The Zebra and The Bat

Chapters

Dinner For Breakfast
Journey To A New World
The Party
The Hungover Groom
Wings Over Troubled Water
A New Friend
Not All That Shimmers...
The Storm

Dinner For Breakfast

“Any mail for me today?”

“Hmm… name?” The mailmare scanned her heavy sack of letters with her misaligned eyes.

“Candle?”

“Hmm… oh! This must be for you!” The mailmare lifted a battered letter from her satchel - then paused, blinking twice as she looked at the pony.

The other ponies gave Candle a few feet of space, but Candle was used to that. He wasn’t like other ponies clustered around the mailpony, because he was a bat pony. No, not a crime fighting millionaire orphan vigilante like in the popular comic series BATHORSE; that was just fiction! Bat ponies were descendants of the elite guardians and attendants of Princess Luna, or so the lore went. Some claimed that bat ponies were born from her dreams, others claimed she breathed on normal bats and they transformed into ponies to protect her in her hour of need, but whatever it was, bat ponies had been among Princess Luna’s retinue for many centuries - until she was banished, of course.

The whole ‘banishment’ thing made being a bat pony very awkward, indeed, and so many ponies had simply assumed they went extinct, or vanished with their princess. Thus, it was a big surprise when bat ponies began slowly reintegrating themselves back into society a few years after Princess Luna’s reappearance. They had spent years living outside of society, hiding in caves and forests where they could be safe from equine judgment. Some even took up residence in high mountaintops, growing thick coats to protect from the cold.

But they lived in a new world now! The Guardians of Harmony had worked with many different species now - hippogriff, griffon, dragon, yak, even seapony! - and the time was right for bat ponies to make their reemergence. Still, Candle couldn’t totally blame them for being nervous, even if he was just there to pick up his letter.

“Thank you!” Candle smiled, and reached out for the letter, giving the mailmare a warm nod before he turned to trot away. The ponies parted for him, which he appreciated, since he couldn’t fly over them for - well, important reasons.

“Have a nice day!” The mailmare called after him.

Candle was grateful when he felt the darkness of the Everfree Forest shade him once more; he wasn’t quite used to walking around in the daylight yet, but it was getting easier. Once he was safely inside the forest, he all but skipped to his favorite reading spot, and settled into the curve of the lowest branch to eagerly shred the envelope.

“Dear Candle,

Your last letter was quite intriguing,
Our time apart is quickly fleeting!
I hope this letter finds you in time,
To miss your voyage would be no small crime.

Today it has been very hot,
But soon it will be very not!
The rainy season will be here soon,
Before the rising of the next full moon.”

Candle eagerly skimmed over the next several pages, then went back and read more slowly. Writing in the zebra language of rhyming had been difficult, at first; but Zecora had been an invaluable ally, helping him to craft the very first letter to the zebra herd living across the sea. Candle could write passably now, but he was much better at reading.

That was Candle’s job, after all; ambassador to the zebra species! Well, the bat pony ambassador, anyway. And it wasn’t really an official job, at least to any of the ponies in Canterlot, he was sure. But then, bat ponies had considered themselves outside of the Canterlot purview for several centuries, what with the whole banishment thing.

The zebra ambassadorship had been Candle’s idea in the first place; it had primarily come out of a desire to leave the forest, if he was going to be honest. Candle had been very lucky to be born when he did, because right as he had come into adulthood, Princess Luna had returned to her place on Canterlot’s throne, and bat ponies were no longer a banished species. It was hard to imagine what his life might have been like if he’d been born even twenty years earlier!

No, the bat ponies didn’t need an ambassador, per se; but if bat ponies were to return to pony society, they would need to begin making overtures to other herds, and what better herd to meet than the zebras? Zecora had been an ally for many years, and they had helped one another. Zecora, after all, had been viewed with the same suspicion and distrust that a bat pony would be, until very recently.

And uncoincidentally to Candle’s reasoning was the fact that the Eastern Desert was about as far as you could get from Equestria.

Candle read the letter over again, then carefully folded it back up and replaced it in the envelope. His pen pal was a zebra living on the Eastern Desert continent, and his name was Zeffir. Zeffir had sent a photo, just as Candle had; he was a zebra stallion, around his own age, with a coat that reminded Candle of the dawn. His coat was a pale pink, edged with blue down his legs and throat, with white stripes and muzzle. He had the typical Zebra mane, all short and stiff, with alternating stripes in white and pale blue. His eyes were also blue, but so dark; if his coat was the dawn, then his eyes were the night sky.

He was young, Candle thought; but then, so was he. He had assumed that his letter as ambassador would be given to some kind of zebra bureaucrat, but instead he carried on a correspondence with somepony who turned out to be a town guard. Not that he complained; behind the heavy and clunky format of the rhyming zebra language, Zeffir had been warm, friendly, eager to get to know him and his homeland. Candle sent tokens from Equestria; pictures of the city, pictures of him, pictures of his herd. He sent coins from Ponyville and pressed plants from the Everfree Forest, and Zeffir sent the same back. He suggested that he taste them, and Candle had a sneezing fit after tasting the first bite of the peppery grass that Zeffir sent. Zeffir sent photos of a town that Candle was surprised to realize was much like his own; it was a small village, with houses and shops a short walk away. Perhaps larger than Candle’s own, since the bat pony settlement had been isolated for so many decades. Their letters were wrapped in the clunky rhyming scheme, but beneath it, Candle had found a kindred spirit.

Not that Candle didn’t have any here; he was just desperate to sail thousands of miles away because he was so very content.

“Candle!”

Candle startled sharply at the voice.

“Hey! Another letter from your striped friend?”

Candle relaxed, and offered a wave with the hoof that still held the letter. “Yeah - he says the rainy season is coming soon. It looks like I’ll make it just in time to see it.”

Candle’s father chuckled, and approached his branch with an easy flutter of wings, alighting next to him silently. Candle looked like his mother and father, of course, because bat ponies adhered to the same basic genetic structure that every other pony did; they didn’t reproduce by biting innocent townsfolk, as certain libelous storybooks insisted. Candle had inherited his grandmother’s pale coat, the gray of a storm cloud just before it faded away, and his mother’s pale lavender mane. His eyes were a bright green, like his father’s, although his mother insisted they had been yellow for many years as a baby, which came from her side of the family. His father was a very dark-toned pony, all around, and his mane was such a dark blue as to be almost black, which made his Kelley-green slitted eyes all the more dazzling.

“Rainy season, huh? Is that going to be safe, you think? I mean, I know we get rain here, but it seems like a whole season of it could be dangerous.” Flicker chuckled, to try and make his worrying sound more like friendly banter instead of fatherly concern.

“Well, that will be important to research, right?” Candle replied, and ignored the twinge of anxiety in the pit of his belly. “I’m sure they have ways of dealing with the rain. Zeffir didn’t sound worried.”

“Maybe he couldn’t think of a rhyme for ‘flash flood.’”

“Dad!”

“Oh, I’m joking, I’m joking!” Flicker laughed, and gave his son a little pat on his shoulder. “C’mon, your mother will be getting up soon, and she wanted to have a special farewell breakfast for you. Or - dinner, I guess?”

“Yeah, it’s dinner for the ponies now.” Candle smiled, and felt a little tug of regret somewhere in his chest. Bat ponies typically had opposite hours to the average Equestrian citizen, both due to their nocturnal nature and to avoid accidental interaction with other ponies. In order to interact with the zebras, Candle had begun shifting his hours, so that he could share their waking hours during his visit. Candle thought it was sweet that his parents were trying to be inclusive.

“We better get going, before she sends both of us to the Eastern Desert!” Flicker joked, and took to the air with a flutter of his leathery bat-wings - then landed a few feet away, looking back to Candle.

Candle had slid off of the branch, with less grace, and trotted to catch up behind him.

“Is it going to be a problem, you think? Not, uh,” Flicker cleared his throat, “not flying?”

“Zebras can’t fly, so I’m sure they won’t have any problems with it.” Candle’s wings folded so tightly to his back that they trembled, and he did his best to keep his voice even. It wasn’t a topic that came easily to them; Candle couldn’t remember the last actual conversation that they’d had about it, only the whispered ones he’d overheard between his parents when he was supposed to be asleep. His initial reaction was irritation, but he knew that was just the fear talking; he didn’t want to spend his last meal with his parents arguing.

“Oh, that’s a good point.” Flicker agreed readily, grateful to shift away from that topic. “Well, I’m sure they’re going to be very impressed by you, kiddo.”

Candle relaxed, and he offered his dad a sidelong glance. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Anytime. So, what do you think about that new addition they’re building three doors down?”

Candle couldn’t hide his grin; typical Dad. “I’m sure you have more opinions than I do.”

“Of course I do! I highly doubt it’s going to be up to code, those beams don’t look nearly thick enough! Now if they’d asked ME…”

[***]

Dinner went smoothly enough; for all that they fretted about him in private, Candle’s parents kept their concern largely to themselves during their last night together, which Candle appreciated. They made his favorite meal - roasted umbersquash with pasta - and laughed about all of the oddities that Candle might face on his journey. Diurnal ponies were very odd creatures, and it was hard to imagine what diurnal ponies from an entirely different continent might be like, even with Zeffir’s letters to help.

“It’s only for a few months, tops.” Candle said for probably the fiftieth time as he speared one last piece of fruit from their dessert.

“Just don’t come back with stripes, okay?” His mother sighed, and Flicker laughed so hard he inhaled a piece of pineapple, and his mother had to beat between his shoulders to dislodge it.

As the rest of the bat colony began to wake up around them, Candle prepared for bed, and gave his luggage one last check. He’d have to be able to carry all of it, but he was considerably stronger walking than flying. It was customary to bring gifts to his host herd, he was certain, so he’d brought lots of local flavor to share.

His mother knocked lightly on his door frame, leaning there to watch him. “So it’s really happening.”

Candle looked up. “Yeah, Mom.”

“It’s not too late to cancel.”

“I know. I want to go.” Candle replied, and sat on his bag, trying to zipper it. His mother crossed to his side, and sat beside him until it was flat. “Thanks.”

“I know you do.” His mother sighed, and reached out to touch Candle’s hoof. “You’re very brave. But it’s not cowardice to change your mind, you know.”

Candle tensed, but tried to hide his reaction. It felt like she was talking about more than just the trip. “I know, Mom.”

“I just want you to be happy. And safe.” She offered him a little smile, sensing that she was treading a little too close to something, and reached back to pull out a little packet. “This is for your trip. It’s a medical kit.”

“I’m sure they’ll have medical supplies in their village, Mom.” Candle sighed.

“I know. But I want you to have some, too. You can never be too prepared.” Candle’s mother was Lamplight, the town healer; she would have been called a doctor, if their secluded village had anything close to a medical board. It made sense that her final gift was something like this, Candle supposed.

“Okay. I’ll try to find a spot for it.” Candle agreed with a little chuckle, and the next few minutes were spent moving around clothing and gifts to make enough space.

“You’re going to be fine.” Lamplight said at last, when the quiet had stretched out peacefully between the pair. “With your trip, and -” she cut herself off, and nodded to Candle’s shoulders, his folded wings.

Candle stiffened.

“You’re fully healed by now. You just have to get used to it again. If you want to practice before you go -”

“I’m fine.” Candle cut her off a little suddenly, and tried to disguise it by hefting his bags into place, moving them a few feet over as to be closer to his bedroom door. “I should get as much sleep as I can; it’s a long voyage to the Eastern Desert, and I hear it’s hard to sleep on a ship.”

Lamplight nodded, recognizing her defeat, and rose to her hooves. “Of course. You need your rest. We will wake you up just before first light.”

“Thank you, Mom.” Candle paused, trying to release the line of tension between his shoulders. “And - thank you for everything else, too. I appreciate your help. A lot.”

“Of course, honey.” Lamplight crossed the short space between them to give him a tight hug, as if she might be able to hold onto him tightly enough to keep him from leaving. “I just worry about you.”

“I know you do, Mom. It’ll be okay. It’s just one trip.” Candle reassured her, and bit back the thought, What could go wrong?

Candle wasn’t quite that foolish.

Journey To A New World

Candle’s sleep was fitful at best; he’d been trying to fall back asleep for at least half an hour before his parents arrived to wake him up, and finally had to admit defeat. Leaving Everfree Forest turned into a bit of a panicked rush, which only got more difficult when various bat ponies tried to wish him farewell on his way out. It was hard to blame them; after centuries of isolation, it wasn’t very often that anypony left for anything, so Candle’s trip became more of a public event than he’d ever intended.

Only his parents accompanied him to the docks; the bat flock were curious to see him off, but not so curious to step blinking into the sunlight, as weak as it might be in the early morning. Candle had booked passage on a merchant ship, which was good for avoiding crowds of gawking diurnal ponies, but not so good for ease of boarding. He bid his parents farewell (“No one will be disappointed if you come right back, I promise,” Lamplight had whispered in his ear, before she pressed one last bag of candied fruit into his hoof), and with more than a few tears between the trio, he boarded the ship.

The trip could have been its own novel, in the story of Candle’s life; but it would have been a boring, upsetting novel, and would likely receive bad reviews. How many pages will we have to waste expounding on the nature of sea water? Two stars. Each day was the same as the last, and yet every day brought new, fresh frustrations. Bat pony diets were heavy on fruit; fruit was not in large supply at sea. He slept in the bunks with the rest of the crew, at least for the first two nights; sailor ponies, as it turned out, were terribly superstitious. And after a crate came loose in the cargo hold and smashed itself to pieces, hooves were pointed at the only bat pony on board, citing bad luck. Even though Candle could have argued that their own superstitions seemed to be not-so-mysteriously tied back to prejudice and xenophobia, Candle took the captain’s suggestion and relocated himself to a private room instead. The private room was quiet, at least, even though it was very clearly used as a storage room now. Every time the boat shifted, the crate of cleaning supplies scooted along the floor a few inches. One night during a storm, it crashed into his bed, and Candle smelled lemony-fresh for days after.

