Applejack paused for a moment to wipe the perspiration from her brow. The old plough was heavier than she was, and her fur was slick with sweat.
As she flicked the salty droplets onto the ground, the same earth that she had ploughed every year since she was a filly, she gazed up at the horizon. Dawn was breaking over the Everfree Forest, and the sky was turning a gentle shade of orange, fading to yellow at the edges. It was beautiful; the pleasure of being up early enough to watch the sun rising every day was one of Applejack’s favourite parts of tending Sweet Apple Acres.
Applejack looked back to the work before her. The meadow was vast, but she had already finished more than half. The soil behind her was broken neatly into identical lines, the loam rich and fresh. Ahead of her the ground was still scrubby with last winter’s grass. There was a ways to go, but if she worked hard she could be done in an hour or so, in time for breakfast with Apple Bloom before she went to school. Life on the farm was tough, undeniably. But…the moments of beauty, like this tremulous sunrise…they made it worth it.
Applejack put her shoulders to the harness again. “Yup. Sure as apples is apples.”
Gazing out the window of the first Canterlot Express of the day, Sweet Pepper watched the fields roll by. The sun was just peeking over the hills in the distance. Its light promised a warm, balmy day to come.
Shuffling her haunches with a touch of impatience, Sweet Pepper pinned her gaze on those hazy swells of ground. The rough fabric of the seat itched, and her slightly-too-small Daring Do shirt pinched her stomach, but she didn’t break her eye contact with the horizon. Beyond the hills waited Hoofington, the Conference Centre with its fountains and endless corridors. And waiting for her there were Quibble Pants, Compass, Flipper and all her friends.
It had been nearly six months since she had seen them. Hugged them, felt them hug her back. Letters were…fine; they were something, at least. But nothing could beat being there in the flesh, laughing with them all and arguing over all their pet theories in person. She glanced down at the convention schedule she held between her hooves. Nine AM: Caballeron’s Character, the first panel of the day. Only a couple of hours left, and then she would be there.
Not long left to wait.
“Good morning, Tia.”
The oaken doors to the breakfasting room swung shut behind the princess as she walked slowly towards the table, her face drawn and shadowed with the labours of a long night.
“Sister! Good morrow!” The second alicorn, already seated at the table, was far more chipper.
The darker slumped into her own armchair and groaned. She lit her horn to pull one of the piled plates of pancakes over to her and began to spoon them into her mouth.
Celestia covered her mouth with a hoof to hide a smile. “Not very decorous of you, Luna.”
A grunt was her only answer.
“A hard night’s work, then?”
“A school over in Fillydelphia had a manticore break into the gymnasium,” Luna said shortly. “Fifty foals all having the same night terrors — I feel like I have been clawed and bitten by scores of manticores.”
“Ah,” Celestia said wisely, her horn still sparkling with magic though her fork did not move. Behind her, Luna could see the edges of sunrise through the stained glass window. “It is a worthy thing, sister, to protect our ponies.”
Shutting her eyes and swallowing another mouthful, Luna nodded wearily. “I know it.”
“Come,” Celestia said, her voice taking on a motherly tone. “You need to take your own rest now, after watching over all of ours. Let me tuck you in. Shall I sing you a lullaby?”
Her eyes heavy with sleep, Luna barely managed a nod. “That…that would be most agreeable.”
A white wing wrapped around a dark form, the two left the room side by side as the first of the sun’s rays dappled the breakfast table.
Wings pumping, heart thudding in her chest, Spitfire screeched into a hairpin turn and shot out the other side of it, a fiery contrail bursting out behind her. She soared straight into a loop, then another, then a third, ending in a spiralling barrel-roll down towards the earth, the airstrip beneath her spinning like a top across her vision.
Then, at the last second, pinions flared and she slammed to a halt, her breath sucking in slightly at the pain of the force on her wings. Finally, she levelled out and glided in a gentle cool-down loop around the airstrip.
