Of all the things he had to do as a Wonderbolt, attending his second Grand Galloping Gala was not high on Silver Zoom’s list of priorities. Attending it alone was even lower.
It would have been his first solo endeavor, which displeased him, as he would have preferred how it had gone the year before. At that Gala, he’d gone with Fleetfoot, his fellow Wonderbolt who was several levels above his caliber, both in position within the team and overall renown. To say he was lucky was an understatement. He was sure that he hadn’t even been on Fleetfoot’s list of eligible Plus-Ones, so when she had asked, it had taken him a moment to realize that she was being serious. That night would have been fine had not a fair share of “mindless pony shenanigans,” as one noble put it later, occurred. Even a year later, Silver could still easily recall the wild animals that had rampaged throughout the Gala, the cantankerous music which had soured and twisted many a socialite’s ear, and the expression of fear on one noble’s face—prince something, though the name never quite made its way into Silver’s mind—when confronted with imminent cake-to-face touchdown. It had been, in other words, the most fun Gala Fleetfoot had gone to, and so she couldn’t wait to go to the next one.
Silver quietly agreed. But inwardly he had never felt much attachment to the event, even with all the excitement. The formality of the occasion rubbed against the freedom inherent to flying, but having to sometimes literally rub shoulders with those who loved the loftiness of formal routine proved equally as constraining. Last year, he’d experienced the unique sensation of desperately wanting to cast off his Wonderbolt uniform even before all the excitement occurred, for wearing it had seemed to him like being chained to social ladder dynamics. He would have needed more hooves and feathers to count the number of ponies who’d come up to him not to ask how he was or what he thought about the Gala, but instead, to suggest that he kindly consider paying a family this or that favor—the majority of which consisted of doing a flyover for a foal’s upcoming birthday party, or putting in a good word with Celestia about next year’s tax returns (how anypony could have associated the Wonderbolts with that was beyond Silver’s understanding). Everything had screamed stuffy and pretentious, even when everypony was actually screaming.
Truthfully, Silver didn’t understand what made any Gala special. It seemed little more than a chance for the elite to kiss the hooves of Princess Celestia and beg her favor. How the Princess could enjoy this event was therefore unknown, but he supposed that one did not get to be a princess without learning how to withstand discomfort.
Still, he had not planned to attend the Gala, nor attend it alone. The first time was a fluke, and he’d gone with Fleetfoot because she’d asked him. This second time he could not go with her, because she was sick. He might have hoped that that meant he didn’t have to go at all, but unfortunately there apparently was some kind of official policy in the Wonderbolts’ book that said that a minimum of three had to attend the Gala. Spitfire and Soarin were obviously going to go—they were the faces of the Wonderbolts, practically speaking. The rest had drawn straws to determine who would be the third, and it was only bad luck, Silver supposed, that he’d chosen the shortest of the stack.
There was something funny about that whole decision-making process, which he’d thought about on the flight to Canterlot. He was now thinking about it while he stood in a corner, alone, watching, trying not to look too out of place. If being a Wonderbolt meant casting lots to determine who had to suffer through yet another boring Gala, then perhaps he’d made the wrong career choice.
Not that that choice was yours to make, anyway, came his father’s distant voice. I had to make that for you since you were too busy being a pansy to do it yourself!
In the past the thought would have shaken him, but this time, with years of experience under his wing, Silver shook that thought away.
He watched from his corner as the sea of tuxedos and dresses continued to expand with every swing of the doors. On the other side of the room were Spitfire and Soarin. They looked like they were managing the crowd just fine. A new group gravitated towards them, no doubt to inquire more about “possible favors,” but unlike Silver, who could not hide his discomfort, both his captain and commander could hold their own against that kind of pressure and still emerge on cordial terms with the one who had pressed them.
Silver wondered if that was because they had each other. Alone as he was, he had no such buffer, and he wondered how long it would take before a pony there recognized his weakness and exploited it to the point of forcing him to say “yes.” If Fleetfoot was here, she could have handled the talking easily, could have rejected ponies without feeling both angry and sorry for it. But she was not here, and Silver was alone.
But he couldn’t complain. He was obligated not to. He was a Wonderbolt, and a Wonderbolt did not express displeasure with the privileges of being one. No matter how to do so would have been sweeter than any honey.
He was still mulling over that feeling when a slight shiver, anticipatory in its intent, scuttled down his spine and rocketed out through his tail like a lightning bolt. There came the scent of fresh summer strawberries and a light, tossing feeling in his stomach. His head turned without him being conscious of it. In doing so, he caught sight of a mare looking at him, and the scent popped and faded into the past.
She was a pegasus like himself. Her coat was the same color as the summer skies under which those strawberries flourished. Her orange mane fell above violet eyes, and white freckles crinkled with her smile. Both her eyes and smile shimmered with curious vibrancy that, for whatever reason, caused Silver to blush.
“Wow,” she said. “So you really are a Wonderbolt!”
Silver Zoom didn’t immediately answer. His eyes trailed to her dress. It was lily-pad green with a minty undertone, far lighter in complexion than the other dresses present, and it clung to her in all the right ways. She wore earrings that were the shape and color of strawberries, too. He became fixated on them, and was unaware that his mouth hung partially open until the mare let out an embarrassed giggle.
“Sorry. I guess you’re not used to being spoken to just out of the blue by some random pony. Is there a way I could queue up?”