Candle couldn’t pretend that he didn’t enjoy the boat voyage despite everything, though. He’d never even seen the sea before the trip; now he was on it, in it, and everything smelled like brine and crisp, fresh air. (When it wasn’t tinged with lemony freshness, of course.) He had brought along a whole bag of empty journals, and he wrote feverishly, sketching where he could, making a note of every day’s adventures, even when it simply said ‘quiet today, meal was salted cod and a roll, breakfast was grits.’ His logs would be the first exposure to the outside world that some bat ponies might ever see; it all had to be documented. One day, they saw a herd of dolphins, and he sat for hours, watching them play in the surf, jumping through the ship’s wake. He wondered if there were seaponies below them, watching them pass overhead like a great bird, or perhaps a cloud.

A pod of dolphins, Candle corrected his journal later that night, crossing out ‘herd.’ He wanted to be precise.

Candle wasn’t prepared for the day he woke up and realized they weren’t moving. His estimates had said they should be sailing for at least another day and a half. (“What do you want me to do, lad? Go in circles?” The captain had replied, not a little indignantly, when Candle asked.) He gathered his things together in a bit of a panic - he’d unpacked more than he realized in the past week of sailing - and climbed topside, only to step into a wall of heat. Well, Zeffir hadn’t been joking about the temperatures; briefly, Candle hoped that the rainy season would come even sooner.

Candle hurried off of the ship, in no small part due to the suspicious glares that the rest of the crew shot at him (prejudicial, Candle reminded himself), and stood on the docks, taking a moment to consider the space around him.

The dock, as it turned out, looked very similar to the one he had left in Equestria. There were signs in a language he didn’t speak, of course, and lots of zebras walking around. So many zebras! Every color was represented here, every stripe pattern, so much so that it made his slitted eyes cross a little when he looked at crowds of them. There were Equestrian ponies, too, carrying loads and shouting to each other as they milled around their ships. He even recognized a few griffons making deliveries; their curses and shouting stood out far more than their coat patterns, Candle thought. This was a merchant loading dock, though; there wasn’t any nice little visitor’s center, or at least not one that he could recognize in the foreign script. How was Zeffir going to find him?

“Candle?”

Oh, maybe like that.

“Zeffir?” Candle startled a little, surprised when one of the members of the eye-hurting crowd separated himself and approached. He blended in so well, it took Candle a moment to pick him out of the crowd, not until he was close enough to shout. But this had to be Zeffir! He recognized his early-morning colors from his photo, even if he looked much bigger in real life. There was something missing from the photos; maybe it was just the easy way he moved that couldn’t quite be captured on film.

“Hello, Candle!” Zeffir called with a smile, trotting until he was beside him. “I hope that your journey was easy; I hear that the east winds blew breezily!” His voice was accented, and deeper than Candle had expected.

Oh, guano; he was going to have to rhyme for his entire trip, wasn’t he? “Ah, yes!” Candle agreed, a little clumsily, as every rhyming word seemed to leave his mind at once. “My journey wasn’t - the best! But it was very nice and fast! I was excited to see the sea pass..t.”

Zeffir’s smile was bright and friendly, and despite himself, Candle felt himself relaxing. “I am happy you made it here safe, I hope your close lodgings did not make you chafe?”

“Oh, the lodgings were okay, but the views were amazing! I’ve never seen the sea, and it was -” And here Candle faltered, and his tufted ears flicked back and forth in dismay. “Guhmazing? Dazing? Phrasing? Uh - lazing?” Candle muttered to himself in a low, fevered tone.

Zeffir laughed, and something loosened in Candle’s chest; it was such a genuinely relieved sound, it made Candle relax, too. “You speak common? Thank the sun.”

“You - you don’t have to rhyme?”

“Not all the time! That’s the Zebia dialect; I’m from the Zabar region. We speak Zabish, but most of us also speak the common tongue, because we are so close to the coast. Sailor ponies, you know, they bring language along with their goods!”

“Oh!” Candle felt very foolish, indeed; he’d never stopped to consider that, like Equestria, the Eastern Desert might have many different regions and dialects, and even whole languages. “So - you also speak Zebia?”

“Passably. When they brought the letter in Zebian, I volunteered to answer it. I have been practicing, with every letter you sent. I thought you only spoke Zebian!”

Candle chuckled, and his ears slid to half-mast. “Well - we have a zebra who lives in our forest, Zecora. She helped me draft the first letters, and she helped check my grammar as I went.”

“Isn’t that funny! She must be Zebian. I suppose it makes sense, she would send it in her own tongue. But Zebians live further inland, around here it’s mostly Zabish. Those signs are Zabish.” Zeffir nodded to the signs that dotted the dock here and there. “Most of my village speaks common, so this will make things much easier! I was afraid I would have to spend your whole trip translating.”

Candle chuckled again, but his nod was rapid, his nervousness rapidly fading. “So was I. I’m much better at reading than writing - and better at both than speaking.”

“I imagine it’s hard to find someone to practice with in your village - they are all bat ponies like you, yes?” Zeffir asked, and hefted one of Candle’s bags over his back as he began to lead him through the dock.

“Yes! And it’s very -” Candle had been about to say ‘isolated’, but a snatch of conversation from three ships down hit his ears, and as Zeffir guided him through the dock, a wall of sound hit Candle as surely as the wall of heat had hit him. Heat, at least, was something Candle had experienced; even though the Everfree Forest was shaded, there were patches where the summer heat could leak through. But sound, well, that was something new to Candle.

Bat ponies have exceptional hearing, with wide, domed ears that evolved to help them catch flying insects, like the bats they allegedly evolved from. While some bat colonies still fed on insects, most of them had shifted towards fruit consumption, but they maintained their keen hearing through the generations. It kept them safe, an early warning system against diurnal pony invasions, and as a result bat pony colonies tended to be very quiet by diurnal pony standards. The small village of Ponyville had been just on the edge of Candle’s comfort; the dock, by comparison, was like being at a rock concert. The ocean was a steady, low roar in the background, and once they stepped away from the safety of the ship, hundreds of conversations rolled over Candle, as powerful as any ocean wave. Shouting, arguing, bickering, bartering and badgering conversations flowed through him, and it was all he could do to follow Zeffir and keep putting one hoof in front of another.

Zeffir said something, but Candle couldn’t make out the words; he could see him frowning, though, and a note of panic managed to make it through the overwhelming roar of voices. Was it important? Was he mad at Candle for ignoring him? If only he could just - shut all of this out!

Candle was still reeling when Zeffir grabbed onto his satchel with his teeth, and yanked him into an alleyway. The sound dampened immediately, and Candle was so relieved by the sudden shift that he felt tears coming to his eyes. Zeffir rummaged in his bag and pulled something out, shoving it over Candle’s head. He fumbled with it for a moment, and Candle could only bring up his hooves to feebly bat at him, surprised when the sound dampened to almost nothing.

Earmuffs. Candle wasn’t sure where he’d found them, or how he thought to bring them, but the relief was so instantaneous that Candle could have kissed him.

“How - how did you -” Candle stammered, the ringing in his ears still resounding, the pain fading gradually. He felt like he was back on the ship again, like the ground was swimming beneath his hooves.

“I wanted to be prepared for your arrival. I thought our village might be too noisy for a bat pony; I did not consider the docks. I should have.” Zeffir’s voice was muffled from behind the muffs, but Candle could guess around the words he missed. Zeffir watched him for a moment, then lifted one striped hoof to his cheek, brushing away the tears that had fallen. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m - I’m okay.” Candle tried to give him a smile to reassure him, but his knees still felt weak. He stood for a moment before they gave way, and he had to lean against the wall. “Sorry, just - just a moment. I’ll be okay.”

Zeffir still watched him closely, but nodded, and shifted to stand between Candle and the mouth of the alleyway, turning away from him. He was bigger than Candle, he noted for the second time; the stripes and the colors made it easier to miss that. More camouflage, maybe, Candle mused. He had pointed his attention elsewhere, perhaps giving Candle a moment to compose himself in privacy, but instead Candle watched him. He hadn’t realized he was doing it until Zeffir looked back at him, and Candle had to wipe his face clean hurriedly. Zeffir looked away, too, and dug around in his bag for something else, presenting a small box to Candle once he’d finished scrubbing his face.

“Wax, from a beehive. I’m sure you have something similar in your land; it’s good for closing your ears.” Zeffir explained as Candle opened the lid.

“Oh! That’s - that’s very useful. Thank you, Zeffir.” Candle offered him a small, grateful smile, already setting to work. Beeswax was something he’d used occasionally; now and again the earth ponies set off fireworks that could shake the trees themselves. The noise rose briefly as he lifted each earmuff, then quieted again as he inserted the wax.

“Better?” Zeffir asked as Candle held the earmuffs out to him. “No; for you. A gift.” Zeffir’s smile was warm as he shook his head, and Candle wondered if his striped pattern had so much pink in it a moment ago.

“Much better, thank you.” Candle agreed, and tucked the earmuffs into his bag. “Should we go to your village now?”

“If you are ready, then I am ready.” Zeffir’s smile was warm, and it felt just a little too warm to be looking at, just then. Candle decided that this was a good time to learn about his surroundings, anyway, and returned to examining the docks.

“How far away is your village?” Candle asked, as he followed Zeffir’s brisk pace once more.

“Not far. We are one of the closest to the docks. Maybe an hour walk?” Zeffir glanced back at Candle. “Will you be alright for that long?”

“Yeah. I can carry my other bag, too; I’ll be fine.” Candle protested; it felt wrong to make his host carry his bag as well!

“I do not mind. The burden is lighter if we share it, yes?” Zeffir’s smile was too warm to refuse, and so the pair fell into a sort of thoughtful silence as they walked.

Zeffir’s long legs made long strides, and the first few minutes Candle spent focusing on trying to keep up. He finally found a comfortable gait, and let his eyes wander. It was a simple packed-earth road, like the ones that lead in and out of Ponyville, and the noise of the dock soon melted away to nothing as they walked into the brush. It was called the Eastern Desert because, of course, it was a far more dry, arid environment compared to other continents like Equestria, but this land looked nothing like he had anticipated. A ‘desert’ (according to the Ponyville library encyclopedia) was just a line of dunes as far as the eye could see; this place was lush, a long, flat plain covered in scrub brush, gnarled trees, and a plethora of various plants. Some were familiar little weeds, springing up underhoof; some were hip-high, and some towered over him, tall and spiky, although they swayed easily in the breeze. Most of the plants seemed to be a hip-high kind of grass, and when Candle pulled out one of the lumps of beeswax, he could hear them swishing on and on, for miles around them.

Zeffir reached out to snag a mouthful, chewing as he glanced back to Candle. “This is edible. Good, too.”

Candle hesitated only a moment, then reached out, fumbling for only a moment before he caught a mouthful. He chewed, thoughtfully, then trotted to catch up where his pace had slowed. “That’s good.” He would have said it was good even if it wasn’t; bat pony manners weren’t so archaic that they didn’t understand a polite lie. But it was good, and it wasn’t the peppery grass that Zeffir had sent him, either. It had a salty undertone, but it was crisp, dry, savory. Like the grass at home, yet different.

Zeffir smiled. “Good. I know you eat mostly fruit at home; we do not have the same fruits you do, unfortunately. But I hope you will enjoy the ones we have.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine! I can eat grass, too.” Fruit was better, of course! But Candle didn’t want to make Zeffir feel bad as soon as he got there.

“Everypony is very excited to meet you. I read your letters aloud, sometimes; my family likes to hear the stories about the bat pony forest.”

“My dad always asks what’s new with my zebra friend! Like you live just down the street.” Candle laughed, and Zeffir joined him.

“Your dad sounds like fun. Your father is the village healer, yes?”

“No - that’s my mom. My dad does handypony work, or he’ll help my mom out. He helps build splints, and things like that. Like - if somepony is sick, my dad is usually the one who organizes everyone to make sure they have food and visitors.”

Zeffir paused, and lifted a hoof to point at something on the ground. “Do you have these at home?”

“Oh - lizards! Sure! Not one that color, though…” Candle stared at the blue-spotted reptile until it skittered away, disappearing into the grass. “Oh! I should - hang on!” And Candle stopped, dropped his bag onto the ground, and pulled out his notebook to sketch furiously. It wasn’t good, but it was vaguely reptilian, and it had blue spots sort of like -

Candle’s pencil came to a skittery stop when he realized that Zeffir had come very close, watching him work. “S- Sorry, we should keep going to the village, right?”

“But you aren’t done. They have white spots under their eyes too, right here. Were you going to add that?” Zeffir asked, still standing too close.

“Oh - sure.” Candle’s voice was very small, but he obediently pulled out the white pencil and added a few lines.

“That is very nice. You are a good artist.” Zeffir smiled, almost proudly, and watched until Candle put the notebook away. “You are finished?”

“Sure. They’re - waiting for us, right?”

Zeffir shrugged, and helped Candle to shoulder his bag once more. “They will understand if we take a little longer. I was not sure how much walking you would be used to, being from a forest. We do a lot of walking here.”

“We probably do less walking than you do, I bet. I’ve never seen so much land, all at once.” Candle fell into step behind Zeffir once more, rounding a slow bend. “Where I live, there’s the forest, then the village, and mountains and hills.”

“That sounds like a lot in one place! I would like to see your village one day.” Zeffir agreed with a smile, then broke into a little trot, despite the heavy bag on his back. “We are almost there!”

Despite his own heavy load, Candle trotted after Zeffir, and struggled to keep up when he began to gallop. Zeffir, clearly, was used to this kind of thing from his job as a town guard; briefly, Candle felt foolish for not asking him more about that. Instead, his thoughts were occupied for the next few lung-burning moments with trying to keep up with the galloping zebra stallion.

After an eternity in which it felt like his legs might give out, the village came into view. And, despite himself, Candle was surprised. He had expected - well, something else. Even photos didn’t do this town justice. The encyclopedia at the Ponyville library had pictures of thatched huts made of wattle and daub; Zecora lived in a tree decorated with more strange dried plants that Candle could even name, and large, carved wooden masks. But this village looked, despite all of that, like his own, and like Ponyville. There were houses, built with brick or wood, and a packed-dirt road running in the middle. There were shops, and a road that led to what looked like the center of the town, with a fountain and cobblestones. There were differences, sure; the streets were filled with zebras, and the windows looked different, with some kind of mesh hung over them. The roofs were shaped differently, too, and Candle figured that might have to do with the heat. It was definitely much hotter here than in Equestria!

Candle had to pause in his examination when he realized that everyone else had stopped to examine him, too.

