Princess Bookhorse Goes for a Jog
Halfway back to Ponyville, Summer Wind broke down. She plopped her rump down on the dirt path beneath the yellowing treetops, dropped her head between her hooves, and sobbed.
Just a few months ago, she’d swept like her namesake over the hills and through the little valleys, her hooves skimming over dirt and sod, mane and tail streaming in her own wake. Now, thanks to a persistent pain just below her right rear fetlock, she could barely even gallop without limping. For a pony whose swirling cutie mark declared that she was built for speed, this was simply intolerable.
She’d been injured before, of course—it was part of the sport. She even suspected she'd had this particular injury before--it felt quite a bit like tendinopathy of the deep digital flexor. Summer wasn’t a doctor, but she was well-acquainted with the injury-prone parts of a racehorse’s body. She’d taken the advice she always gave to others—sleep well, do your rehab diligently, focus on nutrition, stay active in other ways—and she’d always healed in good time. This time, though, the pain stayed. And stayed. And stayed, for weeks then months then most of spring and much of summer, and now the Running of the Leaves was coming and she wouldn’t be in shape. I must be getting old. Old ponies don’t heal as quickly.
Summer prodded her side with a sharp-edged hoof, disgusted by the excess flesh that molded around it. Pinkie Pie, the mare who knew everypony, had come round her house with a party invitation and a “Super-Special Cheer-My-Friend-Up Cupcake With Extra-Caring Sprinkles!” (exclamation point mandatory). Summer had shut the door in her face. She knew that had hurt the pink party pony’s feelings, but it served her right. Didn’t she know that late nights and cupcakes were the last thing Summer needed right now? Pinkie hadn’t bothered her since.
The racehorse rose to her hooves and paced back and forth, gazing up through the flame-colored trees. It was a beautiful, crisp early autumn morning, the kind made for long gallops with a friend. Summer had lately withdrawn from her training partners, though. She didn’t want to hold them back, and she couldn’t let them see her so flabby, so weak. Streaks of cloud overhead heralded the approach of a small squadron of pegasi, and Summer ducked beneath the oak boughs in shame.
It was strange to be an earth pony with a cutie mark for speed; she often envied her feathered friends their wings and power. She could never keep pace with a pony on the wing, and hoofraces drew far less attention than aerial ones. The Running of the Leaves was the one notable exception, and she always took pride in outrunning star fliers on the ground. None of that this year, she supposed. Even if her leg were healed, magically, today, she still wouldn’t have time to get in shape for the race.
Summer headed back toward Ponyville, now merely walking. She favored her leg somewhat more than was strictly necessary. She would not have it said, if anypony happened by, that Summer Wind was getting lazy. She was not taking it easy by choice. The sun began to grate as noon approached—at a gallop, she’d have been home an hour ago. Summer glared at the burning orb and allowed herself to fantasize that the distant Princess would emerge from the light to carry her home and heal her. The doctors at Ponyville Hospital lacked that sort of power, but she doubted that the Lady of the Sun had such limits. Celestia would sail down on her mighty, graceful wings, and clasp Summer tight as she sobbed; she would gather Summer up and envelop her in a caring, mending nebula of magic…
“Hey!” The voice was not Celestia’s; Summer snapped from her reverie, aware that she’d stood stock-still in her daydream. Before her stood a princess indeed, but not the one she wanted—too short, too purple, and too awkward. As she stared, she realized that Twilight Sparkle was now taller than her, but there was still little comparison to Celestia’s heavenly majesty. The former librarian cocked her head and fluffed her new wings, a tentative smile on her face.
“Sorry to interrupt…whatever you were doing, but I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You’re…Summer, right?”
Summer suppressed a sigh. She was surprised that the former librarian knew her name—Summer was not a frequent visitor to the Golden Oak Library. She supposed the new princess had decided to memorize everypony in town, and probably to file them away in a little card catalog. Summer Wind—earth pony, mare, soft orange, lately looking a little fluffy around the barrel. Last check-in: never, engagement recommended. A good princess must know all her subjects!
Summer offered a mask of a smile, letting the barest hint of a grimace peek out underneath. “That’s me! And I’m fine. Can I do something for you?” Twilight drew back slightly before doubling down on her grin and trying again. “No! Actually, I wanted to see if I could do anything for you! Pinkie Pie says you’ve been a little down lately.”