“W-what? O-oh!” Silver snapped back to attention, fluttering his wings. “No, no, it’s all right, I was just distracted by…” By you, he almost said, but his brain caught up to him. He shook his head, searching for other words. “Well, it’s no big deal. I mean, it’s all right, no, there’s no line, Miss…”
“Windy Whistles,” she replied. Her smile was smaller now, but no less captivating. “I hope I wasn’t bothering you, though.”
“N-no, of course not!” Having stuttered for the third time that night, Silver felt particularly upset with himself. He tried to compose himself. “It’s… nice to meet you, Windy. I’m Silver Zoom.” He almost added, You probably haven’t heard of me, but bit his tongue.
He realized he’d run out of things to say, and his brain scrambled for some kind of transition or conversation starter. Windy was looking at him with her head tilted, her awed expression still present. “Are you okay?” she asked. “You look a little flustered.”
“It’s nothing,” he said quickly. “Ah, that is… I was just about to go get a drink. It’s a bit hot in here, after all.”
“Oh! Of course! By all means—” She stepped to the side, her smile at ready, and Silver tried not to add too much frantic energy to his steps. “Actually…”
“Yes?” He turned with the word, looking back at her. Was it just his imagination, or did she sound a tad bit nervous herself? He supposed he couldn’t be surprised, what with him being a Wonderbolt and all.
“I haven’t actually gotten a chance to see the drinks myself. Do you mind if I go check them out with you?”
“S-sure,” Silver said. Celestia’s blessings, what was with him tonight? Unable and unwilling to stand still a moment longer, he turned and resumed his trot. The sound of light hooves followed after him.
At the refreshments table there sat a large bowl of punch with a ladle dipped halfway into it. Silver vaguely recalled the reason for it. While most Galas had an expensive wine selection fit for only the most distinguished of palettes, after last year’s, nopony wanted to add a drunken incident to the long list of would-be catastrophes. No doubt some of Canterlot’s high-and-mighty would be displeased, and down the table, this seemed to be the case; two unicorn mares, apparently unaware of the change, had brought their own wine glasses, but these they held empty in their magic, their frowns deep and distinguished.
Ordinarily, Silver would have laughed to himself at the sight of their displeasure. It was a funny thing to get upset about such a small detail. But at the moment, while he grabbed two cups and looked over the punch bowl, he was too preoccupied with noticing how close Windy stood next him. He could feel her body heat, smell whatever strawberry perfume she was wearing, making his nostrils flare and his heart race. So nervous was he that he almost dropped the two cups into the punch, and it was only by catching them, instinctively, with his wings, that he avoided splashing both himself and Windy.
Windy let out an impressed whistle. “You’re pretty fast.”
His face became almost as red as the punch. “Oh, I’m not that fast. I just… uh…”
“You have a lot of experience catching cups?” she asked. If her smile had been enough to send his heart racing, her smirk threatened something much more fatal.
Silver looked away from her. “Something like that, sure.” He placed the cups down, then grabbed the ladle in his teeth and dipped it into the punch. He filled the cups and returned the ladle, clearing his throat, wanting to change the topic. “So is this your first time at the Gala, Windy?”
“Third, actually,” she said. “But, it is my first time going alone.”
“Oh, so you usually go with somepony else?”
“Used to, yeah. But he’s gone now.”
“He?” Silver asked before he could stop himself.
Windy nodded. “Yep. My husband.” She took a sip of the punch. “Mmm, tangy.”
Silver stared at her. His blush had not faded, and neither had his embarrassment, but mulling over those words and the revelation she’d just dropped, a new emotion entered into him: that of sympathy. Suddenly he felt altogether too thirsty and yet unable to drink, and he awkwardly balanced his cup in his hoof, debating what to do next. Somehow his hearing became augmented, and he could distinctly pick out the unicorn mares talking about what a grievous mistake this was, and also the sound of other ponies talking about what a shame it was, how dare he… Then there was a roaring in his ears, a nervous pop, and then a moment of clarity.
“I’m sorry, Windy,” he murmured.
She heard him. Her ears twitched and she turned her head quickly. “What?” she asked.
Her confusion wracked him, but he tried to remain somewhat calm. “For… for your loss,” he said, even knowing that it sounded lame out loud.
Still she stared at him. He fidgeted, wondering if he had to explain himself further. Then, Windy let out a gasp. “Oh! Oh, no, no! I meant—that’s not—” She cut herself off with a laugh so out-of-place for the occasion that Silver had to take a step back. “Oh, wow, yeah, now that I think about it, I guess it did sound like that. My bad!”
“Windy…?”
“Sorry, Silver, that’s on me. My husband, Bow Hothoof—he’s not dead. He’s just my ex-husband, now.” She put special emphasis on that “ex” part, yet did so in a very casual manner.
Silver’s eyes widened at his faux pas. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“Please don’t apologize,” Windy groaned. “I’m over it, really and truly. Let’s just move past that, all right?”
“Right…”
But an awkward silence descended between them. Silver was torn between an urge to say something and an urge to run away, and so ended up doing neither. He stood rooted in place, the cup clutched in the crook of his wing, and yet, even though he was thirsty, he couldn’t bring himself to drink. Windy, at least, appeared calm and collected, unaware of the awkwardness. She was looking past the table at the other guests, and Silver noticed that she seemed particularly interested in the other Wonderbolts who stood at the other side of the room.
Perhaps that meant she would bid him farewell and leave him for them. Well, he supposed he couldn’t blame her, especially not after what had just occurred. Maybe he should actually invite her over to them? They wouldn’t mind. She appeared nice enough, and certainly was no pretentious noblepony. Surely they would—
“I don’t remember it being like this,” Windy said.
It took a moment for Silver to register her words, and then another moment for him to respond. “Er, like what, exactly?”