“The ambassador is here!” Zeffir shouted, by way of introduction, and the silence broke into excited chatter. Zeffir offered Candle a playful grin, and led him forward with a jerk of his head. “Stay close - they will all want you to come visit, and then you’ll never escape. Like a - what did you call it? The serpent vine?”

“That’s the one.” Candle agreed, and offered the group a shaky grin as Zeffir began leading him through the rapidly-gathering crowd of zebras. “Hello - hi - hello, there. Nice to meet you.”

“Hello, bat pony! Goodness, look at your ears!” They were friendly, but loud, and Candle deftly slipped the other bit of wax back into his ear, muffling the worst of the volume. “Those are larger than I’ve ever seen! And the tips!”

“Look at the wings! Can you fly?”

“Is it true you sleep upside down at night?”

“Do you really live in a forest where it’s nighttime all day?”

“The ambassador will see you all later tonight,” Zeffir shouted, and then Candle was really grateful for his earplugs, “at the party!”

“Party?” Candle asked, as the group dissipated in mild disappointment.

“Of course! You thought we wouldn’t have a party for you?” Zeffir offered Candle another smile, but this one seemed closer to a grin; it made Candle look away, letting his eyes wander down another street as it passed. “We have much to celebrate. But you don’t need to worry; I thought you might be more comfortable resting in my house until sundown, when the celebration begins. You’ve been travelling for a long time.”

Candle felt a little guilty when he realized just how wonderful that sounded. “That sounds really nice, actually. I brought gifts, but - maybe at the party.”

Zeffir’s smile was warm when it landed on Candle next. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Just - seems polite.” Candle’s grin was nervous, and he was grateful when they came to a stop in front of one of the houses. “Is this yours?”

“Mm-hmm, this is my home. Please, come in.” Zeffir smiled, and pushed the door open, guiding Candle inside. Candle hesitated only for a moment, wanting to cement its location in his mind. His house was as far from the town center as you could get, and there was a large gate in the wall next to it; another entry into the town, it seemed. The houses here were quiet, not bustling like the houses in the center of the town had been. It was small, cozy, well-maintained. At least, Candle thought so. He’d have to take some time to sketch it, later. Definitely later.

Zeffir’s room had a bed, and Candle realized a little suddenly, of course he wouldn’t have a branch in here for Candle to hang from. He had a bed, like a regular pony. A nice bed, of course, with soft blankets in a colorful pattern he’d never seen before (except perhaps in Zecora’s treehouse), but nothing like he was used to. Bat ponies used beds when they were ill, or very small; most homes had one, but it wasn’t exactly something he was used to.

“I thought you could stay in here - I will sleep in the other room.” Zeffir offered as he lowered Candle’s bag, watching the bat pony with increasing concern. “Is something the matter?”

“Well - I usually hang from a tree branch to sleep.”

“A - tree branch?” Zeffir’s eyes widened.

“Upside down.”

“Upside - this I must see!” Zeffir smiled, but the joke quickly faded. “Oh. But … then where will you sleep here?”

“Well - I can make this work! I mean, I know how to sleep in a bed.” Candle tried to play it off with a little laugh that rapidly turned into a cough. “I mean, it’s fine! I’m just not used to it. But it’s not hard, right?” On the ship, he’d looped his tail around the upper bars of the bunk bed, but there were no bars here. He’d have to just tough it out for the next few months, it looked like.

“I will find something else for you.” Zeffir said confidently, although his voice sounded more confident than his expression. “For now, will you be able to sleep?”

“I don’t think a thunderstorm could keep me awake.” Candle chuckled, and this time Zeffir relaxed. “Don’t worry about me, really. I appreciate your hospitality so much, Zeffir.”

Zeffir preened a little, Candle thought, relishing in the compliment. “Of course, it is no problem. You are my guest. So - sleep well. I will wake you in a few hours.”

“Thank you, Zeffir.” Candle smiled, waiting until Zeffir left to sit carefully on the bed. Well, this wasn’t hard; at worst, he’d just lie down and sketch for a few hours. Sleeping in a bed would take a lot of acclimation, but eventually, he’d figure it out.

As soon as Candle’s head hit the pillow, he was asleep.

The Party

Candle woke up later, but he wasn’t sure how long it had been; there was noise outside, and it was dark out. It sounded like revelers, maybe the party had already started? Zeffir hadn’t woken him up yet, so maybe it was early arrivals. A lot of maybes there.

Candle rolled onto his other side so he could look out into the darkened room. He was used to the dark, and his pupils expanded to fat ovals to drink in all of the available light. The room was simple, uncluttered; that seemed to be Zeffir’s style, at least from the brief examination he’d made on the way to his room. The bedspread was brightest thing there, and if he’d been looking for any of Zecora’s hoof-carved tribal masks, he was out of luck here. Hooks on the wall held a few necessities, like a patterned drape that might have been a winter coat, a battered satchel much like his own. Some books, a pointy-leaf plant growing in a blue-glazed pot. Books, and a box tucked neatly beside them. There were a few trinkets on high shelves; a few wooden carvings, animal figures it looked like. Something ragged and soft that might have once been a plush toy. Candle couldn’t mask his little grin; childhood toys, now that wasn’t something he had expected in a town guard’s room. But then, Zeffir wasn’t anything like what he had expected a guard to be, was he? Guards were something bat ponies were raised to fear, because they were the ones who watched the Everfree Forest with keen, predator eyes; but Zeffir was kind, and smart, and so curious about him. Zeffir was - different.

The creak of the door opening made Candle jump, and he instinctively snapped his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. He wasn’t certain what felt so forbidden about examining his host’s room, but he didn’t want to take the time to figure that out.

“Candle?” Zeffir called softly, entering his bedroom on light hooves. “Candle, it’s time for the party.”

Candle sat up in Zeffir’s bed, in what he hoped was a good approximation of someone waking up. He stretched his forelegs over his head, for good measure. “Thank you, Zeffir.”

“I thought you - oh!” Zeffir gasped, and the lamp he carried jerked and swayed precariously, making the shadows dance. “Your - your eyes.”

Candle met Zeffir’s eyes with his own bright green pair, the pupils still rounded in the semi-darkness. “Yes?”

“I was just getting used to the slits.” Zeffir admitted after a moment with an embarrassed chuckle. “I’ve never seen eyes like yours.”

“I haven’t seen many like yours, either.” Candle responded a little playfully, offering him a grin as he looked more deeply into Zeffir’s eyes. “Your pupils get bigger in the darkness too, don’t they?”

“I … suppose they do.” Zeffir agreed, holding still under Candle’s examination.

“I’ve never seen that happen.”

“That makes two of us.”

Candle stared at Zeffir, longer than he meant to; it was only when the air started to feel electric that he realized that he may have made a mistake. His pupils widened further than necessary as his heart raced, and tried to come up with something to say. “Well - we should probably -”

“The party is about to - no, you go ahead.” Zeffir smiled, and the moment was broken.

“ - sorry. I guess they’re all waiting for us, right?”

“Well, they can’t very well start the party without the guest of honor, can they?” Zeffir grinned again, and lifted the lamp to a larger lamp in his room, using the smaller flame to light it. It was a curious lamp style, one Candle had never seen; it was more like a glass orb that one carried with a rope, and the orb in Zeffir’s room was simply much larger and kept on a shelf. Candle had assumed it was another plant, inside the milky glass.

“I guess not.” Candle agreed, realizing that he might be waiting for an answer.

“I brought you something to wear - I don’t know what the customs are like in your home, but - well, we usually wear something like this.” Zeffir was nervous, that much was clear, and Candle wanted to do whatever it took to put him at ease. “And it’s getting colder out, at night, so it will keep you warm. But you don’t have to -”

“No, I’ll wear it!” Candle agreed readily, and his front hooves were already waiting by the time Zeffir turned around from where he’d been digging in a low chest, lifting out whatever it was that Candle was supposed to wear. It was a similar pattern to the bedspread, at least to Candle’s eyes; thick dark patterns on bright colors, reminding him faintly of stripes. If only Mom could see me now, Candle thought with amusement, bringing home my own stripes. The colors were nice, he thought; bright turquoise, contrasted with a pleasing lilac.

“I tried to match it to your mane. I mean - not me, I didn’t dye it, but I did help find the flowers to dye it with, so -” Zeffir was babbling a little bit, and Candle took the folded fabric out of his hooves to stop him.

“That’s amazing! It’s beautiful. Thank you, Zeffir. I’ve never had someone color match me before.” Candle smiled, and each tried to keep the other from noticing how pink they’d turned. It was true though, and suddenly it felt very - intimate. But Zeffir was just being a polite host… right? Ambassadorship was turning out to be a lot more difficult than Candle had anticipated!

“So, how do I get it on?” Candle asked, trying to break the awkward silence they’d managed to fall into.

“I can help! It’s very simple, it’s - here, like this.” And for a moment, the pair worked in grateful silence, glad to have something physical to put their focus towards.

It wasn’t complex as Candle had feared, seeing the fabric folded thickly in Zeffir’s forelegs; it was simply quite long. It was something like a poncho, with long, striped fabric that draped over the body, and a simple hole for his head. It would hide his wings nicely, Candle noted with no small relief, and it was warm. And soft! Briefly, Candle wondered if he would be allowed to keep it, or if it was simply to signify his welcome.

“Very nice.” Zeffir agreed, and gazed at him for a moment before he turned, sharper than he needed to. “There’s a mirror on the back of my door - I should get dressed, too. Find me when you are ready to go?”

“Okay.” Candle agreed, and almost before the words were out of his mouth, Zeffir was gone. Well, someone was in a hurry! Candle did want to look less like a scruffy sailor-pony when he appeared before Zeffir’s friends, though, so he took a few moments to wash his face, to comb his mane, and give his ear tufts a little twirl. He wasn’t just representing himself, but all of bat pony kind! That was a very big deal, he reminded himself; no need to get hung up on how large and dark and handsome his host’s eyes were in the darkened room.

He admired himself in Zeffir’s mirror for a moment, considering himself; he was quite pleased with the effect, over all. The turquoise complemented both his lilac hair and his stormy-grey coat, and if he squinted a little bit, the striped patterns might have almost passed him for a zebra, himself. He might make a good zebra! And speaking of good zebras, it was time to find his host and go meet his host’s friends!

Candle emerged from the bedroom expecting to see a party, but it was only Zeffir who stood there, wearing his own poncho-like outfit, waiting by the door. His drape also had notes of turquoise and lilac, but there was also pink, and some yellow. He looked like he’d taken some time to neaten himself up too, Candle thought. “I thought the party would be starting already?”

Zeffir turned to look at him, and offered him a slow smile. “Oh, it has.”

“Well, where is everyone?”

“In the town center, of course. Are you ready?”

Candle’s pace slowed a little. “How big is this party?”

“Well, everypony wants to meet you.” Zeffir’s smile was wide now. “You look nice.”

“Thank you, so do you. How many is everypony?” Candle asked, and it was a sign of his growing worry that he skipped right over Zeffir’s compliment.

Zeffir’s smile faded a little, realizing Candle’s confusion. “Most of the village, I think.”

“The whole village?!”

“Is that not okay?”

“Well, I - I mean, it’s your party, I’m just - it’s a lot more people than have ever come to any of my parties.” Candle admitted, trying to slow the way his heartbeat was starting to race. This ambassador business was getting too real too fast!

“You will not have to meet all of them, I promise.” Zeffir soothed him, lowering his head a little so he could meet Candle’s gaze more closely. “Most of them are just there to have fun, and to eat good food. If it is too much for you, I will bring you home. I mean - back here.” Zeffir corrected himself, and his left ear gave a little twist, back and forth. “We can have a signal, if you like.”

“A - signal?” Candle was already overwhelmed by the prospect of Zeffir leaning close and promising to protect him; the idea of a codeword was going to overwhelm him quickly if he didn’t keep taking deep breaths. “What if I start talking about - my mother’s scarf?”

Zeffir considered Candle very seriously, and nodded. “I understand. Mother’s scarf is our secret word.”

The prospect of a secret kept only between him and Zeffir threatened to overwhelm him just as much as the idea of a massive party did. Candle took a deep breath, swallowed back his nerves, and offered Zeffir his best attempt at a brave smile. “Well, I guess we better go, right? Are they waiting for us?”

“They can wait. The party cannot start without the guest of honor,” Zeffir smiled again, and Candle had to concentrate very closely on his hooves, as he was afraid he might trip over himself if he was thrown any more off balance.

It seemed the entire town was caught up in the celebration, and the thrum of music in the air was all but deafening for Candle, even with his ear plugs. Luckily, almost none of them seemed to take notice of Candle and Zeffir as they made their way to the town center, but their loud conversations only added to the din. The pair weren’t able to talk on their way to the party, but Zeffir kept an eye on Candle, occasionally waiting up for him when his step slowed.

Candle didn’t know how Zeffir kept walking as briskly as he did; every way he looked, there was something new and exciting to see. Strings of lights were hung up all around the village, so many it was dizzying, and now and again he’d catch sight of a moth circling one in its whirling flight. Streamers! Banners! Bright colors on every swash of fabric, so much that it left him a little lightheaded. Every now and again they’d pass a window lit from within, and Candle caught sight of entirely new worlds unfolding before him. Families, children, partners, so familiar yet so strange. More rooms with the domed glass lights, the brightly-colored and striped drapes, foods he had never heard of plated on dishes with patterns he couldn’t name, and stripes! So many stripes! It was enough to make a bat pony cross eyed!

“Are you ready to say hello?” Zeffir asked gently, pausing so that he could pull Candle aside before they reached the very center of town. Candle could see the fountain, which he recognized from earlier that day. It was almost unrecognizable, with candles floating in the water, dishes of food resting on its diameter, and streamers strung between it and poles at the edge of the square. There were so many and they were hung so thickly that they created something like a tent for the various zebras to dance and chat beneath.

Candle gave his head a little shake, trying to clear his thoughts from where they swirled. Despite all of the beauty that surrounded him, dizzying in its intensity, the familiar grip of worry took hold of his midsection.

“No?”

“No! I mean - yes! I’m ready,” Candle clarified rapidly, his heart racing into his throat. It’s okay. This is okay. It’s just a party; everyone wants to meet you. Nothing scary here.

Zeffir’s smile was fond where it landed on him, but Candle had hardly any time to appreciate it before he was guiding him to the center of the square. A warm cheer rose around them, and suddenly they were surrounded.

