This story explores the themes of grief & how we move through life after loss. Grief can be so isolating, but please know: you are not alone.
♥
“... our Highness?”
“Huh?” Twilight’s dozing eyes popped open and she straightened from her slouched position, taking her chin off her hoof once she realized she’d been resting her head on it for the last hour. “Yes, Chancellor?”
Chancellor Crescent cleared his throat, and gestured towards the brown unicorn standing awkwardly before the Princess. “You have a supplicant,” he supplied anxiously.
“Oh.” Twilight turned, blinking her tired eyes twice before the unicorn came into focus–and then she was standing, up and out of her seat before she even realized. “Cider!”
It was the unicorn’s turn to blink rapidly, first in shock and then in confusion. “Cider, Your Highness?”
Now Twilight frowned. With white fetlocks and a white, diamond-shaped star across his muzzle, he was clearly Cider, Sunburst’s son. Twilight squinted, and then blinked forcefully several times, before she finally remembered the year.
“Oh,” she said for the second time in a s many minutes. “I’m so sorry, I think I mistook you for Cider Apple.”
Recognition dawned in the unicorn’s eyes. “Ah, my great-great-grandpa! Granny always said the resemblance was uncanny,” he mused, looking down at his own legs before snapping his gaze back to Twilight. “The name’s Winesap, m’am, Winesap Apple.”
“Right, right, of course! It’s been so long.”
“We’ve never actually met before, Your Highness,” he said kindly with a small, almost sad smile.
“Oh.” Twilight scratched the back of her head with a careful hoof, setting her ethereal mane into a more rapid undulation. “I’m so sorry, again.” She was really putting her hoof in it today.
The unicorn–Winesap, she reminded herself–was already shaking his head. “No, no, Highness, it’s quite alright. You’ve known a lot of us Apples through the years, I imagine.”
Twilight’s flustered gaze softened as she thought of Applejack, Apple Bloom, Big Mac, Granny Smith, and all the others she’d met before–before. Winesap was no earth pony, and his accent was subtler than AJ’s had been, but the family resemblance was undeniable.
“Indeed I have,” she answered, a genuine smile taking the place of her embarrassed one. She carefully sat back down on her throne. “So. What can I do for you, my little pony?”
“Well, I…we, we’ve got a bit of a unique problem back on the farm.”
“Something I can help you with?” she asked hopefully.
“We’re hoping so, yes, Your Highness, me and my wife, Firefly.” Winesap paused, taking a slow, deep breath before continuing. “It’s about Tank.”
It was several moments before Twilight remembered– “Rainbow Dash’s familiar?” she asked, utterly perplexed. “He’s still, I mean–”
“Yes, he’s still alive, Your Highness,” Winesap chuckled. “We were surprised, too. He kinda became a family legacy after my four-ex-great aunties both passed. Auntie Applejack was adamant that the Apple family take care of him until it was his time, too, least that’s what my Granny says.” Now it was Winesap’s turn to rub a sheepish hoof through his mane.
“Thing is, uh… it never did. He’s pretty darn big now, Highness, and… well. We’re havin’ a hard time keepin’ him fed,” he continued, accent thickening slightly with discomfort. “We’re already comin’ up flat on our profits margins keepin’ Tank in lettuce and watermelon. We’re not really sure what to do.” Winesap bit his lip before dropping into a bow.
“This subject asks for your help in this matter,” he intoned, the words almost garishly formal in his mouth. “We… thought about outsourcing the problem, but then Firefly said you might have some unique insight to offer, since…”
Twilight pursed her lips–not in displeasure, but surprise. “No, no, you’re right. I’m glad you came to me.” She looked away from Winesap, towards Chancellor Crescent.
“Chancellor, clear my schedule for the rest of the day,” she said firmly. A small, wistful smile curled her lips. “I’ve got a friendship problem to solve.”
_______________________________________________________
“Still got it in me,” Twilight noted, only a little smugly.
“You–landsakes, Your Highness, you s-sure do have a lot of magic,” Winesap stammered, one hoof clutching his heart, ready to beat out his chest, if his frazzled expression and speech were anything to go by.
Twilight chuckled, spreading one wing out until it rested comfortingly across his back. “It’s been a while since I had cause to teleport such a large distance. I think I may have used a little too much mana.”