“I dunno. It’s hard to describe.” She shrugged, making the earrings shake and glimmer. “Like, everypony seems a bit nervous and high-strung. Are they waiting for something?”
Were they? Silver looked out among the crowd, trying to piece together what Windy saw. In time, he noticed that even in the ponies who were far used to great crowds and the kind of socialization expected in these higher circles there was that bit of nervousness which Windy spoke of. Their shoulders were tight, their heads impossibly held, and their eyes darted from those to whom they were speaking and the doors. None suggested explicitly they wanted to escape, but they did suggest that they knew how to, should the night have needed it.
“It’s probably because of what happened last year,” Silver said.
“What happened last year?”
“You don’t know?” Now there was a shock. All of Equestria must have heard about that catastrophe. He looked at Windy with fresh eyes.
She blushed a little. “Well, to be honest, I haven’t really kept up with all the gossip. I’ve been busy with, well…”
Silver remembered her marital status, and figured out the rest. Another bout of shame nearly seized him, but somehow he managed to shake it off. “Well, it’s actually a really, uh, funny story…”
And so he told her about the animals and the music, the runaway prince-whatshisname, the chaos. It was, in the grand scheme of things, not the worst thing to have ever happened, but it was the most disturbing thing—in the literal sense of the word—to have ever happened to the Gala.
When he was finished, Windy could hardly contain her laughter. “Wow! After a night like that, I honestly can’t believe you’re here attending another one!”
“Me, either,” he said. “But, well, that’s one of the duties of the Wonderbolts. Formality and all.”
“Mm. But you wouldn’t want to come here if you didn’t have to, is that right?”
He looked at her. She was smiling, but there was a strange, empathetic sense to it—a sadness, perhaps, that bordered on the realm of a question. And yet, it was not pitiful in its intent, that mischievousness. It seemed, rather, like the sort of thing you’d see in those who understand what it means to lock parts of yourself away, and who would rather such things see the light of day than gather frost in whatever dark and narrow corridors stretch like grisly phantom veins throughout the soul. It was the look of a pony who knew you were hiding something and wanted you to feel comfortable with admitting it. Open up, that look said; it’s all right, you can trust me.
“No,” Silver heard himself say—almost like somepony else spoke through him, somepony quieter, meeker. “Not… not really.”
He sounded like a foal, and instinctively his shoulders hunched up. Shame was once more renewed. He was a Wonderbolt, for Celestia’s sake. If he could not persevere against something as drab and dull as the Gala, then how could he call himself a member of Equestria’s elite flying squad? This was nothing compared to the training that Spitfire could put them through, after all.
You’re a Wonderbolt, for Celestia’s sake, somepony else said. He knew who it was, but this time, he couldn’t push him out of his head fast enough.
He felt Windy drape a wing over his shoulders. Her body shifted closer to his, and presently she had him in a quick side-embrace. He became aware that he was shaking. Something hot and wet gathered in his eyes. Inwardly, he cursed, but no sound emerged.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Windy was saying. Her voice was low, but her muzzle was close to his ear, and her voice tickled it. “It’s not a crime to admit you don’t like it here.”
Silver made an indecipherable sound, a mix between a laugh and a choke. He felt something wet in his eyes, and he gritted his teeth against it. The same condescending voice from before returned: You’re a Wonderbolt! Wonderbolts don’t behave like this. Wonderbolts don’t get upset or frustrated. Wonderbolts stick their chin up and do what they have to do. That’s what it’s all about!
But what about Wonderbolts who didn’t do that? Did that mean that they weren’t Wonderbolts? And yet they still wore the uniform all the same. How was that not enough?
But eventually he came back into himself; the voice receded, and the Gala returned to life around him. With a sharp motion, he moved out of Windy’s wing-hug and raised a hoof to dab his eyes. He blinked rapidly.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I… I don’t know what came over me.”
She still bore that winning smile. “It’s all right. You don’t have to really know.”
“I didn’t mean to make the night weird for you. Or for me. Or…”
“You didn’t. Really, believe me.”
He looked at her, carefully scrutinizing every detail of her face. He thought she was just making a light remark. And yet nothing in her violet eyes spoke of a white lie of any sort; there was nothing in them but something rich and true. She meant what she said, he realized, and upon this realization, his heart lightened.
Weakly, he smiled. “I don’t suppose you’d want to go off on your own, now? Find somepony more interesting to mingle with?”
“Hmm, let me think.” She made a show of tapping her chin with a hoof, eyes scanning the rest of the reception hall. “No, I don’t think so. You’re interesting enough, Silver.” She lightly patted his head with that same hoof, in a manner which should have felt foalish, and yet didn’t.
That got a little chuckle out of him. His cheeks were still burning, but he felt a little bit better already.
Then, all movement in the Gala ceased. There was the sound of a microphone being activated, and a pony called for everyone’s attention. “We will now begin the night’s formal dance,” she said, and at once an excited hush fell upon the crowd. In the back, the band picked up their instruments and readied themselves. Soon, couples began to move towards the Gala’s center, and even those who were alone came forward to watch and potentially join in.
Silver, however, didn’t move. He noted, somewhat distantly, that soon it would just be himself, Windy, and a few stragglers standing at the edges of the makeshift circle. He doubted all of them would stand there for the rest of the night. Would he?
Windy was looking at the gathering crowd, but he couldn’t tell if she wanted to join them or hang back. He himself couldn’t decide if he wanted to, either.