“Candle, this is the mayor of our town. Mayor Clax, meet Candle, the batpony ambassador.”

“Candle! I’ve heard exciting things - very exciting things!” Clax shook Candle’s hoof so enthusiastically Candle was a little afraid he might get a sprain. Clax was much like their elected leaders; warm, effusive, just this side of sincere. He was the right age too, just beginning to grow a paunch. “My wife, Zithandra!”

“A pleasure to meet you, Candle!” Zithandra smiled warmly, and it was her turn to shake Candle’s hoof within an inch of his life.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both as well, Mayor Clax, Zithandra. Thank you so much for all of your hospitality, it means a great deal to myself personally as well as to the bat ponies back home.” Phew! That came out pretty elegantly, if Candle wasn’t being too humble!

“Glad to hear it, glad to hear it! Of course we have the members of the town council here tonight -” and from there everything devolved, and Candle had to struggle to keep up with each name as it was rapidly rattled off, trying to keep names with faces. The zebra whose stripes were so dense that his face was almost solid grey - that was Zanther? No, that was Zithromax, Zanther had the blue stripes and the laugh like his father’s. They were all friendly enough, but by the end, Candle was ready to hide at the refreshment table for the rest of the night.

“Oh! And to honor your arrival, and your contribution to the town - a toast!” Clax took up a glass half filled with an amber liquid and held it out to Candle. Candle tried to give it a subtle sniff while the others were busy filling their own glasses, and found it pungent, but pleasantly fruity. “A toast: To Candle and Zeffir, may their bond and the town’s strength grow - ever stronger - oh, you know what I mean!”

Clax and the town council laughed, and they all took a deep draught from their glasses; not wanting to be rude, Candle did the same. The drink burned, but only a little; mostly it was sweet and fruity. The burn left his lips pleasantly tingly, and he gave them a little lick as he glanced at Zeffir.

“You don’t have to drink it,” Zeffir offered gently. His own drink was half gone now, Candle noted. “It’s fermented.”

“It’s good! I like it,” Candle smiled at Zeffir, and he returned it, a little tightly. Perhaps Candle wasn’t the only one having some nerves that night.

“And now - we dance!” Clax shouted, and the rest of the crowd took up a cry of agreement.

Candle laughed, but anything he said was drowned out in the roar of conversation that sprung up around them as they were suddenly surrounded. Everypony wanted to shake his hoof, to say hello; half of those friendly greetings felt more like pretenses to get a closer look at his eyes or ears. He wasn’t used to being gawped at, but Candle did his best to be polite, even when their eyes were anywhere but his face. He stayed close to Zeffir, and occasionally Zeffir stepped in, putting himself in front of him just enough that the offending conversationalist had to back off.

It felt very protective, these motions, and Candle continually reminded himself that this was Zeffir’s job as a guard, even though each time made his heart race a little faster. He drank more of the fruity drink in the hopes the burning might distract him from his anxiety, and it worked - a little too well.

He felt a little bit like he was riding on a warm cloud for the rest of the night, and allowed Zeffir to guide him around the courtyard with an agreeable sort of buzz. At one point, after most of the dancers had left to mill around the food tables, Zeffir gently guided Candle back to the fountain, where they had set up what looked like … well, a mess, if Candle was being unkind. But he wasn’t so lost in his warm cloud yet that he couldn’t control his tongue, so he kept it in his mouth, and considered the setup with polite curiosity.

“That’s the shaman,” Zeffir whispered as an older zebra appeared, draped in robes similar to theirs. Candle realized, a little abruptly, that most of the other zebras there weren’t wearing the same drapes that he and Zeffir did; most of them wore nothing at all, as was typical among ponykind. He supposed if he was the special guest, it did make sense to dress him up in the local garb.

And the same must be said for the shaman! But this one was special, and as she came closer, he realized what it was that stood out to him: wings. Striped, in the same pattern that matched the stripes on her face (purple on red), and as she walked they fluttered! The other zebras took notice of them as well, and Candle cast a sidelong look to Zeffir. He’d never seen a zebra with wings before!

“There are not many of our kind with wings or horns,” Zeffir explained in a low voice, watching as the shaman spoke with the mayor and town council. “They are often called to higher duties, or at least that’s what zebras believe.”

“What is a shaman?” Candle asked, his voice similarly soft.

“You don’t have bat pony shamans?” Zeffir asked, his brows lifted. “Well, it’s sort of like a mayor, I suppose; they’re generally elected, or selected from a pool of candidates. They keep track of important moments, they have registers of births, deaths -”

The shaman spoke, suddenly, in a loud voice that startled Candle. While they had been whispering, she had taken a place at the center of the square, and was in fact fluttering just above the fountain. Every zebra watched closely as she spoke, and Candle could make out exactly none of it. It had to be something that the others understood, though, because there was a call and response section, and Candle stood awkwardly as the zebras surrounding him responded in one loud voice. He was content to stand, until suddenly the ponies around the fountain began to move.

What Candle had assumed was a mess was, actually, something to do with the shaman; as the group of robed zebras (and Candle) began to circle the fountain, very slowly, they took their time interacting with each object. First there was water, poured on the ground in what Candle had assumed was a spilled drink. Zeffir stepped neatly over it, then watched until Candle followed him. Next was a series of sharp-looking rocks, and with a quiet direction from Zeffir, the pair found safe places to place their hooves. Then there was a - well, it was fire, but it was only a line of candles, small and squat, burning warmly. The zebras in front of them lifted their drapes before they jumped, and landed together on the other side, laughing.

“Are you okay to jump, with your wings underneath the fabric?” Zeffir asked, considering Candle from the edges of his eyes. His face looked damp, Candle realized suddenly; he must have been very nervous.

“Yes. I’m a good jumper. Are you?” Candle tried to offer him a reassuring smile.

“Pretty good,” Zeffir smiled. “On three? One, two -”

And the pair leapt neatly over the fire wall, and despite how small the hurdle was, Candle felt himself very nearly giddy with elation as he landed. A glance to Zeffir confirmed that he was feeling the same sort of excitement, and the pair shared a quick smile.

As each group of ponies progressed past each object, the shaman would intone something new in her deep, melodious voice, although it still made no sense to Candle. (It seemed like it might be rude for Zeffir to translate; no one else was speaking, after all.) As they reached the end of the candles and found themselves at the water again, the shaman fluttered down to stand in front of them. Candle swallowed, tightly, and he felt Zeffir tense at his side. She was quite magnetic, and seeing her up close felt a little bit like standing next to a bonfire when it was hotly raging.

“Zeffir: ?nwo ruoy ton si taht efil a ot eit eht ,nevig yleerf si taht dnob eht tpecca uoy oD”

“Sey,” Zeffir responded, and glanced down at Candle, offering him the tiniest of smiles. He was definitely nervous. Candle returned the smile, and it seemed to comfort him, at least a little.

“Candle the bat pony: ?nwo ruoy ton si taht efil a ot eit eht ,nevig yleerf si taht dnob eht tpecca uoy oD”

Candle tensed sharply; he had no clue what she was saying, or what he should reply! But she was staring at him, and the entire crowd seemed to be staring at him. That’s not true, that’s just your fear, Candle tried to reassure himself tightly, just take a deep breath. He did, and he felt a little better - but not a lot.

“You can say what I said, if - if you want.” Zeffir spoke quietly, his large ears twisting back and forth, and he offered Candle a nervous smile.

“Um - sey,” Candle responded, mimicking Zeffir, and it must have been the right thing, because a wild cheer went up in the crowd, and the pegasus offered them a warm smile.

“.eb ti llahs oS !nekorb eb reven slairt latnemele ruof eht fo enrob dnob eht tel ;enod eb ti llahs os ,dias si ti oS” the pegasus called over the laughter and clapping of the crowd, and those that were listening closely enough shouted back to her, ‘.eb ti llahs oS’

Candle glanced at Zeffir, and the pair shared a quick, nervous smile. Candle opened his mouth to ask what had just happened, but then another pair of zebras were almost on top of them, all smiles, holding out a pair of glasses to them. And Candle wasn’t sure what was going on, but he knew that he liked the drink! And it seemed rude to ask ‘what just happened’ in front of two other smiling zebras in matching drapes.

The rest of the evening passed in a bit of a haze, aided by the drink; zebras kept offering them to Candle, and he was afraid to appear rude by turning them down. Each zebra seemed so earnestly excited to meet him! At one point Candle was aware that Zeffir was pressing him into a chair, insisting that he needed to sit and eat something; the next thing he was aware of was being carried back towards Zeffir’s house.

Candle reached up to pull one of the earplugs from his large, tufted ear. They were quite far from the party by now, and it was quiet enough that he wasn’t assaulted by the roar of the party. It was faint, coming from up the street, but far enough away that it added flavor to the night instead of pain. “What happened? Why are we going home?”

Zeffir chuckled, and shifted him a little where he carried him on his back. Candle was aware, very suddenly, of Zeffir’s broad, muscular neck where it rested against his cheek. “You fell asleep at the table. You tried to roll upside down - I found you when your hind hooves were up near the mayor’s ears.”

Candle blushed hotly. “I didn’t - I didn’t mean to!” his words came out thickly, and they felt harder to get out; maybe he should have refused a few more of those fruity drinks, Candle was realizing rapidly.

“It’s alright,” Zeffir’s voice was gentle in the darkness, soft for his benefit. “I told them bat ponies sleep upside down. They were all too impressed by bat pony ingenuity to be bothered that I was taking you home.”

“Home sounds good,” Candle replied sleepily, his eyelids already growing heavy once more. “Thank you for carrying me, Zeffir. I can walk.”

“Can you?” Zeffir chuckled, and shook his head gently, making no motion to let him down. “If you’re still awake by the end of this street, then I’ll let you walk home.”

“Okay,” Candle agreed, and kept his eyes glued on the street corner. He could do this! He’d feel better after walking, he was certain!

Candle woke up next as Zeffir was tucking him into his bed.

“I was gonna walk!” Candle whined, eyes mostly closed as he blinked up at the blurry shape of Zeffir in the darkness.

Zeffir chuckled, the sound low in his chest, as he helped pull the brightly-patterned cloak off of Candle. “I know you were. But I couldn’t bear to wake you.”

Candle huffed out a little sigh as his head hit the pillow, mostly limp as Zeffir undressed him. “I could walk.”

“Next time,” Zeffir promised. Zeffir was a little wobbly himself, taking a slightly curving path to where he hung Candle’s drape on a hook, but Candle was too far gone to notice.

“Maybe no next time. Next time, I’ll be rude and just say no,” Candle huffed, and nosed at his pillow, frowning to himself. “I miss my tree.” He wouldn’t have said it if he was sober, no doubt, but it seemed to slip free without his usual precautions in place.

Zeffir considered him for a moment, then reached down, plucking the pillow with his teeth and depositing it under his hind hooves. “There. Now your hooves are where your head should be. Isn’t that how bat ponies sleep?”

Candle blinked, and wriggled down into the blanket, eyes closing. “Perfect.”

Zeffir laughed. “Good night, Candle.”

Candle was already falling asleep, and too tired to make any fuss when Zeffur bent down to nuzzle the spot right between his oversized, tufted ears. Sober Candle would have fretted about it half the night; drunk Candle fell straight asleep.

The Hungover Groom

Candle woke ar -

Candle -

Candle - oof.

Nope.

The searing headache was what woke Candle up; it started at his forehead, just behind his eyes, but within moments he became aware of what felt like a vise closing around his skull. His eyes, already sensitive to the light, screamed in agony as he tried to open them to look around the room, and he quickly snapped them shut.

Candle had enjoyed alcohol before; he’d simply never been this drunk. He’d had little sips of his mother’s wine at dinner occasionally, and he’d had a few teenage friends who he could sneak out with, bottles tucked under their folded wings. But this? This was a whole new experience, this took his experience with hangovers and cranked it up to an - whatever was past ten. Candle didn’t know that numbers could hurt.

Zeffir found him half out of bed, attempting to crawl to the door, eyes mostly closed, his oversized ears hanging down on either side of his head like a beagle’s. “Good morning,” Zeffir spoke softly, and Candle waved a hoof at him.

“You don’t have to be so loud!”

Zeffir chuckled (but let the sound hum through his nose), and knelt down to hold a glass out to Candle. “I brought you some water, I thought -”

Whatever Zeffir thought was lost in the sound of Candle gulping down the entire glass in seconds. “More?” Candle gasped.

“I think that’s a good idea. I made you some toast, if you can handle it.”

“Yes, please,” Candle gasped.

It wasn’t morning by the time Candle woke up, but it wasn’t very far into the afternoon, and by the time Candle started feeling like a pony again, it was time for lunch. Zeffir was hurting too, so whatever he brought for Candle, he brought some for himself. It was mostly water, but he brought him a special smoothie at one point, promising that it would help - it made Candle cough (spicy!?), but it did seem to help. Candle retreated to his (Zeffir’s, really) bed, and that’s where Zeffir found him next.

Candle hadn’t been aware he was dozing until the sound of the door creaking woke him up, and this time, it didn’t make his head scream. It hurt, but only a little this time; he could even open his bright-green eyes all of the way to look up at Zeffir as he approached.

“I thought you might like some lunch. I didn’t realize you were asleep,” Zeffir whispered, setting a plate on the mattress. Candle wouldn’t admit it, but he was grateful when he saw a normal-looking sandwich waiting for him. He was a little worried it might be some kind of - spooky melon soup, or whatever it was that Zecora brewed in her cauldron.

“I’m feeling much better. I didn’t realize I was asleep, either,” Candle admitted, rubbing one eye as the pair exchanged an amused smile.

“Did you have fun last night?” Zeffir asked, although his voice was still soft.

“It was a lot of fun. Different, too. I’ve never been to a party like that,” Candle admitted softly, his smile shifting into a little grin.

Zeffir’s smile shifted as well, but instead of amusement, it seemed more - fond, and Candle suddenly felt his face growing uncomfortably warm. Maybe that spicy drink wasn’t settling right? Candle busied himself with his sandwich, biting into it enthusiastically and regretting it (spicy? Again?!), and worked on chewing while Zeffir climbed up to sit on the mattress beside him. It was his bed, Candle supposed he had the right to do whatever he wanted in his own house; it just felt very … well, something. And whatever that something was, it made his heart race, and this time Candle couldn’t blame his reaction on the sandwich.

