for you to visit me.” Zecora gestured Bon-Bon inside and shut the door behind her.

The interior of the tree smelled musky, like incense mixed with cooking and something else. A cauldron bubbled in the centre of the room. In a line on the work table were several small blue vials, each sealed with a tiny cork. The last one was unstoppered next to a small piled of fine blue powder. Bon-Bon recognised it instantly. It brought up memories so vivid she had to grit her teeth when she spoke.

“Banishing powder?”

“I thought that you would be here soon, since you arrived this afternoon. Celestia contacted me and so I searched the Everfree for all the things I’d need to brew a brand new batch of these for you.”

“Oh.” Bon-Bon blinked at the vials. Did all zebras talk in rhyme? “That was very … thoughtful of you.”

“What kind of Watcher would I be, if to these things I did not see? Your welfare and sustained safety are now my first priority.”

“Yeah.” A lump had appeared in Bon-Bon’s throat. This felt so wrong. She longed for the old in the face of the new, even though it was stupid and impossible, but since when had emotions ever been logical?

Even thinking those words made her throat convulse. She remembered hurling them at Windwhistler during those early arguments, before they reached their rhythm and their personalities meshed. They hadn’t gotten along all the time. Ponyfeathers, they hadn’t gotten along most of the time! Yet that was why they had worked so well together. Windwhistler gave no quarter and Bon-Bon had learned to adapt after a foalhood of being ignored to mostly do what she wanted, as long as she didn’t embarrass her parents. The guidelines and structure of her new life had been hard to get used to but she had eventually appreciated the no-nonsense pony who made sure she understood and followed them. It wasn’t just that Windwhistler had trained her in how to be the Slayer; it was that she had shown Bon-Bon how to be something more than she had thought she was. Then, just as she had experienced happiness for the first time since Nonna died, she was gone and yet another gaping wound was left where somepony she cared about was supposed to be.

Maybe it truly was time she had a new Watcher, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. Getting a new one made Windwhistler seem so replaceable, as if all she had done didn’t matter anymore. Why would it, if anyone else could do the job in her stead? Bon-Bon could not betray her memory by just accepting someone new, no matter whether they were pony, zebra, or even a freaking griffin!

Zecora had crossed to the cauldron and was saying something. Bon-Bon tuned in to hear the last few words.

“… get to know you.”

“You want to get to know me?”

Zecora nodded, stirring whatever was bubbling with a long wooden spoon. She picked up an ancient looking copper teakettle, checked it was full of liquid and hooked it above the mixture to absorb the heat. It was such a domestic thing to do that it was the last straw.

Bon-Bon shook her head. “Look, I don’t know how you think this works, but let’s get one thing straight from the beginning.” The words fell from her mouth, sharp and cutting as broken glass. “This is a working relationship. We aren’t going to be friends. You’re the Watcher and I’m the Slayer. You provide the info I need to kill the demons and banish them back to their realm and I’ll follow it. That’s it.”

Zecora frowned. “That is not what I understood. How will that do any good?”

“It’s just easier that way.”

“I do not think–”

“Have you been a Watcher before?” Bon-Bon snapped.

Zecora looked startled. Wordlessly, she shook her head.

“I’ve been the Slayer for years now. Long enough that I think I know better than you do what will and won’t work in a Slayer-Watcher relationship. So when I say we’re going to keep this professional and not personal because it’s easier, I think I know what I’m talking about.”

“Miss Bon-Bon, I have to confess, you contradict your own princess. She told me to look after you, but now you say this is untrue?”

“You can look after me by making sure I know how to fight the demons. Beyond that, don’t bother.”

“You talk as if you do not care whether or not I’m even there.”

“Of course I need you there. The Chosen One needs a Watcher and you and I are it this time around. Caring doesn’t come into it. I’m the Slayer, remember? There’s no point in caring about me. Slayers have short lifespans and, like I said, I’ve been doing this a few years. Don’t bother getting attached to me. I’m not going to get attached to you.” Every word was blunt, cold and excruciating. It wasn’t in Bon-Bon’s nature to be so unpleasant but what else could she do? This had to be done. She wasn’t lying; there really was no point getting attached. Getting attached only meant pain in the future. It was better to be distant and not let her heart get involved this time.

Zecora was watching her. She tossed her mane and pulled all four hooves together with a click.

“I don’t think I will stay for tea,” she said. “Thanks anyway. Unless you have something important to tell me before I go? I need to get ready for patrolling tonight.” That unicorn neighbour of hers had dominated most of her afternoon, though it had been useful to be shown around by somepony who already knew Ponyville. “It’ll be dark soon.” She looked at the vials on the table. “I could use some banishing powder.”

Silently, Zecora slid across the room, picked up three vials and deposited them in Bon-Bon’s waiting hooves. She dropped them into a pouch on her belt and fastened the flap shut without looking up at the zebra’s enquiring face. She had to make this clear from the beginning, no matter what proportion of her insides rebelled that she was doing the wrong thing. Losing Windwhistler wasn’t Zecora’s fault. She hadn’t been responsible for what happened, just stepped into the job when Celestia asked her to. She had probably been proud to be asked. She had probably been looking forward to meeting the Slayer.

Well, more fool her. She might have decided to enter this world but Bon-Bon hadn’t. She had been Chosen and even when she had adapted to make the best of it, everything had gone wrong.

“I’ll be going now,” she declared, still not meeting Zecora’s eye. She stepped towards the door.

“I’m sorry if I did offend. I only wish to be your friend.”

Zecora’s voice stopped her in her tracks. She bit the inside of her cheek. “I don’t need a friend. I need a Watcher.” She bolted before anything more could be said.

The trip back to the surface seemed shorter than the one below ground. When Luna had fastened the last door and they had travelled nearly as far as the Nightmare Moon Rises painting, she turned to Bon-Bon and appraised her critically.

“Do you wish for a cloak?” she asked, nodding at the sword. “I can provide one and a belt easily enough. If you desire secrecy for your work, I do not think displaying this would be a good idea.”

Bon-Bon looked at the Lunar Sword. Did it feel warm to the touch or was that just her imagination? Musings aside, the reality of getting it home now hit her. She could feel overawed and grateful and whatever else her emotions cooked up later; right now she had to face the logistics of trying to take a large pointy weapon on public transport.

“Um …”

“Will it fit in your saddlebag?”

“I … don’t know. Maybe?” While the sword had shrunk, Bon-Bon did not think it had shrunk enough for that. Nevertheless, there was nothing to lose by trying.

“If it does not, we shall find a way for you to take it home with you safely,” Luna said firmly.

She had apparently come to the same conclusion Bon-Bon had; that no was would any porter let her take a sword on the train with her. There was no way Bon-Bon was letting the Lunar Sword out of her sight until she got it back to Ponyville. Once there she could figure out a safe place to keep it while she was doing non-Slayer things. In the meantime, basic logistics threw things at her to see how fast she could duck and catch.

“I could provide private transport for you,” Luna said pensively. “I have a chariot much like my sister’s.”

Bon-Bon remembered it from when Luna had dive-bombed Ponyville town square on Nightmare Night. It was impressive but not exactly subtle. She could not return inconspicuously that way. There would be questions.

“You worry that your royal connection would be revealed,” Luna observed. She really was quite incisive in her own way. She might not know much about modern life, she could be too brash and some of her interpersonal skills could use softening, but her mind was sharp and she read Bon-Bon like a book. “What if my chariot was to take you only as far as the nearest settlement to Ponyville and allow you to make your own way from there. There are, ah, public coaches?”

Bon-Bon remembered the sign at the station where she had met Horte Cuisine. “Coltchester is the nearest town. I’m pretty sure I can get a taxi-cart from there.”

“Ah, yes, a cart.” Luna amended herself and nodded. “Does this plan suit you?”

“It would sure be better than trying to sneak this past security at a train station. Thank you, Princess.”

Luna waved a hoof. “Do not thank me. I am only grateful that you have allowed me to aid you in this way.” She winced, having forgotten the cut on her leg. Her limp had grown more pronounced on the way up from the chambers but apparently it hurt less when she stood still. “I will choose suitable guards to draw my chariot.”

Bon-Bon was less fond of that idea. She opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by a shout.

“Your Majesty!”

A rush of air and a smear of white heralded the arrival of a guard. No, not just a guard but the pegasus from earlier who had been so rude. He cannoned into Bon-Bon, knocking her to the floor. Cursing herself for not having sensed his approach, she twisted sideways as they hit and managed to take most of the impact on her shoulder. One leg suddenly nerveless, her other hoof lost its grip on the scabbard, which skittered away.

The sleeping cat in the back of her mind sprang up and hissed. Bon-Bon’s brain whited out with the wash of foreign presence as the sword called for her to retrieve it and use it on her attacker. Her natural instincts also tried to kick in underneath its power. Her shoulder still worked so she rotated it and used her numb foreleg like a club against his exposed nose. The guard yelped in pain.

“Gallant!” Luna shrieked. “Desist immediately!”

The guard looked up. “But your Majesty–”

“Immediately!” Luna’s voice deepened, taking on the echoey quality of a true Equestrian royal. The whites of her eyes shone just a little brighter beneath her scowling brows. “You will stand, help her up and explain yourself AT ONCE!” The walls vibrated at her last two words.

Reluctantly, the guard lifted his weight off Bon-Bon and held out a hoof to her. She ignored it, instead levering herself up on three legs while shaking out her fourth. Her eyes sought out the Lunar Sword. It had fetched up against the opposite wall, beneath a massive oil painting. She trotted to pick it up, keeping one eye on the seething stallion.

“Your Majesty, I was only –”

“You have made a fool of yourself!” Luna snapped. “And of me! Why did you attack my guest unprovoked? Am I to understand that nopony is to be safe around me in this castle?” There seemed more to her words than Bon-Bon understood.

The guard winced. His expressions were remarkably open, given his station. Bon-Bon was used to stone-faced ponies, interchangeable in their gleaming armour and slightly haughty faces in masks that robbed them of any individuality. This guard wore his emotions candidly despite the mask and a swelling nose courtesy of her elbow.

He seemed to realise this the same moment she did. He clicked his hooves together and stood straighter, wings locked to his sides. “Forgive me, your Grace! I saw you injured and she was holding a weapon. I made the natural conclusion!”

Luna’s spine arched haughtily but her mane and tail shrank from their angry billows. “Oh.” Somehow she was able to make even that single exclamation sound deep and regal. The whites of her eyes faded back to normal. “Well … you were mistaken. She did not attack me. The sword is nothing but a gift – a decorative thing I have neither use for nor any desire to keep. I took her to the royal treasury and allowed her to select an item as a token of friendship, as I did with Twilight Sparkle and her friends when they last visited Canterlot.” She tossed her head. “Would you have thrown yourself at them so fully if you had seen them carrying such items by my side?”

His eyes flickered, as if desperate to glare at Bon-Bon, but duty kept them locked on Luna. “No, your Highness. Twilight Sparkle and the Elements of Harmony are revered guests of both you and her Majesty, Princess Celestia. I do not know this pony.”

Luna sniffed. “She is a friend I made in Ponyville. You and all the court will find I am able to make friends outside my sister’s circle as well as within it.”

He bent one knee, falling into an elegant bow. “I apologise, your Highness.”

“It is not me who requires your apology, Gallant.” Luna looked pointedly at Bon-Bon.

The guard’s eyes slid resentfully in her direction too. “I apologise, Miss …”

“Sweetie-Drops,” said Luna.

“Bon-Bon,” said Bon-Bon at the same time.

“Miss Sweetie-Drops. I was in error when I attacked you.”

“It’s fine,” Bon-Bon said hastily. “You were just doing your job. Did you come looking for the princess or is this your patrol route or something?”

“Patrol route?” He looked confused.

Bon-Bon had used a phrase she was so used to applying to herself it had not occurred to her other ponies might phrase it differently. “Uh, do you guard this area or were you searching for her?”

“Her Highness,” he hissed, “is late for lunch. Her sister sent me to fetch her but her parlour was empty. One of the maids said she saw her go this way with an unfamiliar mare.” His eyes narrowed. “Who carries strange powders in her saddlebags and abandoned a half-eaten meal in her Highness’s room.”

“You thought I’d poisoned her?” Bon-Bon asked incredulously.

“Or given her some brew to make her more biddable so she would follow you. Then I saw you here with a blade practically to her throat and–”

“That is enough, Gallant,” Luna broke in. “While your intentions were good, your execution of them was not. Bon-Bon is a chef.” She caught Bon-Bon’s eye. Clearly she understood instantly that the vials were full of banishing powder. Since Bon-Bon had not known whether she would be in Canterlot overnight, she had brought enough to patrol the city after dark. “The powders are flavours she brought to add to food to make it taste sweeter; a trick she taught me in Ponyville.”

He looked unconvinced.

“Do you think I would invite somepony into my home – into my inner chambers – if I did not trust them?”

“Plus, if I was really an assassin, why would I lead the princess away from her chambers to kill her with a sword if I had easy access to put lethal poison in her food?” Bon-Bon added. “It doesn’t make sense.”

His hot glare could have melted ironing fillings in the mouth. “It is considered uncommonly rude to interrupt her Grace while she is speaking.”

“Gallant,” Luna said warningly.

He dropped his head. “I apologise, your Majesty.”

“Bon-Bon is my friend,” Luna lied smoothly. “You will treat her as such and afford her the respect and privacy all ponies deserve. You will not badger her, interrogate her, bully her or insult her – however subtly. I will not have it.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“You will, however, draw my chariot and take her to Coltchester.”

His head snapped up, his face aghast. There was that unguarded expressiveness again. “Your Highness?” he said, clearly appalled at the suggestion.

“You will do this thing because I ask it of you,” Luna replied. “And you will do it with good grace and all speed. Go and hitch up the smaller chariot. It only requires one pegasus to pull it and is already enchanted for gliding.”

Face morphing from aghast to outright thunderous, the guard got to his feet. “As you wish, Highness.”

“I do wish it,” said Luna. “Gallant?” she added when he had backed several steps away from her.

“Yes, your Majesty?”

“What have I said about leaving my presence?”

Wincing, he turned and walked forwards down the long corridor.

“Would he really have gone in reverse the whole way?” Bon-Bon asked.

“Until he was out of sight, yes.” Irritation warred with affection in her tone. “Gallant is rather young for a guard and inexperienced with it. His loyalty and enthusiasm are unquestionable but he is somewhat wedded to the older etiquettes my sister has long since abandoned, but which I clung to when I first returned. I think he has read many stories as a colt of heroes and chivalry. As such, my own decision to discard the old ways in favour of the new has not been welcomed by him.”

“He sounds like he’s still a colt.”

“He is old enough,” Luna replied. “He passed the exam to become a royal guard.”

“There’s an exam?” Bon-Bon didn’t know why she was so surprised. Surely Celestia didn’t just pick ponies off the street and put them in armour. Especially now Luna was back, Canterlot Castle security was important. Celestia didn’t want anything to happen to her sister while Luna was exploring this new modern world.

“Several. Enlistment is quite rigorous.” Luna sighed and shook her injured leg. “I suppose I should visit somepony with medical knowledge about this cut I received in a clumsy fall.” She met Bon-Bon’s gaze sidelong.

“Yes,” Bon-Bon agreed. “That’d be a good idea, Princess.”

Luna walked off. Bon-Bon followed for a few steps but then stopped, her eye caught by a painting on the wall. It was another August Sunlight, on the opposite side of the corridor this time. When she had passed this way before she had been so focussed on ‘The Rise of Nightmare Moon’ that she had missed anything on the other wall. Now, however, she paused to take it in.

A grey unicorn stood next to a sturdy wooden desk. The wood was old and pockmarked, though it looked like it had once been burnished and impressive. In August Sunlight’s usual style, fine details were rife throughout the picture even on the furniture: small stains from spilled liquids, tiny burn marks where something too hot had been put down, plus dozens of little half-inked words, as if somepony had been so into writing they had come to the end of the paper and not realised. A shaft of sunlight illuminated both desk and unicorn, much to the unicorn’s apparent irritation. He scowled at the scroll in front of him, both it and a hovering quill wreathed in magic. The accents on the magical energy were so meticulous that Bon-Bon didn’t want to guess how long it had taken for the artist to fully capture what it looked like. The rest of the room was a riot of light and shadows revealing what looked like the sanctuary of a packrat. The walls were covered in shelves and the shelves were crammed with things: beakers, both empty and full; so many tightly bound scrolls they were falling off; vials of strange coloured liquids; jars with neatly written labels; unlit and half-burned candles; quills in need of sharpening; books stacked high and so tightly packed together the shelves above and below them bowed under the pressure; plus many other things Bon-Bon had to squint to see.

“Bon-Bon?”

She looked to see Princess Luna returning along the corridor. Evidently she had gone some distance before realising Bon-Bon had not followed her.

“Sorry,” Bon-bon apologised. “I got distracted.”

Luna’s gaze went to the painting. “Ah, I can see why.”

“It’s so detailed,” Bon-Bon agreed. “You could look at it for hours and not see everything the artist painted.”

Luna frowned slightly. “That is not what I meant, although you are correct. I thought you had become distracted because of the subject of this portrait.” She nodded at the little gold plaque attached to the bottom of the frame.

Bon-Bon leaned forward to read it. “Starswirl at Work. This is Starswirl the Bearded?”

“Was that not what caught your attention?”

“No, I … huh. Is this what he really looked like?”

“As far as I am aware, he lived during the same period as August Sunlight, so it is likely they moved in the same circles while the artist was at court. My sister commissioned this painting after Starswirl passed.”

Bon-Bon returned her star to the unicorn’s face. Starswirl the Bearded lived up to his title. His long white beard flowed almost to the floor and wisps of frizzy white mane curled out from under his hat. While his coat did contain strands of light grey accumulated by age, most was a much darker shade that led Bon-Bon to think he had always been that colour. She didn’t know why she hadn’t realised it was him immediately. Twilight Sparkle had been very accurate with her Nightmare Night costume, right down to the pattern on his robes and bells on his hat. No wonder Princess Luna had known what he looked like, despite being banished while he lived. She had a reference right here in glorious, bigger-than-life technicolour. Twilight had researched him thoroughly before putting her outfit together.

This was the stallion who had cast the spell that created the Slayers. This was the pony who had consigned so many mares to fighting the forces of darkness alone. If the painting was true to life, he looked like an irritable old codger; his mouth a bitter line and his bushy eyebrows pulled low over eyes the bruised purple of a stormy sky. If Celestia had commissioned this after his death, in a time long before photos could be used for reference, this was done from August Sunlight’s own recollections. That meant the abiding memory of Starswirl was of a cantankerous scholar who didn’t like his sanctuary of hoarded possessions disturbed. The painted image of him looked only moments away from whirling to yell at the pony opening the curtains behind him. The pony was peach-coloured with a tightly braided brown mane and tail, just like the servant who had brought food to Luna’s chambers earlier. Bon-Bon supposed she was also a servant. The braid had pulled her mane off her face so her expression was visible. She looked frightened, as if she knew Starswirl was about to yell, but she had chosen to open the curtains anyway. She was either brave or stupid.

Bon-Bon abruptly stepped away from the painting, much as Luna had with the portrait of Nightmare Moon. She suddenly wanted to be far away from this image of the pony who had ruined her life, plus the lives of countless ponies before her. Without Starswirl, there would be no Slayers. Without Starswirl, she would never have been Chosen and would never have left Manehattan to live a life of battle and secrecy.

No, she would have stayed where she was expected to live up to her parents’ expectations, no matter what she actually thought or wanted from life. She would have never seen the rest of Equestria. She would never have met Windwhistler, or Celestia, or Zecora, or Lyra …

She shook her head. “You … mentioned something about a cloak, Princess?”

Luna nodded slowly. “Indeed. Follow me, please.”

Unlike with ‘The Rise of Nightmare Moon’, this time Bon-Bon did not look back as they walked away. Even so, she felt the eyes of the portrait trained on her until they turned the corner into a different corridor.

Celestia found Luna on the ramparts. Luna typically swung between staying indoors and covering the windows, as if this new modern world intimidated her, and finding the highest, most open places she could to look down on it. More than once in the last year, Celestia had found her standing in places even Canterlot’s small pegasus population would think twice about, face upturned to the sky and eyes closed, as of communing with the distant stars that for so long had been her only companions. Luna had talked a little about the time her spirit had spent bound to the moon but she found it difficult to put into words. The brief time Nightmare Moon had banished Celestia to the sun in the same way gave her a small taste of what her sister had been through and so Celestia was willing to give Luna the time and space she needed. Sometimes, she reasoned, words were not necessary.

And then sometimes they were.

“Luna?”

Luna turned her head, unsurprised to see her. Of course, she must have sensed Celestia’s approach. They were growing more attuned to each other’s magic with each passing cycle. It would be a long, long time before they were even close to the bond they had shared a thousand years ago but even incremental progress made Celestia’s heart soar.

“Hello, sister.”

The soaring stuttered at the formal way Luna greeted her. Yes, words were sometimes sharp things that hindered instead of helped. “You’ve been out here a while.”

“It will be nightfall soon.”

“Not for a few hours.”

Luna turned back to looking out across the countryside. The views from Canterlot were some of the best in Equestria and the castle provided an even better platform to see all the kingdom had to offer. Much of it had changed little in a thousand years. It took more than ponies finding places to live to change entire mountain ranges.

Celestia slowly came to stand next to Luna. She wasn’t hesitant the way her subjects knew the word. A ruler could not afford to show weakness even in small ways and Celestia had learned long and hard how to be a queen in all but name.

The word ‘queen’ repelled her even though she had essentially been serving the same function and more. She could control the sun and commanded more power than any other pony, including Luna. It would be so easy to forget herself if she wasn’t careful. The lives of mortals were so small and fragile, like soap bubbles that danced wild with colour and then popped all too soon. Celestia felt too solid around them; too permanent. One mistimed touch of a pony’s hoof popped a soap bubble, no matter how brilliant its colours. If she didn’t remind herself of certain important things, it would be too easy to forget. If you put yourself too far above mortals, you forgot what they were, how they were and what they needed. Like love. Like friendship. Like life.

Nightmare Moon had called herself queen and forgotten how both day and night were necessary for mortal ponies to live. After banishing her, Celestia had fallen into her own despair at the twin losses of her sister and her connection to the Elements of Harmony. Her mind and heart had felt numbed and she had fled, hiding herself away where she could nurse her grief in solitude. Time had seemed to bend around her as she grew used to the missing pieces of her life, which had erstwhile been staples of her existence. She had never imagined there would ever be a time she would not have her sister. She had felt like half of her was missing; a constantly bleeding wound that did not kill her but made her feel as if she was dying. She had never imagined there would be – could be – a time she was not connected to the heart of the land. She had lost them both in the same act. The land had felt dead to her and she had felt dead inside, so she had selfishly sequestered herself where nopony could find her and grieved as only an immortal could. Time was different for alicorns. Spending it among mortals reminded her of the ebb and flow of it; of the way it could be divided up into years, months, days, hours, minutes, seconds – all the things that didn’t actually matter when you had the ability to live forever. She had eventually sensed someone else raising and lowering the sun and moon in her absence and learned to feel the push and pull of those celestial bodies again. She remained where she was, still lost in self-fulfilling grief, as her magic scarred over her wounds and unconsciously began keeping up the cycle of days and nights again. Yet it was all done involuntarily, not out of love. Not anymore. She had thought she could never love anything again. What would have been the point, when loving things only meant that they would someday disappear and cause her more pain with their loss?

It was a self-centred, self-indulgent period of her life that she liked remembering as much as Luna liked remembering Nightmare Moon. When she finally came to her senses and returned from her self-imposed exile she found the ponies she had left behind had divided themselves into three tribes, then reunited and renamed the land Equestria. Some had spread beyond the shores she and Luna had once called home, creating small pockets of life on islands off its shores and evolving whole languages and cultures while she had refused to surrender her grief and move on.

They had even learned to raise and lower the sun and moon themselves, but it had cost many unicorns their magic and, ultimately, their lives in the endeavour. The more magic a unicorn possessed, the longer they lived. Conversely, those who spent it fulfilling her duty and Luna’s had only a brief sneeze of existence before they burned up their life force on a task that was never meant to be theirs. Despite this, nopony had been upset when she reappeared. They had recognised and welcomed her, though alicorns had become only legends by then, and she had been humbled by how readily they forgave her for leaving. She had caused them more suffering than she could have known, locked away in her own private anguish. She had neglected the very creatures she had banished her sister, and which destroyed her connection to the Elements to protect. She had put herself before them and they had paid the price for it with centuries of infighting and racism that persisted for a long time even after her return.

She could never call herself their queen after that.

Luna had never asked why Celestia called herself just a princess. They both knew why. She accepted the title too. It was a reminder and a lesson to both of them and meant far more than the ponies who used it could ever know.

Except … maybe Twilight Sparkle. Even then, not yet. Soon, but not yet.

“The Slayer is gone?” Celestia asked.

Luna nodded.

“You gave her the Lunar Sword.”

Her head snapped around. “You knew?”

“I felt it the moment it came above-ground. It felt different than before.” Less dark. Less tortured. Celestia had hated even touching that thing. “Why did you give it to her?”

“It … it felt … right.” Luna struggled with what was, to her, vernacular. She had not had a thousand years to learn how not to hesitate when she was unsure of herself. “Appropriate,” she corrected. “It seemed appropriate to gift it to her.”

“You did more than just gift it to her, Luna. I felt the sword.”

Luna looked away. “It is hers now.”

“Why?” Celestia had hoped Luna would destroy the sword when her powers had fully returned. Luna was nowhere near her old strength but with a few more cycles …

“I have my reasons, sister, just as you have yours for what you do. I do not meddle in your machinations. I would thank you not to question mine.”

“Machinations?” Celestia echoed, ignoring the implication that Luna still thought she didn’t trust her. “That’s a very loaded word.”

“I … I …” Luna hesitated again. She seemed very young when she did that; almost mortal. “I apologise, sister. It is not the best I could have chosen. I am not accusing you of anything untoward, merely stating that you have your own plans that you have long set in motion for the ponies of Equestria and that you have your favourites, your champions and your chosen.”

“And you want the Slayer to be yours? Luna, this isn’t a competition.”

“I know that. I do not wish to compete with you, sister. I am simply … redressing the balance. I have told you before that I wish to atone for my past sins.”

“Those were not all your doing, Luna. Nightmare Moon –”

“Was me,” Luna said shortly. “Or a part of me, at least. Do not pretend she was some evil spirit who infected my mind. We both know that is not true. Her origin was in my heart and my own jealousy. I will never truly be at peace with her or what I did unless I make up for my actions in whatever way I can.”

“And you believe giving the Slayer that sword will do that?”

“It is a start. One of many. She fights for good and life and all the things I wish to protect now I am returned to myself. She will be my champion inasmuch as she protects your faithful student while Twilight learns what she needs to learn to attain your heart’s desire. For you see, it is not only this land I must recompense. I have done you a great many wrongs as well. Because of my selfishness, your link to the Elements of Harmony was broken and that is something that can never be recovered. You lost it through your attempt to save me from myself and endured a thousand years of guilt and heartache over the attempt as well. I have told you that I bear you no ill will for what you did, yet I know even now that you doubt my word.”

“No, I –”

“That does not matter.” Luna talked over her, as if trying to get all the words out before they clogged in her throat and choked her. She spoke in a rush and yet did not stumble, as if she had rehearsed this speech many times but never had the courage to voice it before. “I know what you intend for Twilight Sparkle. She is your heart’s joy. When she is around, you sparkle like the stars themselves. She is the daughter you could never have; even more than Cadence. I will help in whatever way I can to ensure she reaches her potential, the way you wish her to, and if that means putting my faith in the Slayer and giving her the Lunar Sword, then so be it.”

“Luna …” Celestia breathed.

Luna got to her feet and quickly turned to go back inside. “You are right. It will not be nightfall for some time yet. I will wait in my chambers. I have some fudge I wish to eat.”

Celestia was thrown by the non-sequitur. “Fudge?”

“Yes.” Luna paused. “Would you … like to join me, Celestia? It is quite good.”

Celestia looked at her younger sister. Celestia. Not sister. “I think I would like that,” she said eventually and followed her inside.

The chariot slid through the air remarkably smoothly. Bon-Bon marvelled that she wasn’t being thrown around or buffeted by the breezes knocking her hairstyle to bits. Ahead of her. Gallant and a black stallion in identical armour dragged her back to Ponyville.

“Are you okay back there, miss?” the black stallion asked over his shoulder.

“Fine, thanks.”

Gallant didn’t even look back. He was clearly still seething under his mask of professionalism.

“You’re making really good time!” she called.

“The wind’s in our favour!” the black stallion called back. “We’ll be in Coltchester in no time.”

They set down at the edge of the town barely ten minutes later. Air travel certainly was a lot faster than train or hoof. No wonder pegasi stayed airborne even when they didn’t have to.

“Thanks, guys.” Bon-Bon alighted, tugging at her saddlebags to make sure they were secure under her cloak. Luna had insisted she take it and Bon-Bon had not protested, since it was voluminous and concealed the sword-belt she had also given her. The Lunar Sword hung at her flank, an inert presence both inside and outside her mind.

There had not been any repeat of what had happened when Gallant attacked her. The sword had gone quiet and Bon-Bon was glad. She wasn’t sure what to make of its connection with her. While it was not painful, it was strange to be so connected to anything else. The sword didn’t think or use words but its power was intimidating, despite her bravado to Princess Luna. Bon-Bon could barely sense it now but there persisted a feeling like being followed or watched, yet without the unease that usually went with those. The sword was like a ball of ill-defined emotions at her side, separate from her own and yet linked. She should have felt threatened but her overriding response was awkwardness that she didn’t deserve to have its power at all. History was full of great warriors with special connections to their weapons, especially if they had made the objects themselves. Some even told stories of sentient weapons able to respond to their masters, so the idea of the Lunar Sword having a kind of consciousness was not something unheard of. Yet hearing stories and living as a character in one were different things. Bon-Bon only hoped she could get used to the connection the way those ancient warriors had and not screw up now she had this kind of power at her hoof-tips.

“Miss?”

Her head jerked up. “Uh? Yes?”

The black stallion smiled. “You looked a million miles away.”

His smile was infectious. She couldn’t help returning it sheepishly. “Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking about … what to cook for dinner when I get home.”

“Well, actually, about that. Princess Luna said you needed to get back to Ponyville before sunset and it’s an hour by taxi-cart from here, if you can even get one, so Gallant and I –”

Gallant snorted.

The black stallion rolled his eyes. “All right, I was thinking we might as well take you all the way to Ponyville.”

And be a great big hint of her royal connections in the evening sky. Bon-Bon looked up, noting the greying horizon. They may have made good time but her trip to Canterlot had still eaten up most of the day. She could stick to her original plan and find a taxi-cart merchant. Most towns had at least one, though increasing numbers of trains had threatened to wipe them out. Finding one that was willing to take her to Ponyville, however, was not guaranteed. Travelling that close to the Everfree Forest after dark was not something many ponies would risk, even if she offered to pay double the fare. Even if somepony did agree to take her, it would be a while before she actually arrived. She had been away from Ponyville after dark before, though she didn’t like it. Twilight was still in Canterlot, which should have made her feel better about the situation, however the recent change in demon behaviour left her anxious about breaking her own routines.

She bit her lower lip, undecided. Finally she blew out a sigh. “That would be wonderful.”

The black stallion beamed. “Sure thing.”

Gallant finally looked back at her, twitching his neck just enough to meet her eye. “Of course,” he gritted. “Anything for a friend of Princess Luna.”

Fleur examined herself in the mirror. She had spent hours on her mane and it still wasn’t right. Neither was her pedicure, which she had gone out of her way to have done yesterday when she wasn’t booked for one until next Tuesday. She had chipped her brand new hoof-polish while using her straighteners and, to add insult to injury, that darn kink in her mane just wouldn’t go away. To anypony else she would have looked fine but to someone used to being primped by professional manedressers and make-up artists, Fleur decided her own work was just a mass of imperfections waiting to be torn to shreds by paparazzi and vitriolic journalists.

She sighed. She loved modelling. She loved the adrenaline rush of being in front of the camera and seeing herself in glossy magazines. She loved striding down catwalks in the latest fashions. She loved being ‘a face’, even if half the time ponies didn’t remember the name that went with it. Modelling was not a career that would last forever and she intended to wring every scrap of enjoyment from it while she could.

Unfortunately that meant days when she was left to her own devices felt drab in comparison. She used to think she could match anything professionals could do. Now all she wanted was to summon her stylist and stand like a shop dummy while his team made her beautiful.

She was examining the fur on the tip of her nose when someone knocked the front door. Startled, she backed away from the mirror, wondering whether she was too unsightly to answer she was such a mess, she might frighten away whoever was there. When the knock came again she scurried to answer it, both relived ad surprised when she checked the peephole.

“Fancy?” she said breathlessly as she opened the door and quickly rearranged herself to look demure but sensual. She had been practising the right expression in the mirror while applying her eye-shadow and was reasonably sure she had finally nailed the difference between sensual and suggestive. Photo Finish was constantly telling her she put ‘too much thump in her rump’ when she walked, which Fleur translated as veering too much towards indecency. When it came to Fancy Pants she wanted her body language to say ‘buy me an engagement ring’ not ‘buy me suspenders and a garter belt’.

Fancy Pants beamed at her appreciatively. Inwardly, Fleur danced with joy. Outwardly she only smiled back.

“Fleur de Lis, you’re looking marvellous, as always!” he said, gesturing expansively.

She preened. “You’re early. You weren’t supposed to pick me up for another hour.”

“How could I stay away?” he asked without missing a beat. “Your beauty drew me to you like a moth to a flame.”

“Oh, stop it,” she mewled, secretly ecstatic. “You’re terrible.”

Her heart had not only skipped a beat when she first met Fancy Pants, it had skipped so many she had thought she might pass out and have to be revived with those funny paddle things they always used in hospital dramas. The feeling of being floored whenever he smiled at her had not abated over time. She was as head-over-heels for him now as she had been at the beginning. He was just about the only pony who could make her forget when she was having a bad mane day, for Celestia’s sake!

“Did you bring the tickets?” she asked, noting he did not having them in his top pocket like usual.

“Tickets?”

“To the theatre.” At his blank expression she added, “For the opera?”

“Oh, that.” He waved a dismissive hoof. “Actually, sweetheart, I thought we might skip that.”

Her stomach fluttered – he had called her sweetheart! He never used pet names! Did that mean something? No, no, she shouldn’t get ahead of herself. Disappointment took the feeling’s place. She liked the opera. She may not always understand everything that was going on but the music was pretty and watching ponies whose vocal range went from rumbling the floorboards to shattering glass was amazing.

“Oh,” she said, trying not to let her voice show how she felt.

“Don’t be upset, sweetheart,” Fancy said smoothly. “We’ll still go out. I was just thinking maybe we could go somewhere else. Somewhere … private.” He met her eyes. “And talk.”

Fleur’s heart grew wings that flapped wildly inside her chest, making her gasp and try unsuccessfully to cover it. Talk? Somewhere private? He had said it so expressively! Plus, he would never cancel a visit to the opera unless it was important. Fancy loved opera more than anypony she had ever met – and he understood all the words, too! For him to voluntarily miss out could only mean one thing. Visions of engagement rings and wedding dresses blitzed her mind until she almost melted into a puddle of happy goop.

“So what do you say?” Fancy asked.

“I do! Um, I mean, uh, yes. Yes, I’d love to go out. Where were you thinking?”

“I thought we might just take a walk and see where we end up.” He shrugged. “See where the wind blows us, eh?”

“So you didn’t bring the carriage?”

“Carriage?”

“The Bentley?”

“Oh! No, no, I figured our own hooves would be better for this particular jaunt.”

She nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll just fetch my coat from upstairs.” She held in her squealing as she dashed away, grabbed the pink jacket she had been given after her last photo shoot, pulled up and proceeded back down the stairs more demurely. She didn’t want anything to spoil this moment, especially a bloody nose from falling on her face. “I’m ready.”

Fancy looked up, slipping something back into his top pocket. He had been looking at it rather intently.

“What’s that?” Fleur asked, a little put out that he had been more interested in it than her reappearance in what was, frankly, a rather stunning item. The jacket was cut to make her neck look even longer and more elegant. Then again, maybe he had been hiding a ring box!

“Just something,” he said a trifle too dismissively. She was right! “Wow, you look nice.”

“Just nice?” she pouted playfully.

“Okay, really nice.”

It was a far cry from his usual flowery compliments but she supposed he was just nervous about finally popping the question. He did remember to hold the door for her and walked so close to her on the footpath his flank brushed hers with every step. She shivered in delight and anticipation.

“You really are something, Fleur de Lis,” he said as they turned a corner and descended into the lower part of the city, where the indoor market branched out into various coach stations, taxi-cart ranks, railways and smaller walkways. Sitting halfway up a mountain, Canterlot had set the standard for a comprehensive transport system that actually worked.

Fleur frowned. “Why do you keep saying my full name, Fancy?”

“I like the sound of it,” he said quickly.

“You do?” He had never told her that before. “Really?”

“Of course. Would I lie to you?”

Fleur hooked one foreleg in his. They continued in a gait that was only a little awkward. She even leaned her head closer to his, though she stopped short of actually touching ears, the way she did when they were alone. She was, however, close enough to hear a faint jingling from his top pocket. It sounded like a small bell, which confused her until she realised it must mean he had brought his own ring too. They must have come loose in the box and were colliding musically as they walked. Or maybe he didn’t have a box and they were just jingling in his pocket. The lack of a box didn’t bother her, as long as there really were rings and her beloved Fancy Pants was really going to propose to her at last.

She sighed happily. Fancy was so articulate and strong. He didn’t go to the gym like other ponies who wanted to fill out a suit jacket properly, but he jogged every morning and was a champion fencer and cricketer. The Pants family were not famous for their magical abilities but he had been born with more than average skill. Sometimes, when she compared her own meagre magic to his, she wondered whether that was the reason they had been together for so long with no marriage on the horizon. Maybe his family didn’t approve of him marrying a unicorn with so little power. Yet now she knew that couldn’t possibly be the case. Fancy was going to as her to marry him tonight, she just knew it!

“I love you,” she murmured. “You know that, don’t you?”

Fancy smiled triumphantly. “I do indeed.”

Zecora looked surprised when she opened her door.

“Uh, hi,” Bon-Bon said awkwardly. She turned to the pegasi guards. “Thanks, guys. I’ll be fine here.”

“You sure?” asked the black stallion.

“Yeah. Thanks a lot, uh …”

“Valiant.”

“Thanks for the ride, Valiant. You too, Gallant.”

Gallant grunted, eyes studiously avoiding Zecora’s hut as if it hurt him to look at it. Valiant shot both mares a rueful look, bid them goodbye and together they dragged Luna’s chariot out of the clearing and back into the sky.

Bon-Bon turned to Zecora. “Could I come in?”

“You know my door is always wide for you to come along inside.” Zecora stepped sideways, leaving a gap for Bon-Bon to enter the hut. “Bon-Bon, you are looking thinner. Would you like to have some dinner?”

“No thanks, Zecora. I just came by to … apologise. I’ve been avoiding you and that was wrong of me.”

“Just as every year has seasons, every pony has her reasons.”

“Yeah, well, mine weren’t very good ones. I overreacted to something you said and then couldn’t come and admit I was in the wrong.” Bon-Bon scuffed the floor with one hoof. “To be honest, if those ponies hadn’t brought me back to Ponyville, I might not have come by for another few days.”

“Such an awful thing is pride,” Zecora said regretfully. “All it does is hurt and divide.”

“It wasn’t about pride,” said Bon-Bon. “It was about … ach, I don’t know. Trying to be realistic?”

Zecora fixed her with a stern look. “On yourself you are too hard. The facts, you cannot disregard. Living life is tough, it’s true, but fight it? That, you cannot do. You took offence when I said ‘living’, and though I am not unforgiving, this much I must say to you: Bon-Bon, your life is not through! Being Slayer is only part of what you keep within your heart. Though it does bring its own strife, do not let it dictate your life. Once, you only knew to roam: now you’ve made this town your home. Though, someday, this may be done, enjoy it now for it’s hard-won. Though I can tell you doubt me still, you’ve made a life in Ponyville.”

“A half-life, Zecora. A life where I’m not supposed to get too close to anypony in case they learn about the demons and start a panic. I’ve messed up big time getting as close as I have. There’s a reason Slayers don’t usually put down roots. When ponies get to know you, they start to suspect you’re not telling them the whole truth, or they’re more likely to be put in positions where they’re in danger or will learn the truth. No-one in Equestria can seal the breaches into the Demon Dominion. Not even Celestia could do it. Ponies can’t find out about them. It would ruin too many lives with fear and … and suffering.”

“Are you trying to convince me?” Zecora asked softly. “Or is that more conflict I see?”

“I’ve never wanted to tell anypony about being the Slayer,” Bon-Bon admitted. “I’ve always wanted to keep everyone ignorant so they can get on with their own lives and not know how close evil really is. Most think darkness is something contained in the Everfree, or kept out of Equestria by the princesses’ magic, and the majority of it is. You and I both know that demon attacks aren’t as common as they used to be. A hundred years ago, two hundred years, three, four or five – the Slayer has had an impact on deterring demons from crossing over. Sometimes, when I was on the road, I could go a whole month of travelling without anypony calling in a real sighting. So why terrify regular citizens needlessly? But here in Ponyville … they know about how close evil can come, here. You can’t live this near to the Everfree, or have the kind of stuff they’ve had happen to them without it making them look at the world differently than ponies in, say, Canterlot or Trottingham.”

“Though I do agree somewhat, I can sense a coming ‘but’.”

“I’ve known from the beginning that ponies are happier when they don’t know about the darkness, so that’s why the Slayer works in secret. So why is it only NOW I want to tell it when I know I shouldn’t?” Bon-Bon waved a hoof. “No, no, don’t answer that. I already know why. You were right, Zecora; part of me really wants to just have a normal life here in Ponyville. But don’t you see? I can’t. It can only ever be a half-life and the more I invest in it, the more it’ll hurt when something goes wrong or I have to leave and I can’t tell anypony where I’m going or why. You’ll be able to stay here if you want to. There are lots of Watchers who can pick up the slack. There’s only one Slayer and I’m it. The rules are different for me than they are for other ponies.”

“Am I so easily replaced? Gone from your heart? My name erased?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Bon-Bon sighed heavily. “If you want to stick with Ponyville and have a normal life, I wouldn’t blame you. If the demons were suddenly all gone and I had the choice between going back to Manehattan to my family and staying here, I’d stay here in a heartbeat. Ponyville … it gets under your skin. You think you won’t care about some hick town in the middle of nowhere but you do. You end up caring more about this place and the ponies in it than anywhere else you’ve ever been.”

Zecora nodded. “I know all the words to that song. Ponyville makes you feel you belong. Though sometimes it takes them a while to see, it is a good place for misfits like you and me.”

“Misfit? Yeah, that’s a good way of describing it. I’ve never fitted in anywhere like I’ve fitted in here. It’s kind of scary, actually. I want to go deeper. I want this to all be real … but it’s not. It can’t be. Not for me. If I get so close to anypony I’m thinking of spilling the beans about being Slayer, I’m risking too much; they safety, their happiness and my own. I … I don’t want to hurt like I did before. Losing someone I care too deeply about is … I can’t. I just can’t. And I can’t put anypony else through it by letting them care too much about me, either.”

Zecora watched her for a long moment. Then, without warning, she took a step forward and wrapped a foreleg around her in an awkward hug. Bon-Bon froze; Zecora was not exactly the hugging type.

“Can you not already see? You mean so very much to ME. Bon-Bon, don’t you comprehend how much I’LL weep upon your end? Every night and every day, I hope to see you old and grey, settled, happy, filled with bliss; all I want for you is this.”

“I want it too.” Bon-Bon was astounded to find tears in her eyes. She had long since resigned herself to what being the Slayer meant. Why was she getting upset about it all over again after all this time? “S-Sometimes … something I love being the Slayer. I love that I’m able to keep ponies safe, even if they don’t know I’m doing it. Whenever I see Twilight Sparkle with her friends, I’m happy that I made that possible. If I see foals with their mothers walking down the street, I’m proud that I’m making the world a little bit better for them to grow up in. But sometimes … sometimes …”

Her throat felt full of burning hot lava. It stripped away her ability to speak as she gulped convulsively and tried to blink away the evidence that she had done the very thing she had promised herself she would not: she had allowed herself to care again. After Windwhistler, she had vowed she would keep everything professional and all ponies at a distance. She had broken that promise and, in turn, the pieces were breaking her.

“Sometimes,” she croaked, “I hate being the Slayer so much I want to throw up. I want to shout ‘Why me?’ even though I now no-one can answer me. Not really. Not properly. Why did I get all this responsibility? Why was I Chosen? Why not somepony else?”

“Answers I do not possess,” Zecora said softly. “Truly, the spell is a mess.”

“You’re telling me,” Bon-Bon sniffed. “I told you not to care about me. When we first met, I told you. Do you remember that?”

Zecora nodded into her mane. “Remember that? I surely do. Even then I felt for you. You seemed so troubled, brought so low; few emotions did you show. Yet, as time marched swiftly on, a transformation has begun. Though you still war with your strife, you seemed to be enjoying life. I should not have called attention to this wondrous reinvention. All I’ve done is create sadness when all I want is to see is gladness.”

“It’s not your fault, Zecora. Actually … I … you … thank you for …” Bon-Bon struggled to communicate what was inside her. Zecora would miss her if she died and, importantly, she would know the how and why. If Bon-Bon had to leave, her Watcher would go with her. She knew it as surely as she knew the sun would rise tomorrow. Zecora didn’t need to say it. “Thank you for listening to me. And also for not listening to me.”

Zecora gave a short, croaky chuckle of her own. “Look at us, the misfit pair. But we shall not fall to despair. We will take what we can get. The future is not written yet! No matter what we hope or fear, together we will persevere. Thick or thin, we will pull through, and I promise to stay with you. You cannot make me go away, no matter what you do or say. I will help you live your life – despite the spell, despite your strife. Whatever choices you will choose, I will not stop you or refuse.”

“You’re my Watcher,” Bon-Bon pointed out. “You’re supposed to tell me no once in a while.”

“In Slayer things, yes, this is true; but I am talking just of YOU. If you do choose to share your heart, I won’t let it be torn apart. These things you fear, I will allay. This much I promise you this day.”

“It’s … I …” Bon-Bon awkwardly extracted herself from the hug. Even though it had gone on probably too long, she didn’t want to let go. It was easier to say all these things when you weren’t looking someone in the face and seeing their reactions. “Thank you. I can’t promise I’ll do what you want or think is best but … thank you.”

Her connection to the sword was screaming as it reacted to her wildly fluctuating emotions. She pawed at the sword-belt, as if trying to find an off switch.

“What is that you have got there?” Zecora asked. “A sword? I sense a tale to share.”

Bon-Bon explained about Princess Luna and the sword she had forged as Nightmare Moon. Zecora’s eyes grew round as she went on. When Bon-Bon had finished she actually whistled.

“I’ve never heard you do that before.” Sudden incongruous giggles took possession of Bon-Bon’s throat. She tried to choke them down with limited success. “Since when could you whistle, Zecora?”

“That skill is less than interesting compared to you and this new thing,” Zecora replied. “The Lunar Sword and Slayer combined. You say it is linked to your mind?”

“Yeah. It’s actually a bit annoying.” More giggles threatened to overwhelm her as one out of control emotion bled into another. “Like listening to someone talk themselves in another room. It doesn’t know when to shut up.” She unhooked the belt. “I’m not really comfortable going on patrol with it yet. Not until I’ve practised using it. I don’t need any distractions if there are more demons around than usual.”

She left not long after, also abandoning her saddlebags in favour of a sash of pouches Zecora lent her to carry the banishing power. The Lunar Sword hummed fretfully in the back of her mind, reacting to being left behind.

Stop that, she thought wildly, mostly to herself. I can’t hear myself think! She didn’t expect any response and so was surprised when the sword’s presence retreated like a kicked dog. She paused in the midst of Zecora’s masks, staring at the ground as she tentatively thought: I’ll be back soon. The sword’s presence transmitted something like a whine mixed with a purr. It would wait for her here if that was what she wanted.

“Wow,” she said aloud. “I didn’t expect that to actually work.”

She was so preoccupied with this development that she did not notice Zecora mouthing silently as she walked away.

“Before you, purpose I did lack, but you gave me my heartbeat back. No matter what cruel fate will send, I will be with you to the end.”

Author's Note

Hopefully the next thing I publish on Fimfiction will be the penultimate chapter of Playing With My Heart so I hope you're ready folks.

6. Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered

I am unsure how I am to begin. I am not one for writing as I am not good with words. I do not have as many as others so I must use what I have as best I can. This does me fine in my life outside this paper as I do not have to talk much in my new employment, yet my thoughts twist and turn so much that I wish I had more to spend with a quill. Perhaps then my head would not be so full, if they were trapped in ink and I could fold them up, put them away and never read them again. My book-learning wasn’t much as a filly but it was what Ma could do and I always thought it was enough. My sisters and I knew more than any other pony in our street. We can all spell pretty good and she even taught us things like punctuation before she was took from us. Pa says she knew it all because she was a lady’s maid when she was young and lived in a big house in Trottingham Forest. She would sit in while her young mistress took lessons and picked up all sorts of things a pony like her would never usually know. I thought myself proper educated until I came to the castle and heard the great wealth of words used by the scholars and courtiers here. They spend words like they spend coins, using so many at once when often there is no need, and usually only to impress each other. It is a good thing I am not required to open my mouth much as I think they would think me stupid. Yet I fear if I do not pen my thoughts now I will go mad.

As I read what I have just written I realise that I have started this all wrong. One should not begin a diary waffling on about things that are not important. Who cares what I think of the way courtiers talk? I am only a servant. My opinion matters naught. I am to attend to my duties no matter what I think of them or I will likely be dismissed. The Head Retainer is in charge of who gets to work in the castle and who doesn’t. He chooses the jobs for each of us and may task me with emptying the privvies if I complain or voice my thoughts in a way he thinks is discourteous to those highborn. As he said when I came to work here, there are many ponies of my station who would like a job in the castle and I am lucky to be afforded the opportunity.

I do not wish to lose this position. My sisters are all employed here already and have always told me how wonderful it is to work in Canterlot Castle compared with anywhere else. I believe them with all my heart, for I remember well what life was like for us in years past.

Cobweb, my eldest sister, had to find work when Ma died so we didn’t all starve. She worked in a tavern and informed me since that although she was paid handsomely, the scar on her neck was not worth the money. I remember the day Pa had to send for the doctor because we all thought she might die from that wound. There had been a fight between two stallions and the knife one threw missed its mark and struck her instead. Pa spent all our coin on the doctor because the ruffians ran away and could not be found. Mustardseed and I had to go out each day to pick berries and gather tree bark until we could afford food again. Sometimes we tried to bring in grass but it was a hot summer and most was brown and too dry to eat. Eventually we had to go into the Everfree Forest itself to feed our family, though we never went more than a dozen yards. The Everfree is a strange place. Things grew there that should not have been possible in the heat. Those dozen yards live in my memory to this day, though I was little more than a foal at the time. I learned then the importance of money but also the importance of earning it out of harm's way.

As I am youngest of we four, I have always relied on my sisters to teach me what Ma did not have time to teach me about the world. Pa did what he could but sometimes I needed to know things only a mare could tell me. Without Ma, my sisters took up the task of raising me and aided me when it came time for me to find paid work. I tried helping Pa but I was not strong enough to pull his cart more than a few inches, much less journey from village to village delivering things, as he does.

My sisters may well speak of how they enjoy working at the castle. They are all servants to ponies who treat them well. Mustardseed works in the kitchen, where Mrs Quickly holds sway with an iron hoof, yet she is a kindly mare to those who do not shirk their duties. Moth and Cobweb are both personal servants to nobles, much as I am. They were as surprised as I when the Head Retainer gave me this task, since I am an unproven worker and too young to have any experience. Yet now I am three months past my first day with Master Starswirl I understand more why no other was called to attend him. I fancy he has already sent away all those who do not already have masters or mistresses and I was the only pony left to fill the role.

I cannot lose this job, yet he is the most horrible pony I have ever had the misfortune to meet! I must not voice this aloud, not even to my sisters in case somepony overhears, but he is so awful I have nearly said so more than once. Thus I have chosen to keep this diary, so that I may write my thoughts and so hopefully be free of them before they can do me ill.

Master Starswirl is one of the most revered ponies at court. He is learned in many magical arts and has probably forgotten more arcanery than most unicorns will ever know. Yet he has no family and from what I have learned he has never shown interest in selecting a wife, nor fathering foals to continue his bloodline. There are some that say he is incapable and that is why he has not indulged in love of any kind since Princess Celestia brought him to court many years ago. I, however, believe his temperament to be a better reason, for what mare could possibly endure him long enough to produce his offspring? He is wedded only to his studies and has forsaken all else for them – including basic manners.

He speaks to me only when he has to, for which I am glad. Once, near the beginning of my employ, he attempted to engage me in conversation at somepony else’s behest. The attempt ended badly when he learned my name and afforded me only ridicule and scorn. He has called me ‘Cankerblossom’ ever since and I am unable to correct him, nor protest. All I may do is suffer his indignations and go about my duties regardless. He thinks me dull-witted and slow and tells me these things without hesitation. He snipes when I make mistakes and is given to shouting when he is displeased, whether with me or his work. His studies often leave him peevish, though he is worst when he has spoken with Silvertongue the Gifted. Then his ire is like a storm filled with lightning looking to strike anypony in its path. And I seem always to be in his path.

Oh, how I wish I was servant to Silvertongue instead of Master Starswirl! I am sure that lovely stallion would not treat me so. He would not call me dullard or curse me when I trip over some arcane scroll he has left carelessly on the floor. He would not stay awake until the early hours, working on some spell that could wait until dawn, ringing the bell to summon me so I can fetch him fresh candles.

There is talk amongst the other servants of a journey to be undertaken soon for the Summer Sun Celebration. Nopony knows which place Her Highness will choose to grace with her presence this year. Wherever she goes, it is likely Master Starswirl will be expected to accompany her along with the other highest courtiers. I wonder if I will be expected to go too. If I am, I dearly hope the festivities put him in a better humour. One that lasts!

-- Taken from the diary of Peaseblossom, 488 AS.

Fleur raised her head with a groan. At first she thought her eyes were glued shut, since all she could see was blackness. Then she realised it wasn’t her vision. She was in a dark room, lying on a cold floor. She blinked, allowing herself to become accustomed to the meagre light, which seemed to be coming from another room some distance away.

“Wh-Where …?” she started to say. She froze at the sound of movement nearby. “Hello? Is … is somepony there? Where am I? Who are you?” She shook her head to dispel the headache sitting behind her eyes. “What’s going on?”

The sound got closer and then stopped. A pair of eyes shone in the gloom. They were close to the floor and trembled slightly. “The guards brought you down here. You were asleep. You’ve been asleep for ages.” The eyes blinked at her. “You’re not a foal.” This was said as if her age was something peculiar.

“What?” Fleur looked around. The air smelled dank and unpleasant. Was that … green mould shining wetly by her hoof? She snapped her leg under her and repeated her questions more frantically. “Where am I? Who are you? What’s going on?”

“You’re in the dungeon,” said the owner of the eyes. “I’m Petal and I … I don’t know why you’re here.” The emphasis on the word ‘you’re’ would have made Fleur question the reason the speaker was here, if panic wasn’t climbing her insides like a champion mountaineer with very spiky boots.

“The dungeon? Where? The dungeons under Canterlot were dismantled centuries ago. Princess Celestia hasn’t held anypony in them in hundreds of years. Where is this place?”

“I … I …” The speaker stuttered fearfully. “I don’t know. Nopony here knows exactly where this place is. Sometimes someone comes and takes one of us away but they never come back so we can’t ask them and … and …” The speaker began to cry. It was such a soft, pathetic sound that it put the brakes on Fleur’s emotions with a sudden realisation. The speaker was a foal.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice only slightly strangled. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Fleur. Fleur de Lis. Maybe you’ve heard of me?”

“I have,” said another voice, also very young. “My sister has magazines with your picture in them back home. At least … she did when I left. I don’t know if she still has them. She was a big fan of yours. She wanted to be a model like you when she finishes high school.”

“Who are you?” Fleur asked.

“I’m Dewberry.” A second set of eyes appeared next to the first. “Don’t mind Petal. She’s always crying. I don’t cry at all ‘cause I’m a big colt now.”

Any pony who had to claim to be a ‘big colt’ was automatically a very young one. Fleur strained to see the pair better. “Could you come closer? I can barely see you.”

“You’re not a demon, are you?”

Fleur blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Only, they only every bring foals down here,” Dewberry went on. “And you’re not a foal, so you might not even be a pony at all.”

Fleur could barely follow this logic. “There are no such things as demons.”

“Yes there are!” Petal sniffled. “They put you in here with us.”

“No.” Fleur shook her head. “You’re mistaken. Demons aren’t real. They’re myths.” Just like the Mare in the Moon had been just a myth, her brain whispered traitorously. She shoved the thought away. These two were just foals. Foals made up stories to explain away what they didn’t understand of the world. Of course a scary looking pony would become a demon in a foal’s imagination.

Petal, however, was adamant. “They’re demons,” she whimpered and would not be dissuaded. “I heard them talking. That’s the word they used. They’re definitely demons.”

Fleur decided not to pursue semantics. There were much bigger things to worry about. She got to her feet, wobbling a little and trying to remember what she had been doing before waking up here. She had been … walking. Yes, that was it. She had been walking with Fancy Pants and he had … she had thought … he had taken her down a covered walkway away from prying eyes so he could propose to her. Or that was what she had thought, at least. Except that he hadn’t proposed. No, something had happened. She had passed out and then woken up in this place.

Her head jerked up. “Did the guards bring another unicorn down here with me? A stallion with a blue mane? And a white coat? And a cute little moustache?” She blinked down at the two cowering foals, whose outlines were clearer now she was standing. She could make out the shape of their noses, foreheads and … two little nubby horns.

“They didn’t bring any stallion,” said Dewberry. He was the brown foal on the left, his tiny tan mane streaked with dirt. When he looked up at her Fleur could see his muzzle was a much darker shade of brown that matched his eyes. “But we’re all unicorns here.”

“All?” echoed Fleur.