But that was what you were supposed to do at the Gala, weren’t you? And as a Wonderbolt, well, that obligation carried with it extra weight. He looked out among the crowd and caught Spitfire and Soarin also heading towards the center. It wouldn’t make sense not to join them—wouldn’t it?
Ask her, you idiot! came his father’s voice. Inwardly Silver cringed. He felt himself being compelled by mere memory alone, and he opened his mouth to ask what was sure to be a foolish request.
“Are you done with your drink?”
There was a moment where he didn’t even recognize his own voice. It sounded less frightened and more casually sure of itself, and therefore completely different. He had asked it without even thinking, and now, in the moments after the words had left his mouth, he wondered, distantly, and with no small degree of shock, what had come over him. Surely there was nothing more foolish one could say but that—
“Yeah, actually. It’s probably best that I don’t drink so much, else I’ll be running to the little filly’s room all night. Ha!” Windy touched him with a feather, letting her laughter bubble up.
She didn’t notice, or perhaps didn’t care for, the stupefied expression frozen on Silver’s face. She just laughed and laughed, and then, when her laughter had subsided, she remained grinning. “For a second there, I thought you were going to ask me to dance. Not that I would have minded, but I’ll have you know, I cannot square dance at all.”
For a moment, Silver stared at her. Then a grin broke out on his face, followed quickly by a snort. He tried to stifle it, but that in turn only made it harder, and he was forced to look away as his body became overcome by a fit of laughter.
Windy blew raspberries at him. “What? A girl can’t have a few hang-ups every now and then? All of us have to know how to dance?”
“No, no,” he struggled to say between giggles. “It’s just… we’re pegasi. We’re, like, supposed to be graceful and everything.”
“Yeah, maybe when you’re in the air, Mr. Wonderbolt”—she punctuated the point by tapping him on the chest with a hoof—“but it’s a whole other beast when it comes to trotting on four hooves.”
“Oh, I believe you, really!”
“You have a funny way of showing it!”
The two of them laughed together for a little while. It was long enough that neither noticed that it was virtually just them left. The music had picked up and whatever waltz had been decided upon began to play, and when Silver looked back at the floor, his vision was swamped by a swarming, spinning mess of ponies dancing and twirling. No one was looking their way.
“Good,” Windy said, “they’re going to be busy for a bit.” She put her cup on the table, then looked back at Silver. She smiled. “You up for a bit of flying?”
“Maybe,” he said dubiously, also returning his cup. “What did you have in mind?”
As an answer, she turned and trotted towards the doors leading into the courtyard. Once she was standing on the cobblestone walkway, she glanced over her shoulder. “Follow me. I know a place that’s much more exciting than this one.”
Before he could answer, she spread her wings, flapped once, and took off like a burst of blue. It was not the fastest takeoff he’d ever seen, but for a stranger, it was most definitely impressive.
Even more impressive, he would later recall, was the fact that he followed without hesitating once.
They stood on a cliff overlooking the southern edge of Canterlot. They were not far from the Gala—Silver could still hear the music playing through its movements, and a few hushed but excited exclamations made their way out of the thin windows into the open night towards them. From that cliffside, all the tall, sloped roofs and needlepoint spires stood out from the city. In the graying twilight, the southern fields appeared marked with a hush of moonlight, and each rustle of wind moved the grass in such a way that they seemed to shimmer with it, each one an arm of quiet yet controlled motion. Above shone the moon. Luna, whose return was still in recent memory, hadn't been at the Gala, but perhaps that was because she wasn't ready for it yet. Around the moon, the stars crisscrossed and blinked and shifted, and the arm of whatever galaxy they were in spiraled gently into the infinite abyss.
Silver should have felt tiny. He knew he was in comparison. And yet that didn’t occur to him. Nothing anxious did.
Away from the Gala and all those ponies, Silver noted that he had calmed considerably. Perhaps it was the simple fact that he stood outside of the stuffy atmosphere and could breathe real air. He stretched his neck, then held his wings out, as though meant to start flying, allowing instead the night wind to race under them, ruffling the feathers. It was oddly comforting in a way that he’d never noticed before, not even during late-night flight sessions with the Wonderbolts.
Out here, he found himself forgetting the pressure to perform. He would have found it silly, now, reflecting on how he was mere moments before while still in the Gala proper. All that nervousness, all that unease—and for what? Well, the night was here, and it was fresh, and it seemed to take an immense load off of him—that, perhaps, was forgetting. All those worries were distant, now. So was his father’s voice, the nagging doubts—but it would be best to keep them forgotten, he resolved.
A humming sound next to him reminded him that Windy was still there. He opened his eyes and glanced at her. She had her head tilted, and looked at Canterlot with a small, content smile. The moon reflected off of her violet eyes like a ring of light.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she said.
He nodded, unable to speak at first, too caught up in her eyes. He forced himself to look away and regard the city once more. “I… never thought Canterlot had something like this.”
“Really? I would have thought you celebrity types get to explore all the nooks and crannies of the city.”
Silver laughed at that. Another layer of unease slipped away, flickering like fading candle fire against the wind. “Not really. It’s not like we have a lot of free time to go exploring—training being what it is. Plus, you know, the Wonderbolts aren’t stationed in Canterlot. We’re here really just for the Gala and other performances. Although, Soarin…”
He watched the distant moon.
“Ooh,” Windy gushed, “don’t tell me. Soarin likes to go exploring when he can? During his off-time? No!” She gasped. “During practice!”
“It’s nothing like that,” Silver tried to explain. It was too late. Like a filly who has just discovered what bad words were, Windy went off, throwing theory after theory in his face. At first he tried to dismiss them, worried, for a moment, that somepony—perhaps Soarin himself—might hear. But eventually it became clear that it was still just the two of them. Moreover, Windy’s enthusiasm was infectious, and he found himself smiling along with her.