Moon-damn that Pinkie Pie! Summer turned aside. Why couldn’t that mare leave well enough alone? Summer just wanted to run, or, failing that, to...lie down in the dirt and cry. But the Element of Laughter insisted on intruding into her malaise, and now she was getting her friends in on it, too. “Listen…Princess.” Twilight’s pupils shrank a bit at the title. She opened her mouth—To tell me to call her Twilight, I’m sure—but Summer just talked over her. “I appreciate your, and Pinkie’s, concern, but my happiness is my own business. I don’t want your pity, and I’m not your little pony to look after. Sorry.”
Summer watched Twilight’s ears droop. She could almost see the gears turning beneath the pony’s purple bangs. Subject not responding to standard care routines. Accessing alternatives… Summer wondered what she’d come up with. Probably, ‘Well, I’m here if you ever want to talk!’ The racehorse jumped slightly as Twilight dropped her star-marked rump to the ground and let her affected smile fade. Oh, no. I didn’t break her, did I?
Twilight looked Summer in the eye, suddenly serious. “No, I’m sorry. I know it’s frustrating to be injured, and I know concern can feel demeaning—even if it’s coming from a place of care.”
Summer felt a stab of shame at that, and she remembered the hurt in Pinkie Pie’s eyes just before she’d closed the door on the party pony. Twilight continued: “You don’t want my help, and that’s fine. I was actually wondering, though, if you’d maybe be willing to help me. See, I’d like to participate in the Running of the Leaves again this year, but I don’t exactly know how to get ready and I want to do a little better than last time. My friends who are going to run are way ahead of me, and I don’t want to interfere with their training. Would you be willing to give me some advice?” There was something wrong with this, Summer knew—why wouldn’t the Princess of Friendship just ask Rainbow Dash, flier extraordinaire, for help? But she wasn’t going to turn down an opportunity to talk about her craft and passion. Those were few enough in the first place. She drew herself up and adopted a businesslike tone.
“Yeah, sure, I’ll help. First I’m gonna need to know where you’re at—I know you do a lot of flying around and adventuring and stuff, but how often do you get out for a trot? Can you—oh, you know, it’ll be easier if you can just show me, nopony really knows where they’re at if they’re not training regularly. Why don’t you trot back to town with me, and that’ll give me a sense for where you’re at. I can’t go very fast right now, so you shouldn’t have trouble keeping up…”
Twilight kept pace beside the chattering mare, her hooves rebounding comfortably from the packed dirt. She gave a quiet smile to see the light in Summer’s eyes as she spoke about intervals and fitness indices and how to put together a proper week of training. Princess Celestia had once told her that ponies were really very simple creatures, and it was only their messy circumstances that made them seem complex. If you know what a pony wants, Twilight—not what they think they want, but what they really need—then you’ve found the key to much of what they do. And all ponies want and need to feel valued, just in different ways.
Little Twilight the bookworm, having always found text far more legible than ponies, found the sentiment bizarre. The Princess must possess some transcendent genius to decode the bewildering maze of sapient behavior, where words didn’t always mean what they were supposed to mean and often didn’t seem to matter at all. Lately, though, Twilight thought, she might be starting to understand. (Maybe it was the wings? No, that was ridiculous). The alicorn smiled at Summer as they trotted past the thatched homes marking the northern edge of Ponyville.
“You know, you seem really knowledgeable, and I’m grateful for your advice; I think I might have some trouble putting it into practice on my own, though. If it’s not too much to ask, would you mind coming for a trot with me tomorrow? I think it would really help, having you there to give me pointers.”
Summer looked down, and Twilight watched the corners of her mouth twist. “I…should probably take tomorrow off for my fetlock. But I could do Sunday! Nice to have something to do, since I can’t train properly myself.” She flashed a hesitant smile.
Twilight grinned in return. “Sunday would be great.” She kept an eye on Summer as the mare walked away. The racehorse still favored her leg, but she held her head a little higher as she went. She recalled what Celestia had said next: You’ll find, Twilight, you’ll often want to swoop in and solve somepony’s problem for them. One of the hardest parts of being a princess is realizing that you often can’t. But remember the impulse—it feels good to help! Remember that other ponies feel that way, too.