“Uh-huh.” Petal nodded her little yellow head, white mane swishing in front of her face. Her eyes were a shade of amber that made her look like somepony had tried to emulate the exact shade of dead dandelions. “Every last one of us.”

Finally taking more notice of her surroundings, Fleur looked around. Her eyes absorbed every scrap of light, highlighting the bars on the window set high in the wall, through which she could see an ugly purple-red sky. A set of old stone steps led up to a heavy wooden door, also with bars in its tiny window. Scattered about the room were bits of sacking and cloth bunched into heaps, plus several piles of straw. Around these peered the faces of foals, some even smaller than Dewberry and Petal, some school-aged fillies and colts and a few old enough that they were nearly full-grown, but who still carried the short-legged stockiness of foals. Dozens and dozens of frightened foals stared at her. Maybe even hundreds.

Fleur’s mouth fell open and her stomach lurched. “Sweet Celestia … where am I?”

“Get up! Get up! I know you’re in there! Bon-Bon, get your lazy butt out here!”

Bon-Bon groaned and rolled out of bed. “What in the name of Celestia?” She staggered to the window, where the sound of pebbles hitting glass was still making its rat-a-tat-tat. She peered through and then threw open the windows to lean out. “Lyra?”

Lyra grinned up, horn still glowing. Around her half a dozen more pebbles were lined up ready for launch. “Howdy.”

“Why are you throwing rocks at my window?”

“Duh! You’re late.”

“Late for what? It’s barely past sunrise.” For everypony else that meant they were getting up early. For her it meant she had only just gone to bed.

“Double duh!” Lyra pulled a face. “Of course it is. Now get down here pronto. It’s time to go wash in the morning dew.”

“It’s … what!?” Baffled, Bon-Bon didn’t move. “Is this another prank? I still haven’t forgiven you for last time.”

“You take things too personally. How was I supposed to know popping candy would react so badly with lemon juice? You’ve got to admit, it was fun to watch.”

“Twinkleshine didn’t think so.”

“She only cared that her new manestyle got wrecked. I, personally, thought she looked better with a buzz-cut. Besides, it grew back, didn’t it?”

“Eventually.”

Lyra waved a hoof. “Details, details. You’re stalling. C’mon, before the other mares and fillies take all the good places.”

“Lyra, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you do!” Lyra insisted. “You were here for May Day last year, weren’t you?”

“No. I arrived in June.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” A month before Twilight came to organise the Summer Sun Celebration. Had she really been in Ponyville nearly a year?

“Oh.” Momentarily stymied, it took Lyra only a few seconds to rally. “Well then it’s time you were educated in how to celebrate May Day, Ponyville style!”

“Just one problem,” Bon-Bon called back. “May Day was last Thursday. It’s Monday.”

“It was only technically last Thursday,” Lyra insisted. “That was the first day of May, which used to be May Day in olden times, but today is May Day these days because it’s the first Monday of May and it doesn’t move around as much on the calendar as the first day.” She beamed. “See? It all makes sense when you think about it.”

“Thinking about all those days makes my head hurt,” Bon-Bon replied.

The shutters on the bedroom to her other neighbour, on the opposite side of her house to Lyra’s, slammed open angrily. A head thrust out. If he had been more awake, he probably would have put his toupee on before he started yelling. “And listening to you two idiots is making my ears hurt! Put a sock in it, will ya?”

“Sorry, Cranky,” Bon-Bon apologised. Deciding capitulation was the lesser of two evils, she shut her windows, grabbed a brush and cantered downstairs to let Lyra inside.

“Don’t bother with that!” Lyra cried at sight of the brush. “You’ll be fine without all that primping for one day!”

“I’m going to brush my mane and tail,” Bon-Bon said with the kind of firmness Mayor Mare would have loved to inject into her own voice during town council meetings. “It won’t take long.”

“You always say that,” Lyra pouted, throwing herself melodramatically onto the couch.

Doggedly, Bon-Bon hooked her hoof under the strap of elastic stretched across the back of the circular brush. She pressed her hoof flat for manoeuvrability and pulled the stiff bristles through her mane, separating the pink locks from blue and twisting the end of each into her signature curls. She marvelled, sometimes, at how she could come home covered in gunk and not care, and had once thrown herself into a cesspit to tackle a wolf-demon running away from a campsite, but refused to go out in the morning without this ritual.

“Are you done yet?” Lyra whined.

“Don’t rush me. And how come you have time for this? Shouldn’t you be getting ready for work?”

“Duh. Everything’s closed today. It’s May Day!”

“Stop saying duh.”

“I will when you stop saying duh-worthy stuff.” Lyra fluffed her own bangs, pulling critically at one white strand. “I don’t know how you can stand doing that every day. It would drive me nuts!”

“You could stand to brush your own mane more often,” Bon-Bon pointed out. “Half the time you look like you stuck your hoof in an electrical outlet. Or went through a hedge backwards. Or jumped in the lake and then stood in front of Sugarcube Corner’s big oven.”

“Ha ha. Are you done NOW?”

Bon-Bon swung her mane experimentally. “Almost.” She twisted to start on her tail, holding it alongside her flank with one foreleg while brushing with the other. The smooth, repetitive motion was soothing in a way she couldn’t put into words. Not even Lyra’s whinging could put a dent in the feeling of satisfaction as her tail turned from a matted mess back into glossy hair, which she spritzed with a canister of hairspray to help it keep its shape.

Well, almost.

“Bon-Bon!” Lyra wailed, elongating the vowels like a spoiled filly whining for candy.

“And I’m done.” Bon-Bon laid the brush down on the coffee table. “Do I need to bring anything?”

“Just yourself!” Lyra leaped off the couch and shoved her unceremoniously towards the door. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, C’MON!”

As Bon-Bon went out of the door, she felt the Lunar Sword start to wail in the back of her mind. Where was she going? Why was she leaving? She gritted her teeth and formed a clear thought for it to pick up.

I’m going out. I’ll be back later.

The sword only wailed louder. Since the noise was only in her head, Bon-Bon’s senses registered it as a mixture of sound, taste and a feeling like pins-and-needles. She hadn’t taken the sword with her on patrol even once since they got back from Canterlot. She had just put it away in the attic and gone off with her usual weapons. It wasn’t fair! The sword was useful! It could help her! That was what it was for! Why did she keep leaving it behind? Why? Why? Why?

Bon-Bon’s teeth gritted so hard she thought she might crack a molar. I’ll be back later, she thought. I promise.

Outside lots of ponies were also walking, despite the early hour. Bon-Bon looked but could see no colt or stallion amongst them. From the old to the young, every pony was female and headed towards the edge of town. She could hear the sword still wailing but it grew fainter with distance.

“Let me get this straight,” she said in a low voice. “All these ponies are going to wash their faces in the morning dew? Seriously? No joke?”

“Don’t be so suspicious, Bon-Bon,” Lyra chastised.

“Okay, but just answer me this: why?”

“Because it’s tradition.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s something fillies and mares have always done on May Day ever since Ponyville was founded – and the ponies who founded it did it long before that, too.”

“But why?”

“I can answer that one, young ‘un.” A creaky voice interrupted them, causing them both to look up at the three ponies making their own, slightly slower way along the street.

“Howdy, y’all,” said Applejack, tipping her hat.

“Hi, Applejack! Hi, Apple Bloom! Hi, Granny Smith!” Lyra waved furiously at each of them, her face wreathed with delight. Bon-Bon watched her with a small smile of her own. Lyra was always glad to see other ponies and treated everyone as if they had been away for months and only just returned home. She reminded Bon-Bon of a puppy that was equally pleased to see the mailpony as it was to see its owner.

“You wanna know why we girls go out early to wash in the dew?” Granny Smith continued, not bothering with a greeting. She stared at Bon-Bon as if Lyra wasn’t even there. “Well, it’s all on account of thinkin’ it’ll make us beautiful for the comin’ year.”

“It is?” Bon-Bon gaped. “But that’s so … vain.”

“As vain as spending hours brushing your mane and tail morning, noon and night?” Lyra said slyly.

“That’s different. How is morning dew supposed to make any difference to how beautiful a pony is? Especially if she only washes in it once a year? Plus, in the first place, ew! Morning dew can’t be hygienic to wash in anyway!”

“Don’t mind her,” Lyra stage-whispered behind her hoof. “She gets like this sometimes.”

Yeah, sometimes; when I remember to act that way.

The vanity thing had started by accident, inspired by the brush set she had purchased the first day Lyra showed her around Ponyville. She had pored over the stiff and fine bristles of the various brushes and combs, marvelling that she could own them now. While on the road, she had been limited to what she could fit in her saddlebags and in the pouches on her belt. Since she required weapons, banishing powder vials and other necessities, elaborate collections of mane-brushes were out. Being thought of as a little vain had helped to cement her image as somepony so unlikely to get down and dirty battling evil, it didn’t even bear thinking about.

“If I had a mane like yours, I’d brush it a whole bunch too!” Apple Bloom declared. She stared enviously at Bon-Bon’s curls, swishing her own mop-like tail. “How’d you get it to stay like that?”

“Hairspray,” Bon-Bon replied. “Lots and lots of hairspray.”

“She’s not kidding,” Lyra added. “She can get through two cans in a week – and that’s a good week. In a bad week she can get through five!”

“Really?” Apple Bloom gawped.

Bon-Bon sighed. “So, this morning dew thing. How the hay did it get so popular? It seems like every female pony in town is out here.”

“They pretty much are,” said Applejack. “Those who can’t, like the mares in the Old Ponies’ Home, have dew brought to ‘em in bowls by the nurses.”

“Ponyville’s a place of traditions,” said Granny Smith. “Time was, when the town was new an’ times were tough, traditions were a way of makin’ the settlers feel better about their decisions to move here. A good darn sight of ‘em were from cities or plains country, includin’ the Apple Family, so scratchin’ out a livin’ right next to the Everfree Forest was a life-changin’ choice. The traditions they brought with ‘em made ‘em feel better an’ the traditions they made here knit the community together. It’s why we got so darn many celebration days in these parts: the leaders back then tried hard to make everypony feel included an’ so included special days from all over Equestria.”

That would certainly explain a few things. Bon-Bon had wondered why Ponyville, a relatively new town from a historical standpoint, had so many more holidays than anywhere else she had ever been – many of them far older than the town itself.

“Granny knows what she’s talkin’ about,” Apple Bloom said proudly. “She helped build Ponyville when she was just a filly.”

“You did?” Bon-Bon was impressed. She had thought Granny Smith old but apparently she was positively ancient! She sure moved spryly for somepony who had weathered so many years.

Granny ruffled her youngest granddaughter’s mane affectionately, being careful to avoid the carefully tied bow. “Aw, shucks, I didn’t do much. I was too young – barely got my cutie mark by the time my Pa helped raise the first Town Hall. That’s the third one we’re on now, on account of the big storm that happened the year I got married, when a manticore came out the forest an’ pretty much knocked down most of the town. Poor beast was half-mad from snake poison an’ fell over in the middle of the town square, dead as a doornail. The second went when some lil’ pegasus filly was messin’ around tryin’ to make a tornado by her lonesome an’ accidentally whipped the whole buildin’ into the air before her parents wound it down to a breeze. Now what was that silly filly’s name again?”

“Rainbow Dash, Granny,” Applejack sighed.

“Ah, that was it.” Granny Smith stamped her hoof as if she had thought of the name herself. “Rainbow Dash! She once saved me from fallin’ offa that dark stupid ladder in the barn, y’know. I know, I know, I ain’t s’posed to climb it but I had powerful need for the pitchfork an’ Big Macintosh had left it in the hayloft. Well I teetered an’ tottered an’ was about to fall on my noggin’ when BOOM!” She shouted loud enough to make two passing mares turn to look. “That Rainbow Dash swooped right in an’ saved my hide from bein’ a mess for some poor pony to clean up.”

“You never told me about that, Granny,” Applejack said with a puzzled frown.

“On account of I didn’t remember until just this instant right here an’ now. Oh, by the way, sweetheart, that blue pegasus friend of yours is lookin’ for you.” Granny Smith blinked, her rheumy eyes momentarily caught between past and present. “What was I talkin’ about again?”

“How you helped build Ponyville,” Apple Bloom said helpfully, utterly missing the beat of pain in her sister’s eyes at their grandmother’s slip. “An’ why we wash our faces in mornin’ dew on May Day.”

“Speakin’ of which, we’d better move along.” Applejack nudged her gently until she started walking. “Lots of things to do today after we’re done washin’.”

“Oh fiddlesticks, we’ve got plenty of time.” Nevertheless, Granny Smith also started walking, her voice dragging Lyra and Bon-Bon along in her wake. “This whole mornin’ dew thing is a tradition leftover from the village that used to be where Ponyville is now.”

“But I thought there weren’t no town or village or nuthin’ in these parts when you got here, Granny,” Apple Bloom protested. “That’s what you told me. That’s why y’all decided to settle here.”

“That’s true, sweetheart, there weren’t no settlement ‘cept for ours. I’m just sayin’ that, once upon a time, there was a village here. Not for a few hundred years, mind you. The way Pa told it, when we pulled up our wagons an’ made camp there were only a couple of families livin’ way apart from each other, but he took ‘em in an’ their traditions became Ponyville traditions too, an’ THEIR families from way back in the distant yonder came from that there village. Now what did he say its name was?” She squinted at nothing, lips pursing in frustration. “Dagnabbit it, I can’t remember!”

“It don’t matter, Granny,” said Applejack. “Look, we’re here.”

They stopped at the edge of town, where the last buildings butted up against the stretch of open country between Ponyville and the Everfree Forest. Everywhere she looked, Bon-Bon saw mares and fillies sliding their hooves into the long grass and then scrubbing at their faces. A few had finished and were returning to town, chattering happily amongst themselves.

“That right there looks like a good spot!” Apple Bloom pointed. “Look, Rarity an’ Sweetie Belle are already here with their mom!”

“Ponyfeathers, Rarity’s got a face on her that’d spoil milk,” Applejack muttered. “She must not approve of her mom pairin’ those orange stripes on her blouse with neon green pants. C’mon, Apple Bloom, let’s mosey on over an’ say hi. Granny? You comin’?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m comin’, I’m comin’!” Granny Smith said irritably, clearly still frustrated at herself for not remembering the name of the old village. “Dagnabbit, this brain of mine’s got more holes in it than the Town Hall roof!”

Applejack tipped her hat at Lyra and Bon-Bon. “Mighty fine talkin’ to y’all. Hope to see you both at the celebrations later. Lyra, I swear, I’m gonna kick your team’s butt at tug-o-war this year.”

Lyra immediately flattened her forelegs to the ground, wiggling her backside in the air just like a puppy. “I’d like to see you try. Bon-Bon’s going to be on my team this year.”

“Oh she is, is she?”

“I am?” This was news to Bon-Bon.

“Sure she is,” Lyra shot back. “She’s my bestest best friend and she’s going to help me kick YOUR team’s butt this year!”

Applejack grinned. “We’ll see.” She trotted off to join her family and friends.

“Well,” Lyra said when all three Apples were out of earshot. She got to her feet and tossed her head, as if she had just emerged victorious from some epic battle. “That was fun.” Without waiting for a reply, she swung around to stand on two legs and grabbed one of Bon-Bon’s front hooves, forcing her to stand upright too. “C’mon, let’s get washing.” She dragged her over to a patch of grass nopony else had stripped of dew and they both fell back onto all-fours.

“Now what?” Bon-Bon asked.

“Do I need to draw you a map?” Lyra gestured at the other ponies around them. “You wash your face.” Without further ado, she formed her hooves into a hollow, scooped up droplets of moisture from the long grass and splashed herself with them. The early light refracting off the droplets that flew up around her face gave her an ethereal appearance, like some fey creature from a storybook. Bon-Bon couldn’t help staring.

She gulped and quickly dropped her gaze, forming her face into a mask of disgust to cover any trace of other emotions that might be showing. She eyed the grass, copied Lyra’s action and splashed herself. “Is that it?”

“Duh! Weren’t you watching? You have to rub it in. Here, like this.” Lyra grabbed her chin with one hoof and, balancing on her hind legs again, scrubbed at Bon-Bon’s cheeks, making damp swirls of the fur there. Bon-Bon stared, wide-eyed in shock at the unexpected contact. After a few moments Lyra turned Bon-Bon’s face from side to side critically, inspecting her work. “You’ll do.” She released her friend and trotted away as if nothing had happened. Which, for her, was true. “Hurry up, Bon-Bon! We don’t want to miss anything! Especially if this is your first May Day in Ponyville.”

“Uh, yeah.” More slowly, hoping her blush would die down fast, Bon-Bon followed her.

Ponies were setting things up in the town square and park. Bon-Bon stared around her, marvelling at the energy everyone seemed to have when usually they didn’t stir until well past this time. Four stallions marched past carrying a long wooden pole, while a small colt ran alongside them counting so they could stay in time with each other’s steps.

“There is not a budding girl, this day!” rang out a clear baritone at the front of the line.

“But is got up and gone to bring in May!” replied one of the ponies carrying the pole.

“Except they’re all coming back now,” added the stallion behind him.

“And looking prettier than ever!” The last pony of the four was Mr. Cake. He smiled at somepony behind Lyra and Bon-Bon and blew a kiss.

Neither of them was surprised to turn around and see Mrs. Cake. She pushed a stroller with two seats set in front and behind each other, where Pound and Pumpkin burbled happily. Evidently foals did not suffer the same morning lethargy as adult ponies. Pumpkin’s tiny face glistened with morning dew, as did her mother’s.

“Whoops! Look out below!”

Bon-Bon hurled herself at Mrs. Cake and the stroller, skidding to a halt when a garland of flowers landed on the older mare’s head, partially obscuring one eye. She giggled like a filly half her age as two pegasi descended to retrieve it.

“Sorry, ma’am,” said the black stallion in a voice like melted chocolate. His was the kind of voice that was built for moonlit strolls and crooning love songs. “Lost my grip on it for a second.”

“Don’t worry about it, Thunderlane,” Mrs. Cake assured him. “No harm done.”

Pound reached greedily for a flower that had come off the garland. He wailed when Pumpkin levitated it towards her own mouth with a few fizzles of magic. Mrs. Cake plucked it away before her daughter could bite down on the delicate petals.

“Not for you, sweetie. This is for the houses.”

Pumpkin started up her own wailing to match her brother’s.

“Oh dear.” Mrs. Cake poked the flower back into the garland and rolled the stroller back and forth. “I’d better get these two someplace they can forget this cruelty.” She winked at the two pegasi.

Thunderlane snapped off a salute and flapped his wings. The other stallion, his total opposite in colouring and hairstyle, did likewise. They rose into the sky and flew off towards where a group of other pegasi carrying garlands were festooning the houses around the square with them. At ground level, groups of earth ponies and unicorns were also decorating with flowers, leaves, branches and all manner of other green things.

“They’re dressing the houses already?” Lyra said regretfully. “Aw, phooey.”

“They’re what?”

She pointed. “It’s tradition to dress up houses with vegetation to lure in spirits for good luck with the crops during Spring and Summer.”

No wonder she had never seen these traditions before, Bon-Bon thought. The only greenery in cities and bigger towns could be found in the salad tray of most ponies’ refrigerators. “Should we be doing that too?”

“Uh-huh.” Lyra looked around and spotted something that made her grin. “Over there. Hey, Minuette! Wait up!”

The cobalt unicorn paused and turned at the sound of Lyra’s voice. Pale blue magic surrounded her horn and the collection of individual blooms above her head. She had apparently collected them from Lily, Rose and Daisy, who stood in the centre of the square beside wheelbarrows piled high with flowers from their gardens. When her eyes found Lyra, Minuette smiled. It dimmed when she spotted Bon-Bon behind her.

“Oh. Hi, Lyra. Hi, Bon-Bon.” Bon-Bon had spoken to Minuette only a few times and only when looking for Lyra at Music Makers. Each time Minuette had always been pleasant and friendly, yet her tone now was icy and her eyes burned with hostility.

“Can we help you decorate your house?” Lyra gestured to one of the houses facing directly into the square. “This is Bon-Bon’s first May Day in Ponyville. She missed it last year, so I’m making sure she gets to try her hoof at everything.”

“Sure, she can help decorate it,” Minuette replied in a tone that said how much she didn’t want Bon-Bon anywhere near her house. Lyra, however, either totally missed or totally ignored it.

“Brilliant! We’ll get some flowers and be right over. Go on and start without us, okay?”

“Fine.” Minuette stalked off, her step much less cheerful than it had been. Evidently her friendship and working relationship with Lyra was enough to make her accept Bon-Bon’s help but she wasn’t happy about it.

“She sure seems in a bad mood,” Bon-Bon observed as they advanced on Daisy’s wheelbarrow.

“What are you talking about?” Lyra examined the flowers and picked a pink one out with her telekinesis. “She said we could help her. Hey, Daisy, what is this? You know I’m no good with flowers.”

“It’s a peony,” Daisy replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Bon-Bon would have had to crane forward like Lyra to hear it if she had not possessed extra-sharp Slayer senses. “The symbol of wealth, royal grandeur, romance and good fortune in love.”

“This little thing meanss all that?” Lyra turned the feathery circular bloom around suspiciously. “Well, you’re the expert I guess; and Minuette could sure use some good fortune in love. How many can we have for her house?”

In the end they collected a dozen peonies, several gerberas, some dahlias from Lily and some red and white anemones from Rose. Bon-Bon had chosen the anemones when Lyra demanded she contribute to the display and carried them behind Lyra’s floating choices towards Minuette’s house.

“What did you mean when you said Minuette could use some good fortune in love?” she asked.

“Hmm? Oh, that. She’s had a crush on Noteworthy for, like, forever but he’s a typical stallion and doesn’t notice a thing. Honestly, they can be so dense when it comes to the subtle stuff, huh? I keep telling her she should just ask him out already but she’s worried he’ll say no because of being her boss, so she never says anything. You should’ve seen her on Heart and Hooves Day. It was sad. She just moped around the shop and then bought all the cheap chocolate hearts from Sugarcube Corner the day afterwards. I felt like sending her a bunch of roses and pretending in the note they were from him but then I thought better of it. Lies never work out, even the well-intentioned ones, right?”

Suddenly Minuette’s attitude started to make more sense to Bon-Bon. When they arrived at her house and she shot a poisonous look that completely missed Lyra but smacked Bon-Bon in the face like a bucket of cold water, she felt sure: Minuette had somehow heard about her ‘date’ with Noteworthy last week and was not taking it well. It was laughable really, except in all the ways it wasn’t. Jealousy radiated off her when there was absolutely no need. Bon-Bon had no interest in Noteworthy and never would. Making Minuette understand that, however, was harder than it seemed. The fact that she blanked every effort Bon-Bon made to speak to her didn’t help matters at all.

They finished decorating the front of the house to the accompaniment of Lyra’s chatter. When they were done they stood back to admire their work. Lyra balanced on two legs to fold her forelegs across her chest in satisfaction.

“Not bad, if I do say so myself. I have to admit, Minuette, the treble clef made of flowers was an inspired touch.”

“You’re only saying that because it was your idea,” Minuette replied tightly.

“I know and it was an inspired one.” A loud rumble cut the air. “Whoops! Excuse me. I guess it’s time for breakfast. C’mon, girls, let’s go see what we’ve got this year.”

“I thought you said all the stores are closed,” Bon-Bon protested as Lyra dragged her and Minuette along, a hoof clamped around one foreleg each. “Why are you going to the café?”

“Duh!” Lyra laughed. “The stores are closed for business, not closed completely. Anypony participating in the celebrations gets fed free of charge and we three are participators.” She raised her head to inhale deeply. “Mmm, that smells good. Grub’s up!” She raised one hind hoof, balancing precariously on her last leg to kick the café door open.

Half a dozen faces looked up in surprise at their entrance. Uncaring, Lyra proceeded to a small round table and plonked Minuette and Bon-Bon in the two chairs already there, noisily dragging up a third for herself. Bon-Bon could see ponies gritting their teeth at the unearthly screeching and looking on disapprovingly, but no-one said anything. Apparently Lyra’s antics were familiar enough that all the patrons were resigned to them.

“Ooh, ooh, ooh!” Lyra waved her hoof. “Waiter, over here! Over here, waiter!” She dropped her hoof at his approach. “Three full breakfasts, my good pony. We’ve got to keep our strength up for the celebrations later today.”

The waiter was not, however, looking at her. Instead, his gaze fell on Bon-Bon and, after a momentary widening of his eyes, he broke into a smile. “Cherie! Ah, it is so good to be seeing you again!”

“Huh?” Lyra looked on blankly as he grabbed Bon-Bon’s foreleg and kissed the back of her hoof exaggeratedly.

Minuette rolled her eyes, resting one elbow on the table while tapping the tip of her other hoof against it irritably. “Well that figures,” she muttered too quietly for anyone but a Slayer to hear.

It took bon-Bon a moment to place the stallion in her memory. “Horte Cuisine! I forgot you said you worked here.”

“Oui,” he said brightly. “I am so much happiness to be seeing you. Are you well?”

“I’m fine, thanks. Uh, do you know my, uh, friends?” she asked, gesturing with only the tiniest hesitation at both Lyra and Minuette.

“Non, but I welcome them to Café Magnifique on this finest of fine days.” He reached to kiss Lyra’s hoof and then Minuette’s in turn. Minuette snatched hers back while Lyra continued to look bemused.

“You two know each other?”

“We met once, briefly,” Bon-Bon explained.

“Oui, mademoiselle,” agreed Horte. “Though it was a meeting that lived on in my mind long after we parted. And now to see you again, it is good fortune, oui?”

“Uh, oui.”

“But I am being too much rudeness,” Horte chastised himself. He produced a notepad ostensibly from nowhere and gripped a pencil in his other hoof. Bon-Bon noted idly that he was a leftie as he scribbled down their order in remarkably neat script for an earth pony. Unicorns were always the best scribes, owing to their magic, with earth ponies and pegasi coming a poor second unless they really worked at it. Horte, apparently, was very practised as he dotted each ‘i’ and crossed each ‘t’ with a flourish. “Trois grands petits déjeuners, oui?” At their blank looks he translated, “Three big breakfasts?”

“Oui!” Lyra said with renewed enthusiasm. “And some orange juice in this, please.” She scrabbled in her saddlebag and brought out the gigantic plastic cup she had bought while out with Bon-Bon last week.

Horte eyed the plastic straw distastefully but took the cup. “Anything for a, ahem, participant, mademoiselle.” He made to leave but stopped when Bon-Bon spoke again.

“Wait, Horte, how did the job interview go?”

“Job interview?” He blinked once. “Oh, yes. Not so good, I’m afraid.” He shook his head dolefully.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It is not so bad. Ponyville is a good place to be right now.” He smiled, which changed his appearance completely. He had a face whose neutral expression verged on a sneer, so when he smiled every single feature softened into a more pleasant version of itself. He gave a slight bow and departed.

“Ooh, Bon-Bon!” Lyra squealed when he had gone. “He’s totally into you!”

“No he isn’t,” Bon-Bon responded instantly.

“He completely and totally is!” Lyra insisted. “Didn’t you think so, Minuette?”

“Hmmf.” Minuette’s horn glowed; magic levitating a serviette and manipulating it into odd shapes in front of her. She was the picture of boredom, her usual friendly smile a thing of the past.

“Whoa, you really aren’t a morning pony.” Lyra shook her head.

Four ponies filed into the café, chatting amongst themselves. Lyra half rocketed out of her chair to save at them. The three adults ambled over while the small filly bounced about their legs chasing the dog that was also with them.

“Long time no see, Applejack,” Lyra grinned. “Are you here to build up your strength for you can better accept losing later?”

“Are you still yappin’ about that? You know we always beat you, Lyra. Just accept it.”

“Never! I shall never accept defeat!” Lyra struck a melodramatic pose that lasted all off five seconds before she got the giggles. “Seriously, though, are you guys here for breakfast? You should totally join us.”

“Reckon we might just, at that.” Applejack eyed her family and the small round table. “Or maybe we’ll sit on over there next to y’all. Apple Bloom, Winona, be careful, y’hear! You ain’t outdoors no more so quit runnin’ around.”

Apple Bloom stopped gambolling and scrubbed at the dog’s ears instead. Winona’s hindquarters hit the floor, tongue lolled as she happily accepted the fuss. Her feathery tail beat a staccato rhythm that made Apple Bloom fuss her all the more.

Horte reappeared carrying a tray on his upturned hoof. On it balanced two glasses of orange juice and Lyra’s monstrous cup. He set the tray down on the table and distributed the drinks, managing to give Lyra hers without wrinkling his nose.

“Your breakfasts with be ready shortly, mademoiselles.” He turned to the Apples. “Can I help you? What is that animal doing in here! This is an eating establishment. We cannot be having dirty animals inside!”

Apple Bloom raised her hoof from Winona’s head in shock. “Winona?”

Winona’s hackles had raised and a low growl emanated from her throat. The usually well-behaved dog hunched over, staring intently at Horte.

“Winona!” Applejack said sharply.

Winona flattened her ears, looking at her with a whine.

“I am afraid you will not be able to sit inside with that animal,” Horte crisply informed them. “We have a ‘no pets’ rule at Café Magnifique. It is for hygiene and the comfort of other diners.”

“We understand,” Applejack replied. “We’ll sit outside, but could we order four breakfasts first?” Winona whined again. “Make that five.”

Horte nodded, a brittle up and down motion of his chin as his gaze flicked around the dining room, taking in the reactions of the other ponies seated there. Most had not paid attention but a few were looking at him and even more stared disapproving at the Apples’ dog.

“All righty then.” Applejack tossed her head and turned back for the door. “C’mon, y’all; let’s go grab us a table. See you later, Lyra, Bon-Bon, Minuette.”

“You better believe it,” Lyra replied, sucking orange juice through her straw. “Get a pillow to sit on for after I kick your butt!”

“Lyra, slow down!”

“Can’t!” Lyra cantered down the street.

“Why not?” Bon-Bon kept up easily but Minuette was already puffing.

“We don’t want to miss anything!”

“What would we miss?” Bon-Bon turned to the other unicorn. “Do you have any idea what she’s talking about?”

Minuette shrugged.

Lyra was headed for the park with all speed. “We’re going to be late! We’re going to be late! We’re going to be late!” she chanted anxiously.

“Late for what? Lyra!”

All three dashed into the park and skidded to a halt.

“Late for THAT!” Lyra replied.

A gigantic chair sat in the middle of a wide circle of ponies. Long poles were attached to its legs, running parallel with the ground so that four strong stallions could carry it around. The chair itself was a jumble of coloured ribbons, flowers, greenery, lace and trailing bits of fabric. It should have looked ugly but instead the riot of colour made it oddly pretty. Ponies kept coming forward to add their own contributions, like the chair was one giant communal collage.

“The May Throne,” Minuette said dully. “Every year a pony rides around in it as May Queen.”

“She wears a white gown and gets a tiara. Her duty is to officially say goodbye to Spring, welcome in Summer and begin the May Day celebrations.” Lyra danced from hoof to hoof. “And there are four Stallions of the Seasons to carry her in a mini parade! It’s really cool.”

“How did I not know about any of this?” Bon-Bon said, watching as Granny Smith tottered over to hook an apple onto the chair.

“Because you never want to get involved in this kind of thing,” Lyra replied blithely, absolutely no censure in her voice. “You always seem to be too busy.”

Of course; there were only so many times you could excuse yourself from getting involved before ponies stopped asking you. Things in Ponyville happened to Bon-Bon. She rarely, if ever, made them happen. It was easier that way, or so she had always told herself. Now, however, she was left completely at sea in this ocean of happy celebrating, with no idea where the paddles even were, much less how to row through it.

“So who’s the May Queen this year?” she asked. “Do you know in advance?”

“Of course. The town council voted on it – ooh, look, there’s Mayor Mare! We’re just in time. C’mon.” Lyra headed for the crowd, nosing her way through the ponies and gesturing for Bon-Bon and Minuette to follow her.

Minuette gestured. “After you.” Her tone could not have been any flatter or darker if it was an actual shadow on the ground.

Beside the ornate chair, Mayor Mare held up a hoof for quiet. Nopony quite managed to stop talking. An aide ran up, carrying a microphone on a stand. He trailed a wire and fed it out from the loop over one foreleg, backing up to a portable generator on the far side of the crowd, on top of which sat a large speaker. A feedback screech heralded the socket ramming home, as did the faint shrieks from ponies with sensitive hearing. Bon-Bon stumbled at the pain but managed to keep her feet.

“Mares and gentlecolts!” Mayor Mare boomed. It was odd, seeing her lips move in front of them but hearing her voice blare from several feet away. “Welcome, welcome, one and all. I hope you’re all feeling good and not too tired this morning?”

The crowd cheered. One or two held up sealed coffee cups with Café Magnifique’s logo on the side. Bon-Bon had noticed the separate window serving hot drinks at the side of the café when they left but had not mentioned it. The last thing she needed was caffeine heightening her already sensitive senses and there was no way Lyra needed the extra energy. As for Minuette … well, death glares and sulky silences weren’t exactly conducive for making small-talk about beverages. Then again, maybe the early morning was making her extra grumpy and she could have used the buzz to improve her outlook, or at least make her less sullen.

“Excellent!” Mayor Mare enthused. She was so animated she must have drunk a lot of coffee herself. “Well then, without further ado, I’ll give the floor to this year’s May Queen; a pony whom, I think you’ll all agree, has done a lot for Ponyville in the past year and fully embodies what we celebrate at this time of year: fresh ideas, a sunny outlook and oneness with the world. Mares and gentlecolts, I give you … Twilight Sparkle!”

The crowd roared, everypony stamping at least some of their hooves. Bon-Bon stamped hers too as Twilight emerged from a ten set up behind the speaker and generator. A white unicorn trotted alongside her, fussing with the long dress Twilight had on. The hem was so long it trailed behind her, causing her to stumble once. When she came to a halt beside Mayor Mare, Bon-Bon could see that Rarity had also sewed delicate flowers in some gauzy fabric to the neckline, each petal perfectly cut to waft in even the slightest breeze, giving Twilight an otherworldly look, as if she had just stepped out of a storybook about fairies. Bon-Bon was reminded of Dinky’s fairy costume and had to admit that, while Dinky had been cute, Twilight’s was far more impressive.

“Um, hello,” Twilight said into the microphone. When she cheer had died down she smiled awkwardly, rubbing one forehoof against the side of her other leg. “I just want to say thank you for this honour and I hope I’ll be a good, uh, May Queen. I only found out I was going to do this when I got back from Canterlot last night, so I also want to say a big thank you to my friend Rarity, for staying up late to finish this beautiful gown.”

Rarity tossed her mane. If she had missed sleep, she didn’t show it. She positively shone in the applause.

“Sit! Sit! Sit!” carolled the crowd.

Twilight exchanged a look with Rarity, who nodded and gestured. Twilight went up to the decorated chair and gingerly sat, hind hooves just trailing the floor while her forehooves lay on the rests. From the cheer that went up, one might be forgiven for thinking she had done something far more complicated.

“Now they’re going to crown her,” Lyra informed Bon-Bon. “Of course, they could have just used that big crown thingy she wore when she kicked Nightmare Moon and Discord’s tails.” She chuckled at her own joke.

The side of the tent Twilight had come from moved, as if something had fallen against it. Spike, Twilight’s dragon assistant, hurried out to hold aside the flap. A few seconds later four stallions trooped out past him, heads held high. The last one shot Spike a grateful glance and mouthed his thanks before moving off.

“Is that Noteworthy?” Bon-Bon asked of the last stallion.

Lyra giggled. “It sure is.”

Each of the stallions was decked out in a different costume that included a domino mask over their eyes. It took Bon-Bon a moment to realise they were each meant to represent a different season. Noteworthy, bejeweled in a jagged vest of white and shades of blue, was Winter. Snowflakes had been carefully crafted and stuck on around his mask. Bon-Bon could only think he had been chosen for his complementary coat colour, since his personality was anything but frosty.

“He looks good,” said Lyra. “Aw, I was hoping Rarity would have put him in something awful and sequined. Where are my sequins?” She pouted but nopony could have found it believable. “We’ll have to find something else to make fun of, Minuette.”

Minuette didn’t respond. She was far too busy watching Noteworthy walk over to the May Throne and kneel in a line. Only one of the stallions stayed on his feet. Bon-Bon squinted, recognising him from somewhere. It was hard to tell under his mask of trailing silk sunbeams. He went up to Twilight and placed a tiara made of flowers over her ears and horn.

“Thanks.” She added in a whisper. “You did great, Caramel.”

The stallion blushed and retreated into line. The moment he did so, all four got to their feet and took up positions at each end of the horizontal poles. With timing that bespoke lots of practise (and probably a lot of poles dropped on hooves), they hefted the entire throne into the air and balanced the poles onto their shoulders. Twilight wobbled only a little and managed to keep her smile throughout. Then again, if you could teleport yourself away from being dropped, you probably would be able to smile more.

“Mares and gentlecolts!” Mayor Mare dashed back to the microphone. “The Stallions of the Seasons will now circle the town so our new May Queen can welcome in the Summer!”

The four throne-bearers dutifully began to march, keeping their steps in time with each other so twilight wasn’t jostled too much. The crowd parted for them to pass through, some ponies throwing yet more flowers as they passed.

“Wow, everypony’s really into this,” said Bon-Bon over the noise. The atmosphere was electric, especially for something so old-fashioned. Bon-Bon couldn’t imagine the citizens of Canterlot, Manehattan or Fillydelphia doing anything like this – or if they did, it certainly wouldn’t involve everypony in town. She felt like she had stepped back in time to an earlier, simpler age.

“This isn’t even the good part,” Lyra told her. “Later there’ll be games and cook-outs and competitions and – whoa!” She stumbled sideways. “Watch it, Minuette!”

Minuette waved feverishly as the throne passed them. Twilight was waving everywhere but the ponies beneath her kept their eyes fixed forward. Bon-Bon saw the Autumn stallion and instantly recognised his red coat and yellow mane, exactly the colour of trees during the Running of the Leaves. Big Macintosh was an excellent choice. He didn’t appear to be having any trouble carrying Twilight or keeping up with the quick steps of the other Stallions of the Seasons. Caramel was doing his best but his strained expression showed beneath his mask. He was clearly worried, since he was also clearly the youngest of the four. Bon-Bon wondered how he had been chosen – his clumsiness was renowned.

“You’re doing great, little bro!” shouted a huge stallion several feet away. His coat, mane and tail were the exact same shade as Caramel’s and his flank bore an identical cutie mark of three interlocking horseshoes. He tried to pump his hoof as he whooped but couldn’t, since it was in a sling. “Couldn’t have done better – and I mean that!”

Crème Brulee’s words had the desired effect. Caramel’s chest visibly swelled and he lifted his steps extra high.

“Are we supposed to follow them?” Bon-Bon asked as the crowd fell into the gap left in their wake.

“Uh-huh, once around the town and then back to here,” said Lyra. “While we’re gone the ponies in charge will get everything set up. When we get back it’ll be like magic!”

Given that several unicorns were already levitating things out of the tent and off the backs of wagons, Bon-Bon didn’t doubt it.

The trip around town was uneventful. When they arrived back at the park, however, a transformation really had taken place.

“See! See! Didn’t I tell you?” Lyra crowed.

Bon-Bon stared in wonder at the activities, tents, stalls and other things that had been assembled in their absence. Ponies who had been in the procession behind her propelled her forward as the Stallions of the Seasons came to a halt at the very spot where they had started. Mayor Mare was waiting for them, looking windswept but satisfied. Given her track record for being late with things, Bon-Bon wondered how many seconds there had been between the last stall going up and them all turning the corner.

“Welcome, welcome, welcome, welcome!” Mayor Mare said with a slightly mad gleam in her eye. Her mane had a few pieces coming loose and her cravat was askew. “Welcome all! And a special welcome to you, May Queen.”

“Oh!” Twilight laughed nervously. She was apparently not comfortable looking down on the mayor while talking to her. Nopony could ever accuse Twilight of having airs and graces, even if she was Princess Celestia’s special student. “Um, thank you, Miss Mayor.”

“Going down now, missy,” said the Stallion of Spring, a white pony whose dark brown moustache bristled out from under his mask. His outfit was themed on a tree and his matching mane and tail had been threaded with leaves that flowed into his vest to resemble bark.

The ingenuity of the outfits must have taken Rarity days to think up, design and then sew together. Judging by her expression, however, she was pleased with the result. She was at the front of the crowd where Bon-Bon could see her watching her friend disembark the throne. Twilight admirably masked her gratitude to be on solid ground again, turning to thank the four stallions who had carried her. She paused awkwardly when they all knelt before her like she really was royalty.

“Oh,” she said again. “You really don’t need to do that.”

“You’re the May Queen,” said Mayor Mare. “You represent the changeover from Spring to Summer, so today we really do need to treat you well. If the spirit of Summer finds out we didn’t treat his daughter well, the season might not choose to stay in Ponyville.”

“But the seasons don’t work like that–” Twilight began to protest.

“It’s tradition, missy,” the Stallion of Spring said towards the ground. “Symbolic, see? Don’t worry your pretty little head about it none. Time was, ponies really did believe each season had a spirit and they had to tempt them to stay.”

“So this is just ritualistic?” Twilight asked, the hopefulness so prevalent in her tone she didn’t even sound miffed at the ‘pretty little head’ remark, as if her intellect couldn’t beat that of any other pony in Ponyville into the ground. “I can’t stop Summer from arriving if I get it wrong?”

A ripple of laughter went through the crowd at her charming naiveté.

“Nope,” said the Stallion of Autumn with a grin.

“Oh, good.” Twilight practically wilted with relief. “So … what do I have to do?”

“Look pretty!” shouted somepony from the back.

“Check!” shouted someone else.

More laughter rippled over the collected ponies. Bon-Bon felt a smile tugging at her own lips too.

Mayor Mare gave a polite but short chuckle. “Well, May Queen, all you have to do at this point is throw your tiara into the air to officially open the May Day festival.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, you’ll have to officiate a few contests throughout the day but, mainly, yes.”

Twilight’s horn glowed and the flower tiara levitated off her head. “Okay. Then I declare this May Day festival officially … open!” Using her magic, she threw it high into the air.

A bolt of blue cannoned out of a nearby tree where it had been waiting, intercepting the tiara. One barrel-roll later, it landed back on Twilight’s head, partially obscuring one of her eyes.

“Thanks, Rainbow Dash,” she called, setting it right.

“No problem. I’m even faster than your magic.” Hovering above them, Rainbow Dash breathed on her hoof and shined it against her chest in mock-modesty.

A mass of streamers and little fireworks exploded as if from nowhere, though the billowing tent flaps signalled her actual entrance. In the centre of the colourful explosion a hyperactive pink pony reared and bucked, twirling around excitedly. She circled her forehooves at the waiting crowd. “What’s everypony standing around for? Let’s get this party started!”

“Pinkie!” Spike rushed out from the tent but Mayor Mare was already stamping out the small fire that had ignited when one of the fireworks sprayed embers on the hem.

“My gown!” Rarity shrieked.

Her cry, however, was lost in the hullabaloo as Ponyville surged forward to begin the festivities.

7. The I in Team

Nonna found Bon-Bon. Of course it was Nonna. Nopony else would have thought to look for her at the playground between Fiftieth and Fifty-First Street, where she used to play when she was just a foal. Not only was it far from the Sweetie-Drops’ apartment block, they all thought Bon-Bon was too old for playgrounds these days.

“Bambolina?” Nonna called. “Will you come down?”

Bon-Bon shook her head, not raising her face. Her forelegs were wrapped around her hind legs as she rocked on her rump at the top of the slide. Her tail trailed down the steps, blowing in what little the breeze managed to sneak between the tall buildings. The air in this part of the city was always stagnant when the pegasi hadn’t been by in a few days. In some towns and cities, they had dedicated weather teams that were on the clock twenty-four-seven. In Manehattan, where there were no crop rotations to worry about and the ponies on the city council employed only a small team of weather ponies, some days you were lucky to get enough wind to lift the smog from the factory district. Bon-Bon felt like, sometimes, that was all Manehattan was: smog and smell and somepony making somepony else’s life horrible.

“Shall I come up to you then?” Nonna asked.

Bon-Bon shook her head even harder. “You’ll fall.”

“I was a champion climber when I was a filly. I once beat your grandfather to the top of the cliff behind his house.” Nonna paused. “I was also very reckless as a filly. I am glad this city has no cliffs for you to climb and give your mother a heart attack as I nearly did to mine.”

“Mom wouldn’t care if I climbed a hundred cliffs,” Bon-Bon sniffed. “Or a thousand. Or a million! I doubt she’d even notice if I fell off one, unless it made me late for dinner with some new financier.”

“Oh, come now, do not talk that way of your mother. She loves you and of course cares what you do.”

That was the problem. Mom was going to care about this but for all the wrong reasons. “Why not? It’s true. Mom and Dad only care that I show up on time looking pretty for their business friends and don’t make a show of myself in front of the other kids at school so they can schmooze their parents.” She gave a bitter laugh. “I guess I screwed that one up. On Monday, I bet every single one of them will be talking about me and so will all their rich parents. Mom and Dad will be furious.”

“Bambolina?”

Finally, she lowered her forelegs, revealing red-rimmed eyes and cheeks streaked with tears.

“Oh, Bambolina!” Nonna exclaimed. “Why are you crying?”

“Because I screwed up, Nonna.” Bon-Bon wiped her nose on her foreleg, not caring that it was gross. It seemed fitting to be even grosser than she already was. “I really, really screwed up and now everything’s ruined. I can’t ever go back to school. I can’t go home, either. Can I live with you and go to the local public school instead of that stupid private one?”

“You are being silly,” Nonna chastised. “Come down and we shall talk of what has upset you. Perhaps your Nonna will take her rolling pin to someone, eh?” She mimed smacking her trusty rolling pin into the flat of one hoof in a failed attempt at humour. “Bon-Bon, you are giving your Nonna a crick in her poor neck to keep looking up at you like this. Will you please come down from up there?”

Bon-Bon released a savage sigh but obeyed. The moment she reached the bottom of the slide, Nonna wrapped her in a hug. She clung to her grandmother for several minutes, neither saying anything. Nonna carefully stroked the back of her head until Bon-Bon stopped sobbing.

“You would like to talk here?” she asked softly. “Or at home?” She didn’t need to say whose.

“H-Home,” Bon-Bon choked. She didn’t need to say either. She had grown up after her parents’ business acumen allowed them to shower her with everything she could ever want: toys, gadgets, clothes, money, it was all hers if she wanted it. Yet they hadn’t given her what she actually needed. Nonna’s shabby house in its shabby neighbourhood had always felt more like home to her.

They walked in silence. Nonna constantly shot her concerned looks but Bon-Bon kept her eyes fixed ahead. It was not until they were inside and Nonna had forcibly sat her on the ugly green sofa that she confessed what had happened.

“There’s this girl at school,” she said, her tone wavering between sad and angry so often not even she could tell which bits made her want to cry and which made her want to break things. “Her name’s Bright Eyes. She’s really quiet and everyone says she’s a stuck-up geek because she barely talks to anypony except teachers when she’s answering every single question in every single class. Cara Orange is always talking really loudly about her in the cafeteria because she shares most of her classes and she says Bright Eyes is just trying to make them look bad. Which, um, they kind of are anyway, since at least half of her clique are only going to pass this year because of ‘generous donations’ to help the school build a new swimming pool.” She scrunched up her face, pausing a moment before going on. Cara Orange was someone who seemed too clichéd to be real. She belonged in some teen novel about teen fillies doing teen things with teen dialogue and lazy teen stereotypes. She was even a cheerleader!

“Bambolina? You are staring at nothing.”

She shook her head, putting herself back on track. “Well, I was doing homework in the library each lunchtime for the past couple of weeks because of that big project we got in History – do you remember, Nonna? We had to pick a historical figure, do some research and then make a presentation to the class?”

“I remember,” Nonna nodded.

“Well, I’m not doing so well in History. My grades are kind of … really bad. Like, I’m failing kind of bad. Basically they suck, but the teacher said I could still get a good report card if I did well on this presentation. So I pretty much lived in the school library every lunch break. It turned out; Bright Eyes did the same, only she did it EVERY lunch break, even when she didn’t have a project due. I think she might have been hiding from Cara Orange and her friends but I never asked. We got talking and it turns out she’s not stuck up at all. She’s actually really nice. She doesn’t have many friends because she’s a scholarship student, so she works all the time to keep her grades up or she’ll have to leave, and she never hangs out with anyone after school because she has a part-time job to help pay for stuff her parents can’t afford.”

“She sounds like a work harder.”

“I think you mean ‘hard worker’, Nonna, and yeah, she really is. The day before I had to give my presentation I asked her if she’d like to go out after school and get some ice-cream or something and she acted like I’d offered her front row tickets to watch the Rocking’ Beats play at the Manehattan Arena or something. She grabbed my hoof and shook it so hard I thought she was going to dislocate my shoulder. Then she got all awkward, turned bet red and ran off.”

Bon-Bon shut her eyes at the memories that surged to the front of her mind. She had blushed scarlet herself, though nopony had been around to see it. Her hoof had tingled where Bright Eyes had held it. Her stomach had flip-flopped all through her remaining classes that afternoon. She had experienced similar weird feelings when watching the Rocking Beats’ guitarist, Tunefull, toss her mane while she played; or when she had seen the mare athletes during last year’s Pony Games. She had always told herself those were just due to the adrenaline of being at a real live concert, or the thrill of the Pony Games being held in Manehattan. The only adrenaline in the school library had been the stuff that rushed through her when a pale green pony with orange hair grabbed her hoof and smiled at her the way other students smiled at their coltfriends after they had given them gifts.

What had she been supposed to think?

“Bon-Bon?” Nonna prompted gently.

“We went for ice-cream today. I got an A+ for my presentation this morning. Bright Eyes was really happy for me when I told her at lunch. She said it was all my hard work paying off, even though she totally helped me find the books I needed. She said she was really looking forward to having ice-cream with me – we were going to try out the Satin Slipper Sweete Shoppe, which only just opened near the school. It was great. We talked for so long, the waitress actually came over and asked if we were going to order anything else because we were taking up a booth. Bright Eyes is so smart, Nonna, and I loved listening to her when she talked about stuff. She seemed to like telling me stuff, too; I guess because nopony ever took the time before. Then … when she said she had to go to work …” Bon-Bon screwed up her eyes. “I … I leaned across the booth and … and I … I kissed her. Right on the mouth. I thought it was, y’know the right moment, since she was leaving and we’d had such a great time together and she seemed really into me and … and I just … I really wanted to kiss her.” She let her face fall into her hooves. “She acted like it was the grossest thing in the world. She pushed me away and ran, Nonna – ran away from me, right out of the ice-cream parlour. I had to pay for what we’d ordered and when I got outside there was no sign of her.”

“Oh, Bambolina.” Nonna’s voice was filled with regret.

“I … I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never wanted to … I mean, I know it’s not … fillies don’t kiss other fillies!” Her voice rose to a pitch that could shatter glass. “What’s the matter with me? My life is ruined and it’s all my fault!”

“Your life is not ruined, Bambolina.” Nonna came to sit next to her on the sofa and swept her into another tight hug.

“How can you say that, Nonna?” Bon-Bon demanded. “On Monday morning, everyone will know I’m a freak.”

“You are not a freak, my little one.”

“Are you kidding? I am a freak. I was already one for not having my cutie mark yet. What kind of pony doesn’t have her cutie mark in high school, for Celestia’s sake?” Bon-Bon shook her head. “Now they’ll not only talk about that, they’ll know I’m a freaky dyke too!”

“Bon-Bon!” Nonna cried in shock. “Do not use such a word!”

Mildly surprised her grandmother knew what it meant, Bon-Bon struggled against her hold. “Why not? It’s true. Why else would I have kissed Bright Eyes? Why else have I never wanted to kiss any colt in school? Why do I like looking at mares in romantic movies and feel disappointed when they end up with the stallion love-interest?” Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. “It’s time I admitted it, Nonna. There’s no point in trying to keep it a secret to myself anymore, since it’s pretty obvious what’s the matter with me.”

“Nothing is the matter with you,” Nonna protested sternly, grabbing her shoulders to keep her still. “Look at me, Bambolina. Look at me right this instant.” Her tone was so uncharacteristically sharp that Bon-Bon instantly complied. “There is nothing wrong with you. Whether you like fillies or colts, what does it matter? You are still you and they are still them. You have made a mistake today but not the way you think, I believe. You must apologise to this Bright Eyes and explain that you had the wrong impression about why she was being nice to you. From what you have told me, I think she was embarrassed more than upset that you liked her that way. You say she does not have many friends and that other fillies are cruel about her? Imagine how you would feel if you were lonely and somepony spent time with you, only for you to find it was not friendship they were looking for. You would be upset, yes? Maybe upset enough to run away? The heart is a strange, wonderful, terrible thing, little one. It makes ponies crazy sometimes, especially if it has been hurt.”

Bon-Bon blinked at her. “I … I never thought about that.” She had only read disgust in Bright Eyes’s expression, but maybe, thinking back, there had been embarrassment mixed in with her shock. Maybe it was not repulsion that had made her run, but the feeling that she had been used. “Ponyfeathers, what have I done?”

“You did not know, Bambolina. You were too shocked at your own feelings, yes? But I tell you now, those are not bad feelings. They mean that you are capable of love and that is a wonderful thing.” She smiled, though her own eyes were wet from her granddaughter’s anguish. “Love is never bad and neither are you. Fillies, colts, what does it matter? We are all ponies, yes? We do not fall into love with what is on the outside; we fall in love with what is on the inside.”

“That’s not the way everyone else sees it, Nonna.”

“Then they are not worth a hill of coffee!”

Bon-Bon tried to figure that one out. “Coffee?”

“Yes. Oh, wait, no; I mean coffee beans. They are not worth a hill of coffee beans. That is the correct phrase, yes?”

Despite herself, the corner of Bon-Bon’s mouth twitched. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“Ah, there is my little one!” Nonna pinched her cheeks to make the smile wider. “She was hiding in this sad pony I found.”

“Thanks, Nonna.” Bon-Bon’s eyes dropped. “But Mom and Dad aren’t going to see it the same way you do.”

“I will talk to my Candito,” Nonna said firmly. “There are some things mothers must just accept about their daughters, as their own mothers accepted things about them. We are never what our parents wanted. My own mother? She hated that I married your grandfather but I was very happy with him, so sometimes it is good to defy your elders. Your mother has no right to deny you happiness because of what she thinks the world should be like. I have accepted a lot about her that I do not agree with. If she does not agree with who you are attracted to, then that is not your problem, Bambolina, it is hers and I will tell her that.”

Bon-Bon’s jaw dropped. “You’d … do that? But you never argue with Mom!”

“Not when you can hear,” Nonna said grimly. “But you are growing up, Bon-Bon, and you are learning that the world is not as it seems on the surface.” Her grim expression wavered. “I have said that right, yes?”

Bon-Bon nodded dumbly.

“Ach, all this time in Equestria and still I doubt my tongue.” She made a chuffing noise of irritation at herself and spiralled a hoof, as if she wished she could unspool the part of her brain responsible for speech and play a new tune with it. “But now, I think, you need something to make your pretty smile say on your beautiful face.”

“Nonna!”

“Do not ‘Nonna’ me, little one. You have had a nasty time. Let us try to put a happy memory on the end of your today, yes?”

“All right.” Nevertheless, Bon-Bon bit her lip. “I wish I knew where Bright Eyes lives so I could go and apologise now. She mentioned working in some store … something to do with roller-skating? I don’t remember where, though.”

“Come into the kitchen,” said Nonna. “Perhaps you will remember as we work.”

“Work?” Bon-Bon slid off the worn velveteen seat-cover and trotted after her grandmother. The comfort of knowing that her grandmother not only accepted this news about her, but was willing to help her break the news to her parents, made her heart want to burst with gratitude.

“I was going to make some chocolate with you anyway when you got here,” Nonna explained. “You were going to come and see me this evening, yes?”

“Uh-huh.” It was Friday. She always came over and cooked with her grandmother on Fridays, unless Mom or Dad needed her to show her face at home. Sometimes she even stayed overnight and went back to the apartment the next morning, a container of whatever they had made clutched in her hooves.

On the countertop were bags of sugar, cocoa powder, mixed nuts, powdered milk and a stick of butter. Nonna rummaged in the cupboards until she turned up a saucepan and a long rectangular tray. She turned in a small circle, scratching her head.

“What do you need, Nonna?”

“Greaseproof paper. Ah, here it is! It was hiding from me.” She tapped her chin a moment and then flung open one last cupboard, bringing out a bag of mini marshmallows – Bon-Bon’s favourite. “I think we need these tonight, yes?”

“Yes,” Bon-Bon agreed.

Nonna rinsed out the saucepan and set it on top of the gas ring. She picked up a box of matches, hesitated and then passed them to Bon-Bon. “I think you are old enough not to blow up my house, yes?”

“Yes, Nonna,” Bon-Bon said, her voice quavering with giggles this time, not tears.

Thoughts of her day and what the future held were still there in her mind, but for now, she could concentrate on this. The beauty of cooking was that you HAD to concentrate or you would hurt yourself, which tended to drive unwelcome things from your mind for a short while. Nonna had cooked so much when Bon-Bon’s grandfather died, she and Bon-Bon had been forced to take most down to the local homeless shelter or it would have spoiled and done nopony any good.

She lit the gas ring and Nonna clapped her hooves.

“Bravo, Bambolina! Well done. Now, measure out the water to the little ‘one-fifty’ on the side and put it in the pan with the sugar. You can stir them until they are syrup.”

“Don’t you want to do this part, Nonna?”

“No, no.” Nonna sat down heavily in the rocking chair that had been in her kitchen ever since Bon-Bon could remember. “I think I will leave you to do the tiger’s share today, little one.”

“Lion’s share, Nonna.”

“Lion, tiger, whatever. When the syrup is ready, add the butter, Bambolina, and then when it is melted take the pan off the flame and add the cocoa and milk powder. There is a big wooden spoon in the –”

“Drawer by the fridge,” Bon-Bon finished.

“You do not need me, it seems,” Nonna smiled and yawned. “I am sorry, Bambolina. I am very tired.”

“It’s okay, Nonna. Were you … walking a long time trying to find me?”

“A while,” she replied evasively. “When you did not come to see me and it started to get dark, I began to worry.”

“I’m sorry, Nonna. I didn’t mean to worry anyone.”

Nonna only waved a hoof. “Do not let the mixture burn, little one. Burnt chocolate does not taste nice.”