“It really isn’t anything like you’ve said,” he managed to interject. “But—and you didn’t hear this from me—Soarin’s been known to frequent a certain donut shop in the city. He really likes his pastries. Goes there every chance he gets, and then some. So I wouldn’t be surprised if he knew a little more about those ‘nooks and crannies’ than your average Wonderbolt.”
“An average Wonderbolt! You know, Silver, I don’t think there is such a thing.”
Silver laughed. “You say that, and yet you’re standing here with one!”
It had come out easily, that remark. As habitual as scuffing one’s hoof against the wood of a finished home. As such, Silver didn’t think much of it—until his laughter faded, and he realized, just as a warm melancholy swam through him, he’d been laughing at it by his lonesome. When he looked at Windy, he saw that her smile had slipped away, and she was looking at him confusedly.
“Windy?” he called. Had she heard somepony coming? He looked over his shoulder, but saw nopony there. Still, perhaps it was time that they returned to the Gala. He continued to glance behind him, circling in his place.
“What do you mean by that?” she then asked. Her voice was barely a whisper, and while he could barely hear it above his own soft footfalls in the grass, he stopped circling long enough to regard her.
“Er… sorry?”
“By that. You being… an average Wonderbolt.”
He blinked. Was she serious? “Well, it’s true. That’s what I mean.”
“I… I don’t understand.”
Ah, that was the cause. Silver nodded to himself. He took a step forward, pawing gently through the grass blades like he was marking out a spot to sit. “Well, it’s like this, Windy. When you think of the Wonderbolts, what immediately comes to mind?”
She answered, surprisingly, without hesitation: “Speed, coolness, and daring bravado.”
“Right. And who’s our captain?”
“Spitfire, obviously.”
“Obviously.” He lifted his wing and folded all but one feather in, keeping the remaining up like a digit. “And arguably, who’s second-in-command?”
“Well, I wouldn’t know the inner policies or positions…”
“That’s all right. Take a guess. First pony who comes to mind.”
She frowned, thinking. After a while, she said, “I’d guess… Soarin.”
“Yeah, most of us agree, even if he wouldn’t really say it. The ‘commander’ isn’t a formal position in the strictest sense as ‘captain’ is. Though, that’ll probably change once Spitfire finishes the paperwork and makes Soarin sign it.” He unfolded another feather. Now there were two held up. “Now, who’s our third-in-command?”
“Silver, I really don’t…”
“Please, Windy, this is just for the sake of argument. I’m not testing you.”
She sighed, shaking her mane a little. “Maybe… Fleetfoot?”
“Sure, or Blaze. It depends, really, on which subgroup of fans you ask. Again, nothing formalized exists just yet, and Fleetfoot always gets a kick out of guessing which subgroup of fans she’ll be meeting on tours.” With that, he ticked off another feather, and he brandished them before himself.
“Silver, what does any of this have to do with you being ‘an average Wonderbolt?’”
“It’s really simple, actually. You just named off three of the most prominent members of the Wonderbolts. There’s a reason why they’re on every poster and pamphlet. They aren’t just the best fliers in the Wonderbolts—they’re the Wonderbolts.” He smiled without bitterness. “I mean, I bet you didn’t really know who I was until I told you my name, right? Just that I was a member of the team that Spitfire, Soarin, and Fleetfoot all happen to be on, too.”
He paused to look at her, but couldn’t tell if she was getting all of this. He continued, anyway: “I won’t bore you with the details, but all my scores, while good enough to be on the team, are just that—good enough. It’s not like I’m particularly bad or anything. It’s just that I’m… well, I’m adequate, I guess.” He frowned. Something about his words felt familiar to him, and he realized that it was because he’d said something similar to his father, too. He pressed on, “I’m not as well-known, or as skilled, as some of the other Wonderbolts. That’s why I said I’m ‘an average Wonderbolt.’ It’s just how it is. How I am, you know?”
He was surprised how calm he felt. Normally he’d never consider admitting any of this out loud, especially to a pony who essentially was a stranger. But he supposed Windy was different, somehow. And even though he couldn’t fully understand why, his gut told him that this was okay, that he was safe to say such things with her around.
At first, the silence between them was peaceful. Distantly, the music started to reach its final movement, and he could picture all the ponies back at the Gala dancing and whirling with their partners. He wondered how Spitfire and Soarin had fared. Perhaps they had grown bored halfway through the dance, though. If that was the case, he’d better return to them before they ditched the place without him.
He turned to ask Windy what she thought. But just as he turned, a wingtip shot out and pointed accusingly at him, nearly clipping his nose. “How can you say something like that?!”
Mouth open in shock, Silver couldn’t respond. His eyes had crossed at the tip, before they re-oriented themselves to look at the pony who held it. Windy’s face was full of fury. Hot breath steamed out of her mouth. Her jaw worked itself in silence, and her wingtip shook until she had to bring the whole appendage back into her.
“Sorry,” she murmured. Before he could say it was fine, she shook her head fiercely. “Wait, no I’m not! That’s the thing, that’s just… ugh!”
“Windy…?”
“It’s just, it’s just… you’re a Wonderbolt, Silver. A Wonderbolt! That’s, like, the opposite of average!”
“But…”
He tried to think of something to say. But truthfully, because Windy’s reaction was so visceral, he’d clean-forgotten any.
Because it’s true, as his father had once said, and for once, Silver agreed with him.