Winesap blinked his wide eyes, mouthing ‘a little?’ to himself. He shook his head forcefully and lowered his hoof to the ground, sending up a puff of dust. “Welcome to Sweet Apple Acres,” he said instead, stepping forward from the entrance where they’d landed. “Or, welcome back, I s’pose.”
Twilight’s smile faded as she leaned her head back, taking in the farm. “It’s nice to be back.”
Acres upon acres of orchards stretched out around them, apples as far as the eye could see. The farm had expanded, of course, and merged with the Pear family’s well over a century ago. Several vertical farming units in the far distance stretched toward the sky, pegasi buzzing around it like honeybees. The vertical farming initiative had been necessary, as Equestria’s population had grown. Twilight could still remember planning the initiative with the Agricultural Committee–of whom Applebloom’s granddaughter had been both the Apple family representative and founding member.
But Twilight hadn’t been part of the agricultural science community in a long time.
Stepping after Winesap towards the barn, she realized she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen an Apple, let alone been here. The warm earth beneath her hooves was the same as ever, but everything else felt like a strange dream–like a not-quite-right replica of the Sweet Apple Acres she’d known and loved all those decades ago.
She tried not to linger on the thought.
“He’s right this way, Your Highness,” Winesap called from up ahead, already holding the barn door open. Twilight hurriedly stepped through it.
“Firefly, I’m back, and I brought–”
“A solution, I hope,” said a pale pink pony as she trotted around the corner from a smaller section of the barn. Her coat was the color of cherry blossoms, her long, flowing, golden mane was as bright as the sun, and her crystalline blue eyes were filled with an ineffable kindness that took Twilight’s breath away.
She was an earth pony, not a wing in sight–
But Twilight could swear she was looking at Fluttershy. She blinked hard, mashing her eyelids together roughly as she tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. Unable to speak, Twilight offered a shaky wave.
“Hm? Oh, hello– Your Highness?!” Firefly spun towards Winesap, eyes wild. “You didn’t tell me Her Highness was here!” she hissed. Frantically.
Winesap chuckled bemusedly. “Well, I admit it was a little sudden.”
“A ‘little sudden’, what were you–”
“Ahem, my apologies,” Twilight said, finally clearing her throat enough to speak. “That was my fault, I’m afraid.”
If anything, Firefly looked even more scandalized than before. “Please do not apologize, Your Highness,” she insisted, throwing herself into a bow so hard that Twilight worried she might break her nose. “It is no trouble at all, I’m just regretting our lack of refreshments,” Firefly fretted, face still pressed into the dirt.
Twilight sighed, amused, and reached a careful hoof down under Firefly’s chin, lifting it carefully. “Now, now. I don’t need any of that.” She gulped as she met the pony’s frazzled blue eyes. Her resemblance to Fluttershy really was uncanny.
She dropped her hoof, and thankfully, Firefly had the wherewithal to support her own head again. “I heard from Winesap that Tank is…” Twilight trailed off, unsure how to complete that sentence.
“Oh, we’re on a first name basis with the Princess, oh dear, um, uh, yes, Your Highness, if you’ll follow me…?” Firefly spun and walked back the way she’d come, still muttering.
“Er, sorry, Your Highness, she gets flustered real easy sometimes,” Winesap offered sheepishly as they both followed.
“That’s quite alright, there’s nothing to apologize for. This is… a refreshing change of pace,” she decided.
“Well, Highness, I’m glad for that.”
Twilight drew to a stop as they met a doorway–most of the barn seemed to be taken up by a large enclosure. It was brighter than the rest, probably due to the large skylight taking up most of the roof. The dirt floor was strewn with greenery, several large patches of grass, and a large pool of water dug into the ground. In the corner, directly in the path of a slanted sunbeam, sat the largest tortoise Twilight had ever seen.
“Tank,” she whispered. He really was alive.
Firefly stepped through the doorway and made her way over to Tank’s corner, kneeling down in the bed of hay and running a gentle hoof along his shell; he was easily the height of a pony, even laying down, and almost three times as wide. He slowly raised his head as Firefly’s pets brought him out of his nap and turned to face her, his beak already smiling.
“Hey there, buddy,” she murmured, a gentle smile softening her expression. “We’ve got a visitor for you.” Firefly turned her head back in Twilight’s direction, and Tank’s head followed. He tilted it, blinking languidly.