Bon-Bon continued putting together the mixture, her hooves adopting a rhythm that was both relaxing and distracting as she stirred the mixture and watched the bubbles around the edges pop. She added the milk and cocoa powder, watching as the sweet-smelling gloop turned dark brown and took on a slightly bitter tang. Without being told, when she judged it was ready she twisted the dial to turn off the gas flame and poured the saucepan sideways so that it emptied its smooth, creamy contents onto the greaseproof paper in the bottom of the tray. She ran water into the hot saucepan and left it to cool off without hardening until an un-scrubbable mess in the sink. While the mixture was still gooey, she snipped open the bag of nuts with a pair of scissors she knew Nonna kept in a drawer and sprinkled them over the top, along with a liberal helping of marshmallows. Putting a piece of greaseproof on her hoof, she used the flat to press them into the rapidly hardening chocolate, bunched it into a ball and tossed it into the trash.

It was as she was sliding the tray into the refrigerator to cool that her felt it: a zinging sensation, like pins and needles in her flank. She looked down in time to see the tell-tale yellow glow fade.

“Nonna!” she shrieked. “Nonna, I got my cutie mark!” She slammed the fridge door shut and dashed across to the rocking chair. “Nonna, look! Wake up and see! I’ve got my cutie mark and it’s candies, just like yours!”

Nonna must have fallen asleep while Bon-Bon was wrapped up in cooking. The back of her head rested against the rocking chair and her mouth was slightly open. She always claimed she didn’t snore or drool, but she did. And could rattle the rafters when she was really tired.

“Nonna!” Bon-Bon insisted, jostling her foreleg. It fell bonelessly over the side of the chair. Something about the movement wasn’t right. Bon-Bon frowned and drew closer. “Nonna?” Something didn’t sound right either. It took her a second to notice over her own excitedly pounding heartbeat. Nonna wasn’t snoring.

Because she wasn’t breathing.

“Nonna?” Panic crept into Bon-Bon’s voice as her rational mind froze up. “Nonna! Wake up! Wake up, Nonna!” Her grandmother slid from side to side as she shook her, flopping like an old rag doll. Her chest didn’t move. She still wasn’t breathing. “No,” Bon-Bon breathed, hooves flying to her mouth. “I’ll get help. I’ll … I’ll fetch one of the neighbours. Oh, Celestia, this can’t be happening. This isn’t happening!”

She bolted from the kitchen and out of the front door.

“This is great!” Lyra bounced like she had swallowed pure caffeine without the coffee. “Where do you want to go next?”

“I don’t know,” Bon-Bon said exhaustedly. Even Slayer stamina paled in the face of Lyra’s verve.

They had already made their own candy-floss (after which they had walked away wearing most of it), been in the house of mirrors (in which Lyra had walked into one she thought was the exit), eaten toffee apples (which Lyra had accidentally got stuck in her mane), ridden the ghost train (during which Bon-Bon heightened senses urged her to smash everything that jumped out at them), sampled a tray of special May Day Cakes (Mrs. Cake had thrust more than necessary on them with a wink at Bon-Bon) and bounced on the inflatable castle. Bon-Bon had also held Lyra’s mane out of the way while she brought back all the rich food she had eaten after agitating her stomach with jumping around.

“What else is there?”

“Plenty!” Lyra exclaimed. “How about the hoopla? Ooh, or horseshoe pitching! Ooh, ooh, or the coconut shy! It’s too bad Minuette couldn’t stay with us. She has great aim. I think it’s to do with her great timing. That’s what her cutie mark is about; did you know that? She’s never late for anything and she can keep a beat like nopony I know – and I know a lot of ponies whose living is keeping a beat.”

Bon-Bon remembered the venomous looks thrown her way. “I think Minuette is happier doing her own thing.”

Lyra shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll see her later at the tug-o-war.”

“You’ve mentioned that a couple of times,” said Bon-Bon as they headed towards the far corner of the park, where several poles had been jammed into the ground with coconuts balanced precariously atop them. “Is it a contest?”

“Uh-huh. Teams enter and the each winning pony get a prize – usually a really cute little medal with his or her name on it. It gets inscribed and the winners received them later on in the month. Every year the Apples enter and win. They have soooo many medals it’s not even funny. But this year?” Lyra rubbed her hooves together gleefully. “Oh-ho-ho-ho! This year is going to be different. This year I’m totally going to bet a medal to put on my wall and show to visitors whenever they stop by. They’ll look up, see the medal and say: ‘Lyra, what is that stunningly shiny awesome medal for?’ and I’ll get to say ‘It’s for being named one of the strongest ponies in Ponyville on May Day’ and they’ll be so impressed! Hee-hee-hee! This year we’re going to knock those Apples’ socks off! If they wore socks, that is. Which they don’t. But if they did, we’d totally knock them off.”

Bon-Bon waited for Lyra’s diatribe to finish before speaking. She had learned it was easier not to interrupt. Lyra was less likely to go off at a tangent that way. She was good enough at that already, without any help. “Who’s in your team?”

“Minuette and Noteworthy, usually, but this year Noteworthy’s busy being the Stallion of Winter, so you’re filling in.”

Bon-Bon skidded to a halt. “I am?”

“Sure you are; because you’re my best friend and you totally want to help me out so I don’t end up with my face all covered in mud again. Did I mention there’s mud involved? I’m sure I did. I don’t want to get a mouthful of mud again.”

“You never mentioned anything, Lyra!” Bon-Bon couldn’t help the censure that infused her voice. “When were you going to ask me if I wanted to take Noteworthy’s place?”

“I did!” Lyra paused when she realised she was walking alone. She turned to see Bon-Bon’s expression. “Didn’t I?”

“No.”

“Really?” She frowned. “I thought I did.”

“Trust me, you didn’t.”

“Oh.” A guilty look crossed her face. “But you’ll do it, right? I already entered your name as the third member of our team. You’re the third side of the Music Makers triangle, Bon-Bon! Do you know how many ponies would kill to be in your position?”

Bon-Bon kept up her scowl.

“Pleeeeeease?” Lyra begged. “I really did just forget. I totally thought you already said yes! It’s what I told Minuette and Noteworthy and the pony who took the names down and EVERYONE! You’re not going to make me into a liar, are you? Are you, Bon-Bon?” She widened her eyes and blinked slowly. “You know you can’t resist the face.”

Bon-Bon turned her own face away with a noise of irritation – though whether at herself or at Lyra was uncertain. “All right, all right, I’ll do it; but give me a little warning next time, okay?”

Lyra instantly lost her sad expression and bounced towards the coconut shy. “You betcha!”

Bon-Bon walked much slower, instantly regretting how easily she had caved. She should have put up more resistance than that. Ponyfeathers, putting up a fight was her specialty! She joined the line behind Lyra, head full of thoughts as she processed the day and what was still to come. After a full night of patrol and barely a chance to close her eyes afterwards, she was starting to flag. A yawn tickled the back of her throat. She had to cover her mouth three times before they reached the front of the line.

The pony giving out beanbags looked at her doubtfully. “You okay there, pumpkin? You look a mite tired.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Bon-Bon replied, covering another yawn. “’Scuse me.”

“Celestia’s shimmery shoes, Bon-Bon, you’re not tired out already, are you?” Lyra exclaimed. “You need to keep your strength up for the tug-o-war.” She nodded at the stallholder. “We’re going to win this year.”

“Are you now?” he asked with a smile. “I reckon you shouldn’t count your chickens before they’re hatched, sweetheart.”

“Why would I want to count chickens?” Lyra asked ingenuously.

“It’s a … never mind. Three throws. Anything you knock down, you win.” He stepped back and blew sharply on a whistle, the noise ratcheting through Bon-Bon’s ears and driving away her sleepiness with the aural equivalent of a big stick with a nail in the end. “Go!”

Lyra threw her first beanbag. It fell substantially short. She threw her second. It sailed over the top of the coconuts. Cursing under her breath, her horn began to glow until the stallholder pointed one green hoof at the sign tacked next to him.

“No magic, sweetheart.”

“Luna’s luminous locks!” Lyra cursed. She hefted the last beanbag, sighted careful aim and threw with a grunt of effort. It landed six inches in front of her. “Celestia’s sweet shiny horn, this is impossible!”

The stallholder grinned and offered three more beanbags to Bon-Bon. “Care to try your luck, pumpkin?”

Bon-Bon eyed the coconuts. She could hit every single one of them easily. Too easily. “I don’t think so.”

“Aw, c’mon, Bon-Bon!” Lyra protested. “You watched me make a fool of myself. It’s only fair you do the same.”

“Your faith in my abilities in touching.”

“So prove me wrong,” she grinned and waggled her eyebrows. “Or are you scared you’ll be even worse than me?”

Bon-Bon’s mouth twitched. She accepted the beanbags. “That would be difficult based on that performance.”

“Ouch!” Lyra licked the tip of her hoof and touched it to her flank. “Burned!”

Bon-Bon was momentarily flummoxed by the suggestiveness of the action. She shook away the thoughts that tried to trample their way into her brain, replacing them with thoughts of aim, heft and gravity. Throwing a beanbag wasn’t as difficult as throwing a spear or javelin, both of which she knew how to do with perfect aim. If they weren’t so prone to get stuck, thus rendering them banished along with the demon they were lodged in, she would use them more often in her patrols.

Her first throw was restrained. She didn’t want to make this look too easy. The beanbag barely tapped the lowest coconut, which toppled off its perch and onto the ground. Both Lyra and the stallholder cheered. He would fetch it afterwards, when she had finished her other throws. Bon-Bon hefted the second beanbag, still using barely a fraction of her true strength. This time the coconut she was aiming for toppled at an angle, striking its neighbour and bringing that one down too.

“Hey, wow, you got three in just two throws!” said Lyra. “Good going!”

“I just got lucky.” Bon-Bon sized up her last throw, picking the highest coconut this time.

“What are you going to do with them?” Lyra persisted. “Hey, could you make those yummy coconut crèmes you made during Winter Wrap up? The ones with the dark chocolate and bits of real coconut inside?”

“Hmm? Yeah, sure.” Bon-Bon figured she should miss this one, since she didn’t want to make her skills look too good. The highest would make the miss look believable. If she threw too wildly after two excellent throws it would be obvious she had fudged it. A near-miss would make her look average – not terrible but not remarkable either, just the way she liked it.

“Cool! You’re the best, Bon-Bon.” Lyra smacked her lips at the sweet-tasting memory. “Ponyfeathers, I love you and your candies.”

It didn’t matter that there was the rest of a sentence; hearing ‘I love you’ from Lyra, directed at her, had the same effect on Bon-Bon’s brain as dropping a toaster would have on the fish in a fish-tank. Her head twisted to look and she threw without thinking.

“Whoa!” the stallholder ducked as it flew over his head and smacked into the side of his stand. The fabric ripped as the force of the hit exploded the bag and dried beans scattered everywhere. He uncurled from his crouch, brushing them out of his ginger mane. “Careful there, pumpkin.”

“Sorry.” Bon-Bon’s cheeks flamed, though not entirely from nearly hitting him.

“No worries. The stitching must’ve been loose on that one.” He lifted and lowered one shoulder. “It happens. You can have another throw if you like.”

Bon-Bon shook her head. “I already got three coconuts. That’s fine. I don’t want to take up anypony else’s turn by being greedy.”

He lifted and lowered just one shoulder again. “Alrighty then. I’ll just fetch your winnings.” He trotted towards the fallen coconuts, carrying three new ones to replace them on the poles.

Lyra snorted behind Bon-Bon.

“What’s so funny?” Bon-Bon asked, cheeks still hot.

Lyra continued to giggle behind one hoof. When she could speak again, she said, “You … hee-hee-hee … you … ha-ha-ha …”

“Lyra!”

“You beaned him with beans!” she said in a single rushed breath, then fell into fresh giggles at her own wit.

By the time the tug-o-war actually rolled around, Bon-Bon was regretting her own weakness more than ever – and also her strength. She had allowed herself to be manipulated into doing something she knew was a bad idea. What had she been thinking? She hadn’t been thinking; that was the problem. She just hadn’t been able to resist Lyra and now she had to take part in something where she would be expected to look like she was trying her best without actually trying at all. In fact, the only trying she could do was trying to lose. Her true strength would have flung every pony on the rope into the sky as hard as Twilight had thrown her flower tiara.

“This is so great!” Lyra exclaimed.

“You’ve said that before,” Minuette sighed. “Several times. In the last five minutes.”

“Because it is!” Lyra continued to hop from hoof to hoof in anticipation. “Look, look, look, there’s Applejack’s team! They don’t look so hot without Big Macintosh, do they?”

Bon-Bon watched as Applejack, Apple Bloom and Rainbow Dash trooped up to the rope that had been stretched over a specially dug mud pit. Apparently Lyra had not been the only one to alter a themed team by recruiting from her pool of friends. Rainbow Dash turned and took several melodramatic bows before Applejack yanked her tail and she took up her spot in the centre of the group. Apple Bloom, being the lightest and probably only still on the team because she had been part of the original Apple family line-up, was at the front. In the absence of Big Macintosh’s formidable weight, Applejack had opted to place her own strength in his stead as their anchor.

“Who are they up against?”

It was one of the first times all day that Minuette had spoken and not just been answering a question or making a snippy remark. There was a gleam of anticipation in her eyes that had not been there before. Bon-Bon knew that this time it wasn’t because of Noteworthy, since he and the rest of the May Queen’s entourage were already on the far side of the mud-pit. All four Stallions of the Seasons stood as readily as any royal guard while Twilight looked down at proceedings with a somewhat self-conscious expression. Minuette’s gaze was fixed on the tug-o-war in the foreground. Apparently Lyra was not the only one who relished this competition, even if Minuette was less inclined to admit it at the same volume.

“The ponies from Quills and Sofas,” Lyra replied. “See?”

Sure enough, Davenport, the stallion who owned the store, was walking out with his two assistants. The smaller mare and even smaller stallion looked nervous, which said a lot for Applejack and Rainbow Dash’s reputations. Bon-Bon doubted they were frightened of cute little Apple Bloom, however much she tried to look tough.

Twilight exchanged a look with Spike, who exchanged a look with Mayor Mare, who nodded. Spike passed the nod back to Twilight, prompting her to raise both forelegs off the sides of her throne and clear her throat loudly. Spike fed the microphone stand up through his claws, holding onto the bottom and wavering a little to make sure the mouthpiece was level with her face.

“Mares and gentlecolts!” Twilight said in a passable impression of Mayor Mare’s opening gambit. “We’re about to start Round One of the tug-o-war contest.” When the cheers had died down she continued. “The reigning champions from last year will take on all challengers. If they are defeated, the team that defeats them will take on challengers in their place until only one team is left standing.” Yet more cheers forced her to wait. Eventually she finished, “So, without further ado, will both teams now take up the rope?”

All six ponies grabbed the rope between their teeth. In the middle a small pink hankie had been tied to signify the very centre of its length. If the hankie passed over either edge of the mud-pit, the team on that side was declared the winners and the round was over.

“And let the tug-o-war … begin!” Twilight dropped her hooves, the signal to start.

Instantly everypony watching started calling out advice and encouragement. Each team strained at their end end of the rope, throwing themselves backwards in an effort to dislodge the other. Despite the Quills and Sofas staff being on the small side, Apple Bloom’s size balanced the strength of either side. This was not a walkover, as many might have thought, especially since Rainbow Dash had chosen to strap down her wings and the small unicorn stallion was prohibited from using magic.

“Ap-ple-jack! Ap-ple-jack!” The staccato mantra rang out in tandem with, “Rain-bow-Dash! Rain-bow-Dash!”

“Go for it, Apple Bloom!” yelled a high-pitched voice. A tiny orange pegasus filly buzzed a few feet into the air and then dropped back. Next to her, Winona barked and pawed the air as if agreeing. “You can do it!”

Davenport arched his neck. He had planted himself at the back as his team’s anchor but the life of a salespony was not as good as life spent on a farm or working the weather for building up muscle. His hooves slid forward several inches no matter how hard he dug them into the soft ground.

“Ap-ple-jack! Ap-ple-jack!”

“Rain-bow-Dash! Rain-bow-Dash!”

“Apple Bloom!” Bzzzt! “Yay, Apple Bloom!”

Applejack made a noise that sound like “Now!” with a mouthful of rope. As one, she, Rainbow Dash and Apple Bloom allowed a little slack and then jerked their heads upwards. The Quills and Sofas team stumbled and the little unicorn stallion missed his footing. With that, they were lost. They didn’t fall into the mud but the pink hankie passed over the pit and Twilight stood up to declare the round over.

“The winners are Applejack, Apple Bloom and Rainbow Dash!”

The resultant clamour made Bon-Bon’s ears ring. Apparently everyone was pleased that the champions, even in their altered line-up, were victorious. Below Twilight’s throne, Big Macintosh smiled beneath his mask.

Three rounds later, the Apple team remained undefeated. Rainbow Dash had whipped the crowd into a frenzy in between proving her mettle. More than one pony remarked that the last time she and Applejack had competed in a tug-o-war they had been on opposing sides but all agreed that they made better teammates than adversaries. There were certainly a lot less injuries and collateral damage when they were on the same side.

“We’re up!”

“You’re already up,” said Minuette. “You’ve been up all day.”

“I’m just flying high on good spirits and positivity. I am so ready for this!” Lyra shadow-boxed to prove her point. Her form was terrible, Bon-Bon noted absently. One quick pop past her defences and she’d be out like a light. “C’mon, girls, we can win this. Say it with me!” Lyra cupped her ears with her hooves. “I can’t hear you.”

“We can win this,” Minuette said unenthusiastically, though her eyes retained their gleam. It had been building as Applejack, Rainbow Dash and Apple Bloom kept emerging victorious. “Although I wish Noteworthy was here as anchor instead of …” She trailed off, her meaning clear.

Bon-Bon’s ears flattened. Before she could respond, however, Lyra threw a foreleg over her shoulders.

“Bon-Bon may not weigh as much as Noteworthy but she’ll be a great anchor. You’ll see.”

“I still wish you’d asked me before putting her name down. We could’ve asked anypony else from Music Makers.”

“Bon-Bon will be great,” Lyra insisted, squeezing her friend’s shoulders.

With secret reluctance, Bon-Bon wiggled out from Lyra’s hold. “Why are you so competitive all of a sudden? I thought you liked Applejack and Apple Bloom never did anything to you.” Rainbow Dash, on the other hoof, had emptied more than one raincloud on them because she thought the prank was funny. Yet Lyra had not known Rainbow Dash would be on the opposing team; her banter this morning had been with Applejack, who could be stubborn but was hardly a pony to pick fights.

“Oh, I do like her.” Lyra shrugged. “It’s just part of the game, y’know? It’s more fun this way.”

“You sound like Pinkie Pie. Are you sure you’re not her wearing a Lyra costume?”

Minuette shuddered. “Don’t even joke about that. Can you imagine a Lyra-Pinkie-Pie hybrid?”

Bon-Bon matched her shudder. “Enormously messy hair and no attention span.”

“No cake left uneaten in Ponyville.”

“Random comments from dawn to dusk.”

“Personal space would become a thing of the past.”

“Hey!” Lyra protested. “Quit bonding over my flaws!” She folded her forelegs. “Personally, I think a hybrid of me and Pinkie Pie would be awesome.”

Bon-Bon and Minuette exchanged a look. “I just hope she’d be an earth pony,” she Minuette. “Can you imagine that personality mix with unicorn magic?”

“I said quit it!”

“Um, hello?” A nervous looking indigo mare stood in the doorway of the tent where they had gone to wait for their call. She shuffled nervously from hoof to hoof, yellow mane swinging. She had a splatter of mud on her flank. “You’re, um, up now.”

“Cool!” Lyra instantly forgot her irritation and marched after the mare. “We’re going to kick some Apple butt!”

Minuette took a few steps after her, then paused, looking over her shoulder. “Are you coming?”

Bon-Bon nodded and followed. She had to play this safe. She couldn’t have a repeat of what had happened at the coconut shy. There her slip could be passed off as an accident. If she used too much strength and defeated Applejack’s team too easily it would look odd. Neither Lyra nor Minuette were heavily built and nopony in Ponyville thought quiet, unassuming Bon-Bon could do much except make candy and style her mane well.

When they were all in position, Twilight raised her forelegs. “Will both teams now take up the rope?”

Applejack leaned out from behind Rainbow Dash to grin fiercely at Lyra. “Get ready to lose for another year, sugarcube!”

“I’ll cube your sugar!” Lyra called back.

“That didn’t even make any sense,” Rainbow Dash said as she picked up the rope between her teeth.

Bon-Bon took a grip of the end and set both her hooves and her resolve. “Lyra,” she said through her mouthful. “It’d help if you grabbed this thing.”

“Oh, yeah.” Lyra tapped her own head with a balled hoof. “Sorry. Got a bit caught up in the moment there.”

When they were all finally ready, Twilight gave the signal “Let this final round of the tug-o-war … begin!”

The rope went taut. Bon-Bon was surprised at just how much force two mares and a filly could produce. Her head snapped forward and she pulled back reflexively. The entire rope moved towards her, causing everypony attached to stumble – including Minuette and Lyra.

“What the hay?” Rainbow Dash’s shout was muffled but understandable enough.

“Heave!” Applejack replied.

“Minuette!” Lyra responded in kind.

Apparently one aspect of perfect timing was the ability to time when to pull during a tug-o-war. Minuette’s gaze focussed like a laser cutting through diamond. She was fixated on the taut-to-slack pattern of the other team’s rhythm and gave instruction of her own to match them.

“Pull now!”

“Heave!” shouted Applejack.

“Now!” Minuette yelled a few seconds later.

“Heave!”

“Now!”

“Heave!”

“Now!”

It was turning out to be an evenly-matched round. Bon-Bon planted her hooves and concentrated on her acting skills. She looked like she was pulling as hard as anypony else when in actual fact she was doing her best impression of a bag of wet cement. Lyra and Minuette’s struggles elicited some guilt but she worked past it.

“Iss not workin’!” Apple Bloom sounded like she had bristles in her tongue. The rope was enchanted so that wouldn’t happen but she was biting pretty hard. Her little hooves skidded over the grass as she fought to keep purchase. “Pull harder!”

The bandage over Rainbow Dash’s wings rippled as her wings instinctively tried to flap. “Like before!” she ground out.

“Now!” Minuette yelled again. Lyra and Bon-Bon pulled.

“Now!” Applejack yelled the moment they began to slacken. Her arched neck straightened, as did her teammates’. The rope shot forward unexpectedly.

Almost.

Bon-Bon recognised the move from when they had used it on Davenport’s team. Recognising it and compensating for it, however, were unequal undertakings. Lyra squeaked in surprise, rearing when the rope abruptly seemed to be theirs and her forehooves pedaled the air. Minuette grunted as Lyra backed into her.

Before they could right themselves, Applejack’s team yanked hard on their end of the rope. It hurtled towards them. So did Lyra, since she was only on two feet and her stance was unstable. Minuette’s hind legs skidded forward while her forehooves jammed into the ground, knees locked.

“Gotcha!” Rainbow Dash crowed.

There was a moment in which Bon-Bon could have just let it happen. Afterwards, she cursed herself for not allowing the situation to unfold the way that seemed obvious. They had been bested, and by a trick they had seen used on somepony else. She should have copied Minuette and slid forward like she couldn’t easily stop herself. Yet in that moment, something inside her suddenly rebelled. She pulled on the rope, just once, with more strength than she should have. Apple Bloom yelped as her hooves left the ground entirely, followed by Rainbow Dash, whose wings struggled madly to free themselves as she took flight without them. Applejack struggled gamely but to no avail.

What are you doing? The roar of the crowd came back to Bon-Bon in a rush. She hadn’t realised she had stopped hearing them. Everypony was watching. Everypony could see her. Everypony could see what she was doing. They could SEE.

She scooted her hind legs around her front hooves and allowed herself to be dragged on her backside into the mud-pit.

“The winners are, um …” Twilight looked at the six ponies thrashing to get out of the mud-pit. “It’s … a tie?”

Bon-Bon splashed to the side and heaved herself out. She had tipped into the pit on her belly. So had Minuette. Lyra, on the other hoof, had not been so lucky. Since she had been rearing, she had toppled in face-first and gasped her way to the side. Apple Bloom, being so much smaller, had completely submerged and had to be picked out by her sister. Rainbow Dash fought her way to the side and ripped off the bandages restraining her wings with her teeth. They flapped, pristine and unmuddied – the only part of her that wasn’t now streaked with brown.

“Mares and gentlecolts!” Twilight’s voice trembled a little over the tannoy as she tried to suppress giggles. ““The winners are Applejack, Apple Bloom and Rainbow Dash AND Lyra, Minuette and Bon-Bon!”

Lyra slipped and slithered in and out of the pit as she tried to get out and take a bow. Bon-Bon clambered out to offer a hoof but several ponies were already running forward to help. Soon all six competitors were standing, muddy but victorious, as those watching applauded.

“I told you I’d cube your sugar,” Lyra coughed at Applejack.

Applejack just looked at her for a beat. Then she laughed, a deep belly laugh that made her muddy hat jitter on her muddy head. “You surely did. Well played, Lyra. You sure do got some team there.”

“Yeah, they’re the best,” Lyra grinned. “Yours isn’t too bad, either.”

“So … we won AND lost?” Rainbow Dash sat down and blew a hank of mane from her eyes. It slapped back down wetly. “That’s so not awesome.”

“Actually, sugarcube, I think it’s mighty awesome.”

“You were amazing, Apple Bloom.”

“Yeah, totally amazing!”

“Nopony could beat you all day!”

“Yeah, nopony!”

“And you were up against full-grown stallions!”

“Yeah, full-grown!”

“Not even Diamond Tiara or Silver Spoon can say they’ve done that!”

“Yeah, they can’t!”

Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle rattled around the bench where their friend sat, performing an intricate dance with Winona to keep from tripping over the equally exuberant dog. Apple Bloom smiled, wrapped in a towel, as Granny Smith rubbed her down to get the worst of the mud off.

“You’re gonna need a real bath when we get home,” the old mare cautioned. “You could knock a cat off a trash-can with that stink. What the heck was in that there mud?”

“Just mud, Granny. Applejack and Rainbow Dash got covered in it too.”

“Well I can’t say for Rainbow Dash, but Applejack’s goin’ in the tub too. I’m only glad Big Macintosh weren’t with you today. He always splashes the rug when he takes a bath in front of the fire. Lansakes, one of these days we gotta get us a separate one for him to use.” Granny Smith chuntered on as the three fillies swapped looks that needed no words and giggled to themselves.

A hoof waved in front of Bon-Bon’s face. “Hey, Bon-Bon, you in there?”

“Hm? What?”

“You weren’t even listening to me!” Lyra pouted.

“Sorry, I was just watching … sorry. What were you saying?”

“I was SAYING that I’m glad you were there today.”

“Me? Why? I didn’t do anything special,” Bon-Bon said quickly. “If I’d been more use, we wouldn’t have fallen in.”

“Feh.” Lyra waved dismissively. “We always go in the mud. It’s like our very own tradition. We’re used to it, aren’t we, Minuette?”

“It’s a real thrill to keep traditions alive,” Minuette deadpanned, rubbing one foreleg with a sponge that had already turned brown.

They had been taken to another tent where wash basins, soap and other cleaning apparatus were already waiting. Since nopony else had fallen in the mud, they had the place to themselves.

“You guys sure upped your game this year,” Applejack remarked as she surveyed her poor hat. It was an old thing, threadbare in places and showing signs of all the adventures she had taken it on. It dripped dejectedly at her. She sighed, placed it on the bench beside her and reached for a wash basin. The water steamed invitingly.

“We had a secret weapon this year,” Lyra declared.

“You sure did.” Applejack smiled at Bon-Bon in a way that made her wary. There was no malice to it, nor the fierce stubbornness that had been there during the tug-o-war, but the warmth in her expression provoked Bon-Bon’s long-held caution over getting too close to other ponies.

Her interactions with Applejack in the past had always been pleasant and polite but not exactly in-depth. Bon-Bon would not call herself Applejack’s friend; more a polite acquaintance. She wouldn’t really call herself ‘friend’ to anypony except Lyra, and even that was only because Lyra had refused to accept anything less and had the advantage of living next door, so her refusals could be loud, long and made every other neighbour mad until Bon-Bon let her in the house. Pinkie Pie frequently called herself a friend to everypony in Ponyville and it was true that she could make Bon-Bon smile as readily as the next pony, yet from Bon-Bon’s perspective she still would not use the word ‘friend’ to describe their relationship. She was content to let Pinkie think they were friends so the inquisitive pink pony left her alone, but an actual friend? No.

Yet Applejack’s smile now was warmer than that of a mere acquaintance. She chatted like they had known each other for years, not just exchanged words while buying apples in the marketplace. Bon-Bon found herself pausing, trying to examine the situation again to see if she had read too much into it.

“Pass that there soap bar, would you, sugarcube?” Applejack pointed to the one beside Bon-Bon. “Much obliged. I don’t know what you did out there today, but it sure worked.”

Lyra swelled with pride like a mother whose foal had won an award. “Like I said, it’s all thanks to our secret weapon.”

Bon-Bon noticed Minuette’s expression and added, “Actually, I think it was mostly Minuette’s excellent timing and the fact that your team had already won so many rounds. You were already tired when you got to us.”

“That must’ve been it.” Rainbow Dash grumpily dunked the whole top of her head into her basic, swishing from side to side so that her mane turned returned to its many colours. She flipped her head back with a brusque, “No way you guys could beat us otherwise.”

“Rainbow Dash!” Applejack held up both hooves against the spray of dirty water that cascaded over her. “Watch where you’re flingin’ your mane!”

“You’re just mad because this was your first time and you had to share the limelight,” said Lyra.

“I’m not mad!” Rainbow Dash replied hotly.

“I think you were fantastic, Rainbow Dash!” Scootaloo buzzed over, abandoning her friends to console her idol. “You were the real star out there today.”

“What am I, chopped greens?” Apple Bloom sniped amiably. “A second ago you were tellin’ me I was the best.”

“You’re awesome in a different way,” Scootlaoo replied after a moment of thought. “Your awesomeness comes from you being the only filly in an adult pony competition. Rainbow Dash’s awesomeness comes from her being Rainbow Dash!”

Rainbow Dash smiled and scrubbed the top of Scotaloo’s head with one damp hoof. Her ire extinguished as easily as a molotov cocktail tossed into waterfall under Scotaloo’s admiring gaze. “Aw, thanks. But you know, I got an extra bit of awesomeness from how loud you were cheering for me.”

“Really? You could hear me over all those other ponies?”

“Could I? Scootaloo, you yelled so loud they heard you all the way in Cloudsdale. I’ll bet the pegasi up there all looked at each other when they heard you and said: ‘There goes Rainbow Dash, being awesome again’.”

Scootaloo laughed happily. Applejack rolled her eyes, though her smile didn’t dim. There was something so domestic and comfortable about the scene, as if conversations like this had happened many times before and would happen many times again – and every pony involved would value them just as much with each repetition. These ponies knew how much they meant to each other and appreciated both their qualities and their shortcomings without rancour.

Lyra jabbed an elbow into Bon-Bon’s ribs. “Hey, Bon-Bon, you sure are taking this whole getting-so-dirty-you-can’t-see-your-coat-anymore thing well. I would’ve thought you, of all ponies, would hate to get so muddy. Listen, after we get cleaned up do you want to go get something to eat before the closing ceremony?”

“Uh…” Bon-Bon’s mind struggled to catch up. She was still processing how comfortable she felt with these ponies – and the terror that triggered. She was breaking every rule today, it seemed.

“You okay there, young ‘un?” Granny Smith had paused in extracting the bow from Apple Bloom’s hair to stare across at Bon-Bon. “You’re shakin’ like a dog tryin’ to pass a peach pit.”

“Granny!” Applejack exclaimed. “That’s disgustin’!”

“You’re tellin’ me, Why d’ya think Winona ain’t allowed to eat peaches?” Granny eyeballed the dog, who wagged her tail and barked like she hadn’t a clue what the problem was.

“Bon-Bon?” Concern etched Lyra’s tone. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Bon-Bon replied. “I just … just …”

What to say? How could she admit the sudden terror that had possessed her at the thought how much she wanted this. She wanted to be secure in the knowledge that conversations like this would happen in the future, too. She wanted other ponies to know how much they meant to her and how much she appreciated both their qualities and their shortcomings, too. She wanted them to know her – properly and fully, all the things that made her who she was today, just as they knew each other. Most of all, she wanted this shared knowledge without the trailing heartache that came with her life as it stood now. She wanted the mask to be real; to be Bon-Bon of Ponyville, who hated getting dirty and could sit in a tent on May Day chatting with other ponies like she hadn’t banished a demon from the orchard of Sweet Apple Acres just last night.

“Sugarcube?” Applejack got off the bench to feel her forehead. “You sickenin’, darlin’?”

Bon-Bon sucked in a breath. “I just realised how dirty I am!” She forced her voice into a screech, dived for the sponge and scrubbed at herself so furiously it made everypony laugh.

“You could give Rarity a run for her money an’ no mistake,” Applejack chuckled.

Bon-Bon rubbed at her face with the suds until she couldn’t see any of them anymore.

“BonBonBonBonBonBon–” A mass of energetic filly hit Bon-Bon the moment she stepped out of the tent. She caught it and swung it around to absorb the momentum that would otherwise had rendered them both in a heap on the ground.

“Dinky?” she exclaimed.

“BonBonBonBonBonBon!” Dinky continued to chirp.

“Take a b-breath, sweetie.” Derpy landed next to them and retrieved her daughter from Bon-Bon’s bewildered hooves. “S-Sorry about that. She was s-so eager to s-see you she ran away from m-me.”

“I saw you, Bon-Bon!” Dinky struggled in her mother’s grasp. “I saw you when you fell in the mud! It was really funny!”

Derpy shot her an apologetic look, one eye sliding sideways to the other ponies emerging from the tent. “H-Hi everypony. That was a g-good show you p-put on.”

“We aim to please,” said Applejack.

“Did you see me, Bon-Bon?” Dinky asked. “Did you see me waving at you? I shouted as loud as I could for you to win, but I guess I must not have shouted loud enough because you didn’t.”

“We’re all winners, sugar-nip,” Applejack replied for Bon-Bon, who didn’t know how to respond. “Every last one of us.”

“Is that because you fell in the mud too? You don’t look like you fell in. You’re all clean. Did you take a bath? Mommy makes me take a bath when I’m dirty. I don’t like it but Mommy said at least I don’t have feathers. Feathers are way worse because when they get wet they make flying really, really, REALLY hard.”

“Yeesh, kid, take a breath,” said Rainbow Dash.

Dinky gazed at her, confused. “I take breaths all the time. If I didn’t, I’d turn a weird colour and fall over, like Tinsel. She’s a filly in my class and whenever she doesn’t get what she wants she holds her breath and Miss Porcelain has to fetch somepony from the office. Sometimes her mom comes in to tell her off and make her promise not to do it anymore but she never listens. I think she’d weird. Do you think she’s weird, Bon-Bon?”

“Uh…” Bon-Bon stammered. She didn’t know how to deal with Dinky’s attention. It was one thing to be an occasional babysitter who walked her to school. It was another for Dinky to feel attached enough to seek her out at a public event where their paths would not otherwise have crossed.

“Excuse me?” said a voice so soft it was almost a whisper. As one, they all turned to see the speaker. Fluttershy’s entire body seemed to list backwards under their collective stare but she stayed put. A year ago she probably would have flown away in terror. “Um, I was just, um, that is … Twilight is about to do the closing ceremony and she sent me to fetch you. If you don’t mind,” she added, twisting one forehoof into the ground so hard she created a divot.

“She is?” Lyra yelped. “Aw, ponyfeathers! I guess we won’t be getting any grub first, Bon-Bon. We must have taken a lot longer to clean up than I thought. I should start wearing a watch. Only, y’know, not, because I always lose them and then make myself late for everything looking for the watch just so it can tell me I’m late. Watches are stressful.”

Rainbow Dash looked between Lyra and Dinky. “Did someone give them too much sugar?”

Twilight sat on her throne, looking just as awkward about it now as she had at the start of the day. Beneath her the four Stallions of the Seasons stared stoically ahead. Mayor Mare fussed around them, crisscrossing with Spike as he fussed around the microphone. It had become his de facto job during the day to make sure Twilight could be heard even from the back of the crowd and he was obviously taking it very seriously.

“That’s my daddy,” Sweetie Belle said, pointing to the white Stallion of Spring. His moustache was completely free of his mask now, making him easier to recognise. “Hi, Daddy!”

Magnum didn’t wave back but he did smile and wink in her direction. Beside him Caramel stood with chest puffed out, clearly proud that his usual clumsiness had not afflicted him today. Noteworthy and Big Macintosh stood behind them, still resplendent in their costumes.

“Mares and gentlecolts!” Mayor Mare said into the microphone. It squealed a little as Spike hastily readjusted it to her height. “We’ve all had a wonderful time today, haven’t we?”

A chorus of affirmations took several minutes to die down.

“Wonderful! Well, today wouldn’t have been possible without the hard work of some very special ponies.” She shook out a sheet of folded paper and twitched her glasses on the end of her nose to read off the names of the ponies who had worked behind the scenes to make the day possible. It seemed like she was naming every single pony in Ponyville, which eventually precipitated shifting of hooves and hushed whispers from bored onlookers.

Lyra nudged Bon-Bon. “So what did you think of your first May Day in Ponyville? Pretty cool, huh?”

“Pretty cool,” Bon-Bon agreed. Tiredness lapped at the backs of her eyes. She fought down a yawn. “And busy.”

Lyra smiled. “And next year will be even better, since we’ll be joint returning champions for the tug-o-war with the Apple team.”

Bon-Bon’s stomach lurched. Next year. Where would she be this time next year? “Sure,” she replied. “Sounds great.”

“Are you okay?” Lyra peered at her, brows pulling together in a frown. “Granny Smith was right; you really don’t look so good.”

“I’m just tired, Lyra. We’ve been up since dawn, remember?”

“I guess so.” Lyra looked unconvinced even when Bon-Bon smothered a yawn. She looked back to the front when ponies started stomping their applause and Mayor Mare gave way to Twilight.

“First of all, I just wanted to say thank you to all of you for choosing me to be your May Queen this year. It really has been an honour and I’ve enjoyed every second of it. Thanks especially have to go to the four ponies holding me up here right now, so can you please show your appreciation for the Stallions of the Seasons.”

All four stallions looked pleased at the acknowledgement and the applause.

“I think Mayor Mare already named all the other ponies I was going to thank. In Canterlot, ponies don’t do anything like this to welcome in the Summer. They don’t know what they’re missing out on. From the moment I arrived in Ponyville, everypony has made me feel welcome and included. Some days it feels like I’ve always lived here and I just wanted to say thank you all for that. I feel like I belong here and choosing me to be your May Queen is a privilege I won’t soon forget. Neither will I forget all the wonderful things I’ve seen and done today. I hope none of you will either. Ponyville truly is a special place and everypony here is just as special. I hope you all know that.”

“Quit making us cry!” shouted somepony.

“We love you too, May Queen!” yelled somepony else.

“Can I be your May King?”

Twilight laughed. Her horn glowed and her flower tiara, looking more wilted than this morning, rose into the air. “Welcome, Summer!” she said loudly, clearly reciting from memory. “We hope you choose to stay and warm our hearts the whole season as much as they have been warmed today!” She threw the tiara into the air. This time nopony flew to catch it and it landed in the crowd.

“Who caught it?” Lyra craned her neck. “I can’t see.”

“It looks great on you too, Rarity!” The shout answered her question as if the speaker had heard her. “I changed my mind; can I be YOUR May King?”

Twilight’s horn sparkled and there was a brief flash as she teleported to the ground. She was one of the few unicorns who had learned how to cast that spell and it was always impressive to see. She thanked the Stallions of the Seasons, encasing Spike and the microphone stand in magic to keep him from falling when he toppled over. The informality of what she had done acted like a signal and everypony began to disperse. Crewponies went off to dismantle the tents and stalls, ponies with cleaning gear appeared with brooms and rakes and the Stallions of the Seasons finally removed their masks to become themselves again.

Bon-Bon raised her eyes to the sky, automatically calculating the position of the sun and how much time she had before nightfall. If she headed home now she could grab a few hours of rest. It wouldn’t be ideal but it would be better than nothing. After such a busy day she didn’t imagine she would have any trouble falling asleep.

“A bit for your thoughts?” Lyra poked her.

“Would you stop doing that?” Bon-Bon rubbed her ribs, even though there was no way Lyra could even leave a bruise. “You’ve been poking and prodding me all day.”

“I’m tactile,” Lyra shrugged. “Hey, are you impressed I know what that means?”

“Yes, Lyra, I’m impressed.”

“You sound like Minuette.”

Bon-Bon turned and started to walk off. “I’m heading home. Are you going to stay here?”

“And do what?”

“I don’t know. Help clean up?” A vision of Lyra’s messy house zipped out of Bon-Bon’s memory bank. She shook her head. “Never mind.”

“Don’t you want to go get dinner?” Lyra asked.

“How can you want to eat? You’ve been stuffing your face all day?”

“Yeah, but we both know where most of that ended up. Besides, that was festival food. It doesn’t count. Café Magnifique’s still open, or there’s Sugarcube Corner, or –”

“No, I don’t think so, Lyra,” Bon-Bon interrupted. “Not today. I’m tired.” She covered another yawn. “Right now, all I want to do is sleep.”

“Oh.” Lyra looked disappointed. “Well, I’ll walk you home then.”

“No, you don’t have to do that. Stay and go for dinner with your friends – Noteworthy’s sure to be hungry after carrying that throne all day.”

Lyra looked at her oddly. “They’re your friends too, Bon-Bon.”

Bon-Bon’s automatic response was denial. She managed to keep it behind her teeth and instead just repeated herself. “I’m tired, Lyra, but don’t let me cut your fun short. Go, have dinner, enjoy yourself.”

“But …” Lyra frowned, as if she couldn’t figure something out and it bothered her.

“Thank you for today. I had a great time – even if I do need to have a dozen showers to get the rest of the mud out of my mane.”

“Well … if you’re sure …”

“I’m sure.” Bon-Bon waved as she walked away. “See you, Lyra.”

Lyra waved disconsolately. “See you, Bon-Bon.”

Bon-Bon felt the call of the Lunar Sword long before she approached her front door. It chittered in the back of her mind. She immediately went upstairs to the attic and removed it from its hiding place, holding the scabbard flat across her upturned hooves.

“You’ve really got to stop doing that,” she said aloud. “You’re giving me a migraine.” It was like a high-pitched sound that had bypassed her ears and gone straight for her brain without losing any of the unpleasantness. “You knew I’d come back. I came back every other day I went out, didn’t I?”

The chittering faded to a swirling presence now she was close enough to hold it. The sword really did act like a cat that wanted to be touched and threw a tantrum when she didn’t do as it wanted. Bon-Bon sat down, put it on the floor and held it down with one hoof.

I’m the master here, she thought at it. Pet owners all had to learn eventually to assert themselves over their pets, otherwise the fight for dominance became problematic. When you were dealing with a thousand-year-old sword those problems could be much, much worse. You don’t dictate to me. You do as I say.

The sword’s presence swirled. A taste started in the back of her throat, like coal dust and paint fumes. She coughed and glared at it.

“Quit that! You know I’m right. Princess Luna gave you to me so you could help me fight the demons. Well, I can’t do that if I can’t rely on you to do as you’re told. All it takes is one moment of losing concentration and I’m dead. I know you’re mad because I haven’t taken you with me on patrol yet but you aren’t exactly giving much of a reason to.”

Could sullen be a smell? This thing was messing with all of her senses in its displeasure.

“You’re being childish.” She blinked. “And I’m arguing with a hunk of metal.”

The sword flared in her mind. It was not just a hunk of metal. It was glorious. It was royal. It was power incarnate.

“None of that does you any good if you don’t work with me instead of trying to punish me for leaving you alone.”

Alone. Lonely. Darkness. A thousand years of loneliness in the dark. The memory wasn’t her own but she felt it as acutely as if it was. She gritted her teeth and slowly ran her hoof along the scabbard, as if stroking a frightened animal.

“I get it, okay? You were locked away for a long time. Compared to a thousand years, a few hours should be nothing to you.”

Should be. Wasn’t.

She sighed. “I can’t use you when you might put me in danger. We have to learn to work together before we actually … well, work together.”

Patience?

“Yes, patience.”

She was in danger when she went out. She could use a sword. A sword would keep her safer than fighting the darkness with a sword. And this sword liked fighting darkness. It hated darkness. It hated hated hated HATED –

“Stop!” Bon-Bon fell backwards onto her haunches at the potency of the sword’s emotion. “That’s what I’m talking about! I can’t have you with me if you’re going to pull stunts like that.”

Regret washed over her.

“Being sorry doesn’t help. You can feel sorry all you want after you get me killed.” She sighed harshly. “You have to know when to be quiet.”

How? How could it know? How could it ever know what she wanted if she never spent any time with it? How could it learn how her mind worked, the way it had known how the ruler of the night’s? How could it memorise the shape of her mind if she locked it away and –

“All right, all right, maybe … maybe I haven’t been fair to you either. You’re not just any sword so I guess I shouldn’t have treated you like one. I’m sorry.”

Surprise. A master apologising to a weapon?

“We’re going to have to do a lot of things differently, I think.”

Just as long as she didn’t put it back in the lonely darkness, it could cope with that.

Bon-Bon sighed harshly and got to her feet, slinging the strap over her shoulder and back. She went down to her bedroom and threw back the covers, glancing once more at the lightened sky outside. Summer evenings were a blessing sometimes. Hesitating only a moment at the absurdity of what she was doing, she unslung the scabbard, climbed into bed and laid it next to her.

“This is weird, even for me,” she muttered.

Yet as she shut her eyes, the sword’s presence curled protectively around her mind and she drifted off to sleep with images of May Queens, coconuts and mint green unicorns dancing on its presence like a stage for her dreams.

“There’s still no sign of her.”

Fancy Pants let his head fall into his hooves. Somepony rubbed his back but he waved them away. The panic that had initially speared through him had been replaced with dread as the hours turned into days and the days passed by. Fear gnawed at him like a starving dog presented with a meaty bone, yet when he spoke, his voice was as dry and flat as hot asphalt in high Summer. Years of elocution and brutal etiquette lessons had taught him how, if not to actually keep his head in a crisis, at least to sound like he had.

“I don’t understand it,” he said. “How can there be no sign of her?”

“Well, it’s not exactly like there’s no sign. We know she went out.”

“A missing jacket doesn’t mean anything. She often gives away her things.”

It was one of Fleur’s most endearing qualities. Canterlot was not a hive of homelessness and vagrancy, the way some cities were, but there were still ponies there who fell on hard times. Fleur seemed keyed to recognise them in the street and, while her response could be categorised by some as inappropriate, she literally gave them the clothes off her back if they looked cold or sad. Pretty clothing always lifted Fleur’s mood when she was sad, so to her it was the perfect remedy, even if those ponies often had no idea how to respond to her gesture. It was quite possible she had given away that pink jacket she had been wearing recently. Equally possibly, it could mean that wherever she was, she had voluntarily gone there and dressed to go out first. The fact that she had gone missing without a note or any other indication of what she had been thinking created a tight knot of anxiety in Fancy’s gut. Fleur was shallow and too preoccupied with superficial things but she was kind-hearted and wouldn’t hurt a fly. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something had happened to her and, whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

“It’s not just the jacket, Fancy,” said the other pony. “The neighbours said –”

“I know what the neighbours are saying. I spoke to the authorities about it, didn’t I?” Over eight hours in a single room at the Canterlot Police Headquarters, being interviewed by ever more apologetic ponies. Fancy had reported Fleur being missing. Why would he have done that if he had anything to do with it? The neighbours who said they had seen her leave with him and not come home had only given those statements after they were questioned as a result of his concerns.

“They’ll find her, Fancy.”

Fancy sighed and finally raised his face. His brother looked down at him, a mixture of concern and discomfort twisting his mouth into an uncertain line. Natty Pants had never been the most diligent of siblings, more focused on having a good time than courting good relations with a brother who was still just a colt while he was in college. As such, his way of dealing with Fancy’s stress was to fake it and hope the rest fell into place. His comforting words rang hollow.

“I’m going out to look again.” Fancy got abruptly to his feet. He couldn’t stay here like this, locked away in his town house where nopony from the press could get at him. The scandal of a stallion like him being a pony-of-interest in a police case threatened to give his mother a heart attack. Even so, he could sneak out the back, disguise himself or something and go looking –

“Where?” Natty put his hoof directly on the problem. “Where can you possibly look that the police haven’t already checked? Or that you won’t be recognised?”

“I don’t know!” Fancy snapped, as close as he ever came to losing his cool. “But I have to do something. Fleur is missing.”

“I know. I got the memo.” It was an ill-timed attempt at humour. “Sorry.”

Fancy looked away, marshalling his face so the flash of anger didn’t show. Fighting with his family wouldn’t help. Usually, when he fell out with one or more of them, Fleur was the one he went to. He felt her absence like missing his own shadow: they had been together so long he had never even questioned her being there and her loss felt intrinsic in a way he couldn’t put into words. He hadn’t even realised that until now.

“Look, Fancy, just sit down and be rational. What can you do? Honestly? The police are doing their jobs. They’ll find her, wherever she is. Somepony somewhere has to have seen something useful, and as for those changeling rumours the newspapers have been wittering on about, well, Princess Celestia’s anti-changeling shield is the ultimate in bug repellant, right? Shining Armour himself developed it and taught the guards how to keep topping up its power without killing themselves like he nearly did. But if you go outside now you’re going to be accosted and accused of being one of those creatures, just like the last time you tried to go out. Those ponies don’t care that their theory makes no sense, or that you were with me when Fleur went off with whatever impostor her neighbours cooked up. They’ll eat you alive and Mother and Father will barbeque what’s left. Think about it. Do the smart thing.”

The smart thing not necessarily being what his heart demanded he do.

Fancy Pants drew a deep breath and forced himself to sit back down on the elegant sofa. He fiddled with the edge of the wooden frame. Fleur had always hated this sofa. She said the dark green was ugly, just like the rest of his sitting room was ugly. She had begged him to allow her to redecorate the place. Now he wished he had.

Fleur, he thought desperately. Where in Equestria are you?

Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs

“Her name’s Bright Eyes. She’s really quiet and everyone says she’s a stuck-up geek because she barely talks to anypony except teachers when she’s answering every single question in every single class."

--Bright Eyes is one of the lead characters from My Little Pony: Tales, sometimes called G2.

"Cara Orange is always talking really loudly about her in the cafeteria because she shares most of her classes and she says Bright Eyes is just trying to make them look bad."

-- One of the Apple Family's relations as seen in Applejack's cutie mark flashback.

8. Out of Mind, Out of Sight

Preparations for the Summer Sun Celebration continue on apace. Princess Celestia has elected the town of Horseshoe Bay as her destination and the court is in uproar preparing for the journey. Horseshoe Bay is some great distance from Canterlot, though I confess ‘great distance’ to me is not as it is for more well-travelled ponies. I was shocked to discover that Fell is quite near Canterlot, as the crow flies. My journey from home to the castle seemed too long to be such a small part of the map on the wall of the workroom.

Master Starswirl is most displeased at the news. He has devoted himself to his studies of late, possibly owing to several altercations with Silvertongue the Gifted. He is always more bookish after they meet. I feel he hides himself in work as proof of his superiority. Alas, their rancour has not lessened, much to my own sorrow. I should like it better if Lord Silvertongue were to befriend Master Starswirl instead of vex him. I nurse fantasies that he would visit with smiles and I may serve them both and listen to their conversations on magic and other pursuits, which would be weighty with cleverness to each other and compliments to me. I am a silly fool to think such things but sometimes such fantasies are all that stand between myself and misery at Master Starswirl’s actual conduct.

His temper has been even blacker than usual. The notion of leaving his workroom to travel to the shore does not sit well with him. Ordinarily I do not trouble him with words, as not speaking eases my time and allows it to pass faster so that I may escape his company without delay. Yet his mood has been so vile of late that I attempted to tell him the salt of sea air is a powerful panacea for aged lungs. His expression at my words fair made my heart stop, though he seemed as angry that I should know the word ‘panacea’ as at my reference to his ripeness of years. He remarked that a dullard earth pony such as I should not try to appear learned by using words I do not grasp.

Well, I do not know what came over me. Mother taught me many long words as a foal, which I committed to memory after she died. They are my way of remembering her, since now I find it harder to see her face in my mind than I once did. Master Starswirl’s remark seemed an insult to her memory and before I could remind myself that he is my superior, I told him that panacea means medicine and is named for the ancient legend of Panchrest, the elixir said to cure all known diseases and prolong life indefinitely.

The very moment my tongue stilled there came about Master Starswirl a terrible stillness. It was as if I had cast a spell of my own to transform myself into an insect, which he wanted very much to crush with his hoof. I begged his forgiveness and escaped from his presence with more speed than was fitting. Such was my haste that I left behind my sewing basket, which I had been using to mend the curtains of his workroom. I shall have to creep back there tonight and retrieve it after he is gone to bed, for I have no wish to see him until he has had time to recover from my impertinence. Nopony has yet some to remove me from my small chamber, therefore I think that I am employed still. I do not wish to provoke Master Starswirl to make me otherwise.

Oh, Lord Silvertongue, I should think you would not be so cruel to anypony, even a servant. Why can you not teach Master Starswirl how to be a gentlecolt instead of the horrible curmudgeon that he is?

-- Taken from the diary of Peaseblossom, 488 AS.

Cankerblossom is a most discourteous creature. If I were more of a mind, I would dismiss her in favour of a less troublesome sort, yet I do not wish to spend the time educating another in the correct ways to attend to my needs. Despite her outburst, she has learned well and does not bother me overmuch. Verily, I do find her lack of chatter preferable while I work. She is oft-times a shadow who passes silently through my chambers and, in her wake, tasks are completed that allow me to go about my loftier goals without care or need to think of lesser chores. To upset this balance now would be troublesome and I do find I have enough trouble from that boorish Silvertongue the Gifted.

Once again he has called my prowess into question within her Majesty’s earshot. Once again he compliments his own skills and does vaunt them above my own. Today I did find him conjuring before the entire court in the throne room itself! The upstart had not even the grace to await my arrival before beginning his display, allowing me to appear foolish when I entered at the very moment he did cause the doorway to be filled with flowering vines! I could not allow anypony present to perceive that the force with which I was repelled did cause me injury. That would only play into the confounded upstart’s hooves, for me to appear weakened and so infirm that a mere fall could cause me harm. Instead, I did perform conjurations of my own to counter his. He did not appear quite so satisfied when I did transform his vines into butterflies in every shade of her Majesty’s mane, though she did seem delighted at their fluttering colours and the rest of court did applaud me greatly. Silvertongue the Gifted did claim his trickery a mere jest, yet I know with the certainty of ages that this is yet one more attempt to raise himself above me in her Majesty’s favour.

It shall not be stood! Soon we shall depart Canterlot for Horseshoe Bay, a place of which I have only dimmest memories, since I have not travelled thence since my colthood days. I am not fond of the sea, though its presence does bestow many an opportunity for spectacle during the Presentation of Spells, if one is of a mind to marshal its awesome power to one’s own will. This twelve-monthly display to her Majesty is my customary occasion to throw upstart conjurors back into the mass of lesser spellcasters like the underwhelming minnows they are. Each year, without fail, they do pit their skill against mine, attempting to outshine my presentation with their own.

Thus it will be with Silvertongue the Gifted. I have heard talk amongst other courtiers that he does plan to present a spell for her Majesty that o’ertakes mine marvellous much. I do say again, it shall not be stood! If he does indeed intend to wrest my place at court from me then he shall not do so with cheap trickery and underhoofed scheming.

My brain rages with spells half-begun. My ire with Silvertongue and the hurt from my hip do plague me beyond my ability to concentrate. Yet I cannot leave my workroom. It is here that I shall remain until I have decided upon the means by which I shall demonstrate to the upstart conjuror his proper place.

-- Extract from the journals of Starswirl the Bearded, 488 AS.

I write this by candlelight, though I find it fair difficult to see and my wick burns low so I must be brief. Yet I feel I must commit this to paper, that I may reflect upon it in later times when I am given to thoughts of how overbearing a stallion is Master Starswirl.

When night fell I did indeed return to his workroom to retrieve my sewing basket. I expected to find the chamber empty, as it was dark as pitch within. Indeed, I was halfway across the floor before I realised I was not alone. Master Starswirl was asleep across his workbench! I snatched up my basket and made to leave as fast as my hooves could carry me, but my candle did light his face in the process and it fair stopped me in my tracks.

For you see, his expression was one I am unused to seeing upon his face. Gone was the terrible scowl and in its place I viewed what I think was anxiety. Many cares seemed to be weighing on his slumbering mind and they cast away the dignity of his station, instead revealing the aged pony beneath. It is inappropriate for one such as I to remark thus, yet who is to read this but me? I saw him there and for a moment I did not see a veritable magician whose apprentice helped to found this land we call Equestria. No, I saw an old stallion, a pony just like any other pony.

I confess, I am unsure of Master Starswirl’s age. It seems he is as immemorial as the land itself. He is at least a century in the world, perhaps more. I believe he was a young pony when he taught Clover the Clever and did travel much in his youth, gathering the knowledge that raised him to such stature in the Princess’s court once she returned to rule over us. He even journeyed to other lands, such as Gryphona and the places where dragons dwell! His bravery and determination to learn all that he could about magic have followed him long into his waning years, though it seems for him that his waning years last as long as a single earth pony’s entire life. Perhaps magic elongates life and all the spells he discovered during his time away in the Dark Ages have made him much longer lived than any other pony.

Even one such as I know of the Dark Ages, when earth ponies, unicorns and pegasi were so divided during her long absence. The time was well-named. Had it not been for Clover the Clever, Smart Cookie and Private Pansy, the land may have remained at odds and the age may have become darker still with war. I wonder whether events would have resolved themselves as they did if Master Starswirl had been present. His dislike of earth ponies remains acute to this day, as he frequently reminds me with his insults. Perhaps he would not have helped the situation at all. Perhaps his personality would only have roused things to more anger and the Windigoes would have consumed the land before it could ever be named. Perhaps it is a good thing that he did not return from his travels until after Equestria became Equestria and Princess Celestia returned from whence she had departed centuries before. I cannot imagine she would have been pleased to discover that her absence caused the three races to learn hatred and forget they we are all ponies beneath our differences in magic and flight.