“But it’s true,” Silver repeated aloud, simply, helplessly.
“Says who?”
“Says… says me? Says anyone?”
Windy shook her head. She scuffed a hoof against the rock and ruffled her wings. “I have half a mind to go and shake down ‘anyone’ just for saying that, you know. But either way, it’s wrong. This… this thinking you’re somehow average—it’s wrong, and those who say it are wrong, and you’re wrong, too, for thinking it!”
Silver’s face flushed. A bit of restraint left him, and he snapped, “Oh, so I’m wrong for knowing how I place with the other Wonderbolts? For knowing my limits?”
“There’s knowing your limits, and then there’s… whatever this is!”
“Why do you even care?” he cried before he could stop himself. A part of him—not himself, but someone older, crueler, was reprimanding him for mewling like a child, but he didn’t care. He stomped his hooves against the rock, hard—hard enough that it seemed the entire bluff, ridge, and earth shook. “Why do you care this much about—about—” Well, what about, exactly? He couldn’t say; his nostrils bristled and he snorted, trying and failing to find the right words.
“Because you’re a part of them!” Windy answered, pointing her hoof at him. “That means something to a lot of ponies! It’s important—”
“Not to me!”
His voice echoed off into the night. Out there, some trees’ leaves shook like the strings of a distorted harp. Some night birds took flight. The moon watched, full, cold, distant, uncertain.
Silver’s heart was pounding, and his throat felt enormously tight, too tight to swallow the lump gradually growing bigger and bigger. Vaguely he was aware of his own wings having stretched to their full length—a sign of pegasus aggression—and slowly, he folded them in.
In front of him, Windy stood. Her outstretched hoof hung limply in the air. She looked like she’d been physically struck.
Silver licked his lips. “Windy, I…” His throat tightened back up. The air felt too hot and too cold. His Wonderbolt uniform seemed to be suffocating him, almost like it was a full-sized body cast. “I…”
But he couldn’t think of anything to say. He closed his mouth and looked desperately at her.
Windy lowered her hoof, then her head. The wind came and caressed her mane, pushing it back into place, but left Silver alone. He thought about going over and comforting her. Then he thought better of it. Then he thought better of that, and continued thinking until he was doing nothing else.
Inside of him, there was a voice telling him to do something. To apologize, to explain himself, do both, or something else—anything, other than standing there like an idiot, what kind of pony does that, not a Wonderbolt, I can tell you—but still, he didn’t do anything, chose nothing.
“I need a moment alone,” Windy murmured.
Silver nodded, too afraid to even vocalize affirmation. He turned and looked away. His eyes stole towards the Gala’s main building, but it seemed so far off, and the lights were dim against the night. He could hear nothing, such that he believed that perhaps the event had come to a close without them. He supposed he could find his way back to Wonderbolts HQ anyway. But Windy… Well, she had to come from somewhere. Did she fly all the way here or had she been escorted? Did she live in Cloudsdale? They’d end up going the same way, if that was the case…
Silver sighed and closed his eyes. The night had come undone. And it was, he suspected, all his fault.
I should apologize.
So thinking, he opened his eyes and turned to speak. But instead of Windy standing in the space on the bluff overlooking the southern edge of Canterlot—the city which, now, was so quiet and asleep that it was uncanny—Silver saw only a single blue feather, and the smell of strawberries lingering in its wake.
It took him almost twenty minutes to locate her. It could have taken him less, but he had decided to give her the moment for which she had asked, and spent that time waiting on the cliff, watching as the night passed over him. He was not alone, though; he had his thoughts, and they, like a cloud of gnats, pricked at his skin and made him itchy and impatient. After a few minutes, he’d decided that was enough, spread his wings, and took to the air to look for Windy.
But he was unfamiliar with Canterlot, as he had told her. Moreso at this hour. He had to fly slowly between the tall roofs and trees to avoid attracting the attention of any of the guards attending night watch. There seemed to be no sign of her. He began to panic, thinking that perhaps Windy had already left the city.
Just as he was about to give up the search, he saw her in a little park area, illuminated by a few gas lamps, near the center of the city. She was sitting under a mighty oak tree, huddled against the trunk. He circled to slow his descent, before coming in and landing softly beside her. The ensuing draft pushed the trees’ leaves and made the little scene rustle with energy, before all petered out and the world became still.
Windy didn’t appear to notice him. She was looking towards something only she could see, and when he followed her gaze, all he could determine was that it lay south. It must have been something important to have commanded her entire attention.
Uncertain of his words, and even more uncertain of his faith in them, he chose a diplomatic approach. Tucking his wings in, he slowly trotted over to the other side of the tree and, after waiting a moment to see if she’d get upset, plopped himself down there. The bark was cool to the touch, and he could feel all the ridges as they dug into his Wonderbolt uniform, but he didn’t care if it ripped. As he sat there, his heart began to calm, and he allowed himself a moment to enjoy the silence, even knowing as he did that at some point one of them would have to break it.
Windy was making circular motions in the grass, like she was trying to trace somepony’s face in it. Silver tried to avoid looking directly at her, but found it impossible. Here, the moon shone a thin blanket of ethereal light on her, and in its radiance, in her silent discontent, she seemed all the more beautiful, like a thunderhead against swirling vortexes of empty sky. Silver could not help but look at her, awed and in awe. As such, he felt all the more guilty for his outburst.
An apology wormed his way out of his chest and into his throat and rested against his tongue, but instead of it being spoken, he said, “I didn’t originally want to be a Wonderbolt.”
While Windy said nothing, her hoof stopped tracing its pattern in the grass. Her ears swiveled once, twice, then returned to their position. But she was listening.