“Twilight Sparkle.”
Twilight coughed, wheeling around once, but no, there was nopony else in the room. “Did he just–?”
“Talk? Yup,” Winesap answered, finally stepping into the room and going to join his wife next to the large tortoise.
“How long has he… been able to do that?”
Winesap touched a thoughtful hoof to his face. “Since he was around a hundred, near as we can tell,” he said, dropping his hoof to scratch Tank’s head. Tank emitted a strange rumble, his eyes sliding shut.
“That’s his ‘purr’, Your Highness,” Firefly offered, standing up and brushing hay off of her coat. “The Apple family had someone from the sanctuary come out once they realized he didn’t have any plans to stop growing. They said he’s an Abra giant tortoise, Abracadablys gigantea. I guess they’re really rare magical creatures that don’t reach full maturity until they’re a hundred–which is roundabouts when the psychic talking started, from what Granny says.”
“I see,” Twilight offered, still completely shocked.
“Why don’t you come say hello, Your Highness? He seems to remember you,” Winesap said with his own smile. Twilight swallowed and stepped slowly forward until she was right in front of him. She folded herself carefully onto the hay, tossing her mane out of the way so that she could stare at his friendly, wrinkled face.
Quite frankly, Twilight had forgotten about Tank. Winona had been the first to go, of their pets, then Owlouiscious and Opal. Gummy had held on the longest, almost seventy-five years, but he had died, too, in the end.
They all had.
“I’m so sorry, Tank. How could I forget you?” Her voice shook as she reached out her hoof and rested it gingerly against his shell. Tank, to his credit, pulled himself out of his nap to stare up at Twilight with his smiling face, just as he’d always done.
“It’s alright. You remembered eventually.”
Somehow that reassurance hurt more than it helped. Twilight’s breath caught.
“This isn’t his only space, of course, Your Highness,” Firefly broke in quickly, seeming to sense the forlorn tension emanating off of Twilight. “He has free reign of the farm, this is just his ‘room’, so to speak. He’s…” She bit her lip, glancing back at Tank.
“He hasn’t been exploring, though, recently, going outside for his usual walks. He’s mostly been napping in here all day, and we’re worried about his quality of life. Plus, the upkeep costs…” Firefly’s gaze cut to her husband.
“It took us a while to understand it,” Winesap said, taking over. “He’s surprisingly philosophical, and can be downright poetic when he wants to be, but… well. Upkeep costs aside, we’re… pretty sure he’s depressed.”
A low hum throttled through Tank’s chest, vibrating the ground.
“We talked to the folks at the Sanctuary, Your Highness. Apparently, once they reach maturity, Abras start lookin’ for a strong mage, to become a familiar.” Winesap smiled sheepishly. “I’ll admit I don’t understand it much, but apparently the bond he had with Auntie Rainbow Dash was unique–not in that she wasn’t magical enough, she was, but usually young Abras don’t forge a bond like that.” He glanced down, indicating one of the plates that made up Tank’s shell.
Twilight looked. If you weren’t looking carefully, you might miss it, but there it was, etched into Tank’s shell, something Twilight hadn’t seen in a long time: Rainbow Dash’s cutie mark, a swirling engraving of the cloud and thunderbolt that looked as natural as any of his other plates.
“She didn’t carve this?” Twilight asked quietly.
Firefly shook her head. “No, no one’s really sure when it appeared, but our guess is that it was around the time he hit tortoise adulthood. It’s hard to see, no one really noticed it until Granny, when she was little.”
“I see.”
Twilight hadn’t taken a familiar since Owlouiscious because, quite honestly, she had been afraid of the pain. She still had Spike, of course, who she could send letters to and invite over, but he’d been living in the Dragon Lands for the past fifty years–and besides, he wasn’t a familiar, not really. Her assistant, yes, and a combination of younger brother and peer and friend, but they didn’t have a familiar bond–the Bond.
She hadn’t gotten a chance to explore familiar pact magic; Owlouiscious had only lived another ten years after her Ascension, and after he’d died, she hadn’t wanted to go through the pain of losing another.
It all started with Owlouiscious, and the deaths of her friends just kept going, from Pinkie Pie all the way down through Applejack, the last of her friends still standing until she wasn't anymore.