Certainly, I had forgotten this fact until I looked upon Master Starswirl’s face tonight. Since coming to the castle I have been preoccupied with thoughts of how far above my station courtiers are. I had forgotten for myself that we are all ponies at heart. I am a pony and so is Master Starswirl; an old pony who shivered at his workbench because the fire had gone out of the grate and the room had acquired a chill. His cloak is magnificent but it is made from thin material to billow as he walks; not acceptable for keeping old bones warn in a cold room at night. I did not wish to wake him, so I put about his shoulders the shawl I had used to warm my own body on the walk from my chambers. Maybe it did nothing, but I confess that I felt better to leave him with practical brown wool instead of billowing stars.

My candle gutters so I shall end this writing now. I only hope that tomorrow I can retain this lesson in the face of Master Starswirl’s waking ill-temper.

-- Taken from the diary of Peaseblossom, 488 AS.

Bon-Bon had developed a way of walking with hooves but sounding like she had cat paws. Maybe it was a Slayer thing. Certainly, she couldn’t remember being able to do it before she inherited the powers. Then again, she had never really cared about her hoofsteps being too loud before then, so maybe she had been quiet and just never noticed. Being stealthy only really counted when you had something to hide from.

The loving couple on the other side of the garbage cans billed and cooed like a pair of doves. She could hear the mare giggle coquettishly and the little tickety-tock of her hooves as she danced away, forcing then stallion to trot to catch up. It was sweet, in a sick-to-your-stomach kind of way.

Bon-Bon sighed, peering over the cans. Don’t be so bitter, she chastised herself. Why shouldn’t they be happy? Just because you don’t have anypony …

Nope, not going there. Bad thoughts. Staying away from those toxic things. Keeping well, well, well, well away from –

Too late.

The sword billowed in response. She gritted her teeth. It was a nice attempt but the sheer force of it was overwhelming, as if the thing was trying to squash her bad feelings away.

Swords were weapons. Weapons use force to make problems go away. What else was to supposed to do? It was magic but it wasn’t a singing sword.

She was going to have to get used to that. Easier said than done, though. Having ideas float right into her head from ostensibly nowhere was not terribly appealing. It wasn’t telepathy and it wasn’t empathy, but more like remembering a few scattered song lyrics out of the blue and them circling around and around in her head, not doing any harm but taking a long time to fade. The sword has no mastery over words. Something without a mouth or ears couldn’t learn language as more than an alien concept, like Bon-Bon trying to imagine what it was like to beat wings she didn’t have, or use magic through an invisible horn. Yet the sword could make itself understood. Hoo boy, could it do that. Right now it was like a child finally let out to play after a long illness spent cooped up inside.

“You have to be quieter.”

How could it be quieter when it wasn’t making any noise at all?

That one pulled her up short. The sword sat silently in its scabbard. The noise wasn’t really noise, except inside her head. How did you quantify that? Maybe the problem was with her. Maybe she was just on receive all the time and had to bung up her mental receivers to stop them taking in so much –

Demon.

She felt it clearly. She could never explain the feeling of knowing one was nearby. The range of what she once jokingly called her ‘Slayer sense’ was wide but not exponential, so it didn’t encompass the whole town. She had to move around rather than stay in one spot and wait for something to come within range of her when on patrol. Now something had.

Despite its previous grumpy protest, the sword sang. It was a high, fluty smell-taste-sound inside her head, like eating music and hearing the scent of burnt sugar. It was also very, very distracting.

Stop that! She snapped out the thought, wondering whether it would work.

The sword reeled itself back in, radiating apology and promises to behave.

Bon-Bon checked to make sure the mare and stallion had gone, shimmied up a drainpipe and hid behind a chimney. She sensed the demon to the east, moving slowly. It felt big. Whether that meant it was big in size remained to be seen, but it contained enough magic to have stripped a few auras. It was still moving towards town, so whoever it had feasted on, it wasn’t anypony from Ponyville. That didn’t make it any better, though Bon-Bon felt a spurt of relief that immediately turned to disgust at herself for being grateful that nopony she knew had been hurt. Did it make it any less tragic that she wasn’t personally acquainted with a demon’s meal?

She made her way across the rooftops. It was quicker than the ground and fewer ponies thought to look up when the night already made them cautious about tripping over things. There was always the worry of pegasi, of course, but unless they were night-fliers she didn’t encounter many on patrols. In ancient times the night had been the province of unicorns, who conducted their rituals to raise and lower the sun and moon during the Dark Ages, when pony fought pony and all three tribes vied for independence from each other. Daylight was when earth ponies could tend their crops and pegasi could see to fly. Things were different now, but the trend started back then continued today genetically, since pegasi and earth ponies still tended to have poorer eyesight than unicorns at night. Pegasi who went night-flying without a flashlight claimed it was a rush equivalent to abseiling without a safety harness.

The demon was moving. Bon-Bon altered her trajectory accordingly. She found it lumbering through a celery field on the farm bordering Sweet Apple Acres. It was indeed large in shape, though its body was thin and it hunched over as it walked. It stood upright on two legs, its chest like a toast-rack covered in beige-brown skin. Prominent spinal discs jutted up from the back of its neck and its collarbones stood out sharply, giving it a malnourished look, though Bon-Bon could sense it had fed well and recently. What poor soul had paid the price for this thing to feel able to come here?

It stopped, raised its head and sniffed. Even Bon-Bon’s eyesight found the nostrils difficult to spot among the throbbing veins that bulged on a huge pink beak. The beak was studded, needlessly, with yellow fangs along each edge. The demon looked like a dead baby bird that had fallen from its nest – if that baby bird had fallen out of the tree and into a nightmare. It turned, clambered over the fence and passed into a copse of silver birch, swinging arm-like limbs that ended in crab pincers.

Bon-Bon shoved aside her disgust and followed. She knew where it was headed. It had changed direction towards Golden Oaks Library.

The sword chuntered excitedly. Swords liked nothing better than an enemy to smite. This one was an enemy, yes, and it would smite it with a thousand years of pent up –

Be. Quiet! Bon-Bon yelled inside her head. Could you yell inside your head? She tried to picture the instruction in capital letters in case that helped – although would the sword be able to read? And read Equestrian, not Equus, as had been the language when it was sealed away from the world. Ah, why was she even thinking this? She was getting distracted. Distraction meant death. She had to concentrate now. BE QUIET!

The demon froze in the shadow of crisscrossed branches as if it had heard her. Bon-Bon also froze. Had it sensed her as she had sensed it? Demons knew when she was around. The Slayer’s presence alone had been known to save entire towns when demons knew she was there and avoided the place.

Slowly, the demon turned. Its eyes were so deeply recessed in its head that it was like looking into the empty sockets of a skull. Its beak clacked, bringing the baby bird comparison to Bon-Bon’s mind again. No wonder cuckoos laid their eggs in other birds’ nests. They probably just didn’t want to look at their own ugly babies after they hatched.

There was a moment in which the whole world seemed to hold its breath. Bon-Bon and the demon each waited for the other to make the first move. Then, in a blur of movement and animalistic irrationality, the creature struck.

Bon-Bon was ready. She ducked sideways, out of its careening path – and then reeled at the Lunar Sword’s cry of protest, which ripped through her like a seizure.

Why was she not cutting, slicing, slashing and stabbing? Why was she running away from the enemy when it was right there? Why was she not attacking it when it was RIGHT THERE?

She gritted her teeth and gathered her feet under her. The demon had, as she had anticipated from its bunched muscles, thundered on past her. For all its thinness it was heavy and could not turn quickly. That did not, however, mean it could not use those pincers quickly. An ability to run did not necessary mean an ability to strike like a snake, and vice versa, as she had learned to her cost before. She needed to get a better idea of how it moved before she engaged it properly. It was too big for her to make a mistake.

That, however, turned out to be the problem. The Lunar Sword had no such qualms. Bon-Bon had experience at fighting demons. The sword did not. Neither did it have a body that could be easily damaged by not listening to that experience. The sword yearned to do what it was made for and Bon-Bon’s mind just kept getting in the way. She refused to draw it, even though its edge might well have been useful. If it was blasting her so badly while still sheathed there was no telling what would happen if it was unleashed.

Shut up! she thought wildly as the demon came at her again. The sword pulsed with a desire to ram itself into the thing’s abdomen. Yet Bon-Bon had already learned from a glancing blow that this demon’s skin was much tougher than it looked.

She did the first thing that came clearly to mind through the sword’s demands. She jumped straight up, using the demon’s long skull as a platform to launch herself into a tree. It let out a huffing hiss, the only noise it had made so far. Demons she had encountered weren’t generally very noisy, no matter what stories or movies said. It came from needing prey to not know they were there before they struck.

The tree branches shook as she ran along the thickest. The demon huff-hissed below, snapping its pincers at her. She considered leaping higher but immediately dismissed the idea. She wasn’t trying to escape it, just buy herself a little time to gather her thoughts.

The branch juddered violently and bent downward. She glanced behind to see the demon had locked one claw around the base and already sawn more than halfway through. It huff-hissed, arm muscles contracting to finish the job. The branch pitched and so did Bon-Bon, pinwheeling through leaves and twigs now falling at a different speed than her.

The sword shrieked with fury. Bon-Bon reeled. The demon knocked aside debris to run at her falling body. Unsure what was up and what was down through the mental noise, Bon-Bon allowed pure instinct to quash her conscious mind. It was a dangerous route to take in the middle of a fight but it paid off. Adrenaline and her Slayer’s instincts sizzling through her like volts of electricity, she twisted in mid-air, grabbed the falling branch and tore off the end. The tip was nice and jagged. A split second before the demon reached her, she thrust forward the makeshift stake and buried it in one massive sunken eye.

An agonised noise split the air like a punctured balloon releasing too much air at once. The demon clutched at its face. Bon-Bon dropped to the ground and rushed under its flailing body. It barely noticed her as it yanked at the branch. Her momentum hadn’t allowed her put it deep enough to kill. She quickly rectified the situation, running up the trunk of the same tree and using impetus to power a kick to the back of the demon’s neck. She felt the jutting spine crunch under her hooves and the demon dropped.

It didn’t move. Nonetheless, she didn’t go closer to poke it. Sleeping dragons and all that. Or was that lions? The Lunar Sword wailed in frustration as she extracted a vial of banishing powder from a pouch and drew a circle around the body. The demon’s remaining eye stared sightlessly at her. She had been lucky. Not all of them came with spinal cords.

“Spirit, soul, mind and heart,
By these four you now depart.
Mind and heart, spirit, soul,
Mare to filly and to foal.
Spirit, heart, soul and mind,
I protect all ponykind;
You are banished, dark doomsayer,
By this hoof: so says the Slayer.”

She panted her way through the incantation that shoved the demon back where it had come from. Or at least, she presumed it sent back where it had come from. Maybe it sent it somewhere else entirely, where it couldn’t just come back through the rifts to Equestria. Not that this one would be coming back again. She watched as it was consumed by cobalt flames. She had been right; it had fed recently. The magical aura escaped the demon’s body in a shower of sparkles and dissipated like someone had dropped a bag of vacuum cleaner dust. By the time the flames died down all that was left was ash.

Bon-Bon held out the Lunar Sword, stretching its strap taut across her back so she could look at it. The stylised hearts on the scabbard glinted in the moonlight. “You,” she snapped, “just nearly got me killed!”

She should have drawn it. Everything would have been all right if she had just drawn it.

“No, it wouldn’t!”

It would! The certainty ribboned through her. It would have all turned out differently if she had pulled it free and … a succession of gory images swept through her mind.

“I’m not having this conversation!” She allowed it to swing back into place at her side. “This is why I haven’t been bringing you on patrol with me! You’re a … a liability!” It felt vaguely disrespectful to say this of an ancient artifact, especially one crafted by royalty and full of magical power. However, it also felt good – and truthful. Stories never talked about the inglorious things heroes did. That didn’t mean they didn’t happen. She wondered whether the warriors of myths and legend had ever stood next to celery fields arguing with their sentient weapons. Then she wondered who had won those arguments.

With the smell of banishing flames in her nose, Bon-Bon left the scene. In the morning, if anypony came this way, they might wonder at the light dusting of ash on the ground but that would be the only sign. The blue flames didn’t leave scorch marks like normal fire. There was no damage to the surrounding area; they just spirited away whatever they encircled after she instructed them to take it away from the ponies under her protection.

A jolt of unwanted memory jangled through her so hard she had to stop walking. She pushed it back into its box, locked the box and shoved it far, far back in her mind. Just because she had accepted what happened back then did not mean she wanted to relive it.

Feeling suddenly even more drained than the situation warranted, Bon-Bon pulled her cloak tight about herself and disappeared into the night.

Zecora’s house was a beacon of calm against a sea of chaos. At least, that was how it seemed to Bon-Bon. She felt like she was being followed by a cloud of mosquitos that had slipped inside her ear and were needling her brain into submission. She didn’t quite stagger up to the front door but it was close.

Maybe if she hadn’t been so preoccupied, she might have realised something was strange before the door opened. As it was, Zecora’s slightly strained expression was her only clue before she stepped aside and Bon-Bon got a clear look at her Watcher’s guest.

“Good morning,” said Princess Luna, sipping delicately from a small clay pot Zecora typically used for drinking. It glowed with her midnight blue magic as she raised it to her lips. “I see that you are shocked to see me, Slayer. Please, come inside and I shall explain my presence here.”

Bon-Bon hesitantly came over the threshold, trying to catch Zecora’s eye, but the zebra concentrated on shutting the door and she was instead forced to approach Luna with no hint of what to expect or how to treat her. Meeting a princess in her own castle is one thing; meeting her in an earthy home in the middle of the Everfree Forest was quite another.

Luna smiled. It wiped away some of Bon-Bon’s doubts. “I see you are carrying the Lunar Sword.”

“Uh, yes.” Bon-Bon decided honesty was the best policy. “Although tonight was my first time taking it on patrol.”

Luna nodded. “Ah, yes, that would explain it.”

“Explain what, Princess?”

“The turmoil I could sense from it.” She gestured with the clay pot. “Apparently my link to the sword was not completely severed when I transferred ownership of it to you. I am still able to sense certain things from it.” She took another sip. It was timed too well to be anything but a pretense at nonchalance. Bon-Bon read in Luna’s flickering eyes that she was rattled by the continued connection. “Such as the conflict of this night. I travelled here as soon as I had lowered the moon, while my sister was still in the process of raising the sun.”

“Wow, you sure are fast.”

“I was anxious to see for myself how you and the sword are … I believe the modern term is ‘gelling’?”

“That’s one word for it.” Bon-Bon had not met any more demons since the baby bird monstrosity but the sword had not let up its insistence for one second. Being out in the world had created in it an effect like feeding a metric ton of sugar to a kindergarten class of fillies and colts and then sending them off the play on a bouncy castle. The only difference was that Bon-Bon was the one left feeling sick and knowing she would have to clean up the mess afterwards.

Luna set down her cup. “Please, come and sit down. You also, Watcher.”

Zecora did not react to being given an invitation to sit in her own home. Instead, she dutifully went to sit opposite Luna. Bon-Bon, after a moment’s indecision, chose to sit beside her so she could face the princess.

Luna nodded as if answering a question she had asked herself. She leaned forward. “Slayer, did you fight a demon this night?”

“Yes, around midnight.”

“That is when my own connection with the sword seemed clearest. I must first explain that my link is nowhere near as strong as it once was. It is more a … how can I say this?” Her brow creased in thought as she struggled to put those thoughts into words. “It is like an echo over a great distance. The Lunar Sword truly belongs to you now but my blood remains in its fabric, therefore it is somewhat connected to me.”

“Does that mean I’mconnected to you?” Bon-Bon wasn’t sure she knew how she felt about that. Distant or not, her mind and heart were her own and she didn’t want anypony else getting a look at them without her being able to filter what they saw.

“I do not think so. I did not sense any of your thoughts, only those of the sword pertaining to you. Unless you, also, wished to unsheathe its blade and bloodily rend asunder the flesh of whatever demon you were fighting?”

“Uh, no, that one wasn’t me.”

“I didn’t think so.” Luna sighed. “I confess, Slayer, this development was not my intent and has surprised me as much as you. It was not my purpose to cause you any discomfort. My gift was to aid you in your quest, not hinder it.”

“It didn’t … hinder me …” Bon-Bon trailed off at the look she received.

“Please do not lie to spare my feelings,” Luna cautioned. “Once again, my attempts to help the ponies of Equestria have fired back.”

“I think you mean backfired, Princess.”

Luna winced. “Thank you. Sometimes vernacular of this age is a most perplexing creature and few ponies feel able to correct me when I use it mistakenly. The point I am trying to make is this: if what I felt was only a fraction of what you felt from the sword, then I am very impressed at your composure at this moment. It seemed to me that it was a most unruly companion to carry with you, as well as a most distracting one.”

Bon-Bon made a face. The wave of indignity that swept over her brain was sickening. The sword wasn’t unruly and it definitely wasn’t distracting! It was a great asset! It was a fine weapon! It was a –

Luna also grimaced. “Lunar Sword!” she said in a voice that seemed to echo with power. “Desist your prattling!”

The sword fell grumpily quiet.

Bon-Bon exhaled, only then realising she had been holding her breath. “Thank you, Princess.”

Zecora looked between the two of them, confused. “You give thanks,” she said, pointing at Bon-Bon. “You say desist.” She pointed at Luna and then spread her hooves in a wide shrug. “Is there something I have missed?”

“The sword has no voice, as such, but it is a most loquacious thing,” Luna replied, tapping the side of her head with one hoof. “It is loud, it is uncompromising and it is driven to complete its goal: which is now to slay all demons it comes across, just as you do, Slayer. I fear my apologies will not be enough for what I have inadvertently heaped upon you.”

“You didn’t mean to,” Bon-Bon said lamely. She was a little miffed that Luna had managed to subdue the sword so easily. Then again, it had belonged to her for a thousand years, even of most of that time she had spent in exile.

Luna shook her head. “No, that is not an excuse. I should have foreseen this, or at least warned you of it. I had not touched the sword in so long, it did not even occur to me that this might happen. Therefore I would like to present to you a solution to this problem.”

“A … solution?” Bon-Bon echoed. There was something about the way Luna said this; a hungriness to please that stayed in her eyes even when her voice was perfectly level.

“Yes. I would like to teach you how to properly use the Lunar Sword.”

“You want to teach me?” Bon-Bon watched Luna’s reaction. “You want to teach me how to use a sword?”

“Perhaps ‘use’ is the wrong word. ‘Work with’ might be a better choice. The Lunar Sword is not like other swords.”

“I kind of noticed.” Bon-Bon muttered.

For a moment Luna looked surprised and a tad irritated at being interrupted. Bon-Bon fell silent. She went on after ostensibly waiting for someone to say more. When they didn’t, she said, “Wielding the Lunar Sword is not a case of simply picking it up and whirling it about. The sword reacts to your emotions. I had thought that your mental discipline would be enough for it to ‘gel’ with you easily, but that is apparently not the case. I did not have to learn how to use the sword when it was forged, as it was a part of my being from the very beginning and Nightmare Moon’s forceful personality rode roughshod over any protests the sword may have had. You, however, do not possess that amount of raw power and that is apparently interfering with your ability to use the sword fully. Therefore it only makes sense for me to teach you how to replicate the way that I wielded the sword and for you to adapt this to your own level of power. Does this not make sense to you too?”

Bon-Bon looked at Zecora. Zecora looked at Bon-Bon. As one, they looked at Luna, who waited for the answer with almost foalish expectancy.

“Princess,” Bon-Bon said slowly, “I’m not saying I wouldn’t be grateful to you, but are you sure that’s wise?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, how long would this take? I’m sure you have duties in Canterlot to take care of, right? Can you really afford to take time off from those to train me? Plus, the last time we spoke you were, um, really insistent that you didn’t want anything more to do with the Lunar Sword. Now you’re suggesting spending extra time with it. Would you be okay with that?”

Luna’s expression shut down. “I do have duties in Canterlot,” she said flatly. “But many are not essential. My sister has given me several duties that are just busywork to keep me occupied while I acclimatise to life in this new era. While I am grateful to her for trying to help me thus, I feel I would like to be more useful than I currently am.”

“Princess, you raise the moon and stars every night!”

“A task my sister performed most admirably for a thousand years without me. She has many duties beyond that as well and still makes time for her subjects. It would be remiss of me to spend all my time reading about Equestria without experiencing it, and experiencing without actively getting involved in it.”

Bon-Bon watched Luna as she spoke, every word clipped and blunt. She didn’t sound at all like herself; not like the expressive pony Bon-Bon had met at the palace, nor the volatile ruler who had landed in the middle of Ponyville’s Nightmare Night celebrations. Instead, she sounded impassive, all emotion exorcised from her words. She was neither eager nor resigned and that didn’t fit with what Bon-Bon knew of her.

“Princess,” she said, “you don’t think you’re … surplus to requirements, do you?”

Luna looked away. It was a tiny movement but it was enough.

“Because you’re not. Equestria has been so much happier since you came back.” Okay, so that was a little white lie. Equestria wasn’t any happier but Celestia was and that made most ponies feel at least a little cheerier. “You just haven’t found your niche yet. It’s amazing that you’ve learned as much as you have in such a short time – this country has changed a lot in a thousand years and you’re coping really well with it all.”

“Your reassurances are most kind, Slayer,” Luna said briskly. “But they are not what I wanted. I wish to make amends for the suffering I have put you through in giving you the Lunar Sword without fully considering the consequences of doing so. My sister wondered whether it was the best decision and I told her that I was sure you were the right pony to bear such a weapon. Now I must make good on my promise and help you to make the Lunar Sword truly your own.”

I wish to make amends for the suffering I have put you through. Though it was only part of what she had said, the admission resonated in Bon-Bon. She regarded Princess Luna, who stood straight and tall in the middle of Zecora’s plain house. Her silvery shoes seemed out of place; her breastplate too shiny for the carved wooden walls and furniture. Luna was a pony out of time and place, trying desperately to catch up while also battling with the past that had rendered her this way.

I wish to make amends for the suffering I have put all ponies through. I wish to make amends for the suffering I have put Equestria through. I wish to make amends for the suffering I have put my sister through. Yeah, that fit.

Luna was terrified of repeating the past. She was also afraid of making fresh mistakes now she had been given this second chance at life. Giving Bon-Bon the Lunar Sword had been an attempt at that, while also being an attempt to show Celestia that Luna wasn’t the same pony she used to be. If the gesture failed, Luna would be humiliated.

Bon-Bon sighed. “I’d appreciate your help, Princess.”

Luna beamed. It was like moonlight breaking through blank grey clouds. “Splendid! When shall we begin?”

“I’m tired after last night.” Bon-Bon sensed the sword stir sullenly. “But if you’d like to start this morning, I wouldn’t say no.”

“Even more splendid! However,” Luna nodded at the bubbling pot in the centre of the room, “I believe your Watcher had some breakfast prepared for you first.”

“It may not be a big ‘wahoo’,” said Zecora, “but Princess, would you like some too? It seems to me you’ll need some fuel. Besides which, I can see your drool.” She wisped delicately at the side of her own mouth, indicating Luna should do the same.

Luna instantly wiped at her mouth. “Princesses do not drool!” she said defensively. “But, ah, I would indeed like to partake of that lovely food I can smell.”

“We’re having Uji, Princess Luna. I should have served it up much sooner, but I thought it best to wait so you could focus on your plate.”

“Uji?” Luna said doubtfully. “Is this some new food of modern times?”

Zecora gave a short chuckle. “It is from a world made of sand: my home, the sallow brown Pride Land.”

Bon-Bon’s head snapped up. She stared at Zecora, though the zebra didn’t meet her eye. Finally, she had a name to go with Zecora’s mysterious past. Yet that was apparently all she was getting today and Zecora’s easy manner communicated that she had not intended to even say that much. For a moment Bon-Bon considered pushing the matter, but then she thought better of it. There were other things to concentrate on this morning than wherever her Watcher had come from.

Even so, as she sat down to eat with her mismatched breakfast companions, she couldn’t help questioning Zecora’s phrasing just as she had Luna’s: the ‘sallow brown’ Pride Land? It didn’t sound like a very nice place. And, once again, she wondered why Zecora had given up her old home and what had led her here, to this place and this life.

Bon-Bon muttered to herself as she headed back into town. Distancing herself from the Lunar Sword was a stopgap measure but it would have to suffice until this evening, when she returned to fetch it and reconvene with Princess Luna. At the very least, it would allow them both to get some rest while Zecora, the only one among them who could not hear or feel the sword, looked after it.

Luna had been just as tired as Bon-Bon from raising and lowering the moon. To begin with she had watched Bon-Bon run through some basic kata with the Lunar Sword. However, the sword had remained sheathed as, partway through, it had demanded so loudly that they go off and find some demons to slay that Bon-Bon had accidentally stabbed a tree and knocked it sideways, pulling half its roots from the ground.

“Lunar Sword!” Luna had bellowed, again in that slightly echoing timbre. “Behave thyself!”

“That’s … not actually … helping … Princess,” Bon-Bon had panted.

“It is not?”

“No … the sword … listens to you … because you use … that voice … but I … don’t have … an equivalent …”

“Oh.” Luna had looked a little embarrassed but carried on by saying, “Well then, we must find an equivalent for you. You have Slayer magic, do you not?”

“It doesn’t … work that way.” Bon-Bon had been forced to explain that Slayer magic was self-contained and pretty much anti-magic in the traditional sense. “Apart from being able to sense demons, it’s all about physical stuff: strength, agility, skill with weapons, that sort of thing. I can’t channel it into my voice like you do. I can’t really control it at all, I can just use my body and the magic comes along for the ride and makes my body … well, better.”

“So are you saying magic cannot affect you?”

“Oh, it can affect me,” Bon-Bon had said with chagrin, thinking back to the many times she had been affected by other ponies’ magic. “Although it would make life around Twilight Sparkle a lot easier if it didn’t.”

“I do not understand.”

“She once cast a spell that made a whole bunch of us crazy in love with a smelly stuffed toy.” Bon-Bon had shuddered at the memory of clamping the thing between her teeth and running pell-mell with it across Ponyville and the surrounding countryside. She had been irrational and actually given Berry Punch a real punch that blackened her eye. She was just lucky Berry had immediately folded like a cheap suit and she hadn’t had the opportunity to break the other mare’s face entirely.

Luna had listened to the story of Smarty Pants and Twilight’s meltdown with interest. “I did not know of this,” she had said at the end, surprised. “My sister did not tell me of it.”

“Maybe she didn’t want to embarrass Twilight.”

“Hmm. Maybe.”

Sensing Luna’s thoughts had turned in an unpropitious direction, Bon-Bon had wrenched the Lunar Sword free, causing the tree to rock back and squash several of its own roots. Zecora had forced them to use a combination of telekinesis and a shovel powered by Slayer strength to repair the damage.

“Mental fortitude,” Luna had said after a period of silence in which all they could hear was the sound of foliage settling gratefully back into place.

“Excuse me, Princess?”

“We must strengthen your mental bond with the sword before we can strengthen your physical bond with it. You must become mentally stronger, Slayer, so that the sword immediately recognises you as more dominant and submits to you as its master. Currently it senses you are not comfortable being its master and instinctively seeks to make itself dominant instead.”

“It sounds like a dog or something.”

“Perhaps it would be beneficial for you to think of it that way,” Luna had said without irony. “In a pack of two, you must be the alpha and your authority must be absolute. If the sword senses any weakness or hesitation it will rebel and … well, do more of what it has already been doing.”

So now Bon-Bon was travelling back to Ponyville sans sword and would remain without it until she could master it the way Luna said. No pressure at all. Not tricky in the slightest. Not a problem. Nope. Nada. Problem-free, that was her.

She hung her head and blew out a sigh.

“That sure sounded heartfelt.”

Her neck arched up in alarm. “Noteworthy!”

“Hi.” He ambled up beside her as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Which, probably, he didn’t. Lucky pony. “Out for a morning constitutional?”

“Uh …”

“A walk?” he chuckled.

“Oh. Yes. It’s good cardio, y’know!” Bon-Bon pranced in place to illustrate her point. “Helps to keep the pounds off.”

“I’d agree, if you had any pounds to lose. You’re skinny as a rake!”

“Uh, no I’m not, but thanks anyhow.” Bon-Bon really couldn’t give a monkey’s butt about her weight, however it fit in with the persona she had cultivated and she was stuck pretending she worried about her thighs when she could happily inhale three fried breakfasts and have metabolised them all by lunch. “Are you on your way to work?”

“Uh-huh. Would you like to walk me there? You can protect me from all the muggers and robbers.”

“As if! Ponyville doesn’t have any muggers or robbers.” At his expression she added, “But if you’re really scared of the boogeypony, I’ll walk you to work.”

“My tattered male pride thanks you. Although, you’re wrong about the mugger thing.”

“I am?”

“Mmm, there have been a few muggings in this town.”

“Not enough to merit a police force.” It was true; Ponyville did not have policeponies the way bigger places like Manehattan or Canterlot did. In Canterlot they had both police and the Royal Guard, while in Ponyville there was so little crime they borrow officers from other towns if they ever needed them. Truly, Ponyville was some kind of idyllic throwback to a storybook world where law-breaking was unheard of and everypony helped everypony else.

Noteworthy conceded the point. “Why would we need police when we have caring ponies like you to keep order?”

For a second her blood froze. Then she realised he was joking. “We try our best to make sure all poor, defenseless stallions get to where they’re going unharmed. Later I might even do traffic duty. Cranky Doodle Donkey goes way too fast pulling that old cart of his and Granny Smith is a menace with jaywalking.”

Noteworthy laughed. It was a nice sound; full-bodied and mellow. Bon-Bon abruptly wondered what his singing voice was like. “Do you have a full day planned?” she asked.

“Pretty full,” he replied. “Mostly singing lessons and paperwork. Did I mention how much I hate paperwork?”

“Only a lot.”

“I really, really hate paperwork.”

“You should get a secretary to do it,” Bon-Bon suggested. “Or an accountant if it’s numbers. I was always awful with figures – I failed Math every semester of high school.”

“I was top of my class,” Noteworthy admitted. He cupped a hoof around his mouth as they walked. “Don’t tell anypony, but I was a complete geek in high school. A band geek.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Bon-Bon whispered back. “I was the moody filly in the corner who just scraped a passing grade in all her classes. Every school has one.”

“Yeah, I know. Lyra was ours.”

Bon-Bon blinked. “She was?” she said at normal volume. “Lyra-Lyra? Lyra Heartstrings? She was your moody filly?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Noteworthy chuckled. When she didn’t respond he raised his eyebrows. “Wow, you really don’t know the half of it, do you?”

“Half of what? Are we talking about the same Lyra who always acts like she swallowed a bottle of happy pills?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Was she moody the way Ponyville is thriving with muggers and robbers? Because I’ve got to tell you, Ponyville’s threshold for stuff is way different than anywhere in the rest of Equestria. What did she do, write a sad poem in Creative Writing once?”

Noteworthy shook his head, forehead puckered in bemusement. “No, she …” Instantly the easy atmosphere between them shifted as he became uncomfortable. “I can’t. If she hasn’t told you, it’s not my place to.”

“Told me?” Bon-Bon echoed, her interest piqued. “Told me what?”

Noteworthy just shook his head. “Don’t push me, Bon-Bon. Lyra’s my employee but she’s also my friend. If she wants to, she’ll tell you about it in her own time.”

“Tell me what?” Bon-Bon frowned in frustration. “Okay, if you can’t tell me exactly what you mean, can you give me clues?”

He shook his head again.

“Can you at least tell me whether it’s something I should worry about? She’s my friend too, Noteworthy.”

He blew out a sigh. “It’s nothing you need to worry about now. It was high school. High school sucks for anypony and everypony, right? I’ll bet it was no bed of roses for you, either.”

You don’t know the half of it, Bon-Bon’s mouth leaped to retort. She held herself back, realising what an utter hypocrite she was being. She wasn’t willing to share the secrets of her past with anypony yet here she was grilling Noteworthy for details of Lyra’s? Shame coloured her cheeks. “You’re right. I was out of line. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” The tension in Noteworthy’s face eased. “You were just being concerned. That’s a good quality for a friend to have.”

Bon-Bon shot him a sidelong look. “You know what? You’re too nice.”

“Uh … thank you?”

“No, I mean it. You’re a really nice guy. You’re kind and understanding and generous and … and just plain nice!”

“Not nice enough for you to go out with, though,” he said ruefully.

Bon-Bon tried not to groan. “All I’m saying is that you need to watch that. There’s such a thing as being too nice.”

“There is?”

“Of course there is! Like my grandmother used to say whenever I ate so many candies I got a tummy ache: too much of a good thing makes it bad. If you’re too nice, you’ll get taken advantage of, or you’ll miss it when somepony isn’t as nice as you are and leave yourself open to being manipulated.”

Noteworthy screwed up his nose, clearly not putting much stock in this idea. “That’s a really cynical thing to say.”

Bon-Bon shrugged. “Then call me a cynic.”

Noteworthy looked at her oddly. “Is that a leftover from being the class moody filly?”

“No, that’s hard-won experience.”

“Is that your way of saying ‘nice guys finish last’?”

“No.” Bon-Bon stopped. “It’s my way of saying we’ve arrived.”

Noteworthy blinked at the Music Makers shop-front. “Wow, we are. Usually my morning commute takes way longer.”

Bon-Bon rolled her eyes. “Ponyville’s not that big.”

“Actually, I think it just went faster because of you.” Noteworthy treated her to a genuinely happy smile that made his eyes crinkle ever so slightly at the corners. Everything about him exuded ‘nice guy’. It exuded it so loudly, in fact, that when he unlocked the door Bon-Bon almost expected to find a brass band blasting ‘It’s a Small World’ but singing ‘He’s a nice guy after all’ from a practise room. “Have a nice rest-of-your-walk, Bon-Bon.”

“Thanks.” She pranced in place again, pasting on a bright smile of her own. “I’ll get those pounds shifted yet!”

Noteworthy rolled his eyes good-naturedly and went inside, leaving Bon-Bon to continue home with even more mixed feelings than before.

9. Prophecy Girl

The day of the funeral dawned bright and clear. It was the wrong weather, Bon-Bon thought. Funerals were meant to be all rainy and dark. How could it be sunny when you were burying someone you cared about?

Nonna was dead. The thought still didn’t seem real. Bon-Bon felt like she would still hear the creak of the door to her grandmother’s house if she walked up the stoop. Nonna generally anticipated the moment she was about to reach for the knocker when she spotted her coming down the street. Bon-bon hadn’t touched the brass dragon’s head in years.

Ponies stood around her, mostly old mares and stallions from the senior centre. Nonna went there for lunch several times a week and played bingo on Wednesday nights. She was a terrible player but loved the game anyway because of the atmosphere. Put several dozen old folks in a warm room, apply punch, add a dash of competitiveness and stir until simmering.

Nonna was dead. Maybe if she thought the words enough times they would build up inside her and fill the hollow in her chest. Maybe she could choke her grief with a mantra. Nonna was dead. Nonna was dead. Nonna was dead. Nonna was dead. Nonna was …

Bon-Bon’s mother dabbed at her eyes with a hankie from her purse. Her mascara was perfectly intact, not a smear anywhere. She had picked out a black dress especially for the occasion, cut to flatter her figure with a little black veil to show it actually was a funeral outfit. Bon-Bon’s father rubbed her shoulder with one hoof. It was more emotion than she had seen from either of them since they came to fetch her from Nonna’s kitchen. She hadn’t wanted to leave but the paramedics insisted it was bad for a filly to see somepony zipped into a body bag. Her screams had prompted a rare outburst of anger from her father as he dragged her away. That had been it until now and this tiny outpouring of grief at the graveside. Bon-Bon was surprised he didn’t check his watch while his hoof was raised. He was missing a business meeting for this.

Nonna was dead.

As was customary, a photograph of her had been placed on top of the coffin during the ceremony. The funeral director had glued little silky black ribbons to each corner of the frame. The picture was of Nonna when she was younger, where her hair had been pure pink instead of grey and done up in little sausage curls around her head. She playfully held up one hoof as if she didn’t want her picture taken. In the other she held a stick of candy-floss that was an even brighter shade of pink. Wisps of it clung to her mouth. She was laughing. She looked young and happy and full of promise.

Bon-Bon had been given the photo to hold while the coffin was lowered into the ground. She held it facing her, so she would see her grandmother’s smiling face and not the memory of her slack jaw in the rocking chair as the paramedics shook their heads and said there was no way mouth-to-mouth could revive her. She had died of an aneurism. It was sudden and very quick; one moment she was there, the next she wasn’t. Just like that, Bon-Bon’s whole world tipped on its axis and she was still trying to get her footing back.

Nonna was dead.

When it was over, her mother and father led her away from the grave. Nonna had been laid to rest right next to her husband. Bon-Bon tried to look over her shoulder as they went but her father steered her away, his hoof on her shoulder this time. It was a lot firmer than the way he had held her mother’s.

“Do you want to go get something to eat?” he asked as they passed through the cemetery gates. Around them, old ponies streamed past, chatting about what a beautiful ceremony it had been and what a loss it was.

“Not really.” You could almost believe Candy Sweetie-Drops was in mourning. She got the tearful tone right but her eyes were still dry and cold. Not the cold of grief, either, but the calculating cold of snakes and lizards waiting to strike. “I think we should just go home.”

“If you think that’s best.” Bon-Bon’s father didn’t bother asking what she wanted to do. Nopony had said much of anything to her lately.

Even the response to her cutie mark had been underwhelming. Her father had smiled and said she was primed to go into the family business now. Her mother had taken one look, long enough to recognise it as identical to Nonna’s, and turned away without a word. It was ironic that the lollipop on her own flank was much sweeter than she would ever be.

Bon-Bon stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, still clutching the photo frame. “I don’t want to go home.”

Her parents walked on a few steps before also stopping. “Don’t be ridiculous, darling,” said her mother with irritation that spoiled the image of the grieving daughter. “Come along now.”

“I want to go to Nonna’s.”

“No, darling, we’re going home.”

Bon-Bon narrowed her eyes at them. “You haven’t let me near the place since Nonna died. You’ve never kept me locked up before. You never usually care where I am. What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on,” her mother said without looking at her. “Whatever would give you that idea? Now come along and we’ll –”

Bon-Bon took a step backwards.

“Bon-Bon,” her father said warningly.

She took another step.

“Darling!” her mother snapped. “Come here.”

She whirled and ran. She ran all the way to Nonna’s house, awkwardly because she was on three legs. She was still faster than either of her parents. By the time they caught up with her, sweating and flustered, their funeral attire dishevelled, she had seen what they were trying to keep from her.

“You … you let them …” she stuttered, staring at the carts still parked along the street.

Each one was filled with her grandmother’s possessions: furniture, decorations, books, plus other things buried under mounds of rubbish. The front door to the house was open. As Bon-Bon watched, a workpony carried out a cardboard box of items. His unicorn horn glowed as he levitated the box towards the nearest cart. Along the side it read: Honest Ernie’s Refuse Collection.

“I thought you said they’d be all done by lunchtime,” hissed her mother.

“They’re manual labourers,” her father retorted. “When have they ever worked to the time they say?”

Bon-bon galloped towards the unicorn. “Stop! Stop! Those are my grandmother’s things! You can’t just take them away!”

The unicorn looked shocked. The box fumbled in the air, tipping some of its contents onto the ground. Bon-Bon fell on them like she was jumping into a swimming pool, spread-eagling herself as a foal would across toys it didn’t want anypony else to play with. The unicorn stared at her, dumbfounded.

“I’m terribly sorry about this,” said her mother as she, too, galloped up. “Poor thing’s wracked with grief, you know. Just carry on with what you were doing.”

“No!” Bon-Bon wailed. “No, you can’t take them!”

“Ignore her. My husband and I are the ones paying you, so do your job.”

“Um …” The unicorn scratched his head. “I can’t lift those things while she’s lying on them like that. She might get hurt.”

Bon-Bon tried to stretch out every limb as far as they would go, to cover as much as possible. “You’re trying to get rid of her,” she howled. “You knew I wouldn’t let you, so you didn’t want me to find out until after it was done. You’re trying to erase her, like she never existed, just because you were ashamed of her!”

“Nonsense.” Her mother sounded rattled. She pushed a strand of pink hair back into place under her little black hat. She always wore hats, even indoors: boaters, berets, tam-o’shanters, sun hats, and bonnets – if it was feminine and kept her hair from showing, she wore it. “You’re being hysterical, darling. Now get up and leave this poor stallion to do his –”

“No!” Bon-Bon screamed. “No, you’re throwing it all away! This is all we have left of her – all I have left of her – and you’re just letting it be thrown away like it doesn’t matter! Like she doesn’t matter! But she does! She matters!”

“It’s all junk anyway,” said her mother. “Nopony would pay good money for any of it. It’s old and ugly; I won’t have it in the apartment so it has to go. Now get up and stop being ridiculous.”

“If you don’t want it, I’ll have it.”

Her mother rolled her eyes. “Now you really are being ridiculous. Where would you keep a bureau, or a rocking chair, or a dining table? The record player didn’t work even when I was a filly, the crockery is full of chips and cracks and those hideous paintings she put on the walls were only there to cover the cracks in the plaster. She got them because they were cheap. It’s all cheap. Cheap junk. And it’s going where all cheap junk should go – into the garbage!”

The increasingly staccato venom of her words made Bon-Bon look up in shock. Her mother was never so openly scathing, especially in public and especially with strangers around. Her expression now, even half-hidden by her veil, was one of long-held bitterness. She was not looking at Bon-Bon but at the house, as if she was staring at the source of all her life’s miseries. She looked as though at any moment she might leap at it and start tearing it apart, brick by brick.

Bon-Bon was struck then by the thought that her mother had worked her whole life to get away from this place and its imperfections. Everything she had done had been to compensate for a history marked by poverty and scarcity. There had never been enough of anything while she was growing up, and what her parents could provide for her was second-hoof at least. She had grown up hating their ‘make do and mend’ attitude and strived to do everything she could to make a life where that wasn’t the only option. And in doing so, she had also stripped away all the warmth and love that had characterised her humble beginnings. Having everything she could ever want had produced a deadly side-effect: she didn’t want the things that counted.

“Candy,” said Bon-Bon’s father. “Eyes and ears, honey.” He meant the workponies, who had all stopped what they were doing to watch her. He and she were prominent business-ponies whose reputations hinged on being wholesome and saccharine. A dead mother they could work with; that was good for sympathy. A public hissy fit was not.

Bon-Bon’s mother drew a shuddering breath. You could see her mentally drawing together the pieces that had floated away, binding them down under the etiquette she had ruthlessly taught herself to follow. “I’m fine,” she said tightly. “Bon-Bon. Come here. We’re leaving.”

Bon-Bon opened her mouth to protest, but her mother cut across her.

“Now, Bon-Bon.” The cold iron in her tone made it clear: retaliation would not be tolerated and punishment for it would be significant.

Bon-Bon almost didn’t care. Nonna was dead and her home and all Bon-Bon’s memories of the place had been destroyed. What else could be taken from her? Even the prospect of school and Bright Eyes wasn’t so scary anymore. Bon-Bon hadn’t been back to school in the days leading up to the funeral. She tried to care about what was probably being said about her and couldn’t raise herself out of her grief enough to worry. She felt numb, like she just wanted to crawl into bed and never wake up.

“Bon-Bon,” said her father, also in a warning tone. “Come along now. You’ve upset your poor mother enough.”

She had upset her mother? Okay, that was laughable. Except that Bon-Bon really didn’t feel like laughing. Instead, she got carefully to her feet and picked her way towards her parents over the broken vases and scattered cooking implements. They had been thrown haphazardly into the box before they were tipped onto the ground. Nearly everything was damaged or broken. One thing, however, caught her eye. She recognised the old tin Nonna had brought with her when she moved to Equestria. The words ‘Madre Migliori Biscotti’ and a picture of a rearing pony emblazoned the front. On impulse she snatched it up, opened the lid and placed her grandmother’s photograph inside. Then she replaced the lid and carried both back to the sidewalk where her parents were waiting.

She met her mother’s gaze. For a second it seemed like Candy might argue. Then she shook her head, conceding defeat in this one thing. It should have felt like a victory. It didn’t.

Nonna was dead.

Bon-Bon carried the tin all the way back to their apartment like it was a magical artifact, holding it tight in the elevator and finally depositing it in her pristine bedroom. All the rooms in their apartment were pale and modern and minimalist. The tin stuck out like a sore fetlock. Defiantly, Bon-Bon put it in pride of place in the middle of her bookshelf, facing the door, so it was the first thing anypony would see as they entered. The painted rearing pony made a poor lookout but Bon-Bon stroked its faded colours lovingly.

Nonna was dead.

Staring at the tin, Bon-Bon thought the words again. This time the tears came in droves. She cried and cried until each breath hurt to draw and her chest ached. Then she cried some more for all the things she had lost, as well as the things she would never have.

The bolt of lightning through her brain was almost a welcome relief. At least it was a different pain than the ones she was already experiencing. It fried her synapses and made every muscle go rigid like she had just grabbed an exposed electrical cable. For a second her whole body convulsed and there was a sensation of pushing inside her, as if something was shouldering aside her internal organs to make room for itself. Stars exploded behind her eyes. She opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out.

And then she fainted.

Pip constantly compared Ponyville with Trottingham. Everything in his new home seemed strange to him, even now, after months of living here. The buildings were different, the accent was different, and the way ponies talked to him was different. In all, he sort of like the differences, but they had been difficult to swallow at first. He had wept and wailed about moving her at first because all his friends were in Trottingham and he wouldn’t get to see them anymore. Ponyville was all the way on the other side of Equestria! It wasn’t like he could go over to their houses after school to play, or get together at the weekend the way they used to.

Nowadays it wasn’t so bad. The colts and fillies at his new school were, by and large, a friendly bunch. There were some horrid ones he didn’t like to go near. Mostly those were in other classes, so they didn’t bother him, but at break-time and lunch there were no walls keeping them away from him. Diamond Tiara kept saying his accent made him sound stupid and Silver Spoon laughed that he was a piebald because piebald ponies were ‘common’, so he kept away from them in particular, but most of the others were nice.

When the bell rang for morning break (they called it ‘recess’ in Ponyville, not ‘playtime’ like in Trottingham), he emptied out of the school building alongside everyone else and immediately looked for his friends. Featherweight was off sick again. He was off sick a lot, Pip had found. Sometimes he even had to go to the hospital for check-ups because he was so small. When Pip asked at home whether he should be going to the hospital for check-ups because he was a bit on the small side, his mother had shaken her head and told him that Featherweight was a ‘preemie’ so there were special rules for him. Pip hadn’t understood properly but that didn’t matter. Featherweight was cool when he was around and when he wasn’t, well, there was always Dinky.

If any of Pip’s friends in Trottingham knew he had befriended a filly, they would have laughed themselves stupid. Fillies were icky and totally yuck! Even Dinky suffered from liking pink too much and had come to school dressed as a fairy princess on Book Day (Pip had come as a pirate, which was even cooler than when he dressed as one on Nightmare Night, because Pinkie Pie had given him a really cool beard and moustache to wear as well this time). Despite these obvious shortcomings, however, Dinky was pretty cool and had been the first pony who was nice to Pip when he arrived in the middle of the school year and didn’t want to admit why. How uncool was it to admit your parents were so spooked by some stupid foalnapper – who had already been caught by the police – that they upped sticks and moved across the country to keep their son from being foalnapped too?

Today Dinky was sitting by herself on the swing. Pip bounced cheerfully up to her.

“Hi, Dinky!” he trilled.

She looked over at him. “Oh. Hi, Pip.”

Pip frowned. “Why aren’t you swinging?”

Dinky kicked the dirt with on hind hoof. “Don’t feel like it.”

“Then get off and push me while I swing.” He could say stuff like that to Dinky. She was cool and didn’t care if he said please or thank you – until he went too far and she kicked his shins until he remembered his manners again.

Dinky slid off the swing and pip got on. She shoved him with her forehooves but her efforts were lacklustre.

“Higher!” Pip yelled. “I want to go higher!”

Dinky shoved with a little more force but it was clear her heart wasn’t in it. Eventually Pip let the swing come to a stop and twisted to look at her over his shoulder. He was surprised to see that Dinky looked on the verge of tears.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.”

“What?” Pip twisted even further to look at her, so that his little body was almost folded in half at the waist. “You look really upset. How can you not know why you’re upset?”

Dinky wiped at her eyes. “I mean I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Huh?”

“With my mommy. She’s acting all weird and last night Auntie Golden Harvest came over and they were talking in whispers in the living room, but when I came out of my bedroom to ask what was going on I got told to just go back to bed. Auntie Golden Harvest had this weird look on her face, so I stamped my hoof and wouldn’t go back to bed and … and …” She sniffled woefully. “Mommy yelled at me.”

“Is that all?” Pip scoffed. “My mummy and daddy shout at me all the time.”

“My mommy never yells at me,” Dinky insisted.

“Never?” Pip was shocked. “Never ever? Not even when you do bad things?”

“I don’t do bad things.”

“I don’t believe you. Everypony does bad things and gets yelled at.”

“Well I don’t,” Dinky replied, folding her forelegs and sticking out her lower lip. “And my mommy never yells at me.”

“You’re lying.”

“I am not!”

“Are too!”

“I am not!”

“You are too! I bet your mummy shouts at you all the time! I bet you do bad stuff and … and it’s so bad it makes her cry!”

It was an awful thing to say, especially to a friend, but Pip was caught up in the heat of the moment. He would feel terrible about it later. He expected Dinky to yell back at him some more, but to his continued surprise, she leapt at him, knocking him off the swing. They cannoned through the air and rolled around in the dirt, grappling until the teacher on duty galloped up and pulled them apart.

“What in Celestia’s name are you two doing?” exclaimed Miss Porcelain, stunned to see her two loveliest students fighting like a pair of cats over a dead mouse.

Pip pointed. “She started it!”

Dinky glared at him. “My mommy was not crying because of me!” Then she surprised everyone who had gathered to watch by bursting into tears. “I d-don’t know wh-why she was c-cryiiiiing!”

Miss Porcelain released Pip, who stared in horror at Dinky as the teacher gathered her up and, somewhat creakily, hobbled towards the school. “Come with me, Pippin Longstocking. You have some explaining to do.”

Bon-Bon jerked awake as if shocked by a live wire. She lay in bed for a moment, senses wide open. No demons. She was in bed, at home, it was still light outside and everypony was still safe. She clutched at these facts like hoofholds as she levered herself upright and stretched. All her muscles tensed for one glorious moment before she released them and shook.

One glance in the mirror told her she was a mess. Her eyes had new threads of red where they were bloodshot and her mane sat in interesting peaks and troughs. The live wire explanation held more credence the more she stared.

“Sweet Celestia, that’s not a pretty sight to wake up to,” she muttered, reaching for her brush. As she tended to her mane, tail and coat she went over what she had to do next: get something to eat, get to Zecora’s house and get to grips with the Lunar Sword before night fell and she had to go on patrol.

Soon the smell of grease filled the small house. Bon-Bon decided to fry all her food, reasoning that the more calories she took in now, the more energy she would have for her session with Princess Luna. This morning had really taken it out of her and she couldn’t afford to start a patrol already exhausted. Nonetheless, she also couldn’t afford not to put her whole heart into learning whatever Luna had to teach. If the Lunar Sword was ever to be useful – or at least not a brain-stomping hindrance – Bon-Bon had to figure out how to wield it as she would a regular sword. As she scraped baked beans, fried mushrooms, fried tomatoes and even fried bread onto a plate, Bon-Bon considered how best to approach the thorny issue of dominance with a millennia-old sentient, empathic chunk of metal.

The knock at her door was a surprise. She paused with the first forkful of mushrooms halfway to her mouth. The knock came again. She pushed back her chair irritably.

Lyra stood on her doorstep. Bon-Bon blinked in surprise and alarm. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong!” Lyra replied defensively. “I was on my way home from work and came to say hi.”

“Oh.” Feeling a little mean for her suspicion, Bon-Bon said awkwardly, “Uh, hi.”

“Well that was weak. And lame. It was weak-lame. Or … wame? Leak? No, wait, that’s already a word, isn’t it? Can I smell toast?”

Bon-Bon glanced over her shoulder. “I was just about to sit down to eat. Would you like to join me?”

“Cool!” Needing no further invitation, Lyra bustled inside. “Oh, cool-a-rooney! Fried tomatoes! How do you get them to stay that shape so well? Mine always explode when I try to cook them and I end up scraping tomato seeds off the inside of my oven.”

“I use a frying pan, not the oven, and you’re trying to tell me you actually clean yours?” Bon-Bon said doubtfully, closing the door and returning to the kitchen. “You have that plate. I’ll make some more.”

“I couldn’t do that!” Lyra protested. “We can just split what you already made. There’s a ton here!” Her eyes widened. “Celestia’s sweet shiny horn, Bon-Bon, how much were you planning to eat? No wonder you always complain about your weight.” She wagged a hoof. “It’s not good to eat huge meals in private. That’s how pony obesity is getting to be such a problem in Equestria. Small meals of good, healthy – oh my gosh, is that fried bread? I love fried bread!” Lyra plonked herself down, placed a layer of tomatoes and mushrooms on the slice and rolled it up. Her face when she took a bite was one shade away from total ecstasy. “Bon-Bon, this is … you’re a … oh my … how the hay do you make everything taste so good!?”

Bon-Bon gave a small smile as she retrieved the frying pan from the sink and relit a burner on the hob. She extricated all the food she had so diligently put away and set about making another heaving plate of food.

When it was sizzling in the pan she called over her shoulder, “Would you like seconds?”

“Yeff pleeeff!” Lyra replied through a mouthful of food. “Sho gooff!”

“Here.” Bon-Bon brought the frying pan over and slid more onto her plate. Lyra had polished off over two thirds and was wading her way through the rest at the same great speed. “You sure have a good appetite today.”

“Mrrf!” Lyra could not even form words through her mouthful of bread. She patted her chest with a ballad up hoof and glugged from the glass of water set before her. “Your cooking,” she said breathlessly. “So. Darn. Good.”

Hiding her pleasure at the compliment, Bon-Bon eventually sat down with her own plate and they ate in companionable silence for several minutes. Finally, Lyra threw down her fork and raised her hooves. Her belly was ever so slightly distended.

“I give up,” she declared. “I’m full. I want to eat more but if I do I’ll burst.”

Bon-Bon delicately sliced and raised her food to her mouth. Slice and raise, slice and raise, slice and raise, until every scrap was gone. She placed her own knife and fork down and burped into the flat of her hoof. “Excuse me.”

“Gaaaaah!” Lyra threw her head back and emitted a groan. “I ate too much!”

“You didn’t have to have seconds.”

“But … but … but … so good!” Lyra said by way of protest, as if she had been powerless to stop herself. “I swear, Bon-Bon, if it wasn’t for you and your cooking, I’d only ever eat dried noodles.”

Bon-Bon made a face. She had eaten dried noodles many times while on the road and knew they had the consistency – not to mention taste – of wet pencil shavings.

Lyra’s eyes ticked downward, so that she was looking at Bon-Bon sideways while her head still rested at an odd angle over the back of her chair. “So, I hear you talked to Noteworthy this morning.”

Bon-Bon leaned back. Ah, so this was why Lyra had chosen to rush home from work to make sure she caught her. The food had been an added bonus, not the real reason for the visit. “A little. He saw me on his way to work and we walked to Music Makers together.”

“He likes you.”

“He’s a nice guy.”

“No, I mean he likes you. Still. Even though you shot him down. It’s really obvious. Don’t tell me you didn’t realise.”

Bon-Bon wriggled uncomfortably in her seat. “Can we talk about something else?”

Lyra shrugged, half-hiding her face behind her shoulder. “So, uh, what did you guys talk about? Anything juicy?”

“Is this about what he said about high school?”

Lyra stiffened briefly. It was a millisecond but Bon-Bon noticed. “What did he say about high school?”

“That you were your class’s ‘moody one’. Although, frankly, I had a hard time believing him.”

Lyra smiled brilliantly. “Yeah – ha ha! What a card, huh? What a maroon. What a joker. What a … something else that means the same thing. What a synonym! Me, moody? As if!” she was too over the top, her tone and expression exaggerated to almost parody levels – which, for Lyra, was really saying something. “I mean, seriously.”

Bon-Bon leaned forward in her chair, bracing her elbows on the kitchen table. “Lyra,” she said quietly.

“What?”

“You’re over-egging the pudding.”

“I’m what?”

“You’re protesting too much.”

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much!” Lyra stuck a hoof in the air, pointing at the ceiling. “William Shakespony! We studied him in school. Blech. I hated his plays. The only thing I hated more were his poems. Oh, and school in general. I hated school.” She transferred her gaze to the ceiling, leaving her hoof there as if she might forget where it was without the help. “I really hated school.” Her tone had changed on these last words, become soft and almost sullen.

“Lyra?” Bon-Bon started.

Lyra continued as if Bon-Bon hadn’t spoken. “You want to know why I hated school? I’ll tell you why. Noteworthy says he didn’t tell you, but I know he said something, so I might as well say this and get it out of the way. I hated school because the fillies and colts in my class were mean. Sounds stupid, huh? Well, in hindsight maybe it is. Was. Whatever. The point is, they liked picking on ponies who were different and … well, there weren’t many ponies who were different. You know that Diamond Tiara who’s always giving other little ponies a hard time? Well, she’s got nothing on her sister, Gold Crown. Goldie, I used to call her. Heh, that used to make her turn purple, she got so mad! Have you ever seen a yellow pony turn purple? It’s way cool!”

Bon-Bon said nothing.

“Anyhow, she was the biggest, most stuck-uppiest filly who ever stuck-upped. Her nose was so far in the air she was kissing the undersides of clouds! You’d think she came from Canterlot or something, the way she carried on about her family this and her family that. Gasp, her daddy got her a real gold crown for her to wear during her Cute-ceañera. Double gasp, her mommy scored them invites to Prince Blueblood’s garden party in Canterlot. Triple gasp, her granny once shook hooves with Princess Celestia herself!” Lyra blew a raspberry – and then had to wipe globules of saliva from her own eye. “Oh, ew, gross! She talked about how great and wonderful her family was all the freaking time! And I do mean all the time. I know why she did it, too.” Lyra sighed harshly, eyes rooted to the ceiling. “I don’t know who my dad is and I don’t know where my mom is. I don’t know if I have any brothers or sisters. I was left with the New Horizons Foals Home when I was a foal. My mom gave up all legal rights to me. I’m not sure why she did it. One of the nurses once mentioned to another nurse that she was really, really young, so maybe that’s the reason. A proviso she set down when signing me over to the authorities was that her name was stricken from my records. When I came of age, I got a look at them, but she’s listed as ‘Mare X’ in everything.