“Is your sandwich okay?” Zeffir asked, his voice still soft. Too soft for just a casual conversation.

“It’s great,” Candle agreed thickly, swallowing. “I appreciate you - helping. Taking care of me, I guess. I don’t usually drink that much, I was just - nervous,” Candle admitted, his ears lowering to half mast.

“I was nervous, too,” Zeffir agreed, and his smile was so bashful, it made something twist uncomfortably in Candle’s middle. (And this time, it definitely wasn’t the hangover.) “I still am, I guess. But I’m glad it’s you. You’re like how you are in your letters, but - so much better.”

Candle flushed, he knew it for certain this time, and offered Zeffir a shy grin. “Thank you. You’re like your letters, too. But it’s much better, in person.”

“Yeah,” Zeffir agreed, and he kept looking at Candle, even as the silence stretched out between them. It had that kind of electric feeling, like before, but this time neither one broke it. Zeffir leaned closer, and before Candle could hoof-wave it away as meaning something else, Zeffir pressed his lips to Candle’s.

Candle’s first kiss. He’d been prepared for earth pony stallions to have rougher lips, somehow, but Zeffir’s were so soft, and his breath tickled along his skin as he sighed through his nose. Up close, Zeffir’s white muzzle had hints of pink, especially on his lips and nostrils; Candle wondered if they flushed even pinker when he blushed. It was brief, but Candle did his best to return the gentle pressure before Zeffir pulled back. Did he close his eyes? He thought he did, it was all happening so fast!

“You - mm,” Candle hummed, and this time he was certain his face must be beet red. “I wasn’t - expecting that. I didn’t know you - you liked - colts.”

Zeffir tilted his head as he offered Candle an odd look. “Well, I married one,” Zeffir said at last, with a little laugh.

Candle’s eyes widened. “You’re - you’re married?” Oh no! Was Candle’s first kiss as an adulterer? Was this going to color the rest of his dating career?!

Zeffir’s odd look intensified. “Yes … to you.”

Candle opened his mouth, but no words came out. He moved his mouth a few times, as if trying to prime it, but no words sprang forth. The sound that eventually came out was a high-pitched, panicky laugh, loud and rapid enough that it made Zeffir’s eyes widen. Candle couldn’t stop it until he clapped a hoof over his mouth.

“That’s - that’s a very strange joke, Zeffir,” Candle said at last, trying to both explain the strange laugh and Zeffir’s words.

“I’m not joking,” Zeffir was frowning at Candle now, confusion warring with concern. “Don’t you remember last night?”

“I remember the party,” Candle clarified, frowning back at him, although he didn’t look his frown looked nearly as composed as Zeffir’s did. His heartbeat was pounding so loudly in his ears, it was hard to hear Zeffir.

“The wedding party?” Zeffir clarified, and Candle’s heartbeat kicked up to a fever pitch.

“No - it was a welcoming party, as I recall!” Candle huffed, as if he might be able to argue Zeffir out of this.

“Well, yes - but then the shaman was there, and we undertook the four trials -”

“What is that? No one told me anything!”

“But - but you’re the one who wrote asking for a life partner,” Zeffir asked, and this time his frown looked hurt.

“What? No! I definitely did not!” Candle protested, and climbed out of the bed, his limbs jelly, and not from the alcohol. Somehow, Candle suddenly felt more sober than he’d ever been in his entire life. He made his way over to his bag, somehow, and dug through until he found the folder he kept all of Zeffir’s letters in. “Nowhere did it say ‘let’s get married,’” Candle insisted, his hooves shaking as he began scanning the letters. Did he miss something? Was there some key phrase he just - skimmed?

While Candle dug through his luggage like a frantic badger, Zeffir crossed to his bookshelf and lifted the box that Candle had seen on his first examination. After a few minutes of searching in mutual silence, Zeffir held a sheet of paper out to him - his own letter, Candle realized with surprise.

Zeffir tapped a line. “‘Looking for a partner to guide me through life,’” Zeffir read aloud.

“That’s - that’s not what I meant,” Candle said softly, his stomach dropping to his hooves as he scanned the stanza. His wings were so folded so tightly against his back that they vibrated with anxiety. “I - I was trying to find a rhyme, and ‘partner’ wouldn’t - see, the next line talks about showing me the land,” Candle stumbled over himself, his throat closing up on itself.

Zeffir was frowning at Candle still, but it wasn’t angry. “I told you about myself, so you could decide if I was a suitable partner; you told me about yourself, too.”

“Yes, to make - friends!” Candle gasped, and stood up suddenly, barely able to make out his own words through the pounding in his ears. “I need some air.”

Candle had never been to Zeffir’s backyard, but he made his way out there, somehow. He stopped when he felt grass under his hooves, and tried to gasp out a few tight, wheezing gasps, his head low. This couldn’t be happening, it couldn’t. Everything had been going so well, and Zeffir had been so kind, the party had been so wonderful, and he’d felt something electric, but not marriage! Not - he couldn’t - he wasn’t ready to get -

“Candle?” Zeffir had followed him! Of course he had - he was his husband now, wasn’t he? “Are you okay?”

Candle jerked his head up sharply, which only made the swimming sensation worse. He took a stumbling step to correct, and in an instant Zeffir was at his side.

“Sit down. Just sit down. It’s okay.”

“It’s - it’s not - it’s not -” Candle was gasping for breath, his green eyes wild, unseeing. It wasn’t so much agreement as much that his hind legs simply gave way, and his back end landed on the grass with a bit of a thump. He jerked as if burned when Zeffir tried to stroke his shoulder. “Don’t - don’t.”

He couldn’t manage full sentences; hell, he could barely manage full words at this point.

Zeffir retreated instantly, and if Candle hadn’t been so preoccupied with his vision tunneling, he would have seen how closely Zeffir watched him as he trembled, how heavily each wheeze wore upon him.

He thought he had planned for every eventuality coming to the Eastern Desert, but arranged marriage was not even on his list. Kidnapping, sure, danger, peril; but this? It had been awhile since a situation had arisen that Candle was at such an abject loss to deal with, and that was very purposeful on his part. Overthinking kept Candle safe. It had been a long time since he spiraled this badly, when he had visibly lost control of himself; the last time must have been -

Candle yelped involuntarily as he launched himself onto his hooves, the mental aversion to the memory so strong it had translated into a physical motion. A physical motion, unfortunately, that went precisely nowhere. His hind legs kicked out, but his front legs didn’t get the memo - and so he landed on his face only a few inches away.

The crash landing jolted Candle out of his fugue state, and he was able to look up at Zeffir where he gazed down at him, worry etched in every stripe on his face. If he had to be married, some distant part of Candle’s thoughts not currently occupied with screaming noted, at least it was to someone very attractive.

“We will find the shaman,” Zeffir said firmly, his midnight-blue eyes hardening with resolve. “We will find her, and we will break the marriage.”

“But - but you,” Candle panted, winded by his hyperventilating, “isn’t that - is that a - we can do that?”

“We will. She did it, she can undo it,” Zeffir responded firmly, and with a little nod, he turned away, vanishing inside the house, leaving Candle in a heap on the grass.

Find five things - six things? - find - find things - Candle tried to calm his rattling thoughts, and rolled onto his side, abruptly aware that he was still leaning on his face, his spine aching for relief. His flank heaved for a few more moments, trying to catch his breath, and slowly let the house come into focus in front of him.

Five things you can see. One, Zeffir’s house. Two, grass. Three, my front hooves. Four - four, a weed. Five, a cloud. Four things you can touch. One, the grass. Two, my leg. Little shaky. Three, my wing. Four, my face. Three things you can hear. Voices next door. Zeffir inside. Some kind of bug, zipping around. Two things you can smell. Grass. Earth.

Candle took a deep, slow breath, the fullest one he had taken in awhile, and breathed in the earthy smell of Zeffir’s backyard. The grass smelled like home, but not; behind the familiar earthy tones he could pick up something peppery. The dirt smelled like dirt, and yet it did not smell like his dirt. Everything here was roughly analogous to home, yet somehow wrong.

He’d have to get used to it if he was going to live here.

The panic spiked again, but the moment had passed; when the alarm pressed Candle to action, it wasn’t herky-jerky as in the midst of the panic attack, but shaky, weak, left exhausted in the wave of the adrenaline crush. He pushed himself to a sit clumsily, and made his way inside on legs that felt weak and trembly.

Candle found Zeffir working; he had two sets of saddlebags on his table, and he was rolling a thick length of fabric, tying it to the center band.

“What’re you doing?” Candle asked, softly; he didn’t want to admit how afraid he was that Zeffir would yell at him. It had to be painful, he realized, to see your husband go into a full-blown meltdown at the idea of being married to you. He didn’t think that the fact that it wasn’t intended to be insulting would be acceptable.

But Zeffir didn’t yell. Instead he gave Candle a quick up-down as he continued rolling the second length of fabric. “We will have to set out soon. Branching Fire is officiating a first year ceremony in Xatl in one week, and we will need to catch her there. Can you walk?”

“Wait - Branching Fire? The shaman?” Candle asked, and held one of his forelegs idly with his hoof when he realized he was still shaking. “She doesn’t live here?”

“No, she’s nomadic. Many shamans are. And with her wings, she usually sleeps on a cloud somewhere. If we can’t catch her in Xatl, we’ll have to leave her a letter at her home base,” Zeffir gave his bedroll a sharp yank, tightening the straps, “and that could take weeks.”

“Weeks?!”

Zeffir nodded, and looked at Candle, more squarely this time. “You should go back to bed. We will leave at dusk - that’s when bat ponies are active, yes?”

“Well, yes, but - I changed my sleep,” Candle explained, feeling more foolish the longer Zeffir stared at him. “So I could … fit in.”

Zeffir was silent for a beat, then nodded. “You should still sleep, if you can. We can’t leave now at the heat of the day, anyway, and I’ll need some time to gather supplies. You should gather anything you might need immediately, but leave the rest of the luggage here. We have to carry whatever we bring.”

“Do you need my help?”

“I’ve got it. Will you need a wagon?”

The rejection felt like a slap in the face, and Candle did his best to keep his expression neutral; it was his ears that betrayed him, signaling his hurt by the way they twisted back and flattened out. “I can walk,” Candle insisted quietly. He wasn’t going to be carried around the Eastern Desert, not if he had to hobble on two legs! “Thank you, Zeffir.”

Zeffir nodded, then pulled his gaze away from him, returning his attention to the saddlebags. Candle stood for a beat longer, waiting for a dismissal that never came, and retreated to Zeffir’s room.

What had once felt like a welcoming, exciting new place now felt like a prison. Candle was too worn out to muster up much panic even at such a dour thought, and spent a few minutes gathering some items he thought he might need. A fresh journal, a few pencils; even if he had to chronicle his own journey to a divorce, it might be the only information he was able to get out of this trip. Somehow, he couldn’t see Zeffir or the town being very welcoming to him now that he was publicly disowning them. Was divorce even allowed here? Zeffir had seemed to handle it well enough, but maybe he had realized he didn’t want to be harnessed to someone like Candle for the rest of his life, either.

Candle only managed to come up with a couple of items he wanted to bring before he gave up and climbed onto Zeffir’s bed. He brought along his knitted sweater, the one his father had made for him, and clutched it tightly to his chest. If he breathed deeply enough, he could still smell some of the Everfree Forest that still clung to it.

Sleep did not come easily.

Wings Over Troubled Water

Candle didn’t need to be woken up this time; the light creak of Zeffir opening his door jerked Candle sharply out of whatever fraught dream he’d been lost in. Zeffir didn’t speak; he caught Candle’s eye, nodded, and closed the door again.

They prepared for their journey in the same tense silence. Zeffir had prepared Candle a set of saddlebags to match his, which looked much like his father’s travelling bags from home. His father didn’t travel much anymore, but sometimes he would tell Candle stories about all of the places he’d been to in Equestria, under cover of darkness. As a colt, he had played with his father’s saddlebags, and pretended he was on his own journey around Equestria. Zeffir had left one saddlebag empty for him, and his journal and pencils looked quite paltry, sitting in there alone. Dutifully, Candle buttoned it up all the same.

“Do you know how to put it on?” Zeffir said at last, breaking the silence as he cinched the saddlebags around his own frame. It was a simple enough strap, just a belt around the middle, it looked like.

“Yeah,” Candle lied, and pulled his own pair on. Just like wearing pants! He had pants at home, this would probably be the same. Probably was not definitely, though, and as he straightened up, the saddle bags slid neatly around his middle, hanging upside down.

“Can I help?” Zeffir asked, already halfway there, and with Candle’s little nod he righted the saddlebags. The tight yank around his middle startled a little ‘oof!’ out of Candle, but when Zeffir pulled back, they stayed upright. He considered him for a moment, then grabbed another length of rope and put it into Candle’s mostly empty saddlebag, next to his journal. Another considering glance, and another couple of jars, and the saddlebags felt more balanced on his hips.

“Not too heavy?”

“No, it’s fine,” Candle agreed, and followed Zeffir to the door. He missed Zeffir’s easy, warm banter, but he didn’t know how to ask for it back. Was that version of Zeffir reserved for his husband? Candle couldn’t blame him, he supposed, but it felt … lonely, even though he followed him around like a lost foal.

Zeffir locked the door behind them and left the key under the mat. Their journey out of town was a brief and quiet one; there was no one around to see them leave through the gate that was closest to Zeffir’s home.

And just like that, without any fanfare at all, they had started their journey.

Candle was familiar with the dusk, although the sun setting prompted him to feel more sleepy than alert after his weeks of practice. But weeks could not erase a lifetime of being a bat pony, and as his pupils expanded and his ears twitched to hear every night sound around them, Candle felt a comforting sense of familiarity ease over him. For all that it was a strange land, and he was on a journey to get a divorce from the admittedly-handsome guard walking in front of him, the night felt like home.

They walked in silence for a long time, following a road through the tall grass, much like the trail that they had walked from the port to Zeffir’s village. They met no one else, because who would travel at night? Candle kept his ears perked and alert for any signs of other life, mostly so that he could distract himself from the firm hindquarters of the guard walking ahead of him. There was lots to hear, at night; insects, and all of the little animals that hunted those insects, came out to play. He couldn’t recognize most of their sounds as from specific species like he could at home, but buzzing, humming, and skittering sounded the same in every language.