Each death was so painful in their own unique ways.
And, somehow, each more painful than the last.
“Your Highness…?”
Twilight looked up into Firefly’s concerned face, the expression almost undoing her completely.
“We–we shouldn’t’ve asked, Your Highness, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you–”
“No. It’s fine. I’m fine.” She stood, tossing her head once as if shaking out her mane would shake away the thoughts of her friends.
“I’ll take him.”
_______________________________________________________
“You do not need to do this.”
Twilight sighed, glancing up from her book towards where Tank sat in the middle of an arcane circle, the gentle glow of floating light orbs reflecting off his green shell. “I know I don’t need to do this. But I want to.”
Tank remained silent for a time, several minutes ticking past. “Of that I am not certain.”
Twilight pressed a hoof to her nose and sighed again, this time more exasperated.
She’d been on edge ever since she’d returned from Sweet Apple Acres a month ago with an explosion of teleportation magic and a giant tortoise in tow. The castle staff, bless them, had taken everything in stride. Getting Tank’s room set up had been easy, figuring out his diet with the Royal Chef has been trivial, it had all been so straightforward that it was, quite frankly, annoying.
It felt like she was being mocked by the universe for not taking on a familiar sooner.
She was the Alicorn of Magic, for Equestria’s sake! She had to be the only archmage in the world who didn’t have a familiar.
But then, most archmage’s died at around two hundred. Twilight was pushing four-fifty and going strong.
“If I don’t do this, your magic and your life will fizzle out and fade,” she continued, as if Tank had never answered. “If I do do this, you’ll… well, you’ll probably live forever.” Twilight shook her head roughly, frowning. “Sorry, I’m still having a hard time coming to terms with my own mortality–or lack thereof.”
Tank just nodded, slowly turning his head to stare around the lab. “It will be nice, to have a partner again.”
Twilight paused, lowering the tome of pact magic gripped in her telekinesis.
“We… never really talked about it,” she began. “Rainbow Dash, I mean.”
Silence reigned in the room, long enough that Twilight was afraid to break it. At least ten heavy minutes passed, before Tank released his own rumbling sigh.
“It was thanks to you I even had the chance,” he muttered, the words somehow quieter than usual despite not being spoken. “Had I been unable to fly, I would have likewise been unable to make so many rainbows with her.”
“Rainbows?” Twilight asked, equally as quiet; her book sat forgotten.
“Prior to adulthood, my kind have but a very small wellspring of magic to call our own. I do not know how it transpired, but we Bonded–in such a natural, profound way that I can only guess it is how such bonds were forged in antiquity.”
Twilight considered that. “I know Equestrian magic used to be… wilder, freer than it is now.”
Tank chuckled, a low, warm rumble that filled the room. “Rainbow Dash is the freest creature I have ever met. I suppose it makes sense, in that case.”
Twilight smiled, a small, sad thing. “She really was. I miss her.” So much that it sometimes turned into a physical ache, if she thought about her long enough.
If she thought about any of her friends long enough.
“As do I,” Tank murmured, settling down in his mana circle. “But such is my burden to bear. I always knew I would outlive her. Living on with her family, with Applejack and then the others who came after, was, for a time, acceptable.”
It was Twilight’s turn to lapse into silence. The pain of loss was part of friendship, part of love–she could remember those midnight conversations with Flurry Heart and Cadance well enough, back when Shining finally passed on.
When he, just like her pet and her parents and her friends, left her behind.
“It’s hard, living longer than the ones you love,” she whispered.
“It is,” Tank acknowledged. “But I would not trade my time with them for anything.” He glanced up, his calm eyes meeting Twilight’s with an alertness that surprised her.
“Even if you choose to not go through with this Bonding, I am glad I got to see you, Twilight.” His beak, always curled into a sleepy smile, curved further upward. “I have gotten to see countless beautiful sunrises and sunsets over Sweet Apple Acres, but one way or another, my time is spent, there.” He blinked once, slowly, his gaze steady with her own.
“I do not wish to cause you pain, but I hope that your presence will breathe new energy into my life, and that my presence in your life may assuage some of the pain that is already in yours.”
Without thought, Twilight shoved her book aside and leapt over her desk, almost crashing into Tank as she wrapped her arms around his large girth.