“I grew up in care and pretty much bounced between foster homes as a filly. I was too much of a hoof-ful for anypony to deal with for long but I didn’t give a rat’s butt whether or not I was adopted. I still had a mom, unlike all the other colts and fillies I lived with, and I was convinced she was coming back for me. Unfortunately, I was also stupidly adorable to look at and I had cute a lisp until I got braces fitted to fix the gap in my teeth. So I acted out all the time, just to make sure nopony tried to take me away from the Home. That was the last place she put me, so I figured that was where she’d go to find me. I was the original wild child. In hindsight … yeah, I was just a pain in the butt, but I reckoned I was just a free spirit.

“For Gold Crown, I was the also all her Hearth’s Warming and birthday presents wrapped up in one. She and her cronies made my life miserable from the first day we met and I pushed her in a mud puddle for calling me ‘orphan’. They never let me forget that I was a nopony who no-one wanted and if I ever fought back, I got into trouble at school and at the Home. When I got to high school she just got ten times worse, so I hid in the music rooms every lunchtime, lost myself in playing and voila.” Lyra gestured to her cutie mark. “A star was born. I spent all my free time practicing whatever kind of music I could get my hooves on, but lyre was always my favourite. I loved how intricate it was and how precise your magic has to be to pluck each string just right for perfect pitch. It was pretty obvious my magic was never going to be really strong, so I figured I’d just make it really precise instead. Several years down the line and here we are: I’m using my talents to make a living at Music Makers and Gold Crown is using her ‘talents’ to make babies with her husband in Manehattan.” Lyra shrugged. “So now you know.”

The phrase ‘you could have heard a pin drop’ only barely covered the atmosphere in her little kitchen. Bon-Bon sat motionless. Eventually Lyra dropped her raised, now rather pale hoof onto her stomach and massaged it to get blood flowing into it again.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” she asked.

Bon-Bon couldn’t think how to responds, so she asked, “What do you want me to say?”

“Ponyfeathers, I don’t know!” Lyra exclaimed. “Mostly ponies say ‘I’m sorry’ or something.”

“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?”

“No.” Lyra rolled her head from left to right in an approximation of a shake. The sound of her mane between her neck and the chair made an odd grinding noise. “Actually, I really don’t. It’s not something I want to be pitied for. My mom didn’t want me. Boo-frigging-hoo. I accepted that fact a long time ago when I realised I was fooling myself about her ever coming back for me. By that time I was too old to be adorable and too angry to be cute. I coped. I learned to look on the bright side and enjoy what I’ve got in life instead of constantly thinking about what I don’t have. I’m pretty well-adjusted.” She performed a melodramatic eye-twitch, followed by her usual cheesy grin. “Don’t you think?” Her smiled faded. “Aw, ponyfeathers. Bon-Bon, don’t look at me that way.”

“What way?”

“Like I’m some baby bird that fell out of the nest. I’m fine. I never said anything because it never seemed relevant. Family’s a sore spot for you, what with your parents and that falling out you guys had and how you don’t talk to them and they disinherited you and … y’know … all that junk.” Lyra blinked. “Wow, that came out way worse than I intended. Look, I didn’t want to be all ‘I can out-angst you on the parental front’ or whatever. That’s not what a friend is supposed to do. I just thought that, since Noteworthy couldn’t keep his big mouth shut, it was time to tell you the truth.”

Bon-Bon swallowed. Sometime during Lyra’s diatribe, she seemed to have swallowed a flat beach ball and now every breath inflated it a little more in her throat.

“I don’t want this to change our friendship,” Lyra said sharply. “So if you let it change how you think about me, I’ll … I’ll … I’ll bop you on the nose!”

“You’ll what?”

“You heard me. It’s been a few years since I had to land a punch but I’m sure it’ll come back to me. I’ll bop you right on your schnozz if you start to feel sorry for me or treat me differently. Then I’ll bop Noteworthy for opening his big yap. Then I’ll –”

“Lyra!” Bon-Bon interrupted. “You don’t have to bop anypony!”

Lyra paused in her shadow-boxing. “I don’t?”

“No. I promise I won’t pity you.”

“You promise? Cross your heart and hope to die, stick a muffin in your eye?”

“I … what?”

Lyra grinned. “It’s okay, I believe you without you having to say it.” She leaned back in her chair. “Wow. You know what? I actually feel better for telling you. It was always this weight on my mind that someday somepony might say something and you’d get all mad that I hadn’t been totally upfront with you. I mean, you are my best friend and all. Best friends should be upfront with each other.” She nodded as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “It might not seem like a big deal to other ponies, but I wanted you to hear this stuff from me. I’m not ashamed of who I am and I didn’t want you to think I was keeping it from you because of that. It just isn’t all that important to me anymore.” She shrugged, an absolutely perfect, no-room-for-doubt lift and lower of her shoulders.

The beach ball in Bon-Bon’s throat inflated enormously. “Right,” she muttered.

“Bon-Bon?” Lyra sat up. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“No you’re not.” Lyra peered at her, twisting to look up into her downturned face. “You’re upset. Aw, ponyfeathers, are you mad I didn’t tell you?” A thought seemed to occur to her. “Or was it me mentioning your folks? I’m sorry, Bon-Bon, I didn’t mean to bring that up.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“You said it. You didn’t mean it.”

Bon-Bon shoved her chair back so hard it screeched unpleasantly. “I … I have to go out now.”

“You what?” Lyra flopped down onto the tabletop from her awkward twist and scrabbled to right herself. “You’re going out now?”

“Yes.” Bon-Bon headed for the door.

“No, wait! Bon-Bon, please, don’t go away mad!”

“I’m not mad.”

“Well you’re sure acting like it! I’m sorry, okay! Whichever thing I did wrong, I’m sorry!”

Bon-Bon stopped. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Lyra. It’s me. I …” She paused, everything inside her wanting to spill every secret she had in that moment. It was like a physical sensation; someone had fed an invisible fishing hook down her throat and was drawing up secrets from her belly like flopping, struggling fish.

However nonchalant she tried to seem, Lyra had shared something painful with her. She had trusted Bon-Bon with an ugly part of her life she obvious didn’t like remembering. The knowledge that her mother had abandoned her and the consequences that arose from that were not something Bon-Bon could ever have expected, given Lyra’s sunny outlook and lust for life. For all her optimism, Lyra still nursed feelings from her foalhood and had exposed them to Bon-Bon … why? Because she felt able to. Because she wanted to. Because she considered Bon-Bon a friend and worthy of knowing more than just the surface that was Lyra Heartstrings.

And what had Bon-Bon offered in return? No more than the façade she had been maintaining all along. Suddenly that seemed like a betrayal and she needed to get out of there. She couldn’t look Lyra in the eye knowing that Lyra trusted her that way.

“Bon-Bon?” Lyra said hesitantly. “What’s wrong? Tell me honestly, because I don’t buy that you’re not upset about something.”

Bon-Bon bit her lip. She couldn’t keep this up. She had to give something in return, but how did you tell secrets like hers? ‘Oh, by the way, I’m actually the Demon Slayer, the latest in a long line of ponies who run around at night killing demons that would otherwise strip every pony in Equestria of their magical auras. I only came to Ponyville because I’m on assignment and almost everything I’ve ever told you about myself is a lie’. “It’s … I …” She struggled to say something – anything.

“Bon-”

“I never graduated high school.”

“Excuse me?” Lyra sounded startled.

“My grandmother died and I fell out with my parents around that time. My grandmother … was pretty much the only member of my family who I cared about, or who cared about me. After she died it became pretty obvious and I left home before I graduated. There were … other reasons too. Reasons that … I can’t talk about. I moved around the country a lot, doing … jobs wherever I went. Enough to live on. I never stayed in anyplace long enough to join a school. Then I was too old and … and then I came to Ponyville. I haven’t spoken to my parents since the day I left and they’ve never tried to find me. I read in the newspaper a few years ago that I … have a little brother now, so I guess that explains it.”

There was silence for a moment. Then the sound of hooves and someone tugging at her chin. Bon-Bon hadn’t even known her eyes were squeezed shut until Lyra spoke.

“You don’t have anything to feel ashamed of, Bon-Bon. Lots of ponies don’t graduate high school for one reason or another. It’s not a measure of who you are or what you’re worth. So what if you don’t have some piece of paper saying you finished going to classes and junk? I don’t care and I’m pretty sure nopony else around here would care.”

A noise escaped Bon-Bon’s throat. She realised with alarm that it was a strangled sob. What the heck?

“Your parents are buttholes.” Lyra pulled her close. Since Bon-Bon didn’t respond, she settled for hugging her head. “I’m sorry, but they are. You’re a wonderful pony and whatever other reasons you had for leaving, I’m sure they were good ones. And I hope someday you feel able to tell me what they were, but I won’t push you. Okay? And I don’t think any less of you for anything you just told me. Okay? But your parents are still complete buttholes. Okay?”

Bon-Bon sniffed. “Okay.”

“Wow, did this day turn out way different than I expected when I woke up this morning.” Lyra chuckled. Bon-Bon felt it through the bridge of her nose. “I’ve never hugged somepony’s head before.”

“This is a first for me too.”

“Bon-Bon, you didn’t … you didn’t tell me all that just because I told you about my mom, did you? It wasn’t tit for tat, was it? Because if you said all that when you weren’t ready to … Celestia’s sweet shiny horn, I’d feel like such a butthole as well!”

“No,” Bon-Bon sniffed. “Well … honestly? Yeah. Maybe a little. But also no.”

“Well that was as clear as mud.”

Bon-Bon couldn’t help herself; she chuckled. It was watery and feeble but it was a chuckle and it was genuine. “I mean I wanted you to know, just like you wanted me to know about your mom. Unless you were lying about that.”

“Me? No! Best friends don’t lie to their best friends!”

Bon-Bon stiffened ever so slightly. “I guess not.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Bon-Bon awkwardly wiped her nose on the back of her hoof, even that was something Ponyville’s Bon-Bon would never do. “I’m fine, but I really do need to go out now. That wasn’t a lie.”

“Oh.” Lyra pulled back, releasing her head. Bon-Bon’s hair sprang back from where it had been squashed between them. “I swear, this stuff could withstand a hurricane made by ever pegasus in Cloudsdale.” Lyra poked at it, watching it spring back from her touch every time. It was a distraction and they both knew it. Lyra wanted to let Bon-Bon go off still sniffling as much as Bon-Bon wanted to leave. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Lyra.” Bon-Bon took a shuddering breath and wiped at her eyes. “You’re right. This day turned out way different than I expected, too.”

Eventually they both left the little house, which had been the scene of so much emotional revival in the last hour it practically pulsed with it. Any changeling would have been gorged by it all, had they been in the area. Or maybe, since most of it was relived heartache, a changeling would have been violently ill. Bon-Bon pondered this as Lyra walked with her down the path, breaking off to go up to her own house. More distraction.

“See you, Bon-Bon.”

“See you, Lyra.” Bon-Bon waved and trotted away, inserting a spring into her step akin to her hair. She knew Lyra was watching her. She could feel her gaze all the way to the end of their row of houses, until she passed out of sight. Only then did she allow her step to slow and her head to be held a little less high. Only then did she take stock of what she had done and the potential consequences of it.

I didn’t tell her anything dangerous, she thought. I didn’t mentioned Slayers or Watchers or demons. I didn’t tell her anything that might hurt her to know.

The sun was going to set in an hour or so. Luna would have to leave to raise the moon then. She had to hurry. It wouldn’t do to keep royalty waiting – especially if that royalty was doing you a favour. Putting Lyra out of her mind, Bon-Bon made her way to Zecora’s house.

10. Beauty and the Beasts

A/N: This chapter features the appearance of a character who was originally from G1 but whose name (though not likeness or personality) later turned up in Friendship is Magic.At the time of writing that character's introductory episode had not premiered so please don't leave comments telling me I got the character wrong.

I write this from an inn in the town of Horseshoe Bay and I will apologise to my future self for any misspellings, poor penponyship or other errors, for you see I also write with great alacrity and joy. Horseshoe Bay is a wonderful, enthralling place! I had thought Canterlot so fascinating after a foalhood in Fell but Horseshoe Bay is truly filled with wonders I could never have predicted. I knew tales of magic and nobleponies before I arrived in Canterlot but I knew nothing of ships prior to our arrival here.

I can still hardly believe that Princess Celestia herself insisted that Master Starswirl bring me along. She even knew my name when she saw me carrying his luggage towards the convoy. She complimented him for bringing me and then complimented me for ‘putting up with his nonsense’ for so long! It seems I have outlasted all his other servants’ tenure by some margin. Of course, Master Starswirl was less than impressed at her words and spent most of the journey making notes on a scroll or, when the above-clouds wind whipped it away, staring grumpily at the sky.

I do not think I like flying. It must be a magnificent mode of conveyance for pegasi, but for ponies such as I who lack wings, the notion of falling is like a wolf preying upon the scattered sheep of my thoughts. Princess Celestia’s magical chariots and carriages are impressive but I would prefer a longer journey by land to a quick one by air.

It seems most of her court has taken this trip and will attend the Summer Sun Celebration. Even Lady Brightsmile the Gentle, whose smile has not been so bright since illness took her husband. Her grief has lifted somewhat in the changed surroundings. The moods of all ponies in the convoy seem to have lifted the moment we came within sight of the coastal settlement and smelled the sea. In case I forget between now and when I am old enough to reread my diary, it is salty and carries the faint whiff of fish and wet leather. It is not an altogether unpleasant odour, though it does leave the nose a little prickly and prone to sneezing fits until one is used to it.

Our inn is called The Happy Guppy and the ponies who own it are a pair of former seafarers who have given up a life on the waves to raise their family ashore. It is dominated by the Canterlot convoy at present, though there are some ponies from other places staying here also. When I brought in Master Starswirl’s things one of them chose to help me carry them. He is a burly fellow of tan fur and fashionably pointed beard who calls himself Drake, presumably for the ducks upon his flank. When I tried to dissuade his help he laughed and called me ‘a fierce strong little mare’, then carried them anyway.

He is from Tavistock, a small village near Trottingham, though he now calls the sea his home, for he makes his living as a sailor. He told me all this without my inquiring and then had the cheek to ask whether I would go sailing with him during the coming days! Horseshoe Bay shall be the scene for much revelry prior to the Summer Sun Celebration, including the Presentation of Spells. Moth and Cobweb informed me that this is an important event for all magicians and that Master Starswirl always participates. Naturally, I told Mister Drake that he was impertinent to make such demands when he did not even know my name and informed him that I would likely be occupied during the next few days. His answer was most impudent! For he said that he did not need to know my real name, as he had already dubbed me Strong Little Mare. He told me he would see me at the harbour in the morning and that I should look for some boat named The Golden Hind!

Well, I did not know what to think. I believe frogs awaiting flies do not hold their mouths as wide as I did at that moment. Master Starswirl shut it for me with a sharp word, as he was waiting inside his room and did not appreciate me lollygagging in the hall with my mouth open.

He is much more tense even than usual. He has not returned the shawl I covered him with some weeks past, though neither has he worn it again. I do not know whence it has gone but for a day or so it bought me a less harsh tongue as I went about my chores. Now, however, Master Starswirl is returned to his irascible self and I once again bear the brunt of his ill temper for the slightest mistake. One would think the smallness of his room was my fault from the way he complained at me. Apparently the workspace is not adequate for his labours, though I suspect it is perfectly fine if he would only keep all his scrolls and equipment in their proper places.

In the morning we are to accompany Princess Celestia on her excursion around the town. She always explores the places she chooses for the Summer Sun Celebration and allows its mayor to introduce it to her and explain its history. I find this odd, as she surely knows much of what will be shared already, but she was unfailingly polite when the mayor met us at our arrival and listened with rapt attention to everything he wished to say. I predict it will be no different tomorrow.

My yawns come more frequently now, which I take as a sign that I should down my quill and retire to bed. We shall see what new wonders the morning brings. I confess that in my heart I do wish that I could walk the boards of one of the magnificent ships anchored in the harbour. That would seem a most tremendous treat for a pony whose hooves only recently left solid ground for the first time. Perhaps my sea-legs would be better than my flight-legs. However, I doubt Master Starswirl will let me.

That is an extremely poor thought to end upon. My dreams will be the poorer for it if I do not remedy the situation. Instead, I shall think of happy things that coax a smile, so that my dreams are also filled with happy things. I shall think of Lord Silvertongue, the vastness of Equestria from high above, apple tartlets and Horseshoe Bay. Yes, I shall think of those things instead.

-- Taken from the diary of Peaseblossom, 488 AN.

Horseshoe Bay is a terrible place. It is all water and watery ponies. Their manners are uncouth, their food too salty and their accents indecipherable. One did actually address me as ‘matey’ after he held my belongings hostage from that stupid servant of mine. Cankerblossom did at least have the presence of mind to call him impertinent, though she did vex my patience by not dismissing him immediately so as to have done with his chicanery. Instead, the fellow did depart under the impression she will meet with him before the Summer Sun Celebration to go boating! As the Celebration is only three days away and the Presentation of Spells a mere two, I could have told him that his merriment was built upon falsehood. Cankerblossom will be busy until this expedition is over and we can return to Canterlot.

I do dislike boats almost as much as I do dislike Silvertongue. Though he travelled by another chariot to reach this place, I could feel his eyes upon me for the entire journey. I did travel with Lady Brightsmile, whose penchant for silence of late did serve me well. My mind doth flourish with all I intend for the Presentation of Spells. Silvertongue shall not best me, no matter what trickery he doth plan to exhibit. Upstart whelp! His offer to assist me in dismounting from the chariot upon our arrival was yet more underhoofed effrontery. Lady Brightsmile stood beside me, yet it was for my hoof he reached. Evidently he still seeks to discredit me for my age, since he cannot eclipse me in magical power. He shall not succeed! These hooves will yet see him set in his proper place!

It is late and I am tired, yet I will refuse to retire to sleep until I am finished with my notations. The framework for my Presentation spell is complex and requires memorisation if I am to avoid standing before the princess reading from notes. That would do little to dissipate notions that I am growing too old for my position. I only wish that my optical enchantments lasted longer than a few hours, so I could do without my spectacles for longer periods as well. Instead, I must carry them with me in the event that the enchantment fails and my shortsightedness reduces me to the role of blundering blind buffoon.

This room is cold and damp, I think. Or perhaps it is only cold and damp to me. I have had to bring that shawl I discovered some weeks ago, though I concealed it in my personal knapsack by using it to cushion my scrolls. I still do not know for certain from whence it came, though I suspect it belongs to Cankerblossom. I would dispense with it as a servant’s cast-off, but it is warm and if I did thus I would be forced to purchase another, which would seem odd at midsummer. Only old ponies feel the cold in the summer months, I fear. Her Majesty would probably speak of my need to thank the stupid earth pony for her gift, yet I find I cannot, for to do so would be to admit my old bones do shiver under the moon’s light and nopony, not even a servant, can know of my aged weaknesses.

-- Extract from the journals of Starswirl the Bearded, 488 AN.

Fleur resisted touch the floor with more than her hooves for as long as possible but eventually even she had to give in. long hours waiting around at fashion events had strengthened her legs, so she lasted longer than many ponies would have, but even she had her limits. Hunger and tiredness overcame her and she sat gingerly on sacking that had once held grain of some description. Her lip curled as prickles and itchiness nearly made her leap up again. Her stomach growled loudly.

“They should be coming to feed us soon,” said Petal, who had chosen to sit nearby. She and dewberry had become Fleur’s shadows, following her wherever she went in the dungeon and talking constantly about whatever entered their little heads. Fleur would have found it annoying, but for the fact that their chatter kept her from dwelling too long on her own panic.

“They don’t let us starve or anything,” Dewberry added. “The food is kind of weird but there’s lots of it and it isn’t, like, poisonous or anything.” His accent had been distracting at first but Fleur was used to it by now. Some of the greatest, if most eccentric designers she had ever worked with were from Trottingham.

“Weird how?” Fleur asked distractedly.

A loud clang from the corridor made both young ponies scurry for cover. “You’ll see,” Dewberry said as he dashed past to hide behind a pile of straw.

All the fillies and colts hid themselves as footsteps grew nearer. It seemed a programmed reaction, and one that Fleur’s instincts, though rusty, told her she should copy. She vacillated as she looked for something large enough to conceal her.

While she was still looking, the door at the top of the steps unbolted and swung inward. Through it stepped a tall bipedal figure, followed by two smaller ones that walked on four hooves and carried large metal buckets in their teeth. The smaller demons had bodies like skeletal ponies dipped in wax that had started to melt off their bones. Their faces were twisted, disgusting parodies of ponies, with jowls like drooling hounds and manes that wriggled like maggots. Compared with them the bipedal figure seemed almost harmless, shrouded in a burgundy robe and cowl that completely concealed its head in deep shadow. Yet it was the less threatening figure that provoked whimpers around the room.

“Oh no,” moaned Petal from somewhere behind Fleur. “Not her!”

Fleur had frozen at the sight of the maggot-mane creatures. She had not believed the foals when they spoke of demons. Now she was quickly rectifying her own opinions. How could such awful things be anything but demons? Not even the Everfree Forest could vomit up anything so … unnatural.

“Why is there a big one?” A quavering voice emerged from the depths of the hood. If Fleur could have had any doubt it was referring to her, the figure raised a forelimb and pointed, whatever hoof or claw the limb ended in covered by the voluminous robe. “I don’t like big ones. There isn’t as much life in them. Whose idea was it to bring a big one here?”

The maggot-mane creatures might have looked at each other. It was difficult to tell when their eyes were just chunks of glimmering rock that didn’t move in their long skulls. They didn’t reply. Maybe they couldn’t.

“Never mind,” the two-legged figure continued. “I can guess. Hmm …” It turned the mouth of the hood around the room, as if looking for all the foals that had disappeared. Fleur felt frozen in place even though she had been dismissed, so she had a perfect view when the figure raised both forelimbs and twist them as if caressing an invisible crystal ball. It kept caressing until the empty air between its sleeves began to glow, spot of light coalescing into something with a vaporous outline. Finally the figure pushed this away from itself and the light seemed to leap down the steps, retrieving more form as it went.

The foals screamed as a gigantic dog with slavering jaws and red eyes bounded into the dungeon. It ran behind the straw, boxes and other things, chasing them out of their hiding places. Though it snapped its jaws at their heels, it never actually bit them. When one filly tried to dodge sideways, it leapt into her path and drove her back towards the others. When an older colt turned around and tried to prang it with his horn, it circled like a sheepdog, turning him around and around until he fell onto his back. It lowered its glowing yellow teeth towards his belly but when he squealed it let him get up and run away.

“Enough!” called the robed figure. It had been making its way creakily down the stairs, moving like Fleur’s grandfather had when his rheumatism was especially bad. When it reached the bottom it held out its sleeves and the vaporous dog came to sit at its feet.

The foals had been driven to gather in the middle of the dungeon, putting them around Fleur’s own trembling legs. Some twisted around her hooves, as if she, by virtue of age, could keep them safe. Fleur wished she could tell them they were wrong, that she was just as terrified as they were, but fear had stolen her voice. She could only watch as the robed figure studied them and finally pointed.

“That one.”

Needing no further description, the dog stalked forward and deftly cut one foal from the herd. It drove the filly towards the figure, which bent to catch her up in the folds of its sleeves and lift her to the same level as the hood. She struggled and shrieked but the figure kept a remarkable grip for something that had looked so weak tackling the stairs. The filly was a pretty thing, with a tufty pink and white mane that contrasted a coat the colour of freshly slices peaches. She was so tiny it made Fleur’s stomach lurch. How old come someone that small even be? Morbid terror held her in place as the filly’s struggles diminished and her eyes locked onto something deep within the hood.

“So beautiful,” murmured the old voice. “So young and full of life. Yes, you’ll do. You’ll do just … fine …” It drew out the words. With each syllable the filly’s body grew a little slacker, until she hung limply, staring straight ahead into what Fleur could only distinguish as complete blackness.

Do something! Fleur silently yelled at herself. Why are you just standing there? Do something! Use your magic, or run at her with your horn, or … or something else!

As if sensing her thoughts, the dog turned to glower at her. A low growl rumbled out of its throat. Fleur quailed.

The robed figure made a rusty sucking noise. As it did so, the filly shuddered. A shimmering cloud emerged from her mouth and hung in front of her, like breath on a frosty morning. The figure inhaled deeply and the cloud whooshed into the hood. It sucked again and again, pulling more and more out of the filly. With every breath, she shuddered less and less and the lustre seemed to fade from her coat. Her mane grew thin, falling out in clumps onto the stone floor. Her tail greyed, growing lighter and lighter until the white streaks bled into the rest. Her foalish pudginess evaporated, leaving her legs skinny and her tiny chest convulsing until, with one final gulp, the figure took the last of her breath.

“Ahhhh.” It let out a satisfied sigh. Its voice had changed, becoming deeper and noticeably female. “Much better.”

The dog whined. The figure glanced at it and casually tossed aside the little filly. Fleur watched as she hit the floor and didn’t move. Her eyes stared sightlessly – and, whispered Fleur’s conscience, accusingly. What once had been the face of a young pony was now wrinkled with age, as if she had lived an entire lifetime in the space of a few minutes.

The robed figure pointed at the dog. A bolt of lightning snaked from within its sleeve and hit the animal. The dog yelped but the figure only laughed as its vaporous outline became fully solid and it began to cast a shadow it had not before. It snarled menacingly, which only made the figure laugh more and toss back its hood.

Fleur had expected something like the maggot-mane creatures, which still had not moved from the top of the stairs. The stood in front of the open door, heads still held high despite the buckets they carried. Nopony had tried to get past when the dog rounded them up. Even now, when it was more threatening than ever, not one foal bolted for the exit. The robed figure, however, did not share in their ugliness.

When she was just a filly, Fleur’s mother had read to her every night from a huge book called ‘The Big Book of Human Tales’. In it, the author had brought together myths and legends from different cultures about creatures that looked a little like hairless monkeys with manes and no tails. There were differences in each story, depending on where they had come from – the zebra myth depicted humans as dark-skinned warriors who lived on the plains, while griffins said they were fair, made helmets from cow horns and sailed the world in ships looking for battle. However, whatever the differences, some basic features remained and the illustrator of the book had lovingly painted a different picture at the start of each tale. Fleur’s memory immediately returned to these when she saw the robed figure’s face. She had seen faces just like it in her foalhood book, and yet no matter how beautifully the illustrator had painted them, none could compare with this one.

The bipedal demon was gorgeous, even by pony standards. While her face was as pale as the griffin stories said, the mane she shook out from the back of her robe was sable and shone almost blue-black in the poor light. She touched her own cheeks and twirled around, laughing delightedly.

“Don’t waste the energy you only just stole, Somnambula,” boomed a voice.

As one, every foal seemed to gasp. Fleur had never heard it before, but the power carried in just those words seemed to crackle up her spine and into her throat, provoking a gasp from her as well. The maggot-mane demons stepped robotically aside to let the new speaker enter the dungeon, bringing with it an atmosphere that squashed the previous one so completely it was all Fleur could do not to throw herself on the ground and cover her head with her hooves.

The robed demon, however, glared up at the newcomer and pouted her full red lips. “It’s been so long since I drank this much. Can’t you let me enjoy it for even a second?”

“We have work to do.”

“It’s always work with you. The plan won’t fail just because I like to savour things a little.”

The demon at the top of the stairs narrowed its eyes at her. She pretended to yawn, shaking out one slender hand from the folds of her sleeve to cover her mouth.

“It will if you waste energy on things like that.”

The dog growled.

“This energy allows me to make my illusions real,” the female demon replied, bending to stroke it. “You can’t blame me for wanting to test it out before putting it into practise in this plan of yours.” She rolled her eyes and scratched the dog’s ears as if it was a playful puppy, not a slobbering hellhound. “It wouldn’t do anyone any good if my constructs failed just because I saved everything for them and didn’t test my powers out first. It’s common sense. I would have thought you’d know that.” There was a challenge in her words and in the way she paid so little attention to the powerhouse above her.

The new demon snarled. “You’re done here. Leave the ponies to feed.” It tossed its massive head at the dead filly. “Bring that with you. It’ll be useful.”

“Waste not want not,” the female demon sighed. She gestured and the dog picked up the filly’s body between its teeth, being careful not to damage it further.

They climbed the steps, pausing at the top while the maggot-mane creatures descended and emptied their buckets into the long metal troughs against each wall. They fetched two more buckets from the corridor, and then another two filled with water, which they used to fill a last trough. They moved mindlessly, completing their task and leaving without stopping or speaking. The door shut behind them. The sound of the lock sliding home echoed like a knell in the now silent dungeon.

It was several minutes before the oppressive atmosphere departed and several more before anypony spoke. Fleur had never experienced a death before. Both her parents and all her grandparents were still alive. For her first encounter to be so violent, and for it to have happened to one so young, was traumatic in ways she could not name. Her throat quivered as if she was going to throw up. She retched, but it had been several days since she had eaten and she had nothing to bring back. She hung her head, legs still locked into position as her gagging noises broke the spell and the foals started to move again.

“What … was that … thing?” Fleur wheezed.

“That was Somnambula.” Dewberry, hiding behind her, spoke up. “She comes down here sometimes and … does that.”

“What … did she … do to … that poor filly?”

“She’s really old, so she steals the youth from others to make herself young again.”

“And so she can make those glowy things real enough to hurt you,” added Petal tearfully. “Poor Light Charmer. She was the youngest of us. Somnambula likes the youngest ...” She started to cry softly.

Fleur felt like crying herself. “And the … other one?”

“We don’t know his name,” Dewberry said faintly. He inched closer and put his forelegs around Petal. “He doesn’t come down here very often.”

“I want to go home,” Petal gulped. “I hate it here s-so much. I w-want to go hooooome.”

All the strength went out of Fleur’s legs. She flopped down like a marionette with all its strings cut, but as she did, she had the presence of mind to pull both foals towards her into a hug. She wasn’t family, didn’t know them all that well, and wasn’t exactly the motherly type, but in that moment it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to hold them close and let Petal sob uncontrollably into her chest while Dewberry held back his tears and tried to be brave.

“Can … I have a hug too?”

Fleur turned to see the older colt who had tried to fight the dog. All pretenses at maturity were gone as he looked at Fleur with big amber eyes. His horn was streaked with dirt and his cheeks would have been filthy too, if not for the tear tracks.

She opened her embrace to include him.

“Me too!” said a navy blue filly.

“And me!” added a green colt.

“I want a hug!”

“Please! Please can I have one?”

In no time at all, Fleur found herself swamped by tiny, scared unicorn foals, all looking for comfort and reassurance from the only adult among them. She experiences a moment of panic that anypony would ever look to her for reassurance. She wasn’t responsible enough for that! She was renowned for being flighty and superficial. She was Fleur de Lis, fashion model, socialite and … and …

“I want my mom,” whimpered the older colt, so softly Fleur suspected she wasn’t actually meant to hear.

Something bubbled up inside her; something warm she had never felt before. She didn’t know any of these foals, was in just as bad a position as them, and yet …

And yet.

She allowed them to crawl all over her, holding tight to as many as she could get her hooves around, as if somehow that could keep them all safe from the things outside their prison.

Luna glanced at the sky. “Time waits for nopony.”

Zecora paused in stirring her cauldron. She was the first zebra Luna had ever encountered and, as far as her species went, she had made an excellent first impression. “She will be here, rest assured. I have some books if you are bored.”

“No, thank you. I am content to simply speak with you.”

“I have no problem with conversing, though I suspect Bon-Bon’s traversing through the forest as speak. She’s eager to hear your critique and learn all you can clarify, teach, spar, help and verify.”

“As I am eager to do those things.”

Luna understood that not all zebras controlled magic the way Zecora could – a precursory look at a few books in Canterlot Castle’s library had told her that much. She also understood that magic as Equestrians understood it was not quite the same as zebras did, but her efforts to acclimatise herself to this modern era had not stretched much into other cultures. She knew enough to not embarrass herself or her sister during visits from emissaries of other nations but there had never been any zebra ambassadors since she had returned. From what Celestia said, the Pride Lands were a collection of warring states constantly beset by civil wars as different tribes tried to conquer each other. Zebras were only a small part of the whole collection and a rather mysterious one at that. She had not explained how Zecora came to be in Equestria today and Luna sensed that she would not no matter how much she was pushed. The more time Luna spent with her, the more she came to realise that Zecora deserved to have her privacy respected, no matter how much Luna wanted to know why she talked in rhyme the way she did.

“What is that you are stirring?” she asked instead.

Zecora levered up the paddle. On it rested a bangle that glistened with moisture. “I must ensure that they are clean, or I don’t want them to be seen. My jewelry is very dear and so from dirt I keep it clear.” She let the bangle drop back into the liquid, which Luna now recognised smelled of lemons.

Something prickled in the back of Luna’s mind. Trying to tune into it was like trying to pinch a candle flame between her hooves, though once upon a time she had read it as easily as she had drawn breath. She waited until the reaction increased enough for her to be sure. “I believe the Slayer approaches.”

“Princess, I’ve been meaning to say, I know that you’re used to your way and truly do not mean offence, so I will tell you straight and hence: though Slayer is what she became, please say ‘Bon-Bon’ as it’s her name.”

Luna blinked at Zecora. “She has not corrected me whenever I have called her by her title.”

“Her title, yes, but not her name. Though she is both, they’re not the same. If you wish to become her friend, Princess, please try to comprehend, each pony is a combination of dreams, hopes, loves and then vocation. If you call Bon-Bon only ‘Slayer’, you ignore every other layer. It is the same, you have to see, as calling you just ‘Majesty’. She told me this name does not appeal, as it makes you feel … less than real.” Zecora appeared to be choosing her words carefully. “It is the same for Bon-Bon too. What applies to her, applies to you.”

Luna listened with dawning realisation. Inwardly she cursed herself for doing the very thing she had found irritating since her return: ponies seeing her as just a title and the memory of a monster, not a pony. The Slayer was a monster only to the demons she hunted, but calling her only by the title she had inherited … Luna was not a mare to blush easily but she felt heat creep into her cheeks now at her own thoughtlessness.

“I will take the matter under advisement,” she said cagily, unwilling to reveal how wrong-footed she was. “For now, she draws close. I can already sense the sword’s anticipation of her arrival.”

Zecora glanced at the seemingly inert sword on her workbench. Luna did not need to be tuned into her emotions to know what they were. Dislike was written clearly across Zecora’s face. Fortunately it cleared a few seconds later when somepony knocked the door. Bon-Bon had arrived.

“Sorry,” she apologised before she had even set hoof inside. “I got held up with something. Is there still time for a lesson?”

Luna pushed to her feet and walked towards her. “Indeed there is,” she adjusted her words, “Bon-Bon.”

Bon-Bon looked a little surprised at the emphasis placed on her name. Luna cursed inwardly again. When would she get these sorts of things right? Would it take another thousand years before she was as good at interacting with citizens as Celestia?

“Okay,” Bon-Bon said, cutting into her thoughts. “So what are we doing first?”

“I believe I said meditation is the first step,” Luna said quickly. “So I shall teach you the proper way to meditate.”

“Um … actually, Princess, I think we can skip that step. Zecora’s majorly into meditation too and she already taught me how to do it.”

“She has?” Luna cleared her throat. “Ah, yes, well, I suppose that makes sense. Well then, we shall indeed move on to the second stage of what I had planned. First, however, let us engage in clearing your mind a little …”

Bon-Bon did not find meditation easy. She could do it, but letting go of her thoughts and allowing her mind to drift was not easy straightforward. She would think she had finally entered fugue state when some invasive little worry would dash across her brain like a streaker at a football game. It was only there for a brief instant but it was enough to throw off her whole groove and make her have to start over. So when she told Princess Luna that she knew how to meditate, part of her hoped she would not have to demonstrate in the little time they had left before Luna had to leave to raise the moon.

No such luck. Luna sat out on the patch of ground usually reserved for training sessions, eyes closed as if she was asleep. Her mane billowed in a breeze that could not penetrate the closely knit-trees, the only indication she was not a statue. Bon-Bon cracked each eye open several times, looking at Luna, the scabbard on the ground between them, back to Luna, around at the forest, over to Zecora, back to Luna, then the sword … switching her mind off was the last thing she felt she could do in the wake of her conversation with Lyra, yet she was still expected to put her personal issues aside for now and concentrate on the task at hoof.

Focus, she told herself. This could mean the difference between you having the Lunar Sword and not even being able to touch the thing.

The moment she had picked up the scabbard she had been assaulted by the sword’s demands to know why she had not taken it home with her and whether they were going to go fight demons now. Luna had levitated it out here while Bon-Bon reflected that the volume of its ‘voice’ was ten times worse than it had been when Luna first transferred ownership to her.

“The sword is becoming more attuned to you with each passing day,” Luna had explained. “If you do not assert yourself as its true master, it will run roughshod over you the moment you are within range. You must show it who is master and keep reminding it, or your bond will be too one-sided to ever be practical in battle.”

So Bon-Bon obediently sat and tried to meditate, no matter how hard it was with the memory of Lyra’s confessions about her foalhood still ringing in her ears. Eventually she shoved that down enough for her conscious mind to focus on other things and, even more eventually, she felt her muscles relax and her things start to drift into comfortable nothingness.

“Now,” said Luna softly. Anypony who had heard her on Nightmare Night would never have guessed she was capable of speaking so quietly. “I have spent the last day and night pondering this and I believe the best way for you to reach an auspicious resolution if to abandon words. You told me you talk to the sword as I did when I bestowed it upon you and tried to reason with it. That method has not worked, therefore we must show it what you want instead. Are you familiar with the term ‘visualisation’?”

“Um … do you mean imagining pictures in my head?”

“Somewhat. Simply picturing things is something anypony can do. True visualisation is different though detail and resolve. One must infuse each separate thing one visualises with intent towards a specific goal. You must not simply think what you want, you must feel it also.”

“I think I understand.”

“This is a basic underpinning of spellcasting taught to all young unicorns. It involves much practise and diligence. Each detail of what you want must be clear in one’s mind before magic is added – or, in your case, before you show it to the Lunar Sword. Do you think you will be able to do this?”

“I’m willing to try it.”

“Good. Can you feel your connection to the sword? Not the sword itself, just the connection.”

Bon-Bon sought it out in her mind. It felt like a nub of thought, like the suspicion of leaving the oven on or knowing you were supposed to do something but not knowing what. “Yes.”

“That connection is the key. At present it flows both ways, from you into the sword and from the sword into you. You must cease the sword flowing into you, if only for a second. This may take several tries. Block the connection, Bon-Bon.”

“How?”

“Visualise yourself placing a hoof over it, stemming the flow, as you might a wellspring.”

“Um … okay.” Eyes, closed, Bon-Bon visualised her own hoof and the leg attached. Once the pale limb took proper shape in her mind, she took that image to the connection. The moment she tried to cover it, however, panic and indignation surged from the sword. Bon-Bon grimaced.

“Maintain your focus,” said Luna. “Do not yield. Seal the connection. Prove to the sword that you are the one in control.”

Bon-Bon gamely did as she was asked. The sword’s presence was not completely removed but, against all expectations, it was muffled. Bon-Bon heard it as if from far away and breathed out in relief.

“Already?” Luna sounded surprised. “Impressive, but do not be disheartened if it breaks through. You are new to this and the sword is strong. It does not like that,” she added. “I can feel it.”

“So what should I do next?”

“In a moment you will remove that hoof and imagine yourself holding the sword. It is imperative that you mould the sword’s presence into that image in your mind. Learning to control it is first learning to visualise that control. It is easier if one possesses unicorn magic, as unicorns naturally visualise what they want their magic to do before they perform even elementary spells like telekinesis. Often success is determined by how well a unicorn can visualise the outcome ahead of time. Though you are not a unicorn, you must use the same technique with the same determination. Visualise what you want your relationship with the sword to be and assert that image over its attempts to switch your places so that it is the dominant one.”

Bon-Bon thought she understood. She summoned an image of herself holding the sword in her right hoof, her stance relaxed but poised with readiness. She remembered the feel of the hilt, the swoop of the metalwork and the shine of the blade when she had drawn it beneath Canterlot Castle. She imagined bringing the short version to bear, running through a few kata in which it extended to its full length and then sheathing it again, all without a flicker of doubt on her face. Envisioning her own face was the hardest part but she managed it, repeating the series of images a few times.

“I think I’m ready,” she said.

“Are you sure? You have visualised both your wish and your mastery?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Very well.” Luna sounded doubtful but Bon-Bon figured there was no point in putting it off. At the very least, she would know how much more practise at visualisation she would need before she could get it under control.

She hesitated only a moment before removing the visualised hoof from the connection. The sword’s presence rushed into her, more like a geyser now than a wellspring. Bon-Bon gritted her teeth and brought up the series of images like a shield, the way she used to replay songs in her head to block out the sound of her History teacher’s voice in school. The pattern of visualisations went off just as she had practised: ready stance, bringing to bear, kata and sheathing. She repeated the images over and over, though the sword’s mental volume threatened to overwhelm her. After what seemed like an age, it finally began to decrease and she felt the sword start to pay attention, receiving instead of just broadcasting all the time. It recognised itself in her visualisation and watched as she repeated the little role-play again.

This was what she wanted? But it had been doing that all along! It wanted to be a weapon for her to use! Why was she showing it this when they should be agreed already and fighting together like true warrior and weapon?

“Repetition,” Luna said from someplace far away. “Show it what you mean until it understands.”

Ready stance, bringing to bear, kata and sheathing. Ready stance, bringing to bear, kata and sheathing. Ready stance, bringing to bear, kata and sheathing. Bon-Bon felt like a stuck record but kept going. Ready stance, bringing to bear, kata and sheathing. Ready stance, bringing to bear, kata and sheathing. She emphasised her facial expression as if with a spotlight on a stage, showing how there was no stiffness to it. She was not fighting the sword or fighting to hear herself think over the sword. Ready stance, bringing to bear, kata and sheathing, a series of movements gracefully executed like two dancers in synch with each other.

The sword watched. She felt it home in on the serenity of her expression. It didn’t understand. She had never looked this way while holding it before. Not even in the beginning, when it was weak from its transformation and still getting used to its new form. Not even when their connection was fragile and new. This was what she wanted from it? But it was a sword. It was meant for fighting against enemies, not just showing off like this. Kata were all well and good but she needed a weapon to use against demons, not empty air.

Again, Bon-Bon showed it her expression, but this time she imagined a demon in front of them. It was the creature with the face like a dead baby bird. The sword watched as she adopted a ready stance, brought the sword to bear as the demon came at them, dispatched it with a few quick thrusts, wiped the blade on a patch of grass and then sheathed it. She repeated the images twice more, each time putting more detail in her facial expression and grip than the actual moves used on the demon. She added the patch of grass moment as a courtesy, sensing the sword would not appreciate being sheathed while dirty with demon ichor. She would respect it if it respected her as its master.

Understanding blossomed from the connection. Oh, this was what she wanted. She visualised the image of herself nodding. The sword swirled around the image like a dog sniffing at something it wasn’t sure it liked. She stood straight and tall, her grip on the hilt firm. This was the way things had to be or else … She imagined herself without the sword, fighting the demon with a tree branch as she had done in reality, except that this time she was not even wearing the scabbard. She could not use it if it was not willing to be ruled.

Ruled? It chewed on that word for a moment. It had been used by a ruler before. It understood that, though it preferred Bon-Bon to being squashed by another’s will as forcibly as it had been then. It seemed to consider for a moment and then a sense of acquiescence washed over her. It smelled like hot metal and tasted of iron filings. The sword would comply. It would become part of her, the way these images suggested. It liked the way she moved as if it was an extension of her foreleg. It would like that to be a reality. It definitely did not wish to go back into the lonely darkness.

“Bon-Bon.”

Bon-Bon opened her eyes to find Luna staring at her. The princess was smiling. It softened her entire face, especially since it reached her eyes. “You were successful.” It wasn’t a question. Of course not. She had sensed it all, hadn’t she? “Skillfully done. You were correct: your Watcher has taught you well in the ways of meditation. Did she also teach you unicorn visualisation techniques?”

“Uh, no.” Bon-Bon felt out the connection to the sword like she was poking a loose tooth with her tongue. Instead of finding an unsound, bleeding problem, however, she discovered something solid and reassuring.

“Then you are truly a gifted earth pony,” Luna proclaimed. “I have never felt anypony become so proficient in such a short time. Perhaps this is more of your Slayer abilities at work.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” Bon-Bon replied, still distracted.

“Or perhaps you are simply talented at this sort of thing.” Luna watched her for a moment. “You are pleased with your progress?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Yes, I am. I’m just … wow. Just appreciating the quiet, that’s all.”

Luna smiled again. She looked up at the sky, which had darkened from bright blue to apricot. Celestia was painting the horizon with the start of what promised to be a beautiful sunset. “I had wished to test your connection with a sparring match, but alas, I do not think there is time.” She sounded genuinely disappointed.

“You could … come back again sometimes,” Bon-Bon suggested, looking to Zecora for confirmation. Zecora had stayed in the shade of an overhanging tree throughout their lesson, unwilling to leave in case she was needed but unable to help in the actual teaching since she wasn’t connected to the Lunar Sword.

She nodded now. “I would have not one objection if you worked on this ‘connection’. The Lunar Sword would be an asset, but only if this test, you pass it.”

“Then it is agreed.” Luna nodded, the movement wreathed in determination. “I shall return tomorrow afternoon and we shall continue our lessons then.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes. You are unhappy with this arrangement?”

“No, I just … It’s a lot sooner than I expected, that’s all.”

“Speed is not a bad thing in this circumstance, I feel. The faster we enable you to use the sword, the faster you may lay waste to the forces of darkness without fear of your own weapon.”

“I guess so.”

Author's Note

“Don’t waste the energy you only just stole, Somnambula.”
Somnambula is an antagonist from Generation 1, a false immortal human woman who used magic to drain the youth of others so as to keep herself both young in appearance and powerful in her dark arts. When she kidnapped some unicorns from Ponyland, she realised their magic had the capability of making her illusions tangible in the real world, so she chained them up and powered a giant crystal with their power as a back-up for ... well the episode never say it but presumably as a battery for after all the ponies themselves die from being drained.

The G1 episode is on Dailymotion under the name 'Somnambula' and is worth a watch if you're curious.

11. Selfless

Pegasus, pegasus, fly away home,
Your house is on fire and your foals are all gone.
All except one and that’s little Earthworm,
Who even knew that clouds could burn?

Unicorn, unicorn, magic off home,
Your house is on fire and your foals are all gone.
All except one and that’s little Starlight,
Who’s watching the flames dancing high, dancing bright.

Earth pony, earth pony, gallop on home,
Your house is on fire and your foals are all gone.
All except one, though we don’t know his name.
He just said that playing with fire is no game.

How many ponies can you save?
Jump until your heart gets brave!
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight …

-- Traditional Equestria skipping song (circa 744)

Bon-Bon awoke to the sound of beeping. It was far, far too loud, but when she raised her hooves to block her ears she dragged on a wire of some sort and her foreleg hurt. She cracked her eyelids to see and immediately regretted it. Light had been replaced with a thousand needles that stabbed into her exposed eyeballs. She yelped, hooves flying instead to her face regardless of the wires.

“She’s awake!”

Movement. Quite a lot of it, actually. Ponies talking. It was all too loud. She whimpered, not understanding what was going on.

“Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart. You’re fine. You’re somewhere safe. It’s all going to be okay.”

“Mrrrf.” Her ability to form words hadn’t come back yet. “Whurr … mmm ... aiiii?”

“You’re in hospital,” said the soothing voice. “No, don’t try to sit up. You’ve had a bit of a nasty turn, I’m afraid. You gave everypony quite a scare.”

“Aiiii … dunn … ‘memburrr …”

“You probably won’t remember some things for a while, but it’s okay. You’ll be fine.”

“From what we can tell, you had a seizure, so it may have affected some parts of your brain,” said another, much less soothing voice. This one was male and spoke in a clipped accent she sort of recognised from posh plays she had been dragged to see in the name of ‘cultural education’ for Literature class. “You may also experience some mobility difficulties and nerve damage. Can you move anything other than your forelegs?”

“Doctor, I don’t think she needs to hear all that right now.”

“When I want your opinion, Meadow Heart, I’ll ask for it.”

“Palliative care is my remit, Doctor Ambrose.”

“And actual medicine is mine. Move aside, please.”

Bon-Bon listened without reacting. It was all she could do to lay there hearing them without her head exploding. Why was everything so loud? Even her own voice had sounded a few decibels above normal. And the smells! Even if the nurse hadn’t told her, she would have guessed she was in a hospital. The scent of antiseptic was overwhelming.

“I’ll ask again,” said the doctor. “Can you move anything other than your forelegs? Miss Sweetie-Drops? Can you hear me?”

“Uh … huh,” she replied.

Shielding her eyes with the foreleg not attached to anything, she tried opening her eyes again. The bright light was still there but the meagre shadow provided by her hoof allowed her to slowly grow accustomed to it. She blinked at the faces looking down at her. The doctor was a stern looking black unicorn while the nurse had delicate pink wings folded against her sides. The nurse stroked Bon-Bon’s other forehoof, which was anchored to a drip filled with some kind of clear liquid. Bon-Bon wiggled her hind hooves experimentally, which seemed to please the doctor. She wasn’t covered in any bedclothes and still had on her funeral dress, so she guessed she hadn’t been here long. Which really begged the question: where were her parents?

It didn’t take long for her to find out.

The doctor excused himself and the nurse busied herself winding a lever at the side of Bon-Bon’s bed so she could sit up and look around without the using her own muscles. The lever’s rhythmic squeaking was hypnotic. And loud. So very, very loud.

“Have you done a drug test yet?” Though her father’s voice came from another room, Bon-Bon could hear him as clearly as if he was standing next to her. He talked in a hushed tone, as if he didn’t want anypony to overhear him.

“Everything so far has come back negative, Mr. Sweetie-Drops,” said an apologetic pony whose voice Bon-Bon didn’t recognise. “There are still some tests we can run but I think we’re looking at a genuine medical issue, not an OD.”

“Oh great,” her father muttered. “That’s all we need on top of everything else.”

Even though his less than positive reaction did not surprise Bon-Bon, it still stung. He had assumed she had overdosed on drugs? Had he been the one to find her? She remembered crying in her room, then pain and nothing until now. A seizure sounded plausible. Couldn’t those be brought on by stress?

“We need to keep this as quiet as possible.” Her mother’s whispers rang loud and clear in Bon-Bon’s ears. “Think of the scandal if the press even got a whiff. It wouldn’t matter that none of it is true. Those vultures have made up enough stories about powerful businessponies coming a cropper in the past. They’ll lap this up.”

“And then the deal with Fragrant Fondants will go south,” her father whispered back. “I know what’s at stake, Candy. Honestly, couldn’t you control her for a single afternoon?”

“I just buried my mother, Sherbet. I think that grants me an afternoon to myself.”

“Except that you knew our daughter was acting out. You saw the way she was at your mother’s house. Couldn’t you see she was primed to do something stupid to get attention?”

“Couldn’t you? You were there as well. Besides, if this really was a seizure, I doubt she could control it enough to manipulate us just to ‘get our attention’.”

“I’m not sure how much stock I put in this seizure explanation. I’ll go with it, if that’s what the doctors say, but I’m letting you know now that I have my doubts. I saw her on the floor, Candy. My brother had epileptic seizures all the time when we were growing up. She didn’t look anything like he did.”

“Whatever you think, that deal is too important to let anything interfere with it. If we can make links with Fragrant Fondants we’ll have access to the entire east coast market through their specialty stores. It took months to set this up. We can’t let it fall through now.”

Bon-Bon’s throat constricted. She was in the hospital. She might be seriously ill. She had collapsed and been rushed here, probably in an ambulance, and her parents were discussing a business deal? Never before had she felt more like an inconvenience to them. Her impulse was to escape to Nonna’s, but that wasn’t an option anymore. Her throat tightened further, forcing her breath to come in short gulps.

“Miss Sweetie-Drops?” The nurse was back at her side, this time wearing a look of concern. Her blonde mane was coming loose from its hairnet and she pushed a few strands behind her ears as she peered down at the bed. “Are you having difficulty breathing?”

Bon-Bon shook her head. Fat tears rolled down the sides of her temples onto the standard issue pillow beneath. When she laid her ears flat the scrape of her ear-tips against the fabric was, like all things, far too loud.

“Oh dear,” said the nurse. “I know, sweetheart, it’s all a bit overwhelming, isn’t it?”

Bon-Bon couldn’t speak. If she did she was going to bawl out loud. Instead she bit down hard on her bottom lip and willed her tears away. She imagined shoving each sob back down her throat, far enough to burn up in her stomach acid.

“Shh. It’s all right, sweetheart. You’re safe. You’re going to be fine.” The nurse stroked her mane in an almost motherly way. It seemed instinctual, because when the doctor reappeared she stopped and her cheeks flamed with embarrassment.

The doctor told Bon-Bon that they had to run a few tests, just to be certain of a few things, and he was sure she understood. He spoke in a way that made it clear it didn’t matter whether she understood or not. First, however, they had to remove the drip and check out her medical records to make sure she wasn’t allergic to any kind of medical magic.

“It happens sometimes,” he said disinterestedly. “Although usually it’s unicorns and pegasi who are at risk. Earth ponies don’t tend to be allergic to magic so much as physical care; chemicals and prescription drugs and so forth. Hold out your foreleg, please. Thank you.” He removed the drip with practised hooves, not looking at her as he prepped the same leg for the allergy test. “This might sting a little.”

“How long … have I been here?” Bon-Bon asked.

“Hm? Oh, a day or so.”

“I was unconscious for a whole day?”

“More or less. Hold still now.” His horn glowed and beamed magic down at a small patch of fur he had marked out with magnetic tape. Her fur tingled right down to the roots. He consulted a piece of paper covered in numbers. “Seems all right so far. We’ll test for adverse potion reactions, crystals and gems, and then carry on to the actual tests so we can figure out why you were rendered unconscious in the first place.”

She had no reaction to the small amount of potion she had to swallow. It tasted vile and left an aftertaste like rancid tea. The nurse passed her a glass of orange juice while the doctor wasn’t looking, which Bon-Bon sipped gratefully. The doctor either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the juice; he just carried on with his work, looking up at her face only once to make sure her pupils hadn’t dilated.

“Hold this in your hoof, please,” he said, giving her a small gemstone that hummed a little. “Now hold it tight with both hooves flat against the sides and tell me if it starts to feel hot.”

Bon-Bon did as she was asked. She held her forehooves as if in prayer, pressing the gemstone between them. All at once, the stone seemed to disappear. She blinked in surprise, looking down at her clasped hooves.

“Does it feel hot?” the doctor asked.

“No,” she replied in confusion.

“Cold?”

“No.”

“So it feels exactly the same?”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“Can … can I let go of it?”

“I suppose so.” He held out his own hoof to receive the gemstone, staring in surprise when all he caught was dust and fragments. They still hummed, indicating they were the same stone, but broken as if a huge weight had crushed them. “What in Equestria …?” He looked at Bon-Bon, looked back at the fragments, shook his head and hissed air between his teeth in irritation. “Shoddy equipment. It must have had a crack in it. I’ll fetch another. Wait here.”

As if she could go anywhere else? Bon-Bon looked at her hooves as the nurse brushed dust from her bedclothes.

“Don’t bother yourself about Doctor Ambrose,” she said, half jovial, half apologetic. “He’s a very good doctor, he just doesn’t have a good bedside manner. He’s very good at his job though. Very good.”

“That’s … good,” Bon-Bon replied distractedly, still staring at her hooves.

She had barely pressed at the gemstone at all. Yet when she was brought another, exactly the same thing happened. She stared again at her hooves as the doctor huffed about incompetent colleagues and the nurse continued to make apologies for him. Eventually they decided the fragments’ reactions were sufficient to carry on and she was tested for what seemed like hours, until the doctor nodded and retreated to whatever room her parents had been in all this time.

“She’s completely clean,” he said to them. “There is no hint of any substance in her system – not even aspirin. We also tested her for malignancies and clotting issues but both results were negative.”

“Malignancies? You mean cancer?”

“Yes, Mrs. Sweetie-Drops, but as I said, fortunately that was a definite negative. Unfortunately I could find no legitimate reason for why your daughter collapsed other than … well, she just fainted. You did say she has been under some stress recently.”

“We all have,” her mother snapped. “But don’t all check out from reality for twenty hours because of it.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what to tell you. We can monitor her progress and I’d like to keep her in overnight for observations, but other than that, she can come home tomorrow.”

“So it was a seizure?” her father insisted.

“Possibly it could have been a stress-induced seizure, yes. In which case, the best course of action to prevent a repeat of it is to make sure she isn’t put under any undue stress in the future.”

“She’s the cause of all the stress in her own life,” her mother muttered scathingly. As if she had noticed the doctor looking at her strangely, she hastily added, “She is a teenager, after all. You remember how it was when you were a teenager, don’t you? Every little thing was a major crisis and every major crisis required as much theatricality as possible.”

“We’ll do as you say, of course,” said her father. “She’ll have the best of care the moment she gets home.”

Bon-Bon stared at the ceiling of her room, wondering.

It felt strange to leave the Lunar Sword behind this time. Bon-Bon kept glancing over her shoulder, as if she expected to see it dodging between trees as it sneaked along behind her. The sword had put up less of a fight this evening. Though there was not the unhesitating obedience Luna promised, there had been a definite shift in their relationship and the sword was more willing to trust Bon-Bon would indeed come back for it.

Bon-Bon went about her patrol pensively, her Slayer Sense open in case of demon activity but her mind preoccupied. Luna had been so surprised at how quickly she had grasped visualisation. Was that a good thing? Was it a bad thing? Was she reading too much into the princess’s response? Perhaps Luna had just been surprised at Bon-Bon’s ability to handle a skill meant for magic-users when, as Slayer, she had so little magical ability herself. Or maybe it was something else altogether.