Candle skittered into a gallop himself when he caught the sound of something large whispering through the grass beside them. It was pure instinct that had him throwing himself in front of Zeffir, pushing him back, away from the sound. “Something’s there,” Candle whispered, his heart in his throat, and the pair froze.

Candle could hear the grass whispering around a large body and many hooves from a long ways off; Zeffir opened his mouth to ask what he was hearing, when suddenly it came much closer, and his smaller ears finally picked up the sound. A few yards ahead of them the grass moved suddenly (or not suddenly, if you had keen hearing and had been following their approach for minutes now), and a large boar emerged, trailed by an entire passel of rainbow-colored piglets. Candle had to assume it was a boar, anyway; it looked like a boar, but the colors were all different (not brown, but green!), and it had massive, angular tusks. The boar considered the pair with one sharp, sidelong glance, and then vanished into the grass on the other side of the path, following her piglets now.

“That was -” Candle’s whisper trailed off. Terrifying? Amazing? Thrilling? It was hard to pick a word, because even though the terror still made his heart race up into his throat, it felt like some kind of magic to see something like that up close. The boar was so large, and the babies were so small and colorful! It felt like watching lightning strike; dazzling, but he didn’t want to get too close, either.

“That was very clever,” Zeffir said at last, considering Candle. Candle didn’t want to admit how good the compliment felt after so much silence. “You heard them that far off?”

Candle nodded, avoiding Zeffir’s gaze, certain that he would see the way his cheeks warmed despite himself. “Bat ponies have very good hearing.”

“Indeed they do,” Zeffir agreed, considering him for a moment longer. “Would you like to take the lead? Your vision and hearing are far superior to mine in the darkness, I suspect.”

“I - really?” Candle asked, his ears perking. “Okay, if … you’re sure.” Were divorcees allowed to take point? It felt like a strange question to ask, so he didn’t.

“Stop us if you hear anything big like that again. There’s predators out here, too.”

Thanks for that comforting thought, Zeffir.

The next hour was spent in a high-alert, with Candle stopping for anything above the size of a housecat; some things crossed their path, and some heard them and turned the other way. Candle would start describing them, or at least how they sounded, and Zeffir would give him a rough translation of what it might be. (“Four paws, very rapid; it sounds like it’s heavy. It’s smaller than a cat, I think. Soft paws on the dirt.” “Might be a hyrax, they won’t hurt us. Sort of like a gopher.”)

The creatures that they came across were dazzling, and each one made Candle want to stop to pull out his journal. He saw plenty of little rodents, but each one was somehow different to what he was used to. Something like a skunk skulked across the path ahead of them later on, with a similar black and white pattern on a much larger frame, and it was Zeffir who pulled him further back that time. “Honey badger. Not a friend,” Zeffir had confirmed quietly, and they waited until Candle couldn’t hear it anymore before they continued.

They worked that way until the weak light of dawn broke the darkness overhead, and more of the savannah started to come alive. Zeffir let Candle lead for a little while longer, then wordlessly pulled ahead, taking the lead once more. Candle didn’t say it, but he hoped that the approach of day meant that they were done listening for things that might eat them.

Candle heard the roar of the water a long time before they saw it. It was a river, coursing and wild, and Candle was getting the sinking feeling that they weren’t just going to walk alongside it, especially once he noted the way Zeffir’s ears had flicked back.

“The rainy season has already swollen the river. It’s usually only knee deep; we’ll still be able to cross,” Zeffir explained, finishing confidently. “I’ll take the rocks, and of course you can fly over.”

Well, guano.

Before Candle could offer any opposition, Zeffir took off at a trot, and confidently leapt into the river. There were rocks whose edges just barely stuck above the current, and Zeffir leapt between them like some striped mountain goat, landing on the other side a few minutes later, still dry. “You can fly over now!” Zeffir called over the roar of the river.

Candle looked down at the river, then at Zeffir, then back at the river. What had looked beautiful and untamed from a distance now looked like a swirling death trap, and Candle struggled to pick out the rocks that Zeffir had jumped between. He had made it look so easy! But Zeffir was stronger, and faster, and - nope! Candle could do this! Candle wasn’t going to let himself overthink this! Rock to rock, right? Easy peasy!

Candle took a few steps back, his heart already pounding, and took off for the river at a gallop. With a mighty jump, he landed on the first rock, and leapt to the second one. Hey! This was working! It worked great until the third rock, anyway, when his hoof slipped on the surprisingly-slick surface, and his next jump went off-kilter. He barely made it to the next rock, and scrambled up where his back legs had slid into the water, soaking him in the cold, rushing current.

“What are you doing?” Zeffir shouted, approaching the river. “Just fly!”

Candle tried to shake off the yelling and the cold shock of the water; he braced himself, then took another jump, landing on the next rock. It was harder without momentum, and as he considered his final jump, he realized that he would never make it to the bank from where he stood. Candle could swim okay, but he’d never tested that theory in a storm-swollen river.

“You can make it!” Zeffir was still shouting, standing on the riverbank closest to him; his hooves were in the water. “Just fly the last bit!”

“I can’t fly!” Candle shouted back at last, his voice tight.

Zeffir stared at him for a long moment that felt longer. Then, wordlessly, he began to wade into the river. Candle wasn’t terribly far out, just too far to jump; but even in that short distance, Zeffir was already soaked up to his hips, and Candle could see him fighting the current.

“Climb on!” Zeffir called once he got close enough. He was struggling, but he was upright, for now; would he be able to handle Candle’s added weight? “NOW!” Alright, that answered that.

With great misgiving, Candle lowered himself to a crouch, and carefully slid onto Zeffir’s back. Zeffir’s knees buckled for a moment, then held; once Candle had his forelegs tightly around his neck, Zeffir turned away, and began making his way back to the riverbank. He was pulled by the current a little further downstream, but eventually Candle felt the icy water beginning to recede, and soon they were back on land. Candle all but fell off of Zeffir, and the pair laid on the riverbank for a long moment, panting.

It was Zeffir who broke the silence. “I didn’t know you couldn’t fly.”

Candle wordlessly climbed back up to his hooves and began walking again. Behind him, he could hear Zeffir rapidly clamber to his hooves, too, shaking off the river water before he trotted to catch up.

They walked in a tense silence, but Candle’s thoughts raced loudly enough in his ears to fill it ten times over. They went like that for a little while, maybe half an hour, before they came to a massive acacia tree.

“We should stop here. We need to rest. And I need to hang this to dry,” Zeffir jerked his head towards his saddlebags where his sodden bedroll still dripped down his legs.

A pang of guilt shot through Candle, and he could only nod wordlessly, following Zeffir as he began to set up camp. It wasn’t much; they hadn’t brought tents, like when Candle went camping as a colt. But the wide, branching canopy of the acacia offered shade, and Zeffir was able to throw his wet blanket high enough that it could catch on one of the lower branches and hang. Candle unrolled his own to find a brightly-patterned, sturdy blanket, woven of some thick material.

“You should sleep on that,” Zeffir instructed him, already starting to yank mouthfuls of the tall grass up and drag them over. “I will sleep on the grass.”

“I tore my wing.”

Zeffir froze, and slowly let his eyes travel to Candle, who was playing with the fringed end of his blanket.

“It wasn’t even a big accident,” Candle began slowly, his eyes on the blanket, his voice low. “I wasn’t attacked, or fell, or anything. I was just flying one day, and - I must have hit some kind of air pocket, I guess, because suddenly I was sideways, and then there was this - this horrible tearing,” Candle shuddered deeply at the memory, “and I could feel it in my wing, and I couldn’t do anything but fall out of the sky. It’s been healed up for months now, but …” Candle swallowed, and rubbed one eye with the back of his hoof. “I just keep remembering the tearing. How it came out of nowhere. How it could - it could just happen again.”

Zeffir waited until Candle fell quiet, then risked coming a little closer, abandoning his grass bed. “May I see?”

Candle’s glance to Zeffir was quick; the decision to let him see his wing, less so. But after a long moment, he carefully unfolded his right wing, and spread it out for Zeffir to see. The scar wasn’t huge; on the webbed, leathery skin of his wing, it was a thin, pale line, silver against his pale-grey body. It wasn’t much longer than one of his pencils, but it had felt so much bigger in his memory. Zeffir came close, and considered him. Candle waited for a touch that didn’t come.

“Scars are signs that we survived,” Zeffir finally said at last, and lifted his eyes to meet Candle’s. “We are stronger where we are remade.”

Candle could only stare at him, something unknowable in his gaze, only because Candle didn’t know what he was feeling just then. Zeffir shifted a little where he sat, so that he could extend one of his finely-muscled hind legs in front of Candle. A group of silvery blue lines criss-crossed over the place where the morning dawn pink of his coat melted into the pale blue. They were not stripes, like the white stripes that covered his coat; they were raised.

“I earned these defending the village from a honey badger,” Zeffir spoke quietly. “I was very afraid to go through that pain again.” Zeffir was quiet for a moment, considering what to say; his left ear twitched. “It got easier, over time. It will get easier for you, too.”

“I hope so,” Candle spoke softly.

“I know,” Zeffir affirmed, and considered Candle for a beat before he reached out, and let his hoof touch Candle’s wing, as light as a puff of breath. “You are stronger now.”

Candle couldn’t help the shiver that rolled through him.

Zeffir might have noticed it, or he might have not; either way, he pulled himself upright again, and resumed work on his bed.

“You shouldn’t sleep on the grass - we can both fit on this,” Candle said suddenly, lifting the blanket he’d been clutching without realizing. “It’s big. And - aren’t you wet? And … cold?”

Zeffir considered Candle, and gave a half-shrug. His fur still stood up at odd angles, spiny from where he’d shaken off most of the river water. “It will be hot by the time we wake up.”

“We can put the blanket over us, if we both sleep on the grass,” Candle answered, and climbed upright so he could join Zeffir, beginning to pull some grass in turn.

They both focused on the work instead of the promise of sharing a blanket; it seemed they were both more comfortable in the silence. They ate some, and pulled some, and within a few minutes had a respectable pile of grass to climb into. The blanket spread over both of them easily, and as Candle settled down against Zeffir’s back, he could feel his low trembling fade into nothing as the blanket’s warmth settled over them both. His coat was cold, for all that he denied it, but where Candle touched soon turned warm.

“Candle?” Zeffir’s voice was quiet, afraid to wake him perhaps. It had been some time since they laid down, but Candle was not used to sleeping on the ground.

“Yeah?” Candle answered, equally quiet.

“If I had been a bat pony, would you have been so upset to be married to me?”

Candle’s eyes widened. “I - of course, yes. I - it’s the - I don’t want to be married, period, it’s not because of - because of anything like that.”

Zeffir nodded, and Candle could feel it from where their backs were pressed together. “Okay.”

“It’s not you,” Candle added, and his voice was a little less uncertain, a little less herky-jerky. “I … I really like you, Zeffir. I’ve never … I’ve never had a friend like you before.” Candle swallowed; he wondered if Zeffir could feel it like he felt his nod. “I’m sorry that I … that I freaked out so much. I didn’t … I didn’t even think about how it would hurt you. But - of course it would. I’m sorry.”

Zeffir nodded again, and he was quiet for so long that Candle wondered if he was angry at him. . “I have never seen anyone so upset like that,” Zeffir murmured at last, his voice low. “I was afraid for you - that you couldn’t breathe. I thought, perhaps … if I was so abhorrent to you…”

“Never abhorrent, Zeffir,” Candle insisted softly, and rolled a little, so he could press his side against Zeffir’s more firmly. “You’re my friend.” Candle was quiet for a beat. “I’ve never been kissed before.”

Zeffir twisted, and Candle caught his gaze as he sat up a little. “Never?”

“No!” Candle flushed and turned away, his ears flattening out in embarrassment. “I - no.”

Zeffir considered him for a moment, very still. “I have kissed one other stallion.”

It was Candle’s turn to stare up at Zeffir. “Really?”

Zeffir nodded. “Xuiquex. My very first kiss.” Zeffir smiled a little at the memory, although it quickly faded. “We were so careful about it, but … my parents found out anyway. With everything else… they wouldn’t tolerate it. That’s how I ended up in Xara. They needed a guard, and I needed a new home.”

“Zeffir … Zeffir, I’m so sorry,” Candle whispered, and his ears whisked in the grass beneath him as they flicked back and forth.

“It’s alright. I did not put it in my letters to you; I didn’t know how.” Zeffir offered him a small, wistful smile. “I suppose I did not want you to pity me, if we were to be married. You should not pity your husband. But that doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It’s nothing to pity you for, Zeffir,” Candle murmured, and rose a little so that he could sit up as well, hugging his hind legs as his gaze wandered. “My parents … they know about … this. That I like - stallions. But the day my mother found out, she wept like I had died. And she said it was okay, but …” Candle shook his head, and curled in on himself a little. “I knew it wasn’t. So I tried to keep it inside, to keep from talking about it, but I guess when I realized we were married … I’d have to talk about it.” Candle was quiet for a moment, then laughed, the sound sad. “And she would be disappointed in me, I guess. What a dumb thing to be worried about.”

But Zeffir considered Candle with a gentle gaze, and his hoof was light when he touched his shoulder. “It is not dumb, Candle. It is natural to seek her approval.”

Candle’s glance was sidelong, but the smile he offered him was grateful. “Thanks, Zeffir.”

“Of course.” Zeffir returned his little smile, then lowered himself back down onto the grass. “We should sleep. You will be tired from the travel, I imagine.”

“Okay,” Candle agreed, and lowered himself in kind. This time, when Zeffir rolled onto his side, Candle snuggled his front against his back, and settled his cheek between his shoulder blades. Zeffir’s mane was stiff and spiky, but his coat was soft, and smelled faintly of the peppery grass they laid on. “Good night, Zeffir.”

“Good night, Candle.”

They would wake up in the searing heat of the Eastern Desert sun, but for now, both stallions were warm under the blanket.

A New Friend

Candle slept fitfully, and when he awoke, it was to a strange smell surrounding their little camp. It wasn’t anything he could place, but it smelled - unnatural, somehow.

Zeffir was already awake; the bags were already packed, save the blanket that was still draped over Candle. He’d mostly kicked it off in his sleep, due to the oppressive heat that was slow to fade, even once the heat of the afternoon had passed. He caught Candle’s eye as Candle sat up.