“I’ve felt so alone,” she admitted, out loud for the first time, her voice shaking as much as the rest of her body was.
Tank leaned his head against her shoulder, his skin cool and calming.
“I have, too.”
Twilight lit her horn.
_______________________________________________________
Twilight gazed steadily out across the acres of farmland and sighed softly.
“I can see why you wanted to show this to me. It’s such a beautiful sunset,” she said, glancing down at Tank. “Is it self-aggrandizing to say that, since I raise and lower the sun?”
Tank gurgled out a sound that was somewhere between a growl and a purr–it was his laugh, Twilight was coming to realize.
“I do not believe so, no,” Tank answered, slowly raising his head and angling it upward until he could meet Twilight’s gaze. “Rainbow Dash was always proud of her weather work.”
“True, true.” She turned back to the sunset, a beautiful blend of pinks and oranges and golds, the sun itself almost half sunk below the horizon. Sudden, stabbing emptiness gripped her chest as she stared unseeing into the colorful middle distance. The pain always came on that way, an ache too quick to foresee and too lingering to ignore.
“...I miss them,” she whispered. The words didn’t do any kind of justice to the grief trying to take over her heart.
But Tank, at least, seemed to understand.
He was quiet for a long time, but clearly thinking; Twilight could feel his sadness through their link, no more softened by time than her own. That lie had haunted Twilight for innumerable moons, that false platitude–‘time heals all wounds’ they said to her at Applejack’s funeral. ‘It will get better,’ the well-meaning uttered as she put Fluttershy in the ground.
‘She had an amazing life,’ for Rarity.
‘No pony will ever compare to her,’ for Pinkie Pie.
‘She’ll never be forgotten,’ for Rainbow Dash.
But it never got better. It never got easier.
She would just… forget, for a time. Forget that she couldn’t have Rarity over for Tuesday afternoon tea, that she couldn’t take Rainbow out for dinner after a Wonderbolts show. She moved through life, her mind making assumptions that her heart couldn’t handle, until it became too much, and the grief came back–like an infection, a virus, an unforgiving thicket of brambles ensnaring her heart tighter with each beat.
Tears streamed down Twilight’s cheeks as she huffed in a short, half-aborted breath. It was hard to breathe past the gaping hole in her chest.
The sunsets always seemed to get to her. It was why she’d long since automated the process; all she had to do was set things in motion. Magitech took care of the rest.
“It doesn’t get easier,” Tank finally answered. Twilight blinked twice, hoping it would stop the flow of tears.
“Grief… it is not something that ends,” he continued, settling down further into the cooling grass and carefully leaning to his left until his shell pressed firmly into Twilight’s barrel. “What is grief, if not love?”
Twilight sniffled, but didn’t reply.
“It is not unlike these trees,” Tank continued, gingerly craning his neck until the bright zap apples and shining red McIntosh came into view. “They planted them, on their wedding day, just like Applejack’s parents had before her. A new tradition, a physical representation of how their love would grow with and around them, changing with time.
“I think that grief… is a lot like that,” he decided with a long sigh. “They say it gets better, that it fades with time. But I don’t think that’s true. I think that we grow around it–that life grows around our grief. And sometimes… it breaks through, fresh as the day it was made.”
Tank lowered his head, settling it on the grass and slowly, carefully breathing in its fresh green scent. “I always knew I would outlive Rainbow, even if she did not. But in a way… that is what made time with her so precious.”
A sob tore from Twilight’s throat before she could catch it.
“It will be alright, Twilight,” Tank offered quietly, his eyelids fluttering closed. “We will have each other, now, when the pain comes.”
“I just wish we didn’t have the pain at all,” she murmured bitterly. Tank hummed in agreement.
“As do I. But I am still glad that I knew her. Her vibrance brought such color into my life. I will always miss it… but I will never regret it.” His heavy eyelids fluttered back open, just in time to take in the last lingering rays of the sunset as true twilight settled around them.
“It really is beautiful,” he said.
Twilight raised her head, her eyes alighting on the first stars popping out bright against the gathering gloam. And then she closed her eyes and breathed in.
“It really is.”
Author's Note
This way of thinking about grief has helped me so much in the past year as I've dealt with my own. I hope it can help you, too.
Thank you so much for reading!
🌳