She paused in the lee of a chimney to shake her head. She was overthinking things. A pony’s worst enemy on a quiet night was her own brain. It kept throwing ideas at her to see whether she would fumble, catch or completely miss them. So far she was juggling thoughts of Luna, the sword, Lyra, Zecora, plus half a dozen other things. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to burst a blood vessel trying to keep so many in the air at once.

It was when she was leaving the chimney’s shadow that she smelled the smoke. Her heightened sense of smell caught the faintest whiff and grabbed the cord to ring the great clanging alarm bell in her brain. She turned her head, testing which way the wind was blowing. When she had located the direction the smoke was coming from she lost no time. Her hooves were a blur as she raced from rooftop to rooftop, cutting her travelling time in half. When other ponies would have still been several streets away, she was already looking at a sight that made her heart lurch.

There was no mistaking New Horizons Foals’ Home. The orphanage was a large building, three stories high plus a basement and attic for storage, with an angled roof, dozens of windows and whitewashed walls onto which somepony had painted a sunrise peeking over a grassy landscape. The windows shone now in the glow from the flames leaping up from the roof, as if the painted sunbeams had come to life and set it alight. The fire was currently limited to one half of the roof but Bon-Bon could see it was spreading quickly, eating its way along the tiles and licking around the guttering. She couldn’t see whether it had started in the attic but from the screams she could hear within it was clear it hadn’t stayed up there.

She didn’t think, just acted. There was a large distance between New Horizons and the surrounding, much lower house roofs. Nonetheless, she took a running jump and launched herself at the wall, scrambling up to the part of the roof not yet burning. She could do nothing to put out the flames but her instinct was to get as many ponies out of the building as she could. Not knowing what she would find inside, she ignoring the open chimney and instead clung to the eaves to peer upside-down into one of the upstairs windows.

Smoke filled the hall but there were no ponies running about. Far below a door flung open and bodies streamed down the steps into the street. Apparently the live-in adults who cared for the colts and fillies residing here had already moved a lot downstairs and were hustling them to safety on their own.

Lights flicked on in nearby houses. More ponies opened their front doors and windows to see what the commotion was. Bon-Bon wasn’t looking at them, so she didn’t see their alarm or the way some immediately went out to help while others shrank from sight as if they were afraid they would be called to risk their own lives if they were spotted.

“Hurry now,” said a dark green mare at the top of the steps, her lime green mane a mass of tangles that fell across her eyes as she chivvied the young ponies along. “Follow Jubileena and Silverspeed. Quickly, quickly, don’t dawdle. Dapple, you turn right around this minute and follow the others. Don’t even think about going back inside.”

“But Matron –” started a beige filly.

“Not buts.” The green mare, now identified as Matron, was firm but tried to keep her tone light, presumably so she wouldn’t panic the young ponies. She shovelled the filly along, using her whole head to give her momentum. “Don’t stop until Jubileena says so. She and Silverspeed know the fire drill, even if you’re a bit too sleepy to remember it.”

“Matron?” said a skinny-legged pegasus colt whose navy blue coat would have made him blend into the shadows on an ordinary night. As it was, Bon-Bon picked him out easily and heard the worry in his voice even though he was on the ground. “Matron, not everypony’s here!”

“Don’t you worry, Rain Chaser,” Matron assured him. “Holly Dash is getting them out of bed as we speak. You just follow Jubileena and Silverspeed with the others. Everything’s going to be fine as long as we all stay calm.”

“But Matron, the Home’s on fire! All our things are in there!”

“I’m aware of that, dear, but it’s more important we get everypony out as quickly as possible than try to tackle it. Ponies are worth more than possessions.” Matron looked up, squinting, her eyes moving from window to window. There were far too many for her to be able to see into them all, especially when the brightness of the spreading flames made her look away.

“But if we don’t do something, it’ll burn down!” the colt insisted. “Can’t Holly Dash use her unicorn magic to put it out?”

“I think it’s better if she concentrates on fetching everypony out of bed at the moment, dear.”

“All by herself?” said the beige filly. “Can’t I go and help her?”

“No, dear, you stay out here. She can handle the rest. Look, we’ve got mostly everyone out of E1, E2, P1 and P2 dormitories already out here. There’s nothing to worry about –”

The rest of her reassurance was cut off at a terrible wrenching sound. She stepped back, staring in unmasked horror as the burning section of roof collapsed inwards like a deflating soufflé. Tiles cracked and tumbled. Guttering squealed as it came loose and swung out over the street. Exposed roof beams burned all the more as fresh oxygen reached them. Bon-Bon cursed and leaped backwards, prepared to use the chimney as a jumping off point when an even worse sound reached her ears from the new hole.

It was the sound of young ponies crying.

“I can’t get the door open, Holly!” coughed one. “What do we do now? Holly? Holly!”

Again, instinct took over. Bon-Bon didn’t consciously register that she needed to get to the owner of that panicky voice. Her body moved of its own accord, dismissing the windows as foolish since they would introduce even more oxygen and cause the fire to spread faster. Instead, wrapping her cloak around herself, she spotted a patch of floorboard not yet ablaze and leaped into the hole. She hit the floorboards running, covering her mouth with her cloak so she wouldn’t breath in too much smoke. Her Slayer toughness lent her an edge but she still didn’t want to sear her throat and lungs if she could help it. She would be little use to whoever was trapped if she incapacitated herself through her own stupidity.

The attic door was set into the floor, just like hers. It had also been left open. As the attic and its contents burned around her, she didn’t stop to wonder why it had been left that way in a building full of inquisitive colts and fillies. She just jumped through and took off along the corridor of the third floor, listening for voices over the crackling of flames. Since heat rises, she kept low, adopting a hunkered gait with all legs bent, like a running scorpion minus claws and stinger.

“Where are you?” she called. “Whoever’s in here, yell when you hear my voice! Let me know where you are!”

“Here! Here! Oh please, we’re here in the dormitory and we can’t get out!”

“Keep yelling!”

“This way!” the voice continued to yell like a mantra. “This way! This way! This way!”

Bon-Bon soon located the voice, or at least the door it was behind, and found what had caused the problem. A portion of attic floor had fallen into the corridor, propelled there by a roof beam that now stood on its end, the other resting against the wall. It and the debris had blocked a door labelled ‘U1’. The placement of hinges indicated the door swung outward in normal circumstances, effectively trapping anypony unlucky enough to be inside.

“Hello?” she called, her voice slightly muffled by her cloak. Heat beat at her from all sides, making her blink as it dried out her eyes and singed her lashes. “Are you still there?”

“Hello?” cried a frightened, far too young voice. “I-Is someone out there? Please help! We can’t get the door open and Holly hit her head and she won’t wake up and …” It dissolved into tears.

“Don’t worry,” Bon-Bon called back. “I’m going to get you out. Is your window open?”

“No.”

“How many of you are in there?”

“S-Six of us and Holly, but she hit her head and … a-and –”

“It’ll be okay.” Bon-Bon mimicked Matron’s words, though she couldn’t match the false brightness of her tone. Her own came out grim and determined. “Get everyone into the middle of the room and huddle flat on the floor. Get as low as you can and cover yourself with bedclothes if they’re not on fire.”

“It’s … it’s not on f-fire in here yet,” the voice replied.”

“Okay, so make sure you cover yourselves up. I’m going to break the door down.”

“You … you are?”

“Do as I say and it’ll all be fine, okay? Yell when you’re in the middle.”

It was possible the windows would blow out when she kicked in the door. She didn’t want anypony blinded or cut up by glass, sucked out or blasted with flames. If they kept low to the floor with something to protect them they’d be better off, though that was no certainty. The fire was a doozy and spreading all the time. Already it had snaked down the staircase to the second floor, preventing anypony from getting out that way. Assuming she could get anypony out of their dormitory first, of course.

“O-Okay,” said the frightened voice. A minute later it yelled, “Ready!”

Bon-Bon turned. Her cloak smoldered at the edges but she ignored that to concentrate on the door and her own hind hooves. She had kept herself out of direct contact with the flames so far with her cloak, which was made from a fabric that didn’t melt onto her like some would have, but wasn’t complete fireproof either. Now, however, she had to come out from under it to get at the trapped ponies. Slayer or not, pain was pain and this was going to hurt.

Putting the full strength of the Slayer behind it, she bucked, breaking clean through the burning roof beam. She dodged aside as the top half toppled over and kicked out again, sending it over the bannister to the second floor where it wouldn’t be in her way. The door was still shut, so she backed up once again, ignoring the stabbing sensation in the soles of her hooves when she stepped on small bits of burning debris. One more powerful buck splintered the wooden door, caving it inward. As she had expected, the aperture caused the fire from the corridor to enter the room. A chorus of screams heralded its arrival – and then her own when she leaped through the gap to land inside. Her cloak now ablaze, she finally shed it, tossing it back into the corridor so it wouldn’t cause a fresh fire in here. The vials of banishing powder in her belt pouches clinked as she turned to look at the huddle of bodies and blankets in the centre of the room.

Bunk-beds stripped of their sheets lined the walls, the old iron frames standing tall against the fire determined to consume them. Six colts huddled over the prone form of a unicorn mare with a strawberry cutie mark and rainbow mane and tail. Bon-Bon vaguely remembered Holly Dash but didn’t know much about her other than her name and appearance. She hadn’t known she worked here at New Horizons. Her breathing was raspy and her pale coat blackened with soot. She must have passed out from smoke inhalation before she could empty out these colts like she had the other residents.

Something else became apparent when the young ponies raised their heads to look at Bon-Bon. Each one had a horn in the middle of his forehead. Suddenly the codes of the dormitory doors made more sense: E for earth ponies, P for pegasi and U for unicorns. New Horizons roomed ponies according to type and gender, apparently. That meant that somewhere else on this floor was another dormitory for unicorn fillies. Bon-Bon prayed they had already got out but resolved to find out as soon as she had got these six plus Holly to safety.

Speaking of which …

“So the window did blow out,” she said aloud. “Good. That’s how we’re getting you guys out of here.”

“Through the window?” said one colt. “But we’re three floors up!”

“I can’t use magic good enough to levitate myself yet!” said another.

“Neither can I!”

“Me neither!”

“Or me!”

“I can try but … b-but I don’t know if I could …”

Bon-Bon shook her head. “C’mon, help get Holly on my back.” She bent for them to hoist the mare up and they followed her to the window, trailing blankets like they were playing dress-up. Flames crackled loudly outside, making them cower away, but Bon-Bon stepped up and yelled as loud as she could, trying not to cough. “Hey! Is there a pegasus out there? Hey, up here! Hey! Hey!” She waved. “Up here!”

“Sweet Celestia, look up there!”

“Oh my …”

Bon-Bon breathed in as deep as she dared. “I’ve got six foals and an unconscious mare up here! Can somepony help me get them down?”

A silver-blue pegasus flew up from the street. Bon-Bon recognised her as one of the live-in ponies who had been helping Matron before. She tried to get nearer but wobbled and backed off again. “I can’t get close. The heat creates air currents that mess with my flying.”

“This is good enough. How are you at catching?”

“What?”

“If I threw a foal, could you catch it?”

“I … what?”

Bon-Bon spotted another pegasus flying towards them over the rooftops. Evidently she had only just arrived but headed over without hesitation. Her pale yellow coat and extremely long pink mane identified her in a heartbeat. “If you can’t, use a sheet or something. Hold it between you and Fluttershy. I’ve got good aim.”

“You can’t be serious!”

A gust of flames behind Bon-Bon and the screams that it provoked from the colts made her scowl. “Do I look like I’m joking? Don’t ask, just do it!”

Fluttershy had already turned and bolted through the window of a nearby house. She re-emerged carrying a flowery bed sheet. The silver-blue pegasus grabbed one side and they stretched it out, looking at her with expectancy and not a little apprehension.

Bon-Bon didn’t have time to waste. She rolled Holly Dash into her forelegs and threw her mightily. She hadn’t been exaggerating; after hundreds of hours of target practise her aim was very good. The two pegasi dipped when Holly Dash landed to keep her from bouncing off like a trampoline. Then they quickly flew down to the street and unloaded her onto the waiting ponies there. A cheer went up, as if this one rescue indicated the rest would go just as well.

Don’t count your chickens, whispered a traitorous voice in Bon-Bon’s head. They might collapse from smoke inhalation of heat exposure before they hatch.

“Who’s next?” she asked throatily, turning to the colts. She no longer had anything to cover her mouth and her voice sounded scratchy to her own ears. “C’mon, c’mon, I know you’re scared but would you really rather stay up here and be barbequed?”

“I’ll g-go.” She recognised the voice that had spoken to her through the door. It belonged to a chubby brown colt with a spiked yellow mane like he had lightning running down his head and neck. His amber eyes were terrified but resolute. He was clearly the oldest of the group and had taken it upon himself to set an example for the others. “I’m n-not afraid.”

Bon-Bon smiled despite herself. His gumption impressed her. “Okay. Come here.”

He bit down on a squeal as he flew through the air and hit the bed-sheet with a faint ‘whoomph’. As Fluttershy and the silver-blue pegasus carried him away, another pair of pegasi appeared with the same idea, another bed-sheet between them. Bon-Bon turned to ask who was next, only to find the next colt already at her side. They each allowed her to toss them out of the window, putting their lives literally in her hooves and trusting her to make sure they were okay.

When the last colt was gone she coughed into her hoof, her lungs and throat aching and eyes watering. Even Slayer durability only went so far. The air was thick as stew with smoke, reducing visibility to a hoofspan in front of her nose. Nonetheless, she refused to jump into the waiting sheet Fluttershy and the silver-blue pegasus offered.

“Did … the … fillies … get out … okay?” she asked, her words punctuated by coughing. She couldn’t leave until she knew the other dormitory Holly Dash had been emptying had escaped down the stairs before they became unusable.

“What?” Evidently her voice was not audible over the roar of flames now consuming the room around her. The silver-blue pegasus shook her head and waggled her half of the sheet. “Jump! We’ll catch you too!”

“Did they … get … ou–” Bon-Bon was cut off by a small bang that knocked her sideways. One of the pouches on her belt burst into blue flames as the contents of the vial within heated to such a temperature that it exploded. “Ponyfeathers!” she cried. Without the banishing words it would not transport her anywhere but the flames would still burn. Already pain rocketed up her side. She ignored the buckle, instead tearing through the belt with her bare hooves and flinging it away as another pouch detonated. When it hit the floor she barely had time to curse herself for not thinking thins might happen before several exploded at once and the resultant blast of super-heated air hit her.

“Sweet Celestia!” yelled the silver-blue pegasus.

“Oh no!” Fluttershy said at the same time as Bon-Bon shot over their heads and began her descent without the air of the bed sheet. “Quick!”

They flew after her. Ears ringing and head whirling, Bon-Bon saw them as if in a dream. The rushing night air was cool against her side and legs where she had been burned. It felt nice, actually. She was aware of yelling but sudden tinnitus stopped her from understanding what was being said.

Then, just as suddenly as she had begun her flight, it came to an end – not with a messy splat, as she might have expected, but with a wonderful cushion of purple magic that cradled her. It slowed her descent until she reached the ground, where it held her a few inches off the floor so she wouldn’t have to stand on her injured hooves. She cracked open her eyes to see an all too familiar face looking at her.

“Twi … light …” she mumbled. “Sparrrr …” It was hard to talk when you could barely hear yourself.

Twilight said … something. Her lips moved, at any rate, so Bon-Bon assumed she was talking to her. A few seconds later Bon-Bon found herself being cradled by forelegs instead of magic. She watched as Twilight’s lips moved again and the magic shot instead towards the burning building. A gigantic purple bubble encased the place, slowly shrinking inwards like someone was sucking the air out to vacuum pack it. Twilight leaned forward, strain evident on her face as she squeezed her magic to stick to the walls and roof, cutting off the oxygen that was helping the fire to blaze.

Someone got in Bon-Bon’s way. She leaned sideways, the whole world reduced to muffled thumps and baying that might have been voices, and the vision of Twilight putting out a raging fire by herself in a matter of minutes.

The flames died down and then doused completely, though by that time the magic encasement was so full of smoke it was impossible to see anything inside it. Twilight’s magic scraped upwards, dragging the smoke along like a spider inside a glass as you slid a piece of card between it and the wall. She gathered up the smoke and, like a batter in the biggest baseball match in the world, propelled the bubble upwards through the cloud layer. After a few seconds she sagged, having released the smoke where it could do no further damage.

A whirling dervish swooped onto the scene in the wake of the magic bubble. Several dozen pegasi broke cyclone formation, dumping the water that had been transporting between them right on top of the building to prevent the flames from reigniting. One pegasi swooped lower than the rest, pumping a hoof.

“Woohoo … ilight …!” Rainbow Dash’s triumphant shout faded in and out, though Bon-Bon got the gist of it.

As if on cue, the crowd of ponies who had gathered in the streets started cheering and stamping their hooves. Twilight looked around at them like she wished they would stop, awkwardly smiling and nodding thanks for their thanks. Her smile faded when she spotted Bon-Bon on the ground. She trotted over, her lips moving but her voice too muffled for Bon-Bon to tell one word from another.

Direct contact, thought that traitorous part of her brain. That’s a big no-no. You’re supposed to keep your distance from her. She’s not supposed to think you’re anything special.

Too bad nopony had told Twilight that. She brought her worried face close to Bon-Bon’s until a white hoof shooed her away and a mare with a red cross cutie mark inserted herself between them. The white mare had caught her pink mane into a messy ponytail that bespoke sleep but her eyes were alert and she pressed something over Bon-Bon’s snout. Bon-Bon realised a second later that it was a breathing mask.

“… inhaled a… ot of … moke,” the white mare said. “Take … easy now …”

Bon-Bon blinked. Her eyes still felt far too dry. The world was blurring at the edges. She struggled to hear properly, as if she would will away the tinnitus from the explosion. Needless to say, it didn’t work. However, she did hear bits of another all-too-familiar voice.

“... et me through!” it yelled.

Bon-Bon blinked even more rapidly. The world wasn’t just blurry now, it was fading completely. Was she passing out? She tried to sit upright but the white mare forced her back down and the ponies holding her helped. She craned her neck to give whoever it was a piece of her mind and was surprised to see Rarity’s father, his moustache sticking out in all directions. Beyond him she spotted ponies gathering frightened fillies and colts into blankets. He smiled and said something but she only caught one word.

“… hero …”

Oh no! I’m supposed to stay low profile. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Something somewhere was screaming. She reached for her mouth, since the ringing in her ears was so loud she couldn’t tell if it was her. No, it was too faint for that, as if she was hearing it from far away. The more she concentrated on it, the louder it became, and the louder is became, the more curls of magic she could feel unfurling in her mind – blue as a terrified cry would taste. Her senses fizzled and switched around as the sound echoed in her mind after first bypassing her ears.

“…at’s my best frien…” yelled that all-too-familiar voice again, sounding like … well, actual sound. It yanked her back to herself. Sight was sight and smell was smell – and both were filled with burning orphanage. She shifted her gaze to the crowd, where mint green hooves waved above the heads of other ponies as someone jumped up and down behind them.

Bon-Bon’s world faded to black.

Very black.

12. Helpless

Go to bed,
Little sleepyhead,
The witching hour is nigh.
Cover your head,
Block out what’s said,
Or you will bid goodbye.

No sticks, no stones,
No broken bones
For you this Nightmare Night.
No tricks, no treats,
No cloven feets,
Or morning dawning bright.

No candy corn,
No ‘nother morn,
If doors you open wide.
No mommy dear
Will more appear,
If you say “Come inside.”

Lock up your doors,
Creep o’er your floors,
Keep windows shut up tight.
Stop up your ears,
Ignore your fears,
At twelve on Nightmare Night!

So go to bed,
Little sleepyhead,
And dream the night away.
Don’t go, don’t go,
For don’t you know?
You’ll be gone by break of day!

-- Traditional Equestrian nursery rhyme

1002 hours, 18th May, 488 AS

Recent storms have taken their toll on the mast. Several of my best stallions have been toiling to repair the damage and we are mostly recovered, though our keel will need work once we put into port. We should reach the nearest harbour by week’s end. There we shall refill our food barrels and other supplies. The crew will do whatever they can but I suspect we may require fresh hooves and coin to pay them if we are to be truly seaworthy again. At this moment we are not quite held together by spit and good wishes but I would not fancy our chances should another storm strike.

It is at times such as these I wish I had more pegasi within my crew. Wings and weather go well together, especially on a long voyage. We could be sure of plain sailing had we wing-borne hooves to clear away any dark clouds that sought to threaten our course. Yet wings and ocean are a poor mix, as is attested by so many tales of pegasi who flew too long across it and drowned. One would think that would encourage them to seek a vessel, so that they may set their hooves on a deck rather than open water, but pegasi sailors do not abound. Pegasi seem to hate the sea as much as half my crew hate the land. Strange that earth ponies would be such hearty sea-dogs. I, myself, have no love of the shore but neither do I hate it. Everything has a place, a role and a time in the world. If we must berth in port a while, I may put out a call for a pegasi seafarer to join us. Perhaps one may even respond for the right price. I do not wish any storm or ship repairs to keep us from reaching Horseshoe Bay in time for the Summer Sun Celebration.

1812 hours, 26th May, 488 AS

We made port six days past. Myself and my crew have since resided in Bella Boot in accommodation of some standing. I have yet to chew off my own hide through flea bites and the food is not watered down gruel. Neither do they thin their drink, which is a pretty kind of liquid after long weeks of grog and whatever rainwater fell into our buckets. Life at sea is a rough business and no mistake. Not enough to warrant a return to landlubbering but I would be a knave and a liar if I claimed I enjoy every second of life aboard ship. A captain’s burden is extra heavy, as the welfare of his crew lays on him. They seem in higher spirits after near enough a week of good food, though my boatswain complains that he cannot sleep without the rocking of the swell beneath him. While I can walk as surely on land as on a pitching deck, I must confess, I do not like sleeping in a bed. Give me a hammock strung across a room any day.

2028 hours, 29th May, 488 AS

I have secured us a weather pony!

Two days ago I put out word that we were in search of pegasi to join the crew of the Golden Hind. The ponies of Bella Boot do not rely on their ports for more than fish and some trading, so there were few who showed interest in leaving their shores. Wanderlust does not ride high in these mares and stallions. They seem more at home on land – this land, small though it is. In a few days one may walk the entire length and breadth of the island, and though the cliffs and mountains at its centre would provide a challenge, not an insurmountable one. Bella Boot does not discourage travellers from staying here but neither does it encourage us to remain. Though most speak Common Tongue the ponies here also have their own language, as they spent two hundred years cut off before anypony from the mainland landed on their shores. This island was one of the last places to know of the return of Princess Celestia. I would venture to say that only those ponies of the Schwartzwald learned the news later. Of all places I have explored, my desire to return there is least ignited. Just to think of the Black Forest invites a shiver along my spine, so I will turn my thoughts back to my good news.

Our new weather pony calls herself Frost Wings. Whether this is her true name or no, I cannot be certain, but she is competent and willing, if a little reserved. She approached me while I was hauling a cartload of resin to the docks and made her case to become part of my crew. Her accent marks her as a mainlander, though she claims she has no family, nor other ties to Equestria proper. She was raised among pegasi as a weather pony but found she had itchy hooves, as is the case with most seafarers. She has served on several ships, many of which I recognised when she named them. Their captains are sturdy to a pony and her skills bear the hallmarks of her time with them. Her abilities impressed me and I have agreed to take her in trial, at least until we put in at Horseshoe Bay. When I asked how she came to berth in Bella Boot she informed me that she served last under Captain Pickled Whiskers, who is a scurvy dog with wandering hooves, and she had not cared where she set down so long as she was no longer sharing deck with him. Her words made me roar with such laughter that my boatswain galloped to see if the cart had rolled over me.

Some crewmates raised complaint at the idea of a mare on board but they were easily put down. I am not a cruel captain but I shall bear no superstition upon my vessel. Mares and stallions may both find adventure at sea and one is no more an unlucky token than the other.

0100 hours, 4th June, 488 AS

We have put to sea once more and all is plain sailing. The crew is well rested and Frost Wings acquits herself well. Already she has cleared a bank of errant cloud and diverted a wind that threatened to blow us off course when one stallion fell asleep at the wheel. The taste of grog was too much for him after so long supping Bella Boot’s milder fare. Fortunately Frost Wings saw us right and I believe some crewmembers begin to accept her presence as a consequence. We have our heading and should reach Horseshoe Bay before the Summer Sun Celebration. I intend for the Golden Hind to have a place in the flotilla that gathers there to honour Princess Celestia and we shall make good on my intent.

2108 hours, 18th June, 488 AS

Topsail once again voices his dislike of our weather pony. Loudly. At great length. I begin to think he says these things merely to aggravate me. A fortnight at sea and I am near ready to drown him in a bilge bucket. I currently hide myself in my quarters with naught but a biscuit for my supper while everypony else dines up top. ‘Tis a shame when a captain is too afeared of his own crewmate to venture on deck, yet I am indeed afeared I will do him a great disservice if he says but one more word of mares, luck and ships. He has been my boatswain for five years and I would trust him with my life but, by Celestia’s name, I do wish he would keep his grumblings behind his teeth or he may find himself with fewer of them by the time we reach our destination.

2010 hours, 19th June, 488 AS

We shall make port in Horseshoe Bay in three days if the weather remains in our favour. With Frost Wings aboard, I see no reason why it should not. Though Topsail remains cantankerous, she has been matchless upon this voyage and I would happily retain her if she would agree. I will know her decision once we reach the mainland. I do wonder whether she will accept a permanency. Her manner remains as remote as the day I encountered her and I find myself unable to read her mood or thoughts upon any matter, from the cook’s food to her sleeping arrangements. I wonder especially for Topsail’s comportment. He has not acquitted himself so well this voyage. Of late he has grown sour as spoiled milk and rarely speaks in my presence, save to pass along my orders to the crew. I think perhaps he is disgruntled that he stands alone where once he had voices of the same opinion to support his stance. The crew has grown to respect and even admire Frost Wing for what she brings to the table, yet I imagine it is maddening for her to hear a superior continuously wax lyrical of all the ways he does not like her. I have spoken with him but he is a crusty soul – good-hearted and brave but wedded to his ways. He oft tells me old seaponies do not die, they simply become one with the foam of cresting waves they have ridden all their lives. I think perhaps he has been too much at the grog.

1830 hours, 22nd June, 488 AS

Horseshoe Bay is a stout and hearty place, built by sailors for sailors. The town has expanded since I was here last but the atmosphere that struck me so remains like the smell of freshly baked bread after the ovens are emptied. We are berthed and will resupply in the coming days. We have preceded the royal party by near a week. That should allow time enough for me to secure work for the Golden Hind. My designs for sailing the Northern Pass must be shelved until we have enough coin to make up for the coin already spent on repairs. The Golden Hind is my home on the water and I would be a poor captain indeed if I forced her to sail with no jingle in my coffers to keep her safe. Many ponies will be arriving over the coming days. Amongst them I will surely find someone in need of a stouthearted crew and their stouter-hearted captain.

1800 hours, 23rd June, 488 AS

It is a poor show when a ship like the Golden Hind is reduced to carrying common cargo. However, it must be done and I am not a stallion so beholden to his pride that he cannot see good sense. I have secured three shipping jobs and we shall meet them as fully as we would meet the delivery of actual pony passengers. The last of the three calls for us to sail north and will beget many a bit to line our coffers. With it we will be in ample position to sail through the Northern Pass without need for delay. Frost Wings questioned my sanity when she heard of my plan to set sail for there. She has heard from the rest of the crew of our previous adventures sailing the world. The wonders we have seen beggar belief – most recently we encountered zebras, which are a kind of striped earth pony with magic in their veins! The very notion that an earth pony as common as I could hope to wield magic is ridiculous, yet these zebra creatures do so with ease. I wonder what we will find beyond the Northern Pass and can barely contain my joy to have the journey so near. Frost Wings has agreed to remain with us for now. I suspect, if she does leave, it will be at the outset of that great journey.

1830 hours, 29th June, 488 AS

The royal party has arrived in Horseshoe Bay. Though this is not the first occasion on which I have looked upon the princess’s face, I was struck as dumb as a newborn foal the moment I espied her. She is as regal and beautiful as the ocean itself, awash with the same quiet power also. I wonder whether she also bears the same hidden temper and violence, though I can scarce believe Princess Celestia would ever conduct herself with anything less than majesty. Nonetheless, she bears the horn and wings of an alicorn, and nopony can deny the power in their significance. Just as on a sunny day, when the sea is quiet as a mill pond and one could mistake it for such, I venture Princess Celestia’s mysteries run just as deep.

Some of the royal party has bunked in an inn not far from the harbour. I observed them making their way thence and was struck by the overloaded weight piled upon one mare by an aged stallion with a face as thunderous as a storm cloud. They neither of them seemed the best choice for such a task, yet the mare was a game thing and bore everything with no word of complaint. I assumed her a servant and used to such tasks but the joy of seeing Celestia was still upon me and, so uplifted by it, I proffered aid to carry her burden. I expected gratitude but she pulled the bags away as if I was attempting to steal them and told me she could manage quite well on her own. She spoke with an accent I did not recognise, something with the hint of the countryside about it, yet her words were well-chosen and more complex than I might have anticipated. She left me standing in the middle of the street where I could hear Topsail’s chuckles behind me. The captain of the Golden Hind rejected by a servant wench? It would not stand. Therefore I hurried to close the distance between us, fetched the bags from her before she could halt me and followed the aged stallion at a clip that forced her to chase me instead.

I wish it to be known that any sea-dog who thinks cussing is the height of anger is in error. This fierce little mare harped at me every step of the way to her lodgings, up the stairs and along the corridor to her master’s room. I knew the proprietors of the inn of old – pair of scallywags who once sailed under Captain Jackdaw until they swapped waves for washing pots and pans and making beds for other ponies to sleep in. I caught them laughing at the sight of us as we passed, though I was so entertained by the little mare’s tirade that I could do naught by smile myself. Perhaps it was this amusement that prompted me to tell her of myself, or perhaps I was simply trying to drown out her words with my own. Certainly, I claim entertainment made me ask her to sail with me upon the morrow. She refused, of course. Part of me had known she would, yet I had asked anyway, if only to see what she did. Would she turn purple, red, or blue with rage?

As it was, she turned no colour in the time between my request and her master’s interruption. He was much less entertaining. I have met his type before; scurrilous old coots who think they own the world and all its treasures, and so can order it about with nary a please nor thank you. I wished to be out of his company as soon as possible, afore his mood could lower my own like a lightning-struck mast. The little mare claimed I was an impudent wretch to ask her to sail with her when I did not even know her name, so I dubbed her aloud what I had already dubbed her in my mind: Fierce Little Mare. That did produce a spot of colour in her cheeks and I bade her goodbye with the sight fixed in my mind.

I am no young colt in the first flush of attraction. I have had my share of mares upon my travels – show me the seafarer who has not and I shall show you a liar – but my aim in this endeavour was not to tempt her to my cabin and then my bed. Something about the plain little thing made me want to spring more blushes to her cheeks. Perhaps my idea of sport begins to sour with age, yet I cannot otherwise explain the wish to see her again. I have sailed far and wide to gain my epithet ‘The World Explorer’ and upon every shore I have seen all manner of desirous mares: long-legged beauties who dance in the wavelets of the Philippintos; dusky zebras whose curves are wreathed in stripes; pale flaxen ponies from the far north and more! Fierce Little Mare is neither comely nor lithe. Her footsteps plod like the workpony she is and her colouring is unprepossessing, to say the least. Her mane and tail remind me of mud, while one would be generous to call her coat the colour of sand. Even her rump mark is simple: a pink flower that is the only spot of brightness about her until her cheeks blush. No, my loins do not sing for her and I hold no credence in the power of a mare over a stallion’s heart. I have mounted and left too many, with not a stir from within my chest, to believe I am the kind of stallion for whom that old edict applies. Seafarers were not meant for love.

Why do I spend so many words on this topic? I have work to do. A ship does not run itself – especially when its boatswain spends all his time baiting his captain over plain little mares instead of doing his work.

-- Extracts from the lost log of Captain Drake.

Bon-Bon returned to consciousness amidst the smell of antiseptic and the sound of beeping. She opened her eyes and was immediately assaulted with the sights, sounds and smells of a busy hospital. For a moment she just lay processing this. Her mind was fuggy but sharpened with every passing second.

Sweet Celestia, not this again.

She had done this before. Twice, she had woken in a hospital to find her life irrevocably altered. She hoped this was not a third. Three times was definitely not the charm.

She sat up. Immediately, the pony beside her bed startled so violently that her chair toppled over, emptying its occupant onto the floor. Bon-Bon glimpsed a pink tail, a yellow hoof and then an embarrassed face.

“S-Sorry. You scared me.” Fluttershy broke into a huge grin. “Thank goodness. You’re finally awake.”

Bon-Bon looked down at her hooves. One foreleg was perforated by a needle, which led to an IV on the other side of her bed. Her forelegs were peppered with squares of gauze that itched where her fur had been shaved off to accommodate the adhesive. She wondered how long she had been out, why Fluttershy was at her bedside, plus half a dozen other things. What she said, however, was merely, “I guess so.”

“I should, um, go tell the others.” Fluttershy trotted to the door. “They’ll be so pleased. We were really worried about you.”

“We?” Bon-Bon reconstructed her final moments from before passing out: the orphanage fire, the rescue, the explosion, the fall and, finally, Twilight Sparkle saving the day once again. Being upstaged at the last minute might have upset somepony else but Bon-Bon was grateful to give up the limelight. “Who’s we?”

“Well … everypony. You’re a hero, so when you got hurt, everypony wanted to make sure you were okay. Rainbow Dash brought you to the hospital so fast she almost did another sonic rainboom. It was a good thing she didn’t. She’s, um, not supposed to do them in residential areas in case she breaks all the glass in ponies’ windows.”

Bon-Bon’s quiet gratitude shrivelled up and died. A hero? Her?

Aw, nuts.

“Fluttershy?” she said quickly.

“Yes?”

Bon-Bon raised her gaze. She didn’t know Fluttershy very well, though at one point she had admired her performance on the catwalk. Truth be told, Lyra had been an even bigger fan, but had come down with pony-pox and been unable to act the part of the adoring fan with the enthusiasm she wanted to. Instead, she had roped Bon-Bon into acting as her proxy. Unable to deny what had seemed like a simple request, Bon-Bon had begun collecting magazines for Lyra to clip out Fluttershy’s picture. Then it had progressed to trailing the timid pegasus for an autograph, going to her shows armed with Lyra’s camera, plus all manner of other things Bon-Bon would not have done for anypony else. In the end, due to repeated exposure and the contagious fervour of those around her, Bon-Bon had been swept up in ‘Flutter-Craze’ too.

Now, however, she was embarrassed to remember how she had acted. Poor Fluttershy had been miserable and Bon-Bon had not helped. Nonetheless, she had to ask at least one question before Fluttershy left. She might be timid, but she was also honest.

“Did I get … did everypony in the orphanage get out okay?”

Fluttershy’s whole face seemed to jerk. She was truly terrible at hiding her emotions. “Um …”

Every scrap of saliva in Bon-Bon’s mouth evaporated. Sweet Celestia, no. “Who?”

“The, um …” Fluttershy hesitated.

“How many didn’t get out, Fluttershy?”

“Erguff.”

“What?” Bon-Bon leaned so far over the edge of her bed she nearly toppled out. “What did you say?”

Fluttershy bit her lip. “Eight.”

Bon-Bon’s heart spasmed. She was surprised it didn’t show up on the cardiac monitor. “Was it … was it the unicorn filly dormitory?”

Fluttershy nodded.

Bon-Bon’s whole chest seemed to shrink, her ribcage bearing down on her spasming heart and frozen lungs, making it difficult to breathe. She felt sick; not just uncomfortable, but like she actually might throw up.

It was always worse when it was foals. These were not the first she had failed to save but it was no easier to take now than it had been the first time. For a second she was back in some neighbourhood she had forgotten the name of, right on the edge of suburbia outside Fillydelphia. It was a safe haven for ponies who worked in the cities and their families; the kind of community where everypony left their doors unlocked at night. Yet all Bon-Bon could remember about it was beneath the slide of an adventure playground, holding a tiny limp body and crying until Windwhistler prised her hooves away.

Eight. Eight fillies. Eight deaths. Eight lives snuffed out because she hadn’t been fast enough to save them.

Fluttershy seemed to read her thoughts. “A … a portion of the ceiling fell in on their room,” she gabbled, as if she didn’t want to say the ugly truth out loud but felt compelled to anyway. “It looks like the fire started in their dormitory. Twilight thinks one of them might have been lighting candles with their magic. Matron told us two had recently started magic lessons and were always experimenting, even though she told them not to. There was no way anypony could have saved them once the roof collapsed. It brought … It brought half the attic … down on top of them.” Fluttershy closed her eyes briefly, but Bon-Bon’s grief apparently superseded her own. She opened her eyes again and took a step towards the bed. “You can’t blame yourself, Bon-Bon. You saved those colts and they’ll never forget that.”

It should have been a comfort.

It wasn’t.

Bon-Bon ducked her head, her throat too tight to reply. She could not respond to any reassurances, no matter how sincere. Eventually Fluttershy retreated from the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

The alone time only lasted a few minutes, however. A blur of pink all but catapulted itself from the doorway onto the bed. Bon-Bon let out a squawk. Her fight-or-flight instincts were heavily weighted in one direction and she instinctively drew back a hoof to punch her attacker. She stopped just in time when the pink thing latched onto her neck with a delighted, decidedly un-demonic squeal.

“You’reokayyou’reokayyou’reokayyou’reokay!”

“Ack!”

“Pinkie Pie!” exclaimed the pony who had come in behind her. “She’s in a hospital bed!”

“I know, and she was sleeping in it, but now she’s not because she’s awake and it’s so cool because she’s okay and –”

“A hospital bed, Pinkie!”

“I can see that, Dashie.”

“That means she’s injured and you shouldn’t be shoving her around! She won’t be okay for very long if you keep doing that! She’s turning blue!”

Pinkie sprang backwards off the bed. “Oops! Sorry.”

Bon-Bon touched her neck as if to check it was still there. “No – nggh – problem.” She caught Rainbow Dash’s eye. “Thanks.”

Rainbow Dash nodded. “No problem. I’ll wait until you’re in fighting shape to give you your victory noogie.”

“Uh, thanks. I think.”

“I guess you weren’t expecting to see us first. We’ve been taking it in turns to keep watch over you. You’ve been out cold since last night. When Fluttershy came to say you’d finally woken up, not even the full line-up of the Cloudsdale first division storm-ball team could have stopped Pinkie getting in to see you. Hey, Pinkie?”

“Uh-huh?” Pinkie bounced from hoof to hoof with unbridled glee. “What?”

“Don’t you think we should step aside and let somepony else in here first?”

“Huh?”

“Y’know. Somepony else?” Rainbow Dash’s words were laden with meaning – all of which Pinkie missed.

“But I wanted to say how glad I am she’s okay, and how awesome she was last night, and how brave, and how impressed everyone in Ponyville was with her for saving those colts, and –”

“Pinkie!” Rainbow Dash interrupted. “She’s only allowed two visitors at a time.”

“There are only two visitors in here, silly. You and me.”

“Uh-huh, but don’t you think somepony else deserves to be in here more than we do? Somepony who’s been waiting all night and just happened to be in the bathroom at the wrong time?”

“The only wrong time to be in the bathroom is when it’s infested with yellow-spotted flibber-flabbers,” Pinkie replied. “They’ll eat your butt right off before you can say ‘whoa, where’d my butt go?’ It’s okay, though, because they only live in deepest, darkest Amazonia, which is thousands of miles and a whole ocean away, so no-way-no-how would a bathroom in Ponyville ever be infested. Oh, unless someone in Amazonia sent a package of yellow-spotted flibber-flabbers to Ponyville and they got loose, but who the hay would be such a Meany McMeanypants and do something like that?”

Bon-Bon and Rainbow Dash stared, their mouths slightly open. Rainbow Dash clicked hers shut first. Evidently spending a lot of time with Pinkie Pie didn’t inure you to her babbling, but it did engender a quicker recovery time.

“Pinkie Pie, that was random even for you.”

“It was?” Pinkie blinked, nonplussed. “I thought I was staying on topic with that one.”

Rainbow Dash shook her head like she was trying to clear away the clouds of Pinkie’s logic. “We’re leaving so somepony else can come and see Bon-Bon.”

“I think that’s a very good idea,” said the doctor tapping his hoof behind them. “As long as that somepony is me. Nopony is going to visit until I’ve had a chance to examine my patient first.”

“Okey-dokey-lokey, doc!” Pinkie chirruped. She trotted from the room. “C’mon, Dashie. Can’t you take a hint?”

“One of these days, I swear, I’m gonna get Twilight to magic her hooves so she can walk on clouds, then I’m gonna maroon her on one,” Rainbow Dash grumbled as she followed her friend. She glanced over her shoulder before she left. “Hey, uh, Bon-Bon?”

“Yes?”

“You were … you were pretty awesome last night.”

Bon-Bon gave a watery smile.

“No, really. Fluttershy said you were feeling bad about … well, she said you were feeling bad, but you shouldn’t. What happened was …” Rainbow Dash paused and scrunched up her face. She seemed to be searching for the right words.

From what she knew of watching her around Twilight, plus the general gossip of Ponyville (and there was always, always, always gossip about Rainbow Dash), Bon-Bon knew her as a pony of action, not pretty speeches. The tug-o-war on May Day seemed to bear this out. Rainbow Dash was more likely to punch a problem into submission than solve it with words. In that respect, maybe they were a little alike. It was not a thought that had occurred to her before. She wasn’t sure how she felt about having something like that in common with the brash, unrestrained pegasus.

“Last night was awful,” Rainbow Dash concluded. “But if it hadn’t been for you it would’ve been even more awful, so don’t beat yourself up about it, okay?”

“I’ll try.”

“Seriously –”

“Miss Dash,” the doctor said pointedly. His eyes ticked to the door.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” she grumbled and left.

After she was gone the introduced himself as Doctor Stable. He performed a litany of tests that Bon-Bon endured wordlessly unless asked a direct question. Her grip was firm, her burns clean beneath their dressings and the rib she had broken in the explosion was no longer trying to aerate her lung. He was surprised she was doing so well, which told her what state she must have been in when she was admitted. All her fur along her left side had been singed, where it had just been shaved off to reach the cuts and burns beneath. Her skin was red and pock-marked but she suspected her advanced healing had already made improvements.

Its progress was slowed, however, by lack of fuel. She had expended a lot of energy in her rescue attempt and had not replenished herself before expecting her body to perform miracles. The slowed healing might have made her progress slightly more believable to other ponies, but the fuel issue it was playing havoc with her insides. Her muscles felt weak, her guts compressed and her mind woolly. As Doctor Stable popped the stethoscope buds from his ears, her stomach growled.

“That’s a good sign,” he informed her. “It shows your body is returning to normal functionality. I must admit, I’m amazed at how well you’re doing. I’ll have to ask Twilight Sparkle what sort of medi-magic she performed at the scene.”

“Twilight used magic on me?” Bon-Bon echoed in surprised.

“Why yes. Did nopony tell you? She and a group of other unicorns were performing triage on ponies from the orphanage. Some of the colts and fillies had pretty nasty burns and Holly Dash sustained quite a severe head wound. Twilight has evidently encountered some medi-magic before as part of her studies in Canterlot; enough that she rendered you to a fit enough state for Rainbow Dash to transport you here without aggravating your injuries.”

“I … I didn’t know.” Bon-Bon touched a patch of missing fur, rubbing the bare skin pensively. “She really did that?”

“Who, Twilight Sparkle or Rainbow Dash?”

“Both, I guess. I don’t know why either of them would do so much for me. It’s not like they’re my friends or anything.”

Doctor Stable looked at her strangely. “I don’t think they see it that way. At any rate, she and her friends, plus several others, have been crowding our waiting room all night waiting for you to come round. You’ve quite a harem going out there.” He smiled at his own joke.

Bon-Bon was shocked. “All the Elements of Harmony are out there?”

“Uh, yes.” He paused at her using that name for them. “So I wouldn’t be so quick to say they’re not your friends.” He consulted his watch. “I have to get going. You’re doing extremely well, all things considered. Your fur should grow back within a few weeks, though your tail may take longer.

“My … tail?”

He flinched at the pitch of her voice. He flinched again when she flipped back the bed-sheet to see that her beautiful tail was nothing more than a blackened spiky tuft. Part of it had been either burned away or blown off in the explosion, though there were also jagged unburnt sections that had clearly been shorn.

“The hair had melted together,” the doctor explained. “We had to. There was no saving it, I’m afraid.”

“My … tail …” Bon-Bon stared in horror. The scent of burnt hair billowed from under the sheet. She had smelled it before but not recognised it for what it was amongst the other things assaulting her enhanced senses. What remained of her tail was barely a hoof-span long.

Suddenly the events of the night ganged up like muggers in a dark alley. They all piled on top of her at once and she felt crushed under their weight: the dead fillies, the ruined orphanage, her own near-death in the explosion, and now this. Her tail was such a tiny thing compared with everything else, but it topped off the pile of awfulness inside her, which was finally tall enough to reach her eyes and toss salt at them. Tears blurred her vision. A sob worked its way up her throat.

She didn’t know how long she was crying before hooves wrapped around her. She didn’t know who they belonged to either, just that someone was suddenly there, rocking her like she was a foal again. She sobbed uncontrollably for several minutes until, finally, her already waning energy was spent and she flopped back onto her pillow. She panted, the odd sob still juddering silently through her. Apart from the gradually slowing beeping of her monitor, the room was silent.

Well, for a few seconds.

Someone coughed. Bon-Bon opened her eyes, not sure who she expected to see. Had Doctor Castle been hugging her?

“Uh, hi,” said Lyra.

Bon-Bon groaned.

“Thanks. You don’t have to sound so pleased to see me.”

“It’s not that. I mean … it’s not only that. I mean … sweet Celestia.” Bon-Bon patted ineffectually at her mane. “I must look a mess.”

“Yeah, um, you kept saying something about your tail? You were babbling so much that I couldn’t make out every word you said.”

Another groan escaped, though this time she didn’t break down into tears. She lifted the sheet to reveal her butchered tail. Lyra whistled and winced, an interesting combination on her usually cheerful face.

“Oh, wow, Bon-Bon, that’s really hitting you where it hurts.”

Bon-Bon let the sheet drop back into place. “In the grand scheme of things, it rates pretty low.”

Lyra’s expression faltered. “Yeah, um, you … you mentioned that too. Look, Bon-Bon, nopony could have reached those fillies in time. Not a pegasus, not a unicorn and certainly not a … not you, either.”

“You were about to say ‘not an earth pony’, weren’t you?”

“Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t,” Lyra hedged, clearly aware of how offensive she had sounded. “Anyhow, I’m really mad at you right now, so you don’t get to be mad at yourself.”

Bon-Bon stared at her. “Excuse me?”

“Me. Mad. At you.” Lyra pointed at each of them in turn, adopting a frown that would have been fearsome but for her eyes. She was pleased Bon-Bon was okay. That was something, at least. Anger, however, claimed her mouth. “What in name of Celestia’s sunny butt were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that the building was on fire and there were ponies still inside.”

“That was rhetorical question. Beside, running into a burning building? A burning building? You could have been killed!”

And didn’t Bon-Bon know it? She hadn’t felt this connected to her own mortality in … quite a while. Whole days, in fact. “But I wasn’t.”

“That’s not the point!” Lyra threw up her hooves. “That place was on fire and you ran inside – and without telling anypony what you were up to!”

“There wasn’t really time to find somepony to make a plan of action first. I saw what was happening, I saw a way I could help and I did it.” She needed to downplay the whole affair. Publicity was definitely not something she needed – or wanted.

“I … you … they …” Lyra spluttered. “So mad at you!” she eventually yelped. “What if part of the roof had collapsed on you too? Or the floor under you? What if Twilight hadn’t caught you when you fell, or if that explosion had been bigger, or –”

“Lyra, I’m fine,” Bon-Bon interrupted. Downplay, downplay, downplay! “What was I supposed to do? Just stand around and do nothing?”

Lyra’s frown deepened. It started to touch her eyes. “I’m not saying you weren’t brave! I’m saying you were the wrong type of brave!”

“Excuse me?” Bon-Bon blinked. “Again.”

“You were brave and stupid. You’re just really lucky things turned out as well as they did. What happened was really tragic, but it could have been so much worse if you’d been killed.”

“I’m not afraid of dying.” The words came easily. She was so used to telling herself, they slipped free almost of their own accord.

“Don’t you dare come out with horseapples like that!” Lyra snapped. “I’m afraid of you dying! When I saw you on the ground, all burned and covered in soot, my heart almost stopped. I thought you were dead, Bon-Bon!So don’t you take any more stupid risks, even to save somepony else, just because you’re ‘not afraid of dying’. You don’t get to think that way!”

“You’re seriously telling me what I can and can’t think?” Bon-Bon nearly laughed at the absurdity of it.

“I’m telling you that if you died I’d … I’d …” Lyra stuttered.

Someone in the doorway cleared their throat. Both mares turned and were equally surprised to see Zecora there – though probably not for the same reasons.

“I hope I am not interrupting, but if you would please stop erupting, I have come to see Bon-Bon. Having found her, thereupon, I must administer to her this.” She reached into her satchel, extracting a pot of pale blue goop, the lid of which was nothing more than a square of cloth tied with string, “A salve to bring her burns some bliss. I heard of her heroic deeds and though I would see to her needs. I am a shaman, after all, and medicine’s part of my call.”

“Oh.” Lyra seemed confused at how to react to this announcement. Eventually she looked at Bon-Bon, and when she spoke again her voice was soft and sullen. “I … I guess I’ll come back later. Did the doctor say you could be in here?”

Zecora nodded. “In truth, he was not overjoyed, but my service has not been employed by him, to combat Bon-Bon’s plight. The one who called me was Twilight.”

Bon-Bon was shocked all over again. “She did?” She had assumed Zecora was there as her Watcher.

“Not many ponies seek me out, though Twilight wields some heavy clout. I would not come for money’s end. I do this for her as a friend. Your name is Bon-Bon, is it not? That’s some amazing friend you’ve got.”

“Twilight Sparkle isn’t my friend,” Bon-Bon said automatically.

“She sees things quite another way, so I would watch out what I say. Nonetheless, I am here now. I’ll apply this unguent, if you’ll allow.”

“I’ll, uh, go back to the waiting room.” Lyra sounded flat, as if something had taken all the wind out of her sails. “See you later, Bon-Bon.” She left without waiting for a response.

“Lyra, wait –”

Too late. She was gone.

Bon-Bon watched Zecora approach, wondering whether she should play along with this ignorance charade too. “Hi, Miss Zecora.”

“Miss Zecora! How polite. You sure performed a coup last night. Please show me where you were burned worst,” Zecora instructed loudly. When she leaned in close, however, she whispered, “How goes your hunger and your thirst?”

“I’m running on empty,” Bon-Bon confessed.

“I’m not the least surprised at that. I’m more surprised you’re not out flat. You used a lot of energy.” She passed over a bundle wrapped in greaseproof paper. “A gift for you, made fresh by me.”

Bon-Bon hastily unwrapped deep fried chunks of sweetened batter and tried not to groan in pleasure at the scent. She crammed each into her mouth as Zecora rubbed the cold, jelly-like medicine into her balding side. The zebra used her body to shield the feast from the door, lest Doctor Stable return from wherever he had run off to at the worst moment. The sudden influx of carbohydrates, fat and sugar did more for Bon-Bon’s wellbeing than the unguent, though the feel of the medicine was refreshing against the dull ache of her burns.

“Your Lyra is quite mad at you,” Zecora whispered. “What in Equestria did you do?”

“I ran into a burning building and nearly got myself blown up. Did you know banishing powder is explosive when exposed to high amounts of heat or real flames? Because it is. It really is. And she’s not my Lyra.”

Zecora’s smooth motions did not falter as she rubbed. “I’ll write that down and make a note: ‘this action we do not promote’. As for your antics of last night, you gave my poor heart such a fright. When Twilight told me what went on, I feared the worst for you, Bon-Bon.”

“I couldn’t not do anything, Zecora. I know it was dumb to take such a risk, especially since there wasn’t any demon involved, but you know I’m tough enough to pull off a rescue like that where nopony else could.” She swallowed the last bite. “Well, half a rescue.”

“I heard about the fillies eight,” Zecora said softly. “It was already far too late. No matter how you rushed or fled, you know they were already dead.”

“I know,” Bon-Bon replied, defeat softening her words to a mumble. “But I can’t help feeling like I failed them.”

“You saved lives. That is a good thing. Soon your praises, all will sing.”

“Celestia’s sweet shiny horn, I hope not. If I could have done everything in secret, I would’ve preferred that.”

“But you did not. You did what was right, and that, dear Bon-Bon, is a true hero’s might.” Zecora reapplied the cloth lid to the pot, rubbed her hooves on a towel she had brought with her and replaced the unguent in her satchel. “To be heroic just for fame is nothing but a foolish game. You don’t want fame, nor recognition for your plucky exhibition. Yet you exposed what you could do – enough that ponies noticed you – for it was the right thing to do.” She smiled. “And I’m so very proud of you.”

“Funny, I’m not proud of me. I think I may have just screwed up royally.”

“We shall see, oh yes we shall.” Zecora looked at the door. “Do you want me to recall your pal?”

“I guess.” Bon-Bon folded her forelegs. “If you like.”

Zecora laughed, though Bon-Bon couldn’t think why. She turned into the corridor, still chuckling, and Bon-Bon was left once more to contemplate her thoughts while waiting for somepony. She expected Lyra. What she got, however, was not Lyra. Not even close. Well, maybe the horn, but that was it.

“Hi there,” Twilight said softly. “Are you feeling any better?” She gave a small laugh. “What am I saying? You’re awake. You must be. Um, right?” It sounded like she had been taking oration lessons from Fluttershy.

Oh … ponyfeathers. Bon-Bon smiled wanly. “I’ll live. Which … I guess I have you to thank for.”

Twilight shook her head as she stepped hesitantly into the room. “I was just doing triage, the same as the others who knew some medical magic.”

“Modesty. Nice.” Bon-Bon watched Twilight’s expression and dialled back her natural sarcasm. “But seriously, thanks. A lot. If it hadn’t been for you, I’d be street pizza right now.”

“I think you’re the one who deserves thanks,” Twilight observed. “Although, from what I hear, you’re doubting whether you deserve them.”

“You guys sure like to talk among yourselves, don’t you?” Bon-Bon folded her forelegs instinctively.

“Bon-Bon, about the fillies. It wasn’t –”

“My fault. Yes, I know. I’ve been told.”

Twilight frowned a little. “You don’t sound like you believe it.”

“Because I don’t. I should have checked the other dormitory first.”

“And if you had the colts’ dormitory floor would have collapsed and taken them and Holly Dash with it.”

Bon-Bon blinked in surprise. “What?”

“The floor collapsed only a few seconds after you evacuated the room.”

“That might have had something to do with the explosion. Floors don’t tend to like those.”

Yet Twilight shook her head. “No, the floor was starting to give way while you were still standing on it. If you hadn’t gone out of the window when you did, you may not have had the chance to get out at all.”

“I … I didn’t know that.” A shiver traced the length of Bon-Bon’s spine. She had been that close to dying and hadn’t even realised it?

Then again, wasn’t that the nature of death? You rarely saw it coming and even more rarely saw it while you still had time to do something about it.

Why was it that everything always came back to the question of mortality for her?

“Bon-Bon? Are you okay?” Twilight asked in concern.

“Yeah,” Bon-Bon replied unconvincingly. “Yeah, I’m … I’m fine.”

Out of nowhere, she wondered what the Slayer after her would be like. Another earth pony mare, that was a given, but where would she be from? What was her name? Had the power already earmarked her as next in line, or would it have to search for somepony when Bon-Bon died? Absurdly, she pictured a ghostly pony spirit with a cutie mark of the word ‘Fate’ stamping its hooves in frustration that she hadn’t shuffled off the mortal coil yet.

“You don’t look fine.” Twilight twisted her neck to peer up into Bon-Bon’s face. “Should I fetch the doctor?”

“No. I’m fine. Truly. I’m just … I didn’t know that about the floor, that’s all. It’s a reality check. You know how it is. I’ll bet you’ve had a bunch, with all the adventures and crazy stunts you and your friends have pulled, right?”

Twilight was silent for a long moment. “I suppose,” she eventually admitted. “I never really think about it while it’s happening. It’s all just instinct until afterwards, when I sit back and wonder what the hay I was thinking.” She smiled. It upped her adorability at least fifty points.

Bon-Bon sat up. “That’s exactly what I was trying to explain to Lyra. I wasn’t trying to be a hero or get some weird thrill, it was just instinct. I saw what was going on, I wanted to help and I could, so I did.” It was like a mathematical equation: big-ass fire plus endangered fillies plus Slayer abilities equals rescue.

“Let me guess: she got mad at you for it?”

“How did you know?”

“My family did the same when they heard how I ran off to fight Nightmare Moon.” Twilight’s smile turned rueful. “My dad, especially, had a hard time understanding why I would throw myself into the path of danger when it wasn’t my responsibility.”

“But … it was Nightmare Moon.”

“I know.” Twilight blew out a sigh. “For the longest time, he just didn’t get it. Princess Celestia has the Royal Guard, he told me; it should have been them who went charging off to save her, not me. He genuinely couldn’t understand why I wasn’t able to leave it to professional ponies like them. He got so mad at me for being reckless that he didn’t say a word about me being an Element of Harmony. My mom had to talk him down and explain it to him once he’d had a chance to cool off.”

“And did he get it after that?”

“Sort of. It took him a while, but he understands it more now. I think the thing with Queen Chrysalis finally made him appreciate what makes me do things like … well, like the things I do. If he could’ve, he would have tried to take down the whole changeling army with his own two hooves for what Chrysalis did to Cadence and Shining Armour, not to mention how she locked me away in the caves under Canterlot. Now that’s reckless and stupid, but he still would’ve done it.”

“Oh. Wow.” Bon-Bon couldn’t imagine either of her parents doing anything like that. They had barely put up a fight when she left home, though consider what had preceded the decision to go … Pushing away that particular wreck of a thought-train, she studied her hooves so she wouldn’t have to look at Twilight.

“We’ve never really talked before, have we?” Twilight asked.