Inwardly, Silver felt a flash of panic. He’d never said such a thing out loud, had even more rarely admitted it to himself. Putting it out in the open seemed like blasphemy of the highest order. He waited, perhaps for a sign that he should stop—some kind of intervention, a hoof to his face, anything which would have told him to close his mouth—but all that answered was the chill of the night, keeping vigil over them, waiting, watching, listening peacefully.
He took a deep breath, then continued.
“My father pressured me to become one. He wanted me to do something with myself, and he figured that being a Wonderbolt was the most ‘something’ any pegasus could do. He never asked me if I wanted to. He decided all on his own for me. He got me training and practicing even when I was a colt—I can still remember all the storm cloud hoops he set up, all the obstacle courses, all just to get me to fly faster, perform better, be the best of the best.”
Was he imagining it, or did the traces of a smile creep onto Windy’s face? He tried not to focus on it—the words were coming too quickly, anyway.
“He pushed me into entering the Best Young Flyer Competition. I… I flunked it. I don’t think I’ve ever failed anything so miserably, even years later. Afterward, I told him I wanted to quit.” Silver chuckled nervously. “Dad was beyond upset. He said… He said I was a disappointment, that I couldn’t just quit. He must have screamed his throat hoarse for days, and then, when he could scream no more, he made me get back into practicing and improving so I could try again. He was an unforgiving coach, maybe more than Spitfire ever could be.”
Windy’s head shifted slightly. She was looking at him, but he was looking instead at the dark blades of grass. His father was the same color, but without the coolness, the gentleness.
“Anyway. The next competition came, and Dad made me enter it. I actually placed second, which was a pretty big deal back then. I thought it would have made him proud, but he said it wasn’t first place, and that the Wonderbolts wouldn’t take a second-place pegasus. It never,” he added, with a touch of ironic mirth that felt hollow, “occurred to him that I was only a colt, and colts can’t join the Wonderbolts anyway.”
Silver craned his neck. “So, he told me—well, forced me, I guess—to keep at it, to keep improving. Kept that going past colthood, and then, when I was old enough to try out for the Wonderbolts, Dad signed me up immediately. Went to the tryouts, did what I did, and managed to score a spot on the team.” He paused, then glanced sidelong at Windy. His heart skipped a beat when he met her gaze, and he almost forgot what he was saying.
“If you thought he’d be happy by that point, well… no, he wasn’t. It wasn’t enough that I’d gotten on the team. He wanted me to do more, get higher and higher in the ranks, be a lieutenant, then a commander, then, maybe, a captain. The Captain. Hah,” Silver said weakly, feeling his voice shake, his eyes glisten, “me, a captain. That’s probably the funniest thing my dad ever said. Of course, he never meant it as a joke.”
And then, he was quiet.
So was Windy.
So was the night.
The moon shifted position ever so slightly, trailing past Windy’s hunched-over form. It fell in the gap that separated them, lightening into a grayness between.
“Where…”
Windy had to pause. Her voice was low, barely above a whisper. She shifted awkwardly on her haunches, fluttering her wings. Silver waited.
She changed her question. “How does your dad feel now? About, well…”
“I don’t know,” Silver said. “Maybe he’d be even more disgruntled at me. Maybe he’d think I wasn’t living up to my potential. Maybe he’d think I should try harder, that I shouldn’t be content with where I am now on the team.” He looked at the sheet of moonlight falling softly between them. “He passed away a few years ago. So you could say I’ve had time to… well, not really come to terms with this whole thing, but to know it’s been there.” He shrugged his wings. “I didn’t expect I’d have to come to terms with it tonight of all nights.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.”
But he hadn’t meant to say that word, nor make it sound so resigned. It had slipped out of him. He thought to correct himself, but decided against that. “Yeah.”
How could silence continue to grow even more monumental? It seemed that the whole world was slipping away, leaving the two of them alone in that park, under that tree, far from any other pony. The Gala was as distant as the moon. And they—they were distant, too, weren’t they? Silver looked at Windy and realized—he didn’t know who she was. He didn’t know why she'd come to the Gala, but more importantly, why she’d come up to him in the first place, talked to him, lured him out. He didn’t know why he followed. He didn’t know why she’d gotten upset with him, why she’d flown off, and now, why she was quiet, watching something in the night sky that only she could see. And what was this feeling in his chest as he was looking at her and thinking all this? What was it?
He almost put a name to that feeling, then and there. But he could not. Somewhere, somehow, he knew that the word for it was dangerous and should not be used haphazardly. He should not use it in a situation so uncertain as this one. It was too early for names, he decided; but the feeling remained. What could that mean? Perhaps one did not need to name a feeling for it to be real; perhaps a feeling could exist, could spread through a pony without needing a name to tie it down. In that way a feeling could be richer than all the gold in the world. If he could not give it a name…
He returned to thinking about all of his other questions. All of them centered around Windy. There lay an answer in that, he supposed, albeit one that he knew was only in half-measure. He didn’t know why she’d paid attention to him, but he began to think he did know why he’d followed her here.
“It’s her dream.”
Silver glanced sharply up. “Whose?”
“My daughter.”
He looked at her with fresh eyes. Somehow it hadn’t occurred to him that she’d have a daughter—she seemed too young for it.
“She’s always wanted to be a Wonderbolt,” Windy said. “Ever since she was a little filly. I’ve always tried to encourage her to keep pushing for it, though that never meant I never fretted whenever she crashed, or got struck by lightning a few times, or sprained her wings during a competition. But through all that, she’s never given up on her dream. It’s always with her, always something she’s reaching for. Maybe now, more than ever, after her father and I separated. It was something that tied us all together, and even now, it keeps us feeling… close, I guess. And you know something, Silver?”