The sun was coming up beyond the cliff on which the Bolts headquarters rested. Spitfire came out here every morning for her solo flight — she wasn’t so young as she was and it took some doing to keep up with the ceaseless torrent of fresh young rookies — but she never tired of this view. It was a beautiful one. Even when you only saw flashes of it in between dives and loops.
Down on the training field, a few ponies were already trotting out, doing their stretches or squinting up at her. One raised a hoof in greeting. “Spitfire!”
Spitfire landed lightly and offered a hoofbump. “Mornin’, Rainbow Crash.”
Taking in a deep breath, Fiddlesticks watched the first rays of dawn creep slowly, slowly over the treetops. The tiles she sat on were still damp with dew, and the barnyard far below her perch was quiescent. The chickens were still in their coop, and the pigs were splayed on their sides in the mud, their ribs rising and falling in the regular rhythm of sleep.
Carefully, Fiddlesticks raised her violin to her jaw, her eyes fluttering shut as she did so. Her chin nestled into its familiar cradle, and the bow in her other hoof, strung with her own tail hair, quivered.
Then she began to play.
No jaunty dance or farmyard jig was this. There was nothing of fun or laughter in this song.
It was a sonata, slow and wondrous, and it was something Fiddlesticks hadn’t played in years. Not since she was a filly, and there had been a cello and its grey-furred player to accompany her.
But the sunrise was beautiful, and once she had seen it she hadn’t been able to sleep again. No, the pink-yellow sky had demanded that she go out there, to bask in the first rays of the day, alone even when surrounded by her family and her animal charges, and play to welcome in the new morning.
So Fiddlesticks played her sister’s song, tears trickling silently down her cheeks, and the notes flew high and pure and lonely on the morning air.
Lightning Dust was losing.
Her mane was plastered against her forehead, her wings were shaking with strain, and her heart was thumping hard enough that it seemed like it might burst out of the confines of her ribcage. And she was losing.
Rainbow Dash was pulling ahead, and nothing Lightning Dust could do would help her to catch up.
“No,” she panted, breathless. “N-no. No.”
They were pointing at her, laughing. Every Wonderbolt, all of the ponies she had looked up to an aspired to be like. Laughing at her. After she had trained so hard and sacrificed so much.
They didn’t want her.
They crowded in closer and closer, their open mouths gaping pits of horror as the laughter boomed and swept over her like the tide. They were going to crush her if they kept pressing in — they were going to — she was — she was —
Gasping for air, Lightning jerked upright in bed, and just like that, it was over.
She was back in the same familiar bedroom, the warm red walls and the white-trimmed windows. Sun filtered through the gauzy curtains, and though the space beside her was empty, the blanket crumpled and flung back, Lightning could hear the strains of music from outside.
It was a beautiful morning. All was well with the world. And yet…some strange, indefinable feeling still gnawed at Lightning’s stomach. It was like she was…hollow. She had so much, gifts beyond imagining. Beyond what she deserved, and what she had ever dreamed she would possess. But despite all the blessings in her life, blessings she knew any sane pony would content themselves with…they still weren't enough to fill that strangely empty void inside her.
“Doe, ray, mi, fa, so, la, te!” Sweetie Belle’s voice climbed higher and higher with each note, and she held the final one for a little longer than necessary, listening to the sweet clarity of her voice. The training was paying off. Every day she felt like she could hear the difference from the one before. The characteristic vibrato of her voice was still there, but she didn’t mind it so much now. Dulcet Tone was right; it was just a part of her voice, not a flaw.
She reversed the scale, pushing her voice all the way down into her chest to capture the right deep notes. “Te, la, so, fa, mi, ray…doe.”
“Sweetie Belle, darling?” Rarity’s voice drifted up from the floor below. “Not that I don’t love scales, but perhaps you ought to sing something else now? It has been half an hour!”
At the mention of the time, Sweetie Belle habitually glanced at the clock on her wall. It was only seven o’ clock. The sun was barely up yet. Still plenty of time before she had to start the walk to meet Scootaloo on the way to school.