“Um …”

“When I first came to Ponyville I figured there was no point in learning everypony’s name because I wasn’t going to be here long enough. Heh, I nearly thought it wasn’t worth learning anypony’s name. Then I stayed and I wanted to know everything and everyone in this place. It’s ah, uh, bad habit of mine to go overboard with research. But you? I don’t think we’ve ever had an actual conversation.”

There’s a really, really, good reason for that. You aren’t supposed to pay attention to me, or you might start noticing stuff you shouldn’t notice. Instead of saying this, however, Bon-Bon settled for, “Nopony can know everypony.” She had hoped she would sound cryptic, but the words sounded more like she was trying to be pretentiously deep.

“No, I guess not.” Twilight smiled. Damn her for being so adorable. “But that doesn’t mean we should stop trying, does it?”

Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. And yes. “I guess not.” Damn!

“Though, I never expected to have a conversation in circumstances like this.” Twilight gestured at the hospital room. “Rainbow Dash, maybe, but not you. You always struck me as rather … reserved, I guess.”

“Reserved?” Bon-Bon remembered shoving a tree branch through a monster’s skull and nearly laughed out loud.

“Um, okay.” Twilight used only a fraction of the time Rainbow Dash had spent finding the right words. “Brooding?”

“I think you mean grouchy and antisocial,” Bon-Bon supplied. She waved a hoof when Twilight tried to protest. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve heard them all.” Even when ponies were on the other side of the town square, she had heard them talk about her grumpiness and unsociability. Until very recently, Lyra had been the only one she openly and intentionally spent time with, so they hadn’t been entirely wrong.

“No!” Twilight still objected. “I didn’t meant it like that. I … um … I just … This isn’t coming out at all like I planned. I intended to come in here, make you feel better and then let the next pony in. Instead, all I’ve done is insult you.”

“No you haven’t. I’m just bent out of shape over …” Bon-Bon paused, trying to settle on an end to the sentence. “Everything. This hasn’t been a good day. Night. Whatever.”

“No.” Twilight bent her head and took a step backwards. “I should go.”

Yes. Yes, you should. Go away. Go far away. “No, wait, you don’t have to.” What the hay am I doing? “I … I’d like to have a conversation with you. If you want. Maybe. Or, y’know, whatever.” She shrugged, inwardly cursing herself every swear word she knew – and she had learned a lot in her misbegotten youth.

Twilight beamed like she had been crowned May Queen all over again and Bon-Bon tried to ignore the little voice telling her this was a very, very bad idea.

Somnambula climbed the stone staircase to the upper galleries. A few days ago she would have been unable to make it all the way without collapsing, but now she felt invigorated and strong. Energy coursed through her veins and buzzed delightfully in her mind. She felt like she could do anything. She smiled. She almost could.

Almost.

She didn’t bother knocking. He told her to but she ignored the order as a matter of course. She was not some subordinate come toadying for a few scraps of food. They were equals and he would treat her as such, even if he didn’t want to.

“I knew it was you,” he said as soon as her feet crossed the threshold.

She canted her voluptuous hips to one side. “Well, who else would it be?”

He was staring out of the window at the barren landscape outside like he hadn’t seen it every day for far too long. She joined him but had no patience for ruminating in the dark the way he did. She was a head taller than him when she had consumed fresh life and her body had returned to its rightful glory. Just because she could, she raised her arms, luxuriating in a stretch that made her taller still.

He growled, perfectly aware of what she was doing. “What do you want, Somnambula?”

“Such discourtesy! Maybe I simply desire the pleasure of your company.”

He growled louder.

“All right, all right,” she sighed. Flipping a lock of silky black hair from her eyes, she stared at the window instead of directly at him. It was easier to be civil when they weren’t trying to out-stare each other, each trying to make the other feel inferior to themselves. For longstanding allies, they had a hard time tolerating each other without coming to blows. “I merely wondered whether you had heard any news from your …” She pontificated on the correct word to use. “… Servant in the other realm.”

He took a long time to respond – an old tactic that made her roll her eyes in irritation. She disliked being made to wait for anything. “I have.”

“And?” she asked after a brief silence.

“The ploy was successful. I dispatched a party to fetch the new arrivals from their entrance point.”

“Which one did he use?” There were two the servant had easy access to, neither too far away from here.

“Which do you think?”

“He’s using that one too much. It’s sloppy, especially with a Slayer placed so close to him. If he isn’t careful, she find him out and then everything will be ruined.”

“He informed me that the Slayer was injured in his ploy.”

“Dead?” Somnambula said sharply. If this current Slayer died too soon their carefully constructed plans would be jeopardised –

“No. Merely injured, as we both know, a Slayer doesn’t stay injured for long.”

She breathed out in relief. “Then things will proceed as planned?”

“Unless you gorge yourself on all the unicorns in the meantime, yes.”

She bristled. “I need to stay at full power and you know it.”

“I know that I don’t suck them dry in every sitting.”

She opened her mouth to say more, but at that moment the room shook. The ceiling gave out breaths of dust and mortar, as if a dragon was walking across the roof. Of course, that was absurd. The dragons had all died out years ago. Since she was so newly repowered, Somnambula’s sharp ears were able to make out the distant scream of rage that accompanied the vague shuffling of masonry.

“No,” she said pointedly. “You don’t need to bother yourself with pony foals when you have that, do you?” She curled her lip in disgust. His propensity for something so old disgusted her. She imagined tearing off a strip of ancient aura and nearly gagged. Whereas the prospect of a new-born pony, on the other hand –

“Was there anything else?” he demanded, interrupting her thoughts. He sounded irritated. She had gotten him with that last remark.

Somnambula smiled viciously. A victory was a victory, however small. All they had left these days were small victories and big plans. Oh, such big, big plans. “No, nothing else. I’ll just leave you to your gloom.”

“What do you intend to do now?”

“Oh, I thought I’d go and …” She raised her gaze to the tower, just visible from this window. “Play with your food.”

13. Consequences

What do you suppose? I can scarce believe it myself! Princess Celestia somehow discovered that Master Starswirl intended for me to work the entire celebration days and has instructed him to give me leave. I was shocked that she would even remember my presence, yet she spoke my name as if there could be no question she knew exactly who I am. I was shocked as a cat that had fallen into a rain barrel. I could do naught but stand with my mouth wide as she informed Master Starswirl that I was to own my time this day and spend it as I wish, not as he does. I might have tried to protest, save for the manner in which she looked at me as she spoke. She smiled at me and expressed her hope that I might have a pleasant day exploring Horseshoe Bay. I could not help but look to Master Starswirl to see his reaction. He was not at all pleased, yet he did not contradict Her Majesty and I was given leave of their presence.

Well now, I did as I was told, yet the moment my hooves reached the street I had no notion of whence I was to go. It is one thing for the princess to say I am to explore the town. It is another to actually do the thing. I was frozen in place for several minutes, until a passing cart fair spun me around, it passed so close. I was forced to retreat to another spot, whereupon I instructed my hooves to keep moving until I told them to stop.

Horseshoe Bay is a far busier place than I expected. It is filled to brimming with ponies in attendance of the Summer Sun Celebration, yet beneath their gabble flows the conversation of local ponies, which I found even more intriguing. Everypony, it seems, knows everypony else. Mares and stallions call out to each other as easily as they would to family, with earth ponies, pegasi and even unicorns mixing as easily as … as vegetables in a giant stewpot! Many times I wished to simply stand and stare at them all, yet they were so free with each other that to do so would have made me conspicuous like a single stupid pigeon in a flock of chattering sparrows.

One thing I did not realise about Horseshoe Bay is this: all roads eventually lead to the harbour. It is as if the entire town is set upon a slope and the streets greased like Mistress Quickly’s best baking pan, so that sooner or later all ponies slide to the water’s edge. I slid there so fast I was not even aware of it until I observed the sparkle of water running alongside the street and realised it was no street, but a series of wooden slats ranged between posts thrust into the sea. I could glimpse water through the gaps between each plank, which rattled and shook as hooves trotted up and down them. My hooves, however, were remained where I had stopped. I could not have moved them if I had tried. I was too transfixed by all that water beneath me and the sudden remembrance that I cannot swim.

It was as I thought this that a voice sounded that I recognised, though the owner did not also leap into my mind until I saw his face. It was the Mister Drake, sailor from yesterday, grinning like a cat that has stolen a canary without opening the birdcage door. He walked right up to me, bold as you please, and said he was glad I had chosen to meet him after all, though I was quite late! The cheek of him, thinking I had come to the harbour for his benefit. I said nothing, though that was more because I had not the ability. The rattling planks and glittering water had stolen my voice as well as the power of my legs. The sailor gave me a strange look in return for the one I was giving him. It cleared quite suddenly, as if realisation had swept his features as easily as pegasi may sweep the sky of clouds.

“Is this the first time you’ve been on a wharf?” he asked me, as if I was intended to know the word. He tapped the plank beneath his forehoof, however, so I did not have to feign freedom from my own ignorance. “Are you scared of being on the water?” he then asked, before informing me it was very shallow and nothing at all to worry about! I could easily swim back to shore, he told me, especially if he was there to aid me.

“I could not easily swim to shore,” I gritted. “I could not easily swim anywhere since I cannot swim.”

One might think I had slapped him across the face, such was his shock. “Can’t swim”?” he said. “What kind of earth pony can’t swim?”

Well I was so offended it loosened my hooves right up. I marched my way back to solid ground, flicking my tail at him in a clear sign of annoyance and instruction to leave me alone.

It was unfortunate he did not understand this, for he followed me back to the street, apologising all the way for any offence he might have caused. He claimed he did not know his own tongue sometimes and spoke to landlocked ponies like myself the way he spoke to his crew when he should have known that he ought not to. I tried to ignore him but he cantered ahead of me and blocked my path, begging to make it up to me by way of confectionary from Mrs Apple Pie’s teashop.

I know I should have walked straight past his impertinent self but … something in his eyes gave me pause. He did so look very sorry, to the point I did not doubt his truthfulness on the matter. And my stomach did so choose that very moment to rumble, reminding me that I had walked a long way and it had been hours since breakfast.

Diary, I accepted his offer! Do not judge me harshly. I am not some wanton strumpet. I had every inclination to remain aloof and meet his wiles with reserve and detachment. Yet the moment Mrs Apple Pie’s sweet apple fritters arrived at our table and I did nibble upon one, I was lost to the immeasurably wonderful flavour held therein. I did not think any food could ever taste so good! Whereupon I took such enormous bites that the sailor did laugh and opine his pleasure that I did so enjoy the vittles in this establishment of his choosing.

I could not believe the sheer piggishness of my own behaviour, but my blushing called only more soft laughter to his lips. I would have jumped to my hooves and escaped there and then, but the food was indeed so tremendous that I found myself unable to leave while my plate still sat full.

“What be your name, fair maiden with the excellent taste and pretty eyes?” he asked. I swear, I tell nothing but truth; this is what he called me, the impudent wretch! “Or am I to call you Strong Little Mare forever more?”

I told him my name is Peaseblossom and he complimented the flower for trying to match my beauty! My blush grew so much, I did think I might render myself in a faint upon the floor in front of all the other patrons of Mrs Apple Pie’s teashop.

“Though methinks Strong Little Mare is an equally accurate descriptive for you, Miss Peaseblossom.”

“You are too forward, Mister Drake,” I replied, attempting not to sound as though I was being strangled by my own embarrassment.

“Am I? Perhaps I have been too long at sea, then. I am apparently much the worse at talking to pretty mares than I was when I was last ashore in Equestria.”

“And when was that?”

Diary, he had not set foot in our fair land for nigh on seven years! In all that time he had explored faraway places with such names as Graeco where minotaurs live, Faunaria from which goblins herald and the insular land of the Belle Boot earth ponies, who struck out from Equestria before the reunification of the three tribes and never re-joined the mainland after pegasi, unicorns and earth ponies united once more.

I asked if he had ever missed home and he replied that it had stopped being his home after his family perished in a fire that burned up their home. After that he took work as a cabin boy on a ship bound for Prance and never again called dry land his home.

He was fascinating to listen to. His stories sounded so strange and fanciful, I suspect he must have embellished them, but his skill as a storyteller rendered that problem moot. I ate pastries and listened to him until the basket of fritters were all gone and Mrs Apple Pie herself came over to ask if we wanted to try her famous apple crumble too. Mister Drake declared this a day of celebration, for he had managed to talk to the Strong Little Mare who had occupied his thoughts since yesterday and she had not run away nor cuffed him about the ear as he had feared she might at his impudence.

And I … I did not become angry at these words. I blushed scarlet up to my eartips but the anger I had felt previously did fail to stir inside me. Instead, I asked Mrs Apple Pie if I could partake of the bill with the money I had been given for my day out and insisted she not listen when Mister Drake attempted to protest.

I squirm to admit that I have arranged to meet with him again.

Clearly the sea air of Horseshoe Bay does bring about madness in land born ponies!

-- Taken from the diary of Peaseblossom, 488 AS.

Fleur looked up at the sound of the bolt being pulled back on the door. On cue, all the little fillies and colts around her ran for cover behind the items scattered around their cell. Fleur knew there was nothing large enough to conceal her fully, so she merely huddled into the shadows in the farthest corner and hoped whichever demon had come to feed them would leave quickly and without incident.

Fleur gaped at the staircase. Instead of Somnambula or the nameless powerhouse demon, a small tan unicorn filly with a tear-streaked face stood at the top of the steps. The filly peered down at them, leaned backwards as if wanting to run away from what she saw. She even managed to take a step before a brash, nasally voice rang out.

“Heeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaw! Move along there!”

The filly shot forward, propelled by the hoof of a lumpy donkey behind her. She squeaked as she was forced to canter down the steps to avoid tumbling down them on her face. No sooner had she reached the bottom then another filly was pushed after her, then another, and another. Fleur watched in horror as eight tiny unicorns gathered at the bottom of the stairs and clustered together as if for protection against … herself.

The donkey stayed at the top of the steps. In so many ways he was just the same as any donkey Fleur has ever seen in her life: ordinary long donkey ears, ordinary green eyes, ordinary wide hooves under shaggy fetlocks, ordinary tufty donkey tail. Yet something about him felt … off. He wore an orange and red head covering of some sort that stretched down his neck to rest on his chest, like an old fashioned court jester. Fleur recognised the expression on his face as he looked down on the collection of children he had brought to the dungeon: disgust.

“You’ll be fed later,” he whinnied. “Don’t try to escape. There’s no way you’d be able to break the enchantments on the window or door and the walls are six feet thick and made of stone. And don’t think anypony is coming to rescue you, either.” He smiled nastily. “As far as anyone in Equestria thinks, you’re all dead already.” He laughed, elongating the noise into a grating bray. “All burned up and dead as doornails. No-one is coming for you.” He raised his eyes, scanning the rest of the dungeon. “Not any of you.”

Fleur gulped when his gaze came to rest on her. His smiled dimmed a bit and his nostrils flared, as if seeing her provoked unpleasant thoughts for him.

“Certainly not you, Fleur De Lis.”

He sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as her; and yet his tone was not what caught Fleur’s attention. None of the demons who had visited the dungeon since she arrived had used her name, nor the names of any of the foals. The way this donkey said her full name, though …

Something clicked in her memory. Involuntarily, she got to her shaky hooves. “You!”

The donkey blinked. Then his smile widened. “Not as dumb as the world thinks then, eh?”

“You were … but how …” Fleur shook her head, trying to shake her thoughts and memories into clearer shapes. “Fancy? But that can’t be. How …?”

“Or maybe you really are as stupid as you look,” the donkey sneered.

Fleur frowned. “So there are changelings here?”

He laughed. “I’m no changeling, you bimbo! I’m one-hundred percent pureblood donkey – and proud of it!”

Her frown deepened. Maybe she had been mistaken.

The donkey reached into a pocket sewn into the chest portion of his headgear and pulled out a tinkling object. Fleur gasped, recognising the sound. The last time she had heard it, she had thought it was a ring her beloved Fancy Pants was going to use to propose to her. Now, however, she could see that it was a tiny metal bell on a length of cord. It pulsed once with magic that extended out and out until the outline of the donkey’s whole body seemed to ripple. Fleur squinted, but the more she tried to bring him into focus, the more his form blurred and wavered until –

She inhaled so sharply that her throat ached. There at the top of the steps, looking as handsome and regal as he did in her dreams, was Fancy Pants. And yet she knew it was not her Fancy – could not be. Her Fancy had never worn such a vicious grin, nor laughed so cruelly.

“You ponies think you’re so wonderful, so powerful, so intelligent,” Not-Fancy sneered. “But you’re all so full of your own self-importance, you can’t see the truth if it’s literally standing in front of you.” He tossed his head, making his beautiful blue mane flow behind him as if in an invisible wind. “Pathetic. You don’t deserve to rule Equestria and lord it over the rest of us like we’re nothing.”

Fleur’s mouth opened and shut like a fish thrown onto dry land. At the bottom of the steps, the crowd of new fillies whimpered and cried. She was acutely aware of the other fillies and colts watching from their hiding places. every hair on the back of her neck was on end at the sheer hatred in the disguised donkey’s voice.

“Bray!” barked a familiar voice form behind the donkey. “What’s taking so long?”

Not-Fancy’s face froze. His outline flickered and suddenly the donkey’s true form was back. He tucked the little bell into his pocket and turned away.

“Coming, Master!”

The door slammed behind him, plunging the dungeon into sudden darkness. Fleur’s eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden cessation of light from the corridor beyond. She knew she should move; go forward and see to these eight newcomers, check them over for wounds and explain to them as best she could what was happening. It was the right thing to do: they were all so young, so vulnerable. As the only adult in the room, Fleur knew she should look after them.

Yet all she could do was stare at the closed wooden door and think the same few words over and over again: Fancy, oh my Fancy, please say you’re all right, please say he didn’t hurt you before he came for me ...

The day of the funerals dawned grey and dull. Bon-Bon suspected the weather pegasi had arranged it to be so. They kept the drizzle off until after the ceremony, when everypony had retreated into Town Hall for the wake. There had been no blood family members to weep at the eight tiny gravesides but for that day it did not matter; for that day all of Ponyville was the family of those lost in the orphanage fire and they mourned them as sincerely as any parent could have.

The fillies and colts at the town’s little school were traumatised in their own way. Those who had survived the fire were offered counselling and housed with townsponies who opened their homes in the wake of the disaster. Cheerilee realised that the other children also needed care and kindness at the sudden loss of eight schoolmates all at once, and though not all the fillies who had died were the same age, she petitioned the mayor for extra funding to bring in a therapist from out of town and rented out her own spare room to him for as long as her students needed him.

Bon-Bon watched the proceedings with detached approval. The night after the funerals, she called past the cemetery and paid her own private respects at each little fresh mound of dirt, vowing not to fail anypony else the way she had failed them.

The way she had failed Wind Whistler …

Sometimes it felt like all Bon-Bon ever did was run from or try to atone for her past. Though it was vague and distant in Zecora’s hut, her connection with the sword hummed with its desire to help ease her emotions but she knew that monsters of that kind could not be slain with any blade, no matter how magical.

“I won’t fail again,” she muttered after patrol, as the sun crept over the horizon and she settled into bed. “I refuse to let anything like this happen again.”

She should have known, of course, that such promises are inevitably futile.

The darkness is calling. She can hear its voice like a wind across moorland. The words are indistinct but there ARE words, calling her … summoning her …

Keep it secret. Keep a secret. Keep the secret.

Keep it secret. Keep a secret. Keep the secret.

Keep IT secret. Keep A secret. Keep THE secret.

The velvet voice seeps into her ears, wrapping around her even as she bucks at nothing like a mindless animal. The words are still indistinct but the message is clear.

The darkness is coming.

The darkness is coming for her.

The darkness is coming … coming … coming …

The darkness is … here.

Bon-Bon sat bolt upright, the sword’s presence jangling in the back of her mind. Her chest heaved as she fought for breath. It had been so long since that nightmare, she had thought herself free of it completely. Tension hummed in her every muscle and tendon. Gradually, as she perceived the lack of threat here in reality, she relaxed, though the sword still clattered its alarm against her synapses.

“I’m fine,” she assured, both thinking and saying the words. Speaking out loud crystallised her thoughts and brought more clarity at this distance. “It’s fine. It was only a nightmare.” It was already fading from her mind, just like all the other times.

The echo of the Lunar Sword spiked with apprehension.

“No, not Nightmare Moon,” Bon-Bon quickly corrected. “Just a regular bad dream.”

The sword did not agree. The dream had rung against the stretched-thin mind-bond between them and twanged it very oddly. No ordinary bad dream had ever done that before, it insisted.

Bon-Bon’s hooves balled in the bedclothes.

“Are … you sure?” she said uncertainly.

The sword rippled its assent directly into her brain. It was very, very sure. This bad dream was more than it appeared.

Bon-Bon sighed and got out of bed. The details of the dream were already gone, leaving nothing but a vague sense of unease and the sword’s insistence that she’d had it at all. “Then I’d better come to you and talk to Zecora.”

She was stuffing a hastily constructed, calorie-enriched sandwich into her mouth when someone knocked on her door. Bon-Bon froze. She was not expecting anyone. It was daylight, which both narrowed and broadened who it could be.

As if demons knock? Come on, Bon-Bon. Even you’re not that stupid.

Although … it could be Lyra. They had not spoken since Bon-Bon was released from hospital. The oddness of their last exchange rankled Bon but when Bon-Bon had seen her at the funeral, Lyra had not acknowledged her. Bon-Bon wasn’t sure whether that was a consequence of her continued anger or because of the solemnity of the occasion. She hoped it was the second and it was Lyra knocking now, calling in before she headed to work to squash the oddness and restore their usual ease.

It was not Lyra on her doorstep.

“Hi,” Twilight Sparkle said brightly. “I hope I didn’t wake you?”

Bon-Bon stared, half a sandwich dangling in her forehoof. “Uh …”

“Sorry, I just … I couldn’t sleep because of … well, you know. And since I was awake anyway, I figured I’d make you some of this.” She held out a glass phial in her aura.

Bon-Bon looked stupidly at it for a moment before decorum won out and she opened her free hoof to take it. The glass glinted a deep blue, the colour so resonant it obscured more than the merest slosh of liquid within. “Uh … thank you?”

“It’s hair stimulant,” Twilight explained. “There aren’t actually any spells for instantaneous hair regrowth once it’s been lost. I always thought there were but apparently not. So I did some light reading of a few dozen books and discovered that there are ways to stimulate hair follicles’ natural growth to speed up their processes a bit. Nothing dramatic and it can’t overcome a pony’s natural mane-baldness or anything like that but I thought … well, you seemed so upset about your tail …” She trailed off, smile dimming at Bon-Bon’s underwhelming reaction. “It’s okay if you’d rather not. Like I said, I was awake anyway so I just thought … well, might as well be useful … y’know?”

Bon-Bon gawped. Her brain struggled to follow the situation and properly process it. “You … made this… for me?”

“Um, yes?” Twilight scuffed a hoof. “You’re the town hero, after all.”

Ohnoohnoohnoohno –

“Uh … are you okay?”

Bon-Bon snapped back to herself. “I’m fine!” She paused. “Well … as much as can be expected under the circumstances.”

Twilight’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Yeah.”

Awkwardness settled between them like a stone dropped into a shallow pool.

Bon-Bon cleared her throat. “I–”

“Sorry,” Twilight interrupted. “I guess I was too forward. I do that sometimes. I’m still figuring out this whole friendship thing. Or this whole interpersonal-but-not-parasocial-or-symbiotic-relationships-in-general thing, to be honest. I get things wrong sometimes. Um, well, a lot. I’m sorry if this is one of those times. I’m not really clued up on where the line is for giving gifts within friendships or acquaintanceships or … anything.” She shrugged, her expression so well-meaning and self-conscious that for a moment something broke through Bon-Bon’s internal panic and she was struck by how … adorable Twilight looked.

Adorable?!

“I’ll just … go.” Twilight swiveled to leave. “I hope the tincture helps. If you rub it into the hair follicles it should … help. I was, uh … I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Wait.” Bon-Bon could have tied her own tongue in a knot to make her next words stop. “Don’t go. I’m sorry, you just caught me unawares. Ponies don’t, uh, give me unexpected gifts very often. I wasn’t sure how to respond. I’m very … touched that you thought of me and went to all this effort. Thank you.”

“Oh, it was no trouble.” The wattage of Twilight’s smile turned all the way up, as if Bon-Bon had paid her the biggest compliment possible. “Once I had the recipe it was really very simple. Well, there were a few recipes but I went down to my lab and tried some of them out beforehand just in case they didn’t work, then combined and tested and refined until I had that version. Spike insisted I let him rub it on his upper lip as a final test and by the time I left the library this morning there was some fuzz growing there.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “He’s really into the idea of having a moustache. He thinks it’ll make him look more mature and therefore appealing to, uh, his crush.”

Spike’s idolisation of Rarity was the worst kept secret in all of Ponyville. Bon-Bon nodded, looking down at the blue phial. “That certainly sounds like you went to a lot of effort.”

“Pfft. Not really.” Twilight waved a hoof. “To be honest, I appreciated the distraction. I couldn’t stop thinking about … y’know.”

Oh yes, Bon-Bon knew. She knew all too well.

Twilight winced. “Sorry. You don’t need me reminding you. To be honest, bringing over that tincture was only one reason I wanted to come over so early. The other was that I wanted to check up on how you’re doing after the funeral yesterday.”

How am I doing? Bon-Bon pondered this momentarily. “I’m doing okay,” she answered finally. “Not souffle-that-didn’t-fall perfect but smooth-topped-brownie even.”

Twilight blinked at her. “That is … such an interesting way of putting it.” Her horn glowed and a notebook levitated out of the saddlebag at her side, followed by a pencil. She scribbled something on one of the pages. “I’ll have to start looking out some cookery books so I can understand what you’re talking about. Rarity told me that just smiling and nodding is polite but doesn’t really do for making friends feel valued when they’re talking to you about their special interests.”

An ice-cube tinkled into the bottom of Bon-Bon’s heart. “Wh-what?”

Twilight paused. “Oh. Um … sorry, I do that sometimes.” She replaced the book and pencil. “I love learning and I especially love finding new things to learn about. Since I moved to Ponyville I’ve always relied on Spike for household chores and meal preparations; and before that Princess Celestia had her chefs make and deliver food for me each week because she knew I wouldn’t remember to feed myself otherwise, so I never actually learned how to cook. I mean, I think I could make toast? Maybe. Toast can’t catch on fire, can it?”

That had not been the part of her diatribe that had snagged Bon-Bon’s attention. I shouldn’t even be speaking to you directly, she thought wildly. And you’re talking about us being friends!? Ohhhhh, this is bad, this is so bad.

Twilight was watching her. She cleared her throat.

“Um, well, it can if you toast it on a toasting fork over an open fire but most ponies use electric toasters these days and those have lower settings to prevent toast-fires.”

“Then I could probably make toast.” Twilight nodded to herself. “I’ll have to try it when I get home. I think we have a toaster. Although I’ve seen Spike using his fire breath on bread before so maybe not.” She scrunched up her face. “You must think I’m pretty incompetent.”

“What? No!” Bon-Bon exclaimed.

“Heh, it’s okay. I’ve heard all around town about what an awesome cook you are. Pinkie Pie never stops talking about your candies whenever you take them to Sugarcube Corner. They’re her favourite – and that mare really knows her candy.” Twilight beamed. “Confectionary is a fascinating thing – one part science, one part art, one part pure deliciousness. Do you think you’d be able to teach me some of your recipes sometime?”

Bon-Bon stared at her as if she had grown a second head. “Me. Teach you. How to make candy.” Her voice came out so flat that it dimmed Twilight’s smile again.

The purple unicorn lifted a hoof as if on the cusp of running away. “Sorry, was that too forward again? I’m learning interpersonal skills, I swear I am.”

Yes, go on, leave, whispered Bon-Bon’s brain. Get out of here and never talk to me again. It’s safer for both of us that way.

Twilight’s ears swiveled to press against her head. “Sorry, that was so presumptuous of me. Of course you have better things to do than teach me how to make candy. I rescind the request. I should probably cover the basics before I try anything that complicated anyway.”

“It’s okay.” What am I doing? “I’m not offended.”

“You aren’t?” Twilight’s ears flicked upright again. “Oh gosh, I’m so relieved. I’m making a total mess of this.”

“Of what?”

“Um …” Twilight spiraled a hoof. “Well, I really was hoping we could get to know each other better after our talk in the hospital.”

“You don’t have to ask me for cookery lessons to get to know me.”

The ears flattened again.

Bon-Bon lifted a hoof before she could stop herself, guilt sluicing through her. “I mean, there are other ways. I’m not exactly a complicated mare.” Ha!

Twilight’s ears pricked forward. “Would … you like to go get breakfast then? Since it’s so early?” Her eye fell on the half-eaten sandwich. “Oh! Wait, no, you already –”

“Sure.” Stop! Stop! Abort! Abort! “I think Sugarcube Corner is open this early. Their breakfast menu is pretty nice.” What in the name of Celestia’s sweet shiny horn am I doing?! “Nicer than this sandwich.”

Twilight Sparkle practically danced on the spot with delight. “Cool. C’mon! My treat.”

Sugarcube Corner was indeed open, though the ‘closed’ sign had only barely been flipped around when they arrived. Pinkie Pie’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head when Bon-Bon and Twilight walked in together. Bon-Bon tried her best to ignore the pink mare’s wide grin as she and her breakfast companion chose a booth in the empty café and shuffled onto opposite sides of it.

And she was just a companion because befriending Twilight Sparkle was just about the most stupid thing she could possibly do.

Then what are you doing here at all, idiot?

“Hihihihihihi!” Pinkie interrupted the self-recriminations, bouncing over with a pair of laminated menus that she plonked down in from of them. “Hi Twilight! Hi Bon-Bon! Didn’t expect to see you two here so early like this. What can I getcha?”

“Earl Grey tea and some lemon please, Pinkie,” said Twilight, levitating the menu up to study it. “I’m paying for us both. Bon-Bon, would you like something to drink?”

“Coffee.” Bon-Bon stared at the wording on the menu without taking in any of it. “White with extra cream and eight sugars please.”

Twilight’s eyes widened at the number of sugars but pinkie did not even pause.

“So the usual for you both.” She clapped her hooves and bounced away. “Back in a jiff!”

Bon-Bon continued to stare unseeingly at the menu.

“Do you see anything you like?” Twilight asked. “I can recommend the breakfast burrito. Pinkie tested it out on Fluttershy, Applejack and me in its beta stage and it was pretty yummy.”

“Um…”

“I’m thinking cinnamon oatmeal with banana slices myself.” Twilight tapped her horn. “Magic burns energy like you wouldn’t believe and I used up a bunch last night so today I get to eat as many calories as I want to replenish my stores.” She smiled. “Um … Bon-Bon?”

Bon-Bon startled. “Hmm? Sorry, I was just thinking.”

Thinking what a fool she was. Thinking how Celestia was going to be so mad about this. Thinking how she should have said no to this entire idea. Thinking –

“I know.” Twilight laid her menu flat and laid her hooves flat atop it, staring out the window. “I’ve been thinking a lot about them too.”

She had it wrong but Bon-Bon didn’t want to correct her. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been thinking about the fire as well.

“Sugarcoat. Sunny Flare. Indigo Zap. Lemon Zest. Sour Sweet. Glory. Fizzy. Ribbon. Those were their names,” Twilight said softly. “I have an eidetic memory but even without it … They all had hopes, dreams, futures – things they’ll never get to do or see or live. It’s up to us to make sure they don’t get forgotten. It’s up to us to honour them by living life to the fullest and making the most of it in ways they no longer can.”

Bon-Bon swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“I lost my grandmother when I was ten,” Twilight murmured. “She had a heart attack while she was supervising me and my brother at the park in Canterlot. I saw her fall over from the top of the slide but by the time I got there …” She fiddled with the corner of the menu. “You’re never prepared for death when it comes. You think: ‘Was there something else I could have done? Some way I could have prevented this from happening?’ Logically there isn’t but … grief doesn’t care about logic.”

Bon-Bon’s lower jaw hung open. She hastily clicked it shut.

“Sorry.” Twilight turned back to her. “That was probably too much sharing. I just wanted you to know that I’m not a complete stranger to … losing ponies. I’ve encountered death, so when I say I understand and I hope you feel able to talk to me if you need to, I’m not just saying it to be polite.”

“I …” Bon-Bon rasped. She paused to gather herself. “I … me too.”

“Huh?”

“My grandmother died. I was a kid. I was the only one there. I was … cooking. We used to do that together. It helped calm me down when I was stressed. That day … I was really upset and she calmed me down with our shared hobby. And I got my cutie mark; the same as hers. I was so excited and proud to tell her but …” She took a breath. “Aneurism. It took less than five seconds. She wasn’t in any pain, the doctors said. But … I was the only one there,” she repeated lamely. “Like you say, grief doesn’t care about logic.”

Twilight took a moment before nodding sagely. “I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago. I’m sorry about your grandmother too.”

“Thank you.”

As is summoned specifically to dispel the dour mood, Pinkie Pie reappeared. She slid a teapot, cup, saucer and lemon wedge in front of Twilight, spun and deposited Bon-Bon’s coffee before her as well with all the grace of a ballerina. A plate plunked down between them. On it a pair of muffins radiated heat and the delicious aroma of blueberries and lemon.

“These just came out of the oven. Bon appetit! Heh, or should that be Bon-Bon appetit?” she giggled, waggling her eyebrows. “They’re on the house! Except that’s totally a lie because they’re on this plate, not on top of the house, and this isn’t even a house, it’s a café – although I do live upstairs so maybe that part counts as a house? But that doesn’t matter because they’re still not up there –”

“Pinkie!”

“Sorry Twilight.”

Twilight smiled tolerantly. “That’s okay. But Pinkie, we can’t accept this. I know whenever you try to give your friends things ‘on the house’ it ends up coming out of your pay.”

“Actually, this time it won’t.” Pinkie gestured at the counter, where Mr Cake was just visible through the door to the kitchen. He waved through the gap, kicking closed the oven behind him. “It was Mr Cake’s idea and he’s the owner so it’ll come out of his pay, not mine.”

“On the house for two of Ponyville’s heroes!” Mr Cake confirmed.

Bon-Bon felt blood rushing into her cheeks. “I’m not a hero,” she said reflexively. “Twilight is a hero. So are you, Pinkie Pie. You’re both Elements of Harmony. And even outside of that. Twilight stopped anyone else’s houses from burning down. You saved the town from parasprites. I’m just some idiot who nearly got herself killing by running into a burning building and then falling out of a window.”

“Do I need to hug you?”

She startled. “Wh-what?”

Pinkie rose onto her hind legs, the better to fold her forelegs and squint at Bon-Bon like she was a bug under a glass. Her eyeball even seemed to balloon towards her in an impossible manner. “That’s the kind of thing ponies who don’t get enough hugs say. You’re totes a hero. Us doing all that stuff doesn’t make what you did any less heroic.” She tuned her face sideways like a bird eyeing something to see if it was a pebble or a piece of bread. “I think I need to hug you.”

Bon-Bon leaned away. “Please don’t.”

“But you need a hug!”

“Pinkie,” Twilight admonished gently. “Personal boundaries.”

Pinkie pouted. “But hugs are good for the soul!”

“Only if other ponies want them. Remember what we talked about?”

“Hmmph.” Pinkie dropped to all fours. “That some ponies aren’t comfortable with casual physical contact even if it’s meant totally innocently and I can’t assume everyone has the same sensory input or personal boundaries that I do and may not appreciate hugs, pats, noogies, boops or other things I do.” With each word her mane seemed to deflate, becoming lank and limp on either side of her neck. “Sometimes being considerate sucks.”

“Could I possibly get another slice of lemon, please?” Twilight asked. “I don’t think this will be enough for the whole pot of tea.”

At the prospect of being useful, Pinkie brightened. “Sure thing.” She paused, hooves twitching as if she was physically fighting her urge to embrace Bon-Bon. “YoustilldeserveahugbecauseyouaretotallyaheroandaprettyawesomeponyandyouclearlyneedmorehugsevenifIamnottheponywhogivesthemtoyouarghhhhhhhhthisisitoohardddd.”

Bon-Bon struggled to disentangle the string of words as Pinkie dived back behind the counter. “She’s … a lot, isn’t she?”

“She is.” Twilight deftly levitated the teapot into the air and pouring herself a cup. Bon-Bon watched as she lifted the lemon and squeezed until a few pale drops splashed into the brown liquid, then lifted the cup to her face, inhaling deeply. “Mmmm, I love the smell of Earl Grey in the morning.”

Bon-Bon pulled her coffee mug towards herself and began stirring in the eight neatly stacked cubes of sugar. Reflexively she made to lick the excess off the spoon but paused with it halfway to her mouth. She wasn’t at home in her own kitchen right now; she was out in public where ponies could see her. Instead, she placed the teaspoon on her napkin and raised the mug so she could blow off the sweet-scented steam and very precisely not look at Twilight

Which was made much more difficult when Twilight split a muffin neatly in two and levitated half at her. “Here. I’ve tried these before, they’re really good.”

Bon-Bon accepted the muffin and took a bite. It was indeed lovely; the flavours subtly intertwining without any one overwhelming the others. She felt bits of candied lemon peel rolling around on her tongue and the twang of blueberries offset by the sweet stodge of the muffin itself. Bon-Bon could recognise craftsponyship when she tasted it.

“You’re right, it’s really good.”

“I know righffe?” Twilight sprayed a few crumbs. One landed on Bon-Bon’s nose, provoking an expression of horrified embarrassment from Twilight. “Oopsh. Shorry.” She flicked it away with her magic, making Bon-Bon blink at the nearness of her aura’s crackle.

“Personal boundaries, Twilight!” Pinkie called, unseen, from the kitchen.

Twilight nearly choked on her mouthful. “OhmygoshIamsosorry.”

“It’s fine.” Bon-Bon cut her off before she could start apologising again. “Don’t even worry about it. Also, how did she even see that?”

“But personal space is an important facet of friendships and respecting other ponies.” Twilight looked flustered. “And she’s Pinkie Pie. At a certain point you just have to stop questioning how she can do things. I’m so sorry for invading your personal space without permission, Bon-Bon!”

Bon-Bon watched Twilight carefully. “You’re really jazzed over learning all about friendship, aren’t you?”

The faintest blush crept into Twilight’s cheeks. “Well, to be fair, the power of friendship did help me save Equestria multiple times.”

Bon-Bon paused. “That’s true.”

“Friendship is Magic!” Pinkie screeched joyously, accompanied by the sound of what could have been tumbling saucepans.

“Pinkie, it’s rude to eavesdrop!” hissed Mr Cake at a level Bon-Bon could hear but which she would bet Twilight could not.

Pinkie replied in a whisper like raindrops on cobblestones. “But they’re so adorab-rrggghhfff!” Bon-Bon recognised the sound of somepony having their muzzle forcibly held shut.

“Don’t you think friendship is a good thing?” Twilight asked, blithely ignorant of the happenings in the kitchen.

Bon-Bon refocused on her. “To a certain extent,” she admitted. “There are undoubtedly some benefits to it, I guess.”

Twilight frowned. “You almost sound like me before I came to Ponyville. I had no faith in the power of friendship back then, only in myself and my own capabilities. If I couldn’t handle a problem, well then it couldn’t be handled.”

Bon-Bon’s mug paused on its way up to her mouth.

Twilight carefully levitated the lemon slice to squeeze another few drops into her tea. “It’s a lonely way to think. I thought I was happy back then but it’s only after I came here and experienced real friendship that I realised what true happiness is, and that what I had back then was only a pale facsimile.”

Bon-Bon put down her mug and stared into the swirling depths.

“You don’t know what you don’t know, as Princess Celestia used to say when I was in her school. I took it to heart a little too much and thought that if I studied enough things in enough detail, I’d always know enough. But some things can’t be learned from books.” Twilight sipped her tea and sighed happily.

Bon-Bon made a non-committal noise in reply. Twilight was speaking a little too much truth for her comfort. She averted her eyes, searching for inspiration of a subject to which she could divert this uncomfortable conversation. Since the café was empty, she looked out of the window next to their booth. Ponyville’s citizens were increasingly up and about, making their way to work and school to start a new day.

A flash of mint green caught Bon-Bon’s attention. If she didn’t know better, she could have sworn she just saw Lyra dart down an alleyway that was absolutely not en route to Music Makers. She leaned forward, trying to crane her neck to get a better look.

“Oh! You want some more? Here, let me help.”

Bon-Bon turned her head just in time for telekinesis to squash one half of a freshly bisected muffin into her snout. Crumbs went up her nose and she started to cough, shooting backwards into her seat. Twilight’s forehooves flew to her mouth, her purple eyes huge and apologetic.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so incredibly sorry!” she gabbled. “I thought you were leaning over to get your half! Here, let me just –” She retracted the muffin, levitated up a paper serviette and instructed, “Blow.”

Like a foal whose parent is wiping their nose, Bon-Bon blew. Twilight removed the tissue and floated up the mug of coffee in its stead.

“Drink some of this to clear your throat. Words cannot begin to describe how sorry I am!”

“It’s okay,” Bon-Bon croaked, accepting the drink. It was still too hot but she took a few cleansing sips anyway. “No harm done.”

“Except to your opinion of me.” Twilight dragged the flat of one hoof down her face. “You must thing I’m an absolute goober!”

Bon-Bon blinked at her, nonplussed, and took another sip. “Goober?”

“Uh, Rainbow Dash’s word. She keeps encouraging me to sound less, um, ‘eggheady’ if I want ponies to like me.”

“Ponies already like you. Why else do you think they chose you as May Queen?”

“I guess so but …” Twilight began absently shredding the serviette with her magic. “I’m aware that I’m … weird. A lifetime of purposefully not engaging in social situations isn’t something that can be fixed in a few months. I’m trying but …” She gave a wan smile. “Still weird and out of practise. But trying.” The corners of her mouth downturned and her eyes unfocussed as her thoughts went elsewhere. “Always, always trying.”

Bon-Bon dabbed at her mouth with another serviette, considering her words. She sighed. “Well … if it makes you feel any better …” Her tongue balked; her teeth clamped down. Yet both were loosened by Twilight’s earnest purple gaze. “I don’t think you’re a goober. I think you’re … um, nice.”

It was the faintest of faint compliments, delivered with all the elegance of a right hook, but Twilight beamed as if Bon-Bon had just recited a two-hundred-line poem extolling her virtues.

“Thank you, Bon-Bon!”

Inwardly, Bon-Bon cursed herself for a fool. Outwardly, she concentrated on sipping her coffee. And no part of her noticed a mint green pony watching the café from the shadows of a shadowed side alley outside.

When Bon-Bon arrived at Zecora’s, it was mid-morning. Smoke billowed from the chimney and she smelled heavy spices on the air, despite the closed windows and door. Her connection with the Lunar Sword, which had been growing stronger ever since she entered the Everfree Forest, thrummed with delight in the back of her head. The sword was pleased at her nearness, arching like an eager cat into her consciousness as she knocked and waited for her Watcher to answer.

For the second time that day, Bon-Bon was surprised at the pony on the other side of a door. She took an involuntary step back.

“Princess Luna?”

Luna looked stern. When she spoke, her voice was frosted with irritation. “I sensed the Lunar Sword’s distress. I could not depart Canterlot until dawn had concluded but thence I travelled here as swiftly as I was able.” She looked down at Bon-Bon. “I am surprised it took you so long to make your way here also. I was under the impression you had told the sword you were on your way.”

“It told you that?” Bon-Bon asked.

Luna raised her chin. “Somewhat. I had a distinct impression of reassurance from it and the anticipation of your presence. It was not difficult to decipher the rest.”

The connection resounded with the sword’s delight, high and clear like notes on a flute. Bon-Bon winced, partially at the loudness in her head, partially at Luna’s unimpressed expression. She took a moment to centre herself and try visualising the sword in her hoof, quiet and pliable. She sent out waves of calm, seeking her own sense of zen. It took three tries but eventually the sword understood and quietened its rampant delight. Bon-Bon breathed a sigh of relief and turned her attention back to Luna. Her centre shifted, her inner calm skittering away.

“I was with Twilight Sparkle,” she said to the question that had not been asked.

Luna’s eyes narrowed.

“She … took me out for breakfast after bringing me a hair potion to help me regrow my tail.”

“I was under the impression you were not to make direct contact with Twilight Sparkle unless strictly necessary. Were those not amongst the parameters of the mission upon which my sister sent you here?”

Bon-Bon tried not to let guilt show on her face. “Yes – but to be fair, I didn’t initiate the contact, she sought me out and insisted on attempting to befriend me.”

“And you rebuffed her, yes?”

The guilt crawled into her lips, twisting them up. “Not … exactly.”

Luna stared at her for a moment, her expression fixed. Then she sighed, shoulders slumping out of their imperious curve. “I supposed it would have looked suspicious for you to rebuff her. Certainly, it would have brought more notice from other ponies than merely acquiescing to her attention. She is quite intense when she has decided to befriend a pony. She did much the same with me upon Nightmare Night.”

Bon-Bon had not realised how much tension she was carrying in her own shoulders until it released. The moment she saw Luna, she had expected a reprimand. One still might come from Zecora or Celestia but this minor reprieve was a welcome one.

She remembered the reason for her visit and cleared her throat. “Can I come in? There’s something I wanted to discuss with Zecora but … actually, it might be good idea to talk it over with you too, Princess.”

“Is this the reason behind the Lunar Sword’s disquiet?”

“It is.”

“And what, Bon-Bon, upon my oath, could bring you here to see us both?” Zecora trotted up behind Luna, who moved to let the zebra stand beside her. “You wear such worry on your face. Bon-Bon, what brings you to this place? Though seeing you I’m uncomplaining, I don’t think that you’re here for training.”

“No, Zecora, I’m not.” Bon-Bon nibbled at her lower lip. “I’m here because of dreams.”

“And you cannot remember the specifics of these dreams after waking?”

Bon-Bon shook her head. “To be honest, if not for the Lunar Sword, I might not have even remembered I had them at all, or might just have dismissed them as regular nightmares. But it’s pretty insistent they’re not, even if it can’t exactly tell me why.”

Luna sat on the floor of Zecora’s hut and tapped one metal shoe with the other in a motion that had the feel of a longstanding habit about it. “That is troubling. The sword was forged by Nightmare Moon’s power. It knows the feel of dark magic. It would not mistake it for anything else.”

“Do you think someone is trying to attack me in my sleep?”

“If they are, they have thus far been unsuccessful, since you sit before us unharmed.”

“Before we plan for things most tragic, are we sure it is dark magic?” asked Zecora.

Both Luna and Bon-Bon looked at her in surprise.

“What else could it be?” Luna frowned. “Does the repertoire of Slayer abilities include prophetic dreams?”

Zecora shook her head, continuing to stir the cauldron bubbling over the fire as she had been doing since Bon-Bon started talking. Bon-Bon spotted a potato chunk floating to the surface, surrounded by what she thought might be sugar beans that danced around it like backing vocalists around Countess Coloratura.

“Slayer traits are mainly physical. Yet these dreams, they leave me quizzical. I suggest to stop confusion we refrain from a conclusion which relies on our assumptions – little good comes from presumptions. In my books by Watchers past lots of knowledge is amassed of things that seem to defy reason; more with every passing season that each Slayer did survive. More time added to each archive.”

“You are saying … that past Slayers developed more abilities the longer they remained at their work?” Luna clarified, speaking slowly as if that would aid in her understanding of the zebra’s customary rhyming speech. It was remarkable that Zecora managed to keep up her strange verbal affectation but sometimes it made what she was trying to say less than crystal clear.

“I am indeed. Several were agreed. They wrote their findings in their papers of their Slayers’ many capers. Some Slayers, if they lived for longer, seemed to become oddly stronger. Not in body but in their ability, challenging the realms of feasibility. As such, many dismissed such theories. Myself … your dreams ignite my queries.”

Bon-Bon was shocked. This was news to her. “So I could be developing new abilities because I’m the longest lived Slayer that’s ever been?”

Zecora lifted the spoon from her cooking pot, examined the end and plopped it back in to stir some more. She seemed reluctant to look at Bon-Bon. “Bon-Bon, before the Slayer was you there were … admittedly few who lived for years with Slayer powers. I have spent so many hours reading of their lives and names, studying journals with such claims. There in text their Watchers write of things their Slayers did despite those things not being usual traits for those who follow Slayers’ fates. The Collected Papers of Sea Storm Pinkshell are the latest that do tell of one poor mare who, before her end, developed skills that may portend to more behind old Starswirl’s spell than we have capacity to tell. Pinkshell’s Slayer was a mare who one day saw things that were not there. Pinkshell thinks it was clairvoyance, though much to her immense annoyance nopony would listen when she told her theories unto them. Earth ponies have magic none, this is known to everyone, and the Slayers have even less. She persisted nonetheless. She left when she had had enough upon the death of poor Sweet Stuff, her Slayer whom she loved quite dear.” Zecora nodded at a book open on her desk. “She wrote about her troubles here.”

Bon-Bon gaped at her. “And … you’re only telling me this now because …?”

“Pinkshell writes in old dialect – of which there is much disconnect between her words and modern Equestrian. Translating is no task pedestrian. I’ve been working every day and still have not done each essay.” Zecora fixed her gaze on Bon-Bon at last. “Bon-Bon, listen to me true: I would not keep such things from you.”

Bon-Bon got the distinct feeling Zecora was saying more than she seemed to be. At that moment, however, Princess Luna flared one wing to gesture at them both.

“It seems that we cannot be sure either way,” she declared. “Your dream may be dark magic or might be a progression of Starswirl’s spell. If it is the latter, I hesitate to call it a good thing, given the Lunar Sword was quite certain your dreams are nefarious in nature.”

Bon-Bon nodded. Starswirl’s spell didn’t exactly work in a Slayer’s best interests already. Who was to say that any later developments in a longer-serving Chosen One would be ultimately good for her?

“I shall continue with my translation to dispel this keen frustration,” said Zecora with a grim nod of her own. “In the meantime, I suggest, Princess you should seek some rest. Outside it is full daylight and since your province is the night perhaps some sleep would do you good? If not, there is all likelihood that come the night you’ll be too tired to perform your duties as required.”

At the word ‘duties’ Luna opened her mouth with a sharp inhalation that was almost a gasp. “My dreamwalking!”

“Excuse me, Princess?” said Bon-Bon.

“At night, one of my duties is to travel the Dreamscape to allay the worst of any nightmares I find – if I can. I am … somewhat out of practise,” she added with a rueful frown. “I do not find it as easy as I once did but my skills are sharpening since I returned to my duties. I can currently help assuage up to three dreams a night without exhausting myself.” She tapped at her peytral again in that nervous gesture. “A thousand years ago, when I was at my full power, I could visit dozens of dreams each and every night without tiring.”

“You shall be that strong again,” Zecora reassured her. “It’s not a case of ‘if’ but ‘when’.”

“Thank you, friend Zecora. Your words are much appreciated. Yet I did not tell you this in order to receive comfort but to say that the next time you have such a nightmare, Bon-Bon, I shall attempt to cross the Dreamscape from wheresoever I am and examine it for myself. I sensed your dream this time because of our shared link with the Lunar Sword. If you were to keep the sword with you, that same resonance would be much stronger and thus I may be able to reach you before you wake and thus see the dream for myself.”

Bon-Bon looked over to where the Lunar Sword was propped against the wall. She felt like it was watching the conversation, then realised it probably was in its own strange way. At the prospect of Luna’s suggestion she take it home with her, the sword’s presence blossomed in her mind, radiating delight. Bon-Bon was about to try visualising when it seemed to realise how overwhelming it was being and the feeling subsided to a tolerable purring at the base of her brain.

She blinked. Well … that was progress.

“This suggestion seems a good idea,” said Zecora. “What do you think, Bon-Bon dear?”

Bon-Bon sighed. “You’re right, it is a good idea. Maybe you’ll be able to tell whether the dream is a product of someone working dark magic on me or my own abilities doing even weirder stuff than usual.”

“Excellent.” Luna looked intensely pleased with herself.

“It is decided then. Good show!” Zecora reached behind her to pick up a wooden bowl, into which she ladled several spoonfuls of whatever it was she had been stirring this entire time. “Now who would like some fresh Umngqusho?”

The warm scent of highly spiced vegetables, what smelled like corn and the sharp tang of chillies filled Bon-Bon’s sensitive nose. Her mouth started to water and her stomach growled, informing her that her body had already metabolised her breakfast sandwich and the muffins she had eaten at Sugarcube Corner.

Zecora smiled and held out the bowl. “I’ll take that tummy growl as yes. Join us for this meal, Princess?”

Luna looked a little shocked at the invitation and hesitated. Bon-Bon expected her to decline, citing things she needed to do back in Canterlot. However, Luna smiled.

“I would be … delighted to join you both.”

1. Welcome to the Hellmouth

TROTTINGHAM FOAL ABDUCTOR FOUND

An investigative report by Hotspur Quillplume

January 25th 1000 AS

The story of how Farrier Clumper managed to abduct ten foals before being caught seems incredible. Trottingham Police finally apprehended the stallion on Saturday, after weeks of careful enquiry and the offer of a reward for anypony with relevant information. Clumper, who owns a local shoe shop, denies the charges. Parents of the victims, however, disagree and are calling for more strenuous investigation methods to be used to close the case.

“He was always such a quiet one,” one of Clumper’s neighbours told the Trottingham Tribune. “Kept to himself a lot, which is odd, now I come to think about it. Why would a shop sales-pony be so quiet? Surely after working on his patter with customers all day he’d be up for conversation of an evening, right? But he always blanked me when I tried to talk to him about my petunias. Rude chap.”

“I never would’ve guessed it was him,” another told us. “He seemed so nice. Never made no fuss, never bothered nopony, always put his rubbish out on the right day and didn’t leave it in those awful black plastic bags at the side of the road. I always thought he was the perfect neighbour. It just goes to show you, eh? He wasn’t as nice as he seemed.”

‘Nice’ is certainly not the description on the lips of those ponies whose offspring are still missing. Despite eyewitness reports that place him with three of the missing foals, none of whom have any personal connection to him, Clumper has not told authorities their location. Neither has he confirmed whether any are still alive. No evidence of the foals was found at his home, leading police to believe that he may have taken them to a different location after snatching them from outside schools, playgrounds and even out of their own front gardens.

The arrest is bittersweet for those still awaiting news of their loved ones. Marigold Crownpiece, mother of missing filly Petal Crownpiece, could barely stop crying when she spoke to the press today. “It ain’t right. They should make him tell us where our little one is. They should use magic and all that. They could do it. We know they could make him spill his guts about what he’s done with them all. They could dig it right out of his head with their fancy magic if they wanted to.”

Invasive mental spells are prohibited under current laws regarding the use of magic in criminal investigations. Police and victim groups have long campaigned against this legislation but the Equestrian Statute of Pony Rights remains unchanged.

“It’s a case of personal privacy,” explained Ergot Furlong, a representative of the Statute Protection Commission. “Spells that touch the mind are dangerous if not administered with perfect accuracy – and I mean one hundred percent perfect. They can cause anything from partial amnesia to early onset dementia and Alzheimer’s. Memory, in particular, is a thorny issue because the mind is not linear. We don’t store memories in chronological order in our minds, therefore any attempt to access a specific memory involves tampering with the very fabric of a pony’s brain patterns and doing untold damage in the process. Mind-magic is largely experimental and has a high failure rate. We cannot, in good conscience, allow it to be used on ponies, especially if they are only suspects in an on-going investigation. The cost to personal freedom and health would far outweigh any gain, not to mention the cumulative effect if we suddenly start allowing this sort of thing. If we allow the use of mind magic today, what’s to stop us from allowing magic that removes other personal freedoms tomorrow? It’s a slipperly slope and one the Statute of Pony Rights was specifically created to stop from happening. Every Equestrian has the basic right to privacy within their own head and it is not for you, me, nor anypony else to remove that right.”

Marigold Crownpiece might have agreed with that before her daughter disappeared while playing in front of their home last week. Marigold, a single mother who works as a stylist at a local manedresser, has been a fixture at press conferences since Petal’s disappearance and is now working with other affected families to seek justice.

“It was him. We all know it was him. He’s just not telling us where they are because he’s sick!” she claimed today. “It’s one of those fetish thingies, you know? Him being an earth pony and all those poor fillies and colts being unicorns. It ain’t right that he gets his pony rights while they didn’t get theirs!”

Evidence against Clumper includes (according to one internal source who must remain unnamed) a psychometry reading of him holding hooves with Dewberry Galloway, the first foal to go missing. He was removed from the playground three weeks ago. Friends said they saw a stallion matching Clumper’s description leading the colt away from the scene, which has now been corroborated by the reading. Psychometry is not yet admissible as evidence in court, since only the psychometrist is able to see what occurred in an area when they touch it, but it is this reporter’s opinion that, admissible or not, this only further supports Clumper’s guilt.

Clumper, on the other hoof, tells a very different story. He has refused to speak to journalists except for one statement released the day after his arrest: “I didn’t do it. I don’t care what nopony says. I don’t care what no witnesses claim they saw. I never took them foals. It was somepony else what looked like me, I swear. I’ve never hurt no-one in my life. I promise you, I didn’t do it. You’ve got to believe me. I’m being stitched up.”

An emphatic denial but, ultimately, one that withers in the face of the evidence against him – even if it may not all be admissible in court.

“He might have the right to privacy but we have the right to know what he’s done to our little ones and where they are now!”

Marigold Crownpiece’s words would touch any pony’s heart. This reporter, however, would amend that phrasing: what has the foalnapper done with the missing foals and, after three weeks, where are their bodies now?

Anypony with information relating to this case should contact the Trottingham Police immediately using the details below.

“You are to go to Ponyville.”

“Ponyville?”

“I have prepared some information regarding the town for you. It includes a map. Brutus, if you would bring forward the pack I gave you.”

“Hmm … wait, this little place? It’s in the middle of nowhere!”

“Yes.”

“Why would you want me to go to a tiny place like that? Does Ponyville have an especially big unicorn population or something?”

“No. In actual fact, the ratio is weighted towards earth ponies rather than unicorns or pegasi.”

“So why would you want me go there?”

“There is someone I need you to look after.”

“I’m not a babysitter.”

“No, but you are a protector.”

“Sort of. My line of work runs more to destroying the bad monsters than being a bodyguard. Couldn’t you bring that someone you mentioned here to Canterlot?”

“No, it needs to be Ponyville.”

“Why?”

“Everything you need to know is in that pack. You leave tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? But Princess–”

“There’s no time to waste. Your new Watcher is already there waiting for you. I’m sure she is anxious to meet you before you work together and I’m sure you would like acclimatise yourself to the town before the pony I am sending arrives.”