She looked at him. She was smiling. “I know she’ll be a Wonderbolt one day.”
It warmed him to hear such open praise. He chuckled genuinely. “Well, based on that short description alone, I think she just might.” He paused, though, thinking about her words.
“Your husband,” he began, then amended, “ex-husband… um… How long ago did—”
“Three years,” she said simply.
“And… forgive me for being curious, but…”
“Why did we separate?” she finished for him. Thankfully, she didn’t appear offended. “It’s not a particularly spectacular thing. It’s just that, over time, sometimes your feelings for somepony fade. It becomes a warm memory, but that’s just it—a memory. Really, I think our daughter helped keep us together—we wanted to support her all the way—but once she was old enough and moved on, well…” She shrugged. “Some things just have to end, I guess. I’m not upset about it—or as upset as you might think. I’ve had three years to move on. And, at any rate, it isn’t like we hate each other or anything. We’re still friends. He writes often. We’re close, but not to the same extent that we were when we were younger. You know?”
“I think so.” He was quiet again.
Windy’s smile became a bit sad. “When you said being a Wonderbolt wasn’t important to you—you, who are a Wonderbolt, mind you—it struck a nerve, I guess. My daughter looks up to you guys. All of you—yes, you included,” she added before he could chime in. “The Wonderbolts are her heroes and her examples, and more than that, they’re the reason why she does what she does—why she pushes herself to do what she can, and then some.” Windy shook her head. “Hearing you just toss that importance aside—I couldn’t believe it. But now I know why. And… I’m sorry.”
Then she said something else, but Silver didn’t hear it, for her voice had dipped again. “Could you repeat that?” he asked.
“I asked if you regret it.”
“Being a Wonderbolt?”
He considered the question for some time, and Windy waited patiently. “Yes” curled itself around his tongue a bit too snugly for his liking. But even so…
“Dad pushed me into being a Wonderbolt,” Silver said. “He never asked me if I wanted to, just made me do it. So…”
So yes, I do regret it. But…?
He suspected that at some point the other Wonderbolts would start looking for him, but he had no real idea of knowing when that might be, if at all. But no, another part of him interjected, there shouldn’t be an if. He was a Wonderbolt, and they would look after their own—that was the whole thing about the team, anyway.
He thought about last year’s Gala, when he’d gone with Fleetfoot. Sure, it had gone horribly wrong, but even so she’d expressed some joy in it—not in the event, but in spending time with her fellow teammate. Soarin and Spitfire might very well be the same—why else, when they learned that Silver would have to attend the Gala with them, did they express agreement? And the other team members—they hadn’t ridiculed him for choosing the shortest of the sticks. They’d laughed, sure, but also had expressed a degree of sympathy. Fleetfoot had even said she’d make it up to him next year.
Yes, now that Silver was thinking about it; despite his scores, they’d never said he didn’t belong. None had said he shouldn’t be there. None, also, had said he was somehow wrong for being content with where he was, with who he was.
They accepted him, and he accepted his place among them.
Finally he thought about tonight. He thought about Windy coming up to him in the first place. If he hadn’t gone tonight, if he hadn’t had to because he was a Wonderbolt, he would not have met her. They would not be having this conversation. He would not have been able to say, “This wasn’t what I wanted originally.” Want had little to do with it—things happen, and sometimes they are not out of one’s own accord, but maybe it was not whether or not you wanted something that mattered, but what you did once you had it. He had not wanted to be a part of the Wonderbolts, but here he was, and more importantly…
“I made it my own,” Silver finally said. “I think that part—which is, I guess, the whole part, the whole thing, really—that part I don’t regret.”
Windy nodded. She was smiling, but there returned that mischievous glint in her eyes. “You do a lot of thinking in that cute little head of yours, don’t you?” she teased. Then abruptly she reached out and patted his head again.
Silver blushed heavily. But he laughed. “Yeah, I guess so. I’m glad you noticed.” Another pause. He wanted to look away from her, and also wanted to do nothing but stay there in her gaze. “I…” He swallowed. “Thank you. For listening.”
“Of course, Silver. And… And thank you for not getting mad at me for getting upset.”
Both of them stood. Windy flexed and stretched her neck. “I suppose we’d better go back, now,” she murmured.
“I’d better get back to the team.”
“And I need to start flying home. Though the Gala’s probably finished.”
“Yeah,” Silver said. “We probably missed the dance.”
“Not that that’s something of a loss.”
“I guess it isn’t. Still…” A bit of courage came to him, but it was already fleeting, so he seized it, closed his eyes, and forced himself to continue. “I would not have minded being able to dance badly with you, Windy. Maybe we could do that, sometime?”
There was a moment of silence where he thought she hadn’t heard him, or that she’d already left. But when he opened his eyes, he found that she was still there next to him. “Like a date?” she asked, very quietly, like a secret being passed from one pony to another.
Silver swallowed. Now or never. “If… if you don’t mind.”
She looked at him, wide-eyed. Then, carefully, a smile worked its way to her face, and a blush formed on her cheeks. It was light pink. Like strawberries. When she spoke, there was a shimmering quality to her voice, and he was relieved.
“I think I’d like that very much, Silver. Maybe… this weekend?”
He felt himself grinning stupidly. “Yeah. That sounds good. For now, though, let’s head back, shall we?”
“Lead the way.”
Together, they flew off once more into the night.