A little doubtfully, she glanced at the notebook on the bed. The pages lay open, her own cramped horn-writing clustered across every leaf. When she wrote her songs she could hear every note just right in her head. But…to sing her own songs out loud? What if her voice wasn’t capable of the high, crystal notes she so wanted? What if…she wasn’t good enough?
Sweetie Belle turned her head to look at the pink and purple cutie mark that now graced her flank. It still felt a little alien. But it was there, and it was hers. As a single ray of light fell across the bed onto the page of the notebook, Sweetie Belle’s green magic closed around the small volume and pulled it towards her. Perhaps it was time to try it out.
Taking a deep draught of her tea, Autumn Blaze looked down, as she often did, at her oldest friend. Silhouette Gloom was just barely visible, only quivering on the edge of existence. The sun was not yet strong enough to make her fully present, but it would be soon.
Once, Autumn had waited every morning with baited breath for her shadow to appear. Only then could she give vent to the torrent of words inside her skull, with somepony — anypony — to listen to her. Somepony who could move, at least. And, if you put your head in profile and squinted down out of the corner of one eye — that could almost look like they were talking back.
There had been a time when Autumn had dreaded the coming of night, had lit candle after candle or even used her own nirik form to cling to a little light. Anything to keep Silhouette Gloom with her and save herself from the horrible, crushing silence that being alone always bought.
But now, Silhouette Gloom’s advent was just a minor curiosity. Autumn shot her old companion a single affectionate smile before gulping down the dregs of her tea and getting to her hooves. The other kirin would be up and about soon, and if she hurried she could be in the village square in time for the communal breakfast feast.
Silhouette Gloom had once been all Autumn had. But now, at long last, Autumn Blaze had friends who would talk back to her in a voice that was not her own.
The mare’s shadow stretched out across the grass as she left the clifftops and the sunrise behind her.
The edges of Phyllis’ leaves glowed golden in the early light, and Starlight Glimmer lent her little companion a loving smile before bending once more over her lesson plans. ‘The road to redemption’ was one of the riskier courses she had run, but so far, her students had responded wonderfully. They were asking insightful questions, tough questions, ones that sometimes put Starlight almost at a loss for answers. She didn’t want to be caught out today. She wanted to help them learn and grow, all of them, just as they helped her learn and grow.
She was so proud of them all.
Glancing up at the amber sky beyond her window, that same affectionate smile played over Starlight’s face. Morning. A new dawn. Now there was a metaphor she could get some milage out of.
Her magic tightening on the quill she held, Starlight began once more to write.
It may seem difficult to believe that the sun may set on one stage of a life and rise on another, but it can happen. No matter how dark the night a creature endures — or may inflict upon others — there is still that most beautiful, most fragile of possibilities.
She paused, and nodded thoughtfully to herself.
The hope that a new morning may come, and the sun will rise on a new part of their life.
Her hazel eyes blinking anxiously, Wallflower trotted out of the station and down what appeared to be the main road. To Wallflower, who was used to bustling streets and crowds of people, this sleepy little backwater hardly seemed worthy of the name ‘town’.
But this was where Sunset had said she could come. This was the place that promised new beginnings. And even if Wallflower still tripped over her own legs when walking, or tried to curl her fingers around something when she no longer had any fingers — even if she had to learn to write with her mouth — she was going to see it through.
Sunset and her friends believed in second chances, and oh, how Wallflower wanted hers. Where once no one had remembered her, now it seemed everybody did. But it was for all the wrong reasons. And Wallflower wasn’t stupid. She saw the nudges, the whispers. The wide-eyed glances and the way the other students skirted away from her in the halls.
For once, maybe some anonymity would actually be a good thing.
And so she had listened to Sunset. Let herself be pushed through the mirror, away from her family and what few friends she possessed. To…another world. To Ponyville, and the school that Sunset and the strange goddess-version of Twilight insisted would be her nirvana, her salvation.
Towards her second chance.
The sun climbed higher in the sky, its golden rays refracting off the crystalline walls of the School of Friendship as a small green mare hesitantly approached the doors.
Shuddering with nervous energy, she raised a hoof to knock.