“I … I’m getting a new Watcher?”

“You are.”

“But I don’t want–”

“You have been too long without one. It is dangerous for you to operate alone. I am sorry; I know your grief still feels fresh, but you know I speak the truth. You need a Watcher.”

“Do I know this new one? Have I met her when we went travelling before? We met a lot of potential Watchers on the road.”

“No, you have not met this one before.”

“I’m fine on my own, Princess. Honestly. I don’t want somepony to –”

“This is not up for discussion. You have indeed done well operating alone, but the fact of the matter is that your new Watcher already knows Ponyville and the surrounding area. She has been living there for several months now. I asked her to wait while you grieved. She has done that and now you must go there to her.”

“Do I get a say in any of this?”

“Please understand; I would not ask you to do this if it was not important.”

“… I know, Princess. It’s just … I just …”

“Just what?”

“Nothing. Never mind. So, Ponyville. It looks like a quiet place, all surrounded by countryside.”

“You would think so, wouldn’t you?”

Bon-Bon took a blow to the back of the head that had her on her face. Luckily, she got her front hooves braced under her and the demon that had struck her took both back hooves to the chest when it tried to pounce from behind. The momentum of the kick carried her into a front somersault. She landed heavily on her hind legs, teeth jarring, forelegs held out for balance. It wasn’t the steadiest position but it allowed her to spin and face the thing before it got in another hit.

“Just once,” she told it, “I’d like to land on something soft. A nice feather pillow, perhaps, or a bale of freshly cut hay; but no, it’s always concrete or earth so hard-packed it might as well be concrete.”

Her knees ached and her head hurt worse. Her vision was fine but that wasn’t saying much. Her attacker was ugly; dark green and equine in shape but burdened by a whip-like tail with a jagged end that arced, scorpion style, towards her whenever she got too close. Its mouth was stuffed with fangs pointing every which way, as if they had grown suddenly and all at once, shoving each other aside as they lengthened. It couldn’t pass for pony in a crowd but might be ignored running down a dark alley. Bon-Bon squinted. An extremely dark alley.

“Not one for conversation, are you?”

The thing hissed. Demons were generally quiet things anyhow, but all those teeth probably made even opening its mouth difficult. Since witty repartee was out of the question it came at her in a savage charge, clearly aiming for a head-butt. She mentally crossed a few more points off its IQ, side-stepped and brought her bunched forehooves down on its back.

Or at least she would have if it had still been there. Her hooves met empty space but her exposed midsection felt the full impact of the creature’s skull. It had sidestepped too. Air whooshed from her lungs. If she had been able to focus, she would have thought how lucky it was this one didn’t have horns or other spiky things growing out of its head as well as its tail. Instead, she was entirely preoccupied by the sudden gap between her and the ground. She hit the wall upside down, slid and landed in a graceless heap.

The creature kept coming. She scrabbled to get upright before it reached her – she wasn’t acquitting herself well right now but she was a good fighter when she was on her game. However, even bad fighters knew the first rule was to never lose your feet. Losing your feet was the difference between ‘bad’ and ‘dead’.

“I don’t … think so …” she wheezed.

Bon-Bon launched herself into the air, her bruised belly protesting at the stretch. She sailed over the creature’s head, much higher than an ordinary earth pony could manage from a standing start. She landed on her front hooves and, without allowing them to also touch down, swung her hind legs into a powerful buck – the kind that would have done not a scrap of good at Sweet Apple Acres, since it would have knocked down a tree instead of just the apples. She connected solidly with the demon’s rump, aiding its forward motion. It crashed headfirst into the bricks and collapsed, head bent under it at an awkward angle.

“And stay down!” Bon-Bon panted.

She sat down. It was inopportune but her head spun and she had used up her quota of adrenaline-fuelled-concentration. For the next minute or so she had to focus inward or she was going to fall over. No way could she perform the banishing ritual on the body if she was flat on her face.

Eventually, when she had her breath back, she got up and walked stiffly over to the dead demon.

“A nice soft pillow,” she muttered. “It’s not too much to ask for, is it? Or some nice freshly cut hay. There are enough farms around Ponyville. Why don’t you guys ever think of that, huh?”

It was a stupid question – and not just because the thing couldn’t answer. The pony she was here to protect didn’t live on a farm; ergo the forces of darkness didn’t go to farms unless they were passing through on their way into town. No, it was all concrete, cobble stones and dirt with the durability of metal for Bon-Bon. Joy.

She swept back her cloak to reveal a line of pouches on a belt around her waist. She unhooked the flap one and pulled out a tiny glass vial filled with pale blue powder. After sprinkling it in a circle around the demon, she replaced it in the pouch and muttered the incantation she could recite better than her own name and address.

There was a flash of blue fire as the powder ignited. The shade was lighter or darker depending on the power of the creature. This one was so light it was almost white, indicating an extremely tiny amount of magic. It had not fed recently. She thanked her lucky stars she had gotten rid of it before it had time to feed off anypony. Nonetheless, the flames leaped high, engulfing the body. Bon-Bon took an involuntary step back. She must have hit her head harder than she thought. She never usually got too close.

A hoof that ended in a half-formed claw shot out, heedless of the licking tongues of flame. Crossing the boundary of the circle was supposed to be impossible, yet it fastened onto the front of her cloak and dragged her closer, slashing her chest with its razor edges. Bon-Bon was so shocked it was a half-second before she started struggling. A half-second was all the time the creature needed.

“You’re toooo laaaate,” it hissed, lips already curling up and back, flaking into ash even as its pupilless eyes met hers. It held her gaze steadily, like it wasn’t incinerating in a magical fire. “You can’t sssstop iiiit.” It elongated odd sounds, as if aware of the concept of speech but not how to fit words past its own fangs. Everything came out mangled and barely discernible.

Bon-Bon was shocked it was still alive and even more shocked it could talk at all. Few could, especially the weak ones. Her mental default ran: mindless eating machines, don’t let them bite you, watch out for the sharp bits. Zecora had told her a multitude of names they had been given across the centuries: soul-stealers, spirit-thieves, aura vampires and dark doomsayers, to name but a few. Bon-Bon just went with plain old ‘demons’ for expediency. Whatever their name, however, all the legends and texts maintained one thing: the creatures’ unending hunger. Demons ate. And ate. And ate. Only rarely did they use their mouth for talking too.

“Heeee’s … already … !” this one laughed. Its voice sounded like dry bones clacking together on a gamekeeper’s gibbet. “Already …” It choked on the end of the sentence.

“Who’s he?” Bon-Bon demanded, even as she tried to pry its grip off her. “Who’s he?”

“Hiiim! Heeee iiiis!”

“Who? Who is ‘he’?”

The creature let out a howl: part pain, part manic laugh. “Yoooouuur dooooom, Slaaaayeeeer!”

It continued to laugh as the flames flared up, finishing their job. Its grip convulsed and released, allowing her to jump back. The brief wall of blue fire shielded her from seeing what became of the creature, though she already knew. She had seen it enough times since she was saddled with this job. The banishing powder transported bodies out of Equestria, somewhere where ponies could be safe from discovering them. When the flames died down a few seconds later all that was left was a smoking pile of ash.

Bon-Bon blew a lock of hair from her eyes. It flopped back wetly, her own sweat sticking it to her forehead. She so needed a shower after this. And hairspray. She definitely needed to buy more hairspray when she went for groceries. Focussing on this mundane prospect pulled her thoughts back from the precipice on which they were balanced. Demons and blue flames and groceries – the incongruity was a great leveller.

Her chest hurt. When she inspected it she found a half-moon cut where the thing had grabbed her. Pressing her cloak to the cut to stanch it, she tossed her head at the ashes.

“My doom? Look who’s talking.”

Mayor Mare wasn’t exactly Bon-Bon’s first choice in a crisis but her house was closer than trekking into the Everfree. She knocked the back door and waited, drawing her cloak tighter about herself. When it opened only a sliver of her face was visible from inside and even that must have been smutty from getting too close to the banishing fire.

“Oh!” Mayor Mare exclaimed when she realised who it was under the dirt.

She knew, of course. She knew who and what Bon-Bon was and why she was in Ponyville. She had known since the beginning, which had led Bon-Bon to believe Princess Celestia had sent word ahead of her arrival. Maybe somepony from the network had brought the message. Ponyville wasn’t exactly a tourist trap but it did get a degree of visitors – admittedly more now than then. Housing the Elements of Harmony, who had saved all Equestria and the Crystal Empire from destruction multiple times, tended to generate a smidge of outside interest. Bon-Bon wondered how Mayor Mare had taken the news. She was a timid pony and didn’t always say the right thing at the right time, yet since Bon-Bon came to live in Ponyville she had done everything she promised and never breathed a word of anything she wasn’t supposed to.

Now, without asking any awkward questions, Mayor Mare simply opened her door wider and stood aside. “You’d better come in.”

“Thanks.” Bon-Bon slipped past and stood in the hallway. She could have headed straight for the living room or kitchen but manners dictated she wait to be shown in. She might be the Slayer now but she had been raised to know her manners.

“This way.” Mayor Mare wrung her hooves as she pattered through to the living room and gestured at the sofa.

Bon-Bon flopped gratefully onto it, leaning back on the worn fabric. Mayor Mare was far too fond of chintz and crocheted doilies but her sofa was divine after a tough night patrolling.

“Are you, uh, hurt? Can I get you, ah, any medical … things?”

Bon-Bon squinted up at her. “A bandage would be useful.” She gestured to her chest, where she was still holding her cloak. The dark fabric made it harder to see blood but the cut had begun to throb. Her accelerated healing was not as impressive as the title made it sound, especially when she was running low of fuel herself. “And some antiseptic, if you have any. Other than this, I only have couple of bruised ribs and a bump on the head; nothing too major.” She neglected to mention the multitude of smaller cuts and abrasions. She couldn’t do anything as dramatic as regrow a limb or rise from the dead but the healing thing came in useful for magicking away minor injuries overnight, so long as she loaded herself up with as many calories as she could stomach. Larger injuries took longer but she could sustain much more damage than most ponies and had formidable physical strength to go along with it. Mayor Mare was nervous enough without Bon-Bon adding needlessly to her stress levels.

Mayor Mare headed for the door to the kitchen. “Do you want an ice-pack for your head?”

“Actually, that would be nice.”

“And, uh …” She gestured vaguely. “I don’t have much food in the house but …”

“Anything you could spare would be welcome.”

Mayor Mare scurried away and returned a few minutes later with a bumpily bulging tea-towel, a bottle with a cross on the front a roll of gauze. She passed the makeshift icepack to Bon-Bon, who pressed it to the back of her head with a sigh of relief. A higher pain tolerance didn’t mean a headache wasn’t a … well, pain.

Mayor Mare made as if to return to the kitchen but paused. “Would you like me to dress your, uh, wound?” she had trouble saying the word, as if she expected Bon-Bon to start leaking blood all over her flowery couch without supervision.

“No thanks, I can do it.” Bon-Bon accepted the gauze, tied a knot in the tea-towel to keep the ice-cubes from escaping, and set about cleaning and dressing the cut. She sucked in a breath at the touch of the antiseptic, which brought tears to her eyes where the original wound had not.

Several minutes later Mayor Mare reappeared once again with a large stack of cheese sandwiches on a plate. The bread was a little stale and the cheese was a little hard but Bon-Bon inhaled the food. Her body welcome the intake with a fizzy feeling, like electricity roaring into her ears.

Mayor Mare backed up until she reached the armchair and sat in it. On the coffee table was a half-finished jigsaw puzzle. The box said it was two-thousand pieces and would eventually look like Canterlot Castle. Bon-Bon didn’t have much use for jigsaws. She hated the idea of spending so much time making something only to destroy it and put the pieces back in their box afterwards. It was uncomfortably close to her own life when each assignment was over: break up the pieces and move on to the next picture.

“What was it tonight?” Mayor Mare asked, breaking the silence and dragging Bon-Bon back to the present.

“Two aura-thieves,” Bon-Bon sighed. She never used the word ‘demon’ around Mayor Mare. Zecora’s history lessons were useful for sugaring that pill, at least. “They weren’t stalking her, just loitering around town. Not one of them seemed like they had much purpose being here, which was odd. Usually they make a beeline for her when they’ve plucked up enough courage to risk coming here.” She didn’t add ‘when they’ve decided the risk of meeting me is worth it’. She didn’t need to.

Her presence kept a lot of bad things away. Demons recognised her when they got close enough, her weak magical aura marking her out even among earth ponies. She was like a shadow in a sea of light, and if they spotted her they mostly skedaddled. She wasn’t naïve enough to think what Princess Celestia hadn’t been hoping for that. She needed a safe training ground, after all.

Just after Bon-Bon first arrived in Ponyville it had been fights practically every night as every big bad in spitting distance of was drawn there by the other new, much more powerful magical aura. Then it spread that she was protecting this place and things tailed off until, finally, Bon-Bon’s patrols became – dare she even think it? – boring. Boring was good. Boring meant not having to explain away injuries the next morning. Boring meant not having to replenish her energy with mighty meals at three in the morning, which Bon-Bon was totally okay with.

Boring also meant not being slapped with magic that made her life even more difficult than it had to be. Even minor demons had some really nasty abilities that, while not fatal, certainly made the next day unpleasant. She stifled a wince at the memory of tiny demons, no bigger than parasprites, which had hidden around Ponyville for months while she rounded them up. Their small size and wings had made catching them difficult, especially since they could zip away and hide faster than she could grab them. She was able to sense where they were but actually getting at them was another matter when they could just move on before she got there. More aggravating had been the effect their poison had on her voice after one clawed at her throat. She hadn’t wanted to talk for ages, not knowing what would come out of her or how embarrassing it would be. Wearing a scarf and then claiming laryngitis only went so far. She had actually been grateful for her Manehattan twang when it came back.

“Two?” Mayor Mare’s eyes widened and her hooves wrung faster. “In one night? Oh my. That’s seven this month alone!”

“Eight.” Bon-Bon winced at the mayor’s expression. “But I got them all, so don’t worry.”

“Why have they suddenly started coming in such high numbers?”

“They don’t function in groups, they’re too possessive and jealous to work together, so it has to be something else.” She considered the idea of demons working en masse and shuddered. Scary thought! It had never happened before, however, so she took comfort from the fact the creatures would be more likely to rip each other to pieces of the rights to feeding grounds than combine their strength to achieve any goal.

“She’s pulling them here,” Mayor Mare said softly. “That’s the only explanation.” Her eyes skittered to the window and the skyline of the town beyond her chintzy curtains. For the first time, Bon-Bon wondered why the mayor had been awake and doing a jigsaw puzzle in the wee hours. She had expected to have to apologise for getting her out of bed. “Unless you have a better suggestion?”

“Uh … I’ll get back to you on that one.” Bon-Bon offered her a smile. It fell flatter than a shadow on hot pavement. “Zecora will probably know. I’ll ask her. It’s probably just coincidence or something.”

Mayor Mare levelled a startlingly serious look at her. “Coincidence would be just two of those … things turning up in the same month. Eight isn’t a coincidence; it’s an omen.”

“An omen?” Bon-Bon fought to keep the scepticism off her face. She left magical mumbo-jumbo to Zecora and unicorns. As long as she had banishing powder and a good right hook, she was content to leave magic alone and stick to earth pony ways. Super strong, extra tough, secretive earth pony ways, but still. Demons ate magic. They didn’t eat kicks and punches. Such was the Slayer way.

Mayor Mare, however, was not so content to leave magic alone. She visited a tarot reader once a week and frequently had her fortune told via other means. She had even been to Pinkie Pie to ask for advice from her Pinkie-sense! Bon-Bon avoided talking to her whenever possible. Pinkie Pie was incisive in a deeply unsettling way, as if she knew things nopony should be able to know and found their daily struggles tantamount to slipping on a cosmic banana peel. Bon-Bon had too many skeletons in her closet to unsettle herself that way: her past, her powers, her real reason for being in Ponyville, her nightly activities, the secrets she kept and the secrets she kept making – everything had to stay off limits from perceptive pink ponies with messy hair.

Mayor Mare was good at her job and trustworthy – otherwise Celestia would never have told her about Bon-Bon before or after she came to stay in Ponyville. It was her personal life that left her anxious. She was not a brave pony and was terrified by the idea that things sometimes roamed the streets of her town after dark that belonged, if not far away in a different land, at least in the Everfree Forest with the other monsters. She locked her door and had installed a peephole so she could see out at whatever lurked on her doorstep after the sun slipped below the horizon.

“Yes, an omen,” she said, nodding.

“A portent of what?” Bon-Bon asked.

“I don’t know, but nothing good, I’ll bet. Omens never mean anything good. You think eight aura-thieves mean anything good?”

“No,” Bon-Bon admitted.

“My point exactly. How big were they?”

“Not too big.”

“Big enough to hurt a stallion?”

“Probably not. Just a bit smaller than me.” Bon-Bon skipped the part about the fangs and razor tail. “Don’t worry, Mayor Mare, you know I’m all over this. This is my field of expertise.”

“I know you’ll do your best, but however strong or special you are, Bon-Bon, you’re still just one pony. You may be able to fight these things but you can’t be everywhere at once. If these creatures are coming in droves, you could be fighting one on one side of town while another is causing havoc on the other side.”

“They’re not coming in droves.”

“Eight so far this month –”

“They still arrived one by one. These things don’t work in groups, ma’am. They can’t. They hate each other. Whatever the reason behind so many, it isn’t because they’re working together. Each one has arrived separately and alone. Trust me; I can handle this. You know as well as I do that they come to Ponyville for one reason.”

Mayor Mare narrowed her eyes behind her glasses. “But you just said they haven’t been –”

“I probably just caught them before they had a chance to go there. They aren’t clever, they’re just sneaky. Once they lose the element of surprise it’s simple to get rid of them.”

“For you.”

“Well, yes, but since I’m supposed to be the one fighting them, that’s fine.” While it was possible for other ponies to do damage to demons, the banishing fire that actually got rid of them only worked for her. The ancestral power of the Slayer channelled through the focus of the words into the magical compounds within the powder and eradicated demons from this plane of existence. Bon-Bon wasn’t sure what would happen if an ordinary pony tried to do the same without the Slayer power behind them. Probably the powder would stay powder and the poor pony would just end up with a demon body to get rid of some other way.

Mayor Mare sat back in her chair, tapping the flats of her forehooves together in thought. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Bon-Bon adjusted the ice-pack. “Don’t worry about it, ma’am.”

“Worry is all I can do.” Mayor Mare’s voice became soft and pensive. “I know the princess told me your activities are to be kept secret … and I know you’ve saved countless ponies since you moved here, but … but sometimes I just wish …” She stopped and shook her head slightly, refusing to finish the sentence. She didn’t need to. Bon-Bon heard the rest perfectly in her head: “I just wish you and she had never come here in the first place.”

Bon-Bon felt a twisted hoof grab her cloak and pictured tonight’s demon right before the flames took it. She had her own bad feeling, which she definitely could not tell Mayor Mare about. Instead, she gave the older pony a reassuring smile and hoped it looked more convincing than it felt.

“Cheer up, ma’am. Whatever happens, I’ll take care of it. It’s what I do.”

Newly bandaged and fed, Bon-Bon went back out on patrol. It was still dark, though dawn was not far away. Nevertheless, while night reigned things that went bump were still bumping and it was up to her to make sure Ponyville remained demon-free. She travelled mainly through alleys towards her destination. Darkness attracts darkness and over the past months she had found more than a few creatures between Ponyville’s tightly packed buildings.

Thankfully there were no more tonight.

She shimmied up a drainpipe onto a roof and surveyed her destination: Ponyville Library. The literal tree-house stood tall and proud, a bastion against modernised architecture that would have made the fancy city-planners in Canterlot spit out their tea in shock and disgust. Bon-Bon liked the look of the place but what she knew about architecture could fit in one of those planner’s teacups.

She backed up a little and took a running leap, launching herself into empty space. Her powerful legs gave her extra lift and she covered the distance between the library and its neighbouring buildings in a few seconds. Her landing was practised and graceful, making as little noise as possible. The branch she hooked onto barely juddered. She slid down it towards the main trunk but stopped halfway. Hunkering low for balance, she peered through the window to reassure herself that everyone inside was okay.

Sure enough, the bed contained a sleeping purple unicorn and, sprawled in the basket at the end, a tiny dragon. Spike had thrown out his arms so they hung over the edge in a way that was sure to cause pins and needles when he woke up. In contrast, Twilight Sparkle slept curled into a ball beneath her covers, hugging all her legs to her. She shivered slightly, face twitching. Evidently she was having a bad dream. Bon-Bon could commiserate. Ever since becoming Slayer her sleep patterns had been all out of whack anyhow, yet whenever she did finally catch some zees she was either so exhausted she was comatose or wracked by nightmares of things she had seen and done.

Nothing could get into a home unless it was invited. That was one of the first things Bon-Bon had learned when she was Chosen and taken away to be trained: no invite, no entry. While Twilight and Spike were asleep they couldn’t go inviting anything inside. However, given Twilight’s frequent insomnia when she was working on a project, plus their combined habit of getting mixed up in more trouble than you could shake a stick at, Bon-Bon couldn’t ever assume that they were safely tucked up like this, so she had to check on them several times a night.

Bon-Bon paused to regard Twilight for longer than intended. Twilight looked small and younger than her actual age when she was asleep. Even with her face creased up in a bad dream her features had lost some of the strain that perpetually outlined her eyes. Twilight took everything so seriously; the friends she had made here had worked hard to teach her things no book ever could. It had taken a long time for her to let go and realise life was for living, not just existing, and that enacting that particular lesson was a lot harder than reading it off a page – as well as a lot more rewarding. Bon-Bon snorted at the irony.

Twilight was the reason she was here. Twilight was the reason the demons were here. Ponyville had not been an active spot for demonic activity before. Some might say this was extra odd because the Everfree Forest gave nasties a place to hole up by day but Bon-Bon was more inclined to think the Everfree was what had kept Ponyville safe until now. There were things in there that made the smaller demons that habitually preyed on ponies look like mosquitos – and could squash them just as easily. Animals like manticores, cyclops and fresh-water-serpents weren’t inherently magical in nature, so they had little in their auras for demons to drain and it was a lot of trouble to drain it. As for the creatures that did possess their own magic, foolish was the demon that tried to drain a hydra or succubus, which also came equipped with non-magical claws and teeth. The whole reason demons hunted at all was because they were hungry and therefore weak. If they were strong enough to take on a hydra it meant they had already fed and that defeated the point. Ponies made much better, much easier meals than what the Everfree had to offer. There could be a lot of magic in a single pony with a strong aura.

“If you only knew …” Bon-Bon murmured to the closed window.

It was ridiculous, of course. If Twilight were to know of the demons she would undoubtedly return to Canterlot. She wouldn’t want to put her friends, or anypony else, in danger simply because the tremendous amount of magic in her drew demons to Ponyville like stray dogs to a meaty bone. However, Celestia had been insistent that she stay. She had also insisted her student remain ignorant of the danger she was in away from the capital, where guards and wards and other protective things could keep her safe. In Ponyville Twilight was alone against the forces of darkness that would strip her entire aura given half a chance. There was something Celestia wanted Twilight to learn here and apparently the princess thought the risks were worth it.

It had taken Bon-Bon just as long as Twilight herself to learn what Celestia intended. Friendship was a complex, capricious thing, like trying to grab smoke or hold water in a sieve. You had to work hard to get it and harder to keep it; you couldn’t predict it, nor could you recapture it if you missed out. If you managed to make friends, however, and if they were the true kind, it opened previously closed doors – and some you didn’t even realised were there in the first place. If Twilight had not come to Ponyville and made friends here, Nightmare Moon would have risen, Discord would have dissolved all Equestria into chaos, the changeling army would have absorbed Canterlot and the Crystal Empire would have returned to its dictatorial status quo. The domino effect of Twilight making friends was almost beyond comprehension. Each time Bon-Bon wanted to give up and just tell her about the demons, something happened to make her understand how important it was for Twilight to stay and learn the lessons Celestia wanted her to learn, free from the worry that just being here endangered the town.

Bon-Bon turned away from the window and was about to leave when a noise made her stop.

“Hoooo!”

She swivelled her head to find a small, plump owl nestled in the crook of the branch. It blinked at her, not at all afraid.

“Hi, Owlowiscious,” she whispered. “Not hunting tonight?”

The owl blinked at her again.

“Good idea. Too much noise might wake them.”

It was a good thing owls didn’t play poker. Owlowiscious continued to blink expressionlessly at her.

“Has there been much activity around here tonight? Anything hanging around?” Just because they couldn’t get in didn’t mean demons couldn’t climb and tap at windows out of ravenous hunger. No-one ever said they were intelligent, just savage, dangerous, wily, vicious, daring, sly, violent …

Owlowiscious shook his head the way only an owl could. He had seen no demons tonight. He had seen none the rest of the week, either, which made it doubly strange that Bon-Bon had dispatched so many lately. What were they here for, if not to prey on Twilight? Were they so stupid that they would risk coming into town and crossing the Slayer’s path but not hurry to try to outrun her to their prey?

Bon-Bon pulled her cloak to conceal her pale body in the shadows of the tree. “Listen, can you make sure Twilight stays indoors for the next couple of nights?”

If an owl could look reproving, Owlowiscious did.

“What? Don’t look at me like that. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

He blinked at her. Slowly.

“Well … just do your best then.” An edge of exasperation crept into her voice; the kind usually reserved for mint green unicorns. Bon-Bon shook her head to dislodge that thought and tried to match Owlowiscious’s stare. It was, of course, impossible. No-one can out-stare an owl. Bon-Bon looked away first with an irritated noise.

“Hoooo,” Owlowiscious hooted softly. He would try.

“Thank you,” Bon-Bon sighed. It wasn’t much but it was something.

There were benefits to Twilight’s pet knowing who she was and what she was doing here. She would never forget the night Owlowiscious attacked her on this very branch, thinking she was trying to hurt his pony. There was more spirit in that bookish little bird than you would think to look at him. Once she had explained, however – she had to, otherwise she would never be able to check on Twilight again without fending off talons – Owlowiscious took it upon himself to help her keep an eye on things. If anything ever did happen while she wasn’t around, she felt certain he would fetch her to deal with it.

“Hoooo.”

Something stirred in the bedroom. Instinctively Bon-Bon dropped out of the tree like an overripe apple. By the time the window opened and Twilight sleepily poked her head out, Bon-Bon was concealed in the lower branches, wrapped in her cloak and using the oldest trick in the book to become invisible: remaining perfectly still.

Twilight yawned. “Owlowiscious?”

“Hoooo?”

“Yes, you.” She yawned again. “You woke me up. Is everything okay?”

“Hoooo.”

She rubbed at her eyes. Her mane was tangled, her coat unbrushed and sticking up in odd tufts, yet as she tilted her head back to look up at the moon, Bon-Bon couldn’t help noticing how pretty she was. Twilight had an unassuming kind of beauty. She certainly didn’t work at it, the way some ponies did. Twilight saw no attraction in spa treatments, make-up or hours primping in front of a mirror. A quick brush of her mane and tail in the morning, a wash with plain soap and picking the odd burr from her coat were her only concessions to a beauty regime, much to Rarity’s dismay. Yet Twilight didn’t need all the trimmings Rarity saw as essential. Something about her shone through regardless; a kind of inner beauty, if that didn’t sound so trite and hackneyed. She could be covered in sludge from Froggy Bottom Bog, frazzled from too many late nights studying, or look like she had stuck her hoof in a plug socket when one of her spells had more blowback than anticipated; it didn’t matter. Twilight looked appealing no matter what. It was a trick not many ponies could pull off – and just like her magic, Twilight wasn’t even aware of how attractive it made her.

Bon-Bon didn’t move. Inwardly, however, she was shaking her head. Observations were one thing but she was getting way too involved. Ponyville wasn’t her home, it was just a stopover until Princess Celestia decided Twilight had learned all she needed to know and recalled her to Canterlot. It helped to keep thinking of that. Or at least she told herself it helped. If she kept reminding herself that this wasn’t permanent, maybe she could also convince herself not to care so much about these ponies. Maybe she could distance herself in her head, the way she was supposed to. Maybe she could stop interacting with them entirely. Maybe.

“The moon sure looks lovely tonight,” Twilight said. “I’m glad the pegasi didn’t have cloud cover scheduled.”

“Hoooo,” Owlowiscious agreed.

“Do you want to come inside?”

“Hoooo.” He shook his head.

“Are you sure? It’s warmer in here.”

“Hoooo.”

“All right then. Just tap the glass if you change your mind.” Twilight reached out to ruffle his feathers affectionately before retreating back to bed. She clicked the window shut, giving Bon-Bon a tiny bit more reassurance that nothing could touch her.

She breathed out. Nodding once to Owlowiscious, she descended the last distance to the ground and slipped away into the waning night.

Bon-Bon spent the remaining hours prowling the streets, on the lookout for anything resembling a threat. When none emerged and the sky began to grey, she stood in the mouth of an alleyway and stared at the cobblestones. Inwardly she wrestled with herself. She should just go straight to Zecora’s. that would be the sensible thing to do. By the time she reached the town limits it would be too light for any demon to be abroad and she could slip away without any early risers spotting her. Yes, she should get going to Zecora’s now.

One snap decision later she was headed towards her own home. Instead of getting out the key to her own front door, however, she eschewed her little thatched house and slipped down the small gap between it and her neighbour’s. She had repaired the drainpipe there last month, so she knew it would bear her weight. Being careful not to upset the rain barrel, she climbed up it. There had been quite a bit of rain recently and the barrel was nearly full. Her tail dipped in as she climbed and the tip came away soaked.

She expected to see a figure tucked up asleep. Instead, she quickly ducked out of sight when she realised the pony inside was not only awake, but out of bed. She paused for a moment, on the cusp of fleeing. Had she been spotted? When nopony threw open the window she eased upwards again, cursing herself for a fool with every millimetre.

The room’s occupant was bent over a dresser that doubled as a desk. Given the messy state of the bedroom, it was no wonder furniture was expected to pull double duty. Flat surfaces were at a premium and the pony’s hooves competed for space with a hairbrush, scrunched up balls of paper, dozens of pencils in need of sharpening, a raggedy quill, a plush toy and several comic books. One look at the rapt concentration on her face, however, told Bon-Bon she was utterly unaware of her surroundings.

Bon-Bon frowned. Either Lyra had risen incredibly early or she had pulled an all-nighter again. It would be more likely for Discord to reappear and take a job as an accountant than for Lyra Heartstrings to choose to get up early. Bon-Bon had lost count of the number of times she had been forced to rudely rouse her friend from bed so she wasn’t late for work. Bowls of cold water, tipped mattresses and blankets being tossed out of the window had featured more than once. On weekends it was typical for Lyra not to be seen before lunchtime. About the only thing that could make her relinquish sleep was if she was working on a new composition.

Bon-Bon watched as Lyra scribbled fervently. Her horn glowed, the soft green light around it and the pencil reflecting off the mirror to give the room an unearthly glow. After only a couple of minutes Lyra paused, the pencil tapping her chin in thought. A yawn gripped her but she covered it and added a last flourish to her work, like a maestro finishing a masterful performance. She dropped the pencil and stretched upward, arching her back and hooves high above her head. Her whole body contorted before her hooves dropped bonelessly to her sides and sighed. She leaned back in her chair like someone who had run a marathon and was utterly spent, casting a long look at her bed. For a few seconds her gaze ping-ponged: paper and then bed; paper and then bed; paper and then bed. Finally she got up and trotted over to the rumpled bed.

Don’t do it, Bon-Bon thought. You’ll be late for work.

As if hearing her, Lyra fell to her knees and jammed one hoof under the mattress. Her tongue poked out of her mouth as she felt around blindly, finally withdrawing a battered ring-binder. She flipped it open and carefully clipped her new work into it. For a moment Lyra just stared at the page, eyes darting along the notes as if checking none of the notes had skittered away while she wasn’t looking. Then she replaced the ring-binder, gave the bed one more covetous look and left the room.

Bon-Bon was left with the curious impression that she had witnessed she wasn’t meant to see. A kernel of guilt appeared in her stomach, sitting heavy like an indigestible piece of food. You didn’t hide things under your mattress if you wanted other ponies to know about them. Feeling like a bad friend for invading Lyra’s privacy, she slid silently down the drainpipe and paused at the bottom, caught by a ridiculous desire to go and apologise. She couldn’t do that! That would mean admitting she had been hanging around outside Lyra’s window – which would not only beg the question of why, but also how she had managed to get up there without Lyra hearing her.

Bon-Bon always justified these incidents by telling herself she was looking out for Lyra’s safety. After all, Lyra was a unicorn. While demons could target anypony, the more magic they had, the tastier they looked. Now, however, the paucity of her justification came back to bite her on the rump. Demons couldn’t go inside a pony’s home unless they were specifically invited or summoned in a Summoning Circle. Since few ponies even believed demons existed, much less knew how to summon them, it was extremely unlikely Lyra would have done that.

Which also begged the question of why Bon-Bon felt the need to check on her like this.

Shaking her head, she cantered away before she could do anything stupid. She knew she should have gone straight to Zecora’s.

Zecora’s house was a mishmash. It sat somewhere between heartening and disturbing – heartening for being a safe haven against the Everfree; disturbing that anyone would choose to live in the forest. That fact had poised the citizens against her when she first moved to Ponyville. As well as just being different to look at and from a culture they knew little about, nopony could understand how or why Zecora would want to live in such a dangerous place. Her choice curried distrust right from the beginning, especially since she couldn’t confess the real reason she had to live away from others. It would have been difficult to train a Slayer and wage a secret war against demons if you live in the centre of town. The Everfree provided good cover, since ponies rarely dropped in to see her unannounced.

Or at least they hadn’t before Twilight made it her mission to befriend Zecora and bring her more into the welcoming embrace of the town. Ponyville still didn’t fully trust Zecora but Twilight had made inroads Zecora had made little effort to carve for herself. Bon-Bon knew that while Zecora appreciated the gesture and certainly found it easier to buy things these days, she worried that someday Twilight and her friends might come by unannounced and see something they shouldn’t.

Bon-Bon knocked on the door and waited. A cloud of scent wafted out when Zecora opened it; something peppery but not altogether unpleasant. Zecora gave a small smile when she saw who it was. She wasn’t given to great shows of emotion and could fit as much emotion into a twitch of her lips as Pinkie Pie could into a light-up-the-room-grin.

“Bon-Bon! Your patrol’s complete? Come inside and take a seat.”

“Thanks, Zecora.” Bon-Bon entered, breathing in the scent, which was even stronger inside. “Mmm, something smells good.”

Zecora trotted over to the fireplace where a pot of something bubbled against its closed lid. The metal was old and pockmarked, with black patches underneath where many fires had touched it over the years. So many things of Zecora’s were old and well-used. She seemed to have an aversion to newness and would much rather purchase a previously owned item when one of hers broke. She unhooked a mitt from above the pot, slipped it over her hoof and removed the lid so she could stir the mixture inside with a long wooden spoon.

“Is that some kind of medicine? Or is it a magic potion?”

“Neither medicine nor brew; I have made breakfast for you.”

“You … did?” Bon-Bon was surprised. “But how did you know I was coming?”

“With me you have often dined, though my food is not refined. But if you are disinclined, just tell me what’s on your mind.” Bon-Bon must have looked startled, for Zecora gave a throaty chuckle as she stirred in strong, even circles. “Quickly to my house you’ve hurried, plus you look extremely worried. A genius I may not be but, Bon-Bon, do not lie to me. I think your qualms are overdue; share with me what worries you.”

Bon-Bon’s stomach chose that precise moment to rumble loudly.

“Well now, firstly I decree, you SHALL have breakfast with me.” Zecora pointed to a shelf on the far wall. “Bon-Bon, grant this tiny wish; please pass me that shallow dish. Two plates, also, I require while I just turn down this fire.” She poked at the flaming wood with a metal prong, shifting aside the biggest pieces so clouds of sparks and grey ash flittered out.

Bon-Bon dutifully complied and soon she found herself sitting on the opposite side of a rush-mat to the zebra, a plate of steaming white mush. It smelled delicious but looked less than appetising.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Uji is a simple meal, hot and filling and, I feel, a tasty way to start your day, whether working or at play. Millet flour and corn flour too, mixed with water – quick to chew. You may sweeten if you please. Now tell me of your clear unease.” Zecora pushed a small bowl of raisins and an even smaller bowl of rust-brown powder towards her. Bon-Bon’s nose told her the powder was cinnamon, so she took only a hoof of raisins and scattered them in her mush.

“Well,” she said as she blew on a spoonful, “it’s about the number of demon sighting in Ponyville recently.” She stuck her tongue out to test the temperature. It was still hot but not scalding and tasted like a dream. Bon-Bon shovelled another spoonful in quickly and swallowed. Uji really was quick to chew. “Wow, Zecora, this stuff is great!”

“When I came across the sea I brought more than just masks with me,” Zecora said softly.

Bon-Bon paused. Zecora rarely talked about her life before coming to Equestria. She still wasn’t entirely sure whether the zebra had journeyed here specifically to become a Watcher or had adopted the role once she arrived. She had tried to ask once or twice, before she realised that talking about that time made Zecora slightly more than uncomfortable. Bon-Bon had stopped asking but not stopped wondering, especially at the moments of rare vulnerability that sometimes filtered through Zecora’s confident veneer. There had to be a reason Zecora had never been back, or even left Ponyville since Bon-Bon had met her. Bon-Bon had been summoned back to Canterlot a few times but Zecora had never gone with her.

“Bon-Bon, do not be distracted, or your news won’t be extracted.”

“Uh, right, right,” Bon-Bon said, taking another mouthful of uji and swallowing. “Like I said, it’s about the number of demons that have come to Ponyville lately …” She explained about her misgivings, the demons’ odd behaviour in not heading straight for the library and the strange words of the last one she had banished earlier that night.

“Hmm, I think I do agree. The question is: who is this ‘he’?” Zecora polished off the last of her uji and set the bowl down before her. She rested her forehooves on her haunches as she thought. “That was the only thing it said? And this is what filled you with dread”

“Filled with dread might be pushing it.” Bon-Bon put down her bowl. “Edgy would be a better word. It made me edgy. I know it’s not much to go on and the thing might have just been yanking my tail but … it just didn’t feel like it, y’know?”

Zecora nodded. “You are correct; it’s not a lot, but I’ll research, so worry not.” She gestured to the shelves, which were crammed with old scrolls and books. She had hung a cloth over some sections to distract from their titles. Probably since Twilight started visiting her she was worried a unicorn with magical training would know what the ‘Grimwing Grimoire’ actually was. “Demons are, at best, erratic, though their ways remain traumatic. They don’t think the way we do, so we often misconstrue all the nasty things they do. All, except, for attack you.”

“Yeah.” Bon-Bon looked hard at her empty dish. “Demons don’t look alike, sound alike, smell alike or act alike, but they all hate the Slayer. Lucky me. I’m a constant in the fight against them.”

“Though you jest, you are quite right. Yours is power of what’s right. Never lose this from your sight: Bon-Bon, agent of the light.” Zecora’s tone was soft, her cadence almost musical. Not for the first time, Bon-Bon wondered why her Watcher spoke entirely in rhyme. Just like her homeland and reasons for being in Equestria, Zecora kept tight-lipped on the matter.

“Do you need any help with the research?” Bon-bon covered a yawn.

“Sleep, I think, you do require. Go home and to bed retire.”

“I’m fine. I can –”

“I understand your agitation, but we’ve had this conversation. Go home and get some shut-eye. I shall answer this new ‘why’.”

“And who,” Bon-Bon added, covering another yawn.

Zecora nodded. Her smile, small as it was, faded entirely. “Bon-Bon, I’ll be straight with you; in return please tell me true: as a Slayer you are good but are you acting as you should? I feel some strange and nameless fear, so I may not be quite clear. When you fight, as is your call, do you take silly risks at all?”

“Silly risks? Bon-Bon repeated. “No more than usual.”

“Bon-Bon, do not be so glib. Are you telling me a fib?”

“No. Why would I? I’m doing the same patrols I have been since I arrived in Ponyville.” Bon-Bon frowned in thought. “Wait a minute, do you mean silly risks with the demons, or with other ponies?”

“To the fiends I was referring, since more of them are occurring.”

“Oh. Right. Well, no, I haven’t taken any unnecessary risks. Like I said, the demons that have appeared lately are all small and pretty weak, which is why it’s so weird they haven’t been going for Twilight the way I expected.” She dropped her gaze to her hooves, which had started nervously toying with the edge of her cloak. For a moment she had thought Zecora was asking whether she given away her secret to somepony who shouldn’t know it. There was only one pony Bon-Bon had ever been tempted to tell. Was she really that obvious?

“You are right, of course you are. Born under a lucky star. You knew right from wrong since birth; pony who knows not her worth.”

Bon-Bon’s head snapped up. “What did you just say?”

Zecora blinked right back, nonplussed. “I agreed that you are right about the events of your night.”

“No, no, the other stuff. What did you say about stars?”

“Were you paying true attention? Stars are things I did not mention.”

Bon-Bon shook her head, not in disagreement, but in an effort to shake loose the words that had lodged there. “I must be more tired than I thought. I think I’m hearing things.” She got up and started to pick up her dish and spoon until Zecora waved her away.

“Go home and get lots of rest. Come back when you’re at your best. Answers I’ll try to acquire from the notes of Watchers prior.”

“I’ll come back for training this afternoon?” Bon-Bon asked as she trotted to the door, feeling better for having unburdened her worries but newly discomfited by what she thought she had heard. For a moment there Zecora had sounded like Windwhistler. Thinking of Windwhistler made her heart convulse in a different way that when she thought of mint green unicorns and telling secrets she wasn’t supposed to tell anypony.

“Training shall commence at two,” Zecora called after her. “Perhaps I’ll have news for you.”

“That’d be great,” Bon-Bon said over her shoulder. “See you later, Zecora.”

She didn’t see the worried look that passed over the zebra’s face as she hurried out.

Author's Note

Full disclosure, I wrote this fic between September 2012 and summer 2013, during the time Season 3 of the show was premiering. It was my very first attempt at longform ponyfic. And, as with many of my longer projects, I reached a point of writer's block and tried to buck my traitorous brain into gear by applying the jumper cables of shorter one-shots. And somehow I just never went back to this one.

Well whilst the world has been embroiled in a pandemic and I've been on lockdown, I spent a some time organizing my digital files and migrating them onto a backup harddrive. I discovered a file called 'MLP - 30 Deathfics' and released it under the title 'The Name of Our Mistakes'. It didn't exactly set the ponyfic world on fire but it appealed enough to readers that I finally finished what had been a WiP project.

Which leads me to Bon-Bon the Demon Slayer, which preceded The Name of Our Mistakes by a full year and was a story much closer to my heart. Thus I'm releasing this one too, with the caveat of when it was written and where canon was at the time. I know Bon-Bon was revealed in 'Slice of Life' to be Secret Agent Sweetie Drops but ... well, I always hated that anyway and 'secret life as slayer of monsters' was something I'd come up with first.

14. Bad Eggs

Author's Note

I know this is severely short compared with the other chapters in this fic, but I've literally had this waiting on my harddrive for a year, so I figured it would be better to post a short chapter as it is than no chapter at all.

14. Bad Eggs

School was a nightmare.

It had never been the easiest place to be, but now Bon-Bon found every waking minute a trial, as opposed to ever other minute. She tried to stay home, pleading with her mother for a few extra days, but her mother was immovable. The day after Bon-Bon returned from hospital, she was packed off to Miss Lavish’s Conservatory for Young Ladies with a schoolbag and a warning to ‘behave herself’.

She sloped into the building, feeling like all eyes were on her. She was received by the Headmistress’s aide, who whisked her to the eponymous Miss Lavish’s office. There Bon-Bon was left waiting until long after the bell for had rung for first period. Bon-Bon studied the potted aspidistra in the corner until the door opened and a tall pony minced out.

Once upon a time, somepony had told Miss Lavish that she looked like Princess Celestia. Her long legs, white coat, sharp horn and pink mane were something like the princess’s, though she would never fool anypony. Nevertheless, she had fastened on this compliment and spent the rest of her life trying to live up to it. As such, she allowed her mane to flow freely and teased it into a semblance of a swirl (though after a while it looked like she had stuck her hoof in an electrical socket). Her shrewd eyes were rimmed with kohl and missed nothing, though one might be forgiven for assuming her silly laugh and vanity meant her head was empty. One did not run one of the most successful private schools in Manehattan without intelligence, not to mention a degree of ruthlessness.

“Ah, Bon-Bon,” she simpered. “Come in, come in. take a seat, dear.”

Bon-Bon dutifully complied, perching on a chair that seemed designed for the comfort of some creature other than a pony. She places her forehooves flat on the surface, drawing her hind legs up slightly to ease the pressure on her lower back, but the chair’s design continued to exacerbate the discomfort she was already feeling about being in this office at all. Miss Lavish had lived up to her name and the whole room was festooned with expensive ornaments, filigree and gold inlay. Proudly displayed in the centre of the wall was a photograph of the time she had shaken hooves with Princess Celestia herself after one of the school’s students won some national award. The student had been pushed to one side, allowing Miss Lavish and a slightly bemused looking Princess Celestia to claim the limelight.

“Bon-Bon.” Miss Lavish seated herself with not apparent discomfort. She leaned forward on her desk. Her smile was bright but had far too many teeth. “Now dear, I understand that you’ve been through a rather … trying time recently.”

She didn’t know the half of it. Bon-Bon resisted the urge to drop her gaze. When she realised that the headmistress expected a response, she nodded.

“I want you to know, dear, that we’re here for you if you need to talk.”

“I’m fine. Really.” Not really, but numb was as good as fine. Everything felt a little unreal. She wondered whether anything would ever feel real again.

“Much as I’d like to believe that, dear, I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist.” Miss Lavish adopted an expression of understanding, drawing her lower lip into a small pout. “We all think we’re fine after we’ve been through a trauma, but more often than not, we aren’t. So I’m going to have to insist you make an appointment with the school counsellor.”

“I don’t need a grief counsellor.” Her mother and father had already booked her in to see their therapist next week. She didn’t want to talk about Nonna to anypony. None of them understood how empty and hollow she felt in the wake of her grandmother’s death and talking about it only made her feel lonelier.

Miss Lavish blinked. “Yes, uh, that too.” She fumbled for her next words, Bon-Bon’s response having clearly put her off her spiel.

Bon-Bon stared. What else would she need to talk to the school counsellor about except … oh no.

Miss Lavish’s smile stayed fixed and shiny, as if coated in shellac. “Everypony needs somepony to nudge them in the right direction sometimes. Keep us on the, uh, straight and narrow, so to speak.” She gave a tinkling laugh. She couldn’t have been more obvious if she had added, “Hint-hint.”

She thought Bon-Bon had tried to hurt herself. Or taken something she shouldn’t have. Suicide or an overdose: which was better for your headmistress to assume of you? The pit fell out of Bon-Bon’s stomach. She resisted the urge to stand up and walk out.

The shellac smile remained. “Bon-Bon? Dear?”

A dozen responses fought their way to the front of Bon-Bon’s mind. Yet as she met Miss Lavish’s gaze, every one of them deflated. What was the point? Ponies would think what they would think, no matter what. It wouldn’t matter if she protested. It might even convince them even more. Ponies who protested too much were usually lying, after all. Right?

“Bon-Bon?” Miss Lavish tried once more.

“Whatever you say, Miss Lavish.”

“Wonderful. I’m glad you agree. Now let me see …” She pushed forward a clipboard with a sheet of paper attached. Clearly she had been ready for Bon-Bon’s arrival. “I believe Miss Salad has an opening tomorrow morning …” A pink aura enveloped the quill on the desk, levitating it to sign Bon-Bon’s name in quick, sharp strokes. “There we are. You’ll report to her at 10am.”

“Can I go now?”

Miss Lavish seemed a little flummoxed at Bon-Bon’s terseness. She blinked rapidly as she said, “Uh, of course, dear. I just want you to know that everyone is here for you whenever you need us.”

Bon-Bon stood gratefully, cricking her back. “Yeah. Thanks,” she said tonelessly.

The headmistress’s aide took her to class, which was already in full swing when she got there. The science lab buzzed with low-level chatter, which died the moment the door opened to reveal them.

“Just delivering Miss Sweetie-Drops to you,” said the aide.

The science teacher, a gruff stallion called Mr Sulphur, flapped a hoof for Bon-Bon to take her seat without breaking his stride. “And as you can see, the nitrogen cycle relies heavily on waste like decomposing plant matter …”

Bon-Bon trailed to her place and clambered up onto the stool. Mr Sulphur was a teacher of the ‘talk-at-them-really-loud-and-they’ll-learn-it’ variety, so he rarely noticed the hushed whispers that blended into the growl of his own voice. Added to his propensity for chalkboards and elaborate diagrams, this meant that whole conversations could happen during his classes with him none the wiser.

It took less than five minutes for the filly next to her to say something. She and Bon-Bon had never really spoken before, other than mundane things to do with class. In Mr Sulphur’s class ‘lab partner’ was strictly an in-name-only term.

“How come you’re not in rehab?”

Bon-Bon simply glared at her.

The filly shrank back. “I was only asking. Yeesh, tou-chy.” She bent her head to her own notes, which seemed to consist mostly of doodling ‘Heart Throb loves Slugger’ over and over in little hearts.

When she bent her neck, Bon-Bon caught a glimpse of the pony on the workbench beyond theirs. Her stomach clenched until she felt like she might actually puke. She hadn’t seen Bright Eyes since the … incident. She hadn’t been back to school since that terrible evening and, of course, neither had contacted the other in the interim. Bright Eyes kept her head down, apparently making actual notes from everything Mr Sulphur said. As Bon-Bon watched, however, she saw Bright Eyes sneak a covert glance in her direction. Their gazes met for the briefest of moments – long enough for Bon-Bon to see Bright Eyes’s alarm.

Bon-Bon turned back to her work but the sheet of paper she was supposed to be making notes on blurred. Damn it, not now! Numbness was preferable to blubbing in class. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t cry! She grabbed her saddlebag from under the table and grubbed about for the packet of tissues Nonna had taught her always to carry. She pressed one to her eyes, one by one, glad she didn’t wear make-up so it didn’t smear or run. Somepony giggled behind her but she was gulping air too hard to distinguish who the voice belonged to.

The bell couldn’t ring fast enough. Science class seemed interminable. Bon-Bon ran for the door and ducked into the girls’ powder room en route to her next class. Miss Lavish’s Conservatory for Young Ladies didn’t have bathrooms, as she insisted whenever she overheard one of the students slip and use the common term. The door had pink fluff glued around the glittery pink sign, which swished as Bon-Bon barrelled inside in a very unladylike fashion.

She hid in a stall, wishing she had a paper bag to breath into. What a time for her emotions to come back to life. She was caught between wanting to cry and break something. She tore up the tissue clutched in her hoof and threw it into the toilet. The backs of her eyes stung. In sheer frustration at the unfairness of the events of the past week, she kicked the toilet for good measure.

The ceramic cracked and water flowed out over her hooves. Startled, she jumped back, ramming up against the locked door. The cistern gurgled indignantly as she dragged back the locked and backed out until she hit the row of fluffy pink sinks and fluffy pink mirrors beyond.

“And I thought I was the only one brave enough to cut class,” said a voice. “Apparently I’ve got competition.”

Bon-Bon looked up to see a tall filly perched on the windowsill – fluffy and pink, naturally. The filly wasn’t pink and she was definitely not fluffy. Her mane was straight as a board and hung down over her face in a rakish style that had obviously taken a lot of practise. Her ears poked through, each one pierced by hoops and tiny diamond studs that twinkled in the light from outside. The regulation number of earrings was one stud in each ear, though Miss Lavish frowned on any at all. Neither did she like ostentatious jewellery, though Cara Orange got away with diamond necklaces and bracelets every day, and this filly had wrapped a choker around her throat comprised of enough rubies to make a diamond dog try to bite her throat out.

Bon-Bon glanced back at the ruined toilet. It was impossible for the other filly to see the damage from where she was sitting, but the water pooling on the floor was a giveaway.

“Did you break it?” The other filly hopped down and hurried over, leaning on Bon-Bon’s shoulder with one foreleg to get a better look. “Hot damn, you did! Now why didn’t I ever think of that?”

“I … I didn’t mean to,” Bon-Bon stammered.

“Why not? Best thing that could’ve happened to it.” The other filly pulled a face. “It’s pink.”

“Wh-what should I do?” Bon-Bon bit her lip. She should go tell somepony. Maybe they’d think the crack was already there and the bowl just broke when she sat down –

“Duh, you should more cherry bombs down the others.” The other filly shoved the shoulder she was leaning on, making Bon-Bon stumble, and wiggled her eyebrows.

“Cherry … bomb?” Bon-Bon blinked at her.

The other filly’s head jerked up at the bell that signalled the time for travelling between classrooms was over. Anypony caught out of lessons now would be in trouble. Bon-Bon had never been in trouble in her life. Not even so much as a tardy slip or a detention. Well, until now.

Then again, what did it matter now? The only pony she would have cared about disappointing was Nonna. Imagining the look on her mother and father’s faces if she blemished her perfect record was almost … invigorating.

“Uh-oh, late again,” the other filly smiled, as if it didn’t bother her in the slightest. “You gonna do the four-hoof shuffle now?”

“Four hoof …?”

“You’re like an echo, you know that? Are you gonna run back to class and pretend like this never happened?”

Bon-Bon considered this for exactly three seconds. “I’m not going to class.”

“Really?” The other filly raised an eyebrow. “I’ve seen you around school before. You’re a real goody-goody.”

Bon-Bon tossed her head. “Not … not anymore.”

“Ooh, dramatic.”

The other filly had no idea how momentous this was. Bon-Bon had always tried to do her best and be a good pony. She had wanted to please her grandmother and make her proud. Yet what had being a good pony brought her? Nothing but disappointment, frustration and misery. Maybe it was time she tried a different way.

“I’m … I’m ditching.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Um … do you know how to get off campus in the middle of the day without getting caught?”

The tall filly’s heavily made-up eyes widened. She had applied so much gaudy mascara and eyeliner that the whites of her eyes appeared extra stark. “Yeesh, judgemental much? I’m in the girls’ room when I shouldn’t be so I must automatically be the school delinquent?”

“Oh … sorry … I didn’t mean to –”

She laughed uproariously. “Your face. You really are a goody-goody. You’re right, though. I do know how to get out of this dump without anypony seeing.” She tilted her chin, looking down at Bon-Bon from her already quite considering height. “If you’re mare enough.”

Bon-Bon shook off the misgivings trying to cling to her. “Let’s go. My name’s –”

“Bon-Bon. I know. Like I said, I’ve seen you around school before.”

“Oh. I, uh …”

“No worries. I didn’t expect you to know me.” The other filly stuck out a hoof for Bon-Bon to shake. “I’m Garnet. Garnet Stone.” She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, my parents reached deep when they named me.”

Bon-Bon’s eyes widened. Garnet Stone? Heir to the gemstone import empire? No wonder she was able to get away with rampant infringement of the uniform policy – her parents practically bankrolled the whole school through hefty donations. No matter what she did, their daughter was guaranteed a perfect score on her route to graduation.

“I see you’ve heard of me.” Garnet’s face twisted up. She brushed past Bon-Bon, a little too forcefully. “C’mon. Let’s beat hoof.”

Bon-Bon hesitated for just a moment before following her.

….

When Derpy Hooves knocked on Bon-Bon’s door the next morning, it took Bon-Bon longer than usual to answer. Sweet smells billowed out and Derpy’s fringe ruffled at the wash of warm air that escaped over her.

“Wow! That s-smells so guh-good!” she exclaimed. “What are you b-baking?”

“My feelings,” Bon-Bon muttered.

“Huh?”

“Umm, coconut cupcakes, fudge pops, salted almond brittle, sugar cookies, shortbread, peppermint creams, cherry and sultana scones, white chocolate pretzel bites and I just got some banana muffins out of the oven.”

Derpy’s eyes widened. “Muffins?” The word came out with crystal clarity, no hint of a stutter.

Bon-Bon vanished inside for a few moments, reappearing with a tray in oven-gloved hooves. “Here. Take one. Take several. Take them all.”

Derpy’s hoof hesitated in reaching out. “Huh?”

Bon-Bon sighed. “It’s easier if you just see for yourself.” She gestured for her to follow.

When they reached the kitchen, Derpy halted and whistled. Her eyes rotated, not at the same speed, each trying to focus on one of the many, many piles of sweet treats. “How long have you been awake to do all this?”

“A while.” Bon-Bon neglected to mention she had arrived home from patrol too wired to sleep at all. Some of the creations were from this morning but some were from the previous day, carefully packaged up in Tupperware boxes to keep them from going stale. She had been unable to settle after her talks with Princess Luna, Zecora and Twilight Sparkle. Since baking and confectionary were her calming mechanism, when she arrived home that afternoon she had set to work trying to calm herself enough to get a nap in before nightfall.

It hadn’t worked.

So she had kept trying.

By the time the long evening had drawn to a close and night had fallen enough for demons to be abroad, her brain was still thrumming. So she had gone on a fruitless patrol, come back when the sun’s rays protected the townsfolk and gone back to cooking, hoping it would at least tire her out to keep doing the physical of abandoning her electric utensils and beating all mixtures by hoof with a wooden spoon.

“It would really help me if you took these muffins off my hooves,” she sighed. “I can put them in a bag or something for you.”

“Oh. Well, in th-that case, th-thank y-y-you. Would y-you m-mind if I c-come b-back for th-them l-later after I f-f-finish m-my r-rounds and my m-mailbag is empty?” Derpy’s ears flicked as if she wanted to lay them against her skull. “I wouldn’t w-want them to g-get r-ruined because I’m so cl-clumsy.”

“That’s fine. I don’t have much planned for today anyhow.” Except trying not to drive herself insane thinking about Starswirl’s Slayer spell and Twilight Sparkle’s … Twilight Sparkleness.

Luna had teleported herself and the Lunar Sword to Bon-Bon’s attic from Zecora’s before heading back to Canterlot. When Bon-Bon walked back into town at her much slower pace, she felt the Sword sense her approach and realised with surprise that she was pleased to reconnect with it too. She was so busy registering this surprise that she did not even see Twilight before she nearly walked into her.

“Hi, Bon-Bon!”

Oh. Crap.