“You’re up? Good. We need to move.” Zeffir was already packing the blanket as he spoke, rolling it briskly and tying it into place on Candle’s saddlebag.

“Breakfast?” Candle asked sleepily, pushing himself up onto his hooves. Before he could even quite register what was happening, Zeffir was strapping his saddlebags to him. It was so quick that he didn’t even have time to pay any special attention to the way Zeffir’s hooves skillfully moved over his hindquarters.

“There’s yeens near us,” Zeffir said quietly, his voice urgent as he yanked Candle’s cinch tight. “They must have been circling around our camp, I can still smell them. We need to move.”

“What’s - what a yeen?” Candle asked, immediately terrified solely by Zeffir’s urgency. A honey badger, the thing that had torn up his hind leg, hadn’t even commanded this kind of quiet alarm.

“Predators,” Zeffir answered quietly, and gave their camp a quick once-over before he looked back to Candle. “Grab a mouthful of grass; we won’t be stopping to eat for awhile.”

Candle did as he was ordered.

The next hour was a silent, tense hike; the path was sunny and warm in the late afternoon, with plenty of exciting animals in the tall grass that surrounded them, but Candle didn’t have eyes for any of it.

Zeffir’s rapid, tense stride only relaxed when they reached a patch of the savannah where there was very little grass, and long swaths of open dirt surrounded them. Wordlessly, Zeffir unbuckled his saddlebags, and dropped to his knees, rolling in the dirt beside the road.

“What is happening?” Candle asked, his anxiety still at a fever pitch, unabated by Zeffir’s strange behavior. Maybe increased, even. Was he sick?

“We have to be careful travelling during the day; the sun will burn your skin, even under your coat,” Zeffir answered, rolling for a moment longer before he climbed back up, shaking a cloud of dust off. Candle danced to the side to dodge the cloud as it moved towards him. “I’ll hold your saddlebags for you.”

“I don’t want to roll in the dirt,” Candle frowned.

“Why?”

“It’s - it’s dirty!” Candle frowned harder, and took a little step back. “It’s already in the name.”

“Your coat is already grey,” Zeffir smiled, the expression as loose as it had been the first day Candle met him. “It won’t hurt.”

“If it won’t hurt, then I think I will pass,” Candle sniffed.

“If you get sunburnt, it will hurt,” Zeffir clarified, “and I didn’t bring anything to mend sunburns. And we still have several days of walking ahead.”

Candle frowned all the more intensely at Zeffir, and then at the dirt. With deep regret, he unbuckled his saddlebags, and lowered himself to the ground. With a delicacy that Zeffir wouldn’t soon forget, Candle rolled onto his back, kicking his legs in the air, and repeated the motion a few times. “Good enough?” Candle asked, coughing as he inhaled a bit of dust.

“Looks good,” Zeffir agreed, trying to hide his grin. “Let’s go.”

And so, dirty and unhappy to be so, Candle resumed his hike, following behind Zeffir. Not even the muscled hindquarters ahead of him could distract him from his discomfort. They kept a brisk pace, even though the grass remained low and scrubby around them, and eventually, Candle began to feel thoroughly worn out.

The first day hadn’t been so bad; hiking was something he enjoyed, now and again. But this was the second day, with yeens and danger surrounding them, covered in dirt, with not much sleep and even less breakfast. Candle wished for Zeffir’s comfortable bed again, or even better, the comfort of his home tree. He would have accepted anything with walls, at this point.

Candle was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t realize Zeffir had stopped until a moment before he would have bumped into him.

“What’s that?” Zeffir frowned.

Candle pulled astride him and considered the horizon. Just on the edge of their vision, all the more clear for how scrubby the surroundings were, was a large, expansive building. It stood out starkly among the scrub and the flat landscape, and no other houses stood near it.

“That wasn’t here when I came this way last year,” Zeffir frowned all the harder. “I think we should give it a wide berth. Let’s go this way, go around it.”

“Go around it?” Candle asked, turning to face Zeffir squarely as he began to step away. “We should go see what it is! Maybe they’ll let us stay for the night!”

Zeffir’s frown became intense. “No.”

“There’s yeens out here, you just said they were!” Candle insisted, frowning back at him. “They found us while we were asleep - maybe next time they won’t just circle.”

Zeffir frowned at him.

“I think we should at least look,” Candle insisted, and frowned back at Zeffir all the more intensely when his expression darkened. “If it’s dangerous, we’ll keep going.”

“We should keep going anyway,” Zeffir ground out, and was startled when Candle began walking ahead of him. “Candle!”

“I’d rather take my chances with ponies than with yeens,” Candle said firmly, and continued walking. He was grateful when Zeffir began to follow him after a few paces; he wasn’t sure what he would have done if he’d called his bluff.

As they approached the massive house, they got a better look at the estate - for that’s what it must be. It seemed to be built on a plot of pure paradise, with a long, paved road that branched off of the main packed-dirt road. Even from half a mile off, they could see the stark difference in the estate; the surrounding countryside was dry scrub painted in browns and greys, but within their perimeter it was like stepping onto a lush, green paradise. Palm trees and acacias grew alongside one another at perfectly measured distances, and neatly-trimmed bushes lined the road they followed, leading them to the house. It was a massive thing, large and square; it took Candle a moment to realize that it felt comforting to him because it looked like the buildings at home. Or, more accurately, the buildings in Ponyville. Big, square windows, tall colonnades that framed elegant walkways into a garden filled with plants that had no right surviving in such a harsh environment, columns framing the massive oak door; it was like something out of a fairytale.

Zeffir hung back as Candle approached the front door, but he couldn’t even get close enough to knock before the door opened, revealing a tall, cold-faced zebra.

“Oh! Uh - hello,” Candle offered hesitantly, and when he turned to look at Zeffir, he realized he was several yards back.

“Do you have an appointment with the master?” the zebra asked coolly, considering him from under half-lidded eyes.

“Well, uh, no,” Candle began awkwardly, realizing suddenly how strange it would be to ask a complete stranger for a place to stay. “I’m actually not from around here - see, we were walking down the road a bit -”

“Oh, Zeffrey!” came a voice from behind, and the cold-eyed zebra stepped back to reveal an earth pony stallion. He was blindingly white, like the columns that edged the doorway, with bright brown eyes that sparkled with excitement and a curled pink and yellow mane. “Well, as I live and breathe - who are you?”

“I’m - I’m Candle, and this is -” but Candle turned to gesture and found that Zeffir had taken a few steps back, so that he would have to shout to reach him. “Well, that’s Zeffir, he’s my - my friend,” Candle substituted a little clumsily. “We, uh, we’re on our way to Xatl, and -”

“Oh, come in, come in!” the stallion clucked, and gave Zeffir a wave, planting his foreleg firmly around Candle’s shoulders as he guided him inside. “Let’s not stand outside in this dreadful heat a moment longer!”

“I’ll stay out here,” Zeffir called, and Candle could tell that behind his cool politeness was a deep discomfort.

“Suit yourself! You’re welcome to come join us if you’d like!” the stallion beamed, and whisked Candle away.

They walked down a grand, massive hallway of white marble floors and tall, dark walls covered in paintings of serious-looking earth ponies; when the door behind them closed with a boom, Candle tried not to jump. The earth pony kept his foreleg draped over Candle’s shoulders, even long past when Candle felt it had to be comfortable. It was certainly uncomfortable for him.

“Now, what did you say your name was? Candle? What a charming name!” the stallion smiled, wide and dazzling; his teeth were almost whiter than his coat. “My name is Frilly Pantaloons - but you can just call me Pantaloons, all my closest friends do! I’m actually Frilly Pantaloons the twelfth, you see; so when people call me Frilly, I say, ‘Frilly’s my father, just call me Pantaloons!’”

Pantaloons laughed so uproariously at his own joke that he snorted; Candle managed a warm-sounding laugh in reply.

“But I’ve never seen somepony like you before! Those ears, they’re so dazzling!” Pantaloons grinned, and lifted a hoof to touch one; Candle had to resist the urge to pull away. “And dirty,” Pantaloons amended as he pulled his hoof back, considering the dusty stain on his perfect white hoof with clear distaste.

“Oh - sorry, it’s - dirt bath,” Candle offered clumsily, feeling all the more clumsy for how refined and elegant Pantaloons’ flowery language was. “To prevent sunburn.”

“I see,” Pantaloons sneered, and gave a quick one-two click of his hooves on the polished tile; within a moment, another zebra appeared, and presented him with a towel. “Thank you, Zamra. Well, I don’t think a little towel will do much for you,” Pantaloons said briskly as he wiped away the stain, “so why don’t you wash up before dinner?”

“Dinner?” Candle asked hopefully.

“Oh yes! You must join us for dinner, of course!” Pantaloons’ momentary distaste was soon brushed aside, and he clapped his hooves together in giddy anticipation. “Oh, and you must dress for dinner! It’s been such a long time since I’ve had proper company, we shall have to make an event of it!”

“Well, I - I didn’t really bring anything to wear,” Candle began hesitantly, his eyes landing on his saddlebags. He was pretty sure Zeffir hadn’t packed any evening wear in there!

“Then of course I shall have my attendants help you! I’m sure we have plenty for you to borrow!” Frilly Pantaloons clapped his hooves together again, and pranced ahead of Candle. “I shall inform the cook to prepare another place for dinner! Oh, this is so exciting! Please follow Zamra, she will show you to your chambers!”

Chambers! Like, maybe to sleep! Candle’s heart soared with hope, and as he followed the silent zebra mare down another identical hallway of polished marble, Candle couldn’t help but think that Zeffir had been very wrong about this place, indeed.

Not All That Shimmers...

Candle luxuriated in the hot bath the maid Zamra drew for him. She had started to pick up a scrub brush before Candle clumsily asked her to leave; he didn’t want to be offensive to his new host, but he could wash himself perfectly fine on his own, thank you! He’d wished for fresh water once the tub turned a light shade of brown due to his previous dust bath, but he dutifully scrubbed himself down all the same. Warm, fluffy towels waited for him when he climbed out, and he luxuriated in those too, practically singing by the time he emerged from the bathroom.

“O - Oh. Hello,” Candle said awkwardly, freezing mid-step as he realized that there were four zebra maids waiting for him when he emerged, and none of them were Zamra. “I’m, uh, I’m ready for dinner?”

One of the maids (the familiar grey and black of Zecora) shook her head briskly, and gestured to a tufted seat in front of a mirrored vanity. “We will dress you. Please sit.”

“Oh, well - okay, I guess,” Candle followed her gesture, trying not to let his skin crawl obviously as the quartet stared him down in uncomfortable silence. “Thank you.”

He received no answer, but once he sat, they set to work on him. One combed his hair, still a little damp from the bath, and began to curl it into intricate waves. Another took what looked like a strange, flat brush, and began combing his coat. He didn’t even know that you could comb a coat, but with a few drops of a golden oil, his coat soon shone and dazzled like it never had before. The third brought various items of clothing back and forth, measuring them against his fore and hind legs, tutting occasionally as she compared various colors to his silky grey coat. The fourth brought shiny bits of jewelry; she compared dangly earrings to his massive bat ears, comparing them.

“Oh, I don’t need jewelry,” Candle interrupted her gently, leaning away from the earrings. “But thank you all the same.”

“Master insists,” the purple zebra said simply, ignoring him, and brought his chin back with a surprisingly firm hoof. She compared for a moment longer, then set another pair back down. “This will pinch.”

“Pi - OW!” Candle gasped, startled by the sudden pain at the base of his ear. “That hurt!”

“It will only hurt for a few moments,” the zebra said smoothly, and lifted a bottle, squirting something on his ear. The pain faded instantly. “And now the other.”

Candle had seen earrings his mother owned, as a colt; they had pinchy little grips, and she’d tried one on him during a game of childhood dress-up. They hadn’t pinched this badly, but then Candle supposed that memory faded with time, and that he had bigger ears now. Bigger ears, bigger pinch. He gritted his teeth for the second painful pinch, but with another squirt of the bottle, the pain faded once more.

Once his ears were finished, the mare set to work comparing necklaces, and Candle allowed himself to get lost in comparing them, too. He tried on a couple of different outfits, and the mares finally settled on something that seemed like it was mostly gauze, if he was being honest. It was frilly, and soft, sort of like the drapes that he and Zeffir had worn at the party - wedding, Candle recalled with a sharp drop in his middle. But this was - well, it had to be at least fifteen layers of some transparent, silky material, in every color of the rainbow. When they were layered that thickly, it whispered as he walked. There were two holes on the back for his wings, and when they folded against his back, he felt a little bit like a winged cloud. A bat cloud! I wish Zeffir was here to see me, Candle thought with a little chuckle, turning in the mirror to admire himself.

He looked expensive, which was the only thing he could think of to describe himself. His grey coat shone as a lustrous, burnished silver, glossy and brushed smooth, and his lavender hair was spun silk, brushed back and curled into shimmering waves. As he considered himself, noting the spider-spun gold chain that tangled around his throat elegantly, one of the mares leaned close, and brushed a shimmery powder along his cheekbones.

He looked … transcendent. Transformed. He almost didn’t recognize himself.

“Dinner,” came a male voice from the doorway, and Candle spun to realize that Zeffrey stood there, “is served.”

Candle followed Zeffrey down the marble hallway, but he barely took notice of the portraits that frowned down at him; all he could hear was the click click of his hooves on the marble, and the whispering of the fabric on his body.

“Oh! You made it!” Pantaloons clapped again when he saw him, and eagerly trotted over to his side. Frilly Pantaloons wore an outfit almost as ridiculously opulent as Candle’s, but his was nothing like Candle’s; his was purely Ponyville, with a starched suit and tie, in an expensive looking white linen to match his coat. He wore a jeweled bauble for a tie pin, but it was so heavy and glittering it dragged the tie down a few inches. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t clean up in time! You were so dirty, I thought it might take hours!”

Thanks for that, Candle thought with a prick of annoyance. “Thank you for lending me the clothes and - everything, it’s beautiful.”

“Oh, nonsense, nonsense! It’s no trouble at all! They look much better on you than on a hanger!” Pantaloons grinned, and happily trotted to the head of the table, leading Candle to two elegant place settings. The plates were gold, and Candle was starting to wonder just how much opulence was too much opulence. Two zebra servants pulled out their chairs for them, and Candle slid into his, more than a little uncomfortable.

“So! Tonight’s dinner is wheatgrass and cheese souffle to begin, and then we have a woody merlot to go with that; the main meal of course will be a -”

“Did Zeffir ever come in?”

Pantaloons’ eye twitched at being interrupted, but he allowed it with a gracious sweep of his hoof over his mane. Perfectly curled, as before. “Oh, your rugged travelling companion? No, I imagine he’s left by now. Now, for the primary course, I asked the chef for a special -”

“He left? He can’t leave, we have to go to Xatl tomorrow!” Candle frowned worriedly. “Perhaps I should go find him -”

“NO.”

Candle jumped; the voice didn’t seem like it could have come from Pantaloons, it was so angry, and when Candle turned to look at him again, his expression was a stormcloud.

“We are having dinner.”

“Well - can’t I have dinner after? I don’t want him to get too far -”

“What do you care about that zebra? You’re here now, and we are having dinner!”

“But how will I get to Xatl on my own?” Candle frowned, deciding not to add, how will I get a divorce if I can’t find my groom?

Pantaloons gave an easy little laugh, and the stormcloud faded. “Oh, who wants to go to Xatl? My compound is far nicer than that dirty little zebra city! You can’t find elegance like mine anywhere in the Eastern Desert.”

Candle frowned at him more seriously this time. “I want to go to Xatl.”

Frilly Pantaloons considered him for a beat, then neatly lifted his napkin, and tucked it into his starched linen collar. “Oh, you’ll soon think differently. Come, let’s enjoy our souffle! If we aren’t careful, it will deflate.”

Candle stood up, his skin twitching under his finery. “I don’t think I will.”

Pantaloons’ eyes were sharp where they cut to him. “I think you will.”

“No, I won’t. I’m going to find Zeffir,” Candle shoved his chair back with a screech of wood on marble; it pleased him to see Pantaloons flinch. “Thank you for your hospitality,” Candle said coldly, but when he turned to leave, Zeffrey was in the doorway. Blocking the doorway, actually; was he always that big?

“No, I don’t think you will,” Frilly Pantaloons said lazily, and when Candle whirled to look at him, he had a matching lazy little grin curling his lips. “I haven’t ever met any pony like you before, Candle. What are you - some kind of bat pony? I’d heard they were all extinct.”

“We aren’t,” Candle snapped, and his skin was twitching even harder now.

“Oh, but perhaps you are. And if there’s one thing I’m good at,” Frilly Pantaloons was still grinning, “it’s seeing the value in things. You are an incredible find, Candle; I can’t just let you slip out of my hooves into some dirty little Eastern backwater, never to be seen again.”

“I’m not a thing,” Candle hissed, trying to keep the fear out of his voice, “I’m a pony. You can’t - collect me.”

“Oh, a collection implies a group of items!” Pantaloons laughed gaily, and Candle’s skin crawled. “You are absolutely one of a kind, my dear. Perhaps I can start a collection of one-of-a-kinds, though; you will be the first, the jewel of my collection of unique oddities. And always my most treasured, never fear.”

Candle stared at him; he wasn’t sure when he’d started breathing hard. His eyes darted to the plate, and before he could reconsider, he grabbed it, and flung it at Pantaloons’ head. The white stallion cowered away with a whinny of fear, and before Candle could even react, he was grabbed up in Zeffrey’s strong forelegs.

“Zeffrey!” Pantaloons whined, still cowering and shielding his perfect curls. “Take him to his room! No dinner for Candle! Not until you can learn to be a good boy,” Pantaloons sniffed, and dabbed at the corner of his eyes with his napkin as Zeffrey wrestled the thrashing Candle out of the dining room.

“Let me go! You can’t keep me! He’s insane, you have to see that!” Candle snarled, writhing like a bat pony possessed, but Zeffrey’s grip was like steel. Candle tried to grab onto the doorway as they went through it, but all he earned was a wrenching pain in his foreleg as Zeffrey yanked him through, and threw him onto a massive, four-postered bed. “Zeffrey!” Candle shouted, but the door slamming behind him drowned out his cry for help, and the click of a lock sealed his fate.

Candle sat there for a moment, listening to the steady click click of Zeffrey’s hooves on the polished marble as he left, and then Candle leapt from the bed. He raced to the other doorway, only to find the bathroom he had bathed in only an hour before. No exit. He ran back into the bedroom, searching its opulence for some hidden escape, and found only the window. The window, he noted suddenly, with heavy, intricate iron scrollwork covering it.

Candle grabbed the tufted stool he’d sat upon, and threw it at the window, shielding his face as the glass shattered. He tried to sidestep any glass that had fallen inside, and pressed his face to the iron. He could see only the lush compound, the gardens and its unnatural greenery in the surrounding desert; no Zeffir.

“Zeffir!” Candle shouted, despite himself. “Zeffir! Are you out there? Zeffir, help! Zeffir! Zeffir!!”

Candle shouted until his voice went hoarse, and until the tears got too thick to shout past. Zeffir did not appear; Zeffir was probably gone by now, in fact, and had already forgotten the troublesome bat pony who had him traipsing all over the Eastern Desert. He would go back home to his little village, and forget all about the worst husband he’d ever had. And Candle would - Candle would grow, grow old, and - and die, in a fancy mansion, dressed up like - like a doll, and - and never see his home again, or his family, or even Zeffir, who wouldn’t - wouldn’t even miss him - would probably be glad to be rid of him, in fact -

Candle eventually dragged himself away from the window, so that at least he could muffle his weeping into the silk pillows of his gilded prison.

The Storm

Candle woke up in the middle of a storm.

The rainy season was coming; apparently, it had arrived, and it was hard for Candle to muster up any strong feelings about it. He rolled over onto his side, so that he could consider the opulent room.

It was as he had left it; it must have been some time ago that he fell asleep, because it was dark now, and the storm raged in the night outside his broken window. No one had come to light the lamps in his room, probably because he was still locked in. There was still some glass on the floor, and the cold wind whistled through the broken window. There was rain outside, he could hear it pattering into the green garden; he was very nearly deafened by the sudden crash of lightning, and the boom of the thunder after it. The storm must be on top of them, it sounded so close.

There was a panicked scream in the hallway, and the sound of running hooves; Candle realized, suddenly, that the storm must really be on top of them, since another crash of thunder followed almost immediately after.

There was a whinnying cry of rage from somewhere outside; with the bolt of lightning came a bolt of recognition.

“HE’S MINE!” Crack, boom! The thunder and lightning alternated outside. “YOU CAN’T HAVE HIM!”

Zeffir! That was his voice! Candle ran to the window, pressing his face against the iron scrollwork to try and look around. “Zeffir!” There he was, Luna bless him! Standing out in the garden, soaked to the bone in the rain! He reared and pawed at the air like a zebra possessed, and his eyes flashed almost as brightly as the lightning overhead. “Zeffir!” Candle shouted again, trying to get a hoof through the elegant scrollwork to wave to him, but failed.

Zeffir must have heard him, because he dropped to all four hooves and ran to his side. “Candle?”

“Zeffir! Thank Luna you found me!” The tears were back again, but then he supposed they had never left. “Zeffir, he won’t let me leave, I’m locked in -”

“It’s alright, Candle, it’s alright,” Zeffir whuffed, a little gaspy; his eyes still looked a little wild, and Candle felt the sudden overwhelming desire to hug him. “Back away from the window.”

A little nervous of what Zeffir had in mind, Candle backed up obediently, and covered his ears for good measure. With another enraged whinny, Zeffir kicked up onto his hind legs, and lightning struck the iron bars. Once! Twice! Three times the lightning pounded into the window frame, and Candle cowered against the heavy door, waiting for the booming of the thunder to end. The rain sizzled where it landed on the hot iron, and after a moment, he saw a heavy tree branch wedge into the edge of it. With a groan of metal giving away, the scrollwork fell away, revealing Zeffir’s face in the window.

“Let’s go,” Zeffir called quietly, and Candle would have sworn that he saw a stray spark dance between his pointed ears.

Candle paused only long enough to grab his saddlebags and toss them out to Zeffir, and soon he followed, landing on the lush lawn in a tangle of gauzy fabric. He didn’t even bother to untangle himself; once he was on all four hooves, he ran.

Once he felt dirt under his hooves instead of grass, Candle stopped to look back; behind them, the mansion burned, flames licking ever higher into the storm. Even the pounding rain couldn’t stop its inexorable demise, and as they watched, several more zebra servants streamed out of the front door, galloping off into the horizon.

Zeffir stood for a long moment, and considered the storm. It was localized almost entirely over the mansion; where they stood, on the boundary of the property, was dry. “I can stop it,” Zeffir said quietly, almost apologetically.

Candle’s eyes were cold as he watched the mansion burn; he pictured Frilly Pantaloons sitting at his opulent table, crying about a golden plate being thrown at his head. “Let it burn,” Candle whispered.

They stood there for a long time; now and again, Zeffir would rear, and bring another bolt of lightning crashing down onto the building. They stayed until they saw the building reduced to rubble, which hardly took any time at all. At last, once he was satisfied, Candle turned away. Zeffir followed him, and the pair walked in silence for a long time, following the same packed-dirt road as they had before.

It was dark again; Candle couldn’t see when the ruined estate vanished onto the horizon behind him, but he could imagine it. And once they lost sight of its ruined remains, something released in him, and he suddenly felt very, very tired.

“Let’s stop for the night,” Zeffir said at last, coming to a slow halt. He left the road, and guided the silent Candle to another acacia tree. This one was as broad as the last, and Zeffir took over the setup of their camp. This time, he grabbed some dry tinder, some fallen branches and grass, and started a fire. Candle supposed he should have been surprised when Zeffir produced a little spark from his hoof to start the fire, but instead he felt nothing.

Zeffir let him sit in his silence for a long time, but once the fire was large and roaring in front of them, he turned to look at Candle. “Do you want my help getting out of that - that?”

Candle nodded, and sat silently as Zeffir fiddled with the laces of the drape, the many layers, the delicate clasp of the necklace. All of these he set aside, until he came to the pinchy earrings. They hurt by now, aching and sore after a long night of wear.

“Oh,” Zeffir said softly. “I didn’t know you had pierced ears.”

Zeffir’s hoof flew to his ear; when he tugged, the pinchy earring didn’t move. Instead, his ear moved with it.

“I d - I don’t have - pierced ears,” Candle whispered, and at last, his stoic silence gave way to sobbing. He didn’t care who heard, he didn’t care that Zeffir looked alarmed, he didn’t even care if a whole pack of yeens came now and ate them; it wasn’t fair. He had come so far, and had endured so much; too much. Too much! His sobbing rose to full-throated wailing at the unfairness of it all, and it was then that Zeffir wrapped his forelegs around him, gathering him close to his chest.

“It’s all right, Candle,” Zeffir whispered, and his hoof was gentle where he pressed against Candle’s wavy mane, guiding his face down against his neck.

“It’s not!” Candle sobbed, and pushed at him; but it was a petulant sort of protest, and he soon melted into him, clutching Zeffir as tightly as he could. “It’s not fair! It’s not r-right! I never asked - I never asked for any of this!”

“I know,” Zeffir whispered, and his voice was twisted with pain, too. His hoof was gentle where it smoothed down against his mane, and he kept stroking him; Candle realized a moment later than he was smoothing out the waves, brushing them loose.

He was quiet for a long time, stroking Candle, letting his neck be soaked by his husband’s tears. When he spoke again, his voice was low. “I am so sorry, Candle. I never meant to bring you this heartache. I only wished to … to not be alone.”

Candle snuffled out a shuddery sound, then lifted his head, just enough so that he could see Zeffir’s face. Zeffir, usually so stoic, so in control in every frightening situation, looked just as distraught as Candle. Perhaps it was the rain that wetted his face; perhaps it was something else.

“I’m sorry, Zeffir,” Candle whispered, and smoothed his bottom lip out with his teeth, trying to stop its trembling. “I wish I could be the - the husband that you deserve. You deserve someone brave, and kind, because - because you are so brave and kind.”

Zeffir shook his head gently, and gave Candle’s mane one last stroke. “You are also brave and kind, Candle.”

“No! No I’m not!” Candle cried out, and dragged his foreleg across his eyes, trying to banish the tears. “I - I wake up every day, and I wish it was over before it even begins! I’m scared, all the time! I’m scared of - of my mom not loving me anymore! Of my dad being disappointed in me, because of who I love! I wake up, and I hate where I am! I want to go back to sleep, and - and wake up somewhere else! Or not wake up at all!” Candle was crying again, fat tears rolling down his shimmered cheeks. “I’m afraid of everything, all the time! I’m afraid of things I love - I’m afraid of flying! I’m afraid of - I’m afraid of being married, even to someone I like! Someone I really like!”

Zeffir’s brows lifted, despite his sympathy.

“And I wanted to run away from it, to come to a place where no one knew me, where I didn’t have to feel that way ever again - and it followed me! It followed me even here, even to - even to a beautiful land, with wonderful ponies, with - with the best friend I’ve had in a long time! With someone who I care about, and I’m still - I’m still so scared! I can’t outrun myself!”

Zeffir gathered Candle sharply against his chest, and whispered to him insistently. “I will stand between you and whatever frightens you, Candle. I am your husband. That is my duty.”

“But - but you won’t be,” Candle sniffled, “not after we - after we find the shaman.” The word ‘divorce’ was too painful to say, just then.

“You will always be my husband,” Zeffir said quietly, “in my heart. For as long as I walk the savannah, I will carry you with me.”

Candle held his breath, then sobbed. “I want - I want to be yours, Zeffir. But not - not like this. I want - I want you to - want me to be yours. To be chosen.”

Candle could hear the soft exhale of the zebra’s breath in his mane, and he cradled him all the closer. “I will always want you, Candle. And I want your happiness, above all.”

Candle was quiet for a beat, and then snuffled into his neck as he nodded. “I want … I want your happiness, too. You deserve to be happy, Zeffir, so much.”

Zeffir smiled, and lifted his head a little; the sun was rising on the horizon, turning the sky a lilac-grey. The color of his husband’s coat. “Then that is very lucky for me, Zeffir murmured, “for it is you who make me happy, Candle. So right now… I am happy.”

And in that moment, despite the tears and the dissipating storm clouds, they both were.